Ozzy Osbourne - Trust Me, I’m Dr. Ozzy

♦ Guys: Always pay. Or steal, and pretend you paid. [8]Women: always offer to pay, even if you’d dump the guy in a heartbeat if he made you do it.

♦ Both sexes: Make sure to buy little gifts for your partner at unexpected moments. That way, when you forget a birthday, you’ll get less of a bollocking.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I finally married my girlfriend last year after a decade together. Now she wants kids (her clock is ticking!), but I’m terrified of the thought. What should I do?

Get a dog. That should buy you a year or so. To be brutally honest, though, you should have thought about what she wanted before putting a ring on her finger. Now you’ve gotta be a man and live with the consequences. Who knows? Maybe you’ll enjoy being a dad.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My girlfriend hasn’t had sex with me for months—she’s always too tired after work. Is our relationship dead? What can I do to make her interested in a game of hide-the-sausage?

Romance, Adam. You need a bit of romance. That includes not using phrases like “hide the sausage.” As I’ve always said to Sharon, there are 24 hours in a day, so it shouldn’t be so hard to make sure you spend at least one of them with each other. Go on a date. Have dinner together. Or put on a wig and a false beard, check into a B&B, and shag the shit out of each other, like you’re having an affair. Maybe the fact she isn’t going to bed with you is a form of protest. Maybe she just wants more excitement in her life.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My boyfriend and I have split up a few times but keep getting back together—we can’t live apart! Recently, though, the excitement we had six months ago has vanished (especially for him). If ending it all isn’t an option, how can we get the spark back?

Listen: at the age of 17, your excitement level is gonna be going up and down like a fiddler’s elbow. Just give it some time. Most teenage relationships don’t last. Then again, I’ve also known people who met each other at your age and lived happily ever after for the rest of their lives. (I’ve also known people who lived together for ten years, got married, then immediately got divorced.) The important thing is to always be yourself. If your boyfriend doesn’t find that exciting enough, then believe me, he ain’t worth the effort.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

After about a year of dating my girlfriend, I’ve finally realized that I enjoy jerking off more than sleeping with her. Is this fucked up? Should I break the news to her?

Let’s face it: it’s hard to beat a good old five-knuckle shuffle. For a start, you don’t have to take your right hand out for dinner before it’ll get down to business. It also doesn’t care if you last five minutes or five seconds—and it ain’t gonna demand an earth-shaking climax of its own. Admitting this to your girlfriend is whole different thing, though. If she’s anything like my own wife, I would advise against it—unless you want to be kicked so hard in the balls, you won’t be able to knock one out again for the next ten years.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I have been with my beautiful wife for twenty years, and our sex life has always been wonderful—but instead of making love every day, like we used to, it’s now just two or three times a week. I’m starting to worry if it’s me or her—and if, as I’m getting older, my desire is fading (I’m 65). Please help, this is such a huge part of my life.

Three times a week— at the age of 65?! Come back to me when it’s three times a year. Seriously, man… you ain’t in a bad place. You need to enjoy yourself while you still can and stop moaning.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m a 42-year-old single man who lives with his mother. Worse than that, I’m a bedwetter. I’m convinced it’s the reason why I’ve never had the confidence to ask a girl out on a date. Please help.

As I’ve said before, I used to be a bedwetter when I was still drinking. My wife Sharon would have to put on a life jacket when she went to sleep at night. It wasn’t the just bed, either: I’d take a leak in the wardrobe, over the edge of the balcony, in the fridge-freezer, you name it. Eventually I went to my doctor and said, “Look, I don’t want to p*** the bed, but I don’t want to stop drinking.” He told me, “You can have one or the other, but not both.” So if you’re a drinker: stop. In the meantime, go and see your GP. You ain’t gonna tell him anything he ain’t heard before, and this is worth checking out.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

One of my old boyfriends (he dumped me) has just become engaged to a very wealthy, very good-looking, and very well-known French woman. I know it’s not healthy, but I’m obsessing over it. In your experience, what’s the best cure for a jealous heart?

You could always do what I did when I was dumped by a girl at Silver Blades ice rink in Birmingham: I got the word out to her friends that I was so upset, I was gonna emigrate to Australia (it was a ten-quid offer they were promoting in the travel agent’s at the time). It was all bullshit: I didn’t even have ten pennies in those days, never mind ten quid. But she had me back anyway. Then I realised I didn’t like her that much to begin with. That’s the funny thing with jealousy: it’s not about wanting something ’cos it’ll make you happy—it’s about wanting something ’cos you’ve been told you can’t have it.

Dear Ozzy,

My ex-boyfriend left me for my best friend last summer. Just to rub salt in the wound, I recently found out that he proposed a year to the day after breaking up with me. I’m now considering sending them a steaming bag of shit as a wedding gift. Should I do this, or let karma run its course?

Think of it this way, Ashley: your steaming bag of shit IS his karma. Having said that, if you’re gonna send crap in the mail, take a leaf out of my wife’s book, and do it right: put it in a ziplock bag inside of a Tiffany’s box. Everyone loves to get a Tiffany’s box—which makes the thought of them untying the ribbon and bow to find a fresh dump inside even more satisfying.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

A really good friend of mine went on a couple of dates with a very minor celebrity. Each time it felt like a Bachelor episode, because he never made a move. Now, a month later—under a lot of pressure—he’s confessed he has herpes. She still wants to date him, but in my opinion he can’t be trusted. Who’s right here?

Are you absolutely sure he has herpes? I might be wrong, but I don’t think most guys would mention the H-word at all—especially not after two dates—unless they had a raging attack of it that was making their balls glow florescent green. To me, it seems like he might be using it as an excuse to cover up an even deeper secret. I mean, you never know: maybe he has a boyfriend on the side, and doesn’t want to sleep with your friend at all.

Dear Dr. Ozzy,

I’m a heterosexual man—honestly—but found myself becoming stimulated in the most embarrassing way while getting a Swedish rub-down from a male masseuse. Even worse: it was a couple’s massage, and my wife was lying next to me. She noticed, and hasn’t talked to me since. What can I say to her to make this better?

Oh, Eric. You could always say to your wife, “I’ve never kissed a man—but I might have kissed a man who has.” Seriously, though… I suppose the question is, would your wife have been more or less pissed off if you’d reacted in the same way to a female masseuse? If you think she might have been cooler with it, you could always tell her it was the thought of a menage-a-trois that set you off, not the big glistening hunk of love muscle who was stimulating your deep tissue. Actually, no, don’t do that. All I can say is that in future, you might want to try avoiding other blokes when you’re down the parlour. Personally, I couldn’t think of anything more uncomfortable than being oiled down by some ex-Chippendale while Kenny G plays in the background. Don’t get me wrong: I ain’t got nothing against the gay community. But when someone says the word “Swedish” to me, I think Ingrid Bergman, not Bjorn Borg.