Most of us are happy campers after a roll in the hay, but sometimes, not so much. A new study found that more than 30 percent of women have experienced the post-sex blues at some point in their lives and about 10 percent claimed that they have experienced it often. Symptoms may include tearfulness, anxiety, irritability, or restlessness immediately following sexual intercourse. Researchers found the cause of the postcoital funk to be unknown. At first they thought it would be linked to a history of rape or sexual abuse, but the correlation was only moderate. So, you know what that means? There’s something wrong with us ladies if we’re not positively glowing after getting some d**k. No way! I can hardly imagine that scenario because sex is always perfect and never awkward. We never think that dudes suck in bed or regret sleeping with them or feel sexually unsatisfied or disappointed. And that never leads to the bedroom blues. Never. [Live Science] Keep reading »
On this week’s episode of the “Savage Love” podcast, a 24-year-old man called in to ask what he should do about his ex who always calls him to talk about her problems, but sometimes his calls or texts will go unanswered for months. He thinks they might get back together, yet it never seems to happen. He’s dating a new woman he really likes, but his ex seems to psychically sense it and has amped up communication. Dan Savage sagely advises the guy to “stop being her emotional tampon.” We’ve all encountered this man before, but until now, I wasn’t aware that there was such a fitting phase for his breed. An “emotional tampon” is a man who will always be there to provide a woman with the proverbial shoulder to cry on and be available for her anytime of the day or night to vent her emotional frustration, problems, and mental instabilities. (Thank you to John DeVore and Urban Dictionary for a more thorough explanation.) Guys, don’t let this bloody fate befall you. After the jump, 10 signs that you may be an emotional tampon. Keep reading »
So, you know, I have a boyfriend now. It’s pretty awesome. I’m psyched. I’m happy. I must be radiating blissfully coupled up vibes into the stratosphere because in the last two days, three dudes with whom I have had serious romantic feelings for, hooked up with and/or dated have come out of the woodwork after a lengthy absence and have tried to bark up my tree. It’s like Cupid’s Evil Cousin whispered in their ears, “Amelia is happy, fulfilled, and no longer interested in dating or DTF — don’t you suddenly want to give her a shout?” Keep reading »
It’s been a while since we last chatted. Last time, I was saying farewell to my 365 Days in Paris blog. Ending the blog was a tough choice especially because so much good stuff was going on in my life—I’d finished up my first year in Paris, was heading onto the next, and had finally met an amazing guy, “Henri.” But I just had a feeling that because things were going well that it was time to live my life offline. I so enjoyed hearing your advice and comments each week, and was pleasantly surprised to hear from Amelia that some of you had actually been asking about me. Moi? I’m touched. So, here’s my update for you.
I’ll start with the end: I’m not in Paris anymore. Keep reading »
The other day, my new dude, Juan, and I were talking about breakups. We both went through bad ones in the past six months or so and he has a female friend who’s in the drinking-and-crying stage of a breakup now. (‘Tis the season, I guess?) After they hung out, Juan told me he could still recall the sting she’s feeling right now.
“I remember how that is: feeling like no one is ever going to love you in the same way again,” he said. “You feel at that time like it couldn’t possibly happen ever again … even though you know logically that it will.”
When he said that, something clicked in me. That’s it. That’s the anxiety that I have been feeling these past three months after the end of a love affair. I have a complete willingness to get back on the saddle but have been feeling like no one is ever going to love me “in the same way again.” The feeling — for whatever reason — that I had only one chance at this.
Tila Tequila gets, like, 45 shots at love. Why did I convince myself that I don’t get more than one? Keep reading »