It was an idle Tuesday afternoon. There I sat: laptop open, Google agape. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. But it wasn’t the doorbell, it was my iPhone, pretending to be a doorbell, but really it was just a reminder to do that thing I needed to do. So I did it. A short while later, I was back to Google. I Googled myself. Nothing new came up…I Googled some sport stats…Googled the wife…Googled the gardener. Virtually, I mean. Not physically, of course. Then I paid a visit to Foxnews.com. Like I said—normal Tuesday.

But it wasn’t. That’s when it happened. A new piece of knowledge—a new piece of technology that could potentially forever eliminate the excuse, “not tonight, I’m tired.” Headliner: New Bedometer iPhone App Counts the Carlories You Shed Having Sex. I double-clicked. I reloaded. And then, as if a newer, more useful revolutionary app might present itself, I held my breath. Now, you ask: why would it make that excuse go away, Andrew? Well, I’ll tell you: women like to count calories in two variations—(a) calorie intake and (b) calories burned. Enough said.

The article called the app “fun,” “functional.” I’m fun… I’m functional. Suddenly it wasn’t just a Tuesday afternoon anymore— it was a seemingly brighter Tuesday afternoon. It was the day that my proclaimed “unwarranted meanderings” to my wife about my wanting to get busy all day is not just from me being a “dude,” but it’s from me being a reasonable, health-conscious fellow. Because I have proof now… because now I can say, “yeah, there’s an app for that…”
Oh— did I mention that a woman in London invented this revolutionary tool? Completely gives new meaning to “the British are coming.”

SOURCE: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,589562,00.html?sPage=fnc/health/sexualhealth

So, yesterday I was skimming through one of those trashy magazines that you so often find in the waiting rooms of doctors offices, except I was at home and I happened upon an issue on my coffee table, strategically (or not) left out by my wife. It was open to a page claiming celebrities are just like “us,” whoever “us” is… Now, allegedly, this publication thinks that Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio are just like me, but I can assure you—they most certainly are not. I considered this, and then I realized something astounding. Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio together on the same page is interesting. Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio on the same page, being compared to me is ironic.

Here’s why:

Aside from the fact that both of these gentlemen are highly esteemed, well respected (well, semi-well respected… perhaps 100% respected pre-couch surfing incident) actors, I recognized that they each also have something else in common. No, it’s not that they’re both millionaires. Is it just me, or do you also feel like every other movie either of these guys do has a sex scene in it? Not just a sex scene, but a sex scene involving themselves. Level with me on this one—am I wrong? Vanilla Sky… Titanic… Jerry Maguire… The Departed… Eyes Wide Shut… The Beach… I mean, come on, need I name more? So, I’m going to make an assumption, and wildly propose that these dudes get laid regularly, both fictitiously and in real life! …Well, pre-couch surfing incident… Anyway, they have a lot of sex. My point? To my knowledge, neither of these A-list contenders have, or have had, or have been treated for erectile dysfunction. So… I mean, yeah, I may be dashingly handsome, have a beautiful wife, play with my kids, eat bagels, and wear baseball caps, too, but… I have overcome; I have conquered!

Tom and Leo ain’t got nothin’ on me. Albeit, I do appreciate the suggestion!

Thanks to fatherhood, I am in the know of the hottest names and trends in pop culture. To name a few, I am savvy with Lady Gaga, “bling bling,” and liking it, therefore putting a ring on it. Over lunch the other day, my son and I encountered an incongruous sight. He whipped out his cell phone, snapped a covert photo, and stated, “I am so going to tweet this right now.” Now, naturally, I told him to watch his mouth, but then he elaborated on what this “tweet” business is really all about. Long story short, to “tweet” is to send a miniature update about yourself through a social site called Twitter. I’d heard of Twitter before because hell, everything on TV has a segment where they address questions from Twitter, but I had no idea that there was a whole lexicon that accompanied it. I also didn’t know that it was so popular amongst kids. Apparently Twitter is the new MySpace. Cutting the crap, for those of you who don’t know, it is absolutely the most invasive and narcissistic thing I’ve heard of. However, part of being a cool dad is the ability to relate to your kids and know what’s cool, so I listened and learned. By the way, you know you’ve hit some sort of milestone when you find yourself saying “oh, how the times have changed.” Back when I was a teenager, keeping a diary was a private ordeal. It held all the sordid details of my awkward encounters and escapades with girls. Heaven forbid anybody got a hold of it and read my thoughts, my life was sure to be over. Fast-forward to modern-day teens. Thanks to technology, a diary is now a blog, and the more that read it, the better! A tough idea to grasp… I’m still reaching. Well, Twitter is a micro means of blogging, where you can update thoughts or things you are doing on a minute-by-minute basis. No, really, it’s groovy, my son said so. Alright, so he didn’t say “groovy,” he said “sick,” but potato, potatoe—the times have changed.

So what’s my point? It’s socially acceptable to be shameless? Well, yes, and also that after reading through various “Tweets,” I found that these updates are occurring during the most inappropriate times. I read one from a youngster saying he was going to score—and as much as I’d like to believe an athletic activity was relevant to that Tweet, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess differently.

What strikes me most about this public display of socially acceptable narcissism is this— little moment-by-moment updates about nonsensical things take away from living in the moment, do they not? Call me old fashioned, but I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what my son and his friends talk about when they get together if they already know what happened in each others lives?

Alas, good people, I have an answer to the cliché rhetorical question (that’s right, it’s about to no longer be rhetorical) “Is there no mystery in romance anymore?” No… slowly but surely, there is not. All I’m saying is that if my wife caught wind that I “Tweeted” that we were about to get busy, I’d be in the birdhouse.

The joys of fatherhood.

Thanks to fatherhood, (but somehow this is much to my kids’ embarrassment) I am in the know of the hottest names and trends in pop culture. To name a few, I am well versed with Lady Gaga, “bling bling,” and liking it, therefore putting a ring on it. Well, folks, here’s a story where the tables were turned… slightly: I left my laptop open a few days ago while I wandered away from the Twitter world to make myself a sandwich for lunch. In my absence, my son decided it was high time for him to check his e-mail…or MySpace…or whatever it is the kids are crazy about on the internet these days. In my blissful, sandwich-making mode, I was interrupted by a crude shout from the other room: “EEEEEWWWW, DAAAAD.” You’d swear he’d just walked-in on my wife and I having sex, but considering the circumstances of the situation, that was definitely not the issue at hand. I abruptly put away the mustard and mayo and walked back into my office. Here’s where things went awry (hahah…used rye bread on my sandwich, but never mind that…)— my son was reading my Tweets. I can’t even begin to explain how bizarre that is to say (since it sounds disgusting if you don’t know the lexicon of Twitter) and actually have happen.

Needless to say, the look on his sweet, young face was that of mortification. But, to my surprise, instead of addressing the content of my Tweets, he said: “I can’t believe you have a Twitter!” Again, a very strange thing to hear your son say, and for those of you who are not savvy with what Twitter is, it’s a micro means of blogging, where you can update thoughts or things you are doing on a minute-by-minute basis…so now you understand.

…You can go ahead and retract the thought you had about two seconds ago when you assumed that my family is dysfunctional…it’s not, thank you. The only dysfunctional thing about it was of my personal dysfunction, and that was solved a while ago thanks to Boston Medical Group. But seriously, back to the soliloquy at hand—he said that and I said, “What do you know about Twitter?” (haha). Apparently all the kids have Twitter accounts these days! Here’s where the tables turned—we made a truce, him and I. And when you make a truce with your son for the first time, I’ll tell you—there’s no feeling like it. He promised he would not tell my wife about my Tweets, and I promised to never look at his. (There is absolutely no way to go about using the Twitter vernacular without all sorts of innuendos coming up, is there?)
I was embarrassed…he was embarrassed; we were embarrassed. So what’s my point? It’s socially acceptable to be shameless? Well, yes, this was the harsh evidence that proved to be the reality I came to after reading through various “Tweets” from Twitter users across the world. All I’m saying is that if my wife caught wind that I occasionally tweet stereotypical dude-man things (ie. See my Bio on Twitter), I’d be in the birdhouse.

The Awkward Discussion

When I was a kid, my dad decided to have the sex talk with me at a crowded steak and egg place on a Sunday morning. Well he didn’t exactly decide…my mom made him do it. She’d been bugging him for years to talk to me about the birds and bees but he’d been putting it off because he wasn’t the type of guy to talk about sex with his son or anybody! My dad was not communicative at all.

He’d come home from work, read the paper, watch some T.V. and go to bed. If he took me to a ballgame he’d buy me a hotdog, cheer on the home team, ask me if I was having a good time and maybe buy some peanuts although they made him choke. The man was not a talker. So the thought of having the sex talk with me must have been tortuous for him. So there we were, over omelets and biscuits with gravy when he looked at me and said, “Don’t get a girl pregnant.” I looked up from my eggs and said, “Okay”, and that was it. It was over. We’d had the talk!

Now it was my turn. My son was getting older and my wife was insistent that it was time to discuss sex AND drugs with the boy. I was pretty sure that junior had many opportunities to find out anything he needed to know about sex from his friends and the internet so I had to figure out what message I needed to send him. He’d also mentioned to me that one of his friends was caught with some “pot” but he assured me that he’d never tried any. Well I was determined to have a better talk with my son than the succinct one my dad had with me but what exactly should I say that would influence an impressionable young man.

I asked some friends what they told their kids and found out that most avoided the discussion completely or simply asked their kids to tell them what they knew and left it at that. So I was on my own. I searched the internet for info and then I hit on the idea of a combo sex/drug talk. I took my son out for breakfast (to honor my dad) and asked him if he wanted to talk about what men and women do behind closed doors, or in a car or sometimes in a …he turned bright red and immediately shushed me. So I figured I’d better make it quick. I told him that I saw a study that said men who smoke pot daily had a hard time reaching orgasm. He choked on his hash browns and shushed me again. I told him another study said some smokers experience premature ejaculation and I blurted out that he was too young to be a dad and that condoms don’t always work! He looked at me like he was going to pass out. So I guess that was it. I had the talk with my son and it covered both sex and drugs in a weird and disjointed way. Maybe I had scared him a bit about the evils of marijuana and just possibly our little talk would make him think twice before he got naked with a girl.

The one thing I didn’t mention to my little man was that the report on sex and pot smoking I’d quoted from also said that men who got high generally had more sexual partners than guys who didn’t. I didn’t feel that part of the research was something he needed to know…EVER!

I pointed out to the good doctor that when things get tough, the tough get going…to Subway, KFC, Mickey D’s. Not at all amused, my doctor decided to scare the calories out of me. He pointed out, with zero warmth or compassion that obesity and erectile dysfunction go hand in hand and that I was on my way to a lifetime of limpness. Being a sweet and loving physician with a tremendous bedside manner he went on to explain that several of his patients who weren’t much fatter than me had trouble getting and maintaining an erection even with the help of the popular erection pills on the market. I wondered how many of his patients discussed their erections with him and made a note to myself to never ever discuss mine.

I quickly dressed and tried to get out of his office by promising him that I’d start dieting and exercising so I could live a long and healthy and reasonably erect life. But before I could make it out of his exam room he added, “And you should see what you look like naked, from behind. If I was your wife I’d pray for cataracts.” At that moment I wondered if I could have his license revoked. But he had made his point. The very next day I started eating less, exercising and having sex with my wife a bit more often. However it’s going to be quite some time until I let her see me naked … from behind.

Cuckolding Involves What?

A couple of months ago I wrote about how my wife and I were at dinner with friends and they brought up the concept of cuckolding. I explained that it apparently was some kind of fetish that involves a guy letting his female partner have “happy time” with another guy.

Somehow this is supposed to turn guy number one on! Now I know that’s not normal or healthy right? You’re supposed to make “happy time”, with the person you love, not let somebody else do it for you. And if you found out that the person you love got naked with someone else, you’d feel jealous, angry, repulsed and you’d never want to be with that person again, right?

Well that’s what I thought, until this guy at work that I’m marginally friendly with tells me that he lets his wife date and it’s a huge turn-on for him. What? Why would he tell me this? Was I being recruited as a possible suitor? I politely ended our conversation by choking slightly on my ham and cheese panini and left the lounge to go back to my desk.

I then looked up cuckolding on my computer…and guess what…there are cuckold sites, cuckold blogs even whole darn, cuckold communities! It seems there is no lack of men who like to be humiliated by their partners. Guys who like to see their wives and girlfriends get pleasure from someone else, pleasure maybe they can’t give them. They seem to get aroused by experiencing the turn-on of feeling degraded and humiliated. I don’t know about you but I get turned on by making love to my wife when I’m not feeling degraded or humiliated.

I can’t even begin to imagine my wife with someone else. I couldn’t handle it. What goes on in the mind of a cuckolded husband? How do they handle jealousy and the feeling of betrayal? Do they stay in that kind of relationship forever?

I just read about Ron Weinstein, the cuckolded husband of Sheryl Weinstein who claims to have been Ponzi scammer Bernie Madoff’s mistress. She’s written a book about her affair called Madoff’s Other Secret. In it she even reveals that Madoff has a small stimulus package. If I were Ron Weinstein the marriage would be kaput, done, over… but According to a Daily Beast interview, Mr. Weinstein actually said he wasn’t too “fussed” about his wife’s affair and they’re still together.

He would appear to be the perfect example of a willing and supportive, cuckolded husband…or is he? Let’s just wait and see how cuckolded Mr. Weinstein is after he gets his hands on half of his wife’s book money.

The Radiant Megan Fox

The other night, I’m lying in bed reading a book and my wife is next to me watching The Tonight Show, half asleep, when Conan O’Brien says two words that really tick off my wife…Megan Fox.

My wife immediately perks up and begins telling me how much she can’t stand Megan Fox. I close my book just in time to see the glorious Megan sit down next to Conan. She’s radiant, has an incredible body, is witty enough to make Conan laugh and fawn all over her and she’s wearing an amazing skintight dress. Now my wife is fuming. She’s begins slamming Conan for flirting and I remind her that it’s his job to flirt with and talk to Megan Fox…. she’s a guest on his TALK SHOW! What’s he supposed to do, ignore her?

My wife seems offended and dumbfounded that I could find the hottest starlet in Hollywood attractive, so she abruptly ends her assault on me, Conan and Megan by switching off the light, turning over and going to bed. Wait, what just happened? Why does my wife hate Megan Fox so much?

Over the next couple of days I asked quite a few women what they thought about Ms Fox and guess what, not one of them liked her. What is it about Megan Fox that elicits such a strong negative response from females? Women don’t seem to hate Scarlett Johannsen or Cameron Diaz or Jennifer Aniston or Shakira or Jessica Biel or Hillary Duff or Jessica Simpson or the Olson twins, right? Is it because she’s s everywhere; the cover of tabloids, profiled in most major magazines, about to host Saturday Night Live?

If you search her name online you’ll find over thirty four million entries. Her legs have over a million entries and her breasts almost eight hundred thousand! So is the disdain toward Megan from my wife and most women due to jealousy or is it something bigger? I searched for clues in interviews she’d given. In June Megan told Entertainment Weekly, “I come across as confident and [

Okay, I was beginning to understand how females could dislike this global phenomenon. And the luscious Miss Fox had become internationally famous by being in only two major films, neither of which required much acting? Plus Megan doesn’t mind talking about her sexuality and in her latest film Megan makes out with another woman and she looks like she really enjoys it.

Yeah, that’s why my wife is so venomous every time she sees Megan Fox. It’s also the reason my thirteen year old son and his friends think she’s, “hot”, “awesome” and “a freak of nature…and not in a bad way.” I’m pretty sure he and his friends are among the millions of males who Google Megan Fox’s body parts. I only hope my wife never catches him.

Chick Flick

As a married man, I find myself rather distant from all the little nuisances that come with dating. I’m not saying I’m completely exempt from all hassling matters just because I’m married… however, once married, you make compromises and form agreements that eliminate irritating scenarios a la the following:

(8) “Do you think I’m fat?/Do I look fat?” – I hate when women ask this. They either a) already know the answer, or b) are trying to Jedi-mind-trick you into saying something stupid. I hate this question. This is like me asking her, “hey, is my penis big?” What are they supposed to say? …Exactly.

(7) The uncanny discussion of bowel movements – This is only funny when men say it amongst other men. Thinking about girls and bowel movements is disturbing and troubling. I like to believe that I live in a world where girls don’t fart… it just doesn’t happen.

(6) She owns a truck — Alright. This isn’t exactly the worst-case scenario that can occur. However, when said truck is a pickup truck… this changes everything. I don’t want her to be first in line to offer help on moving day.

(5) Hock a loogie – I don’t find this to be impressive or attractive in a woman. This is rarely acceptable when men do this—you can see why I may be so disgruntled by a lady-loogie.

(4) Do not recommend that I read the new Oprah’s book club book – If she wants to recommend it, I’d prefer if she left the word “Oprah” out if it. Ignorance is bliss.

(3) Tricking unsuspecting men into seeing chick flicks – Perhaps this one is our fault. We should probably be more aware of the coming attractions that the ladies will be attending relatively soon— merely in avoidance of being victim to such an ambush. How was I supposed to know that something with a title like The Ugly Truth would turn out to be heartwarming? I could not foresee such a trap.

(2) When they say something, but really mean something else – this is simply confusing, frustrating, and uncalled for. If she doesn’t want to eat at a particular restaurant, but relays that message through the words, “I can’t wait to eat there… I wonder if they have fettuccine?” …while she knows very well that it is a barbeque pit, is simply passive aggressive. I detest such statements.

(1) Mixing up team names amongst sports – I admit—it’s a petty complaint, but if I’m not calling “Nordstrom,” “Ross,” then she shouldn’t be calling “The Saints,” “the Celtics.”

I know you’re probably thinking how could that be true, your mouth and your private parts are pretty far from each other? But it appears to be true. You stop taking care of your mouth and it may end up affecting more than just your ability to get a date.

The article suggested that a bacteria found in the mouth, that has also been connected to coronary heart disease, could also cause limpness “down below.” Makes sense because it’s pretty well known that heart disease is one of the causes of E.D. But it is a little odd to think that visiting the dentist could help you maintain a healthy and firm erection.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not taking any chances. I just scheduled a checkup; I bought a brand new, big time electric toothbrush. I started gargling regularly, purchased a gum stimulator and I now travel with pack of 40 Soft-Picks that I keep in my car because they’ve been shown to be and I quote, “as effective as string floss in removing interdental plaque and reducing gingivitis.”

As you can see I’m taking this gum-penis connection thing seriously. I’m also trying to convince my wife that having more frequent sex will in some way keep my gums healthy… or at least give her an opportunity to see my new and improved, beautiful smile much more often.