Okay, the book is famous, you saw the movie, you hear it everyday like a bad White Snake song on oldies radio: He's just not that into you!

Your girlfriends curtly tell your other girlfriends behind your back this quasi ol' phrase about your jock of a boyfriend. While politely condoling you, your co-workers are sick of hearing about Jerry not calling you back and repeat this in their heads hoping their thoughts will become audible. Your horoscope even discreetly hints something about a fallen star and a need to rejuvenate the solar alignments with a fresh start; in which you flippantly rebuttal by yelling at your best friend who is zoning out watching re-runs of The Hills.

Greg Behrendt, co-author of that amazingly famous book that so many women have sold their souls to--willingly--said he has been just like many girls in his book.

"I have been on the bad side of relationships," said Behrendt in a radio interview. "I have put all my eggs in a basket that wasn't there."

Behrendt admits to being one of the girls, aka wearing his heart on his sleeve in false hope that nothing might turn into something.

"I have loved someone who has told [me] that [they] are not interested and stayed with it for a while," he said.

This got me thinking, why on earth is there not a book out called "She's Just Not That Into You?" If he is such an expert on writing about women's problems, why can't he write about his own problematic past in the dating realm?

Some guys can't take the hint either. Some guys have just as much of a problem seeing that Becky wants the bad ass with the girlfriend from bio chem not the nice guy who is single (no matter how many mix tapes you make her, she still won't budge).

A few suggestions for it: What goes for guys goes for girls as well. Girls who do not return your phone call(s) or text message(s) are not playing hard to get. Trust me--you text or call, we jump at the chance to respond if we are into you. If you have not heard from the girl in over a week, she's moved on and so should you.

If a girl is not contacting you after a hook up, heaven forbid, even to say hello or throw an inside joke, take a hint. She most likely felt that it should have never happened or it was that bad that she doesn't want it to happen again. Ever. Don't for a second think her girlfriends know anything less than what happened if it was horrible. Take the blow to the ego and go on with your bad self.

If a girl is "busy," consecutively, shes busy in a nail filing, seeing someone else, not interested sort of way. Girls make time for guys just like guys make time for girls. Just the plain and simple facts.

I know this would not sell. Who am I kidding? When would a guy walk into a store and walk out with a book about man problems in the love department? Most likely never.

I am sure guys would feel too meek to purchase such a thing; it would have to be disguised with a half naked girl on the cover to get that ball bearing, beer loving, ego across. I do think, however, if there was a column in Maxim they would be all over it; hence bikini clad girl cover-up.

I am not saying every guy has this problem as much as I am pushing that every girl is not a co-dependent, wait by the phone, white picket fence dreaming, kind of person.

Source


"How Tweet it is," says New York Magazine of this growing pandemic. If you haven't heard, or have been living in a remote place with no human contact, twitter and FaceBook status updates are taking over the world. According to FaceBook creator Mark Zuckerberg, the 35-54 age group is the fastest growing demographic on the social network; your grandparents are probably on Twitter.

"What on earth is Grandma doing on FaceBook" is what your going to say when you get the friend request...don't say I didn't warn you.

For starters, you could blame Oprah for having Zuckerberg on her show explaining the wonders of FaceBook, how to set up a page as well as "how easy it is!" So think twice about approving those tagged pictures of body shots off Carlos in Puerto Rico from Spring Break.

Twitter or tweeting, whatever it is, is an addiction short of a syringe and a crusty band aid and status Updates on facebook are the equivalent to blinking.

When is socializing too much though? I log onto my FaceBook account to find out that so and so loves broccoli and so and so hates rain. Yeah, I get it. We are all guilty. I share my opinions in a cleverly discreet yet overbearing "look at me" way as well. Again, all guilty.

Maybe I would update more if I had a cool phone with Internet access, but I don't. It is acceptable to me if you are updating from your mobile phone more often than not about a cloud that looks like a cupcake or an expression of joy.

It's least respectable, however, if the updates are coming from a PC every 45 minutes. Then a question of abysmal concern comes into play. Either you are lugging your laptop around to the grocery store and class or you never leave your room. Cue raised eyebrow.

If I had an IPhone I would update more; I'll admit it right here. But I am cheap and am okay with the generosity that ATT has to give me the wonderful phone that I received when I renewed my contract last spring. A phone that won't even support stupid SMS messages from Twitter. Yeah, I tried.

Twitter is kind of amazing in itself though. It is a page where a person just banters on and on. It is kind of strange to watch it progress...not knowing half the time what the person is even talking about: inside jokes, possible schizophrenic anecdotes or angst towards a bad date.

Celebrity voyeurism is huge on Twitter. In fact, I think Twitter is more of a celebrity stalking site than social networking. Reading Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore's posts to each other is both awkward and gratifying in a sheepish "peeping-Tom" sort of way.


All this leaves me with is one question: will Journalism turn into twitter updates? I mean, we are already making the vast switch to online Journalism; people want it now and want it fast. Readers are reading less. They only want the headlines and pictures. Regardless, half the time people don't read past the jump.

So will news just end up a twitter message soon enough? It would be a change, but it would be hard facts and fast; exactly what this instant gratification generation demands.

No one is reading the newspaper at breakfast anymore. Instead, they are whipping out their laptops and reading most likely what is on their homepages headlines; be it Yahoo, MSN, AOL or whatever. I know CNN and everyone else is on there but I just see it coming into play a lot more pretty soon.

Music is my life. I recently lost my 8 gig IPod to a battle with old age. It gets worse, I had a nano on loan since my late IPod's untimely death and had to give it back to its owner last week. I gave it back begrudgingly, gun to head and all.

I can coherently say I am nothing without it. My workout's are marginal; my running has turned into a lifeless, self pity drag of my Nikes.

I walk to school and ride the Muni like a sick animal looking for shelter. I no longer have that extra punch in my step like Janice Dickenson circa 2007--the woman will never come off the "first supermodel" kick--when a song I love comes on my shuffle.

I have since ordered a new one. I am impatiently waiting every day and checking my mailbox like someone with ADHD. I almost consider not going places sometimes because the walk can be so boring; I don't know how people do it without some type of MP3 or hell, even a walk man.

I saw--or should I say heard--someone the other day on the Muni who had a small tape player on his shoulder; one you wouldn't find anywhere besides a goodwill or the back of Grandmas garage listening to some classy Billy Holiday esq song.

I have also seen people gripping their cell phones to their ears playing songs--which gets annoying if your P. Diddy intercepts my Weezer-- but you do what you have to sometimes to get by.

A philosophy book I have says "quieting the mind was indeed music's "proper purpose."" I agree completely. Music can reciprocate mind over matter so easily. It is really matter over mind because nothing has such a power to make someone feel so kick ass while running up a flight of stairs like Survivor's Eye of the Tiger.

I don't know how many days I have spent on the Muni staring at everyone with headphones embedded in their ears so tightly as though they were secret FBI pieces.
Headphones big and small; ones with rhinestones placed so perfectly on the ear piece, ones that are tye dye, ones that look like something Michael Jackson wore during a recording session with the Jackson 5 as well as some that are neon colors (where can I get those?).

Drifting into a mindless whirlwind as to what on earth people are listening to, I often wonder. I can't say that dress attire completely gives it away; a guy in pleather pants, a Pantera tee-shirt and a suede fringed vest is most likely NOT listening to Mandy Moore's greatest hits, but maybe he is? Then again, I don't think most would think I am listening to Lil Wayne's, Lollipop when I am; it's sort of a guilty pleasure.


I flip open this month's Cosmo with the effervescent Whitney Port and her oh-so-whimsical hair on the cover. My eye is caught on an article titled "12 Ways to Feed Your Sex Drive" because, well...I love food and it's indubitably in my nature to stop at such an article; out of curiosity of course.

The first thing that caught my attention was the mention of avocados.

"[Avocados] churn out hormones like testosterone, estrogen, and progesterone, which circulate in your bloodstream and stimulate sexual responses," Cosmopolitan said.

Avocado, which I relate to quite well, is something I have been sort of obsessed with lately. A friend of mine turned me completely--no pun intended--on to avocado sandwiches and I have been hooked ever since.

Next on the list: hot chilies. To put it easily I have built up enough of a tolerance towards spicy food with my incessant need to douse everything in crushed red pepper that I could burn alive without a cinch of pain.

"Capsaicin, a chemical found in fiery peppers, increases circulation to get blood pumping," said the magazine. "[It] stimulates nerve endings so you'll feel more turned on."

Obviously any chili pepper loving girl who reads that is immediately going to say: "Now that explains it!"

The article goes on to mention Chocolate, oysters, pomegranates, red wine, salmon and walnuts, vanilla, bananas, and watermelon as other lusting foods that crank up that sex drive.

Reading the article to my friends, we all scour through the foods we all love and oh and ah in amazement at their powerful wonders we were so belittled to know of.

Cut to a day later I am on Oprah.com (please, do not ask me why) when an article strikes me...odd: Aphrodisiacs-Fact or Fiction? Hmm, you don't say?

Elain Magee, author of the article, says oysters could never arouse sexual drives the way they are said to.

"Oysters are made up of elements that cannot possibly chemically stimulate the genitals of either sex," said Magee. "Namely water, protein, carbohydrate, fat, some salts, glycogen and tiny amount's of minerals like potassium and calcium."

She goes on to mention that phallically shaped food--think bananas--have been linked to said sexual drives for their influential appearance.

So now that I read the Cosmo article and the Oprah article I am questioning the integrity of both. I thought to myself that next time I eat anything listed I should take note of how I feel afterward; however, now I feel a bit dense and pitiful for even fathoming a Snicker bar for "heightening my senses." Who was I kidding?

Even so, Magee discussed the appearance and shape of such foods that are said to contribute to these ideas of such sexual appetites:

"Smooth, rich, creamy, exotic, and spicy," Magee said.

Okay, so placebo effect much? Will it all be in my head now? Presumably so. I will continue to eat my avocado sandwiches doused in crushed red pepper and blame my sexual frustrations on my lunch.


"Sight, smell, taste and touch," said Magee, are the characteristics of these foods that drive our sexual tension into overload; not chemicals or vitamins found in them.

Source: Cosmopolitan May 2009 Issue
Aphrodisiacs-Fact or Fiction?
So this little video clip on Saturday Night Live this past weekend got me thinking: The "girlfriend voice?" I am not so sure about it. I just can't hold it to myself to use weird lingo, baby talk or anything of that nature.

I hear people do it all the time. It kind of makes me feel awkward as well as deranged but I get a weird high eavesdropping. It makes me wonder where it begins and where it ends. Do couples who engage in such an art form discuss every matter this way? Or is this language only used for romantic and flirty discussion; if romantic is what you're even looking for.

What is so great about talking to your significant like they are a chihuahua anyway? If someone can explain the logic of this to me with reasonable answers then maybe I will give you the benefit of the doubt; however, for now I am turned off completely. At least throw the person a squeaky toy to play with if you want to talk like that.

I know I am different, to each his own--can't stress that enough--but if a guy came at me with pet names and baby talk I think I would ask where he keeps his balls: In his briefs or in a sparkly pink jar on his Mom's dresser?

If this sort of thing is your "thing" then by all means, go for it. I can only joke when I talk that way, because I can't take someone seriously when a white guy wearing a pocket protector call's his girl boo.
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I am big on shoes, in fact I think shoes say a lot about a person. Last night I was on the Muni, got on at Mission Bay when a man boards at 2nd and King wearing Gold sequined converses. They were cool. I give him "prop's" Run-DMC style. Not everyone can pull that off, but he did. His feet were like two disco balls dancing on earth's dance floor: the Muni. I bet he has that much more pizazz in his step when he wears those. I'll bet his closet is as equally cool if not cooler than Elton John's when he was in Junior High. Come on, you know Elton rocked the sequined converses on the jungle gym.

Cut to a few months back. On the Muni again, (you get to thinking on that thing during long travels) a girl gets on at West Portal wearing aqua blue checkered converses. These were a little different though, they sort of had a kick and some punches of purple. They were exciting to look at. Her feet were like an Easter basket and jelly beans all mixed into one. They were even adorned with cool drawings on the rubber--not the kind you did when you were a kid, like an immature sketch of your name and a marijuana leaf--that were artsy and whimsical.

What I like about these people is they look so blase hair to knees. Then out of nowhere your eyes are jostled with a flow of action-less action for the eyes. It's awesome. No one expects crazy shoes. You expect a "mom-jean" or a funky pink Lacoste polo shirt on a questionably straight guy; not crafty shoes.

Then there are the people who wear those shoes that are so clean. You know the type: expensive jeans, tee-shirt and whiter shoes than Kelly Rippa's teeth. These are the type that wear the same thing almost everyday and probably have laser spot treatments to remove dirt off their loved ones--their shoes. Or maybe a crest whitening treatment type thing for their shoes, because damn, they are so white all the time. I get it though. Your shoes are your life, they are your statement. They say "hey, I keep it in order."

Then there are the shoes that are so worn out that it irks me as to why someone would wear such God awful things where toes peek through filthy fabric and duck tape is holding the heel on. Maybe you are a martyr--you will die for those chucks--or maybe just plain frugal with your money. I try to get it so say the least.


I could never pull off flowered shoes or sparkly sandals. Dorothy did it, but she got paid well, and had a yellow brick road to walk on. It takes a certain kind of person to be comfortable in zainy shoes; whatever shoes those are. I will stick to my boots, moccasins and sandals--what I know best. Maybe one day I will veer to the beyond and get a pair of crazy kicks; however--for now at least--I will admire the feet of others.

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