On my very first date with my boyfriend, I didn’t know if he was going to kiss me. I didn’t know yet that he loves Concord grapes, plays the saxophone and has never seen a Woody Allen movie. But I did know for certain that I wanted this person with whom I’d just eaten dinner to be in my life, somehow. I remember sitting across from him at a table in a Portuguese restaurant, smiling, and thinking, “Whatever happens after this date, I really hope we become friends. You’re cool.”

Flash forward six intense, crazy-in-love months and this man is not only boyfriend—he is my closest friend now, too, the one who knows everything about what goes on with my family, what goes on at work, what weird dreams woke me up in the middle of the night.

And I’m not entirely sure that’s a good thing.

Yesterday, as I was about to get in my usual train car (I’m a creature of habit), I noticed something was amiss. There was a large crowd of about 50 teenagers hovering over two girls who were beating the crap out of each other. This wasn’t your usual hair-pulling-and-scratching kind of girl fight. These girls would have made even the most hardened UFC fighters cringe, as they punched, kicked, and slammed each other. The funny thing is that when they arrived at their stop, the fighting stopped. And as I sat in another train car, I thought: “Well, at least they’re responsible enough to go to school.” I’ve never been in a girl fight, unless you count the times when my bigger and older cousins would beat me up and I would bite them in defense, but we were only toddlers. I went to Catholic schools, where we were watched like hawks and teachers always swooped in before anything came to blows. Once, in high school, these girls had a major fight, miles away from the school, but they were wearing their very recognizable uniforms, and someone called the school and they got in trouble anyway. I think physical fighting just wasn’t worth it for most of my fellow students or me. We developed very witty ways to argue and learned how to curse like sailors instead. But I wonder what other people’s experiences have been. Have you ever been in a girl fight?

Remember when I was all, “I’m turning 30, so what?” Well, I think I jinxed myself! After writing that essay, the days until my 30th birthday continued to count down, and I started feeling some ... anxiety and sadness about the whole thing. Not because I’m actually sad about bidding goodbye to my 20s—they were fun, but not that fun—but because so many of my friends have already hit the big 3-0 and I’m feeling woefully distant from them these days.

Perhaps the better question isn’t whether you would tell your BFF that you slept with her ex, but whether you’d sleep with her ex in the first place. And maybe a more interesting question is: how would you react if your best friend confessed she slept with your ex? A woman writing to the Daily Mail’s advice columnist, Rowan Pelling, may find out the answer to that very question. In her letter to Pelling, she writes: 

Six months ago, my best friend split up with her boyfriend of five years. She was desperately in love with him and heartbroken when he told her the relationship was over. I never thought they were ideally suited (neither did most of their friends) and wasn’t surprised that he told her he didn’t love her enough to marry her. A few weeks ago, I went to a party where my friend’s ex was also a guest. He talked to me all night, we danced and ended up going home together and having incredible sex. He says he’s always found me attractive and wanted to tell me years ago. We have amazing chemistry and if he were any other man we would be dating by now. But I know my best friend would be devastated. I’ve always told her everything, but now I feel too guilty to lift the phone for a chat. What should I do?

I graduated about two years ago and moved from Chicago to Florida. My best friend from college still lives in Chicago and we have remained very close. Ever since last December, when I got engaged, this friend is driving me CRAZY. She throws herself a pity party every day and then gets upset when no one comes. I am having a very small wedding so have not asked much from my bridesmaids but whenever she volunteers to do something she then complains about it for the next month—to me. She recently told me that she’s spending so much money on weddings that she has decided she’s going to throw herself a “singles party” and that everyone must bring presents. I understand that attending weddings is a financial burden—but being that I am the one hosting the wedding I feel like she should probably find someone else to talk to about that. On top of that—she’s been complaining so much recently that my fiance doesn’t want her to come to the wedding - let alone be IN the wedding party anymore. Am I being a Bridezilla? Or does my friend need to keep some of her comments to herself? Can our friendship possibly survive my wedding and her pity parties? — Frustrated in Florida

Everyone has a story to share about a bad breakup with a bad boyfriend. The one who cheated, the one on drugs, the one who said that totally unforgivable thing about your mom. Bars across America are thick with tales of the sad sacks that girls have loved and righteously dumped. I’m less sure of what to do with my story about the bad breakup with a bad friend who happens to be a boy.

Who was the first person you called the day your ex dumped you? Or that time you found a weird bump on that very private body part? Or the day you stumbled across that pair of barely worn Christian Louboutins at the Goodwill?

If you’re like me, you called a girlfriend. While I love my man and adore my cats to what some might consider a scary degree, the relationships I have with my girls is on an entirely different plane. They’re the funniest, smartest, weirdest (in a good way!) gaggle of broads I’ve ever met and I feel lucky every day to have them around.

It wasn’t always this way. I’ve had to prune my posse (please note that I’ve also been kicked out of people’s lives as well) and have discovered some types to avoid.

I finally ended a friendship I’d had for about 13 years. The woman and I had gotten to a point where we knew very little about each other’s lives because she constantly canceled plans and wouldn’t return phone calls, and I decided I didn’t care to make an effort without some reciprocity. Basically, we had outgrown each other. This means, I’m down to about three girlfriends. One lives in the south. Another lives about two hours away by public transportation and rarely wants to meet somewhere in the middle. And the third is finding herself now that she’s come out. I’m faced with the dilemma of making new girlfriends and the outlook ain’t pretty.

Women always seem to ask me where all the good men are, as if these near-mythical dudes are hiding behind bushes, chained up in some vampire’s basement, or are just rare and elusive, like the snow leopard. Normally, I have to resist responding, “Maybe the good guys are just avoiding you.” But the answer to this frequent, lovelorn lament is simple: The good men are right under your nose. And that’s the damn truth.

“Are you going to go to Rosh Hashanah services?” my sister asked me on the phone last week, and my gut instantly churned. Not because I’m now separated by the Atlantic Ocean from my family on the Jewish New Year, but because: a.) I had forgotten about it and b.) I didn’t feel like dealing with it.

“It’s tomorrow? And what year is it in Jewish anyhow? 18 million or something? I didn’t really make any arrangements. Maybe I’ll just fake going to services so mom and dad don’t freak.”

“I know you’re not religious, but aren’t you at least afraid of the wrath of mom?”

“I’ll repent for it a week later on Yom Kippur.”

Every year, when Yom Kippur, the day of repentance rolls around, I reluctantly put on a conservative pencil skirt, pack into the family Subaru, and fast for a day. At least I’ll lose a little weight, I think. Because why would I need to repent? I’m a good person. I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t seriously offended any of my friends or family. I eat my vegetables. I even vacuumed under the bed. Once.

Recently, a number of good friends of mine told me they’re getting into the friend zone with guys they’re interested in romantically. I had a little bit of advice for them, but then realized this was the perfect opportunity to reunite with some old friends. Thoughts from the guys on our IM, after the jump.

Over the weekend Amelia and I watched “I Love You, Man.” How friggin’ cute are Jason Segel and Paul Rudd in that movie?! Our girl boners salute you boys! But it seems chicks aren’t the only ones who melted at their adorable bromance. My gay BFF has been complaining that his Craigslist cruising has become more tedious thanks to the glut of straight dudes posting to find their very own platonic man relationships. Guys across America have been looking for another kind of playmate on the internet, like online dating minus the sexy. Could it be the go-to slut finder website is attracting more guys looking for pals than pu**y? Heck, it’s become so popular, there’s even an e-card about finding man love! Dang, dudes can be so sweet sometimes. After the jump, what some of the men are looking for…

I’m 23 years old and have been friends with a 26-year-old guy—let’s call him Ben—for about two years. We met online, and instantly hit it off. We started doing the unofficial dating thing for about four months before I talked to him about making it official, because for all intents and purposes we were bf/gf anyway. Ben said he wasn’t ready for a relationship at that point, and as secretly devastated as I was, I cooled things off in the sex department and remained his friend.

Fast forward to two years later: We’re seriously besties, see each other at least twice a week, and text daily. He’s very affectionate towards me, and while we sleep in the bed and he’s a serious cuddler, we don’t have sex. Or kiss. Though he does say I’m beautiful, and devotes most of his attention to me when we’re out, even with his friends. He’s taken me camping with his family, and I’m always invited along when his parents come down from Michigan for the weekend to hang out and have dinner. He’s a very sweet, quiet, not-really-sexual kinda guy, but I’ve realized recently that I’m very not over him.

I recently revisited his original profile on the dating site on which we met, and it’s still active. On it, he even says that he’s been thinking about wanting a serious relationship with someone. Um, hello? What about me? I feel he’s sending me mixed messages that I don’t know how to read. While I do want to know how he feels about me, I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. I really can’t see myself being friends with him if he started dating some other chick (or if I started dating some other dude, for that matter), but I don’t want to give him an ultimatum. I definitely feel like he has feelings for me, but is maybe feeling the way I am? Like he doesn’t want to hurt the friendship? I don’t know ... any words of wisdom on how I should go about handling this?

I had a crazy dream last night. I was at the top of a construction crane—the ones they use for high rises. I should mention that I am an architect by profession. The crane was yellow and I was at the very top of it holding on like someone holds on to a ladder and I was looking down at everything below. The crane was moving in a circle, which really put me off balance. I wanted to get down, but I was paralyzed with fear of falling, as this thing spun around slowly in a circle over the buildings below. I looked down at the crane operator, and he smiled and waved.  I said, “I’m sorry! I just climbed up here to have a look.” He gave me a thumb’s up. He wasn’t worried about me at all. He trusted that I knew what I was doing as he spun this thing around. I finally started to climb down like a ladder and I met two other guys. They were also hanging on ladder-style. At one point, an elevator the size of a small phone booth rushed by, and the other guy holding on moves his hands just as it passes so it doesn’t knock him down. And I’m thinking, “Man! These guys do this all day, and they don’t get tired and they have no safety harness…..that’s pretty amazing.” So I’m shooting the breeze with them, but I really want to talk about how I’d love to find a way to get that elevator to come by, so I can get in and get down. But there was a feeling of not letting go of the rungs, to grab the other rungs to get down and just being a bit frozen like a cat in a tree hanging on. Any thoughts? —Hanging On for Dear Life

Thank goodness for caller ID. It’s saved me many a time from having to suffer through a three-hour conversation with my aunt Judy (or “Jawdy,” as I call her). Don’t get me wrong; my aunt is a sweetheart, but she does ramble on.

We all have that person in our lives who just can’t seem to get the hint that it’s time to end a conversation. It can be really difficult to avoid feeling rude without spending your entire day chatting it up, but it is possible. With a little social finessing, you can say “hi” and “bye,” and be on your way. Read more ...

Blame my older sister, the kindergarten teacher, but I believe in the Golden Rule. Whether you’re my boss, my intern, my boyfriend or my third-cousin-twice-removed, I will treat you with the same amount of respect as everyone else.

Why am I wired this way? Other kids were really cruel to me from grade school through high school—whether putting Scotch tape in my hair during class, calling me “Cabbage Patch Kid” because of my chubby cheeks, or circulating my name on a list where girls were ranked by their hotness and I was rated 3 out of 10. That stuff made me feel terrible most of the time and I don’t want anyone knowing what that’s like. Instead, I try to be kind to every person, regardless of how popular/attractive/smart they are, and not be a kiss-ass, ever.

It’s striking to me, though, how not being an ass-kisser has ruined my friendships with some very pretty women. In fact, my only friendship Titanics have happened when I’ve stood up to extraordinarily beautiful women and lost out.  The Pretty Girl wanted me to play by her rules; I didn’t want to do it, so Pretty Girl read me the friendship riot act and ditched me. Forever.

So you’ve made it through the horrifying breakup with someone you cared about ... now what? To be friends or not to be friends, that is the question. Most of the time I like to make a nice clean break adhering to a “no contact” and “no getting back together” policy. I’ve learned from experience that this is a necessary move for me to heal my ailing heart and move on. In time, I am usually content to be “acquaintances with history,” exchanging an email every once in a while or having friendly drinks with the exes that I still respect. But that’s only after time has passed and I’ve removed the rose-colored glasses that I used to gaze at him through. And, of course, there are the guys that I know I won’t ever see or speak with ever again ...  those that have committed offenses of the heart too heinous to be forgiven in this lifetime. But it’s not always so black and white. Some people are worth keeping in your life.

“Sex and the City” illustrated many prominent issues that women sometimes encounter in their relationships: fertility struggles, unease about out-earning a boyfriend, being attracted to “toxic bachelors,” and wanting to pursue “sex like a man,” among others. While not every woman desires the unattached sex that Samantha pursues, “Sex and the City,” and in particular, “Sex and the City: The Movie” shined light on a phenomenon that nearly every woman deals with at one point or another: clashing with a friend’s love interest. On “Sex and the City,” Mr. Big continually treats Carrie like crap: never wanting to commit, marrying another woman yet expecting Carrie to happily continue as “the other woman,” and (spoiler alert!) eventually leaving Carrie at the altar at the Bradshaw-Preston wedding. But Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda are always there to clean up the mess Big made. Needless to say, the girlfriends develop a major grudge. Charlotte even confesses that she practiced what she would say if she bumped into Mr. Big on the street: “I curse the day you were born!”

The man I was engaged to was my first real adult love. It was mutual, it was committed, and it was mature. But there were other “loves.” Adam, the long-haired hippie in 8th grade, who held my hand once and played the acoustic guitar; Rob, the twenty-something video store employee, whom I stalked for the entire summer before I turned 15; Jesse who gave me emotional support when my parents divorced the summer after freshman year of college; and lastly, Aidan*, a fellow staff member at my college newspaper whom I fell for—HARD—my senior year.

Male blogger Craig JC over at Clutch Magazine tries to caution women against telling their best friends all the intimate details of their sexual life, saying that “we all need some type of privacy.” But while giving this advice, Craig helps to perpetuate the stereotype that all women are jealous backstabbers.