Category Archives: Sex. And the city!

Lollipop Gomez’s Guide To All The Sex You’re Not Having, Part 1

Posted by mariamargarita on

1. Change your sheets and make your bed.  Put that box of tissues somewhere we can’t see it. You don’t need that shit tonight, anyway. I am constantly amazed by the lack of detail dudes put into cleaning up when they know they might have a girl over. There is nothing worse than going into a room reeking of balls and socks and with video game shit everywhere. Clean it up, fool!  If things are impromptu, make sure to go into the room before the girl goes in there so you can clean before she sees your mess. Send her to go talk to your roommates and make them jealous they are spending the Saturday night trying to play Freebird on Expert while you are finally getting some ass.

obscene interiors by justinspace

obscene interiors by justinspace

2.  The next part assumes there has been very little pre-gaming. If you’ve been making out all over street corners and on the train or in a car and you’re just coming home to continue to the next phase, then skip this part. But, if nothing has happened, but you’re here because you think something might, then this is where it counts to be very smooth. If you have an aggressive lass who is pushing you up against the wall once the door is closed, then lucky you! However, realize most women are taught that desiring sex is wrong and that they should never initiate anything, even the smartest girls. And if you don’t do anything, we might just think you’re gay or that you think we’re ugly. If it’s getting awkward, then it’s time for you to drive.   You can ask to kiss her (always cute) or you can wait for a break and go in for it.  Once you’re there, you need to slow the fuck down and go at least 20 minutes touching everything but the obvious areas. I say 20, but this should take a long time.

foreplay with hobbits (for real the title of this image)

3. Talking dirty is hard to do well, but there’s one thing I would recommend: underpromise and over deliver.  This is not the time for bragging. You’re probably not going to make her come 10 times in one night (and if you can, I can be reached at dancethis@gmail.com), you’re likely not going to “tear her up” (and uh, ouch!), and your dick is likely not 10 inches long (and if it is, please send photos to dancethis@gmail.com). Talking dirty really means two things: you telling her how hot/pretty/beautiful she is and how much she turns you on and you telling her the things you will ACTUALLY do before you do them. Compliments and promises. That’s it.

4. Heavy petting (rules):

The rules here are simple: start on the outside and work your way in. As in over clothes, and then under. The key to everything is anticipation. This is advice that will help you on your whole journey: start slow, then work your way up. Don’t manhandle unless requested. Just because you’re almost naked now doesn’t mean you should stop touching her arms or her stomach or her legs and stick to just the naughty bits. Get your hands everywhere. It’s so much sexier and makes you seem like less of a desperate 14 year old boy who just wants to touch boobs.

A word about clitoral stimulation: INDIRECT is best. Anything else is too intense. If she wants more something in her, like say fingers, the wrong thing to say is: “Oh, are you that big you need more?” (true story I heard this weekend). Continue to compliment profusely; you may even get some in return!

an actual black hole. like in space.

an actual black hole. like in space.

4. At this point, you may be like, enough about her, what about ME? Don’t worry about it, I will cover what needs to be done with your precious erection in my follow up guide, Lollipop Gomez’s Guide To Sex for Smart Sluts. I’ll post that the next time I can take a break from slutting around, which may be never.

i thought you liked sluts.

i thought you liked sluts.

5. Oral Sex. Crippling fear for some, world’s most fun activity to do with their mouths for others. Some men think that just the fact that they are giving us this gift is enough to make them some kind of sexual god, while others are quick and boring about it and do it out of obligation (this in a common attitude displayed amongst so-called “sensitive men” who don’t actually enjoy giving it too much, but don’t want to be seen as not trying).

tristan toarmino is another black haired woman with glasses who likes to dispense sexual advice. the difference is you should listen to her.

Tristan Toarmino is another black haired woman with glasses who likes to dispense sexual advice. the difference is you should listen to her.

A few tips: Just like you hate lazy, dry blowjobs, don’t do the same to your lady. If you don’t feel it, then skip it. If she is one of the 5 women on earth who still have pubic hair, don’t act all freaked out about it because it’s creepy and makes you look like a pedophile. Just pretend you’re in some amazing 70s porn.

Play some bad music in your head, run your fingers through it and get to work. Everyone’s different, but in general, you should start with some kissing, then tongue, and then fingers until all of this is working in a beautiful, magical combination that’ll have her unable to talk for several minutes. If she pulls you back up before you’ve been there for too long, you’re probably not doing a very good job and she is getting self conscious and turned off. Don’t take it personally, there’s always a next time.

Oral sex while on the rag should be reserved for people you intend on marrying. Like there should be a ring somewhere in the room. But, I’m just old fashioned.  If you have a problem with any other sexual activity while a woman is on the rag, re-consider your sexuality.

Before we move on to the BIG FINISH (for Part 2), just one other tip: If you’re a music dork and you need to have music, make sure the playlist is on for enough hours and that carefully orchestrated mix of Radiohead Live and Magnetic Fields doesn’t all of a sudden turn into Cannibal Corpse.  What a fucking buzzkill. Put that motherfucker on repeat.

Till next time…

LG

hey, shitface, get off my lawn!

Posted by Peanut St. Cosmo on

so like all good things, even the great Peanut St. Cosmo! gets old. like really old. many things marked this becoming a reality. i tried to ignore them all, but once they all collectively reared their old head, the facts were hard to ignore.  first up, and most obvious……

it's not just salt and pepper....

it's not just salt and pepper

gray hair. two of them to be exact. i only know they exist because i’m not happy with my colorist and am looking for a new one. but now it’s like i have to go sprinting, fuck that, driving back to the old one and say, “cover this shit, and make it snappy!” how does this happen? how how how???? even though you are never on time, constantly try to get me to go to go to your “dj” shows, and tell me the same old stories of the pimp you think you were before you got “married,” i’ll still take you back…..

secondly, shoes. they matter. they separate the girls from the women from the wheelchair bound. i’ve gone from the high up girl in her early twenties to the more conservative one that got tired of taking those shoes off and walking on asphalt to walking around and not pouting. a signal for the end? fuck yes.

third. celebrity gossip. used to love it. eat it up with a little celebrity platinum coated spoon! all the sudden, who the fuck are these people?? what’s an LC? what’s twilight? where are the hills?

my thoughts exactly....

exactly....

i used to have a handle on this stuff, and all the sudden, shit’s just gone off the map. i blame my air traffic controllers. but really, it’s a stressful job. they do as much as they can. but maybe i’ve just lost touch….with superficial bubble gum sugar free stuff not worth the internet paper it’s not written on? no, no…that’s not it. i’ve just lost touch.

fourth. kids. sorry mom sorry god….i may never have kids. those little heathens tend to run wild. in grocery stores, in restaurants, during my cell phone conversations….they run wild! and in the wrong *republican* hands, tend to wear awful shoes…..but they just tend to be a little bit too much of a liability.

our father, who art in LA, l. ron hubbard be thy name

our father, who art in LA, l. ron hubbard be thy name

yes, they can be cute. you want to take them and have them photographed over and over and sent to all your jealous relatives, have them learn foreign languages you don’t speak, put them in Montessori schools, etc. or you can be just another pregnant mami waiting for their 15, excuse me, 30 (?) minutes of fame. or it can be the absolute worst, and who knows, it may even be due to your upbringing.

lastly….yawn….i know, up past jeopardy/your bedtime right? well up last is the decline of binge drinking!

i am from a thirst world country.

i am from a thirst world country.

i go to bed at almost reasonable times. i wake up almost when the alarm goes off. jose cuervo and i do not text. hell, i never had his cell number. what does it all mean? i don’t know….fuck off, i’m fixodenting!

monday-sunday night, baaaaby.....

monday-sunday night, baaaaby.....

Chicks Today: New Sex and The City Movie

Posted by mariamargarita on

I am innocently finishing up some writing and a playlist for a party tonight while enjoying a wonderful pint of Reality Czech Pilsner (2 dollars during happy hour at my local hipster cafe, holla!). I go to a blog I read. I read the news: there is a new sex and the city movie in the works. I have one question, Hollywood: WHY? Vitamin Water didn’t make enough money last time?

Didn’t you know, chicks love three things: very expensive shoes, unconditional love, and vitamin water. Lots and lots and lots of vitamin water (my favorite flavor is the B vitamin heavy “Revive”, excellent for hangovers, big and small).

chicks fucking love beverages.

chicks fucking love beverages.

Sex and The City (a show I am intimately familiar with, at one point I owned all of the DVDs until I slowly bled them from my person in a fit of rage.) didn’t need one movie. It certainly doesn’t need two movies. It didn’t even need 6 seasons, the 5th and 6th season were for the most part, totally awful and a caricature of what the show was during the far more realistic, better written first and second seasons.  It needed about 3 seasons, for us to get to know the girls, to see them grow, and then see them ride off into the NYC sunset in a yellow taxicab.

after president of the united states and single moms, being a NYC taxi driver is the hardest job in the world.

after president of the united states and single moms, being a NYC taxi driver is the hardest job in the world.

What relevance does a movie like Sex and the city even have anymore? Sluts inevitably grow out of their phase, especially unwilling ones like the fake ones on Sex and the City, who for the most part used sex as a means to end, as a casualty of dating. Sex was never the goal, it just ended up happening. And besides, we’ve already discussed it all. Once your 15 year old cousin has an in-depth discussion with you on the meaning of “funky spunk“, it’s no longer edgy, no longer new. Do we care that the girls are married? Do we even want to go there?

this is the most fun part. the dress.

this is the most fun part. the dress.

Anyone who’s been in a long term relationship knows, once you grow out of the honeymoon phase, that shit is hella boring. It’s non-stop tedium, non stop quick missionary before you pass out, non stop “what do you want for dinner” conversations. I don’t want to live that, much less watch it. There’s a reason all my friends in relationships love it when I inevitably break up with whatever fool I have suckered into dating me for a few weeks: it’s so much more interesting than happily ever after, domestic bliss. Who are you with now, they ask? What are you upto now? What are you doing now? That’s why we liked Sex And The City, that’s why the single girl is endlessly appealing: always something new, always something unexpected. Always something we want to watch, and get engaged in.

shes gonna make it after all. she really is.

she's gonna make it after all. she really is.

In short, this movie will suck and is totally unnecessary. Send that money to us. We’ll use it wisely (on porn and whiskey).

Remnants:

1. Lambic, my most favoritest beer
2. The Ratatat Remixes Volume 2 are getting a lot of rotation on my iPod lately
3. Gawker kicked a lot of ass this week with getting Sarah Palin’s personal emails, also watching Bill O’ Reilly talk about Gawker is amazing.
4. I’ve been having some fun reading all the negative reviews for another horrendous chick flick, The Women!
5. The best chick flicks: Terms of Endearment, Bridget Jones’ Diary, Legally Blonde, My Best Friend’s Wedding

An Ode to R. Kelly (down low, nobody has to know)

Posted by mariamargarita on

I decided that my inaugural post to Counterforce, on this historic week, in which pizza loving Barack Obama accepts the presidential nomination from the Democratic National Committee, this is the perfect time to talk about the most influential black man in my life, a man known to you all as Robert Kelly.

obama bites into his candidacy, and into pizza

The first time I fell in love with Mr. Kelly was as a pissy little 18 year old liberal arts freshman. I was home for break and my brother was singing acapella to his classic song, “Feelin’ On Yo Booty” (off of what I feel is his best work, TP-2) and I insisted the song was fake. How can this be, I said? How can a song exist that is dedicated to uh, feeling on someone’s booty, in such a blatant way? I was very wrong, my dears. Oh, so very, very wrong. The song was REAL and it would worm its way into my punk rock girl heart of stone, previously dedicated to listening to songs about being sad, being pissed and not drinking. I learned the joy of songs about being in the club, getting drinks purchased for you, and having a man truly appreciate your posterior.

ice-t & coco would like to invite you to a costume party at their house.

He starts the song, telling you that he is “for real, no doubt” and that the DJ is making him feel “thugged-out”, a feeling I’m sure is quite pleasant. The rest of the song is a dedication to a woman’s booty, and to feeling on it, but that this feeling, this dalliance in the middle of the dance floor is short lived, since he will be taking off after the dance. Lest you think Mr. Kelly has a one track mind, in the middle of the song, he gives recognition to those who’s birthday it is, to those who have their own jobs, and to those who have some cash. He encourages you to celebrate these facts by putting your hands up but then again reminds you, that “players want to play” and that he will be leaving after he does this dance with you.

He can put his hands up.

He can put his hands up.

The next R. Kelly song I fell in love with was “Fiesta”. Perhaps I was attracted to the spanish word; I am of Latin American heritage after all. It is a celebration of the highest status one can hope to achieve in life: VIP (NSFW link!). In the song, we learn about the different types of alcohol commonly consumed in the VIP, namely Cristal (known in the song as Cris), Hennesey (or Henny), Moet (or “Mo”) and my favorite, Tanqueray, to which we are encouraged to add a little “juice to”. Personally, I prefer tonic, but who am I to question a man who “pops Cris on a daily base” and “has honies all up in the place”? Truly a vision of a life we should all aspire to.

a usual night in the VIP

a usual night in the VIP

No discussion of Mr. Kelly’s body of work can be complete without a mention of what I’m sure is the culmination of years of work and study: the Trapped In The Closet rock opera. It would be impossible for me to even begin to describe the pathos, drama, excitement that this story is. We begin with R. Kelly waking up in a bed that is not his own and the chaos that ensues when her husband comes home while he is getting ready to leave. R.Kelly hides in the closet and well..the story goes on from there. I enjoy this rendition of it, with each character played by a SIM:

Last, but certainly, certainly not least, we have…Real Talk. It’s a song that’s burned itself into my conciousness, and a phrase that I use daily, multiple times, when saying something that I need you hear, that is so honest. In this song, R. is having a conversation with his girlfriend of 5 years who has apparently seen him hanging out with some girls in the VIP section of the club, a place we already know he frequents. He insists nothing was happening, asking her if “DID YOU SAY THERE WERE OTHER GUYS THERE?” and then prompting her, as many boyfriends have asked me to before not to listen to the advice of my friends, or in his cutting words, to those “jealous, no man having ass hoes anyway” ; they know nothing of the intimacies of their relationship, since they “don’t eat with us, don’t sleep with us, and what they eat don’t make us shit.” Indeed, Mr. Kelly. Indeed.

Recommended listening for the full Robert Kelly experience: Leave Yo Name, Ignition, Bump & Grind.

Damn you, Rebecca Traister

Posted by Benjamin Light on
Oh, those halcyon 90s days of cordless phones and books.

Oh, those halcyon 90s days of cordless phones and books.

I wasn’t going to watch the X-Files movie this weekend (why is the singular form of movies not movy?). I mean, the trailers can best be summed up as: “zzzz FBI zzzzzzzzzz Mulder zzz Scully zzzzzzzzz It’s here! (scottish accent) zzzz Here! zzzz Here! zzzz Here! zz! HERE! zzzzz.” Chris Carter found god and wants to bludgeon us over the head with his new bullshit spirituality by reanimating one of the beloved shows of the 90s. There is no reason at all for “X-Files: I want to Believe” to exist.

And yet, I was over at Salon.com reading one of my favorite writers there and damn it all if Rebecca Traister’s excellent piece on Ms. Dana Scully didn’t get me kinda wanting to drive over to the theater. You should all go read the article as there is nothing I can write on the subject that she doesn’t say better. Some people are Mulder people. Some are Scully people. I’m the latter. I mean, she’s a redhead, c’mon! I must admit, I never saw the episode where it is suggested that Scully is immortal, and this intrigues me to no end. Sigh, there could have been so many great places to go with another X-Files movie and instead we get two burnt-out characters trying to help a child-fucker priest solve mysteries.

I’m trying to convince myself that it’s morally acceptable to go watch The Dark Knight again and then hop into The X-Files. On the one hand, I don’t want to support Chris Carter since he’s been a hack for about 10 years and completely killed the show back in the day. On the other, Gillian Anderson should really be getting more work. Sadly, I know in my heart that if I go see Batman again there’s about a 75% chance of me just leaving the theater afterward.

PS. It’s nice to see that the Sex and the City backlash has already begun amongst my favorite feminist authors on Salon.

Knew there was a reason I always kinda liked Miranda

Posted by Benjamin Light on

Yahoo! front page wants to warn me about frenemies.

Why wouldn't you take dating advice from a cougar 5 years on the wrong side of menopause?

Why wouldn't you take dating advice from a cougar 5 years on the wrong side of menopause?

Without having seen the movie, I’ll go ahead and agree with Miranda because Big is a power-tool. But then, Carrie is so aggressively shallow that she probably deserves to rot into old age with a creep like him. Can’t wait for SatC 2: Havana Nights where poor Ms. Bradshaw discovers that Big’s been married with a family in Queens the whole time and she’s just his clueless mistress on the side.

But I just want to say that I love the concept of a frenemy and would like to see this word get more play in our culture. Even if it’s just being used to describe a friend who is trying to limit your own self-destructive behavior.

Serenity. Now.

Posted by Benjamin Light on

One of the many great Seinfeld episodes was on last night. The one where George dates a girl in prison. The one where Elaine utters the seminal line:

“Jerry, it’s 3:30 in the morning. I’m at a cockfight. What am I clinging to?”

The one where her boyfriend is going bald and George gives him only 10-14 months left before his life is (basically) over. “Live, dammit. Live! Every precious moment as if this was the last year of your life. Because in many ways…it is.”

Which is all barely tangental enough to segue into this:

Yahoo! front page has some bad news about your tests. Maybe you'd like to sit down.

Yahoo! front page has some bad news about your blood work. Maybe you'd like to sit down.

Bonus points for the sublime column topic on the bottom right (though the column itself is rubbish). And yes, I am now openly pining for whomever’s job it is to pick these articles and write the headlines. Side note: didn’t Elaine Benes make it cool to be a single girl in New York way the fuck before Carrie and her fake friends did? And with a lot better writing?

These shoes cost 300 fucking dollars

Posted by Benjamin Light on

 

Cougars on the prowl

Cougars on the prowl

Somewhere along the way, the main page of Yahoo! changed from a bunch of portal links and AP news headlines into a weird internet version of TV soft news morning shows. Witness today’s featured column “10 Love Lessons From ‘Sex and the City’” by Valerie Reiss. I didn’t think it was possible to distill everything I find repellent about SATC into a few paragraphs, but the writer did a pretty good job with her first “lesson”:

1. Single is Not a Dirty Word

The SATC gals transformed “single”–”spinster”‘s more evolved cousin–from being a hole to a presence; they made singledom cool. Even when it hurt.

One of my favorite moments is when Carrie’s silver Manolos get swiped from a smug-married’s apartment and the friend refuses to reimburse her. She lectures Carrie about spending too much on shoes and not enough on family, playing right in to her singleton’s shame.

This, after Carrie has bought engagement, wedding, shower, and baby gifts for her. In a genius move, Carrie registers herself at Manolo Blahnik just for those shoes, single “bride” that she is, forcing the friend to pay up. To me this said the single life is just as valid as the married. We deserve as many gifts and even blessings from our friends and society, regardless of what others might think of our struggles and choices.

Jennifer Hudson, airbrushed out extra 10 pounds per cougar, shame

*not pictured: reason, accountability, Jennifer Hudson

Oh Carrie! You go, girl! What’s amazing is that I don’t think Ms. Reiss was going for even a hint of irony when she wrote this. “To me, this said the single life is just as valid as the married.” Really? Catty pranking to get the overpriced shoes you want is how you validate, nay, empower yourself? I mean, it’s not like anyone has ever accused SATC of being shallow and materialistic before. Oh, wait, that’s what everyone criticizes the show for.

Maybe she has a point about SATC making singledom cool. I disagree, but it’s a position one can at least take. But backing it up by pointing out the time Carrie stuck it to her married friend over some shoes can’t be the best example of it. Or like the 50th best. But still you’ve got to hand it to the “Sex” writers; not only did they manage to fetishize female singledom into a thin metaphor for a very specific kind of male otherness, they’ve spawned a whole generation of otherwise lovely women who believe that Chris Noth A) possesses a penis, and B) is something to pine for.