Articles

DROPPING POUNDS ALONG WITH AN EX
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
JANUARY 29, 2007
BY JULIA ALLISON

The truth is, I haven't been to the gym in over six months; my membership got cancelled in August, along with The (Ex) Boyfriend. And yet the number on the scale today is finally ­-- FINALLY ­-- the same as it was when I first moved to New York a little over two years ago. What happened?

Only the most effective weight loss strategy in the history of the world: the Break Up Diet.

There are various incarnations to The Break Up Diet ­-- you can be so devastated you can't possibly muster up an appetite, or the will to shop for food. (Or the will to leave your bed at all, although that probably doesn't contribute to weight loss, now that I think about it.)

Although I had moments of that, my Break Up Diet consisted mainly of negatives --­ I was no longer eating out 6 nights a week, no longer having appetizers, entrees and desserts, no longer downing two glasses of wine with dinner, then chasing that with a cappuccino, no longer lingering over long brunches involving bagels, lox and all of the cream cheese in the entire state of Wisconsin.

Thanks to all this (and, okay, a small stint in the hospital conveniently during Thanksgiving), I've managed to shed the 15 pounds I gained with the Ex gastronomist.

Apparently, I'm not the only one whose weight fluctuates when getting in or getting out of a relationship.

Katherine, 22, an editorial assistant, says that her last romance "started with me being fit and in shape (and quite confident) and ended with me being terribly unhappy because my body looked completely different." She and her then-boyfriend made a habit of scarfing down Chinese food, pizza and candy.

"We had reached a comfort zone," she explains, and "there was no one to impress."

After what she describes as a "bitter" breakup, they turned things around.

"We were both at the gym EVERYDAY trying to get back in shape because we had let ourselves go. Being back on the market and making SURE the other one was jealous was complete motivation. (And let me tell you, all those nights canoodling on the couch eating pizza are HARD to work off!)"

As fun as it is to be jealous (and really, who doesn't love that feeling? Um …), there have to be better ways to keep your svelte single figure than vengeful treadmilling. In fact, here's a list of fun and helpful tips to email your partner today!

1) STOP EATING CRAP FOOD
2) Go to the gym
3) STOP EATING CRAP FOOD

Apparently William, 28, in sales, got that memo. "In my last relationship in New York I found myself losing weight as I wasn't out drinking in bars, filling up on empty calories and late night food binges."

Nothing like giving up the trappings of frat boy life to inadvertently trim the flab. Of course, that doesn't work for those of us who turn into hormone-charged gluttons at the first sight of love and/or the dessert tray whilst sitting across from our love.

"I see it a lot," says Stacy Berman, a certified fitness trainer and founder of Stacy's Boot Camp in New York. "Individuals get in good shape to meet someone, then they meet them and gain all the weight back."

Although many couples train with her to get ready for their weddings, Stacy contends that it would make more sense if they started working out earlier in their relationships. In other words, get thee to a gym when your jeans are merely snug – not when you can't wiggle them over your hips.

Her suggestions for busy New York couples? "You have to make time for exercise – and do it together, so it's more of a bonding experience." Physical activities like boot camp, dance lessons, yoga or even a stroll down Battery Park City's promenade are far more engaging than side-by-side lifting or 20 minutes of mind-numbing ellipticals.

And instead of bonding like the typical New York Epicureans you know you are (that is, over an expensive, caloric, high in fat – but not trans fat! - culinary smorgasbord) - try grocery shopping at Whole Foods together. Okay, so it won't be that much cheaper, but at least you'll control what goes into your meal.

If you're dating someone who thinks of kitchens as storage for his take-out menus and shot glass collection, remember that just because he doesn't gain weight from downing five spicy tuna rolls, followed by several slices of cheese pizza, doesn't mean you won't. Many women unintentionally match the caloric intake of their partners, and with even just a 500 calorie differential, that's at least a pound a week.

The solution? Um, tell your partner to quit eating crap in front of you. Or wait until he's gone and throw all the food into a black garbage bag, along with his cell phone, which should make ordering take-out more challenging.

If none of this works, don't despair. At some point you'll either have to lose weight for the Wedding, or you'll split and go on the amazing Break Up Diet.

In the meantime, just remember, "relationships are all about giving," says Ryan, 29, an artist. "And what kind of partner would you be without giving your mate the proper love handles for spooning?"

You can imagine the ladies are all lining up for that.

Posted by JA at 10:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

CHATTING UP PLAYBOY'S SEXPERT
AM NEW YORK – “THE DATING LIFE”
JANUARY 22, 2007
BY JULIA ALLISON

Since 1960, Playboy’s Advisor column has promised to answer “all reasonable questions from fashion, food and drink, stereo and sports cars to dating dilemmas, taste and etiquette.” However, this is Playboy, and despite the magazine’s dogged insistence that “a person interested only in sex isn’t very interesting,” most of their readers are very interested in sex indeed.

Unsurprisingly, at least 60% of the Advisor questions center on relations between men and women – from orgasms to affairs, STDs to swingers, getting hitched to rejoining single life after divorce.

Does that make Chip Rowe, the official Advisor for the past 12 years, an omniscient sexual guru? After all, he’s read and answered more than 100,000 questions (about 700 a month) since he nabbed the job in 1994.  If being able to intelligently respond to that many queries doesn’t make one a sexpert, I’m not sure what does.

Not so much, Rowe insists.  He’s a journalist – “not a doctor or academic” – and as such doesn’t pretend to know everything.  “My skill is that of a perverted reference librarian,” he explains in the introduction to his book, Dear Playboy Advisor.

That may be true, but when I sat down with the loquacious and affable Rowe at lunch last week, it was readily apparent that he’d picked up a fair amount of wisdom (not to mention sex tips) along the way.  “I’ve got it all figured out,” he laughed, “but only because once you have thousands of case studies, you start to see themes developing.”

Like what?, I wanted to know.  “It’s like I’m a priest!” he laughs, “They want to know they won’t be judged.”  Rowe explained that by far the most common question is “Am I normal?”  (followed closely by “does she want me?”).  The answers, almost inevitably, are “yes” and for the parenthetical, “probably not.”

At least in the realm of sex and dating, it seems that we desperately long to be in the middle of the bell curve (although I’m sure no one would mind if they were exceptionally attractive or possessed an unusual prowess in bed).  Concerned that their dating dilemmas and sexual fantasies confirm strange atypical tendencies, we reach out for reassurance that we’re not alone.

Half amateur psychologist, half menschy big brother, Rowe offers that reassurance with his clever – and often hysterical – responses.  Alternating between earnest and snarky isn’t particularly easy, especially when reader queries range from whether a woman should be jealous over her boyfriend’s exes, to which cities are best for singles to why so many women in porn wear shoes.

For the first, Rowe wisely answered, “You can’t have a guy’s past – only his present and, if you’re lucky, his future.”  For the second, he actually conducted a survey to ranks towns with the most available women (coming in first place – shock! – New York).  And for the last, he wrote, “Would you walk around barefoot on a porn set?”

Now that’s good advice.

Posted by Julia Allison at 12:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

WILD OR CHASTE IN 2007?
AM NEW YORK - "THE DATING LIFE"
JANUARY 8, 2007
BY JULIA ALLISON

Last year at this time, I recommended that my readers overhaul their "dating modus operandi" -- put an end to the same-old, same-old romantic blahs and try something completely unprecedented.

For some reason, a disproportionate percentage of my male readers took that to mean they should attempt a 2006 menage a trois. Sigh.

 

I  suppose I have only myself to blame -- the column did end with a glib call to engage in that particular sexual act. To be honest, although I was somewhat facetious at the time, it's not such a bad recommendation. Taking risks in your dating life -- whether they be the aforementioned threesomes, ending a stale (but comfortable) relationship or allowing yourself to risk hurt and fall in love -- is almost unequivocally rewarding.

Of course, it's so much easier to tell others what resolutions to make, instead of just making them yourself. To this end, I asked my readers what their resolutions for 2007 were:

"In years past, I made a resolution that I would commit myself to finding my better half, with absolute failure," writes Gary Pike, 36, in an e-mail.

"So, this year, I say screw finding the perfect woman and just enjoy dating with no expectations for a long-term relationship. If I find 'Mrs. Right' in the process, so be it, but that will never be a goal for me in the future."

On the opposite end of that spectrum is Sherri Zill, 31. "I think this year I am going to try and stop being a bitter b*tch who hates men and actually try a date or two AND be nice," she says. "Wish me luck because it's going to be hard for me to change my ways on this one!"

Then there's Hanna S., 25, who will be attempting a "Paris Hilton" -- in other words, no sex for a year, just kissing and/or making out.

"Guys respect you more if you're difficult, and find the 'hunt' all the more interesting," she says. "Obviously you can't continue like that forever, but a year is probably long enough to 'cleanse' your soul and short enough for you not to go utterly insane in the process."

But Chris C., 29, won't be going that route. "One of my resolutions last year was to pull off the ever elusive 'roommate switch' and I'm happy to say I succeeded," he crowed in an e-mail, "This year I believe I'll shoot for the Holy Grail and go for Sisters."

Well, I suppose it's more creative than "losing weight."

Posted by JA at 10:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

WHEN HIS FAMILY HATES YOU
COSMOPOLITAN
JANUARY 2007
BY JULIA ALLISON

I’ve heard there are families who welcome their sons’ girlfriends with open arms, waiting eagerly for the day when they’ll announce an impending wedding.  I wouldn’t know.  The guys I date have relatives who would be more than happy to throw a party for us – as long as it’s in honor of our break-up.

Of course, I’m not alone with this problem; families have disliked their sons’ gals for centuries.  His mother thinks no one is good enough for her baby, his father can’t stop talking about pre-nups and his brother continually mentions that his last girlfriend had a better rack.  Can’t wait for Thanksgiving!

My introduction to the not-so-fun world of Reverse Gender Meet the Fockers began with my first “serious” boyfriend’s parents.  They hated my religion (not Jewish) and frequent flouting of curfew, but mostly they hated that I was having sex with their baby.

Upon intercepting a triple XXX care package I had sent to his home (as a joke, I swear!), his parents responded with various futile attempts to curtail our discovery channel antics.  When directives to “keep the bedroom door open at all times” didn’t stop us from closing it and promptly getting naked, his mother made the mistake of opening said door, interrupting us mid-coitus.  No doubt scarred by the sight of her son’s bare butt, she barred me from returning to their home.

Of course, that’s what the backseats of cars are for.

Although that boyfriend and I eventually broke up, and almost eight years later, we remain good friends.  His parents, on the other hand, continue to preface my name with expletives, much to my amusement (Not my problem anymore!).

After a lovely respite of relative goodwill (no pun intended), my next experience with familial acrimony was my senior year in college.

“John” and I had been dating for almost a year when his younger sister started as a freshman at our university.  Due to years in boarding school together, they were extraordinarily close, and he admitted that she had never liked any of his previous girlfriends. Still, I’d always wanted a little sister and was elated that I could borrow his.  Although she became the constant third wheel, initially things were very friendly.

But when unrelated issues started to cause problems within my relationship with her brother, she let me know in no uncertain terms where her loyalty lay.  Blood is thicker than a shared love of designer shoes – and she quickly fanned the flames of our internal strife, hoping to get rid of “the girlfriend” altogether.

I wasn’t going to give up so easily, and poor John was caught in the middle of two very strong willed women.  After months of a “she-said-what?” cold war, we were all in the same room together when she shoved past me to leave.  With that, the simmering animosity ignited into a girl-on-girl fistfight, complete with pulling of hair and high decibel screeching.  One blackeye (me) and two meetings with the dean later, we were both served with campus restraining orders and instructed not to come within 100 feet of each other. The relationship, not surprisingly, didn’t survive.  Devastated at the time, the three of us now laugh hysterically at our collegiate scuffle.  (If only there had been jello …)

As I get older, family politics gets more serious – after all, the surest route to making “The One” “just another one” is really pissing off his mother.

In lieu of a full-out “Like Me!” ad campaign, I’ve found that the easiest way to ingratiate my partner’s family to me is by not screwing it up in the first place.  Since bad initial impressions are like toxic waste – infinitely easier to make than to remove – I now begin with a calmer, gentler, less controversial version of myself.

I painstakingly go over everything I should absolutely not mention in their presence, like my strident feminism or that new tantric sex position I’m dying to try.  I also watch the alcohol consumption.  One too many glasses of Pinot Noir (or, c’mon, shots of tequila) can turn the most well-intentioned first meeting into a cringe-worthy series of humiliating gaffes.

And if nothing else works, I remind my boyfriend’s parents that it could be much, much worse.  At least he’s not bringing Paris Hilton home to discuss the marketing strategy for their joint sex video.

Posted by Julia Allison at 12:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)