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