Moist. That's Right, I Said It.

"You know what word I hate? 'Moist'. And 'Panties'! And if you put them together? Moist panties? Oh my god! I could throw up!"

I DESPISE listening to this conversation. And I hear it ALL THE TIME. Look, people are entitled to have a slight adverse reaction to a word, but is the term "moist panties" really going to ruin your life that much? If you don't like the word moist, use damp. If you can't stand panties, then put on underwear every morning. They're just words that happen to make different sounds. There are much worse things in life to worry about, like "murder" or "bankruptcy", or "a sudden trip to planned parenthood".

Despite my sour feelings towards the whole idea of hating aspects of the English language (which if you think about it, is an amazing thing and should be greatly appreciated. We have been provided with letters which make up words which allow us to have actual conversations. We have the ability to say things like "I love you", "Thank you", and "If you don't leave right now I'm going to slash your tires", instead of simply making sounds like "Uuuuhhh", "Errrrr", and "Nrrrmph"), there is one word that turns my stomach a little bit:

Naughty.

This word makes me cringe in any situation, but obviously it disturbs me the most in an intimate setting. The following phrases should never, ever, EVER be said out loud to another person:

- "Mmm, aren't you a naughty boy/girl..."

- "You're naughty, huh? You like that?"

- "Wha-"

...wait. I can't even finish the examples. It grosses me out too much. Does anyone have any moist panties they can throw my way to ease my stomach?

Here's the thing that gets me. The word naughty was originally reserved for children who were misbehaving. Therefore, it's strange to talk to the naked chick next to you the same way you talk to your 2 year old kid. But now, the word has almost developed a bigger association with sex, which makes it even more awkward to hear a mother calling her kid in a stroller a naughty boy. I just- I just don't get it.

I know that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, and me hating the word naughty is really no different than someone hating the word panties, but it's my opinion and I'm sticking to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go close my window. The humidity outside is making the room feel a little moist.

Remember That Time The Most Self-Deprecating Human Being Alive Crushed My Last Remaining Shred Of Confidence?

The other night I had a dream that Louis C.K. told me I was bad in bed.

For those of you who don't know who this particular comedian is, please Google him before you read any further so you can grasp the exact severity of this situation.

Fortunately, I know where the basis of this dream came from. Actually, the whole thing is kinda my fault. Before going to sleep, I had been catching up on the latest couple episodes of Louie. While doing so, I had the same thought that crossed my mind every time I watched his show: "You know what? I would totally sleep with him."

Now before you judge me, let's get a few things straight. First, my sporadically occurring crush on Louie C.K. is not so much based on looks as it is on our mutual outlook on life, which is roughly somewhere along the lines of, "I'm sorry, what?!"

The second factor of my attraction has to do with the fact that anyone who knows me knows that if a guy was born in the 70's and has a face overgrown with facial hair, I automatically dig him. In fact, I nearly gave a friend of mine a heart attack when I told him that I had been hanging out with a guy who was under the age of 30.

But all of this still doesn't give Louie the right to gallop into my dream and tell me I'm bad in bed. Let me just lay the whole scene out for you:

I was sitting on a chair in, no bullshit, a dark room with the exception of a single hanging light bulb, and to my left was this guy that I had apparently just slept with. I recognized the kid as someone I knew, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you who it was. He's sitting there and, I assumed, talking to me, but as he said "Yeah, you're not that great.", I noticed he was looking somewhere past me. So I turn to my right and there he is, in all his red-headed glory and that damn brown suede jacket that he wears in every episode of his show, sitting on a chair to my right, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, she's pretty bad, huh?" Louie the Traitor said while nodding emphatically.

"What??" I interjected, shocked at the blasphemy that was being force fed to me via my own subconscious.

Louie then turned to me and spoke, half towards me, half towards the other kid that had apparently just had the awful, terrible misfortune of adding me to their list.

"Yeah," he said, "I've been meaning to tell you actually. Like, I knew you were going to be bad before anything even happened, I just didn't know how bad."

As I sat there, glancing back and forth between the two men with a look of total shock and 'what the fuck' on my face, I woke up. And I then had to go through an entire day with Louie C.K.'s matter-of-fact face pounding in my head all day.

So here's my question that arose after this whole debacle: How do we honestly know if we're good or bad in bed if no one tells us?

I mean, I've been in some situations where I would have loved to just stand up and scream, "What is wrong with you?? Please don't ever put another human being through what you just made me endure! For the love of god, what you see in porn is not what girls want in real life!!!"

But of course, it's simple sex-etiquette (sexiquette?) to keep your mouth shut and try and rectify the situation by taking control and making sure your moves overpower the culprit's moves. On the other hand, I wonder just how satisfying or soul-crushing it would be if after two people slept with each other, they sat there and gave a verbal report card. I mean, you know you're lying if you don't lay there sometimes and wish you knew what other people thought of your talents (or lack thereof). Are you exciting? Boring? Sensual? A dead fish? Is it better if we never know and just wait until we find our soulmate who has been waiting their whole life for a partner to act like a deceased underwater sea creature in bed?

Perhaps this is just one of those situations where no news is good news. Or not. Actually, probably not. Let's all just assume that if they come back for seconds, you're in good shape.

And just to save any hope for me getting a date in the future, Louie C.K. doesn't know what he's talking about.