I was riding on the bus with this guy back from a school trip to DC. He sat with me, we held hands, and he tried to go up my shirt. His friends sat behind us and were talking about what we were doing and they were teasing him after the restroom break. Now I’m afraid that he’ll betray me and that my whole reputation will go down the drain as a whore. Why do the guys always blame the girls?
DC is a really, really good place to ask that question.
PS. But seriously, here’s your civics assignment: read my rant about double standards. You’re right: it is totally no fair that his going up your shirt should (if it did) affect anyone’s “reputation,” let alone just one of yours. Listen, sweetie, try your best to stay above it all. And to have guys’ hands stay above your shirt in public places. It’s not your fault. I’m just saying.
I wasn’t going to say anything. I just wasn’t. ‘Cause, well, you know that thing about not having anything nice — that. Fortunately, the supercool Lizzie Skurnick has stepped in where I clammed up, offering this astute, not-even-not-nice takedown of one man’s ode to the one who got away. Not that odes are never in order, and his is nothing if not heartfelt. But, well — oh, just hurry up and get to the awesome.
This weekend’s finale of Doctor Who ended in sublime fashion as Rory made one of the most romantic gestures ever on television and “the girl who waited” found her “boy who waited” — perfectly capping a season that began with an overt fairytale tone. Time for a TRIBUTE VIDEO!!!1!!1
As a child watching Tom Baker as the Doctor, I never imagined this show would be cool enough to warrant tribute videos. Of course in 1979 I couldn’t even conceive of the internet, so…
Cindy and I lived together, off and on (due to the Military) for two and a half years. About six months ago I told her that I wanted to move out and live on my own. It wasn’t because I didn’t love her; I just felt like I was losing my own self. Well I went away for a month in October, and when I got back we finally broke up. The problem is that I still love her. She says that she loves me, but doesn’t trust me. I understand this, and I also understand how much I hurt her. But I love her with all my heart and she’s the only one for me. I try to make some excuse for either seeing her, or talking to her, every day. That’s really not hard to do, since we have a dog together, and I guess we kind of share joint custody. She seems to get really annoyed with me some times, and when I ask her if she can see us having a future together again, she says she doesn’t know. This is from someone who wanted to spend the rest of her life with me, and someday have kids. I don’t want to be with anyone else, and I feel like I’m empty with out her. But am I fooling myself? Should I just give up and go on with my life? Or is there some hope for me? I know that I’m not perfect, and have some major flaws in my personality. But if you really love someone, shouldn’t you be able to over look those flaws?
I went out with this girl once and whenever I try and ask her out again, she always makes a grossed-out face and walks away before I even go up to her! I don’t know what to consider that other date since she hasn’t said anything about it. What does this all mean?
If I may: advice columns, when they’re good, they’re GOOD. And by “good,” I mean not just good, wise, compassionate advice. I mean a good read, even for folks who are not struggling with the same issues as “Lovelorn” or “Confused.” Because at their best — best-written, that is — they are lovely and literate portraits of true, raw suffering and hope: a real-life micro-epistolary novel, a poetic precursor, even, to the talk and reality show. Some, over time, have been necessarily brief (so to speak), but now, thanks to Internet real-estate, they can flow into beautiful long-form, complete with backstory and metaphor and soaring free verse. I say “they,” but in fact, there are but few that fly as high as I describe. All of which is to say: Read Dear Sugar. Maybe start with this one, if it’s cool for you to cry at work. And then the rest. This, ladies and gentlemen, is advice; this, my peeps, is art. Read, weep, leap, cheer.