Monthly Archives: February 2015

FFF (A man’s guide to the Feminine Final Four)

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I know this is the time of year you really start to concentrate on college basketball.  It won’t be long and you’ll be filling out your brackets.  Right now it’s important to watch any game you can channel surf to and get a good line on team performance.  But your wife or girlfriend could not give a rat’s ass about this stuff.  They have their own final four going on right now and you, my friend, might be missing out on some intense action.  I’m talking about the reality TV program “The Bachelor,” and after stumbling across an episode last week I found myself unable to let go.  I only watched my basketball game during Bachelor commercial breaks.  It was that gripping.

But I know how totally disinterested you are about this kind of stuff and would consider it a complete waste of time to watch anything but a sports channel, so I decided I would do you a favor and get you caught up on what’s been happening in girly world.  Pay attention.  This is a huge opportunity for you to score some points with your lady-friend.  I have things broken down into basics, strengths and weakness of each contender,  and putting things in terms you can understand.  Plus what you have here is concise.  It will give you  a precise synopsis of all the carryings-on so you can get back to ESPN in a timely manner.  Sorry I couldn’t have this ready for Valentines day,

GAME RULES:  Basically what the contest amounts to is a whole bunch of very desperate women preening themselves and fawning over one lucky guy, the official “Bachelor,” each of them emboldened with the hope that he will have the good sense to choose her as his wife.  I think they get married anyway.  From what I am gathering that is the whole point behind all the drama.  And there might be some kind of tricky point of law or religious objection otherwise.   The best part about it is the Bachelor is in complete control.  I think he can even make shit up on the fly.  I don’t know where they find all these women.  I mean from what I understand they show up on the Bachelor’s door step by the dozen. I don’t know how many women they start with.  As I mentioned I just recently tuned in.  But where were they when I was in college?  There are so many women that the Bachelor has to eliminate them by the hand-full.  And again that is totally up to his discretion.  No involvement by any nosey, overly judgmental outsiders.

LIST OF CHARACTERS:

THE BACHELOR (and Grand Prize): Brad- Home Town: Pisga, Iowa.   This is the object of all attention, a stud-muffin of a guy who makes sure he never misses his daily gym work-out.  He can’t afford that.  Not only might his six-pack abs whither on the vine, but he’s got to corner the towel attendant again to help him figure out how to apply his testosterone patch.  This could be you if you work on that belly flab and soak your head every night in a bucket of Rogaine.  And it might not hurt to get some orthodontic work done.  Wearing long-sleeved shirts should provide good enough cover for that skin condition.  OCCUPATION: Auto Sales Executive.  Translation:  Works for his father at a Ford dealership.  With some quick thinking (something that is of a premium with Brad) he talked his dad into giving him a title indicative of some prestige when he found out he was a Batchelor candidate.  His office door plate reads “Sales Vice President of Small and Medium-sized Trucks”.

THE FINAL FOUR:

Krystal- Home Town: Lickskillet, Ohio.   Bleached blond with huge knockers.  Was smart enough to realize early on that Sadam Husain was never hoarding WMD’s but heard through the grapevine, which amounts to the bartender at the strip club she works at,  that he was trying to corner the market on her favorite brand of Russian vodka.  She was very glad we invaded so we could get that rumor all cleared up.  OCCUPATION: Dancing Instructor (translation: Pole dancer)

Bobbi Jo- Home Town: Dallas, Texas.    Knock-out red-head with delicately chiseled face.  Her parents had an orthodontist install a couple of extra teeth in her jaw when she was ten so her smile would stand out during all the beauty pageants they entered her in.  They were supremely confident the expense was justified after Bobbi Jo was crowned  “Miss Correct Posture” queen. OCCUPATION: Chiropractic intern (translation:  Private masseuse)

Chastity- Home Town: Sugar City, Idaho.   Defines the phrase “innocently cute.”  In fact, she professes to be a virgin, and Is convinced Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon, as well as evolution, are a hoax.  OCCUPATION: Sandwich artist (translation: Blimpies employee)

Starr- Home Town: Toad Suck, Kansas.   Petite brunette whose small stature and small town upbringing belie her extensive reputation.  What is the complete polar opposite of a virgin?  Nail that image and you’ve nailed Starr, as has any male over the age of 16 in Toad Suck and half of the guys living in any adjacent county.  Moved to LA to open up her availability.  OCCUPATION; Cosmetic developer (translation: Clinique Counter clerk)

FIRST SEMI-FINAL

This was one of those contests that almost went into overtime.  Brad was under some very intense pressure to choose between Starr and Chastity.  WTF is a man to do in this situation?  A virgin on one hand and a gal that knows all the ropes on the other.  That’s every type of rope,  as well as a working knowledge of every kind of knot used in tying up people with those ropes.  Very helpful to Brad with his decision making process was Chastity’s sister Wanda.  In the way of explanation, at this stage of the competition, the Bachelor gets to go visit the home towns of the remaining contestants and pump their family members for any inside information they might be willing to part with.  Turns out Wanda was more than willing to spill her guts.  It was from this sister that Brad found out Chastity was completely intact.  So complete is the intactness that Wanda professed she thought Chastity was a little off the beam with her reclusiveness and ought to get out more, or have someone get in more.  Brad started to get the picture as Wanda was stroking her hand over his thigh.  No one is sure what went on because right at this point there was a commercial break.  Probably just as helpful to Brad was the information he gleaned from Starr’s brother Ted during his visit to Toad Suck.  Being a fellow guy (and knowing this was his one shot at his fifteen minutes of fame) Ted thought he could score some big points with Brad and the national TV audience by letting everyone in America and whoever was watching overseas know  what a  whoring slut his sister was.  When Brad ratted Ted out for telling this tale, Starr immediately took the offensive by opening up her laptop and giving Brad a good gander at the 500 plus nude photos of herself.   This seemed to be just too much for Brad.  I got the feeling that all those pictures reminded him of that date he had a couple years back with a girl from Des Moines.  It was shortly after that encounter that he experienced some very intense pain during urination and the fix was an almost as painful injection of penicillin in his ass.  I am not sure if that stuff entered into his decision or not, but at any rate in the end Chastity got the rose and Starr went home empty-handed.

Oh, I forgot.  At the conclusion of every episode the Bachelor hands out roses to all the winners.  If you don’t get a rose, you don’t advance to the next round.  You’re a loser.  And believe me the gals involved in this production don’t take kindly to rejection and are not the best of sports when dealing with defeat.  Not a lot of congratulatory hand shaking going on here.  There’s weeping.  And unrestrained sobbing.  Lots of that.  Quite a bit of vindictive bad-mouthing and name calling.  But it’s not directly confrontational.  All the tormented expression of inadequacy and verbal bitch-slapping is pretty much reserved for the time spent alone inside of the limo that transports the distressed damsels from the  promising house of romance to the hotel that houses the losers.  From all appearances it is a distressfully humiliating and agonizingly long ride.  I wouldn’t mind hearing what the limo driver has to say.  He’s the guy that has the real story.  He’s privy to the un-edited version of all the carryings-on.  I bet he has to wash his ear-drums out with soap when he gets home.  Plus, I imagine there’s some hanky-panky going on inside that vehicle when Brad is in there philosophizing with one of the girls.  The limo driver might have to sponge down the leather upholstery now and then.  But that’s all part of the job.  As far as these rose hand-offs go, I personally think things should work just the opposite.  The losers should get a rose as a consolation prize for humiliating themselves on national TV.  Give them something to help them recall how ingratiatingly pathetic they looked during all the groveling and back-stabbing.  But that’s just me.

To  really ramp up audience interest, coming up shortly will be the “fantasy suite” episode.  Believe it or not, the network sees no problem essentially paying three women to have sex in a hotel room with Brad.  Sweet deal for Brad.  You and I would have to pay a pretty penny for that accommodation, and risk jail time as well.  Now I don’t know if all four of them get together and have like an orgy or something.  The limo driver could tell us.  I’m sure the producers have threatened to cap him though if he opens his mouth.  This type of reality garbage is driven by suspenseful intrigue, and what better way to draw any male that still has a functioning prostate and at least one testicle into this extremely shallow pool of human dignity than with the lure of a partie a’ quatre.  I’m kind of curious to know if there are any women involved with the executive decision making here.  Seems like a guy thing to me.  Dangle the word “fantasy” in front of us and we are likely to bite on absolutely anything associated with its context.

I have a feeling though the evenings of whoopee in hotel rooms will be just that- plural.  I mean you have to figure a one-night bedroom romp with three women at the same time would be pretty confusing for Brad.  He has a very important decision to make- the selection of one of these skanks to be his bride.  I would have to think the production team realizes it’s only fair to slow the game down for Brad.  Evaluating the gals performance one at a time makes more sense.  Good luck with Chastity.  You have to figure there’ll be lots of whimpering and sobbing  going on before Handle”s “Hallelujah Chorus” chimes in.

Now that I think about it, I just don’t  have the stamina to get  through another episode of this shit.  You guys will simply have to tune in if you want to find out who moves on and is mercifully declared champion.  Grab a bag of chips and a six pack on your way home from work. There’s another semi-final tonight.

Self Help Dentisry

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There is an old saying that goes “good things come to those who wait.”  Well, it just so happens that all I was waiting for was my current Netflix DVD.  I don’t have the patience to deal with a streaming set-up.  I’ve been waiting for over a week for my movie.  I can’t remember what movie is supposedly on the way.  It doesn’t matter because I know I have nothing but 4 star titles in my queue.  They should all be winners.  Football is over, so I was really looking forward to watching my movie this week end, but instead what arrived on Friday was a stunning tooth ache.  It really fucking hurts.  So whoever came up with this supposedly sage adage can just kiss my ass.  Ok, sorry.   If the author of this sage adage is someone in the Bible, I am sorry.  I don’t mean to piss you off.  But the pain is fucking excruciating.  Well now I’m embarrassed.  I dropped the “f-bomb” twice here.  Anyone who knows me knows I just don’t throw down that word without reason though.  Well, anyone who has become acquainted with me since college, or maybe ten years after college, would never hear me say that word.  Ok, maybe I slipped up a couple of times at work.  To be absolutely clear, I know I have never used the “f” word when having a conversation with my mother or Father O’Neil.  So there are people out there that know I never use that word.

Anyway back to my tooth ache.  Of course it had to jump-start on Friday evening so I had to suck it up the entire week end.  Luckily my dentist was able to work me in Monday morning. But what a douche-nozzle.  A set of X-rays revealed nothing, he said he couldn’t find anything wrong, and at first wasn’t even sure which tooth was responsible for my pain.  Now as I have explained in the past, I’m not a complainer, at least that was true for the most part before I retired.  Now that that has happened and I have all this time on my hands, I have come to notice there are a lot of things out there that are screwed up, and I don’t mean just here and there.  I mean all over the place.  And as you will find out some day if you are lucky enough to experience the autumn of your life, you will feel the need to establish your place in the domain of the aged, which is basically a large proselytizing platform where old people at least try and seem wise by offering their opinions.  And those can be characterized by a few to be complaints I suppose, but bite my shorts if you actually think that mine are unworthy of consideration.  You have to be some kind of pompous prick to think what I think doesn’t count for anything.

I asked my dentist if he thought I was a pansy or hypochondriac or something, which I assure you I am not.  This, as I said, was some pretty  intense pain and right then I didn’t appreciate the innuendo.  He heaved a big sigh, and after banging and poking around a bit to elicit the proper level of screaming, he said he had a bead on my problem.  He removed and replaced a filling in a back molar and said he was hopeful that would fix the problem.

Well, guess what?  It didn’t.  I have to tell you I am really tired, tired in every sIMG_1572ense of the word tired.  I can’t sleep.  You better believe though that I am not the type to just sit around staring into space when there is a problem to solve.  My father was extremely resourceful, and that trait was handed down to me in spades.  I am pretty sure I have some tools around here that will be all I need to take care of this tooth problem once and for all.  I even have some cool, official-like dental tools I picked up at a garage sale.  The picture above right is what they look like.  But if you look closely, I think you would have to agree these tools would provide way too much poking and not enough prying for my needs. I remember an ice skate blade and a rock seemed to have worked out fairly well fIMG_1573or Tom Hanks when he was stranded on that island for a number of years.  I have plenty of rocks laying around that I am pretty sure would do nicely, but nothing in the way of an ice skate blade.  Just my luck we got rid of an old pair of my daughter’s skates only last summer at our yard sale.  Did’t even make anything on them.  Just gave them away.  But I have all sorts of toolsIMG_1574 in my shop, so I set aside a few of them to show you I am not kidding and alert you to the fact that I do mean business.  The picture above is what they look like.  Oh look!  I think I found just what I need.  Look at this last picture.  It seems to me this would serve my purpose pretty well.  This and my hammer-drill should do the trick.  What do you think?   I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

 

Complaint Restraint

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I hate complainers.  Especially if that’s all they do.  The constant cynicism- who needs it?  Take my neighbor.  He’s always complaining.  He has craftily categorized his personal use of the English language into complaint folders with titles and tabs.  For instance, he has a favorite complaint for each of the four seasons.  Spring will bring a shower of complaints about the pollen count and the unthoughtful behavior of his Kentucky bluegrass that he says he has to mow every five days.  And that complaint involves a lie because he’s lucky to accomplish that in double that time.  You know its summer when every conversation you have with him starts off with complaints about the heat and humidity.  The real head-scratcher occurs in the fall.  Somehow he expects me to keep all the leaves of my trees from blowing into his yard.  I’ve come to appreciate winter.  That’s because that’s the time of year my neighbor more or less hibernates.  For the most part I only run into him if we are both involved in snow removal at the same time.  I consider myself to be  careful and alert to danger, so I have become pretty good at avoiding that scenario.

All the grumbling wears me out.  The thing of it is though, it’s affected my own attitude.  Just look through the previous paragraph.  I am starting to become a complainer!  It’s not just complaints about my neighbor.  Cynicism is creeping into my daily life.  If you had a peek at my “About” tabs, you will notice a couple of things.  First, I am retired, and second, I profess to be a non-complainer, or at least have generally  limited my complaints to the froth of corporate conduct.  But it seems with my retirement I have more time to think about stuff, the kind of stuff that bothers me.  So I’ve started complaining more, like about my neighbor.  And it’s gotten out of hand.  Take the NFL playoff game this year between Green Bay and Seattle.  There is no way the Packers should have lost that game.  Something fishy went on there.  Maybe that ball Seattle used for the on-side kick was under-inflated.  Looking back now, it seems only logical to assume that.  As long as the NFL is scrutinizing the Patriots, why not throw the Seahawks into the mix.  Deep down I suspect Divine Intervention was to blame for that Packer fiasco.  Even with some Seattle shenanigans going on, there’s no way the Packers could look that hapless.  And one thing about me, I like to take my complaints straight to the top.  (See photo below)

church ass 1

You’re probably thinking this reaction is a little over the top.  I’m starting to realize that too.  That’s why I decided to turn over a new leaf.  I am going to get this complaining thing under control once and for all.  Well, maybe not quite once and for all, but I am no longer going to complain just to complain.  Any complaint I have will be constructively contextualized.  And there is a psychological tool I think I can use to help me stay focused.  I got so bogged down in my complaining during this short time I almost forgot about it.  Ask yourself this question: “What are two of the most important things I can do to reduce negativity?”  The two that come to my mind are “thinking happy thoughts'” and “staying relaxed.”

One of the best ways to think happy thoughts is to recollect fond memories.  When I want to tackle that, I start looking at old photographs.  I think this would work well for you also, and for everyone, really.  Take a look at this second photo of me that follows.  See how totally relaxed I am?  Totally.  Andthe morning after talk about happy!  I guess you can’t quite make that out, but believe me I was extremely happy.  This was right after the Packers beat the Cowboys in the playoffs.  Might have been during the game.  I don’t properly recollect.  Anyway, this is my “go-to” prop to help me stay focused.  This is me, in my perfect “non-complain mode.”  If I apply myself and keep recalling the steps I took to get to this level of relaxation, I am very confident you won’t be hearing much in the way of complaining from me.  If you care to, you can share your preferred method of relaxation.