Ride me Big....Sheldon

I was having a conversation the other day with a male friend of mine about dirty talk. He claimed to be too embarrassed to dirty talk in bed because he thought that would only open him up to ridicule.

I asked what he meant by that, to which he succinctly replied, "Women talk to each other. And laugh at us. And I’m not going to be that guy."

And I found that odd. Of course women talk and laugh at men and the various foibles they go through in the bedroom. Let’s be serious here.

Men talk to each other. Not necessarily to laugh at the girl, but you know, in that macho wacho, "Yeah, I fucked her good" caveman speak they have. Men talk about women in a way that bolsters their virility, creating a story that highlights their prowess.

But I think in reality, women will only ridicule a guy if she’s not really that interested in him, no matter what he does. For example, if he takes her to a fancy restaurant on the first date, she’ll think he’s trying too hard and call him a loser. But if she really likes him, she’ll tell her friends he's awesome.

So if a girl is having sex with a guy she’s not emotionally attached to, (and yes, it’s true, women DO have casual sex) she might laugh at him a little. Ok, fine, she’ll destroy him and make him the butt of all her inside jokes with her friends and he’ll forever be known as The Freaky Dirty Talking Guy, or the Guy That Wore a Diaper, or the Hey Let’s Invite Fido in to Lick Peanut Butter Off My Balls While We Screw Guy.

But on the flip side, if she does like him, he could probably do no wrong in the bedroom. I think it’s more a matter of the feelings two people have for each other rather than the actual actions that go on in the bedroom that determine a woman’s loose lips.

Unless of course the guy wants to talk dirty. I mean, wearing a diaper or having a dog lick your balls during sex is one thing, but dirty talk? That guy clearly has some serious issues.

BFs 4 Eva'

So I managed another foray out into Athens in the desperate attempt to make some friends. I joined a group of expats on Yahoo who actually go out and DO things. And by DO things I mean they get drunk and eat Thai food. A match made in heaven.

So I show up to the local Hard Rock on Saturday night, with my boyfriend in tow, because “God knows who these people are!!!!” and “It sounds to me like it’s just a group to facilitate casual sex!!!”

Turns out the group is mainly comprised of English people. Now, I don’t know too many English, but I’ve always been a fan. I mean why not? Great accents, razor sharp humor, some good movies (Love Actually). Hey, let’s all be friends!

From what I've seen of the English in New York, they're usually drinking it up, falling all over the place, singing for no particular reason, and basically doing anything they feel like. Pretty much my kind of people.

Apparently, the English are not fans. Oh no, not fans of the Yippee Ka-yey Americanos. Nope.

“Ohhhhhhh, you’re American? Let me guess, New York?”

You know, said with that condescending Thurston Howell III clenched-tooth underbite. The whole “Muffy, dahling, how on earth are we going to get off this island? And where are my bloody cucumber sandwiches?!”

“So, what do you do here?”

“Well, right now I’m a desperate housegirlfriend, but I’m looking for a job and some Greek lessons.”

“Oh, how nice for you to have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do all day. I think I know some American girls who live in your town and also do nothing all day. I should introduce you, it would seem you have a lot in common.”

“Wow, so charm school is required in England, huh? Valedictorian, were you?”

“Yes, well most Greek lessons are at night, because the people that come here generally have to work during the day. Not that you have that problem. But I’m sure you’ll find something. The University offers classes, and it’s not that expensive, although from the looks of it, money doesn’t seem to be an issue for you or your boyfriend.”

“I think you and I should exchange Best-Friend charms, because really, I haven’t felt this kind of love since my ex-husband tossed me across the room and called me a whore. Come here and give me a hug!”

Instead of trying to make friends, I’m probably better off sitting on the corner, dousing myself in gasoline and setting myself on fire. Not that anyone would notice such an everyday event anyway.

Valentine's Day, boo hoo, here's a box of tissue, you big baby

So I woke up this morning and realized it's Valentine's Day. Actually, I knew Valentine's Day was approaching because Spawn, my darling baby sister, has been on the phone with me for the past week screaming various threats and epithets about her boyfriend and his, how shall I put this delicately, um, lack of interest in the holiday.

I, of course, am of the school of "Valentine's Day is a bunch of Hallmark malarkey" while on the inside secretly hoping for someone, ANYONE, to send me carnations soaked in red food dye, or some pastel colored, heart shaped candy with inane, meaningless sayings, or even some drug store chocolate whose aftertaste can only be washed away with gasoline. You know, I'm a real romantic. Just don't tell anyone.

Here in Greece, the holiday is a non-event. And so, there are very few women and sensitive men sitting around at home, lamenting their singledom. Unlike my sister's boyfriend, who is scrambling, as we speak, to avoid the hot poker she will repeatedly stab him in the neck with if he doesn't do something to appease her Valentine's Day beast.

Ahhh, to be 21 again and actually give a shit.

Anyway, I wanted to wish all of you who care a happy Valentine's Day and not to be sad today if you're alone. You were probably alone last night, and you'll probably be alone tomorrow night, so really, there's no need to be dramatic about it today.

And remember everyone, the Jews killed Jesus. And probably St. Valentine. You might be next.