I just spent fifteen minutes crawling on the floor, helping a friend search for a dropped birth control pill. (We found lint and two runaway Advils, but alas no hormonal pink pills.)
Eventually we gave up but my friend asked what is probably an oft asked question–why doesn’t each pack come with one or two extra of the actual pill (not the placebo) in case you drop one on the floor. Or down the toilet. Or down the drain. (I’ve managed to lose three quarter of acne medication by spilling down the bathroom sink.)
“Sort of like the extra button packs that come with blouses,” I said.
So why don’t we get one extra pill to take in the event of slippery fingers? I promise I wouldn’t hoard all of the extra pills to sell to teenagers in Texas. I would never do that. I would give it to them for free.
Because I know we’ll probably never top last year’s suggestive card and because my wishes to you guys remain unchanged, I’ve decided to repost FEMA Fatale’s fabulous design. Look at it as long and as hard as you’d like–it’s sort of like a Rorschach.
If you’re like me and other folks in their 20s and 30s, you were probably very upset to hear that Amy Poehler and Will Arnett ended their nine year relationship. (I’ll be honest–I was embarrassingly distraught over the breakup of a couple wholly unconnected to me.) Together, they were hilarious, adorable, successful, and supportive of each other’s career.
Of course, we know that no relationship is perfect and while it was surprising to learn of the split, there are probably several excellent reasons they ended their marriage. Just none that we will probably ever be able to surmise since they are probably very specific to their relationship.
But of course that doesn’t stop reactionary dating coaches and matchmakers from speculating. Patty Stanger–of Millionaire Matchmaker fame–weighed in with perhaps the most misogynistic post-mortem analysis. Though issuing the caveat that she is not privy to the particulars, she used it as an opportunity to bring up the old sexist trope–that if a woman is more successful than her husband, her relationship will suffer. “Their breakup did get me thinking about how being a woman with a successful career affects relationships,” she wrote.
She goes onto recycle all of banalities about pairings with successful women are fraught because of the expectation that men should provide. The “me hunter/wealthy finance guy, you Jane/underpaid and under-appreciated public servant/stay-at-home mom” paradigm.
But let’s say your man is cool with you making more money than him, you still should worry because what about the rest of the world? Ms. Stanger, by “the rest of the world” did you actually mean to write “people like me who create entertainment by perpetuating the traditional romantic setups”? Just wondering. Anyway, she observed:
There will undeniably be comments and questions about your relationship dynamic. At first, these may seem like not much more than a silly annoyance, but these comments burn and eventually, they’ll wear away at your man’s confidence. He’ll start to notice the difficulties of your untraditional financial situation and even if the financial dynamic doesn’t bother him, the attention to it might.
Stanger seems to subscribe to the same notions of evolutionary biology that prompted Kevin Williamson (disappointingly not the one of Dawson’s Creek fame) to write this National Review essay about why women should flock to Romney. Of course, this neglects study after study that shows many women are outperforming men professionally. If Stanger’s theory holds true, I think we’re going to see the divorce rate climb even higher.
Or maybe we can give men like Will Arnett a little more credit and the benefit of the doubt that his marriage ended for more mundane reasons.
Today’s post comes courtesy of an anonymous guest writer who is more sexually adventurous than I am.
Menaj et toi. Oh, that fearsome act that always leaves one person the odd man (or woman) out. Or so they say.
Everyone knows someone who will say that while threesomes are great for checking one more thing off “Ye Old Bucket List,” they are pretty crappy if you are actually hoping to derive any pleasure from the proceedings. They tell you, “Oh, we were having great sex and Susie was just sitting in the corner feeling left out and not being any fun.”
Well, I’m here to tell you that a threesome can be fun for everyone. I recently had my first one because, like everyone else, I had to hurry up and get it checked off the ol’ BL while I’m still in my 20s.
Anyway, on this night I was competing in my hometown’s signature sport–drinking–along with my friend *Chloe and her new boyfriend. She’s one of my best friends, and happens to be bisexual. So, on a Tuesday night in a small city in the Midwest, we decided why not have a threesome?
We stumbled back to his place, opened some wine and climbed into his bed. Chloe stripped me naked and started kissing me. Eventually, we all ended up lying horizontal, one next to the other. At one point, both her boyfriend and I reached to finger her, and just both kept doing it. Strangest feeling ever–both to be on the giving, rather than receiving end of this act, and to do it in concert with another person. And yeah, as you’d expect, they both went down on me and me on them. All that stuff. I refrained from actual penetration with *Dave, because well, at the moment it kinda felt like stealing. Having heard that threesomes can cause a jealousy later, I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable at all or cross the line. Plus, I felt like a big point of the encounter was to bring us closer as friends, so it didn’t feel necessary at the time for me to have sex with her boyfriend.
Looking back on it, perhaps what made it fun was our shared affection for her. After knowing someone for 10 years, it just feels natural to get to know their body and what they like in bed. Plus, I had heard her having sex with boyfriends so many times that I already knew she likes her sex to be loud, dramatic and theatrical. Although her boyfriend knew her for a shorter amount of time, there was still a familiarity there that made it seem like she was our tie that held the whole ordeal in place.
And you may say to yourself, “Bah! That’s not a real threesome!” Maybe it was more like a two-and-a-halfsome, but I’m pretty pleased with the way it turned out. I later awoke to them having loud sex next to me, which was, if anything, the most awkward part of the whole experience. While a big part of the “success” of my own experience was our shared love for my friend, it seems a threesome can be enjoyed by most anyone with the proper boundaries and as long as everyone is on the same page. So if you want my advice, go for that threesome when it comes along because chances are you’ll enjoy yourself.
And hey, that opportunity might never come knocking again.
Or you could take Dan Savage’s advice on the matter:
Last night, I went to see The Dark Knight Rises. (I know, I know–I was one of the last people in the continental U.S. who hadn’t seen it.) While I had been greatly looking forward to the movie and was incredibly pleased with how it played out, I couldn’t help but laugh at the marriage pressure being placed Bruce Wayne, especially at the start of the film.
First, loyal Alfred told Bruce his dream for his master’s future: He hopes to be on vacation on Florence and look up and spy Bruce across the tables with his wife and kids. And then when Fox sees the reclusive Wayne for the first time in years, he asks after his personal life and possible wife. These two white haired men seem to be channeling the spirit of a Jewish grandmother. (Except I bet your bubbe didn’t know an iota about nuclear fusion.)
Bruce/Batman, I feel your pain. I have mastered the art of the blank stare or spontaneous deafness when asked about my relationship status. And at least you don’t have to fend off the “Im yirtzeh Hashem by you,” (If God wills it, by you), which I just encountered when calling a cousin to congratulate him on the engagement of his 20-year-old daughter. (I think what I object to is the “if” part.)
But back to Batman.
So was the final Batman simply an elaborate, highly explosive romantic comedy, a Bridget Jones’ Diary for the Caped Crusader? (Some spoilers ahead, but you probably already saw the movie cause you’re on top of your shit, unlike me.)