About three months ago I was having a lovely dinner at a fancy hotel restaurant in Santa Barbara. The birds were trilling, the moon was glowing, it was all romance and roses and impeccably starched napkins.. and the most sexist service I have experienced in 31 years on this planet (Dubai included).
You see, throughout the entire dinner, the waiter addressed exclusively my male companion, whom we will call Mister Frenchie. I was referred to simply as “the lady.” It went somewhat like this.
“We are so happy to have Mister Frenchie and the lady dining with us tonight!”
“Excellent question Mister Frenchie!” (I had asked the question!)
“Would Mister Frenchie and the lady like to see the dessert menu?”
I took every ounce of cheapness the lady had not to whip out her credit card and pay for Mister Frenchie’s very fancy ribeye steak, although something tells me that he would have been the one signing the credit card receipt.
Once upon a time, there was a blogger who went on a million bad dates, but she was a good sport about it, and she laughed them off, and she hoped for the best. And then, one day, Prince Charming came riding along on an Uber Luxe, and the rest was history..
Sounds like the synopsis of an unfortunate Tinderella web series that never makes it into the second season? Not exactly. This naïve spiel happens to be my own long-standing inner narrative – at least, up until this past February.
To my credit, I had always been a dreamer, someone who favors crafting colorful storylines in lieu of facing reality in its bleaker palette. When I was little, I would ease the misery of Saint-Petersburg winters by mentally beaming myself into the Southern California world of my literary idol, Sweet Valley High’s Jessica Wakefield. Jessica’s life was never short on fun and glamour and excitement, and I resolved to one day live up to it, IRL.
Ladies, our resident Freud has spoken and all of your romantic cases are now closed!
For those who have no idea what I’m talking about, a couple of weeks ago I offered the unique opportunity to outsource your dating woes to a real, live, cynicism-laden Frenchman. Today, I proudly present the first round of his wisdom. Not to toot my own horn, but I may have tapped into a psychoanalytic goldmine here – Carpe Diem and send in your questions before his generosity fades! (DM @dbagdating! And follow it too!)
NB #1: If your question is below, please excuse my editing and emoji embellishment. Attention spans are low; desperate measures are imperative.
NB #2: If we have missed the deadline of your dilemma, we apologize. We hope that this did not jeopardize your romance and this insight will still prove to be useful!
A unique opportunity has come our way. Thanks to my innate powers of manipulation persuasion, I have solicited a real live MAN to consult you on your dating woes. And not just to any man, but a Frenchman, the very same one who inspired our recent “A Frenchman Opens Up About Dating in America” tout de force!
Whether he will wreak havoc on your love life with his French cynicism, or reinvigorate it with his candid wisdom (prime example here!), remains to be seen. Regardless, I would like to preliminarily excuse myself from all liability for his advice. Listen discerningly; proceed at your own risk.
Without further ado, please share your romantic woes in the comment section below, DM them on Instagram, or email them to email@example.com.
Over the past few years, select excerpts from my life have followed the below scenario:
- Marina meets boy.
- Boy objectively lacks something Marina is looking for in a partner, be it physical attraction, financial awareness, or a personality that qualifies him to be introduced to her friends (in certain cases, a personality, period).
- Boy really likes Marina.
- Marina is a little insecure and likes it when people like her. After a little effort on his end, she succumbs to his so-called “charms.”
- Boy screws Marina over. Shocked, Marina laments about it on every corner, sprinkling her woes with “But I didn’t like him to begin with!”
In case you were wondering what I was preoccupied with during my mini-sabbatical from writing about dating, here’s your answer: I was writing marketing spiels for a blockchain startup.
This is the moment when those of you who know what a blockchain is realize that the world is in far more serious danger than you had assumed. Because, given my questionable cerebral capacities and lack of relevant experience, the best analogy to this statement would be Donald Trump running our country.
Those of you who have no clue what I’m babbling about, don’t fret. Just one month ago I was one of you, a happy individual roaming this planet, oblivious to the cryptic underground community prospering right under my nose. A community whose members have their own currencies (hellooo Bitcoin!) and rules and vernacular, throwing around terms like “shitcoin” and “hodl” like they are living inside of a video game. Except that said video game happens to be a powerful tech movement that is predicted to change the Internet as we know it.
Considering that the Cryptosphere is comprised of men who are set to become the next generation of Musks and Zuckerbergs, I consider it my due diligence to give you a quick 101 crash course. You know, just in case Marco Streng happens to be at your local coffee shop. Even if not, ‘blockchain’ is a buzzword and knowing about it is guaranteed to impress all the neo-luddites out there, so listen up!