Hokay, So... UPDATED.

There will be a little bit of a title format change. For a few reasons.

1. It’s really hard to fit every story/scenario into a nice little package that lends itself to dressing the title up as a Friends Episode (and if you hadn’t caught on that that’s how the titles were formed…then…I’m not not judging you.) Never mind, still going to do this. Huzzah!
2. If advertising has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t be everything to everybody. So this is a blog about the ups and downs and ins and outs and laughs and tears regarding my love (try not to laugh) life. Which brings me to…
3. These are supposed to be things I’ve learned, right? So from now on I’ll frame posts as such. Rules almost.

It’ll be great.

Trust me. :)

PS: I'm back! (11/29/09)

Commercial Break: Whoops!

Made a rookie facebook/dating mistake that I shouldn't have. Why is the "add as friend" button so tempting and innocent looking until you actually click the damn thing? Sometimes you're lucky and the waiting game only lasts a few hours. Sometimes you're not. All the time you immediately regret putting yourself out there if you're not 100% sure they'll accept.

When did social network interactions become more stressful than their real world counterparts?

Oof. Lesson learned. Moving on. I think.

Here's for hoping the universe takes pity on me and spins this in my favor? Please?

UPDATE: Would you look at that? Accepted. Out of my misery. On the facebook front, that is.

Now playing: Britney Spears - Oops!... I Did It Again
via FoxyTunes

The One With the Most Romantic Story in the Whole World

Okay. Maybe not the whhhhooollllleeeee world. But it’s definitely the most romantic story in my world.

As I mentioned before, I was in a very serious relationship for a very long time. He was my first everything. First love, first real best friend, first person that made me feel like it was cool being my quirky, awkward self, first breakup I wanted to make-up.

You get it.

He was also the first (and last) boy to go so mind-bogglingly out of his way to do something sweet for me that the memory will always be seared into my brain. I can play it back like a movie at will, and sometimes I still don’t believe it happened to me.

Backstory: Until the summer entering my senior year of high school we had been apart for at maximum three weeks at a time. Near the end of the school year I got notice that I had been accepted to a prestigious summer program for gifted students that would give me a 98% chance of getting into GeekU (read: Nerd Camp). Problem was, it was a six week program. If you ever want to see an otherwise well-adjusted girl with big dreams be willing to sacrifice it all in a most irrational way, tell her she won’t be seeing her boyfriend for a whopping six weeks. Small potatoes now, but it was Apocolypse, Then.

Anyway, there’s a reason that your parents make most vital decisions for you until you’re 18. So they did, and I went.

Three weeks into the program I was missing him dearly, but at the same time gaining my first real taste of independence since we had started dating, and I had gotten, well, hot. So the phone calls were less frequent, I don’t even think texting existed, there was no such thing as Facebook, and I was getting used to the fact that more than one guy in the whole world would ever think I was pretty. This wasn’t to say I wanted to be with my boo any less, but I definitely needed a serious reminder of what I had since technology had yet to gain the reach to step in and do it for me.

Well I got that reminder. In a big way.

I get a phone call from him one afternoon saying that he had sent me a package, and that it should be there that day. Woohoooooo! I think. He knows I like Chocolate Chip Teddy Grahams! And he knows I can’t find them here! So he sent me a case!!!!! I literally RAN back to my dorm. It’s embarrassing. I get to my dorm, get the package, realize there is no way 900 boxes of Teddy Grahams can fit into it, and quickly become disappointed (I was a brat!).

With his call to tell me about the package, he also gives me a very stern warning to not, under any circumstances, open it before he calls me and tells me to do so. Being 16 and completely incapable of following any directions that didn’t appear at the beginning of a Calculus exam (I told you I was a nerd!), I immediately sit in my hallway with an RA and tear into the package. Purple vase. Bottle of Fiji Water. Confusion, but he better be sending me flowers as well (brat!). Phone rings.

“What are you doing, babe?”
“Oh, nothing. Hanging out.” (Feverishly repacking the box)
“What’s that rustling noise?”
“Cleaning my room.” (LIES. He knows I hate to clean. Can’t think on my feet)
“Okay well did you get your package?”
“Yes Sir! When can I open it??? I can’t wait to see what you sent!!!” (Stay one lighting bolt away from me at all times people)
“Okay, you can open it now.” (Crinkle Crinkle Crinkle)
- Feigned Surprise - “Hmmm, I don’t get it? What’s the vase for? Thanks for the water?”
“Look Up.”

And there he is. Walking down the hall with a single red rose in his hand.

Did I mention I was in Boston at the time and we both lived in South Florida? Did I mention it’s a 3hr plane ride, and a 26hr drive?

Did I mention he DROVE 26 hours, 1,470 miles to give me a single.red.rose?

I must have kept talking to him through the phone for a good 3 minutes out of shock before he made me stand up and kiss him hello.

Knowing he couldn’t stay for more than 2 hours, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to steal any moments away together (hey, I was at Nerd Camp, Door open and 4-feet on the floor rules were paramount), he packed his friends into a car and drove up the Eastern Seaboard for OVER A DAY to give me a flower.

Now that’s love.


Now playing: Skid Row - I Remember You
via FoxyTunes

The One Where Things Move Too Fast

Sorry for the one-part two-parter, but after reading it through I realized that I had said all I needed to say on the Facebook matter. You let people in, in real-life and in fake-life, when you’re ready – and it’s different for every situation. Done and done. Chalk it up to my (occasional) love of the economy of words. Or April Fool’s. Whatevs.

On to today’s post.

Here’s a shocking revelation: I, in my impressionable, hopeful, naïve, and foolish (but super fun!) youth, have made quite a few mistakes when it comes to members of the opposite sex. Telling too much about myself, not telling enough. Not appreciating what I’ve had, putting all my marbles into one basket. You name it, I’ve done it. But there is one mistake I’ve made once or twice a few too many times that every dating book in the land will tell you to avoid: don’t kiss on the first date.

Except, I’ve been on maybe 5 dates. Ever.

Revised for my life, the rule I break more often than I should reads more like this: Don’t let anyone see you naked unless you’re going steady.

Seems simple enough right?

With the level of intimacy that really goes along with seeing someone in their birthday suit, you’d think more people I would wait a little longer before letting someone sneak a peak. But with the advent texting instead of talking on the phone, “hanging out” instead of going to dinner, infinite periods of “kind of seeing each other” instead of “being in a relationship,” and, you know, alcohol, it’s not really that simple anymore. In a hyper-sexed, instant-gratification society it’s become more the norm to get in, get out, and move on than to actually cultivate an emotional relationship before progressing to a physical one. Now, I don’t jump into bed with anyone that buys me a cocktail, I actually tend to not let anyone buy me a cocktail. But I’ve done my share of walks-of-shame from the dorm rooms and apartments of guys that in retrospect I should have liked enough to wait. Chivalry might not be dead, but it is most definitely on life-support. So, yeah, sometimes I put on my frat-boy cap and go with the flow instead of batting my eyelashes and waiting to get pinned (in the boyfriend-girlfriend sense not the naughty-naughty sense!).

Which is fine. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with a little bump and grind.

Unless there are feelings involved. Whether those feelings are budding or long-standing, when someone’s heart is in play a one-nighter pales in comparison to a night finally spent with someone you really care about, and who really cares about you. And unfortunately, one-nighters tend to serve as big, insurmountable roadblocks to anything that resembles a substantial relationship. Yes, there are exceptions. But, no, Virginia, there is no such thing as f-ing your way to love.

To put it bluntly.

I’ll usually be the first one to share naughty details of my conquests with girlfriends, but I’ll also be the first one to know exactly what went wrong when a friendship or courtship on track to be something more is derailed by a vodka infused night of mischief. Now, my regret is usually never based on an, “Eek, I shouldn’t have done that,” moment. At least not for the usual reasons. I truly believe that women have as much of a right to express their sexuality as men without judgment. My backsteps are almost always due to the social anxiety and awkwardness that come after the fact – where neither party can really assess the ramifications of their actions. When things are kept simple and everybody keeps their clothes on, lags in calls or texts or Facebook messages or smoke signals are pretty benign signals of busy schedules or genuine lack of interest. And who can argue with that? Things progress as they should, and people end up together or they don’t. But when the getting-to-know-you phase is replaced by the getting-to-know-what-you-look-like-naked phase, all of a sudden there are about 9 trillion reasons that can be assigned to a change in pace when things go not so well. Did we move too fast? Does he think I’m a slut? Do I even like him? Was it awkward because we didn’t know each other well enough or because we had no chemistry? All questions that wouldn’t need to be asked or wouldn’t need to be answered and wouldn’t drive me NUTS if I (we, people in general…) had slowed down and reverted to a 1950s way of doing things.

I’m not saying that I think I need to be engaged to go to first base, but I’m thinking that I’ve been in a few relationships that would have been better served if I had been a little less college and a little more Ellen Fein. There are a few experiences that, while great, I wish had happened after a night of being romanced and wooed off my feet instead of knocked on my ass by 3 too many cocktails. At the time, did I think it would matter if I hit a triple before I had gone through a proper warm-up? Hells no, that’s why they call it getting lucky. But, did a bunch of things hurt later on that probably wouldn’t have if I had taken my time?

Youbetchya.


Now playing: Nelly Furtado ft. Timbaland - Promiscuous Girl
via FoxyTunes