Orange cover! Ashley Tisdale! In orange clothing, so she's kind of a floating head!
Okay, I think I finally have conclusive proof that the "embarrassing stories" are fictional. I've always known it, but I consider this story to be absolute proof:
One morning, the wire from my bra was bothering me, so I ripped it out and left it on my desk. When I got back from lunch, my boss was sitting at my desk with the underwire in his mouth, using it as a toothpick. I was too embarrassed to tell him what it actually ways, so I didn't say a word.
No. That did not happen. For once, this isn't just a suspicion; I'm sure.
This one hits a bit close to home:
I came down with a terrible sore throat, and it got so bad that I had to go to the ER. After hours of waiting, I ended up with the hottest young doctor. I was embarrassed enough that I sounded like a man, but then he asked me to pull up my dress so he could feel my spleen. I had on the rattiest pair of full-bottom briefs that came up so high, they covered my belly-button, and they were this beige color that looked like they had been white but yellowed with time. I swear I caught him holding back his laughter at the sight of them.
Okay, so you just got molested, because there is nothing in the exam for a sore throat that involves feeling your freakin' spleen. The spleen's not even palpable in 97% of people.
(Also, considering that the patient before you probably had a potato in her vagina for three weeks, there's no way mere granny panties are going to faze an ER doctor.)
(Oh, and by the way, you waited hours because you went to the ER with a goddamn sore throat.)
[On how to find your G-spot. The article first gives some instructions on how to root around in your vagina for it, then:] If after several minutes you're still coming up empty-handed, think of a sexual fantasy--seriously. When you aroused, the G-spot fills with fluid, making it swell and become larger.
So previous to this I was wrist-deep in my vagina looking for amazing orgasms--and not even aroused? Well, uh... there's yer problem.
Don't let him see you peeing, plucking your eyebrows, or doing an at-home bikini wax. You can be "real" in ways that don't chip away at romance.
Yes, because being "real" is all right, but god forbid you actually be real. Romance requires that you be a bodiless creature of light and air, flitting weightlessly through the mortal world.
(Also, the kind of guys I like tend to want to see me pee...)
Guys have less oxytocin, the brain's bonding chemical, than women do, but it can be boosted with frequent touch.
Just don't overdo it, or he'll start lactating.
Be unpredictable! Guys want variety, but they don't require it from other girls. While reading the paper, say "You know, I've always wanted you to do me on the stairs," then nonchalantly get back to the headlines.
I was kinda with this until the ending, because that's not the time to get back to the headlines, it's time to get back to the staircase. Otherwise it's just your mouth writing checks your body can't cash.
In Tantra, it is believed that gazing left eye to left eye opens up the "feeling" side of your brain and subconsciously makes you more vulnerable with your partner. Try this technique: during sex, angle your head slightly to the right so the left side of your face is aligned with the left side of his, and look him in the eye.
"While having dinner at a fast-food place, I was subjected to this couple hard-core making out after eating greasy burgers and fries. Unbelievable!"
Um... what exactly is the problem here? I mean, you were eating there too, honey. I guess burgers are shameful things that must be eaten but only with disgust and in hiding?
[things not to wear on a date] Flats. I get that you wear them because they're comfortable, but so are sweatpants, and you wouldn't wear those on a date, I hope. Put on some heels.
If you saw how I walk in heels, you wouldn't be saying this. (In fact, I knew Alan was a keeper when I showed up for my first date tottering awkwardly in heels, he spotted the sensible shoes on the floor of my car, and told me to change to something I could walk in, for chrissakes.) I know some people have developed a bit more nimbleness than me, but no one can run or hack rough terrain in the damn things. As far as I'm concerned, heels are a form of bondage.
A man, you see, would like to think he wears the pants--whether he really does or not--so help him feel confident. On the first couple of dates, agree to agree. Be available. Be up for going anywhere. His responsibility is to make the date as fun, cool, and entertaining as possible. Your responsibility is to make it easy for him to do that.
The funny part here is the little "whether he really does or not" aside. If I'm agreeing with everything he suggests, he's not feeling like he's in charge; he is.
And hey, that's not always a bad thing. Sometimes the guy is in charge of the date. I don't always want to take the dominant role; I just don't want it to be pre-assigned based on genitals.