The older I get, the better I become at listening to what my intuition is telling me. I haven’t always been able to read when something is “off” with a guy, but I’m figuring it out. And thank God.
Take this weekend. I’d been messaging for a couple days with a guy from an online dating website. Let’s call him Empty Profile. We’re calling him that because he had a mostly empty profile. He wrote a few brief lines about himself, which didn’t reveal much, but he did post several pictures of himself. We flirted back and forth and Empty Profile eventually asked me if I wanted to get drinks on Saturday night. Keep reading »
Have you been watching every episode of “The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette” since way back? Us, too. Have you been just a little disappointed and confused and, oh why don’t I just say it, bitter at how much less shiny and magical actual romances are in real life? Us, too. Have you ever acted like a coo-coo bananas bird after a breakup? US, TOO! Well, there’s a new book out this summer called Love Rehab: A Novel In 12 Steps, written by Jo Piazza, a former gossip columnist for the New York Daily News, that combines all of these topics!
We get mailed a lot of books that you could classify in the “chick lit” genre here at The Frisky. Amazon.com ain’t got nothing on us! Most of them I send straight to the giveaway pile, but every so often I’ll read one (preferably lying in the sun, with my pedicured toes in the sand) that’s smart and funny and shareable with friends. Love Rehab is that book. After the jump, Jo Piazza answered some questions for me via email about her best breakup tips and her thoughts on current “Bachelorette” Desiree! Keep reading »
I seriously never thought I’d say this: I miss being engaged.
I don’t miss wedding planning, and I don’t miss being talked to as if, as a human with a ring and a vagina, I had no interests aside from talking about the details of “my” (so rarely, “our”) big day. I sure as shit don’t miss shopping for wedding dresses. I don’t miss getting Wedding Industrial Side-Eye because Patrick and I had, like, a wedding budget.
What I miss is the day-to-day experience of preparing to love someone publicly. Keep reading »
In fall of 2010, I went through maybe one of the lowest points in my life. I was dumped over IM by my live-in boyfriend (yes, that one) and due to a zillion circumstances outside of my control, my work life was in complete chaos. I walked around for weeks with a burning feeling in my stomach, unable to eat or sleep and in a total daze. I committed the cardinal sin of crying at work, and begged a doctor friend to write me a prescription for anxiety meds (I didn’t have health insurance at the time). I went to therapy. I bought self-help books on cognitive therapy to try and shake the shitty, negative thoughts that constantly ran through my head. I felt like a raw nerve with absolutely no hope of ever healing.
So I did the completely sensible thing, and bought a plane ticket to Barcelona. Keep reading »
Last night, I did something I thought I’d never do again, especially not on a random Monday evening: I reactivated my online dating profile.
I looked at the description of myself I wrote the last time I was single. I looked at the photos that I had thought best represented myself. I checked my months-old messages. I read the new messages that came in as my account had been re-activiated again. And all the while I thought, Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, what are you doing?
This morning, I deactivated it again. You see, I think I had just wanted instant gratification. Keep reading »
Two years into our relationship, Rick* received a verbal offer that would send him 2,500 miles away.
I couldn’t fathom how we could possibly have a successful relationship living such a great distance apart — even though I was the woman who’d urged him to apply for the job. He had asked me months before the job was even a possibility how I would feel about him splitting his time between San Francisco and Brooklyn. I uttered something along the lines, “I’m okay with that — as long as I don’t have to move.” But, once becoming long-distance became a reality, I suddenly felt abandoned. Instead of, “I’m happy for you,” our talks generally ended with me stating, “I don’t see this relationship lasting beyond December.”
I said it more than once.
Keep reading »
One is the loneliest number, worse than two …
Well, unless he was an asshat. In which case being a Party of One is just fine, thank you. Of course, before you can move onwards and upwards, you have to get your stuff back — whether it’s just a few pairs of dirty panties in his laundry basket or the contents of an entire “girlfriend drawer.” He’s not going to haggle over your cotton thongs (unless he’s a creep, instead of an asshat). But what about the stuff you accumulated together during the relationship?
Here’s how to make sense of who owns what following a breakup, after the jump … Keep reading »
“It was like I had to do something serious, something to cause a rift, that we couldn’t come back from.”
That was my friend Caitlin*. She stopped me dead in my tracks. We were walking off brunch last Sunday afternoon, a brunch filled with sharing our mutual dating tales and reminiscing about our past relationships that brought us to where we are today. Caitlin started telling me for the first time about her ex-boyfriend, a guy she had been with for four years in her late teens and early-20s. They’d fallen in love, moved in together and settled down seemingly happily. Then Caitlin started to feel anxious. She was too young to settle down. She wanted to “go out.” She wanted to have more life experiences that didn’t necessarily involve him. It wasn’t that he was doing anything wrong; in fact, she still recalled him sweetly. So she started to sabotage the relationship, to hurt him so badly that they had to break up.
She had carpetbombed the relationship. She needed to carpetbomb the relationship. Keep reading »
I made decision when I was a young adult on the kind of regrets I’d try to have: I want to regret only the things I did do, not the things I didn’t. So far it’s worked out just as I’ve hoped. I have never had to look back and wish I had fallen deeply in love, or traveled around Europe when I was young, or quit a steady job to freelance write fulltime, because I’ve done all of those things. I’m proud that I have very few regrets about things in my life I have done — very, very few, like, I’m struggling to think of examples now. But as each month brings more and more distance between myself and a devastating heartbreak I suffered with the guy I wanted to spend my life with, one regret is becoming pronounced. I look back now and I’m not proud of all the small compromises that I made for him without, I think, getting as much as I should have in return. Keep reading »