Guilt Trip Island is split into two sections: the men’s side and the women’s side.

                The men’s side is called “Club men” and its theme song is, “It’s a man’s world after all.” This is the all inclusive part of the island that is revolved around what a man wants. He is served and waited on hand and foot by a woman who provides him with 24 hour cooking, cleaning, and escort services seven days a week. He is taught from birth that his wants and needs come first. Men are taught early on to be “providers” for themselves and someday for their families. Cave man basic training techniques are mastered. Most men have “big boy” toys and hobbies that are a means of survival until death do they part. The toys and hobbies provide them with a chance to enjoy the fruits of their labor and give them a chance to be in their “own world” after a hard day’s work. They are born and bred to be risk takers with an edge and to always be wild at heart; translation: they never fucking grow up.

                Yes, if they had to, they could do all that the women do, but they choose not to. It’s easier to play stupid and they have no desire, nor do they care about all the fine details that we provide for everyone. If there’s no food, they don’t care; they’ll eat out. If the house isn’t clean and there’s no clean underwear for them, they’ll just buy a 30 pack and they’re good for the month. And, if there’s no sex, they’ll just say, “fuck it, I’ll go get a lap dance.”

                Their strong points (which really are signs of weaknesses) are blaming others, playing pass the buck, throwing temper tantrums, not taking full responsibility for their actions, and not understanding cause and effect. In the end, they don’t like to deal with anything that doesn’t pertain to them or their work. Yup—once again, thanks to the phenomenal support team of women on club men for providing such outstanding service in “making their stay here comfortable.”

                We, as women, being so good at our job, let them know that even if they get a hair across their ass, we will be there to accommodate their every need so they don’t have to worry about anything. Hell, they worked all day, isn’t that enough? God knows we should be thankful for that. Bottom line is, and to sum it up, the men’s side of GTI is like being on vacation every day; they don’t have a fucking care in the world.

                The woman’s side of the island is called “Hotel California” and its theme song is none other than, “Hotel California.” And so, it goes in our world, “you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.” Yup—hell on earth is it, and it all started with our founder; Eve.

                Thanks to her, women have been choking on the apple since the beginning of time so no matter what we do and how hard we try, the blame is always on us. It’s our fault for everything if something goes wrong because we are held responsible for it all. And why? Because we know better! That’s what our mother’s always told us. We are the ones who have carried all the guilt from all women since the beginning of time. We are always the ones waiting in line for our turn, but we never get a turn until our mother’s give us the okay. And don’t count on that ever happening, because if they never got a turn, we sure as hell won’t. So, we just end up carrying on and taking care of everyone but ourselves.

                We are born and bred to revolve our life around our family and to follow the traditions and beliefs that were passed down from generations past. Our status revolves around how well we perform at care giving.

                By the time we are married, we graduate with a master’s degree in Betty Crocker Home Economics, Stepford Wife Robotics, and are certified with the Smokey the Bear Stop, Drop, and Roll technique. That means, being on call for everyone, 24/7: all taught by our “nutty professor,” Mommy. Our mothers imbedded in us a secret when we were little girls and that secret is, “girls are stronger than boys and we can handle much more than them.” We are natural multi-taskers who can juggle everyone’s needs and emotions all while cooking dinner, cleaning the bathroom, folding clothes, and giving therapy to a fellow California girl via telephone, text message, or e-mail.

                Now, because we do it all without blinking, even when we are sick, we fall into the trap of “the more we know, the more we get taken advantage of,” all because of the damn apple. But, here’s something not even our mother’s may have known: we can only be a victim to the apples power if we allow it. So, what’s a girl to do each time GTI throws her an apple? I say, call a fellow California girl and tell her to bring the vodka. It’s all about evolution, my dear sisters. It’s the only way out. Cheers!

                After a stressful week, the last thing a girl wants to do is spend her Saturday night on the couch watching repeat movies while hearing the background static of her husband snoring in “his chair.” It’s a pathetic scene that we all face in our life at one time or another, and in spite of it, two questions always arise:

1)      Why the hell did I get married?

2)      Is this what my life has come to?

Sadly, for tonight, it has because when a man is in the comfort zone, it is uncomfortable for a woman. Yeah, it’s uncomfortable alright, and it makes me sick. All I keep saying to myself when this happens is, “Oh my God. I am in the comfort zone. The zone I never dreamed I would enter.” When I try to wake him up, there’s absolutely no response. It’s as if he drinks the “Michael Jackson Cocktail” and goes into a coma. At this point, I just know that even if an asteroid falls in the back yard, the bastard isn’t gonna move and that pisses me off even more. Here I am, in my prime, and this guy turns into nursing home material.

Oh yeah, I have definitely felt the uncomfortable side effects from the comfort zone. Now, its one thing to be sleeping in “his chair,” but to be out cold is a totally different story. So, what’s a girl to do? One time, as I looked over to the coffee table, there it was, plain as day written on the cover of the Oprah Magazine: “Own your power.” So, that’s what I do in these “uncomfortable” situations. I grab my cell phone, a glass, and the wine and pour myself a glass of “fuck this!” Next, I make a 911 call to my rescue team and leave the scene without even bothering to tell him the details. Just putting a sticky note on his chest that reads, “Out with the girls,” is good enough.

As always, a night with the girls always recharges the spirit. It’s a night filled with joy, peace, lots of laughs, and, of course, never a single complaint. I don’t know what it is, but as men get older they seem to complain, bitch, and moan more about everything to the point where they act like grumpy old men.

Women, on the other hand, just wanna have fun. We have a, “let’s get this party started,” kind of attitude because we have been home taking care of everyone 1955 style for way too long. So, to us, it doesn’t matter where we are. We can always make the best of it. What does matter, though, is who we are with. Being with the girls is never a dull moment. In fact, we thrive on good clean fun with a twist of mischief. I call our time together, “good girls behaving badly.” What goes on with the girls, stays with the girls. It might as well be the 11^th commandment.

One night when I was the one who called everyone for a 911 S.O.S (save a sisters) night, I wanted to be the one to think of a joke to play on our husbands. I asked the bartender if he would call all of our husbands and leave a message on their cell phones saying, “It’s 11 o’clock, do you know where your wife is?” All I can say is, we totally got the bar jumping after that one. In fact, we received a round of shots from another group of women, who I would consider “Comfort Zone Veterans.” They bonded with us and shed some light on what to do when a man is in the comfort zone. This one woman, who reminded me of Goldie Hawn, said when her husband was in the comfort zone she took up boxing, joined a gun club, and started jumping out of planes. I asked her if her intention was to beat his ass, shoot him down, and then throw him out of a plane; which we all had quite the laugh over. To put a seal on the common bond that was between us, we all shared a toast to our womanhood. Before our departure, our “Comfort Zone Veterans” shared some words of wisdom: “Remember girls, if you don’t like it, change it. Only you have the power to do so.”

Yup! She’s got that right! It all starts with pouring yourself a glass of “fuck this.”

Even if I ended up strolling in around one o’clock, I’d find “old yeller,” still in the same position of his own personal comfort zone, snoring away. I’d look at him, begin to laugh, and just walk my ass upstairs thinking, “My God. He doesn’t even know I was gone!”

When it comes time to go downstairs in the morning for coffee, there’s my hubby; all bright eyed and bushy tailed from a restful night sleep, ready to start his day.

As he turned around to hand me a cup of coffee one morning, I noticed that he still had the sticky note on his sweatshirt. While trying to compose myself as he proceeded to get ready to leave, I just smiled at him and said, “Have a good day, honey.” All I kept thinking was, “Change is gonna come, alright.”

Oh yeah, it sure is; especially when he finally listens to the message on his phone or someone asks him why he is wearing a sticky note that says “out with the girls!”

                Men usually light candles for three reasons, and three reasons only. The “Man’s Holy Trinity Candle” represents one in the same, which means that each of the three candles are all about him. The man’s holy trinity candle follows the “Triple-S Rule:”

• The first candle represents Sex; the biggest and longest candle of them all. Yup—what else is new! This candle is like the eternal flame; It’s always burning.
• The second candle represents Smell; a medium size candle that is used only when they can’t stand the stench of themselves.
• The third candle represents Sickness; the smallest of the candles which is used only when his wife is sick for more than forty eight hours.

                Now, there is only one time of the year when a man will ask a woman to light and blow out his candle: On his birthday, of course. It’s the time of the year when he is looking for a “birthday blow.” Little does a man know, a birthday blow can only be given by the birthday boy himself! So, once again, there is nothing more for us to do but smile and say, “Happy birthday buddy, go blow yourself!”