“Why are you so weird?”

It has recently come to my attention that I am a terrible blogger, lacking the selfies, tweets, and other ADD-inducing micro-content that makes the World Wide Web the colorful place that it is. While you will have to wait for an OOTD post (probably, forever), I will indulge in some narcissism by creating a little bulletin board in which you guys can post any question you would like answered!

While I doubt that I am that much of an enigma, perhaps there is something about this walking disaster of a human that piques your curiosity? Or, perhaps, you would simply like me to dispatch some terrible dating advice? If so,  write your question in the comments section and I will answer directly!

You can also email me at dbagdating@gmail.com and I might make a nice anonymous post out of it!

And remember, there are no stupid questions, but only truly idiosyncratic answers, which you are most definitely guaranteed!

There is an old Russian saying: “A man has to be slightly better-looking than a monkey”. This implies that a man must not be evaluated by his looks, but appreciated for his more Alpha qualities, such as brains, generosity, and hard work – attributes that will benefit a woman’s happiness in the long term. Without the crutch of conventional good looks, a man will have to work harder on earning a woman’s love and affection, hence appreciating her more once he finally wins her over. Good-looking men, particularly those who are all-too-aware of it, are considered to be a recipe for disaster, a freeway to a lifetime of speculation and paranoia about the whereabouts of a philandering Don Juan. This, for you, is Russian female pragmatism.

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In a turn of events that my friends have proclaimed to be “inevitable”, I recently found myself on a date with a much older man. While we won’t yet dwell on the pros and cons of dating somebody who was wrapping up high school while I was still in the Teletubbies stage, I will definitely attribute this as being one of the more interesting dates I’ve had in awhile, as evidenced in the following tidbit of our conversation alone.

Over a tea at Café de la Poste (neither of us were drinking, myself for cleansing purposes, him for unknown elderly purposes), he gave me a brief autobiographical overview of the past 20+ years of his life. After an unsuccessful stint with marriage, he had gone through a series of long-term girlfriends, and was now happily célibataire (single), enjoying a fulfilling existence of creative friends, athletic endeavors, explorative travel, and a newfound interests in astrology. Hearing my age – 28 – he exclaimed, not without a dose of sarcasm: “Oh yes, that within the age that I actually have a real interest in women –  28 to 33. The 23-year-olds are starting to feel a bit immature.” If I wasn’t sure before, then it was crystal clear now – I was dealing with a real, certified Eternal Bachelor. No longer capable of containing myself, I made a backhanded comment about all-too-afmiliar with “his type”, leading to me pulling up the article for us to analyze together. The parallels being endless, we had a good laugh.

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