Last Wednesday morning, at approximately 10 a.m., I typed an email to my friend, Brown Eyes. I noticed as I was writing that it was taking me an unusually long amount of time to compose a four-sentence email to a friend I talk to at least a few times a week. I also noticed that I was deleting an awful lot of sentences and rewriting them from scratch, trying to make each line just that much more clever.
I hit send, and immediately felt anxious. Five minutes later, I logged back into Gmail, hoping to see a bold line in my inbox highlighted with his response. Naturally, there was only spam.
I checked my email again at 10:10. And again at 10:12. And then it dawned on me: do I have a crush on Brown Eyes? Keep reading »
“Dump them both!” exclaimed Sabrina, taking a sip of a gin and tonic before brushing her lush black hair out of her eyes. I’d just told her about the same dilemma I presented you guys with last week—that I was dating two guys and not feeling that into either of them. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to feel blah about guy after guy. And then to get rejected by the few you do feel something for. I did it for years, too,” she continued. “But someday you’re going to stumble into the wrong bar, spill your drink on someone, and your whole life will change.”
I should probably give you a bit of Sabrina’s back story. Keep reading »
“It’s like in ‘Rushmore’ when Bill Murray cannonballs into the pool,” I said to Goldilocks, as we sat on a park bench watching a middle-aged man run through a field of sunbathers, barely noticing that he was almost stepping on people’s heads.
“I’ve never seen that movie,” Goldilocks said.
“Wait, I thought you said it was your favorite,” I responded, specifically remembering a conversation we’d had about the Wes Anderson classic a week ago.
“Nope, never seen it,” he said, shaking his head. “And that honor would belong to ‘Ghostbusters.’”
I laughed, but also felt vaguely crazy. And then I remembered the “Rushmore” conversation. It wasn’t with Goldilocks. It was with Band T-Shirt—the other guy I’m dating. Oops. Keep reading »
Earlier today, an email appeared in my inbox from OKCupid, my online dating site of choice. “New message from BananaMan5,” it read. The name was highly suspect, but I decided to check out the email anyway, just in case Mr. Banana turned out to be the hilarious, dashing, uber-creative man of my dreams. The email was short, just one line with a whole lot of exclamation points:
“I love poom poom!!!!!!!”
Keep reading »
“What are you up to tomorrow night?” The Juggler asked me last Tuesday morning. We were on the train to work, as had become our routine over the past two weeks. He held the pole with one hand, his other wrapped around my back, playing with the ends of my hair.
“It’s my cousin’s birthday party. Ugh,” I said, imagining how much I would rather be staying up into the wee hours of the night going from foreplay to sex, foreplay to sex, as had also become our routine, than twiddling my thumbs at a party with my family. I searched my head for the next evening I didn’t have plans. “But I’m free Friday,” I said.
“Cool,” he said, giving me a lingering kiss that totally turned me on again, before sliding out of the subway doors. “I’ll talk to you before then.”
Only he didn’t. Keep reading »
Here’s something I wouldn’t have guessed about The Juggler in the disastrous first 15 minutes of meeting: he’s kind of kinky. Our first date turned into a second which turned into a third. On our fourth date last night, we decided to see a movie. Midway through, I felt his fingers move up my thigh, higher and higher, under my skirt, until they were pushing my underwear to the side and rubbing my clitoris. Ten minutes later we were out of the theater and back at his house, neither of us caring in the slightest how the movie ended. Keep reading »
They say that, within five minutes of meeting a guy, a woman decides whether she wants to have sex with him. But it only took me 30 seconds to know that there was no way I was screwing The Juggler.
After chatting for a few days online, I agreed to meet him at a bar in Manhattan. When I arrived, I instantly spotted him sitting on a bar stool. There was no denying that he was cute. But as is often the case with online dating, he was a little shorter and a touch older-looking than advertised.
But that wasn’t the issue. Keep reading »
Not to get all touchy-feely on you guys, but I am a person who wants to improve myself. I spent months not dating so that I could figure out what I’m looking for in a relationship and analyze my dating patterns. I’ve been a little startled to realize that, when I click with someone, things go amazingly for a few weeks. And then at the month mark, almost uniformly, they lose interest. I’ve thought about what I might be doing to lead to this, but just can’t put my fingers on the magic bullet. At this point, I feel like I need some outside feedback.
So when Tall Guy, the last guy this happened with, IMed me and asked how I felt about being friends, I saw it as an opportunity. “Of course, I’d like to be your friend,” I typed back. “But I do need to hear a bit more from you about what felt off with us. Would you be willing to share?” Keep reading »
“What do you do for a living?” I asked the hot guy who’d just bought me a vodka and soda. He had turquoise eyes and a freshly shaved head that I wanted to run my hands over. His bicep muscles bulged where he’d rolled up his plaid shirt. All in all, he was one of the 10 best-looking guys I’d ever talked to in person.
“I’m an FBI agent,” he responded.
“OK, what do you really do?” I shot back.
“I’m a magician.”
I stared at him with a look that (I hope!) said both I-want-to-make-out-with-you and cut-the-crap. “What do you really do?” I asked.
“I’m a sanitation worker,” he said.
Buzz. Killed. Keep reading »
You know when someone touches you for the first time? Not an incidental arm graze, but a meaningful, purposeful touch that says, “Hello, it is on.” I was standing beside Tall Guy in Central Park, watching a softball game when he casually reached a tattooed arm around me and hooked his hand around the narrowest part of my waist, my favorite body part. Every nerve ending in my body jumped to attention. I think I let out an audible gasp. He pulled me closer to him and I instinctively laced my arm around his back. The non-verbal, “Oh yeah. I’m feeling it, too.”
This was the first physical contact I’d had with a guy in months. And it felt amazing. Keep reading »