There comes a time in everyone’s career when you will quit your job. You will stand in your boss’s doorway, cock your head and say, “Do you have sec?” You will quietly shut the door. You will sit down in that weird chair reserved for guests and your boss’s jacket, palms sweating, and tell him or her that you have found a new job, or are moving to Sweden, or are starting grad school in the fall. You will tell them that you are very sorry, but the time has come for you to part ways. Your boss will accept this with grace and, if they are a nice boss and a decent person, a congratulations. You will make a plan for departure. You will leave the office that day with the weight of a million hours’ of shitty emails and bad vibes off your shoulders, completely, and for good. Congratulations, you just quit your job! Keep reading »
A note: There’s a lot of trigger-y, very heavy material in this particular essay, including descriptions of graphic fictional violence (in nightmares) and mentions of sexual violence. I included it to paint as clear a picture I could of what it feels like to have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. All respect given to those who wish not to read that sort of thing: You take care of yourself however you need to.
“Wild,” the film adaptation of Cheryl Strayed’s memoir, came out this weekend and I know I’ll see it eventually, but it’ll probably be with a pretty heavy heart. I never read the book, either, although I read Tiny Beautiful Things and loved it.
I could just about write a eulogy for the 2014 that wasn’t. In February, I started making plans to quit my job and travel by plane, bike, train, and bus all across the United States. It didn’t work out. Right now, I was supposed to be in Florida visiting an old friend and her baby and trying not to get eaten by alligators.
That was all for the best, as long as “the best” is held to a moderate standard. I’m glad I got to spend my year with my lovely boyfriend and work on our relationship. I’m glad I got a therapist. I’m glad I got off of medications that were doing more harm than good. I’m glad I started writing and ultimately got a full-time job doing it. I’m glad I live in a nice new apartment and have a pretty good idea of what my boundaries are and how to keep myself healthy. That is a textbook definition of “a good life.” Keep reading »
Tinder is a battlefield. Swipe left or swipe right, and within seconds you can find yourself connected to your crush of the week, or a “nightmare dressed like a daydream.” Or worse. A ghost, aka matches that never message you first. It’s a Tinder epidemic, since guys do essentially swipe right “at everything,” it could take hours, days, months for Mike, 27 to shoot you a “hey” or “sup,” (tragic, I know).
As a hopeless romantic, I decided to make the first move, with a little help from fellow hopeless romantic, Taylor Swift. By making the first move, I mean only quoting lyrics from her 1989 album. Every single track, one match at a time. Read more on Tres Sugar…
Men check out my dog more than me. I only wish I were kidding.
I’ve gotten used to catching unexpected smiles creep onto strangers’ faces while gazing at Henny (why yes, she does look like a bear cub). But after one of our daily walks last month, during which I passed four men in their 30s and noticed, with sinking resignation, that THEY ALL BEAMED ADORINGLY AT MY DOG WITHOUT EVEN A CURSORY GLANCE AT ME, I realized: something is changing. I’m changing. Keep reading »
One of the coolest parts of childhood is definitely all the toys. But as a parent today — especially a feminist one — toys can be one of the more frustrating aspects of raising a child. Marketing and branding has increased tenfold, and even kids who don’t regularly watch TV are aware of all the new toys, many of which are — at best, creatively limiting — and at worst, fairly sexist or even hypersexualizing. And with the holiday season upon us, the problem with kids’ toys is only brought further into the spotlight. Keep reading »
I’m 28, and have never have a boyfriend, and I do not find attraction in other people. I won’t say that I *can’t* find attraction in people, because there have been a handful of guys that I’ve fallen head-over-heels for, but of course, those endeavors have never amounted to anything. I get crushes maybe once every three years. Even though I date regularly, it is very rare for me to have “butterflies.” I don’t think of myself has having a wall up, or being too picky, or being “unworthy of love” or any of that. It doesn’t matter how “perfect” the guy is; we’ll date, and we’ll get along great, and I’ll like hanging out with him, but when he goes in for a kiss, I just can’t bring myself to kiss him because I just *don’t want to.* I see all of my friends having relationship after relationship, and finding genuine attraction in the people they date all the time, and here I am unable to feel the slightest attraction toward anyone. Is this weird, or am I just overthinking it? And yes, I’ve explored the possibility that I might be gay, in case that matters. No luck there, either.
It’s hard to give you my opinion because there’s so much I don’t know about you. Do you live in a city, where you see lots of new people all the time? Or do you live in the suburbs where you never meet anyone new? Have you lived in the same place for a long time? Or do you constantly travel? Keep reading »