Holiday parties are like the highlight of the work year. You get to wear a cocktail dress, drink on your company’s dime, and take advantage of your annual get-out-of-embarrassment free card. On a good night, that includes busting out some dance moves, eating your fill of mini quiche, and getting just sloshed enough to make out with someone by the light of the copy machine. On a bad night, this includes insulting the CEO (who you didn’t know was the CEO because you were just an intern) and hiding in the bathroom of the Four Seasons for the rest of the night. True story, but one for another time. For now, I just want to make sure that should you choose to hook up in work territory, that you do it carefully. Canoodling with co-workers can be very dangerous. But isn’t that half the fun? Here are the eight guys you should and shouldn’t get with at the holiday party.
The last time I spread my legs for a doctor (and no, I haven’t slept with anyone in scrubs), Lindsay Lohan was a law-abiding citizen. Somehow, I had managed to put off my visit to the friendly gyno longer than I cared to admit. A close friend’s recent alarming diagnosis post-gyno visit had fueled me into action. Oh, and my medical insurance suddenly had an expiration date. I’d just been laid off from a job I’d held down for the last six years, the lease on my New York City apartment was about to end, along with the dollars in my bank account. I was, in what you might call, a very large pickle. Keep reading »
Last month, my husband Jason and I had our fiercest argument ever. In our six-year history, I have accepted that occasional spats are part and parcel of every couple’s attempt to weave two independent lives into one harmonious fabric of existence. Even marital vows oblige us to respect the glaring reality of love’s peaks and troughs, as we openly recite “through good times and in bad” like an ominous premonition.
However, this bad time was as explosive as a nuclear bomb. Jason made himself scarce and I refused to speak to him for almost three days. After our respective time-outs, our cooler selves regretted hurt feelings and longed to reclaim the sense of closeness forbidden by our passive aggressiveness. After a long deep and meaningful conversation, our mess was sorted, apologies were exchanged, and our issues were put to rest. Life has marched forward since, but my spiritual side insists that there is a life lesson to be learned. Do inevitable outbreaks of oral fireworks light up the relationship landscape or inescapably end in matrimonial discord? Likewise, is there an acceptable level or frequency of conflict all relationships should abide by, or should conflict be subjected to a zero-tolerance policy?
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Oh all powerful, all knowing Timing, why must you insist on being so wrong? I mean, sure, sometimes you are right, like the timing on the various dishes in my Thanksgiving feast, or the the timing of Melissa McCarthy’s one-liners in “Bridesmaids.” But those are examples of timing we can control; my beef is with you when I don’t have any. Keep reading »
This week marks my third anniversary at The Frisky. (Amelia, where’s my damn cake?!) I know well by now the responses posts garner from readers — both “positive” and “negative.” Admittedly in the first year or so, aggressive or cruel reactions to my blog posts would surprise — genuinely surprise — and upset me. Despite my strongly worded, “loud” opinions in blog posts, I’m actually rather quiet, shy, thoughtful, and low-key in real life. By year three, I understand just what it means to put some of myself out there — whether it’s my opinions or my personal life — and how some people will react.
So I knew what I was doing, you could say, when I wrote the post “Oops: A Guy Asked Me On A Date & Laughed With Him.” I saw that piece as an awkward dating tale — er, asking out tale? — that are The Frisky’s bread and butter. I assumed, perhaps incorrectly, other readers would chime in with similar stories of guys asking them out and them responding in awkward ways. We’ve all been there, ladies, have we not? Keep reading »
I was afraid of falling in love with a gay guy. My sister diagnosed me with “homophilaphobia,” derived from the Greek roots homo, phila (which means love), and phobia. Even though it is not a real word, I had been dealing with it for a while and with good reason. I dated a guy who I thought was the love of my life for two years. On my birthday he confessed to me that he was in love with his (male) best friend from childhood. At first I was angry, then disturbed, and eventually paranoid. Every man I tried to date after him started to show clear signs that he was either on the down low or ready to bust out of the closet singing Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way.” Keep reading »
When I was 25 years old, I was in a band. It was a dinky little coffeeshop folk-rock band, but MAN it was fun. I had just enough skill to compose but not enough to accompany myself, so I made embarrassing recordings of half-formed songs, brought them to my bandmates, and we workshopped them together. You know how being the lead singer of a band looks really fun? Well, it IS. Seriously. Keep reading »
As a mixed up teenager, wrapping my confused head around the icy truth that life is largely comprised of befuddling disappointment with blips of surprising success, I turned to things like Tarot cards, “auras,” friends who swore they were psychic and astrology to help make sense of it all. By “all,” I mean my love life. Keep reading »
I’ve been a vegetarian for 20 years, and have been dating about as long. Being a vegetarian isn’t weird, and dating shouldn’t be, but sometimes dating-while-vegetarian can throw a bit of a wrench in the game.
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For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved to cook. And while I love cooking for myself, I especially love cooking for others. It’s one of the ways I feel most comfortable showing affection. Cooking brings out a nurturing side that, quite frankly, is just waiting to kick into high gear once I have a kid. Cooking makes me feel womanly and, by extension, cooking for a man makes me feel sexy. But cooking for men I’ve dated over the last few years, since I became single following the breakup of my engagement, hasn’t been as positive an experience as I would have hoped. In fact, it’s something that I now vow I won’t do until I feel a certain security with the man sitting across from me at the dinner table. Keep reading »