Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Going to bed alone every night hurts sometimes. I don't know why it is ingrained in our culture to so deny this. In general, we are taught to not admit when we are hurt. So, what are we supposed to do when we are? Pretend we are not, then applaud ourselves for our strength of character? This works for about five minutes. And then we retreat back into ourselves, and internalize all the reasons we feel lousy and rejected. Would it not just be better to take the other route and confess to ourselves the tangle of sucky, shitty emotions bouncing through us?
This is better than a drunk dial. This is a drunk blog post, and at least no one who matters has to hear it. I'm embarrassing myself in blog land, but please keep in mind the humiliation I've spared in the form of needless drunk dials/drunk, sobbing confessions of undying love. I will format this in terms of my favorite movie, 10 things I hate about you:
*Hi. I hate that me not sleeping with you had zero effect on you, since you were able to sleep with about 37 other women.
*I also hate that somehow no matter how much you tell me I'm attractive, I feel unattractive around you.
*I hate that instead of going to bed, I am in the need to blog my feelings for you away.
*I hate how there is no distraction large enough to keep me from thinking about you.
*I hate how you weren't who I thought you were, even remotely.
*I hate how when it comes to you, I have about five minutes of strength before I relapse into being an idiotic girl again.
*I hate how you're actually kind of a coward.
*I hate how you HOOKED UP WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS.
*I hate how you're probably the most intelligent person I know.
*Most of all, I hate that I don't hate you one bit, not at all...no, just kidding, I really do completely hate you.
All of those statements were gross and emotional. Please keep in mind that I am drunk. And also, I am using this as a venting grounds. I did not make a drunk dial tonight, I repeat: I did not make a drunk dial tonight.
Not making a drunk dial,
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wow, wow, wow. I'm a pervert and sort of a dork. But if you are denying that you check out babes at the library, then you are a lying liar who lies a lot. The only thing that makes you a more socially acceptable person than I am is that I just blogged about how cute this stranger is.
Also, fuck this essay.
Pleasantly distracted, Ivy
Because here's the thing. I'm not super fixated on monogamy, I'm actually pretty conceited in my abilities, and I'm not naive. To restate this...I know most people date around somewhat, and I don't give a shit. In fact, it's quite normal!
So then where's the problem?! Well I'll tell you, silly. Being a "player" (as in hooking up with chicks faster than I produce new blog entries) necessitates that you actually have pretty low standards. Not calling all players bottom feeders, but think about it. I will break this down into categories so as to make better understandable my new and amazing philosophy.
*Repeat Monogamists- Looking for one person to be with. Not necessarily "the one" (because, really, fuck that. Your "one" probably lives in Sri Lanka for all you know), but looking for one person who they can stay up all night talking to, who shares their interests, who they constantly want to rail. They have the highest standards...they are looking for one person who makes the need to be with all others obsolete. Whether or not this is foolish is your call (IT'S FOOLISH).
*Dating 2 to 4 people- Those who fall in this group usually have a similar goal to the monogamists...but they keep a more open mind. Usually, they recognize that it would be nice to meet Mr./Ms./Dr. Right (prefereably Dr. Right). But, for one reason or another, they have a need to be dabbling around, and meeting a few other people. They still have high standards...they go for people who give them raging hard ons intellectually and physically.
*Dating 5+ people/screwing everything with all its limbs or a suitably natural prosthetic: Seriously, do you know how fucking hard it is to find people who are attractive, intelligent, and funny? If the average bar is a random sampling of all available singles, only 30% are attractive, and only .07% are intelligent. If you HAVE standards, it is very, very difficult. So you tell me how in the fucking fuck you managed to find 5 or more people who meet your amazing(ly low) criteria. That's right, you probably don't actually have criteria.
And that, is officially, my problem with players. They don't have real standards, and so I do not feel flattered that they want to bang me. They want to bang me, the girl who just walked by, the girl who sits by them in class, the girl who worked out once near them at the gym, the girl who smiled at them on the bus...and most of those girls probably have syphillis, let's be real.
Now, don't worry, I do see the big, gaping hole in my logic. "But, Ivy, what if the person does have standards, very high standards but no one meets them/they are just looking for a good time/they are disease ridden whores who need to put it inside a new person every night? What then, Ivy?"
Then they are idiots. There is no other way to put it. To make an analogy, which will be a good one, because it involves pie:
Having standards and ignoring them is like walking into a restaurant with a craving for rhubarb pie. Then proceeding to order apple pie, blueberry pie, oreo pie, key lime pie, pumpkin pie, and sex with your waitress. Well now maybe you just wanted to try out some other pies (and now it gets sexual!) before you got to the one you wanted...and by now you're broke, sick of pie, and you've had sex with your waitress. The best part about this analogy is... go ahead and add the phrase 'you've dated around too much' before the last sentence. (You've dated around too much, and by now you're broke, sick of pie, and you've had sex with your waitress).
Womanizers (womanizer, womanizer, ooohhh!...sorry, I really have no control over that response anymore) are especially bad because ultimately what this means is they don't even bother to see the real you. And I guess that is what is at the root of my problem with them...I am taking time to show someone how hot, funny, and really damn clever I can be, and to them it is just the same as some only mildly attractive bimbo they picked up in a dark bar at 4 am. There is no point in trying with these types of people, because to them, every person is created equal. And yes, that works nicely in the US Constitution, but dating not so much. Do you really want to be with someone who gives you the same consideration, time, and energy as Too-Tanned Trixie he met at the bar, or even worse, only slightly attractive girl he met in class? Eeesh, aren't you better than that?
Saving room for rhubarb,
Sunday, February 22, 2009
And we get there. And he is the only person there. Okay, so clearly there was a miscommunication somewhere along the line. As in everywhere. Then…wow, he just got high and sat there. I don’t know how else to describe what he did, but he smoked up by himself and sat there and was the least engaging human being on the planet. I held out for a good 40 minutes before I realized “My GOD what am I even doing, this is ridiculous.” You know it’s bad when the guy’s dog is far more amusing (and affectionate) than he is. Then it’s time to go.
So me and Ally, bless her heart, make it back to the el stop and this homeless guy comes up to us begging for a way to get on the train to make it to a shelter. Now I’m a bleeding heart liberal AND I was looking to score some better karma, so I agree to help the guy out. I take my handy University Train Pass that I cannot live without and swipe the guy in. And apparently that is very, very illegal because two guards immediately chase me down and pull me aside. And they are about to arrest me.
They made me read the back of my UPass which I have had for two years now and have never bothered to inspect, and yes, for future reference, you can be arrested for letting someone else use that thing. I will always remember this as the last time I ever, ever try to help anyone.
Now the guards kindly let me swipe my pass for my own usage, and Ally and I get on the train. Which apparently isn’t running all the way north to the stop I need. So we get off the train and the night ends with me in a cab, scaring the shit out of the driver, because I can’t stop shouting “Fuck my life.”
Ally takes a more positive view, “Well…this is all pretty great fuel for your book.”
“My GOD now they have to publish me.”
Well I had a pretty rough night, and I would like someone to blame for this. Clearly, it’d be easiest to blame Banana Tattoo. I mean obviously I have to partially blame myself, but haven’t I been punished enough? For Christ’s sake, I ate a spoon full of frosting and half a hot dog for breakfast. But here’s the kicker…I really want revenge on the guy, in any form possible. I’ve been rejected, I’ve been through break ups, but I have never been so incredibly pissed off at someone. I got nothing out of the night but yelled at and pissed off. And it was all so I could watch the jerk get high and play with his dog. He could’ve done that without dragging my ass 7 stops away.
And I wonder what an appropriate level of revenge is. I feel like I should be allowed to do something terrible to him, without seeming like a psychopath. Because we are conditioned in life to turn the other cheek. You’re supposed to let the guy get away with being a jerk/creep/drunk. And just walk away. What any sane person would say is, “Well, he’s a jerk, good thing you know now so you can walk away.” But people sometimes in dating we are past the point of sanity. I feel like I should be allowed to punch him or the face or break his windows, and the world should just let it go because he deserves it.
Okay now maybe I’m a little extreme, but it does make me wonder. Why is dating the only time treating someone like shit is entirely socially acceptable? If a friend ditches you to hang out, you bitch them out. If a friend doesn’t call you for weeks at a time, you would call them out on it. But say the new love of your life Joe Blow doesn’t call. You delete his number so you don’t stupidly drunk dial him, and hope to god he calls. And if he never calls again? Well you just never speak again, no one ever calls him out on acting shitty, and you just sit there wondering what you did wrong. It’s unfathomable why they should get away with it, but they do, and that’s the social norm.
Well, I think I’ve figured out why. I got my ass home and decided…you know what? I’m going to tell him he sucks. I’m gonna do it. I’m going to be that psycho girl, because I’m tired of being walked all over.
“You know, I almost got arrested on the way back.”
“Wow. That sucks.”
My God he didn’t even ask why, “And the train stopped running.”
“Yeah it’s under construction.”
Oh fuck off why didn’t you mention that, “You know I took time out to see you tonight, and you weren’t very welcoming at all.”
“Yeah sorry. I’m just really tired.”
“…what? Do you hear yourself, do you even know how full of bullshit you are? You’re a complete asshole…just an asshole! Don’t call me again.”
As you can see, that was REALLY productive. I guess the reason we don’t seek revenge is because it doesn’t do anything. I don’t know what I expected him to say, “Oh! Getting stoned and just sitting there is my way of letting you know how much I care. But now that I see we’re not on the same page, let me take you out to dinner and buy you a dozen roses instead.” Of course he knew he was behaving like an incredible jackass. But I rode the train for half an hour to see him, which makes me a moron, and who wants to impress a moron?
So yeah, my best advice, let it go. I know it may feel painful to keep the 10,000 words and emotions you want to let out bottled up, but seriously, just fantasize about slashing his car tires or something. Because when you’re telling him he’s an asshole, you’re not telling him anything new.
The CTA must be a man because it keeps screwing me over,
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Dude, even I've been guilty of ditching out on friends to stare into the pretty puppy eyes of stupid jerks I was inexplicably obsessed with. I don't become the MIA friend by any means, but I've been guilty of blowing off plans with friends to eskimo kiss and cuddle...I can't help it! I asked him how he manages and he replied,
"Well, there are 3 things I look for in a relationship. Someone I can hold meaningful conversation with, a sense of adventure, and explosive sex. You guys manage to give me the first two...and I can find the third thing pretty easily."
And you know what? I think most people can find this is applicable to themselves, as well. If you write out a list of dating standards, you'd probably find your friends will cover you on 3/4 of these things (and if you have REALLY good friends, they'll even go down on you!) Manwhore's comments just got my head reeling...if friendships cover most of our human interaction needs, why the dire, burning, stomach churning need to have bf's and gf's?
I'm gonna use it...get ready...I know it's a dirty word...validation. The only damn reason I could come up with is that my gentle beast of an ego needs to be fed regularly, or it will come down from its cave and eat all of the innocent townspeople. To put it in simpler terms...if I do not constantly have men to tell me I'm hot, funny, and smart...for some reason I will forget that I am hot, funny, and smart. I will assume I am singly because I am fat, boring, and smart (I've never doubted my intelligence, just the cuteness of my ass). I explained this to Manwhore, to which he replied
"Well...you could try not being so insecure."
...what? That...that's ridiculous. What is he trying to suggest? That I don't allow my entire opinion of myself to rest in the hands of others? I sat there astounded by the very thought of being a strong enough person to believe that I am enough on my own. Fine, fuck him, he makes perfect sense. My sights have taken a turn...instead of searching for hot hookups and deep soulmates and adorable boys who wear Converse and horn rimmed glasses, I'm going to work on self love. No, not masturbation, I do that more than enough anyways (...just...kidding?)
And it's not all on my own, either. I have my friends for adventure. I have my friends to laugh at my moronic jokes, assuring me that my (arguably) awesome sense of humor is still there. I have people I can talk to for hours, and hours, and hours and not get tired of. Most of them even regularly tell me I'm hot! So I guess all I'm missing at the moment is someone who snores too loudly and pushes me off my bed at night. But I could probably get a friend to do that, too.
Not suggesting New Found Glory is good music by any means,
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
"I asked her for relationship advice...and do you know what she told me? 'I don't know. The men do the exact same shit at age 30 that they did when they were 18.' I can't do this. I can't do another decade of this!"
Oh boy. Now this got me thinking. I've dated a range of ages, from 18 to 30. That's my demographic, if you will. I, apparently, have the same broad appeal to men as Keifer Sutherland. But the real question is...is there a DIFFERENCE between the dudes whose voices just cracked and the ones with already receding hairlines?
Well this is just one woman's opinion...but fuck no, no there is no fucking difference, we are fucked always. That is a lot of eff words, but that is to only to give you an idea of just how frustrated I am feeling. Men's behavior CAN'T be chalked up to immaturity? You mean to tell me they are always emotionally distant, confusing, childish, and inconsiderate?
There are very specific reasons college males all suck. I'm serious, they all suck for practically identical reasons. I will list a few:
*They are incapable of socially functioning without a stomach full of Busch Lite
*They assume that all women are trying to marry them. A text message reading 'want to study together?' Automatically translates to 'Do you want a spring or fall wedding?' to all men ages 18-22.
*They say things like, "That was a sick kegger last night."
*They say things like, "I love this OAR track."
*They like sluts, but then they very hypocritically spread rumors about girls who "get around." Which is it?! Everyone is either a slut or a prude. There needs to be a magical formula for the exact number of men you are allowed to sleep with in order to be deemed acceptable.
*They dress like morons.
*They are morons.
Now, to review this list, and compare it to the older men (Let's dub this the 25+ category) I have dated...nope, all those things are still true! The only difference is that their beards come in a little thicker, and maybe they've begun to regularly follow politics. How old to I have to go?? Should I start hanging out with my father's recently divorced, borderline pedophile friends? (I actually hope my dad doesn't associate with borderline pedophiles, but you get the idea).
I've always been most attracted to men I felt I could learn from. And this is why the school girl fantasy is so appealing to me. And why I sometimes wake up wearing nothing but a plaid skirt. ....Back to the point. Basic logic would assume that if a man is 5-10 years older than me, he is a touch wiser, more refined, more responsible...not sucking down PBR's faster than a college freshman with a freshly minted North Dakota fake. But it has never been the case! Which gets me thinking maybe the only benefit to dating men over 25 is that they can legally rent a car.
Age before beauty is a null and void concept,
Monday, February 16, 2009
*I should be writing a 10 page paper right now. I am not.
I last left off rambling about getting rejected. I knew I needed to get out of my slump and what better day to do so than Valentine’s day? I can honestly say, I’m out of my slump. By the end of the night, I kissed 7 people (well, possibly 8, but since neither of us remember it, we’re not counting it). Granted we played spin the bottle and that’s where most of the numbers came from, but still- mission accomplished.
Cliffnotes version: Boy #1 and I started chatting by the bathroom while he was waiting in line and we start kissing. A few minutes later his grumpy friend told me that B1 had a girlfriend. B1 kept following me and asking for my phone number. After repeatedly saying no, staring blankly and walking away, and pretending my guy friend was my overprotective cousin, he left me alone. Well, the next morning I go on facebook and there’s a friend request from B1. Really. He didn’t even wait 12 hours to facebook stalk me. I thought that was kind of weird, that is until I realized he was REALLY attractive. He was also not listed in a relationship. (ok, I know that sounds pathetic. Whatever…)
I immediately send him an “I’m sorry for being rude last night” message and he responds and we start facebook instant messaging. He was being really nice and asking me all the questions he probably asked me the night before (or didn’t, depending on how long we talked before kissing) and kept saying cute things about my name (No, not ally. That’s a fake name. Do you REALLY think I want people knowing who I am?) Well the next day we start facebook chatting again. And he used the phrase “ite” repeatedly. As in “aight” which is short for “all right”. He made a slang term, for slang. He also kept typing “fone”. Now even though I knew the answer, I asked Ivy if I could pursue and like a boy who wrote “ite”. Her response? “No.” My next question was, “Is this a legitimate reason? Or am I being picky?” Ivy told me to blog it.
So. Standards. Personally, I try to get involved with guys who are smart. You know, guys who can correctly spell “phone”. Now, I don’t know if he’s just one of those annoying typers, or if he really thinks phone has an “F” in it, but I’ll find out soon enough…but the question remains, “What becomes an acceptable reason to stop pursuing someone?” Where do we draw the line between “character flaw” and “quirk”? To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. I think if I did, I wouldn’t have started a blog complaining that I’m single- and I sure as hell wouldn’t have kissed 7 or 8 people in one night if I had legitimate standards. And I think that’s where my problem stems from.
Everyone always says, “Don’t lower your standards. Don’t settle,” and I think that fear of settling has turned me into a picky person who looks at stupid little details that shouldn’t matter (oh, my god, my mother has been saying this to me for three years…she WAS right) If someone is nice and sweet and sincere, I shouldn’t care that he types like an idiot (realistically, I don’t have high hopes for this one, but for other reasons). Or I shouldn't care the guy who I develop a crush on is the same hight as me when I’m in flats. Or the guy who I really want to date, but don’t know if I can because his laugh is REALLY annoying. Those things are dumb and superficial. The things that matter should outweigh the dumb quirks. If he treats you nicely and has respect for you. If he’s honest and single- these are things that are non-negotiable. If he’s not all of those things, he’s no good. Everyone has their list of necessary characteristics that they’re not willing to compromise on, and to some extent I think that’s important- as long as it’s realistic. Not everyone is meant to end up with an attractive, nice, smart, athletic, sensitive, cultured, guitar-playing guy. You know why? They really don't exist. People aren't perfect (well, I like to think I am...but even I have my flaws...very few, but I have them).
Realizing my mother was riiiiiiig...(I don't even want to say it)
Now while I date pretty indiscriminately, everyone from stoners to investment bankers, I do have a single type of guy I always end up dedicating my collection of Dashboard Confessional songs to. Oh, the sensitive boy. The emotional boy. The boy with so many fucking issues, he makes Elliot Smith look like he had his shit together. And no, I'm not one of those people who wants to fix them or whatever. I want them to stay screwed up. I LIKE them because they are screwed up. I'm pretty sure that means I'm screwed up, too...but...I'd prefer to think I'm basically perfect.
Dating a sensitive guy is so badass because he is astute to all of your emotions...for the first week. Then he has you, and you don't even realize that he has completely stopped listening, and now is unloading his 8 tons of personal problems on you. Hindsight is 20/20...I always think Joe Sensitive cares about what I think and feel but then I realize a few key tells:
*I've had to repeat stories or facts about myself maybe 400 times.
*I know 70% more about his life than he knows about mine.
*He is incapable of describing my personality in an actually accurate way.
*He only asked me questions about myself on the first date.
*He thinks I like Nickleback.
The absolute best (worst) part about dating a "sensitive" guy is that they use this cute little trait to act like a complete dick to you without even noticing. He forgets you were supposed to hang out? That's okay, he had a lot going on in his brilliant, tangled head that day. He suddenly just doesn't "feel" like talking? Sensitive people are subject to sudden mood swings...it's the price you pay for getting to be with someone so deep and introspective! He is pushing you away/emotionally beating the shit out of you/turning hot and cold faster than Katy Perry can produce a new shitty pop song?? He's not a BAD person...he MEANS well...he WANTS to be good to you...he just has to sort his feelings. He just has to figure out what he wants. He needs time to learn to trust again, because he's been hurt badly before.
So. Fucking. What. So have I. I'm sensitive too, and guess what? I don't use it as an excuse to force people to deal with my shitty behavior. When I'm a bitch, I recognize it, and apologize. The thing is these "sensitive" guys aren't sensitive at all. Being sensitive entails the ability to recognize other people's emotions and empathize with them. No, no, what these types of guys are is brilliant. They've deduced a way to dick you over in such new and creative ways that we actually like them MORE for being little bitches...because it shows how strong their feelings are!
So the next time I find a supposedly tortured and sensitive "catch", I'm going to remember what I am really getting...another dick who doesn't call, doesn't ask about my day, and doesn't give a shit if it hurts me. Maybe I will start dating jocks...at least they'll weigh more than I do.
Realizing she could stand in a puddle of you and not get wet,
Sunday, February 15, 2009
But really. Not dating makes me feel like I currently have nothing to bitch about. And I think maybe there are worse fates than not having a constant source of anger and frustration. Don't get me wrong...I'm sure in a week I will feel fat and sad that no one is holding me at night, and I will promptly feel the need to once again subject myself to the agony of dating.
But for now, I'm enjoying this. It helps that I made out with a hot Irishman this weekend.
Single and not ready to mingle (ew, did I just say that?),
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Actually, it wasn't so much a drunk dial as a drunk facebook chat. Technology is making it far too easy for me to drunkenly harass poor and unsuspecting people. Before it used to have to be I open my phone, scroll through my list, REALLY think over my decision, and then either wise up or wind up slurring, "But no one makes me feel the way you do!" But now, with the click of a button, I can expose mass audiences to my verbal vomit with such convenient ease!
What is it about a shot of tequila that makes my emotions go haywire? I recognize that I am always a hypersensitive, introspective, bratty son of a bitch...but while sober, I can mostly control it. But a few shots into the evening, and I start thinking, "You know who needs to hear from me right now? All of my exes. You know what they need to hear? How much I miss everything about them."
I have subjected myself to countless drunk dials, intoxicated e-mails, and now comes a new medium in which to exhibit my poise and intellect...the 3 in the morning, wasted facebook chat. The real kicker is that alcohol isn't even "liquid truth" for me, like so many people insist. It is liquid make shit up. I'm serious. If I am drunk around you, assume 80% of everything I'm saying is just bullshit. When I'm drunk, I suddenly care immensely about people and events that do not matter to me in day light. I find myself convinced that my ex boyfriend from high school was the one. I become positive that some guy I just barely dated was my last true chance at happiness.
Before you think I'm crazy, I would like to reiterate...when coherent, I know those things aren't true. I guess the biggest problem is I expect people to just write this off as a quirk about me. "Yeah, I know, I called you sobbing last night telling you that I love the way you hold me gently and kiss my forhead. But, no, really I'm sane...you can date me and not fear for your safety. Oh come on, I was drunk it doesn't count!"
But, OOPS IT COUNTS. It counts to everyone, and it freaks the shit out of them. But in my head, at the time, I'm thinking...4 am on a Thursday is an excellent time to tell a near stranger how I will always care for them. This is what will really make them want to be with me. Okay, I'm going to go to class now. But I won't be thinking about Virgil at all...instead I have made it my assignment to dissect why on EARTH I have made the drunken sobbing confession my primary means of communication in relationships.
I misss you sooo much, dont hnga up on me imm cryng!!!!1!one!!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Me: I just don’t understand why guys have to LIE. Why say “We really connected, I need to see you this weekend” if you don’t actually MEAN it? I would be fine with a one nighter if they would call it for what it is, but when they get your hopes up and get your brain reeling that this is going to turn something more, it’s just a huge let down. Why did he say he wanted to see me again, and then make no effort to?
EAS: He lost the erection he had when being around you.
That is the single cleanest, most honest answer I have ever heard to the question that has plagued women for ages. I prefer the guy who comes home with you, fools around for a night and says “Hey that was fun, see ya!” He was HONEST. Sure he’s a little scummy and probably has herpes, but he’s not lying to you and he’s not lying to himself. And in a world where “How are you?” has become a rhetorical question, it’s nice to be clear to other people’s intentions.
It’d be nice to pretend that I had suddenly realized the error of my cheatin’, playgirl ways. But that isn’t the case. I was embittered by a young hipster with beautiful puppy eyes. See, as a self proclaimed party girl and notorious bar hopper, I am no stranger to the one night make out. I don’t have one night stands (though if you do, I ain’t judging), but I do subject myself to sloppy make outs that taste like Pabst Blue Ribbon and cigarettes. So at a Frat party one night, I find myself talking to the most wonderfully lanky, scruffy indie boy I have ever met, and there is nothing I love more than a good indie boy at a frat party. You get the feeling of getting the rarest thing in the room.
At any rate, we spend the night talking. And I MEAN talking, we stay up until 4 in the morning just chatting our little lives away. And he goes on and on about how our auras connected and we were twin souls and how we was just drawn to me the moment he saw me. Jesus, I am reading that now, and I feel like a moron. How were my red lights not going off? How was cynical me sitting there eating it all up? Well he had not tried to touch my no no spot once, he didn’t even try to kiss me. We were just sitting there completely connecting. And finally, after 5 hours of just talking, he kissed my mouth and it was slow and soft and full of feeling. I mean it, there was no slimy tongue darting in and out of my mouth, no fumbling hands cupping my mosquito bites. I felt something warm and fuzzy inside when we kissed, and he pulled back and said, “Your smile is glowing.” Isn’t that just fucking beautiful?
I’m not going to lie. I thought this was it, I thought, oh my god I’ve met someone I can stand. Before he left he CLEARLY said, without provocation, “I would love to see you this weekend again.” I smiled that supposedly glowing smile and told him sure. But Friday came, and no call. Saturday came, and no call. Sunday comes around and finally I get a text: Hey I’m having people over tonight, your welcome to stop by if you want. And right now my red lights are finally flashing because that was so incredibly half assed it hurts, and because he has poor grammar.
No call. A text. Text messaging is the single worst thing to happen to human communication, my God, it is lazy. But we all do it, especially when it comes to dating, because it is the easy way out. Now I have some pride, so I politely rejected his half assed invitation, even though I would’ve loved to stare in those puppy eyes again. I genuinely liked the guy though, so I wasn’t about to completely cut him off. The next day I sent a text (yes I’m an asshole too): I just got out of class, would you like to meet up today?
And do you know what my small step for womankind was met with? No. Fucking. Response. And I sat there embarrassed and sad, wondering if I had done something wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have texted. Maybe I should’ve hung out with him on Sunday night. Maybe I shouldn’t have sounded so friendly. Maybe I should’ve sounded friendlier. Maybe I should’ve been Angelina Jolie. That little light of hope I felt burning in my cynical soul was quickly extinguished. I will admit it, it stung like a bitch. I was moody to everyone who called that day that wasn’t Hipster, because they had so callously tricked me into running to the phone only to be disappointed. I yelled at my roommate for nothing. I even cried a little (not really, I can't cry). I can’t stop blaming myself, although realistically the whole situation can be explained by EAS's wisdom.
When he was around me, in the heat of the moment, he would have said or done anything. Nothing is at stake to most of these men, and they will try and trick you into thinking that they are wonderful people. They want to put their penis inside you. Even if they are not mounting you, everything they say and do is so they can put their penis inside of you. Even if seems like they are not trying, and just want to get to know you as a person, all they are really thinking about is putting their penis inside of you. I know that sounds scary and cruel that the norm is for guys to be complete liars, but hey let’s not man bash. We all do it. We all act saccharine to people we want something out of. And hey maybe when he was around me, part of him really did believe I was this beautiful little angel whose soul intertwined with is.
Well yes, maybe it sucked to have the little bit of optimism left in me viciously sucked out by the lousy bastard vampire. I learned an important lesson, though. No, really, not the way people say they learn a lesson when they’re blindly groping for something positive. I really learned something. Any guy, any PERSON, who is instantly cooing and adoring you is lying. A lover to everyone is a lover to no one. If he gives over his emotions so quickly, he is either faking, or so sociopathic you’d better run and fast. If after one night he can tell you he thinks your souls are connected, then he’s said that to people before. I promise you’re not the first. In fact, if you ever hear that exact line, it’s probably the same guy I ran into. He has a banana tattoo on his wrist, check for it.
Never learning her lesson,
When I sat down to write this entry, I think I wrote the first sentence like six times and all of them made me sound like a horrible person. So I’m here to tell you that even though I complain about guys. A lot. I do things wrong too every once in a while.
Take me and Chris, for example. We drunkenly made out once, which in my mind meant he wanted to date me. Apparently that was not the case. I thought that cute little comments and him calling me after he told me to call were signs that things were heading in the right direction. They weren’t. So one night when I was certain he’d be coming home with me, I was very wrong; and after a series of events that I don’t want to talk about (Ivy I will never write about it) I ended up going home alone. Now, being the mature person I am, I complained to Ivy that I would not be seeing him for an event- mainly because I wanted him to see my cute outfit. It was really cute. And she bluntly asked, “And WHY are we still searching for his approval?” My response was simple, “Because we have the same group of friends and I have to see him a lot. And every time I do, it reminds me that I failed, and I have to succeed.”
Yes, I am aware how bitchy and into myself that makes me sound. But you know what, I’m standing by it. I don’t like getting rejected. I want to be the rejecter. Really though, can you blame me? Ivy told me that I should write about how I constantly feel the need to reject people first, or the fact that I try to make them like me again, and then reject them. Why do I do it? Because it’s a hell of a lot easier to pretend that things didn’t work out because you didn’t want them too- even if deep down you knew it wouldn’t have gone anywhere to begin with. I mean, what would make you feel better? Thinking, “I didn’t really like him that much so I stopped talking to him” or “He didn’t like me so things didn’t work out.” I realize its all a big lie, but you know what, I can live with it. I think in my many years of serial dating, this was the first time I was flat out rejected (Or at least the first time I wasn’t too drunk and forgot).
Now, being rejected and being screwed over are two very, very different things. I’m used to dealing with being screwed over. That’s easy. Just write the guy off as an ass, eat some ice cream, and find a rebound make out. But getting rejected is a whole different ball game. After this you go through the “why didn’t he like me” phase and all your insecurities escalate. “Am I too fat?” “Am I not pretty enough? Not funny enough? Not smart enough?” “Do I really just suck as a person when I’m drinking?” “Maybe I’m not interesting.” And that’s just in the first two minutes after it happens. It’s even worse when you’re in a situation when you will continue to see them because every time you do, it’s a reminder that he wasn’t into you.
As much as it sucks, I think it’s important that I remember one thing: all those guys that I turned down or led on and dumped because I was too afraid of getting hurt first. And to all of you (well, most) I’m sorry. It’s a horribly shitty feeling. And maybe this is why the cute boy in my class or the cute, nice, funny boy in the bar that I talk to but don’t hook up with won’t ask me out. Because THEY’RE afraid of getting rejected because people like me do it before it happens to us. (Or they don’t want to, but it’s not like I’m going to admit it. You should know that by now.)
I’d like to say that this was a humbling experience and I’ve learned from it and now will consciously be more careful, but realistically, it’s probably the opposite. I know how sucky it is to be rejected and don’t want it to happen again. Ever. In fact, I STILL want Chris to hang out with me so he can see how charming and cute and funny I can be- when I’m talking to every other boy. It’s dumb and probably a little twisted, but oh well, he made me sad. I probably will feel a little bad the next time I turn someone down, but I know it’s going to happen. And realistically, I’ll be rejected again soon. But then I can write a post about that guy and make him out to be a jerk anyway….
Learning that Karma’s a bitch….
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Bitching to a friend the other day, I exasperatedly questioned, "Why do couples get a whole fucking day? There needs to be a day where single people can just go out and have a good time and hook up with hot strangers."
"Ivy...That's called Thursday through Saturday. Monday through Saturday for you."
Oh, yeah. That's right. But I don't find any comfort in that, largely because I don't find comfort in anything. But the fact is, I don't understand why every holiday has been made to be miserable for single people. It's a conspiracy against all of us.
*Christmas is depressing because it's a time of ice skating, cocoa by the fire, and eskimo kisses in the snow...all of which are either impossible or unsatisfying by yourself. Also, couples buy each other fucking extravagant gifts they can't afford, and then coo over how thoughtful it was of their significant other to remember how much they like diamonds. EVERYONE likes diamonds, goddamn't.
*Thanksgiving sucks because that's when my lousy bastard family gathers me in a room and asks when I'm going to find a husband. I'm actually now convinced that the purpose of the holiday is not to give thanks, but rather discuss the various I'm going to die alone.
*Halloween. Couples costumes. Enough said.
*New Year's Eve...no midnight kiss? Ring in your new year with mild depression and an entire pizza! Or, if you're me, ring in your new year kissing your homosexual best friend, 2 girls, and some dudes from Decatur who met in Boy Scouts.
And then there's the mother load. Valentine's Day. The day literally designed to discriminate against anyone who is not in a couple. I actually consider this day a form of prejudice. It is the same as me creating a super fun holiday with chocolates and flowers and stuffed animals and then saying, "Okay this holiday is for EVERYONE...except Asians!" (Nothing against Asians, they just seem to take mockingly racist comments better than everyone else). At this point I'm not sure whether I should be feeling badly for myself, or starting a revolution.
So, no, it is not enough that as a single I have the right to indiscriminately mack on strangers 365 days a year. I literally want a day where couples have to feel badly about themselves for some reason. Am I being irrational? How? I just named 5 days where single people are forced by society to hate themselves. I'd say I plan on making a new holiday where all coupled people are forced into a day of silence where they have to sit and seriously think about the injustices they are doing to society. But let's just say that I am a better person than that. And by better person, I mean lazy.
At least we still have St. Patrick's Day...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Those feelings can stick fucking hard, too. You can't just forget how good they look in their skivvies, or how much you love their cute little horse laugh. And you can't forget that they've fondled your B-cups (Or C to D cups for the lucky ones out there). Something feels unnatural about going from wanting to rail the shit out of each other to platonic study sessions. How can you go from wanting to have sex with each other to playful jabs in the arm?
But you know what? I can honestly say I don't retain any feelings for my symbolically castrated exes-turned-buddies. And I hold a bigger issue with that. (Of course I do. I could never just let something GO. It HAS to be a bigger issue!) Where the fuck did the feelings go? How do I go from googly eyed to chummy in 10 seconds flat? The only explanation I can deduce is that I am incapable of actual feelings, and react only on brief sexual impulses, then move on, leaving a path of bitterness and platonic relationships in my wake. Shit.
On the other end...why do so many men who want to date me want to be friends? They didn't want to date me. But they think I'm hot. And apparently smart, and cool, and fun and just amazingly awesome enought to continue hanging out with. Goodie. So I'm hot, fun, smart, and cool...but undateable. Yes, this makes fixing my problem immensely easier.
To illustrate my point, let me turn to the example of my most recent dating partner turned study buddy- can we call him Caleb? I like that name, I've always wanted to date a Caleb. Caleb and I were hot and heavy (I hate that phrase) most of last November. It is a really big deal for me if a guy lasts through more than one cycle of my period, and he just barely made it. The break up was pretty bad (oh...that is another story for another day), but for some reason unbeknown to myself, we decided we would continue to speak to each other.
Now I don't know if Caleb knew this, but I was LYING, I didn't mean it! Yet he still presses to actively hang out, and last night I gave in. And by gave in I mean got lonely, and wondered if the spark was still there, fine I will admit it. I could tell the second he walked in that it was just gone. Maybe I just don't like his beard. Maybe it was his haircut. But let's be honest, it was more likely my subconscious telling me what I don't want to admit:
I ALREADY KNOW THE ENDING TO THIS STORY! He came over, and we still have a rapport, we certainly do. We get each other's jokes, we interest each other in some capacity, there was even some flirtation there, but let's be honest, I'd hit on a tree if it'd flirt back. He kissed me, and I felt nothing. We continued to kiss, and I felt nothing. He started kissing my neck, and... I got horny and thought about sleeping with him. Does horny count as a "feeling?" He spent the night, and I guess it still felt good to be in his arms. But that's the only adjective I can think of to describe it. And good is a pretty bad adjective. Great poets do not describe the loves of their lives as "good." 80's monster love ballads (the highest form of human expression), never once utilized that bland little word.
And you know why it only felt good? Because the next morning when we woke up, I remembered why I don't want to date him- he's a whiny bitch! So I guess I can't beat up on myself saying, "My feelings are erratic and baseless!" No! There is a base, and that base is his fucking annoying whiny voice. I work too hard. I have to take the train. I don't know if I should eat first or go home first. I don't want to go to my classes. I need new pants. On, and on, and on, and on, and...I'm going to stop now, before I get too harsh. He is a good guy, and we are friends...after all.
When we first start dating someone, we only get the amazing parts. The stuff we have in common, the qualities they chose to reflect to us to make them a more attractive partner. And we do the same. Eventually, the shit comes out, and the shit is either endearing or obnoxious. Actually, it's usually somewhere in the middle, around the "I can tolerate this" to "I only sometimes hope you die in a fire" range. Romantic feelings usually die past this range. However, it's easy enough to stay friends with people possessing mildly frustrating qualities because of one key difference; You don't have to give your friends blowjobs.
I hope we can still be friends!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Now my dear friend Ally, who is the type of girl who considers her night tame if she’s only made out with three guys, tells me that she has developed a crush. A crush so intense that he is the only boy she has kissed in three entire weeks. Three weeks, in serial dater terms, is roughly equivalent to four and a half years of dating. So I had to ask the following:
*Is this guy an incredible fucking kisser?- No. He’s about average
*Is he amazingly attractive?- Yes he is really really really cute. So cute, seriously.
*Well what’s his personality like?- I wouldn’t really know. We only hang out drunk.
Oh boy. The major pitfall of every single potential relationship. See, we assume that the drunken hook up is the perfect precursor to the sober relationship. Yet statistics show that this happens only about 10 percent of the time. And by statistics, I mean I’m guessing this only happens about 10% of the time, and that is being generous. We assume that we’ll get drunk and make out a few times, and then curiosity will get the best of them. They’ll want to know what we’re like sober. They’ll want to know if that intensely hot kisser who is sloppily mounting them in the elevator also has a witty, intellectual side.
Now I’m not suggesting that the reason they don’t try to take things further is because all men are drooling perverted scum. It’s not a male thing. It’s a human thing. We always, always want the easier way. So if a guy can get to hang out with you and make out with you, without the awkwardness of the first date or having to meet your scary dad, guess what. That’s what he’s going to do.
Well guess what, women aren’t much better. Face it, we’ve grown to hate dating too. If I could pregame all of my dates without that being considered alcoholism, God, I would do it. Ally best summed it up very frankly admitting, “I’m afraid to actually hang out when I can fully comprehend what’s going on.” Because we’re less hilarious and outgoing when we’re sober. Because when we’re sober, we recognize that not everything our date says is clever and hysterical and profound. Whereas when I’m drunk he can say the word “muffin” and knock me off my feet.
I’ve also completely forgotten what is acceptable in terms of an actual relationship. When I have liquid courage to blame for any of the awkward things I might say or do, what’s there to worry about? But on actual dates, oh my GOD, there are too many factors to consider. Am I dressed up enough, am I too dressed up? Should I act excited, or cool? Should I eat three bites of food so that he thinks I’m health conscious, or chow down a 15 oz steak so that he thinks I’m an eater with a naturally slim figure? Okay, I can’t take it, I’m cancelling.
Now I’m also not saying that your drunken hook up can never mean anything more. I’m not telling you that you have to start meeting guys at the library or through friends like decent people. Because I’m not decent, nor do I believe anyone should be. I’m not going to lecture you on that, because I am realistic, and I understand that it is damn easy for people to meet at the bar. Of course with a little social lubricant in a setting where it is perfectly acceptable to do so, you’re more likely to get hit on. I don’t care how many people tell you that they met their boyfriend in the library. They’re lying, it doesn’t happen. No one has ever walked up to someone at the library and said “I couldn’t help but notice you were looking at me,” unless they are a COMPLETELY overconfident douchebag. And if that happened, how the hell would you even react? Admit it. You’d think it was weird, and get scared.
But let’s not be naïve. If you’re not making him work a little, he ain’t gonna. And that’s not being a jerk, that’s just smart. Because if you could get away with dating without ever giving a blowjob, you would. That is the equivalent. That being said, it will take a little more finesse to convince Johnny Random to buy you dinner. The first option, which takes the most self control, is pick up a guy. Don’t hook up. We all know the natural chain of events is Johnny Random comes up and says some variation of “Hi. I want to talk to you solely based on the fact that you’re really good looking.” Then he gets you a drink, and you guys talk. And sometimes the conversation is painstaking, and you suddenly have to go to the bathroom/have a cigarette/take your friend home. But sometimes he is funny and interesting and has a damn great smile, so you continue talking all night. And then you both shamelessly and sloppily make out with each other while slurring “wow you’re such a good kisser!” over and over.
Well guess what. The last part doesn’t have to happen. Just because a guy spends a few hours and $6.50 on you doesn’t mean you have to go home with him. You can end it at the good conversation, and give him your number. If he was intrigued enough, he’ll call you to hang out. If he was just looking for a good time, well, he won’t call. But you shouldn’t feel bad. All it says is that you two were looking for very different things, and damn’t, that’s okay too.
Now what happens when you two have already drunkenly hooked up? And now he calls, but it’s usually around 10:30 pm Thursday through Saturday. Now I know when you’ve had your share of liquid horny it’s hard to turn down a hook up opportunity, especially a comfortable and familiar hook up opportunity. But trust me. You need to become suddenly busy. If he texts you on Saturday night, text back saying “I’m doing a girls night tonight, but we should meet up tomorrow afternoon. Give me a call if you’re free.” There. Easy. And if he thinks THAT is clingy, I’d hate to break it to you, but he was never going to be any semblance of relationship material.
Okay, now, what if you’ve both become so accustomed to drunkenly macking it that the idea of a sober date gives you hives? Well, don’t make it a date.
The key is stepping slightly out of your comfort zone. Do you need a fucking pep talk? Okay, here goes, Ally. You’re a really cool person. You are, in fact, funnier and more intelligent when you’re not destroying your brain cells. You’re also still very pretty when he’s sober. And guys are not big, scary jerks who suddenly abscond the second they smell the hint of a relationship. Well not all of them anyways. What it really boils down to is honesty. Be honest with yourself if you want more, and for God’s sake, be honest with him if you want more. No one likes a liar.
I’m sorry, I think I just gave some advice. You know what? Don’t take it. I’m probably wrong.
Shaking her head at you,
“The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson just hit my ITunes. I like this song. Nope, correction, I used to like this song. You know how you associate songs with certain people, and then you just can’t listen to them anymore? I did that with this lovely little ditty. Except I have dedicated “The Way I Am” to about 17 guys in my head.
So I guess it’s more the feeling associated with it that bothers me. The play count is at 293. That’s a lot of fucking plays, and that doesn’t even count the times I stopped it in the middle just because I wanted to go back and replay it four more times.
Which gets me thinking…Christ, how many times can I have legitimately believed I was falling for someone? 293, apparently. To tell the truth, falling for someone feels the exact same, every single time. You get giggly around them. You get antsy when they haven’t called, and then can’t hide your annoying smile when their number finally pops up. You don’t eat because joy and snuggles are fulfilling enough, and no one likes you anymore. At least I don’t like you anymore.
And to tell the truth, it all ends the same way, and if you are a serial dater, 99.8% of them will end the same way. In tears. And if not in tears, in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s mixed intermittently with shots of vodka. So how, how, how is it that I have not learned yet? I don’t mean hole myself up in my apartment and avoid eye contact with all potential suitors. I mean how is it I have not learned to keep my feet on the ground, and to not blast Ingrid Michaelson whilst thinking of what our children will look like? Is someone secretly erasing my memory after every goddamn relationship?
I’ve heard of loving like you’ve never been hurt, but come on, that’s ridiculous. Why would you take all of your experiences and shove them out of your mind just so you can date with all the wisdom of a libidinous sixteen year old? There’s a reason no one wanted to sit with you at lunch in high school, by the way. That’s terrible advice, loving like you’ve never been hurt.
Especially cause it’s not advice. It’s what I stupidly do every single time anyways. It’s like telling me to drink like I’ve never thrown up; It’s a bad idea that I already planned on. I know people cheat. I know people fall in and out of love faster than I can decide which panties to wear that day. I know people fall for the banging hottie at the local coffee shop while I’m still dedicating “Hey There Delilah” to them on the Mix (No wonder no one likes me). But every time a new flame’s hand brushes mine and those sparks fly, I just FORGET. It’s like I have dating amnesia.
What I would rather do is learn to love like I have been hurt. You know why? Because I HAVE, and something should probably come from that. As in some discretion, wisdom, any sort of benefit at all. And maybe the next time a puppy eyed boy asks me for coffee, I won’t immediately run home and facebook stalk his photos, then photo shop us together to make sure we look good as a couple. Not that I actively do that…
I don't love the way you call me baby,
Sunday, February 8, 2009
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.