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Photo by BROTE studio from Pexels

Dear Random Man,

It was just another day waiting tables at The Standard Hotel
for me, when you walked in.

I had seen you many times before. You were often disheveled and neurotic in appearance. Each time you’d stop by you would ask the hostess to pass a note to Andre. As in the millionaire debonair owner of The Standard Andre Balazs who once dated Uma Thurman and was previously married to Katie Ford of Ford Models. That Andre Balazs.

Now I had been watching this happen once a week for a month and I was pretty sure you did NOT know Andre. Had you known Andre, I suspected you would have just called, texted, or emailed him like a normal person and not someone in high school trying to talk to their crush. …


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Photo by Dom Le Roy from Pexels

Carefully arranged on the table were various pink and white candles, offering a warm glow against the cloudy evening. A mini statue of the Hindu goddess Durga sat next to a set of mala beads. Flowers were strewn about, while a small spray bottle of something curiously called “DNA Activation Spray” sat to the side. I sat quietly with 10 other women around the table, chatting and drinking tea. The moon circle was about to start.

In a world where women are increasingly working longer hours and living busier lifestyles, it’s easy to feel exhausted and unfulfilled. We’re getting married later, doing more of the household work if we are married, and increasingly moving away from traditional support systems. We’re rejecting the confines of organized religion, trying to please everyone, and finding ourselves increasingly disconnected from our own sense of self. …


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Andrey_and_Lesya from Pixabay

We met on our flight to Paris. We were both students on our way to study abroad. Most of the students were sitting on the other side of the plane. You and I were seated next to each other, completely isolated from everyone else.

As we got to talking, you told me (within the first 5 minutes) that you had been a model with one of the biggest model agencies in New York. I looked at you, puzzled. I’m not one to body shame or looks shame, but when you say you’re a model and it does cause one to scrutinize your appearance in a different way. …


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Dear Hilaria / Hilary Baldwin-

I used to take your yoga class at Yoga Vida when I lived in NYC. I would leave my Soho office, ride the N/R train two stops to get to Union Square location.

Though there is some confusion about when you started using your Spanish
accent, I am here to say I distinctly remember you having a thick Spanish accent during class and thinking you sounded like Penelope Cruz. Not that long after, you met Alec Baldwin, and eventually, you stopped teaching.

Interestingly enough, I too hatched a similar faux accent plan. Being the Anglophile that I am, I thought it would be cool to have a British accent. My
parents thought of moving to the UK from India but settled on the U.S. when
they realized the money was better here. Nonetheless, I would fantasize about
how different my life would be had I been raised in a posh little suburb
outside London. …


Locational astrology is helping people figure out the best places for them to live based on their birth charts.

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Getty Images

Your chart is intense,” astrologist Jessica Lanyadoo tells me. “It’s full of sparkle.” I hadn’t been that flattered since someone complimented the South Indian fish curry I whipped up for a pre-pandemic dinner party. Laying on my couch, listening to Lanyadoo spill the starry deets on potential cities for me to #livemybestlife, the world, even on lockdown, suddenly felt full of possibilities.

Like many, COVID-19 has pushed me to reassess my current residence: San Francisco, where I’ve lived for 3 years. After all, what’s the point of paying $3,000 a month on rent when you can’t order artisanal cocktails in a reclaimed wood bar? Though I enjoy living in the Bay Area, it’s super expensive, and it feels like we’re on fire every other week. Between the smoke and the Coronavirus this year, it felt like I could no longer enjoy life here indoors or outdoors. …


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Upon moving to L.A., my first order of business was to get a SAG card. SAG jobs (those are the good jobs, as opposed to non-union jobs) tended to go to people already in SAG, so it seemed essential to join the union. I had heard from many other aspiring actors that it was possible to get a SAG card by becoming an extra and receiving three waivers. So, I signed up for every website, mailing list, and what have you, for even the remote possibility of a SAG job.

A week later, I received an email regarding a production company casting for short people (I’m 5'1). Apparently, it was a movie about dwarves, and they were having a majorly tough time finding enough dwarves to fill the scene. Technically they were looking for people 5'0 and under, but I figured an inch or two wouldn’t kill anyone. So, I lied about the extra inch and emailed the casting director, telling them I would be perfect as an extra as I am 5'0 and Indian. I was positive they didn’t have any Indian dwarves in the scene, so I figured I would add an exotic flavor. The casting director obviously thought so, too, because he called a week later to tell me I was in. And after a little weaseling and negotiating, I even got him to agree to give me three SAG waivers so I could get a SAG card. …


According to someone who prefers tea.

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Photo by Chevanon Photography from Pexels

Squeezing in between a bearded hipster working on this laptop and a lady giving someone a tarot reading, I shoved my bag underneath my seat and sat across from Matt.

“How’s it going?” he asked, toying with his coffee.

“Great, I’m just going to order a drink,” I replied grabbing my wallet. A little odd that he didn’t wait for me before ordering a drink, but OK.

I sat back down, trying not to jostle anyone or anything lest I spill my green tea everywhere.

“So how was your day?” he asked. “You’re a writer, right?”

“Yep,” I replied, noticing the bearded hipster looking over. “I got a pitch for a vibrating alarm clock today,” I continued. Why is that hipster eavesdropping?


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Cristian Dina from Pexels

When your boyfriend likes another girl’s Instagram, you might feel a pang of jealousy. But that doesn’t make you a psycho. You’re entitled to your feelings on this, no matter what they are.

I once had a boyfriend Zach* who thought it would be cool to like a big booty pic on Instagram. I tried to be the “cool girl” for approximately five seconds. That is until I realized he liked three similar pics on Instagram. It’s like he was at a buffet and couldn’t figure out when to stop.

He was embarrassed, to say the least.

Upon further snooping, I realized he was also liking pics of his female friend. He double-tapped the sexy ones, while seemingly ignoring the ones where she was with a guy or not dressed in a provocative outfit. …


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Getty Images

After Isabel, a 20-year-old Guatemalan-American student from Los Angeles, found out her boyfriend had been cheating on her, she decided to try a new dating strategy. “I figured if I was going to get screwed in the dating game, I might as well get paid for it,” she said. So she joined a site for “wealthy, generous” men looking for “attractive, intelligent” women. She soon met Jacob, a married banker in his late 40s. In exchange for sleepovers in luxury penthouses and $500 dinners, he agreed to cover her rent and tuition bills. “I’m not in love, but he’s kind and mature. Best of all, he’s paying for my school.” Isabel’s not the only one trading companionship for financial gain. Latina membership in SeekingArrangement.com, a popular sugar baby site, grew 378 percent from 2009 to 2013. Tempted? …


“Why hello there penis!”

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Image: Aaron Bolt

“Why hello there penis!”

That was my first reaction to the penis on my phone. My boyfriend at the time — we’ll call him Ryan — had texted me a picture of his rather large member. We were dating long- distance, and he had somehow gotten the idea that sending a picture of his giganto schlong would keep things hot while we were miles apart. In the absence of his physical presence, he surmised, I would find pleasure in a picture of his dick. I did not.

On my phone, in the cold, sober light of day, it looked kind of purplish and weird, like some sort of demented, amputated arm. Don’t get me wrong — his penis was bomb.com. More often than not, it was a source of great delight. But I didn’t want a picture of it on my phone. It didn’t turn me on, and I certainly didn’t ask for it. No, instead, it just popped up while I was sitting at my desk in the office, in plain view of anyone who might pass by. …

About

Rachel Khona

Sex Humor Wellness Writer @ Playboy, Allure, Marie Claire, The New York Times, Cosmo, WashPo. Follow IG: @rachelkhona

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