Rebecca Edwards is a writer and improviser. She has trained at The Improv Asylum, Second City Chicago, iO Chicago and The Nerdist. She loves dogs, drinks and napping. She is also probably in love with you. Follow her @BecsBecRebec.
When you’re little, you don’t know anything about fame, cults, men playing volleyball shirtless in jean shorts or really anything that can happen in Hollywood.
That’s why, when you see Top Gun for the first time, you think that’s what kissing is like. That iconic scene when Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis’ characters finally act upon their bottled up passion.
As an adult, thinking about that scene, you giggle. They make love very passionately, in a soft blue moonlight. Open mouth kissing, with tongues gently caressing each other’s mouths and lips. All as “Take My Breath Away,” by Berlin plays in the background. However, since I just re-watched this scene – you know for research and fact checking – it’s still crazy hot.
Ten years ago, I was a senior in college just about to graduate. To celebrate, I went out with some of my best friends and my friend Jake, who had brought along his friend Mark.
We all spent the night dancing like crazy to hits of the 80ʼs, drinking and having a great time. Mark and I started dancing with each other and, as the night went on, he kissed me on the dance floor.
I was finally one half of a couple at middle school dances that makes out like crazy on the dance floor in front of everyone not giving a fuck – except please remember I was a senior in college, like of legal drinking age.
I had never met Mark before, but I knew that he and Jake had been friends for a long time. If he had Jake’s approval, then I knew he was a good guy. Also, he super cute, so, yes please.
Ok, so I did know one thing about Mark; I knew he had recently broken up with someone. That was fine with me, as I was leaving town soon anyway. I was going to use Mark. Not in a mean way. It’s just, come on, this was the perfect opportunity for me to get some real dates under my belt before I headed into the real world.
As the night wound down, Jake drove us home as Mark sat next to me in the back seat holding my hand.
Ever since that moment in “My So Called Life,” when Jordan takes Angela by the hand in the hallway, in front of all of his friends, declaring their relationship; holding someone’s hand is all I’ve ever wanted.
As we got to the bottom of my street, I told Jake that it was OK for him to drop me off there. I kissed Mark on the cheek, got out of the car, and began to walk up the steep hill to my apartment. It was almost 4:00am, the moon was setting, and the sun was just starting to rise. The street and sidewalks were wet from the rain earlier in the night. The streetlights, still on, were making things very romantic.
It was like a fucking movie, yʼall.
We’re all looking for something. Some of us are looking for a job, a love life, and maybe even just a couple of better parents. Thank goodness there’s online matchmaking sites for all your needs.
The other week, I had a rare Saturday night off, followed up with a Sunday morning off. Somehow I forced myself out of bed, away from Netflix, got dressed up in the vintage dress that was collecting dust in my closet and headed downtown to visit my bartender best friend at work.
There’s something empowering about strutting downtown when you know you look good. It felt fun, sassy, confident and sexy. I headed into my friend’s bar, a classy, speakeasy type establishment where the lighting is low and flattering and the music is the perfect soundtrack to your life in that very moment.
The tables were full of couples having date nights as I headed straight to the bar. We started chatting as she poured me a gin drink from heaven and I know that I made the right decision, Orange is the New Black could wait.
A few handsome men, who know my bartender lady friend, came in to say hi. “Hello boys. Thank you, Saturday night, you’re treating me right,” I thought.
Boys, boys, boys. You know I love you; most of the time you are my favorite thing! However, we need to talk about your online dating profile picture.
Itʼs not good.
In fact, I hate it. We hate it. But, letʼs try to fix this! Because I want to meet you for a drink and maybe make out with you afterwards.
Here are a few changes you can make so that I will find you interesting enough to swipe right.
Iʼll admit Iʼm a little late to this game, but Iʼm still going to play.
In the last few weeks, issues that women have been dealing with for centuries have become a huge topic on the internet. It started with an episode of Louis CKʼs show, Louie, titled “So Did The Fat Lady.” In the episode Louie is pursued by a woman, Vanessa, who is confident, smart and cool, and also fat. Later, the shooting in Santa Barbara started the hashtag, #YesAllWomen, which has given woman a platform to share their stories about inequality, harassment and assault. It’s become clear; we all have a story.
For women, everything about us is a topic of discussion. If you wear a dress, you are open to any and all comments from the opposite sex. If you wear makeup one day and not the next you get asked, “Are you okay?” If you gain weight, itʼs an entire discussion, an intervention even. As my friend Sarah explained it to her boyfriend, “How would you like it if people talked about your hair loss…ALL OF THE TIME?”
These topics have made me so proud that they woke up the eighth grade feminist in me. Talking about these issues is touchy, to say the least. They are raw and honest. However, no matter how taboo these topics are, they are important; we need to tell our stories.
I have always struggled with my weight. It was something that was not tip-toed around when I was a child. My parents would sit me down to discuss my weight, and kids would make fun of me because of it. Good times had by all. But, a chubby kid grew into a chubby adult and, here I am, single and the best friend youʼll ever have, but never fall in love with. I am not the girl who gets set up on dates. I am the girl who gets over looked on Match.com. I am the best friend to all of the beautiful girls and the chubby, funny sidekick to all of my guy friends.
Having an older sister who is eight years my senior meant I had big dreams about high school. My sister was – and still is – beautiful, popular, athletic, smart and cool. Always with a boyfriend and a perm, she was everything I wanted to be. High school was going to be amazing, because her high school experience was going to be my high school experience.
I’d meet my first real boyfriend. We’d fall in love, talk on the phone, drive around in his car, have sex and breakup before college. I would accomplish this all while attending classes, sporting events and prom. High school was when it was all going to happen for me.
Then I was in high school and I woke up.
I started at a new school my freshman year of high school and, as if that wasn’t hard enough, it was an all-girls Catholic high school. I’m sorry but how was I ever going to meet my boyfriend at an ALL GIRLS CATHOLIC high school. We didn’t even have the cute uniforms. Think poly-blend jumpers sitting at the top of the knee and not super short kilts, a la Britney.
All of my high school dreams were shattered. I would never make out at school, you know, in the secret make out room where my not boyfriend Boyfriend would hide me away from his friends and then publicly declare us a couple once I had finally written him off. My So-Called Life taught me that this was romantic. I now know, it’s mental abuse, and just a real dick thing to do.
I quickly realized that I was screwed and would not be getting screwed anytime soon.
After the sweet, old-as-dirt nuns finished our two-day orientation, I finally got to meet my homeroom and Algebra 1 teacher, Mr. Lorenz.
Forgive me Father; I was hot for teacher.
Few things are as horrible as being in sixth grade.
During sixth grade, my class took a weekend trip to Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia. Two busloads full of smelly, hormonal, disgusting tweens, sounds like every teachers dream. Throw in all of us listening to The Offspring, on speakers, off of a disk-man, and all of us singing along to every song. I can only hope all of those chaperones got drunk once we arrived to the hotel.
During this particular weekend, I was in love with Andy. He was a stud, super cute, looked great in khakis and a polo, and that’s really all I needed. He had light brown hair that always looked a little too perfect. I now realize that his mother probably put hair product in it for him; it looked that good.
Andy was a new crush for me because he was new to school, which meant he didn’t know me. I totally had a chance, even though, retrospectively, I was going through a tough time in sixth grade. I was awkward, chubby, teased, and I couldn’t keep up with the work at school. I kept a lot of things to myself, because a universal fact about sixth grade is, you can’t fucking trust anyone.
For instance, a girl can be your friend one minute, bonding over shaving your armpits, and the next thing you know, some other girl is making fun of you because you shave your armpits. But the thing is, WE WERE ALL SHAVING OUR ARMPITS.
My name is Rebecca and I am a crushaholic.
Iʼm addicted to having crushes on boys. Addicted to that feeling that you get when you meet someone who could be the one. I have had a crush on almost every male that I have ever met, even if only for a hour. In that hour, I picture us: holding hands, kissing, laughing, meeting my family, our wedding and, in some cases, our eventual demise. I canʼt help it. Itʼs given me a lot of heartache. A LOT of fucking heartache and, even when I think Iʼve learned my lesson, another cute boy walks into my life and my heart opens and I canʼt stop. Itʼs painful for me. God knows itʼs painful for my friends who have to hear me go on endlessly, analyzing every conversation, every joke, every text, every Facebook like, because as a professor once creepily whispered in class, “everything means something.”
I canʼt give up having crushes because that would mean that I am going to die alone. While that is probably true, Iʼm not quite ready to admit that defeat yet. The thing is, I can remember them all. Each boy, man, fella and sloppy drunk. I loved them all. I really did. But like all addictions, nothing quite compares with your first.
datingandhookup.com is a website that explores modern romance in the Millennial era – which, let’s be honest, looks nothing like we were taught to expect. We feature essays, advice and social commentary with humor, compassion and brains, and we vow never, ever to publish a piece called “The 10 Best Ways to Satisfy Your Man in Bed”. Do click to submit your work to us. We love you.
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