Big Ugly Man Doll

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. 

Tags: Children // 1 Comment »

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

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.

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!

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!

Tags: Children // 2 Comments »

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!

Tags: Children // Add Comment »

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?

Tags: Children // 4 Comments »

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!

Tags: Children // Add Comment »