Dreams DO Come True!

When I was just a girl, I had to do something to keep myself entertained on my family's 6-hour car drives to the beach. Since I'm a hopeless romantic, I day-dreamed about the range of boys I saw in the cars we passed on I-95.

I imagined that they would spot me, as equally bored and wistful as they were, and be amazed at me and all my 12-year-old scrawny glory. So naturally, they would hold a sign up to the window of their car with their phone number. Now, back in those days we didn't have cell phones, which just increased the melodramatic-ness of the situation, for I would have had to wait until I got home from vacation to talk on the phone to my lover.

Aw.

I (sort of) out-grew that little day dream, especially since it's so technologically passe. (Last time I shared this day-dream with friends, they imagined someone throwing their cell phone out their window into yours! So that you could put your number into it! That just sounds dangerous to me. Hmm...)

I had dinner last night with one of my lovely loving friends, and she said she had a good boy story, but that it was kind of weird, and she hoped I didn't think she was a horrible person.

She was driving on, whatdoyaknow, I-95 when she noticed she was keeping pace with a crazy SUV darting in and out of the lanes. When she thought SUV, she thought soccer mom, crazy old man, or high schooler who just got her license. But when she happened to glance at the driver, it was a cute guy! They flirted as they weaved in traffic, and after about three or four glances, he actually...held up a sign!!

It wasn't a phone number, though. It was better: "You are beautiful."

After losing and finding each other again, the next sign was his phone number. They've been talking almost every day and are making plans to meet up. Whatdoyaknow, he actually lives close by to her - even though anyone could be driving on 95!

There is hope for love in this world!

Rescue by Eve 6

Though I'm in a poetry-writing class now and have come to appreciate the art form much more than I did back in high school, I still generally enjoy song lyrics as my favorite form of "poetry." Lyrics can be just as witty and visual as poetry (especially Eve 6's), but most poets would probably argue lyrics are too cliche. But cliches just give us something to understand and relate to!

(My dad is an avid musician who goes to a lot of open mic nights. Noticing the "emo" trend, he often comes home and says "Someone needs to tell these kids that not every page in their diary can be song lyrics! Give me a cliche, give me something to hold onto!" I am probably biased by his classic rock bias.)

Listening to Eve 6 while writing a brief homework assignment - but my poem about spring break in Mexico up behind that - these lyrics hit me. It's almost exactly what happened to me last week in a bar in Puerto Vallarta filled with multinational non-JMU (yay!) attractive men (and of course two of my amazing sexy, but spoken-for roommates):

Well I kind of sort of knew what was going to happen
When she put her number down on a restaurant napkin
She said goodbye I think the words were when you're back in
Town lets have each other again I'll come around and see you again

Long story short, I had a more-innocent-than-normal (for spring break standards anyway) rendez-vous with a beautiful Canadian (could he be any more geographically unavailable?). When we met, trying not to rely on expensive roaming cellphones, Eve 6 explains exactly what I did - wrote all my information on a napkin for him.

The boys of Eve 6 wrote this song 8 years ago, so of course now we can rely on cell phones and email more and there's always facebook to socialize long-distance. Or so I hope.

"I definitely want to keep in touch with you. There have been facebook marriage proposals before, right?" he half-joked with me on the second-to-last night of our vacation.

After a long goodnight, we made plans to meet the next day. Here the napkin plan hiccuped - he only had my information. So when I didn't hear from him, I had no other option but to wait. And go home. And not know his last name. And not be able to stalk him on facebook (uh, I mean friend! Friend him on facebook!).

Here's the chorus of Rescue:

Like Jessica Rabbit she collects bad habits gets her drinks for free
Animated vixen stole cupids arrow and came to rescue me
In the blink of an eyelid my lid opened up and I could see
That she'd come to rescue me

First of all, I'd always thought the "drinks" in the first line was really "trix." Rabbit, you know? Yeah yeah... I can be naive. On the other hand, I know I have a tendency to want to rescue boys, so am I turning into Jessica Rabbit? Developing the bad habit of only dating geographically unavailable men? I don't like how these lyrics sound...

The Paradox:

When I'm feeling my worst, boys pester me more.

I went to go meet my mom's bus at Penn Statioin when she came to visit me. But it was right after a nap, so I threw on my JMU sweatshirt (complete with a pink paint stain of some sort), wiped the excess mascara out from under my eyes, and trudged into the subway system.

"Hey, purple's my favorite color!"

Really? It is? Well thank goodness I wore it!

It ended with multiple kisses on the cheek. I don't know how I let myself get in these sketchy situations.

Then the other night, I went to go buy MORE TOILETPAPER (seriously) at like midnight around the corner. I was pissed off and in a rush to, you know, pee? And then go to bed?

"Have a good night!"

(mumbled) "Thank you!"

"I SAID good NIGHT!"

(angrily - bad idea at midnight in a vaguely sketchy-looking neighborhood, I know) "I said you TOO! THANK you!"

And I kept walking, after two other younger 20-something guys snickered. Little did I know, when I would come back around that same corner, conquest in my posession, the same guy would still be there.

As he approached me, giving me a second chance with "Have a good night!" I just straight out asked him whether or not he said hello to every girl in the city, or do I have something on my face that says "Well hello there! I'm from out of town! Specifically, the south! I am a friendly person!" even when I think I've mastered the "Get out of my way. I'm a disgruntled/busy New Yawker" face. While I was blabbering on, he was stumbling over words himself about being 40 and living in the same apartment for 10 years and he doesn't talk to every girl and maybe could we get together for-

No! I refused to be picked up past midnight by undatable, creeptastic men. Refuse! I'm trying to raise my standards here! (Okay, maybe if he had been in his 20s...still probably a bad idea).

So, I think every guy who makes a little cat call or says something to me, I'm going to poll him: is it me? Or is it the city? Or is it you? It must be exhausting talking to every pretty girl here. Lawdy knows there are a lot more of 'em than pretty (straight) men.

And the lesson I learned from this that one of my guy friends tried to convince me was true just a few weeks ago: You don't need to try to get a guy's attention. It's the lack of effort that turns guys on.

So now I have to try to not try? That's when I pretend to not be looking for dates because, well, they always show up when you're not.

A totally unplanned post...stream of consciousness? Eek!

I'm dying to write about something. Anything to keep it up and improve my like totally mad skills. But I have nothing relevant dating-wise.

For once in my life, here in the place where there are probably the most diverse, most forward, most plentiful amount of men/boys, I am not concentrated on them at all. I am already stuck in a rut, assuming that all the attractive ones are gay. Or taken. I am surprised at the number of couples I see roaming this city.

My friends have been comparing me to Carrie from Sex and the City a lot lately - holy crap am I flattered - but I just don't know how it is possible. Albeit, it was a TV show, a piece of fantasy, but she just so easily found eligible bachelors around every corner.

The ticket I need to find eligible bachelors? A fake ID. I can't get into bars. No where here has an 18+ night. But everywhere has an intern special night. What interns are over 21 anyway? Already graduated ones? Lame. One month to go and I loathe my under-21 status more than ever in my life. Even though the majority of guys who (creepily) hit on me must be at least 35.

Though I did get a nice/non-creepy comment today. I was in Duane Read, searching for some contact solution that has evaded me on every other shopping trip.

"Excuse me, miss?" he said. "I like your hair. Very pretty."

Maybe he's figured out the secret to non-catcall-sounding commentary. Pick what is attractive, and be specific. As long as it isn't a body part that has been given a crude nick-name or two (yeah, sorry boys, I know this leaves you with very few options).

Anyway, to continue with the randomness, I've been thinking about the ex a lot recently. (Please notice, if you click through, that those posts were from just about two years ago. Yeah. That's why it's so lame that I've been thinking about him so much lately.)

We only chat twice a year on each other's birthdays that so conveniently fall six months apart; another reason why I cannot wait for mine to come. I wonder if he's having commitment-phobia issues too because of me or not. Dare I bring up these touchy subjects? One of my best gfs (who somehow has been "in love" twice - actually, now that I come to think of it, my younger sister has too. What gives? Once has already been too much for me. ANYWAY!) says that because I'm still thinking/pondering/worrying/wondering about him means we're "meant to be." And that I must contact him as soon as possible. I'm not sure if his current girlfriend would much appreciate that. Or that he would either, considering that it is almost his turn to be the contact-er, not the contact-ee.

Or maybe I'm just feeling like a victim of mild loneliness in this big, bad, fabulous, amazing city.

Can I getcho' numba girrrrl

I love New York City.

I got asked out twice in one day.

Now, I don't say this to brag - just as a fact. A surprising fact.

How did I respond? Well, I gave both of them my number, but I wasn't particularly interested in either. Do I:

a) take the free drink/coffee/dinner date
b) don't call them back to not lead them on
c) be adventurous and give them a serious chance
d) be wary because there are a lot of creep-jobs out there

Number Guy 1 called four times while I was at work today. Only left one message. That kiiiiind of leads me to go with choice d). Good idea?

Boy-men

Knocked Up. It looked like a decent movie with a potentially slightly offensive (bold choice!) title. But then the critics started loving it. And now I can't wait to see it.

An excerpt from this New York Times article:

• "Mr. Apatow’s critique of contemporary mores is easy to miss — it is obscured as much by geniality as by profanity — but it is nonetheless severe and directed at the young men who make up the core of this film’s likely audience. The culture of sexual entitlement and compulsive consumption encourages men to remain boys, for whom women serve as bedmates and babysitters. Resistance requires the kind of quixotic heroism Steve Carell showed in “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” or a life-changing accident, like Alison’s serendipitous pregnancy."

Interestingly, we talked about this in one of my media classes two semesters ago. Movies like Punch-Drunk Love, About a Boy, and Bridget Jones' Diary are all about these boy-men who need strong women to take care of/fix them.


(I am one of those women! I want to take care of/fix boy-men! I am trying to not let this happen anymore.)

I tried to bring this point up in a random conversation I had with a guy in a park today. (I love random conversations!) But being a 30-something guy who actually initiates conversations, he did not understand the lame mamma's-boys that are plaguing my girl-power raised generation.

Unless... is girl power making men mamma's boys?

When we shun a guy who, in a vain attempt at being an adult, vaguely cat-calls us, are we turning down the only guy in the vicinity who is not a boy-man? Who is actually brave enough to initiate a dating-like situation? Or, are we properly not encouraging him to continue to be a sexist pig?

Ah, the 21st Century's (no no this isn't even that new. It must have started with the first suffragettes, I don't know) conundrum: girl power/equality, or actually manly men?

Encore...?

D3.

He's back.

We live in the same general area away from school, so yeah we went through the whole "yeah let's hang out!" thing. Since I heard he was dating someone else (a girl he always used to talk about when we were dating no less!), yeah yeah I'll believe that we'll hang out when I see it.

Well, I saw it!

Chatting online at like 11:30 on a Wednesday night, he joked that he was on his way over (we were discussing the food options at my house). Haha yeah sure! Come on over, just don't wake my parents (oh how I enjoy being home but oh how I miss the freedom of school)!

D3: Haha I'll be right over!

Me: (yeah yeah, I'll believe it when I see it)LoL okay great!

D3: No seriously...should I come over?

Uhhh....

So I polled some girlfriends quickly online (ohhh technology). Was this a booty call? Was he, as a "nice" guy who became a little too "nice" when he started treating me more as a sister than as a romantic interest, actually capable of a booty call? Am I technically dating this other guy* that I have been...seeing? What do I do with D3, who I had really really really liked at one point? And now...see occasionally and have really "friendly" but good conversation with?

Their consensus: Do it! But don't make out if you don't want to!

Great, now who honestly doesn't want a make out session? If there was an award for most likely to want one, I would totally win it. Like anytime. Day or night. Well, okay maybe I'd come in second place to one of my favorite ex-roommies. But I digress.

Mmm...kissing...Ahem. Excuse me. To return to the conversation:

Me: Haha okay yeah! come on over!

Ahhh what do I do now! What if my parents wake up? How do I convince him that I'm cool even though we're at my parents' house?

And then I heard my dad upstairs, stirring around. He sensed it! It's the dad's secret weapon: the sixth sense to protect his precious daughters.

Dad: What's going on?

Me: haha oh dad, nothing, just you know, watching some Scrubs (mmmm Zach Braff) before bed!

Dad: Oh, okay...

Me: ...

Dad: ...

Me: (yeah, I feel guilty easily and am super close and honest with my dad, I am so a wannabe bad girl) So...can I go out tonight with D3?

Dad: I knew something was going on!

...Long story short, the "out" option was genius of mine. The key here is: don't wake the parents (at least the key to my parents. They have learned to not care** how late I come home as long as I don't wake them up). So he let me go out rather than having him come in.

...Other long story short. D3 and I had a very lovely time. Very friendly. Although, he did buy my drink at the 24-hour convenience store, and opened the car door for me - but woah woah, that's because I hesitated at the door by accident by juggling my stuff around and just admiring his new car.

I'm glad! Because I don't want to disrespect/hurt *this current guy I'm "seeing," who is probably the sweetest guy I know. And heck, D3 and I have very good conversation for some reason. I guess any two people who can hang out in a parked sports car from 12:30 to 2 in the morning in the 24-hour parking lot with words actually coming out of their mouths are pretty decent conversationalists.

**okay really, care less. care less with a LOT of worrying. And probably not a good night of sleep. At least on my dad's part.