An alumni member of eager, starry-eyed children who once stalked the holiday season with the stealth of a hungry bear in a kiddie pool brimming with trout,  I learned, as a child, that the lighting of the tree brought with it three things consistently.  The wafting aroma of baked delicious Goodies, the building anticipation of commercialized Gifts, and the promise of perfectly timed maternal Guilt ~ a tool so successful in controlling young children (and adults alike), it’s outplayed only by some omnipresent athletically-challenged senior citizen who watches all gestures, naughty and nice, and visits every child on the planet in one night…but somehow needs a flying deer with a flashlight for a nose to do it.  I guess something has to drag his fat ass and tricked out sleigh from suburban chimney to inner city hood.  Believer, or not, no child takes lightly the threat of running into the living room to find lumps of coal where trendy iphones and 3DS gaming systems should be.  Nothing corrects unwanted behavior quite as well.

Nothing…except maybe the sad beaten down eyes of a loving mom who is resorting to good old fashioned guilt for the holidays.  She works so hard to give us everything our little hearts desire while we take, take, take.  I, of course, was no different from any other egocentric adolescent and, in all my child-like selflessness, wondered:

What should I give HER for Christmas?  Should I buy her something cheap she’ll hate, make her something lame she’ll love, or just wrap something from her room she’s surely forgotten she owned?  Children have limited resources, after all…

Assuming simply asking her was the most logical means to an end, that’s just what I did ~ foolish as it was.  As soon as I could peel myself away from the anytime, all the time fighting with my sister, who was ~ at all times ~ dressed out in boxing attire and ready to initiate a throw down, which she would later blame me for.  We fought over everything…which was the better daughter in the family, which was the worse daughter in her adopted family, who took the trash out last, who looked at who for too long and WHY, and why in hell one sister ever felt she had the right to touch, talk to, or talk about the other.

So, when we expressed interest in what we could do for the woman who tolerated us day in and day out, she was quick with her plea.

“I just want everyone to get along.”

And there it was…guilt.  All wrapped in pity and tied with a pretty bow.  Ugh…guilt dished, eyes rolled, gag reflexes tested, and sisterly war resumed.

As a kid, I always hated being served up guilt with a side of disappointment… and the shame that went along with it.  However, time has a way of altering one’s perspective.  Years have passed.  And I now have two feuding bundles of joy of my own.  A sassy 4 year old girl who melts all hearts who dare to cross her curly-headed, quick-witted path and an almost 11 year old boy who physically can’t survive unless he’s strategically positioned directly in her path wreaking havoc and doing everything in his power to top his high score in aggravation from the day before.  Luckily for me, I’m present for every little dig, every brotherly needling, every attempt at a frustrated whiny reaction from the curly-haired cutie…who, by the way, isn’t so cute when her head is spinning with fury.  But nevermind all that.  The holidays are here.  The tree is twinkling.  My bank account is dwindling.  And the gift of guilt is officially up for grabs.  I’m spending my days frantically searching for all the hot items Santa has been taxed with this year and gushing over my two beautiful, healthy, intelligent, gonna-take-this-world-by-storm future humanitarian millionaires…and my nights moonlighting as an unpaid, unappreciated referee for two barbaric sumo wrestlers who’ve turned my house, my car, and my mental health into a no holds barred, last man standing death match.

But, it IS Christmas, so my 10 year old was kind enough to break from his torment ‘n’ terror streak to ask me that all important question:

“Mom, what do you want for Christmas?”

At this moment, my childhood guilt flashed before my eyes.  The eye rolls, the gagging, the wondering why she couldn’t just suggest to me a gift idea I was actually capable of giving her.  Life had come full circle.  I finally got it.  There was NOTHING he could buy me, make me, or wrap from my room that would thrill me as much as one evening packed with peace and quiet and void of sibling war.  So, I said it.

“I just want everyone to get along…”  Yep, I wrapped it in pity, stuck a pretty bow on it, and re-gifted the gift that keeps on giving.  GUILT.

Only when we become parents ourselves do we empathize with the complete and utter desperation that breeds motherly guilt.  Only when we find ourselves locked in the bathroom crying because somewhere along the way, the shitter has become our safe place…and because sooner or later, the “others” will learn to pick the lock.  Only then do we get it.

And one day, when my grandchildren are using their parents’ sanity as a dart board, my kids will get it too…

And re-gift the guilt that keeps on giving.

But, as for now, his response to my desperation was…

“Never gonna happen, my friend.”

Chick Hughes 

Technologically advanced guilt

The Gift That Keeps On Giving is a post from ChickHughes

Now for her friends.  ~ End scene

1, 2…Freddy came for you.  3, 4…Let’s watch some more!

Horror movie mania is never more rampant than on Halloween.  The need to scare and be scared always dwells within us.  Hence, the overwhelming popularity of rollercoasters, skydiving, bungee jumping, haunted houses, and People of Walmart perusal.

We crave fear.  But why?  What is it about horror movies that keeps us revved up and brushed up on the infamous Zombie Survival Guide?

Past theories on our fear flick fetish include our willingness to endure the terror in order to experience the euphoric relief when the credits roll.  As one fear enthusiast and haunted house artist put it, “It’s a complete journey from anticipation to anxiety to experiencing the fear and having the adrenaline rush to coming down afterward.”  In other words, it’s a drug…and we’re addicted.

Most recent theories on the root of our horror mania include physiological and evolutionary causes.  We love horror movies for the same reason we love any other death defying act.  Adrenaline.  The hormonal reaction we get from facing and surviving a physical threat is a physiological ganja hit.  The ability to experience both negative (threat imposed by empathy for the victim) and positive (relief that we are physically detached from the threat) simultaneously is an emotional high for us.  We get high on the fear.  We come down on the relief.  A hair- raising, nightmare-inducing horror movie is a roller coaster ride of emotion that delivers us safely back to reality.

Once it’s over and we’re still in one piece, we feel victorious and untouchable.  We had the courage to come face to face with death, and we survived.  Predator survival speaks to our primal roots.  Our ancient ancestors faced physical threat on a daily basis.  Competition for food, clothing, and shelter all required the occasional throwdown with nature’s superior food chain elite.  The ability to outwit badass predators was the only way to keep the species thriving.  Not only did we have to face it, we had to be good at it.  So, we’re evolutionarily hardwired to be drawn to danger and to rock survival.

Of course, as we age, we lose our hunger for horror.  It’s no secret that the horror film industry relies mostly on young adults as an audience base.  Perhaps, as adolescents reach adulthood, they are subconsciously preparing themselves for challenges that lie ahead.  Many years ago, those challenges entailed physical threats to survival.  So, defense was a coming of age skill.  Some psychologists say we dream “in order to rehearse behaviors of self-defense in the safety of nighttime isolation.”  In other words, we practice our real life fight-or-flight what-if’s in our dreams…as a means of preparation.  Perhaps our love for horror movies is cloaked in the same mental subconscious.  Maybe we’re simply training ourselves just in case we ever end up staring down the hockey mask of a lunatic on an unfortunate Friday the 13th.  On the off chance that we do, horror movies provide us a play by play of what may get us killed, and what may not.  Once the movie is over, we feel more than just relief.  We feel prepared for our own possible brush with the likes of Freddy Krueger.  And we know now NEVER to fall asleep.

So, that’s it.  Our love affair with scary movies is here to stay.  Now to get some female writers for future horror flicks.  I mean men take sexy showers too, right?  And they’re much more attentive to those “dirty” areas.

7,8…Fear is your fate.

9,10…It’s Fright Night again!

Happy Halloween

Chick Hughes

“I love horror movies because they’re really fun. They tap into those wonderful primal emotions.” ~  Margot Kidder

Gore Gone Wild is a post from ChickHughes

Captivating I am.  Seduce you I will.

Every Jedi knows the art of flirting is a mix of conversation, body language, and physical touch…and may just be our most vital form of communication.  It’s the foreplay to our foreplay, so to say.

We flirt because it’s a necessary road to reproduction junction.  It could be that the flirtee is just too hot to be denied our charms.  And it could be that it’s just fun.  Scientists say that flirting doesn’t necessarily mean attraction.  That, hot or not, we’re evolutionarily programmed to be sexually alert, on our toes, and prepared for passionate throes.  Married, single, or “it’s complicated” …our primitive libidos are in constant battle with modern monogamy.  So, even if we’re off the market, we flirt with potential buyers to humor our libidos…and our egos.  Met with success, or shaming mess, we flirt to advertise our assets…and remind ourselves we’ve still got it.  When we flirt, we display our creativity, our humor, and our intelligence…flaunting our stellar skills for withstanding whatever poo pies life may throw our way (selling ourselves as the optimal life partner).  But aside from our dung dodging skills, we spread our peacock feathers…display our bountiful (surgically custom) cleavage, our Baby Got Back bums, our Fabio-lously spray tanned flexing pecs, our firm afterglow-inducing light sabers.  Saying, without saying, “I got that good hit!  Don’t you want to bag me?”

We flirt.  We bag.  We ensure the survival of our genetic genius.  And we settle into family life.  We now have children to raise, mortgages to pay, bosses to mock, and spontaneity to block.  Burdened by an endlessly overwhelming list of chores and responsibilities that would make even the most devoted Family Guy pimp out his wife for a break, we don’t take time to maintain flirting fluency with our main squeeze.  The romance dies.  We’re merely roommates…without benefits…tending to chores.  Making it from one day to the next.  We get comfortable in the notion that our spouse isn’t going anywhere.  And realize…neither are we.  We’re in a rut.

It’s then that we realize that somewhere along the way, we’ve become biologically washed up.  With no sex life and no sex appeal, we’re no longer relevant to the circle of life.  We begin to feel unwanted and depressed.  We start to miss the flirt, the chase…the thrill of sexual possibilities.  Ironically, both spouses will come face to face with his/her own feeling of sexual loss.  However, neither will attempt to fill this void for the other.  Usually because we’re both too busy trying to maintain every other relationship in the daily grind…forgetting that a happy sweetie promises a different grind altogether.  We go out of our way to please other people.  Bosses, friends, co-workers.  Why?  Because we know that our bosses, our friends, or our co-workers can, and will, walk out on us at any time.  We don’t take these relationships for granted.  So we see the value in the work needed to maintain them.  But our spouses…we take them for granted.  We don’t work on the marital relationship because it’s the one place we think we can afford to get lazy and fall asleep on the job.

Divorce…and remarriage…statistics beg to differ.

The cold hard truth is…what we take for granted, someone just around the corner is all too eager to appreciate.

Whatever the cost to our social or family life, we’re drawn to flirty appreciation like an oompa loompa to shoe lifts.   It boosts our egos, stimulates our sex drives, and spices up our lives.  We need to flirt to feel special…to feel connected.  We need it emotionally and sexually.  So, if no one is flirting with us at home, we begin to feel stagnant.  We grow bored with our marriage AND ourselves.  And we’re all the more receptive to outside flirts.

Marriage is monotonous…on a good day.  If we want to keep it fresh and romantic, we can’t put away our dazzling peacock plumage just because we’re too lazy to strut it.  We need to continue displaying our assets.  Otherwise, life clouds our memory.  And we both forget why we fell in love in the first place.  The flirt, the tease, the challenge, the FUN…this is what keeps our spouse true and still believing in “I do.”

Why flirting with the one that matters…matters?

*  It’s adult play.  We never outgrow our need for play.  Make your spouse your toy.

*  It boosts both egos.  Flirting gives us a sense of power.  Whether we’re the hunter or the prey, we all enjoy a good chase. It validates our sexual worth.

*  It’s the language of love…promising the continual emotional connection we seek so ruthlessly.

*  It reminds our spouse that we’re still very much attracted to them…translation:  “I don’t take you for granted!”

*  It’s healthy for children to witness our playful love.  It provides them a sense of security and models a healthy, loving relationship.

*  It will eventually lead to sex.  Filthy, dirty sex…somewhere.

Teasing Tactics:

*  Be witty and challenging.

*  Tackle a chore your sweetie usually takes care of.

*  Wear flirty clothes…or no clothes.

*  Snuggle…give back rubs or massages.

*  Engage in sexy, suggestive banter.  Remember, the brain is our most sexual organ.

*  Compliment.  Flattery will get you everywhere.

*  Send romantic/sexy texts or emails…either as yourself…or the sultry stranger who’s been lusting from afar.

*  Create a special hand signal (sign language) for a romantic/sexy message just between the two of you.

It’s our nature to follow the flirt.  When it comes to your sweetie, turn up your tease…

Lead the way.

Chick Hughes

“It’s not my fault that I fell for you, you tripped me” ~ unknown

May the Flirt Be With You is a post from ChickHughes

Studies show just that.  Regular exercise does indeed deliver an enhanced sex drive.  Over a sustained period of time, sweating it out releases endorphins causing a “runner’s high.”  We feel good inside and out.  Working out elevates our mood and makes us feel calm, confident, and in control.  That confidence acts as an aphrodisiac giving us the gas needed to rev our engines and finish the race with a ‘bang.’  Men AND women who routinely exercise show decreased stress, enhanced sex drives, and better orgasms.  And the more intense the workout, the more successful the aphrodisiac.

After years of marriage, kids, work, and chores, we need all the self-seduction we can muster up.  Ruts and exhaustion make it easy to fall into a pattern of poor body image, lack of energy, and loss of sexual spark…especially for women.  Unlike men, women can’t pull rabbits from their hats (or snakes from their drawers) and forget all problems except a need for orgasm.  Every emotional issue and unresolved thought she has will accompany her into the bedroom.  Insecurity, distraction, depression, anxiety, chores, kids, that damn mosquito buzzing around somewhere in the room.  All flooding her brain leaving her little or no room for choreographing  and executing that strip tease she’d otherwise planned.  Bummer!

Perhaps one of the top sexual inhibitors is insecurity.  And women aren’t the only ones who bear the weight of a tubby devil on the shoulder reminding them of every imperfection.  Today’s men are just as body conscious…worrying whether they’re buff enough and up to snuff.  “Will she be satisfied?  Will I be enough?  Will she be disappointed?”  (Fellas, women are much less physically critical of their partners than men.  For her, it’s more about emotion and spark and less about six packs and rib-reachers.)  We all want to feel good about ourselves…good about what we’re bringing to the table.  And if we’re confident in that, dessert will be that much sweeter.

Research shows that vigorous exercise primes women’s bodies for sex.  That it gets us in the mood and makes us feel all hot and bothered.  Well, so does the sight of her sultry hubby vacuuming the floor or preparing dinner.  Now, that fantasy whopper could be a real panty dropper…if only it were utilized.    Clearly, exercise is hot…in more ways than one.  Not only do we feel more attractive and frisky when we work out…but sometimes, just watching taut sweaty bodies working it is enough to prime the most “out of service” sexual engines.  Then again…sometimes NOT!

Experts say the correlation between sex drive and exercise is the product of both physical and emotional stimuli.  Physically, when we exercise, we get our blood pumping.  We raise our heart rate and increase circulation…not only to our brains (which is the most sexual organ)…but also to the genitals.  With more blood pumping south, we’re open for business.  We respond quicker to sexual stimuli, experience heightened sensation, and are more eager to get it on.

Not only do we become more physically fit, more aesthetically pleasing, and friskier than usual…we also benefit emotionally…become more confident.  We FEEL sexier…more alive.  We’ve achieved eye candy status and we’re now confident enough to say “Eat me.”  Exercise is good for our self-esteem, our body image, and our state of mind.  It lowers stress, reduces depression and anxiety, and gives us a newfound love of self.  With a more elated state of mind, less stress to bog us down, and the empowering sense of sexiness, we become more comfortable with our bodies.  And therefore more open to new sexual endeavors and more in touch with our body’s sensations.  When the mind is free from stress and insecurity, it’s free to enjoy the body.  Inhibition demolition.

Promising less stress, less depression, more confidence, more sex, and better orgasms…exercise just rendered all excuses null and void.  It’s cheaper than therapy and the couch won’t be the only thing getting laid.

Arousal begins in the brain and travels south.  Working out makes us feel sexy and confident…and gets our blood pumping in all the right places.  If we feel sexy, we’ll BE sexy.

So feel the burn…and the yearn!  Shake it. 

Chick Hughes

“Movement is a medicine for creating change in a person’s physical, emotional, and mental states.” ~Carol Welch

Shake It To Make It is a post from ChickHughes

Screw the band-aid!  Anyone up for a tirade?

A broken heart leaves us coiled up in the fetal position crying hopelessly, cursing Stupid Cupid, and threatening to shove that magically sharpened arrow up his virginal baby smooth bare tuckus.  Rejection has a tendency to breed cynicism, no?  But baring the fangs of our inner cynic is a human knee-jerk reaction to the security breach of our too-vulnerable heart.  And usually the only retaliation we get.  The heart is our lifeline.  It pumps life into our body.  Broken heart, broken body.  And our body feels that break mentally, emotionally, AND physically.

So yes, love hurts!

But why?

Scientists studied party-pooping participants who were recently dumped, so the pain was fresh and frenzied.  The lucky lotto winners had their brains picked apart and studied by modern technology.  Brain activity was monitored while enduring physical pain from being burned with a hot probe.  And then again while enduring emotional pain from gazing upon a picture of the ex and regaling the experimenter with the low-down on how they were dumped.

FUN and FUN!

Though beneficial for the furthering of science, the details of the study beg the question:

WTF did these poor souls get paid for their participation?  Enough to pay for fallout therapy or just enough to drown the pain in Jose Cuervo, pass out, and send Jose packing down the porcelain throne?  First class ac’commode’ations.

Poor souls aside…what they found was that our brains don’t discriminate based on race, sex, religion, hypocrisy, emotional dismemberment, or a slashing from Jack the Ripper.  When it comes to pain, the human brain is all-encompassing.  These studies show that intense emotional pain activates the same neural pathways in our brains as physical pain.  So whether we suffer emotional or physical misery, our brains can’t differentiate.  We simply feel pain.  No wonder a broken heart is so crushing and debilitating.  We don’t know if we’ve been dumped off or bumped off.

Nor do we care.

So why doesn’t the brain distinguish between emotional and physical pain?  Because evolutionarily speaking, being alone is bad for business.  Experts suggest that we evolved to feel actual pain at separation to prevent our demise.  Many, many years ago, we were roaming the predatory wild and needed to avoid becoming an all-u-can-eat buffet for beastly, dragon-breath patrons.  In order to survive, we needed a buddy…a partner…a more appetizing distraction to enable our getaway, just in case a patron is doubly ravenous.  Being alone was dangerous.  So our brains evolved to send physical warnings to our bodies when we found ourselves all alone in the world.  Warnings in the form of pain.  Ouch!

Pair…or Beware! 

This is why we suffer so much when rejected…not only by a lover, but by our peers as well.  We know that as long as we fit in and blend in, we’re a shoo-in for survival.  We have an innate animal instinct to survive.  At all costs.  So when we find ourselves staring down the barrel of rejection with our one and only’s finger on the trigger, we hurt as if we’ve taken the literal bullet.  The realized risk of solitude and slaughter triggers a primitive fear that manifests itself as physical pain.  Our minds have convinced our bodies that rejection is more like dissection.  When cast aside, our protective layers are peeled away and our vulnerable insides picked away.  So, like every good romance story perpetuates, Together…GOOD…Alone…BAD!  There’s an old adage:  “The best way to get over an old love is to find a new one.” Out with old…in with the new.  Once we find a new love, we have a partner to brave the wilds with.  We’re no longer alone…no longer at risk.  We are two!  Over you.

All is good.

But in true cyclic form, and as Newton predicted, we’ll inevitably come crashing down and feel the physical pain of rejection once again.

And when we do…we can drown our pain at the end of lonely street at Heartbreak Hotel, where the hearts bleed and the tears flow.  Or…we can claim that vacancy at the Bates Motel, where the showers beckon…and the psychos bludgeon.  We won’t know the difference…apparently.  Pain is pain…to the brain.

Hotel? Motel?

Love is Hell!

Chick Hughes

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” ~ Winston Churchill

Heartbreak YoHell is a post from ChickHughes

Cluck U!

Despite its long-time, tight-lipped, deliriously denied existence, affairs of the female kind aren’t exactly news.  Though lacking the racy reputation of condescendingly conservative male politicians and their holier than thou erections, chick cheaters are and always have been flying just under the radar.  They are, however, on the rise and soaring high.  Inflation, in political terms.  Studies show they become more prevalent with the onset of her mid-life (what life?) crisis.  It’s during this mind-bending milestone that she begins to reevaluate herself, her career, and her relationship.  And realizes that somehow, she’s not as happy as she’d planned she would be.  She’s now had enough and is gutsy enough to stop settling for unhappiness.  To test fate.  She’s ready to take the bull by the horn…so to speak.

And he’s shocked by her sudden unhappiness and assertive affair.  Why?  Because rumor has it that women just don’t have affairs.  That infidelity is a no-wo-man’s land.  That women just aren’t that into sex.  However, rumors are notorious for being false.  Are they not?  And what else is a long-time sex-starved married guy to believe?  After all – in his house – a sexual advance ranks right up there with wiping boogers under the table in the “NO!  DON’T DO THAT!” hand-spatting transgressions.  No sex for you!  Rejection has become his reflection.  So, naturally, he assumes that if she doesn’t want sex with him, the last thing he has to worry about is her insatiable sexual appetite going elsewhere.

Contrary to popular male folklore, experts say she’s just as interested in sex as he is.  Sex with him?  Another question entirely.  But women ARE interested in sex. We’re sensual beings and need to feel sexy to be sexy.  If she’s not happy in her own skin, the last thing she wants is to flaunt the assets she’s so insecure with to someone she fears will criticize them.  Whether she knows it or not, she wants sex too.  But she needs to FEEL hot to act HOT.  So, light a fire under her!

Or she’ll find someone who will.

An affair is risky.  Dangerous.  It risks her security, her family, her reputation, her life as she knows it.  But she craves being craved.  So she rolls the dice with the knowledge that this bet could break her.  She’s operating on emotion, on a new love high, on her self-esteem’s desperate plea for pleasure – on anything but logic.  For a she-devil, scarlet letter wearing cheater, risk rationale is about as relevant as the dangers of a ceiling fan to this guy.  It’s fun to reach for the sky.  But if the shit hits the fan, it’ll rip her roots to shreds.  No pain, no gain…right?  The stakes are high, but her spark-starved ego is a gamblin’ girl.

Deal!

Why do women risk it all and stray?

~ She feels unappreciated, neglected, and lonely ~  She’s taken for granted.  This may be the most common reason women stray.  The drain of caring for the entire family with little to no return wears her down.  She needs to feel special, loved, appreciated, adored, and pampered too.  If all she’s getting is “What did you do for me?” and spends her days and nights playing maid – while HER wants and needs become distant strangers in the night – she’ll eventually long to join them.  She can only give so much before she wants to break free and live.  So when she finds herself on a dead end track to nowhere and someone comes along who makes her feel appreciated, adored, doted on, and alive again…she’ll buy herself a one-way ticket on a Runaway Train.

~ She feels something is missing, is bored with herself, and is looking to her inner bad girl to stir things up ~  She may have the perfect life.  Perfect husband, perfect kids, and so on and so on.  But she’s still missing something.  Someone she used to be…or wants to be.  So, she may look for someone who puts her in touch with her missing self.  Someone who makes her feel good on a new and forbidden level allowing her to escape the confines of the perfect wife and mother prison cell she’s created.  Someone who allows her to explore a world she’s not openly or socially allowed to be a part of.

~ She has low self-esteem ~ Child birth is not the baby-rattling picnic Hollywood has cast it to be.  She no longer feels like the firecracker he married.  She feels like an out of shape, out of time, out of patience mother.  That in no way, shape, or form translates into sex goddess.  Her motherly body is plaguing her with insecurities.  So when a new hottie makes her feel less like a frumpy mom and more like a still-got-it MILF, she goes back for more.  And more.  And you guessed it…more.

~ She’s seeking an emotional connection that’s missing with her hubby ~ She needs an emotional connection!  Always!  She needs him to listen, care, and empathize…not criticize.  She wants to be connected on all levels.  And if he won’t connect with her, another he will.

~ She wants an insurance policy ~ Scientists say evolution may be to blame.  That long ago, she would sleep with another man to ensure a back-up provider for her family in the unlikely event of her sweetie’s deathly demise.  A back up key to start her engine, in case the master key goes missing.  Also, modern day woman may sense when her husband has checked out emotionally and be lining up an alternate provider before he checks out physically.  The eternal planner.

~ She’s looking for an out ~ If she’s miserable in the marriage, she may decide an affair is an easier way to end the relationship.  Rather than initiating the split herself and dealing with his attempts to fix the problem.  If he leaves her, she’s free to move on …She is woman!  Watch her be passive aggressive!

Like men, women want to be adored and appreciated.  Affairs are simply an attempt to discreetly fill a void without breaking up the household, crushing her kids, and ditching a spouse.  An attempt to meet unmet needs while maintaining the needs of the family.  She’s a multi-tasker to the end.

Kids needs.

His needs.

Her needs.

Misdeeds. 

Chick Hughes

“One advantage of marriage is that, when you fall out of love with him or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you fall in again.”  ~Judith Viorst

Here a Chick, There a Cheat is a post from ChickHughes

It’s raining.  It’s pouring.  The old man is scoring.  So umbrella up!

Marriage is tough enough on a good day.  But after weeks of condescending eye rolling, incessant nagging, petulant arguing, and booty bang-less begging,  even the most loyal hubby is susceptible to temptation.  Wives wonder why?  The answer is usually staring her in the face as she shoots him down with “Not tonight…I’m too tired.”  Or disgustingly rolls her eyes at his every advance.  Or belittles him making him feel he can do nothing right.  Or meets his jokes and stories with utter disinterest.  If he’s constantly made to feel unattractive and insecure, he’ll welcome an outsider who refutes it.  Who wouldn’t?  But sometimes – even with all of his sexual and emotional needs met at home – he may still jump ship to explore another woman’s “dingy.”  Damn it!  What can I say?  It’s the nature of the beast.  But more often than not, he won’t take the risk and jump overboard if his ship is “tricked out” with all the bells and whistles.  Basic survival 101.

Studies show 60% of men cheat on their wives.  And 70% of those wives never have a clue.  I question that 70%.  Women are very intuitive, but may choose not to know to keep from rocking her own cushy boat.  Psychologists say human beings are socially monogamous by nature.  That we evolved to bond together for survival reasons.  Child-rearing, connection, and safety.  It’s nice to know someone has our back when we need to put the smack down on a mouthy child, when we need a shoulder to cry on, or when we need someone to give us a head’s up that some surly saber tooth tiger is about to make a meal out of us and ruin that one-of-a-kind designer fur sack we worked so diligently on.  Safety in numbers.  They say that although we’re socially monogamous by nature, we’re NOT naturally sexually monogamous.  We’ve instituted sexual monogamy to protect our social monogamy.  Because sex causes our brains to release the love drug, oxytocin, we know that a little nookie on the side could turn into a home-wrecking pookie at the alter.  So to protect that social monogamy needed to survive, we’ve forced sexual monogamy on ourselves.  But sticking to that self-imposed expectation tends to “screw” us over sometimes.

So why do men cheat?

~ He feels emotionally disconnected: Men may be sexual creatures, but they’re also emotional…shhh!  Don’t tell them that.  They need an emotional connection too.  Someone to caress them, love them, be there for them, show them affection.  Studies show almost half of men’s affairs are rooted in emotional dissatisfaction.  However, if the emotional connection is missing, so is the sex.  You do the math.

~ He feels under-appreciated: He wants to know he’s appreciated and adored.  To be your hero.  To know he’s winning when he makes an effort around the house, in the bedroom, with the kids, and with work.  If he feels he’s fighting a losing battle, surrendering to an affair (a woman who makes him feel like a hero, a winner, a sex god) will be that much easier.  If you’re not willing to do it, trust me…there’s someone just around the corner who is.

~ He craves sexual variety…he craves sex PERIOD: Men want sex. Men want sex.  Men want sex.  He’s biologically and evolutionarily hardwired to desire and have sex often.  Once a month is NOT often.  Twice a month is NOT often.  So buck up ladies.  If he’s not doing you, he’s doing somebody!  The relationship is more fulfilling to both parties when everyone’s needs are being met.  If he’s happy sexually, you’re happy emotionally.  And he’s oh so ready to please…when you’re on your knees. 

~ It’s easier than divorce: Divorce is costly, messy, and difficult on the whole family.  If he’s unhappy in his marriage, he may deem an affair a less complicated, less disruptive means of satisfaction.

~ He’s seeking a thrill: His needs may be getting met at home, but he’s looking for cheap thrills. Daring to execute forbidden taboos can be a high.  Don’t be afraid to turn your bed into a theme park and keep the thrills domestic.

Men are sexual beings, but they’re also emotional beings.  They long for the same affection, same touch, same adoration as women.  But they also want to get laid…OFTEN.  They don’t want to have sex with a lifeless uninterested object.  They want you to LOVE it.  They love you to WANT it.  The more sex you have, the more emotionally connected you are.  And the more in love you feel.  That’s what he wants.  He wants YOU.

He wants you to love him, adore him, need him, want him, lust after him, and screw him!  All the time!

ALL the time!

Men are naughty by nature…

Ballsy by biology…

And led by libido.

Love ‘em?  Hate ‘em?

LOVE ‘em!

Chick Hughes

“Love is a game in which one always cheats.”  ~ Honore de Balzac

peter peter PUMPKIN eater – by Tim Withers for VIZA 613

Cheater, Cheater, Woman-Eater is a post from ChickHughes

“Enunciate bitch!  We don’t know what the hell you’re saying!”

Obviously, conversation doesn’t always equal communication.  One can talk endlessly without saying a thing.  And one can speak volumes without being heard at all.  Successful communication requires both speaking and listening.  I once read that we have one mouth and 2 ears…so we should listen twice as much as we speak.  Yet, we don’t.  The longer we’re together, the less we listen.

I sometimes watch older couples in restaurants…wondering what they’re talking about, how connected they are, or whether they’re existing side-by-side oblivious to the other.  Body language reveals so much about a couple’s mojo.  Many times, I’ve watched as a wife eats and jabbers on about whatever is on her mind.  She talks, but he’s not listening.  This person she’s conversing with hasn’t diverted his attention from the edible orgasm on his plate in 20 minutes.  He has no idea that she’s talking, let alone what she’s saying.  Yet, she yammers on…and on…never seeming to notice that her “communication” is being upstaged by the perfectly seasoned and sauteed carcass that’s giving him more oral action than he’s seen in a long time.  By this point of my stealthy stalking, I’m not sure who I pity more…they both seem immersed in their own worlds, bored to death, and hardly connected.  Their exchange, or lack of it, fascinates me.  I watch.  I analyze.  I wonder…

Would he “stand up” and take notice if she sandwiched that meat between her boobs while she spoke?    I’m kidding.  Ok, so I’m not.  Of course he would!

Are they happy?  Or have they mutually surrendered to a lonely parallel existence?

Any long time couple can relate.  After years of “togetherness,” we inevitably lose touch without realizing it.  We assume that because we share close proximity, we’re also close emotionally.  And on some levels, we are.  Living together IS close.  Intimately personal gestures like putting ass to toilet seat while the other scrubs unmentionable areas in the shower requires a certain level of closeness — wouldn’t you say? 

But again, that’s physical proximity.  Parallel existence is not communicating.  It’s not connection.  It’s not enough.  Or so says the half of marriages that end due to loss of that connection.

Experts say there’s a reason we reach the “My husband/wife doesn’t understand me anymore” point in a marriage.  And that reason is lazy communication.  Research shows that we sometimes communicate better with strangers than with our own spouses.  That long-time couples get to know each other so well that we assume too much shared information..and consequently, share less.  The less we share, the less we understand, the less connected we feel.  When communicating with a stranger, we realize they know nothing about us.  So, we share more.  More detail, more emotion – more in general – in an attempt to be understood.  But when speaking to our spouse for the umpteen billionth time in a year, we mentally calculate (x number of years together = can read my mind).  We falsely assume they know what we’re feeling and thinking.  So we don’t bother to delve too much into it.

Like our bodies, our brains get comfortable…and lazy.  After winning over our partner in marriage, we may let ourselves go, not make time for exercise, and avoid giving our mid-section a little in-spection.  Our brains are no different.  We get comfortable and let our communication slide.  Maybe we eventually feel we’re repeating ourselves and stop.  Maybe we feel the other doesn’t care, so why bother.  Maybe we just assume he/she already knows…or should know what we’re feeling.  And when “he” doesn’t, watch out!  Because he should…right?  Our brains are devious and self-protective enough to convince us that it’s the “other” spouse who doesn’t understand “us.”  Or can’t read our mind.  The lazy brain prefers to shift blame elsewhere.  But to be heard and understood,  Express Yourself!

If we’re failing to communicate and stay connected due to comfort, maybe we’re, in fact, too close for comfort.  Sometimes we just get in a rut, take one another for granted, and grow bored.  But remember the beginning of your relationship?  When communication  wasn’t a chore?  When it came without effort?  Communication just was, wasn’t it?  We didn’t think twice about it.  What else just was?  Sex, cuddling, emotion.  It all goes hand-in-hand.  We communicate because we want to be closer.  We want to be closer to have sex and a connection.  So, a lack of communication will result in a lack of connection will result in a lack of sex will result in a lack of communication will result in a lack of connection will result in a lack of sex.  Round and round we go.  Where we get off – and don’t “get off” – we all know.  Splitsville.

We can walk around with our iPods, iPhones, iAlones tucked securely in our pockets every single day.  Reliably close.  But if we don’t plug in the headphones and listen, we won’t appreciate them and will eventually decide we don’t need them around.  Or someone else may steal them from our reliably close pocket when we’re not “listening.”

A happy couple needs three things to thrive:  connection, love, and sex.  Each relies on the other for success.  If one falls to the wayside, the others follow in a domino effect.

Maybe the man in the restaurant would be less into his meal and more into his wife if he knew she’d be into him later in bed.  After all, men communicate for sex.  Women have sex to communicate.

So connect, communicate, and fornicate.

Plug in, tune in, “come” in. 

Chick Hughes

“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.” ~  George Bernard Shaw

i-Tune Into You is a post from ChickHughes

viavector

French kissing.  Tongue wrestling.  Face sucking.  Lip Locking.  Spit swapping.  Whatever your term selection for tonguing affection,  kissing is the shiznit, no?  An upper persuasion for a lower invasion, as they say.  If romance movies have taught us anything, it’s that a knee weakening, head dizzying, passionate tongue tango is all the erotic prodding a sexy pair of undies needs to head south for a breather.  But on the flip side, experience has taught us that a knee locking, spark-free spit exchange void of palpable passion…

Well, the undies will never know, will they? 

We’re all looking for a home run when it comes to sex…but all the bases must be touched to get there.  And, who’s on first? Why, the kiss, of course.  Without the success of a hot sultry kiss, the batter is as likely to get to second base as an inebriated Homer Simpson sporting not-so-tighty whities and shoelaces tied together.  Three strikes be damned!  He’s out!

Kissing is the universal language of love.  A must – or bust!  But why?  In a society obsessed with Germ-X and antibacterial redi wipes, why do we kiss in the first place?  Going to such great lengths to protect our delicate hands from icky germs, but tongue probing the unknown bacterial depths of the infamous dirty mouth?

We have our reasons…however manipulative they may be.

As with everything else relationship, men and women speak a different language when it comes to kissing.  Both have subconscious biologically driven motives for the kiss.  Both use it to get what they want.  And both just down right love it.  It’s the sex before the sex, right?  But that’s where the similarities end.  As usual, men are straight forward.  As his tongue does the persuading, he’s already “pointing” to what he wants.  She, on the other hand, is persuading with her tongue, but keeping what she wants a mystery to him.  Nothing new there, huh?

Our ulterior motives are devilishly different.  And we’ve perfected the kiss as a tool to meet those motives.  One way or another, we’re in it to win it…whether “it” is sex, connection, or long-term bond.  We kiss for a reason.  When first getting to know someone, we have no idea if he/she would make a good sex partner.  We need to test the waters before leaping in.  Evaluate his/her mating potential.  So we let our tongues do the stalking. 

We kiss to:

Assess a mate ~  Both sexes kiss to evaluate a mate.  According to experts, the moment our lusty mouths meet, a very complex exchange of information begins to unfold…a sort of titillating tongue talk.  Our saliva and and breath are packed with pheromones and other biochemical signals telling us whether we’re genetically compatible…and give us clues on the health of our possible bed buddy.  We’re literally taste testing the merchandise.  Are they worthy of breeding?  Should we pursue the screw?  Do we rev our engines and step on the gas…or get out of the car altogether.  Without the “spark,” there’s no heat.  And a kiss tells us instantly whether there’s a spark.  We’re biologically driven to perpetuate the species.  So if we’re not genetically compatible, the body knows.  Result:  Kiss OFF!

Monitor the bond ~ This one belongs solely to the ladies.  Once we’ve decided the taste test is a success, we continue to lay it on him in hopes of raising his oxytocin level, which will -in turn – make him bond with us.  We want the bond because we know once we procreate, we need him to stick around and help with child rearing.  Then once we’ve sealed the bond, we further use the kiss to gauge the status of the relationship.  We’re in constant assessment mode, and use the tongue as a love thermometer.  Is he still committed?  Still hot for me?  Losing interest?  Not feeling it anymore?  Does he love me, or love me not?  As Cher put it, It’s in his kiss!

Score some booty ~ Men pucker up for the obvious reasons…sex, sex, and more sex.  Perfectly evolved mating machines, they use the kiss to get her hot and bothered.  To lure her to down ‘n’ dirty town.  The kiss is bait.  Sex…the prize.  Scientists say trace amounts of testosterone are found in his saliva and are passed on via the kiss to get her in the mating mood.  Instinctively he knows that stimulating her very sensitive lips and tongue will also stimulate her lower regions.  He also uses the kiss to help him determine how good the sex will be.  To let him know how receptive she is to mating.  He subconsciously perceives her level of wetness and salivary exchange during the kiss as a representation of her sexual receptivity during actual intercourse.  Is she hot, or not?  Ready, or not?  Research shows that men feel kissing should lead to sex.  Thank god for modern research!    We may never have figured that one out on our own.  A hot lingering wet kiss means one thing to him.  Go ahead.  Lay it on him…he’ll rise to the occasion every time.

It seems the subconscious mind has us kissing for reasons we may or may not be aware of.  We’re cunning little kissers, no?  But aside from the drive to mate and bond, we kiss because we like it.  Because it’s fun.  Because it’s teasingly erotic and Oh so romantic.  And because…

Oh, who are kidding?  We want sex.

But when it comes to the kiss, ponder this.  Are there good kissers and bad kissers?  Or are the ones we perceive as bad simply not genetically compatible with us…therefore a sexual union not beneficial to the propagation of the species?  Are we nothing more than pawns in the game of banging biology?  Or do we make our own lip smacking rules?

Kiss or miss…

Get your tongues in a twist and find out.

Happy tonguing!

Chick Hughes

“A kiss that speaks volumes is seldom a first edition.” ~Clare Whiting

Tongue Twister is a post from ChickHughes

photo by: asifthebes.

He is.  He’s not.  They love him.  They hate him.  It’s too much.  Pretending to be someone he isn’t is tormenting his psyche, imprisoning his spirit, and annihilating his self-esteem.  He knows he’s different.  He’s always known.  Always shouldered the burdensome lie.  But as most burdens do, this one has become too heavy to bear.  His secret too difficult to keep.  He’s a monster.  Apparently.

A gay monster.

Morally corrupt, an evil volcano bound to erupt, disgustingly vile, and doomed to social exile.  Or so says his family, his community, and his country.  On the contrary, he’s no monster.  Just an innocent teenager whose heart has been labeled “evil.”  Who is he to argue with a country full of know-it-all “adults” who blindly submerge themselves in a delusional pool of perfection?  Casting down judgment from the safety of their high horse.  Adults know everything…and nothing.  We’re pros at lying.  Even better at denying.  But as they say, practice makes perfect.

How can a sexual feeling he has no control over deem him unworthy of living?  This feeling…this secret…this thing…he can’t control is controlling him.  But he has no choice.  This secret is one society has forced him to keep.  So he hides.  Hides behind his fear.  Behind their fear.  Behind the mask that grants him acceptance.  And day after day, he looks at his world from behind the mask…meets his mother’s loving gaze…his father’s expectant eyes brimming with hope.  Their eyes…pre-shame.  How would their eyes change?  If he removed the mask?  How would they look at him…WOULD they look at him…if they knew?  Would they hate him?  Stop loving him?  Be ashamed of him?  Throw him away?  What would happen if he dared be…

him?

Supposedly, they know him better than anyone.  Love him more than anyone.  Is that love as unconditional as they claim?  He wonders.  Nevertheless, his dad’s occasional gay slur, his mom’s complete and utter denial of homosexuality, and his peers’ relentless jeering of any soul who dares to be different…all keep his secret tightly sealed behind his otherwise sexually perverse lips.   He fears his coming out will incur a social debt he, and his family, may never pay.  A debt charged by hate.  Never courageous, ever contagious, that hate spreads…and embeds.  Embeds deep into his heart and his subconscious.  He hates himself.  Because he knows what they don’t.  Knows that the hate they will unleash is kept at bay only by his silence.  His denial.  But he’s finding that his silence…his denial…is creating a very private, very hostile world of hate.  A hate all his own.  So, he has a choice to make…his silence, his fear, and their ignorance…OR his courage, his freedom, and possibly, their enlightenment.  Maybe, just maybe, they’ll outgrow their H8.

“Different” is defined as “not identical, not ordinary, unusual.”  Don’t we strive to be unique?  We do.  But we don’t.  We want to stand out in a crowd…yet, we want to blend in with our peers?  Each of us is different, yet the same.  Different in terms of sexual orientation, politics, religion, race, culture, opinion.  The same in terms of humanity, tears, pain, fears.

And hate.

A hater dwells inside each of us.  We hate because we fear.  That which we don’t understand, we fear; therefore, we hate.  It’s self defense.  The human brain has evolved to do whatever it takes to ensure survival.  Only the strong survive, right?  Innately, we know…to survive, we must be dominant.  So, we fake it.  We self promote…puff out our chest, beat it a few times, bare our teeth, scratch our ass, and assert our dominance.  We convince ourselves that we’re better than the others…Our skin color is better.  Our chosen religion is the “only way.”  Our sexual preference is better.  Better is…better, no?  We need to feel superior…lest we fall lower on the food chain of life.  Risk our demise.  When our “place” feels threatened, we become aggressive.  Hate becomes our weapon of choice.  We tell ourselves, “they’re not like me.”   We banish “the others” from our inner circle…from “us.”   That cues our brains to begin devaluing “the others” and justifies bullying, hate crimes, genocide, terrorist attacks, and war.  We stop at nothing to assert our dominance.  To be right.  To feed our need to be right, we surround ourselves with like people.  People who share the same values, opinions, prejudices, hates…as we do.  Because hearing the echo of our own thoughts empowers us…Ahhh, sweet validation.  Validation…and, uh, numbers.  In any war, sheer numbers leads to victory.  United we stand, divided we fall?

We hate out of ignorance…out of self promotion…out of fear.

But what exactly ARE we afraid of?

Religion scares us ~  We convince ourselves that our religion, or lack of, is the only one.  Being wrong on this playing field carries heavy penalties.  The gnashing of teeth, burning in hell, fire and brimstone kind.  We’re right.  We have to be -  if we want to survive death.    So, we condemn other religions as a sort of self-soother.  We’re entangled in a desperate attempt to survive not only this life, but any possible after-life.  Self preservation at its finest.

Race scares us ~  Conquering survival of the fittest means convincing ourselves we’re superior.  Telling ourselves this skin color is better than that.  As long as we feel superior, we’re good.  We don’t feel threatened.  But as soon as our superiority is threatened, hate jumps to our defense…snarling through it’s terrified teeth.

Sexuality scares us ~ Homophobia is no different than any other fear…it’s a protection of one’s ego.  Like bullies in school, we pick on “different” because understanding it could lead to our social death.  And condoning it could threaten our own sexuality…or at least others’ perception of it.  Like teenagers in school, we long to fit in.  We long to fit in because it’s a sure road to survival.

Survival means war.  Or so it would seem.  Not only do we wage war against “different” locally…but being the ambitious go-getters that we are, we take on other countries.  We murder over power, religion, greed…all in an attempt to be dominant.  To survive.  But maybe true survival lies in education, not termination.

After all, ignorance is the root of all fear.  And fear is the root of all hate.

So educate!  Rip fear out by the root!  Celebrate humanity…all its differences, all its imperfections, all its love.

Think with heart – not with hate.

Later Hater

Chick Hughes

“Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.” ~  Marie Curie

Later Hater is a post from ChickHughes