I’m not an addict, and I’m not an alcoholic. But as offensive as this may sound, I sometimes I wish I were, if only so I could have a language and a community to help me deal with what often seem like out of control urges—a structure surrounding me to help me cope with, well, life. But there are no 12-step meetings for people who simply have trouble getting up every day, who feel hollow and weak and unworthy, but who don’t gloss over those feelings with a single, predictable vice. Over the course of my life, I’ve certainly used alcohol, sex, shopping and food to help quell those feelings, and they’ve each worked, in limited doses, but eventually their effects wore off.
The thing is, though, my rock bottom moments don’t revolve around alcohol, though I’ve consumed my share, or drugs (I’ve attempted to smoke pot twice, and basically failed each time); sometimes it’s food, sometimes it’s sex, sometimes it’s shopping, but I fundamentally believe that the core part of me that hates myself in those moments when I’m eating an entire box of cereal, screwing someone I’m not that into, or buying a pair of shoes I don’t need and can’t afford, is the same impulse that drove, say, my father or grandfather to drink (both are recovering alcoholics). Keep reading »
I started having emotional breakdowns about a month into wedding planning. Sweaty palms, heart racing, knees weak, teary eyes, total immobilization. I would find myself staring at a web page filled with tiki torches or green bridesmaid dresses or centerpiece ideas, and I would just stop dead in my wedding tracks.
It became the worst when Patrick would ask me for ideas or advice. Two questions in a row about the wedding and I’d be a shaky, sweaty mess. All of a sudden, my mind was deluged with worst-case scenarios and paralyzing fear of judgment from others. How do you plan a party everyone has already been to before, but also make it the paragon of amazing loveness that super-embodies the perfect lovey-face of your wonderful and unique relationship?
Moreover, will our venue let us put party lights up and what if we don’t have party lights and we trigger Armageddon right then and there?!
Wedding planning is the worst. Keep reading »
Somehow I missed the first three seasons of “RuPaul’s Drag Race” during their television run. But the show found its way to me thanks to the magic of Netflix live streaming. Now that I’ve watched all three seasons consecutively, I think this reality TV diamond in the rough may be my most favoritest of all time. Why? Well, obviously because drag queens are fabulous. They are talented, creative, and courageous lady boys who can turn feathers into gold. And that RuPaul Charles! Dammit! I knew she was a Cover Girl, but I didn’t know she was the most inspiring human being to ever host a television show. She’s everything Tyra Banks wishes she could be on “ANTM.” Yes, I walk away from every episode having learned how to properly contour a jaw line or bedazzle a butt cheek, but I also leave with glittering hunks of wisdom. After the jump, important life lessons I’ve learned from “RuPaul’s Drag Race.” You’d better work, bitch! Keep reading »
At the risk of perpetuating the myth that there are differences between men and women, allow me to suggest one tiny little quirk that separates penis-enabled humanoids from the vagina-enhanced. Women think that men have manifold opinions about their hairstyles. This is not true. We barely have opinions about our own hair. Mostly, men just worry about whether they have hair or not. Then our thoughts become very mission-oriented. Shave it all or get a trim? Shampoo or shampoo AND condition? Goop or no goop? Blow dry or how does this stupid thing work or what’s a blow dryer? Keep reading »
It was my worst fear. I recovered from anorexia/bulimia and became morbidly obese. I lost and regained weight in a furious and uncontrollable cycle. I didn’t think I had it in me to try again.
But I couldn’t ignore how my health was deteriorating. My right knee constantly hurt and buckled, making walking difficult. I had osteoarthritis. While my knee couldn’t be fixed, I could slow down the deterioration and stave off knee surgery.
Enter my thoughts of weight loss surgery. Even if I could lose the weight on my own, it would take well over a year. I read that gastric bypass surgery (“GBS”) patients lost most of their excess weight within 6 months. That’s a no brainer, I decided. Keep reading »
Dear Ryan Gosling,
I just wanted to take a moment to say that I think it’s really noble of you to turn down People‘s “Sexiest Man Alive” title and let Bradley Cooper have the so-called “honor.” I mean, I can only assume that’s what happened because after a year in which you starred in three big movies (“Crazy Stupid Love,” “Drive,” and “Ides of March”), stopped a street fight over a painting, and inspired numerous internet memes, it just wouldn’t make sense to bestow the title on anyone else. Sure, People will probably deny what really went down, but I know the truth. Keep reading »
As my 68-year-old, Fox News-watching, Republican-voting father tells it, once upon a time you could compliment a woman in the workplace. You were allowed say “nice dress” or “you look nice today” and it was not a big deal. Everyone would smile pleasantly and go back to clacking on their typewriters. Then the ’70s came along. Hairy-pitted fists were raised and all of a sudden you were afraid to say “nice earrings” out of fear you’d be thrown in the pokey. Or, as the tone of his voice insinuated, you’d be accused of “sexual harassment.”
I wish I were exaggerating this narrative, but I am not: it’s a real conversation I had with my dad last weekend when we chatted about the accusations against Herman Cain. I also wish that the New York Times op-ed written by Katie Roiphe had not misrepresented sexual harassment as boneheaded-ly as my nearly-septugenarian father does. But, sadly, that really happened also. Keep reading »
When I was a kid, I thought “sex” was two people peeing on each other. Like, I imagined you got in a bed naked and cuddled for so long that inevitably you would have to pee. But instead of getting up to pee, you just “let go” and peed together, in the bed. This romantic notion just made sense in my eight-year-old brain. Keep reading »
Of all the many splendored joys associated with the holiday season, having a free pass to stuff your face may be the best. And of all the lip-smacking, gravy-smothered, “have another piece of that, whatever it is” holidays we have to look forward to, the upcoming Thanksgiving feast-ivities are both the kick-off and the kicker. Unfortunately, all those super-sized portions usually come with an equally heaping helping of expanding thighs, widening waistlines and rumps that go straight-up rogue.
Some people deal with their increase of junk in the trunk by wholeheartedly accepting they’ll put on a handful of poundage over the holiday. These people also own stretch pants and hooded sweaters they affectionately refer to as their “eating clothes.” Then there are those who make a preemptive strike against the impending avalanche of calories by subsisting on celery in between yoga-lates classes weeks before the big day.
But what of the middle way? The way that says you can have your cake (hell, the whole f**king thing) and eat it too and remain attractive to your preferred sexual partner? Here are 10 Ways to Stuff Yourself During The Holidays and Still Stay Sexy! Keep reading »
As a mixed up teenager, wrapping my confused head around the icy truth that life is largely comprised of befuddling disappointment with blips of surprising success, I turned to things like Tarot cards, “auras,” friends who swore they were psychic and astrology to help make sense of it all. By “all,” I mean my love life. Keep reading »