How Not to Get Laid…


…be a fatty! To get laid as a fatty you’re going to need alcohol, the ability to make people laugh, and, quite possibly, cash.

…be a pussy! No confidence in your “game”? No getting laid!

…act needy! Sure, we all have a need to connect with people, but if you can’t give them space… you’re not getting laid!

…be nice! The one’s that are nice and looking for nice aren’t going to give it up without a lot of work. If that’s what you’re looking for, then stop looking to just get laid!!!

…have a hairy chest! The only one’s that like the hairy chests are the ones that used to cuddle with one, in the middle of winter, because there was no one else around, in the 1940’s!

…EVER get duped by “verification” responses to Craigslist ads! They aren’t real! And you won’t get laid… but you will get fucked!!!

…whine about not getting laid! Whiner’s don’t get anything but more annoying! Stop it!

…act like something you’re not! Not really a stud? Stop acting like it! Not really skinny? Stop acting like it! Not really a woman? Stop hitting on me!!! You’re not getting laid!

Still single, and not getting laid!!!


P.S. writing a blog about dating does not qualify as whining!

*note: the only thing on this list that applies to women is the “hairy” entry, and even that’s questionable!

How to Unmask your Date

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to Scott’s Incommunicado post. The fact is, he just hit on the most important reason why I don’t date so much as accidentally fall into relationships. I hate having to play a role on dates… And I hate knowing that whoever I’m on a date with is holding back, playing his own part. Why try being what we think the other wants? How do we even know what the other wants?

To that effect, I’ve come up with a few pre-emptive strikes (I have a friend to thank for that idea). t’s in construction, so please, please, add your own ideas to the list.

1. An early on picnic date (my friend does this with girls) to make sure they’re not materialistic and can go with the flow. Wanted to have a fancy dinner? Hope you’re not wearing Jimmy Choos!

2. A very strange cheap restaurant (this is my version of 1) to make sure they can’t try to impress you with a fancy dinner. Insist on choosing the restaurant. He hasn’t heard of it? Oh, you’ll love it, it has the best salads ever! (true, and they even have some that are not vegetarian, I’m not completely heartless). Hope you don’t mind perching on a stool and watching the weirdest characters of the city pop in and out.

3. Did they say they liked artsy films? Make sure, take them to the slowest, longest experimental film you can find.

4. Did they say they liked reading? Talk about books, specific books. They may not have read the book, but an avid reader will always enjoy hearing about something he/she might like to read, and counter with another proposal.

5. They like sports, eh? Make sure. Watch a game… And if they said they’re into doing sports, well, plan a fun, athletic outing.

In short. Call out your date on anything and everything. Of course, this means that you have to be honest about yourself, lest they strike back.

Tú y Tus Tattoos

OK. Before I get into it, the title is actually the title to a Mexican rock song, and it roughly translates to You and your Tattoos. And yeah, this post is about tattoos.

I recently read an article about tattoos in the workplace. Basically, it talked about how some cities and some workplaces are more open to body art than others. No news here, right? But it got me thinking about ink and dating.

I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to anyone who’s read other posts of mine that long hair and tattoos on guys are more than a little attractive to me, but I hadn’t really thought about what happens on the other side.

So here’s the tattoo data: I have three of them, and no regrets. I’ll probably get more in the future, but I’m not sure when, since each of my tattoos represents a landmark in my life, and I plan to keep that pattern going. I also love the artwork. The designs are pretty, colorful, and look good on me (at least that’s what I think).

Going with the workplace thing, no one finds it strange that offices like law firms, and accounting firms seriously frown on visible body art, while others, like non profits and design firms, don’t mind as much. I’m sort of in the middle in that area myself, since I work for the government, but in the culture area. I usually cover up my own tats, which isn’t too hard. When I don’t, I find that people my age don’t even notice, but I get stares from bureaucrats who don’t dare mention it (the fact that they’re staring at my midsection doesn’t help their case. It’s uncomfortable, but that’s it, no ne has evr asked me to cover them up.

Now on to the dating scene. I’ve sort of been thinking that guys are like offices when it comes to tattoos. I don’t think anyone has a problem with a tiny tattoo on a girl, but I’ve found that some guys, particularly the corporate type, don’t expect women to have tattoos larger than an inch in diameter. Especially when there are several. I’ve also figured out that they have less of a problem with it if they can be covered up in public (like stuffy offices), which means no sexy summer dresses in my case.

Now, the thing is, I think this is an advantage of my tattoos. I’ve been burned in the past by men pretending to be really cool with the way I live my life, and then spending the whole relationship trying to turn me into someone more conventional. Somehow, the tattoos scare provoke a reaction they can’t hide. And truthfully, I don’t want to waste my time on guys who don’t accept me for who I am, colorful skin and all. I don’t even want to waste my time with guys that love the tattoos in private, but prefer to cover up my shoulders with their jacket during dinner (really, do you think I don’t notice?). I don’t have the time or energy to be someone’s walk on the wild side, or pretend to be a dutiful, vanilla girlfriend so their friends won’t freak out (it’s hard enough covering up for the family, and for academic events).

So basically, I know (and I’ve dealt with) three kinds of reactions from men: the guys that love my ink, and are usually decorated themselves, the men who visibly hate it, and the men who secretly love it, but are too conventional to deal with it in public. And I’m left wondering, is there no middle ground? Are there no men around who don’t look like rockers and are okay with the ink, in private and public? Or is this just the conservative society I live in nowadays (and I’m sick of it, believe me)?

How do you guys feel about women with tattoos?

Boobs and why guys like them

Boobs. Breasts. Ta-tas. Melons. Call them what you want, guys love them! Big, small, perky, and even hanging low, guys just like boobs! They’re wonderful! They’re like fleshy toys we just want to play with. And women are always asking why! Why do guys like boobs so much? What is so fascinating about boobs?

Well, I’m going to let the secret out. I’m going to tell you the simple truth about guys and boobs. You see, it all started with the first piece of clothing that covered a woman’s chest. Ever since then, they have been filling our dreams and dragging our eyes down when we talk to you. We can’t help it. It’s natural to want that which we can’t have. By hiding them under clothing, we can’t see them, so now we really, really want to see them! Now they’re special. If they were out all the time, we’d lose interest. They’d just be another body part. But they’re not, so we ogle and stare and make complete fools out of ourselves just to get a peek!

And let me tell you, those push-up, pull-up, cleavage-enhancing bras you all are wearing these days don’t help. Not only is there now yet another layer of clothing, but it’s making them look younger, firmer, and even more appetizing! That’s Victoria’s real secret! Hide it, but let them know you have it, and they’ll want it even more!

You want guys to stop caring about your boobs? Show them to us. Don’t be shy. The more we see them, the less interested we’ll be. I promise. Just look at the African tribes where the women’s boobs are just out there for all to see. No one pays them any mind at all.

And women, stop worrying about the size. For the most part, guys don’t actually care how big or small they are as long as they are there and we can see, feel, touch, or taste them! Be proud of what you have! We would, if we had them!

Still single,


How long can benefits last?

Up until a month ago, I was convinced of the wonders of the friends with benefits scheme. What better than to merge the friend, the guy you can talk to, with the sexual partner, and all without the hassle of a relationship (something I don’t think I can handle at the moment)? The best part: you can have more than one! There are no demands, no pressure, no jealousy, no tantrums, and no heartache (or guilt, if the one with heartache is the other). Perfect, right?

Wrong! Invariably, something changes at some point in time. And I’m not talking about the weirdness in the friendship, that’s over in a couple of days, and there’s usually smooth sailing from there. In my experience, this includes respect in case one of the friends is involved in a relationship, occasional calls and nighttime meetings otherwise, and total secrecy among other groups of friends to avoid gossip. I’m not delusional; I was skeptic when I first started having this kind of relationship. I was wary of letting feelings come into the picture (theirs and mine), because I knew from day one that I did not want a relationship to result from the pact. It didn’t. Everyone behaved as planned. For a time I felt as though I’d figured out the secret of life. I had all the benefits of relationships without the downside. And then I let my guard down.

There was one particular friend, let’s call him S, with whom I let my guard down more than with any other… He’s 40, incapable of monogamy, constantly travelling and living life as it comes. I like talking to him, I can confide in him, even though he’s a little too sappy for my taste (refer to the “Am I the Guy, Then?” post). He calls me on the rare occasions that he’s in town and free. We’ve been seeing each other in this fashion for three years. He’s married (it’s an open marriage; his flings are with his wife’s permission)! There was no reason to suspect that feelings might become involved. And then, one fateful night about two months ago, he told me he loved me. As he was leaving, he complained that I never let him stay the night (he’d never asked). He insisted on seeing me the following week (also a first), and I complied, hoping we’d fall back into the comfortable friends bracket. He told me he loved me again. He told me he’d missed me all week. He asked me to go with him (he was leaving for two months on a project). I said no, walked him to the door, and sighed in relief, hoping that the two months away would be enough to make this sudden infatuation die down. It wasn’t. I get racy (but poetic) texts almost every day. Several times a week, there are poems in my inbox from him. I rarely answer, but that hasn’t deterred him, he just assumes (rightly so) that I’ve been busy.

Two months have come and gone, and he’s due back in the city any day, and I’ve been worrying about how to handle it. I have to let him down, that I know, but I’m worried about being too harsh; he’s sensitive and I don’t want to hurt him. I also want to stay friends, although I’m pretty sure the benefits part will have to be over. For now, I’m happy to report that I’ve got business trips planned all month, which give me a perfect excuse to avoid him, but I can’t avoid him forever.

The party’s over, at least with S. And here’s to hoping that H, W and J don’t suddenly develop the need for something more.

Friends of the Family

Ok, so the first thing I have to say is: last night went great, I had a blast! The gig was incredible, a lot of my friends (and my brother) were there, so no pressure (right). My brother and his friend had already had a long talk about me by the time I got there… the executive summary I received: “I asked if he was OK with it, he laughed and said you wouldn’t be interested, I’m too young for you, and all the flirting at his birthday party was probably just the alcohol.” He’s partly right, I was wasted at his party, and I do usually go for older guys, but I don’t consider age as much as maturity. Sometime later, there was a follow-up along the lines of: “Dude, my sister’s kinda crazy, you really don’t want to go there.”

He seems to be able to deal with it… Plus, it’s not like we’re buying a house together or anything. For now, it’s just casual dating. And come to think of it, he has plenty of baggage of his own. Doesn’t everybody?

I remember, once upon a time, that those conversations with my brother were more along the lines of “Stay away from my sister.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s done with the overprotective act, but did he have to do a full 180?

In the end, I had a fun date filled with friends followed by a late, late supper one on one… will be seeing him again, so, it looks good. Will my brother continue bitching about it? Probably. Is he right that we’re destined to crash and burn? We’ll have to see. He is right about my track record, but it’s not like I look to mess up my love life every time. Besides, maybe this will just fizz out like many other initial infatuations do. Meanwhile, I’m nursing a hangover at the office — I really should stop drinking on weekdays.

Oh, and Breanna, does Scott follow his own advice on this issue?

Is age anything more than how we feel?

I want to revisit those emotional stages for just a few lines, Scott, because they really left me thinking. I think the transition from one to the other can be so slow it’s hardly ever noticed. Sometimes the smallest details are the most tell-tale signs of change, for example, becoming comfortable with our age. There is a very long period of girlhood when you long to be considered somewhat older than you really are. Some of us had the advantage of actually looking older. I loved it. I never corrected guys who thought I was 16, 17 or even 18 (I was around 14 at the time). I actually dated a few poor slobs who never knew my real age, and there was one particular 25 year-old who was (rightfully so) shocked and angry that his girlfriend, whom he thought was 20, was actually only 15.

College, of course, changed that attitude. I was over 18, therefore, proud of it. Also, I looked my age, not any older or younger. But then came a reversal. As I inched towards 30, my inner girl began to rebel against time. Birthday 26 caused a weeklong depression, 27 was NOT celebrated or even mentioned, 28 was shockingly close to the end of the decade, and could not be dealt with, and 29 caused a fit of drunken partying reminiscent of those days when, at 14 or 15, I could get into bars through dating older guys. And then it came, the dreaded day when I turned 30… Nothing happened. I did not immediately develop a need to find the love of my life, get the urge to procreate, or change in any way. I didn’t feel different, or look different either.

And then began the reverse age denial in public. Well, honestly, it started around 29. Guys in bars that hit on me got my age wrong every time… I looked 26, 27 tops, guys would go as low as 24 to make sure they weren’t insulting me by actually guessing my real age. How flattering! I let them believe they had it right. And so I sailed past 30 and into 31 looking 26 or 27 and acting 16.

Then something changed. I still find it flattering that men think I’m 26 or 27, but I smile at them and tell them I’m 31. I look younger, I act (way) younger, and I feel younger… but then, younger according to what? To a society telling me I should, at the very least, be married, have a home, have settled down in a job? That’s when it hit me! I look younger only because I don’t act my age according to what society expects of women my age. I’ll be 32 soon enough and it isn’t threatening anymore. I’ll still look 26 because I live my life according to what mainstream society expects of people in their 20’s. I’ve never been mainstream, so why start now? The fact that I’m comfortable in my skin, happy with my life (despite the job) and planning an unstable yet fun future actually makes me more mature than most women my age, despite what my brother might say.

And this brings me, in a roundabout way, to the dating conundrum I’m facing today. My (younger) brother has asked me once again when I plan to settle down. Not going to happen, especially when a lot of his friends are actually convinced that I’m younger. I said no, and moved on to the next drink. Then, one of his friends started hitting on me. No problem. I actually told him my age after he’d let me know that he was “also” younger than my brother by a couple of years. That party merged into another one and I ended up exchanging numbers with this man around sunrise. I’m going out with him tonight after I watch him play at a jazz dive. The problem? I don’t have the best track record with my brother’s friends, which means that he will completely freak as soon as he finds out, and the age difference will be a huge thing for him. Not that I’m considering not going on the date because of my brother, but I will have to deal with the aftermath. Also, last time I dated a friend of my brother’s, he fought tooth and nail against it, because of my consistent inconstancy, and then watched me trample on his friend’s heart (not on purpose, I swear), so this time there are more incentives. How do you handle brothers who insist on having a say in your love life? Should I warn this poor man that he’ll be told horror stories about me?

I’ll update the events as they unfold.