What's Your Type?

Several years ago, a friend told me that within a 30-second survey of a crowded room, she could pick out exactly who I would be interested in. And she was right. If there was a six foot tall, blonde with blue eyes, All-American, football-loving, domestic-beer-drinking guy, with any kind of education stumbling around, I would be all over him. That was my type. Over the years, my type has changed. I would like to think I am a little less superficial and a lot more intellectual in what I am drawn to currently, but I'll be honest, I'm not so sure that is true. I can fully and with good conscience admit that I am a total chemistry junkie and I can usually detect it within a few seconds.

It seems that most people have a "thing" that they find attractive, and sometimes that "thing" can trump a whole lot of other attributes. The girl I mentioned above has a thing for a strong jaw. Another friend has a definite Latin bent, whether he is in fact Latin or not is irrelevant, if he has the look. Another girlfriend has a swimmers' body addiction. His face (and his personality for that matter) can seriously be a train wreck and she doesn't care if he has that v-taper with built out shoulders and a narrow waist. At least for a while.  

So what motivates this? Is it a matter of personal preference? What about societal expectations? Does it have something to do with past relationships? Is it some kind of biological/chemical/hormonal drive? Is it motivated by the little man who makes toast in the toaster? Is it all just a random clusterfuck?

Certainly personal preference is a huge component. If as a woman, you are 6 feet tall, it is unlikely you will be drawn to the guy who is 5'6 initially. I know a LOT of women who do not want to date someone who weighs the same or less than they do. There are clearly societal expectation issues involved in this as well that are a little deep for this early in the day... There are various studies out (like with real science, statistical analysis, and math-type stuff) about differences in whom women find attractive based on the stage in their cycle and whether or not they are on oral contraceptives. My guess is that it is an interplay between all these factors and probably a few more we don't quite understand.

It seems like it might be important to at least give some consideration to what your type is and WHY you are drawn to that type. Maybe it is because it is reminiscent of a past relationship that isn't quite resolved. Maybe it has something to do with your daddy issues. Maybe it is just a societal thing that is making you believe tall, dark, and handsome should be your type. By thinking it through, you can at least attempt to understand what motivates you. You then can consciously take the option to either pursue that type or to open up your mind a little. 

So... What's your type? Has it changed over the years? Is your boyfriend/partner/fuckbuddy/husband your type? Has your type changed? Do you think there is a little man in the toaster who makes toast? 

Talk to me, Skyler

Sixteen Hundred Dollars for a Good Time

I was doing a google search for Babeland, the best online sex toy shop, and a pop-up alerts me that the JIMMYJANE collection of vibrators is 20% off.  I love both a sale and a good time, so I clicked.  On the next page, a series of rainbow wands, like fat pens, caught my eye.  Then I saw the price: $1,650 dollars for a vibrator, now on sale for $1,320. The Jimmy Jane Ultimate Members Set of Six to be specific.  Whoa, I thought, that would have to be one hell of a good time. What could make a vibrator cost more than a thousand dollars? Babeland’s product description tell us:
 
Become a collector of artistic pleasure objects with the Jimmyjane Ultimate Members Set of 6, a limited edition of six gorgeously etched and brightly colored vibrators. Artist Jamie Hewlett's saucy boys and girls of the decadent London nightclub scene are immortalized on a set of whisper-quiet vibrators, each with a replaceable motor to ensure long-term usage. This pleasurable pop art comes in a boxed collector's set, sequentially numbered as part of the limited run. Three-year limited warranty with Jimmyjane.
 
Naturally, I tell Mr. Sometimes about this vibrator.  
 
June:              
It’s 1,650 dollars regularly, but it on sale, and really six vibrators.

Mr. Sometimes:       
What makes it special? Or rather, them.

June:              
They are engraved.  By an artist.  With pictures from the London nightclub scene.

Mr. Sometimes:                   
That’s great if you are into the London nightclub scene.  And they would be considered artwork.

June:              
You would display them?

Mr. Sometimes:                   
Of course. Why wouldn’t we?

June:              
We don’t display the ones we have now.  But these do come in rainbow of colors.

Mr, Sometimes:                   
Even better.

June:              
How much pleasure would they need to provide to make up for the price?

Mr. Sometimes:                   
I’d say about sixteen times if like a regular vibrator is one hundred bucks.

June:              
I think more like fifty.

Mr. Sometimes:                   
Then thirty-two times the pleasure.

June:              
That’s one hell of an orgasm.

Mr. Sometimes:                   
Multiple, probably.  You’re going to post this aren’t you?

June:              
Yup.  Does this mean I can buy the set?

Mr. Sometimes:                   
Nope.  No, it does not.

~ June

Update on Wednesday, June 6, 2012 at 4:51PM by Female Underground

I am suddenly reminded of an old joke: 

Woman at a bar in Las Vegas turns to the man sitting next to her and says, " For $500, I'll do anything you can name in 3 words... as long as it takes."   Man ponders for a moment, smiles, and responds, "I'll take you up up on that offer beautiful lady.  PAINT MY HOUSE."

Seriously, for $1600... this damn product better do my laundry and cook for me, because THAT would bring me TRUE year long pleasure!

I mean, come on, I thought I was out of control when I jumped from my $9.95, AA battery, no it doesn't look like anything erotic, replace it every 6 months because you've killed the motor, "just get me off in 10 minutes or less" vibe to the Lelo for somewhere around $200.  (For those who don't know this product... the girl at the local adult store recommended it to me because it was pretty and smooth... and I kind of dug the "it doesn't have to look like a penis to work" design) 

Granted , I like the Lelo, and it's DEFINITELY more fun to use with The Old Man (or perhaps Talented Old Man... the boyfriend won't let me use his real name here, so from now on, we shall call him TOM), but come on... I really just want to have an orgasm.  Though, in all fairness, the Lelo IS very quiet and cleans up easily... which the female in me really appreciates.

Anyway... I don't DISPLAY my toys for the world.  I'm not THAT evolved yet.  I keep them in a drawer in the night stand next to the bed, under some other things in case my mother or some house guest goes rummaging (don't ask, I can't explain)... so for $1600... I'm thinking I'd rather go to Hawaii.

Sorry.

 ~ Austin. 

Update on Wednesday, June 6, 2012 at 6:42PM by Female Underground

I have never rummaged through your drawers! Mainly because I'm too scared to!  

But um yeah. $1,600 is a lot of dough. 

--S.

How to Talk to Your Kids About Sex without Being an Asshole

Parents whine about parenting. Almost as much as their children whine about being parented.  You see their letters on websites and in the backs of magazines, even esteemed publications like the Atlantic, asking what they should reveal about their past to their children. Things like smoking the pot or having the sex.  
I’d like to advocate a radical approach.  Tell the truth.
            1.  Sex on prom night in the back of Chevy Nova that smelled like beer—fess up.
            2.  Giving a blow-job in the shag carpeted den of your boyfriend’s parent’s house while they watched television in the other room—tell them.
            3.  Seven minutes in heaven, hickeys that required make-up, used pregnancy kits hidden in the trash can, condoms stolen from your parent’s nightstand? Tell them.

Fessing up works in some magical ways.  A.) You don’t have to remember what lies you have told.  Always easy on the aging brain.  B.) You get to re-live those awesome times with a captive audience that can’t call you a slut and is supposed to love you unconditionally. C.) You will gross out your children so much that they will want to wait until marriage—or maybe even after marriage.

Fun aside, we’ll not really aside, that is one of the main points of sex after all, if we pretend we didn’t do it, our kids will be muttering bullshit under their breath.  They have been watching us and listening to us for years; they know more than you think they do.  If we say, yeah, this is what we did, this was stupid, here’s how protection works, our message will be heard.  Sex sells, people, even in the great birth control and STD prevention arena.  A good story can capture your reader’s attention. 

Denial only makes you look stupid and ruins an opportunity to actually teach them something that could save their lives and prevent you from becoming a grandmother at 40.

--June

Update on Thursday, May 31, 2012 at 3:35PM by Female Underground

Granted, I don't have kids, BUT I am the absolute favorite aunt to a few.  (I'm actually way closer to their age than to their parents.)  I'm having a hard time visualizing how this plays out with actual parents....  I can tell you right now that if my mom ever had this conversation with me, I WOULD HAVE DIED AND BEEN DEAD, DEAD, DEAD, AND GONE. I kind of want to die just thinking about it now and I'm way past the age where I should have parental humilitation in this regard.  

I think this is where the cool aunt is really useful.  Now the parents might want to set the aunt up with some parameters so that she doesn't unleash some story about having a threesome while high on coke and backpacking through Europe... But I think it is probably at least slightly less awkward.  But what the hell do I know about anything anyway?

XO, Skyler

Update on Wednesday, June 6, 2012 at 5:03PM by Female Underground

Oh Dear Lord, who's paying for the therapy?! 

Next you're going to tell me you can't wait to show little Johnny or Suzy the birthing video. 

STOP.  NOW.  PLEASE.  I'm traumatized just THINKING about my parents... ick... doing it!  As far as I'm concerned, I was adopted and they have never seen each other naked!  END OF DICUSSION.

~  Austin.

What's Your Number?

You know, as in how many people have you slept with?  

Tricky. This topic usually comes up at some point in a longer-term relationship and tends to come up among friends as some kind of a drunken bonding moment. My standard response (which I totally stole from Friends along with Rachel's hair) is, "Like, ballpark? Definitely less than a ballpark." (Example #37 of "How to Use Humor as a Deflector.") But what do you say when pressed and that answer isn't good enough?

I recall reading in Cosmo (the source of all great advice, ahem) that the "correct" or perhaps they meant, "socially acceptable" answer was four. Sidenote: This was many, many years ago. My response to that is "LIKE, WHAT, THIS YEAR?" I'm sorry but unless you're my Great-Aunt Ethel who has been married for 61 years, I am not buying that shit. So, now what?

A.  Tell the truth, whatever that truth is. Own it. Enough with the slut-shaming. 

B.  Blatantly lie and divide your number by 4. Or more.  

C.  None of your fucking business.  

Let's face it.  The best answer probably is C, but put it a bit more politely. It really is no one's business, including and perhaps especially your partner's, so long as you are being regularly tested and have your STD-Free certification t-shirt on. However, it is an attractive conversation. I would kind of die to know what my friends' numbers are. Not because I'm judgy ('scuz I got no room to judge on this topic), but because it is just interesting. It gives you an opportunity to see how you measure up in something that isn't publically compared all that often. I really don't want to know what my partner's number is though. It might sound intriguing for a second, but I don't want to know. Swear.

If you are looking for a way to minimize your number without completely, blatantly lying, I have some tips: 

-Only domestic dick counts. Domestic can mean the U.S., the 48 contiguous states, time zones, states, and I have one friend who was lobbying for residence in the same area code which might be a touch extreme.

-Vegas and vacations don't count at all.

-One night stands, or one-offs, only count as a half.

-There's no "repeat" function. So for example, you sleep with Pete in 2008 and then again in 2012? You just count Pete, not the rePete. (A good way to minimize-->recirculate the stable.)

-Statute of limitations are in play. Last year, since last long-term relationship, 7 years, 10 years...

AND OF COURSE---

-"I don't remember it, it didn't happen."  

So spill it. What's your number? Did I miss any minimization opportunities? Comment anonymously if you must, but whatcha got?  

Update on Wednesday, May 30, 2012 at 7:47PM by Female Underground

Woo-Hoo!  I love your math! 

Normally I have to answer this question with a number "around" 50 (or 60)... which actually isn't bad when you consider my age and the fact that I've never been married (ie- off the market).   It works out to a bit more than one per year.  OK... more like two per year if you start when I actually lost my virginity.  UG.  I hate details.   BUT... the way you're calculating... I'm like Snow freakin' White.   

I think I'm going to run with this.  New Girl Handbook Rules in play.  Thanks.

~ Austin.

Update on Wednesday, May 30, 2012 at 9:39PM by Female Underground

Oh shit.  THIS is not a good sign. This is why you shouldn't have this conversation!  NEW RULE:  Years where you go on a "tear" don't count either.  Fffffffffuck.     --Skyler

How Not to Be a Crazy Person, Part 1 of a Million

If there is one thing that drives me bat-shit insane, it has to be women who think that just because Tall, Dark and Handsome gave them a second look, she is about to become Mrs. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Now certainly, this is an extreme example, but let's get real because almost any time you find yourself chasing after someone or being pursued by someone there is a definite opportunity to get way, way, way ahead of yourself. Getting ahead of yourself turns off the guy, ultimately makes you miserable, and is generally tacky. So how do you stop yourself from becoming a crazy, obsessed bitch?

1.  Give yourself a reality check.  So this dude was hitting on you. Maybe he got your number, maybe your email. Quit envisioning your damn wedding and contemplating what your kids will look like! Not every guy that shows a slight amount of interest in you is fucking Prince Charming. Your own experience should tell you that. Remind yourself when you start to get all swoony, "Hey, so maybe he thought I was interesting/hot/easy. For right now and until there is significant time passage, it is what it is fucking is. Nothing more, nothing less."

2.  Remember that early-onset obsession and desperation smell worse than a clogged sink in a third-world country. If Hot Guy thinks you are "so totally down" well, guess what? You will get treated like that. Keep your damn cool. You most likely do not know this person well enough to be obsessed anyway. He may in fact have a Dungeons and Dragons habit that is obviously, a total deal-breaker. How's that obsession now? Yup, fixed. 

3.  Keep your options open. So Hot Guy seemed to like you. That doesn't mean Hot Guy has any follow-through whatsoever or that he doesn't have a wife and kids at home or that he wasn't so sauced on tequila that he could remember to unzip his fly prior to peeing. Maybe Sorta Hot Guy with a PhD liked you too. Don't write off PhD guy just because of this other guy.

4.  Stop the stalker behavior.  You do not need to immediately troll his Facebook, follow him on Twitter, or attempt to contact his mother because if she loves you, well, so will he. What if he did that to you? You would think he was psycho and get a restraining order. Amiright? So stop.

5.  Remember. You're fine just as you are. I don't care whether it is your mother, Days of Our Lives, your friends, or Cosmo that have you convinced you are nothing without a dude. I'm here to tell you that is some straight-up bullshit. Find your own passions and hobbies-- that aren't stalking guys --and commit some of this energy to them.

XO, Skyler