Archives for posts with tag: dating

You know that absolutely gut-bubbling feeling of uncensored thrill and excitement that makes you want to cry tears of joy? Perhaps you have not yet known such a feeling; keep living, it will come. I, on the other hand, chase that excitement like nobody’s business. It comes less often than I’d like (that’s what she said…or he said, depending on who you ask).

Cheeky jokes aside, there exists a very magical place where this gut-bubbling thrill visits me most frequently: that place is Camp. For personal and legal reasons, I will neither name, nor give you absolute specifics about this Camp, but if you know me well enough, you know about all about it because of the excited word vomit if spew upon my return each year. In fact, the purpose of my extended absence from this odd blog in recent weeks has been on account of the preparation, serving duty, and return/recovery from said Camp… also I had my very first root canal and have been feeling too wompy to write anything clever. I digress – you’re probably wondering why this Camp, among other “Good Old American” summer camps is more superior. Well, anonymous reader, I shall tell you: This Camp is full of the most wonderful people you will ever, ever meet, as well as the most wonderfully hilarious, charmingly spirited campers you will ever, ever meet. Without going into specifics about who exactly the camp caters to, I will leave it at telling you that these kids are the kind of people that make you 50 shades of thankful every day for every tiny little thing that your ‘normal’ human body is capable of. Perhaps I’m being a gushy romantic about it, but it is scientifically proven to be the greatest place in the history of the earth. I could write novels on it, but you’d never know until you were a part of it, sleepless nights and all.

Come to think of it, there’s a decent chance the lack of sleep thing has a helluva lot to do with how much I love it, and how absolutely gut-bubblingly funny that entire week is to me. That, coupled with the general attitude of everyone there, a handful of pants-wettingly funny incidents, and ironic 1:30 am fire alarms, sets off that happy-tears thrill that I chase.

For those of you who are absolutely clueless about this feeling, here are some other situations in which I have had a gut-bubblingly uncensored thrill:

  1. The very first time I realized I had made a real friend at college. I went to school out of state, so this was a very big deal to me
  2. Every time my cat makes direct eye contact with me.
  3. Days when I feel so confident in my hair that I semi-seriously consider running for Miss South Dakota USA.
  4. A reasonably tipsy front row experience for The Very Best with my very best friends at Pitchfork in 2009. The DJ brought us waterbottles…. Of vodka. And even though I third-wheeled harder than a tricycle at the bars later that evening, it’s one of my very favorite life experiences to date. (God, being 21 was so perfect and American.)
  5. That one time I lost my shit crying/laughing after my BFF & I went to ‘Kings of Summer’ in theaters. I started bawling/seizing with laughter as the credits started rolling. I could not keep my shit together, Carol. I can’t pinpoint exactly why I had a ‘Girl, Interrupted’ spasm: perhaps it was the epic weekend we had survived together, the weight of being newly twenty-five and unemployed/boyfriendless, or the fiery envy of being a woodsy teenage boy with very little real-world problems.

In any case, these tingly, gut-bubbling thrills keep me thirsty and poised to chase down adventure. They say you’re only young once, and I’m sure there’s an anagram for that somewhere, but I can’t imagine being in my eighties and feeling this thrill, so be it seven seconds or seven days, I hope you find and hold on to yours as well. 

(And you probably are, too.)

I tell all of my sparkly-eyed, freshly minted collegiate girlfriends the one bit of advice that no one gave me upon entering into the world of university. (Mum, you probably gave it to me, but didn’t put it in the swanky, hip metaphorical terms I would understand. Sorry, babe.)

Don’t have a boyfriend in college. It’s like eating before you go to a buffet; Never a good idea.

Sure, some couples fair fantastically in the collegiate world. * clap, clap, clap * We’re all thrilled for your amorous bliss. If you’re going to plop yourself into a relationship in college, at least pick a dude with a car. You deserve to get something out of it (also make sure he has a real job: the lead singer of a mid-level, local band does not count. It does not matter how many MySpace friends they have). If you’re anything like the rest of us, why willingly volunteer to be tied down in a relationship during the famed “best years of your life”? Trust me, you’ll miss out on meeting a thousand great people, at least 3 super keggers, and no one will invite you and your boyfriend to that awesome 10 am tailgate party. If you eat before you hit the buffet, you won’t have much fun. You’ll miss out on all the dishes everyone else is sampling.

If you do opt for a boyfriend in college, let me tell you that the most fun ones are the gay ones. They’re down for anything (socially), they’ll always be honest about how you look, and they never complain about shopping. Bonus – you don’t ever have to fret about the awkward sexual tension! You and your gay boyfriend will meet a ton of guys, however, they might not all want to shake the peaches from your tree, if you catch my drift.

Let me stress that this is not an open invitation to be a loose woman, nobody likes a Sleep-Around Sally. Take this to heart, rather, as a tip to encourage you opening yourself up to the experiences you might otherwise miss. You don’t get those years back, so live it up, baby.

I am by no means the source on relationship advice. I womp at dating, mainly because I conduct myself very much like Date Mike (see clip below, please). I’m sorry, but what kind of world do we live in where guys wouldn’t go for that in a chick? Being “sexy” is a very weird concept to me, but nevertheless, I try very hard (i.e. I try to keep my nails painted and occasionally buy underwear that isn’t on sale). Ideally, I would enter a relationship at the three-month mark, where watching cat videos on YouTube in my not-on-sale underwears counts as a date and expressing our mutual love of gnocchi is steamy, hot foreplay. This is not to say that I’m not an adventurous person. I have plenty of adventure in me…

Example A: once my BFF & I signed up for match.com. I went on one date-ish and I kept my account active long after she bailed. So yeah, I’m a thrill-seeker.

Example B: once (not so very long ago) after a wedding, I slept in my car in a hotel parking lot, making sure I was extremely well hidden from would-be predators under a Finding Nemo blanket I made in the 9th grade. “Adventure” might as well be my middle name.

Lesson learned: While I am quite the adventurer, I’m not currently awesome at relationships, mainly because I spent the majority of my collegiate years tied to the same guy and missed out on the people-meeting, tailgate-going, university buffet. Now I’m playing catch up. Truthfully, I met some really fantastic people in school that I love dearly, and I didn’t miss out on all the parties, but if I would have obeyed the “Don’t have a flippin’ boyfriend!” rule from the get-go, I would have been able to experience a lot more. Thankfully, now I have a gig that affords me the opportunity to meet gaggles of wonderful people, visit some pretty superb local hotspots, and exercise mon français. Listen up, mes amis, don’t waste your fun collegiate buffet years, and never be afraid of a little adventure.

BRB, changing my Facebook relationship status to “HAH!”

Image

Hi, I’m Date Mike. Nice to meet me. How do you like your eggs in the morning? * ill-executed wink *

^^ My usual “sexy” dating persona.

[See above post, you’re likely confused]

Irish-Catholic mothers have a very, very specific type of man they want to see their daughter latch onto. If you’re not Irish, or Catholic, here are a few of the qualities these momzilla’s* look for in a potentially eligible bachelor for their female offspring:

*these might just be MY mum’s requirements

  1. Is he Catholic?  // Irish?
  2. How Catholic? // How Irish?
  3. Does he celebrate St. Patrick’s Day?
  4. If yes, is there a parade involved? If no, why don’t you bring him to our family’s annual parade (subtext: then you could confirm to everyone that you actually know a straight [Irish-Catholic] man!)
  5. Does he have great hair?
  6. If no, why not? (to put it nicely, “Later, gater.”)
  7. Is he a liberal?
  8. If no, why not? (to put it nicely, “Hit the road, Jack.”)
  9. Does he have a job/car/apartment/college degree?
  10.  If no, why not? (to put it nicely, “GIT OUTTA HEYAH!”

That being said, I broke every rule in the book when it came to dating. Yes, ladies (and fashionably intuitive men), I brought home George of the Republican-Party-Jobless-Degreeless-Carless-Band Jungle. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything particularly wrong with this type of person, unless, of course you have my Irish-Catholic, luscious-haired mother, in which case, everything is wrong with this type of person.

I should have known this person was very, very wrong for me on every blatantly-stated, Irish-Catholic level when my mum first greeted him wearing a fake arm I had fashioned out of plaster in 11th grade (yes, this really happened. On the FIRST meeting. After I asked her very nicely NOT to embarrass me with the plaster arm thing.) At the time, I was a newly independent college freshman, listening to a lot of newly independent, emotionally freeing music. That, and I loved guys in bands. I was nineteen, gimme a break. I’m proud to say that now I am an emotionally mature twenty-something with a decent head on her shoulders, thanks in large part to my fantastic, angelic-haired mother and practical, straightforward father, and I’m here to share with you some of the comically genius, brilliantly blatant advice my parents have passed down to me, such as: “Honey, no one that cute is single, and no one that single is straight.” -Mum

Lesson learned: Listen to your parents. Unless, of course, your parent is Tom Cruise in the height of his Scientology, in which case, run. You’ll thank me later.