Sometimes it feels damn good to have that mushy, connected-deeply-to-another-soul crap in our lives doesn’t it? So much so that you’ll go to strange (though maybe not great) lengths to get it from places and people you maybe shouldn’t. Most likely from some guy (or girl) who is there to fill in for just long enough to make you feel loveable and capable of real human emotions on occasion. Because sometimes you forget how to feel feelings when you aren’t constantly bickering with the one you love. And that’s no good, right? So what better way to deal with it than some truly unhealthy and delusional fauxmance? (See what I did there? That’s a portmanteaux kids. Pretend like nobody’s ever used that blend before.)
Hear No Evil See No Evil Post No Evil
Last week Cheaterville.com was in the “news” for a sketchy ad they had designed to apparently warn the celebrities of the Toronto Film Festival against stepping out on their significant others between indie screenings and Q and A sessions. The concept of the site is similar to the original intent of Dontdatehimgirl.com, before they gave over to pressure (and, seemingly, human decency). Basically when someone feels they’ve been wronged by a cheating spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/unusually close pet, they take to the site to rant in horrific detail about the transgressions of the trollop/whatever the male version of a trollop is. Best of all they get to include pictures and a detailed description of the cheater including height, weight, location, ethnicity and sign—the FBI doesn’t have files this extensive.
The State of Atrophying Etiquette As It Affects Dating
There are so many things in this modern life that would have Emily Post clutching her pearls if she were alive to witness them. Over-sharing via the Interwebz (I know, I know, I’m the pot), cell phones glued to hands and eyes glued to cell phones and ears glued to headphones during dinner with no regard for the company we are in and forget about the good old standards like standing up as a lady leaves the table or R.S.V.P.ing to an event.
Oh The Folly of Young Love
Many moons ago I wronged a former boyfriend egregiously. It was a confusing time in my young life and I was making some selfish, ill-informed decisions that I wish I hadn’t if only for the fact that I was kind of a jerk to aforementioned boyfriend. I re-friended this former flame on Facebook today (our paths have virtually crossed due to mutual friends and we’ve ever-so-maturely decided to let bygones be bygones) and discovered that the always-vigilant social media powerhouse had kindly saved all the messages of our past life together five years earlier. And, man, love makes me moronic.
Online Dating Saga Part 5: Annnnd I’m Done (For Now)
So my final day of eHarmony subscription was up this week. It marked the end of my online dating adventure. I had let my other profiles fall into the dusty, abandoned no man’s land where my Xanga and MySpace profiles have long resided. Still there, but likely to never be touched again (mostly because I’ve forgotten the passwords and don’t care to make the effort to shut them down.)
Six Years Later “The Game” Still Has Our Attention?
Years ago I read “The Game” mostly out of morbid curiosity and the desire for a mindless read. I didn’t take it too seriously and imagined it was a fad that would quickly fade. Apparently I was sadly mistaken given the fact that the practices employed by the author are alive and unwell to this day. Well, alive enough that this blogger found it worth writing about. Despite the chastising intentions laid out in the headline, 95 percent of the post explores how these skeevy pick-up artists are “meeting a very real need.”
The Online Saga Part 4: The Land of 1001 First Dates
I’ve quickly come to realize the world of online dating is simply one in which first dates are handed out like urine mints in a classy restaurant. Just as in a bar setting, most individuals are willing to take an hour or two to get to know a stranger they consider at least somewhat attractive. Initially upon embarking on this online endeavor I considered that one (if not the only) benefit of online dating would be the ability to pre-screen my prospects and filter out the definite “no’s” before wasting time with the face-to-face step. And while this is valid on some level, I’m beginning to think the main difference between online dating and the bar scene seems to be more in volume rather than quality of match (also the sky is blue).
Yep, Me Too I Guess
Much like many of my fellow Americans, I found the build up to (and now the post-coverage of) the royal nuptials unnecessary, superfluous and just plain too much. I had no intention of waking up before what is a reasonable time for any human being who is not a baker to watch England’s heir marry his shining new princess. I understood the historical aspect of it and the 23 million Americans who did tune in thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but it wasn’t of great concern to me. In fact, I had completely forgotten about it on Friday morning until I flipped on the TV per my morning news routine. And there she was on the balcony of Buckingham Palace. A glowing young woman pretty in a way that is completely relatable. Beaming at her new husband in her Grace Kelly-esque wedding gown.
When Our Male “Must Haves” Become Our Personal “Must Bes”
Many moons ago, shortly after the inception of this blog, I wrote about the idea of becoming the men we want to marry. The idea was reintroduced to my musings in a Vogue excerpt by Anne Roiphe. She recently released “Art and Madness” in which she chronicles her destructive quest to love a man who embodied everything she loved about art and literature (and some of the things she hated). She longed to be a part of the fascinating world of authors and she thought the only way to gain access was by becoming the muse of a man. She would ultimately realize that by becoming the man she had hoped he was, she could be a part of this world on her own accord.
Great Expectations of Movie Love
How many times have we tried to pin the blame for our romantic shortcomings on Hollywood and the preposterous, impossible ideals they instill in our hearts (earlier evidence). In reality we can blame that land of glitz and glam for James Franco’s ubiquity (full disclosure: I follow him on Twitter—have you seen those dimples?), Gigli, and Nicholas Cage’s career, but we cannot rebuke them for our naive hopes of riding off into the sunset with our ever-faithful, tall, dark, handsome, humanitarian doctor prince special agent.
