When a man gets into a relationship, he’s usually the last to know.
Women fall in love, men slip on it. Women gently twirl down the rabbit hole of love like whirligigs, landing on their feet in a land of wonder. But for men, love is a sudden minor concussion. One moment, we’re strolling down the street like a Pharoah in no hurry, snapping our fingers, whistling a jaunty tune. Maybe we’re leaving the apartment of a recent conquest early in the morning. Women call this the “Walk of Shame.” But to the male species, it’s called the “I Just Got Laid Parade.” Or maybe we’re just walking over to the beer store, smugly satisfied with ourselves for not immediately texting some chick back. Because no one owns the male spirit – it’s like a bacon-scented wind. We’re wild game you can’t tame, oh yeah. Then an ambush of unwanted emotions happens. Love is a banana peel. We wake up on our backs with a throbbing skull, swatting away clouds of mosquito-sized hearts buzzing around.
At least women look before they leap. Keep reading »
When I met the cute blue-eyed surfer who lived in my apartment building—we’ll call him Max—we clicked immediately. I’m a workaholic by nature, but I set aside my writing while he and I stayed up until dawn in fits of side-splitting giggles, thumbing through photo albums, playing music and talking—about everything. Politics, religion, sex—nothing was off limits. He even told me about his ex-girlfriend. She was eight years his senior and ready for marriage and a family. At 25, he wasn’t.
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Bad Band. Jew Joker. Sandwich. The Brute. AwwMike. Babycheese. My laundry list of discarded loves reads like a storyboard of comic book villains, each nickname a clue as to their respective fatal flaws. Anyone who knows me well knows I have a history of dating men who are wildly inappropriate for me. It’s been a quirk I myself was willing to accept, further proof of my fun-loving, devil-may-care spirit (this despite the days and weeks of sobbing and agonizing over wholly ridiculous relationships when they inevitably ended). Keep reading »
I have had my share of one-night stands. In fact, a significant percentage of the people I have slept with in the nearly 10 years since losing my virginity have been one-time deals. There was that guy at Mardi Gras — hold on … have to ask my friend what his name was … damn, she doesn’t remember either. Laird! His name was Laird, right? Anyway, there was Andrew, my realtor, who showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night and I was like, “Hey, why not?” The second guy I had sex with was also a one-night stand — his name was Sean. He was really good-looking and when it was over he said it had been “lovely” and I remember he had a cute face, but I cannot remember how we ended up in bed together.
What I also didn’t remember, until recently, was that most of these one-night stands didn’t make me feel very good the next day. Keep reading »