If I have the choice, should I try to be on the skinny side, sacrificing having boobs at all, or being pudgy, with curves, and a fat face? Stupid question?
This is a long term version of, “should I wear my hair up or down?”
The answer is always wear your hair up, because by the end of the evening it’ll be down anyways. You get the best of both.
Same thing here. Go for skinny now, because by the end of your twenties you’ll have boobs and curves anyways.
I just don’t know what is wrong with me.. I am 17 and I have never had a boyfriend or had any guy show any real interest in me.. I am very shy, so that’s probably a big factor, but guys don’t talk to me at all for any reason.
Part of the reason that I am so shy in general, and especially around guys is because I used to be teased a A LOT in middle and high school and it REALLY affected me..I’m in my first year of college right now but I still can’t forget all the names those other guys called me and how ugly they said I was… and how they made jokes saying ‘so and so likes you’ and then laughing in my face. Even when I just go to my room in the dorms, I can’t look at the guys on my floor because I am so scared of what they’ll say about me and I want to just run away..
I just feel so lonely sometimes but it’s just so hard to even look guys in the eye and smile at them when I feel so scared that they’re going to laugh at me or say other things..
What should I do?
Well, you could see the school shrink. He’ll diagnose you with generalized social anxiety disorder and whack you with a thousand milligrams of Paxil every month. It might help.
It’s a shame you can’t just have a fucking cocktail. There’s nothing like a little liquid courage, but since you’re seventeen it’s probably easier just to get prescription SSRIs. That’s always been one of my favorite little chemical ironies.
Other than drugs and alcohol, one of the better cognitive therapy tricks for dealing with anxiety is some negative visualization. Whenever you’re in a social situation where you get scared, force yourself to answer one simple question: “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Do it calmly. Do it rationally. Flesh out a detailed version of the worst-case scenario in your head. If you look a guy in the eye and smile, what’s the worst thing that could happen in that moment?
It seems counterintuitive, but it works. It renders your fears into specific rather than nebulous form, which will always make them more manageable. It also works because it draws your conscious attention to the fact that your fearful thoughts are just that — thoughts.
When your specific fears never materialize — and they never will — they start to seem pretty silly. You’ll be making all kinds of eye contact in no time.
Oh, and don’t forget to breathe. Use it as a tool. Deep, steady, meditative breathing. That shit works too.
Good luck confronting your fears!
I’m 21 years old, and have not had much experience with sex, and most of it has not been very enjoyable. I would really like to explore my sexuality much further—I am a fairly shy and modest girl but get me in the sack and I can get pretty wild. I want to try and open that side more, you know, be ‘freer’ if you will.
Anyway, I was bored one night, so I decided to post an add in casual encounters on craigslist, basically explaining this need of mine—just for shits, to see what would come up. It was practically a joke, because really I just expected to get a bunch of iphone photos of dicks in response. Not to mention I’ve always been against the internet thing, because you never really know who they are, and it always seemed kind of stupid/desperate to me. Hell, I didn’t even plan on responding to any—it was kind of a spur of the moment, probably change my mind about it tomorrow, kind of deals.
Most responses were just creepy or dumb, (fun to laugh at though) all except for one. Didn’t see it coming. This guy seems genuinely alright, is in school for massage, has sent several pictures (of his face) and not to mention in all of the “hey what kind of interests do you have” he completely blew me away and ended up basically explaining my interests, dreams and goals back to me before I even got the chance to. We also seem to have a good understanding of each others needs and ground rules.
We’ve sent some emails back and forth for a couple months now, and he’s invited me to get coffee and the like recently (however I missed it, that’s what happens when your only form of contact is through email, which I don’t check too often anyway) and I would like to, but there’s also that part of me thinking “Oh hey, what if I get stabbed?”
So I guess there’s really a couple questions here I’m trying to get at. Is the internet thing somewhat legit? If so should we try and make an actual meet up plan through email, or should I just pass him along my phone number?
And like I said, I’m a pretty shy and modest girl. Cautious with strangers, not so much cautious with the rest of life. I’ve never done anything remotely like this before (part of the reason I want to, I suppose). Never met up with a stranger like this, and I’ve certainly never fucked a stranger. How do I meet up with this guy and (if it works out) turn him into a fuck buddy in a non-weird/awkward (or less-weird/awkward) way?
Don’t give him your number. Get his. Call him when you’re ready. If there’s still chemistry after a phone conversation, feel free to plan a meet.
Choose a very public place, and make sure a friend with discretion knows where you’re going. If you’re feeling particularly cautious, pick a place where he doesn’t see you park. I don’t know what kind of town you live in, so a generic recommendation would be a shopping mall or an outdoor restaurant.
If the meet goes well and you’re in the mood to fuck, get a room. Don’t go to his place. Don’t take him to yours. This shit only goes down in a hotel. A nice hotel. Get a fucking suite if he can afford it.
Since this is your first time, plan ahead and have a couple of hotels in mind that you know and trust. It’s fine if you want to chip in on the room, but it’s his name that goes on the room. It’s his drivers license and credit card that goes on file. No exceptions.
Make sure you get your own room key card. I suppose it’s an extra bit of safety, but personally, I like to keep them as a souvenirs. At this point, I could tile a bathroom with all those little fuckers.
Be safe and listen to your gut. If it ever starts to feel weird, just walk out the door. You may want to check in with your friend before the hours start slipping away, but other than that just do whatever hot nastiness you like.
Happy fucking!
(Oh, and if you make it this far, write me back and I’ll tell you how to turn him into a regular fuck buddy.)
What if I can’t find a purpose? I could go on describing my struggles and obstacles (or just laziness) in doing so but it really boils down to one thing: I can’t figure it out, and I don’t know how. I feel like a little bitch for being so lost and needy,and a lot of my misfortune is indirectly my fault, I will admit that, but it feels like I’m just not interested enough, or capable enough for anything. I know, I need to work hard, do everything and anything, but with pressure from people to succeed comes expectation and then I just want to quit. Even financially I’m screwed, personally, and in the bigger sense, considering half of my classes were canceled. I just want a fucking purpose to be inspired by, to strive for, to really want; a realistic goal. I’m not even re-reading this, I want to be as honest with myself (and you) as possible because I want to fix it.
If you can’t find a purpose, then you’ll be forever cursed. You’ll be parched of thirst and unable to quench it. You’ll be starving to death and never die. You’ll feel nothing. Not the wind on your face, nor the spray of the sea — no, wait. I’m sorry. That’s from a fucking Disney movie.
You live in a spoiled candy bubble if you think getting screwed “in the bigger sense” is having half your classes canceled.
Maybe you should quit whining and grow the fuck up.
Better yet, marry rich and squirt out a couple of kids. That should keep you distracted in a vague, though not altogether unpleasant sort of way. Then you can check back with me with the same silly question in a couple of decades when you’re ready for a mid-life crisis.
just wondering::: what is the best way to marry into LA? canadian girl needing citizenship. BADLY. i love LA more than any place i have ever been in my life, and my boyfriend, who lives there, probably wont do it for a few years. at least. i want to be there now. helllp!
Who needs citizenship? Just hop on a plane already.
There are three million illegal immigrants in California. What’s one more Canadian girl with an LA boyfriend?
Chinga la migra!
I have scars on my arm from when I attempted suicide a long time ago. They’re hideous, I can’t wear long sleeve shirts at all times and they can’t be covered up with a leather band or anything like that. So during the summer months they’re pretty much on display. Now, most people pretend not to notice them, or genuinely don’t notice them, but every day there’s at least one idiot that stares at my scars unabashedly for the entire time that I’m in their line of sight. My question to you is, what do I say to these people? When somebody stares at your arms while talking to you for literaly upwards of a minute, I feel that something needs to be said, but I have no idea what to say. I’ve thought about honesty, but that comes off kind of crazy intense. I’ve thought about joking it off, but I’m not really comfortable having them think that it wasn’t serious, like I was just some emo kid that did it as a fashion statement. I’ve thought about lying, but who the fuck would believe me. And that’s pretty much where I ran out of ideas.
How about a blend of honest, funny, and intense? Something like, “I’d really rather you stare at my tits, asshole.”
Also, why aren’t you using concealer? And have you looked into scar removal surgery?
Good times.
How do you feel about having sex while menstruating? First time hook up, second/third, girlfriend? From a guys perspective, if u didnt realize before digging in, it doesnt really matter, i guess. At least it hasn’t stopped me.
I keep a set of red towels in my linen closet.
Enough said.
So not so long ago I had no car, no job and no social life, and I was depressed as fuck. I pretty much spent all of my time eating, sleeping, masturbating and watching TV. I was depressed as fuck with this routine. I put my head down and motivated myself, I cleaned out my apartment, I got a job, after a few months I got a car and I back in contact with my friends. At first it took large amounts of effort to act normal and act happy, to motivate myself and whatnot. I thought this would pass as success rolled in. Once I had the car to stop using spitfuck public tranceport, once I was earning money, once I’d been to a few get togethers, once I wasn’t living in a pig sty, it’d be easier. I’d be happier. But I’m still not. So because I respect your opinion more than Oprah’s or Dr. Phils’, I’m asking you: Is this life? Is this it? Everyone going around pretending to be happy and forcing themselves to deal with routine while secretly they wonder what the fuck they’re doing and why they should care? Or are other people genuinely excited about finding cheap gas or the time they save with 2 in 1 shampoo and all of that shit? Because I really just can’t seem to force myself to give a shit about any of it.
Getting off your ass is a good start, but nobody said jumping on the hamster wheel was supposed to make you happy. Success hasn’t rolled in, just basic fucking survival.
Congratulations on moving up a rung on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but you’ve still got a long way to go before you find your happy place.
Now comes the tricky part. Stop searching for meaning and start looking for purpose. Life may be meaningless, but meaning is not the same thing as purpose.
It doesn’t matter how big or small — scale is unimportant, only intensity.
Happiness isn’t tied to your car, your job, or your social life. It’s tied to your purpose, and you don’t have one.
Go find a purpose.
I remember you saying something about a girl who was looking for love from a child that she can only find within herself.
My mother convinced me into letting her move back in with me after she left when I was a 16 year old drug addict. She married a guy she met three weeks prior to leaving and rarely spoke to me for two years. Why? Several stories framing my father negatively that have had an immense impact on my relationship with him. I let her go because I believed that it was her turn to enjoy this time in her life.
During this period, I managed to get my act together and make it into one of the top 50 universities in the country. My wealthy father signed me onto the deed for the house, which has now become my homestead. I am a home owner at 20 although he will pay the bills until I am able to support myself with my degrees.
Now my kind-hearted stepfather, who treats my mother like a queen but who makes a modest living, can’t afford my father’s lifestyle. So my mother, mid-nervous breakdown calls me up and tells me that she still loves my father and that my stepfather can’t meet her needs. She’s moving back to live with me.
My father wants his trophy wife back and is pretty candid about his agenda. Well, The dust settles within two days and she’s still in a suspiciously saccharine relationship with my stepfather and claims to have no intentions of being with my father again. But she gets a new job in my area moves back into my house (which is paid for by my father) under the premise that this is a temporary (2-3 months) stay until her husband can find a job here and they can settle into a new home. Okay.
While here, she one day set me up with a seemingly heartwarming, leaving-the-nest sort of conversation about her realization that I’m older and I need my privacy. I agree that she and her husband also need their privacy.
In moments, it erupted into, “You ungrateful brat! You ought to be on your hands and knees begging me to stay.” I believe she didn’t want to leave as badly as she wanted me to beg her not to go.
A life of clinical depression and a PTSD victim due to childhood abuse left her all kinds of fucked up. My father was never around and was constantly cheating on her. I remember her drinking herself to sleep and explaining her first legitimate suicide attempt to me before I was 10. I cannot bear to think that the one parent who was present most of the time for the majority of my life is suffering in this way.
I want her to be happy but I’m afraid she will always suffer from delusions of grandeur. I resent her for manipulating me into giving her my blessing for leaving the first time, forgiving her for emotionally disturbing fights (I invited my father to a family get together and my birth became the biggest mistake she ever made [I know my father’s invitation is not the root of the problem]), and for the newest project: moving back into my and my father’s house. Remember the 2-3 month deal? Now she’s proposing a bedroom switch for $100/mo. so that she and her husband can live here for (quoted via text message)”2 months? 7 months? 12 months? I don’t know. No hard feelings if you don’t want to switch.”
I want this woman out of this house. I feel that if I explain that I, as well as she and her husband, need privacy and that she should find a new home, I’ll just be acting like a selfish brat. On the other hand, I feel like I’m dealing with a 60-year-old selfish brat. Truth is, while the house is in my name, my father is paying for it. What makes me believe I’m not being a piece of shit is that after the fight regarding my lack of servitude to her highness, my father asked me “do you want her living here? You need to do well in school and I know this is going to be a distraction.”
We got along much better when we didn’t have to deal with each other more than a few times a month over the phone.
Any insight is appreciated.
Don’t kid yourself. You are not a homeowner. If you were, you could sell that house and move to a new city, which is exactly what you should do.
Thing is, you can’t. Your name may be on the deed, but your father owns that house, and putting it in your name is nothing more than divorced family estate planning.
All he’s doing is protecting his assets and keeping a roof over your head while you’re in college. That’s cool and all, but don’t pretend he’s bestowing some grand largesse.
In fact, he’s put you in an incredibly awkward position where you have landlord authority over your mother, who by your own account is mentally unstable, manipulative, and childishly selfish.
Your father is a fucking adult. He should be man enough to deal with his crazy ex wife and not force his daughter to make the tough decisions.
Then again, your mom is a fucking adult too. She shouldn’t be taking advantage of her daughter by crashing at her ex-husband’s house — and seven to twelve months? Fuck that. She should be able to find a place and move out within thirty days, period.
Neither of your parents are acting responsibly, so it falls to you.
Who stays? Who goes? It sucks, but it’s your call.
The very fact that your parents (both of them) have cornered you into making this decision is something that you need to reflect upon. They are the ones being selfish and bratty by dumping this decision in your lap. Not you.
It’s seems you’ve surpassed the emotional maturity of your parents at the ripe old age of twenty, so from here on out you need to be ready to deal with this kind of shit.
I suggest you start off strong. Don’t let them manipulate you, and establish yourself early on as an adult whose decisions they have to respect.
Set a hard move-out date for your mom. Tell her you want her out in thirty days and enforce it with financial penalties. (Don’t worry, I have a feeling your dad would help you collect.)
As for your dad, tell him you plan to sell the house as soon as you graduate. It may look like a home, but you’re living in the bombed out remains of your parents’ mid-life crises, and it will always be an emotional distraction regardless of whether your mother has a room there.
If you like living there and don’t want to move, that’s fine. Still, don’t let your dad manipulate you with his money. By putting your name on the deed, he’s forced you to take on responsibility with no real authority.
Don’t get in the habit of letting people do that.
Anyways, welcome to adulthood.
Good luck, and be strong.