[Note: Since working on other projects has cut into my blogging the past few days, I've had to post recycled material. Here is some from the bottom of the bin, a reprint from the faux-advice column I wrote for The East Texas Tribune.]
Dear Joe,
How can I get rid of my son? He's 24 years old and the laziest creature on earth. He doesn't go to school, won't get a job, and claims he can't afford to move out on his own. The truth is that he could afford to move out if he didn't spend all his money sitting around the house smoking dope all day.
I love him dearly but he's got to go. How do I get him to move out?
Dear F.P.,
Here's a step-by-step plan for getting the little pot head out within a week:
Day #1 -- The first step is to get him out of the house for a few hours. Give him $20 and while he is out giving his "tithes to the Rastafarian church" call a carpenter, preferably one that is handy with sheetrock. A good drywall specialist can have the door to your son's room sealed off in less than an hour. Be sure to have it painted so that it blends in with the surrounding wall.
When your son returns and wonders why he can't find the door to his room pretend you don't know what he is talking about and "remind" him that he moved out six years ago. Convince him that he is having a “flashback" from the time he ate those weird mushrooms.
Day #2 -- Remove all edible food from the house. Bake a liver quiche and leave it, along with a pitcher of prune juice, in the refrigerator. Now when the the little freak gets the “munchies" he'll be in for a big surprise.
Day #3 -- Invite Timmy, the earnest young Christian at church who is always anxious to share his new found faith, to drop by and visit your son at around 4:20 p.m.* Tell him that your son really wants to develop a personal relationship with the Lord but needs someone to explain it to him in detail. Just to be safe, have some Jehovah's Witnesses stop by at 5:10 and some of those clean cut Mormon missionaries drop in at 5:45.
Day #4 -- At 4:35 p.m., when your son is good and stoned, call your house and in your best basso-profundo voice say, “Hello. This is God speaking. Timmy said that you and I should get together and meet sometime..."
Day #5 -- Hide dog biscuits all around the house and invite the police department's K-9 narcotics unit to drop by the house at 4:40 p.m. for coffee and donuts.
Day #6 -- Tell all four armed forces recruiters that your son is really interested in joining the military. Military recruiters are like used car salesmen that make housecalls. Mention that the best time to catch your son is at 4:30 p.m.
Day #7 -- Tell your son that the two of you need to have a serious discussion. Take him for a long drive in the country and be honest about your concerns. Explain that it's really time that he moved on with his life and, after you slow down to about 20 mph, open the passenger door and kick him out of the car.
If he didn't take the hint the first six days then he's obviously fried his brain to the point where you don't have to worry about him finding his way home.
* As I learned on recruiting duty, 4:20 p.m. (aka 420) is the time when losers throughout the world set aside to get high. Ask you kid what it means. If he knows, smack' em 'cause he's a stoner. If he says he doesn't know, smack' em anyway cause he's lying to you.
[Note: Once again I'm recycling my annual Valentine's Day advice for thoughtless men.]
Over the past few weeks I've written posts on politics, religion, and culture. But today we must set aside such trivial issues and turn to more serious matters: preparing men for Valentine's Day.
If you've waited until today to make plans you'll find yourself at the Quik-E-Mart fighting other pathetic slobs for the last Whitman's sampler or single-stem plucked-in-November rose. But I have an alternative to cheap candy and wilted flowers. It's thoughtful. It's romantic. And most importantly, it's cheap.
It's the love letter.
Follow these steps in writing your love letter and you just might be able to prevent your Valentine's Day from becoming another massacre:
Buy some stationery -- You're a big boy now so throw away the Big Chief tablet you've had since 3rd grade and buy some quality paper. Keep in mind that if you don't feel like a total wuss when you buy the stationery then you purchased the wrong type.
Don't even think of typing the letter -- Unless you have the penmanship of a doctor, the letter should be in your own handwriting. If you have the penmanship of a doctor because you are a doctor, then you make enough money that you don't have to worry about impressing women anyway.
Be specific and personal -- Don't just write one letter that you photocopy and hand out to all the new girls you meet. That won't get you anywhere. You have to actually go to the trouble of copying the same letter out by hand every time you give it to a different girl.
Points will be deducted for spelling -- Pretend you're giving the letter to your high school English teacher, who will be taking points off your grade for spelling errors. Since women pass the letters around to their inner circle - which tends to include every woman in a 50 mile radius - you'll be judged by plenty of people. You might consider having a female friend proofread it for you since she'll soon be reading it anyway.
(By the way, if the letter is intended for your high school English teacher then you have issues that even I can't help you with.)
Write, rewrite, repeat -- Start out by writing a rough draft. Now take your rough draft and throw it away because it makes you sound like an idiot.
Seriously, it does. Just trust me on this one. I don't know why that's the case. It just is.
Write it again and try not to be so sappy this time. You don't want to scare her away by giving her the impression that you're some kind of freak. She shouldn't be able to figure out what kind of freak you are until she's been married to you for at least three years.
Resist the temptation to give her a note that says, "Do you like me? Check yes or no." -- This was cute and original the first 500 times she received this type of note from some faux-sensitive guy who wants to give the impression that he's being "child-like" when in reality he's just being lazy.
Unfortunately, this is the sole opportunity for a guy to be lazy and have a woman think that he's being cute. That's also why better minds have thought of using this corny gimmick long before you came along.
Give it to her before you chicken out -- Your brain will try to talk you out of giving her the love letter. It will try to convince you that that you're setting yourself up for future embarrassment. Of course, you're brain is absolutely right. But this is no time to listen to reason. Being in love has nothing to do with being reasonable. In fact, love requires that you make completely irrational choices. If we didn't there would be no romance, no marriage, and no jewelry stores.
A last resort -- If all else fails and you just can't think of anything, let me know. I'll send you a photocopy of the letter I used when I was single. Just remember to copy it in your own handwriting and to not give it to any girl whose zip code starts with 7. Otherwise, there's a good chance she's seen the letter before.
Dear Joe,
I'm getting married in two months and I need some advice. All my married (male) friends keep telling me that I don't realize what I'll be missing out on by getting hitched. I've been looking forward to settling down but now they've got me spooked. What exactly is it that I'll be missing out on, anyway?
Dear T.J.,
Let's first consider some of the benefits of being married. Gaining a spouse means having someone who will do the cooking and the cleaning. It means having someone to buy the groceries, provide comfort during illnesses, and pick the dirty socks up off the floor. Getting married is like gaining the benefits of a nurse, a maid, and a cook. That is of course, what the woman gets; I'm still not sure what men get out of the deal.
Having entered my fifth year of marital bliss I can say that there's only one aspect of being married that causes me to feel that I'm missing out. It's not the loss of control over my money or my time. After a few months you adjust to handing over your paycheck and appointment book. And within the first year you'll even be able to overcome your anxiety about losing your manhood, which she'll be storing in her purse for safe-keeping. But there is one aspect that you will find it difficult to adjust to. Once you get married you will never again be allowed to take a nap.
For a woman, catching her husband napping is the second worst thing she can catch her man doing in their bed. (The first, of course, is discovering him drinking grape Snapple on the 300 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Finding him with another woman, however, runs a close third.) Women believe that the only reason a man would want to take a nap is because he is either trying to ignore her or is avoiding spending time with her. The truth is that men take naps because we are tired. Too tired, in fact, to think of more creative ways to ignore our wives and avoid spending time with them.
Unfortunately for us, there's nothing that upsets a woman more than not having her husband's undivided attention. Women crave our attention not because of anything that they are lacking within themselves, but because it is necessary to fulfill their Master Plan of Marriage -- recreating us into the men they want us to become.
What women fail to mention before the wedding is that they would never agree to marry us if they thought we'd remain the same pathetic losers that they first met. Every wife has an ideal of what her husband can be, and given enough time and the proper guidance, knows that he can become. Every minute that he spends being inattentive is, therefore, time wasted.
That is why napping is a husband's natural defense mechanism. We men realize that we are completely screwed up, yet, for some inexplicable reason, we don't feel the need to change. Since we can rarely muster the audacity to openly show disdain for the Master Plan, we have to take a more passive-aggressive approach. By napping we can enter an unconscious state where we don't have to think about our feelings, ponder where this relationship is going, or answer questions about why the floor around the toilet is always sticky.
Of course, napping isn't necessarily our only option. But it's less painful than having our friends put us in a sleeper hold until we black out.
Dear Joe,
My dad is an old fogey who thinks that guys shouldn't wear earrings at all, but especially not at work. I say that if my boss doesn't care then it's okay. What do you say?
Dear T.,
I have to side with you on this one. It's perfectly acceptable for a guy to wear an earring at work. That's assuming, of course, that the guy works on a pirate ship. Pirates can get away with wearing earrings; on other men it makes them look foppish. An earring is perfectly acceptable, though, if you're going for the pirate look. Or the foppish look. Or the foppish pirate look.
But if you're going for such a look you'll want to be on the cutting-edge of fashion. Today the oversize, baggy look is in style so don't bother with a diamond stud or small hoop. Instead, get one of those 6 inch gold hoops to hang off your lobe. Wear that and I guarantee you'll be the talk of the high seas.
Why will men drive around lost for hours instead of just stopping and asking for directions?
Dear POW,
When I took my vows as an advice columnist I swore to always tell the truth. So while I'll probably get in trouble for letting you in on our secret, I have to be completely honest: We're not really directionless, we're just pretending to be lost.
The suprising truth is that we just drive around in circles acting confused because we know how much this behavior infuriates women. Admittedly, it's ridiculously passive-aggressive. But it's also a lot more fun that you could imagine. When we pass the same gas station for the thirteenth time and mutter, "Well, it's got to be around here somewhere," we do it just to see the look on your face.
That pained, frustrated expression you make when you're trying to keep from losing your last fingerhold on sanity? Priceless.
The best part of the experience, though, is when we get together with other men and compare stories about how our wife's head almost exploded while we were pretending to search for a street address. Somehow when we're pulling this stunt we retain the ability to be completely stoical and straight faced. Yet when we share this tale with our buddies we start giggling like Japanese schoolgirls.
It's a biological fact that all men are born with innate sense of direction; we couldn't get lost if we tried. What makes it even funnier is that we often confess to having this ability and yet no woman ever believes us! That is why we are able to pass on this lark down to our sons, and generation after generation, women fall for it every time.
[Note: I’m still trying to acclimatize to the pace of working on a Presidential campaign (I love saying that), so for the next few days I’ll be recycling material.]
Dear Joe,
What's the best way to get out of traffic ticket?
Dear L.B.,
Several weeks ago I was out for a ride and inadvertently ran a stop sign. Though I didn't see the sign, a cop did see me. He quickly pulled up behind my chopper and signaled for me to pull over.
Now I've been a biker since I old enough to work a kick-stand so getting hassled by the fuzz is nothing new. I also, as you can probably imagine, have quite the outlaw streak in me. So I did what any self-respecting rider would do: opened it up full throttle and tried to make a run for it. I gave it all I had but the cop must have had some super-charged cruiser because he caught up to my moped like I was standing still.
From this experience I gained a couple of valuable lessons. First, pull over right away. If the police have to chase you 47 miles until your scooter runs out of gas you can bet they won't be in a good mood when they get their hands on you. Second, always wear a helmet. When the cops commence to giving you a Rodney King-style whooping it helps to have your head covered. Since that incident I make sure I always wear a helmet when I ride. In fact, I now wear one when I drive my car. You can never be too careful.
Some other ways to avoid a ticket are:
Most importantly, always carry your essential documents. I find its best to have my license, registration, proof of insurance, and enough cab fare to get you back if you find yourself stranded 47 miles from home.
Dear Joe,
For over a year I dated a wonderful guy. I can't exactly remember why we broke up but we had a great time while we were together. Lately, I've considered contacting him again to see if there is any spark left. Should I bother or should I move on?
Dear A.W.,
It will shock many people to hear that I was not always the saintly, upstanding evangelical that I am today. I've been bad, very bad. And when a Southern Baptist boy turns bad it usually involves one of the Gerund Temptations - drinking, dancing, gambling, or cavorting (with wild women). Since I'm a light-weight with two left feet and a face like a Picasso painting, my choice of sins was limited to gambling.
In East Texas, though, the opportunities for wagering are limited. All you really have are football pools (where you can bet on the Longhorns and consistently lose) and bingo halls (or, as one priest I knew called them, "Catholic Casinos").
It wasn't until I moved to Washington State that I was exposed to the world of casino gambling. The casinos in Washington, however, are quite different than the ones you'll find in Las Vegas. In a Vegas casino you find bright lights, free drinks, and an ambiguously gay magician working in the theater down the hall. In Washington, the casinos are dreary, dumpy, depressing, and relegated to the Indian reservations.
Now if you're like me you might not initially associate gambling with Indians. I'm still unclear exactly how the tribes got to America from India much less how they developed games of chance. Apparently though, when they crossed the Pacific Ocean they brought with them such native customs as keno and roulette.
Gambling was illegal throughout the rest of the state so I was curious why the Indians got an exemption. "The White Man stole all our land," a craps dealer explained, "and this is what we get in return." Sounds like a raw deal until you see how much loot the casinos rack in. With the money I lost to them they could buy back Eastern Oklahoma.
My gambling career started in the worst way possible: I won. If I had lost I would have been provided a quick, albeit painful, lesson. Instead, I won. Won quite a lot actually. Won more money than I make (or will ever make for that matter) as a blogger. I wondered why everyone didn't just quit their jobs and gamble for a living. It was so easy.
But that soon passed. My affair with Lady Luck ended abruptly when she started two-timing me with the blackjack dealer. The breakup was ugly and emotional but it taught me a lot. For instance, I learned the only thing more pathetic than a grown man crying is a grown man crying while being carried to his car on the shoulder of a burly casino worker whose last name ends in an animal.
It's not exactly like I had a gambling "problem" since I always knew when to quit. I would quit as soon as the balance in my checking account dropped to zero. But I realized while being dropped onto the hood of my Geo Metro by Billy Big Bear that it would have been better if I had let go sooner.
As the great philosopher Kenny Rogers once said, you have to know when to hold them and know when to fold them. So you had a great time and now its over. You can roll the dice again and hope for the best or walk away from the table with fond memories.
I say let it go. True, you won't know what could have been. But regrets, like drawing to an inside straight, are underrated.
(Disclaimer: I would like to apologize if this column has offended any of the following groups: Catholics, Native Americans, Indians, or ambiguously gay magicians. I would also like to apologize to all Baptists for having to be associated with me.)
Dear Joe,
My wedding is in two weeks and I've been asking every married couple I know the secret to a happy marriage. While most of what they say is helpful - though a bit bland - I thought you might have some special insight to share on the subject. What, in your opinion, does in take to make a marriage work?
Dear S.A.B.,
To truly learn the secret of a successful marriage you should ask someone who has failed. People who are already happily married usually have no clue what they are doing right. They just go through life hoping they don't screw it up. Once you mess your marriage up beyond repair, though, you learn exactly what you could have done better.
Sometimes the realization comes from a self-evaluating, soul-searching process. Other times it only comes after months of counseling. It can also come, as in my case, in the form of a 40-page document from one's former spouse detailing in extreme detail all the ways in which you fell short as a husband.
Since my first wife left me for another woman, the idea that I could have been to blame came as a bit of a surprise. "Let me get this straight," I said. "You turn gay and it's my fault the marriage didn't work out?"
"Keep in mind," she noted, "that I only lost interest in men after being married to you."
While I have no idea what women can do to make a marriage work, I do know what men can do better. All of the following suggestions, therefore, are specifically for husbands:
Close the bathroom door - Some people will tell you that being able to go to the bathroom in front of your wife shows how comfortable you are with each other. These people are idiots. Allowing your wife to see you on the toilet doesn't show you are comfortable, it just shows you're nasty.
The reason your wife finds Brad Pitt sexier than you isn't just because he's better looking (though he is that) but also because she's never seen him doing his business. If you want to keep any mystery and romance in your marriage then close the bathroom door. And while you're in there, make her happy and put the lid down on the toilet. That's what she thinks Brad would do
Learn to compromise - In any long-term relationship, differences of opinion are bound to arise. Two people can't live together for long without finding there are matters on which they disagree. Sometime the issues are minor, such as disagreements over what color to paint the bathroom. Other times they are more profound, such as why exactly the bathroom has to be painted on SuperBowl Sunday.
The key to working through these differences is learning to compromise. Normally this would mean finding common ground on which you both can agree. In marriage, however, compromise means that you let her get her way. You won't find that definition in the dictionary but its better that you learn the true meaning now rather than have it explained to you by her divorce lawyer.
Call her bluff - Women like to talk about 'feelings' and say that they want us to talk about them too. The truth is that women have no interest in really knowing how we feel. What they really want is for us to shut up and to listen to them talk about how they feel. After all, real men have three dominant 'feelings'-- hungry, randy, and gassy ---none of which wives care to hear about.
When your wife starts using phrases such as 'opening up', 'getting in touch with your softer side', and other nonsense she picked up from watching Oprah, just tell her what she thinks she wants to hear. Explain to her that you have issues with your body-image, that you don't feel appreciated, and that you occasionally feel the need to eat chocolate after your catty co-workers hurt your feelings. Finish this off by asking her to hold you while you 'have a good cry.'
You can rest assured she'll never ask you to share your feelings again. In fact, she'll go out of her way to avoid getting to know too much about you. And that, after all, is the key to happy marriage: The less a wife knows about her husband, the less there is to dislike.
Calvin Coolidge, a president known for being a man of few words, was so famous for saying so little that a White House dinner guest made a bet that she could get the president to say more than two words. When she told the president of her wager he simply replied: "You lose."
Coolidge understood that the less you say the less you'll be expected to apologize for later. Unfortunately, few politicians since Coolidge have learned that lesson, as evidenced by the continued outbreak of foot-in-mouth disease among politicos.
In order to avoid similar embarrassment, I've decided to take a proactive approach and issue a preemptive apology before anyone calls for my resignation:
Because I am a Christian I realize that I must take responsibility for any atrocities committed in the name of my faith. I therefore apologize for the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Salem Witch Trials, Lutheranism, and Jimmy Swaggert.
I apologize for using overheated political rhetoric. Specifically, my referring to Adolph Hitler as a Nazi and for implying that Joseph Goebbels used 'Hitlerian' tactics to advance his party's political agenda.
I apologize for being born a white American male. Even though it was my wish to be born a cocoa-skinned Ecuadorian girl, I still take full responsibility for the genetic hand that I was dealt.
I apologize for referring to stupid people as being "unintelligent."
I apologize for constantly referring to the people of France as "cheese-eating surrender monkeys."
I apologize to my brother for all the tricks I played on him that went horribly wrong. Even though the male nipple is not a body part necessary to live a full and productive life, I apologize for my role in what our family refers to as the 'Jumper-Cable Incident.' I'm also sorry for lying when I told him that since it was made of the same material as a lizard's tail, the useless appendage would grow back in a matter of weeks.
I apologize for using the word nipple on my blog.
I apologize for having a prudish readership that would be offended by the word nipple.
I apologize for implying that my prissy readers might be "prudish."
I apologize to all the dogs I have ever owned and regret blaming them for the smells that should have been credited to me.
I apologize for recycling old blog posts without noting that fact, leaving it to people to decide if it's something new or if they really did read this drivel before.
I apologize for my annoying habit of always being right.
I apologize to those people who I told that Oprah Winfrey was my actual birth mother. I also apologize to the courts for failing to obey both the cease-and-desist letter and the restraining order sent from the lawyers at Harpo Productions.
I apologize for contributing to global warming and the ensuing calamites of droughts, hurricanes, and Al Gore documentaries.
I apologize to all the women at church who I refused to let speak to me unless they had their heads covered.
Although he lost the general election by 872 million votes, I apologize for my attempt to elect Michael Dukakis.
On behalf of the people of Texas, I apologize for both the Dixie Chicks and George W. Bush.
I apologize to O.J. Simpson, Robert Blake, and Michael Jackson for repeatedly claiming, "Oh yeah, he's guilty."
On behalf of the United States of America, I apologize to both Mexico and Canada for failing to do our part in preventing your nations from becoming third-world countries.
I apologize to my wife for making her believe that my earnings potential would increase after we were married. I also apologize for any remarks that have offended her, especially those made during the recent 'Jumper Cable Incident.'
If anyone I've maligned, insulted, lied about, slandered, embarrassed, libeled, injured, stalked, shot at, or given a dirty look to was offended by my words/behavior/presence then I would like to take this opportunity to express my most sincere and personal regret for your misunderstanding and overreaction.
Dear Joe,
Lately I’ve wanted to become a better Christian (like you) and decided that I needed to go back to church. Shopping around for a church isn’t exactly easy, though. I know I shouldn’t choose a church based solely on the preacher but if the preacher isn’t good then I find it difficult to stay interested. How do you judge whether the preacher is any good?
Dear P.R.,
For my next career (i.e., after I get fired from this job) I’m considering going into the ministry. Not only do I think it is my calling in life but to me it’s the perfect job. Being a pastor would allow me to combine my three biggest passions: telling people how they should live, avoiding manual labor, and eating.
Preachers lead a cushy, well-fed existence. Basically all they do is talk and eat. That seems to be the standard format for a life as a minister. Put in an hour of work on Sunday--then get invited to lunch. Visit with the sick people in the hospital--then eat their Jello when they nod off. Grab a deacon and drop by some unsuspecting parishioner’s house during dinnertime--and then, well, you get the idea. Then, after a long day of talking and gorging, you can go soak your feet in the baptistery. What more could you ask for in a career?
Unfortunately, though, it will be a few more years before I have a congregation of my own. When I become a minister then you are welcome to join my church (note: I have a preference for fried chicken and corn on the cob). So in the meantime, here a few pointers to picking out a preacher:
Ensure the pastor knows what he is talking about -- Like everyone else, preachers sometimes get lazy and don’t properly prepare. Sometimes, if they think no one is paying attention, they often just start making stuff up like referring to so-called “books of the Bible” such as Nahum or Habbakuk or Haggai. Don’t let them fool you. I’ve been reading the Bible my whole life and I can tell you that I’ve never seen any of those books before.
Be sure he isn’t long-winded -- This becomes especially important during football season. While it can be difficult to spot a gasbag before they get started, oftentimes you can pick up on subtle clues.
For example, if he opens his sermon with, “How ‘bout them Cowboys!” there’s a good chance you’ll be out in time for kickoff. If, on the other hand, you notice he takes a sack lunch to the podium then pray you remembered to set the TiVo.
Avoid overbearing preachers -- Though they have the best of intentions, some preachers can be a bit hard to stomach. I once had a pastor who would constantly refer to us “lost”, “degenerate sinners”, and “in need of redemption.” Once he got wound up it would spiral off into claims that we were “wicked”, “unrepentant” and “bound for hell.” Now if the fire-and-brimstone speeches would have come on Sunday morning I wouldn’t have minded. But when you’re playing church league softball you really expect more encouragement from the coach.
Find a minister that won’t sugarcoat the truth -- While you don’t want a preacher who’s too harsh, you also don’t want one that is afraid to be controversial. Church people are just sinners like everyone else. The only difference is that we know where to meet on Sunday to hear the best gossip.
In order to keep us on the straight and narrow we need to hear sermons on the touchy subjects that hit close to home. One of my favorite pastors used to preach about a different sin every week. Every sermon he would rail against backbiters, slanderers, hypocrites, perverts, etc. I always went home feeling the message had really touched my heart, almost as if it were meant for me. His sermons never failed to stir me, though, to be perfectly honest, I would have preferred he not end each example of wickedness with “…like Joe.”
[Note: Once again I'm recycling my my annual Valentine's Day advice for thoughtless men.]
Over the past few weeks I've written posts on politics, religion, and culture. But today we must set aside such trivial issues and turn to more serious matters: preparing men for Valentine's Day.
With only 24 hours left you need to start making plans now. Wait much longer and you'll find yourself at the Quik-E-Mart fighting other pathetic slobs for the last Whitman's sampler or single-stem plucked-in-November rose.
But I have an alternative to cheap candy and wilted flowers. It's thoughtful. It's romantic. And most importantly, it's cheap.
It's the love letter.
Follow these steps in writing your love letter and you just might be able to prevent your Valentine's Day from becoming another massacre:
Buy some stationery -- You're a big boy now so throw away the Big Chief tablet you've had since 3rd grade and buy some quality paper. Keep in mind that if you don't feel like a total wuss when you buy the stationery then you purchased the wrong type.
Don't even think of typing the letter -- Unless you have the penmanship of a doctor, the letter should be in your own handwriting. If you have the penmanship of a doctor because you are a doctor, then you make enough money that you don't have to worry about impressing women anyway.
Be specific and personal -- Don't just write one letter that you photocopy and hand out to all the new girls you meet. That won't get you anywhere. You have to actually go to the trouble of copying the same letter out by hand every time you give it to a different girl.
Points will be deducted for spelling -- Pretend you're giving the letter to your high school English teacher, who will be taking points off your grade for spelling errors. Since women pass the letters around to their inner circle - which tends to include every woman in a 50 mile radius - you'll be judged by plenty of people. You might consider having a female friend proofread it for you since she'll soon be reading it anyway.
(By the way, if the letter is intended for your high school English teacher then you have issues that even I can't help you with.)
Write, rewrite, repeat -- Start out by writing a rough draft. Now take your rough draft and throw it away because it makes you sound like an idiot.
Seriously, it does. Just trust me on this one. I don't know why that's always true. It just is.
Write it again and try not to be so sappy this time. You don't want to scare her away by giving her the impression that you're some kind of freak. She shouldn't be able to figure out what kind of freak you are until she's been married to you for at least three years.
Resist the temptation to give her a note that says, "Do you like me? Check yes or no." -- This was cute and original the first 500 times she received this type of note from some faux-sensitive guy who wants to give the impression that he's being "child-like" when in reality he's just being lazy.
Unfortunately, this is the sole opportunity for a guy to be lazy and have a woman think that he's being cute. That's also why better minds have thought of using this corny gimmick long before you came along.
Give it to her before you chicken out -- Your brain will try to talk you out of giving her the love letter. It will tell you that you're setting yourself up for future embarrassment. Your brain, of course, is right. But don't listen to reason. Being in love has nothing to do with being reasonable. In fact, love requires that you make completely irrational choices. If we didn't there would be no romance, no marriage, and no jewelry stores.
A last resort -- If all else fails and you just can't think of anything, let me know. I'll send you a photocopy of the letter I used when I was single. Just remember to copy it in your own handwriting and to not give it to any girl whose zip code starts with 7. Otherwise, there's a good chance she's seen the letter before.
[Note: Using an original post is fresh, using it as second time is lazy, using it a third time, though, and it becomes a tradition. This entry, therefore, is officially my birthday tradition.]
Today is my 37th birthday and so I will celebrate this milestone in my life the way I do every year: by checking the life expectancy calculator to see how much longer I have to live. It turns out that if all goes well I can expect to be around for about 39.5 more years. At this point I have almost officially reached the point of being middle-aged. Unfortunately, I am totally unprepared for my mid-life crisis.
The typical mid-life crises cliches aren't very helpful. My wife is already out of my league (31, good-looking, and makes more money than I do) so the idea of trading her in for a trophy wife isnt a plausible option. I cant simply dump my job in order to go find myself. I tried that two years ago and within a week I found myself broke and with a new job. Im also too poor to afford a sports car so it appears Ill be spending my mid-life crises tooling around town in a Dodge Neon.
Obviously, I'm off to a bad start.
While I figure out what to do next, Ive decided to take stock of my life by reviewing what Ive learned over the past three and a half decades. Mining my past for nuggets of wisdom, however, has been a slow process: So far Ive only made it back one week:
Apology for the week: I want to begin by apologizing for all of the grammatical errors, slapdash reasoning, and sloppy writing in my recent posts. Unfortunately, I wrote them after taking some cold medication, a mistake I won't make in the future. In fact, from now on, Ive decided only to take cold medicine when I actually have a cold.
Medical lesson of the week: After the age of 30, men should perform regular self-exams for testicular cancer.
Addendum to medical lesson: While it might appear reasonable to take advantage of time that is otherwise being wasted, performing the exam while standing in checkout line at the supermarket turns out not to be such a good idea.
Paradoxical attraction of the week: While I don't find long, poufy hair, denim skirts, or white ankle socks with sneakers particularly appealing, I still think Pentecostal chicks are hot.
Life-altering purchase of the week: Tongue scrapper (bought at Wal-Mart for $2.50).
Anatomical discovery of the week: I found that when the brownish/black gunk was scraped off, my tongue has a reddish-pink hue.
Relationship discovery of the week: Scraping the bad-breath causing bacteria off my tongue has improved all my personal relationships.
Relationship discovery of the week #2: Carrying the brownish/black gunk I scrapped off my tongue in a plastic bag and showing it to everyone I meet has had a surprisingly detrimental effect on all my relationships.
Most disappointing purchase of the week: FlowBee Precision Haircutting System ($59.99 on the Internet). While the vacuum attachments are long enough, the device doesn't work well on back hair.
Important clarification of the week: If your barber misunderstands you and thinks you said, Can you trim the back of my hair? when you really said, Can you trim my back hair? it will lead to a lot of yelling, comb-waving, and screams of, Put your shirt back on, ya freak!
Random thought of the week: Monkeys are always funny. They are to comedy what Jerry Lewis is to the French. Only monkeys are less hairy (than the French, not Jerry Lewis).
Foreign Affairs Lesson of the Week: Saying that you despise the French will tick off a lot of foreigners and get you called a xenophobe (even if you dont really fear xenos).
Foreign Affairs Lesson of the Week (Part II): If you stand up to the Francolphiles they will, like the French, always surrender.
Musical lesson of the week: If you listen carefully and with an open mind to rap-metal music you find that it really does suck as bad as you always thought it did.
Lesson about women that I (re)learned this week: When women say that the quality they prefer in a man is a sense of humor, what they mean is they prefer a man who looks like Brad Pitt.
Lesson about men that I (re)learned this week: The type of man who complains that women prefer to date jerks is both (a) absolutely correct and (b) a total wuss.
Most depressing though I had this past week: I drive a Dodge Neon.
Second most depressing thought I had this past week: 39.5 years is not enough time to read all of the books I now have, much less all the books that I will buy with the Barnes and Noble gift certificate that my wife will surprise me with today.
Fortunately, I still have 1.75 years to work on it before my mid-life crisis officially begins.
[By the way, Happy Birthday to Kevin T. Keith from Lean Left. We share a birthday, an interest in bioethics, and a wicked scar from a barfight with some sorority girls. Other than that we have absolutely nothing in common.]
Dear Joe,
Why can't a woman over the age of sixty find a man?
Dear D.G.,
The first question is why a woman over sixty, a woman who has lived long enough to have gained maturity and wisdom, a woman who should understand what is truly important in life want to find a man. The second question is what is such a woman doing reading this blog.
For a woman of any age, finding a good man is a daunting task. Before the age of forty, women find that all men are either (a) already married, (b) gay, or (c) idiots. Since the good ones are already taken, women have a choice of either stealing someone elses man or stealing someone elses man - and then converting them. Over the age of forty, women have a similar difficulty since all men are (a) still married, (b) still gay, or (c) dead.
Because women live longer than men, the pool of available bachelors dwindles considerably after the age of sixty. According to government statistics, women can expect to live to the age of 80 while men can expect to check out around the age of 74. These figures, however, are skewed by the inclusion of married men, who tend to live longer than their single cohorts. Remember all of those confirmed bachelors that you used to see when you were younger? Remember the 35 year old Hugh Hefner wannabes? You know where they are at the age of 60? Theyre trading pick up lines with Satan down at Club Hades.
While a married man can expect to live until 74, a single guy is lucky if he can make it to age 42. Because they dont have a woman around to keep them fom doing something fatally stupid, group (c) shifts from idiots to dead idiots. For instance, a man can expect to add about thirty years to his life if before he eats the pizza he found underneath the couch, he has a wife who will remind him to scrape off the mold first. Of course, if you have a wife around you probably wont find foodstuffs lying around under your furniture.
You might want to reconsider the underappreciated value of remaining single. Are you free from a wife? the Apostle Paul asked in his letter to the Corinthians. Do not seek marriage. St. Paul also goes on to point out that, Those who marry will have worldly troubles. Naturally, I didnt find those passages in the Bible until after I was married In fact, it was pointed out to me by one of my best friends who, incidentally, never married. He was a great guy who I dearly miss.
Had a woman been around to tell him that anchovies dont have green fur, he might have lived to the ripe old age of 36.
Dear Joe,
Im a New York Catholic who moved to the Bible Belt about a year ago. Every day on my drive to work I pass several churches: Pentecostal, Southern Baptist, and Methodist. What exactly is the difference between them?
Dear H.C.
To the casual observer, all Protestants appear to be the same. On closer inspection, however, subtle differences in form can be detected that make each denomination distinct. Take, for example, acceptable norms of behavior. Southern Baptists are expected to refrain from drinking beer and dancing. Pentecostals cant drink beer either, though they can dance -- at least in church. Methodists, however, can both drink beer and dance, though, presumably, not during church services.
There are also differences in the style of preaching. Methodist reverends speak in dulcet tones, Baptists ministers speak in fiery tirades, and Pentecostal preachers speak in tongues. Go to a Pentecostal service for the singing, the Methodists for the liturgy, and the Baptists if you want to be out of church in time for the start of the football game.
There are also differences in theology but I dont think anyone really understands what those are.
Dear Joe,
My husband can never remember to put the lid back down on the toilet. How can I fix this problem?
Dear A.,
There are a few things you could do: 1) Install a urinal for him so that you wont have to worry about it, 2) Use superglue to seal the seat in the down position, 3) Realize that maybe he would appreciate if you would put the seat up for him every once in awhile.
Dear Joe,
My dad is an old fogey who thinks that guys shouldnt wear earrings at all, but especially not at work. I say that if my boss doesnt care then its okay. What do you say?
Dear T.,
I have to side with you on this one. Its perfectly acceptable for a guy to wear an earring at work. Thats assuming, of course, that the guy works on a pirate ship. Pirates can get away with wearing earrings; on other men it makes them look foppish. An earring is perfectly acceptable, though, if youre going for the pirate look, or the foppish look, or the foppish pirate look.
But if you're going for such a look youll want to be on the cutting-edge of fashion and right now the oversize, baggy look is in style. So dont bother with a diamond stud or small hoop. Get one of those big gold 6 hoops to hang off your lobe. Wear that and I guarantee youll be the talk of the high seas.
Why will men drive around lost for hours instead of just stopping and asking for directions?
Dear POW,
When I took my vows as an advice columnist I swore to always tell the truth. So while Ill probably get in trouble for letting you in on our secret, I have to be completely honest: We're not really directionless, were just pretending to be lost.
The suprising truth is that we just drive around in circles acting confused because we know how much this behavior infuriates women. Admittedly, its ridiculously passive-aggressive. But its also a lot more fun that you could imagine. When we pass the same gas station for the thirteenth time and mutter, Well, its got to be around here somewhere we do it just to see the look on your face. That pained, frustrated expression you make when youre trying to keep from losing your last fingerhold on sanity is priceless.
The best part of the experience, though, is when we get together with other men and compare stories about how our wife's head almost exploded while we were pretending to search for a street address. Somehow when were pulling this stunt we retain the ability to be completely stoical and straight faced. Yet when we share this tale with our buddies we start giggling like Japanese schoolgirls.
It's a biological fact that all men are born with innate sense of direction; we couldnt get lost if we tried. What makes it even funnier is that we often confess to having this ability and yet no woman ever believes us! That is why we are able to pass on this lark down to our sons, and generation after generation, women fall for it every time.
[Note: You're probably better off just skipping this post. Seriously. Just check back in on Monday.]
Dear Joe,
The past few months I've been getting serious about a girl I've been dating. I'm starting to think that she may be the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. The only problem is that when I was younger I "sowed my oats" a bit too much. There are a lot of things in my past that I am not sure I want her to find out about. How much do I really need to tell her about my wild, crazy past?
G.S.
Dear G.S.,
As a rule of thumb, if your past involves a police record, divorce court, incriminating videotape, liberal doses of penicillin, or White House interns then you should probably mention it. If not, then you can probably be excused from bringing it up.
All of us have skeletons in our closest, though some of us have more than others. (When I got married I had to rent a storage unit to hide mine.) When she asks about your past just shake your head pensively and say that you're too embarrassed to talk about it. If she is like most women she will respect your wishes and not bring it up again for, oh, five to ten minutes. After that she will grill you like a CIA interrogator at Guantanamo Bay.
When you finally break under the pressure, confess everything. The key to handling the situation, though, is to tell her at the right time and in the right location. From past experience I can safely say that telling her on the Jerry Springer show is probably a bad idea. While it may seem like the most appropriate place to tell her about your affair with her better looking step-sister, I found--to my dismay--that woman hate finding out secrets on daytime television.
Dear Joe,
My stepson just turned seven and has been asking a lot of questions about where babies come from. I always thought I would be ready to answer when I had kids of my own but now it's not so easy. I told him we would soon talk about the "birds and the bees" but he keeps asking. I can't put the poor kid off much longer. What is the best way to explain it?
Dear N.M.,
Normally, I would suggest leaving it up to Dad to tell him. But then I remember the talk I had with my father and realized that might not be such a great idea. From what I recall, the "Talk" consisted mostly of hand gestures and explanations ending in, "well, then, you know... you can guess what happens next..." For years afterward I was under the impression that babies were produced after a lengthy game of Charades.
At your son's age he isn't concerned with a Dr. Ruth style explanation; hes only interested in knowing how the baby got in Momma's stomach. Don't try to con him by telling him fanciful stories about the stork, or the cabbage patch, or a fertilized egg. Just tell him the truth: no one really knows how the babies get in there, its magic.
However, when the day does finally comes and you have to explain the details about sex, it's best to leave out the part about the "birds and the bees." In fact, leave out all references to animals. My dad once had me observe a couple of dogs participating in the baby-making process. That definitely wasn't the best way to learn. On my honeymoon I kept looking over my shoulder thinking someone was going to run in with a garden hose and spray me down.
Dear Joe,
I'm getting married in two months and I need some advice. All my married (male) friends keep telling me that I don't realize what I'll be missing out on by getting hitched. I've been looking forward to settling down but now they've got me spooked. What exactly is it that I'll be missing out on, anyway?
Dear T.J.,
Let's first consider some of the benefits of being married. Gaining a spouse means having someone who will do the cooking and the cleaning. It means having someone to buy the groceries, provide comfort during illnesses, and pick the dirty socks up off the floor. Getting married is like gaining the benefits of a nurse, a maid, and a cook. That is of course, what the woman gets; I'm still not sure what men get out of the deal.
Having entered my third year of marital bliss I can say that theres only one aspect of being married that causes me to feel that Im missing out. Its not the loss of control over my money or my time. After a few months you adjust to handing over your paycheck and appointment book. And within the first year you'll even be able to overcome your anxiety about losing your manhood, which shell be storing in her purse for safe-keeping. But there is one aspect that you will find it difficult to adjust to. Once you get married you will never again be allowed to take a nap.
For a woman, catching her husband napping is the second worst thing she can catch her man doing in their bed. (The first, of course, is discovering him drinking grape Kool-Aid on the 300 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Finding him with another woman, however, runs a close third.) Women believe that the only reason a man would want to take a nap is because he is either trying to ignore her or is avoiding spending time with her. The truth is that men take naps because we are tired. Too tired, in fact, to think of more creative ways to ignore our wives and avoid spending time with them.
Unfortunately for us, theres nothing that upsets a woman more than not having her husband's undivided attention. Women crave our attention not because of anything that they are lacking within themselves, but because it is necessary to fulfill their Master Plan of Marriage -- recreating us into the men they want us to become.
What women fail to mention before the wedding is that they would never agree to marry us if they thought wed remain the same pathetic losers that they first met. Every wife has an ideal of what her husband can be, and given enough time and the proper guidance, knows that he can become. Every minute that he spends being inattentive is, therefore, time wasted.
That is why napping is a husband's natural defense mechanism. We men realize that we are completely screwed up, yet, for some inexplicable reason, we don't feel the need to change. Since we can rarely muster the audacity to openly show disdain for the Master Plan, we have to take a more passive-aggressive approach. By napping we can enter an unconscious state where we don't have to think about our feelings, ponder where this relationship is going, or answer questions about why the floor around the toilet is always sticky. Napping isnt necessarily our only option. But it is less painful than having our friends put us in a sleeper hold until we black out.
[Note: This post was originally written in 2002 for my newspaper's humor/advice column.]
Dear Joe,
Last week I was talking to a salesman for a company that my firm does business with. I had met this guy several times before but this was the first time we had really had a chance to talk about anything other than business. Out of the blue he asked me if I would like to go out “on a date" sometime. At first I thought he was kidding. But after I realized he was serious I told him I wasn’t gay. He was embarrassed and apologized and I haven’t seen him since. Ever since then I have been racking my brain trying to think of what could have given him the impression that I liked men. Do you think I could have been given off some type of “signal" or what?
Dear T.G.,
Oddly enough I had a similar incident happen to me recently. You’ll recall that a few weeks ago I asked for comments on my [newspaper column]. Out of the overwhelming response I received (a total of three emails) one reader said they thought I was cute and would like to go out with me sometime.
Naturally I was flattered until I saw the name and noticed it was a guy’s name. It wasn’t even one of those names that could be either a boy or girl name like Tracie, Kim, or P.Diddy. It was definitely a guy.
I started to wonder if maybe something I had written had left him with the impression that I was gay. I decided to ask some of my closest family and friends if there was anything that seemed, well, “gay" about me. Big mistake.
I turned first to my main source of information on the gay community, my ex-wife. Since she is a lesbian I thought she might be able to clear up the matter for me. I asked her why the guy would ask me out.
“Because he thinks you're gay too," she said.
“Couldn’t it be that he was trying to, I don’t know, convert me," I asked.
She assured me that gay guys don’t hit on straight men and that I must have written something to make him think I was one of his tribe. I sent her the suspect columns to get her impression. When I called her back, my ex and her partner, were laughing hysterically. They had read the part where I said that I was a “manly man" and thought this was the funniest thing they had heard in years.
(For those of you who are keeping a list, being told by a pair of lesbians that you are not very manly ranks #17 on the All-Time Biggest Blows to a Man’s Ego.)
Next, I asked my family. They have known me all my life and would naturally have no doubts about my orientation.
“Oh we definitely wondered," they all agreed, “There was a time when we weren’t quite sure if you weren’t a bit, well, you know..." No, actually, I didn't know. "Well, there was a long time when you didn’t have a girlfriend", they pointed out. "And your ex-wife turned gay." They also thought it was rather suspicious that I spent an inordinate amount of time, as they put it, “reading books."
The fact that they assumed my long dry spell was due to an attraction to men rather than my being a pathetic loser was rather charming. The other reasons, however, were harder for me to comprehend. Obviously, to my redneck family, homosexuality is both contagious and caused by excessive literacy.
In desperation I turned to the one person I was sure would tell me that they never wondered whether I was gay - my boyfriend.
Only kidding, of course. I asked my girlfriend [Note: She has since been upgraded to "wife."] She, of all people, would know that there was nothing remotely gay about me.
“Well," she said, “I did find that pink shirt in your closet." I tried to explain to her that the shirt was rose-colored, not pink but then realized that wasn’t helping me at all. Now she calls me her “little fruit loop" and tells me that it's okay if I’m a tad bit gay, she loves me as I am.
For the record, I'm not gay. The fact that a flaming heterosexual like me has to even clarify that fact is rather depressing. I'm not sure about much but the one thing I do know with absolute certainty is that I have no attraction to men.
To be perfectly honest, I find the male body rather revolting. Men are hairy, they smell bad, and even the most metrosexual among us are still not as hygienic as your standard-issue female. There is nothing remotely attractive about men. In fact, I can’t even take a shower with my eyes open for fear that I might catch a glimpse of my own body and get grossed out.
So to answer your question, T.G., do I think you were giving off a gay “signal"? Yeah, probably. In the future, just be more careful about the signals you give off. And try not to let anyone see you reading any books.
Dear Joe,
My parents are driving me crazy. Im fifteen but they treat me like Im ten. They act like I am incapable of doing anything right. Everything I do is wrong. All I ever hear is how when Im their age Ill see things differently and that Im too young to understand. They dont realize that the world has changed since they were my age. Kids know more at fifteen nowadays than eighteen years olds used to know. Help me out, Joe. What can I do to get them to understand me?
Dear F.T.,
Dont be too hard on your parents. While you may not agree with their approach I'm sure you realize that they have good intentions. The are a number of reasons they treat you as if you dont know anything. They love you, they want to protect you, and, most of all, they realize that you don't know as much as you think you do.
Now dont get me wrong, Im not saying that teens lack intelligence. Just because they cant figure out how to properly wear baseball caps (hint: the bill goes to the front) or jeans (e.g., they should be worn around the waist, not around the thigs) doesnt mean they arent bright. Intelligence, though, as Ive discovered, is an overrated attribute. Its not as if you cant get a job without it (I'm living proof).
What is essential in life is wisdom. And that can only be acquired with age and experience. Its sort of the consolation prize adults get for screwing up their lives. Your parents have gained wisdom while you, alas, are still lacking. Its not that they dont understand you. They understand more than you think. Theyve been in your shoes and have discovered that the dumbest statement in the English language is, I have to learn for myself.
Here is a preview of some of the things youll be learning after you finish that long slog through puberty:
Youll be ashamed of how you used to dress -- You cant look at old yearbook photos of your mom without laughing at her beehive hairdo, can you? Go take a look in the mirror. See that. Take a good look because thats the hair style that your kids will be laughing about. Your parents at least have an advantage you dont have. They realize both how silly they looked and how goofy you look now. And, unlike your generation, they will never have to explain that ugly scar caused by the infected nose ring.
Youll become a Republican (for at least a day) -- In the near future youll get your first job. Soon after youll get your first paycheck and find that you only received half of what you thought you had earned. The other half will be given to some guy named FICA. From this experience you may acquire a lifelong hatred of taxes. And even if it doesnt permanently affect your political views, it will have a significant impact. After all, even liberal Democrats itemize their deductions.
Youll learn to appreciate country music -- Kids who grow up listening to rock or rap often believe that country musicians only sing about how the dog died, the truck broke down, and their woman ran off. That is, of course, a fairly accurate assessment of country music. But by the time you hit forty youll have had your share of dead dogs, dead batteries, and dead-end relationships. Youll find that you can relate to this music better than you can songs about drinking champagne while driving in your Rolls and getting shot at by rival East Coast rappers.
Youll find you never stop learning -- Im 36. When I look back my life at age 25 I realized I didnt know as much as I thought I did. Of course when I was 25 I looked back at 18 and wondered how I ever survived being so stupid. The one constant in life -- other than that FICA guy -- is that you never stop learning. Somewhere an 87 year old man is saying to himself, You know, when I was 65 I just didnt have a clue.
Dear Joe,
I am engaged to be married to my girlfriend of two years. But I'm also in love with someone else, who unfortunately is married. When I look at my fianc I think, Yeah, we can be happy together. I know I love her but I don't necessarily feel 'in love' with her. And this other woman ...well, she occupies my thoughts a lot. We were good friends at one time. I just feel like she (the married one) is a true soul mate and here I am settling for something less than par. Am I totally screwed up or what?
J.K.
Dear J.K.,
After years of reflection I've come to the conclusion that the reason many people get divorced is because they get married. While I can't know for certain, I suspect there would be fewer messy divorces if people avoided getting into messy marriages in the first place.
Unfortunately, your situation is a bad Jenny Jones episode waiting to happen. Your problem isn't necessarily that youre totally screwed up (though, that too seems apparent) but that you have the wrong concept of what love is all about. From the way you use terms such as soul mate and talk about loving your fianc but not feeling in love it appears that you've either been reading romance novels or watching too many chick flicks. You certainly didn't pick up that lingo by hanging around with Manly Men. Would Clint Eastwood talk about not feeling in love? Would John Wayne pine over a soul mate?
No and no.
Manly Men (and I include myself in that category despite my tendency to wax my chest hair and faint at the sight of snakes) share an understanding about life. We know that some of the best things in life make absolutely no sense whatsoever. Some of the things we most desire can cripple us, lead to our ruin, or even lead to an untimely death. Yet we boldly choose them anyway. This is why Real Men play football, go to war, and get married.
We understand that the things that truly matter in life your politics, your religion, your preference for football over all those other wussy sports are all matters of choice. Real Men understand that love is a choice; you choose who you love.
Women, on the other hand, hate this concept. They refuse to admit that this is true because it would mean accepting responsibility for consciously choosing the men they end up with. Women would rather blame hormones, destiny--or in the case of many of the girls who've dated me, a case of cheap beer--rather than accept the fact that they put any rational thought into deciding to be with us.
(I can't say that I blame them, though. Such an admission would show that they aren't quite as smart as they think they are. Granted, they are still smarter than us, but its one thing to be an idiot. It's quite another to choose to marry an idiot.)
The key to choosing who to love is to narrow the circle of choices down until you find the right one. A good place to start is by excluding married women. You don't get involved with another man's wife for the same reason you don't buy underwear at Goodwill such an intimate relationship was never meant to be passed on to another man.
In choosing between option (a) the soul mate or (b) your fianc, I suggest you go with option (c ) lock yourself in a room and repeatedly watch Rio Bravo and Heartbreak Ridge.
If the married woman is your soul mate and she stays with her husband, then you are out of luck. If she leaves her husband to be with you, then she can't be trusted to be faithful. Either way, everyone loses. As for your fianc, if you love her you should cut the girl loose and let her go find her own soul mate who, hopefully, will also be a Manly Man.
Dear Joe,
My girlfriend is driving me nuts. She will never say directly what she means. Instead she beats around the bush and expects me to know what she meant rather than what she said. Why dont women just say what is on their mind? Are they speaking some foreign language that Im not aware of? I need some help.
Dear A.V.,
When asked to rate the qualities they admire most, women often claim to value honesty above all else. This is, of course, rather ironic since honesty is the trait they least tolerate in men. Admitting that, yeah, now that shes mentioned it, she does look kind of chubby in that dress, will not win a man praise for his integrity. Most likely it will simply lead to a trip to the ER to have a size 8 stiletto removed from the side of his neck.
Women, of course, are smart enough to know that nothing is more detrimental to a relationship than being truthful. Watch them when they are talking to members of their own sex and youll see what I mean. Women can barely tolerate one another as it is; if they were to tell each other what they really thought (Which dog groomer gave you that hairstyle?) it would be the end of civilization as we know it.
While you may not be able to read her mind, you do need to read in between the lines. Here is a brief guide to what people say and what it is they really mean:
I dont kiss up to anybody. -- Translation: Im a tactless jerk.
I dont care what anyone thinks. -- Translation: Im deeply insecure and constantly worry about what everyone thinks of me.
Its not you, its me. -- Translation: Lets not kid ourselves, youre definitely the reason were breaking up.
Im just crazy like that. -- Translation: Im the type of clueless idiot who thinks other people are impressed by my goofy behavior.
What do you do for a living? -- Translation: What socio-economic category can I place you in so that I may judge your value as a human being.
Money isnt everything. -- Translation: Ive come to the realization that I will be broke for the rest of my life.
We need to talk about our relationship. (Spoken by a woman) -- Translation: We need to talk about what youre doing wrong.
Fine, lets talk. (Coming from a man) -- Translation: Please, please, lets get this over with before the football game comes on.
Deep down, hes really a good kid -- Translation: I cant bring myself to admit that my kid is a hellion.
Im just not good at taking tests. -- Translation: Im too lazy to actually study.
I prefer a guy with a sense of humor -- Translation: I prefer a guy who can make me laugh as long as he is also rich and good-looking.
Do I look fat in these pants? -- Translation: Your verbal reinforcement that I'm thin enough is the only thing keeping my self-esteem out of the toilet.
It was really nice meeting you. -- Translation: Five minutes from now I wont even remember your name.
Sure, you can call me sometime. -- Translation: I will be changing my phone number tomorrow.
You look great! -- Translation: I forgot just how terrible you looked the last time I saw you.
What are you thinking (Coming from a woman) -- Translation: What are you thinking?
Nothing. (Coming from a man) -- Translation: My mind is -- as usual -- a complete blank.
Dear Joe,
How can I get rid of my son? He's 24 years old and the laziest creature on earth. He doesn't go to school, won't get a job, and claims he can't afford to move out on his own. The truth is that he could afford to move out if he didn't spend all his money sitting around the house smoking dope all day.
I love him dearly but he's got to go. How do I get him to move out?
Dear F.P.,
Here's a step-by-step plan for getting the little pot head out within a week:
Day #1 – The first step is to get him out of the house for a few hours. Tell him you found $20 in the washer and were wondering if it was his. While he is out giving his “tithes to the Rastafarian church" call a carpenter, preferably one that is handy with sheetrock. A good drywall specialist can have the door to your son's room sealed off in less than an hour. Be sure to have it painted so that it blends in with the surrounding wall.
When your son returns and wonders why he can't find the door to his room pretend you don't know what he is talking about and "remind" him that he moved out six years ago. Convince him that he is having a “flashback" from the time he ate those weird mushrooms.
Day #2 – Remove all edible food from the house. Bake a liver quiche and leave it, along with a pitcher of prune juice, in the refrigerator. Now when the the little freak gets the “munchies" he'll be in for a big surprise.
Day #3 – Invite Timmy, the earnest young Christian at church who is always anxious to share his new found faith, to drop by and visit your son at around 4:20 p.m.* Tell him that your son really wants to develop a personal relationship with the Lord but needs someone to explain it to him. Just to be safe, have some Jehovah's Witnesses stop by at 5:10 and some of those clean cut Mormon missionaries drop in at 5:45.
Day #4 – At 4:35 p.m., when your son is good and stoned, call your house and in your best basso-profundo voice say, “Hello. This is God speaking. Timmy said that you and I should get together and meet sometime..."
Day #5 – Hide dog biscuits all around the house and invite the police department's K-9 narcotics unit to drop by the house at 4:40 p.m. for coffee and donuts.
Day #6 - Tell all four armed forces recruiters that your son is really interested in joining the military. Military recruiters are like used car salesmen that make housecalls. Mention that the best time to catch your son is at 4:30 p.m.
Day #7 – Tell your son that the two of you need to have a serious discussion. Take him for a long drive in the country and be honest about your concerns. Explain that it's really time that he moved on with his life and, after you slow down to about 20 mph, open the passenger door and kick him out of the car.
If he didn't take the hint the first six days then he's obviously fried his brain to the point where you don't have to worry about him finding his way home.
* As I learned on recruiting duty, 4:20 p.m. (aka 420) is the time when losers throughout the world set aside to get high. Ask you kid what it means. If he knows, smack' em – he's a stoner. If he says he doesn't know, smack' em anyway cause he's lying to you.
Dear Joe,
The other day my girlfriend broke out an old photo album that coincidentally had a bunch of pictures of old boyfriends. Every one of them were really good-looking. I was just joking around and asked her if she thought I was the most handsome guy she has ever dated. She didn’t say anything. Then I asked her if she even thought I was good-looking. She hesitated and said that wasn’t what she found attractive in me. Needless to say, I kind of freaked out. My own girlfriend doesn’t think I’m attractive. How am I supposed to deal with something like that?
Dear L.R.,
I’m a homely guy.
Oftentimes when I make that statement people assume that I must have a low self-esteem. People assume that if you don’t find yourself attractive then you must have some psychological issues. But for me that’s not the case at all. In fact, I have a ridiculously high estimation of myself considering that I’m basically a moron.
What I lack in intelligence, however, I make up for in self-awareness. There is no shame in being ugly as long as you are aware of that fact. Unfortunately, there are too many people running around that have no clue just how terribly unattractive they truly are.
I do my best to point it out to as many people as I can but, sadly, I can’t reach everyone. You need to take an honest look at yourself and decide if you fall into the ugly category.
There is a broad spectrum on the ugly scale with plain being on one end and carnie worker reject being on the other. Homely, where I fit in, falls somewhere in the middle. To be honest, I wish I were even uglier than I am. (Contrary to what my friends say I do think that it’s possible.) Being ugly has distinct advantages that beautiful people miss out on.
If you decide that your girlfriend was right and you are rather hideous then don’t despair. Here are just a few of the reasons why you shouldn’t want to be good-looking:
Ugly people are appreciated for their personality -- Beautiful people never know if people like them for who they are or how they look. I know plenty of pretty women and to be perfectly honest I couldn’t tell you if they have pleasant personalities or not. Heck, I couldn’t tell you if they have a personalities at all. If you’re ugly, though, and someone agrees to go out with you it’s because they like you for who you are. Unless, of course, you are rich. Then they like you because of your money.
Ugly people are funnier -- Think of all the truly funny people you know. Chances are they are unattractive. That’s because ugly people can’t take themselves too seriously. “Son, if you can’t laugh at yourself, my dad used to tell me, “then you’re obviously not looking in the mirror."
Ugly is cheap and easy -- I don’t mean that ugly people are cheap and easy (though that too is often the case) but that ugliness is low maintenance. When you’re ugly you don’t have to worry about trivialities such as make-up, or face lifts, or brushing your teeth. Since nothing you do is really going to matter you can just let yourself go.
Ugly people are more successful -- Beautiful people have everything handed to them. Ugly people, on the other hand, have to work harder to get what they want. Do you think there would be a Microsoft if Bill Gates looked like George Clooney? Great innovations, inventions, and advice columns are always produced by some ugly geek who couldn’t get a date and had nothing better to do than improve the world. Our economy if fueled on ugly.
Ugly people are the majority -- Forget the Democrat and Republican parties. Someday we ugly people will unite and become the biggest voting bloc in the country. One day we will take over and have all the pretty people be at our beck and call. I figure that we can hold our first convention at the state fair since we all congregate there anyway.
Ugly is inevitable -- Beauty fades but ugly is everlasting. If we live long enough we eventually all get ugly. Some of us fortunate ones just get there first.
[Note: If you are the type of person who is offended by inter-service rivalry between branches of the American armed forces, then please do not read this post. If youve never served and youre offended, then all I can say is that its a military thing and that you wouldnt understand. If youre a veteran and youre offended then please dont embarrass your branch by admitting this in public. And if you think inter-service rivalry means poking fun at the Merchant Marines then youre probably in the Coast Guard.]
Dear Joe,
My nephew has decided to join the service and has narrowed his choice to either the Air Force or the Marines. Since you were in the military I thought Id ask you which you thought was better. Any suggestions?
Dear U.D.,
Let me first say that I have the utmost respect for all of the groups that serve our country. The Army, Navy, Marines, and Boy Scouts all do an outstanding job and have my deepest admiration. The Air Force, being very similar to a military organization, gets my thanks as well. And while I have a soft spot for all veterans I must admit that I am not completely objective since I served over sixteen years on active duty in the Marines. Three of those years were spent on recruiting duty.
As a recruiter I learned a lot about the youth of America. I learned, for instance, that teenagers really are as dumb as they appear to be. They are particularly ignorant, I found, when it comes to matters pertaining to the military.
More than once I received an incredulous stare from a teenager that couldnt comprehend the differences between the various services. For example, I found that most kids had only a vague awareness that the Navy has ships. Their idea of the Navy had mainly been formed by repeated viewings of Top Gun. Imagine the young recruits shock to discover they would be seeing the world from the deck of a frigate rather than the back seat of Maverick and Gooses F-14.
Hopefully, your nephew has considered all the differences between the two branches in forming his decision. In order to help out Ive included a few factors that he might want to consider:
Uniforms - Most everyone claims that the reason they join is to serve their country. This answer sounds more noble and honorable than admitting that the real reason most people (the men at least) sign up is because chicks dig guys in uniform. While it might seem hard to believe that anyone would make such a commitment based on clothing, many guys need all the advantages they can get. Particularly guys who still use words such as chicks and dig.
You can take a terribly homely guy and by simply putting him in the Marine dress uniform, women will find him attractive (or at least, as in my case, slightly less repulsive). Admittedly, the Air Force uniform is also appealing to women though it tends to be the same women who are attracted by the uniforms of Greyhound bus drivers.
History - While it might not seem like a deciding factor, there is a lot to be said for an organization with a proud history. The Corps has been around since 1775 and has distinguished itself in every war since the American Revolution. That is a fact of which every Marine is proud.
Airman on the other hand must feel rather slighted by their meager history. While Im not sure the exact date, I believe the Air Force was established sometime around 1978. It would be hard to feel much pride for an organization that has been in fewer wars than the Salvation Army.
Physical Training - One of the more obvious differences between the two is the physical requirements expected of its members. A prime example is the physical fitness tests conducted by each service. In the Corps our test consists of chin-ups, sit-ups, and a timed three mile run. The Air Force - and I swear Im not making this up - rides a stationary bike for thirty minutes. If an Airman can complete the test without having a heart attack then they receive a passing score.*
Maybe its just me but I find it rather disconcerting that a branch of the military has the exact same fitness test as my grandmothers Geriatric Olympic team.
*This was true when I first wrote this for a newspaper column many years ago. In 2004, the Air Force stopped using the cycle ergometry test. While I could be wrong, I believe the new test consists of a brisk walk followed by a brief nap.
Over the past few weeks I've written posts on politics, foreign policy, environmentalism, and bioethics. But today we must set aside such trivial issues and turn to more serious matters: preparing men for Valentine's Day.
With only 24 hours left you need to start making plans now. Wait much longer and you'll find yourself at the Quik-E-Mart fighting other pathetic slobs for the last Whitman�s sampler or single-stem plucked-in-November rose.
But I have an alternative to cheap candy and wilted flowers. It's thoughtful. It's romantic. It's cheap.
It's the love letter.
Follow these steps in writing your love letter and you just might be able to prevent your Valentine's Day from becoming another massacre:
Buy some stationery -- You're a big boy now so throw away the Big Chief tablet you've had since 3rd grade and buy some quality paper. Keep in mind that if you don't feel like a total wuss when you buy the stationery then you purchased the wrong type.
Don't even think of typing the letter -- Unless you have the penmanship of a doctor, the letter should be in your own handwriting. If you have the penmanship of a doctor because you are a doctor, then you make enough money that you don't have to worry about impressing women anyway.
Be specific and personal -- Don't just write one letter that you photocopy and hand out to all the new girls you meet. That won't get you anywhere. You have to actually go to the trouble of copying the same letter out by hand every time you give it to a different girl.
Points will be deducted for spelling -- Pretend you're giving the letter to your high school English teacher who'll be taking points off for spelling. Since women pass the letters around to their inner circle - which tends to include every woman in a 50 mile radius - you'll be judged by plenty of people. You might consider having a female friend proofread it for you since she�ll soon be reading it anyway.
(By the way, if the letter is intended for your high school English teacher then you have issues that even I can't help you with.)
Write, rewrite, repeat -- Start out by writing a rough draft. Now take your rough draft and throw it away because it makes you sound like an idiot.
Seriously, it does. Just trust me on this one. I don't know why that's always true. It just is.
Write it again and try not to be so sappy this time. You don't want to scare her away by giving her the impression that you�re some kind of freak. She shouldn't be able to figure out what kind of freak you are until she's been married to you for at least ten years.
Resist the temptation to give her a note that says, "Do you like me? Check yes or no." -- This was cute and original the first 500 times she received this type of note from some faux-sensitive guy who wants to give the impression that he's being "child-like" when in reality he's just being lazy.
Unfortunately, this is the sole opportunity for a guy to be lazy and have a woman think that he's being cute. That's also why better minds have thought of using this corny gimmick long before you came along.
Give it to her before you chicken out -- Your brain will try to talk you out of giving her the love letter. It will tell you that you're setting yourself up for future embarrassment. Your brain, of course, is right. But don't listen to reason. Being in love has nothing to do with being reasonable. In fact, love requires that you make completely irrational choices. If we didn't there would be no romance, no marriage, and no jewelry stores.
A last resort -- If all else fails and you just can't think of anything, let me know. I'll send you a photocopy of the letter I use. Just remember to copy it in your own handwriting and to not give it to any girl whose zip code starts with 7. Otherwise, there's a good chance she's seen the letter before.
Dear Joe,
My girlfriend and I have recently started talking about getting married. She is a passionate and fun girl but she cant cook at all. That shouldnt be a big deal but I am getting tired of always having to eat out. I love her but is love enough? What should I do?
Dear R.K.,
When I was just a boy my dad pulled me aside and gave me some advice on choosing a life-long mate. Cooking lasts, he said, taking another shot of Pepto-Bismol, Kissing dont.
From the tone of his voice and the smell of Rolaids on his breath, I could tell that he came by this discovery the hard way. (My Mom wasnt just a bad cook, she was completely confused about food. We never did convince her that Spam wasnt a vegetable.)
Times have changed, though, and its rather chauvinistic to think that a womans place is in the kitchen. Equality of opportunity means that women are moving into areas that have historically been the domain of men: the corporate world, the clergy, the Laz-E-Boy, etc.
But I empathize with you. Its a tough choice to make between your heart and your tummy. After all, as my old man convinced me, passion fades, hunger pains dont.
Dear Joe,
This letter is in response to the question you received from R.K. about his girlfriend who couldnt cook. Considering the fact that he stated I love her, but is love enough? there is no way that I cannot write to you and present these two questions: a) Does he know how to cook? If so and he loves her so much maybe he could teach her how! b) Should she marry a man that loves herbut?
Dear J.M.B,
Women get married for a variety of reasons. Some marry for money, some for love, and others for security. Men, on the other hand, get married because we have no other choice.
There comes a point in every mans life when he realizes that he is just too incompetent to continue taking care of himself. Some of us can manage on our own for several years but eventually if we dont settle down we will die of self-induced ignorance. Sometimes I catch myself running through the house with sharp objects in my hand. Other times I look under the kitchen sink and wonder what all those colorful bottles of cleaner would taste like. When I was a kid I had my mom around to keep me from doing something stupid. Now, Im on my own. Its only a matter of time before I put an eye out or give in to the temptation to take a swig of Windex.
This isnt a new situation. In fact it goes back as far as the first marriage. The Bible says that God looked upon Adam and decided he needed a helper, that it wasnt good for man to be alone.
Some people read this passage and assume it means that Adam was lonely. Thats not the case at all. What its really saying is that Adam couldnt take care of himself. Scripture is saying that men are basically incompetent.
You also wondered if R.K. can cook? My guess is that if he could cook he wouldnt have to get married. Im a fairly well-adjusted single guy but Ill admit that if it wasnt for the wonderful people down at McDonalds I would have starved to death long ago. (God bless you Ronald, you freaky red-headed clown!)
Now as for whether she should marry him? I say yes. I say the woman should take pity on the poor guy. Obviously, it isnt good for him to be alone; he needs a helper. On this I think the Good Lord would agree with me.
(Note: These columns originally ran in The East Texas Tribune back in 2002, when I was still single. I have to confess that I didnt take my own advice. I married my wife for her beauty, brains, and personality, rather than for her domestic skills. I dont regret it at all, but I still hang out at Ronalds place as much as I ever did.)
Dear Joe,
What’s wrong with people from Texas? Ever since I moved here two years ago people ask me if I’m a Yankee. (I’m not. I’m from California.) Why is it that people in this state are so quick to judge someone strictly on their accent?
Dear P.J.,
In Texas, life moves fast. Having to make quick judgments means we often don't have time to waste on such trivial matters as thinking for ourselves. In order to save time we’ve developed certain shortcuts in order to size people up. One of the main ways we do this is to judge strangers by their accents. Fortunately, the process is rather simple since Texans only recognize three types of accents: Yankee, Californian, and Foreigner.
The Foreigner accent is a rather broad category that covers all people from such non-native English speaking countries as Germany, Korea, and Australia. It’s rather easy to pick out and generally shows that someone has the good sense to leave their third world country - France, for example - and come to the Promised Land. Texans have no problem with foreigners.
The Yankee accent covers everything north of the Red River. (Technically, this includes people who live in Amarillo too, which makes them a bit suspect.) You can pick them out not only by the funny way they talk but because they are far less educated then we are. For example, when you give them directions and tell them that the Interstate is “over yonder a fur piece" they look at you like you’re an idiot. Any group of people that can’t even follow simple directions must come from a terribly backward state. We don’t have a problem with Yankees either, provided they are looking for the Interstate in order to go back to where they came from.
The Californian dialect is more difficult to pick up and can often be mistaken for the Yankee accent. One way to tell the difference is to pay attention to their body language. A gruff, rude manner is often a dead giveaway for a Yankee. A spacey, blank look, and blonde hair screams Californian.
West Coast people are also slightly jumpy. This characteristic can probably be attributed to living in a place where the four seasons are Fire, Smog, Landslide, and Earthquake. Knowing your entire state could slide off into the ocean at any minute has to be tough on the nerves. Texans also don’t have a problem with Californians as long as they never leave the state of California.
While I myself have no special affinity for Californians, I have a special distaste for Yankees. In second grade I had a teacher from one of the New England states - either Maine or Iowa, I can’t remember which - who scarred me for life. She complained incessantly that she was unable to understand a word I said and begged my parents to let me attend speech class. Admittedly, I made Boomhauer from King of the Hill sound like Sir Laurence Olivier. But in Texas you just don’t mess with a man’s twang.
Every day I would have to sit through a special speech class were I was taught that vowels have only one syllable and that words such as “fixin’’", “askin’", and “doin’" are supposed to have a “g" on the end. Needless to say it ruined me for life.
By the time she was through with me I had lost my twang forever. To this day I talk like I was born in one of the Mid-Western plains states. You can’t imagine how horrible it is to carry this burden. Trust me, there’s nothing worse for a native Texan than sounding like you’re from New Hampshire.
Dear Joe,
Lately Ive wanted to become a better Christian (like you) and decided that I needed to go back to church. Shopping around for a church isnt exactly easy, though. I know I shouldnt choose a church based solely on the preacher but if the preacher isnt good then I find it difficult to stay interested. How do you judge whether the preacher is any good?
Dear P.R.,
For my next career (i.e., after I get fired from my current job) Im considering going into the ministry. Not only do I think it is my calling in life (well, maybe) but it appears to be the perfect job. Being a pastor would allow me to combine my three biggest passions: telling people how they should live, avoiding manual labor, and eating.
Preachers lead a cushy, well-fed existence. Basically all they do is talk, then eat. That seems to be the standard format for a life as a minister. Put in an hour of work on Sundaythen get invited to lunch. Visit with the sick people in the hospitalthen eat their Jello when they nod off. Grab a deacon and drop by some unsuspecting parishioners house during dinnertimeand then, well, you get the idea. Then, after a long day of talking and gorging, you can go soak your feet in the baptistery. What more could you ask for in a career?
Unfortunately, though, it will be a few more years before I have a congregation of my own. When I become a minister then you are welcome to join my church (note: I have a preference for fried chicken and corn on the cob). So in the meantime, here a few pointers for picking a preacher:
Ensure the pastor knows what he's talking about -- Like everyone else, preachers sometimes get lazy and dont properly prepare. Sometimes, if they think no one is paying attention, theyll start referring to so-called books of the Bible such as Nahum or Habbakuk or Haggai. Dont let them fool you. Ive been reading the Bible my whole life and I can tell you that Ive never seen any of those books before.
Be sure he isnt long-winded -- This becomes especially important during football season. While it can be difficult to spot a gasbag before they get started, oftentimes you can pick up on subtle clues.
For example, if he opens his sermon with, How bout them Cowboys! theres a good chance youll be out in time for kickoff. If, on the other hand, you notice he takes a sack lunch to the podium then pray you remembered to set the TiVo.
Avoid overbearing preachers -- Though they have the best of intentions, some preachers can be a bit hard to stomach. I once had a pastor who would constantly refer to us congregants as lost, degenerate sinners, and in need of redemption. Once he got wound up it would spiral off into claims that we were wicked, unrepentant and bound for hell. Now if the fire-and-brimstone speeches would have come on Sunday morning I wouldnt have minded. But when your playing church league softball you really expect more encouragement from the coach.
Find a minister that wont sugarcoat the truth -- While you dont want a preacher who's too harsh, you also dont want one that is afraid to be controversial. Church people are just sinners like everyone else. The only difference is that we know where to meet on Sunday to hear the best gossip.
In order to keep us on the straight and narrow we need to hear sermons on the touchy subjects that hit close to home. One of my favorite pastors used to preach about a different sin every week. Every sermon he would rail against backbiters, slanderers, hypocrites, perverts, etc.
I always went home feeling the message had really touched my heart, almost as if it were meant for me. His sermons never failed to stir me, though, to be perfectly honest, I would have preferred he not end each sentence with "like Joe."
Dear Joe,
What's the best way to get out of traffic ticket?
Dear L.B.,
Several weeks ago I was out for a ride and inadvertently ran a stop sign. Though I didn't see the sign, a cop did see me. He quickly pulled up behind my chopper and signaled for me to pull over.
Now I've been a biker since I old enough to work a kick-stand so getting hassled by the fuzz is nothing new. I also, as you can probably imagine, have quite the outlaw streak in me. So I did what any self-respecting rider would do: opened it up full throttle and tried to make a run for it. I gave it all I had but the cop must have had some super-charged cruiser because he caught up to my moped like I was standing still.
From this experience I gained a couple of valuable lessons. First, pull over right away. If the police have to chase you 47 miles until your scooter runs out of gas you can bet they won't be in a good mood when they get their hands on you. Second, always wear a helmet. When the cops commence to giving you a Rodney King-style whooping it helps to have your head covered. Since that incident I make sure I always wear a helmet when I ride. In fact, I now wear one when I drive my car. You can never be too careful.
Some other ways to avoid a ticket are:
Most importantly, always carry your essential documents. I find its best to have my license, registration, proof of insurance, and enough cab fare to get you back if you find yourself stranded 47 miles from home.
Every year I make a list of New Year’s resolutions that I’m never able to keep. I usually do well for a few weeks but by February I don’t even bother trying. I tried to be more persistent (Resolution #12 - 1988), develop more willpower (Resolution #9 - 1993), and even “resolved" to keep my resolutions (Resolution #1 - 1998). Nothing ever seems to be effective.
This year I’m trying something different. I’ve decided to take the same approach that I took in planning a career and finding a wife: I lowered my expectations. I figure that if I don’t set my sights too high then I won’t be disappointed. Since success is a relative concept I decided to make it relatively easy to succeed.
Here are my resolution from last year and the way that I'm modifying them:
2005: Lose weight; 2006: Gain weight - While most people find it difficult to lose weight, in 2005 I managed to lose a total of fifteen pounds. The key is to get off to a good start. After shaving my back hair (3 pounds), cutting my toe nails (1.3 pounds), and trimming my nose and ear hairs (.7 pounds) I found I only needed to lose ten more pounds over the next twelve months.
No sooner had I reached my goal, though, then my wife decides that I too skinny and need to “gain about 20 pounds." Now I have to turn around and re-gain all the weight that I lost. That won’t be easy.