Dating Blogger Amy: This is Awkward

I love awkwardness. Awkwardness always = fun. My enjoyment of awkwardness began my freshman year in college at an apartment party my friend Keesha later dubbed “The Birth of Awkward”.

I had met some crack head or other out with Old Jewman and, even though I was dating Evil A, gave Some Crack Head my number. He called me on Friday evening and invited me to an apartment party in the East Village. I said I’d go. So I grabbed my boyfriend (I know, what was I thinking? –for having a boyfriend, not for bringing him to the party) and we went. We buzzed. No answer. I called Some Crack Head: Me: Where was that party again? SCH: The party? Me: Yeah, where was it? I don’t think— SCH: Oh, you mean the party tomorrow night? I’ll text you the address. Me: Oh right—for that party TOMORROW night. Yes, I don’t think I have the address. Technically, that could have been the birth of awkward. But ‘twas a mere contraction. The next night Evil A and I corralled friends Gay Drew and Keesha, got stoned, and went to the party. For real. We buzzed, walked upstairs, and Not Some Crack Head answered the door. Me: Uhhhh. Hi. Is, uh, Some Crack Head here? Not SCH: Some Crack Head? Nooooo. He’ll be here later. Me: Oh. Uh, he invited me? I’m Me? Not SCH: Sure. Ok. Come on in. He’ll get here soon. Me: Hah. Yeah, ok. This is Evil A, Gay Drew, and Keesha. We went inside. There was no one there except for the for-hire bartender and three random dudes that possibly lived there. No one. We were the first to show. After awkwardly ambling around in slow motion and getting drinks we sat down with the hosts on their L-shaped beige couch and ‘got to know each other’. We talked to them for about 40 minutes. I can’t remember for the life of me anything about them, but we told them we were students. They were probably around 35 and not anything like students. An hour after the party’s start time people started showing up. They were all probably around 35 and not anything like students, nor crackheads, ironically. An hour and a half into the party, our stoned asses sinking deeper into the couch, the party reasonably full, the hosts not knowing what to do with us, and Some Crack Head still not there, we decided it was time to go to one of EVon’s parties in Chelsea. We didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that we were leaving, especially since we had devoured the entire bowl of cashews on the coffee table. So we decided to leave one by one, staggering each exit by one to five minutes. We exited successfully. And Awkward was born, stoned, laughing, and full of cashews. And has largely remained so these few years. So when a good opportunity for awkwardness arises, like a first date with an ESL Foreigner, I think of the funny story I’ll be able to tell my friends when it’s all over. And the funny jokes I’ll make in my head while it’s all happening. That’s one way you can tell a really good first date from an “eh” first date: You won’t be overly eager to share tales of awkwardness because you’ll be thinking about how hot, funny, etc. your date was. Which was my case with Spaniard, who recently made my life very awkward. It was Friday night. I was feeling excited about my new bangs and wearing red lipstick to match my shiny red shirt. I trotted up to Spaniard’s apartment. We were snuggling on his L-shaped beige couch, he was wearing a subtly velvet, pinstriped grey blazer. “I read your dating blogs today,” he said. He had told me he was going to read them that afternoon; it had been a resurfacing topic of discussion lately so I wasn’t that surprised. “Oh really,” I said. “Which ones?” “All of them.” “Wow. That’s a lot to take in,” I said, laughing, butterflies de-cocooning in my stomach. He had some questions about Matthew Tall, with whom he thought I was still cavorting. I explained that was a closed book. Nonetheless Spaniard started in about how I shouldn’t put up with Matthew Tall’s or any similar shit. He even opened the “It’s your fault for getting treated badly if you put up with it” door. I understand where Spaniard is coming from: Women shouldn’t put up with shit, but we do for a zillion reasons, stemming from: 1. Low self-esteem 2. Thinking singledom is the equivalence of a death sentence 3. Depression 4. Insecurity 5. Realizing you’re putting up with bad treatment for your and your friends' amusement (i.e. tales of awkwardness) and/or sex I’m guessing Spaniard can’t personally identify with nos. 1 through 5, and I wasn’t about to delve into any of them, lest I thwart my new bangs/red lipstick excitement. So though I felt frustrated and became defensive at the time, I won’t hold his “fault” comment against him. But then he told me something that snapped me out of my mounting anger: This wasn’t the first time he’d read my dating blogs. He read them when we first met and didn’t tell me or continue reading them. He said he knew I would write about him eventually and if I knew he was reading them it would have affected my writing. He didn’t want to interfere. Until that afternoon, of course. Here I had been working to keep things to myself and not get close to him, thinking he, smartie pants that he is (seriously), wasn’t reading them or wouldn’t… I didn’t know how to react. Was this good? I felt like smiling. And he didn’t seem to feel differently about me. And it was kind of an amazing and clever thing. He lied to me. But he seemed to have my best interests at heart. And what an awkward way to reveal a somewhat sordid past: It’s on the web forever and he can look it up at his leisure, which really isn’t fair. In the spirit of non-interference, we had this IM convo recently (remember, he’s Spanish—English is his second language): Spaniard: 14:09:07 you should write about your "one night stands" Amy Odell: 14:09:16 i haven't had many Spaniard: 14:09:22 define many Spaniard: 14:09:28 5? Amy Odell: 14:09:33 define one night stand Amy Odell: 14:09:34 no way Amy Odell: 14:09:38 like 2 or 3 maybe Spaniard: 14:09:44 well Spaniard: 14:09:48 that is quite a lot Amy Odell: 14:09:53 no it's not Amy Odell: 14:09:57 i'm sure you've had way more Spaniard: 14:09:58 when was the last one? Amy Odell: 14:10:04 last night Spaniard: 14:10:08 come on Amy Odell: 14:10:18 how many have you had Spaniard: 14:10:31 I don't think I've had more than 3 Spaniard: 14:10:42 my last one was last september Spaniard: 14:10:45 and yours? Amy Odell: 14:11:13 summer Amy Odell: 14:11:18 june maybe Spaniard: 14:11:23 maybe??? Spaniard: 14:11:25 you don't remember?? Spaniard: 14:11:27 come on Amy Odell: 14:11:42 i think june but it may have been july Amy Odell: 14:11:44 i don't knwo Amy Odell: 14:11:49 probably june Spaniard: 14:11:51 it may have been july Spaniard: 14:11:52 or august Spaniard: 14:11:54 or september Amy Odell: 14:12:00 not aug or sept Spaniard: 14:12:08 hahah Spaniard: 14:12:13 how come you are so sure Spaniard: 14:12:18 you said you don't remember Amy Odell: 14:12:24 i know it was either may june or july Amy Odell: 14:12:28 i'm pretty sure it was june Spaniard: 14:12:47 with Matthew tall?? Amy Odell: 14:12:51 i think my brain blocked it out Amy Odell: 14:12:54 no Spaniard: 14:13:09 why your brain blocked it out? Spaniard: 14:13:12 it wasn't good? Amy Odell: 14:13:17 fuck no Amy Odell: 14:13:19 are they ever? Spaniard: 14:13:24 who was he? Spaniard: 14:13:27 did you write about it? Amy Odell: 14:13:41 i may have mentioned him Spaniard: 14:13:44 you should write about your "last one night stand" Spaniard: 14:13:50 who was he? Amy Odell: 14:13:52 i don't really want to Amy Odell: 14:14:13 it's not that interesting Spaniard: 14:14:23 what is the nickname of him? Spaniard: 14:14:27 not the real name Amy Odell: 14:14:38 i don't know what i called him Spaniard: 14:14:40 so I can understand your stories Amy Odell: 14:18:30 are you going to go back and start looking things up? Spaniard: 14:18:39 not now Spaniard: 14:18:42 hehe Amy Odell: 14:18:47 that's not fair Spaniard: 14:18:53 you don't even want to tell me his name Amy Odell: 14:19:04 i don't see why it matters Spaniard: 14:19:04 I tell you my stories and you don't tell me yours Spaniard: 14:19:06 that is not fair Amy Odell: 14:19:14 shit my stories are all over the fucking internet Spaniard: 14:19:21 I always tell you my stories Amy Odell: 14:19:26 reluctantly Spaniard: 14:19:29 but I do Amy Odell: 14:19:35 ok Spaniard: 14:19:49 and you don't even want to tell me his nickname Spaniard: 14:19:55 I don't care about his real name Amy Odell: 14:19:59 i honestly don't remember what i called him Spaniard: 14:19:59 not at all Amy Odell: 14:20:13 something with DJ in it Spaniard: 14:20:23 he was a DJ? Amy Odell: 14:20:30 yeah Spaniard: 14:20:37 ah Spaniard: 14:20:51 see, I don't really care about the name Spaniard: 14:21:00 is just a matter of confidence Amy Odell: 14:21:04 what do you mean Spaniard: 14:21:21 that is your life and you can do whatever you want Amy Odell: 14:21:49 ? Spaniard: 14:21:55 but that I also deserve to know some of your stories Amy Odell: 14:22:52 that is something i didn't even really tell my friends about Spaniard: 14:23:02 but you wrote about it Amy Odell: 14:23:12 i may have mentioned it Amy Odell: 14:23:29 which is not to say i really wrote about it Spaniard: 14:23:36 ok ok Spaniard: 14:23:50 your stories are like a biography Amy Odell: 14:24:13 yes they are The conversation that Friday night wasn’t the fun kind of awkward. But posting this IM convo is.