The day he moved, I got drunk on cheap beer and cried like a baby, mascara-streaked and alone in my D.C. apartment.
I don't need the symbol of our union to double as a symbol for status.
Celebrity sex is disgusting. It’s always impersonal, usually degrading and there's no limo ride home the next morning.
The night I found out I was pregnant, he didn’t come home.
I recap a lot of different reality shows where women fight and snarl at each other and wear bandage dresses, and the thing that unsettles me most about them is how the main characters all seemed to stop developing emotionally at twelve.