Dating 101 : Don’t Get Drunk

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Turns out I date men who love alcohol.

I blame it on the 20-something culture where being social means you’re drinking. Gloss over any state of discomfort with booze and you are golden.

Whatever the case, I’ve been with my fair share of men that had an unhealthy relationship with booze. Now, don’t get my wrong, I am known to imbibe. I have a weak spot for whiskey and beer, and it’s hard for me to turn down an invitation to grab drinks. That being said, I know my family history, I’ve heard the horror stories, and my type A personality has a firm grasp on where to draw the line. Approximately three times a year I put myself on a cleanse, which basically means I abstain from alcohol for a month, existing on a diet of vegetables, eggs, and little else. Fuck yeah I feel amazing. Fuck no it’s not sustainable. If there were ever a time to throw up one of those cliché cartoon magnets that says “life is too short to not eat chocolate and drink wine”, it would be now.

I recently met a man and we set our first date at a nearby pub. The banter was friendly, I was pleasantly surprised by his 6’4” stature, and he threw down some one-liners that actually made me laugh. I like to think of first dates as interviews, and this fella deserved a second one, ASAP. A prolonged hug and innocent smooch left us making tentative plans to hang out this weekend. Saturday rolled around, and after spending the day hiking, I found myself at least 40% excited to see this gentleman. While that might not seem impressive… it is. I hate small talk and dating. So, while the temptation of my hound dog and my new apple spice tea (LEAVE ME ALONE, I KNOW I AM 80 YEARS OLD) nearly led me to cancel, I channeled my inner “dater” and we set a time to meet. A few minutes later he sends over a text along the lines of, “I’ll most likely be intoxicated, FYI.”

Fellas. Here’s the thing. If you’re into a lady, think she’s kind of cute, might want to kiss her face, DO NOT GET DRUNK BEFORE YOUR SECOND DATE. There’s such a thing as class. And being a gentleman. And giving a fuck. Granted, I’m not a high maintenance gal. Anything traditionally romantic gives me the heebie jeebies. My high school boyfriend once filled my room with candles and poetry he wrote for me, and I nearly cried because I thought he was hiding in my closet to “surprise” me. It doesn’t take much to woo me, but I like men to at least give a little bit of a shit. I like them to at least pretend to make an effort to win me over. Needless to say, I sent a snarky text about being stone cold sober and choosing baking and my dog over him, and proceeded to have a lovely Saturday night in.

Moral of this story: if you are a normal, smart, handsome man who isn’t addicted to alcohol, please give me your number.

I’m a Real Life Trainwreck (In a Charming Way, I Promise)

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I promised I would respond to Trainwreck as a follow up to L’s real and raw post about how this movie hit close to home. Let’s start with my girl Amy. I love that she is an intelligent, hilarious, kick ass feminist who speaks her mind. If you have yet to read her speech about sex and self love, stop reading this and go do that. It’s much more eloquent than any of the dribble I’m throwing down at the moment.

So yeah, I loved the movie. It was delightfully raunchy and you knew from the opening credits exactly how it was going to end, just like any good romantic comedy. Of course she was going to get scared and lose him, only to do some grand gesture to win him back. Also, her dance moves were impressive. I spent a long time trying to find this song so I could dance around my room to it, pretending I also know how to shimmy and shake.

I don’t think any woman can go into a rom com these days and leave with high hopes… Or maybe it’s just my very pessimistic heart? Dating is the fucking pits, and the online sphere only makes it worse. Y’all, L and I have been writing this blog for MONTHS, and I’m in an even worse place than when we started. Maybe I’m more like Amy than I thought? Let’s outline THIS trainwreck so I can pretend that I have something to write about that is relevant to dating.

  • My on- demand boyfriend. That’s still a thing. I haven’t seen him for a month(ish) and I’m okay with it. I adore the shit out of him and he’s my go-to for random adventures, but I’m still in the same place. I’m not going to fall deeply in love with him and make him my lobster. If that were the case, it would have happened already.
  • All those boys that hold pieces of my heart? They still have little bits of me. Strings that they pull to remind me that they are still very much camped out in there. They remind me that for awhile I wore vulnerability a little bit better, and let some other hearts waltz with mine. All of that romantic nonsense that allows you to let your guard down and rely on someone for a large chunk of your happiness.
  • I think I now have a profile on any and all dating websites, and haven’t gone on a single date for approximately 9 months. I have made plenty of dates and I have cancelled on every single one of them. Yes, I am that girl. There is just so much about online dating that makes me tired. I will pull any excuse, knowing that I would rather find my next partner by accident. All those memorable ones from my past? They started out as eye flutters turned to friendships turned to long letters turned to love. I wooed them slowly. Dropped sass and sarcasm, thick as honey, until there was nothing left to say but yes. And they did. And when we fell into it we already knew the way each other laughed. They already knew how I like to make big plans (learn the banjo, bike across the country, quit everything and travel for a year) and that I get scared when actually faced with change. I like to ease into love. It takes time to break down these walls, and when you do… Boy oh boy, do I know how to love.

  • My distrust… It’s only grown. I was recently in a very interesting situation where a fella and I were flirting and I once again dabbled in that terrible and treacherous world of being the “other” woman. It was harmless, or I assumed it to be, until a very dear friend pointed something out to me. Choosing her words as carefully as she could, she reminded me that making these plans with a boy who was very much taken would only make my distrust grow. How easy it is to woo men away from those things they claim to love! Don’t worry, I stopped flirting with such a terrible idea. Perhaps that’s the first step in learning how to trust again? Or perhaps karma is reminding me that I have acted the part of the other woman, and perhaps my defeated and callused heart just won’t warm up again. But that is far too depressing to think about, and I think I still have some hope left.

Man oh man, that list definitely makes me sound like a trainwreck. However, this post isn’t asking the internet world for a pity party. Like I’ve mentioned in almost every single one of my posts, my life is full of very beautiful things. My time is well spent with family, friends, and making future plans… All of these things that create a colorful and beautiful life. For now, that’s enough.

My High School Reunion

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I went to my high school reunion last night. It was awkward and bizarre and amazing. Just as you would imagine something like that would be. Combine a lot of alcohol and thousands of conversations starting with, “so, what have YOU been up to?” and you’re bound to have a good time.

L and I got quite a few folks commenting on this blog which was flattering and somewhat surprising. Needless to say, I got a few questions regarding my lack of posting lately, so here I am. I wish I could give you some awesome update like L with stars in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach. I cannot. I am in the same place as always. Working way too much, hating online dating with a fiery passion, and only eyeing those that are completely off limits. So yeah, I’m in a super good place… per usual.

Instead of talking about my inability to be a normal, functioning adult who dates or whatever, let’s talk about HIGH SCHOOL REUNIONS!!! At the end of the night I ended up taking my high school boyfriend home. But before you get all “WHAT THE SHIT?!” on me, let me explain. He came back to my friend’s house with five of my besties and we just stayed up late, drunkenly shoving food in our faces as we talked about how odd the evening had been.

It’s strange to walk into a room full of people you haven’t seen in 10 years and try and figure where they belong in your heart and brain. There were the boys that took us to dances, the girls that were scary and mean, the people I couldn’t place for the life of me, my favorite teacher and many more. And then there was the boy who camped out in my heart, leaving an etched out space for himself, as first loves always do.

There’s nothing as ridiculous and magical as your first relationship. You fumble through hand holding and the first kiss. Figuring out how to act at school with each other is a tightrope walk, as you’re also navigating how to be a real human. My first relationship was with a punk rock kid who had lip piercings and was in a band. My mom disapproved immediately and my dad just remembers him as the “super tall kid who was ridiculously skinny.” To me, he was a dream. He played guitar! And had dyed hair! His snake bite piercings made him JUST enough of a bad ass that I tried to learn what flirting meant, and started practicing.

Our first kiss was outside in the rain at the house that was everything our parents feared and everything we loved. Two of my best friends happened to be dating two of his best friends, so it only made sense to join in on the fun. We spent a year or two holing up in the top floor of this parentless house, playing video games and being ridiculously in love.

I’ve touched on how blissful naïve love is. You go into it without any preconceived ideas or fears, except maybe what you saw in 10 Things I Hate About You. You figure each other out through hours on the phone, talking about nothing as you had just seen each other ALL DAY at school. There wasn’t all that stupid adult shit that got in your way, and as long as you made it through the school week, you could get into trouble on the weekend. It was new and exciting and so god damn cliché. I remember listening to hours of Jimmy Eat World, New Found Glory, Blink 182 and Saves the Day, relating those words to my emotions, making up drama for the sake of our first fight. I journaled endlessly about our relationship, struggling over whether or not he’d pay attention to me after his shows. I’d make him mixed CDs that were filled with pop punk love ballads, because that music really seemed to understand the struggle and beauty that was first love.

Heaven knows I was a complete idiot in all of it. I didn’t know how to be a good partner and was always nervous that who I was (and what I looked like) wasn’t enough for him. Granted, my fashion choices were terrible and I had a haircut that was cringe worthy. Still, I waded through the mess of hormones and emotions and loved this boy as much as a 15-year-old heart can love. It was beautiful and messy and silly. It was puppy love and it was perfect.

While the relationships I have had since my high school boyfriend were much more “real”, there is nothing as vulnerable or pure as the first time you kiss a boy on a park bench and he holds your hand.

My On Demand Boyfriend

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I spent the past few days getting drunk off of wine and a handsome bearded man. I needed some time away from my city, and it just so happens that my friend-with-benefits was available for adventuring, so a late night trip to the Oregon coast became our weekend mission.

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I have written about this man (we will call him K) a couple of times, as I find our situation bizarrely perfect. We have always kept our hangouts simple—a night out at the bar, a concert, a movie, making dinner at the house, etc. This was our first multi-night trip, and god knows traveling with people always brings out interesting angles.

Let’s just say this weekend was magic. My close friends are convinced that K and I will fall out of casual and into something serious, because that’s how it’s supposed to work. They think that we are just being silly, and we actually want to date each other, fall in love, blah blah blah… False. Here’s the thing, I adore this man. We enjoy each other’s company and I REALLY like to look at his face. He is smart and funny and completely comfortable in his own skin. All of these things are true and wonderful and make him a great human being to spend time with. You know what else? I can go two months without seeing him and I don’t miss him.

He’s my on demand boyfriend and it’s perfect.

I have decided that we are setting an example of what a modern day relationship can look like. We live in a world of swipe “romance” (Tinder, you ruin everything) and severe grass-is-always-greener complexes. K and I are living proof that you can live your life how you want it, and then ring up your on demand companion when the mood strikes you. K and I spent the weekend acting like we were together. We held hands and talked about important things. We drank wine out of mugs and played card games. We listened to mix tapes and took late night beach walks. The romance is there, it’s just something we can turn on and off. We have a mutual understanding of what is between the two of us, and we are on the exact same page (THIS NEVER HAPPENS, BTW.)

Is he my forever lobster? No, probably not. But who knows if that even exists for me. As some one who believes in fighting against cultural norms and expectations, who says my happiness will come from some grand romance that sweeps me off my feet? You should all know by now I’m skeptical and guarded about true love, whatever that means. Perhaps the on demand option that is prevalent in every other aspect of our lives can translate into romance. Who says I have to have a partner in all things? I like the idea of having a fella whom I adore and admire “on call”.

Just how you used to play house when you were little, I’m playing relationship. For small stretches of time I pretend to be someone’s girlfriend, and then after a few days of that, I settle back into my routine. As someone who values alone time more than most, it’s the ideal situation. Even better? K is on the same page. We both believe in this unique partnership, and it means for two days everything was perfect. There wasn’t any question about what the weekend “meant”, it was just two people who like each other doing awesome things together. We don’t have to deal with the maintenance that makes a partnership so difficult. I can continue to be selfish with my time, knowing that if and when I need another escape, a date for a party, or an adult sleepover, K will be there.

A boyfriend on demand? I’m living the goddamn dream.

Asking Men Out… Or Not.

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I am terrified of rejection. Absolutely petrified. I also hate being new at things, so I just remain pleasantly mediocre, as mastering anything is difficult and my impatience trumps everything else. I’m a catch y’all, I promise.

How many of you babes out there have asked a fella out? Is that what modern women are doing these days? It seems like it’s in line with being a bad ass bitch. Going for the gold and asking out the man you’ve got your eye on. I envision it to be a lot like how they portray it in the movies. Strutting over and writing your number down for them, winking as you leave. Totally seems like something I should be able to do, except I never carry pens and look like I’m having a seizure when I try to wink.

Ask a man out on a date?! Nope… Won’t do it, can’t make me.

I have asked one boy out. He was this tragically handsome man at the farmers market in Austin. He sold over priced pate with beautiful labels, and I would go sample their vegetarian white bean dip so I could smile at him. He had terrible tattoos that were charming, and a beard that I would have touched if that wasn’t creepy. You know, he was my type. Down to the “could be homeless” look that makes me weak in the knees. Needless to say, I got up the courage to ask him to my company’s party and it was the WORST. I was visibly shaking, and I’m fairly certain I took four laps around all the stalls before getting the nerve to saunter up and ask him.

His response? He blushed and got shifty, turning his eyes away from me as he fumbled with some tubs of goose liver. Turns out he had a girlfriend (the tragically handsome ones always do) but he said he’d love to join me if he didn’t, and went on to tell me I had made his week. He said no and my world didn’t fall apart. In fact, we started up a casual friendship that involved hugs and following each other on instagram. I wasn’t scared away from the market, and I didn’t melt into a pile of sadness at his rejection. I have also now checked “ask a guy out” off my list, and I am once again scared shitless to do it again.

I think this feeling goes hand in hand with the fact that I don’t trust men. Not even a little bit. I don’t think their intentions are real or genuine and I think they are ALWAYS looking for greener grass. Yep… I’m the worst. And I know that this jaded and cynical behavior will result in being alone forever.  I could benefit from going to therapy — but couldn’t we all? Needless to say, my complete lack of confidence in men takes asking them out completely off the table.

So what do I do about this ridiculously good looking boy who sells me coffee at ANOTHER farmers market? (I KNOW, I KNOW… I’M A WALKING PNW CLICHE, GET OVER IT.) He’s the kind of handsome that makes me blush. And while I’m fairly certain he’s only 23, I’ve thrown my age rule out the window as of late, so I give zero fucks. My attempt to woo has been batting my eyelashes and talking to him for two minutes every weekend. I buy an unnecessary cup of coffee that pushes me to heart palpitation status, just so I can ask him how his week is going. Ugh. It’s the worst. I am a grown ass woman, and I’m acting like a god damn 15 year old.

I have lamented to L about my fear of asking dudes out, as she treats it like it’s no big thing. Oozing confidence and sass, she goes for it, and is willing and able to ask for a number, a whiskey and a kiss. It’s no surprise that she’s schooling me at dating, as she’s MUCH MUCH more trusting, has the ability to give people the benefit of the doubt, and is generally better at being an adult human being. In her opinion, I should just do it. I should throw caution to the wind and ask him to go hiking or biking or rock climbing, all things he probably does because he’s a walking DREAM BOAT. Instead, I will bide my time and ever so slowly insert myself into his life. I mean, we finally know each other’s names after 6 months, so we are making serious progress.

Shut it L, I can feel your judgment from here. Baby steps y’all, baby steps.

I’m Breaking Up with Online Dating

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The number of times I have tried to make online dating work is getting out of control. I have been single, on and off, for four years and in that period of time I have dabbled in the online world countless times.

At first, my bestie and I created profiles and acted real sheepish about it. This was back when the idea of meeting your significant other on the internet was perceived as pathetic, and we 100% agreed. We made our profiles on OKC like it was some dirty secret, and gave every fella a nickname: tug boat, the lawyer, TJs, etc. I can honestly say I only remember a handful of the guys, but I’m sure that they were/are all delightful. Or maybe they are the worst? Either way, they’re a blur of beers and street light illuminated kisses, and then every last one of them fizzled.

What can I say? Give me fireworks, or I’m out.

So, when my best friend found the love of her life at the only country bar in Seattle (lucky bitch), I was left to wade through the online dating scene like I knew what I was doing. I took a long break when I lived in Texas, as I was too busy mending a broken heart while simultaneously convincing myself I wasn’t in love with my co-worker. I kind of was, and I’m sure he knew it (heyyy buddy! Still have a place in my heart for you, always!)

L can attest to the fact that one of the only reasons I’m still on dating sites is for this damn blog. And while my lofty goal was a date a week, I haven’t been on a first date since the New Year. Oh sure, I get messages and matches and all that good stuff, but I cancel every. single. time. My heart just isn’t in it. I’m sure I’ve whined about this in the past, but I will always be wary of online dating, and here is why.

  • You’re not special: At all. It’s terrible to know that while they are dating you, they’re also seeing what else is out there. For someone who already has SO MUCH distrust in men and their intentions, you can imagine the self-doubt that rears its head when you discover they’re signing in on the daily after spending most nights in your bed. I’m all for keeping your options open, but how the hell am I supposed to fall for anyone if I know you’re constantly looking for something “better”? Or whatever the fuck it is they’re doing. Pot calling the kettle black, I know. I’m just as bad. WHAT HAS THE INTERNET DONE TO ROMANCE?!

  • See above: Romance is out the window with this online dating shit. Except for this couple, most meet-cutes and grandkid worthy stories don’t start with, “well kids, I met your grandpa on the INTERNET!” Call me old fashioned, but I love hearing the stories that start with, “I saw this man in the grocery store that I knew I wanted to kiss, so I asked him for his number over canned beans.” And no, that doesn’t just happen in movies, that is straight from the mouth of my grandma, so suck it.
  • Forced chemistry: It makes me want to jump out a window. Oh sure, a fella can have a beard and tout all the characteristics I think are swoon worthy, and then it just falls flat. Nothing against him (usually), it’s just not possible to force chemistry. None of the men I’ve actually fallen for in the last 4 years come close to what I would categorize as “my type”. I think it’s the universe’s way of telling me to stop expecting a bearded, flannel-wearing vegetarian woodworker to drop from the sky. I get it, I need to stop going after walking PNW stereotypes. I GET IT.

  • Liars: If you’re 5’7”, don’t say you’re 5’10”… I WILL FIND OUT. Not that your height is a TOTAL deal breaker, but come on. You can only keep that façade up for so long. Literally. I will know when you stand up… So stop it. I am sure online profiles are filled with all other kinds of exaggerations and lies, but the blatant fibbing around height is the prime example of why I hate it. WHEN YOU START DATING SOME ONE, THE TRUTH WILL ALWAYS COME OUT. Just stop lying. You’re not fooling anyone.

So, I’m breaking up with online dating.

Which means I will have to rely on meeting people in REAL life, while continuing my perma-crushes with long distance cuties. And MAYBE (just maybe), I will get up the courage to ask handsome men out (looking at you, super young coffee boyfriend(s)). And if there are people out there who feel like playing matchmaker, a blind date that DOESN’T involve the internet could be a thing? Maybe? (Do people do that anymore?)

Tinder, OKC, Hinge, etc. you’ve been weird and generally underwhelming. One bad date after another, you’ve brought me some hilarious stories, and a confirmation that dating IS actual hell. The silver lining? You’ve been a great excuse to drink beer on a Tuesday, make some questionable and fun choices with strangers, and you have provided me with an endless source of gossip for my lame-o friends (I kid, I kid) who are married or whatever.

What I’m trying to say is… This dating blog is about to get REAL boring, as my dating well is going to run very dry. L… the stakes have been raised, it’s up to you to be entertaining. ONWARD AND UPWARD!

A 2015 Crush Letter

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I am known to harbor a few crushes. Why hone in on one fella, when you can keep an unsafe distance from letting anyone REALLY know your heart… Am I right? True, it’s probably unhealthy for my romantic life, but having a wide range of crushes has kept my brain distracted from that weird lonely feeling that creeps in every now and again.

Take that and combine it with my word for 2015 — Flawless — and I feel like this year will be full of confessions and putting myself out on the line. Before I throw myself into anything I’m going to ask myself, “What would Bey do?”

So here’s my first Crush Letter of 2015, because we all know Beyonce would go after what she wants, when she wants to. As for the boy that this is about? I HAVE TO KEEP SOME SECRETS!

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To You:

I am heading to Costa Rica as we speak. The country is warm and friendly and full of tropical fruit. This plane is loud and annoying and NOT full of tropical fruit. Also, United Airlines doesn’t seem to care even a LITTLE bit about personal space. The man next to me is snoring and leaning dangerously close to me, and I’m preparing for that awkward moment when he wakes up on my shoulder. And now I’m rambling.

I got the courage to write this letter when we hit a patch of turbulence. I fly often, but I always have a doomsday outlook on life when I’m hurdling through the air in a metal tube, so it goes. I also happen to be reading Lena Dunham’s book, and I find her transparency inspiring. I promise I’m getting to a point.

I like you.

I find you wonderfully intriguing, insanely frustrating, and for some reason, I care about what you think. When I stumble on some weird Icelandic band whose music sounds like the Northern Lights, I want to share it with you. I imagine the way I feel about you is akin to the way girls in the 30s felt about their beaus. Full of giggles and quick eye glances, I want to exchange long letters and favorite novels back and forth. You make me feel old fashioned.

Part of the intrigue comes from having zero idea where you stand in all of these things. You may only think of me as a temporary friend. Filling conversation to pass the time. Or perhaps your steely nature and stoicism means that if I were to wink at you, you’d wink back. There’s something so intriguing about not knowing where a crush’s brain is at. It makes me feel like I’m in junior high school again, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.”

Perhaps that is what is so charming about all of this, the not knowing. The anticipation of when I’ll be honest and upfront and tell you that kissing your face on a regular basis wouldn’t be so shabby. And who knows, maybe those feelings aren’t reciprocated, or maybe I won’t ever get up the courage. Writing about it on the internet is a step in the right direction, I do believe.

Either way, know that a bit of turbulence made me realize I should tell you that I like you. And even though me landing safely kept me from ACTUALLY sending this to you, you were thought about. You are admired. And maybe one day you’ll find out this was about you and you will hold my hand.

XO,

Me

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I also hope that every boy reading this post thinks it’s about them. Because let’s be honest, who doesn’t love to be flattered and told that they are adored? I have crushes on all y’all, I’m sure of it.

Boo Ghosts!

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As someone who’s been single for basically a decade, I’ve experienced the gambit when it comes to weird situations that arise and a multitude of deal breakers and have done just about everything wrong that can be done wrong. But one thing that’s been especially frustrating to me is the concept of “ghosting.”

Gather round all ye people who haven’t been single for longer than a month! Ghosting is when you meet someone and everything’s going real well, and then they just stop responding or get aloof. It’s uncomfortable for the person getting ghosted because hi it’s terrible. I’ve been ghosted a few times now and really it’s served me well since it made me realize the importance of communication. If something’s not working out, just say it. It’s uncomfortable, but hey it’s not hurtful. You know what is hurtful? Being vulnerable and being ignored. Being hurtful intentionally is the worst and if you ghost people you should tell me so we can stop being friends. I mean it, if you ghost someone consider this our friendship breakup letter.

 

I was having drinks with a male friend a little while ago, we’ll call him Bruce Willis, and I was explaining recent situations I’ve put myself into – notably about the noggin-scratcher confusion that’s happened with the Joker. Things were going well! There was potential! And things have been helter skelter terrible ever since our 5th date. I lamented about how he just disappeared and how terrible of a note we left things on, and Bruce Willis made an excellent point: life happens and I might never know what was going on that led him to that behavior.

The thing with ghosting that drives me bananas is that it’s just so sudden and seemingly without reason. However, it only seems that way since I’m on the receiving end – the person ghosting always has their reasons. Bruce Willis pointing this out made it even easier to stop wondering about the Joker, because oh well! Really, oh well. And then out of the blue he texted me. Men have a god damn radar, I swear. Small talk lasted about 5 minutes before this happened and I immediately took a screenshot and sent it to 7 of my closest friends because WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

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You guys. YOU GUYS. I could not make this shit up if I tried. Also, my reaction is proof that I am Chandler Bing and cannot react to any situation appropriately.

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We continued to talk for a very long while and he answered all my questions very openly and honestly. We ended up sitting in my kitchen eating a microwave burrito and talking about Chinese food casserole, before watching “You’ve Got Mail” because Nora Ephron makes everything better and less ridiculous.

Now, you’re probably thinking: “Great L, he owned up to what’s going on! And you’re both aware of his situation! And you made him promise to not disappear again! And hey he left his hoodie at your apartment so that means you HAVE to see him again!” Well kids, here’s the thing: I am not an optimist, I’m a realist. I don’t expect good things to happen, I expect realistic rational things to happen.

This post doesn’t have a conclusion. It’s more of a “State of the Union” address. Right now things could go either way. We could start dating and being honest with one another, or he could Houdini again because life is chunky and complicated and he’s trying to figure out how to be a father. At the end of the day though no matter what direction this goes towards, I have an answer. I have a reason. He’s not a ghost, he’s a guy with life happening. But maybe next time he’ll be more honest, and maybe if you’re a ghost you’ll do better next time too. DO BETTER NEXT TIME EVERYONE, do me a favor and make that your dating/life goal in 2015.

I share my bed with a pile of clean laundry and some unpaid bills.

Guest Posts!

Guest Post: Jill

I sort of buried the lead there. I’m actually not that sure I’m using that phrase correctly. But I’m going to assume I’m right without doing any research and prepare to defend my position haughtily and without restraint because that’s the American way.

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I have not been in a relationship since I accidentally fell in love with a boy called Adam just over 10 years ago. You read that right, I was 17. Most people would say to that, “High school doesn’t count.” Those people have probably had numerous relationships since high school and it is their prerogative to reframe their memories however they see fit. They can also s my d because for me, it counts. Since then I’ve had a series of non-emotional sexual relationships, or non-sexual emotional relationships. This is one of those confusing “two halves don’t make a whole” scenarios. Like it’s math, but it doesn’t add up. Getting an A in Algebra 2 when I was in 9th grade led me to believe I understood basic addition. Thanks a lot, Mr. Gruen.

The other problem with Adam is that he was too great. I hate saying that because we’re still friends, he might read this, and he has never suffered from low self-esteem. But seriously, when you’re a teenager and you get to date the best looking, coolest, most talented guy in school – it kind of ruins you. Like I’m not even interested if we aren’t chatting over AIM making plans to go to the drive-in or something. But I digress.

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Recently, I endeavored to fucking go for it and be someone’s girlfriend. My reasoning was 3-fold: I liked him. I wanted a boyfriend. He wanted to lock it down. I was swept up in his eagerness to be exclusive, because that had literally never happened to me before. The short version of this tale is that it didn’t work out.

It began:

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And then it un-began:

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It is super possible that I’m not in the correct life place or head space to be in a successful relationship. A really honest version of my dating profile might say “Fat-ish, but good shaped. Extremely vain – borderline self-obsessed. Has so many best friends and close family members you will never learn all their names. Doesn’t like to do outside-y things, does like to drink expensive alcohol and play games and talk and talk and talk. And sleep. Work schedule is inconsistent. Relatively poor. Will usually have sex with you, but not during the daytime.”

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The truth is, I (as most people are) am deserving of a perfectly complimentary other half. I also know that I am, and always have been, perfectly happy on my own. Plus interacting with humans on an emotional level is dangerous, confusing, and terrifying. I hear it can also be exciting, magical and rewarding. Future Jill will have to let me know if that’s true. We can’t all have dat fairy-tale lyfe, but dreams are things.

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Fool Me Twice

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Ready for a dating update? Shocker alert- The Joker made a reappearance. You see, glaring silence just isn’t acceptable. So I did what you should never ever do and reached out about 2 weeks ago, and casual conversation began again and then just as quickly as it started, it stopped again. Without warning. After I revealed some very exciting life news, he legit just didn’t respond. In this post, you’re probably going to learn a few things about me – the first being that literally the worst thing someone can do to me is ignore me. Like really, if you’re brainstorming a list of “Ways to Hurt L” just don’t pay attention to me. It’s really that simple. I’m THAT much of an attention-whore.

After his lack of response to my aforementioned exciting life news, I was actually done. I wasn’t going to send a “hey see I can be funny and charming and friendly even when you’re an asshole and obviously read my text BECAUSE WHOA YOU HAVE READ RECEIPTS TURNED ON but haven’t responded in 4 days” follow up text. And guess what, I didn’t. I didn’t reach out and I was too hurt by his silence to even stalk his social media accounts just to make sure he hadn’t died. Update – he didn’t die, and I know this because he sent me a text the day after Thanksgiving. The text was a bullshit opener that I should have ignored considering he hadn’t spoken to me in 7 days, but guess what! I can’t ignore people – it’s just not good manners. Like c’mon, the simplest thing in the world is to respond to a text message.

So on Black Friday, The Joker and I started talking again. About mindless small-talky things but we were talking. And we kept talking through Sunday when he came over to my apartment with champagne and orange juice and a lightbulb to fix the one that had burnt out in my closet 28 days earlier. We spent the afternoon rearranging my apartment to accommodate the 6 foot tall faux Christmas tree my mother felt it necessary I own. He then offered up great ornament arrangement advice (No, I did not put all my disco ball ornaments on the same branch, but I appreciated the feedback). We watched the LCD Soundsystem documentary and did some canoodling and basically it was the perfect Sunday. He left to go watch a local sports team win but still lose (soccer is confusing), and I spent the rest of the day texting my girlfriends about my poor decision making habits because I did what everyone tells you not to do – I gave the guy a second shot. I have a long history of doing this and weird, it literally has never worked even one singular time.

Girls: Don’t do what I did. Don’t let a dude who was an asshole to you in the very recent past into your apartment slash life just because he’s nice to you for 4 days in a row. That’s just dumb, and we should all know better. And yet, here I am telling you another story about crashing and burning with the same guy.

Once the game was over, he invited me to his apartment to watch a movie I hadn’t seen before (which is most movies because hi if it’s not a romcom or Jurassic Park I probably haven’t seen it). We then proceeded to watch 2 hours of music videos by the likes of Mariah Carey and Boys II Men and Har Mar Superstar and he sloppily sung along into my ear on the couch. It was adorable, and guys doesn’t this story make it sound like everything was going great! Well it was, until he started talking about the other girl he’s seeing and went on and on about her. By “on and on” I mean it probably only lasted about 30 seconds before his face dropped and he realized he was talking about being with another girl while I was literally still in his bed.

Mom – if you’re reading this, please stop reading this dating blog forever and ever.

Here’s the thing: I don’t care that he’s dating someone else. It’s fine that he’s seeing other people because uh I’m a rational human and exclusivity is a conversation between two people and shouldn’t ever be assumed especially considering I’ve only known this dude existed for the last 30 days. I don’t care that he’s seeing someone else, what I care about is what happened next. He basically shut down. Actually not basically, he totally shut down. He knew he’d just said something shitty and had hurt my feelings, and instead of reacting and attempting to salvage the situation, he shuttered himself. We could have had a conversation about it like adult people but nope, he just stopped talking. I did what I always do and tried to reassure him that it was fine because that’s what I wanted to happen. I wanted him to pull me in and kiss me and for us to just scoot over that snafu and talk about it over drinks a day or two later. But nope, he laid in bed with his hands covering his face and didn’t say another word as I collected my belongings in the dark. He didn’t make a single move to stop me – and THAT my friends is what really hurt. I walked the 2 blocks back to my apartment at 1:30 in the morning feeling just really really shitty about myself.

As I’m writing this, I realize that I probably sound like a really needy female. Based on my perceptions only and not founded on any particular research, when women “complain” about dating or men or being treated poorly, it’s considered silly or trivial. Talking about my feelings is something the men I’ve dated have conditioned me not to do because I tend to date emotionally stunted withholders. Hi all my exes reading this, sorry if I just told you something you didn’t know about yourself! I don’t want to be that girl who talks about her issues/feels/hurts and be vulnerable, I want to be the girl who can just move on with it and get over it and hey let’s make a joke about this in 2 weeks. These days, I’m trying to be more of both those girls because I think that’s a whole hell of a lot more balanced. I will poke fun at myself when I’m being a neurotic emotional mess, but I also really want to train myself that it’s okay NOT to poke fun at myself when I’m feeling defeated and sad and disappointed.

So right now I don’t feel like being funny. Dating isn’t funny when actual feelings are involved and those actual feelings are hurt. The reason people always advise you not to give someone a second shot is because of situations like these. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt because he made me laugh and has great taste in music and is so so handsome.  Frankly even now while I throw myself a pity-party I still want to give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s a self proclaimed mess. As the daughter of a former housecleaner, I want to clean up messes. It’s basically in my DNA I think. That’s how DNA works I’m pretty sure.

This morning after I spent some additional time wallowing and listening to sad-girl music, he texted to apologize for drinking too much and saying something that hurt my feelings. So here I sit, wanting to give this handsome funny mess of a man more of my interest because another thing you should know about me: I don’t really know when to quit. Despite what I like to tell myself.