When I crawled into bed last night I realized I was wearing a tshirt from a conference I attended 10 years ago. When I woke up and remembered it was Fourth of July I suddenly recalled an Independence Day celebration that was exactly ten years ago today.
Ten years ago - my how things have changed! That Independence Day I was dating someone else and this particular day had me questioning my choices.
I posted the story on Blogger in 2005 but I had written it for my favorite messageboard a few days following the... "incident"
Originally posted 10/25/05
Being a girl, from the suburbs, in a county that outlaws fireworks, I
never really FULLY understood the Bubba-factor that goes into the
Fourth. Dear LAWD AWMIGHTY!!!!
Last year was so
pleasant, a large group of friends gathered at a house where the back
porch overlooked most of south St. Louis County. It was awsome - there
were professional displays everywhere you looked and it went on for
HOURS. I've never seen anything like it.
This year I
was coerced by Mr. Wonderful to go to his family's get together - it's
amazing, he said, you've never seen anything as spectacular. I tried to
explain what I saw last year but his eyes just glazed over and he
re-emphasized how COOL this one is. Oh okay.
So the
evening begins with a great spread of food and kids setting off the
smoke bombs and sparklers. It gets dark and the men and older boys start
setting off the big fireworks - okay, but still doesn't beat last year.
THEN, Mr Wonderful pulls out this pack of sparklers -150 or so that
he's taped together - warns everybody to stay back because he only
heard about doing this and isn't sure what it'll do. It goes bang. Let
me rephrase that it goes BOOM! Big fucking BOMB type BOOM! He tee hees
and giggles and gets patted on the back by the other guys. Us women are
looking at eachother (including the ones related to these men and have
endured this crap for eons) wondering what the big deal was. It was
fire and it made big noise - grunt grunt grunt. They scramble to find
more sparklers and tape. The second one was a failure, it just went up
in flames with no big BOOM. They get in a huddle and discuss clearing
the shelves of sparklers during after 4th sales so they can make them
this weekend. Mr. Wonderful is instructed to bring lots of them next
year.
So then it's time for the grand finalé. All
women and children are instructed to go inside and watch from the window
and the boys pull out the gas cans. Okay, now this ended up being
pretty cool, but NEVER would somebody with estrogen flowing through her
veins ever dream up such a thing.... The men had spent an hour earlier
that day building this box (which involved a power saw, wood, nails,
hammers, and a wire cage covering) and then put twelve bajillion bottle
rockets in the cage covering. They pulled this "box" out to the end of
the driveway, poured gasoline all over it, with a little trail back a
ways so they could light it from a distance. It went off for about two
minutes with bottle rockets shooting straight up and then fizzled out.
THE WOMEN STARTED BOOING! I'm stunned, it was pretty, nobody got hurt.
NOOOoooooo I was told, it's supposed to go on and on and on and on and
shoot bottle rockets everywhere. So the men huddle again. Out comes the
GASTANK from a motorcycle and they REGAS the box and relight it. OH MI
GAWD!!!!!! Huge flames, bottle rockets EVERYWHERE, men running.
Oddly enough NO INJURIES and again, Mr Wonderful is the hero for putting out a fabulous display.
All I can say, it's a man thing and I don't understand.
Showing posts with label Men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Men. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 04, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2006
Sick Tour
My brother is possibly the most warped individual you'll ever encounter. The bastard is truly sick. He's come up with this idea for a vacation tour as an income possibility. I nearly died when he told me about this. Evidently his wife had the same reaction. Then I tossed out that if he added a movie camera that he might actually become famous.
I went on vacation with my brother and sister-in-law over the summer. The two of them clearly have different vacationing styles. The entertainment value was incredible while watching the two of them be on different trips at the same time. They bickered over every last thing. If he were my husband I would have cold-cocked him and left him at the curb long ago.
There are two things you need to know about him: he's cheap and he does not give a damn.
Now just imagine for a second somebody like that buying a tour bus and conducting bus tours. Oh and he drives like a demon. Then add his wife, the voice of reason. I swear the two of them could be the next Sharon and Ozzy.
I went on vacation with my brother and sister-in-law over the summer. The two of them clearly have different vacationing styles. The entertainment value was incredible while watching the two of them be on different trips at the same time. They bickered over every last thing. If he were my husband I would have cold-cocked him and left him at the curb long ago.
There are two things you need to know about him: he's cheap and he does not give a damn.
Now just imagine for a second somebody like that buying a tour bus and conducting bus tours. Oh and he drives like a demon. Then add his wife, the voice of reason. I swear the two of them could be the next Sharon and Ozzy.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Ned Flanders
He's a character off the Simpson's. He's the pollyanna, holier-than-thou, goody-two-shoes next door neighbor that annoys the living crap out of Homer and Homer basically treats him like shit.
I never made the connection before, but I've had a Ned Flanders in my life for quite some time. He's a member of my ex-husband's family. He's a great guy with his heart in the right place, but I can't tell you the times I've wanted to smack my head and scream DOH! He's too good, too sweet and tries too hard. In the end he's just a blundering fool. Love the guy dearly, but really, if he would just tone it down a notch, things in his life might go smoother.
Imagine my dismay when I encountered a SECOND Ned Flanders, this time in my professional world. "Unsettling" can't even begin to describe the sensation. The two men are approximately the same age, have incredibly similar features and they DRESS ALIKE.
How is it possible that a grown man can take fashion tips from a cartoon?
Like the cartoon Ned Flanders, Ned 1 and Ned 2 also wear loafers, a button-down long sleeve shirt and a pull-over sweater. Everyday. I know, there isn't an array of clothing options for men in the realm of "business casual" beyond the loafer and sweater combo. But somehow every other man on the face of the earth manages to change it up on occasion.
Okay, clothing aside, it's the behavior. It is the syrupy sweet conversation that teeters between gay and condescending. The excessive gratitude for the most meager of acts. The almost feminine capacity to over explain and go on for hours about nothing. My two real-life Neds would be absolutely crushed if they found out someone didn't like them - they try so hard to make everyone happy.
And maybe that's what bothers me the most. I detest when someone makes me do anything, even tries to make me like them. I hate a suck-up. I will like you on your merits, as you are. You don't have to spit and polish on my account, you don't have to acquiesce to me, just stand up and be you. Nothing will garner more respect from me than honesty. Sucking up isn't being true to yourself. It feels slimey when people do it and I just don't respect it.
So in the end, Neds 1 and 2, for as much as I want to protect their tender little hearts, I am conflicted because ultimately I don't respect either one of them. And that is a shame.
I never made the connection before, but I've had a Ned Flanders in my life for quite some time. He's a member of my ex-husband's family. He's a great guy with his heart in the right place, but I can't tell you the times I've wanted to smack my head and scream DOH! He's too good, too sweet and tries too hard. In the end he's just a blundering fool. Love the guy dearly, but really, if he would just tone it down a notch, things in his life might go smoother.
Imagine my dismay when I encountered a SECOND Ned Flanders, this time in my professional world. "Unsettling" can't even begin to describe the sensation. The two men are approximately the same age, have incredibly similar features and they DRESS ALIKE.
How is it possible that a grown man can take fashion tips from a cartoon?
Like the cartoon Ned Flanders, Ned 1 and Ned 2 also wear loafers, a button-down long sleeve shirt and a pull-over sweater. Everyday. I know, there isn't an array of clothing options for men in the realm of "business casual" beyond the loafer and sweater combo. But somehow every other man on the face of the earth manages to change it up on occasion.
Okay, clothing aside, it's the behavior. It is the syrupy sweet conversation that teeters between gay and condescending. The excessive gratitude for the most meager of acts. The almost feminine capacity to over explain and go on for hours about nothing. My two real-life Neds would be absolutely crushed if they found out someone didn't like them - they try so hard to make everyone happy.
And maybe that's what bothers me the most. I detest when someone makes me do anything, even tries to make me like them. I hate a suck-up. I will like you on your merits, as you are. You don't have to spit and polish on my account, you don't have to acquiesce to me, just stand up and be you. Nothing will garner more respect from me than honesty. Sucking up isn't being true to yourself. It feels slimey when people do it and I just don't respect it.
So in the end, Neds 1 and 2, for as much as I want to protect their tender little hearts, I am conflicted because ultimately I don't respect either one of them. And that is a shame.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Pony Tail Boy
Saturday night I was a chaperone to a dance.
About an hour into the dance, one of the moms points out ponytail boy. Evidently he's been to a few activities. I speculated that he would be a great future computer geek based on his clothing. Okay, so I'm being judgemental - shoot me. She giggled and agreed.
And then he burst into dance.
They were playing Thriller and most of the kids were managing a half decent imitation of the video. But ponytail boy didn't quite have it right. He managed to capture the attention of his friends which was good for a few laughs... and he kept going. There was an actual dance routine, although not quite Michael Jackson. Arm flail here, arm flail there and SPIN. Yes, he did SPINS, like a freaking ballerina. At one point he took off his tie a-la-male stripper and I nearly fell out of my chair trying to hide my expression (horror and humor). And then it struck me, he wasn't imitating anything from the Thriller video. No, think more along the lines of Star Wars and Qui-Gon(however you spell his name) or Obi-Wan's light saber display. Yes, that was it. He was doing the light saber dance routine. I was expecting red or green lights to shoot up any second. I was in fixed fascination and could not stop watching this boy dance and spin and do his arm flail thing. And he did it the entire song.
The next day I asked my 8yr old to show me how to do an imaginary light saber. Damn if he didn't copy the dance routine from the night before with exact moves, minus the spin.
About an hour into the dance, one of the moms points out ponytail boy. Evidently he's been to a few activities. I speculated that he would be a great future computer geek based on his clothing. Okay, so I'm being judgemental - shoot me. She giggled and agreed.
And then he burst into dance.
They were playing Thriller and most of the kids were managing a half decent imitation of the video. But ponytail boy didn't quite have it right. He managed to capture the attention of his friends which was good for a few laughs... and he kept going. There was an actual dance routine, although not quite Michael Jackson. Arm flail here, arm flail there and SPIN. Yes, he did SPINS, like a freaking ballerina. At one point he took off his tie a-la-male stripper and I nearly fell out of my chair trying to hide my expression (horror and humor). And then it struck me, he wasn't imitating anything from the Thriller video. No, think more along the lines of Star Wars and Qui-Gon(however you spell his name) or Obi-Wan's light saber display. Yes, that was it. He was doing the light saber dance routine. I was expecting red or green lights to shoot up any second. I was in fixed fascination and could not stop watching this boy dance and spin and do his arm flail thing. And he did it the entire song.
The next day I asked my 8yr old to show me how to do an imaginary light saber. Damn if he didn't copy the dance routine from the night before with exact moves, minus the spin.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Man Haters
Man Haters
Now that I'm single I have once again joined the ranks of the man-haters, that venomous group of women who are ever ready to point out every short-coming of the male species. Every snide comment is related to the fact that, in reality, I just need to get laid. Oddly enough, those same male bashing comments came spewing out of my mouth when I was... well... active.
The truth of the matter is that I'm just a snide person. I make off-hand comments and observations about the human condition all of the time, regardless of my sexual activity. My point of view is that humans in general, male AND female, are prone to stupidity. I just love talking about it.
I even like to talk about my own stupidity. I mean, come on, I told the whole world about my attempts at self-electricution when I put my finger in the puddle of water surrounding a heating element in my waterbed! Yet nobody accused me of sexual frustration as I told this story of human stupidity, albeit my own stupidity. I frequently lambast women for their acts of stupidity. I actually have a possible book running through my mind that I would love to call STUPID GIRL. I am obsessed with dumb blonde jokes. They make me giggle every single time! That sure as hell doesn't mean I have any unsatisfied lesbian desires.
It means that I watch people and share with everyone else my amusement.
But the moment I broach the subject of man-stupidness, I become a man-hater. I can hear already the comments that it's the viciousness and the volume that makes me a man-hater. PLEASE! Men are just prone to more stupid crap than women.
Maybe I need to re-phrase that...
Okay, when I see female stupidity it is usually just sad and depressing. Women put themselves out there in vulnerable ways and become the victim. It's stupid and sad, but not so funny. Men, on the other hand, are going for the glory. They act brave and blindly plunge into feats that should be, and frequently are, deadly. Death isn't funny, really, it isn't, but these guys sure do a bang up job of catching our attention. And hey, isn't that what it's all about? Getting the girl to look? Granted, the guy can't go on a date with her, now that he's dead, but maybe, just maybe, she'll attend his funeral. He did, after all, die for her.
You're stupid, I laugh. But since I don't have a man at my side, or at least in my bed, I'm not allowed to poke fun at this other moron's stupidity. Sorry, that arrangement just doesn't work for me. But I don't hate men, really I don't! A very wise woman said "they taste just like chicken." I have to agree.
I can't guarantee a steady supply of sex-partners while trying to keep my dignity somewhat in tact. I can, however, guarantee that morons will cross my path every single day. It is from the moron population that I receive the greatest form of satisfaction: a reason to laugh.
Now that I'm single I have once again joined the ranks of the man-haters, that venomous group of women who are ever ready to point out every short-coming of the male species. Every snide comment is related to the fact that, in reality, I just need to get laid. Oddly enough, those same male bashing comments came spewing out of my mouth when I was... well... active.
The truth of the matter is that I'm just a snide person. I make off-hand comments and observations about the human condition all of the time, regardless of my sexual activity. My point of view is that humans in general, male AND female, are prone to stupidity. I just love talking about it.
I even like to talk about my own stupidity. I mean, come on, I told the whole world about my attempts at self-electricution when I put my finger in the puddle of water surrounding a heating element in my waterbed! Yet nobody accused me of sexual frustration as I told this story of human stupidity, albeit my own stupidity. I frequently lambast women for their acts of stupidity. I actually have a possible book running through my mind that I would love to call STUPID GIRL. I am obsessed with dumb blonde jokes. They make me giggle every single time! That sure as hell doesn't mean I have any unsatisfied lesbian desires.
It means that I watch people and share with everyone else my amusement.
But the moment I broach the subject of man-stupidness, I become a man-hater. I can hear already the comments that it's the viciousness and the volume that makes me a man-hater. PLEASE! Men are just prone to more stupid crap than women.
Maybe I need to re-phrase that...
Okay, when I see female stupidity it is usually just sad and depressing. Women put themselves out there in vulnerable ways and become the victim. It's stupid and sad, but not so funny. Men, on the other hand, are going for the glory. They act brave and blindly plunge into feats that should be, and frequently are, deadly. Death isn't funny, really, it isn't, but these guys sure do a bang up job of catching our attention. And hey, isn't that what it's all about? Getting the girl to look? Granted, the guy can't go on a date with her, now that he's dead, but maybe, just maybe, she'll attend his funeral. He did, after all, die for her.
You're stupid, I laugh. But since I don't have a man at my side, or at least in my bed, I'm not allowed to poke fun at this other moron's stupidity. Sorry, that arrangement just doesn't work for me. But I don't hate men, really I don't! A very wise woman said "they taste just like chicken." I have to agree.
I can't guarantee a steady supply of sex-partners while trying to keep my dignity somewhat in tact. I can, however, guarantee that morons will cross my path every single day. It is from the moron population that I receive the greatest form of satisfaction: a reason to laugh.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Redneck July 4th
Being a girl, from the suburbs, in a county that outlaws fireworks, I never really FULLY understood the Bubba-factor that goes into the Fourth. Dear LAWD AWMIGHTY!!!!
Last year was so pleasant, a large group of friends gathered at a house where the back porch overlooked most of south St. Louis County. It was awsome - there were professional displays everywhere you looked and it went on for HOURS. I've never seen anything like it.
This year I was coerced by Mr. Wonderful to go to his family's get together - it's amazing, he said, you've never seen anything as spectacular. I tried to explain what I saw last year but his eyes just glazed over and he re-emphasized how COOL this one is. Oh okay.
So the evening begins with a great spread of food and kids setting off the smoke bombs and sparklers. It gets dark and the men and older boys start setting off the big fireworks - okay, but still doesn't beat last year. THEN, Mr Wonderful pulls out this pack of sparklers -150 or so that he's taped together - warns everybody to stay back because he only heard about doing this and isn't sure what it'll do. It goes bang. Let me rephrase that it goes BOOM! Big fucking BOMB type BOOM! He tee hees and giggles and gets patted on the back by the other guys. Us women are looking at eachother (including the ones related to these men and have endured this crap for eons) wondering what the big deal was. It was fire and it made big noise - grunt grunt grunt. They scramble to find more sparklers and tape. The second one was a failure, it just went up in flames with no big BOOM. They get in a huddle and discuss clearing the shelves of sparklers during after 4th sales so they can make them this weekend. Mr. Wonderful is instructed to bring lots of them next year.
So then it's time for the grand finalé. All women and children are instructed to go inside and watch from the window and the boys pull out the gas cans. Okay, now this ended up being pretty cool, but NEVER would somebody with estrogen flowing through her veins ever dream up such a thing.... The men had spent an hour earlier that day building this box (which involved a power saw, wood, nails, hammers, and a wire cage covering) and then put twelve bajillion bottle rockets in the cage covering. They pulled this "box" out to the end of the driveway, poured gasoline all over it, with a little trail back a ways so they could light it from a distance. It went off for about two minutes with bottle rockets shooting straight up and then fizzled out. THE WOMEN STARTED BOOING! I'm stunned, it was pretty, nobody got hurt. NOOOoooooo I was told, it's supposed to go on and on and on and on and shoot bottle rockets everywhere. So the men huddle again. Out comes the GASTANK from a motorcycle and they REGAS the box and relight it. OH MI GAWD!!!!!! Huge flames, bottle rockets EVERYWHERE, men running.
Oddly enough NO INJURIES and again, Mr Wonderful is the hero for putting out a fabulous display.
All I can say, it's a man thing and I don't understand.
Last year was so pleasant, a large group of friends gathered at a house where the back porch overlooked most of south St. Louis County. It was awsome - there were professional displays everywhere you looked and it went on for HOURS. I've never seen anything like it.
This year I was coerced by Mr. Wonderful to go to his family's get together - it's amazing, he said, you've never seen anything as spectacular. I tried to explain what I saw last year but his eyes just glazed over and he re-emphasized how COOL this one is. Oh okay.
So the evening begins with a great spread of food and kids setting off the smoke bombs and sparklers. It gets dark and the men and older boys start setting off the big fireworks - okay, but still doesn't beat last year. THEN, Mr Wonderful pulls out this pack of sparklers -150 or so that he's taped together - warns everybody to stay back because he only heard about doing this and isn't sure what it'll do. It goes bang. Let me rephrase that it goes BOOM! Big fucking BOMB type BOOM! He tee hees and giggles and gets patted on the back by the other guys. Us women are looking at eachother (including the ones related to these men and have endured this crap for eons) wondering what the big deal was. It was fire and it made big noise - grunt grunt grunt. They scramble to find more sparklers and tape. The second one was a failure, it just went up in flames with no big BOOM. They get in a huddle and discuss clearing the shelves of sparklers during after 4th sales so they can make them this weekend. Mr. Wonderful is instructed to bring lots of them next year.
So then it's time for the grand finalé. All women and children are instructed to go inside and watch from the window and the boys pull out the gas cans. Okay, now this ended up being pretty cool, but NEVER would somebody with estrogen flowing through her veins ever dream up such a thing.... The men had spent an hour earlier that day building this box (which involved a power saw, wood, nails, hammers, and a wire cage covering) and then put twelve bajillion bottle rockets in the cage covering. They pulled this "box" out to the end of the driveway, poured gasoline all over it, with a little trail back a ways so they could light it from a distance. It went off for about two minutes with bottle rockets shooting straight up and then fizzled out. THE WOMEN STARTED BOOING! I'm stunned, it was pretty, nobody got hurt. NOOOoooooo I was told, it's supposed to go on and on and on and on and shoot bottle rockets everywhere. So the men huddle again. Out comes the GASTANK from a motorcycle and they REGAS the box and relight it. OH MI GAWD!!!!!! Huge flames, bottle rockets EVERYWHERE, men running.
Oddly enough NO INJURIES and again, Mr Wonderful is the hero for putting out a fabulous display.
All I can say, it's a man thing and I don't understand.
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