The Very Definition Of: Bangover

Bangover: The morning after a rough night of sex. Usually with someone you don’t like personally, but find yourself enjoying in the boudoir. A bangover is characterized by the following symptoms: fatigue, mindless grinning, inability to walk straight, open mouth syndrome, uncharacteristic happiness and glee, mindless humming of an 80s ballad, shame, and regret.

Etymology: From the root word Hangover, meaning to be hung over. Combined with the prefix Bang, meaning to have sex.

Sentence: You can’t stop smiling. You brought me coffee. And you have a slight limp to the left. You are having a total bangover.

For me, marriage was like sex. Most of the fun was getting there. Once I was in, I hung on as long as I could. But the end was pretty messy. — Unknown, via D. Lambert

The Ex Sext

Hello there sexers. So I’m aware it’s been quite a while since I imparted some valuable knowledge on love and relationships, but sometimes life happens. Other times, vacation happens. Sangria happens. Inebriation happens. I don’t think I need to elaborate, do I?

So it was when I was drinking Peach Sangria with a friend of mine over the nation’s most illustrious holiday that the subject of ex-sexting came up. Now I’ve been very vocal about my feelings towards sexting in the past. I think it’s the best way to get a few rocks off without risking an STD. If my phone somehow contracts the Hiv, I might rethink my position, but until then, I say send a racy message… just make sure your face and your gens are sent separately. No use getting Wienered for your… wiener.

But with an ex, the trickiness quotient increases exponentially. The real question is, are you even allowed to reach out to your ex? How long does someone have to wait before it’s appropriate to contact an ex… point, blank, period? My friends and I like to follow the rule of half. Bide your time for half the length of the relationship, with four months being the cutoff. In short, two months, max.

Texting an ex in any capacity is tricky. It opens up a door to feelings that should very well be closed shut and locked with a key. It messes up boundaries. Throw a racy text into the mix, and well you’re setting yourself up for eminent failure. It should be one’s goal to move on in a decisive manner; that means drop the cell phone in the toilet like the rest of us when you’re drunk and don’t sext your ex.

But it’s done, Mark. It’s already done, you say. Now what? This blog is all about the ‘what now’ when a problem occurs. What’s the proper sexit strategy? Plead sheer and utter black out. Sure, being wasted isn’t an excuse for say… driving or getting in a fight with a police horse or making out with your second cousin or giving a one-kneed blowy on a dancefloor. But it is a solid excuse for accidently sexting someone. Say the liquor took over, send an apology text in the morning, and forget it ever happened. If they respond kindly, well… you don’t really need a sexit, then do you? Until Monday sexers. The good life is at your fingertips.

Sex is like bridge; if you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand. — Mae West

What’s in a Name?

Hello there Sexers. I can’t lie. As I type this, I’m still reeling from the travesty that was the Miss USA 2011 pageant. I know it has no bearing on sex or relationships, but allow me two sentences to vent, please. A ginger from New Jersey? Can it get any more déclassé than that? And now that I’ve alienated any red-headed readers or fans from Jersey… let’s move on.  

Alas, it was when a friend of mine and I were enjoying cocktails over ceviche that a very interesting topic came out: the name game. We’re not talking about Brenda Brenda Bo Benda here. We’re talking about what happens when you say the wrong name in bed.

It’s bad enough saying the wrong name in casual conversation. Once, I was approached by someone who seemed to know me, even though I could have sworn I’d never seen him before in my life. Being the people person I strive to be, I went with it and chalked the meeting up to a drunken night. In our conversation, I narrowed his named down to two things: James or Justin. I decided to just go for it, said Justin and it ended up being James. Needless to say, I never saw that guy again. It was tres embarrassing.

Now imagine doing that while being inside of someone. That’s a million and one times worse. Talk about getting Weinered out of Congress. If you call the wrong name in bed, you may as well return to your loft, pack your things and leave. You are no longer in the running to be America’s Next Top Hookup.

So what do you do? The key here is to refrain from saying anything else for the rest of the copulation session. Just keep mum. Pretend like it never happened. When you’re done, slink away like the incident didn’t happen: quickly and quietly. Don’t wait around for a call about a second date… you’ve sealed your fate as a one hit wonder.

And if you’re the receiver in this kind of situation? My inclination is to say just let it slide. It happens to all of us. Everyone has looked at a Britney and said Ashley. For the most part, things like this are super harmless. Don’t make a big deal about it.

If you’re getting serious with this person, however, I’d say find out who this Ashley or Justin is and deal accordingly. There’s never an excuse to shout out an exes name in bed… all other names deserve a shoulder shrug and a forgive and forget. Unless it’s his mother’s name. Red flag. Big big red flag.  

Sexicon of the Week: Prejac

Word: Prejac

Etymology: From the root word ejaculation, meaning to expel, spurt or spit. From the prefix pre meaning before or early.

Definition: Prejac is a verb, meaning to lay one’s seed earlier than intended. Usually happens unexpectedly with embarrassing result.

Sentence: “I once had a friend who prejacced while making out with his girlfriend at a movie theater. The movie was Star Wars Episode 3, I think. What a great movie. Wow. How awkward would that be?”

I believe that sex is a beautiful thing between two people. Between five, it’s fantastic. — Woody Allen

A Sexit Sitdown Session: Chicken Fingers

Just the other day I was thinking about a future article exploring the best birth control options for loving adults in consensual relationships that they don’t want ruined by a Junior. Literally, the NEXT day, this little gem showed up in my mailbox. I had to edit it down just a tad to make it Facebook appropriate, but I’m sure you’ll get the gist. 

I gave my girlfriend a “thumb’s up” after I finished on her chest. I wiped my hand on a tissue, but now I’m worried that she might be pregnant. Any chance she might be pregnant?!?!?!

This is a very hands on question so let’s tackle it head on, shall we? The question here isn’t what happened and in what order. The real question is: what brand of toilet paper were you using? For example, if you were using one-ply Scott or Stay Fresh, the chances that you managed to wipe all of your specimen off before continuing are slim to none. If, however, you used Charmin Ultra, I’m confident that you were fully absorbed and clean before you continued with your two-fingered tango. I wouldn’t worry too much about her being pregnant, but in the event that she starts puking in the morning and ordering pickle flavored ice cream, I’d head on over to your local free clinic and consult a doctor. I would also suggest you and your girlfriend adopt the rhythm method of birth control to avoid such a scare again (more on that next week!).

Finally friend, I will commend you for taking your woman’s needs into your own hands. A lot of guys would have been done and done, rolled over and called it a night. I’m proud of you for finishing the task even if you finished for yourself just a little bit early. Next time, to avoid showing up first, try contracting the same muscles you use to hold your pee. It’ll buy you a couple of minutes at least and you won’t have to bring her to a finger photo finish at the end of it all.       

What a Mouthful

Hello Sexers. We here at Sexit Strategy are still in celebratory mode after last night’s sheer thrashing of the Miami Heat. And even if the Heat has the edge in the looks department (sorry Dirk and Kidd… it’s just the way it is), we’ll still take the little nugget Barea out to town over the likes of James, Wade and even Chalmers any day. What can we say? We like them bite sized.

And speaking of Mavs games, it was when a few friends and I were watching the game over potent margaritas that the age old question surfaced to the top. It’s a question women (and 10-15% of men according to most studies) have asked themselves since the dawn of time. In fact, it’s the first question Eve asked herself post-Garden when a bored Adam uttered the words “So… what do you wanna do now?” Anyone who’s ever been in the eighth grade and/or been on a third date has asked themselves this question. I told you… age old.

The question I’m referring to? Spit or Swallow?

It’s true. Anyone who’s ever been down there has been plagued with the question. In fact, the anxiety surrounding the decision eclipses about sixty percent of the job, and guys can tell. I’ve had friends with a firm stance on the matter. No swallowing, ever. Always spit. I’ve also had looser friends who think that spitting is what slutty chicks do to make themselves feel less slutty. You’ve seen the task through to the end, you may as well finish the job.

Whatever your stance, know that the way you choose to answer the question says more about you than anything you reveal on the first three dates (assuming you waited that long. Chica, if you’re debating spitting or swallowing at any point before at least a steak dinner and a stiff cocktail, you’re not trying to have your personality judged… just saying). Spitters are oft considered classier, more wholesome and less streetwalker. Swallowers… well, you may as well go ahead and get Property of Tony tattooed onto the small of your back like you’ve been planning. If it lands anywhere else, I’m going to hope that he didn’t warn you and that you didn’t see it coming, so to speak. More on male etiquette there next week.

And if you are a spitter, what’s the proper sexit? First and foremost, I hope you’ve isolated the nearest sink. It’s like riding a plane. Know your emergency exit and you’ll be fine. Don’t, and you’ll end up on an island with polar bears and strange winds for seven years. There’s really no conversation required once you’ve decided to eject that seed like a rewound VHS tape ready to go back to Blockbuster. You simply get up off your knees, walk to the nearest sink or open window and you let it go likes it’s a mouthful of sunflower seeds.

If you’re determined to swallow that mess, well… you’re also determined to be called only at 1:15 a.m. and only after 8 beers or a bottle of wine. Until next time sexers, keep it real and keep it classy.                

Sex is like snow, you never know how many inches you’re going to get or how long it will last. — Unkown