Not that I typically care about the Kardashians, but I couldn’t help but notice the front cover of People today. Kim is engaged! She won’t die a bag lady as she feared.
What struck me more about this story was not that they were dating for 6 months or that her ring cost $2 million, but that her fiance’s name is Kris with a K. He’ll fit right in with the Kardashian Klan.
Muahh, I just can’t take off my eyes from your pics, you look stunning honey, absolutely gorgeous.. can’t I be with you for the entire time I have in this world to feel your warmth and presence, having a strong crush over you now, would you want to be in my arms honey too?? I’m serious babe.
Ooomff…How will I ever resist. Luckily, new stalker lives in 3000 miles away. So.. yay.
…you momentarily think of someone you haven’t thought of in nearly a decade, and you wonder,”Whatever happened to that jerkface” and then the following day they request for you to be friends on Facebook?
Is the rapture getting in the way of renting out your awesome, rent controlled, preferably doorman apartment in Manhattan below 96th street?
Look no further! Let me take over that lease.
I make an awesome tenant.
Sidenote: My entire building is being evicted. Not sure how legal that is (probably not) but none the less, moving out may be a preferred option than hiring a lawyer and going to court. That being said- heads up! Maria is looking for a new place of residency.
Have leads? Send them my way. Looking for an August/September move in. Manhattan only (with preference to UWS and West Village.)
…you’re going to have to remember that most Greek* men are not looking for wives but future mothers of their children.
In fact, they’re probably looking for modern versions of their own mother. By modern, I mean, not putting plastic covers on the living room couches. All the other qualities should probably remain the same.
I said most Greek men. Not all. But chances are if you’re offended by what I just wrote, then you absolutely agree with me.
It’s come to my attention that you all describe yourselves as “Carrie Bradshaw”. This makes me want to punch you.
Unless you have a history of passive aggressive intimacy with men who constantly dick you over and an unhealthy obsession with shoes, you are not Carrie Bradshaw.
You are just a dating blogger in NYC.
If you actually get paid for your posts that circumvent around the relationship and dating world, this post probably does not concern you. You probably scoff as much as I do when you hear this sort of description. If you did not scoff, and still consider yourself to be just like Carrie Bradshaw, you are either Candace Bushnell or kidding yourself.
Carrie Bradshaw was a fictional character that was able to live in a aclove studio apartment in the Upper East Side. You probably live in Brooklyn with 2 other roommates. You also cannot afford an $80,000 closet worth of shoes.
Why on Earth would you want to strive to be that character anyway? I love that it’s said with such pride, like it’s some badge of honor. It’s not. At all.
I’m glad we’ve cleared this up because if one more person describes themselves to me that they are CB, I will stab them in the eye.
If you’re online dating and any of the photos you have posted include someone other than yourself, especially someone of the opposite sex, you’re doing it wrong.
Successful first impressions shouldn’t leave anyone wondering which one you are or if the friend you’re featuring is single (because they are hotter than you). Oh yeah…and if you’re a guy posting photos of hot girl [space] friends latched around your neck, ladies will wonder what sort of degree of douchebag you are.
Successful daters just don’t care about how cool you think your friends make you seem.
According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condeming them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. - Plato's The Symposium
The worst night to be a wingwoman for a client is on Cinco de Mayo.
You’ll hear fabulous pick up lines, courtesy of Jose Cuervo.
I apologize for interrupting. My penis has died. Can I find it in your ass?
It was amusing to watch this person save himself, kick the waters to surface, to gain my respect back for being so obnoxiously inappropriate, especially since we were in a swanky over priced bar, not some Irish pub with television screens broadcasting ESPN.
His friends actually came to his defense. They said, “It’s the best line ever. It always works! It’s so ridiculous, you can’t help but laugh! It’s a great ice breaker.”(This line wasn’t courtesy of Jose Cuervo?! You actually have said this before???)
What?? WHAT??! No.
Dear Walter from Bloomberg, Never ever, ever use this line again.