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12.22.2008  BY EM & LO

As of January 2nd, we've got new digs! The url will no longer work, but you'll be able to find the same kind of daily advice, horoscopes, polls, surveys, news, raves and rants about sex & relationships you've come to know and lust here over at We're currently redecorating the place to make it more blogga-friendly, but by the new year we'll be all set up to have guests over. We hope you'll come on by for a site-warming soon after New Year's and then keep dropping in whenever you like!

Very rarely are other people's dreams interesting...except when they're about sex. This week dream analyst Lauri Loewenberg deciphers a creepy gang-bang of sorts:

I just started my new job about four months ago and I work for a lawyer who is not too much older than me. I had this dream that we were having very kinky sex in my husband's childhood bed with every guy I have ever slept with watching and it seemed they were waiting in line for their turn. Weird. My husband and I have only been married for two months and I love him more than anything and would never cheat on him so I am confused... What does it mean?

Is she having buyer's remorse or does she have an inner exhibitionist dying to get out? Find out after the jump (right after you send us your own dreams!):

Our intern Kristine deGuzman, a junior at UC Berkeley, shares one of her favorite things: drunk sex with her boyfriend!

I'll admit it: when I go out and get drunk at some college party, I don't think about going dancing or taking pictures with my friends to post on Facebook the next morning. No, once I'm drunk I immediately think, "What's the quickest way I can get my boyfriend back to my dorm room so we can have hot, drunk sex?"

Sure, drunk sex is messy, sometimes quick, and hard to fully remember the following morning, but there is nothing I look forward to more than a night that begins with drinks and ends with sex. Now I'm not talking totally trashed, burping and slurring, "hold my hair back when I eventually vomit" drunk sex. Just good, old-fashioned, lowered-inhibition, fully buzzed boning.  

This is not to say that the sex is any better when we're drunk. Truth be told, it probably isn't. But when we're drunkenly dancing and making out at a college party, or in my bedroom after a long night of drinking, fumbling at each other's clothes and exchanging sloppy kisses, it feels like the beginning of our relationship again--back when we were just reckless freshmen, experimenting with frat parties, alcohol, and late-night dorm hook-ups with each other...


Our intern Katy Hopkins, a junior at Penn State, discusses how far fellow students will go to get good home-game football tickets.

Here at Penn State, we love football. We may even love it more than sex.
Home football Saturdays are practically school holidays. We get so riled up during home games that the students jumping up and down in Beaver Stadium actually register on the Richter scale. Seriously, football is probably only slightly lower than sex on most fans' priority lists, at least on those Saturday afternoons. So in an attempt to balance our two loves, students are now combining the best of both worlds: hooking up during football celebrations.

One way to mix love and football is being explored in Penn State's temporary tent village, Paternoville, a PSU tradition circa the 2005 game against our main rival, Ohio State. ("The greatest junior college in the land," as my friend Jon loves to gloat.) Students set up tents outside of Beaver Stadium to wait in a week-long line for front row seats at the game. The tradition stuck. Now, before several big home games a season, any student can camp out for the entire week in an attempt to be first in line at the ticket window, as long as they have a tent representative stationed for when the student mayor does surprise village check-ups. (Lone tents get booted from the campsite, letting everyone else move their tent up in line.) Our legendary coach JoePa, his wife SuePa and the football players themselves stop by with pizza, sign autographs and boost morale for the Paternovillians roughing it.

Apparently morale isn't the only thing going up...

Sex party decorations the morning after.

This week, our intern Antonio Reis, a first-year at Wesleyan, discusses his rude awakening to campus life:

Every September, Wesleyan University's Eclectic Society -- infamous on campus for being a Mecca of musical culture and a bastion of recreational drug use -- invites students to "Get Fucked." This year was no exception.  

I had no clue what to expect from the people I had stalked on Facebook over the summer and only recently met at orientation. But there they were: 700 students of every class year in the porn-plastered foyer wearing nothing more than bras and G-strings, boxers, jockstraps, etc. I had on a new pair of black and red Aussiebums (that's 40 U.S.D. wrapped around my nether-parts) under a white hoodie. We all crowded into two large ballrooms where video porn was projected onto the bare walls. In one corner was a massive Alice-In-Wonderland-esque armchair that was so big it required a step stool to get into. I threw my sweatshirt under it.

A writhing mass of sweaty bodies danced to the tunes of uber-hipster DJs. Women painted to look like marble statues struck poses on pedestals around the room. Two kissing booths were set up: one with a set of female twins, the other with a set of male twins (all four were students). A hut adorned with lace was constructed in one corner, filled to the brim with cushions and pillows for couples in need of semi-privacy and comfort, stat. There were so many condoms in different flavors and textures scattered around the rooms that I actually slipped on a pile of them...

Okay, so we know that you can't believe everything that a celebrity (or a celebrity magazine or a celebrity flack) says, and we know that it's hard enough to figure out how and why your own relationship ended, let alone that of Joe Jonas and Taylor Swift. (Or, say, Matt Damon and Minnie Driver: We once believed that Matt actually dumped Minnie on The Oprah Winfrey Show--but looking back, we now find ourselves squarely on Team Matt.) Also, we know that teenagers can't always be expected to act maturely when even fully grown adults screw up breakups on a daily basis. Hell, even yours truly have been breakup biotches in our time, and we literally wrote the book on how to do it nicely.

That all said, we feel it's our responsibility--being that we, you know, wrote the book on it--to speak out on how Joe Jonas may or may not have dumped Taylor Swift. As Taylor told Ellen DeGeneres (and really, who wouldn't want to get a little empathy and a big hug from Ellen after getting dumped?) Joe did the deed during a 27-second phone call. Um, sorry, no: The only dumping that should ever be done over the phone is when you're calling Dominos to cancel that pizza because it's taking too long. If the relationship is serious enough to make it into Us Weekly, then it's definitely serious enough to require an in-person breakup.


This week, our intern Maddie Phillips, a senior at SUNY Oswego, discovers another unusual male phenomenon:

Until recently, I thought straight-male bonding in college consisted of video games, flag football behind Lee Hall, heated debates about who drank more over the weekend, and flatulence competitions. However, there's a new -- or rather, new-to-me -- brand of male bonding out there: guys watching porn together. Let me rephrase that: GUYS WATCHING PORN TOGETHER?!?
That's what a dear fraternity friend casually disclosed to me a few weeks ago. My jaw dropped in confusion and curiosity. So, what's a naturally inquisitive young lady supposed to do with a lead like this? Well, I set off to do a bit of very unscientific research on the topic. Being an over-achiever who's involved almost to the point of nervous breakdown gives me an eclectic group of guy friends -- geeks, jocks, artsy-fartsy types, would-be politicians, fellow keg standers -- whom I can grill on their socio-sexual tendencies heretofore unknown to me.

The findings? Almost all of the straight guys I asked about the topic had some kind of experience watching porn with at least one other guy. Which begs the questions: Why exactly would you want to get a boner in front of your friends? And if you get said boner, do you rub it out right there out in front of them?!...


Our intern Kristine deGuzman, a junior at UC Berkeley, discusses the great divide between her and her boyf:

My boyfriend is a foot taller than me. An entire foot. It's difficult enough for us to kiss standing up, let alone in a horizontal position while having sex.

Normally, when deciding whom to date and whom not to date, I take our height differences into consideration. Being 4'11", I understand that there are some guys who are just out of my reach, literally. For instance, at a kickback at my apartment last year, I met the sweetest, most charismatic and most beautiful boy I had ever met. However, he was 6'5". It just didn't seem feasible that we would ever be physically comfortable together. Even standing on a chair he was still much taller than me -- and I can't be standing on chairs all the time. So there he was, possibly the most perfect boy I had ever met, and he was just too tall for me. It happens...

10.16.2008  BY EM & LO
There's a blog post on this week about sanctioned extramarital handjobs, titled "I Told My Husband to Get a 'Happy Ending.'" The subtitle tells you all you need to know: "I don't consider it cheating--and when he finally got his 'massage,' I was happy for him!" Big whoop, right? It was her idea, he enjoyed it, and it made her happy that he enjoyed it. Yay for making up your own rules when it comes to long-term monogamy! She's not exactly the first woman to give her man this kind of permission slip, and she's certainly not the first to write about it either--even two relative prudes like us wrote about considering the same thing back in 2005. (Our guys never took us up on the offer, so we never got to find out if we could be as open-minded in practice as in theory.)

No, the real shocker is in the feedback section at the bottom of the page. The readers are PISSED OFF! Now, maybe this is what you get for blogging about handjobs on a site that is more likely to feature stories about Halloween costumes for kids or whether Bachelorette Trista's second pregnancy is high-risk. But still. After the jump, a random sampling of the vitriol:


We just got the press release for the results from a recent, totally unscientific, online survey held on about sex and marriage. Here's our totally unscientific analysis of their 8 findings:

  • "More than half (52%) of brides-to-be expect that their sex lives will improve after walking down the aisle." That's romantic, in a special helmet kind of way. But if the sex isn't good now, simply saying "I do" is not going to automatically turn you into Kama Sutra experts. Maybe they were just thinking about the honeymoon booty.
  • "Before that walk, however, more than a third (37%) admit to fantasizing about 'another man' when in bed with their fiancé." Could be a case of buyer's remorse setting in, but we prefer to think this is just an example of a healthy fantasy life--one that will serve the brides well during their marriage, when one's imagination becomes key in spicing things up.
  • "A good number (76%) also say that their sex life has either simply stayed the same or worsened since they got engaged." readers are probably fairly traditional, buying into the idea that you absolutely NEED to have the most perfect, positively precious flowers, food, music, gown, planner, venue, date, wedding party, favors, makeup artist, stylist, planner, etc. for "THE most important day of your freakin' life." If you were caught in the organizational/financial pressure cooker that is the modern wedding, then your sex life would probably suffer too. Let's take a big breath ladies, keep things in perspective, and tap your fiance's ass to take the edge off.

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Em & Lo, more formally known as Emma Taylor and Lorelei Sharkey, are the self-proclaimed Emily Posts of the modern bedroom.

Dr. Kate is an OB/GYN at one of the largest teaching hospitals in New York City.

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