Big Ugly Man Doll

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 is his “man room” always a mess? Like, we find places to put things, buy baskets or boxes or drawers to hide them in, but without fail, it all ends up on the counter – change, pens, change, rubberbands, crumpled up receipts, etc.  Drives me nuts.

Answer:  Whoa.  The obvious first question is, why are you in the “man room?”  Dude, he’s got a designated space where he’s not going to worry about cleaning to your standards, and you’re going to beat him up for not cleaning to your standards?  He doesn’t know you’re in there, does he? 

Obviously, and I’ve covered this before, he Just. Doesn’t. Care.  It’ll get cleaned one of these days, probably 10 minutes before your parents (or his) come over.  What you identify as “man room” he thinks of as “safe zone,” which means he has no intention of picking up after himself in there more than once a month, if that.  Besides, if he waits long enough, the cleaning fairy might come pick up for him, while he’s out. 

My advice – don’t do it.  Just don’t go in there at all.  If you can smell the room from outside the threshold, give him his orders (for instance, “My mother will be here in 20 minutes”).  Otherwise, I’d say give it up as a bad job and get on with your life. 

Now you know. Please, feel free to comment! Also, forward any questions you’d like answered to BUMD – at – biguglymandoll.com!

Tags: Children // 1 Comment »

As the impressive Peter Cook might have asked, “Fweedom?  …   What is  …  Fweedom?”

It’s easy to love this country.  We have more freedom than we know what to do with.  The other day, a guy riding a motorcycle was protecting his freedom to ride without a helmet, in an organized ride to protest helmet laws.  He went over his bike and was killed, of course, because he wasn’t wearing a helmet, but by God he died free.

We’re free to believe 6 impossible things before breakfast.  Well, four, if you include Sarah Palin and Michele Bachmann.  We’re free to sit on our asses and watch the Chinese kick their own economy into high gear while we do conga lines in the pool.  We’re free to debate the separation of state powers from the church – any church you like, in fact!  We get to protest the inclusion of all sorts of religions in our government, not just one. 

When this country was founded, people were 60 percent water and 40 percent other stuff.  That other stuff is now pretty much corn and soy.  By choice.  We’re free to grow more corn than we can ever eat, no matter how much corn syrup we put in our food, no matter how much food we eat in front of the television. 

I’m free to sit here by the water with my beer and type this as I listen to my kids argue with their cousins, watching the tide come in.  Tonight there will be fireworks, more beer, and celebrations of freedom. 

We’re free to get moving, put our differences aside, focus more on our shared values and less on our intolerant ideals, and get our own economy into high gear.  We’re free to get back into space, the final frontier and last hope for mankind.  We’re free to kick-start our education system, to get away from testing math and get back to teaching math.  We’re free to figure out the difference between violence and nudity and consider which is more offensive to God – any God – and which we should tolerate less, more to the point.  We’re free, on this 4th of July, to do all of these things. 

It’s easy to love this country without thinking too much.   Exercise your freedoms this year.  They were hard won, and they remain hard fought by our soldiers today.  Be worthy of them. 

You’ll love it more.

…

Tags: Children // 5 Comments »

The very clever Uncle has a beach house on the Jersey Shore, on what we shall call a lagoon adjacent to the bay, which is of course adjacent to the ocean.  This makes for salty water to swim in, which of course reminds my kids of a margarita.  There’s a lesson in there somewhere, for someone, but I’m not going to pursue it right now.

Across the lagoon from the house on the Jersey Shore is – just like living on an often-flooded street – another block of houses.  Sitting on the back porch, we watch the gulls fish, the kids flail, the sun set, and the other houses with their back porches facing us.  In particular on this fine occasion, the people on the other side of this watery street are an odd sort of family, which includes two guys, an obvious “mom,” and a girlfriend.  The first guy was named as soon as he walked out on his deck and removed his shirt – The Situation has arrived.  He’s very obviously dating Princess Roots.  He has those abs that speak of long hours in a gym combined with a daily fat intake of less that 20 grams.  She weighs 95 pounds, most of it roots.  By 8am, she’s wearing a black hooker-chic dress and high heels.  We know they’re dating because she walks 3 feet behind him, regardless of where he is or what he’s doing. 

OK, they might just be filming for the weekend at an empty beach house.  They *do* look some folks I’ve seen in some recent movies, and I’m sure the Situation could pick her up and turn her upside down if the “mom” producer asked him to.  I can almost hear Princess Roots: “It’s not a snuff film, is it? You said it wasn’t a snuff film, right? It’s not, is it?”

“Donworry abou’ it.”

Right.  I think the younger situation is just there as a body double while they’re waiting for wood.  Also, she’s willing to stand in front of him, as opposed to her male lead – three feet behind, regardless of what he’s doing.

They went out in the paddleboat a few minutes ago; when they came back in, I’m pretty sure I heard “mom” yelling something that sounded suspiciously like “roll camera two!”

Ah, life.  Ain’t it a beach.

Tags: Children // 2 Comments »

Number One Son has a routine in the mornings.  It goes something like:

1. Wake up before anyone else in the house, regardless of age, inclination, alarm, or level of sobriety when they went to bed.
2. Make as much noise as possible.

Seriously, if you put him to be at 9pm, he’s up at 0530.  If you tuck him in at midnight, you might get to 0630.   So this morning, spending the weekend down the shore with SOBUMD’s brother and sister-in-law, the objective is to keep him quiet while his sisters and cousins, to say nothing of aunts and uncles, get some rest.  The upshot of this is that my morning became a glorious montage of coffee, bug spray, and a paddleboat on nearly perfectly still water, at low tide, into the rising sun.

Yes, I brought the coffee and bugspray on the boat.  We peddled and talked, he sang quietly, and we reviewed the tall grasses by the marsh that seperates this inlet from the open bay.  75 degrees, not too many bugs.  This is living.

Even Number One Son thinks so.  “Daddy, this is such a wonderful place to live, I’m surprised President Obama doesn’t have a house here!  I bet if he did, he could afford to have a basement.”  I had to explain that even the President doesn’t get a house with a basement on the beach.

And every time he sees a seagull swoop by, he yells “Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!” from Finding Nemo.  Can’t say I blame him.

Tags: Children // Add 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 don’t understand why I’ve got two suitcases and a bag, and he’s only got a small bag.  We’re going to the same place, for the same time.  WTF, over?

Answer: There are a lot of forces at play here.  First, I have to tell you that the urge to ask why you NEED two suitcases and a bag is nearly overwhelming, but of course I’m blessed with an iron will, and shall forbear against this base urge. 

Now, men the world round may hunt me down for letting this cat out of the suitcase, but I should let you know that your answer is actually zipped up within your question.  Take a look at what you’ve packed.  Look closely.  How much of that stuff you need to bring is either ours, or stuff that you’re bringing because we’re coming with you? 

Right.  Of course he’s only got a carry-on.  You’re probably lugging around half his shorts, his golf Polos, his hiking boots, spare watch, razor, second-best belt, that tie you got him at Nordstrom Rack on clearance, and the mini socket set that he brings everywhere like a security blanket from Craftsman.  He’s carrying two pairs of boxers and a fez. 

There are two other reasons that he travels lighter than you do, and I’m glad to report that these are fraught with somewhat less perfidy than the first – though perhaps with no less danger.

Have you ever opened one of those “fwock” roll containers, like you buy at the grocery store?  You know, with the biscuits or rolls that you bake at 375 degrees for 12-15 minutes or until golden brown and delicious?  Do you remember opening those, when you peel it a little way and then hit it against the counter or with a spoon and it goes “FWOCK” and pops open, usually spilling one of the damn biscuits on the floor and forcing you to decide which child has been the worst behaved this week?

Try opening that “little” bag he’s carrying.  I’d recommend unzipping it a little way, then hitting it with a spoon.  He doesn’t care that his shirts will come out looking like unbaked crescent rolls, his pants balled up like a Slinky with a bad hair day.  It’ll come out in the wash – and we all know how that happens, don’t we?

The last reason is even more mundane, and as such is probably more often the truth than the others.  We’re only bringing a few clothes because we’ll wear them a half-dozen times before it bothers us.  Men who pack more are travelling with or travelling to women who will bust them for wearing the same clothes several days in row.  Otherwise, we just don’t care.  

If he really needs to bring that extra stuff, chances are he’ll figure out a way to ask you to pack it.  You’re dealing with the same group of people who invented the idea of the caddy, after all.  “Did you pack my yellow Polo shirt” sounds an awful lot like “I think the 9-iron, what do think?”

Now you know.  Please, feel free to comment!  Also, forward any questions you’d like answered to BUMD – at – biguglymandoll.com!

Tags: Children // 1 Comment »