I feel like I need to issue a preemptive apology to my mother, my boyfriend’s mother and my boyfriend’s grandmother: I won’t be a “fun” bride.
I will probably be more of a wet blanket, really. I won’t get excited about table settings or flower girl dresses. I won’t even care about the cake (much). I’m a little excited about buying a special dress for the Big Day, but honestly, whenever I look at wedding dress prices, I start to hyperventilate. Keep reading »
A couple months ago I discovered that the husband half of a couple I’ve known for years was leaving his wife for one of his grad students. I was shocked. I mean, I’ve had friends go through relationship ups and downs before, but this couple was one I’d always looked up to as a relationship ideal. It sounds cliché, but they seemed like the perfect couple. They were both creative, independent (yet also very supportive of each other) and seemed very much in love. They went on adventurous vacations, were both still super hot—hell, they even had a house with a white picket fence! How could they break up?! How could they do this to me?! Keep reading »
I’ve been in therapy for, oh, almost four years, I think. I go once a week, for 45 minutes. I spend a lot of time talking about myself, obviously — issues I have from the past that I need to work on because they’re affecting me in the present (and potentially the future), as well as the usual topics I need to vent about (work, money, family, etc.) so I don’t go postal. But mostly, I talk about boys.
When I say I talk about boys, what I mean is that I talk a lot about the issues the dudes in my life are having, how they’re affecting me and, thus, us, and how improvements need to be made in order for them to be better partners. I play amateur psychologist during my little 45 minute sessions each week with my doc, diagnosing each and every one of these boyfriends based on the knowledge I’ve gathered as a patient myself. I have evolved and healed in innumerable ways through my own treatment. I was (almost) fixed, so let me fix them.
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I used to hate women on diets. They look at your frosted brownie, then at your waist, then at your cookie again. Women on diets whine, “I can’t eat that…” They poke and prod their bellies and upper arms like displeased factory inspectors. They complain about how “fat” they look seemingly because they want someone to compliment them. Let’s face it: women on “diets” are annoying.
Me? I thought I’d just count calories because I’m trying to lose weight. Keep reading »
Over the last year, I have spent a lot of time — both in my free time and on this site — thinking and venting about the mistakes I made and the lessons I learned from the breakup of my five-year relationship with my ex. Lots of “I’ll nevers” have come out of my mouth and onto the keyboard. I’ll never date a professional bulls**tter again! I’ll never try to heal an emotional cripple! I’ll never ignore my gut instinct again! Good lessons, for sure. But honestly, all this “never” talk makes it easy to forget that I — hell, we — did a lot of things right in that relationship too: habits, feelings, and actions that I will always want to be a part of my romantic relationships going forward. Here are 15.
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Recently, my boyfriend expressed some fear that we had moved too fast. While it’s only been four months, it feels like way more. Not quite a lifetime, but certainly a few years. We had clicked almost instantly, and while I was less than a year out of a nearly five-year relationship and he was, um, not quite divorced (a whole other topic), it seemed too good to pass up. I felt ready to be totally vulnerable and open to someone new, no matter where that might lead me. It has been (mostly) awesome. Keep reading »
As if inviting the “Real Housewives of NYC” cameras into her home wasn’t revealing enough, Kelly Bensimon will be exposing herself to the world in next month’s issue of Playboy, in photos shot by her ex-husband, mega-famous photographer Gilles Bensimon. But as Kelly’s former personal assistant, I already feel like I’ve seen it all. After a year as her right hand, left hand and sometime-surrogate mother (“Kelly, that’s not a dress—it’s a shirt”), very little can surprise me.
I first met Kelly when I was a wide-eyed 22-year-old with dreams of becoming a writer. I had no idea what I was getting into when a mutual friend set up an informational interview with Kelly, who was a magazine columnist in her pre-”RHNYC” days. I stopped by her apartment on a Tuesday with a resume in hand. On Wednesday morning, I found out I’d been hired for a full-time position in “Kelly Land.” Keep reading »
‘Tis the season! That’s right — Christmas. We all endure the holidays with that familiar combination of dread and enjoyment. So much to look forward to! There are the office parties, the family get-togethers, the decorations, and the gift exchanges. Everyone has their own unique holiday traditions. My favorite tradition is to spend the holidays in the buff. In fact, the holidays just aren’t the same if I’m not naked. Why? Because I’m a stripper, and naked is what I do best. Keep reading »
Last week, I set out to interview “Millionaire Matchmaker” Patti Stanger. My plan was to go in, impress her with my wife-ability, and be home in time for wine and “Parks and Recreation.” So I’m still not sure how, an hour later, I found myself sitting on a bar stool, roped into speed dating by the kind people at HurryDate.com. “There’s an odd number of men,” the publicist said, rationalizing why I needed to participate.
Being a serial online dater, I have had my share of awkward first dates. I liked the idea of spending five minutes with someone, rather than wasting a whole night to realize we were incompatible. Plus, I thought maybe I might meet a few people I wouldn’t necessarily think to go out with. Even though I had the lowest of low expectations, I was still sweating and self-conscious. Are they noticing how big my head is? Can they smell me sweating? Keep reading »
When I was 19, I fell in love. He was small but mighty, a cheap date in those days, easy to swallow at any kegger and, most importantly, eased my mind. His name was Ortho. We just broke up.
My relationship with the birth control pill lasted eight years. I never got pregnant, and despite a few blips during the dark days of no insurance, it was relatively easy to acquire. If my calculations are correct, I ingested over 2,000 of those suckers. Keep reading »