When talking to a group of ladies about “numbers” and past experiences, there will always be someone who claims that one of their partners just “doesn’t count” for one reason or another. Many people have “rules” as to what doesn’t really count as sex – which is a good way to lower a number that doesn’t really matter anyways.

So what are some of the excuses people make to keep their “magic number” low and their “I don’t make bad choices” view of themselves high? Oh, well there’s a whole list of ‘em!

Two pump chump: If it’s less than three pumps, it doesn’t really count.

The hangover: If you only remember some of it, it doesn’t really count.

Flaccid Freddy: If it doesn’t stay erect the whole time, it doesn’t really count.

Climax control: If he didn’t finish, it doesn’t really count.

Straight as an arrow: That girl on Spring Break doesn’t really count.

Timer Tammy: If it was less than two minutes, it doesn’t really count.

The one night stand: If it was only one time, so it doesn’t really count.

Anonymous fun: I didn’t even know his name, so it doesn’t really count.

College co-ed: It was just a college experience, it doesn’t really count.

Trippin’ traveler: If it happened in Vegas, it doesn’t really count.

The escort: If you pay for it then it doesn’t really count.

Kissing Karla: We didn’t kiss so it doesn’t really count.

The first time: Oh, the first time doesn’t really count.

Bad to the bone: It was awful, so it doesn’t really count.

… and the list goes on.

Of course we’re only talking about consensual sex here, but here’s the only rule you’ve gotta follow: if it’s in, it counts. Embrace all of your sexual experiences – even the ones that you wish didn’t count. It’s hard to really appreciate good sex unless you’ve had some really bad sex too.

What “it doesn’t really count” excuses have you heard?

Want more Sexy Time? (Who doesn’t?) Get some. Right here.

Miss Manners says: Nope. It’s better and more respectable if you’re upfront with the guy rather than lead him on out of pity/kindness.  And, let’s be honest, you don’t want to have to screen your calls for the next 6 months out of fear that he’s not moving on….

Try one of these tactics to deliver the news instead:

Lie. Ahhh… The cornerstone of all etiquette: the white lie. Apologize and tell him that you have a boyfriend or tell him you dropped your brand new Blackberry down the toilet (true story). Yes, of course lying is bad and oft looked down on, but sometimes a white lie is more forgiving than the truth – as long as you don’t get too crazy with your story (“I have a penis”) and nobody gets harmed in the process.
Be wary of: Betting caught in your lie. Trust me, it’s pretty humiliating and you could end up with the “bitch” label. And news of a bitch spreads fast.

Politely excuse yourself… and run to the nearest restroom/exit. Say, “I’m sorry but I have to go,” with an air of finality so he gets the hint.
Be wary of: Him NOT getting the hint and waiting outside the bathroom door for you. Creepy? Yes. Possible? Definitely.

Try the truth (nicely). My preferred method, of course, as long as it’s delivered with tact. You don’t have to be mean about it. An apologetic, “You’re just not my type” will get your point across and you won’t have to worry about it/him haunting you in the future.
Be wary of: Hurting him – although, to be honest, any method of rejection will probably bruise his ego. And while you never want to be a mean heart-stomping bitch, it’s time to do what’s best for you and not worry about the weird creeper in the process.

So in conclusion, rejection is a dirty business, but in some cases it just has to be done. Don’t ever feel like you have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with because etiquette deems it so. If you don’t want to give that turd your number, don’t.

Anyway, I’m dying to hear about your rejection stories/tips. Leave a comment and tell me all about it!

Just to start off – I’m not bashing sex. If you’re a regular reader then you know that for many of us sex and college go together like Uggs and snow — you can’t have one without the other. I’m all for sex, but I believe making out is hotter. After all, there is a reason bumping uglies is a euphemism for sex.

While you can’t really have sex without making out first, you can totes make out without having sex. Which makes making out hot no matter what time of the month it is. I don’t know about you, but there’s very few firsts in any sort of relationship (be it one that goes long-term or just the random boy you meet at the bar) that are more memorable than that first hot makeout session. Here’s why:

-You can’t get pregnant from making out. So, no pill or condom necessary!

-You can do it any time of the month. Without a gross mess.

-Your chance of getting an STD is a lot lower.

-It can last a lot longer than sex. Especially with a college guy.

-Getting caught making out with someone is a lot less embarrassing than getting caught doing the nasty. Especially if you live at home with your parents.

-Likewise, making out in a public place still has the thrill, without the risk of getting caught. And you don’t need to wear a skirt

-You don’t have to worry about your  “number.”  Because who really cares how many people you’ve made out with?

-There is no clean up after, no evidence to dispose of, and no wet spot to avoid sleeping on

-If you’re just making out, this can’t happen.

Why do you prefer a hot makeout sesh?

It’s not so much the muffin top in and of itself that irks me. It is OSTS, or One-Size-Too-Small Syndrome, afflicting so many girls that just baffles me.

Why do I refer to this…issue… as OSTS instead of the popular, Muffin Top? Well, in my humble opinion, the phrase “muffin top” implies that the offender is what she eats, and likely has a fondness for Oreos and Taco Bell. This simply is not always true. Skin hanging over your waistband does not mean fatness. I’ve seen girls who can’t possibly be any bigger than a size 4 with a muffin top, and it’s not that they’re at all chubby. Instead, it’s that they insist they’re a size two, and the end result in the obvious: OSTS. It’s not pretty.

I’m definitely not a tiny girl by any means, and I completely understand the battle with body image. I get a little unhappy anytime I have to purchase something in a large instead of a medium, but if the medium makes me look like a sausage trying to escape its skin, is it really worth wearing? Is it really going to look like you’re a size medium to anyone but yourself? Of course not! I may groan when I have to reach for a size larger in that cute little dress or jeans, but if it lays just right and fits as intended, so be it.

Stacy London of What Not to Wear has said it time and again—the only person who sees the size of your clothing is you. What matters is the look and if you can pull it off. If you have to go up a size to look like you can breathe (or to actually be able to breathe) bite the bullet and do it. Don’t be a sufferer of OSTS just because you can’t stand to wear a 30″ waistband instead of a 28″ or 29″—I promise you, clothing was not meant to appear as though it’s painted on. And it certainly wasn’t meant to feel that way unless you’re a runway model rocking haute couture for a living.

Am I wrong? Is it just me who thinks it’s ridiculous to squeeze into a smaller size than you actually are?

[Photo courtesy of www.coloribus.com]

We are at the bar, enjoying our favorite hits from Madonna’s Immaculate Collection with our girlfriends when, BAM, that weird dude shows up out of nowhere. He may be old, he may be creepy, or he may just be plain old gross (no matter how many drinks we’ve had…and yes, we did take that into consideration…what can we say? It’s been a long, dry summer), but whatever the reason we are not interested.

We give all the right signals – our friends drag us away, we pretend that our phone is ringing, we start dancing with other guys – but he just doesn’t get it. What are we supposed to do?

Get creative, of course.

Our writers are weighing in this week with their best efforts at letting the lad down gently.

Britt – Northern Virginia Community College: I ended up pointing to a random huge tattooed guy across the room and said that he was my boyfriend with a huge rage problem. It ended up working and the skeezy guy left me alone!

Sady – The New School: If an uncomely man approaches me, he learns that my name is Andrea, I’m from Wisconsin, I go to NYU, I’m majoring in Art History, and my phone number is [the first seven numbers I can think of, recited with great confidence]. There are a lot of dudes in this town who probably wander around thinking, “wow, that Andrea is a bitch.”

Lauren – University of Michigan: “I haven’t done bikini line maintenance in a few months; it’s your call.”

K – NYU: My former roommate (after finishing her beer) told a guy offering to buy her next drink, “Can’t, I’m pregnant. Thanks though.”

Jess T – Columbia University: Some sleazy photographer kept hitting on me at this party. At one point he says, “I’m looking for my blind date, are you her?”I said, “No, sorry, I can see.”

Jessica – FSU: “I’m sorry, I’m not going to write my phone number on the back of your sub club card.”

J – NYU: “I forgot my phone number” …I was drunk, but it worked.

Devon – UCLA: “I have a baby. It didn’t work out with her dad, so this time, I’m in it for the long haul and I know I don’t know you very well, but you don’t seem like ‘the one’ to me.”

Melissa – College of Westchester: I told someone that “Angels in America” taught me that loveless sex goes against God and that I was going to be celibate for a long time to come. (By “a long time” I meant, “until I met someone who didn’t suck as much as he did.”)

Gemma – NYU: Umm…not returning their phone calls. Does that count?

Noa – UC Boulder: “Maybe if you weren’t wearing a pink Lacoste shirt…tucked into a pair of ill fitting jeans.”

Kathryn S.: I used my high-school level French to explain that I don’t speak English. Ne parle pas Anglais!

Olua: I once told this outrageously persistent dude a long, intricate story about my ex/stalker/soul mate. He looked horrified by the end of it and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night.

Victoria Witchey: Clearly lacking imagination, I turned a guy down by telling him I was a nun. I doubt he believed me, being it was in a club at 3am.

Sues – University of New Hampshire: “I’m 36 years old and married with a 2 year old.” They totally believed that my friend and I were getting away from our husbands and hanging out in a collegey bar…and I look 18.

Lyndsey – University of Michigan: (After having about 200,000 beers): “No, you can’t have my number because I’m f*#kin’ forty times hotter than you are, motherf*#ker. Get the f*#k out of here, son.”

Think you’ve done it better? Prove it.

There’s not a whole lot I hate more than waiting when it comes to guys. Waiting for him to smile at me. Waiting for him to talk to me. Waiting for him to ask me for my number. And then waiting for him to call me. Waiting for him to ask me out when he finally does call and subsequently… waiting in limbo for him to eventually crush my dreams of everything I once hoped he was.

So fine. Maybe I’m more aggressive than your typical woman. But I hate the frustration that accompanies playing the role of the patient, traditional lady. I kill myself emotionally and mentally during the wait and a few years ago, I decided to just take matters into my own hands.

I’m no longer afraid to approach a guy at a bar–especially if I’m dressed all hot and cute. I’m not even afraid to tiptoe my way into exchanging numbers with him…but the key here is tiptoe.

Tiptoeing: the secret to being an aggressive woman.

It’s more than okay to let a man know what you want. In fact, many of them actually prefer it. It’s much easier to orchestrate some sort of relationship with a female if the male is confident that you’ll always speak your mind (cause lets face it…the role of submissive housewife is just gross and unattractive). However, there is an art to being aggressive while still fooling the guy into believing that he has some sort of power.

For instance, don’t ask him for his number. Instead, bring up something cool happening that week. Trust me, if he’s into you, he’ll invite himself. And then when you’re parting ways, he’ll have to ask you for your number. Hence, you get exactly what you want while still making him feel like HE did all of the work.

So the key to being an aggressive woman?: Get what you want without making him think you’re getting what you want.

Have any other tiptoing tips or tricks to share with the group? Spill!