His emails are always filled with their/there/they’re mistakes, but you never say anything. A friend asks you both a question about, say, what’s going on in Egypt and you have a strong opinion, but you let your boyfriend respond. Date night involves watching a high-brow French film and you just nod your head politely as he explains the movie’s complicated message, even though you understood it perfectly fine on your own, thank you. You are also capable of assembling a piece of Ikea furniture on your own, but you ask for his help anyway, because it makes him feel manly. These are all examples of what journalist Liz Jones, writing in the Daily Mail U.K., would call Silly Me Syndrome (SMS), which “happens when a woman dumbs herself down so as not to offend the man in her life. It is something we learn to do at a very early age, because women are born smarter than men.” You know, “Oh, silly me. I forgot what nine times seven is again.” Keep reading »
Beware of guys named Chris, Charles, Dennis, and James. According to a new study from SmartDate.com, dudes with names that end in the letter ‘s’ tend to be “players”—their word, not mine. Guys with these names have more sexual partners in their lifetime than others—while the average guy in the study has slept with 5.2 partners, these guys have had sex with more like 10 or 11. Ditto for Matts and Lukes. Apparently, you’re better off finding an Edward, Dylan, Frank, or Jason—who, according to the survey, have only had a single partner. Unless of course, more experience is what you’re after.
Oh, but they did the same analysis on ladies’ names, too. Keep reading »
“There was (and still is) something wrong with me. And it’s the same thing that’s ‘wrong’ with pretty much every single woman in New York complaining she can’t find a decent man … We don’t know what we want. And so we want a little bit of everything, over and over again.”
Jennifer Doll’s words on the plight of the NYC single woman in the Village Voice last week have been keeping me awake at night. She’s right. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed that I’m rendered inert by my confusion. I’m stuck. Keep reading »
It’s time again for “Dear Wendy Updates,” a feature where people I’ve given advice to in the past let us know whether they followed the advice and how they’re doing today. After the jump, we hear from “Present Tense,” who wasn’t crazy about the pearl necklace her boyfriend of one year gave her for Christmas and worried he was going to give her something similar for her upcoming birthday. “I don’t want to seem like I’m not grateful, because I am, but I never wear jewelry and am not really a fan of pearls.” She said. “Should I just act like I like it and let him buy me another or is there some way I can let him know that pearls just aren’t my thing?” After the jump, find out whether she got another pearl necklace for her birthday or not. Keep reading »
My Tuesday evening ritual consists of the following: an hour and a half of yoga and meditation, followed by a hot bubble bath, in which I either drink a glass of wine or eat a Haagen-Daz Coffee Crunch ice cream bar, while wearing a mud mask and lisening to Dan Savage‘s Savage Love podcast. I highly recommend this entire evening routine. It makes the following day, Hump Day, that much easier. Keep reading »
I grew up in a small town. It was in the “heartland”– the middle of the country, yet everyone had twangy Southern accents. The town didn’t have much money or restaurants or people. But we did have churches. Churches in pole-barns, churches whose congregations were made up of only one family, churches in the hills with members who spoke in tongues and fancy churches with stained glass that told you to vote for George Bush.
All through my youth, I probably would have said I was a Christian. It was just the default. My parents did take me to church when I was little, I grabbed from the tin of sugar-cookies and drank dixie cups of watery Kool-Aid, but I had somehow remained a bit feral. Keep reading »