I’m a tall girl. I measure up at about 5’11” (or about 180cm for you crazy foreigners).
My feelings about height have oscillated over the years – my height was great for sports but terrible for attracting boys, particularly in junior high/high school when I towered over the vast majority of them.
(I reached my current height by the age of 12. Yeah, you think about that for a minute. I still have stretch marks from the insane growth spurts of my youth. Sexy, I know.)
But then college came around and part of me was pissed I wasn’t taller so I could’ve had a better shot at playing D1 volleyball. And part of me still wished I was shorter because I discovered a terrifying trend: The taller the guy, the shorter he likes his women. You see it all the time – the 6’6” guy with the 4’11” girl.
Not cool, tall guys. Not cool. Continue reading
A few weeks back I attended a screening of The Descendants at LACMA. The film was amazing, but the evening was made even better by a Q&A panel after the screening with writer/director Alexander Payne, the majority of the cast, and the man himself: Mr. George Clooney.
Naturally, as I was getting ready for the event, I fantasized about an encounter with Clooney. (He may be thirty years older than me, but really, what woman wouldn’t go there?)
I imagined him spotting me in the crowd during the Q&A. He’d be drawn in by my green eyes and aloof gaze.
After the Q&A, I’d linger in my seat, and he sit down in the row behind me, leaning over my shoulder. Continue reading
I was working at my favorite coffee shop the other day when I decided I was bored of working and began eavesdropping on the people next to me.
It was a pair of guys talking about war. One had just watched a documentary about the Civil War and was saying that of all the wars he would’ve liked to have fought in, he thought the Civil War would have been the best.
Did you catch that?
Of all the wars he would have LIKED to fight in, the Civil War sounded like the grooviest time. Continue reading
Does anyone know what the etiquette is for telling a girl that her boyfriend is gay?
I recently met a very sweet girl, then met her very gay boyfriend.
Not sure if she was oblivious or just didn’t care. Maybe she just likes the companionship… and doesn’t mind that he stares at other men’s asses.
Either way, I decided she needed to know the truth.
Me: So… You know your boyfriend’s gay, right?
Her: Excuse me?
Me: He likes men. Like, sexually likes them.
Her: Are you drunk again?
Me: Only a little. But seriously, I really like your boyfriend. He’s a perfect gentleman, very hygienic… but I think it’s time you recognize the truth here.
Her: What makes you think he’s gay?
Me: Well, he named his poodle Cher.
Her: He was being ironic. Continue reading
My family is incredibly overly-involved in my sex life. This is primarily because they all have happy marriages with kids and houses and animals and life insurance policies…
Because people will actually be affected if they die.
I just have my single existence. And they feed on it. It’s like crack for them. They must know all details at all times. Who? What? Where? When? Why? Who??? Ok, now really… why?
So I’m hanging out with my sister and she asks me, out of the blue, in this menacing yet conspiratorial tone, “Are you having sex?” Continue reading