It’s the most common augment to take place in a moving vehicle, the dreaded “Why don’t we just stop and ask directions” conversation, Jeez! It sends shivers up the spine of any man married, or just dating, which still has a spine left to tingle! To you gentlemen I speak of, you know who you are: I’ll do my best to represent our position!

Unlike most men, I will ask for directions. But, unlike most women, it will be dead last on my list of destination finding options.

Men are natural hunters, we love the accomplishment process and sometimes we show it in the strangest of ways, like this one.

Getting ourselves and our passengers safely to a destination is a proud accomplishment, not to be shared with a gas station attendant, or random pedestrian that shows us the way, but to be savored as a solo reward.

To me, asking for directions is like mud flaps or floor mats, an option that’s always available… but ultimately unnecessary!

I was helping my girlfriend get her Neon down to the car dealership where it was to be traded in, in Bloomsburg. The reason for it being traded in the first place, was that the oil light had been blazing on (in red) informing her of the need for added lubrication, un-heeded, for the better part of the week. She’d already picked out a replacement, informed the dealer of the rapping engine, negotiated a fair trade-in price and planned for a delivery of her car….all that was now necessary was to get her badly abused Neon to Bloomsburg for the trade-in.

Since the car had been stranded at my house for a week it was easy for me to get it ready for the hour long trek down to Columbia County. Prior to the trip I loaded the engine with Slick 50 (a product used to coat the inside of an older engine and seal up the gaps that cause power & compression loss), and 4 quarts of oil and prepped for liftoff! The first half of the trip went surprisingly well. We stopped briefly at a gas station, and as I’d expected I would have to, re-added to the engine 2 quarts of oil (since it had leaked a lot out in the drive). Then we slowly made our way out of Plymouth and onto what would be the final miles of her Neon’s running life. As I roared along I was thankful for the darkness of the night that hid my face, I drove slowly in disbelief of how the car continued, in spite of all the indications that it was unable to be driven at all. I watched as she followed me smiling because of how stupid I looked driving a car in such distress….then it happened…the engine blew!!

As we entered Route 11 the Neon started to make an incredible noise, it was deafening, it started to lose power, smoke, and shutter….and I’m not sure if you’ve ever been in a car that blows its engine, but I can tell you that you will never forget it. The structure of an automobile can withstand an awful lot but it seems to be challenged when an engine blows. As we began to climb up a very slight upgrade the car whined, and rattled, and “gave up the ghost”. The engine blew at 2/3’s of the way through the trip making me a liar, and at the same time an even worse gambler than I would’ve claimed to be. The car shook, and seemed to lift off the ground as the wheel lunged sideways, then slowly wound down to a humble death. I was told after the fact that the billow of smoke that came from the car was blinding, and would’ve been even so in broad daylight.

We sat in the blinding snow/rain storm for ¾’s of an hour until the tow truck took the now deceased Neon to its final resting place. Then we went and had a well needed beer.

     As a guy who once tended bar, part time, for the better part of a decade, I’ve seen a lot of people that were on first dates. You can almost always spot a couple on a first date: they sit differently, they talk differently, they smile turn and touch differently, it’s actually kind of interesting how we act so differently in the face of a new suitor. Sometimes, of you pay close attention you can see a few good ideas of just what you really should do on a first date… but usually , you don’t even have to try to see great examples of what not to do, ever!

    So I have compiled a short list of the things that you should do on a first date (the “no-brainer-list”): be clean, slightly over-dressed, polite, on time and above all else, listen to what the person you are out with is saying…

    Now for the Don’t-Ever-Do-This-On-A-First-Date List: *Don’t show up too early or too late *Don’t wear a tux but don’t show up dressed like a janitor (or like you’re fresh from the field) *Don’t stink (deodorant, cologne, Axe body spray, etc. all work) *Always take a first date to a place that’s a balance between Taco Bell and the window seats at the Oak Room *Don’t act like an arrogant ass but don’t be a needy wuss *And if you forget everything else, remember this… No matter how nervous you think you are, don’t for any reason get drunk before, or during your first encounter… if you must waste some brain cells, reserve that pleasure for after you’ve parted company *Lastly, if the person you’ve dated doesn’t “like you in that way”  by no means insult them in an effort to save you ego, remember if they don’t want to see you again they actually may be doing you a big favor!

     In short, use a very honest and logical sense of “balance” in the choosing, planning, and execution of a first date. Cleanliness, manners, and common sense go an awful long way toward making a really good first date impression, and yet it is a shock just how many people don’t opt for those obvious choices.

I remember my first working experiences, those first couple of jobs where you literally learn how to work. For me it was an unusually amazing experience because of who I learned from. You know the type, they’ve literally been at their job for life, they know every facet of the position, they could absolutely do the job in their sleep, and as a result they can, if you listen to them, teach you how to become awesome at it.

I have, ever since, believed that I learned about the working world from the very people that keep it running. My early mentors taught me: 1) that there is a “right” way to do something that should set the bar for each task, no matter how mundane, it entails, 2) that your work is a direct reflection of who you are that people will judge you by, and 3) that there is always a way to do your work a “little bit better” that you should strive to find.

With that said, I ask you: do you approach your work, or life, in that way? Do you ask why you always get passed over for raises, or promotions, or basic respect ? Do you “autograph your work with excellence”, or trudge on robotic-ally?

Ahhh, the remote. The holy grail of a man’s idle time. The power to alter the viewing choices, volume, temperature or visibility. The very tool of masculine relaxed power.
There are remotes for everything: CD players, lights, even air conditioners and of course the television. And through the years the remote, like man himself, has evolved from a bulky, intrusive, awkward beast to a slim, sleek, multifunctional, perfectly hand fitted wonder wand.
I would use a remote to drive to work if I could. I have 3 in my room, one in the kitchen and living area and even in the bathroom! I love the remote control!
Look, us guys have only a few small glimpses of light on the land of control. Women choose our clothing, women choose the colors of paint in the house, the type of car or minivan we drive, the very style of drapes, carpet, linens or bath towels that’s used in our lives. Is it too much to fathom that we men have one last bastion of assertiveness over something in our lair?
I need the remote. I miss the remote when I’m away from it. I sometimes put it in my pocket when I leave a room to relieve the separation anxiety I might have and to avoid ceding the control to someone else.
I have very little control in my world thus I keep the remote.

Why is it that people like to sarcastically say the phrase: “Just another day in paradise…”? What’s the deal? Call me grumpy, call me ill tempered, call me whatever… but categorize me as “fed up”!
I am one of five full time on air staffers here at Froggy101 (we used to be seven) and I thank God all the time for the privilege to do this work. This facility employs at least 50 people, the benefits are great, the place is always warm and safe, the check always cashes, and yet some of those employed here (non-airstaff) choose to complain on an hour by hour basis.
I know at least a dozen “downsized” people who would just relish the thought of working here or anywhere for that matter. In fact, I could open the mic and ask how many people would like the chance to have my job, or any job here, and no doubt get hundreds of folks “chomping at the bit” to trade places with me, instantly.
The next time you consider griping about your warm, safe, money making employment post, please look to see that I’m not within ear-shot!!!

As the New Year passed I, like everyone else, vowed to make 2010 better than the previous years… Ha-ha, not very likely.
I take care of my mom every morning before coming to work. I get the paper, get her breakfast, do some laundry, make the bed and after getting securely into her favorite chair, head off to work.
Usually during the span of my time there I visit her bathroom, and as a rule, leave the window ajar. On this day (when the temps were hovering in the teens) I was greeted by the window being half open, and the room being equal in temperature to tha of the front lawn. After what can only be described as a chilly visit I flushed… and nothing moved! Oh sure the water made the familiar rushing sound, but the rest stayed put.
It was at that very moment that I realized that my prior “window jarring” had frozen not only the toilet water, but also the sink-drip from tap to drain! In a panic I used the toilet scrub brush to smash the icy 1/4 inch skim and all went to its intended ending.
My life sucks!

I’m not proud of the fact that I have a lot of ex-girlfriends in my past, and I’m not proud to admit that I may add a few more to that number before my dating days are over, but I’m least proud of the fact that very, very, very few of these women that I’ve dated are on the “I still want to talk to you list”. In fact that list has really only one name on it, the rest of my interactions with ex’s are nothing more than awkward, stale, “forced to be cordial” conversations that usually end quickly.
To me relationships require a lot of commitment for them to work. They take communication and trust, balance and sacrifice, not to mention passion, and when a relationship ends, so too usually does the desire to continue doing the work to maintain any of these things, with that person.
In truth, it’s not that I didn’t try to stay friendly with more of my ex’s, it’s that I really didn’t want to. Once I’ve turned a corner, I usually stay on that path that I’ve chosen, and seldom if ever look back. I really think that maintaining a relationship that has ended leads to “arrested development”, or to put it a differently: It keeps you living in the past.
I guess what I’m saying is that in the long run, if the wounds heal and time erases the damaged feeling, I suppose it is possible to be friends with an ex, I just don’t think it’s probable. There are sooooo many variables that had to happen to put you together in the first place, that now when you’re apart, it would take that same lightning to strike twice for you to truly remain friends.

I was sitting in a mixed group of friends several years ago next to a woman that I was chatting up for about an hour. We liked each other, and we were the only two that were outsiders to most of the group. Eventually the topic of conversation turned to confirmations and the events that surrounded each of theirs respectively. As we both tried to awkwardly stay away from participating I said to her:” I don’t know what they’re talking about, cuz I’m not catholic.” she smiled broadly and said “neither am I”.
We exchanged numbers and soon found ourselves on several dates. We got along really well, and if I ever had a “type” she was it- to a tee. I’m not sure how it happened but one evening we got on the topic of “party music” and she began to tell me about all the great songs that the DJ had played at her batmitzva. I was enthralled as she glowed while telling me the story… then she asked about mine.
“My barmitzva?” I said, “I didn’t have one, we protestants get baptized as young adults and don’t really have big parties to celebrate them… but I like classic rock.” I watched her smile dim as I explained and I knew there had been a big misunderstanding. As the next several minutes passed she explained how her mother had kept a very strict, very traditional Jewish house and that since I wasn’t of the same faith, she would have an uphill fight to convince her mother to accept me. We, as a couple, were doomed. She eventually stopped answering my calls and we lost touch.
As you may imagine it hurt, badly. I had lost the chance at having a great girl in my life over something that I had absolutely control of, but it taught me something about myself: that I hate the things that separate us as people! I could never understand why people ask a question about your religion, or ethnicity, or politics, or about the neighborhood reside, in an effort to form a bias opinion of you.
So, whether you are Baptist (which I am) Jewish (which she is) Muslim, Hindu, scientologist, agnostic, atheist, or otherwise… I don’t care… and you shouldn’t either!
It is the walls that we place between ourselves that are the reasons that we stay unhappy, and in our ignorance, believe we’re not.

I’ve never been the type of person that (in a relationship) likes wearing matching outfits or having pet names, or for Pete’s sake, “Couples Photo Christmas Greeting cards” (which usually contain both of the aforementioned items that I hate)! It’s so hokey, and sappy, and sickeningly sugary… whoa!
Then one day I got a Christmas photo-card from one of my lifelong friends. It wasn’t just he and the missus in it, the photo showed his two kids with them around the family Christmas tree, presents, dog and all, the same sad sappy stuff you’d expect, but somehow it looked… well, “right”. It illustrated how much older his kids had gotten since I’d seen them last, it showed how happy as a family they were, and it showed me how I had to reconnect with them, so that I could never let that much time pass by us apart again! The card has hung on my fridge from that day on, and was joined by the other five or six they’ve sent since. The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve softened to the idea, but only under a few conditions.
If you are: a married couple (with, or without kids), are planning on getting married, should be married, have been together so long the entire civilized world thinks you’re already married… (you get the point) then by all means send out a picture of yourselves, et.al., framed by a holiday backdrop… if you don’t fall under that criterion, then don’t bother!
“Why”, you ask… well, a) you’ll look really foolish, b) you’ll be wasting a sizable amount of better spent money, and c) you’ll incur the wrath of all the sane, currently unattached, level thinking addressee’s that will never let you forget the year you sent a picture of yourself in a sweater that has a scene on it that echoes the vinyl winter wonderland that’s draped behind you and yours.
To quote and old Billy Squire song: “Christmas Is the Time to Say I Love You”, please don’t say it with a holiday card that will be a punch line for the rest of the coming year!