Karen Noble

So what is your aim? I really want to know. Is this a game to you? Is it like, “Hey, let’s see if this chick is still willing to respond to me.”

I know it’s not sexy or complicated or cool, but that’s the beauty of love. You can stop caring about having someone, because you have someone.

I will never be the person you want. Not really. I can be a shadow of that person, striving really hard to actually get there. But I never will.

“But you know, when they go hang out with their girlfriends and complain about us or when we don’t do something basic in the right way, whatever. That way where you love us, but we’re idiots.”

Oh Kelly Clarkson and Darren Criss, I worship at your altars.

I picture your heart like a series of doors. I unlock one and slip a little bit further inside, only to be greeted by another door and another lock.

Is it possible to be 100 percent honest all the time and not hurt the other person’s feelings?

They’ll literally be in the middle of talking about puppies or rainbows and then they’ll turn, vitriol spewing from their gnarled mouths, yell “Yankees suck!” with a vengeance and then turn back pleasantly to the conversation at hand.

Should you say it during sex? Should you declare it at a fancy dinner where he wears a tuxedo and you wear a ball gown? Write it in a note left on her kitchen table?

“I’m already over it.” Like “I’m an adult,” that’s one of those statements that saying out loud makes not true.

The Kinsey Institute wants to hear your weird, effed up, tragic or out-there sex stories.

Buy some sparkly, ridiculous temporary tattoos. (Maybe unicorns? Or American flags?) Put them all over yourself.