DEAR CARRIE

Dear Carrie,

I think I’ve finally met the love of my life! He’s sensitive, artistic, and a healthy dose of mysterious. We’re so happy together, and I love disappearing into our own little world day in and day out. There’s just one thing…he’s moving to Europe. 

I’ve been a New Yorker all my life, and I never thought the day would come where I’d ever even THINK about flying across the globe for a man but, here I am! I don’t know what to do, and my friends aren’t much help.

What do you think? Is it worth giving up everything you know and love for perhaps an even greater love? Or am I kidding myself?

Looking forward to your guidance. Sincerely,

Trepidacious Traveler

Dear Trepidacious Traveler,

Sigh, if only you knew how much I deeply, deeply empathize with your situation! It’s one I’ve found myself in not once, not twice, but…never mind. What is it with men and moving to Europe? They don’t even have iced coffee there!

I digress. Back to you TT. I believe it was none other than the goddess herself Lady Gaga who said “Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you're wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn't love you anymore.” While pretty sound advice, someone ought to tell Mother Monster that your career isn’t going to give you children or an orgasm either! When it comes to love, choosing yourself is far easier said than done Miss Fame!

I cannot predict the future my weary to-be-traveler. The truth is, no one can promise your beau isn’t going to break your heart and leave you in the lurch. Not even him! And if he does well…we know how that can go. What I can promise is this: nothing is permanent. And I mean that in the best way possible! Relationships come and go, but so do flights, and if at any point during your journey you find yourself abandoned in a hotel room in Paris with the reason you traversed across the Atlantic nowhere to be found, I’ve got a great travel agent I can refer you to ;) 

Also, and I know this from experience too: New York City isn’t going anywhere. And distance can indeed make the heart grow fonder. All in all, there’s no wrong answer here TT. All you can do is take it day by day and follow your heart, wherever it leads. For your sake, I hope your heart is less fickle than some (most!) European men. Oops!

I wish you the best of luck and safe travels if you need them Trepidacious Traveler. 

Love,

Carrie

Dear Carrie,

I’ll keep this brief. My boyfriend has some of the worst tasting spunk I’ve ever tasted. And this is coming from someone who loves to swallow. It’s that bad. Any tips?

Sincerely, 

A Bad Taste In My Mouth

Dear Samantha, I mean, A Bad Taste in My Mouth! 

First off, can I just say a collective fuck you from women everywhere for raising the bar on us like this?! I often find myself wondering who out there is hoodwinking men into thinking that swallowing is something we’ll endure, let alone enjoy, and sure enough here you are in my inbox. You’re doing us a disservice! But let’s focus on the problem at hand…

My best friend, we’ll call her C, has many strengths. She’s hardworking, generous, and a mastermind of etiquette and boundaries. We love C for so many reasons, but one reason I think you’ll love C is for her fresh pineapple smoothie recipe. No reason in particular. See below:

INGREDIENTS

• 1 1/2 cups pineapple juice

• 1 banana cut in half

• 1 1/2 cups frozen pineapple chunks

• ½ cup milk

Place the pineapple juice, banana, frozen pineapple and vanilla Greek yogurt in a blender. 

Blend until smooth.

Pour into 2 glasses, and share over a meal with a gentleman of your choosing.

Hope this helps!

Love,

Carrie (and C)

Dear Carrie,

Things with an old flame are starting to heat up again. I was racking my brain trying to remember why things ever fell off in the first place and then it hit me: this guy SUCKS in bed. If you can believe it, I actually had a conversation with him about it, and now he’s dead set on getting me to orgasm. Carrie, to be frank, it’s never going to happen.

What do I do? Should I break it off, or just fake it and enjoy the, um, positive attention? 

In short…HELP.

Yours,

Between a Cock and a Hard Place

Dear Miss Between,

DON’T FAKE IT. Cut him loose.

Love,

Carrie

Kidding! Actually, I wasn’t kidding, but my editor says I need to be better about word count. 

Listen honey…I’m a woman of many experiences, and by that, I mean I’ve slept with many many men. And I totally get it, sometimes faking it is better than putting up with whatever DJing Johnny Two-Fingers is doing on your labia. 

But to that I say, enough! Women have to fake it every goddamn second of every goddamn day. Whether it’s fake laughing at your boss’ misogynistic jokes, or fake celebrating at yet another friend from college’s engagement party, can we have one fucking experience not tainted by appeasing some external party? I don’t know how old you are Miss Between, but let me tell you: I am TIRED of faking it. Is nothing sacred? Shouldn’t the bedroom, the one place we are granted sanctuary and privacy, be a vessel of absolute truth and vulnerability? I mean, call me dramatic, but every time I fake it, I can’t help but wonder: by faking it here, in the comfort of my own room, where am I drawing the line on what I won’t pretend to enjoy? I’m too tired to pretend Miss Between! And so I don’t.

Perhaps that means I’ve given up, or perhaps it means I’m actually just starting. But whether it’s in my gorgeous Upper East Side apartment, or a MetroNorth bathroom, I’m simply too tired and too real to fake it. 

Try that on for size Miss Between, and let me know how it goes.

Forever yours, 

Carrie