I'm Not Gonna Lie by George Lopez

that happens. Ever notice that the more confident you become and the harder you work, the luckier you get?
    ALL THE WOMEN I DATED SEEMED TO SHARE SOMETHING IN COMMON, ONE SPECIFIC QUALITY: THEY WERE ALL CRAZY.

    As I started going out more, I began to notice a pattern. All the women I dated seemed to share something in common, one specific quality.
    They were all crazy.
    Yes. I was attracted to crazy.
    Or crazy was attracted to me.
    Every woman I dated was nuts.
    And if they weren’t nuts, they snored.
    I could handle crazy. That was easy. I ran like hell or changed the locks or I moved.
    But a woman who snored?
    That was impossible. Because snoring sneaks up on you. You don’t expect it. It’s an ambush in the middle of the night.
    The worst was when I began seeing a woman seriously and I asked her to move in. Then—and only then—did she start to snore. What is the deal with that? Where was the snoring before? Was she holding her breath all night for months before she moved in?
    When I’m talking about snoring, I don’t mean that cute, breathy sexy little humming sound that can be a total turn-on. No. I’m talking about that openmouthed, sour-smelling roar coming out of the face of the person lying next to you that sounds like a garbage truck backing up while grinding its entire load into pulp.
    This woman snored louder than a death-metal band. Try to feel sexy with that noise blowing out of the person who’s unconscious beneath your sheets two inches away.
    The first time I heard her snore, I woke up like I’d been shocked with electricity. I shot right up into a sitting position. I thought the television had exploded. Then I realized that the horrifying sound giving me an instant migraine was actually my recent live-in girlfriend deep asleep, snoring like a jet engine coming in for a landing. I couldn’t sleep in the same bed with her. I couldn’t sleep in the same room with her. Hell, I couldn’t sleep on the same
floor
with her. I had to sleep downstairs. That’s how loudly and violently she snored. And the moment her snoring went into high gear, my sex drive went into park. Doctors have a name for this condition now: sleep apnea. They suggest going to sleep with a Hannibal Lecter mask over your face. Nothing kills your sex drive faster than sleeping in the same bed as a serial-killer cannibal.
    After I turned fifty, my feelings about sex changed. I was no longer obsessed with getting laid. I started seeing the whole person and not just her body. I wanted to really get to know someone. I wanted to allow a relationship to build. I felt the need to take my time, to relax, to laugh, to connect. As I changed my attitude toward sex, the sex actually got better, and I became a better partner. I think a lot of guys would benefit from changing their approach to sex. How did I do it? Easy. I just related sex to football. Starting with . . .
    If you’re on offense, you shouldn’t always throw the bomb on first down.
    You’ve got to set things up. Try a couple of running plays, mix in a slant, a screen pass, a draw play up the middle. Then go for the end zone. Don’t shoot for pay dirt right away. Don’t get sucked in.
Come on; go deep.
No. What if you throw an incomplete pass? Or worse, what if you throw an interception? You do not want that.
    Worst of all, if you score too early, you’re gonna end up fumbling.
    Bottom line: Sex after fifty requires a different approach. You have to adjust. Some adjustments occur automatically.
    First, the room is darker.
    Almost pitch-black.
    The darker, the better. I used to like lava lamps and incense. Now I like blackout curtains. My partner may want to see my naked body, but I’ve already seen it, every day, four, five times a day, and trust me, it’s better to keep her in the dark. When I was younger, I could have all the lights on and the windows open and sunlight streaming in. We could do it