A wise man judges by understanding the path. A fool judges only by the shoes.
The more men know about women, the more…
Wait-a-minute…
There is absolutely nothing I can follow that up with. Men don’t know anything about women. Well, okay, men – and I’m talking a small subset here – know a little bit, but we’re talking tip of the iceberg knowledge. Words don’t always mean what they are supposed to mean and answers to questions may or may not be exactly the opposite to what we’re supposed to do. Plus, it took us the entire history of mankind walking upright to learn it. In that same period of time we’ve harnessed fire (okay, with the assistance of women otherwise we would have only evolved into a race of males with no eyebrows) and managed to take ourselves all the way to the moon. Same amount of time – we still can’t navigate female emotions. Had we spent our time strictly concentrating on fire we’d have colonies on Mars right now (screwing up anniversaries and “Do you like this dress?” questions exactly the same way we always have).
There is only one group of men that can successfully navigate the world of women – and they are gay. It’s as if once they looked upon the true body of knowledge that makes up woman-kind, they were smote by the Goddess of Woman-Nature, given a good sense of fashion, and sent on their merry way.
So, fellow heterosexuals… just know that you aren’t going to ever get it right. At risk of being smote down, I offer the very little advice that I know.
(1) Listen – and I mean, really listen, not just point your eyes at hers and pat yourself on the back for not looking at her breasts.
(2) Don’t try and make sense of anything. There are reasons for things we will never understand. Think of it like religion, except way more complicated.
(3) Just keep trying. This may involve talking and it will involve chick-flicks. “Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood” really wasn’t that bad – plus on a small screen they can’t tell when you are just looking at Sandra Bullock’s breasts.
Good luck. I’m off to buy a moderately stylish shirt.
Women are right about other women 100% of the time.
Guys – Do not question it. Do not spend time thinking about it. Accept it.
Sometimes you go with the flow…
and sometimes the flow takes you.
Eviscerated is really quite a lovely word. It’s fun to say – try it… Come on, really say it. Let it roll off your tounge a few times. Wet your lips and and say it slow and low – pretend you’re the sophisticated villain of an old B-movie. You’ve got the slicked back hair and thousand dollar suit.
E vis cer a ted… Ahhh… Yes, See what I’m talking about?
Even saying it in French couldn’t make that word any more sexy. It’s a shame that short of news reports about serial killers, the word just doesn’t get much mouth-time. I’m trying my best to rectify (another fun but often misunderstood word) the situation – much to the bewildered stares of my peers.
“Hey, Keith, I just eviscerated the code-base to the project we’re working on…”
“Geez, Glenn, that movie was eviscerated of all meaningful content!”
My next fun word project… Exsanguination.
I was watching a fly in the bathroom buzzing back and forth flying repeatedly into a mirror on the wall and then into a mirror on the vanity. I chuckled after a half dozen or so collisions and felt so superior as part of a highly evolved species of individuals who’d never let themselves be fooled by what they saw in a mirror.
Well well well… Rip van blogger finally woke up. I stopped writing for so long I feel like what I’d imagine someone with a horrible leg injury might feel once they finally were able to walk again. No offense meant to belittle horrible leg injuries by comparing them to my laziness and procrastination in not keeping up a little (if ever) viewed personal web log. Whoa, I write it like that and I even want to pelt myself with rotten tomatoes. Good thing horrible leg injury people can’t balance and aim well.
In any case… life just got in the way of, well, writing about life. I’m a richer, more evolved person for it. If you look in the dictionary of life under “richer, more evolved” I believe it says something about being beaten black and blue, dragged over rusty razor blades, and then washed down in a fine mist of lemon juice.
But hey… I can still wring myself out and make lemonade. If you want to see it, life is good.
Peace.
(I always wanted to end a talk like that. Ah, if only I could have added the video of me in a smug rapper stance…)
Peace. Y’all.
I contend that as you get older someone replaces all the mirrors in your house with carnival mirrors.
The blog is back! *insert chirping crickets here*
It might be quicker if I just called both of you.
Moving to a new server… The blog will be unavailable for a few days. So, the two of you out there talk amongst yourselves for a little bit and I’ll be back soon.
Did anybody ever notice the echo in here?
Late night MTV, a laptop, and broadband Internet access.
I’d write something creative if I had any brain synapses left.
There’s a new show on TV named “Reruns.” They rehash old television sitcom scripts word for word in a Saturday Night Live setting. It absolutely amazes me the power a laugh-track still has on the American viewer’s psyche.
You think if I re-released bell-bottomed jeans, people would buy? Oh wait! That one already worked too.
How about used lottery tickets? Only one in a millionth less chance of winning! I could advertise during “Reruns” and make a fortune.
George W. Bush and the “War on Terrorism” (insert CNN patriotic graphics and James Earl Jones sound-byte here) is out of control. I’m as patriotic as the next guy – my flag was purchased well before September 11th. I even support the movement to make Toby Keith’s “Angry American” song the national anthem. I sat for hours on end as America dealt with the 9/11 tragedy not because it was like driving by an auto accident, but because I was truly outraged. I applauded the retaliation efforts by the U.S. military. But now, months later, the politics of the war drone on like a series of bad Friday the 13th sequels. I keep waiting for Bin Laden to pop back up from the grave – because you know we never found the body. Television and presidential popularity polls seem to influence foreign policy decisions as much as diplomacy and negotiation. Once the ratings appeal of one villain slumps we just insert a new one. Aim the missiles a little to the left and roll the news cameras. I remember early on that Bush even tried to recycle the tried and true WWII Axis & Allies nicknames but couldn’t pull it off; kind of like Pauly Shore starring in a John Wayne movie in my opinion. Then as the public eye drifts to reruns of Friends and Jerry Springer, you see the government repurposing their “War on Terrorism “marketing” money. After spending a billion dollars for an “anti-drug” campaign with little return, they figured they might be able to spice up the “war” effort and appease federal accountant watchdogs by hitting multiple targets with the same budget money. The end result? A cross-over with the “War on Drugs” to the “War on Terrorism” – smoking weed blows up buildings. Whoa. I always heard it just made you hungry. At the present rate of degradation, don’t forget to rewind your video tape rentals – who knows where that type of public anarchy might lead. Homeland Security could end up knocking on your door for the extra revenue stream. Plus, it might generate some news coverage…
Top 10 Signs You Might Be A Player (male)
#10 – You use the term “bagged” outside of the grocery
#9 – “Chatting her up” is a well used social tool
#8 – Your cologne is named Machiavelli
#7 – Your passport is only stamped Amsterdam
#6 – Your guy friends call you nightly for updates
#5 – You have something to report
#4 – You know the Tao of Steve
#3 – You switch churches for a larger congregation
#2 – You believe in mojo
And the #1 Sign You Might Be A Player…
You have as many terms for relationships as Eskimos have for snow!
Will surprises never end? I watched an episode of Meet My Parents – a reality TV show where three guys stay with a girl and her parents and are systematically eliminated from the dating pool – and it solidly did not suck. It must be the stupor of summer reruns setting in – I don’t know. However, I’m putting a system in place where if the TV stays on the same station as Last Resort or Temptation Island for more than 20 seconds, the tube will explode sending shrapnel into my brain. It’ll work too because I read it on the Internet.
I made a Verne Troyer joke the other day. Verne is one of the most talented actors (he is the vertically challenged member of the Austin Powers cast) to hit the big screen since Oz. Plus, Verne has a beautiful singing voice. I wish to publicly apologize for my short-sighted, little-minded statements. I was just jealous of his open invite to the Playboy Mansion.
What happened to medium?
SMALL, LARGE, and FAMILY-SIZE
REGULAR, BIGGIE, and SUPER-SIZE
TAD-SMALLER-THAN-MEDIUM, PRETENDING-NOT-TO-BE-MEDIUM, and OH-MY-GAWD
Can we not regulate fast food restaurants? If they have three sizes, then THE ONE IN THE MIDDLE IS MEDIUM!!!
I got a call last night. FOX broadcasting wants to buy the rights to my idea for running political races in the same format as their new smash hit American Idol! They’ve even reinstituted the swim-suit competition to draw in the over 60 demographic. Expect to see a lot more Bob Dole Viagra commercials. Contestants, err, I mean candidates, will even go through a grueling physical challenge each week. Issue dodging, backpedaling, and dwarf throwing. Verne Troyer, popular Austin Powers movie actor (the short one), is reported to be up at arms – he says the idea is demeaning to dwarves. He threatens to rally the bottom third of America against the show unless we take out the politics.
http://www.topsecretrecipes.com
Now you can have that Taco Bell indigestion any time without ever leaving your own house!
How old is Morgan Fairchild anyway? I did a little searching on the ‘net and found a birth date of February 3rd, 1950. Have any of you been watching the Old Navy commercials recently? Ponce de Leon had it all wrong. He didn’t need a fountain, just a polar fleece and a rugby shirt.
