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I’ll never forget the day I discovered that the last scene in Sleepless in Seattle was filmed on a sound stage. Remember that scene? It’s iconic. After months of admiring from afar, Meg Ryan is finally united with Tom Hanks– the widow with a heart of gold– and his precocious son at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day. Watching that scene is basically the best thing that can happen to your insides.
I’ll never forget that day because it’s the same day I visited the Empire State Building.
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.
I’ve decided to get a little Emily Post up in here considering there is no current Emily Post and she made it all up anyway. My first order of gauntlet throwing: the social media + break-up connection: what do you with all those photos after the relationship is no more?
I think we need to handle this on a case-by-case basis, which I’ve outlined below. Obviously the real answer is do as you please, but if you can’t figure out what you please, here are some thoughts.
In the last couple years I have actively been trying to pursue storytelling. It’s a great medium for writers who like to perform, but aren’t necessarily actors, which is something my mother might contest to having had to raise a very dramatic child.
Storytelling is scary! You have to get up in front of strangers and tell/remember all the words to a very personal and true story.
It’s even more nerve-wracking when you try to do The Moth, a monthly live storytelling event in multiple cities that’s also an NPR radio show. It’s so anxiety inducing because you basically have to come fully prepared to tell a five minute story on the selected topic, but you might not get to go. The 10 Moth storytellers are chosen from a bag, where you have to put your name in for a chance at the spotlight.
The first time I tried to get up, I did, because you know beginners luck. I have gone several times, since seeking that high I achieved the first time. In fact, I came ready to spill my guts three times with no dice. Even though I left feeling disappointed, I also felt a little relieved. Hey, I tried, ya know?
This past Tuesday, I tried for the fourth time in a row, and finally got up for my second time, six months after the first.
My answer: Only if I really had to!
I came across this article from the New York Times real estate section, profiling several married couples living in New York…with roommates.
Anywhere else in the country and you’d find it a little strange. The first few years of marriages are for Sunday mornings spent in bed, binge watching TV on the couch, walking around in your underwear, and general stewing in the marital soup of each other before you become too comfortable with each other or children appear, whichever comes first. It’s not, stereotypically speaking, an extension of your college/post-college experience, roommates and all.
But in New York, it makes sense, and it’s possibly the smartest decision. It seems like a huge reach for a married couple to afford rent on their own AND save for the future. Perhaps the only way to save for a house is to live with others, if you want to live in NYC of course, which I don’t blame you.
I live in LA and have a pretty sweet set up with my boyfriend. It’s a two bedroom, two bathroom spacious place in a rent stabilized building. We won’t be moving until we buy a house. I haven’t had a roommate since I was 23 years old, and I can’t imagine doing it again, especially if I was married, even if I lived in NYC.
You know how sometimes you find yourself in an accidental six-month relationship that you didn’t even know you started? No? That’s not a thing that happens, you say?
It actually does happen, because I once accidentally dated a guy for several months before anybody bothered to tell me about it. (Disclaimer: I am unable to read subtle signals. Whatever portion of the brain it is that inputs and processes romantic messages and then outputs flirting is on the fritz in my mind.)
I had this friend with whom I spent a great deal of time. We were comrades for a few months before he decided that he wanted to transition us out of the “friends” category and into the status of “relationship.” This transition, however, can prove tricky, so he handled it in a very subtle, suave way: he just decided not to tell me. Well played, sir!
We continued watching movies and getting dinner, arguing over stupid things that culminated in me declaring him a moron so I could be done with the argument and get on to my nap. You know, like friends do. Several months passed this way, with him enjoying our new relationship whilst I stayed safely–and unknowingly–in our friendship.
I’m not talking about a guy who just believes in you and is cool with you having a career. I’m talking about a guy who actively fights for women’s right in his daily life. If my my boyfriend wore a bra, he would 100% take it off and burn it at a rally to send a message. These are things about him that confirm my suspicions that I am in love with a feminist.
Oh happy day! Finally a refreshing piece on why dating is so broken, from a MAN. A real man.
The conversation around the ills of modern dating seems to skew very feminine. It feels like women are the only ones brave enough to honestly question the current romantic climate. The result is the sad, desperate girl narrative, of which we’re all too aware. What’s wrong with me? What am I doing wrong? Am I just choosing the wrong men?
Finally, a man has spoken up! In his piece, “Is Your Boyfriend Muscle Out of Shape,” on NYMag’s The Cut, Jeff Wilser publicly questions his serial dating behavior. At 38, he finds himself repeating the same patterns and bad habits and wondering, “Is it me?”
Yessir. It is you! Thank you.
Hey, what’s better than a real human boyfriend? A fake digital boyfriend, obviously! Elite Daily announced to the world last week that, “A set of apps called Invisible Boyfriend and Invisible Girlfriend, now in beta, offer you the chance to create a significant other who will send texts and appear in photos with you.”
Um, wut? I get lonely sometimes (as all of us sad, sad, chronically single people do), but I don’t think having a robot text me sweet nothings at night would fix that. In fact, I think it would exacerbate my sadness, because it would be taunting me with what I don’t have.
The article points out the myriad uses for the app, which mostly concern tricking people. “The new partner also comes with a unique meet-cute story and shared photographs for your nosy aunt to see,” and “He or she will send real-time messages checking in on you, meaning your coworkers can watch a message exchange happen.”
But really, is it worth this whole kit and caboodle to lie to people who are just concerned about your wellbeing? Maybe I have a super-rad, mega-awesome family, but besides the occasional standard, “Is there anyone special?” I don’t get pestered about my personal life very much. Very, very, very occasionally, they’ll pry a teeny bit further, but who needs an invisible boyfriend app when we still have access to the good, ole-fashioned excuse? “Sorry family, I have a full-time job, a part time job, and a time-consuming hobby. No time for sweet, sweet lovin’.”
“Amanda Bradford doesn’t think her dating app, The League, is elitist. She prefers the word “curated,” the same way Ivy League schools and top employers select only the best candidates,” explains Business Insider.
Umm… girl, let’s not use euphemisms. It’s elitist. This is some straight up sorority girl booshit that just got $2.1 million in funding. It’s for a good cause though guys, “Ultimately, Bradford wants to match tons of power couples.” And, isn’t that what the free world needs, more power couples? I just wish Bradford had a modicum of self-awareness and understood that this truly is elitist. Just come out, say it, and embrace it. I’d respect it way more. Like, cool, I don’t agree but you do you girl.
If you’re wondering who the 4,500 beta users are, “Right now, the app skews slightly female, and its users often have advanced degrees. They tend to be in their late 20s; all have been carefully selected by Bradford’s team using an are-you-cool-enough algorithm her tech team built.”
Look, I was in a sorority for four whole years. I participated in grueling weeks of rush school for three of those years, which makes it pretty easy for me to sniff out some pretty obvious similarities between what I went through and what Bradford’s team apparently gets paid to do. #justsaying
When a pet owner puts a GoPro on his dog to see what it does all day, the findings are pretty heartbreaking. But have you ever wondered what your significant other does all day while you’re gone? One couple decided to find out.
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