Namia or Zaria or Something like that

I like girls with different names.  You can keep your Stephanie’s and Kim’s.  I got a fetish for the exotic names.  I want to meet and date a girl with a name like Sanaa or Zaria or Namia or something like that. A real dope bohemian chick or a pre-med student because thats the kind of life that begets someone with a beautiful name like that.  Its the sort of moniker that stops all conversation in a room. Like if you were to scream it across the room, everyone would stop and focus they’re eyes to see who it belonged to.  They would be justified in their prying. The girl would be drop dead gorgeous.  Isn’t Giselle?

There is something special that comes from a handle.  You live it.  It is one of those psychological effects that we have yet to determine.  Yes, the names I like are sexy and thus the women that possess them are sexy too.  Its more likely that a girl like Veronica looks good.  But there is not a definite correlation there, trust me.  Lisa is faded glory. But if you ever come meet a girl with a name like Oreo, trust me she’s going to be drop dead.  You know why?   Her mom is a hot model and her dad is a surgeon and they named her that because they knew she’d never see the inside of a swine flu filled elementary class.  She only ate apples for dessert and her fingernails sparkle in the sun. And her eyelids are always covered in glitter.  Trust me, shes a hottie.  Its a calculated guess that only a certain narcissistic arrogance can produce.  Ugly people go with ugly names like Bart or Betsy.  Ever met a beautiful Laura.  Bet she was really an 8.

I could flip open the phone book and search for a beautiful name, call her up, invite her to dinner and send up photos, and guaranteed, she’d be a knockout.   I might just do that on one day.

Its romantic to me.  In the end, when I have nothing there will be her and I.  I will call onto her by name and she will answer with my name, as old people do when they begin conversations with other people. We will dance this tango into our death beds and into adjoining tombstones.  I will give her my last name, but her name will forever be linked with mine.  Now I know why F.Scott chose Zelda.

Get at me ladies with beautiful names.  I would love to meet you.

Are you friends with your exes?

I have the best conversations with one of my ex girlfriend’s. Sadly it seems I am able to open up to her more now than when we were together. At first it was weird because I think we still had serious feelings of resentment for each other, but nearly a year later as we both were knee deep in our own lives, it was easier to hear all the reasons I should’ve stayed with her. Its amazing how that happens. Of course we don’t talk often and that helps as well lol. I am lucky to have not made too many enemies of lovers. Then again I have a radar for praying mantis like females. I think I need to bring in a poll. How many people are friends with their immediate ex within the first year? How many people are friends with more than one ex? If you are friends with every ex you’ve ever had, definitely comment and tell how. Is that even possible? Maybe if you still give sexual favors. Or you’re 14. Which means you shouldn’t be on this site. I might post a titty someday.

Two Thoughts, One Post

Commitment and Baby Mamas. I’ll connect them before I’m done. Walk with me for a few.

When I was a kid growing up in Chicago, the black family was all I knew. I mean stereotypical Black upbringing like Soul Food mixed with Family Matters but hood. I wasn’t Urkel by the way. Already I digress. Growing up in a tight knit family, I never thought deeply about the other dynamics until I got older. By the time I’d taken a few black history classes educating me on the matriarchal pattern (that Black families historically split into single mom households because of long standing themes in African culture, where villages are ran and maintained by the woman, no the man, who is simply provider and hunter.) that existed in my own family, my expectations for family were exhausted already. I don’t remember any marriages in my family until my father remarried when I was in the 3rd Grade. That same year, my uncle and aunt were married as well. I remember the unions, but more burned into my brain, is the dissolving of these same marriages. My aunts marriage fell apart because of sickness and health. One person got sick and the other felt as if they gave up on living, and in turn the family. Before the divorce, they had two kids and just over 10 years behind them. My uncle married his on again and off again girlfriend. They were past the age where you want to have kids (his wife had two kids already) and their union looked to be a financial move on the outside. I remember meeting my uncle’s wife in 1992. They divorced around 2003 for the same financial reasons. My father’s divorce was the hardest for me to witness because I couldn’t pin point exactly what the error was. Money was okay because they just bought a fixer upper, but the stress of not fixing the fixer upper and my dads possible transgressions might’ve led to the divorce just as much as my stepmother being a fucking moron. The marriage survived my first born sister and my baby brother. The entire relationship lasted nearly 15 years. I never thought that this union was any more special than the others, but I did think it was cute when they would kiss each other goodbye and hello even after the worst arguments. I’m going to steal that move from my dad when I get married, and maybe I’ll be lucky enough to make it 15 years as well. It just doesn’t seem like marriage is even worth it. I don’t see the emotional worth, the financial worth, or even the physical worth of being married when there are so many more risks and pitfalls. I often wonder if my inability to fall in love is a result of this block I’ve built against commitments.

Don’t misinterpret this- I am not a cheater. This ain’t a confession. Its not that kind of post. But seriously, if marriages are this tested what the fuck am I working for?

I actually believe that maybe one life partner is not reasonable. After all people die. So why train myself to look for one person? I need to start replacing the words soul mate with soul type, because there is no way you’re gonna find that one. I guess the romantic in me just lost hope. Though my heart still flutters and I have the occasional fling or valentine, I think there’s too much evidence to the contrary. How many people do you know that were married vs. how many are still married? After all if we stop pretending were are nothing like animals, its easier to understand the limitations of monogamy. I hear lobster’s are monogamous. I know gorillas aren’t. Neither are dogs. When I do it, I do it doggie style or like wild apes, so why would my philosophy on sex not correlate as well? See what CNN says on it: click here

How about this? Ryan and Reese? Russell and Kimora/ Bobby and Whitney? Kind of hard to fine a common denominator except for irreconcilable differences.

There’s my catch-22 or current predicament. Help me with insight if you can. I find it hard to settle into relationships because I am always one foot out the door. Its not that I am afraid to commit; I am afraid to divorce. I have this fear (based on expert testimonials and field research) that I will meet the perfect girl. I will court her. She will fall in love and I will love her the same. I won’t want or need anything else but her and she will be my everything. The day after the honeymoon it all ends. She goes straight Robin Givens on me with mom in law and the mix and everything. Within the first year we are in counseling and within the second year we are separated. Problem is we had a baby or two and I am stuck to her for life. And she is that kind of baby mama. What kind? This kind-

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(no offense to Tia, cuz her baby daddy don’t really care. She so precious with the peer pressure. Couldn’t afford a car so she named her daughter Alexis). This fear, this nightmare, weighs on me when I lay in bed or when I think of telling some girl I love them. And to avoid living with the fear I inevitably leave the relationship because I don’t want to suffer or settle and I could never cheat, unlike my nigga P. Diddy, who shares some of the same fears but handles his with less discipline and I quote “A couple years ago, my psychologist came to the conclusion that this is one of the big problems I have as far as maturing in a relationship,” Diddy explained in an interview. “After my father got killed, my mother said, ‘I’m never getting married again. I don’t want men around my children.’ So I’ve never actually been able to witness a husband and wife’s love. Sometimes when I see it with my friends, I just find myself staring like a child, because I’ve never actually seen it before. It’s one of the sad parts of my life. When a relationship gets to a certain point, I probably get scared and become a little self-destructive. [If caught cheating,] cry. It might not work, but it at least shows that you care. Godd*mn, this is a deep interview. You didn’t ask Will Smith none of this sh*t! Yeah, it hurts me. One of my weaknesses is that I actually have a conscience.” (ELLE Magazine).

So when its all said and done, I am hoping that somebody comes and knocks me off my feet. I would love to meet someone I’m willing to grow with. I gotta start changing my way of thinking when I am dating girls though. Enough of asking myself “Is she the one?” Seems the only way to answer that is to live and love. And maybe you’ll wake up lying HAPPILY in the arms of a soul type person on the morning of your silver or gold anniversary. To the hopeless romantics in the world who might read this. Cheers to you. Keep looking for that jigsaw piece in a puzzle full of 6 billion pieces. Heres a song to motivate you on your hunt.

p.s. I think I am going to add a new category called Izms for stuff just like this.

When is it worth working on?

I woke up Saturday morning lying in bed thinking about a girl. I was thinking about the state of our relationship and whether or not to call her after a few days of not talking and only talking to fight. As I was lying in bed, my cousin sent me a message about his radio show, so I tuned in to get my mind off the current situation.

My cousin, John, had an open forum discussion going on about relationships and love (check it out at: Creative Soul). The question was posed- when do you know you have something or someone worth fighting for?

I mean there are the obvious answers or extremes of course. If you have a family and kids and a house, the fight is necessary because you have created a life together. To give up on your spouse would be to give up on life, or at least life as you know it. I think this is the reason most marriages work out after a while. Pop has so many power tools in the garage, and Mom is so dependent on being a “Mom” that even the smallest notions of freedom or single life are ignored. The more shit you buy together, the harder it is to leave. Nobody wants to split a record collection. Its like having all of Jay Z’s catalog, but she gets reasonable doubt.

Of course there is the other extreme. U might be in an extremely bad relationship. Most of us are, but we never take the time to look at it because we don’t want to see that what we have is shit because then we would have no choice but to get away from it. It might be the whole fear of being alone. Why else do girls stay with abusive guys or commit to toilet paper thin relationships? Just for the sake of being in them I guess, right?

So it goes without saying that I am not in either extreme. I don’t have any ankle biters and I’m not whipped or whipping up on nobody trying to trap them into some failing hope filled dream. But this girl has grown fond on me. She’s cute in the best ways to be cute and sexy in the best way to be sexy, like Claire Huxtable. I get the feeling that she can always make me happy, so I start thinking if maybe we could be happily ever after.

This phenomenon is nothing knew. We call it “Time to shit or get off the pot”, or a “a 7 year Itch” or maybe even ‘coyote ugly”, but sooner or later, we all have to question the potential of our companion. They say girls know within the first five minutes of meeting a guy whether they want to fuck em, marry em, or kill em. It takes us guys longer because we think its a multiple choice thing.

For me its about a fit. As long as the relationship fits, then keep it. By fit I mean in shape. Thats what the work in a relationship is all about, just keeping it in shape. If you don’t work on your sex life or your communication or your trust then there are going to be some issues with the balance on the relationship. If you don’t know if your relationship is in shape, just check to see whats not symmetrical or balanced and you’ll know.

Another good test is the light at the end of the tunnel test. Sometimes we just have bad days. You come home ready to make love to your wife, but she is thinking other things because she has had the worst day of her life at work, so even though you brought Chinese food and movies, she is not having it. This night turns to three or four and the next thing you know, its been a month or two of bad or non existent sex. That unbalance could rock the relationship. But focus for the light at the end of the tunnel. Most of the things we get mad at are temporary anyway. Why let a temporary thing keep you from happiness? Can you still see any hope or light at the end of the tunnel? If you can’t why the hell are you still in the relationship? If you can see the light ask yourself the odds of making it TO THE LIGHT? Seriously, if you are in a tunnel of bullshit or uncertainty about your love, that one certain thing or light that is keeping you there won’t be enough to guide you on your quest.

If I could I’d snap my fingers and make it all go away, this desire to know true love, then I would. I’d settle and I’d commit and I’d fake happiness and get so deep into a committed relationship that the number of CDs we share could resale for the GDP of a third world country. I would love to be able to have a few kids so I can experience the joy of fatherhood and get a little earned income credit too. But I can’t make that happen so I have to figure these feelings out for myself.

All I do know is that life is too short to waste time dancing with fat chicks. So if what you have doesn’t feel right, ask yourself if you’re dancing with a fat chick.

Sex Stories, episode 2

I’ve never been a big club hopper. If I’m in town for a night of course I’ll waste a few hours with the locals, but in my city their is so mo much more for me to do then dance or watch girls strip dance. Usually when I go out its the guys getting together. Won’t be long until we are bowling instead of clubbing and playing golf instead of chasing chicks. The club scene gets old quick. It dilutes your dating experience with no quality to match the quantity. Don’t get me wrong, when I do go out I still participate and will definitely approach an girl who seems interesting or interested. But the mere thought of picking up girls in a club is a numbers thing. You’re not seeing the real person behind the makeup beneath the black light, and the liquor inhibits your taste on quality. Hopefully it doesn’t end coyote ugly. Hopefully you get lucky. Have you ever gotten lucky.

The music was fading. The lights in the parking lot bounced off the rims and windshields of the luxury automobiles that sprinkled the parking lot. She was walking with her friends across the parking lot. I peaked my ears to their conversations. She had a drawl to her accent that made her voice sound tuned like a guitar. I got closer to them. I have no idea what I said. If I did, I’d try to trademark it. She would later say that I impressed her with chivalry, when I gave her my jacket to cover up from the cold. I got her number that night and a few nights later we met again.

We had the best first date that I have ever had in my life. The night was so much fun that I forget where it started. I think we saw a movie, something funny but forgetful. We had dinner at some chain restaurant. I think it was Applebees or Chili’s. We traded conversation. She was on the level with me. She kept me intrigued with her knowledge on the crumbling economy and recommended I move my money into commodities. Beneath the beautiful face was an intelligent woman. I yearned to have conversations like this with the opposite sex. She had me aroused and wanting more so after dinner we headed to Dave and Busters for some beer, pool, and a few laughs. She murdered me in a game of 8 Ball. Her brothers taught her to play she said. I got her back in air hockey. I bragged that I was self taught.

When we returned to our cars in the parking lots there had not been much physical contact yet. I didn’t want to kiss her goodbye yet. We had a fun energy built by then and I wanted to see where it would go. We decided to end the night at a local strip club. Earlier in the night she hinted that she had dated girls so we decided to see who had better taste in women.

i have only been to a handful of strip joints a handful of times. Its never been my thing. The night was rejuvenated from the moment we opened the door. My stomach was off beer from the rounds at Dave and Buster’s. I busted a c note at the bar then walked into the bathroom to piss. She took a seat a few booths away from the stage. When I came back we had more drinks. I was done after a few sips. We began to rate the girls. She liked voluptuous girls with heart shaped asses. I pointed out the prettiest ones. She criticized the girls with cheap implants and I wowed her to a pretty white girl with ass. She joked that she wanted butt implants.

We both had a few dances and she finished her drink. I drove us back to the parking lot where we left her car. She sit in my passenger looking at me, her eyes glowing. It was funny how easy we got along. I thought about marrying her. Not then, but later. The night was quiet around us. The twilight would soon turn dawn, and the glow of the day would be on us. For now we sat in my car with the dome light burning above. Her foot dangle out the door. We were nearing our moment. She had her hips turned away but her torso was facing me. I said something like she shouldn’t go without a kiss goodnight and leaned in for a touch of her lips. They were soft. I pressed mine against hers and slipped some tongue around hers. Her foot once dangling out the door, now sat on the floorboard. Her body now completely faced mine. She closed the passenger door. In seconds the interior light faded above us. Its mistletoe like presence was no longer needed.

We traded a few words and then she kneeled my seat, but not before taking off her dress pants and panties and leaving them on the dash. Her legs were better than I imagined. She was a dancer; not a stripper, but a real dancer. I pulled my jeans down and she put her head into my lap. My dick was in her mouth and she had one hand on my chest. I reached around her and flickered my fingers against her labia and clitoris. The music played in the background and the sun began to make its break into the world. This was nearing exhibitionism. It had been a few months since I had a sexual encounter, so it was no surprise to me that her hormones brought forth such an intense urge within me. I let go of all inhibition. I pulled her shirt off and left her naked except for the blue bra holding her B cup breasts against the middle console. Seeing her golden skin in its entirety sent a ripple throughout my body. My dick was throbbing with blood as if it had been branded by a hot rod. The sensations were too elevated for me to go right in. I knew that the sunrise was going against us, but I didn’t want to be a one minute man. Her curves in her back beckoned me to kiss her on the spine and so I did. I was sliding my fingers in at a quicker pace then before and she twirked her hips as if she were doing the hula hoop. I could feel her tightening on my fingers when they got deep. I lay my seat back as far as it can go and then pull her hips across my chest. Her legs are open and I can see that she was shaved below. She had the biggest labia I’d ever scene. Her waist sloped into a knot of a vagina. I imagined what she felt like without a condom. She began to lick my shaft from different angles and a gagged a few times when she went a little too deep and I thrust back a little too hard. I grabbed her hips and slip her knot into my mouth. She relaxed her legs over my shoulders. I separated her labia with my thumbs and gazed inside of her. She was covered in water and her pink looked like fresh chewed bubblegum. I put my tongue in to see if it tasted like bubblegum. Though it lacked the taste of cotton candy, it was just as messy. I licked her clitoris until my jaw became too tired to support any more tongue flicking. When my jaw was tired I stabbed in and out off her labia. This made her cum waterfalls. That was the first time I had ever made anyone shoot spurts so the moment reignited my body with lust. The harder I worked her the harder she worked me. I had done 69’s before, but never had a girl remained as engaged on the giving as she was. I sucked at her clitoris and grabbed her ass as she continued to swallow my manhood. The sun was half over the horizon and the clock was nearing 6:00 am. People were making their daily commutes on the freeways above. We stopped our oral ravishing of each other and I reached into my glovebox for a condom. She rode me with her back pressed against the steering wheel. It forced her to come down on my hips in a very acute angle and within seconds of entering her she was grabbing on to the back of my deck like a koala bear and ramming her waste down on me trying to touch a spot inside of her with my dick. I could feel her tightening on me and I tried to dig deeper into her and touch that spot she was opening for me. I spread her legs open a little more and the tightening was released. I touched the spot with ease and she began to squirt and moan on me. She started trembling and jerked back into the steering wheel so hard that she sounded the horn and bruised her rib cage. I took her bra off and kissed her breast slowly as she had little aftershocks on my dick. I was sliding up and down into her slowly now. We changed position after position trying anything we could pull or push our bodies into and still get some sort of vibration from. We even laughed at a few impossible positions we tried. We ended when I threw her body across the seat with her face in backseat. She bent in a three point stance as if she were hiking a football. She had a smaller ass but her hips were a perfect coke bottle shape. I put one hand on her hip and the other on her should as I pulled her tiny body back and forth onto my dick. It was like I was sawing a tree with her body. I had never been with a girl like her before. She stuck her ass up a bit more and perched her waist on my middle console with one arm on the backseat and the other on the floorboard in the backseat. If there had of been anyone in Chili’s then all they would have saw was my ass and balls slamming into the back of her because my body was draped over body and I was grinding inside of her. She was dripping wet. When my stomach touched her back, the feeling from the water sent a different energy through my body and all the heat that she built inside of me erupted from inside of me. I came while inside of her. I could feel her tightening on me as I thrust my explosion into the magnum I’d carried. She came with me. My body began to cool. The sun was risen and the day began to heat up. We sat upright and tried to compose ourselves. Her clothes were no longer in the dash, and my clothes weren’t in the front seat. We tore up my jeep.

Our night lasted 12 hours. We spent the first 11 hours prancing around like we were first time lovers and not first daters. Their was never a lull or a dull moment in our conversation. She always had a snappy joke and we weren’t too shy to open up to the other. Anybody watching would think we were a couple, so a second date was all but guaranteed. After the 12th hour things get more complicated. If I pleased her and she didn’t feel too ashamed about the way she acted that first night maybe I’d hear from her. Then again she could have been the sort of girl who does this regularly and I could be naive about what happened that night and she would never call back. Was this going to be a one night stand? Even though I had her number and she had mine, I doubted that I would be so lucky as to have another rendezvous like this with her again. She drove away and I tried to focus my thoughts on the day ahead. But I couldn’t keep her out of my mind. I wanted to take the day off and be with her. I didn’t know her and I spent the 13th hour since meeting her thinking about her mystery and how maybe I should have taken it slower. My mind was going back and forth with the silliest notions as I drove away from the night before and into my day ahead. And then she called me.

——-TO BE CONTINUED————-

Dr. Alex Benzer says use your little head, not the big one

Why The Smartest People Have The Toughest Time Dating

I have a mini-confession to make: I wrote the Tao of Dating books specifically for really smart people. The writing of the books was precipitated by the endemic dating woes on the Harvard campus, as I observed them as an advisor and earlier, indulged in them as a student. Those kids graduate and pretty much continue to have the same dating woes — only now with fewer single people around who happen to live in the same building and share meals with them every day. So if they had challenges then, it gets about 1000 times worse once they’re tossed from the warm womb of their alma mater. From my observations, the following dating challenges seem to be common to most smart people. In fact, the smarter you are, the more clueless you will be, and the more problems you’re going to have in your dating life. Once upon a day I used to be pretty smart, and believe me, I had a lock on clueless. On the one hand, this makes no sense. Smart people can figure stuff out, right? And this stuff is simple! On the other hand, it makes total sense. For simple things, it takes someone smart to really screw it up. So whether you went (or should have gone) to the likes of Harvard, Yale, Princeton, MIT, Stanford, Columbia, Cornell, Swarthmore, Amherst, Dartmouth, Brown, Oxford, Cambridge, Berkeley, Penn, Caltech, Duke, read on: 1. Smart people spent more time on achievements than on relationships when growing up. Smart kids usually come from smart families. And smart families are usually achievement-oriented. Bring me home those straight As, son. Get into those top colleges, daughter. Take piano, violin, tennis, swimming and Tibetan throat-singing lessons. Win every award there is in the book. Be ‘well-rounded.’ Well, you’re a talented little bugger. Of course you should develop those talents. At the same time, there’s an opportunity cost associated with achievement. Time spent studying, doing homework, and practicing the violin is time not spent doing other things — like chasing boys or girls, which turns out is fairly instrumental in making you a well-rounded human. The upshot of all that achievement is that you get into a top college — congratulations! — and then continue doing even more of what you were doing before. Dating is at best another extracurricular, #6 or #7 down the list, somewhere between Model UN and intramural badminton. I’ve been co-hosting young alumni events for name-brand schools for long enough to know that these kids come out a little lopsided (which sounds so much better than ’socially awkward’, don’t you think?). All they need is a little tune-up, or a little dating textbook like The Tao of Dating for Women or Men, to get them going — plus a little practice. Of course, as noted above, things only get worse once you graduate. And if you’re frustrated with your love life, you just might try to compensate by working harder and achieving even more to fill that void. Left untreated, this condition can go on for decades. I know people in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond who still haven’t figured out how to create an intimate connection with another human being. It’s because they’ve been going at it the wrong way. Which brings us to… 2. Smart people feel that they’re entitled to love because of their achievements. For most of their lives, smart people inhabit a seemingly meritocratic universe: if they work hard, they get good results (or, in the case of really smart folks, even if they don’t work hard, they still get good results). Good results mean kudos, strokes, positive reinforcement, respect from peers, love from parents. So it only makes sense that in the romantic arena, it should work the same way. Right? The more stuff I do, the more accomplishments and awards I have, the more girls (or boys) will like me. Right? Please say I’m right, because I’ve spent a LOT of time and energy accumulating this mental jewelry, and I’m going to be really bummed if you tell me it’s not going to get me laid. Well, it’s not going to get you laid, brother (or sister). It may get you a first date, but it’s probably not going to get you a second date. And it certainly won’t bring you lasting love and fulfillment. Here’s the thing: your romantic success has nothing to do with your mental jewelry and everything to do with how you make the other person feel. And making someone feel a certain way is a somewhat nonlinear process that requires a different kind of mastery than that of calculus or Shakespeare. In other words, you need to earn love (or at least lust). Sadly, no mom, dad or professor teaches us about the power of the well-placed compliment (or put-down), giving attention but not too much attention, being caring without being needy. I wrote a whole 280-page book about that, so that’s a story for a different day. 3. You don’t feel like a fully-realized sexual being, and therefore don’t act like one. At some point in your life, you got pegged as a smart person. From then on, that was your principal identity: The Smart One. Especially if you had a sibling who was better-looking than you, in which case she (or he) was The Pretty One. Now you could be absolutely stunning (in which case you’re both smart AND pretty and everyone hates you except for me — call me, like, immediately), but your identity is still bound up in being The Smart One. So maybe you dress frumpy and don’t pay a lot of attention to your appearance. Or never bothered to cultivate your sensuality as a woman. Or your sexual aggression as a male. Attracting a partner is all about the dance of polarity. Energy flows between positive and negative electrodes, anode and cathode, magnetic north and south. Unless you actually convey femininity as a woman or masculinity as a man, you’re not going to attract a suitable companion of the opposite sex. Part of the issue is this: when all of your personal energy is concentrated in the head, it never gets a chance to trickle down to the heart, or, god forbid, the groin. By virtue of being born of the union of male and female, yang and yin, you are a sexual being. Deal with it. Now do what you need to do to perpetuate the race already. Use what mama amoeba gave you. That brings us to… 4. You’re exceptionally talented at getting in the way of your own romantic success. Here’s an incontrovertible fact: every one of your ancestors survived to reproductive age and got it on at least once with a member of the opposite sex. All the way back to Homo erectus. And even further back to Australopithecus. And even further back to monkeys, to lizards, to the first amphibian that crawled out of the slime, the fish that preceded that amphibian, the worm before the fish and the amoeba that preceded the worm. And you, YOU, in the year 2009 C.E., the culmination of that miraculously unbroken line of succession, you, Homo sapiens sapiens, not just thinking man but thinking thinking man (or woman), are the only one smart enough to SCREW THE WHOLE THING UP. Perhaps you should consider thinking a little less then. Because heaven knows that the amoeba, worm, fish, amphibian, monkey and primitive hominids didn’t do a whole lot of thinking. Their DNA had a vested interest in perpetuating itself, so it made sure that happened. Turns out your DNA works the same way, too. And maybe when you’re really sloshed at a party and your whole frontal lobe is on vacation in the outer rings of Saturn, you’ve noticed that your lizard brain knows exactly how to grab that cute girl by the waist for a twirl on the dance floor. Or knows exactly how to arch your back, flip your hair and glance at that handsome hunk just so such that he comes on over to say hi. To put it plainly, you are programmed to reproduce. Now quit thinking you’re smarter than the 3 billion base pairs in your genome and 4 billion years of evolution. Actually, just stop thinking altogether. Let the program do its work. 5. By virtue (or vice) of being smart, you eliminate most of the planet’s inhabitants as a dating prospect Let’s say by ’smart’ we mean ‘in the top 5% of the population in terms of intelligence and education’. Generally speaking, smart people seek out other smart people to hang out with, simply because they get bored otherwise. And if they’re going to spend a lot of time with someone, intelligence in a partner is pretty much a requirement. Well, congratulations — you’ve just eliminated 95% of the world’s population as a potential mate, Mr or Ms Smartypants. Now, luckily, the world’s kinda big, so the remaining 5% of the gender of your choice is still a plentiful 160 million or so people. Even if only 1% of those are single enough, good-looking enough, local enough and just all-around cool enough for you, that’s over a million people you can date out there. Still, that’s less than one in five thousand people. And if you live in a smaller city, it may be just a handful of folks who are going to meet your stringent criteria. At this point, you have three choices: A) Loosen up B) Do a very thorough search all over the planet and be prepared to move to Duesseldorf OR C) Join a monastery. My hearty recommendation is choice A. The purpose of relationship (and perhaps all of life) is to practice the loving. No partner is going to be 100% perfect anyway, so learn to appreciate people for what they have to offer, not what they don’t. And love them for that. That’s what real loving is. Nobody’s asking to lower your standards here; you should still spend time only with worthwhile company. But do question the standards to see whether they’re serving you or you’re serving them. When you open your heart to love, you may find fulfillment in ways you never imagined possible — like the day you tried sushi or beer in spite of your trepidation, found it surprisingly alright, and expanded your personal envelope of pleasure. Taking that into consideration, given a choice between happy-go-lucky and picky-but-lonely, happy sounds like more fun.

sex and the city……

its my humblest opinion that when it comes to getting down with the opposite sex (or the same for all you homos) that nothing is more important to having a mission accomplished than the city or location in which you live.  I’ve traveled and lived in many American cities ove the past few years. Its from these experiences that i list my five favorite sex and the cities.

5. Miami- for me Miami has become a sort of guarantee.  I know where to find them and where to hide them.  I love Miami and its mixtures of possibilities.  Many assume that because of its reputation as being part of the “dirty south” that the ladies and nightlife are limited to bankhead nightclubs in Atlanta or stripping venues, and though they may highlight the nightlife in Miami, the city has so many more spots to find women from the malls (where all travellers must frequent) to the college squares and campuses that throughout downtown and the city.

4. Dallas- Dallas, like Miami, holds a certain southern charm and romanticism. After all, the show Cheaters is filmed here.  But unlike the city of Atlanta where there is always something buzzing, Dallas is a city that you have to make happen. Its rural and slow and not as ethnic as Houston or Atlanta, but that kind of makes the city worthwhile. Country people like to get drunk and screw and nowhere is that more evident that Dallas. Even the upper echelon of society is obesessed with romantic dramas like Tony Romo and Jessica Simpson.  Everybody around here is horny and gossiping and if they can’t talk about what you’re doing or screwing then they are probably making a saga themselves.

3. New York- the city that never sleeps is known as the city that never sleeps for a reason. Everybody is creeping late night looking for something to cut up. I love New York because someone there is willing and waiting.  The tri state area holds at least 10,000,000 people. Thats the best odds anyone can ever have when it comes to hooking up with girls. New York is the king of the one night stands.

2. Los Angeles/ San Francisco- to quote MSNBC “Between the Golden Gate Bridge — easily the country’s most romantic span–and the fog-shrouded summer mornings, San Fran sets the mood for finding a mate. And find one you will, what with the city’s top-ranking ratio of highly educated (and in shape) singles crowding the cable cars and walking the Wharf.”

1.  Atlanta- Atlanta provides the backdrop to the fairy tale romances that we are all reared on as little kids. Its the ideal place to date a few frogs or toad bitches before finding a prince and setting up a castle to have some kids and give birth to the whole damn cycle again. In Atlanta, one can find a prince, a stripper named princess, and a princess willing to marry a slave.  With so many women with low standards like these its pretty easy to find some stupid girl to get it on with. And sooner or later you’ll find a girl who can cook her way to your heart.

 

Editors Note: Special nod to Vegas, disqualified by state legalization of prostitution.