I like to consider myself a strong and independent woman. I live alone; I take care of myself and never waiver in my beliefs. I’ve managed to convince myself that I’m fearless; I look confrontation in the eye and am without regret in my behavior – even when it isn’t the most flattering or well thought-out way to handle certain situations. I am, admittedly, a hot head.
I do not allow others to define me, put me in a box labeled by how they see me and will scream at the top of my lungs before I’ll ever let someone try to silence me. I am all these things; I have been all these things, and years from now these expectations that I have for myself will still be true. I don’t give a fuck who might be angered or won’t agree along the way. In the words of the great sailor, Popeye, “I am what I am.”
However, there were a few years in there, the dark years, that I was not all these things. When it came to Christoffer, I was a shadow. Keep reading »
“I do worry about you,” wrote my mom, upon watching the first “Ask A Single Dog Owner” video a couple weeks ago. “I think you should really think about getting another dog as Lucca gets older.” Lucca is my 6-year-old dog, who I’ve had since she was eight weeks old. My mom’s concern, her urge to get another dog — which she has vocalized more than a few times — stems from the joke I made in the video (and more than a few times off camera) that my dog and I have a double suicide pact. If something happens to one of us, the other will end things too. It’s a joke, of course, but like many jokes, it’s couched in a serious truth that my mom is naturally attuned to — I truly do not know how I would live life without my dog.
Given that she is six (six-and-a-half actually), and, gulp, if I am lucky will live another 10-12 years (I think she’s part Chihuahua! They live a long time!), living without her is something I am going to eventually have to deal with.
It is my worst nightmare. Keep reading »
I have been a registered voter since the week I turned 18 years old. Admittedly, at 18, I was fairly clueless about the people for whom I’d be voting, but I educated myself on each of them the best I could and embraced the privilege like no other. This opportunity, for me, was far more paramount than any other milestone that came with turning 18. But then again, I wasn’t a smoker or an avid purchaser of porn, so maybe I had no choice.
I do not regard myself as one who is overtly obsessed with politics. You will not find me on a street corner handing out pamphlets or walking Union Square decked out in a sandwich board that roots for my preferred candidate. Although I am very staunch in my liberal beliefs and will take these thoughts to Twitter and Facebook – where the majority of my friends, if not all of them, share my political ideas – I’m still rather mum on the subject unless pushed. Push me, and I’ll gladly tell you my thoughts on why I voted for Obama weeks ago (absentee New Hampshire ballot, because they need every liberal vote they can get), and why I think Romney is bad for women, the environment, equality and pretty much everything else. I’d be more than happy to share this with you, but since, for some, politics falls under the same awning as religion and money, I won’t. Besides, there’s no sense in getting into a heated debate just so we can throw around the word “malarkey,” and walk away knowing, in our hearts of hearts, we are completely and positively right in our views.
However, my lack of public display on the matter, doesn’t hinder my devotion. Ignorance is not bliss when it comes to politics; we all must be aware and knowledgeable of those in power who are making the decisions. Keep reading »
Unlike my future captor Tom Cruise, I’m a big fan of psychiatry. Why? Well, it’s given me opportunities I never could have experienced without medical intervention for depression, agoraphobia and panic attacks. To put it more simply: Psychiatry has saved my life. But thanks to a couple of friendly letters from health insurance companies, I’ve recently learned I don’t deserve to go to the doctor.
And here I thought I was doing well. Keep reading »
At 26 years old, I felt like a birth control virgin. How had I survived all those years without managing to know anything about the Pill? My reasons for going on Ortho Tri-Cyclen were simple: I was prepping for a move across the country to be with a guy named Isaac who I was in a long-distance relationship with. Isaac and I communicated every day. We talked on the phone, texted, emailed and GChatted every chance we got. We saw each other every three months, but this time, I was coming for good. We were going to live together for two weeks before I moved into my sublet apartment. We were falling in love.
I was ecstatic at the prospect of this seemingly superior form of birth control. Sex without condoms! It only cost $8 a month (which was about all my meager budget would allow)! From what I’d heard, it would make my skin super clear and get rid of the ungodly cramps that I’d been blessed with! I couldn’t wait. Keep reading »
I am a person who is very ambitious and aspirational in life. I’ve found that jealousy is the emotion I tend to listen to most, because it is filled with clues. When I feel envious of someone, I ask myself what is it that they have that I want, do I really want it, and what do I have to do to get it.
It’s become clear to me over the years that I feel pretty set career-wise. I have a lot of confidence in myself and that confidence gets reinforced. I genuinely believe that I can achieve most things I want if I truly set my mind to it. Not that I haven’t struggled before, but there have only been a few examples of ways in which I’ve disappointed myself. I feel only a little envious towards other people’s careers.
Instead, the place where I find myself feeling the most envy — and its attendant emotion, insecurity — is in relationships. I covet the relationships of absolute strangers. The perceived relationship, anyway. Keep reading »
This is how it begins. He asks me to stand before him in my lace underwear, high heels, hose and bra. He sits in a chair and watches closely as I disrobe, making approving noises, even winking to put me at ease.
“Turn around please,” he says and then, “Yes, right there. Stop there.”
Even though we’ve been married for over three years, I’ve never done anything like this sober. I don’t know what to do, or where to put my hands. Without the buzz and fog of alcohol, I am clumsy and giggly and awkward. Keep reading »
I lost my engagement ring. I mean, really lost it. I haven’t seen it in a month, maybe more. I wish I was a robot and I could check my memory chip and replay all of my thoughts and actions, because then I would know exactly what happened, and I would also experience those amazing tortillas we got all over again. But maybe robots don’t like melted cheese as much as I do?
I looked under everything with a flashlight. My dad blamed the cat, but she maintains her innocence. I looked under everything again, with a different flashlight that seemed a little brighter. It was gross under everything and I didn’t want to reach in there, but I’m pretty sure there was no ring.
And I’m probably not supposed to say this, but I don’t miss it. Keep reading »
It usually starts with widened eyes and a slight lift of the eyebrows.
As I walk over to greet a new student, they slowly stick out their hand to meet mine. “Hi, I’m Anna. I’m so glad you’re here!”
“Hi,” they say back. “You’re the … teacher?” Keep reading »