Women can frequently be heard exclaiming, “I love her like a sister!” I shake my head. No, you can’t love your best friend like a sister. A sister’s love is separate from any other kind of love. A sister knows not only your entire history, but also what your thoughts and emotions were at every milestone. A sister knows not only who you are, but also what made you who you are. Keep reading »
I think we can all agree that the internet has made it much, much harder to get over a breakup. Sure, you may have successfully erased his number from your phone, used his junior high football T-shirt as a rag, put away all your couple photos, ordered him never to call again, and cursed him to hell, but all of that effort is almost a waste considering he’s just a click of the mouse away.
After a while, though, watching how he’s growing in the midriff via Facebook photos loses its luster. You already know almost everything about him anyway, after all that time you spent/wasted. But what about his new girlfriend? She’s someone to be curious about. Keep reading »
You are allowed to protect your baby sister so that she remains in a happy, giant bubble, far away from bills, landlords, and men, right? Right? It’s reasonable that she remain approximately 12 years old forever, arguing at the lunch table that the Spice Girls are no good, playing lacrosse, and dating nobody? Perfectly reasonable. OK, so maybe extreme eternal youth is totally creepy in an “Interview with the Vampire” Claudia kind of way. And it isn’t truly what I want for my own little sister, but recently I’ve found my protective-sibling-claws coming out.
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I used to get the back-home gossip from my mother. In the olden days, when “Men in Black II” came out, she was like a Greek oracle or a Shakespearean seer. With her job in the school district, she always knew what was happening with everyone. Charlie’s a plumber and about to be engaged to Samantha the artist. Bobby, who had that baby so young, is working for the fire department. Mom always knew how to deliver the news; she’s your oldest confidante. She knows that when you’re too old for that kind of thing, you’re still gonna cry when the last strawberry in the floundering patch dies, and about that boy who was soooo cute when you were 15 and gangly. When the news was bad, I was prepared before she spoke because of her deep inhale and too-long pause. After telling me the girl who wore sneakers to the senior prom was killed by a drunk driver, we stayed on the phone together.
Then came the “just the facts, ma’am” Facebook. Keep reading »
This month, Details totally lost me as a reader with an article called “The Lure of Dating an Ex-Lesbian.” The author, Ian Daly, talks about women who date women and then hitch up with men. He eloquently calls these gals “refugees from the isle of Lesbos … hasbians.” Interestingly, Daly’s research seems to prove the opposite of what his title implies. That is, that dating a “hasbian” is terrifying. He depicts dudes who date them as scared little school boys, afraid of their penises and scared that their clumsy fingers could never navigate the female anatomy as expertly as the women they’ve seen in lesbian pornos. Later, Daly obnoxiously writes that men who are in touch with their “feminine side” are more likely to date women who are “former homosexuals.”
I’ll save you the anguish of discussing Daly’s assertion that once motorcycle-riding, tattoo-covered lesbians “soften up,” they head straight for the penis. What I really want to talk about is Daly’s assumption that sexual orientation is super rigid. Keep reading »
First dates are always nerve-wracking—that’s a given. So many questions! Where will we go? What if I’m gassy? Should I let him pay or should I offer to split the tab? What will we talk about? Will he like me? More importantly, will I like him?
All valid queries, but possibly the most pressing question any of us worry about is, what in the hell am I going to wear? Keep reading »