After Bret found “love” and VH1 ended “Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels,” the trashy reality television gods have blessed me with another gem in the form of an hourlong block of the new season of “Tough Love.” I find Sundays lazing on the couch watching no-thought-involved TV medicinal, but for those of you who don’t, let me recap the show.
Last summer I was visiting a notoriously melodramatic couple in West Palm Beach. Seated at a bar in Bradley’s, the couple’s most recent quarrel had us on the edge of our bar stools. Downing another Tequila Sunrise in a futile attempt to tune out the awkwardness, I listened to my friends trade barbed insults. They passionately disputed whether it’s appropriate to boast about their previous sexcapades in front of one another (by the way, it’s really, really not). Now imagine this: The guy, who resembles a Jewish version of The Hulk, becomes inexplicably jealous and tears up underneath his oversized dark shades while the girl coolly rolls her eyes and says, “If you don’t stop crying, we’re leaving.”
About two weeks ago, I bought a new bicycle. I can be seen spastically maneuvering around campus, maxing at 10 mph and periodically falling flat on my uncoordinated ass. The whole experience has been exhilarating, but it became enlightening a few days ago when I took a trip to Walmart.
The year is 2009. We live in the age of the tri-sexual – a post-“Sex and the City,” “Queer as Folk,” and “The L Word” world in which people are open to a multitude of sexual experiences.
Never take good porn for granted.
I think the dance floor is one place where humans can be seen actually de-evolving.
Despite the fact that we attend a university with nearly 50,000 students, Gainesville is not a metropolitan haven that you can have anonymous sex with a stranger who you'll never see again. Rather, I'd argue that you might have difficulty swinging a weight at Southwest Recreation Center without knocking over two people you've previously "exercised" with. The solution? Pack, make for the border (of another state) and indulge in a weekend vacation.
In nearly every college student's life comes a rite of passage. There is nothing super sweet about this particular passage, which might cause your stomach to sink faster than if you had overslept through a microeconomics final. I'm talking about STD testing here, you wild scoundrels.
A good friend of mine was recently in need of a "sexy librarian" outfit for a costume party and requested my expertise in locating the appropriately slut-tastic attire. After some shopping, I ensured that my friend was sexed up in a button-down blouse, tight-fitting pencil skirt, yellow Calvin Klein glasses, six-inch black heels and a neon blue corset. Weeks later I discovered that her supposed costume party was actually a party for two to indulge the fantasies of her nerdy boyfriend.
Break up boredom in the bedroom.
Freshman year. You are en route to the fourth floor of your dorm and notice an attractive neighbor. Any homesickness unexpectedly fades. You realize that your roommate has been MIA for the past few hours and your twin-sized bed is in dire need of christening.
Relationship karma is karma's lesser-known and more sadistic cousin, and I assure you it is not lacking at colleges across the nation. With no shortage of sex-starved students, immorally themed parties and dollar-pitcher nights at the nearest bar, college is a breeding ground for screwing and - often - screwing over. But thanks to relationship karma, you can be sure that what goes around in your love life will come back around to bite you in the rear.
It/s 3 a.m., you/re piss-drunk, out of breath, rolling among sweat-stained sheets and incapable of sleep. No, you/re not in the thrusts of a one-night stand; you/re dealing with heartbreak after being served a monogamist/s worst fear: the breakup.
It's practically a scientific fact that women have a sexual fascination with musicians.
BRANDT WILLIAMSON, Avenue Writer
Two months ago at a concert, a girl started grinding up against me. It's not often a lady grinds on me first, especially with her boyfriend fuming nearby. So naturally I took great pride in the feat.
Pseudo-homos - ones that proclaim to be straight, but have had at least one homosexual experience. If you ask them about an outer-hetero experience, they will admit to it, but soon after comes an "I'm not gay" or "I was just curious," or "I was so drunk."
Maybe it's due to the recession, but when it comes to sex, corners are being cut.
If you're stuck in Gainesville all summer then you definitely won't be splashing around at the beach like Danny and Sandy, but that doesn't mean you can't have your own sexy summer nights-or even days.
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir? Me vuelves loco. Ti desidero. Ez csodalatos volt.
Solutions by The State News
