Get A Sense Of Humor!

And now a short disclaimer: Ladies, the things I’ve written in my previous posts are meant to be funny. My statements are overblown and intended to be tongue in cheek. So, feel free to call off the hounds.

I received a number of angry Instant Messages yesterday, from people who were hurt, angry or simply wanted to fight. So let me say, “I applaud the way your gender has rallied around Cock Blocking.” It’s touching, really.

However, if you do want to rumble, please note that “you’re a terrible person” doesn’t really count as an argument. I actually took a few debating classes at school, and you’ve got to remember that attacking your opponent’s character is only a valid technique in politics. Got that, you skanks?

Hahahahahaha…I’m just kidding.

In light of the personal attacks, I’ve decided on a new prerequisite for my perfect girl: sense of humor. It’s got to be a GREAT sense of humor. See, long ago when I was a lad, way back before the weight of the world crushed my spirit; I decided that a sense of humor was vital to survival. There was some generally horrible shit going on and I was getting depressed and moody, when finally I just started laughing at it.

In a sick way, life is really very funny. My philosophy since then has been, “life is a joke that you’re on the wrong end of.” That doesn’t mean you can’t argue with me. I actually really enjoy a spirited debate, but you’d better realize that I think just about everything’s funny and I take very little of what’s said personally. See, the really smart people, watch what you do not what you say.

I need the kind of girl where when we fight (and fights are pretty much inevitable, or you have communication problems) we can turn to each other and just crack up. Then have fabulous make-up sex. Then laugh some more...then more make-up sex...then...well, you get the idea.

The worst thing that can happen to a person is a loss of sense of humor. It’s what all fanatics have in common. The Christian right, the protesting hippies, and the Muslim fanatics. That’s really the scariest thing about terrorists: they’re a people who wandered the desert for years and never encountered a knock-knock joke. Maybe because they lived in tents. But you would have thought that’d at least have dreamed up a flap-flap joke.

There’s a special ring in Hell for people who take themselves too seriously. Unfortunately, we now have so many of them that they’ve brought it up here to the rest of us.

I’d like to end this rant with a quote from George Carlin:

“Anything can be funny. Even rape! You don’t think that rape can be funny? Ok, then picture Elmer Fudd getting raped by Bug Bunny. See? Rape can be funny!”

Sharing Is Caring

I made a discovery not long ago: girls are weird about sex and sharing.

I had been sleeping with a girl rather casually. Circumstances arose where it would no longer be in everyone’s best interest to continue our arrangement, which is to say that she met someone she wanted to date seriously. You should understand that this not something I normally do…anymore. However, while sex with someone you care about is always better than sex with someone with whom you have no connection, poor casual sex is still infinitely better than no sex at all. Both of us knew going in that this was going to be a casual, no strings attached thing. I was happy for her when she told me that she had found someone.

However, things started to get weird when I asked if she had any cute friends. All of a sudden, she got a little offended. Now, if we had dated seriously, I could understand that. But it seemed like we had parted ways on pretty amicable terms, and it’s not like we shared any kind of close relationship. We only slept together a few times over the course of no more than a month. So I figured there was nothing wrong with asking for a hook-up.

But when I asked, she said that she would never introduce me to her friends—that she’d be angry with one of them if they slept with me. This really came out of left field. There are at least three girls that I’ve slept with who I know have slept with one of my friends. Hell, I have ex girlfriends who I’d have no qualms about setting up with my friends.

Actually I recently found out that a close friend of mine and I have a girl in common. We had a great time talking about it and I didn’t find it in the least disturbing.

I guess what I’m getting at here, is I’m not really sure what kind of code there is among girls about sharing guys. It would seem to me that if there’s a guy that you had fun with, who you think is cool, but don’t want to date there would be no problem with hooking him up with a friend. Is it possible that I’m just being kept in “reserve dick” status? Am I the “In Case of Emergency, Break Glass” ass?

I really hope not. Because 1) it bodes really poorly for Mr. Steady-boyfriend if she’s lining up an emergency lay and 2) in some countries, cock blocking is punishable by hanging.

You see? This is exactly the kind of thing that makes me suspect I’m making a mistake by befriending women.

Low Standards, Long Distance, and Why I'm a Hopeless Romantic

Folks from out of the state, county or country often ask me, “How bad could Rockland be, really?” To place this into the proper perspective, let me put it this way: I’ve lived here since second grade and I’ve never slept with a girl from Rockland.

The only girl I’ve ever dated who lived here was way back in high school. She tried stalking me for two weeks, sent me threatening letters, and later moved to Wisconsin with an alleged rapist. That was the high point of my experience with local girls.

Everyone else local has been from either New Jersey, Westchester, or Ulster. At this point, I have to seriously suspect that they’re putting something in the water.

What this means is that when I do find someone fun, I’m in for a drive…up to a point. I got a call late one night from my dear friend who had to drive a girl of his back home…to Queens…at 12:30AM...on a Wednesday. He needed someone to talk to on the ride home so he didn't fall alseep, so I agreed to ride with him. As I’ve said before, really do enjoy driving, but there’s a certain ratio that applies to long-distance relationships. There’s a direct correlation between a girl’s attractiveness and the distance that a man is willing to travel. Talent in bed goes a long way, as well.

I know, because at 2 AM somewhere on the West Side Highway, I turned to my friend and said, “Man, I don’t know that she’s cute enough to justify this kind of commute.”

My friend replied, “Yeah, but she does some great things in bed.”

My response: “I don't care if she's double jointed and knows the Karma Sutra by heart. I don’t think she has enough holes to be worth this drive.”

Not me at my most charming, I know. But however unrealistically high my standards are for long-distance relationships, they’re subsequently low for local girls…but some how I always seem to be holding the bar too high. Let’s put it this way, ladies of Rockland: At this point a keeper would be a literate female (for you trannies, that means that the operation’s already been done. Don’t try to sweet talk me with this “but I have a cootch on lay-away!”) with no noticeable burns and who’s no longer selling her body for crack.

What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.

Why Clubs Suck and I Don't Dance

For years, I stuck to a stringent “no dancing” policy—and with good reason: I’m white. I realize that I’m white and I’ve moved on with my life. Believe me, the world is a much better place for it. I’ll tell you the story of how this edict came into existence:

When I was in college I dated a Puerto Rican girl. Actually, she was half Rican, a quarter Cuban, and a quarter Chinese…but that’s not really vital to the story. At any rate, she was real big into dancing. For months she hounded me and I kept telling her “listen, I don’t dance. Seriously…it’s more like a full-body dry heave, set to music.” None-the-less, she insisted.

So finally, heavily inebriated one night at a house-party, I went up and danced with her. At the end of the song, she looked at me and said, “OK, you need to go wait for me in the basement.” This was not a joke. No smile, no pulling me back when I left. Apparently, I’m that bad.

I don’t have a problem with it. As I said before, I’ve come to grips with my racial handicap. However, after spending a night out at the bars over the weekend, the time may finally have come for me to re-evaluate my position on dancing. This has nothing to do with me trying to broaden my horizons, or making myself a better person. This is pretty much because it appears that “dancing” has been eliminated from social interactions among people my age.

I observed people moving to music for the better part of an hour on Saturday night. From my research, it’s become clear that a man’s role is simply to put their arms up and provide an object against which ladies can grind and dry-hump. I would guess that you get extra points by swaying your arm to the music and occasionally putting a hand on their hips, but all that seemed pretty optional. Once again, any action that could be interpreted as esteeming the girl at any level beyond crack-whore is unacceptable. This includes: talking (other than grunts “yeah!” “Ugh!”), smiling, and eye-contact.

I’m really not sure what the fuck is going on with women these days. I mean, it seems like they’re still into equal rights, promotions based on ability, and being viewed as actually having and using brains. Then again, I see 12 year olds at the mall all slutted up, while girls my age wear pants with writing across the ass and dry hump random guys to horrible music at clubs. What the hell do I know, though?

I don’t understand clubs anyway. I’ve never been a guy who’s been able to pick up girls based solely on my looks. I’m realistic. I know that in order to have a shot with a girl I need to be charming, funny and smart. And I am, when I want to be. But clubs are designed to be totally incompatible with any kind of interaction. The music is not only as a rule horrible, but pumped at volumes to make attempts at conversation pointless. It occurs to me, that maybe my last blog about picking up girls online is pretty pointless when I can’t do it in person at the chosen gathering points of my generation.

How The Hell Does Online Dating Work?

I think I’m behind the eight ball on this whole Internet thing. I was still shocked to find out that the Internet came on computers now. When the hell did that happen?

In the course of my life, I’ve never dated anyone that I met online. I’ve met someone in person and then made the step from “prospect” to “starter” through online flirting, but how do you go from the virtual world to reality? Everyone’s got to be a little wary about internet folks. Like everyone else who first went online in the mid 90’s, I was taught to believe that everyone who talks to you on the internet is:

1. A 45-year-old male who lives in his mom's basement
2. A child-hungry pedophile.
3. A chronic masturbator and/or sex offender.

My friends keep telling me that My Space is some sort of Mecca for desperate singles, so I guess someone’s figured out the necessary steps. If you’re one of those people, post up and fill me in!

Here’s what I suspect the steps are:

1. Initial message through My Space: send comments on a blog or some aspect of their page.
2. If they respond, write back and ask a few questions.
3. If they respond again, add them to your “friends.”
4. Ask for an email/and or Instant Messenger name
5. Flirt online, and then ask for phone number.
6. Call and arrange a meeting in a place with many, many witnesses.

Is that too many steps? It seems unnecessarily complicated. If it’s going to take this much work before I can even start working on a girl face-to-face, I seriously have to doubt the efficacy of online dating. At this rate, I’d be better off just downloading a whole bunch of porn.

Oral Etiquette

One of my friends runs a blog on "Bedroom Etiquette" which I highly recommend...even though she doesn't update it nearly enough for my taste (get off your ass, Emilie!). I pitched her a couple topics, and here's one of the items that apparently didn’t make the cut. So here it is:

Oral Etiquette

First off, it’s never required. For some reasons, guys seem to expect it much more than women. I have male friends who are shocked when they find a girl who doesn’t do it. I’ve never been someone who believes that everyone has to give head. Different people like different things and have different boundaries. Plus, women have the MUCH worse end of the stick (forgive the slip of the tongue…ummm…that is, turn of phrase). Proper Lubrication, dealing with teeth, suction, gag-reflex, fluids gushing at unexpected moments…guys, you have no case. It’s got to be much more difficult for them.

Men on the other hand, seem to think it’s a special occasion if their mouth strays south of the boarder. It’s always been mystifying to me. Compared to what they deal with, we’ve got it easy. But fellas, for Christ sake, if you’re going to do something, do it right! Don’t try to stay clean…it’s like eating a lobster. You have to dive in and put your heart into it.

Which brings me to the real part of this little blurb: there are cons on both sides of the equation, so there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to do it. However, if your partner does it frequently and well, it’s rude not to at least make an offer. You don’t have to do it every time, or even do it well. All I want to see is the gesture. It’s just plain rude otherwise.

I’ve been with a few girls who were the first to grab me by the hair, but refused to even offer reciprocation. They don’t want to do it? Fine! But don’t be shoving me down that direction every time we get into it! It’s like having a friend who buys you a gift every year for your birthday. When his birthday rolls around, you’d better at least send him a card.

Cute, Beautiful and Hot

I was contacted recently by someone asking what the definition of "cute" was (it's in my Dating Resume, which, like the rest of my blog is absolute must read material). In my mind there are three very distinct variations of attractiveness: Cute, Beautiful, and Hot. So here are my definitions:

Cute:
If you're cute, people come up to you and just want to hug you and pinch your cheeks. A lot of cuteness is in the face: Big eyes, sweet smile, and long lashes. Famous Cute Person: Natalie Portman.



Beautiful:
There are some people who are just beautiful no matter what. You know what I mean? It seems as if whatever pose, crazy hair-cut, weird face or humiliating situation they're in it just oozes out of them. Much in the same way that someone is funny. It doesn't really matter WHAT they're doing, they're always funny. When you see someone beautiful, you don't necessarily think of sexuality, rather it makes you want to spiff yourself up so that they'll notice you. Famous Beautiful Person: Charlize Theron.

Side Note about Charlize Theron: Remember what I said about beauty not being related to sexiness? Perfect example is Charlize at the Oscars (Picture at the site below). She looks perfect...TOO Perfect. Seriously, unbelievably beautiful, but it's almost as if she's a piece of wax fruit. It's like she's plastic. Knock-out gorgeous, but I've no sexual attraction to her. I gave this same rant to my friends, and they just look at me like I'm totally nuts. They probably have a valid point.



Hot:
If you're hot, people basically just want you for one thing. It's just a raw-sexuality that some people give off. You don't really care about what they have to say, or what kind of sub-human personality they have, you just want to strip them down and do things I've only read about in books (how exactly do you use the stuffed buffalo, a putter, and three jars of peanut butter to maximum efficiency?). Example of a famous hot person (again, hot, but utterly reprehensible as a musician, actress and person): Jessica Simpson.



Needless to say, there are mixtures and hybrids, but everyone's primarily one of the three. I long ago came to the realization that I'll never be able to pull off dark, dangerous, mysterious, or bad. I'm just going to have to content myself with cute. That's ok, though...I'm evil and hot when it counts...mwahahahahahahahahaha!!!

Stressmas In November

…And so we enter that magical time of year when Old Man Winter bends us over and makes us his bitch.

Ah the winter! I remember when the seasons change meant snow days, sledding and gifts. Now, it means…well…pretty much the same actually. Except snow days mean I have to drive, sledding is what happens when my car goes down the hill on the way to work and gifts are what I’m buying for other people.

I was in a pancake joint the other day (people in Rockland—try the new Pancake store next to Rockland Bakery. They gave me, conservatively, 8 pounds of pancake. It was pancakes for 41 immigrant weddings), anyway, I was drinking the last shot of syrup from the dispenser, when I noticed that the radio was playing Christmas songs. One after another, after another…What the hell??? It was a day after Thanksgiving and already I have to hear Silent Bleeping Night?

Maybe what’s wrong with our culture is that we never take time to smell the roses anymore. Or in this case, the left-over turkey and mashed potatoes. We can never simply enjoy a time for what it is—we always have to rushing to the next big event. I really don’t have anything against the Holidays. But isn’t time to admit we’ve gone too far? Even if I’m wrong, I’m punching out the next person who wishes me “Happy Holidays” before December 1.

If this last post seems a little surly, forgive me—I’m still working the maple syrup out of my system.

Ehren's Dating Resume: Feel Free To Circulate

As promised, I've created my "Dating Resume." It still needs to be ironed out a bit, but I think it's a good start. I was thinking that these things should probably have a seperate folder with sexual preferences, "turn-offs," "turn-ons," pictures and "open to" catagories...but that might be more personal than you, the random, cyber-space floater really want to know about me.

Objectives:
Seeking a relationship that is physically, emotionally and spiritually fulfilling. Willing to start at an entry-level position if there is opportunity for later advancement.

Looking For:
Cute (there's a difference between cute, hot, and beautiful...maybe tomorrow's blog will have more detail), funny, intelligent, independent, sensitive, talented female, at least 23 years of age.

Turn ons:
Pretty face, deep eyes, musical talent. I'm an equal opportunity dater--I don't discriminate by race or religion. Unfortunately, I have been known to discriminate against really, really, dumb people.

Attributes:
Funny,
Smart,
Faithful,
Open to Commitment
Easy-Going,
Disease-Free,
Open-Minded,
Cute.


Experience:

Long Term Boyfriend:
1998-2000
-Lived in same building
-Charmed hell out of her family
-wrote romantic letters

Fiancé:
2000-2001-Built Father-in-law-to-be’s pool deck
-Cooked Dinner with-Mother-In-Law-To-Be
-Charmed Hell out of family of different racial and religious background

Friend with Benefits:
2001-2002, 2004, 2005
-provided guilt-free sex
-non-judgmental environment
-still maintain great friendship with all parties involved

Long Distance Relationship:
2002-2003
-Remained 100% faithful
-Wrote Romantic Letters
-Called regularly
-Frequently wrote explicit emails about how pretty she was, generally while I was drunk out of my mind.

Lover on the Side:
2004-2005
-Provided judgment-free sexual release
-Never was the source of stress, work, or responsibility
-Was the very embodiment of discretion

Skills:
-General Bedroom abilities—specifics available on request
-Low-Maintenance
-Good Listener
-Plays Music like a mother fucker
-loves to go out on the town
-loves to have a romantic evening in

References: 6 available on request

Dating Resumes

Usually, I don’t believe in bragging, but as luck would have it, I found myself in a position where I had to talk myself up a bit. Guys, you all know the drill: beautiful girl, mildly interested, looking to have fun, but wants to know exactly what I bring to the table. It’s a fair question, but how do you answer that?

That’s when I realized that people go about this “dating” thing in completely the wrong way. How many times have you gotten involved with someone, only to find out that they’re a serial cheater? Or horrible in bed? Or a drug addict who’s trying to steal your kidney for heroine money? It’s with this in mind that I propose Dating Resumes.

Think about it. Sure, people probably wouldn’t put down on their resume that they’re only trying to harvest your organs for sweet lady “H,” but you’ve got to believe that they probably wouldn’t have a lot of glowing references.

So I made a quick survey of some of my exes and hook-ups and found that I was able to get 5 volunteers to be “sex references.” Now if only it were socially acceptable to walk up to a girl in a bar and see, “I’m amazing in bed. Check with these 5 girls.”

I think what this whole thing really underlines is how off-base most people are when it comes to relationships. People put way too much emphasis on how they feel, and way too little on “is this relationship fulfilling my needs.” I don’t want to imply that emotion and attraction don’t play a role. Of course those things are important! But I see so many people staying in straight up bad relationships, just because they’re attracted to the other person. Everyone needs to take a step back and realize that there’s more involved than just wanting to jump your significant other’s bones every time he or she enters the room. Take it from a guy who’s been attracted to way too many bad decisions: It’s time to be more logical about the choices we make. I’ll be typing up my dating resume, position requests and compensation requirements shortly.