A Pretty Girl Smiles, My Imagination Runs Wild

I walked into Publix, a local grocery store chain, for my normal healthy lunch (A light salad with diet dressing, minus the tomatoes, carrots, cheese, olives, cucumbers, lettuce and diet dressing, with a sprinkle of a large roast beef sandwich), and as I was walking inside, a stunningly attractive young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, gave me a big beautiful smile on her way outside.

Now, this may seem like a trivial thing to you, the ignorant loyal reader, but this means the world to me. Why? Because on Monday I turn 35 years old, and I know that my days of random smiles from beautiful women are Quickly Coming to an End. Pretty soon, it will always be me that has to smile first. Soon after that, I’ll be prohibited from smiling at any young woman ever again:

Me: Officer, all I did was smile at her!

Officer: (handcuffing me) I’m sorry, but ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it.

Me: WHAT law?

Officer: Section 467.372, part 8, paragraph 2 states that anyone over 35 that smiles at young girls is a creepy old man like Joe Simmons, and should be incarcerated.

Me: Wait, there’s a law WITH MY NAME IN IT?

Officer: It was only a matter of time, you miscreant.

So, as you can see, I have to enjoy this while I can. I don’t want to run afoul of the law. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go. I hear they are having a sale at Publix.

Maybe This Explains Why No One Calls Me "Humble"

One of my very good friends had these made using a service she found in the back of a Rolling Stone magazine. She's given them out to several people. I have about 50 of them left. I would sell them (market value is currently hovering somewhere around "free"), but I am sticking them in random bars, clubs, and of course hotels hosting charitable functions throughout the U.S. Let me know if you see one.

I swear, I'm really not conceited. I do say this constantly, but it's as a joke, people. A JOKE.

Love Hurts...Let Joe Simmons Be Your Anti-Bacterial Ointment

Relationships are difficult, yes. However, meeting someone special in order to get into a relationship in the first place is sometimes even more difficult. I cannot count the amount of times that lonely, quality single people have asked me, “Joe, will you please chew with your mouth closed?” But sometimes they also ask me about relationships.

Looking at my profile picture and reading how smooth I am with the written word, it should come as no surprise to most of you that I do pretty well with the ladies. I like to think that the reason for this, other than my legendary good looks, is because I understand women. Not how they think, mind you (modern psychology considers the understanding of female thinking a laughable pursuit, similar to finding the repeating decimal in pi) but how they want to be courted and treated by men. The key, of course, is showing women respect. I have helped to show many a man how he can use his strengths—his inner gentle charm and chivalry—to really help him score with a lot of hot chicks.

Ha ha! That’s a joke, people. I think very highly of the finer sex, and over the past few years I’ve actually become a valuable resource for many women who need assistance in their dealings with men. I’m now quite the expert in helping women to search their own feelings and learn to get in touch with them. In fact, for the benefit of my loyal readers, I will go ahead and open my e-mail inbox right now and offer a never-before-seen look at how my sage advice helps those who dearly need it:

From: Paulina@internationalmodels.com
To: Joe Simmons

For the love of God will you please, for the 11 billionth time, STOP contacting me? I will NOT go on a date with you!!! If you—

Whoops! Wrong e-mail! That must have been spam or something. I’ll have to check on that. Let’s go to the next one, so you can see with your own eyes how helpful I can be to women who desperately need my assistance:

From: Cynthia@emailaddress.com
To: Joe Simmons

Aren’t you the creep that hangs around on the bench outside Victoria’s Secret at the mall? I quit shopping there because of you! You should really seek some help and—

Um, that must be, uh, spam too. Yeah, SPAM. That e-mail definitely wasn’t for me! I must be getting someone else’s messages. Besides, I sit on that bench because I get tired. Now, let’s get to a serious e-mail from a poor woman in need:

From: SarahD@university.edu
To: Joe Simmons

I recognize your picture! You’re the guy in the ’87 IROC-Z that parks near cheerleading practice! I almost didn’t recognize you without your binoculars! Our cheerleading coach says if she sees you again she'll call the police! You better—

Okay! Maybe viewing my inbox isn’t the way to go here, and I’ll thank you in advance for forgetting any of the erroneous e-mails you may have just read. Clearly not all the males out there are as gentlemanly as I am. However, I sincerely want to impart my wisdom on my loyal readers, and I think the best way to do that would be to use the popular “Q and A” format:

Q: Joe, I’m a 26-year-old male and I see this beautiful girl every weekend at a dance club, yet I don’t think she even knows I exist. How can I get her attention and possibly her phone number? Keep in mind that I’m very shy.

A: The next time you see her at the bar area, walk up and offer to buy her a drink. She’ll accept the offer. (In recorded history, there are only four accounts of a woman turning down a free drink, and three of them involved nuns.) Then purposely order the most expensive drink in the entire club for each of you. After the bartender serves you two lovebirds the drinks and tells you what the tab is, pretend that you forgot your wallet at home and ask her if she can “pay for it this time”. This will give her an unforgettable impression of you. Make sure to gulp your drink down quickly.

Q: Um, does that really work?

A: I’m kind of curious about that myself. Make sure to send me a detailed e-mail and let me know how it goes.

Q: Joe, I’m a six-foot, blonde-haired, 24-year-old female astrophysicist and part-time bikini model, and I can’t decide between two wonderful men who are courting me. One is a good-looking, world-renowned neurosurgeon who spends his weekends volunteering at the Salvation Army and constantly treats me with love and respect. The other one is the Founder and CEO of a charitable organization that helps blind children in Third World countries, and he is also good-looking and showers me with affection and respect. What should I do?

A: I hate to be the “bearer of bad tidings”, but it is obvious to me that both men are cheating on you. Clearly, you have been putting up with those two losers long enough. You should dump them right now and seek someone out that will truly be good for you. Someone with a creative mind. For example, I don’t know, a humor writer.

Q: Uh, are you sure I should do that? Dump them both?

A: Well, it depends. I'll need a recent picture of you before I can say for sure.

Q: Joe, how can you call yourself a “humor writer” and “love expert” when you’re actually a no-talent, Dave Barry-wannabe hack who last went on a date during the Clinton administration?

A: Well, will you look at the time. I guess “Q and A” is just about over!

I hope that I’ve been able to help my loyal readers out there who are still seeking that “special someone”. Believe me, it will happen for you as long as you believe in yourself. Guys, please feel free to continue to ask me any questions you have in your pursuits. Take advantage of my years of experience. And ladies, if you need any help, my e-mail address is also always available to you. Make sure you attach a picture.

My Guarantee to You, the "Loyal Reader"

My sister says I have to post entries to my blog nearly every day. This way, readers have a reason to keep coming back, most likely making it a habit. However, there are some important points I need to make here:

1. No one is paying me for this
2. Posting every day sounds suspiciously like work
3. No one is paying me for this
4. I am, uh, “energy-challenged”
5. No one is paying me for this

However, I am willing to post, in a sincere humanitarian effort to make money from my Google ads, this rock-solid guarantee: I will publish a new essay at least once a week, interspersed with random short amusing thoughts every other day or so. If I ever fail to do this, I will pay you, the loyal reader, $75.00 in cold, hard cash.* This will be an iron-clad, no-questions-asked guarantee. That is how committed I am to making this blog successful. My next essay is almost complete and should be ready for posting tomorrow. This is my way of thanking my fans. All three of you.




*Offer void outside the continental United States. All claims must be submitted one week prior to the week without a post. Offer defines “loyal reader” as anyone who’s ever cleaned the author’s bathroom (including survivors). Claimant must send request for $75.00 on parchment paper written in Mandarin Chinese. Offer void inside the continental United States. Offer doesn’t like you. Offer thinks you should probably switch to another brand of deodorant. Offer void after 12/31/1987.

Is a House Without "Window Treatments" a Home?

Thanks to recent information given to me by a member of the female gender I now know that, as a homeowner, I’m a complete idiot. I bought my house brand-new a little over two years ago, and was conversing with my sister Lori a few months ago about the purchase. It went a little like this:

Lori: When you were going over the plans with the homebuilder, what options did they give you for the kitchen counters? Where they all pre-fab? Or did they offer any solid-surfaces such as granite or concrete?

Me: (Blank stare)

Lori: You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?

Me: (Eyes glazing over)

The conversation went on for quite a while (I did manage to actually speak at some point), the rest of which illuminated for my sister the depth and breadth of my ignorance about all things homeowner-related. She stated that I should not be the one making home-design decisions, due to the fact that I might forget to include one of the many subtle yet important features that all “cozy, warm” houses should have, like say a kitchen.

I thought this was unfair. Clearly I’d notice if my house didn’t have a kitchen. I’d need someplace to put my leftover delivery pizza. Besides, it is also the number one place for me to look when I absolutely, positively, cannot find my television’s remote control. Just when I reach the point of complete exasperation, I’ll decide to look in the kitchen, where it will most likely be found in the refrigerator next to a container of sour cream dip (“best if used by 8/13/01”). The kitchen is actually the one place in my house where I find the oddest items. I’ll sometimes find car keys, old rental DVDs, envelopes marked “Final Notice”, food, etc.

I have been given a lot of grief because of the current state of my house. This is a true fact: I have owned my house for over two years now, and I still have yet to hang anything on any wall. I also do not have a single blind or curtain covering any of my windows. Without fail, whenever I invite someone over for the first time, they always ask the same question: “So, um, did you just move in?”

When did having a home become so complicated? It certainly wasn’t this difficult when I was in college. I didn’t have to worry about interior details when I shared a two-bedroom apartment with my old high school chum Eddie Murnane. We never thought about things such as "crown molding" or “window treatments”. We used more simplistic, practical ways to deal with the incoming sun, such as squinting. If we absolutely had to block the light, we would just jam couch pillows into the windows. We did what we had to do. Hey, that Nintendo wasn’t going to play itself.

Don’t get me wrong; I care about how my place looks now. My motto is “I'll do whatever it takes to have a nice interior, unless, you know, it takes time or effort or money or anything like that.” This is the same strong, smart, efficient process that got me through college, and I'm "staying with what works". Now, if you’ll excuse me, I'm about to go to the kitchen. I need my remote control.