forever an unanswered question.

question: can a man and a woman be friends, without sex getting in the way?

never has any question in the history of mankind been more debated (ok, aside from "what came first the chicken or the egg?"). for decades, scholars, film-makers and average joes have been desperately attempting to solve this universal mystery. you'd think it would be simple enough, upholding a platonic relationship with the opposite sex. now, you'll have to understand, this is coming from someone who prefers friendships with males (women are terrible creatures by nature, as there are only a select few that don't make me want to create a mama-shaped hole in a wall). and although i haven't been known (for the most part) to create any grey lines with my dearest dude friends, the question always remains: is there really such thing as a strictly platonic relationship, void of any sexual desire, between the sexes?

instead of diving into the messy web of either side of the argument diplomatically, i'd prefer to stir the pot a bit by telling two stories.


note: in order to salvage any form of a reputation these characters (fact or fiction) might have, i'll spare the details of anyone's real names to conceal their true identity.


story #1: a friendship emerged between a guy, jack, and a gal, jill (no, not the OG nursery rhyme folk - this is sheer coincidence). jack and jill met in college, after the realization they shared three mutual classes. there was an instantaneous connection, and their relationship escalated quickly. what started out as simply saving seats to ensure they sit together in each lecture hall grew to daily hangouts, with an abundance of inside jokes and almost constant consistent communication (read: incessant text messaging). it wasn't long before the two were officially best friends. things went along status quo for a few months, or forever in the life of a student, until the relationship began to evolve physically. a cuddle here, a nap together there, and then, you guessed it, paradise by the dashboard lights. however, it wasn't long before factors that were never issues previously had started to rear their ugly heads: jealousy, obsession, confusion, anger, disappointment.  it was a slow and painful downhill tumble for jill after the fact, as not all gals have the ability to remove their feelings from the equation. unfortunately, jill was unable to maintain those expectations accordingly. and thus, their friendship ended abruptly. and now jill lives in a van down by the river

... i kid.

story #2: mutual friends brought ricky and samantha together. it wasn't necessarily friendship at first sight, but the more time they spent together, the more they realized and appreciated their shared sense of humor and blunt personalities. their interaction mainly consisted of hungover sundays on his couch, discussions of sexcapades and beligerent conquests from the night before and the occasional gchat to share gut-wrenchingly hilarious youtube videos. it was a random saturday night on the town that shifted their relationship into 4th gear. i believe the interaction went something like this:


ricky: you know what, samantha, we're going to sleep together eventually.
samantha: i mean, fine, but NO ONE can find out and you can't get weird about it.
ricky: YOU can't get weird about it. things stay the same. if you have to poop in the morning, then poop. let's hook up in the bar's kitchen. 
samantha: good. things stay the same. but we are NOT hooking up in that kitchen. 

i'll leave the details of what transpired that evening to your imagination (although, some say it felt as if an earthquake was taking place, but that's just speculation). the next morning, staying true to their pact, ricky and samantha woke up and never skipped a beat. no awkwardness. no feelings. just friends.

and thus are the two sides of this never ending debate. i'm unsure whether or not there will ever be a concrete answer, as there are always extenuating circumstances and outliers that throw a stick in everyone's spokes. but i will say this: believing the answer to be "yes" is exponentially more fun.

not that i'd know from experience.

the end of my freshman year(s) of life.

first, let me start of by providing a few definitions.

freshman year(s) of life, noun: of, or referring to, the years preceding college when twenty-somethings are supposed to be acclimated into the "real world," but are still struggling with managing and maintaining their binge drinking, college partying and terrible decision-making tendencies.

real world, noun: pertaining to life after college, or what is perceived to be the life of an "adult" (and I use that term loosely).

rage, verb: the act of extreme, take-it-to-obscene-levels, partying.

adult, noun: who the fuck knows what it means to be an adult.

i hate to admit the aforementioned language has been my prime vocabulary over the last four years. i thought upon entering the real world, i'd turn into an adult magically overnight.

oh, was i mistaken.

my routine since leaving college has been a lather-rinse-repeat of one rage-fest after another, sprinkled with a few new anecdotes:

• the responsibility of upholding a profession - "what do you mean i have to do this every day? i upheld a strict do-not-plan-anything-before-1p.m. policy for the last 4 years, and now you're telling me i have to be in the office for an 8 a.m. meeting? ON A FRIDAY. how am i supposed to go out thursday night? wait... can i at least break for naps?"
• paying bills - "hold on. mom, dad, you're not paying for my rent and utilities anymore? woah, woah, woah. when did this happen? i know i have an income now, but its predominantly to be spent supporting my drinking habits."
• meeting new people - "but. i have friends. and they're AWESOME. who is this scrub trying to shake my hand right now? is she really wearing her hair like that? what is that top? don't even talk to me anymore."

and thus has been my freshman year(s) of life. i'm going to assume most people can get away with one, maybe two, years living their life as such. i'm not quite sure how i managed to survive four years of these shenanigans. but here i am, on the cusp of my twenty-sixth year of life on this earth, in one of the most amazing cities in the world, and i find myself at a crossroad. much like robert frost, although i'd like to think i'm much better looking than he, i too see two paths before me. do i continue down this road of whatever the hell this is that i'm doing? albeit fun, i'm convinced it's slightly masochistic and ultimately self-destructive. or do i try to be an actual adult, and participate in adult-like activities?

i'm not trying to get too philosophical, but let's say, for the sake of argument, i were to wake up on a saturday void of the pounding hangover headache, no crusty make-up lingering from the night before, and without the stiff neck from passing out in what could only be described as some form of a pretzel. is that what happens in real life?

just some food for thought, as i can't help but wonder with my day of birth rounding the corner in a few weeks, what will become of my existence post-freshman year(s) of life.


all i know is it's gotten me to this point. apparently i'm a blogger as an adult. who knew?

but really now... can someone please get me a glass of wine?