Today I’m debuting a new feature here on “Dear Wendy” I’m calling “Shortcuts.” Each reply to a reader’s letter will be short — super short. As in, two sentences or less. And, no, this isn’t just because I’m feeling lazy and want to go out and enjoy the beautiful weather; sometimes the answer to a person’s question is so obvious and the need to hear it so great, being as clear and frank as possible is simply the best way to go. And, OK, fine, maybe I am just feeling lazy. Feel free to add your own two cents in the comments, and after the jump check out our first edition of “short cuts” (don’t be surprised if this becomes a regular feature on especially lovely Friday afternoons … just saying). Keep reading »
Three years ago, off the back of a bad relationship, I needed out of Southern California and decided to move to London for six months. I was looking forward to being single for the first time in five years and was relishing the chance to dance, date and drink in a massive, heaving city. I would kick up my heels in swanky clubs, live in a Tudor cottage and date a man who wore a bowler hat and carried an umbrella.
Three weeks later, I opened the front door to find my roommate’s brother, Mark, standing there with a bag in one hand, a bicycle in the other. He had just left his wife and three children and needed a place to stay.
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The first time someone tried to rob me, it was four in the morning. I was in a desolate part of town, I was tipsy, and it was my birthday. A guy came up from behind my sister and me and tried to grab her purse. Without even thinking, I grabbed it back and screamed, “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
Expecting an easy grab-and-go, the guy freaked out, turned and ran. I took off after him, intent on beating the crap out of him. At precisely the same moment, we both realized he was twice my size. He turned towards me and I high-tailed it back down the street, shrieking like the scaredy cat I am.
Now if I had to advise someone what to do if a big guy tries to rob them, threatening death and chasing him would not even be in my top five suggestions. But my beer-addled nervous system threw my body first into fight, and then into flight. (Thank God!)
There comes a time in just about every relationship where you get so angry at the other person, you’re not sure whether you should stay and duke it out (figuratively, of course), or throw in the towel and cut your losses. Keep reading »
I always change after I’ve slept with someone. It’s a subtle metamorphosis, but one I can count on—after sex, I feel emotionally attached. Even if the sex was boring, or painful, or just plain eh, afterward I always start to picture myself in a relationship with the person—sitting on the couch watching a movie, walking the dog we’ll no doubt adopt, sometimes even walking down the aisle. As such, casual sex is just something I’ve never considered. How exactly does one detach their feelings for one night of sexual fervor?
Thus, you could imagine my surprise when Jack offered to be my “pal with privileges.” Keep reading »
Married? Got a girlfriend? In a loving and committed sexual relationship? Then you’re probably having sex, at least some of the time. But how often is often enough? And can you be doing it too much? Let Emily McCombs advise you on how much sex you should (and shouldn’t) be having. Read more … Keep reading »
Do you rock at trivia? Listen to the music on your iPod with big, “Natalie Portman in ‘Garden State’” headphones? Have a slight lisp? Guess what? Guys — or at least the guys at Asylum — find those qualities hot. We appreciate that they took the time to ruminate on these oh-so randomly inexplicable sexy qualities. So, in return, we’ve put together a list of 25 guys we find hot, though we don’t quite know why … Keep reading »
A recent issue of a woman’s magazine instructed their readers to date “nerds.”
The article read like it was written by a bunch of mean girl anthropologists in little black dresses who just discovered a whole new species of men. They seemed so happy to find guys who weren’t smug investment bankers, aging jocks, or sociopathic musicians.
But by their definition, a nerd is a scrawny, wheezing, socially awkward savant utterly devoted to any woman who pays him even the slightest attention. That’s not a nerd. That’s a Mole Person. A shut-in with Mommy issues. Human veal.
Allowing these sorority girl scribblers to explain nerds is like asking a Klingon to explain The Force. I am qualified to characterize what a nerd is, namely because I am a nerd. [Obviously. -- Editor Amelia] An alpha nerd. I love what I love, and I own it. An alpha nerd can love Lord of the Rings, and the company of women. The two are not mutually exclusive. Keep reading »
The recently announced cast of “Dancing with the Stars” includes some unlikely picks—um, Buzz Aldrin?—but I doubt any of them trump my boyfriend Michael when it comes to dance floor incompetence. He is clownish and rhythmically challenged, prone to hip-thrusting, butt-bumping, and the occasional fist-pumping.
It’s a wonder I can even publicly admit this, considering my dancing past. A musical theater junkie and eldest daughter of four spotlight-loving girls, I grew up with a very distinct idea of my dream dance partner/boyfriend: He would be suave, strong, and graceful, and oozing with old-fashion charm. Keep reading »
Last week I complained about the challenging time I was having on my latest foray into online dating. A little while later, Susannah IM’d to say: “You need to change your profile. And I am going to do it for you.” Oh, hooray! To be honest, I had been considering having someone I trust rewrite my profile for me, since I wasn’t sure if I was doing a great job of “selling” myself. Susannah was the first to volunteer, and, as she is rather blunt, I knew she wouldn’t pussyfoot around doing it right. After the jump, read my original online dating profile and then check out Susannah’s version. Stay tuned to see whether my luck with the fellas improves after being Susannified. Keep reading »