But hey, if you still feel a little left out, here are some things you can do:

1. Most cities now have a Valentine’s “single mingle” where you have a chance to dress up, dance, and potentially snag a hottie. Even if you don’t meet anyone that night, you still have a great time and its better than being in the company of happy couples.

2. Have single girlfriends? Make it a girls night in. Exchange Valentine cards and candy, get a few glasses of wine and a Hugh Grant movie and you’ve got yourself a fun, romantic, date. Plus, it’s always nice to have a friend understand your position.

3. If all your friends are attached, then make it a spa night for yourself. Run a bath, light some candles and relax. Since everyone else is going to be busy all night it’s a perfect night to pamper yourself without the distraction of phone calls and text messages. Just what you need.

You gonna tell us that you'd rather spend money on some guy than a pampering experience like this?!

4. Organize an evening out with someone who has been there for you all year. You don’t have to be romantically involved to appreciate someone in your life and have a great night with them, and this day is the perfect excuse.

5. If you’re invited to a party–go, with or without a date! No one said that you couldn’t participate in Valentine’s Day activities if you don’t have a Valentine. Who knows, you may leave the party with a “momentary” sweetheart.

6. Veg out. Have a solo eye-candy marathon! If it’s Johnny Depp, Zac Efron, Robert Pattinson or Danny DeVito- rent your fave celebrity crush’s movies (or TV series) and treat yourself to some fun. A little drool never hurt anybody.

He can certainly make us forget about the "woes of singledom..."

7. Read countless fashion magazines and get your spring wardrobe in line. You’ll look good, you’ll feel good, and hell-ensuring that you are gonna look bangin’ doesn’t hurt your chances of not being single next year!

Look good, feel good.

8. Hang out with family. This seems to be a great retreat from any depressing occasion that you don’t want to or can’t partake in. Sitting on mom and dad’s couch is comforting. Top it off with a cup of cocoa and you’ll just reminisce about the times you were young and couldn’t care less for Valentine’s Day.

By now you should already know that no one but yourself is in charge of your happiness, don’t let a commercial holiday lead you to believe that, either. Keep in mind that you’re hot and important. (Oh yeah, and single… Go, you!)

*By Megan, who lost the hood of her car while driving on a highway, and Nicole, who recently discovered she is fly, much like a G6.

I’m not sure why more of you don’t appreciate American football.  Unlike other sports referred to as “football” in other (read: inferior) nations, in ours, things actually happen–and the guys wear tighter pants.

If that’s not enough reason for you, football can also help you understand the men in your life a little better.  If you’re wondering why your boyfriend is ignoring your calls more often now than in the summertime:  Either he doesn’t like you anymore or he’s a football fan.  (Please note that if he’s an Eagles or a Patriots fan, he’s probably using you as a beard.)

Who dat is?

Basics:

• Each team typically has 46 active players.
• This as good a reason as any to hate the Patriots:

• It’s pretty rare to have every player on a team play in a single game; only 11 are on the field at a time.
• “Favre” is not spelled the way it sounds.  It’s actually pronounced “elderly douchebag.”
• There are four 15-minute quarters per game, with 12 minutes of half-time, three potential timeouts per team per half (for a total of 12), plus TV time outs for commercials and my beloved Michael Strahan cameos.  Games can also run into overtime to accommodate ties for another 15 minutes.  This is why televised games can last upwards of three hours, so stop whining that he hasn’t texted you back.
• If you’re an Eagles fan, you fail at living.

Oh hai.

Gameplay:

1. The game starts with a coin toss between the team captains.  The winner of the coin toss determines which goal to defend, whether to kick or receive opening kickoff, or to defer first choice to their opponent.
2. Each half begins with a kickoff.
3. Offense has four attempts, called downs, to advance the ball at least 10 yards towards their opponent’s end zone.  If offense gains the 10 yards, they get a first down–another four attempts.  If they don’t advance the 10 yards, the opposing teams gets possession of the ball.  Lather, rinse, repeat.
4. The ball is put into play via snap (when the teams are lined up, bent over, and facing one another at the line of scrimmage, a beautiful visual).  One offensive player, the center,  then passes (snaps) the ball backwards between his legs (if you take this shit out of context, it sounds too gay, even for me) to a teammate behind him, typically the quarterback.
5. After the snap, the players can advance the ball one of two ways.  They can rush (run) or pass (throw it to another player).
6. A down ends when a player gets tackled (forced to the ground), when a forward pass goes out of bounds, when the ball hits the ground before it’s caught (an incomplete pass), or when a team scores.
7. The ball typically changes possession (goes to the other team) when a team fails to get a first down (see #2), when the offense scores a field goal or touchdown, when the offense punts the ball to the defense (to prevent a failure at a first down), when a pass is intercepted (caught by defense), or when offense drops the ball (fumbles).
8. A team scores in a variety of ways.  The most popular and profitable is via touchdown (rushing or catching the ball into the opponent’s end zone) for six points, after which the scoring team can attempt a try. For one extra point, they can do a PAT (point after touchdown–kicking it through the goal posts from the three-yard line) or a two-point conversion (running and passing it into the end zone like a touchdown).  If you don’t know how much a two-point conversion is worth, you should get back in the kitchen and/or hang yourself.
9. Other scoring methods include the field goal, for three points, in which offense kicks the ball through the goal posts; or a safety, when the team in possession fumbles, gets tackled, or goes out of bounds within their own end zone.
10. A kickoff follows every touchdown and field goal, at which point you can scroll back up to numbers 3-9 until the game is over.

In search of some mushy make out music?  You’re in luck, because we’re a bunch of saps.  Thank us tomorrow morning when your date’s making you breakfast.

• “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” – Death Cab for Cutie
  Ben Gibbard pretty much sums up everything I feel about love in that song.
  - Karen

• “Hysterical” – The Yeah Yeah Yeahs
  A) humor is as important as love, and b) it’s kind of adorable, without being sugar-sweet. That’s a hard balance to find.
  - Jesy

• “Suspension” – Mae
  You know that happy dance that you do at the end of an amazing first date? (Shut up, you know you do.) The drums just after the bridge of this song capture the rhythm–or, let’s face it, lack thereof (shut up, I know)–of mine perfectly.
  - Jess

• “Always and Forever” – Heatwave
  It’s got the oh-so-mushy-i-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you-this-song-was-made-to-be-played-at-a-wedding message mixed in there with that old school musical magic.
  - Nicole




• “Love Me” – Sam Cooke
  It’s simple, beautiful, and romantic, like love. His voice also just happens to make my heart melt.
  - Rosina




• “Don’t Move” – Butch Walker
  It’s a beautiful declaration of love that makes you want to live inside it.
  - Joelle

• “Friday, I’m In Love” – The Cure
  Robert Smith is so precious when he’s happy.
  - Jess
• “At Last” – Etta James
  They play this at weddings all the time because it’s timeless.  Get used to it.
  - Jess

• “I’ll Never Break Your Heart” – The Backstreet Boys
  Because every girl deserves someone who will treat her like a BSB song.
  - Joelle

• “Stolen” and “Hands Down” – Dashboard Confessional
  “You are the best one of the best ones.”  So adorable, Chris Carrabba.  And “Hands Down” has a similar feel to what I described for “Suspension,” but with more blatant sexy time.  Hey girl hey.
  - Jess
• “On the Street Where You Live” – Vic Damone
  Back in the 50s love seemed so much more pure. Of course now if that song was written it would feel stalkerish, but there’s nothing like the nostalgia of pure love – when it was enough to express that even being within a few hundred feet of your love was enough to warm your heart.
  - Jordana

• “Mona Lisa” and “Eyelash Wishes” – The All-American Rejects
  The former describes being in love during the end of the world, which is both morbid and really romantic.  The latter captures the exhilaration–and exhaustion–that comes with doting on someone you don’t see very often.  And they’re both catchy as hell.  Good job, boys!
  - Jess

• “I Got It Bad, and That Ain’t Good” – Ella Fitzgerald
  Ladies, ladies!  Never let the guy know if he has the upper hand.  But if you must, you may as well quote this song–at least you’ll be eloquent doing yourself in.
  - Jess

• “Goodnight and Go” – Imogen Heap
  Such a cute daydream-about-your-crush song.
  - Jess

• “The Best Thing” – Relient K
  For when something and someone are so awesome that you can barely believe it and can hardly contain yourself.
  - Jess
• “I’ll Catch You” – The Getup Kids
  Sometimes I can’t even listen to this without tearing up.
  - Alisha

• “Everything’s Magic” – Angels and Airwaves
  Because when you’re infatuated, it’s true.
  - Jess

• “Everything” – Michael Buble
  That voice!  That flattery!
  - Jess
  
  
• “Tell Me What We’re Gonna Do Now” – Joss Stone
  This is my favorite because its something more personal and intimate. The words are conversational in way , and you’d only say these things to your lover. This isn’t meant to be a wedding song. It’s meant for two people.
  - Megan

• “If It Were Up To Me” – Rooney
  “I’ve done our charts and it says that we work as one, like the Jackson Five and The Temptations.”  Seriously, Robert Schwartzman?  Call me.
  - Jess

• “For the Longest Time” – Billy Joel
  If I need to explain this, you’re beyond help.
  - Jess
  

Stay tuned tomorrow for our favorite tracks for the unattached!

*By Jess, who would rather watch her own snuff film than a rom-com.

If I’m in a corner with my hood up, head down, headphones on, and face buried in this:

I didn't make it into this edition.

Why would you walk up and ask if I have a boyfriend?

And when I say “yes” in hopes of shutting you up, why would you continue pursuing it with, “Oh, is it serious?”  (It’s dead serious.)

Because then when I say, “Well, I mean, I did…” and glance down at my literary work, I am not playing it coy or implying that I’m getting over a breakup.  I’m implying that I hid the body really well.

And when you say, “Would you be open to something else?” and I answer, “Maybe try an ax next time instead of a .45,” don’t look confused.

*By Jess, whose sign is “Do Not Enter.”

When I first started dating I had the standards set. You know, the whole liking guys who have certain physical attractions and have certain quirks and personal traits that I dig. Once I realized Mr. Perfect didn’t exist, I became more openminded, a.k.a. lowered my standards for finding a decent date. At first it seemed to be working out ok, because I was dating guys I normally wouldn’t have dated, and things started going in what seemed to be a really good direction. Until the creeper side of these dates began to show.

Example: About two years ago I was dating a guitarist in a band. He wasn’t super cute, but he  had a fun personality–or so I thought. We’d hug, hold hands, you know the cute “let’s act like we’re in high school back in the 1950’s” type of stuff.  Then the guy started acting really creepy, like making very inappropriate gestures while my parents were around and just making me uncomfortable in general. So after three weeks of very just hanging out–it doesn’t even deserve the label of dating–I told him I wasn’t feeling the way he was acting, so I’d like to be friends. He seemed completely fine with it, so I was happy. Until the next weekend came and he kept texting me pictures from his bands show of a bunch of  girls (who I later found out were his sister’s friends) hanging out with him and kept asking me how jealous I was. I figured he was just really drunk and blew it off.  We went out with a group of friends to see a movie later that week, and he kept putting his arm around me, touching my leg and trying to hold my hand–which I let him know made me very uncomfortable, since we were just friends and all. Then the calls to hang out every other day came and he told me he enjoyed me playing “hard to get” and “knew” I just called it off so things would get more interesting; he enjoyed chasing me. I was seriously blown out of the water: what kind of mind did this dude have? A fucked up imagination, because I wasn’t playing hard to get. I realized it was time to stop being nice and be completely upfront with this dude. Even after being blunt and extremely rude about how I wanted nothing to do with him at all, he still thought I was just being feisty and liked it. I finally just came to reality that I had to cut all ties with creepy mc-creeperstein.

The moral of this story is, I’m NOT interested, generally means I’M NOT INTERESTED. Not, “I’m pretending not to be interested so you’ll try harder and maybe one day be my boyfriend!” Decent men are hard as hell to come by, so if I actually was into one, why would I push him away? It seems that ever since I ran into my band jerk I’ve been meeting guys who really act this way and pursue the chase. I’ve even given up the being “nice” at first part, to just be pretty blunt and down right rude because I’ve never wanted this mistake to happen again and some guys still really don’t get it! I’m just baffled by how ridiculous dating is when guys like this are out there.

*By Candace, who’d one day love to experience a good date.

The sad thing is, they’re half right.

What a lot of genuinely nice guys don’t take into account is that douchebags usually start out acting extremely nice.  If they were dicks from the get-go, no woman with any self respect or a triple-digit I.Q. would give them the time of day.  For a few weeks to a few months, the douchebag will hide under a facade of  doting attentiveness.  The douchebag emerges gradually, waiting until the unsuspecting female begins to lose objectivity.

It starts small.  He’ll “forget” to call, give compliments with the back of his hand, act jealous without warrant, openly listen to Hinder.  The gal thinks, “Hey, it happens–maybe he was working/fell asleep/had a dead battery/etc.  Maybe he meant something else and it just came out wrong.  He’s jealous because he’s just so passionate about me that he doesn’t want to share!”  Even she can’t explain the Hinder, though.

The poor behavior continues, dispersed intermittently between mediocre behavior and apologies.  The girl’s memory is selective and perception blurry–she remembers the nice guy and assumes this crap is either a phase, her fault, or a sign of–get this–just how much the dude likes her.  Because to the girl, this makes absolute and perfect sense. 

To outsiders, it’s bullshit.  The girl’s friends, male and female, urge her to dump him.  But really, they just don’t understand.  This dude’s deep and complicated and emotional and and and and…

No.  He’s not.  He’s a douchebag.

That said, when the girl finally comes to her senses (it may take him date raping  a 14-year-old down the street, giving her a black eye, or inviting her to a Papa Roach show), she becomes a bit wary of men in general.

When guys lay it on too thick at the beginning, it looks suspicious.  The chick is now automatically waiting for the other shoe to drop: Yeah, you’re nice now, but down the line, you’ll probably sock her in the jaw or cheat on her with the girl she babysits.  Or play Nickelback in your car.

I’m sorry to report, gentlemen, but there’s no real, universal way to remedy that.  Just keep being the fine, upstanding individuals you are and it’ll fall into place eventually.

But to expedite the process–dude, don’t listen to Hinder.

*By Jess, who only just learned that Trix went back to being round instead of fruit shaped. 

I know it’s tempting: You and dude hit it off, have a few dates, then the Disappearing Act happens. You make all sorts of excuses in your head for why he hasn’t called you for three weeks. Maybe you should’ve kissed him back a little bit more when he dropped you at your door, maybe he lost his phone or maybe his grandmother died, followed by his dog, followed by a car accident where he broke his hand so he couldn’t pick up the phone?? But then he texts you to see how you’re doing. (Note: Disappearing Act Dude rarely calls – he doesn’t want you to smell the bullshit on his breath).

Now, what do you do?

4 out of 5 times the Disappearing Act Dude is either reappearing because he wants to fuck you or because he’s a douchebag… and wants to fuck you. (Note: I have never encountered the 1 in 5 who is not a douchebag who wants to fuck me).

Take these scenarios for example.

DD (Disappearing Douche) #1: We meet at a bar

So I’m having a great night out with my friends when I meet DD1. We chat it up in the corner, he buys me a vodka soda, we compare our music libraries on our iPhones, we find each other on Loopt, he buys me another vodka soda, we make out. He asks if he can take me to dinner the following week.

Three months later I get a Facebook friend invite from none other than DD1. Only I’ve forgotten he ever existed until I ask him how we know each other. And then he asks me out and apologizes for “losing touch.”

I actually start dating this DD until I recognize a familiar pattern in his behavior: he’s just trying to get in my pants.

I tell DD1 that things are moving too quickly and that I’m not ready to be dating anyone right now. He confirms my suspicion by letting me know that he doesn’t want to date anyone either and is “just looking for some fun.”

DD#2: We meet at an industry event

I don’t like him when we meet, but allow myself to be charmed enough to give him my number. We go out and to my surprise, we hit it off. He texts after to tell me how cool I am (uh, yeah!) and how much he liked hanging out.

Cue disappearance #1.

But he had such a good excuse! Things with work got crazy and he found himself across America and back twelve times in 4 months. Talk about circumstances!

We go out again and have an amazing date. We see a movie and hold hands the entire time. We walk to a late night coffeehouse and get hot tea and talk about our families until 2am on a Monday night.

Disappearance #2 spanned from a day after this great date until two weeks later when I drunk text him. (I know, this story is going down the toilet).

I eventually admit to him in a text that I think he’s sexy.

Now he doesn’t disappear. He’s across the country again and then he’s in Japan, but he’s ever-present, now. Texting and confessing his passion for me morning, noon and night. I get fooled by the effort. I neglect to remember that he is a DD, and once you’re a DD, you’re always a DD.

He returns from his trip. I give it up for him. A few times even in the week that he’s back from his whirlwind of a world. He leaves again. He kisses me goodbye. He disappears.

DD#3 We never even meet

He finds me on LinkedIn. He’s worked with three of my coworkers. He’s cute, he’s into music, he dresses cool. I accept his connection. He messages me that he thinks I’m hot. He wants to date me.

Who would’ve thought LinkedIn was more than just a professional networking site? (I raise my hand and squeal “me! me! oooo me!”)

I’ve given him my number and let him woo me via text until I cave and decide “why not.” He acts triumphant. He disappears before even setting a date. I don’t care.

Today he reappears on…are you ready for this?…MySpace IM. Awesome. He says, “The Sounds new album is great” in response to my status that I’m currently listening to it. I say, “Oh, you got an advance copy?” He says, “No, but I needed something to say as an excuse to talk to you. Bad line, right?”

And I’m thinking ‘DD? Again? I haven’t even met this one!’

And then I sign off and write this blog post.

Ladies, be wise: if you’re looking for a keeper, watch out for the DD. If you want someone in and out of your life (figuratively and, well, literally) then this dude is your perfect match. But, at the end of the day, don’t date Disappearing Act Dude. Mr. DD has issues. Whether those issues are commitment, daddy, ego or small penis issues, it’s all the same. And remember, D stands for Douche.

**by Jordana who hasn’t met a decent dude in far too long

We had just about hit the address on Thompson Street, it had to be any one of the next few numbers… We heard reveling coming from a shop window and noticed the party-goers inside were staring at us. I stopped, trying not to be a complete fool by walking past the party we were supposed to attend and having people at the party witness me do so. I went up to the door and Yolanda followed. As I walked in to what I now realized was a coffee shop and bakery (not big enough to fit more than three or four tables), I knew that we had gone to the wrong party.

“Come in, come in!” the man sitting at the door warmly gestured to us in a thick European accent. Another man offered us drinks. Yolanda didn’t realize that I had taken her to a strangers’ party and so I let her in on the secret as our drinks were being concocted behind the biscotti display on the counter. She just laughed.

Another man came over to get a drink, this man had adorable dimples, messy hair and a very laid back demure. This man was the adorable Italian Cinematographer. I’ll refer to him here on out as the AIC.

Yolanda and I chatted with the AIC for close to a half hour. My phone kept vibrating. The host from the movie after party was wondering why we hadn’t arrived yet. I gave the AIC my number. His friend insisted we meet up with them later on at a friend’s bar on Gold Street.

We didn’t end up going to Gold Street later, despite his friend’s invitation and the AIC’s text messages. Instead, Yolanda and I opted for a late night drink and sweet potato fries at Cafeteria. I had a feeling I’d see the AIC again.

It was the following Friday that I saw him again. We went to a lounge and had Pinot Noir. We talked about our families, our friends, our jobs. He told me about his home in Milan and compared it to NYC. He found NYC far superior. His reasoning was that he found there was far greater cinema and creative talent in Manhattan.

Around 2 am when we left the lounge, I insisted that the weather was far too nice to take a taxi home. Despite that my place was 25 blocks in the wrong direction for him, he walked me all the way to my front steps. He kissed me on both cheeks and asked if he could call me again.

That Sunday night he invited me over to his place for dinner. It had been at least a year since a guy had cooked for me. I attribute that to two things: first, I’m a vegetarian which is all together difficult and confusing to a lot of men; second, this is New York City, men here don’t cook, they have online food-ordering accounts.

The AIC was a great cook and it definitely felt like I could get used to his romancing. (Did I just say romance? I feel weird even typing that word). He cooked vegetable risotto and we capped the night off with Italian coffees and watched movie trailers by the director he was currently working with.

For the next week or so we’d see each other and he’d send me sweet text messages saying that taking me out was “always my pleasure” and signing off with “kisses.” Who was this guy? If this was the way of the AIC, I never wanted to date an American again.

Except that I was seeing other American men. Nothing special, just fun. Deep down I knew the Italian was just fun also and not “right.” I’ve since realized that I am too young for the “right” guy right now. If he comes along, that’s great, but dating all the wrong guys is ok too and it’s fun. However, I had not yet has this “wrong guy ok” realization before I sabotaged all of my AIC fun.

Here’s how it went down.

We went to see Juno on a Friday night. He wanted to grab food and a drink before the movie, but I told him I was only in the mood for some tea. I wasn’t feeling great and instead of telling him that I was under the weather, I just zoned out and had empty conversation. After the movie, it was only 11:30, he said he was in the mood for vino. I said that I was tired and wanted to go to sleep. I was in fact exhausted, but I made the mistake of not sugar-coating it and being a complete drag without telling him that I was getting sick.

He waited for the downtown 1 train as I waited for the uptown. I could see him across the platform and it felt like eternity before the subway got there to wisk me away.

There were no sweet text messages that night. I felt ambivalent.

A few days later, it was New Years Eve day. I was feeling better and thought I’d try to reconcile things with the AIC by getting a coffee with him in his hood. I sent him a text message, but after only a half hour with no response, I called one of the other “wrong” guys for lunch.

The AIC called and texted while I was out to lunch. I didn’t answer the call and answered his text with, “Sorry, I’m out, Happy New Year.”

I am an asshole.

He sent me text message “kisses” and “wishes” at 4 am on New Years. I didn’t respond.

Maybe things didn’t feel “right” with him, but as I said earlier, not being “right” isn’t always wrong, especially not when you’re a twenty-something in NYC. I did learn this lesson, but time and time again, I feel the need for sabotage and then it starts all over again.

Sometimes I still think about the dimples on his cheeks when he smiles.

*by Jordana, who is looking for another

We worked on an athletic brand, so talk often turned to the gym.  When he found out that squats were part of my morning routine, he ragged on me relentlessly.

“How many squats did you do this morning?” He’d ask and then he’d follow with something like, “When are we going out?  Can we do squats together?”

Our banter continued in that tone for a few weeks.  I didn’t think of it as something that could lead to anything.  There were lots of men at the office who flirted with me and even one or two who had asked me out to dinner.  As far as I was concerned, workplace flirtation ended where it began – shitting in the cafeteria wasn’t an option.

To even further make the case against the creative hot shot, he was far from my type.  If we were at a bar, I wouldn’t look twice.  He was at least an inch shorter than me, out of shape and didn’t go a day without eating fast-food.  Since I had left my personal trainer, I was hitting the gym six days a week and I hadn’t eaten at a McDonalds since junior high when it was on the itinerary of a school field trip.

He was also a pompous asshole.  Unfortunately, that helped his case.

I find confidence extremely captivating.  I love the battle for dominance with a guy.  Sometimes I like to win, but often I am
more content losing. I spend my day giving orders and setting other people’s priorities. At the end of my day, I’m over it.  The
fact that this short, slightly pudgy guy was oozing with so much confidence was sadly appealing.

My journey down shit’s creek started when I invited him to a party in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn.   The train ride was over an hour long, 
giving us plenty of time to chat and one up each other with
 scandalous stories.  My stories about cutting high school to go to concerts didn’t rival his stories about being mistakenly arrested in Hawaii.  Twice.

At the party that night my friend Michael went out of his way to tell me that this guy wasn’t good enough for me.  Did Michael think I was sleeping with this guy?  Or that I was going to sleep with him?  I began to wonder myself. Was I going to make an even bigger shit-storm than I had when I slept with my personal trainer?  I was confused.

Meanwhile hot shot staring at me.  I gave him my standard “Are you serious? Leave me alone!” face.  He looked away.

On the subway ride back to Manhattan we continued sharing scandalous stories.  The conversation turned to sex – where was the craziest place, with who, what was the most shocking story…

He leaned in and tried to kiss me.

I gave him my face again, this time with a side of shock in the expression.   I hadn’t made up my mind yet about what I was (or was not) going to
let happenwith him.  Every force in the universe was telling me no, but I was actually having a lot of fun.  Then again, he did just try to kiss me on the subway which was not sexy at all.  Think about it – underground at 1am with complete strangers on an ancient train car with finger-printed metal poles from greasy unwashed hands and an underlying smell of rancid liquor and urine in the air; why would he try to kiss me here?

“Okay….” His voice trailed off, rejected but not defeated.  We rode in silence and eventually he changed the subject.

When we finally reached 42nd street, I still hadn’t made up my mind. I decided to roll with it since I wasn’t tired yet.

We went to a lounge about 20 blocks from my apartment and sipped martinis until the lights went on at 4am.

When we got outside, it was drizzling.  The alcohol was pumping through my veins and with my inhibitions low, I pressed against his lips.  We kissed until the rain became unbearable and before I knew it, we were stepping out of a cab in front of my apartment.  He followed me upstairs.

In the morning I pondered aloud, “Did we really do that?”

We did that again.  It was fantastic.

Work got a bit more exciting over the next few weeks, despite how wrong I knew it was to be sleeping with someone on my team.

I was addicted to the high of it all, but I knew the shit was inevitable.  It was completely hedonistic and not at all realistic.  And even with the fun and the rush of it, my head began to cloud up with questions.  Mainly I wondered if he was sleeping with other women, particularly his ex.

Though he didn’t talk about his ex much, I knew they saw each other pretty often.  I had a sense that there were unresolved issues with her.

In my gut I knew that if I asked him about it, I’d probably ruin what we had.  But what did we have, anyway?

“Are you still sleeping with your ex?”

The beginning of the end.

Don’t shit where you eat, don’t shit where you eat!  The office was about to get stinky.

His answer was no, but he was frustrated with me for asking about it. He wanted to know what I was looking for from him because a relationship was “out of the question.”

I didn’t know what I was looking for and having him tell me that a relationship was out of the question was a curveball.  Did I want a relationship with him?  How would that work?  The more I thought about it, the question was actually: how would it end, because surely it wouldn’t last.

In asking friends about shitting at the office, most agreed that it is a no-go. However, there was one friend I spoke to who had actually married a coworker.  And this has helped me come to the following conclusion: if you don’t think there is potential for an office fling to lead to marriage or a long-term relationship then you must just say no.

But I didn’t get to be the one to say no. I was the one getting turned down.  I didn’t want to lose this battle, but I was beaten.

I craved him and it messed up my judgment.  I never considered the ending stench when I made my move.

We stopped having sex.  We stopped talking.  My ego was trampled.  I was rejected by the short guy whose cardio was playing Wii on Saturday nights.

I have to walk by his desk every morning.  There is no other route to the water cooler, the kitchen, the bathroom or the
printer.  It is a constant reminder of my carelessness.  But that’s what it took for me to learn my sister’s lesson.

*By a still completely anonymous and even more ashamed PV staffer

Sounds gross right? Obviously, it’s not literal, but thinking about how vulgar it is when you say it reflects how bad it is to make this mistake. Just so we’re all on the same page – this piece of advice refers to creating sexual relationships out of platonic ones – specifically among coworkers and professionals. Think about someone in your life who you see on regular basis with whom you have a strictly professional relationship – it could be a coworker, your massage therapist or even your local postal worker. Now imagine having sex with them. Bad sex. Or even good sex that you only have once. Could you still maintain the same relationship you had prior to the sex? If the answer is no, then sleeping with them would be equivalent to shitting where you eat. It ruins dinner.

The first time I made this mistake was a door-opener for round two, which was even more odious than my first. But before we get to number two, let’s start with number one.

At first, my relationship with my personal trainer was absolutely ideal. He kicked my ass and I hated his guts. As I returned for my torture session each week, we became friendly, and his guts became a little more appealing. As we slowly became friends, I began to enjoy coming to sessions even though he worked me out to exhaustion. This was ok and I definitely condone being friendly with someone you spend this much time with, however it’s when you take a professional relationship out of the platonic realm that you risk ruining what you’ve spent time building.

This trainer was a great find; he helped me get into the best shape of my life and taught me how to intensify and get the most out of my workouts. And then I ruined it all.

In my defense, you try working out with a guy who has a perfect physique, pearly white teeth, bright blue eyes and a sexy French accent without jumping his bones. Losing fifteen pounds is easier.

In between gasping for air, I did my best to flirt during our sessions. I’d ask about his weekend plans, talk about going out and make suggestive jokes when he would do things like tie my feet together and weigh them down to deepen my crunches.

Eventually, he asked to spend time with me outside of the gym. Shortly after, he was calling me every week not just to schedule workouts, but to make weekend plans together. I loved going out with him and showing him off.

At first, things continued rather normally. We were generally able to separate our physical relationship from our professional relationship. I’d work out with him in the gym one day and the next, we were at his apartment.

Things were great and I was delighted. No doubt it was a little confusing, but I felt like I was getting the best of both worlds. No complaints. That is, until things got weird.

It started with a post on my Facebook funwall.

He drew a picture of a vagina on my wall.

The thing is, I thought we had graduated from middle school. Was he drunk? Was this a language barrier?

I sent him a message: “Did you really just draw a vagina on my wall?”

I deleted the vagina before anyone else saw the shenanigan.

Then he drew a penis on my wall and sent this message, “Mister Penis wants to be with Miss Vagina.”

Language gap or straight up immaturity – it didn’t matter, this was not ok.

Had I never started a sexual relationship with my trainer, I never would’ve been exposed to this side of him and we would’ve been able to continue our trainer/trainee relationship.

I shat where I ate and now I was forced to break out a pooper scooper. How was I going to have a professional training relationship with someone who referred to body parts with a prefix of Mister and Miss?

It had to be over. All of it. I ceased communications, ignoring all of his phone calls and text messages until they eventually subsided.

Things weren’t going to be the same and now I needed a new trainer. It made for a great story and it was a great conquest, though the ending leaves a bit to be desired. I still don’t really know what to make of it. What I do know is that if I didn’t take a shit on my own kitchen table, I’d still have a great trainer.

Stay tuned for part number two where I make the same mistake again and even worse, at the office.

You’ve got to take some risks to reap the benefits of a relationship, though as I am slowly learning, some risks are better left untaken.

*By an ashamed and therefore anonymous PV staffer