Today, your average car will do 0 – 60 in less than 6 seconds.  And women know that most guys do the same thing.

Sex in cars is as American as Apple Pie.  I believe there used to be a commercial like that.  “Baseball, hotdogs, Apple Pie and sex in a Chevy.”

And it truly is an American thing.  In America we make big luxurious cars.  Perfect for having sex in.  Did you ever try to have sex in a small foreign car?  Years ago I was getting hot and heavy with a girl in her Mazda Miata when she suddenly said, “I can’t do this with you.  It’s way too small.”  My ego was seriously deflated until I realized she was talking about the car. 

Another time we tried again, so I moved over from the driver’s seat to get on top of her in the passenger’s seat.  It was at that point that I slipped and impaled myself on the stick shift.  Now, everybody knows that the Miata is very popular in the Gay market.  I, personally, know why.

Fortunately, in America we have SUV’s or Sexual Utility Vehicles.  These things are bedrooms on wheels.  I mean with the fold-down seats, the dual DVD players and the optional ceiling mirrors which mine has, what could be better?  In fact, some SUV’s are so big, you can actually have sex standing up.  Oh, you think it’s a coincidence they call it a Hummer? 

Of course, if you plan to watch an adult video and have sex in your car, you need to follow two simple rules.  Rule 1 – The car should not be moving at the time.  Rule 2 – You should not be alone!  Tracy Pope of Aiken, S.C. was recently arrested for not heeding either of these rules.  It’s really true.  I couldn’t make this stuff up.  http://media.www.dailytitan.com/media/storage/paper861/news/2006/10/16/News/Driving.With.Porn.Americas.Latest.Distraction-2352138.shtml

Recently, my girlfriend and I started making out in her car.  One thing led to another and we ended up having sex in her car.  Sex in a car when you are 40 is far different than sex in a car when you are 17.  When you are 17, you worry about getting pregnant.  When you are 40, you actually have to remove the child car seats from the back seat before you can do anything.

We discovered some other problems too.  For instance, while we were having sex, my foot accidentally hit the GPS system.  Do you know how unnerving it is to suddenly hear a strange woman’s voice say,

“Move 3 inches to you left.  Move 2 inches down.  Now go faster.  You have arrived at your destination.”

My girlfriend, on the other hand, thought it was the best sex we ever had.

But if that wasn’t enough, she accidentally hit the OnStar button. 

“This is OnStar how may I help you?” the voice said.

My girlfriend moaned.

“Are you ok?  Are you hurt?” said the voice.

My girlfriend moaned again.

“Ok,” said the voice, “An ambulance is on its way.  I’ll stay on the phone with you until they get there.”

My girlfriend then screamed.

“Ok, calm down,” said the voice.  “Everything will be ok.”

I started to moan. 

That was about the time the ambulance arrived.

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

Love means never having to say you’re sorry?  Oh Puleeeeeeeease!  Actually, not only does love mean having to say you’re sorry, love also means buying flowers and expensive jewelry on a regular basis just to counteract your screw-ups.  In fact, men do this so much, women have begun to expect it.

Many years ago when I was happily married and still madly in love, I decided to do a really romantic gesture.  I decided to buy 4 dozen roses for my wife.  My plan was to create a path of rose petals from the garage, up the stairs into our house and into the bedroom, where the other 3 dozen roses would be.  So I went to the florist and I got my 4 dozen roses.  And when I got to the counter, the sales clerk actually said to me, “Wow, whatever you did must have been really bad.”

Not that I was immune to screw-ups in my marriage.  How could I not be wrong? I have a penis.  Have Penis + Wife Disagrees = I am wrong.  I believe this is known as “Descartes Law of Maleness.”  “I talk, therefore I’m wrong.” 

Actually my wife and I pretty much had a 50-50 split on arguments.  Half the time I was wrong and the other half on the time she was right.

Fortunately, I learned to counteract this inherent flaw in my genetic code by learning the I’m Sorry Head Nod.  Whenever I was wrong (defined by when my wife thought I was wrong and I didn’t feel like arguing) I got to do the I’m Sorry Head Nod.  This is actually a very simple procedure that any man can perfect with just a little practice.  First, hang the head slightly down, somewhere between 45 and 70 degrees.  Less hang than 45 degrees is not enough to show real regret.  More than 70 degrees and you are in serious danger of looking whipped.  Women don’t like whipped.  Women like strong men . . . who can admit they are wrong.  It’s a very fine line; one that the flying Walendas would have trouble balancing on.

Next, say the words, You are right.  I was wrong.  I’m sorry.  It is important to clearly enunciate.  Mumbling just pisses them off even more.  They think we are faking it.  Let me rephrase.  They realize we are faking it.  Of course, we are always faking it, but if we fake it with sincerity they might just buy it. 

Sometimes one repetition of You’re right, I’m wrong, I’m sorry, will be enough.  In fact, the first time you say it, it usually is.  It catches them off guard.  There she is going off about how if you really loved her you would put the seat down, and you say, You’re Right.  I’m Wrong.  I’m Sorry.  She doesn’t know how to respond.  Suddenly, she is like a deer in the headlights.  “What is this?” her mind is saying.  “We were not expecting this.  He admitted he was wrong.  This does not compute.” 

If you try this strategy you will notice a sudden confusion in the female subject.  Think of it as the female equivalent of the computer’s blue screen of death.  Unfortunately, like the computer, she really only needs about 5 minutes to reboot and then you are back to square one.

Well, maybe not.  Most women will accept a real apology and will no longer be mad at us until the next time we screw up.  Unfortunately, this is typically 16.2 minutes later.  

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

I actually find it very unnerving.  I mean, what are they thinking?  Are they taking notes?  Are they comparing sizes?  Who knows?

When my dog is watching, I can’t help thinking that he is saying to himself,   “Hey that’s my move.  And you stole it.  And it’s not fair ‘cause it’s the only one I know.”

But maybe that’s just my own insecurities talking.  Maybe my dog is thinking, “Now that’s a move I haven’t thought of.  Maybe I’ll try that next time.  If only I had opposable thumbs.”

I think cats are different though.  I figure cats are thinking one of two things.  Either it’s, “Boy, you guys make a lot of noise, even for cats,” or it’s, “Do you guys mind?  I’m trying to sleep here.”

Compared to our pets, humans are very strange when you think about it.  Dogs lick their own testicles all the time and yet, you never see one performing oral sex on another dog.

On the other hand, humans will perform oral sex all night on each other and then the next morning, when one of them asks to borrow the other’s toothbrush, they think that’s gross.

We are also the only animal that needs to work up to sex.  First, we wine.  Then, we dine.  And then, maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll get some.  On the other hand, my dog has not once asked one of my house guests out to dinner before he started humping their leg.

Oh, true every animal has its mating rituals, but most of them are designed to show power.  The peacock that spreads in plumage.  The ram that butts heads with another ram.  The insect that does an erotic dance.  I tried an erotic dance for my girlfriend once.  It did not end in sex.  It did, however, end in a trip to the emergency room when I fell over the coffee table and broke my leg. 

We also seem to be the only animal that needs to have sex in private.  It’s a perfectly natural part of life and yet we are the only animal among thousands of species that have to do it behind closed doors.  Religious zealots will tell you that’s because God gave us modesty.  Perhaps God was thinking of what could happen if Rosie O’Donnell ever made a sex tape.

The other big difference between us and the rest of the animal world is the number of positions.  Every other species has sex in one position and one position only, doggie style – which is a funny name because it’s also horse style, insect style, tiger style . . . you get the idea.  Somehow the dogs got credit for it, though I doubt if they invented it.  They must have one hell of a PR firm.

Anyway, the entire animal world has one position – doggie style.  Unless of course you count the preying mantis – where it’s female on bottom; male pumps away, but doesn’t have a head.  That’s right during the act of sex, the female preying mantis turns around and actually bites off the head of the male preying mantis.  Now I know we all feel we have had this done to us euphemistically.  But in the mantis world, she actually eats his head off.

But here’s the amazing part.  The male never misses a beat.  He continues to pump away at the female.  I realize that women always joke that men think with their other head, but apparently in this case, It’s actually true!

But back to positions.  There is only one basic sexual position in the animal world.  Humans, on the other hand, are so advanced we have many, though there are four that are the most common.   1)  Women standing – Man on knees begging and pleading.   2)  Man on back – Women not home.  3) Man opening wallet – women accepting money, and finally 4) Man on top – Women looking up wondering what color she should paint the ceiling.

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

Her gorgeous brown eyes twinkling as she spoke.  She was one of the most beautiful women in the world, long sun-kissed hair, perfect skin and a body that would make a Sports Illustrated swimsuit photographer do a double take.

“Of course I love you, Ween” he said, though never looking away from the TV set.

“Is there somebody else?” she asked.

“Why would you say that?” a hint of guilt escaping his lips.

“I think you’re in love with somebody else.”

“That’s not true!” he said.  This time he looked up.  A commercial had just begun.

“You spend way more time with . . .”  She couldn’t even finish the sentence.  Though she had known for a long time, putting it into words made her even sadder.

“Look,” he said, “We’ve gone through this before.  It’s not love and it’s not cheating.  It’s just a special friendship.  I have needs that you can’t fulfill.  I don’t think you can understand.  Nobody makes me laugh like . . . like . . . him.” 

There he had said it.  He had finally vocalized it.  It felt good.  He had said what he had wanted to say for years and it felt good.

She sighed.  “You know it didn’t bother me at first.  When it was just Cybill.  But then it was Grace Under Fire.  And now it’s the Big Bang Theory and Two and a Half Men 12 times a week.  And you TiVo every one of them!” 

She was yelling now, something she did not do, but Elvis had left the building and he wasn’t coming back.

“I only TiVo them so I can read the Chuck Lorre vanity cards.”

“You’re in love with Chuck Lorre, aren’t you!, she accused, her words making the oxygen retreat to the corners of the room.

“I am not in love with Chuck Lorre,” he said. “Ween, I love you.  You are the world to me.  We’ve been together for 10 years.  We have children together.  We share everything.  I love you today more than I loved you when we met.  And I’ll probably love you even more next week.  And, if sometimes I don’t give you enough attention, then I am an idiot and I am sorry.  You are my universe and nothing, I mean nothing, could ever take me away from you.”

Suddenly the phone rings.  He quickly grabs it.

“Hello”

“Hello, this is Chuck Lorre.  We would like you to move to L.A. and help me write the Chuck Lorre vanity cards.”

“Hey Ween.  Chuck just called.  I’m leaving you.  Good-bye.”

Note from Glenn – If you don’t know who Chuck Lorre is or what Chuck Lorre Vanity Cards are, you are missing out on a comic genius.  Check out http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0521143/. Chuck is the creator and writer of Roseanne, Cybill, Grace Under Fire, Two and a Half Men and The Big Bang Theory. 

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

I am, of course, referring to Beer Goggles.

Beer Goggles are a wonderful bit of technology, used primarily by men, which allows men to get laid by dropping their standards even below their already ridiculously low threshold.  Whereas the average sober man keeps rigorous standards when searching for his short-term mate, such as for instance, she must in fact be human; the man wearing Beer Goggles may have no such requirement.

Perfected by the East Germans and mass-produced by American beer companies, Beer Goggles are now a staple in most every single man’s toolbox of love.  (Stored right between the Old Spice aftershave and bikini underwear.) 

Despite popular belief, beer was not originally invented as a refreshing drink, but was in fact created to achieve the desired state of Beer Goggles.  The refreshing taste of beer was purely an added benefit and allowed men to drink it even when women weren’t around, thus giving rise to Sports Goggles.  (“Really,” says my quite drunk friend from Chicago. “This is the year that the Cubs win the Series.”  And then he takes another swig of Sports Goggles.)

The strange thing about Beer Goggles is that they only seem to affect men.  How often do you see a beautiful woman leaving a bar with a butt-ugly man?

Why is this?  What is it about women that are immune to the effect?

In order to answer this question I did quite a lot of field research.  That is to say I hung out in bars and tried to get women drunk.  (Yes, there are certain benefits to this job.)  What I found was that women do not seem to be affected by Beer Goggles in the same way as men.

True, many women do not drink beer, but I surmised that the affect of any alcohol should be the same.  Perhaps then, it is the presence of tiny paper umbrellas that wards off the nasty effects of the Beer Goggles.  I believe that when an ugly man hits on a woman who has had too many Mai Tais, the tiny paper umbrellas jump into action.  They start performing a little dance, not unlike the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies, and they sing this little ditty. 

(Sung to the tune of I heard it through the Grapevine)

I bet you wondered how I knew
That an ugly guy was hittin’ on you
Uglier than the one before
Time for you to run out the door
He took you by surprise, I must say
But you must still get away.

Don’t you know . . .
That you’ve drunk too much wine
Get out now and you will be fine
Yes, you’ve gone through too much wine
Go home with him? Have you lost your mind!
Honey, honey yeah.

I know you don’t want to cry
But now you must say goodbye
Cause when you’re sober you will see
That he looks just, like Mini-Me.
You could go home to his loft
And end up chew-ing your arm off
Don’t you know . . .

That you’ve drank too much wine
Get out now and you will be fine
Yes, you’ve gone through too much wine
Go home with him? Have you lost your mind!
Honey, honey yeah.

Thus, the woman, now sufficiently warned by the tiny paper umbrellas, does not go home with the ugly man.  That’s one theory.

My other theory is that woman are just far more intelligent and not nearly as desperate as men and getting them drunk is not going to change this.  Frankly, I prefer the comfort of my first theory in that if I can figure out a way around those damn dancing paper umbrellas, I just might have a chance.

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

He, however, was not to be denied.  He called her.  She ignored him.  He sent her flowers.  She ignored him.  He wrote her poems.  She read the poems.  Her eyes welled up with tears.  And then she ignored him.

For 6 months he pursued the object of his affection.  For 6 months she ran  . . . fast . . . I mean really fast . . . really, really fast.  And then something happened which can only be explained by the mysteries of the cosmos.  She fell madly in love with him.  Last year, they celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary.

Today, we have a name for this romantic tale.  We call it stalking.  Try this same tactic today and you will not get a wife; you will get a restraining order.

In fairy-tales that little girls grow up with, the handsome prince shows up at the castle climbs up the trellis and whisks his true love away to live happily ever after.  In the real world this is referred to as breaking and entering with a side-order of kidnapping.

What happened to the world?  Is romance dead?  Does romance no longer exist?  Perhaps it is how we have evolved as humans.  10,000 years ago when you met someone you liked, you followed the respectable courting protocol.  You clubbed her over the head and dragged her back to your cave. 

Of course we no longer do this.  Nowadays we have to buy her a drink first.

No actually, over the centuries, we really did try to modernize dating.

First, we had arranged marriages.  We actually decided it would be smart if our parents chose our mate for us. This action not only ensured that we would procreate, but that we would be with someone who could annoy us for the next 50 years, about the same things our parents had annoyed us about for the first 18.  This, I believe, is the sole reason that the average life expectancy during this time was only 32.

Arranged marriages – now whose idea was that?  Not that arranged marriages are such a bad idea.  With 50% of marriages ending in divorce, could our parents choose any more poorly than we choose for ourselves? 

“Stop!” you say, “Don’t arranged marriages take away the unalienable right that we all have called Free Choice?

Yes, we have the right to choose.  We have the right to fall in love and marry that person we fall in love with.  We have a right to choose someone who all our friends hate, our parents hate, and who, if we weren’t completely morons, we would have noticed that we hate as well.

Later in history with the rise of specialization, the arranged marriage was replaced by the “Yenta.”  (The town Matchmaker.)  After all, if your parents couldn’t pick the perfect mate for you, surely the woman in town who knew everyone could find that special someone.  This system worked well for hundreds of years until the town Yenta’s began to realize the financial benefits of repeat business, so they started hooking people up who would ultimately hate each other, creating the concept of divorce and ensuring and constant flow of new business for the Yenta. 

The industrial age brought a variety of modern techniques for picking the perfect mate.  These included the Singles’s Bar, The Dating Service, Online Dating and finally, “Speed Dating.” 

Speed Dating is based on the concept that in an 8-minute conversation you can accurately predict that this is the person you may or may not want to spend the rest of your life with.  This may work – I do not know.  But I do believe that it will exasperate another problem.  Does it seem fair that a girl meets you at 8-minute dating and then expects more than 4-minute sex?

Fast forward to Year 2124.  A computer has now been devised which will find you the perfect mate.  All you have to do is answer a few simple questions, provide a urine sample, give a pint of blood and spend 7 days in a brain scanning machine so the computer will understand every one of your most intimate desires and dreams.  Then, instantly, the computer will give you give you the name of your soul mate.  And of course, it will most likely be the name of your ex-wife.

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

Then they have “Vacation Sex.”

What is it about going on vacation that makes good girls go bad. Woman who barely kiss on the first date are suddenly making out on the dance floor with a Brazilian guy named Ricardo. And the next morning, when they sneak away from Ricardo’s room, the fact that Ricardo is really named John and actually lives in New Jersey doesn’t bother them a bit.

Most women have a strong moral compass when it comes to sex. However, there apparently is a force field on all city limits that makes this moral compass go fubar. And I think beach sand must clog this moral compass as well. For it seems the closer to the ocean, the more fubar it gets.

I have a female friend who is the consummate professional. She is highly intelligent, very successful and a bit conservative. She is a practicing attorney (and yet still a very nice person.) Up until The Event, she had, had 8 lovers in her entire life. Eight men who she felt very strongly about. Eight men who earned the right to share her bed. Then The Event happened. She went to Club Med.

Now, Club Med has two distinct characteristics. It is across a state line. And it has beach sand; lots of beach sand. This friend; the one who previously had 8 lovers. She increased that number by 25% in one week. And every year, she now she goes back to Club Med. Go figure.

Oh, and her moral compass? Well, it’s quite rusted. And if the Professor from Gilligan’s Island showed up at Club Med, even he couldn’t fix it.

Yet when my friend returns to her job and her friends, suddenly her moral compass is as good as new. And it repairs itself the minute she steps off the plane. Trust me, I know. I have picked her up at the airport. As much as I hoped there might be some residual effect, I can assure you there isn’t.

And ladies, here’s some advice. If you go off to Club Med and have sex with 2 different men, don’t tell your male friend about it, even if you think of him as just a friend. Because when you tell him this, you think you are saying, “These were just flings and I respect you way too much to have casual sex with you.” Whereas your male friend is hearing, “I will have sex with pretty much anyone . . . oh except for you.”

When it comes to “Vacation Sex,” men are different though. Men don’t have this “Vacation Sex” phenomenon. Not that men don’t sleep around on vacation. We do sleep around on vacation. But we also sleep around at home . . . and sometimes at clubs . . .and occasionally in our cars . . . and every so often at work. In fact, if men limited themselves to sleeping around only on vacations, American companies would be offering 36 weeks of vacation a year. Except at the White House, where they would be offering 50 weeks a year or at the local Catholic Church where . . . (Editor’s note – Joke deleted on the advice of legal counsel, but it was really funny.)

Now here’s the difference between Women and Men. The women who are reading this are laughing and admitting to themselves that I am right. (Though they would never admit that publicly, unless when you ask them to admit it, you tell them you are writing a book. Even though when I asked them this I was in fact not writing a book, but was just trying to get laid. My apologies to those women I used that trick on, but I am much more mature now than when I did that, which was in fact almost 3 full months ago.)

But anyway I digress. Back to the difference between Women and Men.

As I said, women are laughing when they read this. Men on the other hand, are not laughing when they read this. Not that they don’t think it’s funny. No, instead they are using their entire brain to process the question, “How can I use this new information to get laid more.” Men, the answer is, you can’t.

You see, whether in your hometown or on a beach in the Caribbean, women are smarter than you. They know what you want. They know why you are going to Club Med. So if you try really hard . . . they are not going to give it to you. In fact, the more you try, the worse chance you have. This is why I believe Gay men have all the women. They aren’t trying. Which is why it would be much easier . . . if I were Gay.

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

I can’t speak for other cultures, but in the case of Judaism there is a critical reason for marrying within the religion. In this way, we ensure that the guilt chain is carried down from generation to generation.

Parents seem to get angry when you date outside of your ethnic background. For instance, if you are Jewish, you can actually give your Mother a heart attack by dating a Catholic. Frankly, I am not completely sure why this is, when Catholics and Jews have so much in common.

The both come with Mother’s who are over-protective, but are really good cooks. They both come with Mother’s who want lots of grandchildren and want them now. And of course they both come with truckloads of guilt. I suppose the difference is that in Catholicism the guilt comes from the entire religion whereas in Judaism, the guilt dispensary is handled exclusively by your Mother.

But both religions come with a Mother who considers it a personal affront, if not a mortal sin, that you are over 30, single and aren’t going to have children in the next 6 months.

Like all good Jewish Mothers, my Mother is always bugging me about getting married. “Have you met any nice Jewish girls?” she will always ask me. If I answer, “no”, she will invariably try and fix me up. She thinks she is Yenta the Matchmaker.

She’ll say to me. “I have just the girl for you.”

“Really Mom? Who is she?”
“A woman in my bridge club. Her Niece’s friend. A nice girl,” she replies.

“So you’ve never actually met her?” I ask. “No, but she’d be perfect for you”

“Thanks, Mom. But, I don’t think so.”

“See if I care. I should go to my grave with no grandchildren.”

One time my Mother called me, once again, trying to fix me up.

“Glenn, you remember my friend, Doris Kilinivich?”

“Yes, Mom. But I didn’t know she had a daughter.”

“She doesn’t,” says my Mother.

“But her husband Morty’s been dead two years now. Maybe you could ask her out.”

I’m always trying to get my Mother off my back about me still being single. I had tried everything, but nothing worked. When I moved to I thought I had found a solution.

You see, my Mother is extremely conservative. So one time when she called and as usual asked, “Have you met any nice Jewish girls?” I decided to play on her worst fears.

“Mom, you are not going to believe this. I met the perfect person. We are deeply and madly in love. We have so much in common. We do everything together. Even the sex is incredible. Mom, he is the nicest man you would ever want to meet.”

There was deadening silence on the other end of the phone. “I have her,” I thought. “I have finally shut her up.”
Then, finally, the sound of my Mother’s voice. “So, is he Jewish?”

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

A woman can remember every detail of the first date she had with a guy 12 years ago, down to the color of his tie, even though she hasn’t seen the guy in years.

A man can remember every detail of a football game that took place 12 years ago, down to the names of both kickers, even though it was between two teams vying for last place.

Men and women would communicate much better if they spoke the same language.

The man’s point of view:

Her: I want to tell you about my friend Claire and her boyfriend. Their relationship is having problems because their relationship is stagnating and I fear that our own relationship could suffer the same dysfunction if we don’t communicate more effectively. Him: zzzzzz

The woman’s point of view:

Him: Ok, this is how football works. The center hikes the ball to the Quarterback, who is in an I formation. The Quarterback can either flip the ball to his set-back or drop back in the pocket and throw a screen to his tight end. Her: zzzzzz

Now I believe that what both men and women have to say are very important, but it is critical that they learn to speak the other’s language. For instance, let’s say the man wants the woman to understand football. He needs to put it in her terms.

Him: See, the Quarterback and the Wide Receiver are trying to have a relationship. First, they get into that big group, we’ll call a huddle, and they hug each other. Then they start to communicate. The Quarterback and the Wide Receiver talk about where they are going and how they are going to get there together.

Her: Oh so they really listen to each other?

Him: Exactly. Then the players line up. The Quarterback gets right behind the Center. Now the Quarterback doesn’t actually touch the Center’s butt, because that would be disrespectful. And the Quarterback appreciates the Center for who he is and not just because he is bent over in front of him.

Her: The Quarterback sounds very sensitive.

Him: Oh he is, he is. Now there are two sets of players next to the Center. They are called Guards and Tackles. Their job is to make sure that the Quarterback has plenty of personal space. Because even though he is strong, he is sensitive enough to ask for help. They protect him, they surround him with love and they make him feel safe. And if the world should crash in around him, then later, in the next huddle, the Quarterback will express his feelings and they will listen to what he has to say.

Her: They are very supportive aren’t they.

Him: Yes they are. Now let’s talk about the Wide Receiver again. See the Quarterback is trying to pass the ball to the Wide Receiver, because that is the goal they have mutually decided on to succeed in their relationship. But there is this player called a Safety who wants to make sure that doesn’t happen. He wants to break-up their relationship.

Her: That bitch!

Him: That’s right! He is a . . . what you said. Because he will do everything he can to ensure that the relationship between the Quarterback and the Wide Receiver doesn’t work.

Her: The Safety used to be involved with the Quarterback didn’t he?

Him: You are so right. They played on the same team, but then money became more important to the Safety than the relationship, so he left.

Her: I see.

Him: So the Safety, is trying to go between the Quarterback and the Wide Receiver. And sometimes he is successful. Fortunately, this can be fixed.

Her: Really! How?

Him: Well, if the Quarterback shows the Safety that he is no longer interested in the Wide Receiver, the Safety will leave him alone.

Her: How does the Quarterback do that?

Him: He makes a pass at somebody else.

Her: He makes a pass at somebody else?! He doesn’t sound very loyal. Dumping the Wide Receiver just ‘cause the Safety was all over him?

Him: Well he really doesn’t dump him. They are just on a break. The Quarterback needs someone now and he can’t wait around for the Wide Receiver to be available. But he’ll use the Wide Receiver again when it’s convenient.

Her: I see. Can I ask one question though?

Him: Sure honey, what is it?

Her: Why would you call a long post pattern, on first down when you are playing against the best pass defense in the league and you have a guy with 4.2 speed in your backfield?

Him: Uhhhhh . . . it’s a relationship control issue between the Coach and the Owner, but we’ll talk about that later.

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar

They say love is blind. It’s also deaf, dumb and scored less than 300 on the SAT’s.

Having been single for the vast majority of my adult life, (intertwined by occasional fantastic relationships which typically appear just before I have signed the papers for becoming a Priest,) I have discovered certain unalienable truths:

Truth #1 – Men don’t understand Women

Lord knows we try. But it is seemingly to no avail. I do believe that at some point in every man’s life he suddenly has an epiphany, where women’s behavior becomes crystal clear and he grasps every nuance of women’s inner souls.

Then 3 seconds later, he dies.

Hell is filled with millions of men who now know exactly what they did wrong in their relationships, but will spend eternity realizing they can’t do anything about it.

Truth #2 – Women don’t understand Men

For years, Man, the most complex living organism on the planet, studied the Amoeba, the simplest organism on the planet. Despite the Amoeba’s simplicity, scientists studied it, believing there was more to the Amoeba than meets the eye. The fact is, they pretty much had it on the first day. This, I believe, is the perfect analogy to Women trying to understand Men.

Truth #3 – People fall in love

Despite a myriad of potential obstacles, somehow millions of people fall in love. They meet and they date. They realize they have found their soulmates and they marry. They make falling in love the easiest and most natural thing on earth. This, however, is not truth #3. Truth #3 is that there is clearly something wrong with these people. These people are abnormal.

From 1995 until 2006, I was very single. During this time I managed to make hundreds of observations, a few of which actually made sense. Under the category The Single Guy, I’ll be posting many of these observations. Enjoy!

Copyright 2004 – 2008, Glenn G. Millar