Category Archives: dating

10 Things British Guys Will Love About You

british guys

Allow me to state the obvious: British guys are dreamy. If that’s a stereotype, I hope it’s one they’re happy to bear. So when approached me about writing this post, I said, absolutely. It’s hard to resist a British man; they seem so utterly charming no matter what, even if they’re cursing. (They actually sound bloody fantastic when they curse.) It’s no secret that I adore British men (for example, Sir Paul McCartney is my ideal boyfriend), and I’m clearly not alone. Hooray for Brits!

But what may surprise you is that are certain things British men adore about us, as well. I asked some British guys who date American women what they love most about non-British ladies, and was, shall we say, chuffed, by their responses. Here are 10 things British guys will love about you!

(Of course, it should be noted that all men are different — as are women — and results may vary.)


10.) Your accent!

That’s right, the accent adoration is a two-way street. One particular Brit has a fondness for Texan girls. You may think you may not even have an accent, but you totally do, and they find it delightful. So own it!

9.) Your openness.

American women in particular, are a lot more open compared to their British counterparts (especially English girls). That isn’t to say that all English women are closed-off; it’s just that American women have a certain breezy, carefree “my life is an open book” way of living.

8.) Your frank conversation.

British men love that we’re more than willing to “go there” and call out what needs calling out. One Brit noted that we have, “the readiness to engage in conversation”, and we’re not shy about it. They appreciate that level of boldness, that we’ll just walk up to them and say what’s on our minds, and that over cocktails, we’ll keep it real.

7.) Your sense of humor.

Brits are well-known for their signature dry sense of humor, but that doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate our “goofy” sense of humor as well. I’ve always believed that bonding over humor is one of the best ways for a couple to connect, so don’t be afraid to crack a few jokes (and we know you won’t be).

6.) Your attitude towards sex.

To be frank (and we’ve learned that we should be), British men do in fact like that, contrary to popular belief, America isn’t as hung up on sex as you would think. I’m not saying that American girls are “easy” or anything so crass or disrespectful; I’m saying that we have a certain openness about sex, be it sexual innuendo and/or jokes, which suggests that we don’t take the whole thing too seriously.

5.) Your sense of fun.

“There is also the fun side, not fearing appearing stupid in the pursuit of having fun,” one British man revealed. “It’s somewhat endearing.” Hear that, ladies? Don’t be afraid to have fun! Embrace every moment and go with the flow, as they say.

4.) Your brashness.

Did you know there’s a stereotype British men have about American women — that we’re brash? And did you know that they kind of love it? Sure, some of them think we’re “too loud”, but some praise us for being “slightly aggressive.” Just keep in mind that being brash is okay — being full on rude is not.

3.) Your smile.

This one surprised me, but one British man I spoke to commented specifically about the smile of American women. “I think, on average, [American women] actually have a wider smile…and are ALWAYS using it — though they might just be reacting to an English accent, who knows.” I never really thought about it, but I suppose we are a smiley bunch.

2.) Your confidence.

Having confidence on a date or while flirting can be hard, but many British men singled out our confidence as being an especially desirable quality. One man reported, “There’s nothing more sexy than a self-assured confident woman…I’ve never met an American woman that’s isn’t — [it’s] hot!” And why wouldn’t it be? Who doesn’t love someone who is completely confident (NOT cocky, but confident)? So do whatever it is you have to do to boost your confidence, whether it’s wearing your favorite pair of sky-high heels or psyching yourself up in the mirror beforehand. Hey, no shame in that game.

1.) Your total adoration of British men!

Simply put, British men aren’t mad that non-British women are crazy for them. They know simply being British is like having a superpower, and they’re well aware of the spell they cast. And they kind of dig how into it we are.


Photo by Ludovic Bertron via Flickr.


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To Do List Part 2.


In 2009, I made a “to do list” — male celebrities I’d like to do. It features some wildcards, like Peter Dinklage. And this was before Game of Thrones. I had worked with him on a film (which is a glorified way of saying I was an extra on his film in his scene), and I put him on the list.

But it’s 2015 now, and so, I feel I should update this list. The last list featured 5 celebs — this features 6. And if that bothers you, well, I’m sorry. There were some people I had to carry over. Some got left behind. But some remained forever glorious.

Here are 6 celebrity dudes on my To Do List.


6.) Pharrell Willams


I’ve made it clear how much I hate that damn song, “Happy.” I once tweeted, “Someone just cut someone else off while playing ‘Happy’, and it was the first time that song ever made me happy.” It was something like that; this was a while ago. I’ve also joked that the song is so silly, it should include the line, “Clap along if you feel like a shoe without a sock.” But I realize that Pharrell is more than “Happy.” Pharrell has been on my radar for a long time. Mainly for his personal style/fashion, TBH. His music was always secondary to that, for me. But this dude is 41 and looks like a damn giddy 20-something. I’ll clap along for you, Pharrell. My room? It needs a roof. Let’s fix that. Clap along, Pharrell, if you feel like giving me a roof. And uh, really get up there and secure it and, uh, shit, I don’t know much about roofing. All I know is that when Pharrell performs, he has the giddiness of a young man (as well as the face), and it makes me want to be happy. Like, I would even overlook the clusterfuck that is “Blurred Lines” for Pharrell. Because I’m happy. Clap along.


5.) Marc Maron


How the hell did this one happen? Well, I Netflix marathoned Maron, that’s how. We all know I love older men, and Marc Maron is that quintessential older man — the one who pretends to hate his life when really, he’s secretly loving life, balls-out. The problem here is that Maron is sober and I am not. My wine glass is only empty because I’m about to fill it. But man, I have a thing for cantankerous older men. Maron seems to have a problem with everything, and I find that insatiable. I’d put up with his bullshit, roll my eyes, and be his forever. I’d listen to all his bullshit records, from those bands that no one’s heard of but he somehow has, and he knows it. Shit.


4.) Blake Shelton.


I guess I’m on a The Voice kick — first Pharrell, now Blake. The Blake one shames me, deeply. I don’t know what it is, but once I saw him on Saturday Night Live, doing his “Wishing Boot”sketch, that’s when something clicked — sweet fancy Moses, I wanna do this man. We have absolutely nothing in common. He’s a country music star and the only country music I like is real old school, like Dolly Parton country. (BTW, I AM AWARE THAT  HE, AND PHARRELL ARE MARRIED. AND I REALIZE I HAVE NO CHANCE WITH THESE PEOPLE. CHILL OUT.) Discovering that I’m attracted to Blake Shelton is like someone telling me I can urinate through my eyeballs — what? How? And why? — that’s how it feels. I feel so…ashamed. Not that he’s not an attractive and talented man — he’s just so not my type. I’m confused. But I’m gonna roll with it.


3.) Jon Hamm

Four Seasons Hotel

So on the previous list, I included Don Draper, but not Jon Hamm, and yes, I am aware that Don Draper is fictional, thank you. But this time around, I am including Jon Hamm, the man. Because he’s proved himself to be more than Don Draper. He has a wicked sense of humor and always kills it on SNL. I’ve come to the point where I am able to separate him from Don, and I like what I see. Funny story: I once saw Jon Hamm in person and made an ass of myself, but that’s a story for another time. If you’ve read this far, let me know if you ever want to hear it. Anyway, my point is, he’s come so far. He’s no longer just “Don Draper” to me, and thus, deserves a spot on this list, even though I heard rumors that he picks up random girls and fingers them in his car. What? WHAT??? I’m just being honest. Just being honest.


2.) David Bowie


I mean, this one is a given, if you even know me at all. David Bowie is one of my true loves. But the thing about Bowie, and the reason why he’s not number one, is that I believe you should never meet your heroes, even just for one day. (HA! SEE WHAT I DID THERE?). He just means too much to me. So much that I don’t even think I can say anymore. Just know that I love him, and will forever, but hope to never actually be anywhere near him. I saw him in concert twice, and bawled both times. So any interaction between me and Bowie would be bad news. But I can’t not include him on the list. So here he is. Ziggy played guitar…


1.) Paul McCartney


Paul McCartney is my EVERYTHING. You know, I have a boyfriend, so this list is all fun and games — except for Paul McCartney. My boyfriend understands that if I were offered an evening with Sir Paul, I would take it (to the limit) (one more time). And he accepts that. We both know it’s never going to happen, but so help me God, if it does, I am IN IT to WIN IT. I don’t fucking care that he’s old. People are like, “Oh ew, imagine his 72-year-old body on you” and I’m like, “I am, and it’s FANTASTIC.” I will want Paul McCartney forever and always. He is the one for me. He just doesn’t realize it. Try to see it my way, Paul. We can work it out. We can work it out! P.S. I love you. You, you, you!


Who is on YOUR “To Do” list? DON’T BE SHY!

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Facebook Sucks, Part 2

Facebook sucks

I’ve said before and I’ll say it again: Facebook sucks. Once again, I have embarrassed myself on Facebook, and I only had the best of intentions.

I got back together with my ex boyfriend. Not because I hate being single but because it feels right. At this point, our not being together only seems like a pause in the relationship; we’ve been together longer than we haven’t.

So I wanted to make it official, by changing my status on Facebook to “in a relationship”, which is something I’ve never done before, ever. I thought it would be a simple process. I thought it would go over with little fanfare.

How very wrong I was.

You see, Facebook took it upon itself to EMAIL MY FRIENDS PERSONALLY, to let them know I’m in a relationship. If I had known it was going to do that, I wouldn’t have changed my status. Here’s how it went down. I blurred the last names and faces of those involved:



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The Summer Fling I Never Had

summer fling

I’ve never had a summer fling. Those kids from Grease make it sound like such fun! If I had a summer fling, I imagine his name would be Jacques and his hair would be as dark as a David Lynch film. We’d meet in a hilarious and adorable way, like perhaps he accidentally took my drink at Starbucks, and I would tease him for thinking my name was anything like his, and he’d have a fiery French temper but an English wit, and he’d say something like, “I deeply apologize for the horror I caused; let me make it up to you.”

And he’d make it up to me by picking me up at my hotel (yes, I’m suddenly on vacation, it’s summer, where else would I be) on his Vespa, and I’d be very nervous at the prospect of riding on a Vespa, and he would say, “Shhh, I steer her well.” And I’d trust him, because that’s what you do when you’re on vacation in a fantasyland. You trust the guy with the Vespa.

I’d cling to him as we’d zip throughout the city, all the way out to the beach, where he’d procure wine and cheese from his Vespa. Oh, and there’s a blanket, somehow. Somehow he fit a blanket, because he’s magical Jacques. We’d sit on the blanket and drink wine and he wouldn’t ask me even once, “So what do you do for a living” because he knows such questions are mundane and boring and make me fret about my future. We’d exchange rapid-fire banter like we were in a Nora Ephron film, or hell, an episode of Gilmore Girls. It would be the exact mental stimulation I’d need. He’d keep me on my pedicured toes and then we’d dive in to the water, together, and I wouldn’t feel self conscious about my “bikini body” because he’s already make it clear that he thinks I am the most beautiful woman on Earth. I’d point out that Charlize Theron is also on planet Earth, and he’d say, “Shhhh” and then blow confetti out of his palm.

Because whimsy.

After the beach he’d drop me off at my hotel, always the gentleman, so that I could change for dinner. We’d go somewhere where men are required to wear a jacket and tie — that’s how you know this is a fantasy, as such places don’t exist anymore. But we’d find it and we’d go there, and I would eat and eat and drink and drink and dinner would feel like our own little Disneyland; a place where we can have fun and be indulgent and no one can judge us. He would insist on ordering one dessert with two forks, and the most magical thing about this meal is that at no point during the meal do we ever check our phones, not even once.

I suppose we’d make love that night, and I say “make love” because that’s what he would say, and the best part is, it wouldn’t sound cheesy or creepy or weird. He’d have that uncanny ability to utter the phrase, “shall we make love” and have it sound as though it were a brilliant and novel idea.

And we’d repeat this every day, sometimes changing it up and going to wine tastings, sometimes just spending the whole day in bed, sometimes just wandering around whatever made up city we’re in, and I would never have to plan anything and he’d insist on paying for almost everything, because he’s old school. He’s so old school he’d drape his jacket over a puddle and insist I walk upon it, and I wouldn’t at first, but he’d beg, and I’d say, “C’est la vie” and he’d roll his eyes and call me a “typical American” and we’d bicker but there’s so much passion there that we’d probably wind up eloping by the end of my vacation and we’d realize it was a very very bad mistake but neither of us would want to admit it, so we’d stayed married for 10 years while he had numerous affairs and I pretended not to notice.

Ah, don’t you just love summer flings?!


Originally posted on The Gaggle, by me. Photo by Gordon Parks via LIFE photo archives for Google.


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The Worst Things Anyone’s Ever Done On A Date


I like to write about dating on this blog. We’ve talked about the worst date you’ve ever been on, as well as the best. But, like Ariel, “I want mooooooore.” So I asked my readers, “What’s the worst thing anyone’s ever done to you on a date?” Here’s what you guys said. Leave your own “worst thing anyone’s ever done to you on a date” in the comments! And know that you are not alone.


“So one time I went out on a date with this girl I’d been trying to get with for a few months, but apparently I was her second choice that evening, because in the middle of dinner she gets a call from the guy she REALLY wanted to go out with, saying he was free after all. So she left to go meet him…and of course, she felt the need to TELL me that was the deal, because, you know, ‘honesty is important.’ I was left with the bill and the embarrassment.” — Wade. 

“A guy wanted me to come to his area for dinner. I did and he showed me his parking spot where I could park. My car got towed because he didn’t actually rent the spot and he refused to come with me to get my car. He wanted a second date. I wanted the money to get my car back.” — Virginia.

“We went skating and he started crying because his skates didn’t fit. In public.” — Lindsay.

“A guy moaned like a woman while kissing me. He also told me he had herpes and even though I told him that was a deal breaker, he still grabbed his denim boner at the end of the date and said, ‘Go home and think of thiiiiiis’ in that same womanly moan. I shit you not…it was the worst. I was stuck in his car when he kissed me and totally felt like a victim of the ‘implication’. Good ol’ OkCupid.” — Lauren.

“Let’s go with top three FIRST DATE quotes:

  1. My eggs aren’t getting any younger and if dating keeps going the way it has been, I’m gonna have to freeze them. I’d rather avoid that, so I hope you’re taking this seriously.’
  2.  ‘I don’t want children. My dad abandoned me and my siblings and if you ever get me pregnant I will resent you and our children the rest of your life because I never had a dad growing up and it wouldn’t be fair that they did.’
  3. ‘I just moved down here because I had to escape my abusive relationship. I mean, I was the one attacking him all the time and getting the cops called on us. But, I mean, there’s just something that made it work, we were like Dan and Roseanne, and that’s the kind of relationship that appeals to me.’ Cue crying (her, not me).

This is when I noped out of Ok Cupid for a while.” — Daniel. 

“I went rock climbing on a first date. I was terrified and he said, ‘You don’t have very good self-esteem.’ There wasn’t a second date. Super cute guy though. I’ve rock climbed since and no one insulted my self-esteem.” — Kristin.

“Spent the whole time telling me why HIS metal band was awesome while all other metal bands were posers. Refused to eat nachos during the Superbowl. Called the Puppy Bowl a ‘retard bowl’ and wondered why there wasn’t an actual ‘Retard Bowl’, you know, with like, ‘retards running around with pillows strapped to them.’ My first online date, and I cancelled my account the next day.” — Archer.

“The worst thing a guy ever did to me on a first date was at a party. It was his birthday and he thought it would be a good first date to introduce me to all his friends. Little did I know he was actually making a bet with friends he would have me naked with a banana — not a euphemism — in my mouth before midnight. I found out because one of the girlfriends of his friends felt bad and told me about it at 11pm.” — Cassandra.

“[She] Snapchat’d me during dinner with a selfie saying, ‘I have a boyfriend. :(” — Timothy. 

“I went on a date with a guy who could not talk about anything for more than like, 2 minutes. He also tried to order me ‘one of every martini’ which he thought was hilarious, and me and the waitress thought was kinda weird — we exchanged a ‘WTF’ glance. Then we went to a second place where he realized that he somehow didn’t have his wallet and left to go look for it. He never came back. It was a blizzard outside so impossible to get cabs and I had to wait for a waitress to finish her shift and managed to sweet talk her into driving me home. Then he tried to call me for a second date.” — Jen.


YIKES. Yeah, these are some pretty bad dates. YOUR TURN!

Photo by Joseph Szabo via Masters of Photography.

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I Love British Men

British men

I love British Men. I blame David Bowie. And Paul McCartney. And Jarvis Cocker. To me, British men are like Pokémon: gotta catch ’em all!

I’m on Tinder now (God help me) and I am seeing a lot of British men pop up. (Do they prefer English men? Englishmen? Someone help me out. Is British somehow offensive? I have no idea.) I know that they’re British because they say so; it’s not like I have really good British radar where I can see a photo of someone and tell. And by the way, when I say “a lot” of British men, I mean like 1 out of every 40 guys is British. Which seems like a lot when you’re bored and go through Tinder about as often as you blink. I am absolutely fascinated by Tinder. But that’s not important right now.

What’s important right now, and forever, is British men. Yes, I absolutely have a Brit fetish. I’m aware that this could be offensive, because few people really want to be someone else’s fetish. I’d be creeped out if someone boasted their love for Jewish-Italian girls and treated me like an object. But, come on. British men are amazing. You could take the most unattractive British guy and bam! Bob’s-your-uncle he’s 10x more attractive than an average American guy solely because of his accent. It’s true and I’m not sorry.

I’ve been chatting with one particular Englishman on Tinder. We’ll call him Bert, after the ever-delightful chimney sweep. Bert and I sent a few messages back and forth, and then my brash American brain decided I needed proof of Britness. I asked him to call me to, “prove you’re British.” And God save the Queen, he did. And I don’t care if the accent was fake, because it was incredible. Hearing a British man talk to you over the phone is like hearing your own private concert from your favorite musician. They could say anything and it would sound like a gorgeous symphony. Imagine your favorite English accent in your mind. Now imagine it saying, “I strangled six cats with an iPhone cord.” Fabulous.

Bert and I were going to meet last night, but we didn’t. I think we’re both too nervous to actually meet each other. And now, if he sees this, he’ll probably never want to meet me. And that’s okay. Such is life. Sometimes life is about what doesn’t happen, instead of what does.

I’m exchanging messages with another British dude on Tinder, too. Or at least I was, until he stopped responding. And I didn’t even say anything offensive, I swear.

I think men on Tinder are Googling my name and are finding my blog and going, “LOL hell no, k byyyeee.”

Oh, well. Mind the gap.

Let’s discuss British men and/or Tinder. I want to hear your stories about either. Or both!


Photo of David Bowie by me @apocalypstick.

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I Hate Being Single

hate being single

So here’s a thing about being single: I hate it. I hate being single. I hate every part about it. I hate when coupled people tell you that it’s “fun” to be single. Like we’re going to or throwing outlandish parties every night.

hate being single

Pictured: my single life.

No. It’s really more like this:

hate being single

My whole life is like a pair of George Costanza’s pants. Interpret that how you will.

And I hate when coupled people say something like, “I miss being single/Hell, I wish I were single” — it’s like, really? You sure you wanna say that, because that’s a terrible thing to say. I’m telling your bf/gf just to spite you.

Being single sucks, honestly. You never have a date for anything, you have no idea where the next person is going to come from (or when), there’s a lot of lonely nights, and you don’t have someone to share fun inside jokes with. Some people consider all of these things pluses. I see them as big minuses. I want someone to have fun inside jokes with. The kind of jokes that lead to kisses and snuggling. And I don’t even particularly like cuddling and snuggling. I get bored. But damnit it, I want it. I want to know where my next inside joke is coming from.

“Where is my John Wayne,” sang Ms. Paula Cole. “Where is my prairie song? Where is my happy ending? Where have all the cowboys gone?” I don’t necessarily want a cowboy; I don’t think we’d have much to relate to. He’d be like, “I’m on a horse” and I’d be all like, “I hate horses, they scare me, they look like monsters.”

What I’m saying is, I just want to jump into my next relationship, but I’m not going to do it hastily; I still have high standards for myself, as any gal should. I’m not just gonna tango with the next guy who asks me to tango. Tango is a euphemism. For relationships. (Sometimes my writing is really complex, so I thought I should break that down.) I want to jump in, with my stupid full heart. I want a partner. I want the Don to my Roger, in a romantic way. I want to face the world knowing I have someone to text about it. Someone who will read the text and be touched that I thought of them.

I hate being single.

Do you relate?


Photo by Nicolas Venturelli via Flickr.


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