Issue #68 – “The Seventeen Year Itch” – May 23rd, 2005

-The other day, I was reading about these bugs called cicadas that lie dormant underground for seventeen years.  Then, after seventeen years, they come out, they mate, and then they die the next day.  And I couldn’t help but wonder, how much would it suck to be the guy that doesn’t hook up that night?

-When presented with the prospect of hitting the bars after a long day of work, human males will always carefully consider their options.  The angel on one shoulder says, “Stay home!  You’re gonna have two overpriced beers and want to leave in ten minutes anyway.  Plus you just got that gourmet new porno.”  But the devil on the other shoulder simply says, “But if you go out, you might hook up.”  Ever wonder where the devil is later, when you’re paying for those expensive drinks and there’s not a chick in sight?  I bet he’s trying to fuck the angel.

-And as much energy as guys expend attempting to hook up, girls expend an equal amount thwarting our advances.  I’ve found that the less a girl wants to hook up with a guy she meets at a bar, the more outlandish an excuse she’ll give, and it will often be accompanied by blatant giggling and eye rolling with her nearby girl friends.  And nothing inspires confidence in a guy like a giggling, eye-rolling girl telling you she has to leave because her bi-racial, lesbian half-sister’s Bat Mitzvah is in the morning.

-If a girl does actually decide to go home with a guy, she’ll often try to be stern and lay down the law as to how far the hook-up is going to go.  However, instead of being dejected, guys are usually elated because we then expect to get one notch below where the line was drawn.  If a girl says, “Just so you know, I’m not sleeping with you,” we’re thinking, “Awesome.  Blow job!”

-As for me, I’ve been dating Girlfriend for a whopping year and three months.  This is a good time, because we’re way past the standard “cross-pollination” phase of our relationship.   That was the time, after we first started going out, when all my friends asked me if Girlfriend knew hot chicks, and all of Girlfriend’s friends asked her if I knew cute boys.  Then they all met, a few from my side hooked up with a few from her side, drama ensued, and everything got a little awkward.  Luckily, everyone on both sides was immature enough to simply avoid each other until it eventually blew over.

-I will say that Girlfriend and I make for quite the inebriated couple.  Our first kiss was, as expected, a drunken dance floor make-out at a bar.  As it turns out, Girlfriend not only doesn’t remember our first kiss, she doesn’t even remember being there.

-In the end, hook-ups come in many varieties and can lead to all sorts of weird relationships.  For instance, my buddy Seth lives at home with his parents and is dating a girl that also lives at home with her parents.  And what’s hotter than rent-free, semi-private sex?  I also know a girl my age that is dating a guy still in college.  Weird, because I thought that chicks figured out never to sleep at a frat house by the time they were sophomores.  And let’s not forget our friends the cicadas.  Imagine waiting seventeen years for a chance to hook up but coming home empty-handed.  The other bugs are trying to make you feel better, but it’s totally not working.  They’re like, “Hey man, look on the bright side – at least you’ve got six hands to jerk off with.  I’d just do it quickly, because we’re gonna die in about fifteen minutes.”

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-Is it weird that when I walk by bakeries and delis in the city, I try to memorize what the top cookie on the pile in the window looks like so that when I pass by three days later I’ll know if it’s just been sitting there?  I’m guessing yes.

-Do you think tattoo artists are ever like, “Listen, I’m sorry but I really think you’re way too drunk right now.”

-Memo to George Lucas: dude, we’re all gonna see the movie.  Enough with all the promotion already.  I really don’t need Chewbacca dental floss.

-By the way, if you’re a dork, but your Facebook or MySpace profile features a picture of you with the one hot chick you happen to know, you’re still a dork.

-English Muffins are neither English nor muffins.  Discuss.

-Speaking of which, did you know there was huge election in Britain a few weeks ago?  Yeah, me neither.  How about that.

-Could there be any more run, walk, bike, or jog-a-thons going on this summer?  Why combine charity with something boring like exercise?  Why not combine it with sex?  Or booze?  Or what about Star Wars?  I’m pretty sure Star Wars is available.

-So I’ve just wrapped up touring colleges for the semester.  And what a wet and wild, popped-collar-filled adventure it was.  Two things I noticed: at every campus I went to, at least one person told me that Playboy had named the school library one of the best places in the country to pick up girls.  Uh, no they didn’t.  Also, on numerous occasions it was explained to me that the lack of sorority houses on campus was due to a law that a certain amount of girls living in the same house is considered a brothel.  Yeah, that’s not true either – it’s an urban myth.  I’d say you guys were all smoking crack, but with drug tests at work coming up for the graduating seniors, that’s probably not the case.

-My five med school friends have finally graduated and become real, live doctors.  Two of them, Dr. Shermdog and Dr. Triplet #3, are training to become orthopedic surgeons.  The other three, Dr. Chris, Dr. Seth, and Dr. Adam, are going to be anesthesiologists.  Supposedly orthopedics is more “hard-core” while anesthesiology has a better lifestyle.  But I bet they all watch “Scrubs” and totally nitpick.

-And, finally, I actually do have one more school performance coming up.  I’m going to be speaking to the senior class at my high school next week.  It should definitely be an interesting experience.  When I graduated from good ‘ol Plainview JFK High eight long years ago, never did I think I’d be invited back to do something like this.  The devil on my shoulder is telling me to hit on the senior girls, but that’s one seventeen-year-old itch I will not be scratching.  Fuck me.