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 »
Creativity is the cure for unemployment. This summer, despite being a relatively successful z-list commercial model and actor in Montreal, Quebec, I hit the Sahara desert of dry spells. Needing to make rent, I accepted a position as a part-time cleaning lady for my building’s superintendent and cleaned vacant apartments, stinky stairwells, and dusty, dirty garages. My new role was not the brightest hour of my professional life; catwalks, callbacks and cash, industrial cleaning was not. In between mopping, shoveling, and hauling ashes from old fireplaces like a bedraggled Cinderella, I applied to as many gigs on Craigslist as I could, hoping to find something paying more than my $12-an-hour grueling summer job. Keep reading »
Passing the table of TEAM EDWARD and TEAM JACOB T-shirts, I turned to my friend. “Looks like we’re in for a treat,” I laughed, thinking it was kind of ridiculous for two single, 30-something women to be spending a Saturday night seeing “New Moon.”
“We sure are,” she said with a wink. Having read the entire series, she’d begged me to come see it with her despite my complete skepticism. Keep reading »
I do things on impulse: I bought a $250 pair of high heels I didn’t need, I pierced my tongue, and two years ago, when a Jewish co-worker/yenta promised I could meet my beshert for $40 a month, I joined the Jewish dating site JDate that very night. The thing is, though, I’m not Jewish. Not even “halfsies.” Keep reading »
The internet has brought me a lot of joy over the years. There’s no denying its myriad charms: its ability to connect me with people, to entertain and amuse, to inform me, to expose me to new things, to help me max out my credit card on frivolous purchases I’ll regret later. But lately, I have been feeling like technology is turning against me.
Over the last two months, the internet has delivered not one but two decimating blows, first in the form of an unceremonious GChat dumping by a boyfriend I’d (ill-advisedly) reconciled with, and, more recently, in the guise of a sterile, business-like email I had the pleasure of opening last Sunday, informing me that I was no longer needed at my job. Um, f**k you, internet! Keep reading »
Years ago, when I was about, oh, a year into my relationship with my now ex, he and I got in a fight (over what, who knows), I lost my temper, and I started hitting him. Not in the face, but on his arms, my fists balled up. I think I shoved him a few times too. He didn’t do anything back, aside from wrapping his way stronger arms around me, so I couldn’t hit him anymore, and to calm me down, because I was crying. Once I settled, he told me I could never, ever, ever hit him or shove him or do anything physical like that again — that it was unfair. Even though I “was a woman” and significantly less strong than him (seriously, we would play-wrestle and I would be defeated in, like, two seconds), taking my anger or frustration out on him physically was not OK ever, especially because he never would or could do the same to me and have there be any excuses. Keep reading »
Have you been watching “Hoarders” on A&E? If you’re unfamiliar, each episode documents the lives of two of the estimated three million Americans who are so compulsive about accumulating crap of all kinds that they’ve lost the ability to function normally.
Until I was assigned this story, I didn’t watch it. I like crappy reality shows as much as the next lady, but this one didn’t appeal to me—I’d already lived it. Keep reading »
Recently, a wonderful, terrific, incredible thing in my life happened, but I’m still having a little trouble embracing the good news. Two weeks ago, my husband of four months dipped into his life savings and paid off the remainder of my student loans. This was no small feat, of course; the amount left on my loans for graduate school were big — enough to finance a luxury car, or an extended trip around the world, or serve as a down payment for a small New York apartment. Instead, Drew, my husband, used the money to pay off a debt I’d accrued before I even met him, a debt I lost plenty of sleep over wondering how I’d ever crawl out of. That, in the end, I had this modern-day version of a knight-in-shining armor come rescue me, the damsel in distress, is something that’s stirred a complicated mix of emotions in me, most prominent among them gratitude, but certainly a large dose of guilt and shame as well. Keep reading »
My boyfriend is 10 years older than me. We’re in love and it’s awesome. There are many, many perks to dating a dude who is older, some of which you can read here. But there’s one tiny downfall, at least for me. In his 40 years on earth, my devastatingly handsome boyfriend has had more than his share of girlfriends and has been in love a handful of times. This is probably totally normal and not a cause for, uh, concern for most 30-year-old women, who have likely had many relationships in their lives too. Unfortunately, I haven’t and his vast relationship experience makes me feel like I’m somehow not as special as I’d like to be. Keep reading »
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. Keep reading »