Two years ago, after nearly 15 years of blow drying, flat ironing, highlighting, and dying, I was officially in a hair rut. I sat in the stylist’s chair. My hairdresser Tommy, a twentysomething, tattooed hipster was running his hands through my lackluster locks.
“I am 30 years old, ” I said, “I want rocking hair.” Keep reading »
Right after Ex-Mr. Jessica and I broke up around New Year’s, Tom*, a friend I’ve had for about four years asked if I wanted to go down to Washington, D.C., and visit him to get my mind off the breakup. I assumed there might be an ulterior motive there, but I was in pulling-my-hair-out, “Who knows why men do anything?!” mode and wasn’t totally sure. In any case, I told Tom I was still too sad to be good company, which was true.
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In a classic episode of “Sex and the City,” Miranda has an epiphany: A guy may “just not be that into” her.
Miranda was thrilled with this revelation. She can now stop being anxiety-ridden over a man’s mixed messages. She can now shrug and say, “Well, he’s just not that into me,” and move on. Women everywhere sighed with relief … or did we? Keep reading »
My boyfriend and I lay in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by all of his favorite stuff from high school. We were almost 30.
“I don’t feel the same way about you as you do about me,” he said.
I rolled over and started to cry silently while staring at his trophy collection. This was our third disagreement in six months as a couple. Keep reading »
The o.b. shortage is coming to an end with supplies of non-applicator plugs re-upping in stores around the country. For me, the panic that drove women to buy boxes of overpriced tampons on eBay was solace for a shameful secret: I was 29 years old and had never gone to a store and bought menstrual products. Keep reading »
Hello there. You. Yes, you! I have something I would like to talk to you about.
It’s come up a couple of times recently and it’s gotten so irritating that I finally have to say something about it. I’m pretty sure you’re not even aware of what you’re doing or why it bothers me. So here it goes.
I would like you to ask me out on a freaking date. Keep reading »