Last night, Amelia introduced me to a television show where fashion-forward harridans-in-training reject a stream of desperate men, shucking and jiving for their approval. These men were delivered to these reclining prima donnas via conveyor belt — a literal conveyor belt.
As if they were stepping off an assembly line from the Freshly Scrubbed Emo Dude Factory.
ABC has aptly named this reality show/dating game “Conveyer Belt of Love.” Judging by her IMs, Amelia OMG LUVS this show and I imagine many millions of women do too. They tuned in and got off as vapid divas objectified equally bird-brained bimbros. Wielding signs that read “Interested” or “Not Interested,” these ladies licked their lips, wrinkled their noses, and rolled their eyes as dude after dude begged to be loved. Keep reading »
When it comes to New Year’s resolutions, I suggest aiming low. Reach for your shoelaces, not the stars. For instance, this year, I resolve to eat more donuts. Crullers, coconut, apple and spice. I can handle this and am fairly confident that come next year, I will be able to look at my fat face in the mirror and wheeze to myself, “Good job!” When I aim low, I am never disappointed. Sometimes, I aim even lower, like resolving to wear pants or use electricity. All of these achievements are possible. You know what’s probably not possible? Running a marathon, learning to speak Chinese, and becoming an astronaut all in the next 12 months.
There’s a fine line between resolutions and prayer. In both instances, you hope someone is listening. Be it Morgan Freeman, Zeus, or That Thinner, Healthier, More Successful You who’s been curled up dormant in your guts your whole life, waiting for a chance to burst out of you like a spring-loaded alien. Better yet, resolve not to resolve anything. Be Zen. Let life happen to you. A surfer can’t make her own waves; she has to wait for them. Then it’s up to her to know what to do with them when they show up. Keep reading »
I did something I’ve never done this holiday season: I bought The Girl I’m Currently Dating a necklace for Magic Space Baby Day (i.e., Christmas). A silver, heart-shaped locket to be exact. I did this because she has a beautiful, graceful neck and I wanted her to be able to show it off. And I think this necklace does that — it’s subtle. It merely accents something that was gorgeous to begin with. I’m proud of the gift. But I’ve never purchased jewelry before. I was under the impression it was a lame, cliché choice. Keep reading »
Welcome back to GuySpeak/GirlSpeak, where we take a crack at the questions submitted by girls to the guy experts over at GuySpeak. Sometimes we agree, sometimes we disagree, and after everyone weighs in, it’s your turn! This week’s topic is the Old Faithful of dating questions: Why doesn’t he call? Read more … Keep reading »
So, Tiger Woods cheated on his wife. For those of you who don’t know, Tiger Woods is a professional golfer worth a billion dollars. He is involved in a sex scandal, much like your average politician, rock star, or preacher. I have no opinion on the topic. Except that Tiger Woods has the fashion sense of a middle-aged suburban father who screams into his clenched fist every time he surveys the smoldering ruins of dreams that dot the empty horizon of his soul. Which might be the standard plight of golfers, as the sport is just an expensive version of lawn darts for plumpers with platinum cards.
Wait. That’s an opinion. I hate golf. I blame golf for giving us Tiger Woods in the first place. Keep reading »
Ladies, let your pubic hair grow. Allow it to run riot like a wild, verdant jungle. Shave not your delicate triangle of womanly power. Not all dudes demand a shorn ‘gina. I know that many do, and I apologize on behalf of those creeps. And it is creepy – I can’t help but think a lot of dudes drool over the bare look because it’s infantilizing. This might not be a conscious kink, but it’s true. I’m not so into the pre-pubescent look. In fact, I’m all about ’70s porno bush.
Then again, when it comes to sex, I don’t demand much. That she shows up, likes me, and takes her clothes off are my biggest concerns — and that she gets my name right. Keep reading »
You can’t change the one you love. Your significant other isn’t a fixer-upper that you can repaint, renovate, and redecorate to suit your whims. Loving someone for who they could be, should be or as you see them in your dreams isn’t love: it’s self-absorption that says more about your own flaws than theirs. To totally massacre President Kennedy’s famous call to action, ask not what love can do for you, but what you can do for love. Keep reading »
To many women, looking stylish is a total obsession. And I don’t think you dress to kill to impress the men in your lives, because we just aren’t that picky, nor are our tastes refined enough to offer substantial critiques. I gave up watching “Project Runway” (the female equivalent of UFC) after the second season because I always backed the losing designer, without fail. I think it’s a ladies-only horse race. Women dress up for other women. Dudes are casual spectators of your beloved sport.
When the current woman I’m dating (I know how you ladies love nicknames, so let’s just call her “the current woman I’m dating” or TCWID) dolls up, she makes me sweat like a prom date. She looks beautiful and reminds me of a cactus flower: a colorful, delicate, powerful little bloom that a thorny, ugly world shouldn’t produce but does. And then there are the nights where she greets me at her door wearing nothing but a t-shirt, boy shorts and glasses and my heart high-fives my brain. Packaging isn’t a huge priority to men. But that doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate the short skirts. Keep reading »
It is not important for my girlfriend’s father to like me; we are all far too concerned in this modern age with being “liked.” There is no virtue in the pursuit of instant, superficial approval. Her father and I aren’t peers, or buddies, and we’re not dating. I’m the dude who’s nailing his little princess, and our entire relationship is based on one thing and one thing only — that I’m making his daughter happy. One of the ways a man makes his beloved happy is by meeting her dad, something no man likes to do. These meetings are like high-level diplomatic negotiations between nations, rife with courtliness, subtext, and menace. We meet the father not because we want to, but because it makes you happy. And that’s all he wants to know. Keep reading »
There are only two reasons why I’d move in and live with another girlfriend. We’re married and determined to fill a sweatshop with our nimble-fingered love critters. Or she cracks me in the head with a shovel, sews my mouth shut, replaces my eyeballs with marbles, and sits my stuffed body in the corner. Whatever you do, don’t move in with your boyfriend. What? It’s too late? Sweet Zeus, Odin, and Quetzalcoatl, winged serpent god of the Aztecs! I hope your cohabitation doesn’t end the way two (two!) of mine did – with helicopters launching off the roof amidst tornadoes of debris and smoke, a single individual hanging off the skids, flipping the bird to the person whose name is on the lease. Keep reading »