After reading Anna’s hilarious post about farting on the first date, it reminded me that no matter how much we try to present this perfect, polished version of ourselves to the potential partners, our real selves always manage to surface sooner than we hope. While it’s great to be blissfully

Don’t even shake your head at the title of this article, because you know you’ve totally had to fart in front of a date or significant other before.  I’m not the gross one, people, LIFE is, ok?  Sure, there are situations in which going to the bathroom to alleviate yourself

I guess this post might be a bit too late for Valentine’s Day, but, well, I trust that most of you have all survived in one piece.  But for those of you who have horribly fucked up, well, I guess you still have today to make up for it.  And

There are a lot of V-Day haters out there, and I admit, I often share their disdain for the hyper-consumer, sickeningly-sweet pseudo holiday. What I don’t agree with is the without question condemnation of Valentine’s day and all it stands for. I agree, the celebration of love and affection has

Valentine’s Day makes me want to punch myself in the face.  It also makes me want to punch everyone else in the face (especially cute couples’”they’re the worst).  But how to justify random acts of violence on the stupid day of love?  Clearly the geniuses behind The Great San Francisco

Let me start by saying the idea that February 14th is THE day to express love and appreciation for that special person(s) in our life who lets us do things with their genitals is horseshit.  And don’t cite Chaucer.  The day has devolved so far. In the Belarusian version, Saint

If the amount of ex-boyfriends/ex-people I used to bone trying to get back in touch with me out of nowhere all of a sudden is any indication, it seems this new year has especially been about taking inventory of one’s life.  It’s a time of self-reflection, a High Fidelity-style “what

When my friend and I went to Copenhagen, the glowing red sign for the Museum Erotica became our landmark. Whenever we were lost, we used it to figure out which direction to go. New York’s Museum of Sex hasn’t become a compass for me, but it’s the best place to