Last month, I showed up at a party that my hubby, Andy, and I had been invited to, and I was greeted with silence. Now, I know I’m not that unpopular, so something had to be wrong. As I shrugged off my coat and people got back to mingling, my friend approached with a vodka tonic in hand. Passing it to me and trying to sound casual, she said, “So…where’s Andy tonight?” And then, in a stage whisper, “Is anything wrong?” Keep reading »
Profile for Annemarie Conte
Dear loving friend or family member who bought me kitchen towels for my bridal shower,
Thank you so much for your wonderful gift. I know I already sent you a note for the present, but I felt the need to write again. Andy and I were just overwhelmed with the many generous and wonderful gifts we received, so it’s been six months since the shower and we have just gotten around to unpacking some of the things we put in storage. What a pleasant surprise to discover these towels, which you so cleverly crafted into a bow.
Once I untied them, I realized how cute the design is. Did you have a chance to actually take a look at them? I know Prop 8 wasn’t even in the collective consciousness when you bought them, so I find the inscription, HOME SWEET HOMO, to be a little puzzling. Is there something about Andy I should know? Did you find out about my little drunken incident in college? Or did you just not look closely enough when you picked these up in the sale bin at the dollar store? Either way, I think they’re fabulous. And I hope you don’t mind if I regift them to some of my favorite gays this Christmas. Somehow, I just think they’ll appreciate them a little more than I will.
All my love,
Annemarie Keep reading »
My sister practically clutched her heart when I first told her. “But what about the children?” she demanded. I shook my head, completely speechless. Now, I have an answer: What’s going to happen to our — at this stage — hypothetical children if I don’t change my name? They’ll survive. Keep reading »
So, let’s say your political candidate of choice lost last night…or years ago. If you’re driving a vintage Volvo that supports Mondale/Ferraro or you’re too distraught to cover up the McCain/Palin sticker on the back of your Durango with one that says MY OTHER CAR IS A ZAMBONI (I’m looking at you, hockey moms), here’s how to remove it completely. Because if ever there was a time for change, it’s now.
A friend call me the other day. She was struggling to figure out what was going on with her relationship of a month. He’d do sweet things, like post photos of the two of them on Facebook. Then he’d write curt responses to her e-mails. Normally, she’s extremely self-confident, self-assured, and successful in life. It was disheartening to see her brought down by the unknown of it all.
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Well, I did it. A couple of weeks ago, I tied the knot. Got hitched. Became a ball and chain. And got my own ball and chain? People make it sound so weighty. When we got engaged, it did feel huge, like this gigantic life-altering decision that was so…permanent. And it is. I’m not saying it’s not. But you know what? It feels exactly the same as it did before. Yes, it’s still weird to refer to Andy as my husband, rather than boyfriend (never fiancé), and when I called our car insurance to tell them we’d gotten married, they sent us a $13.14 rebate check, which will buy us about four gallons of gas or a week’s worth of coffee, depending on our mood. Keep reading »
I was so pissed off yesterday. My boyfriend (er, fiancé…but Amelia has already addressed why that’s the worst word ever) had to help some friends move. He called to tell me they were done and he’d be leaving in a half hour so we could hang out. Two hours later, I’m killing time watching reruns of Project Runway I’ve already seen and I’m starting to get a little mad. After my text of “Where the hell are you?” and his response, “Eating pizza” that was it.
Instead of exploding, I just got mega passive-aggressive. I work from home. It’s me and the dog all day long, so on the days when people who have real jobs don’t have to be at work, I get excited by the prospect of actual two-sided conversation. But rather than explaining that, I just ignored him when he finally showed up. Which, I’ll admit, it immature and not at all proactive, but it’s like I couldn’t stop myself. I was too annoyed to be rational and I figured that if I was going to feel isolated, so was he. Finally, I yelled. And he yelled back. Then split to take the dog for an hour-long walk. When he got back, we weren’t speaking. Keep reading »
I think everyone can agree that a long-term relationship falls into a pattern after that initial getting-to-know-you excitement stage. And while that can be comforting, predictable and secure, it can also be boring for the same reasons. As each person is going through the regular course of their daily lives, it can be easy to take your relationship—and your partner—for granted. Keep reading »
The other day, I was telling some stupid story about something ridiculous that happened in college and since my ex-boyfriend was integral to the story, I mentioned that he was there. It gave me some pause because I realized that my exes come up a lot. I don’t think I’m unnaturally obsessed with them, but I’m also not going to sacrifice the punchline to a good story just because I’m scared it’s going to upset my current beau. (Also, I know he’s going to be okay with these mentions, because, duh, he realizes that I’m totally not hung up on these dudes.) Funny thing, though. My boy Andy rarely mentioned his ex-girlfriends. At most, he’ll be like, “Yeah, I’ve been to North Carolina. Asheville’s amazing.” And I have to say, “Who were you with, [insert name of one of his exes]?” Which he either confirms or denies, depending on his mood.
We’ve both hit the point that we know what’s in the past is in the past and not necessarily affecting what we have. But I do wonder if I should be more prudent about my hilarious ex-boyfriend stories. Because even though he doesn’t care, I’m sure he also doesn’t really want to know. Keep reading »
You know that couple—the ones who live together, eat together, exercise together, adopt the same hobbies and spend every waking (and sleeping, for that matter) moment together. Their codependency knows no bounds. It’s what Alex McCord and her husband Simon were criticized for on The Real Housewives of New York City (she brought him to a girls night out, for goodness sake). I know a couple who does all of that on top of working together—they pack the same lunch every day and commute to the office together, both of them working extra hours if one of them has to go in early or stay late. It’s nuts, and I couldn’t do it—and, frankly, after two years of this, I’m not sure how they do it without strangling each other. They must end up talking about the same things over and over again because they have no other frame of reference besides the one they’re experiencing together.
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