There was a new game created with the sole purpose of squeezing the characters breasts.
Dear Abiola gives woman advice on paranoid boyfriend, in her love intervention column.
Deborah Car conducts a study that proves that the saying, "happy wife, happy life" has some truth to it.
From feeling more pleasure in bed to attracting better men — science agrees with us — your small chest is awesome.
I often scoff at the people in my Facebook feed who post photos of their "date night" with either their boyfriend or husband. I don’t just scoff, but roll my eyes, make some snarky comment under my breath that they’ll never hear, and find myself grateful that the term "date night," isn’t part of my vocabulary. I'm a Grinch like that. But I'm also a Grinch who, for all the date nights I'm skipping with my husband, just might be even better for them. Maybe.
Look, we all have to make money. Some of us have to cook and/or serve stuff that we pretend is food, some of us have to sit in an office and do stuff with numbers that nobody really understands. I get paid to write, and many times people ask me to write relationship stuff. Sometimes I even get paid to make fun of my girlfriend. (Thankfully, my girlfriend gets paid to do the same thing, and she's probably going to edit this since she's a better speller than I am.)
What was it about this woman's pregnancy that led her to overdose on prescription medications at 7 months in hopes of ending her life and the life of her unborn baby?
My husband and I have been together for 12 years. It's sometimes hard to believe that if our relationship were a person, it would be in the 7th grade, donning shiny braces and saying asinine things like "cray cray" and "totes." Like all relationships, we've had our ups and downs. We've had arguments that ended with slamming doors and Michelin tires screeching down the driveway. We've declared our love and apologies over the phone once our tempers and transmissions cooled down.
Every evening at 9PM, I put on my sports bra and nylon shorts, lace up my Nikes, and step onto my front porch. I see my best friend and neighbor waiting for me beneath the street light at the end of our cove. I give her a wave, stretch my legs, and jog her way. We're training for a marathon that neither one of us thinks we will actually finish. I'm convinced I'll pass out before I make it to the first beverage station and she's sure she'll plummet to the concrete soon after. But we are training every night, nonetheless.
The thing that gets me is that there is an average of 237,868 victims (age 12 or older) of rape and sexual assault each year, according to the U.S. Department of Justice's National Crime Victimization Survey (NCVS). That means that someone, somewhere in the United States is being sexually assaulted every one to two minutes. How is this happening? And what can we do to stop it?