I'm Just Giving The Dog A Bone: The Men's Guide To Flirting

So you think you can flirt, huh? I have news for you, buddy-- you can always improve on that game, and just like how you begged until your parents sent you to basketball camp in middle school so that you could improve that 3-point shot of yours, I'm here by popular demand to tell you where you're slacking on the job while trying to pick up chicks. So, here it is, 5 quick, easy tips for sneakily getting on the better, phone-number-giving side of the fairer sex. Use them for good, my boys, not evil. After all-- Gandalf is watching.

- Be Aggressive, B.E AGGRESSIVE:

This is the cautionary tale of one would-be suitor gone horrible wrong:

Sometimes, being aggressive is a good thing, like in rugby and fencing and chess and discount sales in Filene's Basement. But sometimes, it's not. Persistence isn't always the best tactic. One over-enthusiastic gent tracked me down on Facebook-- and Twitter. He tried friending me-- 3 times in 2 days when I didn't accept fast enough for his liking. He messaged me. He poked me. It was the electronic equivalent of a grade-school kid standing on his blue plastic chair, waving his arms over his head, screaming, "Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!" I still haven't accepted his request. Why? Because there's aggressive, and then there's AGGRESSIVE. And...desperation has never been sexy. Doesn't matter if you're XY or XX-- it's a big NO, and the reek of it permeates everything you do. We will know when you're desperate. Your friends, parents, coworkers, classmates, postal worker, hair dresser, and the entirety of Facebook will know when you are desperate. It shows. So get a leash on that beast. Down, boy.

- "E" Is For Effort. Also, Egotistical Eunuchs End Up Eating Alone:

I've had guys tell me, "Come down to see me when you're on your break." This is bad. If you're the one who wants to see me, then you can come to me. A girl with options never goes out of her way for a man; she'll let him come to her, if he wants to. Nothing tells a girl faster if a guy is really serious about her or not by how much effort he puts into seeing her. And by this age, we girls should have stopped being delusional and making excuses for lazy asses and should know how much effort shown constitutes a viable man and a viable relationship. I know. If it isn't calling, isn't visiting, isn't writing, and isn't planning, it ain't yo' boyfran, gurrrrrrl. And kind sirs, if you are not actively walking your ass over to see her, she's going to find someone else who WILL, because she ain't that desperate yet for yo' lazy ass. Again, desperation is never sexy.

- You're QUALITY, Not QUANTITY: 

Always remember: A little goes a long way, if your "little"-- time, effort, energy, affection, money, passion-- is quality. I've always preferred my men a little aloof-- it helps keep the magic going. My last S.O waited until Date #5 to finally kiss me; the entirety of dates 1-4 I was constantly wondering what was going on, and the anticipation made me sparkle even more than the average girl trying to look good on a date does because I kept working for it. But the long-awaited kiss was so good, it was worth the wait. And you know what? All that time spent in good, intelligent conversation, learning each other's likes and dislikes, food and movie preferences before swapping spit made us both sure that we liked the other-- more than just a first date could have foreseen. They were quality dates. It was a quality first kiss. We were sure that the other was a quality person. Much better than a really awkward make-out session straddling the cup-holders in his car's front seat post first-date beers would have been. A win all-around.

- How To Scabbard Your Sword-- What Women Want:

Sorry, this isn't about sex. I just thought that play on words would grab your attention for what will probably be for most of you the hardest concept to grasp. (Unlike grasping other things.) This is about what all women want. This is the secret that lands the nerdy guys the perfect 10s. This is the Rosetta Stone for understanding women. Cracking this is like cracking a Rubix Cube. So I don't want to have to sit here and waits through eons of evolution for you guys to finally get it. Which is why I'm just going to come right out and say it to you:

Women just want to be saved. Or, at the very least, we want a partner in crime.

You know how in Million Dollar Baby, Hillary Swank kicked major ass? It was because Clint Eastwood was there in her corner, and he had her back. All women want a knight...white, black, red, or purple, it doesn't matter to us. What matters is that we all want a champion— someone who is willing to go forth and do battle for us, whether it’s getting us that extra dollar off our soft pretzel at the mall that the salesgirl somehow forgot to credit us, or sticking up to other people to defend us. Because we’re worth it. As Frances Hodgson Burnett wrote, every girl is a princess, whether she looks like it or acts like it or not. If I do something, if I say something, you best believe I do it with 110% conviction, and all I want— and what I deserve— is to have someone there who will stand next to me and uphold those words and those actions.

This is where a guy riding up on his high horse comes in. I don’t need to be questioned anymore. I shouldn’t have to explain myself. What I want, what I need-- what all women need-- is someone as strong and courageous and faithful as I am to stand next to me and be there for me to lean on when I’m too tired to lead the charge, and have them stand up to the job. So be a stand-up guy. If you say something, follow through. Never make any promises you can't keep; don't lie. If you know something wrong is happening, stop it. If you see something unfair, call people on it. In return, I promise that any woman worth that title and her salt will be doing the same for you, because if you have my back, and I have yours, nothing in life will ever be able to sneak up on us and scare the crap out of us. THAT is what women find most sexy of all-- reliability, safety, and partnership.

- Getting The Big N.O, or, Failure For Champions:

Then again, you could do everything right and still be turned down. It's a woman's prerogative to be fickle. Maybe she's just gotten out of a bad relationship, or isn't over her ex yet. Maybe she's interested in someone else and doesn't want to lead you on and waste your time. Maybe you're just not her "type"...you can't help that, but chances are you definitely will be someone else's. Or maybe she's just enjoying being single right now, and doesn't want to think about getting involved with men or dating. But don't let this dissuade you from trying again with a different girl-- practice makes perfect, after all. Take a page from the Casanova-like diaries of the men I met while I was in Italy-- with all the "ciao, bella"-ing that was going on, and all the flat-out rejections from those "bella"s, I thought it was a wonder any Italians ever managed to procreate. But as my Food and Wine professor told his class of 18 American girls, "If you say it enough times, someone is bound to say 'ciao' back." That's how he landed his American wife while she was studying abroad. See? It works. If Giancarlo could do it, I have faith that you can, too. Now, get out there, and be someone's knight in shining armor. Or, at least, take you car through the car wash and go pay for the cute lady in front of you's espresso at the coffee shop tomorrow morning.

Buona fortuna!

XOXO

Hush-- Staying Silent.

I don't think there's ever a worse time for a girl to start crying than after having sex while still in bed with her lover, and yet, that's where I found myself the other day.

It wasn't him, not at all, and it wasn't me, either-- it was my past. My past is a bit colorful. As may have been previously stated, I haven't always had the best taste in or luck with men. One of my past relationships manifested this trait physically-- I was manhandled (quite literally) in a way that's left me with some residual emotional scars and idiosyncrasies, which seem to pop up at the most inconvenient times. A classic sign-- I'm loathe to actually call it "abuse," which of course means that I'm in denial about it and it was, in fact, abuse. I just hate to think of myself-- me: loud, dominating, confident, and proud-- as a victim. I don't consider myself a victim-- just someone who was too young, too naive, and too inexperienced to do something about it. And because of these facts, I've almost never admitted to it or talked about it.

I was smothered; I was uncomfortably pinned; I was choked. I was shaken. I was slapped. None of these were things I asked for-- they were things that just happened, for no rhyme, and no reason. And now, a perfectly wonderful man who treats me like a princess and would never think of purposefully hurting me has to be the one picking up my pieces after I spooked at finding myself in a situation completely non-related that my mind interpreted quite differently, and sent me spinning off into a panic attack the likes of which I haven't had in quite awhile.

Maybe it was the weight of someone on top of me, while holding me down. Maybe it was the thought I had that linked this feeling with pain. Maybe it was just because I'd been having nightmares lately, and was particularly susceptible to feeling overwhelmed. But for whatever reason, I suddenly found myself fighting furiously to get out from under and away while breathing like a winded racehorse. He touched my back to ask if I was ok. I nearly screamed at him to give me space. We both took a few minutes to calm down and process, and once I realized what had happened, and what I had done, I scooched across the bed, threw my arms around him, and started crying with my face screwed up against his chest. He was lovely about it, telling me that I didn't need to tell him the full story; that he understood, even if he didn't understand everything, because we all have our own skeletons in our closets. He let me cry, rubbed my back and kissed my head, and let me work it out of my system. And once we had both calmed down again, we had sex again, possibly the most reaffirming and reassuring act that I can think of.

Please, listen to me-- if you have been mistreated in your past, please, please find some way to let your current partner know. I know it's hard, and I know it can seem at times unnecessary or excessive or like a cry for attention, but if you care about the person you're seeing, they deserve to know about your issues and emotional well-being before you find yourself hyperventilating and sobbing onto their chest like I found myself. You can only be a victim as long as you stay silent, and as long as you let yourself be thought of as such. Instead, learn to grow through the experience for the hard lessons it teaches you-- how to be in tune with your emotions, feelings, and relationships with other people. And even if this isn't something that you've been through yourself, remember-- if I can be a victim of abuse, anyone can be a victim of abuse. The best thing you can do for someone with past issues is to be there for them and try to understand what it is that makes them panic or feel a certain way, and to work through it, together.

To all the other people with "colorful pasts" out there, please know-- you're not alone, and there is someone out there who will be patient and willing with you, because that's the way it's supposed to be; I promise.

XOXO

Strange Encounters Of The Friend Kind

Last night, I met the friends. Let's be candid here-- in the past, I haven't been so much the "into dating/ bring me home to your parents/ introduce me to your friends" type. In the past, I've been the "don't you dare pay for my meal/ bring me home to spend the night/ run into your roommates in the morning on the way out after trying to avoid seeing them" girl. But since I'm trying to do things right this time, instead of hiding out in sweats at home on the couch with the Law & Order SVU marathon, I put my big girl panties on and went forth to do the meet-and-greet thing. And let me tell you, not only has it been nice to be doing the "normal" seeing-someone thing, it was really nice to formally meet the friends, too. If it went well for me (which I think it did), it can go well for YOU, too. Because you are probably less socially awkward than I am.

I've met guy's friends before, but it always amazes me the amount of stress it puts on you, and the amount of worrying a girl can do about it. Because I prepared and knew what to expect, for the most part, I was able to roll with it when his friend unexpectedly referred to me as "the wifey" instead of bugging the fuck out, screaming "Oh, HELL NO," and running away. It does really pay off. So, here are the top 5 things I've learned from both this experience, as well as others in the past:

First and foremost, recognize that this is important to him. You know what a big deal it is for you when a guy meets your friends-- you want them to be charmed by him just like your ass was, and you want him to get along with them, because if he doesn't, well...we all know, it's hoes before bros and bitches before hitches. Sure, he may be able to give your multiple Os, but your friends are the ones who know where you hid your emergency chocolate stash in your house and what you really did last summer. And they have photographic evidence. Same goes for him-- introducing a new boo to friends is never easy, so if he's asking to make this happen, get over your damn self. He's making a declaration here-- if he wants you to meet the people who are important to him, it means you're not disposable to him, and in fact, that YOU are also important to him. I was so fucking nervous I had nightmares the night before about having to get in girl friends' faces and tell them to talk to him about why I was there. I woke up at 8 AM to plan my outfit for something that was happening at 8 PM-- I just couldn't sleep I was so nervous. I even prayed in the shower. So if I could put aside those worries and get there to be there for him, so can you. Plus, if you asked him to do something, you'd pitch a fit if he wussed out about it. Consider this the same thing, but in reverse.

Know who you're dressing for. Sure, he may be wanting to show you off a little bit, but he doesn't want to be prying his boys off of your goodies. You're going to want to dress a little bit hot so that he feels good and so that his buddies know you're a catch, but you also don't want to be so obvious that his girl friends KNOW that you're trying too hard. Because they will be on to you, sister. Think about what it's like when you meet your friend's new girlfriends-- what outfit choices have you approved of? When in doubt, it's always best to highlight one asset and keep the rest under wraps-- because I wore my certified man-eater pleather leggings that I know both the boy and the rest of huMANity love and leather boots with small heels, I wore a casual sweater-dress that covered up the girls on top. It covered my leather-clad ass, but hugged it just so-- something that wasn't distracting while we were all sitting and drinking, but was enough to make me feel confident and sexy when standing or walking. And keep the make-up and hair fresh, clean, and neutral-- this is not a time for dark bedroom eyes or to make a statement. Play dress up later. With him. Later, when everyone else is gone.

Go alone. Jesus Christ, GO ALONE. You are a big girl. You don't need reinforcements. If you drag a friend along for yourself, not only are you instantly taken to be a huge pussy, but there are huuuge chances that instead of actually talking to his friends and getting to know each other, you're just going to cling to your security blanket when things start to get awkward. Not attractive. If you're supremely nervous, have an out-- a friend who will call you for a 5 minute reprieve if things start to get sketchy and you send them a blank text so you can duck out for a breather to regroup, or plans to "bump into someone" while you're out, or make a deadline of when you have to leave by. Always remember-- if you are, for some reason, bringing your girl or meeting other people while you're out, always make sure it's ok with the party that you're with, first. No one likes random party crashers, and that's what YOUR friends will be to this group of HIS friends.

Make sure this is an alcohol-included event. We all remember our 21st birthdays. Actually, no, if you were doing it right, you shouldn't remember it all. So birthdays are good. But in fact, any celebration where drinking is involved will do. Because I think we all know by now, people who like alcohol are prone to turning into people who need to be picked up after. And if you really care about this dude, like you SHOULD, you'll be picking up after him and taking care of him. And hopefully, his friends, who also care about him, will see this, and they'll get it-- you like him. This is good. They know you're serious about it; you're not the kind of girl to run screaming when a little beer gets spilled on your dress. Instead, you're the kind of girl who's going to get the paper towels. Draw a fine line between "mother/personal assistant" and "lover" and exist there. Don't whip out your Tide To Go pen and wipe up his shirt for him if he spills-- just find him another one as soon as possible. And if worse comes to worse, make sure there's alcohol because you might end up needing it for yourself.

And last but certainly not least, let him set the tone. Some guys aren't all that open to their friends about what exactly your relationship with them is, especially if it's The Time Before Labels. I've definitely met the friends of guys I was sleeping with and been introduced as "my friend" or just by my name. From there, I knew how I was supposed to act, and dropping the bomb about that thing that he did in bed last night with his tongue was probably not going to fly. Conversely, when I showed up last night, the chair next to the birthday boy was relinquished to me, an arm went around me, everyone already knew who I was from word-of-mouth, and then he kissed me. Obviously, the jig was up. They knew; I knew they knew. From there, it was like any regular meet-and-greet: introductions, how everyone knows each other, polite conversation, what you have in common, blah blah blah. Remember what my friends reminded me of before I went: If they know about you, and haven't met you yet, they're eternally curious about you. So talk to them. Be your charming self. Know your strong points-- casual harmless flirting if you're a guy's girl like me, warm smiles if you've got a great grin, the best joke you know if you're funny, etc.-- and USE THEM. DO NOT admit to Facebook creepin' on them. Do shake hands if you want to make a confident first impression, and if it's not awkward. And keep those PDAs to a minimum, even if you are getting those public kisses initiated by him-- you don't want to nauseate your new friends. Even if they're used to him, they're just getting to know you.

XOXO

Text And The City

I send texts. You send texts. We all send texts. Everyone's doing it. But are we doing it...wrong?

There is nothing quite so degrading as when you realize you're giving your phone the evil eye, waiting for it to ring after you send someone a text. I mean, for chrissake, it's an electronic lump of plastic, and here we're thinking giving it the look that would freeze hell over will galvanize someone miles away into action, manipulating them to reach for their similar hunk of plastic, and redeem all of human kind to us. We all know, I think, how often this actually happens. The opposite of what we'd like to happen happens more often than we'd all like.

Wow. Our expectations and misplaced steely stares are grossly over-sized. So, how do we learn how to text...better?

First, we need to recognize a fundamental fact to communication between the sexes: Women perceive their relationships better than men. A study done by Hebrew University of Jerusalem showed that after surveying 97 couples in the United States, women are more perceptive than men in describing their relationships. The study, which was published in ScienceDaily, reported that women were much more accurate in describing the perception of their partners than men. Sometimes this hurts more than it helps. This means that, technically, a woman texting should know the situation that she's getting into and the sense of decorum that it comes with. Is this always true? Fuck no. How many of you ladies have sent those texts that as soon as your thumb lifts off the "Send" button, you start cringing? I start shaking, myself. Like I have palsy. It is tres, tres attractive, I'm sure.

I really, and I mean really hate the phone. This should be apparent by now. Which is exactly why I've spent so much time and off-the-mark texts researching what the best ways to compose and send them are. And this is what I've found:

We all have options about the way we have text. There are easy options, ambivalent options, and leave no pris...I mean, hard options. Most texts are usually ambivalent options. If he says he's got other plans when you ask what he's up to tonight, you probably won't be heartbroken. The general variety "Hey, do you wanna go get a drink?" or "What are you up to now/later?" are ambivalent options. Ambivalent option texts are usually safe texts to send and receive because the sender generally wants little other than some sort of contact with another life form for the sake of feeling not so bored and there's not so much pressure. Unfortunately, these are the sort of texts least likely to get responded to. It happens, though it still really pisses me off, primarily because like stated, they generally aren't threatening texts at all, merely curious and mostly seeking beer or other forms of entertainment of a purely friendly kind, no ulterior motives. (Well, ok, I mean, everyone always has ulterior motives of one kind or another.)

But sometimes, you need to hardball. Sometimes, you need to put you first. Maybe you had plans you need to know are definite. Maybe you forgot the notebook with your calc notes in it at his place after spending the previous night, and you've got a test in 2 hours. Maybe you really need advice on a matter, and value their opinion nearly more than your mother's. This is when you hardball. You don't want to force a no-options text when you think you want to spend the night. That's like using The Force for evil. That's turning over to the Dark Side of being one of Those Girls. (Pink lightsabers are not good lightsabers, people.) Text "I have to get my _____. What time will you be home so I can get it?" No options. You're getting that _____. Today.

A "soft option" or "easy option" looks like an ambivalent text at the beginning. It usually starts with a "Hey, what are you up to?" or something equally breezy and conversational, then it gets to the point after the "Not much, what about you?" response. A "soft option" then gives a time limit and easy out for the recipient to say either "yes" or "no" to, no pressure. "Can you chat for 5 minutes?" DON'T use "talk." NEVER use the word "talk" in a text in the context of "Let's talk," or "I want to talk to you" or "We need to talk." This makes sirens go off, and if you seem overly seriously, it's another no-no. They'll run for the hills. Seriously. Always stay light and informal. Now is a good time to be delicate about asking for things. This makes it a "soft in," because there are good chances that you'll get that in for 5 minutes or an invite. The main difference between an ambivalent text and an easy option text is that an ambivalent text is very direct and to-the-point without being overly polite or seeming like you're asking for a favor, like an easy option text usually takes the form of. The point of an ambivalent text is that you really don't give a fuck, which you do with easy option texting-- which is why you're making it an easy option.

Some other rules of texting thumb and phone etiquette:

- Always ask yourself, what am I trying to communicate in this text? Is it clear? Can anything be misinterpreted? Unfortunately, the answer to this last question may still be "yes," but at least by now you've done your best.

- Keep the text to one point. Abbreviate what you can, without it looking like a 14 year old wrote it. Keep it classy, and abbreviate using shorthand. "With" becomes "w/." "Because" is "b/c" or "bc." "And" becomes my favorite symbol, "&." "At" is "@." And although I really hate it, and it's the last thing I abbreviate, and only then if I really can't help it, "you" can be "u." God. I feel so awkward and tweenage all over again. And unless you're texting your best friends, keep it to one text page at a time. Getting slammed with a consecutive 2 or 3 in a row is so overwhelming.

- If you want a text back, a good place to end is on asking a question. A pertinent question. People are more apt to respond back to questions, even if it is only with one or a few words.

- Sass is hard to pull off without sounding like a bitch unless the other person knows your humor as well as you do. Watch ya tone.

- Use a fresh opener that other people won't. A "ciao" means it's from me. Conversely, using a gender-bending opener like "Yo" or "Dude" is great for fending off the advances of men you think of sheerly platonically, or alternately if you want to make your guy friend feel more comfortable with the informal tone of your text.

- Only if you call and don't leave a voicemail message can you text a "voicemail message" instead. I actually suggest this, as it's clever because it means your name is seen twice, and if they didn't answer the call because it wasn't an appropriate time, I think we all know that by now, texting mid-conversation, or at least reading a text, is considered de rigueur. That means twice the chance that they'll know to get back to you.

But always remember-- when in doubt, and if it's important: Call.

XOXO

The Mystery of the Missing Man in the Morning

Just when I was getting comfortable with the whole morning-after routine, the dealer throws a new card. Or, in this case, no card, no note, no nothing when I woke up the next morning, to not only find him gone from his bed, but gone from his house as well. There's this one extremely hilarious moment in which a woman, still fuzzy with sleep, reaches over to the other side of the bed, and feels the mattress palm-down to determine if it's still warm, or at this point, cold. It's like playing Sherla Holmes, Detectivette.

Sex and the City did not prepare me for this. Carrie never sat down at brunch one morning and said, "Hey, girls, the oddest thing happened this morning-- I woke up, and Mr. Big was gone to work, with no note!" We never discussed what to do when you are left with bedroom carte blanche! I WAS NOT EQUIPPED FOR THIS. No one, it seems, has ever given much thought to this situation before, or at least, not thought of it as an issue that needed any forethought. We all know, at this day and age, what to do the morning after. But what do you do when you're the last person left the morning after?

There are common-sense general perimeters for this sort of case-- don't still be there when he gets back, because that would mean that I would have slept in...for another 6 hours; pick up and lock up after yourself; and for god's sake, don't snoop!-- but I still was wobbling between secure and frantic now that my training wheels had been taken off. Good sign? Bad sign? Indifferent sign? Maybe he just didn't feel like having to go through any early morning shit-chat today, you know: "How's the weather/What are you up to later/What are the headlines?" Or maybe he just didn't want to have to share breakfast.

So, like Carrie does with Miranda and Charlotte and Samantha, I turned to what I supposed was my best hope for a second opinion: two of my girlfriends, one in a committed relationship, and one committed to having lots of relations with lots of different men, for advice on time frames for sleeping in more and if I should text when I left or not. After echoing each other-- "No note?! Well, at least he's comfortable enough with you to leave you alone with all his things," (I certainly would never leave anyone alone in my room for more time than they could get in trouble in,)-- they came through with the same answer: you should be able to sleep in for at least another hour, but after that, leave quickly, and text to let him know. Done, and done.

On my walk home in bright sunlight and the gently drifting downward leaves of late fall, I was caught between reveling in my extra hour of sleep and worrying. I liked it, being left to my own devices, to wake, dress, and go home at my leisure on my day off. Was I supposed to like it? Or did I really want to be woken up and said goodbye to, properly? Or do I really love uninterrupted sleep more than waking up and having to fit some logical puzzle pieces together to solve the mystery of the missing man? Was comfort a good thing, or a bad thing? And most of all, why had no one ever pulled us aside before, like your girl friends did when they first discovered orgasm, and gave you the play book? Why did they never tell us that this was a situation to prepare for? Who had the answers before this morning? Who still doesn't have the answers?

XOXO

Let's All Be Adults, Here

How many of you are in perfectly functioning relationships, where every need is met, you never question each other, you're both having exactly as much sex as you both want, he never snores, she never nags, and you're basically shitting rainbows and laughing maniacally while "Happy Together" plays everywhere you go?

Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't tell me if you really are so happy together 24/7/365 and shitting rainbows. But for the rest of us, how can we make what we have better? How can we be more satisfied and relaxed, and less needy and confused?

I have a theory that every. single. goddamn. relationship in the world is complicated and secretly dysfunctional in it's own way. And it's ok. Because we're all just human. And humans are messy, illogical beings. Guys, when was the last time your girl drove you crazy trying to nail you down to a specific event or response? Girls, when was the last time you got pissed at your S.O because he didn't do something you wanted him to? I do not call them "relationshits" or "_____-month adversary"s for no reason.

The next time something your fucking id-...sweetheart is doing something that's driving you crazy, press the mental "pause" button for a second to think. Take the time, before you react, to ask yourself: Am I upset at a need of mine that isn't being met, or am I just pumping myself up about something that I'm making out of nothing? A need (that has been established through prior clear, honest, adult conversation) that isn't being met is not ok to let slide by. Something that you would like but don't necessarily need, like a response back to a text that doesn't demand a response or conversation, isn't something to stew over or blow up about.

I had a night like that recently. I get demanding and unreasonable when I get scared-- it's one of my downfalls. In the past, I hit a 5 month mark and promptly morphed into a harpy. Why? Because I was scared. Would I actually put my very sufficient and wordy vocabulary to use and address this fact? Oh, hell no. Because that might mean actually admitting that I have fEeLiNgS and EMOtionz and I "wanted shit." Fuck that. So I mucked around instead and fucked it all up. Great, right? Exactly what I wanted to NOT happen, right?

Well, been there, bought that t-shirt, learned that lesson. So, this time, when it came down to it, I could step back far enough from the "situation" to realize it wasn't the fact I hadn't gotten a "thanks" back in reply that was making me tetchy and bitchy-- it was the fact that I had recently realized how much time I'd spent with that person (whom I know well enough at this point not to expect a response back to something like what I'd texted in the first place). It scared me, so I took all that emotion, and misplaced it somewhere else where I felt like I could deal with it better, by being a bitch about it with myself and overly-over-analyzing.

All in all, did it help anything? No. But what I was able to do was step back juuust enough to see what the real issue was, and make sure I didn't react offensively to it anywhere else but inside my own head. I did not need a text back in response of receiving it. I would have liked one, because that's what I consider good manners. But have I brought this fact up (in this case, that not getting acknowledgement from anyone drives me up the bloody wall,) before to discuss it? No. So I calmed my ass down, and went to a show downtown to distract myself. Distracting yourself in times like these when you're all keyed up over something asinine is a great trick. It's like time-out for adults. Go somewhere and do something without whoever is driving you nuts. Somewhere loud, with lots of other people, and things that will distract your attention from the snit-fit in your head. (Concerts, festivals, movies, and parties are all great places to go for this.) And viola, in 2 hours, you'll be all Zen again.

Remember: An issue that hasn't been addressed, out loud, in a respectful, adult conversation between the two of you, is not an issue you can get mad or defensive or confrontational about. It's not fair. It's like expecting your S.O to be able to read your mind and intuitively know what they should say or do. And I think we all know by now that men are not mind-readers. Sometimes it's a good thing. (I already say far too much about whatever's on my mind when I drink. We don't need the rest of what I'm not saying aired out, too.) And sometimes it's a bad thing. But I don't think it's going to be changing either way anytime soon.

XOXO

P.S-- A few good mantras if you think you're about to blow your life out of the water? "Slow your roll," "Are you completely sure you know what you're doing?" On a percentage scale to 100%, where are you? If you're at 85% or lower, it ain't worth it to bug out. And my personal favorite and most often used-- "Don't be so crazy-pants, little one!" I dare you to at least not crack a smile while you say "crazy-pants" to yourself. Or anyone else, for that matter. I'm grinning right now.

That's Life.

People love to be loved. It's strange, because right about the time you start trying to move the world for someone is usually right about the time in which they start trying to move away from you. I don't understand it-- we all profess to want nothing more in this world than to be loved and adored-- but it's true. It's been done to me, and I've most definitely also done it in return. Maybe it's the gravity of the situation. Maybe it's the fact we just don't know how to deal with it yet, emotionally stunted as we are.

It's impossibly easy after something like this to fall into the familiar Pit of Despair trap and become a miserable human being. It's impossibly easy to become moody and withdrawn, stop showering as often as is really socially accepted, and start self-medicating with alcohol, weed, what I fondly refer to as "suicide sticks" (otherwise known as cigarettes), and if you're feeling really low, you can go as far as consuming the cooking sherry and the bottle of wine with half a glass left that you opened for a house party over three months ago in "the better days" in a quest for something more than self-immolation.

Lord knows I have been caught in bed with the silty remnants of a bottle of wine at 10 AM.

But the thing that we don't tend to realize is that it's not a personal affront to US. WE are generally not the problem. I'm sure you're a perfectly lovely human being, once you, I don't know, maybe shower and shave and put on something other than the same shirt you've been wearing for the past 3 days, and it's probably not your fault that someone couldn't decide if they really wanted to be with you or not. IT'S THEM. I'm pretty sure that there are other people out there who would LOVE to be with you, and that they'd find your early smoker's cough and combative attitude charming.

So, Jesus Christ, stop acting like you're the only person who has ever had someone not fall completely in love with them, get your self-respect back, and stop spiking your afternoon coffee. Jesus. THAT'S LIFE. It sucks. It hurts. You're not the first, nor is this the last time you'll ever want someone who doesn't love you. And guaranteed, your spectacular sulk is not going to make you any more attractive.

Here are just a few things you can do to get over yourself:
- Take all your misguided self-loathing energy, and throw it into your friendships, because those are people who, believe it or not, still love you, irregardless of how infrequently you shower.
- Pick up a new book or hobby, preferably something very involved that doesn't leave much room for outside thought. "Infinite Jest" by David Foster Wallace is a good book choice, as it's over 1,000 pages long and requires infinite patience to follow, and I've found that learning to play the guitar is a hobby conducive to narrowing your world down to just your fingers and the strings. Because even I cannot sing and play at the same time, and I've been singing for years and years and years.
- Get out of your apartment. Go see a movie. Go on a short trip.
- Do something for other people. Volunteer, donate, compliment someone, whatever. It'll give your self-esteem a boost.
- Cliche, but eat some ice cream. Dublin Mudslide is my feeling-sorry-for-myself ice cream of choice. Because, after all, Ben & Jerry are the only two men a woman can really trust to give her what she really wants.
- Cut off contact with the person who was too stupid to see how awesome you really are. Believe me-- you don't need them right now.
- Sleep with someone else. Just, you know, don't start using other people as a crutch. That's just not nice, either.

I hope that helps. Because if I have to see you feeling sorry for yourself one more time, by god, I will REALLY slap you across the face and be forced to break into "Intervention: The Musical." And if song and dance still does nothing to shock you out of it, then I don't know what will.

I'm not kidding. I've created a musical about this self-pity-party phenomenon.

XOXO

Rules of Attraction

I was recently at a friend's moving-away party, which was definitely more of a sausage-fest than an equal-opportunity kegger. Probably not surprisingly, this is exactly the way I usually like my parties-- heavy on the dudes, light on the other women. As I teared up while hugging my friend good-bye for probably the millionth time at 3 AM, I explained it to the girl behind him who was getting a kick out of my theatrics. "If one of my girls moves away, fine-- we'll talk, and hey, I'll see her later. But losing one of my boys is like losing a member of my family." Not having them around anymore is like a gaping hole in my life. Local anaesthesia just doesn't cut it.

But enough of the Kleenex-laden emotional bullshit. On with the stuff about sex. As a budding so-called "sexual anthropologist," the other nice thing about dude-parties is that they give you a chance to watch men in action as they try to pick chicks up-- sometimes, you being the bird, and sometimes, other women. Here are a few of the fail-proof tricks of the trade to keep an eagle-eye out for the next time you find yourself wondering if a guy's hitting on you, or if he's just seizing in your general direction:

- Male or female, if you're interested in someone, you turn your body in toward them. Women tend to point with their chests, because hey, that's where we have distracting goodies located, while men tend to point with their pelvises for the same reason. Elvis totally understood this rule.

- Take this one with caution: A man who'd feeling you (or who'd like to be feeling you up later,) will invade your personal space like nobody's business. Consider it a basic test-run to see if you have chemistry together. There are some people that I can't stand in the same room as, let alone next to, without feeling like there are sparks jumping off of my skin. Conversely, there are dead fish whose company I would feel more warmly about snuggling up to than some other people. You just can't fake attraction and chemistry. So if you're you're sharing the same airspace, take a moment to consider how you feel, because chances are, he's doing the same. HOWEVER. Drunk people also invade personal space because they don't know any better. As for drunk people who are attracted to you, just throw your hands up and assume both.

- Combining these last two hints, if you're worried that he's about to start dry-humping your leg because every time you breath out, you're smooshed together in a way that is not PG-13 and is basically sex while both of you are still wearing your jeans, it's either really packed in there and he'd rather touch you than the 250 pound dude with an "I Hate Mom" tattoo across his forehead who's behind him, or yes, he's hitting on you. If his belt-buckle is getting personal, he'd like to be, too.

- Everyone's favorite topic is themselves. If he's asking you 48 questions about yourself, he's trying to prove that he's really interested in YOU, not talking all about HIM. Though I'm sure he wouldn't object if you started asking him things about himself. It's called "good conversation," and most not totally socially-inept people find it very flattering.

- So your conversation has ended, and you've turned away to mingle with other people. You notice he's stayed put close by, and is alternately casually chatting with other people, or just, um...hanging. This one's sneaky: Now that you've moved on from him, he's watching to judge if you were really into him too, or if you were treating him the same way you treat everyone else. Women do this all the time, too. (Generality ahead, but backed with evidence as we notice when you do it, but I'm pretty sure you don't notice when we do it:) We just tend to be better at disguising what we're doing so it doesn't freak you the fuck out. Pouring a drink? Checking our phone? Talking in low voices with a friend? No, we're really not. Those are all things we could do with our brainstem unattached. We're really listening in and making furtive glances in your general direction to keep tabs on you, while being as least creepy as possible. (I just royally broke Girl Code in divulging that and probably just shot myself in the foot, but bahhh. It's a random Monday in the Writing Center, and I'm bored.) No one likes looking up to see someone boring holes into them with their eyes from across the room. Unless you find that sort of thing hot, which it can be, unless you look like Jack Nicholson in "Wolf."

XOXO

The Little Things, AKA: Why Do Men Hate Mirrors?

I know I'm incredibly self-righteous and preach about the benefits of making an Overnight Kit, and just ever-so-recently made a comment about how it would be really smart to carry one whenever you leave your house, among other things. But as you should know by now, I only do what I tell other people they should be doing about .012% of the time. And it seems to me as if every time you shave, put on the good lingerie, and bring the damn thing, you never end up with a reason for needing to shave, wear the good lingerie, and bring the damn bag, because you find yourself walking through your front door at a respectable early-morning hour grumbling about how that was a shave completely wasted. In fact, I actually have a card somewhere that says exactly that-- "Was it worth shaving her legs for?"

So, how does a girl deal when she does not have the needed amenities?

Well, first, we hide in bed and bitch, and consider crawling out your

window and over the dumpsters and hightailing it out before you roommates clap eyes on us and start shrieking about "Swamp woman! Tia Dalma has come to exact her revenge! Calypso! We're all gonna diiiieeeee!"

Then, we get crafty. I don't understand why men have an aversion to mirrors that rivals that of vampires, but it seems like they do. In the morning, I need to look at my head before I walk out of ANY door, be it a bedroom door, or a front door. This goes double for when it's hot, I've been sweating, and I'm pretty sure something nested in my hair during the night, like possibly, your cat, or a cockroach. Although I have heard some pretty creative and far-out excuses for why mirrors are not a part of the decor-- "I usually have my webcam in here and use that,"-- most people DO have something on them that's of equal use: the shiny, reflective screen of your cell phone. Granted, anyone with a slab-like Smart Phone has an advantage, and yes, the screen is small, so you'll have to inspect your hair and face in sections, but it works in a pinch. And believe me, this is one case in which you're not being pinched-- you're being grabbed.

The other thing I've noticed is that toothpaste, or a tube that doesn't require two people and a steam roller to get any gel out, seems to be a rare find. So here's another quick fix that can be found in most non-prepared purses, anyway: Gum. Just, please, if you're going to kiss goodbye, remember it's still in your mouth before that poor guy finds himself wondering a half-hour later when he popped a stick of gum in his mouth.

The only other words of advice I can give you are these: Use toilet paper to remove any excess make-up from the night before while keeping what's still good and hasn't run like a man who just heard the word "love" on your face. What's making you look like Gene Simmons in full stage make-up is most probably your eyeliner, falsely-labeled-not-waterproof-or-at-least-sweatproof mascara, and lipstick. Just use that as a guideline to swipe around your eyes and mouth for when you're mirror-challenged.

And, get dressed as much as possible. I mean, yeah-- if you were wearing a skin-tight clubbing dress the night before, people are gonna notice you traipsing back home at 9 AM. (And dammit, I don't care how much your feet hurt-- put the damn heels on again; don't carry them!) Just hold your head high. Pretend it's Vegas where dressing like that in early morning hours is perfectly acceptable. If you originally dressed more understated, re-create the outfit to the best of your abilities, if you can still find all your clothing on the messy floor or in the black hole under the bed. Chances are, anyone other than your one-night roommate and their roommates who saw you in what you were wearing last night aren't going to be seeing you this morning, so pretend that it's a totally valid new outfit that you put on specially for today. This means putting all your jewelry back on, tucking in your shirt again, and unrolling your pant legs. Just do it. You won't look so much like "Oops, Annie Get Your Clothes On! I Know Where You Were And Weren't Expecting To Be Last Night!" to everyone who sees you. Instead, they'll probably just think-- "She looked so well put-together until I got closer and noticed her hair. Poor girl. Should I try to comfort her and tell her that the starting phases of dreadlocks are a bitch?"

And can I please get some feedback on the phenomenon of how when you're ready for it, it never happens, but when you're all, "Jesus, I'm such a landscaping wreck, not even a Lowe's employee would want to rehab me, LOLZ!", you get hit out of nowhere like a freight train carrying a full load of "Don't You Feel Stupid Now?" Or am I alone and special-in-the-handicapped-way in that?

XOXO

Train Wrecks and Re-Doing Old Mistakes

"It's not good for me, but I want it."

It's probably the motto of my life. Everything, nearly everything I prefer the hard way, be it jobs, plans, or men. I have been known to end relationships that were "too easy." I've also been known to completely scorn the conventional way of doing something because it's too tried and true and lacking in excitement. But it's perfectly fine with me if I turn my life upside-down and bassakwards going after something slightly dangerous, more than stupid, and highly unobtainable.

"Sometimes I feel like my friends are my teenage daughters," I told my mom the other day. "They're doing all these things that just aren't smart, and I want to help them so bad, but then I realize they have to figure it out for themselves in order to learn anything. It's just so painful."

My mom lived through her 16 year old daughter cohabitating with a 24 year old dude. My mom knows where I'm coming from, and has put up with much worse. My mom said the same thing that she said to me when she watched me barrel out the front door with overnight bags: "It's their train wreck, and they have to figure it out for themselves."

We can see a friend's train wreck coming from a mile away and preach and preach and preach until we turn red and run out of breath, but when it comes to our own ongoing mistakes, we're deaf, blind, and dumb. Why can't any of us get out of our own way?

I have a theory. And it goes like this: Secretly-- like how we'll pour over our pores for hours behind the safety of our bathroom door, or how we believe that curling our hair and using hairspray makes up for not washing our hair-- we like it that way. I'm not 100% happy unless I have something to mull and churn over and over and over and over and over again in my head, like a washer of self-destructive tendencies on spin-cycle. And I've been told more and more recently that other people are exactly the same way. Maybe the perks that came with this highly-evolved human brain are just too prone to being used for obsession, over-analyzation, and drama than good.

Oh, and as for that whole "learning from your mistakes" thing? Bullshit. I'm still re-making the same mistakes. And I'm still just as happy trying to rectify them, the hardest ways possible.

XOXO

Conversations With (Not So) Hideous Men

When I was little, I used to despise getting up to go to elementary school, a sentiment I'm sure we can all relate to. In the span of time between the first time my mother came in to wake me and the second (because it has always taken me 15 to 20 minutes to wake up and get out of bed), I used to lie there and have waking daydreams about a place where people could lie in beds all day, in a room surrounded by books on bookshelves, do their learning and reading in bed, clack away at a computer from the comfort of under their down comforter, and have food delivered and eat in while still in their pajamas.

This is why I became a writer. I chose to be a writer so I could be doing what I am right now-- sitting upright in bed after waking up at noon, still naked, eating cold leftover lo mien out of the carton, answering work emails and making money. (Plus, if you haven't caught on by now, writing is just kind of what I do. If I didn't have hands, I'd write with my toes. And if I didn't have toes, I'd teach myself to hold a pencil in and write with my mouth. And if I couldn't learn to write with my mouth, then I'd go out and buy a tape recorder and wonder why I just hadn't done that in the first place. But you get the point-- it's an as uncontrollable love and reflex for me as breathing or eating Annie's white cheddar macaroni and cheese.)

I'm theoretically as lazy as when it comes to "real world" writing work as I am about exercise. I mean, I'll get up, shower, go into an office and put in my 10-6, just like I'll get on a treadmill and pound out a mile and do some chest presses and back extensions-- I'll do it if I know it's going to get me somewhere or get my 4-pack back, but it's not like I have to enjoy it. My father was self-employed for most of his adult life, and among other things, I take after him in that I'm happiest when I'm being my own boss. And I'm never going to be happy unless I'm doing something that I'm going to find useful.

Grad school is one of those "useful things." I recently and unexpectedly met one of the writers and talent scouts for Saturday Night Live, and before I knew who she was, had given her a brief run-down of my resume and objectives. After the fact, she commended me on my choices of schools, and my resume. "By the time you get your Masters," she told me, "Don't be surprised to be looking at $80,000 a year salaries in New York, if you keep doing what you're doing." (She also, by the by, used to be a sex, love, and relationship writer in college, MOM.)

Now, money is one of those tricky things for me, and as I am reluctantly growing up, I recently sat down with a projected list of living expenses, current bills, and my income. I figured out in order to live someplace in New York where I won't have to fear sharing a one-bedroom with an infestation of roach roommates, pay my bills and college loans back, buy the occasional pair of shoes and feed myself a few times a week, and keep my horse, I need to be making a minimum of $30,000 a year. So yeah. Grad school. It's gotta get me there. And if it can be with give-or-take $50,000 to spare, hey-- I'm not going to protest.

Because it's only mildly important in developing the rest of my life, I did the only reasonable thing I could do when faced with some questions about one college no GRE prep book or grad school website can answer: I called my ex. Having grown up about 2 hours away, I suspected he knew the area a little, and could give me a basic idea of what it was like, and if he could see me living and studying there.

Scary? Yes, a little. Weird? When you don't talk so regularly anymore, yeah. When he beckoned me into the other room, was I not sure if I were about to get verbally chewed up and spit out? No, I was considering it a possibility. After all, harsh words have been traded in the not-so-distant past. But did I follow him? Yes. Because when it comes down to it, there's one thing you have to keep in mind-- "I know what this person looks like naked." And that little thought is enough to make anyone seem more human and vulnerable again. When you can trace someone's moles from memory and know the stories of their scars, you can't help but remember that at one time, neither of you wanted to hurt the other.

That's the thing about maintaining people in your life-- if someone has been inside of you, they generally know other intimate things about you, like your likes and dislikes and have a pretty good handle on who you are as a person. And if they're good people, even after the whole "we are not together anymore" thing, they'll still try to do right by you. So when he said, "I can't really see you enjoying it there," I listened. I also listened when he said "You've got the ambition, and if that sort of networking is what you want, then it would be a good place to go."

I used to burn bridges and recklessly discard people and exes like used plastic utensils, but along with the whole "growing-changing-thinking-about-my-future" thing, I've also realized what a bad move it is. Some of them are people I'd still lay down a lot for-- why would you want to alienate that for yourself? Not the smartest move a generally smart person could make.

So play nice and work well with others. What you put out is what you receive back, after all, at running the risk of sounding like your Zen Yoda master.

XOXO

Dirty Little Secrets

When I was 8, I went to New York City with all the women of my family to celebrate my grandmother's birthday. We stayed at the Waldorf Astoria, drank at Trump Plaza (where I sent my Shirley Temple back for being too light on the grenadine-- I've always been particular about my drinks,) ate at delis and from Zabars and Tavern on the Green and went to a Broadway play (Ragtime). At night, tucked into our hotel rooms, we amused ourselves in the city life. My aunt still had her opera glasses from the play, and using them, we peered into the lives of the people in the apartment building across the street. There was the muscular gay couple tangoing. (Not a euphemism.) There was a woman who couldn't decide what bra matched her outfit. Lots of people watched TV or worked out. And there were a few windows I was not allowed to look in. (Now I understand.) This, the strict voyeurism and the intrigue, more than the play, the food, or the weekend's daytime events, sticks with me the most about this trip.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that people have a fascination with other people's lives. What strikes me the most about Batman's villains is that they're all different people than they appear to be, just like Batman himself, or you, or me, or the guy you're currently dating. True, they may not be as juicy as Selena Kyle/Catwoman or Bruce Wayne/Batman, but we all have secret lives. There are things that we all do that other people may never know about. There can even be large chunks of unaccounted for history between people who think they know each other so well. But the fact is, no matter how much we want our secrets to stay secret, there will always be someone else with a pair of binoculars looking into the windows of our lives and our minds. And though we may prefer to be creatures of mystery, damn sure we hate it when others are.

I air my laundry pretty throughly. Part of this blog is making a good half of my life public knowledge, but there are some things I have learned to draw the line at. Hence, recently, a casual friend of mine came up to me with a surprised "I never knew until it was over!"

I shrugged. "I like to keep some things low-key; quiet," I told her. Even you, dear readers, probably only get a very sheltered half of the stories. Some of you know more than others. Some of you know EXACTLY the story. Still others of you, have absolutely no need to know. It's difficult at times. Sometimes, knowing that I could get the feedback or sympathy or support I crave by telling the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me god, is tempting. Sometimes, I want to Anais Nin that shit and blow it all wide open. But what stops me is the fact that no matter how many hundreds or thousands of people read about it, it's not really going to change much for me. In fact, it may even get in the way. Just like those people living their lives in those New York apartments didn't know that they were being watched, knowing that they were would have made them act differently, in ways less true to themselves. So, maybe, by at least pretending to leave someone's life alone, it's really the best way to let them learn and grow through whatever is happening, without interfering. It's hard, but it's best to wait it out.

That's why it's so weird to be living in the same city as people you know so well, so intimately, so conventionally, and still have no idea what's happening with them.

XOXO

P.S-- I guess I've come full retribunial circle with the whole , because due to my lack of modesty, I have become That Girl in the neighborhood that the neighbors can count on to forget to close her curtain, cook half-naked in the kitchen, or sprint by the living room windows on the way to the bathroom fully nekkid. Perhaps I have a guilty and paying-for-it-now conscious from all those years back.

Not Just A Number

I've got a slightly shocking revelation for you tonight: Barring the time in high school when we played drunken Spin the Bottle, I have only ever kissed the same men I've had sex with. This also means I have only ever fooled around with, hooked up with, and awkwardly groped in the dark while intoxicated the same men I've had sex with. While this may seem ridiculously old-fashioned, it's just what works best for me. I'm notoriously picky. (However, this does not mean that I still don't end up with men who are more likely to give me herpes than jewelry.)

A lot of my friends will say, "I really wish I haven't slept with as many people as I have," or "I really wish I could remember the name of the guy who I made out with for three hours in the bathroom at that party," and for the most part, I really don't feel like I'm missing out on those sentiments. I find it fascinating how women can always tell you the EXACT number of men they're slept with; do men keep track of it, too? Once, when asked by a friend how many people I assumed the guy I was seeing had slept with, I responded, "My guess is about 50, but let's go on the conservative side with around 30." She was shocked. I was serious. (I have no idea if men actually count like this. Could someone enlighten me?) But regardless of how other people work, I've always made my choices based on lots and lots and lots and lots and LOTS of thinking. Lots of time thinking about who I am and what I want and what I need. Lots of time weighing pros and cons and doing the fieldwork to see if it was worth it. And in a few cases, split-second reacting.

Once, I was seeing this guy who had had a thing for me for awhile. I wasn't sure how I felt about him, but I figured it couldn't hurt to "try him on for size" like you would a dress you liked the looks of or a pair of jeans. On paper, he was great for me so I assumed I could make it work--literally, FORCE it to work--, but in person, things were strained. He was doing his damndest, though he didn't realize, just as many don't, that I'll never do drunk what I won't do sober, and I felt like I deserved to make a good Yankee go of it (the motto of my life, it seems,) but it just wasn't...right. I ended up sleeping with someone else who I had been warned off of a million and three times while he and I were still technically dating, and it was my fling that blind-sided me. I wasn't expecting much. In fact, I wasn't expecting anything past one night that I could pretend never happened. What I planned for was bragging rights; the ability to say, "See that gorgeous man? I tapped that." What I didn't plan for was falling for the one person I never could have seen coming. I could never have foreseen what happened afterward, the abrupt flip in the compass rose of my love-life from north to south. There was absolutely no forcing of anything-- there was just raw, unavoidable, undeniable connection. It ended up being one of the most fulfilling and enlightening relationships of my life. And every time I saw the "perfect on paper" guy I passed (screwed?) over, I breathed a sigh of relief. (And um, to him, I'm sorry? But not really?)

So, this is what I have to say to you as the moral of the story: Be picky. Don't feel like just because someone is into you that you're obligated to also be into them or owe them anything. Girls seem to fall into this trap a lot, and it pains me to see it happen. Don't worry-- if there's one thing I can assure you, it's that the last time you got laid will not be the last time you ever get laid. You're still young. There's lots of guys out there. You've got years. Unless you're 82, it isn't the end. (And even if you are 82, it may not even be the end then.) Dry spells are as annoying as fuck, but they won't kill you. You can hang in there until you find someone who you're thrilled about, not someone who is thrilled to get into your pants and you're just complacent about. Sex is sex is sex, but it ain't the best unless there's something more to it.

Times like these are when I find myself doing things like trying to find my A.) feelings, B.) pride, C.) social graces, and D.) amusement at the bottom of a pint of Phish Food. I've even been steering clear of magazine racks lately just because looking at photos of couples actually gives me the blues. And it's not because I want to be in one. It's because I don't know what I actually do want. Whatever it may be, I can tell you what it isn't-- settling. I'm done settling, and I hope you are, too.

XOXO

Everything A Girl Could Possibly Need

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.

-Insomnia? Orgasm. One will send you off to sleep gently like a baby; two will knock you out like horse tranquilizers. It relieves tension and stress and takes your mind off of everything else that could be keeping you awake.

-Driving a standard in heels? Rest the tip of your left heel so that it makes a V-angle with the floorboard near the clutch. That way, the stress when you decompress the clutch is on the heel, just like it is when you're walking, and it gives you better leverage.

-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.

-Become the best damn barmaid that you can be. Open the bottle or can. Don't spill it-- if you do, your career is over already. Touch the rim of your pint glass, chilled stein, or SippyCup so that it is resting under one of the grooves that the bottle's cap screwed on, or along the under-ridge at the top of a can at an obtuse angle-- i.e: if the bottle or can were the hour hand on a clock, it would be around 5, and the glass you're pouring into would be around 8. Slowly tilt the bottom of your bottle or can up slightly as you pour so that the beer runs down the side of the glass, not directly to the bottle. (If you let it run directly to the bottom, as I did the first time I poured beer for an ex at 16, all you will get is shit-tons of head. While normally not a bad thing, in the beer world this is a very bad thing.) Go slow while pouring. While you may be chugging it later, there is no race about the pouring. Let it oxidize nicely so that when you finally do get down to the bottom quarter of the bottle or can and start to pull the glass you're pouring into from the 8 to the 6 or straight-up position, there's about half an inch of nice head. Or, you can skip all that and do what I do-- be a Bottle Girl.

-When asking for a favor, widen your eyes and blink once or twice. It works WONDERS. Also, leading in with something like knowing how busy someone is is an instant guilt-trip, and leaves them room to see that you acknowledge how busy they are, so doing this one little thing would be SO GREAT.

Others may pop up later, but I'm lazy and hungover right now. Happy Memorial Day-- make sure to thank all the veterans in your life. Love you, Dad! And speaking of glamorous life in Burlington, PMG Public Relations was recently featured as a quote in Cosmopolitan, and a study done by St. Mike’s students was used in a Glamour article. Burlington is getting to be a happening place. Hey, publications—I’M RIGHT HERE, AND I’LL WHORE MY WRITING OUT FOR THE RIGHT PIECE AND THE RIGHT PRICE. Move-in day: t-minus 8 days.

XOXO

Hey, You Wanna Blog?

Well, it IS a four-letter word. For shits and giggles, you can even replace the word "blog" with "fuck" in this post and see where it gets you. Just, you know, if you don't want to take this seriously.

About a week ago, I was chatting with a friend of mine who recently graduated in the same major that I'm going to be-- Professional Writing. We were discussing how newly-minted grads can get their writing out when he brought my blog up, asking me how I found enough time to write so much, citing the fact that I obviously loved doing so. It wasn't so much of a time commitment thing, I told him. I can knock a post off anywhere between 45 minutes and 2 hours, depending on the length and if the subject matter needs any researching. I'm a first-draft-is-the-best-draft and quick-editing sort of girl. It's more about just being eternally curious about things.

I started blogging back in high school. Between my short attention span, lack of interesting content, experience, life subject matter, and being in "too small of a space," it failed. Also paramount was probably also the fact that I still thought I was bound to be a Great American Fiction Novelist, a fact that I now get a really good laugh out of, being the queen of short, question-driven format. I got back into it last summer, when, unemployed and in an unhappy relationship, I figured it would give me something to do, and a way to make pocket change. (Never underestimate the power of quarters in a coin-op laundry apartment dweller's life.)

Lately, I've been getting a lot of great feedback from readers, either from people whom I consider excellent writers themselves telling me I've got a good thing going, or from relative newbies asking for blogging advice and how to keep up the song and dance routine and make it into something showy. I've been kicking the following spiel around for awhile, ever since a professor last year fall mentioned he may have a class he'd like me to talk about blogging to, and then, again last semester, when an online class I was taking for my major challenged us all to create and maintain a blog as an integral part of our soon-to-be profession. I was a little saddened, I'll admit, when the class didn't seem to grasp the idea of having a blog. Granted, mine was already well underway, and in fact, an email had to be sent to my professor explaining that for professionalism's sake, I would not be posting any of my non-content related class assignments on SATCG. But when it became clear that not many people in our class of 12 were embracing the blog, it flabbergasted me. I really don't get the recalcitrance that some writers have about blogging. I mean, I know they're not for everyone, and there will always be someone who likes getting rejection letters from The Atlantic and The New Yorker more than publishing the "easy way." But even Hank Moody deigned to blog, for chissake. It's just easy. It doesn't take itself too seriously. It's a great starting spot. A blog URL is a great thing for a writer to include on their business card to hand to potential editors or agents or publishers to visit and get an idea of what you do. Eventually, a blog even gives you material to ship off to publications. (My Sexual Anthropologist's Portfolio is an example of this, and maybe one of these days I'll actually realize the fact that I graduate in under a year and need a steady and reasonably well-paying job and start sending things out.)

That being said, the following are things that every blogger really needs to carefully consider before or during their blogging experience. I'm a big fan of doing things and doing things as best I can, and nearly one year into blogging at SATCG, with 47 followers, a total of nearly 20,000 page hits, and almost my first check from AdSense on its way, this is the best blogging advice I can give you:

-Before you start writing, ask yourself-- What are you passionate about? It doesn't have to be a topic you can discuss ad nauseum-- it just has to be something you can run with. Do you even like to write? Ask yourself what do you like to write about, and how do you like to write about it? Do you take a more scholastic tone naturally, or a more conversational one? Do you tend to form essays with theses and answers backed up by research, or does free-form poetry suit you more? Some people keep blog diaries. Some people have news blogs. You need to be sure you're writing something thematic in a way that you'll be able to call forth any time you want to.

-Who you target your blog to makes a huge difference. Sexandthecollegegirl.blogspot.com gets between 80 and 200 hits a day, depending on recent posting frequency, subject matter, and timing. It is mostly unadvertised, mainly relying on my friends and word-of-mouth to spread. I got really lucky early on and was featured on Smart, Pretty and Awkward by the incomparable Molly, which helped my readership exponentially. My friends have also gone above and beyond the call of duty, posting the blog to StumbleUpon and linking it to their own blogs. Obviously, a blog based around the premise of a Sex and the City-esque column is going to attract mostly young women, but I was surprised at the diversity of my readership. Some are from as far away as Australia, Japan, and the Netherlands. Others are from as close as Albany, NY, to across the U.S. Some follow for the fashion, some for the relationship advice, some for the straight-forward girl talk, some for the salacious gossip. I also have quite the contingency of male readers, and I think they're all perfect dolls and will make some woman very lucky, if they haven't already (there is a shout-out to my professors). The name probably gets me a few cheap hits, too, but I hope they maybe stay and read a post or two and learn something.

(My other creative-writing blog, Juxtaposition, mainly attracts stragglers, a few die-hard readers that I love to pieces, and my mother. Probably because posting there is sporadic at best, experimental by nature, and takes a real particular taste to handle.)

-Some people blog once a day. Some people blog or Tweet 5 times a day. Some once a week. Some once a month. I blog when I have something to say. It is my soapbox. The point is, you need to figure out what a realistic posting schedule is for you, and STICK TO IT. Realize that if you have readers, you have people that want to read new content, not what you posted two weeks ago. Or a month ago. People are needy. Readers are devoted and needy and can only re-read something so many times, even it's your most stunning material. If there is constantly nothing new, they're going to stop coming back. If there is something constantly new, as you know, curiosity killed the cat, but it also made the blog traffic numbers soar. That is how you build your readership and blog traffic-- by blogging frequently. In the most simple way I can put it, posting = success. Do know that frequency of posts means more interest, better site traffic, and more money.

Oh, did I say money?

-Most people are shocked to find out that I make money on my blog. Yes, it's percentages of cents for every visit and more for every clicked ad from Google AdSense, but it's money all the same. And I make it doing nothing other than what I love and what I want to write about, and just whoring out about an inch and a half by five inches of spare space on my page. Apparently, in the real world, this is the ideal gig for a writer. It may be baby-steps and just dollars and cents right now, but I'm told that this model of write and get paid is something like what we writers should inspire to in the bigger picture. Tim Brookes also has some great money-making ideas for your blog in his article, "Equally Worthless?", as well as some um, familiar subject matter and characters. And whatever your motives are coming here, you're supporting me, so thank you. When my blog dropped on campus and shit got hairy, other than the support of my friends, knowing that I was making some nice dough off of all the site traffic kept me going. And what do you know? Life's good now.

-Speaking of things getting a little crazy, how many of you would dare to blog about your friends? People on campus? Your boyfriend or girlfriend or the person you've been trying to wrangle into bed with you for the past month? For awhile after the Great Blogging Debacle of 2009, I was unsure of how, exactly, one goes about a sex and relationship blog without verbally lambasting people or naming very transparent nicknames. Then I grew up, got smart, and decided to try skipping intimate details in exchange for broad strokes of thought and pointed questions and posts based around things that were happening in my life. Though it was a massive learning experience, it made me a much better, and much more interesting and people-friendly, blogger. (Also, this is a huge mea culpa for that debacle right now.) How many of you would blog about hot button issues, the things that other people don't want to touch because of controversy? And I don't mean just politics or religion, here. I come under fire regularly from my own mother for blogging about "trashy" material. But like I tell her, excuse me, but I can't be the only one wondering why women seem to give and not receive oral as regularly as men do. There has to be SOMEONE else out there wondering the same thing that just doesn't have the guts to come straight out and ask about it.

-This brings up another huge issue to consider: Is your blog going to be private, or open? A private blog means that only the people you invite can view your content. An open blog means that the whole wide internet world can knock down your URL's door. For fellow writers, I really don't see what you could ever gain from having a private blog, when having an open one is the best way to get your writing published and out into the world for free, no agents or publications needed. Take chances. Defending yourself and your writing is one of the most fundamental things you can learn to do as a writer. Stephen Stills once said something that I think I have quoted on numerous occasions on this blog-- "There are three things men can do with women: love them, suffer for them, or turn them into literature." And as we're quasi-feminist here, I think women should be allowed to do the same.

-I cannot stress this enough: FOLLOW OTHER BLOGS. Start an RSS feed either here on Blogger, on Wordpress, on whatever you want to, but read other blogs with similar content to yours. Not only does this keep you in touch with what is going on and what has already been written on the subjects you're interested in, it's a great way to get "soft news" and to see what people want to know more about. I follow over 50 blogs. And blog etiquette says that if someone follows your blog, you should check theirs out, too, and if it doesn't seem like something totally outside of your interests, follow theirs. This is a great way to build a follower base, and I really wish more people would do this.

-Mesh your blog with your other writing endeavors and projects. This will make multi-tasking, or rather, re-using content, much easier. When I was writing for Moss on the Moon and the Champlain Current, some of what I published on hard copy worked great as an easy, pre-written filler post here, no extra work or writing necessary. I'd encourage you to pick up writing projects outside of your blog to supplement both your skills and your content bank-- if you're still in college, writing for your school newspaper or a campus publication is a great place to start. Also, never underestimate the ability for class content to be created of a similar theme to your blog. Last semester, I wrote two 8-page papers for Women in 20th Century Fiction on Penelope and Odysseus's relationship in the Odyssey, and a paper for Renaissance Theory of Love on what Renaissance philosopher's theories and modern women's magazines have in common in regards to views on love, got two As, and am probably going to do some editing to shorten and tighten them up and post them here. If you're already a young professional, find writing competitions in your area and try to make a quick buck while you're at it; see if projects at work could overlap with your blog.

I hope that something in there got stuck with you to chew over-- if not, I've totally failed my goal. In the meantime, if you have any other questions or noticed topics about blogging that weren't covered, drop me a line, and I'll do my best to fill in the holes. Ciao-ciao until next time.

...And hey, DO you want to blog?

XOXO