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

Ladies and gentlemen,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ally

Ally knows best?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I still think most people shouldn't procreate

Ally

Ghosts of Jerkfaces Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ally

Sometimes planes they smash up in the sky

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lunchtime!

Ivy

Be a man and Suck it up

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

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

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

Here are a few things he has complained about:

1. Going to visit her family

2. Being stuck in a rut with someone

3. Hating having a routine

4. Not liking having to deal with her problems

5. Not liking her problems interfering with him going out

6. Everything else you can think of

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

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

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

I can only pretend to be a home-wrecker

Ally

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

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

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

It worked.

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

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

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

Switching to Aussies,

Ally

People say my life is like a SitCom. Well, I don't think it's that funny...

This weekend was definitely a glimpse back to my past life of being a Fauxcialite last summer.

I must say, I've definitely missed it.

Friday I had a date with a British boy from Northwestern. A date that he scheduled two weeks in advance, I might add. So Brit takes a cab to my house to pick me up and takes me to a super fancy restaurant. We have a delicious and waaaaaay too expensive dinner. A dinner that nearly equalled what I make at my part time job IN A MONTH. For a first date. Despite my awkwardness (and the pressure of having to be more funny /charming /intelligent since he was shelling out so much cash) I had a fantastic time. He was cultured and sweet and intelligent, and had an accent. He is also volunteering at a lemur conservation center this summer. In Madagascar. Yes, just like the movie.

Obviously I was beyond smitten.

On to Saturday.

A boy from my past was in town for one day. A boy that I've been friends with and have had a secret crush on for 5 years (by secret I mean everyone knew except him. Well, honestly, he probably knew). We went to lunch and I remembered why I enjoyed hanging out with him- and looking at him, and I left to go get ready for a Frat Formal (where I would be a "mock date"). After the formal I drunkenly stumbled to a bar to meet up with my friends. And, of course, text Past Boy to meet up with us. He shows up around 3 am to the late bar we were at. Maybe earlier. I had no sense of time at that point. Cliffnotes version: We end up kissing at the bar for the first time ever. And then watched the Sunrise on the beach. And then kissed some more. A lot more. Until he had to go to the airport to catch his early flight. So the ONE TIME he decided to make a move was 24 hours after I have a fabulous date with a guy I decided I would one day marry. In Madagascar. Or England. I hate my life sometimes.

Pop Quiz: Does the rich, charming Brit stand a chance?

If you answered "yes," you've clearly never read this blog.

If you answered "no," you're right and are probably thinking I'm an idiot. Because I am.

Upon telling BFF (from the previous blog)/all my other friends about this, they yelled at me. Before you get the urge to yell at me too, hear me out. Yea, the Brit was charming and nice and treated me to an extremely fancy evening, but do I really want to date someone that I feel that I constantly need to impress? Or would I like to be with someone that I can let into my messy room and not care (this was a HUGE deal for me btw)? And yes, while I'm realistic that nothing can happen with Past Boy (since I'm cursed which means he lives out of state), it made me realize nothing should happen with the Brit either. You can't just keep exaggerating certain parts of your personality and hiding others depending on who you're dating. Compatibility doesn't mean finding someone you can put on a fascade around but still have fun. This is the part that I get grossly Cliche: it's finding someone you can always be yourself around. Really.

I found someone Saturday that I actually let into my messy room. After I pulled my first all nighter and probably looked like a crack head. And I didn't care. Now I dunno if anything will happen between me and Past Boy in the future, but hey, I didn't think anything would EVER happen between us. But I do know that whoever I end up with, it'll be someone who I'll let in when my laundry's all around my floor and not someone I'm embarrassed to order French wine in front of because I can't pronounce it.

Enjoying my sandwiches and beer just as much as my truffle sauce and dessert wine.

Ally

Ivy needs to stick to her guns...

Last night I went on a date.

Things were going well until he told me his favorite band was nickleback.

Ivy said I should continue to date him.

Never taking Ivy seriously again,

Ally

I'm dating a social experiment

Confession. There has been a lot of Plaid bashing on this blog. And while he does do a lot of stupid shit due to his y chromosome, truth be told... he's pretty great. I talk more about the reasons I want to throw him off of a building largely because, well, that's a hell of a lot funnier than a blog titled, "The top 10 reasons I love my little baby puffin boy"

Plaid, as a person, is basically me with shorter hair (it's even kind of the same texture...) and a vaster knowledge of music. But if I had to pick one area we don't see eye to eye, in the least, at all, not one bit... it's dating. Great. The person I'm dating doesn't understand how I perceive dating. That's like the person you're having sex with not understanding sex (but trust me. he does.)

There are a few little differences, such as he thinks affection is okay whereas I think all PDA-ers should be subject to the International Criminal Court. He also thinks it's okay to think about the future, whereas I'd like to pretend my body will implode upon itself before I ever settle down. But the big one is... he doesn't believe in mind games. And if there's ANYTHING I believe in, it's that you should try as hard as you can to fuck with the head of the person you care about (just...kidding?) He's not joking when he says this either; he actually thinks you should be honest with the person you're seeing, to the point where he has TOLD girls if they're just a hook up buddy or something more in a timely fashion! For Christ's sake, I'm not even honest with MYSELF about my dating intentions, let alone any of my ex-boyfriends who I cheated on 7 or 8 times.

Without pretending that I have a doctorate in pop psychology, I'm going to draw a broad and overreaching conclusion about why we don't see eye to eye. His entire dating life in college consisted of a long term relationship with his same girlfriend from high school. My dating life in college has consisted of hundreds of random make outs and a bottle of Jack Daniels. We had LITERALLY opposite experiences. And it had me wondering; Does college dating ruin us all? Because Plaid's experience has cultivated an individual who is honest, optimistic about love, and openly affectionate. My dating experience hasn't exactly left me hard and bitter, but basically I think all relationships are evil and I think I might be an alcoholic.

I'm not saying that the way he turned out is insanely perfect, and we should all forego serial dating in favor of the high school sweetheart path. Chronic monogamy certainly has it's drawbacks (like not getting to make out with literally every person in the bar). But somewhere in between all the drunken disposable hook ups, the complete asshole heartbreakers, and of course the mind fucking... something's gotta give. If your most honest and open relationship was with the guy who only dumped you then hooked up with your friend that ONE time... you're going to have to develop some thicker skin. Or else all the whiskey and ice cream and crying is going to start making you fat and puffy. Then no one will love you! (Thaaanks, Grandma!)

So, no. I'm not about to start belting out "Someday my Prince Will Come". But it couldn't hurt to give a little faith to relationships. Because even though I've dated hundreds of jerks, morons, and creeps, the latest flame isn't any of those things in the least (okay, he's totally creepy, but in a really endearing way I swear!) It may be too late for me to believe in that Disney romance, but I can at least give my all to a real life one. Prince Charming was technically a pedophile anyways.

I guess this is the point where I actually admit that I'm someone's girlfriend...

Ivy

When Harry met Sally they doomed us all...

While I was in class a few weeks back, my Professor brought up an extremely important and relevant issue she felt strongly about. It was an issue that I had actually been debating the weekend before with a group of friends. We discussed whether guys and girls can strictly be platonic friends (I love the classes I take).

Throughout college, I had a multitude of various guy friends ranging from the friend I've known since I was 4 to those "friends" that I hung out with on weekends. There was always one friend, though, that everyone said I would end up with. Sure we were close and argued like an old couple, and yea, he hated everyone I dated and if we went out to eat with our friends we'd feed each other, but that was just how we were. I didn't like him, and despite what many (now) exs thought, nothing was going on between us. For Pete's sake I hooked him up with friends of mine. After a while I got used to the "Are you two dating?" comments which were eventually replaced with the "OMG you two should TOOOOTALLLYYYY date! That would be SO cute!" At first it was ridiculous to hear that. Then funny. Then, two years later, it was just annoying.

Well, what everyone but me thought was inevitable, actually was. Long story short, in the last few months, this BFF and I have had a few sleepovers and I've gotten some presents (read: jewelry and a stuffed animal).

I really don't do the whole "get involved with friends" thing due to a botched relationship/friendship from high school so I was REALLY hesitant about this. That, and the fact that BFF has hooked up with like, 4 of my closest friends over the years. People's pasts are scary enough, but think about what it's like when his past drunken nights were with one of your really hot, fun friends who everyone wants. Yea. Hate my life.

Anyway, I have thought long and hard about where things should go, where I think they're going, what he wants, why he wants it, why now, what's the point if we're graduating, and most importantly, what I want. Well, apparently, I'm MUCH better at coming up with hypothetical answers for BFF and suck at figuring out what I want. Part of me wants something more, part of me doesn't and I can't for the life of me figure out which part to listen to.

My friends don't help at all either. Most of them are so excited at the thought of BFF becoming my BF so when I say "I dunno...kissing him was kinda....weird....not like it was bad, but just, not normal" they dismiss it saying that it's just something I have to overcome and get used to while my other friends (OK fine, just Ivy) quoted the most relevant source: Friends. She reminded me that when Monica and Chandler got together, they said that it just felt right. Well, yea, this didn't really. But lets be honest, do I ever listen to Ivy? Nope. So I let things continue. Which was dumb.

I've been writing this post for about 3 weeks now. I've been replaying every conversation and little thing in my head driving myself crazy trying to figure out what he wants (instead of, you know, just talking to him. Why? Because I'm a girl and talking about important things scares me). The whole time I was writing this post I kept going back and forth on what to think about this whole thing and low and behold, I agree with Ivy. Nothing is meant to develop between us. If it were, he would be trying harder to actually date me- not text me after 1 am on a Wednesday because he's bored.

Honestly, if it were ANY other guy, I would have written him off as a total D-bag booty texter a LOOOONG time ago. But I didn't because we were friends. I let the fact that we had some form of strong relationship get in the way of my better judgement, but really, that should have led me to think this way in the first place. As my friend, he's tried to protect me (read: yell at me multiple times) from jerks who would pull this same shit. He would get mad that I would be dumb enough to think that these guys actually wanted a deep emotional connection when they texted at 1 am and I never listened to him even though I knew he was right. So in my head, I thought he couldn't do the same thing to me knowing how many times it's happened. But he did. And yea, MAYBE he has some feelings that go a little deeper, but that's still not enough. He always told me that I needed to hold out for a guy that would treat me with respect and want to be with me no matter what. I thought for a little while that it was him. It wasn't. He's a good friend for me, but that's it.

Sometimes you get so comfortable with an opposite sex friend that the lines get a little blurred and it's hard to tell what's going on which eventually leads you to question what you want. Yes, you enjoy spending time together and play a huge role in each other's lives, but most of that time, the role you're supposed to play is just the friend. Not everyone is meant to end up with their BF. From now on, I'm disregarding everything my friends tell me are "signs" that BF is in love with me. Sure, he's hated all my guys I bring home, but so have all my female friends. Yea he's gotten me presents, but so have my female friends. Maybe we drunkenly made out, but so have... well, you get the point.

Wishing my life were more like "The Proposal" because Ryan Reynolds is HOT,

Ally

The best dating advice comes from Eleanor Roosevelt

Remember that little quote that's been pummeled into your head since kindergarten? "There's nothing to fear but fear itself." Unfortunately for the late Mrs. Roosevelt, the people of America probably should have also feared the ensuing decade of bread lines, unemployment, and stocking up on toilet paper. But while my love life could be considered depressing, it's hardly the Great Depression. It's more akin to the most recent economic crisis; Nothing that can't be fixed by a black man.

...I digress. While the quote may currently seem as culturally relevant as Tamagatchis, I found myself really thinking about it. What has REALLY caused more detriment to my life? The things I'm afraid of, or the fact that I'm afraid of them? My list of phobias includes, but is not limited to:Acrophobia, algophobia, apiphobia, cacophobia, chiroptophobia, decidophobia, dutchphobia, gamophobia, macrophobia, nudophobia, orientalphobia... and the big one... philophobia.

I am absolutely terrified that one day I might be forced into the situation where I have to...love someone. Most of my fears stem from the fact that my mind likes to think of ways everything can go wrong. Sometimes this is a good thing; as in when I finally come to the conclusion that getting into a car with 3 strange men I just met at the bar is a poor choice (...God, I wish I HAD come to that conclusion...) But sometimes it's terrible thing, like when I irrationally believe my boyfriend is cheating on me with Heidi Klum (and he doesn't even like blondes!)

But that's the reason philophobia is my favorite of all phobias. It's the easiest one to justify, because most of these "irrational" thoughts have ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENED. I've been cheated on with strangers and with friends. I've cheated on people for no apparent reason with 7 different dudes in one night. I've dumped people over text, after things were going seemingly well. I've been dumped over facebook chat, after things were going seemingly well. People fall in and out of love faster than I throw up after chugging 3 Long Islands. Add all this up, and being love feels a lot like standing on a mountain surrounded by bees and Asian people; absolutely frightening.

Now some people are thrill seekers and absolutely get off on this feeling. I do not. I'm being a risk seeker if I decide to wear lace underwear in the morning. And while I realize that my love averse behavior is putting me on the Metra to Cat Lady Town, that doesn't mean I'm ready to take the plunge.

So sorry there, Eleanor. While you may have given some sound advice, your husband also cheated on you with your social secretary. So maybe the only thing to fear... is women who are hotter than you.

At least I'm not blogophobic,

Ivy

If I were your third grade teacher, you'd get a check minus.

The thing about winter break is that it is more destructive to my love life than Jose Cuervo. It is impossible to meet any fresh dating material while hitting the south suburban club scene, unless you have an affinity for Ed Hardy trucker caps and community college. Now if you have an attention addiction stronger than Amy Winehouse's addiction to snorting every substance known to man, this reduces you to recycling former love interests.

When you start trying to rekindle things with past prospects, you start remembering why they never quite made the leap from Mr. Right Now to Mr. Right. Most of them are at best intolerable, and at worst deserve to die in a fire. I sent a text message one night to a cute med student I had met over the summer, feigning interest in how his life had been going...and opened the Pandora's box of texts, phone calls, and IMs. I have no problem with 500 text messages a day, provided the guy has something witty/smart/cute/interesting to say (hello, I literally have tried to snort attention off of a hooker's ass). 95% of the time, they do not. Nothing this med student had to say fell into the magical 5%.

Sample conversation (which happened approximately 60 different times):

Him- Wanna come over and watch a movie?

Me- You live kind of far. You could come here.

Him- I'm already all cozy in my bed. You can climb in with me. We can cuddle.

Me- I don't even like to cuddle.

Him- You never want to hang out with me.

No shit I never want to hang out with you. That's because you never suggest anything even remotely appealing to do. All of your suggestions involve me riding the train for 45 minutes into the ghetto, to hang out at your apartment (which probably doesn't even have couches) and cuddle with you. And let's be honest, when you SAY cuddle you MEAN you're going to try and date rape me for 2 hours before finally awkwardly passing out.

Listen, I'm not saying you have to get me a 200 dollar dinner before I have sex with you; I've had sex with people for Taco Bell. What I'm saying is that your hang out suggestion makes you seem incredibly, incredibly boring. You seem like the kind of guy whose idea of an epic Saturday night is watching ESPN with your friends in your apartment with two cases of Busch, before you drunk dial your ex girlfriend and cry to her for a half an hour. You also seem like you hate effort, in every sense of the word, as demonstrated by your inability to leave your apartment ever. Which means if I were to somehow sleep with you, I would enjoy about 7 minutes of sex. And enjoy is really pushing it.

And maybe it's my fault for texting you one fucking time asking how you were doing. Maybe that one generic text gave you the impression that you should try to get me to come to your apartment on a daily basis. And maybe I really wasn't clear enough when I said "No, I'm not going to go to your apartment." or when I said "No, I'm never coming to your apartment." or when I said "No, you're completely retarded for thinking I am ever coming to your apartment."

The next time this lazy jackass asks me to come to his damn apartment, you know what? I'm gonna do it. And I'm going to nail his roommate, then leave. Guess it might be worth the trip after all.

Call an escort service. She'll come to your apartment,

Ivy