A Bad Man in a Bad Place

It's been a pleasure writing for you all, but I think it's time to hang up the keyboard and move to another venue. Too much drama, none of it real (or, in the words of lefty bloggers, "Reality Based.") I've actually had incidents where I said "hey, I'll try that weird thing, it'll be good to write about." Which I now feel is not the way to go.

I got out of this site what I set out to get - I got some practice writing, I got a lot of comments, and I got a space to explore and share with you lot. I got ballpark 350 unique people looking at this site every day. That's a whole lot, if you ask me. Considering all I wrote about was running around New York looking for pretty girls to sleep with.

Maybe I'll come back someday. Maybe not. Maybe I'll come back on Tuesday with a revelation saying "Oh god I can't leave you." If you have an RSS reader, you can add this site to it if you want in case I come back.

I doubt it, though.

I'm not looking for an outpouring of support (although after my post about comments bugging me, I got a lot of nice emails, so thanks for those) and I'm not looking to be convinced to blog anymore. As I've said before - when it ceases to be fun, it's time to get out. It's ceased to be fun. I'm getting out.

I will still check the badmanbadplace@gmail.com email address, of course, and I can be reached there for whatever reason. If I start another blog, I'm guessing it won't be a sex blog. Too many other interests. When, during a conversation of weird hobbies, a friend of mine said that my hobby was fucking, I had a moment of aporeia and realized I needed to find other things to do with my life.

There's lots of other great sex blogs out there - I've got a list of them to the right over in my blogroll. Check those out and enjoy them.

I've said all that I wanted to say. Now, I've said enough. Some stories aren't meant to be written. Thanks for reading.
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I told The NewYorker that I blog, although not which blog I blog at, as that's caused problems before. She didn't seem particularly interested in it. She did ask though - why do you blog? Why write in public for strangers? She's got an excellent point.

I told her that it was a bit of a compulsion - I can't really help it. I admitted that while I like the attention, I really can't help writing in public. I tried to use a diary once, but it was... well... underwhelming.

"Dear Diary... Today I did whatever I did."

From the depths of my subconscious, my diary said "umm, this is stupid."

She does have me reconsidering blogging though. Why _do_ I do it? I could be writing something saleable. I could be writing vast correspondence to the friends I never get to see anymore because my work is insane.

But instead, I blog.

I blog, and some of you see fit to send me obnoxious comments... but, as the beloved Oscar Wilde wrote - "It's better to be talked about, than not to be talked about at all" which is true, so fo far as it goes. I think that the equally beloved Eden said it well when she said "It's my blog. I'll write about whatever I want. To the best of my knowledge, no one is forcing you to visit and read."

However, the annoyance factor has gotten high enough that I've turned off comments again. Trackback remains enabled for those of you who are down with that, and I encourage you to email me, although abusive emailers will be bozofiltered. Email will be quoted as comments were - selectively. Obnoxious email will be posted for the world to scorn.

If you have something to prove by denigrating me, realize that you're not going to save the world or change my behavior with your abuse. If it makes you feel better to send me nastygrams, you should take a good hard look at yourself and ask yourself "what is lacking in my life that I feel the need to denigrate a perfect stranger about his blog?" And then you should look out your window, and go engage the real world. Or, you could just go fuck yourself. At your option.

In other news - I admitted to The NewYorker that I really liked her a lot last night, that I don't just have a physical thing for her, but that I'm really enjoying the time we spend together. I woke up in the morning yesterday and thought that the day was going to be really good, just because I knew I was going to see her, and she admitted that she'd had the same feeling. I also told her I was going to stop seeing other girls for the time being, because really, I didn't have eyes for anyone else anymore.

It's funny how that sort of thing can happen. When we met, I thought she'd make a fun playmate, someone good to sleep with, that sort of thing. But the more time I spend with her, the more time I want to spend with her. Which I like.
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This week has been strange. I wanted to say that this week has been shit, but it hasn't. It just feels that way.

The fight with The NewYorker? I apologized, and she called me on Wednesday to talk and to say everything is basically fine.

Work is kicking my ass.

And I feel like I'm whining. Probably because I am.

A weird depression settled over me this week. It's been wave after wave of anxiety attack and sadness. Nothing I'm aware of is triggering it in particular. It's been very odd.

On the plus side, I just won $20 on a $5 instant win card.
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But there are scientific reasons why men fall asleep after sex.

By David Wilkes, Daily Mail
17 February 2005

The gentle buzz of snoring is among the most annoying sounds known to woman.
Especially when it happens shortly after a passionate encounter.

Yesterday scientists explained exactly why it is that men have a tendency to nod off after making love.

Apparently, it's nothing to do with wanting to avoid a cosy chat with their partner. According to the scientists, they are simply tired out.

'As frustrating as it is for most women that their male partners just roll over and fall asleep after sex, men aren't entirely to blame,' said Dr Neil Stanley, director of sleep at the University of Surrey.

'Humans are the only animals in which sleep and sex are linked and while often seen as just a poor excuse, there are scientific reasons why men feel tired after sex.

'The blood rush after climax depletes the muscles of energy-producing glycogen, leaving men feeling physically drained.

'Because they have more muscle mass than women, men become tired after sex and this subsequently leads to them feeling sleepy.'

Eighty per cent of men said they felt more relaxed and were able to drift off without any problems after making love, compared with 46 per cent of women.

They were among 10,000 adults surveyed by organisers of The Vitality Show, Europe's largest health and beauty exhibition.

Birmingham was found to have the highest number of men who fall asleep after sex.

Men in the city managed on average to stay awake for just three to four minutes, according to the survey.

In Glasgow and Liverpool, meanwhile, men claimed to take up to 20 minutes before falling asleep.

For women unwilling to relocate there, however, Dr Stanley offered some tips on keeping men awake long enough for a cuddle and chat.

'Have sex out of the bedroom, away from the usual sleeping environment, or play uplifting music - not the usual romantic sounds,' he suggested.

'Try I Feel Good by James Brown, Elvis Presley's A Little Less Conversation or Britney Spears's Toxic.'

Dr Stanley also recommends his patients to 'talk sex'. 'There is no better time to communicate with one another than after a mutually gratifying sexual experience.

'Discuss all the things you enjoyed and found arousing, try to avoid talking about the negatives,' he said.

He suggested the more adventurous could videotape their lovemaking sessions - so they have something to watch afterwards.

Not everyone nods off after sex. The survey found 48 per cent of men had actually fallen asleep during the act itself.

A mere 11 per cent of women admitted being guilty of this.

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Study: the Pill Changes Women's Taste in Men. I don't know why I find this odd, but I do.

LONDON (Agence de Presse Medicale) - Scientists reported on Wednesday a remarkable new side effect of the Pill -- it changes women's preference in men.

Psychologists at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland asked 1570 young women on oral contraceptives and 1325 women who were not, to choose between healthy and less healthy male faces. The same face was presented twice, one image glowing with apparent health, the other looking pale and unwell.

All women preferred the healthier face on average but those on the Pill were significantly more choosy. "Women using oral contraceptives expressed stronger attraction to apparent health than women not using oral contraceptives," the researchers reported in the Proceedings of the Royal Society.

The team, led by Ben Jones and David Perrett, also found in other studies that women's preference for apparently healthy faces was stronger during the post-ovulation phase of the menstrual cycle and during pregnancy.

"Collectively, these findings suggest that increased attraction to apparent health in faces coincides with conditions that are characterized by raised progesterone levels, rather than conditions that are characterized by high fertility," they said.

Women, they suggested, may have evolved strategies -- triggered by raised progesterone levels -- to reduce the risk of infection disrupting development of the unborn baby when their immune system is weaker than normal.

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By two in the morning, I'd been through a lot of shit yesterday. Work shit, Personal shit, girl shit, and none of it good shit.

I stood at the bar, my nerves frayed, and tried to rewrite my piece for tomorrow night. Instead, feeling like I was buzzing and very stressed out, I started talking to the woman sitting next to me.

She was dressed for Valentine's day, in a shortish skirt, tasteful fishnet stockings, and her lipstick was perfect.

I told her about my day. I kept some things to myself, like why I was in the bar in the first place, because to tell all is a bore.

We talked about the fact that she had taken the next day off, in case her Valentine's day went well, and so she was out all night. I had brief sentimental moments, late nights in Carnaval with The Beauty, late nights in Standard by myself, late nights in Tribe with a veritable plethora of beautiful women.

And then, when I realized how late it was, I said good night to her, and traipsed home.

It was, officially - my worst Valentines day ever.
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With Valentine's day coming, you can cook for perfect strangers and have them fall in love with you. Or so says the New York Times. Then again, they're the folks with the Jayson Blair scandal, so you may want to stick to the old standbys of flirting, not being a dumbass, and being a man.

As one guy said - "so, let me get this straight. You're a man. You were designed to kill lions and climb mountains, and you think you'll attract a woman with Spaghetti?"

When I saw Athena the other night, we talked about my prediliction for not buying women dinner until we are "seriously dating." I'm firmly in the don't-buy-things-for-women-I-am-not-fully-attached-to school. I believe it's bribery. If I wanted to bribe someone to spend time with me, I'd hire an escort, and then it wouldn't be a bribe, it'd be business.

UPDATE: The comments are getting interesting. When Jeremy took issue with what I wrote, saying:

Ah, jeez. Dude, you're ALWAYS paying for it, pally. ALWAYS. Whether you're pulling out a chair, being the one to call first or getting married. In some way or other, you're a john. And you're not designed to kill lions. You're designed to hunt in packs and give girls meat. Really. Check it out. Even male chimpanzees give female chimpanzees (our closest relative) gifts of particularly tasty spider dead monkeys in order to mate. The fact is that a date is an audition to be a provider. The fact that women can now provide for themselves is beyond the point, we're evolutionarily primed to be the provider. And sometimes that means cooking.

Check out Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. Chefs get more tail than anyone alive. And it even gets my WIFE in bed with me. And for a longtime married guy, it's quite a feat.

What the article was about, however, was making dinner as a first date, which I find to be an awful lot. How do I know that the person I'm making dinner for is worth spending time with? That's why my first dates are tea/coffee/a drink or two.

I reserve things like paying for things and making meals for women that I've already decided I'm going to take a chance on. It smacks of showing off and trying to "win" someone's affection, which is a weird framework to look at the world. "Hey, I can cook - aren't you impressed with my wonderfulness? Pay attention to me!!" The whole idea of "winning" someone's attention suggests that somehow they have something you want and you have nothing they want. I don't believe that.

I think that people who go out of their way to propitiate women on early dates view women as a "prize" - they aren't a prize. They're just people.
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Yesterday, Athena text messaged me during the day. The upshot of the texting was that we agreed to revert to being friends - we were friends first, after all, and we've decided to uncomplicate things.

When I realized that I was done with my work and it was still early, I invited her out to grab a drink and talk like old friends do.

We talked for awhile, and had beers and sat in a dimly lit bar in the West Village. We agreed to meet there as it was neutral ground, far from both of our apartments. It helped lessen the temptation.

After some time sitting there, she started to rub my belly for luck, I assume, as she starts a new job today. She started to rub my arms and shoulders, but I held fast to the "we're going to make this work as a friendship" and didn't go any farther than that.

I was, and am, determined to keep Athena in my life as a friend if I possibly can. She is, as goes with her chosen nome de plume, very wise. I find that it is very good to have wise, sexy women in my life. Particularly Athena, who has a clarity of insight into things that has proven exquisite in the past.
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I arrived, late, to meet The NewYorker at the Hudson Hotel. I'd never been - it immediately reminded me of the Delano, obviously. Clearly, peddling the same hipster fantasy.

Up the escalator, around the corner, look at the bar - where the hell is she?

Scan the room, not at a table. God, these people look like very rich, overbuff, very insecure types. The women ooze sex without enjoying it, the men work out too much. A very "so tell me if you have any coke and which boarding school you went to" seeming crowd.

Turn to the bar. There she is. Three diesel dudes talking to her. Lean back and watch for a moment. She's smiling. They're circling. Walk over to the situation, see the look of relief in her eyes. Big kiss in front of the boys. Extra flourish, I think, for their benefit. "Thank God you're here. I almost called you to make sure you'd come rescue me soon." Laugh with her, take her glass of wine and have a sip.

Begin the night.
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I'm tired and super busy these days, and not with anything fun.

So - open thread - talk amongst yourselves.

Topic: quickest time between meeting someone and finding yourself in bed with that person. (Doesn't have to involve sex, but should involve at least making out and heavy petting).

Mine was a little less than four hours - first date was at my apartment, met the girl via Friendster, and we had a few drinks at my kitchen table and then rapidly fell into bed together. Now you. Juicy details of how you seduced/were seduced would be appreciated, best ones will be blockquoted to the frontpage.
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