You are lying in bed with a woman; your arm is around her as she leans her back against your chest. Your body is curled around hers in the same position, allowing you to be touching as much of her body as possible -- your bodies resemble two nested spoons. Yes, Gentlemen, you are spooning.

I often hear men complain and groan about how their partners always want to cuddle. Personally, I think it is all just a front. Who wouldn’t love to curl up with someone like two warm bugs snug in a rug lined in 300-plus thread count sheets? When it comes down to it, if you really care about the person you are with, spooning is one of the greatest pleasures you can share with someone, aside from sex. And you need to know why, don’t ya… I knew you did!

Sex, sins, booze and breasts. For any man with an inkling of testosterone, this is the definition of college. Class was nothing but an interruption from the hangover. An opportunity to sit back, chug some water and prepare for the coming night. The night was my time to fly, even if it often meant I'd be shot down at the hands of a woman.

My confidence had boiled over and rejection was simply a misstep to a new direction. I was quick to break the ice and women were just as quick to walk away. My breakneck Foolosophy on pick-ups was all wrong, but my reckless attitude caught the interest of some. My buddy, who was visiting from my hometown, was quick to notice my new style. He inquired as to how I comfortably spoke to any woman in the bar.

I prepared to demonstrate on the first women to walk by our table. Within the minute, I had two women sitting with us, seemingly unfazed by my awkward interruption to their conversation. I assumed that the odds had just tilted in my favor, that after so many burns, I eventually dodged the fiery wrath of a woman with her defenses up.

Love Foolosopher (Luv' Fool'-o-so'-phur) - One who has an ideal of love and a desire to pursue it but gets stuck instead with its bastard stepchild. One who looks for love in all the wrong places and gets lost on the way back. One whose stories make you think maybe every pot shouldn't have a lid.

The nickname 'Love Foolosopher' wasn't bestowed upon me after one imbecilic act. I earned it after years of being the awkward and ill-prepared man, never quite realizing how hard I would crash while diving head-first into a relationship. After so many disasters I came to accept my relationship disabilities and I can even admit a slight fondness for the name which sums up my hard luck love life.

A lot of men will revel in their tales of conquest over the opposite sex; Nothing less than chess masters in the game of romance. Their pick-up strategies are flawless, their technique impeccable and their very advice leads men to follow in their footsteps. They are the men you see at the club and loathe because you know they have attributes that you don't and more importantly, attributes your girlfriend wants. They are pick-up artists. They are your mentors and your enemies-- and I am not one of them.

I'm the 'other guy'. The one who's not flawless, the one who's not an artist, but gets the girls just the same. The one whose stories are untold because they don't always end perfectly. At all. The guy whose car you see egged at three in the morning and you can only imagine what woman he pissed off to have that coming.

Guys like me aren't supposed to pick up the women I do. If they aren't wiping egg off their windshield, then they're giving up and trying to turn themselves gay. Yet I could never give up picking up the fairer sex, despite my foot-in-mouth tactics which have led me all the way to an ex-girlfriend strangling me after breaking into my house. I just regain consciousness, brush it off to a bad experience and go after the next pretty face with the devil behind sexy eyes. What gave me this lust to pursue, this confidence to continue and this ego so bloated that I can't help but think that the next girl I date won't dedicate her website to how much of a prick I am? Her name is Tracy.