My boyfriend and I currently rent the downstairs portion of his sisters house and she’s CRAZY so we’re wanting to move out. We had this proposition to move in with some friends of ours and I really don’t want to but he REALLY does. I don’t think it’s realistic for us to be living with other people and we need to start our independence as a couple but he’s excited because he’ll have friends around all the time and having friends is something that is really important to him and the rent would be cheaper for us. There are many pros to moving out with the friends but there are and equal amount of cons (if not more). How do I get him to see my side? – Two’s Enough
I realize it might seem a little early to start talking about the holidays, but as my local drugstore pulled out the tinsel and Santa hats before they’d even had time to put away the slutty nurse costumes and plastic pumpkins, I figured I’d get a jump on the season.
Whether you’re a sassy single lady or one-half of a love muffin; if you go home for them, holidays are a very special kind of hell. This week we’ll tackle some of the issues you might face and how you might deal with them without resorting to pie-throwing or sneaking off to the basement with the bottle of cooking sherry. Keep reading »
My new tall, dark and handsome boyfriend was standing across the room looking so fine in his shirt; I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was my pal’s birthday party and the first time I had ever dragged my latest man-friend out with my buddies. I wasn’t sure how it would go, yet there he was, charming the pants off them all by himself, busting out his A-material small talk with some friends in a corner. He was doing his best to impress. It was very sexy. He was going all out for me.
Meanwhile, I was at the snack table and before I could curse myself for leaving him to go in for another cheesy cracker, I was accosted by a buddy’s wife I barely knew, a bitch named Sue. “How old is he?” she pried. Keep reading »
Earlier today, we shared with you OK! magazine’s report that Angelina Jolie is adopting a seventh child, this time from Syria. Behind Brad Pitt‘s back. The story has yet to be confirmed and it sounds kinda far-fetched to me, but if it does turn out to be true, it’s interesting for two reasons. First, why does Angelina think she needs to adopt the whole world? And second, adopting a kid is something you absolutely, 100 percent completely need to have your spouse’s approval on before you go and do it. Similarly, on last night’s episode of “The Hills,” Spencer went to go get a vasectomy without telling Heidi. Luckily (or unluckily), he got scared off when the doc explained the procedure.
Here are 20 things you should discuss with your partner first. Keep reading »
A few years before I met my long-time boyfriend, he was with a woman he met in high school. They dated for about a year and got engaged, but it didn’t last very long. She had schizophrenia and the stress caused a long list of serious problems that lead to their eventual breakup. For years after, even into the first few months of our relationship, she would leave notes and threaten suicide. She dated his friend for a while and had two abortions, and after the second one she committed suicide. This was about two years ago now, and my problem is that he still has all of her letters and notes. I found them recently in our office; I even found a few referring to a pregnancy she may or may not of actually had terminated, if she was even pregnant (she was known for having hysterical pregnancies). I don’t want to be insensitive and ask him about the notes, which I probably shouldn’t have read, but we’re thinking of getting married next fall and I feel kind of strange having all of these notes from her in our home. I know it’s up to him to be ready to get rid of her letters, but is it wrong for me to ask him to get rid of them? – Haunted
Reader Amanda sent us this deep thought-filled graffiti. When we searched the phrase to see if it was a famous quote, we found that someone else had posted a photo on Flickr of the same spray-painting in Amsterdam.
I’m dating a guy I met on the internet. We have never met but we text all day, and every night we talk on the phone and so far it’s been great. He’s really nice, very attentive and we have even said ‘I love you.’ But the problem is that he is bisexual and cross-dresses a few times a month. I’m kind of confused, but at least he is honest — we have talked about it and he has tried to calm me down and explain it to me. But I’m actually scared and I don’t know if I should run or accept him for who he is, have fun with the situation, and trust that he is going to be faithful and that he really loves me, because at the end of the day he is nicer than most guys I have dated. I really don’t know what to do, and I have to decide fast because he is coming to see me soon. Should I run? Do bi guys cross-dress or is that something only gay guys do? — Internet Girlfriend
Our editor Amelia is turning 30 in a week and her essay on the subject really resonated with Frisky readers, both younger and older than 30. With that in mind, we’ll be reposting our “Before 30” series, which originally ran late last year, over the next few weeks. Enjoy!
From the time you were in pre-school and your mom picked your play dates, you’ve been building relationships with people. And sometimes, when you have things in common and get along with one another, you become friends. You might think that you have enough friends in your life, but really, can you ever have too many? Plus, you never know when you’re going to need a hand saw, so you better have someone in your cell phone who owns one. Keep reading »
“My parents are racist,” my Filipino boyfriend Edward said, sounding defeated.
My heart made a sudden jolt and then quieted down in my chest. I knew there was something off about this man. Our six-month relationship had been bliss—he was funny, whip smart, and, well, perfect. His quips matched mine and what he lacked in social skills he made up for with his love of conspiracy theories and the ability to play eight instruments. He wrote me two songs and told me that when he looked at me, he heard music. I should have guessed that all his wonderful traits were overcompensating to make up for his family.
“Trust me; I’ve tried to talk to them. But they are stuck in their ways. They grew up in another time,” he said. “It was different when they came here from the Philippines 30 years ago. “
A California native and newcomer to New York City, I had never personally met any civilized people who were openly racist. When I thought of hate-spouting rhetoric, my mind instantly conjured up images of inbred monsters with a love of banjos and moonshine in Kansas during the 1940s—not an elderly Filipino couple in New Jersey in 2009.
I could think of reasons why a significant other’s parents wouldn’t like me, but color was never one of them. Yes, I blurted out random thoughts whenever I pleased, mostly of the unsolicited advice variety. I could be argumentative and was always positive I was right. I bit my nails. I left toothpaste smeared in the sink. But how could anyone dislike me not knowing these little things?
I glanced over to see Ed staring at me with apologetic eyes. What started out as a lovely morning in my sunlit Queens bedroom was turning into a nightmare from a made-for-TV movie. “Well how bad are they?” I asked, trying to sound optimistic. “I mean there’s the KKK and then there is Archie Bunker.”
“It’s pretty bad,” he said. “They think dating someone black is downgrading. They say I shouldn’t date anyone darker then a paper bag. They would prefer me to date someone either my own race or a white girl. I’ve tried to explain to them that interracial children are genetically superior to single-race kids.” He gave me a sheepish grin.
I pictured Ed going on a Darwinian rant to his religious folks. I struggled with what to say next, contemplating my skin’s proximity to an item used to hold groceries. Cruel words formed in my mouth as I held back the urge to yell. My family is pretty much like the Obamas. My dad has a master’s degree and a good government job. My Creole mother is a registered nurse for a plastic surgeon. My younger brother is studying to be a doctor. My mom and dad were constantly kissing and hugging each other, and I only heard my mom and dad argue once. I talked to my mom almost every day and my dad sent me a text at least twice a week to say he loved me and was proud of me. I realized I was the lucky one. I had come from an accepting brood that would never pass judgment on anyone.
I glanced at Ed and felt suddenly sorry for him. “You have to tell them about me,” I said “You can’t lie. If you’re that embarrassed then we have to break up. I can’t be a secret.” Ed pulled me closer and held me. But I wasn’t so sure he would ever tell his parents about me.
A month later, he and his family went on a matchmaking get-away disguised as a church retreat. Upon arrival, he was introduced to every eligible purebred girl in the parish. When he returned from his holy adventure, he revealed that he had finally told his parents about me. “Every time I turned around, I was being introduced to a nice Filipino girl,” he said. “So I decided to tell them. They where dismissive, but they got the point.”
And all of a sudden, I realized that what his parents thought didn’t matter at all. I reached out and grabbed his hand. Our skin melted, and you couldn’t tell where his stopped and mine started.
Remember when I was all, “I’m turning 30, so what?” Well, I think I jinxed myself! After writing that essay, the days until my 30th birthday continued to count down, and I started feeling some … anxiety and sadness about the whole thing. Not because I’m actually sad about bidding goodbye to my 20s — they were fun, but not that fun — but because so many of my friends have already hit the big 3-0 and I’m feeling woefully distant from them these days. Keep reading »