The day he moved, I got drunk on cheap beer and cried like a baby, mascara-streaked and alone in my D.C. apartment.
Celebrity sex is disgusting. It’s always impersonal, usually degrading and there's no limo ride home the next morning.
I've never had a breakup, not a real one, not one where you both decide that things are not working out, or where one of you walks out, not one that breaks your heart into tiny little pieces.
I knew he was into yoga. I just figured his quarter-life crisis was taking even more of a new-age turn. A little more granola than I usually like in a guy, but this wasn’t very serious so I would let it slide.
I’ve never had a wedding myself, but my understanding is that most of the attention is supposed to be on the bride and groom and not on the imploding personal lives of any of the guests.
broken engagement
If you want juicy details about the tragic end of a relationship, pick up a tabloid.
traveling alone
I spent my small savings, boarded a plane for London, and planned to make friends along the way. I ended up crying in a crumpled ball outside of an American Express office in Paris.
ex boyfriends
I crashed my ex-boyfriend's wedding. I swear it wasn't on purpose.
You can finally hear your own voice again. Plus you no longer have to constantly initiate sex, and hallelujah: no more obligatory birthday blowjobs.
I broke a guy’s heart AND stole his Yo MTV Raps Bel Biv Devoe card.
Here are a few of the familiar types of lady-friendships that may require an eventual breakup (or at least someone getting a drink thrown in her face).
The adage about using an equation involving the amount of time you were together as the “x” factor for how long you should be upset after it ends is stupid, plain and simple.
Apparently, women take six days to break up with someone, while men drag things out for a month before cutting their lover-person loose.
I can deal with being alone, lonely even. But single? Ugh, that sounds like work.
I had moved to London, got a visa, an agency, and ditched commercial season in LA against the advice of my manager to be with a guy I was in love with. At least I’ve learned my lesson about never relying on men for anything.
It irks me to know that the layers of my character are being dissected and studied by his film class. The only person I ever OK'ed to analyze my psyche was my therapist.
Like the end of a relationship, losing my love of food has been kind of heartbreaking.
social media
Aren’t we non-monogamous partly to avoid cheating and lies?
Filing the divorce paperwork wasn't that bad. Here's how I did it.

Oct 16, 2013 at 4:00pm | 44 comments

What I need to do now is somehow ‘re-frame’ what that house means to me so that instead of puking when the thought of it even passes briefly through my brain, I feel at least neutral about it or, at best, see it as something positive.