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The game of dating online has its own share of disadvantages as you can easily get cheated or even played – you never know whether the person you’re dating is married while you think he/she is single.
Just because your friend’s ex wasn’t right for her doesn’t mean that he won’t be right for you.
That’s Marnie’s new plan for herself and her three best Is it possible to freecycle love?
My poet friend—call her Sylvia—thought she had a guy for me. Trying to be a good sport, I said to him, “Tell me everything.” Two nights earlier, he’d gone on his first date with some Ph. Enjoying exorbitantly expensive sushi is not exactly difficult, people!
Weirdly confessional, but in a good way—like you, actually. Suddenly, I was grateful she hadn’t officially set us up; therefore, I hadn’t been officially rejected. Then I realized she wouldn’t have had any reason to mention it, because she hadn’t set us up. “And if I read one more online profile by a guy looking for a woman who’s ‘just as comfortable shooting pool in a dive as using chopsticks at Nobu,’ I’m going to scream.
And I definitely don't want mine to be, "Well I was on the web... On that website some guy messaged me and then after a few days he just stopped talking to me. I thought I fell in love with darkness, I cried ...
“Anyway, I think it stands a better chance if there’s no romantic pressure and you get to know each other as friends first.” Then I groaned. Opening the door, I saw a blue-eyed blond—not my usual type, but so adorable that I could be flexible. I followed him and flopped down cross-legged on the floor, feeling too polite to kick him out but too exhausted to make any effort.
” Architects have a certain cachet for me: They’re creative but more practical and stable than the writers and artists I usually fall for. As if to emphasize that point, he asked if I’d be his temporary dating guru during Sylvia’s absence. After a little smooching on the couch, she went into the kitchen and returned with two beers—completely naked. Hadn’t Sylvia told him that I was—how do you say—between men?
Because, also like you, he can be a little neurotic—” “Me, neurotic? But over drinks at the bar in an old unmarked Victorian, he started telling me about a girl he’d just met—which obviously meant he had zero romantic interest in me! ) But I blurted out the more pressing question: “So did you guys—” I did a disco-roll with my hands. Then, lit only by the glow of the orange moon coming in the skylight, he asked if I was seeing anyone.
“Frank Lloyd” came by to take me out the night I arrived, a Thursday. Without lifting his hands from the steering wheel, he gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look. After we’d dropped Andrew off Sunday night, Frank asked if I’d like to see his place. Instead, he went into the kitchen for another drink.
You look at a picture, read the profile, do the meet-and-greet over cocktails—then you take him or leave him. “I want sex.” But when the time came, I sucked it up and drove to the college town where Sylvia lives to tend her felines and have a platonic beverage with the architect. Later, I was getting out of his car when Frank asked if I could do dinner Saturday. “Sounds great,” I said—and then I impulsively hugged him. We’ll all hang.” When I met up with the guys that weekend, Frank tersely reported that date No. But as much as I enjoyed it, I couldn’t help wonder what things could have been like if there’d been only two of us. “Whatever you want,” I said, thinking, If you’re not going to manhandle me, definitely leave—and go straight to hell.