When I was offered the opportunity to be one of “New York’s Most Eligible Bachelorettes” in a major local magazine, I laughed out loud. “There’s no way I will ever meet a guy that way,” I complained to my friends. “Why even bother? I already meet tons of guys. They just all suck. Plus, I’m happy alone.” After much coaxing, I decided my friends were right. I couldn’t turn down a professional photo shoot or an opportunity to get as close as I ever would to my fantasy of becoming the next “Bachelorette.” If only I liked to wear bikinis and go bungee-jumping, maybe ABC would consider me for the series. Keep reading »
It is now an entrenched cultural truth: A desirable woman in her 30s could meet someone, date for a while, enter a relationship, spend Thanksgiving at her boyfriend’s parents’ house, rent an apartment together, adopt a pet, wash his skivvies for years and still: Long-term commitment is not guaranteed.
Don’t you hate it when you read something written by someone you’ve never met, yet it sounds like they are writing about YOU? I’m sure I’m not the only woman who had that weird feeling of being watched when reading Irina Aleksander’s article in The New York Observer entitled “Want a Husband? Try a Eur-Male Pass.” After all, there’s no way I’m the only 30-year-old who met a man, dated him for 4.5 years, spent countless holidays with his family, lived with him, adopted a dog with him, and did his laundry before being unceremoniously dumped (for someone younger and probably more willing to have anal sex).
So did the real crux of Aleksander’s piece — that more and more American women are moving abroad to find Mr. Right — speak to me too? Keep reading »
He does not want to sleep with me. It’s been three weeks and nothing. Not just nothing—I mean the complete absence of sexuality in an awkward, platonic way. We go out to dinner several nights a week and we kiss, hug, and hold hands in public. I’ve met most of his friends at this point and we’ve even spent nights together. And yet, nothing. I have tried every trick in the book to get him to seal the deal—I’ve smooched and even fondled him. And yet Matt remands steadfast and as abstinent as a priest. Keep reading »
My name is Kate. Just Kate—not Kathleen or Catherine or anything like that. I’ve always really liked my name. I like that it’s one quick, strong syllable. I like that it means “pure.” I like that it’s a woman’s name and isn’t at all girly like Katie. I even like the celebrities—Kate Winslet and Cate Blanchett—who share my name.
However, I don’t like that it’s really freaking common. Keep reading »
If you’re on antidepressants, chances are, the person you’re dating will find out. (If they don’t, then you’re really good about keeping a secret, and maybe they should be worrying about something else.) Maybe it’s not a big deal, and maybe your partner is even on medication. But for some women, this discovery can become a pivotal point in the relationship. As someone who has been on antidepressants for more than half of my life, I’ve dealt with this confrontation on several occasions. Some of the men I’ve dated have appeared to not care, or just didn’t feel like delving into the emotional side of why (that’s fine—not like I enjoy explaining these things). Others have suddenly looked at me differently, as if the confident, charismatic woman I am didn’t come from within, but from a pill. Keep reading »
Gifts are nice, but, baby, the best things in life are free. Especially when it comes to your special lady, compliments can go a long way, even longer than giving her a fancy pair of diamond earrings! OK, maybe not that far … But seriously, making a woman feel wanted, appreciated, and totally gorgeous will make her the kind of happy money just can’t buy. So, save your dough, and try some of this sweet talk. Keep reading »
Reader spotted this Luiza spotted this in Athens, GA.
Have you seen graffiti that’s kind of sweet (even if it is against the law)? Send your pic to firstname.lastname@example.org. Keep reading »