Now you know how we all met our last significant others, but the question most of you are wondering is how are you going to meet your next significant other. Well, welcome to a brand new Frisky feature we’re calling “Where To Meet Him” in which we give you some info on events, happenings, and places you’re likely to find some interesting guys. 

In honor of today’s date (11/11), our first “Where To Meet Him” subject is the Corduroy Appreciation Club, a “social club for people who like corduroy.” Meetings take place on dates which resemble corduroy, like January 11th, or 1|11, and today, November 11th, 11|11. Meetings, where members must wear at least two items of Corduroy, feature “secret rituals,” a keynote speaker, and a member open forum with “member inspired poetry, prose, song, artwork, dances, etc.” Geeky, artsy guys in corduroy? Sign me up!

There are some dates that make you want to open the freezer and drink straight from the vodka bottle the minute you come home. Last Saturday night was one of those dates. He was cute, blond, dimpled; he screamed Abercrombie and frat houses.

After numerous conversations with girlfriends demanding I open my world and date men other than my type (old, neurotic and insane), I decided to go on a date with a clean-cut guy who was my age, normal, and seemingly had all his marbles.

If I had a dime for how many times I’ve heard another woman whine about how she “needs to find a man,” I’d have enough change in my purse to buy a pair of slouchy new Frye boots and a ticket to Barcelona for the holidays. (Seriously, doesn’t that sound like a nice place to spend Christmas day?) But I don’t have a dime for every whine, and since I’m getting kind of tired of listening to it all, I’m going to tell you exactly how to land a man, so we can finally talk about more important things, like whether I should cut my hair like Katie Holmes. Forget that monkey business about not ever calling a guy, and follow the real rules after the jump.

Tila Tequila, bisexual star of the MTV shows, “A Shot At Love” I and II, has just written a one-night-stand, er, dating advice book set to come out in December. This is breaking news, people: Tila, who is even dumb by MySpace standards, is literate!  Well, at least she claims she speaks the international language of love. After soliciting “fans” for their romance questions, she’s authored what she considers a tome on relationships entitled, “Hooking Up With Tila Tequila.”  We wonder if her book will be opened as much as her legs have been?

“How do I tell if an Aries man is lying? Are there any telltale signs? Do they lie? Are they good at it? I have a very strong suspicion that my Aries ex was cheating on me during our relationship and that he is currently with the woman he may have cheated on me with. I want to drag the truth out of him, but want to know what to look for!” —Scorpio With A Hunch

A friend call me the other day. She was struggling to figure out what was going on with her relationship of a month. He’d do sweet things, like post photos of the two of them on Facebook. Then he’d write curt responses to her e-mails. Normally, she’s extremely self-confident, self-assured, and successful in life. It was disheartening to see her brought down by the unknown of it all.

Whether you have a history or terrible break-ups, always end up with emotionally unavailable men, have had a string of bad first dates, or can’t even land a first date, our ABCs of Dating should not only get you on the right path, but will help you move in the right direction, too.

There was a banging at the door as Brian* flushed the toilet. I was sitting on the couch of his mother’s townhouse, where he lived with her and his half-brother. Brian emerged from the bathroom and opened the front door to reveal a mangy-looking man walking away from the stoop. “I’m calling the police!” Brian’s mother yelled from upstairs.

Shudder to think what would happen to Sin City, Las Vegas, if a bunch of Sarah Palin impersonators took over Elvis’ territory! But her dopplegangers do make for a hilarious installment of one of our favorite columns on Nerve—Dating Advice.  They’ve asked everyone from sailors to handwriting experts to analyze sex related situations and give their take. And now they’ve had the Nerve to ask: W.W.S.P.D.?  (Umm, that’s “What Would Sarah Palin Do?”) Some of our fave highlights after the jump!

Last night’s episode of “Gossip Girl” was awesomely irritating. After pursuing Blair for ages, Chuck finally got her exactly where he wanted her—about to give up some lovin’—but then turned the tables on her instead. It seems that Chuck wants to be chased, instead of the other way around. Say what? I’ve long been confused about whether men like women to be aloof or aggressive. Or aggressively aloof, if such a thing is possible. I’m not good at being either of those three things, which is why the prospect of gag, puke, blech, DATING again makes me wrinkle my nose. With that in mind, I decided to ask the men I trust so much I keep our relationships confined to IM, whether men like to be chased or do the chasing.

The Brit was someone I can describe only as Lord Marcus on “Gossip Girl.” Well, except for the title and the vast family riches. Nine years older than me, the Brit was a U.K. transplant in the banking industry and a sweet, sweet man. Not only did he own a house across the pond, but he would sometimes bring small index cards on which he’d previously jotted down the names of nice restaurants we could go to after quick drinks or karaoke, depending on where we had agreed to meet. He was thoughtful, attentive, and thoroughly romantic, especially with that hot British accent.

One night, after an insanely fun night of boozy karaoke and a seafood dinner with entree-appropriate wine, he dropped me off at the door of my apartment. He then swept me up in his arms and spun me around, right in next to a busy street, for God and everyone else to see. I was floored. This was the stuff of Seventeen magazine fairytale dates – the ones I had looked forward to in high school that never materialized…until now. Giggling and semi-swooning, I kissed him goodnight and walked up the stairs to my apartment happy.

I have been dating a Pisces for four months and we haven’t had sex. He says he is going through a spiritual transformation, which includes no sex. I am climbing up the walls! I know he keeps a dream journal and in it he writes explicit dreams about ME. I do feel we connect and there’s a lot more to a relationship than sex, but it’s hard to sleep next to someone that has a hard on and is having mental sex with you. I care about him, but I have no idea when or if this phase will end. Help! —A Dried Up Libra

Until a few years ago, I never would have considered a long distance relationship a realistic option for myself. I once dated a guy who lived on the other side of the city and that relationship was challenging enough, though to be fair, our problems probably had more to do with him being a douche bag than the 30-minute drive between our apartments, but still. Long distance relationships were what other people did — people who spent all their money on gas and plane tickets and their weeknights scouring the internet for travel deals and want ads in their significant other’s city. They weren’t for people like me, who’d rather spend money on shoes, and evenings cooking dinner with a boyfriend I could see as often as I wanted.

I can learn more about a man at dessert than any other time.

When it comes down to it, isn’t dessert the reason for a date? Witty conversation and sex appeal aside, it’s dessert that seals the deal. Lest I sound shallow, I can authenticate the efficacy of this dessert-litmus test. I can predict — with surprising accuracy — how long the relationship will last based on his dessert order. 

Election tension is boiling over; it seems like everyone from the office blowhard to the person in front of you at the post office is spouting off opinions that make your blood boil. But what happens when the one disagreeing with you shares your bedroom? Here are ten tips to help you make it to November 4th without resorting to the taser gun, after the jump…

There are times in every woman’s life where her body wants either what her heart can’t handle or her brain knows better. You know the drill — you want a man, but not a relationship. Or, more to the point, you want some loving, but don’t want any complications. All the booty; none of the baggage.

Maybe you’re wildly attracted to a dude physically, but find him mentally or morally lacking—like a tanning technician or a bounty hunter. There’s no way you’d ever date him, but why should you deny yourself the pleasure assets might provide? Answer: Not a reason in the world.

It was early spring, late afternoon, a couple of years ago and I was having beers and burgers with some girlfriends. It was warm enough that we sat on the patio outside where we ate and drank and talked about boys.

I was the youngest in the group — still a few months shy of my 30th birthday and conversation soon turned to the challenge of finding a good man before we all died alone with a bunch of cats in the living room and stale cereal in the cabinet.

“I don’t understand why it’s so hard,” I said, “I just want someone who’s funny and charming and kind and gracious and creative and ambitious and smart. Curly hair, glasses and dimples don’t hurt either,” I added.

My friend Meg immediately said she knew the perfect guy for me — that he was everything on my list.

We’ve all been there, we’ve had a bit too much to drink — more than some of us would care to admit — and suddenly, calling, texting, or emailing an old flame seems like the best. Idea. Ever!! You know it never goes well and the humiliation the next morning is worse than the raging hangover. It’s not just old flames we drunkenly reach out to, either — there are also estranged friends and family members, old (or, worse, current) bosses and co-workers, and random cuties online. Back when Friendster was the social networking site du jour and I was nursing a broken heart and wounded ego, I spent more than one wine-soaked evening exchanging messages with attractive, 28-38 year-old men in my area, messages I hope stay as buried as that broken relationship I was trying to get over. 

On occasions like those, it would have been nice to have someone — anyone! — stop me and say, “Wendy, do you really want to send that message? Are you sure it’s not just the booze talking?” I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have pushed “send” just the same, but still, maybe a voice of reason would have saved me from one or two of my more embarrassing drunken messaging mishaps. If Gmail has anything to say about it, all of us are about to have that much-needed voice of reason in our lives…well, on the weekends, anyway (and provided you don’t suck at math).

NonSociety blogger and Time Out New York columnist Julia Allison posed a question in her site the other day—What is a “normal” length of time to wait before having sex with a new partner?—and proposed an answer:

My methodology (for women, of course): if you think you’ve waited long enough, wait even longer. If you like the guy at ALL, don’t think about sleeping with him until at least—AT LEAST—the sixth or seventh date, or four-to-five weeks in, whichever comes last.

I wholeheartedly disagree and actually think this is pretty terrible, game-playing advice.

Dudes in bands: They’re creative, laid back, they’re hot, they have great music collections, they’re sensitive, and very often, they’re funny without being as damaged as comedians. What’s not to like? Let’s discuss.

There was the Luke Skywalker look-alike who drummed for so many bands I couldn’t keep track of them all. (Although, as a drummer, does he really count as a musician? Wocka wocka!) Practices and shows took priority over time with me, so I was competing with an unknown amount of other rock dudes probably numbering somewhere in the dozens, and decidedly losing that competition. The drummer boy flaked out on me. He reappeared to apologize profusely for his disappearing act, we had a great discussion over dinner about us, and how we were going to start over and do it right this time because both of us really understood where the other one was at. Then he promptly flaked again. He’s now married to another musician who, it turns out, has also flaked on me.