Dear Mrs. Eng,

I loved your 2nd grade class. You taught me so many valuable lessons including how to play Oregon Trail. I will never forget you teaching me how to eat popcorn with chopsticks. And I loved the postcard you sent me from the Great Wall of China. How I’d love to see you again, Mrs. Eng, and thank you for all you have taught me. Let’s meet up somewhere! Just NOT at any of these places…

initiating the gallery...

Sincerely,

Brookita

When she’s not trying to avoid Mrs. Eng at the spa, Brooke enjoys gluten-free mac and cheese, cake batter froyo, and butterfingers. You can follower her on Twitter @brookitaa

[lead image via gualtiero boffi/shutterstock]

To quote an icon, Brandon Graeber of the @Hipstermaid twitter account, “I’m not going to believe that Generation Y (myself included) is ‘addicted to praise’ until I get a trophy for doing so.” So maybe our generation is a little bit compliment-crazy (don’t forget to comment about how irreverent and humorous my writing is at the end of this post), but accepting a compliment is always just a tad bit awkward. Why can’t we just say thank you? Is it because we don’t want to come off cocky? Or is it because we all secretly enjoy the social awkwardness of trying to respond?

There are several common approaches to accepting a compliment and all of them are pretty uncomfortable. There’s the blunt “no” as in: “Oh my god, no, I do not, I’m a million pounds.” So not only have you not said thank you (rude), but you’ve called the compliment-er wrong (rude, again).

Then there is the “No, you are!” method, in which you just turn the compliment around to the other person. This leads to a multitude of uncomfortable silence because usually the compliment being given is relatively unique to you. Example, “I love your blonde hair!” “I love yours!” “I am brunette…” it really never ends well.

With these social faux pas in mind, next time your local homeless man tells you your hair is radiant or your best friend tells you how thin you look in your leggings, just skip the uncomfortable responses and say thanks!

How do you guys handle compliments? Do you shove them off or flip them around? Are you the picture of maturity and respond with a polite thank you, then carry on with your day? Sound off below!

Oh Facebook, how did we get along before you?

You help us stalk our crushes in order to see their likes, and if there are any skanks in their photos they’re available.
You help us avoid people (you know, the ones who tell you where they are at all times in their statuses and you think to yourself, “damn, I really wanted to eat lunch there, too”).
You keep us sane while studying for exams (or at least, our attempting to study while browsing the news feed).

Facebook has become central to our lives and, much like Google, is not only a noun, but a verb as well.

But at times, like when we’re trying to maintain a relationship, Facebook isn’t that great. In fact, it’s yet another outlet for really awkward situations.

Stalking gone awry.
So you’re sitting in your room, stalking your crush whom you have barely said hello to, when all of a sudden it happens. Your computer freezes and you panic. You move your mouse around a little. Nothing moves. You click a few times, pound on the keyboard a bit. Oh wait. NO! You accidently clicked “like” on his status. Or worse, you friended him. And there’s no taking it back. Oh god.

Creepy Stalkers.
After a long day, you come back to your room and check your Facebook, hoping that there will be a witty comment on your wall to cheer you up, or a picture comment telling you how cute you are. You see a friend request (yay!). Wait, is that the kid who sits behind you? The creepy one who leans forward to stare down your shirt and breathes WAY too heavily? How does he know your name?! How did he find you?!

Quiz Results.
You know the ones. No one likes seeing that someone they know is “doggy style” or a “thong.” That’s just way too much information. Especially when it’s your T.A. At first, you let it go, but when you see the fourth quiz result for which sex position they are, you start to wonder if it’s time to block certain things (or people) from appearing on your news feed.

Break Up Announcements…and Reactions.
Break ups are difficult, and when the time comes to officially change your status on Facebook, break ups get awkward. There’s the simple fact that you have to deal with that little broken heart popping up in everyone’s news feed. And then you have to deal with those people who, instead of calling to see what happened, like to ask you for all the details via a Wall post. Even worse, there’s the reactions of your ex’s friends. You may think his suitemates liked you, until you see them “liking” the fact that Mr. Ex is now single. Bastards.

Parents.
Usually there is nothing more awkward than parents who have Facebook. They feel the need to like everyone’s status, send you annoying application requests, and ask embarrassing questions on your Wall. And if that’s not bad enough, my dad started becoming fans of different things. What started off as something innocent (“Dad became a fan of ESPN”) turned into one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. My father, a teacher, became a fan of morning sex. MORNING SEX. When I asked him about this he responded: “It’s true, I AM a fan of morning sex.” I will never look at him or my mom (ew) that same again.

So eff you Facebook, you double edged sword. You have caused so many awkward situations that I never would have had deal with if it wasn’t for how dang addicting you are.

[I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the epitome of prim and proper- heck, who really is nowadays? But looking around at the misguided youths of today *ahem drinking buddies*, I’m starting to think that

While you may never need to know how to greet a duke or how to tell which fork is REALLY the oyster fork, knowing how to deal with people whom owe you money, how much to tip, and how to address the ever annoying licorice-in-teeth conundrum without being rude might actually come in handy in the real world. I'm not trying to be your mother - oh goodness, no - I'm just here to help you out of those little etiquette dilemmas.

So here goes: a quick lesson in etiquette. The sh*t you might actually need to know.]

Let’s say you walk into your econ class, muffin in one hand, Starbucks cup in the other, ready to knock out at a moment’s notice. The professor walks in and without greeting, launches into his repertoire of the economy and whatnot as you lazily drop your eyelids. You figure you’ll look up from your “notes” once or twice before drifting off so at least you can say you tried. You look up and then…

BAM! You notice that his fly is completely open! Like, to the point where his uh.. stimulus package is threatening to show. You peek around the classroom to see if anyone else noticed but alas, everyone is mindlessly lost in their own oblivion. Crap. It’s up to you. “Should I tell him?” you wonder to yourself, “This is so awkward. Maybe I should just ignore it.” Of course, this wouldn’t be such a problem if it were one of these professors, but he’s not. You’ve never even spoken to him outside of class!

So you ignore it. Just like you ignored it when that guy from Psych had spinach stuck in his teeth the whole time he was talking to you. Just like you ignored it when that girl walked out of the bathroom with her skirt tucked into her thong. “It really isn’t my place,” you convince yourself. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Miss manners says: For goodness sakes, just tell them already! Spare them any further embarrassment and be discreet.

In the case of your professor, there really isn’t anything to do until class is over. Do NOT be the ass that screams, “HEY PROFESSOR! YOUR $#@^ IS SHOWING!” across the room. Wait until class lets out and then approach him. Something along the lines of, “I’m sorry professor, but your fly is open.” will do. Awkward? Yes, but he’ll be glad you mentioned it.

Anyway, there’s nothing stopping you from telling the spinach-guy or thong-girl about their social faux pas. Pull them aside and tell them NICELY (i.e. without a hint of sarcasm or mockery). Extra karma points if you add something sympathetic like, “Don’t worry, this happens to me all the time.” Also, as a rule, avoid telling people about situations that they cannot immediately fix. At the bar: giant boogies hanging out of someone’s nose? Yes. Girl-stache? No. [What is she supposed to do? Pluck it out with her nails?]

Besides, how often have you returned home after a night of partying and shameless flirting, feeling like the hottest chick in the room, only to realize that you had toilet paper hanging out of your “butt jeans” the entire time! It doesn’t take a genius to figure out just how long you’ve been dragging your tail around.  Then you realize, “Omfg! My ex was at that party with the skank he cheated on me with!” (No? Never? Just me.. Oh. Well, you get it point.) You woulda wanted someone to inform you.

So be a good person and tell them because really, Karma’s a b*tch.

Initially, this adventure was appealing for a variety of reasons, not the least of which were my love for funny men and an awkward crush I may have on Jerry Seinfeld. Who doesn’t enjoy laughing? What could be better than someone who’s a walking source of amusement? And what a conversation piece, right?

This was a fantastic idea in theory. I met the comedian at a comedy show, naturally, where all these people hang out if you’re in the market, and our first date was the following day. And so, he became a promising prospect.

Amusing was a great adjective for this guy. He dressed like a little kid whose parents gave him the go-ahead to pick out his own clothes for the first time. He didn’t have a real job but went to a good school, didn’t have gigs but called himself a comedian… the paradox kept me intrigued. But the conversation started to get a bit exhausting. You can only spend so much time judging whether a bit is funny or not, if you get what I mean. A great deterrent to this, in my mind, was to hook up.

And this is where the joke ends.

As with any new person, I wasn’t necessarily expecting fireworks, but at least a decent time with someone I was into. And I kept telling myself that… until the most awkward encounter of my life. I can’t even articulate it, but think the exact opposite of fireworks.

I preface this by saying that there was no indication this would happen, but… there was just no chemistry. None. It didn’t matter how well we had initially gotten along or how mutual the attraction was, at this point I was uncomfortable, beyond not into it, and then on top of all this, it happened. People make faces when they reach the…er…happy ending, and I’m sure I’m included in this group, but this was not the right face for the moment in question.

Imagine the expression of a man about to sob. But there are no tears… so he’s just choking back a sob. (Editor’s Note: Oh. The. Horror.)

I had happened into a crier, and not just a crier, but one who was supposed to be funny. And I had no idea what to do, because I myself am not a crier. Whiner, yes. Crier, no.

And so The Comedian scarred me for life.

I was completely mortified, because surely, this had to be my fault, right? But it wasn’t normal, it couldn’t be. I racked my brain and could not find any previous experiences matching this – no complaints, nothing. There was no question that this was the worst experience that I’m guessing either of us had had. And so, the fling ended, and I began a celibacy streak that I was quite convinced would never end.

No matter how many guy friends reassured me that his was not normal behavior, I was still convinced that the disaster was all because of me. I took my hiatus-from-dating time to reprioritize my life, start thinking just a little more seriously about school, surround myself with friends who were fantastically supportive and tried not to laugh when this story was recounted, and work through the self-esteem issues to just be happier with me on my own. If I was going to be single forever anyway, it made sense to learn to like myself a little more and stop taking the blame for an incident that clearly took two people.

That being said, I got my closure and reaquainted myself with the dating scene (though still a bit fearful of my bedroom abilities). But my mistake was believing that after deleting his number, he would just disappear without any repercussions. Ever the idealist, I accepted the fact that I would probably become an anonymous girl in one of his bits on stage, and was okay with that. Until, you know, it happened. And I wasn’t so anonymous…

Somehow, I found the one non-douchey frat boy ever to exist. He was perfect: tall, dark, and beautiful, with a 4.0, perfect teeth, a lot of cute friends, and – the kicker—a self-pact to not drink until he was 21. Which meant there would be no pre-game, just… game. And I had none, because he was that hot.

I’m not entirely sure why he said yes, and I’m not sure why I thought I was even cool enough to ask this guy out, but somehow the transaction occurred and there we were, sitting, soberly, talking for two hours while my friends drunkenly danced and ran around. Ever the gentleman, he took me to pseudo-dinner at 2:30 AM, got his leftovers wrapped and then drove me back to my dorm. And so it was time to say goodnight.

Ever the self-conscious one, I assumed that he wasn’t interested, but had put on a happy face so as not to crush my little freshman dreams. And just as I went to kiss him on the cheek, his mouth landed fully on mine. I was shocked. He hadn’t tried to make a move all night!

So clearly, the normal reaction is to kiss right back and linger a little longer, possibly suggest you get a tour of his house, etc. But no, rather than being caught up in the moment I said, “MUAH.”

Yes. That’s right. Right after he makes his move, the first thing that my body, which must hate me, does, is pucker right back up and say “MUAH.”

SAY. MUAH.

ONTO HIS MOUTH.

To which we both were awkwardly, awkwardly silent for about five seconds until I just got out of the car. With his leftovers that I’d been kindly carrying, without even realizing it until I got in my building.

The happiest day of my college career was when he graduated.

Clearly I’ve learned from this error, but I sincerely hope that you can’t possibly be as dumb as I was. From this point onward, some personal rules I’ve learned to follow:

Even if you’re not confident, fake it. If you’re out with someone, they clearly agreed to be there, and you’re clearly “good enough” for the situation. At least half of the time you’re probably too good. Just like they say in Mean Girls: You’re a regulation hottie. Own it.

If you do have an awkward encounter? Take the high road. Don’t run to avoid people, it’s college and you will definitely run into them again. Just smile, say hi if you blatantly notice each other, and carry on with your evening/life.

Don’t steal leftovers unless it’s something you (or your roommate) like. Otherwise it’s just an unnecessary addition to your already-messy room.

Any other advice on how not to date?