SEX SCANDAL AT ABERDEEN PROVING GROUNDS!!!

I was remembering reading the story–in case everyone’s forgotten about it, the gist was that

at Aberdeen Proving Ground, a United States Army base in Aberdeen, Maryland…the Army brought charges against 12 commissioned and non-commissioned male officers for sexual assault on female trainees under their command.

Specifically, a bunch of drill sergeants had been having sex with a bunch of female trainees, with varying degrees of consent on the parts of the trainees. Now, this did not surprise me at all, but what did was the way it was being reported–as if it was a huge shocker, unbelievable!! etc. etc.

Mostly I remember just sitting there, staring at the story, and trying to swallow the fact that anybody, anybody at all was shocked by this. Maybe, I remember trying to think charitably at the time, the reporters on this case had absolutely zero familiarity with the military..? Because boy howdy, anybody who’d ever actually served in the Army knew quite well that Army basic training was a big ol’ sex fest of male drill sergeants and female trainees, right? In my basic training unit, one of our drill sergeants was having sex with at least four of the girls that I knew of, and another was having what could most gently be described as an emotional affair with a fifth, and another drill sergeant, not in my platoon but in my company, actually got married to a sixth girl after she graduated from training.

And yeah, the degrees of consent were variable. The time that the first drill sergeant collapsed our tent on me and a squadmate when we were out in the field and then, after I crawled out, crawled in with her and stayed there for about twenty minutes–that was absolutely consensual, to the best of my knowledge. The time I got sent back to the barracks to retrieve something or other and a girl in one of the other squads in my platoon was sitting on her bunk staring blankly at nothing..? Less so–

Me: Brady*, what are you doing here? Are you sick?
Private Brady, about five feet tall and ninety pounds soaking wet with big blue eyes and freckles, all of eighteen years old: No…I was waxing the floor, and Drill Sergeant Morris* came in, and told me that after I finished the floor I had fifteen minutes to get all the toilets in the bathroom clean enough to eat off of.
Me: Seriously?
Private Brady: I told him I didn’t think I could do it and he said I’d better do it, or I’d better learn how to fuck.
Me, only eighteen myself and totally bewildered: Oh. Wow. What did you do?
Private Brady: We fucked.
Me: Oh. …are you okay?
Private Brady: I guess so. (went back to staring blankly at nothing)

And, of course, there was graduation night, when we all got a four-hour pass to hit the base and wound up at the enlisted club, and another cycle (all male, as ours was all female–Army basic training used to be sex-segregated, the trainees anyway) that was graduating invited us to a party that two of their drill sergeants were having for them in a hotel room–I didn’t go, but some other girls did. When midnight rolled around (the expiration of our four-hour pass), two of them were missing. They did finally show up at the barracks a few hours later, though–one shoved past everyone and ran into the showers, where you could hear her screaming as she tore off her clothes and started viciously scrubbing herself, and the other one flung herself into my arms and started shaking hard enough to bruise my chin with the top of her head, though without making a single sound. The first girl managed to wash away most, though not all, of the evidence of her gang rape before the MPs showed up, but I kept a firm grip on the second girl after some advice from the cold-eyed female drill sergeant from another platoon that was first on the scene, and I heard later they got plenty of evidence off of her body.

My basic training experience was quite representative, really–so you can see why I was sitting there shocked that anybody else was shocked. I mean, everybody knew…we all knew everybody knew.

I had a similar experience last night, reading the following headline:

Uninsured trauma patients are much more likely to die

The risk of dying from traumatic injuries is 80% higher for those without any insurance, a study says. ER physicians say they’re surprised by the findings.

O RLY?

Patients who lack health insurance are more likely to die from car accidents and other traumatic injuries than people who belong to a health plan — even though emergency rooms are required to care for all comers regardless of ability to pay, according to a study published today.

The researchers also did a separate analysis of 209,702 trauma patients ages 18 to 30 because they were less likely to have chronic health conditions that might complicate recovery. Among these younger patients, the risk of death was 89% higher for the uninsured, the study found.

Rosen, now a surgical resident at USC’s Keck School of Medicine, said the group expected to find at least some disparity based on insurance status. But she said the group was surprised at the magnitude of the gap.

Dr. Frank Zwemer Jr., chief of emergency medicine for the Hunter Holmes McGuire VA Medical Center in Richmond, Va., said he was “kind of shocked.”

“Kind of” shocked? Gee, because I’m not shocked at all.

“We don’t ask people, ‘What’s your insurance?’ before we decide whether to intubate them or put in a chest tube,” said Zwemer, who wasn’t involved in the research. “That’s not on our radar anywhere.”

Good God. Did you just spear somebody on your nose, Pinocchio? The very first thing they do when you go to an ER is admit you, and before they ever ask you what’s wrong with you (but, I admit, usually after they ask you for your name) is if you have insurance. If you are unable to speak, they ask whoever has brought you in. LONG before they offer you any medical treatment. I speak from personal experience.

Well, I guess I should be glad that they’re willing to pretend this is some kind of news flash, right? Nothing like emphasizing your dirty laundry as publicly as possible to raise the chances of someone with actual power and authority being willing to do something about it, even if everybody did really already know all about it. Let’s hear it for the pressure of public shame.

But I’m not willing to go along with the pretense. Of course they all knew about it already, just like we all knew already about what went on in Army training barracks. Of course they did.

Disgusting.

*Names changed. Duh.

1. Dear Leader seems to have taken a shining to us, and I’m happy to return the favor. Like the brilliant Louis Proyect, DL hits a pretty even split between interesting political analysis and teh awesome movie reviews.
2. The Mahatma X Files is the blog of a Bokononist High Priest* and real-life social psychologist with a lot of interesting stuff to say. (And crap, maybe violent video games really do increase aggressive behavior.)
3. Avedon Carol’s The Sideshow is a pretty famous blog, I gather, but I’ve only recently discovered it, and I think she rocks.
4. I know that PunkAssBlog has put out our official position paper on libertarians, but occasionally you do find a libertarian who walks the walk as well as, you know, saying “Taxation is theft!” and all that. Radley Balko’s The Agitator is a very entertaining and eye-opening blog that takes the side of the real-life victims of state fascism on a daily basis.
5. This Is So Gay is, don’t worry, actually written by someone who is, like, so gay. And smarter than me. In fact they’re probably all smarter than me, but The Promiscuous Reader is definitely smarter than me.
6. When it comes to 9/11 conspiracy theorists, Winter Patriot is hands-down my favorite.
7. Low-Tech Magazine is a non-Luddite rag with doubts about technology. They have lots of fun and fascinating articles, all of which pose variations on the question: “What if the most modern solution is not always the best solution?”
8. And finally, Chris Clarke of Coyote Crossing used to be a regular around these parts, back when Titans trod the Earth. He’s ostensibly a nature writer/blogger– well, okay, he is a nature writer/blogger– but somehow, it’s quite common when I read him to end up having my mind taken in an entirely unexpected direction. Which, I suppose, is one of the reasons some people are so drawn to the great outdoors. Anyway, he’s an outstanding writer, highly recommended.

All right, who else should I be reading? (When I get back to having time to read, that is. Because, after all, this computer’s about to go in a box…)

UPDATE: Oh yeah– forgot to say, feel free to blogwhore away…

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*(Okay, the part about him being a High Priest is just foma.)

Makiko, who heads my theatre company, just finished directing a local elementary school play in English, an adaptation of four tales from “The Brothers Grimm” for third graders that she’s been putting on there for the past three years. Once upon a time, she finagled me into writing a song for the big finale, wherein Sleeping Beauty’s curse is lifted, and her castle (portrayed by all 75 children in the cast) wakes up. I show up for the last couple of rehearsals each year to play the underscoring and accompinament on a live piano. This year, I must say the show was in fact a stunning success. We may have ruined a few more young lives, tempting them with the siren call of the theatre.

So, for your appreciation, here is the rehearsal version of the big finale, “Fairy Tales Do Come True”. It features cameos by the Brementown Musicians and the witch from Hansel and Gretel. (For the record, I wrote and recorded this well before my recent foray into Muppetophilia. Though of course like most people my age, as a child I certainly was a Muppetophile.)

(Download link)

Fairy Tales Do Come True by Quin Arbeitman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Unrelated personal thoughts about blogging that nobody actually wants to read but probably will anyway though I don’t know why you’re inflicting it on yourself when I gave you fair warning, after the jump.

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It’s funny. I’d sort of quit blogging for a while because, (1) I felt kind of dissatisfied with my own quality as a writer, and (2) I had no time. Or rather, I thought I had no time.

February was quite possibly the busiest month I’ve ever had. If not in actuality, it certainly ranked up there in the top three. And yet, that was when I started blogging again. I guess I finally actually discovered for myself what I’d heard that blogging could be for so many other people: a form of release. It was something that made me feel better in a very stressful time. Of course, I wouldn’t consider anything I’ve written over the last week or so of any great worth; nothing was deeply thought out. I just wrote stuff, and posted it.

I am still going to be very, very busy for the next month and a half. I think I’m going to try a bit more of this “just write and post stuff” technique over that time period. Maybe from mid-April, when things are supposedly going to cool down for me again, I’ll start trying to laboriously write treatises of great importance once more, and get bogged down in the weightiness of it all once more. In the meantime, I think I’ll just have a little fun from time to time.

Especially us single ones. So nyah.

Ok, I’m kidding. Mostly. I also like Valentine’s Day for the after-holiday 75¢ itty bitty chocolate box. And I only know one or two people who go really nuts over Valentine’s. But still, there must be hype to convince the minority that are actually willing to spend real money on this stuff that they’re not the crazy ones, everyone else is just jealous. And where there’s a need for shallow, consumerist tension, there’s MSN. Hate Valentine’s Day? They’d help, but they have no idea what hate actually is. Have you considered dating out of your “type”? Maybe dating people and not stereotypes will bring you happiness this season! Ah, MSN, is there any answer they don’t have?

MSN even offers hope for people like me. You know, people who spend all day in the same place with the same people who already know you’re completely undesirable. I need fresh blood, preferably some that can’t detect the stigma of graduate studies oozing off of me. 10 New Places to Meet Someone! That’s perfect: as long as nine of them aren’t graduate school I can believe there’s a chance for me. I have only seven days to meet this terribly critical yet completely arbitrary deadline, so I hope at least one of these places is conveniently located. Let’s find out together!

“Join a charity committee. Not only will you be giving back, but it automatically puts you in a feel-good setting with like-minded, educated, concerned people who care about more than clubs and bars and partying.”

See “like-minded, educated, concerned people who care about more than clubs and bars and partying”; read “loaded! cha-ching!”

No, I don’t think this is for me. I get bored at formal events, am bad at small talk and don’t actually have any money of my own, although I do have relatives who give me nice coats at Christmas, which is why another graduate student once looked at me and said “you look like you have money, do you have change for a $20?” The real rich, however, will know I’m a fraud. Let’s move on.

The cosmetics counter of a chic department store is great place to meet women.

I’m not saying I’d not date a woman, but I’d certainly not date the type of woman who could be picked up from the cosmetics counter of a chic department store. See above: no money. This tip was offered by a cosmetics company executive, who is probably unaware that the term “high maintenance” implies there are women out there who are “low maintenance,” much unlike saying the sky is blue implies that somewhere else it might be purple.

“I think a great place to meet guys is a cooking class because there’s nothing more impressive than a man who cooks—and if he’s learning to improve his cooking skills, there’s probably a candlelit dinner or two in your future.”

Oh, Jesus, if there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s compete for a guy’s attention. If 2 or more women want the same guy, I’m the first out of that race every time. If he knows how awesome I am, he’d best be the second. Why should I pay $75 plus materials for a cooking class where it’s me and who knows how many other women competing for the one guy in the class? That’s just poor time and money management, and that kind of inability to effective gauge your odds vs the effort is what keeps people single.

This tip, by the way, was offered by a “lifestyle reporter.”

Yoga! Yoga is a great place for men to meet women—classes are filled with gorgeous, flexible, strong women who are into fitness and the body/mind connection.

I’ve been telling men this for years, but I’m afraid that in Ohio, there is still a very strong association between men taking yoga and being a faggy mchomo queer with no nuts, NO NUTS I tell you!, which means the only men in the yoga class are either a) faggy mchomo queers* or b) enlightened guys who take yoga on Tuesdays so that their wives or girlfriends can go on Thursdays when it’s their turn to watch the kids or c) Nice Guys. And it’d be a testosterone-heavy course if we had one of each in a single class. Or one of any, even.

Play poker. Find a group night at a bar or club or lounge or a charity tournament. It’s great for women because it is typically so male-oriented, though more and more women are getting into it.

Real poker players get mad when you don’t know the rules. Hell, the guy I was having sex with only ever wanted me to play with him when it was either get me to play or there wouldn’t be enough players. Next.

Hands down, the greatest place for people to meet one another has to be a book-signing event.

This quote was not from a bookstore manager, and that actually makes me sad because this means he might be sincere. A book-signing event? Is that like when Border’s has that guy sitting at the door who you smile nervously at as you brush by, lest he try to talk to you about his book that you have no intention of reading? That’s an event? Where do these people live?

I’m going to skip the next tip because they actually come out and admit that you have to live in New York to take advantage of it. The honesty was refreshing.

Meeting boys at church is the only way to go. You already know they’re good, which you can’t learn at a bar!

I’m going to have to ask Holly Dunlap, creative director for Hollywould shoes, to really examine that assumption *coughTedHaggardcough* Also, I’m not religious, and I’m pretty sure pretending to believe in God to snag a Valentine’s Day date breaks a commandment or something.

“Believe it or not, shooting ranges are a hot hook-up spot. Besides the fact that the guy-to-girl ratio is way better than at a bar, the novelty of learning how to shoot a gun makes for fun conversation. Also, most guys think a chick taking shooting lessons is really hot.”

Finally, a tip that’s geographically relevant. However, there is the chance that while I’m hitting on guys at the shooting range, I’ll run into that co-worker who would totally cockblock, plus he’ll blow my cover about being a hairdresser.

For something a little different, try a physical challenge—join a local co-ed triathlon training group or sign up for a 10k race with some others. It’s athletic, it’ll get you off your couch and it’s very social.”

Ah! Good advice. Amanda was right-they always sneak one in that isn’t completely worthless. It’s so unfair-every time I get to the decoy, it makes me feel briefly bad about being so mean about the other advice, even if the other tips were actually god-awful.

Still seeing as the 10 tips boils down to two (1. Live the life of a young upper middle class New Yorker, in New York. 2. Move your ass, lazyass) I’m not taking back a single snark.

*This is a flagrant generalization. To my knowledge, I’ve never actually met a gay man in a yoga class.

This is the article set that really makes you ask yourself why Lady Margot doesn’t even have six friends.

So what is “she” saying? She’s hot to trot and ready to go, or possibly a frigid bitch. Either way, you can be sure that her costume was carefully picked out to tell you something about whether or not you personally would like to bang her.

Naughty Nurse
Procopio: She gets us guys…
Salem: A girl in a naughty nurse costume is a girl who loves a guy in need of saving…
Spencer: She wants you to know that every good woman is a healthy mix of Florence Nightingale and Pamela Anderson, in relatively equal doses.

Right, so ditch the nurse costume to avoid being hit on by clingy needballs with mommy complexes. Good to know.

Pirate Wench
Procopio: This is the kind of woman we like to hang out and drink with, but we just might end up falling in love with her, too.
Salem: This tells you she’s a woman in charge. The party is on her terms.
Spencer: The message is clear as the Caribbean: Wenches are all about lots of wild, raunchy, uninhibited fun.

So slutty nurse means, horny nurse and slutty pirate just means slut. Pick this costume if you want a guy who will be completely surprised when, after you tie him to the yardarm (i.e. his bed) you spank him like a naughty captive before taking his wallet and returning to the party to buy everyone a round.

Hillary Clinton
Procopio: Umm, the woman who wears this seems to be about as much fun as a night of C-Span watched on a small black-and-white TV with the sound down.
Salem: This girl is smart. Don’t try any of your usual silly lines, treat her like a lady and talk about something intelligent.
Spencer: The woman who chooses this costume might have some serious power or martyr issues, and she may take secret pleasure in grinding men under the heels of her spotless Ferragamo pumps.

We have a winner! Hillary Clinton is the costume of the year for women who want the kinds of douchebags who think they can read into your soul based on whatever costume you picked off the clearance rack at Ambiance to leave them alone.

And finally, the witch costume – flirty and feminist!

Witch
Procopio: This depends on the kind of witch, no? The Bewitched/Sabrina kind of retro-modern thing is someone fun but maybe a bit too peppy. Then there’s the hat/green makeup/warts thing which, I’ve got to be honest, is difficult to see past. She’s kind of putting us at arm’s length from the get-go. There are plenty of naughty nurses and pirate girls walking around who are easier on the eye, and they might well be the better bet for most guys.
Salem: The woman who wears this costume desperately needs to be bad. This is a girl who wants to let go of her usual angel ways and just be naughty. Enjoy her wicked side!
Spencer: An oldie but a goodie, with a vast range of options. Is she a Glinda, Good Witch of the North? Sparkles and pink tulle might attract the average wizard, but isn’t it more interesting to boldly challenge stereotypes by combining an alluring personality with a green face, a crooked warty nose, a gravelly cackle and a lethal-looking broom?

Boldy challenge stereotypes by dressing as a stereotypical witch? Very meta, plus it will apparently bewilder and frighten this Procopio guy. I like it.

Point is, ladies, you know you want it. Your lips say “get bent” but your costume says, “yes yes.” Unless you’re Hillary, that is. So what do guys costumes say?

Well, mostly they say, “pssht! Nice try, lame-o, but Procopio and Salem are way cooler than you.” Spencer has to go along in order to meet the renewal requirements for being one of the guys.

Spider-Man
McHenry: Anyone who dresses as this most sensitive of superheroes is all marshmallow on the inside. Offer him a drink and a shoulder to cry on if you want to be his Mary Jane.
Salem: He may not be Hollywood material looks-wise and is most likely a little bit shy, but a he’s a great romantic. He’s sensitive, fun to be around, and flexible!
Spencer: Spidey is the quintessential anti-hero-hero. Sure, he rescues kittens and staunchly defies the forces of evil on behalf of all mankind, but underneath that body-hugging suit, he’s a seething mass of dark, twisted moral conflict. If you like mystery and a challenge, he’s your man.

You will be so sick of him by the second sequel, so try to keep on decent terms with your astronaut ex.

Chazz Michael Michaels or Jimmy MacElroy from Blades of Glory
McHenry: Will you laugh? Yeah. Will you want to talk to him more than five minutes? Probably not. Unless you really, really adore his impression of Will Ferrell singing “My Humps,” in which case you’re meant for each other anyway.
Salem: This guy always was and always will be the class clown. Confident in his sexuality and a lot of fun. However, you’re probably not the only girl he’s twirling around the ice rink!
Spencer: Do we really need to discuss what you should do with a guy who’d willingly wear a spandex jumpsuit and bad hair in public?

No, because we agree. You have sex with this man. Over and over and over. That’ll learn all you dickwads to judge a book by its cover.

In conclusion, you are a total slut. Unless you are a guy, in which case your costume suggests that you have serious issues.

The original. What were they thinking?

Remix after the cut.

Feel free to add your own.

Ha ha, it’s funny because it’s about fetishizing underage girls!

Get it? It’s funny because its about sperm and lazy foriegners who just come over here to take advantage of our generous welfare system and free universal healthcare. Ahh, sperm. Tee hee!

But after a bit the site lost its ability to shock me with its crude, faddish humor (Anna Nicole: Thanks for the mammaries) and poor grasp of typography, and all that was left was the bewilderment.

Someone please explain to me what the hell that means. Is there some part of the country where fresh-beaver smacking is practiced and where this would be a witty double entendre, or is this just a random string of words that satisfies the two conditions of expressing a desire for sexualized violence and tying in vaguely with the beaver clip art? How do you determine that a beaver is so fresh it needs to be smacked? What happens if a beaver ages without a good smack?

Get it straight: asses are for smacking, not beavers. You don’t want your girlfriend and/or any animal protective services angry with you for treating the cuddly one like the tough one. Not that you’ll be getting near anything’s tail if you’re running around in shirts like these.

Patriarchy is bad. But matriarchy would also be bad. But I think patriarchy is the one I benefit from, plus it’s what we already got, so that’s where I’m placing my bets. I think I’ll use the term “humanarchy” as well to show you all that while feminists are dividers, I’m a uniter.

However, if you feminists were more willing to lavish me with recognition and praise, maybe I’d do more to subvert the patriarchy from my privileged inside position. But if I don’t get any credit, then screw you.

If Marc could retrieve the original comment, that’d be great.

The attitude of some of these guys reminds me of my childhood in Overprivileged Suburbansprawlia. In Suburbansprawlia, we had lavish junior/senior proms complete with afterparties to keep us occupied with not having sex. The proms were so insane that classes of 300+ kids had to start fundraising and saving starting in seventh grade. But it’s hard to get a 12 year old motivated about saving a crazy amount of money for a party 5 years in the future, so you have to turn it into a game. A competition with immediate results. We sold candy, chocolate bars, coupon books, popcorn, cookies, whatever. We competed against each other and against ourselves. So many dollars in sales went towards points redeemable for prizes ranging from the crappy to the impossible, plus the top sellers in each class would be rewarded with the best prize of all – money and glory in the form of a check presented to you on a stage infront of an audience of all the suckers you beat. Then we kind of vaguely wondered what the hell was happening to all this money, and long after we had forgotten about doing the work, we this huge, elaborate prom that I personally never attended.

This is what the patriarchy defenders want. Sure, they get that patriarchy is bad for women and that they should totally get around to doing something about it sometime. It’s just that right now, they don’t see that it’s bad for men too and that dismantaling the thing seems like it’s going to take so much time and effort and the goal is so far away and nebulous – if only there was a way to keep these guys motivated. Maybe if they saw more tangible benefits from all this hard patriarchy-subverting work, maybe they could keep doing that work.

Now, it’s pretty clear who they expect to be doing the work of both subverting the patriarchy AND stroking their balls about what good patriarchy subverters they are – at least one of the concern trolls was under the impression that I had written Marc’s post. Which made me giggle for a second, thinking about how awesome it would be to send pro-feminist men out to give these kids the thank-you blowjobs they feel they deserve.

Anyway, since I had a few hours to procrastinate this morning, I put together the introductory pamphlet for the new program I want to pitch to boy’s organizations and frats across the country. It’s a cool way that young men (in age and in maturity) can start to see the rewards of fighting the patriarchy almost immediately.

Readers! Delurk and help me make the program complete! I want your suggestions for ways to earn points, prizes and activities that a junior patriarchy smasher can do.

In my defense, it did have the word ‘fix’ in the title:

What Guys Hate About Your Bedroom (And How to Fix It)

I know what guys hate about my bedroom, because my boyfriend told me: they hate how I wrap myself in the whole blanket and then actually knee them in the balls when they try to get just the smallest corner for themselves. And they hate how I fall asleep in the middle of the bed and then use the power of REM sleep to quadruple my body weight, making myself absolutely immovable and forcing the men to sleep on the couch.

I suspect my boyfriend of exaggerating almost as much as I suspect the rest of the article as being completely full of crap.

So what is your bedroom saying to others? If you’re single (or even if you’re not), this is no small matter….The things a newcomer notices when walking into a room can be quite different than what friends and family see. And of course your friends or family probably won’t mind if there are clothes on the floor or if there is cat hair everywhere, because they know they don’t have to live with you!

As opposed to a guy that you brought home to sleep with, because until he saw the cat hair he was totally thinking about living with you. Better wait until you have his name on a lease before you let him know that you’re sloppy and own a cat.

Your dates don’t know you for the wonderful Jane you are yet. They are just trying to figure you out and believe us, they’re looking for clues as to how you live.

Look, you put on a push-up bra and did your hair for the date right? Why wouldn’t you be just as deceptive about your living space? Let him find out about the saggy boobs, the limp hair, and the piles of laundry and bathtub full of soap scum later.

Yes, it’s true. What your bedroom looks like can mean the difference between another date and a phone that stops ringing. Plain and simple, most guys look at your bedroom as a sort of Holy Grail of information. Not just on what it says about you, but whether or not they can picture themselves as a part of it.

See, told you he was thinking about moving in. This is why you need to redecorate every time you think you might get some action. The room that felt warm and inviting to you turned off all the guys, but that doesn’t mean today’s mountain-biking accountant is going to feel all right peeing in the same corners as yesterdays sci-fi loving restaurant manager. But that’s a whole nother article. Today let’s focus on what’s wrong with you:

And the problem is, you’re a flaming stereotype and the boys find it icky. And rightfully so.

We know the story: beautiful things make you feel beautiful. And what some women consider beautiful are often floral patterns, ruffled pillowcases and lace window treatments. Put all three of these together in one room and you have a date repellent. OK, maybe it sounds a bit extreme, but many men would agree.

Lace window treatments are date repellent? But they make a room look so fresh and airy. Well, I have these heavier mauve curtains that were left over from…

Oh.

Other offenders? Color.

“I can’t stand when I go into a girl’s bedroom and everything is pink,” he continued. “A little pink is okay, but not the whole thing. I don’t want to feel like I’m sleeping inside a Pepto Bismol bottle.”

It’s dark. You just had sex. You can’t see the pink and you just got some, what the hell are you complaining about?

The Verdict: If you are in fact a flaming stereotype of femininity, may want to tone it down. On the other hand, if you are that invested in pink frills, maybe you are better off not settling down until you find a man who thinks that that’s just what the insides of houses look like because, hey, they’re full of women.

2) Guys Hate…A Shrine to Your Stuffed Animals

Collecting can be a great hobby, but when more than five stuffed animals are living on your bed, it’s a zoo.

Who does this? Well, not a lot of people. My stuffed animals (and the boyfriend’s) hang out in baskets and closets in little-used rooms. Luckily, they managed to interview a guy who went out with a crazy woman once to let us know where the line is:

“No one wants to date a woman who still lives like a little girl,” says Peter, 40. “I once dated a woman who actually introduced me to her stuffed animals, one by one. It was pretty clear at that moment that my night would include a solo drive home.”

That’s the kind of neurosis that will keep you sleeping alone, talking to your stuffed animals until your sister comes by to check up on you and discovers that you haven’t been taking your meds.

Don’t be that woman, ladies. It wierds out the menfolk.

Oh, and one more note on the subject of stuffed things: plenty of guys also hate a bed covered with pillows.

“What’s with the dozens of throw pillows on the bed? It’s just more clutter than you need,” one divorced dad told us.

Well, divorced dad has never slept with Kyso Kisaen, master pillow thief. And the person who makes the bed gets to choose how many pillows go on it, not, I’m sure, that would have come up in the divorce.

Also not allowed are pets and filth: pets because they compete with him for your valuable attention, and filth because how is a woman who can’t clean up after herself supposed to clean up after both of them?

Well, if you budget for a maid now, you can keep on paying her after you’re married and he never has to know until you quit to have kids and the maid expense can be hidden in the new-kid expenses. Trust me, this plan is foolproof.

Peter: “You’d think because she was a model that she would be somewhat neat. This woman’s place wasn’t just dirty, it was trashed. She didn’t seem to care or even notice, which was honestly quite scary.”

The Verdict: If you think that there is even a slight chance of one thing leading to another, clean your room! Neat freaks have an unfair advantage in this department, so if you can’t train yourself, hire a maid.

And finally, your roommate is messing up your game:

Many of us continue to have roommates long after graduation. (Living with them is an entirely different article altogether.) The open door policy that you and your roommate have developed should be amended when your guy is over.

“My girlfriend and I were walked in on by her roommate,” said Chris, 28. “I was mortified.”

First off, me and my roommates NEVER had an open-door policy. Between the one’s porn addiction, the other’s sleeping-in-the-nude, and my own having completely different plumbing than them, no one ever opened a door without permission. A closed door means something.

Secondly, what’s wrong with this tool? With a bit of quick thinking, instead of whining to MSN about how mortified he was, he could be writing to Penthouse about how lucky he was. Hey, if the roommates are that close that they barge in on each other when the door is closed, why not ask?

Anyway, standard wrap up: much like some religous folk strive to behave as though God were looking over their shoulder at all times, so should the desperate strive to behave as though Mr Right was casting his critical eye over their most private living spaces right then. Forget how much you loved sitting in bed, reading while propped up by your many pillows, for this is the way to happiness.

Cooking Terms and What They Mean: finally, someone has defined ‘stir’

Cooking: Terms and What They Mean

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Are You Ready for Marriage: a minister and a rubber band convince two teenagers to not marry just because they really want to bang each other.
Are You Ready for Marriage?

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Pattern for Smartness: girls use vanity and only creative outlet to raise funds for boys basketball team.

Pattern For Smartness

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There’s more fun at the myspace page where these came from. Enjoy!