Seriously, guys, dating gives me ulcers.

Since ending my coupled status, I've attempted to regain my title as drunken make out queen. This mission proved successful the weekend I went to Soundbar, ate pizza in a random guy's hotel room, threw up and passed out on my bathroom floor, then made out with a hot German with a lip ring (Not necessarily in that order. Okay, fine, in that order...)

The following weekend, I met two adorable and shockingly literate men while out... and while I didn't sloppily make out with them in any alleys, I did give both of them my number to play my odds (Okay, fine, and made out with one of them in the alley. And the other in a basement.) Well kids, when it rains it pours, and Mr. Friday and Mr. Saturday soon became Mr. Sunday Night Date and Mr. Monday Night Date.

Somewhere in between trying on my 47th outfit and listening to three different Tegan and Sara albums, it hit me: Dates don't excite me. Dating is a lot like reading James Joyce novels. I don't actually want to do it, but I feel like a lesser person if I don't. There's nothing fun about one dimensional conversation, having to shave my legs, or pretending to eat less than Kate Moss.

Why, why, oh why can't it be socially acceptable to make out with hot exchange students every weekend right before they move back to Mozambique/Liechtenstein/Bolivia? Why do I have to....get to KNOW people? Or even worse...start to CARE about people?

Maybe it's a slightly cynical, misanthropic attitude. But expectations tend to lead to disaster, whereas one time make outs tend to lead to hilarious stories. Although I guess disaster leads to hilarious stories too.

Say goodnight and go,

Ivy

Ivy the coupled

Being in a relationship is a lot like buying a pair of 4.5" heels. It seems so glamourous, but once you're in them it's just a lot of stumbling and pain...plus you look like an asshole. After a full year and a half of being less committal than a moderate voter in the 2004 election, I finally entered a relationship. Cue the flowers, candies, dates to every party, soup when I'm sick, and rides to the airport, right?

Wrong, wrong, oh boy, so wrong. I guess I've always prided myself on not being the type of girl who swoons over The Notebook. Until I remember that while Ryan Gosling may not do it for me, I AM the type of girl who swoons over The Princess Bride. Whether we like to admit it or not, we've all glamorized relationships. And in some respects, those of us who have stayed single the LONGEST probably glamorize them the most. I mean, for Christ's Sake, if it takes a year and a fucking half for me to finally get back into one, shouldn't it be the most incredible thing since Zac Efron's six pack?

I'm still on the fence with this one. My recent relationship was with a cute, funny, intelligent guy who seemed like a perfect fit. Except the Prince Charming didn't exactly come with the white horse; our ensuing relationship was probably about as romantic as a junior high dance. But the only flaw I could find with the relationship was that it was lacking in that Disney magic... he still treated me kindly, made me laugh, and snuggled with me. The only thing really lacking was that box of chocolates.

So how much IS a box of chocolates, besides 1700 calories? Apparently enough to destroy my relationship, and I didn't even know it. Because as much as we like to pretend we are progressive, and that we don't want to be treated like the damsel in distress, I'm pretty sure that only applies to getting an equal paycheck. When it comes to dating, we still want flowers and candles and all that cheesy bullshit we make fun of our friends for liking. Is it hypocritical? Well, yes. But we have boobs, so deal.

Everyone always tells me relationships take work. And maybe they do, but guess what...that's probably why I hate relationships. Everything else in my life takes work. Can we just skip ahead to the free dinners and affection? Deep down I have a sneaking suspicion that relationships that really work DON'T take work... and maybe I'm unrealistic, but I think that just means I have to find someone as unrealistic as I am.

Holding out for the white horse, palace, and all,

Ivy

I might as well date cardboard cutouts

Friday night I went out with a Northwestern med student who picked a wonderful restaurant, told me how lovely I looked, slightly resembled Zach Braff, is going to do volunteer work in India...

OH, and hated his family, hated his roommates, hated his friends, and hated not staring at the hot blondes two feet away from us. Whether he was calling his roommate's girlfriend a "dumb bitch" or telling me which drink to order, he never failed to amaze me. And how did I end up in this situation?

Did you read the first paragraph? Hello, I could bring him home to mother, grandmother, and my panties. But the thing about guys who are perfect on paper is that they know this is enough for most women. Who cares if he is charming? All he has to do is cite his future 6 figure salary and prestigious degree, and enough hot mommas will be spitting out "No, no. Go ahead. Order my drink without asking. Doctor knows best!"

Come on, people, how many more Ted Bundy's and Craigslist Killers do we need before we realize... no matter how many superficial qualities a dude fulfills, that does not in any way mean he is someone worth your time. Look, I'm not telling you that you need to be so deep that you start dating really affectionate homeless guys (awww, how sweet, he's jacking off to me on the el! now there's a man who's not afraid of PDA!), but go into everything with a grain of salt.

I went out with this guy under the impression that he was going to woo me. I mean, he made a dinner RESERVATION...guys don't even do that anymore. But the more I looked into it, the more I realized the signs he was a douche were always there. For Christ's sake, his pick up line was "Let's get this out of the way, what's your name?" And the way he asked for my number by saying, "So, are we actually gonna hang out, or should I not bother?" was simply MAGICAL. 

Please read the above paragraph. Those things happened the night we MET. WHY DID I SAY YES TO HIM. I'm not that shallow, but look, it's biological; women want successful men. So by the time he's telling me he's looking to do his rotations at U of C, I was ready to bend over and start presenting, okay?

Well, kids, there's different ways for a man to be successful. Yes, ambition and looks are attractive qualities...but you know what else is attractive? Being a decent human being. I mean it...trustworthiness, honesty, compassion, kindness....kinda fucking hot, guys. At LEAST as hot as a fleeting resemblance to Zach Braff.

So, alas, I will not be enjoying his rousing company again. And I hope one day he is quite happy with his busty wife named Courtney who laughs and coos at everything he says, even when he's saying "Honey, it's so cute when you pretend to have opinions about things." Because only in a perfect world are hot Ivy Leaguers actually decent people.

postscript: I am well aware of Ally's hot Ivy Leaguer who is a decent person. This does not count as Ally's life is absolutely insane, and should not be considered a standard for normal people.

The hardest part of breaking up is getting back your stuff...or the breaking up part (and yes, I quoted No Authority)

Alright ladies (and the few of you gentlemen out there), after chatting with my younger sister today, I've decided it was necessary that I blog about something I'm very knowledgeable about: Breaking up with people.

Specifically, breaking up with someone that you have no business even being in a relationship with anymore.

Background story: My sister, Little Ally and her boyfriend have recently (read: a majority of their relationship) been hitting a few bumps. They argue/full on fight a LOT. Neither one likes them to keep the company of the opposite gender if they're not around. And they need to know what the other is doing at all times, probably to make sure it is nothing they wouldn't approve of. Also, BF is a little controlling (not excessively, but a smidgen more than most semi-insecure 17 year old boys are). Don't get me wrong though, other parts of their relationship are wonderful, buuuut I'm just picking out the bad to make my point (Yay selective observation!).

Anyway, Lil' A decided to start listening to me and literally every one of her friends who said it may be best if they broke up. So she decided to do what most college freshmen do the first week of livin' in the dorms- dump her boyfriend. Well, BF didn't like that idea. He proceeded to tell her the dreaded words that will make most girls change their minds. He pulled the "Don't do this, I promise I'll change, just give me one more chance" card. And she bought it. Despite everyone telling her that he cannot change forever. Well, Lil' A takes after her big sis and there was an alcohol induced incident that occurred (not saying what it was incase BF reads this). Nothing happened, buuuut, when you're trying to fix a relationship, one is typically a little more reserved.

Naturally, I told her this was a sign that deep down she didn't want to fix the relationship. She disagreed and just said it was a stupid mistake and she felt bad about it. She said she thought it would help her figure out what she wanted. Which it did not, but instead confused her even more. Wow, Shocking. Who knew fraternizing with HOT single boys who are nice to you would make staying with the boy you want to dump because he makes you cry more difficult. We proceeded to discuss (argue) about the situation. I asked her why she wanted to stay with BF and her response was "Because I love him and he was my first serious boyfriend and we've been through a lot together." Well, those SEEM to be good enough reasons, right? WRONG. Those things don't really pertain to the present. So I asked her if she's happy like, all the time with him. She said that no one in a relationship is happy all the time. So I asked her how much they fought. She said "Less". Not "not that much", or "once in a while" but "less." Hmmm. Yea. is that REALLY a healthy relationship, Lil' A? Not so much.

And I don't mean to rip on my sister, because honestly, I see SOOOO many of my friends fall into the same trap of various unhealthy relationships. I totally understand that it's completely hard to just end a relationship with someone you've been with for years, but I think there comes a point where it's just necessary. Sometimes, two people aren't compatible anymore. And that's ok. It just means you have grown as people and found yourselves. What you had was great, but you're no longer the same people you were when you met. It doesn't mean you don't love each other anymore. (I'm gonna get really cliche now) It just means that you're not meant to spend the rest of your lives together. If someone (or most of your friends) are telling you that your relationship is becoming destructive, don't be defensive, but actually listen and think about it.

Think about why you're staying together:

If "Because we love each other" is the ONLY reason. Is that really enough? Does that alone cancel out all the bad? If you're not totally happy, it's not enough.

Also, saying some variation of, "When we're not fighting, its REALLY good" is a red flag. That is not good, sweetie, that is bad. I'm pretty sure they teach you back in High School health classes that people who stay in abusive relationships say that to justify everything.

Basically, my moral of the story is that sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes, you just end up working way to hard at a relationship that needs to end. (I'm going to be very blunt here to get my point across) When that happens, you need to break up. Cherish the good from the relationship and take it all as a learning experience from a chapter in your life and then start the new one. I promise that you will find someone even better that will treat you right ALL the time.

I'm fully aware I sound like the condescending older sister, but who cares? I'm right...

Ally

What I wish I had known about dating my freshman year

I came into college a wide eyed, boy crazy freshman. I'm leaving college...a wide eyed, boy crazy senior (give or take a few more gray hairs). To make myself feel better, I'm just going to go ahead and believe that I'm currently better at dating than I was back then. If a time machine is ever invented, I'd like to go back to my first college party and hand myself this list (although I was probably fetal positioned on the bathroom floor of a frat house, and thus unable to read):

1.) The hands down, best place to meet guys in bands is introductory level music classes. You see, every guy in some sort of crappy band mistakenly believes that one semester of Music Theory will catapult his talents beyond those of Dave Grohl (Shut up, Dave Grohl is really good at like...EVERYTHING). However, half way through the semester they will become frustrated at their inability to distinguish a c minor chord from their left testicle... or they will become frustrated that they are being forced to study Tchaikovsky and not the works of Elliot Smith. But if you are looking to snag a cute drummer, this is where they are.

2.) Clubs are not a good place to meet boys. The only thing actually attractive and socially functioning men join are sports and frats. You are not allowed to join these things. You will not find cute, heterosexual men in volunteer organizations, book clubs, lit magazines, Model UN, political groups, or knitting circles. Attractive people don't care about social issues. The one exception to this rule is environmental clubs; these are seething with attractive hipster boys, because they have been told that going green is an important issue. However, be prepared to have all of your dates consist of pointless statistics on greenhouse gases and tasteless vegan meals.

3.) If you meet a guy at the bar and spend the whole night talking and NOT hooking up, this does not necessarily mean you have formed a real connection. He is likely very annoyed by how much you have been talking, but is either too much of a gentleman or too much of a pussy to tell you that he would like you to shut up and go down on him already. 

4.) If your first date is a sushi date, he is a jackass. Jackasses use sushi dates in order seem interesting and exotic, but seeing as sushi is now so popular amongst youngfolk that it is available in dining halls, it is neither interesting nor exotic. Also, sushi dates conveniently cost a lot of money, making you feel like you're supposed to be putting out.

5.) If you give a guy your number, and he texts you every day for a week straight but does not actually ask you to hang out, all he is doing is seeing if you'll respond. So stop responding.

6.) Facebook is not a good way to develop an infatuation with someone. They have likely only read 3 of the books they've listed as favorites, and probably only know three songs by most of the artists they've listed. So while it says he loves Bob Dylan and James Joyce, he more likely loves Chad Kroeger and Dan Brown. Also, no one is nearly as fun as they appear to be in all 1,765 of their pictures. Or as attractive.

7.) If someone of the opposite sex friend requests you, and you have not actually ever spoken to them, they are creepy and trying to bank on the fact that the internet has become an acceptable form of stalking. 

8.) If someone of the opposite sex friend requests you, they want to do you. If they write on your wall, they might actually like you. A private message means they could see themselves marrying you one day.

9.) Study abroad students are sexy people with accents who are fun for a one time make out. Do not fantasize about a torrid affair or long distance relationship with them. They are only sexy people with accents who are fun for a one time make out.

10.) Group dates are annoying, and people only initiate them because they like to feel like they're not the only ones who don't get to go out and pound 18 shots of tequila on Saturday nights.

11.) Every Thursday through Saturday night is like Valentine's Day for single people; people buy you shit, tell you that you're beautiful, and sex is plentiful.

12.) If a guy is dating many people at once, it's because he needs to stick his penis into many people. If a girl is dating many people at once, it's because she needs to be told she is pretty by many people. 

13.) No matter how much anyone tells you that they are sick of playing games, they are not sick of playing games. If you are an honest and straightforward human being towards them, they will immediately tire of you and move onto the next person who fucks with their heads. What they really mean is that they are sick of not winning at games.

14.) You may think you want to date an older guy, but you probably don't. It may be dreamy and sexy the first time you wake up next to each other and he puts on a suit to go to work, but you will be immediately turned off when you take him to a party and he turns to you and asks, "...what's beer pong?"

15.) Speaking of beer pong, if two girls play beer pong against two guys, at least one boy/girl pair will hook up. This is because both sides have just consumed copious amounts of beer, and the girl team has likely been lifting up their shirts the whole time as a form of distraction, resulting in a semi-boner from the boy team. 

16.) You're considered "dating" someone after the 4th date. Alternatively, you're considered "dating" after one real date and 10 half ass dates where you just talk for half an hour then hook up in your dorm room.

17.) You don't need to dress up to go to the library, because you are never, ever going to find a boyfriend at the library. Everyone is busy studying, and even if they are checking you out...they are not going to hit on you. Do you even realize how awkward that would be? Wear sweatpants.

18.) Most (I say MOST) girls don't like sports, and most guys don't really like Gossip Girl. This is just a thing people say to seem different and in tune with the opposite sex. For girls, it is also an excuse to wear slutty tied up jerseys and booty shorts.

19.) If he still makes out with you after you've thrown up, he's either so in love with you that even your vomit is appealing to the senses, or a bottom feeder. 9 times out of 10, it's the latter.

20.) No matter how much you think you know about dating, and no matter how realistic you think you've become...there's always going to be someone who comes along and makes you forget every damned thing you've learned. You will turn to an idiot and allow him to treat you like crap. You will also think it's okay that he forgets your major every time you speak, or doesn't respond to texts before 10 pm. Because he is dreamy.

I might as well just date Jack Daniels

I don’t even know where to start on this one. Largely, I don’t know where to start on this one because I am completely hungover right now. My hypocrisy is only matched by my incoherence. The fact that alcohol is even such an integral part of the dating process that it had to be included in this book is mind boggling. It seems odd that somewhere along the way, people decided that it was a good idea to severely impair your judgment before meeting potential dates. Yet it has become commonplace. People often meet people at bars and parties, where they are drunk. They then go on dates which include cocktails or wine, where they are drunk. They then introduce their significant others to their friends by going out for, you guessed it, some drinks. Doesn’t anyone do good old fashioned cocaine anymore?

Alcohol was able to become the cornerstone of dating largely because, in moderation, it would actually be a fine idea. People are shy and fumbling when they first encounter someone whose sex organs they would like to touch. One or two drinks makes people less reserved, more talkative, and more open. But this is America, the land where you can never have too much of a good thing. Stores like Sam’s Club and Costco thrive because people absolutely need to buy 5 gallon drums of hummus and mayonnaise. When people realized one or two drinks could help the dating process, they fallaciously reasoned that 6 or 7 would help even more.

Well I just want to break it down for you. You’re dumb when you’re drunk. When you’re drunk, $30 worth of Taco Bell is a really good idea. Translate this to mating decisions, and your potential partner is the human equivalent of 5 chalupas, 6 crunchwrap supremes, and a bag of cinnamon twists at 4 in the morning. Now my next point. Dating is already hard for you when you are your coherent, intelligent self. People are confusing. Communication gets muddled. Intentions are often unclear. So, really, do you think things are less confusing, muddled, and unclear when you’re drunk? Half of society forgets how to even use proper English when they’re intoxicated (have you read some of those texts you’ve sent at 2 am?) Chances are they’re not going to remember the core communication principles essential for meaningful human interaction.

Now I know what you are thinking. You have probably met a guy, made out, exchanged numbers, and then actually had a blast on your first date. Yes. I have also done this, jerk, it’s not like I live in a cave. But does that actually happen often enough for you to believe meeting someone while severely intoxicated is a foolproof, or even desirable, method? I’m guessing it’s more akin to showing up at an open call for American Idol; It COULD end up in your favor, but is more likely to result in your humiliation. So you can exchange numbers with Johnny Backbar, and maybe you should just to increase your odds. But please admit to yourself first that you actually know nothing about him, and while he could share your love of classical music, he probably listens to Nickelback. 

In and of itself, there is nothing wrong with meeting a potential date at the bar. There isn’t something evil about those four walls that makes everyone in them a poor mate. What is making everyone a poor mate is that they are pounding drinks faster than you can say “I’m afraid to be sober because I’m less interesting that way.” If you start chatting someone up mid martini during happy hour, and the conversation gets awesome, great. Unfortunately, how many times do you actually do that? I’d hate to break it to you, but no healthy relationship has ever begun with a wicked hangover and a discarded plan B box on your nightstand (notice how I don’t say ‘no relationship’...just no healthy relationship).

I have nothing against hangovers or birth control. What I am pissed at society about is the  fact that the main way of meeting dates entails severely impaired judgment. Read that sentence over. Think about how true it is. Think about how it makes absolutely no sense. Now I’m going to restate it: the main way of meeting potential life partners entails you and them having severely impaired judgment. And you wonder why you’ve been going on a lot of first dates where you discover that you and the other person have nothing in common. That is because when you have ingested so much tequila that your grandmother is crying in heaven, you’re not thinking of finding out how smart or witty that person is. All you really make sure is that they’re not a cannibalistic serial killer. Then after you’ve drunkenly hooked up, you check up on their personality. Considering a good 75% of society actually has really terrible personalities, odds are not in your favor, drunkie. 

Not to mention, oh, the beer goggles. I actually believe that beer goggles are a myth. Just because someone is a little blurrier than usual doesn’t mean you’re going to start confusing Nick Nolte for Jude Law. No, what you’re getting are beer standards. One drink into the night, you’re still looking for an attractive doctor who loves Hemingway and eskimo kisses. A few more drinks into the night, and that man still hasn’t shown up (he must be getting tanked at the bar across the street). But wait, you’re still lonely and/or horny! So either smart or attractive has to disappear from your list of standards, and if you’re as shallow as I am, smart is going first. Great, so already your standards have expanded to include drooling morons. Several more drinks into the night, and there are no available idiot hotties to speak of. But you’re drunk, and you’re starting to remember how your dad never loved you enough, and how no one ever holds you anymore. If your old standard of hotness was 9 or higher, it will fall to 7 or higher. 8 will fall to 6 or higher. If you were starting at a 6 to begin with, you should probably just go home at that point (but I know you won’t). The beer standards have kicked in. Pretty soon you won’t even be checking to make sure that they’re not a cannibalistic serial killer. 

Which brings me to my next point. Shouldn’t the dating screening process be, gee I don’t know, an actual process? When you’re drunk, you tend to let just about anyone through the gates. Beer standards let all sorts of things through your, what I am sure is normally very rigorous, screening process . People who are less attractive than you’d like (let’s not be shallow, but you’re not doing an hour of yogalates a day for nothing). People whose personality is not compatible with yours. Even people who wear Ed Hardy trucker hats, and it isn’t even funny at that point, okay? DUI (dating under the influence) is just way too easy, but are the results really worth it in the end? It is like standing outside your local junior high with a pack of cigarettes and Jonas Brothers tickets. Yeah, you’re going to get laid, but it’s probably going to end up in tears, regrets, and maybe some lawsuits. 

And now how do these little romps end up in tears, regrets, and lawsuits? Have you ever heard a song, “Blame it on the Alcohol?” Of course you have, they play it on repeat at your favorite bar. People realized they make bad decisions while intoxicated. But instead of trying to figure out some sort of scenario where they, God forbid, made better decisions, they decided to base an entire culture around the stupid things they do while drunk. It has somehow become highly amusing whenever someone makes a drunken mating fumble, as exemplified by the purported hilarity of hooking up with a fat chick. I’m obviously a big fan of laughing at your mistakes; it’d be far too depressing not to. But at this point we’re just glorifying stupidity, and I feel like Tila Tequila does that enough for all of us. 

But beyond the stupidity, there’s something even worse. Alcohol has also become an excuse to hurt people’s feelings sans regret. People make drunken promises such as, “I’d like to take you out to dinner” or “I’ll give you a call tomorrow” or “It’s actually pretty big you’re just looking at it from a funny angle right now.” When these untruths are revealed, no one faces any consequences. They were under the influence, after all. People can lie, make false promises, and even slap you in the face as long as they have a drink in the other hand. Well last I checked a shitty person was still a shitty person, no matter what quantity of beer they had imbibed. In a society where we have literally made alcohol a “get out of jail free” card, we are facing some dire consequences. If no one is expected or even encouraged to be a kind and decent person, is anyone actually going to be a kind and decent person? 

So congratulations, alcohol. Dating was already filled with confusion, uncertainty, and dishonesty. Nothing like a little liquid idiocy to spruce that right up. 

Do you think Michael Phelps thinks "Hmm, bronze is just as good as gold..." NO. He only wants the best.

Much like Ivy, I have also been going out excessively this summer. Now, during the school year, Ivy and I would only go out every once in a while...and now I remember why. It's because when we go out, bad decisions are made. They usually end well, but the next morning (or that night) ends with one of us, or both of us hovering over the toilet wishing that we were well enough to go to the Pre-Lollapalooza party at the Hilton.

I felt like I needed to write something based on Ivy's last post about dating for labels and not for people. Remember Lunch Date (lame label)? Well, he and I were supposed to meet up on Saturday, and I did not get a text around 11 or 12 as I was informed, but instead received a text at 2 am. Two in the freaking morning. Unfortunately, I was already in a cab headed home crying over losing MIT boy (see, again with the labels). Well in addition to MIT boy, on Monday we were out at our favorite trendy hipster bar when I turn around to find that I was face to face with a C-list celeb from a popular Vh1 dating show. And we all know how I'm a sucker for shitty TV. Well, that night ended with C-lister giving me his number. So basically, in the last few days I met a boy who is a legit rocket scientist from MIT and a guy from Vh1. And there's Lunch Date (who has a lame label) who pseudo stood me up, so naturally, he sucks.

But then, ladies (and gents?), something happened. Lunch Date called Monday. And asked me out for Thursday. And I fear it's too late for him. "Why?" you ask. Because, like Ivy, I'm so caught up in labels and man fads and gimmicks (helloooo, Vh1 star), Lunch Date is boring now. Don't get me wrong, he's a very nice guy but he's got average good looks, is of average intelligence and humor, and has a typical city businessman job. And I no longer like him. He's not bringing anything new to the table and he doesn't put forth any more effort than is typically required to date someone. Ivy asked today if I was even a little excited for the date; I responded, "I'm more excited to watch Garden State for the first time ever."

But here's the thing. I'm not sure if the problem with him is that I'm caught up with the really interesting guys I've met (ok, it has a LITTLE something to do with that). I think what has happened is these guys have shown me that I don't have to just settle for the first nice guy who buys me a meal and a $12 drink. I've discovered that attractive and interesting people DO like me. After the date a while back, I thought I found a great guy- but after some thought, I realized that I was just settling for a fallback boyfriend. He's disposable and easily replaceable (well, maybe not THAT easy, I mean, I'm still single...) I don't want easily replaceable. I want a guy who is one of a kind (God, I can be cliche sometimes). But here's the catch, I can't let it get to my head (which, by the way, my ego is HUGE after this weekend). While I was crying over MIT, Ivy was kind enough to tell me that I could have one of her Yale boy's friends...and at the time I MAY have been a bit emotional and yelled that Yale was only third best, and therefore not good enough for me. I was on the El. In the early afternoon. Oops.

The point here is simple though. Settling for someone who's "decent" is stupid. You won't be happy. If you look for better, you'll get what's better. Now, I'm not going to try to figure out if that's being too shallow or not, but you know what, it's more fun. I macked on a rocket scientist and a C-list celeb within 2 days of each other. Will I see them again? Probably not. But they were sure as heck more fun than an Average Joe.

Planning on making socialite status by 25

Ally

Dancing on tables is the easiest way to be a social climber

I've been going out this summer. A lot. A lot, a lot. And I've been meeting more people than I can keep track of. Rather than refer to any of them by their God given names, Ally and I tend to refer to them by a defining quality...Irish, Lollapalooza guy, Irish Two, Lawyer, Engineer, Italian, Yale...which gets me thinking. Am I going for PEOPLE, or am I going for a label? It seems everyone I give five minutes of my drunken time to has to have some sort of gimmick to them. I'm no longer excited meeting regular guys. I've become sucked into a world of marketing execs, foreigners, and Ivy Leaguers...

Ladies and gentleman, though I adamantly have always insisted that I pride my own depth, I have become the shallowest of all creatures...I am a social climber. Now standards are normal; no one is suggesting someone should want to date a dude who looks like Carrot Top and acts like Flava Flav (or looks like Flava Flav and acts like Carrot Top, for that matter). But this is far beyond looking for compatibility; lately I'm looking for the hottest, the best story, the newest man fad. When did I go from my quest for the sincere to my quest for C-list celebrity status? (I realized this somewhere in between making out with a banker from Naples, and watching Ally grind on an actual C-list celebrity, by the way).

The best I could come up with is this: I've dated some pretty average Joes, and I don't mean this in a bad way. But I usually date mildly attractive guys, who have typical life goals, and wouldn't stand out in an American Eagle ad. And guess what? They've all fucked me over. So if I'm going to get screwed over somehow, can't it be by the amazingly hot marketing exec for Lollapalooza, instead of the barely post pubescent dude from the frat next door? If I'm going to make out with a stranger, why not a dude with a Yale degree instead of a junior college drop out? If you're never going to get past the shallow make out portion, I don't see a point in not getting a little fucking shallow about your selections.

So I'm going to admit something more indulgent and deadly than a deep fried Snickers bar... being shallow is fun. The people are hotter, the stories are funnier, and the tequila is more plentiful. But I'm well aware that like all fun things, there is a drawback. If I'm spending all my time looking for guys with gimmicks, will I miss it when the average Joe love of my life finally shows up? Because maybe he won't have a six figure job, and maybe he won't have free bottle service at his reserved VIP table...but maybe he'll be perfect for me. And I'll be too busy macking on foreign MMA fighters to notice (I'm dead serious). Even when you're a social climber, it can still get lonely at the top.

At least I don't have to bring money to the bar now,

Ivy

Ok, now it's getting ridiculous

I started talking to a boy today while watching Cold War Kids.

He asked for my number.

I found out he's in town until tomorrow.

...He's from Canada.

FML

ally

And the curse is back in full swing...

Remember when I blogged about the fact that almost every guy I've dated/hooked up with moves out of the state...or country on occasion? Well, ladies and gentlemen (ok, fine, just ladies...I know no guys are reading this) it has happened again.

Today, Ivy decided that we needed to get me out of my slump. Don't get me wrong, I've been dating and getting hit on, but I've developed the worst thing you can get while serial dating.....no, not herpes...but standards. So tonight while we were at one of our favorite local bars (I love saying things like that now that I'm legal, by the way) a VERY VERY good looking guy starts dancing with me. We start talking (screaming over "apple bottom jeans") and I asked him where he went to school. He replied, "Boston". Well, seeing as "Boston" is not a school, I asked him which one, and after much hesitation, he replyed "MIT" and then apologized because it was embarrassing and he didn't like telling people. I informed him that being an MIT grad was not embarrassing, but was, in fact impressive (and not to mention the easiest way to get me to go home with someone. You see, two qualities I like in a guy are "really intelligent" and "Gossip Girl cast member"). He then informed me that he was in Chicago for a day. ONE day. As in leaving the following afternoon/night at the latest.

So MIT boy tells me that his friends were going to the next bar, and invited me along. I dragged Ivy with. He and I started dancing again (after HE dragged me back on the dance floor). After a little bit, his less social MIT buddies wanted to leave. So he left. Because he hasn't seen the fellow MITers in over a year. (And lets face it, because he would never see me again anyway...) He thanked me for dancing with him and told me how great it was meeting me.

So here I am sitting at home (even the cabbie asked why I was going home so early) sulking and pondering many things....like why I just set my standards even higher. But also, why I was so intent on going home with MIT even though I knew he was leaving the next day. Why would I want to emotionally attach myself to someone even more? (Ok, I know I'm getting a little ridiculous but really, he was my ideal boy) Well, what I have figured out is this: I'm going about meeting people at bars the wrong way. When I go out, I look for people who I can bring home that night, or see myself with in the future (I like planning ahead) instead of people that I can have fun with at the bar, while I'm out. If I go out and dance with someone for a few hours, I should come home happy that I had a good time with someone, not moping that nothing will come of it (I get to for this one though. MIT grad. I'm allowed to be bitter). It WAS fun dancing with him and it was nice meeting him. So for now, I'm going to go to bed happy that I had a good night and rest up for Lollapalooza tomorrow.

Moving to Boston,

Ally

Actually living generally means less writing.

Due to my lack of actually updating, one would think I have not been getting any action. That would not be the case. The summer can be broken up into a few phases:

1.) Actor guy

2.) High school ex boyfriend

3.) Lawyer guy

4.) Irish guy

5.) Engineer guy

6.) Irish guy the second

...k, a little more than a few. But I will begin with the most important of all the trysts. Irish guy the first:

Since mankind first created a definable system of time, summer has been known the world over for the notoriously short romance. This particular summer, mine came in the form of an adorably shaggy haired Irish lad from across the pond. Emphasis on SHORT, seeing as we actually only spent two nights together...but chemistry or pheromones or perhaps his panty wetting accent took a toll on me. While I’m normally realistic and even cynical, once in a while my heart and sex organs just won’t. shut. up. We stayed up till 9 in the morning two days in a row kissing and cuddling, and I was sure he was the love of my life (or weekend).

Irish lad who, for a drunken moment, I may have fantasized about running away to Dublin with, isn’t calling me. I will admit, I was heartbroken for a good 15 minutes. I stole a pint of State Fair Fudge ice cream from work, and sulked in the back room nursing it. A friend finally dragged me out last night through the promise of fun and cheap beer, and something amazingly serendipitous happened; right behind me while I was in line to do shots of Jack, was a different shaggy haired boy from, you guessed it...Ireland.  I’d seen the ending to this movie before; but there is something amazingly comforting in knowing that there’s always another cute Irish boy just around the corner. I think I will be just fine, but my heart will still drop at the thought of the one who got away every time I dig into a bowl of Lucky Charms. Gosh, I love it when my rational side finally kicks the shit out of my romantic side.

Irish Guy Two who called me a model at the bar (awww, how sweet, I love lies!) did something Irish Guy One could not; he called me back. And he wants to, get this, see me on another occasion! Is this a shameless attempt to carry out the foreign boy summer fling I had all but given up hope on? Yes, yes absolutely. Is it much more awesome to have a back up Irish boy than it is to continue pining over the first one? I don’t think I even need to dignify that with an answer.

If I had to pick the hands down, absolutely best thing about being a young single woman, it would be not having to regularly shave your legs. But the second thing would have to be the fact that life is constantly moving. Yeah, the ride gets bumpy. And sometimes nauseating. But there’s always a new thrill around the corner, a new chance for experience, and a new opportunity for shameless fun. While I love my coupled gf’s, their tales of checking out a new Thai restaurant with the mister can get less than enthralling. They get stability, I get adventure. In a perfect world, we’d all get both, but let’s not be greedy; one or the other is a pretty fair trade.

So instead of using my tongue to lick my wounds, I’ll be using it to open mouth kiss a cute young Irish fellow. (Again). All I know about him as that he has an accent, he likes The Who, and he has an accent. And that’s all I really need to know to get pretty excited. Shameless summer fling with a foreign boy...take two.

Our lives have been as uninteresting as Irishmen in Chicago...

After an EXTREMELY long break, I've decided it is time I return to blogging. Don't worry folks, you haven't missed much. I've been bouncing from bar to bar, (actually legally for once) and from Irish guy to Irish guy. Seriously, Chicago is apparently the new tourist spot for Irish College boys. (Sidebar: You should no longer hook up with a guy solely because he has an Irish accent. It is no longer unique. In fact, the new game is: go into a bar and try to find the only boy from a suburb.)

Anyway, my big news is that I have finally gone on an actual date. Really. Like a sober, before 10 pm, didn't hook up in a stairwell, date. Now, after my 24 hours of bliss while imagining our future together, I came across a problem. Apparently, depending on who I spoke to, my date went either really well, or really bad. Great. And shockingly enough, it depended on if I spoke to a guy or a girl. I've decided to give a play by play of the date followed by the common response.

So, Lunch Date invites me to meet him out to lunch downtown when he would be on break.

(girl response: awww cuuute!! he wants to see you during the day! guy response: lunch dates are bad and mean he's not really into you.)

We enjoyed lunch and nice conversation, and mid-meal, Lunch Date comments about how he doesn't think he really HAS to go back to work the rest of the day. He pays, we leave.

(girl response: omg! he wants to spend time with you. guy response: well, that's a better sign)

As we were walking he asked if I had to get back home, or if I had time to grab a drink. I said I could grab a drink and he proceeded to take me to some place where the drinks cost more than the Forever 21 dress I was wearing. We chat. He pays. We leave.

(girl response: OMG! he's TOTALLY into you. guy response: ohhh. he wants to sleep with you)

Then, as we start walking, he asked if I wanted to go for a walk. We then walk more or less from millennium park-ish to water tower, just chatting.

(girl response: when's the wedding? guy response: he may like you. But he really just wants to sleep with you)

Finally, he suggests that it is time to head back. He asks how I usually get home and I inform him that being the good college student I am, I use my AMAZING u-pass and ride the el. He decides that he is too impatient for the el. He hails a cab and takes me back home. He pays and walks me to my door.

(girl response: he's SUCH a gentleman. seriously, when's the wedding? guy response: that was nice. I wouldn't have done that. Also, he thought he'd get some mid day nookie if he took you home)

Now, take a wild guess as to which commentary I WANT to believe. But, how trustworthy is the guy advice. One piece of information I left out that changed some people's views after the fact was this: Lunch Date is in his mid 20s. As in, not in school and has a real job. But really, how much does that change things? If the guys all think he's just trying to sleep with me, maybe he is. But maybe the girls are right, and lunch dates are no longer a dead end date.

I think the only clear advice I've gotten after this whole thing was from my uncle. He said, "if you can add 'to get you to have sex with him' after any sentence while describing him to me, that's what he was trying to do. Like, he paid for everything...'to get you to have sex with him'. He put you in a cab...'to get you to have sex with him'. He volunteered with sick children in his spare time before that day....'to get you to have sex with him'. See. That didn't work. Anything he did that day was to get you to have sex with him. The end."

It's time to let society re-enter me

I was out at a classy lounge in Wicker Park the other night (I can legit say this now that I have entered legality), when a nice (perverted) young gentleman started to make passes at me. Points for a slightly humorous opener kept me talking to him long enough for me to find out that he was an attorney.  I practically humped his leg like an excited dog. And not because I'm a gold digging whore who things that an attorney can buy her lots of Gucci and botox.

It's because I've been studying for the LSAT. And I was excited to find someone who had also studied for the LSAT. Yup, that's right. My life has been reduced to excitement over someone having filled out a similar standardized test. I gushed about how much I had been studying, and asked him for tips on logic games, and even whipped out my book to open it up to a problem I had been having difficulty with. Maybe not so eager to play teacher (unless I was in a naughty schoolgirl uniform), Attorney Man stopped me mid sentence..."Hey, you don't socially interact much, do you?"

I laughed. Of course I do! Of course I socially interact. It's me, Ivy. I go out 5 nights a week. I've made out with over 250 people. I'm dating 3 guys at any given time. And then it hit me...none of those things have described me since February. Since then I've been the girl who watches CNN, then recaps "interesting" headlines to people she meets. The girl who gets excited about her term papers. The girl. Who brings. Her LSAT book to the bar. 

Oh God, oh God, oh God. What has even happened? Why has this happened? When did I go from crazy hot, to crazy boring, to just plain crazy? I guess the thing about dating is that you are only an all star at it the same way you become an all star at anything, really...practice, practice, practice. But the second I started developing other interests such as academics or solidifying friendships, I couldn't even get laid.

This is an apparent discrepancy. One would assume that the more well rounded and interesting you are, the more people will want to date you. Not true. The more well rounded and interesting you are, the more people will think they should want to date you. In reality, I can fully say from experience, men were more drawn to me when I was "that" girl. And by the way, being "that" girl was not a bad thing by any means. Fuck, I was sexy, confident, sure of my self worth, and the idea of penises didn't make me giggle and sweat. Being an avid dater certainly had its advantages.

And I guess I miss that carefree, self assured part of myself that has recently taken a backseat to ambition, reality, and standardized tests. I don't know which is more important; the confidence sex appeal gives me, or learning to cultivate that confidence in new ways. All I know is that I'm in a damn dry spell. And it's time to do a rain dance. And by rain dance, I mean grind on the nearest stranger.

The first step is leaving your books at home,

Ivy

Make it stop

 A horrible thing has happened to me. I have developed standards. Standards beyond, "Are you an attractive male okay let's go awesome." One may think this is a good thing, but having rigid standards couple with my need for constant attention can really only end in disaster. You see, on a daily basis, the townspeople need to make a sacrifice to my giant ego, or terror and disaster will ensue. This sacrifice can come in the form of a cat call, getting hit on, getting complimented, and so on and so forth. My ego is the equivalent of the Old Testament God; if things don't go its way, you'd better believe humanity is getting wiped out.

Having standards makes it really, really hard for my ego to be fed. See, now my ego used to respond to sacrifices of drooling morons; now it only responds to boys with an extensive background in literature and the fine arts. These people by the way aren't common between the ages of 20-30, and probably not that common beyond those years either. This means my fucking ego is hungry, okay? I need someone to hold me and tell me that my gray hairs are distinguished, and that I look hot with an extra 5 pounds. This is getting ridiculous.

I went out with my friend AA last night, and we decided enough was enough. We were going to lower our normally sickeningly rigid screening process, and talk to some bros. I mean without giving them an IQ test beforehand. So we meet our valiant goal and end up talking to two strangers. Actually, for quite a while. Several shots and a cab ride to a 4 am bar later, we decided it was time for us to pass out (alone and clothed). We parted ways with our anonymous bar friends, and as is my custom, I did not give out my number. And only on our cab ride home did we realize...shit, those guys were actually cool and interesting.

I think I know what's happened to me. My screening process is so difficult that only about 10% of people will actually pass through it upon first encounter. And that part is fine. The troublesome part is, I have confused infrequency with impossibility. I just flat out assume that anyone I meet is a complete idiot, and I'm no longer willing to believe otherwise. Now do I think I missed out on the love(s) of my life? No, chances are, probably not. But I guess this missed encounter has taught me something; just because you keep your legs closed doesn't mean you have to keep your mind closed too. 

Should I post an add on Craigslist?

Ivy

My cab driver hit on me

Yeah I mean, there's no elaborating on this right?

My cab driver asked me if instead of my destination, he could drive me to a club him and his friends were off to. I...understandably declined. No matter how drunk I am right now. Then he asked me for my number. I gave him 10 bucks, but declined my number.

Yeah I don't even have a point to this, except my cab driver hit on me. He was kinda cute, though (or maybe I'm just loaded).

Ivy

Sometimes there's just no moral...

The other day, after a series of unfortunate events, Ivy and I found ourselves in our high-waisted skirts and skinny belts eating excessive amounts of asian food for lunch instead of picking up cute hipster boys. Now, naturally, between bites of spring roles and pad tai, our conversation shifted to our blog. And the fact that I post maybe once a month now.  So I decided that instead of relying on things that have been happening in my life currently (read: nothing. Ever.) I should probably just post anything.

 

Well, wouldn’t you know my luck, that night I actually got out of my slump.  I met a boy at this classy lounge I was at with some friends (ok, it was a semi-dive bar with stripper poles and an hour of free drinks). Now, luckily for me, he was not a TOTAL random, but we shared some mutual friends. I was feeling rather pretty in my new American Apparel dress so I decided to start flirting and dancing with this boy. We danced all night, left the bar, went out for a little while longer and somehow he and I made it back to my place. We made out for a while, then fell asleep, woke up, made out, he left, then I went out to lunch with friends.  He texted me a few hours after he left that day. And then again few hours after that to see what I was up to that night…before 9:00. JACKPOT! A guy who actually texted me back at a reasonable hour and was grammatically correct….obviously my thoughts drifted to when we would start dating in the near future. So today I was talking to one of our mutual friends and she said that he didn’t really talk too much about that night but did say something along the lines of “I wasn’t going to try to sleep with her… I just met her.” To which my immediate response was “AWW! That is SOOO sweet!” I then caught myself and realized what I had said and how pathetic it sounded.

 

Really, my standards have now come to “guys who won’t try to sleep with me before they know my last name?” Wonderful. This is precisely the problem I have with college “dating”. Hooking up has become such a norm that dating is pretty much being done backwards, if at all. It’s now: Meet, get drunk, hook up, repeat, possibly date.

A friend and I were talking today about the days when people actually “courted”. Those were the good old days-It was a whole, sweet, romantic process. Now it’s, “I’ve had 10 spiked kiddie cocktails (don’t judge, they’re delicious) come home with me, and if I'm lucky, maybe it'll turn into something."

Ok, who invented this? Why did they think it was a good idea? (Probably a man because it’s stupid.) I want dates and flowers and to feel special, (I also want an intelligent, attractive, sensitive, artistic musician) is that too much to ask for? Is it really that unrealistic to expect someone to want to get to know you even a little bit before they try to get in your pants? Now, I’m not saying random hook ups are not ok or that they’re bad, because they’re not, but does it really have to ENTIRELY replace dating. Think about it, how many of you or your friends have recently been on legitimate date? Now, how many have had random drunk hookups last weekend? I guarantee most fall in the second category. This time I have no words of wisdom; sometimes there’s just no moral to the story.  It's just something that I've been pondering lately and have yet to figure out.  But, I do know that I shouldn’t be relying on having someone NOT try to sleep with me so I can feel special. Seriously, how backwards did that just sound…

Finally back in the game....kinda,

Ally 

Side Note

Is there something weird and unhealthy about the fact that the only man I'm attracted to at the moment is my LSAT instructor? Is that some sort of subconscious way of me expressing a desire to make passionate love to a standardized test...or a horrible sign that my life is being taken over by argument analysis and word games? 

I need to get out more.

Shit,

Ivy

There is an exception to every rule

Any woman living in the city who isn't completely hideous is no stranger to the cat call. Living in a particular area of the city rampant with Hispanics, drunkards, and frat boys I'm really no stranger to the cat call. The walk from my apartment will usually result in at least a couple of whistles, car honks, or polite compliments regarding my ass (which I bring upon myself by having huge hair and little skirts). And I've always wondered....why do men do this? Has anyone ever responded favorably to this type of behavior? I just can't imagine a scenario where a dude shouts out, "Hey lady, great rack!" and the woman responds, "Thanks, would you like to motorboat them?" It just feels as though if a behavior fails to illicit a response every single time, cat callers would try a different approach ("Hey baby you look...well-read..") 

Well, there is hope for cat callers, and it comes in the form of my shallowness. Standing at the corner waiting for a light to change the other day, I hear a shout come from a car, "My GOD you are beautiful!!!" I glanced around to see if any Heidi Klum or Angelina Jolie look-alikes were around, and since there were none to speak of, I assumed he was shouting at me. Mid eye roll, I looked over to notice...the man shouting from the car was actually very attractive. So I smile. Innocent enough except for the fact that the moment he noticed I was smiling, he pulled a fucking u-turn and drove up next to me. 

Shit. Fuck. Damn. In a Russian (SO HOT) accent, he proceeded to elaborate on just how pretty he thought I was, and asked if he could have my number. I don't know if it was the fact that he was attractive, the fact that his accent was hot, or the fact that he was riding in a BMW...but I gave him my number. I gave my number to a cat caller. And I actually have no excuse; I can't justify this by saying he had a James Joyce novel on his passenger seat, or Modest Mouse playing in the background. I gave a guy I don't know at all my phone number because he was hot and had a nice car, and I was flattered to be hit on by someone who was hot with a nice car.

Now before you put on your judging pants, when he actually did call me to ask me out for a date, I said no. My shallowness will only go so far as to indulge myself a touch by allowing him to flatter me; it will not allow me to go on a date with a man who could potentially be a serial rapist, or worse, really boring. So I guess to answer my earlier musing...yes, cat calls work. Cat calls work if the guy is hot and the woman's ego is so huge it actually responds to cat calls. Odds are increased if the man has also invested in some sort of luxury vehicle. You're more likely to get into Harvard Law, but cat callers can certainly still dream.

Yeah, I hate me too,

Ivy

It's so hard when you're shallow as a shower

So I was out on the town with a couple of my really cute friends last night...and we were just in a mood to get hit on. After a few minutes of pushing out our cleavage as much as possible, a few gentleman finally got the testes to come up and start talking to us.

So I had been talking to one guy who seemed kind of like a douchebag the whole night. And he didn't seem all that into me, to be honest, but he did continue to talk to me. I wasn't particularly into HIM, but I tend to panic if a guy doesn't completely want to do me, so I was trying to bring up things that might get him to think I was the coolest ever.

"I'm taking the LSAT soon"  ....silence

"I want to be a human rights lawyer" ....he told me that was a naive aspiration at best

"I write my own music"...he responded with a less than enthused "cool"

"I pulled a 4.0 this semester in all 300 level classes"..."College is lame"

Wow. Okay, Mr. Man. So finally I just stopped talking, and he asks if I want anything to drink (maybe he thought I'd be more 'impressive' when drunk). So he gets a round of whiskey shots, and we all slam them down. Now whiskey is what I plan on nursing my children with, so I took it effortlessly, chaser free, without flinching.

And then the earth shook. Mr. Man finally broke some emotion, "THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!!! The way you just took that shot! Damn you are GOOD" Then he bought me another whiskey shot, and praised me as I slammed it down with the grace of a Russian ballet dancer. He even pulled aside one of his friends to witness the phenomenon that is a girl who can slam whiskey.

I finally began to understand Mr. Man, so I tried some new lines as an experiment.

"People say I look like a porn star"... "SO COOL YOU DO THAT IS SO HOT"

"I also love tequila! teehee".... "Yeah tequila is sooo sexy, I'm getting you tequila next!"

Wow. See, this is my problem, and why guys aren't that into me lately. I try to take the "I'm intelligent and ambitious" approach, when really what they are innately attracted to is the "I'm a slutty alcoholic" approach. And I AM a slutty alcoholic, but I am also intelligent and ambitious! I have been mistakenly highlighting the wrong aspects of myself for quite some time now. Apparently law school is less impressive than the fact that I drink so fucking often I can't even taste liquor anymore. 

I am going to just flat out draw this conclusion: society values the wrong things. Yeah. Do you need more evidence? Tila Tequila is famous. Over half of Americans don't know where Iraq is on a map. More people vote on American Idol than in presidential elections. FOR GOD'S SAKE TILA TEQUILA IS FAMOUS. So I guess it's "hot" that I have porno hair and drink like a sailor, but unappealing that I am well read and witty. Awesome. I'm just going to go lobotomize myself right now.

At any rate, since last night I have spent a long time mulling over whether or not I should adopt an alter ego named Kandy: she is a PR major, loves Taylor Swift, and just wants to dance. Kandy would get laid about 70% more than I do. And Kandy can go to hell.

Unamusing and unamused,

Ivy

Ever had a song stuck in your head?

Mine is currently by The Format, one baller band introduced to me by the only Asian girl I can tolerate. At any rate I was bopping along to "Oceans" which is a fantastically catchy song with an upbeat melody, and horribly depressing lyrics. I became fixated on one line in particular: "All my friends/They break and they bend/They take shape and they tend/To get better with time"

And I think that's true for me. When I started this blog, I was amazed by how many of my friends and acquaintances, male and female alike, told me how much I wrote resonated with them. And, damn, I got excited! We were all in the same boat! But while my peers are merely passengers, I am the mother fucking captain. Everyone goes through a phase where they just can't find someone to be in a relationship with. I know some lovely, interesting girls who have been single for literally years now. But either they have been in committed relationships, or they are finally finding dudes worthy of them right now. I never have been in a relationship that has meant anything. And, unless Edward Norton shows up with a schoolmaster's uniform on, I've got nothing going on right now that matters.

 While my friends tend to get better with time...I...don't. I just get slightly more complacent, or at my very best I get a lot more humorous. Am I the only perma- single in the entire world? Yeah, I'm only 21, which is quite a few El stops away from Spinsterville (which I think is located somewhere near Rush street). But the fact that in 7 years of dating no one has ever settled down with me makes me wonder: guys, what the fuck is wrong with me? For whatever flaws I may have, and we can admit there is a laundry list, there are girls who are fatter, dumber, and crazier than me who are able to find long term boyfriends. Am I secreting some sort of odd pheromone that makes men pick up on a primitive sense that I am a poor mate? (I am, by the way, but how do they KNOW?!) Is everyone racist against dating an Arab since 9/11...meaning in addition to ruining America, George Bush ruined my love life?? Or...and the most creeping, upsetting thought of all...am I just really not that special or desirable of a person?

  I was discussing this with Dude Friend just now, and for a guy, he actually was able to come up with a rather astute response. If there is anything I am better at than every other person I know, it's not being a relationship. For Christ's sake, I aspire to make a living one day out of never being in a relationship. Everyone has that "white whale", that one void they have in their lives that they obsess over fulfilling (Plus 1,000 points to me for continuing with that 'ship and captain' metaphor. Plus 1,000 points to you if you picked up on that before this parenthetical statement). So I guess that's my thing. I've been able to stay a size 6 since I was 14, I'm a baller in the academic realm, and I'm more social than I even know how to handle. One part of my life has to completely fucking suck...or else I'd have nothing to make a blog about.

I guess that fateful day in February when I decided to pour my guts out to friends, acquaintances, and the internet...I was trying to figure something out. I was taking a jab at my own dating shortcomings because humor is great therapy, but also because I thought I might stumble upon some amazing self discovery about why I am still single. A few months later and all I can really come up with is...I guess that's who I'm supposed to be at the moment. And considering being single actually does make up such a gigantic portion of my personality (whether or not I desire or intend that), maybe it's best not to try and do away with it so hastily. I cannot even imagine what I would be like on the other side of things...the very idea kind of makes me break out into hives. So the rest of you passengers feel free to make your way to dry land; the captain always goes down with the ship.

Investing in a sexy sailor costume,

Ivy

Ivy...the unqualified

I was ending off a rather classy night of getting trashed and grinding on strangers at The Apartment...by grabbing a classy meal consisting of a McDonald's snack wrap and small fry (because I am health conscious). 3 of my shamefully fun gf's and I were playing "never have I ever" over our 4,000 calorie meals and diet cokes, when we started talking about my blog.

Two skinny white guys at the table next to us overheard, and asked...pray tell, what qualifies you to do this? Well uh..."I've dated a lot. And I have a good sense of humor about it?" They were understandably unimpressed. Any great loves? Any lurid, forbidden romances? Any really crazy psycho boyfriends? No? How about waking up naked in alleys?

Oh uh...no, guys. I guess I haven't actually done anything special or significant in terms of relationships. I went home bummed and full of chicken strip and tortilla.  But after some mulling over, and talks with my tipsy friends I realized...what gives me the right to write is the fact that I am unextraordinary!

I've been dicked over in every way, by every possible kind of guy. In addition, I've dicked over every guy, in any possible way. I screw up so incredibly much, that my experience is applicable to everyone: Guys, not to brag, but I am the literary myth. I am the every woman (If this post starts to get academic and lofty, it's because I am baked and listening to the White Stripes).

In the most ancient form of literature, The Epic of Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh experiences a struggle of self discovery. Since this is such a universal struggle, Gilgamesh is considered the "every man"; that is, he experiences the same internal struggle which every man does.

There you go. Every woman. I am facing the absolute struggle of every woman; to find pure self love, and to reconcile that with love with someone else. Is it possible? Will it lead to any sort of personal growth? Can it be symbolized by different forms of water and depictions of serpents? (Any lit nerds out there? No? Shit.)

So there you go, boy in McDonald's. I have not lived The Notebook or American Psycho, but here you go:

I get booty called and hate it

I booty call people and love it

I cheated cause I was bored

I cheated cause I was scared

I was denied by someone I loved

I was denied by someone I lusted

I was hurt by someone I trusted

I hurt someone who trusted me

I've felt abandoned

I've felt fat/feel fat

And so on. And so forth. And so much self deprecation I can take before I ACTUALLY hate myself, and not just in the funny way. Well there you go. Ivy: Extraordinary at being unextraordinary. 

Making all the same mistakes twice or thrice,

Ivy

Put the kids to bed

Because dating ulcers is about to get slightly X rated. Well as X rated as a half prude Arab girl gets, really. So the other day I was sitting around in a room full of girlfriends, and the witty banter somehow turned to orgasms. And how I was the only girl in the room who had ever actually had one. The excuses seemed to all be variations of the following:
"I've never slept with a guy I was close enough with emotionally to orgasm"
"Boyfriend is great...but he's just not really that experienced"
"I've never actually done anything more than dry hump"

Well my response was simply...Ladies, DIY! God put vibrators and showerheads on this earth for a reason. The resounding response was, "Ivy, you freak, it's weird to masturbate." Oh, right, my bad. It's much more normal to look for sexual pleasure with guys you're not even comfortable enough with to climax, or to have sex 100 times with the same dude without him ever getting you off.

But...that is just the female mentality. Certain things we accept we have to get from a man, such as orgasms, emotions, and validation...but why? We have the same creeped out attitude towards masturbation as we do towards single life. We'd rather be with a man no matter how unsatisfying it is, than have a possibly rewarding experience by ourselves. Maybe actual masturbation is a lost cause for 70% of women, but learning how to emotionally get yourself off might be worth exploring!

Why is it that we look to men, to relationships, for so many of the feelings we could get elsewhere during the dry spell? Fun, sexiness, and validation are all possible without a male partner, but we all seem to ignore this. When we're not with someone, and I mean ANYONE, we feel sad and mopey. But if we can get someone, and I mean once again ANYONE (even the creepy balding guy who hits on you in the elevator of your building, you know who I mean, he smells like Coolwater exploded on him), we feel as though our lives are infinitely better.

Well guess what. If your date is not stimulating (dual meaning fully intended) in the least...what are you really getting out of it? Bored. Unfulfilled. You know what you SHOULD do instead of getting involved with Mr. Filler? Go on Netflix and order yourself a copy of Love, Actually. Then remind yourself that a DVD made you feel more emotions in under two hours than some filler guy ever could. And if you're feeling really adventurous, let your mind wander to the idea of a You, Hugh Grant, Colin Firth three way (British men aren't always so polite).

If you want it done right you gotta do it yourself,

Ivy

I'm boring.

Uhhhh let's see...I made out with someone at a bar on Saturday? He was hot. We had nothing to talk about. This was very typical of me.

I just realized something. There IS a point where the single life can get as boring as repetitive as monogamy. The other side has consistent sex, acceptable affection, and eskimo kisses. Us singles, however, have unpredictable, spicy lives. But...really? I do the same thing every Saturday. How unpredictable and spicy is it then?

I think I might have to start doing lines of coke off of the backs of 13 year old Norwegian hookers (I picked Norwegian hookers because Norway is actually quite well known for keeping their prostitutes clean and STD free. I'd still be a practical and cautious coke addict). But short of hard drugs and paying for snatch, how the hell am I supposed to make my love life exciting again?

This entry was filled with many questions, and not nearly enough answers. Perhaps it is time to focus my energies on Eastern European politics, though you all know my thoughts on Eastern Europe...It's like a genital wart on the continent.

Oh my God someone give me something to blog about,

Ivy

Happy Birthday, Ivy

Remember how God gave me cellulite for my 20th birthday? He gave me gray hair for my 21st. And as I sat there this morning looking in the mirror applying undereye cream, mascara, hairspray, foundation, bronzer, eyeshadow...I thought, WHEW, fucking long beauty routine, and in a few years I'm going to have to add more. Then it dawned on me:

This is as hot as I am ever going to get. There's nothing left to grow into, my breasts won't get bigger until I'm pregnant, and I no longer have acne. From here on out it is slowed metabolism and MORE gray hairs. I sat there for a while kind of depressed that I'm not going to get any hotter, when I started expressing my deep seated and weird fear to my Guy Friend. And Guy Friend replied, "Well, no, you're not going to get any hotter. But you're over your awkward phase, and you're going to stay attractive till your mid-30's"

Well, thanks Guy Friend! You should've said mid-40's, but I'll take mid-30's (besides, by then they'll have invented some sort of super magic botox). I'm over my awkward phase, and things won't start to get (very) saggy for another 14 or 15 years! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go mack on some hotties...after all, I only have a little over a decade.

Gray hairs look distinguished on some people!

Ivy

The principles of real estate are unfortunately not applicable to men.

I remember several months ago, Ally complained to me that she needed to stop meeting guys at the bar. I tried to explain to her that it was just common practice; people went to the bar to find dates (okay, usually to get laid. But sometimes to find dates!) Yet she persisted...."I want to meet someone, I don't know, at the library!" I believe my exact response was, "That is ridiculous. People do not hit on people at the library. If someone tells you they got hit on at the library, they are lying liars. Besides, it'd be creepy to get hit on at the library."



Thankfully I didn't offer to eat my hat if I was wrong, or I'd have to be shoveling a gray knit cap down my throat right now. Ladies and gentlemen (a shocking number of gentlemen who read this, by the way), I got hit on at the library. While sitting at a computer dilligently facebooking and listening to my ipod, the young man next to me kept looking over. I thought I had something on my face. But when I got up to leave, sure enough he said he thought he knew me from somewhere (he didn't), and then invited me to a party (that didn't exist). He apologized later for the party not existing, via the email address I excitedly gave him, and asked me out for coffee.



Location, location, location...only works if you're looking to invest in some lakeside property. The boy I met at the library, the place women secretly fantasize about meeting potential mates, was a bust. He had poor grammar, used shorthand and smileys, and frequently texts me things like "sup" or "lol". There you have it, people. Someone you meet at the library has the exact same potential for being a dumbass as someone you meet while slamming tequila at the bar, except this time you can't blame beer goggles.



It got me thinking back to the last few guys I've dated, post my swearing off meeting guys while I was drunk. I met one who worked with a friend of mine...flakey jerk. I met one at a model united nations conferences...flakey, perverted jerk. I met one in a political science class...flakey, perverted, kind of psychotic jerk. The track record for my new crop of legitimately acquired mates was actually significantly worse than dudes I had met at bars, or worse yet, house parties. My life is scientific proof that he is not Mr. Right just because he is Mr. Right Place. So the next time you're 7 shots into the night, and find yourself oggling someone...proceed guilt free. People are just as likely to suck if you meet them at the library, and at least they look better when you're drunk!

Hoping to meet her future husband at McFadden's,

Ivy

Is there a function which prevents attractive guys from reading my blog?

So I was at a house party last night, casually sipping on some fine imported beer (fine..slamming Solo cups of Busch Lite), when I began talking to (what I kind of remember was) a pretty cute dude. So we start talking about things we like to do for fun, and since there is actually nothing more to my life than blogging, I was all "I LOVE TO BLOG!!!!!11one!"

So God bless his heart he either was interested in my blogging passion, or at least pretending to be so that I would make out with him a little, but regardless...he asked me to write down my blog. Shit. Fuck. Damn. This thing is more of a love life killer than syphillis; All I do is rant about how terrible men are, and how I want to commit some sort of gendercide on them. Do I really want a cute guy in a tweed blazer knowing that man bashing is what I do for fun on the weekends?

Part of me thinks...damn straight! I have a lot of hot and awesome qualities, and this guy should have a sense of humor about this. The larger part of me was thinking..."Can I just lie and say I blog for hipsterrunoff.com?" Against my better judgement (drunkenly) I wrote down this blog. This very blog. Shit. Fuck. Damn. Cat's out of the bag...I am a psycho chick who will systematically kill off all of your pets if you forget to call one night.

Note the sarcasm, please...I guess my main point/rant is I question the motivation in basically lying about who we are to bag some hotties. Granted it's best not to spill out your darkest secrets about how you wet the bed until earlier that morning, but we go to amazing lengths to hide so many aspects of ourselves. Try not to do that annoying horse laugh. Don't talk about your undying hatred for Nickleback for half an hour straight. Don't tell him you have secret aspirations to be in a Dentyne ice commercial. Don't be too weird or too bland. Do NOT tell him you run a blog dedicated to how much you hate dating.

Don't, don't, don't doesn't leave a lot of room for do (THAT was a clever sentence)...we hold our federal government to a freedom of information, so why not our dating partners? If your entire interaction starts off with less transparency than the CIA, it's not going to be so pretty. So what...I'm a mix of things. I'm funny, intelligent, a good conversationalist...I'm always awkward, neurotic, and have the alcohol tolerance of a ten year old getting over mono. Why conceal the shit, when you can present it in a funny and enlightening manner! And one day, a few months down the line...he will find out that you run an anti dating blog, he will find out that you wrote about him, and he will think it is creepy. Might as well have a good laugh from the start.

What you see is what you get (and I know you're picturing me naked anyways),

Ivy

Everything I need to know about dating I learned in PreSchool...

Alright, let's not kid ourselves.  By "earlier today" Ivy means we've had this conversation virtually everyday for the past 3 years. I complain to her a lot.  In fact, last night my friend/coworker told me that I needed a hobby. I told her I found one. Blogging.

Anyway, I may or may not have said that NO ONE is interested in me (and by may not I mean definitely said), even though several hopefuls clearly are. But like Ivy said, these are not boys that I consider worth more than 20 minutes of my time.  Instead, I'm still obsessing over the boy from two weeks ago (Emotional Whore Boy), who I'm fairly certain is also wasting his time on a girl named Ashley, oddly enough, although she is not Asian.

Now, this problem the Ivy and I (and pretty much every other female on the planet) have is probably the most common dating trap ever.  We long for that which we cannot have. It's like walking down Michigan Avenue without a wallet, but worse.  I'm pretty sure the root of this can be traced back to preschool. Back then, little Bobby would pick on you by calling you names or stealing your lunch box and you HATED him. Then one day, he started stealing another girl's lunch box instead. And lets be honest, her name was probably Ashley.  So what was your next move? Try to get Bobby to go back to giving you all his attention.  Realistically, if you got it back, you became bored and annoyed and wanted him to leave you alone.  But at least you had the satisfaction of knowing that Bobby liked you again and not that stupid Ashley.  

Fast forward to College, and here we are obsessing over winning the affection of a boy who no longer is (or in some cases, never was) interested in us.  Why? Why do we do this to ourselves? Well, I believe it can be explained through something my Uncle once told me about: Little Boys Syndrome or LBS.  LBS is named after the actions of little boys in regards to their toys. Say little Timmy is at home playing with a truck instead of any of the other 15 million toys he has.  Well, God forbid if you walk up and start playing with the GI JOE at the bottom of the toy bin that he probably didn't even know he had, because he will INSTANTLY want it. Why? Because you have it.  Not because he wants to play with the GI JOE, or because he thinks it's cool (It's not. It never was) but he wants it because now that OPTION of playing with the toy is gone. 

When a guy gives you his attention, you're calling the shots.  You have the option to respond, or not respond.  If you leave the guy at the bottom of your toy box of life (that was lame, but I am rushed and can't think of anything better) and that boy stops calling you or texting you, well, then you have nothing.  And what's worse is that you know you COULD still have his attention if you wanted it in the first place.  But now you don't and you want it back.  You don't really want him, you want the IDEA of him (OK. yes, I know. I hate that phrase too, buuuut I think in this case, it's true).  You want his attention and you want the security of having that guy around if and when you need him.

Here's the part where I have my epiphany and realize I've been a horrible person for the last 15 years or so.  It's not fair. Stop pining over the guy that doesn't like you anymore. If you had it and blew it, it's your own fault.  The guy should be allowed to move on and find someone that believes he is worth more than 20 minutes of their time.  You probably don't even really like him. You just like that he called you pretty. And you are pretty.  But you can find someone you actually like to tell you that.

I really don't hate (most) girls named Ashley and realistically, I won't take my own advice,

Ally