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Low Hanging Fruit

February 5, 2008 3:00 AM by Rich Santos |  COMMENTS

From urbandictionary.com:
Low Hanging Fruit: Targets or goals which are easily achievable and which do not require a lot of effort.

Last weekend, I came up with my Low Hanging Fruit Theory. It included one of those nights that my friend Justin and I decided to sit back and observe human interaction. That night we were the elder statesmen in the bar. Justin’s girlfriend had set up a gathering among her just-out-of-college friends. I was reminded of the younger crowd as I waited in line outside the establishment—hot shot guys showed up with no jackets despite the NYC January chill. I remembered those days—too cool or didn’t want to deal with a jacket. Man, I hope I didn’t look as stupid as these guys.

Upon entering the bar I was confronted with dance-floor-makeouts as far as the eye could see. I navigated through the crowd like a tiny ship at stormy seas, catching glimpses of faces in rapture singing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin” at top volume. Finally, I found Justin next to an empty stool in the corner of the room. This was where we’d perch and make observations. As we looked around, we noticed a huge bevy of young ladies singing together in the middle of the room. Lined up around them, like rings around Saturn were layers of guys eyeing them up and deciding what to do (my jacketless buddies were definitely in orbit). And, tumbling out of this ironically organized group of people was a disgusting couple that decided to post up right next to my stool. As they grinded (ground?) to the beat, Justin told me to look closer. I noticed the guy’s hand down the girl’s pants and a crowd gathering around. READ MORE

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Am I Gay?

February 4, 2008 3:00 PM by Rich Santos |  COMMENTS

Anxiety kills dating success. It affects every level of the game: meeting the girl, courting, and sex. In my East Coast, Italian-Catholic, OCD/ADD head, anxiety rules. Most of the time, it simply prevents me from succeeding. But sometimes, after enough events, my mind forces itself to look within to see what is “really going on.” This is never good.

Often, I try to examine the fundamental problem I have of being too unaggressive with girls. It takes more than a girl jumping into my bed with me to clue me in that it’s okay to at least kiss her. My main fear is that I will move too fast or too early and make her feel like I’m touchy-feely guy. I’d rather look like I’m trying to respect her space than look like touchy-feely guy.

But really — what is wrong with me? Why am I single? Why am I unaggressive? Why don’t I try really hard?

A few weeks back I went with a group of friends to see the Broadway production of Young Frankenstein. I resisted at first — for the very idea of sitting in the same place for over an hour is extremely frightening to me. Eventually I settled in, and did a complete 180. The production was grand. Oh, the pageantry! I found myself laughing and tapping my foot along with every number. After a while, I realized that the only two people who were frolicking along with the production with as much zeal as me were the two older gay gentlemen in front of me. As a matter of fact, at times only the three of us laughed at certain jokes.

Does this mean that I, too, am gay? READ MORE

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Self Service

January 15, 2008 2:00 PM by Rich Santos |  COMMENTS

Last weekend after a long night of drinking, I found myself in the usual spot: smashed into a booth at a diner discussing inappropriate things. Eventually, what started as a peaceful meal among friends was contorted into a discussion about masturbation.

My friend Shannon was the headliner. She told a story about how she was so nervous that her dad kept calling her and telling he was finding contents in boxes in the garage that belonged to her.

“Shannon, I found another box of yours. There were some CDs and a hairdryer. You really need to get this stuff out of here.”

After setting up the conflict, like any good storyteller, Shannon revealed what led to the climax: “I really wish he’d stap (stop) snew-ping (snooping) through tho-wooze (those) baxes (boxes). My viibrator’s in one of tho-wooze baxes”.

The usual reaction for this story occurred—my two male friends who did not get to hear it as often as I did sat in silence, mouths agape and heads full of mental pictures. Every few minutes, like school children, they’d beg Shannon to tell the story again.

After establishing every detail about the vibrator we could: color, size, frequency of use, we turned to more familiar discussion—male masturbation.

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A smart, funny, attractive guy who not only admits to being clueless about women but is willing to share his dating diary? Tap your inner Bridget Jones by offering him your advice.    READ MORE
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About the Authors

Rich
Rich finds charm in stupidity and campiness in movies, celebs and life. He currently resides in New York City where some day he hopes to fall in love. Until then, he is happy to share his failures and successes and he's more than willing to follow your advice and encouragement. Rich is secretly romantic and believes the right girl is out there. But, on the surface, he's jaded and annoyed by everyone. Oh, and he'd never match his denims — so you shouldn't either.
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