Do you remember laying flat on your bed, eyes gushing like Old Faithful, unsightly snot dripping down way too close to your open mouth? This is you after your dog died. This is you after a break up. This is you after failing to assemble an Ikea chair.
This image comes frighteningly close… More »
When I think about Mother’s Day, I usually picture a dad in plaid pajama pants destroying the kitchen with his kids in a clumsy effort to make his wife breakfast in bed. There is flour everywhere, kids are enthusiastically beating something in a bowl and Dad is putting a single red rose in a vase. More »
We haven’t always gotten along. There have been some wicked fights over the years, starting in the sixth grade when I didn’t want to wear my ripe-for-teasing plaid shorts to school, or in ninth grade when you insisted a C minus in trig warranted summer school (it didn’t), or that visit during college when I… More »
I’m a huge proponent of therapy. I think one of the most powerful and generous things we can do–for ourselves and for those around us–is to deal with our issues and gain a deeper understanding of ourselves. This past year has been really rough, and I’ve been looking for a counselor to help me deconstruct… More »
It’s not an accident that when I rummage through my underwear drawer on laundry day, the only pair I can find is a lacy red thong or a silky black G-string. I wear my favorite intimates first, and am then left with the rest as a last resort. But in my case, the last resort… More »
You meet a great guy. You start dating. At first you’re seeing each other once or twice a week and after a month it’s up to three or four. You start having sleepovers and pretty soon there’s “the toothbrush discussion.” Then one day you wake up and can’t remember the last time you actually slept… More »
I think I can pinpoint when it happened, when I became a caretaker. My parents started having irreparable marital problems when I was 19 (they divorced when I was 20), directly brought on by a drug problem my dad had, somewhat suddenly, developed. One night when I was home from college for the summer, when… More »
At the age of 33, I went on my first date.
I met the Brazilian at a nightclub a month before I was set to leave New York City indefinitely. The fact that he danced well and wore a scarf while doing so gave him away instantly as a foreigner.
After… More »
When I think of locales that are likely to offer me an onslaught of body-related judgment, I think of the beach, the bar, and the gym. I mean, body judgment is incredibly pervasive, but all three of those places are renowned breeding grounds for intense figure scrutiny, comparisons, and body-snarking. Recently, I discovered that my doctor’s… More »
It’s not that I have a thing, as it were, for little people. And, God, is that really the politically correct term? Are we serious about this? It’s not that I have some sort of fetish or something. But Peter Dinklage is hot. And I said it long before he was pn “Game of Thrones.” More »
It happened so quickly, and it was so dark, that it was hard to tell what Peggy Olsen was doing in that movie theater. I texted a friend.
“Did Peggy just give a hand job to her boyfriend or a random man?”
“It’s hard to tell the way it was shot,… More »
When the invitation to my college roommate’s wedding arrived, the envelope read “and Guest.” My heart sped up. I’ve fantasized about having a plus one to introduce to my friend crew, bringing a contributor to the circle of lifted pant legs during “Billy Jean,” which my friends’ significant others’ have made their own little wedding… More »
I have a confession to make: I’m a popper. Not a popper of pills, mind you. I am a popper of pimples. I know that’s gross, and I’m sorry. However, I do think that, at the very least, I owe it to you, dear reader, to hold myself responsible: My name is Sara Barron, and… More »
Last week, I met a friend for dinner. The restaurant we tried to go to was crowded, so we decided to wander around and look for a different place to eat. We turned down the next block and my pulse raced. It was the block of the restaurant my date rapist worked at.
… More »
I’ve been trying on men lately like Goldilocks testing out chairs and porridge, vacillating between one extreme and the other — scalding hot and limply cold, too soft and too damn hard.
Sunday night’s premiere episode of HBO’s new comedy “Girls” drove home this idea of extremes when it comes to self-selecting men: the… More »
You think he’s an idiot. He thinks you’re a nut case. You insist he doesn’t understand you. He insists you’re a nut case. You get angry and maybe even cry. He shrugs his shoulders, assumes it’s a personal problem that has nothing to do with him, and chalks all it up to you being an… More »
I ran with a pretty tame crowd as a high schooler. We considered it a wild night if we’d wrapped a musical theater production and all piled into someone’s basement to watch the entire Star Wars trilogy on VHS and surreptitiously make out with each other. I liked it that way, and never sought out anything… More »
I was born out of wedlock in Minnesota, to a white mother and an Afghan (not the blanket, the country) father. It was considered pretty scandalous for my mom to be a single mother with a brown baby back in 1979 in Minnesota.
My mother had been with my father off and on for nearly… More »
A few weeks ago, I was sitting at my boyfriend’s living room table, alone, in the middle of a weekday afternoon, my laptop open, trying to fend off both a cold and a bad mood. I was frustrated that I couldn’t pick amongst the multiple documents I had open that required my urgent attention, and… More »
“We have a ride to the club tonight,” my friend announced. We left our dormitory and headed into the vehicle of a man my friend met a party.
In the vehicle, a young man that I recognized from a nightclub we frequented was in the driver’s seat. I asked his name because, other than… More »