Learn from not quite perfect dating experiences Thursday, Jul 15 2010 

Hormones, hormones, hormones.  I blame them.  They are the reason we end up in the most awkward situations with the opposite sex, i.e. the date.  The buildup of hormones explains why we feel butterflies in our stomach as well as other feelings that may be too sexually inappropriate for a College Lifestyles blog.  Regardless to the chemical stimulation, we are in college and it is fun and natural for guys to want to be around girls and vise versa.

Hormones, hormones, hormones! This is how we work it.

Pleased to meet you, I am a stuttering estrogen maxed out goof who has a dating experience to make your head spin.  My father is only sane because I inform him that I am joining the convent or going to play bingo every time I walk out the door with a different guy.  From the amateur moments where I learned how to kiss, to the serious and great relationships I have had, there are a few hysterical dates that stand out enough to either make me blush or to simply laugh to tears- but who are we kidding, that could be the progesterone.

Carly rolls her eyes as she recollects dating silly guys.

Let’s start with the, “The Creepy Cuddler.”

The summer before going into college, my family and I lived on Fire Island.  Picture a small beach town with sidewalk roads made only for bicycles and a quaint row of restaurants and bars ready to fulfill ultimate partying and grooving.  It was in the beauty of Fire Island that I met an outgoing and fun blue-eyed guy who we will call, “Elvis,” due to his side burns.

Elvis and I played volleyball at the beach, boogie boarded in the ocean waves, and drank Snapple Apple from the endless supply in his mini fridge since his father worked for Snapple.  Perhaps because we were so active and usually hanging out with groups of friends, I was blind to his ultra- sensitive side.  Don’t get me wrong, emotions are perfectly normal.  But there is a fine line between honest feelings and nauseating behavior.  Nothing prepared me for Elvis’s little cherished hobby.

As he nestled his head on my shoulder to confess his bedtime secret, he shared that he most enjoys snuggling with his mother.  Take into account that Elvis was 19 years old when he confided this information.  This is when I made my speedy escape, and found something more entertaining to do than cuddling.  Even bingo won that time.

Next is, “The date heard around the world.”

Also a summer fling, I met this lumber jack-esque guy through friends.  For kicks, we shall refer to him as Paul Bunyan.  He had a very dry sense of humor and crunched his posture to fit in his too-small car.  The two of us were complete opposites.  When we went bowling he attentively kept score on the computer screen while I moon walked to the lane to inevitably toss the bowling ball into the gutter.  However my friends liked that he could balance my silly behavior.  It turned out that Mr. Bunyan could be even sillier than me.

Paul Bunyan and his Babe. Hopefully the ox will be a better companion than me.

Just as I had mentioned that hormones exist, so does flatulence.  Everyone has a different opinion of what one has the liberty to call, “farting.”  When Dr. Oz said on Oprah that it was “unhealthy” to hold in a fart, men around the world suddenly felt in style.  Since Oprah has not yet farted publicly on the show or among her many media outlets, I can assume that it is still not safe for women to openly fart.  Personally, I let it go with my brothers who will only laugh and then outdo me.  (Seriously, like on command powers.)  Besides not eating corn before a date, it is also unacceptable to fart on a date.  Poor Paul Bunyan was not informed.

As I was making us drinks in my kitchen, he farted.  Loudly.

The aftermath moment was silent and stunning.  But then I just burst into laughter.

He was stone cold and completely ignored his gas blowing stunt.

Rather than join me, he waited for me to contain myself and then proceeded on with, “How about them Yankee’s” conversation.  If he had laughed it off, everything would have been fine.  Instead, all I could hear was that fart when I looked at him and the fling could no longer go on.  Poof! (No pun intended.)

In college and out of college we will deal with weird secrets, farting, and hormones.  The bottom line is that nobody is perfect.  Within this realm of our youth, we are trying to figure out so much, let alone about the opposite sex.  Many of us are enrolled in summer courses to better advance our education to do the best we can upon completion of college.  Yet we still make minute decisions like whether or not we would like to continue dating someone.  Go with your gut instinct.  (But not necessarily his gut).  Realize that we are in the same shoes as classy college co-eds and are hoping to enjoy ourselves today.  Date or not, it is important to acknowledge people for what you like about them.  Standards are fine, but there is no point in focusing on them until truly knowing a person.  Have fun, smile big, and be yourself.

Advertisements

Greek vs. GDI Little Five Monday, May 3 2010 

Where were you during the Little 500 races?

If you are a member of Greek life, then you were in the stands, with a color to wear and a team to root for.

If you are not in Greek life, then you were roaming the campus, with a cup to fill, and the Villas to fall back on.

Nancy and I debate the difference of experience celebrating Little 500 as a GDI and as a Greek member.

Single and independent is the way to be in college.  In honor of Little Five, I tied sneakers of my feet and hopped from pre-game to porch to bonfire to bar and yes, guiltily- to the Villas.  Throughout the span on the men’s race, a GDI like myself takes 500 shots in support of 500 laps.  An entire week was dedicated to straight-up fun and each day was different.

Having no agenda as an independent during Little Five is like being single in the dating world.  I did not have to stand in bleachers, nor did I have to promise my time to anyone.  The only importance to keep in check is where the party is at; the same way flying solo contends no obligation.  Ironically, a GDI is wanted everywhere except at the bike race just as singles are socially invited anywhere but by that one significant other.

While I was catching a thrill from rain and spontaneity, Nancy was following a traditional routine…

***

Nancy speaking, and trust me, you want to be Greek during Little Five week.

Being Greek during Little Five is like having a boyfriend. Every night you know where you’re supposed to be, who you’re going to be with, and the general theme of the night. Things are a little more predictable than roaming GDI land but the flip side is I’m afforded the confidence that I won’t ever end up at The Villas fighting to keep my swimsuit top on as I wrestle in a tub of pudding. Call me old fashioned, but I like that. My Little Five is ridiculously fun, but I know where my fun will be. I know what colors I am wearing on race day, and I know who I will be next to in the stands. You want to be Greek during Little Five for the same reasons you want that boy/girl-friend, to be wanted.

The consensus is in:  When in Little Five, do as the Greeks do.  Being apart of something is more passionate and gratifying than aimlessly wandering to parties.  Although I enjoyed the spirit of party hopping for a cause that did not truly concern me, please ask me where I was the day of the women’s race.  I was standing right next to Nancy clapping loudly for her sorority’s team.

It is cool to feel wanted in spite of all the adventures a GDI destines to take.  I feel brave and daring as GDI during Little Five just as I do without a boyfriend.  I never know who I am going to meet or where I am going to party whereas Nancy has plans paved and insured.  Either way, our shoulders were back, our spirits were high, and our experiences of Little Five were a blast.

Guilty Admirations Tuesday, Apr 6 2010 

For unexplainable reasons, tall, dark and handsome has never cut it for me. I am not saying that I would turn Bradley Cooper away if he knocked on my door, but my desire is drawn to abnormally interesting characters and traits.

Maybe it is those little brown shorts, but UPS men drive me crazy. They are strong men delivering packages (make the jokes to yourself please) in a dangerous door-less truck. I will not be calling the Ghost Busters.

At home, my UPS guy, Greg, and I have a secret handshake. Instead of the rock, paper, scissor routine, we exchange gestures of sign, sealed and delivered into a high-five. Little does Greg know that I am obsessed with him and actually get butterflies when I see the enormous brown truck pull into the driveway.

Two words: Jack Nicholson. He is a wildcat on and off screen and protrudes a magnetic energy that you cannot help but gravitate toward. From playing an edgy free spirit in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” to a ruthless head mobster in “The Departed,” I find him irresistible.

If a magic genie came to me right now permitting me one wish, it would be to spend
an afternoon playing mini golf with Mr. Nicholson. We would probably break all the course rules and putt-putt our way into thrills of laughter.

WANTED: Big blue ox named Babe. Once he is out of the way, Paul Bunyan will be all mine. If the rugged scruffy beard is not enough, he must torment me with the worn-out red flannel that he has been hacking trees in. After creating the Grand Canyon, he is the American version of Greek gods in mythology. Eat my flapjack heart out.

Irregular attractions aside, one’s knight in shining armor is another’s lumberjack in overalls. Basically beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Do not judge me for wanting Jack Nicholson in a brown UPS uniform knocking down redwoods.

I double-dog dare you to try something. Privately, list all of your guilty secrets when picturing your ideal partner. Not only will you crack yourself up, but you will see what you truly want.

Use my equation for an example. UPS men could mean that I want someone reliable that takes control of a situation. Also, being directionally savvy to make up for my blonde-guided and upside-down compass would not hurt.

Jack Nicholson is an outright character that ultimately sets the atmosphere for harmless trouble and adventure. If you can have fun playing something as lifeless as mini golf with someone, then possibilities are endless.

I admire the hard work ethic of Paul Bunyan. His ridiculous muscles and unbelievable skill are impressive. I want someone who can do things.

Even if your fantasies are about Alex Trebek of “Jeopardy” or Miss Piggy of “The Muppets,” you must come clean with yourself and face your inner passions. It is a matter of figuring out what you like before you can make a move.

I kind of pin myself as a girl that would like the traditional alpha male GQ model type, but I took Carly’s challenge and came up with a few eccentric qualities I find devastatingly handsome in the opposite sex that I altogether didn’t realize.

1. Gingers. Why are people always talking about a shock of red hair like it’s a bad thing? If the cutie next to me in class is a redhead, that is going to land him a plus-one in my book, not the other way around.

Take, for instance, Shaun White. He is the two-time Olympic gold medalist snowboarder I swoon over during the half pipe events nicknamed “The Flying Tomato,” and wouldn’t you know it, he has red hair. Another ginger that I bet you find sexy: Prince Harry. You cannot tell me that you would discount this guy if he struck up a conversation with you at Bear’s this weekend simply because of his hair color. Just Google him. He’s beautiful, and the hair definitely makes the man with this guy.

2. Nice guys. Here is another dying breed that is vastly undervalued. Whenever my girlfriends complain about the jerks in their lives and then make fun of the sweet guy who is always there I always want to grab them and yell, “DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND YOU ARE CREATING THE MORONS WHO THINK THEY NEED TO TREAT GIRLS BADLY TO WIN THEM?!” The nice guy: He will probably listen to the responses to the questions he poses, open the door for you on the way in to Starbucks and he won’t make you cry excessively.

Nice Boy, please don’t get discouraged and go the way of the asshole — it just doesn’t work for you, I promise. Stick to what you’re good at, because we all know you could never make a girl cry without shedding a few yourself.

Whew, there they are. A few things I didn’t altogether expect but hey, if you want to date the GQ model, you have to accept the fact that there is one of him and about a zillion girls who want him. But I bet that there is only one nice-guy Jack Nicholson-type with red hair and a lot of flannel who drives a big brown truck, and you are probably the only one who wants him — now those are some odds I could get down with.

‘Friend Zone’ vs. ‘Ladder Theory’ Sunday, Mar 28 2010 

The question to stand the test of time is whether or not men and women can be just friends.

Is there a secret longing for a kiss within a fist pound? Does the sexual tension deter what is fundamentally a friendship?

While girls can manage the integrity within the relationship, are guys actually picturing her naked? Or is it the other way around and guys can build a front against her allure?

Do we suppress feelings about a friend of the opposite sex or do we truly enjoy the other’s company for what it is?

Growing up with two brothers has made it very easy for me to be strictly friends with guys. In fact, in my next life I am coming back as a man.  

Life is as simple as sex, sports, beer, food and winning. As much as I would like to explain women, it is impossible and will only leave me frustrated. One minute I am studying journalism and the next I am joining the circus. Oh, it’s FINE.

Therefore, hanging out with guys is as good as letting a fart out in a museum. Simply hysterical. At the same time, I wonder if my guy friends have ever imagined if we could do more than get the basketball in the hoop.

The very first time a guy friend approached these dangerous grounds, I was completely unaware of his intentions. He was one of my best friends in high school, and we spent our afternoons cruising to the playground and going to small punk concerts on the weekends. Like peas and carrots, he taught me how to long board and I taught him how to play ping pong.

One day he claimed he had written a new song on his guitar and needed my opinion. I thought it was corny. His disappointment implied that it was for me and I played dumb.
When he officially asked me to be his girlfriend and confessed the song was for me, I did what any friend would do. I said yes.

Holding hands and kissing in the hallways surprised many, and it only lasted a short
time before we gathered our senses and went back to being buddies. The potential was there, but things were much better as friends.

While I can differentiate between the friend and the lover, Nancy believes in what she calls “The Ladder Theory.”

She theorizes that males have one ladder while females have two. A male places females upon his one ladder ranking how much or how little he wants to have sex with her.  

Females have two ladders: the friend ladder and the potential ladder. If a male who is situated upon the friend ladder attempts to jump onto the potential ladder, he will fall into the great abyss and struggle to climb back onto the friend ladder.  

Basically, a girl initially decides whether or not she wants to befriend or admire a guy.
A guy, on the other hand, decides how much or how little he wants to have sex with a girl. Cut and dry.

As college students, we become closer to the people with whom we spend consistent time. Because girls go out with each other to meet up with guys who went out in the same fashion, establishing a friendship with the opposite sex has a slim chance. A true friendship between the opposite sex is for now, rather than long-term.

At the same time, that friendship might be a joke where you are both driving each other crazy and cannot seem to find a comfortable ground. Ladders aside, there is no valid explanation to the mind-boggling intentions between ladies and gentlemen.

Roses are red, friends are true blue Tuesday, Mar 9 2010 

The question to stand the test of time is whether or not men and women can be just friends.

Is there a secret longing for a kiss within a fist pound? Does the sexual tension deter what is fundamentally a friendship?

While girls can manage the integrity within the relationship, are guys actually picturing her naked? Or is it the other way around and guys can build a front against her allure?

Do we suppress feelings about a friend of the opposite sex or do we truly enjoy the other’s company for what it is?

Growing up with two brothers has made it very easy for me to be strictly friends with guys. In fact, in my next life I am coming back as a man.

Life is as simple as sex, sports, beer, food and winning. As much as I would like to explain women, it is impossible and will only leave me frustrated. One minute I am studying journalism and the next I am joining the circus. Oh, it’s FINE.

Therefore, hanging out with guys is as good as letting a fart out in a museum. Simply hysterical. At the same time, I wonder if my guy friends have ever imagined if we could do more than get the basketball in the hoop.

The very first time a guy friend approached these dangerous grounds, I was completely unaware of his intentions. He was one of my best friends in high school, and we spent our afternoons cruising to the playground and going to small punk concerts on the weekends. Like peas and carrots, he taught me how to long board and I taught him how to play ping pong.

One day he claimed he had written a new song on his guitar and needed my opinion. I thought it was corny. His disappointment implied that it was for me and I played dumb.
When he officially asked me to be his girlfriend and confessed the song was for me, I did what any friend would do. I said yes.

Holding hands and kissing in the hallways surprised many, and it only lasted a short
time before we gathered our senses and went back to being buddies. The potential was there, but things were much better as friends.

While I can differentiate between the friend and the lover, Nancy believes in what she calls “The Ladder Theory.”

She theorizes that males have one ladder while females have two. A male places females upon his one ladder ranking how much or how little he wants to have sex with her.

Females have two ladders: the friend ladder and the potential ladder. If a male who is situated upon the friend ladder attempts to jump onto the potential ladder, he will fall into the great abyss and struggle to climb back onto the friend ladder.

Basically, a girl initially decides whether or not she wants to befriend or admire a guy.
A guy, on the other hand, decides how much or how little he wants to have sex with a girl. Cut and dry.

As college students, we become closer to the people with whom we spend consistent time. Because girls go out with each other to meet up with guys who went out in the same fashion, establishing a friendship with the opposite sex has a slim chance. A true friendship between the opposite sex is for now, rather than long-term.

At the same time, that friendship might be a joke where you are both driving each other crazy and cannot seem to find a comfortable ground. Ladders aside, there is no valid explanation to the mind-boggling intentions between ladies and gentlemen.

Text Message Copouts and Unconditional Affection Tuesday, Feb 2 2010 

I conducted an experiment. Test subjects A, B, and C consisted of three males.
Dependent variables were the modes of communication between myself and the subjects.

The object is to determine whether or not the communication of an in-person confrontation, a phone call, or a text message clarifies the intentions of the relationship.

Subject A (“Michael Phelps”) was swimming laps in the lane beside mine in the SRSC.

As we both took a breather, he devilishly smiled and challenged me to a race. Call me a sore loser, but because he beat me I did not give him my phone number. Afterward, when he saw me upstairs outside the pool, he insisted and I disclosed my digits.

Later that week Phelps called me and we shared an hour-long conversation and agreed on meeting for dinner Friday night. Like a gentleman, he picked me up and took me out to a sushi restaurant and we continued to date for four months.

Variables are that we met in a daytime environment participating in an activity. Other variables consist of meeting in a natural state without any maintenance of appearance. It was sincere and real interest.

Subject B (“Party Boy”) introduced himself to me at a party at his fraternity. In a loud music-blaring atmosphere, he offered me a drink and then brought me to the dance floor. Once the party was over, he walked me home.

Being particularly warm on this late night, I decided I wanted to go for a quick dip. We climbed over the fence and went skinny dipping in the outdoor pool.

Although he and I never shared much real conversation, we had adventure. We shared a different kind of intimacy that was unsuitable for a substantial relationship to function. Our relationship consisted of him calling me to his fraternity to party, and I never saw him when the sun was up. Our activity was fun-related and never serious. Efforts relied on exciting party perks.

It was quite appropriate that I met subject C during the day because we both happened to share the same weakness: day sex. In fact, we will call him “Mr. Day Sex.”

We met during a party in honor of the event of the Little 500 race.  I liked his style and did not ask questions as we walked back to his place to “hang out.”

Mr. Day Sex and I continued to meet in this fashion up until this semester, and I cannot tell you one detail about him other than how he is in bed. He texts me before a weekend is coming up and makes plans for us to meet.

That is all. No favorite color nonsense, nothing. Straight up sex.

I do not know what his voice sounds like on the phone. Factors are that our initial meeting was impulsive and effortless. We have a connection, but it is not meaningful, it simply satisfies.

The saying, “Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free,” applies to this experiment.

Funny how Michael Phelps and I started with a race and he chased after me. If he had simply texted me the way Mr. Day Sex had done, then I would not have beckoned an inch further. Texting is a pathetic cop-out and does not buy the cow. Because Mr. Day Sex and I started unconventionally, I accepted the texts. Mr. Day Sex had no reason to call me over the phone or spend time with me because I gave the milk for free. This was okay because I was getting milk too. Party Boy was a happy medium between the extremes and was fun. As long as all of our party pertained, there was no need to risk the moment.

It takes neither cow nor scientist to notice that what you give influences what you get.

***

My repertoire of test subjects were fun but would not be used in Nancy’s studies. She finds herself to be more of a chemical explosion than the guy.

OK, imagine that you are competing a rigorous obstacle course. The first stage is completely lit on fire. The second rains knives. In the third you have to swim through water just above freezing, and in the last stage, you go through an ordeal so terrifying that if you don’t rip your eyeballs out, you can date me.

Yeah. I’m pretty impossible. Some of the insanity that surrounds the way that I act with guys can be explained by how guarded I am, some of it may be because I don’t think you are worth it, and some of it is pretty much because I am a total psycho and I know it. I’m basically a scared little girl wandering around college land and I am not really sure of the protocol with dudes. I know that Carly has an entire system to pinpoint exactly the character she is dealing with. Not the case with this one right here.

I might be thinking about him constantly. Does he like me? What did he mean when he said that? Is he worth it? But the second that I actually am confronted with the very real possibility of seeing him, I will hide.

I mean I’m not going to spring into a bathroom or anything, but I will certainly keep my eyes down in the halls, and if I hear his voice I will probably go out the exit that is the most out of the way so I wont have to walk by him.

It’s weird. I know.

So if a guy likes me enough to physically restrain me and force me to talk to him and manages to find a day in the evening that I can’t find something I need to study for instead — maybe we will go on a date. After I get over that hurdle, it just gets worse for the poor boy. As we get more comfortable I will casually mention that I am a total psycho. That I can’t help but turning the nice guy into the a-hole. (I came to this conclusion over winter break whining to my friends “I just wish he would like me 10 percent less.)

If somehow that has not sent him screaming and I get a little more comfortable, then I might try to freak him out in other ways by letting some of my little idiosyncrasies — or reasons that I’m a huge loser — slip. I’ll casually mention the whole math team, high school marching band thing. Maybe throw in a story or two about how nuts my family is.

And if he still hasn’t gotten his cue and actually thinks that I am a datable human
being. There is one last way to find out if he is good for you. The Disney Movie. Just tell him how badly you have been wanting to see this and wait. Will he sit through it for you? Is he going to complain?

Find the guy that will hold your hand when King Triton wrecks Arielle’s secret treasure trove, and you have found a little gem of your own.



Let’s Get It On Monday, Jan 25 2010 

Zzzz.  The act of sleeping consists of shut eye accompanied by relaxed heavy breathing.  Then how come people often refer to the verb when explaining their sexual endeavors?  If you say you slept with someone than you certainly did not get much rest.  Then again, raunchy phrases like, ‘rolled in the hay,’ ‘made whoopee,’ ‘got in the sack, ‘bumped uglies,’ ‘tapped,’ ‘banged,’ or ‘shagged,’ explain the deed in terms not as serious as making love.  Whether or not we choose to define sex as exact or not, the act is conveyed and carried out under different pretenses and understandings.

In my pre-teen years when I had no idea what sex truly was, I deemed the entire action as an, ‘it.’  Whatever it was, one would eventually, ‘do it.’  Listening to Marvin Gaye in his seductive deep voice beckoning, “Let’s get it on,” made me blush.  Could someone actually make love to me one day, baby?  What would it feel like and who would it be with were questions that raced through my innocent mind.

Unfortunately, I had a bad start to the world of loving relations with the opposite sex.  The time was second grade and the scene was on the rough and tough playground during recess.  A game of tag with my arch nemesis, Michael Smith*, was interrupted by his lips on my mouth.  Completely startled, I pushed him away from me and kicked him in the shin.  He cried and I was met by my disappointed mother in the principal’s office.  The end.

At fifteen, the idea of cooties began to wear off, and my curiosity began to make way for adventurous pastures.  This urge was for reasons beyond being horny.  I have never wanted to go bungee jumping, shoot a loaded gun, or take acid.  Sex was something I needed to try.  However there were obstacles.  My virginity was sacred and at stake.  You only get one first time.  It was not that I placed my virginal value on a pedestal, but that I wanted the right partner.  I wanted it to be real.

My first opportunity was an utter disaster, except I did not kick him in the shin.  Incandescent street lights glowed upon the romantic cul-de-sac where my afro headed boyfriend’s Volvo was parked.  As we fogged up the windows for the umpteenth time, I knew he was eventually going to ask for it.  Like a freaking psychic, he looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was ready.  I guess my deer in headlights reaction was enough prompt for him to whip out a condom.  My head was light, and my limbs were jello.  In complete fear and everything in slow motion, I caught my bearings and backed away in halt.  He nodded silently and reached for his clothes.  I give him credit for simmering down his raging hormones and being understanding.

While I was in this young and excited faze seeking the right sexual venture, Nancy was on a different scheme and pace.

You know what I think is bullshit? That Taylor Swift song “Fifteen”.

“Cause when you’re fifteen, somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them?”  If someone told me at age 15 they loved me I would have done one of a few things:

    · Said, “mom… I love you too”
    · Laughed
    · Written his name down in my journal where I put all of the boys who were unfortunate enough to fall for me

But in all seriousness I was about as far away as you could be mentally from accepting another person into my life emotionally, let alone sexually. Carly took romps in the backseats of cars on her Friday nights, I watched Disney movies with friends on mine.

There are a few memories about sexuality that will always be vivid in my mind. One was when I was reading a “Seventeen Magazine” and there was a column where a letter written in was about a 16 year old girl who was having sex with her boyfriend. I was HORRIFIED! Just imagine, a sixteen year old having S-E-X? It was hard to fathom at the time, and looking back on it isn’t that when a lot of girls first did it. Another thing I won’t forget is having one of those girly talks with middle school mean girls that you could pretend for the moment were your friend since she wore a lot of Limited Too clothes. I posed a question, “Sure you can imagine having sex but could you actually imagine who it would be with?” It seemed like she was comfortable with some mystery man doing the deed but I couldn’t say the same for myself.

Its not as though I haven’t devoted a fair amount of time thinking about this subject and why the thought of sex made me so uncomfortable. Though I do consider myself a Catholic… I think all those years of Jesus School kind of messed with my head. “THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTERY!!!” I’ll take the late night showing of The Lion King over fire and brimstone thankyouverymuch.

I guess that is what gave rise to the fact that I am a notorious tease/flirt. It became ok to suggest, to joke about, to relish the attention from the boys. It would stop there. Once I got the attention, the awkward comment, the invitation to Homecoming , it was all over. “You want me. I win.” Messed up right?

When I was 15 and girls like Carly would get so caught up with boys I would laugh at them and think they were brainless idiots. I considered myself so above that silly stuff, but ultimately I wonder who was the more mature person about it now. We all have to go through the baby steps to get into the real deal relationships and Carly has it down pat. Me? Im still reading Seventeen Magazine.

Nails on a chalkboard Monday, Jan 25 2010 

Pussies.  From their claws and their fangs to their mysterious prowl, I hate cats.  Who knew this fear would follow me to college?

In the beginning of my freshman year, I dated a macho man with a ‘closet grandma disorder.’  He and his three cats welcomed me to his territory.  Upon entering his apartment for the first time and stiffening like a board as cats purred around my legs like sharks circling a victim, I contemplated dealing with the felines to continue dating Catman.  After about two seconds of torture, I came up with a solution: next.

Call me shallow, but I do not withstand certain qualities and behaviors.  I am not saying that I expect a stepford companion, however there are intolerable pet peeves that drive me crazy.

    1. The technique to eating spaghetti and meatballs.  Men who cut their spaghetti rather than twirling their spoon are criminal.  Even the dog from, “The Lady and the Tramp,” understands this phenomenon.
    2. Pinky Rings and Ponytails.  Pinky rings are completely unnecessary and were obviously bought in a 25 cent machine.  Do not trust a man with a pinky ring.  Pony tails are for sock-hops and horses.
    3. The goo-goo ga-ga of a baby voice.  Unless his lungs are filled with helium, there is no excuse.
    4. If he wears a smaller pants size than me.  I do not want to know that I can kick his butt.  Find a nice spot somewhere between Peewee Herman and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
    5. The blue ribbon champion.  A guy who lists his every achievement and trophy won only leaves me to assume one thing: small penis.
    6. Driving a yellow car.  Normally at this age we are lucky to get a box on wheels, however a yellow car screams obnoxious.  Taxi driver, what’s my fare?
    7. One’s appreciation of the most delicious and mesmerizing spice: garlic.  If he doesn’t like garlic, he will never be able to share a meal with me.  I would starve.
    8. Leg shakers and pen chewers.  I am easily distracted by someone bobbing their leg up and down and lose track of the conversation.  Nervous habit verses where that pen has been before is an unsanitary balance.  Your mouth, not mine.
    9. Kindergarten etiquette.  A bow and a pinky up is unnecessary, however the simplicity of opening doors and using a napkin rather than a sleeve does not hurt.
    10. High maintenance.  Please do not take longer than me to get ready.

Nancy’s nit picks:

    1. Due to a traumatic sixth grade experience of slow dancing with a boy in need of stilts, height is of crucial importance.  He must be tall to go on this ride.
    2. If he pulls the, “I am really smart, but I just do not try,” line, than he may please remove himself from my presence.  Security?
    3. Youtube Kelly would agree with me that his shoes matter.  If I look down and see the white slip on’s that my grandmother does her water-walking in than he might as well stop trying.  The Adidas with the three white stripes down the side do not fly either.
    4. In good fun, I expect to be matched after I dish him out.  Curling up into the fetal position after a harmless joke simply declares him the weakest link, goodbye.
    5. Trying too hard to impress me and listing your stats like a pro athlete will only convince me that I will most likely find you taking my order in a Burger King.  And no, thank you, I do not want fries with that.

The Award Winning Pick-up Line Monday, Jan 25 2010 

While at a tailgate, I was approached by a tall, decent-looking guy bearing a smirk that revealed sneaky intentions. His overconfident introduction sent up red flags but did not prepare me for what he said after our brief name exchange.

“So, after the tailgate, do you want to go and have sex?”

Stunned and insulted, I hastily replied, “How about, ‘Ride with me upon my white stallion into the sunset where we will make sweet passionate love by the fire? Try that next time, jerk.’” I marched off in dismay and found my girlfriends for refreshing company.

What happened to the debonair and suave James Bond-esque one-liners that instantly made a girl swoon? At this point, I would settle for a knock-knock joke.

Of course I understand the gulping guts it takes for someone to approach the opposite sex. Rejection is terrifying, and confrontations mixed with the opposite sex are disastrous ingredients to stutter and mess up your words. I had a friend in high school who used to write down everything he was going to say before he called a girl. It is hard, which is why we should give each other more slack. Standards are natural, but so are nerves.

I base my judgment on actions rather than their jumbled words. Factors like how close he is standing to me and how comfortable his smile is matter. Most important is where his eyes are. Thankfully, I usually do not have to worry about guys staring at my double A cup, but I still want to meet a sincere gaze. Within this initial greeting is a test or an audition where one determines the potential of the other person.

Nancy uses her magnifying glass to inspect a guy differently.

Shoes. Maybe due to my gargantuan height and the fact that I shrink away from eye
contact with strangers, I am always looking down. Maybe you won’t notice when we meet but trust me, I just looked at your shoes, and I just gathered 70 percent of my first impression of you. Granted, the shoes are not the only important thing. The rest of the outfit will be important too, but the shoes are the pivot point from the rest that I will assume about you.

Before you call me shallow, I would like to point out the fact that I am a firm believer that what I see on the outside is a reflection of what you feel on the inside. Therefore, I am really just judging the person you are on the inside, you just don’t know it.

The first thing to notice is the brand of the shoes. I am weirdly good at looking at any piece of clothing and telling you what brand it is.

I literally could not go into the intricacies if I tried, but what I can say for sure is that I met a boy the first day of freshman year in high school and we immediately bonded over the drumsticks sticking out of my purse, and he was pretty cute too. I glanced down and took one look at his black, slip-on sneakers, and I knew we would never approach anything more than friends.

I am still close with Jason now and he still maintains that those were his “work shoes.” But it was over before it could ever start.

Another thing that I notice is how well he can take my shit. I am a bit — and I wish there was a better word for this — sassy. I like to kid around and kind of be a jerk, and if you can give it back to me with as much sarcasm then shoes aside, I’m yours.

There is no exact formula to establishing a relationship. Whether we become friends or lovers, we must understand that nobody is perfect. A happy medium of communication can be found somewhere between a shy blush and an on-demand “do me.”

If you don’t have anything charming to say, or the mojo of desire, then simply be yourself.