Dating Gives Me Ulcers

I don’t have time to date – I’m focusing on my career…

2011-08-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

I’ve uttered variations of this statement before. I know most of you have. I also know that most guys would probably say this is a lame excuse. It’s not. It’s a perfectly acceptable and legitimate excuse.

While I am a freelance designer (which isn’t remotely interesting as it sounds), I’m still looking for a full-time, big girl job. So how did I spend last week, you ask? Well, I spent all of last week waiting by my phone, in bed, waiting for a man to call after he said he would. And he did. Nine days later.

Nine. Days.

I don’t know if you realize how long that is to wait for a man to call. Well, actually, I’m sure you do. You spend every five minutes looking at your phone to make sure you have service. You’re constantly texting people, waiting for their response to confirm that your phone, is, in fact, functional. You begin to make excuses for him such as: “Oh, it’s 11:00 am, it’s still early.” “Oh, it’s 3:00, I’m sure he got slammed at work.” “Oh, it’s after 5:00…he’s probably left the office so I won’t hear from him until tomorrow now…I hope.”

Oh. Sorry. Did you think I was talking about a boy I was interested in? Oh no…I was talking about my potential employer who said he’d be following up our phone interview with a call to set up a meeting.

Throughout my job search, I’ve realized that this process is almost identical to dating. Well, that’s not true. It’s worse. If a boy doesn’t like me, I dress slutty, go to a bar, get hammered, and make out with a stranger. There are always more men. Always. There are not always more jobs. If I don’t snag the one, who knows how long I’ll be sitting on my couch counting down the days until the series finale of All My Children.

I know, I sound ridiculous right now. But it’s true. So I’ve compiled a list of the ways interviewing is like dating.

1. You’re so nervous before your interview, you consider taking a shot before you leave to calm down. Eventually, you decide against it because you don’t want to smell like liquor and be labeled an alcoholic this early. (Side note: While most normal people may not take shots before dates, Ivy and I have. Many times.)

2. You get dressed in the outfit you planned days before. You make sure that you look thin, mature, and not slutty, but also still really hot.

3. When meeting with the interviewer, you stumble upon your words, try to make yourself sound interesting/smart/clever, and try your hardest to avoid any awkward silences.

4. After the meeting is over, you replay every second of it over your head. Multiple times. You try to figure out if you really WERE clever and smart, or if you sounded like an idiot. You also try to decipher the interviewer’s reaction to everything you said. You spend forever trying to figure out if he/she liked you.

5. After the meeting you wait for a call back. And wait. And wait…

6. If they DO call you back, your insecurities subside a tad. You now know that you were liked. But were you liked enough to be considered for real commitment?

7. You go back for a second meeting. You repeat steps 1-5.

8. Hopefully, after this, you get called back with the wonderful news that you are now employed. If not, you probably will end up very, very drunk trying to fill the void in your life.

I now know why the “focusing on my career” excuse was invented. Because having gone through this in regards to a job AND a boy at the exact same time, I legitimately started to lose it. My life was literally at a halt until two separate men decided if/when they would contact me. It was awful and I did not like it. I would encourage everyone to avoid that situation at all costs.

Waiting for Step 8
Ally

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

2010-11-16T11:14:00.001-08:00

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?

2010-11-07T16:35:00.001-08:00

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

2010-09-14T10:53:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-09T09:35:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-07-07T14:41:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-05-25T17:48:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-04-22T12:58:00.001-07:00

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

2010-04-14T22:46:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-04-01T08:49:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-04T22:46:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-07T11:21:00.000-08:00

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

Seriously, guys, dating gives me ulcers.

2009-12-20T19:47:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

Say goodnight and go,

Ivy

Ivy the coupled

2009-10-14T22:57:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ivy

I might as well date cardboard cutouts

2009-09-06T23:12:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-09-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think about why you're staying together:

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

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

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

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

Ally

What I wish I had known about dating my freshman year

2009-08-26T18:29:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I might as well just date Jack Daniels

2009-08-23T22:12:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-08-12T21:41:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Planning on making socialite status by 25

Ally

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

2009-08-12T17:11:00.001-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Ivy

Ok, now it's getting ridiculous

2009-08-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

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

He asked for my number.

I found out he's in town until tomorrow.

...He's from Canada.

FML

ally

And the curse is back in full swing...

2009-08-09T00:20:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

Moving to Boston,

Ally

Actually living generally means less writing.

2009-08-05T13:22:00.000-07:00

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

1.) Actor guy

2.) High school ex boyfriend

3.) Lawyer guy

4.) Irish guy

5.) Engineer guy

6.) Irish guy the second

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-08-03T16:41:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's time to let society re-enter me

2009-06-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first step is leaving your books at home,

Ivy

Make it stop

2009-05-22T11:56:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

Should I post an add on Craigslist?

Ivy

My cab driver hit on me

2009-05-18T22:26:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

Ivy

Sometimes there's just no moral...

2009-05-18T17:20:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Finally back in the game....kinda,

Ally

Side Note

2009-05-18T15:34:00.000-07:00

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

I need to get out more.

Shit,

Ivy

There is an exception to every rule

2009-05-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

Yeah, I hate me too,

Ivy

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

2009-05-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unamusing and unamused,

Ivy

Ever had a song stuck in your head?

2009-05-08T23:40:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Investing in a sexy sailor costume,

Ivy

Ivy...the unqualified

2009-05-04T23:01:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I get booty called and hate it

I booty call people and love it

I cheated cause I was bored

I cheated cause I was scared

I was denied by someone I loved

I was denied by someone I lusted

I was hurt by someone I trusted

I hurt someone who trusted me

I've felt abandoned

I've felt fat/feel fat

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

Making all the same mistakes twice or thrice,

Ivy

Put the kids to bed

2009-04-30T20:53:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ivy

I'm boring.

2009-04-27T19:55:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

Oh my God someone give me something to blog about,

Ivy

Happy Birthday, Ivy

2009-04-24T09:52:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

Gray hairs look distinguished on some people!

Ivy

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

2009-04-20T20:54:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

Hoping to meet her future husband at McFadden's,

Ivy

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

2009-04-19T13:19:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ivy

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

2009-04-15T11:01:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ally

Fool me once shame on you; fool me twice and I'll fall in love with you

2009-04-14T18:32:00.000-07:00

I was having a conversation with Ally earlier today. She was making that tried and true girl claim, the one that makes every other girl kind of want to slap you in the face- "No guys like me. At all." Well, that's just not true, and I told her as such. She replied, "Okay. I have Fone. And some guy who texts me every other day despite me not answering." My knee jerk reaction was to tell her that since they were technically human beings, she could not say NO ONE liked her. Then I thought to my own situation.

I've been claiming lately that no one wants to date me. But that's not true exactly. What I mean is no one I consider worth more than 20 minutes of my time wants to date me (Ouch! Hey I'm not saying they are worth no one's time.) To tell the truth...this seems to be the case with me a lot. At any given time, I will have 2 or 3 guys I am definitely not swooning over trying to make me...well, swoon over them. But at any given time, I will also have 1 guy who I think the sun rises and sets for who decides that he'd rather date an Asian or a girl named Ashley.

Which is the disease and which is the symptom? Something is going on here. Either a.) I'm psychologically wired to only pine over the men who reject me, or b.) The types of guys I like do not like me (presumably because I do not fit the Asian or Ashley criteria. And fine, maybe a few other reasons). To be perfectly honest, I've been trying to work out a way to analyze this. But I'm really, really not sure which came first, the desire or the rejection. I would hope it's option a, since I can actually make some futile attempts to fix my rejection-obsessed psychology. But it may just as likely be option b...which is something I have no control over.

That's it, kids. There is no enlightening ending to this one.

Clueless for the cure,

Ivy

When did I go from barely legal hot chick to barely hot legal chick?

2009-04-12T22:29:00.000-07:00

Well I’m starting to remember why I serial date. After one week, one little tiny week of having no one to hold me or call me pretty, my confidence is shot. I mean I am still having a blast with friends, pouring my heart and soul into academia, and shopping like I’m Paris Hilton (except I’m doing it at Target). And yet while my friends sit there at dinner talking about their boyfriends or potential boyfriends or imaginary boyfriends, I can’t help but feel like the frumpy loser friend.

Now all of my friends think my man fast is hilarious, and all of them are beyond supportive of my endeavor. And they constantly remind me, “You know, you could have a guy right now if you wanted.” But then my mind starts turning…could I? I mean the whole reason I secretly started writing this thing is because lately I seem to have lost my mojo. Back before I turned 20 and got cellulite on my ass (I swear, God gave me cellulite for my 20th birthday), I had a new guy asking me out every week. Now my options were dwindling…and my God, I am only 20.

You’re constantly hearing from people that 30 is the new 20. That women are getting sexier with age, and the line between “young lady” and “middle aged” has been blurred by Botox. But listen…any college lady worth her weight in Busch Lite knows that the phrase, “I’m a junior” is the kiss of death at any party. Whether the guy is a freshman or a senior, it seems that the idea of fresh blood is far more appealing. Now there’s only a two year difference here, so I doubt my looks have severely declined since the age of 18. In fact I find I carry myself better, am more confident and secure in my own body. There is a better explanation for this.

It is probably true that the upstanding gentlemen on frat row single out the freshmen because those girls don’t recognize the effects of GHB right away. But let’s not write this entire phenomenon off as a symptom of douchebaggery. Is there something the wide eyed, tube top clad freshman girls are offering? And I mean besides a lack of discretion in who they fellate.
Well, as usual, I think I may have an answer. And it’s simple. They ain’t bitter yet. By junior year you have been used, you have been hurt, burned, embarrassed, and don’t have the capacity to endure one more walk of shame. But when you’re a freshman, everything is new and exciting, and you really believe that Matt Frat might be your next great love. And there is something not only appealing about that naïve attitude, I will venture to say there is something beautiful about it. The younger you are, the easier it is to love like you’ve never been hurt.

The older you get, the more you fall into patterns. You start feeling like you’ve met the same guy 500 times, and are less inclined to believe that someone can be different. They are guilty until proven innocent, and it takes an unbelievable amount of time and energy and flowers and apologies for a man to convince a wise woman. When you’re younger and untainted, you feel attraction in its purest form. You consider whether or not you’re attracted to the person, if you find them smart and funny and awesome. The older you get, the more variables there are. Are they secretly just like Johnny Exboyfriend? Are they lying to you like all the other men on the planet besides your daddy? Are you yourself even ready to be in a relationship right now?

So yeah, why was I fighting off guys with a stick at the age of 18, and suddenly spend every Friday night with Jose Cuervo at the age of 20? Maybe because at the age of 18 my expectation was simple: To meet someone cute and fun who I could have cute fun with. And now at the age of 20 the expectation is: To meet someone so amazing they can completely restore my lack of faith in mankind caused by the past two years of dating torture. Yeah, those are some big shoes to fill, and maybe it’s no wonder most guys hightail when they figure that out.

I now wonder which attitude is worth it. I suppose I could always reset to my old mindset of just finding some cool guys to have fun with. To keep it light, not get invested, and try not to get too hurt. Or I could wait around for someone willing to take on the tough job of earning my trust, no matter how many spoonfuls of frosting and cries with my mom it means. Is true love, if it exists, worth all the lonely nights?

I could be having lots of hot make outs with lots of hot strangers, and get lots of expensive dinners with lots of guys who want in my pants. Is it fulfilling? No, not really. But is it more fun than sulking alone in your room wearing black stretch pants and a pudding stained shirt? Yes, yes, and God yes. So I suppose that given the choice, I would reinstate my policy of searching for Mr. Right Now. But after all the disappointment and rejection, the question really becomes…Can I ever go back to dating like I haven’t been hurt?

In that awkward age between teen dream and cougar,

Ivy

A public service announcement

2009-04-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

In the past year, you can't turn on Lifetime for 5 minutes (not that I do....) without being bombarded with adds urging you to get an HPV vaccination. Something like 105% of people who breathe air are infected, I'm serious, it has made me swear off blowjobs. But did you know there is a more rampant, deadly love related disease out there? If I had more than $2.75 in my wallet, I would purchase hours and hours of Lifetime and Oxygen and even Spike TV airtime warning society about this disease.

You don't even have to have sex to contract it. You can get it just by talking. Lucky for you the illness is confined to a specific breed of men, and I can teach you how to identify them! Oh, emotional whores. They don't sleep around, they emote around. They lie in your bed and hold you while listening to you pour out your feelings on how you wish the Trix Rabbit could get some cereal. They fondle your hopes and aspirations (oddly enough, I named lefty hope and righty aspiration!) And that's just the foreplay. Oh man, by the end of the night they get you so ready to have an emotional climax that you start screaming, "Yes! YES! I DO HAVE DOUBTS ABOUT THE FUTURE!!! Oh God baby, I need a cigarette."

But like regular old whores, emotional whores will also leave you when the sun rises, and usually with some weird sort of (symbolic) rash. But...wait a minute...isn't emotionally connecting GENERALLY a characteristic of sweet, honest guys? YES. I KNOW. Men have become so advanced in their cruelty that they have discovered a way to mimic the exact behavior of Mr. Right and morph into Mr. Right For Tonight. These tells aren't foolproof, but I've been emotionally infected enough to have picked up on some safety tips:

*It may seem like a good thing if there are no awkward pauses. FALSE. That means he is not nervous. If he is not nervous, he is not being sincere. When you meet someone new and amazing, you should be filled with anxiety ...not stringing together pure conversational poetry.

*He makes future plans with you. I know, I know, this seems like a nice gesture...he is outwardly saying he would like to see you in the future. The confusing truth is if he actually wanted to see you in the future, he would be way too apprehensive to straight up ask you right then and there. Also, think about it...if he's making big decisions like "we should go to this expensive restaurant" before you two even know each other that well, he ain't got nothing on the line. He don't really care. Enough slang now.

*He gives you the perfect amount of eye contact, and knows the exact right moment to kiss you. Red lights, come on now, no need for explanation.

*He's very understanding when you don't have sex with him. Too understanding, as in you can't even see a pang of disappointment in his face. I'm not saying the guy needs to be date raping you to be really into you, but if he doesn't care at all that you're not having sex, then he doesn't care at all.

*He says he likes you. He says he wants things to go further, or asks if you want things to go further. If he were into you, he'd have to actually THINK about this for more than a night. Also, he'd be too afraid of rejection to just say it flat out. You could respond, "No I think you're fat and hideous" and trust me...Emo Whore would shrug it off.

I hope my public service announcement was a little useful. Unfortunately you can't just take some penicillan if you happen to have unprotected emoting with a feelings slut. There's only one cure...eat some ice cream, accept that some people are just lying jerks, and continue onward with your quest for the sincere.

Urging you to protect yourself!

Ivy

I'm not sure how it took me this long to figure out...

2009-04-07T11:56:00.000-07:00

There is one important dating rule everyone needs to know:

Men Lie.

Always.

And that's not just me being bitter. I asked a guy friend of mine the other day how to tell if a guy is being sincere. His response: "Don't believe anything a guy tells you until after 6 months of dating."

Off to join a convent,

Ally

From what I've heard, with skin you'll win

2009-04-05T17:38:00.000-07:00

With all the outside contributing factors, it is literally amazing that people manage to hook up ever. Logic would have you believing that if you are an attractive and interesting person, you will...well, attract and interest people. But this formula is falible; there are always circumstances beyond your control. These circumstances are usually wearing a low cut blouse.

Oh, the Swooper. The scenario is always the same. Dude approaches you, and begins speaking to you. You and Dude are really hitting it off...he's digging your jokes, seems impressed with your passions, and you caught him checking out your ass when you turned around. Everything is going great! Enter the Swooper. She is usually identifiable by her massive amounts of eyeliner and cleavage that defies gravity, but the more dangerous members of the species blend in seamlessly with the rest of us...they don't even look like man stealing sluts! The Swooper's skill lies in her ability to flirt so incredibly hard with Dude, that any attempts to top her moves would result in you looking like a complete asshole. Some of these moves include:

*Dancing so hard on him, his public boner is completely warranted.
*Super gluing herself to his side all night
*Insinuating (or even flat out saying) that he is going to get some play at the end of the night.
*Acting as though he is the most fascinating man since Andy Warhol
*Physical contact including, but certainly not limited to, playing with hair, hand on leg, public make outs

The Swooper offers Dude the exact two things he craves; Unlimited ego stroking, and the possibility of another kind of stroking. You see, your stories about your brief stint in the philharmonic or that time you won a Nobel Prize can't compete with the fact that he's 98% sure she is going to fellate him. Despair not, in normal settings this is usually not the case...but after some advice from his buddy Jose Cuervo, Dude is going to go for the shameless flirt over your subtly sexy smile any day.

I began to wonder...if the method of The Swooper is infinitely more effective than my method of winning them over through slowly revealing my wit and intellect (then sloppily making out with them in an alleyway...a few hours later, naturally) then why in the hell am I sticking to my shitty method? The only reason I can come up with is I would feel like a total asshole. After the initial 5 minutes of feeling like a fat loser because I just got swooped, I think Miss Swoop looks like a complete tool. The overly loud laugh. Her hands shamelessly wondering. And oh, the juking! I literally could not bring myself to use that method, because it is effective for the wrong reasons. I may be missing out on the validation...but I'd rather find one guy who is not shallow or dumb enough to fall for a Swooper than 50 who are turned on by women dancing on them like they're a stripper pole.

At least Ben and Jerry think I'm pretty,

Ivy

Ask and you shall receive, or, you'll just get damn lucky...

2009-04-05T15:19:00.000-07:00

In a funny turn of events, despite my last blog, I now have butterflies again.

fairly smitten,

ally

Remember when you'd go on a date and feel butterflies? Yea, me either....

2009-04-03T09:01:00.000-07:00

To add to Ivy's post, I also have found myself dating just to date recently. Despite all my friends telling me not to give Mr. Not that Attractive, Mr. Not that Intelligent, Mr. I wear Man Uggs, and Mr. Even less Attractive a chance, I do. And yes, I do use dumb excuses like, well he's nice, or he plays a sport, or he plays the drums, or he looks like he's a 300 cast member (because really, those are my standards at this point...)

But you want to know the worst part about this. I am dating (drunkenly hooking up with at bars) with these guys, who my friends warn me about, and somehow, in the end, I get screwed over, and not in the good way. For some reason, the guys who everyone tells me I'm too [insert compliment-able adjectives here] for, dump me first.

So basically I've found dating to date leads to this: I become interested in someone that I'm really not totally into. I attempt dating someone that I shouldn't bother dating. I get screwed over. And it's by someone I really didn't even like all that much in the first place.

This is not fun. Dating should not be "go out with the nearest living male because he exists and is there". It needs to be because you actually like him as a person. Not because he plays the drums. Or is pretty. (although I will not judge if you want to have a little fun with those boys)

Wanting to Feel Butterflies Again,

Ally

And now for a word on "dating just to date"

2009-04-02T13:53:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to myself, and to the masses: I have not been dating in about two months now. There has been the odd first date here and there, and a few amusing Stalkers and Booty Callers, but no one who makes my little post-adolescent heart go pitter patter. To reiterate: I have not been dating. So what's the big deal? I'm not dating anyone for the first time in 3 years.

You see, I am guilty of something you probably all are guilty of as well: dating just to date. Finding interesting and sexy people is a lot of freaking work, and it is just the American way to avoid that. In between finding Mr. Right and Mr. Right Junior and Mr. Right III, we feel the need to pass the time with Mr. Not That Attractive, Mr. Not That Nice to Me, and Mr. IQ in the Double Digits. We will date all sorts of people who are blaringly below our standards, then pretend we are being open minded by "giving someone a chance." No. Stop tricking yourself. You will never, ever love someone whose Ipod is overflowing with Nickelback and Nickelback remixes. You are dating because you are afraid not to be.

Well...what's REALLY the point of dating just to date? Newsflash: Dating is hard fucking work. It takes time, energy, and all sorts of minutes on your cell phone plan...not to mention the constant nerves, the agitation, the apprehension of getting to know someone new, Jesus Christ....IT HAD BETTER BE WORTH IT. Dating just to date would be like doing 2 hours of cardio a day just cause I like treadmills: It's sweaty and exhausting, and if it didn't keep me in my skinny jeans, I wouldn't do it.

So I guess I'm not feeling the urge to find me a fixer upper, spend weeks or months trying to fix him up...then discovering there is actually no way to get a frat boy to enjoy James Joyce. I think I have better ways to spend my time and it rhymes with "getting drunk." Don't worry...I will still have plenty of stories.

Flying solo,

Ivy

For the record, ;-) are stupid. I guarantee you never actually wink...

2009-03-29T21:00:00.000-07:00

You know what’s worse than the Booty Call? The Emotional Booty Call…via text. Now, many of you might not be familiar with what this is (and by familiar I mean have a guy do it to you) but, I’m sure most of you are guilty of it. The Emotional Booty Text (EBT) is when someone will text a fallback guy or girl solely for the sake of texting. Variations include “Hey, what’s up”, “how’s your day going”, “I can’t wait to see you”, or, my personal favorite, the “good morning, sweetie” text that’s waiting for you when you wake up.

Now, I have to admit, whenever I’ve been in a slump, I’ll usually start texting some guy every once in a while just to keep me preoccupied, but my latest failed attempt at a boyfriend wins the gold medal for emotional booty texts. After 4 months of being MIA (that’s a story in itself, and should have been a red flag), “Updater“ decides to call me out of the blue. Twice. Within an hour. I later found out it was to invite me to some event because he missed me and hadn’t seen me in FOREVER. He then proceeds to text me. Everyday. For two weeks. All the time. I’ll admit that I fell for it at first. It was nice to get cute little texts again from a boy I was interested in (who actually spelled out words correctly and used punctuation). I liked opening my phone to see some variation of me being called pretty accompanied by an emoticon. (seriously, the ;-) gets me everytime) After a while though, the texts started becoming more like updates and were getting more and more boyfriend-y. I would get texts like “I’m tanning now. I wish you were lying next to me” or “I’m going shopping” or the MULTIPLE “Come to where I am on vacation right now” texts.

The other night, I get the courage (read: make poor decisions while drinking) to text Updater, who by the way doesn’t even go to my school, to see why he decided to start texting me of all girls suddenly, out of the blue. He informed me that no girl at his school was like me because I was really nice and cute and he wanted to see where things went. AWWW. He DID like me. Oh, wait, bullshit. He hadn’t spoken to me in 4 months. Try again. He went on to tell me that He really liked me. So, luckily, I DO get a little more ballsy when I’m drinking and called him out on it saying he didn’t know a thing about me and he pulled the “True, but I want to know more” card. Which I fell for. The next day, I asked Ivy what she thought about Updater. She said he was insincere. So then as the EBTs continued, I realized that I was like, the replacement girlfriend. He didn’t need to get any (he’s hot, he probably already was) but he needed to have some quasi-emotional thing going on- even if it was only through text.

So, how do you know if you’re a victim of the EBT and the guy’s really not sincere. Well, if you’re me, you’re writing this blog as you wait for the guy to come hang out with you like he suggested in the first place. Really though, if a guy says “I can’t wait to see you” guess what, unless he actually comes to see you, he can, in fact, wait. If nothing happens outside of texting, or facebook, or any other form of technology, they’re just EBTs. And really, that’s pretty much like you’re going back to the junior high days when you’d go in the “Kids Only” Chatrooms on AOL and talk to some guy across the country…oh wait…maybe that was only me and my friends….

I’ve decided that this is the more dangerous form of the booty call. At least with a Booty Call, you have the option to get something out of it. But with the EBT, you become accustomed to having someone to constantly tell how your day was, get cute comments from, and receive a never ending supply of various smiley faces. You don't get anything out of it other than the security of always having someone to "talk" to and this sucks, because lets face it, when you’re texting someone 425 times a day, you kind of expect something other than a huge phone bill to come from it.

Thank God I have Unlimited Texting

Ally

And men think WE'RE oblivious.

2009-03-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

This week involved me having to resort to disgustingly blunt measures to weed away the male suitors (I use this term...loosely at best) who will NOT SHUT UP. I have tried being unresponsive, flat out rude, telling them I was not looking for anything, saying we should be just friends, and so on and so forth...I busted out every line in my rejection arsenal. Now before you think I am greedy and turning away lovely gentleman, allow me to assure you that both of these guys suck, in new and fantastic ways.

Got booty call text from Booty Caller Thursday night. I have yet to give him any booty, so I do not know why I have become his main resource. I had to put an end to it. Midnight rolled around (on the DOT! this is becoming ridiculous) and I got the, "Hey I'm in the area, what's up?" OF COURSE you are in the area. You live in Lincoln Park. I live 15 minutes away. You are always, every night, about 15 minutes away from the area. This is not a special occasion.

I responded, "I'm sorry. We want different things. For example, I'd like someone capable of contacting me before midnight."

No response. The Booty Caller has been silenced. I will remember him always as the one who got away.

Boy 2. Boy who, while we were dating in November, left me. For a Reverend. No I'm not kidding, he left me for a chick reverend, which is a huge slap in the face because I am agnostic. Well after their beautiful 3 week long relationship, he decided that he missed me so bad, and he made a mistake. Apparently he thinks I'm a 13 year old Jonas brothers fan. I called shennanigans...I don't wanna see Reverend Lover ever again. Yet he texts me pretty much every other day asking if I'd like to go out with him. These have been my various (and I swear, true) responses:

"We already had our chance"
"I don't want to see you."
"We could be friends, nothing more."
"I don't want to see you."
"I'm way too busy to hang out with you, ever."
"...I don't want to see you."

And each time, he texts me that he misses me and asks when he can see me...as though those responses didn't exist. He pulled the, "but don't you miss spending time with me?" card. I finally had to be blunt: "There is absolutely nothing between us. I have said this. We have no connection, at all."

Cold. Harsh. To the point. Like pulling off a band-aid, or sleeping with your professor; it's just better to get it done quickly.

Teaching the oblivious a lesson,

Ivy

Add it up and basically, people never change

2009-03-27T11:37:00.000-07:00

So the whole world knows that this semester I had my heart torn into approximately 850 pieces by the greatest (and CUTEST) mindfucker to be unleashed upon mankind. MF (which stands for mindfucker, but by the way, could stand for something else in describing him) emotionally abused me with a smile, all the while somehow convincing me he had done nothing out of the ordinary. Genius. At any rate, what's done is done, and I've moved on to gaining 10 lbs and he's moved on to fucking half of Chicago...and one of my friends.

I ran into said friend at the library (okay, the bar, shut up) last night. Now I'm an adult, so I can admit that I think she is a lousy bitch and someone should kidnap her, tape her eyes open, and force her to watch Lifetime for 48 straight hours until she learns the meaning of female solidarity. (Chicks before dicks!...unless he's particularly smart or attractive). Now the first thing Good Friend says to me is,

"Why didn't you warn me that MF is a DOUCHEBAG?"

And it's true. I didn't say a word...I found out they were dating, and I didn't try to stop it. I didn't say "Hey. Seriously, I KNOW he has a smile that would make Adolf Hitler giggle like a schoolgirl...but in my humble experience, he is going to cheat on you with 5 different women, and then somehow get you to blame yourself." I racked my brain for an excuse, and finally told her I respected her enough to know she'd come to the conclusion on her own.

But that's not true, considering I currently don't respect her at all. The real answer is: For some reason unbeknown to myself, I honestly thought he would treat her amazingly. Seriously, for some reason I had it in my head that MF was only a mindfucker (motherfucker) to me specifically, and that the next woman he was with would get nothing but honesty, kisses, affection, and a Harry Winston engagement ring. When the truth is...he used to be a jackass, he currently is a jackass, and he will probably continue to be a jackass even on his deathbed.

At the root of this is a bigger problem (It's always a bigger problem. Life is a series of big fucking problems wrapped within each other). Even though he was the one to fuck up badly, I blamed myself. And we always do this...for some reason, all women (hey and men!) have this insane belief that if we were good enough, Cheaters and Assholes alike would give up their evil ways and smother us with love and eskimo kisses. But it's not true! Some people are just mean. Independent of how sexy or clever or amazing at blowjobs you are, some people are just selfish, and rude, and mean.

This may sound depressing, but it's NOT! It is amazingly uplifting...it means that you don't have to worry about your horribly cruel exes being really happy with their lives right now. They aren't happy. Because they will drag the some bullshit and emotional garbage into all of their relationships, forever and ever. I can only hope that Good Friend comes to her senses and dumps him, though part of me is glad her ignorance of female solidarity has taught her an important lesson: If 50% of his exes became suicidal, and the other 50% became homicidal, statistics are just not in your favor.

I am so happy you will always suck,

Ivy

This could be one of the reasons I'm single....

2009-03-26T08:10:00.000-07:00

Last night after finishing three wonderful renditions of Torn, Summer Nights, and Piano Man at Karaoke I went to a friend's place for his Birthday and what I was told was a "dance party".

I get there and my two friends who live at the apartment are passed out/very near passing out. There was one other person there that I didn't know, so being the friendly person that I am, I go up and introduce myself.

His Response: I already know. We went on a date about a year ago. Remember?

I instantly remembered said date, but still have no idea what his name is.

FML,

Ally

E for effort

2009-03-22T13:08:00.001-07:00

Booty Caller is such a relentless, well...Booty Caller that it has become hilarious. I would like to include a brief analysis of our correspondance from this weekend:

Friday:

11:07 pm- "What's up?" Yes. I bet you really want to know how my day went. And you want to know right now, at 11, through text message. Needless to say, I simply didn't respond. I bet the suspense was killing him. How was he to find out what was up? HOW?!

12:53 am- "I have nothing to do let's meet up." Oh, okay. Yeah, let's meet up! What did you have in mind? I know a really great sushi place off Rush. Too bad it closed 3 hours ago. Oh, plan B! Let's go back to my apartment and have sex... sounds good! Okay so my actual response was more along the lines of, "I'm out right now." Short and to the point, though not as deliciously dripping with sarcasm.

2:14 am- "So you don't want to meet up? It would be fun..." Fun, you say? Well I could never say no to fun, you got me, I am a sucker for fun! Oh...are you going to bring Scrabble?! You sly dog, you!

Saturday:

1 am- "What's up." Man, improper punctuation this time. Now I can't even tell if it is a question, or he is informing me that what is up. I responded "Busy."

1:27 am- "We should meet up." Good suggestion! It's also new and fresh, it is not as though you have been suggesting this past midnight every single night since I gave you my number, you moron. Listen, I said no the past 7 other times you've booty called me. Do you even HAVE other people to booty call? What kind of serial booty caller doesn't keep some sort of rotation going? What a novice...

Conclusion- Booty calls are a jackass move...if the person is actually responding to them. Otherwise they just make you look weird and pathetic. In our week of texting, Booty Caller has only been making the same three statements, "What's up" "Let's meet up" "It would be fun" For Christ's sake, I feel like I'm getting text bombarded by Smarterchild. Think up some new material.

I will sleep with you when you ask before 9 pm,

Ivy

They're not even TRYING to hide it anymore!

2009-03-20T12:03:00.001-07:00

I remember a golden age. An age where men would take you out, buy you dinner, send flowers, call to see how you were doing...all in an attempts to get laid. Come on, we're not stupid. We know that ultimately 90% of all sweet actions are to get laid, and the other 10% are for blowjobs. Okay, maybe it's not that bad...but let's be honest, it's CLOSE. Does that sound seedy? Reading over this now, I guess it does sound a little depressing to admit that the larger purpose of courtship is to get to my goodies. What's more depressing, though, is that it's not even the norm anymore. Think of the last time you've been on a REAL date... going to a 24 hour diner after meeting at the bar does not count, by the way. Are you stunned? Read on, sweetheart.

This latest rant stems from a guy I gave my number to last Saturday. Since then, Booty Caller has texted me on Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. All after 9. All asking what I was doing specifically that night. Those two factors alone are enough to qualify his genuine concern as to "whats up" as booty texts. Now I understand that 80% of college aged males only want to get laid, and to be honest, I am fine with that. But where did the effort go? Really, he can't make the effort to text me in the afternoon to try and get me in the sack? He can't ask a day earlier to make it seem like he's not a huge tool? There is no effort to disguise it...

And why? Because it is normal. Do you remember when booty calls used to be kind of gross? I remember back in the day when someone could be looked down upon for being the kind of guy who sent texts post 11 pm, inquiring the all important question, "Whatre u up 2?" I'm starting to realize that is what MOST GUYS DO though! It has come to the point where I am literally stunned if a man asks to see me to actually spend time together, coherently, in the daytime. Maybe I'm wrong, but I always thought my peak level of wit and intellect occured while I was coherent and in the day time! I never thought I was that interesting after 4 shots of Jack, slurring the words to "Hey Mickey" (Great song, by the way, just listen to the pain and angst in those lyrics).

The habit is ingrained. I tried to break him of it, I did...by rejecting his booty calls. But they kept coming. And that does not make me an idiot, it makes him an idiot. Because for some reason he thinks his strategy of trying to drunkenly pressure me into hanging out with him while I'm already having a blast with my friends will work. Does he not realize I am not sitting at home waiting for said booty call? No, Booty Caller, I do not want to "meet up." I am out. I made plans. And I do not intend on changing them so you can drunkenly slobber all over me, wake up, leave, and continue this process. Try asking me out for coffee, kid.

Ignoring what was probably a mass text anyways,

Ivy

THANK GOD! I thought it only happened to me...

2009-03-09T14:15:00.000-07:00

I haven't been in the bloggy mood lately do to reasons that are surprisingly not boy related.

Having said that, this isn't going to be a long post.

I just wanted to say how HAPPY I am to find out that I'm not the only one that guys in relationships hit on. After like, 10 guys with girlfriends hit on/make out with/pursue/or actually take you out, you begin to worry. Actually. Wait, no. Now I'm MORE worried. How many guys actually hit on girls when they're already in relationships?

As Ivy said, it's not fair. I want someone that I can go home with and cuddle with. aka. NOT SOMEONE WHO'S IN ANOTHER RELATIONSHIP.

But why is it that I seem to attract two types of guys: men older than my father. and guys with girlfriends. My guy friends tell me that at least for the guys with sig. others, it's because I'm cute and flirtatious and they miss being single. Well, guess what. They're not. so they need to stop acting like it.

This is the end of my post because it's a touchy subject and it makes me bitter.

ally

If you are unable to actually make out with me, please stop hitting on me.

2009-03-06T19:36:00.000-08:00

A strange, new breed of men has been cropping up all over the place: The monogamists. Maybe it is because we are getting older, maybe it is because men have caught on to the fact that calling someone their girlfriend insures them regular sex. Either way, the last several men who have hit on me have had girlfriends. Yes, you read that correctly. This mutated strand of monogamists are trolling bars, looking for hot women, flirting with them all night, and even dancing with them. This can turn out one of two ways, they cheat or they don't, and I can't decide which I am more pissed off and Alanis Morrisette-level frustrated over.

Example: The other night I was at a very classy and elegant lounge. You know, the kind where they blast Britney Spears remixes, and there are poles on the stage for you to dance on. I only place myself in the most upscale situations. So I spot a very cute blonde, plus ten points for donning a cordoruoy blazer, and we get to dancing. And by dancing I mean dry humping and eye fucking, and he 100% got a PB (public boner- every tipsy college male's worst enemy). We're so about to get our mack on, when he excuses himself to the bathroom. And that's when I know something has gone sour, because if a guy really wants to do you he will wait 5 years to pee...actually what will happen is he will hold his pee until he finally gets to walk you home, and then stop in an alley. (Think about it. That has happened on 98% of your walks home, has it not?) But Cord Blazer got flirty and hot and heavy and hotter and heavier with me and just LEFT. I asked one of his friends in a slightly less obvious manner, "hey what happened I thought that guy was going to do me later." The answer? "Him? Nah, he has a girlfriend."

OH FUCK YOU. Come on, now! Now I understand that juking is not cheating, but you still suck so much. Not because you roam bars dirty dancing with other women, that is between you and your mystery gf. But you are a dick because you wasted my time! You cockblocked me from meeting any actually eligible bachelors (though, these days, I think they might be an urban myth). And why did you do this? Did you and schnookums get into a fight? Do you want to look like you still have your pimp juice in front of your friends? It is people like you who make me believe all monogamists should be required to have an "M" marked on their forehead before they enter any bar.

Alternate, equally shitty scenario: A couple of weeks after that, I was chilling at a hipster joint rocking a floral dress and tights because I am so hipster, when near the bar I began talking to a very adorable aspiring Ad exec. He was insanely intelligent and witty (but those things don't matter, he was also a slamming hottie), and we spent the entire night sipping on PBR's and exchanging witty banter. At the end of the night he took my number (score!), and we shook hands goodnight. Okay, fine, we made out in an alley. You see, I make out with so many people I actually consider it on par with shaking hands now.

Now I had this moron's name, and in 2009, I don't know what gave him the impression that I would NOT cyber stalk him. He was in a relationship! Not any old relationship...the kind where there are 4,000 pictures of just her and him, and she is actually listed as one of his interests. Are you kidding me? His interests should read: "Literature, discovering new music, and picking up anonymous strangers at bars to make out with despite having a girlfriend. Oh, and my beautiful girlfriend!!!" And I can't decide if this situation is better or worse...because while cheating is pretty gross and reprehensible (And America's favorite passtime!), at least I freaking got something out of it, right? Something gross and shady, but SOMETHING.

I think I can best conclude that nothing good ever comes from this new trend of taken men acting like swinging bachelors...I get it, you want the perks of having a relationship without having to feel like you can't still be a good wingman, or go out and have a flirty old time. But listen...stop making it harder for us ACTUALLY single people! While you may just be getting your kicks, we are legitimately trying to meet someone, and you make this very, very difficult by pulling an old switcharoo on us. "Oh, hi, I'm an attractive guy who is interested in you...just kidding! I'd like to flirt with you and maybe fool around with you a little before I go home to my very plain girlfriend, who is named Kate/Ashley/Nancy." (Which gets me on a tangent...scientific evidence, aka cyber stalking, has revealed to me that all of these girlfriends are very plain and have extraordinarily white girl names. So THAT'S what I'm doing wrong, shoot!)

But honestly, if you have been flirting with me for two hours, or dancing so hard up on me it feels like you should probably be wearing a condom, I should not have to ASK if you are single. It should be a given! It was a trade off. You made this choice when you started dating Ashley, pal...you're not allowed to act single anymore. You get things like regular sex, guaranteed dates for parties, and unlimited snuggling...it's in the fine print, you waived the right to mack on hot strangers. So please, if you have a little lady at home, you keep your free drink and your public boner to yourself.

Changing her name to Kate ASAP,

Ivy

I Get My Best Dating Advice From My Grandma....

2009-03-02T22:02:00.000-08:00

I decided to give my grandma a call tonight to say “hi” and let her know that I was doing alright and that I had, in fact, been eating the last week since I had seen her. While we were talking we went through the normal “how’s school, how’s work, blah blah blah” and after all that was done with, she moved on to her favorite topic: My dating life. Or as I think she sees it “How long until I have great-grandchildren.” Really though, for a Greek grandma, I must say, she’s not really too overbearing about my love life. Sure she asks me every time I see her, but I like when I talk to her about it. Why? Because unlike the rest of my family she’s asking because she’s interested in my happiness, not my marital status. She’s also very funny when it comes to guys that screw me over. (And she gives surprisingly good revenge ideas…)

Ivy and I went out for food the other day and I got to talking about a story my Grandma once told me when I was younger. Back when she lived in Athens, some young good-looking guy continually asked her out until she said yes. They were going to meet off of some bus stop and head to wherever he was supposed to take her. When she got to the bus she found him reading a magazine at the little newsstand by the stop. She got back on the bus and left. Upon hearing this I told her that what she had done was mean and socially unacceptable, but her response was a little shocking. It was something along the lines of, “He should have been standing there waiting for me. Clearly I wasn’t that important to him, so I went home.” I told her that he was probably nervous and just passing time; she said he should have been nervous. And more eager to see her. She always has wanted me to remember that if a guy does not give me 120% of his attention then he’s not good enough for me.

Back then, I really didn’t understand what she was trying to say. I thought I did, but about 6ish years later, I finally realized how right she was. I mean seriously, how many of us get excited because we get some variation of the “Wut r u up 2 2night” text? I know I’m not the only one, and for the record I don’t associate with boys who type like that. (“fone” boy was an exception and I will not do that again.) Have our standards for the guys we like really dropped all the way down to communication through texting and Facebook? Because let’s face it, an actual CONVERSATION on the phone really doesn’t even happen anymore. Here’s the problem though. It’s kinda our fault. If we don’t expect more, we’re not gonna get more. If a guy knows we’ll respond in .7 seconds with a time, location, and the percent chance that he’ll get laid that night, he’s not going to magically become the sweet, romantic, attentive boyfriend we think he can be. Shooting someone a text is not giving them 120% of his attention- realistically he texted you after he died while playing Halo or whatever other games boys play on Xbox.

Now, I’m not saying that I’ve listened to my grandma’s advice lately, but, I’m saying that I need to start because she’s right. She may be a bit extreme, but she’s still right. Who wants to be with someone who doesn’t give you his undivided attention? I’m an attention whore, so I sure as hell don’t. I want to be with someone who can’t wait to see me. Or talk to me. Not text, but actually talk and find out how my day was. And let’s face it, deep down, almost everyone wants that. Instead though we settle for the boy that texts us at 10:57 Thursday-Saturday and convince ourselves that it means he wants to spend time with us. It doesn’t. He just wants to get laid.

Because I love my grandma and she’s my hero, I’m making a list of the top 5 best (most recent ones that I remember) pieces of advice and commentary she’s given me concerning my love life, or most of the time, the lack there of.

5. “Invite lots of other boys to your party and then flirt with all of them in front

of him.”

4. “Let me guess, he called you over winter break to hang out? Well, you should

tell him to meet you somewhere, and then don’t go.”

3. “Boys in college are dumb. They don’t know what they want. Well, they know

what they want, but you better not be giving them that…”

2. “He was two timing you?! That’s ridiculous. If anything YOU should be the

one dating more than one person at a time and then dumping HIM.”

1. “Boys only want girls who are easy and will sleep around. You’re better than

that, and one day you’ll find your prince charming who doesn’t want an easy

girl.”

Well, she was half right about that last one….

Ally

Ivy: 1, Asshole guys: 476

2009-03-01T19:05:00.000-08:00

I couldn’t stop feeling bad for myself last night, so the only solution was to get embarrassingly trashed. Clearly. Dozens of soul searching conversations with friends, exes, and family cannot possibly make you feel as good as 7 shots of tequila. No just kidding, friendship and conversation are great for discovering yourself blah blah blah…but seriously, let’s call it for what it is, nothing makes you feel instantly sexier and more confident than Jose Cuervo. I can say this, because I’m not writing a self help book. I’m writing about how I’m a hot mess, so really, this all fits.

But yeah, I ended up hugging my toilet bowl all night before finally collapsing into bed and waking up tasting like gin and hot wings. I however, made great progress. Not with my alcoholism, that’s still rampant, but with my male interaction.

Last night this fellow, let’s call him Seth, who is the kind of guy you don’t know in real life but always see at bars and parties actually acknowledged me. And I mean he is usually is only talking to the most gorgeous girl in the room (read: Not. Me.), but maybe he ran out of exceptionally beautiful women that night. So anyways he comes up and picks me up, and starts talking about how beautiful my eyes are, and how we should get to know each other better over a bottle of wine, and how he wants to take me to dinner.

And because I am a girl and stupid, my mind immediately races to our first date, and then our wedding, and then raising our dark haired gorgeous babies. But then the logical side of me (it’s quiet but there) FINALLY spoke up, damn’t. He probably just wanted to hook up that night. So I said to him the single greatest thing a woman can say to a man, “Oh sure. You can just look me up.” And I walked away. Because I am awesome. That felt far better than any sloppy public make out, even if it was with a hottie bad boy. Because I got to go home alone and have ugly sleep AND my pride. Seth was immediately buying shots for a gaggle of blondes 5 minutes later, so I doubt it fazed him. But hey, at least I didn’t have to feel bad. And I think that’s what I’m starting to see as the important part…how I fucking feel about it. Not how he feels! No!

See, us women who feel every emotion like it’s our dog’s funeral, assume men are the same way. But most of them are not. They have three emotions: happy, pissed, and horny. Of course there are sub emotions, such content, agitated, and mega-horny. Yet we waste all this time to try and force new emotions on guys constantly. We want them to be enamored, jealous, regretful…all things too complex for their black hearts to fathom. Okay that was a little cruel. But seriously, you can’t force people to feel things, you just can’t. You’re only going to end up disappointed and stupid when you realize that they’ve made up their mind about you, and flirting with their roommate or looking like a goddess won’t fix it. So stop trying to turn the bad boy into a soft little puppy. His momma couldn’t do it, and neither can you.

At least I'm on the board now,

Ivy

Something new and different.

2009-02-25T23:15:00.000-08:00

I often try to make these posts hi-larious. And I hope I succeed! But, right now I don't feel so hilarious. And I think it's time to discuss some of the roots of this problem. I try often not to be the mopey single girl, though I know that is often how it turns out. But I try not to be the single friend who is constantly self deprecating, wishing she were in a relationship, or other annoying single kid behavior. But let's have a small bit of honesty with each other, blogger to reader:

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,

Ivy

Consider yourself lucky...

2009-02-24T21:34:00.000-08:00

After talking to some friends, I remembered my horrible curse: I meet/date/make out with a boy and he decides to live/move to a different state.

I decided to post a list of places boys from the last few years of my life live/have moved to/are moving to.

1. Dallas

2. Boston

3. Cincinnati

4. Jordan

5. Kansas

6. Australia

7. Iowa

8. California

9. Wisconsin

10. North Carolina

11. Arizona

12. Sandwich, IL

13. Michigan

14. Minnesota

15. Virginia

16. Utah (I remembered this after originally posting- all following posts are remembered later)

17. Ireland

...I feel like I'm forgetting someone, but you get the idea.

Available for hire to get rid of undesirable current and ex boyfriends...

Ally

Clearly I've learned nothing...

2009-02-24T18:28:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I agreed to go out for drinks with a boy that I have previously dated, but didn't really want to go.

He ended up canceling on me.

Now, I am contemplating going to my school's homecoming with "fone" boy.

Why? Well, he sort of asked me. And he goes to a different school.

And he's hot.

...and "fone" isn't THAT bad, right?

Clearly in need of standards,

Ally

The library exists for me to stare at cute boys.

2009-02-24T16:30:00.000-08:00

Wow. Wow, cutest boy ever, lanky, tatted up, wearing two warn out hoodies, slightly unshaven. His pants are smaller than mine.

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

You checked her ass out in front of me, and it wasn't even that nice.

2009-02-24T00:09:00.000-08:00

I had an earth shattering, soul shaping, mind blowing realization today. No, I really and truly did. I'm not saying that it will in anyway make me change my behavior, but it is definitely a damn good realization. I once and for all realized what I don't like about players.

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,

Ivy

Seriously, your tattoo could not BE more generic.

2009-02-22T21:58:00.000-08:00

I need to keep reminding myself that it is okay to screw up. Why, you ask? Because I screw up so very often that I consider it a hobby of mine. So Banana Tat texted me inviting me over to hang out with him and a few friends, and I decided to seem cool and casual and like it didn’t faze me that he never called, so I said “Hey sure I’ll stop by with a friend see how cool and casual I can be?” Anyways, said friend Ally comes on the adventure with me. God bless her heart for dealing with it. Now BT meets us at the stop to walk over to his apartment.

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.”
“K.”

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,

Ivy

New Found Glory had something right...

2009-02-21T08:43:00.000-08:00

I was out to a healthy, balanced dinner of wings and beer the other night with my good friend Manwhore. He's not really a manwhore, but by most measures of the term he actually is...thus that is what we will call him (this is my LSAT prep logic shining through right now). Now, he has perfected a sort of behavior that most people cannot avoid; he has actually internalized the wise old adage 'bros before hos.' I mean it. He never ditches his friends for women, he would never date someone his friends couldn't stand being around for more than 15 minutes, and he doesn't pull a disappearing act when he's in a relationship. He stays a reliable, bar crawl ready, always there to talk friend.

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,

Ivy

I was fooled by the fact that he could rent a car.

2009-02-18T11:55:00.000-08:00

I was chatting with my good friend Latte the other day, who had just been out to lunch with her 32-year old, unmarried cousin.
"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,

Ivy

"Can I really like someone who types 'fone'? "

2009-02-16T21:43:00.000-08:00

*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)

Ally

If it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck, it's another douchebag.

2009-02-16T14:13:00.000-08:00

There's a reason that I gravitate to boys in plaid shirts and Converse shoes. The look is an indicator to me that here is a deep, sensitive guy. Now, listen, don't fucking lecture me on how I am completely stereotyping. I recognize that not every guy in a pair of girl's pants is going to be "the one" solely based on his hip sense of fashion. But I can bet you I don't want to date a guy in a popped collar Hollister polo. Or, even worse, a Nickleback t-shirt.

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,

Ivy

I have nothing to blog about, because I'm not dating anyone.

2009-02-15T17:33:00.000-08:00

The original title for this entry was, "I have nothing to blog about because no one is dating me." I looked it over for a good hungover minute, and decided to change the wording...because I am currently voluntarily taking myself out of the game. I don't even like getting hit on anymore (That's just not true. If it were true, I would wear pants when I went out.)

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?),

Ivy

Day After ReCap

2009-02-15T12:32:00.000-08:00

I'm still trying to piece together last night....

Updates coming soon.

Ally

I've been drunk all day.

2009-02-14T17:35:00.000-08:00

...I've been drunk all day.

Married to Jack Daniels,

Ivy.

Back away from the PBR, Ivy

2009-02-13T12:12:00.000-08:00

Something happened last night. And I'm not going to blog it. Because I'm still mulling over the moral, or the point, or the message, or the hilarity, or whatever I can manage to extract from the events. So, no, you will not be getting a specific recount of what prompted my need to dedicate an entire entry to my greatest downfall- the drunk dial.

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!!

Ivy

Fuck you, you have a generic tattoo.

2009-02-12T18:08:00.000-08:00

Conversation with very witty, equally bitter friend today:
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,

Ivy

2009-02-12T17:47:00.000-08:00

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….

Ally

2009-02-11T15:38:00.000-08:00

Let me start off by telling you a little story:

Last year, my then 8 year old sister looked me square in the eye and said, "Ally, you're 19. When are you getting a boyfriend? You need one soon because you're getting old." I then sat her down and gave her a nice chat about why women don't need men and are capable of leading successful, fulfilling, independent lives by themselves. (If only I would take my own advice ever)

Now, what would prompt a little 8 year old to start thinking these things? Well, it was probably the phone conversation she overheard my mother and I having a few weeks prior on Valentine's day. The cliffnotes version was this: "Ally, you're single because it's your fault. You're too picky and don't give guys a chance." It ended with me shouting, "well you know what, I'm becoming a nun anyway so it doesn't matter." And then I hung up. I should have said, "No, mom, it's because the boys that I meet while intoxicated only want to hang out with me for weekend hookups." But I decided not to. This year, I know better and will avoid talking to any and all family members at all cost. Especially my SEVENTEEN year old sister- who is in a happy relationship with Mr. Perfect Teenage Boyfriend. Seriously, she's three years younger than me- she shouldn't be ALLOWED to have a successful relationship first. The worst part is, I know her wonderful boyfriend will do something great and I'll have to hear about it and be happy for her. Or at least pretend.

But the only thing worse than hearing about all the happy couples who do ridiculously cute things for each other on this stupid day are all those couples who say, "We hate Valentine's Day..." THEY should not be allowed to hate Valentine's Day. Why would you hate a day that's all about you? That's like hating your birthday. But the excuse is all the same; they all think Valentine's Day is a Hallmark holiday. And you know what? They're right. It is. But it still really sucks for the rest of us. Whether these couples are celebrating or not, they get to take comfort in the fact that they're not single. Me on the other hand? I'll be taking comfort in the massive amounts of chocolate that I'll be buying for myself.

I agree with Ivy, though. There needs to be a special day dedicated to singles so we don't have to sit at home alone eating Ben & Jerry's. As for everyone who thinks everyday is single's day, it's like when we were little and we'd always say, "Mom, Dad....you have Mother's Day and Father's Day....why isn't there a kid's day?" And they'd always respond "Everyday is kids day." No. It's not. That's just a dumb answer that 5 year old kids will buy. I'm not 5 anymore so I don't buy that everyday is singles day too. I want a day where I can get a card celebrating the fact that I'm happy (well, pretending to be) that I'm single. On second thought, scratch that, it's just as depressing- actually, having singles day might be more depressing.

Either way, I know all my whining isn't going to fix anything or make me less depressed that I'll be all alone this weekend- and by all alone I mean at a single's party.

-Ally

2009-02-11T13:35:00.001-08:00

Everyone out there right now knows which dreaded holiday is coming up. Fittingly, after Friday the 13th, we will experience the Hallmark-created, ultimate ulcer inducing holiday...St. Valentine's Day. Ah, yes. Part of me wants to argue against celebrating it, simply because I'm an agnostic. Oh, but the lovely little day is there alright, just around the corner.

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...

Ivy

You know how I know you suck? I already dated you!

2009-02-10T09:59:00.000-08:00

So I have this nasty habit of staying friends with the people I've dated. I've always figured that there was something I did once like about them, and there would be no detriment to have them in my lives. Wow, I'm so mature, look at me go. Well I guess the only major pitfall of staying friends with the people you used to eskimo kiss is the sordid little mess of past romantic feelings.
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!

Ivy

In My Defense....

2009-02-09T14:09:00.000-08:00

*Because we are technologically clueless, we couldn't figure out how to post in reverse order, so read the previous post first*

So I was going to sit here and try to defend myself. But you know what, I can't.

I really liked this guy. He seemed nice. And by seemed nice I mean we had a few very nice conversations while at the bar and then back at his place- where, I might add, he didn't really try to make a move but instead stayed up and talked with me until 4am- when he then walked me home because I didn't want to stay at his place. During the next few weeks I'd get a random text about the Cubs game, or classes, or whatever, but for some reason, he would only want to hang out with our group of friends at our usual Thursday and Saturday night spots.

I figured he was probably just really busy with school during the week. I mean, he was majoring in something important (I forget what- its been a while, and I was always drunk when we talked...) so I just assumed the only down time he had was Thursday and Saturday between 11 pm and 4 am. And it worked for me. But after three weeks of this, I decided (my friends told me) that he and I should probably hang out sober. As far as the "I'm afraid to actually hang out when I can fully comprehend what's going on" comment goes. I am! But you can't blame me! I'm fairly certain most of you have the same problem. Dating is scary. At the bar, I'm too distracted (horribly wasted) to realize the last thing I said wasn't cute, or smart, or funny and even if it wasn't- who cares? I can pretend it was and we'll end up making out 5 minutes later anyway.

But you know what I think I'm even more afraid of. Going on the date and realizing Mr. Perfect Bar Hookup doesn't really care about the fact that I like art, or watch too much bad TV, or anything else about me because let's face it....he only started talking to me and bought me a beer because he thought I was pretty. I'm sure he wasn't sitting with his friends saying, "that girl looks like she's really intelligent and charming, I think I should go have a meaningful conversation with her." And what if that's it? Do you think I really want to accept the fact that someone doesn't really like me or want to get to know me-that they just want to make out with me? Especially if that person is someone I've developed a crush on. So to me, getting blown off during the week was MUCH less scary than realizing I was simply some random girl he made out with a few times.

And here's the reason I can't defend myself. It's my fault. It's totally and completely my fault. I convinced myself that after a while, he'd want to get to know me, hang out with me, and eventually we'd date. But he didn't. If he did, it wouldn't have taken him three weeks to do it. Now, I'm not saying never kiss anyone in a bar again (I'll admit it, it's fun) but I think it's important to realize if he's not trying to see you any other time, it's because he doesn't want to. And realistically, why would you want to be wasting your time on him then, anyway?

Realizing Hindsight is 20/20

Ally

I thought you were better than that, Ally

2009-02-09T13:59:00.000-08:00

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,

Ivy

2009-02-09T08:07:00.000-08:00

“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,

Ivy

2009-02-08T20:13:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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