13 Reasons Why Men Suck (Part 1)

Excuse the sleazy title but I’d like to offer some counterweight to the common tone of my narrative and provide a list of male shortcomings. There will be “basket of deplorables” level generalizations but I trust you’ve come prepared with a grain of salt and an internal laugh track waiting to be cued.

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In reverse order:

13)  Female orgasm is superior. Depending on whom you ask and how they classify their O moments, there are anywhere between 3 and 11 different types of female orgasms. Not only that but – on average – men have shorter orgasms (5-22 seconds) compared to their female counterparts (~20 seconds). And while I’ve been the cause of many, the aftereffects never cease to amaze me. The first time I heard “Holy shit, I can’t even move right now” after a long session, I asked her if I should call an ambulance. And I was serious.

12)  Suck at staying in touch. Some men don’t buy into the whole “brotherly love” culture and unless you’re sharing some activity with your boys (e.g., baseball league), you’ll inadvertently lose touch with those once close to you. In short, we often disservice ourselves and our relationships.

11)  Stupid immaturity. Often disguised as boyish and endearing, our silliness can get us into trouble as an adult. My cryptic password at work used to be BigTittedBJs69. (I was in one of my sarcastic moods.) It wasn’t a problem until I got locked out of my desktop and had to forward ISD my access credentials so they could unlock my account. “I’m sorry, was that Big Titted Bee Jays Seventy-nine? Oh, I see. It’s sixty-nine. Gotcha.” #LessonLearned

10)  Moreover, we squander our time. Whether it was Wilde or Shaw that came up with “Youth is wasted on the young,” it comes as no surprise that this tidbit was uttered by a male. Sometimes it’s the unwillingness to advance to the next step in a relationship, other times it’s becoming complacent with regular sex, or perhaps it’s overstaying your welcome at a job where you enter blowjob-related passwords everyday. Some of us aren’t future-oriented and we’re the worse for it.

9)  Misunderstanding people; women in particular. Although not everyone is easy to read, most sensible humans exhibit repetitive patterns. Patterns can be elucidated and used to predict tones of behavior. It’s with this that I hope we can extirpate idiotic gibes like “What are you, on your period?” Or “You should lose some weight” and so on. This goes further than uttering dumb shit; it’s the injustice of not bothering to understand those around you.

Click here for Part 2!

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Image Of Beauty

We spend innumerable hours fixated on lofty ideas that it comes as a great relief – not to mention surprise – to relish in moments of ineffable and tangible beauty. Why is it that we can’t simply frame these mental photographs? The mere attempt to do so would make us all abject, like an actor misplacing his lines on opening night. To truly sink into these ephemeral periods, without the aid of psilocybin, one requires another person to uphold and testify to this feeling of ecstasy. After all, love is a doing word.

I have this image in my head that I can’t shake; something that would soften even the most broad-backed misanthropic pessimist – a role I’m no stranger to. The context of the image can be summed up by a quote from the Metta Sutta. (If you’ve never experienced this objective sentiment, give it time.)

“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world — above, below, and across — unhindered, without ill will, without enmity.” – The Buddha

What I see in this image is nothing but the geographical curvature of a lover’s hip. An intoxicating instrument for lust, no doubt, but in this state, I’m only studying the arc and bow of someone I love, as if I were sketching it down to print. How do the shadows cast depth? Can I smell the oils on her skin? Am I able to mold this image in my mind before grazing my fingers gently over her body? Part of dining out at an upscale restaurant is feasting your eyes on your meal before you actually feast. This is that moment and I intend to seize it to the best of my ability.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Halloween On The Scene

‘Tis that festive time of the year in America where everyone dresses up, feasts on cheap milk chocolate, downs several cocktails, stumbles back to their homes, empties out their cornucopias, followed by their stomachs. Just me? Well, I’m sure Merman didn’t make it to the bathroom in time too.

For all you part-time office dwellers, today was the perfect opportunity to affront your smug boss by covering them with a thousand post-it notes. If you didn’t, it’s still Halloween week, you can still get away with it if done with enough conviction. Awkwardly get the closet key from Sharlene the hoarder, grab ten dozen packages of post-its, half the HR team, and ambush your boss in his/her corner office. Do it. Do it while you still can dammit! This week is about showing your true self.

Several years ago, I went to a college Halloween party where an old acquaintance had the gall to dress up as a six-foot penis. He was the ex-boyfriend of a good friend and after a few drinks she vehemently vented to me about how he cheated and appeared emotionally devoid during most of their relationship. While consolation would have been appropriate, I took the more impertinent route. After returning my gaze back to her, my only response was, “Of course he did Vicky. He is literally a giant dick.” Buyer beware.

Happy Halloween all!

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

 

She Makes Me Wanna Die (Girl Fail #21): Part 2

(To read Part 1, click here)

“I want all my children to look like you,” she used to say.

After 18 months of dating, she stayed at my apartment for a weekend to celebrate my birthday. While preparing breakfast on my “special” day, I asked her to finish cooking some bacon so that I could change. While in my room, I heard her screaming and cursing that she had burnt the meat. I assured her that I had more in my fridge and told her not to fret but this rationale had unmistakably mired me into a dispute that would last for the next 45 minutes. Close to its zenith, she emphatically started throwing clothes into her bag, threatening to leave.

Knowing that she’d have nowhere else in the city to go (she was from a different state), I stood in front of the door and begged her to stay.

“Get out of my way.”

“Look, you’re angry. That’s okay, we don’t have to talk right now but where are you going to go? Please stay.”

“Get the fuck out of my way!”

As I implored her to talk to me, she grabbed one of my steak knives from the kitchen, pushed it up against my skin and pitilessly repeated herself. I opened the door and let her walk out of my life. We spoke hours later but we never completely mended our relationship. It was the end.

Years have passed but I still see her every week in the streets of Manhattan. It’s not actually her, obviously, but it will be one feature that brings me back; a stranger’s hair, demeanor, or clothing.  Sometimes this vicarious stranger – well, she makes me wanna die.

However cliché, we have all considered what it means to be in love. (Here’s my take.) Surely, the modernist poet, W.H. Auden, brooded heavily on this. His conversational poem, O Tell Me the Truth About Love, delves into many of love’s attributes but which stanza is true? If the subject of “love” in the poem could somehow be hidden from the reader, one would feel quite agitated from the hodgepodge of contradictory descriptors employed to describe the same thing. Whatever your sentiments, the answer to Auden’s questions remains a resounding “Yes.”

Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

-W.H. Auden

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

She Makes Me Wanna Die (Girl Fail #21): Part 1

With a cold knife pressing into my neck, about to draw blood, I couldn’t afford to deliberate what brought my adversary – and love of my life – to act so acutely. I suppose, in my girlfriend’s mind, she required the upper hand in our most recent dispute and determined, perhaps wistfully, that whatever ends justified the means. Like any story worth hearing, it’s best if I backtrack to the beginning.

After reaching the summit of a verdant mountain top, I confessed my love to the most alluring woman I have ever known. Her impractical jest, cunning flirtation, and  conspicuous yearning for worlds unseen made her a perfectly dangerous confidant. The two weekend trips we took together were the best times of my life. With zero reluctance, the L word was exclaimed on our third excursion. With this, we agreed to carry out a long distance relationship since she didn’t live in NYC.

The next six months eagerly passed by as we remained content; I couldn’t say the same for the following year. Naturally, she carried burdens that were, at times, unbearable. With a past history that included sexual assault, anger issues, depression, and a suicide attempt, I felt as though I needed to be her anchor, and hold her far from those grievous times. Anyone who has ever been in a similar boat knows that this is an impossible no easy task.

“Given love, the impossible becomes what you do”

Despite all we shared in common, she was impetuous, impracticably irritable, and shortsighted. I didn’t care and loved her anyway. Aren’t you suppose to endure another person’s imperfections so that you can fully come to terms with your own? Think of it as a literal “labor of love.”

That’s what I used to tell myself.

Click here for Part 2

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Re-Objectifying The Concept of Objectification (Including the Sexual Kind)

An interesting write-up on a contentious topic; objectification.

It seems to me that given the long history of abuse and sexual discrimination, some modern feminists get caught up in the historical abasement in an effort to keep the momentum going for the future. True, their work isn’t done but feminism need not be a dirty word. It’s positive and represents equality. It’s just as important to recognize where the sexes differ and how paths intersect from separate beginnings; objectification can be a two-way street. Hell, any Tinder user objectifies on a daily basis. Despite this, however, it sucks that some men are just idiotic pigs willing to say anything to get a rise out of the opposite sex. Catcalling is horrific in NYC and most men have to hear about it secondhand, so it can also be difficult to fully appreciate the scope of what’s common nowadays.

Here’s a take on this open-ended topic:

Jack Fisher's Official Publishing Blog

Picture, for a moment, the following scenario. A man and a woman are sitting on a couch watching a movie. Since every movie outside of gay porn is supposed to include an attractive woman, a scene comes along where the cameras emphasize just how attractive she is. Sometimes it’s a body double. Sometimes it’s Photoshopped. The brains and genitalia of men don’t care. It often leads to a conversation like this.

Man: Wow. That woman is pretty damn hot!

Woman: Yeah, I can see why you’d think that.

Pretty mundane, right? How many people have had that exact conversation with only a slight variation in the verbiage? Hell, I’ve heard my own parents have this conversation. It’s not awkward, nor should it be. When something or someone shows up on a screen and we find it attractive, it tends to start a conversation.

That scenario is not an issue. It…

View original post 1,749 more words

Friend Threshold

Friend Threshold: The maximal amount of friends or loved ones a person chooses to maintain. All other associations will either be discarded immediately or left underdeveloped.

What’s your number? Did you reach it? How old were you? Moreover, how did it feel?

I ponder this out of sheer ignorance. The idea of having a myriad of friends, a sweet social network, remains a foreign concept to me, and not by choice. Without my consent, I’ve become a loner, and given my haphazard track record, one might even conclude that it was purposeful and assiduously sought out.

After spending another birthday alone last week, I started digging into what this figurative “friend threshold” is. (Oddly enough, you could take it literally as well. Most notably, Facebook has a harsh 5,000 friend limit; consider yourself warned.) From all the blogs, forlorn songs, confessional websites, historical novels, etc., one would effortlessly conclude that you’re more likely to run into someone seeking friendship than someone not willing to squander any of their social time. And yet, each time I fail making that connection, it ironically connects me to that feeling that’s been sinking. I’m no stranger to Miss Misery. As I become mired in dialogue going nowhere, she pours the whiskey, listens silently, and never forgets to top me off.

In part, I blame the city. Active New Yorkers appear, at the very least, brimmed with companionship. Their ships have boarded and departed, and there I am in some makeshift “Cast Away”raft clumsily paddling towards their modern vessel. In all honestly, I’m not advocating to readily accept every human as your best friend. (We have dogs for that.) But there is plenty of middle ground that’s rarely granted to expatriates like myself.

I’ll give an example.

I organized a pizza party with my roommates and we all chipped in on spreading the word. As luck would have it, the apartment across from us is occupied by three women our age, so I knocked on their door to invite them. Within 10 seconds, my neighbor made it seem as though my presence was that of an intrusive gadfly, despite just standing in the hallway.

“Hey! I’m Single Guy in NYC, I’m not sure if you remember me but I’m you’re neighbor.”

“Okay…” she sighed, hardening her grip on her door frame.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that my roommates and I are having a party next week and, if you’re all free, you should come hang out.”

“Right, maybe. Thanks.”

The door closed immediately afterwards.

You might think she’s just shy but she’s really not. On the contrary, from what I’ve gathered living on the same floor as her, she’s a lively person. Most likely your average beautiful urban 20-something year old just relishing in their prime. And probably comfortable with her friend threshold. Pizza party? Ha. What’s in it for me?

I guess I see her point. 

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Have You Got A Light?

Lying naked and winded, fresh out of cigarettes – kicking the habit anyway – on your bed as you begged for another story with your ear pressed to my chest to feel every vocal vibration, we came to appreciate how affectedly we loved previous lovers. It was another narrative woven into our garbs but it was a best-seller. Doesn’t that count for anything?

The stories I told on days like those could fill volumes, although it was difficult to pinpoint the reason for your curious penchant. Maybe you simply enjoyed the sound of my voice or wanted to damn the silence in the room. Surely you wouldn’t request the same from a hubristic drunkard.

Although our rich companionship is often aggrandized in my head, the intensity and pathos still feels real. I now realize why you asked for a tall tale or factoid; you wanted all of me. After giving myself to you physically, you only wished to couple these ephemeral moments with something to take away. I’ll never have a chance to say it outside of this frivolous blog but I miss that and I’ll find it again. Only this time, I’ll be sure to reciprocate the offer.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

What Connects Us

To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. Is it my lurid sense of humor? After all, who wouldn’t embrace the gentle warmth of a stranger’s hand as you ascend to the gallows? Are you a vagrant and see that in me as well? I’m not the best looking but compared to old Boxcar Willy, I suppose I can hold my own. Maybe it’s a different flavor of independence; insolence and dissidence. Both kinds are easy to spot out – no need for smoke signals when there’s a fire of visible grandeur. On the contrary, perhaps you see something that isn’t there – a quality I’ve never possessed – and you’re unequivocally convinced it’s the answer to all your prayers. Who needs a God when there’s a temporal resource on speed dial? Number 4, to be exact.

Or, could it be that you’re attached to my illusive traits? Although mercurial and tacitly agreed upon, it feels like a blood pact. Meredith Brooks cashed in on being a “bitch,” so it’s been proven in theory and practice. Chaos can be, and often times is, majestic. That said, everyone has a threshold and, consequently, an end date. I just hope we can speak candidly when that time comes. To revise, and partially reverse, a pithy sentiment: Second chances should be given to everyone who deserves them.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Spirituality and Rape (Girl Fail #21)

“Ever have a lucid dream?” my friend asked.

Olivia and I placidly shook our heads. Familiar with the unconventional ways of my friend Noam, I knew this conversation was going places. However, I had no way of knowing whether its destination would deter innocent-looking Olivia; someone we had just met at this party. It was obvious that my accomplice and I were fighting for Olivia’s attention by passing around funny stories all night. May the most chivalrous man win her over as well as her number.Noam eagerly continued.

“Well, you know that it’s when you realize that you’re dreaming and you can control some things? Anyway, I had one last night. I was walking around Manhattan or something when I noticed that I was just dreaming. So I started flying around, looting some stores, having fun and such.”

“Did you have heat vision too?” I quipped. #DCcomics

“So I’m flying around when I spot two women by the park. I flew over, knocked one to the ground and landed on the other. Then I just started raping her while her friend is yelling and screaming at me to stop. And I said, ‘You shut up! Just SHUT UP! Or I’ll do you too!'”

Noam gave pause to lick his lips before finishing. “Then I did. Then I raped her too.”

A fireworks display worthy of the 4th of July went off in my head. I was abject. Dammit Noam, you twisted fuck. I need to find some new friends. How the hell did I live with this guy for a whole year? Things were looking promising with Olivia until you went off the rails! Even Houdini himself couldn’t get out of this one. 

Peering over at Olivia, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Overcome with majesty, she was utterly fascinated by this dream and wanted to hear more. Come to find out, she’s a spiritual dancer (whatever that means) and a self-trained reiki healer who happens to be obsessed with the meaning behind dreams. She pridefully claimed that her extensive dream journal was well over 100 pages long. Although Freud wrote in great length on the subject, making several revisions to The Interpretation of Dreams (1899), she was no Freud. Whether her reasoning was spurious or not, one thing was clear, if it felt right to her, it was right.

You can probably piece together the rest of her personality and beliefs. Here are a few things I instantly assessed without ever having to ask:

• Faithful over skeptical
• Reads her horoscope daily
• Possibly a little solipsistic
• Ambitiously gleeful and positive
• Has shoddy critical thinking faculties
• Thinks everything happens for a reason
• She’s more emotionally “intelligent” than traditionally intelligent
• Believes in tarot cards, palm reading, psychics, mystics, occultists, and the man by Penn Station that squeezes goat testicles while foretelling your future

Noam had won her heart via a dream of sexual abuse and aeronautics. How could the subject of rape, arguably the most traumatizing calamity a woman could ever experience, immersed in the context of a lucid dream not pose as a red flag? I suppose I was the odd man out on this one since she invited him to her next recital and they’re going on a date next weekend.

Don’t let my irreverent sense of humor fool you. I wasn’t putting Olivia down simply because she’s spiritual. I’m somewhat spiritual myself but it’s a pretty wide term and she embodied all the lazy stereotypes of it. Also, my friend isn’t an abuser or psycho – he  has a way of thinking not just outside the box but that there may not be a box at all. Watch him marry this girl and tell her folks how they met.  Surely better than a Tinder love story, wouldn’t you agree?

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC