The 2012 Summer Olympics in London officially kick off today, but the United States has already taken home gold. Dating gold, that is.
Our friends at Match.com recently conducted an international survey inspired by the Olympic Games. Luckily, they left the athletic ability to the competitors and focused instead on the dating norms and preferences of each nation. Six countries (the U.S., U.K., Australia, Japan, France and Canada) competed in the games – read below for some highlights.
U.S. Wins Gold. The red, white and blue took the top spot in the “most dates” category; 77 percent of singles surveyed by Match had gone on two or more dates in the past year. Read more…
I’ve never been good at confrontation. Who knows why this is – fear of anger, abandonment, a literal pie to the face – but the interesting (read: TOTALLY PREDICTABLE) thing about it is: The Grudge. Not the movie starring Sarah Michelle Gellar as a hot, tormented blonde, of course. No. What I mean is holding a grudge. If you’re bad at confrontation, if you live in constant fear of telling the world at large what you actually think, you wind up with, approximately, 8,000,510 things to still be mad about. If I had my way, I would happily list each and every one of those eight million plus to you, right now, in these interwebular pages. But as certain dreams do not come true, I won’t. What I’ll do instead is tell you of the worst offensives, of the three crazy enemies who dared to commit them, and why I will never forgive them. EVER. Keep reading »
Sure, dogs are adorable and everything. But just because you think they’re cute doesn’t mean you want to date them. And unless you’re an avid dog lover to begin with, those sweet, floppy ears won’t seem so sweet when you have to bring a pooper scooper on your romantic outings and you find yourself covered in fur at Monday morning meetings. Here’s why you should put your dog park daydreaming to rest… Keep reading »
No one does “judgmental” like my Mom.
“Sweetheart, I don’t understand. If you were building a real relationship with this boy, then why would one text message destroy it all?”
She didn’t get it. George and I had been friends in college. We’d recently re-connected years later in New York and started having brunch, texting all the time, meeting up for drinks, swinging by our favorite burger joint, and making out. A lot. (We weren’t having sex, Mom, FYI.)
It thrilled me that maybe – maybe – we would have The Talk soon and he would become my boyfriend. How wild, hilarious, awesome and unexpected would that be, after all the years we had known each other! Keep reading »
This is, in most part, a response to Brian Donovan, the man who made confessions about being a male cat owner over at Thought Catalog. Let me start by saying, Brian, you sound like an incredibly kind and thoughtful guy. I’m glad you had the courage to come out of the closet as a male cat owner. I respect you and your honesty. But I must unburden myself.
I am one of the girls you speak of, the kind who cocks her head sideways and looks at you as if you’ve just revealed that you were a fat kid (so was I!) when you tell me you have a cat. You’re right, I do see male cat ownership as a “preexisting condition.” One not conducive to me dating you. But not exactly for the reasons you’re thinking. I don’t find you creepy or feminine (or, I’m sure I wouldn’t if we met in person). There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you whatsoever. It’s not you, it’s ME.
My friends seem to find my dislike of cats humorous. They joke that I will end up marrying a man with tons of cats and proudly scoop litter for all eternity. Let the record stand: That will never happen. Here. We. Go. Deep breath. The reasons why I am thoroughly incompatible with male cat owners … Keep reading »
Inspired by #ICantDateYou trending on Twitter last week, I thought it would be fun to reveal the truth behind why I dumped some of my exes.
I’ve been dumped quite a bit in my life, but I’ve also been the dumper. Neither scenario is fun, but I think I’d rather be the one getting dumped than the one doing the dumping. There’s just too much guilt being the dumper. Most of the time, the guy didn’t see it coming so I tried to let him down gently. I came up with all kinds of excuses like “I’m not ready for the kind of relationship you want” or “You deserve someone better,” the latter being a bold faced lie. I mean, you don’t dump someone who’s too good for you! If you have half a brain in your head, you’ll ride that gravy train for as long as possible. Duh. The vague “It’s not you, it’s me” was a popular one but I usually stuck with “I think we should see other people.” I just left out “… because you [insert deal breaker here].” Keep reading »
In the summer of 2006, after having recently endured a breakup, I decided to bite the bullet, finally hopping on the online dating bandwagon. I chose Nerve as the site, and “Sara_B” and “This is really awkward” as my username and headline. Because, well, I am. And because, well, it was. I downloaded this one photo of me in a polka-dot dress and this other one of me in an absurd straw fedora and scoured the internet for someone to date.
I found him the very next day: LuckyJim_28. He had well-groomed facial hair, and those trendy, thick-framed hipster glasses. Nerve asked its members for a list of items they couldn’t live without, and LuckyJim_28 had written Martha Steward pie-crust mold and gun for killing Facebook friends who post about what they had for dinner. I found LuckyJim generally attractive, and the written answers to his profile genuinely amusing, and so I emailed him the following: “Hi there LuckyJim. Thanks for recognizing the level of self-absorption on display when one photographs one’s own food and uploads it on the internet. Also, I think you have nice glasses. – Very best, Sara B.”
His reply — “Well hello sara_b. Glad to meet a kindred spirit” – came later that same night. I liked the brevity of both the email and the response time – neither overly eager nor too hard-to-get – and after more back-and forths, we set up a date at a local bar. Keep reading »
I dated my first boyfriend for about two years. Our relationship started when I was 15. Over the course of those two years, I saw him for … like five days. Total. We were long-distance. We used to write these very, very dramatic love letters to one another. He couldn’t spell, but he clearly conveyed how much he loved me through a series of poems punctuated entirely by exclamation points. I finally broke up with him because—OK, I can’t remember why. I think I was just really bored. Maybe my writing hand got cramped. Keep reading »
The other day I gave my boyfriend a compliment. “Boo, you are so awesome — you’re like a human salve,” I told him. I said that after we’d gone tubing with 15 of my friends, and he had been kind enough to drive one car of us there, and made an effort to talk to a couple of my friends that he’d never met before. Calling someone a “human salve” sounds really gross, I know, but I meant it in the best of ways. After years of dating difficult, complicated, kind of crappy dudes, I told him, I was super happy to be dating someone who was just so easy.
So, what do I mean by “human salve”?
Keep reading »
I grew up blissfully ignorant of gender roles. Growing up in the ‘90s, I never thought I’d one day need a man with a six-figure income to take care of me. But I wasn’t a feminist, either—I didn’t even know what feminism was until my 20s. All I knew was what my mother taught me—that I’d have to work hard to become a self-made woman—and what Hollywood taught me — that eventually I’d meet a Jonathan Taylor Thomas look-a-like and be swept away to my happily ever after.
Though my JTT look-a-like never surfaced, I did find someone to share my happily ever after with. When we first entered couplehood, neither of us had much in the way of disposable income. Date nights included hitting up Applebee’s for happy hour and grabbing a $.99 movie rental. If I had to name one of us as the breadwinner, it was him, but money was such a non-issue in our relationship that we never thought of who earned more. We viewed each other as equals so we split the bills down the middle, paying little attention to who earned what. We were in love and that was all that mattered, right? Keep reading »