I Want To Talk To Your Ex

Is that weird? I feel like your ex has all the information I need, all the spoilers, everything that would save me grief and time and pain.
Is that weird? I feel like your ex has all the information I need, all the spoilers, everything that would save me grief and time and pain.
I know we all want to skip to the ending — the parts where you host game nights together and do the Sunday crossword in bed — but don’t forget to just enjoy the ride, even if that means you aren’t “Facebook official” yet.
According to Love Twenty, women in their twenties are supposed to read diet books and novels about shopping. I disagree. Here are my suggestions for novels you should read if you’re a woman in your twenties.
Sometimes you just need to get completely obliterated, but that’s not the real, inherent motive behind drinking. It’s the possibility of meeting someone new, doing something crazy, and letting loose. We all like acting like idiots and making regrettable decisions; who’s to say being sober has to keep us from doing that?
I can’t mention sexual experiences in your twenties without including alcohol and memory loss. 60% of our sexual experiences are forgettable quite literally because we can’t remember them!
The Party Girl still hits the old haunts, but now it’s mostly to reminisce with her bartender friends about old crazy antics instead of to create new mayhem. She used to sleep with the band guy back in the day, and now when she runs into him on the street she is stunned by how old and tired he looks; all gin blossoms and jowl.
Commitment to family isn’t demonstrated by blindly opening your emotions, health, and time to individuals whose commitment to you was genetically determined. The beauty of family is when people make a choice to honor each other’s physical and emotional health.
Some people aren’t good at doing sports or have trouble understanding how to do math. Maybe this is my weak spot. Maybe I just legitimately don’t know how to be in a relationship with someone.
But beyond just making the waiter’s life miserable for the hour or so spent in the restaurant, this person clearly holds service jobs in general in extremely low esteem — something that should essentially be punishable by death at this point.
It’s like if somebody were to ask, “What about the laundry? Do you do the laundry? Does he ever do the laundry? What if he does the laundry in a way you don’t like? What if you come home and find him doing the laundry when you didn’t know he was going to be doing the laundry? Do you fight about laundry? Have you ever thought about stopping doing laundry altogether, like when you have kids?” Um. No.
There is quite possibly nothing more irritating and homicidal-feelings-inducing than being somewhere with your girlfriend and having some unimaginative weirdo ask “So who’s the guy?”
You’re going to give your heart to a few people who don’t deserve it. Then, one day you’ll come to your senses and ask them to give it back.
I’ve also dated my fair share of dudes, so I’m not suggesting I catch up for years of lost time here, or even participate in an entire pre-boyfriend do-over. I’m just saying, if I had the chance to go back in time and tweak a few things here and there, this is what I would do.
Date someone who wants what you want, who is open to the idea of the relationship you desire with another human being. You need to be with people who are open to what you have to give to them and are willing to match it.
You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, “everywhen” else — us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging ’60s — we are happy.
Everything about this person screams “almost” — you “almost” dated; you “almost” fell in love; you “almost” changed your life to be near them; you “almost” drifted through life without engaging with them at all. Like the mythical unicorn, you can never concretely have this person, you can often only grasp at their essence.
If you’re unattractive but singing/strumming/banging on drums to a captivated audience, you immediately become screwable. Why is this? Why were so many women willing to sleep with Rod Stewart and Billy Joel and pretend like they weren’t sleeping with complete eyesores?