Two apartments, both alike in furniture from Ikea…

We all come to Valentine’s Day with baggage—and not just the red, heart-shaped kind that’s full of chocolates. In honor of the holiday of lurve, I thought I would tell my favorite modern love story.

Our story begins with two unlikely lovers, pushed together by fate—and one very crowded subway car. From the moment they met, when Juliet found her face pressed into Dan Romeo’s sweaty armpit on the jolting F-Train, they behaved like two pups that had just tasted meat for the first time. They were insufferable—no!—inseparable.

Then one night Romeo and his friend Ben Volio went to meet Juliet at their favorite spot, Bar Verona, where she waited with her cousin Ty Balt—on her mother’s side—who had just moved to New York. However, when Romeo and Ben Volio arrived, a drunk dude tripped good ol’ Ben V. and Romeo, ever the good friend, stepped in to defend him. Well, one thing led to another, for you know how things go, and soon Dan Romeo could show his face at Bar Verona no mo’.

As fate would have it, the drunk gentleman in the fight was none other than Juliet’s cousin Ty. Hearing of Ty’s black eye, before his big corporate interview the next morning no less, Juliet’s family ordered her never to see that Dan Romeo again.

Given that the next day was Valentine’s, Juliet’s mother arranged a date with her friend’s son, Jeremy Paris Jr., instead. Desperate and dreading that fateful arrangement, Juliet sat in her room weeping, hoping Dan Romeo would show up, text or at the very least drunk-dial. When he did not, she imagined the worst.

She pictured him out with that two-bit ho’ Rosaline, who used to text him “Where 4 art thou Romeo?” late at night. In a fit of despair, Juliet picked up her phone and dialed 1-800-COOKIES.
When the cookies arrived, warm and gooey in their pizza box, she climbed back into her quilted tomb where she wept and ate. She took a long slow sip of milk and let the mustache sit atop her quivering upper lip.

Within minutes, she was fast asleep underneath the pizza box of cookies. A sweet escape, she felt no more pain.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Drunk Romeo! He knocked once, twice, three times to no avail. Could it be, was Juliet out on a date with that jerk Jeremy Paris Jr.? He remembered the spare key in the stairwell and opened her door, poised to await her return and take on JP Jr.

But what was this, Juliet asleep in her bed? What innocence! And yet why was her stomach so full? What frothy white mustache? The hard cookie rinds left in the box. Ah, woe! Let me join you in that sweet saving sleep!

With that, Romeo finished the rest of the cookies, licked the last of Juliet’s milk mustache, and collapsed beside her with one final “mmm.”

Just then Juliet’s phone made a buzz. Ah ha! She awoke. My Romeo?! But alas, it was JP Jr. confirming the details of the next night. Ah woe, woe to have such—what is this?! There she saw Romeo, asleep to her side. My love!

She hugged him close, but his stomach made a sound. That telltale churning. She smelled the peanut butter on his breath. Oh Romeo, to have joined her food coma a moment too soon!

She reached her hand across his chest and felt something hard. A box of Valentine’s chocolates—oh, what saving grace! With one final kiss, she ate the chocolates, every last one, and atop him she lay, stomach aching and full.

And so, I shall say, think wisely before you eat your Valentine’s Day troubles away. For never was a story of more indigestion and regret, as that of Dan Romeo and his true love, Juliet.

Photo by heraldpost, courtesy of Flickr Commons.

By Rebecca Hoffman

It was almost two weeks ago that Speaker Christine Quinn held her first free self-defense class in Central Park. This event was in response to an increased number of sexual assaults on women in the city, most notably an incident involving the rape of a 73-year-old woman in Central Park.

While free self-defense classes are great and the fact that the local government is taking steps to intervene is commendable, what does all of this really serve to accomplish? Not much. One or two classes are hardly going to educate all of New York. Furthermore, it doesn’t even touch on the real problem: the attackers themselves. Sexual assaults play a larger part in more people’s daily lives than most people realize.

Blogs like “Who Needs Feminism” and “Project Unbreakable” have new women, and men, submitting their personal stories of assault and survival on a daily basis. These sites create a safe place for victims and survivors to speak out about what has happened to them. Whether it’s something as simple as an inappropriate catcall or something as violent as a rape, sexual assaults are taking place far too frequently.

Making a community for survivors, either online or in self-defense classes, is a strong platform for change, but it is only the foundation for it. The internet provides a voice for survivors and victims of sexual assault crimes in a way that has never been done before. Speaking out in a safe and unthreatened way is often the first step to healing, but it also serves to raise awareness about these sorts of crimes. This awareness then hopefully helps educate potential victims and attackers on how wrong this behavior is to accept and inflict. Being vocal and raising awareness is a good step in educating a new generation on respectful and appropriate behavior.

However, speaking out against attacks is part of the aftermath of an assault and not a part of uprooting the original problem—the attacks themselves.

On the other end of the spectrum, self-defense classes can be a great precautionary measure to an assault. But again this is something being done to help protect a would be victim from an assault; and so works under the assumption of there being an assault. Neither self-defense nor speaking out on an attack manages to directly address or change the actual problem, which is: the initial assault and assaulter. Both tactics focus on preparing women, and potential victims, for a problem instead of working on stopping the problem.

The heart of the problem is that attackers think they can attack women and get away with it. To truly address this issue would require recalibrating our thinking as a community. The focus should not be on protecting victims, but on preventing there even being victims. For there to be any real, significant, and lasting change the community’s focus needs to move from the victim to the attacker. Educating survivors and potential victims on how to protect themselves is a great start, but that’s all it is—a start. Actual change will come with educating and, in turn, preventing would be attackers, but this is, undeniably, a much bigger and more difficult issue to tackle.

According to movies and television it is a scientific fact that Nerds have long been plagued with debilitating social diseases such as acne, braces, limp wrist, four-eyes, and polio. But now the Wizards over at the Department of Genome Sciences at the University of Washington have crafted a method of casting the Sequence Genome spell on a fetus using only plasma extracted from the blood of a mother. With this conjuration the Wizard will roll for perception and may reveal any number of genetic cankers blighting the womb. In the end, of course, it’s up to the parents to decide the fate of their spawn.

In this video a handsome sounding scientists explains the benefits of the new magick:

.@BYTES1GHz is a single serving of undigested tech for the unfocused and/or unconcerned. Don’t be disappoint. Like. Enjoy.

Via Wiki Commons

by Rebecca Hoffman

However, if you’re not mature enough to just say it, or show it, to the person in person then you probably shouldn’t be texting it.  Besides, all this online or textualized sex talk boils down to being nothing more than assisted masturbation.  So instead of making an inerasable mistake why not just take the other hand and put it to good use?

I first met Shya and Ariel Kane at the Body, Mind Spirit Expo in Edison, New Jersey. I had read their first two books, Working on Yourself Doesn’t Work and How to Create a Magical Relationship, and they gave me a copy of Being Here, their last book, which is also the title of their weekly radio show.

The Kanes have a truly unique methodology towards self help, which they refer to as “Instantaneous Transformation.”  Their approach to self discovery is anthropological in nature. (An anthropologist is one who observes human behavior and notates what he or she sees in a non-judgmental way). This empowers participants of their interactive seminars to find peace of mind and well being by viewing their actions within a non-judgmental framework, allowing for honest self-observation without self-reproach. It also creates a safe learning environment where feedback is given and received in a non-threatening manner, which results in a strong support structure for improving self esteem.

What makes the Kanes’ approach to self discovery unique is that it is not problem/solution oriented. They have found that the simple identification, recognition and self responsibility of unexamined behavior patterns or beliefs are enough to facilitate resolution without having to “work on” them as problems. The Kanes have found that the slightest shift in one’s reality can produce a quantum shift in one’s life — Instantaneous Transformation.

I saw the Kanes in action at one of their “Monday Night Alive” events, which take place weekly at the New Yorker hotel. They only spoke for a short time, but the rest of evening was like an “open mike night” for people in the audience to come up and talk about the successes they were experiencing using this technique, or looking for guidance from the Kanes or the group. Ariel and Shya would offer suggestions that were both serious and light-hearted and the comment that was most often heard from participants was that they never dreamed it could be so easy to create the life, career, or relationship of their dreams.

The same energy that is reflected in the workshops is alive and well in their new book, How to Have a Match Made in Heaven ($15.95ASK Books). The book pulls together the very best information of their previous publications, within the framework of short stories and interviews with many of their workshop participants. The interviews are unscripted and surprisingly open and honest, as are the personal stories that both Shya and Ariel tell. The depth of this intimacy allows the reader to feel an immediate connection to the stories and the people in the book. But if that wasn’t enough, the Kanes have offered a new and unique level of interactivity. Readers can also go to their website www.TransformationMadeEasy.com to view actual videos of the interviews. This allows the reader to fully participate in the book, in the same manner as being a part of one of their workshops or seminars. I have not seen this done prior to this book and I admire those who participated in the making of the book and videos for sharing such personal insights.

The Greek philosopher Socrates is credited with saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” In How to Have a Match Made in Heaven, Ariel and Shya Kane teach how to easily examine your life . . . how to be alive . . . how to be in the moment and how to create the life and relationships of your dreams!

Readers who order the book from Amazon.com on its release date 9/4/12 will also be eligible for over $400 in additional free bonus gifts at this site: http://www.matchmadeinheavenbook.com/bookpromo/

Photo by the Figbar, courtesy of Flickr Commons.

By Emillio Mesa

“Your punishment is that you have to spend the night with me”.

At the stroke of midnight, after three hours of bar hopping and grabbing the obligatory slice of pizza, in downtown NYC, my friends decided to ditch me. Some hooked up, while others had to get up early for work. I, on the other hand, was off the following day and still had my cocktail buzz and wanted to continue, and so I did-alone. I landed at a roof top bar in west Chelsea where I was surrounded by men without a shirt, in leather, or in a suit. I wore khaki shorts and a white t-shirt. As I made my way to the crowded bar, I couldn’t help but to recognize a local weatherman in a harness and an on-air journalist cruising for muscles. Waiting for my drink, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Are you runner?” said the man with the salt and pepper-ish hair, with the brightest-grayest eyes I’ve ever seen.

“I was in high school. Why?” I responded.

“Well, you are lucky. Your body has great memory and good genes from what I see” he said.

“Thanks, I guess” I responded.

“Why do you guess? It is” he said.

“Wait, where are you from? From which Spanish speaking country?” I asked.

“I am from ARR-Gen-TI-NaHhh” he said.

I told him I spoke Spanish too because I was born and partially raised in The Dominican Republic. His eyes widened while flashing his pearly-whites, from ear to ear.

“Papiiii, I love Dominicanos!” he said.

He proceeded to tell his favorite things, from foods to “platanos”, not the kind that grows on trees but in between men’s legs. I rolled my eyes and told him to relax.  He told me he was nervous and asked me to forgive him if he offended me. His apology was genuine, so I accepted and thanked him for it-besides he wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last time. We had a couple of light beers on a bench, while discussing life in NYC. He’s a stylist with a steady stable of Upper East Side ladies-who lunch. Before we knew it, it was almost 2 am. I had brunch plans in the morning and had to get going. We were both heading in the same direction, so we decided to share a cab. When we got to his destination he asked me to come up for a night cap. Not being a stranger to these types of situations, I knew what was coming next and I actually wanted it too. His intense gaze, mischievous smile, and the accent-paired with how he looked in his jeans, made it quite difficult for me to say no. Before entering the apartment, he asked not to make too much noise.

“OH My God. Here we go with the bullshit, NYC, roommate situation” I said to him.

“No.  I’m hosting a seventeen years old model from Slovenia, in town shopping for an agency. I just don’t want to startle her” he said.

After taking the first sip of the vodka tonic, he leaned in and kissed me. We both put the drinks down and started to make out.

“Do you like poppers” he asked me.

“I usually don’t because they give me a headache, but what the hell?!” I said.

We both sniffed the poppers and felt the rush of warm sensations with dizziness-take over us. Immediately after- lights off, all clothes on the ground, and our sweating bodies fell on the bed. We laid head to toe and started to 69 each other. From the other side, I heard a familiar “rattling” sound. He was shaking the bottle of poppers, before sniffing. After screwing the cap back on the bottle, he flipped my leg so fast that before my foot landed on the bed, I heard him scream.

“AYyyyyy” he said. I got up to face him and saw blood splattered all over his white-goose feather comforter and my feet-as he shook his head back and forth and up and down.

“What happened” I said as the beads of sweat ran down my face.

“Your knee hit my face” he said.

With my heart pounding a mile a minute, I jumped out of the bed and escorted him to the bathroom. I turned on the cold water and opened up the medicine cabinet, looking for a first aid kit. I cleaned him up and took him back to the room, all the while trying to make as little noise as possible, so we wouldn’t scare the model across the hall.

“AYyyy, papi, you almost killed me. But I grew up on a farm, I’ll be o.k.” he said as he laughed.

In an attempt to clean up the scene of the crash, I took the comforter off the bed and replaced it with clean, dark blue sheets, then turned on the air conditioning. I put on my underwear and shorts, while he lay on the bed.

“NO! You are leaving me now?” he asked while getting up.

“I guess so. I thought maybe you’d want to be alone. Besides, it’s after 3 am and I have plans in the morning” I responded. I didn’t know what else to say, I was so embarrassed. I think he picked up on it too.

“Your punishment is that you have to spend the night with me” he said jokingly, while sitting naked on the corner of his bed-with smiling eyes and a slight frown. I couldn’t resist the wounded puppy look on his face, so I decided to stay. He took a Xanax for the black eye that started to settle in-and gave me one to calm my still throbbing heart. I placed his head on my chest and we fell asleep. Hours later we woke up and had safe sex, with no head on collisions. This time we were both paying attention and not completely lost in the “rush” of the moment. Soon after we climaxed, I noticed he started to bleed-again. I took him to a nearby emergency room, where he got two butterfly stitches above his right eyebrow.

“The nurse asked me how it happened” he said to me.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“That I reached for a bag of vegetables and a platano hit me in the face. I don’t think she believed me but she smiled. Will I see you again?” he said as he controlled his own laughter.

“Give me your number and I’ll check up on you later” I said while hailing a cab and laughing.

I kissed him on the forehead then put him in the car. The Argentinian and I became friends with benefits. He says he is proud of his “fashionable scar”.

Downtown was buzzing with excitement yesterday for the prospect of free vibrators. Trojan announced that it would be distributing 10,000 Tri-Phoria and The Pulse devices — $40 and $30 retail values, respectively! — from two hot dog carts in different neighborhoods throughout the day, so New Yorkers lined the streets of the planned locations in anticipation.

Most people left disappointed, though, because a City Hall rep stopped the popular condom brand from delivering the goods shortly after they set up shop.

Citizens were not shy to express their frustration with the city’s interruption to media on the scene. “There’s a lot more important things the city should be worried about than a free-vibrator giveaway,” bar owner Melody Henry told New York Post. “Bloomberg doesn’t want anyone to have fun. You can’t have a giant soda. You can’t have a vibrator.”

Photo by paulinaclemente, courtesy of Flickr Commons.

By Rebecca Hoffman

So you’re in a relationship and it’s great except for this minor problem.  Your partner needs you for everything.  At first it was nice.  It’s always nice to be needed, but then it was annoying, and then it became too much.  After all, you’re their partner not their proofreader; you really don’t need to OK every email they send to their boss.

Sex sells.  It really is that simple.  E.L. James the author of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy can attest to it.  Her ‘romance’ novels have resulted in the sale of approximately 16 million books, which means its outsold Harry Potter, and why?  Because sex sells: in advertising, in fashion, in movies, and yes, even in literature.

Via Twitter

By Rebecca Hoffman

Hating on victims seems to be a popular trend these days. Because, after all, she was dressing for it, asking for it, or should’ve just kept her mouth shut. The last one seems to be especially true for, 17-year-old, Savannah Dietrich who was facing potential jail time for tweeting the names of her attackers.

Savannah’s attackers were found guilty, but let off with a plea bargain. What was worse was that Savannah was forbidden from even revealing her attackers or what they’d done. Now, almost a year after the incident, Savannah was closer to doing jail time for speaking out about what happened to her than her attackers were for committing said attack. Though Savannah will not be sent to jail the entire trial raises a lot of questions about how the judicial system treats its victims.

With how victims have been treated lately Savannah should be happy nobody is blaming her for the attack, but trying to keep her quiet about the ordeal hardly seems like a solidified victory. An attorney for one of the attackers cautioned that exposing the boys’ identities could create problems for them in the future. Well, there is a saying for that: if you can’t do the time, then don’t do the crime. Convicted sex offenders are supposed to be publicly registered so neighbors can protect themselves as they see fit. The boys that attacked Savannah were found guilty, so why is protecting their identities so important?

It’s true that everyone makes mistakes and people do change, but it’s important that everybody takes responsibility for their actions too, and that doesn’t mean only in front of a judge. Attacks have permanent and life-changing effects on the victims. It seems only fair that attackers should have to carry some of this burden. The first step in this process is to stop blaming and restricting victims and to focus on punishing attackers.

Not many things are black and white anymore, but you would think that sexual assault would fall into the just plain wrong category. There are people who do take advantage of the system whether that’s through false accusations or trivial lawsuits, but the majority of cases are still real.

It takes courage to come forward and report a crime and face an attacker in court, especially when it comes to sexual assault crimes. These types of crimes are traumatizing and often embarrassing for the victim, and society doesn’t make it any easier with all the victim blaming. According to RAINN, the Rape Abuse Incest National Network, 54% of rape and sexual assault crimes aren’t even reported and it’s not hard to see why. What Savannah did took courage and should be seen as a positive example to victims everywhere. The fact that she was even threatened with jail time for speaking out against her attackers sends the wrong message.

Slut walks and petitions are a good place to start when standing up for sexual assault victims, but maybe it be more productive to shift the focus from supporting the victims to shaming the attackers. Instead of shaming victims into silence we should be shaming the attackers from doing the crimes in the first place, not granting them anonymity from their actions.

Society, as a whole, teaches potential victims: be safe, use common sense, don’t go out alone, etc. As a result, it’s not hard to see why victims blame themselves for crimes done to them. Victims think they were attacked because they weren’t smart about their actions, but that’s not the case. They were attacked because someone else decided to attack them. If half the publicity victims got was put on shaming the attackers then maybe society could start to teach the more obvious lesson: don’t attack, instead of don’t be attacked.