Tag: Dating

Dating Advice

Your girlfriend, huh? Funny. She said otherwise.

Our department has quite the accumulated dating history and insight.  Between the roller coaster romances of our student employees and the dozens of people we caution, cite, and arrest for stalking, we are connoisseurs of crazy love.  Here’s some wisdom gleaned in the last two weeks.

(Discussing when to make a move to hold a girl’s hand)
Bebe: You just have to feel her vibe.  If she wants you to hold her hand or kiss you, she’ll let you know.
Stuckford: Her vibe, huh?
Bebe: Yeah.  Feel her vibe.
C.: Just, ah, don’t feel anything else!

(Know the correct name for foreign foods you intend to order.  For example, when desiring polenta do not say…)
Random girl one of our officers went out with: I like Italian food.  I’ll have the placenta.

And finally, if you’re married, don’t ask out one of your co-workers!  Trust me, that news will travel
Michael: Yeah…the bishop’s going to have something to say about that.
C.: …And God. 
Daisy: Well, I hit him on the head with a book and said “Begone!”  It worked.

Spunky Chap With His Hat at a Jaunty Angle

“Strange to see what delight we married people have to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition.”
– Samuel Pepys

The Marriage Mart, of Regency fame, is alive and well on this campus.  We’re getting close to the time of a semester (directly after finals, usually) that people rush to get married before the summer term starts up.  In fact I have a small horde of friends tying the knot in the next two months.  In a year or two, I’ll be attending baby showers.

This vid gets a Tip O’ My Hat to Sav for finding it, and check out her site for another dose  (that one in honor of the mutual lambasting by colleagues, acquaintances, and Fox News we endured for our less than hateful attitude towards current events in the capital).

Painting, Pyro-ing, and the Proletariat

“Um, we’re mature enough to be married…honestly…”
-C.

Think impressionism, Pac Man, horribly pretentious comments about class structure (on the part of starving newlywed/students), peacocks, pyrotechnics, possibly a little lawbreaking don’t mix?  You’ve clearly never been on a group date with Venice, Val, J., and C. 

Last night we went to Color Me Mine, stayed there until 9 when we got kicked out, at which time we hit up the “lower income” (quote by J.) supermarket that recently opened in the area that sells nearly expired products at discount for some ice cream…but on our way back to pay for it, what should we spy but fireworks.

Editor's Note: Not done by Venice, Val, J., or C.  No one in our pyro party are nearly as impressive as this.
Editor's Note: Not done by Venice, Val, J., or C. No one in our pyro party are nearly as impressive as this.

We really had no other option than to buy some.  Really, none.  It was imperative.  Venice and I loaded up our arms with sparklers while the guys practically dove into the bins trying to find the best, er, bang for their buck.  This was discovered in the form of an explosive intriguingly labeled the “Jumping Cyber Monkey” (the boys faces lit with unholy glee, you should have seen it). 

Then we scurried back home to hold bunches of sparklers and light them at the same time (I nearly died), frolick around twirling them, light off the Jumping Cyber Monkey (which made a little more noise than anticipated towards the end) while Venice did her signature dance move in front of it (which is indescribable…truly), and round off the evening by lighting “worms” (which look like nothing so much as flaming, growing poop) while we giggled. 

Like I said.  We’re responsible, mature adults.  Really.