Profile for Natalie Krinsky

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A Summer Fling: Will It Last Or Fade Along With Your Tan?

While everyone on “Gossip Girl” is complaining of the intense heat, mid-blackout, nary a hair out of place, the rest of us know that though humidity is sticking it out, summer has come to an end. (Unless you are very, very wealthy and you can find summer any time of year.)

As Wall Street falters and the Presidential candidates politic their way into November, what is to become of your summer fling? Will you vote for him in the fall? Or will you change parties and send him packing? Sure you spent many a wine-filled eve, smelling of suntan lotion and getting sand in your pants — but is your romance seasonal? Or can it sustain Thanksgiving with your family (and the cold)?
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Guyland & The Peter Pan Complex: Where Does It Leave Women?

It turns out that J.M. Barrie was ahead of his time. The Scottish novelist and playwright who created the illustrious character, Peter Pan — a boy who refuses to grow up and flies about in a magical land followed by a rag tag group of “lost boys” — has been getting a lot of air time lately. Not because Hollywood is releasing another incarnation of Peter Pan starring Toby Maguire, but because it seems that our generation is filled with Peter Pans. They are armed with Budweisers and the popped collars of Polo shirts instead of the ability to fly and green tights, but their defining characteristics remain the same; they refuse to grow up and they travel in gaggles of Lost Boys.

The sociologist Michael Kimmel recently released a new book called, Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men, describing this generation of men who are delaying adulthood and the traditional markers of settling down and starting a family and choosing instead to “bro it out” in the Hamptons and “take ‘er easy, and if she’s easy, take ‘er twice.” These men actually see “growing up” in the traditional sense — marriage, family, responsibility — as a loss and as forfeiting the greatness of their youth for the mundane ennui of adulthood. Keep reading »

Dealbreaker: The Manorexic

There are so many things involved in attraction. From clothing to chemistry, a never-ending list of items can be turn-offs. But sometimes differences are a turn-on, from magnets to men, you know what they say: opposites attract. Still, some things are so repellent, they’re deal breakers.

I truly believe that the number one reason to get a boyfriend is to let yourself go. Not like “let yourself go” in a Britney kind of way – that’s scary – but let yourself go in a “let’s get a little fat together” kind of way. You get to do things in a couple that you don’t get to do when you’re single. Like get popcorn at the movies. Or spend an entire day drinking beer and eating buffalo wings any time between, I don’t know, September and January (football season). Good, wholesome, highly caloric activities that involve a lot of sitting. That’s high quality couple time.

It is with this mentality that I enter most relationships – which is why when I began dating a Manorexic, I quickly recognized the symptoms and got the eff out of there. My Manorexic — let’s call him Craig (as in Jenny) — seemed great. He was smart, handsome, gainfully employed, drank in moderation, and still had both balls – I was sold. Keep reading »

Location, Location, Location: Dating In Los Angeles

Recently, it seems, I’ve been having the same conversation with my friends. It’s all very Groundhog Day. It begins with my lamenting the fact that I have been more or less single for the entirety of three years. In that time I have dated. Arguably, I’ve dated a lot. I just haven’t dated anyone special. I tell my friends that I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me. My emotional problems are limited, my looks better than average, my brain sharp as a tack and my vagina waxed.

Everytime I begin this conversation, it inevitably ends the same way — my friends, like a Greek Chorus, chime in, as if on cue, “It’s the city you live in. Los Angeles. You just can’t find a good man in Los Angeles.”

If you say it quickly and repeatedly it almost sounds like a Hare Krishna chant. Keep reading »

Opposites Attract: Fact Or Myth?

I am not afraid to say, that it was Paula Abdul’s “Opposites Attract” that taught me my first lesson in love; if he takes the bed, and she steals the covers, they must be a match made in relationship heaven. According to Paula, a relationship could, and would, flourish if lovers found themselves on opposing sides of the Myers Briggs Indicator.

Living in an industry town, more often than not, I have found myself in the throes of passion with a like-minded comedy-writer Democrat who favors savory snacks over sweet desserts. And most of those relationships have ended in embittered feuds over (I’ll admit) “who is funnier.”

As my mother likes to say, two spoiled brats cannot inhabit the same relationship.

So as I set off on my quest to find my mate of soul, he who encompasses all things different from me, I must first understand how different is too different? What are the differences that will allow a relationship to blossom in the sunshine of love? And what are the ones that will make it rain — creating a thunderstorm of the he-said-she-said-i-hate-you variety? Keep reading »

First Time For Everything: Dating A Good Guy

I have dated losers of all stripes. Degenerate gamblers, pathological liars, cheaters, guys who can’t get it up, nymphomaniacs, older guys, younger guys, short guys, out of shape guys, steroid-pumping in-shape guys, musicians, baby daddies and waiters. I even had a brief affair with a Voice Over Artist. Yes, in a world where you can’t find a boyfriend, you have sex with a man who reads out loud – for a living.

Totally shockingly, in this vast, impressive portfolio of Y chromosome mediocrity, I have always ended up with the shit end of the stick. The common thread that weaves all these winners together (deep-seeded dysfunction aside) is the complete ambiguity that defined my relationship with each of them. We dated, often for months on end, but was he my boyfriend? I would be plagued with the flogging inner monologue of a quiz show – question after question after question. What was he doing when he wasn’t with me? How come he drinks so much? Why does he smell like Chanel No. 5 when I wear Stella McCartney? And where did all those track marks on his arms come from?

You know, typical pseudo-girlfriend type worries. Keep reading »

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