Maybe I should be over this by age 35, when the vast majority of my peers are on the procreation train and it’s just something I should be expecting, but I still feel a twinge of, I don’t even know what to call the feeling, when I discover that a guy I used to date has gone and made a baby. It’s not quite wistfulness or jealousy — but it’s certainly unsettling.
The other day I was scrolling through Instagram when I discovered that I guy I dated briefly a bunch of years ago was a parent. He posted a picture of his wife (?) and his 9-month-old daughter(!?), who looked eerily like his much younger, female twin (like, she had the same haircut as him…it was weird). His hashtag: #neverdreamedthisdaywouldcome. “Damn right, you didn’t,” I replied to my iPhone screen, enlarging the picture to get a closer look. Below, the range of reactions you can expect to go through when you find yourself in this situation… 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 »
I am the oldest of four girls, a pack of sisters who descend in age like uneven stair steps, from 31 to 29 to 26 to 23. As the eldest of this pack, I am a consummate older sister — bossy, with a tendency towards lecturing, and a fondness for teaching “lessons.” In the context of my family, this dynamic has its place. The traditional roles of birth order are said to be fluid, but mine never is. I am eternally a big sister, and this dynamic has bled into my love life. 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 »
So you’ve finally found The One (or at least The One For The Foreseeable Future) and you’ve committed to a serious relationship. Now what? In our new weekly column, Life After Dating, women discuss the unique joys and challenges of coupledom.
On our fifth date, eating tacos and drinking margaritas, my boyfriend Tom and I agreed on two things: 1. What we felt for each other was serious and 2. Marriage was off the table for the foreseeable future, and maybe forever.
For me, my mixed feelings about marriage were something I had plenty of time to mull over in my 20′s — when I was single and watching all my friends get married and divorced. I didn’t meet Tom until I was in my early 30′s and at that point, I was just rejoicing the miracle of meeting someone I could actually envision a future with. As our connection deepened, my feelings about getting married came sharply into focus. I could say with certainty that I didn’t want to spend thousands of dollars that I don’t have on a wedding (a romantic trip to Tulum or a down payment on an apartment are much more appealing to me). The feminist in me disdains wedding industrial complex and questions the institution of marriage itself. Getting the government involved in our relationship just doesn’t feel right. And beyond the financial and feminist hesitations, walking down the aisle in a white, pouffy dress has just never appealed to me. Finding a life partner has always been a dream of mine, but the wedding? Not so much. 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 »
When Argentinian filmmaker Paula Schargodsky found herself 35, single and accidentally having slept through her last uncoupled friend’s wedding, she knew there was something “she didn’t want to face.” As the only single one left in her circle, she decided to make a documentary film about the “questions [she was struggling] to answer” about the expiration date on female freedom. Schargodsky used “systematically kept” footage of her “love stories and breakups,” her “friends with their boyfriends, then husbands, then pregnant bellies” from the last 10 years to explore the question: “Can social mandates be disregarded, or is my extended youth finally coming to its end?” 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 »
Everyone has their own special way of trying to cope with a breakup. It’s a long, fruitless process of trying to find some way, any way to break the pain into manageable bites until it’s small enough to swallow. And naturally, each individual’s method is as unique as a snowflake. These little mechanisms we employ for ourselves may seem crazy to outsiders, but make perfect sense to us in our raw, recently broken up state. Say, for instance, deciding to time yourself each night, giving yourself a 4 minute limit to be sad about being dumped by a man you thought you were going to marry in your 20′s. This seemed like the only manageable solution to me at the time, but in retrospect, maybe it was odd. Who cares though, it worked eventually (although not in the mandatory 90 day time table I set forth). Keep reading »