It began with the mutual love of a band that I truly did like: The Specials. She was into ska … heavily into ska.Way more into ska than more high school aged kids should ever be.
I met Delia at the mall, where every high school kid hung out, sulked, loitered, and snuck cigarettes. In a sea of black tees and torn hoodies I spotted her in her plaid pants, checkered belt and suspenders. Through her second-hand, plaid blazer, I could see her No Doubt T-shirt. Immediately, I knew I wanted her and would do whatever it took to win her over.
I had only ever listened to punk and had never considered ska an option until she asked me to accompany her to a Reel Big Fish show in downtown Hartford. As she skanked through the crowd (that’s a ska dance move for those who are unfamiliar), I began to feel pangs of intense attraction. After the show, we sat in my car and she introduced me to more ska music. Prince Buster from the ’60s, The Specials from the ’70′s, the English Beat from the ’80s, and some of the best No Doubt B-sides from the ’90s. I was more into her than the music, but the two became synonymous. When I thought of Delia, I thought of ska. We kissed and I knew what I had to do if I wanted to keep dating her: become a ska fan. Keep reading »
I’m about one more “and then he came inside me” away from blowing my brains out.
I’m a sex enthusiast, perhaps even a connoisseur on the matter. I peruse publications about sex, participate in deep conversations on the act, and occasionally even engage in the monstrous business. But for fuck’s sake, if I have to read another article about unprotected sex, I’m going to jump off a bridge.
This all started a few years ago when I was reading Vice magazine, specifically the section “People Who Just Had Sex With Each Other.” It’s a column in which an interviewer talks to a couple who just had sex and asks them intimate questions about that particular love-making session. This one painfully hip couple were giving an account of their intimate nudie-sesh. They talked about the foreplay: touching each other’s business, licking each other’s things, fingering each other’s hoo-has. All normal stuff. Then the girl talks about how the guy came inside of her because she was on her period. They had just met the previous week, yet were already at the stage where they could, not only have period sex, but have unprotected period sex. Imagine taking the red ski lift into cream-village with a complete stranger like it’s not even a big deal. I just remember sitting back in my chair and thinking about all the new STD’s that could be swimming inside of their hipster bods. Keep reading »
With all this fine literature along the lines of I’m Beautiful and I Hate It! circling the Internet, I’ve felt it’s my time to chime in with my point-of-view on the subject. But how does one comment on their level of attractiveness without putting out the vibe that they’re a self-obsessed jughead dingbat or, worse, starving for attention? As I walked around my apartment, glancing at my reflection in various shiny household objects, the answer came to me: Honesty.
See, the problem with a lot of the articles making the rounds are their lack of total honesty. Of course, I don’t think they’re lying. I know these attractive people truly believe they’re beautiful, but what’s missing for me is how beautiful they think they are, or aren’t. So for the sake of integrity, I’d like to talk about how attractive I think I really am. Keep reading »
Whenever I start dating someone new, they become acquainted with “The Big Three” — the three ex-girlfriends who impacted my life in the most negative ways possible. The Big Three include: the girl who tricked me into an open relationship, the girl who turned out to be a white supremacist, and, lastly, the girl who was a compulsive liar. For anonymity’s sake, I’ll refer to her as Lena, because I don’t know anyone named Lena and I highly doubt Lena Dunham is reading my article under her quilt made of hundred dollar bills.
I met Lena at work and it was dirty, ravenous lust at first sight. We decided to spend the evening together and had one of those romantic nights doing kitschy, hipster errands that every “500 Days of Summer” loving American guy dreams about doing with a pretty girl. We learned about each other; I told her about my obsession with “Planet of The Apes,” she told me about her love of punk music. Lena and I headed back to my conveniently empty apartment with a bottle of wine, six-pack of PBR, and two copies of “Face/Off” and proceeded to get absolutely spooky with each other all night long. Keep reading »