My First Attempt at Dating “Open Office Hours”

Last week I blogged that I was sick of online dating and announced an entirely new dating concept: The “Open Office Hours.”  So, how did it go?

Well, the first surprising finding (I’m sure this will shock you as well, dear reader) was that guys actually showed up!  I mean, I sent out the mass email invite partly as a “I’m so sick of match, let’s just hit the self-destruct button on this thing and see what happens” maneuver.  Call me a hypocrite, but if I received a Match email like that, I would think the guy was the biggest douchebag of all time and hit delete.

So, I specified that office hours were to run from 9-11pm.  In typical style, my entourage and I arrived at 10:00.  There was already a line out the door at Drink, which the bouncer advised had a one-hour-plus wait time.  An hour?  As if!  Screw “open office hours,” let’s head across the street to Lucky’s instead.  As we were gathering up the troops, a lone, 35-ish man with a heavy Russian accent approached.  “Are you Daphne?  I was just about to leave, I’ve been waiting outside since 9.”  Oops.

We invited Vladamir to walk across the street to Lucky’s with us.  Unfortunately, within 10 seconds, I quickly surmised that Vladamir, while a nice and educated guy, was absolutely painful to talk to.  He was stiff and boring and acutely uncomfortable.  “You may have noticed my accent,” he said.  Uh, yeah, I did.  Where’s it from?  “Canada. Montreal.”  No freaking way this guy had a French Canadian accent.  I wanted to ask from where he had moved to Montreal, but let it slide, as I didn’t really care and didn’t want to encourage more conversation.  My girlfriends instantly deduced that Vlad and I were, sadly, not a romantic “match” and came to my rescue, suggesting we move the party to another bar.  Without Vlad.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” I said, offering my hand for a shake.  “We’re heading on to the next bar.”

In the meantime, I’d been texting with another guy from Match, Ryan, who let me know he had been waiting at open office hours, but left when I didn’t show up.  “Sorry I was late!  There’s actually a line at Drink, so we’re heading across the street.”

“Be sure to tell Vladamir, he was looking for you.”

What???  Ryan had met Vladamir?  Just how many guys had shown up for these office hours, exactly?

When I finally met up with Ryan that night, he told me the story.  He was waiting in line at Drink behind Vladamir and struck up a conversation with him.  Then the bouncer came through the line and started asking people if they were part of a party or group.

“I’m meeting a girl named Daphne,” said Vladamir.

Ryan’s eyes popped.  “Uh, I’m just here meeting some friends,” he lied.

By the end of the night, I decided that open office hours had been a smashing success.  I had a fun night out with my girlfriends.  And I met two Match guys who were interesting to talk to, even though I ultimately didn’t think there was much of a “spark.”  I got to check two candidates off the list.  And really, Ryan and Vladamir are exactly the kind of men I’m hoping to weed out with this whole office hours process.  On paper, they’re both great guys, and very smart.  But in person, they were clearly just wrong.  I could have wasted weeks going back and forth with emails, getting to know these guys, only to have been disappointed (and wasted a whole evening) meeting one of them for a date.  Clearly, the office hours are much more efficient.

The girls and I are going to try it again, but with a few lessons learned:

1. Don’t go to Drink.  The line is way too long.

2. Keep in mind Daphne’s inability to be on time for anything when scheduling office hours.

3. This one isn’t really a “best practice,” and it might even be disastrous, but Elbie is insisting that I should let her hand-pick some of the men who come to the next office hours.  Knowing Elbie, she’ll probably pick some crazies just for the entertainment factor.  God knows there are plenty to choose from on Match.

May 21, 2012. Tags: , , , . Uncategorized. 1 comment. “Open Office Hours”

After six months on, dozens of dates, and countless emails later, I’ve decided I’m sick of online dating! I’ve been putting in way too much effort to schedule and attend all of these dates, and with only lackluster results to show for it.  You see, on, you spend all this time looking over profiles, reading and responding to emails, and finally scheduling a date–only to discover with 5 seconds of meeting the guy that he’s definitely not the one. He’s too short, or smelly, or his voice is like nails on a chalkboard–all flaws that can be easily hidden on an online profile.

This is the fundamental problem with online dating: it completely flips the tried-and-true human courtship process on its head. Over thousands of years of evolution, our genes have developed ways of quickly and subconsciously evaluating a potential mate’s desirability. Within milliseconds of meeting a strange man, your brain is already sizing up his appearance, smell, voice, and body language to make an instant judgment as to whether he’s “hot” or “not.” Yes, it’s a cognitive shortcut, but psych studies show that first impressions actually tend to be very stable and reliable. Within 2 seconds, you have determined whether you want to get to know this guy better (or politely excuse yourself to go get another drink).  From there, a conversation takes place and you begin to learn more about each other, ultimately deciding over a number of dates whether you are well-matched in terms of intellect, emotions, and practical matters. Physical chemistry is just the baseline.

Compare that process to the modern methods of online dating, where you get to know each other and start to form attachments BEFORE even meeting in person to see if there’s any chemistry.  The net result is that you spend time getting to know lots of guys that look good on paper, but maybe are not so hot in real life.  It’s an endless disappointment.

And so, going forward, in order to save myself all the time and aggravation, I will no longer be accepting dates.  Instead, I will be holding “Open Office Hours” where suitors are welcome to come to a public place and say hi to me and my group of lovely girlfriends.  Sort of a group date or “meetup,” if you will.

Excited by my genius idea, I cut-and-pasted this email to a dozen guys in my inbox:

I’m a little burned out on Match and thinking about giving up. But my girlfriends and I have one more idea we wanted to try first. At the risk of being completely obnoxious, I’m pleased to announce our first-ever “Open Office Hours”! This Friday, May 11, from 9-11:00, my single girlfriends and I will be hanging out at Drink in Boston. Feel free to come by and say hi.  I’ll have a squadron of lovely single ladies with me (some of them are pictured in my Match photos, in case you want to scout out the talent in advance). 😉 Maybe we’ll see you there!

How would the men react?  Surprisingly, the reception was mostly warm.  I got one no:

The Office Hours idea is interesting but makes it seem very one way 🙂 One minor issue with your plan though – Drink usually has a line on Fridays and Saturdays so getting in is always a pain. it will have to be some really committed (or desperate) men that will wait in line for an hour just to get in 🙂 I will not be one of them.  -M

But I also had at least one taker:

I would be happy to meet with you and I could probably make it on Friday night. I am not sure about your girlfriends, but I certainly look forward to meeting you 🙂  Also, how many guys interested in you (i.e. that e-mailed you on Match) have you invited to your “Open Office Hours”?  -D

To find out how my “Open Office Hours” went, stay tuned for the next blog post!

May 14, 2012. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

It’s Official: Boston Men are Biggest Pigs in America

Pig With Bow TieNot that you needed a study to tell you this, but the dating scene in Boston is bleak. To quantify exactly how bleak, some researchers recently conducted a study on men’s and women’s attitudes on dating in different American cities. Turns out, men in Boston are the biggest pigs in America, with one in eight Boston men expecting sex on a first date—the highest ratio in the country. In a related finding, Boston women are the unhappiest daters in America, with more than 26% complaining about their love lives. (Compare that figure to top city Washington, DC, where 87% of women are actually happy with their dating lives).

So what’s a poor Boston woman to do? Move away? That’s probably the best option, although I have discovered a workaround. For the most part, I have sworn off Boston men for good due to the fact that after years of dating in this city, I still have yet to find a native Bostonian who really makes my heart race. Instead, I’ve gotten good at seeking out the imports: American men who move here from other cities or–even better–European imports.

For more survey results, you can see the Glamour slideshow here:

March 26, 2012. Tags: , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Get down there and lick me like a man

All women are different when it comes to what it takes to get them off, but the fact of the matter is that 75% of women are unable to orgasm through penetration alone.  Sadly, I am definitely part of that 75%.  But on the bright side, I am not part of the 10% of women who have never climaxed at all.  How horrifying would that be?

I’ve always enjoyed oral sex, but often found that it took too long to accomplish, and the guy would start to seem tired, and sometimes you just have to give up.  I found that I actually sort of preferred using a hand (sometimes his, but more often my own) that can apply more direct pressure.  But most of the time, I just wouldn’t come at all (although I’d still enjoy having sex).  However, all of that changed with Demetrios I.  The very first time we were intimate together, he went down on me, and it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.  I came.  Hard.  And so quickly and easily.  It was like Demetrios was a virtuoso of my finely tuned viola.  Absolutely electric and completely unlike the usual uphill–and, often, fruitless–struggle for the Big O I had come to expect from sex with a man.  Demetrios would make me come twice, thrice or more with his tongue every single time we were together, and it was nirvana.  I felt like a virgin, experiencing sex for the first time.  I hadn’t realized it could be this good, that my body was even capable of that level of arousal.

Of course, the fact that he was a god in bed made the breakup with Demetrios even more devastating.  In my fourteen years of having sex, I had never found a guy who was even remotely as good in bed as this one.  How would I ever find a replacement?  After two months of celibacy, I felt ready to try again, and the person I chose as my target, naturally, was Demetrios II.  I guess I was hoping that Greek heritage somehow bestowed men with supernatural sex skills.  Sadly, that turned out not to be the case.  Demetrios II barely tried to get me off at all, and didn’t even kiss me down there.  After his third orgasm (and my zeroeth), he wanted to know how the sex was, on a scale of 1-10.  Mentally, I gave it a 2 but kept silent.  “Did you orgasm all three times that we did it?” he asked.

Oh god, was he serious?  “No, I didn’t come at all,” I told him gently.  “I’m sort of tricky.  I need direct clitoral stimulation.”

“Oh.”  He seemed surprised.  “You mean I should use my hand more?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I said.  “And I also like oral sex,” I hinted.

“Oh, I haven’t done that to you because, well, I’m an oncologist, and I know that the majority of throat cancers are caused by HPV caught through oral sex.”

What?  He was refusing to go down on me?  “But I’ve been vaccinated against HPV, and I’ve been tested and have never had an STD,” I told him.  He did not indicate whether that made a difference or not, and we were done having sex for the night anyway, so I went home wondering whether I should even give him another chance to bring me to orgasm.

I’ve never before encountered a man who refused to go down on me, and frankly, I’m a little pissed.  I’m implementing a new rule, right now, that I will never again sleep with a man before he licks me to orgasm.  If he’s unwilling or unable to complete this task, then I might as well kick him out of bed sooner rather than later.

Is there anything that a man can do to make sure he’s successfully pleasing a woman down south?  Well, one of the guys I’m dating (but haven’t slept with), Ethan the drummer recently told me about a very interesting book he had read.  I think he was sort of embarrassed to tell me, but actually I thought it was sexy as hell and has set my imagination on fire ever since he mentioned it.  The title of the book?  She Comes First: The Thinking Man’s Guide to Pleasuring a Woman.  “Bringing a woman to orgasm has never been a problem since I read that book,” he told me confidently.  Despite my initial impression that I wasn’t all that attracted to this guy, I’m now seriously rethinking that assumption and just may give him a chance to try out his oral skills.  If the secret to mind-blowing sex is truly contained within a book, then I am going to begin buying copies by the boxful and distributing them to men everywhere.  By my rough estimate, 90% of them have no idea what they’re doing and desperately need this information.

But in the meantime, what do I do with Demetrios II?  I rather liked him and was hoping we could at least work on the sex.  I suppose I have to respect his wariness of disease, so maybe I should bring some dental dams the next time I see him?  I’ve never even used a dental dam before.  Does it feel anywhere near the same?  I’m guessing it does not, but it’s worth a try.  Next time I’ll simply whip out a dental dam (or sheet of Saran Wrap) and announce that unless he licks me to orgasm, I’m leaving and never coming back.

January 18, 2012. Uncategorized. 2 comments.

Good men come in twos, apparently

by Daphne Reese

Throughout my dating career, I have noticed a peculiar trend that, in recent months, has reached the point of absurdity.  Whenever I am dating a guy—let’s say, a doctor named Demetrios—I will inevitably meet and end up dating another guy with the same name or occupation.  Keep in mind, I am not deliberately seeking this out.  It just happens.  Sometimes I think there really might be a god, and if so, she has a wicked sense of humor.

To give you an idea of what I’m talking about, let’s review:

Two Brits

A couple summers ago, I was dating two British guys at the same time.  (How I love that English accent!) They were both living in Boston, and I have no idea if they knew each other.  The main problem was that my roommates could not tell them apart and would inevitably call them by the wrong name when one of them came by to pick me up for a date.

Two Nathans

Last spring, I was dating two Nathans at the same time.  As you can imagine, this led to massive confusion amongst my friends.  To keep them straight, I began calling one Nate and the other Nathan.

Two Greek doctors

Now, this is where things get really crazy.  There aren’t that many Greeks in Boston, but it seems that once you meet one, you have infiltrated their secret society and you suddenly start meeting them everywhere.  As things were fizzling out with Demetrios the Greek doctor last month, out of the blue I met another Greek doctor named Demetrios.  You can’t make this stuff up.  There’s actually a pretty funny email I wrote to my friends while I was mourning the Demetrios breakup, something like “I know I’ll find another guy, but what are the chances he’ll be a tall, dark, and handsome Greek doctor?”  As it turns out, the chances were pretty good.  I like to think of it as a message from the universe that there truly are millions of great guys out there, and if you find one guy you like, you can rest assured there are more out there just like him.  Demetrios I is now out of the picture, but Demetrios II and I had our fourth date last week, and things seem to be going well.  I haven’t yet told Demetrios II about his predecessor, but he keeps asking me awkward questions like “So, I’m the first Greek you’ve dated?”  Umm… not exactly.

Two Drummers

Two other guys I’m currently dating also share a profession.  By day, they are tech guys working for major companies.  And by night, they are drummers in bands (one is a wedding band, the other is a punk band).  I’ve always had a major fondness for musicians (usually guitar players), but I’ve never dated a drummer before.  Naturally, once I started dating one, along comes the second one.

I’m eager to see what fate has in store for me next.  A duo of Swedish underwear models, perhaps?

January 12, 2012. Uncategorized. 1 comment.

Texts from Douchebags: Los Angeles edition

by Daphne Reese

After all my talk about using Vonage to make boys call instead of text, have I given up texting entirely? Hardly. And since I’m still texting boys, I’m still getting a lot of texts from douchebags. And so today begins a new recurring series at Stilettos: Texts from Douchebags! Today we have quite the text conversation for you, courtesy of Matt-Steve.

Matt-Steve is a native Bostonian-turned-LA-transplant whom I met while he was home over the holidays. I’m pretty sure he originally introduced himself as Matt, but then it turned out his name was Steve, hence the double moniker. People in LA are known for being superficial, but Matt-Steve really takes it to the next level. He claimed to be in the “music industry,” which I’m sure helps him bang lots of bimbos in LA desperate to get their bands discovered. But he is clearly out of practice when it comes to courting respectable Boston women.

I met him at a bar, yes, but then he proceeded to ask me out twice—both times for late-night drinks where he was already hammered and obviously angling for a booty call. Tired of his antics, I bailed out early on the second night, gathered up my girlfriends and said we were going home. In truth, we just walked down the block to the next bar.

Dec. 24, 1:17am
Matt-Steve: Not sure how the wheels fell off but I continually love hanging out with you.

Meanwhile, at Bar #2, I had already met a new guy and was shamelessly making out with him. Right about then Matt-Steve, looking for a change of scenery, comes walking into the bar and discovers me mid-makeout session with Guy #2.

Dec. 24, 1:58am
Matt-Steve: Lose my number

Daphne: Will do. Just bc I’m feeling generous, an explanation: you remind me of my ex-boyfriend. Also, you would have done better inviting me out to dinner instead of out for drinks twice in a row. That is all.

Matt-Steve: I’m sorry you are just being you and I saw it and this is me telling you I’m disappointed. Very. Also, I live in LA where girls in Boston that are “hot” are very average. So, physically, that wasn’t the draw.

Wow, so I’m not “LA hot?” Ouch. I wasn’t even going to respond, but then my friends convinced me we should have some fun with Matt-Steve. So, we decided to see how outrageously shallow we could get before Matt-Steve realized we were joking (apparently, it took him a while!). All “Daphne” texts from this point on are 100% bullshit just to mess with him.

Dec. 24, 3:51am
Daphne: I’m disappointed that you are disappointed (very) in me, it’s truly worse than you being mad at me for making out with that other guy, but he had nice jeans. Also, I consider myself in a range of 7.5 to 9 (Chicago Ranking) and I think of you as like an 8, so I thought we matched up quite well. BTW is your name Matt or Steve?

Matt-Steve: I don’t do “number” rankings and make out with people because of their jeans. I’m an adult. Physically I found you attractive but it was more chemistry because “looks” only go so far and unfortunately I believe this may be as far as we go for now because I leave Tuesday.

Dec. 24, 11:21am
Matt-Steve: Haha just read through all these texts. How do you come up with a “Chicago” number ranking and is that weighed differently than Boston?

Daphne: Listen, Frank, after being called “average” I felt the need to give you my most recent “Hot or Not” (national) score. (It’s an 8.7, nbd) And speaking of chemistry, slight correction from last text: he had nice “genes” not “jeans” (autocorrect). Do you have a Hot or Not score? Seriously is your name Matt or Steve?

Matt-Steve: (evidently googled “Hot or Not” and discovered the website for the first time): Holy shit, there is a website that you submitted a picture to be judged by a score? This is unreal, learning so much, who needs dinner.

Daphne: So you don’t have a Hot or Not profile?

Matt-Steve: Never heard of it. Send me your profile I have to check it out. You thinking I’m an 8 and the women accosting me after you left is all the validation I need.

(Because I do not actually have a Hot or Not profile, I send him nothing).

Dec. 24, 10:48pm
Matt-Steve: No way you are a real blonde.

(Trying to insult me, I suppose. Is questioning one’s blondeness the ultimate insult in LA?)

Daphne: And no way you are a real ginger.

Matt-Steve: Gingers are red heads. I’m dirty blonde.

(This is hilarious because Matt-Steve is obviously in denial. His hair is red, his face is freckled, and he is a textbook ginger).

Since Matt-Steve clearly is not getting that this is all a joke, I decide to clue him in.

Dec. 24, 11:20pm
Daphne: Obviously I’m hilarious and 100% messing with you. Maybe you would have found that out sooner if you had showed some interest in getting to know me rather than grinding my ass. I think you’d best return to LA where girls might be stupid enough to go for your “take me home” line.

Matt-Steve: It’s obvious we’re both messing around. Hilarious is an overstatement but you are kind of funny and personable. I’m not in the market for anything deeper than a little fun, so you should actually respect the fact that I didn’t pretend to be interested in more. You should have seen my moves after you left.

Daphne: Yeah yeah, and all the girls were hitting on you, coincidentally just as soon as we left. Well, this has been fun. I am going to refer back to the original “lose my #” text and do just that.

Matt-Steve: You’re mean

Daphne: You’re median

Matt-Steve: So I’m average as well 🙂

Matt-Steve just doesn’t want to let this go. He texts again the following day.

Dec. 25, 1:37pm
Matt-Steve: Merry Christmas Scrooge McHighmaintanence

Daphne: Thanks! You too, Nightmare Before Christmas.

Dec. 25, 5:56pm
Matt-Steve: Too bad hot or not doesn’t have a personality ranking. You’d move up a few points. Had I known you could keep up with the humor I would have willingly hung out with you sober.

I’ve stopped responding in the hope that Matt-Steve will go away. But the next day, another text comes in.

Dec. 26, 8:23pm
Matt-Steve: I’m leaving tomorrow, do you want me to lose your number or text you next time around? I forgive you for making out with that mongoloid human after me.

Daphne: Wait, I thought I was supposed to lose your number. I’m confused.

Matt-Steve: Initially I was disappointed because I tend to put women on an unachievable pedestal and while I don’t have confidence that you wouldn’t leave me in a second to go make out with another dude… You are interesting enough to keep in the rotation. I’m sure it was because you felt disrespected with my antics of not getting your number or asking you on a date.

Yes, Matt-Steve, that’s partly it. Also, you’re a complete douchebag.

At this point, you might expect Matt-Steve to stop texting. But clearly I have gotten under his skin somehow. Probably he’s not used to dating intelligent women who will stand up to him and call him out on his BS.

Dec. 30, 11:45pm

Matt-Steve: I tell women that are rude in Boston that I see hotter girls working at Trader Joes out here. It’s part of my charm. You have a better personality than most girls at Trader Joes. That work?

Daphne: Ha. I’m never quite sure if you’re joking, or the most shallow man on earth. I guess that’s just part of your charm.

Matt-Steve: Says the girl who couldn’t remember my name… I’ll keep you on your toes but I keep it real. I’ve thrown compliments your way and “pumped your tires”

Jan 5, 11:46am
Matt-Steve: 80 and sunny again. There’s a reason women out here have the personality of a grapefruit.

Is the dating scene in LA truly this awful? I decided to ask Chopstick’s opinion, since he moved to LA last year from Boston.

Daphne: Are people in LA really as superficial and stupid as the stereotype makes them out to be?

Chopstick: Oh yes. Yes they are are. Disappointingly so. Matt-Steve does strike me as a native. On average, the cute girl in Boston on the subway in a hoodie ends up being a Harvard law student or something who has her shit ridiculously together. On average, the stunner in LA ends up trying to impress you with the last Victoria’s Secret event she went to, so she can disguise her dead-end cocktail waitress career and thinly veiled upbringing issues.

Yikes! As hopeless as the Boston dating scene sometimes seems to be, at least we can all be thankful we’re not in LA.

January 11, 2012. Tags: , , , . Texts from Douchebags. 2 comments.

Vonage: The dating girl’s secret weapon

By Daphne Reese

Texting and dating just don’t mix.  More often than not, the short and ambiguous  nature of texts leads to massive misunderstandings (like the debacle with Demetrios I recently blogged about).

However, men today simply love texting.  Probably because it’s incredibly lazy.  Long gone are the days when a man would methodically plan out what to say, nervously dial your number, and anxiously wait for your answer to “Would you like to go to dinner this weekend?”  Instead, today he will just jot a quick text (“Dinner tmrw?”) and hit send.  If you are anything like my friends, you probably can’t even remember the last time a man called you.  It’s all text, all the time, and it’s incredibly frustrating for us girls.

I recently read a book called Text. Love. Power. The Ultimate Girls Relationship Guide for Texting and Dating in the New Millennium, which offered a militant solution to the texting-and-dating problem.  Don’t text with men at all.  The book suggested you should go so far as to call your carrier and actually disable texting on your phone so no one can text you.  Or, if that’s not feasible (obviously, it’s not!), then you should buy a second cell phone—a complete clunker phone, without text capabilities, that you use solely for dating.  That way, when you’re out with a guy, you can whip out your antiquated Zack Morris phone and he will instantly understand why you can’t text with him.

Luckily, I have a realistic third option to offer you: start giving guys your landline number.  A landline, you say?  Who the hell still has a landline?  Well, we had to install one at our apartment due to lack of cell reception, but it has proved to be a potent secret weapon when it comes to dating.  Actually, it’s not a landline at all, but a Vonage VOIP line that acts like a real phone but only costs $25.99/month for unlimited calls.  I’m telling you, this is a small investment to reclaim your dating life.

Here’s how it works.  A guy recently asked me for my number at a bar, and as an experiment, I gave him the landline number instead of my cellphone.  I didn’t mention it was a landline, just gave him the digits and split.  Then I totally forgot about it.  One evening a few days later, the landline rang.

Daphne: “Hello?”

Guy from bar: “Hi, is this Daphne?  This is Greg from Red Lantern last week.”

Daphne: “Hi, Greg.”

Greg (incredulously): “Umm, is this a landline?”

Daphne: “Why, yes it is.  Why do you ask?”

Greg: “Well, I tried texting you a couple times this week, but it bounced back with an error message saying it was a landline.”

Eureka!  I had found the secret to make a man call you.  My roommate and I immediately began making use of this new discovery.

The shock that men express when they realize you gave them a landline number is priceless.  Or even better, if you have a roommate like I do, you can answer each other’s calls.  Imagine a guy calling Daphne, but Parker picks up instead.

Guy: “Hi, is this Daphne?”

Parker: “Just a minute, let me go get her.  Daphne!  Daphne, you have a telephone call!”

A man probably hasn’t encountered this phone situation since 1995, and it will definitely make an impression on him.  Obviously, he knows you have a cell phone, but you chose not to give it to him.  He has to earn the privilege of being able to contact you 24/7 on your cell.

The irony of the whole thing is, because Vonage is VOIP (and not a real landline), I can do anything I want with the number, including automatically forwarding the calls to my cell phone so I can answer calls even when I’m not at home.  And if a guy leaves me a voice message, Vonage instantly types it up and emails it to my iPhone.  Just like texting.  😉

January 6, 2012. Uncategorized. 4 comments.

Lost in Translation

by Daphne Reese

Text messages are great for many things, but dating is not one of them.  For one thing, you lack seeing all the physical signals that you would normally be able to interpret during a face-to-face conversation.  Many miscommunications can occur as a result.  It’s really remarkable, when you think about it, that today entire relationships will sprout, bloom, and die via text message.

The ambiguity of text messaging leaves a lot open to interpretation.  This problem is compounded by the habit of people who are dating to tend to use vague language in order to spare someone’s feelings or to avoid coming on too strong.  Hence, you can end up having a completely baffling text exchange, like the one that follows.

Because I’ve been on a blogging hiatus for months, I haven’t yet written about this guy, Demetrios the Greek doctor.  The brief description is that he is amazingly brilliant and the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life.  I’m crazy about him, so I’ve been running “The Rules” hard on him from the beginning and playing hard to get.  For a couple months, he chased me and asked me out on weekly dates, where we always had a great time, but for some reason I could never tell just how much he really liked me.  Communication between dates was non-existent.  Then a couple of overlapping vacations caused us to go six weeks without seeing each other.

After our last date (three weeks ago), Demetrios just stopped contacting me.  (Well, sort of.  He did “like” two photos of me on Facebook.)  But no calls, no texts.  I didn’t contact him either, as I was following The Rules.  Naturally, I assumed the worst and believed he simply didn’t want to date me anymore.  But I didn’t want him to just disappear without a word after dating me for three months.  (I hate when guys do that.  At least give us the courtesy of a cliche “let’s just be friends” text so we can accept it and move on, rather than leaving us with radio silence we just have to wait through and eventually come to the sad realization that you’re never going to call.)

In an effort to bring things to a head, I decided to break The Rules and do something I’d never done before.  I texted Demetrios to ask him to go out with me this weekend.  His response was neither yes nor no, but rather, the most infuriating thing he could possibly have written.

Demetrios: Nice idea. When do u think? I might know on friday if I can join

Initially, I took this to mean “Perhaps I will deign to hang out with you if my first-choice plans fall through.”  What a jerk!  I was about to text back something mean, when it occurred to me that his text was actually somewhat ambiguous, and he hadn’t answered the question that I really wanted to ask him.  So I texted back:

Daphne: I don’t know what that is supposed to mean, so I’ll rephrase the question.  Do you want to see me again?  Yes or no

A direct, yes or no question.  Finally I would have my answer.

Demetrios: That’s definitely a different question… yes I do, however I have started studying for exams. This means I have limited time… furthermore I think we want different things

Ah!  The dreaded “we want different things” excuse.  Cliched breakup line #24.  In past experience, I have found that this lame line is often accompanied by the ever-popular “I’m not ready for a relationship” excuse.  Thinking that this was Demetrios’s tactic, I responded defensively:

Daphne: What is it that you think I want?  I don’t want a serious relationship right now.  And I know you’re busy and

Mid-sentence, I accidentally hit send.  Crap.

Before I could finish typing the rest of my message, Demetrios texted back.

Demetrios: But I want a serious relationship…

Wow.  This stopped me cold, as it was the exact opposite of what I expected him to say.

Daphne: What do you mean?

Demetrios: I’m the relationship type of guy. I don’t like to just have fun. I like the whole “how was ur day” thing… you don’t want this

Demetrios: I didn’t want to have this discussion via text. Could we meet during the weekend for coffee?

My head was spinning.  What did he mean?  Baffled, I agreed to meet him for coffee this weekend and immediately enlisted my girlfriends for help analyzing his texts for clues as to his intentions.

As far as we can determine, there are two possible (and completely opposite!) meanings that could be hiding behind his cryptic text “But I want a serious relationship.”

1. Is he asking me to be his girlfriend?  If so, this is an odd way of going about it.


2. Is he trying to dump me?  In which case, he is using “I want a serious relationship” as an excuse.  As far as I know, he would be the first male in the history of the species to use this as a break-up line.  Granted, I perhaps set him up for it by declaring “I don’t want a serious relationship right now,” and Demetrios simply seized onto this as an opposition stance.

Neither option makes much sense, really.  I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what he says over coffee this weekend.


Update (12/27/11):

So, what happened?  It’s a long story, but here’s the quick version.  Demetrios and I continued to date for two months following his “But I want a serious relationship” text.  And it seemed like things were starting to get serious.  Until he abruptly dumped me over dinner ON MY BIRTHDAY.  (Yeah, he was a real jerk).  Anyway, I think the larger lesson here is: don’t pay attention to what a guy says, but rather how he acts.  If a guy really likes you, you’ll know it.  Love really shouldn’t be so difficult.

October 20, 2011. Uncategorized. 3 comments.

No, I would not like to see a photo of your dick

by Daphne Reese

Men are visual creatures.  I get that.  But why do so many of them hold on to the mistaken notion that women want to see pictures of their dicks?

You hear about it all the time on the news. Brett Favre, Pete Wentz, and other celebrities have all been embarrassed by public scandals that erupted after they sexted photos of their junk, uninvited, to incredulous women who undoubtedly laughed hysterically while showing the photos to their girlfriends, just before calling up the tabloids to start a bidding war.

I think this is a classic example of the male fallacy that women think like men do when it comes to sex.  Most guys would probably be stoked (or stroked!) if a girl sent them some nude photos of herself.  Therefore, they reason, she must be equally psyched to receive a photo of his dong!  (Wrong!)

Don’t get us wrong, boys, we girls do love dick. But let’s face it, the organ is pretty ugly. Particularly if you were not fortunate enough to be circumcised as a baby. Seeing a picture of your cock does not turn us on so much as it causes us to double over in fits of laughter while showing it to as many girlfriends as possible.

Recently, at a tech conference that was admittedly full of geeky guys lacking any social skills, a guy who had been flirting with me for maybe 10 minutes suddenly started bragging about his large penis.  “Would you like to see a photo?” he asked.  Hardly believing him, I said sure.  He immediately whipped out a cell phone and showed me a self-taken photo of his scary-big, horribly veiny, uncircumcised member, hard in his hand.  He was obviously very proud.  “Do you like it?” he asked.  (That is, indeed, the real photo posted here, although I have blurred it out to make it somewhat less disturbing).

Naturally, once I told the girls this story, they insisted on seeing the photo for themselves.  So, I sent the guy a flirty email: “Hey, could I see that sexy photo of your dick again?”  He was more than happy to oblige.  I realize I probably did him, as well as any future women he meets, a great disservice by pretending to actually like the photo, but what else could I say?  “Hey, will you send me that photo of your dick so my friends and I can laugh at it and I can post it on my dating blog?”  Which is exactly what happened.

May 25, 2011. Tags: , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Shopping for condoms

by Daphne Reese

I don’t know who invented these new Trojan “Extended Pleasure” condoms, but it definitely wasn’t a woman.  “Climax Control Lubricant?” “Male Genital Desensitizer?” It must have been conceived by a man with some sick, masochistic fantasy of having his dick go numb during sex.

If you’ve recently gone prophyllactics shopping, the first thing you’ll notice is the incredible variety of condoms on sale today.  When did they invent all these new kinds? Ribbed, ultra ribbed, flavors and colors, Fire & Ice, Ecstacy, latex, non-latex.  And then there are the Magnums, which definitely there are large men who need them, but let’s be honest, I’ll bet every man in America has bought these at least once just to see how they fit, when most of them had no business even trying.

So, you’re in the condom aisle, overwhelmed by the choices that confront you.  In my experience as a woman, all condoms are pretty much the same, as far as I can tell.  I always just go for the plain ol’ Lubricated Trojans.  But, I’m willing to concede that the condom choice probably makes a lot more difference to the guy, so I tend to leave that up to them.  Chopstick, for example, is partial to Durex Elites. Aaron tends to switch up his selection and the other night, unfortunately for us, he absentmindedly picked up a box of the sexual torture device known as Extended Pleasure condoms.  Upon reading the box, I was instantly dismayed.  Designed to prevent premature ejaculation?

I know being too quick a draw is a real problem for a few guys, and I’ve seen it firsthand a time or two, such as when one guy in high school actually came while rolling on the condom.  (I laughed but felt bad, since he was so embarrassed).  But in general, I don’t think this is a real problem for most people.  I have almost never been annoyed that a guy came too fast.  More often, it’s like “Okay, dude, time to wrap it up.”

I think this is a big point of miscommunication between men and women.  We want longer foreplay, and a long-enough-but-not-too-long penetration session (like 5-20 minutes-ish).  Men, apparently, think we want them to bang away like jackhammers for 45 minutes to an hour and are buying numbing-agent condoms to help themselves do so. (Where’s the numbing agent for all the sore vaginas out there?)

Since coming too soon has never been a problem for Aaron, I was wary of trying out the new condoms.  How long could this possibly go on?  As it turned out, however, the experience was much worse for Aaron.  At first, he said the condom felt like a normal condom, but after a few minutes, the numbing agent started to kick in, and he pulled out in horror and ripped off the condom. “It feels like my penis fell asleep,” he explained. “It scared me.” We threw the rest of the box away.

So, readers be warned! Stay away from the numbing condoms. And guys, for the sake of women everywhere, will you please stop being so concerned about winning the marathon sex Olympics?

May 6, 2011. Tags: , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

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