tales from the wide world of dating

As you know, I often borrow (steal) stories from my friends’ personal lives to recount (exploit) in the pages of Miss Right Now. Sometimes, though, my friends willingly give me (insist that I write about) their dating trials and triumphs, which makes my job a hell of a lot easier.

Here is one such story from your friend and mine, Ang Freakin’ Brockman:

Since the beginning of this year, Ang was sort-of dating an old high school friend of hers, whom we’ll call Pinkie (for reasons that may or may not be related to his penis). Pinkie had recently graduated from college and returned to his hometown, near the area where Ang works. To give you the Reader’s Digest version of what happened over the course of about 9 months or so, as Ang and Pinkie hung out more, Ang developed feelings for him, and wanted to turn their relationship into something more serious. Pinkie resisted, with a litany of excuses, both verbalized and implied – he was working long hours and didn’t have the time, he didn’t feel he would be able to provide financially for a girlfriend, his life was too unstable because he had just graduated and had no permanent living situation, hanging out with friends and visiting his old college were a bigger priority than spending time with Ang, he still wasn’t over his ex-girlfriend, etc.

Yet he still acted very flirtatious with Ang when they were together, holding her hand, paying for her dinner or movie tickets, kissing her. Fed up with his mixed signals, Ang finally told him to she had had enough, and if he wasn’t willing to take the next step with her, then they needed to go back to being just friends. Pinkie agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly and bitchily. After a few weeks, Ang had a change of heart, and decided that even if Pinkie wasn’t willing to commit to a relationship, there was no harm in continuing to date him casually, while keeping her options open.

Ang was going to tell Pinkie this over dinner a few weeks ago, but she never got the chance. Before she could bring up the subject, Pinkie decided to drop a bomb of his own – the week before, he had gone on a date with a new girl and she “turned his world upside down.”  He went on to say that he “never felt this way about any girl before,” and that he couldn’t date Ang anymore because he and this Wonder Woman were going to be exclusive.

I wasn’t there when this all went down, obviously, but in my mind, it goes something like this: Pinkie tells Ang this news, she sits there quietly for a few moments, as her skin turns green and her veins start to pop and her muscles expands and she goes Incredible Hulk on Pinkie, jumping over the table and ripping his face off for being a complete dick.

She didn’t, of course, but she was PISSED. And disappointed, hurt, discouraged… Needless to say, it was not a good weekend for Ang Freakin’ Brockman.

Now, Pinkie’s problem is that he made two very amateur mistakes here. (Imagine me saying the following in the style of football commentating great John Maddon):
Mistake #1: Overcompensation – A classic mistake. Pinkie knew that what he had to tell Ang was going to upset her greatly, so he thought taking her out to dinner and saying it in person would soften the blow. Wrong! Making a woman shave her legs, carefully select an outfit, do her hair and put on make-up just to be dumped only adds insult to injury. No woman wants to sit there uncomfortably in pantyhose, stuffing half-congealed pasta in her mouth and staring at your ugly face while making awkward small talk after you’ve just given her the “It’s not you, it’s me” routine. For future reference, this is a situation in which a phone call is perfectly appropriate, if not a downright necessity. She doesn’t have to make herself all fabulous and pretty to be given her walking papers, she doesn’t have to worry about causing a scene if she wants to scream her face off at you, and the wine and Ben & Jerry’s is that much more accessible when she tells you to fuck off and hangs up.

Mistake #2: Evasive maneuvers – For all the reasons Pinkie gave Ang for not being able to be in a relationship with her – lack of time, money, stability, etc. – he failed to give her the only honest, accurate reason – he’s just not that into her. Until the bitter end, he insisted that it was everything else under the sun that kept them from being together, except him and his lack of romantic feelings towards her. But actions speak louder than words, and when you declare your commitment to a girl you met a week ago after insisting for months to the other girl you’re dating that you’re j not ready for a relationship, that can only mean one thing. While it would have still been disappointing for Ang, It would have been much more expeditious and much less insulting, if Pinkie admitted from the get-go that their relationship was going nowhere. Guys, remember that.

I am happy to report that Ang is bouncing back nicely. Now that she doesn’t have to worry about Pinkie and his never-ending drama, she can focus on more interesting life pursuits, like moving to Philly (yay!) and finding a guy who doesn’t sleep on his mom’s couch. So there is a silver lining on every cloud.

unanswered questions

Thanks to a rather cryptic post followed by a few weeks of relative silence, I’ve gotten a lot of questions from readers about what happened to Tattooed Rock Star Boy, who I came thisclose to dating about a month ago, the most popular question being, “Did he find your blog?”

The short answer to that is no, or rather, not to my knowledge. If he did, he never mentioned it to me. The long answer is that things didn’t work out the way I would have liked them to because this particular guy was (is) going through a lot of personal upheaval that means any kind of stable, functional relationship is out of the question right now. Disappointing, yes, but also understandable. Shit happens. Life happens. I can’t blame this guy for the problems he’s going through. I was more ticked off about the fact that he ignored me for over two weeks before finally admitting he was too much of a mess to date me, and even then the only explanation I got was a two-sentence text, but whatever, I’m not bitter. A two-sentence text is more closure than I’ve gotten from a lot of men who simply fall off the face of the Earth, so I guess it’s a step in the right direction.

More important was the fact that we were both able to realize and accept that, no matter how much we were attracted to each other, trying to make a relationship out of these circumstances was going to be like making chicken salad out of chicken shit – impossible. Sure, I could have put on my angel wings and tried to save him. But there’s a fine line between helping someone and sacrificing yourself for him, and while I’m more than willing to offer help and support to a partner, I’m sure as hell not going to sacrifice myself for anyone. As badly as I may want a relationship sometimes, I know that no relationship is better than an unhappy, unstable, unfulfilling one.

And who knows? Maybe down the road, when this person is at a better place in his life, things will work out better. Doors may close, but very rarely do they lock forever.

funny business

Today’s post was inspired by my friend and Philly funny girl Rachel, who recently started writing for the web site Metropolis. In her first piece, “Make ‘Em Laugh, Make ‘Em Laugh,” Rachel talks about how downright depressing it can be sometimes to be a single girl with a sense of humor.

“One of my best guy friends once told me at a party, ‘Guys don’t date you because you’re too funny,’” writes Rachel. “At the time it seemed ludicrous, but it buzzed around in my head, like a pesky fly caught between two windowpanes. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true…I’ve been told before that men ‘love a woman with a sense of humor.’ When speaking to fellow comediennes, they have all responded with a resounding ‘bullshit.’”

As someone who considers her sense of humor one of her best assets, this information is troubling, to say the least. While I know I have flaws that can scare off potential suitors (my stubbornness, my opinionatedness, my unending devotion to the Backstreet Boys), I never thought of my sense of humor as a roadblock to romance, especially since I’ve learned to save the really inappropriate jokes until I’ve gauged if a person’s filter is similar to mine (read: nonexistent).

But, like Rachel said, maybe it’s a power thing. “Men are supposed to be the comedians and women are supposed to laugh at their jokes and make them feel important.” That’s all well and good; I want a man who’s funny too. I like it when other people make me laugh just as much as I like making them  laugh. And the burden of providing all the comedy in a relationship is just way too much pressure for me anyway. But is that any reason not to date a funny girl?

I’d even take it one step further than Rachel, and venture a guess that men are less willing to date a funny girl because we make them uncomfortable. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – guys love girls who need them to feel good about themselves. Guys love girls who need to be told they’re pretty and wonderful and not a complete jackass for falling down the stairs or wearing a barely-there minidress to the bar in the middle of a blizzard. Girls who can laugh at themselves don’t need that. I’ll be the first one to call myself a klutz or a jackass or make fun of myself and my foibles. And what’s more, I’ll do that to any guy I date, too – in a good-natured, not bullying-way, of course, but anyone in my vicinity (or anyone named Snooki) is potential fodder for comedy. And some guys, unfortunately, just can’t handle that.

You also have to consider the reasons people, especially women, use humor. As Rachel said, “Comedy soon turned into the greatest coping mechanism for social awkwardness and the brutal pains of growing up…Being able to make people laugh and poke fun at myself kept me from getting picked on. It was one of the best shields for utter insecurity and helped me to relate to people way out of my social ranking.”

That’s the thing about being funny – it’s like nature’s own defense against suffering and humiliation for anyone who is awkward, insecure or different. I’ve heard many professional comedians, both male and female, say that they first started being funny and telling jokes because they were shy and awkward, didn’t make friends easily, to stop being picked on or beat up. It’s why I developed a sense of humor in junior high and high school – I wasn’t one of the pretty girls that all the boys wanted to date, but I could be one of the funny girls who made them laugh until milk shot out of their noses.

Now, even though I’m older, wiser and better-looking (all those pretty girls who peaked at 17 can suck it), the old insecurities linger, and can certainly impact romantic relationships. Confidence is sexy and makes you more attractive, there’s no denying that. Maybe if a girl is using humor to defuse her insecurities, guys can see that, just like women know that men buy expensive sports cars because they’re afraid their penises are too small.

Of course that doesn’t explain why boys lie, and say they love a girl with a sense of humor when they don’t. But I know where you’re coming from, Rachel – the last guy I dated who laughed at all my jokes hasn’t been seen or heard from in weeks either (perhaps it’s the same person…hmmm). Either way, the joke’s on them, for letting us and our razor-sharp wit get away!

And lest we feel down, we can always take a cue from the original funny girl, Fanny Brice (or Babs as Fanny Brice. Whatevs.):

 

 

my own worst enemy

I’m a terrible blogger. I know, I know. I didn’t write anything last week because I was feeling particularly pessimistic and depressed, and I haven’t written anything this week because I’ve been uncharacteristically hopeful and giddy (more about that later). Apparently, the spirit only moves me to blog when I’m a perfect blend of cynicism, maladjustment and romanticism. Typical temperamental writer.

Anyway, I had to break my silence sooner or later. After all, this is a blog about dating, specifically my dating life, in which there have been some recent developments. I’m not going to go into details, because this situation is very much in its infancy, but suffice it to say that I may have found that mythical creature once thought lost to antiquity – an attractive, intelligent skinny musician with tattoos who happens to be single. And I thought they had gone the way of the Jesus-pony.

Of course, finding a suitable man is one Herculean task; holding on to him is quite another. To hear him tell it, he’s not looking to fall off the face of the Earth anytime soon, and I guess have to give him credit – so far, he’s called when he said he’d call, and actually made and kept plans to hang out. No small feat in this world of men who pull more disappearing acts than Houdini. No, the wild card that I’m more concerned about at this point is – me.

Let’s face it – two years of being single, of dealing with frustration, rejection and outright ridiculousness when it comes to dating, of observing dysfunctional relationship after dysfunctional relationship, has sent me to dizzying new heights of neurosis and hardened my heart (or maybe that’s just the build-up of thousands of processed microwave dinners in my arteries). A week ago I was convinced that I was better off alone forever; this week I’m practically scribbling his name in notebooks with hearts around like some damn fool seventh-grader.

Where does one draw the line between using one’s knowledge and experience as a protection, and using it as a barrier to progression and possibly happiness? To avoid every dating pitfall that I or anyone else has fallen into would paralyze me, yet I can’t ignore everything I’ve learned about relationships in the past, or all the pain, tears, and endless hours of analysis will have been wasted. I find myself oscillating between the desires to throw caution to the wind and dive in headfirst, and retreating into my fortress of solitude while I can get out with my heart and pride intact. Ideally, I’ll end up somewhere in the middle; “cautious optimism” is the catchphrase I’ve been tossing around, not only to describe to those close to me how I feel, but to remind myself to keep it all in perspective and not lose my damn mind.

Of course, if this all blows up into a million little pieces, I’m sure it will make for some interesting blog material. Stay tuned…

i understand why rings made gollum lose his mind

For your consideration – proof that I am definitely not ready to be a parent. Yesterday, September 2, marked the first birthday of this’ere little blog, which I have nurtured and tended for the past 365 days. And how did I celebrate said blog’s first birthday? By randomly thinking at about 11:45 p.m. last night, “Hey, I think today was a year since I started the blog. I forgot all about that.” (How very Sixteen Candles of me.) A quick check of the site revealed that indeed, I wrote my first post on September 2, 2009, which officially makes Miss Right Now one year and one day old. Yay!

Now that I’ve remembered that a full year has gone by since I started this whole crazy project, I want to celebrate by first and foremost telling you, the reader, THANK YOU from the bottom of my little blogger heart. You have no idea how good it makes me feel when someone sends me a comment or tells me in person how much they enjoy reading, or how they found something in the midst of my hyperbolic, semi-coherent rants that they can relate to. At the end of the day, I think that’s the most important function Miss Right Now can serve – that as we fumble our way through good and bad dates, relationships and interactions, it’s a reminder that we’re not alone, in our misery or happiness.

I wish I could say that, after an intense year of examining my relationship habits and those of my friends and the world at large, I had more insight into successfully finding and sustaining a functional relationship with a member of the opposite sex, but alas, I find myself as confounded as ever, if not more so. I guess that just means I’ll have to continue plumbing the depths of my own psyche while observing the mating rituals of the world around me. Hopefully you, dear and faithful reader, will join me for the ride.

That all being said, let’s move on to the latest phenomenon that I’m trying to wrap my head around. I know it’s standard single-person procedure to moan that, like spaces in parking lots, “all the good ones are taken,” but lately I seem to have fallen into some strange Bizarro world where this is really, really true. And I don’t just mean that these gentlemen are in relationships – they’re straight up married or engaged. And I, as usual, am really confused.

Thanks to TV, movies, commercials, etc., I was raised with the notion that 99.9% of men were die-hard commitment-phobes; that the idea of marriage was like Kryptonite to guys in their 20s and early 30s. I thought I wouldn’t have to start checking the left ring finger of my male peers for at least another five years or so. Yet lo and behold, within the last few months or so, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend – as soon as I see a guy who makes me sit up and take notice, my eyes zero in on that fourth finger, and sure enough, there is that little band of metal that I’ve come to despise more than anything Sauron can create.

I don’t get it. Is it possible that I’m now only attracted to men who are uber-marriage material? I mean, I guess that’s a good thing – if they weren’t already all freaking married. Or am I just crazy and paranoid? Have any other women out there noticed that wedding bands on men are as ubiquitous as Silly Bandz on fifth-graders? Or is the idea of the commitment-phobic man all a big myth, and all guys secretly love planning weddings and making centerpieces and picking out colors just as much as women? It wouldn’t be the first time the media has sent a completely skewed message to doe-eyed little girls everywhere.

we regret to inform you…

As some of you may know, I work in a college admissions office (at least until this whole blogging thing takes off and I can stay home in my pajamas all day drinking wine and writing witty commentary on men and dating and life). Until that happens, though, higher education is the life for me, and so I will mine it as a source of inspiration for all that witty commentary.

In college admissions, you spend a lot of time talking about if a college or program is the right “fit” for a student – in other words, will the student and the school both get something beneficial out of the student being at that particular institution? Will the student do well in a program, or flunk out or leave after a semester? Does the student get that certain, innate sense of belonging when he or she steps onto the campus?

It occurred to me today that there are many similarities between the  college admissions process and dating.  In both situations, both parties are basically looking for the same things – will a partnership between us work and be mutually beneficial? Will we bring out the best in each other, or the worst? When I’m with you, does it feel right, like I belong here?

When the both parties can answer “yes” to those questions, whether it’s a college and a student or a potential couple, then it’s cause for celebration. The wheels start to turn as the parties start to explore ways to make this happen. Students send in deposits and start buying comforters and lamps and shot glasses while colleges throw money at them. In a relationship, the couple spends more time together, they sleep together, they meet each other’s families; the fabric of their lives becomes entwined.

But, on the frequent occasion that the arrangement isn’t a good fit for one of the parties involved…ah, now that’s when things get tricky. Rejection is always tricky, whether it’s a college rejecting a student, or a person rejecting a potential mate. Nobody likes being denied. (Hmm…proposal for a study: on a list of abstract fears (death, loneliness, loss), it would be interesting to see where rejection ranks as what people fear the most. Given my experience, I’d say it’d be pretty high on the list. Psychology people, get on this.)

The thing we always tell students when they’re upset about being denied admission is not to take it personally, that it doesn’t mean they’re not right for college, they’re just not right for our college. But there is a college somewhere out there that will be a much better fit for the student, a place where the student and the school can bring out the best in each other.

And so it is with dating. Difficult as it can be (and it can be excruciatingly difficult, considering that dating is much more personal and you make yourself far more vulnerable than when applying to college), you have to remind yourself that you can’t take it personally. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with one or both people (well, sometimes there is, but I think that’s actually a small percentage of incidents), there’s something off just enough to make someone say, “I don’t think this is going to work.”

For the record, I say this just as much for my benefit as anyone else’s. It’s not like I’m some sort of Zen master of rejection. I’ve curled up in the fetal position screaming “What’s wrong with me?” many times before, and I’m sure I will again (Only when it comes to boys, though. I was accepted to every college I applied to, natch). But if reminding yourself that some things just aren’t meant to be, for reasons that are out of anyone’s control, provides some sort of comfort to a rejected student or a rejected lover, than it’s worth repeating, isn’t it?

i can’t do it alone

Any Broadway musical freak worth their salt knows Chicago, and the song “I Can’t Do It Alone,” in which sassy songstress Velma Kelly appeals to wannabe-ingenue Roxie Hart to be a partner in her vaudeville act as the replacement for Velma’s sister (who was murdered by Velma).

Now, Velma Kelly is a strong woman. When she finds her sister and her husband doing “number 17, the spread eagle” together, does she cry and moan and whine impotently? No; she whacks them both in a hotel room, and then uses her wits and cunning to get off scot-free from murder charges, all while being sultry, sexy, and belting out fabulous Kander and Ebb show tunes.

Like Velma Kelly, I’m  a strong woman (without the whole murdering, conniving, show-tune-belting thing). Like Velma, I can take care of myself. I can solve my problems and take care of my shit, usually with minimal outside assistance. Being on my own for two years, financially, logistically, and romantically speaking, it’s become something of a necessity. That’s not to say that I don’t have family and friends who are willing to help me if the need arises, but without one specific person to form the crux of my support system, I’ve pretty much had to learn how to do things on my own (hmm, today must be the day of musical song references…)

But, also like Velma Kelly, sometimes I CAN’T do it alone. Or maybe, more accurately, I don’t want to do it alone. Flying solo has its advantages (No cover-thieves! Complete remote control! The freedom to make your own plans and rules without worrying about anyone else!) but sometimes it’s nice to have a co-pilot, someone to help, guide, comfort, listen, support, or just simply be there. Life’s burdens can get pretty heavy sometimes, and it’s always good to have an extra pair of hands to help you carry them.

These thoughts were inspired this morning by a Facebook status written by one of my friends. His girlfriend was starting a new job today, and his status was simply wishing her luck. Now, normally the only thing Facebook posts about a significant other inspire me to do is vomit (“OMG I love so-and-so soooooooo much he is the best boyfriend/fiancee/husband EVER <3<3<3 xoxoxoxoxox..gaaaag”) but for some reason (hormones? the current phase of the moon?) I saw that and thought, That’s what I want. Not necessarily a Facebook post like that, but all that it implies – that there is someone out there in my corner, thinking about me, supporting me, sharing the important and even not-so-important life moments with me, and to whom I can return the favor. Forget Valentine’s Day, wedding rings, anniversary flowers and dinners – a simple message like that is the essence of a true loving relationship.

And I bet for my friend’s girlfriend, while there were probably plenty of people wishing her luck, that one from her boyfriend put a little extra spring in her step. At least I hope it did. Because while I’m sure she’d be fine going out there alone, it’s one of those things that’s usually better together.

the great dating embargo – an update

As I approach month #2 of the Great Dating Embargo, I thought it might be a good time to examine how this experiment is playing out.

If we’re measuring in the most basic terms of the circumstances, i.e., if I’ve dated anyone, then it’s a resounding success – I haven’t had a date, in any incarnation, since that fateful trip to the Eastern State Penitentiary.  Not like I’ve really had to work at that.  I haven’t had any offers, although I can’t really say I’m surprised.

The surprising thing is that I’m strangely okay with that. There haven’t been any urges to hop on a dating site just to “see what’s out there,” no panic attacks in the middle of the night brought on by visions of dying alone surrounded by 86 cats. Ok, there may have been a time or two when “Third Wheel Syndrome” got to me, but in those situations it would have happened regardless of whether I was looking or not. The only way to avoid that is to avoid couples, which would basically mean I would be a hermit. So on I soldier.

But overall, I’m happy, a lot happier than I was when I was being emotionally and spiritually bludgeoned by the never-ending parade of shitty dates I was subjecting myself to. At least I’m not experiencing that feeling of slamming my head against a brick wall as much, which is nice.

I haven’t taken myself out of the game completely. I have given my phone number to two guys I met spontaneously in the real world. One has been in touch with me, although we have yet to hang out again, as he’s from out of town (of course). I never heard from the other guy, but c’est la vie. All you can do is try, right?

Of course, the trouble is, as always, my fear that I’m loving the single, no-strings-attached life so much that should a Mr. Right ever drop out of the sky into my path, I won’t be able to re-adjust to the world of the dating. However, I just keep telling myself that I’ll cross that bridge when, and if, I come to it. There’s nothing like a good, “I’ve been single for a long time and like my space” conversation to really open the channels of communication in a relationship, right?

Or, failing that, I hear they have lots of wonderful cats up for adoption at the animal shelter.

our lips are sealed

Here’s my new theory – let’s get rid of the “what are we/where is this going?” conversation. Just throw it out the window. Forget about it. Add it to the list of things we pretend don’t exist, like the cast of Jersey Shore and good manners.

I had this epiphany while talking to my friend Ang online  yesterday. One night last weekend, she went for dinner with the guy she dated briefly in the spring. He was an old friend from high school; when they started hanging out again earlier this year, they got romantically involved, but when Ang popped the “where is this going?” question, he balked, feeling that he wasn’t at a place in his life where he could be in a relationship. After spending some time apart to deal with their feelings, they got together for a casual, just-friends dinner. At least, that’s what Ang thought it was until her friend reached for the check at the end of the meal, saying, “What kind of date would I be if I didn’t pay?”

“And I was like, ‘I didn’t know this was a date,’” Ang wrote to me. “But then when we went back to my car after dinner I forced him to make out with me. If he’s going to send out mixed signals, so can I.”

I laughed. “You two would have been better off if you never had the ‘where are we going’ conversation, and he could have just kept telling himself that you two weren’t dating, and you could have kept telling yourself that you were, and everyone would have been happy.”

And that’s when it struck me that that piece of advice could apply to a lot of people. Imagine a world where your relationship can be whatever you want it to be, because you never define what it actually is! Who cares if he thinks you’re just a fuck buddy, but you think he’s your boyfriend? It’s perfect!

Ok, it’s sad and delusional, too, but sometimes it’s just as painful, if not less so, to be rudely awakened from a fantasy world as it is to confront the reality head-on and not get the answer you wanted. When you approach someone you like with the “where is this going?” question and they respond with “Nowhere,” when you were thinking wedding chapel and Caribbean honeymoon, it kind of makes you wish you had kept the fantasy alive a little longer, and avoided the question altogether.

Of course, the more realistic benefit to holding off on throwing the question out there is that it allows the relationship to develop naturally, and for the answer to become apparent on its own. It’s another element in my whole new “hands-off” theory of dating. Although we use words because we think they convey and clarify, sometimes they just confuse, and in the end, the less that’s said, the better.

and i don’t even have a psychology degree

Well folks, my Cheekd.com profile is up and running; now to find some eligible bachelors worthy of my cards. I am going to the National Constitution Center after work tonight. Maybe I’ll find some cute, nerdy boy who loves history as much as I do (although it’s more likely I’ll find a bunch of foreign tourists who will annoy the crap out of me as I try to go through the exhibits. Bah.)

In the meantime, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about relationships, and what constitutes a “relationship” to people in my generation, mostly in response to situations that some of my friends and I have found ourselves in recently.

Back in the day (circa high school), things were pretty cut and dry – boy meets girl, boy and girl like each other, boy and girl become “boyfriend and girlfriend.” Sure, there was drama involved from time to time – everybody knew that couple that broke up and got back together 15 times a week – but the whole thing was typically very black and white. If you liked someone and he or she liked you back, you were a couple. If the feelings weren’t reciprocated, you curled up in a corner and wrote emo poetry about your unrequited love.

Somewhere along the line though (perhaps in the drunken haze of my early 20s), things changed, and there was a shift from black-and-white to gray. To be fair, I do know people who have found themselves in relationships based on the old logical path (boy meets girl, boy and girl like each other, etc.) but lately I’ve been finding more and more relationships following a non-traditional path to that big ol’ gray area, and I’m torn between thinking this is best thing to ever happen to relationships, or  a harbinger of the apocalypse.

To avoid confusion, what I mean by a gray area is this – to someone in his or her mid-twenties (or older) labels aren’t as important as they once seemed in eleventh grade. Just because a boy and girl like each other doesn’t mean they are officially “boyfriend and girlfriend,” and just because a boy and a girl aren’t official, doesn’t mean they don’t like (or even love) each other.  The importance, seriousness, and intensity of a relationship – in the broadest sense of a connection between two people – isn’t diminished by the lack of an official label being arbitrarily slapped on it.

Obviously, one of the advantages to this is that it allows the relationship to be natural and organic without trying to squeeze it into a pre-defined set of rules and expectations. Putting a label on a relationship suddenly gives everything – from a simple phone call to a major disagreement – greater weight. Every thought and action is filtered through the lens of “I have to do this because I’m the boyfriend” or “I can’t do this because I’m his girlfriend.” Putting a sense of obligation on an action tends to make a person that much more unwilling to complete the action, whereas if a person is given a choice in the matter, he or she may actually be more willing to do what is being asked of him or her.

Furthermore, not labeling a relationship right away allows the relationship to develop at its own pace, and gives the people involved a chance to really find out if they are compatible. In high school, and even to an extent in college, everyone is trying to define themselves. One way to do that is in relation to another person, i.e. a boyfriend or girlfriend. But as we grow older, we learn to define ourselves as individuals, and it becomes more important to find someone who complements us, rather than defines us. It’s less about ‘This is my boyfriend” or “This is my girlfriend” and more about “This is the person who I care about and enjoy spending time with.”

Other extenuating factors can contribute to the breakdown of the traditional dating model as well, such as distance, time, or history. When two people live in different cities or states, dinner and a movie every Saturday night isn’t really an option; it doesn’t mean their feelings for each other are any weaker or less significant. Likewise, if two people have known each other for a long time, it may feel more natural to sneak, guerilla-style, from friendship into romantic territory, rather than rolling in on the “boyfriend/girlfriend” tank.

Of course, like anything else, there’s a downside to having your relationship reside in the La Gray Tar Pits. For one thing, the lack of boundaries can be confusing. When you have a significant other, you know, quite clearly, that you should not stick your tongue down the sexy bartender’s throat (knowing that, whether or not you choose to do so is entirely up to you). In an undefined relationship, it’s harder to know what’s kosher and what isn’t.

I also wonder what this means for our ADD-riddled generation. We Millennials were raised with the phrase “Keep your options open” ringing in our ears., and not being in a committed, defined relationships is certainly one way of doing that. (I blame the “Choose Your Own Adventure” books.) The trouble with keeping your options open is that you will always believe that the grass is greener – that there is always someone better out there. While that may be true in some cases, it also may not, and the longer you avoid commitment, the more likely it is that you will lose your best option. It’s like blackjack – know when to hit, and know when to stay, and living in the gray area may make it harder to know when to do which.

Is there a right or wrong way to have a relationship? With a few exceptions, not really, which is about the only conclusive result I can come to regarding this topic. For some people, being labeled “boyfriend and girlfriend” from day one works; for others, it doesn’t. The key is finding out what makes you comfortable with, and finding someone who makes you happy, regardless of what you call it.