On the third episode of “MERRIme.com,” Merri begins an online dating “marathon” with Mikey and Rahim. She learns that a fashionable pair of sunglasses may hide her baggage but cannot shield her from a date gone wrong … very wrong. [MERRIme.com] Keep reading »
The first time I met my now-close friend Gina, she was rhapsodizing about her awesome boyfriend, Eugene. After a few minutes, I realized I’d already met him. But he wasn’t the sweetheart she was describing.
I was familiar with Eugene because the weekend before he had propositioned me in a particularly crude manner. I realized I had two choices: tell her what kind of loathsome dirtbag she was dating or keep my mouth shut in the hopes that she’d someday figure it out on her own.
I went with Option A. I told Gina that she could do much better than that jerk and blurted out the whole tacky tale. She was understandably upset, but appreciated my candor. I was lucky—she dumped him, but kept me as a friend. Keep reading »
“Some women are just happier in a relationship.”
As my shrink said this, my jaw dropped to the floor. Did she really just say that? The woman who had feminist literature on her bookshelf and never failed to induce a pep rally of self-empowerment at the end of each session?
We were, of course, discussing (OK fine, I was complaining) about my lack of a boyfriend, and inability to get over some of the ones I did have. For me, I surmised from my psychotherapy high horse, the issue was about loneliness and, therefore, about some childhood father complex. I thought I sounded smart; it seemed like something my psychiatrist would say herself. Keep reading »
I’ll never forget the first time I met the mother of a particular ex-boyfriend. We were vacationing together in the South of France (glamorous locale, yes, but not the place you want to spend a week with your boyfriend’s family!) and I was sort of stunned by the physical relationship between my then-boyfriend and his mother. I should say they’re from a different cultural background than I (they’re Middle Eastern) and maybe that was part of it, but they literally could NOT keep their hands off each other. They hugged, kissed on the lips, caressed each other. It was seriously bizarre. At one point, my ex-boyfriend’s mother even talked about his “golden penis” (over dinner!) — a term she said was some kind of figure of speech in their culture. Um, ohhhkay. Needless to say, it was trés uncomfortable for me and when we broke up several months later it was with much relief that I realized I’d never have to endure another mother-son make-out fest ever again. Remembering all this, I read today’s letter in Salon’s advice column with a lot of empathy. Read it yourself after the jump. Keep reading »
Reader Grace snapped this photo during a family trip to Paris last summer. “I live in a moderately big town in the northeastern United States and most of the vandalism here just consists of people tagging buildings or scrawling up gang signs,” she wrote us. “There was a lot of that type in Paris, too, but a good portion of the graffiti was worth stopping to photograph, including this one taken in the 4th Arrondissement.” Isn’t this stencil of famous lovers Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin magnifique?
In a recent Salon article, Mary Elizabeth Williams challenges the idea that women and men can’t be friends. Because, as you might know, there’s been a rumor going around that straight women and straight men can never be friends, since sex always gets in the way. Supposedly, the best options ladies have for companions are among their own gender (or gay dudes). As films like “The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants” demonstrate, female bonds are some of the strongest. But does that make male/female friendships doomed and worthless? No! Keep reading »
Compared with the rest of the Western World, American relationships and marriages are suffering the most during the recession, according to a recent international poll. Almost 30 percent of Americans said the recession has caused stress and strain in their relationships — or completely ruined them. However, only 23 percent of Canadians, 24 percent of the French, and 12 percent of Germans have had similar experiences.
OK, already, I get it. The economic crisis has really sucked. More women are choosing to sell their bodies or their eggs to make ends meet. Dudes are living at home longer. And next year, the Metropolitan Museum Costume Institute Gala is going to be downsized. Can researchers stop conducting these polls and studies without offering any solutions? [Reuters] Keep reading »
“Be careful who you cheat on” isn’t a famous, old adage, but it should be, because some scorned women go freaking crazy trying to get revenge on unfaithful spouses. Just last night, a 67-year-old woman in Queens, NY, woke up at 6 a.m., boiled a pot of water, and poured it on her husband’s private parts, leaving him with second- and third-degree burns from his knees to his abdomen. Oyinda Ojofeitimi told police she had recently learned her husband of 20 years had been unfaithful. “She was hurt and angry that after all this time married, he was stepping out on her,” a police source told the New York Daily News. “She wanted to shut down that possibility forever because he had treated her with such contempt.” Ojofeitimi then regretted what she had done and called 911, but that’s not really enough, is it? She has been arrested on assault charges. This isn’t the first time (and it certainly won’t be the last) that a woman has retaliated against her cheating husband. After the jump, a hall of fame for scorned women. Keep reading »
God, I hate the term “date night” and I was pretty sure there wasn’t a lamer phrase in a relationship until I read this article about one couple’s “trash night.” Trash night, you see is the time, twice a week (Mondays and Thursdays), when Therese Borchard has sex with her husband. It also happens to be the night the couple takes their garbage to the curb, quite literally. Therese didn’t plan it that way, but tired of her husband’s “constant begging for sex,” she asked him: “What is the minimal number of times a week that you need sex in order to be satisfied?” He told her: “Twice. Absolute minimum.” And she replied: “Fine. You get Monday and Thursday. If you don’t beg any other night.” It was only later than it occurred to her that Mondays and Thursdays happen to be trash night in their neighborhood, the evening everyone hauls their garbage to the curb before it’s collected at 5 a.m. the next morning. Keep reading »