Some time ago, Amelia and I were chatting over IM about snooping. If I remember correctly, it was in the context of a discussion about sharing passwords. Should you share your email password? Your Facebook password? Your debit card PIN number? Is it a big, serious relationship step to do those things or not super-serious at all and just a byproduct of our digitized lifestyle? I was very pro-sharing passwords, because I have nothing to hide. Go read my emails, I don’t care! The only reason I wanted to share passwords with my boyfriend was to make life easier: we share his laptop at home and I needed to be able to log in whenever I needed. My reason for wanting passwords was not at all motivated by wanting to sneak around in my boyfriend’s private business. I sincerely believed he had nothing to hide from me either.
But more importantly, snooping in someone’s email, or listening to their voice mails, or any of those other privacy-violating things, just seemed like a douchey thing to do. It implied a lack of trust. It implied suspicion. It implied an insecurity on my part. I am a huge, huge, HUGE believer in the Golden Rule and I would never snoop in someone’s private business, I thought, because that is not the way that I would want to be treated. “I just couldn’t go into someone’s emails like that,” I surely told Amelia. “You say that now when everything’s fine,” she replied, in words that have stuck in my head ever since. “But if you really thought something was up, you would do anything at your disposal to find out what he wasn’t telling you.” Keep reading »
I was at a party a few years ago, where Mikey, one of my gay best friends, and I were having one of our heart-to-hearts. “Devon and I broke up,” he announced.
“What, why!? You seemed so perfect together,” I gasped.
“Eh, we were both tops,” he sighed. Keep reading »
Happy (Almost) New Year! We’re still reliving the best of The Frisky in 2010 as the clock ticks down to 2011. Here are some of our favorite and most talked about “Girl Talk” columns from the past year. Keep reading »
Despite the fact that I’ve never had a relationship longer than nine months and that one was with a 15-year-old boy, I still believe in love. I believe in the love of friends and family and despite all evidence against, I believe that I will someday meet a man who will make my life even better. Even with this hope, when I imagine the future, it generally involves a goat farm and some really cute babies, but I’ve blurred out the vision of that burly be-flanneled man of my dreams. It seems that even though I will meet a guy and tell my friends, “I think I can be with this guy for more than a few months! Yay!” A week or a month later, I’m already washing my hands of another false start. It’s not like I can’t relate to or love men, but all my closest relationships are to ex-boyfriends. It’s for this reason that I’ve set up marriage promises. Lots of them. Keep reading »
I was never one of those little girls who begged God to give her boobs. If anything, I desperately wanted them to stop growing. By the time I hit middle school, I was strapping them down into a sports bra that made it look I had a uni-boob around my chest like a tire. I was never psyched that I had big breasts. I liked wearing little boys’ T-shirts with overalls in high school and I remember looking down one day and thinking that I just wanted to be a little girl again—I didn’t want the body of a woman. I couldn’t get dressed without looking either matronly or slutty. There wasn’t really an in-between for me and my boobs. By the time I was 25, they were a 34G. Keep reading »
Yesterday I almost died. Not in a “life flashing before me” kind of way – but in a cold, painful, this-blizzard-totally-sucks kind of way. I got stuck in the Snowpocalypse.
You know, the Snowpocalypse—the weekend storm that’s currently blanketing the East Coast. I spent Christmas in Philadelphia, DJing an annual Christmas night party. Yesterday morning when we woke up, my friends and I decided that we would try and beat the impending blizzard and make our way home to New York. Only we didn’t beat the blizzard. We drove right into it. Keep reading »