Recently my husband and I went on a double date. We met my friend Kate and her husband Bear, at a German Beer Hall. I hadn’t met Bear, and I always find meeting a friend’s partner interesting. Kate seemed to come to life in Bear’s presence. He is upbeat but sensible, she is witty and wildly imaginative. She is small and brunette, he is big and blond. They are a physical yin and yang. And even though there was plenty of room on the bench, they sat close, Kate in the nook of his arm. Keep reading »
When I was fresh out of college, I worked at an egg donation agency, which paired egg “donors” with potential parents willing to shell out a lot of money for the possibility of having children. At parties, when I was asked what I did for a living, it was inevitable that a group of girls would gather around, asking questions. Everyone had seen those ads on the bus—“$7,000 to donate your eggs!”—and this was 2008, when the economy was digging itself deeper into a recession. In fact, the whole reason I’d taken this gig was because the egg donation business was booming while there was a serious lack of jobs in my field for recent grads. Keep reading »
Why is it so freaking hard to go without makeup? What exactly am I afraid will happen if I don’t smear on some foundation and douse my lashes in mascara before going to a bar—or even, geesh, before getting coffee in the morning? You’d think I’d be over this by now. I’m a 24-year-old woman who is married and generally happy with the way I look. So why, when I think about not wearing makeup, does a voice inside of me scream, “Noooooooooo!”
A year ago, I decided to explore this. So I challenged myself to go without makeup for a week. But I wasn’t about to do it alone—I’m not that naive—so I blasted e-mails to fellow bloggers, challenging them to do the same. The project was called No Makeup Week and the idea was to blog about our makeup free experiences, submitting photos of ourselves as we went. As news of the project spread online, so did the photos of my unpainted face. (That’s me, sans makeup, above.) And after a few days, it started to feel comfortable. I even (randomly) went on Korean television to talk about the project. At that point, I was more embarrassed about the cameraman shooting the contents of my makeup bag, with its dirty lipsticks and used up eyeshadows, than I was about him capturing my makeup-less face.
And yet one year later my gut reaction of “nooooooooo!” is still there.
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I never went out specifically looking for bisexual boyfriends. But most of the guys I ended up dating just happened to be bisexual. Almost everyone has a type—the bad boy, the lumberjack, the math nerd. For me, I have always liked bi guys.
Maybe it’s because I grew up in the ‘90s, a strange time when gender variance suddenly became cool. Kurt Cobain was bi, Billy Joe Armstrong was too—there was a certain punk rock chic to it. And as if magically timed to correspond with a ‘90s nostalgia trip, bisexual men have been in the news a lot lately, thanks to a recent study from Northwestern University proving that bi men do exist, after all. Also I’ve recently been spending way too much time watching “gay chicken” videos on YouTube — a game in which two straight guys make out and whoever pulls away first is the chicken. Mmmm.
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Recently, while sitting in the kitchen as a friend helped me dye my hair, the topic turned to death. We had both experienced close friends dying in our early twenties, and we were discussing how we dealt with it. I sat facing away from her, as she checked the foils on my hair. “I just have to think that they are in a better place, in heaven,” she said.
I thought about those words for a minute. Then I replied, “For me, it soothes me to know there is no after-life. Like, there is completion in it. They are gone, that was their life, and it’s okay. I don’t have to worry about seeing them again. It’s been helpful to really process their death and know they are gone.”
My friend was intrigued. “I’d never thought about it that way,” she said.
The truth was I hadn’t always either. I identify as an atheist now. But I haven’t always. Keep reading »
Groupies aren’t usually seen as a positive force for women—the word has never exactly been associated with feminism. But groupies strike me as women who are owning their desires and getting what they want. There have been quite a few famous groupies over the years, but they still aren’t celebrated. And yet, as the fantasy of “Almost Famous” shows, we are intrigued. Here, a celebration of the most famous rock groupies and how they have evolved from the gypsy hippie girls of the 1960s to the pink haired Tumblr princesses of today.