Today’s guest poster is Linsey from Uncouth Heathen. I knew she was special from the minute I read her About page: “I began with a major in Biochemistry, switched to History, then Political Science, Philosophy, Psychology, English and finally settled on Humanities, graduating after eleven (11) years of haphazard learning. I now possess a degree that qualifies me to do exactly nothing at all.” Now that’s my kind of blogger. When I noticed that she was gay, I decided to get personal — and make her write an entire post for my benefit: “What I Can Teach Neil abut Making a Women Really Really Happy! ” After all, most of my male blogging comrades seem to be clueless. “If you want to impress a woman online, send her a photo of dick!” said one guy.  “The way to make a woman happy is to jump on her the first thing in the morning and three minutes later ask “What’s for breakfast?” Oh, and driving her around in a sports car.” said some male blogger who went to BlogHer this year to pick up women. Linsey ended up writing a wonderful post that completely gets to the point. It also taught me something important. Linsey, why aren’t you a therapist?
What I Can Teach Neil abut Making a Women Really Really Happy! (or “For The Record, Asking If She’d Have Sex With A Mannequin Will Only Make Her Really, Really Uncomfortable”) by Linsey
Before I started to write this on Sunday night, I asked my wife, Janie, if she was happy. I didn’t tell her why I was asking because I wanted an honest answer. Perhaps I wanted to feel like I had something to say here and her happiness was some sort of special credential I needed to carry on. I was certain she’d tell me she has never been happier in all her life; that she would go on about how every day with me is like nothing else in the world that matters and nothing can dampen her joy, not even the asshole who keeps cooking hamburgers in the bathroom at her work. As it turns out, my wife is not happy, generally speaking. Ain’t love a bitch. Thank you, Mr. Citizen of the Month!
After a long discussion into the wee hours of Monday morning about how Janie can be happier, I decided to attack it at another angle. I thought I’d get better feedback (feedback that didn’t involve my crying wife asking me how she could have wasted her best years) from my sister and her husband who have been married for over ten years. On our ride into work Monday morning, I asked them what they thought it took to make a woman really, really happy. My brother-in-law said that asking a question like that was akin to asking who God was. My sister shot him a look the likes of which I hope never to see again, there was some cursing, a few hurtful things were said at high volumes and then they stopped talking for the last 15 minutes of the ride.
On Tuesday night, I asked my dad how he has managed to keep my mom happy for the 41 years they’ve been married. He couldn’t hear me. His eardrums are damaged from 41 years of my mother’s screaming and I suspect that his refusal to get a hearing aid has something to do with that, too. I can’t ask my brother because we don’t talk anymore. Besides, his current girlfriend has broken up with him no less than 30 times in the last year and, well, that doesn’t sound like happiness, to me.
If you’re looking for an answer from me or anyone in my family, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. I’m with comedian Wanda Sykes on this one: “You can’t make a woman happy. That’s like trying to cure a fatal disease. The goal is to treat the symptoms so you can comfortably live with the illness.”
What I think she means is that I am not responsible for the happiness of any woman other than myself. That’s the same thing my therapist has been telling me for five solid years. What I guess I’m trying to say to you, Neil, is that you can’t be responsible for the happiness of any other woman than yourself, either.
In the absence of any personal or familial wisdom on the matter, I did some serious Internet research and found this article dating back to the summer of 2006. If you don’t want to bother reading it, let me just skip to the part I think you may want to know. The article quotes a gentleman who heads up something called the Happiness Project wherein he states that “the major cause of unhappiness for women in the 21st century is a lack of meaning: What’s the point?” Maybe if you want to make a woman really, really happy you have to help her find meaning. But you know what? You can’t always help someone find meaning in their life. Like my wife, for example. She’s a librarian. She has a degree in motherfucking Information Science and she hates that god damn library. That doesn’t have anything to do with this, I just wanted to say that because what the hell is that about? I want my $20,000 in graduate school payments back, with that attitude.
Next, I came across this BBC article from 2002, wherein so-called scientists “discovered” that semen makes women happy because “the mood-altering hormones in semen absorbed through the vagina help to boost women’s mood.” What this looks like to me is that some guy got tired of wearing a rubber and wanted to prove to his girlfriend that really, in the end, it was going to benefit her. Sure, there’s the off-chance there might be unwanted children or a burning itch in her genitalia, but she’ll be so happy on account of that semen that nothing else will matter! Well, let me just tell you something to prove this bullshit wrong, and it isn’t about me and how happy I am without semen in my life because, you know, if I had some of that I’d impregnate my wife and save us a few thousand dollars in fertility treatments. I’d be able to spend that fertility money on better things like booze and Ikea furniture. Let me share a story about my friend. We’ll call her Karen. You see, Karen and her husband are trying to have a baby. Trying really hard. They’ve each had fertility tests, she’s had surgeries and, apparently, a lot of the sexual relations, but she’s not happy. A neighbor recently offered her husband a “#1 Dad” Mariners t-shirt and she started to cry because she thought he was mocking their misfortune, their inability to have the child they so desperately want. A child they’ve been having so much sex in an attempt to conceive that she should be shitting rainbows and unicorns and mountains of whatever mythical creature signifies happiness to you, on account of all that sperm being showered into her vagina. But she’s not. In fact, she’s now refusing to allow semen into her body more than once per week because, in her words, “please, who needs that much spunk in their hoo-ha?” It doesn’t seem like semen is the answer to me, or to Karen.
The search for meaning seems like a good starting point to finding happiness. I know that I’m constantly searching for meaning. Why am I here? What is this life all about? Why is Living Lohan still on the air? There are so many questions and, I believe, we are all asking them, conscious or not. If you want to make a woman happy, you need to work on two separate things: First, search for your own answers, and then help her along, supporting her as you travel that path together. The reward of relationships is the journey, in discovering together what it means to be alive, to have a purpose. It’s like they always say in those episodes of (NERD ALERT!) Janie’s favorite show, Xena: Warrior Princess, especially the ones where I’m certain that during the commercial breaks Xena and Gabrielle are enjoying relating to one another, if you know what I mean. And what I mean is that they’re sweaty and naked and having dirty homosexual lesbian lady gay sex. I’m sorry, I got distracted. Lucy Lawless has the nicest teeth. Anyhow, relationships are about what you can learn from one another, how each can make the other a better person. It’s like how Xena is less murdery because Gabrielle is such a pussy and how Gabrielle finally learned how to kick a guy in the balls because Xena told her where they were. Lesbians don’t always know that sort of thing.
The truth is that I don’t know how you or anyone else can make a woman really, really happy. I know that I’m happiest when I find a purpose to my existence, however small it may be. Tonight I brought my beautiful wife some M&Ms because she was having a bad day. When I gave them to her, she looked at me with joy in her eyes and said that I always knew just what she needed at any given time. For that brief moment I knew my purpose was to bring bags of candy-coated chocolate pellets to the woman I love. Then she took her shirt off to reward me and I had a whole new purpose that I can’t talk about here.
i agree, you can’t make someone happy, but you can contribute to their happiness. i think neil needs to work on his own happiness, stop worrying about everyone else so much, find something he likes to do that brings him joy and look around where he is, happiness is there if he wants it.
this was beautifully written from someone that sounds happy in their life.
Great post and super outlook (yeah, I said super! because super, it is good, yo) – Am looking forward to checking out your blog.
This was definitely a great piece, superbly written. The question itself was tough. I do not believe that discovering the great meaning of Life guarantees happiness (some people find it through religion, but I do not buy that option) – my philosophy is more like “Life’s a bitch, and then you die.” But, in the meantime, try and enjoy all of Life’s little slices, and help others enjoy them too. Semen might help, but I do not think that it’s a prerequisite to a woman’s happiness (warmth and intimacy with another human being is a plus, though.)
I am really digging this Guest blogger thing.
Awesome post. Totally.
Chocolate, boobs and Xena. I’m happy!
Awesome post. I’m not sure what makes people happy. I’m pretty happy in general and I have no idea what my purpose is. I just like the experiences and adventure along the way. Maybe it helps that I had such a messed-up upbringing that everything after it seems amazing.
A delight! This post earns you a PhD. in Haphazard Humanities.
I believe in summary though, while we don’t know the key to true happiness, chocolate leads to JOY.
This was amazing. Truly, truly amazing.
I think *I* have a new blog crush.
Great guest post! Witty and full of wisdom. Peace, JP/deb
Ooh. Good post.
Really beautiful post.
I’ve been struggling a lot with “meaning” lately. I think happiness is in stringing the small moments together, you know? And “making” someone else happy is about trying to create more of those small moments. I find that I’m unhappy when the good things are too spread out. Even when things are really tough, if you have enough small, great moments, it doesn’t feel quite so crappy.
I loved this post! And” Better Safe Than Sorry” commented exactly what I was thinking. So ditto!
Off to check out Linsey’s site…
You are all too nice. I’m not used to this kind of treatment. It’s making me a little uncomfortable. Thank you very much. Quick, someone call me a fat whore before I forget who I am.
Also, I think that picture looks like one of those FLDS ladies. I don’t understand why she has such a huge smile on her face.
I could apply a bit of this in my life too. I continue to chase my dreams and pursue my hobbies and forget that not everyone has that luxury.
THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
Neil, Good Choice!!
Last night I went out on my 19th wedding anniversary – with my wife, even. We were together for four years before hitting the chuppa, too, so it’s 23 years we’ve been an item. We celebrated with a couple of thincrust pizzas at a grapes-and-chianti-hanging-from-the-ceiling place in our neighborhood, where our 3-year-old crawled under the table to shine his flashlight up my nose, and ordered up three servings in a row of “that’s amore” from the tableside jukebox (three plays for a quarter). He refused to walk home so I was carrying him. We stopped for ice cream at the 50’s era creamery a few blocks from our house. Leaving there, a bit woozy from grease and butterfat, Kel had the remains of Zach’s ice cream cone dripping down her arm, a belly full of pizza, and the company of two very drowsy and somewhat sticky guys, who were fighting over a flashlight so we could shine it up each other’s noses. And she told me she was happy.
I mean, really? Was that what it took? What the hell have I been doing these past 23 years?
I guess I could call it “laying groundwork.” I was laying something, I’m pretty sure. “Groundwork” sounds like something I could call it without pissing her off. And that is my secret to the happiness of one very particular woman. Your results may vary; past results are not an indication of future performance. At all.
OH and Linsey I have totally added you to my bloglines. Awesome job. If you happen to visit San Fran, I have an ice tray that could use your help…
Beautiful…WOW…I think I love you!
THIS was my favorite quote: The reward of relationships is the journey, in discovering together what it means to be alive, to have a purpose
You are now on my daily reading list..someone will have to go..sorry Neil.
kidding…
Fantastic. I really enjoyed this post. Way to turn it around and hit the question seriously and dead on.
I’m a woman, and I don’t even know what I want.
this was a most awesomest post!!!! Eggscellent reflections on the truth of making your self happy and working together to find meaning.
Neil, are you a lesbian in a mans body? i so see that in you.
What this looks like to me is that some guy got tired of wearing a rubber and wanted to prove to his girlfriend that really, in the end, it was going to benefit her
That’s completely the wrong approach. The right approach is a bit different. He should have mentioned the Mayo Clinic study that proves that swallowing speeds up the female metabolism, allowing you to eat whatever you want without any weight gain at all.
In the end everyone benefits. The women find themselves with a svelte new body and the men enjoy the benefits of making a woman happy.
M&M’s and dames – this is the meaning of life! Great piece! Honest and it made me laugh 🙂
Thanks,
Pamela
Perfection.
Neil — thanks for introducing us to these bloggers!
my god that is a great post! i love wanda sykes very, very much.
i almost fell off of my chair with this gem, “having dirty homosexual lesbian lady gay sex”
This is fabulous. I’ve been trying to get this through my mom’s head for years. No one is more responsible for your happiness than you. Well done!
My ass is warm. My feet are dry. There’s a cup of coffee in my hand. I’m happy. I passed Happiness 101.
There’s a handsome Japanese man on my couch, watching the Women’s Maathon, probably having a quick snooze because he didn’t sleep well last night. I make him a cup of tea, and he smiles. That’s Happiness 201.
Problems arise when candidates attempt Happiness 201 before they pass Happiness 101.
By the way, Happiness 301 is the same as Happiness 201, except it’s not my couch, but our couch.
The coursework for a Major in Happiness consists entirely of teaching Happiness 101.