Articles

REFURBISHING MY LIFE
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
AUGUST 28, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

Last week, I told an old friend of mine about my recent break up with The (Ex) Boyfriend. "Where are you living now?" he asked. "Um … same place, with the ex," I sheepishly answered. "WHAT?" he sputtered.

Er, yes. It's been three weeks since we split – and I'm expected to clear out already? This is Manhattan! That's impossible!

According to a recent New York Times article ("helpfully" emailed to me by a cruel, cold-hearted friend), vacancy rates hover at less than 1% while city rents have increased 15% since last year. Fabulous! As if the thought of moving doesn't already make me break out in hives, now I know it's even more onerous than usual.

Oh yeah – and have I mentioned I don't own anything anymore?

One of the benefits of moving in with An Established & Metrosexual Boyfriend is that they tend to own furniture that didn't come from the IKEA in Elizabeth, New Jersey. And couches which don't need slip covers to hide the vomit stains. And real artwork – not framed Guinness posters.

It's unsurprising, then, that all of my furniture (and dishes, curtains, bedding, toothbrush holders) was shunned in favor of "higher-quality" items in the beige/tan/taupe family. Our apartment looks like a hotel suite at the W. Pink is definitely not allowed.

Although I threw a small hissy fit about getting rid of my stuff at the beginning, I had to admit, he was right – my "Legally Blonde" belongings really didn't go with his sophisticated décor.

In any other city, I would have stored them in the extra closet or bedroom or basement. But here, that just wasn't going to happen – and so it went, on to Housing Works, or sold on Craig's List, or just abandoned on a street corner, waiting for a thrifty Manhattanite with a fetish for pink marabou.

It's been almost a year since I got rid of those things, and to be honest, I don't really miss them. But looking around "my" shared apartment in the last two weeks, I realized that if I moved out tomorrow, I'd have my clothes, my laptop and an enormous quantity of fuchsia dating advice books – but that's about it.

No TV. No microwave. No dishes or towels, let alone a bed or a desk or a bookshelf. I don't even own silverware!

So my home, which seemed very much His-and-Hers a month ago, now seems a lot more like His-and-She-Has-A-Closet.

Ironically, it's not the first time I've struggled with this issue. A little more than two years ago, I played house in California with my now ex-fiancé. After weeks of shopping at Bed, Bath & Beyond, days of fighting in the aisles of IKEA and months of constant reorganization (closets, kitchen, bathroom, closets again) – I broke up with him and moved across the country.

With little more than a few suitcases, I was relegated to starting over.

Of course, I promptly went to IKEA and bought the exact same furniture, the same bedding, the same picture frames (different photos). This time, though, it was all mine. All mine until, of course, it wasn't.

And now, after setting up three homes from scratch in the last two years, it looks like I'm going to have to do it again – although quite honestly, the thought exhausts me.

If I never again visited the Container Store, I'd be okay with that. If I never again searched Craig's List for a cheap-but-not-sketchy mattress, I'd be fine. If I never again had to open up a giant brown cardboard box filled with hundreds of pieces of wood and follow instructions that would confuse Bob Villa, I'd be overjoyed.

Although I wouldn't trade my time living with The (Ex) Boyfriend for any amount of pre-assembled furniture, there's nothing like a little "moving-out perspective" to make Manhattan Mini-Storage suddenly sound like the best deal ever.

Elizabeth, New Jersey, here I come. Again.

Posted by JA at 09:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

DONT HATE ME BECAUSE I'M SINGLE
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
AUGUST 21, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

I don't know what kind of response I expected to last week's column on breaking up with The Boyfriend ("Not Yet Ready for Mr. Right"), but it certainly wasn't "your [sic] a dumb ho."

Well, that's one way to put it.

Actually, "your a dumb ho" was the least of it. I did get a host of positive missives, but the rest were positively irate, calling me a "self-destructive, unappreciative fool" and wishing me unending misery in a house full of cats.

One woman told me I would have "baby fever" in three years. Another told me that I'd be on J-Date when I was 43. (Really? By 2025 I sincerely hope there are better ways to meet people. Ways that don't involve blurry self-portraits.)

The general consensus was that I was an immature, shortsighted idiot.

Well, I'm not going to lie -- that's already occurred to me. I'm petrified that I'm making the wrong decision. How could I not be?

My relationship offered security, stability, predictability. The (Ex) Boyfriend gave me unconditional love AND did my laundry at least half the time, if not more. It would be much, much easier to stay with him than forge out on my own.

Given that, comments like "You may realize a few years down the road that you made the most horrific mistake of your life," give me pause. But I'm still not convinced one should make life choices solely to avoid possible future unhappiness and/or houses with multiple cats.

I am convinced that if I stayed with The Boyfriend, married him, and had children, that I'd feel a nagging uneasiness.

Could I make it alone, without his support? Should I have experienced more of life independently, before submerging myself in the cozy confines of coupledom?

I know there are those who decide to spend their lives together straight out of college, but that's never felt right to me.

They used to call it "going from your father's house to your husband's house." It would be effortless for me to do that, but it would be a mistake.

One reader agreed: "I wish every woman in her teens and 20s could have read [your column last week]. Every person I know (under 45) who got married in their twenties is now divorced." The reader had "no regrets" about getting married at 33, and concluded her e-mail by writing, "I have a great husband, but life is even better because I know I could always make it on my own again if I needed or wanted to."

And that's exactly what I'm looking for.

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NOT YET READY FOR MR. RIGHT
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
AUGUST 14, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

"It's not you, it's me," almost always means "It's DEFINITELY you." But when I broke up with The Boyfriend last week -- at a Jamba Juice, no less (I know, I know. A little tacky. Oops?) -- I really did mean "It's me."

The truth is (note to my editor: please don't fire me for this), I've never been single in New York. In fact, I haven't been single, save a few weeks abutting three consecutive serious relationships, for the past four years.

I  met The Boyfriend in April of 2004, when I was a senior in college. Because I had a different boyfriend at the time (actually, I was engaged, but that's another column) -- we didn't start dating until I moved to New York later that year.

Still, I neglected to give myself even a minor breather in between relationships -- no time to look around, assess the scene, find out what it's like to date post-college. I just jumped.

Lucky for me, I jumped into something amazing. The Boyfriend happened to be the most incredible man I'd ever met -- generous, gorgeous, creative. I could list enthusiastic adjectives about him for days, but he's more than the sum of his abundant positive qualities. He fits me perfectly. He is, in fact, my best friend, my (cheese alert) "soulmate," the elusive Mr. Right.

The problem is, I'm not ready for Mr. Right.

I've always believed that no matter how equitable and compromise-loving your relationship is (and mine was both), you're not 100% yourself when you have a significant other. Of course, this isn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, without The Boyfriend, I'd be perpetually late and virtually incapable of going to bed at a "reasonable" hour. I'd also still wear ribbons in my hair and live in an apartment decorated completely in pink and white furniture from IKEA.

Then again, maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd wear only black business suits and inhabit a sleek SoHo loft devoid of color.

Probably not -- but therein lies the problem. I can never be sure of who I would be without a boyfriend, unless I try actually not having one.

Explaining why I ended the perfect relationship, I find myself repeating this mantra: "I don't believe that when you meet Mr. Right, you suddenly become complete. If I were 30, with a variety of life experiences under my belt, I'd marry The Boyfriend in a heartbeat."

But I'm not. I need to make my own mistakes, to date Mr. Wrongs, to see what else life has to offer. A decade from now, I don't want to wonder, "Can I really stand on my own two feet -- without him?" I want to know I can.

This isn't about finding a better man. It's about finding a better me.

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HERE'S MY SIGN, BABY
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
AUGUST 7, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

I'm embarrassed to admit that the world's No. 1 cheesiest pick up line – "Hey Baby, what's your sign?" – would actually work on me right now … but only if you really wanted to discuss it.

My current astrology fetish started as a trivial diversion – yet another way to procrastinate studying in college (I majored in Procrastination).

Like most people, my interaction with the much-maligned subject had been limited to mindlessly scanning one-line horoscopes in the back of magazines – then dismissing them the way I would a fortune cookie ("You will get a great surprise!" … in bed). Whatever, right?

That was until my new-age-loving cousin Andrea (a life coach in LA, for chrissake) told me about her favorite astrologer, the indefatigable Susan Miller – a former Daily News columnist and Access Hollywood commentator who runs the popular website AstrologyZone.com.

Prolific and perceptive, Miller avoids the platitudes so common to newspaper hacks, with long, detailed monthly forecasts that are – to put it mildly – unfailingly accurate and completely addicting.

How addicting? Well, since New-Age-Andrea told me about it five years ago, not a month has gone by when I haven't eagerly clicked on the site (at least once!) to check out my 'scope. I'm a Pisces with Gemini rising, by the way.

The Boyfriend, if you were wondering, is a double Aquarius. That means he's gregarious and friendly with an obsession with new technology. He's an air sign, I'm water. He's fixed, I'm mutable …

And herein lies the most fun part of astrology – it gives you YET ANOTHER way to analyze your relationships. In fact, every time I get a New Boyfriend, in a fit of unmitigated "I-Will-Never-Admit-I-Do-This-But-I-Can't-Stop-Myself," I immediately proceed to the Love Match section of the site to see if we're "compatible."

High School Boyfriend? Virgo. No wonder we didn't work out! Virgos are perfectionist workaholics. College Boyfriend #4? Uh … don't even know his sign. Obviously it wasn't that important of a relationship.

Is it a little nutty? Maybe. But so is over-analyzing "What He Said" versus "What He Meant" with my girl friends. And none of us will be stopping that inane behavior anytime soon.

I keep telling myself that I don't really believe in the stuff, I just like to … you know … check it out. And if it bears more than a passing resemblance to reality, or offers me any insight onto my life or the character of my relationships, then – well – it's free! Why not take it? Hell, I can't afford a therapist!

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COED MAGAZINE
AUGUST 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

When I began my freshman year, I read a little book called “Making the Most Out of College.” It featured dozens of upperclass students and recent grads giving advice on various topics: grades, professors, dating, extracurriculars. The specifics were almost irrelevant, because all echoed an identical sentiment: “If I had only known then what I know now.”

News flash: You will feel this way in four years no matter what you do. The question is, how much will you suffer in the meantime?

The key to minimizing pain associated with your first year lies in the following: You don’t have to repeat the mistakes naïve freshman have made since the dawn of co-education.

1. Dump the High School Boy/Girlfriend: Do NOT, under any circumstances, let a high school relationship segue into a long distance college romance.  I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t hear me.  DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES KEEP A HIGH SCHOOL RELATIONSHIP GOING.  You’ll spend the majority of your year squandering anytime minutes, sobbing on the phone, tediously proclaiming your love while your roommate makes barfing noises.  Then, one day, you’ll wake up.  You’ll wonder, “what the HELL was I thinking?” and you’ll rejoin campus life.  Make that decision now and save yourself – and your roommate – the sophomoric anguish.
2. Act Like a Nun or a Priest (not the molesting kind) The First 2-3 Weeks of School: I know, the guy next door is smokin’ and you want him now.  But he’ll be there all year long, and let me tell you, your reputation won’t.  A girl friend of mine from college is still remembered for screwing a lacrosse player in the communal showers the second day of her freshman year.  Don’t be that girl.  Screw a guy in the shower on the fifth week and no one will notice.  … Well, probably.
3. Date A LOT: Listen very carefully: There will never – NEVER – be a time in your life when meeting available, intelligent, good-looking, interesting and single people is easier than in COLLEGE.  So get over your moronic propensity towards monogamy and date everyone you meet.
4. Say Yes! Your first year in college is a study in experimentation. It’s a year to find out who you are, who you want to become and what kinds of beer you really, really like. You can only do this if you accept – that is, say yes to – offers of various kinds. Go to lots of parties, join lots of clubs, introduce yourself to random people in the cafeteria by asking them how many glasses of jungle juice they consider “binge drinking.”
5. Act as if You Were the BMOC in High School – Even if You Weren’t.  Who’ll know the difference?  Perception is everything: act like you were always the shit and people will treat you as such.  And if you do by chance go to the same college as some high school classmates who can vouch that you were President of the Chess Club, claim that they have a nasty venereal disease and are just bitter.
6. Just say no … to Dorm-Cest: when you get excited that the hot girl you’re crushing on lives across the hall, think about how hot it will be when you two can’t stand each other anymore and you have to look at her walking to the bathroom in her towel and nasty shower shoes.  Not hot at all.
7. Don’t Introduce Your Sex-Crazed Roommate to Your Crush:  This is self-explanatory.  Violate this rule knowingly and you probably deserve what you’ll get … which is listen to your roommate and your crush open Trojan condom wrappers on the top bunk – for the rest of the semester.  Fun!
8. Actually Go on Dates:  Notice I didn’t say “go to a kegger and try to fuck whomever makes eye contact.”  Contrary to popular belief, it IS possible to date like adults in college.  In fact, you may actually enjoy getting to know your date sober – shocking!  Most importantly, there’s no more desirable entity (to other women) than a guy taking an attractive girl on a nice date.  As my college roommate liked to say, “Girls don’t date hot guys.  They date guys who date hot girls.”
9. Learn to Date Three People At Once: There’s no rule that you can’t casually date more than one person at the same time; it helps ease the pain if one or two doesn’t work out.  Just don’t tell any of them you’re their boyfriend (or girlfriend), and try to keep from dating roommates.  That never ends well, unless you have a threesome, in which case I have to say – congrats!
10. Don’t Leave Your Underwear at His Place: I knew a guy at a certain fraternity who would hang every conquest’s undies on the tree outside his window, visible to all.  And no one wants to be part of a Panty Tree.

Still, you’re going to make loads of mistakes your freshman year.  That’s what freshman years are for.  Look, it’s FAR better to find yourself naked, hung over, covered in shaving cream and tied to a flagpole when you’re in college … than, say, at the office Christmas party.  Believe me.

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COED MAGAZINE
AUGUST 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

Gamekiller, noun: a jerk who thwarts your romantic prospects for the evening.  Just when you think you’re about to get some, they swoop in, leaving you blue-balled and alone.

Mo Rocca cares deeply about your sex life.  So deeply, in fact, that he’s devoted himself to tirelessly roaming the country, visiting colleges and spreading awareness about its mortal enemy: The Gamekiller.

Just call him Mo’ffy the Gamekiller Slayer.

Rocca, a “sociobiology hobbyist,” known best for his years as a bow-tie clad correspondent on the Daily Show, has “extensively studied the mating rituals of humans and animals” (not together, COED hopes, although research is research).

“In every species we have this phenomenon of Game Killing,” he explains.  “With animals, like tigers, they’ll just rip each other’s throats out.  Then you can tell you’re getting your game killed because you’re dead.”

Humans, on the other hand, “sometimes resort to dance-offs.”

Although for the unaware, “it’s not always easy to see that it’s happening,” Rocca emphasizes that Game can be saved with proper education and vigilance. Still, with more than a dozen species of Gamekiller currently on the loose, one has to be hyper-aware. 

Knowledge is power, so check out the following Gamekillers profiles below:

The Baller – “with his pending shoe endorsement and iced-out SUV, this future first-round draft pick has a wicked jump shot” – and he wants to sleep with your girl.  Mo’s advice? “Don’t accuse her of being a groupie – let her realize that she’d just be another notch on this prolific scorer’s bedpost.”

The Drama Queen – “a friend of the girl you’re courting, she’s an unpredictable nuisance who craves attention and will find any way to get it.  Famous for roles ranging from That Guy Looked at Me Weird to I Lost My Keys to the highly acclaimed Let’s Leave, I Just Saw My Ex.”

Sensitivo – “The journal scribbling, yoga-posing, barely male irritant who operates under the guise of your girl’s best friend while secretly being in love with her. While he lives in this platonic prison of best friendship, he still has her trust, and he won’t hesitate to use it to throw you in front of a moving bus.”

The Mother Hen – Her motto is “We go out as a group, we go home as a group.  The House Mom of the social circle, she’s pushy, possessive, and guided by a maternal instinct that always translates into you not getting any.”

Kash Munni – “He’ll give your girl a diamond, just to break the ice.  The rich kid of the social circle via a trust fund, this well-endowed socialite has spent his pampered life crapping on golden toilets and crashing vintage roadsters, so he’s not afraid to throw a few Benjamin’s around to sweep your girl off her feet.”

IQ – “He’s read more books, seen artier films, and conjugated more verbs than you can ever hope to.  He’s a pompous know-it-all and he’ll try to lure you into a battle of wits on a subject you know nothing about.”

Rocca, who graduated from Harvard in ’91, admits that he has occasionally been accused of being IQ (for dropping the “H-Bomb”) and sometimes Mother Hen – but never Kash Munni (“I rent.”).

During his college tour last March, however, he was all about helping others secure their game.  The most common problem, he found, were those students whose wingmen end up “locking down more tail” on a regular basis.  “I say to them, ‘You have got to get an uglier wingman!! The biggest mistake is to select somebody who is more attractive than you are.’”

Obviously.

With Professor Rocca leading the crusade, Gamekillers – and blue balls – don’t stand a chance.

SIDEBAR: 6 Things You Don’t Know About Mo

1. He has worked for both children’s television (“Wubbulous World of Dr. Suess”) and porn (a magazine called “Perfect 10” – featuring nude models without surgical enhancement).
2. He auditioned for “With Honors” starring Brendan Frasier.  “I showed up at the casting call and they said I wasn’t believable as a Harvard student.”
3. Although he’s called Mo and his other brother is Larry, he would prefer that the third brother be named Shemp.  “It’s a little less obvious than ‘Curly,’” says Rocca.
4. Although bow ties were his signature trade-mark, he stopped because he didn’t know how to tie them correctly – “Eventually I was going to be found out.”
5. He would give Bill Clinton a blowjob “If I were a lobbyist, but if I were just hanging out in a lobby, no.”
6. He believes that “Everyone who went to Harvard needs to get their ass kicked … I’m still waiting for my ass kicking.”

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