from http://www.audreymagazine.com/index.php?element=lifestyle_tat

• We’re all effed up.

Everyone has a sob story, some painful narrative that keeps them from accepting happiness, opening up, communicating emotions, being intimate, trusting others — and themselves. We’re all damaged goods. We’ve all been abandoned. And we just can’t seem to get over daddy, mommy, or that high school senior who broke the heart (and hymen) before we could even drive. We’re so terrified of getting hurt again that we slaughter any romance that is potentially promising, forever licking our wounds from the 1980s.

• Threesomes are better in theory.

Each time I’m in a situation involving group sex, I think: “Why is this happening? Should I politely abstain or abruptly flee?” And, if I do flee, do I really have the cojones to run to my car naked? The point is, there’s such an emphasis on having wild experimental romps that once you’re screwing two dudes from Craigslist, you realize, you never wanted to. Stop allowing others to define “hot sex” for you — especially when it comes to the three-party variety. Because when it’s over, you’re just forced to tell more than one lie, such as: “I’ll call you. Oh, and I’ll call you, too.”

• Technology is evil.

How I long for the days when men called me, spoke to me, used vocal chords when asking me out. Instead, texts (along with emails, instant messages, chats, tweets, and Facebook requests) are now used to express interest, friendship and even, love. All this technology is a godsend for players, timid bachelors and the socially awkward, as it fosters the illusion of connection and commitment yet requires minimal effort. But in actuality, what is largely, painfully missing is real communication. Also absent: a real relationship.

• Staying is often braver than leaving.

I once dated a man who asked me, “What could possibly keep two people in a relationship that doesn’t seem to work?” My response: “Uh, love?” Sure, in many cases, two people must call it quits (my parents; Charles and Princess Di). And there is nothing easy about leaving a loved one. But unless the guy is a total loser or jerk (or both, as that’s common), there’s something remarkable, even heroic, about fighting to make a relationship work, despite its dark and ugly parts.

• That said, we spend too much time waiting.

Since our first date, we’ve waited. We wait for phone calls, the first encounter, the kiss. We wait for the first time. We wait for him to commit. Once it’s more serious, we wait for alarm codes and loving words to be swapped, we wait to meet family, for him to “open up” and “be ready.” Ah, good things happen to those who wait. Which is a good thing, right? Except when it’s not. If years pass, and you’re still desperately waiting for the devotion and tenderness you crave, then how much longer will you wait? Try asking him. In fact, he’s probably texting you right now.

• Commitment-phobia is a tired, boring story.

You have issues with commitment. Yeah, we all do. But you say crap like: “You’re amazing. I’m just not capable of love.” Or, “I’m crazy about you. I just don’t know how to give.” Sometimes, it’s a speech, a painfully rehearsed and tedious one, about how you’re emotionally blocked because you’ve been hurt before. Which is why I need to tattoo these words to my forehead: “I don’t care.”

• Getting dumped is a blessing.

In Kate Chopin’s The Story of an Hour, published in 1894, a woman reacts to the death of her husband by whispering, “free, free, free” under her breath. I can so relate. Why am I comparing myself to a 19th-century white woman? Not sure. But I do know that we often feel trapped. We chain ourselves to mediocre partnerships. And we don’t always know how to get out. Then, your boyfriend walks out on you. And sweet child, you’ve just been liberated. You just don’t know it yet.

• Love is everywhere, I guess.

Relationships do drive us nuts. And during those dark times, when a relationship, or the collapse of one, made me feel certifiably crazy, it was always my girlfriends who steered me back to quasi-sanity. Once, when blurred and blinded by low self-esteem and sadness, a girlfriend reminded me that I would one day, find love. “There’s nowhere love can’t find us,” she said, “in whatever form.” Yeah, it reeks of Zen. But the instant she said it, I thought immediately of the people who did love me, namely my family. Where and how will we find love? Perhaps the better question is: When will we learn that we already have it?