The Chainsmoker is equal parts gross and impressive. They’re that person who lights their next cigarette with the cherry of their last one. They’re the person you don’t even bother asking, “Didn’t you just have one?”
I think the reason why twentysomethings are so fixated on age is because we feel a pressure to be a certain way at 23, at 25, at 29. There are all of these invisible deadlines with our careers and with love and drinking and drugs. I can’t do coke at 25. I need to be in a LTR at 27. I can’t vomit from drinking at 26. I just can’t!
In a perfect world, everyone you loved would love you back. It’d be as easy as 1, 2, 3. “Oh, you love me? I love you back then. No questions asked.” There’d be no unreturned texts, no jabs, no infidelity. They’d be exactly how you want them to be.
You’re in a #dark place with your body. You feel fat and undesirable. You totally get why you aren’t getting laid! But that kind of thinking is dangerous. If you think you’re hideous, chances are others will pick up on that and not be attracted to you. In order for someone to want to sleep with you, you sort of have to want to sleep with yourself.
I recently held back someone’s hair while they vomited for the first time and was struck by how tender it felt. Scooping their hair up and pulling it back as they do this really disgusting and vulnerable thing felt like a total bonding experience. Added bonus points if you massage the back of their neck while they heave.
You know the drill. You meet; you fall in ‘like’. Maybe you develop a romantic history (drunk sex, a date, a dance floor pash), or maybe you just admire them from afar. You feel like if they were a pop star you’d put a poster of their face on your wall and blow it kisses before you fell asleep to dream about them all night. If you were in high school you’d write their name on all your folders and do love equations with both your names.
In the beginning of every relationship, you essentially try to be the best version of yourself. You pretend you dress to the nines every single day (“Oh, this little number? I just threw it together in five….hours”), do fun-filled activities, and never fart, burp, poop or experience any other human action that could be perceived as gross.
Sexuality is so personal. Conservative parents, fear of disownment and religion definitely play a role in someone ‘s decision to remain in the closet. But at the end of the day, it’s all about whether or not that person can feel okay about loving another man.
These four little words, when left dangling at the end of a sentence like a cancerous limb, can result in a mental breakdown for the person on the receiving end of this inconsiderate conjunction…especially if typed via text message, IM, bbm or Facebook message.
The funny quiet person has a really quirky, surprisingly clever sense of humor and quick wit and as such is that much more endearing. In fact the funny quiet person is perhaps the only type of quiet person that’s capable of being the center of attention while maintaining total conversational efficiency, e.g. Mitch Hedberg.
Men, the following is a guide for whether I would sleep with you, based on your shoes. Women, although I cannot presume you share my taste in men (and, apparently, Asics), the red flag shoes should be universal.
But really, I just want to say, go for it. Poop your heart out. Poop like there’s no tomorrow. Poop like nobody’s watching. I mean that. I don’t care if it’s the biggest poop in the history of poops, I promise I won’t think badly of you.
Other than peeking at the website, I wanted to be completely in the dark when I got to the performance, and lo and behold, it was literally pitch black as I entered the abandoned warehouse on West 27th Street. The experience began at the receptionist area where my boyfriend and I were handed two playing cards, him the ten of spades, and I the jack of diamonds.
Your hand doesn’t talk back. It doesn’t bitch and complain or ask to be on top. It doesn’t text you at three in the morning asking you to come over. Your hand doesn’t yell. It doesn’t bum you out and make you cry to “Wonderwall” alone in your room. And it’s certainly not going to ask you to pay for dinner.
You should kiss someone if you like them. You’ll learn so much about them when you taste their spit. And it will also make you feel young again. No matter how experienced you are, your first kiss with someone always takes you back to that first time with that first person.
See, I’ve got a theory, and it’s that we’re all possessed by this need to be special, to be different – to matter so much to the person we choose to be with that we eclipse all that came before and all who will come after.
Not only were the external stimuli I was exposed to promoting an “ideal” body image, they were also promoting a sense that unless I fit that particular ideal, I should be morbidly dissatisfied. And I was; for no particular reason other than I felt some sort of social pressure to find ways to hate myself, which, needless to say, is absolutely ridiculous.
While they have common characteristics—a lone, often single humanoid in the company of a couple (and sometimes a really super cute, tiny little puppy the couple just added to the fold) with whom they are not sexually or romantically involved—third wheels come in many shapes and sizes, and often serve quite a functional purpose for said couple.