Those familiar with online dating will likely agree that for every 10 messages received through those websites, at least eight will be from certifiable creeps.
Before we go any further, I understand that it is not everyone woman's aspiration to marry and have a family. However, the desire does apply to most and I recommend reading the following with that in mind.
Many outside influences put pressure on women to find a man and settle down. However, many women looking for a spouse find themselves alone and unhappy. But why? You're a great catch. It may in fact be that the way we project ourselves on the outside, doesn't match with our inward desire to be loved and accepted by a man.
You're a pretty girl, formally educated, sweet. Yet, for some reason, men don't seem to take you seriously. After two or three dates the physical attraction wears off and they move on as you wonder "What went wrong?"
I was never a desperate woman, so let’s make certain that is clear! And while we are clearing the air, I also wasn’t unattractive, overweight, needy, or unintelligent. I had my own place, my own car, a very nice career, I took care of myself physically, dressed nicely, I was educated on many levels, had no children and to top it off—I grew up with my daddy in the house. I had no baggage. I was optimistic about the future and had no chip on my shoulder. I wasn’t even loud or obnoxious. In my opinion, I had it going on.
Months back, my friend Corey got a peculiar email from a woman with whom he’d gone on one date. The email included an invitation to a second meeting, a string of compliments…and a picture of the girl buck naked. Corey spent the next several days titillated and curious, but mostly confused. What did the Naked Girl, as we named her, hope to achieve with such a move? If she was offering herself up as a booty call, should he dial her digits? If she was a damaged soul, how could he make a clean break? Ultimately, Corey was convinced to put an end to the madness. I checked in with Corey about the Naked Girl the other day. He’s still seeing her.
Jack and I had our first romantic interlude on the 4th of July. Back in college, going out with someone usually meant deciding to end up in the same place, so I wouldn’t have called it a proper date. We met at Boston’s Charles River Esplanade, watched a couple bands and some fireworks, then Jack leaned over and said, “I dig you.” The rest was history. Over the years, I’ve come to believe relationships are meant to teach us how to relate authentically yet continue to be our most genuine selves. Some folks need to learn selflessness, others intimacy, and some just need to learn to put the toilet seat down. Kicking off my relationship life on Independence Day with Jack was hardly an insignificant twist of fate. This first real love set me off on an endless quest to learn the meaning of freedom. See, Jack already had a girlfriend. Thus, our year-long liaison was an education in
Can high love really be rekindled on Facebook?
The other night, I saw Nicolas with a new girl. He seems to go through them like Kleenex. When I see him around, I get a raunchy desire to press up against him. But I also feel relief that I probably, quite literally, dodged a bullet. Our story went down like this: I meet him at a bar the night after Christmas ‘08. I’m with friends, he’s drinking alone. He’s tall and gorgeous with black hair so dark you’d think it would chill your fingers to run them through. When I sit beside him, he says, “whoever gets the bartender’s attention first gets to spank the other.” I should slap him or at least roll my eyes. I don’t because he makes my knees quake. He says he’s French, name’s Nicolas. I ask what he does for a living. “Mergers and acquisitions.” The hair on the back of my neck rises. “Have you ever read ‘American Psycho?’” “Yes.” He flashes a sinister grin. “And I’m going to pull out your fingernails with pliers.”
If you’d like to figure out what’s wrong with you relationship-wise, don’t read a self-help book. Get an online bank account. Every time I log into my checking account, I’m asked a “security question,” the answer to which only I’m supposed to know, so the bank can confirm my identity. Thus far, the only question the bank has asked me upon logging in is the name of my first boyfriend. And what a joy it is to be forced to recall that relationship on a regular basis.
“You know what your problem is?” asked Dave. Boy, do I love conversations that begin with this question. Nothing’s more fun than having a know-it-all friend instruct you on the failings of your existence. Fortunately, I wasn’t on the other end of Dave’s question. My friend Kim was. She was complaining about her romantic life and asking our friend Dave for advice. The issue was sex appeal and how Kim simply oozes with it. Men are drawn to her like she’s a hunk of steel and they’ve got magnets in their pants. She has few limits, no fears and porn star levels of experience. On the outside, she’s a minx. But on the inside she’s broken-hearted. Kim feels deeply and wants something real. But few men she meets see her as relationship material. Thus, Dave was educating us over a bottle of scotch. “Your problem,” he said. “Is that men are intimidated by sexually assertive women.”
