My sister is the good daughter. My sister was kind enough to get married and procreate. She’s not only doing the species a favor, but my parents as well. My parents had always wanted to be grandparents to a couple of rascals. My sister gave them two: Jackson and Elliot. My parents are obsessed with them.
Just as it was when my sister and I were little, there’s nothing in the world my parents won’t do for Jackson and Elliot. My mother has completely re-centered her life around them and refuses to miss a holiday or birthday. I spent Christmas on the couch by myself, while my mom catered to my sister’s kids every whim in Colorado. “That was the choice you made,” my mother said. I’m not sure what choice she’s talking about — the one where I decided to move to New York City to pursue writing, or the one where I thought going to Colorado for Christmas would be the pits. We both hung up on each other before we could get into a lengthy discussion and ruin the holiday even more. Besides, being on the phone with me was tearing her away from the grandkids, and we can’t have that, can we?
Groan. Keep reading »
Recently, I was asked by a women’s relationship website to recap how all of us are Bridget Jones in some way. The reason for the assignment was, in case you don’t already know, Helen Fielding has written another chapter in the life of the beloved character. I took the assigned topic without question, because it’s true – most women do have quite a bit of Bridget in them. If that had not been the case, then the books and eventual movies would have fallen flat and I wouldn’t be writing this right now.
But as I worked on that particular piece, I realized that despite her divine quirkiness and adorable flaws, she isn’t exactly the best role model for single women. I’m not suggesting all role models should be perfect like Hillary Clinton, but they should offer a bit more than Bridget. And as a single woman myself, I know this to be fact because single women are always right. Or at least this is what I tell my married friends – whom I then force to agree with me by withholding any further cupcake baking and distribution. It always works. But I digress.
Let’s look at a few examples where Bridget falls flat. Perhaps, if we’re to learn anything from her at all, it’s the complete opposite of what she often represents. You don’t have to agree with me on these points, but then again, you’ve never had my cupcakes so you’ve nothing to truly lose. Keep reading »
As any blogger who writes about sex will tell you, we get a lot of “gifts.” When I say “gifts,” I actually mean sex toys to test out in the hopes we’ll write about them later. If you saw my “special” drawer next to my bed, you’d see that it’s full of a variety of dildos, vibrators, anal plugs, vegan lubes, flavored lubes, handcuffs, a bamboo paddle and even a pair of nipple clamps.
While some of these items still remain in their boxes (pun!) untouched, others have been opened and hugely appreciated by either myself or the person with whom I’m sharing my bed. At one time, I had so many vibrators (new and unopened), that I just kept them on my kitchen table and would let my friends take whatever they wanted. Seriously. What does one woman, with only two orifices need with all that stuff? (I say two, because I’ve never been one to put a vibrator in my mouth – just not my thing.) Keep reading »
I like to consider myself a strong and independent woman. I live alone; I take care of myself and never waiver in my beliefs. I’ve managed to convince myself that I’m fearless; I look confrontation in the eye and am without regret in my behavior – even when it isn’t the most flattering or well thought-out way to handle certain situations. I am, admittedly, a hot head.
I do not allow others to define me, put me in a box labeled by how they see me and will scream at the top of my lungs before I’ll ever let someone try to silence me. I am all these things; I have been all these things, and years from now these expectations that I have for myself will still be true. I don’t give a fuck who might be angered or won’t agree along the way. In the words of the great sailor, Popeye, “I am what I am.”
However, there were a few years in there, the dark years, that I was not all these things. When it came to Christoffer, I was a shadow. Keep reading »
I have been a registered voter since the week I turned 18 years old. Admittedly, at 18, I was fairly clueless about the people for whom I’d be voting, but I educated myself on each of them the best I could and embraced the privilege like no other. This opportunity, for me, was far more paramount than any other milestone that came with turning 18. But then again, I wasn’t a smoker or an avid purchaser of porn, so maybe I had no choice.
I do not regard myself as one who is overtly obsessed with politics. You will not find me on a street corner handing out pamphlets or walking Union Square decked out in a sandwich board that roots for my preferred candidate. Although I am very staunch in my liberal beliefs and will take these thoughts to Twitter and Facebook – where the majority of my friends, if not all of them, share my political ideas – I’m still rather mum on the subject unless pushed. Push me, and I’ll gladly tell you my thoughts on why I voted for Obama weeks ago (absentee New Hampshire ballot, because they need every liberal vote they can get), and why I think Romney is bad for women, the environment, equality and pretty much everything else. I’d be more than happy to share this with you, but since, for some, politics falls under the same awning as religion and money, I won’t. Besides, there’s no sense in getting into a heated debate just so we can throw around the word “malarkey,” and walk away knowing, in our hearts of hearts, we are completely and positively right in our views.
However, my lack of public display on the matter, doesn’t hinder my devotion. Ignorance is not bliss when it comes to politics; we all must be aware and knowledgeable of those in power who are making the decisions. Keep reading »
I never really understood the daytime TV show circuit. I still imagine it the way it looked when my mother was a stay-at-home mom and everything was yellow or orange or pea green as they were in the early 80′s before neon took hold.
So when a daytime TV show asked me to be on one of their segments, I was hesitant. At first, I thought it would be fun. My next feeling was it would go terribly wrong because trying to speak for me is sometimes difficult, hence the reason I’m more comfortable putting words on paper. My last and final thought danced around the idea of it being a good career move or not. You know, in case I ever make it big someday, would I want something like a TV show in my past?
The segment was going to be about helping strained relationships, and how to mend them. As I already mentioned in an earlier post, it stemmed from a piece I did for Huffington Post, and it looked like it was a go until the controlling boyfriend of the friend with whom I was having this “strain” stepped in and put his foot down. Read more…
I was 11 weeks along when my gynecologist told me I was pregnant. I had been on The Pill since I was 18 years old and my period, since being on The Pill was non-existent. When it never came in January, then not again in February, it never crossed my mind that something wasn’t right. I had gone months before without a “period” — a quick splotch on my undies was usually all it was. Even before I was on The Pill (and after) I’m one of those women who is lucky enough to never have a menstruation that lasts more than two or three days. Keep reading »
To the best of my knowledge, there is no technical name for my phobia. Although if we were to backtrack, I suppose it’s more of a fear than an actual phobia. Phobias directly impact your everyday way of life; this fear does not. I don’t wander the streets phobic that strangers are going to throw themselves on me for an instant cuddle puddle, because frankly, if that was acceptable societal behavior, I would have moved to the Yukon years ago.
We could start at the very beginning with my first breaths in Beverly, Massachusetts, but considering both my parents loved and cuddled me at, what I’m assuming, was a proper amount, it seems silly to delve into those first few weeks or months and try to find a reason. Keep reading »