Category Archives: relationships

I’m not broken. It’s SCIENCE.

I read this article the other day, and it was like a light totally went on in my head.


OK, so I don’t date. I have, in the past. Sure I have. Sometimes that went better than other times. Sometimes it wasn’t painful and sometimes it was like Elaine’s favorite mode of evaluating badness and could be measured in Hindenburgs.

Never, however, did it go well. Or was it a repeated event. I’m…um…kind of the worst at dating. That’s really all I have to say about that. You’d think I’d have all these uproarious stories but mostly they range from sad to things that made numerous therapists say “um. That’s not…I don’t know what to say about that” so I don’t go into details. I promise you that you don’t want me to.

HOWEVER! I am very good at falling in love with people. If awards were given out for this? I would win them ALL. Having it be requited, well, no, those awards would not be gracing my trophy case. (SIDE NOTE: no. No, of course I don’t have a trophy case, what would I put in it, my spelling bee awards from junior high? I don’t even know where those ARE. FINE THEY’RE AT MY PARENTS’ HOUSE ARE YOU HAPPY?)  Sometimes it’s a quick thing and sometimes it takes forever but all of a sudden BAM I fall crazy in love with someone and then I’m a stupid giddy schoolgirl and eventually I end up getting my heart broken or I have to tough-love myself and say, “AMY. You stop this RIGHT NOW. This person IS NOT INTERESTED.”

OK, so anyway. I don’t date after the failed internet-dating experiment of 2005 (I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT) and I try REALLY REALLY HARD not to fall in love with people who aren’t interested (and honestly, if I fall in love with them, they’re not going to be in love with me, because I can pick ’em. Ooh, can I pick ’em. I have a RADAR for the people who aren’t going to fall in love with me. They’re the ones I want, apparently. You know that song about “I love a parade?” That’s me, only with a CHALLENGE. I love a challege!) I try hard. It doesn’t always work but I try really hard.

But then I found this article and I realized WHY I am broken and choose these people, even though they’re honestly kind of jerks most of the time. And I’m really quite intelligent otherwise.


Here’s the thing that all of these men have in common: they ALL do this same thing. So apparently I have a type.

They act TOTALLY INTO ME and then they act ALL COLD AND WEIRD and then they act TOTALLY INTO ME AGAIN and this goes back and forth and back and forth and I have no idea what to make of it and it’s like a person watching a tennis match until they get all dizzy and fall over. And then get hit by a bus.

You’d THINK that would make someone say, “Hey, this person I’ve hitched my wagon to, they’re an asshole, time to move on,” but NOPE. Not me! I sit around waiting for the crumbs of acknowledgement.

So I THOUGHT it was because I was broken and also quite stupid, until I read that article I linked to above. NOT BROKEN. SCIENCE!!!

It’s apparently the “allure of unpredictable romantic partners.” That sounds nice, doesn’t it? Like a romantic comedy. Possibly starring Ewan McGregor. I’d watch that. Probably while crying.

So the sciency types did this test where they gave subjects fruit juice and water and scanned their brains while doing it. The subjects’ brains lit up like a Christmas tree with dopamine when the fruit juice/water rewards came at unexpected intervals, while the brains just kind of yawned and played another hand of solitaire when the rewards came at predictable 10-second intervals.

Apparently, our brains, going back to CAVEMAN TIMES, are programmed to signal us to pay attention when something unexpected happens. They signal us by releasing dopamine. Dopamine, in case you’re not obsessed with weird-ass shit like I am, is your pleasure chemical. Among many other things, it signals a feeling of bliss. It’s one of the chemicals your body’s stewing in when you’re all stupid-giddy in love.

So being with a partner who’s unpredictable about his/her affection is like being inconsistently given fruit juice – it fires off your dopamine like a shootout at the OK Corral. The smart, thinky part of your brain might be all “THIS IS THE WORST SUCK!” but your animal brain is all “Ahhhhh that’s the stuff! SIGNAL! SIGNAL!” and is filling your brain with DRUGS. Drugs that make you feel PLEASURE.

Your brain is a dark alley on the bad side of town filled with drug pushers. Didn’t your mom teach you to stay away from those places? Tsk.

So our smart brains say “this person is bad news!” and our drugged-up brain lolling around in an opium den is all “NO NO GIMME MORE” so you’re torn and according to science you keep going back to the person, but you don’t even KNOW you’re doing this shit, because it’s happening WAY DEEP DOWN IN YOUR PSYCHE.

This is super-distressing, science.

I totally knew I was doing this, I just didn’t know there was a reason. Other than the brokenness, of course.

This reminds me of the study with the rats and the uncertain results. Our beloved Andreas attempted mightily to find me a link to this and could not, but here, I’ll let him tell you about it, he’s better than a link anyway:

(Ignore where it looks like I’ve repeated the same thing three times, that’s just because he’s responding to my tweet three times. I promise I don’t say the same thing over and over. Well, I *do*, just not that obnoxiously. MOST of the time, anyway.)

So I remember reading about this study, probably in one of my psych classes in grad school. There were these rats. And the rats were in a cage with a lever. The lever could distribute food whenever they pressed it, or the lever could be dicked with so it gave food out at unpredictable intervals.

As Andreas said, the rats that were in the cage where they knew the outcome, they’d stop on by the lever if they wanted a nosh.

The rats in the unpredictable cage would beat their little paws bloody against that lever, hoping against hope that this time, this press, this would be the one. The one that would bring the manna down from the heavens. Because it happened once. IT COULD HAPPEN AGAIN.

(I think this is probably the same mentality that leads people to gamble until they lose their homes.)

I’m the rat. I’m the beating-my-paw-bloody-against-the-lever rat.

BUT, according to SCIENCE, we ALL are. It’s not just me! It’s ALL of us! Because of the effing DOPAMINE!

Also, being a person with a screwed-up brain (no, seriously, that’s why they put people like me on antidepressants, because our seratonin and such are all out of whack) I can only assume my dopamine is probably all weird like the rest of my brain chemistry.

SCIENCE! Why are you screwing with me? It’s not bad enough you gave me bad skin, eyes, and frazzly hair? Now you have to make me fall in love with jerks, too? (Well, happy to say, most of that is in the past. Because as an adult, I just decided I’M NOT DOING THIS ANYMORE and refuse to fall in love at ALL. That’ll teach ’em. I just removed myself from the game. WINNER!)

Well, here’s a newsflash, people who think they can just be assholes because science backs you up and therefore you can just treat people’s hearts casually: science might be drugging us up, but our smart brains eventually get fed up.

Like addicts who have had enough, we finally reach a breaking point where we’re tired of waking up on some stranger’s porch wearing poorly-chosen clothing choices with a taste in our mouth akin to used kitty litter and we say NO MORE and we start attending AA. Or we go cold turkey. Or we just say, hit the road, Jack, no more of your stupid games, I’ll find someone who actually gives a shit ALL the time, not just when they feel like it or need something or just for the fun of it all.

Also, you might be a little bit of a psychopath. Just think about that for a minute, ok? If you’re not interested in someone, TELL THEM THAT. Don’t leave them hanging. Just tell them you’re not interested and let them move on, jerko.

BUT, that being SAID, I am just so pleased science has an explanation for why I’m a rat with a bloody paw. Thanks, science. You really came through. Now let’s talk about this unruly hair thing, science. SURELY YOU HAVE A REASON FOR THIS. I am tired of looking like a rooster.

Tip Number 31: You can use it like undereye cream! Remove those unsightly bags! What? No?

So yesterday we started the week out with a euphemistic bang by discussing weird vibrators and wall-sex and scarf-sex. Today, we’re ALSO not safe for work, and we’re discussing MORE helpful Cosmo tips. About ROMANCE. And LUBE. Listen, YOU’RE the ones who said there’s not enough SEX around here. Now you get TWO DAYS of it. Oh, my search terms next month are going to be SO AWFUL.

25 Romantic Ideas (That Won’t Freak Him Out.) How much money do you want to put on the fact that these are going to freak him out? I’m poor as poor and I’d take that bet.

  • Initiate a spontaneous dance party. While you’re cooking or going about other daily rituals, turn up one of your shared favorite artists and start grooving. Even if he tries to rein in your silly side, the moment he comes over to curb your running man can lead to a sweet, intimate hug and kiss. (The hell? Don’t do this. I mean, if you wanna dance, dance, babe. But don’t do it just to get him all romantic-like. That’s stupid. Also, he’s going to think you’re a weirdo. And I can assure you, if I did it, he’d think I was having a seizure. Can’t dance! Not even a little!)
  • Write him a short, sexy message on a sticky note and stick it in an unexpected place for him to find. When he opens his glasses case or starts his car, he’ll have an unprompted reminder that you care. (“Hi honey I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I WANT TO EAT YOUR FACE EAT IT RIGHT OFF HA HA NOT REALLY BUT KINDA!” Write that. He’ll love that. Put that on like fifty postits and put them EVERYWHERE. That’ll get him.)

    I don’t think you need to write “The Beatles” under this. That’s like writing “In the beginning…” –God on a post-it. WE KNOW WHO WROTE THESE LYRICS.

  • Browse the local music listings for cheap or free shows in your area and create a “crawl” based on acts with the most hilarious names. Another option: checking out a genre neither of you are too familiar with. You never know—you might discover your favorite new group, and if it’s horrible, plenty of performers can turn out to be entertainingly bad. (Because nothing says “romantic night out” more than mocking local musicians who are just trying really hard. Way to go, douchecanoes.)


  • Make a game out of picking out random items around the house and determining ways to incorporate them into bedroom play. Okay, maybe those porcelain frog figurines won’t do, but those cashmere scarves might serve, shall we say, dual purposes? Whatever doesn’t work can totally make for a good laugh. (ZOMG COSMO. Make it STOP with the scarves. Also, don’t even bring porcelain frog figurines into this. Porcelain frog figurines are INNOCENT and are not allowed to be part of your naughty scarfy sex-play.)

    LEAVE US OUT OF THIS. Better yet, turn our froggy faces to the wall when you’re gettin’ all weird up over there. *shudder*

  • Tease your guy with little practical jokes. Have an object, like a ridiculous fake plant, that he’s given you a hard time about? Hide it around his place. Whether it’s waiting for him in the fridge, the washer, or his computer’s desktop wallpaper, it’s destined to deliver a genuine laugh. (You’re going to put a PLANT in the WASHER? I think he’s going to be all “why the hell is this plant in the washer, my girlfriend’s losing her shit.” This isn’t romantic. It’s stupid. Stop being stupid. Also, how the hell would you get a plant into someone’s desktop wallpaper? In like a virtual-reality way? In the FRIDGE? FOOD goes in the fridge. Not fake PLANTS. WEIRD and STUPID.)


    Although this tip did put one of my favorite songs in my head and I’ve been singing it under my breath for the past twenty minutes. I like the “it wears her out” part.

  • Even studies have proven that vacation sex is one of the hottest varieties. Too broke to jet off to the Caribbean? Experience the same fresh change of scene by indulging in a staycation. Check into a hotel of your picking and kick back with a killer bottle of wine and some room service. Don’t forget to score a few dirty looks from stodgy older guests by playing some of your favorite throwback games in the indoor pool. (Listen, I’m all for bon vivanting. You know that. And sexy bon vivanting is NICE. But acting like an asshole in the hotel and pissing off the other guests is not the way to go.)

These romantic ideas are stupid. You can do better. Here’s an idea: just be yourself. If he’s the right guy, it’ll come. If he’s not, why are you wasting your time? Honestly, I’ve been with some guys that hanging out talking all night was the most romantic thing in the world, and we didn’t spend a single penny, and I’ve been with some guys that dinner and wining and dining and moonlight and candlelight and ALL of that left me dead and cold inside so romance is where you find it, chickpeas. (ZOMG I TOTALLY WANT CHICKPEAS. If someone brought me chickpeas right now, now THAT would be romantic.)

I want these SO MUCH right now I can’t even. I am having a Pavlovian response to this photo. WANNNNNTTTTT.

Two more! This is super-long, right? It’s because Cosmo’s so helpful. 25 Ways to Seduce a Man. WELL! That’s going to be helpful. I’d like to seduce a man. What’cha got, Cosmo?

  • Join him in the shower wearing a white tee and nothing else. Once you get soaked, he’ll get a front-row seat to a hot wet T-shirt contest. (Or you could…just get into the shower naked? I don’t…is the t-shirt sexier? It’d just get all wet, and hard to take off, and clammy, and then you’d have to dry it and wash it again, and the thought of extra housework doesn’t make me turned-on. It makes me tired. Also, one time I knew someone that had shower sex and she almost dislocated a hip. I don’t think ER visits are sexy, either.)
  • When you’re watching TV together, drape your bod across his lap with your stomach facing the sky. Then, arch your back so that your boobs stick out. He won’t be able to tear his eyes away. (“I’m trying to watch Storage Wars. WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING ME? This can’t wait until after this is done? I can’t even SEE over your BOOBS. Sheesh.”)


  • If you’re at a party, walk up to him and whisper something naughty in his ear like, “I’m wearing a new thong tonight. Want to check it out later?” Then saunter away. (That’s naughty? You can do better. “Let’s go have sex in the guest bathroom right now, the hostess has a kicky selection of scarves,” now THAT’S naughty. Also, don’t saunter. Don’t ever saunter.)
  • Spotted a hottie across a crowded room? Make eye contact, hold it for two seconds while giving a sexy little smirk, look away for a second, and then look back at him. He’ll be over in no time. (TRUE STORY! Once I tried something like this, and the guy totally came over, and I was all, “no shit. That worked?” and he was all, “I’m sorry, were you trying to get my attention? Do we know each other?” and I said, “no…” because I didn’t know what to say because THIS was awkward and he was all, “oh, I thought we had class together or something, sorry” and then he left. So that was TOTALLY seductive! Except not at all seductive.)
  • Climb into bed one night wearing sexy thigh-highs and nothing else. (You think I’m going to wear pantyhose? On PURPOSE? On my time OFF? No thanks. Not even a little bit.)
  • While you’re both at work, text him a pic of how hot your bare legs look in your new heels. (“What the hell? Why is she sending me photos of disembodied legs and feet? This chick is SO EFFING WEIRD.”)
  • Send him this text: “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight…;).” (“What’s in the box? What’s in the box? WHAT’S IN THE BOX?!?!?!”)


  • Spritz a musky perfume in your hair and pull it up into a ponytail. When you’re hanging out next to him, let your hair down. He’ll get a sultry whiff. (“GOOD GRIEF WOMAN! Why is your hair so GREASY? Maybe you could use SHAMPOO next time and not PERFUME?”)
  • If you have long hair, gently stroke the ends and let your hands float down to your breasts afterwards. Catch his eye while you’re doing it and give a sexy smile. (This is the single freakiest thing I have read yet. This is worse than the scarf-thing. I’m just imagining this girl staring at this guy all dead-eyed and playing with her hair over and over while the guy’s all, “are you ok? What’s up? Did you take your meds today?”)

Are these the ways to seduce a man? Really? Well, shit, I guess I see why I’m single. And why I’m likely to remain so forever. I’m not going to do ANY of these things. Not ever ever. SO EMBARRASSING. Finally, we have 25 Sexy Ways to Use Lube. Um. I don’t…huh. I can think of one. And it’s to lube oneself, or, I suppose, another, prior to…um…needing that lube. Twenty-five? That is a LOT. Cosmo knows all the things, it’s really kind of impressive.

ZOMG JIM. Look what I FOUND. It is the GROSSEST. Bacon DOESN’T make everything better, not at all.

  • Have your guy lay face-down on the bed and spread lube on your hands. Massage up and down his groin area using a sawing motion with the side of your hands. This movement stimulates blood flow down there, giving him a better erection. (The words “sawing motion” made me laugh so hard I almost choked and died, I’m not even kidding. SAWING MOTION. Because if there’s anything sexy about “groin areas” and “lube,” it’s a SAWING MOTION. Like you do with wood! Ha, wood. With sharp, sharp saws, and wood.)


  • Spread a warming lube like Durex Play Warming on his boys. (Putting lube on someone’s children is not advised. Oh, wait, boys is a EUPHEMISM. It means BALLS. Don’t do this, I know someone who had a bad experience with warming lube and “it burns IT IS BURNING ME” made me laugh until I choked. NO, it didn’t happen to me. It was the retelling the next day that killed me dead. In TEARS of laughter, I was. Because inappropriate things make me hysterical.)

    Please don’t put lube on these adorable kiddos. Look at these FACES!

  • Spread a strawberry-flavored lube on his erection and lick it like an ice cream cone. (What, with big old chomps? That’s how *I* eat my ice cream. OK, who wants me to chomp on ’em? What? No one? Sheesh, Cosmo said it was SEXY. This is TERRIBLE advice. Also, FLAVORED lube? GROSS. It would taste awful. Don’t fool yourself it wouldn’t.)
  • Slick lube on your breasts and lay down behind your guy, with his back to you. Slide your bod up and down his back. The sensations will be super-hot for both of you. (What? No it wouldn’t. It would be HYSTERICALLY FUNNY. He’d be all, “What’cha doin’ back there?” and then you’d both get the giggles. Don’t do this, come on. Also, stop saying “bod.” NO ONE SAYS BOD.)
  • Marathon sex sessions can dry you out, so reapplying lube during a long one is key. Make a game of it by setting a timer on your phone. Once it goes off, you both have to stop and spread lube on each other. (What a fun game! “ZOMG I AM DRY AS THE DESERT WHAT WITH YOUR HUMPING! The timer went off! WHAT FUN TIME FOR LUBING!” Is anyone else getting the idea that this is paid for by the American Lube Council or something?)
  • Got a squeaky bed? A few drops of lube at the joints should fix it. (THEY RAN OUT OF SEX IDEAS. This is #17. They couldn’t even finish the 25 so they’re now including HELPFUL HOME TIPS. This list is making me laugh so hard I have to pee.)

    Why is this person doing so much work? Just squirt a shit-ton of lube all over that mother. Works like a CHARM.

The moral of this story is…shit, I don’t even know. Get all slippery, I guess. SO STUPID. So what did we learn today, chickadees? Other than, sometimes this blog is totally not safe for work and YOU ARE WELCOME? Well, the answer is, Cosmo is VERY BAD AT SEX TIPS. So, so bad. Like, so bad it makes my head hurt. Here, I will give you sex tips. They are better than Cosmo’s.

  • Have sex.
  • Have fun having sex.
  • Please don’t hurt anyone. Unless that’s what you’re into, I’m not judgey.
  • I guess if you feel you need to use scarves, you can? But please give the guy a heads-up. And don’t tie them too tight. Because, there’s a difference between a sex-scarf and a tourniquet, you know?
  • Please don’t feel the need to listen to Cosmo’s advice. I feel like the people who wrote it might have grown up in a closet or something and have very little understanding how the real world works, sex-wise.
  • Did I mention have all the sex, and have fun having that sex? Good. Those are the most important points.

That is all I have to say about sex right now. I think that’s enough, don’t you? Good. Oh, don’t buy that cone thing we talked about yesterday. That’s not sexy at all. sj and I have been discussing it and mostly the concensus we came up with was “ew, what? No. I can’t even…no.” Can you even imagine whipping out that cone-thing when you had a gentleman caller over, all, “hey, babe, let’s try this cone-thing?”  No. Do not do that, please. Ding Dong Joe, and also I suppose Pervy Pete: I hope you have enjoyed these very informative posts. You are WELCOME, don’t say I never gave you anything. Maybe start thinking about finding your own place in Munich? Ken can’t be supporting you forever. He might want to actually SIT on his couch someday, you know? After he disinfects it. Disinfect that couch, Ken. RIGHT AS SOON AS HE LEAVES. You have NO IDEA where he’s been. None at all.

If this isn’t the very definition of the Cone of Uncertainty, I don’t know what is.

It’s Monday. You know what you all need on Monday? You’re all cranky-faced and going back to work and stomp stomp STOMP.

Well! I’ve got you covered, my most favorite internettians. You know what your Monday needs? Sex.

Yep. All the sex. All the sexiest sex that ever sexed. I’m quite good at this. This is going to be totally titillating. We don’t have NEAR enough sex here on the blog. Ding Dong Joe gets all out-of-sorts, which I assume makes him a very bad roommate for poor Ken. (Oh, you didn’t know Ding Dong Joe lives with Ken? Yep. He sleeps on Ken’s couch, and I think probably also eats all of Ken’s cheese and never buys more, and invites over his friends and they have loud parties so Ken can’t sleep. I would assume he’s a very bad houseguest. I mean, it’s Ding Dong Joe, you just KNOW he’s not polite. But Ken’s VERY polite so he doesn’t feel like he can just ask him to LEAVE. That would be so RUDE and un-Ken-like, right?)

This all came about because I was trying to find this thing I saw one time but I thought I must have been imagining it. It was the oddest vibrator ever. (Well, I suppose it still is.) It looked like one of those touch-lights that you see on the infomercials and was the least sexiest thing ever. I FINALLY found it on this random “worst sex toys ever” site. And it didn’t really look like a touch-light. It looks like a silicone funnel. Or one of the coffee filters for my mom’s little one-pot coffee-maker. And I can’t even imagine it’s a good idea. Here. Look. Oh, wait. Probably this post isn’t safe for work. I’m going to show you A SEX TOY. And later I’m going to use the word PENIS. (Ding Dong Joe is SO EXCITED right now. Sigh.)

It kind of looks like this…

…and kind of like these.

Ready? Ready for the most perplexing vibrator ever?

Um. I don’t…this looks like my silicone muffin pan.

And here’s a picture of a very unenthustiastic British man with the cone. I like the look on his face. It’s all, “meh, it’s a cone, you can rub up on it if you want, I don’t care.” Also, he has a very loud sports jacket. And his hair looks like a crooked wig.

Where is this “As Seen on TV?” I bet England. England used to have the most naughty TV. It was the best.

If you go to the website, you can see various positions you can contort yourself in to USE this terrible excuse for a vibrator. They are called things like “the cone dog” and “the bed wiggle” and they made me sad in my soul. If you’re thinking about not falling off the bed, you’re probably not relaxed enough to enjoy yourself. Just a thought.

Anyway, in my internet search for this weird thing which I thought maybe I’d made up in my head, I found some really stellar Cosmo sex tips that just happened to be on one of the same pages of search results. Some SUPER-SEXY SEARCH RESULTS.

Listen, I don’t remember Cosmo giving these kind of sex tips when I was an impressionable teen who cared about such things. YES, at one point I was an impressionable teen who cared about such things. I stopped, however. When I realized that they were utter crap and would probably scare more men than they would titillate. I think I probably started reading these at age 16 and realized at age 17 they were bad news. I was a quick learner. Still am, jellybeans.

Anyway, now Cosmo is less about hair-tossing and giggling alluringly and more about…well, being scary. And using strange techniques that I think would send someone screaming from your bedroom, and possibly send them to the ER.

First: 30 Things to Do With a Naked Man.

Huh. Thirty! That’s…um. That’s a lot of things.

I’m not going to talk about all of them, but here are some really good ones that I think you’ll probably want to be using soon.

  • Give him an animalistic challenge by having standing sex. Let him hold you up against the wall with your legs wrapped around his lower back. He’ll be in the aggressor role since he’s holding you up with his arms and lower bod. (This is just going to make him tired, and he’s going to drop you. Also, ouch, wall-back. Life isn’t a movie, Cosmo. The sooner you realize that, the better.)
  • Steam things up at home by moving outside the bedroom and doing it on top of a sturdy table, kitchen counter, bathroom sink, or hood of a car that’s parked in your garage. (I seriously just had a mental image of the bathroom sink just shearing off the wall and water spouting everywhere and you having to explain this to the plumber. Also, car hoods get denty. You think this is a good idea? Really? I can think of like fifty places to screw that are sexier than this and I don’t even write for Cosmo.)

    Sex on a car hood reminds me of that scene in “Natural Born Killers.” Shut up, I love this movie.

  • Indulge him with low-maintenance sex (where all he has to do is unzip his fly, if that) by sliding onto his lap in reverse cowgirl position with your hands balanced on his thighs for support. Much like doggie-style, he’ll be able to revel in watching your tush and touching your breasts — but without expending any lower-body energy. (“Tush”? What the hell? Also, why do you have the LAZIEST SIGNIFICANT OTHER EVER??? He can’t even be bothered to move his lower half? Has he suffered a spinal-cord injury? Listen. If I’m giving, you’d better be giving back. Much like life, sex is a tw0-way street. Only with more bodily fluids.)
  • Even a plain scarf can make him see stars if you use the right technique. Take a long silk wrap, place it around his main man and the boys, and tie it in a large square knot, leaving about a foot of fabric on either end to hold on to. As you’re riding him, pull on the free ends so that the knot rubs against your clitoris. (So. We have to say “main man” but we can say “clitoris.” Huh. That’s funny. Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell’s going on here for the past twenty minutes and I don’t know what the hell. You’re – tying a scarf around his dick, then you’re having sex while there’s a scarf there? I don’t…first, does he want you to do this? Second, this seems logistically faulty. Third, I have to think if you were all hot-and-heavy and you were all “just a minute let me get Nana’s silk scarf so I can TIE A KNOT IN IT AROUND YOUR DONG” he’d be all “um, no, let’s not do that.” Fourth, WHO IS DOING THIS DON’T DO THIS.)

    Well, I guess you could use this scarf. It’s already labeled for use and everything.

  • Be direct by saying something like “I want to have sex with you.” The straightforward approach is not merely about saving time…(I think you should also say it in a robot-voice. Say this in a robot-voice. Preferably to a stranger. No, seriously. Do it and report back. Let me know how it goes.)

    I. Am. Built. To. Pleasure. You.

  • Once you’ve launched his rocket in five minutes flat, he’ll be willing to do just about anything for you. (And you will be unsatisfied, frustrated, and bitchy, and possibly want to throw kittens off of porches. Also, “launched his rocket?” Really? There are a lot of euphemisms all up in here. That’ll make Ken happy, I guess.)

In summation: I can also think of 30 Things to Do With a Naked Man; however, they are not this weird, and we are both guaranteed satisfaction. And no one’s using a scarf. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THE SCARF I DON’T EVEN.

OK, this is already way too long, and I have a LOT more to discuss. So TOMORROW, you get MORE SEX. Tomorrow, we’re discussing romance, seduction, and lubricant. Which I know you’ll want to stay tuned for, because how have you gone this long without knowing what Cosmo thinks about all these things? The answer is, YOUR LIFE HAS BEEN BEREFT UTTERLY BEREFT.

You’re welcome, Ding Dong Joe. Happy Monday. Stop eating all of Ken’s cheese, you’re the worst houseguest ever.

You could drive a person crazy; you could drive a person mad

Want a Dad conversation? Sure you do.

Dad: Hey, I can’t say what I want to say.
Me: Hmm. That’s going to make this a really awkward conversation. Lots of guessing.
Dad: Because…the person…I am talking…um…about…
Me: Do you want to say something about Mom?
Dad: YES.
Me: Is she right there?
Dad: YES.
Me: Awesome. This is like being a Navajo codetalker.

Dad: NO.
Me: You don’t have to say Navajo codetalker in code. Mom won’t know that’s about her.
Me: Fine. What’s up, Secretive Sam?
Dad: Remember once there was talk of people trying to drive you insane?
Me: Um. Oh, like gaslighting? Like my friend Chris said his wife did to him?

Me: Is Mom trying to make you think you’re insane?
Dad: YES.
Me: What happened?
Dad: A person came to me today and asked if I took little white pills.
Me: The person is Mom? She’s going to know you’re talking about her now.
Dad: No. I am hiding by the back door.
Me: Oh, that’s not at all suspect.
Dad: She’ll think I’m checking the satellite dish.
Me: Because…you often check the dish? For…what, tampering?


Me: Fine, fine. What happened with the pills.
Dad: So I said, “Yes, of course I take little white pills. I take a lot of pills.”
Me: OK. That’s not tricky. So far, so good.
Dad: You’re sticking up for her. Stop that.
Me: I am not. I don’t even know the story. Go on.
Dad: So she said, “Do you keep your pills in the freezer?”

What, you don’t keep your pills in here? Also, what’s up with this freezer? It’s so OCD-neat it’s making me itch.

Me: Well, now I’m curious. Do you?
Dad: Of course I don’t. Pills are not ice.
Me: No, no they’re not. Why did she ask that?
Dad: That what I said! And she said, “Is this one of your pills?” And gave me a little white pill.


Me: And? Was it one of your pills?
Dad: Well, at first I was not sure. So I took out my magnifying glass, and I compared it to one of the pills from the bottle. IT WAS A MATCH.
Me: Um. OK. That was certainly thorough of you. Did she find the pill in the freezer?

What, you don’t have one of these around for handy freezer-pill identification? FOR SHAME.

Dad: You are jumping ahead.
Me: Sorry. It’s just that we’ve been talking for like a month now. About freezer-pills.
Dad: You don’t even know they’re freezer-pills, because I didn’t get to that part of the story yet!
Me: I used my powers of deduction. Go on.
Dad: So I said, “Yes, this is one of my pills. Where did you find this?” and she said, “It was in the freezer.”
Me: Aha! The game is AFOOT, Watson!
Dad: How come you’re Holmes? Watson’s a dummy. I don’t want to be Watson.
Me: Yeah, you should see the new Sherlock. Watson’s not a dummy at all. You’d be HAPPY to be Watson.

Is it time for more “Sherlock” yet?

Dad: What I found mysterious about the whole thing is that the pill? WAS NOT EVEN COLD.
Me: Dad, it’s a little tiny pill. It’s not metal or ice. It’s not going to retain the cold. That’s not how physics works, I don’t think.
Dad: Always sticking up for your mother. Is it because you’re both women?
Me: SIGH. Go on.
Dad: So she said, “I found this pill stuck to a cheese bag. Why was this pill stuck to a cheese bag?”
Me: Well, why WAS it stuck to a cheese bag? Hee, cheese bag.


Me: Gaslighting. Is there any way you could have dropped it in the freezer? When do you take this pill? In the morning, or at night? Do you hold it in your hand when you go to the freezer for ice or something?
Me: This is a very nefarious plot she’s hatched, buddy. I mean, way to start small, right? A tiny pill, stuck to a cheese bag. Heh. Cheese bag.
Dad: I think the words “cheese bag” are making you laugh more than anyone should. It’s not that funny.
Me: It sounds like an insult. “Get away from me, you stinkin’ cheese bag.”
Dad: Yeah, it kind of does. Heh. Cheese bag.
Me: Listen! I have a story about things in the freezer from when I was in college.
Dad: Is this a sex story? I don’t want to hear about you having sex in college.
Me: …I don’t even…what about “freezer” makes you think I’m going to talk about my sex life? You’re so weird.
Dad: FINE TELL THE STORY. But if there’s sex in it I’m hanging right up.
Me: When I was in college, my roommate S. went out one night. I did not. She came home super-late. Or, early, I guess. I was asleep, I didn’t know what time. Anyway, she was super-drunk when she came home. I woke up and she was still asleep, but her shoes were in the bathtub and her skirt was in the living room and stuff. Super-drunk. These things happen.

Nope, never made my bed next to the toilet for easy vomiting access. Nope nope nope. Not me.

Dad: Not to my daughter!
Me: Yeah. Heh. Never to me. EVER. ANYWAY, when she finally woke up, she was tearing the house apart looking for something. All over the place. And I said, “What are you looking for?” and she said, “I can’t find my keys, I had them when I got home last night, but now they are GONE.” And we looked for a while, but they were nowhere to be found. So it was hot, and I went to get a popsicle, and in the freezer? Her keys. So I was all, “S.! I have found your keys. Did you get something out of the freezer last night?” and she was all, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID LAST NIGHT.” And that sums up college well, I think.
Dad: What does this have to do with me? I’m not drunk in the mornings when I take my pill.
Me: I know. I’m just saying, sometimes things end up in freezers. It’s not without precedent.
Dad: Someday, your mother is going to call you up and say, “I had your father committed, because he was crazy.” When that day happens, please come spring me out of the pokey.

My dad’s going to the cuckoo’s nest!

Me: I don’t think you call the mental institution the pokey. I think it’s the nuthouse or something.
Dad: It’s the same thing. You have to come get me out. You know I’m not crazy. I did not put a pill in the freezer. Why would I do that?
Me: OK, Dad. I promise. I’ll bake you a cake with a file in it.
Me: It’s a little funny, you cheese bag.

When I talked to my mom, she said, “Your father said those pills are so small he drops them all over the place and he probably had one stuck to his hand when he reached into the freezer for the bread. He makes everything a huge story. I can’t even IMAGINE where you and your brother get your storytelling tendencies. Not from the NEIGHBORS, that’s for sure.”

I think the funniest part of this story is that Dad went on and on and ON about how Mom was trying to drive him crazy but then he told her that he probably did it after all. Or maybe he just told her that she she wouldn’t think she won the gaslighting?

Sometimes I think it was a very good thing my life didn’t lead me to marriage. I would be extraordinarily bad at this.

The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn’t we do the same?

Whew! We made it to Friday, hooray! Tonight is going-to-see-my-friend’s-play night. It’s at this artsy thing in one of our local towns that I’ve always wanted to go to, so that’ll be fun, right? Look at me doing things that force me to get up off the couch. It’s all very exciting and probably I deserve a medal. Dumbcat, however, is NOT PLEASED, and when I get home does things like “MEOW!” and glares at me VERY POINTEDLY because I was not home for him to squish all up to and dig his claws into. He can try that with a pillow, but the pillow doesn’t go “Ouch, Dumbcat, what the hell? Why so pointy, bub?” and then scritch his head for him. 

(SIDE NOTE. In case you were not convinced Dumbcat is really dumb, the other day, he was asleep on the back of the couch and got scared by a ghost. Well, I assume it was a ghost. There was nothing scary I could see or hear. So he bolted up as if he was pinched and then decided I MUST RUN AWAY NOW. But one of his claws got caught in the afghan I keep on the back of the couch in case I get cold.

Evil. Eeeeee-vil.

So he was all WHAT IS THIS MADNESS. Then he KEPT RUNNING. So he was dragging the afghan behind him with one little paw and trying to run and making a noise like he was caught in a snare and knocking everything off the shelves with the afghan trailing behind him and I was like, DUMBCAT STOP I CAN FIX THIS and he was like NO NO NO MOM THERE IS A GHOST SOMEWHERE GOTTA GO. Finally he stopped and just looked at the afghan SO MOURNFULLY like “this is my LIFE now, I have this THING PERMANENTLY attached to my LEG” and I was able to catch up to him and detach him and he looked at me as if I was a goddess sent to him from on high and then I laughed until my stomach was sore. I felt kind of bad about it, but I still laughed. I mean, he’s like the Three Stooges of cats, this cat. He now thinks the afghan is his enemy, and will not sleep on it. He takes care to sleep on either end of the couch, but not in the middle, where that evil, foot-snatching afghan lives. It attacked him once. It might do it again. YOU CAN NEVER TELL WITH THOSE NEFARIOUS PLOTTING-AGAINST-YOU AFGHANS.) 

I have not yet told you about my adventure to get Indian food. It actually isn’t much of a story. It went very well! I did not say or do a single embarrassing thing! (Well, I don’t THINK I did. One would know, wouldn’t one think?) My food was good, and spicy, and there were no onions, garlic, or tomatoes to be found. (Oh, you probably want to know what I ate because people like to hear things like that. I had a little bit of naan that was stuffed with cheddar cheese so it was like the Indian version of Domino’s Cheesy Bread, and Chicken Vindaloo, which is, for people that don’t know about such things, pieces of very tender chicken in a spicy brown thick sauce served over this delicious kind of rice that I’ve never tried before and I’m not supposed to HAVE rice so I only had a little but MAN was that the best rice ever in the history of ever and I could have eaten 47,000 bowls of that rice alone, and it wasn’t even SEASONED rice, it was just longer and skinner than normal rice and had a really nice consistency and I loved it times a million.)

Naan is yum, even though I’m not allowed much bread. I’m down with you, naan!

I drank a lot of water with the spiciness. We talked and laughed a lot. I almost got arrested and/or killed driving illegally on the way home (dear GPS: that U-turn you told me to make? WAS ILLEGAL. That’s a one-way street, my friend. And I was on it before I realized it. Dummy. It’s a damn good thing no cars were coming) but overall, it was great. So look! I can leave the house and socialize with people in small groups without self-destructing or self-immolating or self-whatevering. What a nice thing to realize!  

I found this thing in the news, and I wanted to discuss it with you, but it’s icky. Do you want to hear about an icky thing? Because it is. Totally icky. Also, it taught me a sciency thing, so probably Andreas will be interested. And also disgusted. You ALL will be disgusted. It’s the ickiest. 

Andreas, this is sciency, but also gross. I hope you’re up for the challenge.

OK, so in California recently, a woman was caught having all the underage sex in a hotel room with a sixteen-year-old boy. Yes, ew, these things happen, fine, whatever, gross, that’s not the ickiest part. THAT’S NOT EVEN THE ICKIEST PART. Ready? 

It was her son that she’d given up at birth. AND SHE KNEW IT WAS HER SON. 

Here, you can see pictures of this woman. She looks like one of those Bratz dolls. A real-life Bratz doll! Worrisome. 

I mean, if you’re into plastic and puty duck-lips, I guess, whatever, I don’t want to be judgey.

Apparently she gave up her child at birth, and then she contacted him fifteen years later and started a conversation with him on Facebook which led to naughty texts (as Facebook does) and then they started meeting up in hotel rooms so she could tutor him in math (that’s a euphemism) and his family found out and called the cops. 


When the cops questioned her, she said she was not guilty. “But, we have this video your son made, of you playing his skin flute,” they said. (EUPHEMISM. Also, what kind of asshole kid makes a video of it? Ew, THAT IS YOUR MOM.) “No, no!” she said. “You see, it’s not my FAULT. There’s this scientific phenomenon called Genetic Sexual Attraction, where 50% of people meeting a long-lost relative are sexually attracted to them. I am a VICTIM! Of SCIENCE!” 

And then I assume the cops made this face.

Well, setting aside the old “he blinded me with science” defense (which, bee tee dubs, didn’t work, she was sent to jail for 4 years last week) I was all, “WHAT? This is a THING? Being sexually attracted to your relatives is a THING?” 

Yep. It’s totally a thing. Science says so! 

According to science, if, say, you were separated at birth from your sibling, and then you meet up with him (or her) twenty years later, you are more likely to be sexually attracted to him (or her) because: 

You have facial similarities, and people (often without knowing it) seek out partners with a similar facial pattern/look 

Along similar lines, we seek out partners with similar traits and likes/dislikes; scientists agree that some of these things can be hereditary, and therefore the sibling would be seen by your brain as a good mate 

If you were raised by your opposite-sex parent, you “imprinted” on them; the sibling you didn’t know you had will share some similarities to that parent, and your ever-entertaining brain will turn that into sexual attraction (howdy, Oedipal and Electra complexes, nice to see you here!) 

Aw, Ralph. Don’t do it. SHE IS YOUR MOM.

Now, if you grew UP with your sibling (or parent, or cousin, or whatever) the odds of you being attracted to them are slimmer, because of ANOTHER sciency phenomenon called The Westermarck Effect, or reverse sexual imprinting.

Here is ol’ Westermarck himself! He looks sciency, right? And a little like Teddy Roosevelt.

The person this is named after is from FINLAND, which makes me think it MUST be true because all the best scientists and Science Fellows are from/currently live in Finland. 

Producing only the best scientists and science fellows for hundreds of years. I don’t let just any Science Fellow science it up around these parts. I’m SELECTIVE.

The Westermarck Effect states that if you grow up with another child (from about ages birth to six) you become desensitized to later sexual attraction. It somehow triggers a naturally-occurring incest taboo (“incest” being only the label put on it; it doesn’t only work within families. If you are raised alongside a foster brother, for example, you most likely would see him as a sibling and mating with him later in life would also trigger the “incest incest NO NO NO” panic-alarm.) 

Now, this all icked me out to the extreme (mostly the first part of this) but then I thought about it and you know what? Science is totally right here. Still ICKY, but totally right. 

Of course you’re most interested in people who remind you most of yourself. Even if you’re not aware of it. You might say “opposites attract” but how often are you with someone who is your COMPLETE OPPOSITE in ALL WAYS? That would be like me dating a man who hates the arts, is a conservative politically, who isn’t at all funny and also doesn’t think I am, who’s very, very religious, who doesn’t believe in equal rights for women and same-sex couples, who hates animals, who hates the city and would never consider living anywhere but a tiny town, who likes women who are quiet, who hates reading, who hates television, books, and the internet, and who doesn’t think bathing is a super-big priority. THIS SOUNDS LIKE MY PERFECT MATE. Oh, wait, no. No, it doesn’t. I mean, sure, maybe I’d find something about him attractive. Maybe he has really nice eyes, or he’s really kind to his children, or he really likes neon Post-Its, I don’t know. But those differences would make it awful hard to continue any sort of relationship. Even if we were like, “let’s make a go of this!” and decided not to discuss them, eventually they’d come up. Things always do. You can’t sit on stuff like this forever. These are fundamental differences, you know? 

These types of opposites attract, though. Just ask any kid who’s rubbed a balloon on their sweater then stuck it on a wall. SCIENCE BABY.

I don’t know about the similar facial pattern. I have kind of a lady-face. I don’t know that I look for a man with a lady-face to complete me. But the article did say it was unconscious, so maybe my reptile brain can translate my lady-face into the male equivalent and is looking for that for me, I don’t know. As for the whole Electra complex – well, here’s the thing. I love my dad. He’s a good dad! He makes me laugh and he’s very protective and he’s smart and he’s wise. As for wanting a mate like him? Well, I’d like a mate with some of his traits. But I’d also like a mate withOUT some of his traits. Because the person I described above who was my complete opposite (other than the funny and the television and the bathing) is my dad. We are very, very different. I love him, but couldn’t live in the same house with him. I go home for a visit and we’re at each other’s throats within a few hours. So, I’m sure the Electra complex is alive and well for some people, and maybe on the same level where I don’t know about the facial patterns, I’m secretly attracted to my dad, but if I am, I’m sure as hell not aware of it. And that’s FINE with me. I DON’T WANT TO KNOW. Because SHUDDER. 

Also, growing up with someone totally makes you non-attracted to them. It’s true. I grew up with a very, very attractive boy. My dad’s best friend’s kid. Blonde. Blue eyes. Smart. Funny. Great guy. Loved him right to pieces. We got along like peas AND carrots, and also maybe some…shit, I don’t know, asparagus or something. I mean, we didn’t grow up in the same house. We grew up separately. But we hung out a lot, because our parents were good friends and we were the same age (he was a month younger.) And when I got to my teens, I thought, huh, maybe I should fall in love with C. Because we know each other so well! And he is wonderful! And our parents are friends! And it would be so easy! But when I would hang out with him, there was just NOTHING THERE. It was like hanging out with my brother. No attraction. None. I could objectively see that he was a very attractive guy (still can); I could objectively see that he’d make a good mate (he did; he’s married now, with a child.) But that spark you need to want to start something just wasn’t there. Even more, not only was the spark missing, the thought of kissing him would make me both giggle and gag a little, because he was the closest person to a relative I had that wasn’t walking around sharing some of my genetic material. It seemed WRONG, somehow. So, my romance with C., which I think probably would have thrilled both of our parents, was not meant to be. I haven’t seen him in years, incidentally. And somehow, he doesn’t have Facebook. C.! How do you not have Facebook? You’re a toolbag, get a damn Facebook account already, I miss your face. No, I know he’s probably not reading this. I’m still saying it, since when has that stopped me from doing something? 

Yep. Totally would have been like this. I always thought this dress was ill-fitting. I mean, I’m all for cleavage, but this just looked ouchy.

So, back to the point of this post, which was the life-sized Bratz doll who is claiming that science made her ride her long-lost child like a childhood Sit-n-Spin. NO. And EW. No amount of science makes that less icky, lady. How are you in your thirties and you don’t know right from wrong? No. No, no no. Impulse control: you need to look into that. Also, NO and EW. 

OK, so there’s your icky report of the day. Oh, I should mention Ken totally blogged about incest a while back. That sounds worrisome but it’s actually really interesting. You’ll like it, there’s a nice photo of Ken’s jolly face. And I just re-read the comments on Ken’s post and realized that after I commented way back then, Andreas commented and MENTIONED the Genetic Sexual Attraction thing. I didn’t even see that then. Huh. Go talk to Andreas, he knows all about this! Because he is SCIENCY and he is SMART and he is from FINLAND, not because he is GROSS. Sheesh.

Also, look how pretty Finland is! Aw, Finland. Someday I will come and visit you and your sciency-ness.

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