Just One Cup in the Morning

16 August, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 1 Comment

Those of you who’ve known me in the flesh, so to speak, may be surprised to hear that I’ve cut back on the amount of caffeine I consume each day.  Some of you who remember me from my 26-cups-a-day youth might wonder if “cutting back” means “20 cups a day.” 

Believe it or not – and my devotion to absolute veracity and objectivity is well established – I’m down to one cup in the morning.  Some days I skip even that.  I realize some of you may need to lay down now; I hope I haven’t shocked anyone too badly.  The truth is, I no longer need to climb across the ceiling with my teeth every single day, and with much less caffeine, I’m not as hungry all the time – it’s helping with the diet too.

This being, of all the odd things to commemorate, the 200th post here at the Big Ugly Man Doll, I figure it’s incumbent on me to liven the topic up with a short song.  And yes, you may be assured that I sound exactly like Roger Whittaker when I sing it.  (After all, my devotion to absolute veracity and objectivity is well established.) 

 

Everybody talks about just one cup in the morning.  /  Just one cup in the morning does you good.

I, myself don’t talk about just one cup in the morning.  /  One cup in the morning’s understood.

And I can smell a pot of coffee brewing up.  /  And I smile as go to get my cup. 

No-one better call before my one cup in the morning.  /  If I haven’t had my coffee, just shut up.

I met a man who hadn’t slept since he was twenty.  /  I met that man when he was twenty-one. 

He said he needed more than only one cup in the morning, / don’t he know that Starbucks is open?

And he would put a pot of coffee up to brew.  /  And when he smiled his hands would shake and he looked all screwy.  

Everybody talks about just one cup in the morning.  /  One cup in the morning’s understood.

And I can smell a pot of coffee brewing up.  /  And I smile as go to get my cup. 

No-one better call before my one cup in the morning.  /  If I haven’t had my coffee, just shut up.

 

Yep.  I sound just like Roger Whittaker. 

How It All Began

15 August, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 2 Comments

Four score and Eighteen years ago this morning, in a church that’s reputed to be still standing, the Spouse Of the Big Ugly Man Doll and I stood up in front of a vast gathering of family, friends, gentle readers, and complete strangers and swapped vows, rings, and spit.  I believe it speaks volumes about the longevity of relationships and the strength of the Internet as a social tool that if you’re reading this, there’s a good chance you were there.  

Swapping Vows, Rings, and Spit

Swapping Vows, Rings, and Spit

The marriage almost didn’t last.  We went from the church (Our Lady of the Mountains of Madness) to the reception hall in a 1935 Packard, driven by a guy in his mid-80s.  With thick glasses.  In the rain.  With no windshield wipers.  On twisty winding mountain roads.  It was very romantic, and it remains one of the most terrifying rides I’ve ever been on – Disney’s got nothing on this. 

1935 Packard.  Oh, and a bride.

1935 Packard. Oh, and a bride.

The reception was classic, including the DJ introducing each song.  “And now, a special request from the Groom to the Bride:  ‘All of My Love’ by Mister Led Zeppelin.”  My uncle’s comment summed up the reaction: “Hey, next why don’t you have him play something by Mrs. Metallica?”

There are a few differences now, 18 years later.  The most obvious is the one that the Reigning Queen of Pink points out every time she sees our wedding pictures.  “THAT’S Mommy and Daddy?  You were thin!  What the heck happened?”

1935 Packard.  We were thinner then!

1935 Packard. We were thinner then!

Well, you and your siblings happened, for starters.  Also, I learned to cook.  It’s a little known fact that when we got married, I couldn’t cook anything but pasta with jar sauce and didn’t eat spicy food.  Eighteen years with SOBUMD has put hair on my chest, albeit gray ones, and butter on my plate.  And on my hips.  Because love means never having to say, “I don’t know how to cook that.”   

Much love to my beloved SOBUMD – this blog wouldn’t exist without her!

ManFAQ Friday: “The name’s Handy. Jack Handy.”

13 August, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | No Comment

It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you who have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler. Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?


Question:  Why do they not admit their shortcomings?  My man is so anti-Mr. Fix-it that I get insanely worried when my he gets within 20 feet of the toolbox.  Just admit that you cannot do something so I can let the landlord know before you seriously break it!

Answer:    This is the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle in action.  If you weren’t watching, we’d call someone.  Or more likely, we’d just leave it broken.  If you didn’t need it all of last night, it’s probably not that important.  But, since you’re there, we feel that we need to remind you that we’re better, more manly, more suitable as a mating partner than the maintenance guy – not just in bed, but everywhere.  After all, if he tried doing my job, he’d get fired and probably sued, or killed.  But we could do his job, you betcha.  “Hey ya’ll, watch this!”

The best part of this is the look on our faces when we give in, admit that we’re not going to get around to whatever that is – not that we couldn’t, mind you, we’re just too busy – and when the professional comes to make it all better, it’s a woman.  Most of us just totally short-circuit, particularly if she’s cute. 

 


Now you know. Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

Cooking With the BUMD, Day 14: In the Kitchen with Dad

10 August, 2010 | admin | 4 Comments

It is a little-known fact that the entire decline and fall of the Roman Empire can be traced back to the their failure to teach their kids to cook.  Instead of learning to make their own pasta, the layabout sons and daughters of the Empire just sat in their nice Roman baths, saying things like “Hey Spartacus, nice javelin” and “Yo, Farticus, this isn’t the hot tub – the sulfur baths are down the hall” and generally soaking up the minerals in the natural hot springs.  You can still see them today – the ones that soaked up too many minerals became the statues we see in Rome now.  It was the old version of the tanning bed.

But anyway, there they all were, those Romans, soaking and bubbling and having their slaves peel their grapes and feed them, and the ones who learned anything from their parents learned how to live big, bold lives in public, keeping well documented records in public places of all the stupid things they did and said to each other, so that one shining day, a man from Stratford on Avon might write about them and make them sound less mundane.   (Side note – does this mean that in 1200 years, someone will write successful plays based on the antics of Perez Hilton and ONTD?  “OMG!”) 

But they couldn’t cook, and when the Mongols hit the fan, Roman kids were left to fend for themselves (the parents being either dead, peeling grapes for the Mongols, or turned to statues), and they were unsuccessful.  No cooking, no survival skills in the real world, no more Roman Empire.

To ensure that doesn’t happen here, we’ve started turning my sous chef loose in the kitchen.  The Human Tape Recorder can leverage her natural skills in the kitchen; tell her the recipe once and she’s got it forever, just like all the stuff you said that you didn’t think she could hear when you said it.  Thus far, she’s learned to make things she likes.  This is largely because SOBUMD and I are professionals when it comes to cooking with kids.  The conversation goes like this:

HTR:  I’d like some sugar cookies.
BUMD:  Kitchen’s that way, go to it.

I think this is a perfectly reasonable way to teach her to cook.  It also taught her the value of a good oven mitt, but that’s another story.  Yesterday, she added oatmeal-walnut chocolate chip cookies to her repertoire.  And they were good.

So the question I put to you, dear friend, fond relation, or Gentle Reader, is this: What are those dishes that children must be capable of cooking on their own, before they should be let out of the nest?  When they finally pack their shit and you convert that room into your pleasure dungeon like you’ve been talking about, what does that kid need to be able to cook – and cook well – to stop the Mongol hordes? 

We’ve got cookies.  What else?

ManFAQ Friday: What a Mess!

6 August, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | No Comment

It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you who have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler. Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?


Question:  I want to know if the ability to relax amid clutter and dust is acquired or inborn. If acquired, how can women cultivate it…i.e. is there a 10-step program?  Seriously, I would absolutely love to perfect my skill in this area.  I think out of level 1 to 10 I’m at about a 6, and it isn’t enough. I want to achieve real man status on this one.

Answer:   First, you need to drink more.  No no, more than that.  Make yourself a good Cosmo and splash some around – you’ll need a “starter mess” to get used to.  Then find yourself some good chocolate; you know you deserve it.  OK, deep breath, now exhale.  Put the wrapper on the floor.  Just drop it.  Deep cleansing breath, the first step can be the hardest.  Just let the wrapper fall.  Let it go.

Someone else will pick it up eventually; that someone else might even be you, several hours from now, but that person’s not here yet.  Did you just finish that Cosmo?  Have another drink.  Good.  Now, find a nice comfy chair where you can still see that candy bar wrapper on the floor.  Sit down, eat the chocolate.  Mmmmmmmmmm, it’s good, isn’t it?  You’re going to relax for a moment, just eating the chocolate, taunting that mess over there with it.  You’re getting the hang of this!  Now remember, if anyone walks in, you were just in the middle of cleaning up.  Literally in the middle of cleaning.  You were just taking a break for a minute.  You were going to get to back to it real soon. 

Mmmmm, chocolate. 


Now you know. Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

ManFAQ Friday: We Could Hide Out Under There

30 July, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 3 Comments

It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you have have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler. Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?

This week is a two-fer, since the topics are so closely related.
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Question 1:  Why can’t you put the clothes IN the hamper?  You can sure throw them on the floor NEXT to it – what is the aversion to IN the hamper?

 
Answer 1:  There’s no glory, no incentive.  If you put a backboard on it, he’ll try harder – no man can resist taking a fadeaway jockstrap jump-shot as he’s skinnying out of his skivvies.  Mind you, we’re not all Michael Jordan – but the percentage of clothes in the hamper versus next to it will go up if there’s a backboard.

________________________

Question 2:  Why do you leave your underwear on the bathroom floor after taking a shower?  Do you think I have nothing better to do than pick up after you?

Answer 2:  Your second question could have ended at the third word, and the answer would still be a resounding NO.   He just got out of the shower, and he’s naked.  Naked men do *very* little thinking.

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Now you know. Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

ManFAQ Friday: What a Rush!

23 July, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 1 Comment

It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you have have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler. Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?


Question:  Why are men such adrenaline junkies?

Answer:   Ah, a TOUGH question.  Why is it that the two most common sets of “last words” that men say just before they die are “oh shit” and, running a close second, “Hey ya’ll, watch this!”  In large part, this is showmanship.  It’s not just the chemical adrenaline rush – although that’s a big part of it. 

It’s the audience.  If you weren’t watching, we’d probably be content to scratch our balls and look at something shiny on television.  But we know you or someone like you will be looking, or it might be another guy watching.  If it’s you, we want you to see how tough, how brave we are – something deep in our genetic code thinks you’ll be impressed, and the other guys intimidated.  Never mind that quit working about 8,000 years ago.  (Well, it quit working on women.  Most guys are still intimidated when we see another guy do something really crazy and live through it.) 

Then, once you’ve done it, you find out what a great rush it is.  Like most drugs, you need more to reach that high a second time, so you have to do something crazier!  This is why the most hard core adrenaline junkies don’t breed often – they crash into something before they impress enough women.


Now you know. Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

ManFAQ Friday Doubleheader!

16 July, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | No Comment

It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you have have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler. Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?

This week is a two-fer, since the topics are so closely related.
——————————————————————————–

Question 1: Why do men have to wring out their penis after a shower? Does it really suck up water like a sponge?

 
Answer 1: Nope.  We only do that when you’re looking, just to make sure you’re thinking about it.  “Hey, hey, look what I found!” only works once, twice if we’re lucky – this way you’re wondering about the one part of our bodies we *want* you wondering about most of the day.  Call it an investment.

________________________

Question 2: Why do they keep their hands in their pants in public?

Answer 2: Again, we only do that when you’re looking, so you’ll think about sex more often.  Most of us would just hang it out there, but you keep calling the police.
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Now you know. Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

OCD is a Defense Mechanism, or, Only the Paranoid Survive

13 July, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 1 Comment

“Did you turn the oven off?” is a cliché, one of hundreds we joke about all the time, like the person with the glasses on their head looking everywhere for them, or geniuses who can’t match their socks to save their lives.  It’s a cliché, like any other dime-a-dozen cliché…. 

Until the first time you come home and realize that you have, in fact, left the oven not merely on, but on and set for “bitumen/anthracite overkill” on the broiler.  For several hours.  The house smells of meat overcooked weeks ago, the HVAC unit is screaming for mercy under the onslaught, and the pets keep checking roll call to make sure they’re all still there in case one of them’s next. 

You’re checking your oven now, aren’t you?  Before you get up, I’m going to take a moment to admonish you to check your smoke and CO detectors, too.  You do have carbon monoxide detectors, right?  We talked about this, right?  OK, go check the stove and the alarms, I’ll wait. 

Back?  OK.  This concludes the PSA portion of today’s post.  And let’s hear it for obsessive compulsive disorder – you might not get much done, but you’re going to live through it. 

Another in the “mother was right” category; not too long ago I was compelled to call my own mother when I did, in fact, cut my damn tongue licking the knife.  I don’t even remember what I was licking off; I just remember the sharp, searing pain of embarrassment – shit, she was right.  I had to call to let her know.  Since then I’ve learned that I can use that as a compelling argument to my own children.  “Don’t do that, because when you hurt yourself you’ll have to come tell me and I’m going to laugh at you!”  (Although my friend B sums it up much more succinctly: “No sympathy for stupid.”)

Do you have a “wow, I never thought I’d really do that” story you’d like to share with the group?  We’re all friends here. 

And yes, the house still has that faint ‘eu de char’ – smells kind of good, actually.  I might be inspired to try another Julia Child recipe…

Cooking With the BUMD, Day 3: Shelling Out for Dinner

11 July, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 3 Comments

Have you ever wondered about what’s involved just getting ingredients to your kitchen?  I mean, never mind the gags about “who was the first person to eat that.”  Just think about the first person to think about putting all these things together – this was someone who contributed to the gene pool.  We can be sure of this, because their kids are now programming video games. 

Level 1:  Find a cow, which has twice as many legs as you do and outweighs you 4 to 1 or better.  Grab it by the teats and squeeze her milk into a bucket.  Bonus round:  Find a stick and churn the bucket like a mad beaver until the milk solidifies.  We’re going to eat that.

Level 2:  Go to the beach and dig a shallow trench.  Wait for the tide to go out, then wait for the water in your trench to evaporate.  There will be rocks on the bottom of your trench; bring them with you.  We’re going to eat that.

Level 3:  Go out to the field, find a small round flower that’s vaguely rose-like, but stinky.  Pull it up by the roots – we want the root ball.  Right, not the pretty part you can see, just the part in the dirt.  We’re going to eat that.

If you’ve completed those first 3 levels, you’re ready for level 4:  Find a green, damp place, and look for shiny trails on the ground or the leaves of plants.  Find a seashell moving under its own power, leaving a trail of slime behind it.  Grab a bunch of these – we’re going to eat that.

Level 5:  OK, now you have to get your avatar back to the kitchen, no doubt navigating a host of dangerous French predators who want your butter, salt, garlic, and escargots.  And who can blame them? 

Now for the win – once you’re in the kitchen, we’re going to cook the snails in the salt and garlic butter.  That’s right, shell-laden slimeballs with rocks, roots, and emulsified cow milk.  Oh yes, we’re going to eat that!

(By the way, there’s supposed to be an Easter egg hidden in this game – try throwing all the ingredients in the blender and turning it up to 11.  I don’t know what happens…) 

Julia Child should have played more video games.