I was never a very good dater.
Once upon a time, I would have attributed that to the fact that the strongest, most lasting relationship I’ve ever had has been with my mother. But I can’t be sure.
You know my mother. Sure you do. Just picture the love child of Sylvia Fine from The Nanny and Marie Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond — with just a touch of a more accessible Angelina Jolie thrown into the mix (my mother is reading this, after all). And there you have it. An eccentric self-proclaimed drama-mama, she dresses up in her wench costume for the annual Renaissance Festival and reads Tarot cards. Like an excitable puppy she often gets so worked up about something that her mind runs faster than her body and she falls over and needs to be rushed to the hospital. This is a woman who gets so worried when I don’t immediately return her calls that she has been known to call the police on me, convinced that I’ve gone missing.
My love life has never been spared her utmost attention and devotion, of course.
Pornography is a many-splendored thing. It heals, it enriches, it enlivens…your genitals. Actually, I’m not sure how it would heal your junk if you get it caught in a door or whatever. But hey, I’m not ruling it out. Porn is one of the top seven awesome things that exist.
Now, although Becky and Jess asked me specifically to write about porn—meaning that they thought me a pathetic enough soul to have wandered amongst its riches for long enough to become a connoisseur—I have to admit I’m not really an obsessive when it comes to the subject. I don’t have a storage space filled with meticulously labeled VHS tapes or a terabyte hard drive containing Peter North’s entire oeuvre. But I do know who Peter North is (in my opinion, he makes too much noise during his performances and has a weirdly small and squarish head).
Anyway, I may have been exaggerating a bit with my first paragraph, but I respect and cherish pornography and will do my best below to offer something worthwhile.
I’m single – unlike the previous porn guest blogger – so I don’t have the whole girlfriend-porn quagmire and can deliver myself wholly and unalloyed. So double you tee eff is up with porn’s effect on a single man’s love life?
I met the fabulous guy I’m currently dating at a party. My third party of this particular (Thursday) night, actually. Pizza and beer with the girls in the Village, followed by karaoke in Koreatown, all to prepare for a work party I wasn’t too excited about. The work party ended up being wilder than expected, and, to my surprise, I discovered a cute co-worker I had never noticed before. He was hanging out near the dance floor, and, as the 90s rap mix blasted, I realized this white boy from Wisconsin was rapping along to every word. And not just the overplayed top 40 hits. Wu Tang. Method Man. I was smitten.
So we started to chat, and spent the rest of the night joking, dancing, and eventually making out. I took him home with me, and here’s the part I’ll never tell my mother: I slept with him. Then, I let him sleep over. He found me on Facebook on Friday, and asked me out on Saturday. Several months later, we’re planning our first vacation, and have yet to hit any major obstacles.
The part that would really kill my mom is that all my relationships have started this way. Well, sometimes I meet the individual in question more than three hours before sleeping with them. And I’m not always three screwdrivers in when I meet them. That said, I’ve never hesitated to hook up with someone I was into, and it’s always worked out surprisingly well, despite the fact that everything we’ve ever been told emphatically assures us that happy endings never follow from, well, happy endings.
Here’s my two cents.
This is definitely one of the more boring “Men Tell All” episodes, if only because it made me hate everyone a little less and it was padded out like WHOA. Nonetheless, the sight of all of these men who I vaguely remember reminds me of how terrible people are. Also, this story will largely be accompanied by animal gifs. Just because.
A promo for Bachelor in Paradise: Redux. So much crying. So much drunk. So much drama. The cast appears to be made up entirely of Kaitlyn’s castoffs and Farmer Chris’s castoffs. Oh, and Clare is returning, turning into the Beth S. of The Bachelor. Oh, and it’s going to be on twice a week.
We pick up with Shawn telling Nick how horrible he is. It feels fake, if only because Shawn has a piece of paper in front of him that is likely a script or a rundown of reminders of what he hates about Nick. Again, the “Eskimo Brothers with a Country Singer” item comes up.
I don’t care. Team Nick 4-Eva. Also: congratulations to The League, which has achieved the level of notoriety that this “Eskimo Brothers” business keeps coming up without any additional explanation.
We are still in Ireland. Kaitlyn walks the moors and talks about how difficult her journey was this week. But then, a date!
One-on-One Date: Ben H.
They’re on a boat. A rowboat, to be precise. They go to an island with a castle and no other people except the crew. And deer, if you count deer as people. Which I will this evening. There’s making out and sitting on a bench, talking about relationships. This is, as it often is, uninteresting.
BUT THEN: Ben wants to share his “biggest fear” with Kaitlyn, which is the idea that he could be unlovable. Kaitlyn assures him that he is, in fact, lovable.
Listen: insecurity comes in all types of packages but BEN. Come ON. STAHP. You’re gorgeous and you love kids and you’re one of the only dudes on this show who doesn’t seem like a total monster.
Where We Left Off
In case you forgot, and somehow weren’t reminded by the squawking ninnies on the Internet who love slut-shaming, Kaitlyn and Nick Did. It. Last week.
Shawn is in the middle of drunkenly confronting Kaitlyn about whether or not she is “in love” with him. She says that she “is falling in love” with him. Watching people talk while end-of-the-night, Semisonic “Closing Time” drunk is the worst. They make out and Kaitlyn confesses that she feels guilty about taking one relationship where she took it while also having feelings for other guys.
Meanwhile, Nick is talking with Tanner (I think?) about how Shawn has called him a “master manipulator.” Yep, Nick is still on everyone’s minds.
We pick up where we left off: with Ian insulting Kaitlyn to her face about how he’s so much better than she is. “I feel like you’re here to make out with a bunch of dudes on TV…I wonder if you’re really that shallow.”
Ian also discounts the importance of humor in relationships which, I don’t necessarily know that much about anything, but I do know you spend a lot of time sitting in the car, sitting in the waiting room at Time-Warner Cable, and as the only two people you know at a wedding, during which having stuff to laugh at is essential.
Kaitlyn, God bless her, tells him where to get off. He seems almost surprised that she doesn’t burst into tears and apologize to him, because you know, he’s so amazing and deep and handsome and can get all sorts of girls to sleep with him and should totally be the next Bachelor. He keeps SAYING that. He simpers out, “You told us to be honest. And that’s what I had to say.” And she responds, “And you feel good about that?” And gives him a glare that is terrifying.
Yeah, Ian, do you feel good about what you just did there? Douchebag.
Ian is so pleased with himself, complaining that he is being “punished for being intellectual. People have trouble relating to me because I am too deep. Seeing how bad Kaitlyn has been at being the Bachelorette makes me see how good I could be as the Bachelor. I feel like I am destined to be The Bachelor.”
Dateline: New York City, late in the evening. Nick: arriving at the suite with all of the other contestants.
They greet him with unfriendly glares and overdramatic piousness, focusing on the sanctity of this reality show taping prior to Nick’s arrival. Tanner angrily cross-examines Nick. Joshua and Ben follow suit. The undertone of “it’s not fair” that accompanies Nick’s arrival is pretty special, as if it matters who Kaitlyn ultimately chooses.
The Cocktail Party
The cocktail party is held at CitiField (where the Mets play, sports fans – though it appears MLB did not license any of the logos). Nothing like an empty stadium and a dozen men’s barely contained rage to make an evening special. JJ takes Kaitlyn out onto the field, saying to the camera, “I’m ready to hit a home run.”
Shut up, JJ.
This episode…man. The slack is intense. It’s two hours of waiting for a guy to walk into a room and watching a relatively emotionally healthy woman make a decision that’s right for her, intercut with some of the most awkward dates in the history of this program. But first.
The Part Where Clint Leaves
Clint douches his way through a conversation with Kaitlyn, full of slimy double-speak and straight-up lies. Kaitlyn says that unfortunately, she cannot trust him. He’s all, “This is insane. I can’t even.”
Somewhere, his parents are incredibly proud. Hey, Clint’s parents? Nice man you raised. Good work.
You need two people in order to make a seesaw work. Real, honest-to-goodness love is like that. So don’t put your life on hold for someone who doesn’t get how seesaws work.
For the first time in my life, I will be living with a boyfriend. I’ve lived with guys before (my brother, my ex-roommate’s brother), but never with my guy. I’m beyond excited, and also, a little anxious. The anxiety is mainly because this will be the 3rd time in 1 year that I’ve moved. And moving is an anxiety-riddled thing. There’s just so much to do!
So in order to make all this anxiety a little easier to deal with, I’ve broken down some thoughts about moving in with a boyfriend. Maybe they’ll resonate with you, too.
Yeah, we could have gotten more bang for our buck by moving into a less trendy area and gotten an apartment with more than one bathroom, but we didn’t. And now we’re just going to have to deal with that. I stay over at his place a few times a week, so by now, we’re pretty used to each other’s bathroom habits and how much counter space we need. I’m well aware that he uses more hair product than I do, and he’s well aware that I need 2 towels to dry off after I shower (one for my hair). We’ve adapted, and we’ll continue to adapt, lack of counter space be damned.
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