Have you ever stood in a drug store and counted the number of magazines for women? I did yesterday and I had to use my fingers and the fingers of the woman standing next to me to tally up an exact count. The number is staggering.
Many of them were fashion magazines featuring bone-thin girls younger than some of my shoes. They all wore next to nothing, along with expressions of haughty disdain.
But maybe they were just hungry.
Health magazines were plentiful. However, editors should take the time to cross reference their articles. Depending on which magazine you decide to buy, you could end up drinking too much water; drinking not enough water; drinking the wrong kind of water; or only drinking water from icecaps around Iceland. By the time you finished experimenting, you could have drowned. Continue reading Manly Man: the magazine your wife would like you to read→
Some of you may know the blogger who writes Renée A. Schuls-Jacobson’s blog. Well, she’s a temptress that one. She invited me to join in and write a post for her #sowrong series. It’s where bloggers share one of their most embarrassing moments and what, if anything, was learned from the experience.
This is the first time a hashtag inspired me enough to say yes to writing a guest post that didn’t involve Karl Urban. (If you’d like me to write a guest post for YOUR blog, you now know how to capture my attention.)
So today I’m over at Renée’s, exposing my well-toned underbelly. This may not happen again so move your curser to this and click.
I know. The last time I did a post like this, the list had ten questionable points, which most of you agreed with. Thank you for seeing things my way.
But I burned my finger making caramel syrup for a butter frosting for a truly mind-altering chocolate cake that I swear will add years to my life it was soooo good it made me experience nirvana on a whole other level so there’s one finger gone.
Then I banged another finger with a crowbar when I had a disagreement with a wall of old pine panelling. That’s two.
Yesterday, it was the pinkie on my left hand. I won’t go into details but…ouch and where’s my pain killer aka vodka smoothie?
So you get seven and you’re lucky to get that much out of me today. I could have gone with one but then that would have been a waste of everyone’s time and time wastes for no man unless he’s the guy who comes to collect my garbage on Monday mornings.
Okay…let’s get this done. We all have things to do today.
1. Beauty is only skin deep. FALSE!
Beauty goes way beyond skin. At the dentist I’ve seen plenty of back molars and let me tell you…some of ’em are gorgeous. All caps, true. But still.
2. Sitting too close to the television will ruin your eyes. FALSE!
Moms just say that because you kids are in the way of the remote control signal and after a day of looking after everyone but themselves, they are too tired to contort their bodies trying to make a connection.
3. The person who buys the puppy walks the puppy. FALSE!
It doesn’t matter how cute the puppy, after a week of visits to the doggie park that never seems to have a supply of doggie bags EVER…you soon learn that cracking the back door works just as well.
4. You can never have too much sex. FALSE!
When it starts to hurt, that’s too much. If it goes on so long that one of you has to brush your teeth, that’s too much. If you’ve got to pee and think you can hold out just a little longer until that magic moment of complete oneness…that’s too much. Nothing kills the moment like having to change the sheets. Unless you’re into “golden showers” and then…well, that’s too much for me.
5. Roaming charges will not apply. FALSE!
You’re planning to take a trip. You call your phone service provider. They promise — PROMISE MIND YOU — that you will not see roaming charges on your next bill. And yet…it always happens. And they never have an answer as to why.
6. Michele Bachmann will never make another headline. FALSE!
Yes, the queen of the obscene is back with her demands to repeal Obama’s health care program before it “kills someone.” How someone can be for guns and against a health care program and believe it with all their heart is an eternal mystery to me. If this is faith, I’m thrilled I’m an atheist.
7. The Easter Bunny does not exist. FALSE!
People…”they” try this on every year. “They” try to lump Mr. Bunny in with the likes of Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Any rational person knows there is no jolly old elf who can shimmy down chimneys and leave kiddies all their favorite toys. That list is for Mom & Dad to take to ToysRUs. And about the Tooth Fairy…in this economy you think she’s going to spend time flitting around collecting kid’s baby teeth? That babe invested well and is on a beach somewhere with old people who wear dentures.
But Mr. Bunny…he’s the real deal. In fact, we have a bunny in our garden RIGHT NOW and he’s got on a cute little hat and is carrying a basket. I took a picture so I have proof.
Except…so. Okay. The battery died on my camera so I don’t actually have a picture to show you. But HE DOES EXIST! In that my faith is strong.
What do you know to be false? Please share and if it’s really juicy…share even more.
But before you go:
No matter your faith — in your god, your religion, your love of chocolate, your love of the Easter Bunny (I’m an equal opportunity believer) have a wonder Easter holiday.
Yes, people, you heard it here second (I had to hit Twitter first with the news. Sorry.)
I hit the 50,000+ word mark of my NaNoWriMo novel at about 2:45 pm SBT (Standard Blogdramedy Time.)
The first most amazing thing? I got it done two days early. The second most amazing thing? I only gained three pounds over the past 28 days. The third most amazing thing? I read through the entire story and it actually makes some kind of sense…I think. Hmmm.
I am exhausted, a little stressed and I just noticed chocolate marks on the sofa. I have quite a bit to say about this insanity called NaNoWriMo but for now, it is time to peel my fingers off the keyboard and back away slowly from my laptop. Plus, I need a shower bad.
But, before I go, a few quick words to would-be writers out there. This creative writing shit is hard, at times it can be unforgiving but in the end, seeing your words form complete sentences (for the most part) and watching the page count climb…it’s like a really intense relationship only without the sex. At least that was my experience seeing as the Mister has been away for the past three weeks.
And the way your characters just take off in entirely new directions without letting you know? Very intense and kind of spooky.
Is it like that for everyone their first time? Ahem…the sexual references are becoming more blatant so before I do something you all may regret, I think I better hit publish.
I knew this day would come. Frankly, I expected it to arrive sooner but I like to practise denial at every opportunity. Except when it comes to saying yes to a second martini. Talk about eyes wide shut…in anticipation.
Yesterday, the Mister came to me practically in tears. It was a total breakdown of tear duct function.
I was this close (insert visual of me sitting in Karl Urban’s lap) to calling for backup.
“My Mac won’t charge! *sob* I’ve tried everything but it just sits there, staring at me doing nothing! *sob sob* I banged the end thingy a bit but that didn’t work. *sob sniffle* Then I tried pushing really hard and that didn’t work either!
IT’S TOTALLY FUCKING BROKEN!
IT DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!!! *heartrending wails*
[cue sound track from Love Story]
I handed him a tissue and told him to book an appointment for the afternoon. Doctor Mac was busy reading the latest on Demi, Ashton and googling the effects of hot tubbing on the male libido.
Time for some background.
His Mac used to be my Mac. I had an Acer PC that I bought a few years ago just before our move from the big city to the small town we now call home and before our sailing adventure to the Bahamas. A PC supposedly worked better with sailing software programs. (Keep reading and you’ll see why I now think that’s sooo amusing.) I wanted to be mobile and he was happy with our original Mac, an eMac.
(It weights more than Newt Gingrich’s left testical…come on, that man’s got some balls on him. You know I’m right.)
It still works great, unlike the Acer, which died one month into our sail down the coast. It made it as far as Annapolis then the operating system crashed and burned. Literally. After getting the bad news from the local PC service centre, I immediately hit the mall and purchased a MacBook. It was all mine until the Mister started sniffing around saying how lucky I was to have a laptop and that he felt soooo constricted being tied to a desk to google. I finally broke last winter and said we could share while we were away sailing. You may remember that in April I rented a condo in Florida while the Mister and a friend sailed our boat back to the States. I bought a brand new Mac figuring I’d let the Mister have sole ownership of the original. Little did I know the sad fate that wee Mac would have to endure.
At precisely 2:37 pm, I arrived at his work station, ready to diagnose the problem. It didn’t take me long. The poor thing was dirtier than the floor of a manure factory. It was covered in toast crumbs and dried sticky blobs of coffee and fruit juice. And that’s only the stuff I could identify. I need a crew from CSI to bring in a gas spectrometer to analyze the rest.
When I picked up the end of the charger, I noticed that two of the four magnetic prongs were no longer in their normal outward prongy position. (Yes, that is official Apple terminology.) They were just little nubs barely visual to the naked eye. (What does that mean?) When I picked up the Mac and looked into the slot on the side that holds the charging cord, bits of it were black and looked almost burnt. That sucker was fried but good. I’m sure all the banging and pushing didn’t help.
I asked him how long it’s been like this.
Him: A while.
Me: How long’s a while. Ballpark.
Him: Since last winter.
[cue the sound track from Jaws…the really ominous, scary part]
You know those times? The times when you totally lose it and go shit-ass crazy? I didn’t do that. I don’t go ballistic with the Mister…at least, not when he’s in the same room. Is it his fault that he doesn’t know how fragile and sensitive these things are? Of course not. He’s a guy. (Did I just say that?!)
I calmly explained why slopping coffee and dropping crumbs all over the keyboard is not such a good idea. I explained it to him in man terms:
You know when you’re making love and you’re really getting into the moment and you’re just about ready to enter the homestretch? Well, imagine you’re in Dodger Stadium and the coach is waving you on to home base when some rabid fan tackles you, rolls you over in the dirt and stands slapping your “bat” up against the pitcher’s mound. Painful, yes? All dirty and gritty and shit? Well, that’s what your Mac feels like right now. Used and abused. She needs some TLC, STAT. Let’s find the nearest Apple dealer and book an appointment for a service call. We’ll go tomorrow.
He thought about this for a while then said, “Wow. I’m a little turned on.”
Men. Eighteen or eighty it doesn’t matter. Baseball talks gets ’em all booted up.
I’m sorry but when I see “friends with benefits” I think sex between friends.
Never a good idea. It’s right up there with petting an alligator. Sure it looks exciting in the photos but they never show you the afters…just the befores. You know…the photo of someone ALMOST touching the gator.
You may think it’s a good idea but take it from one who knows, it’s an idea that should stay in your pants (so to speak) or if you must unzip, limit it to really hot phone sex. No muss, no fuss and if you’ve got a good long distance carrier, easy on the budget, too.
Well, enough of you must have boarded the train of some like it hot because now The Weather Network is posting click-through ads that you just have to click. I didn’t because I read the small print…it’s basically a program of cheap eats. Would you want to eat at a restaurant that offers meals at 95 per cent off? I like a bargain as much as the next person but when I order steak, I want to know it comes off the ass of a cow, not an ass.
This is carrying the idea of a meat/meet market a little too far. I think I’ll stick to my regular chinese take-out. The delivery guy’s cute (natch) but at least it’s a local call.
I live with a man who is regular. By that I mean he regularly gets up at 5am. He does this every morning. The alarm goes off and look out…he’s up and googling.
This is one of the many things we don’t have in common. We’re one of those “opposites attract” relationships and it works for us. Except for the morning bird / night owl parts of our personalities.
For years, the Mister couldn’t understand why I’m not a morning person. At first, he was encouraging.
He’d come into the bedroom and say things like, “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. If you get up now you can watch the sun come up!” All positive and upbeat.
Like the sun doesn’t rise EVERY day and I was going to miss out on something LARGE.
He tried this line every day for a week…regular…like clockwork. I ignored him and went back to sleep.
Next, he tried temptation. “Babe, you’re so soft and warm in the mornings…it’s the best part of my day.” Silence. “Studies have shown that women love morning sex. Let’s prove them right.” Yeah…another study done by men so they can increase their chances of getting laid. Snore. “Come on…it won’t take long. Just a few minutes then you can go back to sleep.”
He almost had me on that one but sadly, for him, the sarcastic side of my brain was now awake. “A few minutes? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
I rolled over.
However, the Mister can be crafty. He moved on to the hard-core stuff. Sleeping peacefully one morning, dreaming I’d won the lotto and decorating my dream house, I began to feel like someone was in the house with me. I was in that pre-wake state when you can sometimes consciously make your subconscious toe the line. But the feeling persisted. It started to freak me out. I slowly cracked open my eyes to see the Mister’s face inches from my own. He was peering at me like I was an experiment gone wrong. All quizzical and wondering. In his hand was a cup of coffee and he was softly blowing the steam at my face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I bellowed. “Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” Perhaps not the best response but fuck, I was sleeping. He back pedaled his ass out of there, dripping coffee all over the rug. “Sorry. I was making coffee and thought you’d like a cup in bed.” It was 5:16am and he’d been up for half an hour. I felt bad but it didn’t last. I went back to sleep.
The next few months were just variations on a theme. His songbook included cooking, making phone calls, watching stupid cat videos and commenting, out loud, on political articles on Huffington Post. He knows I’m a political junkie so he’d purposefully read out quotes from Glenn Beck. He thought that last part was going to be the winner. Poor sap. He didn’t know who he was dealing with.
Over time, he came to realize that I’m at my best late afternoon and into the evening. That’s when I’m most creative and productive. I realize I’m a freak. Working was hell as everyone around me was a morning person. Staff meetings were always in the mornings…unless I was acting director. Then, I’d schedule meetings at 3pm and totally got things done my way…everyone else had used up their daily quota of brain sells in the morning hours so I was able to ram my ideas through without challenge. Life was good back then. *sigh*
He gets up quietly in the mornings now. He’s learned to keep an ear cocked for sounds of movement and can now time my appearance down to the second. By the time I’m up and in my robe, he has a fresh pot of coffee brewing and totally ignores me when I make my entrance. It took years but the wait was worth the effort.
Until last night.
“I need you to get me up at 3am.”
If I’d said, “I just realized I’m bisexual and I’d like us to have sex with another woman” he couldn’t have been more surprised.
I could see his every thought as it came into his head. First, shock. Three in the morning? This is a test. I must have woken her up the last few mornings before she was ready. Then, puzzled. Why 3am? What’s happening at 3am? Is there a shoe sale I’m not aware of? If she expects me to drive her, she’s got another thing coming. He then quickly assumed I was joking. She’s such a kidder…that’s why I love this woman.
“I’m not joking.”
He finally got that I was serious. He took it well. “You know, you’re not used to getting up that early. It’s not going to be easy. Why so early?”
“I know it’s not going to be easy. You think I WANT to get up in the middle of the night? You think I WANT to interrupt the best part of my day with being awake? I paid to download the new Mac operating system, Lion, and I can only do it between 3am and 8am.”
“That’s when we can download stuff without limits on size or speed through our Internet system.”
“We can only download a certain amount every day. Surely you’ve noticed the system slows down sometimes? Well, that happens when we go over our limit and I was checking our service package online and noticed there’s 5 hours every day when we can download and the time is not applied against our limit.”
Comprehension finally bloomed and he got it. But as I got ready for bed, I could tell he was slightly disappointed that the only thing that could get me up so early was updating my operating system.
Maybe next time I’ll invite a “friend” over and we can “play Doctor” while I’m downloading. I mean…if I can’t sleep at least he can dream.