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.

__________________________________________________

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.

My Latest Girl Drama

For most of my life, I had a lot of female friends. I get along well with women who don’t expect anything from me but an ear and a sense of humor.

After I finished college, I came home and fell in with a crew of friends that's strictly male. I really didn’t think anything of it until recently, when I realized that the last few years of my life have been the most drama-free of my existence.

I don’t want you to misunderstand me, and think that I’m really bashing women here: I love women! But if you think that women don’t just inherently have more drama than men, you’re psychotic. If you’re going to hang out or be involved with women in any capacity, you just have to learn that drama is part of their charm.

I don’t mean to imply that guys don’t have drama. But guy drama is so different from girl drama. Girl drama is a hysterical phone call 3 in the morning saying, “I’m only attracted to assholes, yet I’m somehow surprised when all they do is treat me badly. I need to eat chicken nuggets and cry!” Guy drama is when your friend gets drunk and breaks his hand in a mock-boxing match on the frontlawn.

Unfortunately, because I choose to date women, I’ve been sucked back into the confusing, irrational, mind-fuck world of Girl Drama. That’s what I’ve been dealing with the last two days…and a good reason why the last two posts are late.

Amy is a girl who I’ve known since she was 16. And by “known” I mean “loved.” The first time I ever saw her, she came walking into a meeting, two hours late, wearing a blue-green tie-dye dress. She had long blond hair, brushed back. And she smelled like summer rain and wild-flowers.

The problem is, no matter how bitter and dramatic I get, I always end up back right where I am in this story: powerless, defenseless, and utterly head-over heals stupid for a girl.

We had a complicated relationship, the two of us. She’s very much into being independent, non-conventional, and generally unpredictable. She also hates talking about her feelings—I know, I know. She really is the perfect women.

We had a weird relationship—first friends, then strictly sex-friends, then sort of dating, then not, then we’re broken up (even though we never officially dated) then we’re back together…it was next to impossible to keep track of.

We’d see each other one night and she’d tell me she had a fantastic time. Then I wouldn’t hear from her for 3 weeks. So I’d go down to see her and we’d have amazing sex, after which she’d curl up in my arms and tell me how much she missed me. Then I’d get pissed because she wouldn’t call me for another two weeks and we’d break-up and she usually sounded like she was bored through the whole conversation.

If you’ve ever been in a car accident, you know that the worst second of it, isn’t really the moment of impact—it’s the second when you know, clearly, that you’re going to crash and there’s not a solitary thing you can do to stop it. That’s what my whole relationship with Amy was. It was me being totally, absolutely ready to do anything for this girl and knowing the whole time that I was doomed from the beginning. I had to try…It would kill me to think about her 20 years down the road and think I hadn’t done everything in my power to make it work, but at the same time I knew that she really didn’t care. That’s the heart of the whole thing.

Never accept excuses for important shit. I learned that the hard way. “It’s a bad time for me.” “I need to get my head together.” “I’m not ready for that step.” Bullshit, all of it. People aren’t afraid of commitment—they’re afraid of commitments to people they don’t love. When something or someone is important to you, you don’t let anything stand between you. That’s just how it is.

When we finally ended things, months ago, it was mostly because she didn’t think I was fun anymore. Which I understand. I was knocking myself out to try to win her over to such an extant that I wasn’t even me anymore. I was some weird mutation of what I thought she wanted and my own imagination and insecurities. It was also due to me knowing that I had to move on with my life: either she was going to be my life and be with me, or I had to start the healing process and find someone new.

It’s hard to get too upset about an ending you saw coming years ago.

I was fine. I was really fine. I was super fine…until…BAM, Girl Drama. Out of no-where I get an Instant Message from little miss long-lost-love –of-my-life:

“Hey, will you come to New Year’s with me and my family?”

You have to understand that when we were together she spoke to me of her own volition probably all of twice. But I had to make all the plans, I had to call her, I had to provide all the effort. And suddenly, she’s back, after all this time extending the kind of gesture that I had wanted from her for so fucking long I could taste it.

What was I supposed to think? I really had no idea what was being offered. Was she just trying to be friends? Was this a statement that she wanted me in her life? I had no idea.

And then typical Ehren-Amy relationship: I tell her that I have to talk to her. Could she meet me that night at midnight? “Sure” she said.

And so, like clockwork, I found myself in her drive way at 12:25 with no one to talk to but that sickly ball of rejection in the pit of my stomach. She called me an hour later and said that she’d gotten caught up in a Star Wars marathon. Well, at least it was something important. Now she was tired, though, and had to go to bed.

You know, after that, I really didn’t need to talk to her anyway. Her actions said everything I needed to hear.

And that, my friends, is fucking girl drama at its absolute purest: it sucks you in, just enough to give you hope, and then casts you down again into pits of despair. It involves you doing things that you KNOW are stupid, yet you’re always crushed when you fail. And then you get up and do them again and again and again.

So tonight, I plan to eat a pint of ice-cream and then call up my female friends and harass them with drama and self-loathing. Not really because I feel that way. Just so they can finally get a taste of their own medicine.

Body Hair

Puberty was a rough time for me. I guess it’s a rough time for everyone, though. I like to think of Junior High and High School as boot camp. It’s a miserable, sweaty, forced labor period of a person’s existence, where you feel that everyone’s going out of their way to make your life a living hell.

One of the weirdest parts about being a guy is the hair situation. I remember one day when I was 13, I was at the beach and I happened to look at my feet. “Holy shit! Why am I growing hair on my toes???”

Guy hair is strange because it just suddenly explodes over parts of your body that, as an adolescent, you’re already insecure about. It’s like insecurity highlighter. It never really stops, either. Just when you think you have handle on the hair situation, you find that the enemy has expanded its terrain. I’m convinced that by the time I die, I’ll be a dead-ringer for Cousin It.

Originally, I thought it’d be creepy to start shaving my body hair. I mean, guys are expected to have hair. Most of the girls I’ve polled on the subject agree that perfectly shaved is kind of scary. However, it reached the point where I decided that it’d just be too creepy not to. When you’re wondering whether you should dred or braid your pubic hair, you’ve officially reached the limit. Do yourself a favor and buy one of those hair trimmers.

The problem with shaving is that once you’ve tidied one area up and you’re standing in front of the mirror with a running clipper, the temptation to move on to other regions becomes entirely too strong. Listen to me, men: once the hair clippers travel north of the navel, you've officially crossed from self-improvement onto a slippery-slope of self-mutilation. Trust me, you’ve got better things to do then trying to get your armpit hair perfectly symmetrical again. And if you don’t…take up a hobby, for Christ’s sake.

I once dated a girl who asked if she could shave me. I told her, “Look, I don’t even trust you not to steal my wallet when I’m asleep. What makes you think I’m going to trust you with my cock?” in retrospect, I may have over-reacted a little. Here’s a free tip about women—um…don’t ever say that line to them. Because one way or another, whether you’re conscious or un, they’re going to shave something…and probably not just your balls. I just told everyone that eyebrows were over-rated, anyway.

I sometimes hear girls complain about men’s reluctance to give head. Girls, if a guy hates giving head, shaving probably isn’t going to make the difference. If he’s on the fence, though, you’re chances are a lot better if he’s not secretly wondering if your most feminine of regions shares a stylist with Don King. I’m not saying you have to scorch the earth bare…but at least trim the hedges. Nothing kills the mood quite like flossing pubic hair out of your back teeth, mid-kiss.