Quakers and Shakers

After three years of living in West Philadelphia, a city where men have zero shame and drool at the Penn girl’s affinity for leggings and other butt-hugging leg-wear, I have come to learn that one must contend with many (FAILED) attempts at attention/ass grabbing. I felt it necessary to share some of the WACK pick-up lines and pick-up attempts that my friends and I have had to deal with, as we traverse the (filthy) streets of the Killadelph, and I’m dying to hear yours.

Freshman year, a Commons employee slipped me a hot pink note, as I was on my daily search for Commons’ food that wouldn’t induce my gag reflex.  The note said: “If you haven’t allready noticed (yes, “already” was spelled incorrectly), I have a crush on you. Call me. I get off of work at 11” and his number. He’s been my boyfriend ever since. NOT. Read more…

Relationships penn boys, West Philly

Today, residents of Oakdale, California came together for a fabulous sit-down dinner to benefit the Oakland Cowboy Museum.  Though most $50, sit-down dinners allow you to make the sophisticated choice between steak and salmon, this fundraiser had only one delicacy. Mountain Oysters. Sound, appealing? Before you book your ticket to Oakdale, let me tell you that “Mountain Oyster” is a euphemism nickname for fried bull testicles.

Volunteers at the annual Testicle Festival—because testicles love a good party—fried up four hundred pounds of bulls’ balls to serve to guests at the event.  Last year, people travelled from all over California to get a taste of these balls, and the event raised $28,000.  Not only did these crazies eat balls, they ate four hundred pounds of them.  You couldn’t pay me $50 to munch on a plate full of animal genetalia, but clearly some people want to go “Balls to the Walls Bellies.”

Newsworthy, Uncategorized balls

Cartoon from the Boston Globe

I have a nasty little habit of shopping in between classes.  This little practice has been curbed by the fact that it’s Depression 2009, and my cash flow is now a cash trickle, but I’ll still make occasional stops into Urban. I’ve even purchased a romper/jumper/vest or other fake-edgy staple that isn’t my style because “It looked so cute when I tried it on!”  In the store.

In the light of day, outside of the hipster haven of Urban Outfitters, my newly-bought fedora, snake-skin leggings, or booty-shorts with suspenders look ridiculous, and I’m forced to contend with the fact that I spent my food-money for the month to look like a poor-man’s Rihanna.  Buyer’s remorse isn’t too wretched when it involves having bought a “ShamWow” or making a poor choice of sandwich at Houston, but what about buyer’s remorse in the bedroom? Read more…

Relationships

The Shenis and a few other select female accessories

Being a boy is easy.  You don’t have to deal with periods, mean girls or childbirth and when you go camping, you can pee without the risk of getting poison ivy on your nether-regions.  Men take for granted the fact that they can take a leak (and aim!) out of car windows, in corners and behind trees by simply unzipping their pants.  If I have to pee in the wilderness, even if that wilderness is the parking lot behind Fiso Lounge, it’s a whole production. I have to think: Squat. Don’t pee on pants and/or feet. Don’t lose balance and fall back on bare ass into puddle of own urine. Ensure purse is above pee-level.  These are all of the concerns that a woman must face when she simply wants to relieve herself outside of a bathroom!

Kiki Curry, a freaky-looking red-headed Texan decided that it was time women had the right to urinate without sitting down.  She created the Shenis, a $21, gold, twleve-inch, penis-shaped funnel that women can use to pee, anywhere.  Standing up.  Does anyone else find it disturbing that Kiki was engaging in so much public urination that she needed to invent this contraption? Do they not have bathrooms in Texas? Kiki has also invented the She-Nutz, which come in a variety of different colors and are great for your keychain, truck or bike! They are fake balls made of plastic that serve absolutely no purpose. What. The. Eff? Penis envy does exist.

Sexual Health

Virginity rates of certain majors at Wellesley College. Source: Counterpoint Magazine

According to Isaac Newton’s Law of Motion, “for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”  For every push, there is a pull, for every up, there is a down and for every flaming skank-whore, there is a virgin. On Penn’s campus, where many co-eds tend to hump around like un-neutered puppies, the virgin seems to be a rare breed of college student. However, one curious NYU undergrad conducted an unscientific study, asking 4,593 students to submit their college majors, college years and V-card statuses—swiped or un-swiped—and got some very surprising results.

Eighty-three percent of math and chemistry majors are struggling to lose their virginities, art majors must be having orgies on the floors of their studios, for inspiration: zero percent of them were virgins. Clearly, sex is a pre-requisite for Drawing 101.  English majors fared decently, with fifty percent of the students admitting virginity. As an English major, this doesn’t surprise me since half of the kids in my major are weirdo-freaks that would rather have sex with a character from a novel or with Shakespeare—fictional and dead, respectively—than any actual, living human.

The study also gives broad statistics about the percentages of virgins in different years of college. For those freshmen who can’t even watch 40 Year Old Virgin without cringing in fear that that could be you, feel comforted in the fact that 64% of college students polled still had their “flowers” during their first year of college.  You don’t have to start “Operation Prostitute: 2009,” just yet. Plus, the percentage of virgins drops to 28% for seniors, so your chances of boning gets better with each passing year! Take a look at the chart and see how virginal/naughty your major is. If your major’s stats aren’t looking good and you’re eager to jump off of the “virgin wagon,” don’t fret, you can switch. Penn does have a fine arts major.

Correction: the study was conducted by Counterpoint Magazine at Wellesley College.

Sexxx virgin

Imagine this.  You and your lover are sleeping after a long, hot night of steamy passion. She awakens you by aggressively fondling your goods and pulling herself on top you. Though you’re eager to start round 3 of your all night romp-fest, you realize that her eyes aren’t closed in a lusty, “Take me!” way. They’re closed in a dead, “I’m sleeping” way. Slightly spooked, you call her name and jolt her from sexing slumber (yep, she was sleeping) and she flips out, accusing you of trying to take advantage of her while she’s trying to sleep. The girl in this story is a sexsomniac. Yep, you read correctly. SEXsomniac.

While many of you have been roused and aroused by a hook-up for some middle of the night lovin’, the person doing the rousing is usually awake.  Sexsomniacs, those who suffer from a rare sleep disorder that causes them to engage in sexual acts while they are asleep, try to get some even when they’re unconscious.

Like sleepwalkers or sleep-eaters unconsciously  commit their sleep-acts, these sleep-sexers will get down and dirty with their partners (or themselves) and have absolutely no recollection of it.  These disorders are parasomnias, sleep disorders that occur when the brain is in deep sleep, but base human functions such as movement, eating and sex are still possible.  A man in Toronto, with a history of sleepwalking, was tried and acquitted of sexual assault, using sexsomnia as his defense! Read more…

Sexual Health, Sexxx sexsomnia

Let’s be honest, Valentine’s Day is for girls. Most boys won’t jizz in their pants—its just the YouTube music video, don’t worry—at the prospect of dressing up, spending money (”on a Chick? Why?”) or making any sort of romantic effort of any kind. Vday, a day that usually requires significant amounts of each of these things, allows (lucky) females to be showered in flowers, candy and BYO reservations.  Plus, it lets these girls brag to their poor, lowly, single friends who will probably spend the holiday watching The Notebook and contemplating suicide. Quite a win/win for the attached lady, but what about the dude who’s doing all the Valentine’s Day work?

Men, sick of having no holiday to fulfill their desires, decided to fill that void with steak and blowjobs.  March 14, exactly one month after its female-worshipping counterpart, is officially “Steak and BJ Day,” Valentine’s Day with balls.  The premise is quite self-explanatory, calling girls all over the globe to give thanks to their dudes by heading to the grill and serving up some head. See boys, God was listening to your prayers!

Valentine’s Day, in veiling its true agenda—to masterfully suck from males romantic attention, presents and most importantly, free dinner—under the guise of celebrating love, is so sickeningly female.  In true male form, the man-version of the holiday doesn’t hide in innuendo but boldly proclaims, “Let me suck on some red meat, while you suck on my man-meat.”

This year, the glorious holiday fell during our Spring Break, a time when steak fajitas are plentiful and drunk state-school girls drop BJs like they do their morals before a wet T-shirt contest.  Thus, some of you lucky boys probably celebrated “Steak and BJ Day” without even knowing!  If you didn’t, however, be sure to inform your significant other that belated celebration would be greatly appreciated.   And for you vegetarian boys, I’m sure the “steak” part of the holiday is optional.

Uncategorized

You have one. I have one. Just like a hometown and a major, everyone on Planet Penn has one.  You see him/her every Monday, Wednesday and Friday in History lecture/Marketing recitation/on Locust.  Though you’ve never had a real conversation, you always acknowledge each other on the walk: a wave, a smile, and once you had some VERY X-rated eye-sex, in front of ABP. This person, ladies and gentlemen, is your far-away crush.

For all you know, this rando could be a satan-worshiper with a crippling heroin addiction and a lisp, but they’re cute!  You think, “If we ever cross paths at Smokes/Blarney, I’ll muster the alcohol courage pull a ‘Don’t I know you?’” But, alas, that day never comes, and Mr. or Ms. Idontknowyoubutweshouldbone graduates.

Although I knock Penn people for not asking anyone (namely, me) out on dates, I understand how nerve-wrecking it must be. My far-away crush—God bless his sexy, emo-haired soul—graduated last year, and I couldn’t even find the balls to ask him for class notes.  What if he was my Mr. Big?! I should have busted a bold move and asked him to coffee…but I didn’t. Read more…

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Everyone loves loves loves nudity. Flip on any R-rated movie and you are almost guaranteed to get a nice shot of a Kate Winslet, Cate Blanchett or Kate Beckinsale flashing some gratuitous “tasteful” nip, probably while riding a Sean Penn, Sean Connery or Sean Patrick Thomas (yes, I did just mention the has-been actor from the 2001 classic Save the Last Dance, what?).

While people love to gander at (hot) people in their birthday suits, they are very particular about the naked bods they want to see flouncing on a movie screen or posed—with that tousselled, after-sex hair and that damn, pouty, “look how stupid sensual I am” face—on the cover of a magazine.

If anyone has seen Monster’s Ball and subsequently seen Billy Bob Thornton’s nasty-nast balls, they will agree that some people need to keep their clothes on. Billy Bob’s (yucky) junk will be forever emblazoned on my mind, but the stigma against male-nudity in the media may have something to do with my disgust. Maybe.

In the upcoming April issue of Vanity Fair, funnymen Seth Rogan, Jason Segel, Jonah Hill and Paul Rudd parody a 2006 Vanity Fair cover that sports a naked (and pouty, can’t forget pouty) Keira Knightley and Scarlett Johansson and a creeper-looking Tom Ford. In the 2009, male- version, however, all of the boys are wearing nude body suits instead of lounging in all their bare-skinned glory.  Why not naked?

Obviously the men couldn’t have their shlongs flopping all over the cover of Vanity Fair—it’s not Playgirl–, but there could at least have been some bare (probably hairy (yum…)) man-booty.  That’s PG-13, right? Perhaps, but the public doesn’t like to see too much naked dude. The public loves naked chicks in movies or in magazines, panting, writhing and pouting with their perfect bodies and stream-lined private parts.  Full-frontal dude shots? Not so much.

Jason Segel flashed his junk in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but it wasn’t hot. It was funny. I’ve already discussed the mentally scarring effects of Billy Bob’s penis on my psyche. Male “goodies” just aren’t as aesthetically-pleasing or sexy, all fleshy and hanging, BLOWN UP on the big screen or in a glossy magazine.  But, I dare to dream, that one day a man can sit in the fetal position, nude, pouting and airbrushed on the cover of Harper’s Bazaar, and call it sexy. One day…

Uncategorized

This weekend I learned some very disturbing news.  I didn’t want to believe it, but when People.com reports, we all know it has to be true.  Rihanna and (Anti)-Chris(t) Brown are back together. A source on the “inside” claims that “While Chris is reflective and saddened about what happened, he is really happy to be with the woman he loves.” Please excuse me while I vomit.

Even more nauseating than the fact that Mr. Kiss Kiss—or Mr. Bite Bite—could so easily pop n’ lock his way back into Rihanna’s good graces, is the fact that she let him.  Chris Brown’s little phone call to Rihanna “to wish her a happy birthday” sparked the reunion, and now they’re sunning on Miami Beach’s Star Island.

Before you start pounding your fists and smashing your computer screen in disgust, think about situations in your own life.  Is it really that much different?  You’ve been “dating” that kid in Beta for a year. He calls you “pudgy”, he makes you do his laundry, constantly ignores you in favor of his bros (or his hos) and forgot your birthday.  He treats you like a flaming plate o’ crap.  Sure, he didn’t beat you on a street corner outside of his rented Lamborghini, but he’s still a douche bag.  He should get drop-kicked to the curb, but all your break-ups end in make-ups. Read more…

Relationships Chrihanna