Monday, May 31, 2010
No, I have not seen SATC2 yet. I thought I’d get that out of the way. And yes, there are some people I enjoy far more when they're naked.
You may like to think that I have lots and lots of sex and the glamorous Vermont equivalent (HA. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!) of a Sex and the City lifestyle, but besides the inordinate amount of shoes and what will probably become a large money-management problem and lots of debt, it’s not so exciting. I only wish I were having as much sex as is commonly thought. I’ve only ever brought one guy home to my apartment. Whether this is the fact that I also treat dating as a kind of real estate viewing opportunity or if I just want to get out my own space and not have to clean, I don’t know, but the point remains: I can be a secretive little fucker. That, and I also don’t really want to have to explain the life-size cutout of the Joker in the corner.
Anyway, because I really have nothing to give you today vis-à-vis SATC2, I’m giving these little caveats, these bon mots, instead and hoping that you're appeased. Practice driving in heels or pouring a beer while I desperately try to come up with some better content, please.
-How to look like you belong anywhere: If you know what sort of event you’ll be at beforehand, it helps you in choosing the right attire. If you have no idea, dressing nicer than many be needed is preferable. Other than that, confidence is the name of the game. Engage in conversation, but not too much. People will notice if you’re the life of the party and start to ask questions, as in Wedding Crashers syndrome. If you sense someone is about to ask you a personal question, cut them to the chase and either compliment them or ask them a question. It will throw them off.
-Make friends with his roommates now so they’re more tolerable to your loud moaning later. Homemade brownies or cookies usually do the trick. Think of it as a very intimate and slightly bribing host’s gift.
-Get out of a ticket for speeding. This works with both male and female officers. Say, “I’m so sorry, and this is so embarrassing, but it’s that time of the month, and I think I sprung a leak. I really need to get to a bathroom.” If you’re in a non-populated area, ask for the location of the nearest public restroom. Look antsy and do the child bathroom squirm while saying this, and it’s very convincing. Being able to blush on command helps, too.
-For Guys: Special Teams. Never, ever, flat-out admit to a girl that she is your second hitter. That’s like telling her she’s only good enough to eat someone else’s leftovers. A good girl would never tell you if she were playing the field around you, and never forget—if she’s not on your starting line, she probably knows it and can always find someone else who will be more than willing to put her on theirs. As Franz Ferdinand summed it up, "Sometimes, I say stupid things that I think; well, I mean, I-- sometimes, I say the stupidest things, because I never wonder how the girl feels." All I can say is, think what it is about the girl that you’re saying this to that you like, because you may have to do without it after telling her this.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
All kidding aside, I thought it was time that I dedicate some blog space to the things that the less fair and more hairy side in hopes that I can appeal to both male and female readers, just as all the girls who read this blog are so excited when they see things like my "Open Letter To Men" posted. Which is why I hope you guys have all become better boyfriends, brother, friends and lovers since you started reading this. But-- that's a little unfair. What about the things YOU really want to read about? Where's the TV? Where's the action movies? Where's the steak? (Lord knows I've already covered the beer.)
And so, I have gathered together a few things that men enjoy that I've collected from my scant knowledge from my time here on Earth, and put my two-to-ten-cents down on them:
-Let's just knock this one off the top right off the bat: Blowjobs. Men love blowjobs. There are some men who don't love blowjobs, but those are not good men. Those are quasi-men. Unless you are one of those girls who just naturally actually likes giving head, there are some things you can do to make it more enjoyable for both parties involved:
Just like any sex act, for the love of god, make sure there is enough lubrication that no one is getting chafed. Chafing is NOT COOL. If you've got a dry mouth, speak up before you go down and get some water in you. It's only polite. You wouldn't want a dude with a sprained tongue going down on you, right? It would just miss the entire point. Same deal here vis-a-vis saliva.
Hum. Yeah. That's right. Hummers are so retro, they're back in. In fact, for some, they never went of of style. For those women who aren't such big fans of going down on the town, hummers give you something else to think about for those with the wandering minds other than the fact that, well...you get it. While I have heard of some who hum "The Star-Spangled Banner," this strikes me a little too much as weird and the American equivalent of lying back and thinking of England. Lord knows I am a huge Stars Wars fan and that one of the most easily-remembered themes for me is Darth Vader's Imperial March, and while that may make a great ringtone for my mother, I'm not quite so sure how humming that during an "intimate moment" would go. Senseless, tuneless humming is fine, too. I really don't think men are listening in to recognize anything at that moment.
If you know where it's been-- swallow. In some immortal words that I coined freshmen year, "Don't be good-- be perfect. Swallow." Seriously. Keeping it in your mouth long enough to spit it out actually makes you have to taste it longer than in you just take it like a particularly protein-heavy shot, down the hatch. Also, this will explain to you men the erstwhile phenomenon of why some women are typically better/faster at chugging down a beer bong than you are. That girl, my friend, is the one you want to bring home. You can thank me for this little tid-bit later.
- Steak. Really good, really red, really flavorful steak. So here's this recipe (and others from the "Bitchin' Kitchen" post from last summer) again for Proposal-Worthy Steak. A toddler with half their frontal lobe could make it; it tastes like sin on a plate; and your S.O will love it, and YOU for making it. Easy for you, easy for him-- everyone is happy. And uh, it's not just men who like this steak. All of my carnivorous girl friends show up in packs to my kitchen when they smell this cooking.
Wedding-Ring Worthy Steak and Parmesan Oven Fries:
This is like gold, ok? This is like La Perla lingerie or men's Kryptonite. USE IT CAUTIOUSLY. Be kind. Be gentle. It's not fair to cook this for every Tom, Dick, or Hairy Dick. Other girls who don't have this recipe need marriage proposals too, ok?
Are you ready for this? No, you are not ready for this. But you are possibly more ready than the man about to eat it is. You know what's coming. He doesn't. Brace yourself. It's such a simple recipe with such a strong affect.
Steak. Go big. Go Sirloin. If he's going to feel like buying you Tiffany's or Harry Winston, you can afford to give the man some Sirloin.
Potatoes-- I like Yukon Golds.
Parmesan Cheese powder.
Take your steak, and rub in salt, pepper, oregano, basil, rosemary, and garlic powder onto each side. Put in a pan coated with butter or olive oil set to low heat. Cook to preference-- rare, medium rare, well-done, whatever. (I'm a rare or medium-rare girl, myself. I like to see it bleed a little bit. Scary, I know. What do you want from me? The family's from Austria-Hungary/Romania area. I can't help it.)
Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Lightly coat a sheet pan with olive oil so your potatoes won't stick to the bottom. Cut your potatoes into quarters length-wise, and then cut them again to about the width of half of your thumb. (I generally get about 5 potato slices per quarter, if that's any indication.) In a large bowl, combine a decent amount (around 1/2 to 3/4 of a cup) of Parmesan cheese with salt, pepper, oregano, rosemary, basil, garlic powder, and enough curry powder to give it a little kick. In another large bowl, coat your potato slices with olive oil. Gradually sift in your Parmesan/herb and spice mix until most every potato slice is coated. Arrange your potatoes on your coated pan so that they are touching as little as possible. Bake one side for 10-15 minutes, then flip all the potatoes and bake the other side for 10-15 minutes, or until cooked through.
This looks like a ridiculously easy and simple recipe, I know. This doesn't look lime anything grand. But it is so man-tastic. As soon as you start smelling the steak and potatoes cooking, you'll get it. Believe me. I once had a friend's boyfriend taste just FRY and tell me that if he wasn't already in a relationship, he would have asked me out then and there. And then he proceeded to ask me out. He was kidding...mostly, I think. It's true-- men do think with their stomachs, and they go crazy for this dinner. I say reserve the right to only use this after you're serious about keeping a dude around, after the 5th date or so.
-TV. Californication, it has been decided, is Sex and the City for men. There's this man, with a very manly name (Hank Moody, anyone?), who has lots of sex with hot women, lives in a sweet bachelor pad in L.A, and seems to do nothing all day but drink some good whiskey, try to write a little bit more of his long-anticipated (and likened to GnR's Chinese Democracy album,) next Great American Novel, and antagonize other men. And instead of wearing $500 Manolo Blaniks, he drives a Porsche.
It is basically watching the alter-ego of the Everyman in 27 minute time increments. It is fascinating, enlightening, and stunningly smart. I give it two thumbs up, possibly a big toe, and highly recommend it for its insight into the world of men. I've voraciously marathoned my way through a season and a half in two weeks. For guys-- hey, you've got a great escapist TV show, there.
-Comics, Action Movies, and Comic-Inspired Action Movies. I forget about how a lot of major European cities get movies before America does. I saw Iron Man 2 awhile ago, and this review from Hollywood Reporter pretty much sums up what I thought of it more succinctly and using far less derogatory language than I would: "...Everything fun and terrific about Iron Man, a mere two years ago, has vanished with its sequel. In its place, Iron Man 2 has substituted noise, confusion, multiple villains, irreverent stunts and misguided story lines. A film series that started out with critical and commercial success will have to settle for only the latter with this sequel."
This is not to say that I did not enjoy Iron Man 2. I enjoy most comic-based movies that you sit me down in front of, to a very alarming degree. I'm a big fan of flashy action and ass-kickery. I just didn't think as highly of it (by far) as I thought of the original Iron Man, which I may or may not have watched multiple times in the space of two weeks when it came out. (I also may or may not have a very large soft-spot located somewhere south of my navel for Robert Downey, Jr. and his facial hair in this film franchise.) Yes, there were tons of big explosions, side stories, and villains. But instead of adding to the fabric-weave that should have been an intensely satisfying comic spin-off, it morphed into a sort of megalomaniac smörgåsbord of confusion and weak writing instead. You got the sense that writer Justin Theroux, of Tropic Thunder brilliance, (another "Man's Movie" I absolutely love,) was pretty much throwing everything BUT the kitchen sink that suddenly transforms into Tony Stark's Russian-ass-kicking robotic dog sidekick, Mr. Disposal, to try to reach the completely unattainable anticipation of the sequel to what was argueably one of the most entertaining comic-based movies ever created. I dragged my non-comic-savvy friend Arielle along to the Odeon to see it with me, and despite having what should have been more than sufficient background knowledge on the plot, characters, and sub-plot, was just about as lost during the viewing as she was. About the only two things we could agree to stake a solid claim on was that Scarlett Johanson's little leopard dress number had to be Dolce & Gabbana, and that all of Pepper's work pumps were classic Louboutins.
And for all records, it's DC Comics for me all the way; Batman is the most smexy (smart and sexy) hero ever created, and the Joker is pretty much my ideal man. (We're not going to get into those ramifications just now.)
As far as my Blogging Birthday Present Endeavor goes, I am 5 followers away from 50, and $2 short of that $10 Google AdSense check for doing absolutely nothing other than writing what I want to rant about, by June 10th. This is your time, those of you who read and don't subscribe. And I know first, last, and even in some cases MIDDLE names of 5 of you out there who this pertains to. C'mon. Help a girl out. It's such a little thing. I would like to take this moment to point out the fact that my own MOTHER is now following this blog publicly. (Hey, Ma...) I mean, if my own mom is putting you to shame, well...that's just sad. Man/woman up. It takes all of 2 minutes to create a follower's profile, or all of 15 SECONDS to add SATCG to your newsfeed list. And it gets me off your back or balls.
That's all for now. I'm heading outside to try to get more golden on this beautiful Vermont day. Hmm. Another thing men love: Hot weather that makes women scantily clad. So, let's hear it for men!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Not validating a train ticket can cost you either up to 50 Euro, or an eviction from said train, hopefully, while it's not still moving. I made the penultimate mistake, short of never even buying a ticket (this, however, is something I "conveniently" forget to do every time I'm in Rome, but there's more on that later), when I was so caught up in enjoying my ultimate travel McNugget Happy Meal that I completely forgot to validate my 44 Euro fast-train ticket. I was halfway through my crunchy, sinfully salty and greasy fries by the time I realized this, and sat there, stunned, completely thrown off my McComfort Food. It's a totally noob mistake, and I am not a noob in Italy anymore. In fact, I moseyed over to Santa Maria Novella Stazione, ordered my McDonalds, got my water, ignored the kissy noises and comments, and got on the train in complete and total Italian ease. Why I missed those little yellow boxes, I'll never know.
Does this make me a bad person? Yes. A cheap-skate? Probably. But I want to thank Mill River's Stage 40 theater department, Mr. Bruno, and Peter Marsh for 6 years of excellent acting coaching. Thank you, dad, for those big blue eyes. And thank you, very nice train steward lady, for letting this dumb American girl go on to Roma and then Sicilia.
Oh, that should also be addressed: Sicilian dessert wines are by far some of the most sweet, succulent, delicious nectar from the gods that you will ever drink. I spent roughly 30 to 35 U.S dollars on a bottle of Muscato to celebrate graduation in absentia since we couldn't be in Burlington to actually party, so happy fucking graduation, I bought myself a very expensive bottle of wine to think about drinking with you guys. Best served either very chilled, or naturally very warmed from the afternoon Sicilian sun.
Friday evening, we took a sunset hike up Mount Etna, also known as, "Oh my god, I'm from the Northeast and have never seen a volcano! THAT IS LAVA! THAT IS REAL, BLACK, HARDENED LAVA!" We went with the Etna Tattoo and Art Cafe Club, and not only did our guide Ernesto get us there, up, down, and back alive, he also provided some cold weather clothing after my speech on the attributes of Gore-Tex (waterproof, windproof, insulating,) got lost in translation, an impromptu karaoke show for us from the jump-seats in the back of his Land Rover, and some bites of a truly excellent prosciutto and cheese sandwich. We even got enough cell reception at the top of the big caldera to call our friend from his motherland as a pre-graduation present. It was, by far, one of the top 3 great experiences of my life. It may have even edged out some of the better sex I've had. That's how unreal it was. The white sand beach and swimming in the Meditteranian was nice. The black lava beach under Aci Castello was stunning (and hot). But Etna, looming over all of Catania at a truly staggering elevation, belching small tufts of smoke, was what really stunned this writer who previously thought she was a real "big mountain girl" from Vermont. HA HA. I lose.
The people of Sicily, however, are really what made it. From hiking Etna with the fun-loving, multi-lingual mountain destroyers Tyrone and Maria, to the old men who serenaded us in the streets, to the 16 year old girl on the city bus who invited us to her birthday party next week (probably to be the entertainment as she thought me struggling through a conversation in Italian was HEE-LAR-I-OUS,) to the Sheraton hotel front desk man who through a conversational mix of Italian, French, and English called us a cab after we hiked a mile from Aci Castello to Aci Trezza after missing our bus and trying to get back to Catania in time to catch our bus to Palermo, they are, without a doubt, the best Italians I have had the pleasure of interacting with. I was afraid at first from all of the guidebook warnings of them being a very closed and guarded culture. Totally unfounded. Our very sweet cabby Giovanni who had our American-Sicilian friend's liquid and unfairly long-lashed eyes and was quite tricky himself when he asked us if we wanted to take the cab from Catania to Palermo (to the tune of around 300 Euro,) actually complimented us with the universal sign for "you're clever" with a twist of his index in the dimple of his cheek after we emphatically responded with a "NO!!!" and then laughed when he asked us if we "like the Catanese boys?" and we gave an equally emphatic "SI!!!"