Monday, February 21, 2005

Oops, I'm sorry I killed 5 people, it's that time of the month

To begin today's post, I want to take you back a couple years to an incident that really defines today's post. I was having a real good dream. Not one of those Michigan wins another football title dreams, but a good one nevertheless. When I was woke out of it, I was smiling. The voice that woke me came from the bathroom. "You need to come here to see this." I stagger out of bed. Walk to the bathroom and look around. No underwear on the counter, no clothes on the floor. So far, so good. Not here for underwear, clothes or the hamper talk. Decorator towels still straight? Yes. Not here for the don't use these, they're only for looks talk. Look on the floor. There is a cat on the floor. Cat looks dead. Is the cat dead? No, just saw it breathe. Cat's just asleep. Wish I was. Not dead, so not here to see the cat. Glance around. There is the wife. She's smiling. Sort of... Now a sort of smiling wife is never a good thing. Usually it means that it is time for the mind games that make electroshock therapy feel like a soft pillow. Usually said games wind up badly with her crying or mad and me thinking what the heck was that all about? So here we are, one of these if you really loved me, you'd know what I am thinking faces staring at me. As if I am the amazing Creskin or something. I stare blankly (it is 6:30 am), and she glances down at a piece of plastic. It has pink lines. "Do you know what this means?" Now most of my brain is well aware of what that is and probably means. However, it's 6:30 am. Right now, that part is still asleep and the second string is currently controlling the consciousness. So here go the guesses. "We have hard water? Is that why the whites have been a bit dingy?" Bad answer. *Very* bad answer. She's now getting upset. I try to calm her. " No, no of course, not. No. The whites are brighter than ever. I don't know why I said that. Please don’t cry." Oh, dear Lord, please make her stop. Quickly, I go for the second guess: "Um, our son is doing drugs?" Even worse answer. I knew he wasn't, but hey, maybe I can get one of those slaps on the back of the head 'Hey moron, it means...' answers. No such luck. Now she's tearing up and she's turning red. About this time, the part of the brain that understands, is waking up, but unfortunately it'll be a moment still, so the second string continues. "Oh, come on. It's a plastic strip. No, I don't think we're raising a druggie. No, please calm down" Her face is mad and teary. Better get this right. The knowledgeable part of the brain finally wakes up and engages. It has no clue either, since it's been asleep, but it goes for a guess: "Um, athletes foot? Oh, come on. They way your acting, it's almost like your... " Then it notices the strip. Reality hits. She's having a baby. Still half asleep, I reply "No. Can't be. It is?" My reaction didn't go over well. She's not happy with the guesses, and is now not happy that I am not jumping for joy. "Well of course it's a good thing. No, it's great. Please stop acting psycho. No, you're not psycho. Bad slip of the tongue. Oh, please just let me die now..."

Today's talk is the hormone excuse. A pregnant woman can go into a Kmart and take out 100 people with mace and a pick axe and turn around and say "Oops, sorry. My hormones are a bit out of whack, but I'm ok now. You might want to put a band aid on that. Tee hee hee." And people will accept it. You know it's true. Everywhere a pregnant woman goes, people make way. Most people assume that it's to make sure they don't risk bumping her and somehow hurting her baby. No, it's more basic than that. It comes from years, no millennia of years of evolution. They back away, because they don't want to be the first object in range when the hormone charged ball of psychosis snaps for no reason. Deep inside every man is then knowledge of psychotic hormones. It is why when we open doors for pregnant women, we are on the *other side* of said door, using it as a shield. Our DNA holds many memories of pregnant rages or “that time of the month rages” that make being eaten by a pack of wolves seem like Disney. The reputation of hormone changes and behavior have been documented through the centuries. I'll bet you didn't know that every culture has a name/phrase for the word estrogen. In the Congo tribe of the Swahilians, it means "What the heck was that all about?" Some American Indian tribes had a phrase for it which loosely translated meant “Squaw more psycho than a rabid hyena”.

Hormones have become the catch all excuse for women. I have a friend whose wife has had every checkup imaginable for her weight. First it was thyroid checks. Then it was kidneys. Then it was some disease she found on google (I think she googled “my fat can’t be my fault” or something similar). Test after test was negative. Then it was diabetes. Then it was hypoglycemia. Then it was pituitary. All negative. But the hormone excuse continues, I mean it can’t be the 6000 calories a day she eats in front of theTV. Oh, no. And if you make the mistake of suggesting dropping the cookies, well, my friend spent a sexless 2 months for that one. So men just smile and wave and agree. It keeps the peace and the “pie”.

Now men could never get away with this. Can you imagine being at work and having this conversation? Boss: This project is a week overdue, what’s the problem? You: Sorry boss, I had a rough week last week if you know what I mean. The hormones just made me feel sad. But I’m happy for now . Yeah, you’d be out in a heartbeat. But hey, grin and bear it. They may be hormone crazed, but at least they look good.

C’ Ya!

Friday, February 04, 2005

Let's complain forcefully about Christmas

This has been bugging me for a bit, so here we go. Another Christmas. It's the 17th of December. The ritual begins and it's on the way to Walmart. So I leave my house and am on the road and what the heck is with all this traffic? Sheesh, don't you people have homes? So let's begin with the car in front of me. It's doing 15 under the limit. Come on loser, let's go. Oh, great. They have a bumper sticker. My kid is an honor student yada yada yada. Of course, this is obvious. Like cancer, intelligence is inherited and sometimes skips generations. Your kid obviously go the freaking IQ you didn't get. NOW GET THE F*** OUT OF MY F***ing WAY YOU @$^%$&*^%$b. After what seems like forever, we get to the part of the road that adds a lane each way. I give a very special Christmas greeting as I pass. "Dad" thinks I am waving. Like I said, your kid got all the brains. Finally, I can speed up. Oh rats, for about 10 seconds. Now what? This is the line to get into Walmart? Great. The uber-brain returns the Christmas greeting as he speeds by laughing. Finally, into the parking lot. Now, I don't care about walking. I usually find the first available slot in the back and park it there. This is easy as everyone else is an idiot looking for the close spots. Out of the car and off and running. Now I am already in a foul mood from the honor dad, but what I come across next takes the cake. This lady has her car in the center of the driving aisle, blocking traffic in both directions while she waits for someone to unload 3 freaking carts into their van and leave. She is over too far for any of the people (who are having coranary's right about now) to get by. No, she's just going to sit and wait for the next 10 minutes while the queue behind her gets longer and longer. Now, here's the kicker and why I am so proud of myself for not keying "Moron" into her passenger door. As I am walking by, right there, at her passenger door is an open slot that she could take. But no, she's not going there. She's too important. She's going to hold up 7 (at last count) cars for 8 stinking feet! Remember, they can't get by her, she's blocking everything. Someone honks. Well, several someones have been honking. Oh, isn't that nice, she put on her blinker. There. You see? Now that makes it all better. She's a polite a**hole. Please, get me out of here.

Finally into the front door. It took a while to get across the main drag in front. You see, no one ever pushes their carts to their cars anymore, well, except that woman who was unloading her 3. You see, they all drive them to the front and park where wifey pooh, or teenager or someone is waiting with the cart of goods. And they wonder why people go psycho with handguns. Give me an uzi... I'll clear the mess up...

So now it is time to shop. Grab one of the few remaining carts and off I go. Now Wal-mart is not just a shopping store. It's a community center. Really. I know people who will grab a cart and just push it through the store for hours, buying nothing. They run into people and chat. Push the cart a little more, look at this, look a that. You know. The ones who have decided that TV is just not worth watching. Now that in and of itself is not bad. But take several dozen or more of these people and put them in with a several hundred shopping and well, it gets crowded.

Fortunately for me, I am here for only a few gifts. My wife buys most Christmas stuff throughout the year, so when it's 7 days before, there is only, well, her gifts to buy. Hmm. Maybe I could take a lesson there. Off to the DVD/CD area for wife. Ok people move. I try to get in to find a CD, but now some lady is looking at every CD in the spot. Apparently she hasn't heard of "Alphabetical Order". She gives me a look for moving in her area. I glare back. Look lady. I am sure your kid loves Usher, whoever that lowlife is, but let's face reality: If she's your kid, the most you can hope for is that she will get the "do you want fries with that?" line correct before she turns 40. But hey, if not, then she should start practicing now for the "50 bucks and you can't unload in my mouth" line. Feed her lots of uncut hot dogs. She'll need to practice...

Finally, I have the CD. That took almost 20 minutes. Yeesh, at this pace, it'll be Christmas before I check out. No, it won't. Time to go home and just internet everything. Heck, I can go to and get what I want there. Off to the line. I have one item. One. Let's see what the express lines have. There's one with about 50 items. There's another with 20. Yeesh, can't anyone count? 20 minutes later, I am through the line and on my way home.

I can't imagine what the next week will be like at this place. I think if I need to come back, it'll be around 2 am.


Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Viagra - A woman's view

From Sondra K at Sondra is one of the best blogs I have seen. Funny, unique and very entertaining.

Day 1: Just celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with not much to celebrate. When it came time to re-enact our wedding night, he locked himself in the bathroom and cried.

Day 2: Today, he says he has a big secret to tell me. He's impotent, he says, and he wants me to be the first to know. Why doesn't he tell me something I don't know! I mean, he actually thinks I haven't noticed.

Day 3: This marriage is in trouble. A woman has needs. Yesterday, I saw a picture of Nelson's Column and burst into tears.

Day 4: A miracle has happened! There's a new drug on the market that will fix his 'problem'. It's called Viagra. I told him that if he takes Viagra, things will be just like they were on our wedding night. I think this will work. I replaced his Prozac with the Viagra, hoping to lift something other than his mood.

Day 5: What absolute bliss!!

Day 6: Isn't life wonderful but it's difficult to write while he's doing that.

Day 7: This Viagra thing has gone to his head. No pun intended! Yesterday, at Burger King, the manager asked me if I'd like a Whopper. He thought they were talking about him. But, have to admit it's very nice - I don't think I've ever been so happy.

Day 8: I think he took too many over the weekend. Yesterday, instead of mowing the lawn, he was using his new friend as a weed wacker. I'm also getting a bit sore down there.

Day 9: No time to write. He might catch me.

Day 10: Okay, I admit it. I'm hiding. I mean, a girl can only take so much. And to make matters worse, he's washing the Viagra down with neat whisky! What am I going to do? I feel tacky all over...

Day 11: I'm basically being screwed to death. It's like living with a Black and Decker drill. I woke up this morning hot-glued to the bed. Even my armpits hurt. He's a complete pig.

Day 12: I wish he was gay. I've stopped wearing make-up, cleaning my teeth or even washing but he still keeps coming after me! Even yawning has become dangerous...

Day 13: Every time I shut my eyes, there's a sneak attack! It's like going to bed with a scud missile. I can hardly walk and if he tries that "Oops, sorry" thing again, I'll kill the bastard.

Day 14: I've done everything to turn him off. Nothing is working. I even started dressing like a nun but this just seems to make him more horny. Help me!

Day 15: I think I'll have to kill him. I'm starting to stick to everything I sit on. The cat and dog won't go near him and our friends don't come over any more. Last night I told him to go and screw himself and he did.

Day 16: The bastard has started to complain about headaches. I hope the bloody thing explodes. I did suggest he might try stopping the Viagra and going back on Prozac.

Day 17: Switched the pills but it doesn't seem to have made any difference... Hell no! Here he comes again!

Day 18: He's back on Prozac. The lazy sod just sits there in front of the TV all day with that remote control in his hand and expects me to do everything

Too funny, but as date 18 shows, you just can't make them happy...

C' Ya!