Valentine’s Day is for lovers, or at least people who love love. But what happens when you’re neither in a relationship, or a state of mind to handle all the hearts, stars or flowers? I say, go ridiculous. For the past several years, my best girlfriends and I have gone out of our way to make the best of the worst holiday of the year, by making it as stupefyingly non-romantic as possible. We go to chain restaurants. Keep reading »
Thanks to the new TV show, “My Strange Addiction,” I have nothing to feel ashamed about. The TLC series, which offers rubbernecking shock value, made my own struggles with addiction seem more commonplace. Keep reading »
One month back on the dating scene and I’ve gone on three dates; well, I don’t know if you can call them dates. More accurately, I’ve had dinner with three men. The first was a friend who I thought I might have feelings for. The next, with a guy I met on the subway. And the third happened last night. I walked into a restaurant to have dinner with the man who I thought was going to be my date only to discover that he had a shiny, gold wedding band on his left hand. News to me. Keep reading »
Yesterday I was idly reading the comments on one of my posts on The Frisky when a partner link caught my eye: “7 Things You Shouldn’t Tell Your Boyfriend.” Shouldn’t tell your boyfriend? I thought. I always told my boyfriend everything. Like, EVERYTHING. He knew about my bouts with depression. He knew about my brother’s struggles with drug addiction and alcoholism. He knew about how much I owe in student loans. He knew about my spanking fetish. He knew about my desire for dominant/submissive sex. He knew about the May-December romance I had with a 37-year-old man when I was 22. He knew when I farted and burped and had the flu. He knew what I looked like in sweatpants, in no makeup, and in sweatpants and no makeup. During the two years that we dated, he was my best friend Why wouldn’t he know these things?
Then a light went off in my head. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Amelia. “Do you think the reason our relationships didn’t work out is because our partners were our best friends first, instead of our lovers?” I asked. “Do you think we didn’t keep the romance alive?” Keep reading »
“Do you love her?” I finally asked my ex in the midst of our screaming match last late night. He paused for a minute. I could hear him breathing deeply over the phone line, slow and steady—he could have been at a yoga studio, contorted and wearing orange spandex, or practicing Lamaze breathing for the birth of his first child. Instead, he was verbally (and angrily) tracing the end of our relationship. The truth of his new relationship had been so obscured in various manipulations, that despite approaching a year of us not dating I really had no idea where “they” were.
“Yes,” he said, and my heart grew very still. Somewhere after he listed the third or fourth reason why she was better than me, I interrupted, “Stop. Just. Stop. I can’t do this with you anymore.” I hung up the phone, curled up in bed, and went to sleep. Keep reading »
It was insanely beautiful. A round diamond in the middle, surrounded by a ring of tiny diamonds, set in platinum. It was custom-designed, but looked vintage. I had never thought much about diamonds — in fact, all of my jewelry, save the pair of diamond studs he had gifted me a couple years before, was from Forever 21 — but it was as if my boyfriend of four years knew exactly what kind of ring I would want when he proposed. I must have said, “Oh my god” 100 times. I wore the ring with love and pride up until we broke up nine-and-a-half months later. Keep reading »