We all have pet peeves. We all have rage triggers. For some people, it’s loud chewing. For others, it’s people who point when they talk. But sometimes, even though our hearts race and our fists clench, we know we’re wrong. Or if not wrong, we know we’re overreacting. And it just doesn’t matter. We can’t help it. These things drive us nuts, and somehow knowing that we shouldn’t get upset only makes us more angry. Read more on Cracked…
Last week, my mom and I were on one of our regular “dates,” headed to see the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit at Discovery Times Square. Times Square is definitely an area of NYC that most New Yorkers try to avoid unless necessary — it’s overrun with tourists, who make it difficult to get to your destination. I figured I’d get over the annoyance, like I usually do. Boy was I wrong!
As we made our way across a busy and crowded 45th Street, a woman about my age shoved me out of her way. Without thinking, I shoved her back. And she shoved me again. At this point — and I’m assuming here, as I don’t remember consciously making any of the decisions that follow — I reached out for her with my right hand and began swinging my rather large and heavy handbag at her head. I don’t recall deciding to hit her with my bag; I just remember seeing my bag fly at her head and thinking: Oh, good idea! Keep reading »
About a month ago I was standing in a sandwich shop near my office and my mind went to the place it usually does, which is wondering what I would do if Ex-Mr. Jessica walked in. His office is only 10 blocks away from my own, so there is a very real possibility we may run into each other by accident sometime. I looked at the men dressed the same way he would dress — glasses, dress shirt, slacks, an iPod — and imagined him walking in.
And then I realized I wouldn’t have cared. I could nod my head at him and ignore him. I could even muster a small smile and a “hi.” In the day’s experiences, it would register as “whatever.”
And that release felt huge. Keep reading »
While discussing my New Year’s resolutions, I flippantly threw out that I was going to try to be less of a sarcastic jerk when talking to my husband — you know, for the sake of my kids.
Yes, it’s true. I have caught my boys — even the 4-year-old — using some of my own special brand of sarcastic quips or passive-aggressive phrasings, and it has made me wince. Deeply. Read more … Keep reading »
Mostly, I’m a girl who mopes when she’s upset. I’m not intending to be passive-aggressive: I simply turn inwards when I feel disappointed, sad or hurt. Like many women, none of those feelings leave room for me to feel at all sexual. I simply cannot compartmentalize myself like that. Up until recently, I would have added “angry” to the list of adjectives that are a personal boner killer. And then I had angry sex and realized, “This. Is. Awesome.” Keep reading »
If you ever met me, you’d probably think I’m a bitch. I wouldn’t argue. I like to yell and complain, and I never hesitate to tell someone if I don’t like them unless I think I can gain something by keeping my mouth shut. I’m volatile and can go off like a firecracker without a moment’s notice. I don’t go out of my way to be nice to people, but if you say something I don’t like, I’ll certainly go out of my way to be nasty to you.
My friends and family are used to it and somehow manage to enjoy my company. [Editor's Note: For the record, we here at The Frisky have never seen Nikki be anything but jovial and totally hilarious.] Once I let someone in, I really let them in. If I like you—or love you—I’ll do almost anything to make you happy or help you out. I’m extremely loyal. I guess, for my friends and family, the good has, over time, outweighed the bad. They are able to forgive the volatility and occasional craziness, so long as it isn’t directed at them. Since I only see my family occasionally and usually just get together with my friends on the weekends, they hardly ever see my bad side.
But dating me is another story. Keep reading »
Last week, I was in line at the grocery store. I had just finished a hardcore workout at the gym and was starving, so I popped in to pick up a few things. Meanwhile, my Blackberry was going off … emails, questions, work to be done. My mom was calling. My friends were texting about plans for the evening. And most unfortunately, the old woman in front of me was hell-bent on saving $1 on six cans of chicken broth with an expired coupon. Of course the checkout girl wouldn’t let her use the coupon—she smacked her gum and rolled her eyes instead. The old woman persisted in broken English: “One dollar off chicken broth! It say one dollar off chicken broth!” This scene went on like a broken record until finally the checker had to leave her station and get the manager. This process took no less than 20 minutes and the line continued to multiply. The voice inside my head started screaming, until finally I blurted out, “There are other people waiting here! F**k the soup!” It was the F-bomb heard ‘round the grocery store. I immediately felt ashamed as I looked around at all the other seemingly calm shoppers. What happened to me? Why did I fly into a rage? Keep reading »
So, it’s been a year since I got dumped. Frankly, I would not blame any of you for being at the point of thinking – if not saying – “Why the f**k hasn’t this bitch gotten over this yet?” I wonder the same thing myself.
There’s that saying that it takes half the length of the relationship to “get over it.” If that were the case, I would have another year and four months to go, God help me! But actually, I’m over the heartbreak. There’s not one ounce of me that’s still physically attracted to him. While I miss the friendship we had, the way he made me laugh, the sweet things he would do, like plate the dinner he made from scratch like we were dining at a fancy restaurant, and the fun we had traveling together, I don’t miss him as my boyfriend at all. That feels so amazing, I cannot even tell you. I could do cartwheels! (If I could do cartwheels, that is.)
Keep reading »