Sexy is the thing I try to get them to see me as, after I win them over with my personality.
Maybe I should be honest and tell him how I really feel. Which is — what if somebody better comes along?
We whine when we don’t have a boyfriend, and we whine when we do.
What’s the big mystery? It’s my clitoris, not the Sphinx.
I do love you, but I’ve never lived with anybody before. And I’m stubborn, and I like the remote, and I can’t cook. I don’t do laundry, sometimes for like, two weeks, and my sponges smell. You’re going to see all that, and I’m scared.
Jesus, every time you get near him, you turn into this pathetic, needy, insecure victim and the thing that pissed me off most? You’re more than willing to go right back for more.
It’s like those guys you have the great second date with, and then never hear from them again. I pretend they died.
I’m going to find my inner goddess if it kills me.
I miss napping. They look down on napping at work.
I’m on Valium. Everything’s okay.
featured image – Sex And The City