Last week, I celebrated a BIG birthday: 30! In acknowledgment of the fact that I’ve spent over half of my 20s working at The Frisky, I’m going to reach down deep into to archives and revisit some old posts. I’ll examine what I wrote at the time and how that has or hasn’t changed. If you have any suggestions of old posts you’d like me to revisit, tell me in the comments or shoot me an email at Jessica@TheFrisky.com.
The Post: “Does Your Ex ‘Owe’ You Something After A Nasty Breakup?” Keep reading »
Whether your last relationship was a brief affair or years in the making, breakups are always tough to handle. For many of us, the five stages of grief include sulking, series binging on your favorite TV shows, drowning your sorrows with multiple pints of Ben & Jerry’s, and staunch avoidance. Still surrounded by mementos of your ex and your relationship, sometimes the easiest response to your emotional state is to sit on the couch and do nothing at all. That is, until your best friend comes over to deliver a much-needed pep talk and finds you buried beneath a pile of post-relationship clutter.
With a little push, you admit that it’s time to get organized and get on with your life. To help guide the process of cleaning up after the breakup, here are five simple tips for excising your ex and all his/her stuff from your home: Keep reading »
When I first moved back home with my parents after a nasty breakup, there was much to be embarrassed about. What was a 26-year-old (and eventually 27-year-old) doing moving back into her childhood bedroom? Why couldn’t I have become an investment banker so I had thousands of dollars saved for a situation like that? I had to see my parents every single day and answer their myriad questions about where I was going, what I was doing, and if that was what I was really wearing. (Yes.) I had to ask permission to borrow their cars. I had to explain to guys from online dating that I lived with my parents. And, of course, I had vibrators, lingerie and sex books to hide.
But moving back with the ‘rents was the best possible decision for sure. I don’t want to sleep on anyone’s couch and I especially don’t want to wear out my welcome on anyone’s couch. More importantly, though, I was a shellshocked. I needed some TLC, lots of margaritas, and several seasons of “Keeping Up With The Kardashians” on Netflix Instant — as well as time, space, and rent-free living — to get myself back on my feet. When I move back to New York City into a new apartment next weekend, I will take my love and gratitude towards Mom and Dad right along with me. Here are four things I’ve learned after moving back in with my parents — for better or for worse — as an adult… Keep reading »
I usually don’t find myself cheering for lawsuits, but this one is an exception: a jilted bride from Chicago is suing her ex-fiancé for the costs of the wedding after he cheated on her at his Las Vegas during his bachelor party and then called the wedding off when he got caught.
Pardon my ’90s expression, but “You go, girl!” Keep reading »
Two months ago, I packed up my life into all the suitcases and storage boxes I could find. My kitchen supplies went in storage. A Reiss cocktail dress I’d bought to wear for my own engagement party at some unforeseen date went to my sister’s. My books are still piles up in my parents’ living room. I left baby photos of Ex-Mr. Jessica, given to me by his grandma back when he referred to me as “the one,” behind in our old bedroom along with my housekey.
Moving out of the apartment I shared with my ex-boyfriend was worse than the breakup. He made the breakup easy on me, in a way, by treating me badly. I felt hurt about being dumped, of course, but mostly I felt angry: I didn’t deserve to be dumped so suddenly, to have another woman waiting in the wings, to basically have been kicked out of my home, and to have my possessions threatened. I still feel blood-pumping anger about all that. Moving out felt so final and being forced to do it against my will totally sucked.
I’ve spent a lot of time on my own these past two months. I’ve done a lot of thinking and hurting and growing. I feel ready — or mostly ready — to leave my parents’ house in Connecticut where I’ve been staying and move back out on my own again. A single woman. A city girl again. Sigh. It turns out moving out on my own again is hard, too. Keep reading »