In Memoriam: The Ghosts of Dating Past

Someday, somehow, I envision there being a giant, stone tablet memorial located in the heart of Philadelphia with the names of all the duds I’ve dated etched into the wall. There will be flowers sitting below the names commemorating their painful existence, and attendees will treat the wall’s presence like that of a funeral, donning black attire and holding calla lilies in mourning of my love life. Princess Diana’s memorial would look like a road-side car accident shrine by comparison.

And then I hit reality.

The truth of it all, is that my dating life isn’t really that horrid. In fact, just last week I experienced a pleasant date full of good conversation and coffee – the "double-C" combo that makes my heart continue to swoon and makes my dating life worth living. But alas, that third "C" – “chemistry” – was distinctly lacking from the event, landing me back to square-one as if I’d just stepped onto the “pass go” space on Monopoly.

And so the dating ferris wheel spins ‘round and ‘round.

I don’t actually have many friends or family members who served in the military, so my logical conclusion for honoring the battle-weary men and women of the world on Memorial Day is to reflect on the worn but honorable men and women who really deal with the biggest bombs and stabs to the chest in life: Philadelphia singles.

Strolling down the rugged terrain of my own dating memory lane, I’m confronted with visions of the guy who had the nerve to refer to Carrie Bradshaw only as a “horse” on our first date (poor thing clearly hadn’t read my blog to know that was a taboo move), the young man from out of town who looked around his uncharted Philadelphian surroundings and said with disdain, “They call this a city?” and, most depressingly, the dandruff-laden fellow who chain-smoked five cigarettes on a park bench during our first date and proceeded to gleefully tell the tale of when he shouted “cunt” at his Swedish university’s dean of students and, oh-so-shockingly, got expelled for it. Charming, truly.

But the date that takes the wedding cake, and continues to deepen my cynical wounds, happened just last week when I did something so unthinkable, so naïve, that even I had to sit back and smoke a cigarette afterward to take it all in.

I let someone sleep over on the first date.

Sometimes, when I feel really pessimistic about dating, I decide to break my own rules. Occasionally that means meeting someone somewhere other than a coffee shop or a park, or opening the ex-file prematurely for the sake of “transparency.” But this particular rule I had yet to break, and now know will never be broken again.

It's like buying a mystery bag of goods on the Internet and hoping it will arrive with a million dollars inside. Nice in theory, but disastrous when the bag comes and all you have is a box of Goobers and a shoddy pair of faded jeans to show for it.

For starters, this man thought 777 was the ideal place to live. I apologize in advance for the off-topic rant, but my idea of a luxury condominium does not involve overpriced, smoke-free apartments across from a McDonald’s and a Popeye’s in the middle of Philthadelphia. It’s Boca Raton or nothing at all for me, folks. And when I offered my opinion, I got a smile and a nod in return.

But that leads into the primary problem I had with this person and most dates in general: What in the hell is wrong with dates who are capable of nothing more than nodding their head in agreement and phony-laughing at every bad joke I make? Perhaps it’s a matter of taste, but I don’t want to date someone who wants to appease and agree with everything that comes out of my mouth – if I wanted that, I’d date a Furby.

Allow me to be perfectly clear and succinct about this particular ghost of dating past, and all of those like him who I'm sure you all have encountered at one point or another:

1. If you ask someone on a date, expect to pay for them. Male, female, trans, alien from Mars in stilettos – I don’t care what or who you are, come prepared with cold-hard cash when you ask someone on a date, specifically when you ask them to dinner. I don’t care that your roommate didn’t give you his half of the rent today like you’d expected, or that you had a slow week at work; credit cards exist for a reason. At least plan to pay your own way, even if it means going all Tony Soprano on someone to make that happen.

2. “Oh, I’ll cover it next time.” Jumping off of the preceding point, don’t be so presumptuous as to safely assume there will be a “next time.” I’m sad to say that, as much as it pains my wallet to pay for a pizza, it’s not worth it to go on another date for the sake of making up the difference. I’ll take my pizza and go, thanks.

3. Make a f**king decision. I like that someone wants to give me the freedom to choose something, but not all of the time. I spent way too much time trying to decide on a pizza place for the two of us, and by the time we’d decided to just settle for Domino’s take-out, he pulled the, “Oh, I’ll eat anything – get whatever you want!” card when asked what pizza he wanted. That’s not an answer, that’s a cop-out.

4. Don’t be surprised when you get sent to the futon to sleep. Cuddling is not a consolation prize for a bad date– if I don’t like you, you’re getting sent to the futon. It’s as plain and simple as the pizza we chose. Cuddling is great when you’re with someone you actually like, but otherwise it’s like snuggling with a Tickle-Me-Elmo that won’t shut up when you’re really craving your soft, quiet and gentle teddy bear. To quote Kelly Clarkson, “You know the bed feels warmer sleeping here alone.”

5. Talking about your ex implies there’s something wrong with you. I don’t care how nicely you say the relationship ended, the fact that you’re talking about it at all sends a pretty strong message on a first date. What’s worse? This bloke still lives with his ex. No wonder he didn’t pay the rent.

They say the best way to get rid of a ghost is to release it. I say the best way to get rid of a ghost is to tell him you’ll text him and then block his number.

Whatever gets the job done, really.

The Rules of Party Attraction

Anyone who's anyone knows the game of party-hopping on a Saturday night, and anyone with a condom in their pocket or a yearning heart has their sights set on the night's crowd, seeking the time of their life. Lights, camera, dry hump on the dancefloor: Don't let your perfectly groomed hair and snazzy clubbin' get-up go to waste.

To the dismay of single folk everywhere, making the most of a party is a multi-step process more laborious than your mind might realize as you click "Attend" to RSVP on Facebook for the shindig you've been obsessing over. Beyond the surprisingly hefty amount of time spent preparing for a party (hair, outfits, make-up, cocktail hour beforehand - the whole sixty-nine yards), the checklist of matters to take care of upon walking into a party seems almost endless: Greet your gracious host, say a brief hello to those few people you recognize ("Oh, it's simply been too long!"), check your things in, and then assimilate into the crowd to get your groove on before you're quickly branded as the loser standing alone in a corner grinding against the wall.

From there, it's a matter of sex smarts and plastering enough smiles and sultry eye glances on your face to permanently fixate your expressions in one position for the entire night.

The simple goal here? Don't look like a goober.

What I've recently come to realize, is that there's a legitimate reason why the popular phrase "catch of the day" exists in the [gay] dating world. At some point in your party experience - and it's normally very early on in your time at the party - you're going to inevitably find yourself escaping into a corner that gives you a panoramic view of the selections of the night, and you're going to scout the lake for the biggest fish, the smelliest one, the ugliest one and, if you're fortunate enough, the tasty, mouth-watering one.

And at this point, it's a matter of casting your line, and reeling it in.

As a result of some fruitful, enlightening discussion with one of my fellow party-goers, I've come to a (somewhat) life-changing realization that there are, in fact, four types of people you will encounter during your "fishing trip":

1. The guy who's just not that into you. Sadly, you will be incredibly and inexplicably attracted to this person, but their sights are set on someone else. Perhaps it's the lighting, or perhaps you just look like shit that night, but it's not going to happen - no matter how many drinks you grab for them or how many buttons you unhook down the line of your shirt. It's best to realize who this person is early on, so as to not waste valuable time on those who you don't actually stand a chance with. Get over it.

2. The second guy who's just not that into you. It shouldn't come as a surprise that there are more than one of these characters in existence at a party. If you run into this person twice in a row, your stroke of luck has probably ditched you for another party. But if you happen to casually stumble upon this person and acknowledge that they're going after another person fairly quickly, there might still be a chance for your sexual fortune.

3. The guy who's really into you, but makes you want to projectile vomit your cosmo. No, it's not a bad batch of cosmos or spoiled lime juice, it's that guy who won't stop staring at you while you're drunkenly grinding on your best friend. The easy way to tackle this, is to run to the other side of the crowd in hopes that they won't follow suit or will stumble upon a different dud stud to be infatuated with. Otherwise, you might try to hook them up yourself; or if you're suave enough, intentionally talk to them and make yourself seem about as appealing as Charlie Sheen on Twitter.

4. The guy who is "just right." OK, so it's not quite as romantic or ideal as the tale of Goldie Locks, but spotting this catch is the moment you should really whip out the net and dive it into the water. And contrary to what some might advise, "playing it safe" with this person is the absolute worst tactic you can employ. Instead of striking up conversation about what they do, talk about who they do. Instead of discussion about their day, talk about the events of the party. That doesn't mean appeasing them, per se, but do be politically affluent enough to know when you're being a kiss-ass. Just like a job interview, emphasize your skills.

As you strut your way into your next party, do try to be conscious of the four-person rule, and for the love of God, don't stand in a corner by yourself the entire night. Bring your fishing rod, and be prepared to get in the game - no matter how long you may end up waiting for a bite.

Mind over Matter, Love over Logic

I've spent enough time and energy on dating to know how the long-winded search for love works. You trudge through the first date, working your charm and presenting yourself as if interviewing for a job - if you want the job badly enough, your mind nervously goes into overdrive and exaggerates everything you do and say. If you don't really want the job, but you feel like you still might want it as a fallback, you still state your best qualities, but take on a demeanor that is relaxed and relatively uninvested, leaving the person on the other end of the "interview" either thoroughly impressed by your attitude or completely turned off. Afterward, you follow through with the text treatment - or the "follow-up" - for a few short weeks, and continue dating until one person either takes a step forward or waves their white flag and runs in the opposite direction.

As it turns out, I'm normally the one waving the white flag in surrender.

Relationships, to the dismay of many delusional hopeful, optimistic rom-com lovers, take work. It's a process that begins to feel like a second job (or perhaps a third or fourth, depending on your lifestyle), leading to a more disillusioned perspective on love than your 5-year-old, Cinderella-watching self would know what to do with. And as a result, we're utterly dumbfounded when we finally encounter a person who accomplishes something so mind-boggling, so absolutely unthinkable that we're stopped in our tracks: the realization of finally feeling "the zsa zsa zsu."

The saying goes that "opposites attract," and if that is in fact the case, then why are so many people surprised when they go through date after date seeking a manufactured connection with someone? The feeling of love is, inherently, an inexplicable emotional phenomenon. So vague, so ambiguous a concept, that the world's greatest creators of fine literature have spent their entire lives deciphering its meaning and its role in life and its everyday events. Such an intriguing thought, that bloggers like myself dedicate a wall in their bedroom to post-it notes questioning how relationships work (or perhaps that's just me?).

Finding myself in a head-scratching situation of my own, I can't help but question one thought-provoking idea about our lovers: Can you love someone you have nothing in common with?

Like any other chronic dater, I have a checklist of sorts laid out for when I meet someone. By my fantastical standard, they need to be effortlessly charming, alluring in the way that they speak, headed in a forward-moving direction in their life, and they need to have a grasp on my admittedly dry sense of humor. It's human nature - especially today - to put on the table all of your romantic requirements. Otherwise, by contemporary logic, it's like trying to run a brand-new, high-tech video game on a 1995 Macintosh computer: it just won't work.

But what happens, when you find someone who catches you by surprise; what happens when you discover a person who manages to make you smile and laugh, while all-at-once failing the system performance test you've put every other prospect through with the utmost caution? Is it possible, with all of today's neurotic dating tendencies, to leave your head in the dust, and act with your heart?

We've become so consumed by the idea of flawlessness in today's world that we sometimes forget to stop and consider what happiness really means to us; moreover, what it means to "settle" versus what it means to accept what we actually want. Does a person really fail to meet our ideals, or do they fail to meet the standards of the other players in your game of life? Sometimes, embracing love and all of its joys, means tossing your checklist in the trash with the rest of the waste.

Don't let others - or the pessimistic voices in your mind - tell you that you can't love someone. More often than not, those that walk through life alone are the same people who try to take control of love as if it is a horse that can be taken by the reins.

The next time your stomach flips and your heart races, consider one crucial thing: "Do I love this person based on my criteria, or someone elses'?"

If the answer is the former, then hold on tight, and for the sake of your own happiness, never let go.

Questions? Comments? Post below or send a tweet to @BrotherlyLover

Cybersex and the City

A racing heartbeat, throbbing loins, and a thoroughly flushed face forced onto the strong shoulder of your partner as their lips massage the contoured nook on the side of your neck. Blood rushes through your body, your eyes roll to the back of your head uncontrollably, and a pulsating sense of pleasure overcomes your body from head to toe, leaving you satisfied like a dog having finally snatched an out-of-reach bag of treats.


These are all experiences you don't get with cybersex.

When the inventors of Skype and Google Chat were concocting the blueprints of their services, I can only wonder whether they realized the trends they were about to start. No doubt, their envisioned experiences by the average person involved army wives interacting with their hubbies while on deployment, or mothers and fathers greeting their child that had just left the nest to begin anew in college. But did the vision of lusty touching and seductive stares cross their minds when they tested their video chat programs?

The world may never know.

It goes without saying that cybersex is akin to being the new phone sex: everyone does it, but no one wants to talk about it. When you're chatting with your friends about "getting laid" last night, you're more than likely alluding to physically "getting it in" after a wild night out or a late-night rendezvous with a Grindr whore guy. But recall the last time you had an in-depth conversation over martinis about having an orgasmic sexual encounter via Web cam? If you can muster up an actual recollection, you're far more progressive (or hopeless) than you probably realize.

My intentions as a sexual being are never to achieve sexual gratification through an indirect manner, but then again, my sights are so rarely set on just sex, that the cyber phenomenon only recently occurred to me. My recent travels took me to a Web chat with a student from the University of Pennsylvania (yes, one of those) who, like anyone else scouring the Web at 2 a.m., was looking for a little gratification of his own.

As I have the rotten habit of doing, I indulged in his bad flirting and creepiness for the sake of curing my boredom and embarking on my version of the "research" process. But curiously, his intentions for the evening went right to the Web cam - no mention of "coming over to watch a movie," no implication that he wanted to hop in bed with me, just a Skype invite from some loser with what could be the least sexy screen name on Earth. In the end, the "cyber" experience wasn't necessarily damaging, but it did leave a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. And my general rule, is that if I'm going to leave an encounter with a sour taste in my mouth, it's going to be a literal one - not a metaphorical one.

After experiencing a little more of the online dating scene than I care to admit, and reading through this particular person's messages, I've come to realize that the Web has completely redefined sex and - more alarmingly - the flirting cliche. Responses to simple, innocent introductory questions predictably draw forth the ever-popular, "Oh, I'm just laying in bed" answer, which in a modern day context translates to, "Oh, I'm just hard, horny and looking to have sex." The "Is that a gun in your pocket?" line would, sadly, come as a breath of fresh air put next to the brilliant lines some of the men in Philadelphia have come up with. Somehow, the world has become too half-hearted and sex-oriented to even attempt placing wit and humor into hook-up scenarios. And now, even more devastatingly and mind-bogglingly, we've managed to take the physical contact out of sex.

Yeah, try imagining that one.

It is my opinion that the journey is almost always more sense-heightening and satisfying than the destination, and for that reason, analyzing cybersex only leaves me confounded. By no means is it unhealthy by nature, and it can be enjoyable if enacted with the right person under the right pretense, but I can't help but wonder if it has left the sexual world lagging like dial-up in the 90s. After all, this act of glorified masturbation puts forth no sense of incentive: why work hard for something you can do yourself, anyway?

As fun as cybersex may (sometimes) be, I don't appreciate its social inept interactions spilling into real life scenarios. Allowing cyber hook-ups as a temporary substitute for sex is one thing, but using such a sloppy method of "sex" as a new sexual go-to? If approaching someone in a public setting for sex donning PJs, messy hair and a piss-poor attitude doesn't make you attractive, why would it make you studly during a video chat?

Please, folks, take my advice and try to aim for the "birds and the bees" and not the "nerd and the cyber sleaze."

How to have discreet sex while living with a roommate

No matter how comfortable your roommate may claim to be with the animalistic, hot ‘n heavy moans coming from your room, the likely reality is that few people are truly at home with the idea of hearing the not-so-subtle “bump in the night” at 2 a.m. After all, there’s a reason sleep machines don’t have “sex grunts” as a bedside lullaby option – the very thought of the noise is immediately either eye-rolling or envy-provoking.

To be considerate of the person in slumber just across the hallway, consider these three tips to abide by:

1. Keep it simple, stupid. Having sex with your roommate’s presence is automatically going to throw some inhibitions into the equation, so it may be more productive to skip some of the noisier, thrust-heavy motions that might rock the building. That isn’t to say you can’t enjoy a mind-blowing orgasm with your partner, but try to keep it short and simple. And please, refrain from obnoxiously knocking your partner’s head into the headboard like a paddle ball.

2. Embrace your iTunes library. Mind you, playing music during sex to subdue any noise does not mean whipping out your Marvin Gaye collection; play tasteful music that doesn’t distract from the feel of the moment but still gives your roomie the impression that it’s just another night in the neighborhood. Try checking out something with a little rhythm and groove, with enough pep to boost your libido and enough of a bass to drown out your partner’s climax.

3. Clean it up. The second-most obvious giveaway that you’re having or have had sex is the post-orgasm clean-up process. Prepare beforehand by piling some towels in your room (one of which you might want to shove under the crack of your door), or by simply locating your sexual activities to the shower where water will quell loud noises and simultaneously eliminate the ensuing mess. “The running water from the shower drowns out noise – that’s really important,” says local sexpert Jill “The Sexologist” McDevitt. “Investing in a waterproof vibrator and lubricant is also key.” Be prepared for a wet-and-wild adventure when sneaking in with your beau for a late night rendezvous.

Quiet sex doesn't have to equate to "bad sex" with the right contingency plan and a certain degree of tact in the bedroom. With any luck, you'll be able to avoid the awkward moment of encountering your roommate in the hallway with your bare bottom exposed and your partner blushing behind you.

Words you never said, in a text you never sent

Left alone in a dark room with nothing but your thoughts, you recount the things you might have done differently, and debate all of those unsaid words swirling through your mind like a tornado that never touched ground. One moment, you tell yourself you made the right decision, and that moving forward without the baggage is the best route. In another moment, you ponder whether that last text you sent – or rather, didn’t send, may have made the difference.

It’s a funny, funny world of communication we now live in.

Never has it been easier to interact with someone than it is today, and yet more and more, those words that we can feel slipping off the tip of our tongue still slide back into the back of our throat, thrust into an abyss of no return. Perhaps it’s because the choice to express emotion has been simplified to a text box and a “send” button, or perhaps it’s just because we don’t feel the need to take chances in the way we used to.

Finding myself in a bit of a predicament with my own texting experience, I received an out-of-the-blue message that left my eyebrow raised but my heart churning with excitement. It was the kind of text message you envision getting, but realistically convince yourself won’t happen. The text’s surface message was simple, but as most texts also are, complex in its hidden meaning. It goes without saying that no one judges a text based on its content as much as they do its context, and this was especially true of this case. My id dared me to indulge in the opportunity, but my ego saw me playing it safe and responding with words that I knew held no meaning, regardless of their context. The latter has left me contemplating how my love life might be different with a more ambitious response, with this case as well as the countless others that remain untold.

All of which begs the question of what you do with these texts that result in a racing heart and an apprehensive pair of thumbs; what you do with these hidden messages that lurk behind an actual message like a panther eager to pounce but suppressed by long-term tactics.

Our love lives are full of roads we’ve either bypassed or completely blockaded with “caution” signs and police sirens screeching with sounds of warning to steer you away from a desperate scenario. There are texts we ignore that could have developed into something more with a little more risk-taking, and conversations full of potential we intentionally lead down the path of simplicity out of basic anxiety. They’re all interactions with variables, with unrealized outcomes we may always be left to wonder about.

I once wrote a love letter to a person I was involved with, and found myself tempted to send it, knowing that the particular person appreciated handcrafted and heartfelt materials. I had the letter written, folded, and ready to go in an envelope, before something shouting deep within me sprang to consciousness and stopped my hand from slipping it into the mailbox. Sometimes, I wonder how that relationship would have evolved had I actually sent that letter. More recently, I consider how many more of these heart-protecting actions I’ve unknowingly taken, and particularly whether those words I’ve left unsaid in text messages have actually changed my life in ways I may never understand. Never has mankind had more opportunity to take a chance on someone, to put themselves out there with a few pecks from a twiddling thumb, and yet so infrequently do we take advantage of these opportunities to truly become close with someone.

It’s hard to determine whether an unsent text message (letter, email, whatever it may be) represents the life-altering scenario you envision in your mind, but it is nonetheless true that these represent chances not taken, and roads left unmapped. In some cases, it’s understandably just not worth it to take the chance, but as you’re driving down your road of mind-boggling love and infatuation, consider for a moment that your life is not limited to the roads laid out before you. As you drive yourself past these exits and pit stops, remind yourself that the road is your own creation, with a boundless array of unpaved roads left ahead of you that remain a mystery but hold the potential to be the most fruitful. Consider it a Columbus state of mind.

In the end, I beg this one thing of you: don’t leave yourself drowning in the words you’ve never said.

Have a question you want answered by Brotherly Lover? Send an email to brandon.baker@temple.edu or a tweet to @BrotherlyLover.

Five Reasons to Not Look Like Shit While in Public

I don't mean to channel the same uptight, prissy gay man stereotype you'd likely see in a Hollywood movie with a sass quota, but it would be great if some of Philadelphia's populace could do the city the great favor of not looking like shit all the time.

I get it: some of you are college students who wear sweatpants to class for convenience sake, some of you haven't done laundry in three weeks because you don't feel like journeying to the bank to get quarters, and some of you say you just don't have the money to invest in looking bang-able on a daily basis.

But get this: if the welfare girl on the street can afford maintenance of her weave, the SEPTA change machines can still spit out quarters, and your jeans can still button, you too can accomplish the great task of not looking like you walked out of a tornado. Even Dorothy managed to keep her hair in place after enduring a wind storm and crushing a gross-looking bitch witch with her hinterland house.

But I also get that looking good for your peers requires some incentive, so let's take a stroll down Alluring Avenue, where you just might find the cross street leading to Copulation Corner if you play your fashion-savvy cards right.

1. Walk it like you've got it. Newsflash: even if you don't look like Enrique Iglesias or Heidi Klum, that doesn't mean you can't fool the world into perceiving you that way. Feeling as good as you look is an essential part to changing the mood in the air. If you just rolled out of bed, don't walk with a hunch that conveys to the world that very fact; hold your head up high and walk with a strut. Mind you, "strut" does not equal "gay limp"; march down the street with confidence in your body and your known assets. Even if you don't find yourself all that desirable, someone else inevitably will - no matter how terrible you might look.

2. Don't be afraid to dress up for no reason. There's nothing shameful about wanting to look good. Take notes from Ryan Gosling's character in "Crazy, Stupid, Love"; he's a guy that knows what he wants, knows how to get what he wants, and also knows where to get it. Sprinkle in some conviction with your good-looking self. And if that's not enough motivation to get you to slap on that sweater you normally reserve for really nice events or tight pair of jeans you're embarrassed to squeeze into, think to yourself this: "What would Carson Kressley do?"

3. Even fate can't save a frumpy fool. If you're one of those "closet faters" who believes in the cosmos eventually leading you to your soulmate, consider that even your predestined beau may not want to "tap dat" if you're donning over-sized bluejeans and a coffee-stained t-shirt that screams "my backwoods mommy on crack dressed me this morning."

4. You never know where your libido will take you. Don't assume your hoo-has or your dark side are going unnoticed today. At any moment, you may find yourself in a promising encounter, which means you need to be prepared. Your sex drive is about as predictable as the boom-bust stock market; invest some time and effort into your body in case opportunity presents itself. It's like sticking cash under your mattress in case of an emergency.

5. Don't let the weeds cover the soil. Just because you're a pathetic loser in a dry spell and haven't had sex in more than a year, the world doesn't need to know that. Let Philadelphia - or whatever area you live in - know that your sexually radiant glow has not evacuated your body. You alone have the unique ability to control your aesthetic image communicated to those around you.

Or, basically, just don't look like shit.

Questions? Comments? Email Brandon Baker at brandon.baker@temple.edu or send a tweet to @BrotherlyLover.