Ladies, gentlemen: I am a slut.

No two ways around it: I like sex. I like sex with lots of different people. I like sex in lots of different ways. I like talking about sex. I like writing about sex. So I go out, and I hook up, and I do not always stick around to cuddle. This doesn’t mean that I’m all messed up inside, or that I need men’s approval (if you look at my “to do” list, you’ll see that “caring about men’s approval” is on the bottom, directly beneath “personally oversee the freezing-over of Hell”), or that I can’t be faithful or intimate when I fall in looooove.

It’s tough to define my motives for sleeping around, but, if I had to make a guess, I think it might have something to do with the fact that I have a huge freaking pleasure center in my crotch, and it feels good when people touch it. So yeah: I’m a slut. I call myself a slut. I let my friends call me a slut. I even let my dude call me a slut, although that happens exclusively in bed. (more…)

At the gym this morning I caught a segment on some talk show about cheating. Basically, the show was about agencies that helped people find out if their mate was cheating on them, and if such spy agencies were even ethical.

One of the panelists on the show was “relationship expertâ€? and author Steve Santagati, a “former model and bad boyâ€? who penned The Manual: A True Bad Boy Explains How Men Think, Date, and Mate–and What Women Can Do to Come Out on Top.

I’ve caught Santagati’s TV appearances before, and each time I see his smug face on camera I can’t help but throw up a little and shake my head at all the women who actually buy anything written by such an obvious egoist.

My distaste aside, Santagati never actually said anything revolting during those appearances, so I had nothing to confirm my gut reaction—until this morning. (more…)