Monday, October 20, 2014

Like, Love, and In Between

I despise that dreaded question your very sexually active friends ask after raving and ranting about their hot, douche-lord boyfriends: 
“How’s your love life, Hill?” 
Instead of pulling my usual “like the money in my pocket, it’s nonexistent” card, I decided to bring some spice into the bland soup that is my life. 
“Well, funny you should ask. I’m actually talking to two guys right now, Ben and Jerry. Ben is so sweet, while Jerry can tend to be cold but in the end I can never resist him. I love to spoon them in bed. Spoon into my mouth … because they’re ice cream."
So, fellow readers, if this little tidbit doesn’t display a detailed visual of my “love life,” let me put it into simpler words. I have never been a man eater, rather just an eater of everything else. Until college, the only men I talked to were my male relatives and the creepy butcher at the grocery store, who in hindsight got more meat than I would in a lifetime. Boys didn’t know I existed, and quite frankly neither did my boobs because they were still trying to find their way out of my body. Then college arrived, and my confidence (and breasts) made their grand entrance. Boys actually acknowledged me, and it wasn’t to tell me to move out of their way in the halls, but rather to ask me things like: “Do you like Passion Pit?” And you know what? I did love Passion Pit. Thus, my love of boys and all things indie rock blossomed into the glazed-over eyes of a love struck idiot. But here’s the catch: I’ve never been in love. 

Whoop, there it is. 

Fast forward to present day.  
Location: Freezer Section, Hyvee
Inner Emotions: Complete and Utter Panic

Holy Lord. 
Is that? No, that can't be him. 
I'm not ready, my body is NOT ready. Jesus take the wheel. 
Ok, cool legs. It's fine if you want to stay planted as he approaches you. Don't mind the fact that you are wearing a ripped hoodie and yoga pants, looking like an impersonator of someone who actually does yoga. That's fine. Let's just chill out here and let him enjoy this pleasant image of you looking like a total dumpster diver. Sweet. 
Male Specimen: "Hillary? Wow, it's been forever!"
Me: "Yeah....."
Great response, Hillary. How intelligent of you, I'm sure he can totally tell you are going to college based on that brilliant one worded response. Bravo, that was Oscar worthy. 
Male Specimen: "How are you?"
Blah, blah, blah. I hate this question, and why am I sweating so profusely? Am I supposed to be honest, and tell him about the four times I fell walking up the stairs this week? Or should I just give him a vague 'Fine, thanks sir"? 
No, just be nonchalant Hill.
Me: "Well, I just did a vigorous at home workout, and then came to the grocery store to buy Sour Patch Kids in order to reverse all the exercise that occurred no less than thirty minutes ago. So don't get it twisted with my workout clothes, because I actually consider lifting my backpack to be exercise. Now, I'm standing in front of the first guy I ever kissed, while I'm holding a bag of shredded cheese and Gatorade. So, you tell me how I'm doing." 
*Immediately blush, and want to jump in front of oncoming traffic*
Male Specimen: "Uh, right. Well I better get going. It was nice...well anyway, have a good day." 

Now, this is real evidence that proves I have an uncanny superpower: the ability to scare away any guy with my absolutely horrifying social skills. Some would say this is endearing, while my ovaries and I see things a bit differently. As someone who has always dreamed of grand gestures, and sweet talking fellows to sweep me off my feet, I find it frustrating that my brain tries to sabotage my love life every time I open my mouth. 

Nice man/boy: "You look pretty today Hillary."
Me: "Shut up, you're dumb."

Seriously. That's how I respond to compliments given from the opposite sex. I insult them immediately after they say something sweet, like I'm some kind of perpetual fifth grader learning to flirt. I bet I'd be quite a hit on the playground now a days. 
But in all seriousness, I keep reminding myself that love doesn't come easily. It's said to be a life long journey, but I'm just hoping it's not an eighty year long journey seeing as I want four children and can't do that as a geriatric. Alas, my time will come. Love is hyped up to be nothing but great, and I don't want to rush greatness. As I find my footing, hopefully someone finds a way past my awkwardness and into my heart. Meanwhile, I will be working on loving myself and all the people that already love me in the best way possible- for being me. 


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