So my latest obsession – Mad Men – has brought on this latest post. With each passing episode, I am learning that Don Draper (the show’s protagonist) is a huge, huge slut. I talk about 16 women in this post alone, and I’m not even up to Season 5 yet. I’m also learning that the women around him – women who are breaking stereotypes by entering into the workforce mind you – are also huge, huge sluts. Susan B. Anthony must be rolling in her grave watching these “ladies” behave! In additional to the constant fornication going on throughout each episode, it’s unbelievable to me that these professionals can drink hard liquor throughout the day, have several extra-marital affairs throughout the evening, and still make it home to kiss their wives good night.
Oh, how Don loves his women. And when I say “love”, I use that term loosely. After all, Don doesn’t feel love. He believes it’s something he invented to sell nylons. I would use my many Psychology classes to classify him as a serial cheater, who was perhaps even scarred for life by his prostitute mother (who died in child birth) and mean-spirited cheater of a father. Who knows, maybe he even inherited a cheating gene, causing him to cross every woman he encounters. Actually, I take that back. I’m not excusing all his terrible behavior with a simple, “Poor Don, it’s probably not his fault.” I’m not giving this guy any wiggle room here. His many, many hoes give him enough of that already.
I was elated to see the above e-card because it proves that there are others out there who feel the same way I do: 50 Shades of Grey is really 50 shades of effed up. If you haven’t read the books – aka housewife pornography – or seen the movie, you may be slightly lost. Then again, if you’ve watched any sort of dominant porn in your life, you can follow along just fine.
Christian Grey, 27-year-old billionaire (because millionaire would be too ordinary) takes a shining to poor, little Anastasia Steele. Not because she’s beautiful (she’s not), not because she’s special (she’s not), but because she is mousy, quiet, and introverted, with an unusual amount of sexual inexperience. She’s the type of girl that’s doe-eyed and eager to please, which are perfect submissive qualities in a dominant/submissive “relationship.”
Naturally this 21-year-old virgin who’s possibly never been kissed falls straight in love with this gorgeous, strapping, never-been-seen-with-a-female corporation owner. It probably doesn’t hurt that he’s buying her affection with a brand new 2015 Audi R8 and an invitation to live in his 5,100-square-foot custom-designed penthouse apartment.
Once Ana signs a contract – a contract – that basically legally allows Christian to beat the shit out of her and rape her on a daily basis, he will essentially own her. Well, well, that doesn’t sound very Christian-like at all, does it? Which brings me to the point of this post. Instead of focusing on how 50 Shades of Grey is hot and steamy and something to yearn for, shouldn’t we be thinking, Holy shit, am I really reading/seeing this?
Lately I’ve been trying to save money so that I’m not completely broke before I hit thirty. In my efforts to not break the bank, I’ve learned that I have two modes: I Am The World’s Greatest Saver and Never Have to Spend Money on Anything Ever Again Because I’m Just So Zen with Living Off of the Earth & Fuck This Shit, Where’s My Credit Card?
My Zen Mode: On the days I am Zen Jen, I truly believe that I can save 97% of my paycheck. Food? Pshh, what’s that? Clothing? I’ll wear the clothes I bought in junior high. Shoes? I’ll walk barefoot in the snow 5 miles uphill. I check over my finances and physically cannot understand how I am seeing the amount of red charges on my screen. There must be some kind of mistake. Maybe my card was stolen. $8.07 for a salad at Prett? $39.45 for a tank top at Ann Taylor? $29.99 for a phone case from Amazon? No, no, no. Completely unacceptable. Never. Happening. Ever. Again.
My Credit Card is on Fire Mode: On the days I couldn’t be further from zen, I basically act as though I am single-handedly keeping the United States Stock Market afloat. I purchase everything from chewing gum (even though I have a huge box from Costco) to heels (which I will never ever ever wear) to exercise clothes (if you’ve read this blog even once you know that’s just laughable). I’ll buy a Groupon for a new restaurant, book a massage at a local spa, or sign up for Amazon Prime because, hello, who doesn’t like free 2-day shipping?
I sit and think to myself Why should I hold myself back from living my life? Do I work to live or live to work? (Also a very easy answer if you’ve read this blog.) Do I really want to eat frozen lunches every afternoon and skip the caffeinated Starbucks’ Caramel Macchiato that could very well save someone’s life when it enhances my mood significantly? I can’t imagine being one of those people who dies with a huge bank account and no plane miles under my belt, designer bags on my arm, or expensive perfume on my neck. What’s the point of going to a job day after day to earn a paycheck, yet all the while denying myself the tiny luxuries that make me not want to kill myself – I mean, um, the tiny luxuries that make my day better?
In the end, I have basically decided that the only healthy way to live is to be a mix of both Zen and Fire. If you are always frugal, you will not only be unhappy, but you’ll also get a reputation among your friends as the cheap, boring one who never comes out or gets anyone birthday gifts. If you are always quick-with-the-card, you’ll be in debt up to your eyeballs and will constantly have anxiety when every paycheck is spent before it’s even in your grubby little palm. Plus you’ll probably be a little fatter if you’re anything like me.
My actual boyfriend, Mark, and I went to Trader Joe’s after a coworker of mine suggested I try out their frozen lunch section. I had been telling her that I’d like to stop spending $6+ a day on lunch, without actually having to stop eating. She was heating up a Trader Joe’s pad thai lunch at the moment, and shared her enlightened ways with me as the smell of her delicious noodles wafted their way into my nostrils.
Needless to say, my copycat butt was in Trader Joe’s the very next weekend. With Mark watching in astonishment – which is kind of nuts, considering he Continue reading →
Years ago, my friend Ellie used to work with a cute, quiet, tech guy named Justin. They never actually spoke to one another, but two years ago, Justin got Ellie’s email address from a mutual friend, and told her that he’s always had a huge crush on her. After chatting for a few days, he told Ellie that he really wanted to wine and dine her and get to know her. She finally agreed to meet up with him late last week after work at 9:30PM.
When she got to the bar, she found out that he had been waiting for her for four hours! Apparently he had convinced his friend to go out and wait with him. When Justin went to the bathroom, his friend told Ellie how nervous he was to see her, how much he liked her, how he insisted they wait for her, etc.
Usually this kind of thing would be a turn off for Ellie, but since she’s trying to give “nice guys” a chance, she chose to see it as adorable and charming, instead. They started talking, and actually began hitting it off.
About an hour into the conversation, Justin says, “We just moved to Dumbo, Brooklyn.”
“Who’s ‘we’,” Ellie asked, confused. A roommate? A family member?
Senior year of college, after four years of sleeping together, Ellie saw John in a local bar (where he now worked). After a few drinks, John asked Ellie if she wanted to go back to his place to hook up. A few minutes later, they were driving back to his house. Halfway through the car ride, John received a text message.
All of a sudden, he started slurring his words and acting wildly drunk.
Are you okay?” Ellie asked him, seeing that he was tipsy at best just a minute earlier.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” John drunkenly yelled, and stuck his head out of her sunroof.
When they pulled up to his house and walked through the door, a girl, Marie, sat on the couch in the living room.
“Hi John,” she said coldly, and gave Ellie a death stare.
If you read this blog, you know that I am not exactly the most upbeat person in the world. I’m not a Debbie Downer or anything, but I tend to have a pessimistic or, as I like to call it, a realistic view of what I see around me. I’m sorry that I can’t view a flat tire as an opportunity to be outdoors for a beautiful sunset. I can’t see having a job as a reason not to complain about a terrible commute. And I can’t stop myself from wanting to smack whoever can see the good in horrible situations.
That being said, my boyfriend, Mark, and I took our dog, Abel, hiking this weekend. After a two-hour hike to a beautiful lake, I thought, Yes, I can finally rest on the shore and EAT. However, instead of seeing a big, open space and stunning view of the lake I have seen so many times before, I saw what can only be described as a tribe of women. “Why a tribe, Jen? Why not a group?” you might ask. These chicks had lines and symbols painted across their faces and bodies, and they were standing in a circle, chanting. So, yeah, I’m going with “tribe.” Continue reading →
Can you meet a guy at a car meet? I say, why the heck not? Think about it: A guy goes to a bar…why? To meet a girl. But there are 25 guys and 238,978,274,893 girls, most of whom want a husband. The competition alone is enough to make you want to set your extensions on fire. BUT a car meet is made up of 99% guys and only 1% girls! That’s virtually no competition at all. Aka the best place in the entire world to meet someone!
This past weekend I sat and listened to 5 guys (one of which was my boyfriend, Mark) discuss cars for two hours straight. I turned to the person next to me and asked, “Do they always talk about cars?” He said, “Well, to be fair. They all love cars and when guys get together they’re going to talk about what they love.”
It got me thinking: What do girls talk about when we get together? Oh yeah — we talk about our guys who only talk about cars. Continue reading →
I’m trying to decide if I love or hate the idea of a themed-wedding. And when I say “themed,” I don’t mean vintage, rustic, or floral, I mean themed. I came upon an article on the knot, showing how a bride went all-out for her Disney wedding. In other words she may or may not have topped Ariel, herself.
Things I loved:
1. Her bright red hair (duh) and seashell clip-in.
2. The fact that her husband actually participated in this.
This post is inspired by a JenAndMen reader, who I’ll call Michelle, who wrote me the following message:
I’m going through a divorce and all my friends are married with kids. Can I just go to a bar by myself? Is that Lame Sauce or A-OK? Love your blog!
This is a really great topic to debate about: Is it okay to go to a bar alone? I’m going to say “No” — and not just because of the lameness factor. I have compiled a list because (a) it’s easy to read and (b) it’s really fun for me to both compile lists and use the word “compile” on a daily basis.
1. Bars are filled with horny, possibly crazy people…who now have access to alcohol. I honestly just don’t think it’s safe for a chick to go to a bar all by her lonesome. I mean, if the night goes really well, and you end up meeting a guy, who’s going to be able to tell the sketch artist what he looked like if you should suddenly go missing when he walks you to your car?
2. Who’s gonna distract the ugly friends? It’s also good to a have a wing-woman with you — someone to keep the gross friend or friends busy while you mack it to the guy you like. Guys think having a wingman is where it’s at. They haven’t met me as a wing-woman, yet.
One of my best friends, Marie, texted me, infuriated. “It’s not us, it’s THEM!” She proceeded to tell me a story about the guy she’s dating, Max, and what just occurred.
Max couldn’t figure out how to upload the photos from his phone onto his computer (why, no one knows), so he asked Marie for her help. While she plugged it in and did it for him, she obviously watched the pictures begin to upload onto the screen. Continue reading →
Let’s talk about Oscar speeches, shall we? It seems like every winner I see get up there grows a damn beard while making his/her speech! I don’t know about you, but about 10 seconds and 10 “I wouldn’t be here without [insert unknown name]” proclamations, I pretty much pray for the Oscar gods to start playing their legendary “Get your ass off the stage” music. Yet…sometimes…they…don’t.
I just can’t understand how someone can literally believe that anyone besides their own mother would actually care enough about them to listen to them thank every person they’ve ever come across since birth. Let’s list all the winners I don’t care to listen to: Continue reading →
Instagram. The new Facebook — which was the new MySpace, which was the new Aim, which was the new LIVE talking. It’s all the rage these days. It’s the way we show affection to those we love, throw jealousy at those we hate, and tell the world just how deeply inspirational, artsy, and deep we are. Not to mention cool. Yes, it proves just how much James fucking Dean we exhibit on a daily basis.
And without Instagram, think of how unfulfilling our lives would be. Every beautiful sight would just be a view to remember. Continue reading →
Everyone knows the only reason to watch the Superbowl is to see the awesome (and sucky) commercials that are especially made for the big game. And when the “big game” isn’t so big, as you all saw, the commercials really help soften the blow. Only two commercials really stuck out in my mind — Coco Cola’s and Budweiser’s.
I’ve heard a lot of controversy over Coco Cola’s decision to have people from about a million different races, cultures and religions sing America the Beautiful. Haters feel that Coca Cola stepped over the line. I’m just not sure how. Continue reading →
So Jimmy Fallon finally did it. After years of patiently waiting, he was able to fit Jay Leno’s gigantic chin through the door as he kicked him out of the Tonight Show. Don’t get me wrong, I truly love Jimmy Fallon. I was just a little shocked that he was able to secure this spot. Not because he’s not hilarious and entertaining but because, well, it’s Jay freaking Leno.
The truth is though, every era has to come to an end at some point. We all tearfully said Goodbye to Friends and Boy Meets World, didn’t we? Except, with Jay Leno, it’s more like saying Goodbye to Seinfeld. We loved those lunatics — even though they weren’t very nice. They were like our mean cousins that we all secretly agreed with when they made inappropriate comments at the dinner table during holiday get-togethers. Yeah, Jay Leno is like the cast of Seinfeld and all our badass cousins. Jimmy Fallon? He’s more like our adorable yet awesome kid brother. Even if he is Continue reading →
So I’m reading (and seeing) that Bruce Jenner is pretty much on his way to a sex change operation. Now, here’s the thing: I don’t actually care. I do care, however, that he refuses to admit to this. Dude (and I use that term loosely), you have hair plug, ombre that nicer than mine, and a shaved Adam’s apple. Do you really want to continue this charade? I totally get it. If I was married to Kris Kardashian, I’d Continue reading →
February 14th can mean only two things to people: Love, joy, and excitement — or hatred, anger and loneliness. I think you could figure out who falls into which group. If you’re in a relationship, it’s like Christmas Part II. You get to see/show just how much you and your partner love each other, give/receive awesome gifts, and get lots and lots and lots of chocolate. What taken person wouldn’t love Valentine’s Day?
Then, of course, you have the untaken people. Untaken people don’t get the love, presents, or 7 pounds of chocolate. Instead, they get to be reminded that they are alone. This upsetting fact is already almost too much to bear the other 364 days of the year…but on a day where everyone is shoving their love for one another down their throats? It’s enough to make someone scream out on a crowded street. Continue reading →
My boyfriend, Mark, told me about an article that asks what is and is not acceptable as a Valentine’s Day gift. Apparently a bunch of women were interviewed and 10/10 of them agreed that dinner could and should be counted as the gift itself.
I just have one question: Were these women interviewed from the confines of their rooms or in the common room at the Mental Institution they’re staying at? Continue reading →
According to Complex.com, and just about every single person on my Twitter feed, Justin Beiber was bitch slapped by some basketball player named Blake Griffin. I’m just going to take a moment to say that I think he can be Kim Kardashian’s ex, Chris Humphreys’ identical twin, but moving right along…
Apparently Bieber was trying to order a caramel apple machhiato (do these exist and can someone buy one for me this second) shirtless, and went nuts when the barista told him that he had to be clothed to order. Come on, dude, you’re going to go nuts over that? The guy has just about the least amount of power of any profession in the United States of America. You couldn’t just let him feel like he won? Continue reading →
So I can’t believe I am once again posting about sports — but it’s not my fault. I am being hit over the head with it from every angle — first the Superbowl, then the Olympics, then the whole Griffin/Bieber bonanza, and now Derek Jeter. (Don’t worry, though, I have a mean story to go along with it!)
In the spirit of giving the people what they want, here goes nothin': Derek Jeter is retiring after 19 years of playing professional baseball with the NY Yankees.
Jeter, who will be 40 when he retires, has had 3,316 hits (ninth most all-time), 256 home runs and 1,261 runs batted in. He’s been on 13 All-Star teams and won a Rookie of the Year award, as well as five Gold Gloves and five Silver Slugger honors. He also refused to nicely wave Hello to me 5 years ago. So screw him and his shiny yellow gloves. Continue reading →
So the 2014 Winter Olympic Games began on February 7th, 2014. We can choose between watching alpine skiing, biathlon, bobsleigh racing, cross country skiing, curling, figure skating, freestyle skiing, ice hockey, luge, nordic combined skiing, short track speed skating, skeleton racing, ski jumping, snowboarding, and speed skating. I totally just Googled that.
Much like the Superbowl, I feel like the Olympics can go one of two ways: Either you’re obsessed with it or you couldn’t care less. Unfortunately, I fall in the second category. I don’t even watch baseball or football, so I truly have zero desire to watch anyone compete in sports I’ve never even seen anywhere but in the Olympics. Unless, of course, one of these people are on the screen…
Look, moms, I get it. You have 18 kids and haven’t seen the inside of a salon in five years. Your hair is split and unhighlighted, your cuticles are nothing short of grotesque, and your eyebrows are beginning to frighten the neighbors. You decide there’s no possible way you can go on living looking like Cousin It’s hairier sibling, and decide it’s time to have some hardcore maintenance done. The problem? You’ve used up your babysitting favor-asking with every single one of your friends and family, and no one offers to watch the little nose-pickers, leaving you with what you believe is one choice: Bring the screamers along.
With the risk of sounding like I am trying to make small talk with you, readers, I feel I have to talk about what we are all thinking every single second of the day: It’s coooooold outside! And not in the fun Dolly Parton, Rod Stewart way. In the way that makes me flick tiny icicles off my nostrils as I ski down the streets of New York City. New…York…City, you hear that Mother Nature? Not freaking Anchorage, Alaska! What the hell is going on here? My hands have that old-man red, dry, cracking and bleeding thing going on that I’m sure everyone around me (especially those who have to shake it) are totally appreciative of. Continue reading →
It’s baffling to me just how much press Justin Bieber is getting for his arrest. I mean, really, people — this is what constitutes as news nowadays? What about the fact that people (including myself) don’t have jobs or health insurance? What about stories from Washington, DC, so we know what the hell’s going on in this country?; what about acts of heroism from police officers and firefighters? I’d even take hearing about this brick weather and seeing video of little kids sledding in Central Park. But, instead, I get to watch an over-privileged, under-masculine, all-around annoying white boy get cuffed on his LAMBORGHINI after snorting up all his easily earned money. Super. Continue reading →
This is a continuation of my previous post, Go from Rejectional to Exceptional (Part 1), which explains how I am doing my best-friend-duty to find Jason a girlfriend by writing to girls on PlentyofFish.com. Here we go again:
In the second paragraph I ask questions about her life (LIFE not DAY). This is a very common mistake guys make. Listen, buddy, I don’t care how hot you are. No girl wants to discuss her mood or her day in the first message with a complete stranger. That’s something way more intimate than guys can comprehend, and isn’t likely going to be shared immediately. Whenever I’d get a message like “How’s your day going, beautiful?” I’d usually delete it. It shows that a guy simply looked at your picture and not your profile and most likely is trying to sleep with you. Continue reading →
So lately I have been on a covert mission to get my best friend, Jason, a girlfriend. After years of hearing him complain about PlentyofFish.com, the site where I met my boyfriend, I finally decided to give him some help.
After getting his username and password, I began searching for girls who I think would be a good fit for Jason (cute, family-oriented, well-rounded, good job, short). Once I find a suitable prospect, I send him a screen shot of her picture. (He couldn’t care less about her profile). If he gives me the ‘okay’, I send the girl a message. Continue reading →
There’s nothing more frustrating than being 26 years old, and career-less. I’d always pictured myself as having two books published by now, a third on the way, and a fabulous job at a swanky literary agency, publishing house, or marketing/PR company.
I’d be flying all around the world, meeting with up-and-coming and famous authors, actors, and singers. I’d go to events constantly, and host dinner parties in my Park Avenue two-floor apartment. Christian would be sending me Louboutins to showcase on my red carpet runs, and Versace would beg me to wear the star of his new line to one my events. I’d be rich, beautiful, and most of all, successful. I’d have accomplished my professional dreams, and would be the envy of everyone who ever met me.
I know I’ve been MIA for a long time now…and I’m sorry! I recently renewed my domain name, JenAndMen.com, (wouldn’t want any porn sites snatching it up), and now I’m back in business. I’m switching up my posts a bit. As you remember, I have a long-term boyfriend now, Mark. This means I won’t have my same crazy bad date stories, because I won’t be going on any bad dates lol (unless, of course, I catch him staring at a waitress’ boobs, or something, haha. Don’t worry, I’ll still have my super insightful views, funny anecdotes and, of course, my friends’ insane dating sagas. Keep reading, faithful readers!
This is a post about a bad date worthy of a movie, the kind I was accustomed to having way back when…
Last week, my friend Alan went on a first date with Jill, a girl he met online. Unlike traditional means, they decided to watch a movie at her apartment. While he was on his way to her, she called him.
“Do you think you can fix my toilet?” she asked, randomly. “It’s not really working the right way.”
For the first time ever, I went on a romantic couple’s vacation. My boyfriend, Mark, took me to Jamaica last week. Because he is the outdoorsy type, we did some pretty crazy stuff, including ziplining, river-tubing, and climbing a waterfall. I, myself, prefer calmer activities — massages, poolside sunbathing, and peaceful kayaking off the shoreline. Well, the massage was painful as Hell, I got an insane sunburn, and the damn kayaking almost killed me! Ironic, I know.
I was mocked by the Water Sports Activities’ director the second I strapped the life vest on (with his help) and sat down in the boat. Continue reading →
The following is a Guest Post from my friends over at Tastebuds.fm (a site where you can meet people with similar music tastes)…
Better look out – your music taste can give away more about you than you may think. We’re not yet at the stage of evolution where admitting you like Rihanna, Nirvana or The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble will tell others what you keep in your fridge exactly – but your favorite genres can give away a lot. Here’s what you have to be aware of… Continue reading →
I hate when I laugh out loud in a movie when everyone else is silent.
About a week ago, my boyfriend, Mark, and I went to see the movie “This is 40″. Paul Rudd, the star, plays the owner of a music studio. He talks about how much he loves Simon & Garfunkel. When he and his wife get into a fight, he calls the awkward silence “The Sounds of Silence”, Simon & Garfunkel’s most famous song.
Naturally, I laughed hysterically. There was only one problem — I was the only one Continue reading →
Anyone who knows me well will tell you that I will spend my money on just about anything. I will not, however, give my local movie theater one more dime! Back in the day, when I was 15, movies cost $6! Now it’s $15 just to walk in the door! (Wow, I’m old.) God forbid if you want to see something in 3D!
This is why I bring my own snacks, ghetto-style, to the movies. I sneak in candy, drinks, and other treats. I used to bring water bottles or M&Ms, but now I’m daring with cans of soda and bags of Butterfingers minis.
When I proudly told my cousin about my deviousness, she said, “Candy and soda? You’re an amateur! I pop my own popcorn and bring it in a ziplock baggie!” Continue reading →
My friend Marissa (the fake belly dancer) told me a hilarious story that reminded me of one of my favorite episodes of Frasier.
One morning, after spending the night with her boyfriend, she started getting dressed to go home. Unfortunately, she was missing something: her thong. She looked all over his room, and then eventually gave up and left the house commando.
My friend Jack recently took up the guitar. One morning, he woke up at his girlfriend Lucy’s house and decided to sneak into the living room in his underwear to practice.
As he sat there playing a Greenday song, he heard the jingling of a lock. In walked Lucy’s parents, holding cleaning supplies and breakfast (their weekly tradition which he had completely forgotten about).
The following is a guest post from a JenAndMen reader (who I’ll call Frank). Frank emailed me at JenAndMen@hotmail.com to tell me about a time he was caught by an uncle of his girlfriend-at-the-time, while she was…well, while she was doing something that no one would ever want their uncle to see…
Two of my good friends, Lucy and Jack, went on vacation to Aruba a few years ago. They had a beautiful room, but were a little annoyed that it wasn’t beachfront but, rather, on the third floor. Rather than let it ruin their trip, they decided to see the light in the situation — privacy.
One afternoon after going for a swim they decided to “consummate their love”. Anyway, after about a half hour, Jack saw something in the corner of his eye, which made both of them turn toward the window. Horrified, they came to a realization: Close the curtains even if your room isn’t on the ground level. Continue reading →
My friend Marissa is a little freckled Irish Promo Girl. That basically means that she goes to events, bars, clubs and liquor stores and talks up a particular alcohol to sell. Sometimes she’ll even give out samples and little give-aways.
A couple weeks ago, her boss asked her if she wanted to work a short shift on New Year’s Eve. Since it was double the pay, she decided to take it. When she got to the location, though, that’s when things started to get funny. Continue reading →
First and foremost, I owe my fans an apology. I’ve been so caught up with my life that I haven’t made any time to write for JenAndMen. But I’m back, I promise!
I’ve hit a non-dating-related rough patch in my life, which I may talk about one day on the blog. For now I’ll just say that it has caused me a great deal of pain and stress, and has distracted me from my everyday activities, but I’m working through it with therapy, healthy living, and support from my loved ones. I also plan on incorporating some of my new mantras into some future posts.
As you can see, I changed the red hair. For those of you upset by this, I usually switch up my hair color every few years. Who knows, maybe next summer I’ll be a blonde and next winter I could be a redhead again. I’ve heard a plethora of great stories from my friends, so be prepared to laugh over the next couple of weeks!
My friend Paul is in love with a lesbian he works with. We go back and forth between calling her his girlfriend and calling her his lesbian. When he first told me about her I didn’t think anything of it. Then I saw her in a holiday video his office had posted on their website and changed my mind. I became a little bit of a lesbian for her! And it killed Paul to know that I had more of a chance to get with her than he did!
Nothing bothers me more than a flakey person — whether I’m dating him/her or not. I am the queen of making plans and then being super lazy and not wanting to follow through with them. But I always do — because it’s just rude to have someone keep their schedule open for you and then leave them hanging because you decided you don’t feel like getting dressed and going out.
When the guy I’m dating is flakey…I go crazy. Why? Because the person you’re dating is supposed to want to see you above all others. They have time to go to work, family parties, and out with their friends, but can’t see you or take you out to dinner? Unacceptable.
This post may shock some (or all) of you, but it’s not yelling about or bashing anyone. Why? I’m actually dating a normal human being, Mark. And he’s sweet and adorable and enjoys spending time with me. I almost think he may be a guy one of you hired to mess with me so that when he screws me over you’ll really get some crazed material out of me.
Mark and I met online when I clicked “Yes” in the “Meet Me” feature. We really hit it off immediately, and have been on like 6 dates since. We text/instant message throughout the day, speak on the phone at lunch, and talk/Skype for 3-4 hours at night. I even showed him my JenAndMen iPhone App. He hasn’t freaked out about it…yet. So far, so good.
The following is a hilarious story about how Facebook completely and utterly blew up my friend Kyle’s spot when he tried dating two girls at once…
Kyle was dating a girl named Alma for a few months. Unfortunately, they could never become official — or let anyone know about their relationship for that matter — because her family is religious and would never approve. Because of this, Kyle was forced, against his will, to move on.
He and Alma began talking less and less, and while it upset it, he continued to live his life and meet other girls…one of which was Melissa.
For a woman to communicate with guys on dating websites, she may think that she must use a combination of bat signals, woots, grunts, snorts, burps, huffs, and toots. However, you don’t need Little Orphan Annie’s decoder ring to understand your guys’ strange behaviors. All it really takes is a combination of evolution, psychology, and a dash of good old fashioned uncommon sense. I’ve been collecting some of the biggest questions that women have about their men, and now it’s about time that you get some answers.
If you’ve ever been to Europe, you know that the caliber of hotness of the people increases tenfold from what we’re used to seeing. Everywhere I walked, beautiful men sashayed past me, dressed to a tee and perfect. Olive skin, white teeth, designer glasses, clothes, and shoes, and a stare that could make you drop your cannoli at your feet.
I’m getting really tired of my exes asking me if we can give it another go. Let’s get this straight: You treated me like dirt, allowed me to end it with you, looked around for a girl who you thought would be equal to my looks, personality, intelligence, passion, and TOLERANCE FOR YOU, and were shocked when you couldn’t find said imaginary girl? And, on top of all that, you actually believed I would take you back?
I almost pity these guys. But I don’t. Because I hate them too much.
My friend Joe and I were discussing train flirting the other day. He had seen a really pretty girl on his way to work, and didn’t know if it was appropriate to say something to her.
While going back and forth about it, he came up with a really good line. If the girl got off at his stop, he’d say, “Listen, you really don’t have to stalk me. I’ll just give you my number, it’s okay.”
We walked into the bar/restaurant and were seated in the back.
“Wow, that’s a really bright ‘EAT’ sign to stare at. I’ll put you at that side of the table,” he said. And he did. I must say, it was odd to have such bright, shining, white lights so close to the Devil, himself.
If you’ve ever been in love — or at the very least happy with someone — you can attest to the fact that the person you’re with can affect your entire mood. A fight can make your day miserable and making up can chase that black cloud away immediately.
I guess the real question is, How can someone that makes you feel so great also make you feel so horrible? They can make you feel like you’ve finally got it right; you’re not alone, weird, destined to die by yourself. Then, in the drop of a hat, something they say can make you feel all those things ten-fold, because you thought you had found the person you were meant to be with, and now you’re second-guessing them, the relationship, and yourself.
My last post was Part 1 of the of the torturous tale that was my South African date. This, my dear friends, is Part 2. It pays homage to the phrase, “Never say ‘It can’t get any worse'”.
After having Mark, the South African, call me up and tell me to walk 15 minutes to where he was, I completely lost any liking I had of the guy. He had already made me meet him at the most disgusting restaurant ever built, and was now not even willing to rescue me from it.
“Just walk East,” he told me.
“If I knew which way East was I still wouldn’t walk that way, because I’m a girl and I’m alone and I don’t like this sketchy neighborhood,” I replied. “Just come here. I’ll wait for you.”
If you recall the post about me meeting that hot South African guy, you may be wondering what ever came of it. The answer: Me crying through the streets of Manhattan in a bad neighborhood that I wasn’t familiar with. In a dress. At night.
Part 1 of the torturous tale:
The night started off terribly when he made me wait twenty minutes for him outside the dumpiest little take-out place anyone has ever seen.
Do we all remember the post I’ll Totally Trade You A Green Card For A Diamond Ring? Well, I never did post about the couple of dates I went on with that gorgeous foreign guy, Lorenzo, and how he told me he was going to rape me. No, you didn’t misread that. He also stopped talking to me when I wouldn’t sleep with him. On our second date.
I’ll do things a bit backwards, seeing as how I just ran into him and my hands are shaking, and post the end of the story first.
We all do it. Wake up, feel like crap, and decide, “Hey, it’ll be a great idea to forego makeup (if you’re a girl) and doing my hair (unisex decision) and go out looking like I feel.” Then, about twenty-eight seconds after making this lazy decision, we realize it may not have been our finest choice. Usually this realization comes from good-looking people throwing garbage at us.
I’m not a big drinker…at all. But when I know a date is going to be bad — and I can sense it within 5 minutes — the wine is ordered immediately. I drink it for two reasons: (1) To numb the pain of the torture I am about to withstand and (2) It makes a guy a little less obnoxious (or perhaps it makes me a little more obnoxious, either way, it’s a win/win).
This post is about my friend Lance. Last week, a girl he used to like but had gotten a boyfriend, Laila, called him and asked if he wanted to have sushi. He hates sushi, so he said, “Of course,” and met up with her (haha).
While they were there, he told Laila that they should have gone for Mexican food in the city, because they could be drinking margaritas. Within ten minutes, they were in a cab heading to a place he knew.
Girls always get the bad rep of having big mouths, but I’ve come to realize over the past 10 years of dating that I like guys a lot more when they’re completely silent. I have yet to come across a guy that didn’t piss me off at least three times a day. And that’s seriously low-balling it.
It’s as if they go out of their way to piss me off, hurt my feelings, disgust me, or flat out repulse me. I only date good looking guys, so really if they just called, texted, and spoke less, I really feel like we’d have a better shot.
I have been seeing girl after girl get engaged — whether it be via Facebook, Youtube, or an email forward. Friends, family, strangers, everyone and their freaking divorced mother is getting engaged lately.
The best are these flash mobs that are attacking Youtube. Girls with boyfriends who love them so much that they convince their family and friends to dance like idiots in a syncronized manner to an awesome song like “Marry Me” by Train or “I Think I Wanna Marry You” by Bruno Mars. (Here are two of my faves because in one the guy, himself, dances & in the other it’s all the girls’ family and friends and she gets to sit!)
This is just sad on my part. I was once talking to my friend Chris about a guy I had been seeing a couple weeks prior. The conversation turned to whether or not he was a good kisser. I proceeded to go into detail about his terrible kissing skills. Then I looked up at the name on my iPhone screen.
It. Wasn’t. Chris’.
I realized that I had been sending these texts to a new guy, David, I was talking to! FML isn’t even the word. Continue reading →
No, that quote is not made up. Sadly, it was said to me while on a first (and clearly sole) date with someone.
I once went on a date with someone I met in a bar. I had only spoken to him for a couple minutes when he told me he had to run and asked for my number. We texted for the next week, and spoke on the phone for a little over an hour one night. Then he asked if I wanted to go to dinner that weekend.
Even re-reading the title infuriates me. My friend Rob, who I’ve known for years, pissed me the eff off the other day when he basically told me that my bad love life is my own fault because it’s the universe’s way of getting back at me for “bashing” guys on JenAndMen.
First of all, I don’t bash anyone. I’m sorry that I let the world know when a guy treats me like shit, insults me, and makes me pay for dinner. I don’t even put the bastards’ real names for God’s sake. But it’s my bad KARMA?! Really?? Bad karma is dating nerds to laugh at them. What I have is a Goddamned CURSE.
Now, as far as dating for blog material — are you effing kidding me?! What kind of human being purposefully picks shitty guys to date just so they can write about it later on in the night. There are about 8.2 billion topics in Cosmo that I can look at and write about, I don’t need to subject myself to the torture I go through on a daily basis, thank you very much.
I think what upsets me the most is that the person who said this is someone I actually consider to be a friend, not a close friend, but a close nonetheless. And for a friend to think that of me — not even a stranger — just leaves me speechless and sad. I – WANT – A – BOYFRIEND. Any true JenAndMen reader or loved one knows that and knows I’d love nothing more than to write about other people’s screwed up loved lives and finally have a nice one of my own.
Read on to see our copy-and-pasted Facebook conversation…
Okay, so I told you about my Fashion’s Night Out incident with the South African. Here’s what occurred before that moment (and the reason I was drunk when I met him):
The moment we walked into Gucci, we knew we struck gold. Unlike other stores – who were giving away an ounce of champagne in paper cups – this place had waiters walking around in tuxedos, filling glasses of champagne for the customers. And that wasn’t even the best part – the waiters were actually models who were hired by Fashion’s Night Out coordinators to make the store more “appealing”. And appealing they were – I mean it was.
There’s nothing worse than a guy not approaching me in a bar or club because he thinks I’m dating my guy friend. It’s one thing to have a guy not want to approach me, but to miss out because my stupid friend keeps touching my back or arm is just infuriating!
A couple weeks ago, I went out to a bar with two of my friends (one male, one female). For whatever reason my male friend, Mike, kept grabbing my arm while he spoke to me, putting his hand on my back, etc. Now, I know what you’re thinking — and you’re wrong. Mike was actually into my girl friend! He just talks that way!
My girlfriends and I went out a couple weeks ago for Fashion’s Night Out. If you don’t live in New York City, it’s basically a time when all fashionistas dress up in their chicest clothes to try and one-up the next girl (or gay guy). There are events all over the city, and champagne is given out in some of the high-end stores. It’s essentially the epitome of Fashion Week, when everyone who’s everyone comes in to the city to attend/coordinate all the fashion shows.
Anywho, by the end of the night, I was four glasses of champagne in and starrrrving. Luckily, we had made reservations at Tao, a fancy Asian restaurant that charges about $87 for a California roll. We made our way through the beautiful-people-filled streets and into the Tao foyer.
As I walked through the door, I received a text message from a friend of mine (who sceeves feet). I had sent him a picture of my outfit and he wrote back, “Very pretty, I hope you didn’t ruin it with open-toed shoes.” To show him I ‘hadn’t’, I held on to the door and began to take a picture of my foot.
There’s nothing worse than being sweet with a guy (or girl) and having him completely ruin the moment. Very rarely am I nice to anyone, so when I am, people better damn well appreciate it.
The other day I was talking to a guy about pie (random, I know, but he loves pie so whatever floats your boat, mister). We were saying that we were going to have a little pie date later in the week. He told me that his favorite kind was key lime pie (yuck!).
Three weeks ago I began talking to a guy that I used to date. Now you know why I usedto date him. Anyway, I was bored and sent him a cutesy text with 5 things I liked. (Greek salad, fuzzy socks, etc) and the fifth thing on the list was “When you entertain me.” I felt that it was less cheesy than saying “You” and sounded cute.
I got back a list of his 5 Likes, none of which had anything to do with me. When I jokingly inquired about this, I received THIS… Continue reading →
Okay, we all know the drill when it comes to being set up by your friends: It Sucks. Why? Because friends mean well but the truth is they are blinded by the fact that either (1) They’re in a happy relationship & want you to be in one with ANYONE regardless of your compatibility (2) They are friends with both you and the guy/girl so they don’t see their flaws and/or (3) They’re stupid.
As you know, I’ve had a particularly bad streak of dating luck lately for whatever reason. Even more so than usual. My guy friends (who read my blog) have been so kind as to their services to me to alleviate my frustrations if you will; sweet, right? Eye roll.
I’ve had about 4 of 5 male friends offer, but here is one friend’s Facebook conversation in particular. He’s like a lawyer with his reasoning; and check out the dates, can’t fault the guy for a lack of persistence…
A few years ago I worked as a waitress — a terrible, terrible waitress — and met a really cute guy on my very first day. He was the only one willing to help me without getting angry (I could only carry one dish at a time because I’m tiny) and I immediately began forming a crush on him. There was just one problem: He had a girlfriend for two and a half years.
My brothers are constantly laughing at the fact that I’ve had so many boyfriends. They cannot remember anyone’s name and barely remember when I give out some extra details to try and remind them who I am speaking about.
Andrew, the prankster of the family, always says that he wants to throw me a surprise party and only invite guys I’ve dated.
There comes a point in every dying relationship where you have to make a choice: Your girl/boyfriend or you. Just like if you were in the woods or on a mountaintop or in the jungle and only one of you could come out of it alive – it simply becomes a matter of survival. In this case, emotional survival. Hell, in most of my cases, physical survival as well.
Yesterday I had dinner with one of my best friends, Daphne. After not seeing each other for two entire months, it was easy to find ourselves leaving the restaurant three and a half hours and a pitcher of sangria later. Because we both had so much to tell the other, we decided our best strategy for catching up would be to take turns telling 10-minute stories. So, roughly 21 stories each. Yup.
I don’t know if it’s some super-human sixth sense that brings in the snakes — I mean, the exes — back.
My ex knows exactly when I’m feeling great. Get interviewed on Elvis Duran & the Morning Show? I get a text. Loving my new job? I get a text. Have a new boyfriend? I get a text. The guy just knows when I’m happy and wants nothing but to suck the happiness out of me like the venomous snake that he is.
Last week, as I happily planned my date with Brad, I got a text message. I looked down at my lit-up screen excitedly, expecting it to be him. Except it wasn’t.
I’ve been getting some confused emails and comments, so I know many of you are wondering what happened to the 21-year-old. He’s gone. We stopped seeing each other the weekend after Valentine’s Day, because he has to deal with something very big in his life that I don’t really feel comfortable blogging about. No sad faces, though, because it wasn’t going to work out on my end, anyway.
Things were left on a very amicable level — which has now gone so far in the opposite direction that I had to write his grandmother a message on Facebook, asking her to yell at him for me.
I usually get attacked or criticized for being my usual confident self. But, the thing is, I’m not really sure why everyone has such a problem with confidence. When I meet someone who is happy with how they look or who they are, I take an instant liking to them.
Some of my readers left comments inquiring whether or not I get angry when negativity and anger is aimed at me. The answer to that question is “no.” My mother always told me that when someone is trying to pick a fight with me, I should walk the other way.
In this case, I simply click the other way. Because there are always going to be people who dislike you and there are always going to be people who don’t necessarily dislike you, but they have such self-loathing that they project their hatred onto you because…you’re there.
This, my friends and frenemies, should never hinder your confidence. Lady Gaga bans ice from her concerts because she’s afraid crazed people will throw it at her. Does she stop her career? No! She gets crazier! I relate to her oh so much, fans Continue reading →
I am constantly shocked by the horrid photos I come across while fishing through my messages on online dating sites. And I’m not just talking about the standard kissy-faced, idiotic shots of ugly people. I’m talking about over-the-top, jaw-dropping photos that make you say, “Are you kidding?!” aloud and immediate email the photo to your friends.
1. Flexing Shirtless-In-The-Bathroom-Mirror
Dude, you don’t look good. The sooner you accept this, the sooner we can all move on to your normal photos. First of all, I don’t know who told you that putting up a picture with a TOILET in the background was sexy… Continue reading →
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A 16-year-old boy named Brandon is dying of brain cancer. He has a Christmas wish to have thousands of “likes” on his Facebook page, “Brandon’s Recovery,” by Christmas day. “Like” it for the kid and make him smile!
A friend of mine told me a horrifying story last week that put many of my bad dates to shame. Every time I thought my jaw couldn’t drop any further, a new detail shocked me again.
Back in freshman year of college, Ellie, a really pretty, petite girl, had her eye on a hot junior, John, who lived down the hall in her co-ed dorm. The two started making out at a party in his room, and before she knew it, everyone was gone and it was just the two of them. Things got hot and heavy, and they ended up naked on his bed with the lights off. That’s when he got up to get a condom.
When he got back on top of her with the condom, she opened her eyes to a terrifying sight — the naked guy sitting on her WAS NOT JOHN. Continue reading →