Given the fact that in the past five years alone, a few hundred scholarly articles have appeared on the female orgasm, let alone the thousands of feature articles in the glossies, it is rather sad to establish that we know virtually nothing on why it exists.
It’s hard to know what to do when someone we love is facing something awful. We don’t want to do the wrong thing or get in the way, or we want to help but don’t know how to, or we face a huge flood of fear and sadness that feels hard to push away long enough to be supportive, or they don’t seem to want or need help. But there are some ways that you can be present and supportive.
Stain treatment really (really really really) depends on what the stain is.
I have defined abs, I have Michelle Obama arms, I have much-improved posture. I can do handstands and weird arm balances that defy gravity. I can beat most of my male friends in a push-up contest. I have the self-confidence to declare these things.
I finally managed to act on my wishful thinking and drag home a wooden shipping pallet. You know the type: They’re always stacked outside stores, waiting for whoever hauls them away to haul them away. The same type of pallet you’ll see in “upcycled,” “repurposed,” “reclaimed” projects everywhere, done by people who seem reluctant to call them “OMG FREE WOOD FROM THE SIDEWALK” projects.
There’s this presumption out there that some people are good and some people are bad in bed, but I think it’s totally untrue. I think there are really only degrees of compatibility. I mean, think about the worst kisser you’ve ever kissed, the absolute worst. Now, I’m convinced there is someone out there on the planet who loves the way that person kisses, can’t get enough. Really! So it isn’t about these particular guys being good or bad in bed, it’s about the degree of chemistry that you have with another other person. My advice, here, is keep experimenting until you find that guy who absolutely loves to do to you what you love gettin’ done.
Nail polish — I’ve been unreasonably squicked out by it for far too long now, but all the girly blogs I’ve been reading have worn me down. Problem is, I gravitate towards the sheer, pale, pinky stuff and it NEVER goes on right! No matter how many coats I do (OK, so I’ve never gone beyond two really. See: lazy) it looks streaky and uneven. What’s the trick?
I think our relationship is pretty awesome in almost every way except for one thing — I have gotten to the point where I feel that since we have been together for a while and put this much into each other, I’d like to know if there’s a future here. He, however, doesn’t seem to want to discuss it at all.
Picture it: It’s the seventeenth century. Bras don’t exist yet. As a typical woman, what do you do?
You must always conduct yourself in a manner that can only bring credit to your job and the other Bunnies with whom you work.
Every single one of my serious and semi-serious relationships, and a large percentage of my not-serious exes and male platonic friends — all in relationships or otherwise indisposed — have over the years expressed some manner of too-bad-it’s-not-possible longing for me.
I need the perfect t-shirt. The sort of t-shirt that’s tissue-soft but still manages to not be totally see-through. I want to dress like a cool California girl.
Errol Flynn was that guy — that one guy, we all know them — who was too handsome for his own good. Early on, he figured out what his looks could do for him, and he rode that wave to various destinations. He was a textbook womanizer, an astoundingly successful player — a lech, a cad, a rake, and any number of other British-sounding adjectives that describe the combination of sexual appetite and the charisma required to feed it.
Despite my divorce and recent dumping, I actually do think I make an okay partner, and it might be nice to be in love again someday. Any thoughts?
How else do we make sense out of the bounty that included no less than three Christina Ricci vehicles, career-bests for Ron Howard, Michael Mann, Mel Gibson, Richard Linklater, Amy Heckerling, Todd Haynes, and Clint Eastwood, the speedy ascension of Sandra Bullock’s star, a talking pig, AND Showgirls?
She was called “the black Marilyn Monroe” and had flawless, radiant skin the black press referred to as “honey” and “cafe au lait.” And there was the certain way she took ownership of a room, with a reverberating, confident laugh and fierce, dazzling eyes. But being a black actor in the 1950s meant playing savages, slaves, and mamies — debasing roles that Dandridge refused on principle.
Has a man recently told you, “You look tired” at work? That’s a big deal. You’re probably putting out distress signals that say “I’m not prepared to have it all!”
It’s obviously not a huge shock to you that I find you attractive and sometimes wonder about what it would be like to date you. I’m a single guy. Who wouldn’t be attracted to someone like you? You’re smart, you dress cool, you are funny. The skill set for girlfriend isn’t so different than the skill set for being a good platonic friend. Maybe you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a wife or whatever. I’m not necessarily trying to break up your serious relationship. I get to hear about all the great and lousy things this other person does to you in your relationship, and maybe I sometimes wonder if I could do a better job as your sexual and life partner.
Natalie Wood was a transitional star, her career straddling Hollywood’s awkward shift from the classic studio system to the independent free-for-all that continues to characterize film production today. Her face also seems frozen in transition from girl to woman: Wood was a child star, Oscar nominee, teen bride, and has-been — all before the age of twenty.