“I met my current boyfriend about six months ago and there was an INSTANT attraction. At first he was perfect: he would make time for me, we would go out and do things together. He wasn’t like any other guy I’ve ever dated — he was polite, open-minded, caring, funny, and RESPECTFUL.  I was the one to kiss him first…he even waited longer than I wanted to have sex with me. Here’s the thing though: he’s a coke dealer. As the relationship has progressed, we’ve broken up and gotten back together numerous times and though we’re together now, and I can honestly say that I’m in love with this man, I hate what he does. We don’t hang out much and he blames it on his “work.” I see him MAYBE once a week… is that normal for people who have been dating for eight months? He tells me he’s going to quit his job one day, but I’m not sure, and I can’t push him to quit because, to him, it’s a nice way of making money. I know he sounds like a loser, but I’ve never been with anyone like him before and I can’t stay away from him. Should I just leave a person who I love and care about because of what he does, and try to find someone with a respectful job?”

I’m getting married in a little over two months, and though this is a happy, exciting time in my life, there’s a bittersweetness. It started when I moved to New York a year and a half ago to be with my boyfriend. Up until then, our relationship had been long-distance; he was in Manhattan, and I was in Chicago. Through daily phone calls and frequent trips back and forth, we fell in love while still maintaining solo lives in our respective cities. It was a unique experience to be in a fully committed relationship, but continue living the same single-girl life I’d known since my last serious relationship (minus all the unsuccessful dating, of course). When I wasn’t in New York or hosting my boyfriend in Chicago, my weekends were filled cultivating other relationships — those with my closest friends. Life was filled with wine-drenched, late-night talks, long bike rides along the lake, picnics in the park, afternoon shopping frenzies, potlucks, brunches, and impromptu sleep-overs — all with my single friends. Now that I’m fully immersed in “coupled life,” I realize I’ll probably never have friendships like those again.

Spring has arrived! I can practically smell the sunscreen and the delightful ocean breeze. But with the heat comes a question—do men suddenly get a little skip in their step when spring arrives that signals a sudden interest in flirting and non-committal sexy times? I’ve heard the theory that people, especially men, prefer monogamy during the colder months, while spring and summer are reserved for fun philandering. But is it true? I went to the usual suspects for answers…

Ask Men U.K. had an interesting article recently on the top ten ways a guy could take a relationship “down a notch” when he doesn’t want to necessarily end it — or, you know, give up regular sex — but just “slow things down a little.” AM tells its readers, “The trick is cooling things down without turning her off” and then gives ten ways to navigate such a “delicate situation.” They suggest having group dates (10), which will makes things feel “less like you’re in a relationship and more like you’re ‘just hanging out,’” not to introduce her to any of your friends (9) , call less often (7), do it-‘n-dash (2), go on vacation without her (1), and just act like an overall jerk (4). Call me crazy, but if a guy really wants is a friends-with-benefits relationship, why not just ask for one? Why go to the big expense of flying to Phoenix alone for the weekend just to prove some point when a conversation would have the same effect? Anyway, we ladies have a few “tricks” of our own. After the jump, the top ten ways we “creatively” take things “up a notch.”

A few weekends ago, my girlfriends and I decided to have a drink night. For most girl crews, drink night usually starts out with a few friendly cocktails and pointless compliments on each other’s outfits (the question, “oh my god where did you get that?” is a surefire sign that you need a few more drinks in you to make the night more interesting). Soon enough those friendly cocktails ended up being more than a few harshly honest pitchers as we started to commence into the dirty ritual every woman has been guilty of enjoying: talking crap about other girls. From “she’s way too tubby to be wearing that,” to, “he’s way too hot to be doing her,” we ranted on and on as if we were Perez on The View. We were cruising No Mercy Street. Eventually we started to soften up as we got onto the subject of our good friend Jesse, who had broken up with her more-than-perfect boyfriend Jeremy. It had turned out that Mr. Perfect had been cheating on her for six months with his hometown friend.

And I’m not just declaring it so because I’m no longer getting married and am bitter in some way. No, marriage is dying because the studies say so. According to new census figures analyzed by The New York Times, married couples, whose numbers have been declining for decades, have finally slipped into the minority. So while it may seem like you can’t find any single friends to go bar crawling with, chances are a small majority of all those couples you know aren’t married and probably won’t be in the future. This makes me positively stoked—even before I was someone’s fiancee, I was never super rah-rah marriage. Maybe it’s because my parents are divorced or I was still still reeling from Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman’s split, but marriage never seemed like the end goal of a relationship for me. I always saw children as being the big payoff of monogamy, not a ring or a wedding. And even after I got engaged—and was truly happy about it—I believed in marrying that man, not marriage in general. So now that I’m not marrying that man (for whom, I found out, children were not the big payoff), I’m back to thinking that marriage is nice for some people, but not the end all, be all for happy coupling.

Last month, I showed up at a party that my hubby, Andy, and I had been invited to, and I was greeted with silence. Now, I know I’m not that unpopular, so something had to be wrong. As I shrugged off my coat and people got back to mingling, my friend approached with a vodka tonic in hand. Passing it to me and trying to sound casual, she said, “So…where’s Andy tonight?” And then, in a stage whisper, “Is anything wrong?”

I’m single, 40, and have dated more than any good man should. Add to that the fact that I love women, I love seducing, and my ego is clearly invested in the power it gives me, and something tells me I’m not the man you’d think would advocate devotion and fidelity. But the truth is, I’m a closet monogamist. It doesn’t come easily, it might not even come naturally, but at the end of the day, I think monogamy is a majesty worth fighting for. Many of the reasons are obvious—the comfort, having a good-guy reputation, the regular and maybe even condom-free sex—but there are some that might surprise you.

Are “creative types” good for anything other than flings? “I am always attracted to creative men,” one woman writes the Guardian. “Most of my boyfriends have been poets or artists, largely because of my job and circle of friends. But my last two boyfriends were unfaithful and I wonder if creative types are good only for flings and if I’d be better off with a man who has a proper job.” Relationship expert Dr. Luisa Dillner responds: “Creative people may be less inclined to monogamy because it’s conventional, their talent may make them attractive and interesting (they have something special) and they may be supremely self-confident. Creativity suggests a passionate nature; these men may be more charismatic than your average guy. Since creative people often hang out together, they may reinforce the idea that it’s OK to have sex on the side.” Instead, she advises the woman find a “nice steady Italian policeman”—because women like men in uniform. So, what do you think? Do creative types make good boyfriends, or are they better for flings? [Guardian.co.uk]

My breakup is…hold on, checking the calendar…almost three-months-old. Which means my hoo-ha has about three months worth of dust gathering inside it. About, oh, three weeks ago, I reached the point in the breakup evolution where I felt a sudden aching urge to have sex. With someone. Anyone even, after a few glasses of wine. But apparently, my dusty vag also has a layer of penis repellent, because my attempts at getting laid have been thwarted not once, not twice, but three times. Not to toot my own horn, seriously, but I’m mildly attractive so it’s kind of bewildered me that getting some sweet action is so difficult.

A friend call me the other day. She was struggling to figure out what was going on with her relationship of a month. He’d do sweet things, like post photos of the two of them on Facebook. Then he’d write curt responses to her e-mails. Normally, she’s extremely self-confident, self-assured, and successful in life. It was disheartening to see her brought down by the unknown of it all.

Well, I did it. A couple of weeks ago, I tied the knot. Got hitched. Became a ball and chain. And got my own ball and chain? People make it sound so weighty. When we got engaged, it did feel huge, like this gigantic life-altering decision that was so…permanent. And it is. I’m not saying it’s not. But you know what? It feels exactly the same as it did before. Yes, it’s still weird to refer to Andy as my husband, rather than boyfriend (never fiancé), and when I called our car insurance to tell them we’d gotten married, they sent us a $13.14 rebate check, which will buy us about four gallons of gas or a week’s worth of coffee, depending on our mood.

Confession: I’m having a secret affair with my 21-year old Irish doorman. It’s such a secret, not even HE knows. The other night, when my fiancé was out, my doorman – I don’t even know his name – came upstairs to my apartment to replace three light bulbs. As he stood on the ladder, screwing in those bulbs, telling me all about going to school in Dublin and spending the summer in New York, I felt enormously guilty. My fiancé wasn’t home and this attractive, foreign, younger man was doing menial labor in my apartment, steps away from my bedroom. It felt kind of like cheating, even though it was far from it in actuality, and cheating in actuality is something I would never, ever, ever do.

I’m on vacation in the Outer Banks of North Carolina this week and that’s why I am really pissed at New York magazine for making their cover story in the newest issue be about something as enraging to me as men who cheat. Particularly men who cheat and BOO HOO don’t we feel sorry for them, because I just had to step away from the 1,000 piece puzzle I was working on to go off on a little rant about this topic when I should be meditating to the sounds of the ocean. Unfortunately, this piece, titled “What Makes Married Men Want To Have Affairs?” was so friggin’ annoying and depressing that I couldn’t help myself.

It wasn’t until I’d had my man have sex with my roommate in my bed that I really understand how trust can be broken in a relationship. That was the first moment in my life that I’d ever had a total out-of-body experience. Along with it came the realization that I had no idea what had been happening practically right in front of me. The strangest part of the whole thing, surprisingly, wasn’t feeling that my heart had been ripped out, but rather that it was my stomach that was being ripped out, taking my heart, my throat, my head and everything else with it. Though I handled the situation the only way I knew how—a cathartic gut reaction of some crying (but mostly lots and lots of screaming), when I was done with that, the only thing I was left with was: What the hell happens now?

If another couple jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?

A few years ago, I was designated driver during a long night of excessive drinking. My friend, we’ll call her Monica, was in the passenger’s seat and her boyfriend, uh, Joe, was in the back. Joe said something that pissed Monica off and a screaming match ensued, complete with swipes from front-to-back-seat and vice-versa. It was loud, violent and whiskey-soaked and it escalated to the point where Joe threatened to jump out, even opening the car door while we were going about 40 on a highway entrance ramp. This rare, too-intimate look into their relationship was something I never want to see again.