Liz Mamont

Articles

Dealbreaker: He Didn't Go to College

As my vocabulary expanded among my academic peers, the shared language of our relationship narrowed.

Melissa Jeltsen

Liz Mamont

Jun 03, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: She Always Agreed With Me

Lauren was agreeable. About everything. And as we hung out more and more, her unswerving acquiescence only grew—and so did my urge to push back.

Tate Watkins

Liz Mamont

May 19, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He Did What He Wanted

We all egged on his roughhousing, and cheered when he’d shout, “I do what I want”—a common refrain. Then we went tubing.

Allyson Rudolph

Liz Mamont

May 12, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He Was Jealous

In our Dealbreakers series, exes report on the habit, belief, or boxer brief that ended the affair. I never really wanted to go out with...

Courtney Stoker

Liz Mamont

May 05, 2012

Articles

How to Ditch Happily-Ever-After and Build Your Own Romantic Narrative

It's important for us to build alternative romantic narratives for ourselves, ones that conform more closely to our lives as we want to live them.

Liz Mamont

Amanda Hess

Apr 29, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: We Were Friends With Benefits

We’ve heard it all before: Straight men and women can’t be “just friends.” Our interlocking body parts get in the way.

Jake Blumgart

Liz Mamont

Apr 28, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: I Was His Sugar Mama

I was working three jobs and running to grad school classes in my limited time off. My new roommate was managing nine fantasy baseball teams.

J. Victoria Sanders

Liz Mamont

Apr 21, 2012

Articles

Bytox: Can This Patch Prevent a Hangover?

If the patch works, what sort of nightmare would I be living had I not applied it?

Liz Mamont

Amanda Hess

Apr 07, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He's a Prostitute

That night, I took a tour of Craigslist, clicking at its blue links until they all turned purple. I read all of his ads. He did more than "hang out."

Liz Mamont

Amanda Hess

Apr 07, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He's a Crack Addict

Some days, he’d wake up on a Saturday morning, say he had to run some errands, and turn up 24 hours later.

Liz Mamont

Meghan Murphy

Mar 31, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He Held Me Back

I was a social butterfly with a wild streak; he could count his friends on one hand and spent most weekends in.

Liz Mamont

Jillian Anthony

Mar 23, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He Fell Asleep Under a Van

As he lay there, snoring and reeking of fuel, I stared at him wondering how I'd sunken to this point. But I knew how.

Taylor Jenkins Reid

Liz Mamont

Mar 16, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: I Was On Vacation

I needed access to people and parties I wouldn’t meet on the typical tourist route. I decided to do it the easiest way I knew: I would date.

Mackenzie Beer

Liz Mamont

Mar 10, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He Was a Drunk

Everyone has those crazy nights once in a while when they drink too much, I told myself.

Liz Mamont

Oscar Raymundo

Mar 03, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: I Made Him Sick

“Do you want me to take a shower?” I asked, overly conscious of the trace levels of cat that must be caking my skin.

Lux Alptraum

Liz Mamont

Feb 25, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: She Wanted Kids

I feel I’m doing our crippled economy a favor by shooting for zero offspring. She wanted four.

Liz Mamont

Ian Cohen

Feb 18, 2012

Articles

Dealbreaker: He's a Know-It-All

We both knew a lot about music, but even if I knew the answer, I’d never win a fight.

Brittany Shoot

Liz Mamont

Feb 11, 2012

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As my vocabulary expanded among my academic peers, the shared language of our relationship narrowed.

Lauren was agreeable. About everything. And as we hung out more and more, her unswerving acquiescence only grew—and so did my urge to push back.

We all egged on his roughhousing, and cheered when he’d shout, “I do what I want”—a common refrain. Then we went tubing.

In our Dealbreakers series, exes report on the habit, belief, or boxer brief that ended the affair. I never really wanted to go out with...

It's important for us to build alternative romantic narratives for ourselves, ones that conform more closely to our lives as we want to live them.

We’ve heard it all before: Straight men and women can’t be “just friends.” Our interlocking body parts get in the way.

I was working three jobs and running to grad school classes in my limited time off. My new roommate was managing nine fantasy baseball teams.

If the patch works, what sort of nightmare would I be living had I not applied it?

That night, I took a tour of Craigslist, clicking at its blue links until they all turned purple. I read all of his ads. He did more than "hang out."

Some days, he’d wake up on a Saturday morning, say he had to run some errands, and turn up 24 hours later.

I was a social butterfly with a wild streak; he could count his friends on one hand and spent most weekends in.

As he lay there, snoring and reeking of fuel, I stared at him wondering how I'd sunken to this point. But I knew how.

I needed access to people and parties I wouldn’t meet on the typical tourist route. I decided to do it the easiest way I knew: I would date.

Everyone has those crazy nights once in a while when they drink too much, I told myself.

“Do you want me to take a shower?” I asked, overly conscious of the trace levels of cat that must be caking my skin.

I feel I’m doing our crippled economy a favor by shooting for zero offspring. She wanted four.

We both knew a lot about music, but even if I knew the answer, I’d never win a fight.