Text message cop-outs and unconditional affection

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE LOVELY
From the quiet stacks at the Wells Library to the hustle and bustle on Kirkwood, IU students are whispering about their latest hookup story. Every week, my confidante Nancy and I talk out our proud and embarrassing highlights — from the different worlds of a daring, eccentric party girl and a good, preppy sorority sister — because the only thing we like better than cornhole is a scandalous gab.

I conducted an experiment. Test subjects A, B, and C consisted of three males.
Dependent variables were the modes of communication between myself and the subjects.  

The object is to determine whether or not the communication of an in-person confrontation, a phone call, or a text message clarifies the intentions of the relationship.

Subject A (“Michael Phelps”) was swimming laps in the lane beside mine in the SRSC.

As we both took a breather, he devilishly smiled and challenged me to a race. Call me a sore loser, but because he beat me I did not give him my phone number. Afterward, when he saw me upstairs outside the pool, he insisted and I disclosed my digits.

Later that week Phelps called me and we shared an hour-long conversation and agreed on meeting for dinner Friday night. Like a gentleman, he picked me up and took me out to a sushi restaurant and we continued to date for four months.

Variables are that we met in a daytime environment participating in an activity. Other variables consist of meeting in a natural state without any maintenance of appearance. It was sincere and real interest.

Subject B (“Party Boy”) introduced himself to me at a party at his fraternity. In a loud music-blaring atmosphere, he offered me a drink and then brought me to the dance floor. Once the party was over, he walked me home.

Being particularly warm on this late night, I decided I wanted to go for a quick dip. We climbed over the fence and went skinny dipping in the outdoor pool.

Although he and I never shared much real conversation, we had adventure. We shared a different kind of intimacy that was unsuitable for a substantial relationship to function. Our relationship consisted of him calling me to his fraternity to party, and I never saw him when the sun was up. Our activity was fun-related and never serious. Efforts relied on exciting party perks.

It was quite appropriate that I met subject C during the day because we both happened to share the same weakness: day sex. In fact, we will call him “Mr. Day Sex.”

We met during a party in honor of the event of the Little 500 race.  I liked his style and did not ask questions as we walked back to his place to “hang out.”

Mr. Day Sex and I continued to meet in this fashion up until this semester, and I cannot tell you one detail about him other than how he is in bed. He texts me before a weekend is coming up and makes plans for us to meet.

That is all. No favorite color nonsense, nothing. Straight up sex.

I do not know what his voice sounds like on the phone. Factors are that our initial meeting was impulsive and effortless. We have a connection, but it is not meaningful, it simply satisfies.

The saying, “Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free,” applies to this experiment.

Funny how Michael Phelps and I started with a race and he chased after me. If he had simply texted me the way Mr. Day Sex had done, then I would not have beckoned an inch further. Texting is a pathetic cop-out and does not buy the cow. Because Mr. Day Sex and I started unconventionally, I accepted the texts. Mr. Day Sex had no reason to call me over the phone or spend time with me because I gave the milk for free. This was okay because I was getting milk too. Party Boy was a happy medium between the extremes and was fun. As long as all of our party pertained, there was no need to risk the moment.

It takes neither cow nor scientist to notice that what you give influences what you get.

***

My repertoire of test subjects were fun but would not be used in Nancy’s studies. She finds herself to be more of a chemical explosion than the guy.

OK, imagine that you are competing a rigorous obstacle course. The first stage is completely lit on fire. The second rains knives. In the third you have to swim through water just above freezing, and in the last stage, you go through an ordeal so terrifying that if you don’t rip your eyeballs out, you can date me.

Yeah. I’m pretty impossible. Some of the insanity that surrounds the way that I act with guys can be explained by how guarded I am, some of it may be because I don’t think you are worth it, and some of it is pretty much because I am a total psycho and I know it. I’m basically a scared little girl wandering around college land and I am not really sure of the protocol with dudes. I know that Carly has an entire system to pinpoint exactly the character she is dealing with. Not the case with this one right here.

I might be thinking about him constantly. Does he like me? What did he mean when he said that? Is he worth it? But the second that I actually am confronted with the very real possibility of seeing him, I will hide.

I mean I’m not going to spring into a bathroom or anything, but I will certainly keep my eyes down in the halls, and if I hear his voice I will probably go out the exit that is the most out of the way so I wont have to walk by him.

It’s weird. I know.

So if a guy likes me enough to physically restrain me and force me to talk to him and manages to find a day in the evening that I can’t find something I need to study for instead — maybe we will go on a date. After I get over that hurdle, it just gets worse for the poor boy. As we get more comfortable I will casually mention that I am a total psycho. That I can’t help but turning the nice guy into the a-hole. (I came to this conclusion over winter break whining to my friends “I just wish he would like me 10 percent less.)

If somehow that has not sent him screaming and I get a little more comfortable, then I might try to freak him out in other ways by letting some of my little idiosyncrasies — or reasons that I’m a huge loser — slip. I’ll casually mention the whole math team, high school marching band thing. Maybe throw in a story or two about how nuts my family is.

And if he still hasn’t gotten his cue and actually thinks that I am a datable human
being. There is one last way to find out if he is good for you. The Disney Movie. Just tell him how badly you have been wanting to see this and wait. Will he sit through it for you? Is he going to complain?

Find the guy that will hold your hand when King Triton wrecks Arielle’s secret treasure trove, and you have found a little gem of your own.