Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

In Other "News," Turns Out Women Like Getting Laid, Too

"It is by now pretty well understood that traditional dating in college has mostly gone the way of the landline, replaced by “hooking up” — an ambiguous term that can signify anything from making out to oral sex to intercourse — without the emotional entanglement of a relationship.

Until recently, those who studied the rise of hookup culture had generally assumed that it was driven by men, and that women were reluctant participants, more interested in romance than in casual sexual encounters. But there is an increasing realization that young women are propelling it, too." —"Sex on Campus: She Can Play that Game, Too," by Kate Taylor

“Sex on Campus: She Can Play that Game, Too,” an article published in The New York Times on July 12, begins with a description of a young woman called A. When “A.” finishes her night’s worth of studying, she texts “her regular hookup, the guy she is sleeping with but not dating.” As the article goes on to describe: “He texted back: Come over. So she did. They watched a little TV, had sex and went to sleep.”

Apparently, it’s noteworthy that college women are more interested in pursuing their degrees, partying with their friends, and getting laid than falling in love and being in a relationship. While I see the good intentions behind articles such as this—women are driven; women want to have sex; women like to work hard and then party hard—ultimately this article, like many others on this topic, leaves me only rolling my eyes and feeling angry.

Why am I rolling my eyes? I’m rolling my eyes because in 2013 it’s only “an increasing realization” that women are propelling casual sexual encounters. I’m rolling my eyes because of women like Susan Patton, “the Princeton alumna and mother who in March wrote a letter to The Daily Princetonian urging female undergraduates not to squander the chance to hunt for a husband on campus,” who said:

“I thought, ‘My gosh, what have we come to that these brilliant young women are afraid to say that marriage and children are significant parts of what they view as their lifelong happiness?’ ” Ms. Patton said.

“They have gotten such strong, vitriolic messages from the extreme feminists saying, ‘Go it alone — you don’t need a man,’ ” she added.

First off: Plenty of brilliant young women truly don’t view marriage and children as significant factors to their lifelong happiness. It's not that they're afraid to say it. They actually aren’t interested. Shocking! Second: LESBIANS. They exist. Fucking acknowledge that. Not every woman is straight. (Maybe the group she talked to were all straight women interested in marriage and children, but that is simply not representative of every woman.)

But then we get to the “strong, vitriolic messages from the extreme feminists” and I just have to laugh. As this article points out: “But, in fact, many of the Penn women said that warnings not to become overly involved in a relationship came not from feminists, but from their parents, who urged them to be independent.”

(So none of these parents are feminists? Sounds to me like parents who urge their daughters to be independent and driven are exactly that.)

Now, why am I angry? I’m not angry because of this article. I’m angry because this article has to exist in the first place. I’m angry that the first young woman interviewed for this story was only comfortable being addressed as A., which is not even the initial of her first name! The need for anonymity was so important that she was only comfortable using her middle initial.

And why?

“Because they believed that talking publicly about sex could come back to haunt them — by damaging their reputations at Penn, their families’ opinions of them or their professional future — the women spoke on the condition that their full names would not be revealed. Most are identified by their first or middle names or by a middle initial.”

Reputations. Family opinions. Professional futures. These are the things at stake if women dare to not only be free with their sexuality, but are free to speak about it openly. And even with the anonymity, A. was still not comfortable revealing how many sexual partners she has had!

Perhaps articles like this are a step in the right direction for women, and our right to be sexual beings, just as men. But I long for the day where these articles aren’t necessary.

Where women who say they “hook up” rather than pursue relationships because they’re focused foremost on their studies aren’t, in turn, scared that this choice would jeopardize those future opportunities, should their identities be revealed.

I’d like to read an article about women hooking up that doesn’t include the inevitable rape plotline, with the underlying message that women must be wary about getting too drunk, because then what might have been a casual hookup could turn into a casual rape.

I’d like to read about results of a sociologist’s study that doesn’t result in saying that men aren’t focused on pleasing women in hookups because of the sexual double standard, “which sometimes causes men to disrespect women precisely for hooking up with them.” And that women aren’t judging other women for their sexual experiences and reputations!

Enough already!

Now let’s listen to En Vogue!

FREE YOUR MIND.









Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Let's Go Get the Shit Kicked Out of Us By Love

It's that wonderful, terrifying time of year again, when I walk into Target with a plan of buying cotton balls and conditioner and instead leave with multiple bags of dark chocolate and hot pink socks and an overwhelming sense of confusion.

You know what I'm talking about, don't you?

It's Valentine's Day week.

[via here]

Not one minute after I tweeted this the other day:

I was snarling at my Facebook feed that was inundated with articles about love and dating while unwrapping my Dove heart-shaped dark chocolate when I saw it.

Dove had written me a little love note on the wrapper. It said:

Be your own Valentine.



Goddammit, Dove! Stop writing me notes about how I should sleep under the stars tonight and listen to my heart. I just want to eat some chocolate. Leave me alone!

***

Valentine's Day has always annoyed me. Now, before you all start thinking, "oh here we go, another bitter feminist eating dinner with her ten cats and bitching again," just hear me out.

I'm all for love. I'm all for flowers! I'm all for chocolates! All of these things are awesome. So when I say Valentine's Day annoys me, I'm not saying I hate the idea of people taking a day to show another person that they're special. I'm not saying I hate the idea of people thinking February 14th is a great time to get naked together and eat lots of chocolates shaped like hearts. Because that's what Valentine's Day is all about, right? Chocolate and nudity?

But seriously, my annoyance simply stems from all the silly pressure and expectations and inevitable disappointment that can come along with that. I'm not mad about it, though. Hell, I might even wear pink tomorrow. (Actually, that's a lie, I'll be wearing black, like I do every day.)

So now that we're all clear on my stance on this oh-so-important holiday, I'm ready to do something I don't typically do. I want to talk about love.

Recently, I was rejected. (Boo hoo, blah blah, I'm not going to get into details.) For whatever reason, it got me thinking about this time I was rejected by a boy in high school. I was completely enamored with this guy—in spite of the fact that he really wasn't all that nice to me and constantly flirted with my best friend and very likely still had another girlfriend at his old high school that he pretended not to have. So it shouldn't have been that big of a surprise to me the day he announced to me while we were sitting in the gym bleachers that he liked hanging out with me and all, but he didn't want to be my boyfriend. Instead, I felt like he'd just drop-kicked me in the gut and then laughed hysterically as I writhed around in pain. Big, fat tears started falling out of my eyes that I quickly wiped away when I saw some younger girls across the gym smirking at me.

Whyyyyy? I asked myself. Why aren't I good enough? What's WRONG with me?

After school, I promptly went home and cried to my mother. Always my cheerleader, she shook her head during my story and then said: "He's clearly an idiot." Then she launched into a tirade about how smart and beautiful and funny I was, ETC. ETC.

On the one hand, fuck yeah, Mom! On the other: Yes, that dude was kind of an idiot, but the thing is, he wasn't an idiot for not liking me. And I wasn't an idiot for liking someone who didn't like me back in quite the same way.

Quite simply, it just is what it is. Sometimes we get rejected. Sometimes we're the ones doing the rejecting. It's the nature of love and dating.

But while I'd like to think that now, 10 years later, I'm way too mature and self-assured to immediately launch into the same "Whhyyyyy? Why aren't I special?" line of thinking after getting rejected by someone, that same whiny voice still pops in my brain.

It blows. No one likes getting rejected. But what can you do? Absolutely nothing. You can't trick someone into thinking you're the most badass person on the planet and that obviously they could never love another person more than you.

Unfortunately, my 28-year-old self can't run crying to my mom with tales of my failed romantic endeavors. However, my 28-year-old self can buy wine at the liquor store down the street.

So after my most recent romantic rejection, after allowing myself one night of crying into my wine and contemplating breaking framed photos over my knee, I decided to accept it.

It didn't work out. But you know what? Something will.

My main boo Aziz Ansari put it best when he told the A.V. Club:

AVC: Do you have any basic advice for people who think they’re falling in love?

AA: Does the person love them back? If so, enjoy every single second of it. This is the most fun part. I believe it’s really hard to meet someone you have that much of a deep connection with, so you should cherish it.

If the person doesn’t like them back, oof. I’m sorry. That’s a hard situation and it’s not always easy just to move on. When you meet someone you really like and connect with, I think that’s very special, and not to be taken for granted. They discuss this in Before Sunset, one of my favorite films, in a way that really struck a chord with me. Julie Delpy’s character says when she was younger, she thought she’d meet many people of the opposite sex that she would have a special, deep, personal connection with, but as she got older, she realized that’s not the case, and you realize how rare those kind of connections really are. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found I agree with this sentiment.

Sometimes it can be easy to romanticize our unrequited loves, though, so maybe be wary of that. Again, you want what you can’t have. And if someone’s being shitty to you, just move on. If someone’s being shitty to you, no matter how great they are, that’s shitty, and you don’t want be with someone who treats you shitty. Ultimately, there will be someone you meet that you like as much or more, there always is.
It's really true! There always is.

So I just want to say to anyone reading this out there on the Interwebs: Don't let tomorrow bring you down if for some reason it doesn't work out the way you hoped it was all going to when you were eating pints of ice cream and watching Sleepless in Seattle for the 20th time while weeping.

Maybe tomorrow will be great! Maybe it will be the most romantic day of ALL OF OUR LIVES! Or maybe, it will just be Thursday.

Whatever! Just remember, as my dear friend Beth put it so perfectly last night as she quoted Love Actually for some reason while staring into a basket of crawfish:

"Love actually is...all around."

Don't forget that! And whether you're single, married, or juggling 15 different admirers right now because you are just that much of a boss, the fact is, somebody out there thinks you're awesome-sauce. Because you are. (Unless of course, you are this guy. In that case, nobody thinks you're awesome. I hate you.)

But for everyone else:



So let's do it. Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love.

Happy Valentine's Day!

xo,
Alison(composes)

[seriously. crawfish.]

Friday, June 12, 2009

Update: Awkwardness Averted, Sorta

Enough people have asked me about the awkward text message I promised was in the future after my run-in on the El Wednesday morning that I feel obliged to give you an update. First off, if you’re wondering if I still went on that date, I’m going to need you to smack yourself across the face. Hard. Clearly I did not go on this date. Are you fucking kidding me? Does “I’m going to go stand down there now” ring any bells?

Okay, now that we’ve got that part cleared up, here’s another fun fact from Wednesday. So, before THAT GUY practically sprinted away from me on the El platform, he asked me if I had to work that night. My answer was yes. And yes, he knows where I work. He may or may not frequent the bar. Get off my back.

(Side note: THAT GUY is now his official name, as I’m either changing his name in my phone to THAT GUY or deleting it completely).

Fast forward to many hours later. I’m now at work and slightly buzzed from the shots of Jameson Rachel and friends forced me to take with them. (By forced I mean asked politely if I wanted to take shots with them, obviously. Or did I suggest the shots? Mwahaha. Umm, just kidding. I am a responsible young budding journalist. I would never take shots of whiskey while at work.)

ANYWAY. So I’m doing whatever it is I do when waiting tables and I happen to look toward the door just as...THAT GUY walks in. He sits at the bar for a few minutes while I consult with everyone what I should do in this situation. I heard enough “let him come to you” suggestions that I pretend I’m busier than I really am and actually pay attention to my tables. But after a few more minutes, he still hasn’t approached me, and I’m really irritated. What the hell is THAT GUY doing?

Just as I start to head over to him, he leaps up from the bar and scurries out. Now, I don’t know if he saw me or not, but still: LAME. At this point I have every intention of just blowing him off completely, which ordinarily I would never do, but good god, this behavior deserves a blow off. I assume he’s not going to contact me either after these displays of weird social behavior. But then:

Last night around 6ish I get a text from him. “we still on for drinks?”

Umm, NO, you weirdo. I reply: “sorry, something came up.”

By something, I meant I’d rather hang out with my cats all night, every night, than go out with you. Ever.

Just another example of why I told my father I've given up on dating. Although in retrospect I'm pretty sure he interpreted that as, "I'm a lesbian, Dad."


*Spencer, I dropped that F-bomb specifically in honor of you becoming a follower. Was it necessary? Always.