I was raised in a peculiar fashion. As for many kids, movies and TV provided important entertainment and a good way to keep me quiet. But the content I grew up on has been deemed questionable by some. I was banned from watching children’s shows because my father thought it was mind-numbing, repetitive trash that I could easily be taught with flash cards. And so “Barney” and “Sesame Street” were supplanted by what my parents wanted to watch—”Frasier,” “Mad About You,” “Jaws,” “Ransom,” whatever. I am not necessarily advocating this way of child-rearing, but two things did come out of it.
- As an adult, I have a strange affinity for educational kids’ shows.
- Since my father had stronger opinions at the video store, I have watched a huge number of “man movies,” basically since birth.
And the latter has offered me a certain advantage in stirring up conversation with guys. If you drop buzz words like “Boondock Saints” or “Big Lebowski,” and know what you are talking about, you can find yourself earning some major points with men. Keep reading »
I’m into beta males—artists, nerds, intellectuals—so I’m fairly used to a guy with metrosexual tendencies. True, I like and appreciate a well-dressed boy with style, but I tend to assume that his real knowledge of fashion doesn’t go past “nice shoes,” and “your t*ts look good in that top.” So when I’m on a date, and we get to the “what do you do?” part, and I respond, “I’m a writer, I mainly write about fashion and style,” I expect that he won’t probe too much more. Yet, lately on my dates, I’ve been blown away by some of the fashion speak men have thrown out. Keep reading »
That first kiss is a cupcake-shaped grenade that explodes into springtime rain. As a man, it’s more important than the best seats in the stadium, that huge job promotion, or the first time your father calls you for advice. It is a prelude to all the best things in life: waking up to an empty bed and smelling toaster waffles, that conversation where you swear to always love her and she tells you the same, the pile of limbs and laughter following the spectacular failure of an exotic sex position. Keep reading »
Visit any website for women, and you’re bound to find posts on how to figure out whether or not he’s “The One.” If he does this, he is. If he does this, he’s not. After a while, all the TMI turns into a tsunami, and you wonder what the hell to think when you finally find yourself out on a date. But I’ve got a theory. I think a guy will tell you within the first hour of meeting him what’s wrong with him. And, face it, something is. The same way there’s something “wrong” with you. Which isn’t to say there’s anything “wrong” with either of you, exactly. It’s really more what we think is wrong with us, and going into a relationship what we all want to know is: But will you love me anyway? Keep reading »
I’ve never been a believer in the “power of positive thinking,” but I may be changing my ideas about keeping a constructive and happy outlook on life. I was in a real funk throughout the winter, and it was just today, as I was skipping around town running errands, that I realized I’m fully out of my dark phase. I can pinpoint this change because of two very concrete things: 1.) the sun being out and the temperatures rising, bringing out the cherry tree blossoms and generally making Paris slowly wake up in color; 2.) finally feeling over Alex. I have been very careful to monitor my thoughts about him. The usual thing that happens is something reminds me of a moment with him, and my heart aches for a moment while I say to myself, Oh, Alex. Sigh. What happened? It lasts for a second, a flash, and could happen as many as 20 times a day. A few weeks ago, I noticed the frequency had tapered to some 5-10 times a day. But now what’s amazing me is when I stop to think, When’s the last time you thought about Alex? I feel good that I can tell myself that it was yesterday, or even the day before.
But above all, I’ve just had a good feeling (like I mentioned in my last post) that spring in Paris is going to be great, and that things are going to start happening for me. And I truly believe that because I’m in this mindset, they are. Keep reading »
“Shortcuts” is a new feature of “Dear Wendy” in which I answer readers’ letters in two sentences or less because 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. Here we go with round three … Keep reading »
A few weeks ago, my girlfriend and I were in a pizza place and a group of big, drunk guys wearing sports jerseys and smelling of beer walked in. We were just leaving and as my girlfriend stood up, I looked at her and thought, “Wow, I’m so lucky to be dating her.” I couldn’t resist leaning over and pecking her on the cheek. Before you freak out, I didn’t suck on her neck or stick my tongue down her throat. I said peck. On the cheek.
But the boisterous jocks went silent and one of them whispered, “lesbians.” My girlfriend and I smiled and I rolled my eyes. Seriously, how could anyone be so juvenile? But as we were walking out the door one of the guys yelled something like, “Hey, do you girls like DILDOS!?!?” and the whole group just cracked up. Swearing, I turned back, determined to give those jerks a piece of my mind. But my girlfriend grabbed my hand and pulled me across the street.
“I was surprised you kissed me in front of them,” she said once I was done cursing. “I mean, you knew that would happen.” Keep reading »
I have had my share of one-night stands. In fact, a significant percentage of the people I have slept with in the nearly 10 years since losing my virginity have been one-time deals. There was that guy at Mardi Gras — hold on … have to ask my friend what his name was … damn, she doesn’t remember either. Laird! His name was Laird, right? Anyway, there was Andrew, my realtor, who showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night and I was like, “Hey, why not?” The second guy I had sex with was also a one-night stand — his name was Sean. He was really good-looking and when it was over he said it had been “lovely” and I remember he had a cute face, but I cannot remember how we ended up in bed together.
What I also didn’t remember, until recently, was that most of these one-night stands didn’t make me feel very good the next day. Keep reading »
Tobey* was the perfect guy to date right after my divorce. He was cute, fun, and had a body like a gymnast. He was younger than I was, but not too young. He liked the same things I did: eating good food, going to the movies, and strolling around Manhattan. He was a great kisser and even better in the sack.
Then he told me I needed grooming.
Not just any grooming. Down there grooming. Keep reading »