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.