A new study found that when the going gets tough financially, we want to curl up next to the most feminine wimps we can find, whereas if we are worried about ailing health, we’ll run straight into the arms of a burly man. Why? Because we want the wimps for their nurturing qualities and the manly men for t
hey’re their superior genes, according to Australian researchers. Ahh, so the flailing economy may be to blame for the current taste in male sex symbols being of the more feminine persuasion. Sorry Russell Brand. Not that I’m knocking girly men here. I love them and I always have. Maybe this is because I’ve always been poor. I mean, I was a former goth. My first boyfriend wore fishnet gloves and guyliner. And he wasn’t the last. Feel free to make fun of me. [Daily Mail UK] Keep reading »
Out of all the women who got engaged last year and posted themselves on TheKnot.com, 43 percent received a public proposal, ranging from the guy who filmed a movie trailer to the one who painted a mural in New York’s East Village popping the questions. This led Slate.com to wonder: how did this whole concept come to be? Keep reading »
As a child, I always loved going to the dentist. I was not one of those kids who was traumatized by barbaric dental practices such as being put in a straight jacket during my cleanings. I adored Dr. J, the charming southern gentleman who only mildly scolded me for never flossing, who pinky swore he would never, ever hurt me. When I was eight, he had some bad news for me.
“Now darlin’, I’m gonna have pull your last four baby teeth,” he said gently. “You know how I promised I would never hurt you?”
I nodded, tears streaming down my face.
“Well, when I make a promise, I keep it dang it! If I hurt you, you don’t ever have to come back again. Deal?” Keep reading »
“I have to introduce you to my cousin Logan*,” my childhood friend told me emphatically one weekend when I was home from college. “He’s really good looking—if he were taller he could be a model.”
“… OK,” I answered with trepidation. I was 19, and my freshman year of college at a small, cloistered university in the middle of the Bible Belt was not going well. My stomach turned to knots. I was trying so hard to fit in without fitting in that it was driving me crazy. For some reason it felt like if I got involved with a guy it would fix things. Logan was 24 and seemed nice enough.
The problem was, I was a virgin when we met, and at 19 I was among the last of my friends. Virtually inexperienced, I felt it was time to get it over with. In hindsight I should’ve listened to my gut. Keep reading »
This weekend, I received a text from my good friend Cara, letting me know she’d run into my ex-boyfriend out front of a local bar. (The ex that broke up with me over IM and then moved four blocks away, because he’s a really cool guy.) Apparently the first thing he said to my friend was, “Julie hates me,” which I took as a half-hearted attempt to elicit sympathy and pity, and reassurance from Cara that I didn’t (no, no, I do.). Thankfully, she didn’t buy his act, and told him that, well, yes, he probably could have handled our breakup better (see aforementioned breakup-over-IM for reference). But did I really want to know my lady friend had run into my dumb ex?
Well… Keep reading »