the beautiful letdown..

this post is being co-brought to you by the small talk strippers try to start before giving you a lap dance and Cosmo coming up with roughly 1,289,304 "new" sex tips in the last 3 years..

went to a strip club on Saturday night for a buddy's birthday.. obviously we got liquored up beforehand, because going to a strip club sober is beyond weird.. we find a table and quickly realize we're seated on the wrong side of the room.. the strippers came out of the back from the other side to offer lap dances, so the hottest ones were quickly taken.. we kept getting the Grade D strippers coming over to us, it was gross.. at one point, birthday boy went to the bathroom and some hideous girl game over to me.. the following conversation took place:

Godzilla: "sooo.... i'm ready for you"
Me: "i don't know what that means"
Godzilla: "it means i'm ready for you"
Me: "yeah, that doesn't help" (she rolls her eyes and goes after her next victim)..

since no semi-hot strippers were making their way over to us, birthday boy took matters into his own hands and told a bouncer to tell "Honey" to come over to us, since she was just on stage and pretty hot.. she came over, he paid her $60 to dance naked on him for 3 songs in the VIP room.. while he's doing this, i'm scouting talent.. some girl had some hot pink chaps on with the ass cut out of them, and she was giving some dude a dance on one of the $25 chairs.. i made up my mind, that's who's giving me my dance.. finally, she's done giving her dance to the weird guy who's sticking his tongue out at her, and starts putting her "clothes" back on.. as she's doing this, i make eye contact with her.. it's easy to be confident when their livelihood depends on making money by flirting and undressing.. she walks over to me and starts her little sales pitch.. "i'll take a dance", i say.. halfway through this dance, she grabs my tie and says, "did your girlfriend give you this tie? i like to mark my territory" and rubbed it between her breasts.. i'm sure i tried saying something clever but it's impossible for a man to have enough blood for an erection AND brain activity at the same time.. anyway, it's over and we hug like we're old friends or something.. later, she walks by and birthday boy asks if i was good for her.. she's like "oh yeah, i couldn't feel his nipples though".. couldn't feel my nipples?? i was titty-fucking you with my pants on, how do you expect to feel my nipples? and i can't say the same thing about you..

meanwhile, about three bachelor parties are taking place, and one-by-one the bachelors are brought on stage to be tortured.. the strippers take turns forcefully riding the guys crushing their grapes.. it's less sexy than it sounds.. then they pull up the guys shirt and slap him as hard as possible.. then, he has to get on his hands and knees, bark like a dog while they pull the elastic out of his underwear.. no thanks, i think i'll stay unmarried.. we finally flag down a bouncer to call us a cab and get out of here.. while we're sitting there, Honey comes back and sits on birthday boy's lap and they talk about their feelings and the future and stuff? another girl comes up to me, asks me if i want a dance and i say "no thanks".. she doesn't leave.. "why not? aren't i pretty enough?".. "you're okay but i already got a dance from that girl" (points to stage).. "nice work, she's hot".. "i know, that's why i picked her".. "i'm hot too".. "eh".. "you have soft hands".. "thanks".. "you remind me of my friend Mike".. "he's pretty hot, huh?".. "you're hotter".. "you're paid to say that".. she's getting frustrated.. my attention turns to a female customer being brought onstage and simulating oral sex with a stripper.. "that's illegal right?".. "i don't know".. she's clearly annoyed by me not giving her attention.. "well, i think we're leaving", i tell her.. "your loss", she says.. "i know, i won't be able to sleep tonight".. i'm cocky to strippers..

i hate when girls fish for compliments, then when you compliment them they act like you're out of your mind.. since my personality is to compliment girls when i like them, i fall right into their trap and then they get bored because they know they've conquered me and they go on to the next guy to do the same thing.. eventually a guy doesn't fall into their trap and play their little game, and that's the guy that they obsess over.. this is the best example of this: i know i've written before about a girl from a couple years ago who had self-esteem issues, so she craved compliments and attention.. since i also have self-esteem issues, i feel that the only way to stand out among other guys is to shower her with praise, etc.. the aforementioned girl jumped right into "relationship" mode with me while i was actually playing it cool.. finally i started to like her and do the "relationshippy" stuff, then she decided to tell me she liked my roommate.. still, me being an idiot, i felt the need to buy her Christmas presents.. and that February, i gave her a quilt for her birthday that my mom had started making before everything went down.. yes, it's possible to be too nice, and some girls milk it for all it's worth.. i've been told how many times by people close to me (and a blog reader who knew a "girl of my past") that i'm wasting my time with those girls, that they love attention from every guy, and i'm "too good of a person" for it.. someday i'll get that through my head..


continuing with the book that i started with in my last post, here are a few more rules that i found funny from "The Maxims of Manhood: 100 Rules Every Real Man Must Live By":

Rule #21: Use Every Four-Letter Word But One.

It starts with L, as in Limiting your options. It continue with O, as in Oh shit. Then V, as in Valentine's-Day-gifts-and-related-horseshit. It ends with E, as in Eternity - as in the fiery hell of forever.

You hate love. You refuse to say it before she does. And when she does say it, you squirm, you smile uncomfortably, and you brainstorm exit strategies. You're not ready to reciprocate, but you're trapped - you lack a viable comeback. That's because the comeback doesn't exist.

Pretend she just told you that she loves you for the very first time. Consider your options.

"Thank you." This is easily cracked code for "You suck. Please leave. This isn't working. It's not that I'm 'not attracted to you'; it's that you're unattractive. There's a difference. One's my fault; the other's yours. Goodbye now. Don't write. Or text. Or call. No, really. Goodbye. And thank you."

"I know." Only if you're about to get frozen in carbonate.

"I love the people you love." It just might perplex her for a few seconds, but soon she'll wise up and demand more. Even when delivered with panache and boyish charm, this is, at best, a Band-Aid.

"I find you really special." Only if you're gentleman enough to also give her a barf bag.

"You too." Still not great, but it's among the best of your bad options. It gives you wiggle room. It will flummox her, triggering a seven-hour debate among her girlfriends; they'll parse these two words, wondering what, exactly, you mean by "you too." A real head-scratcher. On the one hand, you didn't leave her hanging; on the other, you didn't explicitly tell her that you love her. But you kind of implied it. Or did you?


Rule #23: Only Fear One Thing

Death. Getting old. Gonorrhea. These things don't scare you. There's only one little word that flood your heart with terror: commitment.

It doesn't matter if you're happy with the girl. You could be jubilant. You could be humping like jackrabbits, chafing from all the hot action, inventing new positions during the best sex of your life. With her, you never stop laughing. You love that she smells like strawberries. You think it's cute that she dips bagels into honey. You've never been happier. Ever. Yet the idea of continuing this happiness - of being as happy next month as you are today - strikes you as patently stupid.

To clarify. You're actually able to commit to some things, just not women. In ascending order of importance, the things in this world that command your lifelong, undying commitment:

1.) Your old sneakers. With torn laces and pancaked soles, they're not much good for anything besides mowing the lawn. Which is fine. They've done something that nothing - and no one - could ever do; they've spend their whole lives tolerating the odor of your feet. So they've earned your respect.

2.) Your old comic book collection. If someone threatened to rob your old childhood house, steal your old Spider-Mans, then soak them in kerosene and light a match, your blood would boil over in rage. You'd never recover. If someone said that next week your girlfriend might move to London, you'd think, "I hope it's before Valentine's Day!"

3.) Your favorite sports team. (See Rule #3)

4.) Your dog. You don't think it's weird - because it's not - that you refuse to promise your girlfriend a commitment past Wednesday, but you're willing to pledge the net nine, ten, fourteen years to a four-legged creature that shits on your carpet.

5.) Your family. If your brother gets arrested in Tijuana for accidentally killing a hooker, you're on the next flight to TJ and you'll bail him out, that old rascal.


Rule #24: She Must Be Half Your Age, Plus Seven

So let's crunch the numbers. If you're 18, you're permitted to date a 16-year-old and no younger. When you hit 22, she better be old enough to vote. When you're 30, she needs to be 22 - just old enough so you can't be suspected of meeting her at Parents' Weekend. When you're a bathrobe-wearing, leathery 90-year-old who hasn't had an erection since your second divorce, your new "girlfriend" must be 52. (I'm looking at you, Woody Allen.)

This age is the bare minimum. It is not, however, necessarily recommended. Sometimes, dating a much younger girl can trigger unforeseen complications. Believe it or not, after the first several dates and after you've had sex, in many cases, you'll begin to notice the girl's personality. You'll even start having conversations.

During the initial courtship phase, you see, these "conversations" are avoided through the workmanlike consumption of alcohol. True, you both say words, creating the illusion of a back-and-forth. But the chitchat is 60 percent flirting, 20 percent mindless blather, 12 percent lying, and 8 percent substance. Swap in "pandering" for "flirting" and it's the exact same ratio as a presidential debate.


Rule #26: Never Ask For Her Number

You're scratching your head. Huh? "Isn't that the point of talking to girls in bars? Isn't that the glorious meme of Swingers, getting numbers, getting digits?"

There's a better way. When you say to a girl, "Can I have your number?" you give her the chance to say no. Never give her that window. Follow these seven steps:

1.) Give her your card. (You do have business cards on hand, right? Good.)
2.) Take a second card from your wallet.
3.) Flip the second card over, blank side up.
4.) Grab a pen.
5.) Hold the pen over the card like you're getting ready to write.
6.) Ask her, "What's the best way to reach you, phone or e-mail?"
7.) Check. Mate.

That's just part of your bag of tricks. Other tactics you should (and probably already do) follow include:

Eye contact. A little obvious? Perhaps. But like keeping your head down when swinging a golf club, it's something simple and basic that's easy to forget. Strong eye contact is more important that what you say, especially if you're dumb.

Don't use a line. Unless delivered with extraordinary humor and panache (I have neither), a pickup line is embarrassing for all parties involved. You don't need to say anything witty, even. You'll be surprised by the mileage a simple "How's it going" will get you.

A picture's worth a thousand whores. A group of girls, once they've consumed at least three sips of alcohol, is physically incapable of going an hour without pictures. This is a layup. Just volunteer to take their picture, tell them it came out great ("that's a framer!"), and you're instantly involved in their conversation. This is also a proven tactic for being the wedge.


Rule #27: Always Hold The Door.

You hold the door for her. Period. Whether it's a car door, hotel door, restaurant door, or train door, and even - brace yourself - whether she's cute or gross, young or old, single or taken, model or troll. It's not about scoring points. It's about chivalry.

Other required acts of chivalry:

Light her cigarette: I'm not a smoker. I don't have any philosophical problems with cigarettes - any industry that creates jobs, keeps our doctors busy, and gives something to the kiddos is okay by me - but I've never enjoyed the taste. Many years ago, back in my embarrassingly early days of flirting, I leaned in to light a girl's cigarette. I had two problems. First, I couldn't operate the lighter. Literally - I didn't know how to make it work. (It was my first time.) Second, and even more humiliating, I lit the wrong end of her cigarette. It's very, very difficult to come off as a suave Lothario when she's laughing at your incompetence.

Hail her a cab. No, you don't have to do one of those freakishly high-pitched cab whistles, but you must follow one principle: be bold. You should actively put your body in the street (leaving the sidewalk) and aggressively stare down a cab. Decisiveness matters. Of course, helplessly watching fifty-eight occupied cabs zip past isn't quite Cary Grant, either, so keep a car service number in your cell as backup.

Help her with her coat. If it's one of those fitted little "girl sweaters" that's smaller than your boxers, forget it. But if it's an actual coat-coat, the kind of thing she wears when she's col? Help her in; help her out.

Advanced move: Pull out her chair. This one can be tricky. It's not always welcome, it's not always feasible, and it just might lead you to ramming her breasts into the table. Which is less sexy than it sounds.

This old debate bores me, and I suspect it bores you, too, so we'll keep this brief. Is there sinister, underlying presumption in chivalry that women need help from men - implying their weaker, incapable of helping themselves - which therefore makes it sexist? It's a fair question. You shouldn't be condescending or overbearing. Assuming you're neither, the next time she brings this up, just ask her to get the door and carry your suitcase.


Rule #28: Go For RBIs, Not Batting Average.

There's the old saying about a guy who walks into a bar and asks every woman he sees, "Excuse me, may I jump your bones?" And 99 times out of 100, he gets kneed in the balls or soaked with beer. But that 1 time out of 100 - that's something special, that's something magical.

The key to meeting women is not giving a shit. You need to be loose, fearless, and unsaddled by expectations. You don't fear rejection. You embrace it. When you worry about your batting average, you choke.

Once you get comfortable with failure - wallow in it - you prime yourself for success. Yes, this smacks of cliche, but it merits discussion nonetheless: you have absolutely nothing to lose. As reductive as this sounds, let's consider the possible consequences of hitting on a random girl at the bar.

Scenario 1: She's into you. The two of you laugh, flirt, touch forearms, exchange numbers. Good work.

Scenario 2: She's not feeling it. As you awkwardly sip your empty beer and fumble through stilted conversation, she nervously glances back at her friends with a "help" look in her eyes, then she whips out her cell phone and has a sudden, urgent need to text her cousin. Okay. Dead end. But here's the thing.. who cares? You've known this girl for less than thirty seconds. You'll never see her again. Unless you did something wretches like the guy above (the bone-jumper), she won't say anything toxic to her friends. Relax. Focus on the positive, that's one less girl who might give you a disease.

Scenario 3: She's booze-hooking. A booze-hooker trolls the bar for free drinks, accepts your cocktail, flirts for five minutes, then pivots away. Because you never know which girls are booze-hookers (they blend in), never buy drinks as a shortcut for an introduction. You want the girl to like you on your own merits, not because you're bribing her with liquor.


Rule #29: Keep The One-Night Stands Classy.

A little casual sex never hurt anyone. (Except when it poisons friendships, or leads to emotional scarring, or explodes into political scandal, or triggers the breakup of a band, or ends a marriage, or leads to an unwanted pregnancy, or infects someone with an STD and kills them, or - if you're so inclined - damns your soul to an eternity of pain, fire, and unrelenting torture. Other than all that, a little casucal sex never hurt anyone.)

Casual sex is just one more plank of the sexual revolution - a natural extention of feminism, really - so you're honoring the principles of women's suffrage, Betty Friedan, Virginia Woolf, Gandhi, and Betty Crocker. Flings are fine. You may not, however, act like a douchebag. Specifically, you may never be the following:

The Bait-and-Switcher. You may not pretend to really, really be into her - hinting that you want a serious relationship, you want her as your girlfriend - and then give her a pink slip, without two-week's notice, as soon as you dip your stick.

The Fader Outer. You may not make plans and then cancel, and then make even vaguer, out-there-in-the-future plans and then cancel, then gradually space out the plans for weeks and weeks, teasing and taunting her because you lack the balls to end it. Suck it up. Rip the Band-Aid.

The Taker. Don't be that guy who doesn't know how to reciprocate. It doesn't matter if you never see each other again: if you receive, give.

The Creepy Aggressor. True, guys never want to take it slow. But that absolutely does not give you license to keep pushing, pushing, pushing until she's uncomfortable and borderline scared. Gross. Wrong.

The Poorly Disguised Regretter. Maybe she looks worse in the morning. (So do you, buddy.) Keep that to yourself. You can feel it, but you can't betray any hint of buyers' remorse. Keep your game face on.


The 30 Hottest Things to Say to a Naked Woman, from Men's Health:

1. "Good morning."

2. "Is it okay with you if I take this slow?"

3. "I can't stop touching you."

4. "Want to join me in the shower?"

5. "I want to kiss/lick/touch every inch of you."

6. "I love how you taste."

7. "Do you feel this, too?" ("This" being an incredible emotional euphoria.)

8. "Hungry? Stay right here. I'll go make you a burrito."

9. Her name—her full name—followed by a "Wow."

10. "I'll get the light."

11. "I'll cancel my plans if you'll stay here with me for the rest of the weekend."

12. "No one's ever done that before."

13. "Can we do that again?"

14. "I love your [fill in body part here]."

15. Nothing. Total, deliberate silence. You can stare at her, grab her, touch her, but don't make a sound. If she tries to talk, place a finger on her lips.

16. While looking out the window at people not currently in bed with her: "Suckers."

17. While looking at moonlight reflecting on the ceiling: "What do you see?"

18. "I'll go make coffee."

19. "Waking up with you is even better than sleeping with you."

20. "Let's play hooky today."

21. Any use of the word "hot." Especially: "You're so hot."

22. "Squeeze my hand when it feels really amazing."

23. Words that end in "uck." Yes, even "duck," when appropriate.

24. "There's nothing else I'd rather be doing right now.

25. "I'm ready to go again."

26. Damn, I've missed you."

27. "How about a massage?"

28. Playful laughter.

29. "Don't ever leave me."

30. "You sleep; I'll go check on the baby."

anything but mine..

this post is being co-brought to you by the annoying blinker on the rental Chevy Malibu we have and Pittsburgh Pirates baseball fans trash talk.. seriously, "hit the ball!" and "strike him out!" are as clever they get..

right now, i'm in Grove City, Ohio, a few miles out of Columbus with a few coworkers.. last Wednesday night got fairly out of control.. here's what i remember, i was too intoxicated to remember a chronological order so we'll use paragraph form:

our hotel lobby has the sack to give "drink cards" to their guests, allowing them 3 free alcoholic beverages a night from 5:30 til 7:00.. tell me this isn't genius.. 6 guys, including me, take full advantage of this opportunity.. after we finish, we walk to a restaurant a few blocks away called "Wings 'n Rings", a knock off of Buffalo Wild Wings.. the walk took forever.. "does this place exist?", i ask my coworkers.. they had all been here a week or two longer than i had, so they had stories from this restaurant already.. i'm not going to use names in this story to protect identities and prevent me from getting my ass kicked.. one of the guys (the coolest of the bunch) starts blowing kisses to female drivers on the walk over, blaming the fact that he had about 6 shots of Captain in his three drinks.. then he scratches his balls towards the hottest females passenger that was passing, who rolled her eyes at him while her boyfriend driving flicked us off.. classic.. walking in the parking lot of the restaurant, that same coworker declares, "we're shutting this place down tonight".. it's 7:30..

we get seated in a corner, probably for everyone's safety.. our waitress is red-hot and racked-out.. we politely ask if we can get the Twins/Indians game on the television, explaining we're from Minnesota.. she says sure.. five minutes later, she returns to take our order and still hasn't had the game turned on.. bad start.. the ID check is highlighted by myself and another gentleman short-arming our ID's across the table so she'd have to lean over and give us a clear cleavage shot.. we order two "beer tubes" to improve our mood.. a "beer tube" is 100 oz. of beer with a tapper at the bottom, they place the tube in some helmet or another sports related prop.. one of the beer tubes is gone in roughly 13 minutes.. the previously discussed 5:00 a.m. start for work the next day is starting to lose its appeal.. "if we get three of these, we're getting ten of these, i'm just warning you guys", says one of the wiser men.. "yeah, can we get another beer tube please?".. oh boy..

we had taken the first empty beer tube and placed it on the floor because our bitchy but hot waitress hadn't taken it yet.. "can you take this beer tube?" we ask, verbatim.. "oh you don't want that there, why?", she asks, snobbishly.. "because it's fucking annoying", someone other than me says.. "wow, i thought Minnesota was supposed to be nice".. "we'll be nice when people from Ohio are nice".. "am i being rude?".. "yes".. "i'm sorry, i've had a bad day and i always have a bitchy look about me, don't take it personally".. alright, calling her out worked! Twins game now on TV, quick 4-0 lead for the bad guys.. Nick Punto is apparently giving sexual favors to Ron Gardenhire cause he's still a major leaguer.. two of the guys with us claim to be big Twins fans.. here's how we knew they weren't: one of them said "Nick Punto is good" and asked if Denard Span was fast after he was thrown out stealing.. when we gave him the correct answers ("for a blind girlscout" and "yes"), he said he didn't know cause he's been out of the Twins loop for a few weeks.. Punto is hitting his weight and Span didn't get any faster in the last few weeks, but stick with that story.. this same "Twins fan" begged them to do a double steal with Denard Span on second, Joe Mauer on first with nobody out and Justin Morneau batting.. any half-ass baseball fan knows you don't make the first or third out at third base, and stealing in this situation with a hitter that good up would be insanely stupid.. however, it's not as stupid as another "Twins fan" asking whether the third game of the series was "home or away?" i don't know, they'll probably play all the games in the same location, since they've done it that way since the beginning of fucking time.. these are the same guys who would get fired up over strike and ball calls down 8-1 in the 8th inning of an early August game..

cool coworker decides we should play a game called "Cheers and Bottoms Up".. perfect.. we do two of these in a row.. originally i wanted to be back in my hotel room around 9:00 at the latest, i was exhausted.. this clearly wasn't happening anymore.. we had enough beer in us to start to make inappropriate sexual comments to our waitress when she was barely out of earshot.. something like "you think she could fit this beer tube inside her?" came out of my mouth, i'm not proud of it.. at this table of six men, i believe i was officially the only "single" one there.. 3 have girlfriends and 2 have their little flings or whatever going on, as far as i know.. apparently 5+ beer tubes makes guys feel/talk/act single..

"that girl is hot" - one of the "Twins fans"
"which one?" - me
(he points to a girl/guy in the distance)
"i could see it... after 2 beer tubes" - me
"from the back only" - cool coworker
"in the dark" - me
"blindfolded" - cool coworker

somehow we lose one of the guys who said something about "phone butt sex".. i'm not sure how this works.. i didn't ask.. instead, i tell the waitress she has a "ridiculous ass" while she turns to walk away.. i cover my face so she "doesn't know it was me", drunk enough not to know that clearly gives me away.. oh well.. the Twins have scored a run, causing us to erupt in cheers and i tell the boys we're "chipping away".. the manager of the restaurant has clearly bitten off more than he can chew by allowing us this much beer.. he's wearing a Boston Red Sox David Ortiz jersey, so naturally i call him "Big Papi".. he shushes us with the hand gesture Ross from "Friends" uses when he moves in with Chandler and Joey and wants them to quiet down.. we make fun of Papi.. "i kinda want to have sex with our waitress", i alert my table, and probably tables around us..

more rounds of "Cheers and Bottoms Up" take place and our waitress tells us that her shift is over but another waitress will take over.. "we prefer hot waitresses, thanks," i tell her.. we try to convince her to stay and drink with us.. "sorry, but my baby is more important".. drastic mood change.. no one wants a built-in family.. we send her on her way.. in a classic "good news/bad news" moment, the new waitress is cuter but not hotter than the previous waitress.. this is offset by the fact that she's wearing tube socks and her shorts are cut mid-clitoris.. good for us, bad for her.. i learn that one of our coworkers is puking in the bathroom when i break the seal.. i'm not sure which one it is, so when i come back out i tell the other couple guys there about the "mystery yacker".. one of the two suspects come in from smoking outside, so we know our offender.. he completely denies it, so we nonchalantly needle him the rest of the night by asking if he's feeling alright and calling him "Chuck"..

we lose another one of the guys who was texting a girl nonstop, so it wasn't a big loss, he wasn't adding much to the experience.. he steals an entire roll of paper towels and spits on the floor before leaving.. classy.. so we're down to the final four.. "i wanted to leave about nine hours ago", i say.. "but you didn't, that makes you a man", i'm told.. i smile.. winning first place in the "Obvious Statement" category is our waitress, Lauren, who tells us, "the shorter my shorts, the more tips i get".. at some point in this exchange, we pay our bills.. as we're getting our credit cards, she asks "do you wanna see it?", referring to said bills.. bad choice of words on her part.. "umm yeah, how much does that cost?".. she smiles and blushes, clearly crushing on me.. so we pay and go outside where a couple guys stop to smoke.. after a few minutes, Lauren comes outside and says "do you guys want another beer tube?".. that's like questioning our masculinity, so we go back in and order two.. "we're getting kicked out tonight", cool coworker says..

the events that took place during the final two beer tubes are unclear but it culminated in this: "how much will you guys give me if i tell the waitress i'll tip her more for a kiss on the cheek, and then when she comes in i'll turn my head and get her on the lips?", cool coworker asks.. "20 dollars" i say.. the other two put in a combined $15 or something.. he's struggling to find an opening, so i come right out and say "he'll give you a huge tip if you give him a kiss on the cheek", forgetting i'm drunk and this trick hasn't worked since 1994.. she sees right through it and walks away to help another table.. "i'm going to grab her ass", cool coworker says.. "she has to slap you or it doesn't count", i tell him.. when she comes back over, he whispers something in her ear and then grabs her ass, legend has it that he got a little under the shorts.. i throw my $20 at him and give him a high-five while she punches him on the shoulder but smiles, clearly happy about the whole ordeal.. he ended up giving her the entire pot and we're not kicked out..

in our demolishing of 8-9 beer tubes, one of the other coworkers got a little carried away, and when he gets that drunk, he becomes a "fighter" we find out.. first of all, he tries giving Lauren his business card for some other job he has and she's clearly weirded out.. "sorry for Creepy Kyle over here, here's my number, let us know if there are any cool bars around here" says the cool coworker.. we start the long (4 block) walk home.. "i miss Lauren", i tell the others..

angry coworker starts talking about how cool coworker "cock blocked" him (both of them have girlfriends and the cool one was joking the entire time, plus his girlfriend asks him if the waitress was hot later on when he tells her the story).. anyway, cool coworker stops and urinates on one of those giant ice cream cones outside Dairy Queen, while across the street someone yells "hey, stop peeing on our cone" from inside a car in a Walmart parking lot.. oh boy.. angry coworker runs over to the car to pick a fight with them.. while cool coworker runs to diffuse the situation and trips on the way there.. "down goes Frazier!!", i yell.. i have to pee myself, so i pee on the actual Dairy Queen building during said argument.. i then go and stand next to the 4th remaining guy on the sidewalk who tells me, "you look like you could handle yourself in a fight", which causes me to shadow box and respond "fuck yeah i could".. he also tells me "you look sober".. "i feel non-sober", i respond..

after the "argument" ends, allegedly with one of the people in the car asking if we had pot, we start walking again.. angry coworker is still livid with cool coworker about "cock blocking" him.. we tell him that he was being creepy and that he shouldn't drink with us anymore.. this makes him more angry.. we get to the hotel and get in the elevator.. he starts punching walls and stuff, so i skip my stop on the 5th floor to make sure no one dies.. we get to the 6th floor where cool coworker gets off and starts walking away.. angry coworker spews some more trash talk at him, so cool coworker runs back and keeps the elevator door open to talk some more.. i get out and keep him back, while the 4th coworker stays in the elevator and goes down to wherever they're staying.. cool coworker and i immediately start laughing as we hear angry coworker punching walls and stuff.. the final tally: 8-9 beer tubes, 2 waitresses, 100+ sexual comments, 2 public urination incidents, one attempted drug deal, 1 Twins loss, 4 employees in at 5:00 a.m., 1 at 7:00 a.m. and 1 failed to make it to work (angry coworker).. epic.. why do some people turn into completely different humans when they drink? if you've heard stories about you being a complete moron every time you drink enough, quit fucking drinking that much.. if you're an exaggerated version of the same person, that's fine.. when you turn into a fucking idiot, alcohol isn't for you.. thanks..

a couple more blog worthy incidents that have since i've been in Ohio:

last Friday night, i went to dinner at a place called "The Black Olive" with the former "Cute Hometown Girl" (you remember her as "CHG".. she authored the surprise Thanksgiving visit, won Defensive MVP honors in flag football (awarded by me) and took care of me after my wine/hot tub-induced black out, among other things).. on the ride to the restaurant, i get the worst anxiety of my life, i'm nauseous, sweating and my entire left arm is tingling.. i've kind of become an expert at hiding my anxiety and not letting it show.. when i recently told a couple family members about how i feel sometimes, they both said they never notice it.. anyway, this was worse than i've ever felt and obviously wasn't hiding anything very well.. she asked me if i was okay and i told her how i was feeling.. i had already talked to her a few days earlier about how my anxiety has been worse lately after switching medicines and it was more in social situations rather than being more generalized.. she was super cool about it when i told her then and is going to school to be a P.A., so she had helpful things to say.. anyone who has never had anxiety really doesn't understand how badly it affects you.. although it's not dangerous, it feels horrible and it's hard to control unless you've gone through therapy and have learned exercises and techniques to change your thought process.. obviously there are several factors that go into it, but i believe the main cause of my anxiety goes back to having terrible acne in high school and being VERY self-conscious, shy and aware that i wasn't as good looking as most people.. it's built up to the point where my brain can't handle it anymore and that's where i am now.. obviously i know my thoughts are over-the-top and not true but that's how anxiety works.. the brain has it's own way of operating until you change it.. anyway, i immediately know i need beer to calm down.. CHG is controlling the conversation while i drink beer faster than they can pour it.. "i like your hat," she says.. "i like your dress," i say, glancing at her boobs.. she's looking ridiculously awesome in a cleavage-revealing sundress and her hair was done very attractively.. with my anxiety being that strong, the worst symptom was that it was hard to take advantage of looking at her..

eventually we leave and my beer medicine is starting to take effect.. we walk down the block to another sit-down place for another drink, chat about family and miscellaneous things and move along.. we go into a bar much like any small town bar (funny, being in the capital of Ohio) and stand by the bar.. an older gentleman somehow starts talking to us about Minnesota and how he spent time there in 1996 while working for President Clinton's campaign.. he goes on for an hour about how people in the Minnesota area are the nicest people in the world and people to the east, south and west are assholes.. Columbus was where people started to get nice again, according to him.. we chatted about Ohio State football and Vikings football and Browns football and old athletes, some of whom i actually knew.. also, quite a few Ohio State players have been stars for the Vikings: Cris Carter, Robert Smith, Korey Stringer, Antoine Winfield, etc.. eventually he started repeating himself and sounding like your grandpa who tells you the same story every 25 minutes, so i asked CHG if she was comfortable being there by herself while i went to pee.. i was half expecting her to be gone when i came back.. luckily, she wasn't kidnapped but he had found another older guy to come join the same conversation.. eventually we break out of the stranglehold of this guys nonstop chattering and leave the bar..

we decide to stop one more place before we end the night.. i have to pee again, so i walk in and make a beeline for the bathroom.. there are a couple people in line and a bathroom attendant looking rather flamboyant, shall we say.. didn't bother me and i thought nothing of it.. finally it's my turn to pee.. done, go to wash my hands.. guy is having trouble working the automatic faucet.. he looks at me.. "want to lick my handsss?" he says in the stereotypical homosexual voice.. "umm no thanks" i say and walk out.. my gaze catches CHG's on the walk back to her and she breaks out laughing.. she had stopped drinking long ago but there were two beers on the bar.. "i had to drink here".. she's engaged in a conversation with two lesbians who give her directions to a bar they're going to afterwards.. meanwhile, i'm watching male bar patrons lean over the counter to kiss male bartenders.. i stay glued between CHG and the exit, just in case any funny business happens.. i'm rooting for CHG and one of the lesbians to make out and have my cell phone handy in case photographic evidence is needed.. no such luck.. finally, we walk out.. "i think i'll blog about that", i say.. on the ride home, i find a country CD that i had sent her last summer/fall and put it in.. then, every time a new song started, i told her it was Kenny Chesney (like she didn't know) and we sang Kenny duets until we made it home to find her newly acquired puppy, who is a) super cute and b) fond of biting my feet..

the next morning i'm supposed to be going with the cool coworker to Cincinnati, just to get away from the hotel for a while.. we had agreed Friday night to leave at 10 a.m.. i get a text at 9:50, "make it 10:15".. i'm still 20 minutes away so i say "make it 10:30".. can't wake up.. "fuck, make it 11:00," i say.. "thank you.. call me when you get here to wake me up," he says.. finally i'm on the road.. i shower quickly, washing the anxiety-induced sweat from last night away.. i meet him in the lobby at 11:00.. "what the fuck happened to you?" i ask, noticing the scab on his chin.. "i don't want to talk about it," he says.. he tells me about a drunken episode last night where he tried running to catch up to the other guys, jumped on the back of one of our coworkers, went down and landed chin first on the cement.. awesome.. "i'm so hungry i could eat a zebra," i tell him.. we stop at McDonald's.. hindsight being 20/20, i made fun of him for ordering a Big Mac, the biggest burger on the menu, with a sore jaw and needing his hands to drive..

Cincinnati is exactly 100 miles from where we are and the road is mind-numbingly boring.. it's as straight as an arrow with nothing to look at.. we stop at a rest stop and pick up some books on fun things to do in Cincinnati and the surrounding area.. we decide to go to an aquarium right across the river from Cincinnati in northern Kentucky.. my coworker wants some Neosporin and a bandaids for his chin after i tell him "you're leaking".. we cross the river into Kentucky and not 30 seconds after doing so, we see a horse and buggy.. i took a picture and he started singing the theme to some old redneck TV show.. we can't find a gas station and judging by the car-to-horse ratio, we debate asking them where they get more horse feed.. finally we find some little convenience store.. i think my camera needs batteries, so i look around for them, finding some generic brand like Dave's Batteries or something.. coworker asks if i think they have a bathroom and i say "yeah, probably in that back corner".. he returns, saying "thanks for sending me to the managers office to take a shit".. naturally, the Neosporin and bandaids are 3 rows apart from each other and my "low battery" turned out to be a full memory stick.. the lesson, as always: i'm an idiot..

it's unbelievably humid out and i tell the coworker that Kentucky is the hottest place on earth, slightly exaggerating.. we pay $20 a piece to go into this aquarium.. it doesn't live up to the hype at first but then we start seeing alligators and sharks and penguins.. that's where we got our money's worth.. they had a tank where you could pet small sharks using only 2 fingers, so naturally we make sexual jokes about that.. we found ourselves across from a low-cut red shirt wrapped around a blonde girl (photographic evidence on Facebook).. we pet some sharks for a few minutes, actually getting into it.. "this is the gayest thing i've ever done," he says.. finally we leave, stopping in Barnes and Noble for fantasy football magazines and use his Blackberry GPS to find the Bengals and Reds stadiums and do some investigating.. we continuously call the GPS voice lady a bitch because she likes to tell us to take U-turns whenever possible and told us to take about 15 lefts in a row when right was clearly the right answer.. after yelling at homeless men to "quit bragging", we're on our way home.. i fall asleep immediately on the way back, coworker later tells me he had to start texting people to stay awake.. reassuring..


i'm starting to read a book called "The Maxims of Manhood: 100 Rules Every Real Man Must Live By".. instead of lyrics on this blog, i'm going to include a few clips from this book, it's pretty comical.. i'm only through rule #22 and have barely scratched the surface in the "Women" section so there may be more material to share in the future:


Rule #1: Tip Well.

Proper tipping shows that you're worldly, you're not a tight ass, and that, at rare moments, you ever give a damn about people besides yourself. It's more than good manners- it's good ethics and it's good karma. You must know how to tip the following professions:

Barber: Simple common sense. You see the same guy at least once a month, so unlike at a restaurant, say, a frugal tip is neither anonymous not forgotten. Ancient bit of wisdom: be generous to a man when he has a blade to your throat.

Hooker: For some reason the publisher denied my request for "research money" to explore this profession, but here's my hunch: if you tip a waitress 15 percent for serving you a plate of spaghetti, then you should probably tip a woman at least that much for letting you stuff her vagina with your penis.

Babysitter: She was just responsible for the life, safety, and health of the most important person in your world. If scorned, she's in a position to kidnap your baby. Probably not the best place to scrimp.

Bartender: If the place is crowded, the key is to tip heavy early in the night, make eye contact, and they'll remember you later and give faster service. The better you tip, the better yours odds of a buy-back.

Manucurist: I don't know this. And neither should you.


Rule #2: You Only Recognize Primary Colors.

The male retina can only process three colors- red, blue, and yellow. Through heavy squinting, it is also possible, in rare and extraordinary circumstances, to recognize secondary colors like orange, green, and purple. Men can also understand black and white, as generations of watching football - natural selection - has developed an ability to spot the referee's uniforms.

Tragically, this physical handicap has been underreported by the mainstream media, triggering both miscommunication and awkwardness. Women will ask questions like, "What blouse should I wear: the periwinkle or the magenta?"

Periwinkle? Magenta? These words mean nothing. Magenta sounds like the villain from X-Men, the dude with the red and blue helmet (maybe you call it purple). Periwinkle could be a Dickens charachter, or maybe a book by Dr. Seuss.

It's not that men simply shouldn't know the difference between "indigo" and "chartreuse," it's that we don't. Can't. It's not in our genetic code. And this impairment causes problems.

For instance, men are unable to enjoy picking out the color of new linoleum tiles. There will be no spirited debates over wallpaper. When you buy a car, you buy a red car, or a black car, or a blue car. Despite what is says in your owner's manual, your car sure as shit isn't "pewter." It's dark white.


Rule #3: Know How To Give a Compliment

Seems easy. Giving a compliment is simple. You just tell someone they they "did some good shit" or that they "look fucking good." What's so hard about that? The art of the compliment, however, requires a different approach for men and women, buddies and coworkers, family and strangers. While you're certainly not enrolled in the Ministry of Manners, you do know how to issue a complement without kissing ass, embarrassing the recipient, or humiliating yourself. You follow some of the basic Dos and Don'ts.

When complimenting a woman:

Do: Keep it simple. Avoid cliches. Hold eye contact. If you're in doubt? It won't score points for originality, but the old warhorse "You look great" has yet to fail.

Don't: Say that her breasts look terrific. Say she has beautiful eyes. (Barf.) Compliment her on the fine application of lipstick. Condescendingly say that she throws pretty well for a girl. Point at her dress and say, "Ooohhh, the new Betsey Johnson. Loves it!" (She wants you to appreciate how she looks in the dress. She doesn't want you to actually appreciate the dress itself. For women, fashion is a game of tricks and illusion. You just broke the spell.)

When complimenting a buddy:

Do: Understate it. If you're playing golf and he whacks a hole in one, your response should be something like, "That shot didn't suck." Compliment his new car, TV, gaming system, or power tool... even if yours is bigger and shinier and better.

Don't Compliment his appearance. Say that his daughter is hot or call her a DILF. Tell your roommate that you heard the walls shaking all night, and it sounds like he's a real tiger in the sack.

When complimenting a coworker:

Do: Ensure the right person gets the right credit. Don't just lavish praise on the boss; speak up when the junior person worked until midnight. Acknowlede the behind-the-scenes stuff that gets overlooked.

Don't: Ever ask if someone "didn't get the memo" or refer to those "TPS Reports." No, those aren't compliments but they're very, very stale jokes. Telling them should be grounds for immidiate dismissal. And you should never, ever compliment a woman's appearance in the workplace. You must act as if women look like pencil sharpeners: they're not pretty, not ugly; they're just competent, sexless machines that get the job done, same as a man.

When complimenting in the bedroom:

Do: Make her feel sexy. Compliment her body. Say that what she's doing feels good.

Don't: Overdo it. An unrelenting stream of flattery isn't sexy, it's corny. Just shut up and fuck already, okay? Another don't: if it's early in the relationship, you should never say "I love your body" or "I love the way you feel" or whatever. This is how it might sound to her: "I love... [long, dreadful pause]... your body." She might think you're about to drop the L-bomb, in which case she'll either freak out or be disappointed. It's the same reason you should never give her jewelry that comes in a ring-sized box. A final don't: after oral sex, don't say, "I can tell you've done that a lot. You're a real pro."

Rule #11: Never Switch Your Favorite Team.

You will have many jobs. You will own multiple cars, pets, and suits. And barring some nightmare scenario where you marry your high school sweetheart, you'll go from girl to girl.

Like almost everything else in life, these are all fleeting. Replaceable. But you do have something timeless and true, a lifelong bedrock; your favorite sports team. You are permitted one team for each major sport, and this can never change. Ever.

Your girlfriend won't get it. She'll ask, "Wait, didn't you say you have 'commitment issues'?" She'll then argue, "if the whole point of sports is a fun diversion, why not just root for whomever you please, sip your beer, and enjoy the game?"

You know better. Sports aren't just some "fun diversion." Every year is a long, torturous season, where you slog through bad drafts and crushing playoff defeats. We lose more than we win. We sulk more than we cheer.

This pain, though, is like boot camp for our soul. It hardens us. It stells us for life's disappointments. To flinch from this pain - to upgrade teams when your beloved Vikings are in the gutter - is to betray your core principles. The man who changes teams connot be trusted. This is the man who fip-flops his politics and cheats on his wife.

The maxin transcends geography. If you grew up in Boston as a lifelong Patriots fan, and then you have the misfortune of moving to Buffalo, it is unacceptable to adopt the Bills as your new team. It also transcends individual players. True, a Packers fan is allowed to root for Brett Favre when he plays for New York, but his is forbidden from claiming the Jets as his new favorite team.

A note on timing. you might wondner when in live, precisely, you need to make your choice. Follow this rule of thumb: you should settle on your favorite team by the day you stop trick-or-treating. When you've stopped dressing up like Yoda to beg your neighbors for fun-sized Kit-Kats, you've entered the grown-up world of sports fidelity.

Rule #13: Shun Networking Guy.

When you go to watch the game, you must go to watch the game. You're not there to woo a client. You're not there to lather up your boss. You refuse to be Networking Guy. You shun him.

Additional in-game etiquette:

No cussing in front of the kids. I'm fucking serious. You can be as raunchy as you'd like in the sports bar, but when you're in earshot of little Timmy, trade the shits for shoots. Plus, it's fun. My favorite trick is to swap well-known profanity with unique, G-rated slurs. Like when the ref makes a bad call you scream, "Awww c'mon, ref, that's a bunch of HORSE... RADISH!!!" Or you can say the call wasn't bullshit, it's "baloney." Try it sometime. You're guaranteed a chuckle.

That being said, tolerate loudness. Embrace it. Don't be that guy shhhhhhhing the crowd. You're at a stadium. Deal with it. If you want to watch a game in complete silence, go see the Toronto Raptors.

A word on jerseys. If you're at a Cubs/Astrols game, minus 5 points for wearing a Braves jersey. (Wrong team.) Minus 10 points for wearing a Bulls jersey. (Wrong sport.) Minus 35 points for wearing an Argonaut jersey. (Wrong country.) Minus 100 points for wearing a custom, personalized jersey with your name on it. (Wrong path you've chosen in life.)

Do not do The Wave. It's now in the highest pantheon of group corniness, right up there with the Macarena and YMCA. If the rest of the stadium starts it? Stand your ground. Follow your principles. Be that lone, defiant protestor in Tiananmen Square, staring down the tank that is the wave.

Unless you're eight years old, no bringing your glove to a baseball game. Two words: Steve Bartman. If he had followed this rule in 2003, his Cubs might have won the World Series.

Rule #14: Know Who's Pitching.

Let's say you're a Dodgers fan. It is unacceptable for you to walk into a buddy's apartment, see they're playing on TV, and casually ask the room, "Hey, who's pitching tonight?" Or, even more appalling; "Hey guys, who are we playing?" ("We," apparently, are playing a little game where we pretend that we're a sports fan and have a penis.)

No actual fan would be so blithe, so oblivious, about who's playing or who's pitching. It's like Sarah Palin never having heard of the Bush Doctorine. These are simply things you know. How could you not?

You know your team. Specifically you know the following:

Your team's schedule. No, you don't need to be the anal-retentive dork who memorizes the Raiders' entire sixteen-game schedule, but you must, at a minimum, know the next few games. You should know the upcoming opponents, any scheduling quirks (night game vs. day game), and you should knwo when your team is on a bye, because that's the one weekend between Labor Day and February that you can spend Sunday with your girlfriend.

Your team's roster. It's amazing how many "fans" will watch a football game and have utterly no clue who's anchoring the O-line. You might know the names of all your cousins, but you know all fifty-three players, and you know where they went to college.

Your team's strengths. This is more encouraged than required. While you don't have to be an Xs and Os wizard like Hubie Brown or Ron Jaworski, you should be able to talk a little strategy. You should know that when you match up against the Warriors, you have a height advantage and should dump the ball in the post.

Your team's weaknesses. There aren't any. These guys are going all the way.

Your team's coach. You're smarter than the coach. You know that he should have gone for it on fourth down, that he should start the rookie quarterback, and that he's deploying the prevent-defense alarmingly too early. Yes, you acknowledge that he watches fifty hours of game film a week. But that just makes him blind to the obvious.

Your team's history. It separates the bandwagoners from the faithful. Without hesitating, you can rattle off the years your team won a title, the years they should have, and 80 percent of the championship starting lineups.

Rule #15: Slap His Ass.

Physical affection with another man freaks you out.

The idea of holding a man's hand is unthinkable. You'd never help a man comb his hair. You wouldn't kiss him on the cheek. You wouldn't rub sunscreen on his back.

Obvious stuff, right? These taboos are so off-limits, so clearly beyond the pale, that they don't even warrant their own rules. You get it. Even though the infractions seem minor - and even though, frankly, it's the same harmless stuff girls do with girls - you don't want to go there because, you know.. well, you know.

So you avoid physical contact with other men. You keep them at arm's length. Good for you and good for him. Good for all of us.

Except...

When you're both hot and sweaty and playing the same sport, nothing is more emphatically, more clearly heterosexual than slapping another man's ass. When he hauls in a touchdown, you slap in on the ass. When he swishes a three-pointer, you pat him on the ass. When he smacks a home run, you treat his butt to a little palm lovin'. Even when he misses a free throw, you still say to yourself, "You know what? Screw it! Let's slap him on the ass!"

And this doesn't strike you - or anyone - as at all homoerotic. Trying on another man's pair of jeans? That's gay. Tapping the man's butt? That's camaraderie.

One theory... Your athletic prowess is so virile, so stunningly heterosexual, that it gives a smokescreen for everything and anything else. And who knows? Maybe the ass tap is just the beginning. Soon, perhaps, we'll see more advanced moves - when the pitcher throws a no-hitter, say, his teammates all line up and give him the newest gesture of manly appreciation: the "ball squeeze."

Rule #16: Stay Until The End.

If sports were merely about jumping and sweating and catching balls, we'd be just as entertained watching dogs play fetch. But we demand more. Strategy, pushing the limits, heart, redemption, and every once in a long, long while... moments of magic.

We crave this magic. The stunning comebacks, like Tracy McGrady's thirteen points in thirty-three seconds. Eli Manning and the helmet catch. The Sox coming back from 0-3. The Bills roaring back from thirty-two points against Warren Moon and the Oilers. And so on.

This magic doesn't come free. The price is loyalty. To trule appreciate these golden moments, you must demonstrate your commitment. When you pay good money to cheer the home team, it is unacceptbale to leave early to beat traffic. Your team deserves better. You deserve better.

The deserters who skulk out of the stadium with six minutes left - bowing their heads in shame, peeling off their jerseys - should be photographed by security, have their tickets confiscated, and get slapped with a lifetime ban from the ballpark.

Would you walk out of your daughter's piano recital the moment she flubs a key? Abandon your buddy if he passed out in a bar? Ditch your girlfriend if she suddenly became annoying? (Scratch that last one.)

The traffic-beater species is not indigenous to any one city. They're everywhere. The flee blowouts; they wince at the first drops of rain. Some traffic-beaters actually leave early during close games, perhaps becauss they forgot their Midol.

Rule #22: End The Call First.

Men can be enlightened - take the phone, for instance. Just like pasteurization, TiVo, and the printing press, the phone is an important invention. The phone lets us order pizza. It lets us text message. It can be used in an emergency, like to call the cable company when the NBA League Pass isn't working.

The phone has many uses. One thing we frown upon, however, is use of the phone for talking. A quick call to coordinate plans? Not a problem. A brief, predinner chat to see if you want quiche or brisket? you bet. (Technically, in that scenario, we'd prefer a text. And come to think of it, the answer should be obvious: brisket.)

When you're on the phone with your girlfriend or wife, you must want to end the call before she does. To clarify, this doesn't mean that you, personally, must initiate the hang-up. Once again the key is intent. You mustn't be the blabberer.

On the call itself, your role is to silently suffer. Don't worry. You have plenty of options. You can flip the phone to mute and play video games or mow the lawn. You can utter a stream of "mmmh hmm," "that makes sense," or "exactly."

The advanced move? As you're checking your e-mail and surfing the web and utterly ignoring her, you say, "Right... but what do you really mean by that?" This sneaky little ace-in-the-hole, regardless of when you play it, yields unfailingly strong results. It conjures the illusion that you were not only paying close attention, but you're probing for something deeper. You're not just thinking about what she was saying, you're analyzing why she was saying it, you're assimilating this new informations into a holistic, oft-analyized view of her personality, and you want to knwo more. Try it sometime. It's good for the relationship.

Every group has one of these guys. When you're on a Vegas trip, he's the guy who leaves the blackjack table for "just a minute" to call his girlfriend, then returns an hour later, sheepish. This is the same guy who holds on 16.

Women say they want a man who's sensitives and communicative - fair enough. But they don't really want a guy who talks their earrings off. Ask questions. Don't soliloquize. Take a cue from George Costanza: end the conversation early and "leave 'em wanting more."

Again, the phone itself is not evil. Phones don't bore; people do. And conversations themselves aren't necessarily awful. In fact, sometimes, a long conversation with a girl can be enjoyable. Really. (Preferably, this is done in person, which allows for the possibility of sex.)

So if there is truly, legis, honest-to-God news that's worth discussing at length, a thirty-plus minute phone call is justified. If you're on business in Pittsburgh, say, and she calls to say she's pregnant, it's probably worth a leisurely chat.


Men's Health Tips of the Week


What The Woman in Your Life is Really Thinking

When you look into a woman's eyes, you probably often wonder, What is she really thinking? You truly believe that you want to know. Poor thing. Your curiosity is stronger than your fear.

Very well, then. Every woman reacts differently, but my account here will scare the bejeezus out of you by coming pretty damn close to what your wife or girlfriend was thinking at various points in the arc of your relationship. Psychologists are standing by to help you understand—and deal with—us women.

Here's what she was thinking . . .

The Night You Met
Are you actually hot, or have I just made that up so I won't get bored and eat all this bread, which is awesome? I can't believe I have to be nice to your friend's girlfriend, who is phenomenally stupid, in case I want to date you.

Finally! You're looking at me. Chin's okay. Nice eyes, mouth . . . wait. Is your hair kind of gay? Oh. You looked away. I didn't like you anyway. I'm bored. I want more bread.

Wow. You just totally smiled at me! If you hadn't, I would have just stopped talking to you, and you would have thought I didn't like you. But I wasn't going to be the one to stick my neck out, because that's your job. I wonder if your friend's girlfriend is going to be, like, a pain if I don't ask her to be in our wedding?

The First Time You Picked Her Up
Why aren't you here yet? My breasts look so good. But I'd better not catch you looking at them, because then I'll think that you think I'm easy. I have the greatest life! I am so pretty. You're 5 minutes late. I look like a total slut. Where are you? You're 10 minutes late. I'm totally going to be a single mom.

Oh, wow. Here you are. I am so crazy. You're cute. Like the suit—a little rumpled, neat but not trying too hard. If you want me to fall in love with you, you're going to have to do something about that hair.

When I disappear briefly to get my jacket, I think I'll take off my underwear so I don't have panty lines. But I'd better put them in my bag in case you take me to a place that sells wings or jalapeño poppers. I'm classier than that, can't you tell? I'm already mad at you, imagining you taking me to a place like that.

On Your First Date
I blame you for my monologue in the car about my parents' dog's nail fungus. If you don't ask me a question in 5 seconds, we're not meant to be. Okay, 10 seconds. Fifteen. Ah, finally: "Do you like your job?" A little stiff, but you made the effort, and you are so lucky you said something before I reached 100.

Excellent restaurant choice—elegant but not stuffy. The hostess doesn't have our reservation. Great. Now you're going to freak out on her and embarrass me . . . Oh, you just said, "No big deal. We'll get a drink at the bar while you work it out." I'm aroused by your restraint.

Wait a minute: You like the hostess! It was dark when we met. Did you remember me as younger, or blonder, or thinner? Like the hostess? I was lying when I thought I didn't want you to look at my breasts. Stop reviewing the wine list and look at them! I don't like you anyway.

I have to think of something flirtatious to say, to see if you respond favorably. Thank goodness I've only had one drink, so I'm still aware that "I'm not wearing any underwear" is not a good choice. Did you just say the wine list looks "approachable"? "Tell me you did not just say the wine list looks approachable." Whoa. Did I say that out loud? That was mean. Why do I have to be sarcastic when I'm feeling needy?

Oh, you're blushing and saying, "I'm just nervous because you're really pretty," and now you look embarrassed you said that. But trust me, it was the right thing to say. We're such a good couple. It's totally cool if your friend's dumb girlfriend wants to be in the wedding. But she can't be a bridesmaid. She can do the guestbook or something.

The First Time You Kissed
I am putting my bare feet on the couch next to your legs. Wow. If you didn't get the memo on that one, you're past hope. Maybe you just don't even like me. I am making this really easy, dude. My toes are now touching your leg. Did you watch me walk to the kitchen and decide my ass is too fat and now you're trying to think of an excuse to leave? Do I say something? No. My job is to wait for . . . wow, your hand is on my knee.

You're pulling me toward you. I am scared you have bad breath. Not too fast, very good, start off slow. I want to feel like you're dying to sleep with me but not like you're worried I won't. I can't believe I need everything to be perfect; it's going to be my undoing. I wonder if I'll date when I'm a single mom.

Closing my mouth a bit to slow you down worked. This is good. I should get one last thought in before I stop thinking, which is to remind myself to keep my underwear on. Oh. Right. Well, you can't touch where my underwear would be if I were wearing any.

Your First Time in Bed
Should I put my legs up in the air, or is that too much? Why am I having sex with you? Oh . . . why not? I remember when I was younger and thought I was going to be a virgin when I got married. Now that is funny.

I am so glad I didn't eat any carbs or sugar for 3 days. My stomach is so flat! I like looking down at it while you're on top of me. It's so weird that I'm always thinking about getting married. I wonder how many times I have to have sex with you before I can make you buy better sheets. I wish I were more like you. You don't seem to have a whole lot on your mind.

When She Accepted Your Proposal
I am so in love. I am also relieved I'm not going to be a single mother. I hope I'm doing the right thing. I know why there is a giant ring associated with getting engaged, because every time I look at it, I feel enormously soothed.


8 Things She Hates About You

The biggest fight in my relationship has been replayed more times than Beyoncé's tumble in Orlando. It usually happens something like this: First, after 3 or 4 hours of silent abuse by me, my boyfriend starts to suspect something's up.

"I know you're annoyed," he says. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," I say. "It's fine, whatever. I'm not annoyed."

"Just tell me."

This goes on for hours until I finally blurt it out: "You didn't introduce me when we ran into that guy you work with! And why do you need to go out to brunch with your ex?" Then I feel silly for letting such small things bother me, and we laugh and roll around on the bed and all is right again in our world.

But he raises a good point: Most of the time he has no idea of what sets me off. Which is why I've prepared this handy inventory of things men tend to do that we tend to find annoying. If you study up, you'll be able to stop repelling the women you want to meet—or aggravating the one you have. And we women can continue not telling you why we're mad, because we'll figure, "Hey, he should know already!" Besides, who said this would be fair?

You're a Mess
Actually, we really don't mind if you're a little messy at our place. An empty beer bottle here or dirty T-shirt there—no problem. But when we start seeing pieces of you (literally) all over the place, we tend to go off. Like when we find your pubes all over our bar of Dove, or toenail clippings on the nightstand, or a pile of chewed-out sunflower-seed shells on the counter. Please clean that up before we see it and want to gag. And then we'll promise to be better about leaving globs of our hair in your shower drain. Do we have a deal?

You're a Nag
You ask how much our new haircut or handbag costs, yet conveniently don't mention your sportsbook.com account or the $200 you lost on the NCAA parlay. Until we're sharing a bank account with you, we're not all that interested in your opinions on how we should or should not spend our money.

And if we are sharing a bank account, here's something you should know: Reminding us when we're in the throes of post-retail bliss that we just blew all our disposable income for the month is not going to endear you to us. The perfect boyfriend response: "Wow, [fierce/sexy/hot] new [haircut/handbag/lingerie item]. I guess dinner is on me tonight!" Then wait a few days to bring up your financial concerns, by proposing we both start saving for something we want to buy together.

You Use Guy Talk with Us
If you have any romantic inclinations toward us, please don't call us by our last name. Otherwise we'll assume we've already been relegated to buddy status and start thinking of you that way, too. Also, you'll rarely find us holding entire conversations in Simpsons and Old School quotes.

Similarly, we don't talk in numbers the same way men tend to. We're happy to see evidence of your improvements at the gym, but we really don't need to know how much you can bench-press. We also couldn't care less about your day rate, the price of your car, or the number of beers you once shotgunned in college. And fantasy-league anything will make us flirt hard with the waiter.

No, the conversation doesn't have to be all about us, but we do want you to shoot for topics of mutual interest.

You're Vague
Men seem to have perfected a special way of talking about the future that makes it unclear whether we're a part of it or not. Or maybe you don't know you're doing this? For instance, you frequently mention your buddy's wedding in another state 6 months from now and you haven't asked us to go with you. Or you have a monthlong international business trip coming up but haven't asked us whether we'd like to come for a weekend visit. If you picture us in your future, try talking about these things in such a way that we'll stick around for it.

You Stop Wooing Us
You have us as your wife or girlfriend. We're committed to the situation, and all is good. But pretty soon you stop trying to impress us—and we don't like that.

"Now that we're married, he never tries to 'win me' anymore," says one friend. "If he wants to come on to me, he needs to ditch his gross dress socks and gym clothes and make an effort. Otherwise he ain't getting any. Also, there is less foreplay and it's more routine, which I hate. After 7 years, a man's got to bust some new moves."

Or at least bring back a few of the retired ones that used to work. Like simply bringing home a pizza, a bottle of wine, and some flowers when we've had a bad day. Bring back the woo. We want the woo!

You're Sloppy with Porn
We don't care that you masturbate, and we can't change the fact that you might occasionally browse the fine and varied selection of naked ladies on the Internet. But if you're looking at porn on a computer we also use, kindly delete your history. We don't want amazonbabes.com to pop up every time we want to do some shopping or, worse, when your mother's over and an underwearless young starlet showing her bald spot appears as we're showing Mom something online.

You Say No to Sex
When it so happens that we're the one who wants sex and you're the one who doesn't, we find your refusal to be confusing and irritating. Reassure us that we're attractive and that you love us, but that you just aren't in the mood.

It helps to throw out a hint at what's going on—that you're tired, depressed, anxious at work, whatever, says Aline Zoldbrod, Ph.D., a Boston-area psychologist. That way we won't obsess or be too pouty or aggressive.

If we happen to be fresh off a girls' night out liquored up and ready for sex, which you're refusing, tread extra carefully. Horny can change to emotional, crying wreckage very quickly when your girl has a couple of glasses of Prosecco in her.

You Don't Call
Texting is fast and easy and leads to sexy banter—but save it until after the first date. Calling a woman to ask her out is much more personal. It takes more effort (and balls), which is exactly what we find so sexy about your doing it. Okay, it's an unfair burden for you, but it comes with an advantage: It makes you stand out from the mass of other men who text instead of calling.

"So many people are conditioned to communicate through text messages that to receive a phone call or even an e-mail feels like a generously romantic gesture," says Kristina Grish, author of The Joy of Text: Mating, Dating, and Techno-Relating.

Another thing: Don't include us in any mass texts you bang off to half the female names in your address book at 10 p.m., expecting one of us to come rushing out to meet you for the night.

"Women know when your 'plans 2nite?' texts are generic, and when they're intended to specifically address them," Grish says. "You have so few characters to make a succinct point, but tuck an inside joke or reference into the message to make it personal, sexy, and fun."

banana pancakes..

this post is being co-brought to you by our next-door neighbor who mows his lawn wearing John Stockton's rookie basketball shorts (a belt would be roomier) and the guy i saw in Gold's Gym shaving his scrotum in the shower..

as payback to our neighbor for subjecting us to such torture, i like to sit in the hot tub and get drunk, then in mid-soak, go jump on their trampoline and swing on their swing set.. the punishment doesn't really fit the crime but i feel sunbathing nude while he mows the lawn might be over the top..

recently the house has been falling apart.. a couple weeks ago, the water heater sprung a leak which caused our hot water to go on the 2-day disabled list which was quickly followed by the air conditioner deciding to die in the middle of the night with high-pitched squeals, allowing Robert and i to meet in the kitchen in our underwear and take turns hitting it as hard as possible.. one bright spot in the whole ordeal was me being forced to go to the gym if i wanted a hot shower.. put it this way, in 2 months as a member of Gold's, i've seen twice as many hot-girls-i'll-never-speak-to as i did at Anytime Fitness.. Anytime was apparently the Embers of the workout world.. only elderly women in the morning, only overweight women at night.. this is a true story: i was doing some work on one of the muscles i'm severely lacking in (can't remember which one), but when i finished my lifting, i sat up on the bench and looked directly into the eyes of some blonde girl on a treadmill that i immediately knew i'd tell my roommates about later.. and she was looking at me.. so i kept looking at her for what seemed like a week and a half but probably was more like 2.7 seconds.. so naturally i scratch the muscle-building part of my workout and proceed to the cardio session.. as proof there is a God, the machine which offered me the perfect view of the Twins game AND her ass at the same time was unoccupied.. i'm about three minutes into my run when i realize somethings different than when i usually run.. finally i figure out what it is.. i was so preoccupied with looking at her butt that i forgot to turn my iPod on.. so i'm running with headphones in and listening to absolutely nothing.. the lesson, as always: i'm an idiot..

okay, so enough looking for Osama bin Laden.. someone has to catch the fucking sock monster in our dryer that makes me come out with an odd amount every fucking time.. i'm about ready to set up a hidden camera in the laundry room to catch him in the act.. tell me MTV wouldn't air that.. besides, it's gotta be better than the 13 stations that show poker on TV at any given time.. why don't we have colleges compete in drinking games or something entertaining?.. who wouldn't sit down on a non-descript Thirsty Thursday to watch Arizona State defeat Wisconsin in Presidents and Assholes?? i'll tell you who, nobody..

if you name your son Lenny, he's going to grow up to be a mechanic or serial killer.. 50/50 chance.. weigh the positives/negatives: free car care OR possible death by socket wrench.. act accordingly..

nearly saw a human being start on fire last Friday.. it was a holiday for me since the 4th was on Saturday, so the day started with golf, proceeded to dinner at Granite City and ended in the garage of a friend of a friend.. we went there to watch the Twins game, they had set up a TV and a bunch of chairs in the garage.. the game turned into a 16-inning marathon and people got tired of watching Delmon Young not being able to hit a beach ball with a canoe paddle, so after being entertained by a text message conversation that one of the girls was having with a gentleman named "Dwight" who she had never met, we decided to start a fire in the driveway with one of those fire pit things.. apparently none of the men present had Boy Scout experience because the fire quickly died out ("rub the sticks together", i suggest).. and what do you do when a fire dies out? pour gas on it! a few of the guys were standing around the fire pit, i was still sitting in the garage probably exchanging recipes with the gals.. the owner of the house gets out the gas can and pours a bit of it into the fire pit.. all of a sudden, i hear my roommate Josh say "umm, that's on fire" as calm and jovial as a human about to witness a death can say.. one of the guys still in the garage yells "yes!!" and pumps his fist as he sees the can go up in flames.. securing his nomination in the "World's Dumbest Move of 2009", the holder of the gas can begins to blow on it.. flames erupt as the gas can is hurled towards 5 parked cars in the street.. with the can landing in the front lawn and fewer than 2 people suffering 3rd degree burns over 80% of their body, everyone has a good laugh (no one was hurt, thankfully).. Dwight would have gotten a kick out of that..

Text of the Week

roommate Mike: "was that a plane or semi that hit the house last night?"
me: "i think Danny got drunk and rode a toboggan down the steps"

in actuality, three of the housemates (myself included) had off work the next day and got fairly drunk for a Wednesday night.. we ended up rearranging some furniture around 2:00 a.m., much to the delight of our roommates sleeping downstairs..


this isn't funny but it's cute so i'm going to add it.. i recently had a birthday, and our family isn't the kind that says "i love you" or things like that.. we know everyone loves each other, obviously, but it goes unsaid.. so, like every year, my twin sister and i got a card from our Mom that she signs for both her and our Dad saying "happy 26th birthday, love you".. that was expected.. when i went out to my parents the Sunday after, my normal Sunday routine, my Dad handed me a card as i was walking out the door.. i got in my car, started it and opened it.. "Your The Best.. Dad" is what it said, and the spelling error is accurate.. i seriously got misty-eyed and just sat there for a few minutes because it's something we rarely see..

i've done some traveling for work and have been lucky because the two cities i've been close to are two of the major cities in the U.S. (Boston and Chicago).. Not only that but they are home to the two oldest major league baseball parks in the nation, so as a baseball fan i enjoyed being able to see them in person.. well, next month is taking me to Grove City, Ohio, barring a last minute change of plans.. hopefully i can catch a Ohio State Buckeyes co-ed softball game or something..

one of my favorite shows on television right now is "16 And Pregnant" on MTV.. it blows my mind how stupid people can be, and it makes me that much more in favor of people needing to pass tests to keep their children.. one "baby daddy" proposed to his "baby mama" using a ring he bought at Walmart for $24.37ish and asked what their return policy was.. that's so classic.. 16 years old and having a baby?? here's what i was worried about when i was 16: not failing my drivers test for a third time, already failing once within 15 seconds for running over a cone; not missing "Friends" on Thursdays; finding anything to make my acne less noticeable, usually in my sisters makeup drawer; not getting an erection during Public Speaking; not getting an erection during Phy Ed.; not getting an erection while dancing arms-length apart with a girl at those cafeteria dances; whether or not the Rock was going to beat Stone Cold Steve Austin at Wrestlemania; not forgetting my locker combination while being late for class; whether the Vikings were going to go 15-1 again and then shit the bed in the playoffs; "IMing" hotties on the Internet; leading the 10th grade boys basketball team in three-pointers and Minutes Browsing Bleachers for Girls I'd Make Out With (MBBGIMOW in your scorebook).. notice how "impregnating a classmate" isn't listed? i know people make mistakes but even at 16 you should be smart enough to not have a baby.. if protection was used, i take all this back, evidently everyone in high school was having sex except me.. i've said this before, condoms may not feel as "heaven-like" as going without one but it sure feels a lot better than getting up in the middle of the night five times while sleeping next to someone you hate.. it also feels better than writing a child support check every month or two weeks or whatever the hell it is.. one of my favorite exchanges between a "couple" on that show went like this:

girl (while holding baby): "what are you doing tonight?"
guy: "going out with (insert douchebag friends here), what are you doing?"
girl (shocked that he asked that): "staying home with Bentley, i guess"

i'll avoid the jokes about the baby's name but it's awesome that he thought she could do anything other than stay home at that point.. like the 4 month-old kid could just be put on the couch in front of a "Dora The Explorer" movie or whatever it is they make for boy babies these days.. that's the worst part, is that usually the guy underestimates his role in the situation, like it's less his fault.. whatever, just keep having those babies, kids.. it's fun to watch..

our roommate Danny is a pretty big hockey fan, Robert and i are bandwagon guys and Josh and Mike hate it.. anyway, hockey free agency is in full swing, so when Danny tells us that "the Wild signed Jamie Frasor" or "we should get Dany Heatley", we like to say things like "never heard of her" or "is he one of the Bash Brothers?" (from "Mighty Ducks" if you're confused).. it's fun to see him get fired up about hockey and tell us things we couldn't care less about..

this came to me while i was watching the Timberwolves draft 152 point guards in the NBA draft: i want a dating profile of me to be written by the same guys who are NBA or NFL draft analysts on ESPN.. "great potential", "long", "hard worker", "excels in tight spaces", "astounding hip movement", "never winded", "looks great with his shirt off", "uses both hands", "excellent ball skills", "fills the gap well", "explodes through the hole", "superb finisher"..

by the way, this sentence was actually said during the NBA draft: "Blake Griffin can finish with either hand".. AWESOME!! i'm 26..


saw a commercial for some depression medicine the other night.. it was about 10 seconds of telling you that this medicine will make you feel better and 50 seconds telling you about all the side effects that could occur with that medicine: weight gain, blurred vision, dry mouth, urinary retention, abdominal pain, nausea, agitation, yellowing of the eyes, loss of libido, etc.. really? this stuff isn't going to make you depressed? "take this medicine, it will make you feel so much better, other than the bleeding of the gums, hair loss and random seizures"..

R.I.P. Billy Mays.. who's going to scare me awake to attempt to sell me that combination mop/back scratcher/nose hair clipper at 2:30 a.m.??


Men's Health Tips of the Week

23 Ways to Be the Man She Wants

1. You can put down the weights and the protein shakes. You might want us to be perfect looking; we simply want you not to be fat.

2. Replace all of those hideous size-extra-large T-shirts with something that actually sort of fits. We think you might be a medium.

3. Never allow anyone who listens to baseball on the radio to cut your hair.

4. Purchase sheets that don't contain polyester and that are white.

5. Blue Book value isn't everything. Take the money you were going to spend putting the backseat DVD theater in your Honda and buy a nice pair of shoes.

6. We don't care what the plan is. Just have one.

7. Candles. They are so cheap and they are so effective.

8. When you give her a gift, include a card. You can spend less on the gift if you write something nice. Don't buy a card with a message in it, unless you're dating Danielle Steele.

9. She arrives home from work eager for attention. You arrive home from work eager for several beers and the Simpsons-King of the Hill hour. The moment you come home, hug her, look into her eyes, and say that you're happy to see her. This simple gesture, done with sincerity, will earn you lots of time on the couch.

10. Buy covered garbage cans for your kitchen and bathroom. They hide stuff we don't want to know about anyway.

11. Make a list entitled "Intolerable Behavior from Women," and when you see it happening, speak up. Let us know you won't be around no matter what, and we'll want to keep you.

12. Drive a stick shift. Men look ineffectual driving automatics.

13. Never utter the phrase, "I know I'm no Brad Pitt/Denzel Washington." You're a guy. Merely acting like you think you're hot makes you hot. Be grateful, because women actually have to be hot to be hot.

14. Short sleeves are for golf only; sandals are for Jesus only.

15. When a woman asks you to accompany her to a wedding or a family event, R.S.V.P. within 24 hours. If you find that you can't commit, do everyone a favor and break it off.

16. Stop operating on the in-trouble/not-in-trouble paradigm. Just because we're not yelling at you doesn't mean everything is okay.

17. If you're late, call.

18. Brush your teeth a lot.

19. Realize that if you "keep forgetting" to trim your nose hairs, we will "keep forgetting" to initiate sex.

20. If your television is of a size such that it is regularly commented on, hide it in a cabinet. You might have a penchant for a) sloth, b) passivity, or c) tuning out the world, but she need not be reminded of this every time she walks into your living room.

21. You might not know what she wants you to get her for her birthday, but her friends do. Ask them.

22. When we are together, sometimes we are occupied with tasks—closing a window, putting on a new CD, petting the cat—that cause us to focus our gaze elsewhere. May we suggest these windows of time as the most favorable for scratching your balls.

23. Buy a Swiffer and use it. They come in dry (living room) and wet (kitchen and bathroom). Wash your dishes. Pick up your clothes. Swiff. She'll think you're a responsible adult.


Make Her Fantasies Come True

Most women aren't very good at asking for what they want, especially in the beginning of a relationship. And by "beginning," I mean anywhere from the first night to the first 2 years. For one thing, we're hopelessly romantic. We imagine that the right guy will instinctively grant us every sexual favor we've ever fantasized about, without our having to say anything. Ridiculous, sure, but a girl can dream.

Also—trust me here—we dread being perceived as high maintenance. We see how put out you guys are by the idea of phoning us once a day or escorting us to a cousin's wedding. So asking for 45 uninterrupted minutes of cunnilingus seems outrageous.

The good news is that we are fantasizing about sex. (Wow—you, too?) And we will get around to requesting our favors just as soon as we feel comfortable and confident enough. If your partner isn't there yet, let me give you an idea of what those favors might be—maybe you can coax them out of her. Speaking on behalf of my gender, I wish you'd . . .

1. Shower before bed.
Seeing you emerge from a steamy bathroom with droplets of water clinging to your biceps makes me want to dry you off with my tongue. That includes all those soft, warm, sensitive places—but only when they're Zestfully clean.

2. Talk dirtier.
Much dirtier. Trot out a variety of nasty words one night, and if I grunt and moan in agreement, kick it up a notch. When I respond with total silence, dial it back down.

3. Mow the lawn in jeans and no shirt so I can play desperate housewife from the window.
Then come inside smelling of fresh-cut grass, sweat, and pheromones, and make love to me on the dining-room table.

4. Ask me to perform yoga poses naked.
I've been preparing for it every week while bent over and staring through my legs at the mirror on the yoga-studio wall. This is not a performance I'll volunteer for. I need a little encouragement, goading even, but I will give in. And you'll especially like the views when I'm in camel pose and standing bow.

5. Slide your hand up my skirt when you're following me upstairs.

6. Confess your latest sexual fantasy.
But say that you did this with/to me in a dream. That'll allow me to maintain the illusion that it isn't something you used to do with an ex-hookup, or an idea you picked up from porn. I might not agree to reenact it, but hearing about it will make me feel like your naughty little confidante, which is very hot. Bonus: It'll give me the courage to tell you mine.

7. Read up on sex.
There are books on boinking that are worth the embarrassment of buying them. Like Ian Kerner's She Comes First, for example. It's a guide to giving oral sex so well that your partner will insist on cooking you blueberry pancakes the next morning. Yes, you're an amazing lover already, but Kerner has a Ph.D. for a reason.

8. Ambush me in the shower and direct a strong stream of warm water precisely at my clitoris. Adjust your aim even as I giggle and squirm around the tub. I've done this by myself, plenty of times, but having you do it to me is way sexier and a hundred times more fun.

9. Make your move the second we walk in the door.
Or while we're still in the hallway. I don't know what, if anything, happened between Benicio Del Toro and Scarlett Johansson in that elevator, but if Del Toro acted as if having sex with her right then and there was the only reason he was put on this planet, I could understand if she obliged. When a guy lusts after me so urgently that he can't even wait the 90 seconds it takes to get to the bed, it makes me feel like a movie star.

10. Ask to take black-and-white photos of me naked.
I want you to, but I'm not so cocky as to suggest that my body could be a work of art. That's why I need you to do it for me. Bring it up after we've had sex. Tell me that the curve of my hips needs to be immortalized. Then, one rainy Saturday night, produce a bottle of wine and a camera.

11. Treat sex like a buffet.
Take breaks during intercourse to go back for appetizers. Too often, making out, manual stimulation, and breast caressing get cast aside when the more serious stuff starts. But without generous amounts of all three from start to finish, the female orgasm is infinitely harder to achieve.

12. Sit back on your heels from the missionary position and caress my legs slowly, from ankle to thigh. When you take the time to stroke my body thoughtfully during sex, it lets me know that you're savoring the experience as something meaningful to you.

13. Buy more of those snug, gray boxers with the buttons on the crotch. I want to work them open with my teeth.

14. Kiss me in front of your friends or coworkers and slip me the tiniest bit of tongue. They'll think we have a smokin' sex life. Other women will wish they had a guy like you. That will make me feel very lucky, and very horny.

15. Get me drunk on champagne, prop me up on the hood of your car, and eat me like an apple.

16. Reward me for folding your T-shirts and cleaning the drain by making one long night of sex all about me. Light a candle. Rub massage oil on my body, back and front, shoulders to toes. Next, bring me close to orgasm using just your hands. Then your tongue. Then pull me on top so I can orchestrate the finale myself.

17. Watch me shave my legs.
Offer to help me shave other places.

18. Maneuver me into 69 at least once a month. Sometimes with me on top, sometimes you. Sometimes on our sides. And, at least once in our lives—when you've been lifting and I'm at my lightest weight—standing up with my thighs on top of your shoulders.


11 Ways to Calm Down an Angry Woman

Yes, 1.5 million women are physically assaulted by their partners every year, but so are 835,000 men, according to the Centers for Disease Control. Next time your little honeybee turns mad as a hornet, here's how to stop the buzzing before her fire turns to fight. You've already tried pretending to be invisible, right? How'd that work?

1. Lower Your Thermostat
Whatever you do, don't get angry. Surprisingly enough, she won't consider it righteous; she'll just get more pissed off, and a little self-righteous besides. If you feel yourself heating up, just remember that "she can't make you angry," says Paul Hauck, Ph.D., an Illinois psychologist and author of How to Cope with People Who Drive You Crazy and Overcoming Frustration and Anger. "And you didn't make her feel angry. She did. You may be responsible for her problem, but not her emotional reaction."

2. Don't Feed Her Data
"A man generally tries to win an argument by coming up with facts that are totally meaningless to her," says Michael Staver, the author of 21 Ways to Defuse Anger and Calm People Down. "She filters that as being disrespectful and not listening, which ticks her off all the more."

3. Own Up . . . Maturely
"If you're wrong, just admit it," says Staver. "But don't do it in a condescending way."

4. Tune In
"If she has a big problem," says Hauck, "you'd better listen." And don't wait till swords are drawn. Like an orgasm, anger follows a bell curve—at the top you're completely out of your mind. So if you're seeing signs of frustration (a sigh or roll of the eyes), you'd better start listening quick, for the apex is near and things are about to go downhill fast.

5. Take a Step Back
"You don't have to agree," says Staver. "But acknowledge her perceptions as real. It shows that you respect her." Often, her anger is triggered because she believes something's 1) unfair, 2) out of her control, or 3) a personal attack. Address these concerns.

6. Assert Your Eyes
If you can't make eye contact, it means you're becoming angry. But if you can, it shows you're listening. Psychologists have seen a classic pattern in marital fights: The wife gets mad, the husband shuts down, the wife goes nuts. You shut down because you want to avoid a battle, but she thinks you're avoiding (here comes that dreaded word) intimacy.

7. Get Engaged
Ask questions. "It shows you're listening, and it implies you want to listen to her more," says Staver.

8. Hit the Road—Together
Taking a walk may sound dumb, but it's actually a neat trick. Physically, you just got her to move with you, rather than against you. "Taking a walk is calming," says Susan Heitler, a Denver clinical psychologist and author of The Power of Two. If the argument reaches crisis mode, however, remove yourself from the situation until it's clear the ranting is over.

9. Use Magic Phrases
Heitler suggests three: Yes, I agree. You're right. I'm sorry. Nothing disarms an attacker faster than taking her side. So find something, anything, to agree on. We're not suggesting you cave in, but find some small plot of common ground.

10. Use Anger as a Meter
Heitler compares anger to a Geiger counter—it can alert you to a problem. "What it's not good for," she quickly adds, "is solving a problem."

11. Set Limits
"You get the behavior you tolerate," says Hauck. If her rage is a little too melodramatic, a little too frequent, a little too abusive, you want to give her exactly two chances to change, he says.


Real Women's Tips for Better Sex

87 percent of the women we polled said they're happy to coach their men through sex. We asked them to start.

1. Explore the Unexplored
"There are still a lot of erogenous spots he hasn't found—behind my knees, inside my elbow, my ankles, and more." —Veronica, 41

2. Crank Up the Volume
"I love hearing him enjoying himself. It's how I know I'm doing it right. Let go and I will, too." —Crystal, 29

3. Embrace Technology
"Just because I want to use sex toys with him doesn't mean he's doing something wrong." —Erika, 28

4. Follow Through
"Sometimes when I'm almost ready to climax and I'm moaning a lot, he gets excited and takes it as a sign to change position. That kills the orgasm, and I have to start all over again." —Kim, 26

5. Watch with Her
"Certain kinds of porn really turn me on, even girl-on-girl. I want him to watch with me." —Amanda, 29

6. Mix It Up
"I really love sex, but not when it's a routine. Make it feel fresh—do it in the morning instead of before bed . . . or even better, in the middle of the day. Take a long lunch break! That's a thrill." —Anna, 20

7. Be Detail Oriented
"A random kiss on the back of my neck can turn me on more than an hour of foreplay does." —Stayce, 43

8. Start the Conversation
"I'm willing to be much more adventurous, but I can't find the words to tell him that." —Ashley, 27

9. Show Her Your Passion
"All he has to do to bring me to orgasm is look into my eyes. Emotion pushes me." —Amy, 33

10. Play Rough with Her
"I wish one day he'd come home from work, throw me on the bed (or floor, or furniture) and ravage me rough." —Michelle, 34

11. Pay Attention to Nonverbal Cues
"Certain things suddenly feel great. So when I move your hands somewhere, keep them there!" —Jasmine, 24

12. Dominate Her
"I like it when he leads. I'm in control during my day, and I want a break from that." —Mayaan, 27


Lyrics of the Week

"Then" by Brad Paisley

I remember, trying not to stare the night that I first met you
You had me mezmorized
And three weeks later, in the front porch light
taking forty-five minutes to kiss goodnight
I hadn't told you yet
but I thought I loved you then

And now you're my whole life
now you're my whole world
I just can't believe the way I feel about you, girl
Like a river meets the sea,
stronger than it's ever been.
We've come so far since that day
And I thought I loved you then

And i remember, taking you back to right where I first met you,
You were so surprised
There were people around, but I didn't care
Got down on one knee right there once again,
I thought I loved you then

And now you're my whole life
now you're my whole world
I just can't believe the way I feel about you, girl
Like a river meets the sea,
stronger than it's ever been.
We've come so far since that day
And I thought I loved you then

I could just see you, with a baby on the way
And I could just see you, when your hair is turning gray
What I can't see is how I'm ever gonna love you more
But I've said that before

And now you're my whole life
now you're my whole world
I just can't believe the way I feel about you, girl
We'll look back someday, at this moment that we're in
And I'll look at you and say
And I thought I loved you then
And I thought I loved you then


"Whatever It Is" by Zac Brown Band

she got eyes that cut you like a knife
and lips that taste like sweet red wine
and her pretty legs go to heaven every time
she got a gentle way that puts me at ease
when she walks in the room I can hardly breathe
got a devestating smile, knock a grown man to his knees

she got whatever it is
it blows me away
shes everything I wanna say to a woman but I couldn't find the words to say
she got whatever it is
I don't know what to do
cuz everytime I try to tell her how I feel it comes out I love you
you got whatever it is

You know I never been the type that would ever wanna stay
bring 'em home at night then they're gone the next day
but that all changed when she walked into my life
and people ask me what it is tell them I don't know
just something 'bout the woman make my heart go haywire
she's gonna be my wife

she got whatever it is
it blows me away
shes everything I wanna say to a woman but I couldn't find the words to say
she got whatever it is
I don't know what to do
cuz everytime I try to tell her how I feel it comes out I love you
you got whatever it is

Cuz when you love me
girl thats how I feel
cuz when you love me
I'm on top of the world
cuz when you love me
I can live forever
cuz when you love me
I am untouchable

she got whatever it is
it blows me away
shes everything I wanna say to a woman but I couldn't find the words to say
she got whatever it is
I don't know what to do
cuz everytime I try to tell her how I feel it comes out I love you, I do
you got whatever it is

Ooooh you got whatever it is


"I'll Just Hold On" by Blake Shelton

I can taste your kiss on my lips
And I'm wrapped around your finger tips
As I watch the moonlight dancing on your skin
Your green eyes and the sweet red wine
Go to my head girl every time
And I get drunk on you
I lose control and then
And here I go again

I'm falling for you even though I know your only playing with my heart
Tomorrow might be hell
But a night or two of loving you is better than never at all
And I can't help myself
So I'll just hold on
I'll just hold on
I'll just hold on
Until your gone

Girl I know you're a gypsy soul
And I'm just a stop along your road
And you hang around long enough to blow my mind
If I had a star for every scar
You tattooed on my heart
I could fill up the Oklahoma sky
So girl I don't know why

I'll just hold on
I'll just hold on
I'll just hold on
Till your gone

I look down and my cell phone rings
And I see your name and I know what that means
But I don't care
I'll just hold on
Till your gone

Everytime you leave I take it hard
Seeing you go just breaks my heart
I don't care
I'll just hold on
Till your gone

Your green eyes and that sweet red wine
Go to my head girl every time
But I don't care
I'll just hold on
Till your gone


"Rush Together" by Quietdrive

They grew up in the same old town
Never knowing the other was around
Read from the same damn books
Never gave each other looks
But one day the sun will shine
I know
For their eyes have told me so
Chasing advice from those who say I've lost my mind

Rush together
To find each other
Now it's too late
You can never wait for luck
Together playing the same instrument
That you still can't hear at all.

So that's how the story goes, so far
I'll tell you the rest, but now
I'm tired of what I think
A situation where I can't sing
But I hate the vagrant life
I know
Nothing has been more told, 'til now
Living my life after those who say I've lost my mind

Rush together
To find each other
Now it's too late
You can never wait for luck
Together playing the same instrument
That you still can't hear at all.

So what do you say
So what do you say
Can we turn this clock back
Thirteen years and relate?
I won't mind, can we stay
But isn't it fate?
But isn't it fate,
That we spill our guts out
On this very day?
I don't mind
I want to
I want to
Stay


"Ready When You Are" by Trapt

Are you having trouble keeping up?
Seeing this thing through?
I want to know who you're running from,
Me or you?
You're too confused to open up,
Feel the way I do
I want to know who you're thinking of
Cause I really have no clue

Another game of charades
Don't you know everybody plays?
I don't want to lose to you that way
Maybe we'll be different this time around
Maybe we'll be different I don't know
Don't want to strangle this, so I'm holding back for now

Calm down, don't take it too far
I know only time can heal scars
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are
Don't want any false starts
I can do without the time apart
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are

Are you having trouble keeping up?
You know that I will wait
I wonder if it's good enough
To make you stay
You're too confused to open up
You don't know what to say
Well you can tell me if you think it's love
I won't be far away

Another game of charades
Don't you know everybody plays?
I don't want to lose to you that way
Maybe we'll be different this time around
Maybe we'll be different I don't know
Don't want to strangle this, so I'm holding back for now

Calm down, don't take it too far
I know only time can heal scars
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are
Tied down
Don't want any false starts
I can do without the time apart
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are

I want to know if you're thinking of me
I'll be counting the hours even though I know I'm free
Too soon to take a chance
No more questions left to ask
I could be anything, but the one thing I'm not sure you want to be

Calm down, don't take it too far
I know only time can heal scars
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are
Don't want any false starts
I can do without the time apart
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are

Calm down, don't take it too far
I know only time can heal scars
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are
Calm down
Don't want any false starts
I can do without the time apart
So I'm ready when you are, when you are
I'm ready when you are

Calm down, I'm ready when you are


"Wait For Me" by Theory of a Deadman

You are not alone tonight
Imagine me there by your side
It's so hard to be here so far away from you
I'm counting the days till
I'm finally done
I'm counting them down, yeah, one by one
It feels like forever till I return to you
But it helps me on those lonely nights
It's that one thing that keeps me alive

Knowing that you wait for me
Ever so patiently

No one else knows the feeling inside
We hang up the phone without saying goodnight
Because it's the sound of your voice that brings me home
It's never been easy to say
But it's easier when I've gone away

Knowing that you wait for me
Ever so patiently
Yeah, you're everything I've ever dreamed of having and
It's everything I need from you just knowing that you wait for me

What I'd give
What I'd do
Knowing I'm not there for you
Makes it so hard to leave
What I'd give
What I'd do
Anything to get me home to you
And this time I'll stay

And you wait for me
Ever so patiently
Yeah, you're everything I've ever dreamed of having and
It's everything I need from you just knowing that you wait for me


"Not Meant To Be" by Theory of a Deadman

It's never enough to say I'm sorry
It's never enough to say I care
But I'm caught between what you wanted from me
And knowing that if I give that to you
I might just disappear

Nobody wins when everyone's losing

It's like one step forward and two steps back
No matter what I do you're always mad
And I, I can't change your mind
I know it's like trying to turn around on a one way street
I can't give you what you want
And it's killing me
And I, I'm starting to see
Maybe we're not meant to be

It's never enough to say I love you
No, it's never enough to say I try
It's hard to believe
That's theres no way out for you and me
And it seems to be the story of our lives

Nobody wins when everyone's losing

There's still time to turn this around
You could be building this up instead of tearing it down
But I keep thinking
Maybe it's too late

It's like one step forward and two steps back
No matter what I do you're always mad
And I, baby I'm sorry to see
Maybe we're not meant to be