So Obama May Have Ended Torture, But There's Still DC Dating...

Okay. So I am kind of addicted to dating. There. I said it.

It's the kind of addiction that feeds itself like a drug addiction. The kind our phys ed teachers warned us about in eighth grade health class. They said that you'll always be asking if the next high be better.


But unfortunately, it's mostly lows in my adventures in DC dating. Still, there's always the promise that the next guy won't sit in my living room silently for a prolonged period of time until I have to eventually ask him to leave; that he won't tell me he doesn't date - he just has sex. Or he'll call me back.


And that's why I do it. Because the next one might be better. (I mean, how could it not? Seriously.)

So these are the stories of my varied adventures in DC dating. Note that the various dates come from a variety of venues - craigslist, okcupid, the metro, various bars, etc.

All names and identifying characteristics will be changed to protect the marginally innocent, but also to assure that I am able to continue to convince people to date me.


So here goes. While I can't promise much, I almost 100% promise tales of inappropriate advances, awkward situations, bad judgements, bad gifts and maybe if I'm lucky, other stories from Inside My Beltway.