It’s happened to the best of us. We go on two or three seemingly perfect dates with the guy we’ve been obsessing over for the longest time, and then…nothing. No phone call, no texts, no anything! All communication ceases, and we’re left wondering what the hell happened? Automatically we switch into it-must-be-my-fault mode. “Was there something in my teeth?” “Maybe he didn’t like what I was wearing?” “Is it because I ate like a slob at dinner?” “Am I a bad kisser?”
Then we turn to our best friend for advice, and of course she proceeds to ask you the very same questions you asked yourself. As the cycle of self-incrimination continues, we realize we’ve taken the guessing game way too far, far to a point where we almost don’t even remember what the guy in question even looks like anymore.
Then one day, I got sick and tired of the blame game and decided to come up with my own reasons for why guys don’t call us back. Read more… Keep reading »
Before it had a name, I was obsessed with hoarding. I remember seeing an episode of “The Oprah Show” in the early 2000s where a woman allowed the show’s cameras into her home to reveal the unfathomable clutter inside. There was so much stuff that her family could barely find their way through the labyrinth from the kitchen to the living room. There were piles of dirty dishes that must have been months or even years old. Cat feces graced every available surface. The woman was a nurse or a teacher I think. How could anyone live like that? I just couldn’t understand how someone could let so much crap accumulate and do nothing about it. It made me, well, almost angry, especially because of how it affected her family. Keep reading »
A few weeks ago, we received the worst press release ever. Fleshlight, the purveyor of fine synthetic vagina-like products for men, sent us a PR pitch about getting dad “the best gift a father could ask for.” We think they were kidding. But we still needed to scrub our brains with bleach, then spray them with Lysol and Swiffer their tiny crevices.
Gather ’round, children, and let’s recap which gifts are totally inappropriate (or just plain weird) to give dad this Father’s Day. Keep reading »
A few weeks ago, on a first date, a guy told me about how watching his mother — a strong, intelligent woman who held the family together — made him into a feminist. Then he asked me what it was that made me start caring about women’s equality. I’m sure he expected that I was going to tell him a traditional “how I became a feminist” story: Dad hauled me to my first pro-choice march kicking and screaming, or my parents were radical separatist lesbians, or Mom was a famous liberal journalist and progressive ideals were in their blood.
Not. At. All.
My blood is the thick, viscous fluid of dirty martinis. My parents contributed to me becoming a feminist, sure. But it was only because as I was a young sprout blossoming into a beautiful flower, they were … kind of sexist. Keep reading »
The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. I am the mouse in this metaphor, Spontaneous Guy is the man, and the plan is to have “The Talk.”
Per Dr. Diana’s instructions, I carefully crafted a strategy to initiate the exclusivity talk with Spontaneous Guy. We had plans on Friday night to go to a friend’s rooftop party together, spend the night at my place, and take a long walk along the Brooklyn Waterfront on Saturday. Keep reading »
It starts early. Little girls give each other broken heart necklaces for their birthdays while boys have paintball parties. While boys are encouraged to participate in sports and group activities, us girls are pushed to more one-on-one activities like tea parties or making Barbies have sex under a blanket. Studies show that there are different friendship styles for boys and girls. In one, when middle school girls were faced with the prospect of meeting a new friend, their brains lit up in areas associated with pleasure and reward. Boy brains’ just didn’t do the same thing.
My “anecdotal evidence” from the field? Over the years, I could actually feel my brain light up when it became clear that a new friend would earn the title of “best.” I’ve learned that these relationships are just as valuable as any amorous one and that they do indeed have their own sense of romance.
For me, they also bring about a whole lot of crazy. Keep reading »