I’ve been dating a person for almost 3 months, and he is terrific and lovely. I know we’re both currently not seeing anyone else.
I’m at the point where I would like to have a low-stress check-in about how we’re both feeling regarding exclusivity and commitment.
There’s a heck of a lot of cultural messaging to the effect that [in a heterosexual relationship] it is a woman’s role to push for commitment and that men dread this conversation, which makes me both extra nervous about it and also kind of resentful.
I would like to be able to leave those feelings at the door when I bring it up, but I’m so lost for the right words to use that I just end up getting even more anxious, and then I don’t bring it up at all because I want to be coming from a place of curiosity and confidence, not from a place of fear. He’s kind and responsible and we laugh together a lot and we are hella attracted to each other.
At Cuddli, our mission is to create joy by making people’s lives more fun. Unlike many companies, we’re not run by business guys who don’t understand technology.
We believe in hiring smart people and getting out of the way so they can do their best work.
We'd spend most afternoons watching one of his beloved VHS tapes while we fooled around, an activity we dubbed Monty Python and the Holy Hand Job.
Hard to believe, but before I came along, Stonefist had never had sex with anyone. So Stonefist and I continued in a state of mutual psychedness. " he told me over the phone, with a kind of joyful disbelief he'd hoped I might share. Sure, not every woman (Kim Kardashian) and not every nerd (Stephen Hawking). Especially now that nerds are experiencing something of a golden age. Nebbishy dweebs who spent their youth unpacking computers instead of unhooking bras.
Cuddli is designed in California and built in Croatia.
All software development is done at our Zagreb office.
Now he was getting daily five-fingered sonatas from a girl who could rattle off every species native to Tatooine. Until the first semester of college, when he dumped me for a "physical therapy" major named Traci, a former high school cheerleader with lots of unironic kitten posters on her dorm wall. This was my first glimpse of a very important truth: In matters of sex, nerds are no different from any other hormone-addled dude in possession of a penis. It wasn't so long ago that being a nerd meant getting folded into trash cans and hung from flagpoles. And Hollywood is run by grown-up geeks (ahem, Apatow) who cast roly-poly beta males like Seth Rogen and Jason Segel as leading men.
We also go for nerds because we assume that they're going to be the "nice guys." The flawed logic here is that the type of dudes who prioritize brains over brawn will be less superficial when it comes to the opposite sex—that the torments of their youth have enlightened them, made them sweeter, more sensitive, more loyal, than someone like, say, the star quarterback who grows up entitled, well sed, and generally thinking of himself as God's gift to womanity.
Geeks have an unfortunate tendency to be poorly socialized outside of their own peer group, which makes finding a relationship even more difficult.