Tools that the Dating World is Missing

At twenty-one, I graduated a semester early and then moved thirteen hours away from my friends and family to work in a new state and live alone. I made some pretty big decisions, including adopting a rescue dog and then transferring back up North to live in Boston, a great city where the rent really is too damn high. I put money into a matching 401K, got off my parents insurance policy, and started picking my own doctors.

In the past three years, I’ve gotten quite comfortable and capable. I understand my job, schedule my doctor appointments annually, pay my ridiculous rent, and essentially get shit done.

However, one thing that always been a mystery to me and to be honest, something that seems to be a mystery to most twenty-somethings is dating. I do not, for the life of me, understanding dating and marriage, and sometimes I come back from a night out wishing that certain tools existed to help me better identify who I should be investing my time in. Because most of the time, my friends are all:

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And I’m like:

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1. Indicators of availability: How many times have you struck up a genuine conversation with someone, only to realize that they have a significant other at home, overseas, arriving later, etc. I would like indicators that automatically tell me who is available to chat up and who isn’t going home to a bed that they have to share. Wedding rings are a great signal so how about they make rings for exclusively committed.

And what about the guys that don’t tell you they have a significant other? I would like insurance to know that I am not intentionally home wrecking.

Personally, I would also like indicators of crazy ex girlfriends that are still in their lives, because ain’t nobody got time for that.

2. Tinder in Real Time: I would love to know who in the bar finds me attractive. That way I don’t waste my time with guys that are completely uninterested. I know this might seem superficial, but guys aren’t going to strike up a conversation with me because I look like I like the Wire. They are going to chat me up because they are into Asians with subtlety placed Eagle tattoos.

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3. Disclaimer of Intentions: Honestly? I would appreciate it if guys that have only wanted sex just said that they only wanted sex. Don’t date me to entertain me. I could be hanging out with friends or treating myself to a massage, both things that are infinitely more intimate than any time I’ll be spending with you after hours.

4. Criminal Records, Ex Wives, Hidden Children: There are some things that are fun to share during a date, like food preferences, family stories, and common interests/hobbies. Things like wrap sheets and prison tattoos? NOT.

5. More Overt Invitation to Approach: Countless of times, my girlfriends and I will lock a target of hot eligible bachelors in our sights, and we end of spending the night eye screwing them until someone makes a motion hours later.

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By that time my face hurts from smiling, and I’ve already consumed too many shots to care. In the animal kingdom, various dances are performed, colors appear, and feathers are revealed to signal a “come hither”. In the human world, we spend the entire night wondering if he will come over, if I should go over, what do I say when I go over, and then regret it when nothing happens.

6. Gamer Player or Game Changer: Because I would like to know if you feed into this whole “if you care less than you are winning” game or if you’re an adult and text me when you want to talk to me. I’ve spent years playing this game and to be honest I am exhausted.

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7. The Fab Five: Knowing the top five things that you two have in common would be a fantastic way to differentiate between the guy at the bar that shares your interest in politics and dogs, or the guy with whom the only interest you share is that you both have a brother.

8. Alcohol Meter: I would love to know how many drinks someone has sucked down before I had the honor to meet them.

9. An Out of Five Star Rating: Knowing what the common consensus of an individual was before meeting them would be pretty helpful. Like any hotel or restaurant that comes with a five star capable rating for things such as menu, service, and cleanliness; those ratings for a potential mate would be much appreciated. Any personal reviews would be welcome as well.

10. A Bullshit Radar: would be strong for the obvious reasons.

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Realizing that a bad hangover has NOTHING on food poisoning

WARNING: the following content may be extremely graphic, especially if you’re one of those guys that don’t believe that humans of the female variety poop. I mean they just don’t. We are perfectly beautiful, gorgeous, and ethereal creatures that don’t even emit stinky vapors let alone excrement. Keep thinking that and stop reading.

For the women, the realists, and the biologists who insist that all living organisms need to emit their waste in order to survive, you can continue to read this post because this weekend I experienced the WORST curse on my digestive system that I have EVER experienced in my twentysomething years.

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Those familiar with the college life are probably also familiar with the bad hangover. Feeling dehydrated, nauseous, and weak may have been an every Sunday occurrence after a weekend of cheap Barton shots and boxed Franzia. I’ve had my share and boy do I know what a bad hangover feels like. Forgetting to eat dinner and stay hydrated with water on the weekends before downing a few whiskey gingers have become habitual. So has waking up the next morning, refusing to get out of bed, and claiming that “I am NEVER going to drink AGAIN”. I usually feel and look like I’ve been hit by a bus.

However, this weekend, I probably looked like that same bus reversed back over me and hit me again. After a now regretful egg salad sandwich, I experienced food poisoning over which I would take a bad hangover any day of the week. Literally, my bowels are turning just talking about it, but I need to get this in writing so that when I experience my next bad and inevitable hangover, I can read this and thank my lucky stomach that I don’t have food poisoning.

Sweet Jesus it was absolutely God awful.

After eating the egg salad at about 3:30pm on Satuday, I was struck with calm, maybe feeling a bit bloated, but nothing out of the ordinary. Twelve hours later, I was puking on a sidewalk, but I chalked it up to the bumpy Boston cab rides that trigger my motion sickness. Confident that I had absolutely NOTHING in my system, I went to bed just feeling nauseous.

I wake up at 8am with an intense pain that felt like I was being impaled with a red hot poker. My eyes are literally watering from the pain and I run to the bathroom to puke. Realizing I don’t need to puke and probably have a case of the DADS (Day After Drinking Shits) I decide to poop. Talk about opening Pandora’s box. And I thought I had nothing in me.

I try going back to bed, but trips to the bathroom kept me awake until around 11am when I decide to give up. I get dressed, brush my teeth and as soon as the toothpaste hits my tongue I vomit again.

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“Must be a hangover” I tell myself, until I’m sitting in the living room waiting to go into work and remembering that my roommate who also ate the egg salad was complaining about a stomach ache. Well I guess I better call in today, because if it’s food poisoning my hour commute might end exorcist style. I have experienced the after morning sickness of a hangover, however, the best part about puking from alcohol is feeling the weight of nausea being lifted after you pull the trigger. With food poisoning, that relief never comes and you’re subject to stomach cramp after stomach cramp that never ends no matter how much you pray and promise that you’ll be a better person if only this nasty experience would just end.

There is nothing more humiliating than having to shit and puke at the same time, and I feel SO MUCH SYMPATHY for those that have ever experienced suck an AWFUL trial.

With my roommates Goggling my symptoms and what I should be eating, it’s decided that I have food poisoning and I should go grab some Gatorade for the electrolytes that my body is so violently getting rid of. I decide to go to the convenient store right across the street for some Powerade Zero and after being gone no longer than 5 mins, I come back out of breath and practically stumbling for my composure. I’m a ridiculous mess. I take a few sips, take a Tums for my stomach acid, and immediately puke it up. Great.

By the end of the night, my throat is dry, I am starving, and my ass literally hurts.  I’ll never again complain about being hungover, ever.

NYE with Beer and Feminism and Twenty Something What is My Life

I’ve been dreaming of this moment: a co-post with my fellow Binghamton drunkie A.Merc at Beer and Feminism.

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EXPECTATIONS VERSUS REALITY

My girl T.Ko over at Twenty Something What Is My Life is not only my favorite gorgeous lotus flower, but she’s also a seasoned Binghamton drinker which means the two of us know how to get drunk in sub-zero temperatures.

So, naturally, we would spend NYE together, and naturally we would go to some bougy Manhattan catering hall (Gotham Lounge) and naturally we would blog about it.

T.Ko and I, while obviously soulmates (tonight T.Ko will be an ethereal Asian angel wearing all white with soft gorgeous curls while I will be in a devilish black sequined pantsuit rocking a mohawk), have different expectations for what will go down on the final night of 2013.

Here are our own expectations, with the other’s dose of reality (i.e. T.Ko has already shot down my desire to find and bone a New York Ranger).

A.Merc’s Expectation: I will find and make-out with at least two boys and one girl throughout the night. They all will be at least eights on a scale of one to panty dropping.

T.Ko‘s Reality: A.Merc is clearly underestimating herself, I mean the girl is going out in a fucking pantsuit and mohawk. You’re welcome for finding that in the upturned racks at Urban Outfitters BTW. At least two boys in the first hour and half and another two after midnight. One girl is playing it safe. What she doesn’t realize is that drunk girls (especially drunk girls on New Years Eve) are all just playing a big game of monkey see monkey do—one girl sees her friend making out with a fellow vagina and the next thing you know it’s a giant tonsil hockey orgy.

T.Ko’s Expectation: While unsuccessful in the year 2013, T.Ko will ring in 2014 by finding the perfect balance of slightly tipsy and destroyingly hammered. She’s learned from her 2013 experiences, where a night out drinking will either turn into mothering one of her three roommates into bed at 2 a.m. or throwing up on the side of the street at 3:30 a.m and passing out on the couch while the room is spinning.

A.Merc’s Reality: T.Ko will ring in 2014 rip-roaringly drunk, partially because she will not have yet discovered her alcoholic sweet spot and partially because I will be ramming drinks down her throat the entire night to make the insane amount of money we are spending sting a smidge less. Hopefully she will be my puking partner in crime and we can decorate the LIRR car with our multi-colored vomit.

A.Merc’s Expectation:I will spend the entire night in my fantastic shoes, dancing like Britney Spears and not feeling any pain in my toes whatsoever. I will not take my shoes off.

T.Ko’s Reality: T.Ko is surprised that after all her time in Binghamton she has never heard a Long Island girl have a raging bitch fest over something only mildly dramatic like hurt toes. Tonight that’s gonna change. It will all start an hour into dancing at Gotham, where Alyssa cannot fight the temptation to twerk, work, and dance her pierced tits off. All that dancing will pay a heavy price, not only on her feet, but on my ears and patience. I will mutter death threats under my breath the entire night.

T.Ko’s Expectation: I guarantee I will meet one guy tonight that will consider me the ideal woman, want to wife me up, and spend the entire night following me around. That’s not me being cocky (“Or is it?”—A.Merc), I tend to not give off the suck my face vibe, but actually manage to hold intelligent and captivating conversations. No matter how hard I try not to be, I always end up being the girl you want to take home to mom and dad, whether Asians are your thing or not.

A.Merc’s Reality: T.KO is underestimating the power of the Asian persuasion. While I will be making a fool of myself in some darkened corner, T.Ko will most likely be getting proposed to just as the ball drops, in a touching act of love at first sight from some poor soul who mistakes her kindness as an act of love. BTW I want to be maid of honor at the wedding.

Oppan Gatsby Style! Throwing My First After College Party

I promised a post for anytime I threw a rager. Well, the party we thew last Saturday night might not have been a rager, but rather a grown up, dress up, champagne brimmed gathering with my roommates and about twenty of our friends. Needless to say, this party was worlds away from the keggers I used to throw in college that ended in 4loko pong and shame. What is my life?

No matter. Did I mentioned the party was filled with champagne? About fifteen bottles worth. It appears that the cheapness of Andre Extra Dry can be masked by the cheapness of the plastic coupe stemware that it’s served in. However, it’s all about looking classy is it not?

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I challenge you to find a college dorm room party that has a table dedicated to fizzy libations, decorated in bottles and pearls. Now you may be asking, “Was fifteen bottles enough?” The answer: No. So we bought three handles of Vodka, Rum, and Gin and a thirty rack of beer. Also noted, was that if I ever find a time machine to take me back to my college years, I would’ve made gin fizzes more often.

Another thing that would be hard to find at a college frat party? A spread of home-made hors d’oeuvres. Yes, commence the woman in the kitchen jokes, because that is where I spent my entire day; however, did Zeta Psi ever have shrimp cocktail at their mansion parties?? I bet they didn’t have tomato mozzarella skewers either. Hell, they probably didn’t even cut up some fruit to throw in a bowl. So, was the work worth it? Yes. I was a straight up Boozy Martha Stewart.

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Now, to mention something that may run along the same vein when it comes to similarities in party styles: throwing a themed party. I have been to my share of toga, heaven and hell, and tiki shindigs. This one had a dress code and it was Gatsby. So I asked the ladies to bust out the red lipstick, dresses, pearls, feathers and fringe. As for the gentleman, I encouraged suits, bowties, and hats. What I got was straight up Gatsby style. Fake mustaches, top hats, cummerbunds, wigs, feathers, cigarette holders, boas, and sparkles; even my dog had a bowtie. I wish I wasn’t so drunk off my deadly concoction of gin and champagne to work a camera, but really I’m quite happy I was.

Another major difference was the cost. In college, my roommates and I would throw in for a thirty rack of Keystone Light, a handle of Mr. Boston, and a sheet pizza (if we had the extra funds). Cost: $20. Our party would hit jackpot if we could somehow create a make shift pong table out of chairs, boxes, nightstands, doors, or cardboard found on the street.

So my parties have come a long way from throwing get togethers in Suite 123 in Cleveland Hall. A few last things to mention include not having to worry about an R.A knocking us for underage drinking, and I was in bed by 1:30am. Yeah, things have changed.

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