You say, “slut.”
But the placard they all have to sweep off of my desk before taking me on top of it reads:
Sexual Anthropologist.
Gold emboss don’t lie, yo.
Trust.
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Here’s lookin’ at you, sexual and intellectual peer.
Gay, straight, man, woman – NO ONE should address their lover as “kid” or “kiddo.”
It is not sexy. Not sexy at all. Just all sorts of condescending, with a faiiint smack of pedophilia.
Alternately, however, most everyone will always have a desire to be romanced in Paris. So feel free to channel Bogart in that sense. Surrriously, by all means –
Channel away!
Gay dude, straight talk. 1:1
According to my friend, Rebecca, under no circumstance are you to call a woman “girlie.” Nor are you to celebrate any aspect of life with the phrase “cool beans.”
Not if you ever want to flick her bean again.
Rebecca may be but one voice, but it is not far-fetched to hypothesize that many of her hip, young, sexy and intelligent peers will concur – in the comments section, below.
So stick with me, dudes who likes dames…
And I’ll do my part to keep you inside both their hearts and straight ‘n’ narrows.
Register discount.
“So, you were right,” my friend Mercedes finally conceded the other night. “She’s…”
“Busted,” I reiterated what I had been drilling into her for the past several months, an effort to assuage the sting of rejection left by the abrupt exodus of an aesthetically, not to mention emotionally, unworthy former lover.
“Well…Not quite ‘busted,’ ” still – she attempted to soften the blow, “So much as…”
“Slightly damaged? Like, take that can up front and request a few nickels off?”
“Yes! NO! Yeah…Shoot.”
“Mmhmm,” I nodded, grateful that she finally seems to have regained some perspective. “Register – discount.”
Go on; use the phrase yourselves. Physical insults are cheap and cruel when tossed in the subject’s face, but everyone has experienced a similar pain and sometimes we must stoop to private pettiness in order to achieve closure and enlightenment.
Slurpmantics.
“Why do people call it ‘day drinking’?” One of my two officemates asked, recently. “It just draws attention to the fact that you’re getting drunk during the day!”
“That’s the point,” I laughed. “It’s an indulgence.”
“I try not to start until noon,” the other chimed in. “Like the saying goes.”
“Actually, ‘It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,’ is the adage.” I corrected her. “But, psht – I’ll begin whenever. The only reason it may not be until noon is because I’m still passed out from the night before.”
Real rough, this 21st century 20-something American life o’ mine.
