Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Before eHarmony

Friday, September 25, 2009

Things I learned the hard way

- Taking relationships slow is rarely regrettable. OK, there was that one time that you took things slow and the potential love of your life got hit by a car before you got a chance to see where things were going, but other than that? Draw out twitterpation. It's good for the soul.

- Just because your mom wants you to ask your boyfriend to be in the family Olan Mills photos she's scheduling doesn't mean you should ask him.

- If you're going to plan a vacation to Mexico with a new boyfriend and his family, be sure you're comfortable enough to ask them if you can stop at the store for some anti-diarrheal medication. You also might want to be sure you can handle a surf-related wardrobe malfunction in front of his dad. Especially if you're not so good at ducking waves (Note to non-Pacific NW readers: People from Oregon don't usually swim in the Ocean, it's too effing cold. So that whole counter-intuitive dive into the wave to avoid getting smashed by it thing? Some of us missed that lesson.)

C'mon readers. What did you learn the hard way?

Monday, September 21, 2009

High maintenance

I recently went out on a perfectly fine little first date. Date was on time, cute enough, and the conversation was good. So good, in fact, that we were both shocked to discover that it was nearly 2 a.m.

As I waited for a cab, he stood on the curb with me, close enough to smell. Smelled nice. We talked about seeing "Action Flick by That One Really Good Director," and he said he'd call me to arrange it, told me he would be out of town for a couple of days, but he'd be back by midweek. As my cab pulled up, I saw him going for a kiss, but I was feeling like dragging things out (anticipation can be fun), so I have him a hug, a big smile and a wink, and I was off.

A week later, nay, more than a week later, I got a text:

"Seen Action Flick Yet?"

I was a little confused about why it had taken so long to make any contact, but I shrugged and replied:

"Not yet."

A week later, I sent a text:

"Cat got your tongue? Well, no worries, I'll see it solo. Best, June."

He replied:
"No no, my friend. I just wasn't particularly enthused by your response. What time do you get off work this week?"

Really, internet? Would you go out with a guy who's that high-maintenance? I mean, what did he want, a smiley face emoticon at the end of the text?

Is there an emoticon that means "Fat Chance"?

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Tweezed Out

**Today's guest post comes in from "G. Ross"**

I'm sick of DIW. Sorry to say, but I am. It has way too many stories from chicks who just rip on dudes. Makes me wonder if it's become a front for a bunch of angry dykes who don't know how to actually be with a man.

I digress.

I'm sending this story in about a woman I began dating a few months ago to try and offset all the male-bashing going on. This site used to be better. It used to have stories from guys about the very real phenomenon of crazy chicks. What happened? Where'd c.vance go? My father always taught me that if you're going to bitch about something then you better be prepared to try and fix it. So here's to you pops.

S**** and I began dating after a heavy night of drinking. Blah blah...one night stand...turned into a first date....and here we are hanging out four months later. She's a cool girl. Into a lot of the same stuff I am. Doesn't run her mouth too much and when she does, it's not complete inane blathering. So she's got that going for her.

Everything's been going great. Good sex. Decent conversation. Not overly clingly. Just great. Until a few nights ago when I walked in on her in the bathroom.

Now my pops also told me that women have bags of tricks that men should never, ever try to open. This is what makes them female, he said. Appreciate the magic but don't try to understand the magic. Apparently the bathroom is where women practice their magic. Wish he had told me that one.

We'd just finished having sex and S**** jumped out of bed to "freshen up" as women-folk like to say. Ok, fine. Whatever. About 12 minutes go by. My need to pee is pretty intense by now. I originally thought she'd take no more than 5 minutes. How much water do you need to splash down there to freshen up ladies?

How wrong I was.

I finally say fuck it and knock on the bathroom door. No answer. Dude. I need to piss. Bad. So I say fuck it again and open the door.

S**** is kneeling on top of the sink, inches away from the mirror, plucking hairs from her nipples. She screams when I walk in and falls off the counter. I am so startled I just stand there, mouth gaping.

She begins yelling at me about fucking knocking and bum rushes me out of the bathroom. I am too bewildered by what I saw to do anything except allow her to shoo me out. I go to the porch and take a leak off the side of it. Thank god for dicks.

We haven't discussed it. Thank god. It's weird though. The image in burned into my mind. Sometimes it flashes while we're having sex and I go to suck on her tits. Weird dude. Fucking weird. Chicks are weird.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

All about ass

*** Today we have an anonymous guest post with a little (though direct) message for the fellas ***


Hey, so I just want to say, from a woman's perspective, for all the guys out there: I do not want you to put things in my ass. If I do want you to put something in my ass, I'll go ahead and tell you. Otherwise, maybe it's safe to assume that no, I do not want you to put your dick or your finger in my ass.

Seriously, every dude I'm with, when we're going at it, and I'm getting close, will grab hold of the cheeks (THIS IS GOOD!) and then a finger will wander southward. THIS IS NOT GOOD. I'm trying to focus on getting off, I do not need to be thinking, "Oh, god, is he putting his finger in my ass? What if his finger smells afterward?" It's just goddam distracting. The thing is, guys, women do not have prostates. So applying pressure to my arse doesn't feel the same for me as it does for you. Are you trying to tell me you want me to put my finger in yours when you're about to come? If so, then tell me by TELLING ME. I'll do it. No biggie. Don't tell me by sticking your finger in my pooper.

Now, I know some women are into anal. You know what though? They're into it. They'll ask for it. Or, you can ask them for it, and they'll agree to it. Don't test the waters by trying to dipstick a test run. Among other things, if you shove your peter in my crapper, you then can't stick it in my vag. There are bacteria that live in the back door that should not go to the front (this is where the whole "front to back" thing comes from).

Thank you.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

More on staying friends with exes

A recent text conversation:



"I'll be home at 7 lover."

"I'm not your lover."

"What?"

"Check your outbox. You sent me a message clearly not intended for me."

"Oh, sorry. Don't know how that happened."

"Douche."

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Dear Serial: I humped my friend's husband

Dear Serial,

Apparently, a friend of mind just found out I fucked her husband. Thing is, it only happened one time, and it was years and years ago. I mean, it happened more than 10 years ago. It happened before they even got together, it was before I even got together with my now husband. Now, we’re all really good friends and have been for years, but recently, she’s saying weird stuff like, “sometimes you just wish you didn’t know things” and just being kind of strange towards me.

I told my husband about that pity-fuck years ago, he’s not upset. What should I say to my friend?

Thanks,
Married and not going there ever again




Dear MANGTEA (that’s kind of funny, at first when I looked at that, I thought it said Mangenta, which would clearly be a hot new color in men’s wear, much more masculine than purple),

Don’t say a thing. You did your duty and disclosed your long-forgotten pity fuck to your husband; it was pally over there’s job to tell HIS wife about any potentially-awkward fucks, oh, I dunno, maybe before they got married? That is, of course, if he was going to tell her. There’s a certain point at which, if you haven’t mentioned it already, you should just let the fuck lie.

Plus, what if you say something, and that’s not what she was talking about? Especially if he hasn’t told her? That conversation’s going to be fun. “Oh, you were talking about how you finally noticed that I dog-eared your grandmother’s copy of Gone With the Wind? Oh. Heh. Well nevermind all that about fucking your husband. Oh, and the “pity” thing? What did I mean by that? Well certainly did not mean that I’m more attractive than your husband or that he was super desperate in the period leading up to him getting with you. No. Not at all.”

Leave it be, Mangenta.

Love,

Serial




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