It wasn’t the kind of place where you’d order wine. The antler chandelier, stuffed buffalo head, and mammoth posters of Texas facilitated the “if you were to die and come back as any animal, what would you be?” questions. Mostly people want to come back as acceptably lazy (a New York City dog or a bear who hibernates or eats fresh fish all day), or as scavengers (like an eagle, even though they hate birds “But an eagle would be cool”). Peanut shells notwithstanding, it was a Jack and Ginger night at Rodeo Bar with the co-workers, a.k.a., “a night of drinking Armageddon.”
“Yeah, man, I love this place. This should be our new Thursday night place. There are no good bars like this near our office.”
“Wait, this is the good bar?” Clearly I didn’t get the memo.
Here’s what I did get: involved in a heated discussion about the crap we take, or refuse to take, in a relationship. No, I mean literally.
Some have said seex is the thermometer of a relationship; it can tell you all you need to know about the success of how the relationship is going at any particular time. For others, it’s not seex; it’s shite. Not what they’ll put up with, but actually taking one.
Some people can’t poop in public, not even in a work bathroom. They would sooner go home or borrow keys to a close friend’s apartment than drop a deuce at the workplace. Even in the Hamptons, I’ve had girlfriends who would sooner hold it in all weekend than poop in the house. They didn’t only need a cigarette and cup of coffee to stimulate the action, but they needed total privacy. Now, sure, we’d all like a little privacy. I’m not talking about things like a closed door or an upturned radio station. Some women can’t poop if they even think someone thinks they might be “making.” Now, with these women, you can really see how invested and taken they are with a guy if she’s willing to do the deed in the same apartment as her man. It’s a barometer.
Granted, I’m not one of these women; I could go anywhere. I’m also not the type to leave it in the bowl to boast (ahem, when my sister was younger, she once took a Polaroid of her BM and mailed it to our father with a note, ‘can you believe how big that is? Aren’t you proud?") I straddle the two extremes, but admittedly, it’s quite unpleasant when someone at work decides to do her makeup in the bathroom mirror while I’m in excruciating pain from the mistake of a sandwich a co-worker toted to my desk.
And here’s where the co-worker banter begins:
“Wait, so we’re getting all hot and you’re a minute or two from coming, and then I feel the grumble. ‘I’m sorry baby, I just gotta go.’ Then what?” Chris and I tend to discuss these types of things often.
“Then, I’d rub one out and put on a movie.”
“But when I came out of the bathroom would you still be naked?”
“Yes, but I’d be under the covers.”
“And would there be any chance of resuming things?”
“No. I’d be watching Notting Hill by then.”
“But what if I told you to wait and not come until I was out of the bathroom?”
“That would be hot.”
“Really?”
“I think so.”
“You really don’t care if a guy craps in your bathroom, given that it’s in your bedroom and only like 4 feet from your vagina?”
See, that’s the thing. I really don’t care; that’s why they’ve got matches and DVD remotes with volume controls. Now flip and reverse it. Men don’t like to think of woman as human; I don’t care what they say. I’m certainly not implying they think of us a superheroes with red hanging capes making soft snapping sounds behind us as we run to procreate their seed—that’s a Wonder Woman fantasy, that much they will admit. I’m talking human as in err.
For simple beginners, they certainly don’t care to know about our mortality, and their eyes roll with the first mention of some internal clock. Reproduce this baby he thinks as he grabs hold of his balls. “Yes, idiot, that’s the point.” He genuinely doesn’t want to know the first thing about a woman’s well running dry—actually, neither do I. But, don’t even mention K-anything unless an ass is involved. Astroglide is one thing, but bring anything “warming” or with the word “jelly,” to the bedroom, and suddenly, you’re dating a fifth grade Dungeons and Dragons freak who giggles when he thinks he might see a hard nipple under a school girl sweater.
Ah, and then there’s the whole deal with farts and poop. Let’s just get it out there. Men don’t want to know about “wind” or “turds.” They prefer to think of a woman as all pink. You know, her asshole is a small pomegranate seed–sweet, lickable, and lovely. It’s, quite simply, the look of an envelope sealed with a pink lipstick kiss. S.W.A.K.
He grimaces when his mental color wheel rolls from pink to brown upon her mention of a stomachache. He prefers vomit to ‘rhea any day of the week. “Fine, want me to hold your hair back? Sure I know that will score me some bonus points… let it all out baby. Don’t you cry. I’m here for you.” It’s nearly a nursery rhyme right up there with Grimm’s. But even with the thought of a woman “making,” he’s suddenly disgusted, as if a wart-ridden toad were just thrust into his mouth whole.
If you’re a woman, and with a guy who prefers a Pink Lady to a Sandra “D,” you just have to suck it up. I don’t mean hold it in; I mean, just get over it. Let it splash, all nasty; tell him to turn up the radio and not hate you in the morning. There’s no way to get out of this unless you pick a fight just so he’ll leave… but then you might have lost him for good. I suppose you can always seal the deal with a kiss and hope he can get over it.
I have to admit, I haven't given the poo aspect of this debate much thought. I do, however, have a clear belief that a girl who is not only unafraid to fart in proximity to–and have zag dropped near to her by–a guy, but who actually finds it as funny as it is, is one of the things worth living for. And that's not just because I have to really search hard for those things these days. I've always felt this way.
I would say porn is partially to blame for the pink v. brown misconceptions. If you live with a girl long enough, you learn that they can stink just like men, you get over it. You have sex in the morning, when neither has showered or brushed, or cleaned their browneyes since the day before. The bedroom smells like a horse was just slaugtered in it, but you don't care, because you're used to that person…I think that's what is being said here. Either you support a persons dillusions about you, or you be yourself and give them the chance to get used to you. Which is a big part of what a relationship is about (at least to me). Anyway, this was a very funny story. FYI, in the midwest, we "roll a deuce" instead of dropping one.
I live in the Midwest and I can honestly say that I "drop" mine. Or we take a scooge…that one is increasingly popular. Either way I also can't stop laughing from the horse slaughtering comment. It's so true. Porn has definitely given a feeling to the whole thing that is far from true. Women aren't pink and rosy. They smell just like we do and some men just can't handle that. The only thing worse is a woman who has taught herself that men won't smell either…
What? We smell? Really? Aw, shite! No wonder…
Lately, your life observation posts seem to revolve around women who are not willing to be themselves around men.
All people "roll" or "drop" a deuce. Some don't want to give anyone the perception that they do that so they squeeze their cheeks and hold it in. Eventually you'll have to go. So take this literally and figuratively, who gives a sh_t or I couldn't give two sh_ts if you "make" or not when I am around. Most guys certainly wouldn't want you to have to hold it in and feel uncomfortable. Nor would we want you chasing us out of your place or causing an argument for no reason to leave ours.
I completely agree with the matches and raising the volume on the tv. It will give the person some privacy. It also eliminates some of the embarrassment if you are in the early stages of a relationship, where you might feel uncomfortable "making". Eventually, you will need to "make" sometime when we are around…so the sooner you "make" the better you will feel because you went and also the more comfortable you'll feel around us because you will know that we know you are human…which we already did anyway.
Ladies don't overanalyze us…and don't try to hide things from us. Eventually, we'll figure it out and we'll wonder what the big deal was. Then we'll start wondering what else you're hiding.
Oi! The floater picture comment made me laugh so hard…yea, well, you get it.
I guess this is one of the benefits of growing up. No way "steak my rep" on this convo in HS or college. But after 26, I think all things GI become much more public domain. Think about it, when you hit 30 you might have less than 20 years before you have to take things just so you can make. So enjoy your abilities, less you lose them.
Haha. This entry plus all the comments have really made me laugh out loud and also kind of nauseous.
Stephanie: I had as similar thing happen to me and it was sooo embarassing but it was bound to happen at some point.
Now I feel like i have to be extremely careful that I spell correctly and use proper punctuation and grammar which I usually do with ease but everyone makes mistakes sometimes. I feel like everyone is being critisized constantly. THis is a damn blog comment section…not an EXAM. I'm not gonna care no more! :)
Oh yea and by the way Stephanie: I've been to Rodeo bar before..i live around the corner from it and I agree. "this is the good bar?"
"First Fart" may not make it into the memory book with First Kiss or the dried flower from the prom, but anyone who tells you that it's not a milestone in a relationship is lying… or intestinally cross-wired.
(SH)IT HAPPENS. And you're right, Stephanie… IT'S FUNNY. My theory: When God cursed mankind with the pungent odor of the fart, he gave us the funny sound it makes to be able to carry it off!
Like other dating cliches, I'm sure Tish Baldrige or Emily Post would say that the guy should be the first one to let 'er rip, but guys do worry about getting over the First Fart hurdle. Timing is important, as is location.
Intestinal fortitude about intestinal *quantitude will continue to bedevil for all time. (Robotnik.. I know, that's not a word.) In other words, the gas "will always be with us." And so, a tip: However you intend to take that big step, never, EVER try to avoid it with the "last minute purge" in your car just before getting out to pick up your date, ESPECIALLY if you intend to return to that car within any short period of time. (Uh… a friend told me.)
P.S. on poop: We always called it "dropping a brick." Could be a fiber-in-the-diet thing…
Explain this to me though. I just moved in with my boyfriend. I am not allowed to even pee with the door open, let alone mention the fact that I have to poo. BUT, if I quiff (ok, I totally don't know how to spell that word, but you know which one I'm talking about) it's all good. Huh?
And I meant during sex.
Muffy, thank you. I should've none since it rhymes with beef. Queef isn't one of those words I usually need to know how to spell! But yea, other than during sex, I don't know how or why one would queef.
Poop entry. This is the 4th this week and i'm loving every bit of it.
However, i do feel that the only evidence worth photographing is a floater.
Floaters are like.. the saskwatches of poo.
Great post. I'm giggling and thinking about poop issues a lot as a result. All I know is when it's love, it's love. You take the whole package, be it him needing to pinch a loaf right before he cums or whatever. I'm sure a system gets worked out between the two, so long as it's not during the event itself (right?) I mean, we're not talking about Cleveland steamers now.
Now I know that I can truly gauge the emotional depth of my past and present relationship(s) by how my girlfriend handled pinching a loaf!
I must admit, that the absolute last thing I want to imagine when I see an attractive woman is what, when, and how things come out of her bunghole!
Seriously though . . .Is it such an insult for a man to put his woman on a pedestal? To believe in our mind that the feminine creature that we are attracted to is somehow immune from anything as human as a BM? This should be a compliment I would think. Living up to that illusion obviously is not!
Psychologically men need to believe that women are not human. When a competitive male is attracted to a woman, he has to rationalize a fantasy to replace the logical realization that he is now inferior to another human being, because of his attraction to her.
Ashley
Genius.
OK, OK, not so much. I think I've literally spent half my life in the bathroom so I can definitely relate to this post. I have to take meds for the rest of my life and if I miss a dose, watch out! As kids, didn't we describe it as excrete concrete or shit bricks? Now if you'll excuse me, nature calls once again…
Kat, I think it's "queef."
And uh, during sex isn't too bad. During a yoga class? Not as amusing.
I haven't read any of these comments, but as the guy who said the stuff you have quoted, let me clarify, because you're all wrong.
First of all, you shortened the conversation by a sentence or two, and some of my humor, and insight, was lost. What I meant was simply this: you acted as if the nasty, bedroom, stinky, noisy, splattery sounds and smells of the shit of your lover would not ruin your mood. But when I laid out the scenario, of you, and a gentleman, on a first encounter, when the gentleman excuses himself, embarrassed and in pain, and proceeds to DEFILE your bathroom, you did, in fact, move on. You said you would finish yourself off, and move on to a movie. No sex for the gentleman, until maybe, the next day. At best, after some sleep later on in the middle of the night. You didn't wait, and if you had, the theory is, the disgusting display I described would have been too much even for you. It's just not sexy to listen and smell your lover evacuate themselves.
But more importantly, this "girls are pink and inhuman" thing is exactly true, and very important. Yes, I said that. Men think of you as pink and clean and inhuman in many ways, and it's a necessity.
You may be one of the few girls who exist who is willing to stick a tongue in a dudes hairy ass, but you are few and far between. The reciprocal act, of a man eating an ass is far more common. Why? A double standard? No! It's proximity. We're down there anyway, about 1/2 inch away . After a few years of sexual activity, it's hard NOT to try a little ass. Almost every guy on a planet has. In any case, its common, and mentally, it IS a lot to get over. The ass is really an exist, and not really built for oral discovery. The liklihood of unpleasantries is high. We, men, want to please you, but sometimes, we have to pretend things. Imagination is our friend.
Sometimes, even though we want nothing more than to ejacualate on your face, we aim at your breasts or pillows, because we don't you want to feel like a whore. We pretend, in those cases, that cumming on a pillow is just as satifying as your forehead. It's simply not true. Sometimes, when we really, really are about to ejacualate, but don't want to just yet, for YOUR pleasure, we pretent you are not you, but rather this girl Tracy from grammar school who was grossly overweight, had a triple AND receding chin, and dark disgusting braces with food particles. Sometimes that's not enough, so we pretend she's trhowing up in our mouths, and that usually does the trick. But sometimes, that works too well, and things way start to get away from us and rigidity becomes a problem. So, we PRETEND you are Brooke Burke or Jessica Alba, and that usually does the trick. Well, here's the thing, yes, we pretend that nothing but lubricant and roses comes out of your front and back, so we can do the things we do, that you love, and that make your toes curl, or straighten. We do those those things, and we get angry when our partner doesn't swallow "because it's gross" after we have just had our tongue in her shithole.
The pretending is all part of the process. Please, try not to pull this veil aside, for your own benefit. We know what you like. We've all read it. If you want it, all you have to do is NOT take a smelly, stinky, noisy, disgusting shit in front of us, and pretend potpourri came out instead.
FYI, I fart a lot. I think I might be lactose intolerant, but I love cheese, so it's a problem.
CD… what, no mention of balls? You're hilarious, dude.
I am amazed at how many people are willing to comment on a post comparing men and women to their shite sessions…
Ok, so on one hand you play the "I'm me, I won't pretend to be anyone else, I'm a down and dirty kinda gal" card, but then you do stuff like "pretend not to have your period" to play the game of being a good girl. The worst kind of game player is the one who professes not to play them.
And the image of "good girl" is lost as soon as the guy reads your blog and sees that the other night was a fake. Is it possible to try to play ANY card when every moment of your life is on display online? And – not meant to be snarky, but a genuine question – do you think it will be possible to ever have a healthy, normal relationship when a man knows so many intimate details about your past dating experience, and knows that every move he makes will be posted for the world to see? Have you sacrificed privacy and the potential for a normal relationship for fame?
Trust me, no matter how healthy or mature a person is, reading all about your partner's past sexual experiences is always going to be problematic.
On some kind of social psychological level, I worry about the detrimental effects of the blogging phenomenom. I'm all for being an open book and being yourself, but when it comes to dating… there are things in the past that should not be part of new relationship. And the joy of getting to know each other, to discover all those quirks and idiosyncracies of a new person is lost when they're all laid out in bullet form online. It's like opening all your birthday presents two weeks before your birthday.
"Some have said sex is the thermometer of a relationship"
Did you mean to say "barometer" or are you making a sexual reference to taking rectal temperature?
This is my first reading of your blog. Forgive me if this is already established, but wasn't this an episode of Sex and the City? Is your blog a life imitates art kind of thing where you act out the episodes?
Also… The poop topic overall. Are you trying out dooce Dooce? She covered this yesterday.