Remember that time you accidently said “I love you” to your sort-of boyfriend of three months?
Oh, wait you probably don’t because that happened to me. Not you.
We are all creatures of habit, and for several years I was dropped off at school by loving parents who would often wish me well, tell me to make good choices, and often say “Goodbye, love you!” As a teenager I would slam the car door shut as quickly as possible to ensure no one heard the ridiculous affection my parents had for me. In middle school the only love I wanted was from my boyfriend of two weeks. It was social suicide to have parents hug you, let alone tell you they loved you. Obviously, this may be an exaggeration. But back then it sure as hell felt that way.
After years of carpool lanes and “Goodbye, love you!”, I was taught to reciprocate. So when The Bartender dropped me off for my class last week, I instinctively said “Love you!” as I closed the car door.
As the car drove away, this was me:
As soon as I sat down in my class I hurriedly sent a text: FORCE OF HABIT ACCIDENT.
I wasn’t aware that I could feel utterly mortified, embarrassed, disgraced, shamed and humiliated all at the same time. (Except for the morning after I threw up a hostel floor and my roommate had to clean it up and remind me about it the next morning) but it turns out I have that ability even when I haven’t been drinking.
*On another note: more posts to come after this college kid finishes her final exams.
I maybe should have prefaced that I would be talking a lot about dating on this blog, mainly because it’s the most new and unexplored territory that I encounter in my day to day life. It used to entail engaging with Italian culture and formulating travel plans. Now I’m reduced to analyzing the meaning behind the use of the word ‘babe. Go figure.
So as things have forged on with The Bartender, I’m entering into new territory once again. The shift from dating to a relationship. It’s been a solid two months since we began dating and we’re spending loads of time together every day. At certain points he’s used the word ‘babe’ in regards to me. The first time he said it was in the middle of the night when I was tossing and turning, with sleep hours away. I thought I heard it wrong. He must have said “What’s wrong Dave?” reverting back to that one time he went through a curious phase in college.
I’m joking of course. He doesn’t have any homosexual tendencies…that I know of.
Then he used in again. So casually. Babe. I guess I missed the memo that we are at the point of pet names. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing wrong with the term itself. I’m just confused about what it means, besides the name of a pig or a hot girl on the beach.
In a time where your relationship status is plastered on your Facebook for everyone to see and where DTR conversations are rampant (DTR: Defining The Relationship) what actually constitutes the next level of dating?
When I was 15 and started dating my ex-boyfriend, we said “I love you” after 2 weeks. At the time, it was just what you said to make the end of phone calls less awkward than ‘bye’. It only came after time that I found what it truly meant. And I firmly believe that every love is different, every relationship brings a new dynamic, a new power struggle, a new set of problems, and new joys.
So what do I do at this point? The Bartender has commitment issues (surprise surprise) so he’s not ready for the official label yet. Honestly, neither am I. I was a ‘girlfriend’ for so long and I had all the duties that came with the title. So what does being in a relationship really mean outside of the digital realm? From what I’ve gathered it means that you care about the person, more than just a regular hook-up and dinners. You find yourself wanting to spend time with them over other people. You want to cook for them. You’re definitely not seeing anybody else or actively looking for better options. You’re happy. You’re still struggling to figure out the other person. Every day, you let a little more of your guard down and let them see another side of you. Much like everything else in my life right now, it’s terrifying.
Since March, I’ve been conquering men in bars, both locally and internationally. While it was a fruitful summer with a multitude of good stories to tell for years to come, I had promised myself I would slow it down by the time fall and school rolled around.
And then I met someone (see Disasters in Dating). Someone I didn’t sleep with at first. Someone I like to actually hang out with because he doesn’t make me want to claw my eyes out from boredom. Oh and he’s cute. From henceforth, in all future forays with this boy, he shall be referred to as The Bartender.
I over-analyze everything. I mean everything. So while I was going through my one night stand phase, I analyzed everything in the days following a hook-up. Now that I’m dating someone, I still analyze everything and constantly wonder how I’m faring in the dating world. So far I can’t decide which option comes with more stress.
One Night Stands
One night of sweaty, somewhat intoxicated sex. The shared agreement to limiting the amount of knowledge about the other person. Due to that agreement, talking is usually limited to banal topics that you won’t really care about the other person knowing (ie: things that you would find on my Facebook if you creeped hard enough). The walk of shame in the morning. That weird moment where ya’ll can’t decide whether or not to spoon. The feeling of both achievement (if you bang a 10) and disappointment in your self-worth. The look that tells each other it’s on. Free drinks. The questions following the one nighter: Will he call me? Why wasn’t I worth waiting for? Why am I already horny again? What was his last name? Am I bad in bed? The aftermath includes wondering how many lies he told you to get into your pants, wishing you worked out more so those flabby bits weren’t as…well…flabby, and usually regret. Usually.
Dating
A tepid toe into the waters of getting to know each other. Dates where the conversation is foreplay, instead of a slap on the ass. Personality becomes a factor. A big one at that. Attraction can only go so far without an actual connection. Sex is steady, but isn’t dull. The feeling of constantly wanting to impress someone with your charm, wit, and appearance. The fear that they will find something out about you and immediately dump yo’ crazy ass. Seeing that look in their eye that lets you know they like you. Free drinks and free meals. The questions that follow: Will he call me? What do they think of me? Am I interesting enough to capture their attention? Am I the only one they are seeing? Do I really need to shave my legs again? The aftermath includes wondering how long you have to lie about not eating carbs, wishing you could stay and cuddle for hours (especially with the recent appearance of fall weather in Texas), and the knowledge that the more time you spend with that person is directly proportional to how much it’s going to hurt when you stop seeing each other.
Which is the lesser of two evils? I’m going to go with the one where spooning is non-optional…for now anyways.
I apologize for the lack of posts. What with school starting up again this fall I haven’t been nearly as bored as I was during my internships. But there’s something else I’ve been doing lately – I’m kind of, sort of, seeing someone.
Oh yes.
I feel like just as I was getting into the whole idea of being single and gettin’ my swag on at the bars every weekend, I just happened to wind up dating someone. After of course, my mother asked him for his phone number and he subsequently wrote it down for us as a joke. And then I in turn left him a note reading, “If you were just working for a tip tonight, great job, but if you need someone to squeeze your flat ass sometime, give me a call.”
Oh yes.
And my crass humor and brazen (mostly delusional) self-confidence got me a lunch date, followed by many more drinks out and now I’m here. Dating someone. It’s new and it’s uncomfortable and I constantly feel like I have no idea what I’m doing or what I’m supposed to do. It’s been almost 6 months since I ended things with my ex-boyfriend of over five years. He was my first everything. First real date, first time saying ‘I love you’, first date kiss, first sleepover, first fight, first struggle to find a balance in a relationship.
My most recent first date…ended in a high five.
And the awkwardness didn’t stop there. I’ve been fumbling my way through dating for the past few weeks and let me tell you, it’s nothing like a romantic comedy. I’ve said numerous things that have made me sound more idiotic than a drunk, blonde girl who ‘auditioned’ to be in a Girls Gone Wild video. I told him I was scared of his penis. I’ve thrown up in his front yard and proceeded to pass out in his bathroom. Last night, on accident, I punched him in the groin.
Oh yes.
I’m sure there will be more stories to come. I can’t imagine I’ll get any better at this.
The following have been said to or by yours truly.
Things You Don’t Want to Hear in a Bar:
“If they don’t take you home, I will.”
Man: “Usually you would buy me a drink.” Uh actually I wouldn’t and I won’t. I have boobs. Boobs trump penis any day.
“Look, they’ve been laying the groundwork, but I’d much rather go home with you tonight.”
“I’m not with her, she’s just a friend. She’s actually on the Varsity Swim Team.” Yeah, she’s just a friend. And I’m just tipsy.
“I went to BYU.” Mormons.
“How can I get you home?” If you have to ask, it’s not going to happen.
“I’m not doing well, am I?” Not after that comment. Maintaining what little confidence you had is only going to get more difficult from here on out.
“I know your mom.” Although it would be worse if they said, “You look like your mom.”
“Oh you’re from TCU? You’re one of those girls.” Actually no, I’m not one of those girls, but you are, in fact, one of those assholes who assume stereotypes are always correct.
“I would hit that.” And I would hit your face.
“Please stop. You’re messing with my other options.”
“I remember your white blazer from last night. It’s very…um…unforgettable.”
“In my free time I play video games.” Guys, even if this is all you do in your free time, never say it to a girl. I watch Sex and the City all day, every day and I would never admit that to a potential.
Things I’m Fond of Hearing in Bars:
“Could I buy you a beer?” I don’t care that my Shiner is $1 tonight and that’s why you’re offering, a free drink always taste better.
“I’m from Britain.” & “I have a Swedish passport.” Anything that tells me that you are not American and I’m dropping my jaw (among other things) at the bar.
“I’m 24.” & “I work [here].” Job, check. Not a boy, check. Got your shit together, check.
“Would you like this seat?” Thank you for checking out my ass and then noticing how good it looks because of my 5 inch heels that I can barely walk in.
“I can’t concentrate because you’re smile is so pretty.” Aw, shucks, thanks orthodontia.
Things to do with your hands instead of texting ‘that guy’:
1. Eat some fruit. Certain fruit is actually quite labor intensive and requires intricate thinking and focus. Your mind needs to be focused on spitting out that seed when you’re eating a cherry or pulling a grape off a vine. You could lose a finger while you’re peeling the skin off that kiwi or mango.
2. Rearrange your apartment. Moving around your cabinets so that your wine glasses are in closer proximity to the bottles of wine will remind you why you live alone and why it’s nice to not have your priorities judged.
3. Make a list. Write a list of all the things you need to do that you’ve been putting off. I mean that Greek yogurt you ran out of this morning isn’t going to buy itself. You could also take this time to make a list of all the reasons why ‘that guy’ sucks at life. Or make a list of all the excuses you’re giving him for nottexting you.
4. Facebook stalk your exes. Remember what it felt like to be loved? Those hands are going to have to free to hold the spoon for the ice cream and grab another tissue for your crying eyes.
5. Make a sandwich. It’s good practice for when you eventually get into a relationship and your man is hungry.
6. Brush your teeth and floss. Pearly whites, fresh breath, and a lack of gum disease are going to help you land the next guy who is going to infuriate you.
7. Pick up a new hobby. Photography requires your eyes to look at something else besides your phone screen and you need your fingers to click the button. Make some of the stuff you’ve seen on Pinterest (you only have like 923 DIYs pinned). Whatever you do, don’t pick up knitting, you’re still young. I’m training to compete in the next Olympics. They’ll be held in New Orleans this fall. My sport is drinking and I’m going for the gold…tequila.
This is the Pinterest project I’ll be working on.
8. Write a blog post. Using those quick nibbled fingers to type something other than that lame excuse for a text message. Preferably something that’s thought-provoking and relevant to today’s society.
9. But seriously, focus on yourself instead of him. Your time is better spent on what you need, want, hope, and dream than wasting time wishing for a guy to text you. I finished reading the hilarious book, My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me, and she writes in the end that you can’t keep trying to find someone else to complete you – you have to realize that you are complete just as you are, on your own.
10. Oh that’s another thing you could do, read a book (I’m starting On the Road by Jack Kerouac) instead of re-reading your previous texts hoping that you’re sarcasm, wittiness, and sexiness all came across in just 10 words.
Cheers to a new week and the hope that my cynicism is confined only to Monday.
I like to work out. Most of the time I forget that I do, but it’s true.
However, when I was at the gym yesterday I started thinking about why I work out.
I usually do yoga because it makes me feel great after a class because I’m centered and I had my ‘savasana’ (yoga term for nap time essentially). In yoga, I forget about my what’s bothering me and dedicate an hour to my body. After yoga I always feel confident in the strength of my body and what it can accomplish. I can see which poses I’ve come far in and which ones I’m still working to achieve – like crow, dammit.
When I’m at the gym my thoughts and feelings are incredibly different. I’m concerned about looking like I’m ‘working’ out. I look at all the other girls clad in their neon Nike attire who have been on the treadmill for two hours and have no intention of stopping. I check out the cute guy sprinting around the track. I go down to the weight room and immediately realize that I’m the only girl and therefore the only one using the 15 pound weights for my wimpy arm exercises.
Despite all the incredibly distressing thoughts I have, I still have a great work out. I work my ass off (literally) and I feel great afterwards.
When I was working out, I was listening to rap music and thinking about how I needed to run faster, do more crunches, do that extra set because I wanted to look good in my jeans or in my new tight dress. While this is great motivation for working out, I started wondering if this was negative reinforcement. Last summer I lost 30 pounds – while I was still in a relationship with someone who loved me regardless if I ate a cookie. I worked out and dieted because I wanted to improve myself. Now, I do yoga for myself, but sometimes I feel like when I work out at the gym I’m doing it to impress other people now that I’m single.
Why do you work out? Is it for other people or yourself? Which is better motivation?
Watch the clip below to understand the topic I will be discussing:
Expectations ruin any good thing you thought could happen and all you end up with is disappointment and negativity.
I’m still learning this now that I’m home. Expecting that cute shirt to look good when you try it on or thinking you are going to have a legendary night out are harmful and detrimental thoughts to actual reality.
When you let go of expectations and let life just happen, you will be a lot more satisfied by the outcome, because you aren’t comparing it to what could have happened.
Expectations are human constructs. We manufacture them for ourselves as humans to set boundaries and ideals for our lives. Religion, culture, fashion, etc are all perceptions of what society expects of us. Life is what actually happens. It’s uncontrollable, and the more you try to tightly hold on and constrain it, the more out of control you actually begin to feel.
In case you aren’t understanding what I’m saying, here is a graph to help.
My friend gave me this advice about guys, “Don’t wish for anything. Don’t imagine anything. Because as soon as you do, whatever you wanted to happen will never, ever, in a million years, happen.”
So being single I’ve learned that I should have no hopes or dreams when it comes to men.
Which as negative as that sounds – it’s just a more realistic way to look at life. Dating isn’t a romantic comedy staring [insert beautiful, witty, and charmingly awkward actress] and [insert hunky male star with gorgeous smile that makes you forgive them at the end of the film for being an asshole]. Life is about making the best of any situation because you are living life, not acting out a contrived plot. We won’t ever be able to guess the ending of our lives, and that’s one of the perks of living.
Stories from abroad:
One thing I learned abroad was not to expect anything amazing, incredible, life-changing, or memorable to happen, because as soon as you expected it to happen – you would inevitably be disappointed when it didn’t happen.
The best example I have to champion the destruction of your expectations happened on a Wednesday night in Florence with my friend Stephanie.
We honestly wanted one drink. One simple drink. We went to our favorite student bar, Naima, and it was a slow night. The night was young and so were we, so we stopped by another bar called Lion’s Fountain. As we were perusing the crowd, we were approached by these guys who offered to buy us drinks. After talking for a while we went with them to a club, 21, and proceeded to get more free drinks. From there we went to a nearby pub, and following suit, more free drinks. Hell, Stephanie even got a bouquet of flowers. Then we went to another club, YAB. After that, the night is pretty much black. However, the next morning I woke up to this note in my phone:
No, I never saw Adam again, but that’s not really the point.
The point is, NONE of that would have happened if we had been planning on having some epic night out. We went out, not expecting anything and we ended up having a blast…albeit a black out…but a blast nonetheless.
So my advice to everyone on this Thirsty Thursday: screw expectations.
Lately, I’ve felt like a dude. It’s actually fairly difficult, because I don’t really subscribe to traditional gender roles. Women bringing home the bacon, making the first move, being on top, etc. Bring it on, women can handle it.
But as much as I would like to think that men respect this – surprise – they don’t.
Examples from my life as a single, strong-willed, and sometimes ballsy woman:
1. I have made it explicably clear to someone that all I want is a very causal relationship. What does he do? Acts like a boyfriend.
2. I make the terrible mistake of having the conversation with a man about numbers. He then tells me I really know how to make a guy feel special. Wait – I’m sorry, were you supposed to be special? Because making out on the street didn’t feel especially special.
3. (this is the only slightly positive outcome) I approach a man at a bar and hit on him, because it’s almost last call, someone bought me a shot, he was cute, and my friends can usually coerce me to do anything after 1:30 am if they tell me it will be funny. By the end of the conversation, he gave me a hug, said thank you, and told me it was cool that I approached him. Well…awesome?
Overall, most of these guys are just fleeting moments for me, I’m not looking for any stand outs or for someone to sweep me off my feet. I’ve been swept already and now I’m just hanging out. As much as guys say that’s what they want and that’s their idea of a ‘dream girl’, in my research I’ve found that they want just as much respect as any woman deserves. Basically, there is no winning. So I’ll just keep doin’ me while you keep doin’ your little pansy thing. Cheers.
Briana Wucinski 