Chelsea Fagan

“I love really fucking bony guys. Collarbones, ribs, hipbones, all of it. I want to feel like I’m cuddling with a skeleton. Lol… seriously.”

Society seems totally willing to give every child star a pass on their coming-of-age turmoil, except when it comes to Justin Bieber.

Curious about things they don’t know, haven’t seen, or haven’t tried. People who shut down about anything from fruity cocktails to travel in a foreign country are probably not going to open up like rosebuds as they age.

When you lived abroad, somehow home – no matter how distant it was – never felt like it was fading into the rearview mirror. It never felt like it was something that could be taken from you.

Respond honestly when they ask you how they look. If there is some constructive criticism to be given, you are the only person in this world they can trust to tell them that they need to get their eyebrows threaded.

Potted flowers and plants, sure. They are beautiful, and they represent, at the very least, your ability to not kill something. But the girl with the fresh-cut flowers is very different and, in my mind, has always been a very specific person.

New moms get a bad rap when it comes to social media activity, and, to be fair, posting endless photos of your toddler in various states of undress is a questionable choice at best. But just because they are perhaps the most notorious of the social media offenders does not mean that they are the most purely irritating.

The other day, my friend and I were talking about the strange, dare I say extremely white phenomenon of sending multi-thousand-word updates about your life/family/travels/children via email.

Some people are disgusted by egg salad, and those people are wrong. Its sulfury goodness is half the appeal. Egg salad is wonderful.

Navigating bathroom use is an awkward and inevitable thing. Eventually they will be aware of the fact that you’re doing a number two, and it’s up to you to decide how far you’re willing to go in the interest of preserving the mystery.

When you hear the dichotomy of “career vs relationship,” the normal assumption is that good, thoughtful people with the right value systems will always choose the latter. After all, a promotion can’t hold you at night, and you can’t raise children with a 401k.

Meet her at the bar 15 minutes late, and make sure to emphasize three times in your explanation how busy you are right now, because things are slammed at work.

Not texting creepy guys back who don’t take no for an answer.

I am that person, in another body. I am that need to reach out, that burning desire to say hello, and to start another conversation – to get more of you.

I ask only that you scale back a tiny bit on all of your many (hard-earned!) media projects to, if nothing else, spend more time getting sleep and seeing loved ones.

Who hasn’t had a friend who, despite being a smart, funny, beautiful woman (because I’m being heteronormative here), chooses to date a guy who is just an utter bummer?

You may have your business model and sales numbers down by heart, but do you know your own soul? Nothing will help you figure it out more than your preference in Shark Tank judges.

As I approach my beloved mutt Mona’s first birthday, I’ve come to reflect on all that it means to be a dog owner in the city – all the surprises and the unexpected expenses, all the joys and biodegradable bags…