Ghosts of Jerkfaces Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ally

Sometimes planes they smash up in the sky

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lunchtime!

Ivy

Be a man and Suck it up

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

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

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

Here are a few things he has complained about:

1. Going to visit her family

2. Being stuck in a rut with someone

3. Hating having a routine

4. Not liking having to deal with her problems

5. Not liking her problems interfering with him going out

6. Everything else you can think of

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

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

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

I can only pretend to be a home-wrecker

Ally

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

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

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

It worked.

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

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

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

Switching to Aussies,

Ally

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

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

I must say, I've definitely missed it.

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

Obviously I was beyond smitten.

On to Saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ally

Ivy needs to stick to her guns...

Last night I went on a date.

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

Ivy said I should continue to date him.

Never taking Ivy seriously again,

Ally

I'm dating a social experiment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ivy