Blog Bites Man

I have finally run into a moment where my blog has worked against me. Look, I started writing because I wanted to express myself. There’s no way I' going to censor my opinions or feelings. I don’t think there’s a reason to. I’ve never written anything that I wouldn’t say to someone’s face. However, there may be a difference between hearing something from someone’s lips and seeing it posted in a public spot. I already feel that the situation I’m about to recount is beyond repair, so I might as well just come clean with the whole damn thing.

A girl inspired a bunch of my recent posts: the friend in the wings, the long distance date, and the “is this a date?” post all owe some of their origins to my recent interactions with her. Here goes: I met her years before and asked her out.

Side story here that I don’t believe I recounted. She and I met working together. We hung out together for a few days and I asked her out by saying something charming like:

“Say, do you ever eat food? I though that some night you and I could go out and I could buy you food.”

To which she responded, “Food is good!” And walked away.

Needless to say, I was perplexed. Was that a “yes,” a “no,” or a “fuck off, I have pepper-spray”? So the following day, not to be deterred, I went up to her and said, “Hey, yesterday I asked you out to dinner and you said, ‘Food is good.’ Does that mean, ‘Yes, I’d be delighted to go out with you some time’? Does it mean, ‘Get away from me you freak and don’t talk to me’? What does, ‘Food is good’ mean?”

She responded, “Oh…Um. Actually, it means, ‘I have a boyfriend.’”

See, this is the kind of shit that I’m somehow expected to know. And people wonder why I’m so crazy. At any rate, she and I remained friends. We hung out a lot and stayed in touch over the years. Recently, it came to my attention that she was single again. I always detected a certain attraction to me on her part, so I figured I’d give it another shot. We had coffee and she invited me to come visit her up at school, 40 minutes away. This pretty well covers the three posts I mentioned earlier.

I'm not going to lie. I thought she was hot! But I also genuinely liked her as a person and had a cool time hanging out with her.

It would seem that she read my blog and feels that my motives are now somewhat suspect. Hey, I apologize for nothing I’ve written here! All this blog is meant to be is a window into a guy’s mind. Yes I focus a whole lot on sex, but if you read closely, you’d see that not all I’m looking for.

I got drunk and asked her exactly what her intentions were. Not an outrageous demand on my part, considering I was going to be driving up and spending the night (perhaps?). I figured asking would be a whole lot less awkward then driving up, making a pass, and getting shut-down in person. She sort of panicked, threw a few lines from my blog into my face and disappeared.

I guess the safe thing would be to not call attention to this and prepare for another opportunity further down the road. However, I’ve decided instead to make a stand:

I refuse to apologize for shit everyone thinks. I also refuse to let women get away with this sort of unpredictability and tip-toeing around the issues move anymore. You know what? If she had issue with anything I wrote it’s fine. Bring it up and call me on it. But I’m done with letting women pick fights on unrelated topics and then refuse to admit what’s bothering them.

You want to know what drama is? Drama is when the person you’re with or interested in has secrets or problems that they won’t own up to. I wouldn’t expect other people to put up with my drama, so I’m done doing it for others. Ladies, if you’ve got drama with me, fess up or you’ll find that your production is playing to empty theater.

I Stand Behind Homosexuals...Well, Not "Behind" Them...You Know What I Mean

I was asked by a friend to write a post on lesbianism. Let me say that I believe in taking requests, but it’s not my intent to start talking about politics. Why? Because as sexist and alienating as my views on inter-gender relations are, my political beliefs tend to be even more divisive. Unfortunately, these days, it’s impossible to mention gay-rights and not get into the recent legislation and “public debate.”

I’ve always been of the mind that the largest problem with this country (other than New Jersey, I mean) is that so many people obsess about other people’s business. If you have nothing better to do than worry about what the hell other people are doing, you’re not being nearly productive enough. Get a hobby, get religion, or get laid; just quit bitching about how other people live.

There is no reason to be against gay marriage. The only people who are threatened by it are closet homosexuals. There are laws in some states against oral and anal sex. I’m proud to be criminal, and somehow, Jesus hasn’t risen from the dead to smite me down yet. Here’s what I don’t get: how many times a year do we see stories on the news about owners marrying two dogs? Where’s all the uproar about that? Are you telling me that two dogs getting married isn’t a mockery, but two loving adults who happen to be the same sex is an affront to all marriage stands for? Please. Get your ass out of the closet and quit your bitching. The only way gay marriage affects straight couples is if you’re into spouse-swapping.

The reason that these amendments keep getting shot down is pretty simple: about 30% of the population is extremely homophobic. I’m not sure what the percentage of gay people is in this country, but it’s got to be lower than 30%. Everyone else is like, “Huh? This is an issue?” The two ends of the spectrum fight it out and everyone else just sort of looks around blankly and shrugs.

I’m proud to announce that I’ve got no problem with gay people. Go you! Way to teach the rest of us how to dress! I’m strongly pro-lesbian, and not just because of the Cinemax specials. In fact, I’ve been doing my best to convert women to lesbianism, one girl at a time. I’ve got nothing but respect for girls who are fed up with the bullshit of men.

I don’t have a problem with gay guys, either. The way I see it, it’s just less competition for us few, diehard heterosexuals. That’s it, my gay, brethren: give up and leave the woman to me. Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!

One of my friends was telling me today that they were asked, “What would you do if your son or daughter turned out to be gay?” I wasn’t aware that that would be something that warranted any sort of action. It’s sort of like asking, “What if your son grows up to like boxing?” In either case, you pat them on the head and say, “I support your decision to take a shot in the mouth from another man.”

Damn, I’m going to make a bitching dad some day.

Rednecks, Religions, and Screwing With Christians

I don’t usually use this forum to start a ruckus on racial issues, but I just saw a really amazing film:

http://festival.sundance.org/2006/watch/film.aspx?which=423&category=DOC

The film really reminded me of my time at college. When I went away to school, I went to a whole new world: Western New York. The whole place is sort of like…imagine a region, where all they really know about cultures, beliefs, and diversity they learned from watching snippets of documentaries that were airing on TVs, as they walked past the electronics department of Wal-Mart.

It’s not that they’re all hicks. They just generally have no clue that other cultures actually exist. It was there that I first sort of ran into anti-Semitism. I want to be clear: no one ever singled me out, made degrading comments or excluded me. They were just pretty much oblivious to anything but their own self-importance in a way that made you want to slap them. I’ll give you an example:

I was up there when September 11th happened. For the next month and a half, all everyone talked about was, “How close to home the terrorists had struck” and how “We could be next.” This from rednecks in a town 9 hours by car to New York and 45 minutes from Buffalo. Unless the terrorists were coming after America’s most inbred farmers, there was no reason to strike there. I had to walk around and tell people, “Please. Terrorists are not coming here. What are they going to blow up? You're sheep? This isn’t even the same state as New York. This is Alabama-lite.”

I once had a girl argue with me that Buffalo had better pizza than New York City.

You get the idea. It was the sort of thing that slowly grew on me until all I wanted to do was to start seriously fucking with the Christians, to make them half as uncomfortable as I was. I got sick of hearing things like:

“Really? You’re Jewish??? How exotic!”
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t celebrate Christmas/Easter/Lent’?”
"I've never met one of 'you people' before."
“Wow. I knew this kid in kindergarten named Harvey who was Jewish. Do you know him?”

I reached my boiling point during my junior year of college. I had a bad week. There were five or six guys on my floor who were members of the Christian faith club. They kept slipping pamphlets under everyone’s door. On top of that, I was hanging out with some friends, drinking one night, when one of them grabbed my arm. She pulled me close and said, very concerned, “Where are you going???”

“I’m going to get another beer.”
“Don’t go in the kitchen!!!”
“huh?”
“I don’t want you to fall in the oven.”

Yes, that’s a holocaust joke. The whole thing was just so weird to me. On one hand, I never considered myself religious; on the other hand most of these people had never met a Jew so I felt responsible for representing an entire race.

So I reacted the way I always do: by making inappropriate jokes and fucking with people. In this case, the two were one and the same. I designed a serious of T-Shirts and bumper stickers, all with the intent of bringing the world crashing down around the ears of culturally oblivious rednecks. Oh yeah, and don't bother me with your screams of religious insensitivity. I've got nothing against Jesus and Christians. These are meant to lash out people oblivious of other cultures. If I put up with four years of it, the rest of you Carpenter Worshipers can get a sense of humor for ten seconds.

Enjoy:

Large Jewish Star, under which is written: I killed your God.

A large cross, with bold lettering reading: “Love Jesus*” at the bottom was written, “*Violators will be persecuted.”

“Who says the Jews are no good at sports? We ran down Jesus!”

Bed, Blankets And Beyond

I don’t usually like to post quizzes or “top ten” lists, but I was speaking to someone the other day who asked me some really fabulous questions. I’d like to repost them for you now (credit for list goes to Mandy):

1. What’s on your bed?
2. Blankets or comforter?
3. What side of the bed do you prefer?
4. Do you sleep on your side, on your back, or on your stomach?
5. Pajamas, underwear/t-shirt, or in the buff?

These things are all of high importance in maintaining a healthy relationship. Sex is only the beginning of bedroom activities.

I’ve always been a big bed person. It probably all goes back to my room growing up. In my room, I had only one other area where it was possible to sit: on a chair. Unfortunately, my chair also served as the default clothes hamper; so if you had hopes of doing anything off your feet, it was the bed or the floor. As a result, I became meticulous about the state of my bed. It’s weird, I know. It continues to this day: when you walk into my place, everything else might be a wreck, but the bed is always made.

I’m a strong believer in blankets, comforters and a whole lot of pillows. Men, I’m going to let you in a little secret that we as a gender seem to be behind the ball on: pillows are fantastic—and I ain’t talking about for sleeping on. A little imagination and bunch of pillows will do wonders for your bedroom performances. Maybe that’s a topic for another blog…provided I can track down some of those karma sutra pictures to help illustrate.

The girls who own 40,000 stuffed animals are really pretty scary. Not only can they be a literal pain in the ass, it’s this whole factor of 80,000 eyes watching you. If I wanted to have sex in public, I’d be running website instead of a blog. Hey, I own a webcam!

A bit of a side-note illustrating how I’m not really a “stuffed animal” guy. Back in college, my roommate and I were browsing through an antiques store when we happened on a dead, stuffed fox. We were considering it as an impulse buy. I mean, I figured it’d be a cool conversation piece. My roommate turned to me and said, “What do you think?” I paused and finally said, “You know, as cool as that thing is now, it’s probably going to be a whole other story when you wake up in the middle of the night and think it’s looking at you.” That sealed the deal. The money was spent on beer instead.

I once had to spend the night in the same room as a ventriloquist dummy. I swear, every time I woke up, that thing was a little closer to my bed.

Aside from actual bed comfort, there are a whole lot of other intangibles that come into play when trying to share a sleeping space. It all reminds me of a sweaty, ill-conceived, incredibly complex game of Tetris. Just when you think you’ve finally positioned your arm under her, you get an itch, or you have to go to the bathroom, or one of you is slightly warmer than the other and you get pools of sweat forming between you.

I’ve been told (unsolicited, I might add) from a number of women that I’m a good cuddler. The line I like to use is that I was a pro for the Olympic team—until I was banned for using performance-enhancing drugs.

What to wear is another key element. Generally, I’m a pajama guy…in fact, I had an amazing pair of flannel cowboy p.j.s that absolutely killed with the ladies back in college. But when there’s company, I don’t like to make my guests feel under-dressed, so I opt for boxers or nothing. Of course, I believe in promoting easy-access (I suspect that’s why so many girls love the kilt). There’s nothing better than a girl who know how to wake you up right.

Then again, I had no idea that morning foreplay could be such a challenge, until I started seeing a certain girl. I guess morning sex was hugely important on her list of needs. Hey, generally I wouldn't complain, but she had no idea how to actually go about getting it when I was asleep. Girls, I’m going to let you in on how not to get morning sex:

I was dreaming about fighting crime on the streets of Hong-Kong with an elite vigilante group, when suddenly my opponents became a whole lot more physical…in fact they started landing punches. I finally realized that the foot to my sternum was not part of my dream-world.

“Hzzz? Huh? Wha?” I stammered, in my usually coherent and insightful manner of speaking.

“GET UP! I NEED SEX!!!”

“Then haul your ass to the curb. I'm sure you can find someone with 15 bucks and a backseat!”

I grabbed the blankets, turned over and continued my dream.

The Misery of Virginity

Sex is a really funny thing. I remember being generally puzzled about sex when I was growing up. On one hand, it’s something that’s hugely publicized across our culture: it bombards us from sit-coms, commercials, videos, movies ads, books, music…virtually everywhere. On the other hand, it’s something that kids weren’t supposed to talk about. Grown-ups got SO uncomfortable around kids talking about sex that they usually told them to be quiet.

Once I reached puberty, I held out a pretty respectable amount of time before I gave away my virginity. I waited until I was 19. The circumstances leading up to this monumental event were kind of interesting.

My graduating class in High School was 26. Not only that, but I had been at the same school since 2nd grade. What this meant was that by the time graduation rolled around, dating anyone was pretty much akin to incest. How the hell could you be attracted to someone you’d known since they were 7? To make things worse, I pretty much hated everyone in my class. I had three friends, two or three acquaintances and as far as I was concerned, I could care less if everyone else was wiped out in a tragic boating helicopter accident.

Despite all that, I did have a girlfriend my senior year, one who made the offer to put out. I politely declined. For those of you knew to my on-going saga, she was the one who proved to be pretty nuts: she sent me threatening letters when we broke up.

Once I reached college, I sort of launched myself at the freshmen girls. It was a natural reaction. I had spent my entire dating life choosing from a very limited pool. Suddenly there were all kinds of choices, varieties, and possibilities. So I was a man-whore for about a semester and a half. But, I was a whore who wouldn’t put out. Years earlier, I had settled on some important requirements for the event:

1. No losing it to other virgins. The way I looked at it, the last thing I needed was to try to figure it out with someone who also had no idea what the fuck they were doing. This turned out to be a wise move on my part. Years later, I bedded a virgin. The event was so traumatic that if it had been MY first time too, I probably never would have tried to have sex again.
2. The girl I lost it to would have to be in a long term relationship with me. I didn’t want, years later to say, “Yeah, it was a magical night with…uh…umm…what’s her name?”

This second rule had another benefit that I hadn’t even considered. See, almost every outlet of our culture portrays sex as a talent: either people are good or they’re bad and that’s it. In reality, sex is really more of a skill particularly for men. Girls can say what they like about the work they do in bed, but the reality is that men are the ones up there shooting the free-throws. In a long term relationship, I was able to progress from a total bust to a barely competent lover. Hey! The important thing was that progress was made! I think I’m pretty good now. And if you don’t believe me, feel free to take it up with my sex-references.

Virginity is a strange thing. I remember that as a virgin, I spent so much time building up what sex was supposed to be, that when I actually did it, it was something that wasn’t nearly as big a deal as I thought it would be. That was the REAL lesson of that night. After that, I was able to relax about sex enough that I could relate to girls better because it wasn’t always forefront in my mind. That is to say, when I was speaking to girls I thought about it only 85% of the time instead of 99% of the time.

Usually, I’d say everyone should take things at his or her own pace. However, if a person holds out too long, it’ll become nearly impossible to do. The longer you wait, the bigger you make it in your own mind until it’s something that totally devours you. That being the case, I’d like to draw attention to a truly noble cause. My faithful readers, I urge you to dig deep in your pockets and help give a young man the greatest gift of all: hot stripper ass. Praise you, brothers and sisters!

Guns, Wal-Mart and The Mexican Stand-Off

Guns are a weird part of American life. I’m not really sure where the big obsession with owning guns comes from. I mean, I’ve somehow managed to survive 26 years without owning anything more powerful than a pellet gun…and I didn’t even use that all that often. Please understand, I’m not really pro-guns or anti-guns, I’m really more of the “puzzled by why the fuck anyone would need 8,000 different types of guns available around the clock and at a moment’s notice.”

Wal-Mart is like the ultimate version of this weird part of the American mind that says:

Nudity = bad.
Cursing = Evil.
Guns = Hurray weapons, mayhem and death!

I went to a school in a town so small that it was inconceivable to think of surviving without patronizing Wal-Mart. People used to go grocery shopping there. The thing about the place that always pissed me off was that you could walk in there and buy guns, ammunition, and condoms, but not any CDs with curse-words on them. Essentially, Wal-Mart’s stance was that it was ok to kill people and it was ok to fuck people, just don’t write a song about killing or fucking people.

My friend and I were looking for apartments in the paper recently, when he stumbled on this little beauty:





Yes it’s charming, spacious and in our price-range, but if you look closely, you’ll notice what we can only assume is Police Tape over the door. My friend’s exact words were, “For that price, we can afford to stay strapped.”

See, I’m not frightened about living at the site of a brutal triple-homicide. Where they hell else do motivated sellers come from? What I am afraid of is the inevitable bloodbath that is going to break out, not as a result from people outside, but from within.

I read somewhere that the majority of people who are shot, are shot by people they know. That should be a great comfort to those who fear random violence. I somehow envision the number of gun-shot woundings by friends taking a dramatic leap upwards the second my friends and I start purchasing firearms.

The problem is that I know that every argument in the house would ultimately be decided by who was sitting closest to the gun.

“Yo, turn on the game.”

“No, man. I’m watching this.”

“Turn on the game.”

Click “Ask me again, mother-fucker. ASK ME AGAIN!!!”

It would be a perpetual scene from Pulp Fiction playing out every waking moment.

A lot of people would think that the solution would be to simply purchase two guns. If anything, that would only make matter much, much worse. If each of us had guns, my life would instead turn into a never-ending Mexican-standoff.

I can see it now, each of us inching our way over to the sink to brush our teeth, slowly pouring cereal, guns cocked, and easing our boots on with our fingers on the trigger.

See, I guess here’s the difference between my friend and me: He looks at a good apartment in a bad neighborhood and sees a deal. I look at a good apartment in a bad neighborhood and see a 4 year Mexican-standoff.

Kilts, Soccer Moms, and Fashion Rage

One of my jobs at school was driving the “rape van." The rape van drove around the campus until 4 every morning so that women didn't have to roam the parking lots at all hours of the night. I loved driving the Rape Van. I used to have theme nights: Funk Night, Surf Night and Disco Night. But one evening, I decided to conduct a poll: If socially acceptable, would you wear a kilt (if male), or be attracted to a guy wearing a kilt (if female). The results were a staggering near 80% pro-kilt. I’m telling you, The Gap is missing out on the next big trend. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I’d like to announce right here, in the presence of God, friends, and random Internet Weirdoes that I own my own kilt. I always get asked if I’m Scottish, when I wear it. The answer is no. I just like fucking with people.

I’ve had some great times in kilts. I started wearing it when I was working at a day camp, just as a gimmick. But then I began rocking the kilt in the real world and I’ve had fantastic results with it thus far. It first dawned on me what a chick magnet a guy in a skirt is when I was working at camp, directing traffic. I would wave the single moms through and they would be all prim and proper until they’d dropped their kids off. Once the kids were out of the car, they all turned into sailors on shore leave. The filthy things these moms would holler at me defied belief, courtesy, and all levels of dignity. Needless to say I was thrilled. One of my favorite moments was when a mom slowed down to yell, “Hey, what are you wearing under there?”

To which I immediately responded, “My girlfriend’s lipstick.” A stunned silence followed.

I used to wear it around college on warm days. It was spectacular. I remember sitting in class when I happened to notice a girl checking out my legs. My first thought was, “That chick’s looking at me like a piece of meat. I feel so violated. This is AWESOME!"

Girls used to come up to me in the dining hall and just give me their numbers. It was unreal. First Scotch Whiskey and now kilts? God bless those drunken, moor-dwelling Scots.

The whole phenomena got me wondering about men’s fashion. Understand that I’m not pretending to know anything about style. It just makes me think that current fashion doesn’t really help you get ass. Maybe it’s because men’s fashion tends not to reveal much, or maybe it was simply that I had the balls to wear something so non-conventional. Whatever it was, all I know is that women love a man in a kilt. I had a girlfriend who would absolutely molest me every time I climbed into the thing. I got pulled into so many closets that I people just assumed I was a janitor.

I'm beginning to think that I'm the same way about non-conventional dressing women. I get really turned off by girls who are dressed too trendy. Something about says, "I need culture at large to tell me how to do everything--including how to dress." I’d never wear anything just because someone told me it was cool. For example pink.

Every weekend I’ll be walking around the mall and I’ll see some dude in a pink shirt with the collar up. When I do, it takes every fiber of my self-restraint not to kidney punch him and beat him with the nearest blunt object until he loses bladder control. Wearing Pink is the perfect example of someone doing something ONLY because they heard it was cool. Guys don’t wear pink. Guys don’t look good in pink. Guys who wear pink deserve to be castrated immediately with what ever is handy before they contaminate the gene-pool.

Then again, who am I to pass judgment on a dude wearing a “girl color”? This is, after all, from a guy who rocks a skirt. So lassies, I present a picture for your viewing pleasure and so you know what to look for next time you're out on the town. Just a warning: I don't always wear the face-paint.

Federally-Mandated Lovin'

I was speaking to a girl recently who said, “You should come and visit me up at school.” This can be a tough one. The key to the date where there’s travel involved and a sleep-over is implied is making sure that you can actually tolerate the other person. The worst thing is driving to see a girl, being stuck in a situation where you know no-one else and all you can think is, “Damn, she’s really not worth the drive.”

The worst situation I was ever subjected to involved Halloween. I was up to visit this super cute girl—short, dark hair, adorable face and amazing boobs. Good lord were they fantastic…but I digress. The point is that I showed up and had to deal with mooching friends who stole my liquor, cock-blocked me endlessly and made me the default driver. On top of that, I found out that the girl was on her period and had no intentions of sending the room-mate off. The whole evening was pretty much a total disaster, though I did get her top off. Look, I know I keep going on about her breasts, but if you had seen this girl topless, you’d understand. They were spectacular. Not spectacular enough to make up for the rest of the trip, but spectacular none-the-less. The whole evening was disasterous enough that I pulled a “slink out before she wakes up” walk of shame.

The point is that I’m getting too old for these ambiguous “drive an hour and visit me” dates. I think from now on, the rules need to be laid out before I get in the car. Here’s another case of someone getting figuratively screwed by one of these deals. Figurative is the key word here. If he had been literally screwed, there would have been no issue.

My friend was talking to a girl who lives about 6 hours away. The two of them had been chatting for some time, when the invitation was made for them to go camping together. So my friend took a week off and drove up there, picked her up, set up camp and…nothing. Look, I believe that a woman’s got a right to say no. But if you make a dude drive six hours and spend his one week off a year with you, you’re obligated to at least give head. That’s the deal. Don’t agree to the trip otherwise, even if the dude swears you’re only going as friends. The guy is expecting ass. It’s just one of those times where, as a woman, you girls just have to "suck it up" and "take one" for the team. That’s the price of an all-paid vacation.

I know the girl involved in the story above reads this and she’s a sweetheart. She’s one of my dear friends, but hon, you should have put out. Sorry.

In the future, I think I’m going to have to fed-ex the girl a contract to peruse before I agree to travel.

By agreeing to host this visit, I, the under-signed, do here-by swear to:

1. Make the necessary arrangements to have at least 6 hours of alone time with my guest
2. Promise that I have romantic or at least physical attraction to the guest
3. State that bodily functions will not interfere with the possibility of ass
4. Will not put my guest in the position of placating my whining, mooching, good-for-nothing friends for fear of blowing his/her chances.

Signed: __Some hot girl__

I can’t wait for the opportunity to say, “I’m sorry you have a head-ache…but I’m afraid you and I have a contract. So take some Tylenol and prepare for some hot, federally-mandated lovin'!”

I’m such a hopeless romantic.

The Easy Let Down

I understand that everyone gets rejected now and again. Hey, I’ve had to do it myself. But when it comes to the rejection, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do things. Ladies, please take note of the following story, because in this cautionary tail, everything goes wrong that possibly could go wrong.

I was at a party a few years ago, when a kid that I knew came in and introduced me to his cousin. We all chatted for a while, and I eyed the cousin like a starving man looks at a roast. She was visiting from Iceland and was pretty much the reason that men continue to travel north: tall, thin, blond, and busty.

I decided to bide my time and make a play at the end of the night. Around two in the morning, I head over and we start talking for real. I make her laugh, we talk about her plans in the states, and we talk about her home; it’s a very chill vibe. I go in for the kiss and physicality went from there. A good time was had by all. ‘Nuff said.

The next morning a bunch of us all went out to breakfast. I bought her waffles. She gave me her number and said, “I’m going to be out of town until Thursday, why don’t you call me then?”

So Thursday night I call her up. I said, “How was your trip to Long Island?”
She said, “I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll call sometime.” Click.

I didn’t even get a chance to get through the small talk. It was just raw.

OK, I don’t mind being used for a one night stand. In fact, I sometimes wish it happened more often. But that is just too cold for words. If you didn’t want to hang out, why didn’t you say something after breakfast? Let me down easy then and I wouldn’t have bugged you. But no! She had to go hardcore, evil rejection on me. In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to get carried away with these sorts of things.

So, the following weekend, extremely drunk, I called her up to yell at her:

“What is wrong with you? You couldn’t have let me down easy? You’re cold as ice! Do you even have a soul?”

When she hung up, I got a friend to drive me over there. It’s not as bad as it sounds.

1. I knew the cousin with whom she was staying, and he agreed I should give her a hard time.
2. I’m not the violent type and had no intention of getting out of hand.

When I arrived and the cousin let me and I proceeded to berate her on common courtesy (ignoring the fact that it was 1:30 in the morning, I was drunk, unannounced, and generally shattering every existing rule of etiquette). The cousin and my friend were laughing hysterically as I continued to chew her out for another ten minutes or so.

Finally, when I had gotten it all out of my system, she apologized and we all agreed to have a “bury the hatchet drink.” So I relaxed, and we were all sipping vodka like civilized adults, when she said, “Listen, I feel really bad about everything. I thought things might have gotten weird, since I’m leaving the country in another two weeks. Let me give you my email address.”

So she scribbled it out on a piece of paper. I stared at the paper for a moment and said, “Yeah, I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll email you sometime.” RIP.

T N' As: The Skaniest Place On Earth

I have a number of friends who really enjoy strip-clubs. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy naked women just as much as the next man, but it’s really not my scene. When I walk in to a strip club, I just end up all kinds of uncomfortable.

I have no problems watching porn. The difference is when I watch a movie, I don’t have the girls actually looking back at me. There’s just something so fundamentally creepy about people who are really into porn.

For example, we were driving back from Atlantic City one morning when my friend said, “Stop at the Romantic Depot! I need porn! PORNO!!!” What can I say; these are the kinds of people I hang out with.

So we stopped at the Porno shop at 10AM on a Sunday. We slunk inside, and my friend asked the guy behind the counter for “Island Fever 3.” The eyes of the shop keep light up.

“My friends!” he says, “Come with me!”

He proceeds to throw his arms around us, tell us what a great choice the purchase is, runs down some of the highlights of the film and begins ratting off the names of similar movies we might enjoy. There’s really no words for how creepy it is to hear this kind of thing from a complete stranger, much less a complete stranger who’s making body contact with you. After we left, my friend turned to me and said, “Why can’t we just have a porn shop where we can slink in and feel ashamed about our purchases? Why’s there got to be eye-contact?”

This is exactly how I feel at strip clubs. When I’m in a place like that, I just want to be invisible. The worst part is when a stripper sizes you up as a dumb kid and starts walking over. I’m like a dear in headlights. Because usually, the headlights ARE showing. It’s hard enough to carry on a conversation with a woman who’s got fantastic breasts. When she’s purposely flaunting them, it’s damn near impossible.

“Hey honey, do want to go have a private party? We can have a real good time.”

“Ummm…no thank you…Honey. Uh, umm…I’m afraid I’ll get herpes just from talking to you.”

I don’t even like to use another person’s toothbrush.

One of my favorite strip-club stories involves the town where I went to school. It was a tiny little cluster of houses, churches, bars, a Wal-Mart and no more than 5 traffic lights. Underage drinking had been going on there for time out of mind…I mean it was a college town! Finally, one of the bars had been closed after something like 6 different underage drinking incidents.

So some stalwart entrepreneur decided to open a skin place. This caused no end of an uproar. There were protests, pickets, angry letters to the newspaper; the whole town acted as if there hadn’t been a perpetual live version of Girls Gone Wild taking place in local house-parties for the last 50 years.

In order to try to discourage this new business, they were denied a liquor license. Unfortunately for the townsfolk, they were unfamiliar with the loophole in law that this created. Allow me to explain: it is illegal to show full nudity in a place that serves alcohol: topless only. I guess that some state founders decided that men couldn’t control themselves with alcohol and full frontal nudity. Like anyone’s going to get drunk enough off 12 dollar beers to start a ruckus. If, however, there’s no alcohol you’re allowed to show full nudity. AND if you’re not serving liquor, the only thing required to be employed at such a place are working papers. Translation: in an attempt to keep their town clean and morally-upstanding, they had helped create a bar where one could sip 12 dollar cokes and watch fully nude 16 year-olds.

God bless America.

Girl On Girl Action

When dating, it’s essential to find the right kind of drunk. I enjoy having a drink, and I assume that nearly everyone gets a bit buzzed now and then. The last thing you want is someone who doesn’t mesh with your style of intoxicated.

There are horny drunks, happy drunks, hyper drunks, crazy drunks, sad drunks, and angry drunks. I’m generally a happy/sleepy drunk. I like to chill out, smile a lot and then go to sleep. It’s very low key.

A lot of people have bad habits when drunk. For example, when I first showed up at college, I used to walk around looking for house parties with live bands. Then I’d proceed to get hammered, convince the guitarist to let me play a song and totally upstage him. Hey, it’s not something I’m proud of! I always assumed that I could get along with anyone when drinking. Oh, how wrong I was.

I was drinking in my room with a girl I’d been seeing for about a week (let’s call her Dara). We were having a good time, listening to music, when the phone rang. It was my dear friend who lived up the road. “Hey,” he said. “Me and my fiancé are hanging out, having a few drinks. Why don’t you come over?”

I said, “Sounds great! I’ve got my new girl with me. Is it ok if she comes, too?”

“No problem.”

We show up and Dara immediately bonds with the fiancé. It’s one of those instant sister mind-melds that women are somehow able to form. The two of them are joined at the hip, hugging, laughing, and having a great time. The night continues, more alcohol is consumed, everyone’s having fun. Get walk into the room where the two girls are laughing it up and chat with them.

Now, I’ve known Kristen, my friend’s fiancée, for a long time. So I say something teasing her and Kristen gives me one of those arm punches that friends often deal out. In a split second, the whole party changed. Why?

Dara, my girlfriend, yells, “No one touches my man!” and decks Kristen. I’m not talking about a girly slap or a push. Dara’s fist whistled through the air in a viscous right hook. There was an audible thud Kristen’s head snapped back, and then a louder one as her legs buckled and she hit the carpet. All I could think of was the famous Howard Cosell call, “Down goes Frasier! Down goes Frasier! Down goes Frasier!” I hadn’t seen anyone hit a woman like that since Ike Turner.

The next ten minutes played out like a scene from Cops. My friend came in and helped me separate the two of them. See Dara, not satisfied with dropping her opponent like a date on prom-night, had pounced on top of Kristen with the intent to choke her into submission. Kristen, meanwhile, had a death grip on Dara’s ear, while the other hand was trying to pry an eye loose. Finally, I threw Dara off, flipped her face down, hands behind her back and pinned her.
When she had calmed down, I dragged her out. 2 minutes later, she slipped away and bolted back towards to the house to throw a beer bottle.

I broke up with Dara about a week later. I had visions of her pile-driving my mother into table at thanksgiving. I guess the point of this story is to know what your date is capable of while drunk, tread lightly, and watch a whole lot of Cops.

(In)fidelity

I’ve done some sleazy things in my life (for details, see the rest of my blog), but one thing I’ve never done is cheat. Maybe it’s because I believe that a relationship is a scared trust. Maybe it’s because I’m an evil heartbreaker with no qualms about dumping someone for the next pretty thing. I guess I always figured that if I wanted to make out with other people, why stay in a relationship? If I ever wanted to hook-up with anyone else, then the current relationship wasn’t worth pursuing.

Lord knows I’ve been tempted…Goddamn have I been tested! I was at a party one night, when a girl I’d been working with came up to me and started flirting. We shared a few drinks and then she went in for the kiss. I said, “I’m sorry, I’ve got a girlfriend. I can’t do this.” This is where the story takes a turn.

I’ve always felt that no one method of seduction works with every woman. Some girls respond to really aggressive pick-up strategies, but others are driven wild by the unobtainable man. The girl who was after me was very good looking: dark hair, pretty face, curves in all the right places and it quickly became apparent that she was not used to being turned down.

She promptly redoubled her efforts and said, “Your girlfriend doesn’t have to know. Come on, I’ll show you the best time you ever had.” When I still refused, clothing began being removed (hers, not mine) and a beer bottle was subjected to a treatment that I’m quite sure it was not designed for. When I resisted, she left and I thought the matter was resolved…oh, how wrong I was.

At the end of the night, very intoxicated, I headed over to a bed I’d reserved at the beginning of the night and flopped down. I had been lying down for about a minute before the door opened and Ms. Temptress entered…followed by a rather shapely friend. The two of them proceeded to make a final sales pitch to me by demonstrating their kissing abilities…on each other…without tops…

This was a few years before I’d actually had a threesome, and as far as I was concerned, probably my only opportunity for such an experienced. But I kicked their ass t the curb and slept alone. What really pisses me off about the story was that I later found out that the girl I was in a relationship with was cheating on me. We broke up about three weeks later. It was SO unfair.

At any rate, I figure if I can turn down that, I can turn down anything. Interestingly, I’ve had no problem sleeping with women who have boyfriends. It’s been my New Year’s resolution to stop, but I don’t think there’s anything morally wrong with me being a guy-on-the-side. Hey, if it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else. That’s why I never understood the boyfriends who get pissed off at the guys that their girlfriends sleep with. It’s insulting. Brother, if your girl wouldn’t be cheating if 1) you were more attentive and 2) she wasn’t completely devoid of morality.

I have a weird double standing for cheating. I’d never do it, but I don’t mind enabling someone else to cheat…though I will secretly judge them because of it. I was speaking to one of my female friends and she said, “That is SO low. You’re not allowed to sleep with a girl who has a boyfriend and then hold it against her!” To which I replied, “The hell I can’t!”

I’ve noticed a pattern with cheaters: it’s never just once. I’ve only ever been with one girl who I know cheated on me and if you look at her history, it was bound to happen again. All of her relationships ended because she cheated.

I don’t believe in “special cases,” one-time slip-ups, or I-was-drunk-and-didn’t-know-what-I-was-doings. No. I have a zero-tolerance cheating policy. If you gave in once, you’re going to do it again. That’s just how these things work. So I don’t mind sleeping with a girl who’s got a boyfriend, but you’re out of your mind if you think I’ll date her.

"Friends," Drinking, And The Secret To Guilt-Free Living

Guys can be crafty mother-fuckers. For example, ladies, you know that guy who you think is just your friend and has no romantic intentions? He wants to sleep with you. “No way.” You think. “He’s just a sweet guy who is interested in hearing my problems and a hanging out.” Think about it. What heterosexual man would choose to listen to details about the sex he’s not getting, along with the near incompressible theories about “what did he REALLY mean when he said, ‘I looked good’?”

Listen, what you girls should already know is that guys are motivated by sex. What you ladies probably don’t know is that we’re also motivated by the possibility of sex in the future, regardless of how faint the chance or how distant the future. I pull this kind of thing all the time. If I meet a cute girl that I’m interested in, I’ll make a pass at her. If I find out that’s she has a boyfriend, or whatever, I slide into the friend role. But make no mistake about it: my overall goal hasn’t really changed.

There are girls who’ve I’ve kept on the line for years. Then they suddenly free up and BAM. Look who’s right there for first crack at the angry I-gave-that-man-the-best-three-years-of-my-life-and-he-screws-my-sister tumble. For the record, men, that’s the best kind of sex there is: sweaty, angry, revenge sex, where you’re not the one she’s angry at.

Of course, if you’re really slick about things, you’ll hold off on the rebound sex. Don’t get me wrong, there have been women who got dumped and I showed up that night with a bottle of rum and a DVD of “Pretty Woman,” but if you’d like to be asked back and you’d like the kind of sex that isn’t totally about someone who isn’t present, you’ll be cool for a few weeks at least.

Are there girls who I’m actually just friends with? Well…I know that some of them read this, so I’ll say, “yes.” Let’s narrow things down. If I’ve known you for more than two years, some of which you were single and I failed to make a pass, then yes, I’m just your friend. Anything else and the possibility is there. That's right, ladies celebrate! There's a possibilty that the Ehren-Goodlovin'-Experience is secretly plotting a trip to your bed.

This is one of those instances where all a woman needs is “plausible deniability.” I don’t think that women are generally any less sleazy than men; women just need some sort of excuse for themselves to call up later. This is why the “friend in the shadow” is able to drift so seamlessly between friend and lover. Deep down, they know why you’re there. They just have to be able to say later, “I’ve known him for a year and a half and we were just friends. But since I broke up with my man we grew close.”

Deep down, this is the REAL reason that people like to drink: plausible deniability. Everyone likes to pretend that after a few drinks, they have no clue what’s going on. “I was drunk, other wise I never would have slept with him/her.” Bullshit! Alcohol lowers your inhibitions. It means that you act on impulses that you want to follow, it doesn’t make you do things that you don’t want to do. Everyone knows it, but it’s our culture’s big “get out of guilt-free” card.

In closing I’d like to say that I have plans on visiting a newly single friend and drinking heavily.

Relationship Differences

A few posts ago, I spoke about the different body parts that men are attracted to. I think what it comes down to is that the female form is just a beautiful thing. Guys, on the other hand, just look kind of ridiculous.

Naked men look silly. It makes me wonder what about men women find so appealing. Different women I’ve spoken to have different opinions on the matter. Girls tend to be much more into details than men—little corners fine points about our bodies that we men have totally missed. My theory is that if you’re focusing on the small points, it’s easier to ignore the rest of the horror show.

For example shoulders, hands and eyes have all been popular answers. When it gets right down to it, I guess that these aren’t any sillier to be attracted to than breasts or legs, but I really see the differences between women and men in the answers they give.

Men are into very generic sorts of features. Maybe it’s because we don’t put a lot of thought into EXACTLY the type of girl we’re looking for. But it’s what makes us who we are: thoughtless, unprepared and hopelessly attracted to women. Guys aren’t really hard to predict or understand—we’re just stupid. Or, more accurately, we don’t really consider any of the things regarding relationships that women think about. We only have the vaguest ideas about what we’re looking for in a partner. In the words of Glen Quagmire: “Hello, lips, legs, breasts and ass!”

Girls, on the other hand, are really into details. The shape of a man’s neck, the way he smiles, the way he talks—all of it is mentally compared against a list of likes and dislikes that she’s already compiled. Girls have already noticed and thought about what they’re after. It seems like women put way more effort, thought and preparation into relationships and attraction. I always thought it weird that women are classified as being “emotional” (men, of course, are usually defined as “sexist, overbearing, mama’s-boys with the attention-span of a gnat on meth”). When it comes to relationships, women over-think and men under-think.

For proof of my theory in action, let’s go back to one of the very first break-ups I ever had. Way back, when I was a lad, before the weight of the World crushed my spirit.

The exact line that led to be blowing up and ending things was spoken by my soon-to-be-ex:

“Do you remember two weeks ago when we were standing in front of your friend’s house? I turned to say something to you and you were talking to your friend. Do you have any idea how that feels???”

What’s obvious (other than the fact that she’s a complete psycho) is that she actually noticed, held a grudge and drew meaning from an action I had put zero thought into. I, on the other hand couldn’t:

1. Remember the incident
2. Begin to guess at what meaning she had drew from me talking to a friend
3. Have any clue what it would feel like to be a complete psycho whose boyfriend occasionally speaks to friends he’s known for years.

So I broke up with the girl. But what’s important about this story (other than the fact that you should cross the street if you ever see her walking towards you), is that I had no idea that I was about to break up with her, no idea that my actions could be construed as hurtful to her, and no idea that she would send me pages upon pages of song lyrics and threaten me with phrases like “We’re going to meet again in a happy place--even if that’s after death.”

Sure she’s an extreme case, but I think that, at heart, this exchange really sums up the relationship problems between women and men: we’re thoughtless pricks with no responsibility for our own actions, and women are psychotic stalkers who later move to the Midwest with alleged rapists. Ah, young love.

Three's A Crowd

I have many friends who speak of a "threesome" in a hushed and revered tone. As if even breathing the word could jinx the experience from ever happening. It’s a sort of Holy Grail for men. Frankly, I’ve never really understood why it wouldn’t be a bigger draw for women. From what I’ve heard from my female friends, men seem to have problems satisfying a single woman, let alone a pair.

I was watching TV in my room at college when I was joined by one of my hook-up friends from down the hall. We started talking and decided that we wanted to rent a movie, so I called another girl that had a car. Girl number two drove us to the video store where we picked up a few videos, including one insanely boring Sci-Fi series that had come out on DVD. The girls picked up the movies while I went next-door to procure the other vital ingredients to a threesome: two bottles of Bacardi and a gallon of wine.

I’d like you to understand that at this point, while I figured I was going to get lucky, I NEVER thought that I had a shot with both at the same time. It really never entered my mind. We’d all hung out together before, and I never figured it was an option. Men if you’re taking notes, here are the required ingredients:

1. Alcohol. Women need to have an excuse for themselves later. Even if they know exactly what they’re doing, they have to be able to tell themselves the next day, “I was drunk.”


2. One of the girls should be Bi. I’ve read somewhere that all girls have at least considered hooking up with another woman. It sounds like wishful think in my opinion. At any rate, girls who actually have these feelings are a lot more willing to act on it if the available girl is an experienced pro. Once again, it provides them with an excuse for the next morning.


3. An endless supply of fairly boring TV. The pretense is that you’re going to get a drinking game together involving the horrible show. The show has to go on long enough that everyone gets drunk, gets bored, and has something to pretend to focus on in those moments before the encounter is locked up. That is, Girl number two can pretend not to notice that girl number one has both hands down your pants if some zany centaur is being chased by a witch on TV.

Now, as I said, I really had no idea what was coming. I had combined all these volatile ingredients into a container, added a bed and some music and voila! I was exactly like the guy who invented champagne: shocked and delighted by the entertaining substances that flowed forth.

Honestly, having a threesome had never really ranked that highly on my list of things to do. Sure I’d considered it, but ultimately it just never ranked highly enough for me to actively seek it out. I think that this was a factor in the success of the evening. If I had been a perv about the whole situation it would have creeped out both girls, but because I was my usual oblivious self the whole thing sort of evolved (or devolved, depending on your view of such things) naturally.

If I were a different sort of dude in bed I probably would have enjoyed myself a lot more. I think we guys sort of imagine both girls turning all their attention on us, combining to bring us to a level of enjoyment we had only dreamed of. That really wasn’t my experience. First of all, what you have to realize is that at least one of the girls figures that this is her last opportunity to hook up with another woman. Girls are offered dick at least once every twenty seconds of their waking lives. When she gets the once in a lifetime chance to try the alternative, plain old penis is hard to tempt her with. Second, I’m a bit of a workaholic. When there’s a job to be done, I believe in “getting on it” and “banging it out,” if you’ll excuse the expressions. What I’m saying is that I believe in doing my work thoroughly and while I like to think I’m pretty capable in bed, I had suddenly been presented with a double workload.

When I started looking for a band, I decided that I didn’t want to sing and play guitar. I felt that I could either do both at about 65% of my capabilities, or do one at 100%. My experience with girls was about the same.

I guess it’s something that I’m glad I did. It’s nice to be able to wear that like a badge of honor. On the other, it’s really not something I’d be interested in again.

What I’m about to tell you violates ever rule of guydom that was ever written, so ladies listen up. This is some serious inside information.

The really best sex is not about physical kinks, appearances or techniques. The best sexual experiences are with someone that you’re emotionally close with. When you’re involved in a threesome, you’re giving up that closeness for something purely physical.

Guys: don’t kill me for letting the secret out. Girls: feel free to shower me with gratitude for the inside information. But please, ladies: one at a time.

A Girl With Nice Finger Cymbals

Everyone has one part of the body that really gets them. Guys are generally into one of the following features more than the others: Breasts, Asses, or Legs.

I don’t understand the attraction to breasts—which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy them immensely. I’m sort of a breast man, myself. But I find them irresistible and can’t really nail down why. They’re certainly nice to look at, but once you get down to it, their pretty useless in bed. I keep getting attracted to women with large breasts. And every time I get her top off, I realize that within 5 minutes I’ve exhausted all possible activities. Of course, being a typical male, I forget all of that the second she puts her shirt back on.

A friend of mine has an extremely top-heavy woman in common with me. We both agree that large breasts are attractive for reasons unknown. However, he had one of the best comments about this woman: the best part about sex with her was that even if her hands were behind her back, you still got a standing ovation. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out what was applauding.

I remember I was at the renaissance fair one time. A friend of mine was standing in line with me and we were idly watching a busty lass in a belly-dancer outfit dance and play finger cymbals. He said, “Wow, she’s hot.” I considered it for a moment and said, “I have the perfect line for you. March up to her, look her square in the eyes and say, ‘Miss, I just had to come over and tell you that you have the biggest, roundest most perfect pair of…finger cymbals I have ever seen.’” What can I say? I’m a smooth pimp-daddy.

As wonderful as all those sexual parts of a girls anatomy are, there’s one part of a girl that’s just, for me, the ultimate in femininity. I first noticed it High School. In fact I wrote a poem about it then. To me, the greatest, most intimate and feminine part of a girl’s body is that little curve in her side just before the swell of the hip.

The most attractive part of a woman is still her face though. I’ve spoken to a lot of guys and all of them agree that we’ll forgive a lot, physically, for a pretty face. Of course, a lot of men have no standards anyway. My friend used to say, “Wrap her head in the flag and do it for your country.” Of course, this was a kid who I never saw with a girl attractive or otherwise.

I've often heard the phrase, "Love is blind." I'm not sure I agree with that. Attraction has to play a part in it. If you find the other person physically repulsive things aren't going to work. That's why I like to say, "Love is a borderline retarded deaf-mute with a skin disorder."

I tend not to get too caught up in any one feature. Some guys like short girls, or redheads, or Latino girls, or blue-eyed girls; I’m an equal opportunity dater: all races, creeds, religions and body types. Yeah, I’m a sucker for boobs and nice eyes and a pretty face, but everyone’s got one special thing about them that’s beautiful. I guess what I’m saying is beauty is everywhere—but especially in women with nice finger-cymbals.

Girlfriend Mode

There are certain things that girls do—unconsciously—that absolutely melt your heart.

Last night I was hanging out with one of my close female friends. She’s a metal-worker who swears like a sailor and is covered in tattoos. On top of that, she gets along with me, which means that she’s cynical, bitter and sarcastic. So we were sitting at her house and she was messing with me and generally calling me a loser in that way that friends do, when the phone rang: her boyfriend.

Instantly there was a full-body transformation. Her back arched and her chin suddenly became locked to her shoulder. The hand that wasn’t holding the phone found a strand of hair that, judging from the intensity of the twirling, was close to being spun into gold. And then there was her voice. At first I thought that she wasn’t speaking at all. Then I realized that words were coming at a pitch reserved for dog-whistles and bat-sonar.

It’s moments like this that I enjoy messing with women—not out of cruelty, but out of the amusement I get of watching them switch from “girlfriend mode” to “friend mode” and back again, instantaneously.

Girls get the same way around babies and puppies. I don’t really have any point to this observation—I just think the whole process is adorable beyond words.

The most difficult part of maintaining a friendship with an ex is that change. It can be hard to go from being the one who made her voice switch octaves and her fingers find her hair, ear, or the rim of her glass, to just being another guy. It can be done, but it’s hard not to take it as a shot to your ego.

I think I’ve done a good job at maintaining these relationships in the past. There are a number of exes I still speak to. How else would I have been able to get my sex-references?

Still, it’s like changing from the sun of someone’s universe to just another star. It can be done, but you have to understand that 1) it’s for the best and 2) every star in the center of someone’s universe.

Relationship Rituals and the Worst Phone Call Ever

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I wouldn’t characterize myself as a big car person. I have some friends who like to talk cars and once they start to rattle off numbers and years, they might as well be speaking another language. None-the-less, there is a sacred bond between a man and his ride.

I’ve loved all my cars…and I drove some funky machines. For example, the ’89 Ford Tempo with a fading paint patch on the hood and a remote starter-— total pimp wagon. Yeah, let me tell you, I felt like a god in that car: my foot to the floor, barreling down the road at a cool 35 miles per, the windows rolled down because the A/C was busted, and the clouds of exhaust fumes sweeping in ahead of me: announcing my presence like stallions before of a chariot.

At the moment, I’m halfway through day three without my car and I’m going crazy. I’m not sure yet whether I’m developing cabin fever or Stockholm syndrome. Either way, I’m going to eat the liver of those handsome mechanics!

My unavailable social life due to car problems (yeah…let’s blame my social life on the car…) has given me a lot of time to think about my current dating situation. It seems like I went from horribly, irreversibly single a month or so ago, to beating off women with a stick. Weird, right?

I think women have this alarm in their head that goes off when you might be going off the market. The second she thinks there’s competition or she might not have a chance, your appeal jumps skyward. It’s the reason that women are attracted to married men. Seriously, if it ever comes to the point where I can’t get girls anymore I’ve hatched the perfect plot: get a gay marriage in London. If there’s one thing women love more than gay guys, it’s married guys.

I have a theory about why this is so. When a man brings his really wonderful girlfriend around to meet the friends, his friends think to themselves, “Wow, she’s great. I got to get me a girl like that.”

When girls bring their really wonderful boyfriends around to meet their friends, her friends think, “Wow, he’s great. I have to get that man.”

It’s the reason I’ve been able to not once, but twice date an ex’s best friend immediately following the break-up. Please understand it’s not something I planned. In fact, both times, the girls just fell (quite literally) into my lap. In my experience, girls think that good men are so hard to find, that the easiest way to go about getting one is to wait for your friend to trap one and then steal him away. Of course, if he’s letting a best friend steal him, he’s probably not all that great.

The whole thing reminds me of a situation that happened to me my Freshman year of college. I had a huge crush on a girl I hung out with—-Ellen. Part of our group was Ellen’s roommate, Katie. I kept going to Katie for information about Ellen, and every time I was told, “Don’t say anything. She only likes you as a friend. If you bring it up you’ll ruin your friendship with her.”

Years later, I was comparing notes with Ellen at a party and she said, “What??? I had the biggest crush on you! Katie kept telling me that you only wanted to be friends!” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Katie was after me. It just goes to show you that some girls are always ready to stab a friend in the back for some clueless guy.

First Dates

Seinfeld said that first dates are like job interviews that last all evening. Not only do we guys have to eyeball our dates and decide whether she’s potential mental patient, stalker, serial killer, we also somehow fell with the unenviable task of event planner. It’s like trying to plan an evening for someone you know nothing about where ever detail will be analyzed and speaks volumes about your character and influences your chances of getting to second base.

I’m a big fan of the gallery-dinner-movie date. Not only does the art-gallery say that you’re a sophisticated guy (or if not, that you have hopes of self-betterment) it affords you the opportunity to take in pictures topless chicks with a girl on a first date. Unless you’re dating strippers or porn stars, I dare you to come up with an alternate first date where that would be considered classy.

Next we get to do dinner. I’m always scouting for restaurants. For a first date, you want to take a girl somewhere nice, but it can’t be too upscale or it’ll say that you’re trying too hard. You need a medium scale joint with quality food. A diamond in the rough. I used to have a sushi spot all lined up. It was beautiful. I’d walk in and they knew me by name. The chef would send over food for us to try, and each course was like an orgasm. I swear that chef did things to my body no woman ever could. Unfortunately, he disappeared under suspicious circumstances. He just vanished one day. Even the people working there had no idea what happened to him. So now I’m back to square one.

The beauty of the first two activities is that not only do they give you opportunity for conversation and getting to know each other, if done properly, they both leave you and your date with the urge to relax. And relax time=snuggle time. That’s when you go to the movie or, if you’re daring, you suggest the movie at your place.

I remember back in the day when “dinner and a movie” was considered a standard, cheap date. When I grew up, you could get into a movie for $6.50. Not a matinee, a real movie. These days you’re looking at $14.00 each, plus dinner ($25.00 per), plus soda and pop-corn ($12.00), and you’re looking at damn near a hundred for the chance to make out in semi-privacy and a hardening puddle of unidentified, sticky ooze.

The other good idea about the plan is that you don’t bill it as an evening. You bill it as an afternoon in a gallery. Afternoon dates are less pressure. As the day progresses, it’s pretty natural to extend the date to the next activity…or bail if the meeting is a horror story.

I have this theory about the end of date kiss: girls want you to try for more, even if they shut you down. I don’t mean that you should just dive for the belt buckle against her protests. However, a kiss goodnight is standard. Let it lead one step further until she stops you. Don’t be over-the top about it. Be cool, be smooth, be subtle. And when she says “no,” stop right away. It sends the message that you’re interested. Plus, if you did it right, it leaves them wondering what the rest is like.

Over-all a first date should be like a job interview, followed by a movie teaser. You want to charm, amuse and impress. When it comes to the physicality, the goal is to make it a preview for a movie she really, really wants to see.

It's a Date

I was speaking to a girl yesterday who I had hit on years before, and I happened to mention the rejection. There was a pause and she said, “You asked me out?” It’s nice to know that I made such a lasting impression. It really speaks volumes about the strength of my character.

“YES!!!” I said. “I asked you to dinner at a sushi restaurant.”

“…that was a date?”

Apparently there’s a gray area regarding “What is a date.” The whole thing was news to me. Why the hell else would I ask a girl to dinner? For her “personality”? Am I concerned that she’s not getting enough raw fiber? Am I concerned about the economy? What the fuck!

Actually, this is not the first time I’ve run into this problem. The first time, my exact words to the girl in question were, “Would you like to get dinner with me while you’re home? Maybe we could go see a movie afterwards.” She agreed; I picked her up; we ate, and (this part is key) made no effort to reach for the check or pay. Later, we went for a movie and then a moonlit walk in the park. So we’re on a bench under the summer stars, overlooking a moon-kissed duck pond. The wind is softly sighing through the trees and we’re chatting about jazz. Then I go in for a kiss. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend.”

That boyfriend must be the most stressed out dude in the world. If she doesn't consider letting other dudes take her to dinner and a movie cheating, God only knows what else she thinks is in the gray area. "Honey, I wasn't cheating! I was just blowing your friend!"

Look girls, I don’t mind paying for a meal, but if you don’t reach for the pocketbook, it’s a date. No gray area about that. I’ll buy you food, but don’t be shocked when my arm goes around you.

I spoke to a few of my female friends, and I guess there really is some doubt. I suspect it comes from the female mind’s ability to over-think anything having to do with men. Ladies, if you’re ever in doubt, here’s the rule: unless specifically indicated otherwise, if a guy asks you out to dinner, he wants to jump your well-fed bones.

I can count on one hand the times a man would ask a woman out for non-romantic purposes:

1. The two are long-standing friends and a platonic relationship is a given.
2. The two are blood relations (Note: if you live below the Mason-Dixon Line, this rule may not apply).
3. The woman is borderline retarded, weighs upwards of 290 lbs. and has a lazy-eye (Note: if excessive alcohol is involved, this rule may not apply).
4. The man is a cannibal and is planning to kill and devour his date.

Girls, go home and study this list. Commit it to memory. There’ll be a test on this subject if you mail me a head-shot, your measurements and a list of your turn-ons.

Dressing Up and Down

I don’t even pretend to understand fashion. I know that women can spend an ungodly amount of time shopping, dressing and primping. It’s just simply not in my power to pretend to care about stuff like this. A day shopping for clothes is pretty much the same for me as a day at the dentist.

I had a good strategy for all of college: when I buy any clothes, they have to go with everything else in my wardrobe. It’s the only possible way I can be assured that everything would match.

I’ve always felt that everything you need to know about marriage and fashions can be summed up by a glance at what everyone wears to a wedding. The woman is wearing a $2,000 dress that took her three months to buy and she’ll only wear once, while the guy and all his friends are dressed in $50 tuxes they rented the day before. Why is it done that way? Because this way, if the Groom doesn’t show everyone takes one step over and the wedding continues as planned.

I don’t want you to think that I look down on girls who dress up. Far from it! God bless them! I appreciate girls who dress up and show themselves off…because Lord knows, I love looking at women.

Women fashion is a mysterious world. Like bras. I’ve no idea what is going on with them, however commercials have led me to believe that more technology has gone into breast support than the last space center launch. A few years ago, I saw a commercial advertising a push-up bra with three settings. If I were the one writing the descriptions, the three settings would be wound, stun and kill.

However, as little as I know about fashion, there are a few things I have to bring up about how girls dress. The first is the hair. It seems like every girl I’ve ever met has this strange delusion that short hair looks great on women. If I wanted to date someone with short hair I’d be making hot, sweaty tongue love to Mr. Clean right now. We want you to dress in ways that accentuates your femininity, not makes us notice what an uncanny resemblance you have to Sean Connery.

I like women who wear glasses. Lots of girls don’t like the four eyes look. I think it’s great. Lenses can make a girl look very sophisticated. Glasses can be sexy…although that might be my irrational goal of making love in a library talking. Mmmm…librarians.

Once I dated a girl who owned a pleather nurse’s outfit. Who knew that oral thermometry and hernia exams could be so much fun? There was another girl who owned a field hockey uniform. It’s pretty much a shortened school-girl outfit. Hey, I never got to fuck a Catholic School girl…in uniform. Can’t you let me dream?

I’ve heard some women ask why men like lingerie so much. It’s the same concept as why people like unwrapping presents. The best part of Christmas isn’t once you have the gifts, it’s while you’re tearing it open and just beginning to suspect what’s inside.

Body Musings

A while ago, I wrote a blog about men and body hair. I was recently attacked because in the last paragraph I state that I encourage women to shave. Allow me to elaborate.

Women are generally better about basic body-care and grooming than men. It might be the weight of our society for women to look perfect or it might just be in their nature. Generally, all I want to see regarding a woman’s body hair is that she put some effort or consideration in. That’s all. I don’t need to see the lyrics to your favorite Led Zeppelin song shaved into your pubic hair. I don’t need to see fancy designs and hedge mazes. All I want to see is some degree of effort to make the area hospitable.

If a woman wants to shave, that’s fine. If not, no big deal. The only thing I ask is that you at least make an effort to beat back the jungle. Bear in mind, that this request is for practical reasons, not aesthetic ones. Hair not only obstructs air-flow of the muff-diving adventurer, it also tends to soak up moisture. After about 10 minutes, going down on an untrimmed girl is a lot like trying to lick your way through a week-dead platypus: wet, smelly, and all-around weird. I like going down on women, but I’d rather not spend the rest of the evening hacking up hairballs as a result.

As far as other body hair goes…I suppose I would date someone if they didn’t shave, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t prefer a smooth woman. It’s mostly because I figure that I have enough hair for the both of us.

Women as a group definitely spend way more time obsessing about their bodies in general. A lot of girls I know like to get up and throw on a sweatshirt or something right after sex. A lot of them also like to deny when they know they look good.

I don’t like to play the “I look fat” game with girls. If I thought you were fat, I wouldn’t have just spent 120 bucks on food and a movie, not to mention hours of my life pretending I care about your friends just to get you into bed. My new strategy is to agree with them. I’ll say, “You look great” and “you have a beautiful body” and I’ll say it without prompting and on my own. If I get a response like, “No, I’m fat” I’ll disagree—once. That’s all every woman gets: one, “No, you look great.” After that I’ll just say, “You’re right. I was just lying to make you feel better, Saddlebags.”

It’s a lesson that my female comrades picked up on pretty quickly. For example, I went shopping with my High School friends when they went to buy prom dresses. “Ehren,” they’d say, “What do you think of this one?” That’s when I’d take a moment to size them up and say something like, “Wow. That one really highlights your hips.”

Guys really don’t think about their bodies all that much…at least I don’t. I know I’m not…who the hell do the girls swoon over these days…umm…Morgan Freeman, but I’m pretty comfortable with me. And I have no qualms about flopping down naked after sex. Although that might also be because, provided it’s done right, immediately after I’m incapable of any movement.

It's The Quiet Ones You Have To Watch

In keeping with my theme of sex and talking, I’d like to bring up a theory I’ve been testing recently. There is an inverse connection between how big a game a girl talks and how big her game actually is.

It’s weird, I know. And in a lot of ways, it’s unintuitive. You’d figure that the girls who are the most uninhibited in bed are the most uninhibited in all other aspects of life, right? Maybe. But it also stands to reason that a girl who’s really comfortable with her own abilities doesn’t need to broadcast it.

I once dated this girl who talked the biggest game I’ve ever heard. She used to get all dressed up in the short skirts, the tiny shirts, and the lipstick and then sit across from me at a restaurant and tell me about all the unprintable things she was going to do to me. She’d go on and on and tell me, graphically, about all the amazing things she was going to do to my body. Naturally, I’d get turned on, but by the time I got her back to her place, she changed from naughty mistress to mother Teresa.

She talked a good game, but when the whistle blew and it was time to play, it was like she was a deer in the headlights. She turned out to be VERY straight-laced. Sex with her was almost regimented. I caught malaria; I spent so much time in the missionary.

With my friends, I’ve got the unfair label of dating crazy women. I don’t think that they were really that crazy, but I suppose once you start grading sanity on a sliding scale, it’s all downhill from there. What would be more accurate is that they broadcast one thing to world at large and have a very different side that they show only to a select few.

I can’t say that quiet girls are the best in bed across the board. What I do know, based on my observations and a series of field tests, is that girls who don’t need to wear a “slut” sign across every conversation are confident enough in their game to know that actions speak louder than words. The really good ones don’t have to say a damn thing about sex for you to get the message. They flirt, but they tend to just suggest. The insecure ones tend to come up to you and say, “I can suck the chrome off a trailer-hitch.”

There’s nothing quite as fun as bringing the quiet, glasses-wearing, business girl back to her place to see she has a trapeze installed over her bed. Or have the little, 120 lb girl start throwing you around.

Boys, the next time a girl comes up to you and starts telling you about her lack of a gag-reflex, do yourself a favor and ditch her. Then go talk to that girl in the corner tying cherry stems into knots.

What To Yell During Sex

Back in the day, there was a Sports Center Anchor named Kenny Mayne. If you never saw him, the man was a genius. He would be recapping a highlight and say the most random things you ever heard when there was a touchdown or homerun. For example:

“I am king of the diamond! Let there be a grand clubhouse feast! Bring me the finest meats and cheeses throughout the land!”

“Everyone put your hands in the air and wave them around as if there are no repercussions.”

“Even with derogatory credit, you can own a brand new car.”

It was hilarious…particularly first thing in the morning if you were skipping your 8 A.M. class. Kenny Mayne taught us that random things can have other meanings in different situations.

Staying on this line of thought, things you say in bed can take on different meanings as well. So how do you know just what is acceptable to yell out? The last thing you want to do is ruin the mood by yelling something inappropriate. To that end, my friends and I created a list of phrases to scream at that critical moment. If you need a cheat sheet, feel free to staple it to the back of your girlfriend’s head.

• Yahtzee!
• You won Ben Stein’s Money!
• I haven’t been fucked like that since grade school!
• You Sunk My Battleship!
• Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!
• Your money’s on the dresser!
• We’re gonna need a bigger boat!
• Shazaam!
• I’m going to Disney Land!
• Forgive me, father, for I have sinned!
• I want a baby!
• You're the best...today!
• Smile! You’re on Candid Camera!
• Your mom’s hot!
• Let’s just be friends!

Let it never be said I never helped anyone.

Moans, Screams, and Road Flares

Sexual preferences and bodies vary pretty widely from person to person. That’s why I strongly believe that there’s not really such a thing as someone who’s a bad lover or someone who’s a good lover—to an extent. I mean, there are some actions that are guaranteed to fail pretty much across the board (girls read “over-use of teeth,” guys read, “trying for anal without warning, lube, or tact.”) Everyone’s got their little tricks of the trade with which they’ve had a lot of success, but the only real way to guarantee a good performance with everyone is being attentive and responsive. If you really, REALLY pay attention to your partner’s body, you can tell what they want.

This is why it is key to make enjoyment obvious. I’m a firm believer in over-emphasizing positive behavior. I don’t want you to think that I’m faking it—I’m not going to pretend you’re good at something you’re not, but particularly the first time through, I’ll be pretty vocal and obvious. Some girls are embarrassed to make a lot of noise. Girls, you’re already naked and spread open like a clam. Why don’t we drop the modesty already?

Screamers really do enjoy sex more. It’s because their partners know exactly when they’re doing something right. You don’t have to scream…though it’s such an amazing ego boost to men when you do, but moaning and writhing requires such minimal effort, that it’s totally unacceptable to not do at least one.

There’s a lot more psychology involved with sex noises. I’ve noticed that when I’m free to really make some noise, not only does the girl I’m with seem to double her effort and hone in on what I like, but I start to enjoy it more. There’s something very liberating about not holding anything back.

Bad sex is a result of poor communication. If you don’t say anything, your partner doesn’t know, so it never improves.

With the schools being what they are these days, I believe in being obvious. When I’m with a woman, I’m doing everything but setting up road flares and yelling “Oklahoma!”

Girls are so different that this kind of communication is vitally important. Maybe women don’t even realize how much variation there is from one to another. For example breasts. There are some women whose breasts are unbelievable sensitive—I dated a girl who could be brought to orgasm simply by playing with her nipples. Then there are women who want you to really be rough with their chest, and still others who claim that it doesn’t feel good at all to have someone messing around up there. How the hell am I supposed to know what to do when I get your shirt off? Give me a sign, woman!

Moaning is great, dirty talking is fine, cursing and praying is a turn on, and screaming is the best. “Praying?” I hear some of you ask? I’ve dated Latino women before…I didn’t even know there were that many saints.

In bed, all men change into preachers: “Oh God! Oh Lord! Oh Jesus!” Women, on the other hand, all turn into driving instructors: “That’s it, to the right, more, a little faster, faster, WATCH OUT FOR THE BUS!!!"

The Break-Up Formula

Getting out of a relationship is a lot like getting let out of prison. They don’t just release a felon back onto the streets. They parole him first. So even though you’ve served your time and suffered a bad relationship, you’re never just “ready for action” the day you those bars roll back and your set free.

I mean, unless you’re a member of the dating mafia; those serial heartbreakers, who always have the next con lined up. On the other end of the spectrum, some people who’ve been in relationships too long never readjust to being single again. They become “institutional (wo)men.”

The rest of us have to deal with the break-up process. It’s a lot like releasing an animal back into the wild. You’re suddenly back in the brutal, unforgivingly harsh world of singles, and it’s going to take a while to remember how to hunt and be a solitary unit again. Then once you’ve actually gotten your game back, it’s usually a while before you’re even emotionally ready for another relationship.

How long does it take to recover from a break-up? If you’re ever in doubt, simply apply “the formula.”

Length of time dating/2 = break-up recovery time

Of course there are extenuating circumstances that can effect the equation. For example, if you’re in a long-distance relationship, the recovery time will be cut in half again. If you were the one who initiated the break-up, you should round down, if you were the one who got dumped, round up.

So let’s say that you were dumped by your long-distance partner who you had been seeing for 9 months. You could figure out when you’d be emotionally ready to date again through the following equation:

9 months/4 = 3 months (Rounded up)

While it’s still ok to see people before your time runs up, anything before 2 months in the example above would be considered a rebound.

One of the reasons I was so pissed about the Amy situation described in my last post is because I was already looking at another two or three months before being ready to commit to someone again. Her call probably set me back another 2 months on top of the time I already owed. At this point, I’ll be lucky to be dating again by the summer. I tell you, some girls are like heroin. You can be clean of one for months and then suddenly, BAM: relapse.

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Also, it’s come to my attention that my description of Amy apparently depicts her in a negative light. If that’s the case, it’s because of my poor writing abilities, and the difficulty of trying to sum up an entire relationship in one page of notes. She always treated me very fairly and very well. If she was occasionally forgetful or inconsiderate, it’s because I was in love with her and over-sensitive to these things, not because she was being deliberately cruel. The problem I was trying to underline was that we are two very different people and despite my feelings for her, we’re just not compatible. I don’t blame her for that and I don’t regret any of my time with her. She’s a wonderful person and I wish her all the best.

See, I can be sweet when I want to! Don’t get used to it, though. If I’m going to be ruined for relationships for the next four months, I’ll have plenty of bitterness to go around.