I’m adding my YouTube link. Not sure if it’ll work but here we go… http://youtu.be/6ZA2URhaLbA And, Go Raps! (next season, that is)
First, let me say this… this is all in fun, all with tongue firmly planted in cheek. I’m exaggerating for entertainment. So…
We say it to our buddies all the time. We know it’s not a serious retort, it’s just a way to say “I’ve had enough of this topic” or “I like you, but you’re full of it”. Women know this, so when they tell us to “F-off” they know we won’t take it seriously. It may even lead to a chuckle or, in the right circumstance, outright laughter. Tell your wife to “F-off”, even in the same conversation where she just finished telling you the same, dog house.
“Who would you do?”
She will rattle off movie stars, old high school flames, your best friend… no problem. She’ll say “come on, tell me, who would you do? I promise, I won’t get mad.” DON’T BELIEVE IT! For Star Wars fans… IT’S A TRAP!! Even if she seems to be playing along, you will eventually hit a name that will make her smile spoil. This game’s grand prize is a three night’s, all expenses paid, trip to the couch.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
She’ll look you up and down, analyzing, grading, giving you a fashion score and then, “is that what you’re wearing?” What? My pants aren’t on backwards. My shirt’s tucked in. Even my socks match (which is a total fluke by the way). What’s wrong! You, on the other hand, can’t say crap about what she’s wearing. And why would you. She’s beautiful. You always think she’s beautiful. You’re not even safe if she asks you to be honest. If you’re still stupid enough to try and hint what she’s put on doesn’t match, Holiday Inn has a special “I told my wife what I thought about her clothes so how much of an idiot am I” room rate. (Not really, but they should)
I had 2 more but I’ve run out of places to sleep.
Here are a few things I’ve learned so far in 2014…
A new definition for feeling “old”…
So my 17 year-old son turns to me and says “Dad, I feel old”. So I say “Why’s that son?” and he says “Did you know the fresh crop of grade 9’s starting this September were born in the year 2000?”
I’ll just let that sink in for ya.
The best men’s underwear store is…
La vie en rose. No, really. If you can find one with a men’s section (usually a clearance store) they’ve got these ones that are kinda like boxer-briefs but they have this, what I call, “man pocket” in front. When you put them on you actually have to put your gear into the pocket for everything to sit right (including the underwear) but once you’re settled, man do they feel good (and I mean everything!).
Subliminal learning is real…
Guys, you may think you’re tuning out whatever your wife/girlfriend is watching, playing whatever game on your phone or tablet, but your brain has a little surprise in store. I was pressing my shirts for the upcoming week at work (tried to make it a little more masculine sounding… ironing seemed a little weak for this particular example) and my wife had put on 4 Weddings. If you haven’t tried to ignore this show before I’ll fill you in a few details I’ve absorbed over the years. 4 brides compete for a honeymoon getaway by voting on which of the 4 had the best wedding. Get it? Ok, so I’m ironing… I mean PRESSING my shirts and happen to look up to see this bride and groom say their vows under water, at an aquarium. Pretty cool. Then they go to a shot of the newlyweds walking out from behind the tank and into the reception hall and I happen to notice the bride’s wearing a mermaid-style wedding dress, which is very appropriate for the venue and… wait… why the hell do I even know that? I’ll just go back to pressing, no ironing my shirts.
I’m asking all of you that have turned their fitness endeavors indoors for some advice. I’m not sure what the protocol is but I’m having a terrible time with one particular physical attribute or side effect of my work out routine.
My wife and I have started jogging and have been quite regularly since June of this year. I’m quite happy with our progress too. We started outdoors, hence, any gastro-intestinal rumblings could be expelled “as they happened”. A quick shoulder check and out you go! Moving your body is a great way to keep things “moving”.
But now, due to weather, we’ve had to move to tread mills, in a public setting. I honestly didn’t think they’d be any issues but my stomach has become one. As I run, things move. As things move, I need to move them out. My shoulder check reveals other runners, within ear/nose shot. What do I do?
I need to know what’s the common courtesy. Can I let things fly and just tip my head in acknowledgement? Do I slowly let things leak and hope there’s no sound or odor? Holding it raises my heart rate, disrupts my stride and leads to cramping. I really need some advice here.
So, until I hear otherwise, I’ll continue my exercise, biting the bullet, with clenched cheeks.
We all have it. Ego. It’ stronger and more outward on some but at some time, in all our lives, Ego has peaked out from behind some hidden corner of our emotions and made us into who we are. If it weren’t for Ego, we’d still be living in trees! Let me explain…
So, there we are, 3 million or so years ago, mulling around the treetops, eating fruit, the occasional bug, and our only worry? Falling to our death while we slept. Ok, not perfect but pretty simple. At some point in our some what eden-ish exsitance, one cocky monkey decided “let’s see what it’s like on the ground”. Maybe it’s the first documented case of ADD but for whatever reason, this stupid monkey climbs down a perfectly safe tree to terra firma. Instantly, a predator jumps out and chases said monkey all around. What do the rest of us do, cheer this asshole on. He feels a burst of energy, an Ego rush, and avoids becoming dinner.
2 things happen. The birth of spectator sports (which are all Ego driven) and the birth of Ego itself. The joy of having an audience spurs us on to bigger and better things. The feeling you’re better than the rest of us monkeys… that you’re invincible! Thanks to Ego, more stupid monkeys came down and have a go at land-based death-tag. Eventually, all the bloody monkeys are out of the trees and the fun’s all gone. (There are a few less monkeys too. As we know, not all of us are gifted athletically)
What next? Ego decides “well, I’ve done the tree to ground thing and it got quite the reaction. Let’s step it up a notch!” So, out of the forest this Ego driven monkey goes, stands up to peer over the tall grass and looks right into the eyes of and even bigger predator. This is when we discover it’s a lot fast for a monkey to run on 2 legs. Again, we cheer this bi-ped asshole on, he lives, and so does Ego.
And on it goes… the Egyptians thinking building bigger stuff will make them live eternal. The romans holding the ultimate stadium games which led to their Egos getting so big, they forgot to run the Empire. The British and Spaniards floating boats all over the world believing their way of life was the only way the rest of the world should live. (Oh, and “sharing” small pox. Thanks!) Every world war started by Ego, every sports championship ruled by Ego, every entertainer survives by Ego. All of us either feeding into it or feeding off of it. Yet, without it, we’d still be living in trees, eating fruit and the occasional bug thinking “this is so boring! I wish some monkey would climb down a tree and give us something to cheer about.”
Lest we forget… and so I’ll always remember.
Originally posted on Thought Radar:
I am thankful for my Grandfathers. Both served their countries, in different ways, during the war. Both survived the dangers they faced. Both became important role models for me while I was growing up. And both are loved, deeply.
My grandfather, on my Dad’s side, was a coal miner in Scotland. Coal mining was the most dangerous profession in Scotland and, due to his hard work and intelligence, at age 19, became the equivalent of what we’d call “the foreman” of the mine at which he worked.
Scotland’s army recruitment came to my Grandfather’s coal mine looking for young men to serve. Those with less skill and experience were allowed to join but my Grandfather was designated as a “hewer of coal”. As a “hewer of coal” his skills and experience were deemed too valuable to lose. He would serve his country by literally fueling the war effort. He fought…
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