Authors: Jenny McCarthy
Stirring the Pot (13 page)
LETTER TO THE MAN
GOING THROUGH MANOPAUSE
Dear Mr. Manopause:
In addition to being a son, a brother, and a friend, you may now also be a father, an uncle, or perhaps even a grandfather (depending on how young you were when you started sowing your big bad seed in the first place). Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise: this adding-of-roles stage of your life is a time to celebrate. It’s not a time for anxiety or fear. But I know that no one really tells you what to expect or how to cope with your changing body and priorities. So see below. Some of the bullet points are must-dos, while others are milestones to watch for. All of them should put your mind at ease about the passage into the prime of life
.
•
Even though it was never an option when you were in the army, “surrender” is not a dirty word
.
Now that you are maturing, it’s something you need to get used to. You will have to surrender your VIP pass to the gentlemen’s club or at least let it expire. On the flip side, you really should stop surrendering your credit card to the makers of Penis Power and the surprisingly chinless plastic surgeon who wants to share the 411 on injectables
.
•
You will likely lose your hair. Even if you don’t lose your hair, what little you have will lose its color. Don’t fight this change with dye. A silver fox can be smoking hot. A guy who turns the pillow brown if he sweats in his sleep never is
.
•
If you’re concerned about your sex drive, you don’t need to be. Any woman will tell you that thinking about it is half the battle. (It’s when it never crosses your mind that you might be done … but if it never crosses your mind, you won’t be worrying about it.)
•
True midlife is when most men stop thinking so much about how to attract the ladies and start focusing more on how to keep the ladies. In other words, if you haven’t figured out where her clitoris is yet, you’re not quite yet in your prime. Keep working at it
.
•
Your balls will start to get longer and the day will
come when you realize free-ballin’ has to be a thing of your past. This shouldn’t trouble you. Wearing underwear is preferable to ball chafe around your knees
.
•
You’ll be unable to resist buying box sets of Steely Dan and Rush, and you’ll find yourself wondering out loud (to other prime-timers) why the hell you didn’t keep all your vinyl. Let it go—you sold it at a yard sale and there’s no going back
.
•
You may also find yourself reminiscing about the drugs you took when you first saw Steely Dan or Rush live. You and your manopausal brothers will talk fondly of Thai sticks and lids and seeds and stems, LSD, and that time you cured a ten-year-old heartbreak with just one handful of ’shrooms. Nothing wrong with going down memory lane, but consult your physician if you have the urge to relive any of those days for real
.
•
You may experience the urge to purchase a bright yellow sports car. As long as the urge doesn’t also include wanting to drive around picking up underage girls, caving in to the purchase of a statement vehicle is nothing to be ashamed of. Still, since the chances are good that you will become embarrassed by it within a couple of years, you should consider leasing instead of buying
.
•
Some of you will continue to skateboard. Others of you will take surfing lessons. Some of you will spend lots of time perfecting your golf swing. Others of you will get it into your head that you want to run a marathon. Whatever floats your boat. Nothing wrong with exercise
.
•
Please understand once and for all that there is no such thing as the diet of a “real man.” If you love steak and scotch and cigars, enjoy them (though you’ll last longer in bed and on this earth if you lay off all those heart-cloggers a little). If you like quiche and quinoa and kale, knock yourself out (but keep in mind that incessant talk about health food and bowel movements is a total turn-off)
.
•
Last one, so pay close attention: even if you’re with a whole new cast of characters in this Act II of your life, you’re going to need to make amends and make peace with the people who were onstage with you for Act I. I’m talking about first wives, Mister, so Make It Right
.
Wallet, keys, lipstick? Obviously. Here is your advanced packing list:
1. Earbuds. Clearly, these come in handy when you want to listen to your favorite tunes or watch back episodes of your favorite sitcom on your iPad without bothering the lady next to you on the train. But they are also an incredibly diplomatic decoy: tuck the plug inside your purse and pretend you’re listening to music even if you’re not. I find this is a much nicer and more effective way to communicate “I’m not interested in talking to you” than your middle finger. The middle finger tends not to shut people up. Go figure.
2. Individually wrapped hard candies. Throw the candy at random, untethered children or even random, untethered men who approach you. They
always scatter like pigeons chasing feed and you can make your getaway.
3. Chopsticks. Chopsticks don’t take up much room at all, but they have several important uses. If you’re coordinated enough to feed yourself with them, you’re already ahead of the game. But I tend to use chopsticks either to put my hair up (instructions: twist your hair into a bun and stab the chopsticks through it in a crisscross) or as an amazingly effective weapon now that Mace has been outlawed in some states. Especially if those earbuds aren’t doing the trick …
4. Emergency feminine protection products. As many as you can jam into an opaque bag that will fit inside your purse while still leaving just enough room for your wallet, keys, lipstick, earbuds, candy, and chopsticks. See “The Red Scare,”
this page
, if you don’t have a firm handle on why this is so important.
To borrow from the 1960s Virginia Slims cigarette commercial, I’ve come a long way, baby! Of course, that slogan was somehow meant to appeal to “liberated” working women, the idea being that black lungs and yellowed fingertips were no longer the kind of reward for hard work that only men should enjoy.
Even though I’ve had trouble kicking my own nicotine habit, we can all laugh at the ridiculousness of that ad now. Nothing says confidence and sex appeal like having to drag around an oxygen tank, right?
But there was a time when no one did laugh at it. We bought into the idea hook, line, and sinker, just like we’ve done with lots of other subliminal and not-so-subliminal messages sold to us over the years. That’s the nature of advertising and marketing, and I’m not here to judge the results, okay? That’s what lawsuits and the Surgeon General are for.
But to be corny for a minute, the life cycle of that old ad campaign—both what it stood for and the punch line it later became—are not so far from the cycle of life itself. Don’t we all just keep naively looking for direction in the wrong places? Don’t we buy into the latest trends and expert opinions only to wake up at some point to the realization that we were fucking idiots back then? Don’t you sometimes look at photos of your younger self and wish you could give the person in that snapshot a massive head slap? You know you do. We all occasionally wish for a time machine that could give us a chance to warn ourselves about the pain, disappointment, and rude awakenings to come.
But short of inventing that time machine, the kindest thing you can do for yourself is to not spend time on regret. Instead, choose to smile at your naïveté. Have the 2014 version of yourself let the 1990 version of yourself go. Don’t head-slap that girl in the photos; instead, whisper to her that you know she was doing the best she could with what she had to work with. Through the healing power of YouTube, I am constantly amused by the naïveté of some of the things that’ve come out of my mouth; I am constantly amused by my choice in acting jobs, even if very few other people are.
More than anything,
that’s
the way in which I’ve come a long way. I’ve given up regretting things because it’s so fucking futile to shoulda, coulda, woulda yourself all day. Even painful things like job disappointment and relationship rejection—things that chewed me up to a point I could barely stand at the time—have eventually spit me out in a good place. My mistakes and my pain and my baggage have made me the successful,
happy
person that I am today.
Now, I’m not only saying that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. And I’m not only saying that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Instead, I’ll put it in a way no Hallmark card would dare:
the way to wisdom is through the shit
.
In your lifetime you will encounter small piles like the ones the lady with the poodle refuses to pick up on your block, and massive steaming piles of it, like the bucketloads the clowns have to clean up as they run behind the elephants at the circus. Some people try to step around it every time, but me, I embrace even the nastiest of it in some small way. Sometimes I step in it, and sometimes I pick it up and throw it aside. Sometimes I even add a few ingredients, stir it up, and voilà—I’ve transformed it into something useful, like (metaphorically speaking) a spa mud mask.
However you choose to deal with the shit in the path of your life, don’t take it personally. After all, neither the dog nor the elephant is thinking about you when it drops a wet load near your shoe. It’s just life.
Winging It: The Screwball Method to My Madness
Repeatedly Tarred and Feathered: Confessions of an Outspoken Midwesterner
Shortcuts and Big Butts: Musings on the Kardashian Rise to Fame
From Playmates to Playdates: A Memoir
Mastering the Art of the Artful Fuck-Up
31,437 Words of Advice … and Other Reasons to Drink
Ball Dropping: A Single Mother’s Life
You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby: My Life in Commercial Slogans
Slurping Soup and Busting Nuts: My Get-Ahead Plan for Conquering Hollywood
Truth or Dare: The Jenny McCarthy Story
To the teachers who reminded me to wake up …
I’m awake. Thank you!
I couldn’t have done this book without you, kids (okay, maybe I could have but it would have been a lot harder). Thanks to:
My dedicated agent, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh.
The most talented editor in publishing, Marnie Cochran.
My creative research team, Amirra Ruotola Behrendt, Paula Killen, and Brett Paesel.
My mother. Sorry I stole your recipes for this book. I love you.
BY JENNY McCARTHY
Belly Laughs:
The Naked Truth About Pregnancy and Childbirth
Baby Laughs:
The Naked Truth About the First Year of Mommyhood
Life Laughs:
The Naked Truth About Motherhood
,
Marriage, and Moving On
Louder than Words:
A Mother’s Journey in Healing Autism
Healing and Preventing Autism:
A Complete Guide
(with Dr. Jerry Kartzinel)
Mother Warriors:
A Nation of Parents Healing Autism Against All Odds
Love, Lust, & Faking It:
The Naked Truth About Sex, Lies, and True Romance
Bad Habits: Confessions of a Recovering Catholic
Jen-X: Jenny McCarthy’s Open Book
Stirring the Pot:
My Recipe for Getting What You Want Out of Life
J
ENNY MCCARTHY
is the author of ten books, including the
New York Times
bestsellers
Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth About Pregnancy and Childbirth; Baby Laughs: The Naked Truth About the First Year of Mommyhood; Louder than Words: A Mother’s Journey in Healing Autism; Love, Lust, & Faking It: The Naked Truth About Sex, Lies, and True Romance;
and
Bad Habits: Confessions of a Recovering Catholic
. Getting her start as the host of MTV’s hugely popular dating show
Singled Out
, McCarthy has had a high-profile television and film career and has been a guest on virtually every television talk show, from
The Oprah Winfrey Show
,
Larry King Live
,
The View
,
Ellen
, and
Late Show with David Letterman
, to
Conan
,
Hannity & Colmes
, and
The Howard Stern Show
. A co-host of ABC’s
The View
since September 2013, she also co-hosts
Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve
with Ryan Seacrest, writes an advice column for the
Chicago Sun-Times
, and tours nationally for her
Dirty Sexy Funny
stand-up show. She lives outside of Chicago with her son, Evan.
www.jennymccarthy.com
Facebook.com/JennyMcCarthyOfficial
@JennyMcCarthy
Instagram.com/JennyAnnMcCarthy