The Parallel Relationship of Sex and Alcohol

            Today I am going to blow your mind a little bit, but that’s cool I’m sure you can handle it. Yesterday during lunch with the Italian Stallion it dawned on us that drinking and sex follow similar trajectories in our lifetime. Obviously drinking and sex are correlated, but the role that each of them play individually in our lives are incredibly similar when considered separately. In other words, while I understand that one follows the other, I contend that their appeal and frequency of use follow the same curve when plotted against our age. Huh? Allow me to explain. 

·    Adolescence: I need you to think back to your middle school years right before you were having sex and drinking. Guys for you this period was characterized by the ability to jerk off, but girls not yet wanting to have sex. I’ll say it, that shit was purgatory! Everyday you talked about sex with your homeboys. Blowjobs, tits, ass, blumpkins, dirty sanchezs, pictures of Pamela’s boobies (I still love you!), etc.. You yearned for the day that girls would move from 2^nd to 3^rd, and fantasized about banging that hot senior. For girls, I have no idea what the hell you were doing during this time except growing boobies, having acne, and rejecting me. Don’t worry we’re cool now, I guess, but consider the following whether male or female: Although we wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, sex was somewhat intimidating for everyone involved. No matter what kind of game we talked or how bad we wanted it, sex was pretty scary. Best case we wouldn’t be very good at it, worst case we would knock up a fifteen year old. Enter drinking and it follows the same pattern. During this period in your life, you often talked about “getting waaaaayyyysteeddd” or “knocking back a couple brew dogs”. My personal favorite was drinking something totally non-alcoholic (a bottle of Root Beer) and pretending to be “hammered!” You talked the talk, but you were far from walking the walk. Just like sex, beer was scary because it was illegal and could kill you. Every “Scared Straight” episode started with a single sip of beer and ended with someone getting pounded in the ass by Nasty Nate. To add, you parents drank and your liquor cabinet was readily accessible. The feeling to experiment was strong, but still there was something off-putting about drinking alone. Bottom line: alcohol and sex are paralleling each other, they are both within reach, incredibly tantalizing, but nonetheless quite intimidating. 

·    Late Teens: Do you remember the joy when both of these things first entered you life on a somewhat regular basis? I sure do, it was fucking great. Hey, do you remember the first time you got drunk? Neither do I. However after that moment, every single weekend was focused around one question “where are we going?” The answer is usually  “someone’s house whose parents aren’t at home”. You had to take advantage of openings and make the most of any random situation that presented itself. Basically the role of alcohol at this point in your life was, drink where you can when you can. Sex again mirrors alcohol’s role. Just like your initial foray into drinking, the first time you had sex you probably weren’t the pro you are now. To add, once you started having sex on a regular basis there was a lot of scrambling. “My parents went out to dinner, come over!” “Want to park the car in the church parking lot?” “I really want to, but my Mom isn’t asleep yet.” You get the idea; I call this the opportunistic stage for both sex and drinking. You strike when the iron is hot, but nevertheless your opportunities are limited. 

·    College: WHOA EXCESS! The Italian Stallion called this period in life “The Audacity of Abundance”. Sex and alcohol are available every single night. Remember the first week of school? The line from Wedding Crashers comes to mind: “I bet you’d like to get drunk and make some bad decisions.” And fuck yeah we made the most of it. To add to newfound availability, this is the first time sex and alcohol meet as a direct result of one another. I don’t know any kids in high school who slept with girls who got hit by trucks as a result of drinking, I can’t count how many times I’ve heard that story in college. Fantastic levels of alcohol consumption and sex are a lot of fun for a while, however as college peters out, the excess wears thin. The real world encroaches and with it dreaded moderation of both sex and drinking. 

·    Post College: Sex gets less frequent. Girls want to be in committed relationships that are leading towards marriage. Some dudes struggle to make the transition from college to the pros. Its funny to watch them because they think the first year out of school is like freshman year again. They believe women are just going to start ripping off their shirts and fucking them all over the Joshua Tree. These gents have neglected the fact that they have moved from top dog at college to the bottom of society’s barrel. Awesome. Alcohol consumption begins to dwindle the more serious work becomes. While competing against the world for your meals, showing up to work hung-over is not in your best interest. Even worse, we start to realize that going out both nights of a weekend is a chore. I heard the following complaint from a coworker the other day: “I have parties both nights this weekend and I am so fucking pissed, I’m going to be so tired next week”. I silently nod my head in agreement and come to grips with how little fun I have become. Again though sex and alcohol are following the same path. 

It’s not all bad; it seems like once you have kids you start drinking all the time. There’s not an older person I know who doesn’t drink wine or beer everyday. Viagra commercials lead me to believe that sex continues to parallel drinking. Fuck man, Cialis is like “anytime, anywhere, mother fucker you are good to go!” I’m in! I am also Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.

 

PS It turns out those snotty Wall Street bitches from my commentary the other week WERE LIEING! Or at least they were telling half-truths. Double shame on you New York Times! 

Breast Enhancement Photography

Coconut joins us from the West Coast and below is her inaugural work!

I’ve wanted to be the Los Angeles personification of Carrie Bradshaw since I watched my first episode of Sex and the City at 16 years old. Of course, this implied that I wanted more than just the sex columnist job; I wanted the Manolos, the sex, the love, the friends and the cameras following me around showing my fascinating story to anyone willing to watch.

  My opportunity came at age 20, when I became the ‘sex, love and relationships columnist’ at UCLA.

  My introductory, self approved topic was based on my own current sexual dilemma: having sex with my ex. I didn’t want to be anything like the sex columnist before me, who seemed to preach about masturbation on a weekly basis, and I also didn’t want to seem like sex-know-it-all, dishing out rules on what good sex is supposed to be like.

  I though that by sharing some personal details and using the word sex numerous times, I could catch the reader’s attention automatically and develop a reputable following. Turns out, I really didn’t need to do any of that to gain such a following.

  It was actually my boobs that did the trick.

  Every columnist in the viewpoint section of the Daily Bruin must take a ‘mug-shot’ to be printed next to each of their columns printed in the paper. Every single writer in the history of the Bruin has been photographed from neck up, revealing nothing more than a goofy smile or stylish glasses.

  My picture is quite different. I received 30 frames where I was photographed from the ribs up. Then the photo/design department gave quite a bit of time and Photoshop effort to my mug shot. The end result was a thinned out, breast-enhanced version of myself that even plastic surgery couldn’t achieve.

  I got what I wanted. I was a virtual Ms. Bradshaw.  Some people loved me and some hated me, but both categories were equally vocal.

  If Sex and the City had granted its viewers the pleasure of seeing Carrie’s inbox, her apparent popularity would have lost some of its rank. Assuming hers would look anything like mine, it would be filled with everything from death threats to marriage proposals.

  With my boobs two cup sizes larger and my arms looking 15 pounds thinner I embarked on my wonderful, yet over-sexualized, journey via UCLA journalism. Anywhere my writing takes me, my boobs always arrive first. But I’ve come to terms with it because my cynical side predicts I get more readers this way.

  I’m years away from plastic surgery. My choice of cosmetics is now Photoshop. 

Sneezin' Season

            Unless you live in an isolation chamber, you’ve realized it’s cold and flu season. I absolutely detest getting sick, especially when its not my fault. Recently I caught a sore throat from one of my co-workers. She was “unable to swallow for a week”, but nevertheless showed up everyday. Each day I remember telling her to “stay the fuck home”, but all I got for my good advice was her sore throat. What got me so pissed about this particular instance was that I didn’t blame her. Corporate culture frowns upon taking sick days and today I have decided to delve deeper into this bovine fecal matter.

 

·    Bluff Calling: Look its obvious some people abuse sick days, but truthfully that’s their right. They are afforded X number of days with no questions asked. How many an individual takes is their own business. It’s an honor system and most people play by the rules. Those who do fuck around eventually get theirs when they run out of sick days and have to suffer through work all messed up. What drives me absolutely bananas is when you come back from a sick day and people act like you were faking it. “Sick on a 50 degree day with the sun out, yeah, right.” I’m sorry if the sun was out the day my throat decided to feel like the Mohave Desert, I have no control over that. What is it that you think I was doing? Banging the Hawaiian Tropic girls? Lifting weights? Swimming in the reservoir and watching the grass grow in Central Park? I just don’t get it; my gut reaction when I hear someone was sick is to ask how he or she is feeling. If you’re a person who would rather pick on someone for it, I think you should have a nice warm mug of go fuck yourself. Honestly, it’s the most vulnerable a person gets, accusing them of dishonesty shows that you lack even the most fundamental decency.

·    Pressure: I love how superiors make you feel like missing a day of work is the worst thing that could happen. “We really need you here everyday,” they tell you during orientation “we hired you because we need you.” That’s their way of saying; don’t take a sick day ever, seriously do not take a sick day ever. I challenge you to remember the last time you took a sick day. Upon your return, it probably took an hour for you to catch up on what you missed. Honestly no matter what kind of pressure you are under, two or three sick days in a row are not going to hurt. Don’t let your boss intimidate you, you probably make them look way better then they are, and for that alone you deserve time off.

·    “The Call”: Because of the two issues mentioned prior, “the call” is incredibly awkward. I usually like to do it the night before my sick day. For some reason this tactic adds legitimacy, and your boss will appreciate the forewarning. Also it allows you to sleep in, which is generally what you need most when you are sick. Second tip, I do “the call” via text message. An actual phone call is very awkward because you feel as though you have to sound sick. I am not very good at sounding sick, usually I just sound constipated. Text messaging also allows you to employ another legitimacy tactic. Last year when I got the stomach flu, I texted my boss at 2:30am: “Not coming in tomw, I haven’t gotten off the toilet all night”. Never in a million years could I have said that on the phone, but via text it’s amazing. Not only does your time stamp prove you’re not bullshitting (pardon the pun), you are also creating an image of your sickness. Imagery is powerful when it comes to being ill. Compare the following, a phone call notifying your boss you have a sore throat or a text message at 3:30am saying: “I’m not coming in tomw, I just woke up because my throat hurts so bad I am having trouble producing phlegm.” I’ll take the latter and a day at home resting up for 1000 Alex!

·    Fighting Through It: Macho men (and women) around your office will in some cases try and “fight through it”. This is one of the stupidest fucking mantras on earth. You are not Charles Oakley, you are not in the NFL, you are just a douche bag with a runny nose and a fever. For god sakes, put away your penis and tape measure and go home. Honestly, have you ever seen anyone in the work environment rewarded for “fighting through it”? Boss: “Everyone I want you to stop what you’re doing and put your hands together for Dave. This guy has been fighting through it all year; let’s really give it up for him! God I wish I had more people in this office like you Dave, you’re great and you have a massive dick! Alright Dave!”

 Like that? If you are sick, stay the fuck home and keep your germs to yourself. This afternoon at 2pm we will welcome Coconut (our new writer). Until then, I am Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption. 

A Word to the Homeless

            An incredibly jarring moment in any child’s life is the first time he or she observes a homeless person. Personally, I remember feeling guilty, heartbroken, and shaken to my core. Millions of questions started to run through my head. “Why is this person homeless? Is there no one who loves them? How come my family has all we could want and they have nothing? Why is he so stinky?” I considered having a place to sleep a god given right. To know that this was in fact inaccurate made me upset and gave me some awful nightmares. Could this happen to my family? Would I one day wind up on the street? I kept these questions in my head; until one day I gathered the courage to ask my mother and she assuaged my concerns.

            Since that moment, helping people has always been an interest of mine, especially homeless ones. Honestly though, homeless people are starting to piss me off. Consider the following cases and tell me if they don’t get you going.

·     No Means No: This is more an indictment of the Nashville homeless community, but if I say “no” once to your request for money, that’s it. At the Blockbuster on West End, I shit you not, there is one dude who will ask you six times if you have any change. Three times on the way in, and three times on the way out. I know that he probably isn’t all there, but honestly after the fifth time he asks I am closer to giving him a restraining order than a quarter.

·     Receptacle: There is a homeless guy outside the place where I usually eat lunch during the workweek. He stands there asking for change without a cup. Even if I had ten cents I am not going to risk physical contact. You know the phrase: “You don’t know where it’s been”, that was invented for situations like this and for people like you. Perhaps you haven’t read the Homeless Rules of Engagement Manual but this is like rule number two after “Do not under any circumstances shower.”

·     The ATM: This one gets me going every time! Butang already went into the meat of it, but consider this: The homeless person in question will open up the door for you on the way in and on the way out. They will proceed to act as if they are performing some great service. How quickly they forget that the reason the door is locked is to keep people like them out. Personally I am ok with the extra five seconds it takes to pull out my card and open the door. I am willing to sacrifice that time so that they are not living where I am banking. After watching person after person take out money, how long is it before the temptation is to great and they jack up a little old lady? Oh and its just rude for me to be taking out $100 while they are using the next ATM over as a urinal. I should really be giving them their space.

·     You Are a Beggar, Not a Chooser: A Gumption enthusiast recalled the following story the other day: “I was walking through Penn Station with my suit on trying to catch an Acela for a business trip. This homeless guy and I catch eyes. Thank god I have like 75 cents in my pocket. I put it in his cup, and he kind of snorts at me. I pause and he mumbles: ‘Thaz all ya got?’ I ask him to repeat it because I do not believe my ears, but sure enough that’s what he says.” Hold on let me take out my wallet; do you take Amex? Can you break a $100? Maybe you have a paypal account I can deposit to. Jiminy Crickets.

·     Audit Trail: Ok I learned in college that it is a fact that most homeless people use money to buy alcohol and drugs. I actually learned it at a homeless shelter from a bunch of homeless guys. I was doing a project and one told me: “The shelters done fed me, and clothed me, I need change so I can get myself a 40 man! I’m trying to have a good time like you.” Ever since that moment, I insist on knowing where my money is going. So when someone asks me for change, I say: “Well I’d rather buy you a meal, do you want a (hot dog, big mac, street meat, whatever)?” The answer is no almost 95% of the time. “Oh I just ate man.” Oh you did? Then why the fuck are you asking for change? Bottom line, I advise you to start asking people the same question otherwise you are just paying for their drug use when you could be paying for your own.

 

Homeless people stop fucking up; usually you serve a good purpose. I give you something and both you and I walk away feeling good. Don’t abuse that relationship, and speaking of abuse, a quick note. We got rid of the email list because we were abusing it on Friday. We did not mean to flood your inbox, but occasionally we will do things like that and don’t want to abuse your trust. We hope you enjoyed your weekend. I’m Theodore Jones, welcome back to The Gumption!

5 PM

Last Haiku of Day

Enjoy Your Weekend Thank You

The Gumption Boys Say

4:30 PM

You Give Snide Remarks

Spring Training is a Must See

Skim Milk Goes Skeet Skeet

4 PM

Sushi is Raw Fish

Giraffes Must Have Big Large Balls

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