As one of your faithful readers, I’ve seen the great advice you give and am hoping you can throw some my way.

So I met this guy at a bookstore randomly and got introduced to him via a mutual friend who also happened to be in the bookstore.
We talked some after the mutual friend left and left it at that. Fast-forward maybe four months and we happen to sit near each other in church – quite unusual since the church is fairly large. I kept on seeing him at the bookstore (a favorite study plan for both of us) and we would always speak to each other. One day I was wearing gym clothes, no makeup – basically looking a hot mess – when I saw him with a female who turned out to be his girlfriend.

I kept seeing him at church but it seemed like after I saw his girlfriend he acted kind of weird. Well, I went to the bookstore and saw him sitting by himself again. Not knowing at the time that the girl had been his girlfriend, I casually asked where his girlfriend was. He said that they had split, but didn’t seem too upset about it!  I got this huge, silly grin on my face and apologized for asking. But he said it was fine. So then we talked for 2 hours straight about faith, family, relationships, etc, he’s 28 and thought I was 26/27 and couldn’t believe it when I told him I was 23.

So then he walked me to my car and since he knows I’m into fitness we exchanged numbers since he wanted to go to a class with me on this upcoming weekend. I’m trying to be cool, but I have liked him for months. Am I being silly or is there real potential here? He’s a really good guy, solid job, gorgeous smile, and I want to avoid being friend- zoned. Thanks!!

Huh. Well. I wouldn’t exactly say that you are being friend-zoned so much as that you are…(I’m trying to say this delicately)…I think maybe you are in no zone at all. Unless I’m missing something, what I think is going on here is that you have a crush on a man who may very well not know you are alive. I mean, clearly he knows you exist because he has sat next to you and conversed with you, but it doesn’t seem to me that you’re even on his radar.

I don’t blame you for it – I too have been guilty in the past of mistaking friendship and basic courtesy for interest (and vice versa). Sometimes it’s hard to tell if a man is giving you vibes or just being polite. But luckily for you I already wrote a handy-dandy guide on this very subject.

Take a look at that and if you conclude that he is indeed giving you vibes, you need to push him a little harder to get him to make a move. (do not under any circumstances make a move on him. He’s not ripe and it will blow up in your face). You’re going to need to do something to make him realize you exist and motivate him into action. For that I refer you to this post, in which the lovely and talented Dr. J schools us on how to get in the path of destruction.

The good news is that being in no-zone is a much more enviable position than being in the friend zone – once a man puts you in a box it’s hard as hell to get him to put you in another one. So get out there and dazzle him and then come back and tell me what happened.

That’s my advice – what say you guys? Do you agree that this man is not studying her or do you see something I don’t see? Weigh in with your advice in the comments.

Related posts:

1. Ask Max: My Friend is a Hoochie
2. This is the end, beautiful friend (Max in Real Life)
3. A Couple’s Best Friend

I was skipping along happily in life with my 8.5 by my side until the day my friend and blogging idol Dr. J wrote this post about the rating scale for women. When I did the math according to his calculations, I came in at a 5. Then I went back and calculated it again and gave myself a 6 instead. Then I wept and hit him on gchat to inform him that he’d ruined my life.  Mystified as he so often is by the workings of my mind, he didn’t feel my pain. His advice was to figure out how I see myself and not let other people dictate my number. Solid advice, but I would have been happy with “Max no way are you a 5, any fool can see you’re an 11!”.

Although it was a tiny bit dramatic for me to say that a score of 5 out of 10 ruined my life, it did make me pause and reevaluate my perception of my own attractiveness. What good is your score if you gave it to yourself and you’re the only one who thinks it? Was I incorrect in my assessment that in any given place, only 2 out of 10 women is better looking than I? And why does it matter?

Maybe it’s different for other (normal) people, but my attractiveness – or my perception of it – informs a lot of what I do. I function better in life when I look good or at least believe I do. I have better relationships with people who don’t make me feel ugly or lumpy. I communicate better with men who think I’m pretty. And let’s not forget, I’m the girl who stopped making YouTube videos because a troll called me ugly. I care about my attractiveness and what’s more, I care that other people recognize my attractiveness. Is that a bad thing?

Almost a year after the good doctor’s attractiveness calculations rocked me to my core, I had almost returned to normal when he sent me this link. For those of you too lazy to click it, the net net of it is that most people are between a 4 and a 6 on the attractiveness scale and that there is no such thing as a perfect 10. This caused my self-imposed 8.5 score to waver momentarily, until I reminded myself that I don’t have time for yet another existential crisis about my looks.

At the end of the day though, does it really matter? Is the good doctor right in saying that we have to choose our number and stick to it, all evidence to the contrary? Or is that how those unfortunate-looking women end up on YouTube and World Star gyrating in too-tight clothes thinking they’re really doing something? Is life as an 8 really any better than life as a 6? Or as a 4? The illustrious Panama Jackson has been touting himself as a 3 for ages and he seems to be doing alright with his life. So maybe a high score isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Last night in preparation for this post I asked Mr. Max what score he would give me on a scale of 1 to 10. After giving me a look that said “screw you I know a trap when I see one”, he gave me an 8. Smart man. As long as I think and I’m 8 and my mister concurs, does it matter what anyone else thinks?  To me it does, but am I alone in this?

Tell me dear readers, what score have you been given? What would you give yourself? Do you think that being perceived as attractive enriches your life in any way or do you have more important things to worry about? Speak on it in the comments.

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From the outside in, it seems pretty clear who has the better deal. Why would anyone choose to go through life being the giver of love when you could be the recipient? Who wouldn’t choose to sail carelessly through relationships while someone else gnashes their teeth over you? Who would choose to be the one who does more, gives more, cares more when you could instead be the recipient of all that vigilance?

The truth is though that each role is more complicated than it appears. To be the Lover is to be constantly aware of the risk you’re taking, of the hurt that may come to you. To keep a watchful eye on your partner’s mood, demeanor, and expression; looking for signs that he needs something you haven’t done, wants something you haven’t given.

But there is an exultant out of control feeling about being the Lover. The precarious nature of love fills you with a giddy unsettlement. Your hypervigilance stops you from ever taking your love for granted, and if your relationship ends you can be content with the knowledge that you did all you could, gave all you could.You don’t need over-the-top gestures of affection; you are content with small, sincere gestures of love .There is a freedom and a joy in loving freely and unabashedly, in seeming to exist solely to please your partner.

To be the Loved is to never doubt that you are cherished by your partner. To know that your every need and desire will be met. If your relationship is a guided hike, you sail carelessly down the path while your partner is the tour guide who makes sure your thirst is quenched, your belly is full, and you see all the sights. You relax knowing that your partner doesn’t require anything more from you than your respect and your presence.

But there is also a frustration in being the Loved. A resentment of the selfless giving of which you are the recipient. There is a sense of obligation to the person whose happiness is inextricably tied to your pleasure. A lack of ease in the knowledge that every word you say can cut your partner to the quick. There’s an unease in constant receiving – not knowing when or if all you’ve been given will be thrown in your face. There is guilt and frustration in always being the one who gets, in not having the opportunity to give. To be constantly, ferociously, greedily loved all the time is a kind of jail. You wish sometimes that your partner would just go away and read a book and stop trying to please you all the fucking time.

Most people are firmly in one camp or the other. We go through life as either a Lover or a Loved and we play the same role in every relationship we get in. And no matter what side you’re on, the other side always seems like they have it made.

But tell me dear readers – which are you? The Lover or the Loved? And which do you think I am? Speak on it in the comments.

And speaking of love, check out my friend @djagile’s third-annual Valentine’s Day mixtape The Lov Lane Part III. Certified grade-A baby-making music. Just make sure you name it max

Related posts:

1. Much as I Loved It, Hate it Now

It’s always hot to have a man say that your pussy belongs to him. But when that is actually true, it’s a different thing altogether. Sex becomes less of an event and more of a journey, with each episode drawing you deeper in to one another, farther down the road to sexual satisfaction. The first time fuck is hot and exciting, if somewhat generic. The obvious hot spots will be hit. There will be the thrill of exploration. The exhilarating process of showing him exactly where to touch you to make you purr, just how to stroke you to make you moan, just how to pound you to make you cum. The excitement of trying something new and realizing you love it.

But to fuck a man whose dick has stretched your walls more times than you can count is another experience entirely. Your pussy curves to him so perfectly it feels custom made. Secure in the knowledge that he knows exactly how to fuck you, no instruction required, you can simply open up and surrender to him. Each fuck is not just exciting discovery, but the culmination of every fuck that came before it, every thing you know about how to please one another is applied to heighten the experience. Fucking someone new is a fast fiery burst of excitement, fucking someone who belongs only to you is a slow build to mind-blowing.

But beyond the sexiness of the familiar, there is the freedom of exploration. A new fuck either stays safely within your comfort zone and doesn’t challenge you to go beyond it, or it thrusts you abruptly into the unfamiliar too quickly to be satisfying. But to fuck the man who has laid claim to your pussy is to take a guided tour of pleasure. He knows your limits and he knows how to lead you past them. He knows when to be unctuous and coaxing, and he knows when you need to be forcibly pushed past your boundaries. He knows what you’ll like, and knowing that, you can let go of the uncertainty of the unfamiliar and give him control of your pleasure.

As with anything in life, you need balance to have a thrilling sexual life. At times you need the freedom to explore newness. To take the guardrails off and be taken to new heights. But you also need the thrilling comfort of the familiar. The deep satisfaction of the practiced sexual dance. To tell a man the pussy is his and actually mean it.

But what do you guys think? Is it thrilling for you to belong to one person or does sex become stale when you don’t change things up? It’s Nasty Friday – overshare with me in the comments.

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Tell her she’s pretty

I told you guys about this already here. And here! But I don’t think you guys are hearing me. So for the last time let me remind you that the quickest route from miserable woman to docile kitten is three simple words: you’re so pretty.

Put her in her place

It’s bad for business for women to admit it, but we know we get a little irrational sometimes. We can occasionally be guilty of getting angry for no good reason or flying off the handle over dumb shit. And when we do that, we need you to shut us down. When women are being crabby for no good reason (that’s the caveat here – it has to be no good reason. Not something you just don’t feel like hearing about because you know you’re wrong) there is nothing sexier than a simple declarative sentence that lets us know you will not tolerate our histrionics any longer. I call it the hush mama but “chill”, “do as I tell you”, “sit down”, “don’t fly past your nest” and suchlike all work wonders. For one thing, it’ll make us stop bitching. For another, panties tend to start flying. Because you know why your woman fights you so much? So you can win. We like winners.

Offer. So she doesn’t have to ask

A ride home, a bite of your food, the remote control. To take out the garbage, to go down, to get on top. It doesn’t matter what. Just offer something so she doesn’t have to ask for everything.

Just listen. Without telling her what to do

Look I know it doesn’t make sense to you guys, but some times women just need to vent. We don’t want advice, we don’t want a plan of attack or a course of action. We want to purge ourselves of our frustration right on top of your head. So just let us talk, make sympathetic noises, and be as outraged by whatever egregious act we’re bitching about as we are.

Oh and by the way? Listen! to what she says

Speaking of listening, it would be amazing if you could actually absorb and process at least 80% of what your woman says. Right now you’re sitting at about 40% and we need you to step it up. I know what you guys do – put on your best fake listening face and keep an ear peeled for “important” words while not really processing the entire story. But listening is sexy. Do it more.

Give her a straight answer. Even when she hasn’t asked a question

You know what she wants to know. You know she’ll be happier if she knows it. So just answer the question she may or may not be asking. Please. No hemming and hawing. No obfuscation with irrelevant facts. No long pauses and deep sighs. Just a straight answer that doesn’t require a panel of girlfriends to dissect and interpret.

Say nice things

Yeah yeah we watch too many movies and read too many romance novels. Yeah we get warped and unrealistic ideas of what is reasonable to expect from these movies and books. But why not take advantage of the roadmap laid out for you and say some over the top obsequious shit?  ”You’re the best woman I’ve ever met” (word to Steve Brady), “I think that you are incredibly beautiful” (word to Darius Lovehall), “I’m so lucky to have you”, or even a simple “I love you” work wonders. Trust me.

Pay attention to her.

Just her. For even just one hour a day, don’t have one eye on the TV, or Tweetdeck, or COD. Ignore your phone and just look at her. Give her your undivided attention. Make her feel like nothing is more interesting than what she’s saying or doing at that moment. Please.

Little white lies

I don’t need to know that your girlfriend before me loved Silver Diner too and you went there all the time with her. Just tell me you never fully appreciated it until I schooled you on how amazing it is. Who is that hurting? It won’t kill you to tell me I’m the best you ever had, even as one corner of your mind drifts back to that stripper you fucked who blew your fucking mind. God knows you lie about the big things, so lie about the little things once in a while.

Be a little delicate

It’s not that we can’t handle the truth, we just like it wrapped up in a silk glove sometimes. The only thing that needs to be delivered raw dog is your dick. Everything else can be softened up with a few platitudes.

Rough her up

If you’ve never grasped, pulled, or scratched your woman you are failing at life. We want to be manhandled in the bedroom - it’s evidence of your overwhelming passion for us. So bite, clutch, spank, drag. Whatever. Just no donkey punches.

And there you have it. Mr. Max are you taking notes? A little more than 10 steps, but what did I tell you? Women are complex creatures. But follow my rules and you’ll have mad bread to break up a happy woman on your hands. And a peaceful life. Who doesn’t want that?

What do you guys think? Ladies is this all you need to be happy in your relationship? What did I miss? Men is this too much to ask? Speak your piece in the comments.

Related posts:

1. The Easiest Thing (You’re Not Doing) To Make Your Girl Happy
2. The Other Woman
3. The High Maintenance Woman

Fast forward thirty something years later and not much has changed. I still leave my shit everywhere and my jewelry still dangles from every available surface. My books are still raggedy and even my beloved shoes lay in heaps at the bottom of my closets. At this point I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll always be careless with my stuff.

But what I’ve noticed lately – and what I don’t want to accept – is that I’m not just careless with the things in my life, I’m also careless about the people in my life. If you polled my closest, most treasured friends asking when I last called them, or hit them up on gchat or sent them a Christmas gift or birthday card you’d be met with furrowed brows, screwed-up faces and “um….never?”.

It’s not that I don’t value or appreciate the people I love and who love me. I do. I love my friends and I’d like to believe I’d do anything for them. But just as I strew my belongings haphazardly around my home, so do I miss birthday parties, screen phone calls, and hide in gchat invisibility so as not to be  disturbed. Thankful though I may be for the people I love, I have a fucked up way of showing it.

But that’s the great tragedy of life and relationships, isn’t it? None of us are ever really careful about the people we love. For every time I’ve been careless or neglectful of a friend I can think of a corresponding time when they’ve done the same thing to me. It’s just the nature of life and love. When we have a new friend or a new lover we start out ultra-fastidious; afraid that one misstep will shatter the precarious budding relationship. But as friendships grow and relationships develop we get comfortable. We stop fearing that the person we care about will disappear if we look away for a moment and we start to just accept that they will always be there.

I’ve always believed that life would be better for everyone if we were all just nicer and more careful with the people we care about, but it’s easier said than done. There’s a fine line between vigilance and nonchalance – too much care is smothering and too little is hurtful neglect. I’m sure there’s a sweet spot somewhere in between, but I think I do a piss poor job of hitting it. I’ve always been really good at telling people I love and appreciate them, but showing that in my actions is another story altogether.

Am I alone on this? Or are you guys guilty of being careless with the people in your life? How do you find the right balance between being present in your friends lives and smothering them? Help me be great in the comments.

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Then suddenly he is on you. He’s kissing you hard, hands gripping your hair, deep moans escaping your throat. You’re pushed up against the wall and he is everywhere on you, his hands roaming over your body, pulling clothes away, his hardness pressed up against your softness. You’re gripping him wherever your hands can reach, pulling him closer to you, your head spinning so you don’t quite know what is happening.

And then he has lifted you up, carried you to the bed, thrown you down. He is looking at you devouringly, avariciously. He’s about to eat you alive.

And then he is fucking you. It is not gentle and reverent. Nor is it tender and worshipful. It’s not rough or savage. It’s not intensely teasing. He’s not asking you what you want or making you beg for it.

Instead he takes you in hand and puts you through the paces. Your legs spread wide and flung over his shoulders as he buries his face in your pussy. He’s flipping you over, your body contorted in ways you’ve never imagined. Before you know what’s happening, you’re squatting backwards over his dick, your quads firing as you pump up and down.

Quick as you can say fuck my brains out, he’s spun you around. You’re in a backbend with his dick in your mouth as his hands spread you over and he tongues your pussy from behind. You’re moaning loudly, nearly screaming, but you don’t quite know whether it’s from pleasure or exertion.

The next thing you know you’re in a handstand, straining to hold yourself up as he pounds into you from behind. As the orgasm builds in you, a small part of you gives a prayer of thanks that you haven’t been neglecting your shoulders in your morning workouts.

Your bed is sliding across the room as he flings you and fucks you. He’s giving new meaning to the word manhandle. You feel every muscle in your body as he bends you, twists you, pulls you. Never losing his rhythm as his dick pounds into you relentlessly.

You stop trying to grasp what is happening and you give over to the sensation of being fucked like you’ve never been fucked before. And when it is finally over, you collapse in a heap, panting heavily, your head spinning. Your pussy throbbing, your muscles cramping, the night’s events already a blur. There is only one clear thought in your mind: he put me through the paces.

I’ve never been much of a fan of acrobatic fucks myself. I’ve experienced it once and I liked it, but given the choice I’d much rather be teased and taunted than to be thrown and pounded and twisted like a playground toy. But what say you guys? Are you a fan of acrobatics in the bedroom? Got any good stories to tell? It’s Friday – overshare with me in the comments.

Related posts:

1. The Quiet Fuck

My mother is a Grade-A, first class, champion nagger. If nagging were an Olympic sport she would be an 18-time gold medalist. She has elevated the shit to an art form. And while I have to give her credit for coming up with a system that worked for her, I realized fairly early on that I never wanted to be like that.

My dad, sisters, and I always did what my mother said. As quickly as we could and as well as we could. Anything to make her stop.nagging. For the love of God. There were times when we felt that if she said just one more word our heads would explode. And so we’d jump up off the chair and do whatever she wanted just to make her stop. We didn’t do what she wanted out of love, or to make her happy, or because it was what we owed her for everything she did for us. We did it so she would shut the fuck up.

Fast forward however many years and I’m a grown up with my own home and my own relationships. And like all girls I vowed to be different from my mum. So it was anything goes with me. Let people be who they are. It’s not my job to raise my man, he’s already grown. Give him the rope to do what he wants and just bounce when I couldn’t take it anymore. Like I told you guys, I was always the cool girlfriend. No matter what he did to me or didn’t do for me, I would not nag.

But after one too many men moving from smooth sailing with Max to rough waters with borderline harridans – and being happy as a pig in shit to be there –  I realized that my laissez-faire attitude wasn’t really serving me well.  My coolness was being mistaken for indifference and the rare times I did speak up I wasn’t taken seriously. I refused to adopt my mother’s style of relentless and punishing nagging, but I couldn’t be Ms. Laid Back either. I had to find the middle ground.

The truth is though that finding the middle ground between pushover and pain in the ass is hard as shit. Any woman in a relationship will tell you that on any given day her man will do at least one thing that annoys the entire shit out of her. And deciding whether or not to speak on it requires an algorithm more complicated than anything Google can come up with.  The thought process goes something like this:

“Well, yesterday when I asked him to call me and he didn’t I let it go and didn’t say anything, so I should say something about this. But wait, no – I gave him shit three times last week, I must be getting on his nerves. Oh but I’m really annoyed right now. I really should say something. Oh but he’s going out with the boys this weekend, I’m sure he’ll do something then that I’ll have to rip him for, so maybe I should save my breath til then? Oh but he must know he’s wrong about this – if I don’t say anything he’s going to think he can get over on me any time he wants. Okay I’m going to say something.”

And then once I do decide to speak on it I have to decide on a tone and the length of the lecture. Should I ambush him the minute he picks up the phone? Lay into him before he has a chance to come up with an excuse? Or should I play it supplicating and say “please babe would you mind not doing it again? I know it might be a bit irrational but it really annoys me when you let other women rub your bald head?”. Should I go for funny and make a joke that he knows is serious but is so funny he can’t figure out if I’m serious or not? Or should I Glinda the Good Witch him and go in with something quick and biting but instantly return to my pleasant amazing self?

Believe it or not dear men, but no woman really wants to nag her man. And smart women know exactly how annoying they are when they’re doing it. But we can’t help it. It’s what we’re taught to do and you have to admit that nagging does work.

But what about you guys? Ladies do you struggle with being a nag or have you accepted it as your birthright as a woman? Men are you involved with a nag? How’s that working out for you? Speak on it in the comments.

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I’m really great at obligating myself and really terrible at extricating myself from obligations. I don’t like to ask for help, I hate admitting that I can’t do something. An ostrich to the core, when I’m overwhelmed I just pretend that I’m not and hope that the situation will resolve itself. It doesn’t.

You guys know I’ve been getting my ass kicked by life. I know I’ve written about that. I have a job, a life, a blog, various and sundry issues I need to deal with, and a man to tend to (who knows the origin of that line?) and I just cannot keep up. I’m awesome, but not this awesome. And as much as I’d like something else to fall by the wayside (oh would that I could support myself without having to have a job), the blog is going to have to pay the price this time.

All of which is to say that I’m officially dropping down to three posts a week instead of five. For the foreseeable future I’ll be posting Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Fridays will still be nasty but Mondays won’t be just advice anymore since I think those posts are pretty much only interesting to the person who asked the question.

And because I am lazy, this letter counts as today’s post. But I’ll be back on Wednesday with something more substantial I promise.

I’m hoping that this change will make the posts better, make you guys comment more get you all more engaged, and stop me from randomly missing posts as I have a tendency to do. But whatever you guys do on Tuesdays and Thursdays, don’t love it so much that you forget all about me okay? That would really break my heart.

See youse Wednesday,

Max

Related posts:

1. I Just Don’t Give a F*ck
2. Ask Max: Should I Give a Player a Chance?

But oh wait! Flag on the play! Last night, after a particularly epic session, Mr. Man asked you to do _____. Wait, what?

You’ve never done ___. You don’t even really believe that other people do _____. And you never considered yourself the kind of girl who would do ____.

So you begin to pepper him with questions:  ”You really want that? Have you ever had it before? You have? And you liked it? Really? Huh. Well….let me think about it.”

For the next few days you’re fixated on ___. You can’t believe he really wants you to do it. It freaks you out, and the more you think about it the more freaked out you get.

For a good girl, this is a sexual quandary of the highest order. A wack girl – a selfish girl – will just dismiss her man’s request out of hand. He wants ___, I don’t do ____ so he’s shit out of luck. Those are the girls who get their asses cheated on and then act surprised. But a good girl remembers what Max always says – it is not okay to unilaterally take reasonable sexual acts off the table. And so she mulls it over.

Near-nympho though I may be, I’ve struggled with this situation before. I’m pretty adventurous, but there are certain acts that I’m just not comfortable undertaking. But when the man who is fucking my brains out on a regular asks me to do something I don’t really want to do, I don’t feel right refusing him.

Sidenote: what I’m talking about here is reasonable requests. And if you really don’t  know what I mean by reasonable, here is a rough outlline: swallowing is reasonable, bukkake is not. Anal is reasonable, dirty sanchez is unreasonable. Salad-tossing = reasonable, snowballing? not so much.

So what’s a girl to do? Like I said – if you’re the kind of girl who just refuses to do it and refuses to discuss the matter further, you’re wack and you need to get off my blog. But if you’re like me and you strive to achieve plutonium pussy status (word to @drjayjack) you need to find a way to wrap your head around what your man wants you to do. “But I don’t want to do that” isn’t going to cut it.

Confession time: there has been a time or two in the past when I’ve promised to do something and then choked at the finish line. Where I’ve run away squealing at the crucial moment after promising to be still and let it happen. Then the man is disappointed and I feel like a flopshow for not keeping my promise. That was probably not the best strategy.

But what is the right thing to do? If he really really wants it and you really really don’t feel comfortable doing it, who should prevail? My policy has always been if you’re not doing it you’re giving out passes for it, but that’s a bit of a letdown for me. My primary goal in my relationships is to dazzle my mr. And giving out passes is like outsourcing the dazzle. And who wants to do that?

So I put it to you, dear readers: the first ever Nasty Friday pickle. When your man (or woman) wants you to do something you really don’t want to do, how do you handle it? Do you tell him he’s shit out of luck or do you suck it up (pun intended?) and take one for the team? How do you psych yourself up to do something you think is…kinda gross? Overshare – and use examples – in the comments.

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1. Mind Sex – A Nasty Friday Guest Post
2. Mind Sex (A Nasty Friday Throwback)
3. Oral Fixation (A Nasty Friday Guest Post)