The Friends With Benefits Sitch

I always swore I would never be that person. That person who sleeps with that one repeat customer (who is not their partner) because they show up. Or call.

Or text.

I have seriously had sex because someone sent me a “?” text, and I sent back a wink face. And we weren’t in a relationship.

But we had been…so that’s ok. Right? Exes are for hooking up with. Right?!

The answer is: as with all dating and intimate situations, it’s up to you. For my FWB years, it was with a person I had at one time dated for a few weeks. He ended things, and then one night showed up at the bar I was at and I wound up taking him upstairs to my apartment (sometimes I miss living above a bar…). That started a 2 year long pattern.

But I should back up. Because…the reason I even initially agreed to it is kinda funny.

So this guy was my first relationship after my divorce. In that relationship, I was able to let myself go in some areas (closing the bathroom door…that extra little flab…not hiding a fart…being kinda proud of some farts…etc.). After 8 years with the same person, you forget that things like waxing exist. The first time I slept with this new guy, he made a very rude crack about my bush. I didn’t think it was that bad (I had made some effort at containing it), and in retrospect, it wasn’t (tho I’ve been in the PNW for a bit, so maybe my opinion of what a reasonable bush is has changed???). But since I had not done much dating except for my long relationship, I felt shamed into addressing it. So I had it waxed.

All. Off.

Not just a Brazilian: a Sphynx.

I was so proud of my big brave step (yes. I now know I was an idiot and should have had some backbone about this. But I was 25. I was an idiot at 25.). I had this done while he was out of town so I could surprise him when he got back.

When he got back from his trip? He called me. To break up.

FUCK. I literally stared at my crotch for the entire breakup phone call trying to figure out how to say “but…I fucking got a fucking wax you fuck!”

Spoiler alert for future posts: my luck is not usually so great.

So when he showed up at a bar that I lived above 2 weeks later, I jumped at the chance to jump him.

The big reveal was everything I had hoped. I made him lay on my bed to watch me undress, and when I grinned and pulled my panties off, his eyes literally bugged out of his head and he yelled “get over here and sit on my face!”


And that, my friends, was the start of a 2 year long FWB stint. He always seemed to know when I was single, and the texts went from “hey! Miss you! Dinner and hang out?” to “?”

Call me a slut if you want. I honestly don’t care, and anyone who has this situation shouldn’t care either. I always had fun, and was with a safe person for me emotionally and physically. And I ALWAYS knew where he and I stood. To this day, he and I are still friends. The FWB ended years ago, and he is now married with two beautiful girls.

I have talked to other women who have FWB deals. Women always seem so judged by it–people assume they do it out of desperation or because they can’t commit, and I’m always curious to see how it works for others. Some do it out of hope that their person will come back to them, some do it because they don’t think they deserve a relationship, some do it because they aren’t in a place for an actual relationship, some do it because without the pressure of a relationship some fun kinky shit can be experimented with, and some (like me) just plain old enjoy sex and have learned how to not get emotionally involved.

I’m honestly not sure if I could do that situation again, though. In the 9 years since this deal was made, my ability to be physically and emotionally vulnerable outside of a relationship has changed and I am looking for a more traditional relationship.


Sometimes it really is a situation I miss. I mean, I always got a free dinner…and breakfast.


Dating with a chance of puke

Good God does it suck to get sick on a date. I’m not normally a puker, but when I let loose, it’s loud and uncomfortable to be around. Just so we dive right into graphic (for this post is not for the weak of stomach), I have an intestinal disease and literally puke from my intestines.

Ok. So. Now that you have that image/ sound, let me get started with this post. This is actually my first post where I have input from some friends who were gracious enough to allow me to tell their stories, and their stories will be mixed in.

For me, this situation has not happened tooooo frequently, but the few times I have hurled on a date sure are memorable.

The first time was probably my personally most awkward. So, here’s some TMI for you (as if this blog wasn’t enough…?!): if I am drunk or even slightly tipsy, and I make out with you, I will 99.9% guaranteed puke on you.

That’s right: puke ON you. It happens quickly. That’s why I said make out instead of sleep with. You won’t make it to the sleep with part.

Be glad you’re not the person who discovered this. But then again, that poor bastard just had to test it a few times to make sure that was my trigger, so I don’t feel all that bad. He kinda saved everyone who came after (tho there has been the occasional brave/ idiotic person who has tested this theory. Here’s a friendly tip: if someone says they’re a puker, and are kind enough to tell you a trigger, for God’s sake don’t fucking test it. Unless that’s your fetish. Which is fine. Just let that person know it’s your fetish so they don’t feel awkward.).

So now if there’s a chance of making out or sex, I cut myself off after one drink. Why spoil the fun? That’s not the extra lube most people are looking for.

And now for some fun stories:

Like that time a friend was on a date, and they went for a run. He encouraged her to sprint towards the end, and she took about 2 sprinting steps and hurled everywhere. She got mega points for the effort and being that hardcore…but he didn’t reward with a kiss…because…well…yeah.

One time I had a medical procedure done earlier in the day…and I felt drinking beers in the evening was a good idea. I had a broken foot at the time, and barely crutched it over to the bathroom on the other side of the bar before I let loose. Ok. So. I didn’t actually make it. But that’s what hands are for (yes I burned those crutch handles). I thought he didn’t notice (ok, hoped and fucking prayed he didn’t), but he did. When I got back to the table, he was looking uncomfortable and was like “uh…you ok?” I, still thinking I could hide what happened, breezily said “yeah! I’m fine! Why?” To which he replied “cause you just puked in the hallway.” Oh. You noticed. Dammit.

Then there’s the friend who was on a dinner date to meet her new boyfriend’s parents for the first time. She’s not overly good on lactose, and ordered clam chowder (yes, she still questions this move)…and hurled. His mom definitely noticed.

One night I was out with a guy who I wasn’t too stoked by, but was trying to be open minded (he was a 27 year old virgin and super Christian and not a big drinker. I’m sure you have noticed these are not my traits.). He was trying to impress me and the co-workers (including his boss) that we were out with and decided to go drink for drink with me. I should mention that I was drinking beer. And he was drinking Manhattans. He puked at the table. He was kind enough to order me a cab home. I told the cab that I lived in the next neighborhood over and walked 2 miles home in heels so the guy would never know where I lived.

Another friend decided to go shot for shot with a Marine to impress her date. The rest of the night was spent in the bathroom.

Then there’s the person who found a big strong person to carry her down the stairs to her room…and projectiled All Over Them as a thank you/ parting gift.

Or that time a (slightly nauseous) friend was picked up for a date with a rich dude in a rich car…and she had to roll down the window and hurl out the side. He promptly returned her to her front doorstep.

And one of my personal faves:

A few years ago, I was on my 4th date with a guy I really liked. Ok, so I may have been shallow at that time and was more into his penthouse and luxury car. But still. I invited him to a friend’s birthday party where I proceeded to make my famous beer-garitas (equal parts limeaid, tequila, and Corona. You’re welcome.). These things are deceptively strong. And I pounded a few. I was in a mood to have fun and get laid. Both happened. But…I also found myself hurling as quietly as I could a few hours later into a very expensive toilet. I am not a quiet puker. Like, REALLY not quiet. Go back and read the first part of this post. But I did my best, drank mouthwash after, and slipped back into bed. I was sure he didn’t notice.

A week later, some friends and I were at his place having wine, and he made a comment about me not having too much so I don’t puke again. To which my dear friend yelled across the room, “Dude!! He noticed your yaking!!” Sigh. Busted.

I guess the bottom line is know your limits. Sometimes puke happens. But. Try to avoid it…and if you can’t, at least make it memorable.

Déjà vu for one?

Ok so this is one of those moments that I’m sure I am not alone in. One that really is a buzz kill in the moment (and for a few moments/ days following), but is eventually so worthy of a good eyeroll and laugh and a story that starts with “man, this one time…”

It’s that moment when you meet someone in public that you have been on a date with…and they have no fucking clue who you are. And no amount of you gently nudging their memory works.

My particular experience with this one was a few years ago. I’ll start with our date (because even after a few YEARS I still remember it). Our date was at a cozy coffee shop, which was perfect to create that warm romancy atmosphere on a date in the dead of a New England winter. It was our first date, and we had met over Plenty of Fish (I told you this was a few years ago). I arrived a few minutes early, and excitedly waved him over when he walked in. I had already ordered a large peppermint hot chocolate swimming in whipped cream. He walked over with a glass of milk. Yes. A glass of milk. Weird, right? Still the only person to order a glass of milk on a first date.

“Ok. Calm down, self,” I muttered almost audibly, as he took off his winter coat and looped it over the back of his chair. We started chatting, and conversation flowed easily. We were both nervous, but not in a way that made one of us too awkward to function (this has happened to me before. I guess the bonus of a lot of dating is you get good at navigating the awkward?). We talked about how much I love to play tennis and ride horses, his passion for playing and DJ-ing electronic rock music, and our other quirks that are a unique combination that makes us originals. We hugged at the end, and I walked away hopeful for a second date.

Until the text the next day that was along the lines of “sorry, I just didn’t feel it.” I was bummed, but was also glad he was that up front.

Fast forward about 6 months to the hot summer nights spent dancing your booty off in a club.

I was out enjoying myself with my roommate at a club, and we paused to have a beer at the bar and cool off for a minute. A dude came up to me and started talking and after about 30 seconds I realized exactly who this guy was…but it wasn’t clicking for him.

As he retold all of his tales, I stayed quiet, thinking “he HAS to know we went on a DATE, right?!” I tried hinting that we had met before:

“Oh wow, you totally seem like the type of guy who loves to play electronic music.”

“I bet you are a DJ as well.”

He kept commenting that I am such an intuitive person. I sighed and started giving some details about myself in an effort to not have to point out that we had been through this before.

He didn’t get it.

Or maybe I’m not that unique of a snowflake? No. Gotta be the first. Right?

I kept shooting my wingman roommate looks of “oh DEAR GOD help me right fucking now!!!”

She was too amused to help. She had the best front row seat in the house. Because it was obvious to her just listening in that we had met before. He was still clueless.

When he finally stopped talking about himself for a minute to start to introduce himself, I said “I bet your name is ___.” He was beside himself with how psychic I appeared to be. It was then I decided to let him in on it.

“We’ve met. On a date. It was at Blah Blah Café and you ordered milk. I hope to God you don’t remember my name and that my phone number is still not in your phone. Good luck with life.”

And we left. My roommate had the best abs from laughing so hard at the situation. It took me a bit to get there, but after about a week, my ego eased up and I realized that this situation was indeed hilarious, and wasn’t at all about me.

The biggest lesson I have learned in dating is that it is often not about you if someone doesn’t like you; more often than not, it’s them being in their own way and/ or still healing from their last shitshow of a relationship. I have met plenty of wonderful people, but at the wrong time–and I have probably done this to some people. It would not have been about them. At all. Dating leaves you with some wounds and scars, and you never know when they might transition from the former to the latter, or when the right person will come along to make you not even remember that scar exists.

I have always hoped that this guy took the situation in stride and got a wake up call. But if not, I hope the next girl was also able to laugh it off.