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

"More Porn, Please." A Ladies' Guide To The X-Rated.

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Happily Ever After, Or Something Like It.

My lovelies.

I am so sorry about this last week of incommunicado. I've been HOME-home, and busy being lazy. I've been working on three columns, but none of them are shaping up in quite the way I like. So more work is being done. In the meantime, I have a short little post for you, just to tide you over and keep y'all a little less bored.

Last night, I received a phone call from my mother while sitting home alone, watching the "Ghost Town" episode of SATC. (Ha. Fitting. The irony is not lost on me.) "We're at Beer Friday," she told me. "Want to come down? Bring your dad's jacket and the beer in the fridge. We're at SkaterBoy's and Princess Leia's. Oh, and H is here." "H" is the guy that my parents have been trying, fruitlessly, to introduce me to for the past two years. When this all started, he was 26. Now, he's 28, causing my mother to ask me, "Is 28 too old?"

Yeah, mother, generally, it is, but since all I was doing was further drowning myself in a wallowing pit of despair and missing Perfect while watching Carrie and Aiden (who are a great TV version of Perfect and I, by the way,) make up and make out, I decided that hey, this would be interesting one way or another. So I shrugged into my new last-season AE bomber jacket, slipped into my Dansko motorcycle boots, and went on a "what the fuck do I have to lose?" adventure.

Ok. Usually, my mother and I have very different taste, but H apparently stood for Hot. He happened to be in SkaterBoy' and Princess Leia's kitchen with my dad when I walked in, and as soon as I walked through the door, we gave each other a once-over. He was a smaller build then the men I usually go for (the tall and built types,) but he was golden tan with short and thick blonde hair that looked like it had the texture of a Brillo pad and bright, bright blue eyes. Actually, the best way I can describe him is to say that he looked like a condensed, blonde Prince Harry with smaller features. An introduction and a few minutes into conversation later, I found out that he cooked, was Swiss by birth (AHA! That explained a lot!), had a goofy laugh, and was into biking. As we walked out the dark porch together to meet the rest of the crew by the brick bake oven with which SkaterBoy was making homemade pizza, the Swiss Prince turned around at the bottom of the stairs and held out a hand for me. "Here, it's a little dark."

Um. And you're a little adorable.

Furtively, I texted Alli. "OH MY GOD. He is so cute!"

"Sleep with him," she said.

"Um, how about I try for a phone number first?"

"No, do it-- literally. Sleep with him."

"Yeah, like that wouldn't be awkward or anything. "Hey, mom, dad-- I'm gonna bring your friend home to our house to have sex with him in my childhood bed with the horse wallpaper still on the wall!""

"You have a point," Alli conceded.

At the end of the night, I ended up getting neither a phone number or laid. This may be because the Swiss Prince apparently has a girlfriend. Whom he ignored a phone call from while we were talking. "I like your boots," he told me. "I noticed them earlier."

"Thanks," I said shyly. "It was either between them or sneakers."

"Oh, definitely better than sneakers. And they're Danskos! I'm wearing Danskos, too! I love them."

His phone rang, and he stood up to fish it out of his short's pocket. He flipped it open to look at the caller ID, and then flipped it shut again, sending it straight to voicemail, and sat back down again. His eligibility stock went up.

"Earlier, The Girlfriend called him from Boston, and before they hung up, he told her he loved her," my mom told me on the drive home. His stock went back down. Why, whywhyWHY must all the good men be either too young or taken? WHY?

And then, I'm having to field off things like the Facebook message I got from a random guy who found my profile picture on a mutual friend's page. "Wow! You are absolutely gorgous!" he said. "Single?"

Two days later, I got around to emailing him back, having decided to be nice and give him the time of day for going out on a limb and having to balls to at least do that. Though he wasn't my type by far, I thought it best to encourage this sort of behavior, and make it at least a somewhat positive experience and not something where he was just ignored. More men need to just take the chance and do stuff like this. If they did, I guarantee dating would be a whole hell of a lot easier. And I thoroughly believe, as I wrote in Moss on the Moon, and told Perfect the night we slept together, if a man wants to stick it in, then he's gotta be the one to make the moves.

Hey, it worked for Perfect and I.

So, I sent the Eager Emailer this in return: "Happily complicated with a phenomenal guy, but thanks for the compliment, though I will disagree with both the spelling and the use of the word "gorgeous"."

Ok, so I lied a little bit about being "happily" complicated, but it's better than just saying "hair-rippingly, head-bashingly, crazy-makingly complicated" and telling the truth. Sometimes, a little white lie is better.

"Sorry about the typo!" he sent back. "Still beautiful reguardless."

I didn't even want to get into that typo, too.

Meanwhile, I am reminded by his Facebook wall that Perfect has a type which I do not fit in. (Another reason I was always so unsure about what was happening.) Pretty brunettes tall enough he doesn't have to double in half to kiss them like he had to with me with long, thin limbs, big brown eyes and thin little catty smiles seem to do it for him. I am a tiny blonde with a small and muscular body, big blue eyes, and a big smile that shows off all that money my parents put into it when I was little. I have an alto voice, bawdy humor, and varying ideas on what is Wrong and Right. I'm sure the girls that he likes would absolutely despise me. I am nothing like them. Which always makes me wonder why he was into me. (For the first time in my life, my overly-cocky personality was hit with a crippling bout of negative self-confidence.) And now, when those sort of girls are ALL he seems to be accepting friend requests from his new college, and those sort of girls are the ones posting on his wall about how "they need to do that again soon!", I can't help but to get down about what "that" possibly was, and start to get the desire to throw things, preferably whatever is in closest reach. (A stapler? The shoe sculpture I did in 8th grade? A mug?) Then again, the realistic side of me has to add that it's highly doubtful that if it IS sex that they're talking about, someone would post that on a Facebook wall. At least, I hope people have more class than that.

Especially when Perfect has already told me he may, again, be MIA tomorrow for our trip to Worcester, as he may be "at my camp with the fam. We will see." I'm learning "we will see" means "I'm actually too nice to let you down, so I'm going to cleverly disguise a "no" and hope you feel better about it." Also-- Perfect has a camp?! But I've decided if tomorrow is again a no-go, the boy is driving himself to Burlington to see me, politeness on my side be damned. He owes me at least that in gas and common courtesy at this point. Plus, I really need to unload those t-shirts to him. Though I will miss them, I admit.

I've been wishing on so many stars, finding four-leaf clovers for it, and going through so many of my little OCD rituals to assure it that if I don't get my Happy Ending with Perfect, (oh lord, we're going to ignore the innuendo-filled phrase there,) this optimistic girl may give up a little bit of faith in Luck and Good Things Happening To Good People. What is the point in meeting someone who changes all (or most,) of your Bad (Dating) Habits, makes you straighten up your act and start to believe that maybe settling for the bad boys, the inconsiderate guys, and the douchebags isn't at all what life can offer you, and that maybe, just maybe, there are such things as instant connections and people who really care for and about you, and will be willing to do all the Little Things to prove that to you, even in some cases, After The Fact-- what is the point of all this if you don't get your Happy Ending? That you know that there's someone out there who did all this for you, and maybe there are more of them who will in the future? Ugh. Un-sign me up. I'm an Instant Gratification Girl. No waiting, please.

Speaking of waiting, now I must fly, or else I will literally miss the boat!

XOXO

Why You Need To Grow (Huge) (Invisable) Made-For-Dating Balls

The (almost only) unfortunate fact about sex is that the only way to get better at it is to have more of it in the first place, yet the idea of propositioning a guy kind of makes me throw up a little bit in my mouth with sheer nerves and terror. There is no convenient game-based program you can hook up to your TV and play for an hour or two to gain more “Life Skills Sex Points” and hone your craft, like how you can play Mario Cart to practice acing your driver’s test. Instead, you have to find people who either like you enough to sleep with you, or are stupid enough to sleep with you. (Don’t hate—you know it’s true.)

Thus, I believe, dating was invented, along with the whole torturous process to go about procuring a date. Dating, of course, only came about as a way to wine and dine someone into submission so you could sleep with them. Once in awhile, you hear about or find yourself on one of those rare things called a “great date” in which conversation flows as freely as the liquor and you find yourself walking beside someone in the cool night air thinking, “I could totally put up with this person’s ridiculous quirks for like, a month or two.” But mostly, dating is about the sex.

Because of this, some people have evolved to the point where dating feels like a superfluous, out-dated notion; the last time I went on a bona-fide date was, umm…ah…well, last year? Needless to say, I’m not much of the dating type. In fact, you might say I’m a dating disaster. Dating and I just don’t seem to go hand-in-hand. I’m the kind of girl that actually fights a guy to go Dutch over the bill, can’t relax when he pays for all of it, and then gets flustered and accidentally opens the door for him while he stares at me and wonders why the wolf pack ever let me stray out of the forest. However, I am a huge proponent of the “let’s-just-stay-home-and-order-in-and-watch-a-movie-and-destroy-your-couch” method. That, I understand.

But more and more recently, I’ve been hearing more men say that they want women to be the ones asking them out and making the moves on them. I have a group of male friends who were all griping in their apartment one afternoon about the fact that more women don’t step up to take the pressure off and ask men out, and they should. I don’t know how I feel about this. The overwhelming argument is that the men have the penis—if you want to stick it in, you ask the girl out. On the flip side, if I really want to have sex with you, well, I’ll just have to grow an invisible set of my own balls and ask. But just let me state the way the formula has worked for years, even centuries: it’s the girls’ job to make it obvious that she’s interested in a guy, and from there it’s his job to actually say, “Hey, do you want to do something sometime?” (Hopefully, there’s a little more thought and clarity put into this statement in real life.) (For you guys, just a hint—there should be.)

This is not to say that there is anything wrong with empowered women asking men out. All the power to those girls who can just waltz up to some dude and say, “Hey, you’re cute; let’s grab a bite to eat and then fuck.” This is just to say that for all of my blunt, free-wheeling talking, I am still kind of old-fashioned at heart. I get heart palpitations at the thought of having to find you at some point when you’re not hanging out with all your buddies, and string coherent words together that somehow get the main point across of “please consider going somewhere with me for an evening so I don’t feel like a huge slut when I sleep with you that night.” I am slightly loathe to go into that territory. Mostly because I never seem to get able to get that point across. Instead, it comes out as something along the lines of “Hnnnnnghhhh…uhhhhn…didyouseethefinalscoreofthegameanddoyouwannacomeover?” I am ridiculously chicken-shit.

Just be ready to expect this, guys. Just like some of you don’t want to be the only ones putting yourself out on a limb when you’re jonesing for some spring-time lovin’, some girls are never going to be the type to say “you wanna go out sometime?” Your best bet in this case would be to start reading body language…we girls don’t just happen to make prolonged eye contact and flip our hair and touch you by accident. Unless she has a chronic neck spasm and no sense of personal boundaries, she likes you. There’s a beginning. Go from there, my horny college students. Happy hunting!

Although the author was born with the express purpose in life to write about love and sex, she would occasionally love some advice about what to personally lambast next. If you have a relationship conundrum or social issue you’d like to see her investigate in her own special way, email her with it. (Marriage proposals, spam, and misdirected emails will be deleted. Slavish praise and the phone numbers of hot men always appreciated. Laughter mandatory.)

XOXO

The Cautionary Tale of Being a Girl Friend, or "I'm Basically A Guy Without Balls."

Recently, I found myself having a really passionate conversation with a friend about how learning the clutch on a standard car is like finding the G-spot: once you find where it gets off, you’re golden. There was a moment of silence after this statement, and then he turned and said to me, “Sorry. I forgot you were a girl.”

Welcome to my life. Sometimes I feel like random flashing has to be involved to drive this home. Most girls out there can relate to this fact. We all tend to have large numbers of male friends who, after about three or four months of chilling with us, have started to treat us as one of the guys. It’s nice and all and I’m thrilled that you’re so comfortable with me, but please, guys, don’t forget it: I am a girl.

It’s like this:

Have you ever had a really great conversation with a buddy of yours that left you going, “Wow, if only he were a chick?” Well, ok…maybe not. But that’s what I’m like: a guy friend, but with a 36C chest and a shoe fetish. The only thing you may have to deal with is infrequent PMS and me drooling over your other (cute) guy friends.

So feel free to talk to me about football, cars, beer, or English soccer leagues. Seriously, it’s like verbal stimulation. I love to sit my ass on a couch all Sunday and scream at the game on TV while devouring half my body weight in wings and beer. But then again, I also like to get all dolled up and shop on Saturdays until my debit card is smoking and melting slightly at the corners from being swiped so many times. So you still may have to occasionally indulge me as I try to patiently explain to you why Mark Wahlberg was so much hotter when he was still Marky Mark. I promise in exchange I’ll convincingly pretend listen to you as you go on and on about that actress in that movie who really wasn’t all that hot. It’s wonderfully symbiotic like that.

This may require some re-learning on your behalf, guys. It won’t take much, and over time you’ll begin to find yourself navigating this scary new world in which you recognize me as being female with all the grace of the guy who told me he was just busting my balls and upon me asking, “what balls?” replied, “mine,” without even a moment’s hesitation to process the complexities of female anatomy. Crisis averted. See? It’s that easy. Make today the day that you start treating your girl friends more as girls, and less like one of the guys. Believe me, they’ll appreciate it—that is, until the commercial break is over and the Pats are down by four points yet again. Then, they’ll be just as terrifying as Bob Belichick screaming at his players from the sideline, if not more. Ah, the beauty of duality.

XOXO

Boob Envy: We Got 'Em, You Want 'Em

One of my favorite stories of all time that was told to me was about a Champlain College student that when asked in class by his professor what extra body part he would grow if he were able to, he responded, “A female boob. Right in the middle of my chest.” When asked to explain his thinking, he said, “What man doesn’t want a boob just to play with whenever they want?” Not another hand or arm, not wings, not even another penis—a single, solitary female breast was this guy’s one desire.

Boob envy. It’s not an uncommon subject. Everywhere you go, there are women who wish that they were bigger, smaller, more perky, less droopy, less bouncy, more firm. Bigger boobs are seen as more feminine, sexy, desirable. But they’re also a pain in the ass. They’re heavy, they make running or sports difficult, they get in the way. And, if you’re a petite woman with big boobs and a little waist, good luck finding a tank top that actually fits without falling out of it. Small breasts are more functional, innocent, and you can actually go bra-less or wear backless dresses. But, as I’ve been told by numerous B and lesser cup women, they’d kill for more. To which large-breasted women reply: “Do you want some of mine?” No one seems to be quite satisfied with their mammary-centric lot in life, except for maybe the men who get to experience them.

An old flame of mine once said that if he could be a woman for a day, he’d be one of those girls that walk around in a thin, long t-shirt over leggings and no bra. I asked him why, and he looked at me like I had two heads. (Or, three boobs.) “Are you kidding? Those girls drive guys crazy! YOU CAN SEE THEIR BOOBS. Having boobs for a day would be so cool. Why would I not want to flaunt them?” (This was from a self-proclaimed ass man, nonetheless.) It seems as though even men are obsessed with the twin female orbs, hence the popularity of Hooters. And here you thought it was just for the food.

Hollywood, the porn industry, and photos airbrushed to almost epic proportions have made breast implants and fake breasts a lot more plentiful in the media than say…natural breasts. Women see them and get down and out that their nipples don’t point out perfectly like the Queen of England’s guards. Men see them and get ideas, which are then dashed when they roll over and look at their girlfriend. Trust me, a discerning eye can pick out the real from the fake within a glance. A friend of mine was boasting about the hot new poster he had hanging in his dorm room. “She’s so girl-next-door,” he said. A female friend and I walked in and almost immediately le him down within a few seconds of seeing it. “They’re not real.”

“How can you tell?”

“They’re so far apart, but they still point out. You can practically see the where they Photoshopped in more boob-age. Plus, no boobs are that naturally round. It’s like those women in thongs on the beach in beer posters.”

“You mean--” Here, a horrified gasp.

“Yeah, they’re fake too.”

But I’m not here to disappoint and make people feel if their cups are either half-empty or overflowing—this is our boob appreciation issue! So ladies, take care of the girls. No matter what size, shape, or origin, go get them checked out and make sure you’re healthy. And gentlemen, no, although you do not count as a certified ob-gyn, feel free to let your lady know the love and affection you have for her set.

XOXO

The Art of the Hook-Up, Parts 1 & 2

Part I:What’s a Girl to Do?

Having previously been one of those “good girls” who have only been intimate in relationships, I recently found myself in the awkward situation of wondering how to go about that infamous art of sex-- the hook-up. Was it as easy as going up to the random acquaintance and saying, “Hey baby, you’re cute, let’s sex,” or was there something more I was missing? Are there social rules for this sort of thing?

Wikipedia, that source for everything you want to know about, and that which you don’t know you want to learn about yet, defines hook-ups as “…a slang term for courtship, especially of a short duration. Also a term used for casual relationships, or casual sex.” Where I’m from in the boondocks, we used the term to mean the full-shebang (quite literally), while over the mountain and forty minutes away, my friend said that at her prep school it just meant making out. So I guess how you use it depends on where you’re from. For all intents and purposes, I’ll clarify and lay down the line. Ladies and gents, hooking up means having sex. Capice?

My interest piqued, I picked up the phone and called a promiscuous friend of mine, curious about how she made her conquests. When I told her my take on it, there was a minute of shocked silence on her end of the line before I was bombarded with a rush of “oh honey, no no no no no’s.” My little guru then went on to give me a veritable checklist of appropriate pick-up lines, as well as things to do while on the hunt for what qualifies as a suitable hook-up partner. (There are qualifications? I thought the beauty of this youth ritual was waking up next to someone and wanting to chew your arm off to get away, a la Coyote Ugly style.) But no. I was being told to flirt. To scout the room. To talk to numerous men to figure out which was the most stable and unlikely to either be immature about the act or cling on afterwards. I was obviously way in over my head, and the advice I was getting was starting to seem like marriage negotiations from the Middle Ages. I mean, if I was cruising for a hook-up in the first place and this is all the work it took, I might as well just start a freaking relationship and save myself some time!

Being the impulsive person I am, I decided to throw the rulebook I’d been given out the window and do things my own way. Screw the two-step; I wanted to get straight to business! I developed a list of fool-proof pick-up lines ranging from smooth to utterly cringe-worthy and passed the idea by my friends on campus. It elicited both cheers from the girls and groans from the guys as I tested out a few of my lines on them and they made me promise I’d bring someone with me for my protection while I was out scouting the campus for the brave men who were willing to take on my challenge.

So here I was: pick-up lines memorized, wearing my big-girl pants, grabbing a hold of my proverbial balls, evil gleam in my eye. I was ready to take on the male population. But, where to start?

Part II:
AKA: I’m Not a Slut. Really.

This article started off simply enough. Girl gets curious about the “hooking-up” phenomenon. Girl does her research. Girl goes out to find (read: harass) men. That’s where you all left your (slightly) fearless authoress. What has happened in the two weeks since then?

With a rapidly rising frustration level due to the unattached, unsatisfied, fabulously flat-broke and single lifestyle I’d been living recently while people around me floated in and out of each other’s beds, I decided that couples whining about dry-spells should be shot. You know where your next lay is coming from. It’s not a dire disaster. Think of all us single people who are out there throwing ourselves under the wheels of the bus of Possible Disaster trying to make a connection- any at all that will suffice.

There was that slacker in one of my classes who I considered bribing with sex to get him to go to class, but re-thought that really quickly. Then there was that adorable under-age boy at the bank that I just couldn’t bring myself to tease. There was that one guy that I accidently shut down in the middle of a pain-induced haze. Let’s not fool ourselves; it wouldn’t have been good, but you’re more than welcome to try again. Really. Please. (Hint to the male population: I know you love us to make the first move, but most women are old-fashioned. Please, you have the balls. Grab a hold and ask us what we’re doing tonight. If we have to let you down, I promise we’ll be flattered in the first place and do it gently.)

In the meantime, I’ve been running my pick-up lines around to test the waters as to what works and what induces a panicked escape reminiscent as if you stood on a table and screamed “GET YOUR HERPES HERE!” (Somewhere, my mother is not pleased about my focus topic.) Here are our winners, so feel free to go forth and use them, but I am not to be held responsible for your success or failure. It’s all about the natural charm, charisma, and lip gloss.

1.) “Hey baby. You’re cute. Let’s sex.”
Strangely, men seem to like this one. It’s direct and flattering, a deadly combination that hits right in the pants. Ahem.

2.) “Are you free tonight, or do I have to pay?”
Bachelor #1: “You have to pay, but I’m cheap.”

3.) “Can I hold your virtual self?”
Bachelor #2: “What?” I guess the target has to either be a freshmen required to read the text by the same name, or possibly an e-game major who’s hoping to meet a girl who shares similar interests.

4.) “I’m easy. Are you?”
This is EXACTLY, it seems, what all men want to hear a woman say. Not “dinner’s ready.” Not “I Ti-Voed the Celtics game for you.” Not “I really don’t need a two-carat princess cut diamond ring, or that pair of shoes.” Men just want to hear that they can have their way with you. How is this not surprising?

5.) “Grab your jacket; you’ve scored. Let’s go.”
I thought guys would like a direct approach with a sport-themed twist, but it seems pretty evenly split between those who like it and those who don’t. This makes me ask: Is it because a woman saying this makes it seem like she’s the one calling the shots? And so you want us to make the first move, but let you take the lead. Ok. No mixed signals there.

6.) “I think I could fall madly into bed with you.”
This is funny and witty enough across the boards. It always gets a chuckle.

7.) “Why don’t you surprise your roommate and not come home tonight?”
This was deemed not impressive enough and in one case, seemed to be an insult that the subject was always in his room, unsocial, and never got laid. Needless to say, it was not a score. However, it seemed to appeal to younger guys, probably because they really do want to get out of their dorm rooms.

So, ladies and gents, did I get my fairytale hook-up? No, but if I had, well, that would have made me the literary equivalent of Gene Simmons, wouldn’t it? In the meantime, I’m waiting for my own white knight to come and sweep me off my feet saying, “I’m a writer. You’re a writer. Let’s get together and put poetry in motion.” Ah, yes. So smooth.

Author’s Note: I highly recommend www.linesthataregood.com as a good source for pick-up lines, as well as for wasting a few hours trying to hold in your embarrassed laughter. There’s even a count for how many times the moderator has tried the lines, and how many times they’ve actually worked. Fascinating.

XOXO