Last Wednesday night one of my teeth started having tremors. It's a bad tooth. It was scheduled to be removed once the areas of the extractions I had two weeks ago healed. I had babied it. Coddled it. Talked nice to it. No solid foods. Topical numbing solution. Got through it. Seemed to settle down. I was going to make it.

Thursday morning. Bit of a throb when I woke up. No surprise really. I mean the tooth is broken. I have an appointment to get it removed in a week. Took some pain med's grabbed an ice pack and chilled. I'm woman enough for this. It's just flaring up a bit. Just fluids today. I still have hydrocodone from my recent escapade. Fell asleep.

Late Thursday afternoon. THROB. And electrical pulsing. Ever accidentally chew foil? Yeah. Like that. More codeine. More ice. Tears. My world revolves around THE TOOTH.

I have tools. I have pliers of all kinds. Hammers. Vice grips. I can use a screwdriver as a chisel. At what point did I decide that calling the dentist wasn't necessary? I forget.

Thursday. Ten PM. I would have to feel better to die. I drug myself into a coma.

Friday. Eight AM. I call the dentist and tell them what's happening. Good news, they can see me right away. Bad news, I can't see my dentist, his schedule is full. I can see his brother who has just joined the practice. I'm going to argue?

My chauffeur (I call him dad) picked me up and we were on our way. I'd taken my muscle relaxer and tranquilizer. Number 31 (I know this because I have a copy of my $5800.00 treatment estimate) was still throbbing and shooting pain. I couldn't swallow well. My throat and jaw were swollen. My ear hurt. But sweet relief was within my grasp.

When I was taken back to the 'chair' my regular dentist appeared and gave his brother the rundown on my treatment plan, my anxiety issues, my resistance to Novocain, blah, blah, blah. He seemed to pay attention. It was hard to tell, him being twelve and all.

First he has to check things out. Like I don't know which tooth it is. He gets the silver hammer and bangs on all of the teeth on that side to see if any other teeth are affected. Then he has to get the sharp steel spike and jab the tooth. Dumbass. I jump and rear back. 'So that is the one." No @!$%#, I'm thinking. The broken one. Red gums. Inflamed. Exposed nerve. The one I told you it was. Ya think?

"Well, we'll get you numbed up really good and get that out of there in no time. You've got an abcess going on, that's why you're having so much pain. Aside from the exposed root."

Thanks, Einstein. He shoves the Q-tips of goo in my mouth and disappears for a few minutes. He is not his brother. I'm in pain. I should give him a break.

He and his lovely assistant return. Syringe in hand. He advises me to bear with him. It may be a little sensitive due to the location and the infection. In other words, suck it up. He gave new meaning to the word understatement. Keeping in mind that I have taken both a muscle relaxer AND a tranquilizer, he hit places that sent shockwaves to other places I didn't know I had. I sucked it up alright. They'll have to re-upholster the chair. He said he'd give it a chance to work and be back soon. Yippee. I'm re-thinking giving him a break.

I turned on my i-Pod and pretended I was having my leg amputated.

He returned before I got to the bone saw.

He poked it. Again. With the sharp explorer. This time I stiffened up. Levitated. Pulled away from him and gave him the evil eye. He gave me the needle. Again. In the same areas as well as new and exciting places. I tried slow deep breaths, disassociating, counting, anything. How long could this last? It was excruciating. My eyes watered. I went cold. I was shaking. He said this should do the trick. Ah, the kiss of death. A sick, sick man.

Third time. Different medication. He would have to drill a hole in the side of my tooth through the gum. A drill and more needles. Wait. Poke with probe. Jumped into assistants lap. They say that dentist's have the highest suicide rate of any profession. I found out that is not true. I can't find any statistics on dentists and homicide.

Fourth time. Ninety minutes in. Dr. de Sade tells me he has one last trick. It always works. (If it always @!$%#ing works, why didn't we try this, say, an hour ago?) His chirpy assistant says it's like an epidural for your tooth. Whatever. Like I believe a word that comes out of either of their mouths by this time. He crams whatever it is in my mouth. It feels like he's hammering sheet metal into my gums. I don't care about the pain. Kill me and then take the tooth out.

Following the 'application' of the tooth block, he goes in to remove the tooth. It takes about a minute. Kind of anti-climactic. Still incredibly painful. He marvels at how infected the tooth is. "Why it's just mush inside. No wonder you were in so much pain." Funny. I wonder if he has blinding headaches every day. The Marquis would be proud.

I get packed with gauze, handed a prescription for more pain med's and sent on my way. It's over. Or is it?

It's a subject that needs to be brought into the light. Men do it. Women do it. Some should do it more...or less. Sometimes it's spoken about in passing. Sometimes we talk about it amongst each other. The time has come to open up and tell it like it is. It's grooming. I'm not going to cover basic cleanliness, showering and the like. If you don't do that, you're not reading this anyway. Some of these things have long been a mystery and should. Some have been a mystery and it could be they should remain so. Get over it.

Eyebrows: Puzzling right? Women spend so much time plucking and waxing to get the 'perfectly' shaped brow and perish the stray hair. Then use a pencil to fill them in. I know, crazy huh? Some women shave or remove the brow ENTIRELY and then draw the whole thing in. I guess to they can be artistic and create a brow that suits their mood. Actresses in the 30's and 40's did this. Some cultures do this. Do we need to do this? Sounds a little labor intensive. Or redundant. Or something. As I get older I find that mine are thinning. Thinning?! Why can't the hair on my legs thin? More on that later.

And guys. Eyebrow grooming isn't just for girls anymore. The unibrow went out with cro-magnon man, but then he didn't have tweezers. There should be a gap between the eyebrows...plural. Clean it up a bit. By the way if you can comb or style them, they need to be trimmed. Enough said.

Facial Hair: Everybody has it. Yes, I said everybody. I have heard a gazillion (give or take) men complain about shaving everyday. STFU. Shave your legs. Have a beard or moustache? Keep it neat, keep it clean and groom it. If you have a splayed bristle brush on your lip, well...not so much. And Grizzly Adams was cancelled. Why? Because of his beard. There are myriad tools on the market to tame the savage beast. Invest. While you're at it, pick up that handy tool that will ream out the nose and ear hair. There is nothing sexier than a man that looks like he has a small rodent hiding in his nostrils. Hubba, hubba.

Don't think you are alone. You mock women with a 'moustache'. Really? Try menopause, hormones, thyroid or bad damn genes. Wiry chin hairs. Sideburns. Lip hair. And they appear out of NOWHERE! One day all clear. Next morning, BAM! Lest I forge, wild nipple hairs, fu..pluck that. It's a beautiful thing. There's a multi-million dollar market aimed at hair removal for women. Tell that to your Italian grandmother.

Fingers and Toes: Another industry making money hand over fist. (Couldn't resist.) From lotions to acrylic, a fortune is spent by women to keep those fingernails looking good. Not all women certainly. Short, clean nails are great. That said, jagged broken nails with a crescent of grime under them is...gross. Um, let me shake your hand. It's not good on ANYONE. Gentlemen, women notice this. Seriously.

Some men like long, sexy fingernails but I hear more men talk about feet. A person can actually get fake nails on their toes! That's having too much time on your...hands? The main thing for everyone, clean. Having a pedicure is relaxing, you don't have to go to a spa. Healthy feet are important. Dirty jungle feet. Well. I have seen heels that could be used to sand furniture, and again this goes for the guys too. You won't lose your 'man card' if you trim your nails and use some damn lotion once in awhile. (That doesn't mean gnawing them off. Don't ask how I know.) I saw a guy yesterday who should have been arrested for wearing flip flops. His toenails were a deadly weapon. If you weren't at least inspired to vomit, he could cut you. I kid you not.

Leg Shaving: Gack! As previously mentioned, when men complain about shaving their face everyday I want to...well they should shave their legs everyday for a week. Please. Just think about the surface area. The curves, angles, the contortions. You get the picture. Here's a hint: If you notice that your lady has rendered her gams into a state of sexy, silky smoothness, say so. Appreciate it. If you notice stubble or roughness. Keep it to yourself. Your (sex) life may depend on it. You have hairy legs (the majority of you) start nagging about ours and we might revolt and go all European on your asses.

The Other Things: There is a lot of grooming going on in the nether regions. The Brazilians are a twisted people. I know many, many people have this procedure done to one degree or another. All in an effort to make the 'area' aesthetically pleasing. And to wear a string that goes up your ass and walk on the beach. The idea of wax being applied from stem to stern and the hair being ripped out just doesn't appeal. (Although some places offer what's called 'Scream Cream' before waxing to numb the area. Pffft.) Yeah, I'll go hang out with the toenail guy. Speaking of that, the guys do it too. Somehow that idea makes me more nauseous than women having it done. A little trimming and grooming is one thing. S&M is another. But that's just me.

As an aside, a new trend in the realm of grooming and sex appeal...Vajazzling. Yep. If you have money to burn and want to feel sexy (?) this is for you. You can now decorate your vagina and southward with rhinestones and Swarovski crystals. I know! After the aforementioned waxing you can have jewels applied regionally for that sexy sparkle your man is going to LOVE! God knows he would have nothing to do with you if there wasn't the possibility of getting the imprint of hearts and flowers on his...himself. They stay glued on for up to 5 days. What a deal!

Dear Aunt Addy,

I need help. I have a neighbor whose son has one of those 'bumping' stereos in his car. He drives around and comes in and out at all hours of the day and night literally vibrating the mobile homes surrounding us. Living next door is a nightmare! I've talked to my neighbors to no avail. I even contacted the police, they issued a citation for an infraction of the noise ordinance. It seemed to make it worse. I am tired of constantly being 'interrupted' by this and worse, being woken by this on a frequent basis. I fantasize about blowing that punk's dashboard out with a shotgun. What do I do?

Signed,

Vibrating in Virginia

Dear Vibrating,

While I understand your frustration, your fantasy about the shotgun will only land you in jail. You can continue to contact the police in the hope that after several citations the young man will see the error of his ways. I would attempt to discuss this issue with the parents once more to resolve the issue. If you feel that no solution can be reached then I say take matters into your own hands. One option that comes to mind is to invest ten to twenty dollars in an air horn. After the young man is home in bed, (you'll likely be awake anyway) head outside and blast that air horn right outside his bedroom window. Be sure to give him time to get to sleep. If you happen to miss his room and get the parents, so much the better. Do this a few times and perhaps he will get the hint. If you are approached about this, deny everything and demand proof. Vandalizing the stereo is too obvious. Soaking his car seat with water...not so much, and no permanent damage. Mind those fingerprints. Finally, you can always gamble on getting a citation of your own and do a John Cusack in "Say Anything" scene and stand outside his window with a boom box blasting a particularly heinous song. I recommend Escape (The Pina Colada Song) or anything by Barry Manilow. Good luck to you.

Aunt Addy

Need advice? Contact Aunt Addy through neenie1991

Hello gentlemen! The time has come for me to get back out in the dating and loving world! I got some advice from the interweb and decided to take a big breath and get to it! They say to be honest, be specific and be positive. NO problem. I call it like I see it. I do. I'm told you guys like to know what a gal looks like too. I'll do my best. Here goes!

Now, I'm no beauty queen, but I wouldn't describe myself as a double-bagger either. I would put up a picture but the last time anyone got one of me was at the Volunteer Fireman's picnic in 1998 and I didn't look my best. It was a very hot day and I was sweatin' like a politician in a confessional. What could I do but take my bra off. The spandex shorts were sticky enough. The old biddies from church were scandalized, but the kids had a great time flinging water balloons with my brassiere. Anyway, not the most flattering photograph. I'm not sure what exactly HWP means to a person. I'd have to say I'm a cross between say, Dog the Bounty Hunters wife Beth (Don't you love that show?) and that actress Kirstie Alley. I don't have all that hair. Funny story. I was in Wal-Mart a couple of weeks ago buying some shotgun shells and some guy is testing out a fishing rod and damned if he didn't hook that thing into my wig and yank it right off! Scared the bejeezus out of a four year old in the next aisle. Some people got zero sense. My wig hasn't been the same since. He did buy the rod though. You gotta look at the bright side. I do have most of my teeth, the important ones. People say that the mole on my left cheek is so distracting that they really don't notice that I'm cross-eyed. That's a blessing. I'm told that I have nice legs considering. They say not everybody shows off cankles like I do. I think it's because I don't shave my legs. Texture is important and it sets me apart from the rest of the crowd. So I guess that about covers the "looks" department. Well, I am missing two fingers on my left hand but it pains me to talk about it, I just can't forgive my cousin Ernie for that.

I live in a fine home. I own it free and clear. It's a double-wide with a carport and it's own shed. Don't worry about me looking for a sugar daddy. I can take care of myself. I'm also a great cook. I fry up some tasty catfish. Also, my Cajun frog legs are to die for. (Giggin' for frogs is a fun hobby, I am an outdoorsy gal.) And nothing tastes better than a pan of brownies with chocolate sauce, ice-cream, whipped cream and nuts. Now, if I'm going to have a caller, I'll make two pans.

I am an animal lover. No...I am not one of those crazy cat ladies you hear about. I only have 7 and they have their own room. It’s weird but the house settled kind of funny in that back corner and everything rolls to the south wall. I made the best of it. I just pour about 30 pounds of kitty litter along that wall and presto! a ready made litter box. Clever, right? Once every month or two I shovel it out the window and do it again. You know what they say, necessity is the mother of intervention.

Lastly, when it comes to things of an intimate nature, I have to say I've never heard any complaints. I share my bed with my 150 pound English mastiff Tiny, but he doesn't mind if I have an overnight guest. He'll just scooch on over. He won’t get in the way of any “activities”. I wouldn’t make any loud noises though. Just in case. I am a rather heavy sleeper and Tiny does snore. I believe that's why previous guests have found it necessary to leave before sunrise in an effort to get some rest. Sad really, I perform best sexually in the early morning.

By now I think you must have a pretty good picture in your mind of the kind of woman I am. I can be a handful but I think I'm quite the catch. I've had men tell me I'm just too much woman for them. It's a curse. If you think you are the man, shoot me an e-mail and let's get together.

Oh, by the way, you can't catch me on Wednesday nights, that's bingo night at the VFW hall.

Dearest Lydia,

Greetings from New York! It's been a long time, has it not? Can you believe it's been 30 years? Imagine my surprise when I ran into Melanie last week at the spa and she told me you and Mark were living in a lovely retirement resort in Boca Raton. I am so happy for you. Never in my wildest dreams did I think Mark would have the kind of success that would allow you to retire early and live in comfort in a beautiful tropical locale! Good for you!

You may have heard that my husband George passed three years ago. Poor man. I miss him terribly. His funeral was very well attended of course. Naturally, everyone who was anyone was there. Many members of his staff were particularly broken up, especially the young women. He was a mentor to many. You know what a giving, wonderful man he was. As soon as I laid eyes on him in college I knew I had to make him mine. (I know you've forgiven me for that whole homecoming dance dust-up. The heart wants what the heart wants.) The fact that his family was wealthy was certainly a bonus. Not that it had any bearing on my feelings for him. We had a wonderful marriage in spite of his long hours and business trips. The terms of his will were a little puzzling but as you know, I am all about forgiveness and generosity!

The point of this missive, you will be thrilled to know is that I'm coming to visit! Exciting, no? I'll only be able to stay for two weeks, I wish it could be longer, try not to be too disappointed. We have so much catching up to do. Remember the time I tore the zipper on my Christmas formal so I wore yours instead? You were so angry! The things we did. Water under the bridge they say. You have to admit it was funny when I took your car and got into that little fender-bender. Your parents were livid! You were so understanding about why I lied to them about it. C'est la vie!

A few details before I arrive. My plane will land at 10:20 am, Delta flight 428 on the 20th. You don't have to pick me up yourself, just send a car. Of course you'll be serving lunch when I arrive, but you need to be aware that I rest between one o'clock and two in the afternoon daily. Must get my beauty rest! Incidentally, I must have absolute quiet. I am a very light sleeper. If there is a television, radio or even talking within 100 feet I am utterly unable to sleep. My earplugs are helpful, but there it is. By the way, I can only sleep on down filled pillows and 1500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. If you don't own any I can recommend some excellent places to acquire them.

The good news is that at 2:00 I am refreshed, ready to re-apply my make-up and by 3:00 I will be prepared to take in all of the wonders of your little corner of the world, as long as I get my ice cold, aridly dry Belvedere martini by five o'clock! I find I get sluggish if I don't maintain my schedule. I'm sure you understand.

By the way, I have a horrific allergy to pets. If you have cats or dogs I'm sure it won't be too much trouble to have all of your carpets and upholstery thoroughly cleaned and the pets removed from your home during my stay. I'm sure boarding them for two weeks won't be a problem Think of it as a vacation for your pets!

Lastly, I do have a few dietary issues. Firstly, I only drink Kona Hawaiian Organic coffee. I special order it. I have enclosed the information needed to order it. It is delicious. I don't eat anything with sugar in it. This is how I maintain my perfect size 4 figure. You'll discover how simple it is. I hear you've put on quite a few pounds since I've seen you. No worries, we'll fix that in a jiffy! I have a six ounce glass of grapefruit juice for breakfast but it must be freshly squeezed and strained. I detest pulp. I would squeeze it myself but the texture of the fruit itself makes me shiver. I'm sure you understand. Oh, by the way, I rise at 9:00 am and bathe for 20 minutes exactly. I use only white towels, 1 bath sheet and 1 regular towel, as well as a face cloth. A fresh set daily. I will be ready for breakfast at eleven. Other than that, I adore salads ( no iceberg lettuce of course), no red meat, free range chicken only, no spicy foods, never pizza or Chinese food, Italian food is simply too fattening. Fish is fine as long as it's tilapia, salmon or fresh tuna. Only organic vegetables. And no butter of course.

My heavens, that wasn't so bad was it? If you wouldn't mind could you forward the names and numbers of a few reputable spas and salons? If I don't get my hair and nails done every third day I'm a complete wreck! We can go together! Perhaps you can get some facials or a peel to address the sun damage you likely have on your face. You never were one to worry about your looks, but then some of us have more to invest in than others. It will be fun.

I just know you are as excited as I am. Hopefully Mark is an avid golfer or busy with other 'hobbies' so we can spend quality time together. I do go to bed at 9:30, so the two of you can visit with each other if you're so inclined.

Very truly yours,

Stephanie

P.S. In the event that you have furnishings with synthetic fibers, please cover them with cotton or other natural fabrics. My skin is delicate and easily irritated by polyester, rayon and the like.

I'm through with menopause. Finished. Whew. I had surgically induced menopause ten years ago at age 35. I could not wait for my girl guts to be removed. They had caused me nothing but time, trouble and pain since the advent of my period or as it was once called, aptly for me, the curse.

I knew there were myths about 'the change'. I remember my Grandma and aunts talking about it. I thought we had become more enlightened. It’s the 21st century. I thought that as women we were a sisterhood, we communicated better, had more answers, shared and didn't keep secrets. I was WRONG!!!

Oh, there are lots of cute little jokes about hot flashes or power surges. Night sweats, hair loss and hair growth, skin changes and incontinence. Newsflash! These are just the tip of the iceberg and your post-menopausal friends are hiding the dark secrets of menopause from you. They're hiding their sadistic glee at watching you go through it, this is one of the symptoms.

Hot flashes: Sounds kind of harmless. Heat. Flash. A momentary feeling of being of overheated. Not! A hot flash is walking into 4x4 room with kiln wearing a fur coat while having heart palpitations, the door slamming behind you. Your skin feels like you feel asleep during a heat wave in Death Valley. This can last for several minutes, but it only seems like hours. Oh, and it can happen several times a day. Power surge my ass.

Night sweats: Closer to being apt. However you don't wake up in the morning with damp pajamas and say "Oh my, I must have become a little overheated whilst the sandman was here." Nay, nay. You will wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. You'll think you have suddenly developed malaria. Your light sleeping t-shirt is so wet you could wring it out and water your houseplants. Your hair is plastered to your skin. You are sticky and clammy as are your sheets and your pillow. You dry off, change and cool off, somewhat refreshed. Weary, bleary and confused you return to your slumber. Get your rest! It could happen again. Tonight.

Hair loss/Hair growth: Now gray hair isn't the only issue to be concerned about, the hair can begin to thin OR there is hair loss, on your head! Male pattern baldness (sexist, I know), the color starts to fade. The curtains no longer match the rug. Sometimes. Many women lose hair and gray "down there" as well. Have you had a woman "friend" mention this. Pffft. Then, yes it gets worse. Hair growth. Oh sure, make jokes about the poor guy whose eyebrows, nose hair and ear hair have grown out like kudzu. But be careful. Karma may bite you in the butt. Some men look great with a mustache. Women...not so much. I now have one. On one side. Sparse. But it's there. Bleach products have the effect of battery acid on my face, but feel free to try that. Plucking works, but it is hard to see in the mirror when you're crying. Electrolysis or laser is an option if you have a college fund for your child you want to dip into. I use a razor. Then...you have the wild hairs. We're talking about hair that could be harvested and used in the brushes used to clean barbeques. I have five on my chin and neck. Black as the ace of spades on my fair, aging skin. And nobody tells you about the gray, yes gray, and black hairs that appear around your nipples. Woo hoo! I didn't groom this much when I was twenty. Tweezers are my friend, they are not a tool, an instrument or some kind of handy plucking device. They are literally, my friend.

Skin changes: In the best of times, my skin was never great. After menopause, well some may blame it on aging, BUT remember I went through this at 35. Brown spots. Thickening. Glow? Brightness? Smooth and elastic? Yes! I buy Dutch Boy semi-gloss in nude peach and roll it on everyday. Delightful. Fills in pores and wrinkles, covers spots, evens out skin tone and gives you that youthful glow. Plus you can buy it by the gallon! Oh, and your neck. Remember in grade school when you would take your Elmer's glue and spread a thin coat on your hand and watch it dry and get crinkly and kind of like snake skin. Yeah, well that's what your neck will look like. And there's nothing you can do about it. Deal with it.

Incontinence: You thought you experienced this when you were pregnant. You were told to do Kegels and work those muscles and whip everything back into shape. Well, that is a lie perpetuated by the Kegel Foundation. You're going to work those muscles all right. Holding it in. This particular 'symptom' can develop into a real handicap. You actually have to stop and consider whether you want to sneeze, cough, stand-up, drink coffee - or anything, laugh, fart, bend over, I could go on. Who can control all of that and their bladder? I defy you to do it. Go ahead. Really. Try.

Being a woman is great. I wouldn't have it any other way. I just think it's time for someone to speak up and get these issues out in the open. No more cover-ups. No more illusions. We can handle it. Information is POWER! Sweaty broads with hairy chins UNITE!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to change my underwear. Damned allergies.

They sound the same but they are spelled differently and mean different things. They also confuse the hell out of people and sometimes it's just plain funny.

Homonyms are words that are identical to other words in spelling or pronunciation, or both, while differing from them in meaning and usually in origin. Or something like that.

Mainly, they can befuddle and frustrate. There are some very common ones seen everyday on Newsvine and elsewhere. They are fun to play with in puns and jokes. Here is an idiotic example:

Joe said the little plain landed over their on rode 26. Eye didn't sea it until the toe-truck that picked it up came in too town. I've herd they had engine trouble and landed wear they could, road 26 was the closest thing to a runway. Joe said he saw the hole thing plane as day, he was sure a crash was coming, but their was know place fore them to go. He said that pilot was doing sum quick thinking, people could have been killed or worse.

There, they're and there are commonly misunderstood or misused. One I see a lot is lose and loose. Sometimes a person can be described as a "loose cannon". I would wonder about someone who could lose or misplace a cannon.

This is what I saw on a church marquee yesterday - "Find Piece with Christ"

I think we are all guilty of it at one time or another. Will you admit to it? Do you have a favorite?

After hanging around the third rock from the sun for 45 years I've come to a few conclusions about life and the world. Just my opinion of course. Many I really believe to be true. Many are just questions I have that there are probably no good answers to. Some are just things I ponder. So here is a random list. Tell me what you think.

1) When drinking wine, if you top off your glass before it is empty, it still counts as one glass.

2) Having a kid can be awesome and suck at the same time.

3) Why don't kids go barefoot or run in sprinklers anymore?

4) People worry about leaving the iron on, but it rarely happens.

5) Senseless murders are always talked about on the news. What about the sensible ones?

6) You don't have to like someone to love them.

7) Snow is great if you don't have to drive in it.

8) There's too much information. Period.

9) When you lose an earring, you will find its mate after you've given up and thrown the other one away.

10) All babies are cute when they yawn.

11) A cold beer is best after mowing the lawn in ninety degree weather.

12) It's not visa-versa.

13) The traffic report that tells you about the wreck up ahead is broadcast right after it's too late for you to do anything about it.

14) You have to sit at the kids table until everyone dies.

15) Just because someone asks you to marry them doesn't mean you have to say yes.

16) Why do all coffeepots say eight cups? Who has cups that small?

17) When the powers goes out, at some point you forget and try to turn something on.

18) No one is on the fence about fruitcake.

19) You don't meet a soulmate. You become one.

20) People who say they don't swear have never stubbed their toe in the dark.

21) People who say we don't have time travel don't read books.

22) At my age if I had it to do over again, it would take alot longer.

23) When you tell your son to use 1 cup of sugar to make the kool-aid, make sure you tell him it's not any old cup.

24) If you look down and don't see pubic hair, don't wear a cropped shirt.

25) Chain letters are the herpes of the internet.

26) Sex is highly overrated. Unless you're not getting any.

27) Everyone who has friends is rich. It's recession proof.

I've been around the block a couple of times. Gotten a little experience with the opposite sex. If a man were to ask me for some advice about women, particularly of the er...romantic nature I'd have some thoughts. I'd like to run it by the girls first. What if it's just me that feels this way?

The first thing that comes to mind is what I call the Butt Claw. Seems like every guy thinks this is hysterical. Doesn't matter if he's 18 or 80 ( I haven't had this experience at the higher end of the spectrum, I'm guessing here).
You're lowering yourself onto the couch, drink in hand, and just as your hindquarters reach the surface, BAM!, your true love has placed his hand/claw under your ass in order to grab and startle you. What a riot! He is beside himself. He laughs at cleverness. He thinks he has invented this, and that you will laugh too! Not.

Another. Standing at the sink doing the dishes. He walks up behind you and reaches around to tweak a nipple. Sexy. When this happens to me I want to throw him on the floor and ravish him right there. That's foreplay mister. Really. How about next time you're checking the oil, I come up behind you and tweak your nuts, and laugh uproariously. I bet you'll get a kick out of it too.

My all-time favorite though, bar none. The title of my book. My epitaph. "A Stiff Dick in My Back at 3:00 AM is NOT Foreplay". I am dead asleep and I wake up to a persistent nudging in my backside. That first few seconds, when you're not sure what woke you up. The realization. The eyeroll. The internal, 'he couldn't come up with anything better than this?" (Pun intended?) I don't have a problem with a little after midnight delight, an ambush is another thing.

After all these years, liberation and openness I thought that some of the guys would develop some technique and skill. Maybe I pick the wrong men.

My first bra shopping expedition was with my mom. Ah, a milestone for a twelve year old. From the beginning it was a humiliating experience. When mom announced the reason for the outing, dad said "Why the special trip? All you need is a box of Band-aids." Thanks dad.

We went to a small local department store. I made my way to the lingerie section and furtively perused the selection of flimsy 1970s A-cup bras with the requisite pink bow or yellow rose in the center. Why? I thought. NOBODY was ever going to see my bra. EVER.

After making my choices, I slunk to the dressing room to try them on. While struggling with the mechanics of putting on my first bra, a femalevoice came through the curtain, "Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes," I mumbled. Then the saleslady pulled back the curtain! Are you joking! I'm in a bra! With a pink bow! Already my illusions are shattered. Does this happen to everyone? I turned and covered myself. Now I would have to get the one with the yellow rose.

We purchased two bras that day. I could not look the saleslady in the eye. I knew there would be a photo of me in the next day's paper, 'Budding Pre-Teen Gets First Bra'. She and mom were actually talking about bras. Out loud. In public. Bras, bras, bras. My horror and shame knew no bounds.

It's been over thirty years and a lot has changed.

Those first bras were white. Period. At the time, for girls there were mainly white bras and bras that were white. Now there are more kinds of bras than rednecks at a NASCAR race. A smorgasbord. Myriad. Legions. Masses. Multitudes. A seemingly innumerable selection of fabric and wire breast supports.

And I can't find one that fits. Seriously.

I don't wear an A-cup anymore. Or B. I decided to search the internet for information on how to measure myself for the perfect bra fit.

After visiting several websites I discovered there was a general consensus regarding bra fit and measurement. Great! This was going to be a walk in the park! With bra-fitting wisdom in had, I got my trusty measuring tape out of the sewing box and retired to my bedroom, confident in the knowledge that in minutes I would emerge bearing the elusive combination of letters and numbers that would set my breasts free by properly confining them.

According to the instructions, the first step to finding your correct size is finding your band width. Begin by wearing your best fitting bra. Measure directly under your bust (gently but firmly),expelling air as you do so, you want the measurement to be as small as possible.

Now, if you are sagging in this bra (duh), tighten the straps until the crest of your breasts are approximately half-way between the elbows and shoulder. This is the proper alignment for most breasts (most breasts?), at the same time making sure the tape is level all the way around your body and parallel to the floor. This is critical.

Well, my breastage is so saggy that using the straps on my bra and lifting for proper alignment would be akin to using dental floss to hang a chandelier. My solution was to stand on my head. I nearly suffocated. Then I fell over, cracked my knee on the nightstand and knocked over a lamp. You had to be there. Or not. I decided to do it their way.

So, per instructions, when you take this measurement, round to the closest whole inch, either up or down. For example 29 3/8" would be 30", 30 5/8" would be 31", BUT because band sizes are in even numbers, you must add 4 inches if you have and even number and 5 inches if you have an odd number.

This is when you realized there is a real possibility that alge(bra) can be used in real life.

This process took approximately one hour and ten minutes. I took a nap.

Another method for finding your band sized is to measure around your body, straight across your back and chest, directly above the bust at underarm level. Again, expel air, and keep the tape measure parallel to the floor. Do your best! If this measurement is an odd number, add one inch and the result is your band size. Why didn't I do this in the first place?

This process took about 45 seconds. Had a drink. Or two.

Moving on to cup size. Picture this. Standing straight, with your arms at your sides, measure around your body at the fullest part of your bust. (While wearing the aforementioned crappy bra that doesn't fit). Again, with your bust apex being midway between your elbow and shoulder. How, you ask, do you measure your boobage while you have your arms at your sides? Duct tape. Take a strip of duct tape six to inch inches long and affix it to the center of your measuring tape, then attach it to your back at the bra closure. Level, of course. Bring each end of the measuring tape around to the front and place them in your mouth. With your elbows firmly at your sides, reach up with your hands, (in the manner of a seal) and grab an end of the tape with each hand. Do you follow? Measure across the bustine with the tape just touching, but not binding. Round the resulting measurement up or down to the nearest inch as you did to find the band size.

Now, after I ripped the duct tape off my back, I got my pencil and index card. Per my instructions, I subtracted the band sized measurement from the second measurement, this would give me my cup size. For example, 38" minus 34" would equal a D cup. What could be easier? A cup for every inch. Or is it an inch for every cup?

So, I discovered I am a 36DD not a 42Long. It took only one day, and ice pack, duct tape, a lampshade, three ibuprofen, and half a...well it took some vodka.

The next morning I woke up refreshed and excited, albeit with a slight limp. I prepared to journey to my favorite department store. I put my dingy ill-fitting bra on for the last time and hit the road. The index card with the magical code grasped tightly in my hand. I would soon acquire beautiful, lacy, smooth comfortable bras. I would emerge from the mall, giddy and triumphant!

I arrived at the store and hustled right to the lingerie department and made a beeline for the bras. The choices! I picked out four bras almost immediately. I found a sales person to let me into a dressing room. Normally I detest trying on clothes, particularly bras, not today! This was going to be a revelation!

The first one I tried on seemed a little tight at the apex. Aha, I said to myself, I forgot to bend over and do the ta-ta tango. This is where you lean over and sort of jiggle and settle the girls into the cups and then stand up and pull the straps over your shoulders. So I did. I look in the mirror and discover that I have muffin boob on the left side. Not good. Obviously this is a defective bra. It happens.

Bra number two made me looks as though I was wearing one of those bullet bras from the 50's. The pointy cone ones. I picture Ann-Margret in a tight sweater dancing in an Elvis movie. It looked good on HER. Back THEN. Madonna revived this look. It didn't look good on HER. EVER.

The third one squinched my chest in such a way that it looked like I had four breasts. While in theory the idea of four of them would be nirvana in the opinion of some men, it was decidedly not appealing to me. My eyes began to sting.

I didn't try the fourth one one.

I left the dressing room. Deflated. The sales person asked me if any of the bras worked for me.

"Not really", I said.

"I'm sorry. Would you like me to measure you? Perhaps you're not choosing the right size. You know, sometimes bra fit varies from brand to brand."

"Really? I was kind of hoping for a perfect fit." My knee started to throb. I handed her the bras and headed for the exit.

As I hobbled to the car, crumpling the index card with my carefully written measurements, I wondered if there was any vodka left.