The Big Deuce: Bathroom Etiquette Revisited

Maybe you remember my first set of rules about potty time. I had done a great service by informing the masses on how to act while in the restroom. I will not say that this fell on deaf ears....only that I didn't fully understand just how jacked up men can be while in the throne room.

Did I ever tell you the story of me peeing in college? No, you say? Well then! Here it is:

I was a freshman...young and sassy...maybe ready to experiment... I had an early morning class (classic freshman mistake). The campus was dead on this particular morning. I had the urge for a onesie and walk into the mens' restroom. It was very clean and completely empty. There must have been 20 urinals all lined up (no divider) so I step up to the 4th one. Again, it's empty so I figure that I don't have to go to the far end. I unzip, relax, and settle in. I write my name then go into some math; I had drank a lot of water that morning. It must have been a complex problem that I was working because I didn't even notice that someone else has walked in...I am unaware of his presence...until....HE PULLS UP RIGHT NEXT TO ME! 19 other urinals and 10 stalls...he pulls up right next to me! With no divider!!!

I graduated in October of 2000. That day in 1998 still haunts me.

I have a good buddy whom we shall call Mico Barrio. Mico and I don't see each other often, but when we do it's high-fives, fist bumps, chest bumps, maybe a hug, or a butt slap here and there. A very manly type of friendship. He lives in Hot-Lanta and I'm in The Big D. Last week Mico is in town and we're hanging out, talking ish, and generally having a good time. I have to go onesies and make my way to the restroom. About 5 minutes later, Mico walks in. We DO NOT acknowledge one another. Absolutely NO eye contact. I finish my business, wash my hands, and head out the door. A few minutes later Mico arrives and we pick up right where we left off.

THIS IS HOW IT WORKS! If a man is dropping a deuce or writing his name in pee, DO NOT BOTHER HIM. Unless a madman Muhammed Ali has entered the building, there is no reason for a bathroom conversation between men. Ever. Mico is from the South! The Dirty Dirty.  I'm from the WESSS SIIIIDE! This is a universal law; it DOES NOT change based on geo within the United States.

This brings me to FLAGGING. The only items that a man should ever have in a restroom is a newspaper or a magazine. It doesn't matter what section of the paper nor does it matter the type of magazine. Those are the ONLY items any man should have in the potty. We all have "smartphones" and are used to quick access to our world. I understand that you want to read this blog while you're dropping off kids at the pool, or maybe check your facebook timeline, maybe form a quick tweet. Do not do it! It can wait. Because if you take that phone in there, you'll take that phone out of the stall and place it on the table. Or worse, let someone else use it to make a quick call.

I don't know if this next one is a millennial thing....but amongst the millennial men...they not only flag their phones...they take calls mid-stream! They facebook while letting it loose in the urinal. Tweet and form emails while their shaft is in hand. I'd like to say something to them, maybe punch them in the face, but then I would be violating the law of not speaking to another man while in the rest room.

The phone is just one part of the puzzle. What about the iPod/iPad/Tablet? What if a dude is flagging all of his technology??? What if that iPad you were using for Angry Birds has spent some time in the deuce room? What if that Kindle was used in place of a real newspaper - what if that's its main function!?! And here it sits...on the coffee table.

I cannot speak for the women, but neither can I imagine ladies bringing items into the bathroom stall. Reading, tweeting, facebooking, talking on the phone while sitting on the throne - women don't do that! I just don't see a mom fleeing to the bathroom for a moment's peace and staying in there longer than needed just to get away from everyone - Doesn't happen. I do understand that women can, and do, talk to each other while in the restroom. They fix hair, reapply make up, adjust boobs, talk bad about their dates...it's what women do.

Gentlemen, let's take a queue from the ladies. Don't bring anything into restroom unless it's staying in there. Don't talk to me or even look at me if we happen to be in the same public restroom. Don't feel that you need to answer phone calls, read email, text, facebook, tweet, or check-in while in mid-stream or doing poopies. You can wait. And so can we.

Cyberpace, keep it sanitary.

You're welcome

Can You Believe I'm a Dad?

Some may have seen an awesome video that was put together by my wife for my birthday. It stars my children rockin out like the Jabbawockeez. You should check it out; like me, it's EPIC. After I had laughed at how crazy my wife and kids are, it started to dawn on me...what the hell am I doing to my kids!!??

You all know that you're pretty messed up from how our mom and dad, aunts and uncles, and/or grandparents raised you. Anyone that thinks they are normal, let me give you a little hint: You're all effed up.

If we look at my childhood, we can see some physiological scarring events. A couple of examples: The Cucuy and La Llorona. These two are worse than Freddy and Jason on any day. In fact if Freddy and Jason grew up as Mexicans, they would have been scared shitless and would never have done anything bad. Because any little Mexican boy or girl can tell you...that if you're bad...The Cucuy will come and take you away. And if you mess with paranormal stuff....the Llorona may show up in your room as you sleep.

Those two supernatural beings pretty much effed me up till I was 30 years old - Thanks, Mom.

So, I figured that I would NOT mess up my kids with crazy stories of boogie men and crying ladies. In stead, I spend as much time with them as possible. I know that on the surface this sounds freakin great. I mean, who wouldn't want to spend all of their waking moments with me? I now see that my influence may have gone places that I never intended. And my filter works about half the time I think it does.

I have 3 little ones: My oldest girl, Cheech (age 10); My precious baby girl, Toots (age 7) and the boy, The Boy (age 6). Here are some things that I've heard around the house this last week:

Toots: Move. You're in my seat
Cheech: Well, you got up so I took it
Toots: Suck it. Move it

Me: Cheech, let me have some of your water
Cheech: It's all gone. I drank it all
The Boy: She effed you, Dad

Cheech: Dad, [my friend] didn't vote for me
Toots: That's 'cause she's a hater
The Boy: Yeah Cheech. She's just a hater
Cheech: I know....she's all jacked up

I see that some of my language and attitude has rubbed off on my little angels. I'm not just talking about my casual come-and-go time...I mean our family building time may be taking a detour. You may find this hard to believe, but every morning we pray as a family. We also read from The Bible after dinner (we eat as a family) and have a discussions around what God is teaching us. Here is a snippet of this Thursday night's talk. As a background, we are reading verses from Proverbs:

Cheech: Oh Dad! This kind of ties into that verse we read last week..."lazy hands make for poverty"

Me: That's right Cheech! 

Toots: Yeah Daddy, because you worked hard you are Top Cat and get to go to Hawaii

Me: Very good Toots. Would it be right of me to work hard and honor God then brag about it and flip double-birds then say "haha look where I'm going"? 

All the kids: Noooooooo

That was how I tied together Proverbs 10:4 and 3:34 - you're welcome. Nelly was not happy about the "double birds."

My biggest faux pas may come from what I have told the kids is our "family motto." Here in The Great State of Texas things are a little different. We live in a bubble that it not like the real world. Very low crime rate, highly educated families, well-to-do people, and families of strong faith is all around us. Some of these crazy mofo's have taught their children that they have family mission statements. I always thought that this was weird and funny. Sooooooo...I told the kids that we have one too....

We stand for TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND THE AMERICAN WAY

Some of you may not understand why this is funny....others are judging me.... most are probably laughing. The above motto was borrowed from Superman. Actually, it is EXACTLY what he stands for...so I figured it was good enough for my family. 

This started out as a joke. Whenever and whatever the occasion, I would throw that out there:

We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and Not Bullying!

We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and Giving Our Very Best!

We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and Helping Others!

We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and........

Anyone can ask my kids what we stand for and all 3 will give you the Superman motto and add in what they feel is important at the time. 

Don't judge, at least they know that the boogie man won't come take them away if they don't finish all of their dinner.

Cyberspace, spend time with your kids.

You're welcome

Coffee Mate

I never liked coffee. Not the smell. Not the taste. Not the jitters. Not the shakes. When Starbucks was the "in" thing,  I was still at Cinnabon - I love the Cinnabon.

I may not like coffee but I love company. I have 2 buddies - Jello and Manjee. These guys are good guys. Stand up guys. They like comic books and video games; go-carts and pizza; wings and beer....but they also like coffee. Now, when I say "coffee", I don't really mean "coffee". I'm talking about drinks that I can't pronounce and could never order. These drinks have names like "Frappalingus" and "Machallatio" - very authentic french names since we all know that coffee beans only come from Paris. These drinks conjure up dreams of tasteful bliss....

One day Jello and Manjee invite me out for a Cup o' Joe. I thought, "Sure, why the hell not? They're my buddies! They wouldn't lead me astray!" How wrong I was. It was a cool Autumn afternoon in the City of Orange when the incident occurred. We were winding down from a day of slave-wage-labor when Jello offers up a so-called coffee drink. It is key to this story to know I haven't actually had coffee for more than 5 years at this point. I don't exactly remember why I didn't drink coffee, just that it's a bad idea. Because I'm a great friend and attention whore, I go with my buddies. Jello orders a double-shot, extra-hot, low-foam, goats-milk, Carmallatio with extra llatio. I had never seen a drink like it! It was like a hot ice-cream sundae in a foam cup! Next up was Manjee. He went with the quad-cream, no foam, extra whip-cream, Iced Mochalingus with double lingus for good measure. This was an ice-cream sundae...with sprinkles to boot!

I order the same thing.

About 10 minutes later I remember why I didn't drink coffee. Coffee, much like prunes, is a natural laxative. I'm talking about DEUCES WILD type of laxative. I thought that the jitters and shakes came from the effect caffeine has on my body...not true...it's trying to control the ensuing "prairie dogging" that occurs when coffee enters my body that affects me so. At this point, I'm concentrating on keeping the cheeks together while Jello and Manjee begin a debate over the best Simpson's episode ever. I'm starting to sweat and can hear my stomach rumbling while a brick begins to form. This isn't a nice little house brick. Oh no Cyberspace....this is a cinder block that can be used as someone's backyard wall. I excuse myself from the conversation by saying something along the lines of "I think I'm dying...an alien pod is in my body...if I don't make it...tell my wife and kids that I've always loved them...."

Some years passed and I somehow forget about the incident. I am now living in the Great State of Texas. I need to transport my sweet ass Toyota Matrix from SoCal (Chino Bitches!) to the Big D (Dallas BITCHES!). What better way than to drive it with my lovely bride? And because it's blazing ass hot in Cali, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas I figure we should leave around 11 PM.

I've done the drive between Dallas and Los Angeles about 12 times. Every time I do it, I man up. I drive it straight - 24 hours straight. No breaks. No hotels. No sleeping. Eat and drink in the car. Only stop for potty breaks. I'm a MAN! A Man's Man! Not a Metro/Pretty man...Oh no! I GOTS THIS!

I must have been extremely fatigued on this day. We barely make it from LA to Blythe when I'm ready for a nap. I've only driven 3 hours and I'm going rounds with the Sand Man...and he's winning. I pull into a gas station and look for anything with caffiene. I find a bottled Ice-Frapalingus and decide that this is the best drink to get me from California to Texas. I take it one gulp! I'm ready to go! I CAN'T BE BEAT! I WON'T BE BEAT!

I'm not sure if it was because the drink was cold or because I was extra-tired, but it takes a couple of hours to completely infect my body....then things get bad. Really bad.

I make through Arizona, but when we hit the New Mexico state line an out of body experience begins. My stomach starts the familiar rumbling...but now I have the sweats. It's like I'm TD Jakes on Easter Sunday. It takes all of my concentration to simultaneously keep the cheeks together and the car on the road. There will be no prairie dogging on this day my friends. If the cheeks fail, it's Groundhog's day...and there is no shadow. I drive into Las Cruces, NM sitting sideways, my clothes drenched, sweat running into my eyes, body shaking, teeth and cheeks clenched with the force of a prehistoric alligator. Hallucinations begin and I know that my time is short. I find a McDonald's off the side of the freeway. Nelly may have seen the Golden Arches; I saw a porcelain throne on which I would be seated.

All I remember is telling Nelly to order herself breakfast and I would be back. We lost 2 1/2 hours that day my friends. Every time I thought I had fully purged my temple, I was mistaken. By the time I left the stall I was only wearing a sock. You all know what I'm talking about - when you get so hot and things are going so violently wrong you just start taking clothes off. I collect myself and my clothes off the stall floor; the both of us a crumpled mass. I begin to dress and am a bit light-headed from the total-body-cleanse that just occurred. I'm not sure, but I think I saw an angel in that bathroom. He looked into my soul. He didn't say anything, yet he did. Not with words...with his eyes, "Tell the world of your story, Famous Ray. For the masses must know of your bodily functions. You may never know the impact you will have and the Glory that it will bring His Kingdom..."

Cyberspace, stay away from coffee.

You're welcome.

I Love My Mommy

Like most Latino/Hispanic boys, I grew up very close to my mom. As an example: I cried the first day of kindergarten when mom left me to the wolves. Actually, I cried every day of kindergarten - I didn't know if mom was ever coming back to get me.

This is not to say that I'm a "mama's boy"...just that I love my mom. I have story upon story of the crazy things she's done and said over all the years of my glorious, sexy existence. Most of them I cannot disclose because she will either stab me or deny it all. This post is dedicated to my mom. I learned very early on that she would always be there to love me and put me in my place...even if it meant throwing vegetables at me while I ran away from her down the aisles of the local Albertson's.  As a side note - I was a spirited little boy :)

My mom has a very loud and in-your-face personality. It's a wonder that I grew up to be so humble and introverted  Ever since I could remember, she's had platinum blonde hair - think Marilyn Monroe, but really more Jane Mansfield.  She would never leave the house or let anyone see her without being done up; full make-up and hair every day. She's very quick witted and sharp shooter when it comes to quips and come-backs. As another side note - you can see that I didn't want to marry any one like my mom...riiiiiiiiiiggght....let's move on.

Like any other Mexican-American mom, there are just somethings you can count on:

1. Mom will do what she wants when she wants without regard or notice - I remember one birthday when I was first married. Nelly called my mom to let her know we were going to stop by. Mom told her that she was ordering a cake. Nelly told her that we had one and would bring it with us...Mom replied, "but THIS is his favorite."  We had 2 cakes that year.
2. Mom will put your friends in-line if they act up - I think I was 12 years old when chased X Obesco around our house with a plant in her hand...she was going to make sure that he never mouthed off in our house ever again and a pot upside his head was just the reminder he needed.
3. Mom will pack food for you to take even when you're not hungry - does anyone remember (or still do) the 2 paper plates wrapped in tin foil? I don't mean 2 separate plates with different food...I mean all the food you can put on a single hefty plate with another on top as a cover then held together with reynolds wrap. Yeah...you memer....Or the food is put into empty plastic butter containers that she keeps in the cupboard with the plates and bowls. Sometimes the lids don't match.
4. Mom will make tamales every Christmas - so we have something to unwrap if we don't get presents....I love that joke and so do you. Don't judge me.

Now that's just the basics. That's what it takes to be a Latina mom raising kids. My mom did that and upped the ante:

• I dated an Asian girl in college. I told mom that my girlfriend had me some cookies...and, no lie, this was mom's response, "Oh, she made you fortune cookies?" 
• While still in college, my lady friend Lama Chops stopped by the house after a group presentation. As Lama was telling mom about it, mom cuts her off and says, "Were you nervous? Probably not huh. You were probably just looking at Raymond all in love [then she starts making googly eyes off into space and tilts her head]."
• Nelly and I showed mom some pics from our honeymoon. We had snorkeled off of the Baja California coast. As mom is looking at pictures of us in the ocean she sees Nelly in a swim suit, "Oh! Who is this in a bikini!? Nelly, is that you? Oh look...you have hips...you're going to be ok."

I have to admit that my mom is one of the funniest people I know. She may also be a bit crazy. In either case, I grew up very loved. There was never a doubt in my mind that mom would always care for me and want the best for me. When I was 17 it had occurred to me - mom may not always agree with my decisions, but she will always love me.

Mom was sad when I joined the Army, but never let me see her cry. Mom worried about zombies eating my brain while I was deployed to Haiti, but she never sent me clipping from her tabloids. Mom never said she hates my tattoos, but when she saw the first one she sat down asked for water and prayed to the Virgin Mary for my soul. 

It's a miracle that I turned out as normal as I am.

I love you mom!

Cyberspace, you're welcome.

Metroman and the World of Tomorrow

Maybe I've changed since my humble beginnings in the Inland Empire (shout out: Montclair, BITCHES!). Granted, I've become a bit "soft"...I traded in DJ Quick for Taylor Swift...sold the Camaro for a Lexus...no more fried weenies in tortillas, it's all about dry-aged filet....I don't think that this makes me a metrosexual...just a lil soft.

Maybe the underwear story changed your perception and it got me to thinking about who I am and my awesomeness.

As I reflected on my man-panties, I pondered over my mortality metrosexuality. I've reviewed the evidence of my sexy-awesomeness and I'm not really sure that I'm a Metro...not that there is anything wrong with Metros...I believe they should have all the rights afforded to all Americans. I'm just not convinced that I'm metro. Maybe I've caught a metrosexually transmitted disease - you know when you spend so much time with them that you some habits stick.

Let us look at my greatness and you can judge me (it will be like we're married):

1. I rock designer underwear that resemble man panties. They are a soft cotton lyrca, though the mesh ones are a spandex/nylon blend.
2. My hair is cut every 2 weeks at precisely the same time. It's a salon - I have a standing appointment for my hair like an old lady.
3. Eyebrows - I have 2 of them. I don't wax; could you imagine Nelly allowing a women to pour hot wax on me!? I don't thread, that looks awful painful. I don't pluck - that's what you do to chickens. I tweeze.
4. There may have been a time or two when I shaved my armpits. That time may have been this week. It's a bother when I'm getting all swole at the gym..and it's way to make my guns look bigger.
5. During the summer months, I tan. I don't mean that I go swimming or play soccer outdoors. I mean that I deliberately get mostly nekkid and lie down in the hot, hot sun so that I can be my delicious brown self that I was born to be. Nelly loves it...and so do you.
6. The Goods have been shaved to resemble a baby seal. In my defense, when you rock designer thongs you can't be all scraggly. I've looked into the "Full Brazilian", but Nelly vetoed that one right out of the gate.
7. I  lotion up my arms and legs..but it's a specific lotion  This lotion is not overpowering in smell or greasy to the touch. It gives my skin a nice satin look and feel.
8. I use a different lotion for my face. Because all of this lotion use, I have soft hands. So soft that when I need to open a beer bottle, I have to wrap my shirt around the cap first. And that beer isn't for me...I drink apple martinis with pixie sticks.
9. Body spray. Not cologne. And this is why my lotions can't be odorific...
10. All of my t-shirts are v-necked and sized for a medium dude even though I'm a large sized man.

I haven't always been like this..Do you remember The Day the Sexy Died? Well Sexy Is Alive Today BITCHES! Like Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Lee before him, I have fought my way through a broken back and am healed! Skinny jeans and extra small white T's are back! And the kittens have come back around....that's the real measure of sexy isn't it? I don't think that I've become Metro...I am just celebrating my good looks. And you should too.

I wasn't happy being the pretty, husky guy. Now that I am again that Hot, Delicious, Sexy, Smelling-all-Good guy I possibly took it over board. I know, I know....I would never push the limits of anything. I may have done it this one time. I don't think so. My haters think that I have taken it too far - and that's perfect for me.

I would write more, but it's time for my mani/pedi, then a latte with my bestie - he can be such a bitch when I'm late.

Cyberspace, feel free to judge and comment. I love the drama!

Thong You Very Much

My New Year's Resolution may have gone awry. As many of you know, I go commando 98% of the time. What is "Going Commando" you ask? Well, it has been called many things: free ballin', all out there, easy access, ready for action, etc... It all refers to not wearing underwear. On January 1st of what may be our last year on the planet, I declared to no longer go commando.

I know what you're thinking - awesome people don't need underwear! And I have to admit that I agree. Wearing chones everyday makes me feel too normal. I started out strong but I began feeling restricted - not only my twig-n-berries...but my whole being was under wraps. This would not do. Famous Ray sits quiet for no man! As I thought about my normality it occurred to me - this is just the man trying to keep me down...make me conform to what "society" says is right...what so-called "classy" people would call proper. I'll tell you this: I have no class - this would not do.

So I took to the Internet seeking a change to my apparel. As an FYI, when you google "sexy ass man underwear that let you be free and on display" you better not have the kids around. As my search returned some interesting results I began to see that fashion had changed....particularly in men's briefs.

I quickly realized that Hanes or Fruit of the Loom would not do for my jewels. I needed special gear to keep the boys homed. As I dug into my research I found that designer male underwear don't have a trap door...the pilot doesn't have an escape hatch...there's no fire escape for the fireman...there is no little pocket sewn into the front of men's underwear to hold change or gum. They are "man panties."

And you are absolutely right - I am down with rocking man panties. So much so that I began to research only man panties. Now, this may not be the correct term, but make no mistake...I wear man panties.

I had searched and searched for close to 90 days looking for panties that would make me feel like a man again. I settled on what was marketed at "Boxer Briefs".  Now, these are not really boxer briefs...they are really boy shorts. These boy shorts have extra material sewn in so that the gonads are displayed. I wore these for about a week when I just couldn't take it any more. They were small and tight in the right places and had the team out of the dugout, but DAMN - they were hot!

So back to searching. I then decided on "briefs". These are not real briefs - these are bikinis...you know...where 3/4's of the cheeks are covered and all the thigh is showing. I really like these. Big Jim and The Twins are out front and my cheeks are out enough to make me feel like I'm sticking it to the man - damning his society and their rules. To kick it up a notch, I ordered a few pair in mesh! Well, it was hot and the mesh keeps me cool....

BUT THAT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR FAMOUS RAY!

Oh no, Cyberspace. I was not ready to lie down. I am at war with all things keeping us down. The story that tells us that we need to go to school, get a job, buy a car, get married, and buy a house....that lie that says "You want all this, you NEED all this."  I do not need that lie! I do not want to be a 401k-wage-slave while the man is living like a king! I will not stand for it!

That's right! I wear thongs now! Not because they are super-sexy and have my soldier standing up straight and at attention but because it's how I thumb my nose at the royal family and all elitist. This is how I say that I am not going to conform. This is how I say that I look good as hell in Cheetah print...and also in mesh.

IT DIDN'T STOP THERE!

Um...this is where I may have gone a bit too far. I may have veered from my original intention of wearing underwear everyday in 2012. You see...I liked the thong better than the bikinis and the boy-shorts. I got to thinking...the only way to make a pair of cheeks look better is to cut them in half. If this wasn't true, the Brazilians would not have gone through the engineering feats required to not only design but develop the G-String. YES. I rock G-strings. Don't judge me! I had great intentions of staging a 1-man protest to the societal norm, but I fell victim to metro-sexuality. When you look this good it's just a matter of time before it happens.

Cyberspace, I have kept my vow. I go commando no more.

Something for the Ladies

Adele is a liar. I have taken offense to some key lyrics in her hit, "Someone Like You." Telling all those ladies that have dedicated that song to me that they will find someone like me is absurd and misleading. I am the original - often imitated but never duplicated. I think a more fitting song is "The One That Got Away."

I know that I am dealing a blow to many of my female readers that are waiting for there opportunity to pounce. 2 things: don't stop trying and I have something that may help.

I can't just say that I'm greatness and I'm sorry that you can't get up on this. Imagine how many readers I would lose. No, ladies, that will not happen. I am here to let you admire me and still give you a chance at a great guy - not the greatest since I'm off the market - but still...a great guy.

Below is my resume. I recommend you have your suitors or anyone stuck in the "friend zone" submit their resume for review. Then....we see how he stacks up against me - a "stare-and-compare".....

Famous S. Ray

World’s Greatest Mate

Accomplished boyfriend of the luckiest of ladies; experienced in watching chick-flicks, snuggling, cuddling, and showering women with gifts. Expert navigator that never gets lost while driving. Can cook intimate meals for two or a buffet for dozens. Can and will wait patiently while my date gets ready for the evening. Insist on opening all doors and always pay for everything. Caregiver extraordinaire – home-made chicken soup with an excellent bedside manner.

Summary of Qualifications

• Ridiculously good looking with a great sense of humor
• Nicely put together to include pre-matched seasonable outfits
• Winningest in-house champion of  Dance Central and Just Dance
• Regularly watch LMN, OWN, We-TV and occasionally cry
• Have read and watched all things Twilight and can recite lines

Professional Experience

Best Boyfriend Ever: Post-Graduate/Professional Work

4/2003 – Present

• Began dating my girlfriend’s best friend; married her in 2004

Best Boyfriend Ever: High School/Military/College

1990 – 2003

• Subject of the greatest senior high school picture ever taken
  
• [all other experience omitted for the safety of this applicant]

Skills

Never lie              Text/sext to correct phone number        Never drunk call/text

Know when to listen      Know when to give advice           Amateur mind reader

Keeps secrets               Massage therapist                        Master choreographer



A few things....Yes, my middle initial is "S". Yes, that stands for "Sexy." Yes, I omitted high-lights from my dating history in an effort to save my own life. BUT, this is a great starting point for women to determine what they should be looking for in a mate; it is also a basis for what all men should aspire to be.
Though we all know that many will fall short, we must always keep hope. Hope that a diamond in the rough will present himself. This is your year ladies - make sure your man is up to the task!

Cyberspace (mostly ladies), you're welcome.