Nobody puts baillee in the corner

I can honestly say I’ve never been in love. I’ve had childhood crushes. I’ve experienced the likes of adolescence. I’ve had feelings for certain gentlemen in both college and my ongoing post-grad life. However, my barely aged adult eyes have never truly seen love. I tried OK Cupid twice during college and all I got was this t-shirt and cyber stalker. I tried OK Cupid once more last summer and wound up awkwardly cuddling with a guy who had major garlic bread breath, attempted to make out with the side of my mouth because I had recently gotten a lip ring, and almost exclusively discussed all of the gritty, HBO details of he and his ex-girlfriend’s sex life then proceeded to fall asleep for an hour and leave. Friends, he legitimately attempted to make out with the side of my mouth, suckled my ENTIRE ear (I am still cringing to this very day), panicked after catching a glimpse of my horrified face, tried to recover by suggesting talking and cuddling, fell asleep for over an hour while I was stuck in spooning hell*, and left.

I then tried Tinder, which resulted in numerous inappropriate messages, many including acronyms and innuendos I never knew existed, several angry texts from an irate gentleman with a celebrity tattoo who essentially accused me of lying about working and allegedly cried because he thought what we had was real (we never hung out and texted for maybe three days), and my personal favorite, which deserves its own sentence. I was cancelled on by a Rick Moranis doppelganger** who came to visit me at work to bring me a book he bought me of his own accord, asked me out on a date he planned, and then texted me to let me know he was very lonely and hoped the universe would repay his honesty because he was more interested in the fact I was interested in him than he was actually interested in me.

Needless to say, I, much like Foreigner, want to know what love is. Romantic comedies have shaped this idea that some variation of following scenario should lead me into love: I bump into a gentleman on a street. As he’s helping me up, our eyes lock. We fumble over our words and stumble into an awkward introduction. We part ways. I then walk into either his bookstore or musical performance later on. We start dating. His ex randomly shows up. This leads to some sort of conflict. We part ways. Dramatic music sets the backdrop for a sad montage. One of us proclaims our love for the other, complete with optional rainfall. We embrace and kiss. Roll credits.

I can assure you I have fallen multiple times on the streets of Austin, and an attractive funny, sensitive, and musically gifted gentleman has never been there to help me up. It’s usually either a worried soccer mom or a poor homeless person I’ve startled by tripping over their belongings. Maybe I need to expand my clumsiness to include a wider parameter of Austin. I haven’t fallen down in North Austin recently. Is this the secret? Ladies, did your latest relationship result from an honest fall, or did you hurl yourself onto the ground in an attempt to gain the attention of a gentleman caller? Does your boyfriend know the truth, or did he fake trip you in an attempt to gain the attention of a beautiful woman? If there was any deceit in your current situation, I hope the two of you have beautiful children, you dirty liars.

All joking and only partial bitterness aside, what is love? I feel like I’ve seen old love by watching my parents still hold hands while talking on the couch. I feel like I’ve seen new love by watching the budding relationships of my friends. But what is true, deep, 20-something love? I hope I know before I have to rephrase the age group addressed in that question because I will hopefully have received my movie and/or TV series deal(s) and have long abandoned this blog, and it would be a real inconvenience to have to edit this post.

*Little known fact, Spooning Hell is actually representative of the fifth level of Hell for bad online dates as depicted in Dante’s Inferno.

**My suitor was much taller and representative of Rick’s good years.