Leaving... by Giselle

I know Giselle from dance (get the pseudonym yet? No?) and work. Together, we are a creative force not to be messed with. And talk about boys a little too much. I love her! You should love her too.

I’m not sure if it’s because my iPod is full of shaggy haired boys playing slow acoustic guitar and singing about unrequited love or if it’s because I had just left a certain shaggy haired, guitar playing boy behind...but I could not find a single song on my long drive home from Harrisonburg tonight that made me happy.

Who am I kidding, the latter is most definitely the reason for that.

For my fellow fans of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, you might recall Lena and Kostos’ meeting in Greece at the end of the final book, Forever in Blue. Kostos is Lena’s ‘person’. You know, the someone you can’t get past despite anyone else…

…Sound familiar to anyone? Anyone?

Sorry, I digress.

Life had separated the two for months, and when they finally chance meet again, it’s the day before Kostos has to leave the country. They spend the night in their special place- an orchard at the top of the village- and when the sun starts to rise in the morning and they hold each other for the last time, he whispers to her a word in Greek that she doesn’t understand.

“κάποια”.

Lena seaches every English/Greek dictionary she can find, she asks her grandparents, her cousins, her aunts and uncles, but no one seems to know the word that she means.

Finally, on her last day in Greece she finds it in an old dictionary.

“Someday”.

Did I expect anything like that? Oh no.

But I can’t decide what I DID expect.

Experience and reason should leave me without expectation when it comes to this boy. But experience and reason should have taught me a LOT about him, and without fail, despite experience…and reason…something always brings me back to him.

Today was full of packing and loading and hauling and moving…so needless to say, by 7:00 tonight I was physically exhausted. And then there was the packing and loading and hauling and moving help that I received from shaggy haired, guitar playing boy- the very same shaggy haired, guitar playing boy who left my bed earlier that morning with a kiss goodbye- but when everything was packed and loaded and hauled and moved, and it came down to the ACTUAL goodbye, the REAL ending, I got a one armed hug and a “see you when you visit the beach this summer”. Now, I didn’t expect much, but I expected more that that.

… needless to say, by 7:00 tonight I was emotionally exhausted.

I sat across from my mom at Applebees, picked at my salad and tried not to cry. And after a while of staring at my pathetic-ness she said, “When did you become such a wimp? What in this 2-year-long friendship, or relationship or whatever makes it impossible for you to say how you really feel? That’s not you.” And of course, she’s right.

With Chicago Boy last summer, I promised myself I wouldn’t get attached.

Sound familiar?

I promised to let it be a physical thing only.

Sound familiar?

I promised to not expect anything and go with the flow and let what happened happen.

Sound familiar?

And then came the end of the summer, and the anxiety of leaving him behind, and knowing I didn’t want to be without him and having the conversation I knew I had to have and the resulting relationship and that was me. That was me telling him how I felt and getting what I wanted and being real.

But for some reason I cant say those things to Shaggy Boy. I can’t even ask him to say those things or prompt him to say anything at all. I never say anything I want to say or anything I mean. And I don’t know if it’s because I never know where I stand, or because I think I know where I stand and it’s not where I want to be standing, or because I think I’m more invested than he is or what, but I didn’t say anything. I drove away from JMU for the summer and from him for who knows how long and I pretended to be content with that one armed hug, and despite attempts to drown my sorrows in a Sheetz milkshake and cheese fries, I cried all the way up 81.

So here it goes- what I might have said if I had any courage or any faith or any hope:

“Maybe, κάποια?”

I obviously think this guy is lame. You should too...

And Once Again I Prove That Awkward = My Life

First, I had to use the dread line:

"I like you...as a FRIEND."

Eesh, it even hurt my own ears as it came out of my mouth.

And as we continued to have a really awkward discussion (the awkwardness heightened by the fact that English is the poor guy's second language), I realized that this is why no one honestly communicates about relationships. It made me so glad that I have never told a boy, "but hey! I like you!" and then had to make him awkwardly explain that, you know, chemistry is either there or it isn't, you know? And like, I think you're really sweet and all, but it's just not...there?

Second, I went on a sorta-date with a guy who's age...I could not...quite...peg. He was definitely too old for me. But, he's from DC, so we had a lot to talk about, he did pay, and although he was quite fake with his interest in anything I had to say and his hair spiked up to hide what I suspect may be a bit of premature balding, it was fine, and less sketchy than I thought it would be.

I've been realizing more and more lately that lowering my standards because my "dating lame guys is more fun than not dating anyone" mantra is not so satisfying any more. The only two boys I vaguely find myself interested in (in my mind mostly) are D3 and the Ex.

And - drum roll! - D3 IM-ed me tonight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A snipit, to show how lamely excited I am to the point that it deserves all those exclamation points:

D3: heyyyy
Me: hiii! how are ya?
D3: good, i miss you! When are you coming back?

At this point, I flopped backward on my bed and let a huge grin take over my face. Seriously, am I 14 or what?

Do notice the four Y's he used. And the jumping to the "I miss you" point (which is a very good point if I do say so myself). And this is why girls are lame.

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.

Types

My dad and I were having long, obscure conversations, as we usually do, on our drive up to New York (where we finalized a place for me to sublet for the summer! yaaaay! So look forward to NY vs. VA boys :)), and we started talking about types.

Mostly because I've been on a few dates with a boy now that "isn't my type," as I've been fond of saying recently, but is of the typical hottie genre that makes up probably the majority of girls' type. I think it's his typical-ness - strong jaw line, short sorta-spiked hair cut, tight shirts that reveal a very nice physique - that makes him not my type. (I know, I know, what's wrong with me?)

Ah! And he just called. Awkward blogging karma?

Anyway, so my dad's natural question - as is yours, I can so clearly tell - "What IS your type?"

I tried to define it. I really did. But I could not put into words, much less a specific category.

I used to think that I didn't have a type. Or maybe that my type was "any guy who talks to me." My friends have told me for years to raise my standards from "any guy who talks to me," and I'm trying! Really I am! Now it's "any guy who talks to me, and seems to have a romantic interest in me."

The types I have dated (sorry to put anyone, especially these poor unsuspecting guys, in a general category):

• a drama nerd
• a bad-boy punk
• a self-described redneck
• a spotlight-hog (like myself! and so happens to be the First Love)
• a not-so-intelligent class clown
• a skinny aspiring singer/songwriter
  
• a tall nautical man (okay, so I'm having type-ing him. He was cute though. very. More cute than hott. Shaggy-hair cute. mmm... perhaps shaggy hair is my type!)
• an a capella singer (one of my goals in life ACCOMPLISHED! the other goals - varsity sport player, cowboy and bass player, are all on their way I'm sure)
• a (kind of) preppy pretty boy
• a "nice guys finish last" nice guy
  

So, where are the similarities in this list?

Well, each of these guys did make the move on me first. They are all confident and friendly enough (in some circumstances, unfortunately, it turned out they only had those traits when under the influence of alcohol) that they could approach me. All but two of them picked me out; approached me out of the blue. The two that I happened to choose were First Love and D3 (kind of preppy/pretty), but once I picked them out from afar and subtly did the flirtatious thing, they picked up the initiating slack.

Basically, my type seems to be the initiator. Is this good? I am generally of the mindset to give guys the benefit of the doubt and sort of date anyone who is willing to date me. As I widen the pool of suitors, it improves my chances of finding a good one, right? But I can tell you that I have had the most fun with and actually liked FL and D3 the best.

Perhaps a type isn't that important. But one thing's for sure, unless I want to be stuck with guys who are kind of cool but I don't really care that much about for the rest of my life, I need to start picking and stop only letting myself be picked.

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P.S: military guys/men in uniform. Does that count as a type?

P.P.S: Does everyone else have a type that is easily described?

Gentlemen...

...Where are they?

Supposedly they are either further south or are fighting overseas somewhere.

My mom and her coworker have been conspiring all over Winter Break to get me together with the coworkers "third son," who happens to be friends with my old coworker (who is my mom's coworker's son....are you following this?) and who also happens to be an ROTC boy at a big southern university.

I am not against finding more people to date, especially during what feels like a dry spell of not being constantly surrounded by other college students. However, the more these ladies I love were forcing this arrangement on me, the more uncomfortable I felt. Maybe unnatural is the better word. It felt unnatural to me - I want to be able to do my own dating dirty work!

We finally hung out in a group few nights ago, and yes, he was everything my mom promised he would be - even though I threw a tantrum before hand claiming that he went to a school so far away and since break is over in about three days it was "pointless." Yes, it was a silly argument - and maybe even more. The two boys paid for the three girls that were tagging along with them, and none of whom they were dating.

If that doesn't say southern gentlemanly charm, I don't know what does.

On the other hand, should I be so surprised? Shouldn't I expect, nay, demand such treatment?

I remember around this time last year I went on what may end up being my only real date of my college career. He opened the car door for me when he came to pick me up, when we got to the restaurant, and on the way back. I was flabbergasted, and wouldn't stop bragging to all my girlfriends about this rare find. Why don't more boys do this? And why do girls let the boys who don't get away with it? Should I blame it on women's lib? Yes, I would like a career and to be respected, but I would also like to feel special and dainty! Where is the balance?

This boy was from a slightly more southern city of Virginia and was as tall, if not taller, as ROTC boy, but there similarities end. What is it that makes these boys special? And what is it about them that does not get a spark out of me other than being impressed by their good manners?

I got slightly bored with door-opening boy after our like fifth date. And it was harder to tell with ROTC boy, since we were in a larger group, but I didn't feel an earth-shattering attraction to him like my mom promised I would (this is not to say he was unattractive. In fact, he was quite the hottie). Maybe I was closing myself off from him because of the potential long-distance thing. Or maybe it was the fact that the former coworker, who has a girlfriend, had me laughing up a storm all night.Why? Why didn't I latch on and hold on tight to either of these boys? Are there any musician/comedians who also have a gentlemanly side?

And most importantly, where do I find them? This is the source of all my troubles, and the thing me and my girlfriends talk the most about. Maybe if I wasn't such a girly girl I would actually surround myself with more new and exciting boys to play with.

Or maybe I'll just move south.

The Disease plauging college girls

...And no, it is not an STD.

(even though supposedly JMU surpassed Radford as the Virginia college with the highest STI - isn't that the new, correct term? - rates and two non-JMU-ers would not stop making fun of two of us proud JMU-ers for that last night)

It is an unnamed Disease, one where girls are reduced to the like of tissues, paper plates, standard red drinking cups...pick your own disposable cliche. Although boys are the cause of an original case of the illness, it is highly contagious among women as well - and we all know how close dorm living is.

It is closely related to Competition, commonly found spread among college-aged women too (which I happen to be highly susceptible to), but it is a little different.

Girls generally get it a lot, but it is especially common among college-aged girls, and especially especially JMU girls. Like most liberal arts schools, we have more girls than guys, and our streotype on both ends is really really pretty girls and really really skeevy guys (who all really really like partying really really hard).

Guys want one thing - this is not news to anyone of any generation. But this generation hosts more girls who are willing to give guys only that one thing without demanding anything else. And the rest of us are left without any vague notion of romance in our lives.

If the boys are getting what they want without any effort on their part, what right do we - as self-respecting and self-hoping for some sort of romance/lust/pretending girls - have to demand that boys actually pretend to like us for anything other than our bodies?

So we catch the disease, since the girl down the hall is "dating" some guy, and we want to too - and to be in any sort of competition, we have to give up any expectations. It's okay if we make out and then he doesn't call/IM/say hi in real life for three or four weeks (searching for other options without being tied down) , and then next time he texts its to suggest another make out session. And we say "okay!" because we want to pretend. Pretending is fun and care-free for a while, as long as you are fully aware that you are pretending.

And this disease spreads like wild fire - or the black plauge, or ebola, or mono, again pick your cliche - among hallmates, suitemates, classmates, and friends.

I have had it. I may have it now, I'm not sure (that's another thing about the disease - sometime it masks itself as sexiness or confidence). Can I cure it? Can I help others with it? Duhn duhn duhhhnnn....