Archive for category General Humor

Why Women Can’t Sleep

I never understood why women seem to always have trouble sleeping. So I set out to do a little investigative work and see if there was validity to this. As I Googled “Why women can’t sleep” it got 86,600 results. Out of curiosity I decided to remove the “wo” from “women” and see what Google spat out. I was actually floored when it returned 5…yes that is right…5 results, of which the first two were actually links that said “Why Women can’t sleep,” the 3rd link was about men and women sleep problems, and I guess the last two were actually legit.

The funny thing is that one of the common links for why women couldn’t sleep led me to the following picture and caption:

Every one of those little blue balls is a thought about something that needs to be done, a decision or a problem that needs to be solved. 

A man has only 2 balls and they take up all his thoughts.


I knew it!!! Not so much that men’s balls take up all his thoughts but rather how busy a women’s mind is and this highly scientific diagram proves it! It’s all too common that I hear a woman confess her sleeping issues. It probably makes little sense to me because I, like most men, have this ear button that when depressed by a pillow it renders me five-levels deep in a heavily sedated Inception type sleep. I’ve always heard my mother complaining about how she didn’t sleep well “last night” while my father would be passed-out-cold, in about 5 minutes after he molded his body into his favorite lazy-boy type chair, with remote clutched under his interlaced steepled fingers pointing at the sky as if to harness the gods of snore. It was this way in the Alonso household for years and probably still is. I actually really never thought much about why it was this way.

But as time passed and my study of human behavior intensified, I feel I cracked the code that might be contributing to these sleep habits. At first I thought it could be a simple prehistoric cave-man days inherent trait that women sleep lighter so they can watch over the little ones while the hunting and battling men need a deeper rest before they go off to pillage the next town or protect the village from T-Rex. Yeah, it might be all that but as the diagram proves, I actually believe it has to do with the way we think – more specifically, how much we think.

Although neither sex’s thought process is necessarily better than the others, they each seem to have different levels of reflection. For the most part, men think in very simple terms – it doesn’t mean we are simple creatures but rather we just aren’t very deep or philosophical in assessing daily or lifetime events. Thinking is an easy analytical process for us; it is a cause and effect and we do not expend much brainpower on the hypotheticals and “what ifs” or “what could have been”. If a problem presents itself we tend to look for the simplest, quickest and most rational solution. If no solution exists we simply proceed to the next quandary and just deal with it the best we can. Men take on one cause at a time. We don’t generally ponder, dwell, or become consumed by our thoughts. This does not mean we handle things in a mature manner because it can easily set us off and end up tantruming like a petulant child or blowing-up like Mount Vesuvius. However, we usually get over it and we will forget about it never to be mentioned again (maybe due to our embarrassment of the situation).

Women however, are our polar opposites…their thought diagram/decision tree resembles the pair of intertwined struggling Toomer’s Corner Oaks. The activity of a woman’s brain wave function can easily remind one of the turbulent surface of the Bering Sea during Opilio Crab Season. It is possible that they also think in cause and effect, yet so much of their energy is spent analyzing 7 effects down the line and all of the unintended consequences. Then they spend countless time rethinking their decisions, hashing out previous options and then getting all worked up about something that is a done deal and by now a moot point.

In essence, men are simple, very simple, and women are pretty complicated. If it is out of a man’s circle of influence we don’t deal with it; while women tend to reach way beyond their circle and find wormholes into other realms and dimensions of concern and take on preoccupations that make no sense to us.

With this being said, it is probably one of the reasons men get so annoyed and never seem to know how to answer women’s random-ass questions about hypothetical scenarios that will possibly never happen. Even if the situation presented itself, we really wouldn’t know what our response would be until the damn thing actually happened. Sure we can give them the “correct” answer, or more like the one they want to hear, but we’ll probably only end up getting challenged on it, followed by a series of White House press corps interrogation questions. However as a man, the way I see it, nobody actually knows how things will go down until it’s go-time. So why waste time thinking of crock-pot/crack-pipe schemes?

Now that we have now covered the depth of thinking, there is also the timeline of contemplation. Men spend about 90% of their thoughts (obviously not including sex) dealing with an approximate 72-hour period. For us, if it isn’t happening tomorrow, hasn’t occurred today or didn’t happen yesterday it doesn’t matter much to us, and therefore we only give it 10% of our brain-wave attention. Our counter-parts have no statue of limitations on what ails them. Nothing is too far off in the future or back in the past to ponder. It could be a grade school decision that was made years ago or maybe it’s the fear of growing to be 40 something years old and finally having a child just as you stress out that your youngen will be a teenager as you turn 60. Granted that could be worrisome stuff and I don’t mean to make light of it, but really, does using up brain power for things 20 years ago or 20 years from now make for an effective use of time and energy? Don’t think so.

So in mentally crunching all this out in my head, something dawned on me and recalled my mother’s comments about regretting not reading to us nor breast-feeding my brother sister and I as kids and whether that played a role in my not being a more scholarly student or my brother’s current day boob fetish. She often stresses out wondering if maybe she should have done this or could have done that. Will her grandkids be as big a pain-in-the-bunda as my siblings and I were? And I’m not even scratching the surface of her list of worries. Meanwhile my father hears any of the sort issues and either shrugs his shoulders or rolls his eyes and goes on to talking about the 40 foot Viking Express Fisherman with Volvo-Penta IPS engines and what the fishing forecast looks like for tomorrow.

As our motor is running during the day our mind tends to be in task mode – we usually don’t stop to ponder such scenarios. So when do we have time to think about all these things? Usually the time to gather our thoughts only happens when things slow down. I know for me my mind is clearest before bed…call it prayer, reflection or meditation time. I’m able to have a few quite moments before my mind goes blank and…boom; I’m into my REM. The window from action to sleep for men is smaller than Angelina Jolie’s window of singleness. Men don’t ponder on too much in this small gap. We don’t need to mentally replay the day’s decisions, ponder the status of our 401k, or wonder what would have happened if we would have ponyed-up and sent the kids to private school instead of Ridgemont High. As our minds are null and void of heaviness, women don’t allow this gap to be silent instead it kick-starts the wheels into high gear and the deliberation machine begins to churn out mental algorithms of worry and concern. No wonder they have trouble sleeping…with as much as goes through their heads I’m surprised they can sleep at all!

It is now clear as day for me. Women think too much and men don’t think much at all and it all magnified when we get horizontal. Excitedly, upon concluding this blog I sent it to my editor-in-chief, he reviewed it briefly and made some critiques but didn’t share my enthusiasm. In a lukewarm manner, as to not hurt my feelings, he said he kinda didn’t agree or get it. I thought about it for a while and that same night I received an email from him sent a 3am. I asked him what the hell he was doing up at that time. He said he woke up because he had some random thought in his head he had to write down. I realized why he didn’t understand this blog…because although my editor-in-chief is a man…he sleeps like a woman. Ladies, do you want to sleep better? Sleep like a man.

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Water Finds Its Own Level

There I was, with my good friend Don Julio on the rocks in hand, mingling amongst a couple dozen movers and shakers at a low-key event on a Downtown L.A. rooftop lounge…and I saw something spectacular that stunned me frozen like I just got tasered. What did I see? Quite frankly, I saw one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever observed – so smoldering, so breathtaking, that I thought for a second that if I didn’t look away, I might forever burn my retinas (where is that cardboard with the a pin-hole when you need it?). I had Michael, my main Musee (those who I muse and inspire) with me and he immediately spotted the same thing and knew exactly what just captured my attention. However, it didn’t take long to notice an extremely evident flaw. No, it wasn’t bad fashion because she was dressed impeccably! It wasn’t BO or halitosis, for her scent was as fresh as Chanel No.5 and Binaca. Nor was it body-art or multiple piercings because this Ferrari had no bumper-stickers or dings! She was like a fine automobile should be: 100% factory stock, fully loaded and showroom glowing.

Yet, she had one flaw that quickly surfaced and was impossible to ignore. This poor heavenly body seemed to have an abnormal growth; it probably just started as an innocent Stage 5 Clinger but soon must have mutated to a full-feeding sycophant. Yes, this beautiful creature had a guy sucked onto her like a pesky Remora that was able to hitch the ultimate ride on a Blue Marlin. I didn’t quite understand it…she being darn near flawless had this stooge who seemed to be tethered to her by a 2-foot invisible umbilical cord.

Now, don’t peg me as a superficial ass just yet. I support and have given many an average guy mad-props when he has reached far above his orbit to snag some insane catch; but usually I admire such guys because they seem to be oozing a certain charm or personality and carry the swagger of an Adonis even though their mere physical appearance would not reflect it. Although they may outwardly appear like a mortal plebian, they possess a certain j’ne sais quoi that can captivate and woo, the most militant evil woman. However, this fellow in question didn’t seem to boast any redeemable trait or skill that could convince me of worthiness. He didn’t seem to be holding a scholarly conversation with anyone, he wasn’t David Blain entertaining or cracking any jokes, there wasn’t any indication of any bit of deep intellectualism and didn’t seem to have the physical prowess to impress even the average soccer player.

I was curious and wanted to shake his hand, introduce myself and strike up a little convo, but the only place his right hand seemed to have any interest in being was clutched firmly around her right shoulder; and I mean clutched…you could actually see his knuckles flushed white from the kung-fu grip he had on her upper arm. She turned, he turned. She took a step, he took a step. She went to the bar, he went to the bar. She walked to the heater, he walked to the heater. She went to the bathroom, he waited at the door! Seriously?!?!? Throttle back there Terminator, that ain’t Sara Conner! I imagined him observing the surroundings through the eye of a Robocop/Terminator type heads-up display, scanning his environment for potential threats to his catch, for he seemed to act in such a manner.

As my Musee and I stood and observed this incredible display of body language, her stock plummeted from a hard 10 to a soft 6. All of a sudden, I couldn’t help but become a little judgmental, jumping to the conclusion that she must be a 49er with shovel in purse and found her man-mine. I don’t know what it could have been…maybe that multiple karat rock the size of a small meteor she was sporting? Or maybe, could it be that she saw this Armani Exchange, Ed Hardy Skinny Jeans wearing fashionista as the rock of stability and security? He really could have been a great guy…but I sure wasn’t seeing it. Then something my mother used to tell me came to me:

“If you want to see the content of someone’s character, look no further than his/her friends.”

I’ll take it a step further and say: your significant other should be the ultimate reflection of yourself; after all, he/she is not referred to as a “better half” for nothing.

With all these observations and thoughts swirling around my dome, I turned to my peeps and remarked, “Water seeks its own level.” Michael looked at me with a perplexed expression on his face. (Being an etymologist and the ultimate wordsmith, I’ve never seen him get stumped when it comes to the English language, although my jive always jacks him up.) I explained that regardless of the size of a container, with all things being equal, water finds a level that will be the same no matter where in the container it is poured. So the level at one end will be exactly the same level as the other end…be it a lake or a bath tub. Metaphorically speaking, in a liquid social container, the superficial ones will find a match of their level; those with depth usually end up with other profound ones. This could be either physical, intellectually or emotionally, or more likely an average of the three. And, for the most part, it is a subconscious thing – Like attracts like.

The reality is, so often we see couples that esthetically or on the surface do not match, however it really doesn’t matter how different their surface appearance might be. I’m willing to bet that their depth and substance are usually a pretty good match. To put it in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions: that smoking hot gold-digger usually ends up with a shallow cheese-monkey; that silicone botox status-jumping Barbie eventually finds that Time-Warner exec on Wife 4.0; that Snookie J-Wow Chanel Guidette winds up with that juiced-out Jersey Shore gym rat. We attract who we are – not merely based upon our outward appearance – but more so based upon our inner-self. So when we keep on wondering why we end up with the asses, the crazies, the wall-punchers, binge-drinkers, etc., check yourself, recalibrate and step your game up…Eagles don’t hang out with pigeons!

There are two points that I feel I must address. First off, it may seem that I’m not a huge fan of Public Displays of Affection but that isn’t completely accurate. There have been many of times and relationships where I have enjoyed and embraced PDA. True, some of it really depended on whom I was with, but what was more important was whence it was coming. Meaning, if it felt like the clinging and petting was coming from a place of possession, insecurity, neediness or territorialism, then I would begin to feel uncomfortable, smothered and turned-off. However, if it came from a place of genuine love, affection and desire, then it wouldn’t bother me (unless it became inappropriate, full-fledged macking at table P7 at STK). Secondly, when I walk into a room with my girl, it doesn’t offend me, threaten me, nor make me uncomfortable if every guy in the joint checks her out and mutters comments. I want them to look and gawk. If they speak or act inappropriately, then it’s curb-stomp go time, but I like to think that I’m secure enough in myself and my relationship that I won’t lose my mojo over some random. I feel bad for the guy who displays either—or both—of the aforementioned points…because it’s going to be a long, difficult, paranoid life spent c-blocking the world.

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WHY DOGS ARE SMARTER THAN MEN

Sometimes I can’t believe all the stupid shit I admit to doing, but since I am in the Lenten spirit of confession and shvitzing it out, I figured I’d go ahead and purge. Recently, I observed a guy in his 40’s—whom I had just met and was sitting less than an open-face sandwich away from—incessantly touching a completely random, unknown girl, unsolicitedly, at a club. And not just the casual arm-graze as you negotiate your way through the crowd or when reaching for your cocktail between the pickets of women perched at the bar. No, this guy was lightly pinching her on the leg and tapping her with his feet.

 

I thought to myself “WTF? THAT SHIT NEVER WORKS!” How do I know? I’d like to think that it is because I’m highly enlightened… but the fact is, it’s because I’ve been trained…or more like condtioned.

 

Lesson: Anyone who’s ever taken a 101 Psychology course has learned about Pavlov’s dogs. To wit, at chow time when daddy Pav would ring his bell (Conditioned Stimuli) food would follow (Unconditioned Stimuli). The dogs would salivate when presented with food (Unconditioned Response), but, after time, the sound of the bell alone would elicit dogs drooling for chow (Conditioned Response). The genius of this is that all animals—homo sapiens included—can be conditioned to act/react to different stimuli. If we are rewarded for a certain behavior, then we’ll find ourselves soon repeating said behavior. If no reward is present, then the behavior does not become conditioned to repeat.

 

So with Pavlov’s dogs running through my mind, I continued to uncomfortably watch Creepy Suave lightly pinch this girl’s leg and tap-tap-tap her with his feet. Just to make sure I wasn’t missing something, I asked him if he knew the girl or her girlfriend. He said no, but assured me that this is the triple lindy of pick-up moves. I was getting annoyed and finally commanded, “Hommie, don’t do that! They are going to think that it’s me, and THAT does not work!” His response was, “Yes it does, I’ve had a lot of success with it.”

 

Is he from Narnia? Because I thought I understood him say he was from Miami. Could it be that all that I had once thought was wrong? Did this guy have crazy, avant-guard game and I just didn’t get it?? This required an immediate, randomized, prospective, multi-center study. 

 

I popped to my feet and in the most unthreatening manner possible, I kindly interrupted and asked the ladies if I could get their insight on something. They actually seemed particularly intrigued by what possible query could follow this unorthodox club approach. “I have but one question,” I told them. “Under any circumstance, do you like, or find it okay, to be unsolicitedly touched by an unknown man at a bar or club?”

 

“Like your obnoxious friend has been doing? We’ve tried to nicely ignore him and move away but he hasn’t gotten the clue.”  

 

“He is not my friend!” could have not come out of my mouth fast enough. (Not that I wanted to be a jerk, but I don’t particularly like being grouped with neophytes.) I then asked if a graze or any variation thereof would be acceptable — and they unanimously agreed that, unless it is unavoidable due to space limitations, or unless he’s trying to be gentlemanly in a situation (say, for example, a fire), then NO. To finish my first official “center” of my mulit-center study, my last question was, “Can you think of any situation where a woman would like that from any man?” The conclusion was that no normal women would accept that and no normal men would approach via that manner.

 

So why on earth was the dumbass sitting on the couch beside me STILL attempting such douchbaggery, even as they were saying how it doesn’t work?! Because men, unlike dogs, can take the most random, isolated incident and blow it up so big in their minds that THEY CONDITION THEMSELVES. How many times do you think that guy has pulled this move? And how many times do you think it’s worked?? Any dog in his right mind would stop doing it!!

 

Although I might not always know what does work, I most certainly know what DOES NOT WORK.

 

The following are a few things that I know do not work…and, if they do, I would be very concerned. If you score from any of the following, don’t start bragging to your friends, because chances are you might have just hooked a tranny or contracted the bubonic STD.

 

  • Unsolicited touching – Already stated but bears repeating. That is…do not pinch, graze, rub or tap any woman unsolicitedly. The only places this is acceptable is at a strip joint with a dollar bill in hand (note: they don’t like quarters) or if you are groovin and grinding on the dance floor, but the second you stop dancing, you resume “normal” behavior.

 

  • The Stare Down – 10 continuous seconds at the most and no more than 3 looks in a 15 minute period. Any longer or more frequent becomes creepy (no matter who you are). And if you think they haven’t noticed you gawking at them — you’re wrong. Women can feel it when you have a catatonic-missile-lock on them; not only freaking them out, but also assuring that they will avoid your direction until you leave.

 

  • Any Sexual opening line – either the size of you components or what you would like to do to her body-wonderland has to be batting way under 100. Save these for when you are at the Hedonism Swingers Retreat.

 

  • The “You don’t know what you are missing” line. I really can’t believe this one is even out there, but I’ve heard it used a few times after somebody gets the stiff-arm or brush-off and is ego-bruised.  They cannot believe someone just turned them down, so what do they do? They tell the rejecter, “You don’t know what you are missing.” Really?? Do they think the rejector will suddenly ponder, “Wait, maybe I really DON’T know what I’m missing…”

 

Per my anecdotal evidence, the aforementioned methods do not work or have an extremely high (like 99%) failure rate. 

 

Next up are things that should not work but I guess do; although they are slightly more successful than the junk above. Quick caveat: if these have lured you before or you have utilized them as ammo in your repertoire – please Facebook defriend me now!

 

  • Overused, Premeditated, Velveta Pick-up Lines – Pick-up lines should only be used for entertainment purposes on a night when there is nothing better to do but spew cheesy hooks. The only good line is a spontaneous, genuine, unique one. Here is a list of all-time bad lines:�
    • Come here often?
    • You look bored/mad
    • You look like my ex – 
    • Or worse…you look like my future girlfriend

 

  • Name dropping or talking about your Malibu house and Bentley – I understand this technique has a high success rate in Beverly Hills, South Beach, and Dallas (just to name a few) but, for the most part, it isn’t a strong move. If this works for you, just don’t complain when 10 years later you get divorced-raped for the yacht and the summer crib in La Jolla. If it works ON you… then don’t complain when, 10 years later, hubby has bounced to a younger, more fit model who isn’t as close to OD’ing on Botox, Restinlin and Silicone. Guys: leave the Ferrari hat at home or at the dealership… Michael Schumacher doesn’t even rock the red horse lid. Ladies: leave the shovel at home and put the needle down…we actually like it when you smile and your face moves.

 

  • The Blind “let me buy you a drink” – I would think for the most part, unless there is a little rapport established first, just sending over a drink or offering to buy a drink for someone who you’ve barely muttered a full sentence fragment to doesn’t have a high success rate. Sure, she’ll graciously accept and pound down the Chocolate Martini; but then she’ll likely converse just long enough so it doesn’t seem like all she wanted was the drink. As soon as the opening to bounce appears, she’ll move on as she thanks you for her Martini.

 

Whew!!! They say confession is good for the soul and I feel awesome! I can’t believe I admit to having tried such shenanigans but I now know from anecdotal experience and my clinical research that these things don’t bear fruit. You know, I don’t mind putting myself out there. I figure the less I hide things, the less people will want to probe and prod into my stuff, the smaller the bull’s-eye, and less gossip circulates. The more you hide about yourself, the more there is to hide… and when it all comes down…watch out, tiger!

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I Hope I Never Act Like That!

It isn’t uncommon for me to observe someone and think to myself “God, I hope I never act like that” only to realize that whatever buffoonish performance I am witnessing was once in my repertoire. Sometimes we see some of ourselves in others and usually those characteristics or acts might not be as “cool” or “attractive” as we may think. There were a few times in the not-so-distant past where I was hanging out with someone and their behavior was so peculiar that I couldn’t help but be utterly annoyed.

 

One instance in particular, is when I escaped to Lake Tahoe for a last minute ski jaunt with one of my female friend’s younger brother. He seemed like a really nice kid, and by kid I mean he might have been 23 while I was 26 or such.  Not long after our short road trip, he wasted no time getting wasted. Not only did he get hammered and become somewhat sloppy but he morphed into the Jersey Shore “Situation.” For the rest of the trip he could not pass one female without full-out creepin it. The girls would not even be at the “o” part of “NO” before he was already clocking the next bogie. I have never seen such unfocused artless tenacity and determination in pursuit of tail.

 

In another example, I dated someone who needed to talk more than me and just needed to ALWAYS be the center of attention. This just wasn’t happening – I can’t have that. The world and especially the conversation revolve around ME! Or maybe there were those times where I had to baby-sit someone who eerily resembling “Obnoxio The Clown” (my drunken alter ego that used to roam the Auburn University and the Pike house).

 

I would like to think I was never as extreme as the examples I’ve laid out or the countless others I have encountered. The truth is I think they are a hyperbole to teach me a lesson. Maybe seeing the severe form of some of my worse habits or tendencies has allowed me to realize what others have endured when I exhibit certain discordant behavior. It would be blaringly evident in my friends and families faces when I was acting over the top. They would try to tame me by feeding me water or telling me to chill out. But it wasn’t until I saw my mirror or actually getting to see myself on tape that I truly understand how foolish or annoying I can be.

 

Look, I accept everyone for who they are and their originality and comprendo that no one is perfect.  For the most part, we all strive to be better rounded people and if the lessons we learn about ourselves have to come at the hands of a lushed-out friend slapping us in the dingie, or a high maintenance woman being pissy for no real reason; only to have it dawn on us that we’ve been that intoxicated fool or that abrasive ass. As individuals we rarely delve into what our behavioral habits are and what makes us tick, but next time we observe someone’s behavior that is less than appropriate, we shouldn’t think to ourselves “…I hope I never act that way…” but rather ask… “Do I act like that?” Because when it is right in front of our face there is not only no denying the behavior, but it is also irrefutable how repellent we might be.

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