One time, I posted online that I was looking for something akin to a sugar daddy. All told sexually, my number is not too far off other New York women I’ve met - under 100, over 50 - but it wasn’t so much about quantity and more about total lack of quality. When I was at my most self-destructive, I was hooking up with drug dealers and answering ads on the Craigslist’s Casual Encounters section posted by strange men looking for “snow bunnies” (girls who did cocaine).Īll told, I fooled around in some form with a dozen men from the site. Things spiraled out of control after that. I met two hot Italian pilots on the street, bummed a cigarette, and took them home for a night of sex, debauchery, and, well, the opposite of a marriage proposal. So after far too many martinis and a lot of desire for revenge, I simply decided to do the most “unwifeable” thing possible. I realised: He was never going to marry me. But one night, after two years of dating, I just. In 2008, I gave up my dating column “About Last Night” in The Post in order to increase the chances of the upper-crust man I wrote about called “Super Preppy” asking me to marry him.
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