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Ladies, gentlemen: I am a slut.
No two ways around it: I like sex. I like sex with lots of different people. I like sex in lots of different ways. I like talking about sex. I like writing about sex. So I go out, and I hook up, and I do not always stick around to cuddle. This doesn’t mean that I’m all messed up inside, or that I need men’s approval (if you look at my “to do” list, you’ll see that “caring about men’s approval” is on the bottom, directly beneath “personally oversee the freezing-over of Hell”), or that I can’t be faithful or intimate when I fall in looooove.
It’s tough to define my motives for sleeping around, but, if I had to make a guess, I think it might have something to do with the fact that I have a huge freaking pleasure center in my crotch, and it feels good when people touch it. So yeah: I’m a slut. I call myself a slut. I let my friends call me a slut. I even let my dude call me a slut, although that happens exclusively in bed. Read More »
It’s easy to forget that dads weren’t always dads, which is why we honor them (for giving up their dreams for you). But instead of just doing whatever your mom or sister planned this year, give him some quality guy-time–because that’s all he really wants. And remember, just because Father’s Day is only today, that doesn’t mean you these rad guy activities wouldn’t still kick ass.
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