Thank you to all the men who send me messages on Facebook. Please don’t stop! Whether it’s to discuss their relationships, sex lives, or secretive forays into bisexuality, I had no idea my blog would resonate so well with men. I’m blessed to learn what I have about the male mind, which is… that they don’t know what the FUCK women want! That’s no fault of their own. Women don’t know much about men either, it seems. Or rather, they do, but many don’t care. Women are the new men. Either way, there are serious, stage-five miscommunications going on.
Honestly, I’m blessed as fuck to know the things that I know. It’s a writer thing. Which leaves me… just as hard up as all of you guys. Knowledge is power until it all goes sour. I don’t have love, romance, or even so much as a recent dick pic to speak of. Ok, that’s a lie. I received a dick pic yesterday. But it wasn’t the dick that I wanted a pic of. So typical. Sad emoji. C’est la vie. The best I can do is watch August Alsina music videos, because apparently that’s what aspirational true love looks like in this day and age.
I’ve noticed communication gaps between men and women around here, and I’d like to talk about them. Let’s not allow technological fuck-ups to ruin our love lives.
Any romance queries can be directed to firstname.lastname@example.org and our panel of experts will reply shortly.
A source for building sexual energy between two people, the Dick Pic is my favorite relationship enhancer, besides wine. While I called this section “Dick Pic,” I’m intending this to mean any “sexts” between two people including X-rated pictures and/or text messages. For two consenting adults over 18 who have filed a privacy protection contract through their respective attorneys to hold them accountable should said Dick Pic wind up on the Internet, (wouldn’t that be a good idea?) the Dick Pic is a faster, cheaper sex tape. I grew up admiring Pam Anderson and Tommy Lee and their brazen exhibitionism. You’ve seen how far that’s gotten me. But it’s okay to love one’s body so much that you want to share it with the world. That’s the Kim Kardashian Wave of Feminism, and it’s taking over Instagram. If you are in a relationship (or just hooking up) with someone and the Federal Government hasn’t tapped your phone due to a pending felony, there’s no harm in shooting off a sext. Just make sure the recipient is the one you intended.
Here’s some practical tips on making your sexts look great. 1) Take them when you aren’t sober. They come out better, for some scientifically-undetermined reason. 2) Don’t use a filter. You are going for Terry Richardson/American Apparel ad/I-woke-up-like this, in-the-heat-of-the moment aesthetic. 3) For a great picture of your own butt, you are going to need a mirror that’s either full length, or a wide mirror like you’d find in a public bathroom. There’s nothing better than shameless sexts from a public location. 4) A long-distance relationship without regular sexting isn’t a relationship. 5) There’s money to be made by sending pics of your feet to weirdos from Craigslist. 6) A sex tape won’t turn you into a superstar anymore. The best you can hope for is Stassi from Vanderpump Rules level (If you’re asking, Who? I rest my case).
It’s never been easier to meet people. With online dating, I can easily Skype (and sext) with a beau who lives in Hong Kong and works for a Fortune 500 company. Hell yes! However, this works both ways. Technology has made it easier to cut ties and theoretically erase ex-lovers from our lives. I’m jaded and have no patience, so I’ll admit I’ve felt a surge of contentment after blocking a guy that I was just on a date with five minutes before. One guy made me pay for my own chicken parmesan, so I blocked him. Another man flaked on a date the morning of, so I blocked him. That’s not to say the legitimately psychopathic ex-con I had to block didn’t deserve it. But damn, he was sexy! And that’s not to say, there are some men who have me blocked. Yes, lil ol’ innocent moi. Besides, I’ve seen the blockers and blockees in person since. We’ve gotten along courteously enough. It was eerie. It was as if the Internet world was a completely separate reality.
Recently, I ran into the previously-mentioned flake at Gypsy Parlor. I was out with a new man. It was cordial between all of us. So that little hit of satisfaction over clicking “Block” is a passing high. It feels like you are getting back at the person, since they probably will notice that you’ve blocked them. But I doubt they’ll lose sleep. Plus, you will run into them soon enough around town, anyway, and just act like nothing happened. So, out of experience I’d recommend not blocking someone unless it comes down to personal safety. You look immature. It’s more enjoyable to let your jilted lovers see all the fun you are having.
We all have our Achilles heel. Mine is the Drunk Dial. Back when I was having an affair with a married man, I’d LOVE to get boozed up at the club and call him late at night. It was on my top five favorite things to do, right between watching Steve Wilkos and drinking pickle juice straight from the jar. The man was a lush himself, so we’d have some seriously heartfelt late-night chats (if I remember correctly).
But not everyone is keen on receiving Drunk Dials. Those are the people I tend to avoid, and they avoid me right back. Drunk Dials are a polarizing subject. For the most part, the men I’ve discussed them with enjoy being on the receiving end of a genuinely heartfelt Drunk Dial. It means, ‘Wow, she got drunk and had me on her mind. Flattering!’ I used to have a Friends With Benefits who would Drunk Dial me semi-regularly. He worked at a bar and would get out of work at 5 a.m. (He appears on the blog as “Dan” in The Sex Drive). The best Drunk Dial I ever received was from “Dan” at about 2 a.m. I was asleep in my loft downtown when my phone rang and Dan told me that he was outside. Literally the dude took a cab from Cheektowaga to Gates Circle to apologize for something he did a month before. A little belated, but I accepted his apology but made him sleep on the floor. There was something endearing about Dan’s stupid Drunk Dials. Of course, now that I think of it, he got stuck in FWB territory, and wasn’t exactly known as boyfriend material. Which leads me to…
TIMING IS EVERYTHING
It’s 2016. All the single ladies and all the single men seem to be ships passing in the night. We are all obsessed with ourselves and if the other person doesn’t like it, we tell them to go away forever. It’s all or nothing nowadays. We don’t compromise. We don’t exchange pleasantries. We don’t make sacrifices. I’m convinced that sometimes our soulmate is right in front of us, but we are too preoccupied with looking at our own image on social media to notice them across the room.
I walk down the street every day and always say ‘Hi’ to strangers, and only get a “hi” back maybe 50 percent of the time. Hipster men with glasses and beards are the hardest to talk to. They really have a wall up. I think I’m known around town as the doped-up girl with the vacant stare always saying hi to strangers, but that’s better than being known as a raging asshole.
Perhaps the best part of dating and the Internet is being able to save articles related to ex-flames’ arrests and police reports. I have a whole folder saved on my Web browser – DWIs, weapons charges, even a date rapist I met at The Bend! This technological age of dating allows us to get to know the object of our infatuation faster. But is this always a good thing? If my mom got to know everything about my dad the first month of dating him, would I ever have been born? The question remains as to whether ignorance is bliss. But typically, yeah, it is.