Are you my boyfriend?

When I was young, like any gal, I enjoyed a good Dr. Seuss book. This morning, I found myself thinking about one most people have probably read before. “Are you my mother?” In the book, the kid just wants answers. Who is their mother? I found myself feeling the same way last night and this morning with my new possibly tinder “boyfriend.” The words pooled on the tip of my tongue “are you my boyfriend?” Was this really real? Would he change his mind tomorrow? Like a child I felt like I needed convincing, reassurance and answers to know the truth. Because I couldn’t decide if our DTR had really accomplished anything.

As we lie in bed, I looked at him with tears brimming in my eyes, because I realized that I hadn’t genuinely cared this much about anyone or been this comfortable with someone since my ex from first-third year. He told me he was afraid that I’d get bored of him because he’s too nice. That he was afraid that I’d walk all over him like people had in the past. That he didn’t want to throw himself into something just to get hurt again. I told him not to make excuses that if he really didn’t want this, then he should just say so. I tried my best to quell all his fears and to make him want what I wanted. But I couldn’t tell if he was just agreeing with me.

I didn’t just sit there and try to make him feel better because I wanted him to agree with me, but because I didn’t want him to think that of himself. He isn’t boring and anyone who would take advantage of him being a kind human is a cruel one. I was shocked that anyone could find him boring at all frankly because I find him so dynamic.

We ended the conversation on a good note, but I still feel anxiety. Because every time I attempt a DTR, I hit a bunch of walls. I never get a “yes I want to be your boyfriend, too.” I get a list of reasons why they’re unsure if they want to, should or could handle that responsibility. The last time I truly obtained a boyfriend, he literally broke up with me the next fucking day. So, forgive me if I need about a week to make sure this is really real.

We never said the bf/gf words, but we did agree we don’t want to see other people, I guess it’s a step in the right direction?

“will someone ever show me love 

won’t somebody give a fuck 

cause I can’t keep up”

What’s Your Number and Why it Should Never Come into Question

I’ve heard and read all the time about girls who sleep with one guy and get pregnant or someone who makes one slip up with a condom and gets an STD. Maybe they were reckless and it caught up with them. Maybe they were careful and it didn’t even matter. But, either way they didn’t sleep with innumerable amounts of people. They slept with one or two. Hell, maybe they even slept with seven, which is the number oft deemed “average” and thus acceptable for the amount of people a woman could have slept with before. What made the difference wasn’t how many people they had banged, but the circumstances. Something, somehow, went wrong. So, why does it matter how many people I’ve slept with?

Recently at a pre-game with my undergrad housemates, I was lured into playing old college drinking games and asked a question that for some reason made my blood boil. As we played Kings, I got stuck with the hot-seat. Most of the people in the circle know all of the darkest, juiciest “secrets” I have. I was asked what the craziest thing I’d ever done was. Without hesitation, I said going to Europe to visit my British guy after only knowing him two weeks. The girls all got mushy and asked if I loved him and my wine hazed mind said that I guess it was puppy love, but it was real at the time. It was easy for me to share those things. In fact, I’m a pretty open person. But, with the next question I had some hesitations.

“What’s your number,” asked a girl I had just met a matter of thirty minutes ago. I paused. Should I lie? No that would go against everything I stand for. Should I tell them the truth? Did I really want everyone in that room to know? If I didn’t tell would they think it was really high? If I did tell would they think it was really high? Should I stay silent or would that be acting like the number matters? But, if I told wouldn’t that be affirming that it did indeed matter? I felt trapped in an endless whir of conundrums. I was a slut if I told and a slut if I didn’t. I was going against my principles either way because of the nature of the question.

“I don’t care to share that with you.”

When she asked that question, she didn’t ask because of a sense of camaraderie or as a way to bolster sexual empowerment in women. She asked to be nosy. She asked to expose me. My answer, while I could have explained that it should never matter how many people someone has slept with, would have mattered.

I know this was a small moment and I possibly made a bit too much of it in my head, but it brought this issue back to the forefront of my mind. What’s sad is that I even had to think about it so much. If I was a guy, I’d be able to say my number and get fist bumped and maybe even asked which girl was best in bed. As a girl, if I say I’ve slept with 27 people, no one will say it to my face, but most people would think I’m a slut. They wouldn’t know or care that a lot of those were only once, so the amount of actual sex I’ve had is on par with someone who’s been dating a guy for two years and some change.

The question bothered me, not because it was a preposterous question, but because my number should never come into question. I didn’t share that night because it didn’t feel like the right time to. The number of sexual partners I’ve had is mine and, so long as it isn’t pertinent to someone’s sexual health, no one else should ever need to know (other than my gyno).

I’ve slept with 27 people and I’m not ashamed because it’s not the number that should matter, it’s the circumstances. Some of those guys I would like those bro high fives for. I consider some of them to be trophies and I have some I’m ashamed to say happened at all. I have a long term boyfriend and a couple one timers/one nighters. I have a virgin and I have a man whore. I have two Greeks, a Brit, an Armenian, a few black guys and hopefully soon I’ll add some Hispanic spice to that mix. I have hipsters and athletes, a married man and one that could possibly be gay. Frankly, my sexual history is a bit of hodgepodge clusterfuck.

At the end of the day, I am still a happy, functioning human with a clean sexual health bill and no children. I’ve slept with 27 people, and I give zero fucks about who fucking knows how many fucks I’ve had and neither should you. If you’ve slept with none, one, 15, 50, 100s, it should not matter. What matters is if you are enjoying your life and, in this case especially, your sex life.

What are your experiences with people asking about sexual partners? Do you usually share? I’m always interested to hear insight from readers!

How to be more than just a hangout girl

You’ve all heard it before- a string of “let’s hang out”s without any real commitment. Things that seem like dates, but aren’t. An inordinate amount of time spent with someone who is basically monogamous with you, except they aren’t.

Interesting article I stumbled upon on Thought Catalog today

Like steel, it’s so devastating when you feel

“Like steel, it’s so devastating when you feel
You’re all above
And you’re not in love”

Dear Readers,

Sorry for the hiatus-

but I have some stories coming up for you soon along the lines of dating internationals, banging guys from Tinder, dealing with assholes who think you want more when you don’t, making out with your best guy friend and telling them you have feelings for them, trying in vain to find a sugar daddy and the list goes on

I’d love to say that I’ve been finding any sort of satisfaction in my love life lately, but honestly I feel detached. Too devastated to even feel. Going on tinder date rampages and hoping that nothing comes of any of it. Because what’s the point.

I’ll post stories soon. For now I’m having a staycation with pumpkin beer and feeling oddly emotional watching Awkward.




When the Playa gets Played

I knew I had already met him the moment we matched on Tinder, but I thought “what the hell?” Two years ago, drunken fourth year debauchery, I passed out, we did nothing more than kiss and he was gone before I woke up in the morning. At the time, 30 seemed really old. Now I’ve been with a 36 year old married man. At the time, my life was a pile of bullshit. Now I like to think I have a modicum of that shit together. But, when he walked up I realized that I didn’t want to fuck him then and I didn’t really want to fuck him now. He was still incredibly tall and lanky, had a kind face, nice bone structure, the tiniest bit of crookedness to his teeth but in an endearing way. He was soft spoken and intellectual. He probably had an office on grounds he could bang me in. But, still, I didn’t want to fuck him. I wanted to want to and, maybe, if I had a bit of bourbon from a stiff manhattan or two in my system I would have. Unfortunately, he’s not really what this post is about.

I take all my dates to the same haunts. If it’s food I suggest this Thai place I love. If it’s drinks I have a selection of about four bars I hop between. I’ve sat at the same table at the same Thai restaurant twice now as it was about to rain outside and had to move. It felt like deja vu and I also realized that I had almost become a female version of John Tucker (that reference may be too old or too young for some of you readers). I’ve been to the same bar, where I ordered the same drink from the same bartender with different guys two nights in a row. The best part is, none of them are the wiser. I have it down to a science, or, so I thought.

As I sat at the bar of a cute dive I frequent with literally every date I’ve had since June, I was surprised to see a familiar face walk in. I was clearly on a Tinder date. He was….clearly on a Tinder date with a janky looking blonde bitch. He also seemed surprised to see me and came up and gave me a close hug from behind. Then, he introduced himself to my date. His date stood off to the distance and I could see on her face a register of trying to figure out what the fuck was happening. I was wearing the backless shirt he told me I should never take off and I had actually just been contemplating bootycalling him after my date was over. In a moment, all that was thwarted. In a moment, I felt simultaneously awkward, upset, angry, hurt, betrayed and downtrodden. Because I realized that my date routine is always the same. That I don’t have to modify my game. But, I also realized that all the mystique and fun of our dates was just a part of his dating game, as well. I realized the playa bitch had gotten played at her own game.

He took me to certain bars, ordered certain drinks, said certain things, but all with an end game. He chatted me up once a week when it was convenient for him. He made lofty references to how we should take a weekend away or how next time we should do this or that, to make me yearn for a next time which may actually never be there. He was attracted to me, but his eyes and appetite yearned for the world of possibilities that keep him from being satiated by one person. I wanted to be pissed at him. For texting me yesterday and then not responding to the last thing I said when he clearly had looked at his phone since then. I wanted to be mad at him for being on a date with some ugly blonde instead of me.

As I walked back past the bar, I saw his face inches from hers. I saw flashbacks of myself in that very same spot, in that very same situation. I looked at the lanky, handsome Indian professor next to me and realized I could take him home and fuck him so easily. He would fulfill novelty, he would help me make sure I didn’t end my night alone when my GreekGuy clearly didn’t have plans of that happening to himself. But, how would that help anything? GreekGuy wouldn’t know, or care, what I did. So, would I be trying to prove something to myself? The closer we got to my car, the more I realized I had nothing to prove to myself. I could bang him. I knew that before I even got to the date. I am desirable. I am worth more than being a pawn in someone’s dating game.

At my car, the IndianProf was as awkward and shy as he had been the whole date, so I continued to steer the night the way I wanted it to go. We kissed, then we made out and I’ll admit that this really shitty part of me hoped GreekGuy would walk out from the adjacent bar and see it happening. He was so tall I practically had to stand en pointe in my new fall booties. He grabbed my waist and laced his hands under the fabric of my backless shirt. He silently begged “just come back to my place for a little,” as I had already refused the let’s go back and watch a movie or something offer. I lied, feigning exhaustion, when I knew when I got home I’d either A. try to find someone else to bang or B. eat an entire box of pasta.

When I got in my car, I felt a surge of relief and also like I wanted to cry. I deleted GreekGuy’s number, unmatched him on Tinder and will be making an appointment with the gyno since the condom broke with him last week and I now know he’s more of a man-whore than I ever imagined. I considered texting the IndianProf and revoking my decline to come home with him. I went through a list of guys I could call in my head. None of them seemed like good options and neither did driving over to have sex with the 30-something soft-spoken, vegan, Californian math professor who didn’t even pay for my last beer but still thought he was getting laid.

I’m tired of the dating game in my small, college town. It’s stale, I run into my current lovers while on dates with potential new ones. I’m getting played by guys who feign feelings and whose friends I’ve fucked. It’s all the same. It’s all predictable. I knew GreekGuy was a player, in fact, I liked that about him. I liked that it kept me from liking him as a human, I liked that his accent gave him novelty. I liked that I could say things like “sometimes I don’t understand a thing you say, but it doesn’t really matter because you have an accent,” and he didn’t care. But, I don’t like feeling like I’ve lost. I don’t like feeling like I’ve been one upped at my own game. When I should have seen it coming all along.

But it’s all the same
I could have foreseen
That you would act like you are
Oh so cool you seem
Blending with that scene
Wearing what you think is hard

I can see you struggling
Boy, don’t hurt your brain
Thinking what you’re gonna say
Cause everything’s a game
Always trying to calculate

Wicked Games

I’m tired of the wicked games. Tired of guys saying what they have to just to get in my pants. Tired of the lies and the bullshit. Tired of guys saying “I’m not playing around here” then having sex with me and disappearing. The words mean nothing. Empty, veiled, punctuated with bad intentions. Yet, I never beat them to the punch line of “goodbye.”

So instead, alone at night I’m singing-

I got my heart right here. I got my scars right here. 

So tell me you love me
Only for tonight
Only for the night

And all I want right now is someone who will love me for the night. And then maybe the next night, too? Consistent, consensual casual sex. Console my soul with company, bandage the baggage with sweet nothings.

But, at the end of the day, is it empty? Is it all just a wicked game? Will it hurt even worse if I have you for only the night?

I’ll give you all of me
Even though you don’t love me


If it’s not a Fuck YES then say Fuck NO

A great article which lays out something which should be simple for all of us. Yet, I know I am guilty all the time of wanting to be with people who didn’t want to be with me. Of stringing people along whom I don’t really want to be with. If you don’t think Fuck Yes to someone, then why waste your time on feelings which aren’t truly reciprocal, passionate or pleasing.

I recently had to say Fuck NO to the guy I had been seeing. More on that later, and the string of ridiculous and sensual sexual encounters I’ve been having with other guys. My old beau didn’t satisfy me. He didn’t want what I wanted. He told me he wasn’t sure if he would ever date me and yet for a moment I wanted to convince him to. Why convince someone who doesn’t want to be with you to be with you? Every time you’re tempted to do that, remember that there are guys out there that will. And if they won’t be with you, they at least won’t make a casual sex thing parade as a relationship because they’re total dipshits. And if all else fails, there’s always Tinder land of the DTF and also surprisingly good looking Greek guys with beautiful accents.

Read this, internalize it and respect yourself more in your future relationships. If it’s not a Fuck Yes, say Fuck No and go.


Whoa I just got a little cheesy, inspirational speaker on ya, my bad. Read it bitches (and brahs).

Modern Day Dating: Is Monogamy Dead?

I thought maybe after college dating actually happens and my new guy had given me hope that it in fact does exist. We did things together, planned to do things together and followed through with those plans. Our seeing one another consisted of more than a “maybe I’ll see you at bars” or “you out?” at two in the morning. It wasn’t just going to his place to hang out for a drink and some sex. I thought maybe there may be hope in the dating world for us folks who aren’t A. insanely religious or B. military chasers. But, one conversation with my new guy and these hopes were shattered. I realized that, in an environment where hookup culture and binge drinking are not only accepted but celebrated, boyfriends do not exist for the majority of us. 

As I drove in my car and fought tears, I felt a little hopeless. I watched my silent phone for a sign that he cared and received none. He had been an utter asshole to me. Sure, I acted immaturely, but that doesn’t warrant that level of douchebaggery. 

Was I really so desperate that I would wait around for a guy who said so flippantly hours earlier that he “couldn’t promise me he’d want to date me?” 

Was I really so lonely that I’d rather be a warm body in a bed of someone who didn’t seem to be fully replicating my sentiments? 

Had I sunk to that level? 

I have sunk to that level before, but I thought that I had put those days long behind me. Or at least I’m trying to. 

I continued to drive and try to tune out the callous conversation that was playing on repeat in my head. Then, I felt the switch flip. That morning, my perception of him changed. My feelings, too, began to shift and change. When he spoke to me about how he didn’t know if he wanted me to be his girlfriend. I felt betrayed. I felt tricked. I felt like, yet again, I’d been lured into bed with a guy who promised me follow through and then ran at the slightest sight of commitment. I had wanted to cry and beg him to change his mind. But, that’s where the problem started. I actually thought I could change his mind. What he didn’t realize was that he had changed mine. 

A couple weeks before that I had felt guilty for sort of sleeping with my ex boyfriend. My ex boyfriend with a beautiful accent and a penis which didn’t even have to try to rival my new beau. Because I thought, well ya know, since we were going on real dates and kept doing that for a month it kinda meant something. Little did I know he would freak out when I mentioned the dreaded “monogamy.” 

It’s funny, because, at least if he was honest with me which I believe he was, he actually has been monogamous with me and I haven’t. He doesn’t want to declare monogamy, but he isn’t pursuing other people. Meanwhile, if I don’t have declared monogamy, my insecurities make me want to go out and find two other guys to string along as security. So, he’s officially given me license to do whateverthefuck I want. Even though I’m positive that if he knew I was sleeping with other people he would be upset and possibly not want to see me anymore. 

What is it with guys these days? Is dating dead? Is monogamy a dream? We millennials are surrounded by guys who refuse to commit because they have a world of possibility at the click of their fingertips. Why go on dates when you can sit in your sweats on Tinder and find a girl who will come over and bang you in exchange for a glass of wine?

I thought when my “not my boyfriend” got back in a couple weeks we would have an epic reunion, but that conversation changed my mind. I thought that I would miss him, but I know now that I don’t and even honestly think I can’t. With his cool words he cascaded slowly into the reject pile where I cast all of my not quite ex-boyfriends. Scattered on the floor with all the others, where dating goes to die. 

The Grey Area Between Hooking Up and Dating

In the land of post-grad life I’ve been attempting to build my focus and procure something I haven’t had in awhile- a healthy monogamous relationship. In college there’s hooking up and on the rarest of occasions there’s dating. Usually “dating” is reserved for religious people and the rare “nice girl” so, it’s really just a  land of limbo and games. I thought that the real world would be different. But, it seems that limbo wears a new name now: “the grey area.” Or at least that’s what I found out this morning as I choked back tears, apathy, feelings and attempted not to vomit while I had the most hungover non-DTR-DTR of my life. 

So you go on real dates a couple times a week where he pays for everything? 

Now you’re getting to know each other and you keep wanting to see him and he keeps asking you out, score! Three dates is the formula for wifed up bliss in SATC, right? You can smell a relationship on the horizon, but don’t get ahead of yourself now, you’re still just getting to know one another. 

So you didn’t sleep together for a solid couple weeks of real, legitimate seemingly adult dates and you talked about it beforehand? 

Because you’re used to shitty college guys who use you for sex, so you wait. Then, he makes you feel comfortable and is willing to wait to have sex. Then, you tell him that you’re over hookup culture and shitty guys and ask for reassurance and he gives you that and more. 

So he says he didn’t want the first time he had sex with you to be drunkenly? 

Wow, in the land of college that sure as hell would be more than a compliment. Guess he likes you and actually wants sex with you to, like, mean something? Is this what the real world feels like?

So he invited only you and his best friend out to celebrate his birthday? 

Wow, we haven’t even had sex yet and he’s clearly trying. He likes you enough he wants to see you on his day of birth, but don’t read into it. He probably just wants birthday sex. But, alas on your period, so looks like a birthday blow-job. His dick has neither length nor girth so it’ll be a piece of cake (wish it were actually a piece of cake and not a penis, sigh). 

So he texts you at the end of the day to let you know he indeed has not forgotten your existence? 

Well, there’s some consistency here. He maintains interest and keeps touching base when you aren’t seeing one another. It seems like he’s trying to get to know you better. Good sign, right? 

So you’ve been seeing one another for over a month? 

Made it over the first hump! Over a month and he’s still taking you on dates. Still making effort. Maybe this could lead to a relationship.

If any of these sound even remotely familiar then you know they’re the building blocks to monogamy. Dating, seeing one another regularly, communication, consistency, effort, affection. But, if it looks like a relationship, feels like a relationship, smells like a relationship and tastes like a relationship, is it a relationship if you don’t say “We are boyfriend and girlfriend, let’s be monogamous?” 

If you learn anything from reading my blog, know that monogamy DOES NOT EXIST unless you both state out loud and agree that it exists. Know that no guy, no matter what the signs are, is definitely your boyfriend and even if the signs point to the fact that he basically is your boyfriend GOD FORBID you bring up that cold, cruel word “monogamy” because it will make him squirm. 

That’s what I learned, yet again, this morning. As I was told, there’s a “grey area” that exists between hooking up and “dating” in the real world. Well, no fucking shit. I know relationships don’t happen overnight. I know it’s never a guarantee that going on dates will lead to a relationship. In the “real world” things are different than in college, but to me it sounds like just giving a new name to the same story.

Let’s just play it by ear, let’s see where it goes, I’m not sure if I want a girlfriend right now, I can’t guarantee you that that’s where this will lead. They’re all empty, meaningless string alongs. Followed by a cold goodbye, a peck on the lips, the slamming of a car door. Tears threaten yesterdays mascara and your roommates ask if you need a hug and you don’t even know what you need because you didn’t get broken up with, but you also received no resolution. So, you float on into limbo land, unsure of what to do and feeling just as empty as you did when you were deeply assimilated into hookup culture. Alone, but not alone. Dating, but not in a relationship. Having sex monogamously, but not officially stating that you are monogamous. Same old bullshit, but now it’s called the “grey area.” Whoever said dating in the real world was easier never tried dating a grad student. 


College Dating: The Game of Who Could Care Less

I’ve graduated college, but since I’m still in my college town it seems my dating life hasn’t quite graduated with me. After spending the beginning half of my summer banging long-haired stoner dudes on Tinder, it seemed everything was taking a turn. Then, I met a nice guy at bars, we kept going on successful dates and he even made a concerted effort to wait to have sex with me until, get this, we actually knew one another. I felt like I finally was moving on from the slutventures of my college youth into the world of real life dating. But, the guy I’m seeing, while he is older and seems mature, may not be on the same dating page as me. Sure, he’s in grad school, but I think he may still be in the college state of mind. As a friend recently said, in college dating is like playing a game of who can care less and it seems once again I’ve been dealt those cards. 

I could tell the moment I saw him at the bar that something was off. He seemed surprised, yet slightly happy to see me. He hadn’t texted me back about whether he was out or what his plans were so I went on with my night not expecting to see him. In fact, I had decided I hoped against it. I had the lingering remnants of a UTI and all my wine induced haze yearned for was pizza. But, there he was, so it seemed my fate were not to make sweet love to a cheesy slice. He had friends there and a lot going on and for some reason drunk me took offense to it.

I thought, given that he hadn’t texted me back, maybe he didn’t really care to see me. I felt sort of silly and weird and wanted to act like I didn’t care that he was there. As I tried to play it cool, I saw him talking to another girl. Okay, fine, talk to girls. Hell, I live in a house of predominately males and was at the bar with only guys, so talk away. But, I felt in my gut that something about this interaction was different. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was misunderstanding. Maybe the Chardonnay was making me a crazy, jealous bitch. 

I woke up the next day still drunk and only vaguely remembered a moment of drunken, crying babbling weakness between he and I. I couldn’t remember what I had cried about or how much I had said. But, I knew it wasn’t good. Shit, that’s not playing it cool, I thought. I sent him an apology for what I could only assume had been drunk me creating boohoo white girl problems and waited anxiously for his response. I thought I had probably ruined our relationship by being so college, so ridiculous. Then, as his response that I had nothing to be sorry for binged into my inbox, it all came washing back. The girl, the flirting, the things he said about it all on our walk home. As these memories flooded back, I felt immediately stupid for apologizing and even more stupid for crying. In the game of who could care less, I definitely wasn’t coming out on top. 

Is he over her? Did he really flirt with another girl right in front of me? Did I really apologize to him for crying over it? Did he really not apologize to me for it? These were all questions I asked myself as I trudged to a morning work-shift much earlier than what I could handle. 

I don’t know what their status is or whether I misunderstood things. Our conversation on the walk home has all become a blur. I don’t know if we’re together monogamously or if, depending on what the nature of his relationship with this girl is at the moment, I even want to be. 

In college, it was all about acting nonchalant. Lines like “do you maybe want to hang out at some point sometime?” or “you’re pretty cool, I guess” or “I hope I run into you at bars” replace people being up front about their feelings. But, is that even dating anymore? 

I haven’t talked to him about what happened, and I’m not sure how that conversation will go, but I am sure of one thing. I am done with playing the game of who could care less. I am done with acting coy and carefree. I am done with guys who would rather get hammered and flirt with the endless possibilities at bars rather than just be content with me. I hope that my new guy is done with the college dating game, too, but if not it’s on to the next one.