Before my husband was my husband, he was my ex-boyfriend. I was a commitment-phobe who wanted to continue seeing other people. He, meanwhile, was more of a traditionalist, with no interest in an open relationship. Many of my past relationships had fallen apart for this very reason. This one was no different.
Still, I felt bad turning Michael away from my 25th birthday party, a gathering of close friends at a bar on the Upper East Side. We had parted amicably. Keep reading »
I rolled out of bed to pee. I shuffled past the roaring wood stove, into my snow boots and towards our one and only bathroom—the outdoors. After leaving New York City, my fiancé and I moved to Montana and built a traditional yurt from scratch. It was a bitch of a task, but the outcome was a nomadic home surrounded by five mountain ranges. And this was our inaugural night of official yurt slumber. Yanking the door open, I stepped into what felt like a meat locker: pitch dark, minus 20 degrees, tree shadows, the hush of night. Bare-assed, bare everywhere, I squatted in the snow.
Letting my eyes adjust, I dripped dry. Wind blew itself in from somewhere—first small wisps, then full-blown gusts. It whipped around me, moving between my legs and up my back, alerting every pore, shivering my elbows and loosing my hair to a wild mess. As the wind continued, my whole self began to vibrate. Whoa. I clutched myself, trying to not fall backwards.
I felt aroused. Keep reading »
The breakup was amicable, and mutual in the sense that we were both slightly relieved it was over. Before we parted ways at the bar, she confessed that it bothered her that I always wanted to watch TV after we had sex. I said nothing and just nodded.
Why wouldn’t I want to watch TV after? It was on before and during. Maybe if she had told me that annoyed her, we would have jumpstarted a conversation we had failed to have. Because conversations about where the itch is and how to scratch it are utterly and completely necessary if you’re going to have a happy hump life with someone. Maybe if she had told me that, I would have responded, “Well, then, why do you have to have the TV on when we do it?” Keep reading »
When Patrick and I got drunk at the lake and decided to get married, we announced it to our friends a couple days later like the classy, plugged-in media power couple we are: via mass text message. Exclamation points. That kind of thing.
The congratulations came flooding in. A couple folks even called. It made me feel like the most important person doing something totally boring and normal in the whole wide world.
But the response I was really worried about getting, and the response that kept me glancing at my phone for validation, was one from my best ladyfriend Susan. I didn’t know what to expect, because I knew Susan hated weddings and wedding-related culture and generally always has a shitty time at weddings. How would she react to me, her best friend, shoving her into the center of a swirling, twirling wedding maelstrom?
“Awwww!” she exclaimed. “Awwww!” Keep reading »
A new study done at University of Michigan explored people’s post-coital sleep behaviors. To cuddle or to sleep, that was the question. And who falls asleep first? And what does it say about the relationship? We say: Who cares? Who’s sleeping after sex? We wouldn’t dare nod off afterwards and waste the best moments of in life in soporific unconsciousness. Blasphemous! Not to mention boring! And cuddling? That’s for people who enjoy having their skin get stuck to another’s. Not us. There are way more interesting ways to spend post-sex moments. After the jump, some other things you can do after sex if you’re not the tired, spooning type of lover. Keep reading »
I was one of the skeptics. Online dating sounded kinda lame to me. It sounded kinda like giving up. After all, I was living in New York, a city teeming with eligible bachelors. In theory. I wasn’t meeting any of them, but I was told they were out there. And I wanted to go on some dates. Grad school was calming down, I’d been single for long enough, and I wanted to check out some of those tiny, funky restaurants in the Village. I didn’t want anything serious. I wanted something to wear cute shoes for. I wanted the opportunity to flirt a little.
“Go online,” my beautiful and much more outgoing best friend said. Keep reading »