Dear Miss Fantz,
Five of us, ages 55-65, meet for coffee every morning at 6 a.m. We always read and love your column, thus we are writing for advice. We were obviously "players" at one time, but now after starting our day out at Vic's, all we can think about at 7 p.m. is surfing the channels for nothing really, and falling asleep at 7:30.
Needless to say, we long for the days when we could work our fingers to the bone till 8 p.m., come home and put a twinkle in our wives' eyes, and then work on the next business plan 'til midnight. Some of us are thinking that maybe a new hot car might do the trick? I drive a Prius for Christ's sake. Any advice for us?
--Old guyz in the hood
Thanks for the love, kid. Now sing with me as I invoke Bryan Adams: Everything I do, I do it for you. Oooo. Ooo.
Aw, shucks, this broad here is a fan of meeting fans -- I recently had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with a fine fella who stopped by the office to say hi. Wink.
Get a room.
Oh 6 a.m., you space cowboys. I picture it now: my lovely Boulder silver foxes all lined up in a row, giggling like schoolgirls while swigging Caffè Americanos and reading my filth.
Watch your mouth! It's delicious filth.
It would appear my boys are sipping on the midlife crisis cocktail. (I said cock.)
I'm not close to my midlife crisis, but I can see myself buying a shiny new bong paired with a couple dozen shelter dogs.
Let's find some ways to put the "player" back into your pantalones:
--New car? You could get an Audi or a Beemer, but it will become camo in this town that rains wagons. An El Camino! Very vintage, baby. Daddy will look good in that mullet mobile.
--A monthly guys night out? Hit the Bustop, see some cans, smash some cans, act a fool. Stumble into a frat party shouting "Animal House" quotes like you wrote it.
--Put whiskey in your a.m. coffee. Get a little gusto, boys. Then head home for a nooner and bang your wives sore.
--Hit up Shooters and ride that mechanical bull like you rode that prostitute in 'Nam that one year. (Oh, you're not that old.)
--Pop some Viagra and waltz around town with raging boners.
Ixnay on the last one.
You still got it, gents. Now get (it) up and go!
(You're welcome for putting Bryan Adams in your head.)
My partner just found out she has Celiac Disease, so no more gluten. I'll cook gluten-free, but I don't have to switch to gluten-free beer in solidarity with her, right?
-- Beer before my gluten-free lovemuffin
Um. I believe the men's room saying articulates: Beers before hos.
NO! Don't do it. Gluten-free beer is foul. (It's a scientific fact.)
Aw. Catch-22. You're a good bloke who doesn't want to tempt her with your delicious hops.
Solution: Man cave mini-fridge with a padlock. Drink beer in sippy cup so she doesn't get jealous.