Well the first step is admitting it right? Now I don’t like the term slut. It’s derogatory. It assumes that the woman can’t pursue physical pleasure out of her own volition. It’s mean and it hurts my feelings, so there, I don’t like the word. It’s not like I go out every Friday night in a hot pink tube dress and ride a mechanical bull until a group of frat boys takes me home for a gang bang. Well not every Friday, anyways.

But there is something unhealthy about what I do, and this I will give my mother/friends/exboyfriends/teachers. I am a self proclaimed serial dater. In the past two years, I have not gone more than a full week without kissing someone. I go on many first dates, far fewer second dates. At any given moment in time, I’m casually dating anywhere from 2 to 5 people. The most “serious” of my relationships lasted a whopping 3 months, and I cheated on him compulsively with two different people. To break it down to cold, hard, slightly depressing numbers I have:

*Made out with over 120 people (I’ve lost count).
*Cheated on 4 boyfriends, with 12 different people.
*Gotten free dinner from god knows how many gentleman who sat there and pictured me in my underwear.

Now, I know to some degree dating is healthy. I am 20, I am in college, I am a progressive and (please don’t read this part, dad) sexual woman. But even Hugh Hefner settled down, okay? Hugh fucking Hefner, and I can’t stand to be with the same guy for more than 3 months. It was cute for a while. Now I’m starting to feel like there is something severely wrong with my outlook. I am sick of the dating scene and I am twenty. It shouldn’t be exhausting till your thirties at the earliest, but I have aged myself beyond repair.

There’s nothing wrong with a woman exploring, with playing the field a bit. Getting a little love without giving too much back. We’re not all destined to turn into to baby making housewives by the age of 25. But let’s get down to the nitty gritty: at some point, we’re all going to want something genuine, no? And it’s hard to find something genuine. A temporary solution is to do as I did and replace quality with quantity: 30 douchebags is equivalent to one prince charming. Actually, it’s more like 60, but really it depends on your outlook. And then oh man, forget it, we’re not even in control. Half the time they fuck us over anyways! You can’t approach everything without emotion, it’s not even possible. It’s not progressive, it’s not fucking like a man; It’s inhuman.

We live in a world of supermodels and porn stars and Angelina Jolie (Who I will go gay for, I’m so serious). It is hard not to feel ugly and undesirable constantly, and when you’re lying in your bed alone at night, it’s hard not to run those self deprecating thoughts through your head. Over. And over. And you get the point. But when Matt Frat is lying there next to you saying “Baby your black hair is like an angel’s” (By the way, angels are blonde, so fuck you that line sucks)…well the thoughts don’t ring so loud. You get to feel warm, and wanted, and not like the chubby loser you were in the 5th grade.

Ok it’s nice to be wanted. There I said it. I said what every self respecting woman denies her whole life. But hey, what about what WE want? I guess my biggest problem is I spent all my energy trying to get these guys to adore me. But I never stepped back to think, “Do I really want this guy who wears girl underwear? How about this guy with the awkward snort laugh?” Half of them turned out to be busts anyways, and where was I left? Feeling bad that the tool in store- bought torn jeans didn’t call me back. Pining over the convicted felon (I’m not even exaggerating, god this is depressing).

So here it goes: I don’t fucking care if I have a boyfriend anymore. I’m serious. Listen to me, it is the week before Valentine’s Day and I just got dumped. I then rebounded with a boy who, oops, had a girlfriend. To wash away that misery, I rebounded…with another guy who has a girlfriend. Hey, at least I’m not the only girl on the planet getting screwed over! I’ve decided to use my misadventures in dating to my advantage. This is an advice blog unlike any other advice blog- this is advice on what NOT to do. That’s right, people, I am going to screw up, get hurt, and date every Matt Frat and Johnny Hipster on the planet so that you can feel better about your own miserable love life. And I know it’s miserable, don’t lie to me. You should applaud me for continuing to do what I’ve been doing for the past three years, and not growing as a person in the least.

You see, somewhere between finishing a 6 pack of fat free pudding and spending my last $200 dollars on shoes as a form of therapy, I realized something. Dating gives me ulcers. It makes me nervous constantly, and not in that cute butterflies kind of way. It makes me unpleasant, and whiny, but I will never stop doing it. The only difference is I will now acknowledge something; My love life is hilariously unfortunate. I am doing SOMETHING wrong! So why should you listen to my tales of romance? Because I do everything wrong, and I am damn funny about it.

Stocking up pints of cookie dough for Valentine's Day... Ivy