It’s a week later, and things are going well with the Architect. Like, really well. Tuesday, we went to a gallery followed by an evening of drinks and epic conversation at my favorite dive bar. Heck, I even loved the songs he picked on the jukebox. Last night, we went for Thai food and ended up back at my place, rolling around on my bed naked, until 3 a.m. I just got a text message from him asking if I’m free tomorrow. I’m learning so much about him, and I’m liking all I’m finding out. So far there’s been nothing to send me running in the opposite direction—no incurable STD or ex-girlfriends with histories of assault.
And this all has me … freaking the f**k out. Keep reading »
I stood outside a Greenwich Village coffee shop at 6 p.m. on a Tuesday night, staring at the front door. I was meeting a very handsome architect inside, but for some reason, I wanted to bolt. Honestly, I had come close to picking up the phone and canceling our date earlier in the day. Three times to be precise. I just wasn’t excited about this guy. Keep reading »
A year and a half ago, I sat on my therapist’s black leather couch, talking to him about the last few guys I’d gone out with. I’d been on a cold streak—one where I’d meet a guy and be very taken with him, only to never hear from him after our second or third meeting. (Usually, the second. But you already know how I feel about that.) I was starting to ask myself the question that far too many single women ask themselves: Am I doing something wrong? Or worse: Is there something wrong with me? My therapist had a thick European accent, which I liked, since I felt like it gave extra weight to his words. “You present yourself as a strong, accomplished woman,” he said. “I wonder if men sometimes feel intimidated by you.” I practically rolled my eyes. Really, this was his advice? I started to fight him, explaining that I don’t think being accomplished is a problem, and if a guy sees it as such, that’s really his issue.
“I’m not saying don’t be successful,” he said. “I’m wondering if you could show them some of your vulnerability.” Ding ding ding. He was completely right. I didn’t have to pour my soul out to strange men, but I could easily share with them the part of me that wasn’t so sure about everything and that wondered whether I had made the right career decisions, etc. I left his office that day feeling like I had made a breakthrough. But now I think that one conversation may have ruined my dating life. Keep reading »
People always freak out about first dates. But as a 30-year-old woman who’s been dating on and off for, oh, the past decade, I’ve mastered the art of a first date. You meet and have a drink to loosen things up. You talk about what you do, what you’d like to be doing, and where you come from. If it’s not going well, you can tell within 10 minutes and get the heck out of there. If it is going well, the conversation juts out in complicated tangents. You find yourself laughing, and leaning in closer. You realize that the amount of information you have about someone is increasing exponentially each minute. There’s the thrill of when you accidentally touch each other. And then there’s the first kiss, where you find all sorts of lovely idiosyncrasies, like that the bad boy has the softest lips you’ve ever encountered. No, first dates are easy.
It’s second dates that I fear. Keep reading »