Handy chart

Thanks, interwebs, for this handy chart. Good thing to keep in the ole nightstand.

A day in Jami's Dating World.

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On staying friends with exes

If you stay in touch with your ex, if you try to be friends, you still have to be careful. From time to time, in an otherwise friendly chat, you might find yourself having this conversation:

“So, how was your weekend?” he asked.
“Really fun, I hung out with [list of mutual friends].”
“Oh, really? It was fun?”
“Yeah, [male mutual friend] cracked me up all day long.”
“Huh, you and [said male mutual friend] get along now?”
“Um, yeah. When didn’t we?”
“Oh, well he talked some serious shit when we broke up.”
“He did, eh. Really? Like what?”
“Oh, just what a fucking bitch you were all the time. I was all, ‘Whatever. I don’t care what you think.’”
“Huh. Awesome. Thanks for sharing.”

Homeo and Juliet

Juliet sent us this snippet of an IM chat between herself and her husband. Names have been changed to protect their identities. Being married really is a little weird.



9:36 AM: Homeo: Hello

9:45 AM Juliet: Hola!

9:49 AM Homeo: How is your morning?

9:56 AM Juliet: Great! How's yours?

10:02 AM Homeo: Good. - I have my pedicure today at 3:30. Can you get the boys, or I can get them after

10:02 AM Juliet: Whatever. I'll pick them up.

10:03 AM Juliet: Just so you know, you have to live with the results of using my waxing budget to pay for your pedicure.

10:04 AM Homeo: Actually, it’s my pedi budget. I use my own money for the pedi, I don't touch your beauty budget including waxing, cuts and color. Also, if you consider how much money I saved over the last 8 months not having to get a haircut, I am totally in the black

10:04 AM Juliet: whatever. Pedi whore.

10:05 AM Homeo: Just cause I care about my feet. Not my problem you choose to have grungy feet.

10:05 AM Juliet: FU! My feet are not grungy.

10:06 AM Homeo: How about scaley?
10:06 AM Homeo: Lizard like?

10:07 AM Juliet: My feet are fine. I take very good care of them.

10:07 AM Homeo: I know you do. You’re the one who called me a pedi whore. You started it!

10:07 AM Juliet: Well, just know that if not for your pedi, I'd have a nice bush.

10:08 AM Homeo: The two are mutually exclusive. Go take care of your bush, I don't care. I'm not asking you to pay for my pedi. This leaves you bush money

10:09 AM Juliet: I guess I should say bush bucks.

10:10 AM Homeo: I dare you to tell [REDACTED CO-WORKER] about this conversation

10:11 AM Juliet: No way - plus he's not even here.

10:11 AM Juliet: I'll tell [REDACTED CO-WORKER #2] though

10:12 AM Homeo: I figured that. She'll think it’s funny - and probably take your side

10:15 AM Juliet: Damn straight she'll take my side! There's only so much salon money to go around, my spendthrift friend, and you are wasting it on your toes when it could be used to maintain more important regions.

10:16 AM Homeo: My feet are very important - I'm on them almost all day. Also, its not my fault you won't shave or try some home remedy that might cost less.

10:16 AM Juliet: (stony silence)

10:17 AM Homeo: I have to go [REDACTED VERB INDICATING PROFESSION]. I'll talk to you soon. Love ya.

Captain Squish

There are a few things I’ve done in my dating career that I really regret. But at least I try to learn from my mistakes.

One night I was out at my local watering hole drinking solo. I do that sometimes, especially when I’m single. It’s the best way to meet men.

So this sweet young thing starts talking to me, and he’s just adorable. He’s in a local band I’ve heard of, but never seen. I even know some of the people in the band, so we have tons to talk about. He’s very sweet, and five years younger than me.

The night turns toward the morning, and we’re still chatting. His friends, including his ride, come and ask him if he’s ready to go, I can tell he’s hesitating, so I offer to give him a ride home if he wants to finish his beer. He eagerly accepts my offer.

But here’s the thing: I’m having fun, but I’m really not DTF that night. Some nights you’re in it to win it, and some nights, not so much. This was not my night.

So by the time the bar closes, when we get into my car, I tell him, “Look, I’m enjoying your company, and if you want to come to my place for a beer, that’s cool, but I’m not going to sleep with you.”

He says he wants to come over, and he’s OK with the deal.

So we go to my place, drink some beers, and make out a bit. It’s getting late, very late, and I’m getting drunk. Somehow, and I honestly don’t remember the details, we decide to go to bed. Again, I tell him he’s welcome to stay, but I’m not going to sleep with him. Oh, yes, fine, fine.

I fall asleep.

Some time later, I wake up, and I realize my hand is on his dick. He’s got my wrist, and he’s pushing my hand into his dick. His flaccid dick.

“What the fuck?” I say, sitting up, “was that your dick?”

“Well,” he said, “I mean, I was kind of expecting more.”

I got up and turned on the light.

“No. Fuck no. You need to leave. Now.”

He pouted while he got his shit together.

“Can you give me a ride?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You can walk.” I lived miles from his house, and I didn’t care.

But you know what? I realized right away what an idiot I had been. I mean, seriously? Don’t let a 22-year-old boy sleep in your bed if you don’t plan on fucking him.

But also, boys, don’t press a sleeping girl’s hand into your fleshy, soft penis. That’s just gross.

Dear Serial: Do not answer this question

Dear Serial,

So, I’ve been trying on line dating out. I’ve met a couple of people, even in person, but nothing major has come of it. I tend to be pretty picky about who I meet. See, if I know it’s not going to work out before it even starts, I think, why bother? But there’s this one guy I can’t decide on.

We’ve exchanged several emails, and even pics. But there are things that trouble me. He doesn’t have a job or a car, for one. He says he’s working on it. He isn’t really into the same things I am, he doesn’t like hiking, camping, biking, skiing. Those are my major passions. He is into music, and I like that, though. But his spelling and grammar are pretty terrible, and, worst of all, he has a three-year-old daughter half-time. I don’t have kids, and I don’t like them.

The thing is, I’d probably just say no thanks, even though he’s good-looking, if it weren’t for one thing. He’s black. I’m white. I’ve never gotten with a black guy before, and I really want to.

Does that make me a bad person?

Signed,

Just looking for a little jungle fever

Dear Fever,

I think so … but, you know, uhh … that doesn’t mean I think you shouldn’t go for it, not necessarily ... though, I’m not sure …

Hooboy. This is a tough one; let me argue this out with myself.

OK, so. You’re clearly objectifying this guy. And you’re doing it in a way that makes me feel icky, a way that brings to mind the long American history of sexual objectification of black men – women, too, for that matter. And that really makes the Liberal White Guilt alarm bells in my head start going off, loudly. With sirens and whooping bells and all that.

But, I gotta say, isn’t objectification what we all do when we date? I mean, you weigh competing factors, and some of them are bound to be shallow. Is it OK to be an ass man? I think so. Is it OK to be into big titties? It has to be. Is it OK for me to have never dated someone shorter than me? Sorry, little dudes, you’re just not for me.

So what if race is just one of your factors? You make it sound like this guy’s race is just one factor on your list.

And yet. Is this something you’d be willing to admit to him? I think maybe the answer to that question gives up a bit about whether or not it’s OK. I mean, if a guy I’m dating tells me he thinks I’m attractive, that he just loves my, oh, I dunno, my long legs (hey, this is the internet, I can be who I want to. ), is that going to bother me? Nope. If he loves red hair and green eyes, and that’s what I’m packing, I think: Sweet! If he loves my porcelain skin, is that too much of a stretch? No. (Though if he loves my pure Aryan blood, we’re getting back to danger category) But no one deserves to be condescended to.

And, doi, race is so much more than physical characteristics. It’s about culture, too. Sometimes culture’s a factor, and rightly so. I mean, I’ve been drawn to dudes because they were from Texas, or loved the fact that their mothers were English professors. Maybe you’re looking to widen your horizons. But that’s not the impression I get from the way you put the question.

In fact, looking at your question more closely, I see that you didn’t ask me if you should go out with him. You asked if it made you a bad person that you wanted to. And in that distinction, I see the opportunity for a cop-out. The question you posed is this: Are you a bad person for wanting to get with a black guy?

At this point, I think I’ve talked myself into a corner: No, not necessarily.

But the question you didn’t ask was whether or not you would be a bad person if you only got with this guy because he’s black.

Thank you for not asking me that.

In conclusion, let me just say this:

How Heath Lost His One Black Friend - watch more funny videos

Love,
Serial




Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Email it to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com

A Note on International Dating & Sex

I'm currently traveling for the summer. I'm in the south of France at the moment but spent a longish weekend in England before arriving. I'm in no way an expert on anything, much less dating, but here are some observations so far:

1. Sluts dress the same whether you're in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin or Marseille, France. You can spot 'em a block away. Way too much skin showing, bold colors that foreshadow the fruity drinks she's probably going to vomit later, and a slight wobble when she walks because the high heels are far too big. There must be a Sluts 'R Us store that no one informed me of.

2. If you don't look like the woman above and a guy wants to hit on you, he has to be cool about it. Or so he thinks. Here's some lines so far:

a. You should come and live in Marseille. You can work for me, help me with the other guests. It's good. I'm not hitting on you. You're like a sister to me. You live here and we'll have a good time. You and me. You're very beautiful. Like a sister.

He said this while stroking my upper arm. I about barfed on him, but luckily another guest came in and I jumped up to offer my seat.

b. I love Americans. I am not like the other French people. They hate you. Not me. I love you. You should come home with me. I will show you why the French are the best lovers.

Two points for boldness. Negative eight million for creepiness, bad teeth, obvious signs of STDs, too much cologne, etc. al.

3. French teens are sexually advanced. And open about it. I was sitting at the beach, waiting for some other travelers whom I had come with, when a pqck of 11 - 13 year olds approached. We chatted for a bit and one of the other travelers arrived. We continued talking to them, but the conversation turned immediately to sex. They asked us if we were dating, if we had kissed, if we'd done it, etc. al. They then began to insist that he and I kiss in front of them. It got to the point where several were shouting at us to kiss.

One boy finally said, Why don't you take her home and just fuck her already? Thankfully I didn't know until my friend told me later. I wouldn't have second guessed slapping that kid upside the head.


I leave for Senegal and Mali at the end of the month. I'll post some observations from there. Hopefully they don't involve me drinking too much in a Muslim country and getting thrown in jail.

My Worst Date Ever™

Click here for a bit about another lovely internet date. What, you don't like racist, sexist, drunken cheapskate dates?

"I caught sight of my date, across the room, opening his leather jacket, taking out a bottle of Malibu rum and chugging from it. Stunned, I watched him return to his seat empty-handed. "They're out of beer," he announced."

Modern Girl's Guide to Being Dumped

If it’s been awhile since you've been dumped, ladies, here's a warning: A few things have changed, but others have stayed exactly, excruciatingly, the same. Here’s a short to-do list to get you started:

• Wipe away literal tears.

• Pull up metaphorical britches.

• Apologize for that text you shouldn’t have sent.

• Dust off your dating blogger pen.

• Change facebook relationship status from “In a relationship” to “single.” You can leave it blank for awhile, but why? Embrace it. You’re single.

• Update your Netflix queue. You don’t need to get his action movies, or the first season of Flight of the Conchords, which you’ve already seen but just rented so you could show him how awesome it is. Pick out every girly-ass movie you wanted to watch but had to bargain for. Been longing to finish watching Sex in the City? Fancy some cheesy musicals? Go for it.

• Get his shit out of your house. All of it. And don’t use the exchange of stuff as an excuse to “see how he’s doing.” He’s probably fine; or at least better than you are.

• Re-program your speed dial. It’s hard enough to avoid drunk-dialing. You don’t want to do it by an honest mistake.

• Send in a couple of the meanest things you want to say to dearoldlove.com. Don’t cc him on the email.

• Buy more wine.

• Find yourself a hot tub.

• Work out like mad.

• Rebound. Rebound early, rebound hard, rebound often. (With someone in his band, if you can pull it off, if not, someone who plays a different instrument will do).

What am I missing, dear readers? Or for the fells, what’s the same/different when it comes to your “dumpee” list?