Tag Archives: Tyler Durden

Lez-Be Friends


I’m seriously considering becoming a lesbian. Why the hell not? Women seem to be an infinitely better option right now than men. I’ve already got my minions and, even if I don’t like it, I’m pretty good at killing my own bugs, so men are of limited usefulness to me at this point. Let’s ignore for a moment the fact that I am just not gay, as much as I wish I were, and that being gay is not a choice, so I really have no say in this matter. Aside from that, why the hell not?

Let’s take this from a practical, if ludicrously generalizing, perspective (haters, start taking notes here):

  • Women are better at multitasking, so they can, oh, you know, hold babies and text, take phone calls, or poop at the same time.
  • At least real kiwis ALWAYS taste good.

    Women are sexy most of the time, even when we don’t feel sexy, if only because society and marketing have programmed us to see women as sexual objects by barraging us with sexualized images of women 24/7, because “pretty is as pretty does.” Men, on the other hand, look like deflated kiwis that need to go down the disposal when they bend over naked in the bathroom. They can’t all be Northman or Tyler Durden. We can’t all be Cindy Crawford either, but somehow we’re still generally more attractive than they are. Maybe it’s because we aren’t likely to fart, pick our noses, grab our crotches, or be otherwise generally disgusting outside the aforementioned bathroom.

  • Women aren’t as afraid of their feelings as men. They like you or they don’t. They love you or they don’t. None of this, “Well, I really like you, and I want to fuck you, but let’s just keep it casual, k?” crap. The flip side of this has a lot to do with the third-date U-Haul jokes my gay girlfriends tell me. I used to think it meant lesbians do it in trucks on the third date, but apparently I was wrong.  Read the rest of this entry

I Am Jack’s Complete Lack of Surprise


Every time I think I have a pretty good bead on who Northman is, he blesses me with another little fact nugget I enjoy chewing on until our next conversation. Yesterday, he told me he collects knives, carries more emergency supplies on his person than I do in my car, and is pretty handy with a spear, although he doesn’t get as much practice as he’d like because his homeowners’ association is run by some assholes with an anti-spear agenda. Bigots.

There are guys I know who could tell me they collect and carry knives, and that would pretty much be the last conversation we had. Or the last one we had alone, anyway. But Northman is different. His status as a machirologist was completely no surprise. He’s not the creepy dude in the corner carving a wooden voodoo doll of the homeowners’ association president. He’s basically a survivalist, and he takes seriously the importance of being able to provide for oneself and one’s family in the event of an emergency, large or small. He can fend for himself, and he looks out for the people who are important to him. I dig it.

That's some great fucking marketing.

The fact that Northman could live off the grid and, I don’t know, do some sort of MacGuyver crap making a shelter out of wet bark and a spare paperclip does not say “bomb-shelter-stocking paranoid conspiracy theorist” to me because he’s not living underground, stockpiling camo and ammo. It says, “If a hurricane knocked out power to his town for a month, this is a man who can take care of himself,” and that, as we’ve discussed, is incredibly attractive. I take care of minions, clients, family, friends, pets, plants, colleagues, numerous inanimate objects, and myself every damn day. Having someone important in my life who absolutely does not need me to take care of him but just wants to spend time with me? I don’t think MacGuyver could top that if he had Jack Bauer and Chuck Norris lined up behind him.

Fortunately for me, Northman doesn’t expect me to be a survivalist. I’m no stranger to camping and getting dirty, mind you, and I actually really enjoy that. But if you dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, I’d die. Maybe not in the first hour or anything, but you know, soon. Unless Northman were with me, in which case I’d do whateverthefuck he told me to and we’d be happily living 30 feet above the ground with our recently tamed pet lemur, Marla Singer, in some kind of expandable bamboo tree fort that Northman carries in his back pocket by the time you came to check on us 48 hours later.

So even though Northman is just full of new and absorbing information about himself, none of it truly surprises me. Maybe it’s because I’m always genuinely interested when Northman speaks, or maybe it’s because each new factoid just fits in with all the rest, but I can honestly say he has yet to surprise me with anything except the depths of his unsurpassed sex drive.

Northman and I were discussing sex drives the other day, and he said mine is quite unusual for a woman, because in his experience, basically, men want sex more and women want it less. He’s consistently impressed by how active my sex drive is and how important a part of a healthy life and strong relationship I find it to be. It was a pretty interesting discussion, and we came away from it with two conclusions.

First person to post all the Fight Club references in this blog post to the Confessions of A Sexy Mom Facebook page wins the Pink Moustache Award.

First, Northman said he hadn’t ever been involved with a woman whose sex drive came close to matching his. Except me. I’ve had the same experience with the men in my life; I have always outpaced them. Personally, I’m all for daily sex, if it’s good sex, and I don’t think that’s unreasonable at all, particularly in a young relationship. I’d say, in a long-term relationship, 20 days a month would be good for me. You know, a couple of days off for sick minions (no sex when someone just barfed in your hair), a couple of days off for business travel (phone sex or Skype sex maybe), a couple of days off for those times when your schedules are just out of sync (late meetings, girls’ nights out, whatever), and a couple of days off right at the beginning of my period because, damn, even I don’t want to be around myself those two days, so I can’t reasonably expect him to want to get within clawing range.

I told all this to Northman, and he said that’s just not typical for a woman, again, in his experience. In mine, however, it’s completely typical. Many of my girlfriends tell me their spouses want sex much less frequently than they do and that their libidos are, overall, more intense than those of the men in their lives. So, I think maybe two things are happening here. First, men lie to one another as adults as much as they lie in high school locker rooms. Even grown and married, they feel the need to maintain the illusion of sexual prowess among other men so they’re seen as virile, dominant, and strong. But a lot of these men are lying if their wives’ claims are true. Not to say all the lying is done by men. I think women lie to one another too. I just think it’s more likely that the gals who really, really enjoy sex (like Penny, who is a polo-shirt-wearing, pleated khakis and white Keds soccer mom by day and hyper sex freak by night) are telling the truth, and the quiet ones who just smile and nod at girls’ night out without commenting about their own sex lives are just lying by omission, implying they have sex when that well has run really freaking dry. So, we all lie, just differently.

Society also tells us women don't like violent movies. Bullshit. Every straight woman and gay man on the planet wants to fuck Tyler Durden. I mean, LOOK AT HIM, people.

This makes sense because the cultural memes are such that we as a society expect women to want sex less and men to want it more, women to refuse and men to demand (or beg, depending on the relationship), men to enjoy it and women to frequently “take one for the team.” I didn’t say it was ok for us to expect these things, just that it seems like that’s what we see most often in our society.

So, everybody lies. Ok, House M.D. would be proud that we acknowledged his mantra. But there’s another part to this, and that’s the fact that Northman and I are in our 30s. If our introduction to gender differences in sexual desire comes in adolescence and young adulthood – and of course this is a generalization because there are always exceptions to the rule, but these are pretty common experiences – we get initiated into sex when young men are reaching their sexual prime, which is said to be around age 18. I personally think it’s in their early 20s because most 18-year-old guys are all stamina and no technique, but that’s just my opinion. It’s also not exactly something you kick one of them out of bed for, especially when you’re also around 18 and don’t have much technique either.

On the flip side, women reach their sexual peak around their mid-30s with the average woman reaching that great Promiseland at age 36. So, in my mind, I wonder … in our mid-30s, have the guys slowed down and the women sped up so much that we’ve actually switched roles at this point? What kind of sick fucking joke is that? We are finally on pace with what they’ve wanted for the last 10 to 20 years and now they’re peri-menopausal? What the fuck? Is this nature’s way of making sure women realize they’re running low on chances to procreate while telling men to grow up already? I’m not sure. But it does seem like maybe this is why men actively lie to appear as though they’re having as much sex as they did a decade age and women lie because their partners don’t enable them to “keep up” with the exploits of their girlfriends. As for Northman and me, I think he was so unbelievably oversexed to begin with and I’m so (apparently) hypersexed now, as we meet up in our mid-30s, I think we’re actually sexual equals. That’s some kind of sex kismet right there.

So, what were those two conclusions of our conversation I mentioned above?

Number one: Any 12-hour period Northman and I spend together that doesn’t involve some form of sex is a tragedy and an epic slap in Karma’s face.

Number two: He is really fucking lucky to have me.

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