Mis(s) Matched

During the evolution of on line dating it was the ultimate breeding ground for…well, breeding; or at least practicing the art of breeding. The plethora of options was limitless and everyone seemed to show up with their A-game. There was an insurmountable collection of perfection with every click of the mouse. But alas, all good things must come to an end and year after year the number of worthy adversaries was dropping like flies. And then along came the summer of the triple threat that nearly endangered my already perilous dating life.

Enter bachelor number one. Match.com’s simplistic rating system gave us a ninety-two percent compatibility factor and being as how I was on the verge of finalizing my second divorce anything over fifty percent seemed to be a step in the right direction. We did the usual interweb dating song and dance…he winked, I replied and before I knew it we had scheduled the “meet and greet.”  Thrilled with the anticipation of sipping coffee over lingering glances with a former Calvin Klein underwear model, the day couldn’t arrive soon enough.

As per usual, all went off without a hitch, but then again, I’d practically perfected the meet and greet. Give just enough information with subtle innuendos to grab his attention. Look cute, but not high maintenance. If he’s tall wear stilettos, if not, flip-flops… just to ensure there’s no awkward first kiss height issues. Throw a few ego stroking compliments his way, laugh at his jokes and be sure to end the festivities before the conversation had time to get stale. Honestly, it’s really not all that difficult, and I’m fairly certain a monkey could do it. So there he was, Mister Hawter than Hawt, eating out of the palm of my hand and booking another go round before I had time to thank him for the triple café mocha.

Date two likened the first, except this particular evening I was hit with the “next week is my Birthday” bomb. Cripes! Really, so soon? I should have paid more attention to his zodiac sign, but his half nekkid photos distracted me from the important issues like… don’t start dating someone who’s about to celebrate anything. Before I knew it I was stuck in a quandary as to how much cash to drop on his six pack abs. Not only was this going to be the all important third date, but I had to make it special for a quasi stranger who I had little more in common with than his DNA that he’d left in my mouth.

Being a sucker for twinkling eyes, a Colgate smile and an ass that I could rest my library books on, I opted to suck it up and make reservations at his favorite sushi restaurant in the Hollywood Hills… and I don’t even like sushi! It was a beautiful night, with an amazing view of the debauchery on Sunset Boulevard. Sadly, by the time we ordered appetizers we’d started to enter… the quiet zone. Without warning we’d run out of things to say and considering the circumstances we couldn’t ignore the silence and jump straight to the all important third date hump-a-thon. As I suppressed another yawn all I could think about was bypassing the formalities and getting at least one good romp for the dough I was shelling out to eat a meal that made me want to vomit.

Startled back to reality by the waitress with a plate full of raw fish and seaweed I was certain things couldn’t get any worse…and then I heard, “I have something I need to tell you.” Oh c’mon, seriously? Now you want to talk? Now you want to confess your childhood masturbation habits? What? What do you want to tell me, Mr. You’d Be Much Cuter Naked Man? Of course he did his best to prepare me with his rendition of some football mishap or another. (Honestly, I was halfheartedly listening while trying to ignore the eyeballs on my plate.) Perhaps in hindsight I should have paid more attention because before I knew it my 6′3 man of steel was removing his pearly whites and putting them in the front pocket of his shirt!

Now, I’d like you to take a moment and think about not only the horror that my super model date had suddenly turned into Elmer Fudd, but how incredibly difficult it is to not stare at a gaping black holed grill. Let me tell you, folks, there was nothing pretty about the way he gummed those oysters like a baby latched on to a lactating nipple.

Needless to say, that was my last date with Mc Hawterson. Not because of his lack of enamel, but because the bastard actually had the audacity to place an extra order to go…on my tab!

Let’s hear it kids. Have you ventured into the online dating realm, and if so, was it a glorious adventure or a horrific tale? And more importantly, would you date a 30-something with dentures?

The fun and not-so-good times are just getting started, stay tuned in the coming weeks for Bachelors 2 and 3 in the mini-series of Mis(s)-Matched.

Getting him to enjoy arts and crafts week at panty camp

Dear Eve,

My boyfriend of three years absolutely refuses to have sex with me when I am having my period, or should I say he refuses to enter through the front door. Instead, he insists that during that time of the month we switch to anal. I really don’t understand it, he almost seems afraid of my period. I have tried to talk to him about it, but he practically runs from the room when I mention the subject. And before you think I am weird for even caring, we have recently started talking about marriage…but I am really finding myself hung up on this issue! It seems so childish and immature of him, I mean it’s natural! And besides, it is my horniest time of the month! I really don’t want to subject myself to a lifetime of nothing but buttsex during my horniest week of every month!

Thanks,

Blood-lust

Dear Blood-bust,

So…your man fears the red tide. He doesn’t want to hang around when Aunt Flo comes to town. He doesn’t like to saddle old rusty. He doesn’t enjoy arts and crafts at panty camp. He’s a-scared of vagina blood. What a pansy!

Sadly, many men are like this, so I wouldn’t be too quick to toss this particular one back. It’s not even his fault really, society has trained men to fear all things labeled “women troubles.” It’s a survival tactic, passed down from generation to generation. Though it is true that some women find that rare evolved man who doesn’t get squirrelly at the sight of a little VB, those men seem to be an exception, not a rule.

The trouble is, you’re right…this can be a time of great sex in the monthly cycle. Our hormones are raging; this makes us not only crave sex in a big way, but also puts us in a better position to achieve exceptional orgasms. And sex helps cramps, you selfish bastards!

So first ask your man this: Would he rather risk his precious penis getting some e-coli jammed in the pipe? The blood is not going to hurt him…having poop particles up his urethra however, that CAN hurt big time. I would tell you to ask a guy I know about that but I doubt he would want to be identified here today. So lets move on…to you.

Yes, you…you aren’t innocent either, Ms. Bloody Mary! If this is such a tremendous and rule breaking issue for you, why did you wait THREE years to deal with it? You have CONDITIONED him to his monthly butt-sex week and now you want to make issue of it? Foolish girl. It’s alright though; you have come to your senses and are ready to stand up for yourself…better late than never. So let’s talk about the best way to have period sex with a squeamish fellow:

We all know that sex during the great flood can be a tad messy. But it’s really not that difficult to get around that. Use your human ingenuity, people. A couple of old towels can help you deal with most of that mess. Lay one beneath you, and keep one nearby, to help Mr. Red Scare there clean the peen. Dim the lights too. These simple steps really should eliminate most of his physical issues. And I can’t really deal with the psychological stuff here; I’m just a girl with a website. Anyhow, if he reads the steps above and is still freaked, try sex in the shower. Tell him to keep his eyes off the drain and on you so he won’t have to see any of that icky girl matter. Freakin’ wimp.

Worse case scenario, just masturbate. A lot. The whole week. In the shower, in bed, wherever and whenever you can. Let him see how excitable you are during this time…it might help. Certainly couldn’t hurt.

And really, don’t wait for years to talk about relationships issues, sexual or otherwise. You have put up with this unpleasant monthly problem approximately 36 times already in your relationship…no wonder you are seeing red!

So talk it out with him, and god as my witness, Miss Scarlett will return to Tara but you will not go unsatisfied again!

Because like I said…worse case scenario…let your fingers do the walking…fiddle dee dee…a girls gotta do…

Love and kisses,

Eve

BOO!

Hidden indiscretions…we all have them. Overstuffed envelopes containing love letters of yesteryear, a little locked box with pixilated images and of course the ever popular, naughty drawer. Memories and alter egos, stashed and hoarded away with the notion that our eyes are the only one’s that will ever peer into our unmentionables. And then the day comes…dun, du, du, dun, duuuuun….when others are inadvertently made privy to the fact that not all of our dirty little secrets are taken to the proverbial grave.

Personally, I’m an emotional packrat. I save everything from movie stubs to post-it notes and champagne corks. I suppose this trend begins in the hopes that each new encounter will ultimately become the relationship that lasts through my golden years. I revel in the idea that someday I’d be able to fondly remember the play off series or the trip to the amusement park on our summer vacation. Each tangible item in the “memory box” would evoke an emotional response. My heart would swoon as a smile crosses my lips while aimlessly rocking on the porch sipping lemonade. What? A girl can dream, can’t she?

Okay, Okay, so in theory, having a sentimental treasure trove has warm and fuzzy written all over it. In reality…not so much. Imagine for a moment, your purest, gawdliest friend or family member. Now, imagine the shock and awe you might endure if you were to unexpectedly discover that they secretly fancy zoophilia, numerous sexual partners, cross-dressing or if you’ve struck the mother load…all three simultaneously. WHOA! Suddenly your impressions have been shattered into tiny bits of convoluted irrational thoughts leaving you with nothing more than unanswered questions.

In the event of my permanent absence there are very few people I could fathom sorting through my life and discovering some of my, shall we say…questionable activities. Although I’m not generally one to keep secrets that certainly does not mean that I would ever want my survivors to see my bits in high def or read about my summer vacation to Mexico when I was a not-so-innocent barely legal teen on the verge of a starring role in Girls Gone Wild.

Here’s a little food for thought…if others would be horrified by your possessions of X-rated paraphernalia, years of memoirs or that you still harbor a crush on Scott Baio, I highly suggest you invest in a paper shredder and schedule a bonfire in your near future! No one needs that kind of unsolicited information floating around in their grey matter distorting their untainted opinions and memories. If you’ve got skeletons in your closet…for the love all that’s unholy, get rid of them! Spare the damage to your children’s psyches when they discover that you’ve used their kindergarten paper mache piñata to store your nipple clamps and whatnots!

It’s time to give up the goods…what secrets are you hiding? Are you an emotional pack rat or do you binge and purge? And, how would you feel if you came face-to-face with current lovah’s past conquests?

Holding Off on the Hug Jamboree

As many of you know, I am currently involved in a long distance relationship. While my mans and I have a pretty decent handle on emotional closeness, sometimes I just miss the physical touch of another human being. Not sexual necessarily…just…bodily contact with another adult-type person.

Now, now, stop raising the eyebrows; I would never, I repeat, NEVER cheat on my boyfriend. But the other day whilst surfing along the cyber waves I came across an article about something that gave me pause…“cuddle parties.” Of course I had to investigate further.

So I ended up on a site appropriately named oc-cuddle.com. These people came across like touch-pushers; going on and on about how unhealthy it is to not be getting your daily dose of nutritious and delicious man-handling. Uh oh, thought I. Am I going to become a touch-anemic?? Do I need the kind of relief only a G-rated hug jamboree can bring??

But the deeper my reading got, the more deeply disturbed I felt. I quickly realized this stuff = not for Trista. And you know I don’t like to feel creeped out alone, so I am going to drag you down into the world of squeeze-soirées with me! Whee!

First off, you’ll want to know that these folks do have some ground rules, 15 of them to be exact. You can read them all on their site, but I decided to discuss a few of ‘em with you. (My commentary is in red…)

• Pajamas stay on the whole time. - This ain’t no nekkid party folks! Thems down the hall…

• No SEX. (Yep, you read that right.) - Again, may I refer you to that party down the hall…

• Kissing and nuzzling, as well as other forms of touch, are allowed, but you must ask permission and receive a verbal YES before you touch anyone. - Now, when they say other forms of touch, do they mean “got your nose!” touching, or “oops, I accidentally pinned you down under me with my hand on your vagina!” touching? What’s the difference you ask? You are so not invited to my cuddle party…

• You don’t have to cuddle anyone at a Cuddle Party, ever. - Sweet! All you voyeurs out there, you can go to watch people…hug…that oughta be a hoot.

• NO DRY HUMPING! - Are you getting the asexual vibe here? Cuz I am starting to…

• If you’re in a relationship, communicate and set your boundaries and agreements BEFORE you go to the Cuddle Party. Don’t re-negotiate those agreements/boundaries during the Cuddle Party. (Trust us on this one.) - “Well baby, I know I said I wasn’t gonna touch no one’s boobalies but yours, but look at that woman’s boobalies! No baby, really…would you just look at her luscious…where ya going…?”

• Get your Cuddle Lifeguard On Duty or Cuddle Caddy if there’s a concern, problem, or question or should you feel unsafe or need assistance with anything during the Cuddle Party. - Your cuddle lifeguard? In case you are drowning in a sea of pathetic? And what is the caddy for…to bring you a four iron to clunk people in the head in case the freaks go native on you?

• Crying and giggling are both welcomed and encouraged. - Just not at the same time, because, well, that’s creepy…even for gropers-r-us.

• Be hygienically savvy. - No one likes doggy breath in a puppy pile!

Anyhow folks, you get the idea. I know I am being a tad harsh, but what I found in my exploration filled me with a hard core case of the heebie-jeebies. I realized something about myself while perusing the site, I really am not comfortable with the idea of rolling around on the floor with a bunch of pajama clad strangers.

So what kind of people DOES this concept appeal to?

I mean, really? Instead of creating intimacy with people in your life, you have to pay 30 bucks to be touched by an unfamiliar?? I suppose I should be proud of y’all for making your way out of your grandma’s basement, but come on! This doesn’t seem like pro-touch healing to me, but more like a scam that is feeding off the lonely and socially stunted.

Maybe the founders are right…maybe we are living in a touch-deprived society. But thinking about that statement makes me want to go pick up my kids and hug them…not pay to pet a stranger…(especially the kind of strangers willing to hand over money to be fondled by people they don’t know…)

So, to each their own and all that, but this is one social scene I shall not be exploring further. I will look fondly to the day when I can be spooned (and get forked) by my boyfriend again, but until then the only snuggling up I am going to be doing is with my own pillow. And thanks to cuddle.com I feel 100% better about the waiting.

So my friends, what do you think about this? Are you just a fluffy-wuffy cuddle bunny looking for a place to get petted? Or are you thinking this is perhaps a wee bit creepy? Would you pay 30 smackers to get touched by a stranger? Do you believe that grown-ass adults should get involved with something called puppy piles? I need to know!

Ding Dong Doormat

Dear Eve,

Why is it that relationships are never equal? You have to admit, men do a lot more things for women than they do for men - dinner, massages, gifts, emotional support, romantic gestures…etc. Women never buy a man something without expecting something bigger in return. Are men supposed to accept that women will never be able to love us unconditionally and with the same desire we have for you?

Hopelessly,
Reamed by Relationships

Dear Reamed,

Bitter, party of one…your table is ready. Dude, are you serious? Of all the questions that we’ve received here at Eve-101 yours has truly got to be one of the most ludicrous! The simple notion that women are unable to love men unconditionally and equally goes against the very grain of logic and reason. Women nurture by nature, we couldn’t avoid it if we wanted to.  And I absolutely do not have to admit that your statement is true, as a matter of fact, your asinine opinions are making my hair hurt!

Listen brainiac, if you feel as though you’re giving more than you’re getting perhaps you need to take into consideration your actions versus those you mingle with. If you’re the only one participating in a relationship, well then, it’s not really a relationship is it? Is it possible that you’re the guy who will leach on to every woman you meet until you smother the very life out of her? Or are you the one who offers up kind gestures subconsciously expecting that she’ll do the same? If you want to keep score, I recommend picking up a game of hoop with the boys and forgoing the relationship hatch marks.

Now, granted, there are women (and men too) who are nothing more than opportunistic scavengers who’ll take what they can get and leave you high and dry. But, to make such a broad statement that all women fall into the “unequal” category simply proves your narrow minded thought process and probable limited experience. So let’s play a little game, shall we? Why don’t you start by making a list of personal traits from your last 3 relationships…once you find the common denominator it should be rather easy to steer clear of those that you’re attracting whom are causing you so much pain and misery. Next, I’d highly suggest that you do something about that attitude of yours…it really is unflattering and more than likely the root cause of your disenchantment.

If introspection and self-awareness are too complicated, perhaps you should embrace your love of all things masculine and switch teams. No? Well then, if you require a woman in your life to fulfill your unmet needs try communicating more and blaming less. Take responsibility for your own actions, quit whining like a little pansy ass and don’t be a doormat. People will only take advantage of you if you let them!

Are you a giver or a taker? Do you tip the scales in your favor or balance them equally? Should Reamed remain hopeless or simply change his modus operandi?

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