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.
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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 »
I could have just said “I don’t know” or deflected the question. I didn’t have to say anything. But when my boyfriend’s parents asked me over a family dinner the other night what I might want write a book about, I answered honestly: my struggles with depression.
Surprised, I think, neither parent said anything in response, which made me feel nervously awkward. But then another relative chimed in with her own depression story. She said when she started taking anti-depressants, she would sleep all day, so I shared that Lexapro used to make me conk out, too. Then the relative kept on talking, and pretty soon, the dinner convo had veered onto other topics entirely.
I’m not ashamed that sometimes I feel unbelievably sad and my life is temporarily derailed. My extended family knows about it, my roommate knows about it, even my boss knows about it. But I woke up the next morning and asked myself, “Did I really just tell my boyfriend’s parents that?” Keep reading »
It’s undeniable that marriage and relationships in general look nothing like they did 40 years ago. What’s happened? Women’s lib, skyrocketing divorce rates, the death of the nuclear family — and that’s just for starters. The whole game has changed. Sometimes I think that each generation exhibits a reactionary trend to their predecessors. I am part of the “divorced parents” era. Although my parents are still married, about 60 percent of all people I meet my age come from broken homes. While this phenomenon didn’t necessarily make us “anti-marriage,” it has certainly made us “marriage cautious” or “marriage disillusioned.” As a modern woman I know the statistics – if I ever do tie the knot, I know it ain’t gonna be all sunshine and roses. And that’s why I plan to be as sure as I can possibly, possibly be. Before I exchange any vows, I’ve made a vow to myself: I MUST live with someone before I marry him. I’m not alone in this thinking. About 70 percent of couples are cohabitating before marriage these days. Keep reading »
I heart words and communication. This includes emails, text messages, Gchat, Blackberry Messenger, iChat — the works. I am a sucker for a well-crafted email or a witty text message. My motto: The way to my heart is through my brain. That’s why I thought Joe could be Mr. Perfect for me. Joe and I met one night at a work gala. I had already put away an entire bottle of wine when I almost knocked him over on the dance floor.
“Do you like to dance, beautiful girl who almost stepped on my foot?” he asked.
“Only when I’m drunk. When I’m sober, I dance like Elaine from ‘Seinfeld.’” I replied.
It was a rainy October night and Joe offered to escort me to the subway when the event ended, impressed that I could: a.) still walk and b.) do it in 3-inch heels. “Email me,” I slurred, handing him my business card, “I loooove emails.”
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I remember being a little girl and hearing my mother use the term “soul mates.”
“What is ‘soul mates’?” I asked.
“It’s beshert,” she said.
“It’s meant to be,” she explained. Keep reading »
I will never forget the feeling in my stomach the night I found out the guy I was dating was still sleeping with his ex.
The fact that he was canoodling with any other woman behind my back was bad enough. The fact that it was ex added insult to injury. But what really made me want to throw up was that she was a complete and utter train wreck.
We all know train wrecks. She’s your college roommate who drank every night, never went to class and slept with the football team. She’s your friend whose favorite hobbies are causing drama and being self-destructive. She’s all the girls from “Rock of Love.” And sometimes, she’s the girl your man leaves you for. Keep reading »
Before I got engaged, I used to think a couple’s truest test of compatibility and readiness for marriage was living together. What could be more of a test, I reasoned, than successfully sharing the same space, splitting the bills, and delegating household chores while still enjoying each other’s company and remaining sexually attracted to one another? That’s why, when my boyfriend proposed after nearly a year and a half of co-habitation, I didn’t hesitate in saying ‘yes.’ I’d lived with a boyfriend before — for over three years — and when that relationship eventually became more like brother-sister than boyfriend-girlfriend, I ended things and wondered if it was even possible for me to live with someone and continue loving him in the romantic sense. But then I met Drew and realized it was. Keep reading »
Gollum slithered around the picnic tables in a bald wig and a loincloth. Bilbo Baggins manned the barbecue. An elf with pointy ears asked if we had any veggie burgers.
My boyfriend, David, and I had not come dressed for the “Lord Of The Rings” theme for his family’s annual group vacation with their friends. But costumed or not, I knew I’d be under scrutiny: I’m the first woman he’d brought along to introduce to everybody in his 26 years of attending.
As Gollum lumbered by towards the card table full of key lime pies and cookie burgers, I turned to David and grinned. “Real love,” I said, “is spending the weekend with your parents and their friends when everyone is dressed like Hobbits.” He grinned back and we kissed.
Forty-eight hours later, David and I decided that we would move in together, waking up next to each other every morning and falling asleep together every night. Beginning our lives together this way felt like the right thing to do.
But did I mention we’ve only been dating for two months? Keep reading »