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Is Our Facebook Romance Real?

The guy I lost my virginity to found me on Facebook a few months ago. I opened my inbox to read, “Is this Teri? If so, hit me back.” It was an absurdly casual message, as if he had no idea I associated him with puking from anesthesia in the parking lot of an abortion clinic. The shock I felt when I saw the name Jeffery* in my inbox is a testament to how successful I had been at forgetting everything that happened between us. Keep reading »

Sharing A Bed With Your Ex

“You’re doing what?”

I heard that a lot in the spring of 2007, whenever I explained to friends that I had broken up with my Nathan, boyfriend of four years, yet we were still living together in the apartment we’d shared for the last two. It was a temporary matter, I’d say, a situation that would last about a month or two, until we found our own places. Keep reading »

Why Men Need You To Groom Them

Women, take note: when the appearance of men’s toenails suggest that we are either vying for a Guinness World Record — or preparing for an underground cage fighting match — feel free to mention that they’ve gotten a tad long. We don’t mind. Keep reading »

I’m The Inside Spoon And I’m A Dude

Over the years, I’ve admitted to a lot of embarrassing things. I told you, dear reader, that I work for a ladies magazine, I have been known to have my back waxed and that I use Facebook responsibly (using anything responsibly is a buzz-kill for a crazy mo-fo like me). But the most embarrassing thing I could think to write about today is that I enjoy being on the inside of a spoon and I’m a dude. Keep reading »

Living Alone And Loving It

Here are the things I know for sure: I sleep better with socks on; I prefer Dutch chocolate to Swiss; I look lousy in black and will always wear it anyway; and I will never, ever live with a man again. Keep reading »

My Friends Don’t Get My Relationship

A few weekends ago, my girlfriends and I decided to have a drink night. For most girl crews, drink night usually starts out with a few friendly cocktails and pointless compliments on each other’s outfits (the question, “oh my god where did you get that?” is a surefire sign that you need a few more drinks in you to make the night more interesting). Soon enough those friendly cocktails ended up being more than a few harshly honest pitchers as we started to commence into the dirty ritual every woman has been guilty of enjoying: talking crap about other girls. From “she’s way too tubby to be wearing that,” to, “he’s way too hot to be doing her,” we ranted on and on as if we were Perez on The View. We were cruising No Mercy Street. Eventually we started to soften up as we got onto the subject of our good friend Jesse, who had broken up with her more-than-perfect boyfriend Jeremy. It had turned out that Mr. Perfect had been cheating on her for six months with his hometown friend. Keep reading »

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