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I'm using science, psychology and humor to figure out the men in my life.
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Listening... what?
14 years ago
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
the wiener mom is not trying to turn you on, really.
So, picture this if you will:
Women's locker room at the gym. Women in various stages of dress, undress, and toweling. Oh, forgot to mention, median age here is probably 70.
As I come out of the shower and shuffle through the maze of naked old lady flesh, trying my hardest not to bump anyone in their nether regions, I overhear this:
"You want me to rub lotion on your back?"
"Sure, thanks."
Innocuous, right?
Now, I'm not trying to turn this blog into a forum for discussion of elderly, lesbian sexy time, this is what struck me...
I can not picture asking one of my lady friends to slather lotion on my nude body. Not for the reasons that you might think, but because I don't want anyone to touch my flab. I tense up when someone hugs me and brushes up against my love handles. I suck my stomach in for pictures. I prickle when daddy wiener rubs lotion on any part of me that isn't toned (which constitutes most of me).
This is my question: is this sort of body confidence (Please touch my naked dimpled flesh!) something that comes with age? Someday will I have the "balls" to be who I am and not feel the need to hide or make excuses? What age does that happen? I feel closer to that than I did when I was 20, but still vast worlds away from the level of comfort I witnessed after Senior Swim Class let out.
If it's not related to age, is it these particular ladies? Were they always this confident? Were they always this "Screw you world! I have cellulite! Wanna make something of it?" Does that mean that there's no hope for me?
I have my choice of 3 different locker rooms at the gym, but I choose this locker room, the one connected to the warm water arthritis pool, about 90% of the time. Why? These ladies come once a week to flail their arms and legs around in the pool, to walk laps and march. They feel good about that; like they've accomplished something.There's a camaraderie there too; WE accomplished this together and now we are going to have coffee at the bakery up the street. It reminds me that I should be proud of what I accomplished today too. No, I didn't make it to the gym 5 days this week; 4 days was hard enough. No, I'm not at my goal weight, but I'm pretty damn close and for the most part I like what I see (in dim light).
But, no you can't rub lotion on my back. But, when I'm 70 I hope to have the sort of friends who would offer. I like to think I'd be that sort of friend too. Then we could wring out our giant swim suits and go eat a pastry because we deserved it.
Women's locker room at the gym. Women in various stages of dress, undress, and toweling. Oh, forgot to mention, median age here is probably 70.
As I come out of the shower and shuffle through the maze of naked old lady flesh, trying my hardest not to bump anyone in their nether regions, I overhear this:
"You want me to rub lotion on your back?"
"Sure, thanks."
Innocuous, right?
Now, I'm not trying to turn this blog into a forum for discussion of elderly, lesbian sexy time, this is what struck me...
I can not picture asking one of my lady friends to slather lotion on my nude body. Not for the reasons that you might think, but because I don't want anyone to touch my flab. I tense up when someone hugs me and brushes up against my love handles. I suck my stomach in for pictures. I prickle when daddy wiener rubs lotion on any part of me that isn't toned (which constitutes most of me).
This is my question: is this sort of body confidence (Please touch my naked dimpled flesh!) something that comes with age? Someday will I have the "balls" to be who I am and not feel the need to hide or make excuses? What age does that happen? I feel closer to that than I did when I was 20, but still vast worlds away from the level of comfort I witnessed after Senior Swim Class let out.
If it's not related to age, is it these particular ladies? Were they always this confident? Were they always this "Screw you world! I have cellulite! Wanna make something of it?" Does that mean that there's no hope for me?
I have my choice of 3 different locker rooms at the gym, but I choose this locker room, the one connected to the warm water arthritis pool, about 90% of the time. Why? These ladies come once a week to flail their arms and legs around in the pool, to walk laps and march. They feel good about that; like they've accomplished something.There's a camaraderie there too; WE accomplished this together and now we are going to have coffee at the bakery up the street. It reminds me that I should be proud of what I accomplished today too. No, I didn't make it to the gym 5 days this week; 4 days was hard enough. No, I'm not at my goal weight, but I'm pretty damn close and for the most part I like what I see (in dim light).
But, no you can't rub lotion on my back. But, when I'm 70 I hope to have the sort of friends who would offer. I like to think I'd be that sort of friend too. Then we could wring out our giant swim suits and go eat a pastry because we deserved it.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
the wiener mom and another one of those open letters
In this season of happy holidays and wishes for peace and joy; it is heartbreaking to witness ruthless acts of violence against other species (Pinktail, I am talking to you)
Interspecies fish violence has no place in a fish tank, not during this season of merriment nor ever, really. The kind of unimaginable fish violence that took place in the aquarium last week shows that even during these peaceful times at 2352 Monroe Street there are still those living among us capable of what can only be interpreted as random acts of fish to fish violence.
Swordtail was a kind fish, a quiet fish, an elder if you will and not particularily good looking, but all the same he was big wiener's favorite fish. In short, Swordtail had never done nor said anything that would have incited this level of violence. Yet, he is gone. His sad fish carcass floating at the top of the tank, throat slitted and gutted.
We carried his lifeless body in a ziploc bowl to Pat the fish man, who by ways of a sort of aqua-racial profiling, pronounced Pinktail the likely perpetrator. "But", we said, defending him, "all he does is hang out in the upper left quadrant of the tank." Pat's reply?
"He probably acts differently when he knows you're not watching him." (?)
So, Pinktail, just because you measure a few inches larger than the other fish, just because your teeth are visible and you descend from a species of predators, does not mean that we will condone your unsportsfishlike behavior. We are watching you and even when you think we are not watching you, we will be, so clean up your act!
In conclusion Swordtail, you will be missed, you were a good fish. But, alas you won't be missed too much or too long because you have been replaced by a lively posse of tiger barbs.
Interspecies fish violence has no place in a fish tank, not during this season of merriment nor ever, really. The kind of unimaginable fish violence that took place in the aquarium last week shows that even during these peaceful times at 2352 Monroe Street there are still those living among us capable of what can only be interpreted as random acts of fish to fish violence.
Swordtail was a kind fish, a quiet fish, an elder if you will and not particularily good looking, but all the same he was big wiener's favorite fish. In short, Swordtail had never done nor said anything that would have incited this level of violence. Yet, he is gone. His sad fish carcass floating at the top of the tank, throat slitted and gutted.
We carried his lifeless body in a ziploc bowl to Pat the fish man, who by ways of a sort of aqua-racial profiling, pronounced Pinktail the likely perpetrator. "But", we said, defending him, "all he does is hang out in the upper left quadrant of the tank." Pat's reply?
"He probably acts differently when he knows you're not watching him." (?)
So, Pinktail, just because you measure a few inches larger than the other fish, just because your teeth are visible and you descend from a species of predators, does not mean that we will condone your unsportsfishlike behavior. We are watching you and even when you think we are not watching you, we will be, so clean up your act!
In conclusion Swordtail, you will be missed, you were a good fish. But, alas you won't be missed too much or too long because you have been replaced by a lively posse of tiger barbs.
Monday, December 21, 2009
the wiener mom and the second most perfect sentence ever written
"Can he get sheep in the pet shop?"
spelled perfectly (of course) by big wiener.
several questions...
1. Who buys sheep in a pet shop? What kind of a pet shop might this be? Would these be sheep from sheep mills?
2.Pet shop just screams impulse buy to me. Who buys sheep on a whim? the whole tone of the question is panicky. It's a sheep emergency! He needs sheep now! he's been driving all over the city for the g. damn sheep! he has a sheep buying deadline!
3. Just how many sheep does he need? Obviously more than one, but how many? Unless you're getting like a whole big posse (herd might be the word I'm looking for) what's the point? You can't shear like 3 sheep and make anything warmer than a toaster cozy I imagine. But then again maybe that's the emergency; his toaster is cold.
spelled perfectly (of course) by big wiener.
several questions...
1. Who buys sheep in a pet shop? What kind of a pet shop might this be? Would these be sheep from sheep mills?
2.Pet shop just screams impulse buy to me. Who buys sheep on a whim? the whole tone of the question is panicky. It's a sheep emergency! He needs sheep now! he's been driving all over the city for the g. damn sheep! he has a sheep buying deadline!
3. Just how many sheep does he need? Obviously more than one, but how many? Unless you're getting like a whole big posse (herd might be the word I'm looking for) what's the point? You can't shear like 3 sheep and make anything warmer than a toaster cozy I imagine. But then again maybe that's the emergency; his toaster is cold.
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