Love is blind.

No joke, it really is. I’m not speaking about how a young woman in love is blind to the jerk they share their bed with, or the fact that he hasn’t had a job in 5 years and is living with his parents. That is true enough, but I am speaking quite literally, that love makes you see something visually different than other people see.

I never would have agreed with this hypothesis until it happened to me. My daughter was born severely premature. When she finally came home from the NICU, her hair had all fallen out and she was still only 4lbs after months and months of all kinds of hell and triumph that I won’t go into here. I watched her grow and develop from 1lb 9oz to that beautiful 4 pounder. I was holding her one day and was staring at her little face and mentioned to my brother-in-law how I was amazed that some people have the ugliest kids and don’t know it. He says “Well, yours isn’t exactly winning any beauty contests…but she has been through a lot, and that is to be expected.” I was floored. I honestly saw the cutest little one in the world when I looked at her. Was he blind, or was I? Eight years have passed and I look back at those pictures and see a baby that had many medical issues and can almost understand how someone used to seeing a chubby infant would think my child looked skinny and sickly….almost. It has never crossed my mind that she wasn’t always adorable, except for that one comment by my brother-in-law.

Another example is a woman I saw through social circles many, many times. I would giggle to myself that she looked exactly like Aughra from The Dark Crystal (note the picture above). Then, my wife and I got to know her and her family and we all became quite good friends. We have now known her for seven years and I really don’t see it anymore. I remember mocking her, but now her hideousness has been reduced exponentially. I would say she is of average attractiveness like anyone. Seven years ago, I didn’t see that at all.

This is really a remarkable thing. Why can feelings change the lines and colors that our eyes take in? How can an emotion bend light? I really don’t know the answer, but I do know that when every parent says their kids are the cutest in the world; they aren’t lying. To them, the really are. To all of those women who want the light off because of a few extra pounds, know this: if your lover really loves you, his eyes don’t see you the way you think they do. Shapes are shifted and light is bent by a process that boggles the mind.

Mullets

My hair was awesome. During high school I sported a fantastic business up front, party in the back mullet. I wore it with pride as if the length of my hair was somehow proportionate to the length of my….. Mine fell to the center of my back and was always in perfect form. The all-one-length grunge look that was emerging disgusted me. I had to blow dry and brush it methodically every morning, it took an extra 20 min or so to get ready for school, but I loved my hair. To those women who chop off their hair and say “You have no idea how much work it is to keep hair that long” I say “Yes, I absolutely do, and it is worth every second.”

The mullet has gotten a bad rap but I’m sure it will be back. It now seems to go hand in hand with the trailer trash, but no one was saying that when Metallica wore them (or maybe they did). If people actually brought back bell bottoms, I’m sure the mullets will get another run….I’m waiting patiently, but at the rate I’m losing hair, I don’t think I’m going to make it.

My wife and I dated right after high school and she hated my hair from day one. (She says that, but I was a black leather jacket wearing, AC/DC playing, red Trans Am driving, punk that she ended up marrying. So I think she was a closet mullet freak.) Compound that with the fact that I was going to attend a very conservative University, and the hair had to go.

I was adorned with those luscious locks for four years and was sick at the prospect of cutting them. So I took it a step at a time. I went to a hairdresser and had her cut one to two inches a week for the several weeks leading up to my departure to college. The one thing I did get out of the deal was an agreement I made with my then girlfriend, now wife. I cut my hair because that is what she wanted; so she had to agree not to cut her hair, because that is what I wanted. Her hair was and is still quite long and very sexy. The agreement: the day she cuts her hair is the day I stop cutting mine. If she wants the short and sassy look, she knows that I will bring back my mullet and wear it with authority.

Aside: Skiing just isn’t the same when you don’t have 14” of hair pushed out the back of your Denver Broncos baseball cap. As you dart down the hill, it gets pulled back by the wind creating a might flag of speed and grace.

If you are unfamiliar with the life and times of the Mullet clad, check out the classifications on this site. It is hilarious.

http://www.mulletsgalore.com/

You Can't Handle the Truth!

You want answers? You want the truth? Well then here it is. Here are some lies that all men tell. You asked for it. And men, whether directly or by omission, you are guilty, my brothers.

1)I beat Mike Tyson on Mike Tyson’s Punch Out. You lying sack. You didn’t last through the first round, because nobody lasts through the first round.

2) I used to bench 300. Unless you have lifted for quite some time, you have no concept of how much 300lbs actually weighs. I know you look at a little guy like me and say, if he pushed it, I must bench 500lbs. Go to the gym and be humbled, 99.999% of you were never even close.

3) I wasn’t in band in high school. Yes you were. I am the only person that didn’t subject themselves to band. You lugged that tuba for four years, quit denying it.

4) I don’t cheat on my Taxes. Oh ya, what about those internet purchases that you are supposed to claim for state sales tax?

5) I’ve never crapped my pants (as an adult). The average guy breaks wind about 15 times a day. Over 365 days a year, that’s 5,475 bombs a year. One of those bad boys pulled a little liquid from the rim. Besides, why else were you throwing those tidy not-so-whiteys into the dumpster outside the break room? Because they won’t flush, that’s why.

6) I don’t pee in the shower. We all pee in the shower. It saves 2 gal of water and is the “green” thing to do.

7) The condom broke. Your girlfriend didn’t get prego because of a faulty condom. They test those things with two gallons of water. I’m afraid your little “release” didn’t even fill the reservoir tip. You barebacked it, just admit it.

8) I’ve never tried on a women’s underwear. They are silky and sexy and feel wonderful. You had to try it..you know you did.

9) I have never seen porn, it’s gross. Ya, all those hot naked women performing acts we all dream about with lots of other naked hot women just make me sick. Who do you think you are talking to?

10) I’ve never pleasured myself. I have a friend at work that is over 40 and claims never, ever, not even once, ever, even accidently have a misfire. He said, and I quote “I don’t even think I would know how to do it.” Shut your filthy lying mouth. I’ve been set-off by a bumpy car ride…and you have too.

11) I don’t drink and drive. Every one of you SOBs that drink, drink and drive. Designated driver my ass.

12) Honey, your pet ran away. Nope, it died. You just didn’t want to tell the kiddies. You buried it, flushed it, put it in a baggy and stuffed it in the trash, either way..you were an accessory.

13) I’ve never sniffed panties. I have never done this, but I know you have….Sicko.

14) I’ve never tucked my penis back between my legs to see what I would look like as a girl. We all saw Silence of the Lambs and stood in front of a mirror in the days following and pulled the old tuck and roll. If you put on lipstick while doing it, you need to be in a hospital.

15) I’ve never cut up an old pillow case to make it into a makeshift loin cloth and then after everyone left the house tore off all of my clothes, put on the loin cloth, and run around with an invisible hatchet attacking the imaginary villagers. Come on…fess up.

Battle with Hair

My battle with hair is both manifold and multiform. Ridiculous growth and outrageous loss both plague my early-30’s body. It is worse than puberty….and I still have acne. My back looks like the beach of Normandy, 1944. My frontal baldness has subtly crept up on me, taking an unostentatious widow’s peak and turning it into something of which Bram Stoker would be proud. If I place my index fingers at the two furthest points from my face, where my forehead stops and my scalp begins, I am literally pointing to the back of my head. Outrageous.

So let’s head south. I am able to grow some facial hair, but my nickname is “Captain Patchy Beard” or “Burbs” so it isn’t exactly manly growth. My ears need weekly trimming and my nose hairs make me look like I have tiny hedgehogs burrowing into face. I’ve never had chest hair before but that is changing too. I’ve had exactly eleven nipple hairs since “the big change” when I was 14 or 15 years old. Yup, six 3” fly traps encircling the left nipple and five 3” stringers on the right. I plucked them on occasion and sometimes shaved them when they started to catch on my long sleeve button-ups, but they were basically harmless. I now have two perfect rings of fire at the exact edges of my areolas. The circles are complete and full. If you found them in nature, you would step inside and make a wish. I am also getting a nice inverted triangle betwixt my man-boobs similar to Zangief of Street Fighter, but instead of a curly bushel, Magnum P.I. style; I have long, straight, black silkies, matted to my chest with sweat and exuded oil. It is disgusting. So I now have to shave my chest and nipples regularly being careful not to uncap the whiteheads with my Mach3.

Sorry, but we are continuing south. My lower body is nothing less than Yeti-like. I have gobs of hair bursting from my pudgy hocks. My nethers, if left unkempt, would ensnare cotton, paper, lint, insects, really anything within its Velcro-y grasp. So I have to do a little tuck ‘n tails as well. Men, you may think it feminine, you may think it gross, but trust me, you have got to spruce up the undercarriage. Dude, you are disgusting, and sweaty, and rank-ass-stanky and all that hair is just holding onto your filth and smell like an enormous moldy sponge. Grab the clippers, set it to a 2, and get to work. Remember that loose skin is an electric clipper's prey, so do what you gotta do to protect yourself. Your women will thank you…I promise.

I’m fighting a battle that I can’t win, but I will continue the fight. The day I give up the trimmer is the day I start wearing pants with elastic waist bands. If this is what it is like at 32, what the hell is it going to be like at 42?

Whale Tail.

You people need to understand a few things when it comes to clothing choices. First, fashion is not universal, what looks good on one rarely, if ever, looks good on the masses. Second, less is not always more, especially if you are trying to act sexy. Third, have someone take a picture of you from the back or side, so you get true view of what you have to work with. Then, deal with reality, not fantasy.

Admittedly, I dress horribly in out of date clothes, so I am not speaking to trends at all. I am only talking about certain clothes on certain body types and being honest with yourself about what you can and cannot pull off.

The major type of clothing that seems to confuse people is the sexy wear, so I’ll address that here. I am a man, so I think I’m the one you are trying to impress which makes my opinion worth something. Plus, I’ve talked to enough guys to know that these feelings are somewhat universal. Here are a few categories of what you think you look like and what you really look like.

Sexy thong vs. Whale Tail

Sexy Back vs. Muffin Top

Belly Shirt vs. I Shouldn’t be wearing a Belly Shirt

Cleavage vs. Dear Lord, put ‘em away

I think you people wear these clothes because you want to look sexier, but you are doing exactly the opposite. You are accentuating the bad and moving from looking sexy to looking like a bowl of raised dough wrapped in rubber bands. Skinny Jeans are for 1% of the population and tube tops are for even fewer. There is something sexy about all women, figure out your asset and flaunt it..but put the rest away. Spandex is a privilege, not a right.

Lessons from a bounty hunter

I’ve mentioned that I used to work in a couple of auto parts store. I started out as a stock boy, delivery boy, and then moved on to counterman/manager/outside salesman over the course of about 8 years. We had some interesting people come through on a regular basis, but one of the most colorful had to be the guy known only as “The Bounty Hunter”.

1st encounter: I am in the back stock room doing inventory of the restock items, checking numbers and marking them off the list, when I am brutally attacked from behind. I’m 15 years old by the way. My arms are pulled back behind by back, handcuffs are slapped on them and I am torn over the back of the chair and dragged backwards kicking and trying to free myself. He drags me through the front of the store and out the front door and as I look up I see all of the countermen laughing. He stands me up outside and takes off the handcuffs and says “you have always got to be prepared for an attack. I could have had you in a car and gone forever, right in front of everyone, and you didn’t do a thing about it.” I had never met the guy before in my life. He says “I’m the bounty hunter”. The bounty hunter…not a bounty hunter..THE bounty hunter, and that is how he is known to everyone to this day, if he is still alive, that is.

He was older and had a weathered face, gristly looking dude, the kind of guy you would look at and say he is either homeless or a killer and most likely, both.

2^nd encounter: I am helping a customer at the front counter and he walks in the side door. The customer leaves and he walks up with a 12 gauge assault shotgun with a mounted flashlight and a shell tube that must hold at least 10 shells. He throws it on the counter and says “Have you ever seen a ‘Can’ gun before?” I say “A can gun?” He says “Yup, Mexi-can, Puertori-can, Afri-can.” Now, when a racist has a gun, maybe this isn’t the time to call him out, so I just giggle and say a little prayer that he does not attack me again.

3^rd encounter: Again, I’m helping someone at the counter. He doesn’t wait for the person to leave, but strolls up (he kinda had a limp) and as I turn my attention to the customer, he throws a leg up on the counter. A frikin’ leg. It is a prosthetic. He unstrapped the thing and threw it on the counter. One legged bastard got me again. He then tells me how he has been shot, stabbed, run over..”And those are just wounds from my Ex’s, hehehe.”

4^th and 5^th encounter: I mention to him that I wanted to find a switch blade knife, and did he know where I could find one. He pulled one out of his pocket and I admired it. Next time in, he threw me one and said, “you can have it”. It had a pink pearl handle, but still was awesome. I’m still not sure if that was another way for him to call me a girl, but I still have it 16 years later. He was now handing out illegal weapons to minors.

6^th encounter: I get bold and ask him what the toughest guy he ever took into custody was like. He says “I’ve taken some big guys but I’ll pick them any day over a woman. Women are mean and it may not hurt the same when they punch you, but they’ll run you over with their damn car. I’ve never had a guy try to run me over, but women will run you down, they want you dead.”

Sometime later: He came in fairly often, always with a wacky story and life advice for me. I’m not sure if he had already given all of this advice to the others and I was just a new kid, but he had information just for me. The most memorable was his mandate on sex. He said “Do you want to know the secret of keeping a woman happy in the bedroom?”

“I’m listening.”

“You take this to heart and you will be the best lover ANY woman has ever had.
When it comes to Sex, treat a whore like a queen and treat a queen like a whore.”

Who says you can’t get a life lesson from a one legged, racist, scarred and battered, bad-ass bounty hunter?

Proof of God

Anyone who has taken a philosophy class has probably worked through the “Why should you believe in God?” construct. It basically goes as follows:
There are only 4 scenarios worth considering.

1) God exists and you believe in him.
a. You will probably live a pretty good life and when you die..happy day.

2) God exists and you don’t believe in him.
a. Death may include an eternal fire, a spit, and slow roasting.

3) God doesn’t exist and you believe in him.
a. You will probably live a pretty good life and when you die, you’ll never know he doesn’t exist.

4) God doesn’t exist and you don’t believe in him.
a. Doesn’t really matter, because nothing really matters…in the long, long run.

So based on these scenarios, there is only one case that really matters. That is, that God exists and you don’t believe in him....because eternity is sooo long. Therefore, you should believe in God. It is a pretty simple argument but I can go one better. I won’t offer some statistical reason to believe, I will just cut to the chase and offer proof of his existence. Only a God could create something so magnificent. If proof is in the pudding, here is the puddin’. I give you Lena.



'Nuff said.

Sorry, but it is true.

Caution: this blog contains some candid language and is a little explicit. It is not for the faint of heart or those unable to truly be honest with themselves. This blog is one of several I plan to write outlining some of my more personal theories that I rarely share with others.

The topic for today: Why all women are really lesbians. Hear me out on this one, I have ample proof. Disclaimer: I am not speaking about any religious beliefs, morality, or any political or social ideals. I am only speaking to raw, innate, sexual attraction.

I’ll illustrate my point by describing a situation and ask that you honestly listen to your visceral reaction before calling me a moron.

You walk into the bedroom and catch a woman in the throws of self-pleasurement. Her smooth body is cradled by the billowy white comforter on which she lays. Candles surround the bed and you detect just a hint of Jasmine floating in the air. Tiny flickers of firelight dance across her alabaster skin. You treasure that moment of her sweet escape as she arches her head back, consumed by the passionate gift she has granted herself.

Scene change:

You walk into the bedroom and catch a man auditioning his finger puppets. He is standing, hunched over, in the corner of the room facing the wall. He assumes this position because he knows that the intersection of these two walls is a place that God’s eyes can’t see. Sweat pours from his acne filled back as he pants loudly while performing “The Rabid Dog”. If he turned now, you would be shocked at the self loathing burned on his cherry red face.

Walking into each of those scenarios, man or woman will both have the same guttural reaction. One will elicit a passionate stir, a sensual beckoning. The other causes just the slightest amount of bile to creep up your esophagus, leaving an alkaline taste in your mouth for weeks, if not years.

I’ll take it a step further. Think of the sexually liberated woman and her buffet of sex toys. Your mind swims and your blood stirs with the possibilities. Reverse the situation where a man has one little exchange with an inflatable, but very lifelike, silicon torso. The neighbors are called and he is put on the police watch list for life. Women and sexuality are sisters (attractive step-sisters); men are only a necessary evil.

Men are hairy assed baboons that are really attractive to no one. Oh…could you imagine his hot, acrid breath on your neck? My stomach is churning. Women are well groomed, clean, tender, and generally free of unkempt body hair. They are sexuality personified and not just to the hulking gender. Women, protest if you will but given the opportunity and no social or religious pressure…every one of you would give Angelina a throw.