“Men, most of the time our goal is to have what we want when it comes to women … Most men like more than one woman. A lot of them would not want to admit that because that might not be cool, right? Most people don’t want to get married. Being married, that’s a responsibility. I always used to tell that to women. I don’t want a girlfriend because that means I’ve got a responsibility. I have a responsibility to call you. I have a responsibility not to be with another woman. I have a responsibility to be there on time when you need me. With her I was like, If I do what I normally do, I’m going to lose her. And if I lose her, I think it’s going to hurt a lot. Right then and there I knew. We were together every day.”
— Lamar Odom in Playboy on how he knew Khloe Kardashian was the lady he wanted to commit to. This makes more sense to me than most explanations men have given in the past about why commitment is so difficult for them. I think perhaps men look at responsibility in a more black and white way than women do. Part of being a woman, for me, is being accustomed to juggling my responsibilities and knowing that they change and evolve as I do. I don’t see having another person in my life as a responsibility, I see it as a gift. And I don’t need to be threatened with losing someone to realize it. [Huffington Post] Keep reading »
When a man gets into a relationship, he’s usually the last to know.
Women fall in love, men slip on it. Women gently twirl down the rabbit hole of love like whirligigs, landing on their feet in a land of wonder. But for men, love is a sudden minor concussion. One moment, we’re strolling down the street like a Pharoah in no hurry, snapping our fingers, whistling a jaunty tune. Maybe we’re leaving the apartment of a recent conquest early in the morning. Women call this the “Walk of Shame.” But to the male species, it’s called the “I Just Got Laid Parade.” Or maybe we’re just walking over to the beer store, smugly satisfied with ourselves for not immediately texting some chick back. Because no one owns the male spirit – it’s like a bacon-scented wind. We’re wild game you can’t tame, oh yeah. Then an ambush of unwanted emotions happens. Love is a banana peel. We wake up on our backs with a throbbing skull, swatting away clouds of mosquito-sized hearts buzzing around.
At least women look before they leap. Keep reading »
When I met the cute blue-eyed surfer who lived in my apartment building—we’ll call him Max—we clicked immediately. I’m a workaholic by nature, but I set aside my writing while he and I stayed up until dawn in fits of side-splitting giggles, thumbing through photo albums, playing music and talking—about everything. Politics, religion, sex—nothing was off limits. He even told me about his ex-girlfriend. She was eight years his senior and ready for marriage and a family. At 25, he wasn’t.
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Bad Band. Jew Joker. Sandwich. The Brute. AwwMike. Babycheese. My laundry list of discarded loves reads like a storyboard of comic book villains, each nickname a clue as to their respective fatal flaws. Anyone who knows me well knows I have a history of dating men who are wildly inappropriate for me. It’s been a quirk I myself was willing to accept, further proof of my fun-loving, devil-may-care spirit (this despite the days and weeks of sobbing and agonizing over wholly ridiculous relationships when they inevitably ended). Keep reading »