I screamed so loud, it echoed off the bricks and parking structures around us.

Fun fact: as a blogger, I get people pitching guest posts to me basically every day. I basically always say no. But once in a while, someone says something so brilliant, I've got to say yes. Among these: How to Be Happy, Even When You're Programmed Not To Be; 6 Reasons It's Not COMPLETELY Awful to Date A Guy Who Lives With His Parents; and If You Care About Women's Rights, Stop Saying Islam is a Religion of Peace. 

Today, my friend Claire* told me a story I thought was worth sharing -- so we did a co-write of her experience with a "good friend" the other night.

Yesterday, I wrote about how there's a difference between helping a depressed friend and enabling an abuser. My intention was to inform those whose friends suffer from mental illness to be compassionate... but remember to think critically about your actions and the effects they may have on your friend and his/her partner. 

Today, I'm writing a quick reminder to those who are, or may be, affected by mental illness:

Your partner is not your emotional slave.

My background is in psychology -- but not abnormal or relationship psychology. (I studied adult playfulness!) I want to acknowledge that before I start, because this is far from my area of expertise.

But I just saw some of THE MOST FUCKED UP SHIT on Facebook, and it prompted an important realization:

​There is a difference between helping a depressed friend and enabling an abuser.

The difference is consent.

It's Christmas -- so let the "annual debate" about Baby, It's Cold Outside commence. 

Image: @TheHappyTalent on Instagram

Last night, I debuted my first-ever original Christmas song -- and, a few mistakes notwithstanding, it went pretty well! 

Which is funny, because when I decided to write a Christmas song, I thought there was about a 1% chance I'd create something that wasn't embarrassingly awful and cheesy. 

​So how did I do it?

Simple. 

​I tied a hand behind my back.

​Manners are great -- when appropriate. 

But there is a time and a place for everything. 

One of the most ridiculous (not rediculous) things you hear about dating is the absurd claim that "girls like jerks" and "nice guys finish last."

The reality is that, sure. Some girls like guys who are kinda jerks. But they don't like them because they're jerks. They like them in spite of it. 

Most likely because they have so much else to offer. 

We've all heard dudes lament that flirting/hitting on girls/commenting on women's bodies is "only creepy when the guy is unattractive."

​Some women boldly declare the same.

Smartphones connect us in so many ways. They stunt us in so many others.

So I went to this super epic camping party this weekend.​ (Just an hour from home, too -- I love discovering new adventures right in my own backyard.) There were burgers, guitars, and beautiful harmonies. I was just about to debut my new song, "Expats Are Expats for a Reason," when one of the trip organizers made an announcement:

We were to gather around the fire for group storytime. And during this storytime, I realized that if you're a feminist guy or a male ally or whatever... you kind of just can't win.