Being in a relationship is great, but getting there totally sucks. You meet someone, start to like that someone and then go crazy trying to figure out if they like you, why they aren’t calling, if you should text them, if you should have kissed them, if telling them you love The Hills was too much information…
When our male pal over at Coed and I were chatting about topics for this week’s column, he proposed “favorite sex positions.” I enthusiastically agreed. (“HELL YA, MO FO!”) I mean, what could be easier than whipping up an article on a topic that I talk about at length with my best friends?
Now, don’t get me wrong. There was a 6-month period in there where I did nothing but play Guiter Hero. All the time. Every day. One time in a towel immediately upon stepping out of the shower. (Seriously.) I was addicted and loved the pleasure I felt when I finally mastered Heart’s Barracuda on medium. But it didn’t make my toes curl. Or my neck tingle. Or my eyes to roll back in my head. Or…give me an orgasm.
It was Patti Stanger who once taught me that there are 3 sides to every relationship fight: his side, her side and the truth. (She also taught me that you should wear something short but not too slutty to mixers, and that girls larger than a size 4 will never find love…but I digress.)
Whether you’re a guy or a girl, gay or straight, old or young, one of the most frustrating things about liking someone is not knowing if they like you back. Wait, no - that’s not totally right. The most frustrating thing is the amount of time wasted thinking/wondering/analyzing/wishing they like you and then playing games to make them show it.
Jul 5, 2011
Last week, my male friend over at Coed Magazine shared his thoughts on how we ladies handle life after a break up. And let me just say, I haven’t LOLed that hard since the first time I watched this. (OMG. Just watched it again. HILARIOUS.)
Jun 28, 2011
Because not seeing him meant that I had no idea what he was up to. How he was handling this whole mega-break up. If he was at home crying into a box of Fruity Pebbles (our cereal), throwing things in a fit of rage whenever anything reminded him of me (which should mean broken everything), or just sorta going about his daily business….only now, with the enthusiasm of Eeyore.
Jun 21, 2011
When I dream about my perfect relationship, it always looks the same. My boyfriend is a Jewish Bradley Cooper look-alike with that sexy shaggy hair and the perfect blend of intelligence and wit. He’s constantly surprising me with over-the-top romantic gestures, from randomly bringing me chocolate chip granola pancakes in bed (“just because I love you”), to showing up at my house in the middle of the day because he “just had to see me.”
For some (read: guys) it's a moment of worry. How does any guy win over his girlfriend's overprotective father? How does he look that (scary) man in the eyes knowing the things he's done to his daughter between the sheets (and, very likely, 30 minutes before the dinner reservation)?
Oh my gosh! It's just what I always wanted...in 1998.
My best friend and I have a lot in common. We both love baked ziti, shoes, Robin Williams movies and playing with makeup. But as much as we can talk for hours and hours about the beauty of a designer stiletto or the genius that is Mrs. Doubtfire, there's one thing we can't seem to agree on: Oral sex.
Single and maybe not quite ready to mingle Ryan Reynolds recently opened up to Details Magazine. When asked about his very public divorce he said, "I have not interest in dating right now. It just seems so kind of alien to me at this point ... I don't think I want to get married again."
OK, I'm about to get deep. About The Real Housewives of New Jersey. I know. It seems ridiculous, but just stay with me, OK?
And that's when I learned that the biggest difference between men and women is not how often they masturbate or what they talk about with their friends, it's birthday parties. As in, guys don't really have them. At least not in any special sort of way.
And the future of New Jersey housewife/sex tape star/crazy ass, Danielle Staub? Well, this isn't surprising at all.
I can vividly remember buying my first thong. I was at the mall with my BFFs and they were going on and on about how much guys love them and "OMG, they are SO comfortable!" I started thinking about my crush Joey (aren't all high school crushes named Joey?) and how he'd fall madly in love with me once he saw me bend over and my hot pink thong peek out over the top of my low-rise jeans.
What's a political campaign without sex? A McCain campaign ad once accused Obama of trying to pass a bill incorporating sex ed into kindergarten classrooms. Of course, Obama doesn't even need to utter the "s" word when McCain's running mate, Sarah Palin, has the poster family for the need for sex education.
So last week I listed off the 7 things about guys I really don't understand. At all. Like male genitalia.... why does it always look so....alien-like? The purpose wasn't so much to have someone explain them to me as it was to get a few virtual high fives from all my fellow confused ladies.
Benjamin Franklin once said (I know, I can't believe I'm quoting Benjamin Franklin either) "Nothing is certain but death and taxes." B. Frank was a smart man and he made a good point, but I'd like to add one more certainty to that list: confusion from the male gender.
So, last night was crazy, right? Here I am, sitting on my couch enjoying a bag of Pop Chips (yes, an entire bag. So much for portion control) watching NeNe Leakes flip her sh*t on Celebrity Apprentice when suddenly the news breaks in.
Peppered throughout magazines and blog sites are optimistic articles about delicious summer activities and fashion trends to anticipate and enjoy. However, there is one thing about summer that is so heinous and disgusting that I feel I must warn the masses before it destroys them: flip-flops, fashion’s Anti-Christ.
Rebound sex is like cilantro: either you love it or
think it tastes like feet you absolutely despise it. But unlike the most polarizing garnish on the planet, rebound sex comes with baggage and emotions. And then more emotions. Even if that's not what you planned.
Something tells me this lady isn't making a salad.
You shouldn't fake it. It's bad to fake it. It's rude to fake it. But the truth is, there's an exception to every rule. And in the case of fakin' a big O, there are three.
Like most of my friends, I went on birth control my freshman year of college. But unlike most of my friends, I didn't go on it because I was having sex (if you know what I looked like freshman year you'll understand why that was a long way off), but because it seemed like the thing to do. And because I heard it would make my period more pleasant. And my boobs bigger.
You finished your last exam early and, after waiting for someone else to turn theirs in (you don't want to be first!), ran down the steps of that lecture hall, slammed that baby on the desk and skipped your way to freedom
In just 2 weeks, Prince William (AKA. the one that got away) is going to marry Kate Middleton in front of a global audience.
You know what's depressing? Coming home after a long day of classes and group meetings and work and discovering that your DVR is totally empty. What the hell, TV? What is up with every. single. one of my shows going on hiatus at the same time?
The random hook up. Probably the only thing more common at a college party than drunk people screaming to Journey. That's why people are there, isn't it? That's why we girls spend hours picking out outfits that are sexy without being too slutty, and risking third degree burns with a flat iron.
If you don't know what TOMS shoes are, something is wrong with you. Seriously, even my mom has a pair. And she's 60. I have 5 pairs. My best friends each have 2. And every time I'm anywhere, I spot at least 5 other people wearing them.
My mom tells me that my life is a bit too connected to TV. And maybe she's right. I get really stressed out when my DVR is over 45% full, I won't go anywhere on a Saturday morning until I've watched at least 2 episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 on Soap Net and I get really cranky when my favorite shows go on hiatus (I'm looking at you, Glee!).
My biggest fear in life (besides falling down the stairs in a lecture hall) is finding out the person I love is a lying, cheating bastard. I truly believe there is nothing worse than cheating. I mean, what's the point? If you wanna get it in with someone else, why not just grow some balls, dump me and live happily ever after (with 3 STIs....) with that skank?
After seeing previews showing Snooki doing cartwheels and JWoww and Roger having 'the talk', I can't even tell you how excited I was for last night's season finale of Jersey Shore. I planned my whole night around it. I skipped yoga to be home to watch it. Hell, I skipped $1 beer night! And what did I get in return?
Sigh. The text message. So few letters, so many hours spent analyzing it. And throw in some punctuation? My god, you might as well have me solve a trig equation. Ambiguous text messages leave so many of us ladies staring blankly at our cell phone screens, a look of completely confusion on our faces (and not always due to auto correct).