The (Boxer) Briefs

Because I am not, as some might assume, always plagued with romantic drama or spewing forth column after column (those things take work and hours and dedication and actually a topic or event to happen, you know), occasionally, to keep you readers in writing, I’ll be posting short(er) entries like this one with a “this is where I’ve been, this is what I’ve been doing, and this is what’s up” theme. There are always multiple things I can address, just not all of them in a longer format, so this is ideal. These sort of girl-about-town entries will be a mish-mash of either comments, quotes, short reviews on events, people, places, movies, books, etc; wish-lists, or just some social commentary. They’ll all be tagged under a “Girl About Town” file, too, so look for that.

Last night, I spent a Girl’s Night (plus Travis) at my favorite couples’ apartment. Some, (ok, I’ll be blunt, MOST) couples render me either squeamish, bored or murderous with their PDAs and sickeningly cute and happy togetherness. For a (newly) single girl, it’s like pouring salt and alcohol into an open wound and then sticking your fingers (or tongues) into it. The other night, one of the few exes I’ve remained friends with stopped by with his (non-fuctioningly stoned) girlfriend. As they cuddled on the floor in the living room, I fired off a text to my friend Madison. “They just kissed,” it said. “Someone is going to die and my sense of self-preservation is very great so I don’t think it’s going to be me. If anyone asks you, it totally wasn’t a premeditated double-homicide.”

Barring the couples that make me want to choke to death on my own vomit rather than witness yet another of their grope-fests while sitting awkwardly beside me, I actually have a few that I like. Emily and Travis (he’s going to be so pleased I’m writing about him—here’s your love, XOXO!) are one such couple. They’ve been together for over two and a half years, and have progressed past the point of the just-new and romantic to the sort of nonchalant closeness that can really only be achieved after you’ve lived together with someone for an extended period of time and share the same bathroom. Case in point: last night, after Emily made a gentle dig at Travis, he mimed jacking off and ejaculating at her. She laughed and mimed throwing it back at him. I mean, really. I love this. It’s perfect. This sort of playful sense of “you’re such an idiot but I love you anyway” is what I aspire to, one day.

My roommate, close friend, and part-time semi-personal chef Alli whipped up chocolate-covered strawberries and home-made hot cocoa for all of us (yes, this is the life I lead. I am blessed,) as we caught up over Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations". (If there was ever any question, I am totally and utterly besotted with that man. In fact, while watching him eat a mouth-wateringly good-looking sandwich in Brazil, I commented, “I could totally screw Bourdain and eat that sandwich at the same time. Totally. And you know what? He’s probably into shit like that.”) While Travis went to watch what will remain an un-named TV show in the bedroom, Emily, Alli and I all sat in the living room watching (irony,) “He’s Just Not That Into You” and discussing the sort of things women talk about while together: sex, men, porn, food, relationships, marriage (or lack thereof—both Alli and I are of the same school of “I want to live in sin with you forever and ever and ever rather than go through the white dress and pomp and circumstance and legal proceeding” thought), and other things. Here are the general findings of the night:

Sex and “Awkward Firsts”: The first time you have sex with someone is always the worst. You have no idea how the other person jives, what turns them on, or the little things they either like or can’t stand. I always have a problem figuring out how much noise my current partner can tolerate. (It’s a delicate balance, as I am almost unapologetically loud. Legs loved it, but with the much quieter Mr. Perfect I wondered if it was a little bit much.) And then you have to figure out if the person you’re with is a Listener or a Watcher. (A Listener gets off on sound and speech—aka moaning, panting, yelling, screaming and dirty-talk. A Watcher prefers to watch the act of sex and penetration. Most Watchers unsurprisingly have a pretty well-founded porn habit. When I asked Cait how Perfect spends his free time and she responded with “He likes to swim or bike; he spends time with his sister or his best friend who lives right by him; he has high-speed internet-”, I cut her off because that right there answered my question about some of his habits and explained a lot.) You break the moment during foreplay or sex (if you even succeeded in creating a moment,) to give warning notes and asinine information. You effectively sabotage yourself with your nerves. You destroy the very essence that is truly amazing great sex. And for what do you give these warnings about ticklish spots or apologize in advance for anything that either may or may not happen? So that you might hopefully end up having truly great, amazing sex. It’s basically shooting yourself in the foot. Or, more specifically, in the dick or vagina. The only way to really get to know how someone has sex or what they like is to keep having sex with them—something that I’m trying to figure out how to approach after my uncharacteristically nervous first time with Perfect that left me feeling as if I didn’t perform to my high standard and we have since decided to try “just being friends.” To my knowledge and experience, friends don’t shack up and there was no “with benefits” added to the end of that statement, so I have to figure something out. Plotting time is now.

Men, and How To Pick One Up: We came up with this jewel while discussing the heart- and panty-breakingly attractive waiter at a downtown restaurant. Alli started the conversation, and I tried jumping in when Emily cut me off, saying, “Wait! You have to hold your tongue!”

“I can barely hold my legs closed!” I protested, but it was worth it when after Alli came up with the pick-up line of “I just want to know what your mouth feels like. Is that ok? Can we do that?” I was able to come back with a “Possibly your penis in my vagina, too. Is that still ok? Does that sound good?”

Also discussed, Madison’s new boss at her summer job: a twenty-something all-American football-body type guy with the almost buzzed hair and bright blue eyes that bring to mind an apple-pie Marine or man in uniform. His nickname? Juicy McHotHot Boss. Oh yes. That’s one man that gives me office-sex thoughts, which is no mean feat seeing as I’m a journalist to try to escape the cubicle and be able to do my job from somewhere much more comfortable and private—namely, on my bed, in my underwear and a men’s t-shirt, like right now.

Porn, or Girl Porn 101: Some women hate porn. Some women love porn and will watch exactly what the guys watch. Some women have never watched porn. Some women have watched enough porn to get either sick of it or casual about it, because let’s face it—when it comes down to it, it’s just two people having sex. You can do that on your own time. I fall into that last category, but I recently stumbled across the equation for good porn for the every-day woman: foreign porn + a little bit of a plot + hot foreign men + 5 minutes’ worth of oral sex for the woman in it - a half-hour blow-job scene - anal sex or weird fetishes- ridiculous amounts of cum = good porn. “Field of Dreams” and “Cutting It Up In The Kitchen” come highly recommended. Granted, you can’t understand a word they say, but do you really need to?

In other news, summer weather calls for shorter hemlines on sundresses and afternoon plans. My favorite ways for a single girl to keep busy? The Self-Date. Dress up cute, but casual and comfortable, and go take yourself out someplace. (I, yet again, proved to myself that I am not a cheap date the last time I went out for tea and the latest issue of Cosmopolitan and ended up spending over thirty dollars on new novels in Borders.) Here are some of my favorite ideas for spending some quality you-time:

- Find a local tea house or coffee house that has a casual and relaxed atmosphere with couches or armchairs that encourage staying for awhile. Bring a book or magazine and treat yourself to a beverage while you read and relax. Dobra Tea in downtown Burlington has a great dark interior that suits brooding types and heavy thought, while the Vietnamese Sapa around the corner is brighter, more sunny and feminine, and serves not only bubble tea but some of the largest and best chocolate truffles I have ever had, in flavors like champagne, raspberry, crème de menthe, and espresso. Total cost should be somewhere around ten dollars if you bring your own reading material—more if you buy a new magazine for the occasion like I tend to. Also, some books I've read lately and highly reccommend: "The Wilde Women" by Paula Wall (blissfully snarky and sexy), "The Last Summer (Of You & Me)" by Ann Brashares (of "Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants" fame and possibly the best book I've ever read), "The Jewel Box" by Anna Davis (Carrie Bradshaw does the 1920s and London), "Girls In Trucks" by Katie Crouch, "Eat, Love, Pray" by Elizabeth Gilbert, "The Moonflower Vine" by Jetta Carleton (lost classic, but goodie), "The Buenos Aires Broken Hearts Club" by Jessica Morrison, "All This Heavenly Glory" by Elizabeth Crane, and "How To Teach Filthy Rich Girls" by Zoey Dean (of "The A-List" fame).

- Go to the beach and get some sun! Now is the time for free tanning and bikinis! I’m a fan of working out the night before I hit the beach and eating a light breakfast that morning for maximum teeny bikini confidence—freshly worked-out muscle is visibly firmer. Bonus is that most beaches around Burlington are free if you just walk in. (At North Beach, park in Burlington High School’s parking lot if school’s not in session. I’ve even done it sometimes when it is. Shhh!)

- A veritable marathon of good new movies are out—I haven’t heard one person who’s seen it say one bad thing yet about “The Hangover” and “The Proposal” with Ryan Reynolds looks downright yummy if only for him. “The Ugly Truth” with Gerard Butler and the always effervescently lovely Katherine Heigal is coming out soon—a definite must-see. For one ticket, some either chocolatey or buttery snacks and a slushie, you should have yourself a fun time for about twenty dollars.

- Go for a drive, if you have the wheels. Small towns in New England are so charming to drive through. (Hint: if you’re in the Burlington area and planning a short road-trip like this, fill up your tank at the Cumberland Farms or Shell station on Riverside Ave. Gas there is the cheapest in the area that I’ve been able to find.)

- Have a Girl Night. My personal favorite is to hole up either in my room or on the couch with a few episodes of Sex and the City, a few pieces of expensive and good chocolate (Lake Champlain, Lindt, or the cheaper but just as rich and creamy Dove), and a beauty regime. As a true native Vermont girl, I like to mix the natural and the classy—I’m fond of Burt’s Bees: their Milk and Honey lotion, Dr. Burt’s Acne Stick (just as good as the prescription goop I was paying $90 a bottle for), Almond Milk Beeswax hand cream—also good for chapped elbows and knees and heels—, Rosewater and Glycerin Toner, Shea Butter Décolleté Crème—does wonders for firming up the delicate skin—, Marshmallow Vanishing Crème—so refreshing!—and the Evening Primrose Overnight Crème. (That makes the skin on my face so soft and smooth the next day I can barely keep my fingers from caressing it-- potentially awkward!)

Oh, and the title? For those gentlemen of you in the know, boxer-briefs are the way to go. They do for men what the Miracle Bra does for women—puts everything where it should be, makes it look visibly firmer and tighter and bigger, and says, “Hey—look at me. I’m hot stuff.” I’m particular to men in variations in black or dark colors and smooth or silky fabric, myself. While I know that they’re not for every man, I actually suggest doing what Legs used to do (yes, I’m telling you that something he did was right): on the mornings that you wake up and life feels really normal, wear your beloved boxers. If you wake up and feel like today’s a good day and something exciting or special is going to happen, whip out the boxer-briefs.

And if you’re a die-hard boxer man—solids, stripes, and tasteful plaids are the way to go. (Actually, I love a man in plaids.) Please, overwhelming patterns of things like hotdogs, crabs, surfing pigs, or bananas (if you don’t believe me, go to ae.com and look at the men’s boxer selection), are absolutely either crass or juvenile. If I were to undress a man and find “party pickles” on his boxers, that would be my cue to walk out the door. Just saying.

Until next time,

XOXO.