Tag Archives: College

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The Guy We Pity: Mr. Temporary

Upon returning from my summer internship in New York after my sophomore year in college, I found myself incredibly bored.

Though I had a fantastic group of friends, a demanding associate editor position at the school newspaper, and a college town that welcomed me back with gold-and-black open arms – I  missed my city, and nothing seemed to measure up to it. It took me a while to adjust and return back to a comfortable state so I could settle in for another one-and-a-half years of college. And to help me pass the time was Mr. Temporary.

That year for my sorority’s (yes, I’m Greek, no judging) semi-formal not only was I dress-less, but also date-less. Though I tried to project the impression that it didn’t bother me, I did hope that suddenly, out of the framework, someone would appear for me to dance the night away with. To my surprise, my sister, B, hooked me up with a friend of a friend whom she thought I would at least enjoy the company of for an evening.

She was right.

At first glance, Mr. Temporary had the stats of a promising boyfriend: tall, olive skin, green eyes, killer smile, and well-dressed. If you like the cowboy-type-of-thing (I’m not a huge fan), he had that special little twang that’s only derived South of the Mason-Dixon. He was also talented, had goals for himself, and he told me I looked beautiful when he first laid eyes on me. That’s a brownie point in my book.

However, as we continued to see each other after the semi-formal and I learned more about him – I realized how far from my type he actually was. Though he was very intelligent, he was closed-minded about the issues that mattered the most to me. He did want a career with children, which is admirable, but just the thought of New York made him want to gag. He had a very attractive physique, but his kissing skills were way below par for his age. Or really, for any age.

So why, sitting across him over Spicy Tuna and Shrimp Tempura rolls, I agreed to turn my Claddagh ring around, is beyond me.

Maybe it was being lonely and enjoying just having the company of someone, or the way he seemed to be smitten with me, or the safety net of not having to be labeled as single – but something, against my better judgement decided to be an item with a man who I knew would never be the one for the long run. While I really don’t feel like I have any regrets thus far in my life, I will say I made a very poor decision by being “exclusive” with Mr. Temporary.

In the two or three months we dated -I lost interest day-by-day. When we introduced sex into the relationship, I was horrified at how awful it was and how much it lacked passion. When I met his mother, who didn’t know how to stop talking for the entire time we were at dinner, I couldn’t imagine how anyone could stand to be her daughter-in-law. When I met his roommate for the first time, it took every ounce of restraint in me to not flirt with him – for he was miles more attractive than Mr. Temporary. And when it was time to celebrate Valentine’s Day and I knew the girlfriend-thing to do was to buy him something, I couldn’t find any card (even in the “I like you” section) that was appropriate for what I felt.

Mainly because I didn’t really feel anything. That is, anything but fear of being alone.

Sadly, the thing to release me from clinging onto something because I was so terrified of having seemingly-nothing, was the death of my best friend L’s mother. On Friday the 13th, the day before St. Valentine’s infamous day, she lost her 10-year battle with breast cancer, and after I received the bad-news phone call, I rushed out of class and back to embrace L. I sent a quick text message to Mr. Temporary letting him know I would be missing Valentine’s Day and the entire weekend – and then ceased talking to him for four days.

I didn’t even respond to worried texts or calls or Facebook posts because not only was I mourning the loss of a beautiful, wise, and strong woman, consoling L to the best of my ability (there really aren’t words you can say, even as a writer) – I was also using this time to liberate myself from Mr. Temporary. And perhaps, I took that liberation a tad bit far.

I happened to run into Mr. Fling right after the funeral, tears still slightly plummenting down my cheeks, and needing to get back to school for a newspaper meeting that I sincerely didn’t want to attend. He comforted me, held me close, and kissed my eyelids so very tenderly. And in that moment of weakness, in that second of sincerity and care that he offered me, I allowed myself to fall into him. A kiss led to snuggling, which led to a black dress on the floor, which brought us to…

Needless to say, with a million different feelings running haywire in my heart and soul, I knew when I returned back to school – the very last thing I needed was one more headache, especially when I knew I would be causing a heartache. And so, with integrity and honesty, I confessed what I had done and things ended with Mr. Temporary as easily as they began. I made no excuses for cheating and don’t accept them if it’s the other way around, but I was truthful by telling him the reason I strayed wasn’t due to him, but was completely me. I didn’t cry, I didn’t get upset, and I didn’t really mind him being gone. Because that weekend, I learned a very important lesson about life and about love.

It is true that life is short and if you ever enter a relationship with the mindset that it will only be an in-between type of love or someone to fill the cold spot in your bed – you are wasting your time (and their time). Even if you are not seeking a forever partner, marriage, or happily ever after – if you’re allowing the romantic part of your soul to be captivated by someone who doesn’t satisfy, excite, or really match you, the ending will only be hurtful the longer it continues. While some relationships are not meant to last, our hearts are built to endure pain, and the intensity felt at midnight isn’t always as strong when the sun peeks above the skyline – in terms of love, if you know before you even get started that it is fleeting feeling, save yourself the trouble.

Break free of the bounds of fear, of those nagging voices in our heads that tell us that Mr. Right Now is acceptable if we aren’t having any luck meeting Mr. Right, and of our bodies who lust for attention and petting, even if it isn’t the most enjoyable of experiences.  Allow the love you have for yourself to gain momentum, take pride in the ability you have to depend on your own person, and for his sake, don’t lead Mr. Temporary on. Especially if there is a Mr. Fling readily available.

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Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

In high school and at most of the fraternity parties I attended in college – I was always amazed by people’s obsession with stealing road signs. Whenever I would comment on the Yield or the Stop sign serving as decor in their apartment, the new owners of the signs in question would instantly light up and go into detail about the elaborate story behind their abduction.

While I was never impressed and frankly confused by the allure – I will say I’m a sucker for looking for (and often creating illusionary) signs when I’m in a relationship or interested in someone.

My friends who often poke fun of me for being the romantic “wishes, rainbows, and unicorns” type of gal (though I’m trying to come a little above idealistic water) – always tell me that I make anything and everything into a sign. It could be from the way we met, how his hands look next to mine, a shared interest we have that’s out-of-the-norm, how his last name sounds with mine, the words he writes in hidden notes – to how he remembers my favorite flower and when my freelancing article is coming out and how even though I don’t really “just know” – I’d like to think that I could.

And more often times than not, when a real or pseudo relationship comes to a close – it is not really the man himself, the intimate moments I shared with him, or our long incredible conversations, that I have such a hard time releasing – it is the signs. These minute symbolic matters that made me believe that whatever love I was feeling or hope I was having regarding this man were really not signs of fate or of forever – but rather, just coincidences that I gave meaning to.

Recently, I discovered some information about Mr. Possibility that has made me question not only him, but my feelings towards the road we were easily traveling through. While I haven’t decided if it is a deal-breaker in my book or something I can get over quickly – it has made me realize that sometimes, I just read into things too much. I spend more time trying to dissect meaning between the lines, determine what someone really means (instead of taking them at their word), and often times, I make several somethings out of a hell of a lot of nothing.

One of the guidelines I made clear when I decided to embark on this path and the 12-step program to overcoming my self-proclaimed love addiction was that I would make no rules for myself. I was not going to hold back, I was still going to date, I was still going to fall head over heels if the wind blew me that way, and I was still going to live my life normally – because that is what a journey is. There are ups and downs, sometimes you take three steps back instead of one forward, sometimes you have bumps in the road and sometimes you fly all the way to cloud 9 one day (with 30 tulips), and then reality takes you back down to Earth (with a text message that shakes you up).

So, when Mr. Possibility and I met and started to see one another casually, I decided I would continue because it only would make my goal to reach self-love that much stronger in the long run. And though I went about things differently, opened myself up to different ways of looking at relationships, and allowed myself to let go, even in the slightest way – I did revert back to old-Lindsay habits by looking for signs of love, instead of looking at the signs before my eyes.

Because sometimes, even when you’re trying so hard to be independent and carefree, to put yourself before any relationship or man, to focus on the reality instead of the dream – you get lost in making excuses and seeing what you want to see, instead of listening to your gut.

And when you are able to wake up or something is admitted to you that stirs up some not-so-pleasant feelings – instead of looking for the symbolic reasons behind them or how you can curve the news to be favorable, it is time to start creating our own signs.

To know when to proceed with caution if something doesn’t sit well, to stop a relationship or stop an action or stop in the name of yourself (not in love) if you aren’t happy or satisfied.  To yield to what you want as much as you yield to emotions and others. To place a speed limit in your dating life that feels comfortable to you and isn’t based on someone else’s standards. To know how to look for icy conditions ahead and learn how to break with precision and caution, instead of sliding into danger. To look out for the dead end ahead instead of trying out your tires to battle a rocky path to make a road when maybe there was never supposed to be one. To know that sometimes there is only one way to go about something and to not enter when deep down, you know the outcome will only hurt you. That is, unless road construction – not of only your effort, but the man in question’s willpower too, can restructure the route.

And also, to know that even when all the signs point to safety and to “yes” – sometimes you have to be the one to take a step back, let off the gas, and determine what is acceptable for you. To decide if this is a road you want to travel down or if you’d rather turn around and take a left. Because there really are signs all around us and maybe one day when a relationship does work out, when a man is true and trustworthy, when love does last across a distance, and promises are made and kept – we will celebrate all of the seemingly-indicative directions that brought us to this person.

But until then, the best road to take, the route that will give you the most profitable gas mileage, and the clearest conditions you can face – is the path that points directly to you. The signs on that highway will remind you to not stop believing, to let you know you always have the right of way, and while not encouraged, U-turns are allowed, if you so decide to make one.

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The Lack Luster Love: Mr. Buddy

Call me crazy, but I’ve never been the type to want to be friends with a guy before I date him. Maybe this is where part of my struggle and love addiction comes from – this unrealistic idea that I should just meet a guy and fall in love, not be BFFs with him for years before.

Somehow, I think if you know too much from the beginning (like ex-girlfriends, strange traits, etc.), that certain mystery and charm is eliminated from the courtship. Of all of the men I’ve dated, loved, or been sexual with – I’ve only been friends with one before we dated.

And my theory that friends before love doesn’t work for me was proven correct by Mr. Buddy.

My freshman year of college, I met Mr. Buddy after the first big snowfall in my sleepy college town. Even beneath his puffy jacket and earmuffs, I could tell he had this killer smile and immediately we clicked. Along with a friend of mine and a friend of his, we went sledding all night and exchanged numbers at the end of the evening.

Long story short, Mr. Buddy was leaving my college to pursue other goals and we decided that because we got along so well, we should stay in touch. For the two years that followed, Mr. Buddy was my go-to guy about any and every man trouble that I encountered. We literally spent hours talking via IM or text message, and even on the phone. He was always reassuring and complimented me endlessly – and I returned the favor when he ran into lady drama.

During my last few weeks in NYC when I interned at Cosmo following my sophomore year, Mr. Buddy’s tone started changing. He was become flirtier and more standoffish if I told him about my New York date-of-the-week. While I wasn’t sure what I thought about it, I continued to be honest and open with him, not changing how I always was, and finally, he asked for a phone call.

And low-and-behold, he told me how he felt: he was falling for me.

At first, I was stunned. Here is this guy who literally knows everything about me – what gets to me, what makes me happy, how many times my heart has been broken, what I look for in a guy, what I hate, what I want, what I need – and he likes me? He’s seen all of my mess and he still is falling for me?

I wasn’t convinced I felt the same way yet, but I decided to agree to a date once I returned to North Carolina. When he picked me up and I saw that same beautiful smile that I loved in the cold two years previous, I decided I would give a romantic relationship a real shot. He happened to bring me a congratulatory present: a map of the world – something I’d mentioned I wanted months and months ago, and he remembered.

How could I resist?

And so after a good “first date” we decided to become official. In the two months that followed, we went on dates, slept over, “met” our respective families, and visited each other. On the outside, we seemed and appeared like any couple that was gradually falling in love with each other.

But in the inside – something was missing.

For me to be gaga over someone (or even in a “bad romance”) I have to feel that thing. That sensation that extends from the bottom of my heart, the tips of my tongue, and well, from down below, too. And somehow, because I knew so much about Mr. Buddy and he knew so much about me – I couldn’t find the perfect ingredients and the right recipe to get the mix to work. However, I was determined to keep him as my friend and I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to end everything and throw in the towel on love, so I stayed.

But then, he started acting differently – not returning texts or calls, being unpredictable, and not being affectionate – and even in our tenure as friends, he was never this way. While I questioned it, I also had this fear of “being left again” so I didn’t want to scare him away (as I thought and at times still do think I do). I started not being as open and more importantly, I stopped being myself. And for a “relationship” that was based on both of us being ridiculously honest with one another, him changing and me changing, and not being who we really were with each other – was a prescription for disaster.

One weekend in the two months we dated, he came to a football game at my school. I bought his ticket and his favorite food, and he helped me carry over items I agreed to bring to the school newspaper’s tailgate. After he barely said anything to the staff (even though I’d bragged about how I was bringing my new beau) – he asked for his ticket. Confused, I asked why he needed it yet, if we were going together. He quickly replied that he was going to go tailgate with some friends he hadn’t seen in a while and in case we got separated, he wanted to make sure he could get in.

I reluctantly gave it to him, kissed him, and…that’s the last time we’ve seen each other.

He basically got highly intoxicated, ignored my phone calls, hung out with his friends, and at the end of the evening, finally called me and told me “it just wasn’t working out.” He then asked if I would kindly place his overnight bag outside my door.

My friend M and A and I responded to this outlandish and disrespectful breakup, followed by a ridiculous request by destroying most of his clothes, dumping his cologne, scrubbing his toothbrush on the toilet (sorry Mr. Buddy!) and ripping the map he gave me into smithereens. And placing it, “kindly’ outside my door. Mature? Not at all. Gratifying? Incredibly so.

It was nearly eight months before we had a mature conversation about the whole incident. And just like Mr. Fire, Mr. Buddy decided with my anticpated move to Manhattan, he didn’t have much to offer me. And like me, he liked our friendship as it was before we introduced a love component to it.

So now, with some forgiving and some laughs, we’ve gone back to our friendship. Only now, when I ask questions like “Is it just impossible to date me?” or “I must be awful in bed” or “Why can’t I find love?” he has a better ground to stand on when answering them.

From the whole experience, I learned that even if a guy gives you the whole world, loves you for who you are (messy and annoying and all), if you don’t have that thing. That thing that I can’t even put into words – he’s just not the guy for you.

But maybe, just maybe, you can tell him, you’d love to be just friends.

 

 

 

 

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The Never-To-Be Love: Mr. Rebound

Solo cups piled as tall as the ceiling, guys with baggy jeans, polo shirts, and drunken grins. Sheets that haven’t been washed in weeks (possibly months), every rap song there ever was playing loudly, and girls gladly flaunting their goods to help their dude (or the guy they met that night) win a game of beer pong.

Remember college?

I can’t say I was ever the biggest fan of the college party scene, but I tried to be. Even though I knew the guys were way immature, almost-alcholics, and many forgot about a little thing called ‘class’ – I attempted (and succeeded) to date several of them. But the one to introduce me to the university dating world was much more of a class act than your average frat boy: Mr. Rebound.

We met the summer before my freshman year via MySpace (no judging) when I went looking for people who went to Appalachian State because I would be attending in the fall. He was very sweet, always flattering me, and he had this certain appeal to him that my 17-year-old self found absolutely irresistible: he was a college guy.

This meant he wasn’t like the young and ridiculous boys who paraded my high school, no he was in college. That meant he was sophisticated and educated and working towards a goal. And he wanted to talk to me? A little incoming freshman? How could I not swoon?

And swoon is just what I did. Within the first three days of college, I found myself pinned up against a wall and a hard place as Mr. Rebound tried to kiss me and I refrained for 24-hours – just long enough to break up with Mr. Faithful and set up a movie date with my ‘college man.’

When I went over for this so-called date to let Mr. Rebound know I was newly single, I thought he would jump at the opportunity to call me his girlfriend. I mean he had been texting constantly, always made himself available, and never forgot to invite me and my roommate to parties he knew of. I mean, he even took me out to dinner at Murphy’s – a place he called a “nice” restaurant to eat at. (My 21-year-old self later found out how wrong that statement was).  But instead of swooning for me, the itty-bitty freshman, and proclaiming the love I was sure he had for me – he just jumped my naive bones.

Needless to say, we ended up in a “hooking-up” (although I never went all the way) relationship, and eventually he stopped talking to me, as those sorts of things typically go. While at the time, I was unfamiliar with this type of union – where the boy was difficult to comprehend and unreliable – I learned a lot.

The first time I had my official walk of shame, where I sported sky-high heels with basketball shorts and a t-shirt from his apartment to my dorm, I knew something was wrong. My roommate (and now best friend) raised an eyebrow at my attire, which caused me to question what exactly I was doing.

Mr. Rebound didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t want to love me. He didn’t want to take me on dates or court me. He didn’t care about getting to know me. He didn’t feel the need to be drawn to me or to fall head over his Dockers. No, Mr. Rebound wanted to have sex.

And I wasn’t down for that.

As a single woman, it’s so important to define your boundaries. To decide what you’re willing to put up with and what you’re not. To decide for yourself what is acceptable behavior and what is flat-out not cool by you. If you want to have a random hook-up for your own sake, then do it – but make sure you know what will make you happy before you dive right in. For me, I get too attached and I can’t do it. For others, it may work.

After an initial hiatus that allowed me to dis-attach myself from my romantic notions about him, Mr. Rebound and I eventually made up and over lunch before he graduated,we  made peace. We’re able to laugh about what we experienced and he always makes a point to check-in on me and I doubt he’ll ever stop calling me “babe.”

I wouldn’t say I ever loved the man, but he did open my eyes to the dating scene that defines being a college student. Sometimes it is never about the romance or the love or the fire or the passion or attraction. Sometimes, it’s about getting your jollies off.

For this girl, it will never just be about that. And honestly, for that I’m proud. Sure, I’ve had my random make-out, but I know whoever I give myself to one day, I can feel proud of the decisions I’ve made in the past. I’m still the type of girl who only can be a vixen in bed if I feel comfortable and know that the guy has a sincere interest in my well-being. Preferably, he would love me. But Mr. Rebound taught me what would be the start of my dating career in college –and one that I wasn’t ever very good at. Even now, Mr. Rebound always comments on my butt (or since I picked up running, he says, lack thereof) – and I find it as a compliment, rather than feel objectified by a guy who I once wanted to date. I’m glad I made an impression and I’m even happier that we never explored a relationship.

Because one day, in this magical world, I’ll find the man who I’m meant to be with who will cherish and respect me (and enjoy all of my sexual talents because I trust him). And until that day, I can depend on myself and my ability to make the best choice for me.

Thanks Mr. Rebound, for opening my eyes and shaping my morals. I’m sorry that I had the boys in my dorm wipe their sweaty armpits on your basketball shorts and t-shirt when I returned them. I’ll buy you a drink for that one.

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The Obsession Network

Let’s be honest: Facebook is not good for ex-boyfriends.

In fact, it is probably the worse idea ever created for us love addicts. It has every tool necessary to figure out whatever it is you want to know about someone –regardless if they want you to or not.

Think about how many times in a day you check FB or update your status or go through someone’s pictures or read conversations that have nothing to do with you. Or what about just taking a look at what your ex is up to, because you’re finally at the point where you can? And if you’re not at that point, you “test” yourself by looking at his profile and seeing how it makes you feel to see another gal writing on his wall? Better yet, have you heard of Facebook-drunk-stalking? I’m sure you have. Instead of just avoiding drunk-texting, we now have to avoid drunk-Facebooking. I mean, Facebooking is even a verb now?

I’m as guilty as the next person of having all of these ridiculous habits, and if you are my ex-boyfriend (or someone I remotely was interested in), I admit to knowing or doing the following:

  • What you’re currently doing career or school wise
  • Who you’re dating and who you have dated in the past
  • Any picture you’ve been tagged in or made your profile picture since we broke up
  • Current trends concerning your statuses
  • If I’ve had access with privacy settings, I’ve read wall-to-wall conversations
  • If you’ve invited me to an event, I’ve seriously considered going
  • If you’ve been on Facebook chat while I was on Facebook chat, I’ve wanted to (and maybe have) IMed you
  • If you wrote on my wall (even if it’s just for my birthday), I’ve thought long and hard about what to write back
  • Anything you have posted on your profile as information, including websites, quotes, etc, I’ve stalked
  • I’ve glared at the screen when your current girlfriend wrote something sweet on your wall
  • I’ve felt very angry, nauseous, annoyed, jealous, and just flat-out bitchy when I’ve seen cute pictures of your girlfriend and you
  • I’ve tracked things you’ve done and tried to make conclusions based on pure assumptions (like you became friends with her five minutes ago and then she wrote on your wall about last night…so you met her last night? Or what?)
  • If you’ve become engaged, I’ve been highly, highly angry for a full day. Sometimes more than one
  • If you’re not engaged, but I think you will be, I’ve cringed when looking at your wall
  • I’ve probably deleted you from my feed, but I still go stalk on my own
  • I’ve blocked you and unblocked you (did you guys know about the 48-hour rule?), removed you from friends, and re-added you (thank you ex-boyfriends for playing along)

Yeah, maybe this doesn’t paint me in the brightest light, but if someone is going to give me access to your profile, as a journalist, and as a love addict, it is my duty to completely dissect your profile. While Facebook is coined as The Social Network, is does not create a network of love but rather, an “obsessive network.”

And in an effort to un-obsess my life, my thoughts, and my relationships – I’m attempting to get a little less crazy with Facebook. At least in terms of my former flames. I hate when my confidence or my mood goes from super-high to an all-time low when I see one update or one picture or one wall post that makes me sad.  And I hate it even more that I have to physically and emotionally remind myself to not look at someone’s profile because of the damage it could do. Seriously, Facebook is having all these troubles with privacy issues and I think it is rubbing off on its users.

Yes, I’m “friends” with my ex-boyfriends, but only by Facebook’s definition. And I wouldn’t want someone who I really am not that close to digging around into every corner of my profile (but if they do, they’re probably reading this, go figure) – so maybe I should give my former loves the same respect.

So, with the start of step 4, as I dig back into my obsessive habits and try to correct them, the first task…is taking a big ‘ol step back. No more obsessing over what someone writes on someone’s wall who I kissed three times sophomore year of college. No more analyzing the facial expressions of a couple that came to be right after he broke up with me. No more blocking and re-blocking an ex just to see if anything changes.

This journey is not about what my ex-boyfriends are doing on Facebook. It is not about who they are sleeping with instead of being in love with me. It is not about our past, what we’re doing in our presents, or what will happen in our futures. Because any part of “we” or “our” or “us” doesn’t exist.

What does exist is everything I’ve learned from those relationships, the internal battles I’ve had to fight (and will continue to fight) to let go of love and to finally, with the start of this blog, take a stand for myself. And to know that if I wanted to, I could be Facebook official, in love with, in a relationship with… myself (although I won’t do that because that’s just takin’ it a little too far).

So sorry, Facebook, but I’m only going to give you 75 hits a day, instead of the 150 I’ve been giving you the last five years.

But if so-and-so does get engaged, whoever he may be, no one tell me until like step 11, okay?