I don’t have time to date – I’m focusing on my career…

I’ve uttered variations of this statement before. I know most of you have. I also know that most guys would probably say this is a lame excuse. It’s not. It’s a perfectly acceptable and legitimate excuse.

While I am a freelance designer (which isn’t remotely interesting as it sounds), I’m still looking for a full-time, big girl job. So how did I spend last week, you ask? Well, I spent all of last week waiting by my phone, in bed, waiting for a man to call after he said he would. And he did. Nine days later.

Nine. Days.

I don’t know if you realize how long that is to wait for a man to call. Well, actually, I’m sure you do. You spend every five minutes looking at your phone to make sure you have service. You’re constantly texting people, waiting for their response to confirm that your phone, is, in fact, functional. You begin to make excuses for him such as: “Oh, it’s 11:00 am, it’s still early.” “Oh, it’s 3:00, I’m sure he got slammed at work.” “Oh, it’s after 5:00…he’s probably left the office so I won’t hear from him until tomorrow now…I hope.”

Oh. Sorry. Did you think I was talking about a boy I was interested in? Oh no…I was talking about my potential employer who said he’d be following up our phone interview with a call to set up a meeting.

Throughout my job search, I’ve realized that this process is almost identical to dating. Well, that’s not true. It’s worse. If a boy doesn’t like me, I dress slutty, go to a bar, get hammered, and make out with a stranger. There are always more men. Always. There are not always more jobs. If I don’t snag the one, who knows how long I’ll be sitting on my couch counting down the days until the series finale of All My Children.

I know, I sound ridiculous right now. But it’s true. So I’ve compiled a list of the ways interviewing is like dating.

1. You’re so nervous before your interview, you consider taking a shot before you leave to calm down. Eventually, you decide against it because you don’t want to smell like liquor and be labeled an alcoholic this early. (Side note: While most normal people may not take shots before dates, Ivy and I have. Many times.)

2. You get dressed in the outfit you planned days before. You make sure that you look thin, mature, and not slutty, but also still really hot.

3. When meeting with the interviewer, you stumble upon your words, try to make yourself sound interesting/smart/clever, and try your hardest to avoid any awkward silences.

4. After the meeting is over, you replay every second of it over your head. Multiple times. You try to figure out if you really WERE clever and smart, or if you sounded like an idiot. You also try to decipher the interviewer’s reaction to everything you said. You spend forever trying to figure out if he/she liked you.

5. After the meeting you wait for a call back. And wait. And wait…

6. If they DO call you back, your insecurities subside a tad. You now know that you were liked. But were you liked enough to be considered for real commitment?

7. You go back for a second meeting. You repeat steps 1-5.

8. Hopefully, after this, you get called back with the wonderful news that you are now employed. If not, you probably will end up very, very drunk trying to fill the void in your life.

I now know why the “focusing on my career” excuse was invented. Because having gone through this in regards to a job AND a boy at the exact same time, I legitimately started to lose it. My life was literally at a halt until two separate men decided if/when they would contact me. It was awful and I did not like it. I would encourage everyone to avoid that situation at all costs.

Waiting for Step 8
Ally

It was on the Radio, so it must be true...

Ladies and gentlemen,

I have hit a new low. Or all time high. Ivy said high but I'll let you decide.

Yesterday as I was driving to work, I was listening to my favorite morning radio hosts, Eric & Kathy, on The Mix. As is typical for their show, Eric brought up an interesting fact that he had come across; he claimed that, according to a recent survey, the average woman will kiss 29 men in her lifetime. Obviously I scoffed, not believing the number, because I probably kissed 29 men last February alone. Eric then asked for callers to inform the listeners of their numbers. I decided that since I was stuck in traffic, I would call.

I got through. As the first caller. SERIOUSLY? I can't get through to win Maroon 5 tickets, but when it comes to potentially humiliating myself, I beat the entire Chicagoland area? Eff You WTMX, Eff You.

Well, the behinds the scenes operator asked me for my number: "About 100," I proudly said. "100?....do you...do you keep track?" She asked. "I did my junior year of college..." "Well, how old are you?" "22" "Ok...and what's your name?" "Ashley." I am no stranger to pseudonyms obviously and decided if I was going down, so was the name Ashley. I briefly waited to speak to my Radio heros and when I finally started talking to them, I was proud of past conquests. And my wit, which Eric complimented. They asked me several questions including what percentage of my (roughly) 100 men were decent kissers. I confidently informed them that it was only about 20%. We finished chatting and they politely switched to the next caller.

The following caller was another Ashley. This Ashley proudly said that the only man she's kissed is her husband. She then went on to say that she was "shocked" when she heard "the previous caller's number" because she had "some really kinky friends but even they weren't that slutty." Really? Really, real Ashley? She then (almost) saved face by saying it wasn't an insult, but was more the fact that she didn't realize she was so "out of the loop."

Thank goodness for older, slutty ladies. The third caller said that she also thought she was at around 100, but realized it was closer to 200. She continued to explain, for the benefit of the real Ashley, that kissing people wasn't slutty if it stopped there. Eric asked if she agreed with my statistic and Caller Number Three said that I was "Spot. On" because only 1 in 5 men can kiss (sorry guys).

When I told Ivy about this, she agreed with me that it was a new high in my life because "[I] got called slutty on the radio." At first I wasn't sure about that, but after some thought, I feel like this puts me in the same category as Chelsea Handler. She is open and clever about her sluttiness and I aspire to be the same.

For now, I think the fact that I have no qualms about kissing hundreds of strangers should land me my own Vh1 show.

Ally

Ally knows best?

I like to consider myself a fairly open minded young adult. Ok, that's not entirely true. More accurately, I'm open minded to opinions that I don't find completely stupid.

In the last few years of my life I have developed strong opinions on topics such as: why certain people should have to take a written exam before being allowed to procreate, why people should not be married before the age of 25, and why people like the Situation should be banned from society, and more importantly, the media.

While I could sit here and rant on these topics for literally hours, instead, I'll focus on my most recent realization – I am always right. BUT, I might not always be right when it comes to what's best for other people.

Take my sister for example, Little A. She is still dating the BF I blogged about in a much earlier post. BF is, what I think, should be considered overly possessive and jealous. After talking to many people on the subject though, I have realized that maybe my perception of this is skewed because I apparently have an uncommon view of what should be considered a normal trust level.

Personally, any guy I date will have to be ok with the fact that I have a lot of close male friends and that I am a very cuddly individual and that I will, at times, unknowingly flirt with everything that moves. That does not mean I'm interested in other men or will be cheating on him. Having said that, I would obviously let him have female friends. People say that I'm too trusting and blah blah blah, but whatever, if one of us cheated because of that, then we'd be a terrible person and the other one would be better off anyway.

While Little A and I share DNA and clothes, she does not share my viewpoints on dating and we have had many discussions (read: screaming matches) on various topics. Recently, BF and I spent a great deal of quality time together and I remembered that I once liked him because he's actually a nice boy. Just a kind of jealous, immature, nice boy. I realized that BF makes Little A happy and he really really cares about her –his ways of caring are just a little different than I would like. Little A is ok with the relationship rules he has expressed, so who am I to tell her otherwise? I think that I'm still right in what should be considered crazy jealous, but I'm not right for what's best for her. She's ok with the fact that he is overly involved in who her friends are so how can I tell her that's a valid reason to dump him?

It's taken a while, but I've finally come to accept that while I have strong views on relationships, that doesn't mean they work for other people. My sister and I have tooootally different personalities and I can't expect the same type of relationship to make us both happy.

I still think most people shouldn't procreate

Ally

Ghosts of Jerkfaces Past

Bad things happen in threes. They do. I don’t care if you’re superstitious or not, this is a fact.

Thursday evening I was hanging out with some friends when I received a text from Hot-Greek-Med-Student who I hadn’t spoken to in months. He was inviting me to his band’s show the next night. Great. Hot-Greek-Med-Student FINALLY wanted to hang out with me again, but I had made plans already. To go to a barn party. With Ivy. Clearly these were not breakable plans. I sadly informed him that I would be unable to attend but would love to see his next show.

Friday night I was beyond excited to attend my first ever barn party. I drove down to U of I, decked out in tall cowboy-esque boots, jean shorts, a long plaid shirt, and of course, pigtails thinking that I looked like a real townie (when really I just looked like a suburban girl). I ventured with Ivy to our pregaming destination and was eager to see who was wearing a cowboy hat I could steal to complete my ensemble. I walked into the apartment hoping to see one of the familiar faces that I knew from my previous visit and who should I see standing in the middle of the living room? Rugby. Fucking. Will.

Yes. That’s right. Rugby Will, one of the main reasons this blog currently exists, was standing right in front of me. The boy I successfully avoided in the city for about two years was standing in the same room as me 200 miles away from home. He awkwardly approached me, and we chatted for a moment until he was pulled away to continue his beer pong game. I instantly turned around, told Ivy who he was, and begged for a beer. Luckily, once we left for the barn dance, I didn’t see him for the rest of the night. This is the end of the story and more time than Rugby Will deserves being thought about.

Saturday night I attended a bachelorette party, which, much to my grandmother’s dismay, did not include a stripper. I am not kidding about either of these statements. As I was sitting there deciding which man I wanted to chat up for the evening, I received a text. From…the only boy in my past that did not have a gimmick. Oh well, he doesn’t deserve a nickname anyway. So, jerk who I dated-ish last year for a few months but wouldn’t commit OR let me dump him decided to text me around midnight asking what grade school I attended. Out of sheer curiosity, I responded to see where this would go. WELL, apparently, he was hired by my church/grade school to film the 100-year anniversary documentary. Fabulous. Even better, I’m on the committee. Even better still, the chairwoman was hoping my old roommate and I would agree to be interviewed together in the video.

So lets recap. Three boys who, in the last two years, were of varying degrees of pseudo boyfriend potential and all made me swear off men, decided to creep back into my life. The same weekend. Seriously, Universe? What. The. Fuck. No, really…this isn’t fair at all. It was quite crappy actually.

Ok, now that I’ve calmed down a little, I should skip to what this has taught me. For one, I’ve learned that I’ve involved myself with so many men that I literally cannot go anywhere in this state without running into one. Secondly, I realized that I can hold grudges for a long time. Buuuuut most importantly, I learned that the past really will come back to haunt you. (This is the part where I comment on how to become a mature young lady) You can’t let this get the best of you. I was over Rugby Will and hadn’t thought about him for a long ass time, but the second I saw him, I freaked out. (Granted, it was Rugby Will so I was entitled to a freak out, but really, he’s not worth the energy. Neither is non gimmick boy. Greek-Med-Student totally is though, and I would give him a second chance in a heartbeat).

When a guy from your past, or three, pop up unexpectedly, do not fret. Don’t let it ruin your evening, or day and sit around watching Lifetime for 5 hours. Those boys are jerks and not worth your time, thoughts, or energy. Say hello, politely chat for a moment, and then walk away. And then you can run off and talk about him with your friends. Yes, there is a reason you are no longer together and yes, he probably made you cry a lot, but you’ve spent enough time dealing with that. Don’t let people from your past ruin another minute of your life, you’re too good for that. Like my 10-year old sister said to me last night when I was plotting ways to get non gimmick boy fired “Ally, that’s not nice. Just because he was mean to you, doesn’t mean you should do mean things to him now.” Deep down I know she’s right so I gave up plotting but I still think she has a lot to learn…

I’ll stop thinking about these three as soon as this blog post is done. Scout’s honor.

Ally

Sometimes planes they smash up in the sky

I'm going to start writing, largely due to the need to procrastinate... but also due to a new and exciting dating dilemma. It's good to know that the dating world practices equal opportunity fucking over for both single and coupled people alike.

I spent a good year and a half bitching that I would never find a soulmate. And then I did. His name is Plaid. And some stuff happened, and we went some places, and did that whole love thing... blah blah blah. Fast forward through the e-harmony.com montage (though we didn't meet on the internet, we met while drunk at a bar like normal classy folks), and let's get to the real issue here. I'm currently in law school in the middle of nowhere Illinois (where you can get a bottle of Absolut for $17, so I'm not complaining) and he is currently employed in Virginia. Heeyyyy wait a minute, that's far!

I was always adamantly against long distance relationships. To me they're like long distance sandwiches... sure, the promise of satisfaction exists, but what good is a sandwich 10 states over when you're hungry? Now, I know what you're thinking. Ivy... people aren't sandwiches. People have personality and unique value, whereas a sandwich does not (arguably, Ally's sandwiches have a lot of personality and unique value). But then you have to remember, for a long time there, dating partners were as interchangeable to me as what type of sandwich I might have for lunch. (I'm hungry)

Plaid isn't a sandwich to me. He's more like a dinner at Alinea. It's the world's fucking best restaurant, and people justifiably travel across the world to eat it. And if I booked a reservation there, I wouldn't knock back a couple of Subways before going. I would wait.

Because.... eeee.... I don't wanna say it... okay I'm gonna say it.... some people are worth waiting for. If there were a score board for Plaid v. rest of male population, the rest of the male population has one point. For proximity. When I first learned that we would be doing the long distance thing, my initial reaction was "Find someone to replace him who lives a comfortable walking distance from your apartment." Then I remembered that it's not like perfect matches are everywhere. Realistically, if I plunged back into the dating world, I would be re-confronted with assholes who never call, dudes I have nothing in common with, or worst of all, guys who listen to Nickelback.

So I guess I've landed myself in the dreaded long distance relationship. At least there's still a Jimmy John's right down the block.

Lunchtime!

Ivy

Be a man and Suck it up

As a girl, I feel as though I have the God given right to complain about a lot of things...usually in hopes for attention. I am allowed to talk about the same thing over and over and over again so that the person I am complaining to assures me that I am either right, or more importantly right and pretty.

Well, while I'm entitled to whine to everyone and their mother about anything and everything, boys should never ever do so. Mainly because they need to act like men, BUT they should especially not complain about their girlfriends...to other girls. Because if they do, I take that as an invitation to intervene. I will tell them they are right and call them pretty. And then drunkenly make out with them.

I have been noticing this more and more lately with various men in my life and it's beginning to annoy the crap out of me. Most notably, a coworker of mine always complains about his girlfriend. ALWAYS. I understand that everyone is allowed to get a little frustrated when they're in a relationship, but this boy complains every. freaking. day. It's gotten to the point that I don't think I've ever heard him say anything good about her. Except that she teaches little kids. But that's about it.

Here are a few things he has complained about:

1. Going to visit her family

2. Being stuck in a rut with someone

3. Hating having a routine

4. Not liking having to deal with her problems

5. Not liking her problems interfering with him going out

6. Everything else you can think of

Now, what can you gather from this list? If you're me, you gather that he hates his girlfriend and he repeatedly tells you this in hopes of you saving him. Wait...no...is that not right? Crap.

Any time a boy complains to me about his girlfriend, I am going to assume this is the case (and here is the part where I defer any and all blame on the boy). Listen, if you really don't hate being in a relationship, don't bring it up. If you're not talking about how much you hate your girlfriend or the relationship I assume you are totally happy and will go about my business and hate her from afar. If I feel you hate her as well, I will attempt to form an alliance, and by alliance I mean hook up with you. (Now, while I probably would never do this, having been cheated on multiple times, I will think about doing it. A lot. Which would suck for the gf if I was a horrible person)

I understand that you want to go get drunk with your friends and don't want to sit on the couch consoling your girl because she had a bad day at work (actually, I don't but that's a different argument) but you can make an attempt to say something nice about her on occasion. In the words of an animated bunny, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." And if you really really really need to complain about these things, call up one of your boys and talk about it over Halo or whatever the hell you play, don't seek comfort in your single girl coworkers. They will give you bad advice. Well, at least I would...

I can only pretend to be a home-wrecker

Ally

Yes, your accent is hot, but it's also difficult to understand you...

It's that time again. Summer in Chicago. That means trips to the beach, endless festivals and of course, more Irishmen crawling around than you'd find at a pub in Dublin.

The other day I was at the Taste with my Bestie and a good friend from out of town. In between the Crab Nuggets and the Mashed Potato filled Chocolate Cupcake, I spotted authentic Irishmen working at a nearby booth. And you know my love of Irishmen. So naturally, I swooned over their accents for a good five minutes and kept walking. A little while later I was left with two tickets which can get you absolutely nothing at this overpriced festival and thought it would be funny if I asked a boy how many tickets his phone number cost, hoping it wouldn't be more than two. Naturally, my friends suggested trying this horribly awesome line on the Irishmen. After a great deal of protesting (Ok, fine, I said "no" once and then agreed) I went up to the booth and delivered my well rehearsed line.

It worked.

Long story short, he texted me 15 min later, we met up for a beer, chatted and made plans to hang out again. Well, apparently, Foreigners think they can coast by with their cute accents and limited-time only allure. Irishman decided to tell me multiple nights that I should meet him at the bar HE was at or simply to just meet him at his place later. After informing him that things did not work like that in the Good Ol' U S of A and that he gave Irishmen a bad reputation he informed me that he would make it up to me by promising the absolute best sex of my life.

Really? Really Mr. Irishman? You think that you can put absolutely no effort forward and I'll just hop into bed with you because of your dreamy accent and the cute fact that when you text, you do so with an accent (Here becomes ere. you becomes ye. This in no way is related to Fone). I do not think so. Yes, American girls can be easy, especially for a guy with an accent but come on, try a liiiiiiittle. At least try to buy me ONE drink, and no, the free one you got for working at the Taste did not count. Mainly because your friend got it for me.

Here's the thing Mr. Irishman, you are no longer novel. You have become the "norm." Last summer while leaving a bar with my Irish Fling of '09 a man approached me and asked if I had an accent. When I responded I did not, he replied "That's ok. I do. I'm Irish- nice to meet you." (I wish I were kidding about that. But it happened. Really) So Irishman of 2010, you're old news. And you know what that means? It means you have to try harder now. You actually have to do lunch and the cinema and not just suggest it so you can follow up with "coming to my place tonight?"

Switching to Aussies,

Ally