A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting on a roof deck with two friends, enjoying the first rays of the pre-summer sun and drinking a beer when I looked up in the sky and saw someone’s life change. A skywriter was doggedly etching a message out into the cloudless blue expanse. We paused our conversation to watch the words form. We didn’t see the name, but the words “Will You Marry Me?” hovered against the blue for a few minutes until they eventually vanished.
“Did that really happen?” my friend asked.
I shrugged. “It’s probably an ad for something,” I said. “Who actually does that?”
Later, through the power of the internet, I found out that the stunt that half of Williamsburg had seen that Sunday wasn’t an insidious marketing campaign for a summer rom-com. It was a real proposal, with a happy ending (spoiler alert: she said yes). I’m sure this couple will be very happy together, and I wish them the best, but the mortification I felt at the notion of the public proposal cannot be denied. Keep reading »
My first experience with Tinder was on the patio of my favorite bar one night last summer, sitting with friend. “You have to try this app,” she told me. “You’re gonna love it.”
I was out of a relationship, not interested in dating, but needed some sort of nudge to get me back in the game, any game, lest I die alone in an apartment surrounded by empty cans of cat food and back issues of Us Weekly. Tinder seemed to be the trick, and at first, I was fascinated. Technology is truly a wonder. I had my pick of whatever Williamsburg had to offer — the good, the bad, the eye roll-y. What a world! Keep reading »
The long cold winter of our discontent has finally started to ease its grip on most of the country. If you live on the East Coast, you’ve most likely been buried in a never-ending pile of snow and frigid weather, seemingly doomed to spend the rest of your life mouldering in your abode, turning as pale and sour as spoiled milk. The past couple of weeks have seen the resurgence of something beautiful — warm weather! Flowers are blooming, the trees are heavy with blossoms, and when you leave work, it’s still light out and the air smells like the promise of short shorts, the beach and exposing your toes — and your winter-hardened heart — to the light. And what’s that in the distance? Ahh yes, a spring fling is on the horizon. Keep reading »
Part of the fun of starting a relationship is the shared discovery of the things that make you tick as a unit. Establishing a Sunday routine, dedicating a night to each other to stay in and watch shitty movies on Netflix — this is what keeps the engine of your coupledom running smoothly. The more comfortable you get, the more likely you are to fall into established, cozy patterns. Take the pet name, one of the more revealing aspects of your life together. What you decide to call your person in public or in private speaks volumes about your relationship, but there are so many to choose from, it’s hard to say what works and what doesn’t. I used to call my ex-boyfriend “boo,” and was fine with it until one Christmas at his parents house, when I discovered that that was what his mother called him — suddenly, “boo” was weirdly inappropriate. You want to choose the right pet name, one that’s appropriate for the place your relationship is at. I’m here to help. Read on for a field guide to relationship pet names. Keep reading »
I’ve never been one for chivalry. I prefer to do things my way, and take pride in my own ability to lift things that are heavy, open doors on my own and find my coat in a sea of bodies and sad down jackets at a crowded bar. I’ve been with men who are completely unchivalrous, men who I’ve had to kick in the shins to lift a finger to help me carry an air conditioner up the stairs, and I’ve been with men who have fallen over themselves to get the door for me, even though I was already in the process of opening it. There’s a finesse to the art, a way of doing things that falls in between a fawning obsequiousness and a genuine gesture, bred of genteel manners and a different way of living.
There’s a fine line between chivalry and common courtesy. Holding a door open for someone who’s hands are full is good home training. Giving your seat up for a pregnant woman on the bus is good home training. Helping me into my coat at a restaurant is unnecessary, awkward and assumes that deep down, you are unconfident in my ability to put on my own outerwear when the fact of the matter is I have been dressing myself for longer than we’ve been acquainted. I understand that this is a gesture of kindness, but I view it as a harbinger of times past — and quite frankly, the past is where it should stay. Keep reading »