A few weeks ago, a reader requested that I write a post on the dos and don’ts of dating Russian men. A reader’s wishes is normally my command, and yet this particular one presented a bit of a dilemma. Albeit having spent the initial sixteen years of my life on Russian turf, I have probably dated a total of 1.5 Russian guys in my post-high school life. This is in no way an act of rebellion – trust me, there is nothing I would love more than to bring home a man who would be able to deliberate the (grim) future of Putin’s reign at a Khorosh family dinner. No, it is simply that Russian guys and myself rarely cross paths, for most of them prefer adult restaurants in favor of hipster joints and stay as far from my beloved Nolita as possible. And so, I decided to ask for a little bit of help from my friends.
So, the Cross-Cupper incident was fun. A little crazy, a bit on the wild side, but fun nonetheless. All is well that ends well, as they say.
And yet, the episode got me thinking. As much as I may enjoy the adrenaline rush of escaping some weirdo’s home in the middle of the night, I am very fortunate that said weirdo ended up being a benign threat. Next time – if I am dumb enough to get myself in a similar predicament once again, that is – I may not be that lucky.
In our day and age, you cannot be too careful. Even if you don’t have a recreational habit of dating people with telltale signs of psychiatric disorders, you don’t know what dangers may be lurking around the corner. As Kim K recently taught us, our seemingly innocent social media habits can easily put us on the radar of smart criminals. Even if you don’t happen to have $10 million in jewelry laying around, there is always the possibility of those impromptu street assaults that nobody is protected from. (I myself have been the target of not one but two phone snatching attempts in the past year alone, one in London and one in Hanoi. Proud to say that I kicked the Vietnamese dude’s scrawny ass.) Oh, and if all of the above doesn’t scare you, there is always our GOP presidential nominee, eager to get his hands on your precious flower!
It’s been quite the Fashion Month. First, Kanye decided to orchestrate a bona fide model barbecue out in Roosevelt Island. Then, blogger drama ensued. Last but not least, Kim K. fell victim to some serious gangster games, triggering a not-so-positive display of human nature. But we cannot let West-Kardashian drama divert from the most important part of the biannual extravaganza: the actual sartorial goodness that graced the runways! Let’s take a walk on the wild side of the SS17 Paris Fashion Week collections and decipher how these pieces can be utilized to boost, confuse, or annihilate our love lives! Read More
Oh, weddings. They make the occasional guest appearance in your early twenties, then pile up in bulk a few years later (like student loans! and wrinkles!), progressively losing any of the associated glamour and morphing into money-sucking productions that strip you of your hard-earned cash and precious weekends. If you happen to be single, they also inadvertently highlight said fact by putting you in a number of consecutive awkward positions, from booking solo hotel rooms to sharing tables with fellow lepers singles while all your coupled-up friends have fun just a few feet away. Having endured my fair share of such extravagansas, I find myself aptly fit to provide a wedding survival guide that will teach you to approach said mission with military level-strategy.
When it comes to relationships, I am bad by definition. (I am, after all, the author of a blog called Dbag Dating.) To my mother’s chagrin more so than my own, I have no game, no sense of timing, and no skills when it comes to transitioning from casual encounter to long-term commitment.
Despite this obstacle, I happen to be blessed with what I have been told is a rare talent. You see, I happen to be capable of meeting guys anywhere I go. Whether you take me parasailing or grocery shopping or just ask me to take out the trash, chances are that I will come back with a glowing announcement of just having dispersed my digits. Basically, I am a fisherman who always comes home with a prize – except that, in most cases, said prize either immediately dives back into the water, or ends up being too poisonous for consumption. My friend Rachel calls this a case of crazy smelling crazy. I call it genius. And since most genius deserves to be shared, share it I will! (But only if you guy promise to educate me on the relationship part! Please! I need it!)
According to my Snapchat, the whole world is on vacation.
Unlike The Row bags or Gucci slippers or any other commodities flaunted by fancy people that I cannot afford, travel is the only luxury capable of evoking an unsettling feeling of jealousy within me, making me want to order a new credit card and ditch real life for the foreseeable future. What I often fail to forget is that a proper staycation can often be as liberating – and fun – as any getaway, particularly if said adventure takes place in New York City, a bona fide playground for unforeseen exploits. If approached strategically, staycations can also be quite beneficial for your love life, giving you an opportunity to reboot your romantic chakras, man roster, and mentality! All you have to do is follow these simple guidelines.
Stage yourself a weekend-long speed dating event, rounding up all the humanoids you have been conversing with via dating apps but have failed to actually meet in person. Schedule all dates in proximate neighborhoods, within two-hour time windows that will ensure that you will a – never be alone and b – feel like you have a boyfriend all weekend. Oh, call them all BABE to avoid silly errors.