Sunday, March 12, 2006

Observations on life

Few things suck worse than having to take a reluctant poop with a head pounding hangover...

Saturday, March 11, 2006

My Guy Card may be at risk...

The following secrets have been in the Guy Code for GENERATIONS. These are the treasured secrets that women want to know about their man. Why are guys the way guys are? What's the matter with their brains? Why do women with big boobs attract every man within a 1,500 mile radius? Are they idiots...or just attracted to the gravitational pull of silicon?

This is the secret that we, the 'guys' of the world, have held from you 'girls' for thousands and thousands of years. You think that it may have something to do with nature, but in reality it is a training program that goes back to our father's, father's, father...and then some.

Starting out when we're six years old, a camping trip, or some other male bonding activity happens between a father and son. Cherished generational wisdom is passed down male to male during these meetings where no women are allowed.

Things like:
'How to gain control of the TV remote'
'Ways to answer important questions with grunts'
'Acting stupid, very smart'
and of course
'Why you should NEVER argue with a pregnant woman'

Friday, March 03, 2006

I've made my bed, now I've got to lie in it

For both of my new readers who don't know this, I am the Baby of The Family. Now I want to be clear on this point, this does not mean that I whined alot growing up.* This is to say that I'm the youngest. Mom and Pop already had a bouncing baby boy (check out those cheeks!) followed by a ba-Utiful baby girl (Hi Twis!) before I came along. Funny how BB and Twis were only two years apart and I came along four and half years later...but I digress. The point of all this is that I'm the youngest of three.

Big Bro is, quite frankly, one of the smartest people I know. If it's about computers and you want to know about it, he's your guy. He worked with computers all through the boom and the bust and has forgotten more about them then I will could ever possibly know. He's got certifications out the wazoo and is now qualified to do everything with nothing, which from what I understand, is commonly what his bosses expect. He's also a fan of the outdoors. Used to be golf, now it's more about bow and arrows. He buys the bows but he makes his own arrows.

Did you know that its not only possible to spend two days making one arrow, but it's expected? You gotta cut it just so long, and you then have to weigh the feather (Weigh. A. Feather!) and then glue it precisely and make sure that the feather is placed just so because if it isn't, it ain't goin' where you think it should be goin' once you shoot it. It's a very precise thing. Three feathers per arrow. VERY precise.

The man has an attention to detail that I just don't possess and never will. If I tried to do what he's doing, well, let's just say that anyone who stood around me as I shot an arrow that I made over two days wouldn't be standing for long and leave it at that, without the bloody descriptions. BB on the other hand, regularly nails 300 pts. down at the range. The guy is GOOD!

Twissy, a couple of years younger than BB, let me hang out with her and her friends in the Apple Core Gang. As I recall, I was the only member that paid dues (10 cents a meeting, which she later reimbursed me with fast food, but I didn't know about that at the time). She's sweet, she's smart, she'll tell you how it is regardless of how you want to hear it, and she's a dish too!

Would you believe that a flute once saved my bacon? Twissy played the flute in junior high and high school. When I was in 3rd grade I had to walk across the High School grounds on the way home from Grade School where one of the Low Grade Moron's would pick up chunks of dirt and throw them at me. I'm 9, he's 16, not exactly a fair fight. Twissy was all of 13, she walked up to him and totally slammed him in the back with her flute case (solid, hard, black plastic with silver edging), then screamed at him "You leave my brother alone!" I still remember his face when she hit him. Cripes, I remember MY face when she hit him! Yikes! Don't mess with my sister, she'll whoop ya.

I know this not only because of the flute case, but because I pushed her too far and she bopped me in the nose. Consider this a public service announcement - DO NOT MESS WITH MY SISTER, she will hurt you, but only when you deserve it. If you don't deserve it, she's like a baby lamb on a spring day.

The point to all this is that I'm The Baby. Personal pride makes me point out that I'm not A Baby, but I am the youngest of the family. As a result of the crap shoot of birth order, I also happen to be a spoiled, pain in,...I meant, I tease them. Yep, that's what I meant. Ask them. Go ahead, ask my siblings if I've teased them to within an inch of their sanity. I am precisely what I commonly call myself, The Don't Example.

The Don't Example, as in: Don't do that.

Being the Don't Example works in a myriad of ways. Don't tease your older sister because when she's had enough, she'll bop you in the nose. In public. With your friends watching. Deservedly so, but still...Don't tease Mom when she's getting Thanksgiving Dinner ready five minutes before it's supposed to be on the table. You shouldn't do this because she'll say that while she loves you dearly, she WILL hurt you if you don't stop, and she's serious...Don't tease your much larger, 6 years older, brother because he will make you eat your own spleen or make you eat a worm. Believe me when I say, this is a choice you don't want to have to make...Being The Don't Example as far as I am able to tell routinely involves teasing people past their limits of polite endurance.

I AM the younger brother. I take my responsibility with all the seriousness of a Fort Knox Guard. It's a job people! It IS the youngest's job to pull the elder siblings in line with jokes, catcalls, pokes, jibes, what have you. IT'S OUR JOB. It's not something we take pleasure in, but by golly, we all do what we must. It's not fun (well, OK. Fine! Mostly it is fun but that's just a fringe benefit) but all of us, as we grow into adults too, do what we must. As the youngest brother it's my responsibility to tease the ever-loving' $h!t out of the siblings. Its my job, that's all I'm saying. I've taken it very seriously over the years and everyone (well...,OK, I) have had a really good laugh out of it.

The problem with all jobs are the unexpected consequences that you must face. Marketing people square off routinely against sales people. Zealots square off against heathen's . Policeman have more bullets shot at them then they shoot away from them. Firemen fight against FIRE!
Little brothers turn 40. Older siblings reminding you that paybacks are a bitch.

This is not something little brothers think about when they're 6. Or even 34 for that matter, when 40 couldn't possibly happen to them. Undoubtedly, this is one of those 'attention to detail' things.

I am in for an entire 4 decades of abuse. Abuse that will be delivered gleefully by those that know me best. Good grief, it's still 9 months away and they're already planning it! I am so totally screwed!

Does anyone have any good vacation plans around December 14th? I may want to accompany you. I'll keep quiet, I'll carry your bags, you can call me Raoul, I'll pay my own way even...

* ATTENTION SIBLINGS - If you want to say it different, get your own blog.

Marriage is love.