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I'm Just Not That Into You

Note: Don't forget to follow my personal blog, So about what I said... I did it. I finally caved and gave in to the pop culture pressure of that ubiquitous book, He's Just Not That Into You. When I first bought it, I was SURE the author had me in mind when he came up with the title. Why? Because I AM that girl. I am the girl who is sure, BEYOND A DOUBT, that the guy is madly in love with her. Never mind the signs - he doesn't look me in the eyes, he doesn't even know I exist, he has a girlfriend, he never chases me, he doesn't talk much, he has a girlfriend. Those aren't signs, I think. They're just pesky obstacles on my way to my very own Happily Ever After.

Get Me to The Geek.

Note: As always, follow my continuing journey on my personal blog, So about what I said...I first spotted Cute Cafeteria Guy one sunny spring afternoon as I sat down to eat my usual, boring lunch. The cafeteria was crowded, but it didn’t seem to bother him as he tucked himself away at a corner toward the back. He had that boyish cuteness about him, his attention transfixed on his laptop, which of course was a state-of-the-art model. He remained quiet, shy and reserved, and I remained, well, very interested. He was mysterious and I wanted to know more. Over the next week, I continued to spot him as I sipped my Mountain Dew and tried to work up the courage to approach him. But he suddenly disappeared, and alas, my hopes were quickly and swiftly dashed.

Community: Attract A Man Using Your Inner Artist

Community: Attract A Man Using Your Inner Artist

Knowing how to attract a man is an art form. And much like an art form, when you attract a man you need to have set of rules that guide you and that allow you to envision you end "product." This article will show you the similarities between art and attracting a man and give you specific advice on how to land your next man.

Girlfriend or Girl Friend?

Happy Monday, all! As usual, don't forget that you can get more scoop on my personal blog, So about what I said...Over tuna melts and coffee in a small-town diner one September afternoon, one of my oldest friends, Claire, and I were in the midst of catching up on each other’s busy lives. Work (we weren’t thrilled about our post-college jobs, but it paid the rent). Family (We wondered why our families become crazier and more dramatic with age). The nip of fall in the air (Were we turning into old ladies?)  After a lull in the conversation, Claire’s eyes lit up.  “So I hear you’re sad over a boy,” she said in a hushed voice as if trying to be discrete and not divulge top-secret FBI classified information.  We were suddenly 15 again. 

Are You Too Much of a Floozy?

Are You Too Much of a Floozy?

For the second time this year, my friend Kim has had to tell a guy who offered to pay her for sex to get lost. Though Kim is no bombshell, she’s certainly real-world hot.  Great bod, killer personality, enough sexual dynamism to ignite World War III.  Men write poems to her in European cafés, chat her up in bars despite the presence of their wives and girlfriends, and friend her on Facebook to tell her she’s still their “best” even if it’s been decades since their roll in the hay. When Kim was younger, she liked being a sexual supernova.  No shame felt she for her wanton ways, her colossal lustiness, her stereotypically manly ability to separate sex from love.  She wasn’t a man stealer or desperate fool.  Kim was a healthy sexual being, as whip smart as she was sensual, as capable of meaty conversation as she was blowing minds in the sack. Then all in the same week, stuff happened.  First, she had to tell