042905What’s the point in starting something if you know it can’t last? Graduation. It’s coming all too soon and with it brings the knowledge that many people will move away. This causes some to shy away from commitment at the end of their collegiate careers, knowing there would be inevitable heartbreak if wrapped up in the arms of another come a job offer in a different locale. So most people think, why begin something you can’t finish? The situation has been coined “expiration dating,” meaning there’s no ifs, ands or buts – at this date and time, it’s over. For some people, they go into relationships wondering if this might be their last first date and thinking it could continue into the future. But with expiration dating, this is not possible. No matter how hard you fight it, it will end. Some thrive on this set-up. No possible future means you can continually test out new models. It keeps things very low pressure. You get this one for three months before it’s on to the next. It also gives you an out should things turn sour, sparing you of a long, drawn-out break-up. But what happens if Cupid steps in the way and the two parties find themselves crazy for one another? You can’t fight who you fall in love with...or at what time. Just how risky is expiration dating? Is it safe to gamble with our hearts? 042805Have you ever come to the point where you just need to stop? Mine materialized over expensive bottled beer and bad rap music on the dance floor at Grandma’s. The past few weeks found me in quite a quandary. The girl who never gets the guy came into an overabundance of men – specifically, four at once. At the onset, I thought it was great. I’d never received so much attention from the opposite sex. But as time progressed, it became a bit more than I could handle. I’d dodge calls from one while hanging out with another. I found myself making vague references to what I’d done the past few days to shy away from getting caught. But really, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. None of these individuals were my boyfriend. I was free to hang out with whomever, whenever I wanted. It was no strings attached at its finest. As I stood in a corner at Grandma’s letting my buzz wear off, it hit me: What am I doing? I’ve always prided myself on being a one-man woman, but here I was, dabbling in the exotic and sometimes exhilarating world of multi-dating. Picking up men had become an addiction of mine. Call it loneliness, call it a crazed sex drive, call it the thrill of the hunt. Regardless, it had consumed me and transformed my being into a wacky, tripped-out version of me. I found myself going to bars with the intention of leaving with a phone number – or more. What seemed like fun and games was really a disrespect of my character and my body. So as I swayed back and forth, pretending to like the song the DJ painstakingly selected, I knew what I had to do. I am better than that. I have more class, more style, more intelligence than to be “that girl.” And just like that, I went cold turkey. I'm proud to say I’m back to one. Part of the fun of college is your ever-expanding social circle. You’re constantly exposed to new, exciting, attractive people on a regular basis. Throw in parties and alcohol, and life gets even better. I like to have a good time as much as the next girl, but when it comes down to it, I like the stability, the reassurance, the comfort that comes from one. ----
042505“This is Molly, she’s graduating in a couple of weeks,” said the Mazda salesman. “Oh, that’s great,” replied the manager. “High school?” I stared at him in disbelief. “No…college,” I retorted. I often look in the mirror and wonder where the time went. One minute, I’m waving goodbye to my high school friends and the next, I’m sitting in back-to-back interviews for a full-time job. Sometimes I still feel 17. And according to some ignorant older men, I look it, too. But when my alarm goes off and I rifle through my closet for a button-down shirt and dress pants, it dawns on me just how old I am. People always told me college would fly by. How very right they were. Here I am, three weeks from commencement. I’m finishing up an internship with the Star Tribune. I’m waiting to hear back on a job. I’m doing as little school work as I can to maximize the time I spend with my friends. I’m attending BBQs on Sundays, playing softball on Tuesdays, and going out on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Throw class and work in there, too. My life has become a constant strain of calendar-filling activities. Sometimes I wish I could sit and do nothing for a few days. Maybe I should move to Mexico and spend a month in a hammock drinking Coronas. In high school, I predicted the end of college would find me:
Currently, I’m:
Everyone I know is getting engaged or moving away. How did we get so old? Did I miss something? Time passed. Things changed. Life happened. Despite my deviation, I can honestly say I am 100 percent happy with the way things turned out. I think back on all my setbacks and crises and have reached the point where I see the good from each situation. To quote a certain TV show, maybe our mistakes are what make our fate. If we didn’t break up or sleep through class or get sick from drinking too much, we might miss out on a lot more. Funny how life has a way of working itself out. 041205I wish finding your perfect match was as easy as flipping through a catalog. Each make and model of the opposite sex would be in glossy, four-color format, ready and ripe for the picking. You’d read over each one’s general description, along with physical characteristics and personality traits, and pick the one you liked best. In four business days, your package would arrive. If only life was that easy. I’m only 21, yet I’ve been through two failed long-term relationships, countless casual dates, a handful of interim mistakes, and many more unclassifiable male happenings. And in most books, I’m just starting on my romantic journey to happily-ever-after-dom. How much more heartache is in my future? How many more emotionally unavailable, intellectually inferior, physically incompatible guys do I have to put up with? I always thought college would be the beginning of my end. I envisioned finding the perfect guy in a class or at a party and falling head over heels in love. I saw myself with an engagement ring as I walked across the stage on graduation day. But as time passed and life happened, I realized just how unattractive that scene was to me. It’s been a while since ex-boyfriend No. 2. I mourned my loss for some time, then threw myself feet-first into the dating scene. I did the bar pick-up thing, got introduced through friends, started opening my mouth in class. The response I got was somewhat surprising, especially for a girl who rarely gets that second glance. At the end of the day, though, it all left me feeling unsatisfied. I’ve never been one for the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em style. Enough time has passed where I want to be in a relationship again. I miss the little things: hugs and kisses, holding hands, sleepovers, cuddling. I miss knowing no matter what, there’s a pair of arms to crawl into day or night, someone to hold me tight and tell me I make them happy. As Hallmark as that sounds, I realize I’m not ready for the relationship; the end-all, be-all, final destination for my heart. So to cut out all the Molly World over-analytical bullshit, I just want to wake up each morning knowing someone’s there. And yes, the cynic in me knows they might just be there until something better comes along. I recognize that’s a fact of my age bracket when you add in sex drives and a constant onslaught of new faces. When it comes down to it, maybe I don’t need a boyfriend. Maybe I just want a male entity. Maybe I really, truly don’t know what I’m looking for, much to my chagrin. Talking, thinking, even writing about love seems to put me in continuous circles with no light leading the way out. I’m probably just as confused as the rest of society and in some weird state of denial through adjective overuse. What I do know is when I’m in my monthly emotional cesspool and I’ve got a playlist of sappy love songs cooing from my computer speakers, I spend too much time thinking. I should start listening to instrumental music. 041105It began as a simple bet: Eat four Dome Dogs and four bags of chips in a single Twins game and win $5. I like hot dogs. I like chips. I like money. I figured it was a sure bet on my part. Too bad I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was moving fast. Chew, swallow, occasional sip of Sprite. I looked at Cody and Jay. I was beating both of them, more than half-way through my first Dome Dog. I gobbled down the remaining bites and grinned proudly at my accomplishment. “I’m so winning this bet,” I announced upon swallowing the last of the dog. Jill smiled and patted me on the back. I grabbed my bag of Old Dutch chips and began crunching my way to a crisp, clean $5 bill. The end of the second inning called for another trip to the concession stand. Jill and I walked to the condiment station and I tested a few pumps before finding a working ketchup dispenser. I pushed down too hard and a gush of ketchup splattered onto my Dome Dog. Since it only covered half the dog, I tried to even it out, but ended up smothering the other end as well. I held up the Dome Dog as Jill snapped the requisite photo. “Here goes number two,” I proclaimed and bit down. The first few bites were fine, but as I neared the end, the dripping ketchup and excess bun began to take its toll. Not only that, but the cooler temperature of this dog made for an unappetizing end. I yanked the water-down Sprite from the cup holder and chugged, trying to hide the disgusted look on my face. The fourth inning was fast approaching and so was Dome Dog number three. “Ready to go back for more?” Jill asked. “Not before she finishes that bag of chips in her purse,” Cody chimed, a smile spreading across his face. My eyes widened and I faced him with an expression of treachery. “Oh you little jerk…,” I said in his direction. With that, I yanked my purse from under my chair and unzipped it to reveal a bag of chips. As I pulled out the goods, Jay and Jill gave a simultaneous, “Oooooh.” I shook my head and opened the bag. “C’mon, time for the picture,” Jill said as I plopped down. I rolled my eyes before bringing the third Dome Dog to my mouth, mustering a grossed out expression. I stared my enemy in the face before biting down. I chewed and swallowed very slowly by this point, each bite entering my already-full stomach and begging to come back up. I lost all interest in the game. All I could concentrate on was the basket in my hand and the meat product lying inside. Sometime after the 7th inning stretch, I took my last bite, promptly washing it down with Sprite. I threw the bag of chips in my purse, knowing there was no stomach space left for food of any kind. “I’m out!” I announced in surrender, holding up my arms. “There is no way I can eat another one. I’ll puke all over these seats.” I sighed, knowing I’d come so close, but no cigar. “You put up a good fight,” Jay said, nodding admirably. “Coming back on Wednesday for dollar dog night?” I groaned and slumped into my seat. It was over. Molly – 0
040905I sat on the dry grass rolling the rock between my hands. I looked towards my car parked on the narrow paved road, then to the tree shading the ground I sat upon. “I’ve always thought you had the nicest view in here,” I said aloud. The sound of wind chimes tinkled above me and I glanced upwards to see one chained to a low branch. “Is that yours?” I asked. “It sounds so pretty.” There was a pile of rocks on the pink marble bench. I studied the group, trying to find the one I’d brought last September. I remembered feeling bad for bringing a rock from my driveway, but it was the thought the counted, right? “Can you believe I graduate in May?” I asked. “Gosh, how time flies. I still remember going to Garden Botanika in the Burnsville Center with you, mixing all sorts of custom lotions. You loved that place. Seems like just yesterday…” My voice trailed off. I looked down at the rock I was holding and tried to fight off the tears. I changed the subject to clear my mind. “I brought you a good rock to make up for the crappy one last time,” I said as a smile came to my lips. I continued my story. “This is very special rock. I’ve had it for a long time. I think I got it in 10th grade, maybe, at a youth group meeting at my church. I don’t remember why they gave out rocks, but I held on to it all these years. Now I’m giving it to you.” The wind picked up and slid a bouquet of flowers lying under the bench. “Did you get those for your birthday? When was it…Thursday, right? The big 2-2. Isn’t it such a lame birthday? At 16, you get your license. At 18, you can smoke and buy porn and gamble. At 21, you drink. But 22…there’s nothing left to look forward to. Oh wait, except rental cars.” I giggled at my comment. “Well, I should probably get going,” I said. I kissed my fingers and gently laid them on the cursive signature etched into the headstone. I stood up and brushed the grass off of my shorts. Before heading to the car, I placed my rock with the others, briefly admiring the unique guest book of visitors to Alexis’ grave. Before putting the car in drive, I stuck my hand out the window and waved. “Bye Lexi.” 040805Despite the fact that I fall asleep every night at 10 p.m. only to wake up around 2 a.m. with my pile of homework still not tackled, that the job I’m applying for switched from full-time to six-month temp, that there’s no food in my house and I’ve been living off of junk for a week now, that I’ve got horrible blisters from all the strappy sandals and flip flops I’ve been wearing during the warm weather, I am incredibly happy. And I have one person to thank for that. I need you to know you can fall into me. It’s really hard to concentrate when he talks to me. I find myself staring at his dimple, then realizing I missed the last 10 words in the conversation. I even misplace my train of thought when I’m the one who’s speaking. I get lost in the way he looks at me. That my arms are wide open and will always be. He’s incredibly passionate about his line of work. That’s a huge turn-on. One of the first things I noticed when I entered his room was an old Speed Graphic. Other than in class, I’d never seen one in person – and here it was, sitting on his shelf under a cowboy hat. It’s more than a major to him. I respect that. Right here waiting, staying strong. He tells duck jokes. He’s not afraid to introduce me to his friends. He makes me try new things. He listens to what I have to say. He gives the fist. He’s everything I never knew I wanted. Come and fall into me. 040205I tapped my boot to the beat at the edge of the dance floor. I’ve always had a problem boogeying with anything in my hands, so balancing my coat along with a drink was a tricky feat. Since it was still early in the night, I figured I’d regale the room with my better dance moves at a later hour when I was sans drink. My cowboy hat swayed with the rest of my body in time to the music. I glanced around at the rest of the group, everyone happily dancing and drinking, smiling and laughing. Bernie grabbed my ass and brought me back to reality, and with enough time for me to pass off a fake slap on her cheek. We both giggled before returning to the task at hand. “Hey,” I heard Jill yell, “there’s our guys!” I turned in time to see Travis and Cody wave as they made their way up to the second level of the club. I smiled at the latter half of the party. Back on the dance floor, I noticed a guy in a stripped polo shirt looking my way. I danced a bit longer to make sure he was checking me out and not the made-up girl behind me. When I knew I was the object of his affection, I smiled then crooked my finger, making a “come here” motion. He stayed put but kept smiling. “You,” I called his way, “get over here,” and motioned him once again. Four minutes later, I couldn’t feel my legs. I thanked him for the dance and slithered back into my group. “Wow,” Jill mouthed at me. I rolled my eyes and smiled. I thought back to the last song and couldn’t remember a place on my body his hand hadn’t been. Don’t get me wrong, I love dancing – just not that kind of dancing, especially with a stranger. But I suppose the hands off mentally doesn’t apply when there’s a strong bass line and drinks aplenty. Throughout the night, I’d feel something on my waist and turn to see a random guy falling into place behind me. I had to adjust my dancing style and keep my head down so I wouldn’t poke an eye out with my wide brim. All the bumping and grinding caused my giant belt buckle to come undone frequently, giving the impression I was trying to take off my pants on the dance floor as I made the proper adjustments. When my legs were about to give out and my water glass was running low, it was time to head home. Seven of us piled in Cory’s car to make the trek back to the Como neighborhood. I rested my head on the window and ran the events of the past few hours through my mind. “Uh-oh, Molly’s going to pass out,” Jay said from his seat in the trunk. I smiled at the comment, the only one knowing just how sober I truly was. We pulled into the parking lot behind Cody and Jay’s place. I stumbled half-asleep down the walkway to their front door. Once inside, I had to balance against the wall to take my boots off. “I claim the non-lumpy pillow,” I announced as I lumbered up the stairs. “Good luck, all my pillows are lumpy,” Cody answered from the kitchen. “I’ll be up two seconds after I’m done eating chips and salsa.” I shimmied out of my sweaty clothes and wriggled under the comforter. I patted both pillows to find the less lumpy one and settled on the red. Grabbing Cliff, the stuffed penguin, to snuggle with, I brushed my bangs out of my face and drifted off to sleep. A few minutes later, I heard the door open. The scent of salsa made me chuckle. You can dance
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