Start Dating walking wounded

Dating walking wounded

Auction Dating, also known as Southeby dating, is practiced by people who are always holding out for a better offer.

Once you’ve classified your date, it’s time to consider a pre-relationship agreement.

Feirstein suggests that the following areas be addressed: Full Disclosure: “At the commencement of said relationship (colloquially referred to as the ’first date’ or ’fix-up’), each party agrees to fully disclose any current marriages, dependent children, bizarre religious beliefs, phobias, fears, social diseases, strange political affiliations, or currently reference to an old boyfriend: ’We date.’ (I sleep with Murray occasionally.) ’We have an understanding.’ (I want to sleep with Murray all the time, but he wants to fool around.) ’We’re about to break up.’ (Murray and I still sleep together, and I’m out testing the waters-but I’ll probably sleep with you just to make Murray jealous.) ’I’m best friends with my ex.’ (Murray and I still sleep together when I’m horny.)” Feirstein provides other, assorted useful information, too: it’s a good idea to pay close attention to how your date treats waiters; in six months, that’s exactly the way they’re going to be treating you. ’” Feirstein’s observations about sex are in tune with the retro-conservative Eighties: he thinks that casual sex only makes for casual enemies.

As cartoonist Mimi Pond points out in the Village Voice, a typical female date-preparation routine includes calling her best friend; scoring a copy of Thin Thighs in 30 Days; going on a juice last; quitting smoking; buying albums; getting cable installed; having her teeth cleaned; whipping through Time and Newsweek; refinishing her coffee table; buying new underwear, perfume, and candles; cleaning her closet; having a sauna, massage, bikini wax, cellulite mud wrap, deep pore cleansing, manicure, pedicure, haircut, and lash tint; charging major bucks for hosiery (assorted textures, patterns, and sheens); getting a dimmer switch installed; having a leaky faucet repaired; sleeping eight hours to awaken fully refreshed; calling a liquor store for delivery of Scotch, tequila.

Harvey’s Bristol Cream, dry white wine, and a hearty, robust Burgundy; laying in supplies of French Roast, imported jam, croissants, and sweet butter; running out for fresh-cut flowers; dumping kitty litter; dusting and doing the dishes; provocatively arranging the coffee table with foreign and esoteric magazines; setting out clothes and three possible stocking choices; bathing; fixing hair; putting on makeup; putting on strapless sarong (looks whorish); changing three more times; working up a sweat; showering to rinse off; settling on basic black; dressing; refixing hair; reapplying makeup; experiencing shoe panic and changing black sandals to red pumps; checking makeup; blotting lipstick; calling best friend; turning on stereo; applying perfume; fidgeting; and calling best friend.

The odds of starting a relationship with one of The Walking Wounded (Stage One) are great-as long as you’re totally wrong for them.

Give them a few years and a certain Siberian bitterness will set in, turning them into The Walking Wounded (Stage Two). As long as you can keep introducing the Power Dater to useful business or social contacts, all is well, but when your stock drops, you’re dropped.

Finally, there is Sudden-Death Dating, favored by those who have spent their twenties in a series of “holding-pattern” relationships and are ready to get married, tomorrow, if possible.

According to Feirstein, men who have played the field too long begin to think things like “Every night I go to bed with a strange woman is another morning I won’t wake up to see my grandchildren.” Women in the throes of Sudden-Death syndrome are no longer worried about taking his last name after marriage; at this point, they’re willing to take his first name, too.

When you’re a player in the dating game, the phone holds thrills and chills undreamed of by noncombatants, The answering machine is a mixed blessing.

Owning one frees you from self-imposed house arrest (although not from making a spectacle of yourself by calling in to check your messages every fifteen minutes).

Either you find someone to take you off the dating market, or you die.