The next best thing to having your own wedding is getting invited to one by your boyfriend. There’s something about a man who wants you on his arm at a celebration of love — with the added lubricant of an open bar. So when my boyfriend Mike asked me to be his date to his friend’s big day, I was so excited I nearly went into debt over a pricey cheese plate present and a new dress with matching lingerie — not that I planned on keeping it all on that night. Keep reading »
If you’re an Arrested Development fan (if you’re not, shame on you!) you’ve certainly had a good laugh or three at Tobias Funke, the never-nude. In sitcom humor, the idea of a grown man who refuses to be naked is funny but, let me tell you, in real life it is not. In fact, it’s near tragic.
My first boyfriend was, well, my first everything. He certainly wouldn’t have won a Brad Pitt lookalike contest, in fact, he probably wouldn’t have even been invited to compete, but he was funny and that’s how he hooked me. We were both in high school, but he had more bedroom experience than I did so I always let him take the lead, which is why I never questioned his insistence on leaving on his undershirt. That’s right, he’d take off his polo or his long-sleeve t-shirt but never that white Hanes V-neck. I always thought he kept it on just in case the parents returned home early. Now that I look back on it, I see how absurd that was. Keep reading »
There are so many things involved in attraction. From clothing to chemistry, a never-ending list of items can be turn-offs. But sometimes differences are a turn-on, from magnets to men, you know what they say: opposites attract. Still, some things are so repellent, they’re deal breakers.
I truly believe that the number one reason to get a boyfriend is to let yourself go. Not like “let yourself go” in a Britney kind of way – that’s scary – but let yourself go in a “let’s get a little fat together” kind of way. You get to do things in a couple that you don’t get to do when you’re single. Like get popcorn at the movies. Or spend an entire day drinking beer and eating buffalo wings any time between, I don’t know, September and January (football season). Good, wholesome, highly caloric activities that involve a lot of sitting. That’s high quality couple time.
It is with this mentality that I enter most relationships – which is why when I began dating a Manorexic, I quickly recognized the symptoms and got the eff out of there. My Manorexic — let’s call him Craig (as in Jenny) — seemed great. He was smart, handsome, gainfully employed, drank in moderation, and still had both balls – I was sold. Keep reading »
Your Birthday: it’s the one day a year you are guaranteed to have someone trying to do you. Even when you’re single, you can line a little somethin’ somethin’ up. But sometimes another candle on your cake is the only thing you can count on.
I had been dating this dude for what I considered a fab four months. The sex was so hot from the start, we never spent more than a night apart. Plus, he had a great record collection (housed in adult furniture), the most lovable dog on the planet, and the cutest butt. I liked him almost as much as I like bacon. Keep reading »
I was newly on the rebound (read: heartbroken), and had been invited by a friend who knew the deal to a downtown hipster party full of sexy, artsy guys. I proceeded to immediately knock back a few free drinks, then flirt my way through the throngs of smart artistes. One struck my fancy, with his Southern drawl, earnest voice, and red hair. He was sweet, and super talented, and cute in a non-overpowering way. I knew he liked me, but he wasn’t putting the hard sell on getting in my pants. So of course I went home with him.
We got to his apartment and tipsily made out, and soon our clothes were off. I got on top of him and we started having sex. Now, I’m a talkative girl whether I’ve been drinking or not, and one of the places I love to run my mouth is in the bedroom. I don’t remember exactly what I said—the sex wasn’t that earth-shattering—but I know there were a few “That feels good”s and whisperings of his name. I’d thought he was having just as good a time as I was, until we talked the next day. Keep reading »
Food is one of the great joys of life. Or it is for most people. And when I say “most people”, I mean me.
For my ex, food was fuel, nothing more – something to be burped down between video games, beer-drinking sessions and advancing his engineering career. While studying for his degree, his dinner would routinely consist of half a loaf of bread, two packets of cookies and a large bottle of Coke. Seriously.
That’s okay when you’re a bachelor (as long as your cholesterol can take it) but can you imagine how difficult it is to keep a relationship going when your interests in food are so unbalanced? We’d go to grab dinner and a movie, but be finished with our drive-thru so soon we had hours to kill before the opening credits rolled. And it’s hard to get really romantic over a meal without wine… or a table.
Keep reading »
I knew getting into it that Phil was an eccentric character. He was known for certain oddities—a fondness for shiny objects, spiky hairdos, the color red, to name a few. What should have really tipped me off to his peculiarities, however, was the night we were laying in bed and he confessed, “One of my exes became a dating columnist after we broke up. A lot of her stories were about me.”
Phil and I weren’t dating — we were hooking up. We’d slept together a few times, and who knew where things would go. We shared the same group of friends, so either way, it wasn’t as if we’d never see each other again if we decided to go separate ways. Keep reading »
First date. He comes to my apartment for a boxed wine party a deux, his enthusiasm for Franzia leading me to believe this is the exact person I should be dating. And he’s cute. He’s real cute. Over the course of the evening I find out that he’s smart. He’s a self-proclaimed “literature guy.” He’s funny. He reaches over and pushes aside the hair that’s fallen in my eyes while I’m laughing. I like him. And then he says, “There’s something I need to tell you…”
Ahh! Enter the inevitable dealbreaker. (My, don’t you look familiar!) When he then confesses that he “can’t have sex right now,” I breathe a huge (and embarrassingly audible) sigh of relief. I’m thinking, “No big deal! He’s just a hermaphrodite or something! I’ll learn to love it.” But when I ask why, I find out that no, it’s not something simple like a combo of boy and girl parts down there, it’s much more complicated than that. This guy can’t have sex because, well, he’s very religious. Keep reading »
For most people, Halloween is either an excuse to look like a slut or it’s an opportunity to look as stupid as possible. Either way, it’s all about appearances, and, ultimately about getting attention from them.
On Halloween last year, I had parked myself firmly in Camp Slut, arriving to my costume party as a bride left at the altar—one, of course, with a very skimpy wedding dress. By the end of the evening, I was playing the part quite well because I was literally living it. I sat alone in a corner of the room, pissed because no boy had come to my rescue. Then, like a scene in a movie, the crowd parted, and out of it emerged a tall, thin man with wispy blond hair, heading straight toward me. Corey was, in a word, beautiful. (Even with a slashed t-shirt and fake blood smeared over his face and collarbone).
Corey wasn’t hot. Hot is for David Beckham and Brad Pitt. With his angelic face and creamy skin, he was a bit unreal, as if he had just stepped out of a Botticelli painting. I was instantly infatuated.
Keep reading »
I am amazed by the rise of the slogan t-shirt. You know, “Everybody Loves An Italian Girl”, “Barack ‘N’ Roll”, “More Cowbell”, “What Would Jesus Do”…I blame Urban Outfitters. But anyway, the most annoying aspect of this clothing phenomenon is that it’s given people the false impression that it’s okay to wear their stupidity, sexist attitudes, and sexual habits on their chests. After the jump, five t-shirts that are total dealbreakers.
Keep reading »