If you want a dad bod, and you think it's sexy…

Recently my entire Facebook news feed has been blowing up with references to the “Dad Bod.” As much as I hate stupid social media trends, I have previously mentioned the whole “eyebrows on fleek” phenomenon (barf) so I couldn’t ignore something with a little more substance.

If you missed the sudden explosion of articles discussing “dad bods” and have no idea what I am talking about, climb out from under that rock, and see exhibit Leonardo DiCaprio.

Feast your eyes on his bicep less arms and man boobs. He is subtlety saying, “Why should I hit the gym when I have a six pack right here in my fridge? Basically, the only thing he is lifting is a piece of pizza to his face, and he gives zero fucks.

There are a plethora of articles that are pro dad bods. Some women think we should embrace this trend because if men have beer guts they may opt to be more accepting of our muffin tops. It makes sense. I mean, I can’t expect you to be David Beckhman a la his Calvin Klein ads if I am not a Victoria’s Secret model strutting down the runway in my skivvies.  For starters I would have to grow about eight inches, and I am pretty sure even if I stopped eating and moved directly into the gym, my actual bones would still weigh more than Adriana Lima so who am I to judge.

I have also seen several articles that say we should put a stop to it now. Women fuming that if you don’t accept a “mom bod” then why should we embrace your dad version? You get to be fat while we are still held to impossible beauty standards. Fuck no. If we have to do a hundred thousand squats per week then you can get with an ab challenge once in awhile.

Men seem pretty excited about being able to get laid without having to exercise or take any pride in their appearance, which I totally understand. If one day someone publishes an article (leading to the next big trend) called, “How eating nothing but tacos and Cadbury eggs will land you Ryan Gosling,” I’d be pretty stoked too.

However, pro or con dad bods, there is a major flaw in the whole movement no one seems to be talking about…

Having a dad bod only works for (people like) Leonardo DiCaprio because he is Leonardo fucking DiCapro, and women will bang him regardless if he has breasts bigger than theirs or not. He could literally grow an evil conjoined twin and women would fuck that little bastard too. If you are driving a Pontiac and living in your mom’s basement something tells me your dad bod won’t have the same affect on women. All you men eager to embark on this trend may want to take that into consideration.

I am a big advocate of doing whatever makes you happy so if you want to eat pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner then by all means get your $5 hot and ready on, just don’t expect to be leaving the club with dozens of models like our boy, the great Gatsby unless you have some of that wolf of Wall Street status.

Oh, the games you'll play!

Yesterday I was having a conversation with a male friend of mine regarding his current dating situation. He was involved with a girl who was, according to him, “playing games.”

Some times she would want to hang out every day for a week straight while others she would avoid him for days.  She would say she didn’t want to be exclusive, but she would get upset if he did so much as talk to another girl.

As he went on about her being hot and cold and the other ways she was messing with him, I began to think about all the games we as women actually play that men aren’t even involved in…

For starters there is the “I better eat this entire bag of Oreos to get them out of the house” game because if you eat them all, it’s like they never existed, right? Your taste buds may win, but your ass will definitely lose this one.

This is usually followed by the “I’ll start Monday” game. Which turns into the “Monday of next week” game…then the “Wait, is New Year’s on a Monday” game?” You can participate in this game up to 52 times a year, but may I suggest also playing the “get your ass a gym membership” game as well before your jeans forfeit.

Anybody else play the “Let’s see how close I can come to killing myself with out actually doing it” game? You know the one…when you're feeling down about something, you watch every sad movie you can think of/ listen to the most depressing songs you can find on repeat in order to make yourself feel the absolute worst you possibly can. If you have every watched “The Fault in our Stars” while listening to The Smiths, you are the champion.

Every girl reading this has played the “I lost my phone” game. The rules are simple, you must make everyone in the bar search for it as you dump the entire contents of your purse violently onto the floor while your phone is safely tucked in your pocket the entire time. Bonus points can be earned for every individual person you have call it.

A closet full of clothes with the tags still on them prove I play the “I need to buy this ridiculous article of clothing just in case” game far too often. If you own a long ball gown in case someone invites you to a black tie gala and a pair of khaki capri pants/top siders just in case someone asks you to sail on their yacht near any of the New England states, you are a viable competitor as well.

There is also the “I need to hang on to this because it may come back into style” game. We all started playing this upon walking into an Urban Outfitters and seeing our wardrobe from 1998 in its entirety.  If Birkenstocks and those damn jelly shoes that made your feet smell like a locker room are back in style, nothing is off limits.

Who could forget about the “I’m not that drunk” game? The more often you say it, the better chance you have of winning. And by winning, I mean waking up in your bathtub covered in Mexican food.

How about the “One more episode” game? Why did you start Netflixing at 10 pm on a Tuesday, you dumbass? You might as well have smoked crack because the outcome will be the same. You are addicted and will probably be losing your job and ending up on the street in no time. There is a plus side to watching 200 episodes of Friends instead of doing drugs though…you get to keep your teeth.

Right now I am currently killing it at the “Oops I ate one M&M therefore my whole day is ruined so I might as well eat a large pizza and wash it down with a bottle of wine” game. I may not be in first place tomorrow morning, but you know what they say…it’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.

Let's talk about sluts, baby.

Recently a co-worker’s daughter was confiding in me about her most recent one night stand.  I say “most recent” because this was not the first time she had slept with someone she barely knew (or met that evening).

Considering most of you reading this are probably in your 20s or 30s, this is not breaking news.  I’m sure a good percentage of you banged a stranger last weekend and only reflected on it briefly while sneaking out of their apartment, but what if I told you she was still in high school? Does that make a difference?  What if she was a he?  Would that affect your opinion of this person?

This got me thinking… Is she a slut?  What makes someone an actual “slut” as opposed to just being called one as a term of endearment when being greeted by your best friend?

Let’s start out by exploring what the word means or in other words, lets talk about sluts, baby…

Sluts, skanks, whores, tramps, ho-bags…there is no shortage on variations of the word, but regardless of how extensive your vocabulary is, they are all essentially slang for the same word: promiscuous.

The definition of promiscuity is literally “The practice of having casual sex frequently with different partners or being indiscriminate in the choice of sexual partners.” The definition of the word slut is “A term applied to an individual who is considered to have loose sexual morals or who is sexually promiscuous.” By definition, if you are going to sleep with lots of people then you are promiscuous (aka a slut).

So if it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck then it’s a slut just like if you are going to eat meat, you are a carnivore, right? It should be that simple, but it’s not.  People hate to be labeled (unless they are vegan, a cross-fitter, or a vegan cross-fitter) so generally even stating the obvious pisses people off. When that label refers to you having loose (sexual) morals, you aren’t printing up t-shirts baring it any time soon.

But what actually makes someone a slut? Is the amount of people you have had sex with? What if Jane has been with 15 men, but it was over the course of 20 years where as Becky was a virgin, but she blew the entire Patriots football team after the Super Bowl? Jane had meaningful relationships with each of her numbers while Becky has lockjaw. Who would you rather bring home to meet grandma and share stories around the Thanksgiving table?

Clearly, numbers don’t seem to be the end-all be-all here.

Perhaps a slut is defined solely by reputation. The more people know about your sex life, they more likely they are to use the word to describe you.  If it’s a mystery how many times you have taken the train to pound town, the word may serve no purpose. Like a proverbial tree in the forest falling, does a slut only make a sound if people are around to hear it?

Maybe being considered one is more circumstantial. What if Jenny has only been with 8 guys her entire life, but they were all at once during an alcohol induced spring break back in ‘05? What if Erin banged some guy (whose name she couldn’t remember) in his car 20 minutes after she met him? Is either one of these girls more of a slut than the others? 

How about if Jane and Becky were John and Brian? I’m willing to bet this wouldn’t even be a discussion. Most would praise them for their sexual conquests although I personally have met plenty of guys I wouldn’t bang with a stranger’s vagina. I still refer to them as sluts, probably more often than I have ever referred to a woman as one.

I once had a roommate whose bedroom had a revolving door. When I referred to him as slutty one time, he said he wasn’t slutty but “sexually promiscuous.”  That’s like me saying, “I’m not short. I’m vertically challenged.” Regardless of how you choose to phrase it, we all know what you mean.

If being called a slut offends you, you may want to ask yourself why that is instead of leading a crusade on political correctness regarding bedroom behavior. At the end of the day it’s just another word which will only have as much power as you choose to let it. I say if the shoe fits, wear that slutty sandal proudly or keep it in your pants.

Ri-dic-pic-ulous

It was turning out to be a perfect day.

My morning meeting had been cancelled leaving my afternoon completely open to grab a bite with my mom, and there are few things in this world more glorious than a (screaming) child free brunch during the work week. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy chugging cocktails on Sunday Funday like I’m at a frat party, but sipping them without a standing audience giving me the stink eye is nothing short of magical.

My mom and I were chatting about which member of our family is more insane when my phone alerted me that I had a message.  I figured it might be work related so I reached down to check, hoping I wasn’t going to have to cut my meal short.  “Oh thank God,” I thought, “It’s just a message from (let’s go ahead and call him) John.”

As I went to click on the message to respond that I was at brunch (and would call him after), I noticed it wasn’t a text at all but rather a picture…an extremely close-up picture…of his erect penis.

I damn near spit my Bloody Mary directly into my mother’s face. Are you serious? It’s not even noon! Can’t a girl enjoy her plate of bacon without a side of sausage?

Now just to clarify, John and I were not romantically involved nor had we ever been romantically involved. I had never even been hammered and thought about touching his penis so what brought upon this unprovoked sext?

I needed answers so, of course, I showed the picture to any of my closest female friends willing to look and asked how, if at all, I should respond.  As it turns out, I was not the only one to have their eyes physically violated lately.  As a matter of fact, each of my friends had entire photo files which apparently received new entries often.

Sexting is not a new concept by any means. Most women could dig up an old sidekick with a couple of pixelated pictures of penises (say that five times fast), but they were most likely collected for collateral…more of a “If my boobs end up online, I’m passing out flyers of your limp dick, buddy” situation.  However, it seems if you are a single woman in 2015, you are probably receiving more pictures of wieners than Ulta coupons in the mail.

After a serious discussion about the origin of the dick picture and it’s current standing in modern day society, we came up with a few possible reasons as to what brought upon this sudden surge of confidence in men…

Perhaps there was an article in Maxim responsible for all these shots of balls before breakfast.  Something along the lines of, “Give her what she really wants this Valentine’s Day.” If women read Cosmo and are willing to try awful sex tip #72615, there is a possibility men are eager to follow the same shitty advice.  

Could it be sending pictures of your penis is the new way of saying, “Hey. I’ve been thinking about you,” but in a more graphic/less romantic way?  Maybe morning wood has replaced the good morning text, and us ladies didn’t get the memo.

Another possible reason may just be some sort of guy logic pertaining to the whole situation. “If I send her a picture of my dick, she will send me a picture of her boobs.” An eye for an eye or a nude for a nude if you will. Guys, if this is your go to strategy, google “supply and demand,” and be prepared to be disappointed.

I’m thinking maybe there was one girl who told the guy she was dating that sending a picture of your penis to a female is the highest form of flattery. “Don’t bother telling her how beautiful she is when you can show her via your raging boner.”

I’m willing to bet she is the same girl who started the “all girls love anal” rumor.  

Hey woman, shut up already.

Whatever the case may be, unless a female specifically asks you for one, you may want to hold off on sending her a picture of your genitals…especially if she has not met them in person. If you want everyone to become besties, the first encounter should not be at an awkward angle in your dirty bathroom either. That shit is just ri-dic-pic-ulous.