Archives for February 2019

What happened?

Most adults have gone through the scenario where a future ex asks what happened with an ex. The intention is to discover things to look for if the current relationship is to proceed. I get it. Still, what answers do you expect? Do you expect honesty when it looks bad? I usually rely on the harmless “we grew apart” response but, oh, how sarcasm begins boiling within me.

“She died.”

“What? Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I pushed her off the cruise ship on our honeymoon after she said I drink too much.”

All right, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I’ll try again.

“She left me for one of her students.”

“Oh. She’s a professor?”

“No. A middle school teacher.”

“Wait. What?”

“I know. You gotta watch those little fuckers.”

Yes, yes, I get it — harsh again. How about this?

“She left me because she insisted that I’m gay.”

“What made her think that?”

“Look, even vegetarians crave a little bacon now and then.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you go down on your roommate once in a while, right? That doesn’t make you a vag-atarian. Ha ha ha. I crack me up.”

“I don’t go down on my roommate.”

“No? Huh. Well, that makes one of us.”

Let me stir that sarcastic brain soup. Need to crush some of those nasty bits and recover the “nice guy” persona.


“What do you mean? You’re still married?”

“Oh, hell no. We just fuck a lot. I just saved 50% on my car insurance by switching to single.”

“You still have sex with your ex? Why are you on a date?”

“Oh, don’t worry. If this works out and we start fucking, I’ll cut back on the ex sex.”

Obviously, I can’t do it. I need to stick to the standard.

“We grew apart.”

“How so?”

“We grew tired of each other’s shit and decided it was time to move on. Here’s to me moving on. Cheers! Let’s get some wings. Want to?”

There ya go. Quick and harmless, then a quick change of topic and wah la.

Love at First Huh?

It was nice of some friends to invite me to Valentine’s dinner. They insisted I bring a date. I had no date and, more importantly, felt no disappointment therefrom. So, I made drinks and drank the leftovers.

An enjoyable evening was had by all the couples and me — fine wine, food, and conversation. There was even a pastor in attendance. I’m not religious, yet no exorcism was conducted. Inevitably we got to the “let’s go around the table” portion of the evening. That’s usually when I skeedaddle, yet I was landlocked, so I played along.

The topic was “love” and when/how we knew our person was “the one.” Since my person was me, to avoid blatant narcissism, I was asked to define how I’d know when I met that special person. I provided my overly logical response.

“When I find that woman who enhances my life as much as I enhance hers. In other words, we make each other’s life better.”

“I understand, but you could hire someone for that.”

“Really? Where? Kidding. Yes, I know, silly. That would make my sex life better, but my financial standing worse. Hence, not an ideal option.”

“Well, why are you single?”

“I guess because right now I complete me.”

Religious folks rarely appreciate my frankness. I usually dig myself deeper into their seventh level of Hades by attempting to explain the main difference between faithless and faithful is taking or giving responsibility and credit. I take full blame and responsibility for who I am. No god is keeping the ideal woman from me (just my prose, perhaps), and no god is holding me back from seeking her. Also, I’m not going to stand and point to the ceiling after I get laid.

The other couples provided wonderfully romantic anecdotes.

  • “I knew she was the one when I first laid eyes on her.”
  • “God brought him into my life at the perfect time.”
  • “I had to have her, no matter what. It was meant to be.”
  • “He was out there just waiting for me to find him.”


My reaction to all of those sweet nothings is, “For now.” Relationships bud, grow, wither, and die. We absolutely should celebrate and enjoy the blossoming of a wonderful duo. Why not also celebrate singledom — the state featuring unlimited possibilities? God wouldn’t approve? Well, fuck that god. My god loves me and loves my choices, which either bring happiness or life lessons.


With all of the controversy surrounding life and death including gun rights, abortion, and assault, do we really need to be wasting our time debating the nipple? Well, allow me to waste a few minutes here.

Nipples feed — that’s really all we need to know. Next controversy, please.

Were you offended when Janet Jackson’s nipple was partially exposed during a concert? All right, then how about Adam Levine’s? If his was acceptable, was it because his was not lactatable?

What about breastfeeding in public? Is that gross or offensive? I think it’s beautiful. I’m not stimulated by it (unless I’m the one feeding, naturally). There are far more disturbing things I see in public. How about a neighbor’s dog dropping a deuce? No? All right. How about neighbor picking up said deuce with blue glove? No? Fine. How about someone squeezing fruit into their beer?

It’s just a pair of glands. They’re fun to play with, right? Fun for both parties involved. I love poking them like packing bubbles — more gently, of course. No, I do not lick packing bubbles. That would be offensive.

Does the nipple horror stem from trying to explain them to children? I have no offspring, yet I have learned that kids react based on how their parents react. If boobie tips are no big deal to you, then their no big deal to little Tony.

“Dad, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That round brown thing on her chest?”

“It’s a tit nozzle. Go get me some crackers. I’m suddenly hungry.”

“OK, Pop.”

Done. No biggie. Tony’s probably gonna tell Connor he saw a tit nozzle on TV last night. No biggie, version two. You see, Pop didn’t spend any time asking Tony how the sight of a nipple made him feel. Pop did not react by yelling, “Jesus Fucking Christ,” and scrambling to change the channel. That would have piqued Tony’s curiosity. He might have asked Sharon, the prematurely maturing 6th grader to show hers. Bad Daddy. Bad Tony. Bad precedent.

Social media fucks this all up as well. Try this at home: Post a picture of a topless man in your life. Not someone like me whose silver strands cover most of his nipple meat. If the picture is from a distance, all good. Zoom in and post another. Repeat. There will come a time when friends will “ew” and Facebook will disallow the photo. So, you’re telling me nipples are fine as long as they are not too close. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Yes, I know I’m preaching. Tough titty. There are many important things for society to deal with and remedy. Don’t resist the nipple, people. Embrace it and let’s move on.