Recognizing the fact that yes – indeed – we are on a boat in the middle of the Puget Sound, one of God’s greatest and most diverse creations, and that yes, there may be rough seas due to the numerous wakes from lumbering container ships transporting their imported cargo from far across lands as we cruise by in our alcohol-fueled bourgeoisie-stupor, furthermore that you were wearing six inch hooker-heels that, being a typical multi-generational American woman, you had no idea how to walk in, coupled with the fact you’ve had six too many vodka redbulls bought for you by desperate men dressed in ill-fitted white linen pants and Affliction v-neck T-shirts, THE VERY LEAST you could do as you lurched drunkenly with your head bobbing like a newborn’s and a dazed look on your face as you swayed from side to side across the deck walking toward the bathroom, stumbling because the shoes you bought at Nordstrom don’t fit but oh-my-god-they-are-fucking-so-perfect-I’ll-just-return-them-tomorrow, bumping into me with all 145 pounds of your overweight, baked orange, soft flesh of a lazy, ungrateful, daughter of a beta-provider father body, is to apologize.  “Oh, I am sooo sorry,” would have gone MILES toward me forgiving your publicly embarrassing drunken stupor, and spared your sex yet more of my concentrated venomous disgust, YET, instead, you attempted to look me square in the eye, whilst one pupil dilated rebelliously against the colors of flashing lights, and the other narrowed angrily at me, as if it was MY FAULT you tripped on your Steve Madden’s(!) uttering the word “woops” as you squeezed your massive flesh past the conversation I and a friend had been engaged in.

Had I, at that moment, given into my natural compulsion to swiftly and vehemently reward your publicly intoxicated entitlistic attitude with a swift kick to the back of the knee, and a icy-cold drink down the front of your dress, I probably would have been tackled by the hundreds of douche-bags surrounding you, begging to buy you another drink, and hoping that their limp dicks would have the privilege of tasting the sour, acrid juices of your no-doubt waxed, tanned, and disease-harboring snatch.

Instead, I calmly turned to my friend, looked down the front of my designer shirt, pants, and shoes, now stained yellow with your vile concoction of uppers and downers, doomed to smelling like a drunken frat boy for the rest of the night, and said, “It’s girls like that who make me contemplate violent behavior on a mass scale from time to time,” and walked toward the bathroom to dab up what I could from my previously startling white outfit.

Fuck you, you overweight, flat-ironed, Nordstrom shopping douchette.  I hope someone does the same to you on your wedding day.  And I hope that someone is a younger, sexier, and firmer version of Naomi Campbell, and that you cry that night as your beta-provider husband asks you what’s wrong and tries to cheer you up by offering full body massages and strawberries with chocolate, while this younger version of Naomi Campbell goes on to fuck the hot groomsmen alpha loudly next door, the banging of the walls and the wild moans of orgasmic pleasure cutting through your perfect little entitled dream life you’ve erected around yourself like a fucking chainsaw through cheese.

Life isn’t your own goddamn movie, in which you are the star and everyone around you is an extra.

My ex-girlfriend used to always complain that I wasn’t listening to her.  When she would burst out of her monologue in frustration with, “you aren’t listening,” I would say, “Yes, yes I am. You just said…” and then I would repeat back a summary of what she had just said to me.  She would accuse me of just replaying my phonological loop and that I wasn’t truly listening, but the fact of the matter is, being an avid reader, writer, and listener meant that my brain was much sharper at recalling her words than she gave me credit for.  (Inversely, she is very artistic and can recall the shape of things, the color of objects, and has much better spatial awareness than I do.  We made a pretty good pair.)

Being able to quote people, movies, or books is a very useful skill.  Remembering what my ex-girlfriend said five minutes ago after she accuses me of not listening to her ensures that we would still be intimate later that night.  Also being able to quote Monty Python, Family Guy, or Heavyweights at parties is endlessly entertaining, and will ensure your swift rise in social status among men at such events.

But what good are those quotes at the opening of The Nutcracker?  What good is it if I can recall what my ex-girlfriend had said five minutes ago, if she doesn’t care if I can recall what she said five minutes ago?  The answer is: none.  What really mattes is using your individual powers of perception – analyzing your environment, the other person’s body language, visual cues such as how people are dressed, standing, laughing, holding their drink, the implied social cues, such as cocktail party, frat party, wedding, etc. – to determine how best to navigate the social maze of life.  As they say in computer-land; data is nothing without interpretation and application.

Which gets me to my point: girls get dressed up for other girls.

How do I know this? All evidence I have is anecdotal, so take it or leave it, but what I am about to say will make sense to those who have the basic skills of perception…

Have you ever gone over to a girl’s house, to find her in her comfiest jammy jams, with a cute little hooded sweat shirt on, snuggled up in her bunny slippers, with cookies and chips and a can of coke surrounding her while she surfs the internet?  (If you have EVER had a girlfriend, the answer to this question is most likely yes.)

Girls, like guys, enjoy being comfortable.  Sometimes they just want to schlob about the house in their coziest clothes and eat crap food all day long.  Do I begrudge them this? Hell no.

However, have you then innocently said, “hey babe, let’s go out and grab a bite to eat.”  To which the reply usually is, “where do you want to go?”  “Oh,” you say, “I was thinking Burger Hut.”

Now, for those of you who are familiar with Burger Hut, it is a pretty small spot at the bottom of the Ave.  Pretty much the last place where they serve any edible food before hitting Campus Parkway.  It’s greasy, it’s always a little grungy, and they have awesome blackberry milkshakes.  The total seat count is around 10.

Your girlfriend says, “okay, that sounds good.  Let me just get dressed.”  Which means, take off the pajama pants, and put on jeans and flip flops.  That’s it.  It’s Burger Hut, right?

Now, imagine the conversation going a little differently.

You innocently say, “hey babe, let’s go out and grab a bite to eat.”  To which to which she replies, “where do you want to go?”  “Oh,” you say, “I was thinking Chipotle.”

(Now I use Chipotle purely because its capacity to seat people is perfect for my anecdotal example.)

Chipotle seats, like, a bajillion people!  And it’s always full!  So as soon as your venue for dinner changes from “Burger Hut” to “Chipotle,” so does the likelihood of either of you running into A.) people you know, or B.) attractive people.

NOW the crumpled jeans are replaced with 7′s, the sweatshirt with a cute pea-coat, and the flip flops with black flats.  The makeup goes on, the earrings are in, and the teeth get brushed.  You stand amazed as your woman transforms before your very eyes…

Now I have been accused of being narcissistic many a time – it’s usually the chief complaint a woman has about being in a relationship with me.  For years I’ve just rolled my eyes and told them they should be glad I care about my appearance – would they want to date an unattractive male?  However, I was missing the real point.  That my careful attention to my appearance is actually a very feminine trait, (I don’t deny it), and that it activated the competitive aspects of her female brain: she could not stand being perceived as less attractive than me, but at the same time, was annoyed because I was her boyfriend and not another woman.  I essentially had flipped two very dangerous switches on her evolutionary switchboard that didn’t quite lead to an immediate overload, but definitely started a slow burn that later sabotaged the relationship.

Mae West said famously, “I get dressed for women and undressed for men.” How true.  The competitive nature of women forces them to either abandon all aspects of their femininity and thus the contest for male attention and female respect, turning into lesbian feminists, or else fuel our capitalist economy with their Nordstrom purchases and Gene Juarez spa sessions in order to garner respect (and hopefully, jealousy) from other women and the desire and attention of men.

I’m definitely for the latter.

Cheers.

“Is he/she curious?”

Both people are leaning in and making physical contact...both curious to know what the other will say next.

If the answer is yes, then congratulations!  You have found relationship material!  If the answer is, “I’m not sure,” then perhaps you need to get them to ask more questions.  The age old, “Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie – discuss” question may suffice.  If their response is animated and leads to more questions, the two of you volleying facts and opinions back and forth like evenly matched professional badminton players, we call it chemistry.  It’s that exciting feeling you get when you take the blue pill, (or is the red pill?), and you dive into a relationship head first.

Never knowing what’s around the next corner, you begin to excitedly explore the rabbit hole of the other’s personality, as they do yours.  As they find out more and more about our lives, an intimacy is born, the type of intimacy lasting relationships are built on.  As soon as that sense of curiosity and discovery stops however, the relationship will slowly grind to a halt, before it begins to move backward.

It’s funny that it could be boiled down to such a simple question, but I honestly think it’s true.  Looking at my last long-term-relationship, I could never put a finger on why it fell apart.  I still find her an amazingly attractive woman, whose intelligence is unsurpassed, whose sense of fashion is distinctly feminine, and whose ability for rote memorization astounds me.  But after reading Dr. Dobransky’s essay, I think I figured it out.  She had stopped being curious about me and what I was doing with my life, and retreated inward to focus on her studies and projects.  She still relied on me for emotional support, physical pleasure, and stability, but she had ceased depositing the currency of relationships into our bank account, and was withdrawing at a slow (but steady) rate.

I consider myself a very curious person.  I love finding out new ways of thinking/dressing/eating/playing/loving, and I am constantly open to new thoughts and opinions.  I remember researching famous artists and their works, so I could better talk to her and her friends about art.  She would say things like she hated being cooped up in her room studying, so I would go out and try to find activities for us to do.  I would try to spice up our dinner conversations by asking open-ended “what if?” questions.  But to no avail.  Once her sense of curiosity was gone, it all started to circle the drain, until my contributions couldn’t sustain both of us and I began to resent her, thus leading to our breakup.

It’s happened to me again after that, albeit with a slightly different scenario.  This woman didn’t want an emotional investment on my part – only the bare minimum to assuage any guilt that might stem from her ultimate purpose of getting to know me – sex.  She even told me this up front.  But despite her warning, my natural curiosity set out trying to find as much about her as possible, and try to reconcile with how her hopes and dreams could be interwoven with mine.  I honestly liked this girl, and my subconscious expressed this through my dogged curiosity towards her and her life.   But much quicker did this relationship fail, due in part to my (unconscious) resentment at not feeling “interesting” enough to pique her curiosity.  If someone only wants to scrape the surface of your emotional self, consciously refusing to dig any deeper, your compassion, understanding, and loyalty to that person will drop sharply, and their every word and action will breed only resentment and negativity in your heart.

This is my litmus test for my dates next week: if she asks more than five questions, we go to round two.  I encourage you to do some self-reflection and see if your relationship lacks a sense of curiosity on either side.  If it does – don’t waste your time.

Cheers.

Yes, it’s true clothes make the man.  I’ve seen countless examples of men who by dressing well have projected a positive image of themselves.  Short, tall, skinny, fat, young, old – all have utilized clothes in order to influence other’s opinions and thoughts about them.  

George Clooney is such a man.  Notice his Armani suit, perfectly tailored, but left open and tie-less so as to convey a relaxed attitude.  His pants are tight enough to show off his physique, but not so tight as to conjure the image of sausage casings.  His belt and his shoes match, and he is wearing an obviously expensive, tailored shirt.  The whole ensemble is dark – there is no ostentatious color or patterns to distract from what is obviously his finest feature, (and the one he wants women to notice): his face.  

A woman will follow a well-dressed man anywhere.

What can men learn from George?  I think the answer is obvious: men’s self-image is projected by the clothes they wear and how they choose to take care of themselves.  Women are extremely keen on picking up these nonverbal cues.  Similar to how certain primates will check a potential mate’s coat for mange or fleas, women also snap judge a man based on how he dresses.  I know that some of you are nodding your heads right now agreeing with me, saying to yourself, “Of course!  That makes perfect sense!”  Meanwhile, you are wearing your khaki cargoes you bought six years ago and an uninteresting baggy tee-shirt you inherited from a family member.  

But George Clooney is an easy target.  Let’s take someone who is less in the category of “every woman’s sexual fantasy,” and more in the category of, “who?”  

Mackenzie Cook plays to his strengths

Mackenzie Crook is a well-known British actor, easily recognizable as the pirate with a wooden eye in the Pirates of the Caribbean series.  As you may recall, he’s quite strange-looking: gangly, bug-eyed, big nosed, with hair the consistency (and color) of straw.  However, off the screen and on the red carpet, he dresses quite sharply.  

Despite being desperately skinny and awkward, Mackenzie takes the excellent route of a fitted suit.  Since he has no Clooney face, he’s elected for something with more personality – the ruffled shirt, the silver sheen of the fabric, the bling around his neck – to draw attention away from his so-so features.  Together, this whole ensemble looks excellent, and projects a picture of confidence (he’s wearing a silver suit and a ruffled shirt, for chrissakes) and fashion.  (I personally think he should cut his hair and go for the bowl cut look, but meh.)  He’s downplayed his weaknesses, (his face), and ante’d up his strengths, (his status and money, hence the expensive suit).  

My point is this: if you are a man and struggling to attract (or hold) the attention of women/gay men, then perhaps a look in the proverbial mirror is needed.  With spring coming up, now is your perfect opportunity to invest a little bit in some newer clothes.  My recommendations?  

- If you consider yourself skinny, then buy some skinny jeans.  Nothing hipster tight – Levi’s 511 or 514 have the perfect amount of tightness combined with bagginess – so your legs don’t look like salamis, but you also don’t look like a member of a chain-gang.  Macy’s is having a sale on them right now for $40, and a pair of Levi’s will last you several years if you take care of them.  (I wear the same pair of 514′s almost every day, and they fit me like a glove).  

- If you are a bit muscley-er, then go for Levi’s 527 boot-cut jeans.  They’ll still fit around your thighs, and widen out at the calve, giving you a very hip look.   

- Quit buying tee-shirts.  Honestly, go through your closet and throw out all but your favorite five tee shirts.  If you are reading this, I assume you are an adult, so time to start dressing like one.  If you are athletic or trim, go buy some short sleeve collared shirts at Express.  The 1MX will fit great, and look like it was tailored for you.  Skinny guys can shop at Express. and if you have long arms, also check out Urban Outfitters.  Bigger men should look at Macy’s International Concepts line.  

- If you absolutely can’t live without tee-shirts, go to Macy’s and buy a three pack of Calvin Klein cotton v-necks.  Buy one pack of white, and one of black.  Skinny guys should buy the smalls, while athletic guys are definitely mediums.  The reasons these shirts are so great: they are extraordinarily soft, they stretch slightly, the v-neck is the perfect amount so as to only show a little bit of collar-bone, but no chest hair, and they are blank.  No crazy band logos, no company symbols.  Just blank.  

- Finally, invest in a nice pair of kicks.  Not “nice” as in “expensive,” but buy a pair of shoes that aren’t meant for running.  I have big feet, (size 13), and so I really like the Adidas Sambas (the classic re-issue) or Diesel shoes.  Both retail for under $60, and will last FOREVER.  Paired with some Levi’s and one of those tee-shirts above, you’ll be styling all day long.  

Now hopefully I’ve given you some ideas as to how you can change your self-image right now for the positive.  If you feel, even a little bit, that in the back of your mind following my advice sounds like a good idea – do it.  You have nothing to lose, and if you don’t like the clothes, then you can return them. 

I’d even recommend for those that need a little coaxing or outside opinion, or for those that just plain haven’t bought clothes in a long time, ask a woman/gay-man to go clothes shopping with you.  I’m sure if you framed it within the context of needing to buy new clothes for spring and summer, they would be glad to lend a hand.  Everyone wants to offer their two cents.  (Trust me.)  You’ll also get the added benefit of advice from the very people who have the most experience making snap judgements.  While my advice on male fashion is gold, you can’t turn down the silver-tipped tongue of a smooth talking woman. 

Clothes are a direct reflection of our self-image.  I know that many of you scoff at the fashion industry: you look with scorn at the slaves of “twice-yearly sales” and disgust at the mindless mall-shoppers.  But the reality of reality is this:  Every person who sees you, EVER, will make a snap judgement about you right off the bat based solely on the clothes you are wearing.  What do you want to communicate?  Confidence, style, and maturity?  Or laziness, slovenly, and stunted?  

I’ve given you the rundown.  Now take it and go.  

Cheers.

2.) Only nervous people and TV preachers speak with their hands.

3.) Respect the rank, not the person.  Also people older than 80.

4.) Unless you are married to her, keep every phone conversation under 10 minutes. 2 minutes would be ideal.

5.) Sometimes it is okay to hold your woman’s purse.  Even throw it over your shoulder.  Just don’t look at her while you’re doing it.  Then it will be shameful.

6.) Invest in a 401k.  If you don’t have the means to invest in a 401k, open a Roth IRA.  I’m fucking serious, you’ll thank me when you’re 65.

7.) Worse than Asians or women are people that drive Suburus.  God help you if you are behind an Asian woman driving a Suburu.

8.) If a woman has a picture of a cat anywhere in her house, that is a red flag.  Make a mental note.

9.) If a man has a picture of a dog anywhere in his house, it is acceptable, and means he would make an excellent father.

10.) If you start to think that all the sex your girl has been initiating is really great, and while you can’t think of any reason why you deserve it, you’ll just enjoy the bountiful harvest - that’s a red flag.  Make a mental note to begin pursuing better options.

11.) Hiding bitterness and contempt behind casual observation is the worst way to repair a relationship, but it sure as hell brings a lot of satisfaction.

12.) Get off your phone in the fucking elevator.

13.) Merge. Just do it. DO IT!

14.) Never keep a lady waiting, unless that lady is a chick, in which case she is not worth getting into a car accident over.

15.) Until you sleep with her, everything should be 50-50.  After that, alternate your generosity, and always insist on getting what is yours.

16.) If it takes you more than 3 corrections to parallel park, then just give up and let someone else have the spot.

17.) When you really want to kick someone’s ass, that’s a sign that their ass is not worth kicking.

18.) Never fight fair.

19.) If her friend is more attractive than she is, there will be problems.

20.) Every man must go through his stripper phase, just as every woman must go through her black guy phase.  It’s the laws of nature at their basest level.

21.) Listen more. It will make your words carry more impact, and garner you more respect.

22.) Never, if possible, pee in the urinal right next to a man when there is an empty urinal across the room you can pee in.  Weirdo.

23.) If someone starts talking loudly during a movie, you have every right to embarass them.  If they continually keep kicking your seat, then yank off their shoe and throw it across the theatre.

24.) “My bad” is not a substitute for “I fucked up and I’m sorry.”

25.) Always listen to your male friends.  They know you better than you might think, and have the added benefit of not harboring hidden motives.

Cheers.

First off, I will say this: I don’t know everything about the female orgasm.  I certainly thought I did, but once I delved into this rabbit hole, I quickly discovered that I had much to learn.  Pouring myself into books, movies, medical journal articles, and in person interviews and field experimentation, I have discovered much, and I bring my findings joyously to all who care to learn from my carefully assembled knowledge.

First off, I have learned that there is a definite emotional connection needed for most women to orgasm.  (I use the term “most” in the LSAT way – “most” is at least 50% or more of the population.)  I cite an article recently sent to me by one of my male friends who I deem an authority on such topics.  I qoute an article posted on the BBC newsite that you can find here.

The research[ers] found a significant association between emotional intelligence and the frequency of orgasm during masturbation and intercourse [in females].

While this article discusses how women’s emotional intelligence influences their orgasmic potential, I would argue for a change in semantics: that a woman requires an emotional connection for orgasm – be it with herself or with her partner. 

We all know women are fickle creatures.  I have learned to never ask a woman what she “wants to do,” as this inevitabley dissolves into a Jungle-Book-Style circular discourse.  In the same way they are about making plans, dressing up, committing to a date, or crushing on Hollywood celebrities, women change their minds on a micro-second basis.  This is because they are women.  There is no other explanation needed.

While men think logically and committ to a course of action, women think emotionally and allow themselves to be swayed or influenced by them.  I’m not arguing one is more superior than the other, for both present their advantages and disadvantages, but I will argue that it is true, in 99% of all women.  When men committ to sex, we committ to it with everything we got.  In the few instances where we don’t – perhaps we are thinking of our parked car getting ticketed (again), or that our far-more-important male friends are waiting for us at the bar – our performance certainly suffers.  But while this happens very little with men, with women, it happens ALL THE TIME.

If a women doesn’t have a deep emotional connection with the man she is fucking, it can lead her along any number of deer trails.  Maybe she starts thinking she’s not hot enough for the guy, or that she looks fat, or that she’s making too much noise, or that her boobs are jiggling funny, or that he’s messing up her hair, or…it goes on.  And as soon as any of those voices creep into her head – game over, man.  If she’s already committed to rogering, (and she’s a cool chick), she’ll put on a great performance for your benefit.  But she won’t orgasm.

Anecdotally, I have enountered this several times now in my budding career as an all around Rake and Heathen.  I used to chalk it up to a bad position, or not having enough lasting power, or being too drunk.  However, I have come to realize that none of the traditional scapegoats are responsible.  The problem lies, in fact, with the woman.

Why do all “ignite your sex life” books suggest men send flowers, light candles, put on soft music, be sensitive about a woman’s day, ask her how things are going, etc. as great ways to get her in the mood for sex?  BECAUSE IT INCREASES AN EMOTIONAL CONNECTION BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU.  Whereas men may have deep feelings for a woman but choose to express them subconciously, (lifting heavy objects for her, opening jars, fixing things), women crave concious expressions of emotional connection, like those listed above.

But do women even have concious control over their orgasms?  Some may argue yes, but I believe the answer is no.  While a woman can stop a potential orgasm by detaching herself from sex or refusing to masturbate, she’ll still get the occasional “nocturnals,” and can do nothing to stop an orgasm during sex once it has started.  There are also many subconcious factors at work during that influence the frequency, intensity, time, and type (FITT) of female orgasm.

Robin Barker, a famous evolutionary psychologist and author of the worldwide best-seller Sperm Wars, argues that,

…occurrence and timing of orgasms are all a part of the female body’s unconscious strategy to collect and retain sperm from more evolutionarily fit men. An orgasm during intercourse functions as a bypass button to a woman’s natural cervical filter against sperm and pathogens. An orgasm before functions to strengthen the filter.

I believe it is safe to say that if a woman desires you on a conscious level – you’re hot, or funny, or great it bed – her body is actually desiring your genes on a subconscious level for harvesting and reproduction.  There is a reason why most women universally agree a man is hot: they see in him traits that they would like to pass on to their offspring to make them the most evolutionarily competitive.  Their bodies are telling their conscious minds, “Hey yo, get with that dude, because he has some traits that will make our baby successful in society.” 

In Barker’s book, he talks about why men feel a biological need to make their woman orgasm during sex.  The answer is it increases chances of conception, plain and simple.  A woman can still get pregnant if she doesn’t orgasm during sex, but she will intake far more of the man’s sperm if she orgasms during sex.  (Also to note: the guy has to either orgasm simultanously with her, or shortly thereafter, to reap the benefits of this particular evolutionary shortcut.  If she orgasms too quickly and the man doesn’t orgasm until much later, he has actually hurt his chances of inseminating said female.  It’s all very complicated and beautiful.)

(Also to note: the birth control factor has not been evaluated in my findings, but anecdotal evidence suggests it plays a large part in the increasing or decreasing of female libido, and thus must also effect orgasm potential, but to what degree I am not yet sure.  More later.)

Tying it all back together with the emotional connection thing – if a woman has a deep emotional connection with you – either you excite her, you make her feel safe/beautiful/valued etc. – then she can see in you a potential partner and mate, increasing the chances that her body will orchestrate an orgasm during sex to harvest as much sperm from you as possible, as you have traits she deems evolutionarily valuable for her offspring.

I encourage you all to do some reading on your own.  (Read Sperm Wars.  I cannot recommend it enough.  Go to the UW Library and search their medical journals.  Have sex often.) 

I feel as if I have begun a path toward ultimate enlightenment toward sexuality and understanding the female body.  Such a path is long, winding, and steep, but I will gladly walk it.  For myself.  For women everywhere.  For you.

Cheers.

Sure, sex was still a subject on the minds of many, but rather than be openly celebrated in festivals dedicated to Dionysus or Eros, its action (among other things) was condemned as sinful and base and discouraged except in the event of reproduction.  Note that “erotic paintings” of Venus or Aphrodite didn’t surface again until the Renaissance, and it STILL took another couple of hundred years for humans to invent Jenna Jameson.  At least we no longer have to self-flagellate for pulling the monkey or rubbing one out, (unless you’re into that sort of thing).

Well, fortunately, we here in Seattle live in a progressive city in which we can openly talk about sex without fear of reprisal.  Despite soldiers on the front line (like myself) dropping the words, “cunt,” “splooge,” “jizz,” “squirt,” and “queef” into as many sentences as I can get away with, there is still embarassement when talking about sex and sexuality.  (Note: we CAN talk about sex without fear of reprisal, but how often does this ACTUALLY happen?)  Even more touchy than sex is the subject of orgasm.  Specifically the oft-dubbed “holy grail” female orgasm.

Mission Accomplished.

I know many women that embarrassingly claim to have never had an orgasm.  (Note to gentlemen readers: if ever a female admits this to you, DO NOT immediately offer to remedy the situation.  Trust is gained one careful baby step at a time.  Trust me.)  I also know many men who ask me, in their askance, not too-direct-but-still-wanting-to-make-sure-I-understand-they-are-asking-for-advice-way, “how to give my girlfriend/wife/fuck buddy an orgasm?”  Most want to know if there is a magic position, move, or incantation they utter.  A couple of times I’ve stopped short of reenacting the scene from Forgetting Sarah Marshall as Aldous Snow on the beach with the chess pieces.  The name “love-button” proves to be a misnomer, but this shyness in confronting this very large gorilla has got to stop.  And it stops with me.

*Applause. Panties thrown at my face by adorable women, while men clap me on the back thankfully.*

Perhaps it is the “cleanliness value” we get drilled into our heads at an early age, “don’t put your hands there,” “don’t touch between your legs,” “put your pants on son you’re scaring the neighbors,” are all things I heard as a child.  While my penis was somewhat of a fascinating vestigial member of my body, as a child, I grew bored with it when in the company of my Star Wars toys.  That is until I learned what it was for and what I could do with vigorous motions of my hands.  But even with masturbation, there really isn’t a lot about the penis that is fascinating.  As men, we touch it several times a day: handle it, shake it, squeeze it, rub it, stroke it.  We are familiar with every mole, scar, hair, and wrinkle of it and to be honest, the penis kind of loses it’s mystique after – oh, I don’t know – 16 years of age.

To girls, however, I’m sure their vaginas remained somewhat of a mystery well into their adult lives.  Hell, perhaps they still are somewhat of a mystery.  I’ve probably gotten a better look at most of my partner’s vaginas than they have – EVER.  (An interesting thought, when you think about it.)  Most know what their clitoris feels like – but stop and think, ladies – about the last time you actually stared that bugger in the face.  Probably not often, and probably hardly ever, if you never hired a gardener or laid him off  in the economic downturn.  (Side theory: perhaps this is why “they” say men are more turned on by visual stimulation whereas women get turned on by the feeling – we see a lot more but they feel a whole lot more.)

So for a while now I have wanted to blog my thoughts on the interesting concept of female sexuality and orgasm, as it fascinates, disturbs, intrigues, and occupies a majority of my thought process on a microsecond by microsecond basis.

I won’t make any promises, but I am going to try and not make this an uninteresting, how-to, kama-sutra-calendar type series.  First, I don’t think that female sexuality is uninteresting.  I find it extremely interesting because often times I know more about female sexuality than the females I date, who too often fall victims of wives tales about their vagina.  (e.g. Pregnancy and birth will not turn your vagina into a stadium – trust me and all other happily married fathers, it does shrink back.)    Second, there are a million how-to books out there (I recommend SHE COMES FIRST by IAN KERNER).  Third, I have yet to try the kama sutra, (but I am now accepting applications from those interested in exploring this philosophy with me.)

With that being said, check back in over the next couple days to hear my thoughts, learn a thing or to, or get pissed and tell me I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Cheers.

Thus goes the premise for Josh Harnett’s 40 Days and Nights, the movie I am absent-mindedly watching while waiting for my younger brother to wake up so we could play Call of Duty.  There seems to be a big deal about Josh’s character making this promise, as all his friends and coworkers get him to try to break his vow of 40 days of abstinence by betting on the day he’ll break his “vow.”  Meanwhile, he meets this amazing girl at a laundry mat (Shannyn Sossomon) who is totally banging hot and who wants his body, and thus begins the comedy and tragedy of his enforced abstinence.

How Josh lasted 40 days is beyond me...wow.

The scene to remember is right before the flower scene, (read: super hot non-sex scene involving no actual touching but should serve as a model for foreplay everywhere.)  Josh is only 5 days away from fulfilling his vow of abstinence for 40 days, and he goes to Shannyn’s apartment to tell her how he feels.   She is skeptical and asks him how he knows if it is truly love.  She tells Josh that you can tell if you truly love someone by the kiss they give you, but since they haven’t kissed, how is she supposed to know what they are experiencing is physical attraction or an actual connection?

Good question.  Anecdotal evidence: the best kisses come from women who truly love you.  I don’t think there is such a thing as a “good kisser” or “bad kisser,” I definitely feel it has to do with whether the person is holding something back or completely opening up.  Think about this next time just before you give your partner a kiss…

The basic premise is this: a boy, Tom, believes in true love.  A girl, Summer, has issues with her parents being divorced that have deeply affected her ability to be intimate with anyone.   She does not believe in true love.  And, she’s hot.  So picture a reserved hot chick with the most intense eyes you have ever seen capturing the heart of Tom, who I can’t decide whether I pity or respect, and the movie unfolds as a struggle to make a woman love you when she is incapable of loving.

There are several times in this movie where I simply could not watch it.  It was too painful.  The character of Tom waffles between a naïve romantic and a true man.  One scene has him COMPLETELY fucking up an exchange where Summer is basically telling him she wants to be more than friends, and he insists they just be friends, not reading between the girl-lines and thinking that is what she wants, whereas another scene has him defending his girl and his dignity in a bar when a Chadmeister tries to pick up on his woman and then mocks Tom when he is rebuffed.  Half the time you want to gauge out your eye balls because of Tom’s lack of cajones, the other half of the time you are saying, “Fuck yeah! Don’t take that bullshit! You’re a man!”

When I told you the basic premise of the movie, I kind of ruined it for you.  Summer is incapable of loving Tom, and Tom develops an acute case of “this girl will complete me” and can’t let her go when she inevitably breaks up with him.  It’s tough to watch Tom’s decline – WE’VE ALL BEEN THERE – but also at the same time it is enlightening watching the metaphorical train jump the tracks into the river over an hour and a half.  It really showed me that maybe; just maybe, there is more than one girl out there for me.  Because at the end of the movie, Tom learns to like himself thanks to Summer’s infinite wisdom, (“Tom could be a really good architect if he quit schlubbing around making greeting cards,” thanks bitch,) and he even meets another girl named AUTUMN! *gasp* who is way hotter than Summer and is also an architect like Tom, and yadda yadda yadda it was a good movie with some eye rollers and I got through it.

Gentlemen, I would recommend you see this movie.  Zooey Daschenel plays Summer, and although you don’t get to see her as you’d *like* to see her, she is still amazingly beautiful.  The fact that she pimps her soundtrack throughout the movie is pretty cool (read: shameless), too.

I’ll probably write about this movie again someday, because it really is genius and can speak volumes to someone who has walked along the same path as Tom, but let me leave you with this.  After the movie had ended, and I put on my brand-new running shoes and suited up for an early evening jog, I stepped out the door deep in thought.  As I chased the rosy San Diego sunset into La Jolla, watching as the hills bled from red to pink, I thought about the real reason you should see this movie: it’s not Zoey Daschenel, it’s not the great soundtrack, and heck, it’s not even to see Joseph Gordon-Levitt in another amazing role.  (Brick, anyone?)

No, the real reason is to learn from the main character’s mistakes in getting over a relationship that ended when you weren’t ready for it to end, and letting go of that person despite how much you still love them.

That being said, see the movie.  It’s worth it.

Now THIS is interesting!

You readers would agree with me.  On days when I wrote about sex related topics, readership spikes into the hundreds.  That’s not bad, considering the only ways people read my blog is by clicking on my posted link from facebook.  (This also means that this blog is intended to be read by friends of me, although of course all readers are welcome.  Except for spies and haters.  THEY are not welcome.)

Which brings me to my point.  I like to write about sex related topics, and I feel like it is such a controversial and interesting topic, that to piggy-back it on what has essentially become a technology blog would be weird.

So I am asking you, dear readers, what do you think?  The poll below will decide.  (Note: voting is limited by IP address, so you only get to vote once. )