Revisionist History

It’s not me, it’s you.

Now I see how I deserve to be treated. Now I see what it’s like to be my own person. Now I see why my friends and family couldn’t, wouldn’t be supportive of you in my life. Honestly, I’m in my mid-twenties and I’m at a point where I can’t be dating wildly inappropriate people anymore. It’s time for all of us to just grow the hell up.

You made me feel inadequate every step of the way, but fortunately I see now how completely deluded you were. I’ve got a lot to offer. And I think on some level you knew that. You knew you had something others wanted. You muted me so you could shine.

Did you mean to hurt me? Did you enjoy watching me unravel? Deliberate, frequent jabs at my hair, my shoes, my cooking. You showed no mercy, taking me down any way you could – persistent, patient. You mocked my defining characteristics. You decimated my quirks. You deflated me. You rendered me as directionless and insignificant as secondhand smoke in urban air.

And the jury is still out as to whether I can ever forgive you. The damage is done and I won’t let myself forget how small you made me feel.

You’ve set the bar - and the only place for me to go is up.

4 Scenarios I Imagine When You Don't Text Back

When you don’t text me back right away, I play it cool like I don’t even care. I’m all, whatever, he really likes me, it doesn’t mean anything. A little later and still no text, I’m like, ugh I have better people to be texting anywayyy. But when a few hours go by and I still don’t get a reply, four very specific scenarios go through my mind.

1. You discovered your soul mate in that weird java coding class you take on Wednesdays and you’ve swept her away to Las Vegas to consummate your love. Your phone is, of course, turned off on the airplane and reception in casino chapels is always patchy – thus creating low odds I’ll get a text back.

2. You took a shortcut through an alley on your way home from the office only to be roughed up by thugs, robbed, shanked, and left for dead. Crimson blood pours from your eyes and ears and your mangled, broken arms make it impossible to reach into your pocket for your phone. As you slip in and out of consciousness, you can only murmur Kaaa... Kaaa... in the hopes that Siri might hear your grief and place your call sans touch.

3. You have been personally invited to lead the President of the United States on a midnight Segway tour through the pentagon. Your swanky department of defense job paired with your talent for tour-giving makes you the perfect guide for POTUS to become reacquainted with the building and its slippery hallways. You’d reply, but you don’t want to offend the prezzie or anything. Plus, it’s kind of hard to text from a Segway. They have a delicate equilibrium you wouldn’t want to disrupt with frenzied thumb-tapping.

 4. I stole your charger last night to plug in my phone so yours died at work today. You make it home safe and sound with every intention of charging your mobile device, but the beer in the fridge is calling your name and the lean cuisine in your freezer isn’t going to microwave itself, so you toss your phone on the bed and go about your evening like a normal person. You heat up dinner, open an IPA, turn on ESPN, and forget about the fact that there’s a girl 2.2 miles away who maybe wants reassurance that you’re not dead in an alley or exchanging vows in an Elvis chapel.

8 Ways to Ruin a Potential Relationship

1. Introduce him to your parents on a day when he and your dad happen to be dressed identically. Are madras shorts making a comeback or something? They probably shouldn't be...

2. Circle his bicep with one hand and exclaim (loudly! in public!) “Aw, look, my fingers can touch!” Even if it’s clear his arms could use some bulk, he doesn’t need you to remind him.

3. Make jokes comparing his manhood to rigatoni. Just because it’s your favorite kind of noodle, doesn’t mean he’s ok with being compared to the choad of the pasta world.

4. Offer up a pair of your ex-bf’s boxers after a Saturday morning shower sesh. Turns out every guy ever in the world would prefer to wear increasingly scummy undergarments for a weekend than step into another dude’s junk holder.

5. Go apartment hunting on craigslist and email him links to one-bedrooms you like. Even following with “not yettttt (winky face)…” doesn’t make this ok.

6. Facebook stalk him immediately following your first date and tell him how adorable his cousin-from-Wisconsin’s kids are. Bonus points if you can name drop the family pets in later conversations. Nothing freaks a guy out so much as overzealous fb research.

7. Explain in excruciating detail the amazinggg dream you had about him last night in which he emptied your dishwasher and took out the trash. No, those aren't euphemisms for something sexy.

8. Tell him you have a strict life timeline that has you walking down the aisle when you're 26 (just two years away, sweetiekins), pregnant at 28, knocked up again by 30, and popping out the last kid before 33. I mean, a little planning never hurt anyone...

Confession: I’m not saying I’ve done ALL these things, but I’ve definitely done more than I’d like to admit. Oopsies.

I've Got a Case of the Mondays

I miss you on Mondays because we eat and drink and breathe shared air for fifty straight hours until the bus rumbles me away from you and I'm all alone.

I miss you on Mondays because my body has to relearn the weight of its limbs without yours tangled in mine.

I miss you on Mondays because weekday workdays overflow with comedy GOLD and my texting thumbs can’t tap out the stories to you fast enough.

I miss you on Mondays because I’m stuck with just the food in front of me, when I’d rather fork tomatoes off your plate and steal the bubbles from your bubble tea.

I miss you on Mondays because I live weekend to weekend and the workweek just interrupts time that could be spent in your steady presence.

I miss you on Mondays because I can’t get enough of you. Because you make politics interesting. Because you laugh at my jokes. Because you don’t mock the lululemon poster in my bathroom. Because you bring me ice cream when I’m sick and wine when I’m happy and kiss me in public and tell me I’m beautiful.

Do you miss me on Mondays?

What Would Your Mother Have to Say About This?

I like you. You’re an asshole. I’d like to have a chat with your mother.

I swear I’ve had these consecutive thoughts more times than I can count. What is WRONG with men in their twenties!?

It seems like every time someone comes along who is mildly entertaining, not brain dead, and knows how to take a shower, they feel entitled to behave like inconsiderate, egomaniacal jerks. I’m pretty sure this is a symptom of helicopter parents and/or the facebook “like” button. I mean, if a guy updates his status to something involving a burrito and gets ten likes and somewhere between one and three supportive comments, he’s obviously going to have a false sense of self.

So, allow me to enlighten you. YOU ARE NOT THAT GREAT.

A few loves ago, a guy ended things between us over the phone with this line: “I thought hanging out with you would be better than nothing but uhh…” Now, imagine my dumbfounded reaction. (Yes, he’s not-so-subtly informing me that time spent in my presence has become worse than nothing).

I can’t take it anymore.

What would his MOTHER have to say about this??

I am a nice, smart, thoughtful girl with a job. I live in a gorgeous apartment that I can actually afford in a fun neighborhood and I live with a roommate who is normal and non-creepy. I know these aren’t the only dating-qualifiers out there but, come on, I should be a catch.

So why do males feel like they can treat me like I’m less of a person than they are? Too many times now, I’ve found myself thinking, “If he were my son, I’d be mortified,” or “I’d send my kid to a therapist if he ever spoke to a girl this way,” or “my son would never do something like that.” I know that deep down these are nice boys from good families who don’t mean to be mean but then… they are.

A word of advice to guys out there. Think twice before you say something hurtful to a lady. Imagine a future generation of men saying the same thing to your precious, beautiful perfect daughter… if the sentence you’re about to utter would make future-you want to punch present-you in the face, there’s your clue to hit mute.

The Economics of Dating

My roommate R recently broke up with her boyfriend of three years and has been quick to re-enter the dating world. She started seeing a guy at work, M, who has a history of casual hook-ups and one night stands. Unprompted, he offered up a number around 50. If you catch my drift.

When I see them together, he seems sweet and doting and not at all the sleazy dirt bag I pictured when she first divulged his dating history. They spend hours and hours together and never seem to tire of laughing and talking and enjoying each others company. And I like him. He's a nice guy. He's smart and genuine and affectionate towards her - even when others are around - and he seems completely enamored with her.

So, when I told my boyfriend G about their relationship, I was shocked when he calmly said: "I give it six weeks. Tops"

Whatttt?

I didn't understand. How could he be so dismissive of my roommate and her new love? He was belittling their passion by suggesting it was coming to an end within the month.

So he broke it down for me in a little lesson called "relationship economics".

G explained that in econ terms, the past is the best indicator of the future when it comes to a mathematical trend. Of course, statistically, there are always outliers, but on average, if the trend is consistent, odds are, it will continue on that path.

So if M has a history of casually dating girls and ending things within a matter of weeks, odds are, R is NOT the exception to the rule.

I argue that people are not economically sound. We can't determine someone's actions by his past behavior. Yes, it might make sense mathematically to analyze a trend and apply it to the current situation, but when it comes to people and our quirky decision making, I truly believe that no calculations can estimate the value of a human connection.

M's former women might have been dumb or flaky or bad in bed. He might have been immature or sad or searching for something better. G knows virtually nothing about this new boy and yet feels confident predicting the demise of a relationship.

We decided to bet on it. $5 says R and M break up by Memorial Day.

Clearly, I'm a terrible person betting on my friend's relationship but....I've got three weeks to see if I'm out five bucks or a couple dollars richer.