Why Ladies, Why?

I have a question for all of the women who are in, or ever have been, in a long term relationship. Show of hands. When it comes to long-term relationships, how many of you think that men are idiots? Ok, thank you. I was just checking.

If anybody wants confirmation about how women really see us just ask any married women. She'll regale you with hours of stories about how much of a bum her husband was before she "trained" him.

(When she met him, he probably only had one piece of furniture, an inflatable couch. He would sit on it, feet propped up on a pile of empty pizza boxes, and watch TV while he ate potato chips off of his bare stomach. Now that she's come into his life though, there is soap in every bathroom, and he's even learned to cook a few things that don't come with directions on the side of the box.)

I know it's been said too many times, but this is yet another example of how men are like dogs. Dogs love to chase things, like cars for example, but once they actually catch them, they have no idea what to do next. A lot of guys are really good at chasing women, but when it comes to long-term cohabitation, we just aren't ready for that sort of thing.

Now I'm firmly aware that, as a guy, it is actually to our advantage to let our women train us. A woman training a man is like a dog peeing on a tree. She's leaving her mark. I actually have more theories on this, but I'm risking getting way off topic here, so I'll save it for another blog on another day.

Suffice to say that men would still be wearing animal furs and living in caves if not for women. It took a woman to look at the cave and say "We need a house. These granite walls don't match the new coffee table."

Now, I said all that so I can ask this question

Since women know that men are relationship morons, why do they continue to expect us to have sudden flashes of genius like insight?

Subtlety

Why do you insist on tactics such as subtlety? Men aren't subtle. We're idiots remember? Just come out and say it. Nothing sucks more than, while running late in the morning, hearing You know, I was really hoping to be with you last night. I wore that blue shirt you like, I was hoping youd notice. WHAT?!? Why didnt you say something LAST NIGHT woman? So does this mean that every time you wear the blue shirt from now on, Im going to get some? If so, Id be happy to give all of your other shirts to charity.

Silent Treatment

This one is just too wrong for words. Inevitably we say something that upsets you. But of course, you cant just tell us at the time. Nope. That would be too easy. The game comes when, hours after the fact, we suddenly notice that youre being quieter than usual. The usual ritual then ensues.

Him: "Is everything ok?"
Her: *shrug*
Him: "You seem quieter than usual"
Her: *shrug*
Him: "Did I do something wrong?"
Her: "No"
Him: "What did I do?"
Her: "Nothing, its fine"

Of course, at this point, every guy does the same thing. They act like everything is fine. She did say it was fine after all. (except the amateurs, they go buy flowers). Its a weird sort of peacefulness that ensues at that point. On the one hand, the guy is not getting nagged or asked to do stuff, which is nice. On the other hand, its really just the calm before the storm. Eventually, she is going to tell you whats wrong, and it isnt going to be pleasant. My tactic is to enjoy the silence, but occasionally make an attempt to find out whats wrong. At least that way it looks like you care.

The time I almost hooked up with Tony Braxton

Back in the mid-90's I used to be a "front-end supervisor" at a grocery store called Kroger. This particular Kroger was in a posh suburb of Atlanta, Alpharetta, that, at the time, was the hip suburb for celebrities and athletes to live. As a result, we used to get a lot of big named people coming through the store.

Usually, when one of the more popular celebrities came through, word spread pretty quickly through the staff. Management encouraged this because they, of course, wanted us to suck up to them as much as humanly possible. Since most of us were teenagers, we did too.

"Can I carry your bags sir?"
"Can I find you some fresher milk in the back sir?"
"Can I wipe your bum sir?"

Some of them hated this, and some loved the power. We just wanted an excuse to talk to them.

Hummina Hummina!

I'm not usually one to just walk up to and hit on a woman. Don't get me wrong, I'm a shameless flirt, but I tend to stick with innocent flirtation. I don't tend to "pursue" a girl until I get to know her on a basic friendship level first.

That being said, one day I was walking through the detergent aisle when I passed this chick that was, to put it mildly, the hottest woman I had ever seen in real life. She was wearing a sweatshirt, but you would have thought that she was dressed in shining platinum based on her radiance. We made eye contact, I smiled, she smiled back, and I started mentally planning out our (immediate) future together.

Give me a minute...
...
...OK I'm back.

I walked to the front of the store, and one of the baggers immediately came to tell me something.

"Guess who's in the store."
"Who?"
"Toni Braxton"
"Oh hell"

Yes, dear readers, the woman buying the cleaning supplies was Ms. Braxton.


Figure 1.

Game On...

So I made with the busy work for a while. Until, after what seemed like forever, Ms. Braxton got in line.

I'm not proud of what I did next. Well, I sort of am. She was the 3rd customer in that line. Seeing the opportunity, I did what will probably go down as my most evil act on this planet. I walked over to the register, and told the cashier that it was his break time. Now!

"Don't worry though, I'll run your register until you get back."

...And My Game Is Tight!

Next, I reached up and turned off the light, for the register. Yep, no more customers would be joining the line after her.

I got the next two customers through the register, slowly and made sure that I gave, and received another smile from her before I began. She was only buying four items; I was going to have to work quickly.

[Now, dear readers, let us pause for a moment to contemplate what the idiotic teenager in our story is about to do...
Here we have Eric, a tall, lanky, and acne prone grocery store worker and college student about to hit on Toni freakin' Braxton. Not the soon to be lounge singer Toni Braxton either. Nope, this is the just released a multi-platinum album, "Breath Again" and "Another Sad Love Song" Toni Braxton. Yes, exactly]

I decided to feign ignorance.

e: "Hi, I haven't ever seen you shopping here before"
t: "I travel a lot, so I rarely get time to shop"
e: "That's too bad" (feigned sad look)
t: "What do you mean?"
e: "We smiled at each other in the aisle. You have one of the prettiest smiles I've ever seen. It would have been nice to get to see it more often."

[The rumors are true. George Lucas did, in fact, consult me before writing Anakin Skywalker's "more smooth than sand" pickup line.]

t: "Thank you. That was very nice of you to say" (her eyes had the classic "oh hell" look)

[Here it comes folks, the money shot, are you ready?]

e: "Well, since you won't get to come into the store much, maybe I could get your number and call you some time."

[That sound you just heard was a million pimps all committing suicide.]

t: "I don't think I should do that, but I promise to say Hi next time I'm here" (followed by a smile with the mouth, but not the eyes)

Much to my surprise, but nobody else's, I never did see her come back to the store.

There was some residual benefit though. All the guys I worked with thought I was some sort of hero after that. At the very least, I gained a reputation as a guy with massive cajones.

Naked chicks on the internet

Normally I wouldn't do this sort of thing, but I'm in the mood today. I just hope you all still respect me in the morning.

Anyway, check out these chicks. They're unbelievable!

Click here to see the naked chicks

The $5 wedding ring dillema

I tend to be of the opinion that I'm extremely normal. You know, the standard that all others should be judged by. Every once in a while, I notice something that is different about me, however, which causes me to question this belief.

The Background:
I lost my wedding ring a couple of years ago. I was making salmon one night, and I took it off so I wouldn't get raw fish bits in the cracks and crevices of the ring. I was sure that I put it down on the counter, but I've never seen it again.

Eh well, no big deal I guess. I didn't really give it much of a second thought until recently. For some reason, lately, I've really wanted to have a wedding ring. Maybe it's because Shnoogs and I are in a good place. Maybe because I've had a decline in the number of women flirting with me, so I need a wedding ring to help me look more attractive. Who knows?

The Foreground:
So I bought a ring on ebay two weeks ago. Unfortunately, it didn't fit. I had used a string to measure my ring size, and I was off by a size and a half. So I placed a bid on another one today after getting a more accurate measurement done. The auction doesn't end for 6 more days, but I'm hopeful.

Now here's where the question lies...

The ring I bought two weeks ago was $4.99 plus shipping. It was made of stainless steel, which is much more durable than gold (and machine washable). The one I bid on today is currently going for 99 cents, although the buy it now price is $4.99 also. It's a plain band, made of onyx. (I looked on wikipedia. Onyx is also surprisingly durable).

I don't know if it's relevant, but the ring that I lost was a gold ring worth ~$200.

Ok, here's where the question really lies...

The Question:
Is this weird?

It seems to me that it makes more sense to buy $5 ring that is every bit as attractive as a $200. In fact, it makes so much sense to me that I can't figure out why I'm the only one I know who is doing it. Wouldn't spending more just be inneficient?

Do most people feel that the cost of the ring = the quality of the love? I know a lot of big spenders who have gotten a divorce, so this doesn't seem to hold water.

Are most people brainwashed by the jewelry industry? Probably not. I'm not such a strong personality that I would be the ONLY one to break the mental chains.

Seriously, can somebody please tell me if I am just hopelessly clueless? Would you be pissed of your significant other was wearing a $5 wedding ring?

Don't feed the idiots

Shnoogs and I are an interracial couple. We don't actually like each other all that much, but we're both extremely trendy, and since I've run out of places to pierce and ink, I thought that dating somebody with a darker complexion was the next logical step towards displaying my hipness. We're actually even cooler than typical interracial couples because, in addition to the difference in pigmentation, she isn't even a US citizen. (Double bonus points.)

For reasons that I still don't understand, this leads to a seemingly endless number of questions regarding how we deal with the pressures of being an interracial couple (in the racist south).*

*The "racist south" part is typically only added by Californians. As far as I can tell, people from California have developed their entire understanding of the south from watching Dukes of Hazzard and Deliverance.

So after being asked variations of this question daily for the last 10 years, I've decided to just write them down along with my answers. Next time I'm asked, I can just direct them here. This serves a dual purpose. In addition to relieving me from the task of making up a new sarcastic answer every time, I might also be able to get my blog readership up over the 2 people mark.

These are actual questions I have been asked and answers that I have given over the last few years.

So here goes...

Q: Does anybody ever say anything about, well you know, her being *black*? (with the word "black" whispered)
A: Nope, we've been together for 10 years now and you're the first person that has ever mentioned it.

Q: I know exactly what you must go through, my sister is dating a black guy. (yes, I know it's not technically a question, but it still warrants a response)
A: Really? I haven't seen them at the meetings. On which night do they attend?

Q: Do your parents ever say anything about, well you know? (what's the deal with all the "well you knows". She's black, not dying)
A: Fortunately, my parents don't know yet. Thanks to the miracle of science that is Michael Jackson makeup, we've managed to avoid THAT particular argument.

Q: Do her parents ever say anything about you being white? (it's a-ok to mention me being white. I feel cheated. I want to be a "well you know" too.)
A: They had a problem with it at first, but once they realized that I loves me some collard greens and pigs feet, the culture shock just disappeared.

Q: Does her [extended] family ever say anything about you being white?
A: Not at all. Since I've a very courteous person, I make sure to exclusively use MTV hip-hop slang around them in order to make them more comfortable.

Q: You must be really well hung to be able to compete with black men and get a black woman. (somebody seriously said this to me)
A: This doesn't really warrant a response. Just a nod and a knowing wink.

Q: Are your children beautiful? Interracial children are always so beautiful.
A: That's a myth actually. We had children, but they were butt-ugly, so we sold them and adopted some beautiful Latin kids. So far, nobody has noticed.

Q: Your wife is Jamaican. I bet you guys smoke a lot of ganja.
A: That's the American way to get high. Jamaican people actually powderize the weed and snort it. You should try it, the high is spectacular.

Q: When did you first realize that you only date black women? (people love to make assumptions)
A: What?!? She's what?!? [feigned panic] Oh Crap! Oh Crap! My parents are going to fricking kill me. Why the hell didn't you mention that before?!?

(For the record, I'm going to divorce her the minute that either Salma Hayek or Jessica Biel finally start returning my calls. She has the same standing rule regarding Shamar Moore and Henry Simmons)

Q: Do any of your neighbors have any problems with the black-white thing?
A: Yes, almost all of them do, but fortunately, once the crosses burn to the ground, the ashes make wonderful fertilizer. We have the best lawn in the subdivision.

Q: How do you keep from being discriminated against when you two are out together?
A: I make sure that Shnoogs always walks at least 10 steps behind me and that she never makes eye contact with anybody. This preserves the traditional southern social structure and avoids conflict. She is permitted to speak when spoken to, however, provided that I give prior approval of any of her opinions.

(I threw that last one in just for the Californians)

These lips don't lie

Sometimes, when the level of boredom is just right, I retreat into the world of on-line quizzes. I've always suspected that these things are written by some guy like me with a great deal of time and very little to do. (I have a lot to do, actually, but none of it is fun, so I'm avoiding it.) Obviously this particular quiz was written by an expert that could rival Dr. Ruth herself.

Part Passionate Kisser

The mere touch of your lips is enough to send a wave of ecstasy over anybody. People line up for blocks, camping out for weeks at a time, just to sample a taste of your lips, and, once they do, no other kisser will ever be good enough for them again. Your kisses are destined to end human suffering due to their incredible healing powers.

Part Expert Kisser

You've been known to cause intense multiple orgasms with your kisses. You wield your tounge better than a master artist wielding a paint brush. One day, all of humanity will unite with the solitary goal of erecting a monument to celebrate the power of your kiss.

What kind of kisser are you?

The great turkey run of 1994

Much like my idol Randall


I used to work in a crappy video store. The goings on of which can constitute another bog on another day. The relevant point in this case is that I lived about a mile from the store, and, being sans automobile, I used to walk to and from work.

Here's a picture of the path I would typically take.
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(very busy road)
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(Ph34r my mad text art skillz)

It's pretty simple really. I lived off the main road, and the store was on the main road. So I walked to the main road, turned right, and walked some more. Note the little square towards the top-center of the picture. That's the turkey house.

We're almost done setting the scene. Bear with me just a little bit longer.

The turkey house was called that because it was a little house with a very big, non-fenced yard. Every year, the owner would raise a couple dozen turkeys which would subsequently disappear in late November.

The very busy road was one of those roads that, during rush hour, doesn't move. I regularly would walk to my destination faster than the commuters could drive there.

Something that used to amuse me was the way that the turkeys would wander up to the cars during rush hour. Since the cars weren't moving, there was no real fear of becoming road kill, so the turkeys would just come up to the windows and look in. The children in the cars would wave and smile while the parents rolled up the windows. Occasionally, a motorcycle would end up in front of the house and hilarity would ensue.

For those who don't know, turkeys are both evil and stupid. Now stop to think about that combination for a minute.

Stupidity, in and of itself, is generally harmless, and quite amusing. It can be dangerous, no doubt, but that danger lies in it's inherent incompetence. Look at your local government for a great example of this. Go try to start a business, and you will be amazed at the incredible incompetence you will encounter.

Evil, by itself, is manageable. While evil is typically more dangerous than stupidity, at least evil can be defeated. Even Freddy Krueger knew to pick his battles and when to simply give up and run away.

Combine the two though, and you have one of the most annoying forces imaginable. You have, ladies and gentlemen, the turkey. A bird that is not only evil to it's very core, but too stupid to realize when a fight is futile.

So the motorcyclist would be stopped in traffic on the very busy road in front of the turkey house, when some of the turkeys would decide that this trespass on their territory cannot go unpunished. They would approach, timidly at first, closer, closer, and then ATTACK!

They'd nip and beak the poor biker to bits. I was late to work more than once because I'd stopped to enjoy the show. No amount of swatting at the stupid birds would get them to stop.

Picture for a moment, a big hairy biker guy, yelling and swatting and kicking at a small group (flock?) of turkeys that are pecking him in the legs. I wish I had written some of the more imaginative swear words down. The turkeys would always win in the end. The defeated motorcyclist would speed away on the shoulder of the road, fist shaking, engine roaring.

The turkeys, emboldened by their victory, would go back to trying to intimidate the drivers of the cars.


Example of an unprovoked attack.

....

Then one day, it happened. I was on my way to work, and the side of the road I usually walked on was being dug up to bury wires of some sort. I realized, to my horror, that I was going to have to walk on the turkey side.

Here's some more text art showing the path I would have to take that day. Feel free to print it up and frame it.

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* (very busy road) *
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As I approached the turkey house, I noticed that there weren't any turkeys. It was just after Halloween, so perhaps they had already been disappeared, I thought to myself. My dread quickly turned to elation.

Until I got closer that is. When I was still about 30 yards away, I looked up, and saw a single turkey head looking at me from behind a shrub on the corner of the house. I kept walking. Now, about 15 yards away, two turkeys were looking at me, and gobbling, while at the same time, a terrible noise was coming from the far side of the house. I could hear feathers ruffling, a scratching sound, and A LOT of gobbling. In retrospect, it's possible that my mind was making it seem louder than it really was. Either way, I was nervous. I'm not exactly a big tough hairy biker after all.

I resolved myself to not show fear. Maybe they can sense fear, after all. If I come across as the alpha male, they they'll leave me alone. So I kept walking. I got to the front of the house without incident. That's right, fear me! I am alpha male, and you are just a stupid turkey.

My bravery melted though when I looked up, and there they were. Twenty something birds, staring at me. My eyes locked onto the eyes of the closest bird. I kept walking, it started walking towards me. I sped it, it sped up. I started to jog a little, it broke into a sprint!

F*****************************CK! I yelled as I ran faster than I have ever run in my life. At least 10 of them were on my tail as I sprinted like hell past the line of gridlocked cars, determined to not get mauled by a flock of turkeys.

By the way, turkeys can freaking run man.

I managed to get far enough away that they stopped chasing me. No bites or pecks or whatever they do when they catch you. Although, I did manage to twist an ankle pretty badly.

Once I got across the side street to the right of the turkey house, I stopped. It was clear that I was no longer in their territory. They simply loitered around, gobbling at me, about 20 yards away.

For some reason, maybe it was the adrenaline, I got mad.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I started throwing rocks at the turkeys. F*CK YOU Turkey! I yelled as I threw rock after rock.

I'll never forget the look on the face of the lady in the car next to me at that moment. After about the 5th rock, I looked at the gridlocked car next to me, and there was this woman, with a look on her face that spoke of both horror and disappointment, watching me throw rocks at the turkeys. I guess she hadn't seen me get almost killed.

I felt so ashamed in that moment.

So, with shoulders slumped, and a newly acquired limp, I continued my walk to the video store.


Epilogue:

The worst part was that I spent the next 6 months as "the guy who ran from the turkeys". Since we were the only video store in a heavily residential area, a good number of the people gridlocked on the very busy road were customers. And of course, they told their friends, who told their friends, etc...

The high school boys in particular loved to bring it up. "You almost got beat down by turkeys" "HAA HAA, you're scared of birds"

Of course, the lady from the car came in a few weeks later too, because life is cruel like that:
"Aren't you the guy who was throwing rocks at the turkeys?"
"Yeah, well they..."
"How old are you? 18?"
"19 actually. See the thing is..."
"I can't believe that you would do that"
"But they..."
"It's very immature, kids could have been watching"
"You don't understand..."
"I hope you never have kids of your own"
*sigh* "yes maam"

Eventually, I quit the video store, and the legend faded in people's memories. The area has changed. The video store is gone now. I wonder if the turkey house is still there.

Dream Interpreter Wanted: Apply Within

This is the dream I had on Saturday night...

It started out normally enough. Shnoogs, Big Boy, Muncheechee Rodriguez, and I drove to my parents' house to stay for the weekend.

note: The version of my parents' house that always appears in my dream is a little odd. It's located on the same lot as their house, but it's haunted. It's three stories tall, sometimes four, and each floor is increasingly more evil. The second floor, for example, might have scary apparitions showing up, or poltergeist type activities, while the top floor typically has me being attacked by demons while practicing amazing bladder control. (Not movie demons either, the truly scary kinds that can only appear in dreams.)

Anyway, so we get to the house, and nobody is home. It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, it's 75 degrees, and there's cold beer in the fridge.

So I grab a beer and go sit outside on the porch. From this point one, I don't know what happens to everybody else. I'm all alone. I'm sitting outside watching the birds fly around. Only the birds start getting increasingly scary. The sparrows are steadily being replaced by ravens. Also, the nice white puffy clouds are becoming dark storm clouds. I also notice it's getting colder.

Even though there's no wind, the house starts to make those creaking noises that old houses occasionally make. They're barely audible at first, but they are becoming increasingly louder.

Now, even though I'm dreaming, some part of me starts to become aware of what's going to happen next. (I've dreamed about this house before after all. In fact, all of my scary dreams for years now have taken place either in this house, or at my own.)

Since I know what's going to happen, I'm starting to become nervous. I'm also trying very hard not to look up. I know that the upper floors of the house are going to be scary looking, and, quite frankly, I don't want to get involved.

So I go back inside.

Only, the inside has changed now. It's darker, and the living room has suddenly become a two story room. I never had a chance really. The house itself changed, practically forcing me to look up towards the darker second story.

So I quickly looked away, trying to avert my eyes, and I end up looking into a mirror on the wall next to me. That's when I see her, Samara Morgan, the demon child from The Ring.

She reaches out for me, but I run away. (Fortunately, I'm not stuck in one of those nightmares where my feet won't work.)

I run into the kitchen, where, curiously, the sink is filling with water. I go to turn it off, and Samara reaches for me from the reflection in the water.

So I run away again, and end up going...upstairs. *gulp* She reaches for me again from the mirror in the hallway, then again from the reflection in a window. I'm running up an impossibly high staircase, and she keeps taking jabs at me from any reflective surface. I'm dodging the normal ghosts and monsters that dwell in this house, paying them little mind really, in an effort to escape Samara. Finally, I make it to the roof.

There's nowhere for me to run, but, there aren't any reflective surfaces around either. I'm safe, I think. Still, she could crawl out of a mirror and come after me, so I better keep moving.

I jump off the roof into a trees branches and start crawling down. I dare to look at the house, and I can see her, glaring at me, from the reflection in a window. I get to the driveway, and run to my car. There she is, crawling out of the windshield. Crap!

So I take off running down the street. I don't know if she's following me, and I don't care. I keep running until I get to the IGA. There's people in there, maybe I'll be safe.

So I go inside, and everything seems ok for a second. Beach people are just milling about and buying groceries. Nobody seems tense or nervous. I glance into my reflection in the ice cream cooler window. No demon child.

All of a sudden, I really really have to take a dump. (I don't know. It's a dream for Pete's sake) So I find a bathroom and ... quick check in the mirror ... safe ... walk into the stall to do my business.

When all of a sudden, Samara kancho's me. I kid you not. I feel actual penetration. I jump up, and there she is, reaching out of the reflection of the toilet water, fingers together, and giving this scary demonic laugh. She starts climbing out of the toilet, and I can't get away. The door to the stall is closed, my pants are around my ankles.

...and that's when I woke up.

Now if anybody is reading, I have to ask this question. What in the hell was that?

I wonder what Sigmund Freud would say about a dream where I get chased, and then anally probed, by an 8 year old demon child.

Sheesh