You know how sometimes you find yourself in an accidental six-month relationship that you didn’t even know you started? No? That’s not a thing that happens, you say?
It actually does happen, because I once accidentally dated a guy for several months before anybody bothered to tell me about it. (Disclaimer: I am unable to read subtle signals. Whatever portion of the brain it is that inputs and processes romantic messages and then outputs flirting is on the fritz in my mind.)
I had this friend with whom I spent a great deal of time. We were comrades for a few months before he decided that he wanted to transition us out of the “friends” category and into the status of “relationship.” This transition, however, can prove tricky, so he handled it in a very subtle, suave way: he just decided not to tell me. Well played, sir!
We continued watching movies and getting dinner, arguing over stupid things that culminated in me declaring him a moron so I could be done with the argument and get on to my nap. You know, like friends do. Several months passed this way, with him enjoying our new relationship whilst I stayed safely–and unknowingly–in our friendship.
I’m sorry for saying I’m sorry.
Nobody wants to be described as “clingy” in a relationship. Luckily, there’s a simple way to avoid that label.
Something weird is happening to me and my female friends — we’re unable to accept even the simplest little compliment. I don’t mean to sound like we’re getting complimented all day because we’re just oh-so-wonderful; I mean that when one of us is complimented, or if we compliment each other, we’re unable to just accept the compliment. It usually comes with some form of, “Oh, no, I look that crap today, but thank you” self insult.
Ladies, accept the compliment!
(NOTE: I use the term ‘date’ very, very, VERY loosely.)
Freshman year I went to a bar completely by myself where I flashed my shiny, new fake ID and was allowed entrance. I was wearing boot cut jeans (I know…), a sweatshirt I got at Pacsun in maybe 2010 that I am certain I still own, and a walking boot that I had to wear because I broke my foot from “dancing too much.”
I ordered a drink or eight but didn’t really talk to anyone, and before I knew it, it was bar close. Shit. I called a cab and waited outside the bar to be picked up. That’s when I met “Dan” who will be referred to as “Dan” to protect his identity and also because I don’t actually remember his name.
Dan was a music major who graduated college before I had graduated high school. He stood at around 5’6” (I’m 6’5” so you can already see the cracks in our really, really short-lived relationship) and looked kind of like Diplo, I think. We chatted for around 10 minutes before he invited me back to his humble abode, and of course I agreed because I’m gross.
Over the course of the ten minute walk (or in my case, hobble due to my walking boot) to his apartment I learned that he was unemployed and that he and his dad don’t really talk anymore. What I found inside of his apartment proved to be a lot more interesting.
I was in Barstow, CA on a commercial shoot that required the crew staying on site, overnight. It was the first time since I started work in the film industry back in June that I would be on set with my dad. I wanted to work hard, prove myself a kick @ss professional young woman, and bring great honor to my producer father.
But I also wanted to fit in and, you know, make new friends and stuff.
So when the coordinator on the job said the crew would be meeting for margaritas in the Barstow Motel bar, I feigned my concern about “drinking the night before an early call” for all of about a minute and a half before he “twisted my arm” into joining the party. I wore my super rad The Amazing Spider-Man sweatshirt, wide-framed geek glasses and had a small handful of party-time facial expressions on the ready. In short, I was feeling puh-retty fly.
And boy did this crew love to drink. It was on in the Barstow Motel bar.
“Are you are tired of getting the ‘once over’ when you are walking down the street, on the job, or at the grocery store? Have you considered buying one of those t-shirts with ‘my eyes are up here’ plastered over the bust? If so, you are not alone.”
Sarah J. Gervais, Ph. D., and her colleagues recently conducted an experiment to study where a person’s gaze falls when presented with a picture of a woman. In other words, the team “scientifically examined ‘ogling.’” Using both men and women, test subjects were asked to evaluate either a woman’s appearance or personality based on a series of photographs. So what did they discover? Check out the results of the study over at Psychology Today.
You never know where love might find you. Maybe you’ll meet an amazing guy or girl at the bar! But probably not, given the conditions.
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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