Grab your binoculars, girls, we’re going on a safari to see the guys you meet on OkCupid.
Back in the mid 2000s, I went on my last diet ever and lost a bunch of weight. I was still plus-sized, but because weight loss wins you lots of points in our f-ed up society, the weight loss did give me a temporary confidence boost. And so I thought that it would also lead to more dudes clamoring to date me. Read More Losing Weight To Date Ain’t Great
I honestly haven’t had a lot to write about lately here on the good ol’ Persephone because what I am expected to write about as Awkwardetteâ„¢ is a lot of stuff I am not doing: having sex, dating, etc. Yes, I have reached the fabled stage of female singledom known as Bitterness. I honestly think about the idea of going on a date and meeting a new guy and going through that drama of giving a shit about what I’m wearing or the words coming out of my mouth and I want to die.
Have I told you lately how I fucking hate OkCupid? Hate it the way you hate a sibling when you’re eight years old, and they keep tattling on you and getting you into all this trouble and then the second your mom turns around they sock you in the arm, but like, when you say something about it, you get yelled at even though you’re totally not the one that did anything wrong. It’s bullshit.
There’s been one issue looming over my mind for the past month or so, which runs counter to probably everything I’ve ever said about sex before – When is it appropriate to begin a sexual relationship with someone? If you asked me two months ago, I would have probably said five minutes into meeting someone. The antiquated, Puritanical concept of “waiting” couldn’t get in my way. But after a few encounters with the oxytocin monster and watching my friends deal with guys who bail the second after things get physically intimate, my outlook on the situation has changed.
Have you ever had a hook-up that, while just a hook-up, had your knees shaking the next day just thinking about it? You’ll grin at yourself thinking of all the dirty things you did, and you feel the dreaded heart pangs, and you just can’t get that person off of your mind. I fucking hate that shit. I spend the next day in a long-term post-coital haze. I usually spend this time reading celebrity magazines, and I try to get a mani/pedi, and I shower like 10 times hoping that if I can just get the smell off of me I will be way less likely to remember it, and therefore be 10 times less crazy.
I was IMing with a friend recently about a guy she has an unrequited crush on. She was absolutely smitten, but thoroughly convinced that he would have nothing to do with her. When I asked her why, she heaved a heavy Internet *SIIIIIIGH* and said, “Ugh, well he only dates Asian girls”¦ you’re so lucky you’re Asian!” All right. I think now is an appropriate time to discuss exactly how “lucky” we Asian women can be in the dating world.
Navigating the unchartered territories (fitting that I actually originally misspelled this as terrortories) of getting to know a new partner can be exciting, thrilling, nerve-wracking, etc. Debating what to reveal and what not to reveal early on has kept some of us tossing and turning (even though, I agree, that’s probably kind of weird). When is it appropriate to start talking about exes? Should I tell him how many people I’ve slept with? Do you think it’s okay if I talk about how little money I make? Does he need to know I am battling with severe mental illness? Wait, what now? Read More Awkwardette’s Ill-Advised Guide to Getting it On: Crazy in Love