I have a friend who’s really cheap. She’s so cheap that she often deprives herself of something she wants because it’s “too expensive.” I’ve told her plenty of times, “You get what you pay for.” Lately, her cheapness has really been getting on my nerves because she often complains to service people, like waiters, about how expensive the food is. I find this to be really embarrassing because I don’t want them to think I’m like her — you know, guilty by association — and I also don’t want any “secret sauce” in my food. I’m one of those people who also believes you tip well since you didn’t have to do the work. On more than one occasion, I’ve ponied up more than my share in order to make up for her sparse tip. Today, I’m taking her to get a beauty treatment at a spot that I frequent. Should I mention before we get there that she has to tip — and tip well? Or maybe I should give the tip instead?
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My best friend in the world was attacked. Her ex, upset and drunk one night, followed her home and up the stairs to her apartment door. Before she could close it, he’d muscled it open. She tried to force the weight of her body against it, to hold it shut. And couldn’t. He came through. He chased her through the apartment, bellowing about what she “owed him,” and knocked her down. He held her on the floor, but she got away, running down the street missing a shoe.
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There is possibly nothing more soul-destroying than finding out someone you love is loving on another.
The first time I was cheated on, I was out at a club with my very first boyfriend. I noticed a beautiful girl across the room staring at him, then the band started playing, things got loud and suddenly my boyfriend was nowhere to be found. Oddly enough, she was gone too. Fifteen minutes later, I saw them skulk out of the bathroom together. Ouchie! Keep reading »
Yesterday, I had a major case of the sickies. I was puking continuously and by day’s end, the only thing I could keep down was some chicken broth and ginger ale. When I’m sick like this, I usually get under the covers with a bucket handy and sleep until I feel better. But I didn’t go that route yesterday. Instead, I called for reinforcements. My best friend, who happens to be a guy, only lives a few blocks from me, and he’s the only person in my life who is often willing to drop everything to take care of me. He brought over the ginger ale, kept me company while I worked, and caught my laptop the few times I hurled it at him as I hauled ass to the toilet. My best friend even seasoned my broth when I was too weak to go to the kitchen.
When you’re sick as a child, your parents usually take care of you. And as you get older, a significant other takes over for them, to some extent. But I’m thankful as a single woman to have a friend who has been willing on more than one occasion to nurse me back to health. Keep reading »
I was in Brooklyn exactly one block from David’s* apartment with about one hour to spare. I knew what I had to do. I sent a text before I had too much time to think about it: “I’m in your hood. Have an hour to kill. Drink?” I got a queasy feeling in my stomach. It had been almost two years since the last time I’d seen him … Keep reading »
Contrary to what your mama might have told you, “just be yourself” is not always the best advice. Almost all of us have something we’re insecure about, and while years of pricey therapy might eventually banish self-doubt, I’ve found that the best way to get over it in the short-term is to refuse to acknowledge it exists in the first place. What some call denial, I call common sense … Keep reading »