The Twitter is abuzz about this Time article that simultaneously paints men’s attitudes about not dating women in their 30s as “caveman-era,” then goes on to uncritically give voice to a whole other set of stereotypes about women in their 30s by asking men why they do date tricenarians, as if the entire body of women aged 30 to 39 have had the same life experiences, look the same way, act the same way, are at the same level of emotional maturity, espouse the same attitudes, want the same things. As if women go from 29 one day to 30 the next and are magically POOF!ed into a whole new being, and these artificial lines we draw between one set of women and another are actually real. As if we aren’t all very different individuals who are given, in the very grand scheme of things, an arbitrary number to attach to ourselves that has to do with our planet’s relative position to the sun. Keep reading »
Where do all the manchildren live? A new survey from Estately, a national real estate search site, set out to determine which states have the highest percentage of males still basking in a prolonged state of teenage immaturity, and which have the most emotionally developed dudes. Basically, they wanted to tell us all where we should and should not look for mates. Keep reading »
Excuse me while I wander around the lovely landscape of cloud nine, because I had the best sex of my life this weekend and I’m still up here enjoying the high.
So, let’s bring it back a week. After my grandma passed away, my communications with Baby Face became more and more frequent. Before our date/catchup/death dinner we’d text each other a few times a day to flirt and shoot the shit, but since then things have certainly accelerated. We chat in the morning on our commutes in to work, briefly throughout the day via text, and almost always in the evening before bed (sometimes there’s even an actual phone call, which I love). Mid-last week, Baby Face asked me if I wanted to go out with him and a couple of our old college friends on Friday night after work, but I’d already made plans with some of my girlfriends. We decided to compromise and hang out with our respective pals individually, and then meet up later in the night, with or without the others. Keep reading »
Working with someone that you’re dating takes a special kind of mental and emotional fortitude, the ability to keep two parts of your life distinct, with clear boundaries. It’s hard in the modern workplace. We spend so much time at work, and workplaces are getting more and more casual, making the boundaries shifting and fluid. The temptation to let your relationship bleed over into your daily grind is easy, but if you’re a nice, kind person, you should do your absolute best to avoid this. It’s cool that you’ve found someone that you want to spend time with outside of the office as well as in staff meetings and at weird company lunches. That’s a special thing, so cherish it. In the words of RuPaul, “Don’t fuck it up.” Here are some helpful guidelines for how to comport yourself when you’re dating someone you work with. Keep reading »
I’m not going to lie, male friendship is a mystifying thing to me. Whenever I overhear dude friends having really personal conversations, I feel like I’m hiding behind a bush observing a unicorn. Most of my best friends have been guys, and specifically straight guys, but our friendships have always taken on a different tenor than their friendships with each other. Like, I know that guys can be kind of vulnerable with each other, but again, only because I’ve overheard it, not because they’re publicly open about it in the way that women are — really, are allowed to be. Keep reading »
I’ve had anxiety and depression for years, long before I started therapy and began taking medication under the advisement of a psychiatrist. I look back at my teenage and college years and see glaring signs that I was unhappy but didn’t know how to put it into words that anyone, including myself, could understand. Mental illness runs in my family, the most notable example being my dad, who died nearly two years ago from drug addiction, something that developed as a “coping” mechanism for his untreated mental health issues, if you ask me. I’ve taken my mental health very seriously as a result, as I’ve seen far too tragically what can happen if you don’t. I’ve been seeing the same bad ass therapist for eight years now and my prescription for Lexapro, an anxiety-focused anti-depressant, has helped clear the fog so that I can delve deep into the exacerbating issues. I think I’ve made an extraordinary amount of progress in that regard, though I’ve come to accept that a dull, ever-present level of sadness might always reside within me. In some ways, I’ve been oddly okay with that. As an extremely sensitive person, I don’t know that it would be physically/mentally possible for me to exist in this world, with all its terribleness, and feel completely happy. To me, the pursuit of total happiness is a blind one — to actually achieve it, you’d have to be just that. Blind.
With that said, I know enough about my brain chemistry to be aware of when I’m feeling an unhappiness that is outside the realm of what I consider normal. And for the last, oh, eight months to a year, it has become increasingly abnormal. Keep reading »