The downside to getting laid, if there has to be a downside, is dealing with the aftermath. Once the guy has gone home, it’s just you and your vagina left to process the whole thing. This can become particularly panic-inducing if something’s itchy down there or if your period is late or days have gone by and you haven’t heard word one from him. This is when the beauty of the act gets tainted by extreme post-sex anxiety. Don’t let yourself spiral into a full-blown freakout. Really, it’s not worth losing your marbles over what is most likely a yeast infection. You’re going to be fine! Seriously! Everything is going to be OK! These animals have comforting words and friendly advice to help you with any sex-related freak out you might currently be experiencing.
I was watching the vintage “Real World” marathon this past weekend on MTV. On the San Francisco season, you may remember that episode where Rachel goes to a coffee shop to give her number to a dude. It doesn’t end up working out, but oh man, this scene gave me a crazy bout of dating nostalgia. I started remembering all the things I used to have to do (most of them terribly embarrassing) when I liked someone. Before the days of Facebook and Google, it took some serious ingenuity just to figure out a guy’s last name. I had to stalk a guy at Little Caesar’s Pizza every day after work just to get his phone number! That’s a lot of individual pizzas to order on an allowance! You have to really like the person to put in that kind of financial commitment. And if they like you back? Whoa. Now it’s all a mouse click away. It’s just too easy. Let’s reminisce some of those extinct pre-Internet dating rituals. Keep reading »
On a scale of one to absolutely freaking psychotic, staging a knife attack on a first date so you can play hero ranks, uh, absolutely freaking psychotic. Twenty-six-year-old Tyler Siegel of Jonesboro, Arkansas, went all out to impress his date, but not with, like, flowers and a fancy dinner or something like that. Oh no. As a little end of the evening surprise, he arranged to have his friend pretend to be a criminal and attack the couple at knifepoint while strolling through a local park. Oh, yeah, because women really love those kinds of surprises! Keep reading »
One day, you’ll be leaving work, your limbs heavy with dating fatigue. You’ll trudge to the subway with a sourness in your soul. I’m done with dating, you’ll whisper into to the dank subway air. That’s it. I will live underground in the subway tunnels like those mole people and never have to sit through another awkward round of drinks again. You’ll be so wrapped up in your self-pitying reverie that you’ll miss the train. You’ll, swear, gnaw on your cheek, hating yourself for thinking like this and wait for the next one.
Moments later, you’ll notice a man on the platform standing next to you and feel drawn to him like a super-duty magnet. He’ll pull you with great gravitational force onto the same subway car as him and you’ll sit across from him. He’ll pull out the NY Post. And you’ll think No one reads the paper anymore. But this guy does. He’s the last paper reader alive.
You’ll study his face, this paper reading unicorn, taking it in, trying to make sense of it. He has kind eyes. His mouth is fixed in a perma-smirk. When his smirk spreads to a smile, you’ll realize you recognize that smile. You know him!? This realization will untether you. This is someone you know?! But how? From where? Keep reading »
All those coupled friends of yours, you’re genuinely happy that they’ve found someone whose morning breath makes them giddy. You’re thrilled that you’ll never have to field another late night phone call from them about how they are scared to choke on a ham sandwich and die alone like Mama Cass. Really, you’re glad they found ever-lasting love and left you alone to make a weekend of hand-washing your delicates.
The only issue: the second they fell in love, it’s like they got single amnesia and forgot what it felt like to eat peanut butter straight out of the jar for dinner on a Saturday night. Their memory of what it was like to be relegated to the pull-out couch at Christmas while your brother and his wife get to sleep in your bed was wiped out. They no longer recall what it was like to feel demoralized after going on 100 unsuccessful OK Cupid dates. And this is why they assume that you would like to bird sit for them for the next two weeks while they’re laying on the beach in Aruba. Because you have nothing better to do, right? Well, not really, but that doesn’t mean you want to deal with bird shit. And while you’re at it, here are some more things they shouldn’t assume you’d like to participate in just because you’re single. Keep reading »
He looked terribly handsome as he tossed his shaggy dark hair and laughed just a little too hard at my bad joke. While his posture telegraphed confidence — upright yet leaned back, big smile across his face — the laugh told me, “Whoa. This guy is just a little bit nervous.”
I felt nervous too — a tiny fluttering in my stomach, my palms just a little clammy. First dates have a way of doing that to you.
Only, this wasn’t our first date in the traditional sense. No, this was our first date, err, our first “Preparing for Partnership” session, with the rabbi we want to marry us.
You got to know me years ago on The Frisky as Dater X, the girl who just couldn’t get it right in love, hanging intense excitement on each new guy and feeling mildly to horrifically crushed when it didn’t work out. Dater X, the girl on the hunt for her green zebra—safari jacket on, binoculars at the ready—but only finding red koalas and yellow crocodiles. Keep reading »
Nearly four years ago, while I was on a third date with a man, I was raped. For a long time, I wouldn’t have been able to write that sentence. I would have equivocated. I would have quickly followed it up with minimizers like, “I was drunk.” Or, “I’m OK. It wasn’t violent.”
These statements are all true. I was drunk. The rape was not violent in that I wasn’t physically injured. I am OK. At this moment in time, I am comfortable saying that these factors still don’t make what happened my fault. I said no to him repeatedly. That, I am sure of.
In light of the Steubenville rape case, I feel the need bubbling up to reflect upon my rape again, as it often does when there is a prominent rape case in the news. While CNN is busy mourning the lives of the young, convicted rapists, I’m thinking about 16-year-old Jane Doe, and how this will change the course of her life. I refuse to mourn her life, because that implies that she will let being raped define her for the rest of her life. I pray that’s not the case. But I know that being raped will affect her in so many unexpected ways, as it has me. Keep reading »
At the tender age of 19, I had only seen a total of four penises: the guy who got into my bed naked after a rave in high school; my boyfriend who I lost my virginity to senior year; the balding dorm mate who I gave an unfortunate blow job to while a James Bond movie played in the background; the older dude I had casual sex with my entire freshman year and most of my sophomore year of college. I had only slept with two of these penises, but this I assure you, all four were of modest size. (I can say this with confidence now that I’m older and have seen many a dick.)
This is where I was at in my sexual evolution when I started dating William*. He lived in my dorm sophomore year and came over sometimes to hang out and wanted to listen to, of all things, Tori Amos. I know! A 19-year-old boy who likes Tori Amos? William’s admission of Tori Amos fandom made him instantaneously more attractive to me. Not that he wasn’t already attractive. With his bleached-blond hair, piercings and post-punk style, when he leaned over and kissed me as “Pretty Good Year” played on my stereo then leaned over and whispered, “I want to fuck you on my balcony,” I felt something I had never experienced before: raging desire. Keep reading »
I was having dinner with a friend the other night and I was in the middle of a rant about dating fatigue when our waitress, a beautiful and statuesque 20-something women, strode over to our table and said, “I hear you. It just never ends.”
We all nodded at each other, wordlessly, exchanging sympathetic I feel your pain looks.
Dating is so complicated it’s a wonder that people continue to do it. Navigating through all the awkwardness and nuances of romantic, human interactions requires a compass, or at the very least, a forum to vent.This is why our Dating Don’ts column is important. We could probably write dating how-not-to’s for another ten and never run out of topics to discuss. For The Frisky’s 5th birthday, I’ve rounded up some of the best dating tips we’ve given. It never hurts to brush up. Share your favorite Dating Don’ts moments in the comments or suggest some topics you’d like to see covered. And keep on keeping on, daters. We’re here for you. Keep reading »