In a recent Sunday edition of a Gotham City newspaper, The Frisky’s very own Vixen of Verbiage, Simcha Whitehill, wrote about a new scientific study that suggests three cups of coffee a day can cause a woman’s breasts to shrink. Bravely, Simcha refused to give up her morning cup of liquid caffeine, even if it meant her rack might decrease in size from voluptuous to less voluptuous.
The study struck a nerve with women, who are as obsessed with their breasts as men are. And women are equally obsessed with the perceived male obsession over breasts. And we are obsessed. All men love boobs; we can’t help it. Before seemingly sensitive and enlightened male readers lambaste me for my sweeping gender generalizations, let me just say: Shut up, dudes. You love boobs, too. Even those of you who signed up for, and thoughtfully participated in, Women’s Studies classes in college … You just did it to pick up hot, feminist nerd girls. Keep reading »
Here are some of the things I learned from watching the second season finale of AMC’s Emmy Award winning show “Mad Men”:
In the psudeo-historical world of “Mad Men”, work days start at 10 in the morning, because professionals needed the extra time to style their perfect hair.
Men who sleep around are studs and women who sleep around are sluts.
Also: men are big babies with trembling eyes, and women have icicles for spines.
But the most important thing I learned from the last episode of “Mad Men” is that Don Draper, the chain-smoking, hard-drinking, skirt-chasing lead character, is a kind of pop Rorschach test for modern day cats and dames. Both men and women see something different in Don, played with chilled beefiness by Jon Hamm, and what we see is proof that there is still a primal disconnect between what women want in a man and what men want to be. Keep reading »
Recently, I rambled about The Big Switcheroo – men and women adopting each other’s worst gender behaviors. The diatribe was equal parts self-indulgence and genuine confusion. Are men really becoming needy, emotional leeches and women emotionally void predators? I suppose no one said the collective lurch towards equality was going to be pretty. And I’d like to add that it seems no one is really having any fun. It’s never fun being someone who you’re not.
But enough Danny Downer. Keep reading »
Women are emotionally-vacant pigs and men are emotionally-unstable psychos.
Wait. That’s not right.
But it is in so many ways. Welcome to the new millennium, boys and girls, where gender equality means “let’s adopt the worst of each other’s stereotypes.” It’s a madcap race to the bottom rung of the sexual identity ladder. Wheee! Keep reading »
We love sex. You love sex. Well, that’s out of the way.
Seeing as we’re both in agreement over the importance of sex, the excitement of sex, the giggle-inducing, gasp-inspiring, slow-motion tsunami of gooseflesh-triggering awesomeness of sex, we can move on to why it is we can’t really talk about S-E-X.
Women think men are mysterious when it comes to knocking boots, or worse, single-minded and simplistic. We’re not. You’re mysterious, and that’s not playground rhetoric. The difference between what we want and what you want, our needs and yours, is the difference between banal home theater instruction manuals and more exotic hieroglyphics.
Keep reading »
The good news is this: the first date was a success – the quirky, out of the way Thai place he picked was charming and he paid for the dinner discreetly. He didn’t inhale beer like a frat boy on a mission from God to get drizzzunk. His listened intently to your every word, and never, ever mentioned any of his exes. The hug goodbye wasn’t awkward, in fact, the both of you simultaneously lingered for a brief, awesome moment. On your way home, as you batted away the hearts and rainbows swirling around your head like little candy-coated moons, he texts you that he had a great time and he hopes to see you soon.
Indulge me as I imagine the single word racing through your she-noggin like a unicorn galloping through a lollipop forest. That word is “ZOMG.”
But the second date looms, ladies, and it’s your date to screw up. Keep reading »