Stephanie Georgopulos

People have very clear ideas on what abuse is. Abuse is physical, or abuse is between man and woman, or abuse is between parent and child; abuse is verbal, mental; abuse happens in romantic relationships and marriages and in between the walls of a house where no one can see in. But abuse is not just that.

Moving on is like this: one day you forget the taste. The next, you forget the smell. Then the touch. Then the laugh. Then the smile. Then the jokes. Then the eyes, the hair, the hands, the feet. You forget the socks. You forget the fingers, the toes, the sex.

I enjoy seeing you insecure, vulnerable. I like to watch red steam light up your cheeks, a spreading mist of shame when you think you’ve done something unacceptable like missing a step on the stairs or not having the perfect answer to something I’ve said.

An overpriced cell for the overachiever, the minimalist apartment gets its name because it’s inhabitant either a. doesn’t have space for frivolities like, say, a bedside table or b. cannot afford furnishings due to spending over two-thirds of their income on inflated rent/ mortgages.

We can be whatever constellations you like, at least in the beginning. In the beginning it’ll be all starburst and Andromeda and other striking sights we won’t be able to take our eyes off of; but it won’t stay that way.

Bring your favorite toy to school to impress her; watch her hold it in her tiny hands and swell with pride when she’s receptive. She has good taste. Watch her cautiously; you couldn’t live if she accidentally dropped it, broke it.

Before facing other humans, you need to get your Encyclopedia Brown on. It may be difficult to avoid humans if there’s one in your bed, but look past their naked limbs and consider them your first clue. Friend? Foe? Stranger?

You’ll feel old when you don’t care about staying in on the weekend, when you cancel on your friends and they don’t care, either. You used to need a real excuse to sit out on a Friday, “I’m sick,” or “I’m going away this weekend,” but now all you have to say is, “I’m old as hell and I can’t go out two nights in a row without vomiting,” and no one will argue with that.

Believe in yourself. Don’t feel like you’re not good enough to be loved. Self-pity is a good way to stay single. Self-respect is a good way to stay grounded. Remember that people who are in relationships were once single.

Remember that you’re an individual; that your personal success matters. Have something other than ‘Really awesome girlfriend! :D’ on your resume. Take pride in something.

Why’d you leave me with your crazy sister when you went into labor? She let me drink orange juice and milk at the same time and I threw up everywhere, now I’m scared. Come back soon.

They’re my friends—I know what they think their problem areas are, I know what colors they think they don’t look good in, I know if wearing a 4-inch heel makes them homicidal. These questions are not for them.

From Ricki Lake’s cringe worthy (but adorable!) street sass to Jenny Jones’ implant-obsessed panel of midwestern beauty pageant dropouts, I couldn’t get enough of Talk TV (much to my mothers’ chagrin).

The Chainsmoker is equal parts gross and impressive. They’re that person who lights their next cigarette with the cherry of their last one. They’re the person you don’t even bother asking, “Didn’t you just have one?”

I did some light research to paint what I believe to be as accurate a picture as we’re going to get regarding Carrie’s unkempt, irresponsible financial situation. For accuracy’s sake, this article refers specifically to Season 1 of the show, which took place in 1998.

New York is like a fucking college campus, down to catching your friend on her bi-weekly walk of shame while you’re on your way to work. You can hit it off with someone who seemed like they moved to New York specifically for you; just to be charming and interesting with a side of mind-blowing sex, but when you finally look them up on Facebook the reality is much bleaker than that.

If I were a teenager or young adult back then, I would’ve been like, “Oh, TLC? Yeah, they totally invented the condom eye patch. Rad girls.” But I was a kid, so I was more like, “WTF? What’s that neon green thing covering that one’s eye and where do I get one? What’s a condom?!”

My Self- Summary: I hate writing these things/I suck at describing myself/I am not at all good at this but here goes nothing… I’m an easygoing guy. I love a challenge/adventure/good movie. My friends say I’m ________. I’ll let you judge that for yourself, though. [Insert emoticon of choice.]