Single Throwback Sunday: A single friend.

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There is a sixth dimension which is known to all single men and women.  It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity.  It is the middle ground between loneliness and closeness, between friendship and relationship, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.  This is the dimension of friendship.
  
It is an area we call the Friend Zone.

I’ve been thinking about the Friend Zone lately.  I’ve been thinking of all the times I’ve been placed there and all the times my friends have had their fates sealed away there as well.

The Friend Zone is a lot like the Island of Misfit Toys.  Those who are almost right for the job but just don’t meet all the standards of a person are sent to the zone.  It’s not that you’re never going to be wanted, after all the Misfit Toys eventually are loved by children everywhere, it’s just that you’re not right for that individual.

But the Friend Zone hurts initially.

“Let’s just be friends.”  Ouch.

After that horrible sentence is uttered then the shock flushes through you: Am I undatable? Is there something wrong with me? Can no one love this water pistol that shoots jelly?

Being in the Friend Zone leaves you totally helpless – you can’t say “no” to the Friend Zone without becoming the jerk. How do you tell someone that you were really only spending all that time with them because you were hoping it would pay off with them in the end?You just can’t do that.But luckily you can have other misfits in the Friend Zone with you.

So, look around.  Maybe you’ll find someone who fits your standards in that discard pile that is the Friend Zone.   Even if they aren’t perfect, even if they are an elephant with pink polka dots, they might be what you’re looking for.  And if they aren’t what you are looking for you can just Friend Zone them yourself and get a little satisfaction that you’re on the other end of things for once.

Welcome to the Friend Zone, friend.

A single past (Part 1 of 4).

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Chuckie wasn’t necessarily the coolest guy.  He would grow up to play the bass clarinet and he’d teach himself the mandolin; he’d become a miller; he’d work with computers; he’d remain a smart dude.

And, like I said, he wasn’t considered the coolest guy, but I think I liked him because his quirkiness matched mine.  How does that song go? “That the freckles in our eyes are mirror images…” Yeah, it was something like that.  But, I was “cool” by association and tried to keep up appearances (this was middle school, you guys), and I strung Chuckie along.

He’d give me a necklace and I’d break up with him by letter.  He’d ask me to slow dance   at one of our middle school dances and I’d hide in the bathroom.  He’d become my secret admirer and I wouldn’t give him the time of day.

I was a bitch.

Or I seemed like one because I was afraid to be as openly quirky as Chuckie.  He was comfortable with the fact that he wasn’t like everyone else.  He didn’t need to fit in.  I did.  All my friends fit in (and they never required me to be like them but I was afraid to not be like them) and I wanted to fit in even though that was tiring for me to do.

Chuckie and I broke up three times that 7th grade year.  We got back together one last time at the of end of our freshman year.  Not much had changed.  Friends were the same; I was the same, scared, hormonal me; and Chuckie was more himself than ever. But we gave it a go.

It lasted about a month.

He was the first boy I kissed.  He was the first boy I got drunk with and then drunkenly kissed.  He was the first boy I let get to first base (that’s the one with the boobs, right?).

But the thing is, I never fully appreciated Chuckie for who he was – I do now.  Although I couldn’t see it then, I learned to embrace my personality from him first.  It would take me until my sophomore year of college to begin seeing that being weird was normal.  Everyone was weird.  I think that if I had to do it over the only thing I would have done differently is be myself.

I don’t think we would have worked out either way.  I never felt myself love him.  But I think he’s the one that taught me the most about myself, even if this was realized through drunken reminiscing, years after our final break up.

Our last conversation, about a year and a half ago, Chuckie told me that I had been a bitch (not in those exact words) when we tried to date.  It made me realize that I was more horrible than I initially thought (I tried to apologize but he said it wasn’t necessary to apologize to someone who loves you).

A single Misconception.

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Romantic Jesus definitely didn’t help a sister out when it came to Josh.  That’s for sure.

 And there was no indication from Josh that he wanted anything bigger than casualness in the back of his cab.  And the further I get from the situation, the more I realize that there was never any sign that RJ was trying to give me a sign in the first place – he was never trying to point me towards love. I just wanted to be in love or in like so I decided that I was being given signs.  Isn’t that how it always happens, though? There’s always the case of our fantasies taking over the reality of the situation.  I wanted something so badly that I was willing to look past things

Let’s look at a scenario and see how I might have misconstrued what was actually taking place right in front of me.

 Scenario: Josh and I are enjoying a nice moonlit stroll around the playground on the beach after he bought me a  fancy dinner.  

 My view: Wow, he must actually like me! He just paid for everything.  He bought an entire bottle of proseco and espresso martinis! He’s such a gentleman.  And now he  is enjoying my presence so much that he wants to keep this date going by taking  a walk out in the moonlight.

 What actually happened: He plastered me with liquor, made me vulnerable to the slightest romantic inclination (i.e. full moon and the beach), and essentially took me some place where we could be alone and I could, in as few vulgar terms possible, pay for my dinner.

Now I see that if I hadn’t been blinded by the moonlight and proseco that romance truly wasn’t in the air.  Romantic Jesus didn’t have a hand in this.  My blood alcohol levels and horniness did.  But, again, my view of how things happened definitely led me down the wrong path too.  It’s not Josh’s fault. It’s not Romantic Jesus’. It’s all my fault.  If I had viewed what had happened clearly, then I would never even have allowed myself to continue seeing Josh.  But who can view something clearly when you’re that close to the situation? Hind sight is 20/20 for a reason. I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to see that what we had was purely physical.

I just want to know where the hell Romantic Jesus was to tell me to snap out of it sooner.

The Best 10 Pick-Up Lines

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The other night I saw some guy set his sights on a girl and, although I couldn’t hear what he said to her, I could tell he wasn’t really adept to the art of pick-up.

Listen guys, this is an art form. It’s all about the hints of cheesiness and sheer desperation. It’s not all about the vulgarity, although a little spice is never bad, and it’s never all about you – I should feel fantastic after hearing it no matter the level of corny it is.

In case you aren’t all that great with the subtle art form of picking up the ladies, I had my oh-so-creative friends give me their best lines for you, dear readers, to use.

And now, without further ado, let the humiliation begin!

NO. No, don’t do this.

 

10. Excuse me, madam, did you just fart? Because you blew me away!

You know, this one might actually work on me despite the fact that it’s so vulgar.  It makes a girl laugh.

DISCLAIMER: If the girl isn’t comfortable with her own bodily functions than she probably won’t find this so funny.  Those girls want everyone to believe they fart potpourri-scented glitter…they don’t.

9. If I could rearrange the alphabet I would put U and I together.

Ha.

Haha.

Hahaha.

It makes me think of Kraft, that’s how cheesy it is, yet I smile every, single, time I read that one.

8. Are you from Tennessee? Because you are the only ten I see.

Don’t assume this line will work because you’ll make an ASS out of U and ME.

7. My name’s ________ but you can call me Boyfriend.

Just remember to actually put your name in there.  No one appreciates you simply saying “Hey, my name’s Blank.”

6. I seem to have lost my number, can I have yours?

I’m sure if the girl is drunk/stupid enough she’ll even volunteer to help you go and find your lost number.

5. I’d rather be blind than see you walk away.

Oh, well, in that case, I guess I’ll remain right here…

4. That dress would look great on my bedroom floor.

If that’s not a panty-dropper I don’t know what is.

3. Are you a speeding ticket? Because you got ‘fine’ written all over you. 

You might get a speeding ticket for moving too fast with this great line.

2. I’m attracted to you.

This gem was submitted to me by my friend of the female descent.  I think it’s why it appeals to me so much – it’s exactly how a girl would hit on a girl.  It’s straight to the point.  It makes them feel good about themselves and they are sure that the complimenter is sincere.

Now if only more guys would hit on me like this…

1. I’m glad I have my library card because I’m checking you out!

Not going to lie, I only picked this one because it had something to do with a library.  My English-Majorness took over right then.  But, seriously, if a guy said this to me I would first demand to see his library card and then go home with him (whether or not he had that library card).

A single response.

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I went out with my sister and her husband tonight and had a blissful evening filled with watching the Queen of England “jump” out of a helicopter (i.e. walked out at the appropriate time as if said historical figure had launched her 86-year-old self out of a briskly moving aero-plane) and trying to figure out exactly why all those sick children (or were they orphans?) were jumping on beds at that time of night.

Yay! Olympics!

When I got home I stumbled across to a new message on Facebook.

And by “stumbled across” I mean, “walked into the house, with a good buzz, found pizza in the fridge, heated it up and listened to ‘Ignition’ by R. Kelly twice while  devouring said Italian greatness.”

Any who, I came upon a new message from the guy I’ve been talking about in my last two posts. It read as follows:

 

I’m assuming that by “life saver” is referring to the fact that I drove him home that night and not that I am a predecessor to the Coast Guard…

Is this a vague response? Yes.

Am I surprised by it? Nah.

Honestly I never dreamed of having a chance with this man.  He’s accomplished and cute and way out of my league.

I let myself get swept up in the opinions of others. The well-meaning outbursts of my co-workers and friends who made me believe I ever had a chance with him.  And I know this appears self-deprecating but I know myself well enough to know that, as much as I may have fantasized about it, this guy was not someone who I could ever be with.  He’s just playing for the majors while I’m still playing bench in the minors.

This is okay, I think, because I know a few new things about myself:

  1. I’m resilient.  I bounce back.  I’m not crushed by the defeat in this message.
  2. I’m confident.  Which isn’t something I could say about myself when I started this blog, I’m not as afraid to say something on my behalf to a guy any longer, which I believe has a lot to do with the support of my friends and my family.
  3. I’m looking forward.  I know that, although this didn’t work out, I have options in the future still.

Am I writing this guy off? Oh hell no.  Who knows? He could break up with his current girlfriend next week and think of me for all I know.

But, until then, I’m staying positive.  I’m not pining, I’m not obsessive.  I’m aware; A little hopeful.

Hell, I’m not sure if this was even a rejection.

What do you all think? Any thoughts? Was I tossed to the curb?

 

 

And now a little Wilson Philips, just cause I can:

A single push…off a cliff into a sea of embarrassment.

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Remember that guy from the bar? The one that I completely failed to reel in much to the despair of my older sister, Alicia, who thinks he would have been the best catch for me to land and has left me replaying my embarrassing performance in the flirting arena.

You remember who I’m talking about now?

Good.

Well, my co-worker and new friend, Amy, convinced me to send him a Facebook message last night.  It was a push that I needed.  I would never send a message like this one without encouragement:

 

I left him my number at the end of that message, pressed send, and crossed my fingers  took a shot of Fireball.

Then it came to my attention that I never asked the most important question: Was this guy single?

The answer to that question is simple.

It was one word, two hopeless letters:

NO.

Apparently he broke up with his awful girlfriend and is now dating another girl. Shows you the importance of checking facts before trying anything reckless.

Amy is still hopeful and it’s the only thing keeping me treading water, my head barely staying over the sea of embarrassment  I now found myself in.  I don’t know why her hopefulness is rubbing on me but it’s probably better than being completely down on myself.

At the very least I can say that I tried.  I put myself out there.

I’ll update you if he responds to my message ever.

 

A single enemy.

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The other night, my sister posted on my wall to tell me her pretty ingenious idea for my next blog post:

She’s so smaht.  And, like she said, there are some funny things out there when you only search for the person you are supposedly least compatible with on OkCupid.

I thought I had seen the worst when I was going through my highest match percentage candidates but the worst of the worst (WOW) was far…worse.

The men I came across varied drastically.  Some were too far right, some too far left.  Others didn’t have respect for the ladies while some had known too many ladies.  There were the gangsta wannabes, the unhip hipsters, the mama’s boy and the asshole.

There are many assholes, they are the greatest populous of boy out there and instead of recapping the entire experience I’ve decided to show you all exactly why I’ll never message men like this:

It’s amazing how I start to pity this guy instead of loathe him with all of those misspelled words.

But, oddly enough, that whole “opposites attract” theory might be a little true.

The last guy I came across had an enemy percentage of 83% and a match percentage of 23% – which is making me question how they figure out the percentages for this site because this guy and I are totally compatible.  Not only does he reference my all time favorite movie, Good Will Hunting, but he also put the lyrics for A Whole New World into his profile.  Read this little tidbit I stole from his profile and see if you don’t agree with me:

This boy slays me.  Even if I we never dated I could be happy knowing he exists.  I honestly don’t know why we have such a high enemy percentage – Boy Meets World, Good Will Hunting, and Aladdin? All in one profile?  Best. Profile.  Ever.

A single shot, revisited.

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Man, do I have a headache right now.

Last night’s post should have been titled “A single round of shots, consumed again and again and again.” But, I was too drunk to have done anything super clever for you all last night.

It wasn’t until this morning, when I was checking my email and saw my wordpress notifications that I remembered writing that.  So, no worries, my alter-ego, Drunk Olivia, wrote that post last night.  I am the real Olivia and now I’m standing up and writing a quick clarification to all my loyal readers.

CLARIFICATIONS:

– I did not take a single shot. That is a lie.  I took seven.

– “done” not “gone”

– I have not given up.

There you have it folks! Drunk Olivia is not the most accurate but she’s got a whole lot of heart.

Thanks for all your posts and words of encouragement! As a reward for being so kind and understanding of my drunken ways, I’ve added a link that my sister, Jessie, sent me the other day, I think you will enjoy it as much as we did.

Dating Montage

A single attempt.

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I’m a sucker for a well-quaffed, vested boy.

Especially if he’s straight.  That one really gets me (I’ll still love the gay man in a vest but I can only do so much with him besides look).

Add in a tie and we’re talking the highest possible swoon-age physically possible.

Why do you need to know these facts?

Because I recently swooned, hard, for a guy in a vest with well-quaffed hair.

 And not only did I stare at him longingly but I also texted him.  Drunkenly.  And longingly.

Unless that’s water in the glass, in which case, you can expect a silent phone.

We all know that drunk texting never leads to anything good so I’ll skip over the part where I lost all of my self-respect at the bottom of that bottle of vodka and underneath my cell phone. Essentially I texted out all my dignity at this boy.  I laid it out on the line.  I told him what I thought of him, what I wanted from him, what I wanted to do with him.

And he took it pretty well.

Granted, he didn’t reciprocate my feelings.  I don’t blame him.  On his side of things a crazy-ass girl blurted out all her feelings at one time, with no indication that this was how she felt in previous  interactions.  This was out of le bleu.

But, I’m not going to lie, I’m proud of myself, even if I was a crazy-ass girl (that part I would like to have imagined happening differently).  I went after the guy I wanted, no hesitation, and even though the outcome wasn’t what I wanted, I feel happy knowing that I didn’t just sit back and wait.

I’m just glad that I tried, even if it didn’t work, it’s a big step for me.

And, guy in vest, you know who you are, if you’re reading this, sorry for drunkenly text-attacking you, but I meant every word that I said.

A single consolation prize.

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It’s there: that knee-high golden trophy that you’ve been working your butt off to get.  Maybe it’s at a party in a really nice pair of jeans or maybe it’s at the grocery store showing off a wicked sense of humor.  Either way, you’ve had your eyes on the prize and you know what you deserve.  You want to win.  You want to come out on top (or on the bottom, that’s more of a preference thing) and hold that trophy up for all to see.

That, generally speaking, is the basics of dating.  Wanting to obtain the other person, the trophy, to gain a sense of victory that is more fulfilling.  And sometimes its nice to think of yourself as the prize that is sought after.

It’s fun to picture yourself at a jousting tournament and that those knights are trying to knock each other over just for the privilege of having your handkerchief along with them when they go to battle.  But, when in real life, you look out and there is not a single guy laying himself out for your attention, it can be a little unsettling.

You can check your breath, your personal musk, and your general appearance but sometimes there’s just no suitor adding gifts to the piles left behind by your many other invisible suitors.

That’s bad enough.

Then there is the guy who chooses to come back to you because he got rejected by another girl.

At least if you win this consolation prize you get 10 bucks...

That’s worse.

Nothing says  “Hey, you aren’t that bad-looking” like  the dejected look on this guy’s face.  And sometimes you think this is the best you’ll get.  And you let yourself ignore the look.And just like that you become his consolation prize.

Being a consolation prize is a little like being in dating limbo, not a friend but not dating either.  You’re suspended in between the two.

So, how do we stop you from being stuck in this awful situation? Easy:

DON’T IGNORE THE LOOK.

Don’t subject yourself to this.  No matter how few men are knocking at your door, don’t let your guard down for a few haphazard kisses.  It’s never worth it.  No matter how much you like kissing or how good he is at kissing.

And for those of you who are consolation prizes or didn’t realize it until right now: go get mad.  Go hit balls.  Take a club and go to the driving range.  Get a bat and go to batting cages.  Hell, get a paddle and play a competitive game of ping-pong.  Just hit something round.  And then when he comes back with that pathetic look on his face you won’t hit him in his balls but you will say hell no.

And you’ll be free.  Free to find the guy that thinks of you like this: