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Life IRL -True stories of dating hell- The pretty boy

I’ve written about “Life online,” dating via the internet. (There’s only two pieces so far.) But, we all know what starts online may jump off the screen, and onto the bar stool next to you. So, here it is, Life IRL, actual dates with actual dudes and actual hilariously terrible outcomes. Because let’s face it, when you’re a single gal in your 30s most of the outcomes are going to be hilariously terrible.

Let me tell you about the “Pretty Boy.” Monikers will be used only to protect my dating life… I want to have more hilariously terrible dates, of course, and I think I would have less of them if I used real names. I met the Pretty Boy, or PB, on Tinder. We both swiped right. Match made in binary heaven. And then we even, gulp, chatted via Tinder. And then we texted. And through all this abbreviated discourse we realized we actually sort of knew each other. Had some of the same friends/acquaintances. Then came the casual, Hey, what are you doing tonight? I’m out at [insert bar] with my friend, wanna meet up? Because in your 30s you have some how lapsed back into hanging out in a group before you get to that one-on-one date. (We’ll discuss that another time.)

Back to PB. So, PB meets my friend and me out at the bar. Then we go to another bar, we’re having a pretty good time, laughing, flirting. Then the group tab comes and if you are anything like me, a pet peeve of yours is when all of a sudden it takes everyone 30 minutes to find their wallets. Embarrassing. Fortunately, this is not really an issue with my friends. We are all pretty awesome about taking turns picking up a tab. But throw a new person into that mix, and we got issues. PB starts slowly going for his wallet and is asking about how much HIS drinks were, meanwhile I have already put my card down, and the bartender is picking up that little folder holding the receipt and my card, because PB is still getting his wallet out. Ok. This is where I should have just determined this dude sucks, not again. But, instead, like a moron, I give him another chance, because we did have some pretty good conversation and he did drive me home, and was a gentleman about it.

The next weekend is more of the same, Hey what are you doing, wanna meet up? Except this time he’s suggesting the place, a bar he was headed to in his neighborhood. So I get a Lyft, and pop on over. Happy Hour oysters and wine (beer for him). Conversation is ok, a little too vague and overly flirty, but ok, when he is actually talking to me, and not texting. Ugh. I see a guy friend across the bar, who comes over to say hi, and PB barely acknowledges him, texts furiously while my friend and I talk, then gets up to go to the bathroom. And my friend and I are both looking after him, going, Ok, weird. BUT I STILL CONTINUE THIS PSEUDO DATE. PB and I talk about what we might do next, and I suggest that eating something other than oysters might be good if we are going to continue drinking. PB seems uninterested in ingesting anything other than liquids. Mind you, this person is an adult, actually older than me.

We come up with a game plan to head downtown, where we each have friends, but first we are going to drop into a bar in the neighborhood PB likes. I again mention that eating would be awesome, which seems to fall on deaf ears. This bar PB wanted to go to is some random hole in the wall hotel bar. The place looks like “pros” pick up businessmen there. We sit down, I again ask about whether the bar serves food, and PB simply replies, I donno’, gets the bartender’s attention, orders a drink, then asks me what I want to drink. I say water, and instead of then asking about a menu, PB makes fun of me for ordering water. I again explain that it would be great to eat something, and excuse myself to use the restroom. My fault, I leave my clutch on the bar when I go to the restroom. This is someone I know, someone my friends know, he’s proven to be a decent person from the last time we were out, I think nothing of leaving him with my clutch. He apparently thought nothing of my clutch as well. I walk out of the bathroom to find PB walking down the hall towards me, to use the restroom. I ask him, You just left my purse on the bar?? The answer comes, Yeah, I’m sure it will be fine, he then pulls me to him -meanwhile I am thinking, I hope I get back to the bar before my purse disappears- and he says into my ear, You know I’m going to fuck you tonight. EW EW EW EW EW. Ha ha ha, ok, man, is my reply, as I wiggle away from him to get back to the bar. Amazingly my purse is still there. Thank you, Baltimore.

This shit gets better. So we leave the sketchy hotel bar, and standing outside, PB says we should go downtown now. I say great, we can get a bite before the next bar. PB is not amused with my interest in food, Yeah, well, where would you want to go, he asks, and I can hear the dread in his voice. How about Stuggy’s? (Just one of the greatest places to get a hot dog piled with deliciousness, ever.) His reply is basically a snort, You want a hot dog, seriously? At this point I would take a hot -dog from 7-11 just to have SOMETHING to eat. So then he says, let’s Lyft down, and proceeds to look at me. Yup, this dude now expects me to Lyft us downtown where likely we will NOT be going anywhere to eat. I look back at him, and say, yeah, sounds good. He looks back at me (stand off) and says, So… are you going to call a Lyft? I look back at him, Oh, you don’t have the app? He looks at me, Nope. I look at him, You should probably download that. I look at him more. When it is obvious he is not going to do shit, I get a Lyft.

At this point I should have just ordered a Lyft and Lyfted my ass the hell away from this tool bag. But I don’t, because I had the delusional hope the night was going to magically improve. It didn’t. Waiting for the Lyft, PB suggests we pop into another bar. Ok, cool. He goes right for the bathroom, I do the same. I come out, and PB is heading for the door. Ok, that’s a bit tacky. And I am not about tacky. So I say, Well, did you want to get a drink here while we wait. We probably don’t have time, his response. I show him we have 10 minutes. Well, ok, he starts, what do you want?

What do I want? I want you to stop being such a knuckle head and make it appear at least as if you want to impress me, or feed me, or do anything a damn grown-up would do on a date. What do I want? Well, at this point, I NEED tequila. He makes a face and groans, I can’t do tequila. And that is when I knew I was definitely NOT going to sleep with this jackass. We do shots of fireball. And I pay the tab. Because I am a moron, and his slow reach for his wallet was just too painfully embarrassing, standing at the bar with the bar tender waiting for someone to man up. I manned up.

By the end of the night my tabs for the evening were about double his. Which is hilarious because he clearly has a decent salary, judging from his JCrew magazine wardrobe. PB probably gets away with being a cheap jackass because he is pretty. I am sure he rarely hears no. I am also sure he is a shitty lay, with his self obsession and selfishness. Back onto my terrible choices during this night. I actually get into the Lyft with him, and go downtown. I direct the Lyft to the bar where my friends are, but this neanderthal actually yells over me in the Lyft, tells the driver not to listen to me, and to stop at the street where his friends are. And of course the Lyft driver listens to him.

We get out of the Lyft, and I walk right on past the bar PB walks into, he only JUST notices I am not following him, and shouts down the street at me, Hey, in here! Yeah, no thanks, I yell back over my shoulder, I am going to the bar where my friends are, where I paid the Lyft to take us, see you later. Oh, well, ok, text me later, then, was his reply. HA HA HA HA HA Yeah, sure PB, I’ll do that. I finally meet up with my friends, we hang for a moment, then proceed to another bar, where we actually cross paths with PB and his friend, who knows some of my friends. And my friends invite PB and his friend to come to the bar with us. They decline, because they are now going to the bar we just came from. About an hour later I start getting texts from PB: Hey, what’s up? Where are you now? Are you meeting up with us?? Come to [insert bar]. I finally call him back.

PB: Hey, what’s up? Where are you?

Me: At the bar with my friends.

PB: Well, come over here.

Me: Where are you?

PB: [insert bar]

Me: Dude, that is a mile away from here, I am not walking a mile.

PB: Get a Lyft then, we’re ready to leave, anyway.

Me: Yeah, that is definitely not going to happen. I am done paying for Lyfts for you to entertain yourself all night.

PB: Oh, come on, don’t be like that, come over.

Me: Not going to happen, I’ve ordered a Lyft, I am going home.

I shit you not, when the Lyft driver picks me up, just as my phone is dying, he says to me, I am so glad I found you! I could tell you had a rough night and needed help. Apparently he could hear the bitter surrender to the complete fail of a date I just had in my voice when he called to find out exactly where I was in the milieu of bar patrons. I had reached a new low in the night, the Lyft driver pitied me.

I get home and there are about 7 missed texts from PB when I plug my phone in. What’s up? Where are you? Are you coming? Dude? Where are you?

I text back, I am home now. Fortunately, the Lyft picked me up right when my phone died.

PB: You should have come to the bar.

Me: And pay for a Lyft so I could get you back to your place where you were going to fuck me? Yeah, no. There were a few points in the night where you could have shown the least bit of interest in me, and you MAY have had a chance of fucking me. But you didn’t. and you’re not.

Does this guy not then text me the next day: Hey. Then: What’s up? Then: Are you mad at me? And when all those texts are ignored he then messages me on Facebook a couple days later: Hey, what’s up?

I then text him: Listen, I am not texting you not because I am mad at you, but because I am just completely not interested in you. You are a self centered selfish person who never once gave any consideration to the person he was on a date with. You were crass, you expected me to pay for you to be driven around the city, and you were interested only in entertaining yourself. You probably get away with that shit a lot because you are attractive, but I’m attractive, too, and I don’t need to put up with your bullshit. And I doubt it would be worth it anyway, because people as self centered as you are shit in bed.

His response was the normal run down of pathetic excuses. Hey, I’ll give him credit for even responding to that text with anything other than: Go fuck yourself. But it was clear the list of excuses were a sort of last ditch effort to fuck me, and that was not on my To Do list.


Life online: OKTinder

I’ve more than dabbled in online dating. I am regularly swimming in the murky water of of profiles and personality measures and age range stipulations. I thought I had it all worked out. Tinder, the “breeders’ Grinder,” is for hook-ups and OKCupid is for those seeking something “real.” And then a friend made a very naked, honest observation: OKCupid is Tinder with subterfuge.

Tinder is more honest. Tinder is more like seeing someone across a bar, feeling that “spark” (ie. lust) and giving them bedroom eyes, a come hither look, by way of a swipe Right. OKCupid allows you to FEEL like the connections are more real, but how many of us have met up with an OKCupid date who had a great profile, and lackluster photos, and were pleasantly surprised? How many of us have regretted pretending not to be as shallow as we are? How many of us have wasted someone’s time because our loins, they were not a’burnin’?

OKCupid gives us a warm fuzzy feeling by making it seem we want more than simple animal attraction when we meet someone. We do, eventually, but if the looks aren’t there to begin with- if there is no initial spark, there is nothing to ignite a flame. And you need that initial flame. Romance is about the the heat as much as it is the head and heart. The heat stokes the flames, the head and heart keep the home fires burning. OKCupid feigns that connections are deeper than skin, and allows us to do the same, by coming up with pithy and clever answers to “List five things you can’t live without,” and “You should message me if…” We love to pretend we care more for the inside than the outside, while answering question after question about ourselves. We really just want to talk about ourselves, that’s why we complete a profile.

And the kicker is, we honestly expect our OKCupid admirers will read our entire, witty, original profile. Sentence after sentence of our deep thoughts on our favorite TV shows. We read maybe the first two sentences of each profile attached to a photo of a person we might consider hitting on, if they happened to be standing in front of us. It’s the most public and disconnected form of mutual masturbation you can find today. “Aren’t my opinions and musings so very interesting??” “Oh yes, of course, I read EVERYTHING. Don’t you think my favorite books show how intellectual I am?” “Oh my gosh, yes! Nothing says deep independent thinker like Ayn Rand!.” “Tell me how much you want to get to know me better because you found my ‘What do you think about’ answer inspiring!”

It’s true, a photograph is worth a thousand words, but no number of words will make you hot for someone you don’t feel that initial spark for. So, Swipe, my friends, Swipe to your eyes’ content, and perhaps you will Swipe a flame you’ll want to stoke.

Top 5 hobo bags cheaper than Rebecca Minkoff’s

So. No one can deny the perfection of Rebecca Minkoff. Her latest Clark Hobo combines a throw back style in classic lines and supple buttery caramel leather. Perfect for work or a day at the market. This look transitions between classic and relaxed chic effortlessly.


And it retails for almost 300.00.

For those of us who don’t pop into Neiman’s for the latest in luxury on a regular basis, here are some alternative awesome hobos!

Sole Society’s Remy



Steve Madden’s BMadly



Urban Originals Lust (at Neiman Marcus Last Call)



Perhaps handmade by RusticMoon13 from Etsy



Or, if you are that much of  Minkoff fan (I know I am)- There’s always the smaller, cross body option.



Happy shopping!

Considering “vagina”

I was writing about fucking and I wanted to write about a woman’s vagina using a term that was sexy. Not biological, “vagina,” not crass, “pussy,” “cunt,” but in a way that embodied the heat of the moment, like “cock.”

“Cock” is a perfect word for a penis in action of being adored or useful. You want to be fucked by a cock. You want to take a cock in your mouth. You want to feel a cock get hard. It sounds hot to fuck a cock.

“Pussy?” Does that sound as hot, as sexy, as alluring? No, not really. We’ve learned to disregard the “pussy,” the effeminate, the wuss. “Cunt?” We like to use that term to devalue anyone who is difficult. “Vagina?” Shesh. Hand me a textbook, what cream do you need?

Then there are all the other funny, silly terms referring to the vagina: muff, clam, pink taco, Picachu… You don’t want to read about her clam, slick with anticipation. Ew. You just think of shellfish, and fish, and gross smells. You don’t think about this most intimate part of a woman, how she comes alive from your touch, from your thrust, smelling the sweet musk of her dampness as you learn her body and how to make her gasp.

Then there are all the euphemisms, dancing around the vagina, suggesting it’s not even worth naming: holiest of holies, that space/button/spot between her legs, her very core. Her very core? Really? No, it’s not her core, it is the body part able to give her immense pleasure, able to give another immense pleasure, a conduit between two people, or part of her body she explores herself.

I want a word for the vagina that feels like cock. Something to be proud of. When I fuck you, I want to fuck you with credibility. The sort of credibility “cock” gives to a penis. Without “cock,” a penis is just some flaccid rope of skin hanging from your torso. You tinkle with a “penis.” A “cock” you fuck with. I want the word that gives the vagina the same validity and respect and desire as “cock” lends to the penis.

The vagina deserves it’s own “cock.”

11 inch edition: Memories of cobwebs

When your memory is already failing you during your mid twenties, you tend to surround yourself with those who have known you. Who can share your own history with you. Or you feel like you might just float off into the ether. It’s a dangerous place to be, at the mercy of those whose memories you trust more than your own.
Without memories, and in pain is how I began with him. In a state of perpetual weakness, which I hated and desperately tried to deny, or pretend I wasn’t, pretend I was whole, and like everyone else. Or more than everyone else. I survived. I was always ok. I would always be ok. This is what I banked on. My own resiliency. That primal drive to just survive. If for no other reason than the next breath.
I didn’t feel weak or at his mercy with him. I felt taken care and protected, without demoralizing sympathy, but with a shared need for the other. I did feel he needed me. And he needed me to need him, too. Perhaps that’s not the healthiest way to begin. Perhaps that’s why we ended the way we did. But there was also a part of us that knew we would each survive without the other. We chose not to. And I guess that was the love we shared. Knowing we didn’t have to, but knowing we always wanted to. We wanted to be indebted to each other.
I was going through trials of medication to treat migraines, the same thing that stole my memories. And it seemed like nothing may work, and the pain might be forever. My one relief at first was knowing someone was there to go through it with me. Someone to be as invested in my life as I was. Someone who felt so closely and personally what I was going through. And someone to coax me into wanting to fight the pain. And someone to touch me.
The physical connection to another person for the time their hands are on you somehow interrupted the synapses that were telling me to be in pain. If I could feel someone against my skin. Someone stroking my back, or shoulders, neck, feet. Tracing paths of relief against my skin. It was a relief I would find nowhere else. And he seemed to never tire of touching me. To be loved that way. To be endlessly adored and sought. I luxuriated in my need for him.
And he made sure I ate something when I was finally on a medication that would stop the migraines from being a daily occurrence, but that made food unpalatable. Something I thought I wanted, but once in my mouth, I felt I couldn’t swallow. So he made every smoothie he could think of for my meals. Breakfast and lunch and dinner. With protein added in various forms. I wouldn’t have to chew or feel a texture, just sip until I hit glass.
I sipped, he touched me, and we talked about who we were and who we would become. He gave me back memories I lost and we talked about memories we would make. And our love was love of hope of everything that would happen, everything we would make. My routine grounded him. Caring for me opened his world. His caring for me allowed me to accept a change in wind, the possibility of healing, an end to some of the pain I held.
But maybe as I healed and I began to eat food again and I got stronger and I no longer wanted to need him as much as I had before, but rather just wanted him; I left him out, somehow. He didn’t seem to grow stronger with me. He was less grounded and found himself wandering, grasping at something to grasp. And I never saw, never wanted to see, a chink in the strength of the one who loved me well. I couldn’t admit I had grown well and he in turn lost his grounding. I never wanted to see he needed me while I chose to need him. I couldn’t admit my love did not in turn make him stronger, not while I changed the way I loved. I didn’t see how my rules had changed, yet his did not.
So when he left our city maybe he was testing leaving me, too. Maybe he tested if he could choose to need me, if he could survive without. If he would be better without. But we couldn’t let go that cleanly. We were entwined. My reliance had not yet weaned. And he was not whole. So we clung, while we floated apart. We white-knuckled a desperate grasp at what we grew between us. Cobwebs, once a structure beautifully, intricately entwined and stronger for it, now miserably drawn and dropping and dusty.

Top 10 Fall Must Haves

It’s Fall. It’s all about warm snuggly scarves, and romantic fires, PSL, and of course, fashion! What’s got our engines revving this Fall?

10. Graphic T’s.
Short or long sleeve, layer with a graphic T and spice up the jeans and boots look for 2014.

available at

9. Add an Ear Cuff.
Anyone can wear earrings, but it takes a little sass to sport an ear cuff. Hot on the red carpet over the summer, the heavier pieces are better suited for Fall, so indulge!


For a daintier look go for the small cuff connected by a light chain to a post.

Available at

8. The Work Boot.

And all its cousins. The work boot is coming back in a big way. For your nostalgic side, grab a pair of Doc Martens. If you can’t imagine leaving your heels at home (I know I can’t!), go for a creative take on the style.


Available at                                   Available at

7. As always, the Sweater Dress.

Tried and true. The Sweater Dress is one of the cuter cozy options for the fall. Hugging you in all the right places to give you a feminine warmth through the cool months.


Spice it up with an interesting neckline or color.

Available at

6. Make a Statement (Necklace).

When you’re bundling up head to toe, your simple chain gets lost in all the layers. Grab a bold piece and have some fun!


Available at

5. FUR!

Yes, I said it. FUR. FUR and faux fur, of course, is back in a BIG way this Fall. A nod to classic glamour, fur is not just gorgeous, but functional. What better to keep you warm on a hayride than a grand fluffy jacket or coat? Go for a 3/4 or full length for a more mature look, or a bomber style for a little flirt!

furjacket2 furjacket

Mix your media- this shearling and leather coat is moto magic!

Available at H&

4. Mind your Midi.

The midi ring is all over the place. For good reason. It’s adorable. Silver, Gold, Rosegold; plain rings or some with a little bling… Grab one at your nearest boutique. For a few dollars, these little baubles are the best buy of the season!

midiring midiring2

Available at

3. The Incredibly SEXY Thigh High Boot.

Nothing says “Well, helloooooo, sailor!” quite like the thigh high boot. Get the look in suede or a distressed leather with a shorter heel to soften the look. Or go big with sleek leather and a sky-high spiked heel!

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Available at

2. Sweater Tunic, totally!

Inspired by leggings, I’m sure, the Sweater Tunic can be classy, cool, cute, or cut-out! Stock your wardrobe with these bad boys, and you’ll always have a quick outfit fit for work or play. (Just remember to grab a tunic that covers that toosh!)

sweatertunic sweatertunic2

Available at

1. And, finally, the top pick for your closet this Fall… Leather. Pants.

Let’s just let that soak in for a moment. Oh, they’re here, and they are as bad ass as they were on Eddie Murphy, when he was still funny… Remember that time? Grab a pair of leather, or faux leather, leggings or straight-leg pants, pair them with your graphic T, put that ear cuff on, and slip into your adorable fur bomber. You’re all set, Miss. LadyPants!

leatherpants leatherpants2 leatherpants3

Front panel look available at  Skinny leg moto pants and this fun cut-out paneling available at

And whatever you do this Fall, don’t be afraid to try something bold and new, have fun with it!

10 Reasons Why Basic Bitches are Happier and Having a Better Day Than You

10. UGGs- Have you ever felt the joy of walking on clouds made of shearling?? No? How sad for you.



9. Pumpkin Spice Lattes- And never experiencing an internal shame spiral wondering what the dickhead behind you thinks of your coffee order. #PSL



8. Scarves- It’s not cold enough for a jacket yet, but you’re feeling that morning chill. If you’re a Basic Bitch, you simply reach for one of your many pashminas. You have a scarf in every color, and your wardrobe is glorious!



7. Leggings- Ever wonder what it feels like to go to work in your pajamas? Basic Bitches don’t wonder. They KNOW.



6. Halloween- There’s no stress over some clever costume of an obscure reference that will prove your superior intellect while you guzzle beer at the local bar. Hell no. As a Basic Bitch you simply rotate through 3 costumes: Sexy Cat, Sexy Witch, Sexy Cop, and done. Also, you can wear UGGs with all of these options.

cat*note the boot coverings for your UGGs


5. “Hash tag”- Turns out, in the Basic Bitch’s world verbal hash tags are still a thing. A beautiful, delightful, wondrous thing! “Hash tag: Bite me.”




4. Selfies- Whenever, wherever, there will be a Selfie. And it WILL be adorable. #NoShame


3. Taylor Swift- You know you want to gleefully belt out “Shake It Off” every time you hear it. You know who can? Basic Bitches. Because Basic Bitches love the Top 40.



2. White. Girl. Wasted.




1. Popular Shit in General- Yeah, a fuckton of people like it. Maybe that should tell you something. Basic Bitches just like the shit they like. And they know the clothes they wear and the music they listen to doesn’t have to make a statement to the rest of the world. It just has to put a smile on their face. #BasicLife