By Alexis Tirado

When Latina first asked me to be their dating blogger I was excited but a little freaked out. I wondered if they knew that I once fell asleep in the middle of a bj. I tried to figure out what qualified me to be a dating blogger…I’m not a perfect 10, I can’t wear high heels without tripping and I still ask my parents for laundry money! Then again I do have some serious street cred, I’ve written about boys and sex for Playgirl, Time Out New York and Nerve.com.

I’m also a proud Puerto Rican Salvadoreña, I’ve had a big butt for as long as I could remember and I’ve dropped the L-bomb with more guys than I’d like to admit. The last dude I dated didn’t work out mainly because his was umm..too "small". I love making out and going out.

So here I am, and there you are. Let me start by telling you about a party I went to the other night…

The 8th Grade Dance

I snuck into a Vogue magazine party the other night and it was way easier than you’d think; I just approached the clipboard Nazi guarding the event and told her that my name was on the list.

“I don’t see your name here,” she said.

“Hmmm…my assistant told me she RSVP’d for me. I’m a writer.” There’s no way in hell I have an assistant but acting calm, cool, collected and like you belong always works.

“Go ahead,” said clipboard Nazi and I slipped past the velvet rope with my girl Coco.

A waitress immediately handed us glasses of champagne and I clinked glasses with Coco, “Uy! I feel like we’re having a cheesy Sex and the City moment. Well, except the fact that we don’t really belong here, “I confessed to my amiga as I looked down at my Payless shoes and touched my frizzy hair.

The crowd of fabulously dressed people were busy texting away on their BlackBerries. The DJ was spinning hot tracks but no one was really dancing except a handful of us. Seriously, how can you not dance your culo off to Prince? It’s crazy how parties in New York remind me of 8th grade dances, everyone all insecure and scared to get down. Since it was a Vogue party, there were mad cuties everywhere but I felt intimidated talking to them! Rather than meeting someone new, I danced with Coco. Dancing with my girl was just safer and easier.

At times it feels like too much of an effort to talk to random boys. It’s like working out, probably necessary and good for me but I’d still rather avoid it sometimes. But when you’re single (and in your late 20’s), there’s an odd pressure to find Mr. Right. Here I am at a hot Vogue party and I pretty much punked out. I felt like a dork about the whole thing, but when people try too hard they seem sort of desperate. I’m just trying to balance my quest with my dignity, ha! Do you agree?

Un Abrazo Fuerte,

Lex