My three-year relationship was like a Rush album: overly complex, far too long and punctuated by soul-robbing wails. After his crap was out of my apartment—and I spent the requisite nights on the couch listening to The Smiths and envisioning a life of cat ownership—I did what any self-respecting single woman in New York would do. I vowed to go out with as many people as possible. I prepared to acquire a body count rivaled only by Mortal Kombat. more

MY FRIEND ERIN is the girl who gets one-liners from men at bars. The do you come here oftens of slurred solicitation that she brushes away with a derisive laugh and a flip of her blond hair. My friend Danielle gets the CSI variety of creepy lurkers, and she’s found her personal antidote in a keychainbound can of mace and a black belt in Aikido. Another friend gets the drunk dials, and still another gets the exes that return in the middle of the night like housecats. It’s been said that every woman has the potential to bring out the worst in men. I summon forth the cock pictures. more