Birthdays are always weird. It’s the one day a year when the focus is on you (unless you write about your personal life…ahem) but it happens every year. Birthdays, again to use my sneeze analogy, are just bound to happen. I love to throw big parties and celebrations, but the actual day of celebration is just…weird.

There’s all this pressure to have THE BEST DAY EVER OMG IT WAS JUST LIKE JUSTIN BIEBER BARFED A RAINBOW!  I personally enjoy the text messages and lovely flowers and cupcakes that I eat with aplomb, but something about birthdays has always made me uneasy.

Maybe I’ll chock it up to being nervous that my locker wouldn’t get the ribbon and wrapping paper mark of friendship in the fifth grade hall, or that the boy I was hooking up with would acknowledge that yes, I am in fact one day older, today.

You always sort of secretly wish that your birthday will basically be an epic montage of every pinnacle moment in a teen movie: Jake Ryan, holding Yogiberry, with his iphone (have to make some adjustments here), or that Freddie Prinze Jr. will ask you to dance, or that Heath Ledger will buy you a guitar (and by guitar I mean…necklace?) In writing that list I realized those all revolve around men. Analyze that, Jezebel.

I love to see who posts on my Facebook wall. Each and every post is treasured, but extremely and utterly random. A good friend will write something soppy and/or unintelligible to anyone other than you (UGH I HOPE YOU’RE “DANCING” WITH “DOUG” RIGHT NOW!!! I don’t remember who Doug is the code name for anyway). This post will then be followed by someone that you a) haven’t seen in five years and b) aren’t even sure you know. Either way, it’s very nice and sweet.

Birthdays and dating are also hard – do you throw him a party? Do you let him plan one for you? Do you get him anything even though you’ve only been dating for two months but you’ve thought of something cute already but you don’t want to come across as a Stage 5 Clinger? Sigh.

This year, since FFJD is now like, rly important and stuff, I decided to do what other starlets do – have a sponsored birthday party. The pictures haven’t run yet, (I sold them exclusively to Star right next to the MISCHA BARTON CELLULITE SECTION) but I’m confident that I looked pretty good in the middle of that staged water gun fight hosted by Jon Gosselin and Kristin Cavallari at Wet Republic.

The night was then followed by a blowout at Tao, where my cake was actually in the shape of “FFJD” and was presented to me as I ceremoniously blew out the candles, with my skinny arm out. I begged Scott to not pick a fight with Kourtney in the club and punch someone. It was my night.

At the end of the evening, just as I thought that my night couldn’t get any better, James Franco asked me to be his Oscar date. I agreed, but if and only if Rodarte designs. He sighed and said, “you’re just not allowed to write about me.” How FFJD.

This year was an overwhelming and wonderful display of affection. So thank you to everyone, and I’m happy it’s February 17.

___
Email meredith@theffjd.com.

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Picking potential suitors is sort of like sorority rush. If you weren’t in a sorority, such as myself and I’d assume a fair number of other FFJDers, let me break it down for you.

The physical things I’ve gained from my years as a proud member of Sigma Delta Tau Sorority, an SDTer if you will (please, make the STD joke, you’re original): a myriad of teeshirts with slogans such as “If You Think I’m Cute, Wait ‘Til You See My Big,” shot glasses, martini glasses, basically anything monogrammable, boxer shorts, 5-10 pounds sophomore year, and several different fraternity boys.

Figurative gains from my sorority: memories of 35 girls in one house, wonderful friends, and trips to Acapulco where you don’t remember anything except maybe some random sophomore plaything boy and if you’re lucky, some blind gossip item upon your return (guilty.)

Every year, lots of girls want to get into little pre-assigned, semi-professional cliques.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my sorority.

I was never really a camp girl (which solicits gasps from other East-Coast Jewish femalians), and I have one brother. So all these chicks around, who sort of look like me and have cute tops I can borrow to wear to date parties yields endless fun. The egg-white omelettes via the chef (I know), were also awesome. However, if I ever have to look at a 100-calorie pack of Chips Ahoy(which might I say, are not cookies but a shamelful excuse for a cookie crisp) I will vomit all over my new set of fraternity shotglasses, that I stole from house parties. (College really brings out your inner klepto, doesn’t it?)

Anyway, rush is a special time of year when anxious little froshies line up in their cutest attire (I carried a hair straightener in my bag between houses…FFJD/era of superstickstraight hair pre-Kardashians) and try to impress you.

So basically, with that longwinded intro that was mostly a platform for my making light of the matching Juicy sweatsuits of all my beloved friends, rushing a sorority is almost exactly like dating.

There are a large volume of people, but half cant carry on a conversation and you have to work your way through 300 girls from the Eastern Seaboard in order to find that one gem who you want to date/be best friends with/maybe share So Lows when you’re out and need to pop over to the gym.

So what have I learned from rush that can be applied to the dating world, and thus impart to all of you on your Monday morning when you REALLY CAN’T BEAR ANOTHER COATING OF ICE WINTERY MIX SYSTEM COMING WEDNESDAY.

Be discerning. You’re going to have a lot of awkward conversations, and a lot of duds. But such is life. You should know when it’s right, and when it’s just really painful, move on. I suggest adopting a scoring system. Maybe, a scale from 1 to 5? Where 1 is “i’d prefer if we never saw each other again, but we probably will at a Federation event and I’m taking the rest of my vodka soda and running” and 5 is “i’ve already fantasized about the comments below our changed Facebook statuses from single to in a relationship with each other.”

Give someone time to warm up. This may seem in direct contrast to the above statements, but don’t dismiss someone immediately. Some dudes shine after a little bit of nudging and hitting on the right subject matter. Also, don’t judge it til you kiss it (although this was not applied during sorority rush, boys reading this post). Unless the date was so wretched you’d rather re-read all of the footnotes from your thesis, twice, to make sure you used the proper AP style, maybe go out again. You don’t want someone to judge your entire being from an hour or two, right? Or you do.

Don’t judge a book by its cover. I had some people pegged wrong during rush who became some of my closest friends. Which means I’m a judgmental bitch. But, I am a sorority girl.

However, I am judging your shoes.

_______

Email your FFJD at meredith@theffjd.com.

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When I was doing my segment for TBD a few weeks ago, I was brought back to the set by a friendly and funny security guard. We bantered back and forth, I mostly was really nervous (even though I had done it before, I had less notice and ugh my ends!) and was just chatting to ease the tension. When I explained FFJD to the guard, he laughed and we started talking about our love lives.

People love to talk to me about their dating conundrums (like I’m a guru in Eat Pray Love or something, which by the way was the longest movie I’ve ever seen/terrible purloining of a great book) and ask me questions. The guard started to tell me about this girl he was pining over, whom he sends flowers and Edible Arrangements (specifically white-chocolate-covered strawberries, um, hi boys please send this to me in the future) to even though they’re “just friends”.

He wants to be more than friends, but he’s worried that she won’t want him because she is beautiful, successful, and independent, the total package in his eyes.

It made me wonder, a) why he refused to make a move and would settle for being friends with this girl and b) why this girl is leading this great guy on.

(Whenever I type out those four words, it made me wonder, I have to switch to Carrie Bradshaw mode, I am now better outfitted to discuss this topic with you in my Brian Atwood Hiking Boots, Velour Overalls, and Isabella-Blow-esque hat that says “FFJD” instead of Blow. Much better.)

Anyway, there is basically NO WAY that this chick doesn’t know this guy is in love with her. If I received flowers/waist-friendly Edible Arrangement baskets from a suitor who was my “friend,” I’d know what’s up. He proudly told me that all the other girls in the office get jealous of her presents (which I’m assuming she relayed to him), which I’m sure feels good. It’s just really unfair.

Ladies, you know you’ve done it – the “friend” or the really nice guy you lead on because it feels good to know someone cares.

Unfortunately, so have I.

The second part of this is that this guy is afraid of the rejection, so he will put up with being her friend. I asked him why he thought she would dismiss him, and he said because of his weight. I wonder if she would, or he’s insecure and assumes she would.

Either way, I told him he should find out and see what happens, because he never knows until he asks. Physical imperfections are different from a girl’s point of view (I think we’re more open to less attractive men with better personalities than men are for the reverse) and I have a feeling that this guy has more of a chance than he thinks. But how do you know until you try?

xoxo,

FFJD

(I can’t find my Chanel Couture jock strap. Sigh.)

_____

Email me at meredith@theffjd.com

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I get a weekly email, Skinny & The City, that sort of tells me low-cal recipes and crap that sometimes I read or delete faster than you can say “I’ll have the fries.”

The newsletter often follows the trials and tribulations of one dieter. A recent email talked about eating on a first date: Can you diet? What should you order? Should you care what he thinks of you in regards to food?

These are all tricky and nuanced issues, far more for women than men. But eating on a first date is tough and often awkward.

You don’t want to be “that girl” who orders a salad, because we wouldn’t want the prospective man to think that we’re boring dieters. Which is interesting, because men also want to be physically attracted to the girl they’re going out with, which can often be thought to require (not require per se, but be aided by) dieting. This is not to say that all men want thin women, but a lot of them do.

This complex relationship between dieting and dating is coupled with our thin ideal that especially is present in Hollywood: you should be pin-thin but you should never admit how you did it. Instead, celebrities will often say they just “lost their baby fat” (which KILLS me, like o rly? You have baby fat at 25?) or eat “fish and veggies!” aka Adderall and Diet Coke.

Let’s be real.

Sometimes this ideal can cloud our judgment and cause us to make unhealthy decisions for the pursuit of a “perfect body.” But let’s get back to dating.

If you are trying to eat more healthfully (of which the term is fluid, to lose weight, to gain weight, to reduce blood pressure, etc) what if you feel pressure to order something unhealthy to send a message to your date? This is a strange kind of pressure that I’m not even sure exists in the eyes of men, but it definitely does for girls. This is all complex enough, added in with guys’ frequent desire for girls who “eat,” (which I find interestingly prevalent in JDate profiles, probably influenced by this thin ideal that strong affects Jewish women. Let’s be honest, 3/4 of “Sushi With My Girls,” although very hilarz and poignant, was poking fun at the ED subculture among JAPs and their friends.)

I am making rampant generalizations, I realize. There is some middle ground with regards to what you order, but women receive a lot of mixed messaging about food in general. Which is an extensive topic for another time.

A friend told me a story of a first date with her now boyfriend, where she ate a burger before the date and then had a salad with the dude. He noticed the ketchup on her dress and she was mortified. Why did she feel this pressure to eat what she wanted before she saw the guy? Is this the reverse situation, where she wants to seem “healthy”? Two years later they’re together, ketchup and all. So I’m not really sure what point of mine that proves. Basically, order whatever the fuck you want.

Obviously the food shouldn’t be the focal point of a first date anyway, but it probably doesn’t go without thought from one party.

I think that you should do what you want when it comes to food on a first date. If you want the salad, get the salad. If you want the steak, get the steak.

If a guy can’t deal with your food choices, he certainly doesn’t deserve you.

What do you think?

______

Email me at meredith@theffjd.com

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Hello, FFJD-ers. It is I, Professor Meredith, here to discuss a very important issue with you: hair straightening. I tweet and joke a lot about Brazilian and Japanese straightening, but I have requests for recommendations and tips.

I have had a long-standing beef with my head: my wavy hair. That’s not to say that I’m even entirely sure what my real hair looks like, but I’m pretty sure I don’t like it. I began blow-drying my hair in 6th grade, which was followed by straightening irons – first amateur-hour Conair ones, then the big guns like Chi, and then eventually I just began chemically straightening my hair.

I have Japanese straightened my hair a total of eight times, and Brazilian straightened it four. Let’s just say I have fewer brain cells, but an excess of knowledge.

Therefore, I hope you’re all taking notes.

1. Japanese Hair Straightening

This is a JAP classic. It’s a permanent treatment, so your hair WON’T go back to being curly. The process takes about six hours, and can be laborious and tedious. I suggest bringing a book, 16 magazines, or your Blackberry charger because you will definitely run out after BBMing everyone in your list.

The process is like this: washing your hair, then coating it with goo and waiting and washing it out, and then ironing it with a teeny tiny iron that is so infuriatingly slow you literally could have flow to LA in the time it takes to do this. BUT you have straight hair.

Japanese can be particularly dangerous because if you have very curly hair, it will be VERY noticeable when it starts to grow out. Like, excessively fake Louis Vuitton noticeable. You also probably shouldn’t do Japanese if you color your hair.

I once did with highlights, and half of my hair fell out. That was really traumatizing, and you’d think that would make me stop. Nope.

2. Brazilian Hair Straightenting

This process is newer.

I’m not entirely sure the differences between Brazilian and Keratin or if they’re the same, but there is a lot of talk about the health risks of it. So just know that going in.

The price is lower than Japanese, but it doesn’t last as long. You don’t have to wait as many days before washing your hair, which is good. The most recent process I did, you can even wash immediately. Note: your hair will smell a lil funky for a while. You can do it with coloring, although I haven’t. The process is like this: you wash your hair, put goo in, then blow dry and flat iron the goo, then rinse and condition.

Brazilian, in my opinion, is easier and better because it doesn’t create such harsh lampshade-straight hair. You know what I’m talking about. It’s just not as noticeable. It also stops working gradually and “washes out.”

3. Blow Drying and Straightenting.

Waste of time, money, and arm-maneuvering. Just go with the chemicals. FFJD ain’t no FDA.

___________

Email FFJD at fiftyfirstjdates@gmail.com!

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No, I’m not talking about that DADT. I’m talking about open relationships. You may think you’re game for a dowhateveryouwantbutalsohayletshangout sort of agreement, but are they really possible?

Open relationships are just that – open. The definition itself is fluid and varies from couple to couple (and even person to person). But in an attempt to reduce the mess and the noise and the fights of a “real” relationship, it can just get heinous.

Some people swear by open relationships – it’s less pressure, more relaxed, no commitment. But isn’t that what a relationship is about? Commitment? Isn’t that the point?

I’ve been in one, long distance, bi-coastal, and very expensive-plane-fares-away open relationship. It was tough shit because of the ten states that spanned between us, let alone the fact that we weren’t exclusive. My ex and I operated on a policy of “don’t ask, don’t tell,” AKA if you’re going to touch someone else in a frat basement and maybe drink too much jungle juice and end up tangled in his or her Ralph Lauren twinset that everyone has, just don’t tell the other person.

That worked for a bit. But even this agreement is messy – you feel guilty, insecure, and unsure of where you stand. At least I did, constantly. The level of commitment I was looking for absolutely could not be achieved from two time zones and a lack of exclusivity away. So I ended it.

Some couples in open relationships operate on the premise that they tell each other things, like hooking up with other people or rubbing up against three guys in Cabo four margaritas deep. Which seems entirely masochistic and straight up Closer of them, like that harrowing scene with Clive Owen and Julia Roberts screaming at each other. Which is one of the most painful scenes between two actors, I think. I don’t know if I like that policy. Then you just start lobbing hookups and makeouts and sexts at each other with reckless abandon and try to one-up the other until you’re both messes.

But that’s not to say open relayshes don’t work at all. Clearly some people even have open marriages, although somewhat lawbending, Mrs. Robinson can sleep with the pool boy repeatedly because hey, she’s sick of carpooling with the Atkinsons and her husband Bernie just isn’t doing it for her anymore.

What do you think?

_________

Email FFJD at fiftyfirstjdates@gmail.com.

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We are so caught up in texting, tweeting, twatting, twooting, that sometimes we forget to CALL each other. (Cue video of girl texting and then falling into a mall fountain. Although there was one time that I walked into a wall while BBMing. Not a joke, unfortunately.)

Talking on the phone is important. Hearing the intonations in someone’s voice, have a general rapport, it’s key to falling in love with someone, I think. Women also like boys who call them. Just as a tip, gentlemen.

I prefer phone calls. At least in the romance department. I recognize, however, that not everyone’s real calling (bad pun) is to be a switchboard operator or a receptionist. Given the response to last week’s wait-to-flush video chat post, I thought I’d give a few phone pointers.

Chat (But Not For Too Long).

So, when your grandma told you to hang up after 15 minutes because then you won’t have anything to say when you meet in person is actually true. Not to say that anything my grandmother says isn’t true, she knows her lemon bars and New Jersey gossip. [Hi grandma! I love it when you read FFJD. Will you send more brownies again? And thank you for the article clippings :)]

But really, don’t talk for hours and hours because then you will get together and the silence will be deafening and it will be awkward. It just will, trust me. So leave some salacious tales of failed manicures (please don’t actually talk about that) and hilarious UPIs (unidentifiable party injuries) for when you’re swapping drinks and spit.

If Your Dumb Iphone Drops the Call, The Caller Calls Back.

My ex’s Dad came up with this, and it’s pretty brillz. I’m not sure if this is like a known thing, but if you get disconnected, the person who called should call back so that you’re not calling each other at the same time. This is less about etiquette, and more about general phone tips. Got that, Verizon?

LEAVE A VOICEMAIL.

I’m sorry, maybe this is just a personal pet peeve, but a missed call is not a voice-mail. I’d like to know a preview of whether this discussion will be about where you’re taking me to dinner, or whether you are calling me to say that you’re just not that into me. It’s common courtesy. Also, if we start dating, I’d like to save that to replay when I’m bored or after we’ve broken up to torture myself and then delete.

Don’t Leave Really Important Conversations for the Phone.

I’ve been dumped on the phone. Cue Taylor Swift. Unacceptable, impersonal, and mildly offensive if you actually really care about someone. If not, then whatever.

The bottom line is, if it’s really serious, or if you want to tell him that you think his Mom is a terrible person, just do it to his face. Although I have a feeling it’s not the best thing to talk about. Ever.

______

Email FFJD at fiftyfirstjdates@gmail.com

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FFJD often sticks to the PG. However, a fearless fan had the cojones to email me the following about her desire to be “tickled” by her mate. It’s important to know what you want, and how to ask for it. And that’s something FFJD supports.

Dear FFJD,

I saw your site and thought it was awesome since I’ve been on JDate for a couple of months. I have a question…at what point in an online relationship do you reveal a fetish to somebody?

I love being tickled and I feel like that’s a weird subject to bring up to guys because they’ll get all these perverted ideas if it doesn’t scare them off.

It’s actually a very popular fetish believe it or not. I have one guy that claims to also like being tickled (but won’t reveal his ticklish spots) and am trying to figure out the best way to jump into that topic. I think we’d have a lot of fun together. Any thoughts?

– Ticklish

Hi Ticklish,

First things first, I did some research. Who knew that “tickling” is a really common request? It was even covered on Tyra Banks(VASEEEEEEEELINEEEE).

I think it’s great that you know what makes you tick downtown. However, especially in the realm of online dating, it’s good to see how your chemistry is in person before you bring up something so personal.

I’d hold off on discussing your private desires until you’ve slept with said person, or feel comfortable. It’s really about your gauge of things. If it’s someone who you trust, and who you think might be into what you’re into (or if it’s someone who’s into you in general, they’ll definitely want to make you feel good) bring it up in an intimate situation. Something along the lines of testing the waters with something new.

Just keep it after a few dates, and DEFINITELY NOT in your online profile. You never want to lead with sex, especially on a first date. Unless that’s what you’re after. In which case, tickle away.

Hope this helps!

To everyone else – you can always email me private FFJD concerns and advice at fiftyfirstjdates@gmail.com. I also offer profile rewrites, consultations, audit and revision.

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Last week the New York Times published a piece about niche dating sites.

Man, the New York Times, really groundbreaking these days. Anyway, the article talked about how you can now narrow your own dating pool by choosing sites like JDate, Alikewise (which I wrote about before being a total sham/weird), or something else based on salad preferences (this really exists), race, or favorite Kardashian (that’s only a matter of time).

The piece basically just lists a myriad of sites without any real analysis. What it fails to mention, however, is that narrowing down your options can be dangerous. Maybe you’re on a Vegan dating site and you only can stand to sleep with tofu aficionados. But you might be limiting yourself too much.

I did a one-month trial of Match, and although I felt overwhelmed, I noticed that my options were wider, more diverse, and often more interesting. JDate is home to a plethora of NJBs (Nice Jewish Boys), but I found far more artsy types (and total whackos) on Match.

You’re supposed to join a dating site because you know you want to get into a relationship. (Or you just want to surf for casual ass, although I wonder isn’t that a lot of work for a hookup?)

But as I’ve written before, sometimes what you think you need or want and what you actually need are two very different things. Which is why you should try to cast the widest net possible and date all different types of people so you can figure out what you really like.

Constantly narrowing down your dating pool with certain niche sites eliminates the chance to meet someone different, and outside of your comfort zone, who might be really great for you. Branching out is important.

That’s not to say that a general dating site will give you the man of your dreams, but I do think you should sample the salad bar (with a sneeze guard) before deciding to stick to only cherry tomatoes.

What do you think?

Email FFJD at fiftyfirstjdates@gmail.com!

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The post The FFJD: How Narrow Is Too Narrow? (This Is Not About Nose Jobs) appeared first on Jewcy.

I, like many of us, have flying anxiety.

Well, it used to be a lot worse. Like gripping, nauseating, I-refuse-to-do-a-summer-program-abroad type thing. Which is a serious White Girl Problem. You know, because a lot of my friends were going on awesome teen tours (also known as Lets Compare Longchamps Journey 2003 and A Formal Introduction to the Tao of the J.A.P.) or spending the summer getting sloshed in Seville and learning all sorts of things that Americans don’t know. Like how to sip Cappuccino. Or that Spanish (Italian, Peruvian, Czech) men don’t understand the word “no.” Le sigh.

So how’d I get over it? I’m not over it entirely, but I did manage to move to South America and bop around the continent with relative ease. I mostly attribute my chilling the eff out with learning the physics of flight.

I know, right? But let’s have a nerd moment. I’m not sure what it was, but understanding the science behind something that made me feel like my gut was dropping to my ass (no, that’s not just the beginning ascension) made me feel better. Much more than any other supposed anxiety-easing tactic.

Which gets us to the more important point — meeting boys on airplanes.

Plane rides can suck, aside from an irrational fear of toppling out of the sky. What if you’re stuck between two babies who happen to hate you and everything you stand for and want to scream bloody murder for five hours as a form of comic relief?

Granted, usually you have to be seated in the immediate area of a Baldwin(Cher terminology) to make your move, and it can be a matter of luck. On my flight moving abroad to Spain junior year of college (I had to finally know what those Spaniards were like after Sarah’s craaaaaazy stories that made me feel so left out) I sat next to the hottest British boy I’d ever seen. As if being hot wasn’t enough, he was also British.

They should teach American boys to have British accents. You could look like a toad and use the word “bloke” and most of us ladies would be done.  We exchanged info, but alas I never made it to Liverpool. I should have pulled him into the “loo” and had my way with him. I am here so that you don’t pass up that opportunity again, ladies.

Rather, right my wrongs. Horizontally.

The most important thing is to establish conversation early on. Or if you were I in the early days, just freak out about take-off. Maybe in a Damsel-in-Distress-Hold-My-Hand? sort of way, not Hysterical Psycho. I vividly remember the boy I sat next to on the way home from Birthright (could that sentence be any more FFJD?) held my hand during some turbulence. I wonder if it was as good for him as it was for me. A good friend of mine (who sometimes writes posts for FFJD as an undisclosed dude) actually consoled Daryl Hannah during some bad air pockets. He said she’s still got it. Oh, and she has soft hands.

Often the people you meet on planes are great because they’re either from where you’re from, or where you’re going to so they can give you recommendations. Sometimes you’re not even after a cute boy – I made one of my best friends on the plane ride to Acapulco (FFJD, again) in college because we bonded over the shitfaced guy sitting next to her.

Strike up a conversation about how it’s a total racket you have to pay for snacks and before you know it, you’ll be a part of the Mile High Club. I wish I understood the appeal of that. All I can think of are the strange bacterial amoebas populating that entire one-foot radius of an airplane bathroom. Staring up at you as 27B sees your Hanky Pankys.

But if that does it for you, let your seatmate know and I’m sure he will be happy to oblige. Just please don’t touch any surfaces.

(and really, i wrote this on a plane.)

_____

Email FFJD at fiftyfirstjdates@gmail.com!

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