dudes
”Dudes Today: The Emotional Conquistador Is The New Sexual Conquistador
I think one of the biggest threats facing sexually-liberated women today is the Emotional Conquistador. It's become blatantly obvious to me in recent months that the power struggle between the sexes is still at play, but because the interactions in heterosexual relationships have shifted—with women taking a more aggressive approach to their sexual satisfaction, and becoming more adroit at compartmentalizing the physical from the emotional—we're now dealing with certain (insecure?) men who still have this innate need to take the upper hand. With the age-old option of sexual conquering removed from the equation, this male faction has been reduced to finding new ways to subjugate women, in order to feel better about themselves. So lately, guys have been trying to talk their way into receiving "feelings" instead of fellatio. Because, at the end of the day, they really want their egos stroked more than their dicks. After the jump, a cautionary tale. More »Some Of My Best Friends Are Dudes
In an article for the Washington Post, Brett Krutzsch writes about being a bridesman. Not a groom, not a best man, not a bridesmaid; the best friend of a girl getting married. Who happens to be a dude. "I was her Will, she my Grace," Krutzsch explains. "We shared interests in theater, East Village wine bars and overpriced denim." Yeah, Krutzsch is gay. And his friend, Sara, asked him to be a bridesmaid. "I thought I would be a trailblazer as bridesman, but no fuss was made," he says. "The photographer never mistakenly put me in line with the groomsmen, and not one guest asked what it felt like to be a bridesmaid. The liberal New York crowd, however, wasn't remotely fazed by my nontraditional role. They didn't even blink when [my boyfriend] and I danced together at the reception." I don't know who this Sara person is, but I do know one thing: If I ever have a wedding, there will be a posse of guys on my side of the altar. And not because I'm a copycat. More »Dimitri The Lover's History Of Sexual Assault, Weapons Stockpiling And Psychiatric Evaluations
Oh god, here goes. You know how we sort of stopped wanting to hear about Paul Janka when he officially became an accused sex assailant (or actually, come to think of it, when he assaulted me a few months before that?) Well, over the course of a day Dimitri the creep behind a couple fake-seemingly funny voicemails revealed himself to be Dimitri the douchebag with disciples, who revealed himself to be Dmitri a.k.a. James Sears. And yeah, if all the "there's nothing wrong with me" talk on his voicemail wasn't a red enough flag for you, maybe the 1986 concern of the military psychiatrist who evaluated him during his enlistment in the Canadian Army that there was "something seriously wrong" with him is? But don't take it from those shrinks; his psychiatric evaluation when he went to med school states that he got drunk and high on call, made "numerous random and obsessive telephone calls" to women during which he would (only sometimes) jerk off, and was generally immature and narcissistic — but not enough to deny him a medical license. More »How The He's Just Not That Into You Guy Actually Helped Me Get Over My (Married) (Strip Club DJ) Ex-Boyfriend
Tormented? Driven witless? 99 problems but therapy bills ain't one? Welcome to "Save Your Life, Cheap!" in which we write about the dumb things that get America's uninsured through hard times. AA meetings, James Joyce, Ani di Franco, suicide hotlines…anything nonalcoholic can apply, the more embarrassing the better. Which brings me to: self-help. In our first installment, Sephora Spy's Loren Hunt reviews the $1 book that got her through the worst breakup ever.
So, it's probably safe to make the baseline assumption that self-help books are not the kind of thing that anyone reads because they think it's cool. For some reason, self-loathing became more inherently cool than trying to fix problems, which would explain the aura of lameness surrounding self-help books: the corny covers, the corny catchphrases, the corny jacket photos, and the corny titles, which are invariably presented in a corny (and really large, readable) font. There are no cool self-help books. Cool people do not write self-help books. Happy people write them. And they could give a fuck who thinks they're cool. And you know who else doesn't give a fuck who thinks they're cool? A 23-year-old stripper who just used up every last shred of self-regard finally "breaking up" with the three-timing strip club DJ she had been fucking for the past year. And that, friends, is how I came to appreciate It's Called A Breakup Because It's Broken, the second offering from Greg Berendt of He's Just Not That Into You fame.
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