A couple of emails worth sharing.  The first two I got either today or yesterday in regards to yesterday’s post about my body hair.  The third email I got about a week ago (I think), but it relates to the same stuff.

First, Adam from Waco:

You know it’s funny because I lived with a guy in college who we called sweater chest. Towards the end of our college career I started working full time before he did. My first job after five glorious years of college was a yard dog at my company’s asphalt plant. Yes, I went to school to do construction. Anyhoo, I got to come home for the weekend early on a Friday and couldn’t wait to tie one on. When I walked into my house I could smell chemicals, I mean really strong chemicals. As I made it through the living room wondering what the fuck was going on, I make the turn into my room and as I pass the bathroom there’s sweater chest Nairing his back. He didn’t hear come in because the stereo was blaring and he was singing along. He looked at me like I said the F word in front of The Pope. After we exchange eye contact and I ask him the hell he’s doing, he asks me if I could rub some Nair in the area he couldn’t reach. Being the good friend that I am didn’t think twice and grabbed the bottle. Well, the time it took me to grab the bottle, fill up my hand and start rubbing it on his back our other roommate comes home from work. To this day he swears we’re gay. So tell Brian good friends do that and think nothing of it.

This was a mistake on your buddy’s part.  Nair is dangerous.  A few years back, I tried to "surprise" an ex by de-hairing with Nair and burned the shit out of myself.  I couldn’t wash the affected areas for like a week, because every time soap touched my body, it stung like a mother fucker.  I’m surprised Sweater Chest didn’t face a similar fate.

But thank you, Adam.  I’ll be sure to tell my roommate Brian that there is precedent for dude-on-dude grooming.  And that it don’t make you gay.

The second email comes from Carolyn in San Fran:

jason-

as i started reading your post today, i chillingly remembered a time about 6 years [ago] when i was hooking up with a friend/bartender (yeah, i’m classy). upon getting down to business, i reached up and felt two rough handfuls of back stubble. i recoiled in horror, saying "shit john! do you shave your back?". he then proudly told me of his back shaving apparatus which consisted of his beard trimmer rubberbanded to a metal hanger.

as i continued reading your post, i realized you had come up with pretty much the same idea, but somehow "wooden ruler" is a lot less scary than "metal hanger". i also realized that having read every word of your blog before, i should have caught this earlier. either i was drunk, or the memory was buried too deeply. or both.

at any rate- please, please, please don’t use too low of a setting on the back. it doesn’t feel like a chihuahua or a doberman, it feels like back stubble. if you ever get laid again, you will thank me.

love- carolyn

ps- i fucked him anyway

While I appreciate the input, Carolyn, I assure you that my back is not stubbly.  I make sure that the hair is just long enough so that it is not rough, but just short enough so that it is invisible to the naked eye (especially in the dark).  I stand by my doberman/chihuahua comparison and invite you, if you disagree, to come and touch my back.  It will probably be the biggest mistake of your life.

(But hopefully you’ll sleep with me anyway.)

Carolyn’s email is a nice segue into the last one.  Some chick who wishes to remain anonymous (really? anonymous? all I want is a first name and location – is that too much to ask?) writes:

Hi Jason,

You have hit upon something that actually applies to me. Today you said in reference to the threesome website guy: "I’m sure he’d love to have sex with as many women at one time as possible, so long as he could keep his shirt on."

Now, you have spoken at length about sex and relationships, most of which we’ve all heard before. A lot of which I think is bullshit. But, I think you’ve touched upon an interesting point that I have never heard discussed before, anywhere, if memory serves.

My question is: what is it with guys who want to keep their shirts on during sex? I had one long-term boyfriend who did this occasionally. Sometimes, being a girl, I would throw a moderate hissy fit bemoaning his emotional unavailability, which I attributed directly to his preference for shirt-on intercourse.

Is this all it is? Are guys who like to have their shirt on during sex just immature, emotionally withdrawn jerks? Or, is there something else to it? Whether it is the former or not, what is your opinion on this? Should us girls run from all of them? Or, are some of them quasi-redeemable and suffering simply from contemporary socialization?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. No one discusses this!

Talk about overthinking.  Yes, I occasionally keep my shirt on doing sex, but I used to do this much more in the past than nowadays, since I don’t really give a fuck anymore.  Speaking from experience, the reason that I kept my shirt on during sex is because I’m fucking fat and hairy.  That’s why.  Not because I’m emotionally unavailable or anything like that, but because I don’t want to show my nasty torso to any poor woman who happens to be confused enough to have sex with me.  Obviously, if she’s willing to let me make love to her, she’s been through enough already.  She doesn’t need to see and feel me giving her rug burns from her belly button to her neck.

But again, I got over that and am now a shirtless love-maker.  The good news is that by taking my shirt off, I am able to prolong ejaculation.  Whenever I think I’m about ready, all I have to do is look at my 230 pounds of maniac and fury jackhammering away at my lover, usually a poor immigrant girl who is so far from home and keeps muttering "Dios Mio" over and over again (but not in a good way), and I can keep going until my heart stops.  Me = S-E-X machine. 

I suppose it could mean that the guy is emotionally withdrawn, but this email sounds like a girl being crazy and overthinking.  I’m guessing it was just a body image issue on his part. 

(Of course, I’m leaving on intentional, partially-clothed sex, which is awesome.  Anytime I can keep my shirt or most of my clothes on but can pass it off as "the heat of the moment", well, I’m going to take advantage of that.)

And that’s all the emails for this week.

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Speaking of the threesome guy, I got an email from Jim, the original threesome guy himself.  He wrote to me last week to try to set the record straight on his site.

It seems that Jim started an original site at helpwinmybet.com.  This is the site that I saw a few weeks ago and was planning on writing about, believing it was a worthy cause.

However, someone stole Jim’s idea and created helpwinTHISbet.com.  The dude copied Jim’s idea entirely and passed it off as his own, but it was this site that was passed around the net, getting a ton of hits.

That is not to say Jim’s site didn’t get hits too; he got his two million, but he writes on there that his girl has now backed away from the threesome, agreeing to do it only if he gets 74,261,867 hits (he’s currently at almost 3.4 million). 

I wish Jim luck with this, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. It’s difficult but attainable if he’s just counting hits, but if he’s counting unique visitors, it ain’t going to happen.  That means 74 million different IP addresses would have to log onto his site.  Pretty much impossible for something that isn’t already a top ten site.

But I thank Jim for taking the time to write to me to set the record straight.  Let’s all hope that Jim’s girl relents and gives into the threesome, the lucky son of a bitch.   

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There is major, major construction going on in my street.  I can deal with it though.  I like noise in general at night, because it makes me feel safe.  Noise means things are alive.  That is good.

But I have a limit.  This morning, the noise outside my bedroom window was so loud that I did not hear my alarm, which was blasting Spanish radio six inches from my head.  My alarm, very loud and right next to me, was drowned out by the bangs and clangs and rumbles of construction that were taking place outside of my apartment. 

That should give you an idea of how fucking loud my bedroom is.  The good news (or sad news) is that Brian is moving out soon and I will soon be sleeping in his old bedroom, which is essentially a tomb/walk-in closet with a two by two window.  Quiet.  Very quiet.  A real sex tomb.

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This isn’t really a joke (it’s not a joke at all actually), but this is the worst allergy season I’ve ever experienced – by far.  I’m popping Claritin like jellybeans and spending my time rubbing my eyes and nose, wondering how so much snot could come out of me (and I’m a big boy). 

Again, no joke, but I know how you guys like it when I suffer.  And I am suffering.  Big time.  So I hope you’re happy.

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Some very quick sports things:

1) The Flyers are a joke.  That was a terrible, terrible series.  I’ve never, in my lifetime, seen Philly hockey so embarrassed.  I was just starting to warm to hockey, but this is why I stay away from it.

2) I watched a lot of the NFL draft this weekend and, like the rest of the world, was surprised by some of the picks.  However, I do like the Eagles’ picks very much.  I was salivating about Bunkley when Kiper brought him up at #9, as he is a beast.  I also like Justice, not only because of his great name ("Winston Justice") but because he was an integral part of (arguably) the best o-line in college football the past few years.  And I like Bloom, a very athletic guy and great competitor who could be a real Philly fan favorite.  

3) The Phillies…I don’t even know.  I agree with what Charlie Manuel said last year, that you can’t judge a team by a month’s performance.  But things look pretty obvious.  The team is hovering around .500 (though they have won four in a row), the offense is playing pretty well (save for Jimmy Rollins who is in a horrible slump), and the pitching, aside from Flash and Brett Myers, is suspect at best.  The Mets are the cream of the division and you can never discount Atlanta (even though they look discountable), so early indications are that it’s going to be another long, mediocre season for the Phillies.     

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Six Songs

"Gotta Have You"  The Weepies
I am very particular about my play count on iTunes.  Flawed as it may be, it is the only real or quantifiable source of song goodness that I have.  For example, the most played song on my iTunes is "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" by Joe Cocker.  The next is "A Lack of Color" by Death Cab for Cutie.  We currently have a tie for third between Beulah’s "You’re Only King Once" and Wilco and Billy Bragg’s "One by One."

Again, I know this is flawed; while I like these songs very much, I wouldn’t say that they are my top four favorite songs.  The reason is that to register a play, a song must end and be followed by the next song.  That means the iPod or iTunes must end the song, all the way down to the last second, and move on to the next song before a play is counted.  So this makes it an imperfect system.  Many of my top played songs are slow songs, because I have a mix called "Mood" (which is secretly the Make Out Mix) that I often fall asleep to.  So those songs are played all the way through as I lay in bed, drunk, hard, and alone.  Conversely, good songs with long endings or outros are penalized because I often skip to the next song before it can properly end.  A good example is Ted Leo’s "Timorous Me", which ends with 45 seconds of buzzing feedback, which I regularly skip.  So although "Timorous Me" is one of my ten or twenty favorite songs, it only has a play count of about 15.

Now to this song.  This is a very good song that I recently discovered and have become mildly obsessed with.  I’m a big advocate of keeping it simple with love songs and this song does just that, repeating "Nothing else will do/I gotta have you."  Real, real pretty.

Now the problem.  I was listening to this song on repeat because I like it.  Then the phone rang or Brian got his hand caught in the microwave or something and I went away from the computer for a while, leaving this song on repeat.  When I came back, it had a played over 40 times, bringing the play count to over 50.  Since then, subsequent plays have brought it over 60 plays (in top ten play count territory).

I can’t decide if I’m OCD or just totally fucking weird because this is giving me fits.  I like this song, but it shouldn’t be among the top ten played.  This is seriously keeping me awake at night.  I’ve contemplated resetting the play count to zero, but that’s completely immoral.  So I’m stuck.  Big time.

…

I just read all of this over and all I can say is I’m sorry.  In the future, I’ll keep my neuroses to myself.  Check out the song.  It’s nice.   

"Adultery"  Koufax
I’ll give a shout out to any song that starts: "A little problem has arrived/I have learned that you are someone’s wife."  Geez.  Who can’t relate to that?

"Mambo Sun"  T. Rex
This is only the third T. Rex song I’ve ever heard, behind "20th Century Boy" and "Bang a Gong."  But based on this song, I’m going to listen to more of T. Rex.  I think this might be a good song to do it to.  But I’m not sure. 

"Reach Up For The Sunrise"  Duran Duran
I don’t know whether or not this is a gay anthem, but it should be.  Also, I plan on starting a Gay Rights Group called "Reach Up For The Sunrise."  Doesn’t that name really work?   

"One More Night"  Stars
A recommendation from The Midwest Grrl.  It makes kinda sad and uncomfortable at the same time, but I can’t stop listening to it. 

"Goldigger"  Kanye West
For some reason, every day this week I’ve been putting on this song in the morning when I get ready for work.  I had no previous inclination to it, but it’s been my theme song this week. 

For some reason, every day this week I’ve been putting on this song in the morning when I get ready for work.  I had no previous inclination to it, but it’s been my theme song this week. 

By recommending it though, I can provide a public service announcement for any ladies contemplating marrying me: I am definitely getting a prenup.  Not only did I come from a broken home, but I work hard for my money and my wife isn’t going to get half of it because she falls out of love with me.  Fuck that.  I used to talk about getting a prenup with an ex:

Me: "You know, if we ever get married, we’re getting a prenup."
Her: "Well, we’re not."
Me: "Not getting married or not getting a prenup?"
Her: "Both, if you keep talking about prenups."

There were subsequent conversations, the tone of which can be summarized best as "You, Jason Mulgrew, are a fucking insensitive asshole."

So my question is, am I wrong to have brought this up?  Partially I was joking, since we weren’t getting married, but I am serious.  I want a prenup before I get married.  It works both ways, really, protecting both parties in the marriage.  For example, I plan on making a lot of money in my life, but my family doesn’t have a lot of money.  So even if I were to marry a girl who makes less than I do, her family will almost certainly have a lot more money than mine.  A prenup would prevent either of us from getting at what isn’t ours.

…

Ok, I just read this over too and yep, I guess I am pretty much an insensitive asshole.  But I’ll be an insensitive asshole with all his money after his first divorce.  I’ll probably take a real bath after the second one, though.  And the third, well, I don’t even want to think about that one.  I imagine by that time I’ll be quoting Rod Stewart, who said (I’m paraphrasing), "Instead of getting married again, I’m just going to go up to a woman I hate and give her a house."  God bless you, Sir Rod.    

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Steve Almond is reading tomorrow (Friday) evening at 7pm at the Barnes & Noble at Astor Place here in NYC.  He is reading in support of his new book, Which Brings Me To You, which he co-wrote with author Julianna Baggot, who will also be reading. 

The book is excellent; I inhaled it in three days this past weekend.  It is the story of a man and a woman who meet a wedding.  Their immediate and awkward semi-sexual encounter leads to a series of letters between the two, confessing all the faults and failures of their past loves.  It’s a riveting subject, made more interesting by the delivery; that the chapters are letters between the two adds an element of voyeurism that makes the book more enjoyable.

So Almond and Baggot are reading in NYC, Friday, 7pm, Astor Place Barnes & Noble.  Come on down.  And hey, even if you don’t like books, there is a good chance that they might actually murder each other on stage, so come for that. 

They’re reading other places, both separately and together.  For more information, see Steve Almond’s website and Julianna Baggot’s site.