Archive for November, 2008

The Click and Clack of True Love

Oh those wily PR folks. What would we do without them? They invent these surveys to launch products. Then they wind up knowing more about what’s happening right in front of our very noses than even we do.

I’m speaking, of course, about our computers. According to a survey one PR group conducted for their client, Wellgate for Women, 96% of U.S. adult women who work in an office setting claim to like or love their computer.

I gotta confess, I’m one of them. I love not just my computer but also all its accoutrements. The keyboard with crumbs wedged into grooves, the sticky “traumatized” mouse, chocolate bar wrappers piled on my right, 1.3 million business cards I don’t know how to organize, and an “x-ed” out picture of my “ex” curling up under the monitor.

The survey also shed some light on why my “ex” is no longer in his heart-shaped frame. It found that “on average, female office workers typically spend nearly triple the amount of time with their computer than with their significant other each day (9.3 hours compared to 3.6 hours, respectively.) In fact, about one in ten (9%) have actually had the same computer longer than she has been with her current significant other.”

I know, I know. You can’t help it. You just click. But believe me, this little affair of yours could be taking a toll – on your wrist. I’m talking carpal tunnel syndrome. Which may in turn lead to a certain loss of manual “dexterity” that your boyfriend once highly valued. Between that and your spending so much time in front of the cold-hearted beast (the computer, not the boyfriend), you’re single again. Isn’t life just so circular – and so cruel?

The survey was funded by Wellgate for Women, makers of the Slimfit Wrist Support®. Happily, carpal tunnel syndrome is one of the few problems I don’t have, so I can’t vouch for the product. You can learn more about it, however, and even get some “couple’s therapy” at MyCubicleRomance.com.

Fix those wrists, ladies, and get that hand back on the job.

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Oh My God, That Feels Good.

Just when I thought marriage was dead, now there’s reason to rethink it — if only to solve the kinds of problems that come with marriage.

As reported in the New York Times, the best solution for marital unhappiness is sex. And lots of it. Like, we’re talking daily.

That’s the take of Rev. Ed Young of the evangelical Fellowship Church in Grapevine, Texas. He recently challenged the “marrieds” among his flock of 20,000 to do more flocking. Or what he referred to as “congregational copulation.”

This cry for “sexperimentation” was delivered while pacing in front of a large bed on a candlelit stage, guitars strumming in the background. “Sometimes,” reports the author of the article, “he reclined on the paisley coverlet while flipping through a Bible, emphasizing his point that it is time for the church to put God back in the bed.”

God Bliss Me, I love this guy. He must be reading some kind of modern version of the Bible — one with lots of centerfolds.

Now, I’m no Pastor and I may even have a little devil in me but how can you argue with the Sex Solution? Let the Rev answer that for you. You can’t. Sex, he says, adds intimacy to a relationship, brings you closer to God, improves productivity, leaves a loving legacy for your children to follow, and may even prevent an extramarital affair. If that weren’t enough, it’s even good for the economy, helping you go from “whining to whoopee.”

Bail me out, baby. And it’s about time. Americans are sex starved. That’s why we talk so much about it. That’s why an intimate gesture has been reduced to handing your partner the remote. Enough! Rise up people and take the Rev’s Sex Challenge. Do it everyday for the next seven days, and then tell me just how great God can be.

May ‘Oh My God’ go with you.

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Floppy Penis Got You Frustrated?

The other day I got an email from a girlfriend who was debating whether or not to stay with her new boyfriend. Apparently Mr. Wonderful was wonderful in every way except in the sack. There, what should get all large and in charge just curled up and hid like a big peanut left in the bowl to rot.

At first it was okay, she says, because he’s so sweet, romantic and attentive. There was a lot of cuddling and fondling and kissing and caring going on. Eventually, though, that became tiresome. Without what she considered to be the coup de grâce of intercourse, she began to feel cheated, deprived even.

It became clear that Mr. Wonderful would do anything for her except deal with his obvious problem of Erectile Dysfunction (ED). As the resentment grew, emotions cooled. Soon the only cooing to be heard was from the annoying pigeons under her roof.

Finally she was left with the decision: do I stay and learn to live with Little Floppy? Or, do I move on, abandoning a good man?

That at least is how she saw it. My take is a little different.

First off, you have to wonder who’s the selfish one. Is it her because he wasn’t promising anything from the start – he’d always had ED – and now she was getting ready to jump ship because sex was missing some little thing? Or, was it him – he wouldn’t acknowledge her obvious conflict and sexual frustration? Or what if he did see it but was ignoring it? Isn’t that even worse?

I didn’t have to think too hard about this before I came up with my two words of advice. Dump. Him. And then I threw in a third word, Now.

I know that sounds callous and mean, but, hey, I’m all about seasoned sex. That means we know better – ourselves, others, and what’s likely to happen next. Being seasoned gals, we know that any guy who isn’t going to take on a problem as obvious as ED isn’t likely to be a guy worth sticking around for. He’s in massive denial. You just know he’s not going to do what it takes to keep the relationship clicking along. He can’t even keep his life clicking along.

Of course my friend was offended that I took the words out of some healthier part of her brain – the part that she pretends she doesn’t have. She got mad. Called me selfish. Hung up abruptly. And then called back five minutes later to debate it further.

That’s okay. I understand – she’s internally conflicted. Raised to be caring and compassionate, most women will err on the side of sacrifice, taking a hit for the team is just our job, our lot in life, isn’t it? We’ve had years of experience putting the relationship above our individual needs.

What a pile of doo-doo. I don’t know about you, but I’m just too old to be saving men from ED just for a few cuddles. Plus I got one really important life to take care of. It’s called mine. And as it turns out, I’m the only one who can do it. You know what they say, it takes two strong people to make a strong relationship. Start compensating for another to make something work and you haven’t got a relationship anymore. You’ve got codependence. And that ain’t sexy.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ll take one for the team once in a while but only if the team is working it, too. In this case, the team wasn’t doing a damn thing to win. It wouldn’t matter how much my friend sacrificed, how sexually frustrated she became in the process, or how much she begged and prodded him to take care of his body. The team would always deliver up a big loss – a big score of, Not tonight dear, I have a peanut stuck between my legs.

This isn’t about, Do I stand by my man? This is about standing by you. It’s also about remembering something else. It’s a big world out there. You’ll find another nut.

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Are You Ready for the Kegel Olympics?

Imagine a piece of soft, stiff pink plastic, about 1/8” thick and about an inch wide. You fold it in half to form what looks like a giant pink wishbone or a letter “V.” Then, you put that in your vagina, pointed end first (you’ll need a little lubricant – trust me). Squeeze and hold. You are now Kegeling, or more precisely you’re using a Gyneflex to Kegel. It’s nothing short of the Kegel Olympics.

Yes, amazingly, people have created devices for exercising the muscles that keep your vagina toned. Apparently, this makes for stronger, longer orgasms. Also, apparently this is nothing new. Those giant solid marbles you’ve maybe seen in colorful silk boxes at Chinese markets? They’re actually Ben Wa balls. You pop them in your vagina and then forget about them (apparently that’s possible). Your muscles strengthen as they contract to keep the balls from dropping out.

The thought of giant marbles falling from my crotch as I walked out of a meeting, say, wasn’t that appealing. So, I opted for the Gyneflex instead to test out all the kafuffle over Kegels.

Now I confess. I’ve always been curious about Kegels but prior to discovering the Gyneflex, I was your typical amateur. A little here, a little there and I’m on to dental flossing, or whatever.

What I needed was a disciplined practice, I told myself. And, now, the giant pink wishbone on my night table was serving as a constant reminder. Soon Mr Kegel himself would be writing me letters of congratulations.

The first thing I noticed during my Gyneflex “session” was that having something to squeeze against focused my effort more intensely. The second thing I noticed is because the plastic has to be somewhat stiff for resistance, it’s not that comfortable. You need to be sure to get in the right position. Think Pap smear: you lie face up with your knees bent without moving an inch (except to squeeze, of course).

Once you get used to it, though, Kegeling with the Gyneflex becomes second nature. Be sure to wash it thoroughly after each use. I leave mine to dry on the towel rack. It looks like a giant pink clothespin.

All this effort is of no consequence unless it makes sex better of course. I waiting for that moment when I’d have an orgasm so intense, my head would pop off. But instead, I was too exhausted down there for sex. After a week, I couldn’t squeeze my Gyneflex let alone a hot dog.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Prince (code for boyfriend) after I had begged off sex.

I broke down and confessed. “I’ve overdone it,” I said dropping my head in shame. “I need some recovery time.”

“Only you could over-Kegel,” he asked without batting an eye.

I elaborated on how I had taken Kegeling to a new level with the Gyneflex. He still wasn’t impressed.

“I just use a towel,” he said. “A wet towel,” he added with a sly grin.

I gulped. Hard. How would I ever keep up? Well, I guess it’s true what they say, no pain, no gain. From here on in, it would be me and the Gyneflex and a lot of long, lonely nights.

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