Let’s face it.  We’re all going to die.

You can go first.

In the meantime, I’ve decided that when my time comes, I’m going to die happy.  Without ever having bad sex again you.

After too many years and far too many disappointments, I have made up my mind that while I still have a few good men years left in me, to make one single change in 2011 that could potentially change my life forever.  It’s going to be difficult, because history repeats itself fate is tempting and the available choices are getting predictably cheaper old and boring.  But I’ve made an executive decision that I think should land me someone whose employed with a pulse and a future so I can get back on top of my game.

I will no longer be sleeping my way to the bottom.

Laugh all you want, but I’ve been doing exactly that for the last never mind how many years.  Some of these men don’t even come at all with references.  Let me give it to you straight.  It’s an ugly world out there.  Men, after a certain age (like say, 37) basically give up even trying to satisfy impress women in the bedroom.  Why?  Because they are too busy watching porn trying to make money.  And where does all that porn money get them?  In jail divorce court.  Or with hookers who don’t care if he sucks in bed.  (If he knew how did, she would have to charge him extra for that.)

Now I love me my men, but nobody seems to want to tell most men the truth when it comes to sex and the truth is that most men have no clue what they are doing when sex is involved and money is not.  Foreplay is not spelled like the number, nor does it represent the number of minutes to be used for this part of the exercise.  If your total sexual exertion time including your clean up foreplay can be timed with a stopwatch, you might consider a career as a sprinter.  If you take that route, accept the fact that nobody will remember your name either if you break the world record and cross the finish line at the Olympics in less ten seconds.  But at least you’ll get a medal before you’ll be forgotten.

If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, he should also be aware that the way to a woman’s vagina heart is through his ability to spring for dinner kiss.  Somewhere, there are cave drawings of this act just waiting to be discovered.  I’m the one with the cash tongue.

On another note, my landscaping is my own problem and the last I checked, I haven’t dated a barber or horticulturist, so I’d appreciate you keeping your buzzing shears opinions to yourselves.  Leave pruning to my fingers after a long hot bath.  If you want a Brazilan, buy yourself a plane ticket.  If you want your own landing strip, get yourself a plane.

Before long, there will be a GPS designed for a penis because it can’t be bothered to ask for directions so it can easily find its way to the proper port of entry.  While we're on this delicate subject, I'm going to say this one last time. My rear end is an exit only.   Has been since 1960.  The signs are audible in large print.  No parking in the rear allowed.  Ever.

I may have slept my way to the bottom for far too long, but I can promise you one thing.  Ain’t no man going to sleep his way into mine.