And yet, I sat in the dark theater and felt a planetary pull toward him. I went all hot and melty during a scene in which he did little but stare at his love interest, a mysterious smile flickering on his lips. The movie was hypnotic, strange, but I noticed
“Get the nerve,” she wrote back. Actually she wrote: “GET THE NERVE.” It was typical that I couldn’t just join a dating site—I had to manufacture a scenario in which the story depended on it. Why was I like this? I schemed my way through flaming hoops when
I IMed Thomas. “I have seen so much today that I can’t unsee.” “This might be good fodder for your crush column,” he said. “Crush?” I said. “I want to cry a little bit. This is the opposite of the crush feeling, which is light and happy and safe.
I knew Thomas would have a plan. Thomas is a man of action, not a woman of romance and longing like me. I get a crush, and that is the end of the story. Thomas gets a crush, and he has a date on Friday night. It’s not that
I had decided to go to South America in part because I didn't have a boyfriend. That sounds so lame, particularly in the face of the cooing admiration I received for my derring-do—A woman! Alone!—but it was precisely my status as a woman, alone, that
The cute guy had come to my previous class, and placed his mat directly across from mine. He had hooded lids, a football team captain’s smile and a strong athletic build. Not my type, but still. He looked so familiar, actually, that I accidentally made meaningful eye contact while
“Tell us a little about yourself.” Gulp. I stared at the blinking cursor, writing phrases only to erase them. I could not shake the thought that my answers were meant to lure potential dating partners, that this was a marketing document of sorts. Pick ME! Love ME! I answered all
Except I usually don’t do any of that. I just feel the flutter in my heart, and wonder why this person, of all people, made it happen. Brown-Eyed Charmer of Indiscriminate Ethnicity I dated this guy in college who was half-Mexican, half-German. I was nuts about
He was a small, skinny guy—dark hair, nice smile, wore those black jeans and mock turtlenecks we all put our faith in during the mid-’90s. I’m not even sure what drew me to him in the first place, except his interviews with celebrities were disarming and hilariously
“Congratulations!” he writes back. “No, it’s the worst,” I respond. “I can’t concentrate. I’m being weird. It’s awful.” I sighed when people said his name. I had taken to needlessly applying lip gloss before I got my morning coffee and again when I stopped by for
