DatingOrSomething

I hadn’t seen Freshman Boyfriend in a long time. A couple of short, awkward conversations at bars here or there, but almost never anything substantial. I always felt uncomfortable catching up with him while his girlfriend, a carbon-copy look-alike of me, stood by his side. Tuesday night she was not by his side. I walked into Sullivan’s at around eight on Tuesday, ready for St. Patrick’s Day festivities. It was packed. The first person I saw was Freshman Boyfriend. We said a quick... Read Full Story

When Reisz and I came back from Christmas Break and finally started blogging again, I glossed over my lack of potential loves with a quick paragraph about how I had my eye on a few potentials, but I really didn’t think anything would happen and didn’t really care.  Confession: I had my eye on just one potential, but I was really scared nothing would happen because I was pretty sure he didn’t even know I existed. He was out of my league: a cute philosophy major, a surfer,   foreign . Between... Read Full Story

The average birth date for every guy I’ve ever kissed is 249 days before my own.   That’s only eight months, which basically means I did a bunch of Facebook stalking and a couple of math problems (I can’t sleep, okay?   I had time) to put a number on the fact that I’ve always dated guys my own age. The obvious explanation for this is… well, pretty obvious.   I was in school for the past sixteen years.   Most of these guys were in my grade.   This is not particularly interesting, I know. But... Read Full Story

“I’m really drunk right now,” my sort-of date said, “so I don’t know whether I should kiss you good night on the lips or on the cheek.” I met JD, who’s a couple years older than me, through my friends from work.   On Tuesday nights we always hang out at the sister bar of our place of work, and he works there part-time.   A lot of the employees of both bars know each other pretty well, so I met JD while he was working and I was drinking.   This week, he ended up driving me home at the end of... Read Full Story

We write a lot on this blog about the relationships between hooking up and alcohol, and specifically, how alcohol has often led us to make poor hooking up decisions.  Over the past few months there’s been quite a bit of interesting media attention regarding America’s troubling relationship with alcohol. The New York Times started a blog called Proof , where various contributors write about their own days of hitting the bottle hard and then learning, of course, how to live without it. The... Read Full Story

So.   Several months ago I wrote a borderline-sappy panegyric (that could also easily function as the outline of a romance novel) about a month-long relationship I had in Italy with a guy called The Islander.   It was great; it was temporary; his home is 9000 miles from mine. “Reckon we’ll see each other again?” he asked the day he left. “I hope so,” I replied.   I didn’t exactly answer his question.   I’m pretty sure both of us would’ve agreed that the answer was no.   We would never see... Read Full Story

So.   Several months ago I wrote a borderline-sappy panegyric (that could also easily function as the outline of a romance novel) about a month-long relationship I had in Italy with a guy called The Islander.   It was great; it was temporary; his home is 9000 miles from mine. “Reckon we’ll see each other again?” he asked the day he left. “I hope so,” I replied.   I didn’t exactly answer his question.   I’m pretty sure both of us would’ve agreed that the answer was no.   We would never see... Read Full Story

It was supposed to be a scholarly, academic affair: food and drink with the English department to celebrate a certain Irish writer’s birthday on Monday. Professors, classmates, readings from Ulysses. That was not, of course, how it turned out. As my group of overenthusiastic readers made our way into the bar, the first face I saw was the Youngin’s. No big deal–we’d seen each other a million times on campus and stopped to chat nonchalantly. We hadn’t hooked up since before Christmas break... Read Full Story

Right now, it doesn’t matter whether or not I want a man in my bed.   Either way, I can’t have one.    I graduated early, which means that I am currently sleeping in my big, wonderful, comfortable bed at home, eighty miles from college.   Ten feet from my parents’ room.   Bringing a guy home?   Impossible.   My parents think that my innocent lips have only ever touched those of my serious boyfriends. Not that there are any guys to bring home, anyway.   As I set out on the frontier of what... Read Full Story

Wanted: Man In My Bed. Minimum Qualifications: male, willing to come over at moment’s notice, late at night, and act as big spoon in twin-sized bed for approximately eight hours. Graveyard shift ends at daybreak and applicants must vacate premises before mention of even breakfast. Personality unnecessary, making out a bonus but not required. Apply via text. Okay, so the latest catch phrase to hit romantic relationships on our college campus is the above: Man In My Bed (MIMB). Suddenly, all... Read Full Story