COLUMN: Finding a happy medium

I used to like cowboys, but then I got close enough to smell one.

Back in high school, I had a few short-lived relationships with typical Midwestern men. They were cute, polite, nice to my mother and could fix anything from a car to a broken window. The best part was that they were always tan and had this aura of being able to protect a lady from anything.

The thing was, they could never seem to figure out that I needed more than a handyman.

I don’t know if it’s all the sun exposure, but for some reason cowboys tend to fall short in relationships. The idea is nice and there are thousands to pick from (especially at SDSU), but why would a guy ever think riding around on a baler for three hours is a date?

You know what else isn’t a date? Trying to convince me to “just look at the stars” in a truck bed that has clearly contained cow manure at some point. Would it really hurt to at least throw a blanket down?

Some girls enjoy going out and shooting targets or gophers, but this is not a date when the guy is clearly more interested in the gun than the girl.

And one more thing. Have you ever noticed how farmers tend to go after women who are significantly younger? That’s because all the women their own age have realized they can’t deal with the constant odor of sweat and manure.

This leaves the 21-year-old bachelors to chase the naive 16-year-olds. Not only is that illegal, it really happened with my roommate’s cousin last week.

On the opposite end of the spectrum are hipsters. I’ve had quite a few relationships with men of that breed, too, and while it’s nice to be able to have a deep conversation with your significant other, it’s just weird when a guy’s butt looks better than yours because his jeans are tighter.

And what’s with the blatant disregard for hygiene? Refusing to shave your huge beard isn’t sexy, it’s just a giant neon sign over and around your mouth reading “Do not come near this area!”

I realize that I’m generalizing and that not all men fit into these distinct categories. I also acknowledge that there are exceptions, but it seems like the frat boys are trying really hard to all fit into one mold.

Whether the university recognizes it or not, Greeks can throw some awesome parties. Still, I don’t care how loud your music is, how many blacklights you have and how much beer you offer me; that does not automatically mean I am going to sleep with you.

Also, bragging about your frat is about as interesting as me bragging about my new nailpolish.

Still, women tend to bring this on themselves. Of course he wants to have sex with you. He’s not having to use much of his imagination to picture you naked thanks to that tiny cocktail dress you’re wearing. It’s a natural reaction.

All I’m saying is that it would be nice to find a happy medium between all of these types. Is it too much to ask for a party-throwing, outdoorsy intellectual who smells good?

Reach columnist Anna Burleson at

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