This week’s column was inspired by a recent article on MarieClaire.com entitled “Why Men Prefer Innocent Girls To Bad Girls.”
The other day, some guys and I were chillaxing in my pal Josh’s sweet hot tub doing what guys do which is hang out and be real and we were discussing “innocent” girls versus “wang-hungry she-beasts.” Across the board, the guys agreed they prefer an “innocent” woman, like a nun or a coma patient or a 16-year-old girl, over a “bitch.” And then Josh was all “dude you got a boner” and everybody high-fived and a couple hours later we all put our clothes back on. Keep reading »
To those of you too busy reading about the historic uprisings in the Middle East, let me catch you up really quickly on the ongoing turmoil in the faraway country of Charlie Sheen. The millionaire sitcom star has been publicly self-destructing. Years of alleged substance abuse, marital problems and bizarre behaviors have, apparently, climaxed. Over the past week or so, he has seemingly divided like a cell into multiple versions of himself and simultaneously appeared on every live television talk show currently being produced. But like most modern celebrity scandals, the personal immolation we’re witnessing isn’t really about the vaguely human celebrity whose antics and flaws and outrageous moral lapses are beamed from dozens of differently shaped boxes directly to our brains. Keep reading »
The reason you’re not married yet is because I don’t really care why you’re not married and no one else does, either. Seriously, nobody cares. You shouldn’t care. Marriage isn’t a tiara. It’s not a ribbon to cut or one of those big novelty lottery checks. You don’t “deserve” a husband. You’re not Veruca Salt. You should be happy with whatever life gives you, because the only thing you truly “deserve” is a grave, although there just aren’t enough funeral pyres in these modern times. But I don’t want you to freak out. If you’re not married, or single, or unhappy, then life is working out as it should. No one has a right to happiness. As Americans, we only have a right to the pursuit of happiness. This explains why we love cars so much. The road trip is more important than the tourist trap. Enjoy the view. Roll down the window. Keep reading »
As I write this, the floating concrete mall known as Manhattan is experiencing a “wintery mix,” which is what happens when Old Man Winter has food poisoning. Walking to work this morning I got snow up my nose, elbowed in the fat wings by a grumpy Hobbit wrapped in scarves waiting for the subway, and went ankle deep in an enchanted ice puddle. It had to be enchanted, because I’m sure it laughed at me as I cursed. As a little kid, I was certain that snow was just God shaking a giant powdered donut over my house, but now that I am older, I know that snow is just Death’s dandruff. The winter is only enjoyed by Vikings, Tauntauns and people in relationships. Keep reading »
So long as love rides shotgun in your life, nothing can ever truly be that bad. It is the singular prize that trumps all others, the reward that sweetens every success. Truly, it is the hot fudge on the ice cream scoops of personal achievement. Now, excuse me while I puke a little in my mouth. Actually, I’m going to shotgun a cheap beer and play some Grand Theft Auto 4 to make amends for such an unforgivably cheeseball observation. More on love and rewards and, ZOMG, trust, after the jump…. Plus, a fable!
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Douchebags were a conspiracy of the patriarchy, a medieval-looking invention that simultaneously suggested that female sex organs were filthy, stinky and repulsive to men, and promised to cure this imaginary affliction. But it doesn’t cure anything. Douchebags can, in fact, upset the natural bacterial culture of the vagina that protects the organ from infection.
There’s also the small matter that unwashed men and women can rid themselves of odorous funks by showering regularly, or even semi-regularly. Vaginas smell like sex and sex smells good. Nibble your lower lip and roll your eyes into the back of the skull good. It is one of those scents that inspire immediate physical reactions. The smell of warm bread makes you drool. The smell of a roaring fires makes you cuddly. The smell of sex makes your skin glow like the digital warriors in “Tron Legacy.” Keep reading »
While there are still a few days left in 2010, we’re going to feature some of our best and favorite posts from the last year. Each of your regular Frisky bloggers has picked out her 10 favorite posts from 2010—some you may remember well, others might have slipped past your radar. Either way, we hope you’ll relive the best of The Frisky in 2010. Here’s the wisdom our token male, John DeVore, shared this year. Keep reading »
This column originally appeared on The Frisky on December 24, 2008.
Trojan condoms report their highest sales of the year take place in the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Researchers attribute this spike to holiday downtime, New Year’s resolutions to get knocked up, and booze-fueled Yuletide revelry. It seems counter-intuitive, and almost profane, that a holiday most associated with innocence and children would also be a holiday of steamy boot-knocking. But I suspect it has something to do with my favorite Christmas movie. And my favorite Christmas movie isn’t even a Christmas movie. Keep reading »
The New Year always makes me melancholy. If New York had moors, I’d spend the New Year sulking around the fog in a billowy shirt with a raven on my shoulder. While everyone else says “hello” to the next 12 months, I usually spend this time of year reflecting on the past 12 months. I can’t predict what tomorrow will bring, but I know what yesterday wrought. New Year’s is a time of accounting for one’s actions instead of making odds and betting on what might be. While everyone is gorging on the cake of future opportunity, I’m picking over the leftovers of my decisions. Because, like history, stupidity repeats itself. My funky mood is practical, too. Fate is a sniper, and those people who whoop and holler at the strike of midnight make easy targets. I keep my head down. Keep reading »