Second of two parts.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm smarter than my girlfriend.

First of two parts. 

Whoooh-hooo! We're No.1!

It's the most sexist element of modern America, and no one cares: the last name.

I don’t typically order shots after dinner, but this wasn’t a typical situation. It was midnight on a Saturday, my friend was in from out of town and I was wearing a ridiculous bright pink T-shirt reading, in big bold letters: "TOUGH GUYS WEAR PINK."

"Oh my God!" Stacy screamed from the front seat.

I woke up, startled, out of my backseat nap. It had been a harrowing road trip already: We drove through storms, I (temporarily) lost my wallet at a gas station somewhere southwest of Nowhere and my friend Scott accidentally backed the Subaru into something that may or may not have been a tiny human being.

So when Stacy screamed, I jumped. What now?

The future. It's an important topic of discussion for any couple.

So that's why Deb and I often talk about the future. Really far into the future. Waaaaay into the future.

In fact, it's so far into the future that I'm dead.

You know how the typical guy burps as if the devil himself is living inside his esophagus? You know how he picks his nose during long car rides, leaves used dishes on the table and falls asleep on the couch seconds after eating -- regardless of the fact he hasn't brushed his teeth or even undressed?

Well now you've met my girlfriend.

It's the first part of the paper I look at Sunday morning. If it's already Sunday afternoon, then it's the first part of the paper I look at when I finally wake up. If Saturday night was especially eventful, then it's the first part of the paper I look at when I can see again Sunday evening.

Melanie wants to be barefoot in the kitchen. And this is amazing.

Tiger Woods cried like a baby when he won the British Open a few weeks ago -- to the point that if you turned up the volume just so, you could actually hear him sobbing. It was crazy.

I laughed, of course, for a couple of reasons.