This table time can often result in blackmail-worthy anecdotes about your Mom’s coed days from Uncle Bill. Unfortunately, it can also result in HORRIBLE AWKWARDNESS should you overshare and let slip any of the following (I know, I thought they’d be cool with it too):

1) That time you got so drunk at the club that you passed out in the bathroom.

Also not good to share: the fact that your equally wasted friends did not notice your sudden absence, and were alerted to your condition only when the cleaning staff found you at 6 am. This story, while earning you street cred amongst your fellow college lushes (I think it’s hilarious, obv), will not go over well with Mom for various reasons. 1) Contrary to her own experiences in college, she would like to believe that you–her responsible and intelligent daughter– would never participate in such tomfoolery. 2) She ain’t sending you to school to get drunk.

Best to skip this little tale and save it for a more appropriate time: boasting during “This one time, I was so drunk…” circles.

2) The time your random roommate had their (um, and your) apartment raided by the DEA.

A stretch, I know, but I’ve heard stranger. Basically any drug-related incident that you were (unfairly) implicated in, and later had your good name cleared from does not need to be shared with Mom & Dad. You obviously handled the situation, and your parents do not need the added stress of constantly fearing for your safety from drug dealers. Plus, I mean, what are the odds of that happening twice? But, you know– if it does–then you should probably tell them. And, also, avoid rooming blind.

3) Any minute details of your sex life.

In fact, pretend you don’t have a sex life. Do they know you’re probably not sitting in your room knitting on Friday nights? Yes. Do they want to be informed that you are, quite commonly, grinding with a hot guy or making out with said stud? Um, no. All they need to know is that you’re responsible about your activities, you have a clean bill of health, and they have no impending grandchildren. Unless your mom is a wacky, new age sex therapist, a high school health teacher, or Lorelai Gilmore, just…you know, skip it.

4) That you didn’t earn those fab grades with perfect attendance.

If you are one of those chosen few who attends class for first day attendance, paper due dates and the final exam in exclusivity yet still pulls an A – good for you (I hate you!). JK, you’re not that bad, just lucky. Anyhoo, though, your parents don’t want to know that you are the one hit wonder of attendance, and that you spent most lectures doing more productive things with your time. They’re happy with the end result (your kick ass GPA), but by no means do they need to be enlightened that your tuition covers an average 5 days of class. Keep up the good(?) work, but keep your lips sealed.

5) AN.Y.THING. that happened on Spring Break.

What to tell them: Where you’re going, where you’re staying, emergency contact numbers, and when you’ll be home. That’s it. For me, this is a given as I pay for my own spring break adventures and my mom simply pretends the week itself does not exist. But seriously, even if your parents “really do want to know how your spring break was, just curious!” DO.NOT. TELL THEM. Describe the beautiful landscape, the quaint shopping, the exorbitant cost of “bottled water”. Just don’t tell them what you did, who you did, or where you did it. Capiche? What happens on Spring Break…will get dragged up during future references to your faults should you ever tell your parents what really went down.

Instead, I have friend-couples (you know, the couples you were friends with before they were couples) sprinkled through my social calendar, all with their own cute little anecdotes and acknowledgments that without me, they probably would’ve given up halfway through.

One of my best friends even said that she wished I had a me, so that I could be dating someone, too.

If you’re pausing because, hold up, the best way to have a me is for her to a be a me, that’s what I thought too. I tried to explain that to her.

Fact is, there are some seriously negative aspects to being a matchmaker. Beyond the fact that everyone is always using you for your skills, you’ve got to constantly reassure both parties that they actually are good enough for one another, and you’ve got to be prepared to deal with the questions.

“What’s her favorite flower?” “Where should we go to dinner?” “Am I cuter than his ex?” “Does she actually like me?”

You want to scream, ASK HER/HIM, NOT ME! But you don’t. Because you’re too good a friend. And so by means of you, they do the most romantic, adorable things for one another, for which you receive no public credit. Which is fine, even if you’re the one who remembered every allergy or pet peeve of your friend’s, just so their boy/girlfriend can get a perfect gift.

Sometimes you want to tear your hair out, because this really doesn’t benefit you at all. You’re just a mediator, making absolutely no profit outside of the respective happiness of your friends. And for me, sometimes, that’s enough. When it’s not, and when you have to jump in to defend a buddy’s character, then you need to draw a line.

Stick up for yourself. Remind them that you’re friends with both of them, individually, and you didn’t sign on to take sides when there’s trouble in paradise.

It’s okay to say no. You don’t have to be the third wheel just to make your friends more comfortable, and they should respect that.

It’s also okay to say nothing. You have no obligation to give any information you don’t deem appropriate to share, and you definitely don’t need to chime in your opinion, especially if you know it’s going to fall on deaf ears.

Have you been a middle-man in your friends’ relationship without wanting to? How do you handle these awkward situations?

[photo courtesy of www.manestreetgraphics.com]

And he was beautiful. Button down, surely the bottom half of a suit, standing up from finishing his coffee on his patio. And looking up at me…

Looking up at me. So I sort of eeped and stepped back from my window. Sadly, I wasn’t quite at my most beautiful point of the day.

What a predicament. Beautiful man living right below me, single per the landlord’s description, early riser who likes sunshine and fresh air with his breakfast. And the patio element… I need to befriend him, for the summer at the very least. Backyard-ish space in the city is prime real estate, you have to capitalize on it.

As I daydream about my new neighbor, I’m obligated to list my immediate concerns about pursuing someone who lives right below you. Truth is, we’re not all going to end up like Monica and Chandler from Friends; the world is not that kind.

Now, before I get too far ahead of myself, it’s best to remember that he’s well put-together and I haven’t heard a word from him yet. He could be gay. There’s no way of knowing until an official meeting takes place, which will ruin the fantasy altogether. Of course, until you know for sure, the fantasy is still fair game. If he is gay, he will be a perfect new neighbor friend and I can attempt to be a new Grace to his Will, checking out guys together and discussing our mutual fabulousness (this is the fantasy-version of his potential homosexuality as well, I’m truly not an idiot).

If, after the meeting, the conclusion is that he’s not gay, the convenience factor diminishes travel time significantly. However, say things don’t work out. He lives downstairs. You will, without question, see him again. And again. And again. And likely with whoever he’s seeing. How do people do this?

Can you just stay home when you’re involved with someone who lives in the same building? Or have someone else over? How do you have any privacy if he can hear your every footstep? Too much too worry about there.

The ideal situation my roommates and I have concocted, of course, is not to actually hook up with the hot neighbor, but instead to meet his attractive friends. That way, you have no real obligation to the neighbor, you don’t make your living situation awkward, and you can still smile and wave when you pass each other in the hallway.

Have you ever dated someone who’s lived in your building, or tried to make it happen? Tell us your stories, be it dorm-cest or a convenient apartment rental!

[hot guy courtesy of corbis images]