Forward Friday - Male Language Dictionary

As a follow-up to my Female Language Dictionary post, I felt it was only fair to offer an alternate point of view.

Really the husband was using my post to refine his smart ass skills and I needed some ammo.

So enjoy! I know I did.

Male Language Dictionary

I'm hungry - I'm hungry

I'm sleepy - I'm sleepy

I'm tired - I'm tired

Nice dress - Nice cleavage!

I love you - Let's have sex now

I'm bored - Do you want to have sex?

What's wrong - I guess sex tonight is out of the question

I love you, too - Okay, I said it...we'd better have sex now!

May I have this dance? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Can I call you sometime? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Do you want to go to a movie? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Can I take you out to dinner? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Will you marry me? - I want to make it illegal for you to have sex with other guys

Let's talk - I am trying to impress you by showing that I am a deep person so that you'll have sex with me

I don't think those shoes go with that outfit - I am gay

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The child in all of us

I exited my mommy car, collecting the key essentials and shoving them back in my purse as I placed my foot on the ground. Keys, chap stick, sunglasses, blackberry, coupons; things that always seem to end up on the passenger seat when I'm driving.

I tripped the motion sensor of the sliding doors, grabbed a shopping car and headed to the produce section. First on my "gotta get" list was bananas. Followed by strawberries, potatoes, green beans and then finally melons. I always saved melons for last, because they are by far the most perplexing fruit to purchase. Very difficult to quantify their quality due to their tough, bumpy exterior. Kinda like a man in that aspect; you gotta kind knock, shake, listen and press just the spots to find out if it's worth keeping.

As I made my approach to the melon stand, I saw a woman about my age scanning the produce display. I stood next to her and begin conducting my own initial assessment. Finally selecting what I judged to be an excellent specimen.

I reached across my body, extending my arm toward the melon when our hands touched and landed on my melon. I gave a sharp intake of breath, smiled and chuckled just slightly. Apparently both our "melon detectors" had exceptional taste.

I didn't remove my hand, it was mine. Although neither did she. We each were staking our territory on the melon stand.

I smiled quickly and reached with both hands for the melon.

She leaned forward, placing her weight on the melon to prevent me from removing it. I gritted my teeth slightly, forced a smile and tugged on the melon. She reached, grabbing the melon with both hands, hoisted it into the air and also began tugging in an attempt to dislodge it from my grasp.

I shouted "Mine!" and gave a tug.

"Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine!" I shouted as I tugged again.

She leaned forward and growled "Mine!" back at me.

And there we stood, two 30 year old women, in the middle of the produce section, fighting over a $1.99 melon.

Sounds ridiculous right?

Good thing toddlers grow out of the "Mine" phase.

Could you imagine if they didn't?

Ya me either.

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Male firefighters come equipt with their own firehoses

I was wet.

Damp really.

But I wasn't wet like I'd stood in the front lawn under the sprinkler on a hot mid-summer day.

More like I'd received a sprinkle from the arch of water cascading across the yard.

Worse yet, it wasn't water at all. It was pee. I'd been peed on. Again.

Tyler had just snuggled up next to me when I felt a warm sensation on my side. He'd sat just right so that the stream of pee escaped out the top of the diaper and trickled down my shirt.

I don't know why I was surprised. After 2 1/2 years, I'd been peed on more than I'd ever thought was possible.

Early on, the concept of "springing a leak" was foreign to me. I'd change every diaper without a second thought. Until the first time it happened.

I detached the each side flap and folded down the front. I looked away and as I reached over for a baby wipe, I felt something dribble across my head, down my forehead and drip onto my chest.

I looked up, wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and realized Tyler was peeing. Straight up. With perfect aim at my head.

I screamed. Why? Because I'm a girl. Because it'd never happened before. Because I'd been caught off guard and was stunned. Because for a split second I had to consider the fact that I might be on candid camera.

It took me a good minute to collect myself, finish the diaper change, and head into the bathroom to towel off.

I called the husband to relay the events. He burst out laughing and had to hang up. He was still laughing about it when he came home that night.

About a week later the husband was on diaper duty when it happened to him.

I just stood outside the room and chuckled to myself.

Wouldn't be the last time either one of us would receive a "yellow shower"

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Forward Friday - The work multi-tool

Yes, I realize it's Tuesday, but sometimes you wake up and realize it's Monday and you wonder where the hell Friday went.

So here's what Friday's Funny Forward should have been.

The "problem solving flow chart" - a real multi-tool for the office.

I suggest printing it out for future reference.

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Clean the closet; the vacuum is trying to kill me

The cleaning bug bit me over the weekend.

But it wasn't the giant Madagascar hissing cockroach cleaning bug, it was more of a small mosquito that annoys and pricks me just before I slap it flat against my arm.

So to satisfy this small annoyance of a bug, I decided to clean out the hall closet that had long been ignored and was in desperate need of a clean and toss session. It was the only location I could store my vacuums, however with the massive amounts of other unrelated "junk" collecting at the top and bottom of the closet, I took my life in my own hands every time I opened the door.

After about 15 mins of pulling everything out and tossing it indiscreetly over my head into a pile behind me I reached the back of the closet.

What I found, stuffed in the far recesses of the black hole of a hall closet was a small, yellow and white gingham check fabric tote with white canvas handles. My mothers diaper bag she had carried when my sister and I were a baby. Knowing my mother, she more than likely sewed it herself. She had been crafty like that.

The handles were yellowed with use and the white wasn't white anymore; almost ivory. There was a large brownish stain on the one corner, and it had the distinct pattern of a leak (probably baby oil). And inside were a pair of black patent leather soft soled mary-janes; size 2. My baby shoes.

The woman in me looked longingly at these shoes and envisioned my own unborn daughter wearing them some day. While the pack-rat in me quickly tried to process where to stash this that won't be forgotten later. I settled with placing the bag at the top of the stairs for the interim.

About an hour later I was finished with the closet and the husband had finished with his "honey-do" project and we were both straightening up the house. Read: picking crap up so it looked less like a mess and more like we actually cared enough to be neat.

I need to preface the rest of the story with this: the husband puts his foot in his month; regularly. And from an observers perspective it can be painful to watch. It's as if the world is a TV show, with the closed captioning on and the subtitles a good 5 seconds ahead of the action. You see the thoughts and dialogue spelled out ahead of time but you are unable to intervene and prevent the words. All you can do is sigh and shake your head at the absurdity of it all.

As we climbed the stairs he spotted the small bag. He lifted the bag up from it's resting place at the top of the stairs and looks at me sideways.

"What is this? This is the ugliest purse I have ever seen. Why would you buy something like this?"

I just looked at the husband dumbstruck by his idiotic statement. He'd done it again.

"That was my mother's diaper bag and those were my baby shoes"

The husband turned a crimson shade of red and sheepishly hung his head.

"Oh...I'm sorry, it's lovely, it really is beautiful" as he handed me back the bag.

I love the guy, but some days I swear I don't know him.

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Forward Friday - female language dictionary

The husband is always complaining he is not a mind reader and he is constantly one step behind what I'm talking about. So I thought I'd put together a little cheat sheet for him. Strong communication makes a strong couple.

The Female Dictionary

Yes - No

No - Yes

Maybe - No

We need - I want

I'm sorry - You'll be sorry

We need to talk - I need to complain

Does my butt look big in this? - Tell me I'm beautiful

Do what you want - You'll pay for this later

I'm not upset - Of course I'm upset, you moron!

Are you listening to me?? - Too late, you're dead

You have to learn to communicate - Just agree with me

Be romantic, turn out the lights - I have flabby thighs

Do you love me? - I'm going to ask for something expensive

It's your decision - The correct decision should be obvious by now

How much do you love me? - I did something today that you're really not going to like

Fine - This is the word we use to end an argument when we are right and you need to shut up.

Five Minutes - If we're getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

Nothing - This word should sent alarms off. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.

Go Ahead - This is a dare, not permission. Don’t Do It!

Loud Sigh - This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means we think you are an idiot and we wonder why we are wasting our time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)

That’s Okay - A very dangerous word. That’s okay means we want you to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

Thanks* - We are thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you’re welcome.

(* unless we say ‘Thanks a lot’ - this is PURE sarcasm and we are not thanking you at all. DO NOT say ‘you’re welcome.’ that will bring on a ‘whatever’).

Whatever - This is woman speak for FUCK YOU!

Don’t worry about it, I got it - This means there is something that a we have asked you to do several times, but we are now doing it ourself.

This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’ To which we will respond 'Nothing'.

It's a vicious cycle, just do the task we asked the the first time to avoid the headache.

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Paging Dad

The other night at our house.

Scene:
The husband had just come home from being on the road for two days, dropped his belongings at the front door and headed straight for the bathroom. Tyler excited to show him something and unsure where he went stood at the bottom of the steps.

"Dad!?"

pause

"Dad!?"

shorter pause

"Dad!?"

even shorter pause

"Daaaaaad!?"

Me (shouting equally as loud): "Buddy, Daddy is in the bathroom"

"Oh ya!"

thump thump thump thump thump thump up the stairs he ran. And stood outside the bathroom door.

pound pound pound

"Dad!?"

The husband: "Buddy I'm in the bathroom, give me a minute"

Tyler stood patiently, waiting for the husband to open the door, giggled, and took off running.

The husband looks at me quizzically and I just shrugged and laughed.

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Bad decisions

Man cannot live by bread alone.

Maybe, but I'm pretty sure I could survive on diet sierra mist, ice cream, pizza and Sonic if given a choice.

I may weight 400 lbs and wear a blue Hawaiian print mu mu, but hey we weren't talking about my priorities.

As many of you know I tend to have extremely memorable experiences with fast food drive thrus. Since I haven't had one in a while, I guess I was due.

Take for example this evening:

I knew full well and good that after a bad run-in with some sour cream potato chips for lunch, my stomach wasn't up to anything remotely outlandish. But Sonic was on the agenda with my bestie, so who am I to pass up a trip through the drive thru of our all time favorite place to pig out.

After my bestie and I had finished ordering our usual combo meals, the worker asked if we wanted to take advantage of the free "Route 44" upgrade.

Did you say free? Why sure! Absolutely upgrade our beverages!

Bad.i.de.a.

When the very "fluffy" black lady with frizzy black hair that had a 2ft diameter and that I'm pretty certain would not fit through the drive thru window handed us our "Route 44" upgrade drinks, I blurted out the first thing that crossed my lips

Good Lord! Look at the size of that!

She narrowed her eyes and glared at me before sternly shutting the drive thru window and trotted over to retreive our bag of food. Maybe she thought I was talking about her hair...

The darn things won't even fit in my cup holders!

My bestie and I just giggled and happily slurped.

Except I wouldn't be giggling about 3 hours later when my attempts to finish said "Route 44" upgrade left me bloated, nauseous and in desperate need of tums. I lay on our bed, spread eagle, willing my distended belly to deflate. The husband tried hard not to laugh at me and resisted the urge to poke at my stomach.

I guess that means no fooling around tonight, huh?

I gave him my "What do you think" look and smacked his hand away.

Sadly, after a very productive bathroom break, I can reflect on my Sonic decision today, and say with 100% confidence, that I'd do it all again tomorrow.

[shrug] What can I say, Sonic and I are like "this". We are there for each other.

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Forward Friday - Everything in perspective

I may have fallen off the wagon this week (writers block) but at least I've got something for Friday!

The original forward was entitled "De-stress" but I think a more appropriate title for this picture montage is "You fail, thanks for playing"

Kinda makes you feel like your week maybe wasn't THAT bad...



















Have a great weekend!

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Soft toys are good

Boys throw things.

Consider it good practice to becoming the star quarterback every father dreams their son will become. However, given the husband and I's genetics, Tyler will probably end up a beefy, sweaty middle linebacker. Sorry kid, an underwear model you won't be. But that's another post...

Boys throw, fling, toss, chuck, hurl, pitch, heave, lob, cast, and wing an assortment of items. Even things that aren't suppose to be thrown.

I can remember my sister telling the story of my oldest nephew winging a wooden toy train four pews up and beaning some little old church lady in the back of the head right in the middle of the pastor's sermon. And when the little old lady turned around to identify the culprit, my sister took the blame like an adult. Me, I would have displayed my astonishment face, thumbed behind me and kinda shrugged. No sense causing a scene in church, who knows what church ladies carry in their large handbags.

Tyler, for a 2yr old boy, has a pretty good arm (mental note: no wooden trains in church). He'll wind up, arm back above his head his left leg hiked up to his chest, stomp down and grunt as he throws the ball hurtling it across the room. To him, this is awesome.

He has also started throwing temper tantrums. Mind you, these aren't the first, and they certainly won't be the last. But they are the first that involve throwing object to display his frustration.

So his frustration with mommy saying "no" coupled with his mutant he-man arm, sends me diving for cover behind the sofa.

The husband, however just sits on the couch, unfazed, with a gleam in his eye daydreaming about his son, the starting pitcher for the Cleveland Indians, as a plastic squeaky ball bounces off his forehead.

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Forward Friday

Thought I'd start something new and see if it sticks. Every Friday I'll post a forward that I find funny just to share. I realize it's not Friday, but this week it's "like" Friday...so there!

I get forwards all.the.time. Usually they're pretty lame...

"If you pass this along to 50 of your friends and make a wish, it'll come true by midnight the Tuesday after the next full moon."

I wish for an Italian swimsuit model to clean my kitchen, do my laundry, wait on me hand and foot and feed me strawberries in bed every night. You gonna make THAT happen? I'm throwing the bullshit flag.

OR

"I'm sending you this forward to tell you how special you are to me, and here let me put a few cutesy pictures of puppies and kittens just to make this forward even more gag worthy."

My true friends know that I really show them I care by not forwarding this crap. The buck stops here, cowboy.

However, every once in a while I get one that's pretty funny, and sadly mirrors my own life.

In this example, it's not me but the husband that wants a riding mower.

Do you think he'd go for this? I could probably find a spare bike on Craigslist...

The Riding Lawn Mower

My wife always wanted a riding lawn mower.

She works all day and was always tired when she came home from work and thought that a riding lawn mower would help her get the yard work done quicker so she would have more time for the chores inside the house.

SO, being the handy sort of guy that I am, I made her a riding lawn mower.

I guess I thought she would squeal with delight or something and give me a big hug.

To this day I have never been able to understand why some women are so hard to please...

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How do I look?

I routinely do stupid and embarrassing things.

Usually because I operate on autopilot most days. Moving around, with a zombie like focus (minus the death and destruction), conducting various mundane tasks, distracted by my own "deep" random thoughts.

I've driven right past the turn to the sitters, stopped at the stop light, waited, made the right turn, driven down my street, parked in my driveway, exited my vehicle, unlocked my front door, set my stuff down on the hall table, only to then realize I forgot to pick up Tyler. I've done this at least a dozen times. [mental head slap]

I've shrunk more of the husband's t-shirts than I'd care to admit because I am completely incapable of multi-tasking while doing laundry.

I've worn my underwear inside out. all day. without even noticing.

I've blamed messes on the cats because I don't want to admit I'm the one who knocked over the cat food container with my graceful wide sweeping backhand while practicing my cheerleading moves.

I've absently substituted a tablespoon of salt for a teaspoon of salt in an apple cobbler recipe because I was too busy singing to the radio.

I've been caught red handed butt dancing to the Backyardigans theme song. What can I say, it's catchy. [shrugs]

At least once a week I forget to put a second earring in, I can rock the Mr. Clean look.

If I get a phone call while fixing dinner, just go ahead and order pizza right then. Because talking while cooking is not a set of skills I possess. I'm serious, people. I've burnt pudding before.

I once managed to get flour on the 10ft high ceilings in the kitchen of my childhood home, while baking a cake. I still scratch my head over this one.

I wore a new shirt one day without remembering to remove the size sticker, oh so conveniently positioned over my left nipple. It was like I was wearing a flashing sign announcing that I shop in the women's department. [whimper]

Ok....so that list is longer than I thought it would be.

Please excuse me while I drown my embarrassment in a 1/2 gallon of strawberry cheescake ice cream.

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