irst kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no oneRelationships. They’re complicated, right? At least that’s what we’ve been told, well, since childhood, girlhood, womanhood…whatever. The point is they’re not easy. Growing up, adults try to explain away the differences between men and women in every way imaginable. “Boys tease you because they like you.” “Women are more in-tune with their emotions than men.” When I was in my first relationship, my dad (yeah, that’s right, my DAD! Ughh!!!) gave me this book by a doctor named John Gray. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, was the name of it. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, or perhaps even read it (I, myself, only made it through about 30 pages or so). Even if you haven’t read it, even if you didn’t know it was actually a book, I’m sure you’ve heard that “men are from Mars, women are from Venus” thing used in conversation, on TV, somewhere, everywhere. Well, it certainly seems sometimes, (all right…all the time), that men are from a different planet. But, what happens when you start dating guys that are all not just from Mars, but from the same country in Mars, state, even city? What happens when every guy you end up with, seems, well, like the same guy?

I guess I was about 15 when I had my first boyfriend. Boring stuff. Not at the time of course, but far too droll to write an article about. You know the score. First time holding-hands, then first kisses, first kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one

tions than men.” When I was in my first relationship, my dad (yeah, that’s right, my DAD! Ughh!!!) gave me this book by a doctor named John Gray. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, was the name of it. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, or perhaps even read it (I, myself, only made it through about 30 pages or so). Even if you haven’t read it, even if you didn’t know it was actually a book, I’m sure you’ve heard that “men are from Mars, women are from Venus” thing used in conversation, on TV, somewhere, everywhere. Well, it certainly seems sometimes, (all right…all the time), that men are from a different planet. But, what happens when you start dating guys that are all not just from Mars, but from the same country in Mars, state, even city? What happens when every guy you end up with, seems, well, like the same guy?

I guess I was about 15 when I had my first boyfriend. Boring stuff. Not at the time of course, but far too droll to write an article about. You know the score. First time holding-hands, then first kisses, first kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one

ven if you didn’t know it was actually a book, I’m sure you’ve heard that “men are from Mars, women are from Venus” thing used in conversation, on TV, somewhere, everywhere. Well, it certainly seems sometimes, (all right…all the time), that men are from a different planet. But, what happens when you start dating guys that are all not just from Mars, but from the same country in Mars, state, even city? What happens when every guy you end up with, seems, well, like the same guy?

I guess I was about 15 when I had my first boyfriend. Boring stuff. Not at the time of course, but far too droll to write an article about. You know the score. First time holding-hands, then first kisses, first kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one

s, but from the same country in Mars, state, even city? What happens when every guy you end up with, seems, well, like the same guy?

I guess I was about 15 when I had my first boyfriend. Boring stuff. Not at the time of course, but far too droll to write an article about. You know the score. First time holding-hands, then first kisses, first kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one

irst kisses with tongue, first 2 hour make-out sessions in the back row of some movie theater, where you can’t even recall what was playing (“So how was the movie kids?) It wasn’t until somewhere around 21 that the real dating began, if you could call it that, the “real” part, I mean. Everybody knows that in the beginning of a relationship no one is “real.” I’m not even sure that there is a “real” before at least 25 or so, but that’s a whole other article. Anyway, we’ll call this one “Ted,” to protect the innocent. Innocent? That doesn’t sound right. We’ll go with it though, for lack of a better word that doesn’t rhyme with “Bass-mole.” I digress. Ted seemed charming enough. Like most red-blooded American boys, he, of course, wanted to get laid, and would do anything and say anything to do just that. But getting “laid” wasn’t the problem. At least sex is something you can count on. I mean, you know they want it, think they need it to survive, and you know you hold the key, like some super-hero power. It is, at least, something you can control, understand, something ingrained in you by Mother Nature. In many ways it’s the easiest part of a relationship. But after the sex part is out of the way, what then?

Ted was a nice, sensitive guy. Not long after we met he fell into some bad luck. His roommate situation went sour and he needed help. He had nowhere to go, and his car wasn’t running. I had been independent for a long time, and was settled, neatly, into my own place. I had a good car, a fairly good job, and no real relationship with my parents (long story). So when he asked if he could move in for a while, I said “Of course!” After all, I did really like him. He promised to help with bills, and