21

Twenty one.

I met 21 when he was barely 18. He was a little heavier then, not overweight or anything, just baby-faced all around. It was cute. The kind of cute that makes you go, "aww" and pinch their cheeks every time they say "oh yeah, I've drank beer before." I really wouldn't have gone for it then if it weren't for his bad-ass exterior. The kid had a history that made him slightly sexy, like a jail thing or some stunt like that... which was awkward because at the time, he was a total fetus.

Flash forward to 2015, he finally turns 21 and I have this strange dream that he and I were rolling around in the coatroom, grazing in the grass, ripping our clothes off and doin' it on my living room floor. Except it wasn't my living room, it was on the floor of my California beach house on the bearskin rug right in front of a fire place. There was a lot of wine and also like six or seven dogs who unfortunately had to witness it.

Dreams, man. They're crazy.

Anyway, I wasn't going to tell 21 about the dream, because I wanted to keep all humiliation to myself. But I did tell a mutual friend who chuckled - okay, it was definitely more like a giggle - and took it upon himself to tell everyone within earshot. I was a little upset until I found out 21 was curious to know if I wanted to make it a reality.

I didn't.

And then I did.

It happened really quickly and it was kind of weird. One minute I was like, "lol 21 I've already experienced it in my dreams, I don't need it in real life," and then the next I was all, "21, come. over. now."

The first time we hung out alone, we just laid around watching Netflix and talking about our lives. I wanted to skip the self discovery and go straight to the you-discover-me, but I was a little.. nervous. More nervous than I usually am around people I already know. Primarily because he was four years younger than me, and because I didn't know what our friendship could expect from the aftermath.

From there I decided it wasn't going to happen. I didn't need it to happen, I had two other prospects at the time, so what did I need to be fooling around with my 21 year old friend for?

I was fine. I had convinced myself that 21 and I were not a thing and went back to my regularly scheduled life.

It wasn't until a week or two later that flirting and sexual tension rose to an all-time high.

We were at a party and of course, I parked myself next to him on the couch after drinking one too many glasses of wine and a cocktail. We started joking around with one another and soon every conversation became a private one. We left the party with a group of people to listen to a band at a live bar and that's when I'd say I got a little hands-on.

Okay, a lot of hands-on.

Like hands-on in the sense that I took him to a private area of the bar, grabbed onto his man parts and drunkenly tried to dirty talk to him ...which, knowing me, probably came out as a slurred combination of vowels and phrases. "sssseeuuuuvvvahhh doin' it... huzzzaeyuu floor sex haaaaaaahh."

Whatever. He was in.


We got back to my place and when I say "things became a little heated," I absolutely mean it. I'll spare you the details - if you really want an idea, I'm sure there are websites with videos you can watch - but what went down was a blur of insanity.

Now I don't remember about 85% of it, but I remember it feeling something like euphoria. Though 21 year old boys may not have much experience, they seem to understand what they're doing... well, at least this one did.

I wrote it off the next morning as "that thing I drunkenly tried & liked, but probably shouldn't do again because the kids my friend and also I'm 25 and need to be doing this with guys with a 401k and a pension," and went about my business.

I returned to life as I knew it, pretending that night didn't happen, but wanting so badly for it to happen again. And it did. A few times actually, with each time bringing something new and exciting to the table.

I became addicted.

I was addicted to sleeping with a 21 year old. It's super embarrassing for me to admit it now, but I have to tell you once again that it was really good. Like you know how sometimes you hook up with someone and afterward they're like, "wow that was amazing," and you're all, "yeah it wasn't anything to write home about..." - let's just say, after 21, I was pulling out my stationary.

But nothing good in life lasts forever, especially when you're doing the good thing with someone who is making their life plan up as they go.

One day I sent a text saying, "21, hang out later?"

To which I get the response, "We can't anymore."

"Why?"
"Cause I just like being friends. It's easier."

Ok.

I then ask him to hangout as friends later and he says, "he has plans."

This upset me, but why? Why did I have feelings for 21? I don't even have feelings for 25 or 28, even. Actually, I thought I was a sociopath for awhile because I felt nothing toward any of my gentleman callers. I literally would have them take me out for things I needed and then said, "okay well this is the last time I'm talking to you, bye."

21 got different treatment though, and I think that was the harshest realty of it all.

No wait, the harshest reality of it all was after he told me he had plans, he had the audacity to show up at our mutual friends house later that night - the same house I was hanging out at. Don't be a dick, 21. Don't be a dick.

21 and I currently aren't on speaking terms and I just had to suck it up and move on. I mean, I'm obviously still a little salty my "bye you're relevant - okay now you're kind of cute - oh... now you're just plain sexy" crush had to end with ME sending the 3am "SCREW YOU, YOU ARE A HORRIBLE PERSON" text messages and not the other way around, and it totally sucks I lost a friend - but hey, life is what happens when you're busy making plans. This was to be expected.

... And that's my story about 21. Sorry mom.

Prince Chauvinist

Let me just explain to you what goes through my mind when I log on to my Facebook and see that half of my timeline recently got married or engaged - "aw they're so adorable," "ew what the F is that thing she married," "where'd he find that rock? the toilet store?," "Thank God I'm living young, wild, and free," I think, silently laughing to myself and shaking my head (which currently now takes its most common form in the acronym SMH.) I then close my laptop, find the largest dark chocolate candy bar in my cabinets and cry while watching "When Harry Met Sally"...

Because, here I am.

Single as ever, wondering when my fairy-tale ending is going to happen. Is it supposed to happen at all, even? I have had the worst impatience that dates back to when I basically had an anxiety attack waiting the few short weeks between my birthday and Christmas 1995. I guess it's worse waiting to "meet the one" as opposed to waiting for Christmas. Christmas is planned. It falls on the same day every year. You never know when you meet the person of your dreams. The worst part is, I feel like I already met him, just looked beyond him. If it's meant to be, does it really always find a way - or is that just something we say to make ourselves feel better?


I think the main reason we subject ourselves to these  cheesy, hopeful quotes or sayings that make our loneliness livable, is because we really don't know the outcome of our lives. I personally would like to know if finding your perfect fit is one in a million, or in a more realistic ration 1:700. Does our prince charming ever show up on our front stoop with his white horse and its glistening white mane only feet behind, holding a long lost glass slipper? And does that slipper even fit your foot?

Maybe some of us never find love? Or Maybe we do and our Prince Charming turns out to be Prince Chauvinist and we are stuck between trying to work out our fairy tale, and moving onto a new book (Romeo and Juliet, most likely... I heard that ends well.)

Is there proof that everyone finds the Jim to their Pam ("The Office,") the Ross to their Rachel ("Friends,") the Peanut Butter to their Jelly (sandwiches,) or the Bobby to their Whitney (...err.. you, get the point) at some point or another?


More so, how do you know he is your soul mate? What if you get together and he's just a nasty and terrible person who constantly brings you down - or wants you to be a housewife when you want to be a doctor.. or drinks like a case of beer a day and gets really fat within like 2 months of marriage? That's a horrific thought. I'd be miserable. I'd pray for the end every single day.

So, in today's day and age where all of the hot black guys are dating all of the skinny white blonde girls, and all of the attractive white guys are dating each other... how is an Aria supposed to find her Ezra ("Pretty Little Liars")?

In this tech savvy world, do we have to subject ourselves to dating over the internet? Is my future husband currently sitting on Christian Mingle or eHarmony, patiently waiting for me to create an account? I mean, I once tried the whole OkCupid thing and not only was it the most terrifying experience of my life, I literally found myself with nausea instead of butterflies. Every females dream right? To find a disgustingly uninteresting male who gives her the creeps instead of that warm tingly feeling we've been designed to accept as love.

I mean, when you actually think about it - we have been preconditioned to accept a boat load of mushy gushy quotes and "butterflies" as love when it comes to the opposite sex. However, I have felt "butterflies" in various other circumstances, like before I'm about to audition with a song I never really prepared, or when I'm about to pee my pants and the nearest bathroom is still miles away. That doesn't mean I'm in love, does it? I thought that was just anxiety. If meeting a guy gives you these initial feelings - is it love, or is it anxiety? And if it is anxiety, why do they prescribe medications to take that feeling away...?

We've been told to find the guy who calls you "beautiful" instead of "hot," who texts you "good morning" and makes sure he texts you "goodnight." Okay, I have found guys like those - and some of them are just plain creepy. I have had guys call me beautiful and they are still the most pig-ish men I have ever met. Some people will say, "that's a boy, not a man." Well can someone make some sort of clarification that there's a difference, aside from age? Couldn't a man have a $250,000/year salary, clean teeth, and say some of the right things, and still suffer from a chauvinistic personality that degrades you and makes you stay home and raise babies?

As I grow up, it's become harder to weed out the Prince Chauvinists mixed among the Prince Charmings. Every time I identify a new "type" for myself, the guy ends up being the complete opposite of what I wanted, what I thought I needed. When does it become time for me to "give up the search and let the right guy find you"? When the hell is my Knight in Shining Armour going to knock on my door with my missing broken and plastic Charlotte Rousse heel (let's face it, no girl in the 20th Cent is going to go out to the club in a glass slipper.. unless she's clinically insane and a solid 56lbs)?

When will I find my Prince Charming - and is he even charming at all?

Until then, I'm just going to sip Chardonnay in my sweats and pray my Prince shows up before 40 with a glitzy and crystal tiara (Do you see what I did there).

I'm going to find the Daiya Shredded Cheese to my Macaroni (Vegan entree) if it's the last thing I do.