I have a friend who came to the United States from Israel to sing opera. He’s kind and funny, and when he sings, the air fills and tingles with his music. But too often, I’ve seen him looking sadly distant. He married his boyfriend last year in Connecticut, but then had to put him on the plane back home. At the moment they see each other once every few months, meeting up in Germany or Greece, but then each returning to a different country, oceans apart. Because our federal government doesn’t yet have an allowance for the partners in gay couples to immigrate on marriage visas, they’re being kept apart. And it sucks. Hopefully, more legislation rolls in like what’s happening in Maryland now.
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A few weeks ago, a man attempted to insult me by telling me I suffer from “lesbian bed death.” Rather than get upset, I just laughed. Hard. The dude about whom we are speaking doesn’t know me. He has no idea if I have a girlfriend or how often I get down. I thought about how amazing and freaky life between the sheets is for me these days. I pictured my girlfriend wearing those thigh-high fishnets that I adore so much, tying my hands together with a black robe. I pictured staying up all night and not getting out of bed until 6 in the evening. Then, what this guy’s face would look like if he knew what I was thinking and I laughed harder than I have in a long time. Keep reading »
After I broke up with my sweet college boyfriend, a decent man who never ran me through the ringer, who responded to my bouts of recklessness and immaturity with compassion and sympathy, a guy who never did me wrong, I desired nothing more than desire itself. After years of slow and steady, I yearned for spark and drama. Conveniently, along came Matt.
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Lately I’ve noticed a number of commenters remarking or complimenting me on my willingness to “put myself out there” on The Frisky, sometimes scolding others whose remarks or jokes might end up hurting my feelings. The thing is, there’s very little feedback on what I write — i.e., about my personal experience or my decisions — that would bother me. (Criticism of how I write I’m more sensitive to.) Recently a fellow Frisky staffer asked me how I’ve learned to not care what people think.
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At this point, it’s redundant to dissect the various political sexcapades of late. But all that talk of cheating has many of us civilians looking over our partners’ shoulders. I think every woman cringed a little at the thought that Elin Nordegren, Tiger Woods’ wife, might attend the press conference held by the man that publicly shamed her, and cheered when she didn’t. The same cannot be said for Silda Spitzer and, for a time, Elizabeth Edwards, both of whom “stood by their man.” Now comes news that “Lost” star Matthew Fox might have cheated on his wife of 18 years with a stripper. What would you do if you were one of these women? Keep reading »
“I fell and really hurt myself. Could I come over?” I sobbed on the phone to John, the guy I’d just begun seeing. I’d been coming from drinks with friends and had slipped down the stairs to the subway, twisting my ankle, as well as badly bruising my tailbone and my pride. Now, even though I wasn’t physically hurt, I felt shaky and wanted to be taken care of by a potential boyfriend.
“Well … ” I heard hesitation on the other line. “Now’s not really a good time. What happened?”
“I fell on the subway stairs,” I whined pathetically, even though, in the back of my mind, I knew I was fine. I knew all I needed was Advil and a large bag of ice. I know I should have told him that. But I didn’t. Keep reading »
You’re flirting on IM and email; the phone calls are long and romantic — this guy seems too good to be true! But there’s an obvious catch: he lives far away. The solution: visit him. Seems simple enough, but hot stuff, it’s not! Sure, romance means always taking a chance, but before you run off to visit your long-distance lover, don’t get swept away in the fantasy of it all. As someone who has been burned by such a seemingly sexy endeavor, I implore you to check yourself before you emotionally wreck yourself. Sure, on one hand, he could be your dream man and a trip like this could be the beginning of a beautiful long-distance relationship. But on the other hand, it could end with you running home to cry to your gal pals about the vacation time and money you just wasted on a big mistake. So, before you, my friend, start booking travel arrangements, here are some ways to ensure you’ll be getting what you came for when visiting that out-of-town beau.
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Reader Claire snapped this in Rome, where she’s studying abroad: “I saw this love note outside of a middle school. They’re everywhere in Rome!”
Have you seen graffiti that’s kind of sweet (even if it is against the law)? Send your pic to email@example.com. Keep reading »