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      string(70) "Top 5 Keywords That Cause Men To Get Rejected on Internet Dating sites"
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      string(374) "I know, I know — we all might be getting a tad bit cranky when it comes to Internet dating. It’s exhausting enough doing it, but it’s also exhausting hearing other people bitch about it. I hear you, I feel you, I totally get you, though I DO confess a slight, sick reverence for hearing other women’s tragic online-dating horror tales […]"
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I know, I know — we all might be getting a tad bit cranky when it comes to Internet dating. It’s exhausting enough doing it, but it’s also exhausting hearing other people bitch about it. I hear you, I feel you, I totally get you, though I DO confess a slight, sick reverence for hearing other women’s tragic online-dating horror tales — hey, at least I’m not alone, you know? (Don’t lie; it’s fun.)

Anyway, just when I’ve thrown my hands in the air and loudly proclaimed, “THAT’S IT FOREVER AND ALWAYS DERRRRR DUUUUDE I’M SO DONE,” another bizarre study is turned loose upon the media, unveiling shocking new truths about the perils of trying to sell your soul (i.e., attract a date) on the Web.

The Loveawake study reveals the odd bit of info that, in examining the profiles of 7,294 male daters who were rejected by ladies, the top 5 words the men’s profiles shared were “romantic,” “adventurous,” “fun,” “mature,” and “gentleman.” (All were adjectives the dudes used to describe themselves.)

Apparently, the term “romantic” made women vom the hardest (43 percent of the shunned men’s profiles contained that word), followed by “adventurous” (19 percent). “Fun” got 14 percent, “mature” earned 11, and “gentleman” came in at 10. But … Why did those particular keywords turn so many women off?

I’d venture to offer that it’s because they’re a bit … cliche. Women know when guys think they’re being all clever ‘n shit, spouting off exactly what they think we want to hear to help oh so subtly nudge us in the direction of getting naked, but the truth is … Most of them just don’t. (Truly know what we want to hear, I mean.) Proof: tossing around the word “romantic” like it’s their favorite new hobby.

I’m not saying that men can’t or shouldn’t be romantic — if they really, truly are. Most of us appreciate a bit of romance — I know I do, but only if it feels natural and sincere. Seeing “I’m a hopeless romantic!” on every other 30-something guy’s dating profile does not inspire confidence about the actual potential of said guys so much as it makes me feel like they’re feeding me sweet little lines.

I have no beef with the other words on the rejected list, though, and have no clue why they’d purportedly trigger women to recoil en masse. I can kind of see the ick factor in a guy describing himself as a “gentleman” — again with the cliches. But the rest of the descriptors seem pretty harmless, if a bit generic.

Here’s my personal list of 5 Internet-dating man-words (or man-phrases) that give me a legit case of the heebie-jeebies:

1. Massage (as in “I’m really good at massage, both giving and receiving.”)

2. Burning Man (as in that’s one of his main interests, or an overarching theme in his profile, or the dusty-hippie background of every single one of his photos)

3. “Making art” (as in … you get it)

4. “No TV” (as in ANY POSSIBLE VARIATION on the notion of being too cool/smart/busy for television, including the classic “I don’t have time for TV” or “I don’t own a TV” — please, for the love of Jesus, spare us)

5. Jesus (as in “I’ve accepted Jesus as my lord and savior.” I’d totally consider dating someone with different spiritual  beliefs, but no zealots, thx).

What dating keywords creep you out (online, or in real life)? Please discuss below.

Written by Laura B.

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I know, I know — we all might be getting a tad bit cranky when it comes to Internet dating. It’s exhausting enough doing it, but it’s also exhausting hearing other people bitch about it. I hear you, I feel you, I totally get you, though I DO confess a slight, sick reverence for hearing other women’s tragic online-dating horror tales — hey, at least I’m not alone, you know? (Don’t lie; it’s fun.)

Anyway, just when I’ve thrown my hands in the air and loudly proclaimed, “THAT’S IT FOREVER AND ALWAYS DERRRRR DUUUUDE I’M SO DONE,” another bizarre study is turned loose upon the media, unveiling shocking new truths about the perils of trying to sell your soul (i.e., attract a date) on the Web.

The Loveawake study reveals the odd bit of info that, in examining the profiles of 7,294 male daters who were rejected by ladies, the top 5 words the men’s profiles shared were “romantic,” “adventurous,” “fun,” “mature,” and “gentleman.” (All were adjectives the dudes used to describe themselves.)

Apparently, the term “romantic” made women vom the hardest (43 percent of the shunned men’s profiles contained that word), followed by “adventurous” (19 percent). “Fun” got 14 percent, “mature” earned 11, and “gentleman” came in at 10. But … Why did those particular keywords turn so many women off?

I’d venture to offer that it’s because they’re a bit … cliche. Women know when guys think they’re being all clever ‘n shit, spouting off exactly what they think we want to hear to help oh so subtly nudge us in the direction of getting naked, but the truth is … Most of them just don’t. (Truly know what we want to hear, I mean.) Proof: tossing around the word “romantic” like it’s their favorite new hobby.

I’m not saying that men can’t or shouldn’t be romantic — if they really, truly are. Most of us appreciate a bit of romance — I know I do, but only if it feels natural and sincere. Seeing “I’m a hopeless romantic!” on every other 30-something guy’s dating profile does not inspire confidence about the actual potential of said guys so much as it makes me feel like they’re feeding me sweet little lines.

I have no beef with the other words on the rejected list, though, and have no clue why they’d purportedly trigger women to recoil en masse. I can kind of see the ick factor in a guy describing himself as a “gentleman” — again with the cliches. But the rest of the descriptors seem pretty harmless, if a bit generic.

Here’s my personal list of 5 Internet-dating man-words (or man-phrases) that give me a legit case of the heebie-jeebies:

1. Massage (as in “I’m really good at massage, both giving and receiving.”)

2. Burning Man (as in that’s one of his main interests, or an overarching theme in his profile, or the dusty-hippie background of every single one of his photos)

3. “Making art” (as in … you get it)

4. “No TV” (as in ANY POSSIBLE VARIATION on the notion of being too cool/smart/busy for television, including the classic “I don’t have time for TV” or “I don’t own a TV” — please, for the love of Jesus, spare us)

5. Jesus (as in “I’ve accepted Jesus as my lord and savior.” I’d totally consider dating someone with different spiritual  beliefs, but no zealots, thx).

What dating keywords creep you out (online, or in real life)? Please discuss below.

Written by Laura B.

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590421534) } [1]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(73) "To the Guy Who Expressed His Love for Non-Black Women and Others Like Him" ["link"]=> string(112) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/to-the-guy-who-expressed-his-love-for-non-black-women-and-others-like-him/" ["comments"]=> string(120) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/to-the-guy-who-expressed-his-love-for-non-black-women-and-others-like-him/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 15:37:36 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(12) "Guest Author" } ["category"]=> string(44) "Relationship Adviceblackblack menblack women" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5054" ["description"]=> string(331) "About a month ago, I was on the tele with a male acquaintance. We were having a lighthearted discussion about dating, joking back and forth about why each other’s gender was to blame for all love woes. Then, he paused to make a serious point mid-conversation: “In my experiences, Latina women are really loyal though. […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(6335) "

About a month ago, I was on the tele with a male acquaintance. We were having a lighthearted discussion about dating, joking back and forth about why each other’s gender was to blame for all love woes. Then, he paused to make a serious point mid-conversation: “In my experiences, Latina women are really loyal though. Like, really loyal.” Hmmm, I thought to myself. Interesting. A few seconds later he made the infamous “And Black women be havin’ them attitudes” argument. I wasn’t offended in the slightest, but just fascinated at his and other (but not all) Black men’s logic supporting their appreciation for non-Black women.

I’m not one of those who get all bothered and tight when I see one of ours with not one of us. But I do find it a little odd and at times humorous when the reasons are “Black women nag too much,” “Y’all quick to run when things get bad,” etc. Every black woman has heard and can recite the 101 Reasons Why Black Women Aren’t Datable list. It always makes me chuckle a bit because every time I hear one of the justifications as to why my gorgeous range of vanilla to ebony-black sisters and I don’t meet some lost soul’s dating criteria, it’s complete and utter bull with no substantial backing. I have not the time to rebuttal each and every reason, but I do want to address our “attitude” and “disloyalty.”

What trips me about the words “nagging” and “attitude” is they’re usually said when we call you out for your questionable behavior: not coming home last night, frequent conversations on the statement from an unfamiliar number, slacking around the house. If I lose my cool after you accidentally pocket dial me while having a more than friendly conversation with another woman, that’s not nagging; that’s holding you accountable.

Black women birth Black men, we raise Black men, we grow up with and befriend Black men. We KNOW Black men! We can note the smallest nuances in your body language and voice and know when you’re telling the truth and when you’re B.S-ing. A woman of another makeup may believe that your phone died, you got drunk, and you passed out at Terrance’s house until 6 a.m. and not give you any flack for it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s not a nagger. It’s more than likely a matter of she doesn’t know you and your slick game the way your own does, so therefore she doesn’t know there’s cause for nagging—a.k.a hounding you until you provide an explanation that actually makes sense. Additionally, Black women are very expressive and are conditioned early on to be vocal and intolerant of disrespect. In a study by the Washington Post, Black women ranked higher than white women, Black men and white men when asked how much they valued being respected by others. We also outnumbered white women when asked if we strongly agree with the statement, “I see myself as someone who has high self-esteem.” In instances where non-Black women may let your slipups slide, our confidence and demand to be respected just won’t allow us to do the same.

As far as disloyalty is concerned, it always boggles my mind when you can even fix your lips to say such a thing. We’ve all personally known a significant number of black women who’ve supported and stood by their men through money lows, infidelity, and every other trial and tribulation imaginable. Even when we fly off at the mouth about how you hurt us once again, we stick around when “loyal” others would have long ago left the scene. We’re the same women who will single-handedly raise your estimated 5 million fatherless kids, and then encourage them to forgive you and cultivate a relationship when you decide to show up 20 years later. When a deranged neighborhood watchman or racist Ferguson police officer decides to murder you with no just cause, we’re the majority standing with you and rallying in the streets. Not the faces of your “loyal” Kardashian-esque gems, whose privilege, by the way, has them so out of touch that they genuinely see no harm in fiddling with their phones while the world aims to bring awareness to your injustice. Meanwhile, the only support you showed for mercilessly murdered Black women and Aiyana Jones was watching “Crooed Smile.” But we don’t trip about that though, because we, in all of our disloyalty, see the bigger picture and understand that in many social contexts, society has already served your plate a surplus of struggle.

I say all that to say, if you have a thing for non-Black women, cool. But don’t justify why by downplaying us. Just admit that your unaddressed issues of self-hate made you more inclined to value disproportionate beauty standards, or that you like being able to “do you” without someone constantly checking you, or whatever the reason may be. Yes, we have our issues, as do all women, as do you, as do all people. But the ones you so often speak of aren’t reflective of our shortcomings. Instead, they suggest that your vision has fell victim to society’s false depictions of our beauty and character attributes, which, ironically, you helped to birth and shape.

Written by Essence Gant

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(117) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/to-the-guy-who-expressed-his-love-for-non-black-women-and-others-like-him/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(331) "About a month ago, I was on the tele with a male acquaintance. We were having a lighthearted discussion about dating, joking back and forth about why each other’s gender was to blame for all love woes. Then, he paused to make a serious point mid-conversation: “In my experiences, Latina women are really loyal though. […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(6335) "

About a month ago, I was on the tele with a male acquaintance. We were having a lighthearted discussion about dating, joking back and forth about why each other’s gender was to blame for all love woes. Then, he paused to make a serious point mid-conversation: “In my experiences, Latina women are really loyal though. Like, really loyal.” Hmmm, I thought to myself. Interesting. A few seconds later he made the infamous “And Black women be havin’ them attitudes” argument. I wasn’t offended in the slightest, but just fascinated at his and other (but not all) Black men’s logic supporting their appreciation for non-Black women.

I’m not one of those who get all bothered and tight when I see one of ours with not one of us. But I do find it a little odd and at times humorous when the reasons are “Black women nag too much,” “Y’all quick to run when things get bad,” etc. Every black woman has heard and can recite the 101 Reasons Why Black Women Aren’t Datable list. It always makes me chuckle a bit because every time I hear one of the justifications as to why my gorgeous range of vanilla to ebony-black sisters and I don’t meet some lost soul’s dating criteria, it’s complete and utter bull with no substantial backing. I have not the time to rebuttal each and every reason, but I do want to address our “attitude” and “disloyalty.”

What trips me about the words “nagging” and “attitude” is they’re usually said when we call you out for your questionable behavior: not coming home last night, frequent conversations on the statement from an unfamiliar number, slacking around the house. If I lose my cool after you accidentally pocket dial me while having a more than friendly conversation with another woman, that’s not nagging; that’s holding you accountable.

Black women birth Black men, we raise Black men, we grow up with and befriend Black men. We KNOW Black men! We can note the smallest nuances in your body language and voice and know when you’re telling the truth and when you’re B.S-ing. A woman of another makeup may believe that your phone died, you got drunk, and you passed out at Terrance’s house until 6 a.m. and not give you any flack for it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s not a nagger. It’s more than likely a matter of she doesn’t know you and your slick game the way your own does, so therefore she doesn’t know there’s cause for nagging—a.k.a hounding you until you provide an explanation that actually makes sense. Additionally, Black women are very expressive and are conditioned early on to be vocal and intolerant of disrespect. In a study by the Washington Post, Black women ranked higher than white women, Black men and white men when asked how much they valued being respected by others. We also outnumbered white women when asked if we strongly agree with the statement, “I see myself as someone who has high self-esteem.” In instances where non-Black women may let your slipups slide, our confidence and demand to be respected just won’t allow us to do the same.

As far as disloyalty is concerned, it always boggles my mind when you can even fix your lips to say such a thing. We’ve all personally known a significant number of black women who’ve supported and stood by their men through money lows, infidelity, and every other trial and tribulation imaginable. Even when we fly off at the mouth about how you hurt us once again, we stick around when “loyal” others would have long ago left the scene. We’re the same women who will single-handedly raise your estimated 5 million fatherless kids, and then encourage them to forgive you and cultivate a relationship when you decide to show up 20 years later. When a deranged neighborhood watchman or racist Ferguson police officer decides to murder you with no just cause, we’re the majority standing with you and rallying in the streets. Not the faces of your “loyal” Kardashian-esque gems, whose privilege, by the way, has them so out of touch that they genuinely see no harm in fiddling with their phones while the world aims to bring awareness to your injustice. Meanwhile, the only support you showed for mercilessly murdered Black women and Aiyana Jones was watching “Crooed Smile.” But we don’t trip about that though, because we, in all of our disloyalty, see the bigger picture and understand that in many social contexts, society has already served your plate a surplus of struggle.

I say all that to say, if you have a thing for non-Black women, cool. But don’t justify why by downplaying us. Just admit that your unaddressed issues of self-hate made you more inclined to value disproportionate beauty standards, or that you like being able to “do you” without someone constantly checking you, or whatever the reason may be. Yes, we have our issues, as do all women, as do you, as do all people. But the ones you so often speak of aren’t reflective of our shortcomings. Instead, they suggest that your vision has fell victim to society’s false depictions of our beauty and character attributes, which, ironically, you helped to birth and shape.

Written by Essence Gant

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590421056) } [2]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(38) "Dreams Do Come True — So Be Specific" ["link"]=> string(73) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/dreams-do-come-true-so-be-specific/" ["comments"]=> string(81) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/dreams-do-come-true-so-be-specific/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 15:29:04 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(13) "J. T. Ellison" } ["category"]=> string(36) "Interestingbankersdreamsfall in love" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5051" ["description"]=> string(369) "I believe that what you think and feel is pushed out into the universe and subsequently repackaged in the form of either positive or negative outcomes. In popular culture, there’s the vague conviction that if you want something badly enough, or think about something often enough, it will eventually manifest. Unfortunately, when the manifestation doesn’t […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(3847) "

I believe that what you think and feel is pushed out into the universe and subsequently repackaged in the form of either positive or negative outcomes. In popular culture, there’s the vague conviction that if you want something badly enough, or think about something often enough, it will eventually manifest.

Unfortunately, when the manifestation doesn’t come as quickly as we’d like, it’s easy to get disheartened and feel like our energy has been wasted on a whole lot of wishful thinking. This is especially true when it comes to dating; it can get pretty damn tiring attempting to wish your love life into something fulfilling.

I felt this way not too long ago, after falling into a spat with a potential boo. We got into an emotionally draining disagreement that resulted in the decision to stop talking. Feeling low and needing something to hold on to, I came up with a random but seemingly substantial objective – to find myself an investment banker.

Of course, I wasn’t actually interested in romancing investment bankers – the corporate reality doesn’t jive with my hippie social justice lifestyle. But my spirits were in the trenches and dating an investment banker seemed unattainably fancy and luxurious, so I deemed it a suitable fantasy. Every time I started to feel sad about my dating situation, I would just tell myself it would all be okay – “I’ma date a sexy investment banker and live happily ever after.” It became an amusing self-care mantra.

Fast forward a few days after the initial lovers’ quarrel. I’m returning to my office from lunch, getting ready to walk through the turnstile, when a handsome, dark-skinned black man with a pageboy’s hat, a grey vest suit, and diamond-studded ears stops me.

“Excuse me,” he says, “I don’t mean to disturb you, but I wanted to tell you that I think you’re beautiful.”

Since he seems sincere and non-threatening, I smile and give him my thanks.

He continues, “Would you be willing to go to lunch with me, maybe right now, if you’re free?”

I tell him that I just got back from lunch; that we’re actually in front of my office, which I was just about to enter. “Oh,” he says, “I work just around the corner.”

Because he’s cute and gentlemanly enough, I indulge in the conversation and ask
the follow-up question, “Where do you work?”

“Morgan Stanley,” he smiles. “I’m an investment banker.”

Please imagine a thousand exclamation marks replacing the bulk of my brain cells as the concept of reality dissolves into an unproven theory. Did he just…but, did I just…but what?

“Oh,” I say. “That’s great.” In my head, I feel like I’m losing my mind. What was originally a silly joke to make myself feel better about a romance gone awry five days before had suddenly turned into tangible potential. The universe had actually sent me my investment banker.

Of course, because I’m a hippie social justice wonk who believes in the antithesis of everything he believed, it didn’t work out. We had coffee, to assure mutual attraction, and later a first date that went surprisingly well. We were intellectually matched with similar levels of drive and passion, but our values were polar opposites and I declined a second date (to his surprise, mind you).

However, despite the fact that it didn’t turn into a fairytale romance, I keep the experience close. It’s a great reminder that the universe truly does respond to what we think, and how often we think it.

I’ll just have to be more specific in the future.

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(78) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/dreams-do-come-true-so-be-specific/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(369) "I believe that what you think and feel is pushed out into the universe and subsequently repackaged in the form of either positive or negative outcomes. In popular culture, there’s the vague conviction that if you want something badly enough, or think about something often enough, it will eventually manifest. Unfortunately, when the manifestation doesn’t […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(3847) "

I believe that what you think and feel is pushed out into the universe and subsequently repackaged in the form of either positive or negative outcomes. In popular culture, there’s the vague conviction that if you want something badly enough, or think about something often enough, it will eventually manifest.

Unfortunately, when the manifestation doesn’t come as quickly as we’d like, it’s easy to get disheartened and feel like our energy has been wasted on a whole lot of wishful thinking. This is especially true when it comes to dating; it can get pretty damn tiring attempting to wish your love life into something fulfilling.

I felt this way not too long ago, after falling into a spat with a potential boo. We got into an emotionally draining disagreement that resulted in the decision to stop talking. Feeling low and needing something to hold on to, I came up with a random but seemingly substantial objective – to find myself an investment banker.

Of course, I wasn’t actually interested in romancing investment bankers – the corporate reality doesn’t jive with my hippie social justice lifestyle. But my spirits were in the trenches and dating an investment banker seemed unattainably fancy and luxurious, so I deemed it a suitable fantasy. Every time I started to feel sad about my dating situation, I would just tell myself it would all be okay – “I’ma date a sexy investment banker and live happily ever after.” It became an amusing self-care mantra.

Fast forward a few days after the initial lovers’ quarrel. I’m returning to my office from lunch, getting ready to walk through the turnstile, when a handsome, dark-skinned black man with a pageboy’s hat, a grey vest suit, and diamond-studded ears stops me.

“Excuse me,” he says, “I don’t mean to disturb you, but I wanted to tell you that I think you’re beautiful.”

Since he seems sincere and non-threatening, I smile and give him my thanks.

He continues, “Would you be willing to go to lunch with me, maybe right now, if you’re free?”

I tell him that I just got back from lunch; that we’re actually in front of my office, which I was just about to enter. “Oh,” he says, “I work just around the corner.”

Because he’s cute and gentlemanly enough, I indulge in the conversation and ask
the follow-up question, “Where do you work?”

“Morgan Stanley,” he smiles. “I’m an investment banker.”

Please imagine a thousand exclamation marks replacing the bulk of my brain cells as the concept of reality dissolves into an unproven theory. Did he just…but, did I just…but what?

“Oh,” I say. “That’s great.” In my head, I feel like I’m losing my mind. What was originally a silly joke to make myself feel better about a romance gone awry five days before had suddenly turned into tangible potential. The universe had actually sent me my investment banker.

Of course, because I’m a hippie social justice wonk who believes in the antithesis of everything he believed, it didn’t work out. We had coffee, to assure mutual attraction, and later a first date that went surprisingly well. We were intellectually matched with similar levels of drive and passion, but our values were polar opposites and I declined a second date (to his surprise, mind you).

However, despite the fact that it didn’t turn into a fairytale romance, I keep the experience close. It’s a great reminder that the universe truly does respond to what we think, and how often we think it.

I’ll just have to be more specific in the future.

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590420544) } [3]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(85) "Why “Come Over and Chill” is Not an Appropriate First (or Second…or Third) Date" ["link"]=> string(113) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/why-come-over-and-chill-is-not-an-appropriate-first-or-secondor-third-date/" ["comments"]=> string(121) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/why-come-over-and-chill-is-not-an-appropriate-first-or-secondor-third-date/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 15:13:12 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(12) "Guest Author" } ["category"]=> string(49) "Dating Adviceadvicedatingrelationshipssecond date" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5048" ["description"]=> string(313) "So Mr. Handsome passed the tests of eligible bachelorism and has asked you out on your first date in…God knows how long. As the conversation proceeds, and your head is filled with images of an intimate candlelit dinner a la Lady and the Tramp (hopefully he’ll use a fork rather than his nose to feed […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(4014) "

So Mr. Handsome passed the tests of eligible bachelorism and has asked you out on your first date in…God knows how long. As the conversation proceeds, and your head is filled with images of an intimate candlelit dinner a la Lady and the Tramp (hopefully he’ll use a fork rather than his nose to feed you that last meatball). As the lust-filled fantasy fades, you hear, “So you wanna come over and chill?” Screech! Pump your brakes, playboy. While it might be easy to accommodate his lack of prep and planning, here’s why you should say “nah” (insert meme here) when approached with such an…enticing offer.

It’s Lazy.

Part of the excitement of the first few dates is knowing that someone was interested enough in your to think and plan some ways to spend time together. If all he comes up with is, “Let’s chill…” Talk about a major let-down. With all relationships, effort is a must — from both parties. But if he’s not even putting the effort in to treat you special from the get-go, it’s probably not going to change. He doesn’t want to work for it. He doesn’t want to earn your heart. He’s not worth it. Sorry.

It’s Lame.

Some men might use the excuse that they’re broke. Don’t fall for it. There are so many ways to get to know each other that don’t involved a darkened crib. Tell him to grab a blanket, make some sandwiches and take you on a picnic. Or go for a bike ride. Or, in chillier months, if he’s got a couple bucks, go ice-skating. Do something. But don’t do “chilling.” If he does it right, the two of you will have years and years to chill on the couch.

It’s Inconsiderate

Why should anyone assume that your idea of a “getting-to-know-you” date involves an old couch, Redbox and some snacks — if you’re lucky? He got you to say yes. But then he’s going to potentially ruin it by not considering you when it comes to planning something for the two of you to do. Hell, if he can’t think of anything — because let’s face it, men are not the best planners — at the very least he can talk with you about it to get a feel for your likes and dislikes. After all, this date includes both of you, right?

Harpo, Who Dis Man?

So you’ve had a couple of hours-long phone and Skype conversations. Do you really know this dude from Adam? No! If you’ve seen For Colored Girls, you know exactly what can happen if you choose to trust a man before you know who you’re dealing with. Not just that, but it’s good to see upfront how a man acts in public. If he’s blowing his nose at the table and chewing with his mouth open, or if every girl you pass on the street seems to know his name, you know you have some thinking to do before taking it further (and, um, I’m being polite here. You should run. Like now.)

You Deserve Better.

Point, blank and the period. You’re a lady. So demand to be treated like one. Because if you start off a potential relationship expecting and accepting sub-par treatment, that’s exactly what you’re going to receive. And that’s not fair. And it’s downright disrespectful. How you start off is how you’ll continue, so train him early (yeah, I said it) to respect your body, your time and you as a woman and potential mate. That way you won’t be stuck six months down the line whining, “We never go anywhere! You never take me out!” Ugh. You’ll hate yourself and resent him. And why in the world would he do that now when you weren’t demanding that from the very beginning? Don’t get hit with the okie-doke, ladies. Don’t settle for a little when you deserve it all.

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(118) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/why-come-over-and-chill-is-not-an-appropriate-first-or-secondor-third-date/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(313) "So Mr. Handsome passed the tests of eligible bachelorism and has asked you out on your first date in…God knows how long. As the conversation proceeds, and your head is filled with images of an intimate candlelit dinner a la Lady and the Tramp (hopefully he’ll use a fork rather than his nose to feed […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(4014) "

So Mr. Handsome passed the tests of eligible bachelorism and has asked you out on your first date in…God knows how long. As the conversation proceeds, and your head is filled with images of an intimate candlelit dinner a la Lady and the Tramp (hopefully he’ll use a fork rather than his nose to feed you that last meatball). As the lust-filled fantasy fades, you hear, “So you wanna come over and chill?” Screech! Pump your brakes, playboy. While it might be easy to accommodate his lack of prep and planning, here’s why you should say “nah” (insert meme here) when approached with such an…enticing offer.

It’s Lazy.

Part of the excitement of the first few dates is knowing that someone was interested enough in your to think and plan some ways to spend time together. If all he comes up with is, “Let’s chill…” Talk about a major let-down. With all relationships, effort is a must — from both parties. But if he’s not even putting the effort in to treat you special from the get-go, it’s probably not going to change. He doesn’t want to work for it. He doesn’t want to earn your heart. He’s not worth it. Sorry.

It’s Lame.

Some men might use the excuse that they’re broke. Don’t fall for it. There are so many ways to get to know each other that don’t involved a darkened crib. Tell him to grab a blanket, make some sandwiches and take you on a picnic. Or go for a bike ride. Or, in chillier months, if he’s got a couple bucks, go ice-skating. Do something. But don’t do “chilling.” If he does it right, the two of you will have years and years to chill on the couch.

It’s Inconsiderate

Why should anyone assume that your idea of a “getting-to-know-you” date involves an old couch, Redbox and some snacks — if you’re lucky? He got you to say yes. But then he’s going to potentially ruin it by not considering you when it comes to planning something for the two of you to do. Hell, if he can’t think of anything — because let’s face it, men are not the best planners — at the very least he can talk with you about it to get a feel for your likes and dislikes. After all, this date includes both of you, right?

Harpo, Who Dis Man?

So you’ve had a couple of hours-long phone and Skype conversations. Do you really know this dude from Adam? No! If you’ve seen For Colored Girls, you know exactly what can happen if you choose to trust a man before you know who you’re dealing with. Not just that, but it’s good to see upfront how a man acts in public. If he’s blowing his nose at the table and chewing with his mouth open, or if every girl you pass on the street seems to know his name, you know you have some thinking to do before taking it further (and, um, I’m being polite here. You should run. Like now.)

You Deserve Better.

Point, blank and the period. You’re a lady. So demand to be treated like one. Because if you start off a potential relationship expecting and accepting sub-par treatment, that’s exactly what you’re going to receive. And that’s not fair. And it’s downright disrespectful. How you start off is how you’ll continue, so train him early (yeah, I said it) to respect your body, your time and you as a woman and potential mate. That way you won’t be stuck six months down the line whining, “We never go anywhere! You never take me out!” Ugh. You’ll hate yourself and resent him. And why in the world would he do that now when you weren’t demanding that from the very beginning? Don’t get hit with the okie-doke, ladies. Don’t settle for a little when you deserve it all.

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590419592) } [4]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(29) "I Am Not Your Cool Girlfriend" ["link"]=> string(68) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/i-am-not-your-cool-girlfriend/" ["comments"]=> string(76) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/i-am-not-your-cool-girlfriend/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 14:56:48 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(12) "Guest Author" } ["category"]=> string(75) "Relationship Adviceboundariescool girlsdatinggirlfriendskeeping it reallove" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5044" ["description"]=> string(279) "I feel bad about my body a lot. I will try not to talk about it too much, but if we are together for like a year I’m probably eventually going to say something about how fat I feel. I am not that laid-back. Don’t get me wrong; I am easy-going about a lot of […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(7809) "

I feel bad about my body a lot. I will try not to talk about it too much, but if we are together for like a year I’m probably eventually going to say something about how fat I feel.

I am not that laid-back.

Don’t get me wrong; I am easy-going about a lot of important relationship things. I don’t care what you wear when we go out or if you want to watch sports on the TV. I will even think it’s fun to root for your team. But I am not into sports — I will probably just read a magazine while the game is on, since the alternative is staring blankly at the moving figures without actually comprehending anything that is happening, like how I watch reality shows I’ve never seen before on mute at the nail salon.

So I am kind of laid-back. But I am not like, guy laid-back. I’m sensitive. I have a lot of feelings about things. I cry so much — like if we are having a fight, I will probably start crying because I cry when I am angry. I have severe depression and anxiety and I am a recovering alcoholic and addict and bulimic and I have to manage these conditions with medication and therapy and support groups. I have been raped. My childhood was not that good. I get sad sometimes. I have panic attacks. I get overwhelmed.

I am pretty sane and stable these days, but being with me is not like being with a girl with like, a really nice Dad who calls her sometimes. I am damaged goods.

I get REALLY CRAZY on my period. I won’t know why I’m really crazy, either, and I will think it is your fault and I will probably get super-mad at you about something that makes no sense. I’ll apologize in a few days when my hormones settle.

More superficially, I watch every singing show competition that comes on the television. These shows, the singing ones, make me happier than almost anything else, sorry. I like to rent romantic comedies on demand. I really do eat the ice cream right out of the tub like in one of those movies.

I own a copy of “The Rules” and I kind of believe in it.

In the beginning of a relationship, I think a lot about our text messages. I craft mine, and I dissect yours. I read them to friends. I try to wait several days to text you back sometimes, no matter how many things I want to tell you. I try not to seem too available, even when I am completely available. Eventually, I text you “k” instead of just telling you I am super freaking mad at you. I say “Everything’s fine” when it obviously isn’t.

I feel bad about my body a lot. I will try not to talk about it too much, but if we are together for like a year I’m probably eventually going to say something about how fat I feel and it will be very uncool.

I have food issues. I cannot just scarf down a cheeseburger and fries on our date and also stay reasonably thin. I may feel bad about myself after eating that meal, or I may have to go to the gym or eat just a Lean Cuisine the next day, even though one of my co-workers will invariably go “Mmmmm, that smells so good!” and I will want to punch them because “Screw this diet food.”

Alternatively, I don’t really want to eat this kale salad you suggested as an appetizer on our date. I mean, it’s fine. I’ll take a bite. But I’m not like “Oh, yes, let’s definitely get the kale salad. That sounds delish. Is it ramp season?” I don’t know what a ramp even is.

I am not equally comfortable in an evening gown as I am in a T-shirt and jeans. Can’t a bitch specialize?

I am not the girl next door. Why don’t you go over to her house if that’s what you’re into? She’s close.

I don’t wear sensible shoes. I will probably want to take a cab from one destination to the next instead of that romantic stroll you suggested, because my feet hurt. I am not a “natural beauty.” I don’t care if you think that I don’t “need” all this make-up. I don’t need pizza either, but I eat it a lot, because I like it.

My lipstick is going to get on your face when we make out.

I don’t want to talk about pooping and farting. I mean, if couples are together for a real long time, eventually they will fart in front of each other and talk about poop. But I’m not one of those women who finds farting lol hilarious. I definitely do not like to talk about my own farts, as my number one priority in life is being at all times sexually appealing, which I cannot reconcile with passing gas.

If we run into a girl you used to have sex with out at the bar and when I go to the bathroom, she shows you her vibrating tongue stud, I do not think that is totally fine. I might want to have a threesome sometime, but probably not as much as you do. I am not always in the mood to give you blowjobs because I just loooooove them so much. I am sometimes just tired and I don’t want to do anything at all, although it’s OK with me if you just kind of do your thing next to me in bed.

When you are out having dinner with your ex-girlfriend, I am wondering if you are having sex with her. If you are out on the town with the guys, I am wondering if you are drunk and talking to a cute girl and maybe touching her shoulder a little too much and possibly later having sex with her. If you are out of town on a business trip and staying in a hotel room…well, you get the idea.

I don’t drink beer, or anything else alcoholic for that matter. Additionally, I really need there to be soda anywhere where we are or I will get legitimately a little weepy. I need to eat on a regular basis or I get exceptionally cranky.

I haven’t played a video game since college. I haven’t seen “Star Wars.” I’m not really interested in changing that. I don’t want to ride a bike or go on a run with you. I don’t like to sweat on dates in general. I like to look pretty and smell good and sit down on dates mostly. And not walk too much, because like I said before, my feet hurt.

I don’t really care where we eat tonight. I know you just want me to make a choice, but seriously, whatever you want is “Fine.” Oh, and I don’t cook anything. Don’t want to learn how. Cooking sucks.

Cool girls never get angry and set boundaries. I don’t always, either. I still want to flip the channel really fast if you walk in when I am watching “Sex and the City.” I still want to deflect if you ask me what I am reading and it’s something with a pink cover. I sometimes still say things like, “I don’t mind if you have sex with other people,” because I am scared you are going to anyway and I’d rather just know about it from the get-go.

But I guess that’s why I’m writing this piece. Because being the cool girlfriend? Really doesn’t feel that cool.

Written by Emily

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(73) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/i-am-not-your-cool-girlfriend/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(279) "I feel bad about my body a lot. I will try not to talk about it too much, but if we are together for like a year I’m probably eventually going to say something about how fat I feel. I am not that laid-back. Don’t get me wrong; I am easy-going about a lot of […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(7809) "

I feel bad about my body a lot. I will try not to talk about it too much, but if we are together for like a year I’m probably eventually going to say something about how fat I feel.

I am not that laid-back.

Don’t get me wrong; I am easy-going about a lot of important relationship things. I don’t care what you wear when we go out or if you want to watch sports on the TV. I will even think it’s fun to root for your team. But I am not into sports — I will probably just read a magazine while the game is on, since the alternative is staring blankly at the moving figures without actually comprehending anything that is happening, like how I watch reality shows I’ve never seen before on mute at the nail salon.

So I am kind of laid-back. But I am not like, guy laid-back. I’m sensitive. I have a lot of feelings about things. I cry so much — like if we are having a fight, I will probably start crying because I cry when I am angry. I have severe depression and anxiety and I am a recovering alcoholic and addict and bulimic and I have to manage these conditions with medication and therapy and support groups. I have been raped. My childhood was not that good. I get sad sometimes. I have panic attacks. I get overwhelmed.

I am pretty sane and stable these days, but being with me is not like being with a girl with like, a really nice Dad who calls her sometimes. I am damaged goods.

I get REALLY CRAZY on my period. I won’t know why I’m really crazy, either, and I will think it is your fault and I will probably get super-mad at you about something that makes no sense. I’ll apologize in a few days when my hormones settle.

More superficially, I watch every singing show competition that comes on the television. These shows, the singing ones, make me happier than almost anything else, sorry. I like to rent romantic comedies on demand. I really do eat the ice cream right out of the tub like in one of those movies.

I own a copy of “The Rules” and I kind of believe in it.

In the beginning of a relationship, I think a lot about our text messages. I craft mine, and I dissect yours. I read them to friends. I try to wait several days to text you back sometimes, no matter how many things I want to tell you. I try not to seem too available, even when I am completely available. Eventually, I text you “k” instead of just telling you I am super freaking mad at you. I say “Everything’s fine” when it obviously isn’t.

I feel bad about my body a lot. I will try not to talk about it too much, but if we are together for like a year I’m probably eventually going to say something about how fat I feel and it will be very uncool.

I have food issues. I cannot just scarf down a cheeseburger and fries on our date and also stay reasonably thin. I may feel bad about myself after eating that meal, or I may have to go to the gym or eat just a Lean Cuisine the next day, even though one of my co-workers will invariably go “Mmmmm, that smells so good!” and I will want to punch them because “Screw this diet food.”

Alternatively, I don’t really want to eat this kale salad you suggested as an appetizer on our date. I mean, it’s fine. I’ll take a bite. But I’m not like “Oh, yes, let’s definitely get the kale salad. That sounds delish. Is it ramp season?” I don’t know what a ramp even is.

I am not equally comfortable in an evening gown as I am in a T-shirt and jeans. Can’t a bitch specialize?

I am not the girl next door. Why don’t you go over to her house if that’s what you’re into? She’s close.

I don’t wear sensible shoes. I will probably want to take a cab from one destination to the next instead of that romantic stroll you suggested, because my feet hurt. I am not a “natural beauty.” I don’t care if you think that I don’t “need” all this make-up. I don’t need pizza either, but I eat it a lot, because I like it.

My lipstick is going to get on your face when we make out.

I don’t want to talk about pooping and farting. I mean, if couples are together for a real long time, eventually they will fart in front of each other and talk about poop. But I’m not one of those women who finds farting lol hilarious. I definitely do not like to talk about my own farts, as my number one priority in life is being at all times sexually appealing, which I cannot reconcile with passing gas.

If we run into a girl you used to have sex with out at the bar and when I go to the bathroom, she shows you her vibrating tongue stud, I do not think that is totally fine. I might want to have a threesome sometime, but probably not as much as you do. I am not always in the mood to give you blowjobs because I just loooooove them so much. I am sometimes just tired and I don’t want to do anything at all, although it’s OK with me if you just kind of do your thing next to me in bed.

When you are out having dinner with your ex-girlfriend, I am wondering if you are having sex with her. If you are out on the town with the guys, I am wondering if you are drunk and talking to a cute girl and maybe touching her shoulder a little too much and possibly later having sex with her. If you are out of town on a business trip and staying in a hotel room…well, you get the idea.

I don’t drink beer, or anything else alcoholic for that matter. Additionally, I really need there to be soda anywhere where we are or I will get legitimately a little weepy. I need to eat on a regular basis or I get exceptionally cranky.

I haven’t played a video game since college. I haven’t seen “Star Wars.” I’m not really interested in changing that. I don’t want to ride a bike or go on a run with you. I don’t like to sweat on dates in general. I like to look pretty and smell good and sit down on dates mostly. And not walk too much, because like I said before, my feet hurt.

I don’t really care where we eat tonight. I know you just want me to make a choice, but seriously, whatever you want is “Fine.” Oh, and I don’t cook anything. Don’t want to learn how. Cooking sucks.

Cool girls never get angry and set boundaries. I don’t always, either. I still want to flip the channel really fast if you walk in when I am watching “Sex and the City.” I still want to deflect if you ask me what I am reading and it’s something with a pink cover. I sometimes still say things like, “I don’t mind if you have sex with other people,” because I am scared you are going to anyway and I’d rather just know about it from the get-go.

But I guess that’s why I’m writing this piece. Because being the cool girlfriend? Really doesn’t feel that cool.

Written by Emily

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590418608) } [5]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(77) "So My Ex-Husband Is Coming To Stay With Me (And My Boyfriend) For The Weekend" ["link"]=> string(114) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/so-my-ex-husband-is-coming-to-stay-with-me-and-my-boyfriend-for-the-weekend/" ["comments"]=> string(122) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/so-my-ex-husband-is-coming-to-stay-with-me-and-my-boyfriend-for-the-weekend/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 14:30:24 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(12) "Guest Author" } ["category"]=> string(43) "Love & Sexex-husbandsexeslovenew boyfriends" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5040" ["description"]=> string(298) "Some people think it’s bizarre; others call it modern or mature. You might think I’m crazy. Or very “modern.” But in a few days I will go to the airport, pick up my ex-husband, and let him crash on my sofa while he attends a conference here in L.A. Oh, and my boyfriend lives with […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(5275) "

Some people think it’s bizarre; others call it modern or mature.

You might think I’m crazy. Or very “modern.” But in a few days I will go to the airport, pick up my ex-husband, and let him crash on my sofa while he attends a conference here in L.A.

Oh, and my boyfriend lives with me. In fact, they are old friends.

Ed* and I were married for twelve years. I thought we would have children and grow old together. We were both shattered in our own ways when we realized that wasn’t going to happen, and a divorce was imminent.

Ironically, I met my boyfriend, Brent, through my ex-husband. They were in the same master’s degree program, and Brent used to come over and work on projects at our house, stay for dinner, and watch movies with us. Let me be clear: there was no sexual attraction between Brent and I during my marriage. But, of all my husband’s friends, he was the one I got along with best.

After a while, post-divorce, I felt ready to date, and decided to do the Loveawake.com thing. Without going into the whole sordid story (I’ll save that for another time) suffice it to say that what started out as a wonderful, promising relationship with Mr. Match ended in heartbreak and betrayal when, after he unexpectedly cancelled a romantic weekend away, I found his Loveawake profile up again online, with those four little words scrawled in green across the screen, “Active Within 3 Days.”

After a few months of clinical depression, Abilify, and therapy, I felt functional enough to throw myself a 39th birthday party, the first in my new place.

I invited Brent. I wasn’t thinking romantic. But, out of all of my ex-husband’s grad school crew he was the only one I felt I knew well enough to invite. There were other guys at the party I know were interested in me. And that felt good. But, when Brent said goodbye to me that night, there was a lingering hug. Hmmm. Neither of us really wanted to let go of each other.

We started hanging out as friends. Going to movies, seeing plays. And, unlike the guys on Loveawake or other suitors, I had known Brent for seven years! There’s an innate trust in that. It happened organically, and came as a surprise to both of us.

About a month into our new relationship, we ran into some mutual friends of Brent and Ed’s at “Book of Mormon.” We were outed: soon the news would break on the rumor mill, and we didn’t want that to be the way Ed found out about us. Since we were all still very amicable, we felt that–even if we didn’t owe him an explanation–it was the right thing to do.

I volunteered to break the news to Ed, but Brent said he would tell him, in a man-to-man we’re both adults here kind of way.

It did not go over well.

But, that was one year ago, and since then Ed has come around. After giving it some time, and, especially considering his knowledge of what Mr. Match put me through, Ed says he now feels glad that I’m with someone he knows is a good man, and is happy for us.

A few months ago, the true test of friendship happened when Ed came to Los Angeles. He had a hotel room and a rental car, and while Brent was fine with me having lunch with Ed, and fine with meeting him separately for drinks, I wasn’t sure any of us were fine with all of us being in the same room together. It would just be too weird.

Yet, that’s exactly what happened. And you know what? It wasn’t that weird!

It was my ex-husband’s idea. He asked if we both wanted to hang out on his last night in town, and I left it up to Brent. He said sure, and Ed came over for dinner. You can bet there was a bottle of wine to sooth everyone’s nerves. But after some initial awkwardness, it wasn’t long before we were catching each other up on news of mutual friends, who had seen what movie, and generally enjoying each other’s company.

Fast-forward a few months. My ex is headed into town again for a conference, but this time asked if he could stay with us. I was comfortable with it: maybe I was once married to him, but he’s become the brother I never had. I left it up to Brent, who said “cool.”

So, the visit is soon upon us: Ed flies in this weekend. Will I (or any of us) regret it? Only time will tell.

I have the best of all worlds: the friendship of the person I loved enough to marry, the love of my boyfriend, and the happiness knowing our relationship didn’t come between two old friends. Essentially, we’re all still friends. Some people think it’s bizarre; others call it modern or mature. Whatever it is, I’m thankful for it.

*For privacy reasons, some names in this piece have been changed.

Written by Sarah F.

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(119) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/so-my-ex-husband-is-coming-to-stay-with-me-and-my-boyfriend-for-the-weekend/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(298) "Some people think it’s bizarre; others call it modern or mature. You might think I’m crazy. Or very “modern.” But in a few days I will go to the airport, pick up my ex-husband, and let him crash on my sofa while he attends a conference here in L.A. Oh, and my boyfriend lives with […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(5275) "

Some people think it’s bizarre; others call it modern or mature.

You might think I’m crazy. Or very “modern.” But in a few days I will go to the airport, pick up my ex-husband, and let him crash on my sofa while he attends a conference here in L.A.

Oh, and my boyfriend lives with me. In fact, they are old friends.

Ed* and I were married for twelve years. I thought we would have children and grow old together. We were both shattered in our own ways when we realized that wasn’t going to happen, and a divorce was imminent.

Ironically, I met my boyfriend, Brent, through my ex-husband. They were in the same master’s degree program, and Brent used to come over and work on projects at our house, stay for dinner, and watch movies with us. Let me be clear: there was no sexual attraction between Brent and I during my marriage. But, of all my husband’s friends, he was the one I got along with best.

After a while, post-divorce, I felt ready to date, and decided to do the Loveawake.com thing. Without going into the whole sordid story (I’ll save that for another time) suffice it to say that what started out as a wonderful, promising relationship with Mr. Match ended in heartbreak and betrayal when, after he unexpectedly cancelled a romantic weekend away, I found his Loveawake profile up again online, with those four little words scrawled in green across the screen, “Active Within 3 Days.”

After a few months of clinical depression, Abilify, and therapy, I felt functional enough to throw myself a 39th birthday party, the first in my new place.

I invited Brent. I wasn’t thinking romantic. But, out of all of my ex-husband’s grad school crew he was the only one I felt I knew well enough to invite. There were other guys at the party I know were interested in me. And that felt good. But, when Brent said goodbye to me that night, there was a lingering hug. Hmmm. Neither of us really wanted to let go of each other.

We started hanging out as friends. Going to movies, seeing plays. And, unlike the guys on Loveawake or other suitors, I had known Brent for seven years! There’s an innate trust in that. It happened organically, and came as a surprise to both of us.

About a month into our new relationship, we ran into some mutual friends of Brent and Ed’s at “Book of Mormon.” We were outed: soon the news would break on the rumor mill, and we didn’t want that to be the way Ed found out about us. Since we were all still very amicable, we felt that–even if we didn’t owe him an explanation–it was the right thing to do.

I volunteered to break the news to Ed, but Brent said he would tell him, in a man-to-man we’re both adults here kind of way.

It did not go over well.

But, that was one year ago, and since then Ed has come around. After giving it some time, and, especially considering his knowledge of what Mr. Match put me through, Ed says he now feels glad that I’m with someone he knows is a good man, and is happy for us.

A few months ago, the true test of friendship happened when Ed came to Los Angeles. He had a hotel room and a rental car, and while Brent was fine with me having lunch with Ed, and fine with meeting him separately for drinks, I wasn’t sure any of us were fine with all of us being in the same room together. It would just be too weird.

Yet, that’s exactly what happened. And you know what? It wasn’t that weird!

It was my ex-husband’s idea. He asked if we both wanted to hang out on his last night in town, and I left it up to Brent. He said sure, and Ed came over for dinner. You can bet there was a bottle of wine to sooth everyone’s nerves. But after some initial awkwardness, it wasn’t long before we were catching each other up on news of mutual friends, who had seen what movie, and generally enjoying each other’s company.

Fast-forward a few months. My ex is headed into town again for a conference, but this time asked if he could stay with us. I was comfortable with it: maybe I was once married to him, but he’s become the brother I never had. I left it up to Brent, who said “cool.”

So, the visit is soon upon us: Ed flies in this weekend. Will I (or any of us) regret it? Only time will tell.

I have the best of all worlds: the friendship of the person I loved enough to marry, the love of my boyfriend, and the happiness knowing our relationship didn’t come between two old friends. Essentially, we’re all still friends. Some people think it’s bizarre; others call it modern or mature. Whatever it is, I’m thankful for it.

*For privacy reasons, some names in this piece have been changed.

Written by Sarah F.

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590417024) } [6]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(68) "Women Fashion Mistakes: Things Women Rock that We Wish They Didn’t" ["link"]=> string(103) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/women-fashion-mistakes-things-women-rock-that-we-wish-they-didnt/" ["comments"]=> string(111) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/women-fashion-mistakes-things-women-rock-that-we-wish-they-didnt/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 14:02:25 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(9) "Alex Wise" } ["category"]=> string(26) "Interestingfashionmistakes" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5036" ["description"]=> string(282) "We recently addressed some of the things that women do to attract men. I’m sure we could have come up with a list miles long. Now, its time to address some of the things women rock that absolutely have to go! Come on now ladies, we have to step our games up and not fall […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(3351) "

We recently addressed some of the things that women do to attract men. I’m sure we could have come up with a list miles long. Now, its time to address some of the things women rock that absolutely have to go! Come on now ladies, we have to step our games up and not fall victim to some of these fashion and beauty no-nos.

Ladies, what female trends and looks do you wish would die? Fellas, feel free to chime in!

Matchy-Matchy:

I was shopping in the mall the other day, and this woman came up to me and asked whether the dress she picked out went with the shoes she had. Both the dress and the shoes were a loud cheetah print that matched perfectly. Eeeek! I looked at her garments and her ready-to-buy expression, and decided I would be honest with her. Just because you’re wearing a printed dress does not mean you need to be on a wild goose chase for the exact printed shoe. It’s doing too much.

Loud Streaks:

Subtle highlights can really add warmth to a woman’s face. However, harsh, overdone streaks throughout all of your hair just look tacky. If you’re not an expert on hair dying and coloring, leave it to an expert.

Nails Too Long:

If you’re going to wear tips on your nails, please get a realistic nail length. There is no reason for your nails to be curling over your fingers. Natural-looking nails are in and should be embraced. What’s even worse is when women get long nails and put elaborate and might I add ghetto designs on each nail. Not. A. Good. Look.

Hair NOT Done:

I know there are constant debates and arguments among black women about hair. The truth is we need to spend less time discussing whose hair is better, and more time caring for our own hair, whether it be natural, weave, permed, ect. #TeamNatural may be exempt from the many hair issues that plague women who wear weaves and/or lacefronts, but don’t be fooled. Women who go out the house with dry, unkempt natural hair are just as bad as those women who step out the house trying to blend curly edges with straight yaki weave. Ladies, just be conscientious of your hair, and keep it looking right no matter how you choose to style it. Walking out the house with a H.A.M on your head is unforgivable.

FAKE Designer Bags:

So, we’ve all been approached by sketchy street vendors who promise to sell new Gucci and Louis Vuitton purses. Fine. Some of these “designer” bags may look so much like the real thing that it could even fool the designer. Fine. However, some of these bags are not fooling anyone. For instance the fake Chanel bags with “G’s” on them instead of the classic Chanel “C’s”, and the “Gucci” purses adorned with cheap plastic-like decals. A blind man can tell that these bags are not the real deal.

Ghostly Make-Up:

I know foundation can be a hard thing to find when you’re a woman of a darker complexion. However there are many places that will match your makeup for you. There is nothing worse than a woman wearing make-up that is too light for her face.

I could go on with this list forever, but I want to hear what you think. What things do other women rock that you really wish they didn’t?

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(108) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/women-fashion-mistakes-things-women-rock-that-we-wish-they-didnt/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(282) "We recently addressed some of the things that women do to attract men. I’m sure we could have come up with a list miles long. Now, its time to address some of the things women rock that absolutely have to go! Come on now ladies, we have to step our games up and not fall […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(3351) "

We recently addressed some of the things that women do to attract men. I’m sure we could have come up with a list miles long. Now, its time to address some of the things women rock that absolutely have to go! Come on now ladies, we have to step our games up and not fall victim to some of these fashion and beauty no-nos.

Ladies, what female trends and looks do you wish would die? Fellas, feel free to chime in!

Matchy-Matchy:

I was shopping in the mall the other day, and this woman came up to me and asked whether the dress she picked out went with the shoes she had. Both the dress and the shoes were a loud cheetah print that matched perfectly. Eeeek! I looked at her garments and her ready-to-buy expression, and decided I would be honest with her. Just because you’re wearing a printed dress does not mean you need to be on a wild goose chase for the exact printed shoe. It’s doing too much.

Loud Streaks:

Subtle highlights can really add warmth to a woman’s face. However, harsh, overdone streaks throughout all of your hair just look tacky. If you’re not an expert on hair dying and coloring, leave it to an expert.

Nails Too Long:

If you’re going to wear tips on your nails, please get a realistic nail length. There is no reason for your nails to be curling over your fingers. Natural-looking nails are in and should be embraced. What’s even worse is when women get long nails and put elaborate and might I add ghetto designs on each nail. Not. A. Good. Look.

Hair NOT Done:

I know there are constant debates and arguments among black women about hair. The truth is we need to spend less time discussing whose hair is better, and more time caring for our own hair, whether it be natural, weave, permed, ect. #TeamNatural may be exempt from the many hair issues that plague women who wear weaves and/or lacefronts, but don’t be fooled. Women who go out the house with dry, unkempt natural hair are just as bad as those women who step out the house trying to blend curly edges with straight yaki weave. Ladies, just be conscientious of your hair, and keep it looking right no matter how you choose to style it. Walking out the house with a H.A.M on your head is unforgivable.

FAKE Designer Bags:

So, we’ve all been approached by sketchy street vendors who promise to sell new Gucci and Louis Vuitton purses. Fine. Some of these “designer” bags may look so much like the real thing that it could even fool the designer. Fine. However, some of these bags are not fooling anyone. For instance the fake Chanel bags with “G’s” on them instead of the classic Chanel “C’s”, and the “Gucci” purses adorned with cheap plastic-like decals. A blind man can tell that these bags are not the real deal.

Ghostly Make-Up:

I know foundation can be a hard thing to find when you’re a woman of a darker complexion. However there are many places that will match your makeup for you. There is nothing worse than a woman wearing make-up that is too light for her face.

I could go on with this list forever, but I want to hear what you think. What things do other women rock that you really wish they didn’t?

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590415345) } [7]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(59) "I Don’t Want Kids, But I’ll Never Go On The Pill Again." ["link"]=> string(90) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/i-dont-want-kids-but-ill-never-go-on-the-pill-again/" ["comments"]=> string(98) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/i-dont-want-kids-but-ill-never-go-on-the-pill-again/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 12:32:22 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(12) "Guest Author" } ["category"]=> string(59) "Friends And Familychildfreelovepulling outwithdrawal method" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5026" ["description"]=> string(352) "Admitting to being sexually active and not using condoms or hormonal birth control isn’t generally well received. It is seen as irresponsible and stupid, in fact. Risky. Smart, empowered women use contraceptives. But what about the rest of us? The invisible women who are, as Ann Friedman put it, part of the “pullout generation”? While […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(7030) "

Admitting to being sexually active and not using condoms or hormonal birth control isn’t generally well received. It is seen as irresponsible and stupid, in fact. Risky. Smart, empowered women use contraceptives. But what about the rest of us? The invisible women who are, as Ann Friedman put it, part of the “pullout generation”?

While certainly I would never advocate against using hormonal birth control, the lack of honest conversation around how many of us hate the pill and, as a result, have resorted to “alternative methods” of avoiding pregnancy is troubling.

I tried almost every pill on the market, for about a decade. Hormonal contraceptives were presented to me as my only option. My doctors simply assumed that, because I was sexually active and didn’t want to get pregnant, I should be on the pill. Then handed me a prescription.

That hormonal contraception could (and did) give me crazy mood swings and pretty much erased my libido (which seems to defeat the purpose of being on the pill in the first place, no?) were never mentioned to me as possible side effects.

I was 28 years old by the time a friend told me that her libido had disappeared after she went on the pill. Oh, man. So this was a real thing then. I wasn’t nuts. I started doing more research. Apparently my experience wasn’t uncommon at all. Realizing I wasn’t delusional or flawed was a relief, but it was also maddening. Why didn’t anyone ever talk about this?

I’m currently in a monogamous relationship — one in which, from the get-go, I was very clear about my refusal to ever go on hormonal contraception again. My partner accepted this and, since both of us were averse to getting pregnant, we used condoms for a short while. After a couple of mishaps that resulted in me having to rush off to my doctor to get a prescription for Plan B, we simply resorted to the pullout method. It felt safer and more reliable to me. According to many feminists, this makes me a big idiot.

Even after I began to look into this further and began talking to other women about their experiences, I still felt silly talking about my decision to use the pullout method. I was sure I’d be mocked for playing with baby-fire. Nonetheless I knew it was working for me. And using condoms that periodically came off or broke felt much more stressful and sketchy than just pulling out.

Again, I’m not advocating against either condoms or hormonal birth control, but I am wondering why we aren’t having a more open conversation about what is beginning to sound like a very common reality for lots of women. And why are critiques of hormonal birth control shut down with such fervor?

I’m not talking about the kind of situation wherein a man pressures you into having unprotected sex with the promise he’ll “pull out.” I’m talking about making an educated and empowered decision based on what works for me. I’m talking about being in trusting, committed relationships wherein men must also be responsible for their part in preventing pregnancy. I’m also not making some hippy dippy “’natural’ is (unequivocally) better” argument.

Telling women to “Get on some real birth control,” with the assumption that the only thing that counts as “real birth control” is hormonal birth control that makes me feel crazy and sexless, isn’t informed advice. It also isn’t true to say that pulling out is a “non-method.

Why does being responsible with regard to our reproductive choices only equate to taking a prescription pill? Besides the fact that many women don’t enjoy the side effects that go along with hormonal contraception, there’s the Big Pharma aspect, which much of feminism also seems disinclined to address.

It should be fairly obvious that, while of course all pharmaceuticals are not necessarily bad, the pill is being sold to us by a huge, multi-billion dollar industry whose primary interests are profit, not women’s liberation and empowerment — that should make us at least skeptical.

American feminists seem particularly wedded to the notion of the birth control pill as necessarily liberating, to the point, I believe, that it stifles critique. Holly Grigg-Spall, the author of Sweetening the Pill or How We Got Hooked on Hormonal Birth Control agrees.

When I spoke with her about the book, she said that, like me, she isn’t particularly interested in having children. This reality contradicts that which some critics like Amanda Marcotte argue: that “withdrawal is popular with the thirtysomething set” in part because “these women and their partners are more open to having kids than they were in their twenties.” She says this “pregnancy ambivalence” is why women might choose “less effective methods,” leaving it, instead, up to “fate.

This is wrong. So wrong. I don’t want babies. Ever. And the pullout method has been very effective. For ME. For years. The last time I was on the pill was over five years ago and I have been in two long-term, monogamous relationships since then and not gotten pregnant once.

The angry reactions to Grigg-Spall’s book strike me as overly defensive. She may well have made use of “anecdotal evidence” but that “anecdotal evidence” comes from the real life experiences of real live women.

While I don’t at all wish to discourage women from taking hormonal birth control if that method is working for them, I also don’t appreciate feminists pressuring women to use birth control methods they are uncomfortable with. Marcotte, for example, believes the pullout method is only acceptable if you are OK with getting pregnant and urges women using this method to “reconsider.”

How about this? I get to make informed decisions about what works for my life and my body without being pressured to buy a product marketed to me by Big Pharma?

The pill has been hugely important as far as the feminist movement goes. It has contributed to the liberation of many, many women. The ability to decide whether or not we want to reproduce, as women, is nothing to scoff at. But that truth shouldn’t mean we shut down conversations about alternatives or treat women who make different, informed choices as though they are stupid or irresponsible.

Writen by Meghan M.

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(95) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/i-dont-want-kids-but-ill-never-go-on-the-pill-again/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(352) "Admitting to being sexually active and not using condoms or hormonal birth control isn’t generally well received. It is seen as irresponsible and stupid, in fact. Risky. Smart, empowered women use contraceptives. But what about the rest of us? The invisible women who are, as Ann Friedman put it, part of the “pullout generation”? While […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(7030) "

Admitting to being sexually active and not using condoms or hormonal birth control isn’t generally well received. It is seen as irresponsible and stupid, in fact. Risky. Smart, empowered women use contraceptives. But what about the rest of us? The invisible women who are, as Ann Friedman put it, part of the “pullout generation”?

While certainly I would never advocate against using hormonal birth control, the lack of honest conversation around how many of us hate the pill and, as a result, have resorted to “alternative methods” of avoiding pregnancy is troubling.

I tried almost every pill on the market, for about a decade. Hormonal contraceptives were presented to me as my only option. My doctors simply assumed that, because I was sexually active and didn’t want to get pregnant, I should be on the pill. Then handed me a prescription.

That hormonal contraception could (and did) give me crazy mood swings and pretty much erased my libido (which seems to defeat the purpose of being on the pill in the first place, no?) were never mentioned to me as possible side effects.

I was 28 years old by the time a friend told me that her libido had disappeared after she went on the pill. Oh, man. So this was a real thing then. I wasn’t nuts. I started doing more research. Apparently my experience wasn’t uncommon at all. Realizing I wasn’t delusional or flawed was a relief, but it was also maddening. Why didn’t anyone ever talk about this?

I’m currently in a monogamous relationship — one in which, from the get-go, I was very clear about my refusal to ever go on hormonal contraception again. My partner accepted this and, since both of us were averse to getting pregnant, we used condoms for a short while. After a couple of mishaps that resulted in me having to rush off to my doctor to get a prescription for Plan B, we simply resorted to the pullout method. It felt safer and more reliable to me. According to many feminists, this makes me a big idiot.

Even after I began to look into this further and began talking to other women about their experiences, I still felt silly talking about my decision to use the pullout method. I was sure I’d be mocked for playing with baby-fire. Nonetheless I knew it was working for me. And using condoms that periodically came off or broke felt much more stressful and sketchy than just pulling out.

Again, I’m not advocating against either condoms or hormonal birth control, but I am wondering why we aren’t having a more open conversation about what is beginning to sound like a very common reality for lots of women. And why are critiques of hormonal birth control shut down with such fervor?

I’m not talking about the kind of situation wherein a man pressures you into having unprotected sex with the promise he’ll “pull out.” I’m talking about making an educated and empowered decision based on what works for me. I’m talking about being in trusting, committed relationships wherein men must also be responsible for their part in preventing pregnancy. I’m also not making some hippy dippy “’natural’ is (unequivocally) better” argument.

Telling women to “Get on some real birth control,” with the assumption that the only thing that counts as “real birth control” is hormonal birth control that makes me feel crazy and sexless, isn’t informed advice. It also isn’t true to say that pulling out is a “non-method.

Why does being responsible with regard to our reproductive choices only equate to taking a prescription pill? Besides the fact that many women don’t enjoy the side effects that go along with hormonal contraception, there’s the Big Pharma aspect, which much of feminism also seems disinclined to address.

It should be fairly obvious that, while of course all pharmaceuticals are not necessarily bad, the pill is being sold to us by a huge, multi-billion dollar industry whose primary interests are profit, not women’s liberation and empowerment — that should make us at least skeptical.

American feminists seem particularly wedded to the notion of the birth control pill as necessarily liberating, to the point, I believe, that it stifles critique. Holly Grigg-Spall, the author of Sweetening the Pill or How We Got Hooked on Hormonal Birth Control agrees.

When I spoke with her about the book, she said that, like me, she isn’t particularly interested in having children. This reality contradicts that which some critics like Amanda Marcotte argue: that “withdrawal is popular with the thirtysomething set” in part because “these women and their partners are more open to having kids than they were in their twenties.” She says this “pregnancy ambivalence” is why women might choose “less effective methods,” leaving it, instead, up to “fate.

This is wrong. So wrong. I don’t want babies. Ever. And the pullout method has been very effective. For ME. For years. The last time I was on the pill was over five years ago and I have been in two long-term, monogamous relationships since then and not gotten pregnant once.

The angry reactions to Grigg-Spall’s book strike me as overly defensive. She may well have made use of “anecdotal evidence” but that “anecdotal evidence” comes from the real life experiences of real live women.

While I don’t at all wish to discourage women from taking hormonal birth control if that method is working for them, I also don’t appreciate feminists pressuring women to use birth control methods they are uncomfortable with. Marcotte, for example, believes the pullout method is only acceptable if you are OK with getting pregnant and urges women using this method to “reconsider.”

How about this? I get to make informed decisions about what works for my life and my body without being pressured to buy a product marketed to me by Big Pharma?

The pill has been hugely important as far as the feminist movement goes. It has contributed to the liberation of many, many women. The ability to decide whether or not we want to reproduce, as women, is nothing to scoff at. But that truth shouldn’t mean we shut down conversations about alternatives or treat women who make different, informed choices as though they are stupid or irresponsible.

Writen by Meghan M.

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590409942) } [8]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(65) "Don’t Ask Single People At Weddings When They Gonna Get Married" ["link"]=> string(101) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/dont-ask-single-people-at-weddings-when-they-gonna-get-married/" ["comments"]=> string(109) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/dont-ask-single-people-at-weddings-when-they-gonna-get-married/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 12:01:12 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(12) "Guest Author" } ["category"]=> string(21) "Weddingsingleswedding" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5022" ["description"]=> string(327) "Like many families, mine is pretty nuts. The night before my cousin Sabrina’s wedding, I stayed over at her mom’s house with her. We sipped chamomile tea as her mom, Zia Vanina, assembled elaborate plates of cookies to put out after the ceremony the next day. Vanina, my 90-year-old Nonna, and a family friend had […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(8159) "

Like many families, mine is pretty nuts. The night before my cousin Sabrina’s wedding, I stayed over at her mom’s house with her. We sipped chamomile tea as her mom, Zia Vanina, assembled elaborate plates of cookies to put out after the ceremony the next day. Vanina, my 90-year-old Nonna, and a family friend had handmade the mountains of pizzelle, amaretti (Italian macaroons), candied almonds, raspberry-filled shortbread, rugelach, and six other types of tasty treats.

There were way too many cookies, so my aunt, who wouldn’t let me help, lest I mess something up, fed them to me to keep me from interfering. I was fine with that. One of my greatest talents is eating cookies.

After eating about 13 cookies, I looked at the clock: 11:09 p.m. A slight panic set in because I know I would not sleep if I continued on this sugar binge. I was trying to be a responsible bridesmaid, so I told my aunt no more cookies. She wiped her brow, shoved a pink amaretti in my face and said, “Carla, eat the cookie or go to hell!” I ate the cookie.

Tensions were running high before the wedding kicked off the next day, but with the exception of five family members almost missing the ceremony (thanks, Joe), it was lovely. My aunt walked her daughter down the aisle, and by the time they reached the altar, there wasn’t a dry eye on our family’s side of the room. It’s a magnificent thing, watching people you love, despite of and because of their craziness, in a moment like that. None of us could handle it.

After the reception, my cousins and I manned the cookie table, which was positioned conveniently after the receiving line. We’d recommend Nonna’s pizzelle to guests while sipping on the liqueurs that went with the cookies.

What came next was a mouth watering spread of cheeses, meats, calamari, and other delicious appetizers I couldn’t indulge in because I was off taking pictures with the rest of the bridal party. Some of those pictures were taken outside. November in Toronto isn’t exactly warm, and I refused to put on pantyhose, so my knees turned purple as the photographer hollered, “Lean in! Smile big!” May I just say that people take way too many pictures at weddings? TOO MANY PICTURES, PEOPLE.

After the outdoor portion of the photo shoot was over, I was on my way to the bridal suite we got ready in prior to pop a Klonopin, because I had a speech to do. A sweet looking older Italian woman, round of figure and soft of voice, stopped me. She was a friend of the bride’s mom or something.

“You’re Sabrina’s cousin, right?” she asked.

“Yes.” I said.

“You all look so beautiful up there,” she gushed.

“Thank you. It was a beautiful ceremony,” I said.

“When are you getting married?” she asked.

I was confused. I wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. I hadn’t brought a date. I had just been doing shots of amaretto with my cousins by the cookie spread. Nothing about me said: BRIDE TO BE!

“I’m not getting married,” I told her.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “You’re next.” She winked at me as she shimmied into the reception area.

Well, hot damn. Age-wise, I am next in line in this big family of late-marrying cousins, and not only am I nowhere near having my own wedding, I don’t know if I even want one. This normally doesn’t bother me that much, but looking around at the happy people laughing and celebrating my cousin and her husband, my stomach twisted and I started tearing up.

Thank God for fast acting anxiety medicine.

As soon as salad was served, I was up for my speech. I murdered that speech like Tony Montana on a coked-out shooting spree. Killed it. I give myself 17% of the credit for that, and the rest goes to Klonopin.

I sat down after my toast, and in a hazy series of, “Is this a nightmare romantic comedy of my mind’s own creation?” vignettes, at least a dozen distant relatives, paesans, aunts, uncles, godfathers and grandparents came up to me, all delivering some version of the line, “You’re next, right?” Was this a single-person aversion-therapy trick?

In response, I laughed a little too hard and said, “Oh, we’ll see.” Part of me wanted to yell at these people, but who wants to be the single, crazy, adult woman screaming at old, well-intentioned guests at her cousin’s wedding? Not this gal.

I did the only thing I could do, given the venue: I spent the rest of the night drinking and either goofing off in front of the photo booth or dancing. I danced all night long. I danced in heels that were not made for dancing, I made my cousins shake their booties with me, and by the time our 90-year-old Nonna got up to show the grandkids her sweet “squat and raise your arms” moves, we were all sweaty, exhausted, and happy.

The next morning, I woke up still single, still planning to move around, still unsettled, and thought about my cousin in her wedding suite eating Eggs Benedict and sipping champagne in bed with her new husband. I felt equal charges of envy and disgust pulse through me. I am fine with my life most of the time, but in those moments when others remind me of how far I am from the norm and from things that I maybe want someday but have no idea how I’ll get, my stomach drops and a nagging anxiety settles in. It hasn’t left yet.

I’ve been turning down invitations to eat delicious meals at relatives’ homes while I’m in town to avoid a certain line of marital questioning I just don’t want to deal with. I don’t know why I’m single. I’m open to relationships, but I won’t jump into one just for the sake of doing so. I’ve dated men long term, and I’ve dated them short term. I almost got married once, but thank Oprah, I didn’t.

I know they mean well, but when I do speak to family members and my parent’s friends who are curious about my lifestyle and marriage prospects, I end up getting a bit defensive and a lot bored.

Yes, Nonna, I know you had a husband and two kids at my age. Times have changed. Maybe one day.

Thank you, family friend, but I don’t want to meet your friend’s son. I’m sure he’s great and I totally understand that sometimes a grown man lives at home with his mother because she cooks like no other and irons his underwear, but still, no.

Oh yes, distant cousin on my father’s side, I do like kids. Sure, I want them, someday. Kids are awesome. Kids are way better than you are being right now.

A part of the reason why these questions sting is because I don’t need other people asking them to me, I ask myself the same questions regularly. I’m 31. A lot of my friends are married or almost married, and having babies. I’m a stalwart of the single life. I’ve been making the most of this, and my portable writing career, by city hopping for the past four years. I’ve met amazing people, and had wonderful experiences, but I’m still alone.

One of the reasons I loved living in Rome and New York so, so, so much is because you are never alone when you leave the house. Being constantly surrounded by many other humans provides a sort of weird, invisible humanity hug that a single person, and maybe all people, need to feel sometimes.

For now, I’ll take those humanity hugs where I can get them. I feel pretty great about being single, most of the time. Sure, I’d like to date someone seriously, but for the right reasons, not because I’m panicked about being alone forever. And definitely not because Uncle Marty’s second cousin’s son needs to move out of the basement.

Written by Carla C.

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(106) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/dont-ask-single-people-at-weddings-when-they-gonna-get-married/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(327) "Like many families, mine is pretty nuts. The night before my cousin Sabrina’s wedding, I stayed over at her mom’s house with her. We sipped chamomile tea as her mom, Zia Vanina, assembled elaborate plates of cookies to put out after the ceremony the next day. Vanina, my 90-year-old Nonna, and a family friend had […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(8159) "

Like many families, mine is pretty nuts. The night before my cousin Sabrina’s wedding, I stayed over at her mom’s house with her. We sipped chamomile tea as her mom, Zia Vanina, assembled elaborate plates of cookies to put out after the ceremony the next day. Vanina, my 90-year-old Nonna, and a family friend had handmade the mountains of pizzelle, amaretti (Italian macaroons), candied almonds, raspberry-filled shortbread, rugelach, and six other types of tasty treats.

There were way too many cookies, so my aunt, who wouldn’t let me help, lest I mess something up, fed them to me to keep me from interfering. I was fine with that. One of my greatest talents is eating cookies.

After eating about 13 cookies, I looked at the clock: 11:09 p.m. A slight panic set in because I know I would not sleep if I continued on this sugar binge. I was trying to be a responsible bridesmaid, so I told my aunt no more cookies. She wiped her brow, shoved a pink amaretti in my face and said, “Carla, eat the cookie or go to hell!” I ate the cookie.

Tensions were running high before the wedding kicked off the next day, but with the exception of five family members almost missing the ceremony (thanks, Joe), it was lovely. My aunt walked her daughter down the aisle, and by the time they reached the altar, there wasn’t a dry eye on our family’s side of the room. It’s a magnificent thing, watching people you love, despite of and because of their craziness, in a moment like that. None of us could handle it.

After the reception, my cousins and I manned the cookie table, which was positioned conveniently after the receiving line. We’d recommend Nonna’s pizzelle to guests while sipping on the liqueurs that went with the cookies.

What came next was a mouth watering spread of cheeses, meats, calamari, and other delicious appetizers I couldn’t indulge in because I was off taking pictures with the rest of the bridal party. Some of those pictures were taken outside. November in Toronto isn’t exactly warm, and I refused to put on pantyhose, so my knees turned purple as the photographer hollered, “Lean in! Smile big!” May I just say that people take way too many pictures at weddings? TOO MANY PICTURES, PEOPLE.

After the outdoor portion of the photo shoot was over, I was on my way to the bridal suite we got ready in prior to pop a Klonopin, because I had a speech to do. A sweet looking older Italian woman, round of figure and soft of voice, stopped me. She was a friend of the bride’s mom or something.

“You’re Sabrina’s cousin, right?” she asked.

“Yes.” I said.

“You all look so beautiful up there,” she gushed.

“Thank you. It was a beautiful ceremony,” I said.

“When are you getting married?” she asked.

I was confused. I wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. I hadn’t brought a date. I had just been doing shots of amaretto with my cousins by the cookie spread. Nothing about me said: BRIDE TO BE!

“I’m not getting married,” I told her.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “You’re next.” She winked at me as she shimmied into the reception area.

Well, hot damn. Age-wise, I am next in line in this big family of late-marrying cousins, and not only am I nowhere near having my own wedding, I don’t know if I even want one. This normally doesn’t bother me that much, but looking around at the happy people laughing and celebrating my cousin and her husband, my stomach twisted and I started tearing up.

Thank God for fast acting anxiety medicine.

As soon as salad was served, I was up for my speech. I murdered that speech like Tony Montana on a coked-out shooting spree. Killed it. I give myself 17% of the credit for that, and the rest goes to Klonopin.

I sat down after my toast, and in a hazy series of, “Is this a nightmare romantic comedy of my mind’s own creation?” vignettes, at least a dozen distant relatives, paesans, aunts, uncles, godfathers and grandparents came up to me, all delivering some version of the line, “You’re next, right?” Was this a single-person aversion-therapy trick?

In response, I laughed a little too hard and said, “Oh, we’ll see.” Part of me wanted to yell at these people, but who wants to be the single, crazy, adult woman screaming at old, well-intentioned guests at her cousin’s wedding? Not this gal.

I did the only thing I could do, given the venue: I spent the rest of the night drinking and either goofing off in front of the photo booth or dancing. I danced all night long. I danced in heels that were not made for dancing, I made my cousins shake their booties with me, and by the time our 90-year-old Nonna got up to show the grandkids her sweet “squat and raise your arms” moves, we were all sweaty, exhausted, and happy.

The next morning, I woke up still single, still planning to move around, still unsettled, and thought about my cousin in her wedding suite eating Eggs Benedict and sipping champagne in bed with her new husband. I felt equal charges of envy and disgust pulse through me. I am fine with my life most of the time, but in those moments when others remind me of how far I am from the norm and from things that I maybe want someday but have no idea how I’ll get, my stomach drops and a nagging anxiety settles in. It hasn’t left yet.

I’ve been turning down invitations to eat delicious meals at relatives’ homes while I’m in town to avoid a certain line of marital questioning I just don’t want to deal with. I don’t know why I’m single. I’m open to relationships, but I won’t jump into one just for the sake of doing so. I’ve dated men long term, and I’ve dated them short term. I almost got married once, but thank Oprah, I didn’t.

I know they mean well, but when I do speak to family members and my parent’s friends who are curious about my lifestyle and marriage prospects, I end up getting a bit defensive and a lot bored.

Yes, Nonna, I know you had a husband and two kids at my age. Times have changed. Maybe one day.

Thank you, family friend, but I don’t want to meet your friend’s son. I’m sure he’s great and I totally understand that sometimes a grown man lives at home with his mother because she cooks like no other and irons his underwear, but still, no.

Oh yes, distant cousin on my father’s side, I do like kids. Sure, I want them, someday. Kids are awesome. Kids are way better than you are being right now.

A part of the reason why these questions sting is because I don’t need other people asking them to me, I ask myself the same questions regularly. I’m 31. A lot of my friends are married or almost married, and having babies. I’m a stalwart of the single life. I’ve been making the most of this, and my portable writing career, by city hopping for the past four years. I’ve met amazing people, and had wonderful experiences, but I’m still alone.

One of the reasons I loved living in Rome and New York so, so, so much is because you are never alone when you leave the house. Being constantly surrounded by many other humans provides a sort of weird, invisible humanity hug that a single person, and maybe all people, need to feel sometimes.

For now, I’ll take those humanity hugs where I can get them. I feel pretty great about being single, most of the time. Sure, I’d like to date someone seriously, but for the right reasons, not because I’m panicked about being alone forever. And definitely not because Uncle Marty’s second cousin’s son needs to move out of the basement.

Written by Carla C.

" ["date_timestamp"]=> int(1590408072) } [9]=> array(14) { ["title"]=> string(72) "Ladies, Stay Gorgeous Forever Or Else Your Husband Might Stop Loving You" ["link"]=> string(110) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/ladies-stay-gorgeous-forever-or-else-your-husband-might-stop-loving-you/" ["comments"]=> string(118) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/ladies-stay-gorgeous-forever-or-else-your-husband-might-stop-loving-you/#respond" ["pubdate"]=> string(31) "Mon, 25 May 2020 11:04:20 +0000" ["dc"]=> array(1) { ["creator"]=> string(9) "Alex Wise" } ["category"]=> string(48) "Interestingattractionlovemarriagemenstudieswomen" ["guid"]=> string(34) "https://blog.loveawake.com/?p=5018" ["description"]=> string(361) "A study concludes that men are happier when married to “good-looking” women. Barf. And duh. Apparently men are happier in their marriages if their wives are … wait for it … ATTRACTIVE. Huh! You don’t say? Last I checked, most people — of, yes, both genders — tended to enjoy and appreciate being intimate with […]" ["content"]=> array(1) { ["encoded"]=> string(4644) "

A study concludes that men are happier when married to “good-looking” women. Barf. And duh.

Apparently men are happier in their marriages if their wives are … wait for it … ATTRACTIVE. Huh! You don’t say? Last I checked, most people — of, yes, both genders — tended to enjoy and appreciate being intimate with folks they find attractive. A psychologist named Andrea Meltzer tracked more than 450 newlywed couples over a four-year span, trying to determine the correlation between a good-looking spouse and a happy state of the (domestic) union. (Not sure how “good-looking” or “attractiveness” was judged here; those terms are obviously pretty subjective and personal.)

What Meltzer found? That men are happier when they’re married to “good-looking” women — but, oddly, the same doesn’t hold true for us deep, selfless, dignified ladies.

In a similar study at UCLA, researchers theorized that men who believed they’d “lucked out” by marrying pretty women were “happier and more likely to care about their wives’ needs — and in turn, the good-looking wives were happier in the relationship as well.” When the study’s men thought they were better-looking than their spouses, though, the opposite happened and the guys were less invested and satisfied in their relationships.

Mehhh. This study bugs me on various levels. First, the couples were only studied for four years of marriage; I’m not sure that’s a solid enough window to adequately determine couples’ long-term happiness. Plus, I’m tired of the constantly reinforced notion that (straight) women aren’t supposed to care about how men look, that we’re supposed to be innately “above” judging our romantic partners on supposedly shallow criteria like, oh, physical attraction. The thing is, we’re NOT more inherently virtuous than our male counterparts; we didn’t leap from our mothers’ wombs in an iridescent rainbow explosion of glitter haze, and I just don’t buy that we’re inherently less shallow or that we care less about chemistry (which is often fueled, at least in part, by physical attraction).

What I do think is that, when it comes to love, some women might be slightly more inclined to give a less-than-gorgeous but decent man a chance — we might be a smidge more willing to look past someone’s physical flaws and try to accept him on a deeper level, especially if we’re looking for something more serious than a casual fling or a one-night romp. Does that mean we don’t give a damn about what the men we date/marry look like? Uh, hell no. The idea that women aren’t supposed to care about something as “superficial” as looks implies that we’re morally superior to men, those base, animalistic creatures whose every whim, thought, and urge is, natch, driven by their dicks.

Sorry, not sold. I know plenty of women — not that this is a good thing — who won’t date a guy unless he looks a very specific way. For a long time, I was one of those women myself! I’ve made changes in the past few years after realizing some unpalatable things about physical attraction’s disproportionate starring role in my romantic dalliances (the old me would manage to ignore almost ANY KIND of screamingly obvious red flag, questionable treatment or bad behavior from a dude — IF he managed to look like my physical ideal).

The study’s results also bug me because they obviously seem to put unnecessary pressure on women to obsess EVEN MORE about how we look and how to make our appearances more acceptable to dudes. Ugh. There’s MORE TO LIFE than looking hot for men. And there’s more to life than getting — or staying — married! The study just seems so sad and obvious; who DOESN’T prefer being in a relationship with someone they consistently enjoy sleeping with and looking at? This isn’t breaking news.

What do you make of the idea that men care about looks more than women do?

" } ["wfw"]=> array(1) { ["commentrss"]=> string(115) "https://blog.loveawake.com/2020/05/25/ladies-stay-gorgeous-forever-or-else-your-husband-might-stop-loving-you/feed/" } ["slash"]=> array(1) { ["comments"]=> string(1) "0" } ["summary"]=> string(361) "A study concludes that men are happier when married to “good-looking” women. Barf. And duh. Apparently men are happier in their marriages if their wives are … wait for it … ATTRACTIVE. Huh! You don’t say? Last I checked, most people — of, yes, both genders — tended to enjoy and appreciate being intimate with […]" ["atom_content"]=> string(4644) "

A study concludes that men are happier when married to “good-looking” women. Barf. And duh.

Apparently men are happier in their marriages if their wives are … wait for it … ATTRACTIVE. Huh! You don’t say? Last I checked, most people — of, yes, both genders — tended to enjoy and appreciate being intimate with folks they find attractive. A psychologist named Andrea Meltzer tracked more than 450 newlywed couples over a four-year span, trying to determine the correlation between a good-looking spouse and a happy state of the (domestic) union. (Not sure how “good-looking” or “attractiveness” was judged here; those terms are obviously pretty subjective and personal.)

What Meltzer found? That men are happier when they’re married to “good-looking” women — but, oddly, the same doesn’t hold true for us deep, selfless, dignified ladies.

In a similar study at UCLA, researchers theorized that men who believed they’d “lucked out” by marrying pretty women were “happier and more likely to care about their wives’ needs — and in turn, the good-looking wives were happier in the relationship as well.” When the study’s men thought they were better-looking than their spouses, though, the opposite happened and the guys were less invested and satisfied in their relationships.

Mehhh. This study bugs me on various levels. First, the couples were only studied for four years of marriage; I’m not sure that’s a solid enough window to adequately determine couples’ long-term happiness. Plus, I’m tired of the constantly reinforced notion that (straight) women aren’t supposed to care about how men look, that we’re supposed to be innately “above” judging our romantic partners on supposedly shallow criteria like, oh, physical attraction. The thing is, we’re NOT more inherently virtuous than our male counterparts; we didn’t leap from our mothers’ wombs in an iridescent rainbow explosion of glitter haze, and I just don’t buy that we’re inherently less shallow or that we care less about chemistry (which is often fueled, at least in part, by physical attraction).

What I do think is that, when it comes to love, some women might be slightly more inclined to give a less-than-gorgeous but decent man a chance — we might be a smidge more willing to look past someone’s physical flaws and try to accept him on a deeper level, especially if we’re looking for something more serious than a casual fling or a one-night romp. Does that mean we don’t give a damn about what the men we date/marry look like? Uh, hell no. The idea that women aren’t supposed to care about something as “superficial” as looks implies that we’re morally superior to men, those base, animalistic creatures whose every whim, thought, and urge is, natch, driven by their dicks.

Sorry, not sold. I know plenty of women — not that this is a good thing — who won’t date a guy unless he looks a very specific way. For a long time, I was one of those women myself! I’ve made changes in the past few years after realizing some unpalatable things about physical attraction’s disproportionate starring role in my romantic dalliances (the old me would manage to ignore almost ANY KIND of screamingly obvious red flag, questionable treatment or bad behavior from a dude — IF he managed to look like my physical ideal).

The study’s results also bug me because they obviously seem to put unnecessary pressure on women to obsess EVEN MORE about how we look and how to make our appearances more acceptable to dudes. Ugh. There’s MORE TO LIFE than looking hot for men. And there’s more to life than getting — or staying — married! The study just seems so sad and obvious; who DOESN’T prefer being in a relationship with someone they consistently enjoy sleeping with and looking at? This isn’t breaking news.

What do you make of the idea that men care about looks more than women do?

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