‘Loose Lips Sink Ships’ is a view in the wild world of dating post college. Ya know, when you’re supposed to have this whole life thing figured out. 

When I was 17, I fell in love for the first (and only) time. He was a soccer player, rule-breaker who liked to get high and skateboard down parking garages. I was an AP student, had a 10 pm curfew, and didn’t even know how to hit a bong. A month later, we exchanged v-cards and so began the whirlwind of the next two years.

We moved to college together four hours away from our hometown, and after about a month into college, a ménage à trois gone wrong led to him cheating on me and us breaking up.

Naturally, I was devastated. Thank god for the girls down the hall who made me put on a tube dress and drink some shitty vodka the guy at the drive-thru liquor store sold us illegally. This began my four years as a “single girl,” in college. Those four years have given me experiences that have shaped my views on love, sex, lust and having a vagina all together.

Some might look at the story of my first love as sad, unfortunate, detrimental to my future experiences with men. The thing is though, I am so happy it happened. Not because my heart’s a black hole, but because it liberated me from the notion that I had to be with someone to be happy.

We are led to believe that this is the case, that if you’re not getting flowers and chocolate from some fuckboy in a button down – you’re doing it wrong.

But my college experience, four whole years without making someone Facebook official or bringing them home to Mom – was fucking awesome. And it was awesome because I was able to put myself first the whole time. I had fun. I went on weird dates. I probably hurt some feelings. College was, in a nutshell, a fully liberating and eye opening experience. And when I am ready to settle down, it won’t be because I need someone, it’ll be because I think someone’s just as awesome as me and we’d make a great team (Okay, I’m really getting cheesy here).

The point is that some of the upcoming tales may make it seem like I have no chance at love, bad taste in guys or maybe just some fucking terrible luck (or that my college liver really had it’s job cut out for it). But these anecdotes all lend to one end result: that I love myself. And you should love yourself too. And not in the low-key insulting way that Justin Bieber says it.

*All names have been changed to protect those being written about. If you think any of these stories are about you, well… they probably aren’t. 



So the other day I’m sitting with some friends who are playing the “what’s your number” game. Also known as “I’ve had two glasses of wine & I feel like being nosey about how many guys you’ve slept with.”

I personally have never been a fan of this game because I enjoy tallying off my one-night stands, almost-lovers and everyone in between as much as I enjoy plucking out my eyelashes. That being said, the game commences and I start thinking…

playing what's your number


Threesomes are commonly thought as a great way to spice up a dull relationship. But here’s why threesomes are actually a terrible idea.



There are obvious general assumptions about a first love. That it’s magic. Scary. Frustrating. Experimental. So full of passion, right down to the bitter end. Which is why saying goodbye to your first love is so fucking hard.

loose lips sink ships