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 »
My freshman year of college, I went on a date with a guy to a fancy restaurant in Manhattan. It was the kind of place with a white tablecloth, where a busboy scraped the crumbs off the table with a comb once your plates were removed and the maitre’d pulled out women’s chairs for them. That’s where I made my big statement: the maitre’d pulled out a chair for me and I walked around to the other chair, pulled it out for myself and sat down. I wasn’t just being rude; I thought I was making a point about how I — and by extension all women — didn’t need to be treated with chivalry. Keep reading »
One of the defining tensions in my life has always been reconciling my feminist political beliefs, my desire for a respectful and egalitarian relationship, and my attraction to more traditional alpha males. I passionately believe in women’s equality, in reproductive rights, and in equal pay for equal work. And I want to be in a loving, intimate, balanced relationship where everyone makes a contribution, whatever that might be. So why do those things seem so hard to reconcile with my desire to feel looked after and taken care of? Keep reading »
Of all the aspects that were difficult about my recent breakup from my boyfriend of two years, the hardest was moving out of the apartment that we shared together. You can verbally say all kinds of things: we’re broken up, we’re on a break, we’re seeing other people, whatever. Those words might change from day to day. But pulling your sundresses off the closet hangers feels final. Same goes for taking your face wash out of the shower. I built a life, a relationship, with someone and then all of a sudden, it was just my things in an apartment that was now his. Keep reading »
Sunday morning, at 2:30 a.m., I was jostled from my deep slumber by the obnoxious trill of my cellphone alerting me to a new text message. I knew it had to be one of two people. Anyone else who would text at such a late hour would be being rude, but a booty call is just playing by the rules.
I didn’t get the little rush I usually feel when I realize someone wants to come over to bang me in the middle of the night. I didn’t even really feel flattered. I glanced at my phone to double check — yep, Likely Candidate #1, the 28-year-old who was probably hoping for a good luck f**k on behalf of the Jets before that evening’s championship game. I clicked my phone to silent and got back underneath the covers. Not interested. This was kind of a big deal, as two weeks ago — before I began my sex/dating/drinking sabbatical — I would have texted him back in the affirmative and spent the 15 minutes before he arrived ensuring I didn’t have bad breath and that my armpits were shaved. Keep reading »
At the end of last year, I was in Los Angeles for a TV appearance that required me to be dressed up and in full makeup. That ended in the early afternoon, and I walked around downtown all glammed up, excited to have the rest of the day free. A guy complimented me, and I started talking, then flirting with him. He was cute and seemed smart, and I felt like I was already very far from my daily New York life, so I flirted back. And because it was 2010, that flirting soon took to our phones as we traded numbers, and then I started following him on Twitter, and he did the same to me. Keep reading »