Let it be known that for better or worse I’m some kind of hopeless romantic. I’m no sap these days, but there was a time when I wasn’t as dating savvy as I am these days. We all start off somewhere and I guess I got my start in lovely Southern Jersey.

Funny looking back, my lifestyle hasn’t changed that much. Back then I was a 20 year old, surfing the Internet late at night, sleeping all day working in a comic shop in the mall, and I spent most of my money on CDs. Now, I’m a 30 year old, I don’t surf as much as I write late at night, I still sleep all day, and thanks to the lovely world of bit torrents my money gets spent on rent these days. All in all, I don’t have a bunch to worry about, life is (and was) pretty damn fine.

As a 20 year old punk with flitch reaction to womankind leftover from high school, there wasn’t a really good way to meet girls. There were a few ways with varying degrees of utility, but over all they didn’t do much for me, socially or romantically.
1. The Mall – D-bags drink Heineken , Dogs pee on trees, and Girls shop. Its a law of the universe.  The Deptford Mall was in it’s Golden Age. Problem was I was a scrub with a beat up Camaro and not a lot of pocket cash. And the chicks at Chick-Fila already thought I was sort of a creep.
2. Clubs – Sure you could get into Egypt on the waterfront in Philly… You couldn’t drink, though (not that I did) and on top of that it wasn’t my scene. I hated and still hate with a violent passion techno music.
3. Rock Shows – definitely my scene, this is where the girls I wanted to meet at 20 were hanging out. But I was way more interested in hitting the pits and enjoying the show than trying to kick game with those Betty Paige look a likes.

That left option 4

4. Yahoo dating – Free online Personals… this was the oil lamp to the nuclear power plant of what online dating is now. And keep in mind a few things.

A. Admitting that you met someone online was like being caught masterbating by your grandparents. I recall in tandem several times answering the how did you meet question from a friend or concerned parent with “through friends” or “at the mall”.

B. NO ONE owned a digital camera. Internet imaging was in it’s infancy, the web was barely functional in my house on dial up for more than twenty mins. Can you remember the homicidal rage that would rocket through your skull when the Internet just stopped for no bloody reason? So, yea… This was blind date city.

Option 4 seemed like a good starting point. I wasn’t gonna. Out right lie, but the visual anonymity had it’s appeal to me. I was under the impression that I was sort of ugly and zero style. Turns out I had tons of style and just needed a haircut. Anyway I took comfort in verbally or at least in written form charming a girl into meeting me. It was pretty easy… There were a lot of lonely girls on the net back then too.

So you convince a gal to meet, you pick a date. I liked to. Meet at shows or over mini golf. Dinner was sort of lame, and I only made $130 a week so a $40 meal plus tip and I’d scrape by the rest of the week.

So let’s do a quick case study: Christine. She was pretty if not a bit loud and full of opinions she was looking to force onto other people. She was a fan of some band… Good Charlotte. I’d never heard of them, she and I met in a parking lot at Tower records in Cherry Hill (there was a free show to promote the bands new record). Looking back it was like a western. There was gonna be a meeting with a stranger in the midday sun. We were both on our guard, we had described ourselves, but one never really knows what to expect. I think I told her I’m 6′ skinny blonde with glasses (though it’s totally possible I wasn’t doing glasses those days). She told me 5’4″ long brown hair with some red dyed streaks and pretty. Ha pretty… what ever the hell that meant.

So, I enter the parking lot, which was remotely empty (I told her I drove an ’87 Camaro, it was my claim to fame at the time) and I got out of my “whip”. Clad in my Soap freestyle walking shoes, wearing my green Vandals t-shirt and rocking a grey pant of old man slacks, it’s a look you would be too surprised to see me rocking today. Now this girl had a steady advantage, I knew this walking in. I had given a very good representation of myself, if she was a sniper in the crowd I’d be a sitting duck. There was no crowd though, just two girls, and one chubby dude. One of the girls didn’t exactly fit the bill of 5’4″ and pretty. The other thankfully did. Here’s the part of the story where everyone stops and looks as I hop the hood of my Chevy slide off and start to walk nonchalantly (like I hadn’t just done that because I was being watched) over to the “crowd” of three people. I may have slid up the curb with my Soaps as well. Meanwhile, I’m praying that the pretty one is Christine.

Turns out she was. First impressions aside, things went well and in those days things going well meant the girl didn’t make some excuse about needing to meet her boyfriend later or some other diversionary tactic to let ,e know she wasn’t into me. So I was really confused when she didn’t want to do a second date no matter though, plenty of electric fish in the cybersea. It wasn’t until a month later Roy and I were waxing about some bullshit in the smoking section, of the Colonial Diner… We didn’t smoke but the service was better, the old cranky waitresses took non smoking, guess it’s all non smoking nowadays. It wasn’t until a moment later I spotted Christine. We nodded, said our hellos and swaggered on. Roy snickered as the waitress wrapped up my Chicken Parm or maybe it was Veal Parm.

So Royboy clues me in. That’s the chick that J. B. Murph took to Chili’s the other night. It might not have been Murph it could have been Clausen, lord only knows… My memory is good but I’m another half a life time away. Anyhow, the universe demands retribution. So, I decided that the best way to set things right was to throw the chicken/veal parm onto Jon Reagan’s parked car at 2am on a Wednesday night in the middle of the summer. Roy agreed or maybe he decided and I agreed either way we did it. Do you know what diner food does to a car over a night’s rest? Fuck man, I have no clue! Reagan does I bet. Hopefully that dude is reading this and laughing, because upto now he likely though some fucking asshole from high school was still terrorizing him. Nope, just his friends taking it out on the universe.

And who can we blame for all this… Yup that’s right the Internet. I bet you thought I was gonna say women. You chauvinist!

That was her name. It is also my mothers name. So yea, at 4 years old I suppose I was projecting a bit. Oedipus Complex aside, though, Nancy was my first girlfriend.

I have very sparse recall of my early childhood. I think maybe I try to block some of it out, I rarely remember my family, the nuclear one, my mom, dad & kid sister as a unit. I have odd glimpses of memories that astound my mother and father, though. A car crash at 2, The Thousand Leagues Under the Sea ride at DisneyWorld, and Nancy, my first girlfriend are among those early memories. I can remember other things at a touch, relatives and places I lived, theres a story about water powered rockets and saving my dad’s friend from drowning but they all are just snips… small clips. After the age of 5 my memories become sharp and I can retell with great detail Nancy though, she still haunts me some time to time, vividly, and in a sort of profound way.

Saint Nicolas academy sounds like a prep school, but I’m pretty sure it was either a kindergarten or daycare school. I remember it looking like something out of Chernobyl. A large grey block building, though it’s likely due to my stature at the time that it was much smaller in real life, and it was cold at the time. I can’t tell you when I first noticed her, chances are it was immediately because at 3 or 4 most little boys are obsessed with mommy and any girl with her name is gonna stick out like a boner in sweat pants.

Nancy was a little older than me (I was young for my class, a may baby) so that was intriguing. She was a fan of both My Little Pony and Rainbow Brite, in my mind’s eye I see Punky Brewster, although I’m not sure the show had aired yet. I’m pretty sure I had as little tact then as I do now, and I’m positive I walked up to Nancy and said something like, “You have my mom’s name.”

It’s an interesting point that as an older brother and the eldest member of my generation of Clark, I never called my mom “mommy”. I was always trying to sound older than I was. I once took up the habit of calling my mom “mother”. This was just months before my parents divorced and I remember the conversation as she cut tomatoes in our kitchen in Washington Township. She told me that she didn’t like me to call her that, it made it sound like there was a distance between us. I consented and went back to mom. But it’s funny when I look back on that, was she foreshadowing?

So, Nancy, the 4 year old girl, she probably asked me to play house or something. I had no interest in playing house, but I was enthralled by this girl, I’m sure we came to some kind of agreement. I’d hope that it included tag, or Go-bots or even dinosaurs. Thats hazy but I played house with her though, even then I bent over backwards for a girl.

At some point I think I just decided we were dating. Ah, capricious youth. WHen all it took was a game of house, and there you have it: serious committed relationship. Our love, if you could call it that, was all in my head, but no one could tell me that. I can recall the looks on my parent’s faces when I came home from school on what seems like a summer day now (I’m sure it was just a cold morning for a 4 year old and a warm afternoon when I got home) and I told them, “I have a girlfriend and her name is Nancy.” I think they were confused and thought I had chosen to date my mother. An intuitive youth, I immediately explained otherwise. I think I even tried to console my mom that I would still love her as well. This was all a joke to my parents. I’m sure they believed I made this up.

Anyhow, what’s this all about? I mean why is any of this important? It comes down to the break-up. At some point I think I told Nancy she was my girlfriend and got no refusal. This lasted for about a week. The weekend was rough, I couldn’t wait to get back to Saint Nicolas and see my girlfriend again. At this point my parents had dismissed the girlfriend as a figment of my over active imagination. Then Monday came. I was on the play ground searching for her.

She arrived late, and was greeted by some other boys, older than me. I was jealous, but I held it in and made my presence known. Somehow they coaxed her away from me. I felt ashamed to follow and then we went inside. Day care/preschool is pretty freeform, but there are times when you get to group up and do fun things together or with a partner. Nancy chose one of the older boys. I’m sure I can remember them making fun of my accent. Everyone else sounded like a Dolly Parton, I was a northerner. Maybe that was what she liked about me, I’ll never know. So, when recess came, I tried again to hang out with her, tag or house, hell I would have played Strawberry Shortcake I just liked her, anything was fine and I could tell she was slipping away.

She told me, “Those boys told me not to be your girlfriend anymore.” then she pranced away. I was angry, and I was sad and I did nothing. Too embarrassed to fight for her, I just accepted it. What else could I do? I was 4! Those boys were monsters compared to me. I was skinny and short and I didn’t have the words to fight them or convince her. Imagine Karate KId, but with a 4 year old Daniel Larusso… and Ali (Elizabeth Shue’s Character) decided to tell Daniel, Johnny and the Cobra Kai said not to hang out with him anymore. It would have been a harsh blow. It was a harsh blow for me. I was ashamed of myself.

In retrospect, Nancy was an automaton. Some dumb girl that just did whatever made her more friends. I know that now, but it’s something that haunts me, form time to time. This girl was my first rejection, I opened up to her (the only way a 4 year old could) and she trampled me like a Force of Nature. I think looking back it’s almost funny. And I don’t think there was the sort of awkward fallout that a relationship post puberty carries. I mean that would be impossible 4 year olds don’t have drama, they have toys. Candy would have replaced my hurt in seconds, honestly. I moved shortly after that, so I never got to find out what happened to Nancy. She’s 30 now, I wonder if she’s lonely. I wonder if she remembers. We had a good thing going. It could have been really special… I suppose it was, in it’s own weird way.

But that’s not why I come to you today. To I want to talk about the after math. The residual status updates that make us all cringe like we’re shaking hands with a stage 7 leper. These are the LOOK AT ME I”M ALL BETTER AND OUT THERE, DOING MY THING AND LIVING MY LIFE updates. What’s that you ask? Why did I all caps that? Because that’s how your updates look!

When you post things like, “Out dancing with the girls tonight.” or “Spending time with my family this weekend.” It’s the female equivalent to screaming out, “I am hollow and without any real personality, the
break-up was harder than I thought it was going to be. It turns out most men are jerks that just want to see me naked and then want absolutely nothing to do with me. The last guy I dated was the only thing good about who I was, I’m just coming to terms with the fact that I’m been desperately dating personality in search of one I can mimic.” Does that sound sexy? Does it sound confident? Does it sound like you’re in control? No. It sounds like anguish, like sweaty, bloated, gross, pale sadness masked in bad perfume.

“But I need to post something,” you say “the family’s had me on suicide watch for the last two months.” That’s fair and I agree you need to let people know you’re doing well and moving forward with your life. So let me give you three steps in order to heal faster and more effectively.

Step 1: Unfriend your ex

I know It seems harsh. It’s a drastic step. and you aren’t ready to make that leap. Fucking do it already. You guys broke up. That’s life, you break up with people, you move on, then you date other people and you break up with them, and you keep doing it until the interval between breaking up is so long one of you dies. That’s the natural progression of things. Why would you let the person’s life online mingle with yours. Eventually reparations can me made after a long period of time. Then you can decide to be Facebook friends again. The key, if you still think it’s okay to sleep with this person and their rejection makes you hurt, DO NOT FRIEND them.

Step 2: Post things of substance.

You have a hobby right? You are passionate about things? There’s something behind those pretty eyes, yes? The internet is full of articles about people’s hobbies. Gain a little knowledge and show your friends that you have interests other than the last dude you dated and your college major. If you don’t well thats a shame, you probably need to read more books. Say funny things in your statuses, make observations, don’t just gripe about being single and seeing the girls.

Step 3: Involve yourself in another person’s life.

I think 90% of the relationship I’ve had end because I decided I was sick of putting all the work in. Knowing that we always have to chase you or ask what you’re doing on a Friday night to hang out starts to grate on us guys. Basically it shows us you’d hang out with anyone that was willing to by you dinner. We like to feel like you like us for more than our dwindling bank accounts, and that goes for you’re friends too. Reach out to some old ones. No one knows you like old friends, they’ll fuck you up with some real perspective. The ones that know you always do.

And I could tell you a thousands other things to do right, but this is advice not the Tao, and I’m not Buddha. What it comes down you is stop putting up a facade and be real, if you aren’t real, learn now. You have a little bit of time. And for god sake’s woman read more pick up a book that doesn’t have a chick trying to “find herself in the world” as the main character. Maybe you’ll understand the opposing gender a little better.

DDJ

What am I getting at?

So, over the course of the last few years there have been several girls, several more dates and plenty of good stories. A few times I’ve struck gold, and even met a few dames that could deal with my 5 megaton ego and strange sense of the world around me. Most of the time these girls were just as if not more affected (and by affected I mean touched mentally) than I. Plenty of times things got hairy, really hairy. I learned a lot about them, me and the way it all relates to the world around me.

Well then Why the long face Don? Things seem like they’re going well.

And sure they were for a bit. Recently, I had been seeing someone rather special. We met there were sparks, I was tested. By I, I mean my loyalties, and for the most part I was a picture of honor. Surprised myself even. Then it happened. That old gut feeling started to come around. You know it too. The one that says, “Hey, buddy, yea you with the bad hair and the goofy look on your face, the jig is up! She’s moving on.” And even though she hadn’t passed the information along to me. I knew that my gut was right.

Well What did you do? Did you fight the beast and come through better for it?

Hell no! My gut is always spot on. You don’t go to Delphi and slay the Oracle because it says you’re in for a bad run. You just enjoy the time you have and soldier forth. Eventually, I received my Dear John letter. I actually smiled when it came (via text). I smiled, it was sort of a catharsis. I knew it was coming. I could sense it drawing near like the t-rex in Jurassic Park. So when it ate the lawyer, all I could do was chuckle.

Why? What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you liked this girl?

Well I did, fuck let’s be honest I do. I will carry those feelings like a cross for a bit I’m sure. But I smiled because, well, we had a good run. It was a pleasant time. We smiled we danced we kissed and pretty much only had good times. That’s pretty great when you stop and think about it. Just happy memories. No awkward, uneasy moments. Sure, there’s a possible chance to begin anew but that’s barely more than likely a pipe dream. No real excuse, aside from life is getting in the way. Somethings are more important than dating. I can settle for that.

WHY:

Because, for me at least, it’s much easier to get a girls attention with a few well placed words than following her around a bar all night like a d-bag in heat trying to buy her a drink in hopes that she feels obligated to sleep with you. And not that I’m not guilty of the commercial transaction of sex for jagerbombs. It just makes me feel a bit dirty is all.

HOW:

Generally the best sites are the free ones, myspace facebook, okcupid, and crazy blind date. My methods are my own and in time I’ll share a few of them with you.

WHEN:

I’ve been meeting girls off the internet since before most sites were charging for this stuff all the way back to the days of MAKEOUTCLUB. I’m by no means a veteran but I’d say I have a fair amount of experience.

WHAT:

GIRLS YOU DUMBASS, HAVE YOU BEEN READING ANYTHING I’M WRITING. And for christ sake get your dick out of your hand. There aren’t any pics up of girls…..YET!

WHO:

I’m 27, I live in a suburb of NYC. I’m lower middle Class at best. And my frame of reference is like no child wondering into a movie. I’m a cougar, plain and simple. I think like Sun Tzu on the art of war when I meet a girl, it’s very much a chess match where the other person thinks I’m playing checkers.

To date I’ve seen over 30 girls on the internet. Some dates go well for me, some go well for them, some dates I come off as a total creep, and in that crash and burn style I try to roll with it and scare the shit out of the girl, other dates I get an awkward hug or a handshake. So let me be honest here. I DON’T ALWAYS WIN. Theres a real challenge to this and each girl is a little different anyone who tells you otherwise either dates the same kind of girl, has only dated one girl, or spends a lot of time with their doors locked in the bathroom hoping no one impedes on their alone time with Palmala Handerson.

So what does all this mean? Why do I write these Blogs? Who the hell do I think I am?

It’s a forum for me to do a little self discovery and infection after a date. A chance to give folks a little incite into the mysterious world of Digital dating. And a quick chuckle at my expense and the expense of the girl I last saw. The site it self is fully anonymous (at least I myself remain that way) You will however get to see the girl I last saw if I can get a picture of her. The place we went will be reviewed as well at he service prices and how the date ended. Then I’ll ask the reader to make a decision sort of like the love connection. And you’ll get to tell me if I should goon a second date. SIMPLY PUT….I’m gonna listen to myself but you can go ahead and delude yourself and think that I give a damn what you think about what I thought about the date. But hey thats democracy and I’m an anarchist!

ENJOY THE BLOGS AND TELL YOUR FRIENDS

DDJ

It starts innocently enough, someone’s girlfriend runs out of things to say to everyone else at the party and they make their way over to me.  Most of the time they know it’s gonna be one of those long mind-fuckingly crazy stories about whatever nutzoid thing last happened to me.  And, after that’s over they ask, “Hey, how come (Insert Last Girl They Saw Me With’s Name Here) didn’t come out?  You guys were cute together.”  Now it’s either that or it’s “Where’s the last girl I last you with…what was her name?”  I spend the next twenty minutes trying to identify what girl in all the girl’s alive that I know they are talking about, only to find that she’s just some random friend of mine they happened to see with me in a picture on a social networking site that no one even uses anymore three years ago after my last real relationship.

So, once they find out that I’m either not dating this girl anymore or that I never was dating her in the first place.  They start to get really concerned.  “When are you gonna settle down?  You’re not getting any younger.”  They sometimes shuffle in with the old die alone ultimatum.  I’ll give you a sample dialogue.  We’ll call my friend’s girlfriend Joan and I’ll be Don.

Joan:  So why didn’t you bring Amanda to the Memorial Day BBQ at our place this year?

Don:  Who?  Amanda?  Who the fuck is Amanda?

Joan: That girl you’ve been dating for the last few months.  The one that always Likes your Facebook statuses.  She’s cute you should really try to get serious with this one.  It could be your very last chance at happiness.  You always had trouble with women back in college before me and Ben (Her Fiance’/ My Friend) got together.

Don:  Oh her?  I don’t date her.  (Chuckles) She’s a friend of mine from (local event where I met her boyfriend) she dates (Amanda’s actual boyfriend’s name).   I’m not even seeing anyone right now.

(Joan gets very concerned.  Other friends’ girlfriends and fiance’s close-in like a pack of rabid Hyena that see a wounded gazelle stumbling about the savannah.)

Joan with chorus of Harpies (In unison) :  We’re concerned about you.  You really need to settle down with a nice girl.  You’re always getting disappointed by these girls that are nothing but looks.  You need a person that likes you for you, the very second you meet them and likes everything the same way you do, and is emotionally bland but that’s ok she’ll grow on you like a fungus.  Then when you hit 40 and realize you don’t want anything to do with her, we can all tell you what a bad idea getting married to her was and how you should have listened to us because, in our infinite wisdom (Group takes a breath in unison) we want our fiance’s friends to do the same things that they do so that they don’t get jealous of your good times and regret the life decisions that we have ultimately forced them into.  You are the last friend to not have a long term girlfriend. And Ben still hangs out with you, we tell him that you’re an asshole but he won’t listen.

Or y’know something like that.  I get it, ladies.  A single guy living happily doing single guy things telling single guy stories is the blight of your “I plan to get married and procreate before I hit 30 and become instantly old and barren” scheme to turn all my interesting friends into mindless automatons.

Now that said, I do enjoy the chance to defend myself.  It’s not like I don’t believe in love or something so heartless as that.  I’m sure I’ll eventually find a girl I like, hell I might even get married in Vegas in three weeks just to fuck it all up for you.  Well, probably not in reality.  I’m very choosey, I’d venture to say I’m the choosiest person I know.  I’m happy about my level of choosiness.  It’s the way I like to do things.  I like to fumble around in the dark and make a lot of mistakes like the kind I do with women.  It teaches me not just what I like, but who I am as well.

I’m nearly 30 but I’m not dead or dying.  I think I still have my best years ahead of me.  And it’s not that I wouldn’t love to spend those years having fun with someone that shares my views or completes me or whatever outdated clichés you feel are the paragon of relationships.  But I live a bit more sporadically than the average Joe.  Every couple of years I like to change my world, shake it up and see what things look like from a different angle.  I’m not saying that no girl could handle that sort of life, but most can’t and I’d be miserable without that freedom.

Now there are a concerned few that just want to see me happy with someone I like and they normally are great with the advice.  These are the girls that are cool enough to take you away from the party sit you down on the curb and tell you just how great I am and conversely fucked up I am.  They worry that some evil harlot is going to ruin me and turn me into some humorless dick that only focuses on his significant other like I’m her hand servant.  I do appreciate the concern here.  Truth is I already met that chick, and it’s because of that experience that I know I’ll never let that happen again.  But for the love of God, I implore you to worry about me.  If you don’t, who’ll do it with any style?

Should I stop, both hindering me and causing an undue amount of stress toward whomever I might be seeing at the time?

Whereas this would probably be the most mature thing to do, and certainly the most sensitive, these words are by and large not my style.  You don’t start writing a blog about your dating liaisons if you’re either one of these.  I’ve come to terms with this information a while ago.  One thing that is my style though is class.  So maybe now that I’m getting notoriety I should move on some how.  YEA RIGHT.  I’ll certainly step back from the spotlight, but I’ve been writing about this stuff since I’ve been seeing girls on the whole.  Not doing that would be as unnatural for me as taking up a nonviolent hobby like knitting or showcasing small dogs at local pet shows.

Should I continue, say screw it and just tame it all down?

That would be lame I think.  Going from no holds barred to no eye gouging, ear pulling, nose grabbing, nut punching, shin kicking, head butting, or any other weird stuff.  No the whole concept is all the weird stuff that happens when boy meets girl.  It’s about the inevitable disaster, of dating.  And like a phoenix with each new post I am renewed, ready to see what’s my next humiliation.

I think I’ll keep writing and just save them and continue posting about previous exploits of two plus years ago.

I have a stock of some 50 or so stories since I started dating.  From the first blunder to the most recent.  The older stories just seem to get more and more relevant as I detach myself from them.  Expect a new old story each week.  Y’know the kind that won’t get ol’ Don in trouble until I figure out a better way to promote myself with out revealing myself, changes are you come across this one day and not even realize that the snarky relationship story had been written by me.  So in the mean time don’t forget to check out other blogs.  And remember spread the word, the larger this becomes the more likely I am to forget it and just go back to Eye gouging and Nut punching.

Rule 1: All Self Professed Non Hipsters are actually Hipsters. NO ONE wants to be a Hipster. And thusly, by excluding yourself from being one you have “taken a ticket” to hipster town. (Which by the way is located near Tuff Town.)

Rule1a: If someone asks you if you’re a hipster and you indignantly answer “I’m no fucking Hipster, man!” See rule 1 This is The Hipster Mating Call.

Rule 1c: If you claim that your always dressed that way (and this is important) BEFORE it became trendy to do so…… yup Rule 1.

Rule 2: If you like Ninjas, Pirates, Robots, Zombies or Aliens. You are a hipster.

Rule3: If you have recently written a blog from your super teched out cell phone on the john. You are actually a level 20 Hipster, Congrats!

Rule 4: The whole Hipster hater thing makes you a hipster.

Rule 5: People Watching, you’ve joined the club.

Rule 6: If you have a tattoo that doesn’t have to do with a dead relative, you wear skinny jeans.

Rule7: If you have trouble connecting with people because your music taste is soooo much better than theres (ie: Obscure) or you define your terrible taste in music as eclectic, Go directly to Brooklyn do not collect $200.

See what I’m getting at here? No? I’ll spell it out! You are most likely a hipster. You are either in denial or you are just an asshole. Either way welcome. This is the face of our Generation. Like it or not, We are Legion. Sure, would I like it a little better if dudes weren’t wearing nuthugger pants? Of course! This goes with out saying BUT on the flip side. Hipster chicks are hot. They’re generally informed about stuff like music, art and politics. They wear dresses! THEY WEAR DRESSES! That’s wonderful, I can’t even remember the last time I was blessed with the prospect of meeting girls who dress like ladies! That to me is rad. So all this talk about not being a hipster or how the hipsters took over your bar and made it not cool or how hipsters stole your car is passe’. Thatdoublydoubly for you Brian Morrison!

In my school you belonged to one of three very broad groups, otherwise you were out in the cold alone to suffer the atrocities of adolescence unshielded. Not everyone had to walk alone in high school. And though I certainly didn’t belong exclusively to one of these groups, I had a cusps of friends that kept me sane.

You could be a Prep: these were the elite popular kids from the higher income households. They wore new clothes every month and they always had new shoes. They dug the popular music of the day and most times they played sports. The Preps were the ones who controlled the popularity contests in the school. If you were a Prep you might be able to be be Homecoming Queen/King or gain one of the coveted superlatives in the year book after your four years of service to you fellow Preps.

Then there were Thugs. These were your Fubu devotees. This was not a group that was subject to racial restrictions by any means. My school had plenty of wannabe white kids that were on their way to amateur gangster famedom. I’d say the West Deptford High school was an upper middle class public school. The Thugs reveled in their supposed poverty. Which is a strange dichotomy when you consider that as far as origin was concerned most of these kids were born in a hospital that was about 2 miles from the school. Thugs kept to themselves mostly. Sure they did a little bit of inter mingling, but for the most part they did their best to just get by til such a time when they didn’t have to deal with coming to school.

The group that most closely represented my style and tastes were the Skaters. Not all Skaters skated. Corduroy pants were a recommended icon of fashion. If there wasn’t any corduroy to be found, then wide leg jeans would suffice. They listened to punk rock music, many smoked cigarettes or in some cases pot. Skaters were the art class kids and band geeks. Skaters could get in with the thugs or the Preps. Generally they were too laid back to deal with the drama that high school provided.

With my ten year high school reunion coming up I had a vast sense of morbid curiosity as to what had happened to these people after all the social moorings of childhood had been broken up. Would I come back to find doctors and lawyers, people happy with what they’d made of themselves? Or would I find what I expected: a bunch of kids (some married some not, some with kids some without) that were still trying to make sense of the world like I was. Sure, I’m sure there would be success stories and even a few hard luck stories no doubt, but I was willing to bet that for the most part I was going to walk into a room of people I knew ten years ago that were just out there making it. People far too busy with their own lives to care how they felt about everyone else. I figured it would be a time for everyone to get together and relax over a few drinks and laugh about the old days, and it would be a catharsis of sorts.

I had recently gotten in touch with a girl I went to school and graduated with. She moved into my town and we both had hung with each other outside of high school several times since then. The topic of the reunion came up one night and after a few drinks her and I conspired that we should go together. She was single. I was single. That’s one of the biggest hurdles to stumble over when deciding to go or to just say fuck it. What would people think of me if I went alone? I could see it now, “Oh, Zac still can’t get girls to talk to him let alone come out on a date.” or “Y’know a guy’s gotta be really down on his luck when he can’t even afford to ‘hire’ a date to a high school reunion.” I certainly had a little too much pride to pull that off. So, Steph (my highschool friend) and I decided this would be one of those lets get drunk and just have a good time events. We’d do our best not to let the other person alone for too long and just have a good time.

I took the train down to my father’s home in South Jersey. Visions of Wawa and scenes from Grosse Pointe Blank danced in my head. I didn’t have any sweethearts in high school and I was secure in the fact that the girls I had pined over had all gotten married and most had kids if they even decided to show up. Facebook had taken most of the mystery away from a reunion. I even had a good idea of who was showing up and who was laying low. It was important to me to not look like I was bragging about how great I thought my life was. I set out to ask more questions than to give answers. Most of these people, again thanks to Facebook, knew what I was doing with my life. While on the train I set out to make a few rules for this reunion.

Rule 1. Don’t talk about yourself for more than 2 mins. No one likes the guy that tells everyone how happy he is. Whether or not they are happy, it just sounds like a commercial for your life. Thus far I’ve done a good job of not pissing off my classmates by droning on about myself I’d like to keep it that way.

Rule 2. Ask people how they are doing not what they’ve been upto, or what they’re doing now. A friend’s father once told me that the most callous thing you can do is to ask someone what they do for a living. “Lets face it most of the time you’re only asking so you can compare them to yourself.” He told me. “When people ask me that question I normally ask them: For fun or for money?” I try not to be defined by my job and I have the kind of job or jobs that can really define a person. So, I what to know about people not about what they do.

Rule 3. No hitting on married women. Let’s be honest with ourselves. It’s a high school reunion. Sexual tension is probably the most vivid thing I remember about high school. If I hoped to expect that I’d be well received it’s not insane to imagine that things might get a little silly between me and an ex classmate.  But I know me, anything can does and always will happen. Look at the fingers. This is the first time I’ve had to worry about this, but I’m in a forum where at least 25% of the people are likely taken. That being said my goal here is not to get laid. I’m here for the same thing everyone else is. We just want to see if we can be cordial and act normal in a room full of people who for the most part do not know each other anymore.

So I got off the train and my younger brother picked me up. I demanded that we stop by Target. I needed a few things, you know dress socks, a clean dress shirt a new game for my xbox things I’m gonna need for the reunion. I was starving, we stopped at the local Wawa. I touched down at home at 5pm, scarfed my Gobbler sandwich swigged down my green tea. Steph hit me up with a text; zero hour was 7 o’clock. I could expect to be picked up around 6:30 pm. That means I have about 40 mins to get showered dressed and then overcome any anxieties I have about doing this.

I showered, gave myself a once over in the mirror, and decided that I didn’t need to shave. Might as well look like I’m not trying too hard too impress everyone. I had just enough stubble that it looked like I hadn’t planned on showing up and then changed my mind at the last minute. Right, now to chose clothing, obviously I was limited to what effects I had on my backpack. Which was fine, I took everything I thought I’d need when I left my house 5 hours ago. Everything expect my belt. Just a simple black belt. I had a belt on but it was bright white and I didn’t really think that it would match. Well fuck it, I thought to myself, I need to wear a belt. Last thing I wanted was for my pants to fall down, or as was the case with some of the more enterprising males of my class have someone notice and pull down my pants. Hey it could definitely happen. It used to happen on a bi weekly basis or thereabouts anyway. Without anytime to get a new belt form a store and no one in my house with a similar sized waist I resigned myself to just wearing the belt I had on.

Steph pulled up at 6:45pm. She decided since we were going to be imbibing alcohol en mass that having her sister drive would be ideal. A rush of anxiety washed over me as reality set in. This was it no turning back. I reassured myself that I’d be well accepted and I’d likely have a really good time. As I stepped of my porch, I felt a bit more confident knowing I’d be there with a friend. Steph asked if I was still feeling nervous, I told her yes but I’d be fine. I had to guess that when she told me she was feeling fine now that she was putting on a strong front for me, which I really appreciated. I think it was either that or she was more nervous for the girls putting on the reunion than about whatever anyone thought about us know. About 2 mins into the car ride my dad called to remind me I left my camera at the house. I could only laugh at myself. How had I forgot that? We doubled back and then grabbed my camera and worked our way over to the catering hall.

As we entered I saw our Vice President at the door, she took a second to recognize me. Our President was just inside we had corresponded a few times during the last ten years and she knew me right away. The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. Mostly, it was a mix of hellos and oh my how you’ve changed, a couple of sly looks from females followed by “If you looked like this in High school….” To which I could only chuckle and smile. There were about 60 or so people there. I think getting a third of your class to show up after ten years is quite a good turn out. There weren’t any Romi and Michelle moments. No Grosse Pointe Blank ones either, just a bunch of people out with their old friends and a few drinks. Some folks got drunker than others, some danced more than others. For the most part it was a great time.

After the Reunion was over, we went to a local watering hole where a few other members of our class were. There was a bit more drinking and shot taking. As the alcohol flowed, stories came out and everyone was having a pretty good time. I removed myself from the crowd and reflected a bit. I guess in retrospect I really had nothing to worry about. Ten years… it’s wild how fast it went by. Weird to think how much I’m changed in that time, mentally and socially. Physically, I’m pretty much the same, a better hair cut sure some new clothes as well but when you look at it on a larger scale you can be larger than life for a few people that don’t know you but the real challenge is making those life progressing moves in your life daily. It’s important to get out of your shell, and sure, even good to see people from your past, but dwelling on it for so long can’t be good. All that said, I’m glad I got all that spiritual constipation out of my system. The night ended with a lot of hugging and promises to keep in touch, whether or not we keep up with all that jazz it was good to see everyone that showed up! All those social barriers do really break down after a little time.

In south Jersey there’s a place called the Pennant on Rt 130. Large venue does the typical south Jersey thing. Serves cheap drinks, harbors cover bands and house music. They do this thing on Wednesdays called White Trash Wednesdays. $5 cover at the door starting at 8 or 9pm Live Cover bands Alternating sets with a house music DJ and $.25 drinks increasing by $.25 on the hour. Needless to say such an environment creates some strange bed fellows.

I little bit of background in time here. I was hanging out with my friend Joel a bunch at the time. We had both gotten out of relationships recently and we decided the best thing to do was to go out get drunk and just try to not think about our exes. So White Trash Weds became a weekly gathering. We’d collect a bunch of friends load up into the van and head off in search of girls and drink and Foreigner cover bands.

One such night Joel’s friend Heather came along. She brought some friends and we all got drunk and rocked out that night. One of her friends …. Amy caught my eye. Amy was cute and she was cool or as cool as a guy drinking $.50 Bourbon and cokes by the fistful can remember a girl. Anyhow, we all went back to Joel’s that night and I think Joel and Heather hooked up or something, everyone else left aside from me and Amy. We got to talking and talking got to kissing and then we passed out. Nothing else happened, we were at Joel’s mom’s place and I’m not about to ruin her couch. So anyway Amy and I exchanged numbers and we went our separate ways in the morning…. or she did I decided to sleep on the couch for a few more hours before I went to school. Joel and Heather apparently had a pretty good night because they were still at it for like another hour and a half while I was trying to go to sleep. I didn’t want to hear my friend having sex, especially due to the fact that It only reminded me of that scene from High Fidelity where John Cusack’s ex is having sex with his neighbor in his head. “No one is having better sex in the world than they were in my imagination.” Which in turn reminded me of my ex and I was still exercising those demons. Also Afghan covers by their very nature are not ideal for blocking out sound.

Fast forward to a day later when I saw my friend Nate online (Nate and I used to work at Apple Bee’s together). Nate saw me Weds and wanted to know how I made out with that chick. I told him we kissed and stuff and asked him if he wanted to see her myspace page? He surely did! Then a few minutes later he said to me, “Damn, Don, You really had a White Trash Wednesday huh?” I asked what that meant and then he said look at the girl’s age. I looked and sure enough she was 19. GEEZ 19 Don’t they card at this place. I’m 26 Years old. I don’t wanna be dealing with a 19 year old. and so I gave myself some shit. But Nate assured me it was no big deal, and she was cute so who cared. I had to agree. Who did care, Age ain’t nothin but a number right? And if there’s one thing to beat the blues from a break -up (that feeling you get when some one leaves you for someone younger and and you think to yourself I’m an old man it’s all downhill from here might as well become a monk) It’s hooking up with someone younger than your ex!

A week went by and I thought about texting Amy to see what she was doing but I was talking with my ex as well. Not really smoothing things out but more like just messing around with her and then we’d verbally abuse each other I’d leave feeling worse than when I arrived. No yelling really just snide jabs at each other in a way only someone who has seen your private can scar you. So after a particularly horrible episode I texted Amy. She hit me back later that night…….via text.

“Hey could you meet me out at the bank? I need a favor.” Now I knew damn well that this was a bad idea. I got a feeling in my gut that told me this was a bad idea. But I had a feeling in another part of my body that said there’s a 2% chance this 19 year old chick might blow me in the parking lot of the bank. I weighed it out in my head and I thought to myself “Hey man, Who dares wins.” I suited up grabbed a condom and road out to the bank. With a vision of some white Trash blonde chick possibly going down on me in a bank parking lot. Of course, that was a best case scenario. No actually as per my time working in a comic shop the best case scenario was always getting superpowers, but barring that a BJ in a closed bank parking lot was pretty damned close.

As you can certainly imagine, BJs were not handed out like candy canes on Christmas. I pulled into the parking lot, to see a black SUV parked non descreetly in the front. Disappointed, I pulled up to the car. Amy got out of the passenger seat and ran over to my car. “Oh thanks so much! Just follow us I’ll explain everything when we get there.” I asked her what was going on and she just smiled and crooked her finger in a flirtatious manner beckoning me to come hither. I’m a sucker for a mystery, so of course I take the bait.

We drove about 20 miles south through the woods and into some town I’d never seen before. We pull into a Wawa parking lot. At this point I’m theorizing all the things that could go wrong. Maybe this is a set up. What if the guy in this car driving is some crazy deranged ex boyfriend. I better be careful. So I make sure I pull into a place where people can see my and I sit in my car, waiting for whatever this exchange is gonna bring. A Spanish gentleman about my age got out of the car. He went into the back seat and produced to children. One in a baby carrier and one about three to four years of age. Now I was starting to think not only was something wrong something, something was severely fucked up. Indeed, it must have been because the older child looked old enough to be scared.

I got out of my car to see what the hell was going on. The Spanish fellow, cut me off before I could say anything. “Hey man, I really appreciate this, Thanks a lot.” As he put the children in my can I knew now I was definitely not going to get any female type action. I couldn’t just peel off now there were strange children inside of my car. I didn’t want them there but now I had this problem with getting little kids out of my car. Amy got out of the ran around to the driver’s side kissed the guy in the car goodbye. A great position I was in now! This girl had just kissed a guy goodbye that just put children into my car. Who’s children were they? Were they her’s!? Were they his!? Or even possibly theirs!? What the hell kind of crazy shit have I gotten myself into?

Amy skipped over to the car. Got into the passenger seat and smiled, “Hi!”

“What the hell is going on?” I asked “Who’s kids are these?” The younger child was wearing a winter jacket, which I thought was a little old for early September.

“I’ll explain everything in just a second, pull into that school parking lot.”

So I did, I drove through the parking lot over by the playground. By this time I was looking for a way out of this situation. I knew absolutely nothing good could come of this. At least nothing romantic. I wasn’t 14 and I wasn’t about to babysit for some 19 year old girl I had met while I was drunk. So we stop she pulls out her phone and I say, “Wait, WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON.” I had decided at the last second not to curse in front of the kids.

“This is my nephew and Neice I was babysitting them at my Boyfriend’s house. My dad hates my boyfriend cuz he’s Spanish so I needed someone to drop them off with me. My car’s broken. “

“Oh,” I said “that makes sense at least. What are doing after you drop them off?” I was starting to calm down again. Everything was going to be fine. I was overreacting the whole time.

“I’m just gonna have my dad pick them up and we can go hang out. I wanted to talk to you about something.” She said. About what I wondered. I had just done a favor for her boyfriend surely she wasn’t thinking that we’d have much to talk about. I was content to be on my way. But, why not see what this was all about. Any danger was over, right?

“LISTEN YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I’VE GOT YOUR FUCKING GRANDKIDS HERE I’M AT THE SCHOOL YOU BETTER GET OVER HERE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!” She screamed into the phone. Holy shit, this was not going to go well. Seconds later, my life was flashing before my eyes as a white pick-up truck screeched to a stop next to my car in the parking lot.

My heart sank into my stomach. I had spent most of my life avoiding getting punched or kicked and aside from a few arrant circumstances I had been pretty successful. I wouldn’t say I was a coward, I just knew that physically I wouldn’t be much use in a fight. I was skinny and I bruised like a pear. So when seeing this situation, which was anything but optimal, the gears quickly began to turn. The only thing that’s going to get me out of this in one piece is going to be the god’s honest truth.

As two very large very violent looking men in Eagles jerseys exited the car. Needless to say I was nervous, and I started to think maybe giving all the truth wasn’t such a good idea. Imagine if I was to tell this guy that I only came out tonight because I had though I was going to receive a clandestine blowjob from his estranged crazy 19 year daughter. Seeing that that wouldn’t go so well. I decided playing a little dumb might be a solid battle plan. I rolled down the window.

“Hello.” It seemed appropriate. That’s how civil human beings start a dialogue. Start with a greeting and just see where it takes you. I think Tony Robbins said that. Well by and large for this particular situation not very good advice.

“GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!” I almost shit my pants. And it’s situations like this that inspire a man to think on his toes. Knowing that the next few words out of my mouth could very well spell the difference between having a full set of teeth and having some half assed Dentist insert Chicklets into my skull. I didn’t have dental insurance. Apparently, working retail doesn’t really afford those kind concessions.

“Gentlemen,” I said with a candor that I hoped came acrossed as not just sincere but urgently truth, “I want to start out by saying I’m glad that you’re here. About 5 minutes ago, I assume your daughter this is your daughter, had a Spanish fellow put these children into my car. She called me up about an hour ago to ask me for a favor. I’m now seeing that it was some ploy to make me the pansy for whatever those two were upto.”

“Boy, if you hadn’t just said that to me,” He said as he cracked his knuckles, “Me and my son where gonna beat you into a senseless pulp.” Again my stomach dropped.

Now Amy was running around like a chicken with her head cut off calling me a liar and freaking out as she stumbled around the schoolyard. I took this in stride as it seemed that her father had a pretty good idea that I was telling the truth. After he removed the children from the back of my Thunderbird. I thanked him for not beating my ass. Wished the children a fond farewell and got into my car and slowly pulled away.

The second I got onto the highway I was doing about 90 in a 55. I was freaking out my heart was beating out of my chest. I decided I needed to pull over to calm down and just get out of the car. I put on my hazards and got out of the car. After a few seconds I thought about how close I’d come to not only a beating but maybe even going to jail for the night. My stomach go the better of me . I like to think of it a liquid stupidity leaving my body. I wiped my mouth and I promised my self to listen to my gut a little bit better the next time it told me that the jig was up.