I recently met David through my blog. He was charming, witty and funny. After a bit of friendly Twirting (flirting via Twitter, the equivalent of computer footsie), he said he thought I was pretty funny too and even admitted to being a bit intimidated when I told him how strong my physical disability, Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome, had made my arms. This bone and muscular disorder has resulted in more than 26 surgeries to correct joint contractures, scoliosis and to straighten my leg muscles. You’d be amazed how strong my arms could get just from using a walker for 20+ years. They’re like giant muscles of steel, only smaller and dotted with cute freckles.
Well, this was a first, so feeling a bit bold, I asked him to guest-post from the male perspective on a question that has nagged me since my days in high school when I’d look at other girls and how the guys easily flocked to them. The question: Why are guys so reluctant to date – at the very least, approach – a woman with a disability? Keep reading »
If you thought your friend was about to make a mistake—say, buy a computer that gets a ton of viruses or stay in a really dodgy hostel in Rome—you’d try to convince them to do something different, right? Well, I feel a little guilty because I have a friend who might be making a mistake by getting married this summer and I tried to talk him out of it. Keep reading »
My plane landed after midnight last night. I could use about six more hours of sleep, and I’m not sure where, exactly, I stashed my hairbrush or my deodorant. Maybe I took a bath two days ago, but I honestly don’t remember. In any case, I haven’t shaved my legs and armpits for a week and my werewolf-ian brows need a good, thorough tweezing. But no matter! I’ve got on my leopard-print leggings and a hot pink t-shirt to, uh, deflect attention from all that.
I wouldn’t go into the office looking like this. Hell, I wouldn’t leave my apartment looking like this. So why is my boyfriend—the person I regularly depend on for oral sex and foot rubs—sitting just 10 feet away from me? Because I have gotten comfortable in our relationship. Perhaps too comfortable. Keep reading »
Aren’t we single ladies always on the quest to find the perfect man? Just yesterday, I was on that quest. And then I met him. For the sake of this post, let’s call this perfect man John. John is smart, nice, good-looking, Jewish (which matters a lot to my mother), and would spoil me rotten as my boyfriend. He’s not just your average amount of smart; he’s employed at a top web company (one you use on a regular basis) and is destined to be more successful than anyone I know.
He’s not just your average amount of nice; he has mastered chivalry to a T and is so caring that it makes my judgmental soul squirm. And he’s also not just sort of good-looking. Rather, every time one of my friends meets him, their first response is: “Wow, John’s hot.” I can totally tell they’re eying him for themselves. Oh, and did I mention that John’s after me like Tyra on the search for “America’s Next Top Model“?
I should be in heaven, right? But I’m not. Because as perfect as he is, John just doesn’t make me want to rip my clothes off. And I don’t know why. Keep reading »
Because I’ve been single for so long, my married friends often like to give me unsolicited advice. “I know what your problem is!” Elinor had a sudden revelation as her newborn baby suckled at her breast. Now that she is a wife to a man and a mother to a boy, her new favorite thing is to live vicariously through my love life. But what seems titillating to her is just plain old depressing to me.
“What is it?” I replied.
“You need to start dating men.” Keep reading »
Two weeks ago, my gentle and loving boyfriend of three months held me down and forced me to have sex with him against my will, and then told me I had asked for it. And technically, he was right.
Jacob and I had only been dating about a month and a half when I intimated that I had a rape fantasy. Over the years, I’d had my share of experience with role-playing and rough sex. I vividly recall a male friend of mine in college telling me that I had a distinct air of “sexual prey” about me, and me thinking that this was a huge compliment. Being dominated and playing the innocent who secretly wasn’t had been my currency and had guided the sexual dynamic I forged with partners for the last 10 years. But only for the last few months had I allowed myself to entertain what I considered to be the final frontier — a simulated rape. Keep reading »
I committed one of the cardinal sins of dating recently. I somehow found myself in a heated conversation about the B word. As in BABIES. With someone I’ve been seeing for two weeks. I know. Upon realizing the foolishness of this move, I considered putting my suicide windows to use. But hear me out. Keep reading »
I’ve had Terrible Girlfriend Syndrome (TGFS) for years. It all started with Matt Noonan in 6th grade. He was the new boy and all the girls wanted him. But I got him. Clearly, we were going to fall in love. We were going to hang out on the playground and go with a bunch of other snot-nosed 6th graders to PG-13 movies and the whole thing was going to be glorious.
Or so I thought. Instead, I showed up at school on the Monday after our epic decision to “go out”— his friend called my friend to ask if I liked Matt, mine wrangled the same info from the friend, etc.—and one of those bitchy 8th grade girls who was similarly smitten with Matt asked me if we were “together.” Images of the two of us skipping around hand-in-hand flashed through my head, and I quickly blurted out, “God no!”
Confused? Me too. Keep reading »
One of the first times I went on a date with a girl, she asked me, “Are you bi or gay?”
“Well, I’m still figuring that out,” I told her.
Her response was: “I knew you were too good to be true.” I then fell all over myself in an effort to explain to her that, although I was unsure about how to define my sexuality, I was definitely into girls, more so than I’m into guys. I am not and have never been bi-curious, bi for attention or bi only when men are around. Since then, I’ve figured out that I’m solely into girls. So I guess I wasn’t too good to be true, huh?
But, alas, in parts of the gay community, being bi or being a lesbian who has hooked up with guys in the past is like having horns or an incurable disease.
Keep reading »
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. Keep reading »