I have a weird confession to make, but I suspect I am not alone. I read blogs written by people I don’t like. I can think of two blogs written by people I don’t like that I read daily — dare I say, almost obsessively. And I can think of two more blogs that I read once a week, also written by people I don’t like. Keep reading »
Let’s say you’re dating a guy and things are going great with one small exception — he has a friend you absolutely can’t stand. There could be a multitude of reasons you don’t like this person; maybe he makes nasty sexist or racist or homophobic remarks all the time and being around him just makes you feel really uncomfortable. Maybe you can’t stand the way he leers at you when your boyfriend isn’t looking. Maybe he dated a dear friend of yours and treated her like crap. Maybe he treats your own significant other like crap, but for whatever reason, your boyfriend is willing to put up with it. Does that mean you should? Even if it means watching this guy talk down to your man, belittle him, and say offensive things? Are you obligated, as a dutiful girlfriend, to spend time with everyone your significant other hangs out with simply because you’re part of a couple? Keep reading »
A new study done at Oxford University says that both men and women lose an average of two close friends when they get involved in a serious relationship. Why? Because we tend to have about four to six people in our “circle of trust.” When we get involved with a new person, our attention is so focused on our new partner that the time and energy costs us about two core friendships. The study also found that having a child or even getting a new pet can have the same effect. I don’t like this study one bit. I intend to prove it wrong. I vow to keep all of my close friends even if I ever land a boyfriend … or a kid … or a dog. But I don’t think my friends have anything to worry about for the time being. Womp womp. [Daily Mail] Keep reading »
“I almost woke you up in the middle of the night and asked you to take me to the emergency room. I thought I was dying,” she said with a wicked smile. “I swallowed more than 60 pills.”
Jerking her head as she talked, my roommate attempted to hide the gouges on her nose and cheeks. She had been picking apart her 24-year-old face for weeks.
I listened to her ramble on about how much money she’d spent on Adderall and cocaine. It was thousands. She seemed to take pleasure in her confession, lifting her sweater proudly, “Look how skinny I am.”
Finally able to speak, I urged, “You need help.”
“No, I’m good now. I was just in a funk.” Keep reading »