Weinergate... Keep it in Your Pants

Thus far it’s a pretty slow summer so I’ve been thinking a lot about Weinergate. I mean, I haven’t been thinking specifically about Weiner’s wiener; more it’s been about where we draw the line between online flirting and straight-up infidelity. And what about any associated “privacy issues?”

Now, I know we all want to stand up and wave the freedom of speech flag – even those who are completely appalled by Weiner’s behavior. Certainly none of us wants the government legislating what we do – however inappropriate – in our private time, assuming of course we’re directing this to the activities of consenting adults. Hey, I’m in the front row with a placard of my own, crawling onto some stranger’s shoulders to scream through my megaphone, “No one is going to tell ME what I can and cannot write, say, or photograph! I will not be silenced by The Man!”

Here’s the thing: that’s not really what we’re talking about – or more specifically, not talking about. The penis in the room isn’t about freedom of speech or what consenting adults can or cannot do. No, no, no. The penis in the room is about what consenting adults should or should not do.

*senses guilty people shifting uncomfortably in their chairs*

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that the appropriateness of sexting or the exchanging nudie pics is pretty much dependent on your relationship status. If you’re single – single as in you don’t have the same person regularly sleeping next to you – I say do what you like! Go craaaazy! Sow your wild oats! Take all the photographs or sex videos, and send all the racy text messages you like! Grab life by your balls! Who cares?!?!?

[Caution: your current or future employer might care should these surface so I’d think this through without the throbbing sexual desire before proceeding. Also note that the ban on “bad naked” has not been lifted.]

Now that we’ve established I’m not from the Christian right, or any kind of prude for that matter, let’s get to the meat of this. Here’s a primer for those of you who apparently can’t function within the general confines of decency:

1.     If you are married; if you are in a “committed relationship,” or if your part-time partner thinks your liaison is monogamous, you’re just a skeevy asshole for sexting, emailing, or taking “self-portraits” with or for someone else.

2.     That’s it. Re-read number one.

I’m sure by now a few of you are mentally composing what you believe to be a compelling yet scathing argument, albeit “anonymously,” to leave in this post’s Comments. Compose away, I say! But before you click Submit ask yourself this: are you going to share it with your significant other? No? Chickenshit… What do you suppose that says about you? That, oh I dunno, maybe you shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing? If you have to hide it, you know it’s wrong. And don’t go trying to hide behind lame excuses, attempt to make it less than it is, or turn the tables on the person you’re supposed to be sharing a relationship or your life with by flinging accusations about invasion of privacy.

First, if we’ve learned nothing else from Tony Weiner, it’s that when you lie or make excuses to cover-up your behavior, you will be caught and the fallout will be even more dangerous to life, “limb” or reputation. You never really know how crazy or vindictive someone can be until they’re the last to know they’ve been being made a fool of – publically or privately.

I’ve recently heard this kind of Weiner-tastic carrying-on referred to as “flirting.” Are you fucking kidding me? I have an idea, how about we take a moment to look that word up.

According to Merriam-Webster online, flirting is:

a.     To behave amorously without serious intent

b.     To show superficial or casual interest or liking

c.     To come close to reaching or experiencing something

Behavior check, anyone?

Now, because I rarely take a position based on one resource, I pulled out my Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, and my trusty old Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language (college edition and yes, it’s just that old) and nowhere did I see any mention of sexting or bawdy photographs discussed or described in those additional definitions of flirting. So what have we learned? We’ve learned this: no, jackass, you do NOT get to call your behavior “flirting!”

As for the privacy portion of your wheedling, what the hell kind of “relationship” are you carrying on if you’re worried about what your spouse might uncover if he or she were to use your computer because it’s right there, or use your cell to send a text to a mutual friend? Or! Even if he or she was just being nosey, the point here is that if you’re having an honest relationship, there’d be nothing to hide and privacy would not even be an issue!

Maybe reality television has skewed the public’s definition of appropriate relationship behavior. All those loud-mouthed girls chasing after whore-boys; people sneaking around doing who knows what with it doesn’t matter who… When did it become “acceptable” to partake in extracurricular activities? And why are those who are the most hurt by it – the spouses and significant others of the offenders – be expected to get onboard with the idea that this isn’t infidelity? That no apology is necessary because there wasn’t actual sex?

I have a yardstick of sorts I use when I’m not really onboard with my own behavior. I ask myself whether my grandparents would be ashamed of me. Feel free to consider that your takeaway.

Blank Pages

I’ve recently self-determined that I’m not funny anymore. Oh sure, there are still the occasional snarky one-liners, but where anything more than that is required, there are pet shop parrots with more interesting things to say.

It occurs to me that maybe I ought to try something new. Something … exhilarating.

It’s no secret that I like to limit my physical activity to things that give me immediate results - like hauling the giant vodka bottle down from its cabinet. Don’t judge. This exercise also employs the use of extreme bicep strength in order to remove the freezer-burned ice cubes trapped in their trays.

Safe to say that there’s no situation whereby I’ll find myself jumping out of an airplane naked like my girlfriend JG, swimming with actual sharks, or freezing my ass off in an Iditarod. I thought briefly about rock climbing… the kind you do indoors with thick mats and a super hot trainer. I just worry about how my ass will look squished out the bottom of a harness. That view can’t be good from below… So where that idea is concerned, I’ve decided that perhaps the only rocks I’ll be conquering will remain those in a 4oz glass, ungraciously blocking me from the last of my liquor.

I think the problem is that I’m unbearably bored. I’ve gone from having entirely too much, to having only a moderate amount to occupy my days. I suppose I should work on The Book That Will Never Be Finished, or refresh my political point of view, but really? Why? To either. I’ve never actually finished anything – which obviously isn’t a record I plan to break this late in the game; and outside of Weinergate, the wind has left my sails now that Washington has gone home for summer vacation.

[sidebar: you can bet that given the events of this week, many a Republican and Democrat of both genders is giving their computer and cell phone a good “scrubbing.” Here’s some food for thought: if you’re hiding it, you know you shouldn’t be doing it.]

I feel a privacy rant coming on so I think I’ll collect my rocks see if that thought takes us somewhere exhilarating.