I’ve been writing Dater X for almost a year now, and can honestly say that putting everything out there about my love life hasn’t been easy. Writing this column is therapeutic in a way, because it allows me to reflect on my relationships, both good and bad, and figure out how to move forward with more insight, intuition and confidence. But with that somewhat comforting self-analysis also comes a lot of pressure. I write my story because I want to, but I’m also making myself vulnerable by writing about real people, real feelings and real struggles. Some weeks I blog freely, not giving a fuck what kind of criticism will come my way, and other weeks, I worry about being judged, disrespected, and oftentimes, having my identity uncovered. I’m never certain how I’ll feel at the end of the day, especially on days when I write Dater X, but I know why I do it. I do it because I don’t want to end up like my mom. I’ll share her story with you to give you more insight into why I do what I do—from writing this blog to dating tirelessly and relentlessly for the last several years. It’s hardly a sob story, but it’s one that’s shaped me into who I am. Keep reading »
To me, sex is much more than just a biological need. Humanity relies on sex for procreation, but the vast majority of the world also turns to sex for pleasure and release. Some people have sex simply to fulfill their physical needs, others see it as a sacred act that should only be shared between people who love each other, and some, like myself, think sex can mean different things with different people in different situations. Sometimes, it doesn’t really even “mean” anything— it’s just … had. I’ve had great sex many times in my life, with no experience feeling or meaning the same. So what exactly makes my idea of “amazing, mind-blowing” sex so amazing and mind-blowing? There’s much more to it than simply getting off. And with Baby Face, that’s been the case. Keep reading »
Update: Baby Face and I are moving full steam ahead, getting together as often as possible and still having amazing sex (with only a brief hiatus during Aunt Flo’s visit), which is why it’s so typical that one of my exes resurfaced— looking all handsome like he popped right out of a J.Crew catalogue— and tried his absolute damnedest to lure me back in. And he almost — almost — had me. Keep reading »
Life is full of surprises: maybe you get pregnant without trying, win the lottery, find faith or cheat death. Other times, it’s the small, simple unexpectancies (I’m aware that “unexpectancies” isn’t a real word, but it should be) that make all the difference. Over the last few weeks, Baby Face has been my pleasant “unexpectancy.”
Having reconnected after five (or is it six?) years without a trace of contact, Baby Face and I have been spending a lot of time catching up, becoming reacquainted and starting back at square one. A lot has changed since our reckless beer-funneling college days, and not just because we’ve graduated to fancy craft beer and real glassware. Back in the day, Baby Face and I were friends, but we were never confess-your-deepest-secrets, share-your-embarrassing-stories kinds of friends. Last week, I was able to see Baby Face twice—once for lunch in the city and once for dinner and drinks at my place, where we were able to really talk and get to know each other, sweatpants on, makeup off and all. Keep reading »
Excuse me while I wander around the lovely landscape of cloud nine, because I had the best sex of my life this weekend and I’m still up here enjoying the high.
So, let’s bring it back a week. After my grandma passed away, my communications with Baby Face became more and more frequent. Before our date/catchup/death dinner we’d text each other a few times a day to flirt and shoot the shit, but since then things have certainly accelerated. We chat in the morning on our commutes in to work, briefly throughout the day via text, and almost always in the evening before bed (sometimes there’s even an actual phone call, which I love). Mid-last week, Baby Face asked me if I wanted to go out with him and a couple of our old college friends on Friday night after work, but I’d already made plans with some of my girlfriends. We decided to compromise and hang out with our respective pals individually, and then meet up later in the night, with or without the others. Keep reading »
Unfortunately, I’m becoming a professional at going on great dates that have awful endings. There was my first date with Scar Twin, which went off without a hitch until I fell down a flight of stairs; my first (and last) date with Jack, who wrapped up our evening by insinuating that I’m a slut; and most recently, my great — and also tragic — date with my old college friend Baby Face. Confirmed: Tears do not taste good in dirty martinis. Keep reading »