Officer Handsoming and I had “the talk.” Well, sort of. I knew that if I didn’t bring up our relationship status soon, my exclusivity limbo anxiety would bubble up inside of me and explode. So, I forced myself to ask.
“I have a question,” I started. “I want you to be honest. Are you seeing other people, or, rather, do you still want to see other people?”
The Oh God, This Conversation Is About To Happen look on his face told me he knew that we were about to embark on a trip to Exclusiveville. Keep reading »
There’s no worse feeling than not knowing. And after Patrick Bateman’s web of lies (which, let’s be honest, will probably haunt me for the rest of my life), I feel the need for constant relationship reassurance. I hate the unanswered questions, and I hate the unknown. Officer Handsoming and I are currently in that unknown, and I don’t like it one bit.
Allow me to set the scene: My friends and I were drinking champagne and decided to go dancing. Despite the fact that I’d already reached my desired level of buzzedness, I gladly accepted the shots of Fireball that the bartender bestowed upon us, even though I knew I’d regret it in the morning. While we were throwing back our whiskey, my chatty girlfriend made nice with a group of guys standing next to us, who were also enjoying some drinks on the house.
“Hi there,” a Leonardo DiCaprio look-a-like said to me, shaking my hand. I shook his hand back, and walked away to check my phone and text Officer Handsoming, who happened to be working an overnight shift. Keep reading »
I’m happy to report that things are, for the first time in a long time, going well in my love life. In fact, they’re really great. Over the last month and a half, Officer Handsoming and I have hit upon pretty much every “getting to know you,” milestone appropriate for a six-week courtship, making this the most “normal” relationship I’ve been in for a long while. He wasn’t rushing to jump into bed with me, he didn’t ghost me after a couple of weeks, and most importantly, he doesn’t seem to exhibit any signs of having another girlfriend (a huge plus after the hell I went through with Patrick Bateman). Keep reading »
“Any Patrick Bateman news?” I jokingly asked my friends Rick and Beth.
“Last time I heard anything about Patrick Bateman was right before his wedding,” said Rick.
I nearly choked on my water. “HE’S MARRIED?! TO WHO?” He and Beth exchanged an “oh shit, we thought she knew” look.
“That girl. The other one he was dating when you guys got back together,” added Rick sheepishly.
The sound of boozy patrons, loud jazz music, silverware clinking against plates seemed to come to a screeching halt while I tried to register what I’d just heard: my lying, cheating ex-boyfriend, Patrick Bateman, tied the knot. Keep reading »
Everything went swimmingly on date number two with Officer Handsoming. In fact, it was perfect. Much to my delight, he did not morph into a stage-five clinger, ask my breast size or give me any indication that we will ever end up on an episode of “Dateline.”
Instead, he took me to a new wine and burger bar (knowing that I’m a sucker for Cabernet Sauvignon and red meat), opened doors and listened intently as we chatted. Time flew by while we talked about the movies that make us cry (“The Family Stone” and “The Green Mile” for me, and “Remember Me,” for him), what it was like growing up with divorced parents, and how much we both love Jennifer Lawrence, because, honestly, who doesn’t? We continued the date back at my place, where we rented a movie, got under the covers and rounded first base like naughty teenagers. And when we finally stopped sucking face, I wore my newfound beard burn like a badge of honor.
“I really like you,” he told me. “I’m already looking forward to next time.” Keep reading »
Despite various warnings never to go out for sushi on a first date, when Officer Handsoming suggested it, knowing it’s one of my favorites (another tidbit he picked up from actually reading my OKCupid profile), I accepted. Possible fish breath and all.
He got to the restaurant just before me and greeted me with a warm hug and a sexy smile. He wasn’t joking about the “handsoming” thing; I liked what I saw. He was dressed in suede boots, dark jeans and a fitted, red, plaid flannel shirt, he looked like a super hot lumberjack — strong, sturdy and stylish. My kind of guy.
When he ordered us an appetizer of Dragon Eggs (four eggs with raw white fish and crunchies on the inside, wrapped in a layer of avocado), I just kept thinking, How the hell I can eat these things gracefully? Each egg was about the size of my fist. I knew that cutting into the egg with the only utensils I had— my chopsticks— would make the fish squirt out the sides leaving a giant mess all over my plate, and probably my face. Point taken about the dangers of eating sushi on a first date. Keep reading »
It gives me great pleasure to inform you that I HAVE A DATE THIS WEEKEND.
I was so busy complaining about being stuck in the single slog, that I failed to mention I’ve been casually chatting with a nice gentleman on OKCupid. I try not to get my hopes up these days, and wasn’t even sure our conversation was going to go anywhere, but one thing led to another and bam — we’re meeting on Saturday at 7 p.m.
Despite my I Give Up On This Shit attitude about online dating, I saw a message come through my inbox a few weeks back that wasn’t the usual “Damn baby, you lookin’ good,” or “Sup girl?” So I took a peek.
“The first thing I noticed was your smile,” he wrote. “A beautiful one like yours stands out from the crowd. Now what kinds of horror stories have you heard by opening yourself up to that question?”
He was responding to the part of my profile where I opted to ask guys what they first noticed about me, rather than answering the question myself. Not only was his compliment well received, but his counter question suggested he actually read my profile. He made it past the pictures and the desire to message me something stupid just because I have boobs. He was interested in me. Refreshing. Keep reading »
I’m just going to come out and say it: I can’t stomach being single anymore.
With the exception of a few men who’ve come and gone, lasting only a few weeks here and a few months there, I’ve been dating unsuccessfully for about four years now. There have been periods of time where I’ve sworn off men completely, refusing to date or so much as look at my OKCupid notifications. I’ve also engaged in the opposite behavior, juggling multiple dudes at a time, hoping one of them would turn out to be worth continuing to date. I’ve gone through bouts of depression, seeking therapy to help me move on from past relationships (Thanks, Patrick Bateman!). But the hardest part of it all has been remaining confident in the knowledge that, despite the evidence to the contrary, I have a ton of love to offer someone and should never settle for anything less than a wonderful guy. Keep reading »
Right around this time every year I start to sulk, wondering why I’m still single and asking myself if it’s really necessary for the folks over at Kay Jewelers to inundate us with sappy commercials every two and a half minutes. I usually cope by drowning my dark thoughts in turkey and extra large glasses of cabernet … but not this year.
This year, as Thanksgiving approaches, I’ve decided to stop dwelling on my singledom, and instead, come up with a little wish list for the man who (I hope) will one day pull up a seat beside me at my family’s Thanksgiving feast. That man, whoever he may be, is gonna have a lot of tests to pass. I hope he’s up for the challenge: Keep reading »
After a relationship ends, you prepare yourself for hard nights missing the other person. Your friends comfort you by telling you someone else out there is even better for you, and that happiness is just around the corner. But no one prepares you for the loss of the people who come with the breakup; the innocent bystanders left in the dust. What happens to them? Friendships end and family ties are severed, all with the understanding that it would make things easier. But does it?
Last night, my sister called to tell me that my ex-boyfriend’s mother passed away— a woman who I was very fond of and close to for the more than three years I dated her son, Pete.* Keep reading »