Article first published as TheFurFiles - Daunted By Divorce, Hollywood Hookup, Brother Could Do Better on Technorati.
Madame Floretta "Fern" De Villiers, a.k.a. "Amanda Fox" is an author or erotic fiction and commentary. This is her weekly advice column.
I am in love with this guy and we want to get married, but I’m nervous. Don’t almost fifty percent of marriages end in divorce? What should I do?
Scared Of Becoming A Statistic
“Heaven’s Messenger” on Yahoo! Answers (my most trusted source of factual information), says that the divorce rate for first marriages in North America is 50% – yikes, you were right. He/she also says that it’s 67% for second marriages (double yikes), and a whopping 74% for third marriages (triple yikes).
Thus, methinks that you have every right to be concerned, however…
Numbers aside, are you telling me that you don’t want to get married because of what “might” happen?
Like you’d choose NOT to take gymnastics’ lessons because you “might” break your neck trying to learn how to do a back flip?
Like you’d choose NOT to get romantically involved with 50 Cent because you “might” catch some sort of deadly venereal disease from him?
Like you’d choose NOT to be friends with Paris Hilton because she “might” say terrible things about your fashion sense behind your back?
Instead of being so negative Scared, I think you should look at the prospect of getting married in a more positive light. Look at it this way…
The chances of winning Lotto 6-49 are 1 in 13 983 816. Translation: Don’t leave your job at Pizza Hut.
The chances of an amateur golfer scoring two holes-in-one in a single round are 1 in 9 222 500. Translation: Don’t leave your job at Taco Bell.
And according to Fiction Factor, the chances of having your first novel hit number one on the New York Times Best Seller list are “really stacked against you”. Translation: Don’t leave your job at Giant Tiger.
Now, as the chances of staying married are a colossal 1 in 2, I’d say you should go for it.
If you DO end up getting a divorce though, don’t worry, you’ll only be doomed to a life of more broken relationships, lost loves, unremitting heartache, dismal days and even lonelier nights.
If this too “scarwee” for you Scared, maybe I should just shoot you now.
My husband is jealous of everyone and everything – he’s jealous of my work mates, my friends (only four of which are really good-looking, hunky guys), my parents, my brother, my dog – Joseph the Weimaraner, my hamster – Edward “Punchy” McLaughlin, my iTunes, Facebook, MySpace and Habbo accounts, my “Sepbora Collection Color Play 5-in-1 Fashion Edition” make-up kit, and my “KQC X-Heat” tourmaline ceramic 1” flat iron that I’ve named Sizzling Sindy.
Calvin says, and I quote, “All that crap takes time away from US, Darlene. Don’t you want there to be an ‘US’?”
Now, in his defense, Calvin was left alone a lot as a child, his mother ditching him to go hang out at the neighborhood crack house from the time he was about four until he left home at the age of thirteen.
As much as I love him, and as much as I don’t want to push him over the edge – yes, he HAS threatened to drive his car into a brick wall if I don’t spend every waking moment with him – I just can’t live this way anymore. He is driving me crazy. Is it so wrong to want some time for myself?
I Almost WANT Calvin To Drive His Car Into A Brick Wall
Dear You’d Better Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself Darlene,
Sometimes I feel more like a detective than an advice maven. And in your case Darlene, that is definitely the role I’ve been forced to take. Now you may think me crazy for saying this, and I may get some flack from the rest of my readership as well, but from the few clues that you’ve inadvertently revealed in your letter, it is my personal opinion that this whole problem with Calvin is entirely YOUR FAULT.
In fact, I may even go so far as to say that I think you are plotting to “do away with”, “get rid of”, “off”, “kill”, “murder”, or “eliminate” your probably wonderful but slightly emotionally unstable husband, Calvin and use me as part of your defense scheme to boot. Shame on you, Darlene!
Shocked that I am this observant, this smart, this all-knowing? Yes well, most people are. Let me explain what has led me to this conclusion. Let me explain to you WHY you have been foiled.
First of all, what married woman has four – count ‘em, four – really good looking male friends? She might have one but that’s about it, and he’d have to be gay.
Second, what sort of sane, angelic person would name their hamster after an Irish mob boss? Hamsters are much better suited to having names of championship figure skaters, for example – Manfred Schnelldorfer, Hans Gerschwiler, or Tim Brown.
OK, so the Weimaraner thing I get. Those dogs DO require a lot of attention.
But then you go on to talk about having a “Habbo” account. You really screwed yourself with that one, Darlene. Only psychos and creepers go on Habbo Hotel.
Also, you do seem rather obsessed with how you look, and with all those “hunky” boyfriends of yours, why shouldn’t Calvin be jealous?
So Darlene, I think that it’s time for you to smarten up and fly right. I just may have to call the cops on you otherwise. Oops, actually I’ve done that already, so if you were going to try to escape, forget it. There should be a SWAT team ready to bang down your door at any second.
And just as an aside for everyone else in the world, think before you write in to me people.
P.S. It’s “Cindy” with a “C”.
I is tryin’ to makes it in Holleewud and sum guyz telled me I cud dooz a spot in an x-rate jizzer flick. Wha’ ja think?
At least you spelled your name right – I think.
Anyway, how bad to you want to make it in Hollywood? Quite frankly, I think it’s a pretty standard requirement for a young actress such as yourself to participate in at least one pornographic movie or to act in one very low budget docu-drama and/or reality television show. So saying, if you do decide to go ahead with it, let me know when and where you will be filming. I could always “come” with you for moral support. No pun intended [chuckle, chuckle]. BTW, what do you look like?
So yeah, funny story… last year I was in California for the Academy Awards. It was sort of a last minute thing. You know, Tyrese Gibson called to see if I would be his date after Kim Kardashian turned him down. And no, I don’t mind being considered second best. I don’t have ego issues like that.
As I was saying, I was walking down the red carpet in my Vera Wang gown, trying my best NOT to take the spotlight away from the stars who were ACTUALLY nominated for awards (and not really succeeding, I might add – oh, the paparazzi just never leave me alone), when out of the corner of my eye I see Natalie Portman grilling me pretty hard. Sure, I looked good – I looked smokin’ hot and on arm of Tyrese no less. Even Brad was a little bug-eyed. Angelina had to give him a shove, but whatever. Yes, people were staring. People were taking pictures. People were calling my name, “Fern, Fern, look over here… over here Fern.” It was a flurry of activity, lights and unbridled excitement, when all of a sudden Natalie stuck out her foot and tried to trip me.
Thanks to my amazing physical prowess however, I didn’t actually fall on my face. In fact, it only ended up looking like a small bobble, like I was waving at my fans, nothing more.
The point is Bambi, this is just the way it is in Hollywood. People you think are innocent and sweet, are actually conniving, jealous, mean-spirited biiatches who only care about getting famous and making loads of money. Everything is so corrupt.
Thus, my question to you is, are you sure you want to be a part of that kind of lifestyle? Maybe you’d rather head back to your hometown in the Midwest and work as a Hooter’s girl? From the sounds of it, it’s probably the best job you’re ever going to get.
I dated this guy in college for a few years, and for reasons I can’t even remember now, we broke up. Some twenty odd years later, I still think about him all the time. And I know, I’m married to a different guy with whom I have five children, but when things are going bad with Dean, I wonder if I wouldn’t have been better off marrying Tim. Do you think I should look up his number on some suspicious, people-finding website and call him? Maybe we were always meant to be together.
Am I Crazy?
Dear To Be Honest, This Obsession With Your Old Boyfriend IS A Little Crazy
There are things in life both good and bad – people, places, experiences, slow sensual kisses, lingering strokes, sessions of mad passionate lovemaking – that a person never forgets.
For example, I will never forget the time I spent the entire afternoon at the mall – going from store to store to store to store – with a pair of pink, lace thong underwear stuck to the Velcro pocket on the back of my pants.
I will never forget the time that I got stung in the buttocks by a manta ray while snorkeling in Mexico. Damn you, Mexico!
I will never forget the time that I was swallowed – or almost swallowed – by a killer whale in front of a crowd of thousands when I was picked to feed Shamu during Seaworld’s world-famous “Believe” show.
I will never forget the time that I came away from the European Hunting Hunters’ Championship with a GOLD medal slung proudly my neck. Bull’s eye on you, Roy and Clay.
I will never forget the time that I made out with Eric Dane at the bottom of a twenty-storey skyscraper after first repelling down the side of it. And I know that they did this on “The Bachelor” just this past week, but Eric and I did it first. Actually, I think that’s where they got the idea. Besides, Eric is better looking than Brad – less wolf-like – and I am not a complete and utter bitch.
Now just because something great happened to you in the past doesn’t mean you need to go back and relive it. Besides, Tim could look like someone from the Beverly Hillbillies by now. It HAS been twenty years.
BTW, it is a little known fact that what’s “meant to be” is what actually happens.
My brother’s new girlfriend really bothers me. I mean, I don’t know her very well – like I’ve only seen pictures of her on Facebook – but she reminds me of an anteater with short, stumpy legs and a big butt. I think Jason can do much, much better. How can I get him to dump her when he “says” he’s in love? I don’t mean to sound superficial but…
Dear Who Are You, Hitler’s Minion?
I’ll tell you what really bothers me…
Commercials that advertise for newly patented, female oral contraceptives that have a million and one life-threatening side effects.
Parents with nineteen or more children who wonder if they should get pregnant again.
Olympic athletes from twenty years ago who do commercials for products no one gives a crap about.
Anime animal porn.
Colin Firth’s enduring sex appeal and the fact that I’ll probably never get to sleep with him.
Waking up in the morning and the alarm clock reads 6:57 a.m. when you usually get up at seven, which then gives you absolutely NO time to just lay there and think about how much you wish you could go back to sleep.
Movies like Titanic that make you cry more than five times.
Emails that start with “Hello Honey” in bright pink letters.
People who wear Lululemon clothing and smoke simultaneously.
And you, H.M. – YOU really bother me.
Don’t you know that you can’t judge a book by its cover, just like you can’t judge a country by the quality of some of its pop stars – Shawn Desman.
Causes Amanda Raynor Supports
The Ottawa Humane Society, The National Capital Region YMCA/YWCA, Harvest House in Ottawa,