Falling in Love on Fridays: Who I Became: A Love Affair With Spain

Laura and I both wrote for Appalachian State’s college newspaper, The Appalachian as lifestyle reporters. After she graduated, she took a similar plunge – except instead of moving to New York, she went to Spain. I’ve always admired her bravery for making a big, big move, but like any relationship, her love affair with Spain was full of highs, lows and stolen moments. Below, she shares her experience. If you’d like to share your own falling in love story – from men to friendships to cities and everything else – email me. Learn more about Falling in Love on Fridays here

Who I Became: A Love Affair With Spain

lindsaypic2I didn’t know it at the time, but Spain was my rebound.

College was my dependable, fun, slightly hippie lover of 4 years… but when the going got rough, no one was surprised that college and I broke up – he wanted to stay in the same place, and I needed to move on.

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Falling in Love On Fridays: With Love, From Singapore

This week’s Falling in Love on Fridays post comes from someone I used to work with, J. Bubbly and sassy, this marketing gal made meetings more interesting and after-work drinks funnier. She moved back to her home country, Singapore after a brief stay in the States and continues to have a long-distance relationship with the love of her life that she met while here. Read her sweet story that just might make you go on that date you’re dreading tonight. If you’d like to submit your own Falling in Love on Friday story, click here.

With Love From Singapore

I decided to take the big leap to New York City to pursue a gradaute degree and follow my true passion for media three years ago. Yearning for excitement, I traveled 9343 miles away from my island home of Singapore, leaving behind the familiar smells of tropical palm trees and blue-green jeweled waters speckled with memories of my young 23-year-old self. I looked to the big city that promised so much – vowing that my education and career would be priorities for the next few years. Relationships and love were the last things on my mind especially when I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay in the US for.
For anyone who’s made a drastic move to a new city, it quickly dawns on you on how overwhelming it can be. Even though I spent the first year burying myself in school and venturing into different boroughs on the weekends, discovering what it meant to be a true local in NYC, things got lonely. Coupled with long winters that I wasn’t used to, I decided to give online dating a shot. I heard it worked for some but was still very apprehensive about this unconventional way of meeting people.
I was what you’d call a non-committal online dater. Browsing profiles and briefly replying to messages but rarely agreeing to actual dates. Having not been in a serious relationship for about four years, there was still a big part of me that treasured the freedoms of being single, especially in a place like New York.
Until I met D.
From the onset, D and I didn’t seem like we had much in common and was unlike any others I usually dated. He was quiet, meticulous and low-key. I was sociable, passionate and enjoyed going out. We worked in completely different industries and our shared interests seemed minimal – eating, snow boarding and were of the same religion. After 10 days of texting (yes, 10!), D finally asked me out.
Our first coffee date turned into a dinner in Korea Town because we were both working late. To someone who’s new to online dating, I was pretty sure a dinner date wasn’t exactly a smart idea. What if we had nothing to talk about? What if it became clear that we had no chemistry after five minutes? Oh boy. I was nervous and had a friend on speed dial should I need to make the S.O.S. call.
Thankfully I didn’t have to. The list of things we had in common grew longer as we tucked into fragrant kimchi and bulgogi (not the most romantic of first date meals but we were both famished that day). We had the same sense of sarcastic humor and although he was Vietnamese and I was Chinese, we connected with Asian jokes and history. Interestingly, we both came from a family of five siblings, D was the eldest of three girls and two boys, while I was the third of a set of three boys and two girls. The date seemed to be going well until we bid farewell. I expected an indication that the date was a hit, like a “I had a nice time, we should do it again soon” or perhaps even a hug. Instead, it was abrupt and I walked home feeling more confused than ever. That night, there was still no follow-up text from D and after a call to rant with my best friend about how badly the date ended, I fell asleep thinking,“Oh well, can’t help it if there was no attraction from his end.”
Surpsingly, D got in contact with me and asked me out for a second date… and a third. By the fourth date, it was clear that our relationship was growing and I shared my concerns with D about my permernance in NYC, not wanting to lead him on should I have to move to another city. I expected that any other 28-year-old would run for the hills, but D unassumingly reassured, “I’m in this for the long haul.” That night, we held hands for the first time while taking in the majestic views of Manhattan’s skyline along the Hudson River.
Seven months later, D and I are still going strong. We’ve since then taken snowboarding trips and met each others families. Given my job prospects, I’ve had to make a hard decision to return to Singapore, leaving behind everything I love about NYC. As disappointed as I am to not have spent more years working in the city like what I set out out to do, I gained so much more with my unexpected relationship with D.
His generosity and stability are the perfect complement to my sponateniety for life. What I lack in number skills, he makes up for. What he yearns in elegant writing, I provide. We stay grounded and honest, and go to bed every night saying how grateful we have been to have found each other. We rarely have difficult moments, but when we do, they are almost always because we wish we got to spend a few more precious moments being in the same location.
Even though being away from each other is not ideal, D and I are plowing through – because that’s what you do when you find your other half.
Happy 29th Birthday D! Can’t wait till I next see you.

Falling in Love On Fridays: Tomorrow or Ten Years from Now

It’s no secret that I’m a little skeptical about online dating. Though I’ve technically been a participant in the love interwebs for years (off and on), I’ve yet to find what I consider someone I’m into enough to date long term. I know that statistics show that lots of people meet their significant others online (1 in 5!) but I just haven’t found much success and often feel like throwing in the towel. But my friend from college, J, makes me want to give it another try. She’s recently engaged to a man she met online and their story will make you get on Match for an hour tonight. No joke. Oh – and just try not to cry during the proposal video. If you want to write your own Falling in Love on Fridays post, click here.

Tomorrow or Ten Years from Now

After getting dumped by my boyfriend of two years, I had given up on love.  I would go out, flirt with guys at the bar, and then go home disappointed, realizing that there were no good men out there. I felt like a sad imitation of the gals from Sex and the City: Hopelessly romantic and also a little hopeless… After one of my nights with my girl friend Lillian (and way more than my half of the bottle of wine), I decided it would be cathartic to create an online dating profile. That way, my not-completely-sober self rationalized, I could highlight my best qualities, something I don’t often do in my self-critiques and realize how awesome I am.

I created a profile on a religious dating site, mainly because the guys my friends found on regular dating sites turned out to be absolutely horrific. Immediately, I was receiving messages and emoticons from guys, some of whom were too old, a little creepy, and just so, so wrong for me. It made me laugh a little, though, and I felt better about myself, realizing that at least somewhere out there, guys thought I was worth pursuing.


I took a break from the site and retreated to the beaches of North Carolina under the pretense of house sitting for a friend. She was visiting her boyfriend over the 4th of July holiday, so I had 4 days by myself, with only her dog and my dog to keep me company. I laid out, got some sun, read, wrote, and just allowed myself to accept where I was in life.  Like most of my trips to the beach, the salt water washed away my worries. Here I was, surrounded by thousands of tourists, with no one sitting next to me. No one talking to me. I was alone among the masses, and I felt more at peace than I had in a long time. I finally accepted that it was okay to be alone, and that refocusing on improving myself was now a priority.

I drove home refreshed, realizing that for the first time in a long time, I was freed from my insecurities, from my unhappiness. I was me once more, made whole by the sand, sun, and surf. It had been a month since I had joined the dating site, and I thought to myself, “Give it one more go.” After all, I was back to myself, the type of girl who could look on something like a dating website as an opportunity and not necessarily a last resort.

I had a few messages from a few different guys, but none of them really caught my eye. So I did what any girl would do: Scroll through the guys in my area until I found a cute one and then stalk him. I wasn’t planning on messaging anyone, since I still just had the “free profile” that wouldn’t let me send messages, but it was fun to “browse” the available men. One page down, then another.It was interesting seeing the men in my demographic and how varied they were. And then, I saw him. Tall. Good looking. Not too old. Not already divorced. Professionally successful. To say I fell in love with a picture and profile is a stretch, but it was close.


My newfound sense of purpose gave me the courage to bite the bullet and send my first message, something I equated to walking up to a guy at a bar. Really, was there any difference between me approaching a stranger at my local watering hole and sending a message through a social forum? No, I told myself, there wasn’t. Plus, if he immediately rejects you or doesn’t respond, you don’t have to slink away in front of his friends and a bunch of random strangers. I typed out my short message and hit “send” before I lost my resolve. Then it was time to sit back and wait…

A day later, as I was checking my email, a notification message from the site popped up. The mysterious “Brad” had responded to my message. Thrilled that my first foray into online dating had resulted in at least a consensual message, I clicked open my email and read his brief message which was punctuated with tons of questions. What did I do? How did I like NC? Where all have I traveled to? I eagerly replied, answering each question in depth, wanting to give him the fullest version of myself. I hit “send” again and felt a sense of hope. Hope in my newfound freedom. Hope in this conversation with a stranger. Hope in myself.

We officially had our first date at a minor league baseball game, way better than the coffee date that was originally planned. He changed it last minute due to my love for the sport. We laughed. We ate hot dogs. We danced and sang to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” We stood next to my car, and he pointed out the stars to me.  Then we went on a second date. Then we had lunch. And then… and then… The days turned into weeks. The weeks turned in to months. He met my friends. I met his. Then he met my family. And then I met his. We started speaking about the future, marriage, kids, family, all the things you plan for in your head when you’re with someone you love. And every time we talked about it, every time he got nervous thinking about the future, I’d tell him the same thing: “I’ll marry you tomorrow, and I’ll marry you 10 years from now.”


For the first time, I didn’t need a ring to define my relationship. I knew I had found the one, the guy who could make me laugh until I cried and who could cure my tears with laughter. So many people say, “I knew he was the one…” and I finally knew what they meant. It didn’t matter to me how long it would take. Our friends started asking about engagement, proposals, the possible future wedding. And as always, I’d tell him, “I’ll marry you tomorrow, and I’ll marry you 10 years from now.”

We celebrated Christmas. We celebrated New Years. We went dancing and cooked dinners for each other. Each and every day, I woke up feeling happy. He didn’t define me. He still doesn’t. I was finally in a place where I was comfortable with myself, and I found someone who loved me for me. All my faults and failures, he accepted. Through his loving me, showing me how someone else could view me, he allowed me to learn to love myself, and for this, I will be forever grateful to him.


People get cynical when it comes to online dating. I knew I was. For months after we started dating, people would ask, “So, how did you two meet?” and Brad and I would both exchange a look. I was the only one able to tell the story with a straight face because to both of us, it was still so ridiculous. We’re old-fashioned, and we met through the internet? But somehow, in this crazy mess of life, we found each other. In the end, the means of how we met don’t matter. Boy meets girl. Girl falls for guy. It’s a story as old as time.

Falling in Love on Fridays: I Am Not My Hair

This week’s Falling in Love on Friday’s post is by one of my dear friends from college, Allison. Though I haven’t seen here in years — since her last layover in New York for a night — she inspires me every single day via Gchat and witty Facebook statuses. She’s one of those people who feel and care with their whole heart, and as this blog will tell you, with her whole head of hair, too. Her post goes to show the bigger meaning behind Falling in Love on Fridays: you don’t just fall in love with men or people, sometimes you fall in love with things as simple, and yet as necessary, as… hair. She’s doing something ridiculously awesome and brave that I’m totally supportive of – but you have to read to the end to find out what it is. Learn more about the beautiful Allison here, and to learn how to submit your own Falling in Love on Friday story here

I Am Not My Hair

July 8th, 1986

I emerge from the womb in a Long Island hospital, screaming bloody terror at 10:35 in the morning. The doctor who delivers me declares “It’s a girl! Look at that hair!”

Kindergarten, picture day

The school photographer calls me “Curly Sue,” and would continue to do so until the fifth grade.

Every morning of my childhood

sassyMy dad gets me ready for school, and lacking any knowledge about little girl’s fashion or hair, lets me wear whatever I want. To do my hair, he makes me lay upside down on the couch and bunches all the crazy blonde curls into something vaguely resembling a bun. Sort of. I look at the Disney princesses. Their hair is flat and pretty. I look at the villians. Theirs is messy and curly and wild. Princesses never have to have their wild hair stuck up on their head.

First day of seventh grade

Standing at the bus stop in a plaid flannel shirt and JNCOs, with my hair still dripping wet, I press my hands against my hair and hope and pray it stays flat. It doesn’t. I will try this every day for many years.

Summer, 2003

I dye my hair so many different colors it turns orange. It gets huge and poofy and damaged. I look like Bozo the Clown, if Bozo the Clown wore green chuck taylors and punk tshirts. I cry on the way to my senior portraits, which will be someday documented in textbooks under the “worst hair in human history.”

Spring, 2006

I move into my first apartment with a fellow curly haired girl. She tells me to throw away my shampoo and my hairbrush and shares her products with me. I start getting real haircuts. The frizz starts to look like real hair again. A friend flatirons my hair once and I hate the way it looks.

Summer, 2007

Men love my hair! This assumption is based solely on a handful of weird dudes touching my head in bars, but I can only extrapolate to entire male population. More importantly, I love my hair. For the first time ever.  My personality becomes an extension of my wild curls, or vice versa – I’m not actually sure. I cut it short and wear big earrings. I grow it out and wear it in an updo on any day of the week. I tease it up and out and put on too much lipstick. I weep when fellow curly girls straighten their hair. I weep harder when a friend’s three year old curly headed daughter says she has “bad hair.”  What have we learned of princesses and villains and what it means to be wild?

January 11th, 2014

weddingI have some drinks in an arcade with some cute boys in the middle of a storm. We joke about shaving our heads. I tell them I would never. I love this hair too much. I make them all touch it. It’s so soft! It’s so pretty! It’s my thing, I tell them. A few hours later, my best friend asks if I wanted to participate in St. Baldrick’s with her, in which we will shave our heads to raise money for children’s cancer research. I say yes. She makes sure I am sober. I am. I use the word “YOLO” anyway. I send a text to my mom that says “Don’t freak out, but I’m shaving my head in a few weeks.” (It’s less permanent than the previous two “Don’t freak out” text messages, which have been followed by “….but we all got matching tattoos,” and “I got another one, and it’s pretty huge.”)

In the three days since we’ve committed to shaving our heads, we’ve raised $900 to help fund research for childhood cancers, which are severely underfunded and under researched.  Our goal is $2500 by March 1st, when she and I will publicly get our heads buzzed and the thing that has been so linked with my identity will lie in a pile on the ground. For three days I’ve been looking up scarves and wigs and hats and imagining all the dramatic ways I can now get away with doing my makeup. I’ve tried to figure out how long my hair will be for the wedding I’ll be in later this year.

I’ve also been thinking about what it means to be bald. This is a choice, for me. I get to dictate what happens to my body, and what I claim to be linked with my identity. I get to find it liberating and freeing and I get to think about how much time and money I’ll save. But for so many people it is not a choice. Children with cancer don’t get choices, and I hope you’ll join me in changing the odds. To make a donation, visit here.

This Valentine’s Day, write a self-love letter to yourself and it’ll be published (anonymous or not) on Confessions of a Love Addict! And you enter yourself to win a prize pack of beauty products and a Home Goods gift card! Learn more here. Submit here

Falling in Love on Fridays: The Love I Want in Me

I was sent this blog from a 31-year-old woman who after years of being in relationships, finally found her peace being single. I’m excited to share Heather’s story – and though she says it’s an “unconventional” post for this column, I think it’s just the opposite. Falling in Love on Fridays is about all sorts of love — career, cities, men, friendships, families, travel — and of course, the most important love of all: the love we find within ourselves. It’s the hardest one to accept but the one that ultimately, brings the most happiness. Read her post below and learn more about Falling in Love on Fridays and how to submit your own here.

This is an unconventional post for “Falling in Love Fridays”.

I spent the majority of my 20’s in relationships. I earned my degree, got a great job, bought a condo and thought. Now what? I should probably find a boyfriend and start considering marriage and kids. It seemed like a great, linear and totally achievable plan.What I wasn’t aware of at the time was the consideration of alternatives. That was what everyone did right? I didn’t question if it was right for me, or if I was ready. I pursued coupledom with the same dogged approach as I did to school and work. Like most things put my mind to, I found a degree of success. Whenever, things got complicated, I would just put in more effort.

I spent a large amount of my time thinking about dating, analyzing  dating situations, debating whether or not the guy I was with really liked me and whether or not I would marry him.

When I turned 28, something changed. I had had a series of serious relationships, contemplated marriage and somehow ended up on the either side, single, debating a career change and full on into a quarter life crisis.

I finally asked myself, what I consider to be the “game changing question”. When I look back on my life, what will I wish I had more of? I set about trying to create and earn more of those moments. Time doing things I love and spending time with family and friends was at the top of the list. Frustrating dating/romantic situations were not. I made a wild list of things that I wanted to accomplish.

The more I followed my hearts desire the more joy I felt.

When I turned 30, the question appeared. What if I am single forever?  Will that be okay?

The answer changes day to day, but surprisingly, I am okay with being single, more often than not. I never thought that would happen. By this point, I had launched my own business, gone back to school to do a Master’s degree, adopted a dog, competed in a figure competition, become a volunteer counsellor, made new friends and travelled a bit.

Do I wish I had someone “special” in my life. Sometimes. However what I have found is that I am a lot more special and fun, than I originally thought and as cheesy as it sounds I have developed a much stronger relationship with myself.

This cartoon, is basically the opposite of the way that I now think, rather than searching, I am finding the love that I want in me.

This Valentine’s Day, write a self-love letter to yourself and it’ll be published (anonymous or not) on Confessions of a Love Addict! And you enter yourself to win a prize! Learn more here. Submit here

It’s That Time Again! Self-Love Letters

The day after Christmas, I walked through Kmart with my mom – determined to buy a dry erase board calendar to record my weekly events – and the sight of something made me stop suddenly like the tourists I despise.

Really? It’s only December 26 and they have flooded the seasonal department with Valentine’s Day crap?” I exclaimed. My mother sweetly reminded me that I might actually enjoy Cupid’s commercial holiday and might even have a “special fella” to celebrate it with. I tried my best not to roll my eyes, especially since even if I do happen to meet someone great in the next six weeks, I’d rather them tell me how wonderful I am every single day, not just on February 14th. And not when it’s impossible to get a reservation, even at cheesy places.

But I’m not bitter or negative about Valentine’s Day and I actually haven’t been since I started writing this blog because from year one, I’ve encouraged myself and all of you to write love letters…

…to yourself!  This year, things will be a little different (and a whole lot better).

You’ll still submit your (anonymous or not) love letter here. I’ll publish all of the letters on February 14th but they will also live forever here. Just like you don’t want to be in a relationship where your guys only celebrates your love once a year, you also don’t want to be good and kind to yourself only on one cold, glittery day in February. You can submit your love letters all year round and I will continue to publish them on this page.

But want to know an even cooler part? In honor of the changes on Love Addict, I’ll be hosting my very first giveaway (!) and the winner will be randomly selected and announced on Valentine’s Day! The prize pack will be an incredible, indulgent basket of awesome beauty products to pamper yourself. And I’ll personally write you a letter about how lovely you are, too.

To enter, you just have to submit your love letter to yourself. Get inspired by reading 2011’s, 2012’s and 2013’s. C’mon, tell me why you love you!

Dear Your Boys, Part One

After a tumultuous year of terrible, no-good, horrible dating, I recently found myself not only a little bitter, but really, really disappointed. And angry. So of course, I do what helps me more than anything: writing. Though it’s not that healthy to go back down memory lane – especially one that’s jagged and misleading – but getting out frustrations (no matter how small or large) can help you move forward. For me, the “Dear Boy” letters were not only therapeutic, but freeing. As soon as I clicked publish, I released the boys back into the universe, back to wherever they came from, far, far away from my thoughts and my confidence.

When I invited all of you to submit your own – I was completely blown away by the response. It’s the thing I love most about my blog – every time I think I’m the only one feeling burnt out on dating, I read stories from around this city, this country and this planet that remind me I’m definitely not alone.

Since I received so (so!) many letters, I’ll be publishing half today and half on Monday. Each round will end with what I find the most important parts: a letter to a man worth all this trouble and a letter to the biggest love of all: yourself.

In no particular order, your amazing Dear Boy letters, part one:

Dear Boy who is exact reason why I cringe at the thought of online dating.

The moment I said..”okay, let’s give this a chance” you ruined it for me before I even realized. The moment you called to tell me you need to push back our first date for a few hours, I should have shown you the door.  The moment we both finally met that night for the first time, I should have shown you the door……BUT I didn’t. The moment we kept meeting for dates (on your side of town) and you never picked me up, I should have shown you the door. The moment you kept using dental school as an excuse for everything, I should have shown you the door.

The moment we went a month without “real” communication or seeing each other, I should have shown you the door. (texting doesn’t count) Wait, I tried to show you the door but you promised you would do better & try better—and I let you back in.

I went through 6 months of “moments” with you, praying for God to grant me patience to see this “relationship” through (after all we had met each other’s parents).  I also prayed for clarity from God and he gave that to me.  That is why I finally showed you the door.  You were my first sip of a relationship in years and if that is what a relationship is supposed to be then I don’t want it.  It’s supposed to be 50/50 no 70/30.

The audacity you had to show a lack of emotion the last time I broke it off proved to me even more so that you aren’t my soulmate that God is preparing for me. I bid you final farewell and I truly hope you finally find your soulmate as I know mine will be sent to me when I’m ready. -Tiffani

Dear Boy who wanted me in secret. Who I met at work over a year ago and began to pursue me even though you weren’t my type and there was some talk of you having a girlfriend. You continued to invite me out with other co workers and then on a date which I finally caved in, merely for the excitement of where it could lead. People used to tell me so many marriages start at work. What was I thinking!  I had decided in my head you were one thing and after 8 months realized you were something different. The excitement of a secret relationship at work quickly faded when you stopped reaching for my hand under the table or kissing me in the street. Sure, sex was good and the consecutive texting throughout the day led me to believe I was a constant thought on your mind. But after several months I was ready to introduce you to my friends… and even family.  After catching you in several lies, and continuing to set myself up with disappointment I wised up. No more lame excuses and shame on me for being tricked by someone who was never going to commit and didn’t want me but didn’t want anyone else to have me either. -Anonymous

Dear Boy who asked me to be his date to a wedding and then left me at the reception for two hours so you could get high.

I was so excited to be your date. Day of the wedding, I picked the sexiest dress from my closet. I wanted you to be sure you picked the hottest date.  At the reception, you didn’t pull out the chair for me, nor did you get me a drink. You didn’t seem to care when others complimented you on your date choice.  I only danced with my friend and slow danced with your friends because you hide in the corner, drinking wine and texting. Every time I asked you to dance with me, you told me the next song.  Late in the night, you came to me saying you needed to give a ride to a friend and would return to the reception shortly. I asked to go with you, but you told me to stay since I looked like I was having so much fun. I would have rather danced with you. I would have rather spent the wedding with you.  You returned two hours later reeking of marijuana and trying to convince me you only left for 20 minutes. Not wanting to apologize, you turned the argument on me telling me I was too drunk and you couldn’t believe you brought the stereotypical drunk girl to the wedding. Next time you’re invited to a wedding don’t check the plus 1 option. -Anonymous

Dear Boy who was too cheap to purchase my lunch, but criticized the beverage that I chose and paid for.

We decided to have a quick lunch date since it matched better with our schedules, picking a sandwich shop. You didn’t hold open the door for me nor did you let me go first in line. You only purchased a sandwich and chips, not wanting to spend the extra $1.50 on a beverage. I purchased my own lunch including a diet soda. I let it slide that you didn’t purchase my meal; after all, it was only lunch. As we chatted over our meals, you grabbed my drink to take a sip. You spit it out when you realized it was diet. I rolled my eyes as you questioned why I would choose diet, knowing you didn’t like it.  I decided it was best to ignore your text the following week for another lunch date. My diet coke and I would rather have lunch alone. -Anonymous

Dear Boy who I really don’t want as my friend.

After you showed up on our first date, I was delighted to know that the energy you exuded in person matched that of your online dating profile. You were everything I thought and hoped you would be: tender, kind, tall, funny, successful and generous with your ideas of planning “the best first date.” During those three months you showed up consistently, never making excuses, and never faltering with your gentlemen-like gestures of holding open car doors or giving me the jacket off your back. You waited until a yes for sex felt safe and comfortable from me, regardless of what needs you may have had. Our dates were memorable, our chemistry satiable and your kisses ever so sweet and passionate. But as soon as that trip came up and you left overseas for six weeks, it was as if those three beautiful months of what we begun to build were nothing more than a memory which quickly faded. I’m sorry I went back to you a year later thinking things would be different. I am not sorry I met you, though since you’ve taught me what it’s like to be treated like a real woman, only next time with the right man who sticks around and doesn’t expire after the “90 day policy”.

The funny thing is I really, really did like you. I even saw a potential future with you, one that seemed promising especially after I was introduced to your family. But you’ve taught me that love takes time, and building trust is a process. And regardless of what people say and even do, it takes a lot more than a three month time span to get to know “the one”, or even “the potential one”. And although you may think we can remain friends, the truth is I have enough of those already. Ones that continue to show up overtime when I need them the most. So dear boy – in the end I’ve come out on top. Because although I’ve loved and lost, I’ve earned more dignity than I’ve given away. -Anonymous

Dear Boy who didn’t remember our drunken make out.

The boy I met a week after my new job started and thought it would be fun to go out with everyone from work and have one too many cocktails. As we hopped into a cab and you grabbed my face and to have a pretty memorable make out session. Finding out later how wasted you were to not remember it.  You made it utterly awkward to be around whenever we would see each other.  I’m not going to lie by my surprise of you flirting with me months later in hopes we could be normal again. I must be an idiot to have through that the boy I had a minor crush on would ever man up and actually ask me on a date. I never thought asking a girl on a date was hard, but somehow for you it seems it’s damn near impossible. After getting what I thought was a sober text from you early in the evening, I thought it was your plea to have our first date. Only to arrive to you in your grabby drunken stupor and me yet again falling for something I had made up in my head of you being. Thank you for making it so clear that you are still a boy as you tried to unhook my bra through my shirt as I repeatedly swat you away. You continued to not respect my boundaries and being extremely inappropriate. The main thing I have to thank you for is calling me beautiful. Sober, actually calling me the most beautiful girl you’d ever met …. and then again drunk. -Anonymous

Dear Boy who refused to become a man.

We met in college, and maybe that was my mistake.  We became best friends, often hanging out late in to the night, until 3 or 4am, watching Entourage and eating take out.  Slowly, you won my heart, though you were far from deserving.  We didn’t date right away.  I knew better than to hook up with you before we were in a relationship, but I wanted you so badly that I listened to you instead of my heart. And eventually we did date. You finally asked me out after I told you that I couldn’t do this anymore, that I couldn’t continue this pattern.  That should have been my red flag, that you would only commit when I threatened to take away something you liked. But I still listened to you, and not my heart.  Those 2 years were wonderful and terrible at the same time. I compromised myself for you, time and time again, convincing myself that I wanted to “live free” and not conform to the pressures to get married. But I wanted to get married. I didn’t see the point of a relationship that didn’t have marriage as a possibility. And yet, you refused. You were still in the college mindset of doing whatever you wanted, regardless of what was best for the other people in your life. You were the reason I got drunk for the first time, the reason I had sex for the first time, the reason I became less strong in my convictions, the reason I valued myself less and less. This isn’t all your fault, but you didn’t stand up for me when I couldn’t. You, who slept with my best friend behind my back, because you were both drunk. You, who called me crazy anytime I wanted to talk about the possibility of the future. You, who made me doubt myself. You are the reason I hated myself for so long after our break up.  The pain is still there. You didn’t break my heart- you turned it to stone. And slowly, slowly, the self-doubt is creeping away.  I’m working on believing in myself again. I have become stronger because of you, but I don’t thank you for it. -Jennifer

Dear boy who keeps making promises you can’t keep.

Two and a half years of a relationship I didn’t expect. If I could go back into the time we met, I would have kept it as friends only. When we first met I became too comfortable being around you. The more time we spent I kept forcing romantic ideas that I wanted that you never thought about. Once you had me under the loop you stopped doing all the productive things for yourself. You stopped impressing me once you knew we wouldn’t end. Somehow I still want the best for you and I. Every time you made a promise that you would change I always believed maybe you would but it was just something you would say just for me to forgive you over and over again. What’s meant to be is not always meant to be. Someday you’ll realize you’re not a boy but a man that needs to grow up. What’s love isn’t love anymore, and only time will tell, and by that time I’ll be gone. Sorry you couldn’t change and I couldn’t hold on enough to make you change. I learned in life you can’t always try to change a person, it has to be that person who wants to change.  Thanks for some of the good times and thanks for all of the bad times I will remember. -Anonymous

Dear Boy Who Thought Talking About Other Girls Would Turn Me On.

It started as very witty flirting that made me excited to open my phone. I met you on Tinder, which made me wary, but you shared my love for Archer and you looked so cute on Facebook that I decided to meet you for a drink. You chose a crowded place on Jane Street that took me 2 trains to get to. You were shorter than I thought you’d be. Our conversation (or what I could hear of it over all the noise) seemed forced and you seemed strangely aloof. I wondered if I should have worn heels even though it was snowing. I was sure our first time meeting would be our last but to my surprise you texted me the next day asking when you could see me again. I chalked our uncomfortable encounter up to nerves and decided I’d give you another chance. On our second date, drinks again, you were funny and clever. I admired the fact that you were confident enough to leave your job as an investment banker to pursue a promising start-up and when you kissed me goodnight there were definitely sparks. A few more really fun, really alcoholic dates and I was sure this was on its way to becoming something real. But then, you disappeared. Two weeks passed and no word. I decided to take charge and ask you where you’d been. You replied saying that you’d been really busy dating this other girl, but not to worry! It wasn’t serious. I don’t know why you thought this was the appropriate response or why you were surprised when I never texted you back again (though 4 more texts on 4 more occasions did force me to appreciate your persistence).  I don’t know who taught you how to date, buddy, but you should lose their number too. -Gigi

Dear boy who consistently calls me drunk at one in the morning, you’re never coming out the friend zone.

We met at a party at the end of spring semester. You ere cute and a great dancer, but a little too intoxicated for my tastes. We allegedly had biology lecture together (I’m still not convinced) and you asked to study with me for the upcoming exam. When you texted me the next day, I realized I hadn’t bothered to remember what you looked like and told you to come find me on the third floor of the library. I put your name in my phone as “Library Boy”. Three weeks later, we watched a movie at your place when your immature roommates slid condoms under the door and yelled down the hallway all night. A week later, you broke up with me as friends because you didn’t want a girlfriend at the time, but being around me was “just too hard” because your feelings were “just too strong.” I was confused that you thought there was ever anything between us. Like clockwork on Friday and Saturday nights, you text and you call begging me to come make “this lame party so much better”. You’re the one who disowned me, bro. You’re still in my phone as Library Boy, and that’s how it will stay. -Anonymous

Dear Me who seems to never learn from her mistakes. 

I’m probably getting into this situation again. I’m urging him to be what my mind wants instead of who he really is. I’m believing there is more to men then just wanting to get in my pants… there’s not. I am settling and thinking it’s okay to do so because I want to be spontaneous and in the moment. Stupid me, desperate me, hopeless romantic me…. stop. Just stop, move on and smile through. You are more and you will meet someone that is worth all the disaster situations you allow yourself to be in. -Anonymous

Dear Possible Man that I really don’t want to screw this up with.

The way we first met is hilarious to me. Back in high school I called you Daddy, because of some family thing you and your girlfriend made up at the time. I’m not sure why you picked me, you explained it to me, but I’m still in the “why me” stage. You are wonderful and amazing, you truly are. I’ve met your family and they are just your normal kind of family. I really like your family. Okay… we both don’t have normal families, but in the terms of normal for us, they are normal. You are a family person just like me, which I really love.In the past months, you have helped me to truly see that not all guys are douchebags. I have had to keep myself from stopping and staring at you with my mouth open wide. Mostly the mouth open wide part, sometimes I can’t help but stare at you. You are sort of a wonder to me. Half of the time I’m not sure what to make of you, or why you couldn’t have shown up sooner, and other times I just tell my brain to shut up and enjoy. I’m enjoying what is going on between us.

I love that you’ve accepted me for me. I love the little things you do for me. I love that you will wear a shirt to bed for a couple of day for me, just to get your sent on it. Than give it to me so that when I’m at home I can wear your shirt to bed and smell you when I wake up. It makes evil mornings a lot better. I love the things you say to me when we’re in bed together. That you have me, that I’m caught, and that I’m yours.I don’t want to screw this up and I know you don’t want to screw this up either. We might not screw this up and even if it doesn’t work out between us, I want to thank you. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, for being you. You are simply beautiful, wonderful, and kind. This is just the beginning for us and I can’t wait to see how far and where we go. Well I can wait, because I want to enjoy each day to the fullest with you. -Satisfied

The second half of the Dear Boy letters will be published Monday. There’s still time to write one! Email me.