“Do you know *insert name of possible mutual friend here*? Because they also went to Bradford High and I thought you might know them. Oh, you don’t? It’s a really big school but I figured there was a chance. Okay.”
Truth be told, I kind of love Avril. She makes unabashed catchy pop and makes no bones about the fact that she’s sort of a joke. But I can’t, won’t, don’t get behind the atrocity that is “Girlfriend.”
My best friends have always changed over time. There was Madison in second grade. I helped her plaster her bedroom walls in ‘Teen Beat’ Jonathan Taylor Thomas posters. She and I lost touch when I changed schools. Then, there was Matthew in fourth grade.
The recent recession has done a great job of disguising the deadbeats — making them at first glance indistinguishable from the ambitious, driven young men merely fighting off the symptoms of economic collapse – and so the women who haven’t given up altogether often won’t know what kind of guy they’ve got until they’ve wrinkled their ‘first date dress’ and wasted a night.
Recently realized certain aspects of what he thought was his identity were actually just uncontrollable delusions lacking any concrete behavior as evidence of their truth and significance.
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.
The woman who wont drive 45 minutes to the only open McDonalds in her town at 5am when her stomach threatens to suicide over an unrequited love affair with a cheeseburger is not to be trusted. Having the willpower to overcome her instincts would make her a formidable opponent in both war and sex games.
Worry that your relationship lacks definition because you are vastly over-invested (you are) (this is the most clarity and insight you will have throughout this whole situation). Spend more time being concerned that things aren’t going to pan out the way you want them to than actually doing anything to cause them to pan out the way you want them to…
Your Disney film of choice says more than just what VHS was worn to tatters from merciless overuse when you were eight; it says which 1 hour and 30 minutes contained your tiny little dreams. So put on your Tinkerbell costume (you know you still have it), get out your stuffed Boo doll, and settle in for a little trip down One Day My Prince Will Come Lane.
Minimize eye contact. As a general rule, the ratio of eye contact with your crush to how much you’re crushing on your crush should be inverse. If you must acknowledge your crush, a sideways glance or indirect stare is advised.
The best love songs make it possible for you to feel like you’re in love for the duration of the song. Even if you’ve been single for some time, you can play the song and feel like you belong to somebody. That’s what “I Only Have Eyes For You” does for me.
I want to impart my newfound wisdom to all of the readers who want their apartment to stop smelling like One Night Stand and Regret. Listen carefully, grasshoppers.
Would it be better, if I could tell you how I really feel? If the next time your eyes met mine in the half darkness of a moodily lit bar, their reflection glowing in the whiskey inhabiting the glass between your fingers, I just said, “I want you to be mine”? Would it make me feel better, then, to have you reach your fingers across the table between us, and interlace them with mine while you gave me your response?
I’ve always had the mindset that if a guy wears really expensive or “sexy” underwear, he actually lacks confidence – he makes up for his insecurity by expensively framing the goods. Likewise, boxer briefs and thongs tell a different story. So here’s my break-down of men’s underwear and the type of guy who wears them.
They’re my friends—I know what they think their problem areas are, I know what colors they think they don’t look good in, I know if wearing a 4-inch heel makes them homicidal. These questions are not for them.
The Traveler just so happens to always be visiting that day and is in dire need of meeting up because he’s lonely or needs someone to show him the city, (sidenote: lonely is another code word for “lets get naked.”)
A proper save the date email should not require more than 5 seconds of the reader’s time to quickly scan, lock eyes with the date and enter it into her calendar. There is not a human grazing this green earth who has the time or desire to sift through a superfluous introductory paragraph to find your date.
From Ricki Lake’s cringe worthy (but adorable!) street sass to Jenny Jones’ implant-obsessed panel of midwestern beauty pageant dropouts, I couldn’t get enough of Talk TV (much to my mothers’ chagrin).