I have been divorced for ten blissful years. Married at the age of twenty, divorced at thirty, still single at forty. I’ve had a couple of long term relationships in the past decade (some felt longer than others) but I still haven’t found anyone that makes me want to give the “death do us part” thing another try.  Having experienced ninety-two first dates since 2008, I’m doubtful that I’ll ever take another stroll down the aisle, but I’ll keep trying

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So, you’ve found another broken man – perhaps he was lifting weights at your gym or he drove the Lyft you took to the airport last week or his Tinder profile pic was so cute you couldn’t help but swipe right. Or maybe you already have a man and recently discovered his “Check Man” light flashing. No matter where you found him or how long you’ve had him, if he’s broken, chances are you’re worried, and rightfully so. After all,

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If I owe the life I’ve lived to any one thing, it’s birth control (followed closely by chocolate, divorce, herds of wiener dogs, and the ability to cut you with my words.) From the Pill, to condoms, to running out of the room screaming, “Not tonight, I have a ruptured ovarian cyst,” the ability to decide if and when I might like to have a bun in my Easy-Bake Oven has influenced everything I’ve aspired to and achieved in my

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We’d been seeing each other on and off for years, he living in a different country, me moving from my country to yet a third place. The wonders of international Internet dating. Once a year, we would meet in a darkened room, reconnect, hungry for some decent sex and humor and walking and eating. Free from our lives for a couple of days. He was so busy, we couldn’t manage more than that. Then we finally managed to meet, unexpectedly,

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