Tag Archives: relationship

Even the ocean.

She said she would come back if he tried harder. So he tried harder. He painted the walls light blue and dusted underneath the seashells. He drew himself a saltwater bath. When she returned for her things, the room smelled like wet paint and the ocean. She took everything with her, even the cat—his tail was light blue. She left everything behind, even the ocean.

You Shouldn’t Always Get What You Want

The archetype of the ungettable man emerged in pop culture as the smoldering, cigarette-smoking Bad Boy on a bike who broke as many hymens as he did hearts. Eventually, he evolved into an emotionally unavailable man-child with the looks of Brad Pitt but the integrity of Adam Sandler. Most romantic comedies leave women with two options: tame the Bad Boy, or realize that the Nice Guy was there all along. The studios continue to make these movies because women continue to watch them. And women watch them because they are—in a small, over-romanticized way—fairly accurate depictions of desire.

[from my pseudonymous column at The Gloss]

The Breakup Registry

My friend recently broke up with her boyfriend of four years. She wasn’t emotionally devastated. She slept at night. But she was sad. The relationship had blossomed over doctoral dissertations in California and began to lose momentum after a long, arduous fall into modern domesticity in New York.

It happens to the best of us. It happens even under the loveliest of good intentions…

[from my pseudonymous column at The Gloss]

More golden rules.

5 lesser-known relationship rules:

3. Do onto your partner as you would that he should do unto you.

The golden rule is even more applicable in your relationship than it was when you first learned it in kindergarten.

This includes—but is not limited to—back rubs, breakfast in bed, thoughtful gifts, framed pictures, special office deliveries, good jokes, blowjobs, cookies, chores and compliments. And cheese.

This most certainly includes bathing on a daily basis, not talking about your exes too often, minding your manners and keeping your bowel movements to yourself

[from my pseudonymous column at The Gloss]

Love free or die.

How to balance your relationship.

A relationship, Woody Allen once said, is like a shark. It has to constantly move forward or it dies.

That’s not to say a relationship is a race. The steady hum of biological clock ticking shouldn’t result in jumping in the relationship pool before the water’s warm. It’s true what they say: only fools rush in.

So how do you strike a balance between dead sharks and fools? How can a new relationship continue forward and avoid sinking?

[from my pseudonymous column at The Gloss]

Seatbelt

“You’re my seatbelt.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. We click. And you keep me safe, and you wrap your arms around me and make sure I stay okay during an accident.”

“Like when you freak out.”

“Exactly. You’re my seatbelt.”

“Right—and I’m always touching your boobs.”

Writer’s Blah

We were sprawled out on my bed, our laptops propped up on our legs, half watching a movie and half working. Well, he was working. I stared at Subway Philosophy. I stared at the novel I’ve been working on. I turned off the movie and put on music. He leaned over and kissed me. He went back to work.

I stared at a fresh white page on the screen and began typing:

There are moments when you are drunk when you can feel the earth spinning on its tilted axis. There are moments after too much vodka and too much light that you can feel the gravitational pull as the universal spiral bears down on you. And you are incredibly small, nearly nothing, just indescribably lost and alone on a planet trapped in a revolution.

I pushed my computer down off my lap.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

I closed the laptop and wedged it farther down on the bed. “Awful. It’s practically the worst paragraph I’ve ever written. It’s shit. It’s hilarious it’s so bad.”

He leaned over and kissed my collarbone.

“And I haven’t been able to write all month.”

“Why?”

“Because of you. Because I like you and you make me happy and I’m so fucking complacent that I have no inspiration.”

He smiled.

“Why are you smiling? It’s not funny. I’m so happy I can’t write.”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny…” he covered his mouth with his hand, and his eyes danced. I couldn’t believe it. He was holding back laughter.

“You don’t understand.” I pulled my hair away from my face and my eyes filled up with tears. “God, this is awful.”

“Because I make you happy?”

“Yes. You’ve made me so happy I lost my voice.”

He tucked hair behind my ear. “So how do we find your voice again? You were good without me.”

“I was great without you.”

“What’s changed?”

“Complacency. And alcohol.”

He clapped his hands together. “So let’s get you drunk. Do you want me to go out and buy a bottle of wine? Or scotch?”

“See?” I said, my eyes filling with tears again. “This is exactly why I can’t write. Because you say shit like that and you make me so fucking happy.”

State of the Union

“You’re driving,” I said, my head tilted to the side, tears streaming down my cheeks. “You’re driving right through me.”

“I’m not driving anywhere. I’m right here.”

“No, you’re driving through me.”

He was on top of me, his nosing grazing over my wet eyelids.

I blinked fresh tears. “I’m Delaware. No one stops in Delaware.”

He shook his head. “But Delaware is great.”

“Then I’m Connecticut.”

“What’s wrong with Connecticut?”

My mouth tasted like liquor and salt. “No one stops in Connecticut. You don’t want to stop there. You’re going to keep driving through Connecticut because you want to get to New York.”

“But we’re in New York together.”

“No, you’re in a car, and you’re going to New York, but I’m Connecticut.”

He wiped away some of my tears. “You’re in the car with me.”

I can’t be in the car with you,” I sobbed. “You can’t put a whole fucking state in a fucking car.”

“Why not?” he smiled.

“I won’t fit. I’ll never fit in your car.”

“But you have the littlest waist.” His hands gripped mine against the pillow. I struggled to get up but he kept me down on the bed, on top of me, his eyes digging into mine. Blue eyes. Swimming pool eyes. “Look: I’m not going anywhere,” he told me. “I promise.”

“You’re going to New York,” I whispered. I relaxed my wrists.

He kissed my lips. “I’m in New York. With you. And I’m not going anywhere.”