A Billion Wicked Thoughts: Science Bangs our Dirty Minds

If you are waiting for someone to loan you 50 Shades of Grey or you are trying to pace yourself through the Game of Thrones series so you don't have to anxiously wait umpteen years for the next book like this stupid blogger, then I have a great book to recommend for you called A Billion Wicked Thoughts.

I can remember as a little nerd hooka in training, going to the library and seeing the Hite Reports on Female and Male Sexuality, which were probably the largest sex studies after Masters and Johnson, and Kinsey.  Even though I remember the reads being very "sciencey" and staid, I was fascinated, and always made a point to peek at one when I was there. It's good to know that the interest in what turns people on visits onto the third generation and evolves, and becomes A Billion Wicked Thoughts.

The authors, two neuroscientists named Ogi Ogas and Sai Gaddam, have brought the sexual attraction study game into the 21st century in a huge and interesting way ~ and in a sense, it went viral:  they examined what people do on the internet.  According to them, they studied "a billion web searches, a million websites, a million erotic videos, a million erotic  stories, millions of personal ads, and tens of thousands of digitized romance novels."  By combining this online behavioral data with neuroscience and past studies, they were able to give some sometimes surprising truths and insight about what turns us on.  Past research combined with more current genetic discovery led to some very interesting theories about why we feel funny about certain unexpected things and people and why.

Ogas and Gaddam theorize about a lot of things, including why women are turned on by the dirtiest shit imaginable, and why we (as women) don't realize or admit it consciously, but why we need to do it that way, and how they test this.  Why are straight men are obsessed with being dicks?  Oops, I mean big dicks- and not even their own; big cocks, black cocks, aggressive cocks having sex with their partners while they watch- cocks you would think they wouldn't think about so often-hell, at all- but they do and why, and how they test that. And how, in light of all of this aforementioned research, straight men can think that they are so different than gay men, which they are not but for their sexual hungers and desires? (Duh.)  How bisexual women answer sex questions more like straight men than they do gay or straight women (What you talking 'bout, Scientist?!), and how straight women love gay porn, its growing digital popularity, and how that's pretty normal.

I think that last thing is what made me love this book even more because for years I have battled straight female friends about my preference for gay porn over het porn. Even if the authors of this research are wrong in their theories, I finally feel vindicated. The Bible says it takes a child to lead them, but sometimes, it takes a loud drunk chick who thinks she knows what sexy is. 

You may have an "a-ha" moment as you read, you may have to call bullshit and put it down for a minute, but you"ll have to admit, regardless, that it's very interesting.  And I totally recommend it.

TYB (That's Your Boyfriend): Rudy Eugene

I like the Walking Dead.  I do.  I have watched all the episodes of the first two seasons and I have read the comic books.  Yeah, it's gory and graphic, but I can put all of that on pause in my mind because it is so far-fetched and fantastical, I know that it's never going to happen for real.  At least I thought that until Saturday afternoon when I read about Rudy Eugene.  Rudy it seems, likes to ingest things that are very high up on the no-no list. Like bath salts. And when Rudy eats/snorts/ingests bath salts, he loses his fucking mind and starts eating faces. Or at least that what seems to have happened on Saturday.

Larry Vega, the poor, poor man who will probably start snorting bath salts his damn self to get the hellish images he witnessed out of his mind grapes forever, told anyone who would listen that he saw a naked dude on top of another naked cat, but they weren't playing Leap Frog or doing the Horizontal Hustle.  No, Rudy had gone all Faces of Death on his victim and was "eating the other guy away, like ripping his skin."  After Vega rubbed his eyes a few times and surely asked himself repeatedly, "What the fuck am I looking at?", he screamed at Eugene to get off.  Eugene evidently wasn't done with his face buffet, and continued to Lector his victim.  Finally, Vega flagged down a cop, who also screamed at Eugene to stop with no avail.  He only turned around and growled like the undead and kept on eating until a bunch of bullets from said cop's gun locked his jaw forever.  The victim is in critical condition with "75%-80%" of his face missing.

According to the cops and an emergency room physician, the drug makes people delirious, it elevates their temperatures, they exhibit extreme physical strength, and they use their jaws as weapons.  And according to police president Armando Augilar, four other drug-use instances in Miami-Dade bear a resemblance to this attack. When did The People Under the Stairs come out in Miami?

I hope that the victim survives because no one deserves to die like that, but also so he can tell us what exactly happened.  I wish that Rudy Eugene had survived as well if only to see video of him after he sobered up and came back to sanity's side of reality and saying to the police, "I'm sorry, I ate what?!"

For more information on this story and to prove to your friends you aren't making it up, go to:
http://www.latimes.com/news/nation/nationnow/la-na-nn-naked-face-eating-attack-20120529,0,2974308.story

TYB (That's Your Boyfriend): Jesse James Thomas

Never mind the fact that you could probably just tape this mug shot to a jail cell in every episode of "Beyond Scared Straight" & still make delinquents cry, or that your man looks like he hasn't blinked since 1982, let's talk about what got this fish-eyed fool (never fully understood Aunt Esther's barb until I saw this picture and read the story) locked down in the pokey in the first place.

According to the Sacramento County Sheriff's Office, Jesse James, wearing a dark puffy jacket, a sombrero (yes, you read that right), and a boxing glove jumped on the hood of a patrol car around 12:00A.M.  The 55-year-old Thomas repeatedly screamed his name before jumping off the hood of said car and running even further away from sanity.  When the cops found him later, his crazy ass was lying in the street, probably still screaming his name, so he was arrested on suspicion of public drunkenness. After all that foolery they were still only suspicious?  Really?

What I don't understand- above and beyond where he found a sombrero and a boxing glove (not even a pair, just one)- is how he rolled up on the cops without them seeing him coming?  I'm sure this cat is bigger than Speedy Gonzales, the sombrero wearing mouse from the cartoons, and much louder.  How did they not see him coming- and how was he initially able to get away from the them and hide after he jumped down off the black and white? You can probably Google Map those big ass crazy eyes, surely you can see and feel them burning into you and your soul from the middle of a city street.

Seriously, those eyes are going to haunt my dreams.  I know that Tyra calls smiling with your eyes "smizing"- what do you call murdering a family of 4 or decapitating some hookers with your eyes, because that's what your man is doing.  You know he had all the room in the world in the holding tank because he seems the kind of crazy that will just leap on a dude and choke a bitch out  for smelling him wrong. You would have to be crazier than him to mess with him, and I just don't think that's possible.

Blindness, Hairy Palms, and Dead Kittens

If you've noticed more of the aforementioned afflictions this past month, don't worry.  It's not part of the Mayan Prophecy or anything like that.  It turns out that May is National Masturbation Month.  I feel like a bad mother for not letting y'all know this sooner, but I was too busy masturbating.  I kid.  I honestly didn't know until yesterday, but alas- the best has been saved for the end of the month- if you live in San Francisco.  I will get to that in a minute because we first have to discuss why May is Masturbation Month (and surprisingly it has nothing to do with Beltane).

For those of you who are too young to remember, or were too hopped on E at the raves to remember, in 1995 Dr. Jocelyn Elders, the most bad ass, honest Surgeon General ever was FIRED for saying that masturbation needed to be talked and taught about in sex education classes.  I know. This bitch had the nerve and audacity to encourage talking about the safest sex possible (unless you asphyxiate yourself or get something stuck) in a healthy, educational setting  to young people.  Dr. Elders being fired for that was like Celie telling Harpo to beat Sophia:  wrong.

In a show of support for Dr. Elders and as a way of speaking out against the irresponsible, sexually retarded  (and I mean "retarded" in its true definition, not "differently-abled")  beliefs that choke this country, San Francisco based Good Vibrations, the clean, well-lit place to buy erotica and pleasure items started National Masturbation Month (NMM). The intention behind NMM was and is to get people talking about self-pleasure openly and without being embarrassed.

The culmination of NMM has been, and continues through this year to be the Masturbate-A-Thon.  That's right- it's like Rule 34 jumped off-line and morphed into Rule 69:  If it's sexual and you can think of it, you can find it somewhere in San Francisco.  So for those of you out there who have always wanted to masturbate in a room full of strangers & not get arrested, Sunday, May 27th, 2012 is your chance.

The Center for Sex & Culture, at 1349 Mission Street, has scheduled this year's Masturbate-A-Thon from 10PM-12AM.  For the low price of $40, you can sponsor yourself or bring a sponsor form with pledges from your boss, mom, dad, memaw, pepaw, or in-laws; whoever you're not too embarrassed to ask.  The money goes to support CSC and their continuing efforts in sexual health and education.  There are various prizes to be won, an open bar, and a finger buffet (kidding about the last two).  For more real information, go to http://masturbate2012.tumblr.com, or you can check out their website @ www.sexandculture.org. 
See ya Sunday!!

A Smile about Sex (ASS) 5-2-12

copied from:  http://www.lilith-ezine.com/articles/sex/Sex-Jokes-and-Cartoons-IV.html

A Smile about Sex (ASS) 5-1-12

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Robert de Niro

In another Hot with a Chance of Sexy first, I give you the man who puts the "sex" in "sexagenarian": ladies and bitches, boys and girls, hogs and heifers, puppies and kittens, Robert De Niro. That it has taken me so long to include this man in the Hot with a Chance of Sexy feature warrants a kick in the tits for me because Robert De Niro is a bad ass.  What constitutes bad ass, you ask?  His talent, passion, smoldering "De Nironess", and the fact that he has had his name in a song title while he's still alive.  Not a lot of bitches can say that.

In fact, that Bananarama song, "Robert De Niro's Waiting (Talkin' Italian)", was my first introduction to Bobby (and I call him "Bobby" because we're cool like that in our friendship in my head) back in 1984 when I was 14.  I'd spent the seventies and early eighties watching movies like What's Up, Doc?, Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo, Little Darlings, Scavenger Hunt, and National Lampoon's Vacation. Robert De Niro, with his dark, serious, grown-folks movies was nowhere on my barely bleedin' tween ass radar.

Born in Greenwich Village on August 17, 1943, this actor, director, and producer has art in his blood. His mother was a painter and poet and his father was an abstract expressionist painter and sculptor.  Bobby Milk, as his friends called him because of his coloring, made his acting debut at age 10 playing the Cowardly Lion in his school's production of The Wizard of Oz.  From that moment, this sexy Leo knew what he wanted to do with his life.  He dropped out of school at 16 to pursue acting- studying at the Stella Adler Conservatory and Lee Strasberg's Actors Studio.

Bobby's first movie was playing opposite of Jill Clayburgh in The Wedding Party in 1963, but the movie wasn't released until 1969.  He got tons more attention playing a dying Major League baseball player in 1973's Bang the Drum Slowly.  I have never seen that movie, but I know that Bobby could still, to this day, bang my drum slowly and that's all I know.  Apologies- I digress.

One of my favorite De Niro stories- of Robert the Younger - is about how he got the role of the young Vito Corleone in Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather Part II:  it was partly because Coppola remembered and was so taken with him from his previous auditions for Sonny Corleone, Michael Corleone, Carlo Rizzi, and Paulie Gatto, in the Godfather.  Who knows how many times he actually auditioned for those 4 roles, and whether or not he actually got, or was promised one or more. He still came back to audition again for Godfather Part II. Now that is tenacity, perseverance, and self-confidence mixed with a whole lot of sexy.  And what did it get him?  Just an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor.  Next time I feel like quitting something, I am not gonna go diggin' for that poem- I am just gonna think about bad ass Bobby D.

His 1973 collaboration with Martin Scorsese in Mean Streets, parlayed into a successful working relationship for the two of them that spanned decades.  All told, Bobby has done too many movies to list here, but interestingly though we tend to think of him in mob roles, he has done a wide array of films including Brazil, Midnight Run, Analyze This, Angel Heart, and Cape Fear. De Niro also showed his talent in directing with 1993's A Bronx Tale and 2006's The Good Shepherd.

This prostate cancer survivor has had some bad times while filming as well. In 1998, while he was shooting in France, he was hauled in by the French po-po for 9 hours and then questioned by a magistrate over a prostitution ring.  To say he was pissed and let them know he wasn't the one was an understatement to the fullest degree.  According to French newspaper, Le Monde, De Niro said of France,

"I want to get this fuck where he breathes!  I want to find this nancy boy...I want him DEAD!  I want his family DEAD!  I want his house burned to the GROUND! I wanna go there in the middle of the night and I wanna PISS ON HIS ASHES!"

Okay- that's a quote from The Untouchables, but it seemed appropriate because he was so mad. Actually he said that he would never go back to France, but he obviously recanted when he showed up as the President of the Jury for the 64th Cannes Film Festival in 2011.

Besides acting and directing, Bobby co-founded the film studio TriBeCa Productions and the TriBeCa Film Festival.  He co-owns Nobu and TriBeCa Grill, as well as The Greenwich Hotel and the restaurant inside of it called Locanda Verde.  He has been investing in the TriBeCa neighborhood since 1989 and has residences on the east and west sides of Manhattan, and an estate in Marbletown in upstate New York.  I'm sure all his successes have to be source of personal pride, but it also must feel good to know his wife, Grace Hightower, and 6 children and 3 grandchildren will be well provided for in the future.  Bad ass.

Love For Sail: Dignity Given Away for Free

I have long made fun of Lifetime for being Bravo's poor country cousin when it comes to reality shows, and with the Tuesday, April 10th debut of Love For Sail, I will continue to tease them.  I don't know why Lifetime just can't seem to pull it all together with these shows, but they are always the lady at the party who should've taken off one accessory before leaving the house, i.e., not quite right.

The Executive VP of Programming for Lifetime Networks, Rob Sharenow, must've been sharing some crack with his brain when he said, "A generation of viewers grew up watching the scripted series The Love Boat, and, inspired by that program, Love for Sail captures the fun and adventure of what it's really like to find romance on the high seas."  First of all, the Cruise Directors Bucko and Carmen combined couldn't add up to one Julie McCoy.  And secondly, I want to share now with Rob that Love For Sail is waaayyy more like the short-lived FOX show Love Cruise from the fall of 2001 (which featured 8 men and 8 women battling for $250,000.  The original air date of Love Cruise was September 11, 2001, which is kinda like naming your diet pills Ayds), than my hallowed Love Boat.

The premise for Love For Sail is actually a good one:  Trap 10 adventurous, love-lusting, fair to middling attractive grown ups on a cruise ship with lots of booze and roll the cameras. Period.  No one has to pack their knives and go, no one has to lip synch for their life, they are not fired, and the tribe hasn't spoken.  Just show up horny and drink. That's Reality TV 101, right? And you would think that the dynamics- 4 women and 6 men looking for love port side and starboard coupled with beautiful sunsets on the water in the background and amazing ports of call (which I have never seen) would inspire us to set our DVRs to tape every Tuesday night at 10, but they don't.  Why?  Because Love For Sail doesn't give us the chance to meet any of the contestants well enough to care whether they "find love" or fall into the deep blue sea. Yeah they show us the woman who's fallen into her cups at a deliciously awkward dinner, and yeah they show us the two chicks who choose the same dude for a date and the delusional slightly demented, somewhat funny arguments that ensue about who should step aside. But ultimately we know nothing about any of them and because of that we don't relate to them; if we don't relate, we don't care. And they present 10 new people each week for us not to care about.

My best advice to Lifetime is that they need to take a page out of the MTV/ FOX/ Bravo book and get people on their shows that we either want to be friends with, party with, or have sex with- and give us a chance to get to know them over a season.  If they are adamant about bringing newbies in each week, give us dynamic women who we want to be or be friends with- not seemingly whiny, self absorbed broads who have a skewed sense of their attractiveness and/or too much plastic surgery.  No one wants to hang out with those bitches in real life or watch them on television. (Oh, and make sure the dudes are hella funny and look good with their shirts off.)

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Simon Cowell

Err'body knows how much I love my dream baby daddy, Colin Farrell, or El Farrell as I have christened him on the fake birth certificate I had made up although I don't have kids.  If I ever have the opportunity to meet him, I'm sure the sounds of his security team screaming, "Ma'am put your clothes back on and step away from Mr. Farrell!" will be forever seared in my brain. Sigh.

What not many people know is that even though I have so much mad love in my heart for El Farrell, I still have room to love another.  And I do- but since I know how divisive he is and how strong people's opinions are about him- I haven't told many people.  Today, since we're all friends here, I will proudly tell y'all his name:  Simon Cowell.  That's right, bitches. Former American Idol judge, X Factor dude, one night stand robbery victim, he of the bizarre Shower Head looking hairstyle, short ass Simon Phillip Cowell makes this hooka feel like a grown woman in my Black Iris area every time I see him.

And it's not because he's a bazillionaire as I'm sure some of the more cynical among you have assumed- at least not in the way you have assumed.  I love that he has had his financial ups and downs and yet he never quit- what can I say?  I find tenacity sexy.  I also love that though he might be brutal in his opinions about people and their talent- or lack thereof- he has managed to remain friends with many of his exes, he definitely has a sense of humor about himself (voice on The Simpson & Family Guy episodes- as well as other comedic turns & self mockery), and he likes kids and puppies (giving to children's charities and a video for PETA), and I'll bet he's nice to waiters.

Simon was born on October 7, 1959 in Lambeth, London & raised in Elstree, Hertfordshire and given he's  a Libra Pig it's no surprise he likes things in excess.  His father was a real estate developer and his mother is a former ballet dancer and socialite.  His father actually helped him get him a job in the mail room at EMI Music Publishing, and helped him get re-hired later as the assistant to an A & R man.  After working his way up, Simon was eventually promoted into music publishing.

He left and went to work with Iain Burton at indie label Fanfare Records.  He worked with Burton for 8 years, becoming a partner and building Fanfare into a successful pop label with lots of different artists including Sinitta.  They did well for a while, but by 1989, the label fell into the hands of BMG and a seriously in-debt Simon was forced to move back into his parents' house.  And now look at his ass 23 years later worth about $320 million dollars (according to biographer Tom Bower and the Sunday Times Rich List).  It must've taken an almost possessed drive to come up with his money making ideas and actually bring them to fruition- which makes for a great businessman, but a lousy boyfriend (which he concedes).

Speaking of Tom Bower, he just released his Cowell biography called, "Sweet Revenge:  The Intimate Life of Simon Cowell" in which he says that Simon had, "...20 years- more than 20 years- of humiliation."  I would like to amend that to 20 years and 1 night, because Bower reveals in the book that Simon had a one night stand with some hooka he met at Drai's in Hollywood (mistake #1), took her home (mistake #2), and she stole his wallet and his laptop, which had X Factor secrets on it.  He got the computer back, but (shockingly) all the money was gone from his wallet.  Oh, Simon.

In the book Bower also says that Simon had an affair with Kylie Minogue's sister Danii while she was a judge on the X Factor.  Yawn.  More interesting to me is that Sharon Osbourne is squawking that he cheated with multiple chicks while he was engaged to Mezhgan Hussainy. Hold on!  An incredibly wealthy man who is constantly surrounded by beautiful women actually cheated with one or more?  Wow!  The next thing you know the sun will rise in the east.  First of all, Sharon Osbourne needs to shut the fuck up considering she is married to a man who was in a little rock band called Black Sabbath.  Now, I am not a betting woman, but I am pretty sure five will get me ten if I say he was dirty dickin' around on her quite a bit back in the day.  She knows what wealthy, famous men are like & even more, she knows what women can be like around those said men. If Simon did cheat, which he probably did, he ain't exactly planting a flag in newly chartered territory.

And I have to say that although I am sad that the groovy kind of love we all look for didn't last for Simon and Mezhgan, I didn't want him him to marry her.  Not cos I thought he should come for me- I am not that delusional (besides, what would Colin say?)- but because I want a big personalitied, I-will- take- off- my- earring- and- fight- you kinda broad for Simon.  She's gotta be beautiful, graceful, and well mannered of course (remember his mama was a ballerina and a socialite)- but she's gotta be able to say "Not me & not today" with just her eyes to him. Like ghetto fab smizing.  And I'm sure Mezhgan's broken heart is slightly less cracked as she contemplates life and love in the $8 million dollar mansion he tossed her the keys and title to as she watched his $400,000 Rolls Royce get smaller when he drove off and left her in Iquityabitchville.

Are Gold Diggers Bio-Evolutionary Truists?

Like many Americans, you probably don't follow European football and so you're not familiar with Mario Batolli, a 21-year-old Italian striker who now plays for Manchester City (though perhaps not after they lost to Arsenal today and he got ~at least~ a 3-game suspension for a couple of dirty fouls). Batolli, sporting a shaved head with a mohawk down the center and dressing like a runway model, is a flashy personality in the divisive vein of T.O. and the insane vein of Rodman. Though he's never publicly called a teammate the "f" word, or tried to marry himself, Batolli is probably more famous for his activities off the pitch than on. And his latest is the most titillating for me: He admitted that he cheated on his girlfriend with the same hooker who had a threesome with Wayne Rooney 2 years ago when Rooney's wife was 5 months pregnant.

Much like the celebrity cheaters before him, Batolli didn't admit his infidelity out of a sense wrongness. In fact, a few days before the story broke, he revealed a jersey on the pitch in front of thousands of fans on which he proclaimed his love for girlfriend Rafaella Fico (an Italian lingerie model and television personality). No, the truth kicked its way out of his mouth because (word on the corner) was that the hooker he got with, Jenny Thompson, was threatening to blackmail him. Batolli must've shocked the shit out of her by punching her in the purse, basically saying, "Bitch, not me, not today," and telling on himself. I think Mario slowly realized that there's veritably a limitless amount of pussy available to him and a very finite number of pounds in his bank account, and chose not to give Jenny another sixpence. Again, like cheaters before him, as of now Batolli and his girlfriend are still together.

I told y'all all of that to tell you this, and though I am loathe to admit it, I will because it's true (& y'all probably picked up on it already): I am fascinated by celebrity gossip. Not all of it. Hell, not even most of it. But let my nosey ass hear about one of the endless revelations and accusations of infidelity, and I am all over that shit like a priest at a playground. Not that I expect beautiful, wealthy, and oftentimes psychologically jacked up people not to cheat- it's the opposite: I am drawn to the "every man-ness" of cheating. I am continually amazed that I am continually amazed by the fact that these cats live in a world where every word and action is watched and scrutinized, and they still dirty dick around knowing that they are more likely than not to get caught. That just tells me there has to be something to that base biological need to spread the seed.

And then of course you have to factor in the person he's caught with, and I repeatedly find myself wondering (assuming his tryst was with a woman), "What is she thinking? What was this to her? What did she really want?" Most people just call them gold diggers without giving it a second thought, and click to the next website. But I think that the true gold diggers are being viewed in a societal way and not biological, and I don't think that's fair. If men have a biological need to spread their seed, and some are more prone to act on it, then there have be female equivalents.

Firstly, let me clarify what I don't consider a gold digger: It's not the bitch who's at the club every night trying to get at good looking younger actors and athletes, it's not the girl who watches Million Matchmaker like it's a digital bible, and it's not the broad who has Gloria Allred's office number programmed in her phone already just in case. To me, these Hoellas and Sluttishas are women who want money and status so they can feel like they're better than everyone else, but are too lazy, greedy, and unimaginative to do it for themselves. These dirty legs are trading sex for money, and I don't care how much you pretty it up with Louboutins, Chanel, and expensive weaves, that's being a hooker. Straight up. And there's really nothing wrong with it (other than it being illegal) because trading sex for money is an exchange of power, but these bitches will never admit that. In fact, they get indignant and sometimes violent at the suggestion. Start talking about how much they "really liked" said dudes and thought something serious was going to come from their hook-ups. In fact, the only reason they are speaking out at that point is because they "feel bad" for the WAGs (yeah, that and the 5 & the 6 figure deals they got or will get. And it's not shocking. If you're gonna sell sex for money, there's pretty much nothing else you won't sell). Suddenly, these hos become gold diggers and that's not the right term to me.

In my opinion, a true gold digger is a maternal materialist, and from a biological stand point that's what she is supposed to be (though I am no scientist, I play one on a TV show in my head). Biologically speaking, men want young, healthy looking women who look as though they can bear and raise young. On that same base, primal level, women want men who will pass on the genes to ensure those young will be healthy and live long- and what better immediate proof than an older man? And an older wealthy man has shown he is physically strong enough and smart enough to survive and thrive: He's a biological genetic jackpot and women who want kids need him to win (from a very singular bio-evolutionist view point).

These women should be praised for helping to propagate the species and bumping us along evolutionarily- not scorned and mocked. At least not by other bitches like me who know we aren't gonna do it.

Coregasms: I Worked Out, I Saw, & I Came

According to an article at thebodyodd.msnbc.msn.com, women have reported having exercise-induced orgasms, called "coregasms" because of their apparent link to exercises for core abdominal muscles.

The online surveys conducted by Debby Herbenick, the co-director of the Center for Sexual Health Promotion at Indiana University, and her colleagues might not have been the most scientific ever conducted, but the results were interesting nonetheless.

Herbenick's data included 124 women who had experienced exercise-induced orgasms (when they weren't having a sexual fantasy or thinking of someone to whom they were attracted) and 246 women who revealed that they experienced exercise-induced sexual pleasure. Most of the respondents identified as straight, they were married or in relationships, and the average age was 30. Roughly 45% of the women said that their first experience was linked to abdominal exercise-mostly after multiple sets of crunches in which they really exerted themselves- while a significantly lower number replied that their "coregasms" were linked to biking/spinning, climbing poles/ ropes, weight lifting, running, yoga, swimming, elliptical machines, or doing aerobics.

It's not surprising to me that women can experience orgasms or sexual pleasure after working out, particularly after intense core work outs. Pilates looks to create a strong foundation for movement, which engages the pelvic floor muscles, including the PC (pubococcygeus muscle) muscles. The PC muscles are also essential in strengthening the Kegel muscles, which reputedly help with incontinence as well enhancing sexual pleasure. Even without doing Pilates or specific Kegel exercises, when we work out our abdominal muscles, particularly when we move into certain angles or positions, it has to affect our pelvic floor muscles as the muscles are all related.

And it's also not surprising that the vast majority of the respondents were of an average age of 30 and in relationships because I think that the older we get and the more sex we have, whether alone or with someone, we learn how to move our bodies and become more aware of how to achieve orgasm.

For me personally, while I learned how to best achieve orgasm with my ex-boyfriend, since I have become single again I have become an "onan-artist", and have learned (for me) that I can intensify my orgasms by flexing my abdominal muscles before I come. Since I have become aware of that sexual component of abdominal/pelvic floor/ PC muscle flexing, I have definitely noticed that when I do lots of core stomach exercises, there is a very real element of sexual pleasure. I haven't reached the apex of wondrous bliss of the 124 women in Herbenick's study while working out, which is good because I'd probably have a 24 pack on my stomach, but an underdeveloped everything else.

The Blind Item that Helen Keller Could See

Over at blindgossip.com the other day, they posted this teaser. Anyone who has recently glanced at the internet figured it out about three words in:

[CDAN] This B-list foreign born always movie actor just recently got engaged to a very high profile actress. Does she know about the two employees he is sleeping with whenever he comes to town?

I don't understand why they just don't come out and say that according to unnamed sources, "Olivier Martinez is dirty dickin' around on Halle Berry" and call it day? I also don't understand why, why, why after all this time and all these bad relationships she is still even willing to date any man in the entertainment industry? Supposedly Wesley Snipes (and not the one from 30 Rock) tried to force feed her a knuckle sandwich- in her ear- and deafed a bitch up a bit. And who knows all the strange and dirty she bullshitted around with before she became really famous, although we all know the unfortunate end-times she had with David Justice, Eric Benet, and Gabriel Aubry.

Don't get it twisted- I am all about love. I heart love a lot, and I understand that your heart doesn't listen to reason. In fact, recent studies have shown that the part of our brain affected when we're madly in love is also the part that's affected when we're madly doing lines of booga sugah. Robert Palmer was right, "...might as well face it you're addicted to love..." I understand all of that, but at some point, you have to take a step back, look at the entire wide screen, and see all of the flags on the field. Halle seems to have a thing for French/French inspired dudes (Benet, Aubry, Martinez) and sports dudes (Snipes-he's a martial artist as well as acting & not paying taxes, Justice-former baseball player). They are just not working out for her. In the words of Liz Lemon, "Shut it down."

And we're all thinking it, so I am just gonna say it: Olivier Martinez was probably born with a condom on because as soon as he exited "mom south", he began his never ending quest to get back in. And there are lots of women- I'm sure from a very young age- who are/were more than happy to oblige. He's one of those cats who just brings sex out of a bitch. You could slam your pinkie toe in a steel door, see a picture of him, and forget the pain because you're thinking about what he looks like naked & tied to your bedpost. I mean look at him in the picture above. I dare you to not think about sex. Maybe not sex with him (yeah, right), but some part of you is thinking about sex with someone. He brings that-with chocolate and ice cream- in pictures and movies (I wanted to kill Richard Gere for killing him in Unfaithful), can you imagine what he does to a bitch in person? Even though he's been lookin' a little raggedy lately, he still fairly drips sex.

And if we all know this and can see this, why can't Halle? Olivier is dirty hot like a stripper & should be dealt with accordingly: Get some mindblowing sex from him, buy him some cute trinkets, and then send him on his way so you can focus on a serious potential partner. Don't marry him, girl- he's gonna break your heart- just ask Kylie!

I believe that some people can change some behaviors, but this dude has seen more pussies than a veterinarian- I don't see that changing soon considering it already seems like bitches are getting naked when they stop him on the Rue de Voulez-Vous to ask directions to the metro. I am not hating on Olivier- I'm sure he's a good cat in many aspects, he just seems to have too much testosterone to be monogamous. And she seems to have a little too much crazy to deal with that.

What Smells So Good? You!

When I was a junior in high school, I experienced my first "sneaky hooka" naughtiness: I went into the elevator with a boy and made out during our lunch break. It was good innocent teenage- hormone-fueled-fun. He was a really good kisser (and so I was I for that matter). Ever since that day, I have loved the smell of Drakkar. I loved it so much that when it became Eau de Douchebag and dudes I would want to sleep with wouldn't be caught dead in it, I bought some so I could smell it when the mood struck. Even now when its grandson, Axe, is clogging sinuses all over the land, the rare whiff of Drakkar I get in passing brings a sly smile to my face because that happy high school elevator scene is seared into my nose's memory forever. For the longest time I thought the primary reason I liked Drakkar so much was because of that wonderful, original "scent memory", but according to a recent study, that may not the reason.

Past researchers have discovered that a group of genes called MHC (major histocompatibility complex) is related to whether or not a person is sexually attracted to another based on his/her scent. They found that people are most drawn to people with different MHC genes than themselves.

August Hammerli, a researcher at the Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich and also the first author in a study published online in the International Journal of Cosmetic Science, believes that MHC genes determine our preferences for other smells. While Hammerli theorizes that people prefer scents that may best best enhance their own natural odors to potential partners, his latest study seems to indicate that your genes determine what perfume scents you like best. It also suggests that it may be tied in to the scents you find attractive in others.

Hammerli's study included 116 males and females who were asked to smell 10 different things including cinnamon, moss, rose, and cedar, which were varied with different concentrations and in different settings.

The ratings varied with clear winners and losers, but for each scent the intensity of each participant's preference depended on their particular set of MHC genes.

I always thought that I went into that elevator to be naughty and then realized that I liked how that kid smelled (and kissed). But maybe I smelled him on a more innocuous, primal level and I liked it so much I then decided to go into the elevator with him to learn more about it. Or perhaps I am just a sneaky hooka who likes to make out with men in elevators.

Palace of Broken Hearts: A Museum of Lost Love

When I think of Eastern European people, two words immediately come to mind: passion and perseverance. So when I first read about The Museum of Broken Relationships, it wasn't surprising that the idea was born of two artists in Croatia.

The couple, Olinka and Drazen, were in the process of breaking up after four years. In sorting their possessions, the valuables with monetary meaning were easy to divide up- you take the TV and I will take the computer. It was the emotionally valuable objects that they found hard to let go of: like the Little Wind-up Bunny that they put in each others' suitcases for trips, and photographed doing wildly amazing things on said trips. Who was going to get the Little Wind-up Bunny?

Instead of battling each other, they put their feelings on display let the world take ownership as they began collecting mementos of break ups from others as well. After entering their collection into a local art festival, they soon found themselves putting up installations in Berlin, San Francisco, and Istanbul. Seems like the splitting of a broken heart resonates deeper and further than an exploding Krakatoa.

Back in Zagreb, Olinka and Drazen refurbished a palace to permanently display all of their "I loved you so much, why aren't you dead?" mementos of formerly lava hot love. Each room of the palace is arranged by theme, and holds a couple of dozen items.

For the grand opening of The Museum of Broken Relationships, the mayor of Zagreb offered to do a ribbon cutting, but was shut down in favor of two high-profile Croatian actors who had famously split up. The artists told the mayor if he wanted to cut the ribbon, he'd have to leave his wife first.

To find out more about the museum, please check out their website here: http://brokenships.com

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Chris Tamburello

All this time I have been yammering on about how much I love my reality shows, and it dawned on me recently that I have never done a single Hot Forecast on any reality show contestants. What?! How is that possible? Oh, yeah- there aren't a lot of hot dudes on the reality shows that I tend to watch. OK- that's not entirely true. Sometimes when you've eaten a loaded lemon bar and consumed a bottle of wine, you look at your television through the appropriately hooded eyes and think, "Damn! He's hot." But then you sober up and realize he ain't all that. Or, if he is really hot, you learn more about his dickish television personality, and that minute you wanted to jump his cock quickly passes.

I have realized in time, however, in the world of my reality shows, that a person can come back to television enough times that you develop a "through the television" (TTT) relationship. It's like in relationships in real life- sometimes you love him to death, and other times you want to kick his cock off- except you only know the bits of him that didn't wind up on the editing room floor, and he doesn't know you exist at all.

All that being said, let me introduce you to my TTT manchild- CT- Chris Tamburello. We first met CT on the Real World: Paris, and while I initially thought he was cute- just a big ole dude on a stick- I could also tell there was something a little off with this kid. He revealed himself to be funny, yet shady at times- and that was fine. But then, toward the end of the season, when this Cancer Monkey (7-16-80) got all chimpanzee mean and totally aggressed his friend Adam (a much smaller dude than him) the alert was sounded. It was basically a test- but I knew that "code- red-not- a- drill" was coming.

MTV had already begun the Challenges, and given CT's physique & physical prowess, that one of his personalities was really funny, and that he had an amazing face, I knew I would see him again. And I'm sure that he participated in Challenges, but the first one in which he really stood out for me was The Duel. Watching him fall for cancer survivor Diem Brown was the highlight of the season for me, and I loved him for being so gentle and patient with her. And, yes, I would agree it was a groovy kind of love.

But in the following Challenge, Inferno 3, his brain started bleeding Jose Cuervo or something, because he lost his effin' mind on the first night and for reasons I don't think I fully understood at the time or remember all these years later, attacked Davis from RW: Denver and dotted his eye with some knuckles. Huh?! Where is gentle-loving-Diem- CT? Who is this kid attacking (once again) a dude so much smaller than him? And why would you fly 30-something-hours to South Africa to get drunk, attack, and get plunked right back down on a return trip? I know there are bars closer to his house in which he could've performed this tomfoolery.

Then came The Duel 2 in Brazil where CT busted out his PhD in Psycho and proved that there wasn't a bitch in the cast who could come close to that level of deranged. Ever. He looked sanity in the eye, slapped it away, and said, "Bitch, I ain't the one." In a nutshell, this nut and Diem had broken up, but when he zoo/prison-banged Shauvon from RW: Sidney outside in the yard, Diem clocked him on it- and he again came after Adam because he thought Adam dogged him out by telling Diem. How CT avoided prosecution for an attack so violent it almost looked like an episode of When Animals Attack is beyond me, but when MTV sent him packing that same first night, I thought that the last time I was ever gonna see my TTT manchild again- and I was okay with that. When we found out later than his brother had been murdered before the Challenge started, it made his rage more understandable, but certainly not excusable.

Well, obviously it was excusable to MTV, because they gave CT an audience test-drive for a single Challenge: Cutthroat Gulag competition in 2010. I guess his reviews must've been good because they brought him back to the Challenge: Rivals the next season where he was paired with (you guessed it) Adam. Though they didn't win, I loved CT again because he was totally supporting Adam (in front of the cameras anyway) and literally tried to carry him over the finish line in their last competition.

His crazy beautifully competitive ass is back for this season's Challenge: Battle of the Exes with Diem. We'll see which CT crosses the finish line this time. Oh, and just a little incentive for CT to quit threatening to smash a bitch's head "and eat it!" in the Challenges: He and Kenny S. "Mr. Beautiful" (self-proclaimed) have both competed in 8 challenges. Kenny has banked $273,997. CT? $21,000.

Stop beatin' asses, CT, and start kickin' some.

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Rick and Karl Yune

Hi, kids! I think my eyes have been on a diet for a while, because it's been a long time since I've seen anyone who inspired me to write a TFH post. Well, fan my brow, cousin, because my eyes had a huge Thanksgiving recently and are about to fall into a turkey/sex coma. Yours will too when you meet our featured hot-or rather, should I say, hots? That's right bitches, she's back and with another TFH 1st: Brothers.


All that pretty to the left of these words is Rick Yune. You may recognize him from the movies Die Another Day, The Fast and the Furious, Snow Falling on the Cedars, and Ninja Assassin, or television shows CSI, Alias, or Boston Legal- or not. Who cares? You see him now.

This sexy ass Leo was born in Washington D.C. on August 22, 1971. He graduated from the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania in 1994 and worked as a hedge fund trader for SAC capital.

OK? So he's gorgeous and smart? Not enough. He also practices many forms of martial arts and was a serious contender for the US Olympic team in Taekwondo when he was 19.

Voted one of People magazine's sexiest men in 2002, you can look for this not married hottie, older brother to Karl Yune, this year in The Man with the Iron Fists.


And who is Karl Yune? Glad you asked because this-all this- is him. Younger than bad ass Rick by four years, this Aries Cat can scratch my post any time he'd like. Karl started out studying business, literature, and philosophy before switching to theater at Columbia's School of Art. He also studied with the Groundlings Improv Group.

He has appeared in some mess about Anacondas, something called Forbidden Warrior, and Memoirs of a Geisha- as well as appearing in various off-Broadway shows and doing some modeling (shocking, right?! OMG- those cheekbones could cut my hair and I could take a nap in those beautiful lips).

Hopefully Karl with keep plugging away at the acting game and we will see this LA resident in some notable films soon- or some porn- whichever.

My Rant: Whitney and RX Drugs

Much like many people around the world, I was so saddened to hear that Whitney Houston died. When I first saw the newsfeed, I thought for sure that I read it wrong. I wasn't so much shocked as I was saddened. I instantly flashed back on that beautiful voice that accompanied that bright smile and those lovely eyes, that were for at least a large part of the African-American community back in the day, the girl next door.

Then came the lesbian rumors, soon after that, the stories that she had hooked up with Bobby Brown. Like for white America, it was Heather Locklear marrying Tommy Lee. It was nothing that we could've foreseen, and unbeknownst to us, more was to come. Whitney was reportedly smoking crack, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, and doing crazy amounts of drugs- her voice, that beautiful angelic sigh that we'd come to know and love, was gone. Shredded. Used up. Then, in an effort to tell us that all the stories were false, she told us, her rich ass, that crack was for "poor people". And we let her go.

The jokes came. The reality show. The giving up on our darling girl, but the deeper hope that she would pull it together, sing another amazing song, and let us love her again. But that didn't happen.

And whose fault is that? No one wants to say it, let alone think it, but it's not Bobby Brown's fault. For all the people who want to hate him and blame him for her demise, it's not fair. Whitney Houston was a beautiful, yet troubled lady when she met him. Yes, he may have introduced her to a poison from which she wouldn't recover, but let's not get it twisted: She wasn't a little girl who had no idea of the dangers and ills of the scene. Her mother, her aunt, and her godmother were all a product of that world- she had heard the stories and seen the downfalls first hand. If it wasn't him, who is to say that she, amid her own demons that we will never fully understand, wouldn't have found another person to feed her beasts.

Instead of pointing collective fingers at the person who some say was the love of her life, lets look at another devil: The doctors who repeatedly, knowingly, gave her the drug-lifeline that she so craved. Why aren't we angered by the trips she reputedly made in the days before her death to replenish supplies that should've have run out? Why aren't we angered by the willingness of people who have made promises to do everything they can to aide and assist us in health and well-being, who aren't?

We have gotten, as a nation, so lax in coping with anything. We have decided, again as a nation, that we should never suffer any form of discomfort. You hurt? Take a pill. You're uncomfortable? Take a pill. Anything the ills you should be immediately fixable by popping a pill. I am convinced that doctors and researchers aren't even looking for cures anymore- why should they? Just medicate until you are numb, and the problem goes away, right? And, you aren't a "druggie" because you aren't taking "dirty" street drugs- these are prescribed by a doctor, so it's not the same thing, right? WRONG. It's bullshit.

Especially when you have someone who has money and/or notoriety. Who is gonna stop the gravy train? If you tell said person "no", he or she is just gonna fire you and find someone else who is willing to feed their habit. And no one can figure out why kids are being hooked on these same said pills? Gee. Mom was hurting but I see her get all deliciously loopy and feel good, why wouldn't I try it? I don't know how to stop the madness, America, but it needs to end.

Snooki Monster is a PSA

I have always been very vocal about my love for reality television- the trashier the better. I think that Temptation Island should’ve won an Emmy, okay? I love trashy television. And you can’t profess to loving trashy television without admitting you love Jersey Shore. And I do. I proudly chant “fist-pump, push-up, chapstick” whenever the opportunity presents itself, and sometimes when it doesn’t.

I know lots of people out there are repulsed with Snooki and the gang, and yes, there is an element of repulsion watching a grown person pee on the dance floor, the whole “Smush Room” concept, and the idea of having sex with the Situation; but for the most part, the other aspects tend to make me laugh. I was even onboard for some giggles and ha-ha-has in the recent episode where Snooki had to deal with her UTI (Urinary Tract Infection). Not that she had one, but her frankness in discussing it with her father, and, I dunno, the nation? Not that she peed on the dance floor, but that she peed on the dance floor, took a bath in Axe’s grandmother, Love’s Baby Soft, in the ladies room and pronounced that a perfume shower was as effective as a real shower. Hmmm- sweat, piss, cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and booze? What becomes a legend most? Ugh. I’m sure there are trash cans behind dance clubs that smell better at the end of the night. I digress.

As Snooki continued to speak freely about her UTI on the episode, she said that she didn’t know how she got it (later on Watch What Happens Live, she said it was because she had anal sex with Jionni- insert any joke about him doing that right now). But I knew Snooki Monster’s UTI was the stuff PSAs are made of later in the same episode when they show her breezing out of the ladies room without washing her hands, as she offhandedly quips, “I never wash my hands.” “I think I know contributing factors, if not the real cause of her UTI,” thought Captain Obvious.

Not that Snooki is the brightest star in the sky, but I realized if she doesn’t know how to avoid UTIs- and that obviously wasn’t her first time at the rodeo- then maybe other girls don’t know either, so I figured I would pass along the information, because in the immortal words of Bill Hicks, we’re all just trying “to learn, evolve, and get the fuck off this planet.” I consider this my good deed for the day.

For information about symptoms and causes: http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/urinary-tract-infection/DS00286/DSECTION=symptoms

This link includes home remedies and treatment: http://www.emedicinehealth.com/urinary_tract_infections/article_em.htm