#WritingDate - Watch (A Wedding Gone Wrong)

It's that time of year again - National Writing Date Day! Once again I made a date with my dear friend and wonderful writer Erin to set some time aside and just write, write, write. Erin provided us a few prompts. The first prompt we both did. The prompt was: 
There's a nail salon near you that never seems to have customers. You discover the real purpose of the business.

This one got away from me a bit. I may hide the resulting stories in the corners of my mind until I'm ready to grudgingly acknowledge it, but Erin's version is available here. 

For the second hour we did separate prompts. Erin's was:
You've been on the road driving for almost twenty hours. At 2 am you drive up to a restaurant that's open all night. Describe the experience and the people you see.

Her story is here!

I liked this prompt:
A fight breaks out between a bride and groom in the middle of a wedding. What happened?

And thus, a story (a completely unedited story so bear with me here) was born...
  

Watch

 

The little girl was flawlessly adorable. I couldn’t believe how tidy she looked. I had only been babysitting for a few months, but kids were never that clean. I looked around to try and identify her mother. The girl was standing by herself near the gifts, swirling around her skirts, but I was pretty sure the mother wouldn’t be far off.

Sure enough, a few tables away I saw a woman watching her. The woman was also flawless, which was why I assumed she was the mother. They didn’t really look the same. The little girl was lighter. Lighter hair, lighter skin, and she seemed like one of those genuinely nice children. The mother was dark and glamorous, but she also looked like she’d be perfectly happy ruining your life just for the fun of it. She screamed money though, and I wasn’t exactly making the big bucks right now for the families I babysat for.

It all depended on the little girl. I made my way towards the gifts, pretending to be startled when she almost danced into me. “I didn’t see you there.” I leaned down with a smile. “What are you dancing to?”

She blinked back at me with the prettiest blue eyes I had ever seen. The color seemed familiar, but hers had such dark lashes that they stood out more than usual. I wasn’t sure if she was scared at seeing a stranger, or had been told not to talk to anybody. I continued to smile.

“I’m dancing to the music,” she finally said shyly.

There was no music playing at the moment. My aunt had instructed the musicians to wait until her first dance before playing anything. My mother had argued, saying it was weird for the guests to be eating in silence. The groom, my now uncle, had agreed. Aunt Beth had stayed firm though. She said it was because they were paying the band by the hour, which swayed Dan to her side since it meant less money. Especially after she had bought the wedding dress. That had been a battle right there. But I knew Aunt Beth. It had nothing to do with the money. She wanted the entire night to be her moment, one right after the other. Having no music beforehand would make it even more noticeable when her and Dan emerged soon for their first dance.

“Well, it’s a lovely dance,” I told the girl. She smiled slowly. “May I dance with you?” I was surprised but pleased when she nodded. I wasn’t sure she’d let me.

Copying her, I started twirling my skirts around. Even though I wasn’t in the wedding party, Aunt Beth had insisted on picking out my dress. Hideous wasn’t the right word. Old-fashioned worked if I was being polite. My mother had protested once or twice on my behalf but then gave in, as she always did. Dan had been surprised to find out my mother was the older sibling.

The woman was watching us both dance now. I was staying a few feet away from the little girl. I didn’t want to look like some kind of creep. I suppose I could be talking to my cousins or sitting with my grandparents, but if one more person said something nice about Aunt Beth I was going to scream. She wasn’t nice, she was a controlling bitch, but apparently one wasn’t supposed to say that about their aunts.

The little girl stopped dancing. “There’s no more music,” she told me solemnly.

I nodded. “That happens. Thank you for the dance.” I started to walk away.

“Will you come sit with me?” she asked before I could move. I hesitated. Aunt Beth had been very particular on her table arrangements, but it did look like there was an extra place at their table.

“Of course,” I said with a smile. What the hell.

I followed her back to the table. Apparently I had passed the test, as the little girl was now chattering on and on about her dress and how pretty the wedding was, and did I like the flowers at the table? Her mother gave her an adoring smile as we walked up. “Did you make a friend, sweetie?”

“Yes, mommy!” She gave her a quick kiss then sat down, smoothing out her skirt, before patting the chair next to her. “Here, sit with me.”

First I stopped and smiled at the mother. “Hi, I’m Madison.”

She shoed me over to the seat. “Go ahead and sit down. Ella seems to adore you.”

“She’s a very sweet girl,” I smiled. This was always a good line. Mothers liked their children getting complimented, and Ella was still at that age to like being praised. Babysitting had taught me that both mattered. Even if the kids liked you, if the parents didn’t, you weren’t getting the job.

Before the woman could say anything, the music started playing. I rolled my eyes as Aunt Beth and Dan walked in to applause. She had even arranged a few of our other relatives to toss petals in the air as they walked to the dance floor. I thought I was going to be sick.

I turned away. To my surprise, the woman was also grimacing. Was there someone else out there that recognized Aunt Beth for the catty bitch that she was? Or maybe she didn’t like Dan? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t remember seeing this woman at the ceremony to know where she was sitting.

“How do you know my aunt and uncle?” I whispered as they started the first dance. Ella was dancing in her seat and ignoring us, clearly enjoying watching the couple.

The woman paused. I sensed that she was choosing her words carefully. “I’m a friend of Dan’s. He might have mentioned me before. I’m Stella.”

I hated people that named their kids after themselves, but I didn’t comment on it. I remembered hearing about a Stella. Not from Dan, but from Aunt Beth.

“Oh, yes,” I murmured. Thank god, Ella chose that moment to speak up.

“Can Madison and I go dance, Mommy?” I marveled at how well behaved she was. At that age, I would have been tugging on my mom’s skirt for attention. She would be so much better than some of the devil kids I watched now.

“Not yet, sweetie. Uncle Dan has to finish dancing first before other people are allowed to. That’s how weddings work.” Ella nodded as if that made sense to her. Maybe it did. It didn’t make sense to me, but my mother also said I was bitter about marriage because of her divorce. Of course I was. Now my dad had a new family and I had to start saving money for college, otherwise I knew I wouldn’t be going.

I was eager for the dances to finish so I could get away from the table. Now that I realized who I was sitting with, I was a little less eager for Aunt Beth to see me flaunting her seating arrangements. She hated Stella. She had complained about Stella more than once. She thought that her and Dan were too close, and that Stella always talked down to her.

Soon enough, the dances were done and Ella got her wish to go back to the dance floor. I figured Ella was a safe enough bet. Aunt Beth knew I liked kids, and I had never once heard her say anything about Ella, so I figured she must like her well enough. She pretty much only talked about people to complain about them.

The next hour passed fast enough, faster than I was expecting really. The beautiful thing about playing with Ella was that I got to follow her around on her every whim. She was a typical kid, distracted by something else every few minutes. This meant I got to avoid some of the other random duties Aunt Beth thought the family should help with during the reception, and even better, avoid Aunt Beth.

Stella continued to keep an eye on us but didn’t intervene. I tapped into my reserves of patience so that I could continue to appear as the perfect caregiver.

However I realized before too long that not only was Stella watching us, but Aunt Beth was too. I worried for a moment before realizing she wasn’t watching me so much as Ella. I didn’t have too long to wonder why, when Aunt Beth started making her way towards us. Seemingly in response, so did Stella. Dan was across the room talking to some of his college friends, but when he saw what was going on he started heading in our direction too.

Fuck. I had no idea what was going on, but I wasn’t an idiot. It was something not good. Poor little Ella continued with catching the bubbles I was blowing from the table favors. She didn’t seem to notice everyone coming towards us.

Aunt Beth and Stella got to our corner at the same time. Aunt Beth was staring down Ella. She wouldn’t look away.

“Who’s this you’re watching, Madison?”

Ella looked up. “She’s not watching me. We’re playing.”

Aunt Beth gasped. I blinked, and stopped blowing bubbles. It wasn’t like Ella had said anything shocking.

“What pretty eyes you have,” Aunt Beth hissed. I felt compelled to pull Ella back a little closer to me. I had no idea what was going on, but this was starting to sound like a bad kind of fairy tale.

“That’s my daughter, Ella.” Stella spoke up. I think Aunt Beth knew that though. She didn’t look surprised at all. She also didn’t look away from Ella.

“It’s a little funny, isn’t it?” Aunt Beth asked. I looked to Stella to see if she had any idea what Aunt Beth was talking about. Aunt Beth continued. “Somehow I’ve never seen your daughter. Dan talks about her, but I’ve never met her.”

Stella looked composed as ever. “Somehow Beth, I didn’t get the impression you wanted to have much to do with me, or my daughter.”

Dan walked up to the group, putting his arm around Aunt Beth. “Is everything okay over here ladies?” He looked between the two of them. An idiot could see that Aunt Beth was livid about something. Dan wasn’t an idiot. He wisely deflected, and leaned down instead towards Ella. “Hey baby girl, are you having a good time at the party?”

Ella lit up. She had been starting to hide behind my skirts, but now she reached for Dan. “I got to dance! And have cake!”

Dan laughed and picked her up. I gasped. I finally got it. Now that he was holding her, I realized why Ella looked familiar. “Good, sweetie! I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Somehow I knew that Dan didn’t see it. Aunt Beth did, and I could tell right away she wasn’t going to let this go.

“When were you planning to tell me?” She had turned towards Dan and Ella, hands on her hip, clearly in battle mode. The rest of the room was beginning to murmur. The body language in our corner screamed conflict.

Poor Dan looked clueless. “Tell you what?”

“That you had a CHILD with that WOMAN,” Aunt Beth screeched. I winced and looked towards Stella.

She was smiling! What the fuck?

“I don’t have a child,” Dan protested. “And I tell you everything.”

“So you told her about that time we slept together?” Stella asked coolly. Aunt Beth was turning red. I had no idea why I was still standing near this disaster other than morbid curiosity.

Dan spluttered. “That was six years ago, I didn’t think it mattered.” He turned to Aunt Beth. “It’s not like you’ve told me every single person you slept with.”

“Yes, but I have asked you about her MULTIPLE TIMES. You said you were just friends!”

“We are just friends! We’re better as friends!”

I saw Stella wince at those words, and I knew then that the friends thing was not her idea. Ella was looking frightened. I took a breath and pushed my way in. “I think Ella wants to go play. Come here, Ella.”

Dan looked down to hand her to me, and that’s when he got it. I was afraid he was going to drop her. He went completely pale, and then turned haunted eyes back up to Stella.

Stella choose that moment to take her revenge. She swiftly took Ella from Dan’s arms and pushed her towards me. “Go play, Danielle. Mommy will be over in a minute.”

I grabbed Ella’s hand and started hustling her away, but not before I could hear Aunt Beth hiss, “Danielle?”

“What did you think Ella was short for?” Stella said.

I was pretty sure I would not be seeing Dan at the next family gathering.

Shuttup and Do It

I’m pretty sure anyone that’s ever actually given birth will kill me for this, but I kind of think of NaNoWriMo like labor.

Last year, I successfully completed NaNoWriMo for the first time. If you’re not up on the lingo, basically a bunch of insane people (including me) attempt to write a novel of at least 50,000 words, the catch being they need to both start and finish it in the month of November. Thus November is NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth.

I talked a little last year about my reasons for doing NaNoWriMo. I checked in almost halfway through the month with an update on my story. I never really talked about the experience afterward.

Why do I think it’s the same as giving birth?

When I finished last November 30^th, I was immensely proud of what I had done, and I promised myself immediately I would never do it again.

A few weeks later, I looked back and was even more proud of my accomplishment, and started thinking maybe in a few more years I’d be ready to do it again.

By this October, I convinced myself it wasn’t that bad and I could totally do it again. In fact, it’d probably be easier since I would go in more prepared than the first time. Oh, the sweet little lies we tell ourselves.

This NaNoWriMo I actually did a little more prep than last year, but I’m not sure how much it’s helping me. My entire timeline changed with pretty much the first chapter. Weird things I wasn’t expecting keep happening, like my main character pissing accidentally herself and having some sort of hair dye fetish. I’ve already killed off three people, and I certainly wasn’t planning on that.

While I’m actually on target with my word count (which is a minor miracle, since I was 10,000 words behind Saturday morning), I also want to finish ahead of time this year since I’ll be spending time with my brother the last few days of the month. At this point it’s equally likely that I say screw it and stop writing, or somehow pull 10,000 more words out of my @ss to finish.

But since this has been more or less taking over the last month of my life, and thus preventing me from update, I decided to share with you, my dear friends, the first chapter of the story!!

Keep in mind there will be typos. There’s really no looking back with NaNoWriMo, just moving forward. Someday if I finish and decide not to forget this whole mess ever happened I made go back and fix things, but that day is not today.

So here it is, the first chapter of my insane zombie story!

Above Reproach

Chapter 1

I’ve never really understood why we’re so rigid about the rope rules. Who exactly do they think is going to climb the ladder if we leave for a few minutes? The grounders? The day zombies get smart enough to climb we’re going to have a fuckton more problems than worrying about the ropes.

            No one ever listens to me though. They listen to me talk. They love to hear my stories. The minute I turn somewhat serious they close their ears and hum, which is why I’m standing under the lookout whistling the magic tune to get somebody to drop down the rope ladder and let me up. Never mind the fact that they can clearly see me. Allegedly the whistling proves that I haven’t been infected in the ten minutes I’ve been on the ground, and I’m safe to climb up and take over duties.

            It might be me, but these days I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes every time the Three make a new rule.

            The ladder drops and I start to climb. It’s not exactly a ladder in that the rungs are randomly spaced out, and you still have sections of pure rope that require a little bit more concentration to make it up. I can never decide if wearing my gloves makes it harder to navigate those sections or if I’m lucky to have them protect my hands.

You can tell who frequently has lookout duty based on the calluses on their hands. It beats the rope burn at least. There are other ways to tell of course, like who has freaking amazing upper torsos. If we still had a government and leaders and all that, they’d be ecstatic that we’ve beat the obesity epidemic. I can’t decide if people are more motivated to stay in shape because they have a better chance of outrunning a mob of grounders, or if it’s because of the shitty food. Maybe you like a second helping of burned squirrel stew and gummy rice, but I’m good, thanks.

            I’m not entirely surprised when someone reaches down and pulls me up the last bit of rope. I’m going to say that it was a subconscious decision to pick this lookout, but that’s a lie. Pierce always takes this tree. I know this. I’d like to pretend I was unaware that he was out on duty and probably here, but I can admit to myself at least that I wanted to see him.

            “Hey Mink,” he says with a smile. I haven’t figured out yet how he manages to look like a wet dream and somebody I want to punch at the same time. It might be the hair. Given the lack of barbers it tends to erratically hang in his eyes. In another lifetime, like five years ago, I probably would have called him emo and laughed in his face, assuming he had the same hair. More likely he had some super cool douchebag cut that emphasized his strong jawline and let the world see those baby blues. Not that I’ve memorized his face or anything. This thought is purely prompted by the fact that he’s staring at me at the moment. Right.

            Of course that might be because I have yet to respond. I manage a cool nod. We’ve been talking too much recently when we’re both at the lodge. I wouldn’t want him to think we’re becoming friends. I don’t need friends and all the shit that comes with them anymore.

            I give the lookout a quick lookover, but nothing’s changed since I was here last week. Of course Pierce the perfect would have everything in order.

            “How’s the ground movement?” I ask as I set my bag down in the corner. Since we don’t keep any of the food supplies in the lookouts it’s a good excuse to lug my bag around with me. One of these days someone’s going to open it up and find my stash of goods. I’m not the only lookout hoarding junk from the towns, but I don’t kid myself. I’m more likely to be searched at some point. The current Three only trust me so far.

            “Nothing on this end,” Pierce says, and his voice sounds too close. I look up to see he’s followed me to the corner. “They’re losing their juice though, we’re going to need a replace mission soon.”

            I toss my hair, which forces him to back up a step. “We’re going to need a supply mission soon too. The lodge is running low on meds and some of the kids have a fever.” I can’t help it, I feel myself start to grin at him. “I’ll radio in that you should go for supplies if you tell them to send me on replacement duty.”

            Pierce laughs. “Trickster girl. You’re too slow, I already heard from Lookout 2 that we’re heading in for supplies. You’ll be earning no favors from me today.”

            There are so many comebacks dancing on my tongue, but I literally bite it to hold back. That’s the problem with being around Pierce. Even worse, I think he can tell what thoughts are running through my head. His face softens and he steps closer again.

            “Maybe I spoke too soon,” he says. His voice is dangerously low.

            I don’t believe in prayer anymore, but hearing the walkie crackle to life makes me think for a second that the universe might have been sympathetic to my inner turmoil. That would figure, that it cares about the little moments and ignores the problems that ruin your world. I step away from Pierce to answer the call.

            “Lookout 1 reporting, over.” My voice sounds steady. Points to me. Especially since Pierce clearly followed me over. I can feel warmth right behind me, but I’m smart enough not to turn my head. This was my fault. I should never have climbed up that ladder.

            “The Lodge wants all lookouts coming off duty to head to the carport. Send them immediately. Over and out.”

            I feel myself tense even as Pierce moves away to gather his gear. I don’t know who’s voice that was, but I burn with hatred for them.

            “There’s no reason for you all to take a car. All they said we needed was meds. You can carry that back easily.” I glare at Pierce as if it’s his fault that they’re making a simple trip more dangerous.

            “Down get your fur up, Mink, I’m sure the Three have their reasons.” This time Pierce is the one avoiding looking at me.

            I scowl. “All we need to do is call back in. They listen to you. Tell them it’s a bad idea. The grounders are going to be closer than usual.”

            “Maybe that’s why we’re taking a car, so we can outrun them if necessary.”

            “Please,” the word is so hesitant, I feel it shimmering in the air as if the next breath will blow away the memory that it was ever spoken. “Call back in and ask them to let you guys walk.”

            Pierce has already pulled on the straps of his bag and is standing at the rope, but he crosses back to my side of the lookout. I have a few seconds of hope before he gently touches my cheek.

           

            “Trust me, it will be fine. Be a good soldier, Mink.” Before I can decide how to react, what to do, he steps away and yells back, “Besides it’s my turn to drive.”

            He gives me a wink as he goes to start down the ladder. I force myself to say the right thing.

            “In that case it’s definitely not safe.” I unlock my wooden jaw to smile a little as I say it. If we joke around it’s okay. Nothing will happen.

            I wish I believed that still. I wish I could have said what I was really thinking. That we aren’t soldiers. That it might not be fine. And that the Three aren’t always right.

            I go to the window to watch Pierce head off to the carport. He never looks back, so being ready to wave seems pointless. I can’t make myself move away though. From this lookout I’m too far away to see the carport itself, but I can catch glimpses of whoever’s coming down from Lookout 2.

            It’s enough to free me. I don’t really want to know who’s coming down that ladder. I don’t want to spend the next ten hours worrying about anyone else on this supply trip. It would be fine if they were walking, or if we had replaced recently. The grounders get closer though when the scarecrows aren’t fresh, and they’re always attracted to the sound of engines. They might not be smart, but it’s like zombies have an instinct for being in the worse place possible for us. They’ve cut off the return from town before. It’s why lookout and scavenger duties are strictly volunteer work.

            There’s not really enough to do on lookout duty to distract yourself. Pierce kept the place tidy. Half the time I spend the first part of my shift cleaning up after whoever was before me. I make sure the guns are loaded. The walkie clearly is working, so I don’t need to check it. We’ll still do the midshift check-in, but that’s hours away. All I need to do at this point is watch out the windows and listen for the bells.

            My mother was the first to question if the lookouts were even remotely useful or not. As long as we keep the scarecrows fresh the grounders never wander this far in the woods. It’s been weeks since another survivor followed the lights here. I’ve suggested that it would be better to have lookouts stationed on the path to town, but that was shot down in a second. I can’t be the only one to notice that the lookouts, as they are right now, are crowded around the Three. They don’t even really block the Lodge from the town side of the forest. This side is naturally protected by the river, so why are most of the lookouts clustered here?

            These are the questions that plaque my shifts. I settle in at the window as I hear the broken sounds of a car driving too fast for our dirt path. As my eyes adjust to staring at an endless view of trees, I start my mantra. They will not stay grounded. They will return above.

Your Special Snowflake Sucks

This week there was a whole spiel on the radio devoted to whether a parent should let their kids know when they suck at something. The debate was whether it was better to be honest with a child and crush their hopes and dreams early on, or to give them an inflated sense of self but avoid breaking their tiny hearts. I missed the end decision, but lordy do I hope we decided to be dream crushers.

Personally, I realized very early on in life that my mother was completely biased and I could not trust her on anything. Heck, until recently I was convinced she had invented the compliment “doe eyes” and bribed relatives/friends to say it to me. It’s only been the past few months that I realized it’s actually a real phrase. To be fair, this is the same mother that claims I’m a fast runner (I’m not), that both her children are beautiful (and she maintained this through our super awkward phases, which were super awkward and unfortunate), and that I’m a good singer (she’s tone deaf, how would she even know?).

I didn’t think my mother was purposely lying to me, but rather that she was blinded by love. I looked to my father to be a little more realistic but didn’t entirely trust him either. I started relying on friends until I realized that unless they’re pretty much your best friend in the world, they too will lie to your face about how awesome you are and you’ll end up with no real sense of your limitations.

It’s a very interesting time of life where on the one hand we’re plagued by unrealistic images and expectations, and on the other we’re told to cherish and recognize our uniqueness as being something to celebrate. But is it really?

Now some of the messaging I can agree with and in fact super love. It is fabulous to be reminded that no, I’m never going to look like Megan Fox in a bikini, but that’s okay. It’s good to know no one expects me to sing like Christina. It’s extra wonderful to find out about problems that great people had. Not that I want anyone to be depressed or an alcoholic or anything, but it helps keep their greatness in perspective (#HemingwayWasADrunk).

But I also think we go too far sometimes. We’re told that because we’re unique, everything we say/do is meaningful. I FINALLY joined the Twitter world today. I did it mostly so I can keep up on my favorite celebrity boyfriends, but I’ll probably tweet too. Why not. The whole idea of Twitter though kind of boggles my mind. From the brief amount of time I’ve spent scrolling on it, it seems like people took the most superficial parts of Facebook (selfies, posts about every little thing they do) and just constantly send that out. I suppose deep life revelations are not always simpatico with 140 character limit. But do people really want to know I’m drinking yet another frappuccino? Do they want to see my new mani every week? Do they really care about my thoughts on the #Hercules movie? Is it really meaningful just because I’m unique and I said it?

If this seems a little hypocritical from a girl that writes a blog and has totally added frappuccino pictures on Facebook… that’s because it is. I engage in this exact same behavior all the time. Even before the days of Twitter, people were doing this to a small extent with texts, and phone calls, and letter writing way back in the day. We feel the need to share the details of our life. We feel like people should care. I guess what has changed is that before, we only made that assumption of our family and close friends. Now, you use a hashtag and expect the rest of the world to retweet and follow.

What our generation has the most trouble accepting is the value of uniqueness. Yes, you are unique and that’s all well and good, but what does it really mean? Does it make your thoughts any more important than mine? No. The thing is, you’re unique because of the sum of your parts. Someone else in the world totally has your same mani. Somebody can write better than you. Someone came up with that inside joke with their friends like a decade earlier. SOMEONE WAS ALREADY ON THE MOON. There is very little you can do that is well and truly original against all the people in the world, all the spans of time. That especially goes for your little 140 character tweets. There are a finite number of unique tweets. I mean it’s a freaking huge number and we’ll probably (possibly? Most likely?) never hit it, but nonetheless it exists.

So yeah, celebrate you. Because you are awesome. Just keep in mind: you’re NO MORE AWESOME THAN ANYBODY ELSE. It is wonderful that some people find you clever/amusing/super sexy and want to follow you, but don’t expect everybody to do so, and don’t build your happiness around whether or not people care about your unique snowflakeness. They’re probably too busy with their own unique snowflakeness of being awesome.

Now I’m going to go tweet this.  

A Neek and Misfit's Guide to Dating

So you may or may not already be aware that my friend Erin was my inspiration to start writing a blog. I look to Erin as a mentor as well as being a kickass friend, so I have been very touched by her support as I developed my writing. I will say right here and now that if it wasn’t for Erin I would never have attempted, let alone made it through, my NaNoWriMo adventure in November.

We like to discuss our ideas for posts together, and since we are the same person (on some levels) there are a lot of times when we have some overlap. Additionally, both Erin and I may be mildly obsessed with Buzzfeed. We discovered this post (which you should read first) from Buzzfeed Community member Doriean Stevenson back in February. Old timey dating advice is hysterical but also mildly disturbing, so we thought maybe we should add our take to the discussion to keep it fresh. Thus was born our first joint post!

Part one of the post appeared on the Island and part two is here below. Yes, you should read part one before part two if you haven't already. Think of it as a cross-country conversation (since we sadly don’t live in the same state anymore) between Erin and I during happy hour. Apparently we were both hitting the wine as we worked on this, which is basically the same thing and half the reason why it’s so awesome. #hemingwaywasadrunk 

My comments below are in black, and Erin's responses are in blue. This is the reverse of part one. Why? We like to keep people on their toes.

#8
The main problem I have with this is the alleged link between jokes at dinner and sarcasm. I demand data to support this conclusion. Does this mean if I joke at other points of the day I won’t become sarcastic? What about joking during breakfast? It must have something to do with the type of food you’re eating while joking, which is why breakfast is safe. So basically I’ve taken this to mean that joking is still acceptable as long as you have breakfast for dinner. Done.

Waffles are pretty funny. And so are pancakes when people make pancake faces using bananas and bacon. Of course, breakfast for dinner is the best meal I can think of and now I want to make pancakes. I also have to wonder if we’re allowed to make jokes at other times of the day. What if we’re no longer at dinner and I make a joke on the way to the car? Is car walking sarcasm acceptable? If so, then I will cultivate this as new marketable skill.
#9
Now this might just be me, but there are very few people I can stand to see more than three evenings during the week on a consistent basis. I need a lot of me time. If there was a guy that I could put up with that much I suppose I might as well get engaged to them.
Of course these days, “visiting a lady” probably also entails spending the night, at which point, as per Sheldon Cooper’s definition of dating, you’re technically living together. See definition below:
“A girlfriend shall be deemed quote living with un-quote Leonard when she has stayed over for A, ten consecutive nights or B, more than nine nights in a three week period or C: all the weekends of a given month plus three weeknights.”

I can’t disagree with Sheldon Cooper. Like you, I also need me time because I’m an introvert and I need time to recharge before I deal with people again. My apartment is too small for a guy to be around that much so until I find a larger place where we could both have our space, I’m okay with this one.
#10
I actually agree with the idea of this one, but I think it needs tweaking. I would suggest that you never accept a proposal from someone under the following circumstances:
They just had a near-death experience
They’re drunk
They’re under the influence of mind altering drugs (whether they be recreational or medical makes no difference)
Their nemesis just got engaged
That being said, I would note that both my father and brother somewhat proposed while drunk, and while this ended up working out for my father, it didn’t end well for my brother.

I’m so glad that you mentioned having a nemesis! You should never do anything if a person’s (or your) nemesis just did the same thing. This will never end well. I would also like to add the following items to our list of circumstances in which you should never accept a proposal:

They just had lunch with their mother.
Their sibling just got married, had a baby, or bought a home. Or all three.
They’ve spent the last several hours on whichever social media site they prefer seeing all the things that all the people are doing that they’re not.
They often begin sentences with “I liked (insert subject) before liking them was cool.”
They just attended a high school or college reunion.
They just returned from their best friend’s bachelor/bachelorette party in Las Vegas.
They just got a new phone and have not mastered the autocorrect settings.
They are a werewolf.

#11
For serious. This is pretty much unavoidable, but using my life theory as determined by The Sims you can help cut down on some of the unpleasantness. Oh what, you’ve never heard of my Sims Life Theory? No worries.
If you’ve never played The Sims before, the main thing to know is that people have several bars, including a “social” bar, that affect their overall happiness. To keep the social bar full the Sim must engage in social interaction they enjoy. This generally means it is with a person they like, or it’s something they’ve demonstrated liking before. For example, some Sims like a lot of jokes in their conversation. Some get pissy about people that joke too much (they’re probably afraid of that link with sarcasm mentioned above). The important thing is that every Sim needs a different level of interaction to get their bar full, and then the bar decays at different rates.
What this boils down to is that it’s important to know how much interaction your partner likes. If their bar gets full quickly and you keep on joking around when they want to focus on their low food bar or their full bladder bar, it’s not going to end well. This is probably what drives people to cannibalism.

I would probably die in the Sims world. Or become the cannibal in the neighborhood. Does reading quietly at home with the cat while drinking a glass of wine have any value in the Sims world?
\#12
I suck at leaving. Unless I legitimately have something I need to do, I tend to be the person that lingers. This probably ties in with my #FOMO issues. I am convinced that if I leave a party, or leave my friends, something awesome will happen. This fear is more prevalent in our generation than you realize. Besides earning a catchy abbreviation, it has also shown up in popular shows like How I Met Your Mother where the person leaving and missing the awesomeness becomes known as the Blitz. You know what, it probably would behoove me to start leaving things more often. This might be my May project. Or maybe June, because there should be some good stuff going on in May…

One of my favorite movies from the late 80s is Shag. It’s about a group of friends in 1964 South Carolina who take a trip to Myrtle Beach to have one last adventure before they head off to their futures. Annabeth Gish plays Pudge (her real name is Caroline) and Bridget Fonda plays Malaina. Malaina is the authority on boys and as you can guess from the nickname, Pudge is the quiet, awkward one who used to be fat. Anyway, Pudge falls for a boy named Chip and Malaina’s advice to her is to treat him like dirt, walk away, and then give him 10 minutes to apologize (even if he did nothing). That’s how you get your man - you treat them poorly and walk away. Pudge listens to this nonsense then decides Malaina is wrong. She and Chip enter that dance contest and all is righted in the universe. I guess the whole art of leaving idea is to cultivate your mystery because mystery equals allure. And allure is what all the men in the world are interested in. Or something.
#13
I’m not going to lie, I instantly judge people based on their spelling and grammar. I am willing to overlook what I view as “style” choices, like texting/typing ppl instead of people, if they appear sparingly. Pure misspelling though is an instant turnoff. Especially since almost everything this day has spell check! What, are you deliberately misspelling those messages? Do you think that makes you cool?! It doesn’t.  It makes me want to smack you roughly about the head with a dictionary so I can pretend it may be brain damage causing the issue.

I started teaching high school right around the time texting was surpassing instant messaging as the communication choice of teenagers. I spent countless evenings grading writing assignments that included text speak rather than actual words. Between that and the misspellings, the papers were always a sea of red. I could never be this blunt with my students but what was always going through my mind as I graded was, “This makes you look like an idiot.”

There’s a line the song “Friday Night” by The Darkness that sums up my feelings about this:

See the lady I adore
Dancing on the dancing floor
Dancing on a Friday night
God, the way she moves me
To write bad poetry
Dancing on a Friday night
With you.

I don’t care if you write bad poetry about me, just make sure it’s spelled correctly.


#14
Not to bring in some political madness or anything, but how does that account for same-sex relationships? Are they automatically better?
Taking gender out of it, I actually think this ties in with this amazing theory that some of my old coworkers introduced me to (old as in sadly former, not old as in age. If for some reason they end up reading this please do not get mad and come to Texas to injure me) which is called Love Languages. The whole idea is that people communicate their affection based on they would want to feel loved, when you should find out what your partner likes and use that method. Apparently I respond best to people paying attention to me, and doing favors for me. That makes soooooo much sense and explains like half of my lifetime crushes.
I’d definitely suggest checking out this theory. Here’s the website: http://www.5lovelanguages.com/

Are you sure we’re not the same person? I just took the Love Languages quiz and I also like people to pay attention to me through quality time and for them to do things for me. This makes a ton of sense if I look at my life. What I think we’re getting at is that people need to communicate with one another about what they want and don’t want in relationships. It’s not to say that we shouldn’t compromise when needed but it’s important to understand how the person you love or care for deeply responds best or what they need to feel loved and appreciated. One of my friends told me, not too long after the birth of her first child, that the only thing she wanted from her husband was for him to do the dishes. She would change the diapers, get up in the middle of the night, whatever else but she had no energy for the dishes. That was more important to her than any token or kind word he could have said - she needed the gesture. So I guess what we’re both saying is that, yes, each person loves and wants to be loved in their own way. It’s the combination of the two parts that makes it work.


#15
Because I basically live my life off Jennifer Crusie books, I would simplify this to a quote from Faking It:
“Very few people mate for life with the people they fall for at twelve. Doesn't mean it isn't real, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, doesn't mean it doesn't matter, but basically, we're talking a practice swing in the big game of love.”
Of course if you have a foolproof method for identifying which is a practice swing and which is the big game, then you should tell me. Or alternatively write a book about it and make a million dollars (and then share with me).  

I too love Jennifer Crusie (Jessica introduced me to her) and love this quote so much. I remember the boy I liked at age 12 would not even be on my radar now mostly because he insisted on wearing his collar popped every time he wore a polo shirt. I could also argue that the last guy I dated is not someone I would consider today either and that wasn’t that long ago. We all need our practice swings. I would also say that if anyone thinks fly-fishing is easy, they have never seen the movie A River Runs Through It. However, it’s also possible I was blinded by Craig Sheffer’s attractiveness.

And that's it for us! I hope you enjoyed our expert advice, and keep it in mind as you frolic about this weekend whether you're seeking a mate, currently in a relationship, or partial to sheep. #nojudge