What if your Sunday afternoon of busy to-do’s: your laundry, grocery shopping, tidying up, prepping for the week ahead, is always something you do by yourself? What if those Monday mornings where you roll over groggily, angry at the alarm clock, and longing for the warmth of another body against yours… are always met with an empty space by your side? What if all of that time you’ve spent dreaming and imagining, hoping and believing that something – someone – quite wonderful is somewhere out there, wasn’t worth your energy?
If there’s one single characteristic that’s carried me through every terrible date, bitter break-up, sleeping with my ex and trying my damnedest to not give up on this elusive thing called love, it’s my optimism.
Know that emjoi that’s smiling and has hearts for eyes? That’s me.
More than anything else I value in a future partner — and in myself — is a person’s ability to see the bright side of things and to put others before himself to bring a bit more happiness into the world. I’ve been called a little naive before and that I look through rose-colored glasses, but what can I say? I like the view from here! It’s positive, encouraging, and keeps me keepin’ on.
So if you’re planning to be with me, here’s a few things you should know in advance:
We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of years now. In that time, we’ve grown pretty close: I find myself searching for you when I’m waiting in line at Starbucks or when I need a break from editing at my beloved job. I often think of you when I’m heading to the ladies room or when I feel that small, haggard, terrified voice in the back of my mind that’s politely screaming: where the hell is he?!!
You made so many promises when we first met one another – when you encouraged me to talk about my interests and you gushed over my smiling, yet subtly sexy, poses. The one where I’m in a bikini in Mexico, the one where I’m on the merry-go-round in London. The classic, stereotypical one in front of the Eiffel Tower, and of course, the one of me trapezing by the pier, looking graceful as I sling myself toward the ground, dangling by a cable. Continue reading →
I lost my virginity the way that most girls dream about: to my dedicated, kind high school boyfriend who adored me, with candles lit and Boys II Men playing softly in the background. Totally not kidding. My first ‘special sex’ was pretty stereotypical (and so sweet), but it took me nearly a decade to really understand just how “special” sex can get.
There’s nothing like that first time you orgasm and finally understand what the hype is all about, or when you get up the nerve to have a sexy vacation tryst (and no, you’ll never see that person again, but whoa, what a night). Or frankly, when you feel like a lingerie model because you’ve worked so hard to get fit, and you’re crazy-confident on top.
Special sex is special for a reason. And thus, here are a few types of rendezvouses that every woman should experience at least once in her lifetime……
1. The “We Just Said ‘I Love You’ and I’m Trying My Best Not to Cry” Sex
OMG, we’re totaling changing our Facebook status in the morning, but first … get naked, babe.
You’ve been there: after a not-so-great date, you’re venting to one of your coupled-up friends, expressing your frustration and practically begging for an answer to when your luck in love will turn around. After some calm words of reassurance and promises of a happily-ever-after that’s frankly a little difficult for you to imagine, you snap at your pal for being so positive when dating is anything but that.
For most of us, that friend who has managed to find love will almost always say: “You know, it’s a lot about timing and a little luck.” Continue reading →
In October of last year, with my mouth full of tortilla chips and tequila on my brain, I was talking about how long I’ve lived in New York, when my friend Erin interrupted me, “Linds, it won’t be four years in March that you’ve lived here. It’ll be five years!”
In that moment – and frankly, in this one – I was in disbelief that half of a decade has passed since those black Target pumps marched out of JFK into what, at the time, seemed like the start of everything.
I didn’t know it then – but it really was. March 14, 2010 was the beginning of what has become not a journey or a roller coaster, not a blog post or a story, not some romantic comedy or book that’s yet to be published… but the start of my adult life.
My first birthday in New York, before I started this blog a few days later. With Erin.
As I sat down to write this post, highlighting some profound lesson from many lessons and experiences in Manhattan (and Brooklyn and Queens), I kept coming up short. Every other year, I had a clear picture of what I wanted to write about: what it means to be a New Yorker, how the rain has followed all of my prized moments, how I almost gave up on New York (and myself) but didn’t, my own version of ‘Oh, the Places You’ll Go’ – but this year…
I really hate being compared to Carrie Bradshaw, but I’m starting to come to terms with it. We might live in apartments the size of her closet and I might be looking in the windows of Jimmy Choo instead of shopping there – but she got one thing right: there is love in New York.
And for a while, we all believed it – at least the six years that Sex & the City was on – but somewhere between The Bachelor and everyone joining Tinder, we got lost.
I know I definitely did. I moved here with a few bags, full of my clothes, my hopes, my minimal savings and my one pair of fuck-me heels (from Target, thank you very much). I didn’t have an apartment or a job when I landed at JFK – but I knew everything would fall into place because I had faith. And a hell of lot of blind ambition.