Herewith, an incomplete list of psychics I have been to; partially because these are the important ones, partially because I can’t remember all of the psychics I have been to.
ALSO, and equally tragic: “The other day I was having sex with my boyfriend when he texted someone. While he was still inside me. Idk who it was I just heard the clickclickclick on his iPhone. What exactly does this mean?”
Fact: Sexual intercourse does not make your labia longer. They are either naturally large or naturally small or somewhere in between, just like testicles.
Yes, the word just means “sewing” or “dressmaking” in French, but it’s come to be understood as shorthand for haute couture over the years. And something is not technically haute couture unless the person who designed it is a member of the Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture, the clothing is made to order, the label has a workshop of at least 15 employees in Paris, and the label presents a collection to the public twice annually at the Paris shows. So much for your lesson in rules governing super-expensive clothing that none of us will ever be able to afford. Now let’s steal some of their tricks and make our clothes a little nicer!
1. Slice the top and bottom off one hard-boiled egg, horizontally, and the top and bottom off another, vertically, if that makes sense.
We have all heard of ghosting (or the fade away, as some call it), probably – that thing when a person you’re dating just disappears. But like real ghosts (which are real, as I just said), there are many different types of relationship phantoms. Herewith, a breakdown.
I open the middle door between our rooms wearing only old underwear. Standing before me is a man who safely secures his wallet to his wide-leg JNCOS with a chain. He loves weed, his goatee, and ultimate Frisbee. Has a hamster. Wears fingerless gloves. Playstation. His name is Jake, he is the only white guy living in the African Diaspora program house, and I am going to have to fuck him.
“I want everything to be very tactile. You know, lots of big, plushy velvet pillows, fur rugs, mirrors in the bedroom. Maybe a waterbed. I’ve never tried oe but they’re supposed to be super for making love…”
I’d resigned myself to a summer of backyard burning-but-not-tanning when one of my teachers emailed me to saying he’d heard about a lawyer who was looking to hire a student. Nothin’ fancy, just clerical work. I love few things in life more than alphabetization, so I contacted the lawyer and set up an interview.
I have always thought the world of you. It bums me out you don’t answer my Facebook messages. Did I do something wrong? Do you dislike me or just don’t have time to answer. It would be so cool to hear from you but I don’t want to be foolish and waste your time by trying to contact you.
Not too long ago, I created this OkCupid profile for a nude self portrait-themed art exhibition in New York City. The idea was to combine the negativity and honesty that’s generally reserved for anonymous forums and offline conversations with the transparent accountability of a personal profile. I wanted to see how men would respond to this absurd level of intimacy and openness straightaway, and see if my answers would attract any like-minded people.
Night in with the girls? Try [Redacted’s] wheat germ coated chocolate truffles for a less-guilty indulgence or [Redacted] Calcium for a chocolate treat.
Our mouths are pretty complicated, and there isn’t one miracle product that solves all the problems (and this make sense, because that’s also true for hair, diet, and skin). The good news is it’s easy to maintain a fresh breath, white teeth, and other forms of smile-related world domination—but you have to know the rules.
I wouldn’t qualify as a foodie, since I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I missed eating enough to cycle through all five stages of grief in only three days of fasting. My Google search “paper trail” shows exactly how this process panned out for me.
I’m sick of companies co-opting my age to make baseless assumptions about me. I’m sick of being pigeonholed into an era accused of being superficial, vapid, and careless, despite my best intentions not to be.
When Andrew told me he’d read my essay, he had no way of knowing what it meant to me. He didn’t even say it outright, come to think of it, only confessed to Googling me. It was the quietness of his admission that was so jarringly lovely.
Spoiler: They aren’t.
At some point while signing up for a website that needed proof I was over 21, I entered my birthday as a random day in the 1920s. It was my great good luck that the website then gave my contact information to a woman named Bethea.
“The concept of a ‘basic bitch’ is one that’s been spilling a lot of online ink lately.”