by Emma Frisoni

The rain hitting the windows softly glowed as he lit each candle and placed it in its sconce. The mustardy gold walls gave off an amber hue in the candlelight and his brown eyes were deep with desire. I sipped prosecco as I leaned against the pillows, seductively arranged in only my bra, garter and thigh highs; waiting as he turned on his iPod to a soft ambient playlist…

Although the setting was near perfect, I was still nervous. It wasn’t like it was my first time, but it was with him and I didn’t want to mess it up. I had known him for a few months and the chemistry was there, the sexual tension was strong and now that it was finally time, I was afraid?? While trying to look effortlessly sexy, I went through my mental checklist: Continue Reading

by Emma Frisoni

I recently had a girlfriend ask me for advice. A guy she met through work asked her if she’d meet up with him for dinner at a new restaurant opening in his neighborhood.

There’s just one issue: The guy seems pretty interested but my girlfriend isn’t especially attracted to him. I see two options for her:

1. She asks if it’s okay if a friend comes along. (kinda smarmy – I know)

Continue Reading

The car pulled away as the tears streamed down my face, stars shining brightly as headlights faded. It was over. I pulled my sweater closer around my thin frame and shivered as the realization sank in – alone. again. It was my fault, I didn’t let him in. I tried to keep it all to myself. As I trudged up the stairs to numb my pain with the usual glass of red and a cigarette, I wondered, “Will I ever break the cycle?”

Every person I’ve ever loved has left me – by their own volition or by my pushing them away.  The feeling that I’ll never quite live up is woven through the fiber of my being, causing doubt and fear to sweep in and take over. I end up like a turtle, hiding in my shell wishing life weren’t like this and wondering why me?

Instead of turning to the tried and true wine + cigarettes, I find new ways to pull myself out of these days of darkness, because they always seem to creep up on me when I’m least expecting it. Here are a few of my favorite suggestions for what to do when he leaves:

• Retail Therapy: I’m not advocating spending $3,000 in a day (although it can be – and has been -  done), but more the act of window shopping and buying yourself one thing that makes you happy. I’m a tactile person, so perusing bright accessories and feeling different surfaces makes me happy. Mint Julep always has fun stuff and Michael’s Crafts is always a great place to spend time, which brings me to my next solution… Continue Reading

Have you ever had a partner cheat on you?

Here’s my story:

Smoke curling from the ashtray. Half empty glass of red. Cold rain soaking the window sills. Wrapped in my cashmere blanket. Tears mingling with apricot lip gloss. David Gray’s “We’re Not Right”. Hands shaking. How could he? How could I not have known?

The cheap panties on the floor. Him, startled by my barging in. Her, soothing him with “it’s ok” and a smug smile that shined in the darkness.  My pulling him into the bathroom, demanding what was going on. Him, “nothing”. My pulling at his boxers, looking for what? Any sort of evidence, I suppose. Him pulling away. Then walking away. Me following, “If you love me, you’ll come with me now.” His silence. Her soft laugh. Him walking toward her. My pulling his arm. Him pulling away. The stinging slap. Backing toward the door. Running down the stairs. Throwing up in the bushes.

I’ll never forget that night nor the hell I put myself through for 6 months after. Taking him back. The lies. The drama. The sleuthing. The abuse. The fear. The anger, sadness, embarrassment, pain. Drunken nights. And days. Endless cigarettes. The sickness. Convincing myself that he loved me. That it was my fault. That I would die without him. So I existed. I didn’t live. Or love. Or care. I existed. Wasting away, fueled by cigarettes, wine and caffeine. Indulging in promiscuity. Excusing the abuse. Drifting in and out of the reality I somehow allowed my pain to create.

But there was still hope.

The summer bloomed fresh and shiny that year. Glorious sunshine beamed into my room and woke me from fitful tossing and turning. Warm breeze whispered along my collarbone as I stood on the lawn. I had made it, somehow, through the winter.For the first time in a long time, I felt alive. It was fleeting, but it was real. And it gave me hope. It unclouded my vision. I was lucky to have the good fortune to move away, closer to my family, and start anew. The fresh and new start allowed me to regain the strength I had known as a little girl – the belief I could face anything. I began to nourish my body again with food. I quit smoking. I resumed yoga and meditation.I’d like to say I had an “ah-ha” moment, but I didn’t. Somehow, in my soul, I just knew. So I moved forward, slowly. In time, I healed.

I struggled, but eventually pulled myself out of it. I walked. He stalked. Flowers at my door. Incessant calls to my cell, my home, my office. Showing up unannounced. Changed my number. Moved. Finally, it stopped.

It’s been over 6 years. I thought I was over it. I know I’m over him, I was over him that night. It’s the fear. The distrust. It’s stayed and haunted me. Most days, I don’t even think about it. But it creeps its way in and invades my inner calm. It starts as a low rumble and slowly takes over and soon, I’m that shaking, scared girl again, believing I’m not good enough and the new guy will certainly cheat. He’ll walk – run – at any time. How do I keep him? What can I do to be the perfect one? Near desperation sets in – I’m never good enough.

Am I scarred forever? Will I never trust? Even with the man who’s given me nothing but love? Or will I always wonder?

I ask myself a lot of questions and, at some level, I know I won’t ever have all the answers. I am certain of a few things though:

• Loving yourself is the key to loving another - Never ever will you be able to fully open your heart until you can look inward and respect what you see. Spend some quality time with yourself. (You can start out with a trusted friend who knows the value of silence and work up to time alone if need be.) Figure out what makes you–just you–happy, excited, intrigued, and even sad. As you regain touch with yourself and discover that your emotions need not be controlled by others, the fear of connecting with a new person slowly fades.
• Get over one habit by getting under another – I know the original phrase is a bit lewd, but the updated version makes a lot of sense! Here’s how to do it: Choose something you’ve always thought about doing and use the shake-up in your life to inspire your dedication to the new habit. Get up early every morning, work out every day, (great for feeling better!) learn a new language or meet up with friends for dinner every Thursday. It’s up to you! If you need to start with something very simple (I know I did) try washing the dishes ever night before you go to bed. Waking to an empty sink is a small reminder that yes, you actually did something useful the previous day. It helps!
• Don’t expect everything to happen at once – Remember how quickly things fell together in your last relationship? Don’t expect such swift trust in the future. It’s okay to take time and really learn about others before you give them your trust. If your new man really wants to be with you, he’ll be okay with waiting for you to make certain that you want the relationship as well. The real keepers are good about waiting. =)

And what about forgiveness? Should I have simply forgiven and forgotten? That will have to wait for a future article.

Have you ever had a partner cheat on you? What was your response? Would you be willing to share one of the things you learned with me? I’d appreciate it!

Love, Emma

Photo: Stephen Brace, christyscherrer

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Note: Post updated 9.16.2009

by Emma Frisoni

I believe
When it hurts
We must keep on trying
But I want, And I need
Like a river needs the rain
There’s a bridge I need to burn before I leave
I just wanna breathe again
Like a summer’s day I need to feel the heat again

Since we’re being honest with one another here, I may as well be straight – I love Cher. She’s fabulous. Yes, she dresses kinda ridiculously and her hair is freakishly straight, but her music speaks to me. Like belt-it-out-at-the-top-of-my-lungs type of speaks to me. It fills me with wonder and enthusiasm and most importantly, hope. Somehow, she makes me believe that after all the pain and suffering, I’ll be alive again.

So, it’s without surprise that when I’m jetting around town, I blast her greatest hits – be it in Betty (yes, my car has a name) or on my gams, it’s Cher all the way. On this particular day I was zipping around in Betty and with it being a nice day and all, I had the top down. I was blasting

singing like it was my day job at a stop light. Mid head-roll I glance over at the car beside me and the hottest guy is behind the wheel. Laughing. At me.

I mean smoldering hot – dark hair, dark eyes, white polo.

And I mean LAUGHING. Hearing Cher’s words - I know I’ll be alive again/I wanna be alive again – I thought “what else is there to do?” so I turned to Hot Stuff, winked and laughed.

The light turned green and I sped off, horribly embarrassed.

I was on my way to Neiman’s sale but needed an espresso frappuccino light first so I pulled into Starbucks, grabbed my clutch and ran in. While waiting for the barista to whip up my liquid cocaine, I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

Holy crap.

Hot Stuff was standing behind me, smiling. I felt the blush creep up my neck and spread across my face. “Although, the type of music leaves something to be desired, it’s nice to see a girl who can laugh at herself,” he said.

Breathe, Emma, breathe.

“Um, thanks. But have you listened to Cher, like really listened to her?” I retorted.

Seriously Emma, why did you just say that?!

“Can’t say I have,” said Hot Stuff.

“Oh, you should give it a listen”

Seriously? Stop. Talking. Now. “

Quad tall espresso frappuccino light” the barista called from the bar.

“Oh, that’s me. Great talking to you” I grabbed my drink and hightailed it out of there.

Thinking back, I wish I had been cool enough to say something incredibly smart or asked for his number. What I was able to do was more important then sounding cool. I was able to laugh. And while I thought about it, I realized, albeit slowly, I was becoming alive again. Thank you Cher, and Hot Stuff, for reminding me that there is life after love.

photo credit: desiree delgado

Finding life after love: “Alive again” from @emmafrisoni at The Dating Papers

by Emma Frisoni

Ever get the feeling you’re being too picky about a guy?

We were at La Voile, dining on whatever it is one eats when they go to a French restaurant. Tucker had ordered for both of us, in flawless French, so I had no idea what was on my plate. It was delicious though!

He had impeccable manners – brought me flowers, opened doors, pulled out my chair, etc. The conversation didn’t lack either, we debated President Obama’s first months in office (he: skeptical, me: impressed) and then the talk drifted to our childhood heroes (he: Superman me: She-ra Princess of Power).

Fast forward 2 days: A delivery of cupcakes from Party Favors and an invitation to dinner on Saturday night. I called Lanie right away so we could munch on fantastic cupcakes, sip pink prosecco and discuss The Problem.

What problem? Yes, there was one.  I just didn’t feel it.

The butterflies, the excitement, all the things the princesses experience in the fairy tales we read as little girls and dream about as we grow up. It wasn’t there.  He was intelligent, good looking, sweet and did all the things our ‘princes’ are supposed to do. But he wasn’t MY prince.  Not for lack of trying, and certainly not because he wasn’t worthy, but because I didn’t feel those butterflies that ‘everyone’ talks about.

As Lanie and I munched our way towards a sugar high of monumental proportions, we pondered if the butterflies really meant something or if the fairy tales we dreamed of as girls had led us to a romantic lifetime of disappointment.

This wasn’t the first guy I’d stopped seeing because I didn’t feel the butterflies, but Tucker was the first ‘perfect’ guy I gave up for no apparent good reason.  Since he wasn’t my prince, did that make him a frog?  If so, did I cast off an intelligent, good looking sweet frog just because he was a frog?

As women, we’re conditioned to settle for nothing less than perfect.  In some areas of life this makes us quite successful. (I still get compliments on those Chanel pumps I suffered a black eye for down in Filene’s Basement when that bitch claimed she had them first) In others, we become so engrossed in what society has taught us is ‘right’ that we look past the good guys and toward the unattainable.

The importance of “chemistry” in a relationship is something I wonder about often. How much do the sparks really matter in the end? Have you ever “settled” for a frog that later turned into a prince?

I’d love to know your thoughts!

Love, Emma

Kissing Frogs and Chemistry | The Dating Papers

photo credits: mait jurado, jay

by Emma Frisoni

Ever wonder what to wear on a first date?

There I was, standing in my closet, swathed in a silk robe, towel wrapped around my head, champagne glass in hand. I stood wondering, yet again, what to wear on my first date with Jared.

The lucky Dior pumps were a must, but being 140 mm high, lilac and snakeskin, they only coordinated with a few outfits. I was going for the classy, sexy look but it seemed that all the classy outfits I tried on made me look like I was headed to afternoon tea. The sexy outfits I tried on screamed, ‘take me home with you’ – which I wasn’t going after either.

Channeling my inner Carrie Bradshaw, I slipped on the pumps, drew a belt around my robe, and seriously wondered if I could get away with it…

The above scene happens all too often in my world (basically my Saturday night ritual), and although I’ve never actually worn my robe out on a date, that doesn’t mean I haven’t seriously considered it. Confidence is the ultimate accessory, after all.

Luckily, I’ve learned a few things that simplify choosing what to wear on a first date. I don’t have it down to a perfect science yet, but I’m getting there. When my newly single BFF, Lanie, called me this past weekend, anxious about going on her first date in 2 years, I gave her all the tips I could think of. Here are just a few:

One thing to do and four to avoid when choosing what to wear on a first date:

1. Do dress for the occasion

I am a huge fan of getting dressed up. I love it and will use any and all excuses to get glammed up. But if you’re meeting a guy for the first time, you don’t want to make him (and you) uncomfortable by being over (or under) dressed. Don’t wear a sequined dress for a date to Sully’s for burgers and fries (one of my favorite places) or a mini skirt when hitting up L’Espailer.

2. Don’t wear anything too trendy

Although that dress or top may be red carpet worthy in your mind, your new guy isn’t going to recognize the beauty of it. Take my well earned advice on this one – it may seem like a hip, cool outfit, but there’s a good chance he won’t see the cool factor. I have 4 words for you: zebra printed strapless dress (no, not zebra pattern, an actual graphic of a zebra). Let’s just say he wasn’t nearly as impressed as I had anticipated.

3. Don’t wear anything strapless/low cut/spaghetti straps

This one may not seem like a don’t but it actually is. Guys are simple creatures and they have a difficult enough time focusing without your bare skin distracting them. This is an important one especially if you are going out to dinner because he’ll only be looking at your upper half for most of your time. (While you’re seated.) You want to focus on your date and vice versa and bare skin doesn’t help the situation.

4. Don’t go overboard on the makeup

I’ll spare you the details about the time I got a makeover at the MAC counter just before a date. Let’s just say it included me cowering in the wedge behind the John Hancock hastily wiping my face with baby wipes I bribed from a young mom on the steps outside Trinity Church, hoping against hope my date didn’t catch me acting like a homeless person trying to ‘bathe’. Too much makeup scares dudes. If your face looks too perfect, they’re going to be afraid to touch it, never mind kiss you on the cheek at the end of the evening.

5. Don’t wear something you don’t feel comfortable in!

Confidence is owning who you are inside and out. Even if you have the most gorgeous D&G frock for the night, if it doesn’t fit right or it just isn’t ‘you’ then it won’t work. Find pieces that fit well, are comfortable, and speak to who you are and you’ll be a knockout.

There you have it. I hope these tips help you and when in doubt, cinch a belt around your robe and walk around in your heels – anything you put on after that will look fabulous!

Do you have any tips to add on what ladies should wear on a first date or tale of a “wardrobe malfunction” you’ve experienced? Thanks for sharing!

~Emma

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Photos: carljones, swanky, vincent boiteau

Hey all! Seth here. I’m thrilled to welcome Emma to The Dating Papers and I hope you’ll give her a warm welcome. If you’d like her to write on something specific or just feel like saying hi, feel free to drop her an email or find her on Twitter. Thanks!