Celebrity sex is disgusting. It’s always impersonal, usually degrading and there's no limo ride home the next morning.
When did you get to the point where you thought, "NOOOOOOPE," and mentally moonwalked out of the room?
Elisabeth was lying on her back on the bed, an unopened bottle of lubricant beside her. I’d packed it in the optimism that the aphrodisiac of travel would rekindle our lukewarm sex life.
ex boyfriends
I crashed my ex-boyfriend's wedding. I swear it wasn't on purpose.
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).
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.
Don’t I deserve a little time to be single and unafraid and strong and independent and all those other things Kelly Clarkson sings about?
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.
I know you think you’re being nice by not explicitly stating that you’re not into me, but let’s be honest, no you’re not.
It all started with Reddit (as so many strange and terrible things do).
In terms of emotional damage, it occurred to me that I was feeling a greater sense of loss over the stolen pizza than my recently failed relationship.
You can finally hear your own voice again. Plus you no longer have to constantly initiate sex, and hallelujah: no more obligatory birthday blowjobs.
social media
Aren’t we non-monogamous partly to avoid cheating and lies?
legal system
I snapped, and I punched him in the arm. I kept punching him until we were struggling on the floor.
I broke a guy’s heart AND stole his Yo MTV Raps Bel Biv Devoe card.
A friend of mine insisted she’d broken up with a guy after not hearing from him after a second date. I disagree.
One night, as we were “text-fighting,” he texted me with “Lose 10lbs and then talk shit on me.” So I publicly shamed him.
The day he moved, I got drunk on cheap beer and cried like a baby, mascara-streaked and alone in my D.C. apartment.
My ex is a complete wang from hell and I'd rather chew my own arm off and beat myself to death with it than talk to him again.
Apparently, women take six days to break up with someone, while men drag things out for a month before cutting their lover-person loose.