30 is the New 50: “Old Age” is Killing My Dating Life

Screen shot 2014-10-08 at 7.15.33 PM

The following is an excerpt from my piece featured on TIME:

“You know,” he says. “It’s tough for people our age.”

It’s 1 a.m. on a Monday, and I am currently on the phone having an argument with a guy I’d been on only four dates with, three of them good. One of them—the last—was less good, given he had gone MIA for the better part of three weeks and I had a sneaking suspicion he had a girlfriend.

We hadn’t slept together, but the kisses had been the type of kisses you walk away from with shaky knees and blind hope. There was something there, and we both knew it, which is why we were attempting to hash things out over the phone at some ungodly hour. Because at our age, we’re adults, and things matter more. The mistakes leave marks.

Click here to read more.

Standard

How to Not Pick Up Girls: Sidewalk Improv

car-fire-1_1831458c

There’s a hand corrupting the distance between me and my destination. It’s flown out, unexpectedly, in the middle of a song playing loudly—but not loudly enough—on my headphones. “HEY, HEY, HEY,” I hear, turning in the direction of the voice, thinking it’s going to be—I don’t know—someone I know, given the abrupt physical contact. Instead it’s someone foreign, literally and figuratively. His name is Alek and he is from the Ukraine. I know none of this ahead of time, given that he is a total stranger, but acquire it over the course of the next ten weird minutes on Bedford Avenue.

Continue reading on The Style Con.

Standard

Breaking it Down: Dudes and Dreamboards

blue_clouds

It’s been two years since my friend sat across from me and told me I had to write down everything I wanted in a guy on a piece of paper—down to the stupidest, most insignificant details, as though I was writing a recipe for a batch of cookies made with jellybeans and coffee in the hopes that it would end up tasting good. “Everything,” she said. “Everything.”

Continue reading on Lady Clever.

Standard

Word to the Wise: Avoid Boys Who Avoid Eye Contact

ar_eyes_6_vintageIT’S 9 p.m. and I am coming to grips with the fact that I am royally f’ed up, possibly unsalvageable. Though that should hardly come as a surprise. For the last eight months, I have masochistically subjected myself to hanging out with a boy who never wanted to hold my hand and who struggled, most of the time, to look me in the eye when talking to me. On a few occasions, he would listen to me from across the expanse of his living room, and he would look at me then, safe in the ten feet of distance between us. Still, a palpable guardedness lived just behind the stare, nervously peering at me from behind a wall he built, as though if he engaged with me in a real way, he would fall down some rabbit hole. I watched him cling to that edge for months on end, waiting for him to slip, to connect, to commit in some way. But he was unyielding. And so now, thanks to him, I have my own walls.

Continue reading on Lady Clever.

Standard

Felling the Wood: Tinder Sucks

Old%20Lumberjacks

The following is an excerpt from a piece originally seen on Lady Clever:

‘Here’s a story: Girl walks into a bar. Girl sees her friends. Girl walks straight towards her friends because, man, these people are awesome! Girl orders a drink, talks to her friends, gets drunk with her friends. Girl lets the world disappear around her because she is so focused on having a great time. Girl leaves the bar, having not done one scan of the place looking for someone to, I don’t know, even make out with. Girl is single forever because she never took the time to look around the room. Ever.

Click here to read more.

Standard

F%*KING YOUR FRIENDS IS LIKE EATING YOUR VEGETABLES. NO ONE WANTS TO DO IT.

child_sleeping_at_table

The following is an excerpt from a piece featured on The Style Con:

“I want that plate cleared,” Mom would say, a threat often lobbied to me and my brother growing up, which was like winning an all inclusive package to Hades, where you were never just given the option to consume things a la carte, but in horrible little packages, where a nice bit of chicken was permanently married to a heap of steamed broccoli. They were to go down together, in twos, if you were ever to think of sticking a spoonful of dessert in your mouth. And so you’d down it, the vegetative gristle of the broccoli grinding against your molars, coating your tongue with its unpleasant moss. And I would do it, if for no other reason than to get my mom off my back. Eat your vegetables. There is nothing more ubiquitously traumatic and universally understandable than this phrase.

Click here to read more.

Standard

“(Dinner) Party of One”

alone-book-girl-miranda-july-vintage-Favim.com-69768

The following is an excerpt from a piece featured on Lady Clever:

White and green. That’s the color scheme of Gillian’s wedding. Really deep emerald, she adds. Very country club, I offer. She tells me about the three days of dress shopping and the ball gown-esque thing she eventually settled on. Structured and formal. “Just like us,” she quips. Gillian and Nathan are getting married in November, which seems soon. But that’s probably because I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a set wedding date– a number barreling at you from the distance like a freight train, until it arrives, and you’re surrounded by your country club colors and the gold walls of an East Coast church, standing next to a dude who stuck around for more than three weeks—a dude who, in theory, wants to stick around for eternity. The concept is unfathomable to me, like asking a kid who lives in some shantytown in Johannesburg to imagine what it would be like to get on a plane and travel to America, to live in a house with central heat and air conditioning, with a pool in the backyard and a freezer filled with ice cream. So laughably far off, so hilariously implausible. That’s what this feels like.

At least for me.

Click here to read more.

Standard

“Taking Permission with Love” on Lady Clever

STACK-IT

…it got me thinking about mimicry in love, and the effect of the concept of “permission” in relationships when we get desperate—again—enough. At a certain point, dating feels like walking through a neighborhood Ralph’s, filled with big name brands and bleached white bread when all you want is a real peach off a real tree, some butter churned by hand. But you’re not going to get this in this proverbial Ralph’s, so you look for the next best thing: Some “peach pie” ice cream. That’ll have to do, you think. This is the best it’s going to get. And so you sit down with a spoon and some sticky fingers, never even thinking to just leave the damn store.

Click here to read more.

 

Standard

“TKO: Relationship Round Two” on Lady Clever

CLAY LISTONThe following is an excerpt from a piece seen on Lady Clever:

They’re standing in the corner of a darkly lit room, two older men in the same v-neck cardigan pulled over a button-up shirt — the financier’s uniform. “Jenny Bahn,” I hear from the taller of the two, the one with the blue eyes and the salt-and-pepper hair. Jeh-nee Bahn. My name delivered in a slight Spanish accent and the winking familiarity of someone you’ve been naked with once. I haven’t seen him since last April, back when we spent the weekend at a sprawling estate somewhere in the Hamptons with a university professor, a celebrity journalist, and a model from Germany. Because of what did or did not transpire in the weeks following, I’m not supposed to like him.

Click here to read more.

Standard

“That Time I Got Blown Off for Someone Born in the ‘90s”

say anything real 1

 

The following is an excerpt from a piece seen on Lady Clever:

Marco’s brought me over here on the pretense of meeting a dude. “You’ll like Nicholas,” he says. “Right up your alley.” In my “right up your alley,” Marco means slightly Nordic looking, probably hairless, and sporting the type of under-eye bags that you only acquire by ambition-induced stress or a drug problem, likely a combination of both. Marco knows me well enough; my tastes have become disgustingly predictable, self-induced misfortune honed like a craft over the last four years. Give me someone broken and striving and I will give him my heart.

Click here to read more.

Standard