Interview With A Guy: The Big 'O'

Politics Chick: So you figure most women lie about orgasms, huh?

Guy: Yes.

Politics Chick: I’m assuming you’re speaking from past experience. Why do you think you've been lied to?

Guy: Oh I know I’ve been lied to, my ex once told me she faked them with me. Maybe she lied because she was mad I broke up with her, but hey, I guess it could have been true. I'd rather know that I haven’t given you one than be lied to about it. I hate the lying!

Politics Chick: Maybe she wasn’t satisfied and didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so she fibbed about it.

Guy: Well, put it this way ... women, if you cum and you enjoy yourself let me know with your moaning. But if you don’t reach that ‘O’ status I want to know that too. It's better for you... if I think I'm giving you orgasms, then you'll never reach one... but if I know you haven't yet, then I'll keep trying harder to get you there and someday you will!

Politics Chick: So you're saying you won’t be deterred by it but spurred on?

Guy: Exactly ... if you haven't reached that point, then I need to do better. But if I think I'm already doing that, there's no reason to improve. Does that make sense?

Politics Chick: Yup.

Guy: Now if you laughed at me and said something like "you suck at this" or "you're too small”... Those types of things would be hurtful.

Politics Chick: To say the least. Do men fake it I wonder?

Guy: How would we fake it? I mean, you can tell if we cum and we can tell if you're wetter than normal.

I think most men think if they cum then they've had an orgasm and I have to be honest, I'm not sure if I've ever orgasmed. Not sure I know what it feels like to have that feeling of going beyond …

Politics Chick: I believe it’s entirely possible for a guy to pretend he came. But hey we don't have the same equipment so maybe I'm wrong. But it occurs to me that women are motivated by good sex and the emotion and when one is missing then the goal of the “O” is lost. Some men must require both (few I bet).

Guy: Actually, now that I think about it some more... I have noticed a difference from time to time so maybe I have. Who knows?

Politics Chick: Um, I think if you’d had you would know. I’m just saying…you know? You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.

Guy: I’m not. Why would you think I’d be…

Politics Chick: Anyway - my ex had said something to me before about not being able to orgasm because his girlfriend at the time started to feel like more of a friend than a girlfriend. He fakes it because he doesn’t know how to tell her that she doesn’t turn him on anymore. So I guess guys do pull a fake every now and then.

Guy: I did find that at the end of the relationship with my ex I was never in the mood even though she still looked the same as when we started dating and she still had great moves in bed. But I just couldn’t get aroused. We lived together and probably didn't have sex once the last month we were together, she would try and I just couldn't and didn't want to. Something just turned off.

Politics Chick: Ouch...it doesn't get anymore humiliating than that. Not to get technical or anything, but that not faking, that’s just not doing it.

Guy: Well I felt bad! Doesn’t that count?

Politics Chick: No.

**For the record, and before I get the angry emails. I do believe in Global Warming

Sexy Saturday Video

You know the drill - it's Saturday - you're home and I felt sorry for you
So I left you this Sexy Saturday Video.
Now, the men may not be so happy with this Saturday's Post.
But this is for the ladies.


This video, this song, these lyrics, that voice...yum.
That combo could find me befuddled, in the corner, twisting my hair, saying something like
"...and the next thing I knew my panties fell off."

Enjoy ;)

Email Virginity

It’s like a flashback - I touch the Home Row…he touches me.

I type my first letters, unravel my first thought, layers of emotions are peeled off, leaving me as vulnerable and naked as the first time. It’s so unfamiliar yet exciting, spine tingling and painful.
This is a big step for me. I’m still hesitant to expose myself.

I’ve spent the first few awkward moments wondering if my body was fit enough. Then I realize he’ll never see it. Great! Now I’ll spend the next few wondering if he’ll be attracted to me, without the perfect abs, the designer clothing, the makeup and everything else we mistakenly use to seem ideal in another persons eyes.

AAUGHH! What is it about sending out the first email to someone you have even the remotest feelings for that makes you so nervous? I mean, it’s not as if I’m trying to convince him to procreate with me. I’m just looking to come across as smart, sassy and funny.
Not too much too ask for, right?
So why is it that with every keystroke I feel like I’m putting on more layers than taking off? Brick by brick, I’m building a wall to protect myself from what might be waiting for me on the other side of a @dot-com address.

This is precisely why we ask for email addresses – it’s easier than speaking face to face and you can avoid those deadly silences that occur during your first phone conversation. Personally, I appreciate the freedom that comes with emailing. If I were left without its saving grace, I’d be reduced to relying on my menu of stupidity to guide the way. Believe me, those choices don’t exactly paint me in a flattering light, they make me seem, how shall we say, special, and not in the ‘rare/extraordinary’ sort of way.
I instantly become that android from a sci-fi flick; suddenly as I come across an obstacle, before my eyes appear a screen with well-calculated options based on the probabilities of a good outcome. Got this picture in your head?
OK, now knock out the words well-calculated and good outcome. We’ll keep probabilities but let’s crop it down to probable, because it’s more than probable that these options will appear instead:
a. freeze
b. run
c. stutter like Rain Man
d. all of the above – guaranteed to be the floor show option
What is that! It’s as if I confused the emergency procedure on what to do if you’re on fire with meeting a guy - Stop, Drop, and Roll!
I’m witty! I’m intelligent. All I want is to convey that in this email. It should all be so simple. I’m trying to keep some perspective here - after all they’re just words, sentences, paragraphs and maybe a Love, The Politics Chick thrown in somewhere at the end.

The reality is that if you say something stupid in your first email your chances could be blown, forever. Face-to-face advantages are lost in realm of cyberspace; a person can’t just overlook your mistakes and focus on you. When you’re face-to-face, you might be thinking… “God, he pronounces that word wrong one more time, I’ll scream.”
But, you could become oblivious to this if perhaps the words are accompanied by an exotic accent. Maybe it works better for you if you have the ability to focus in on their beautiful face. “Yeah,” you keep telling yourself, “stare at their wonderful face and I’ll get through this dreadful, ungrammatical conversation.”

But with email, accidentally misspell a word (or oftentimes, words) and the person on the receiving end is thinking, ‘Well, she never won any spelling bees, did she?’ If you put your commas and semicolons in the wrong place, you could have meant to convey your feelings one way but you now you’ve goofed, leaving the receiver ample opportunity to read something else into it - now you’re being served with a restraining order.

Factor in the time you’ll spend waiting for a response back, while you try not to obsess over the reaction and conclusions the other person will be drawing from your email, and now you’re dealing with a person a little less stable than before they had pressed SEND.

It’s completely mind-blowing to know that our personalities are out there; traveling through cables, sitting in in-boxes, waiting to be opened, judged, and sentenced. Come on! Look at what it’s doing to us! Here we are sitting in front of our computers chanting these crazed mantras: “Come on, baby…save my email…save me, baby…press save…don’t delete me…file me in your folder.”

I once received an email that was so dorky, I just have to believe that the pressure of the first email got to him and caused him to write: “Yes my little sunflower. Do you like that? Because that’s what you remind me of. You will wilt unless you let me water you (I suppose that means let me take you out on a date and feed me. God, I hope that’s what it meant). Sunflower, your petals are so pretty.” Hey, I’m sure he didn’t mean to sound psychotic. But that night, I had a nightmare about some rabid gardener ringing my doorbell, trying to coerce me into going out with him.

I’m telling you this because you need to stop and think. Please stop and think about what you about to say! You can’t bring that email back after you’ve pressed send no matter how you cry and repeat over and over ‘No, no’. There is no second e-mail virginity! At least not a legal one. You know what I’m referring to. So if you do have his/her password, please remember that it is a violation, not to mention somehow very morally wrong to pry into another persons email without permission.

I’m stressing now. Somewhere in the world, things more pressing than my first email are taking place. But I’m not aware of them, I’m too busy being intimidated by the sins my keyboard has yet to commit. But then again, his email address is burning a hole through my pocket, and I get all tingly just knowing that I can make direct contact with him. Perhaps he’ll like my message so much that it compels him to read it over and over and over again. This could spawn continuous emailing, relating, online laughing, late night chatting on instant messenger. Somewhere in between breaths, when my fingers are close to pressing SEND, I want to forget all the worrying and end it all with a press of a button.

You wait and wait until you think the right one has come along…but is he worthy?
Will the return email live up to your expectations? Will he? Everything’s so clumsy, exciting, spine tingling and painful in the beginning…but you’ve just got to keep on going…right? I mean, you only lose your virginity once.

Therapy For Friends

Administering therapy to your friends is a tricky thing. The mere fact that you regard the person as a friend refers you to the unwritten book of rules. Every sect has got their own set of guidelines that they follow, but some rules are just hard and fast, they translate into any society, no matter the language barrier or difference in tax bracket. We have a common ground, a foundation of sorts that we base morally sound friendships on. Maybe your wording is a bit different then mine, but it’s a needless to write down; mere common sense rules and I bet it goes a little something like this…

"The Giver, ‘he who gets his life’s blood sucked out’ must have an opinion when asked for one. He must also freely dispense his or her thoughts when requested, with no regard to its being contrary to what said friend wants to hear. The Taker, ‘he who bothers you with questions pertaining to the meaning of it all never to follow said advice’, is under no obligation to pay for or appreciate the given advice. ”

The ruling is pretty unfair if you are in the position of the Giver, but the rules however are binding. Personally, I have never seen the scenario played differently. But in my head I have imagined the Giver having the foresight to be an entrepreneur like Lucy from the Peanuts strip. The Giver could set up a stand and charge for their advice, making sure as hell to get more then five cents for it. Maybe, five cents a word could work if they could drag out their responses all while recording them on a tape player to keep accurate account and get every cent owed to them.

On second thought, that may not be the best way to handle these types of situations. I wouldn’t even be prone to this wild imagining if it weren’t for the fact that had I’d gone to school to be a shrink, I might actually be getting paid for my gems of advice. It almost made me faint when I calculated just how much I might have earned from my basket-case friends. Figuring in the amount of hours they’ve spent on my couch, the late night phone sessions, all the emergency happy hour drinking, the weekend road trips/ getaways to detox the best friend. Multiply all the hours striped from my youth that I’ll never get back, times the going rate in psychiatry these day’s, and I figure I’m owed seven thousand and five hundred dollars and eighty-seven cents for the past two months alone. Quite honestly, I’m rounding down.

To be fair, not everyone has that kind of money laying around earmarked for the express use of maintaining mental sanity – which is why most of us have friends in the first place. We can afford the booze that goes very nicely with the conversation about passed over promotions, cheating mates, etc. What we can’t afford however is the time it takes out of a busy schedule to actually see a professional, let alone pay a professional to humiliate us by telling us what we already now but don’t want to apply. But our friends, they already know we’re crazy and broke.

I’m beginning to visualize some sort of barter system. For every piece of wisdom I dole out they would have to fulfill one wish off of my payment list; the payment list consisting of a number of decent options that they can choose as alternatives to real currency. After a fair amount of advice had been doled at to said friend, my checklist of payment options would be mailed out to them. They would simply check off which option best suits their budget, mail the form back and I would collect when the opportunity presented itself.

For example…

( )One, guilt free ride to work.
( )One, candy of my choosing for our next movie outing.
*Candy must come from the concession stand; picking it up from the drug store on the way to the theatre is forbidden.

Now let’s just agree that some of our friends need more help than others. They require what might be viewed as a more than a monetary amount of tuning up in order to run smoothly. So if the therapy has been taking place on a ‘more than normal’ amount of time I’d be forced to up the anti. It's not gouging, but special circumstances call for special rates. Lets’ look at it from a worldly perspective; if you were on a cruise ship and had to see the Ship’s Doctor, he would have a separate rate for a weekday visit and a weekend visit. Heck, there’s a different rate for day and night hours. If that doctor has to step away from his dinner table or interrupt his weekend excursion in order to see you, get ready to pay double for that tummy ache you could have averted by staying away from the mid-afternoon surprise sushi hour on the Lido deck. I speak from experience.

So I’d mail out what I like to call the High Rollers card.
Select one of the following – and please, to avoid altercation, pay promptly. Thank you.

( )One (unused) ticket to a Yankees game.
*Home games only – away games only incur further cost for me. And lets face it, if you’re receiving this card I’ve paid enough already.
( )One $20 gift certificate.
*The certificate must not bare the following store names or include the combination or use of the following words: less, discount, why, land, world, bargain, or hut.

Once their form is filled out, returned and fulfilled, I could again spill out my never-ending jewels of wisdom till it was time to start the billing cycle again. Now if you do decide on this route, let me suggest you only run a tab for your very good friends as a gesture of good faith. Everyone else pays or you don’t play (i.e. send over your goons).

For years I have made wild speeches and keen observations in accordance to my friend’s problems. These pearls of wisdom were golden; they were “I have a Dream” quality! But alas, in one ear and out the other. Regardless of how many times they ask for it, you always hear “You're wrong, it’s not like that”, only days later to hear, “You were right. Why didn’t I listen to you?”
My personal favorite is “I can’t believe you let me do that!”

Why do they waste God Given talent? Had they been forced to go to some shrink who charged them a hundred bucks an hour, they’d be like monks waiting to hear wisdom fall from the lips of the Dalai Lama, the advice would be precious and they’d snort it like coke.

But why should they buy it when we’re giving it out for free? But I know another saying, we hear this phrase all the time. You get what you pay for.
Before I rock the system and institute my new barter system, I’ve been trying to alleviate the burden of my Giver duties by using what I’ve since tagged as the ‘Fortune cookie one liner’. It’s currently being used on a trial basis. You can try it, it’s very simple. For every problem you are asked for advice on stop and give your friend a look of genuine pondering. Wait a few minutes to give the illusion of deep thought – your body language should say “I am calculating and the pros and cons of this highly interesting conundrum.” Then in response use a generic, homogeneous statement: Ask and ye shall receive. Follow the urgings of your heart, not your mind. Be quick; lest the race be won be
someone else.

I figure these responses pretty much cover a wide spectrum of questions. You can’t really get into trouble with answers like these, because, they basically say nothing and everything all at once. Hopefully, you like I, will come off looking wise, throwing to the untrained ear what will seem like cool eastern philosophies. Most essentially it will allow you to retain the good stuff to impress the new friends you are bound to receive.

At least, that’s what my last fortune said.

The Sexy Saturday Video

It's Saturday and you shouldn't be here reading this, you should be having fun and creating havoc. But if you are stuck inside, watch the Sexy Saturday Video - it'll make you feel better.

Why?

Because even if you don't understand Spanish they still sound sexy as hell.
Because that's freaking Alejandro Sanz in the video!
Because the Reggaeton versions are always dirtier.
Because everyone knows she's hot - even I have to admit that if I met Shakira and thought about her sliding across the table simultaneously, I'd start to stutter...

Catch ya Monday ;)

Sappy Song Blog: Love Me Or Leave Me

Ok Dearies, this is a Song Blog. Press play and then read on.

A couple of nights ago during a movie that I waited two months to be available on my Netflix queue, I was barraged with text messages.

The texts came from a guy I dated over three years ago. I thought myself to be madly in love but it didn't work out, mainly because he kept running into and touching other women that he swore the universe was sending his way. After a years of being continously reshelved I dusted myself off so he could clearly see my expiration date for his crap had well past.

Because of the recent events I’ve been playing and replaying, Nina Simone’s, “Love me or Leave me,” as we both discover the intricacies of that crazy ball of love as it bounces from the lovelorn to the loveless.

Love has a bad way of timing. It’s never a choice decision who you give your heart to. One moment it's just having fun and the next someone’s stealing it away.
I want to ask of my heart, “Do I get to have an opinion, can I have a thought of my own?!”
My biggest gripe is that my ‘someone’s’ don’t seem to be working out.
I’ve come to the point where I’d like to return them.
I’ve still got the receipts - in some instances I never even opened them.
It may be hard to return the others... the bubble wrap was just too tempting.

Why do my products have so many defects? By saying ‘products’ I do mean guys. I hate to objectify but I’m into associations now, so bare with me. I mean come on - just like a product, we see you, we buy you, and then we apply you. Typically like so many others I have purchased before you never work and I can’t take you back because I already used you. So you wind up in my bathroom closet in the corner on the second shelf where all the others go to die.

Three years later on a lazy Saturday afternoon with nothing else to do I’ll decide to clean up a little and go into that closet systematically throwing out everything and wondering why I ever brought them all in the first place. So I can’t help but wonder, is it my love or do my guys have defects?


So Nina and I continue to break down our song of heartache in a way that only those all too familiar with that bastard love can understand…“Love me or leave me and let me be lonely/you won't believe me but I love you only/I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else”

Grandiose sounding, isn’t it? I imagine that Nina herself was hopelessly lovesick singing in some smoky, dim lighted club. In an elegant dress she moved about the stage, floating her woes out to the crowd on her gossamer wings of a voice - evoking emotional nods of the head, thoughtful tapping of fingers on the tables. She’d look like she meant every word of this song. She sang it for everyone suffering through these great catastrophes of the heart…“you might find the night time the right time for kissing/night time is my time for just reminiscing/regretting instead of forgetting with somebody else…”

But I’ve come up with a theory to Nina’s, and mine, and yours; in love we sometimes make stupid mistakes at the urging of our hearts, but we are hard pressed to regret them. Our hearts know that in order for it to be happy now - at this moment, it must hold tight to its sanity. It must believe that the love we received was well worth the pain it caused in the end.
How else would we keep getting people to sing tragic yet beautiful love lost songs that we drown ourselves in…“there'll be no one unless that someone is you/ I intended to be independently blue” .

When Nina sings I can feel myself drowning in the reminder of that feeling when there's misery inside your love, and I love knowing that somewhere someone else is listning to this and knows the same ache.

Now maybe Nina doesn’t do it for you; I’m just sharing my song - the one that makes me wail.
While I go on strutting down the streets of Philly looking for, Mister Right, I’m going to feel a little better knowing that even if the next one fails I’m going to keep trying until I do succeed. Because heck, even if he isn't reliable I'll always have Nina.

Potential Whatever

Potential Whatever (pō•tĕn•shăl hwŏt•ěv´er): a phrase used to describe an individual who won’t make the final cut.

The foretelling of a Potential Whatever comes from that gut feeling we sometimes get. It’s when we know that the relationship we’re in won’t make it through the calendar year. Basically, it’s when the person you’re dating has the potential to wind up in near imminent conversations in this manner:

Your friend: “So how’s insert Potential Whatever’s name here?”
You: “Who?”
Your friend: “You know, PW’s name goes here again.”
You: “Who?” (By now you are rolling your eyes.)

Everyone’s harbored a PW at one time or another. What makes us hold on to them for so long? Wrong as it may sound, they generally tend to have a good shelf life. These temporary products consume your time for the moment providing that quick fix when you need it. The problem with indulging in a Potential Whatever is the fact that they have to expire. The fun runs out, your patience runs out, you stop dreaming and reality steps in. You get to the point where nothing they say, do, or have is going to make them worthy in your eyes. Now the only potential they’ve got going on is the potential to make you sick.

Maybe you were the one who started the relationship and now you feel like being the one to end it would be unkind. Even so, staying in a relationship that you’ve come to realize has reached its expiration date makes you the user in the union. Yeah, I said user. Knowingly walking into or staying in a relationship with a PW based selfishness and a wanton attempt at trying to fulfill your own desires makes you the user. There are consequences in staying the course in this type of relationship. The trappings in this course of action occur when the PW catches on to their own sure demise and that’s when they become Masters of relationship manipulation.
When a PW catches wind of your knowledge of them possessing a ‘good thru’ date, to stay in the game they need to divert your attention elsewhere with Vegas-style illusions. The PW has no intention of bailing out on you so they’re not about to make it easy for you to send them to the place where products go to die. Their showy display of exploitation comes in varying types of poison. I’ll just list the deadliest concoctions:

The Skillfully Planned Unreturned Phone Call - You will try to end it an in environment that is safe for you - the less damage the better. No pieces to pick up-just a phone to hang up. But the PW is clever, they have more experience in ditching the blows. T here’s no way they’re going to let you catch them on the phone. Therein lies the bait; more than likely, no one has ever ignored you so expertly. This move is delivered to spur you on to frenzies of unparalleled proportions even if you’re hesitant to say it out loud. It’s the old way of making you want what you can’t have. Somehow you are coerced into believing their hype. Before you know it you’ll start thinking that perhaps you were about to make a horrible mistake by letting them get away.

The Catch Lines - “I really wanted you to get to know the real me.”
It’s a thought planted and left to linger, arousing and stimulating the brain into thinking that they are a viable option for future appearances. They become literal thieves of your mind and time-casually alluding to having personality, persona, dreams, and goals. Words pour out of their mouths slowly, drizzling like honey over your reasoning only serve to disguise their real agenda here – survival.

They’ll play on your sympathy claiming to need help and protection from the harsh world, pretending to be scalded, scarred, and trumped in the tragic burden that is their life - and you’ll fall for it if you're not careful. Trust me, it's not worth it, over time they slowly revert to what they were before. The gauze will fall from your eyes to reveal the same PW you were trying to rid yourself of in the beginning.

But don’t go back! This burden of being with the wrong person will wear on you, cause you to start canceling dates, lack the ability to communicate, notice nothing substantial about your life anymore, think that the phrase "it’s better to give than receive" only applies to you. If that happens you'll become the damaged goods and the PW will tire of you and start making eyes with other people in your presence, start introducing you as a friend, talk to you one minute and ignore you the next, make flirting without ever soulfully committing to someone a sport. You can take a breath now. You will wind up being dumped by the PW instead of the other way around.

If what I’ve said here sounds strangely familiar, then come on! Let them go. A person’s flaws should be ones that you finally don’t think you need a Band-Aid for, because if you’re trying to bandage them they’re sure to be your “Potential Whatever”.

Sexy Saturday Video

Cause it's Saturday and you shouldn't be here reading this.  You should be out having fun and creating havoc.

But if you are stuck inside then you deserve a little flirty fun, a little lusty loving.

So enjoy your Sexy Saturday Video.

Catch ya Monday ;)

The Third Wheel Manifesto

Couples, these musings you are about to read are the collective sighs we let out every time we are asked to be “The Third Wheel”. We as your friends realize that you don’t mean to deposit upon us the guilt and shame that comes along with this status, but, you must realize, you are different now. You used to be one of us, the single, grazing few who look up from the grass every now and then to gaze lazily across the plain, but you’ve been picked off - taken from the herd.

Being the Third Wheel makes us feel semi-pathetic, because if we’re available to go out with you that usually means we didn’t have better plans ourselves. Now, I suppose that when I start dating again someone will register the same complaints with me, but until then, I’m trashing this antiquated buddy system.

When I think of three, I think: odd number…disharmony… three’s a crowd.

People stare at us when we’re trailing behind you; pitying us like we’re some poor, humpbacked, misshapen creature from a horror movie. Forget trying to offer a rebuttal, because let me assure you that my sources are strong. In order to relay accurate and reliable statistics, I required that all “Wheels” have at least thirty hours or more out in the field before they could participate in this study. These poor souls and I only hope that you take heed to our research as well as our pleas.

What is agreed upon, according to most Wheels are the following: once you start dating, it’s as if your new personality arrived from a parallel universe. It’s bizarre; you seem to have lost brain cells. Apparently you all possess dictionaries that only supply pet names like ‘Boo Bear’, ‘Honey Love’, ‘Noodle’, ‘Cupcake’, ‘Pumpkin’ and ‘Love Muffin’. I mean, are those names or menu items? Are you dating them or eating them?

Ever notice that when you engage us in conversation using these names that we supply a look of confusion and proceed to ask you “whom are you referring to”? You follow-up by saying, “you know who I’m talking about, I’m talking about my boo.”

"Oh. Your boo."

Now listen up, because you NEED to know this. We WANT you to know this. First, yes, we do know whom you’re speaking about. But our rulebook on such matters clearly state… in order to preserve ones dignity a reply of no is required, yes, a firm, “no, I don’t know who you’re talking about”.

This allows us to retain some self-respect. This is not story time; you are not reading to children. Please, spare us and use their real names.

Second, sitting. There are major problems with the seating arrangements. We, as the minority, realize that there’s no solution, no better way to handle it, but it doesn’t mean we have to like it. We don’t want to be alone on the aisle two rows behind you; it’s lonely and obvious. Problem is, if we sit with you, you don’t really want us there and furthermore it’s not our idea of fun to watch you cuddle, swap spit and play with each other’s hair through a two hour movie. So, basically, it’s a case of screwed if you do, screwed if you don’t.

There have been complaints made by other “Wheels” that good movies are being ruined on account of insane, uncalled for acts of lovey-doveyness…and in public view nonetheless!

One Wheel said, “I was sitting there enjoying my popcorn, when BOOM! Out of nowhere the couple began taking turns sipping from the same straw repeating to one another, “…and one for you and one for me…” I became so physically ill I had to excuse myself and use the ladies room.” Couples, this behavior and utter lack of respect for your Wheel has to stop!

So low on the totem pole is the Wheel that it is now being compared to Chinese Water Torture; every outing like a slow drip.

Waiting in the car while you the two of you commence a thirty-minute goodnight.

Drip…

Having to watch you no longer realize how to walk independently, always holding hands, apparently, in order to stand up straight.

Drip…

Asking us to do our own thing for about an hour and then meet you back at the car after you invited us to hang out with you!

Drip…

Now for the record, there are exceptions. Some “Wheels” have reported pleasant times accompanying their friends. They said being treated as part of a group and not apart from it was entirely refreshing. I assure you this is not a common occurrence; they happen about as often as pink elephants are spotted.

Reality of the matter is, even though I state and claim these things, I’m a sucker when it comes to my friends and suckers get sucked in. So, until I learn my lesson or retain the will power to say no, chances are that’ll be me you see sitting behind two people gazing into each other’s eyes. I’ll be the one staring off into space wondering what I should have said to avoid all this. I’ll be thinking I should have handled this situation as one wise doctor might have:

“I do not like to be the wheel.
I do not think it’s a fair deal.
You have me sitting in the back.
It’s worse than being on the rack.
I would not like to meet you there.
And would I like to drive you where?
It’s like you’ve gone and lost your mind.
I’ll tell you this just one more time.
My brain is fried, I think no more.
I’m slowly gagging on the floor.
And if you ask me one more time,
I swear I’ll poke you in eye.”

Or something like that.
photo by John Fraissinet

Men and Toilets

Coupling had to be one of the funniest British shows EVER. It dealt with relationships and all the funny differences between men and women. So for all the guys who feel like breaking into occasional rants about your toilet freedoms - this is for you.

Interview With A Guy: Relationship Timing

So this week I had the extreme privilege of paying the PPA for parking violations. One is for an expired meter, and the other for staying thirty minutes over my 2hr space limit.

Apparently this week my timings been off – which got me to thinking about the timing in relationships. Must of us make up and operate by these ridiculous rules about who calls who first and who should make the first move. Personally I just like to follow the vibe, but I wanted to get a guy’s viewpoint on it. So I sat down with a guy to discuss, ‘Timing’. Enjoy.

The Politics Chick: I keep trying to understand the gist of Timing when it comes to relationships, particularly the guy’s take on it.

Dude: People make up these silly rules about when it's the right time to call someone after you find out that you like them. Like, when is it the right time to actually tell them that you like them or when is it the right time to go on a date? My rant is: who made these rules anyway? And why should we obey them?

Is this an ok topic? Is it practical? Or just plain dumb?

The Politics Chick: No, this is good stuff - keep going.

Dude: I mean, sometimes people miss out on things because their friends tell them that they shouldn't call right away or that they should wait for other person to call you first. But does it really matter who makes the first move or when it should be made? Sometimes relationships never get a chance because some people are just too afraid to break these rules and take a chance.

The Politics Chick: You got that right.

Dude: Sometimes people fall into misunderstandings. For example, "Well, (he) or (she) didn't call me, so that means that they don't like me." IDIOT! Hello?! You never really know for sure what's going on until you actually do something instead of speculating on conclusions that aren’t based on solid proof. I personally feel that these "timing rules" are for kids who like to play childish games. In the real world - love, relationships, and romance; these things are for adults. Well, for adults who act like adults.

The Politics Chick: Well said. Do you think that some are inclined to speak up first but sike themselves out before they get the chance?

Dude: Yes, out of fear of rejection. But you either take that chance or face the infamous consequences of "if-I-only-made-that-move-when-I-had-a-chance" bit. I know it's easier said than done.

The Politics Chick: Tell me about it... when the moment comes, it’s less than thrilling and never as well executed as you'd planned in your mind.

Dude: I personally let a lot of wonderful girls slip away for the simple fact that I was more concerned about how and when I should say something until I realized that I was wasting valuable time. Next thing I knew, someone else who wasn't afraid to speak up beat me to her. That's why these "timing rules" sometimes don't work out as planned. But then again, you always have that contrast....

The Politics Chick: So what are your thoughts on girls being the ones to speak up first? Forward or compelling?

Dude: Well that depends on the situation and the guy. I mean, if guy likes a girl and he knows that the girl likes him and she makes the first move...well...GREAT! Less work for him, but there has to be mutual interest that is noticeable on both ends. Some guys get intimidated when a girl comes on too strong. In my case, if a girl makes a first move and I already like her, I go for it. No questions asked. Some guys prefer to have that control over the matter; it just depends who you are.

The Politics Chick: Okay, well, talk about the "control", what’s having control over the matter?

Dude: Well, guys tend to like to be the ones who plan things out, make the decisions on how things are going to work, down to the very detailed pickup line to get the girl. It's a lot work in planning these things and we take pride in doing it. When things turn out just as we planned it . . . AHHH, VICTORY! As men, we've conquered, triumphed, scored or whatever you want to call it. When that happens, we feel more like a man because we did it…we took control of the matter. It's a man thing.

The Politics Chick: Unbelievable! Do you need some raw meat now?

Dude: I know it sounds stupid but that's nature. When a girl does it first it's intimidating because she took the role of planner and executor and all our hard work, all our ideas were for nothing. There's no excitement, no challenge, which sometimes leads to a complete turnoff for the guy-especially if he doesn't like her in the first place. I guess it goes back into ancient times...when men were always considered the hunters. Are you getting all this?

The Politics Chick: Oh I’m getting all this. Let me make sure I understand this; I wouldn’t want to misconstrue anything. In other words...if the girl really was being honest, and the guy liked her, but she came on first and he's put off by it, everyone loses out?

Dude: NO, that’s not always the case. Like I said, it depends on the guy. If the girl comes on too strong then...yeah, maybe the guy wouldn't like it. But if she's sneaky and clever (which girls are experts of), the guy is easy prey.

The Politics Chick: Ok, so now we’re sneaky. I’m sorry I must have been crazed thinking that guys have ulterior motives. Please tell me… what do you consider too strong?

Dude: Definitely too much touching too soon. I forget that I have to speak in general terms since most guys have sex as a primary goal and that would be a turn on. Like I say, everyone is different. I don't like it when I just meet a girl and she's already caressing my hand or putting her head in my lap when we're not at that ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ stage.

The Politics Chick: Ah. Well thanks; you've been tons of help.

Dude: I'm glad to assist. Hey wait, are you going to trash me like you did that other guy in your 'Wanted Ad' blog?

The Politics Chick: Me? No . . . never.

The Restaurant Files Present: Another “Food in Exchange For Sex” Metaphor

Location: Brooklyn Heights, NY

Scene of the Crime: La Traviata Restaurant

I was sitting at a cramped table in the back of my favorite restaurant with two good friends who, for the duration of this conversation, will be referred to as ‘Frankie’ and ‘Annette’ (of course they’re aliases). It was a Friday night after a long day of work.

Somewhere in between our second and third glasses of house wine, the hysterics broke out. Yes folks, it doesn’t take much for us (i.e. we are CHEAP dates). No, seriously, wine will do that -open Pandora’s Box. Every thought jumps out of your head and starts slapping you silly. Think not? Then come on down and watch; I guarantee you a show. We know we could get at least five bucks outta you, and that’s just about enough to cover another glass of wine.

Then came the moment of truth - the food arrived! Our lovely waitress sat before Frankie a plate filled with Porchetta on a bed of fettuccine, soaking in red sauce. Annette was served Calamari with linguine in a sweet tomato sauce, and for your stunning storyteller: Baked chicken on a bed of angel hair pasta doing backstrokes in the lemon-garlic sauce, little piles of pasta taking swim breaks on banks of ricotta cheese and chives.

First bite and I swear the pasta curled up and started massaging my back. The meal is so good that Frankie was later found leaning back in his chair, head against the wall, eyes closed . Annette was discovered moaning and repeating the words, “Why, why, why,”. While I am reminded of similar sensations; mid-summer in the kitchen cutting up ripe mango's, it’s fleshy pulp sliding through my fingers, the juice running down my arm - the stickiness.

Now, all I have to say is that when food starts doing this to you, it’s a warning sign. Get yourself a man, a woman, get something! Cause you’re just one step away from the vapors and they can knock you out.

See, I figure it this way: when food starts taking you places, giving you strange romantic-type notions, it’s because you’re missing a vital thing - companionship. If you've arrived at this place then you’ve probably noticed yourself become a slave to the #1 signs of loneliness: Ben and Jerry’s. You’re making one too many stops at the drug store and it ain’t for pantyhose; you are a willing participant in any “Buy three candy bars-get one free!” deal.

There is a void in your love life and you’re looking to fill it with Mister Right or Misses Right, or maybe just a Mr. or Ms. I’m-Comfortable-With.

You are vulnerable so please proceed with caution, because at times like this we are bound to make mistakes. Like, when you thought that last piece of cake at your cousin’s wedding would make you feel better. Puh-LEASE.

Good and healthy food - not unlike a good partner - can be filling. It can make you moan and leave you satisfied, but sometimes you can get a bad meal from an awfully good restaurant. It’s what I like to refer to as an “off night”. Give all restaurants leeway for this, but if they continually produce bad meals then you simply must eat someplace else. I think you know what I’m trying to convey. I know this is hard, when he or she…oops, I’m sorry we’re using metaphors here. What I meant to say was - I know this is hard - it’s your favorite place and you love that old jukebox that has those great song selections. But if the songs never change and the records start skipping, will you still keep feeding it quarters?

Be careful and don’t let your heart make all the decisions; use that noggin that God gave you. Having doubts? Don’t push them aside - investigate and weed the crazy ones out! Or else you’ll wind up like my friend.

There she was in the passenger seat of her date’s car, the destination supposedly a surprise. At a toll booth, her date throws the toll out of his window; it misses the basket, rolls under the car and when she goes into her purse to get another for him, he says, “Are you crazy? You think I’m gonna lose a perfectly good token? Just get out, lay down flat, reach under the car and get it for me, will ya?”

‘nuff said.

That type of insanity is just not worth a trip to Atlantic City, which is where they wound up, which is where she ditched him in Sam’s Salt Water Taffy Shack, hailed a cab and rushed home. That should never have happened. Not when a few simple questions would have saved her from humiliation and an expensive cab ride. Oh, and remember that these are not intended to provide rock-solid solutions to your dating disasters, but they are complied from friends who’ve had their fair share of loonies.

1. Do mental health problems/issues run in your family?

2. When I say the word, NO are you receiving mixed signals?

3. Do you have a jealous, prison bound or recently paroled ex?

4. What’s your favorite Vegetable? (Though I have never heard this being a way to determine mental unbalances, Frankie assures me that crazy people eat certain vegetables and that he’s known too many to be wrong. You can email me for a pocket sized laminated list for quick reference use at restaurants at thepoliticschick@gmail.com).

5. What’s your favorite color? (Yet another questionable theory, which makes me wonder if I should re-evaluate FRANKIE’S stability. Anyway, he says to beware, most unstable people know this one and will lie in a desperate attempt to protect themselves. “A foolproof way to be sure is to observe what color clothing they constantly wear,” he said. To this I said, “Well, won’t that take some time? You could be bound and gagged by then (and not in a good way).” He shrugged his shoulders. So now I’m guessing this one is not so foolproof.)

This list may not be a great help, but I feel better since I put the word out. In the meantime, if you’re looking for a good Ben & Jerry’s flavor try Chunky Monkey, and if you’re going to be by a drug store anytime soon could you pick me up a Twizzler, Snicker or a Kit-Kat combo?

Travel Edition of Politics Walking, Video Talking: The Irish Boys

Today is brought to you by the letter "S".

Actually my entire weekend (my kick-ass weekend that is) is bought to you by the letter "S".

As in "S is for shots".
Shots are dangerous.

Shots are the devil.

Shots make the Politics Chick chatty.

And ya know, shots and secrets don't mix.

One should always remember that loose lips sink ships.

So while I mainline this OJ/Coffee concoction and think about what I've done, you go ahead and watch this video clip.

This time I was in Dublin, waxing poetic on Irish guys.