According to a new study, nice guys may not finish last after all. Researchers found that it was the Beta male, not the Alpha male, in baboon troops who came out the big winners in life. Why? Because the Alpha males were so consumed with the stress of fighting to keep their rank and pursuing fertile females that their health and well-being suffered. Meanwhile the less virile, less sexy Beta males were loving life. Sure, the Betas mated less, but they still got laid enough, were successful enough, and were found to lead an overall happier, healthier existence. So what does this mean for our human men? Better to do pretty well for a long time, than very well for a short time. That roughly translates to, “Finishing first is overrated.” [New York Times] Keep reading »
I saw “Transformers: Dark of the Moon” over the weekend. In 3-D. And I am so not into action movies. Now to be fair, my boyfriend had already bought tickets to “Horrible Bosses” for us, but I found myself wanting to please him since I knew he would much rather watch the Decepticons than Colin Farrell. I called him and suggested we see “Transformers” instead. Well, he jumped on it, returned the original tickets and immediately reserved our seats. “Babe, it’s going to sell out. We have to get there early!” he said, so excited.
Oh, the things we do for love. And lust. And infatuation. (And perhaps desperation, too). Have you ever found yourself doing things you said you would never do for a boyfriend, or a guy you’re dating, or even just a guy you want to date? I posed this question to the rest of The Frisky staff. So, take a moment and stop folding skidmark-stained undies and check out these 22 things we thought we would never do for a man—until we did. Keep reading »
I think “tapas” is actually Spanish for “Hey, these people will spend a lot of money to eat small portions of food off of tiny plates.” The whole idea of “tapas” was probably invented in the ’70s as a way to fleece English-speaking tourists who found appetizers sold as entrees charming and rustic. I hate going to tapas places on first dates. Because a dinner date is still dinner. I’m hungry. I have to order five or six tapas to make a meal and then the plates crowd the table and I look like a pig because those there are only two of those ridiculously tiny sausages and I ate them. But it’s not like I don’t raise my eyebrows and nod at the tiny sausages, which is the universal sign for “have a tiny sausage.” I am generous. I offer food from my plate to those with whom I am breaking proverbial bread. There is nothing stopping a certain dinner companion from also ordering five or six tapas, including the tiny sausage tapas, instead of just having what looks like a sprig of the Jolly Green Giant’s pubic hair.
Damn tapas. Damn tiny sausages. Damn social awkwardness. First dates are the worst. But who am I kidding? I’m not going on any first dates. Keep reading »
My mother and many of her second-wave feminist peers view pornography as an institutional ill that is degrading to women and damaging to developing sexuality. She believes that the camera-ready angles, waxed and plastic body parts and pervasive depiction of extreme acts as “normal” distort human sexuality and give young porn-viewers a whole bunch of false and dangerous expectations.
My mom is a smart lady, and she’s not wrong. While I agree that some porn (okay, most of it) fits the bill she describes as damaging, I don’t find the filming and viewing of sex acts as objectively offensive. In other words, I think that porn is not inherently problematic, but its content often includes problematic ideas and attitudes. I also believe when viewed as entertainment, porn can be a positive element in the repertoire of adult sexuality, Keep reading »
There’s this (amazing) song on the soundtrack to the (terrible) movie “The Romantics” called “We Can’t Be Friends” by Lenore Scafaria. My favorite lyrics go:
“I want to wear a skirt, I want to make mistakes,
I want to kill you first and then take your name,
I want to tear you apart, I want to make your bed,
I wanna break your heart, I want to break your head,
I guess this means we can’t be friends.”
In the days, weeks and months following a big breakup, I listened to this song on repeat. Every word of it spoke to me (especially the part about breaking his head). We’d said to each other on our first date, moony-eyed, that even if this didn’t grow into anything, we should still be friends.
Two years later, it couldn’t be more obvious that we could not be friends. My friends don’t sneak around behind my back. My friends don’t email me lists of the things they don’t like about me. My friends don’t threaten to throw out my stuff. There’s a hell of a lot of things my ex-boyfriend did that I wouldn’t stand for if one of my girl or guy friends were to do them. Why should I make concessions for acting like a d**k just because we had been in a romantic relationship together? What would that prove?
This cropped up again recently when a guy I’d been going on dates with for about a month ended it with me. Hormones, as I’ll call him, said he didn’t have strong enough romantic feelings or see long-term potential for us. Yadda yadda yadda. That is fine. I understand. I appreciate that he was honest about it. But then Hormones told me that he hoped we could be friends. Keep reading »