Do you believe there's such a thing as a soulmate?

Monday, May 31, 2010

Walk of Shame, or: Why His Friends Don't Give a Damn About You

First, let's address the sex thing.  If you're coming over for sex, his friends already know.  And if they don't know, they won't be so shocked when you come through the door-- unless he's the Elephant Man.  Men in their 20s, for the most part, are not giggly boys in their teens; they don't care, especially if they're not in on it.  I hear women say they don't like to go home with a guy if he has roommates, but this shouldn't concern you.  What should concern you is the Liberator sitting on his bed like an extra pillow.

If you make it past FWB status and become a steady "homey/lover/friend," you might be uneasy around his friends, thinking they don't approve of you for any number of reasons.  If they're giving you the stink eye it may be because your new beau's invited you to roll with him on excursions that were here to fore strictly for the boys (I've been guilty of this).  Or it could be that you're less attractive than his old shoes-- sorry.

Mostly we just wait for our friends' relationships to reach their natural conclusions.  Should he put a ring on it, you become a member of the family at best, an auxillary at worst; either way your kids will call us Uncle ______.  If the two of you break up we'll transition him back to civilian status and pin a medal on him for having lasted so long; unless he deems otherwise, you'll only be mentioned as a dinner joke.  And if you break his heart-- contrary to what you might expect-- we'll be the ones who keep him from rolling to your crib to bust out your car windows and get medieval on you and the new dude (based on a true story).

Women make a bigger deal of navigating men's friends than they should.  So long as you don't change him too much we're down to tolerate anything-- except the excessive, porn star screaming.  We know from his other library-quiet conquests that he's not that good.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

A Shameless Endorsement


The Female Brain, by Louann Brizendine, is a book I mentioned a while back, written by the author before The Male Brain, her newest book.

Just like TMB, it's a short read-- 187 pages without the notes (which makes it 210).  The brisk seven chapters cover the same developmental stages as the opposite sex and the role of estrogen, progesterone and testosterone in the emotional lives of women with respect to feelings, love, trust, sex, etc.

There are also three appendices on hormone therapy, postpartum depression, and sexual orientation.

Having finished the book, I now recommend it alonside TMB.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

The Height Issue

In the interest of full disclosure, I'm five feet, eight inches tall.  To be honest, I had no idea I was short (by modern standards) until I reached college.  Before then, I was in my own "height bubble;" people who were taller than me were just that-- taller.

"Tall" almost always falls at the top a woman's list of attributes, physical or otherwise, required of a man for dating, courting and the rest.  Sometimes it's specific: 6'2", for example.  Other times it's something like, "He needs to be taller than me when I have high heels on."

When I discuss trimming "the list" with women who need to get a grip and get real about their love lives, the height issue becomes a sticking point.  I've even heard a woman say (paraphrasing): "If you get with a short guy you'll probably end up giving birth to boys who'll grow up and be short men with a short man's complex."

And that's a bad thing?  Alexander the Great was my height (considered average in ancient Greece).  Napoleon was 5'6" or 5'7" depending on what shoes he had on (like Stallone in the '80s).  Tom Cruise, larger-than-life actor that he is, has been using up-titled angles and tight shots for years to imply a man taller than 5'4".  The "short man's complex" is most apparent in the rap industry, where bite-size MCs like T.I., Lil Wayne and Ludacris hold court.  There have even been studies conducted on the correlation between height (or lack thereof) and some of the great transformers of human history.

I'm not making a case here for why you should knock five inches off your minimum; I just wanted to make it clear that height need not determine one's potential in the abstract.  The real lesson I want to impart with regard to Mr. Right and whether he's as tall as Tom Brady is that height, while believed to convey power and good genes on an evolutionary level, says nothing about the quality of the man.  It may not be an aesthetic match made in Heaven in our society to see a tall woman with a short man, but here's something to consider:

A man can't control how tall he's going to be, but he can control how well he treats you.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Chivalry is Dead. Long Live Chivalry!

And the new rules say that unless you're right behind me you can open your own fucking door.

It's the same point I've been making: Any double standard that gives men the advantage automatically reinforces a woman's second-class status, but when it's the other way around...

Chivalry!!!

The old chivalry, despite popular belief, wasn't about showing respect for women any more than "separate but equal" was a way of ensuring equity and safety for the Negro in the post-Reconstruction South.  Both institutions seek to treat the "beneficiary" as a child, an inferior who must be looked out for by their betters.

I'm sorry-- did you get up this morning, put your pants on one leg at a time?  Did you go to work and deal with that bullshit?  Did you have to navigate crazies on the freeway?  Did you bust through the zombies at Walmart like Brandon Jacobs to get your groceries?  Me too.  And just like me you can open your own goddamn door.

I apologize.  It's not just the door thing I'm stuck on.  It's only been a generation or so that women have had any real parity with men, and like the newly converted Christians of old who were slow to part with their pagan traditions (Christmas, Easter, Halloween... oops, that's now) it'll take some time for you all to throw off the patronizing customs that kept you on pedestals.

I know this may sound like another cop-out for men looking to shirk responsibility for your personal happiness, but chivalry is just another form of nostalgia.  Men from the recent past were actually less attentive to the needs and wants of women-- because they didn't have to be.  We who inhabit the age of Oprah, angry vaginas, Sex and the City, and the "fuck him dress" don't have the luxury of ignoring you.

Some corny dudes will tell you that "old school" chivalry should be preserved at all costs-- like those lazy-ass pandas-- but by co-signing on these co-signers you're actually ceding a bit of that I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-C-E you so covet and promote.  Don't drink the Kool-Aid... but do open your own door, shit!

Thank you.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

"Would You Treat Your Mother the Way You Treat Me?"

She's one up on you... and always will be.

Of course not.  She carried me inside her for nine months.  You just did it for less than a half-hour.  Jokes aside, quit making comparisons between yourself and the mother of the man currently making your life a living hell.

We can go to our mothers for comfort when sad or hurt without wondering if she's thinking, "Man, he's acting like a bitch."

Our mothers crown us no matter how badly we do on any given day.  It may not be the best positive reinforcement, but is it something you'd do?

She can read us like a book, our mother, and she senses our moods and dispositions.  With you it's the other way... like you thought you were dating a swami.

Mothers don't judge us (to our faces).

Our mothers are the ones who made us, who birthed us, who helped us survive when we were completely helpless.  When others didn't know whether or not they loved us she did it unconditionally.  No matter what drastic life changes we make she's always in our corner, always willing to let us fly, to be ourselves.  We're not a project to them but their greatest achievement.

You're just the girl we've been smashing for the past __ months.  So... don't go there.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

So, When You Say "Casual"...

"What's she reading that for?  I've got the business right here."

Like the word "no," it means different things to men and women.  As I've heard it from some of my more "progressive" female friends:

"I gave him his space, told him I didn't want to be his girlfriend.  I'm trying to be independent too!  This is just friends with benefits, I get that and I thought he did, but he still flakes on me when I say we should hang out at my place and watch a DVD while we eat something I made-- with sex after, of course.  I don't get it.  Give a man what he wants and he still acts like an ass."

Except you didn't give him exactly what he wanted.

Casual men are prehistoric throwbacks, males more in touch with the original sexual ethos than the daddy day camp set.  They want to be able to fall up in any piece of ass and then, like an unrestricted free agent, slide off to another team-- casually.

Women are casual in a different way.  For the woman who finds a guy who's cute, funny, intelligent, relaxed, and great in bed, what's the point of looking elsewhere?  The risk of STDs, pregnancy by some random dick or an encounter with a full-on rapist makes sleeping around seem stupid to her if she's got all the ingredients of an awesome "kick-it buddy" sitting right next to her.

That behavior, however, is interpreted by a man as an attempt to plant your flag, which is anathema to why he chose perpetual bachelorhood in the first place.  That guy you think is a great casual "friend" might be thinking just as casually about a whole host of other women.  For him, casual means getting what he wants without having to commit anything to anyone... not even his booty pal.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

A Portrait of the Asshole as a Young Man 9

Word.
I used to say that a man didn't watch porn for any real length of time unless his pants were down around his ankles (if he'd bothered to have any on in the first place), but I'm forced to amend this after remembering the porn watching "parties" from my college days.

"Say, I got this new DVD!" was usually the kick-door.  As my friends and I are African American, you know the title had to have the word "Azz" in it somewhere-- "All That Azz, Vol. ____" or some nonsense.  "Yo, put that shit in," someone'd say, not feeling in the least bit homo about watching it with a bunch of dudes, all of whom you knew in the back of your mind would have at least half a stiffy by the end of Scene One.

At first, watching a chick get drilled by a dude in Timbs and a wifebeater while folded up like an origami swan is pure arousal.  A man might preface with "no homo" before explaining that he lives vicariously through the male porn star, imagines himself as the lucky pumper... which is why Wesley Pipes is such a disappointment.

But after thirty minutes of incessant thrusting, bouncing and fake-ass moaning the porno becomes something entirely different: pure comedy!  That's why I love porn (besides the other reason).  It's a hot-ass mess from the improvised sets (somebody's house) to the "actors" (their hammy performances rivaling William Shatner on a good day) to the whimsical acrobatics that deserve a rewind/replay (Nigga Flip, anyone?)

I can appreciate porn as both a good time in lieu of a costly date and as a sexual laugh-in.  Amateur porn is better, as it consists of real (read: out of shape) people attempting to do the stuff they see in pro-porn, only with horrible lighting and even shittier music.  I mean, why not get a forearm and an ab workout?!  So, ladies, when your man asks if you'd like to watch porn with him, go for it-- and remember to laugh extra hard even if he doesn't.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, I'm just realizing where you got that move that you tried last week.  Except this dude didn't slip out trying to execute it. [LOL]"

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Post-Sex Restraining Order

His face read "Back in 20 mins."
We're done with the sex and for a bit, honestly, I need to be done with you.  For your own good, of course.

Most of you women, if you've ever taken a human sexuality class, know that a man's refractory period-- the period after an orgasm during which one cannot achieve further orgasms-- can last a while.  For the average eighteen year old it's fifteen minutes; I'm assuming your man is no spring chicken so his is probably longer.

In the "afterglow," women like to cuddle and be close to the man they just got through schtupping-- usually; I know some of you pimptresses play it differently-- even if he's just a casual fuck buddy.  But men often need that time as a mini-vacation from you.

For one thing, on the other side of an orgasm a man can become completely uninterested in sex-- and you.  If you're his main squeeze don't take it personally, he just needs time to rest for his "comeback."  If you're just a jumpoff (you know who you are) then he may not have been that keen on you to start; he was just horny... and now those balls of his have been emptied-- mission accomplished!

We'll call you.

And men will often check down sex the way they check down any of the day's many tasks.  Once it's finished a man's mind races again, trying to remember what else needs to be done.  This might cause him to jump out of bed not long after coitus, not to get away from you per se but to type up that email he neglected or make sure his car has enough gas to get him to work tomorrow.

Thing is, allowing him that space will almost guarantee a quicker end to that refractory period and gas him up super unleaded for round two (which should last much longer than the TKO in round one).

Sunday, May 23, 2010

(Answers to) Questions for Women: Dating #3


How should a perfect (good) date play out?
Something interesting that is out of the norm. Dinner is always okay, but a museum, watching horseracing or going to an exhibit would get my attention that he isn't doing his normal date routine.
What topics of discussion are most important to you on a first date?
Nothing too serious. Telling me your whole life story in one sitting leaves me exhausted, irritating, and unwilling to go on a second date. One thing that is a deal breaker for me is spirituality. No chance of being connected if he is atheist.
Many men consider paying for things-- dates, gifts and such-- in exchange for a woman's affections as glorified prostitution, especially in these times. Your thoughts?
I don't sleep with a guy for at least 1 to 2 months. I expect him to pay for everything because of the men I've dated who taught me that its not a women's place to pay for anything, in which case they have been Muslim, as am I.
How soon after a date should a man call you?
If he is really interesting in pursuing anything he should call and make sure I got home safely and he should possibly call 2 days after the first date.
How do you feel about "going Dutch" on dates?
Not happening unless we are in a monogomous, committed relationship and even then, I've been shown that its not my duty to pay...women do enough.
Do you-- or would you-- date online? Why or why not?
I have dated online and didn't have any bad situations, but I think I like it old school- courting in person.
Would you ever ask a man out on a date? Under what circumstances?
Possibly, depends on the situation and how and where we meet.
If the date obviously went well, should he attempt to kiss you at the end?
On the cheek only. Cheek kisses are less likely to give him a hard on.
What are your dating pet peeves (first and subsequent dates)?
Talking too much about one's self.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

A Man's Breakup Bonanza



Men don't let their friends wallow in the depths of a breakup.  Truth be told, we never liked that bitch anyway.  So we're going to help him as he transitions back into single manhood and waits for his testicles to descend (they've been in his throat for some time).

We have to get him drunk.  He may have may played it in front of you like he didn't give a shit but on the inside he's a janitor's nightmare-- a complete mess.  Alcohol will dull the pain, copious amounts of it.  His cell phone will be taken away because drunk dialing or texting is counterproductive (and shameful).

We won't spend a whole lot of time disparaging you to him.  It's not about making you seem small; it's about making him see the truth about his new situation: he's single, completely unencumbered!  And what do single, completely unencumbered men do after a breakup?

They fuck everything moving.

That's right.  As his friends we're now on a mission to replace the smell of your old shoes with as many new and improved pairs of shoes as we can find.  We're spreading the gospel of a broken man to all corners (this is where we take a giant shit on you), telling girls at the mall and the club, strippers at the gentlemen's club and drunken coeds how our friend's heart was ripped out by a hateful, shrewish bitch and chucked in the garbage like a Derek Fisher free throw.

You women might do a bit of introspection following the end of an affair, taking stock of the good and the bad and wondering if you go looking for love again or take some "me time."  You might even get together with your girls to be re-affirmed, over three dollar margaritas, as an independent woman who can and will survive without a man.  Men, on the other hand, are simply out to forget they ever loved anything enough that it could hurt them in the first place.  Casual breakup sex returns a man to his natural state, one his friends shared in and enjoyed before he took a long detour into your universe.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Boys Will Be Boys... Until They're 50

"I can show you where the pixie dust comes from, boys, but it'll cost ya."
...and maybe not even then.

Don't know if you've ever noticed, but men get a longer lease on acting like they're still bar mitzvah age.  Girls are quickly encouraged to escalate to grown-ass women who are sensible, dependable and ready to pick up after everyone else.  Meanwhile, adult men have to be dragged from the frat house and fitted in a Men's Warehouse suit, forced to adjust that janky-ass resume and consider 401k's and IRA's.

I've tried to put down the widely accepted (yet propagated by females) belief that women mature faster than men-- while this is true physically, mentally we age about the same but differently-- but it is worth noting here that men get a pass to hang out in Neverland a bit longer.  Society long ago reasoned that a man's more destructive tendencies, fueled by astronomical stores of testosterone in his youth, required time to siphon off.  Most women are looking to "complete" and stabilize their situations as soon as possible; for most men, though, it's all about one more charge of the light brigade, one more story to share around the campfire.

Of course, men stretch this out for far longer than is deemed necessary, by society in general and women in particular.  And later when they realize that the endless supply of testosterone that once had them firing off in their sleep and jumping off bridges for no damn reason has fallen off-- and that they now need Viagra and a term life insurance policy to do those same things-- they try to re-up on that Peter Pan phase (mid-life crisis, anyone?).

So it's not just innate immaturity, ladies, but a permissive attitude in Western culture regarding the Xbox 360 playing, same t-shirt for three days wearing, "I'll look for work tomorrow," dude's night out, beer for breakfast man-child that lets us rock our thirties like it was our twenties like it was our teens.  Truth be told, some of you could use a trip to Neverland, where there are no sticks up the ass allowed.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

So You're a Trainer Now?

"You've just got to train these men, that's all."

Is it?

When did men become basic creatures incapable of functioning without training?  More to the point, when did women become expert trainers, "boy whisperers" with whips and chairs and sensibilities about what we need to be men?

I've never known a real man to be tamed or trained by a woman.  I'd like to define "real" here as most people who use the adjective in gender-role discussions-- women, especially-- are remiss in stating what it means to them.  To me, within the realm of love and relationships, a real man is one who retains his essential nature no matter what.  It's one thing to compromise for the sake of a significant other, but the man who would allow you to "train" him, to mold him into something completely different for nothing more than your personal comfort, is not a man.

He is a punk.

So it can be said that real men cannot be trained.  To be sure, I've heard from more women who lamented their inability to control their men.  I mean, if one side was so surely dominant and the other wholly subjugated-- slavery much?-- then there wouldn't be so many of you complaining (or reading this blog).

A wise man once asked, "Between a human and an animal, which is owner and which is pet?"  Many of the women who claim to have their men trained often find that it's the other way.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

A Portrait of the Asshole as a Young Man 8


It's a tale as old as time... my time, that is.

As far back as the womb a man has only had one toy, one object that would be with him, always be fascinating, always be fun to play with, and always good to go-- well, at least until age 50.

I always make the joke that the best sex I've ever had is with myself.  Except I'm not joking.  That thing about women saying they'd trade a lot of sexual encounters for a warm bath and a good book?  That's me too, only in place of "warm bath and a good book" you can deposit "Palmela."

Is it always as great as a live woman?  No, of course not.  Is it quick (sometimes), convenient and to the point?  Hell yes!  I can tug one out, do minimal cleanup and be right back to doing whatever I was doing before I thought, "I've got the urge to tug one out."  With women, even ones who know the score when they hit the door, there's still an elaborate ritual that requires talking and joking to ease tension, awkward removal of clothing, injury assessments ("Don't grab my right ankle, I rolled it yesterday."), post-coital cleanup and the inevitable waltz toward the door.

I can do that whole dance with myself in five minutes.  When I was in my teens I could be gone in sixty seconds.  I'm a busy man, too busy often for even the most available woman.  Plus I'm a loner by nature (an only child) and the more things I can do alone the better.  It takes two to tango, and I don't always feel like putting on my dancing shoes.

[Postscript: Two things, really.  One, that masturbator's kit in the photo is a hot, brown, watery mess.  Two, who was the first human male to beat his meat, and since there was no lube is that how fire was discovered?  (Okay, that's three things.)]

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

He Shouldn't Have Gone to Jared's

A woman's Lombardi Trophy
You don't need that big rock.  How about something from the bottom of a Crackerjack box instead?

I say this because given the statistics on divorce in America, the U.K. and other developed nations, handing you a Hulked-out diamond ring-- conflict-free, of course-- would be akin to dumping several months' salary into a wishing well.  ("Three Coins in the Fountain," anyone?)

I can see your husband buying championship rings for you after a milestone or two, often in lieu of a shitty present he will have actually put some thought into ("I thought you liked cats!").  Buying you the rock of Gibraltar off top only gives you something to brag about pompously-- which is wack-- and rewards you for something you haven't even done yet-- being married, that is.

The ring is just one way of extending the show beyond The Show.  Everyone can't be there at your wedding to bow before your fabulousness (although it wasn't for lack of trying on your and the wedding planner's part) so you need a symbol of married value to literally put in their faces.

And if the stones turn out to be more diamond that diamonique, you already have on your finger one asset you can quickly liquidate in the event that what God has brought together is indeed been put asunder.

I think a band of gold-- with a reasonable diamond, of course-- should be the starter for a starter marriage.  Saving money on the ring, and cutting some corners on the wedding/honeymoon agenda, will leave us the dough we need to do something really special, something that will make us both very happy: put a down payment on a fucking house!  Because all these kids you want, they can't live inside an invisible setting.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Rise of a Gynecocracy

Sign of the male apocalypse?
I may have said it before (I dislike redundancy) but I'll reiterate: You women scare the hell out of us!

No bullshit.

It's not just your sexual and reproductive powers-- although those are, in and of themselves, as formidable as a Batman villain team-up-- but the shift society has taken as to its valuation of the masculine and feminine.

It's only been recently in world history (and it still doesn't exist everywhere in the world) that women have been offered equal footing with men.  Post-modern feminism has been retroactive in pointing out how masculinity-- and machismo, more specifically-- has caused pain and suffering for both sexes throughout history.

In short, men are pigs.

This backlash has led to a "gynecocracy" of sorts which was incubated in the same politically correct atmosphere that's allowed little league sports matches where there are no winners and the prominent use of the adjective "urban" in lieu of "poor and minority."  In the same way that black comedians are allowed carte blanche in dissing white people, women are allowed to say all kinds of damning and derogatory things about men.

Think about it.  When was the last time you saw in public a man going in on a woman-- "bitch," "whore," "cunt," the whole business section-- without a social rebuking?  Now, how about the other way around?

As a kind of reparation, women are now allowed to elevate the feminine while demonizing the masculine, going so far as to sensitize their young boys (especially if Dad is a douchebag [which they were strangely attracted to, as it were]).  There's even a pill out now designed to feminize men (who are not transgendering), making them more sensitive, docile and available to discuss the pros and cons of Team Edward versus Team Jacob.

Beyond any clamor for independence, recognition or equity, the gynecocracy has created an environment where women can cross the line and beat the masculine form into retreat, attempting to shame us men into being what women think they want.  If we became that we'd cease to be men; and that would just be lame for both sexes, no?

[Postscript: John Wayne (born Marion Morrison) hates your guts... from beyond the grave.]

Sunday, May 16, 2010

On Co-Signers


I'm never sure how to feel about this certain type of fella.

Brown-nosing, I thought, ended in high school; yet, there is a class of men who seem to think that crowning women no matter what-- and often at the expense of their brethren-- is the key to success.

FAIL.

For example, I've seen on Facebook statuses where a woman attempted to make some blacket statement about how lame, immature or irresponsible grown men are.  Even if she's rebutted by several men and women offering evidence to the contrary, all it takes is one dude, a co-signer, agreeing with her to make the argument valid.

"You're right, ______.  Many of us are not stepping up and acting like real men.  I just try to be about my business and take care of my responsibilities.  Can't speak for those others."

Except that you just did.  Get the fuck outta here!

I've always been willing to admit that not every man is completely selfish and pussy-crazed, that a small minority are actually interested in the same things you women are, but I have to tell you it's probably not these guys.  Many of them are former skirt chasers who "turned in my player card" and now find themselves in retirement (see Brett Favre).  No longer able to define their worth by sexual conquest, they now seek to be desired by women as a paradigm of male virtue and discipline-- a trained poodle.  Crowning you in turn allows them to be crowned, to feel like anything but a sucker in their new lives as married men.

And single men?  7-Up onced marketed themselves as "the Un-Cola."  Sometimes it's better to be the man apart, and single male co-signers know this.  They attempt to separate themselves in the minds of women-- especially a woman they may be interested in-- because playing at being an asshole is difficult if one lacks the ingredients.  This type is likely to achieve more success with the nice guy/ gay homeboy status routine as women age and grow weary from the jerks, bad boys and borderline sociopaths they clung to in their prime.

But being a friend to a woman doesn't have to make a man a co-signer.  I go out of my way not to make grandiose statements about my female friends' husbands, boyfriends or current objects of desire no matter what they tell me.  For one thing, there are two sides to every story.  And for another, I really don't give a shit which way they move.  If they ask for my advice it's always the same: "A man will be what he'll be, so you can stay or you can go-- so long as you can live with either."

See how easy that was?  And I didn't have sell anybody out.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Change Clothes


This is an article written by Anthony A. Armstrong, owner and CEO of Armstrong Athletics.  He is also the originator of the dime system introduced in The Definition of a Dime: A Points System.  (Article is produced here exactly as it was received.)



Do me this quick favor. Go into your closet and look at the variety of clothes and shoes you own. There might be some True Religion jeans, or some Old Navy ones. A few JC Penny business suits, a pencil skirt from BeBe, and quite possibly, some Wal-Mart, Dee Bo from Friday house slippers. Some of these are staples in your wardrobe, while others haven’t been seen like Professor Klump’s dick pre-skinny juice. You know which is your freak-um dress, and which your lonely Saturday night outfit is.

Now bring your ass back and read on. Just as the trends come and go, so do men’s tastes in women. One day skinny jeans and heels are all the rage, but the next a pencil skirt gets the ole juices flowing. You can liken a man’s selection in women to your local mall. Think about it, a mall has plenty of stores to choose from. Whatever you are trying to accomplish with your ensemble, you can make it happen e.g. Preppy, Chic, Bougie, and Urban.

Let me explain further, a man will give you signs about what the hot trend is. It doesn’t have to be about your threads, but could be about what happens in the bed. A man will want hot new toy that’s out there and you as a woman needs to be there to provide or else he may be forced to go “shopping” per say. If your man is into the Emo thing, then you better find some way to fulfill that desire.

Here’s where a lot of women mess up. You don’t seem to recognize the extremely apparent signs that tell you the way to the final destination like your Garmin. If you see your man gawking at that chick with whatever on, you should take heed and do like Jay-Z and Pharrell said and, “Change clothes!!”

Friday, May 14, 2010

More Bitch Than Brains

She's got bitch-ray vision
"O.K., you're right." -- 50 Cent, from his song "O.K., You're Right"

I'll be brief with this one... (I hope)

"More bitch than " is a term I've coined just for myself to denote a woman whose primary goal in any argument, debate or discussion is simply to win.  As much as women promote communication (and healthy argument) between the sexes as the fruit of successful relationships, back-and-forths become "forths" where women do all the talking and men don't try to defend their positions-- if they know what's good for them.

I've covered this before in previous posts and on my talk show podcast.  At a certain point with most-- but not all-- women, arguing ceases to be an exercise in growth and becomes a retarded game of "I'm right, you're wrong, so deal with it!"

All attempts at being rational go right out the window, along with your stuff.

Just to be sure, arguments rarely change peoples' minds or points-of-view... but it does plant the seed of critical thought and prevent us from retreating too far into ourselves (and our egos).

Modern women have this problem bad and I think I may know one of the big reasons.  With all of the great strides made by women in just the last hundred years it's understandable that you don't want to go back.  We don't want you to go back-- well, the majority of us don't-- but busting off the shackles doesn't give you carte blanche to act like bitches (the female equivalent of assholes).

It's as if a woman feels that if she concedes one point in one argument with a man then everything that's been achieved-- the Nineteenth Amendment, the Civil Rights Act of '64 (which included women), First and Second-Wave Feminism, Title IX-- will be irrevocably lost.  With that mentality, I find that in arguments women tend to be more bitch than brains, choosing to be hard-headed and dogmatic rather than using that superior intelligence they boast about to proffer a tenable position.

I just used a bunch of big words there on purpose; it's far more effective than "You're stupid!"

Thursday, May 13, 2010

In Through the Out

They call this "brand extension."
Ah, the eternal argument between Mars and Venus...

Picking up from yesterday's post, anal intercourse is often a touchy subject with women.  The man who asks is either A) a perv, B) a sadist or C) a closeted homo.

Let's get rid of C off top.  Desiring anal sex with a woman doesn't make a man gay (this is simple logic); it just means he wants to poke it in another hole.  Trust, if your nostrils or ear canals were bigger, if your belly button became a vortex to nowhere, if an eyeball could be removed and the brain pushed to one side... we'd try to fuck them too.

Power is a primary motive behind anal sex.  Because it's not easy to do, painful at times and suggestive of complete bodily submission, the woman who capitulates to butt madness is saying she's down to leave no stone unturned for her man.

Staying with the power slant, and venturing into suspect territory for a moment, men have always used anal sex as a tool of utter domination.  In the Biblical tale of Sodom, the men who attempt to rape the angels, Lot's guests, are not so much interested in sexual release as "owning" these new men in their midst.  That hasn't changed much from them till now, no matter the orientation.  More than a few men might be able to say they've slept with you, but only one might be able to say at the Denny's roundtable, "...and she let me put it in her butt!"

For the long-term, committed couple, anal play-- not just penetration per se-- could spice things up and ensure your man "re-discovers" your body rather than explores someone else's for the first time.  And beware the specialist!  There are some women out there who prefer anal, who won't do anything but.  They exist at the ends of rainbows and under bridges guarded by trolls, but they're out there nonetheless-- and men are looking.

But if you decide to go there lay down some ground rules first.  This isn't the time for Gotcha! shenanigans.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Your Man's Not Gay, Just "Moist"


God love 'em-- gays have a funny term for everything.

"Moist," as it's been explained to me, is a term denoting a man who is definitely not gay but who displays tendencies on a regular basis.  How it originated is a question I didn't care to ask.

Anyway, I'm sure some of you have been accused of having a boyfriend or husband who was an undercover turd burglar, especially in the Black community where the DL (down low) "epidemic"-- while problematic-- has escalated to Red Scare hysteria.

STOP!!!

If your man loves fashion-- like LAPD loves resisting arrest-- it doesn't mean he's gay.  He's a clotheshorse just like you, but in a different way.  In fact, up until recently (and still in some parts of the world) men dressed better than women.  They had to.  Men were the ones who went out all day to work and do business-- as opposed to women who mostly worked in and around the home-- and also had to do a lot more courting that what goes on today.  So like our animal counterparts we had to be more vibrant and well put-together than the mates we sought (look at peacocks and peahens).  Only in the West did men's fashion get busted down to earth-toned shirts, basic jeans and a few pairs of shoes-- thanks, James Dean!

"Okay, but my man talks like he's got a bit of the woman in him.  What's up with that?"

I don't want to go out on a limb but I believe it's do to the growing influence on boys by the women in their families, especially in the absence of men (not just the father per se).  This is especially true in Black and Hispanic family systems where women-- often the de facto heads of household-- display dominant and aggressive traits not unlike the female hyena.  Tether a young boy to his aunts for a week or so and he may return snapping his fingers and saying "Girl..." with ten R's.

What else, you say?

Liking the movie Dreamgirls doesn't make him gay; owning the special edition Blu-ray does.

Spending more time in the mirror than you doesn't denote homosexuality, unless the man he's in love with is himself.

It shouldn't bother you that he enjoys shopping excursions with his mother (unless their bags are both from Ann Taylor).

And if he suggests going in through the out hole, well... that's actually a whole other post.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

A Portrait of the Asshole as a Young Man 7

I'm with you, O.  WTH?
I don't like public displays of affection.  Don't like to see them, don't like to make them.  I'm sure I'm not alone but I don't know if seeing a woman's hand in her man's pocket or a couple in a parking lot with mouths wide open like kissing anacondas triggers another's gag reflex like it does mine.

I suppose it's because I didn't grow up in a PDA household.  My parents, while affectionate, never put their love on display for the whole world (or me) to see.  I guess I learned from them that a genuine relationship or marriage is a grown-up partnership rather a constant simulation of a teenage love affair.

The average person walking around is not terribly attractive.  Sorry, but it's true.  Now since water settles at its own level it's safe to say that this person will be in love or like with a similarly homely individual.  While I think that it's great that the two of them found each other I don't want to be subjected slobbery kisses, groping of jiggly (or non-existent) parts and/or extended eye contact with Thriller eyes.

If you ask my exes or even women with whom I've been "friends," PDA is something that can get your feelings hurt with me.  Try to interlace your fingers with mine while we walk; my hand will go limp and drift away from yours.  Putting your hand in my back pocket is a fail because I keep shit back there at all times... and I actually have a butt.  I've never had a scarf in my wardrobe so you can imagine the reaction you'll get from trying to hang yourself around my neck.

It's just not for me.  I had an ex-girlfriend in college who was the same way-- a mirror, if you will.  She wasn't touchy-feely either, and even though we often occupied the same public spaces-- like the student union or the library or Applebee's during late-night happy hour-- it took people a long time and a lot of guessing to figure out that we even had a thing going on.  Jay-Z, Beyonce shit.  It became a game of sorts, one we thoroughly enjoyed, and a way of strengthening our bond rather than selling a million tickets to the show.

I don't mind a stolen kiss or a terrorist fist bump every now and then, but people who look like Siamese twins make me wonder what's truly valued in modern love and relationships-- image or substance.

Monday, May 10, 2010

If He's So Great, Why is He Still Single?

Something you hear mostly from the thirty-something and up crowd.

It's typically a conversation between two women, one of whom is trying to hook the other one up with a "blind."

"He's got a good job, lots of money.  Has his own house, no kids.  Volunteers with a foundation..."

"All that, huh?  So what's the deal?  Why's he still single?"

Because he's a serial killer.  Or a spy.  Or he's pathologically incapable of putting the toilet seat down.  Are you looking for an excuse to not even try?  Or maybe you want to be as unimpressed as possible so as not to get your hopes up.  I can see that; he's probably doing the same thing to you in his head.

They often say that women, like a fine wine, improve with age, but it's actually men who benefit from time and tide.  Thirty-five is a man's earning prime, his last youthful milestone before middle age and the point at which the testosterone decline he's been experiencing since twenty-five actually produces notable changes in his behavior.  Far less risk taking.  Far more forward planning.  Wondering how much college will cost for a kid in 20_ _, even though he doesn't have any!

He won't be as exciting and bombastic as a man ten years his junior, because he's not supposed to be.  If you're the same age-- or if you're the type of girl who's always preferred "grown ass men"-- you shouldn't be interested in young Stefan, the yoga-by-day/rock band frontman-by-night, anyway.  This single man has probably chosen to remain single, save for the occasional dalliance, so he could stabilize his life before trying to complicate it by adding you to the mix.

Yeah, he could be a douchebag in square's clothing, but you won't know if you don't show.  Suck it up and save the date... and the last dance (joking!).

(Postscript: Make sure he's not waiting for the right man instead.)

Sunday, May 9, 2010

It's a Penis, Not a Joystick

"She did her best to bring Pac-Man to a worthy climax."
What the French, toast?!?

You're handling my junk like you're trying to get the high score (enter intials here: __ __ __ ).  As much as women complain about men fumbling with their bodies-- like a toddler trying to command a toy-- you'd think women would be more delicate.

But no.  You know those old cigarette machines where you put your money in and then jerk the knob?  That's what it feels like.  And with the dry hand, no less!  I don't care what you use-- spit on that shit!-- but please grease the gears.

A DRY HANDJOB IS THE ANTICHRIST.

I know, it looks like it can take a little horseplay, but it's extremely sensitive (and veiny).  Why do you think we spend half the day trying to situate it in our pants so as not be in Hell?  So be gentle, Ben.  I mean, do jerk it vigorously.  (Tip: A man's penis will become "accustomed" to the way he tugs it-- that is, fast and furious-- so you should be just as committed.)  Just work it toward us rather than pulling it toward you like a lever.

And make sure you hold it somewhat askew at the end so we don't get Jackson Pollock'd by our own Jamba Juice.  Thanks again!

Saturday, May 8, 2010

"I Have to Get Up Early," and Other Post-Coital Lies


Wow!  That was great... but...

It's an uncouth man indeed who gets right up and leaves (unless he's been told to) or pushes a woman out his door after sex.  Real men come up with semi-lame yet totally plausible excuses; the sharpest of us can do it au pied levĂ©.

"I have to get up really early in the morning."  Don't we always?

"There's this volunteer thing I have to do tomorrow."  Mentally challenged kids, so you can't challenge it; no, you can't participate.

"Damn, I forgot to let the dog out."  We don't have a dog.

"My mom's supposed to be visiting this morning, and she's always early."  She's never on time!

"Just got a text.  _______'s in jail and I gotta go help bail him out."  This actually happened a month ago.

"I have this back condition and I need the whole bed to-- what?  No, a massage wouldn't help any.  Thanks, though!  See ya."  When we turn down a massage (especially a frontal), you know we're serious.

"I don't want your roommate to see me.  I'm a very private man."  On the contrary, we love to advertise in front of her.  She could be our next "contestant."

"I think I'm allergic to your perfume.  I wanted to say something before but....  Yeah, I know, right?  I gotta wash these sheets and pillowcases after you leave."  This might be true.

"I snore like a motherfucker."  [Followed by raucous snoring if she doesn't take the cheese.]

"I have to sleep in my own bed.  What?  Sorry, it's just twin-sized."  We'll appear lame but so what?  That's a worry for guys who haven't scored yet.

"What?  No, I can't stay.  I have to publish the next post ASAP or the New Shoes fans will kill me!"  How did this one get in here?  LOL

Friday, May 7, 2010

Cunnilinguistics

(This post was written for a reader's special request.  See!  If you ask me to address it, the kid will do just that.  Enjoy.)

Fuck what you've heard.  Men go down on women a lot-- and mostly without solicitation.

To be sure, it's a labor of "love."  It can get funkier down there than a Bootsy Collins headliner tour.  There's that acidic taste (always makes me think of 9th grade chemistry when I discovered what a "pH balance" is) and five-day stubble that would make us sneeze if we weren't so thoroughly committed.

Do what you want with your legs but do not, in a moment of ecstasy, strangle us with them like a reticulated python.  And don't pop your pelvis up into our faces either; it's easier to break a nose than you think.

Your bed sheet will double as a napkin.

There will be a lot of tongue flicking, as most men assume that the Serpentor method of cunnilingus is most effective.  They'll also head straight for your Easy button, so don't be surprised.

If you're the spitting cobra type (yeah, we're just gonna keep the snake references going), please give forewarning.  Men like to be inside vagina but not mug-to-mug with it; it's already stressful without the exploding dye pack effect.  And cooch, on its own, is quite unattractive-- especially if it resembles a show curtain.

Look, if the guy's into you he'll want to put his face in the place, but you've got to coach him.  Otherwise he'll be like Moses in the wilderness and you'll never reach the Promised Land.  Oral sex is different than vaginal sex-- a man's pride isn't so tightly wrapped around it-- so you don't have to worry so much about bruising his ego by giving him a hint or two.  He'll thank you later... when you thank him later.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Women are Like the Music Industry (to Men)


Remember when the music industry held dominion?  Charging almost twenty bucks for albums that had three good songs out of fifteen?

Then came the Internet, and peer-to-peer file sharing that was... drum roll... free as a motherfucker!

Oops....

The music industry tried to regulate but they couldn't bust everybody.  So they tried to be nice and reduce drastically the price of CDs and mp3 downloads, but the genie was out of the bottle.  Why pay anything for something when it's readily available for free?  Of course there were still those things that lured the avid fan/collector-- album notes, bonus DVDs, a lock of Beyonce's hair-- but among those who just needed a few good jams for their workout iPod the damage had been done.

Now all the record companies do is complain about leakage and try to shame those who bootleg... like a lot of you women.  You get mad at the chicks who give it up for little or nothing, at the dudes who run to them, but let's be real for a second: who (especially in America) wants to work extra hard and wait forever for something they can get fast and free?  Your "album" is not even as good as you think it is.  The woman to your left has agreed to let us sample her shit for free.  Who knows?  We might decide to pay (maybe).

Point is, those so-called easy bitches you hate are only making it harder for you.  We're enjoying a harmonious supply-demand relationship, while your relationship is with your lofty standards (How's it going with you two, by the way?).  Like the music industry you'll soon find yourselves flat on your backs-- but not in a satisfying way-- trying to dazzle with discounts and limited-time offers ("I really don't even need that big of a wedding anymore.")

Men are the music consumers, the fans, the ones who keep "the beat" going (How do you think the world population surpassed 6 billion?).  Yeah, we may have to dick around in some shitty p2p networks to get what we need-- Morpheus comes to mind-- but as long as we get it for the low it's one in the win column.  Meanwhile, you'll still be like those beleaguered record labels, offering special editions ("classics," for you older broads) that few of us are willing to purchase.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers

Just hope it's you that comes in first.
Here's the deal: If you don't ask a dude to use a Jimmy there's a pretty good chance he won't.  It's not that men are sexually irresponsible (per se).  It's not even about the whole "I can't feel anything" argument (although that's not completely without merit).

If it's going down for the first (and maybe last) time, a man will want to cross the velvet rope as soon as possible.  See, a guy will throw it in you even if you cough way too much (sketchy?), fart like a Viking or ask him "Do you love me?"  A woman, on the other hand, isn't as committed to a burst of frisky and it's our concern that if the temperature in the room changes even slightly we may not get laid.  So it's imperative that we "clock in" faster than Usain Bolt.

If a condom gets in the way of this-- and you don't say anything-- you might end up ingesting raw meat, which could make you sick.

You don't have to be a bitch about it.  ("STOP!!!  Condom-- now!  No?!?  Go fuck yourself!  LITERALLY!!!")  Just be as smooth with it as you were when you said, "I need a second opinion on where I should move my bed.  Got time to take a look?"  Mention that you have rubbers in the drawer of your nightstand if he doesn't have any on him (he just might); don't worry about looking like a slut, it's too late for that.

Voila!  Now all you have to do is tell him to chill out on the jackrabbit stroke.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

A Portrait of the Asshole as a Young Man 6

Me after she finished her "dissertation" on the Jay-Z/Illuminati link.
I'm a man who's easily bored.

If I were a woman I'd be that chick in the club who rolls her eyes and yawns every five minutes at what she sees and hears, ready to hop to the next venue, always in search of the new-new.

This is why I could never get married.  I could actually see myself having children (though I don't want them either); their capacity to surprise and impress is as vast as the cost of keeping them fed, clothed and entertained.  But the average woman would just as quickly become predictable, pedestrian.

I like that word-- pedestrian.  It means "commonplace, unimaginative."  What's funny to me is that every woman who hears this immediately attempts a rebuttal: "That's 'cause you haven't been spending your time with above-average girls."  And I assume they're alluding to themselves, suggesting that they occupy some higher echelon of excitement and wonder where I would have only to open my eyes and roll over in bed to lay hold to my next great adventure.  LMBAO!  Doesn't every woman think of herself as an infinite well of fun and fancy free, a constant source of joy who should be rewarded accordingly?

Don't get me wrong.  I don't expect to be amused, but I do suffer from relationship ADHD.  Good pussy is its own version of Ritalin or Adderall, but even that loses its effectiveness over time.  I'm not even sure what "good pussy" is, anyway.  Last time I checked, whatever pussy a man was in could be considered, for him, "good."

Most women want a boyfriend on the strength of whether or not he can be interesting, not whether or not she can be interesting to him.  I hate wasting creative energy where there's no reciprocity, and if I'm going to be bored out of my mind I'd rather do that with my boys.  Any woman can be intriguing for a month or two, but I couldn't imagine trying to polish an old shoe for fifty years.  Neither can many of my married friends, apparently; only a couple of them have made it last past eighteen months (a damn shame, just to be clear).

Being single is salvation (for me).  Keeps me sharp, keeps me in shape and keeps me forever in search of that thing that never fails to capture my attention: C.R.E.A.M.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Icebox, or: Cold Around the Heart

A typical likeness of the human male heart, according to many women.

Women often ask questions like "Why are men so heartless?" or "Why do men act so cold-blooded, so cold-hearted?"  They examine and scrutinize us as remorseless cyborgs, contract hitmen with their happiness squared within our sights.

Well, we can't all be der Fuhrer, so what is it?

In her book The Male Brain, Louann Brizendine writes about a study conducted where a group of men and women were subjected to images such as people dying in the Third World or a wounded animal struggling.  Interestingly, the men actually measured stronger emotional responses to the images than the women did; however, something even more interesting occured 2.5 seconds later: the men suppressed the emotions.  It's unclear how much of this process is conscious or unconscious, but its implications suggest that we are not "cold as ice," to quote the late Rick James.

It's been said that men actually fall more deeply in love than women, that they are more deeply cut by infidelity, more affected by their children's pain or the loss of a parent; but it's the ability to separate, compartmentalize, and if need be banish discomforting emotions-- which may indicate vulnerability-- that enables men to behave heavy-handedly toward women and their feelings.

A man generally knows when he's hurting a woman, but if it gets in the way of what he wants-- sex, his freedom, the affirmation of his peers, continued control of his emotions-- then he can quickly shut off that part of his brain that says, "She doesn't deserve this."  If it's any consolation, many of us do lose sleep over such game-time decisions.

Men are between the ultimate rock and a hard place: we're supposed to show no or little fear, yet we are the most fearful because we are terrified not only by the external forces of the outside world but by the possibility of losing a handle on the one thing we're supposed to be in supreme command of-- ourselves.  Women unsettle us with their sexual and reproductive powers and their knowledge of such, and we are afraid to become slaves to their desires; we'd rather be slaves to our own and be thought monstrous... deranged.

(Not an excuse, just an explanation.)

Sunday, May 2, 2010

(Answers to) Questions for Women: Dating #2


How should a perfect (good) date play out?
Great conversation and a comfort and ease around one another.
What topics of discussion are most important to you on a first date?
There are not any that are most important but some that are off limits like exes and rules.
Many men consider paying for things-- dates, gifts and such-- in exchange for a woman's affections as glorified prostitution, especially in these times. Your thoughts?
I think you do what you want. If you pay its because you want to. If I give it up its because I want to . No reciprocity required.
How soon after a date should a man call you?
Taking a certain time period is stupid.
How do you feel about "going Dutch" on dates?
Fine by me. But its kind of weird. I like a guy with too much swagger to let me pay.
Do you-- or would you-- date online? Why or why not?
no no no. I watch too much Law and Order and know too many weirdos who probably online date. There are plenty of ways and places to meet people.
Would you ever ask a man out on a date? Under what circumstances?
Yes. If I felt like it.
If the date obviously went well, should he attempt to kiss you at the end?
Yes.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Shit We Didn't Ask

Her: "You look fun."  Him: "I didn't ask."

What you think about ________.
That our snoring bothers you.
What you want your wedding colors to be.
What's happening this season on Grey's Anatomy.
How hard you had to work to get a degree in _________.
How we could multitask better.
How we could be more efficient with our time.
Names you've already determined for your future children.
What "moves and grooves" you.
Your theory on why we spend so much time playing video games.
About the cosmic war between you and the ruthless bitches at work.
Your bite-sized dog's pedigree.
Whether or not we look good in slingback sandals (for the record, we do not).
That you don't follow what's happening in the game we're watching.
Whether or not we can sneak it in while you're asleep.
If our staring at that other chick's breasts offends you on a primal level.
How to drive.
How to dance.
How to tolerate your family.
What this month's menstrual cycle is doing to you specifically.
How many more chances we have.

But most importantly... if we're sexy.  (We get to decide if we're sexy; you get to decide if you can handle it.)