Showing posts with label 20something. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 20something. Show all posts

Dating Disasters: Cuddling

June 25, 2013


I went on a first date that was going very well, until that awkward moment when the first date activity is done and you're just standing there like uhhhhh what now? So of course, being the awkwardly unreal girl I am, I let the awkward silence sit for a few minutes before going "So uhhhh what now?" He looks at me with doting eyes. Wraps his arms around my waist. And says:

"I just want to take you somewhere and cuddle."


The following conversation ensued:
Boy: I just want to take you somewhere and cuddle.
Me: Uhhhhh....no. 
Boy: Babe...
Me: Yeah. Not happening on our first date.
Boy: Why not?
Me: That's just way, way too much for a first date. Too fast.
Boy: I mean come on, it's not like we're having sex or anything.

Back. The. Fuck. Up. 

Let's talk about it. Sure, 'cuddling' has cute connotations of puppy love and chemistry and attraction and intimacy. But what is it really? When you break it down, cuddling is letting another person physically hold your body with their arm around your waist or shoulders, generally with some motion from their other hand of stroking your hand or thumb or arm gently or playing with your hair. 

Now back to the first date. First date. You are a stranger. A literal stranger. Replace the word stranger in that definition: letting a stranger physically hold your body with their arm around your waist or shoulders, generally with some motion from the stranger's other hand of stroking your hand or thumb or arm gently or having a stranger play with your hair. 


Dictionary.com defined cuddle as "to fondle in the arms." Would you let a stranger fondle you in the arms? 

Excuse me while I go gag in the bathroom. 

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#notdentist

June 19, 2013

Kids. 

I am here to talk about a very serious issue. 


The issue of #notdentist. We need to talk. As you know, I've recently discovered the joy of #livedating, otherwise known as #babe or #datestalking. But date stalking is not just a one way street. Oh no--it's a two way. I do not merely get stalked, I also occasionally...stalk. 

Let's start from the beginning. 

A co-worker and I (we'll call her...Sally...to protect her identity) were talking about the man manchild who is the unknowing star of #livedating. His profession (dentistry) came up as well as where he lives, where he went to school blah blah (these are normal kitchen questions, right? I don't sound creepy yet). We discovered that Sally knew an equally annoying male from the same dental school graduation class.   She asks me his name to see if it's the same person. Problem--I don't know his last name. Soon after this, she sends me a picture of the graduating dental class.

"Show me which one he is." (Oh please, don't pretend you've never shown your friend a Facebook picture of a total rando)

He's not there.

By everything he's told me about graduation dates, schooling, etc...he should be there. He's not there. 


So. We move to Plan B. He's told me 20gazillion times the name of his "dental partner." We do a quick web search (#JONUDGIES--that's no judgies, people) and pull up the practice's web page.

He's not there.


We go into full on stalker-mode (this is my dating life on the line, durr). I call the dental office. 

"Hi, a friend of mine referred me to Dr. XXXXX's partner but I just can't remember his last name. Can you tell me his name?"
"Dr. YYYYY."
"Noooo, it definitely started with an M....@#$@ (name protected) M something..."
"No one by that name works here."

He's not there.



We pull our friend Janey in, who used to work in investigative reporting. While Sally's first vote is to stalk Facebook, Janey's first move is straight to the sex offender and prisoner public records. 

He's not there.
Phew.


Finally, I am forced to confront him for maximum clarity revealing the situation. 

"What's your last name"
"You don't know my last name?"
"No."
"XXXX" (name protected)

Janey's expert stalking investigative reporting reveals:
Profession: lie
College history: lie


This, children, is how 20/20 starts. But thanks to my friends Sally, Janey and #livedating partner Amanda...this is how 20/20 ends. With a group of friends banding together, raising red flags of awareness. If you or a loved one you know is dating a "dentist" who lives at home, has more than 100,000 tweets (no lie), sends you possessive texts like "Dinner. Seven. I'll pick you up." when you had absolutely no plans with him and invites you on trips to Texas when you've known each other for 3 days--raise the red flag. 

                  

Together, we can protect each other. 



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#livedating ROUND TWO


I cannot handle a Southern accent saying "darlin'." The end.


Everyone's favorite adventure returned. If you haven't caught up on the first round of #livedating, feel free to do so now. We can wait. All caught up? Buneos. 

Once again, I could not face my date alone. (This is a sign I need to stop making dates with this person, but once again...I am really bad at saying no.) This time, I recruited one of the original #livedating tweet-stars and her longtime boyfriend for #livedating: Double Date Edition. All three of us went to college together, so they are well aware of my shenanigans. 

First of all, I spent all day Saturday recovering from the Southerner. Ruff.

At fifteen minutes till, I still had not managed to pull my ass out of bed. My roommate yelled at me to "pull my shit together." So I did.


I don't always pull my shit together in 15 minutes, but when I do
I pray to the gods of Natural Beauty and hope for the best.




You can see the full set of #livedating tweets on me tweeter, but since this is just a weekend update I'll stop now. Suffice to say, thank God for good food showing up and friends who live tweet for you. That was rough.


Nursery. Sex and the City marathon. New book. Reading. Repeat. Oh, and I guest blogged for Hang On, Honey on Your Incomplete Guide to Winery Games. If you haven't had a chance to check it out, please do! I worked really hard to come up with something good that I've gotten from my time dating assholes. Don't let me fall flat. 

XOXO,


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Move Over, Carrie

June 9, 2013



A few weeks ago, I made the first move. And it was glorious. A perfect "wait, you too?!" moment. What ensued was two weeks worth of flirty texts and two-hour phone calls during road trips that make you remember just how fun it is to get the butterflies. And then.

Radio silence.

Last night, after a week's worth of radio silence, I sent out an SOS. A flirty, "to hell with it, I'll never see you again" text to check the waters again. Today (a full 24 hours later), I heard back from the fellow for the first time in over a week.

"Sorry for being absent. Been hectic l8ly."

My first reaction (besides thinking who the eff still texts using numbers to abbreviate?) was to text a quick "Oh you're fine, you don't need to apologize for anything." But then, I stopped. Did he owe me an apology? Was he fine? The fact is, everything had been going great and then radio silence....so was it really "fine"? If I was being honest, what would I say? 

But really, what would I say? We are taught that a woman who cuts all communication after a break-up or failed one night stand is "handling it with grace" and "cutting her losses." A woman who holds the man accountable and asks for an explanation or dares tell them that their action was rude/deusch-y/etc is  "having trouble moving on." Who picked those descriptors? Who decided that not speaking your mind was "graceful" and "tactful"? Shouldn't we be encouraging people to speak their mind, good or bad? 

My blog is most often found by typing into Google "dating disasters comedy blog." But my reaction to his text today made me think, am I setting myself up for a dating disaster? If I tell him it's fine, that he has nothing to apologize for, I'm really giving him a free pass. Granted, this is someone I've just been texting with so it's not life or death. But, I think this same thing is applicable to more serious relationships. If you tell your significant other that "it's fine," they really are getting a free pass to go on about their life and keep repeating that bad behavior. How often have you been out with your girlfriends and told some dating disaster story and their response is a sympathetic "oh he totally knows better, what a dick." Does he? What if we're all running around saying "he knows better," but he doesn't actually know better because no one has told him? We're all assuming someone did, or will, but no one actually does say "that was a dick move, don't do it again."If we continue to run around the dating pool without speaking up for ourselves and just assuming that some girl some where at some time told him what we're really dying to tell him, are we setting ourselves up for a dating disaster? And how can we ever break this cycle if a woman who cuts all communication with a bad date/relationship is deemed "tactful" and "graceful" and someone who doesn't is met with a raised eyebrow and a "hot mess" label? 

If I look at my life for evidence, I would have to admit that the idea I sometimes set myself up for dating disasters is true. I'm trying to lose weight and make a healthy lifestyle, and I brought a box of cupcakes home from work. I want to be a nonprofit executive director, but I procrastinate signing the paperwork that would be the next step in making that happen. Examples are endless. I'm setting myself up (potentially) for disaster.

How would dating change if we were all completely honest? No, it's not fine. Yes, you do owe me an explanation. Explanation received? Cool. No hard feelings. But, if you're hoping to find a long-term significant other in the near future I encourage you to stop that annoying action. 

What do you think? Are we setting ourselves up for dating disasters by not being honest? When did being honest become synonymous with being negatively critical? Would you rather date a completely honest person, or does the thought of potential "harsh honesty" scare you? 

Oh, and I still haven't said anything back. Because I don't know what to say. Society taught me to make excuses for people and say "oh you're fine, you don't need to apologize." But maybe I don't want to make excuses for people anymore. 

Move over, Carrie. There's a new single girl in town. 

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Dating Disasters: "Babe"

June 5, 2013


It's time for another tale from the dating disasters pool. Really, I should just write all of these down to make sure I don't forget any. My top Google search term has always been "dating disasters comedy blog" and well...I'm happy to be here for you. Please, learn from my mistakes.

I recently went on a first and second (don't ask me why) date with a very potentially nice young man. Nice, conservative, Catholic, older...he had all the fixings of a potential summer fling love connection. Until he didn't. Until he started or ended every sentence with one word...

Babe.


I'm sorry. What? This is our second meeting. I am literally a stranger. You are literally a stranger. I am not your babe. Nor am I "your girl" so please don't try to mix it up with that one either. 

Babe you're so funny. 
I'll pick you up at 7 babes.
This is why I like you babes.
We got chemistry babe.
Babe.
Babe.
Babe.



[Literal Conversation from car ride]
Boy: Woah bro, that is a funny story. 
Me: I'm sorry, what? Bro? Are you friendzoning me before the date even ends?
Boy: Babe, we are definitely not in the friendzone.
Me: I mean...you called me bro.
Boy: Would you rather I called you bro or babe?
Me: Are those my only two options?
Boy: Babe you're so funny!

At this point, I am literally questioning whether he knows my name or not. For the love of all that is holy and romantic and sane, please save your terms of endearment for someone YOU ACTUALLY KNOW. 

What's the term of endearment that just grates your ears? How soon is too soon for pet names?

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Come home, TomTom

May 29, 2013

All I can think about today is my missing TomTom charger. Which means all I'm going to write about today is my missing TomTom charger.

Here's the deal. That TomTom and I have been through a lot. A few summers ago, I made an epic road trip from good ol' Michigan to Seattle. Coast to coast. Alone. Did I mention I planned this road trip in oh, two days?

The first day was brutal. I stopped somewhere in the middle of Illinois after getting on and off the same highway exits for about 45 minutes (Literally. When I realized I was just going in circles on the same clover-shaped highway exit paths I broke out in instant tears.). I pulled into a CVS and called my boyfriend at the time, sobbing. Straight up sobbing. 

"I can't do this," I blubbered, "Everything is really hot and fuzzy and I don't feel good and I just feel like I'm gonna pass out. And I'm clammy. And I have a fever. Oh my god I think I'm sick. Oh my god. How can I do this?"
"Autumn," he said calmly, "Is your AC on?"

Oh. Remember that summer? The great summer of country-wide heat wave when the electric companies literally shut off power for a few hours each day because they were overheating their machines? You know, that one. I had been driving in that god-awful heat wave (97 degrees at the time?) for four hours with no AC. 

Once I got the AC on, I made my second mistake of the day by hitting the 'refresh' button on my iPhone map. Insert fresh round of sobbing when my map and directions completely disappeared because I was in the middle of nowhere and not connected to the right network (who goes on a cross-country road trip with just their iPhone?!?!?!). This time, I called my parents sobbing who insisted that I stop at the next major town and get a real GPS. The next major town: Hannibal, MO. 

Every stereotype you have ever heard, and more. I pulled over at a gas station and interrupted the female cashier (missing four teeth, leather skin, smoker voice) and a nice young man (missing one tooth, freckled skin, cowboy hat) chatting.

"Excuse me," I said. "Do you have a Best Buy around here?"
"A what?" she said.
"A Best Buy? You know...like a technology store." She stared. "I need to buy a GPS? I'm taking a road trip?"
"Ohhhh...no we ain't got one of those anywhere around here. But we do have a WalMart. They should have most everything you need."
I took down some directions from her and was about to leave when she literally jumped up on the counter, reached over, and grabbed my necklace "Wellll lookeeeee here!" she shouted, "That right there is a real pretty necklace! I've never seen such a thing before!"

Now I don't know about you, but after driving for four hours with no AC, getting lost countless times, and pulling into the world's sketchiest gas station in America's most poorly named city, the last thing your heart needs is some woman you've never met grabbing at your necklace. Surprisingly, she genuinely did just want to compliment my crucifix (praise Jesus!) and send me on my way with well wishes. In the end, I got my TomTom and everything after that was relatively smooth sailing.

The point is, TomTom, I went through a LOT to get you, and I can't quit you even though sometimes you try to be a straight up biatch and send me into the middle of nowhere Wyoming (still hatin' on that, yep). And now, you're gone from me. I have a road trip this weekend across four states, and I need you. I need you, boo. I can picture you shivering, alone and cold, in my ex-boyfriend's mother's car. I hope she treats you right. Do you hear me calling for you TomTom? Do you think we could organize a trade? Bottle o' wine for my TomTom? We could have a nice little chat and bitch about our mutual hatred of PTLs? TomTom, come home. 

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Hug Me Friday

May 24, 2013

Happy Friday, friends! I'm sure everyone's Monday (Tuesday?) weekend update posts will be nice and long to accommodate for the THREE DAY WEEKEND. Woot woot. What will I be doing?

A lot of this:

While listening to this:
(I heard a lot about this music video. And then I watched it and caught myself going "Dear God. I would actually prefer your to be naked MORE than you already are because your outfits are so hideous. Also, TI is the best part because he just looks so genuinely confused as to why he's there.)

While reading this:
Pre-ordered book magically popping up on my Kindle? Yes please. I'm a huge fan of his work. Hope this one lives up to the expectation!

And in case you choose to read some funniez while recovering from a delicious hangover sunburn, check these out:
Dating Disaster Funniez
The Five Assholes You'll Date In College
This was the first thing I ever wrote on my blog when it started, 
and remains to this day my favorite post. 
It's sharp, witty, funny and sassy. 
GIF Letter Funniez
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Friday Funnies

How to Survive Mouth Surgery

May 10, 2013

Here are some tips and tricks to get you through your latest mouth surgery. 

1. Embrace this time to avoid coworker interaction, because you literally can't talk. 

2. Don't laugh. No really. You don't realize how many muscles laughing uses until you can't use them. 

3. Embrace your liquid-only diet by repeating "This will jump start my bikini body. This will jump start my bikini body."

4. Delight in being returned to childhood for a few days by eating only spaghettios, apple sauce and tapioca pudding packs. 

5. Buy protein shakes with built-in compliments. 

6. Take advantage of your opportunity to send your loved ones really dramatic text messages. 



I Like My Bars Dirty

May 9, 2013

How do I like my bars? Dirty. I love a good dive bar. The more sections of wall that consist of tacky wood paneling, the better. The more creepy townie men who stare inappropriately before turning religiously back to the sporting show on the fuzzy TV, the better. I don't want to pay a cover, I don't want to have to look cute just to get sticky alcohol spilled all over me in on an overcrowded dance floor and I don't want to have everything bathed in a shade of weird purple 'trendy' lights.

Also, I am not skilled enough to order drinks at these hip bars filled with dancing, flirting, glittering 20somethings. I still order drinks like I'm in a frat house, because that's where I learned to drink. I like my drinks strong, and I prefer them in a solid glass mug or something non-breakable. Once, right after I moved here, I told a bartender that I wanted a Dr. Pepper and vodka. He was in shock. He asked me if that was a fancy drink from Michigan, because he had never heard of it. I just went with it and said yes. In reality, I could not tell you the difference between a mai thai, a cosmo, a martini or a rock collins. I am used to simple drinks: liquor, chaser. Two ingredients. Or maybe three, if we're going to get wild and make pink panty droppers (beer, vodka, pink lemonade).

So give me the dive bars: the ones with the best food, the weirdest people, the dimmest lights, the dirtiest floors, and the least decorated walls.

This is the actual level of lighting within the bar. I can barely see the back wall. 
Perfect.


Bars using posters of Gossip Girl will be given extra points in my book.

Just look at the dirt and the wood and the bottles. Clearly, you don't come here to flirt. You come here to drink. (Also, on the wall behind me there was a collection of mammoth beehives. Why? Because they can. Or maybe it's their version of a breathalyzer. When you start believing bees will actually come out of them, you've had enough.)

But the following really took the cake. This backwoods, old-man bar had squirrel decorations. That's right. Dead squirrels. Posed. Costumed. In shadow boxes. Like it was no big deal. Like this was a completely normal thing to do. And the closer you looked, the more squirrels you saw. 









Oh Missourah, you take the cake on old man bars. Cheers to you. 

Linking up with my boo Steph to celebrate her one-year blogiversary! Happy blogabirthaday, babay. 

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Letter to the Graduates, via GIFS

May 8, 2013

I think I might have found my calling guys. My "blog niche" so they say. Letters via GIFS. Eh? 

Anyways. It's graduation season. I literally had a panic attack reading everyone's graduation statuses the other day and had to remind myself that I already had a job and a place to live and didn't need to go into full on panic postgrad mode. Rough life. Then I heard a Pure Michigan commercial in Missourah and almost started crying in the car. But that's besides the point.

Dear Graduates:

It's your big moment. Which you will undoubtedly forget is your big moment because you'll be too hungover from the celebratory parties the night before. Well. It's still your big moment. Here's some advice, or general musings from someone one year out.

Post grad life is hard. It's freshman year all over again, except with more bills, more responsibilities, and less people your age standing around equally confused and helpless.

People envy your youth, your relative freedom and your wide open availability...but they also would never switch places with you. What they don't tell you: postgrad life is lonely. You go from seeing your friends 24/7, to maybe three times a week. If you're lucky. Sometimes, you count it as a good week if you have one social event. Sometimes, one social event per week is all you can handle.

But when you get lonely, remember: your phone isn't just for tweeting and roughing up selfies with vintage tints on Instagram. 
It's also for calling people. So when you get lonely, use it. 

And NOT to call your bartender. That brings me to my next point.  Bartenders are not your friends. At first, you will glory in happy hours, drink specials and the buzz of social activity that you find there. But remember, for both your emotional and financial health, their purpose is to rack your tab up. They "care" about your problem or story so long as it is a story that requires more liquor. Be careful.
I know. I'm disappointed Nick Miller isn't my bartender too.


Get off of Facebook. Get. Off. I know. You "miss them." But in the middle of stalking people who you're used to being able to reach out and touch every single day...you're going to see a lot of things that will drive you mad. Engagement announcements. Job announcements. Self-realization announcements. You're going to go crazy if you sit there and compare yourself to everyone. How did she get that job? Why am I not that comfortable with this new phase of my life? How did she make that new friend? 
The green-eyed monster is not your friend, so by all means, please don't invite yourself into his home (Facebook) and sit for a nice long chat. Get off.


You'll be broke as fuck. 
Many people will encourage you to make a budget. Do. And then realize that no matter how hard you budget, half the time you will still have no idea where your money went. Your first year is a giant teeter-totter that you can never balance. You need friends, and the surest way to make friends is to go out and do things. Repeat: you're broke as fuck. Know when to skip invites (hint: work lunches are the first to be cut), and when to say yes.


I know that this all sounds really, really harsh. And I'm sorry. But I wish above all else that I hadn't rushed into things. That I hadn't rushed into the "perfect" job, moving out and doing "adult things." You will have your entire life to work, so don't rush into it. Fill out applications. Look for jobs. But also lay in the sun. Get a book. Breathe. You just went through a four mile marathon of insanity. Breathe. Don't freak out over the fact that "everyone else has a job, I'm so behind." You're not. For every person that does have a job, there are five more just like you still pulling their hair out searching the web and living in their parents' basement. Don't move out of your parents' basement prematurely. Evil things wait for you, things that you think are "adult." Calm the fuck down. You will have 85 years of your life to do "adult things" like pay the bills and buy your own groceries and clean your bathroom. Six more months of not having to do the mundane shit you call "adulthood" is worth the small annoyance living with your parents is. Don't rush into the rest of your life. Because once you're there, you can't go back. One day, your parents won't be there. So enjoy the extra dinners while you can.
How the rest of us feel when you say how excited you are to just "be and adult" and do "adult things" in the "real world."

You never get this time in your life again. So live every day. Every day. Some days will suck ass. Some days will be cloud nine. I am telling you it's going to suck. But when it sucks, remember: it's supposed to suck. And yes, it does feel this way to everyone else. You're not alone in the fact that you're pissed off and wish you had never graduated. So in those moments, take a deep breath, get a drink, sit outside, sit on your bed. Breathe. And remind yourself it is 110% okay to feel completely lost. Stop pushing yourself. (Granted, in "my day," we didn't have a Taylor Swift song glorifying this god-awful stage in life so I'm sure now that you do being "totally lost, confused alone in the best way" is hip. You probably don't even need this list because that song told you everything you need to know (sarcasm, people).)

Anyways. Have fun, kids.
Love,
Autumn

What advice would you give new graduates?
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