The Encounter

This weekend, I visited two of my best friends from college, Rhonda and Korey. We went to a new bar and were excited to check it out.

This new bar had an interestingly mixed crowd, and a fight broke out. Korey loves watching fights, so turned to the guy next to her and said, "Don't you enjoy bar fights?".

Instead of answering, he gave her a confused look and said, "Korey?"

Korey had no idea who he was. He was unattractive and she has a boyfriend, anyways.

Korey said, "Do I know you?" and he said, "How drunk are you? It's Kevin"

Still unsure, she said hello. Kevin? She took a moment to place the face and realized who Kevin was. And walked away.

Kevin was a guy who she randomly made out with at a bar after our senior ball. About 9 months before this encounter. Did he really expect her to remember? It's not like they ever hung out afterward. It's definitely flattering that he remembered her though, he must have really thought she was really attractive/a memorable kisser (or just be that creepy?). Either way, I always find it odd that we run into that random person at the most random times. Usually not people you necessarily care to see. I guess it really is a small world, after all.

The Blackout Makeout

When I have a little too much to drink, I often forget bits and pieces and details of the night. When I drink way too much, I tend to forget just about everything except for a few bits and pieces. In college, I laughed this off and figured it was probably bad anyways. Now is a different story.

I began the day of the St. Patrick's Day parade with an egg sandwich and an Irish coffee. My friends, Lila and Janelle, and I were determined to have a ridiculously fun and out of control day.

That we did.

We proceeded to venture in and out of crowded bars, chugging our drinks to go back onto the street, where we'd make new friends and only find ourselves back inside the closest pub. I'd like to blame that last car bomb (which I only recall from a photograph) for putting me over the edge.

I digress.

After blacking out, I somehow managed to find myself no longer in a bar, but walking into the hotel across the street. I was not alone. I was with a guy I sort of knew/had always seen around but I always thought (and I think he thinks so too) he was way too hot to bother trying to flirt with or get to know. So (I think) we were making out in the hotel lobby area, when he pulled me upstairs and into an empty hotel conference room, complete with folding tables and a podium. Unfortunately, I am not quite sure what occurred there. I don't think we talked very much, I remember him mumbling something about grad school and insisting we get a room upstairs. For some reason I refused this incredibly hot-bodied fellow. Why?

Maybe I subconsciously knew I wouldn't remember anyway. After all, I still have no idea how long I was separated from my friends for, and what exactly went on in the conference room. I really wish I did because I think the story would have been one for the books. To be honest, I'm not even sure I was with the hottie! It really could have been someone else, since the image I have in my head is very vague and blurry. I mean, I'm like 99% sure and I do recall certain images that resemble his perfect abs. I just hope that if I happen to run into him again, he was blacked out, too in case I said anything embarrassing? Maybe I'll have better luck next time.

Can I Get Your Number?

As I have said previously, I usually have no problem giving out my phone number. Because it's rare that these guys actually call. With of course, the exception of pizza boy. I have also found, that for whatever reason, I don't get hit on very often so I don't bother to expect much when I go out.

Last weekend, my night was going as planned. I did not talk to anyone I didn't know. I went about my business and probably appeared rather unfriendly. But I was having a good time and well on my way to expect a hangover the following morning.

When I was standing outside the bathroom, a guy asked me the ever-so-popular "Have you met my friend?". So I tried to be friendly and smiled and said, "No, I haven't" with my best flirtatious giggle. So I met this "Friend", who turned out to be a tall blond, blue-eyed, reasonably attractive guy. Niiiiice. So the "Friend" and I talked for a few minutes. He complemented my shirt and we had some polite conversation. After about 5 minutes, he asked for my number. To which I said, you're going to ask for my number and we talked for like two minutes? He told me that he could screen through the phone call. This seemed pretty logical, at least at the time. So I gave it to him and he claimed to have saved it.

A few days later and no word from this guy and I knew he wasn't going call. Or even text. That's fine, but why bother asking for my number? Is it a self-esteem boost for him? I guess so. But why? Did his friend have a bet with him? Did he bet I was too hot for him to talk to or too ugly? Or was I one of 5 or 6 phone numbers he got throughout the night? I don't know. But it's kind of annoying. I feel like a pawn in some secret boys' game. It's like an ego boost and major blow at the same time. It will definitely continue, and maybe next time I'll have more discretion handing out my number so it doesn't bug me so much when he doesn't call.

The Creepy Coworker

I work in a blue collar environment. I am one of 4-6 college educated employees, and the only college-educated female. Not only that, but I am also one of the youngest. The other young females perform assembly line work, and the women in the office are all 35 and over. I do not exactly fit in at work. There is nothing wrong with being blue collar or working in a factory, of course. It's just not what I'm used to. And socializing is definitely something I'd prefer to avoid at work.

I often vary the style which I wear my hair in. Up, down, straight or curly. Ronald, whose job I don't quite understand, commented "Oh, hair's up today?" then later, "Straight today?" and "Ponytail today?". Strange. Especially since he also mentioned recently looking at colleges with his daughter, meaning this man was definitely old enough to be my father. Eesh.

One day I was performing work at a computer out on the factory floor. I sat in the production manager's chair, and Ronald came over and said "At least we finally got someone good looking sitting in that chair!"

Flattering? Maybe. Work appropriate? I don't think so.

The Name Game

You know how you always hear about people getting called the wrong name in the middle of a "sack sesh"? Fortunately this has not happened to me (yet).

But what has happened to me is a mind-blowing one nighter. I thought this would be a one night stand. No numbers exchanged, no indication there would be further communication. Perfect. He didn't go to my school or even live in the state so I expected to never have to cross paths with him again.

He was my roommate (Let's call her Joanie's) boyfriend's friend. And apparently sticking around for longer than expected. The following day, my roommates Joanie, Kendall and Maura went to dinner with Joanie's boyfriend and a number of his friends. There were maybe ten or twelve of us total. The girls and I of course arrived fashionably late and the last remaining seats were... Oh no. There he was, last night's boy, wearing a preppy pastel polo and a childish grin. I thought he had gone home to wherever he said he was from? Gah. Trying my best not to be awkward and thanking God Kendall was there to help, we made small talk as we perused the menu. He mocked me for not drinking (did he think I was sober last night?) and we even got to know each other a bit. I thought he was being pretty nice, maybe even flirtatious? Considering the prior evening's events, I thought all was going well.

Then, while trying to convince me to try some very unappetizing sushi, he said "Come on, Allie".

My name is not Allie.

He did this not once but twice, and I was too embarrassed to correct him. Instead, I texted Joanie and Maura, stuck at the other end of the table, and they told him of his little blunder. They were quite amused and when my pastel-wearing partner went to say hello to Joanie's boyfriend, they broke the news. He turned bright red and avoided me for the remainder of the night.

Rinse, Reuse, Recycle

It's bound to happen. In groups of friends, schools, whatever.

It's also an unwritten rule of friendship that is rarely kept (at least in my experiences). You don't use your friend's dirty laundry. Much less seek it out. But what happens when you do? Or when you hook the guy your friend's been crushing on? Or he likes you instead but bangs her?

I have had numerous experiences with the passing around of guys. This is not to say I was always the victim. I often found myself drunkenly making out with a friends former flame. Whether or not it upset her depended on the guy and the friend. I know of at least two occasions when I was the "bad friend" and I am not sorry about at least one. I've also been upset by so-called friends going after someone I was interested in.

Chicks before dicks, right? Not always. But why is it that we make out with that one guy when there are supposedly plenty of fish in the sea? Obviously there are certain traits you have that your friend likes/liked. Same for the guy. I've found that most of my friends are on the same level of attractiveness as I am, so I feel it's safe to assume these guys would be happy to have any one of us.

But why does this always happen?

Are we overcome with jealousy of what our friends have/had that we don't? Or do we want to experience what our friends have raved about? Or do we share a connection with this person as well? Is that wrong? People's spouses leave them for their best friends. Maybe they're just a better match. Isn't the idea supposed to be that you don't want what someone else already had? Like used condoms or dirty socks? It does not seem to be so. Unfortunately I think this recycling process will continue to plague groups of friends for a long time.

Should we just cop out and pull a Jaime Foxx? Blame it on the alcohol (when applicable).

Really, Auntie?

A local magazine recently published a spread, with brief interviews and photos of area singles. After glancing at this magazine, my aunt (who has two daughters, one recently engaged and the other very single) turned to me and said, "they should put your picture in there".

What?

Do I have desperate written on my forehead?

Sing it, B!

As my girl Beyonce belts on the radio... "if you liked it than you shoulda put a ring on it". Although few people I know are ready for the ring, why do we as girls need to have validation by a ring or simply a title on a relationship?

I have recently been discussing this issue with my friend, let's call her Rhonda. Rhonda and her current flame have been seeing each other since November. They have hung out every weekend since, talk every day, go on dates, have sleepovers, and do everything a girl would do with her boyfriend. He has gone so far as to tell her that he's crazy about her and can't get her out of his head. But (and there's always a but) when she's asked what they are, he is totally commitment-phobic and says there is a "possibility" they could be boyfriend-girlfriend. And that after it was discussed, things got weird between them for a while.

I have also had this problem with a guy. One I really liked. After a few months, I needed some validation. Granted, I was happy and enjoyed how things were going. But (there it is again) I didn't want to continue on this path if the word "boyfriend" was so taboo I couldn't even use it to describe him in conversation with strangers. Or when asked that ever-s0-common "Do you have a boyfriend?", what was my response? I'd find myself saying "No" but thinking that the answer was not so simple.

I personally got fed up with not knowing whether or not this guy was or was not my boyfriend. And when I brought it up in conversation, the answer was at first that he thought of us as exclusive. But a couple of weeks later, still confused and often avoided, I asked again and was given the "let's be friends" and "I'm not ready for serious". Did I screw it up by pressuring it or was he just not interested enough to date me? Either way, it's over now and I'm happy it is. But that does not leave me without questions for the future.

Is it better to leave well enough alone, and have a non-boyfriend boyfriend? Are we constantly yearning for more? Never satisfied with what we have? Do all girls feel that after some period of time, we need to know where things are going? Why? We're not ready to put a ring on it like Beyonce, so why do we need to call the-guy-you-text-everyday your boyfriend?

And why do guys prefer to have no title? Do they think calling you their girlfriend will change your relationship drastically and you will go from happy-go-lucky Rhonda to Rhonda's nagging, whiny evil twin? Do they figure its easier to cut off communication when the next best thing comes along? I don't know. Neither does Rhonda. But we sure don't like it.