Let's Give Them Sex To Talk About

Sex. Yours. Your friends'. Your exes'. Yours and your ex's. Yours and your friends' exes'. Your ex's and your friend's...and their friends'...with their friends' exes. Confused? So was I, at about 8 o'clock last night when my friend informed me that a fling of mine was the topic of conversation recently among a group of, you guessed it, my friends. I'm used to being the topic of conversation. I'm just one of those people that other people talk about. Not because I happen to be any more interesting, attractive, or intelligent than the rest of the people I associate with. I don't know why it is, but then again, I could say the same thing about Brit Brit. Everyone saw that train wreck coming, but MY GAWD, the girl has taken it a step in satin too far. So, to say that one is used to being the topic of conversation does not necessarily imply that one is the topic of flattering conversation. And really, when the conversation turns to your sex life, anything is possible, depending on who's doing the talking.

I talk about sex. You talk about sex. Everyone and their Mother talks about sex. How it feels, how often they're having it, who they're having it with, who you're having it with, etc. But last night I realized for the first time that I was not completely comfortable with my friends talking about MY sex life. Not because the conversation was bad, and not because of the people who were having it. But because I just couldn't imagine that there would be an occasion in which it would be a relevant topic of discussion. Plus, it just plain creeps me out. You hear that your friends, one who has slept with you in particular, are talking about you in a sexual way and all of the sudden, it all comes flooding back.

Think about the way that you discuss sex, especially when it comes to other people. Think about the details. Tastes, skin, bodies, hair, smells, skill, positions, locations, underwear and panties of choice, balls...you get the idea. It all comes out at some point. It seems to be the consensus among my males friends that as a whole, men tend to wait until they have broken up with a girl to divulge all the gory details to their comrades. Women, however, spill the beans as soon as they can get to a phone. Now think about a group of people you know talking about you in that way.

I KNOW! It's unsettling, isn't it? Even if you know that you rocked some one's socks, there's still the slight feeling of uneasiness knowing that it's out there. But then again, you know those things about them too. I know details of my friends' sex lives that would turn your hair white. And does it change how I feel about them? No. Does it make me view them as different people? Maybe. Examples: I know that my friend Alexandra goes Brazilian. I know that Alex likes his hair pulled. I'm aware of the exact spot on Walter's ear that sends him into orbit when licked. I know that Rachel turns around whenever she's trying to imagine sleeping with someone else. Have I slept with all of these people? No, I have not. But I know these things about them just the same as someone who has. Because they talk about it. Their lovers talk about it. EVERYONE talks about it.

So, what's a girl to do? Two choices seem to pop out at me. Either a) stop having sex with anyone who has even the smallest chance of knowing your friends, or you. b) stop having sex.

Well, considering that I'm lazy and don't have the time or energy to be out there finding new sexual partners, the people I know are just going to have to do.

I guess I should pull out the good lingerie. After all, I DO NOT want to be known as the girl who wears boring undergarments.

Temporary Insanity

I love almost everything about being a woman. I love my curvy body, my beautiful long hair, my feminine voice, my ability to have children(I think). Men let me go ahead of them in line. Store clerks are more likely to give me discounts. And it's proven that attractive women are twice as likely to get a raise as their less attractive counterparts.

But one thing that I will never, ever get used to or grow to love is PMS. It is the bane of my existence. I consider myself a generally happy person. I'm optimistic, I'm go-with-the-flow. But there's always one week a month when I turn into a raging, crying, irrational, emotional, strung out squishy ball of feelings...that devours chocolate like it's oxygen. I cry at the drop of a hat. I need extra cuddles from my beloved and somewhat overweight kitten, Girlie. I need candy bars, M&M's, chocolate popcorn. I hate everyone and everything. The tiniest inconvenience will send me into a rage. It could be as simple as my hair not looking like the right shade of brown. Oh, and the bloating. I'm a size 8. I like my size, not too big, not too small. If I got any smaller, my boobs would just up and leave me, never to be seen or heard from again. But during that one week, I feel like a beached whale. Nothing fits right, my face looks like a water balloon, and don't even get me started on my ankles. Suffice to say that I DO NOT wear shorts that week.

The thing about PMS, is that we know it's coming. By we I mean women. We know when our periods are, and we know that the week before we turn into creatures from the deep. So, it kills me to see women walking around with obvious signs of PMS, telling people that they have no idea why they're acting this way. Or worse even, walking around shrieking at anyone who dares to suggest that their behavior is due to hormone overload. Have you seen these delusional freaks? They strut around, fudge smeared all over their mouths, bitching people out, crying like their dog just died, all the while claiming that it's just been "one of those days." WHATEVER! Woman, you have PMS, deal with it. Stop acting like people are accusing you of being a heroine addict.

So, here I am. Admitting to my temporary insanity. Now, who the fuck stole my damn Hershey's Bar?!?

Would You Like Fries With That?

When you wake up in the morning, is there a Fast Food rep sitting at your kitchen table, steaming bag of fat in hand?

When you go out for lunch with a friend, is the big red-haired clown himself standing beside you, ordering your lunch and shoving the artery blocking yumminess down your throat?

When you arrive home, do you find teams of marketing associates crowding your kitchen, dreaming up new ways to deep fry everything from pickles to cheesecake?

If you do, I suggest you lay off the LSD. It's not good for you, I don't care how pretty the colors are. But I'm guessing the answer is "No." To a certain degree, what we eat is up to one person, and one person alone. You. You decide when and what you eat. I know that unhealthy food is cheap and quick. I know that cooking is a pain in the ass. Believe me, I am well aware that cheese is by far the most delicious thing put on this earth. I would bathe in it if given the option. But that doesn't excuse the total lack of responsibility that most Americans are taking for their health. By now, I know that everyone has heard of the outlandish and absurd claims against a certain fast food chain, who is being sued for "making people fat". Let me just tell you now, this is the biggest bunch of horse poo I've ever heard IN MY LIFE! It's like a stoner suing his dealer for getting him high. Or a housewife suing her hairdresser for making her blond. There's just no case.

To these people, I'm sorry, LARD ASSES who are filing the claims, I ask you:

1. Did someone from the FFJ(Fast Food Joint) come up to you on the street, drag you into a dark alley, and threaten your life unless you agreed to eat their food three meals a day?All the while, shoving grease soaked fried down your throat?

2. Is the FFJ the only source of food in your town? Has your city boycotted grocery stores? Has the Mayor done away with produce, citing an irrational need to be healthy as the reason for the Fruit Holocaust?

3. Did you have some traumatic experience with health as a child? Did the ability to run, breathe normally, or fit into clothing that isn't made of Lycra or spandex scar you for life? Is the mere sound of an apple crunching or granola bar being chewed enough to send you over the edge?

Seriously. Do you see people doing their weekly shopping at MacDonald's? Is the yearly school health fair held at Burger King? Is Wendy's the answer to your veggie needs? NO! These places serve one kind of food. Fast food. It is not healthy. It is red meat, cheese, bread, fried potatoes, grease, more cheese, fat, cholesterol, calories galore. They are not your source for daily nutrition. Fast food should be eaten maybe once or twice a month, if that. The average diet should have 1,800 calories for women, 2,200 for men. Do you know how many calories are in a large order of fries alone? Upwards of 500. That's a little less than a third of your daily limit. We are not bears hibernating for the winter. We do not need to be eating all that we can eat, stuffing ourselves to the point of puking. There's always tomorrow and another meal. Fast Food will always be there. I understand cravings and munchies as well as the next person, but that is not an excuse for being a hog and then blaming someone else.

If you're going to be fat and unhealthy, at least own up to it. Don't blame other people for your lack of self control. Really, not only is it sad to watch you in court, in your stretch pants, it's just downright infuriating to those of us who actually take care of ourselves.

I was overweight in High School. I loved junk food. I still do. I would eat cheese fries, chocolate cake, and burgers everyday if I could. I would drink ranch dressing if they gave me a straw. But I don't. Not because it's not available to me, but because IT'S NOT GOOD FOR ME.

I do, however, have this vodka that seems to be making me drunk. Think I have a case?

Birds And The Bees

Spring is here, and you know what that means. The days are long and hot, school is out, and everyone is starting to get that old familiar feeling. The urge to get out there and make some love. But if you're a single, straight girl who doesn't want to sacrifice her freedom or sanity for the sake of having a boyfriend, what are you to do?

Well, my dears, it's called casual sex...and it's not for the faint of heart. There's been an astounding number of studies done on this in the past few years, and they all pretty much say the same thing. They say that not only is it damaging to our egos and self-esteem, but also just a bad idea. Studies show that women have a hard time separating sex and love, and often are left feeling empty and used after casual sex.

To these studies, I say kiss my grits. Casual sex is not about separating love and sex, it's about the person you choose to have it with. Should you choose to have casual sex with the guy you've been crushing on ever since Junior High who you just know you're meant to be with despite the fact that he's now engaged and living in Texas? No. There is a certain formula to the perfect casual sex, and luckily for you, I'm about to share. And no, this does not make me a big whore who went out and researched "casual sex" for the sake of writing this blog. It makes me a woman with common sense who knows that just because you wanna get laid does not mean that you want to have to hear the question all women who just had amazing non-committal sex dread hearing... "So, you wanna go to dinner with me sometime?"

CASUAL SEX 101:

1. Don't Shit Where You Eat: Or, why you shouldn't sleep with a friend.

This should seem pretty obvious, but DO NOT under any circumstances sleep with a friend, a friend's boyfriend, or a friend's ex-boyfriend. First of all, if you're friends, there's a good reason for it. You enjoy each other's company, and they've probably seen you puke your guts out on more than one occasion. You talk to each other about your sex lives, and all the losers who you've kicked out at 3 am, citing that "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here". They know how you operate, and all the smack you talk about your conquests. They also know that you will most likely be saying the same things about them if things go wrong. But most of all, with friends there's always the potential for feelings to develop...eeewwwww. We're trying to avoid this at all costs. If you wanted to know how to make someone fall in love with you, you'd be reading a blog by Dr. Phil or Miss Cleo. So, just don't do it. You're gonna need someone to dish to about that weirdo who just vacated your bedroom when this is all over.

2. Don't Be A Masochist: Or, why you shouldn't sleep with someone you actually "like like".

DUH! If you like them before you sleep with them, you're only gonna like them even more afterwards. This is a blog about casual sex, not how to manipulate someone into a relationship. That's next month's issue. Everyone you have a crush on, or stalk on a regular basis, is off limits. All sleeping with them will lead to is heartache. You will awake the next morning to find them gathering your clothes and stacking them in the hall for easy access. There will be no English muffins or strolls in the park in your future. Sleeping with a crush will only buy you a one way ticket to delusionville, population: you. So, just don't do it.

3. Listen To The Whores: Or, why your friends know what they're talking about.

If your social scene is anything like mine, most people in your little click have slept with each other. My group of friends is so incestuous, I'd swear we live in West Virginia. So, it stands to reason that if they tell you that someone is bad in bed, or has a small dick/ smelly Va-jay-jay, or has as many STD's as an Argentinian whore, they're right. I know that by now you've developed a filter to block out most info coming from these people, but they are your friends, so try listening to them for once. They speak from experience, they've been there and are hear to tell you that unless you plan on wrapping your body in latex, it's not a good idea. So, just don't do it.

That's pretty much it. If you follow those simple guidelines, you should be on your way to some good old-fashioned I-never-want-to-see-you-again sex in no time. Just remember to be safe, carry condoms, and never go to dinner with someone just because you had sex with them. Really, you don't want to date someone who's that slutty.

If You Would Like To Hear The Menu Options Again...

There are many things in life that frustrate me. Random road blocks, people who don't know what they want by the time they get to the counter at any given fast food joint, CD packaging. But nothing, and I mean NOTHING, gets my blood boiling faster than automated voice responses on debt collection lines.

First off, you can't get a live person on the line. EVER. They give you the option to do everything except speak with a beating heart. They'll direct you to the option of having your colon sucked out by Pirana before they'll let you speak to one of their closely guarded "representatives".

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL MAY CONTAIN RACIAL OR ETHNIC SLURS. IF THIS OFFENDS YOU IN ANY WAY, PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER.

But, should you actually get one of these desert wandering guardians of all your info on the phone, that's when the real fun begins. First, they won't ever be from America. Not one of them. They also won't ever have a name that you can readily recognize or spell. This is in case you need to call back to reference something that one of them told you. If you can't identify them, that call never took place. Apparently, there are more Rijhbanisshis working in debt collection than one might imagine. Second, they're going to treat you like a criminal. Not just any kind of criminal, but the kind on death row. You have disturbed their solitaire game and so now you have to pay. They'll speak to you in mono-syllabic sentences, and ask you questions that you obviously would not have the answer to unless you suddenly developed telepathy while waiting for their non-English speaking asses to answer their phone, just to make you feel like an idiot. And don't dare ask them to repeat themselves, because all that does is cause them to lose their ability to speak anything other than in tongues and scream at you.

But the thing that gets me is the only reason you would be calling these Mata Hari like whores in the first place is TO GIVE THEM MONEY!

How dare you. I mean really. What's wrong with you? Didn't your Mother teach you any manners at all? Everyone knows that all these people are required to do is stay alive long enough to make it over on the plane that they're praying cousin Alexhjandrioni isn't hijacking, and sit in a cubicle all day, collecting a pay check so that they can pay to take up valuable space in a country full of inconsiderate assholes who just want to pay their fucking credit cards bills.

So, stop wasting their time and press 3 for your enema.

Super Absorbency

You know how some people have those faces? The face that always looks familiar. I have one of those. People are always coming up to me asking me where they met me, how we know each other, did we go to school together? Yes, I find this annoying. I don't know half the folks that ask me that. The other half I just pretend not to recognize.

But you know what I don't have?

A face that says "I'm Your Emotional Tampon"

People are often fooled into thinking that I care. They think the big eyes and slight upturn of my lips indicate a genuine interest in what they're saying. Yeaaahhhhh...not so much. It's not that I don't care about people. I do. I care about my friends, and family, and one of my coworkers. But the general population's feelings on various topics such as global warming and the suspicious chili from the hot dog vendor on the corner don't really top my list of things to worry about. I don't have hours to spend discussing my boss's wife's new diet and her decision to eat whole wheat even though it's not included on the list of approved food items. I do not enjoy being caught in a lengthy description of old people sex by the crazy clients that come in my office. And I LOATHE having to listen to long ass stories being told by random strangers who see me on the street and think to themselves "Oh, there's a nice looking girl. Maybe she'll listen to me."

Do I have a sign around my neck that says "Free Therapy?"

Do I look like the type of person who gives out free legal advice even though she's obviously too young to have gone to law school?

Do I seem like the kind of girl who goes to coffee shops and bookstores to pick up men?

NO!!! I do not. I don't wear signs around my neck as part of my religion. I practice not looking like a billboard, services are held Wednesdays and Fridays at 7 pm. I'm 20 years old, and as far as I know, the Supreme Court is not in the practice of forgoing the bar exam(let alone law school) simply because you work in a law firm. I don't do my hair and I don't put on makeup before leaving the house unless I plan to be around someone that I'm already attracted to, so chances are, if you see me out in public on my own, I don't want to talk to you.

There are appropriate people to discuss personal and difficult situations with. I am not one of them unless I am your friend or relative. I am not here to make you feel better about yourself. I am not here to tell you that you're right. I am not here to condone you behaving like a yahoo.

This is not to say that I don't enjoy conversations with strangers. I do, very much so. Talking to perfect strangers is how I've made some of my best friends. What I don't enjoy is someone who I don't know or like, that I don't meet at a party or other event thrown for the purpose of getting people together, taking up my valuable time. I have places to go and things to do. I've got deadlines and Grey's Anatomy to watch.

Hey, when you're done reading this, I have a great story about this guy I knew in High School who did this amazing thing with a jar of mayonnaise and a water buffalo...and I wanna tell you ALL ABOUT IT!

Insanity IV

It starts out like any other addiction. You see it, it looks fun, tasty, hip, it's what all the cool kids are doing...

I remember the day I took my first sip of REAL coffee. I was sitting on the patio of a little coffee shop on PCHoofestraat in Amsterdam. The waiter brought me my foamy, steaming concoction, and I was chomping at the bit to dive into the wondrous taste adventures that awaited me. That was seven years ago, and I haven't been the same since.

Now, I'm just another lunatic jacked up on enough caffeine to keep a cocaine addict awake three days after his crash. It's sad, really. It's one of America's greatest assets and yet it's one of our greatest downfalls. To answer Elaine's question, No. No, you cannot just have coffee with people anymore. Because coffee is no longer what it was meant to be. In Europe, coffee is sipped slowly at cafes where people relax and take in their environment. Maybe they're there to write a poem, or read a book, or chat with an old friend. In America, people suck it down like they should have it hooked up by IV. They run, sweat stains growing exponentially on their silk crepe covered armpits, in and out of coffee shops with what look like gasoline can sized lattes.

PEOPLE!!! It is not a race to see who can have a stroke first. Coffee is not the new water. There is no reward in showing up to a meeting looking like your Grandma Mimi's ghost sprayed you down with a hose on your way into the office. It is not healthy to pee every three minutes all day long, and no, the hospital can't just give you a catheter "to go".

Americans wonder why they're so stressed out, sleep deprived, and seem to be giving birth only to children who have ADD. They're like crack babies. We won't let them have coffee, so they run around with a straw searching out soda or anything that will keep their perma high going all day. People are now drinking coffee to "come down" from the day's rush that they got from that fifth cup of pure espresso they drank at 3 o'clock. WHAT?! Is Keith Richards now doing a line to come down from the ounce he snorted five minutes ago?

When does it end?

I'll answer that right after I make a fresh pot.