I know that the power in a relationship falls under the person who cares the least…and as awful as it sounds, I’ve grown to hate being the person who cares the most.
Sometimes your single status is a scarlet letter that has been sewn on your forehead, other times your delusions have you believing this dry spell is more sunny California than Sahara Desert.
Relax and live a little, she said. It’ll be fun, she said. You won’t get hurt, she said. And true to her nature, she’s dumb as hell for thinking that.
Richie was a weirdo. I’d already decided this 30 seconds after we matched on Tinder.
You know, I’d always heard horror stories about how painful waxing is. It’s not like I hadn’t experienced it in a smaller dosage – I routinely got my eyebrows waxed. But there is a huge difference between getting your brows waxed and getting a Brazilian. HUGE.
A few months ago, I received the most unique message that I’ve received on OkCupid thus far. And by unique, I mean something other than “I like your boobs.”
Out of curiosity, I asked my little sister and cousin how they meet boys these days. They gave me typical answers to be expected of teens: parties, pools, summer camp. One answer surprised me, though – Instagram.
My feelings have been hurt many times by the good ol’ RR…including by my dad. My own FATHER, y’all.
My friend Lenia was in town for the weekend. We caught up over sushi and plum wine in Cobble Hill when she mentioned that one of her OkCupid matches wanted to meet up with her that night. As she showed me the text, I noticed his name before anything else – Mitt.
I deleted my OkCupid profile at the beginning of the year. I figured that I needed a fresh start. I had it for a good 24 months, met two douchebags and a handful of creeps who sent really uncomfortable messages. The page had bad vibes, man. So I started fresh and made a brand new one.
What I don’t have are non-negotiables – dating deal breakers. It’s not like I’ve dated tons and tons of guys, so there aren’t any huge no-no’s that I’ve established.
Whenever I like a guy – I mean really, really like a guy – I somehow lose all of my hard-earned, Howard-educated judgment and morph into a third grader.
If you know that you care about someone and the feeling’s mutual, who needs a title or even a Facebook status? Just be. But that’s how girls get caught up.
When is it ever okay for a boy (not a man) to ASK a young lady who he barely knows to take HIM out? My mans, aren’t you supposed to be impressing me?
Men – not boys – go after what they want. If they like you, or are even remotely interested, they WILL get you…or at least try.
This year, it’s just me, myself and I. And I’m starting to realize that that might be best…not just on February 14, but for a little while.
Judging by the fact that my date from last Friday night still hasn't called me back, I think it's safe to say I'm one very single little lady.
It's easy to become a love Grinch on this day, but it doesn't have to be that way. Instead of throwing a pity party, try one of these things instead.
Let’s be honest here. Looks aren’t everything and certainly shouldn’t be, but they play a huge part in dating – especially online dating, where much of the importance is placed on the perfect profile picture.
It was a call for essays from Michael Ealy's Biggest Fan. "How would you like to look directly into those bedroom eyes? It can happen, right here on the Steve Harvey show!" Girl, I was SOLD.
During the holidays, I tinkered with Tinder and even dusted the cobwebs off of my 2-year-old Plenty of Fish profile, making sure to avoid OkCupid at all costs. It’s not a permanent goodbye, but I’ve already met enough douchebags on there.
Katie Heaney is making a less generic name for herself -- one as the girl who is 25 and has still yet to experience a first date. Her first book, a collection of essays aptly titled "Never Have I Ever: My Life (So Far) Without a Date", is gaining a maelstrom of buzz.
There’s nothing wrong with casual dating, of course. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for it because I don’t know what I’m doing, and because I’ve never been in a real relationship.
Like the rest of the free world, I played Beyonce's fifth album on repeat as soon as it dropped. After the 4444th listen, I realized that Bey wasn’t making music for all the single ladies anymore – she was doing it for the lovers. The committed. The dateable.
I paced around my empty apartment, racking my brain for something to do…you know, besides job apps. I was lonely, which is weird for someone who’s so used to being alone. I could’ve called one of my homegirls to catch up or hang out, but I craved company – the male kind.