Have you ever noticed how some of the same scenes play out over and over again when you’re at the bar? If not, maybe you will now!
Your gut says you might be dating a man baby, but how can you really be sure unless you read a bunch of Internet lists to confirm your rising suspicions? This handy guide will help you come to a rational conclusion on whether or not you are dating an adult male, a man child, or quite possibly, a five-year old boy.
I knew everything was going to change when I turned thirty and got married in two consecutive days. But I figured there was no reason to space out these major life events. Bring it on, I told myself. Let’s see what the future holds.
Then nothing changed. My husband and I had been together for a year and a half, and we had moved into a new apartment in the months preceding our wedding. I had already phased out my gaggle of guys and adjusted to a warm and easy routine of contented coupledom. I’d also gone through a ‘process of strategic career adjustment’ (as I deemed it) and was finally embedded in a creative day-to-day of reading about medieval art and philosophy, attempting to write plays, screenplays and novels, and playing music on my piano, flute and guitar.
My world had changed without my noticing it. I realized, with some shock, that I had changed as well.
What had happened to the flitting, pugnacious, amorous and shameless twenty-something lady I had been? How had she disappeared, fading away even from my mind, absolutely, and without saying goodbye?
I became introspective. I had changed, but how and into what? Who had I become?
My favorite English teacher had always said, “people don’t change, they just become more themselves.” I felt this observation to be true. I had evolved, or returned, to a more authentic version of myself. But I was caught pondering: How did the disparate decades of my life cohere? What the heck had I been doing then and what the hell was I doing now?
photo credit: Aisha Singleton Photography
It’s time once again for the Best Lady Tweets! I scope out Twitter for the funniest, truest, greatest tweets written by women, so you don’t have to. Let’s see what we have in store for us this week!
If you plug a waterfall into a GPS it should automatically say, “when possible, please stick to the rivers + the lakes that you’re used to.”
— Toby Herman (@tobyherman27) October 16, 2014
Have you heard of “cuffing season”? Here’s a handy definition from Urban Dictionary:
During the Fall and Winter months people who would normally rather be single or promiscuous find themselves along with the rest of the world desiring to be “Cuffed” or tied down by a serious relationship. The cold weather and prolonged indoor activity causes singles to become lonely and desperate to be cuffed.
Brittany: Why is everyone trying to holla this week like outta no where?
Tiara: You know cuffing season is in full effect right?
Brittany: Oh yeah you right. I know I wont be sleeping alone this weekend.
Like, what? How is this even a thing? How can you possibly force a relationship based on the season?
Nothing makes me smile more than a good tweet. It’s so hard to do sometimes — in just 120 characters you have the opportunity to make someone laugh or say “damn right!” or even just stroke their chin thoughtfully. How do you do it? These ladies pulled it off. Check out some of the funniest, truest, bestest (not a word, I know, whatever) tweets from women this week!
i keep forgetting to listen to haim, but i respect their contributions to good hair
— milt ronmey (@someofmybest) October 9, 2014
I was born to Tindr. Everything about it appeals to every gross part of me. I love engaging with strangers offline, and I love trolling online. Judging people on the fly is totally a skill. Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to fulfill my calling because I was also born a serial monogamist.
I once asked my boyfriend if I could join Tindr and his reply was, “Well, what do I get out of it?” I told him he could be on Tindr too. He said that no, if I got to be on Tindr, he should be allowed to sleep with three different girls. Ok, no.
And so, with no Tindr account of my own, I rely on the kindness of others to let me live vicariously through their profiles. Sometimes they let me have a turn and swiping around, sometimes I get date stories, and then occasionally I’ll get screenshots.
Yesterday, I received a series of screenshots from a friend who thought the conversation with Gabriel was going somewhere until it was very clear it wasn’t. And because she’s basically the best friend in the world, she egged this loser on for the sake of all our entertainment. So thank you dear friend, and also, plug in your phone.
I am easily won over with a mixtape.
While the more tangible mixtape of the 80s is relatively extinct, the concept behind it is alive and well. I’m referring to when you’re gifted a musical playlist by that special someone, filled with random pop-hits and – if you’re lucky – a promise that he’ll make love to you, like you want him to as this mix provides the soundtrack to your falling for one another. Better yet, for the communicatively challenged, the mixtape has been known to provide hints pertaining to your relationship; a sort of figurative progress report for your burgeoning young love.
Born: My first acquisitions in this world are two stuffed bears, probably purchased by a friend or relative on the way to visit the maternity ward. One is named “Bunky” because that is what it says on the tag. The other has no such tag, so my parents call it “Teddy” by default.
Age Three: I have decided Bunky is a girl and Teddy is a boy. This feels natural as Bunky is small and Teddy is large, a conclusion which I now realize reveals volumes about how early heteronormative gender associations become ingrained in toddlers. They are my “kids,” and also somehow married (?). I drag them everywhere.
Five: Teddy’s fur rips after a particularly rough trip through the washing machine. My mother operates on him with a sewing kit. It is briefly unclear as to whether he will make it. I bite my nails and pace around the bedroom like an expectant father.
Nine: Both bears are almost* left in a motel room during a trip to Arizona. We have to go back to the room to investigate. Turns out they were in the suitcase the whole time. (*You cannot be “almost” left in a hotel room if you were, in fact, in a suitcase.)
Eighteen: Bunky and Teddy move to my new college dorm. I believe they are now retro enough that they’re back in vogue. Decrepit stuffed bears feel very normcore. I perch them right in the middle of my bed, on top of my pillow, and think nothing of it. It takes a while to make friends.
We’ve all heard of the one who got away, but what about the one who wouldn’t go away? Anyone got one of those?
Without revealing too much, I’m in that current situation. I went on a date with this fellow — we’ll call him Charlie — and since that date, he continues to text me. What’s even more insane is that after our date, I decided I didn’t want to pursue a relationship or anything at all and I let him know — kindly but firmly — and yet, he still continues to text me.
I have scoured Twitter in search of the best tweets from female writers, comedians, and so forth. I believe I have found some of the funniest/truest/most awesome tweets possible. Let’s delve into what the women of Twitter have to offer us in this first edition of “The Best Lady Tweets.”
Listen, I really like you so let’s just cut to the chase and ruin each others lives.
— Candace_is_that_girl (@candace_9871) September 15, 2014
Can I tell you something? It’s okay to not want kids.
No, really. It is. I promise. Your mom may not think that’s okay. Your friends may not think it’s okay. But I’m here to tell you that it is okay. It is very much okay.
It isn’t that I dislike children or anything like that. Some children are very lovely. I just know that I don’t want kids. My mom is aghast. She frequently asks me if I’ve changed my mind. I know she’s hoping that one day I will tell her, “Yes, I have absolutely changed my mind, I want children, lots of them, and very soon.” But that’s not going to happen.
And that’s okay. Even though I’m in my ’20s and am still “very young” (I’ve been told), in fact, “too young” to decide I don’t want kids, I know that I’m very comfortable with my decision not to procreate. You can be “very young” and know that you don’t want children. That’s perfectly okay.
Why is it okay?
The-Gaggle.com is a website that explores modern romance in the Millennial era – which, let’s be honest, looks nothing like we were taught to expect. We feature essays, advice and social commentary with humor, compassion and brains, and we vow never, ever to publish a piece called “The 10 Best Ways to Satisfy Your Man in Bed”. Do click here to submit your work to us. We love you.