99 problems

One of my facebook friends posted a status that was all, “Why can’t the Sun publish educated opinions?” So here goes nothing. David Foster Wallace is the poor man’s Thomas Pynchon. Pynchon is the pretentious man’s Vonnegut. Bam. Moving on.

Last weekend, my friend (who has recently found the man of his dreams) expressed his concern over my own lack of significant other. Heretofore, I’ve remained relatively indifferent on the subject. But then he told me that boyfriends buy you things. Suffice it to say, I’m down.

What followed was a Charlene Yi-like quest. Only without Michael Cera, thank baby Jesus. I can’t be the only person filled with rage at the mere sight of the former George Michael Bluth. I just want to kick him in the shins.

But I digress. We sat in the Target parking lot as he (loudly) lamented my situation (I giggled a little whilst turning an extremely attractive shade of tomato), when he was struck by genius.

“Hey you,” my friend called to a young man also awaiting the arrival of the number 30 bus. “Do you have any advice for this girl on how to get a boyfriend?” The boy looked at me, looked at my friend, and cocked an eyebrow. I was a little insulted. “No, don’t worry, not you. Just a boy, in general.” He put on a serious face. “Show ‘em your boobs. Walk up to someone and show him your boobs. If they’re not interested, they’re not worth your time.” Sounds like solid advice to me.

So yeah, I don’t have a boyf. I know, I’m as surprised as you are. I mean, I would date the shit out of me. I have half a head of hair, I wear my grandpa’s clothes, and once I had a dream that Chaim Potok and Philip Roth were best friends. Seriously. That was the whole dream. They talked about Davita’s Harp. What has two thumbs and is a great catch? This guy.

I told my mom that I was going to write this column, and she was like, “Oh, hilarious! You can talk about how the only boys you talk to are gay.” Thanks a lot, lady.

But that’s not entirely true. See, my friend Julie has this thing. Let’s call it the kavorka (what up Seinfeld). She is a dude magnet. Well, I too, have a kavorka. A very specific kavorka. Are you sort of weird and scruffy? Do you wear a lot of flannel? Do you hate ska but love Leftover Crack? (If you don’t get this reference, you will probably be able to resist my mysterious pull). I am not opposed to these things, for the record. On the contrary, most of them I rather enjoy. It’s this last part that’s the kicker: do you think it is acceptable to contact a girl you’ve never met before on facebook? And ask her on a date? For tea? At Stella’s?

It’s a full blown phenomenon. This has happened to me twice. And a half. And once in DC.

And I went, too. I drank awkward mochas and made awkward small talk. Mostly about punk bands. Which is pretty hilarious, since the last time somebody asked me what my favorite band was, I said “Mingus” (I have no excuse. I really said that).

Here comes my sweeping generalization of a point: dating, even friend making, is tricky business for the social networking generation (read: us). We know everyone before we meet them. You see someone on Ho Plaza that you vaguely recognize, but you can’t figure out why. Then you realize- so and so’s pictures on the good ol’ fb.

This poses a multitude of problems for the socially awkward (read: me). Do you wave at the kid you met once at a party, who pops up on your feed all the time? How about that girl who added you out of the blue? (No, and no, respectively. What if they don’t wave back?).

And my Stella’s dates? Poor boys were expecting some awesome chick ready to fuck shit up because I have a Crass sweatshirt and some old pictures with my stupid anarcho-primitivist friend Elliot. Instead they got me.

And then there are those freshman year friends that you meet up with because you both have Lou Reed and Dead Kennedys and Ghost World listed in your favorite whatevers. You sit in Appel and realize that you don’t actually have anything to talk about.

It’s like you don’t even have to be cool in real life. You just have to be charming on the internet.