Don’t Call Me Crazy (Unless It’s The Right Kind of Crazy)

Misery Loves Company · by Julia Reiss

Sometimes, a small man can make a smart woman do spectacularly stupid things. They might even fall under the “crazy” moniker, but more on that in a bit. I call it being “dick sick.” I wish there was a nicer way to put it, but decorum has no place in this kind of romantic fuckery. In one of my more recent dating disasters, I was so dick sick that I’m almost ashamed to tell you the ways in which I let this sorry excuse for a man take advantage of my heart, my home, and my wallet.

Smoshua and I met on one of those “exclusive” dating apps where douchebags are pre-selected for you—not that I have any problems doing that on my own. His name was obviously not Smoshua, but it rhymes with it, so you do the math. Smoshua (Smosh for short) hailed from Sydney and fancied himself a musician-cum-clothing designer. (Granted, he turned out to be neither of those things.) Anyway, I did a little digging on Smosh when we first matched—a 21st century woman ought to Google all her sexual partners, I believe. Everything seemed to be on the up-and-up, save for a few rogue Daily Mail articles about him and an heiress he used to date. Then again, it was the Daily fucking Mail. Fox does better reporting.

The Grinch that Steals Time (And Why You Should Get Rid Of Him)

Misery Loves Company · by Marina Khorosh

“He’s taking me out for dinner tomorrow!”

I leaped off my couch in the same animalistic way that my boyfriend does when Marseille scores. I had every reason to: one of my best girlfriends, known here as Loggy, was finally going to dinner with her Big Crush of 2018!

It had been a long time coming. You see, Mr. Big Crush happens to also be her colleague. Not a supervisor or subordinate, yet somebody she works with closely enough to place them in murky dating waters. They started chatting at her desk and between meetings, which then led to post-work happy hours, which then led to a three-hour pub lunch during one of the winter snowstorms. She was left with a crush that she harbored all through Spring. I was left doing a weekly evaluation of his behavior, which swung pendulum between friendly, mentor-like, and flirtatious, with no direct moves on his end.

Happiness is a Solitary Pursuit

Musings of the Mind · by Marina Khorosh

It was a Friday night and everybody in Paris had plans. At least, that’s what it felt like when I found out that my own coup de vin had been postponed.

On any other night, the cancellation would have been welcome news – a chance to binge-watch Money Heist, or read, or scour The Real Real for some mid-00’s Chloe. (You know those dresses that Nicky Hilton danced on tables in? I’m into that.) But that night was different. Due to an unprecedented heat wave, the entire city seemed to be out – together, in groups – cooling off by Canal Saint Martin with their Carrefour picnics, flirting over apéros, polluting the air with puffy clouds of cigarette smoke, one terrace at a time.

I scrolled through Instagram to confirm that all my 3^rddegree acquaintances were, indeed, living far cooler lives than myself. I stalked a girl I haven’t been friends with for a decade, but still like to regularly compare myself to. I considered ambushing my boyfriend from 400 miles away, but, in a rare moment of self-control, resisted.

Impossible Conversations: Moi vs. Motherhood

Musings of the Mind · by Marina Khorosh

Yesterday was Mother’s Day, an event I usually reserve merely for celebrating my own mother, the unsung hero. And yet, this year was different. Blame it on my ripe age or my atypically happy relationship status, but, this year, the entire Mother’s Day production somehow seemed bigger, brighter, more personal. Every man I saw navigating through Tribeca with a child and bouquet in hand seemed to speak directly to me, beckoning questions. Will it ever be me enjoying a Mother’s Day massage while my partner hunts down a decent bunch of peonies? If so, when?

It was a novel voice speaking, one that I am still quite unfamiliar with and don’t know how to include in the free-spirited chaos of the United States of Marina. And so, I decided to get to know it via a little admissions interview. Without further ado, here is a conversation between Marina, the responsibility-phobe who is happy living out of a suitcase, and Masha, the traditionalist who feels quite behind on the whole baby train and has emerged out of the woodwork to ruin my life.

In Defense of the French Man

Typecasting · by Marina Khorosh

A few years ago, when I was young and spewing generalizations like glitter dust, I penned this article about French men. It was a little stupid and oozing with clichés à la “French men don’t shower but are good in bed! Just hold your nose!” And yet, it somehow managed to climb the Google search rankings, sparking a mini-debate in the comments section that is sporadically enriched to this day. It appears that for every reader lamenting about her Frenchman dating nightmare, there is another one celebrating her French partner as God’s gift to the planet. Neither POV is wrong.

Since analyzing Frenchies is in the DNA of this blog, and because I have been dating one of them for seven months now (woohoo!), I feel like I have the moral obligation – and authority – to give you my updated assessment of the topic. If I sound biased at times, forgive me. Love makes you do crazy things, Frenchmen defense included.

1 Month off Sugar, Alcohol and Dating: The Diary

Misery Loves Company · by Marina Khorosh

Editor’s Note: As somebody who can’t scrape up enough willpower for a 1-day juice fast, I’m always impressed by people who can sustain self-inflicted torture for extended time periods. So, when I heard that a friend was planning a bona fide Cleanse Trifecta, in which she simultaneously ditches sugar, alcohol and dating, I begged her to keep a journal. One month later, the report is in!

Preparation

It’s all happening. I got my starter kit for this month-long cleanse called Isagenix, and now have a kitchen shelf stocked with powders and vitamins where Nutella used to be. It’s very depressing, but then I look at a photo of a friend lost 15 pounds on it – she looks great. I imagine fitting back into my old clothes… It will be worth it.

I take a deep breath, read the cleanse guide, weight myself and take measurements. FML, I’m a lot bigger than I thought I would be! Then again, I gain weight evenly, so I guess didn’t realize how much I had gained. Anyway, it is all going to be ok. In the next 30 days, I’m going to regain control of my body and my life. No alcohol, no sugar, and, in light of my recent dating history, no dating apps or men.

You see, I recently stopped seeing somebody and I’m still not over it. We were dating for 3 months and I ended it because I didn’t feel like he was ready for a relationship. Of course, I fully expected him to reach out a couple of weeks later to tell me I’m “the One”.. Well, that didn’t happen. Since then, I’ve been seeking solace in dating apps: Raya, Bumble, League.. I’m a junkie, and this addiction has to go too. I delete the apps and make myself a nice protein smoothie to celebrate.