Wow. We asked and damnnnn did you answer. Last week, while urging the ladies to fill out Esquire‘s “Survey of the American Woman,” we posed 50 questions for men that we wanted answered ASAP. We didn’t mean that quite as literally as some of you fellas took it, but holy hell, did we appreciate the many, many answers. I took it upon myself to weed through the comments and pulled out some of the best answers to many of our questions. Check ‘em out, after the jump… Keep reading »
When I’m ill, I drink whiskey. More specifically, a hot toddy, otherwise known as “Irish Nyquil.” My beloved local bartender from North Ireland taught me her old family recipe — just hot water, a couple jiggers of whiskey, and lemon wedges studded with cloves. One of those, spicy Kung Pao chicken, and bed. I behave like a dying animal when I’m sick. I like to suffer alone, in the dark. I hate to be fussed over. Can’t you see I’m in mortal combat with the sniffles?!
This frustrates my girlfriend because she sees it as unfair. Well, life is unfair, Toots. When I fall ill, she wants to rush to my apartment and dote on me. Nurture me back to health. And I refuse to let her. I can’t stand being pampered. It drives me crazy. I am a man. Like Batman. And if Batman can sew his own wounds shut in his crime-fighting bunker, I can blow my nose in bed without help from anyone. For the record: I blow my nose with toilet paper, not “Kleenex,” the way the cavemen did. I appreciate her attentions, of course. But it’s my fight. Keep reading »
Ever hit a guy — on request? Last week, Single Guy blogger wrote about his weakness for a good smack on the cheek. His fetish for pain had us curious to hear your stories of (solicited) slapping.
Mad admits she’s hit a guy or two in her time: “One guy was just cruising for it — he had stolen my new marshmallow flavored pink lip gloss then snuck up behind me and smooched me on the cheek with it, leaving a glob of sticky pink glittery sugary residue on my face. I was so mad I slapped him — so hard I felt his jaw crack. He guffawed and asked for another. I was more than happy to oblige! I think I slapped him three or four times that night.” Read more … Keep reading »
Traditionally, Valentine’s Day is treated as a woman’s holiday. This sexist interpretation is due to the whole love-is-for-the-ladies thing that has been a part of American culture for the last hundred years or so. The classic image of the holiday is a man showing up on a woman’s doorstep with flowers and candy, and nearly every Valentine’s Day product out there is marketed toward men on the assumption that they’re the ones doing the buying around the 14th.
At its heart, though, Valentine’s Day is meant for couples, and last time we checked there were two people in a couple (sometimes three, depending on the laws in your state). Men should really enjoy the holiday as much as women, but for whatever reason, they tend to turn against it. Maybe it’s the actual date that makes us so anti-Valentine’s Day.
Here’s a look at an ideal way to spend Valentine’s Day, from a man’s perspective. Keep reading »
The truth is: men don’t expect much on Valentine’s Day. We know that this is a holiday for women. Most of us accept this as a manly duty, like chopping wood or boxing grizzly bears. There is a quiet sort of pride in making your woman happy. Sure, many of us drag our feet, roll our eyes, and bitch like a junior chubbo with an empty bottle of chocolate syrup. But then we buy flowers, make a reservation, hold your hand, and you light up like New York City at night. Then it’s not so bad. The wine helps.
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You know, sometimes a gal reaches the end of her research, sits there for a moment and says to herself, “I don’t think I have enough information to fairly come to a conclusion.” That’s the way I felt after last week’s “hand jobs versus blow jobs” discussion. So, like a trooper, I went back out into the field and asked three more guys on my IM what they thought. You’re welcome. Keep reading »