Thank you for sleeping with my husband. I’m not being sarcastic. A few years ago, I would have been. I’d be calling you something far worse than “you.”
I only saw you once, back when you were still living next door to his parents. You were from Japan, he said. We waved at you, but you didn’t wave back. You saw us, I could tell, but you turned away. You weren’t sleeping with him then, but you had a crush. You always seemed to be having some kind of legal trouble – sexual harassment at work, problems with your visa – and my husband being an attorney was quite convenient. Sometimes he helped you with paperwork at your house. Once he took you to a seminar on immigration rights.
I didn’t suspect a thing. Keep reading »
The recently announced cast of “Dancing with the Stars” includes some unlikely picks—um, Buzz Aldrin?—but I doubt any of them trump my boyfriend Michael when it comes to dance floor incompetence. He is clownish and rhythmically challenged, prone to hip-thrusting, butt-bumping, and the occasional fist-pumping.
It’s a wonder I can even publicly admit this, considering my dancing past. A musical theater junkie and eldest daughter of four spotlight-loving girls, I grew up with a very distinct idea of my dream dance partner/boyfriend: He would be suave, strong, and graceful, and oozing with old-fashion charm. Keep reading »
A few weeks ago I found myself in a peculiar situation. But first, let me give you some background.
I live in New York City but grew up in Akron, Ohio, which is located in a region where landscapes switch between cement tundra and golden cornfields as quickly as one pop song flips to the next on your car radio. In a way, this is emblematic of the people who reside or have resided there: we shift easily between modern-liberal and traditional-conservative thought (hence, a swing state). In my 27 years, I’ve seen this dichotomy play out in two key scenarios: the presidential election of 2004 and a recent trip home to attend my first non-family member baby shower. Keep reading »
Score (literally) for the women of today. A new study shows that even though our mothers didn’t have to worry about STDs, body hair, or even clothes, that we are getting laid way more than those hippies. A survey of 3,000 women revealed that women between the ages of 18 and 24 had on average 5.65 partners in the last 10 years while those free lovers of the 1960s only had about 1.67. In the 1970s that number jumped to 3.72—blame it on Our Bodies, Ourselves?—and in the 1990s it climbed to just under five. So what’s up with that? Are women getting hornier, or is the sexual revolution just running amok in our genitals? [Daily Mail] Keep reading »
Last week I complained about the challenging time I was having on my latest foray into online dating. A little while later, Susannah IM’d to say: “You need to change your profile. And I am going to do it for you.” Oh, hooray! To be honest, I had been considering having someone I trust rewrite my profile for me, since I wasn’t sure if I was doing a great job of “selling” myself. Susannah was the first to volunteer, and, as she is rather blunt, I knew she wouldn’t pussyfoot around doing it right. After the jump, read my original online dating profile and then check out Susannah’s version. Stay tuned to see whether my luck with the fellas improves after being Susannified. Keep reading »
I stopped drinking when I was 29. I was tired of the consequences outweighing the benefits — tired of calling in sick to work, tired of hooking up with people I would have run from sober, tired of crying and throwing things for no reason. Oh, and did I mention I was tired of all the drama drinking brought to my love life? Sure, there were the occasional incident-free drunken date nights. But when men were brought into the mix(ed drink), I didn’t tend to remain the cute, funny little version of me. My usually-sharp wit would dull into a mushy puddle of need. You know what I’m talking about: “You don’t realllllllly love me! I don’t believe you love me! I need you to love me! Do you promise you love me?” Ugh. Keep reading »
After almost two months of not seeing the sun and living through constantly overcast skies, things are finally starting to brighten up here in Paris, and it’s made a crazy difference in my life. I’m seriously considering relocating during the winter months to a warmer climate—this year taught me a crazy lesson in seasonal depression.
Maybe it was daylight savings time this weekend (NOTE—Oops, it took me a while to figure out that DST doesn’t happen here until next week. I was off by an hour for a whole day!), but all of a sudden I feel like things are moving really quickly, almost in such a way that I feel like I’m already at the finish line (wherever that may be) looking back. This past week went by in a flash. My parents were in town, which meant living on an intense tourist schedule, ushering them around the Louvre and through the crowded streets of Montmartre, plus getting us to London for the weekend and back. Exhausting! This visit was weird because it was really the first time I’d ever hosted my parents and been living in a world that was entirely different from theirs … Keep reading »