I don’t read Heartbeat. I have no advice to give. All I have is beef. My beef is with St. Olaf Flirts.
The primary purpose of posting on St. Olaf Flirts, no matter how you slice it, is to get laid. When you flirt with someone, when you exhibit interest in their personality or appearance or whatever, you hope they reciprocate your interest in one way or another. So why are the posts on St. Olaf Flirts the least sexy missives I’ve ever read?
“Shout out to Anna W for feeding her apple to a squirrel. That was the most wholesome thing I have ever seen. I was having a bad day and you made it so much brighter. There needs to be more Anna Ws in the world. Please and thank you.”
No, no, thank YOU for taking my libido out of my hands and placing it, ever so gently, in the garbage can. Maybe that squirrel will pull it out and eat it, relieving me of the burden of sexuality entirely.
“To the guy I accidentally hit with a door in Ellingson on Tuesday, I’m sorry.” Excuse me? If you bump somebody, you apologize then and there. It’s quick, it’s normal and it’s practically social contract. Accidentally body slamming someone on the way to your 8 a.m. isn’t flirting, it’s rude, and posting about it on an anonymous Facebook page later borders on criminal.
“Tbh would cuddle Ethan S so hard.” “xc David S., pls love me with that beautiful smile. tea sometime?” Shut UP you twee freaks! I’m not kidding! St. Olaf Flirts makes Oles look horny and ineffectie. It’s embarassing. A recent library hallway statistic informed me that 48 percent of St. Olaf students had not had sex in the last year. I don’t know how those statistics compare to other similarly sized colleges, but if we really are having less sex than the average college campus, I point the finger, to some degree, at St. Olaf Flirts.
St. Olaf Flirts is the enemy of mystique. Your crush goes from a fun, sexy secret to an unsettling quirk the second you take it to the St. Olaf Flirts page, because I don’t think people are making real life connections through St. Olaf Flirts.
If you’re hot for some tall, puppy-eyed Great-Con weirdo or the blonde in your religion class with the irresistible vocal fry, I am seriously so happy for you, but know this: The second you voice your feelings on St. Olaf Flirts, your passionate crush becomes a lifeless piece of weird sociological evidence proving that Oles don’t know how to lay and get laid.
Having trouble navigating the St. Olaf dating scene? Need help finding a date? Got more dates than you can handle? Or have a response to this week’s column? E-mail your questions to [email protected] and maybe one of our love columnists will answer them in next week’s issue. All submitted questions will remain anonymous.
