What is it about relationships that can make an otherwise sensible, even-tempered, reasonable creature alternately spit venom or fairy dust? Are we so hypnotized by the presence of another that we become deranged, one minute spontaneously rearranging our values, morals and boundaries in the name of Happily Ever After (or FABULOUS sex), the next searching feverishly for where we may have misplaced ourselves. If you’re like most two-leggeds, while this is fascinating coffee talk, you’re likely much busier trying to figure out how to

Getting off… Oh no…you thought I meant…that getting off! Right. Well…wrong. While this particular kind of “getting off” is also companioned by heavy breathing and occasional shouting, this explosion of emotion sounds more like: “GET-OFF-YOUR-PHONE!”

I was at one of my favorite local restaurants this past weekend,

It’s a sad day for some when your hormones are about to run out, your botox has worn off, you’re down to three fake eyelashes (the ones in the middle that make you look like you pulled an all-nighter or need glasses) and they can’t see you for an appointment for TWO weeks, then you realize they don’t make your favorite eyebrow pencil anymore so you have to use one that’s a shade too dark which makes you look like a clown. If that’s not bad enough

“Ya know, I am feeling more like some really clean food,” I declared, and instead of turning left drove straight, heading for another of our favorite haunts.  My husband didn’t care; he eats anything, like Mikey, that kid in the cereal commercial. I love that about him! Moments later we pulled into the parking lot, cracked the window for Bella (our white/golden retriever) and scampered inside the trendy organic restaurant. Okay, actually, I scampered. It was raining, so I scampered! My husband, who I think it would be safe to say does not scamper, strolled in.

My husband and I were walking along the beach when we noticed four children perched in the sand on either side of their cardboard sign that said “Things for free,” handwritten in red crayon. I did a double take. I didn't understand. I looked for the Kool-Aid. There wasn't any. Where was the catch? I looked around to see if it was a joke. It wasn't. My husband, on the other hand, knew right away what was happening and slid right into their magical world of giving. He gently sidled up to their seaside gifting shop

Tiger Woods/John Gosselin/General Petraeus hit the front pages, and readers are shocked…shocked. “Powerful men have a higher sex drive,” says one expert; “Men are just wired that way,” says another. “If women don’t want their men to stray, they need to turn up the passion in the bedroom.” And I say – Pleeeeze! We all know that men do not have a corner on the hormone market; the secret’s out and the facts are in, so enough with this foolishness—at least come up with something original.

Tell me, why does dropping one’s drawers have to be the line of demarcation? Is that really the point of no return? If so, then why do you consider it as such? My studies of aboriginal Polynesian societies have led me to delve into customs of touching in other nearly nude societies, including those of primates, with whom we share 98% of our DNA. These societies have no drawers to drop, yet raised peaceful, sexually wise kids. So, perhaps your next title should be: What You Should Know Before You Cover Your Wares. :-)