I shouldn’t have continued dating Jason once I found out he sold weed. I probably should have just called it quits when he angrily threw a small McDonald’s French fry at me because I didn’t read his mind and buy a burger. And, I definitely shouldn’t have loaned him $1,000 over the course of the few months we dated.
At 21 years old, deciding to date a prop master/weed dealer seven years my senior—whom I met while doing background work on the set of a Dick Van Dyke Lifetime movie—was not a good idea. But, I’m not going to tell you about this sad unhealthy mistake I made in my early twenties. It’s a trite story that’s not very interesting. However, how I got back the money I loaned him definitely is.
Lana Del Rey isn’t shy about her sex life, and I can’t help but wonder if this makes her a role model. I like brave women who are truthful about their experiences, and Del Rey proved to be one when she admitted in an interview with Complex magazine that, “I have slept with a lot of guys in the industry, but none of them helped me get my record deals. Which is annoying.”
I find her comment both funny and real, but I could easily see how some people might think this is a damaging thing to say. I personally like how frank she is. A lot of people think Lana Del Rey is “fake”. After all, her nails are fake, her makeup is heavy and exaggerated, and her name isn’t even Lana Del Rey (it’s Lizzie Grant). But you know what? Elton John’s real name isn’t Elton John. Mick Jagger used to wear heaps of makeup. And David Bowie, as much as I adore him, lives as entire different personas every time he makes an album. But no one gets on their case of being “fake.”
“Why, yes, that’s correct: my magic number is like 1022, I think. I lost track a while ago,” Kirsten Knisely–outspoken 26 ¾ -year-old single white feminist, and author of her very own blog Love and ADD–said from the soapbox of her small apartment in the early hours of July 16. “I’m like a modern-day Carrie Bradshaw.”
This statement shocked the women of the Internet when it came in direct response and contradiction to sex expert Tracey Cox’s article, “No matter how many people you’ve slept with, it will always be too many’; Sex expert Tracey Cox on why women should NEVER reveal how many lovers they’ve had.”
It was a resplendent day in the outback when my friends and I set out to experience the famous Bell Gorge, known for its daunting cliffs and deadly challenges. To get there, we had to drive off-road for an hour, wade through unpleasantly croc-infested water and hike for miles. If you were brave enough to attempt ‘The Jump’, though, you had to climb even higher on the extremely rocky terrain that stretched over the gorge. The men in my group were anxious to race each other to the top and be the first to conquer the mammoth cliff.
The girls and I laid down our towels and waved goodbye as the guys set off in search of bigger thrills. (I don’t see what could be a bigger thrill than achieving the ultimate cinnamon glow, but whatever.) Before we knew it, the guys were at the top of the cliff, a little more than fifteen meters above us. Expecting the men to jump right away, we all had our cameras ready and waiting. And waiting. And waiting … What was the hold-up?
Have you played The Numbers Game? That’s when your significant other (SO) asks you how many people you’ve slept with. It is a dangerous game.
But even more dangerous than the game itself is the advice sex expert Tracey Cox offers women on the subject:
Keep your mouth zipped even if nothing else has been: by putting a number on your sexual history you’re removing the emotion and the circumstances.
And don’t kid yourself: if you do blurt out a figure to your boyfriend, you will be judged – and not necessarily by the same rules he judges himself on.
Even if he’s slept with 300, your three will be two too many.
I think it’s dangerous advice for two main reasons: 1. it wanders into slut-shaming territory and 2. it promotes lying to your partner. Let’s take a look at the first point.
Yay for padding! Tonight, Unhelpful Therapist™ Chris Harrison becomes Useless-at-Follow-Up-Questions Journalist™ Chris Harrison. Before we get to the main event, former bachelorette Ashley and her husband (from the show) JP show up, and Ashley is about seven months pregnant. Chris Harrison’s introduction: “When I told you guys to say your ‘I do’s’ it turns out you took it pretty seriously.”
In other news, Ashley and JP moved to Miami. “To be closer to Juan Pablo,” Chris Harrison cracks.
We’re all looking for something. Some of us are looking for a job, a love life, and maybe even just a couple of better parents. Thank goodness there’s online matchmaking sites for all your needs.
What is the big deal about Ryan Gosling? I don’t get it, and I never have.
The Internet (and “real life”) is freaking out because he’s having a baby with actress Eva Mendes. Um, did anyone think they had a chance with Ryan Gosling? Like his having a baby was the ultimate personal shutdown to you, Ryan Gosling fan. Sorry, but him having a baby doesn’t affect you in any way. You didn’t have a chance before, and you won’t have a chance ever. Sorry. He’s not even the guy you probably think he is. He’s just an actor. You don’t even know him. Let him live his life.
Anyway, here’s what I don’t get about Ryan Gosling.
The Council was like, “So humans are irrational narcissists deeply obsessed with their own interests? Cool, cool. We understand now that the adults are just dark and twisted babyhumans, most interesting.” And I was like, “No, you guys got the wrong idea,” and Pinky Stardust was like “Uh, that’s probably because you suck at explaining things, L,” and I was like, “Sorry, Pinky,” and Pinky was all, “Get it together” and I was like “Fine, I will, geeeeeeze.”
I’m getting the sense that Pinky is a no-nonsense chick, and I’m not sure how we’re going to get along because I like at least some nonsense in my close girlfriend relationships, which is exactly what Pinky is going to be someday: my closest girlfriend ever. She’s never going to see it coming, but I’m going to gradually blindside her into lifelong friendship. She’s going to love me so, so much.
Anyways I say to The Council, “Council, the humans are selfish, I cannot deny it, but that is not the only thing that defines them.”
And The Council was like, “Prove it.”
(NOTE: I use the term ‘date’ very, very, VERY loosely.)
Freshman year I went to a bar completely by myself where I flashed my shiny, new fake ID and was allowed entrance. I was wearing boot cut jeans (I know…), a sweatshirt I got at Pacsun in maybe 2010 that I am certain I still own, and a walking boot that I had to wear because I broke my foot from “dancing too much.”
I ordered a drink or eight but didn’t really talk to anyone, and before I knew it, it was bar close. Shit. I called a cab and waited outside the bar to be picked up. That’s when I met “Dan” who will be referred to as “Dan” to protect his identity and also because I don’t actually remember his name.
Dan was a music major who graduated college before I had graduated high school. He stood at around 5’6” (I’m 6’5” so you can already see the cracks in our really, really short-lived relationship) and looked kind of like Diplo, I think. We chatted for around 10 minutes before he invited me back to his humble abode, and of course I agreed because I’m gross.
Over the course of the ten minute walk (or in my case, hobble due to my walking boot) to his apartment I learned that he was unemployed and that he and his dad don’t really talk anymore. What I found inside of his apartment proved to be a lot more interesting.
The other week, I had a rare Saturday night off, followed up with a Sunday morning off. Somehow I forced myself out of bed, away from Netflix, got dressed up in the vintage dress that was collecting dust in my closet and headed downtown to visit my bartender best friend at work.
There’s something empowering about strutting downtown when you know you look good. It felt fun, sassy, confident and sexy. I headed into my friend’s bar, a classy, speakeasy type establishment where the lighting is low and flattering and the music is the perfect soundtrack to your life in that very moment.
The tables were full of couples having date nights as I headed straight to the bar. We started chatting as she poured me a gin drink from heaven and I know that I made the right decision, Orange is the New Black could wait.
A few handsome men, who know my bartender lady friend, came in to say hi. “Hello boys. Thank you, Saturday night, you’re treating me right,” I thought.
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.