I want to start off by saying that Bob is not a bad guy. He is not a creepster douche bag that deserves a little mockery in exchange for disrespect. Instead, Bob is a guy that walked into my salon last Thursday morning, with a flimsy excuse to “scope out the digs”, who chatted me up for twenty minutes. He had a bejeweled band on his wedding finger, so I assumed he was married and just wanted to flirt. Then his inquiries got a little personal, and he asked me my age and whether or not I was “spoken for”.

Dear John. I've never written a “Dear John” before, and I feel very old fashioned, or romantic, or nostalgic, or really just like my normal self, only different. Who was the original John? I envision him in army fatigues, or something a little smarter, like a lieutenant's uniform. Handsome and young. Freshly shaved and scrubbed clean. Dear John, or Unwelcome lover who I no longer want in my life, And here I thought I'd rid myself of you for good. I patched the weak spots and filled the open spots, making myself impenetrable, stronger, a wall.

And when you are riding your bike down 6th Ave, and you pass a woman crying, think about stopping. This young, distraught woman whose loveliness is stifled by despair might need you. But remember, she is not your friend. You can console her, hug her, maybe, but don't kiss her forehead and refrain from massaging. Listen, of course listen, but proffered advice is not always welcome. You can't just say, “Perhaps it's time to cut out all films dealing with cancer.” For that matter, why go see any movie with death in it? Or pain inflicted on animals. Or anything to do with addiction.

In the last week, I have come across the word “ubiquitous” within the first few chapters of three different books. I think the word “ubiquitous” has become ubiquitous.
Crissy Powers, my bike, is too heavy to carry up and down three flights of stairs every day. However, when there is a large pile of vomitus disgustus marinating outside the elevator, it is amazing how light she becomes.

Opposites attract. Of course. We've heard that idiom countless times, Paula Abdul sang about it with a cartoon cat that liked to smoke (I write this with a straight face, I swear) and you have probably even experienced this phenomenon firsthand. But what happens when you are attracted to someone that is your synonym? Surely this must happen a lot, and yet there is no catchy phrase to toss around like “opposites attract”.

I have this theory about dinner dates. First of all, you can never go wrong when offering to pay for a girl. I mean, I like women's lib just as much as the next girl, but I am also living in a super expensive city and I am not one to look down on free food. Also, if you are the one offering to take me out to dinner, if you pick the restaurant, it seems only appropriate for you to treat. I know this is not a novel idea by any means, but I am hoping some dudes read this and take it to heart. But here's the deal, when you treat a girl, you should do just that.

Let me take a minute from my diatribes about my silly dating life and give a shout out to two of my favorite people on this planet. One year ago, on August 14, 2010, my little sister Vanessa married my best friend Alaine. This was a momentous occasion on so many levels. First of all, they were married the week that California repealed Proposition 8, known as the Marriage Ban.

And so last night I went to see Bon Iver live at the Prospect Park Bandshell, which is an incredible outdoor venue inside an incredibly beautiful park in Brooklyn. And while everyone stood around me, swaying and clapping and even dancing (and oh how cute they are, those two, my friends, the ones dancing with hands clasped and eyes closed, almost old-fashioned the way they move, and really they are the best looking couple in all of New York City, especially because they are quite lovely people on the inside, too) I stayed on the ground.

Some people have inquired about the authenticity of my dating blogs. Here is the truth: My stories and anecdotes and experiences are true; they did happen in real life and in 2011 and in New York City. Fortunately, not all of these things have happened to me. Unfortunately, they have happened to my closest friends. And, let's get serious, most of these stories are mine.

How about I suggest we go grab pizza, and then you concur, and then follow that up with an email telling me that times are tough and would I mind treating you?
How about we go on two dates, have very little physical interaction, as in no goodnight kiss, even, and then you send me a text that says, “Text me if you like nice guys with big [expletive]”.