Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear readers. In consideration of our nation’s most romantic holiday and the greeting card, floral, and candy industries which count so heavily on this day to keep the lights on for most of the year, I thought I might jump in today with a little knowledge for those men among us who just haven’t quite gotten the hints that the females of the herd have been trying to get across to them for a minor millennia.
To all the playas, pimps, hustlers, ladies’ men, cooz hounds, gigolos, and the like who are still convinced that they are the god of their choosing’s gift to the fairer sex I would like to offer a simple reality check for your Valentine’s gift. This is free of charge; completely gratis as it were. Take it as wisdom from someone who was somewhat among your ranks at one time as a younger buck and learned some valuable lessons the hard way.
I’d like you to perform a small, simple experiment. Think back to when you opened your eyes in bed this morning. Ask yourself one simple question. Was I alone? The yes or no isn’t the important piece here; it’s just a starting point. Then ask yourself if you woke up in your own bed or in someone else’s. Follow that with simply a count of how many different places you’ve woken up in during the past month. How many different tumble partners have you had in the last thirty days? Can you honestly remember all of their names? Did you actually know any of them or were they just a long string of bouncy boobies that you used to mark the passage of time until your next visit to the clinic? (Obviously I’m aiming this piece at the straight men out there. Gay guys, well, all due respect intended but I’ve got nothing when it comes to how things work in your world. Sorry fellas. Gotta stick with what you know, right? This piece also doesn’t really apply to any guy in his late teens and early twenties. You can’t help it, we know it, and for the most part you’re excused. Just try not to break any major laws while you do your Van Wilder impersonations, okay boys?)
Now, it should be noted that there are a few confirmed bachelors in this world who will never be anything else but. There are those stricken with the Peter Pan / Thomas Crown syndrome that will go through life without the need to settle down or change their life in any real way due to a woman because they are profoundly happy as they are. These guys still manage to live their lives without leaving a broken woodpile of female dignity in their wake, although they still seem to do pretty alright for themselves over the long run. I have no issue with these men, it’s just that they are so few and far between in reality that most who aspire to that title really fall short and end up a caricature. You’ll notice that at no time here did I mention Hugh Hefner, although he does deserve some recognition on this topic. Good ol’ Hugh is the standard to which so many ass clowns aspire that it is truly an exercise in the absurd, but these gentlemen seem to be missing the point in their attempted emulations. Hugh is the white rabbit; I would hazard to say that the universe cannot tolerate more than one of his ilk at the time. Nor should it need to. We need someone like Mr. Hefner among us at all times, in my humble opinion. Without someone like him around we’d have bimbos randomly scattered all over the country instead of heavily concentrated in southern California.
So what’s wrong with living your life in such a way that you accumulate enough notches on your bedpost to actually begin to whittle it down? Nothing really, BUT there comes a certain point where all the shenanigans in the world will result in you waking up one morning from your third random threesome that month and, after you wonder where that rash came from, you start to wonder why there is no real substance in your life. Hey, Barney Stinson may be funny as a television character but come on guys, is that really how you want to live your life?
And while we’re on the subject of NPH’s weekly ode to the horny straight man, I want to pause for just a minute and say something about pickup lines. There is no strategy, lie, game, bar trick, cologne, funny hat, or clever have-you-met-Ted witticism that will get you any more than ‘in the door.’ Unless you enjoy trolling for random hook up partners in that last thirty minutes before the bartender turns on the reality lights more than four times a month, you’re eventually going to have to talk to a woman at some point. Now, here is where someone will want to tell me about their patented move that always turns a woman on so crazily that talking isn’t necessary at that point. Sorry brother but I’m calling BULLSHIT. Here’s why and it involves a little back story. I will publicly admit that I am not the prettiest guy to look at. The fact is that I’ve been keeping mirror companies fairly busy replacing cracks since around 1980. I was a cute kid for the first seven years then, well, damn. I think my parents used to let me play with buckets just to break up the visual horror on the off chance I’d stick one on my head. Anyway, as I grew up and got older God compensated a little by making me much larger than ninety percent of the population, and also by giving me the ability to talk myself and others in to pretty much anything if I really put my mind to it. My father, after all, is the real life version of Tommy Boy’s super-salesman father and what DNA didn’t provide the natural quick wit did. My mouth got me into more interesting situations along the way than I;d care to ever discuss. It also turned out to be an asset as well as a liability when it came to the female of the species. Now with all that being said, I have to admit to never having a ‘move’ during my single life. I never had some ‘thing’ I would do to get a woman’s attention. I would just talk too much and occasionally things would happen. Now according to reports I have inadvertently pulled off a couple of ‘moves’ in my life but they were totally accidental and were merely offshoots of once again ‘playing too much.’ I also didn’t even find out I’d pulled them off until much, much later. So, to all the pickup artist wannabes out there I simply offer one question: if it worked, did you land the second date?
Gentlemen, I promise you we are slowly coming around the bend to the point here. With all of this being said I would urge you to evaluate one thing in your life before your next round of bareback bikini bingo with the latest object of your recreational substance of choice fueled affection. Do you actually respect this woman or are you simply looking for the next place for the one-eyed demon to do push-ups until he gets sick?
Look, I’m not one to judge anyone’s lifestyle. Wait just a second, yes I am, who am I kidding? I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I have learned from experience that there is a lot more to life than chasing random encounters. True, relationships are tough sometimes but they are nowhere near as tough as constant loneliness. For those of us old enough to know better there is definitely something to be said for having a real life and real relationships with real women. I’m not advocating that everyone should run out and get married by any means but I am saying that actually taking the time to get to know someone before playing amateur gynecologist with her might make life a little more interesting at the very least.
I know for a fact that there are going to be those that read this and laugh heartily at the married guy who spent some time on Valentine’s Day to write a blog post about the merits of relationships and respect for women. Laugh all you care to fellas and enjoy whatever carnal chicanery you can work yourselves into this evening. Don’t spend all your money tonight though. You need to keep a little on hand so you can pay the deductible for your clinic visit tomorrow. After all, that cotton-swab-up-the-pee-hole test to cure that burning sensation isn’t free anymore. Oh who am I kidding? You got that deductible covered right after New Year’s, didn’t ya stud?
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