I asked a few people what they thought about Lindsay Lohan’s court troubles at work and they looked at me half crazy for even asking. I’m sure wondering why I even cared. It’s not typical of me to talk about the latest celeb gossip or this ever-present pop culture. All my co-workers had to say was, “I hope she finally gets what is coming to her.” Truth be told, I agree.

I follow this subject loosely, as I can’t escape it. Lindsay was sentenced to 90 days in jail; of those 90 days she was sentenced to she served only 11. I know California has a half-time statute for non-strike offenders, but if my math skills are not horrible I believe she should have served at least 45 days. How does someone get 30 days less than they should have because of their celebrity? Sure, usually they don’t prosecute celebrities, I mean look at O.J., but once you have been sentenced how do they change the rules? I just don’t understand it. If that were me, or any other non celebrity, we would have served the full term. I believe this sets a terrible example for the younger generations. Our court systems, our symbols of justice, are being bought; right in front of the eyes of America.

Today I turn on the T.V. and see that Lindsay failed her first drug test…Big surprise! Maybe if our justice system upholds its values then possibly Ms. Lohan would learn her lesson. Let’s face it, 11 days in jail is almost a vacation. She has learned nothing and continues to waste the time of the courts and the money of the taxpayers. She continues to waste our time by being featured in the media. I can only wait for the day I see her face in another movie and not on my nightly news channel. I never thought I would see the day I actually hoped to see a Lindsay Lohan movie, funny how things work out.

Each commercial is about a product that will make us more masculine, so that we can be like our male counterparts on screen. During the day it is subtle, performance-enhancing substances for the average Joe. As the night begins to roll around is where it gets really fascinating. At every commercial break you can expect to see an advertisement for “Girls Gone Wild,” a male sexual enhancement drug, and some guy urging you to buy supplements. It gets into my head between bouts of grown men smashing each other’s faces in inside an octagon. If I watch a few hours of this I find myself pondering the intentions of Spike. I begin to think, ‘do all men wish to grow their penis two to three inches with a topical cream or some magic pill?’ Must all men be big, muscular, skilled fighters? Do we all really want a hot drunk college girl? Don’t get me wrong the latter would be great… but I’m rather happy with myself. Actually, I’m rather happy with my wife as well, my kids, my job, my physical attributes, hell I’m happy my penis simply functions properly. I could do without the extra three inches. Still though, these commercials make me wonder. What is it that our society now deems a “man.” As I watch all of this information flooding into my living room I can’t help but grow mildly insecure.

I work a job in sales, I’m not a MMA fighter. Am I less of a man? The television tells me so. My pecks are not as big as that guys, I must be therefore less masculine. ‘How big should my penis be,’ I wonder? This television for men is subtly influencing us, the man, to feel insecure about our very being to sell a product. It intrigues me, so I watch and continue to watch and make my observations. In the end, I simply feel bad for the college student who downs a six pack of ripped fuel every day, purchases these sexual enhancements and gobbles them up like M&M’s, just to think he’ll meet girls from the “Girls Gone Wild” videos. I think I’ll refrain, maybe go out for pizza and beer, and relax and be content with who I am – a “man” (as far as I can tell).

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

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!

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.

]]> http://www.goodbyedysfunction.com/2009/10/megan-fox-my-wife-hates-her/feed/ 1 http://www.goodbyedysfunction.com/2009/10/dental-hygiene-erectile-dysfunctiongum-disease/ http://www.goodbyedysfunction.com/2009/10/dental-hygiene-erectile-dysfunctiongum-disease/#comments Mon, 05 Oct 2009 05:12:59 +0000 andrew http://www.goodbyedysfunction.com/?p=527 Lately I’ve been brushing and flossing my teeth and massaging my gums a lot because I want to be prepared for sex when it’s ready to happen. Not because I’m concerned that my wife will be turned off by bad breath or inadequate dental hygiene. It’s much more serious than that. I happened to come across an article that suggested that advanced gum disease may be connected to erectile dysfunction!

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.

I don’t know your phrase, but usually it’s something you can say in front of other people, the kids or even just to each other that conveys affection and a willingness to mate without being too crude or too overt. Well, last Saturday my wife let me know that both kids would be sleeping out for the night and she suggested that maybe we could go catch a movie and then, “hang out.” I immediately assumed that by “hanging out” she was suggesting…ensuring… that we were going to be naked together at some point later that evening because “let’s hang out” was our sex phrase.

So around 5:30 I made myself hygienically sound, took my wife to dinner, a movie and then back home where I waited in bed, locked and loaded. To my utter dismay, my wife crawled into bed, gave me a sisterly kiss on the cheek, informed me that she was exhausted…and went to sleep.

No way!

You don’t use our phrase without following through! I’m not sure women understand that even the slightest suggestion of intimacy…a look, a smile, THE PHRASE, starts the launch sequence in guys. I sulked for days because like most men, I’m not very communicative about my sexual wants and needs.

Finally, my wife got the hint and late Thursday afternoon we ended up “hanging out.” After we cuddled for a bit I asked her why the other day she suggested “hanging out” without following through and to my surprise she informed me that, to her, hanging out just meant… hanging out.

What? Didn’t she realize that was our code? Was she being coy? No, she swore that she was simply unaware that I had somehow designated that as our sex phrase and promised that in the future she’d be more discerning when she used it. Well at least now it was official. The next time my wife says, “Let’s hang out,” we’d definitely, positively end up having sex. Boy, I hope she remembers. Maybe I should send her an email.

Online Pharmacies Scare Me...

The reason? Just read an article about how the BBC did an investigation and found that some erectile dysfunction medications sold on the internet contained things like printer ink and road paint to give them their pretty color!

Terrific. You go to the internet to buy pills to help get you aroused and instead your little buddy is still soft but you’re nauseous and peeing blue like a Smurf.

There are so many medications sold online that are illegal and counterfeit that when you put them in your mouth and swallow you can’t be quite sure exactly what’s going to happen. You could get harder or bigger or stronger or vomit or pass out or bleed from your ears or end up wandering naked and crying down your street.

I guess the Russian roulette element of not knowing for sure what you’re taking could be exciting for some people. But for me, I like to know that my vitamin pill is actually filled with vitamins, my Tylenol is actually going to get rid of my headache and that any type of treatment for problems down below is prescribed by a doctor. Preferably one who has a real medical license hanging on his wall … and not one that he was able to order online!