-The other day I talked to my old friend Kenny for the first time in a while and he sounded unusually upbeat.  He’s had some tough times and a little bit of financial trouble lately, but now he was optimistic, happy, and, well, giddy, on the phone.  I asked him what was up.  He said that he had been reading this book that talked all about achieving your goals and having faith in God and believing in yourself and that it really had affected him.  A little skeptical, I said, “Wow, uh, that’s great man.”  Then Kenny said, “Yeah, and I also met this chick.”  Ah ha!  So that’s really what it was!  I knew it couldn’t have been some stupid book.  Because for twentysomething guys, money may be the root of all evil, but sex is still the root of all happiness.

-Sometimes guys’ obsession with sex puts us in unenviable positions.  Once, back in my Wall Street days, I was sitting through an interminable meeting and my mind kept drifting to a dirty, dirty place.  When the meeting ended, I snapped back to consciousness and started to get up.  And that’s when I noticed I had a massive erection.  I couldn’t stand in the condition I was in.  First, I tried the age-old guy trick of tucking my junk into the elastic waistband of my boxers.  When that didn’t work, I improvised.  I jammed my hands into my pockets, manually restrained my babymaker, and skulked out of the room backwards while nodding to everyone like a Japanese businessman.

-Ever notice that sex is the only loud noise that you won’t tell someone in another room to quiet down?

-My late-night decision-making is questionable at best.  For instance, once I met a chick at a bar who I thought was pretty cute.  She was kind of a wideclops (her eyes were a little too far apart), but besides that she was fine.  We went back to my place and we did our thing (though in my drunken state I couldn’t quite recapture that Wall Street rigidity).  When I woke up in the morning, Wideclops was still there.  Staring at me.  (Though I could really only look her in the eye one at a time.)  We exchanged pleasantries and got dressed.  But she didn’t leave.  I went out to grab food and came back.  She was still there.  Then I started to concoct arduous tasks that I needed to do that day in order to try to get rid of her (“Um, I really need to wash the windows.”).  She offered to help.  I got in the shower.  She joined me.  It was absurd – a classic case of sexual loitering.  Finally, she left at like 8pm.  I’m not even kidding.  It was a 24-hour one-night stand!

-Many girls fashion themselves as “kissing whores.”  These are the chicks that go to the bar, get drunk off Chardonnay, run around the dance floor kissing random guys, then leave giggling with their girl friends.  But what I enjoy most is observing the guys they’ve kissed pathetically wander about the bar for the rest of the night, desperately trying to find the perpetrator in the hopes of getting more than just a smooch.  But it will never happen.  So don’t follow the girl home and wait outside her building in case she comes back out and then call everyone in your phonebook to try to figure out who she was and end up falling asleep outside.  Because I’ve definitely never done that.

-But as a guy who has had a girlfriend for over a year, many of these escapades are long gone.  And I’ve realized that no matter how great your girlfriend or fiance or wife is, there will always be six days a year when your mettle is tested.  For me, it will happen when I meet a female fan while on tour, or if I go to a bar in New York and Girlfriend is not there.  A hot chick will just want to get down, but I can’t because I have a girlfriend.  Every guy has his temptations.  But if you really sit and think and add up how many times a year you could have gotten laid if you weren’t in a relationship, it really only comes out to about six days.  So when it comes to sex, 359 days a year, it pays to have a girlfriend.  The other six days you just need some willpower.  That’s the 359 Rule.  You hear that Wideclops?  I’m taken.  Now stop winking at me.  Or are you blinking?

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-When I was traveling through Florida a few weeks ago on tour, I kept noticing something disturbing: people dressing up for plane rides.  And these weren’t executives hopping off the plane to go to meetings, these were regular people wearing nice linen shirts and sports coats and dresses for a three-hour flight.  Why?  These are probably the same people that dress up on Saturday afternoons just to lay around the house, and wear hair gel and make-up to the gym.  Sick, evil, ungodly people.

-About three years ago, I totally lost track of my minutes and received an $800 cell phone bill.  Paying an $800 phone bill really changes your whole perspective on things.  Namely, I now find it nearly impossible to moderate my spending.  How can I justify complaining that nine bucks for a beer is outrageous when once I paid an $800 phone bill?  Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black?  Or, you know, some other analogy that actually makes sense?

-I think that 36 beers is pretty much the cut-off for caring about floaters.  If you have less than 36 beers available to drink, you’re making sure you’re drinking each one right down to the ass.  But once there’s a fridge stocked with 36 or more beers, psychologically I’m definitely more inclined to drink 5/6ths of the can, forget about it, and then move on.   I wonder if that’s why I’m not invited to parties much anymore.

-Even though some people confuse my alma mater, Penn, with another school, Penn State, I still graduated from a pretty well-known college.  And I’m happy about that.  Because there are dozens of small schools across the country that most guys have only heard of for one reason:  “Where did you go?  Hmm… never heard of it – wait, wait a minute…weren’t you guys the 16th seed in the NCAA tournament two years ago?  Wow.  You guys got killed.”

-There’s nothing like getting an unsolicited compliment on a shirt the first time you wear it.  That happened to me the other day.  Someone was like, “Nice shirt!”  And I was all excited like, “Wow, thanks.  Just got it!”   Hey, maybe I should wear that shirt on the plane next time…

-And, finally, as a guy with a girlfriend, I am sometimes privy to information other guys can’t access.  For instance, recently I was talking to one of Girlfriend’s friends at a party.  I asked her what she did for a living and she told me she designed bras and panties.  Immediately I said, “Did you only tell me that because you know I’m dating Girlfriend?  Because I’m sure when you tell that to guys in bars, they ask you all sorts of stupid questions.”  And she was like, “You’re absolutely right, I usually just tell guys I’m in fashion.”  I was like, “Yeah, I mean I can totally see how idiot guys would ask you dumb shit like, are you wearing the product right now…and is it a thong…and, you know, can I see it?”  With that, she recoiled a bit.  And I realized that while sex is the root of all happiness, it’s also the source of a whole lot of stupid-ass comments.  Fuck me.

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