Blame it on the alcohol

DISCLAIMER:  All of this is completely 100 percent true.

Yes, blame it on the alcohol.

Finding myself sans date for the weekend by the middle of last week, I decided to throw a small get-together with friends and work colleagues on Saturday night to watch the Ravens’ game. Well, I mainly just wanted to play beer pong and get drunk, but as long as the game is on and someone shoves a fresh Natty Boh in my hand every 15 minutes I can feign interest in sports for quite a while.

Some people showed up to watch the game in my living room, while others waited until the double OT was over to bang my front door open, scream out “WINNING!” while holding a bottle of homemade vodka in one hand and a gallon of what was labeled “orange drink” in the other (this person did NOT drive at any point in the night, btw.)

We were all getting properly sauced when a male friend with whom I’ve been acquainted for about two and a half years drunkenly swayed over to me in the kitchen and asked me if he could “see me” in my living room. Considering my apartment is maybe 500 square feet, I wasn’t opposed to stepping 14 inches to the right. Side note: I bring up the size of my apartment so that you, dear readers, will have an idea of who could overhear this conversation that was about to take place – literally everyone in my apartment, and probably my upstairs neighbors as well, who weren’t even present at the party.

My friend, who for privacy purposes I am naming Buddy McWasted, sits me down on my couch, leans right up in my grill, and proceeds to tell me the following items:

1. That he thinks and has thought for two and a half years that I am “absolutely gorgeous.”
2. That he loves my personality and considers me an amazing friend.
3. That he cannot for the life of him understand why I have such a hard time dating and why I continue to “fail” at relationships and – the kicker –
4. That if he WASN’T MARRIED, he would “be all over it.”

Er.

Do I want this? In a way, yes. Who doesn’t want to be completely surprised by insanely flattering comments, not only about their physical appearance but their personality as well?

Do I want this from someone who number one, is married (kind of an important fact in the world of dating), number two, weighs less than I do (women generally don’t want to date people who they could suffocate while in a girl-on-top sexual position), and number three, is equivalent to my brother when I consider potential sexual partners (which is no sex at all, under any circumstances ever).

Definitely not!

As I squirmed on my couch trying to think of a way to escape the avalanche of word vomit spewing from his mouth, he continued to repeat the same “compliments” over and over until one of my little sisters came over to yell at him and rescue me. I shooed her away and told her I could handle it.

I thanked Buddy McWasted, but the word vomit continued to flow and in my own tipsy state I started thinking. Why DO I keep failing at all my relationships? Is there something wrong with me? I’m not sure I’m gorgeous but I’m not hideous either.

By the time my sister angrily stormed back over, I was crying, Buddy McWasted was smiling and still talking about my “gorgeous personality,” and the night was certainly over for me. I passed out in my bed and by the next morning I felt stupid – although probably not as stupid as Buddy McWasted felt.

Every one of us, during the lowest of the low points of dating, when you are crying your face off, detesting the opposite sex with every fiber of your being, and wanting to strangle whatever asshole thought up the Zales proposal commercials, thinks that it’s their fault (unless you are batshit crazy, and then this blog can’t help you anyway, so good luck with that). But most of the time, it’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just…life. It’s just rejection. It doesn’t make sense.

The most important thing is that you focus not on the failure, but on accepting the fact that the date/relationship/marriage didn’t work, realizing that it takes two people to start/have/ruin a relationship, and figuring out how to pick yourself back up without becoming an alcoholic/drug addict/murderer. Personally, I find it helpful to tell people that my broken relationship WAS successful and that it was the person I was dating who was a hot mess. So stop blaming yourselves, leave the pity party, stop bitching and start learning how to ride horses or throw pots or paint watercolors so that you are even more amazingly interesting to the next love interest who comes along.

By the way, Buddy McWasted texted me the next day and apologized for making me feel uncomfortable. I accepted, and we are still friends. I’m just not going anywhere alone with him.

Emily Campbell

Emily Little (nee Campbell) was a perpetually single girl who recently met and married her Mr. Right. Her blog, Dating Emily, has been a two-year diary of her adventures in relationships. Her life of bar-hopping and casual dating has turned into one of dog-walking, craft-making and budgeting for eventual home ownership. But just because she can make a mean casserole doesn’t mean her adventures are over. As she prepares to become a first-time homeowner and eventually, a mom, she is discovering that the adventure may just be beginning.