(Programming note: I'm going to be out of town from today til Tuesday or Wednesday next week. I'm taking the netbook, but I never know how posting will or won't go.)
But right now it's just me and my wacky friend Cosmo. Oh Cosmo. Where were we?
Fortunately, a new batch of sexperts decided to break the CAT [Coital Alignment Technique] out of its time capsule. They had women who had never been able to climax during missionary put this method to work... and when they did, they experienced a 56 percent increase in orgasms after a mere three weeks.
Okay, that's still zero.
This magical sex position itself is basically missionary, but the guy sorta scoots up toward your head after penetration so his penis will be pointing... more uppier. It's something I've heard of independently from Cosmo and I'm not a good person to judge this since I can come from anything anyway, so I won't knock the idea itself. Just the math.
Spread [lube] onto his pubic-bone region so you get a tingly feeling every time he thrusts.
That's not "tingly." That's just "soggy."
Sweetie, Honey, Darling, and any other name that could be used interchangeably by his mom or an elderly waitress at a diner have no place in your relationship [...] "Not only are these terms anonymous, they're also genderless, and if you use them enough, you lose what makes your bond unique."
"Oh hi! I missed you, vagina-Darling!"
There. Gendered and unique. Or you could just accept that these are English words denoting affection, and whether you like them or not is completely up to personal preference rather than universal unwritten rules.
So calling him Snuggle Bunny is akin to agreeing to an open-door bathroom policy: It's kinda comfortable, kinda gross... and the longer you do it, the harder it can be to feel like you want to rip each other's clothes off.
Do you close the door for poops? This is important. Pee ain't no thing, but if the bathroom directly adjoins the bedroom or kitchen, closing it for poops has nothing to do with intimacy or mystery.
But Cosmo is right about one thing: no one wants to have sex with someone who goes to the bathroom! Ewww. Next thing you know you'll be breathing in front of each other. There goes the romance. ("Romance" here is almost entirely equivalent to "not believing your partner is a person just like other people.")
It's fine if it's a little cheesy--like Stud or Loverboy--especially if it's busted out in the bedroom.
So calling someone "Honey" is out because it's too generic and belittling, but "Stud" is in. Cosmo, I... sometimes I can't do anything funnier than repeating back what you just said.
After a few weeks of this anytime move, your abs will look totally sick in your swimsuit.
Tummy Tightener: Sit with your butt 2 inches away from the back of the chair. Plant your feet on the floor, place your hands on your thighs, and lift your feet a few inches off the floor, keeping your stomach sucked in and your shoulders back. Hold for 5 seconds. Do 10 reps three times a day.
Wow, it's like one-eighth of a crunch! I mean, I guess it's not literally zero exercise, but I'm pretty sure "take your feet off the floor for a couple seconds!" isn't where six-packs come from.
Cosmo exercises are always ridiculously watered-down like this. I'm never sure if it's because they don't want their readers to hurt themselves, because dainty little ladies mustn't do hard manly exercises, or because you're supposed to just not eat and that'll solve everything. I think the last is a lot of it. Ladymag exercise tips always make me think "I could do fifty times that"; ladymag diet tips always make me think "oh my god I would start gnawing at my own flesh."
Any displays of excitement (or disappointment, for that matter) can confuse male coworkers. Since they have difficulty processing feelings and logic at the same time, they don't get that we're able to show both.
It's like the writer never met a man. Or read any work of fiction or nonfiction created by a man. Or gave any consideration to the idea that if the human brain was really that sexually dimorphic, dialogue between the sexes would be literally impossible. Or ever saw a man excited or disappointed. Or, like, lived on Earth.
And people say feminists are misandric.
The Habit: Buying a few happy-hour cocktails once a week.
The Cost: $936/year.
What You Could Have Bought: Six Kindles.
But I don't want six Kindles! The whole idea is you only need one! (Mine's named Ralph. Well, Ralph II, because a bad thing happened to the original Ralph. Anyway.)
Cosmo does this every month, deconstructing little spending habits that add up as if they were a terrible mistake instead of a simple allocation decision. Did you know, ladies, that instead of buying a lot of cheap things you could get a few expensive things? Did I just blow your little lady-minds?
And the idea of saving that $936, instead of buying something completely goofy with it, is definitely off the table. Maybe if more banks and investment brokerages bought ads in Cosmo...
Okay, I really have to hit the road now. But I'm not done, so that means there's going to be a Part Three! I'm so sorry.