Not long ago, I had a boyfriend. Now, I’m single. Again. I’d been feeling like my relationship wasn’t working for a while, but that hasn’t made the breakup any easier. I miss my ex, but even more, I miss the idea of us having a future together. At the same time, I’m getting into the idea of being single, and trying to embrace that rather than rushing to find someone to replace him. (There are few people I’ve had my eye on.) I’m reminded of “Single Girl” by Lush. It starts with “Single girl/who would want to be a single girl?” and ends with “I’m so happy I’m a single girl.” In the interest of focusing on the latter rather than the former, here are the top 10 reasons I’m happy to be single. Keep reading »
I flew out to San Francisco for 34 hours this past weekend. The trip was meant to be a day longer, but I had to fly home for a friend’s wedding, and instead of canceling the trip altogether, I decided to act like a rock star and do it all. Ostensibly, I was headed for California to attend CupcakeCamp2, but I also needed to go to have a heart-to-heart talk with my long-distance boyfriend. We haven’t been the best at the difficult conversations; there are a lot of “I don’t know”s and “What are we going to do?”s, and there’s never really a good answer. The last time I was in town our grand plan was to move to Costa Rica and be a writer couple with a pool and a maid. It’s a nice fantasy, but highly impractical and unlikely. Keep reading »
My friend Gloria flirts with everyone — even her cat. Seriously. Almost every time I see her she’s cozying up to someone new, even though she isn’t a perpetual dater and doesn’t sleep around. At my birthday dinner a few weeks ago, she asked my friend Sira if he wanted to lick some buttercream frosting off her chest. He busted out his cell phone and said, “Have you seen my boyfriend?” But it didn’t matter to her that he’s gay; she was flirting for the sake of flirting. Keep reading »
2006 was a year of unprotected sex for me. No, not every time, but I started off the year with a fling with a slightly older man I was besotted with, who didn’t speak a word about condoms, and, in response, I didn’t either. I wanted to trust that he had some magical knowledge that somehow I was missing, that maybe the world had overturned itself and they were no longer necessary. I was wrong, and after a pregnancy panic as I searched for Plan B — this was right before it was so readily available — I escaped unscathed. Then later that year I met a guy I fell absolutely head over heels with, sure that we were destined to be together. Keep reading »
Right now, I’m in the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in; as in, even though I live in New York and he lives in San Francisco, we’ve talked about where and when we could live together — and how soon. He’s met my uncle; I’ve gone to his family’s cabin, and I’m joining them for Thanksgiving. His mom sends me emails, and my grandmother sends me clippings urging him to stop smoking. We talk almost every night and end most calls with “I love you.” Keep reading »
Some women would be thrilled to have a guy who didn’t want head, ever, but not me. I knew one guy was not going to be a match when he gently pushed my mouth away when I moved to go down on him, saying, “That’s okay; I don’t usually come that way anyway.” To me, that was all the more reason to try! But he wasn’t offering up the statement as the start of a conversation; that was it. I didn’t bother expressing my disappointment, just vowed not to go home with him again. Keep reading »
I’m not gonna lie; part of why I wanted to see this movie is that it had my name in it. I didn’t read much, if anything about it, aside from seeing the poster, so I will tell you right off what I didn’t know until the film started: this is not really a chick flick, at least, in the sense of feel-good, “Sex and the City”-style romance. It’s dark and intense, and will make you cry…unless you have a heart of stone. But the humor here is highlighted by the otherwise intense drama (aka, a dramedy). It is a chick flick in that it centers around two sisters, whose bond is intense, combative, and holds lots of longtime hurt.
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I was newly on the rebound (read: heartbroken), and had been invited by a friend who knew the deal to a downtown hipster party full of sexy, artsy guys. I proceeded to immediately knock back a few free drinks, then flirt my way through the throngs of smart artistes. One struck my fancy, with his Southern drawl, earnest voice, and red hair. He was sweet, and super talented, and cute in a non-overpowering way. I knew he liked me, but he wasn’t putting the hard sell on getting in my pants. So of course I went home with him.
We got to his apartment and tipsily made out, and soon our clothes were off. I got on top of him and we started having sex. Now, I’m a talkative girl whether I’ve been drinking or not, and one of the places I love to run my mouth is in the bedroom. I don’t remember exactly what I said—the sex wasn’t that earth-shattering—but I know there were a few “That feels good”s and whisperings of his name. I’d thought he was having just as good a time as I was, until we talked the next day. Keep reading »
Last year, I had sex with a grandfather. That sounds bad, but I didn’t know he was a grandpa until after we’d done it. Plus, he’s a good thirty years younger than my own grandfather. But still, at 53, he had two kids and a baby granddaughter, while at 32, I’m itching to give birth to my own babies. When he confessed his real age to me over lunch following our hotel-room hookup (he’d told me he was 48), I assured him that I didn’t mind.
And at first, I didn’t. Part of what attracted me to him was that he was mature. He owned his own home, had a secure job. His life wasn’t as precarious as the other guys I’d recently dated. He seemed steady and solid, thoughtful, and I liked the idea of him presiding over a family. It made me feel like he’d be protective and gentlemanly, but still hot. Keep reading »