Have you ever scooped a red jellybean out of a bowl, expecting it to be sweet and cherry-flavored and instead you’ve shocked your tongue with a hot cinnamon surprise?
Whenever this happens to me, I feel sort of betrayed – expecting something and getting something drastically different in its place. And sure, it’s one thing when it happens with a sugary candy or perhaps a soup (you expect it to be hot, but it’s actually a super gourmet, weirdo cold situation), but when this same situation happens with a man it’s bound to throw you for a loop. And that’s exactly what happened to me not too long ago – I was expecting a sickly sweet romance and instead I got a fire-breathing hell boy.
Let me explain. Keep reading »
There is that scene in Bridget Jones’ Diary, where, Bridge (as she’s called) lies on her couch, pajama-clad, bottle of vodka clutched tightly in hand, bemoaning the fate of an untimely death for a single person. She worries that if she were to die, alone in her apartment, it is likely that someone would find her decomposing body three weeks later half-eaten by an Alsatian.
I too fear the fate of an untimely “single” death. I imagine my distraught mother, overcome with grief, forced to go through my things. Her sadness only magnified as she discovers the true, mind-blowing total of my credit card debt, and then the small stash of “emergency” illicit prescription drugs in my bedside table. I can see her coming to the realization that I’m not the daughter she imagined, but her image of me will truly be shattered when she opens the drawer that I use to store both my vibrators and my financial statements. I can just see the horror pass over her face, as she realizes that her daughter was not only a bit too sexually adventurous, but also was unfamiliar with exactly what a 401K is. Keep reading »
Dirty talk is an acquired taste. Like oysters, or caviar. Sure, maybe at first bite, dirty talk can seem a little awkward, even unsavory to some. But like a kalamata olive, it grows on you. And soon enough you’re ordering Greek salads like it’s your job and dirty talking like you never owned a copy of Emily Post’s Etiquette. I am not criticizing such behavior. Something about glass houses and stones and throwing them. I dirty talk. I like it. I do it all the time. I want to hear it. There. I said it. As cleanly as I know how. Keep reading »
My new favorite show is called “Gavin & Stacey.” It’s a British show on the BBC about a cute guy named Gavin and a cute girl named Stacey who work and live in Essex and Wales, respectively. They meet when they’re forced to talk to one another on the phone for work. Finally, after six months of pining, they agree to meet in person. After much nervousness and baited breath and pacing and primping, they discover they’re totally and completely in love and live happily ever after, with only a few hiccups because of their neurotic but hilarious families and friends. Gavin and Stacey heart each other. Keep reading »
I have forever dated older men. Some by a year. Others by four years. Another by ten years. My theory came to be that ten years might be the ideal age difference. I felt five years older than my age, and men were usually about five maturity years younger than their actual age, so if I was 25, my ideal mate would be 35. We would meet at the figurative age of 30. It all made perfect mathematical sense. Keep reading »
There are few names that a woman should never forget. The name of the person she lost her virginity to. Her mother’s maiden name (for the security of her bank account). Chanel. And of course, the name of her First Crush.
Now I don’t mean your first crush when you were five in the sandbox. Nor do I mean your first crush in middle school. I mean your first real high school crush. The one that you had when you were a Freshman and he was a Senior. Sure, up until that crush there may have been a hot and heavy make out session in the back of the movie theater following some experimentation with whip-its. But this crush is bigger than that. I’m talking about the first guy who made you realize that you wanted to have sex with someone. That made you think about having sex with him. Even if you’d never done IT. Even if IT scared you.
For me, it was Dave Waldenberg. Keep reading »