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11-Sep-2016 12:29

You orgasmed three times, and that was before we made it to your bedroom.I also find it hard Today is officially the worst day of my life… Because here’s what it sounded like when she said it: “You should think about completely changing your personality.” My shrink is pretty rad and not, as a rule, given to casually suggesting I alter who I am, so I figured I’d misheard. “Sarcasm is important to me,” I said, swatting the air, waving away her expertise in one deft move. Now here was the woman I pay weekly to help me wade through my troubles telling me it’s actually a detriment. But he’d made his desire to sleep with me so abundantly clear just a few nights ago, I reasoned. It’s how we talk to one another.” “Well,” she said, “I have a lot of patients who think sarcasm is important, and it’s not helping any of you.” Ouch. Lots of us are fucked up — different kinds of fucked up, for sure, but these invisible people she invoked, they’ve all sat where I sit, on that couch, looking for help. Only, the thing we’re in together is, as I’ve always seen it, one of the best parts of my personality. (I’m pretty sure she has a magic shrink tool that allows her to see my thoughts in visible bubbles over my head.) “Just, you know, don’t do it all the time,” she suggested. I am terrified of rejection, petrified of humiliation. If I’m rejected, well hey, no big — I didn’t really care anyway! One final bit of advice before I was out the door and off to deal with Flaky Guy on my own. I fought the urge to send a second text that said, “Erm … And maybe he’s changed his mind, inner critic’s good friend self-deprecation chimed in. “I’m not saying not to be playful,” she added, answering my unvoiced worry. “And don’t wait too long,” my shrink added as I gathered my things. Let’s actually finally do this.” I realized immediately that my hasty attempt at earnestness had ended up sounding less like an invitation to drinks and more like an invitation to my vagina. Well, that was when he was drunk, my inner critic piped up.

(And this asshole actually left a note: “I think you were lying to me about being “experienced” last night.

This morning in therapy, my shrink said I should try to be less sarcastic. I’m not alone in valuing biting humor — but it’s also not lost on me that everyone (well, almost everyone) on Ok Cupid is single. We’d found our way to the topic because I was rehashing the latest installment of a drawn-out, unrewarding thing with Flaky Guy, which had been going nowhere slowly. My thoughts swirled and I immediately regretted trying to be straightforward.

“And do it less with men.” Comb the racks of Ok Cupid and you will find profiles — my own defunct one included — rife with requirements of wit and sarcasm. I knew how it sounded: At what point in my life had simply telling someone I wanted to see him become as risky as declaring my undying love or accidentally showing up to school in my underwear? I stood by her elevator, a blank text message open in my hand. Never mind that he was the troubled one who couldn’t get it together to go out with me again even though he had the apparent need to keep asking.

His lady-boner-killing wussiness seemed to dissipate when he drank, and the night he contacted me he must have been drinking a lot, because his texts were decisive and aggressive. He tried to coax me out of the warmth of my bed to meet him in his. The Daily Show, Gawker, The Onion, Twitter — for many of us, our daily life is one big witshow, an opportunity to peacock around a little and have people respond.

I didn’t budge, but I was interested all over again. Those of us who are sarcastic think we’re smarter than people who aren’t. For many of us, eliciting a laugh from something intelligent and hilarious and biting is a way to feel better about ourselves for one glorious moment. I mean, yes, I know, Chandler Bing, yadda yadda yadda, but c’mon — this is Brooklyn, 2012. I recently dated someone 12 years younger than I am (I’m 35) who is Canadian. It feels like it does.) He was playful and bright and silly but not, come to think of it, terribly sarcastic.

(And this asshole actually left a note: “I think you were lying to me about being “experienced” last night.

This morning in therapy, my shrink said I should try to be less sarcastic. I’m not alone in valuing biting humor — but it’s also not lost on me that everyone (well, almost everyone) on Ok Cupid is single. We’d found our way to the topic because I was rehashing the latest installment of a drawn-out, unrewarding thing with Flaky Guy, which had been going nowhere slowly. My thoughts swirled and I immediately regretted trying to be straightforward.

“And do it less with men.” Comb the racks of Ok Cupid and you will find profiles — my own defunct one included — rife with requirements of wit and sarcasm. I knew how it sounded: At what point in my life had simply telling someone I wanted to see him become as risky as declaring my undying love or accidentally showing up to school in my underwear? I stood by her elevator, a blank text message open in my hand. Never mind that he was the troubled one who couldn’t get it together to go out with me again even though he had the apparent need to keep asking.

His lady-boner-killing wussiness seemed to dissipate when he drank, and the night he contacted me he must have been drinking a lot, because his texts were decisive and aggressive. He tried to coax me out of the warmth of my bed to meet him in his. The Daily Show, Gawker, The Onion, Twitter — for many of us, our daily life is one big witshow, an opportunity to peacock around a little and have people respond.

I didn’t budge, but I was interested all over again. Those of us who are sarcastic think we’re smarter than people who aren’t. For many of us, eliciting a laugh from something intelligent and hilarious and biting is a way to feel better about ourselves for one glorious moment. I mean, yes, I know, Chandler Bing, yadda yadda yadda, but c’mon — this is Brooklyn, 2012. I recently dated someone 12 years younger than I am (I’m 35) who is Canadian. It feels like it does.) He was playful and bright and silly but not, come to think of it, terribly sarcastic.

It is likely that Kendall is asking pretty Gigi Hadid how she managed to secure Bradford bad boy Zayn Malik as her regular lover.