Mélanie Berliet

It doesn’t sadden you one bit to think about growing old—together.

Nominate your partner to manage your Facebook page after you die.

Dirty jokes to laugh at and share with people that love inappropriate humor.

Bad weather doesn’t get enough credit for fostering awesomely memorable situations.

The awesomest corny jokes imaginable.

I’m sticking around—for now.

There’s a difference between falling in love, and staying in love.

Insinuating that it’s demanding to raise the issue of exclusivity.

“I told him this morning that if he doesn’t stop buying kitchen utensils, I’ll have to stop having sex with him.”

It’s virtually impossible for anyone with a vagina to avoid being judged for her personal appearance. Males, on the other hand, tend to skirt such dissection — by way of having penises, presumably.

What I discovered is that everyone seems to have a saucy tale worth sharing.

As a writer who frequently covers provocative subjects, I know that sex, money, and love, when bundled, form a combustible mix.

Whatever the case, making it to the awesomely comfortable, beautifully boring stage of love is something to celebrate, even if you do so by feeding your pajama clad partner handfuls of microwaved popcorn while binge watching HBO.

From my experience, more than heavy petting beneath a blanket is virtually impossible on a regular commercial flight.

Staring back at me was a Groupon issued by LaserTouch Aesthetics in Soho.

He was married at the time, but in our moment nuptials didn’t matter. Nothing did.

As sisters, we shared a lot, but I wasn’t aware of this booklet’s creation until Céline’s death, at age 30, in the spring of 2009.

Not even the least sexually inhibited are immune to awkward moments between the sheets. The reason for this, I believe, is twofold. First, we’re all susceptible to the involuntary nature of bodily functions.