What am I even doing here?

As a woman of a certain age (that age being 34, I aint afraid, #noageism), I have been, as the french say, around Le Block a time or deux. In all this time I have amassed quite a catalog of dating misadventures. These stories I deploy with gusto whenever my friends ask for my news, and also, as applicable, when I ask  my friends for theirs, and they describe any type of dilemma.  

Apparently I am a wise old oracle, because I have been told on various occasions I should start a blog to:

 A. help young men learn how to butterfly themselves from boys to men

B. administer tips on ethical fucking to people who have been around Le Block less times than moi

C. entertain the masses with the insane situations I ass-end myself into

As a proud feminist and Hufflepuff, I hereby take up this mantle, and promise to try to help  guide you fools through the forest of dating, by which I mean recounting all the many mistakes (and occasional triumph, high fives!)  I have made on the prowl for love and orgasms, in hopes you may avoid (or achieve!) them yourselves. 

The Trouble with Tiger Jumpsuits and Big Small Cities

The Trouble with Tiger Jumpsuits and Big Small Cities