America loves many things, many things indeed. But there's little America loves more than a good old-fashioned sex scandal. Underneath the puritanical facade this nation loves to hide behind, America's a dirty, dirty place. Of course, we can't look at a natural aspect of humanity to be understood and embraced - What do you mean it isn't a matter of one right way and many wrong ways!? - that'd be downright unamerican, after all! Don't you know the gays and terrorists are in league with the Mexicans trying to take down Taco Bell!?
In 1998, an epic series of sex scandals no one has yet to match - let alone surpass - erupted around president Bill Clinton. Paula Jones, Gennifer Flowers, and more came out in alleging sexual misconduct from the president - Monica Lewinsky being the most famous of the lot - and in many cases getting admissions of wrongdoing. The Republicans had a field day. We'd never do something like that, clearly the left-wing is immoral! The ever-sleazy Republican lawyer, Kenneth Starr, was appointed to the Office of Independent Counsel, in which he made a career of trying to take Clinton down, ultimately publishing the Starr Report following the Lewinsky scandal, the findings of which led the House of Representatives to impeach Clinton on the grounds of perjury and obstruction of justice. Despite all this and the media circus around Clinton's promiscuity, the American people largely continued to support him. He'd still been a good president, after all.
In 2001, Democratic representative Gary Condit became caught up in his own scandal, in which an intern working for him - Chandra Levy - vanished after they'd had an affair, eventually turning up dead a year later. (Condit was spared further investigative focus in the wake of the September 11th attacks, despite efforts to avoid discussing the subject and exhibiting suspicious behavior - not unlike he was attempting to cover his tracks. To this day, the case of Levy's death remains unsolved, and one has to wonder if there will ever be any sort of justice.) His political career ended in 2003 following a failed bid for reelection, the public not having forgotten his actions nor his hypocrisy, having claimed to be a "pro-family" politician (As is always a popular,
though relatively meaningless label to apply to one's self.), and then cheating on his wife with a woman younger than his own daughter.
Of course, sex scandals are hardly something faced by Democrats alone. On the contrary, we've seen just as much hypocrisy on the right. I couldn't possibly be gay! Look at me ranting about how much I hate the gays and voting against any legislation giving them rights! Are these the actions of anything but the straightest of individuals!? I submit that they are not! What do you mean I've been caught!? In 2007, Republican senator Larry Craig was caught in a sex sting at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, soliciting gay sex in a men's bathroom. Classy. His response to the arrest? Pretty much what you'd expect - utter denial of homosexuality, and claims that he simply "made a mistake." He went on to resign, then in an act of ultimate respectability, decided to make himself look even sadder by withdrawing his guilty plea and deciding to remain in office, rather than simply quietly remove himself from office after losing voters' confidence and disgracing himself in the public eye. Late in 2007, eight gay men came forward to the local paper, including an escort who'd been central to loudly homophobic evangelical preacher Ted Haggard, famous for his appearance in the creepy documentary Jesus Camp, back in 2006.
In 2004, Jessica Cutler - a D.C. intern - kept an online blog about her life in Washington, notably popular for her writing on her sex life. Apparently there wasn't exactly a shortage of men there willing to pay her for sex. The only individual who came forward as one of her lovers (Or "fuckers," if you want to be more accurate in word choice.) was Robert Steinbuch, who worked in the IRS and had, ironically, taught seminars on ethics. He's been rather lawsuit-happy since Cutler's fifteen minutes of fame, trying to both take her down and silence what reminders he can of the scandal. Even the "blogosphere" has helped create Washington sex scandals.
In 2006, Republican representative Mark Foley was embroiled in his own scandal around emails and instant messages that revealed his interest in pursuing teenage boys. Can you feel the family values? In the process of the scandal's investigation, fellow Republican representative Jim Kolbe was also outed for inappropriate conduct with teenage congressional pages. Embarrassing emails and conversations came out, and how did Foley react? It was rehab time. Apparently that classically retarded male fantasy about alcohol making women prone to homosexual activity is true of Republican politicians as well! And in the end, Foley was outed as having been a closeted gay man for a long time, known for the usual predictable reaction of revolt to the idea. Foley ultimately resigned in disgrace.
In 2004, Democratic New Jersey governor Jim McGreevey came out after a scandal revolving around the unusually close relationship he had with his unqualified homeland security advisor, Golan Cipel, and resigned shortly afterwards. His name has recently popped up in the media again, in light of his comments on the most recent political sex scandal - which I'll be getting to in a bit - in a former aide of McGreevey's alleging having had three-ways with McGreevey and his wife on multiple occasions. As of far, only McGreevey's ex-wife Dina Matos has denied these allegations. Politics! Where up is down, gay is straight, and everyone's sticking their junk everywhere else!
In spring 2007, the D.C. Madam scandal erupted around Deborah Jeane Palfrey's prostitution ring, of which several politicians were revealed to be patrons. This lead to the resignation of Randall L. Tobias, ambassador and Bush's former AIDS czar. (A funny combination of words, no matter how you look at it.) Republican senator David Vitter also confessed to being among Palfrey's customers, but remained in office despite his veritable blacklisting by the party.
At last getting to the most recent of these scandals - the obvious prompt of this entry - just last week, Democratic New York governor Eliot Spitzer's political career was effectively ended by his own prostitution scandal. He made a name for himself as a politician hard on crime, from his career as New York attorney general up through his year as governor. He was progressive, and had a lot of good ideas that he was moving forward with. Then he was caught in one of the very acts he'd condemned - patronizing a high-class prostitute. What started as an IRS investigation of some suspicious transactions ended with his outing as a hypocrite. Disgraced, having worked with human rights groups to bust prostitution rings before, Spitzer resigned from office effective as of this past monday, St. Patrick's Day. The human rights groups he'd worked with and some women's rights groups came away with a feeling of betrayal. While many on Wall Street were pleased with the outcome, being that he wasn't exactly well-liked there - none too surprisingly, given the shadiness of that line of work at times.
The prostitute at the center of this scandal, Ashley Alexandra Dupré, has had a less than glorious fifteen minutes of fame over the course of the scandal's heavy media coverage these past ten days. She's tried to make herself sympathetic, telling a story of past difficulties at home that seems fairly questionable. Despite claiming not to do drugs, it's been alleged that she's done quite a bit of coke. And that she'd even slept with Charlie Sheen. (And that's a pretty low blow for any prostitute.) Naturally, since her personal life exploded all over the internet and media - complete with plenty of provocative pictures - multiple media outlets - Hustler, Penthouse, Vivid - have sought to get her to pose nude for them. Then to throw a little more acid on her face, Joe Francis of Girls Gone Wild (Everybody's favorite outlet for exploited inebriated college girls, headed by Johnny Douchebag himself. Hopefully we can look forward to him spending quite a few more years in jail over those tax evasion charges he's facing yet.) propositioned her, then withdrew his proposition after finding he'd already recorded her on her 18th birthday. (As he does take pride in his company's efforts to prey on girls on their 18th birthdays in particular - there's a big market for almost-pedophilia content, after all. And not a hint of remorse for his scumbaggery in interviews and cover stories. He definitely seems like some sort of sociopath. And he seems to have learned nothing from nearly a year in prison.) I would imagine that's one of the most painful slaps in the face a young woman these days could receive - especially after making the mistake of going anywhere near the Girls Gone Wild people. In and of all that, it's hard not to have at least a modicum of sympathy for Dupré, even if she brought most of this on herself. And even if her music is unintentionally comically terrible. She's not much younger than me, and with the internet, no matter how much time passes, this scandal will never go away for her. She will always be "that whore Spitzer was plowing." (Even if the average guy online probably wouldn't pass on an opportunity to sleep with her either. Given her background here, I'd pass, personally. But then, I've never been into the whole macho sex focus I'm supposed to, as a guy in his early twenties. I'm one of those good conversation and unrequited love doofuses.) The bulk of my sympathies lie with Spitzer's wife and kids. I can only imagine what they're going through right now. As for Spitzer himself, I agreed with a good bit of his political track record, but in displaying the hypocrisy he has here, my sympathy for him is very limited.
Soon after Lt. Gov. David Paterson was sworn in as Spitzer's replacement - setting milestones as New York's first black governor and the nation's first legally blind person to hold office for the longer term now - it came out that he too had had an affair in the past. New Yorkers just can't win.
Ultimately, obviously, "morals" when it comes to sex and marital fidelity are not an issue either party can proudly claim to represent. (As much as the Republicans would like to - but then, they like to tell themselves that they represent a lot of things, at least, when going after the gullible voters.) It's hard to say what it is exactly that leads to this sort of behavior in the individuals elected to represent us. Maybe it's the corrupting force of power, as people in political office - especially higher up - are used to enjoying getting whatever they want, and as history has shown, human nature is that power rarely goes unabused. It could very well be something more innately psychologically rooted as well - it certainly takes a certain something in individuals to stand up before people and tell them that they deserve to represent you, whether as president, governor, or even simply as the representative for their local voting district. In some cases, it could potentially be something else entirely. But however you look at it, after a certain point, a line is crossed where their thoughts simply become: "Me me me! This is awesome, sex for me! I love this job!" (And who amongst us hasn't had that exact thought? Well, aside from myself.) This sort of behavior is observable in politicians, looking all the way back to our founding fathers, and will no doubt continue as long as America exists as a country. Every so often, the media will have something to get really excited about while the people either get outraged or roll their eyes. American political culture can be - and certainly is, more often than not - an ugly thing. And when there's real, serious political issues worth broaching - as there certainly are these days - what better to distract us from these matters than a good old sex scandal? What do you mean politicians have physical needs too!?
Showing posts with label Not-Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Not-Love. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
Making Women Putty in your Meathooks
Well, it's finally 2008, and I know what you're all thinking: "Why haven't I gotten laid yet?"
Yes, such creepy, shallow thoughts to begin the new year on. But you know who you are. This comes as no surprise. James Brown is dead and you are not a sex machine. Time to get over it.
Of course, in accepting that there might just be more to this thing called life than the mere tedious pursuit of self-gratification on the body of another, you might start to feel a little depressed. The world exists in shades of gray!? Who knew?! I blame Istanbul! Now, now, before you start picking random geographical locations to vent your frustrations on - that's how wars get started, you know - chin up, lads! That last sex advice column gig might've gone horribly, disturbingly wrong, but this time? Being the existential pimp that I am, having nothing better to do, I'm here to guide you along down the path to a woman's heart, and eventually, your real goal - her nethers. Why would you want any sort of connection beyond a physical one, after all? Don't you know that love is a myth perpetuated by corporations to sell greeting cards, so you may as well just bone? Ignore the centuries of love stories and emotional tales of meaningful connections between human beings - some dude just wrote those in his parents' basement last month while high on PCP. He also has a time machine. Thus, everything adds up.
By now, you're wondering whether or not to expect a sequential list of things to do to make the opposite sex quiver. Of course there's going to be a list! With numbers, and everything! I'm hardly a predictable writer, you realize. Pish posh. Even though those aren't actual words. If I've learned anything from these internet love advice things online, it's that all women are exactly the same, and all you have to do is learn a set of specific tricks to lie your way into bed that will work on everybody! How do you think those things like the Mystery "Distract her and stick it in before she changes her mind! Make her feel bad about herself first!" Method work? And how can an upright gentleman like "Mystery" or the hordes of anonymous individuals on the internet who claim to know how all women function be wrong? It's science.
1) The Candy Factor - To get the ladies, you must take to heart this first key element of "seduction artist"/creepy guy-dom: Be more like John Candy. It's up to you to figure out w
hat this means on your own, and if you can't, you're a lost cause and should surrender to a life of celibacy now. The ladies love them some John Candy. To all the ladies reading this now, just look at that picture - are you feeling it? It's futile to fight it. And try as you might, guys, you will never rock as hard as John Candy.
2) Awkwardness Protection - We human beings sure are an awkward lot of creatures, aren't we? You weren't supposed to answer that - it was a rhetorical question. Sheesh. Anyway, it's inevitable that somewhere in the courtship process - say, every part of it - you're going to experience some awkward moments. Timing is everything, they say, so how you handle these moments is critical. Sure, some people use these moments to look into one another's eyes and let the romantic tension flow through the both of you as you unite in some rapturous kiss as the background music dramatically crescendos like in old movies. Others, like myself, look away nervously and maybe say something stupid in order to completely ruin the moment and help ensure that you won't talk to your romantic interest for years. There's a fine art to destroying perfect moments like that, but only if you do it without actively trying. In this modern world, neither of these options are particularly good. What I'm getting at here is that you should always carry drugs. And I'm not talking legal drugs like ibuprofen or anything like that in case one of you gets a headache while you're around each other, or even mild recreational drugs like pot - don't be a lightweight. I'm not suggesting you raid the local hospital for morphine either - that's too much work. Basically, just carry some heroin or crack cocaine on you at all times. If carried properly, a good crack pipe can even be used to accentuate your male features - no woman can resist a guy desperate to impress her by shoving things down his pants. (Extra points if they're sharp objects that may wound you grievously and leave you impotent and/or sterile!) There's no icebreaker in an awkward moment quite like "Hey, wanna shoot up?" or "I got some of this crack here - what say we smokes it together?" Remember these things and you'll be a regular lothario in no time.
3) Proper Linguistics (For the sake of being hip, let's call them "lings" ... on second thought, let's not) - You can tell my rating on the class-o-meter is off the charts by the way I refer to all women as "the ladies" at least 90% of the time. (Actual figures may vary.) It lets them know that I may only know one term for what they are and to lower their vocabulary-related expectations of me. (And if you want to succeed with the ladies in life - and especially the bedroom - you want them to keep all their expectations of you as low as possible.) But then, it's not my grade-A reserve of word-knowingness that draws the ladies to me to begin with. If you're really good, you can communicate in a series of grunts and still score a hole-in-one, if you know what I mean. (Golf metaphors are important when degrading women. Eagle! Birdie! Putt! 3-Wood! So much scathing sports satire!)
4) A Cool Name - According to the internets, women - and when they say this, they mean all women, because they're both psychic and also all women are the same, apparently - decide within the first five minutes of meeting you whether or not they would ever have sex with you. In my case, this decision is always no, but my purpose here is to help you. Maybe if they got to know the real me, they'd learn to regret being so hasty in their - let it go, just let it go, you're writing something important here. Sorry about that, I don't know where that came from. Getting back to the point, you don't care about making a good first impression, and being that you are male, you can't make a good first impression. If you do, you're probably a liar and a jewel thief, and there's too damn many of you clogging up the subway system as is. There is an effective cheat code - not unlike in those television game-box things - to circumvent the entire first-impression hurdle. A deceptively simple one at that. If you tell women that your name is Humphrey, they will want to get on you instantly. It's half your name, after all. Even if you are an unscrupulous liar. You're only in it for the bedroom romp anyway. You make me sick.
5) An Escape Plan - Yeah, you don't care about women anyway, do you? All you want to do is use them to your dirty ends. To gratify yourself like the sociopath you are. Die in a fire already! If you've already learned how to use these other tips to your advantage - and I hate you if you do - you're practically guaranteed action anytime you want it in this and any century. An oft forgotten and still critically important element in the art of action-getting is formulating a good escape plan. As soon as you've finished gratifying yourself - you friggin' bastard - you need to get out of there, pronto. They say women all fall in love after sex, that that's where the attachment begins. (If you're looking to important internet advice, anyway, and ignore every Lifetime movie ever made. And also the parts of said movies where the guy always ends up beating the woman with a curtainrod, which just plain isn't cool behavior. Remember kids, misogyny is bad!) You can avoid these trappings like a leaf on the wind if you go in well prepared - and come out feeling proud and empty. The method to go for here is to ultimately carry smoke bombs on you at all times. Upon completing your copulation, you must immediately throw one of said bombs while shouting "Ninja Vanish!" When done properly, it will be as though you were never there to begin with. If you've taken all the previous advice to heart, you'll have women so dizzy with hormones that they'll burn for you even more when you make it openly apparent that you're so resourceful, you'll be getting the fuck out of there as soon as you can - regardless of whether she's satisfied, as she probably won't be, even remotely. No woman can resist a man so resourceful and confident. Not even the smart ones. Especially the smart ones.
There. Now you know all that you need to know to ruin pretty much everyone's life but your own and I personally hope that now that you've absorbed all of this information, you're hit by a speeding bus the next time you look out the window. That's right, a whole friggin' bus, right through your damn window! Way to make my first post of 2008 a heart-rending, painful one that will only cause everybody more misery than they're properly equipped to handle. I've created an army of monsters! ... or going by this blog's usual hits, a small handful, maybe!
So, there you have it. One of those kinda stupid posts to kick off the new year. Maybe I'll write a guide for you ladies reading down the line too, so you'll finally know what's really going on in men's minds that those magazines and their endless reprints of "PLEASE YOUR MAN!!!11" articles don't know. (Hint: It's mostly one of those wind-up toy monkeys slapping cymbals together. Those things rule.)
Yes, such creepy, shallow thoughts to begin the new year on. But you know who you are. This comes as no surprise. James Brown is dead and you are not a sex machine. Time to get over it.
Of course, in accepting that there might just be more to this thing called life than the mere tedious pursuit of self-gratification on the body of another, you might start to feel a little depressed. The world exists in shades of gray!? Who knew?! I blame Istanbul! Now, now, before you start picking random geographical locations to vent your frustrations on - that's how wars get started, you know - chin up, lads! That last sex advice column gig might've gone horribly, disturbingly wrong, but this time? Being the existential pimp that I am, having nothing better to do, I'm here to guide you along down the path to a woman's heart, and eventually, your real goal - her nethers. Why would you want any sort of connection beyond a physical one, after all? Don't you know that love is a myth perpetuated by corporations to sell greeting cards, so you may as well just bone? Ignore the centuries of love stories and emotional tales of meaningful connections between human beings - some dude just wrote those in his parents' basement last month while high on PCP. He also has a time machine. Thus, everything adds up.
By now, you're wondering whether or not to expect a sequential list of things to do to make the opposite sex quiver. Of course there's going to be a list! With numbers, and everything! I'm hardly a predictable writer, you realize. Pish posh. Even though those aren't actual words. If I've learned anything from these internet love advice things online, it's that all women are exactly the same, and all you have to do is learn a set of specific tricks to lie your way into bed that will work on everybody! How do you think those things like the Mystery "Distract her and stick it in before she changes her mind! Make her feel bad about herself first!" Method work? And how can an upright gentleman like "Mystery" or the hordes of anonymous individuals on the internet who claim to know how all women function be wrong? It's science.
1) The Candy Factor - To get the ladies, you must take to heart this first key element of "seduction artist"/creepy guy-dom: Be more like John Candy. It's up to you to figure out w
hat this means on your own, and if you can't, you're a lost cause and should surrender to a life of celibacy now. The ladies love them some John Candy. To all the ladies reading this now, just look at that picture - are you feeling it? It's futile to fight it. And try as you might, guys, you will never rock as hard as John Candy.2) Awkwardness Protection - We human beings sure are an awkward lot of creatures, aren't we? You weren't supposed to answer that - it was a rhetorical question. Sheesh. Anyway, it's inevitable that somewhere in the courtship process - say, every part of it - you're going to experience some awkward moments. Timing is everything, they say, so how you handle these moments is critical. Sure, some people use these moments to look into one another's eyes and let the romantic tension flow through the both of you as you unite in some rapturous kiss as the background music dramatically crescendos like in old movies. Others, like myself, look away nervously and maybe say something stupid in order to completely ruin the moment and help ensure that you won't talk to your romantic interest for years. There's a fine art to destroying perfect moments like that, but only if you do it without actively trying. In this modern world, neither of these options are particularly good. What I'm getting at here is that you should always carry drugs. And I'm not talking legal drugs like ibuprofen or anything like that in case one of you gets a headache while you're around each other, or even mild recreational drugs like pot - don't be a lightweight. I'm not suggesting you raid the local hospital for morphine either - that's too much work. Basically, just carry some heroin or crack cocaine on you at all times. If carried properly, a good crack pipe can even be used to accentuate your male features - no woman can resist a guy desperate to impress her by shoving things down his pants. (Extra points if they're sharp objects that may wound you grievously and leave you impotent and/or sterile!) There's no icebreaker in an awkward moment quite like "Hey, wanna shoot up?" or "I got some of this crack here - what say we smokes it together?" Remember these things and you'll be a regular lothario in no time.
3) Proper Linguistics (For the sake of being hip, let's call them "lings" ... on second thought, let's not) - You can tell my rating on the class-o-meter is off the charts by the way I refer to all women as "the ladies" at least 90% of the time. (Actual figures may vary.) It lets them know that I may only know one term for what they are and to lower their vocabulary-related expectations of me. (And if you want to succeed with the ladies in life - and especially the bedroom - you want them to keep all their expectations of you as low as possible.) But then, it's not my grade-A reserve of word-knowingness that draws the ladies to me to begin with. If you're really good, you can communicate in a series of grunts and still score a hole-in-one, if you know what I mean. (Golf metaphors are important when degrading women. Eagle! Birdie! Putt! 3-Wood! So much scathing sports satire!)
4) A Cool Name - According to the internets, women - and when they say this, they mean all women, because they're both psychic and also all women are the same, apparently - decide within the first five minutes of meeting you whether or not they would ever have sex with you. In my case, this decision is always no, but my purpose here is to help you. Maybe if they got to know the real me, they'd learn to regret being so hasty in their - let it go, just let it go, you're writing something important here. Sorry about that, I don't know where that came from. Getting back to the point, you don't care about making a good first impression, and being that you are male, you can't make a good first impression. If you do, you're probably a liar and a jewel thief, and there's too damn many of you clogging up the subway system as is. There is an effective cheat code - not unlike in those television game-box things - to circumvent the entire first-impression hurdle. A deceptively simple one at that. If you tell women that your name is Humphrey, they will want to get on you instantly. It's half your name, after all. Even if you are an unscrupulous liar. You're only in it for the bedroom romp anyway. You make me sick.
5) An Escape Plan - Yeah, you don't care about women anyway, do you? All you want to do is use them to your dirty ends. To gratify yourself like the sociopath you are. Die in a fire already! If you've already learned how to use these other tips to your advantage - and I hate you if you do - you're practically guaranteed action anytime you want it in this and any century. An oft forgotten and still critically important element in the art of action-getting is formulating a good escape plan. As soon as you've finished gratifying yourself - you friggin' bastard - you need to get out of there, pronto. They say women all fall in love after sex, that that's where the attachment begins. (If you're looking to important internet advice, anyway, and ignore every Lifetime movie ever made. And also the parts of said movies where the guy always ends up beating the woman with a curtainrod, which just plain isn't cool behavior. Remember kids, misogyny is bad!) You can avoid these trappings like a leaf on the wind if you go in well prepared - and come out feeling proud and empty. The method to go for here is to ultimately carry smoke bombs on you at all times. Upon completing your copulation, you must immediately throw one of said bombs while shouting "Ninja Vanish!" When done properly, it will be as though you were never there to begin with. If you've taken all the previous advice to heart, you'll have women so dizzy with hormones that they'll burn for you even more when you make it openly apparent that you're so resourceful, you'll be getting the fuck out of there as soon as you can - regardless of whether she's satisfied, as she probably won't be, even remotely. No woman can resist a man so resourceful and confident. Not even the smart ones. Especially the smart ones.
There. Now you know all that you need to know to ruin pretty much everyone's life but your own and I personally hope that now that you've absorbed all of this information, you're hit by a speeding bus the next time you look out the window. That's right, a whole friggin' bus, right through your damn window! Way to make my first post of 2008 a heart-rending, painful one that will only cause everybody more misery than they're properly equipped to handle. I've created an army of monsters! ... or going by this blog's usual hits, a small handful, maybe!
So, there you have it. One of those kinda stupid posts to kick off the new year. Maybe I'll write a guide for you ladies reading down the line too, so you'll finally know what's really going on in men's minds that those magazines and their endless reprints of "PLEASE YOUR MAN!!!11" articles don't know. (Hint: It's mostly one of those wind-up toy monkeys slapping cymbals together. Those things rule.)
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Love in a Sad, Sad World
After several stupid humor-oriented entries, lacking in inspiration for topics otherwise, it's time to pull out a topic I've meant to muse on for a while now. Earlier in the fall, some vlogger on Youtube drew attention to it, and the GBS forum posters on Something Awful asked themselves the question posed by Miranda July's short film, Are You the Favorite Person of Anybody? (And yes, that is John C. Reilly, Dewey Cox himself.)
It's an interesting question to pose, and for many people, it's depressing as hell. Anyone would like to think that they at least measure up as somebody's favorite. But in this day and age, many aren't any such a person to anybody. In realizing that they aren't anyone's favorite, the next question is inevitable: Does anybody even love me? That question often does not have a particularly cheery answer either. You have to think about why this is. And if you aren't anyone's favorite person, if you aren't loved, it can leave you feeling rather deflated and insignificant. And the question is posed of how you can be sure of any of these things one way or another. In some cases, you can ask. But in most, it isn't that clearcut. Many people - especially in the western world these days - are not quick to announce attachment. I know I'm not. Attachment is often perceived and portrayed as a weakness. Especially if it isn't mutual. And making one's attachment to another public? Through doing such a thing, you expose a vulnerability. People can and will take advantage of your vulnerability. They will hurt you. Not always, and not necessarily. But chances of it happening are very good - especially if the feeling isn't mutual. The more you like - or even love - someone, the more attached to them you are, the easier it is for them to cause you pain.
Love - really being in love with someone - is difficult to explain in words. For as long as there have been means to write, people have tried to find ways to sum it up. But no matter how you look at it, words cannot do justice the experience of being in love with someone. But most people are not acquainted with this love. They may think that they are, but they're not. This is especially the case with young people, who do not yet realize what love is (And obviously, I am not claiming to be any sort of master of or expert in the subject myself, but at least, I think I've got the right idea - that I'm on the general right track here. Even if I'm probably not headed anywhere good or happy, judging by my usual fortune, anyway.), bandying the word about freely and draining it of meaning. To many young people, a relationship amounts to this - having someone you consider your girlfriend or boyfriend, hanging out with them a good bit, and having sex. Sound dull, empty, and listless? Of course it does, as that's exactly what it is. These relationships often do not last, though some end up turning into loveless marriages - especially when an unintended pregnancy becomes a factor, with all the social stigma placed on abortion.
Many people - the young people especially, obviously - don't know what it is to really connect with someone. To feel a spark with them, to experience chemistry, sitting down with someone, having a really interesting conversation, looking into their eyes, and it's magic. The "in" thing? It's being shallow. Not that this is anything new. Shallowness has been a predominant factor in youth culture for a long time. And in our increasingly over-commercialized, materialism-happy culture (And it's only getting worse, without exaggerating. This is a very observable trend.), the shallow is infecting everybody, little by little. Attachment bad! Sleeping with a hot person good! But if you get close to anybody, attachment is pretty unavoidable. College kids hook up because that's just what's done in college - meaningless sex by the boatload. (Or so shallow popular culture has glamorized and pushed as a major linchpin of the college experience. Personally, I passed.) But people are not creatures that can exist alone. We naturally, instinctually seek connections, relationships, with emotional depth to fulfill us. We are woefully incomplete creatures by nature, and without others, we inevitably crumble. (A reality I admit hating having to face, isolated as I tend to be.) After having your cheesy awkward college hook-up sex enough times, unless you have some sort of emotional disorder preventing it, you will inevitably begin to feel attachment to a person. Dude! Stop acting like a chick! That pretty face you liked seeing on her knees is suddenly someone you begin to miss when they're gone. Even if you have little to no chemistry as individuals. Humans are often far lonelier creatures than they realize. Naturally, this only impels them to seek a deeper relationship with others further, as there are distinct limitations to what one can gain from family and friends, painful though a realization that too can be.
No doubt one of the most pleasant things in the world would be to be someone's favorite person - especially if they are yours - and even more so, were you in love with one another. But you still have to think through just what this means, lest it mean nothing, considering how many use the L-word without much thought behind it. Do you bestow your favoritism unconditionally? Do you even love unconditionally? These days, many call out unconditional feelings as damned unfavorable - something to be condemned. And to an extent, they're right, unconditional love, for someone to be your favorite with no strings attached, is absolutely foolish. But without the fools, would not the last of the romance in our already vastly unromantic modern world die off completely? Love - and favoritism - with strings attached seems entirely questionable in and of itself, conversely. Call me the biggest of the fools if you'd like, but I'd call any conditional love into question. Love should come naturally from within, flowing outward and consuming you with its warmth. The sort of feeling that can't come with sets of means by which to immediately kill it completely. It'd be stressful to no end to be someone's proclaimed "favorite" if recognized on some sort of sliding scale where all it'd take is saying or doing the wrong thing at the wrong moment to fall from favor. I've harped on it before, but it bears harping upon once more - there's no barometer for one's feelings for someone quite like your capacity for sympathy and forgiveness.
Over at Cracked, David Wong's written an article worth reading as well, "7 Reasons the 21st Century is Making You Miserable." He discusses, and articulates well, various aspects of the modern world that are only leading to people becoming more and more isolated - I don't need to exaggerate when noting the increasing loneliness of people in this world - I am a part of a pretty damn well documented trend, myself. Studies've even found that roughly one in four people have no one to confide in these days. Telling, that's for sure. And as he notes early on, in the past 20 years, the average number of close friends people consider themselves as having has dropped sharply. Hell, I can believe it. I can probably count my close friends on one hand these days. Maybe even with a finger or two amputated.
Technology's a major culprit in this trend. I know it certainly has been in my case, given that everything just feels off if I'm separated from my PC, there's so much of myself - my thoughts, feelings - recorded on this machine. Far more than I've ever given to other people in my life. Hooray introversion. As he hits on first, tech has certainly made it easier to filter people out of our reality. Keeping a CD player, iPod, or game system on you when you're out and about is a surefire way to discourage human interaction, save for those whom you actively seek to interact with, anyway. (And I don't know if I could could make that sound any more mechanical than I already have here now. Let's talk human-human interfacing! Pardon me, would you care to exchange data!?) We aren't as thick-skinned as we once were. It's not so easy to connect with one another - let alone really meet anybody - when we can't even deal with strangers so well anymore, with all that entails. Being out and about more in college, this was admittedly something I had to adapt to. I'm no small talk prodigy, and I'm sure I never will be, but at least at this point in my life, I know how to develop a repoire with a stranger I may have to deal with consistently - as I did with clerks in all the little stores, food areas, and the post office on campus, in addition to a few classmates here and there who opted to talk to me one day or another. It's pretty sad when people are starting to need to relearn how to deal with strangers. But I find it's best to assume they feel just as awkward striking up random conversation, even if they don't, and try to sympathize with them, even if you don't exactly "click" or anything like that. And it can't be stressed enough - don't be an asshole just because someone's unexpectedly trying to communicate with you! You're still human!
The internet allows us to filter our social circles more as well, with people who share our tastes and interests just a few clicks away. 'Sup, guys? You like forehead-needlepoint too? Hardcore! Screw all those other people. Goodbye variety! I'm fortunate, at least, that despite a number of mutual hobbies and interests as the geeks we are, that my circle of friends from college was pretty diverse overall, and we didn't cut ourselves off from people who weren't much like ourselves, just as I didn't when taking classes and meeting new people. It's all important experiences to have, even if you don't end up making lifelong friends or anything. Genuine lifelong friends are hard to come by in this day and age anyway. Best to enjoy people's company while you can. Odds are, your time with them is limited. But I've harped on this before as well.
Yes, "ZOMG THISE IS AWSUM LULZ" is not high communication either. Chatting online, texting on cell phones, these sorts of methods of communication are replacing, in large part, that good old sitting-down-and-talking thing people used to do, back in the days of yore. 93% of communication is non-verbal. Most of us, stuck in our technology as we are, are only getting 7% of what we really need as human beings in terms of communication much of the time. As such, we're only getting the dumbed down version of communication, connections, and so forth here in cyberspace. It's hard not to long for the experience of real conversation (With someone outside of my family, anyway.) with someone, to be able to sit there and get the whole experience. The internets, they are a cold, cold place.
Without this sort of experience, this sort of connection with someone, odds are you won't ever get comfortable enough to truly be completely open and honest with each other - especially about the bad stuff. As Wong gets into better than I am here, we all need criticism. Someone to sit us down and tell us when we're being stupid, maybe slap us around a little with a frozen trout for good measure, knowing that it isn't going to wreck your friendship or anything. Criticism can't be emphasized enough, both in the capacity of being able to take it as much as you can dish it out. But people are getting more thin-skinned. They aren't connecting like they once did in real life, let alone online. And overestimating when it's safe to criticize someone you consider a close friend, when you have something to say that they really do need to hear, can be easy to do these days, sadly. I've been burned badly for trying to help someone that way. As is made obvious by this blog, I am a master of all that is rambling. And often, this comes off as lecturing. I try not to talk down to anyone, as I sure as hell am not better than anybody else. But the difference between talking down to someone and merely rambling too much can be difficult to discern. In part, of course, thanks to that it's hard to tell how someone is exactly communicating when all you're going on is internet text.
People are unhappy. Frequently depressed. Negative feelings feed on further negative feelings. And the internet is, far more often than not, a thoroughly negative environment. Enough said.
Our self worth drops as we become more and more digitized, as there's less depth to online friendships. Less expectations from one another. We mean less to one another, and so, all things considered, we really are much more worthless in that capacity. Self-esteem is lower and lower on average, and suicide rates are on the upswing while we desperately try to push self-esteem on people when they can't develop it when you just tell them to have self-esteem, confidence, and all. That only makes them feel worse. It's all about doing things for others worth noting. Actually striving to be a good person, not just a neutral one. To be likable for a reason, and not just for the sake of wanting to be liked. Whatever it yields, positive or negative, I'm going to finish this book I'm dedicating to the woman I've been in love with for all these years, and I'm going to get it published if it kills me. I'm not expecting anything for it, and I don't think I deserve anything for it either. But it's the grandest gesture I could ever figure out to make for someone, whether it falls flat on its face or succeeds in meaning something. It's all about the attempt - making the gesture for the sake of making the gesture, regardless of whether I reach her heart and she ever feels anything for me like what I feel for her, or I only touch her heart just enough that she knows how loved she is, and nothing comes of it. It's all about breaking out of the daily melodrama and misery and living life. Doing something for someone you care about.
People, however, rarely take the healthy, honest approach to facing these issues. Instead, we see things often as sad as people seeking out cheesy-bad internet advice on how to get women. Even when written by women, it seems to always be black and white, shallow and oversimplified, and harping on the same old theme - be confident! But most people aren't confident. Those who genuinely are? More likely than not, they're pretty damn dense. Confidence does not flow well with thinking through what you do. With questioning yourself. Which is certainly important to do as a person. It's far too easy to be overconfident when faking it. And that's not attractive. But at best, that's all confidence really does - attracts someone. Confidence and charisma only go so far if you're looking for more than just a bed-partner for the night at a local bar or club. These things are not the meat of who you are, after all. And if they are, then there just isn't that much to you, sadly.
It's a conundrum - love, attachment, and all that comes with it in this modern world. If you're someone's favorite person, don't take it for granted. And don't take them for granted, whatever you do. I'm certain that I'm nobody's favorite person. My family loves me, sure, and that's cool, but we're fairly disjointed and dysfunctional in our own ways. I'm thankful for that in my own twisted way, as I don't consider myself all that close with my family overall either. I may still live at home - though I won't for too much longer - but I'm off in my own world most of the time, alone. I don't think I've ever been anyone's favorite person. But if I have, I always gave them a reason to change their minds. I, however, do have a favorite person, as I've mentioned her in here before often enough. I haven't spoken with her in a couple of years now, and am sadly stuck facing the question of whether I'll ever be able to tell her that she's my favorite person, after years of missed connections and no clue if we'll ever see each other again. Losing her is my biggest regret in life. And this book, the gesture I'm making with it and the long-standing feelings I'm finally giving a voice, it is my absolute effort to reach out to her. To speak to her, and to her heart, in hopes that she'll yet see the book on a library or bookstore shelf, read it, and in the least know how much I've loved her all long, and how much I miss her now. Even if, for all I know, I'm long gone and it's far too late by the time she finds out about it. This is my grand, foolish attempt at romance. Where for all I know, it's probably not wanted. Not from the likes of a fool like me, anyway.
Hopefully all of this made some modicum of sense. I'm going to sleep. I need to get up in a few hours to start my Xmas shopping.
It's an interesting question to pose, and for many people, it's depressing as hell. Anyone would like to think that they at least measure up as somebody's favorite. But in this day and age, many aren't any such a person to anybody. In realizing that they aren't anyone's favorite, the next question is inevitable: Does anybody even love me? That question often does not have a particularly cheery answer either. You have to think about why this is. And if you aren't anyone's favorite person, if you aren't loved, it can leave you feeling rather deflated and insignificant. And the question is posed of how you can be sure of any of these things one way or another. In some cases, you can ask. But in most, it isn't that clearcut. Many people - especially in the western world these days - are not quick to announce attachment. I know I'm not. Attachment is often perceived and portrayed as a weakness. Especially if it isn't mutual. And making one's attachment to another public? Through doing such a thing, you expose a vulnerability. People can and will take advantage of your vulnerability. They will hurt you. Not always, and not necessarily. But chances of it happening are very good - especially if the feeling isn't mutual. The more you like - or even love - someone, the more attached to them you are, the easier it is for them to cause you pain.
Love - really being in love with someone - is difficult to explain in words. For as long as there have been means to write, people have tried to find ways to sum it up. But no matter how you look at it, words cannot do justice the experience of being in love with someone. But most people are not acquainted with this love. They may think that they are, but they're not. This is especially the case with young people, who do not yet realize what love is (And obviously, I am not claiming to be any sort of master of or expert in the subject myself, but at least, I think I've got the right idea - that I'm on the general right track here. Even if I'm probably not headed anywhere good or happy, judging by my usual fortune, anyway.), bandying the word about freely and draining it of meaning. To many young people, a relationship amounts to this - having someone you consider your girlfriend or boyfriend, hanging out with them a good bit, and having sex. Sound dull, empty, and listless? Of course it does, as that's exactly what it is. These relationships often do not last, though some end up turning into loveless marriages - especially when an unintended pregnancy becomes a factor, with all the social stigma placed on abortion.
Many people - the young people especially, obviously - don't know what it is to really connect with someone. To feel a spark with them, to experience chemistry, sitting down with someone, having a really interesting conversation, looking into their eyes, and it's magic. The "in" thing? It's being shallow. Not that this is anything new. Shallowness has been a predominant factor in youth culture for a long time. And in our increasingly over-commercialized, materialism-happy culture (And it's only getting worse, without exaggerating. This is a very observable trend.), the shallow is infecting everybody, little by little. Attachment bad! Sleeping with a hot person good! But if you get close to anybody, attachment is pretty unavoidable. College kids hook up because that's just what's done in college - meaningless sex by the boatload. (Or so shallow popular culture has glamorized and pushed as a major linchpin of the college experience. Personally, I passed.) But people are not creatures that can exist alone. We naturally, instinctually seek connections, relationships, with emotional depth to fulfill us. We are woefully incomplete creatures by nature, and without others, we inevitably crumble. (A reality I admit hating having to face, isolated as I tend to be.) After having your cheesy awkward college hook-up sex enough times, unless you have some sort of emotional disorder preventing it, you will inevitably begin to feel attachment to a person. Dude! Stop acting like a chick! That pretty face you liked seeing on her knees is suddenly someone you begin to miss when they're gone. Even if you have little to no chemistry as individuals. Humans are often far lonelier creatures than they realize. Naturally, this only impels them to seek a deeper relationship with others further, as there are distinct limitations to what one can gain from family and friends, painful though a realization that too can be.
No doubt one of the most pleasant things in the world would be to be someone's favorite person - especially if they are yours - and even more so, were you in love with one another. But you still have to think through just what this means, lest it mean nothing, considering how many use the L-word without much thought behind it. Do you bestow your favoritism unconditionally? Do you even love unconditionally? These days, many call out unconditional feelings as damned unfavorable - something to be condemned. And to an extent, they're right, unconditional love, for someone to be your favorite with no strings attached, is absolutely foolish. But without the fools, would not the last of the romance in our already vastly unromantic modern world die off completely? Love - and favoritism - with strings attached seems entirely questionable in and of itself, conversely. Call me the biggest of the fools if you'd like, but I'd call any conditional love into question. Love should come naturally from within, flowing outward and consuming you with its warmth. The sort of feeling that can't come with sets of means by which to immediately kill it completely. It'd be stressful to no end to be someone's proclaimed "favorite" if recognized on some sort of sliding scale where all it'd take is saying or doing the wrong thing at the wrong moment to fall from favor. I've harped on it before, but it bears harping upon once more - there's no barometer for one's feelings for someone quite like your capacity for sympathy and forgiveness.
Over at Cracked, David Wong's written an article worth reading as well, "7 Reasons the 21st Century is Making You Miserable." He discusses, and articulates well, various aspects of the modern world that are only leading to people becoming more and more isolated - I don't need to exaggerate when noting the increasing loneliness of people in this world - I am a part of a pretty damn well documented trend, myself. Studies've even found that roughly one in four people have no one to confide in these days. Telling, that's for sure. And as he notes early on, in the past 20 years, the average number of close friends people consider themselves as having has dropped sharply. Hell, I can believe it. I can probably count my close friends on one hand these days. Maybe even with a finger or two amputated.
Technology's a major culprit in this trend. I know it certainly has been in my case, given that everything just feels off if I'm separated from my PC, there's so much of myself - my thoughts, feelings - recorded on this machine. Far more than I've ever given to other people in my life. Hooray introversion. As he hits on first, tech has certainly made it easier to filter people out of our reality. Keeping a CD player, iPod, or game system on you when you're out and about is a surefire way to discourage human interaction, save for those whom you actively seek to interact with, anyway. (And I don't know if I could could make that sound any more mechanical than I already have here now. Let's talk human-human interfacing! Pardon me, would you care to exchange data!?) We aren't as thick-skinned as we once were. It's not so easy to connect with one another - let alone really meet anybody - when we can't even deal with strangers so well anymore, with all that entails. Being out and about more in college, this was admittedly something I had to adapt to. I'm no small talk prodigy, and I'm sure I never will be, but at least at this point in my life, I know how to develop a repoire with a stranger I may have to deal with consistently - as I did with clerks in all the little stores, food areas, and the post office on campus, in addition to a few classmates here and there who opted to talk to me one day or another. It's pretty sad when people are starting to need to relearn how to deal with strangers. But I find it's best to assume they feel just as awkward striking up random conversation, even if they don't, and try to sympathize with them, even if you don't exactly "click" or anything like that. And it can't be stressed enough - don't be an asshole just because someone's unexpectedly trying to communicate with you! You're still human!
The internet allows us to filter our social circles more as well, with people who share our tastes and interests just a few clicks away. 'Sup, guys? You like forehead-needlepoint too? Hardcore! Screw all those other people. Goodbye variety! I'm fortunate, at least, that despite a number of mutual hobbies and interests as the geeks we are, that my circle of friends from college was pretty diverse overall, and we didn't cut ourselves off from people who weren't much like ourselves, just as I didn't when taking classes and meeting new people. It's all important experiences to have, even if you don't end up making lifelong friends or anything. Genuine lifelong friends are hard to come by in this day and age anyway. Best to enjoy people's company while you can. Odds are, your time with them is limited. But I've harped on this before as well.
Yes, "ZOMG THISE IS AWSUM LULZ" is not high communication either. Chatting online, texting on cell phones, these sorts of methods of communication are replacing, in large part, that good old sitting-down-and-talking thing people used to do, back in the days of yore. 93% of communication is non-verbal. Most of us, stuck in our technology as we are, are only getting 7% of what we really need as human beings in terms of communication much of the time. As such, we're only getting the dumbed down version of communication, connections, and so forth here in cyberspace. It's hard not to long for the experience of real conversation (With someone outside of my family, anyway.) with someone, to be able to sit there and get the whole experience. The internets, they are a cold, cold place.
Without this sort of experience, this sort of connection with someone, odds are you won't ever get comfortable enough to truly be completely open and honest with each other - especially about the bad stuff. As Wong gets into better than I am here, we all need criticism. Someone to sit us down and tell us when we're being stupid, maybe slap us around a little with a frozen trout for good measure, knowing that it isn't going to wreck your friendship or anything. Criticism can't be emphasized enough, both in the capacity of being able to take it as much as you can dish it out. But people are getting more thin-skinned. They aren't connecting like they once did in real life, let alone online. And overestimating when it's safe to criticize someone you consider a close friend, when you have something to say that they really do need to hear, can be easy to do these days, sadly. I've been burned badly for trying to help someone that way. As is made obvious by this blog, I am a master of all that is rambling. And often, this comes off as lecturing. I try not to talk down to anyone, as I sure as hell am not better than anybody else. But the difference between talking down to someone and merely rambling too much can be difficult to discern. In part, of course, thanks to that it's hard to tell how someone is exactly communicating when all you're going on is internet text.
People are unhappy. Frequently depressed. Negative feelings feed on further negative feelings. And the internet is, far more often than not, a thoroughly negative environment. Enough said.
Our self worth drops as we become more and more digitized, as there's less depth to online friendships. Less expectations from one another. We mean less to one another, and so, all things considered, we really are much more worthless in that capacity. Self-esteem is lower and lower on average, and suicide rates are on the upswing while we desperately try to push self-esteem on people when they can't develop it when you just tell them to have self-esteem, confidence, and all. That only makes them feel worse. It's all about doing things for others worth noting. Actually striving to be a good person, not just a neutral one. To be likable for a reason, and not just for the sake of wanting to be liked. Whatever it yields, positive or negative, I'm going to finish this book I'm dedicating to the woman I've been in love with for all these years, and I'm going to get it published if it kills me. I'm not expecting anything for it, and I don't think I deserve anything for it either. But it's the grandest gesture I could ever figure out to make for someone, whether it falls flat on its face or succeeds in meaning something. It's all about the attempt - making the gesture for the sake of making the gesture, regardless of whether I reach her heart and she ever feels anything for me like what I feel for her, or I only touch her heart just enough that she knows how loved she is, and nothing comes of it. It's all about breaking out of the daily melodrama and misery and living life. Doing something for someone you care about.
People, however, rarely take the healthy, honest approach to facing these issues. Instead, we see things often as sad as people seeking out cheesy-bad internet advice on how to get women. Even when written by women, it seems to always be black and white, shallow and oversimplified, and harping on the same old theme - be confident! But most people aren't confident. Those who genuinely are? More likely than not, they're pretty damn dense. Confidence does not flow well with thinking through what you do. With questioning yourself. Which is certainly important to do as a person. It's far too easy to be overconfident when faking it. And that's not attractive. But at best, that's all confidence really does - attracts someone. Confidence and charisma only go so far if you're looking for more than just a bed-partner for the night at a local bar or club. These things are not the meat of who you are, after all. And if they are, then there just isn't that much to you, sadly.
It's a conundrum - love, attachment, and all that comes with it in this modern world. If you're someone's favorite person, don't take it for granted. And don't take them for granted, whatever you do. I'm certain that I'm nobody's favorite person. My family loves me, sure, and that's cool, but we're fairly disjointed and dysfunctional in our own ways. I'm thankful for that in my own twisted way, as I don't consider myself all that close with my family overall either. I may still live at home - though I won't for too much longer - but I'm off in my own world most of the time, alone. I don't think I've ever been anyone's favorite person. But if I have, I always gave them a reason to change their minds. I, however, do have a favorite person, as I've mentioned her in here before often enough. I haven't spoken with her in a couple of years now, and am sadly stuck facing the question of whether I'll ever be able to tell her that she's my favorite person, after years of missed connections and no clue if we'll ever see each other again. Losing her is my biggest regret in life. And this book, the gesture I'm making with it and the long-standing feelings I'm finally giving a voice, it is my absolute effort to reach out to her. To speak to her, and to her heart, in hopes that she'll yet see the book on a library or bookstore shelf, read it, and in the least know how much I've loved her all long, and how much I miss her now. Even if, for all I know, I'm long gone and it's far too late by the time she finds out about it. This is my grand, foolish attempt at romance. Where for all I know, it's probably not wanted. Not from the likes of a fool like me, anyway.
Hopefully all of this made some modicum of sense. I'm going to sleep. I need to get up in a few hours to start my Xmas shopping.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Advize from El Sexperto
Hey, what up, bitches?
You can tell from my hip and witty opening that in the time since my last entry, I've become much more relevant and in tune with today's youth. You might even say I'm slammin'. I'm not entirely sure what slammin' means, but at least it's better than being the shit, right? Nobody wants to be excrement.
You may recall a confession made in here a little while ago that I'm not quite a scholar in the pleasing-womanly arts. In large part due to the fact that I've had few relationships and all of them were terrible. This, however, is no longer the case. I've become quite the Lothario since last week. In fact, you might even say I've become something of an expert on the matter of monster-battling - and by monster, I do mean genitalia, for those of you who weren't entirely clear on that.
As such, I am now just as qualified to write a sex advice column as that girl who goes to your college and is okay with talking about how much she sleeps around and feels that she's so knowledgeable and not-at-all-shallow in regards to the matter that she should be writing a column on sex for your university newspaper. (Note: She's actually quite shallow, and the utter meaninglessness of her relationships is regularly reflected in said column. Apparently 'nice guys' will never win because they're not 'bad boys,' and therefore they'll never be "hott" enough to sleep with anyone.) One might even say that I'm quite the sexpert now. In large part because women frequently refer to me as "teh smex," or "the sex," for those of you not quite as overly familiar with today's internet lingo. (Note: No one has ever referred to me as either of these things, nor is anyone ever likely to. People who use these phrases in real life are frequently killed for completely unrelated reasons.) Of course, "sexpert" may be copyrighted by someone, so you can refer to me now as your resident El Sexperto. (Because all women are apparently extremely attracted to all Spanish-speaking men. Except for the white guys who speak it as their second language. Funny what internet research can turn up. But not really.) Das caliente, non?
(Also, in order to improve the hipness quotient of this blog by 35% - a real figure that I just made up - I had to misspell "advice" in the subject. Studies have shown that today's youth demographics on the internet are way into improper spelling and outright incorrect grammar. Tubular, dudes. I can dig it.)
At any rate, without further ado, I'll be addressing some totally tripped/whacked/trundlebed'd out questions from readers. After this column, you'll be so enlightened about the ways of the horizontal spasm party that you might just go out and get yourself a piece! (Note: Advance studies have indicated that reading this column will not make you a better lover, and may in fact make you sterile instead. 89% of test readers went on to die alone. These are figures to take into account.)
Q: Der Smexperto,
lulz, I'm like, totally mackin' on my girlfriend and she won't gimme sum. Itz liek shez rooted 2 the ground. Wut do I do, dued?
- Angus in Albuquerque
A: Angus, you're probably dating a tree stump. It doesn't have a gender and it will never put out. I'm also certain that violating said tree stump would constitute some sort of abuse. As such, in the interests of being eco-friendly, I suggest seeking help. Professional help. And please, stop writing. I ran out of bad 'wood' jokes a long time ago. Your fetish for all things tree is deeply troubling.
Q: Hi,
My boyfriend and I have a really healthy sex life, and all, but I do have one complaint - the splinters. What we have may be hot, but I'm considering breaking up with him because I'm in so much pain after sex. It's hard to even find where to use the tweezers.
- Stacy in MA
A: Stacy, I hate to break it to you, but you may be dating a piece of plywood. Have you been reading Angus' letters? This isn't Wood Fetish Anonymous. Seriously, only write to me if you have a serious question about sex - but only with another human being.
Q: Sup?
How do you know if you're HIV-positive? I do a lot of needle drugs and this is a pretty pressing concern. Back when I was growing up - in the mid-90s - it was generally said to be okay to share needles. 'Be a pal, shoot up together!' Remember that slogan? How those marketing wizards came up with that (expletive deleted) is beyond me.
- Dan in Lizard Lick
A: You know, this is a sex column. What is wrong with you people? Do you not believe me?! Anyway, it's a good idea to take the initiative and go to your local clinic for an HIV test. If you're a candidate for the AIDS, it's better you be careful not to risk spreading it, at least until you know for certain. By which I mean you'd be especially certain not to spread it then. I don't want another backlash like I got from my science column ten years ago, "You Can Fly!: An average human's guide to defying gravity through sheer willpower." Nobody seemed to object to all the crippling and death that resulted from people jumping off of buildings, but you make one off-hand AIDS joke and you're an outcast in the science community for life. Also, that slogan you referenced? It never existed. Are you on dru- oh, yeah.
Q: I'm a little concerned,
Whenever my boyfriend and I make love, he calls out his father's name upon climax. How can I get him to call out my name instead? Or at least stop this. I'm at a loss.
- Catherine in Idaho
A: Wow, Catherine. That is one grade-A creepy situation you have on your hands. From my vast knowledge of the human psyche gleaned from a couple of basic level Psych classes in high school and college, I can diagnose that without a doubt, your boyfriend is actually transgendered, and has one hell of an Electra Complex. I'm not sure what to suggest beyond either breaking up or therapy. Or maybe he could get a sex change and you could become a lesbian. At least a temporary one, like those Girls Gone Wild chicks. They sure don't agree to be exploited and end up regretting their experimentation on tape for the rest of their life in any case, no sirree. Why do I hear from all the weirdos?
Q: Pfft,
D00d, check out my grandma-
A: NOPE. Not doing this one.
Q: I'm bleeding pretty badly here,
Sexperto man, how do you sew your mangled genitals back on after losing them in a freak wood chipper accident when trying to get to those sweet, sweet tree pieces?
- Bleeding to Death in Boise
A: That's it. I'm done.
So, were you enlightened? I know I wasn't. In fact, I kind of feel like killing myself now. What the hell is wrong with you people? You're all sick freaks. Stop screwing around, we don't need any of you accidentally reproducing!
That said, I'm never writing one of these ever again. Not only will I never be able to be intimate with a woman ever again after reading your letters, but I burst into tears whenever I see a tree. Especially those poor conifers.
If there were a god, you'd all be dead.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to cry myself to sleep in the fetal position.
You can tell from my hip and witty opening that in the time since my last entry, I've become much more relevant and in tune with today's youth. You might even say I'm slammin'. I'm not entirely sure what slammin' means, but at least it's better than being the shit, right? Nobody wants to be excrement.
You may recall a confession made in here a little while ago that I'm not quite a scholar in the pleasing-womanly arts. In large part due to the fact that I've had few relationships and all of them were terrible. This, however, is no longer the case. I've become quite the Lothario since last week. In fact, you might even say I've become something of an expert on the matter of monster-battling - and by monster, I do mean genitalia, for those of you who weren't entirely clear on that.
As such, I am now just as qualified to write a sex advice column as that girl who goes to your college and is okay with talking about how much she sleeps around and feels that she's so knowledgeable and not-at-all-shallow in regards to the matter that she should be writing a column on sex for your university newspaper. (Note: She's actually quite shallow, and the utter meaninglessness of her relationships is regularly reflected in said column. Apparently 'nice guys' will never win because they're not 'bad boys,' and therefore they'll never be "hott" enough to sleep with anyone.) One might even say that I'm quite the sexpert now. In large part because women frequently refer to me as "teh smex," or "the sex," for those of you not quite as overly familiar with today's internet lingo. (Note: No one has ever referred to me as either of these things, nor is anyone ever likely to. People who use these phrases in real life are frequently killed for completely unrelated reasons.) Of course, "sexpert" may be copyrighted by someone, so you can refer to me now as your resident El Sexperto. (Because all women are apparently extremely attracted to all Spanish-speaking men. Except for the white guys who speak it as their second language. Funny what internet research can turn up. But not really.) Das caliente, non?
(Also, in order to improve the hipness quotient of this blog by 35% - a real figure that I just made up - I had to misspell "advice" in the subject. Studies have shown that today's youth demographics on the internet are way into improper spelling and outright incorrect grammar. Tubular, dudes. I can dig it.)
At any rate, without further ado, I'll be addressing some totally tripped/whacked/trundlebed'd out questions from readers. After this column, you'll be so enlightened about the ways of the horizontal spasm party that you might just go out and get yourself a piece! (Note: Advance studies have indicated that reading this column will not make you a better lover, and may in fact make you sterile instead. 89% of test readers went on to die alone. These are figures to take into account.)
Q: Der Smexperto,
lulz, I'm like, totally mackin' on my girlfriend and she won't gimme sum. Itz liek shez rooted 2 the ground. Wut do I do, dued?
- Angus in Albuquerque
A: Angus, you're probably dating a tree stump. It doesn't have a gender and it will never put out. I'm also certain that violating said tree stump would constitute some sort of abuse. As such, in the interests of being eco-friendly, I suggest seeking help. Professional help. And please, stop writing. I ran out of bad 'wood' jokes a long time ago. Your fetish for all things tree is deeply troubling.
Q: Hi,
My boyfriend and I have a really healthy sex life, and all, but I do have one complaint - the splinters. What we have may be hot, but I'm considering breaking up with him because I'm in so much pain after sex. It's hard to even find where to use the tweezers.
- Stacy in MA
A: Stacy, I hate to break it to you, but you may be dating a piece of plywood. Have you been reading Angus' letters? This isn't Wood Fetish Anonymous. Seriously, only write to me if you have a serious question about sex - but only with another human being.
Q: Sup?
How do you know if you're HIV-positive? I do a lot of needle drugs and this is a pretty pressing concern. Back when I was growing up - in the mid-90s - it was generally said to be okay to share needles. 'Be a pal, shoot up together!' Remember that slogan? How those marketing wizards came up with that (expletive deleted) is beyond me.
- Dan in Lizard Lick
A: You know, this is a sex column. What is wrong with you people? Do you not believe me?! Anyway, it's a good idea to take the initiative and go to your local clinic for an HIV test. If you're a candidate for the AIDS, it's better you be careful not to risk spreading it, at least until you know for certain. By which I mean you'd be especially certain not to spread it then. I don't want another backlash like I got from my science column ten years ago, "You Can Fly!: An average human's guide to defying gravity through sheer willpower." Nobody seemed to object to all the crippling and death that resulted from people jumping off of buildings, but you make one off-hand AIDS joke and you're an outcast in the science community for life. Also, that slogan you referenced? It never existed. Are you on dru- oh, yeah.
Q: I'm a little concerned,
Whenever my boyfriend and I make love, he calls out his father's name upon climax. How can I get him to call out my name instead? Or at least stop this. I'm at a loss.
- Catherine in Idaho
A: Wow, Catherine. That is one grade-A creepy situation you have on your hands. From my vast knowledge of the human psyche gleaned from a couple of basic level Psych classes in high school and college, I can diagnose that without a doubt, your boyfriend is actually transgendered, and has one hell of an Electra Complex. I'm not sure what to suggest beyond either breaking up or therapy. Or maybe he could get a sex change and you could become a lesbian. At least a temporary one, like those Girls Gone Wild chicks. They sure don't agree to be exploited and end up regretting their experimentation on tape for the rest of their life in any case, no sirree. Why do I hear from all the weirdos?
Q: Pfft,
D00d, check out my grandma-
A: NOPE. Not doing this one.
Q: I'm bleeding pretty badly here,
Sexperto man, how do you sew your mangled genitals back on after losing them in a freak wood chipper accident when trying to get to those sweet, sweet tree pieces?
- Bleeding to Death in Boise
A: That's it. I'm done.
So, were you enlightened? I know I wasn't. In fact, I kind of feel like killing myself now. What the hell is wrong with you people? You're all sick freaks. Stop screwing around, we don't need any of you accidentally reproducing!
That said, I'm never writing one of these ever again. Not only will I never be able to be intimate with a woman ever again after reading your letters, but I burst into tears whenever I see a tree. Especially those poor conifers.
If there were a god, you'd all be dead.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to cry myself to sleep in the fetal position.
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