Snapped at your boyfriend because he forgot to take out the trash? Argued over whether to watch “American Idol” or the Bulls game? You’re not alone — couples average 2,455 of those little spats each year. That’s according to a survey of 3,000 people conducted by home insurance company Esure, which found that couples bicker up to seven times per day about everything from household chores to how to raise the kids. The UK’s Daily Mail didn’t get into the specifics of who those 3,000 people were, but regardless, I found the results pretty surprising. I lived with my ex for four-and-a-half of the almost five years we were together and while we certainly bickered, I really don’t think we came close to averaging seven spats a day. I mean, maybe on days when we were profoundly annoyed with each other, but that wasn’t often enough to greatly skew our average. Maybe the study or participants view “bickering” as any difference in opinion or position whatsoever? What do you think? Does this survey accurately reflect how much you and current or previous significant others bickered? [Daily Mail UK] Keep reading »
The thing that cracks me up the most about these ads for Sugar Sugar, an online dating site that matches younger women with older, weathy men, is that these are so obviously stock images of young couples. The guys’ hair has just been badly photoshopped to look grey. These dudes, to quote one blogger, look “very (very) premature gray-blue … with the skin of a 26-year-old” — likely not representative of the actual sugar daddies the site has to offer. [via Lonely Sandwich] Keep reading »
I love Oprah. I’ve been watching her since I was a pimply teenager looking for diet tips and ways to attract a boyfriend. My dream was to become a journalist and interview newsmakers and celebrities just like she does. I wound up a TV news producer and writer and — although I never got my own show or theme song — I thank Oprah for motivating me.
O and I have been through a lot together. Big hair, shoulder pads, and several body types. We’ve also taken a spiritual journey as we grew up and began to recognize the world outside ourselves. The cynical will snicker, but I believe she encouraged me to be a better person. Her shows prompted me to read great books, be more generous with time and money, and better understand my fellow man.
When I heard it was her last season, I wanted to make the pilgrimage to my hometown of Chicago to see her in person. I lobbied everyone I knew who might have a connection until I scored tickets. I booked my flight and shared my excitement with friends. Keep reading »
One of the more difficult parts of being single is having to field comments and questions from friends and family members who are inexplicably invested in your dating life. One innocuous question in particular can be hurtful, no matter how well-intentioned.
A friend recently vented to me about her personal pet peeve: she hates when she tells a friend about a really great encounter with a guy, and the person responds with “So, when are you seeing him again?” Keep reading »
This story begins with an answering machine. Which means that, yes, it happened a long time ago—I believe in 2003. I was at home in North Carolina visiting my parents, and on the second day of my stay, I plunged my key in the lock of the front door, dropped my bag on the table beside it, and hit the play button on the answering machine—autopilot reflexes I’d perfected years before when I’d actually lived in this house. The first message was obviously for my parents—skip. Ditto for message number two. But the third message contained a familiar baritone voice—Liam*, the guy I’d dated my senior year of high school through my junior year of college. We hadn’t spoken in the two years since we’d broken up.
Oh, that’s nice, I thought. I haven’t heard from him in forever. We should really meet for a cup of coffee while I’m here. Wait a second. How did he know I was home?
“It was wonderful seeing you two last week,” Liam said, his deep voice echoing through the foyer. “Thanks for the advice.”
And that’s when it hit me—this message wasn’t for me. It was for my parents. Keep reading »