10 Moments You Need to Shut Up

Those Who Can't Do, Teach · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

I was recently walking around an expo at Grand Palais with two gay guyfriends, rambling on about some man-related internal debate I was having in my head, when one of them turned to me and said: “If you would just shut up and [BLEEP], you could be married to a billionaire in a month”. (The [BLEEP] part was a bit more NSFW, so use your imagination.)

His words were harsh, but they spoke the truth. You see, us women are wonderful creatures. We are beautiful and smart and communicative and caring and overall rather brilliant, with the exception one major flaw: most of us have absolutely no clue when to shut up. It appears that we all have conspicuous need to overanalyze and over-think, blurting out all the accompanying thoughts and feelings in the heat of the moment, which often triggers a natural male defence reflex to run for the hills. (Why do you think I’ve been living in France for so long? They don’t only understand 50% of what I’m saying, which technically, ups my chances at success.)

While we have all learned the Triple Thought Filtration System from La Yummy Mummy that teaches us exactly how to control our emotions, today I offer you a more thorough guideline on when you need to do it. Listen up, this is useful stuff!

Cheater, Cheater..

I Know How To Pick'Em, Musings of the Mind · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

Last Thursday, I was working from home, when I realized that I had lunch plans with La Yummy Mummy. With about 20 minutes left till our rendezvous, I ran a brush through my dirty hair, threw on the same black men’s cashmere sweater that I had been wearing since mid-March, and jetted out the door. Since I had ignored physical activity for about as long as showers, I grabbed a Vélib and pedaled all the way to the 1^st Arrondissement. Not only was gross and sweaty and late for lunch, but I also had no idea where to park the metal monster. Spotting two guys sitting on the Bread & Roses terrace, I politely asked them if they would mind keeping their eye on the bike for a few minutes. Five minutes later, I came back out to park the bike, and one of the guys, to my surprise, started chatting me up. He was a cute, preppy-looking French boy, cleaner than the type I am normally attracted to, and even sufficiently successful in his semi-creative endeavor. (Yep, definitely not my type.) He asked me what I did, and I randomly told him all about my blog, which he looked up immediately and seemed quite entertained by. He then asked for my number, which I promptly handed over, quipping something about him wanting to be on the site.

Should Dating be Work?

Musings of the Mind · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

When it comes to dating, there seem to be two conflicting theories. One claims that, in order to attain success in your love life, you must “put yourself out there” and approach dating somewhat as a part-time occupation, “keep your eyes on the prize” and pretty much Secret your way to marital bliss. The other, more fatalist one, pronounces that “the best things happen when you least expect them”, hence you should focus on yourself and forget that the opposite sex (or the same sex – to each their own) exists altogether.

How to Get Ready for a Date Like a French Girl

Those Who Can't Do, Teach · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

After almost three years of living in France and analyzing how French women eat, breathe, play with their hair, and approach all other life missions with the effortlessness (read: laziness) that they are so renowned for, I can confidently say that I have successfully adjusted to their ways and even taken on some of their habits. A low-maintenance person by nature, I have been particularly keen on their approach the art of date dressing, dwindling down the prepping routine to a bare minimum. And so, I bring to you the French girl thought process of getting ready for a date, sprinkled with personal reflections for good measure.

What’s in a Number?

Musings of the Mind · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

Back when I was in my early twenties and the world was still an innocent place, filled with hope and promise of potential boyfriends-to-be, it was a girl’s due diligence to pay attention to her “Number”. No, I don’t mean the numbers in one’s bank account, or even that on the scale – what I am referring to is the amount of men that one allows themselves to become intimate with. A “good girl” always kept her number around 4, while the more risqué ones edged into the “under 7” territory and usually stopped there.

Those who fell into the 1st Wedding Round and got married around 27 withdrew themselves from the Numbers game, cashing out with their husband as their final digit (at least for the foreseeable future). And then, there were the rest of us, those who did not get married and continued to date in the modern-day sh*tshow of no promises and guarantees. Their Number, previously guarded like a national treasure, continued to grow with each passing year, with even the most selective of women surpassing double-digits and stepping into the realm of what the younger them would have considered indecent and inappropriate.

The Story of the Old Flower

I Know How To Pick'Em · Paris · by Marina Khorosh

Ever so often, people ask me whether I think all men are douchebags. Let me set the record straight immediately by stating that this is not the case. It is my strong belief that there is a douchebag in each and every one of us, and I am most definitely not excluded from this equation. Sometimes it is the man who is the douchebag, sometimes it is the woman, and sometimes, it’s the seventeen year-old girl who is the biggest douchebag in the room.

Let’s backtrack a bit. You see, sometime around Christmas, my teenage niece came to visit me in Paris. The unfortunate state of my love life being a family concern, she immediately began interrogating me on whether I was dating anybody at the moment. Luckily, I was ready, having prepared a perfectly decent option that I assumed would earn her approval and ensure a positive report back to the homeland. As usual, I thought wrong, which is how we arrived to the disaster that now goes down in history as the most awkward night of my life, aka the Date with the Old Flower.