What Happens In...

This is all that comes up on a Google search anymore. Just as well. Source: Google Images

Ahhh summer. Time for vacation. This, by definition, is a time to vacate your life. It’s time to leave the gloomy, miserable, day-to-day goings-on of home and go somewhere shiny and new. It’s time to forget the sad loser you’re stringing along at home and find someone to remind you for a short time that you’re worthy of love (or something). Right? Right??

Wrong. Nobody really knows what happened to the real men, cowboys who shot guns and chewed tobacco and told Miss Kitty, “No, no, I will not marry you. I need my freedom.”  (They were very formal.) You know, men who did all those disgusting things women pretended to hate but secretly really, really loved. No, today men get pedicures and buy carnations and use brand-name lotion and shampoo (no more 2-in-1 Pert for them, it’s just awful for your hair). Men can only vaguely recall the phrase about something staying where it happened…that can’t be it, can it? Love knows no geographical boundaries! All they need is love! They’ll make it work!

So does Vegas need a new catchphrase? In this androgynous culture, does what happens in _____ stay in ______? (Yes, my belief is this phrase should be adopted to include all vacation spots.)

Men were once the arbiters of this phrase. Starry-eyed women would go off on trips with their friends in the hopes of meeting the perfect guy, who would no doubt end up moving back with them to their hometown after a quick long distance relationship after which he deemed their separation ‘intolerable’. Instead, men would promise all sorts of magical wonder only to vanish the next day, dashing the girls’ hopes and restoring the world to order.

Some guys may grunt, “Only one night for me. Kevin want no relationship.” (This hearkens back to the caveman era. Just like when guys ask each other if they want to eat with a low, guttural “LUNCH!” That’s what happens, right?) Anyway, to them I pose this question. If the fabled one-night mentality still exists, why do girls run into someone every vacation trying to text, poke, friend, voicemail and message their way into their hearts? Yes, EVEN IN VEGAS.

For the record, don’t worry men, there is assuredly still a large group of you who act like Jon Hamm in Bridesmaids. For the rest of you, though…

Most, if not all, of the dissolution of the phrase can be attributed to Facebook. You know, the social website. The one where you can talk to all your supercool frenemies from high school, your mom’s friends, your crazy aunt, and now your would-be forgotten Lover. (This phrase is a catch-all, spanning all bases from a mere dance to, well, to quote Ke$ha, “…” No, I can’t bring myself to do that. You get it.) 

Just when you begin to store away the pictures, sunscreen and fond memories of frolic, you’ll get a friend request. Only, and this is important, you’re NOT friends. You’re Lovers. Temporal Lovers, at that. Remember how you only had alcohol in common?

This communication will slowly eat away at those happy vacation memories. The struggle to rendezvous betwixt the inhabitants of two far-off lands will drive you crazy. (If you care about them at all. If you don't, their struggle to rendezvous will still drive you crazy.) And one year later, you'll get a poke (UGH) (UGH) (UGH) from said Lover that will finally prompt you to fling yourself from your office window and take one final vacation.  BTW: Don't come crying to me when Moses wants to see you again back on the new earth. You've been warned.

The Desperate

There are no words. Source: Google Images

Pleeeaase read this blog about desperation. It’s going to be so great, if you only give it a chance. You may think you don’t want to read it, but you’d be wrong. This blog might not be the prettiest blog, but it has a full-time job and a 401k. One day you might even want to marry this blog and have its babies. Just give it a chance! Please!

BET you don’t want to read this blog. Bet you want to tell it to shove it and find a cool blog, one that effortlessly caught your attention. A blasé blog. A blog wearing Ray-Bans and a plaid shirt that perfectly complements its toned biceps.

With that in mind, here’s the question of the week. It’s quite simple. Does desperation ever work?

Well, you’re still reading.

Ha. Okay, the real issues. On first glance, most would be inclined to say no. Very few have fallen prey to the subtle charms of “Hey, it’s me again. It’s 4:33 on Saturday. (p.m. Did I say p.m.?) Anyway, just wanted to say hi and see if you got my last message. That offer still stands tonight if you’re free. Soo yeah, call me back or text me when you get this.” Yes, that just screams casual.

First, let’s clear up a big misunderstanding. Phones now are very advanced. They actually record the time a phone call and voicemail was received. And, when you listen to a voicemail, that lovely robotic voice tells you the exact time it came in. So everyone, stop saying the time of day you call. You just look like a doofus. Yes, a doofus. And it’s just as embarrassing as that word.

ANYway, though desperation will fail 90% of the time, it seems there are two types of people who may give in. (Disclaimer: this only applies to people in their twenties. Desperation and its success increase exponentially with age.)

1. Codependent female looking for love
2. Male of average to poor looks looking for loooove (subtle, yes?)

The KEY to this equation is that both parties are desperate. They may not know it, but they are.

Examples, examples: Cody (short for codependent) is feeling pretty sorry for herself. She was just faded out (one point for readers who recognize the term!) by another guy. Stalker (short for stalker), whom Cody met at a bar two weeks ago after getting a little too friendly with Jack Daniels, just texted her again. She can no longer ignore his siren song. Stalker offers attention, cuddling, and maybe even a meal at Taco Bell.

Now, a look at Stalker. He is of category 2. He is not good-looking, because this type of guy doesn’t resort to desperation to get girls. Girls are desperate for him (sigh). It’s been awhile for Stalker (ahem) and he really enjoyed his debaucherous night with Cody. So much so that when she doesn’t get back to him immediately, he feels it is in his best interest to call and text back repeatedly.

Hint: it’s not. Despite the inevitability of a category 1 or 2 responding to a desperate call like the Bat-Signal, it won’t last. (Batman must have been desperate if Maggie Gyllenhaal was the love interest in The Dark Knight. Really? Jake would have been a better choice.)

As Disney princess/fairy tale as it sounds, there will be someone who can actually reciprocate the feelings of these desperados. (And then they’ll come to their senses, because they’ve been out ridin’ fences for so long now. Ha! Sorry, had to be done.)  Something better is bound to come along. The grass-is-greener generation has been told to reach for the stars, as in Angelina! Zac! Kim! Justin!

So stop. Stop with the excessive calling and texting. Even if someone answers you, you don’t really want them. It won’t end well. And you! Stop answering. Stop perpetuating this cycle. Dig up those old standards out of the attic and dust off the mothballs. Now that Osama has been sent to a watery grave, the next step to world peace is dating people we actually like. (By the way, Ron Paul, there’s your slogan for the next campaign.)

The Fade Out: An Exposé

My sincere feelings on the Fade Out. Source: Google Images

The Bermuda Triangle. Dead zones. The space-time continuum (maybe?). Death. To someone who has not been called/texted back, these begin to seem like very plausible options. They provide some peace of mind that maybe, JUST maybe, it’s not their fault. It’s the Universe.

The Fade Out. Most have done it or had it done to them at some point. Both sides are extremely awkward and uncomfortable, but the people of Generation Y have decided that this bit of discomfort pales in comparison to the awful “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, or even worse, the “it’s you” speech. (Yeah, right. Like people would tell the truth! Sheesh.) Unfortunately, in today’s media-soaked society, where there are boundless ways to contact someone, it’s difficult to convince oneself that they lost the number or are just realllly busy right now, so busy that they can’t even look at their phone for 3.5 seconds to send a text.

So. Should the Fade Out be the preferred option, or does full disclosure soften the blow?

Fair warning, this may get uncomfortable. Already some are hearkening back to that magical night of sushi and ice skating, wine and conversation. Deep meaningful looks and shared wonder that a good first date was finally, finally to be had. But of course it wasn’t, because a second was never attained. Yes, love was eternally lost, blah, blah, BLAH. Now stop eating that chocolate bar and pay attention.

Similar to the ebb and flow of emotion of one who has been faded (ha), this investigation begins vaguely and painfully. From Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy: “Do I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life?”

Ouuuuuch. Yes, the initial realization of a Fade Out often makes its victim question their self-worth. Aren’t they fun? Are they so forgettable that someone can disregard them without so much as a look back? These are the things they ponder while gently weeping into their Baskin Robbins Peanut Butter ‘n’ Chocolate (or something).

Next phase: indignation (for those who have ANY sense of self-respect). How dare they not call me, I should have done it first, etc., etc., etc…Usually most folks eventually get round to the biggest problem with the Fade Out: curiosity. Because we are American, and it is our right to know.

One unidentified male proclaimed that the most frequent reason for the Fade Out is the return to an ex. Just a guess, but speaking from the perspective of those who have FO’d this is BS. Field research (definitely NOT personal experience) indicates much more basic reasoning. In fact, a reason isn’t even required. Sometimes people just don’t want to see each other again.

People don’t get this. There is absolutely no way anyone can like everyone they date. It’s mathematically impossible (probably). The mere fact that Trekkies exist means there is an undateable portion of humanity. If only the world could grasp this concept, full disclosure would reign once again. “Hey, this isn’t really working.” “I know!”

Unfortunately there are exceptions and people are difficult (ugh), but we should all really take a cue from The Invention of Lying. Next first date that doesn’t pick up the tab, tell him (or her? That would be weird) what a loser he is. Puts out too quickly? Puttanesca (Italian for whore’s-style spaghetti, it’s quite good).   Doesn’t ‘dance’? AS if.

Yes, next time that person won’t accept the fact that they’ve been faded out after two skipped texts, one ignored call and voicemail, AND a denied Facebook request (can’t make this stuff up), give full disclosure a try. Curiosity may kill the cat, but criticism will finish the job.

Oh, and check in for the next segment on DESPERATION.