How They Revved Up Their Sex Life

Status: Rerun

Original Air Date: 06.11.08

As a kid, one of my favorite things to do was to torment my dogs. But not in a way that would make you expect to someday see me on Forensic Files. Or come across my cold, dark, heartless eyes looking back at you from a photocopied picture of my face hanging on the wall of your local Post Office.

I would sit in my living room, backyard or park, holding a ball, stick or treat in my hand and make the dogs (Lad or Mac, in this case,) sit. And they would stare. 

Stare with eyes that said, "Please kind sir. All we want is that dog snack. Would you be so kind as to throw it our way? We have obliged your request to sit. Furthermore, we have refrained from eating any underwear, urinating on your bedroom door or making stinky wind underneath the dining room table while you ate."

Slowly, I would bring my arm back. Their ears would perk up. I would bring my arm back even further. Every dog muscle in their dog body tensed up. Each prepared to showcase their Usain Bolt-type speed. And then, as if I was trying to hit Terrell Owens on a fly route 50 yards down field, I would heave my arm forward. Clearly, it was an exaggerated release in an effort to "sell" the toss to my canine friends. All the while, the treat was still lodged in my hand. 

Clever. I know.

My dogs would run in the direction the treat was supposed to go, given the trajectory, crosswinds, speed of release and arc. I would laugh. They would look around. Sniff. I would laugh some more. They continued to look around and sniff some more.

Then they would cast their sad and confused dog eyes in my direction. I could almost hear them say: 

"Asshole."

Today, I feel like a golden retriever. One that has refrained from urinating on Ms. Winfrey's front door. 

For the last 57 posts, I have gracefully dealt with pregnant men, transgendered families, poop shapes, hot flashes, causes of self-urination for women and other subject matter the likes of which I never need to discuss again. 

I've sat. I've fetched. I've even learned how to roll over. 

On today's episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show, O takes a look behind-the-scene of some shows, the drama of others, and as promised, the treat that makes the sitting and rolling over worth it, one couple's description of how they revved up their sex life. 

My tail wags. 

Segment 1: Lawreen and Randy

Once Lawreen and Randy had kids, they, like the rest of the world, viewed sex with your spouse as something you looked back on like your first baseball game. You think you enjoyed it. You can't really remember all of the details. And because the sultry memories were from so long ago, they are fuzzy at best. 

Well, maybe a certain half of the world.

Words and phrases like "tired," "Tomorrow, I promise." and "Are you freaking kidding me?" seem innocent enough, but in truth, they have trained our libido to hope for the best, but expect the worst.  Lawreen and Randy were no different, so she did something about it. Yes. She.

They had sex. Lots and lots of sex. 

It started as a "goal" of hers to do the Humpty dance for seven nights straight. That was three years ago.

Sex in the living room. Sex on the fireplace. Sex in the shower. On the Craftsman work bench. The kitchen. Whenever and wherever. Flat surface optional. 

She bought sexy negligees. She took belly dancing lessons. She learn how to strip. And according to her, unless they are "totally exhausted" or her husband is traveling, "they haven't missed a night in three years." 

To which my response is, "Gross."

I look back over the last three years and remember snotty noses, congested coughing fits, sunburns, diarrhea, leg cramps, stomach cramps, menstrual cramps, being drunk, being hung over, being injured and/or bleeding, acid reflux, cold sweats, food poisoning and other experiences that would make me avoid sex and any other close human contact like it was bird flu.

But remember, like the good doctor said, "Sex is one of the strongest forms of communication."

So, next time, when she says, "We don't communicate enough," you know what to do. 

Unless your nose is running.

Segment 2: Lisa Williams

During this segment, I engaged in a heated and lengthy debate with Mrs. Sensei about the possibility and viability of a three-year nightly sex run. Unfortunately, I missed it. Both the segment and the opportunity.

Suddenly, I begin to empathize with my dogs. 

Segment 3: Reggie 

Oprah and best gal pal, Gayle, took sixty women, and O's make-up artist, to the Miraval Spa. For one of those kinds of weekends that we with testicles will never understand. A lot of talking and sharing and doing each other's nails and all sorts of those, you-gotta-trust-me-to-get-through-this-type of activities. 

Take Oprah's make-up artist, Reggie who was tied to a swinging rope forty feet in the air. The same make-up artist, named Reggie, who gets motion sickness. I watch as Reggie swings from side-to-side and in an ironic, yet fitting twist, I too feel nauseous. Though I'm sitting completely still. Watching this segment. 

Segment 4: $345 Million

From nightly sex to winning a mega-lottery, O takes us from one fantasy to another. The Wests and the Chaneys won one of the biggest lotto drawings in history. $345 million. Steve and Caroline West, together with Caroline's mom, Frances Chaney, bought the ticket that changed it all.

We learn that they bought houses. They bought cars. And they took extravagant trips around the world. 

In between this edge-of-your-seat excitement and your search for paint chips to devour, remember that pneumatic nail guns are always a good, safe and quick option, as well.

Segment 5: Sleep

I love sleep. Behind sex and eating queso, it is one of my favorite things to do. If not for the obvious and careless neglect it shows towards my family, I could sleep all day, every day. I am also severely sleep deprived. Blogging and babies will do that to you. Turns out, there's 69,999,999 other sleep deprived souls out there, just like me. 

And you, Darrell.

And you, Bee.

I am proud to be a part of this nationwide fraternity. And I pledge my continued support of late-night blog writing, study sessions, binge drinking and the rest of life's essential activities in an effort to force my mind and body to stumble through the day like a zombie.

O's guest, Melanie, thinks she is one of us. Because she gets six hours of sleep. Instead of eight. Please. Six hours is for softees. You start operating on two hours of sleep, consistently, and then we'll talk. Until then, turn on the Hello Kitty night light and get your ass back to sleep. 

Segment 6: Sleep Solutions

Apparently, this is all you need to know. And if that fails, there's always Crown Royal. 

Or a 2X4 to the head.

Segment 7: WTF?

Before the show is over, it is of critical importance that we all witness the in-depth conversation O has with her make-up artist, Reggie, about the thickness of her eyelashes and how, no matter what they do, her eyelashes just won't curl. 

It's here, I think to myself, "If I opened the drawer up all the way, could my head fit in there? And if so, would slamming said drawer as hard as is humanly possible do the necessary damage I need it to do at this moment?"

Be glad I'm not a golden retriever. 

Next Episode: Bill Cosby Calls Out the "Dirty Laundry"

Monday, we saw Bill Cosby's TV kids. Yesterday, we saw what's wrong with kids. Today, we found out how to make them. And tomorrow, we'll see how to fix them. 

Until Thursday.

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