My boyfriend is too handsome to not be an alien.

Part of the whole “I Have a Blog Mystique” is remaining perpetually, ambiguously single. But I’m gonna go ahead and say it: I have a boyfriend.  He’s named after a Superman villain in non-internet life, so we shall refer to him by a different Superman villain name: Ultraman.
We’re going to call him this partly because it’s funny, and partly because he is, in fact, the ultra-man.  He’s hilarious, he cooks, he cleans, digs on animals, is a very funny writer, and makes sure I get in my pajamas when I’m drunk and screaming, “YOU’RE NOT MY DAD”–he’s awesome. But there is one thing that’s very, very wrong with our relationship: he’s too handsome.

Oh, boo hoo for me, right? I’m so serious.  When I first met him, I immediately disliked him because I thought he might be a member of an alien race who had studied mankind extensively, programmed the perfect-looking man, and sent him to Earth to impregnate as many women as he could in order to begin a slow but steady in-bred invasion.  So in the name of patriotism, I was a real she-dick to him the night we first met.

Over time, although I have given into his charm and he’s my boyfriend now, this theory has only solidified.  This is a conversation we had recently, and it is the perfect example of why he’s an alien:

Keely: I want cake so bad right now.
Ultraman: Yeah, I’m totally craving some spinach.

Part of the problem with dating someone super-duper-handsome is that because he’s perfect-looking and so wonderful, he gets all of the attention wherever he goes. People meet him and they come up to me later and say things like, “Oh, Ultraman is so cute, you’re the luckiest!” and I’m drunk by then, and all, “Thanks, Ben Folds, but I tried really hard to look good tonight. Can we not spare me one teensy compliment on my more-feminine-plaid-choice?”

He also gets hit on all the time, and not in a subtle way. We’ll walk into a party, and by the time I’ve accidentally bumped into the coat rack, he’s in the middle of the room surrounded by a circle of women.  Immediately, my DUMB BITCH alarm starts going off.  My DUMB BITCH alarm consists of Liza Minelli’s voice screaming in my ear, “DUMB, DUMB BITCHES, WHY AREN’T YOU HITTING ON ME INSTEAD OF MY STUPIDLY HANDSOME BOYFRIEND?” So I’ll go over and casually drop a few Melissa Etheridge lyrics into the conversation, get completely ignored by all the girls, and accidentally ensnare yet another lifelong friendship with a gay man.

Women, straight men, gay men, even children love Ultraman.  He has so much animal magnetism, even my cat loves him. And she is a cat.  I posted recently that my best friend Lilly got engaged.  She asked me to be her Maid of Honor (I wept, different story).  I asked Ultraman to go to her engagement party with me. He was going with me, the Maid of Honor, people should have been so excited to meet me because I am the kind of person who gets asked to be a Maid of Honor.  No.  By the end of the evening, all of Lilly’s little cousins were following him around in a parade, clawing at his clothes like little lepers begging for the healing hands of Jesus Christ.  I sat in the corner, eating soft pretzels and cheese dip, overhearing the occasional woman say in a swoony voice, “Oh, I just love spinach, because you can cook it or just eat it raw! Wow!”

There are, however, a lot of perks to dating good-looking people.  For example, you become more desirable by association.  People find out I’m Ultraman’s girlfriend, and they’re immediately like, “You must be really smart or something!”  Even my friends have come to view me in a different light, like I figured out some long-kept secret and joined a secret club that’s so secret, our membership rings have to be kept out of public sight, so they’re toe-rings.  But mostly, in those rare moments when I look at him and actually believe I get to date this guy, I end up feeling insecure.  It would be so much easier if he had a drug problem, or had gotten a girl pregnant when he was 16 and was emotionally damaged.  Whenever he walks into a room without a shirt on, we have the same conversation:

Keely: I think we should break up. I can’t take all this handsomeness anymore.
Ultraman: You’re so sweet and funny and quirky, I just adore everything about you!


6 thoughts on “My boyfriend is too handsome to not be an alien.

  1. I’m going to start injecting high fructose corn syrup into his wheatgrass smoothies and spinach shakes.

  2. I think a picture is necessary to satisfy my ENORMOUS curiousity. I am about to go FB creep and try to find a pic 😉 Lol and I know what you mean, I have a ‘too good to be true’ (and by that I mean a ‘why is he with me?’) handsome sweet boyfriend too haha. There must’ve been something good helping develop us back in Oakmont, haha!!

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