Valentine's Day, Alone

Valentine's Day is approaching. By this time I'm usually obsessing over what gift to buy or where to celebrate, but not this year. Kellie is leaving me—for another woman—two other women to be precise. She and a couple of girlfriends are planning a trip to Sedona, Arizona, for a long weekend of hiking, hot tubs, and happy hour specials. Back home, the other abandoned men and I will have to console ourselves with hot wings at Hooters.

Science Is A Drag

What do extraterrestrials, cross dressing, (not to be confused with cross dressing extraterrestrials), antigravity, The Gulf oil spill, free energy, 9/11, Fukushima, a messiah complex, and the Bermuda Triangle all have in common? If you guessed my anti-radiation ray gun wielding neighbors, the Hutchisons, then give yourself a pat on the back; you’re a loyal reader of Living in Kellie’s World.

A Problem Of Biblical Proportions

It’s bad enough when your vacation home sits next door to a man who believes he invented a combination ray gun and sound system that neutralizes radioactivity from the reactor accident in Fukushima, Japan. It's an entirely different problem when his wife claims that she and her husband are the descendants of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. I’ve written about my neighbor John Hutchison and his ray guns before; you can read about it here, here, and here, but I recently discovered this biblical gem by his wife Nancy on a message board at the Cosmic Token:

Death Begins

At the age of 54, the day that I had been dreading for years had finally arrived. On Thursday, January 9, 2014, I discovered my first gray hair. I found it while examining my recently receding hairline. To be perfectly truthful, it's not the first gray hair on on my body, just the first gray hair on my scalp. Gray hairs sprouted elsewhere several years ago and have been migrating north from my nether regions ever since. I was initially quite concerned because those early white settlers were much more crinkly than the darker natives. I envisioned a future looking like a less intelligent Albert Einstein.

A New Year's Day Surprise

Kellie doesn’t allow sexy time to happen unless the bedroom door is locked. Period. Unfortunately, for me, the bedroom door on our Cannes apartment was lacking the required lock. I improvised by wedging a beach umbrella under the door handle, propped up by a couple of magazines and copy of Rick Steves’ France, the 2011 edition with the foldout color map.

Breasts To Die For

A German study published in the New England Journal of Medicine reported that staring at women's breasts improves men's health. According to the research, men who stared at woman’s breasts had a reduced risk of heart disease and better cardiovascular health.

John Hutchison's Ray Guns Redux

The Ray Gun

Kellie is back home in Oceanside, California, and I’m alone in Gold Beach, Oregon, trying to quell my neighbor’s ray guns. Since they first showed up next to our vacation rental property with their ray guns mounted on top of an old, white sheriff’s bus, they have been busy establishing a more permanent setup. They are remodeling their building, formally a small storage facility, into a laboratory with personal living quarters for self proclaimed scientist John Hutchison and his lovely wife Nancy. It looks like they are spending a good deal of money. I never knew crazy was so lucrative. 

Binge, Distracted By Breasts

I’ve gone off on a binge, a reading binge, which has effectively starved me of any time for writing. It started when I offered to do some research on Daniel Kahneman’s and Amos Tversky’s prospect theory for my friend David Marquet, a retired submarine captain and author of the book Turn The Ship Around. When I discovered that I had online access to academic journals using Kellie’s community college account, I spent days looking up and reading all manner of papers related to the theory because that’s what we obsessive-compulsive types do when we fixate on something. Subsequently, I decided it would be worth reading Kahneman’s book Thinking, Fast and Slow. This forced me to put aside the other two books I was reading, Jared Diamond’s The World Until Yesterday:What Can We Learn from Traditional Societies? and E.F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful: Economics as if People Mattered. 

Foot Orgasm - A Dutch Treat

Photo Credit: Philip Leara

By now I probably have the husbands out there thoroughly confused. First I said that doing housework was the key to getting more sex, and then I said that doing less housework was the way to go. From the feedback I've received it's obvious that neither strategy is particularly effective, which begs the question: Is there any sure fire way for a husband to put his wife in the mood? Fortunately, there is one aphrodisiac that never fails. It's called a cruise ship. There's something about undulating on the high seas that brings out a woman's inner Jenna Jameson. That's why in less than two weeks Kellie and I will be departing for our sixth cruise this year. 

Less Housework, More Sex

Al Bundy, enticing his wife.

I never intended to mislead my readers, but apparently that's what I've done. In a previous post, The Secret To Having More Sex (With Your Wife), I told my fellow husbands that doing more housework would lead to more sex. It seems I was wrong – oops, sorry – but it wasn’t my fault. I was a victim of the self-serving, feminist propaganda machine that controls every major network and cable news outlet, all of whom ran stories claiming that the reward for helping with chores was more sex. Internet sites helped spread the lie too. The Huffington Post ran Why Housework Will Get You Some, and the communist website China Daily pressed their massive misinformation machine into service by publishing Men who do housework may get more sex.