This blog is now sugar FREE, fat FREE, gluten FREE, all ORGANIC and all NATURAL!!

Friday, November 30, 2012

Here’s An Idea…SAVING!

Here’s An Idea…SAVING!

When I was a kid I used to save money.  In the first grade we had a field trip to the local savings and loan.  Everyone opened up an account for one dollar and we took home a savings book.  We learned about interest.  MONEY EARNING MONEY!!

I guess I learned to save because I was a child of depression parents.  We never bought or received anything without being reminded how lucky we were to have it.  Children were starving in China, I was lucky to have spinach; when my dad was ten his toy was a hoop and a stick.  I was very lucky to have a bike.

When I got money either from my grandparents on my birthday, doing chores for an allowance or simply finding a quarter on the street I saved it.  I put some in the bank, and I squirreled some away in places that I would forget until I would find it years later. 

I would spend some money on comic books…10 cents apiece, candy…five cents for a Hershey bar, or when I really splurged, bowling…eighty-five cents for two games with shoe rental.  One year I went crazy with some Christmas money and bought a rifle cap gun for three dollars and fifty cents.  The gun broke after one year.  For years after I regretted that purchase and often calculated how much money I would have if I invested it in the bank to earn interest (at 3% compounded…$22.86 to date.)

Kids today, (kids being anyone under 27 years old) cannot spend their money fast enough.  They not only spend it as if it was going extinct, but they spend more than they have.  Give a kid $20 and he will have something that he just has to have that costs $35.  He will not wait until he saves up that extra $15, he will negotiate.

“Gee Dad, if you give me $15 today, you can just take $15 off whatever you were going to give me for my birthday.”

When my son was 18 he was already into me for Christmas and birthdays for the next 15 years.

It is this inability of the younger generations to save that got us into the economic malaise we have been in since 2008. 

Have a new Government program? Borrow!

Want a new 4000 square foot house?  No need to put 20% down, no need to have an income large enough to pay the mortgage, just put no money down, and take a balloon loan where you don’t have to pay the real cost for 5 years; by then I’m sure you’ll be making enough money to pay for it.  Besides real estate always goes up in value…doesn’t it?

The government is now deeply in debt.  Something needs to be done to shrink that debt.  We need to raise taxes.  We can’t ask for money from the poor or the middle class…their life is tough enough trying to cover those balloon mortgages. 

I know!

Let’s tax those rich assholes who’ve been saving and investing their money since they were five years old.  They have plenty by now, more than they can spend.  What’s the big deal? 

We just won’t ask them for anything this Christmas.*


*Cranky realizes this scenario does not cover the whole spectrum of our economic issues.  Please don’t get all political on me…It is called satire…making a point with a speck of truth.

Satire: a way of using humor to show that someone or something is foolish, weak, bad, etc. : humor that shows the weaknesses or bad qualities of a person, government, society, etc.       

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Toddler Talk Quiz

Noone is getting this one:

From Connor, "Ta tontrato es ear!"

Hint...Basement refinishing



Women always complain that their man cannot do anything around the house correctly.  They complain that sex we can’t follow simple erections and sex our minds seem to wander.

The problem that sex men have in doing menial chores or in finding things is that we have other more sex important thongs on our minds sex. 

Waxing the floor makes us think of waxing legs which sex makes us think of other flings.

When we do the wash, folding those delicates sex makes our minds reel.

When we vacuum the floors with that humming sucking machine, sex  somehow our minds wander.

Helping out in the kitchen does help with a man’s concentration.  For some reason chopping up carrots and celery takes our minds off other generally more pressing subjects; and then you ask if we want tossed salad sex?

“Joe…take out the garbage.” Garbage? Junk? sex I’m just saying.

“Honey…will you turn up the heat?” Turn up the sex heat? HELLO!

“The car is really dirty; will you please hose it off?” Hose it off…you’re killing me!

“Don’t forget to turn on the dishwasher.” Come on!  Who is the dishwasher? Turn on? sex That is not even the least bit subtle!

Just this week Mrs. C asked me to go in the tool sex box sex and get the Phillips head sex screw sex driver sex to tighten sex up the door knob sex.

How can you expect a man to do anything right when women obviously have a one track mind?



Wednesday, November 28, 2012


What is up with pedestrians today?  There was a time when people waited for the light to change in their favor before crossing the street.  If someone did cross early they would at least look both ways and then run/jog across the street.
People today cross the street with the light or not…with attitude.  They saunter across and never look at the traffic.  It is as if they are saying to any cars, “Go ahead and hit me…I’ll sue your ass!”
Well yeah, or probably some family member will sue for you because even if you are legally in the right, a 3000 pound hunk of metal traveling at 40 miles an hour will KILL your ass.

The other day I read about a pedestrian being run over and killed when crossing the street with the light, a mind numbed driver on a cell phone ran him over.  This was a tragedy for the young man and also for the driver.  Cell phone ignoramus or not, I feel sorry for this driver almost as much as for the street crosser, in addition to manslaughter charges she will spend the rest of her life with this on her conscience. 

Was this accident her fault?  Yes, but on the other hand, how friggin hard is it to cross the street?  You wait for the light, you look both ways and you move as quickly as possible across the street looking for traffic as you cross.  I have stopped crossing a street on several occasions because there was an idiot barreling through the light oblivious to pedestrian traffic.

It pisses me off, I flip the driver the bird, but I survive!

The other day, Mrs. C. and I were driving through our town house complex and there were six kids on their bikes in the middle of the road just talking.  Mrs. C. rolled down the window and called out to these teens.

“Hey guys, you know if I had been on the phone, or messing with the radio or if I was driving drunk I might have just plowed into you cause you’re in the middle of the road and not even looking.”

“Yeah, well you’d be going to jail, and we’d sue your ass!”


Back in the day, when traffic was not so busy as today, we used to play in the streets all the time.  We played on our bikes, we played stickball and we played street football.  We also were always on the lookout for traffic.  If we saw a car on the street someone would always yell, “CAR.”  Everyone immediately moved off the street and waved friendly like at the car as it drove past, and then we went back to playing.

We never had an attitude towards the drivers.  We never thought about law suits.  We knew the streets were for cars.  We respected 3000 pounds of moving steel, and no one ever got hurt playing in the street.

Come on pedestrians, it isn’t rocket science; it should not be that hard to safely cross a street.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012



Michael Jordon

 Have you ever been in “The Zone?”  Wait…stay ladies this is going to be about sports but it applies to lots of stuff…writing…parenting…come on, I  read you poopy diaper blogs…OK, thank you.

Have you ever been in “The Zone,” that place where whatever you are doing that you usually struggle you suddenly excel? 

I used to play pick-up street basketball.  I was not very good, probably below average.  I could dribble ok and make a layup, but anything past 10 feet and I could barely hit the backboard.  Every once in a while I would find myself in "The Zone."

Point your elbow at the hoop, feel the wrist snap and the ball just fly off the finger tips and swish!  I found the touch.  I would not miss anything.  Near…far…turn-around…anything…swish!  I found the secret to shooting baskets!

Then as soon as it came, it was lost.  I would be out of “The Zone” and throwing up bricks.

I threw the discus in High School.  I threw it 125’ to 130’ which was good enough for third and sometimes second at most track meets.  One day at practice in the last week of my junior season I found “The Zone.”  My spin and hop was right on, my foot plant was perfect and my arm and the disc exploded.  Suddenly, out of nowhere I was flinging that disc 140’ to 155’.  The last meet of the season I threw 150’ good for only third in that meet because the two best discus throwers in the state were on the other team.  Still my throw of 150’ was the third best in school history.

The following spring, my senior year, I never found “The Zone” again.  My best throw all year was 132’.

I was a pretty good golfer in my youth, playing to around a 14 handicap (score of 88-92).  One day I found myself in “The Zone.”  If I pulled the ball it sliced back to the middle.  If I pushed the ball it hooked back to the middle.  Everything I hit was clean and accurate.  I made every putt from 6’ in and chipped off the green to within 3 feet of the hole virtually every time.  In “The Zone,” I shot a 78.  I thought I had the game figured out and I would soon be a scratch golfer.  It was not to be…”The Zone” is a fickle venue.

I currently bowl in a men’s league once a week.  I am about average for the league generally scoring between 165 and 180.  Three years ago I found "The Zone." 

I set my timing to the tune of the Rascals' “Feelin Groovy,” head down eye on my mark, rolling the ball just right off my fingertips I could “feel” the ball where ever I wanted it to go.  That night I bowled a 709 series for an average of 236!  The next week I bowled a 712 series for a two week average of 237!  I was in the zone and had the game totally figured out. 

In the last three years I have never bowled a series over 611.  The Zone” is a fickle venue.

From the stories my father told me, my grandfather had this zone thing figured out.  My grandfather was an average golfer and bowler.  One golfing day he started off the first tee with a great drive, a perfect 4 iron and a ten foot putt for a birdie.  The next hole was more of the same and he scored a par.  On the third hole, clearly he was in The Zone; he hit the green on a par three with a three wood (called a spoon in those days) and knocked in a 30 foot putt for another birdie.  Grandpa, knowing The Zone was a temporary location for ordinary humans excused himself from his foursome claiming he had forgotten an appointment and left the course before he lost The Zone.  He never played golf again.

Years later my grandfather, an average bowler was trying to kill time waiting for a train while on a business trip.  There was a bowling alley under the station so he decided to bowl a few lines. 

The first game Grandpa started off with six strikes.  As an aside my father explained that in those days the pin setters who relied on tips often had a knack of kicking down the notoriously stubborn ten pin with a toe or thrown pin while they scurried out of the way.  They figured that the higher the score the bigger the tip.  Regardless, six strikes in a row was no easy feat.  As Grandpa was closing in on a perfect game he began to attract a crowd.  He missed a strike in the ninth frame and finished with a 279 score…one pin away from a perfect game.  The crowd applauded and waited to watch his next game.  Grandpa knew the zone was fickle.  He packed up and left saying he had a train to catch.  He waited quietly for three hours for that train, but he never left "The Zone."

Have you ever been in “The Zone?”  Did you stick around too long?

Monday, November 26, 2012


Some people may find this to be a chauvinistic post.  It is not.  It would be chauvinistic if the conclusions were based on women’s inferiority.  The conclusion of this post is based not on innate ability, but on basic gender differences deep in the DNA of our species.

There are several reasons why men control the remote. 

Historically, from the days of the first 8” screen TV’s, man has handled the channel searching duties.  Women did not get up to manually turn the dial; it was the man’s job.  With the advent of the remote control it was only natural that man continued the channel changing function.

Genetically, man is wired to be the hunter gatherer, women are the nurturers.  Channel surfing is a hunter gathering function.  Men know when to pause over a show and then move on to something better.  Men will skip a commercial, surf on, and know just when to return.  Men know the territory.  They skip over normally unproductive stations and go right to the primary hunting grounds.  Men know their tool.  They utilize the “PREVIOUS” button, and all search functions.

Women, being nurturers, linger on stations.  They want to give every show a chance; they hate to say no by hitting that channel-up arrow.  Women do not skip commercials, they are mesmerized by them.  Women are unfamiliar with the territory.  They will waste precious time on “Lifetime” when there might be an Ultimate Cage fighting match on the next channel.  Women do not utilize the “PREVIOUS” button, and they prefer to watch at least a small snippet of every channel before moving on.  When a woman finally settles on a show, it is over.

Women are not committed to the TV.  When a man watches TV, he concentrates on TV.  Women multitask while watching.  Women can read and follow a show.  Women can watch while working on the laptop.  Women can enjoy a TV show while also timing a roast in the oven, or a meal on the stove. 

Operating the remote requires total concentration.  Thought wavering to a different task can result in a missed opportunity for a better show.  Without total concentration, a commercial linger may miss a home run or a blocked punt on a different channel.

Women can multi-task, but men can multi-view.  Men can follow multiple shows, particularly sports while women can sometimes become confused.  A quick flip from the Giants game to the Packers and women want to know why the players changed uniforms.  A quick surf from “Two and a half Men” to “Seinfeld” takes several minutes of explaining to a woman.

If man gives up the remote, instead of watching a sitcom, an old movie and a football game in any one hour, he is subjected to “Say Yes to the Dress” and “Dancing with the Stars.”

If man is to maintain any dignity at all in his home, he must continue to control the remote!  

Sunday, November 25, 2012



Sunday is stupid headline time; here are last week’s stupid headlines and my stupider, sophomoric and sometimes offensive comments.

Woman hits 'like' on Facebook, gets arrested in India – God bless America, Land that I love…

Man accidentally gave bags of cocaine to cop’s kids on Halloween – Remorseful man claims it was all a big mistake, he intended to give them apples with razor blades.

MSNBC's Richard Wolffe smears John McCain as a racist – John McCain spent six years in a Viet Nam prison camp with untreated multiple broken bones.  He was often kept in a small cage.  He was tortured again and again for six years but refused to aid in the enemy’s propaganda or give up information.  Years later he FORGAVE his captors.  In 1993 he adopted a daughter out of Mother Teresa's orphanage in Bangladesh. If he is a racist, I am Ivan the Terrible.  What the FUCK have you ever done Richard Wolffe besides being paid to be a political whore you little twit?  You are not fit to shine John McCain’s shoes!*

Iowa man convicted of murder, but not before he pours water on lawyerMurderer liquidates lawyer.

Blogger's death in Iran offers look into government's cyber patrols – This blog doesn’t reach Iran does it? What?...Ah, you know I kid but you know it’s just for fun.  I, ah, tol ya, I love Iran…I love Islam…just jokes ya know?

2 tons of pigeon droppings found in Swedish church tower – How big do pigeons get in Sweden?

Obama Thanksgiving address: Calls to unite behind WH, doesn’t thank God – God doesn’t vote!

Former U.S. Attorney writes tell-all on NJ corruption cases – 200,000 page book is not expected to be a best seller.

Officials search for man who robbed N.J. banks wearing baseball cap – “Empty your till and hand it over…I have a baseball hat and I’m not afraid to use it!"

Paris Hilton whips up a storm in holy MeccaParis Hilton in the highly religious sexually conservative Saudi Arabia?  But then my blog’s most common Google search hits have come from “Old man gay” and “Old man little boy sex” all from the Arab world! 

For plumbers, its brown Friday – Some headlines pretty much tell it all.

When it comes to gender gap, men play crucial role – Well…yeah..without men there probably would not be a gender gap so…

For plumbers, it's Brown Friday

*Sorry for the rant, but sometimes these blowhards just piss me off.  We have an African-American President!!  It is time to pull the race card out of the deck and throw it away with the rest of the jokers!

Saturday, November 24, 2012



Recently I watched a TV talk show where tee shirts promoting drinking were excoriated.  “I vote for vodka” and “When I feel bad I get wasted” were tee-shirt examples cited.

A representative of MADD whose daughter was killed because of alcohol was on the show.  She advised that any child of hers would not be allowed to wear these shirts in her home…Clap, clap, clap, clap.

 I am on her side about drinking, it is bad and it should be discouraged especially with teenagers.  What caught my attention was when she stated that, “Studies have shown that these tee-shirts lead to teenage drinking.”

Without impugning the intent of MADD or belittling the loss this woman suffered, I have to call into question the studies she cites.  Why would anyone really do a single study much less multiple studies to determine if tee-shirts promoting drinking would actually increase teenage drinking? 

Could these tee-shirts actually cause a decrease in teenage drinking?  How would you do such a study?  I would guess that the teenage drinking might come before the tee-shirt wearing.

Once again, I am all in favor of reduced teenage intoxication, or reduced anyone intoxication.  I am just a bit tired of people citing studies to prove their point when these studies are clearly bogus.  I believe it takes credibility away from their cause.  If you lie about one thing you are probably lying about other facts.

This is why when I am in a discussion and someone cites a “Study” which confirms their stance, I ask them to cite the study, who did it, who paid for it and what was their methodology.  The reaction is generally, “You just don’t want to accept facts.”

Studies have shown that citing bogus studies to prove your assertions does not help persuade cranky old men.  

Friday, November 23, 2012


I retired in 2008.  I often joke that I love retirement, but I do miss calling in sick.  This is not actually true.

I hated calling in sick.  Even when I was really sick I hated calling in sick.  When I called in sick I felt as if I was cheating my employer.  Oh I did call in sick even when I was not in fact sick; I was not a “hall monitor” in school,* but I hated to do it.

The worst part of calling in sick was when the boss answered.  I always hoped for his secretary…never happened…bosses know the ring…they know from the time of the ring…five minutes before start time, someone is calling in sick.  The boss never gave any sympathy when I called in sick.

“Hello Frank.”


“Ah it’s cough, cough Joe.  Ah, I’m, ah not feeling well, cough, got a fever and my chest is all clogged up.”


“I don’t think I should come in today.”

“Do you think you will able to come in tomorrow?”

“Ah, hack, cough, probably…I’ll try.”

“You do that…see you tomorrow.”

Damn I hated that call.  If I was at my death bed my boss would make me feel guilty.

I probably only called in sick two or three times a year, and one or two of those were legit.

Some people took full advantage of the sick day rules.  We were allowed five instances of sickness per year.  If you were out for three days you needed a doctor’s note before you could return to work.

We had some people that believed they were entitled to five instances of absence due to illness and if they were going to miss one day they might as well take two as that was still only one instance.  Some people with connections even took three or four days and came back with a doctor’s note.

These people always pissed me off.  I pretty much knew they were faking it. They would always be sick on a Monday or a Friday, or both.  Not only were they milking the system, but when they returned to work they expected everyone to smother them with sympathy.  Often they would call in sick on a day that we knew would be really busy and everyone else would have to work extra hard or late to make up for their absence.

And then the next day we had to ask:

“Oh, how are you feeling?”

“Oh yes, of course you couldn’t make it in, hope you’re feeling better.”

“Oh good thing you stayed home, you might have given that to us all.”

Well at least those with records of high absenteeism got poor reviews and were not chosen for promotions….NOT!!  Make that NO-to the fucking-NOT!!

I guess the executives figured anyone who did not know how to scam a system to its fullest extent could not be expected to lead.

I probably should have called in like this:

“Dude, its Joe.  Look I got a chance to play 18 today and I still have three more illness instances this year so…hey and I’m probably going to be bushed after golf so don’t expect me tomorrow.  I can get a doctor’s note for Wednesday if you’ll need it.”

“Oh that’s ok, I’m sure you could get a note…I’ll expect you on Thursday.  Come in my office at 9:00 I think you might be management material.

“Hmmm…9:00 might be tough, you know we have five minutes leeway before you can mark us as late…I’ll drop by at 9:05.”

“Damn…you’re good!  Don’t bother even seeing me, you’ve got the promotion.”

I never learned how to play the system.  Just thinking about it makes me sick.

Maybe I should call in…oh yeah.


*In the US, school “hall monitors” were “Goody Two-shoes.”**

**In the US, “goody two-shoes” were “brown nosers.”***

***In the US, “brown nosers” were “ass kissers.”****

****Oh come on…everyone knows what an “ass kisser” is!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


 Suldog keeps calling for "Thanksgining Comes First."  Christmas does start too early.  Maybe one problem is there is no Thanksgiving Day music.  If we had some good traditional Thanksgiving songs maybe the Christmas Season would not start until AFTER Thanksgiving once again.  To that end I offer up my suggestion for the first traditional Thanksgiving Day song
To the tune of Buddy Holly's "Everyday" (GIYP)
Turkey Day it’s a gettin closer

Who don’t love a tasty oven roaster
A well cooked bird will surely come my way

A hay a hay a great day

 Turkey Day, goin to be a- crazy
A great big meal, then get really lazy
A well cooked bird will surely come my way
A hay a hay a great day


Turkey Day Lions get their ass beat
Either way just give me some white meat
Come that day
Right in front of my seat pumpkin pie for me
Turkey Day it’s a gettin closer
Who don’t love a tasty oven roaster
Turkey and gravy will surely come my way
A hay a hay a great day
 Turkey Day, goin to be a- crazy
A great big meal, then get really lazy
 Thanksgiving is sure my favorite day
Oh I luv, Thanksgiving Day
OK, its lame, but its a start...anything to push the Christmas Season back to where it belongs...AFTER THANKSGIVING!!
Happy Thanksgiving everyone
and after tomorrow

Wordless Wednesday

North Carolina- First in flight...last in texting.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


Join Suldog's rant Thanksgiving First! 

Thanksgiving is around the corner and with it come many traditions.  The universal Thanksgiving tradition of course is the Thanksgiving turkey.  We will have turkey as usual this Thanksgiving, but the tradition will not be the same as I remember in my youth.

When I was a child, Thanksgiving at our house held many traditions. 

The first was the traditional non-complete thawing of the bird.  Mom always bought the bird frozen.  She took it out to thaw the day before Thanksgiving.  The day before Thanksgiving was never long enough to completely thaw a 20 pound turkey.

The second tradition was the traditional four o’clock dinner being delayed until 7 o’clock because the bird was not completely thawed.  This delay was fine in that it allowed the men (everyone except mom) to watch the end of the traditional NFL football game, and the traditional trouncing of the Detroit Lions by the Bears, Packers, or Cowboys.  When dinner was ready at last, everyone was traditionally starving to death.

Despite the dinner delay, mom’s turkey was traditionally delicious.  It was never dry, never overcooked.

Along with turkey we had mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, sauerkraut (it was a German thing), green beans in mushroom soup mix with crispy onion stuff on top, creamed oysters, cranberry sauce (from the can), peas, crescent rolls, gravy and mom’s special stuffing.  All this food was spread over the finest tablecloth which was adorned with silver ware, a silver gravy boat, pepper shaker and salt.  The salt was dispensed from a traditional silver tray with a cobalt blue glass insert and a tiny silver spoon.  (My Aunt Nancy once explained the reason the insert had to be cobalt blue, I don’t remember, but there is a reason.)  We never had salad, instead there was a cut glass bowl shaped perfectly to hold celery and carrot sticks.  In addition to water and wine, everyone, even the under aged family members had a glass of Taylor’s Sparkling Burgundy.

We all always dressed up for the Traditional turkey dinner which meant coats and ties.  We sat well dressed, well scrubbed, and well starving around all the food and finery, dad at the head of the table, as my mom marched in with the star of the show, the crispy skinned golden brown turkey.

The house was filled with turkey aroma as the bird was placed in front of my father.  Stomachs rumbling, we watched in awe as the traditional carving of the bird began. 

Dad started the process by slowly and than in ever increasing speed clinking the knife with the sharpener like an Errol Flynn sword fight.  When he was done, he plucked a non-existent hair from his bald pate and faked splitting the fake hair down the middle.  Everyone laughed at this traditional carver’s joke, a joke done by my grandfather, and his father before him.

My father never stood up to carve the bird, he remained seated and in control.  First he cut the wings, then the legs and thighs, placing them on a separate plate.  He went on to cut the breast, saving a bit of the crispy skin for everyone.  The oyster, the juicy dark meat under the bird behind the thigh was saved for the master carver. Each serving was cut to order.  “White, dark, or a little of both?” was asked of everyone.  

Each plate was then passed around and covered with potatoes, beans, creamed oysters and rolls. It was finally placed in front of a starving family member who was forced to wait until everyone at the table was served. Each diner waited eagerly in front of his dish like a dog commanded to stay…stay…stay…until the last member had a plate in front of him and mom nodded her head; there was an eight second blessing, and we were all turned loose.    

The ensuing carnage was followed with pie (choice of apple, pumpkin or mince) and vanilla ice cream (Breyer’s with the specks of vanilla bean).

Thanksgiving weekend was celebrated with more football, and the traditional turkey, mayo, cranberry sauce and stuffing sandwiches.

Thanksgivings have changed since the dinners of my youth.  The finery at the table is not quite as fine, the dinner is on time and the end of the Detroit Lions mismatch is missed.  I carve the bird before the family is called to the table.  I carve standing up and with much grunting, sweating and occasional swearing.  The traditional carver’s skill was not passed on to me. 

Dinner is served buffet style.  Family members are still starved, dress is less formal and the agonizing carving wait is gone.

The turkey is still traditionally moist and delicious, and I am still traditionally thankful for the friends and family that enjoy it together.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody.                  


Monday, November 19, 2012


A classic argument between men and women revolves around men’s inability to remember dates.  Women remember the exact date of any event they consider important.  Men vaguely remember the year…maybe the month and year.  Because women remember the exact date so easily, it is very upsetting to them when a man does not also remember.

Women correlate remembering the date with caring.  If you cannot even remember the date of an important event, then you must not even care.

Mrs. C remembers the exact day of our first date.  She remembers the first day I texted to her 143.  She remembers the first day I verbalized 143 and told her I loved her.  She remembers the date of everything.  Not just the date, but the day of the week that date fell on. 

How do women do it?  What gives them this skill that men do not possess?  I think it is simply a matter of biology and anatomy.

Because of anatomical and biological womanly functions, women are keenly aware of at least one day of every month.  They know when that day is due, how many days after they will be affected and when possible, plan their activities around this day and the following 4-5 days.

Because they are always keenly aware of this monthly event they always have a frame of reference to remember all other important days in their life.

When was the first time my husband took me to a movie?  Hmmm… it was March, eight days before I was expecting my regular event…It was March 9th, a Friday.  What day did we get engaged?  It was December, two days after my monthly event ended…December 19th…a Sunday.

If women want their man to remember important dates, they should mark their calendar.  Circle your lunar event, mark the number of days that will follow, and adjust the calendar as irregularity requires.  You will be surprised at the results.

What day did Aunt Martha have her operation?  Hmmm…it was in July; three days before…you know…that would make it July 19th…a Tuesday.


To really drill the importance of dates to your mate, inform him that every month you are going to kick him in the balls when he least expects it, and make sure he knows what day that event will occur.

When are we supposed to go out with the Frankles?  Hmmm…As I recall it will be one week after you kick me in the balls this month…that would be the 17th…Saturday.

It is really very easy to remember dates, as long as you have a consistent frame of reference.