Here's The Reason Every Man is Terrified To Date Me in a Serious Way -- Oh, and I Finally Got Laid

Did you know that the very first thing any man says to me is: "Are you going to write about this, and please don't use my name"? Did you know that this drives me absolutely crazy?
Publish date:
September 20, 2012
Dating, casual sex, personal memoir

I am inherently unlovable. Or I am the walking embodiment of "Don't try to wife a ho." Or I offer the harsher side of what a wannabe "Sex and the City" writer faces in her true dating life. Or I am way too tall. Or something. All I know is that I have never once ever, ever, ever in my life had a man want to "lock it down" or be "so annoying" about wanting to move in with me or just you know, "not give me enough space."

It's kind of a self-esteem buzzkill, dude.

It's not ever a problem to get sex. Or dates. Or a casual relationship. But for a serious commitment, I have high standards in terms of who I'm willing to spend time with (nothing to do with looks, but everything to do with chemistry -- intellectual and otherwise), and I'd like to have a relationship with someone who is loving, brilliant, successful, kind and who cherishes me. That's all. I don't think that's asking a whole lot.

Oh, but here's the catch -- it has to be with someone who isn't afraid to be associated with me. Which is mortifying to write. But hey, most people are pussies. (And there I go, being completely castrating by relegating anyone "afraid" of being associated with me as being a "pussy." I mean, maybe they have a really good reason. Like, maybe they're a pussy.)

Here's the other thing about dating and love and sex. I only recently identified as a love and sex addict (which is beyond squeamy for me to do, because unlike the alcoholic label, that one hits a little too close to home in terms of my "wild and crazy" reputation -- it's like going to Tall Blondes Anonymous), and so as a result, I've been trying to be really mindful of my sexual encounters. When you go to Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous (SLAA), they have a different version of sobriety than say, AA. It's much more about defining your sexual bottom line. And for me, I would say mine is about doing what is healthy and good and pleasurable rather than something done out of compulsion or a subconscious need to create more pain and chaos and abuse.

So I've been incredibly mindful these past few months about not "acting out" sexually but rather doing healthier things that release some of my pent-up energy and desire to feel that climactic peak experience of life and pleasure and possibility. Like, going on actual fucking dates.

I've found two matchmakers who are willing to set me up on dates, and I'll write about it, and plug them and whatnot, but in the same way that I have 7,000 things on my to-do list involving my life, it sometimes seems so overwhelming. To take that action to get started on the slow process of meeting people.

Besides. There is a dirty little secret about writing about your dating life. (And I've heard it from several other much more mainstream girl sexytime writers than me, including ones who are currently on Bravo.) What people don't tell you about doing the whole personal memoir thing -- or "oversharing" if you want to be a reductive hipster dick about it -- is that many dudes live in fear of being written about. Like, when I had a dating column at The New York Post, I started showing the boyfriend I had at the time the columns that I would write three months into dating him. He is un-Google-able with me. As is my ex-husband. As are the majority of men I've dated. Aren't I good girl? I keep secrets. Good job, Mandy.

Because can you imagine the fucking horror of being associated with a woman who makes jokes that are about sex? Or who -- shudder to think -- has a strong fucking point of view? I went on a date recently and the man indicated, "I mean, what would people think -- because didn't you write that you were going to change your status to be in a relationship with your dildo?"

Jesus Christ. Because it's funny. And if you can't see that then you are boring and you are wasting my time.

Which is why I've "dated" a lot of comics. Or people in comedy. And by dated I mean, made out with or fucked or had bad experiences with or thrown myself at or gotten sober because of.

OMG I'm so Carrie Bradshaw, right.

So last night, I thought about my sexual bottom line, or my version of sexual sobriety, is that it has to be healthy for me and a choice that I feel good about making.

And I went to that old trusty standby: Craigslist Casual Encounters. Except this time, I was doing it in a sober, healthy way. So I posted, "Pretty, sexy, tall, 36yo -- drink & maybe more:Please be professional, literate, good looking and intelligent. I have a terrific body, pretty face, very sexual. Not definitely going to have sex but feeling in that direction. My fantasy is that we are chemically attracted to each other and want to just have total '9 1/2 Weeks' style sex and then say, 'Have a good life.' But it might just be nothing. Email me one sentence about why I should meet with you and give me a picture. xoxoxoxo (I am blonde, six feet two, size c breasts, pretty, sexy, etc etc)."

So the third response I got was from a German bartender. Gorgeous. Smart. And his response didn't include lady-boner-killers like "LOL" or "skilled at oral" or all of those cringey failing-to-actually-fuck-me-psychologically-which-is-what-women-really-want dealbreakers. I met him hesitantly. He was cute, funny, smart, there was real chemistry, and it was basically like a warp-speed date for someone who's incredibly swamped with work. Then we went to a motel and had the most incredible fun fuckfest in forever town. It was healthy and happy and fun and he was respectful and hot and sweet and looked at me at one point and said, "You. Are. Breathtaking."

But what a surprise, what a treat, he said, "You can write about me, but don't say my name."

And because I don't follow my own advice of playing hard to get, I emailed the dude today with an ad for an apartment because he is looking for an apartment instead of, you know, like waiting for him to email me. He wrote back, "Thanks for thinking of me. Let me know the next time you want to get fucked or we can also check out a restaurant. Have a productive day."

I read this aloud to Jane and Emily. I said, "I don't think he wants to marry me."

Welcome to my life.

At least he called me breathtaking.


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