If you can't take it lightly, don't ring the hook-up bell

by Brynn Burton

All right, readers, I have a situation for you. Imagine yourself in the world I am about to describe. You meet this dude or chick (guys can be loved and left too!) at a party, bar or whatever establishment where hookups are born. There is a connection. The two of you talk and everything around you fades away. After five minutes you are putting his (or your) last name on the end of yours (or hers) and if they aren't from home, you are already figuring out how you will make the relationship work during breaks.

Sound familiar? It happens all the time. Here's another situation: It's 3:30 a.m. The hook-up bell just went off, and everyone who will be "getting to know each other better" that night is marching to a bedroom.

And then the lies begin.

"You are sooooo beautiful. You are so good at what you are doing. You are the coolest girl I have ever met. Blah, blah, blah." Do I have to continue? We've all heard the speech before.

And then, as you brush your hook-up hair behind you, use spit to wipe the mascara away from under your eyes and make yourself look as if the two of you were "just talking" in the room, he asks for your number.

"I'll call you, and we'll go out," he says.

So for the next few days, you wait by the phone. But you do it so smoothly that it looks as if you could care less if what's-his-name calls.

You want the phone to ring so badly that you ask your roommates every 20 minutes if anyone has called. You check the ringer - just to make sure it is on. You answer the phone at random times to hear the dial tone - just to make sure it is working. And you yell at your roommates if they are online, because you are expecting your mom to call. Don't deny it - we all know it's true.

You wait and wait and he doesn't call.

A few weekends later, you hear from a friend, or worse, have the privilege of catching the happy couple in the flesh. That the same guy, the same one who was going to call you because you were so good and so cool, is now dating the girl who lived on the floor above you freshman year.

Why did she get the call? Why her and not you? She did the same thing that you did, but he called her and asked her out.

Now of course you are cuter, smarter and better, but yet he called her. Why?

I did some research and asked my male friends how they decide who gets the call. How do they decide which one better than the other?

Some didn't have an answer. They don't know why they do it. Apparently, it is just the luck of the draw. Some said they thought both parties had the understanding they would never see each other again.

One friend told me that he just asks for the number to appear to be a gentleman - because his mother told him to be polite when he hooks up with girls at college. I guess it is the equivalent of saying, "Thank you for the evening."

So the answers remain unknown and sometimes the call just doesn't come.

Before everyone gets his or her panties in knot, understand this: It doesn't always come down to "He knew she was easy; he got what he wanted."

That is hardly the case. Women - from freshman to seniors -succumb to these lovers who vanish like ghosts almost every weekend. We constantly are enchanted by the thought that someone really digs us, and the encounter will turn into what we wished all the others had.

As Dan Donatelli, the Friday columnist, wrote, women are searching for heroes and men are heroic. Well, the truth is, we're not looking for a hero. We are just waiting for a call.I do not want to say to keep on trying and one will turn out to be right. Odds are that the hottie from the bar is not "the one." Better advice is to take a deeper look at what you are about to walk into and take it for what it is - a chance to have some fun.

I'd like to say, "keep on trying, you might get lucky," but I want you all to learn from not getting the call. Before a night at the bar turns into a walk of shame, remember the call might not come. If the call is that important, maybe one night alone is better than a week sleeping with the cordless clutched to your chest like your favorite stuffed animal.

- Burton is a junior journalism major. E-mail her at babshop@aol.com