Monday, February 27, 2006

HOLY ROMANCE, BATGIRL...


Dear Crabby:

Boys confuse me. They seem interested and then they’re not. I can’t decide what they’re thinking. Is there anything I should be looking for when considering who to date? My mother said I should ask you.

Carrie from New Brunswick


Dear Carrie:

Mom gets top marks for her recommendation. Yes, I do have some advice for any young woman starting out on the road to romance.

It’s full of potholes!

Now, before I get a litany of hate mail from some overzealous feminists who suggest that as a man I have no business commenting on a woman’s prerogative in dating practices…because, after all – what do I know about a woman’s heart as a man – I want to counteract that negativity by prefacing that, although t’is true there’s more testosterone coursing through these veins than estrogen, there’s also the fresh male perspective I’m offering to your dilemma that, until now, you’ve only been able to look at from one side – the feminine side.

So permit me to invite you into a bird’s eye of the male animal in his natural habitat!

I’m not a feminist basher either – after all, regardless of what one feminist thinks, not all feminists think alike. The radicals steal most of the thunder from the truth behind feminism in totem anyway – it’s the not-so-radical assessment that women are people too! Imagine that!

Without further adieu then, here are some Crabby recommendations on dating so that we can get you maneuvered around a lot of those potholes that boy/men dig for both themselves and the debutantes they end up pursuing – especially the really deep ones.


1) Don't expect too much from your first encounter. A polite smile and some interesting chit-chat is par for the course. A kiss should be just a kiss for a good long while. Sparks and fireworks come later...about nine months before the kids.

2) Don't believe everything you're told during that first encounter. Some guys will say anything to see you naked.

3) If a man genuinely has an interest in you that doesn't begin with a bottle of cheap wine and end with a pack of Mr. Lucky's - he'll call without having to be provoked to do so.

4) Desperation breeds desperation.

5) A real man will want to get inside your head before he attempts entry into other areas.

6)
True, you're not the only fish in the sea, but have you considered that he's not the only hook?

7) There are more important concerns in this life than “Oh my God, what happens if I 25 and still single?!?!?”

8) Absence makes the heart grow fonder. So does abstinence.

9) Any guy who says "It's no big deal if we...you know" should not mind when you explain, "Then it's really no big deal if we don't."

10) Remember that, as a woman, your whole identity is NOT wrapped up in any perception (or misdirection) of who you are, as mirrored in the eyes of any man. It's not up to Joe Studly to make you complete. The effort and interest is all up to you. It's hard work, but if it's any consolation - I've never known personal investment to be a waste of time.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

SIMON SAYS...WHO'S THE REAL IDOL?














and more questions answered by
the crabby critic


What do you think of American Idol?

Debbie


Dear Debbie:

Not much. It’s basically a showcase for the judges three: darling I-love-everybody (sometimes too much) Paula Abdul, self appointed and overly pompous critic to the stars, Simon Cowell, and, ‘I’ve got my PhD in talent scouting’, Randy ‘my man’ Jackson.
You’re going to Hollywood!

It’s also the only sustaining gig for flat front man and hipster wannabe - Ryan Seacrest, who, I suppose, is kept stocked in hopeful starlets who aren’t above a little panty toss in between auditions.

As far the contestants and previous winners go; where are they? I mean, you don’t see Ruben rocking the house at Super Bowl Sunday or Bo Bice becoming the next heavy metal heartthrob to rival the record gigs set this season by the trail blazing Rolling Stones.

I’ve always held to the view that talent cannot be manufactured. You can refine a raw talent – that much is true…as has been proven by the makeovers a lot of Idol contestants undergo en route from aspiring star to…well, still aspiring star.

But Carrie Underwood – as gifted and in good voice as she may be – has all the staying power of a carton of Coffee Mate left out in the California sun.

The best part of the show is undeniably the auditions that inaugurate each season – where, as an audience, we get to see the bad, the worse and the down right hopeless strut their stuff. I still remember Billy Hungthe Oriental Ricky Martin who shook his Bon-bon, and, also that freaky gal with the blonde sugar bowl haircut and bizarrely acoustic trill who – when told she had absolutely NO talent at all – went complete Exorcist on the panel before screaming her displeasure to the camera man outside (who was only too happy to follow her rants all the way into the parking lot…great ratings there!).

But if we’re going to be perfectly honest, the show isn’t really about the contestants.

Everyone’s more interested in how they behave, towards one another and after they get booted off the set. The only star of the series then is Cowell – a shameless hack and no talent who just happened to land the slot of a life time by transforming cold plain rudeness into chic slick judging.

But beware, Simon –
Anne ‘the weakest link’ Robinson thought her uppity tight ass Brit motif was indispensable from primetime television too.

C.C. - OUT!




Dear Crabby:

Is my classmate flirting with me? He is in two of my classes and he usually sits on the other side of the room, but today in both classes he sat right next to me. Then, after class he walked me to the cafeteria. We talked a little bit. Then all of sudden he reaches over and touches my hair and says "You should wear your hair down more often, I like it when it is down"......I am like Whaaaatttt, me, someone is actually flirting with me???!!!?? What should I do?

From Melinda



Dear Melinda:

That depends. Were his advances welcomed – meaning - do you want this guy for a boyfriend or not? If the answer’s “No” then my advice is that you tell this teenage Don Juan to take his hands out of your quaff or you’ll shoot him up full of peroxide.

If you’re flattered by his ahem…‘charm,’ but rather embarrassed by the way he went about expressing his affections you may want to pursue a relationship.

If you simply can’t wait to rip off his football jersey and accost him with all the tact and affliction of a starved supermodel chasing after a Big Mac…then I suppose the next time he reaches for your locks you’ll grab him by his head and say, “Back of the woodshed…five minutes, big boy. And don’t disappoint me! I expect fireworks.”

BUT BEWARE – a lot of guys your age will say anything just to see you naked.

That doesn’t mean that they’ll like what they see or want to see more or even see it again.

It also doesn’t mean that they’ll start shopping for an honor ring, the white picket fence and a weekend in Havana. It just means he’s horny and would like to know if you’re an easy mark. If you are – you’ll only get your heart broken and your diaphragm stretched. I don’t think that’s exactly what you had in mind. So here’s a thought.

As a woman you have all the control in this situation. You can say “Buzz off, buddy” or “You…come here” and mean both with much presence and little regret. I’m not saying you should become a tease. No guy wants one of those. Play your cards wrong and you’ll wind up on the back of a milk carton. What you want is a guy who will respect you and treat you as he would his own mother. (* Aside: if the guy hates his mother this latter scenario might not play out so good).

I just wish more girls in high school would figure out that they’re worth more than some guy telling them that they’re worth more – just so that he can see them gush and/or see them naked – or both!

Don’t get all flustered by the moment. Some guy thought enough of you to say something brazen which he thought was being nice. If you’re interested say that you are but that you’re also not rented by the hour. Make it known that any guy who wants to get to know you is going to have to invest more time, interest, affection and thought in you as a person than simply stroking the back of your mane as though you were a cute Golden Retriever.

Then…pursue the relationship with caution and common sense – two aspects rarely applied to the dating ritual, regardless of the age of its participants. Bottom line: if you play it safe, you’ll discover a much more rewarding and lasting relationship in the long run.

That’s really what you’re after here, Melinda. Not some cheap flattery and your Calvins in a ball next Saturday night.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Monday, February 20, 2006

THE DUMBEST QUESTIONS I'VE EVER BEEN ASKED...


...and I ain't kiddin'!

by yours truly
The crabby critic

Invariably, with this type of website one gets asked all sorts of benign and silly questions about situations and people that I couldn’t possibly comment on intelligently without knowing more about either the person or the circumstance.

While I do screen all comments made in the comments section of this blog and those sent directly to my email – and try to touch base on every one that isn’t an ad, masquerading as a comment, for Quicken Loans or Price Line – occasionally I get stumped by the complete audacity or nuttiness of what some people perceive as acceptable behavior and/or comments/questions deemed acceptable to make in print.

Really, you have to be functioning with a few burned out pistons and severe iron deficiency to write in some of what I get to read.

So here they are – at long last; the most incredibly ridiculous inquiries I’ve had on this site thus far. I won’t say “Don’t keep them coming” because frankly, they make for a good laugh and saucy reply some snowy night in front of the fire. But if I had my way, there’d be an intellectual firing squad for some of these people.

And now…dumb, dumber and most dumb of all…the bad, the bad and the frustratingly bad…from yours truly,
C.C.



Dear Crabby:

Last week my brother punched me in the head. Then I hit him back. He gave me a black eye and threw me through our open patio door. Then I kicked him a bit. He bit me. I stepped on his face and he left a bruise on my back. Now what?

Brody in Kentucky


Dear Brody:

Drive yourselves to the hospital.

It’s a wonder you’ve enough teeth and fingers left to type out this question? In practical terms (as in, what should your next course of action be after beating the living snot out of one another), I don’t know…neither of you have the good sense God gave a lemon.

I suppose I’m old fashion and idyllic. I’d like to see a mutual apology on the horizon, along with a guarantee that neither one of you will act so utterly idiotic in the future. You’re not the Hatfields and the McCoys you know!

Your truly,
The crabby critic



Dear Crabby:

My girlfriend sez she’s spank-a-licious. What do you think?

Joey in New York City


Dear Joey:

WOOOOAAAWWW! That's a real high brow chick you've got there!

Sounds like your girlfriend’s innate stock value in her own ego just skyrocketed on the NASDAQ of tradable cookies and cans. She’s either way too into herself or hoping to convince you of something you’re not entirely convinced of already. Bottom line: HIGH MAINTENANCE AND LOVIN’ IT!

Here’s the wrinkle – if you don’t think she’s “spank-a-licious” then she’s probably not. There’s a very good line from The Wizard of Oz that might suffice herein:

“Remember my friend –a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

Clearly, your Babe is more ‘pig in the city’ than Playboy material – at least by your own assessment otherwise you wouldn’t be polling total strangers for a blind taste test.

Here’s a clue, Poindexter; it takes more than a big booty to liberally apply the very liberal superlative “spank-a-licious.” Without accompanying eight by tens I have no way of guessing how far on the ‘hot meter’ your little pork chop sizzles. My guess though, is that she hasn’t been pre-heated enough.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Dear Crabby:

Whatever happened to William Hung?

Tracy in Seattle



Dear Tracy:

Not that I care, but my guess is that he’s off somewhere spending the millions he accumulated from the sale of that ultra-crappy album somebody paid good money to put out and that millions more tone deaf mutes ran out and bought after his pathetically miserable bastardization of Ricky Martin’s She Bangs on American Idol.

It sickens me to think of these sheep following around any No-Talent (Hung, not Martin – although the latter doesn’t rate terribly high on my list of 20th century recording artists either).

Old Chinese proverb say – “Flip burgers, not records.” …well, okay, not really!

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Dear Crabby:

Like duh! I just can’t believe you! Well, like, you know. Ahhhhh! Hmph! Yeah, well, whatever!

Sydney from Maryland


Dear Inarticulate Mess:

Well, duh! You know. Ahhhh! Hmph! Yeah, well, whatever! My thoughts exactly.

Yours truly (I think, Hmph! Maybe!)
The crabby critic




Dear Crabby:

I hate my sister. What should I do?

Kendell from Thortonville


Dear Kendell:

Stop hating her. Or go on hating her until the pitchfork falls out of your butt. Without details, your guess is as good as mine. But life’s too short to invest that much energy in someone who probably doesn’t give a damn about you. My advice, plant some azaleas. Then plant yourself next to them.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic





Dear Crabby:

My wife came home from work the other day and told me she had sex with a co-worker in the Xerox room. She said it was meaningless but she felt guilty about it. What should I do?

Rob in Taylor


Dear Rob:

Did she make any copies? Seriously…did she?

No, seriously – you’re wife’s a piggy-piggy.

Faxing some guy and sharpening his pencil on a coffee break when she’s got a loyal, decent fella waiting for her at home. How many different ways are there to say, Ugh!

I mean…UGH!

She’s not sorry she did this guy. She’s just worried she might get caught. So before everyone in the office starts giggling the next time you come in to pick her up, she just figured she’d tell you what was on her mind while the deed and underpants were still fresh.

How disgusting!

My advice – tell your wife you hope she enjoyed her little ‘working girl’ fantasy because from now on the only insanity getting stapled to her forehead is your divorce papers. I don’t know, I guess I’m a tad catty – I’d also send an inner office memo to everyone in her building – including her boss and the guy’s wife!

Your truly,
The crabby critic





Dear Crabby:

I want to kill my parents but I don’t want to get caught. Do you think shooting is the best way?

Anonymous


Dear Chicken-Livered Norman Bates:

I have your IP address and email, so if two people in their mid-fifties meet with an untimely end in your general vicinity, don’t think both your IP and Email won’t make it back to Cook County ‘tout suite’ along with your moronic inquiry, faster than you can say ‘The Menendez Brothers.’

Yours truly,
The crabby critic




Dear Crabby:

Don’t the Olympics just make you sick?

Darryl in Washington



Dear Darryl:

…only when they camera pan excessively.

What do you mean ‘make me sick’? Okay, so they’ve managed to monopolize television broadcasting for two weeks. I suppose that’s an imposition if you’re more inclined toward crappy sitcoms and equally crappy reality TV. But hey, on that latter score – the Olympics are the ultimate in reality TV. Why not indulge your sports-minded tooty in a bit of vicarious excitement.

Personally, I think the Olympic committee made a minor error in judgment by shortening the time between games from four years down to two. In my opinion, this restructuring has reduced both the ‘event status’ of the games and the level of invested audience anticipation for them to just two points above blasé. However, nothing should diminish the accomplishments put forth by all of the athletes involved.

Okay, maybe figure skater Johnny Weir – that five foot nine, 139 lb. sack of pomposity whose pre-competition statement against any judge or member of the press that might find him…oh, shall we say…flamingly grating… was that they could “eat it.”

Personally and professionally, Mr. Weir– I don’t think you’ll find any takers on that offer.

Oh…and here’s a bit of free advice – you need to concentrate more on your esthetics than your attitude. Arguably, an Olympic-caliber skater is made on the ice. But it takes a real humble man to become an iconic hero.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Dear Crabby:

Are you a hater?

Melissa in Bridgeport


Dear Melissa:

I don’t hate anything or anyone. I dislike a great deal of people and tolerate less than half of the rest. You see, it takes a rare individual to look life plainly in the eye and realize that there are a lot of simpleton morons running around the planet – only half of which currently occupy a seat in Congress. The rest reside in plush and pampered estates littered across the Hollywood Hills.

Hey, Paris. What’s up?

To point to stupidity or vial and repugnant behaviors and call them by their rightful names is not the same as to hate the person involved in the activity. Everyone makes mistakes. But you can’t just bury your head in the sand like an ostrich and pretend that everything and everyone is beautiful in its and their own way.

Clearly, some people just aren’t living up to snuff – not only by my undeniably conservative standards - but life’s in general.

I rank terrorists, Nazis, serial killers, child abusers, rapists, white collar executives at Enron, Delphi and General Motors, Charles Manson and Michael Moore in this latter category.


The list could go on…but why?


Yours truly,
The crabby critic

Saturday, February 18, 2006

CURSE OF THE FAT MAN...

…and more weighty issues dealt with
by the crabby critic



Dear Crabby:

I’m fat. My wife says so. Now I say so. A hundred and fifty pounds ago I might have been able to do something about it. Now, I just don’t know. My wife’s been a positive influence so far but I’m afraid I’ll disappoint her.

Niles in Connecticut



Dear Niles:

The only person you need worry about disappointing is yourself. Your wife sounds like good people to me. If she’s stuck by you through the thick of it, she’ll also be there for the thin. Since you haven’t told me your height or total body weight I’ll assume that the hundred and fifty pounds you did mention are at least half of your total body weight.

WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN EATING – PUDGY?!?!

Okay, this isn’t the time to feel guilty. This is a time for action. Provided you don’t need the Jaws of Life to get you from the fridge to the can, I would recommend that you and your wife go out tomorrow and enroll in a nutritionist’s and cardio program at a local gym. Make this the day you decide to get healthy for yourself and your wife.

I’ve seen some fairly chunky masses get svelte on “The Biggest Loser” – which is an erroneous name for the show, because anyone who reshapes themselves as much as those folks do should be considered big winners. You can be one too. But you have to want it, and I think you finally do.

Now, before I get a litany of hate mail from fat people who tell me that there’s nothing wrong with taking up three seats in coach – I want to say that, yes, there are those people out there who will profess to being perfectly happy with themselves at three hundred pounds…poor delusional devils! Or maybe they’re just IT store greeting card models.

The point is, there’s not a physician that will back their claim of fat n’ fabulous. In fact, that excess lard you’ve been lugging is unhealthy and dangerously stressful on all of your internal organs – mostly your heart and lungs.

If your wife wants to help from now on then the best thing she can do is to participate in your recovery from food addiction by adopting a more healthy lifestyle for the two of you. No more cases of Coke or tubs of donuts, okay? Try some celery sticks and tofu for filler.

Moderation is always the key. It would be CRIMINAL of me to suggest the proper diet you should follow. That’s why I say, consult a nutritionist tomorrow and get their take on the best course of action. Then follow that course without deviation.

It’s the only way you’ll whittle yourself down to that one hundred and eight pound ideal you’ve been storing up and carrying around in your mind’s eye. You can do it, Niles. I have that much faith in you. Your wife has so much more.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic




Dear Crabby:

I’m 38 and recently discovered a gray hair. I’m so depressed. Does this mean youth is over?

Gary


Dear Gary:

Congratulations. I was 18 when I discovered my first gray hair. I’ve acquired many since.

What Miss Clairol number have you been using thus far?

But I must say that a full head of hair – regardless of its color – is more satisfying than none at all. Just ask any man with a crater or fringe if he wouldn’t rather have a thick mane of gray sprouting.

I used to get my hair cut at a salon where every time I sat in the cutter’s chair the cordial lady clipping my locks would say something to the effect of “You know, for about forty bucks I could wipe out that bit of white creeping in on the sides.”

Each time she made this comment I simply and politely declined.

However, after ten or twelve visits with each conversation starting off the same way I grew rather tired of her insinuation that I was somehow less attractive simply because a few choice follicles had decided to decamp from my general consensus of deep chestnut.

So the next time I made an appointment and sat in that chair and was greeted with “So, you think you might want to dip that mop in a bucket of paint” I quietly stood up, gave my cutter the once over and replied, “If I’m going to come out the other end with your rainbow harvest and split ends, let’s just forget it.”

And so we did. I never went back to that salon again.

Personally, I’ve always felt that one is as young as one feels. On occasion I’ve been known to awaken and feel like a good 200 years old. Then again, I’ve had days where I’ve felt as good as – if not better than – a sixteen year old.

My point is that 38 (like 18 or 200) is a number.

It says nothing about the boy you were or the man you’ve become.

Stop obsessing over the fact that your not twenty-one anymore and get on with life. Unless you’re planning on getting hit by a semi the next time you leave your couch, there’s an awful lot of living left to do. Get busy with it. No one stays twenty-one for life.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Dear C.C.:

My girlfriend wants me to get hair plugs. She says she doesn’t want to date an old man. I’m 41. She’s 29. I never thought my baldness bothered her. I’ve done everything to stay young for her; working out, running, dancing, body piercing, tattoos. Should I get the plugs?

Marshall in Spalding



Dear Marshall:

If you ask me, you’ve already bent more than backwards for this babe.

What sort of Frosty the snow princess did you hook up with?!?

At 41 you should have been marketing your carcass to another 41 year old. My range for dating has always veered five degrees in either direction. That means the youngest for you ought to have been 36.

Your girlfriend’s clearly not interested in you so much as she has been in the security you’ve managed to afford her until now. At 41 I’m assuming you’re established with a house, bank account and financial means to indulge her taut tuckus with vacations, nightclubs, etc.

The point is, you’ve reached an age where perhaps your physical appearance is starting to appear out of place.

For example – I wouldn’t expect my grandpa to be flying around on his ass inside of a Mosh Pit.

It’s just not something those old bones would likely endure. We used to have a single male neighbor living down the street from us when I was a kid who drove a sporty red convertible with his shirt undone to his navel. I suppose he thought that plume of white chest hair blowing in the breeze made him particularly sexy to the much younger trade living on the block. It didn’t. In fact, the ladies of the area used to frequently get together with my mother to share a laugh over “the old fool in the convertible.” He wasn’t fooling anyone but himself!

Working out? Tattoo? Body piercing? I don’t even want to know where. You’ve done everything humanly possible to reverse the passage of time. The tragedy is that time only moves in one direction – forward.

You were given a very brief window of opportunity to be the young stud on the block. I hope you took advantage of that time because the window has since been shuttered up.

You’re not OLD, Marshall!

But you’ve matured beyond the ditzy glam-bam of bumping into fresh bodies like the two of you are in the comics. At this point in your life you should be celebrating yourself for that new found maturity – instead you’re daydreaming with some bimbette who thinks you’re too old simply because you don’t want to fall ass over tea kettle while rollerblading!

I most definitely WOULD NOT get the hair plugs. But I think you’ve run your course with Pamela Plaything. Time to start looking for that significant other that will want something more significant from you other than a full head of hair to hang on to during sex.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic





Dear Crabby:

My wife is having an affair with my brother. He’s a decade younger than me and was always considered the good looking son by my parents. In fact, looking back on it now, I think my wife was staring at him during our reception. I love my wife. What should I do?

Barry in New Brunswick


Dear Barry:

Tough call. Your wife DOESN’T LOVE YOU! That’s painful but it’s also true. If you suspected that she’s been eyeballing bro’ across the gift table since your reception, I would have confronted her and him right then and there. It wouldn’t have made for an America’s Funniest Home Videos archive…but there it is. Actually, I probably wouldn’t have married her to begin with. Here’s a story you might appreciate:

I once attended an almost-wedding that had been arranged by the two families of the almost bride and almost groom. Apparently, the bride’s family thought the groom a handsome catch and were determined that their daughter marry this studly meal ticket before he ran off with the next available gold digging cheerleader. One problem: the bride in this equation didn’t love the groom.

So when it came to that moment in the nuptials when the priest says, “Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband…” the bride – as deadpan as Buster Keaton – simply said,
“No!” to which, after several hushed moments of shock and amazement, the game priest continued with, “Perhaps you didn’t understand my question.”

The point is, she did and the wedding – or wedding that might have been – died right there in front of a gathering of several hundred ‘close’ friends. (Aside: I’m always amazed at the size of weddings. I don’t think I’ve met several hundred people worth inviting to any wedding I might have!)

The moral of my story is that – try as we might – we can’t make someone love us.


Your wife loves your brother – probably for reasons so superficial and disgusting that to even mention them herein would embarrass us both… and I don’t blush that easily! So my advice to you is to pack your wife an overnight bag. Then, when she comes home, give her a peck on the forehead and say – “let me know where you’ll want the rest of your things forwarded” even though you probably already know the address by heart.

Yours truly
The crabby critic





Dear Crabby:

My life is over. I came home from work one night last month to find my house empty – literally. My wife had movers relocate everything accept my clothes to her boyfriend’s place. When I came home that evening from work the neighbors were staring at me funny. One of them innocently said, “Don’t you remember you moved?”

I was so ashamed. My wife took my kids and now she’s living with some guy who’s got a ton of money. I hate him. I hate him for ruining my life. Do you think I should sue for custody of my kids?

Mathias in Darlington


Dear Matt:

I would.

You seem to love your kids a hell of a lot more than your wife does or she would have thought twice before literally ripping them from the only home they’ve ever known to go shack up with the Wonder Schlong.

Bless you for mentioning your children first and not asking me about the best way to sue and get your stuff back. Your priorities are definitely and solidly grounded.

But I wouldn’t hate the guy just yet.

I mean, how do you know your wife didn’t feed him some “I’m so unhappy I could almost see my roots change” story, with a hint of, “he’s a bad man” and some “I’m afraid of what he’ll do to the children,” thrown in for good measure? This guy's no Prince Charming - that much is clear - but he might be stepping up to play the part of a misguided hero.

If she were so afraid of what you’d do then she wouldn’t have tantalized your rage by decamping Casa Mathias in the middle of the afternoon without so much as leaving an air fern behind.

Bottom line: this women is not worth her weight in dirty pantyhose.

If I were you I wouldn’t have anything more to do with her.

DON’T show up at her new place or attempt any contact with either of them.

Consult an attorneynot just any…a barracuda! You want this bipartisan cutthroat to smell blood in the water at the hearing. I can’t imagine ANY judge in the free world not being sympathetic to your plight and awarding you whatever you ask for in reparations – including time to be alone with your children.

Finally, although I’m fairly certain I don’t have to remind you of the following, I nevertheless will – this is going to be the WORST time in the history of your children’s lives. It’s going to be up to you to soften the blow. Although I don’t know your wife’s intensions, I can be fairly certain in my assumption that she’ll not want to part with the kiddies without first implanting all sorts of unscrupulous propaganda into their heads about what a demonic and destructive presence you are or will be in their lives.

The WORST THING you could do after getting custody of your family is to BASH their mother’s REPUTATION with equal aplomb. If the kids bring up anything about her in your presence you should merely preface their concern with “you know - mom’s made a choice for herself that we’re all going to have to learn to adapt to. But I’ll always be there for you when you need me. Don’t think that I don’t care and don’t ever forget that I love you. But mom is no longer my concern.”

You have my sympathies, Matt. You’re going to be strong and recover from this setback. Have no fear - you’re already the right kind of father. I expect great things.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic

@ The Crabby Critic 2006 (All rights reserved).

Friday, February 17, 2006

KNOCKERS, TALKERS & GAWKERS...



BOOBYTRAPPED and/or BUFF ENOUGH

Dear Crabby:

What is it with men’s fascination over breasts?

Carol in Nantucket


Dear Carol:

Chiefly that we don’t have them – at least most of us (until we reach middle age) – so the act of ogling, touching, caressing and fondling them is a novelty.

Let me see if I can lead by example here, by way of a true story: At the end of my last year of undergraduate work in university, I invited a group of eleven individuals (men and women) to my home to cram for a final in English lit. After several hours of hardcore revival on the likes of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Tennyson, we paused in our studies and ordered pizzas.

The conversation understandably drifted to other things. At one point – a very polite and unassuming young lady (whom I never would have guessed from as much) declared to the group that if life and genetics had dealt with her differently she would have desired the male apparatus for herself. Naturally, this statement quietly killed whatever semi-private and unrelated banter was taking place in my family room.

When asked by another girl if this girl meant that she merely wanted a man’s attachment to, oh…shall we say…pleasure herself…this girl who had made the statement emphatically replied “No, I just want a d_ _k,” to which a portly gentleman seated by my fireplace, and quite noncommittal in the conversation until then, simply stated, “Well, I prefer my tits a la carte, sweetheart. But they don’t come that way.”

Translation: you ladies have penis envy. Leave us guys with our daydreams buried deep in your cleavage. After all, better yours than your girlfriends.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Dear Crabby:

My boyfriend says I should seriously consider a boob job after we’re married. He says they’re safe now and it would really help get him in the mood for…you know. What do you suggest?

Melina in La Paz


Dear Melina:

Clearly, Mr. Man is getting off right well now without the added attraction of having you look like some top-heavy circus freak just for his amusement. If he can’t get excited with what you have locked and loaded, then he needs to drag his foot long to the next booby bimbette with cantaloupes touching her knees.

Aside from the fact that big breasts are uncomfortable, they’re awkward to find properly fitted clothes and they eventually lead to back problems.

All in all – you’re not doing so bad by taking what the Good Lord gave you with a wink and a smile. If it’s not exactly big and busty, so be it. But you’re boyfriend is emphatically wrong. This procedure is FAR FROM SAFE and comes with a litany of side effects.

Finally, tell your boyfriend that he’s really sweet for considering what would make him happy in this relationship. You just wish he had given as much thoughtfulness to your happiness first. Tell him that you’d prefer his Mr. Happy come in nine inches and with a sack of walnuts. Then hand him a brochure and demo porn to illustrate what nine really looks like.

Yours truly
The crabby critic





Dear Crabby:

Does size matter?

Joe from Lincoln


Dear Joe:

Yes. But even if you haven’t got a fire hose in your trousers you can still flaunt your prowess with a sizable ego to compensate. Remember that aside from those rather freakish male stars of the adult entertainment industry (who, I must admit, are enough to make any novice think twice about substituting a zucchini during foreplay), most guys don’t drive with their Johnson riding shotgun.

If you’re average, then you’re average. I wouldn’t be contemplating penis implants, extensions, spurious pills and/or creams or any other remedy to correct your normalcy.

Remember, average is normal.
Accept that.

Most women you meet (again, unless they’re topless bunnies or porn stars themselves) will actually be satisfied with what you have to offer. And anyway, if I recall correctly, the vagina isn’t exactly a bottomless pit. I mean it ends somewhere and much sooner than you probably think. If you’re feeling insecure try improving your technique with some healthy how-to books from your local Barnes & Noble and maybe some instructional videos. Technique goes a long way – much longer than…you know.

Don’t obsess over stumpy, Joe!
There’s a whole world past the tip of your manhood. It’s time you gave it more consideration.

Yours truly
The crabby critic






Dear C.C.

What do you do if the man you’re with insists that you have plastic surgery?

Latasha in Birmingham



Dear Latasha:

Get another man. Or tell him you’ve never much cared for the way his left nostril pulls to one side. Then recommend hair plugs, lypo for his love handles and some serious reconstructive surgery to make both his butt cheeks hang more symmetrically. After that, if your guy doesn’t flat out apologize for making you feel like you’re not worth the sum of your body parts – I say what I said before: get another man.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic





Dear Crabby:

My girlfriend is constantly comparing me to her ex after we’ve made love. She says I’m okay, but then she puts in jabs about how much better he used to be. What should I do?

Brad in Lima


Dear Brad:

Tell your girlfriend you hope she hasn’t throw out her ex’s telephone number yet because from now on he’s going to be the one servicing her.

It never ceases to amaze me how many mates (men and women) do this sort of comparative study on their current spouses – rating them as good, better or less than their former lovers. If that’s the case – these chicks are more than welcome to return to them as far as I’m concerned.

Sex is way too overrated in its importance to our daily lives. Most couples don’t do it nearly as much as they’d like to and when they do their expectations and the reality of the act are a chasm of deep regrets worthy of the Grand Canyon Award.

The worst thing you could do is to try and be more like your girlfriend’s ex in the sack. Trust me – as far as your girlfriend’s concerned, you’ll never measure up. But consider this, your girlfriend did leave this other guy for you or somebody else in between…or isn’t she the kind that kisses and tells?!?

Bottom line: she’s being cruel by sharing her thoughts on him with you. What does she think that does for YOUR EGO? Or maybe she gets off by humiliating men. There is that sort of female animal out there, you know. Maybe you’ve managed to fall into her cage. But you don’t have to keep licking those wounds, Brad. Sometimes it’s better to let such hell cats freeze.

Yours truly
The crabby critic



Dear Crabby:

I found a stack of men’s fitness magazines under the mattress the other day. When I confronted my wife she said that muscles really get her hot and that she’s been using them as sort of a warm up before we get into bed without me knowing about it. I’m not into bodybuilding. In fact, I’m not very athletic. But I feel cheated. I don’t know whether my wife’s thinking of me or some centerfold while we’re doing it. What should I do?

Davis in Newton Ohio


Dear Davis:

Get buff – fast. It’s a fair assumption that your wife isn’t with you when she’s with you – if you get my meaning. She’s off in some euphoric daydream with a guy who’s so tight that you could bounce footballs off his pecs.

And anyway, a healthier lifestyle won’t kill you. It’ll actually improve most of the facets of your daily life. You’ll be more flexible, have less aches, be able to lift and carry a lot, and have a more positive mental attitude in general, thanks to all those neuron and protons firing at maximum capacity after a healthy workout.

You don’t have to become the stereotypical ‘muscle-head’ but why not get into tiptop physical shape for yourself as well as your mate?

Trust me – the closer you come to her ideal the faster those magazines will hit the shredder. Then you can come home with the satisfaction that the only fantasy guy in your wife’s mind’s eye is you.

Suck it up, Hercules and hit the gym.

Yours truly
The crabby critic





Dear Crabby:

Yesterday I discovered a lump in my breast while taking a shower. I’m afraid it might be cancer. It’s not a very big lump. Actually, it might just be something unimportant. But my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer only a short while ago and died last year from it. I’m afraid – really afraid. What should I do?

Cecilia in Clark’s Harbour


Dear Cecilia:

First – I want to preface my response by saying that I AM NOT A MEDICAL PHYSICIAN, so any advice you glean from this response should NOT be TAKEN as an accurate diagnosis of your condition.

It seems to me that any lump – regardless of how small you may think it is – should be dealt with RIGHT AWAY. There’s no economy in waiting. Most medically trained physicians will tell you that the best way of deducing the size and texture of the lump is by lathering up with soap and water and tracing the contours slowly. Take special note if the lump is hard or soft – if it’s round or oddly shaped. Then RUN – don’t walk – to the nearest specialist to get it looked after.

Just because your sister died of cancer doesn’t mean you will too. The sooner you make an appointment for a biopsy and look after this matter the sooner you’ll know if your lump is malignant or merely a fatty tumor. But you need to know – one way or the other. If I were you, I wouldn’t tell my extended family about your discovery just yet – especially your mother, who will undoubtedly assume the worst and have a mini-breakdown from there.

If you’re a married lady, tell your husband, but make it clear that you don’t want anyone but him to know until the results are official. Again – DON’T WAIT. Not even to the end of this reply. Pick up the phone and CALL your DOCTOR NOW!!! Nothing else you do over the course of the next twenty-four hours will be as vitally important to the rest of your life.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Crabby:

Okay, so there is this hot guy at my gym, and I think he's shy (like me). Out of all the treadmills, he chose the one next to mine, and I'm always sneaking glances at him. So how should I approach him? A smile maybe?

Anonymous


Dear Anonymous:

It might be saying something that he’s always picking the same tread next to yours to exercise on. Then again, it might not. I once sat next to a girl in three of my classes during my first year in university without ever noticing that it was, in fact, the same girl. She finally asked me out on a date…at which point I had to confess that I didn’t find her particularly attractive and then relocate my obtuse tooty to another seat in the room.

A lot of the time, as guys, we’re just not that intuitive or in tune with what’s going on around us – particularly if we’re focused on something else intensely like exercise.

However, if this guy is repeating the pattern of following you around the dumbbells, then you might want to make for some polite chitchat the next time he mounts in stride. If he’s receptive and, in fact, been deliberate in his positioning, then things could work out…or he could relocate himself to another piece of equipment at the other end of the gym. Either way, you should make your intentions known. At the very least, getting rejected is better than guessing about where you stand. Right now you’re running in place. Wouldn’t it be better to get on with the chase?

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Crabby:

My boyfriend of 3 years has been cheating on me.I got an email from the girl asking about him and I - what our relationship was, etc. Apparently, they started seeing each other four months into my and his relationship. She didn't know. I didn't know [obviously]. And to make it worse, he cheated on HER last year, which means he's cheated on both of us at least twice... if not more.

And it’s like, what if he got me sick? Like we always practice safe sex and whatnot, but still? And like just a few days ago he told me he loved me! And he'd always tell me I was the only one when I'd ask and of course, now, it seems SO obvious, ya know? Gaaaaaah.

And yeah, I haven't confronted him yet because I haven’t seen him and I want to do it face to face. But I seriously just can't stop crying, my work sent me home before I even started and yeah. I just can't believe it, my friend is coming over in like an hour and a half to like…be with me. How should I confront him?Marie


Dear Marie:

Some guys will say anything to get in your pants. This one certainly did and, unfortunately, it worked.

Should you dump him?

Like the plague.

He’s not in love with either of you.
He’s not the kind that loves.
He’s the kind that screws and screws a lot, and then, screws some more.

In fact, this bozo would be perfect for a previous writer who was strictly interested in a f _ _k buddy. That’s all your fella really is. That’s all he’s after. You put out. She puts out. He puts in and gets what he wants out of each relationship – sex.

Like, what if he got you sick? Good point. He very well could, if he already hasn’t. Some of the more freaky diseases don’t show up right away, you know.

The problem that I have with women like you, Marie, is that you keep coming back for more. Why? I used to think that women like you were just idiotic and/or desperate. But I’ve reassessed that claim, particularly since I found out that a personal friend is involved in fairly the same sort of ‘affair.’ This girl too is not retarded or needy. So what gives?

I think you think you’ll never find somebody else.

I think you’ve been humiliated and hurt and you’re embarrassed to admit both emotions and claim responsibility for playing the part of the fool. You think everyone will think less of you because you fell for a good line.

But guess what? If you continue to forgive Bobby Boner for his indiscretions you won’t just be playing the fool – you’ll be one.

This guy isn’t a man – he’s a pig.

Since you and this other girl have found out about one another, why don’t you both arrange to meet for dinner or something; pick apart your boyfriend’s M.O. and then confront this Happy Horn-dog on a united front? I can guarantee he won’t be expecting that much from either of you.

The Jolly Pecker needs to be taught a lesson. It’s doubtful he’ll learn it completely even after you two tell him to find someplace else to plant his seed. But tell him you must and thereafter stick to that decision.

Remember, I didn’t say you were a fool. You’ve been playing the part only because you never had all the facts before. Now you do. And look at it this way. The other girl’s been just as foolish and misguided as you. So, you two ought to become the best of friends.

After you’ve both ditched this pig in another trough why don’t you go nightclubbing together for Mr. Right – two of them. Then you’ll not only have new men in your lives but each other to rely on when the going gets tough.

This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. But Player needs to disappear from the equation first.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic






Dear Crabby,

Why do you men think women want longer d**ks? Honey, it ain't length that matters; it's the girth. It's not my cervix that needs stimulatin'!

Catnapping




Dear Ferocious Feline:

The debate continues to rage between women who prefer length to girth and vice versa. For the former connoisseur, any old pipe cleaner will do. For the latter, only the most expanding of flapjacks will likely suffice. I have never reported to speak for anyone's tastes, but rather have commented on those put forth by people commentating on this site. So permit me to enlighten you on a few details.

As a man, and personally, I have never given much thought or care whether or not what I have to offer is exactly what any woman would ideally wish for. In point of fact, it’s all I have. Take it or leave it.

There are only two things this boy knows for sure – what he wants, and what he’s willing to settle for. On that radar, your cervix isn’t even a blip!

Yours truly,
The crabby critic


Wednesday, February 15, 2006

HEARTS AND FLOWERS...


...just not for this gal!


Dear Crabby:

I am so depressed. Today is Valentine's Day and my boyfriend did nothing for me. I sent him some saucy texts the other day that included pictures of myself in various poses and he texted back "next time warn me when you're going to do something like that so I can open them up at home".

Hello! He was supposed to be home when I sent them. Where in the hell was he anyway? And then he sent me an email today saying "Don't break too many hearts." His is the only heart I'm interested in.

Should I dump him?
Do you think he's giving me the cold shoulder?
We slept together twice. Do you think he didn't like it?

Troubled in San Fran


Dear Troubled:

I have no way of knowing if your boyfriend didn’t ‘like it.’ Men and sex is a tricky-sticky mess for women to wrap their minds around – though it doesn’t sound to me as though you had difficulty wrapping the rest of you around him!

There’s an old saying about buying milk when the cow is free.

Sleeping with someone twice and then texting him some nudies screams your desperation. I suppose you could ramp up your neediness by asking your boyfriend if you’re a decent lay.

That’s tacky, but you’ve already proven that tact isn’t exactly your forte.

What do you mean he should have been home when your message arrived? Suppose he was at his mothers’ or grocery shopping or in a meeting at work when suddenly there you were splayed like a contortionist on crack for all to see.

Hello!

Your boyfriend has a life outside of his badinage with you. Actually, I don’t think you should be calling this guy your boyfriend just yet – especially since he’s told you not to “break too many hearts.” Clearly, he thinks you’re eight by tens are not reserved exclusively ‘for his eyes only.’

Here’s the deal with a lot of guys and sex:
they don’t equate sex with romance.

Just because a guy is ‘into you’ doesn’t mean that he’s ‘into you’ – if you get my meaning.

Most women tend to attach hearts, flowers and the white picket fence to any act of affection that comes their way. Unfortunately, all the guys in question actually want is what they already got – fifteen minutes of heavy sweating.

That’s why my advice to any woman contemplating getting her Calvin’s in a ball after just one or two dates is always the same:

BAD IDEA.
DON’T DO IT!
NOT EVEN AFTER TWO OR THREE MONTHS OF DATING!

Now, before you decide that I’m a prude, monk, moralist or zealot, preaching eternal virginity and a return to the chastity belt – let’s get one thing real clear: sex is the most intimate bodily function two people can share. That’s why it’s so depressing to me when I hear of people like you throwing it out there as though it were as common and unattached a practice as picking out what flavor of herbal tea to sip at the bulk barn.

This guy you slept with doesn’t see you as his girlfriend.

He doesn’t want you for anything more than a quick stop off now and then.

He’s embarrassed by your clingy attachment and the pictures you sent.

At this point in his thought process, he’s probably figuring out eleven different ways of kicking you to the curb and moving on to some other assembly line hump that won’t be asking for more mileage from his stick shift.

Should you get another boyfriend?!?!?…that’s a moot point: you never had this one to begin with.

If I were you, I’d definitely look for someone else – someone who will respect you enough to stick around after the condom comes off.

The best way to ensure and secure a soul mate is to focus on another person’s soul first…considering the length and girth of other appendages as an afterthought. So far you’ve been on the prowl for some guy who can rock your world. How about looking for the man that will build a world around for you two to share instead?

Yours truly,
The crabby Critic






Crabby Critic:

I am in love with a married woman whose husband abuses her. She has left him three times only to return. I want to take care of her, even marry her, and raise her children as my own, but she won't let me. Any advice?

Marc in Manhattan

Dear Marc:

Yeah…find a woman who actually wants you to take care of her.


Evidently the “abuse” this woman has sustained in the past isn’t enough to make her want to leave the lumbering oaf who’s giving her a light smack now and then. I’ve known quite a few women who bandy the term “abuse” as flippantly as the words “nice” and “love.” Honestly, how can anyone love a person as much as they do an ice cream cone or the color red?

More than likely this woman was lonely and horny not necessarily in that order – when you first met and she decided to feed you some obtuse line about how terrible her husband/boyfriend is.


Evidently, the sob story aroused your honorable intentions because you wanted to eat your spinach, break down the door and feed Brutus to the wolves. But this babe is not Olive Oil.

The fact that she continues to return to the scene of the crime should provide you with a glimpse into her psyche. She’s not for you.

But listen up, Popeye – because the rest of this reply is strictly for you.

Why do you think a married abused woman is the best that you can do for yourself. True – we can’t always pick who we love. But ‘married in general’ should ALWAYS be off limits to anyone with a shred of self-preservation, respect and the dignity to do the right thing…in this case, by walking away.

You seem semi-on-the-right-track, sailor. How about finding a good woman (a single one) who really wants to be looked after? That’s more your fit.

The next time this babe comes crawling back with another “I’m so unhappy my pantyhose itch” story, you can forward her the email, telephone numbers and addresses of half way houses and/or women’s shelters in her neighborhood.

Arguably, your heart was always in the right place. Stop playing the fool.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic



Crabby

Do you think long distance relationships can work?

Signed Laurel, in Washington


Dear Laurel:

That depends. I’ve known friends who’ve romanced their grand amour from a continent away. I’ve even known ‘couples’ who continue to live with a province or several states between them – because of their respective jobs. But I don’t know…I suppose I’m old fashion.


If I’m going to put the ring on someone’s finger, at the end of each day I want that person to greet me with open arms instead of a postcard.

It’s called sacrifice and one or both of the people involved in the relationship have to make the decision to give in and move where the other is.

Aside from the fact that this other person could profess total fidelity to you over the phone or in a letter while effectively banging the Playboy triplets without you ever finding out about it, my more immediate concern here is that the long distance relationship will never develop beyond its infancy.

Think about it: you and I are corresponding to one another right now. In another time and under another pretext we could continue this détente for decades, telling one another how great we are, how much we love each other and how much we want to spend the rest of our lives together…if only…

That “if only” will not only keep you and your long distance Don Juan apart – it will keep you lonely. It’s hard enough to keep tabs on somebody who comes home after hours. But a city, state or continent away…who knows?!?

If I were you I’d do the following: if you’ve only met this person through far off correspondence, then make for a time and a place for either him to come to you, or you to go to him. Meet, discuss things – but please, DON’T SLEEP WITH ONE ANOTHER! That’s tacky.

See what the job prospects are like in both places where you live. Make sure he visits you at least once in your home town and you visit him in his at least once too. If the relationship blossoms and you decide you’d like to be with this person (and vice versa) – the decision will have to be made – does he quit his job and move to you, or do you quit your job and move for him.


Provided we’re not talking about trucking your tooty all the way to Singapore – even if you have extended family that you’re close to where you live right now – then travel for holidays, birthdays and special weekends is not entirely out of the question.

Bottom line: neither river, mountain nor a postage stamp should stand in your way from making the connection that could last a life time. Proceed with caution but by all means, proceed!

Yours truly,
The crabby critic




Dear Quotable Me:

Is it okay for a girl to let a guy know she likes him? How do I go about it he doesn't even know I'm alive.

Alicia

Dear Alicia

My question is “where have you been keeping yourself?” He doesn’t know you’re alive? Boy, that’s some secret you have.

Well, let’s see…jumping out of a cake, wearing only pasties and screaming, “Hey big boy, plant me!” isn’t exactly an auspicious start.

By my estimate there are only 4 ways to make your presence known and make a statement at the same time. So here are the three approaches to getting noticed. Only you can decide which one is right for you.

1) Find out what your cutie pie likes to do. Then put yourself in a target rich environment where he’s likely to notice you. For example: if he’s living at the local sports bar and simply worships the Detroit Tigers then you might want to show up one day at his favorite hangout wearing a Tigers jersey. You’ll win points on two fronts – first, he’ll notice you. Second – he’ll presume an interest on your part in the same things he likes.

But here’s a warning – if you have absolutely ZERO interest in the Tigers or whatever other interest he’s got, DO NOT attempt to FAKE your way into his heart. You’ll just wind up breaking it and yours and making yourself miserable.

2) If you know some of the friends he hangs out with you might want to start hanging out with them too in the hopes that he’ll show up and thereby gain an intro through a friend of a friend.

I wouldn’t go around telling his friends that you think he’s hot, cute, sexy or any other superlative you may want to attach herein. Remember, those friends are more loyal to him than you.

At the very least they’ll gossip amongst themselves, making you the brunt of their jokes. At the worst, they’ll inflate, exaggerate or lie about your intentions and whisper the whole mess to him first with something like “See that dopey little nothing over there. Man, she’s fantasizing about you in your underwear right now. She says she wants to have your child. No kidding.”

How sexy, cute or hot do you think he’ll think you are for telling someone else about your feelings first?!? If you don’t know anybody this guy knows but do know where he’s most likely to wind up next, you might want to show up there too.

3) Work from a deficiency. Let’s say Joe Studly is a rough and tumble jock type who really brings home the points in touchdowns and home runs but is a flunky at math and science. If those happen to be your forte then you could offer yourself up as a tutor. Warning: this scenario takes a lot of guts.

You have to be professional and sincere enough so that he’ll know you’re really trying to help him pass algebra or biology, while still presenting enough of an urge in the passion department so that he doesn’t look upon you as only a bookworm or ‘sister.’ If this is an office scenario: meaning you two work together and you want to get to know him better – maybe you could work on a project for the company together by offering your formidable services as an executive assistant.

4) Straight and direct is how I always play the field – only because I’m not exactly into head games or conspiracy theories on romance. Personally, I think most guys find a woman playing games or needless flirting and skirting the real issue (hey, I like you…do you like me) a rather tedious, silly, annoying and damn idiotic exercise. If you want to be direct, the next time Joe Studly walks into a room you need to brush off your shyness and march right up to him and say, “Hi. I’m Alicia. We’re in so-and-so’s class…or some such thing. I just wanted to meet you, say hello and maybe we’ll see each other around.”

Then leave it alone!

I mean, don’t leave – at least not if there appears to be a reciprocated interest to your response, but don’t go on about what a sweetheart you think he is, or how your toes ignite every time he’s near.

At best he’ll think you’ve got athlete’s foot and at worst he’ll have a tape of Fatal Attraction playing in the back of his head.

If this guy seems receptive to your modestly appointed overture and says he’d like to know more about you then let nature take its course. But if he laughs you off or says, “Get lost, baby” my advice to you is that you do just that. He’s decidedly not for you.

Finally, my motto in all things has always been, “Brace for the worst. Hope for the best.”

There’s only a certain amount of charm you can endow on this romance from afar without killing the passion totally by appearing overly anxious, desperate or just plain crazy. Don’t embarrass yourself no matter the outcome. Your reputation in general is at stake.

Even if the guy doesn’t show an interest in you right away after trying one of these methods, you’re sudden aloofness could spark the right flame in his heart thereafter. But it could also play no deciding factor whatsoever. Bottom line: You are worth more. Someday, somewhere some guy will figure that out and the two of you will make beautiful music together. It doesn’t behoove you at this early stage to allow for being easily plucked like a harp!

Yours truly
The crabby critic


Dear Crabby:

Do you think there's anything wrong with having a f*** buddy?

Sincerely, Erin



Dear Erin:

How sincere could you possibly be if all you’re interested in is a f _ _ k buddy?

And how little do you value your own body if you’re willing to use it merely as a repository for someone else’s sperm? Any guy who would want you just for that – in my opinion, at least – is not worth having, even at this superficial level.

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you’re just as cold heartless and equally as superficial and think “oh, he’s not using me…I’m using him.” That doesn’t exactly place you any higher on the scale of women out to better their lives and still have a good time.

You want to be somebody’s sex plaything because you think it gives you a kick or an upper hand in the grand scheme of love and romance – like “hey ladies, look at me. I could have any one of your husbands, boyfriends, brothers, fathers, etc…” that doesn’t make you special or even popular…it just makes you an easy mark, at best, or a whore for hire.

My advice, if all you’re interested in is sex; become a prostitute. At least that way you’ll make a little cash on the side. But before you run off to join Hefner’s House of Happy Hookers, I want to impart a story that I think will have its benefits in your decision making process.

Death, Love and Reputation are walking along the road one sunny afternoon when Death suddenly pauses. He says to his friends, “Friends, I must leave you. I’m bored and I want to return to my vocation. So, if ever you need me, look for me on great battlefields or in hospitals where very sick people reside. For you shall find me there.”

Love turns to the group and says, “Yes, I too have grown weary of this trio. So I must leave you. If you wish to find me, look in bowers under cherry blossoms or along the banks of the river where great lovers roam, or in the arms of couple’s locked in passionate embrace, for that is where you will find me.”

Reputation decides to interrupt. “Friends,” says he, “It is with great regret that I part from your company. For once you leave I am lost to you both for all time.”

Here’s to Reputation, Erin.

Want yours?

– stay away from the idea of a “f _ _ k buddy.

Yours truly,
The crabby criticby critic


Monday, February 13, 2006

STAY HUNGRY?


A Survivor’s Recap on the Quagmire of Healthy Living

Do you like hamburgers? I do. Or did, until I started getting some delightful misinformation from acquaintances who were neither vegetarian nor Marxists.

Did you hear? Wendy’s uses horse meat in its burgers. Taco Bell has kangaroo hoofs in its burritos. KFC doesn’t use real chickens - just some genetically engineered Franken-tweety with no beak or feet. That’s why they don’t refer to it as Kentucky Fried Chicken anymore.”

So that’s where all the excess Thalidomide went.

Not being one to take such outlandishness to heart – at least not without doing my own underground research - I soon discovered no truth to any of the above mentioned.

Seems our postmodern zeal for conspiracy theories on everything from the J.F.K. assassination to what’s in the ‘special sauce’ has been proliferated by fanatical anti—corporate prophets - some perhaps even more dangerously unhinged than the monolith of greed they report to be protecting us from.

Inevitably urban fast food legends crop up around the most prominent pop-culture food-producing leviathans. Like the latest McDonalds internet bru-ha over the use of cow eyeballs in their burgers, presumably to keep the cost of beef down.

Okay, morons – I checked.

Cow eyeballs sell for nearly ten bucks a pop to medical research facilities. So if Mickey-Dee’s is using Elsie from Borden’s oculars to fill in blind spots on a Big Mac they are spending far more than they would by simply sticking the rest of poor old Elsie through the food processor.

Now, before I start receiving hate mail from parents who claim Burger King gave their seven year old coronary thrombosis, or I am inundated with crates of free coupons for Jack-In-The Box and Harvey’s, I want to be clear about two things; fast food is fast but not very healthy.

Say what?

Oh, come now…like you needed to read that in print to believe it. As though the ninety-nine cent special on spicy salsa burgers means that Grade A chuck is being used to fortify your expanding waist line.

Perhaps interjection of a very old adage would suffice more clearly here: you get what you pay for.

I lump in such naiveté in the face of sensible self preservation under the same iron lung as chain smokers who, after forty-plus years on the weed, sue tobacco companies for giving them cancer.

Ring-a-ding-dong; it’s time to accept some personal responsibility for putting toxins into your own body and then expecting a clean bill of health to emerge from this fray of chemical dependency and severe love handles.

The first point I am trying to make herein is, we all eat on the go, knowing full well that whatever is ready for us to shove down our gullet by the time we have driven to the other side of the drive-thru has not been scientifically engineered or even remotely planned with considerable health benefits and overall vitality in mind.

But we do it anyway, because we’re hungry, lazy, out of time, or just plain physically at the end of our proverbial ropes by the time four o’clock comes around.

The hitherto point is that one’s options for healthy food choices might be far more narrow than merely limiting our intake at Uncle Ronald’s.

“Okay, we’re hungry” your mind says as you drive around in search of sustenance, “What’ll it be?”

Well, you might choose a bucket of preprocessed chicken partsonly I heard from a friend of a friend who knows somebody who works there, that the grease in those vats rarely gets changed, and, some of the meat suppliers are employing genetically engineered hormones to mature their fowl from egg to slaughterhouse in just six weeks. I have no idea, nor do I want to know, what that’s doing to my small intestine.

“So what’s option B?”

Well, you could skip the main course entirely and move on to a quick sugar fix…you know, something that will have your kidneys on dialysis by the end of the decade. Try ice cream washed down with a Pepsi.

Of course, I do recall reading an article by so-and-so in some such publication about cheaper brands slipping antifreeze into my Vanilla. And then, there was that scandalous bit of business about a reputable cola company using a well known narcotic in their fizz. Since I don’t want to be spun like sugar and hallucinating pink Faygo elephants on parade with my eyes wildly ricocheting back and forth like Pac-Man I resolve to forgo sugar entirely.

And quite suddenly, in between pondering the malignancies derived from Red Dye number nine (or was it six?) I am reminded of Eric Schlosser’s fascinating study of the stop n’ go; “Fast Food Nation”.

For those not already a devotee of Mr. Schlosser – this disclaimer will suffice: If, as McDonald’s mass marketing suggests, I “can still have it my way” then I simply choose to go the grocery store, pick up some ground meat and veggies and break out the grill. At least then I don’t have to contemplate the secrets in the sauce. So with Eric in mind, I turn the car around and prepare for my ritual fast and abstinence from junk food on the long drive home.

Fine.

Forget fast food.

Forget junk food.

I’ll go it natural.

Nuts and berries and that Portobello mushroom I’ve been saving for a special occasion. There’s nothing like the goodness of Mother Nature to stir a body to health and vitality.

So…do I want the veggies sprayed with this cancer-causing pesticide or that cancer causing pesticide?

@Crabby Critic 2006 (all rights reserved).


Dear Crabby:

I am fourteen years old and want to be a vegetarian. My mother won’t let me. She says I need meat to grow bones and stuff. How can I convince her to let me give up meat?

Carrie

Dear Carrie:

You can’t. You also can’t convince me that a meat free diet is entirely healthy for anyone – but particularly for a young woman whose body has yet to fully mature. You need the sort of protein that ONLY meat can provide. There are supplements out there – workout powders mostly, like ‘Creatine’ and amino acids too…but they are what they say they are – supplements – NOT REPLACEMENTS for healthy eating.

What is it about meat that you find so distasteful? Is it the actual taste of it or is it the idea that someone had to hack into a living creature to give you a hamburger?

Personally, I don’t want to see the slaughter of an animal first hand. I have in the past and it’s not pretty. But I really don’t have any trouble cutting into a steak or breast of chicken with complete immunity from feeling guilty. I suppose you think that makes me a hypocrite. Oh, well.

Here’s the deal, Carrie. Killing an animal for food is not the same as murder. It’s just not! I want to get that concept through the cement block you’ve put up between your stomach and that plate of pork sausages currently going to waste in your freezer. As human beings we’re carnivorous creatures – WE EAT MEAT! Even the most convoluted nutritionist, hell-bent on spreading the gospel according to Greenpeace, will have to admit under their professional code of ethics that a NO MEAT diet is NOT a HEALTHY diet.

Think of it this way – in case your environmentalist side is getting the better of you. As humans we damage the planet in all sorts of other ways other than through our consumption of meat.

We pee and crap into the rivers we drink from.

We wear and use synthetics like dyed wool, plastics and leather – all of which require poisonous chemicals emitted into the sky, water, earth…you name it, just so that we can sit on our couch or walk softly on our carpets.

We burn fossil fuels in cars, busses, trains, planes.

We smoke tobacco – polluting both the air and our lungs.

We slaughter innocent trees, grass, bushes and bunnies to lay down our homes, highways, and that parking lot for the new Wal-Mart moving into your neighborhood.

If you still want to live the so called clean life – then here’s a list of items I want you to junk right now before you decide to quit eating meat. Get rid of all your hair care products, make ups, (they pollute the water) CD’s, clothes that have any sort of dye transfer colors in them, magazines, newspapers and/or books (you’re killing trees), shoes (no leather, because its murdering animals). Toss out any product made of vinyl (it emits noxious fumes during the curing process), plastic (same reason). All your memories in photographs (damaging chemicals used in the developing process). I want you to bulldoze your home and start a natural preserve…I hope you’re getting my point, how utterly absurd the whole venture is quickly becoming.

I want to make it clear: I’m not advocating that you go out and buy a butt plug and live barefoot, zitful and naked in a tree hut held together by dried leaves and your own mucus. But you do have to be sensible about these things, Carrie.

Now that cooler heads and revised intellect are prevailing once again – I want you to go out and order a steak. You need meat – Carrie. Without it there are a litany of health risks and problems in store for your future. You can cut back, if you like…to say, only one meal of meat a day. But I have to tell you this, Carrie – if you’re going to cut out meat entirely, then cut out fish too – it’s an animal…and then cut out eggs for that matter. Because every yolk you dip your toast into is a little birdie that will never be!

Isn’t that a pleasant thought to end on.

Bottom line: It’s not up to you to save the world. You’re doing your own body no favors by challenging life’s natural order. You are a MEAT EATER, Carrie. If you wanted to live off of plants you should have been born a budgie.

Yours truly,
The crabby critic