Like everybody else in America, I decided to jump on the World Cup bandwagon last week and headed to a bar after work to catch a game with friends. When one of my girlfriends showed up with a few of her co-workers, I noticed that I’d caught the eye of one of her colleagues. Well over six feet tall, he was muscular, well-dressed and had a nice smile, but I wouldn’t say I was necessarily attracted to him. After very obviously staring at me and not at the TV for the next 30 minutes, Ken headed my way and started making small talk. He seemed funny, nice and attentive, so when he gave me his number at the end of the game, I intended on shooting him a text the next day, and maybe even going out on a date with him if things continued to go well. Spoiler: they did not. Keep reading »
I got into an debate with my friend the other day about a topic that I never thought I’d have to discuss — photoshopping your online dating profile picture. She’s a recent adopter of OKCupid, and is what I would consider a power user, actively pursuing suitors, sending messages and going on countless dates, that swing wildly between enthralling and depressing.
“You know,” she told me one day over Gchat, “I Photoshop my profile picture.” She seemed unfazed by this admission, and took my shock and awe in stride.
“Isn’t that … dishonest? Isn’t that defeating the point?!” I asked.
“Eh … not really,” she wrote back. “Isn’t everybody lying, anyway?” Keep reading »
I was sitting with a couple of smart women that I respect when the subject of dating came up, as it tends to do. “I read The Rules, and it changed my life,” one friend told me, in complete earnestness. “I swear by The Rules. They really work.”
I was taken aback, and for good reason. I’m a generation behind The Rules’ target demo. Twenty years ago, when this book was first published, I was in middle school, when “dating” meant writing about someone in your dream journal and holding hands. As my dating life developed, any mention of The Rules felt laughable, like an ancient relic from a never-seen “Sex And The City” episode, something the girls would discuss over cosmos at Buddakan.
“Aren’t they old-fashioned and sexist, and you know, stupid?” I asked. My other friend interjected. “Seriously, they’re great,” she said. “Trust me.” Keep reading »
There comes a time in everybody’s dating career when your dance card suddenly becomes fuller than you know what to do with. One day, you’re swiping sullenly through Tinder bemoaning the lack of attractive, normal-seeming men that are possibly as tall as they say they are in their profiles, and the next, you find yourself drafting a spreadsheet to keep track of the nine dates that you have somehow booked for one week. Dating karma is like that. Like all things in life, your dating life will ebb and flow. Years of Sahara-like drought will give way to a summer full of eternal possibility, teeming with tapas dates and dinner dates and beach dates galore. One day, you’ll wake up in a daze, and find yourself with a bucket full of eligible, decent, good dudes, all clamoring for your attention.
“How could I possibly date two people, or even three people, when handling one person was too much?” you ask yourself as you scroll thru your texts one lazy Sunday. “How could it be that the universe is handing me such a Herculean task?”
Keep this in mind, dear reader. This embarrassment of riches is your prize for enduring countless shitty dates and rebuffing the advances of grody bros in I-banker loafers who are too drunk to see straight while you’re waiting in line for the bathroom. If you ever, ever feel bad about dating more than one person, remind yourself that if you were a dude, this behavior would be second nature. This is unfamiliar territory, and it is perfectly natural to have questions. Let me assuage your concerns. Here are a few tips and tricks for juggling two people — or more! — at once. Keep reading »
I am the only person in my friend group not in a relationship, a swinging single floating in the midst of the happily coupled. Nights out are often curtailed early. Someone’s boyfriend is tired, someone else’s boyfriend has the stomach flu. One couple stayed out too late and now has to go home to rest their eyes and watch DVR’ed episodes of “Orphan Black,” together, natch.
Hanging out with couples used to make me uncomfortable. I never knew what to do when their tiny domestic disputes were laid bare in front of me at the bar. One of the most uncomfortable brunches I have ever encountered was before Christmas, with my best friend and his boyfriend. I pushed a pile of Eggs Benedict around my plate as they exchanged carefully shrouded barbs about present exchanges and quality time before the holidays. I left them standing quietly on the street in front of the restaurant, speaking in hushed tones about what to do next. Keep reading »