Whenever I dream of a guy I used to date, I always dream of my college boyfriend. There are very few things I could tell you about him, but I can tell you the way he made me feel – delectably happy. Simply, we were in love. I haven’t felt that way since him and I think I’ve always been searching for it, hence why I’m rightfully so picky. I’ve dreamt about my college sweetheart ever since we broke up. Usually faceless images of him pop into my sleepy thoughts, like a ghost haunting me, reminding me to not give up on what I deserve. Not once have I had a dream about any other ex so are my dreams telling me something? I’m not spiritual in any way, but maybe my dreams are giving me signs to stay on the right path to love so I can again be happy, genuinely happy in a relationship.

This boy would randomly bring me flowers, he’d leave me love notes, we talked constantly and, while we had our fights as couples do, we were generally blissful. I don’t want to date him again (he’s married anyway), but I want to feel that way again. We made some regrettable decisions when we were together (i.e. I have no friends from college because I spent ALL of my waking moments eating, breathing and sleeping him), but I was happy, genuinely happy. 

Why, then, have I ever settled for anything less? I’ve subjected my heart to trauma since that relationship ended – cheaters, liars, jerks, commitment-phobes, you name it – all on the search for *that* feeling. I had a taste of how delicious being in love could be, and I’m determined to savor it again. 

If you’ve read one blog post or you’re an avid newcitylifeadventure.com reader, you’ve most likely noticed that my dating life is dismal. I try, I really do, to take advantage of every situation where I can meet interesting and different people; I’ve tried the likes of OKCupid, Plenty of Fish, Tinder, speed dating, speed friending, Grouper, meeting guys at the bar, etc. all of which have given me disaster after disaster. Is it me? I am the common denominator in all of these situations. So instead of taking matters into my own hands, I decided to put matters into the hands of my bestie, Kira. Here’s how it went down:

I bought a month’s worth of match.com and asked Kira to essentially “be Ashley” for the month. I made my own profile complete with my pictures, my answers to questions, and information all about me. My username and password were then forwarded to Kira who did the searching, the “winking”, the chatting, the messaging, and the vetting. When it came time to exchange numbers, I went online and reviewed: was he someone with whom I wanted to go on a date? Once my phone number was given, the rest of the work came back to me. Within this month, I went on first dates with four guys, second dates with three of them, and a handful of dates with one of the original four. There was no love story in the end, but I did learn a thing or two about dating multiple people at the same time and not getting too eager about one nice guy.

I asked Kira to share her experience for this post:

Continue reading A Social Experiment →

Growing up, us girls watched the likes of Cinderella, Snow White, and Belle fall in love with a man whom she barely knew and live happily ever after. Books I read, movies I watched, and shows on TV all portrayed love as this perfect, easy task. Find a man and he’ll instantaneously fall in love with you. It wasn’t about lust, it was about serendipity. Fate brought us together and no matter where I am in my life, you and I are going to work out forever and ever. Maybe a few missteps will get in our way, but in two hours or less, our destiny will be sealed. So with all of these portrayals of love surrounding me for the last 30 years, it’s no wonder my ideals of a man and a relationship are skewed.

A great blog that I’ve mentioned before, Forty Days of Dating, explained this quite well: “Jessie wants love. She just wants to be a great girlfriend and to take care of her man. It just seems like she wants the perfect prototype to slide into her perfect boyfriend role.”

But that perfect boyfriend role doesn’t exist. Or if it does, I certainly haven’t found it, so it must be pretty illusive. I’ve met plenty of nice men who could be a Prince Charming if they tried hard enough or cared enough, but there’s always a flaw, something that makes me back away: he talks too much, he has bad teeth, he tries too hard, etc. So it makes me wonder, do I have a Princess Complex?

And I don’t mean that I act like a princess (though I’m sure a few people can attest to the fact that I have on occasion felt that pea under all those mattresses), but more that my idea of what I want from a man, what he can offer me, and how he’ll act is more fantasy than fiction. I’m looking for a prince, when they don’t exist. I have very high expectations for the men I meet and very rarely can they even come close to the standard that I’ve set.

So that leaves me with a few options: lower my standards, be a single old maid, or continue to date guys who can never match up to what I want. Two of the three of these choices suck big time. I am selective – some might call it picky – but maybe I am too critical and too harsh on the men I meet. Lowering my standards doesn’t mean they have to be low standards. Lowering my standards could mean, though, that I have the potential to meet men who aren’t princes, but can still be my Prince Charming.

As a last ditch effort before my time on Match expired, I threw my number at a guy with whom I’d had a few exchanges. We first met at a bar and had a four hour date discussing the perils of online dating, the ups and downs of living overseas, and the general get-to-know-you type questions. Yes, I said four hours – that’s a very long time in the first date world. I never once looked at my watch or hoped that it would please-just-end. Even without a goodnight kiss before my taxi pulled away, I was certain that date #2 would ensue.

And, I was right. Two days later, Mr. Wonderful asked if I was interested in having dinner…at his place. As a “renowned chef” (his words), he wanted to make a delicious meal before jetting off to Germany for two weeks. Though I’m always cautious about going to a guy’s place so early on, I agreed. He’d been perfectly harmless on date one; like I said, he didn’t even attempt to kiss me. He went all out on a four course extravaganza – it was splendid. Through the preparation, dinner, and afterwards, we talked about all sorts of things. As most second dates will do, Mr. Wonderful kissed me. I kissed him back. That’s as far as I wanted to take it. Kissing is a good first step. Why give away the cookie before he’s earned it?

I could tell that his hands were hoping to wander, so I gently pushed them away. He tried again and this time I vocalized that I wanted to keep the party PG. “This is PG,” he said while attempting to lift me onto his lap. I resisted, reminding him again that I wasn’t going any further. He pouted, but left me alone…for a few minutes. Another kiss came my way and I fielded it, but not fast enough for him to unzip my dress. Mind you, the zipper was a mere 6 inches (it was one of those pretty pink ones that are simply for looks and an aid for getting your head into and out of the dress), but within 30 seconds, he had already unsnapped my bra through the zipper opening.

“I said that we were keeping it PG,” I exclaimed whilst hopping up from the couch. Stalking to the bathroom, I noticed that the clock read 10:42 – a perfect excuse to leave on a Monday evening. I re-attached my bra, zipped up my dress, and stalked back out to the living room.

Putting on my sweater, socks (yes, he’d somehow managed to slip those puppies off, too), and shoes, I told him that it was my bedtime, so I’d be leaving. “But why?” he whined a legitimate I’m-three-years-old-and-want-a-new-toy-from-the-grocery-store-aisle whine. “Why stop something if it feels good?”

“Because I said so.”

“But, but…I made you dinner,” he reasoned. So by him making me dinner, he expected that I owed him sex?! On what planet were we? On planet Earth, no means no – always. He walked me downstairs, all the while huffing about the fact that we were having fun and that people always stop themselves from having fun. My arm flew up the second I stepped out of the door, “Taxi!!”

Near to tears, Mr. Wonderful neé Mr. Go F@$K Yourself tried one last time: “But I’m leaving for two weeks…” Exactly my point – why have sex or even get busy with a dude that I’m never – and I mean never – going to see again??

In case you didn’t already know this guys who’re reading this blog: no means no – always. And in case you didn’t know this, ladies, just say no when a near stranger asks you over; who knows what kinda shit you might get yourself into.