Twenty-Something and Single: The End

By K. C. Morgan

I thought it would be a good idea, for my last column, to write about the worst dating experience I’ve ever had. So, I got to thinking about all those bad dates in my past. Each memory was more horrifying than the next – a virtual visual nightmare of what happens when romance goes bad.
It left me with a conundrum. Should I write about that horrible date with the techno weirdo, the one who took me to a crazy dance club and then proceeded to have an 80s-movie-style dance-off with a gentleman wearing multicolored lights? Should I describe the horror I felt as I watched, helpless, as beat-heavy music without lyrics thrummed around my head?
Or would I write instead about my traumatic experience at the lake? Stranded with a drunk companion and the child-ridden family of a man I barely knew, only to discover after the incredibly long evening was over that I’d actually had money taken right out of my purse?
Perhaps I ought to talk about the night I went to request a song at the bar, only to stumble on my platform shoes as I dismounted? I ended up at the emergency room that night, drunken and in a wheelchair, and at work two days later on crutches – just another dating catastrophe.
This kaleidoscope of bad dates left me with a sour feeling, and I came to long for the end of this experience being single. It’s rough out there, and seemingly normal men can create horrific dating experiences that linger with us long after the few unbearable dating hours are over.
But, does anything really end? Relationships past always come back to haunt us, old lovers appear when we wish they wouldn’t, names get mentioned in casual conversation that make us silently cringe. Some romantic relationships fail, only to evolve into friendships that create new relationships and experiences. Dates end and begin again, and eventually you feel like you’re repeating certain parts of your life endlessly.
Even when you aren’t single anymore, some inner part of you clings to that former independence. Some part of you remembers days when you had to go it alone, when you breathed a sigh of relief just to be back in your own apartment all by yourself. So, in its way, being single is something that sticks.
No matter what else may happen, afterward.
And so I say good-bye – not to dating, not to being single, and not just yet good-bye to my twenties, but at least for now to this column. But perhaps saying good-bye to this column is really saying hello to something new…something unexpected.
In closing, I’d like to quote a line from the movie This is Spinal Tap, not because it’s a fabulous testament to being single, but because it’s a movie that’ll always make you laugh – no matter how bad the date or the relationship. David St. Hubbins: “How far is all the way, and then if it stops, what's stopping it, and what's behind what's stopping it? So, what's the end, you know, is my question to you.”
Indeed.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For… Necks?

By Rochelle Taylor

He seemed nice. He was attractive. He was witty. He seemed… well, normal. Being outside of the typical realm of guys I dated, I thought I might give it a go. We went on a date that involved all of the things that normal people do on dates: coffee, talking, eating, walking. Then it came time to say goodnight.

He went to shake my hand. I made fun of him for it, so he kissed me. And, despite the fact that a couple of times he tried to lick my tonsils, he was not a bad kisser. But then he stopped. He asked if I was mad at him. Being thoroughly confused, I asked him why I would be mad. He said “because I kissed you.” After internally laughing and wondering if I was possibly back in high school, I told him I was indeed not mad at him, and we went back to kissing.

Then he did it. He licked my neck. Not in a soft, sensual way, or even in a rough kinky way. In a licking ice cream way. He did this three times, leaving slobber all over my neck. I wiped it off and told him goodnight.

A few days later he called, and I figured he had not been too psycho, so I gave him a second chance, without incident. Then came the third date. I decided I would invite him back to my place. My roommate was not home, and we would have the place to ourselves. We began kissing. All of a sudden, he stopped and asked “Are we going to have sex now?” I told him I wasn’t planning on it.

Now this statement would’ve normally been a hint to most guys. But not this one. He went on to tell me that because of his injury (he had hurt his knee in a skateboarding accident. Yes, skateboarding.) he did not think that he would be able to have sex. I stopped him by saying “I’m just kissin’ ya”. But, then he became obsessed – grilling me about whether or not I would have an orgasm if we did have sex. I kept pushing off his questions and finally he decided it was time to leave.

Then we went out again. We ended up at his place, where he had roommates that I did not know about. I was told that I had to be very quiet to make sure that I did not wake them, as they would tell his aunt (who he rented the room from) I was there, and that was against the rules. Goodbye, normal. We started kissing again, and I told him that it could not go farther, as I could not be quiet. And, I had not shaved my legs, as our date had been a last-minute thing and I did not have time to shave.

Neither of these things deterred him. He used the line I thought was only an urban myth: “can’t I just put the tip in? Just for a second? I just want to see what you feel like!” He kept pushing and pushing. I was able finally to convince him that when I said no, I meant no. Suddenly, it became too late and he told me that he needed to go to bed, effectively kicking me out. I walked to my car and realized I would never talk to him again. I would not tolerate disrespect. Such a bizarre ending to the saga of The Licker…

How to Meet a Stalker

By Rochelle Taylor

Clubs are interesting places. Girls dress in skimpy clothes, insanely high heels that make their feet hurt halfway through the line, and too much makeup. Their low-cut shirts, short, skin-tight skirts, and shiny jewelry are all carefully considered to determine which combination will draw the most male attention. The males, on the other hand, don’t spend nearly as much time worrying about how they look. Jeans, button-down shirts, shoes, gel in the hair and they are good to go.

These people all get together and stand in a ridiculously long line in order to pay a bulky man at the front door their hard-earned money. They then try to make their way to bar where they overpay for watered-down alcoholic beverages so they can have an excuse to lose their inhibitions later that night. These lucky people then stand around trying to look indifferent in hopes of attracting a member of the opposite sex without appearing to be too interested.

Despite my better judgment, the other night I went forth into the jungle in an effort to have fun with some friends. And, amazingly enough, I did. I danced with a couple of guys, I danced with my girls, I had some margaritas.

Then came my opening with the guy I had been making eye contact with all night. We were both at the bar, and I made a random comment to him that made him laugh. We began talking (if you can call shouting over the pounding beat of the music talking). Then we started dancing. Then we started dancing closer. Soon enough, you could not tell where one of us stopped and the other began. Lips brushed necks and ears and cheeks. Then we started kissing. We were virtually having sex while standing up (and fully clothed).

But, my friends were ready to leave. Luckily, I had prepared myself for just such an incident by refusing to shave my legs. This age-old trick ensured that I would not go home with the boy, despite his pleas. I gave him my phone number and went on my merry way, not thinking much of it. I figured I had seen the last of him, since he was apparently just looking for a one-night stand.

But, much to my surprise, he called the very next morning just as I got to work. I did not pick up, as I did not have time to talk to him. He left an entirely normal message, throwing in bits of our conversation from the previous night to ensure that I knew who he was.

After work, I returned two other voice mails I had received first. While I was on the phone with one of my girlfriends, he called again. After I got off the phone with her, I listened to the second voice mail he had left. He mentioned his name and number and where I had met him the night before. But then, it got creepy.

He said “I hope you remember me. I have called you twice now and you haven’t called me back. I just want to see if you are willing to finish what you started.” Hello, stalker. This guy had just committed every sin that any female has ever been accused of. He was clingy, needy and demanding. He called twice in less than eight hours. Every rule of dating had officially been broken.

Yet, somehow, I was motivated to call him. I was afraid that if I didn’t, my voice mail would be full in a week. I knew that it was the only way to stop him from continually calling.

Luckily, when I called, he seemed quite normal. He apologized that he had forgotten that I had to work so late. And, he even invited me on a perfectly normal date. I accepted graciously. I shall see if he exhibits further stalker behavior. Maybe to play it safe, I should meet him in public for our first date. No need to show stalker boy where I live…