2012: It’s the Final Countdown: What would a Cosmo Girl do? (or day five)

Back in the day, someone gave me some very bad sex advice.

“What you got to do is get yourself a ‘Cosmo,’ ” said my friend Cheeseman (and yes, Cheeseman is his real name). “And, you know, pick up some sex tips.”

Imagine that being chirped at you in a very white male Republican voice.

“Cheeseman,” I said. “I’m not 12. I know how to give a blow job.”

The other day, I picked up a stack of magazines from my building’s gym. (hey, I know what you’re thinking; but I put my old magazines there when I’m done with them and return these–it’s like a lending library). And for kicks, I thought I’d pick up the Nov. 2012 issue of ‘Cosmopolitan’ magazine.

A few minutes with ‘Cosmo’ reminded me of why I despised it a decade ago. It’s Real. Bad. Writing. Sex lists by interns fresh out of Oberlin and Vasser, who’ve had awkward sex twice with their junior-year prom date and a slightly uncomfortable shower experience with the resident lesbian on their dorm floor in college. Sex writing in Cosmo consists of ideas of what Awesome Sex Must Be Like as imagined by those who have no idea what real sex is like, i.e. my kindergarten self, who had a crush on Luke Skywalker and imagined that having sex with him involved sitting across from one another and peeing into one another’s crotches. And EL James.

And now, verbatim, advice from ‘Cosmo,’ that will probably not get you through the coming Mayan apocalypse, but might very well entertain you on your smartphone while you’re stuck in traffic escaping a fiery hellball. (for added fun, imagine that this advice is being read to you by a very buzzed Kathie Lee on the fourth hour of the ‘Today’ show.)

1. “Lie on your back with your head hanging off the bed, and slid his penis into your mouth. It’s a good way to reduce your gag reflex.” (Ed note: Also, good way to choke to death.)

2. “Are there any oral moves that my husband can try that will make him feel more like my vibrator? …ask him to try tongue flutters…he can also wrap his lips around his teeth, put your clitoris between them, and use a biting motion.” (Biting and clitoris, two things that will never be friends.)

3. “When I arrived at the cabin, I noticed Chris right away. With deep brown eyes, a friendly smile, and quarterback arms.”(QB arms? What’s next? Tight-end anal?)

4. “Speaking fluent 20something is hella awesome. Overuse slang like amazeballs while you can still get away with it.” (Or until someone like me punches you in the face.)

5. “Pull up a pic of Ryan Lochte’s bod on your phone…” (We can’t masturbate to stupid, Cosmo. Give us something to work with here.)

6. ‘Get Tipsy in the Tub: Two magic words that’ll get your guy on board with spa night: booze and nakedness…Pour a quarter bottle of red into a warm bath and hop in.’ (That better be two-buck chuck you’re tossing in.)

7. ‘This weekend head out in your favorite leather jacket, no shirt required. The wicked fabric on your bare skin will make you feel extra naughty.’ (Me so naughty, tee-hee!)

8. ‘Cosmo is to sex positions what Apple is to the iPhone.’ (Steve Jobs, blow jobs...)

9. ‘Laze between the sheets with your man and a sweet treat this weekend. The perfect spoon-feedable, romantic dish? Rich chocolate mousse.’ (Really, now, who does this?)

10. ‘Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives is a freak-of-nature show–it makes our mouth water, and it gets men to actually watch the Food Network with us. This weekend, take him to lunch at a Guy Fieri-approved locale.’ (Dear ‘Cosmo,’ The New York Times would like to take you out to dinner, then a little backdoor action. And no, they’re not going to take you to brunch or introduce you to their friends the next day. Or call you back. Ever.)

 

2012: It’s the Final Countdown! Day two.

Yesterday, we started our countdown to Armaggedon It! Or just another Friday before Christmas that you can spend in fist-da-cuffs in a Wal-Mart fighting over that filthy porno doll, Elmo, or literally in fistin’ cuffs, which I’m sure exist, but I’m too afraid to google right now. (Lies. I googled it and found a lovely gay porn that featured two dicks snuggling in a butt-cheek sandwich.)

Sign Two the World Will End Dec. 21, 2012:

The proliferation of fucking flavored vodka.

Yes, that’s right. Flavored booze has been advertised by spunky Aussies looking to party, bitches trying to get skinny, and even two old coots. But it seems that the overload of recent fucking flavored vodka ads is at an all-time high. And this is a sign that the world is nearly over, we have no more new ideas except to make vodka fucking fluffed, whipped, creamed and tasting of caramel.

Since we’re all going to die, let’s relive these 30-second shill-jobs for vodka that is all simultaneously competing for the title of World’s Worst Alcohol:

First off, Amber Rose. Isn’t she fucking someone important?

Then there’s this horny broad:

And if you want to puke, just look at this page of Pinnacle flavored vodka tricks.

Why is it that this shit is always, always marketed to chicks, and P. Diddy gets to party in the desert with a bunch of cable actors? Oh, yeah, it’s because HE’S NOT DRINKING FLAVORED VODKA.


As if you needed any more proof that hell is indeed upon us, look no further than this: According to Huff Po, “nearly a quarter of all vodka consumer in 2011 was flavored…And ongoing growth for the vodka category in 2012, with flavored vodka expected to fuel that expansion with another double-digit gain.”

Sign Two the World Will Not End Dec. 21, 2012:

Because I just decided what I want to be for Halloween and wrote it in my 2013 calendar so I won’t forget and be all like, “Oh shit, what am I gonna be this year?” on Oct. 29 and get into fist-da-cuffs over the last slutty J-Lo dress at the costume store. Yeah, past self looking out for future self.

Do... or do not. There is no try.

 

2012: It’s the Final Countdown!

Enjoy your holiday? Good. If you pay attention to such things as the end of days, you may notice that another important day is looming on our December calendar–Dec. 21, 2012. Or as the Mayan calendars put it, the End of the World. Or a new beginning. Or one of these things.

If you remember, way back in 2009, I started this to live life to the fullest, grab bulls by horns, figure this thing out so I could not only get on with it, but enjoy it a little bit.

Lots of stuff happened. But now, well, damnit, you/we may just have a few more weeks to overconsume plastic consumer durables, enjoy Pier One holiday ads, stuff our faces with our stockpiled Twinkies and cry. Or that madness can roll right into January. Either way, I’ve decided to weigh the pros and cons of signs whether the world will end. And, as the world is a tricky place, I’ve decided to pick signs from each and every (week)day* until the apocalypse. Or not.

Sign One the World Will End Dec. 21, 2012:

R. Kelly finally released the third installment of “Trapped in the Closet” over the holiday weekend on IFC. Missed it? Don’t worry. IFC is a low-budget channel that will continue to play it over and over and over until infinity…or the 21st, if, well, you know. Don’t know what you’re doing with the last three weeks of your life? This should be a high priority on your list.

Sign One the World Will Not End Dec. 21, 2012:

They are making more of Arrested Development.

What signs will God and/or “The Voice” give us tomorrow? Stay tuned to find out.

*Author reserves the right the pick signs each and every (week)day or every other day, or whenever I goddamn feel like it.

2012! Let’s Do This Shit!

It’s Jan. 2. Have you scraped your hangover off yet? No? Good, let’s get started.

This is it*. The year before the end of the world on Dec. 21. Or just a major shift in universal powers that be—or, What Will Oprah Do Next?

A friend G-chatted me the other day: “What a change for you from last year… no ‘he’s really smart, I want to go home with him…,’ yelling at Eurotrash, etc.” Yes, dear reader, last New Year’s Eve was my third and final breakdown over the course of two months in New York City, the first of which started with Halloween and a very intense fight with a cab driver over whether he could have me arrested or not.

I spent this year’s NY’s Eve on a road trip to Elma, Wash., to buy a rebuilt motor for a Datsun. We ate delicious cheeseburgers and milk shakes bought from a roadside stand, then casually hung out with some fine Templeton Rye whiskey (Iowa made!) until I made it until, oh, all of around 11 p.m. I can barely stay awake past 10:30 anymore. I like to still blame the Mono, but really I just like sleeping a lot.

This suits me just fine.

I haven’t given you a recap of my year, so here goes the abbreviated version. Like that SOB Kim Jong Il, let’s put 2011 to rest:

January: Sucked. Cold. Did a lot of sobering soul-searching.

February: Went to Nicaragua. Introduced to Sponch. Learned best saying every, “Thank you for you.”

March: Nothing happened this month.

April: Nothing happened. Again.

May: Begin massive move planning mode—book flight, make apartment-seeking calls, begin purging of shit not moving cross-country.

June: More move shit…Go to beach houses a few times. Realize that this is probably only one of two things I will miss about East Coast, the other being people. Something about summer demands feeling hot by an ocean or bay in a bikini, drinking margaritas and listening to stories of how hot MILFs in the Hamptons try to hit on pool boys…

July: Fly to Seattle to look for place to live. Have mini-breakdown on first day. Then buck up and find space. Fly back…Spend rest of month suffering through record, sweltering heat but enjoy last few stellar hockey games with Mega Touch and score a goal during my last game. Spend week at beach house, working in my swimsuit. Do not miss city.

August: Fly to Seattle for reals! Sit in empty apartment for a few days, but like a woman possessed to make it, I have a very aggressive list of Doing Shit and proceed to Get Shit Done. Apartment is furnished, several Meet-Up groups are joined, Mt. Rainier hiking excursion completed, searching and finding of a bicycle is also finished.

September: Days are gorgeous. Work early, get done early, go outside hiking or biking for three hours or more every day. New apartment is great—no noisy neighbors. “Like being on vacation…” I tell a friend. Begin and conclude dating: Meet the Man**. Could not have created a better one—smart, funny, creative, fixes and makes shit with his hands. Has the cutest fucking dog on Earth, too, so it’s like I got a two-for-one: Man + Dog.

Gizmo!

October: Good times are continued…Having fun biking around town, eating at new restaurants (food is awesome and fresh here), among other activities. Slammed by Mono at End of Month.

November: See Mono.

December: Finally over the Mono, but getting caught up on other stuff that was put aside in November. Also, go home to Iowa to see family. Get ready for New Year and new goals: Write more and pay more attention to this here blog; get some bigger project(s) off the ground; spend more time outdoors; learn how to scuba dive; go to Alaska; find a house. Realize that I haven’t seen a rat since I left NYC and how much it fucked with my psyche. Sigh. Relax. Realize that I am happy.

The End. Every happiness to you as well in 2012.

*I don’t believe this is really it, much like the aforementioned Rapture. For the sake of this entire blog, however, let’s pretend that it is.

** I haven’t mentioned much about him, because despite the over-sharey nature of this here blog, that is something I prefer to keep fairly private and respectful. But here are three things I learned during my short-term dating life in Seattle: No. 1: Ladies of the East Coast, men are plentiful, educated, nice and considerate for the most part here—they will take you out for a proper date, talk to you like a person (not a one-night conquest) and then ask you out properly for another… No. 2: Did I mention they’re hot? No. 3: Oh, fuck it. See No. 1. I was man-less in NYC for six years. I met my man in six weeks here.