on indoor voices and bedroom vices

One of the most awkward conversations in the history of mankind happened two summers ago.  My landlord at the time; a kindly old woman in her seventies, had summoned me to her office.  There had been some complaints.  Noise complaints.  Seven, to be precise.  Some of them?  From the other side of the complex. It wasn’t my fault.. exactly.  But it needed to stop.  Or I’d have to leave.  She suggested I go shopping.  Read more

in(spired)-digestion

Little does she know I wrote my number down on the next page…

New treat, just for you.  The “TGOC Digests” link, at the top of the page.  It’s right next to “The Nine Commandments of Cash”, so you know it’s important.  Digests are collections of posts that share a similar topic, but may be spread across several categories, making them more difficult to track down and absorb together.

New arrivals?

“Sex Digest”, which should need no introduction and “Likehacker Digest”.  Consider this one a checklist of do’s and don’ts for improving your life by increasing your likability.

Gorgeous stuff, that.

(the last word) on sex

Desexualize everything.. except sex.

-cash

scream my name: jessica alba edition

No score and twenty five months ago, our Cash Father brought forth to this great nation; a post (see here).  About orgasms.  And etiquette.  And the important relationship between the two. Randomly reflecting on this piece the other day, I realized something.  Even if your amore de jour is less than tactful in the bedroom?  There’s a loophole.  A “get out of argument free card”.  An insurance policy.  Against the worst.

What is it? Read more

pandora’s inbox

The worst job in the history of the world.  Can be yours.  Now hiring.  No background check required.  It’s all yours.  If you’re idiotic enough to want it.  What is it?  Sarah Palin’s speechwriter?  No.  New Jersey toll booth worker?  Nope.   Jizz mopper at the local peep and pump?  Not even close.  This job is more painful than all three combined.  The worst job in the history of the world….  belongs to “God.”  Or the “Unseen force I’m hoping just might exist for the purpose of improving my life..”  Or “Flying Spaghetti Monster.”

Whatever you call it, the main perk of the job is also the shittiest part:  omnipotence.  Sure, knowing everything that’s going on at all times has its benefits (Megan Fox’s Shower Schedule, noted) but it also has a dark side.  A very, very dark side.  Read more

failure to mount : porn star edition

If there’s one thing that never fails to crack me up, it’s my computer at work.  Or at least a comment it makes every time I plug my iPod in.  My iPod is a silver, 2nd generation shuffle.  It was a wonderful birthday gift bestowed upon me by the always awesome Adam (see here, and here).  When I got it, I pondered what to christen this lovely new addition to Cash Life.  Read more

the king and the commoner

The main difference between a king and his subjects isn’t money.  Or power.  Or fame.  It’s something far more important.  Precious.  Irreplaceable.  It’s freedom.  The freedom to live as he wishes, and act accordingly based on his own set of rules.  Laws.  Decrees.  Believe it or not, you have this same opportunity.  But, like most people, you throw it away.  Surrender your power.  Sacrifice your choices.  The foundation of a king’s lifestyle, potential and freedom is exactly the same as yours.  It’s his morality.  Being a king means having the chance to define it for yourself.  Being a commoner means letting someone else define it for you.  Which would you choose if you had a choice?  Because you do.

Every life is a morality play.  Most likely, you’ve got a bit part; following the same vague, generalized cues being barked by some off-stage director who hasn’t changed the script in a thousand years.

Is this really what you want?  Are you incapable of making important decisions for yourself?  Ones that will mandate the rest of your experiences on planet earth? Read more

now hiring: sexual security guard

The most important person in your relationship?  Isn’t you.  Or her.  Or him.  It’s a third party.  The most life saving, existence enhancing, happiness insuring party you can imagine.  You probably don’t have one, yet.  You need to get one, now.

Who the hell am I talking about?  Glad ya asked.

It’s your “SSG”; sexual security guard.  Consider him a chaperon of chaos.  An anger wrangler.  An escalation assassin. He’s the person you both have on speed dial.  #1 on your list (sorry mom, you’ve been bumped, I know you’ll understand).  The person you call.  Before you even think about calling; Read more

high fidelity porno

Wanna hear a secret?  I should warn you, it’s shocking.  Possibly disturbing.  Definitely profound.  Think you can handle it?  I doubt it.

But here goes;

If you truly love your boyfriend / husband / fuck buddy?  Learn to love his porn collection.

Why?

To supercharge your relationship.  To know him.  To save yourself.

First things first;  All guys.  Look at.  Porn.

Your dads?

Brothers?

Sons?

Check, check, and check.  All guys.  “Porn” in this context can run the gamut from ass to ass lesbian dildo play online to sneaking the latest Victoria’s Secret catalog into the bathroom.  All guys look at, and utilize, some form of pornography.  Daily.  Read more

personal accountability: orgasms edition

I believe it was John F Kennedy who wisely said;  “Ask not what your partner can do for your orgasms; ask instead, what can your orgasms do for you.“  The answer;  a lot.  I’ve always said (see here) that outside the wonderful world of substances, an orgasm is the penultimate pinnacle of pleasure available to human beings.  I still do, and it still is.  Knowing this, why on earth would you put the power of achieving that pleasure in the hands (penis, tongue, fingers, etc) of someone else?  You wouldn’t.  You shouldn’t.  Don’t.

As the saying goes;  if you want something done right, you do it yourself.

There is one question I have never, and will never, ask a girl.  “Did you cum?”  Years ago, avoiding this question was probably a sign of insecurity on my part.  A nervousness about having the ability to help someone achieve an orgasm.  This was probably a wise move on my part.  Make that “a very wise move”.  Nowadays, this is the furthest thing from my mind.  (Or the minds of my girlfriends.  Rawr!)  At this point I’d never ask that question for a far more important reason: I.  Don’t.  Care.

Does this mean I don’t care about her?  Us?  My skills in the bedroom?  No.

It simply means I’ve realized that an orgasm, every orgasm, is an entirely independent event.  An event that I’m entirely responsible for.  As is she.  Whether I’m masturbating alone or about to share a spectacularly sweaty, simultaneous peak with my girlfriend, the orgasm itself is mine.  The pleasure, the rush of blood to both heads, the stars that seem to explode from the ceiling showering me with warmth and joy…  they’re mine.  Why?  Read more

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