Posts Tagged ‘relationships’


Left coast borborygmus

October 9, 2014

Yes-yes law_002 [MOUNT]


Aging gracefully, one skin-tag at a time

August 16, 2013

Aging gracefully, one skin-tag at a time


The dog….

July 2, 2013

My family doesn’t talk much. It’s not that we don’t like each other, because we do. Very much. We’re just not particularly communicative. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. That’s about it. You know how it is.


“Yo, How’s everybody?”


“It’s your brother, f’chrissake>”

“I knew that. So, how are YOU?”


“What’s up?”

“Just thought I’d touch base. Been awhile.”



“Well, Jenn’s all graduated, and….”


“Yeah, really! She’ll be heading off to the university in the fall.”

“Imagine!……seems like just yesterday..”

“Yeah, I know. So what’s new with you folks?”

“Mmmm…not much. I don’t know. Dog died…”

“NO!!!….Good grief, I’d have thought he’d have been gone a long time ago. How the heck old was he!?”

“Died six years ago Tuesday…figured I’d never told ya, so….”

“Oh….OK…..Sorry to hear it. You gonna get another one?”


“What is it…?”

“Dead. He died a year ago…”


~-~* * *~-~



The dog….

July 2, 2013

The dog…..

via The dog…..


Open letter…

November 21, 2009

…to the gum-snapper checking me in at the doctor’s office and the little snot handing me back my credit card at the gas station…

Dear Mr. __________,
Mrs. __________,
Miss __________,

We have never been formally introduced, but have come to engage in a casual business exchange where it is both convenient and polite to address each other by name. In that regard, I would like to let you know that I prefer to be addressed as Mr. _________ in such relationships. I, in turn, would prefer to address you similarly.

In fact, though it may seem a bit archaic in this day and age, I grew to adulthood in a world where such forms of address were the norm, and I have never quite dropped the practice. To this day, I find it awkward to address anyone other than my family or closest friends by only their familiar names or nicknames.

That said, I would sincerely appreciate it if you would indulge my idiosyncrasies and address me as Mr. ________ instead of my first name until such time as we become fishing buddies, husband and wife, or in-laws.


Mr. __________



Heart-shaped chocolates and buns of gouda

October 30, 2009

It occurred to me while reading the Sunday newspaper recently that the stuff in the ads and the stuff in the editorials don’t jibe. This is blatantly evident at any time of year, not just Christmas. The tinsel won’t be off the living room floor before we’ll be greeted at every turn of a page and every store-front with smiling Victoria’s Secret models tempting us with heart-shaped chocolates and grapefruit sized bottoms.

Next, it will be green thongs for St. Patrick’s day, exemplars of the runway offering Easter finery, size 2 and under of course, followed by a couple of months worth of string bikinis.

The complimentary side of the coin is an endless barrage of TV presentations featuring early middle aged machismos who, but for the grace of Viagra, would be mere helpless noodles. If all it takes to look like THAT is a little dysfunction, hell, it might be worth the inconvenience!

Meanwhile, plain brown wrappers everywhere peck out diatribes of anti-sexuality as money changes hands at warp speed in the marketplace. Women who haven’t seen size two since ninth grade, if ever, wax indignant about being sex-objects. They should be so lucky. Men who couldn’t bench-press their own shoes snort disapprovingly while secretly enjoying every tease commercial and print ad and plotting ways to order their free samples of “Sequoias in the Valley of Love” or whatever the hell the latest elixir of impossible miracles happens to be.

Like it or not, mating season is year-round for the human species. Pheromones fill the air, idealized female’s presenting carefully accentuated characteristics of sexual attractiveness, and rock-solid young males who shave before every meal and exude surplus testosterone fill the fanciful field of vision. Yet, any man who dares to ogle is a “pig” and any woman who shortsightedly purrs at the image of the handsome jocko selling the car that “turns you on” instantly falls off the moral dado in the estimation of her peers doing the same thing but more discreetly.

If it is so foul, why does it take an orgasm to sell everything from a pair of living room curtains to a cheeseburger? Who’s selling and who’s buying? The answer is we all are, but we’ve developed this façade of disgust, like PITA people secretly enjoying a good steak.

It’s really quite amusing when you think about it. I’ve never seen a gorgeous woman with legs all the way up to her ears complain about being pleasing to the eye, and I’ve never known a man who was offended to overhear himself being referred to as a “hunk”. On the other hand, I do notice a lot of lard butts loitering about the lingerie shops, and I’ve been guilty of looking at the spandex in the sporting goods store as though an intense stare would miraculously allow me to actually wear the stupid things without looking like an oversized Gouda cheese.

I think the only society ever to be successful at accepting their natural functions as healthy and downright fun were the South Sea Islanders of Margaret Mead fame, but we “civilized” them a long time ago.


Tabloid Fare

October 4, 2009

The headline read “4 simple tips to get a quiet guy to talk more”, purporting to deliver wisdom about how to make a relationship work.

My first thought was that I had somehow inadvertently stumbled into the Home Page of some supermarket tabloid site, but I hadn’t. It was MSN. Then I wondered if it might just be a “woman-thing”, akin to the nesting instinct, being driven to change everything and everyone in their environment, or anyone who happens to wander within the boundaries of the trees they’ve marked. Some are like that, but not all.

Tabloid fare, once pretty much confined to the grocery store check out lines, now clutters the internet with an endless stream of “How to” edicts authored by a parade of unknowns whose only apparent credentials are keyboard skills and the chutzpah to establish themselves as authorities on such basic life skills as breathing or putting one foot in front of the other. The must be kin to those with the entrepreneurial spirit to amass great wealth selling bottled water to people living in places where the abundance of the stuff bordered on annoying.

What amazes me is that humanity successfully mated and evolved from grunting nomadic bipeds into a species of rocket scientists without such instruction, yet now apparently sees the need to scramble to the media trough like ravenous livestock for their daily feeding of such horse shit.

Yet, unless the Internet Moguls simply run this pseudo-intellectual effluvium out of pity, there are a bunch of erstwhile gum-snappers and plastic doily makers out there earning fame and fortune by selling instructions to women on how to be women and to men on how to be men.

I tend to be a bit of a “quiet guy” myself, and I wonder why any female who didn’t like such a quality would want to be in a relationship with me in the first place any more than I would want to spend my life with someone who couldn’t shut up for more than 30 seconds without having an emotional crisis, and I don’t see the profit in putting so much effort into trying to make a Ferrari out of a Ford or visa versa.

Then again, I’m long past the age when I give more than a halfhearted poop about such things. Those who accept me as I am remain in my circle of social contacts. Those who disapprove of my various characteristics, or deem themselves both qualified and authorized to tweak my personality this way or that to suit their particular visions of perfection had the good sense to move on ages ago. The more insistent became invisible to me, were told long ago to kiss my ass, or both.

The one I share my life with had the audacity to tell me to kiss my OWN ass if it was all that important to me. I like that in a person, so when I stopped laughing I asked her to marry me.</p