This weekend I had a conversation with two good friends of mine who are married and have been with their husbands for five-plus years. They were peppering me with questions about my oh-so-exciting dating life, and I mentioned that all the dinners and drinks were getting expensive. “Wait, what do you mean?” they asked. “Aren’t the guys paying?”
“Oh, no,” I responded. “Men don’t seem to be doing that anymore. Every date I’ve gone on, the check has been split.” They were aghast. What had happened to the tradition of men paying for dates since they were single? Was it the economy? Were men cheaper? Women more insistent on paying their share?
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After checking out ConjugalHarmony.com, a mock online dating site feigning to connect prisoners with those on the outside, we gave the convict-dating phenomenon some closer inspection. The result? There are clearly a bunch of reasons not to date a man behind bars (enforced long-distance relationship, depression at his non-voter status in certain states… him being a CONVICT), but there are also some potential perks. Check them out after the jump. Keep reading »
To be honest, I haven’t been in the position of rejectee very often. I dated this guy in college for a couple months who one day showed up at my window in the middle of the night, rapping on my window, asking to be let in, because he was running from the cops. (I’m still not sure why). The next morning when I drove him home, I called it off. I was 19 and in college. He was 27, working at a crappy seafood restaurant, and had no problem running away from the cops in the direction of his girlfriend’s house. It was not going to work. I told him that, and he got very upset, but I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.
Another time I had a torrid, two-week affair with a man who was 12 years older than me and a pathological liar. When I found out, I had no problem screaming at him and telling him to never contact me or breathe my name again, lest he want me to ruin his life. That one was easy. But, in general, I find letting someone down to be a difficult thing to do. Maybe that’s why I should be a little more sympathetic towards men when they give me the runaround rather than telling me straight up: “I’m not interested in you like that, despite coming over to your apartment after our date and touching your boobs.” But I’m not sympathetic. Because sometimes in life you have to do something that is uncomfortable but necessary. Telling someone straight up how you feel in an honest but gentle way is one of those things, and giving him signs, pulling “the fade,” or just disappearing altogether are not acceptable substitutes. I forced myself to remember that today, as I told Mr. Plaid Glasses that it wasn’t gonna happen. Keep reading »
Every woman I know has been in this situation at one time or another, wondering whether the guy she’s wasting—I mean, spending most of her time with is interested in her as a girlfriend or just a buddy.
In my case, his name was Daniel. He’d flirt, drive me around in his cool vintage car, and generally make me feel like the coolest, prettiest, most fun girl in the world. We hung out 24/7. He was like my boyfriend, except he never made a move. Ever. Keep reading »
An update on the Doodler. I do no like, nor do I accept, guys sending mixed messages. According to He’s Just not That Into You, I’m supposed to read the signs and accept, without a guy actually saying so, that he’s not interested. But the Doodler left me confused. He seemed interested! We hooked up! He’s roommates with one of my friends! Besides, we had fun, didn’t we? Why wouldn’t we go out again? I emailed the Doodler on Friday evening, suggesting we go out this week. I haven’t gotten a response. Rude much?
As for Chicken Parm, things have been rather nice between us the last few weeks. Friday evening, Chicken Parm came over, not to spend the night, or go to dinner, or even to screw. No, he came over to nap. And cuddle, too. Then, he left. Last week, he told me, “I wish we lived in the same building but had separate apartments, so I could do work in mine, but sleep in yours.” It was oddly romantic. I think I may have even said, “Aww.” Keep reading »
Elisa Baxt recalls one of her first dog dates with her boyfriend; it was on a beautiful spring day, and she and Scott were having lunch at an outdoor cafe, eating salads, and sipping lemonade. Next to them was Elisa’s three-and-a-half-year-old chow-lab mix Cody, chewing on a special order carrot (raw and unpeeled).
“It was a great day,” Elisa said, “and Cody was a great icebreaker. Of course, now, she’s like our child. And we take her everywhere.” Keep reading »
Sometimes Bill Cunningham, the New York Times street fashion photographer, takes pictures of French women, and they always look so damn sexy. Granted, the Times is going to choose the best photos, but somehow French women always manage to look more seductive than the average American woman.
Now, it’s silly to stereotype and say that all French women are sexy, but there are definite cultural differences between French women and American women—that’s undeniable. It also seems unarguable that these differences are responsible for that thing French women seem to have. The thing that makes them seem fashionable and cool and charming. Keep reading »
As a single person, it sometimes feels as if the world is partial to couples. Perhaps you’re like me—tired of checking that “single” box on your tax return while your married counterparts file jointly and gleefully claim dependents. You see a family buying in bulk at the supermarket and wish you could take such cost-saving measures without having to eat spaghetti every night for a month. Or you wonder what you’d do with the extra cash if your rent was suddenly halved.
Sure, families get tax breaks and cohabitaters have lower living expenses, but there are some financial upsides to being on your own, especially during an economic downturn. The truth is, with fewer responsibilities, singles are freer to take risks and find novel ways of coping with the stress of a Great Recession. Finally, the singletons have some advantages. Keep reading »
While some women have trouble with breasts that droop or low-hanging butt cheeks, my heart has always been my least-resilient body part. Like Chet Baker once crooned, I fall in love too easily. And once it ends—especially when it’s not my idea—I tend to have a little trouble getting back up on that passion pony. The worst time was after a six-year relationship went kibosh (translation: he dumped me). I didn’t so much as kiss another man for two years. I know. It still makes me shudder.
Sure, I was busy moaning, moping, sobbing, and sighing for the first six or eight post-dump months, but by month 10, I thought I was ready to move on. For the next year and a half, I kept wondering, mostly aloud, to anyone within earshot, why nothing was happening. It was only in retrospect that I noticed what a basketcase I’d become… Keep reading »