Three's company too

I'll admit that I'm a jealous person when it comes to my best friends. Which is probably why I hate it so much when they start dating people outside of our immediate circle, even though I know that it would be d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r if we dated within it. I just hate that the group dynamic changes so significantly. Especially at first. And though we eventually adjust, and I typically end up loving hanging around the new addition, there's still that residual third wheel feeling that rears its ugly head every once in a while.

Though I try to hide it, I resent that there's a new favorite in my best friends' lives. What once used to be a girls' night out, turns into a 2 girls, a boy, and no pizza place (who knows that allusion?) night out. While I used to be the person that my girlfriend or best guy friend would turn to for anything, I now find myself being shut out and unaware of what's going on as they increasingly turn to their significant others for comfort. The thing is, I understand completely, and agree that they should be spending time with the boyfriend or the girlfriend. That significant other is now the person who knows them best and if they want something to result from their relationship, then they need to nurture it. My resentment stems from my position loss as Most Trusted Confidante even though I know I should give it up. I mean, seriously - who is he/she to come along and sweep my friends off their feet, and void 4 years of best-friendship with a couple of sweet nothings and kisses? My worst fear is that I'll soon become a hanger-on - that one friend who tags along, and you can never quite get rid of.

So what's the solution? They could stop inviting me along/I can stop going with, and thus avoid the whole Third Wheel situations. That'll also keep me safe from any excess PDA-ing that seemingly always occurs when inhibitions are lowered, thanks to the powerful effects of alcohol. Honestly, what are you supposed to do when your friends start making out in front of you? (Yes, look away is the correct answer, but you don't go out with friends to stare at the wall the whole night.) And given that we are the target demographic for bar crowds, and far too cheap for the dinner and a movie audience, that'll mean that I would be facing a lot of lonely nights in. We're getting older, people are feeding that urge to settle down, and it seems as though everyone is "in a relationship." So when you're the single gal in a group of drunk paired-off friends, you stick out like a sore single thumb. And really, if I keep staying in, the vicious cycle will only get more vicious.

I'm selfish. I know that I should find the independent woman inside of me, and nix the Third Wheel feelings I get, or let my best friends go out and have their fun without me. But I also know that if I were to stop hanging out with them in such situations, our friendship would eventually deteriorate so that it's just a semblance of an acquaintance. I'm not willing to let that happen. I'm not willing to give them up. I just wish everything could stay the same. Progress is overrated anyhow.

Clearly the best solution would be if my best friends just started dating each other. Then we could continue to be a merry little trio forever.

I know that's delusional, irrational, and completely impossible. But a girl can wish.

This post brought to you by Paranoid

It's been a while since I've felt this way about a guy.

I take it back. I felt this way about this same guy three years ago, but I was young and naive and thought that there were bigger fishies in the sea, and had a lot of detours before I recently realized that he checks off everything on my infamous list. I've rediscovered my ideal guy, if you will.

So I was telling my friend about how I had found this guy who is perfect for me.

"Oh? How so?"

"He's tall, dimpled, and Taiwanese."

"Oh I think I know who you're referring to!"

"What!?"

"Yeah! Isn't he from Ohio? And he has a sister? And he plays the violin? And he's older right?" he queried, listing more of his characteristics and my qualifications.

"Y-Y-Yes...how did you know?!" I sputtered, a little worried that my friend might be stalking me.

"There aren't many tall, dimpled, Taiwanese boys in med school."

Amused that I had clear proof that a) my friends know me too well and b) there is only one fish in the sea for me, I put up an away message with the less incriminating part of our conversation, and then went on my merry way to the gym.

I came back an hour later and realized with horror that The Boy and his best friend were both online. Having talked to them on and off throughout the past three years, I started freaking out that they somehow had read my away message (probable) and deduced who I was referring to (doubtful).

After spazzing out, I decided that I was overthinking things, and my secret was most definitely safe with me and my friend.

Then I checked my email and found that the best friend had written me an innocuous note mentioning how it had been a long time since we'd last talked and asked how I was. Granted, that may be pure coincidence. Still, cue the paranoia.

So I checked his away message, which read: Funny how history always repeats itself.

HOW DOES HE KNOW?!

Treat me right (I'm yours for life)

Now that the drama of the past week has died down somewhat, we can now return to our regularly scheduled song-titled posts.

I never watched Sex and the City when it was on HBO. Why would I want to watch four women - who weren't all that attractive in my opinion - fool around with different men and talk about it over breakfast the next day? Heck, I had Friends and Alias to watch on regular cable.

Then, two summers ago, when my friends and I were renting a furnished apartment from four sorority girls, we stumbled across all the SATC DVDs.

Now here I am. A twentysomething girl who's jumped on the bandwagon. And like all the others who've come before me, I find myself admiring Samantha's ability to be completely emotionally detached from her relationships, talking like the ever-cynical Miranda, wishing for Carrie's glamorous life and salary (how one gets to shop and dress that well for merely writing a weekly sex column is beyond me), all while identifying with the fairytale-wanting Charlotte.

In a sense, I could identify with all of the girls. When I first came to college, I was completely naive and positive that my first boyfriend would be perfect and everything would be la vie en rose. (It wasn't.) So then I went through the Miranda stage - swearing off men, and absolutely determined to be my own independent woman - minus the whole single mother plotline. And of course I empathized with Carrie and her knack of getting into the most ridiculous situations. She thought she had it bad when Berger broke up with her via a Post-It note. My Berger broke up with me as we were watching Iron Chef, comparing our relationship to an overcooked lobster and a shrinking prawn. Yeah. I still don't get the analogy.

But I've never been a Samantha. And while I don't think I could ever be Samantha - what with all that sleeping around and running around the city in stilettos and skimpy tops - I've always admired her dating mentality. She's confident and knows that men are a dime a dozen. She never gets too attached and because she never has any expectations, she never gets let down.

This being the last quarter of my life in college, I figured I'd do the whole casual dating thing. This is my quarter to be a Samantha.

Too bad TV doesn't equal reality.

Really, how can any girl emotionally detach herself from a relationship? We're not wired that way. I could point to all those evolutionary theories about how females look for security and monogamy, but when it gets down to it - females value companionship. Girls have best friends who know every secret. Boys have gym buddies who know how much they can lift, and will occasionally motivate each other to do more. Girls are just programmed to form attachments. We thrive on them.

Think about it. Very rarely do you ever see a woman eating by herself, without a book, phone, or computer to hide behind. We live for our friendships and girl talk. It's impossible to think that we'd date a guy and not become invested. And if he's even remotely cute, man, how can we avoid becoming attached?

Earlier this quarter, I met a guy and we hung out twice. And even though I knew at the time, and even now, that nothing would come of it, since we both specifically stated so, I still find myself stalking him. Avoiding corridors where I know he's in class. Dodging past outdoor concerts where his band was playing. Obsessively checking his away message. I'll stop here so you guys don't think I'm crazier than you already think.

I am no Samantha. But really, I don't think any girl really can be. Because, let's face it ladies, if we're willing to be even semi-charmed by a guy, and don't find ourselves instantly repulsed, we're a little attracted. And once that attraction hits, there's no avoiding the attachment that's going to form. The more you hang out with a guy, the more attracted and more attached you'd be.

What is wrong with me? I should be studying for midterms instead of obsessing over the fact that a guy hasn't called me - never mind that I specifically didn't give him my number. And honestly, he's not even anything worth writing home about. He can't sing (though he believes he can). He should cut his hair. He dresses like he's still in high school and not about to graduate. And he mumbles. He had all the makings for a casual spring fling. It's me that can't be involved in something so casual.

And here's the reason. I can't have a spring fling because I don't want to be a spring fling myself. Here's the truth. I want someone to put down roots with. I want something to bloom from my romances. And spring flings just don't appeal to the romantic in me. Yes, there's something very passionate about falling in love with someone so quickly, but the fact that you could just as easily be cast aside is very disarming.

So, true to my word and Year of Yes resolution, I've flirted with casual dating and spring flings. But I'm done. It just not my kind of thing. I'm done with the Mr. Right Nows. I'm perfectly willing to wait for something meaningful.

Friendly advice

A story from a friend:

"Lunched with my cousin at 168. We had a good chat about things. He was trying to make me feel better about myself by telling me that on the very simple level, guys do not like these four things: 1. Girls who are ugly. 2. Girls who are fat. 3. Girls who are dumb. 4. Girls who are domineering. He reminded me I am none of these four things, and anytime I feel bad about myself, to 'remember the four things.'"

What a great companion piece for my post about my conversation with my sister.

Sisterly advice

"I don't want a boyfriend anyways," I huffed, all while pouting like a five-year old.

"Right," she said sarcastically, briefly glancing at me, as she maneuvered around traffic.

"I'm serious!"

"If everyone else around you is hooking up with significant others, you're gonna want one too."

"Noooooo. I'm independent. I don't need a boy to validate me. Besides, I definitely don't want one right now."

"Okay. If you say so. But I know you're gonna want one soon. And when that happens, remember: 1. Wash your face. 2. Brush your teeth. and 3. Play hard to get."

Love is a battlefield

All is not fair in love and war.

There are so many rules in the book of love. If you ask someone out for the first date, you pay for dinner, while your date is obligated to make a half-hearted offer to split the bill. After asking for someone's phone number, you must wait three days (but only three days) before actually calling them. Don't expect anything to come from a random makeout session except a really awkward conversation when you inevitably run into them later in the week - when you're both sober and all too aware of your previous embarrassing encounter.

And the penultimate rule: thou shall not covet a friend's crush.

It's universal and oh so important that there have been both male and female rewordings. Chicks before dicks. Bros before ho's.

Yet, it happens. Two guys will like the same girl. Two girls will like the same guy. Sometimes it ends happily with one person deciding that the crush doesn't mean all that much to them and conceding The Contest. Guys usually fight it out, and then one guy gets the girl, and the other keeps his pride (because clearly, another unwritten rule here is that the guy who gets the girl MUST lose the fight) and then after a couple of months, things return to normal.

But oftentimes, that crush ends up breaking the friendship. That crush leads to resentment and bitterness between the two once-friends. And just like that, Sam, it's the end of a beautiful friendship.

I've been in all different permutations of this situation.

I've been the jilted one. Bitter that he would chose Her over Me. I mean, honestly! What does She have that I don't? And then, how do you reconcile the hurt you must feel?

I've been the one to "give up" the crush. Bitter that just because she was the first to announce to the world that she liked him, that she should get "first dibs." And really, when do the dibs end? If he inevitably doesn't like her, shouldn't the rest of us get a chance? How come he is still considered untouchable? And how is that possibly fair?

So getting to the point of this post: You are friends with your friends for very specific reasons. You guys have the same interests. Maybe a similar traumatic childhood. Maybe it's just alcohol. Regardless, something drew you guys to each other and made you friends. It's bound to happen that, with time, you'd end up being attracted to the same person.

We come up with all these unwritten rules. But which rules were made to be broken?

And what do you do with the inevitable fallout?

World on fire

The day was like any other - the sun was out and people were decisively missing class to tan next to the lake. My ethics class had just ended and with my iPod earbuds firmly in place, I started my twenty-minute trek home. Clad casually in a skirt and a thin hoodie, I realized that I love spring. Not only does it mean flipflops weather, but everyone is out - playing catch, throwing around a frisbee, chatting up old friends. Everyone is nicer (and more beautiful) during the springtime. As I neared my dorm, I realized that more people were out than normal. Strange, I thought, I thought we were the anti-social, nerdy dorm. Clearly spring fever is contagious and everyone has caught it.

That's when I heard the fire alarm blaring resolutely over the Michelle Branch and Santana song in my ear.

Well, that's inconvenient, I thought - remembering all the reading I still had to do for my two midterms. For fire drills, we're usually locked out for at least an hour. And I was hungry. I scanned the crowd, hoping to find my suitemates so I could suggest going out for dinner to help pass the time.

People were still streaming out the doors when I saw her. My suitemate. Weeping openly and shaking uncontrollably, while others stood uncomfortably around her, not knowing what to do.

Oh crap.

That's when I realized that this was no fire drill. Worriedly, I clawed my way through the crowd to get to my suitemate.

"S-S-Stephanie?" she stuttered through her sobs as I approached.

At first I was perplexed. Was she so in shock that she had forgotten my name?

"No honey...It's Michelle...Don't worry. It's all going to be fine."

"N-n-noooooo...Is Stephanie out? Do you see her? She was inside...Oh my god - the flames were so big..." She muttered as she turned to look at me, her hand covering her face.

Stephanie is my other suitemate and good friend. We've lived with each other for several years. The last dorm we lived in had faulty smoke detectors, and she had developed a habit of locking herself in her room and sleeping/studying through the noise.

"She just got back from the gym. Someone needs to check her room! Does anyone see her?!" She made a mad rush for the door, where an RA barred the entrance. Frenzied, muttering oh my god every 30 seconds or so, and completely distraught, she was - and understandably so - an utter mess.

Every authority who came out the door was subject to my suitemate's questioning - Is everyone out of the suite? Did you check the rooms? Please, sir, you HAVE to check the rooms! Have you seen Stephanie?!

After five or so of these interrogations, they finally realized that she was the only witness to the fire and invited her inside to go over the details with the fire inspector.

That's when I started freaking out. She had said that the flames were "so big," but how big were they? I imagined our entire suite in flames - Stephanie stuck in the middle - trying desperately to find a way out, but retreating further and further back until the flames were completely encircling her. Overhead, we heard the noise of helicopters. My first thought was that the fire had gotten so large they had to bring helicopters full of water to help contain the flames. Luckily, it turned out to be merely the evening news, looking for an human interest story.

Once all systems were under control, the people in charge began letting in the residents. As I walked into the lobby, I went to comfort my suitemate, who was now somewhat more calm, although she was still crying openly. "Stephanie?" I tentatively asked her. "There wasn't anyone in the suite," she responded, and we both sighed with relief as we hugged each other.

While she stayed downstairs, too afraid to see the damage, I, finally working up the courage and clutching Dennis' arm with a death grip, went to face the music. Our suite was flooded and the walls around the kitchen were dripping with gray water. The kitchen itself looked like a warzone - the area next to the stove now burnt to a crisp. Firefighters were walking around, picking things off the floor and away from the small lake that was now our suite.

I don't know how, but something inside of me clicked, and I started cleaning. Friends started coming in the door, offering their help - which I gladly took. Within 20 minutes, things had been moved around - electric sockets were examined and closed, books were being air-dried by the now completely open windows, and nothing was left on the water-soaked floor. Strangely, it all happened so quickly and so efficiently, I was almost convinced that someone else had taken over my body, and I was merely observing it all. It was an out-of-body experience, if you will.

My cell phone started ringing in my room (which suffered the least damage, thankfully - and was now being used as a fort to hold valuables). Pillaging through the rummage, I willed my cell phone to continue ringing as I searched for it. Upon finding it, and seeing the display, I promptly sat down and jumped back up, exclaiming from the damp (and dirty) floor.

Incoming call - Stephanie.

"Michelle! Are you home? Apparently there are fire trucks and news choppers?!"

I told her the news - a little bemused that she clearly had no idea that the apocalypse had just come and gone through our suite. Needless to say, she was shocked.

"Well...Is everyone okay?" Yes, I reassured her. "Phew. Well, all's well that end's well. Hm. It's going to take them a while to clear out the water from our suite huh? Why don't we go grab some dinner and pie from Bakers' Square?"

And with that, we went. Apple pie never tasted so good.

All's well that ends well.

And the lesson of the day is: Always leave the apartment when the fire alarm goes off. And don't use too much grease while cooking.

You give me fever

My spring fever has turned into a full-fledged beast of a fever. So, having conveniently slept through all my classes for the week, I'm now stuck in bed and entertaining the possibility of actually cooking an egg on my 101.4 degrees Fahrenheit head. So much for a self-imposed timeout. This seems far more like divine intervention, or just a mutiny of sorts on my body's part. (Or "body parts"? I'm delirious; this post is getting harder and harder to write coherently).

When I get better, I will post. I promise. (Never mind that I also have two midterms this week that I haven't started studying for.) This past week, I attended Second Look weekend, and I've found that I'm terrified of change and petrified of attending med school. Me? A doctor? Who was the nutcase who decided I could cut it?! So there's a post just waiting to happen.

Also, the beginning of this quarter, I had thought that I could "date like a man" as they call it. No commitment. No overanalyzing. No caring that he didn't call. No waiting by the phone. No emotional attachments. But in the end, I'm completely and utterly a girl and I just can't do it. More stories to come.

In the meanwhile, I have to go find my voice, since I most inconveniently lost it two days ago, and it hasn't come back to me yet.

Self-imposed timeout

Hilarious.

My RedEye romance horoscope says "the full moon is making you crazier than usual. You love your honey. You hate your honey. You want to get married. You're preparing to join a convent. Don't do or say anything for a few days. You need a timeout."

Going on a hiatus for a week because this combination of spring fever and senioritis is making me nuts. Someone find me a cure.

I can't make you love me...

...and I love it.

The grass is greener on the other side. You always want what you can't have. All these sayings are oh-so-true. Which make it seem as though the opposite must be true as well - you never want what you can have.

I've always dated the good mama boys. The ones you can take home to your family. You know the type. Ambitious. Nice. Courteous. They stand when you walk into a room. Stand when you leave. Open doors. Offer you their jacket when it's cold out. Ask for permission to hold your hand. Think of dating as that old-fangled notion called courting. If they knew my father's office number, they'd probably call him up to ask if they could walk me home from church, all whilst calling him sir.

Yet, there was always something lacking in our relationships. There was too much politeness. I just really want someone to make dinner choices. I want someone to make decisions and just do it. Act out of passion. Romance. Desire. Think how quickly the romance would die in your relationship if you asked your boyfriend or girlfriend if you could kiss them before you actually did. That schtick would get old, real quick.

I have been incredibly lucky. All my men have had all the makings for a Prince Charming - which is what I want, right? I want someone sweet. Someone nice. Someone courteous. Someone who thinks of dating as a-goin' courtin'. I wanted that fairytale ending. But, in the end, Prince Charmings really aren't my type. Not now at least. I'm only going to be in my early twenties for 5 years; this is my time to go buck wild. And while other girls might be looking for that ring around the all-important finger, I don't want a fiance, I want a playmate. This is my last quarter. I'm just out to have a little fun. I've got to blow past the opening gate and dive in.

All this time, I've had what other girls dream of. And I don't want it.

Nice boys might finish last, but good girls who wait for nice boys never get out of the starting gate.

Let's not lie. I'm attracted to bad boys. I can't help it. Even though I only date the good I-can-bring-them-home-to-mama type of boys, secretly, I'm far more interested in the bad you-can't-tame-me type of boys. There's something so sexy about them. Something impulsive. Something just a little bit dangerous. Something raw.

So the clear solution to this would be that I start dating the kind of guys that I'm actually attracted to, instead of the kind of guys that I think I could marry. But, it's not that easy.

See, the other day, I did meet a bad-boy type. While it was exciting and fun in the moment, I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. And now I'm not so sure that I do know what type of guy I'm attracted to. Clearly, I'm merely want those I can't have. I want the unavailable type. Obviously the wrong type to want. And who knows, maybe once I snare an unavailable one, I won't want them any more. I'm playing the game, but at the first sign of receptive-ness, I'm bored.

Maybe, when it all comes down, I'm just scared of commitment. Or maybe I'm just crazy, plain and simple, for letting perfectly perfect boys get away.

I wanna be bad

Last night, I was feeling down and somewhat lonely. Everyone is seemingly engaged or about to get engaged. Me - I can count the number of boys whom I've dated on one hand. And as I was talking to my best friend on the phone, I realized, I'm way too conservative. I've got to just dive in.

So, after hanging up on my friend - because of the time difference, she was far more sleepy than I was - I decided that I was done with being little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. I called up two of my guy friends - who were conveniently already intoxicated - and asked them where they were. They were - of course - hanging out at the local bars, with a bad boy type I had met just the day before. Boys that they are, they were highly receptive to my need to "just get drunk" and my friend immediately drove over to pick me up. [Side note: Kids, driving drunk is a horrible thing. Don't do it.]

Once there, I started chatting up the bad boy of the week. The last time we had hung out, I had flirted with him, teased him - much to my friends' entertainment, since they knew that he wouldn't be getting anything from me, while he - of course - had no idea what an angelic prude I am.

Upon seeing me, he remarked that I was late. They had started drinking at 10pm. When I arrived, it was a little after 1am. Laughing, I told him I had to finish some things that I had wanted to do earlier in the week. Spurred on by liquid courage, he remarked, oh - like this? And, taking me completely by surprise, kissed me. I was shocked, and confused by my emotions. Instead of being completely outraged, I thought - that just might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me - even though the circumstances weren't exactly the best.

Clearly, my prince charming is actually a more villainous type. And so, with that, I bid adieu to the Sandra Dee in me. Say hello to the hot, new, Pink Lady. Bring on the bad boys. Bring on Danny Zuko. This is my time.


Happy April Fools' everyone. :)

But I'm only half-joking about this story.