Don't Swoon For Me Argentina

You know, of late, I’ve noticed a disturbing sexist pattern of behavior in some readers of blogs I visit. Swooning, crying and apparently, in some cases, fainting. Pass the smelling salts, will you? Said swooning and likewise super girlie behavior can usually be found on the blogs of men. Hence the sexist aspect of this widespread epidemic. And frankly, this has me a little flooped out.

I mean, what am I, chopped liver? Yes, it’s true, I’m jealous and feel more than a little left out. There is nothing more disheartening than visiting one of my buddies blogs only to see an inordinate amount of female commenters, swooning, moaning and fanning themselves. It’s just not fair.

I don’t get any boy readers over here, clutching their hankies and dabbing at their tears (while silently vowing their undying love for me) reading my posts. No, usually it’s “Great post, WC” a smack upside the head and they’re off. What’s up with that? Seriously, why is it the guys get all the good lovin’ in the blog world? Have you ever wondered about that, ladies? Haven’t you ever sat back and thought, “Gee, I wish somebody would come and whimper over some of my good stuff!” (Not to mention a couple of tear stained emails.) And then stamp your foot in dismay, whilst smoothing out your pinafore?

Barring nude and alluring photos of ourselves on every blog post, how are we supposed to get some of that good lovin’ like the guys get – and in copious amounts, I might add? Does having some ‘junk’ in the box (as it were) automatically transcend the reader into a quivering mass of emotional jelly? Can pheramones actually exude through a computer monitor? Does three day stubble make all the difference? Cuz I can do that, just not on my face.

Or is it simply the nature of men and women? That despite all of our evolutionary advances, high tech, equal rights, women’s rights, the new age, global warming and the Constitution, girls are still girls and boys are still boys and ne’er the twain shall meet? As simple as girls cry and emote and men scratch themselves in public and grunt their approval? Can men only safely express their emotions during the SuperBowl and gut-wrenching sex? Or are they just holding out on us? Lapping up the love but not so much as giving out a batting eyelash?

Seriously, what’s a girl blogger gotta do to get some of that lovely, weepy, swoony bloggie love? And oh yeah, I demand a recount. 😉

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A Boy and His Lawn

What is it about men and lawns? I mean, seriously, what is it? Roomie is absolutely obsessed with his lawn. The garage is jam packed with fertilizers, weed killers, cutters, trimmers, edgers, hedgers, mowers and blowers and even a damn vacuum. Yep, a vacuum, so he can vacuum up the leaves that are demarking his carpet of green.

This man will go out at 7 pm and in the dark, on his hands and knees trim around the sprinkler heads, so the lawn gets its daily drink. He has this complex set of sprinklers all on timers, all going off in sychronized glory in the wee hours of the morning. Good thing, since we are now officially in a ‘drought’ out here and the water police are always about. Wouldn’t want to get a lawn ticket, now would we? I wonder what the fine is on that? Or is it community service – 200 hours in a desalinization plant?

He can also spot a weed or a nasty ol’ mushroom at fifty paces, regardless of the time of day or night. I think he maybe must do some of this by smell because I sure as hell can’t see it.

Last year, he had a little pile of brown gook on the lawn one day. I thought it was cat barf. We have quite a few free roaming felines in the neighborhood and God knows cats love to barf, especially on other people’s lawns. No biggie, right? Wrong. Roomie became obsessed. He took samples. Took it to all the other lawn nazis in the neighborhood for opinions and analzysations. The ultimate consensus was that it was some rare lawn virus and it took him the longest time to find the right antibiotics to kill the damn thing. I think part of the problem was that most doctors won’t prescribe meds for lawns – but I digress.

So, this year, in fact, quite recently – the devil grass came and wreaked havoc with the lawn. Naturally it was the neighbor’s fault because he had had the nerve to seed his lawn, rather than do the right thing and pop a couple grand for high grade sod. Roomie always looked down on neighbor’s lawn and was constantly offering lawn tutelidge to neighbor. The devil grass was the last straw and roomie went over and had a serious heart to heart with neighbor. In the end, neighbor agreed to order the sod like he should have in the first place and he was replacing Roomie’s lawn where the evil grass had choked the primo sod grass.

This morning at 6 am, Roomie was out there watering the tender new sod grass and speaking to it softly. Coaxing it to take root and not to feel embarassed that it wasn’t as experienced as the rest of the sod lawn that got put down two years ago. I believe he made introductions all around and the new sod grass felt welcomed.

Now, I’m all for a nice lawn. In fact, I’d say that Roomie has the nicest lawn on the block – but the thing that boggles my mind is that this is the same person who doesn’t see two weeks worth of crumbs on the coffee table, cleans his bathroom three times a year whether it needs it or not and wouldn’t know what to do with coffee dribble on the counter, or grease on the stove if his life depended on it.

How can a man be so attuned to a lawn and so clueless about his own home. The place where he eats and sleeps? I swear, the livingroom could be piled to the ceiling with old to go containers, strewn with two weeks of dirty laundry and fur balls the size of basketballs and he’d never notice – but if a leaf falls on his newly mowed lawn, it will wake him from a dead sleep.

So, I ask you, what is it with men and their lawns?

WC

You Know You’re on the Date From Hell When…

I think most of us have had at least one really bad date. Some of us have probably even had more than one. But for those of you who don’t know how to tell if you are on a date from hell, here are a few clues:

You know you’re on the date from hell when:

1. You mustached dinner date has a booger resting between nostril and hairlip and despite frequent trips to the restroom has not noticed. So, you spend the evening waiting for it to fall.

2. Your date prefers to watch you eat rather than order a dinner for himself and even volunteers he hasn’t enough money for two dinners anyway.

3. Your date feels free to scoop up tips left by other patrons in order to pay for his beers.

4. Your date doesn’t tip the waitress (who he just ripped off) which causes you to wait til he isn’t looking to slip the waitress a five.

5. He arrives at your house to pick you up for a coffee date, with grocery store roses and a cheap bottle of wine (how lucky does he think he’s going to get?)

6. For said coffee date he passes on Starbuck’s and goes straight to Denny’s.

7. Your date suggests dessert then drives you to the Shell station convenience store (30 miles away) and tells you to pick anything you want.

8. Your date looks like Steve Buscemi’s ugly older brother. ( Have you seen Steve Buscemi?)

9. The good night kiss reminds you it’s time to clean the fish tank.

10. The picture your friend showed you to agree to the blind date is clearly a picture of a model in a magazine or taken so long ago that there is no trace of resemblance to the current person.

11. Your date reminds you of one of Santa’s elves (and makes you feel big and fat to boot)

12. Your date feels that eating off your plate and making creepy sounds is a sexy come on.

13. Two minutes after you order your date launches into a monologue of all the bad relationships in his life – which apparently is every one before you.

14. When your date suggests you might like to read his short stories and you agree he whips his laptop out of his trunk and asks where he can plug it in.

15. He gets sulky when you tell him you want to go home after the 5 hour coffee date.

16. Your stomach is growling so loud that it is setting off car alarms yet he doesn’t notice and asks if you’d like more coffee or to go for a drive.

17. When he asks if he can see you again and you decline he acts as if you are breaking up a 20 year marriage.

18. Your dog will not stop barking at the man.

19. Your cat barfs on his shoes.

20. You slink down in your seat when you see someone you know – lest they see you with him.

21. His idea of a nice drive is playing chicken with pedestrians pushing baby strollers.

22. He tells you his favorite movie is Dune.

23. His favorite sport is bitching.

24. He brings coupons to pay for dinner.

25. His car smells funny.

26. During the drive to the shell station his facial features turn into an evil mask and you wonder if he really is a serial killer and what you might have in your purse to fend him off.

27. He leaves his sunglasses at your house so you have to call him back – which he turns into an opportunity to discuss what went wrong with your relationship.

28. Being 20 lbs overweight, he wonders out loud if you should be eating such a fattening dessert.

29. He does not understand the words, ‘please go home.’

Feel free to share and add to the list. 😉

WC

I Don’t Want To Hear It!

This may come as a shock to some of you, but I am not a morning person. Nope, not at all. If I had my way, I’d stay up til 3am and sleep until the morning was all but gone. I don’t begrudge others their joy of morning. Their utter delight at casting back the blankets and chirping, ‘Good morning, world!’ I simply don’t want to share it with them. (Please don’t involve me and no one will get hurt.)

Enter roomie (who has been an absolute pain of late) who lies in wait until I stumble out of my room to get my needed fix of coffee. Very strong, lots of cream. I want to get in, start the coffee and retreat to my room. I don’t want to engage my mind, any thought processes or even hear another voice. But can I get that little tiny bit of consideration in the agony of the morning light? NO!

The moment I emerge, he’s there – in the kitchen yammering about some stupid thing or another, following me from cabinet to cabinet. He is a computer engineer so his mind is filled with spreadsheets and equations – even during my most conscious moments I have not the slightest interest in such things. Who cares, as long as he has someone to sling his most recent ‘aha’ at that’s all that counts. He announces to me his latest discovery about this router or that. This headhunter or that interview (did I mention he has been out of a job for 3 fucking months?) and how clever he was with the guy. Or how he solved the weed problem in the front lawn. The spreadsheet he employed to determine the schedule for the drip irrigation system for the roses (which he refuses to prune, take care of or even admire).

Now make no mistake, this guy is my roomie – not my boyfriend. I pay my share of the rent – I derive no benefit from having to listen to this drek day in and day out. Unless you consider being intellectually accosted a benefit.

He also likes to ask me questions in the morning. Is your computer on? Why do you still show a connection on the router if you have turned off your system? Is it going to rain today? How’s your car running? Is the dishwasher full?

Or to brag – Thumper (his evil cat) has gained 3 ounces. The infection he had is gone now. The fat content in his food was too low so I’m adding Friskies to the mix. Yeah, I checked the ingredients and the percentage of crude protein to fat ratio was off….

Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

All I want to do is scream ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’ But do I?

No, I don’t. The fact that he is big enough to squash me like a bug, may have some bearing in this decision. Instead, I have learned to nod in just the right way to make him think I am listening to what he is jabbering about. I nod and mutter and inch my way down the hall, nod, mutter, inch some more until I get back to my room and safe ‘world’ as soon as possible. Although, even a closed door in his face doesn’t always discourage him. If he’s especially interested in hearing himself talk, he’ll keep going….

I’m telling you there is just no good reason to be awake in the morning. Especially at my house.

WC

Me, Wild-Heidi & Taylor Hicks

You may not be aware of the fact that I am a rabid Taylor Hicks fan. (Well, maybe not rabid since I wouldn’t bite anybody.) It all started when I happened to catch a couple of American Idol auditions last winter. This guy caught my eye. Stood out as something special. Not because of his grey hair or his rumpled cuteness but because it seemed to me he reached deep when he belted out those few words in the audition. I decided I would watch the show as long as he remained a contestant. Little did I know what a phenom he would turn out to be.

Long story short, I like (apparently) millions of other women became completely enamored of this grey-haired dude and my (our) life became all about Tay-Tay. Yep, it was all Taylor all the time. Soon, I was seeking out other Taylor fanatics online and actually ended up making a few friends. Most notably: Bobo, Wild-Heidi, Uni & Trish. It was cah-raze-ee! We spent endless hours on message boards, IMing about the latest, visiting sites like graycharles.com, swapping pics, videos, blah, blah, blah. Hey I finally got to be 16 and it was fricking great! Then…

Yay! He won.

It turned out that Wild-Heidi lived in California too, so we hooked up. The incessant Taylor-Talk continued. We were going to stalk him and find him and I don’t know – we never really talked about what we’d actually do if we met him. Anyway, at some point, we decided it would be too long before he put a solo concert together so we thought we’d better go see the Idol concert when it came to town. Intense conversation on the phone, tickets selected and bought online. Then all we had to do was wait…….

Yesterday, the day had finally arrived. We were going to see Taylor. We were both so hyped up that neither of us really slept. We left for Orange County (concert was in Anaheim) a mere 4 hours early. We had lunch. Then we zipped over to the stadium. Still an hour & a half to concert time, we hung by the tour busses in hopes of catching a glimpse of our obsession. No luck. We did see Kelli, Cat, Elliott & Paris. I was utterly amazed at how tiny they all were. They looked so much bigger on television. And btw, Kelli and Paris really are beautiful young women, startling so.

Wild-Heidi was disappointed that we didn’t catch site of “T” but I said, ‘hey, maybe he’ll dance down our aisle or something. could happen?’ We went in. The place was packed and though the a/c was jacked to the max I was sweating my brains out.

We found our seats and Wild-Heidi made friends with everybody in our quandrant of the stadium. There was picture swapping, binocular sharing, fangirly screams and dancing. Yep, we were having a grand old time. But oh, the wait. Not that the other kids weren’t great, they were. But, I paid $150 to see Taylor – that was all I was interested in. Wild-Heidi and I conserved our energy for him.

Just after intermission the lady sitting next to us whispered that she heard Taylor was in fact going to be dancing down our aisle. I told Wild-Heidi and worried she would need an oxygen tank if she didn’t start breathing soon.

The lights dimmed – we watched the stage and eyed the aisle alternately. Back and forth. Forth and back. Just when we thought he wasn’t really going to be dancing down the aisle, we heard him to our left. OMG! There he was! Yep, right there – 3 feet away from me. He was reaching out and touching people and I put out my hand and managed to graze his arm. I touched him. Yeoooowwwooooooohhooooooooooooooooo! Okay, that definitely made my night. Wild-Heidi got a little vaklemped because she was trying to manage the digital camera and the camera cell phone at once and got a ‘ghost’ of a pic.

Then we screamed our heads off, danced the Carltong, yelled, clapped, hopped and sang! It ended way too soon. Way too soon. But what great fun it was while it lasted.

Right after the concert, we rushed to the tour busses, where they fenced us back like we were in fan-zoo’s and we waited. People pushed and leaned and poked and nuggled but me and Wild-Heidi held our own. We stayed up front. We were ready, we had our CD’s, ticket stubs for signing (actually I wore a white shirt for signing- I know, crazy, huh?). But, it was not meant to be. Taylor was whisked away to another engagement after we barely caught a glimpse – and we had waited over an hour just for that. Happily, I did get my shirt signed by Mandisa, Paris and Kelli. All beautiful, all very sweet young women.

We topped the evening off by going to a gas station mini-mart, buying a couple of warm diet cokes and making the long drive home. Wild-Heidi is still a little miffed at Tay for not stopping and saying hi to us, but she’ll cheer up once we plan our next Taylor caper. Hehee, oh yes she will.

By the way ladies, Taylor is unbelievably handsome in real life. Knocks you flat on your arse. I promise, no lie.

WC

Why is the Sky Blue?

I’m in a questioning mood tonight so here are a few favorites:

  • Why is the sky blue?
  • Why does the Easter Bunny have eggs in his basket instead of fuzzy slippers?
  • Why does Santa wear red? And where did Mrs. Claus get all that velvet?
  • Why do we take the day off on Labor Day?
  • Why do you need a battery-operated device to open a package of batteries?
  • If my father had blue eyes and my mother is a redhead, what day was I born on and at what speed was I traveling while sliding down the chute?
  • If scientists know how to split an atom how come a group of friends don’t know how to split a check?
  • How come my room mate can spot a weed on his lawn at 50 paces but can’t see a week’s worth of coffee drips on the counter in front of his coffee machine?
  • Why is there so much hair in a man’s bathroom?
  • Why is my dog always happy to see me?
  • Why does the sun set but the moon rises?
  • Why do we always have to give in to the people who whine the most?
  • Why do bald men do comb-overs?
  • Why do women diet when they gain weight and men buy bigger shirts?

Talk amongst yourselves. 😉

WC