Rule #6

Rule #6: Acknowledgement of a Double Standard is a Must for Power Play

The ol’ double standard. We have all heard of it. We have all experienced it. And no I am not talking about men getting paid more in the work place… No, I am talking about all you “Pimps,” “Man’s Men,” and “Playas” out there.

Fact: A man can bang multiple chicks in one night, have a threesome, hell, even have an orgy and be labeled "The Man" by all his friends. Yay, high five, knuckle punch. Fuck, go ahead and chest bump the guy.

However, put a chick in this same conquering position-TRAMP.

The guy could be single or married and he would still be praised for “still having the magic”. After all he is doing his job, right?

According to evolutionary psychologists, this “proven” double standard is just the “nature” in the gender differences. Their perspective (all of them males I’m sure), includes that these sexual behaviors have developed through human evolution relating to reproductive capacities. Because men have a greater reproductive capacity (i.e. are not the one getting knocked up and fat for 9 months), it is considered beneficial for them to inseminate as many females as possible to maximize the survival of their offspring.

*I would like to simply state that I know plenty of men out there that would, in fact, benefit the evolutionary process of the entire human race if they never, and I repeat ever inseminated anything.

Beyond the theories behind this double standard, I know very few women who don’t contribute to it themselves. How many guys do you have to sleep with in one time frame to be labeled a slut? If you are a woman and are willing to test this theory…chances are you’re a slut. J/k, but let’s not take that chance finding out.

I myself like to note the huge difference in being a slut, and being easy. Yes, if I want it and I feel you may be adequate enough to fulfill my, and I repeat MY immediate needs, chances are you won’t have to try to excruciatingly hard to get me back to your place (see Rule 5). Now, the girl who falls for any pick up line, every time, and gives before she receives…Sorry honey, that’s not just easy, that’s stupid; which unfortunately degrades you in all walks of light.

I know what you’re thinking, it’s all about the “number.” I hate to break it to you, men lie. Hey and guess what, women lie too. If you ain’t cheating baby, you ain’t tryin. So, go ahead and throw all those 4’s, 16’s, and “I’m a virgin’s” out the window.

Perception is reality here. The guy who's simultaneously dating multiple women is going to be praised for he is just playing the game. You know what else he’s doing? Mind fucking you. Because you know what? At the end of the day, you’re sitting there wondering why he’s plowed everyone else in that bar, but you. And the challenge begins.

You get your way and get laid, but you also are now just another notch on his belt, and now the whole bar is aware that you caved to Mr. “This Never Happens” and now are demeaned a bar fly.

If you sleep with multiple men in one night or different men frequently, you will be labeled a slut. It sucks, and your girlfriends will be more than happy to pat you on the back and tell you you’re not, you just got used. But let’s face it, at some point we start to realize you like getting used and abused, so now you’re just our slutty friend. Double standard? Yes. Can you do anything about it? No.

Rule #5

Rule #5: Never bring a One Night Stand back to YOUR place.

Coyote Ugly: A situation encountered after a night of consuming alcohol whereby a person wakes the next morning with a sexual partner from the previous evening who is completely physically undesirable and sleeping on one’s arm. The individual would therefore rather gnaw off their own arm than wake the hideous, sleeping, two bagger next to them; than have to face the ills of their intoxicated choices from the previous evening.

It’s bad enough you have to wake to such a horrid affair, now, how the hell do get them out of your house? You don’t. They shouldn’t be there in the first place. Never, take your one night stand back to your dwelling. Period.

Sometimes it’s sad that I have to explain this rule to people. But, never the less I find myself reminding people all too often. One, do you really want them to know where you live in the first place? Hello? Ever heard of a Stage Five Clinger? Well I have and it ain’t pretty. Two, they are there for one reason, and one reason only, to get your rocks off. Three, morning awkwardness. How do you “nicely” tell someone to get the fuck out of your house…Not to mention, if you didn’t get their name the night before.

Tap. Tap. Punch… “Ummmm yea, Hun… I have to work, you need to get up…Yes, I know it’s Saturday…yea, last night…Oh, I thought it was …great too?… uh, yea I need you to go…Yea, don’t forget your wallet chain… Um, I’d give you my number, but I don’t own a cell phone…That ringing? I don’t hear anything…” Please, spare yourself. Furthermore, if are like any of my friends you will be forced to scour your dwelling searching for any trace of evidence that a midnight romp took place before your significant other arrives, only to for them to find a bobby pin, sock, or a brunettes hair on their pillowcase.

If you are prone to slut tendencies (not judging), prepare yourself. A friend of mine, known for her friendly demeanor keeps the best trampy travel case I have ever seen: Trojans, dry power spray shampoo, travel Febreeze, a pair of thongs, conceiler, mascara, a pair of Quick Flats (slip on shoes), bobby pins, and her cabby’s card. Genius. She also carries a spare outfit in her trunk at all times.

It may be a tad bit embarrassing taking the Walk of Shame down to catch a cab, get your car, or quite possibly, a 3 mile hike across town during Friday morning rush hour. Never the less, you can sneak out quietly without a trace and the culprit will never know if you truly existed and resort to a Craigslist “Missed Connections” add.

Rule #4

Rule #4

Drunk texting happens. If you are embarrassed by your previous night’s sext texting ALWAYS blame it on your friend.

*Side note: this is also a friend test

I must say, I have been blessed to have some of the most amazing friends. They are loyal, lushes, and just crazy enough to keep me entertained. We have caught ourselves multiple times in drunken conversations that involve the men in our lives, past and present.  The stories we’ve shared about husbands, ex-husbands, and ex-boyfriends would make you cry of either tears of hysteria or sheer terror. But, what makes them true friends is their ability to lie on my behalf.

With all the deep conversation that comes with one too many glasses of wine, or in my case vodka, comes the inevitable drunken text message. One would hope, with all the battery usage during the day from emails, checking Face Book, and playing Words with Friends that in our most drunken and vulnerable time our phone WOULD be dead…but it never is. What I need is an app that deletes all the male phone numbers out of my phone after I've had more than four vodka sodas (with a lemon and a lime please). 

Some say that oysters are an aphrodisiac. I disagree. I'm going with alcohol as the number one panty dropper around. Pretty soon the “I misss yu” and “I aawd just thusnkin abit us” start flying through the phone. The funny thing being is that they are barely legible. Honestly, I’d rather my texts NOT be decipherable then to have my ex know I want his "thunder stick" one more time. But of course that is never the case. Please note that by this point your loyal friends have matched you drink for drink and are not about to choke hold you just to stop that last message you sent to the "dick doctor" (who you dumped last month) asking if you could swing by for a "check-up".

The next morning you wake up barely remembering the previous nights events, and wince in pain as you roll over to see your phone on the nightstand. Because you know… YOU KNOW!  It's that sickening feeling in your stomach (no not your hangover, the other sick feeling) that lets you know that you texted from your vagina last night, not your head and clearly not from your heart. If you’re anything like me you probably pace around for a good hour or so before even picking up your phone to review the previous night’s scripted debauchery.

In my most recent encounter with this scenario - and thank God I wasn’t the victim this time - my friend was in town for a visit so we went out for a little nightlife. We arrived at our last alcohol dispensary for the evening and happened to run into a male friend of ours who we both use to work with. Now readers please be aware that previously there was some significant flirtation between my friend and this guy who we'll call George (George is appropriate based on the fact that his sexy salt and pepper hair is very much like Clooney’s). Anyways, despite the fact that George is a tad bit older, lives with his girlfriend, and was in fact with his girlfriend at the time we ran into him, I didn't feel the need stop her when she proceeded to ...how should I say it... “eye-fuck” him all night. Just a few harmless sultry glances right? At least that is all I thought went on until I checked MY phone the next morning.

After reading, then re-reading my texts from the previous night I quickly realized how much alcohol I did in fact consume the night before. I accessed the situation and decided that there was NO WAY even in my horny, drunken, letting-my-vagina-text-for-me state, I would have sent such dirty messages to George. Then “ding” the light bulb went off. Three pain pills and about an hour later, my friend calls me and proceeds to tell me that she "might" have texted George from my phone the night before. We compared messages to try and piece together the jest of what George received between her phone and mine. She is absolutely mortified at this point, not only because she sent extremely kinky messages to our friend, but she just confirmed to me that she is in fact a closet freak.

Solution: I sent the texts. All of them. My phone, her phone. All of them.

My friend via text of course: “Sorry about those raunchy texts George, Lois had my phone last night and was being an ass and wouldn’t give it back…I just read them, how embarrassing…I’m going to kill her for that…Yea, she’s crazy….It was good seeing you the other night... Well talk to you later.”

Me: "George, did you love those texts last night? BAHAHAHA. Had you going good!"

Believable? Maybe… More than likely- probably not. Never the less it made my friend feel a whole lot better going throughout her day knowing that George possibly thinks it wasn’t her sending the messages. It was her crazy friend, me. No matter how ridiculous I have to sound the next time I see George, and how many lies I'll have to spew on her behalf, I have comfort in knowing that that bitch would do the same thing for me. After all, what are friends for?

Rule #3

There is a reason Airplane Mode exists... And it's not for flying.

It has happened before, 3 am rolls around, your laying in bed with your significant other (or one of your significant others), and the phone starts ringing off the hook. Shit.

“Who’s calling so late?” they respond.

You quickly throw your body in front of the phone, to block the caller ID of course, before hitting the silencer.

“Oh, it’s my crazy drunk friends…ha ha…” slash person I shouldn’t have in my phone, slash the other person I am sleeping with…that’s not you.

Now you have two options at this point, turn the phone off and have your current other wonder why you are being so shady, or two leave your phone on silent, only to have you fall asleep and take the chance of them seeing who, in fact, is lighting up your phone.

Not anymore my friends. Let me explain first of all what this little useful tool is:

Airplane mode is a setting on many cell phones which disables their wireless communication abilities, theoretically making them approved for use on aircraft. While in airplane mode, a phone cannot send or receive phone calls, text messages, picture messages, or video messages, and the user may not browse the Internet on the phone or use Bluetooth devices with it. However, functions like music players, games, calendars, and so forth can continue to be used.

Sadly, I learned this little trick from one of my many slutty male friends, who may I add pulls way more tail then looks would ever tell. Anyway, before he went to bed at night he simply put his phone on airplane mode. Not one call or text could come through all night. In the morning he flipped airplane mode off, and voila! All the drunk dials and skanky texts filtered their way through; thus eliminating his chances of getting caught and reassuring his girlfriend that there are no crazy women chasing after her man.

Am I once again condoning or advocating cheating? Absolutely not. But, fuck! If you are going to do it, be good at it.

Rule #2

 Don’t fish in the same pond as you swim in.

If I had a dime for every time I did this…I mean heard this.

Fact: 82% of relationships start in the workplace. 82 percent!!! For the mathematically challenged, that’s over half.

 For those of you who read the tabloids and sneer at all the politicians plowing their secretaries and getting caught, are you surprised? I’m not. On top of that, you have obviously never worked in the service industry.

These men and women are around each other 24 hrs a day, and we all know their wives are too busy getting their hair blown out to actually give a blow job. I can’t blame them for getting some TLC. Now, what I can blame them for is why the secretary? Like that’s not the oldest infidelity in the book, your wife will never expect you to sleep with the 22 year old leggy blonde, at the front desk, busting out her blouse. Now, take that same bimbo and put her across the street at Starbucks, and you have a much safer scenario…and free lattes.

I get it. It’s the risk; the convenience. Let’s step into this little place I like to call reality though. Unless love blossoms and you hear wedding bells, when all the kink runs out and you get bored, guess who you’re stuck with? That’s right, that leggy blonde who’s now threatening to expose the affair. And let’s face it, it’s never mutual when shit in the workplace ends. So, if you’re not quitting, they’re not quitting, and not one of you signed a “Pre-fucking” clause; save yourself a lot of drama and late nights at the office and go swim across the street.