My first concern when preparing for my appointment was: What I should wear? Sure, I was going to be stripping down to nothing, but maybe I could strip down to nearly-nothing instead? I looked through my closet. What could I artfully drape over my body while still keeping the safe spots — shoulders, ankles, torso — bare? What did I have that could simultaneously reveal and conceal? Why in heck had I never purchased anything with ruching?
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It’s one of the quintessential (and sometimes dreaded) first date questions: What kind of music are you into?
There’s a reason that most people tend to side-step this question with a deft, “A little bit of everything.” It’s because your taste in music reveals a lot about you to potential partners. Here’s the breakdown of 71 bands/musicians/singers and what they say about you… Keep reading »
“I met someone I really like,” my friend Greg*, who’s gay, announced.
“That’s great!” I said. “Is it serious?”
Yes, he felt it might be. But that hadn’t stopped him from keeping his options wide open while finding out. Greg proceeded to tell me that since meeting his new romantic interest, he had hooked up with three other guys, had a man that he saw when he was in town from San Francisco, and 12 others that he was flirting with online. Keep reading »
As I surveyed real friends, Facebook friends, Twitter friends, and total strangers about having sex on the first date, the unfortunate cow comparison came up no fewer than five times in my first twelve interviews. Everybody complained about it, bemoaning the lack of nuance, the icky imagery, and the overt transactional implications. And yet, it kept rearing it’s ugly little antiquated head. Are there kernels of truth buried there? Is first-date sex a relationship nonstarter? Are we, as we often claim to be, past the era of plastering A’s on each other’s chests? Keep reading »
Ughhhhh, he is infuriating, I thought as I scanned Paul*’s Facebook page. There were new status messages — “carboloading” — a recent video of him performing, and links to new posts on his blog. Facebook told me what parties Paul had recently attended and which ones he had just RSVP’d to; it told me “Paul and So-and-So are now friends” and that new friend made a reference to how great it was to meet him. I felt my mouth puckering in the way that my friend Erin refers to as “Cat Ass” — tight and pissed. I wanted to scream expletives at him, eviscerate his ego, slap him, do something to show him just how hurt I was. Instead, I took a deep breath and clicked the window closed. You’ve moved on, Amelia, I thought. You’re over him. You realized you deserved way better than what he could possibly give. There’s no point in being angry. Keep reading »