The forgotten art form of full disclosure



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The age old question in online dating, “just how accurate should I be in my online dating profile?” Is there a grey zone?

If women tend to lie about their weight and men about their height, where do you draw the line about what is acceptable to lie about?

Recently, I was matched up with a friend’s ex on Jdate (in real life he’s a 46-years-old, divorced father with 3 kids). However, his online dating profile states he’s a 40-years-old with no kids. Boy, is his next date in for a shock….

When you first begin dating someone, isn’t full disclosure the best policy? Or is it? It hasn’t been for the last couple of guys that I’ve dated, who have all had highly complicated relationships with the truth. I dated Ari for a couple of months before finding out he was significantly older then his profile had stated.

When Jeremy said he was a “recovering” alcoholic what he meant to say was that he was “currently” an alcoholic.

Ty’s version of “newly promoted” was a polite way of saying “currently unemployed.”

Tom told me his kids live with him every “other” weekend. Every “other” weekend turned out to be code for they live with me “full time.”

You say Potato, I say Potato.

Keith told me he volunteered for “charity.” Keith’s version of “charity” turned out to be what other people refer to as “selling pot.”

Alan told me he had an “amicable” divorce. A more accurate description would have been, “I’m still bitter and I’ll spend our entire relationship telling you all about it.”

My best friend recently confessed to me that when she first met me – she didn’t like me. Her first impression was that I was fake because “no one could possibly have as much energy as I did.”

17 years of friendship later, she said, “it turns out I am exactly the person whom I first purported to be (apparently an extrovert with that much energy).” I told her that was one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

But the whole concept made me wonder about who else I could say that about?

I prayed to the universe for a different type of man. The type that would disclose everything from the onset.

But, you know what they say…be careful what you wish for…

To Curl or Not to Curl…


Written by Carin Davis

Hi. My name is Carin and I have a Jewfro.

Heeb hair. A Moses mop. A latke lid. I’m down with my fun girl curls, but I can’t say the same for the men I meet. My big hair is the Mason-Dixon Line of my L.A. dating life. Some men love the untamed, wild, bed-head look of my natural waves. But many men prefer I play it straight.

Take lawyer dude Rich, who I picked up at The Arsenal on Pico Boulevard on a Saturday night. I was wearing my jeans low, my heels high and my hair straight. Rich grabbed my digits and we went out on two successful straight-haired sit-down dinner dates. For our third date, he suggested Cabo Cantina, margaritas with salt and the Sunday night football game. Since we decided to skip formalities, I decided to skip the blow dry. Poor play call on my part. I threw open my door and surprised Rich with my long, flowing, sandy-blond curls. He gasped, grimaced, then covered his eyes.

“What happened to your hair?” Apparently Jewish men like blow dries. And not just Rich. One date asked me, “What’s with the curls?” Another asked if I wanted to finish getting ready. A third offered me the scrunchie some JDate left on his stick shift. Great, I have bad hair and you’re seeing other women. I’d cry but the moisture might make my hair frizz up.

I’m not alone in this hair crisis. Thousands of Jewish women face similarly challenging locks. I’m talking big, puffy, out-of-control, coiled bird’s nest curls. Coveting J. Crew catalog-straight hair, we brush and comb and moose and spray. We steam and set and wrap and treat. But we still show up to parties looking like the Bride of “Welcome Back, Kotter.” That’s why I started the Hair Club for Jews. My teenage years were a blur of bad hair. I spent high school as a frizzy triangle head with flip-up/flip-down bangs. Moviegoers behind me switched seats and the yearbook photog took my pic with a panoramic lens. When I hit college, I straightened my mane with a smoking hot flattening iron. I blew my book money on hair spray and scorched my forehead twice, but hey, I love the smell of burnt hair in the morning. Now, with heightened self-confidence and a bathroom overstuffed with hair products, this Jewish babe swings both ways.

But which do I do on a first date? One wrong tress can send a fine man running. Do I rip off the Band-Aid and open with big curls? Should I ease my man into the fro? Is straight sexier? Do curls have more fun? Curly. Straight. Curly. Straight. No wonder Jewish women give up and wear a sheitel.

Perhaps this hair dilemma has deeper roots. Talmudic scholars might argue that by wearing my hair curly, I am broadcasting my Jewish pride to the single men of the 310. The great Rabbi Abraham Paul Mitchell might argue that by straightening my hair, I am denying my Jewish heritage. I say anyone who spends 10 minutes with me knows I’m a Member of the Tribe — no matter how I wear my hair.

Speaking of men, Rich apologized as we waited for our table. “The curls aren’t that bad, I guess I could get used to them. I just like your hair better straight ’cause I can run my fingers through it.” Then he gently brushed the hair out of my face, kissed my forehead and all was forgiven — until he broke down and offered me the Yankees hat off his head halfway through our date. But who could fit his tiny peanut-head cap over my gargantuan hair? Things didn’t really work out between Rich and me. And not just because he’s a Yankees fan.

When it comes to my guy, I need a man who’s in it for the long haul, who’s up for any hair catastrophe. If a guy’s not there for me on a bad hair day, he won’t be there for me on a bad work day. He won’t be there for me when I spill red wine on my wedding dress, when I lose my keys, when I burn dinner, when the kids get the flu, when I’m 75, less flexible and my hearing aid whistles. I need a man who’s in it for richer or poorer, for curly or for straight, who can laugh with me through a hair disaster and any disaster. And, as far my dates go, I’m taking a “love me — love my hair” attitude.

Strong Women Wear…


My ex boyfriend once told me….


“I don’t think you give yourself nearly enough credit. You’re like a superhero who doesn’t know how to use her powers yet.”

Still the best compliment I’ve ever received.

Into Something Positive…


That morning I woke up in your arms after having the most vivid dream. It was about our future: our wedding, Italy, kids, sheer happiness. It felt as familiar to me as if it had already happened. When I met you, I thought I was done you were the man I had been waiting my entire life for.

But, I know now that you weren’t the ending but my beginning.

I had forgotten…

and….

you made me remember.

Remember…the very thing I had somehow lost (without even realizing it).

You reignited something in me. You brought out the fire inside of me again like the jaws of life rescuing me from an  ordinary existence. Even that concept of an ordinary existence makes my skin crawl. But a mediocre life was never in my cards. Meeting you made me realize how truly complacent I had allowed myself to become. But to be clear you are not responsible for giving me the fire, that I was born with. Too many lack luster relationships has simmered that fire inside me. But meeting you changed me. There was something about you or something about you and I together, a connection, that seemed to take on a whole life of its own. Funny how that energy made me do and say things that surprised even myself. How easy it felt to completely lose myself in you, was both unnerving and freeing at the same time. I got so caught up in being 100% transparent with you that I neglected to notice all the things you weren’t saying.

And it’s pretty odd to look back and acknowledge how very little I know about you. You were attracted to the challenge. Addicted to the false pursuit of an ideal. But, here’s the thing, when I look back at our relationship I can say I was 100% myself. I was exactly who I purported to be. Can you say the same thing? And you’re right it would never have worked out between us. But a small part of me will always wonder. I’m not the same woman I was 2 months ago when you broke up with me. We made jokes about me being a writer but oddly what came out of meeting you was finally finding the power of my voice. I will always remember what we had rather than what we didn’t. You mentioned in your email to me that you hoped I would turn the hurt into something positive.

I did.

And I started writing. Really writing.

Meeting The “One”


Written by Author, Dear Thor
He’s the guy you meet the minute you stop looking. He’s familiar even though you’ve only just met. The very connection you spent years trying to artificially manufacture suddenly comes naturally and without much effort. What an odd sensation. Knowing that you could call him 100 times after the 1st date, say all the wrong things, go against every rule in the book AND in spite of your best efforts to sabotage not even you could derail what feels inevitable. All bets are off. All those wasted years you spent trying to tone down your big personality so you could conform into the girl you thought he wanted you to be.

Your friends don’t know what to make of your overnight transition from Confused to Confucius. They can’t figure out how you went to bed one night Paris Hilton and woke up Tony Robbins. Suddenly you’re not peppering your friends with the, “what does this mean” question. As much as you wish you could claim new-found enlightenment the truth turns out to be far less sexy, it was the wrong fit.

Until now.

I’ve been dating my ENTIRE life, obsessed with falling in love. My poor mother has received the, “I just met the man I’m going to marry” call at least a dozen times. For every girl who has ever said, “he seemed nice enough, maybe I’ll go out with him again….” I was simultaneously proclaiming to my mother, “it was love at first sight this time I swear.” Gosh, my Mom was such a good sport. Like clockwork, a broken record, an alarm that refused to go off. I would declare each time (with the most dramatic of convictions) that THIS was “the one”. My past record serves as proof that the only thing I could predict with 100% accuracy was that I had no frigging idea what I was talking about. But my Mom still took every one of my calls and listened to the same love story always about some guy on some date in some city. Occasionally, the details would vary.

I’ve had more relationships them Emilda Marco has had shoes. I cringe when I recall my college friend imitating me, “No, really Jamie- I swear this relationship is so much more major than the last.” But then again that statement is according to me! I’m what a journalist would characterize as an unreliable source. Recently, I broke up with my boyfriend, that same day I slept over at Jamie and his wife’s house. The next morning when I woke up, Jamie walked into the room and said “Good Morning, so have you met anyone since I saw you last night?” Obviously, he said this with tongue in cheek but this line made us all crack up with laughter because given my past track record anything is possible.

I’m hoping in this lifetime for lightening to strike twice.

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Wise Words….


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Dear: My best guy friend…


Written by Author, Dear Thor

****THIS IS THE EXACT EMAIL I SEND TO MY BEST GUY FRIEND. I THOUGHT SINGLE GIRLS IN THEIR 30’S MIGHT BE ABLE TO RELATE.****

Dear My Best Guy Friend: Actually scratch my “whatever” comment I’m making a real effort not to be passive aggressive in 2013. Ok, you already know how extra special crazy I get every year on my birthday.

I feel like I made a really big effort to make sure you had a special birthday. Do you remember how many hours you and I logged in discussing and planning for YOUR birthday?? I broke a frigging finger in pre-game (when picking up your birthday present and the stack of frames fell on top of me at the framing store). But even with a broken finger I still went water rafting for your birthday! Because missing your birthday wasn’t even a possibility. I took pictures, gave you presents, posted on Facebook, screamed Happy Birthday every 5 minutes etc. On Sunday, you have NO idea how much physical pain I was in because of the stupid finger but I never once said one word I took a vicodin and powered through. I did whatever.

So do you know why I did that?

Because I think that being single on birthdays is ONLY tolerable when good friends are willing to shoulder the extra burden.

So is it unfair?

ABSOLUTELY!

And does that mean that my best friends are basically punished because of my personal choice to be single?

Um yeah! What are you new around here or something? But, it is what it is! Everyone else seems to get it. I don’t believe friendships should be tit-for-tat. I do so much for my friends. I don’t keep tabs with the exception of 1 day out of every year.

Ok, you say you have work dinners and can’t attend. Fine, u know me, I don’t care, I’m the only girl who thinks all hedge fund business should come before G-d and Country. Literally. Dude-my beef with you is just make the effort.

So, is it possible that I’m overreacting about this?

Yes. Of course. I mean, have you met me?

And the reality is you are a dear friend to me the other 364 days of the year. Ok, I’ve said my piece. Just, next year DO BETTER.

Xx Me

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Every woman should have…