I have spent 8 years (not continuously) with my mouth between a dude’s legs, and while I finally know that I’m good at it (one fine young man – whose name I do not know – exclaimed, “Wow! That was good!”), I still don’t love all the work is involved. It kills my jaw, my neck, and I’d rather let the guy handle things on his own than risk lock jaw on a sweaty appendage.

And do I get paid back? Not often. Lots of guys I know and have “interacted” with really aren’t into making the trip downtown on a lady. “It’s so hard!” they say. “You don’t know what we’re dealing with down there!”

Um, excuse me? They think they have it hard (pun totes not intended)?

I decided to take this issue on myself with my favorite IMing male to see if we could work through our problems and come to some sort of truce for men and women everywhere. Will this entice more men to venture South? We can only hope.

Likey? Don’t worry, there are plenty more faves where this came from.

I have spent 8 years (not continuously) with my mouth between a dude’s legs, and while I finally know that I’m good at it (one fine young man – whose name I do not know – exclaimed, “Wow! That was good!”), I still don’t love all the work is involved. It kills my jaw, my neck, and I’d rather let the guy handle things on his own than risk lock jaw on a sweaty appendage.

And do I get paid back? Not often. Lots of guys I know and have “interacted” with really aren’t into making the trip downtown on a lady. “It’s so hard!” they say. “You don’t know what we’re dealing with down there!”

Um, excuse me? They think they have it hard (pun totes not intended)?

I decided to take this issue on myself with my favorite IMing male to see if we could work through our problems and come to some sort of truce for men and women everywhere. Will this entice more men to venture South? We can only hope.

1. Drink enough water.

You’re giving the weather a head start if you don’t properly hydrate yourself. Just because you’re not sweating from the summer heat doesn’t mean you can cut down on your h20 intake. Continue to drink plenty of water, and limit your fizzy soft drinks and alcohol, which will dehydrate you faster than you can say “blizzard.”

2. Invite skin care into the shower.

One thing’s inevitable: you have to shower, right? So purchase soaps and body wash that won’t dry you out. According to About.com, bar soaps are more likely to dry out your skin, whereas emollient-rich cleansers will actually battle the effects of dry skin. Try Dove Delicate Cream Body Wash, or look for the word “butter,” as in “Shea Butter,” “Cocoa Butter,” or just plain “Body Butter” when you’re selecting your next lather. Your hands feel the cleansers you use the most, since they are slathering the stuff all over your bod.

3. Dream away dryness.

If your hands are so dry it’s painful, you may want to pull out the big guns. Put an extra-strength lotion or vaseline on your hands, and then sleep with knit gloves or socks over your hands. This way, you can’t smear the moisturizers all over the place or inadvertently wipe your hands on your sheets while you sleep. The gloves will trap the lotion overnight, meaning your skin cells get the most help.

4. Wear your effing gloves.

Seriously. Invest in a few pairs so that even if you’re running late and forget to grab one pair, you have a backup in your messenger bag, or keep a pair in every room of the house so that they’re always accessible. Get the thickest, warmest gloves you can find – a cheap knit pair won’t do much to keep your hands warm (and moist) this season.

5. Protect your nails.

For nail care, make it a point to keep your routine manicure appointments. If you can’t afford a professional manicure, at least take care of your nails every week by clipping and filing them to keep them in check. When you wash your hands, make sure you clean underneath the nail to prevent germy build-up, and use a nail brush if possible. Don’t be afraid to soak your hands for a bit – a warm handbath can make you feel better after you’ve come in from the biting cold! And, of course, use that lotion you’ve been saving for the back of your hand on the area around your cuticles to prevent irritation and hang nails.

Saturday night: You’re at a frat party. You just won three consecutive games of beer pong. You don’t think twice about drinking your cups, despite the fact that you’ve seen the ball land in other peoples’ used cups, roll along the basement floor, and watched the ball pass between thirty-something unwashed hands.

What gives?!?

Obviously, beer pong isn’t the most sanitary party game out there. But you have the “water cup,” right? That cup of tepid, dirty water is totes gonna disinfect that old, recycled ping pong ball (that was most likely found under someone’s bed 10 minutes before party time). Or not.

Some microbiology students at George Washington University decided to test exactly how detrimental to your health beer pong can be. If you like beer pong, you may want to skip this article.

After a somewhat mild night of beer pong, consisting of eight students and thirty beers, the budding scientists collected samples from each of the beer pong cups and the water cup. What’d they find? A haven for germs. Bacteria from the E. Coli, salmonella, and pneumonia families were present in every single test tube containing samples from the game. Oh, and that water cup that everyone used to clean the balls? That was the most infected, and housed the most bacteria growth over night.

This study centered on beer pong only, but what about other potentially sickening games? When’s the last time you did a kegstand, putting your mouth on the tap that’s been who-knows-where after a dozen other people slurped down a few seconds worth of brew? How about the time you stood in for flip cup, and rotated through other peoples’ cups round after round?

We put our mouths everywhere when there’s cheap beer involved (and some of us really put our mouths everywhere), but we’re super cautious about where we place our ASS when we’re in a public place? Just some food for thought.

Not that you have to quit beer pong — hell, no! To be just a tad cleaner, change out the water cups and beer pong balls throughout the night, and keep your own beer cup to drink out of after the ball hits (just dump the shot’s worth of beer into your own cup).

Alcohol is bad enough for your immune system; don’t give germs a better opportunity to take up residence in your body.

Me and manicures, we have a love / hate relationship.

In my mind, the French Manicure represents a woman who has it all together; she’s smart, has things organized in cute little boxes on her desk, doesn’t have clothes strewn around her room, owns outfits that match, and is successful enough to spend $10 a week on nail upkeep. Perfectly painted fingers are the hallmark of chic and classy.

So, why oh why am I hopeless when it comes to keeping them that way?

Not being able to preserve a French mani makes me feel like a loser. A childish idiot who can’t maintain even the simplest womanly fashion. How hard is it to keep one’s nails at a nicely filed length? How difficult is it to keep that pretty white line from chipping off?

If you’re me, very hard. Incredibly hard. Impossible.

Ever since I’ve become interested in manicures (if you live in New York City, eventually you will start to notice the nail salons that are every 5 feet, and eventually, you will walk inside one), I’ve attempted time and time again to turn myself in a lady by retaining perfectly buffed nails, but it never works.

I get nervous, I bite them. I get stressed, I scratch the cuticles. I open up can after can of Red Bull, one breaks. I accidentally slam my hand in a door, the polish chips. I wait by the phone for a boy to call, the polish is scraped completely off.

A week or so after I’ve spent hard earned money on appearing sophisticated, my hands look like they’ve been through the garbage disposal.

But I can’t stop. I can’t stop pushing open the door to that tiny salon and I can’t stop being a clumsy idiot. Something has gotten inside my brain and convinced me that French Manicures are the way to finding my inner sophisticate.

It’s like a horrible addiction…and those Korean women down the street have my number.