All posts tagged: boyfriends

bachata_rosa

Trouble, Part 2

So TWD and I picked ourselves a song a while back.  I’ve written about it before.  It’s a bachata version of Stand by Me by Latin artist Prince Royce.  We tried to request it on the cruise during Latin Night but the DJ spoke neither English nor Spanish and wasn’t so much of a DJ as a designated button pusher. I learned to dance the bachata during a dance history course in college.  But it was a small, private liberal arts school comprised almost entirely of female students so—surprise, surprise—I didn’t really learn how to dance the bachata until I started dating TWD. It’s my favorite dance with him.  I love salsa but I get too intimidated by the complicated turns and while the merengue is a bit more low key, I spend most of time trying to stay on the correct foot.  When we dance the bachata, however, I can relax.  And I swear to God I fall back in love with him every time he gives me that look and takes my hand …

Why I Hate Men (It’s not what you think)

First things first: Happy Easter Monday (Easter Monday, in case you don’t know, is an internationally-recognized holiday whereby you run to your nearest convenience store at 6:00am and load up on half-priced Easter candy). Next, I’ve re-written all of my online dating profiles for my 50th Date Challenge (and yes, I’ll be posting my new “boilerplate” later this week).  Last but not least, I’ve spent the past five days thinking about “Impressionists” and I think I’m onto something, but before I get too far ahead of myself, a few thoughts on friendship—by which I mean male friendship. Here’s why I generally avoid befriending men: men tell it like it is.  I know this because last week I received an email from The Salsa Date.  Now that we’re “just friends,” he took the opportunity to inform me that My One O’Clock (aka the Dating Coach) is just stringing me along. I may not understand women, Kat, but I understand men and trust me on this one: he’s not that into you. (That was the gist of …

Something Akin to Cabin Fever

Between snow days and sick days, my bank account’s not looking nearly as healthy as it once did.  Nonetheless, when I brave the snow to deposit this week’s paychecks, the branch manager invites me into his office and urges me to consider upgrading my free checking account. “With your assets, you’re eligible for a Crown account.” “What’s the benefit of a Crown account?” I ask, eying the handsome loan officer in the next cubicle. “A free safe deposit box, free checks, free…” But I’m not really listening.  I’m too hung up on the man behind the class partition to consider any serious financial maneuvering (and yes, upgrading my account comprises serious financial maneuvering in my book.  I’m still recovering from the process of opening an account in the UK three years ago and am already dreading Wachovia’s switch to Wells Fargo.  I’ll have to think of a new password for my online banking and register a new debit card when the time comes.) I thank the man for his advice and tell him I’ll think …

Date #9

I was sitting in Café Fulya yesterday debating whether or not I should schedule two dates for one day, which (because I’d have to change outfits, run across town and reassign their numbers) would be a bit of a logistical nightmare.  But then it suddenly hit me: I do want a boyfriend.  I want to be in love. Coming from one who dates more often than she does laundry, this may seem a bit odd.  I mean, isn’t that the whole point of this experiment?  To date thirty guys, find one I like and live happily ever after?  Well no.  To be perfectly frank, I like being single.  I like having the freedom to date thirty different men.  I like being at liberty to care or to not care about their day, their favorite sports team and how they’re feeling.  I like to make decisions based entirely upon what I need and what I want (which is why, for better or worse, I’ve always backpacked Europe on my own).  But the novelty of flying solo …