Archive for July, 2010

dear oscar meyer.

July 23, 2010

To those that know and love me in real life, it’s no secret that I lust after and adore food – all kinds of food –  probably more so than my favorite fat man himself, Homer Simpson.   No joke.  This 5’2″ and 105 pound frame of mine can tear into some serious grub.

Give me some buffalo wings (make ’em spicy, I’m no wuss), give me a pepperoni pizza (I’ll eat the whole thing), or take me to taco bell (I’ll devour more tacos than you do, guaranteed).

Although I may mix it up with some tasty delights on the side, it’s really only a quick fix, and I feel so guilty once the rush has worn off.  My heart truly belongs to one precious food item – the almighty chili dog.  My mouth is already watering just from typing those words. 

I’m not kidding, my passion for hot dogs far exceeds almost everything else in my life (yeah ok, except for friends, family, music, writing, yadda yadda yadda… fine).  And no, it’s not simply a love for all things phallic related, although I probably make far too many “I love weiners” jokes.  I just freakin’ love them, ok?

When a friend of mine sent me this link today, it reminded me of a once lost childhood dream: I WANT TO DRIVE THE OSCAR MEYER WEINER MOBILE.

If it comes down to it, I’m willing to bet that this is something the Make a Wish Foundation could probably take care of. 

…How hard could it possibly be to fake a terminal illness… right?

Just play along,

Q

giving up.

July 21, 2010

My mom and I really couldn’t be more different. 

She talks nonstop when I just want to listen.  She never fails to think the best of people when I choose to be a cynic and always question motives.  She’s an Indiana farm girl at heart and I crave the sights and sounds of the city.  So it should really come to no surprise that when it comes to certain aspects of life, I am bull-headed and stubborn as hell and Mom has no problem just giving up and walking away.

When I was young, I used to admire her ability to have no shame about admitting defeat.  To simply say “it just wasn’t for me” while throwing the towel in.  There have been so many times I’ve suffered too long through things – poor relationships or shitty jobs – just to avoid the stigma of being called a “quitter”.

But as the years progressed, and I watched her go through something like 5 jobs in a single year, quit on her marriage with my father, and change dentists and doctors more than some people change their bedsheets, it occurred to me that maybe it’s ok to be a little bit stubborn.  Maybe it’s because of her that I’ve become so persistent.

Sometimes I wish I could exchange a little bit of her ambivalence for a dose of my gumption. 

It nearly killed me when we spoke today and she told me she was having second thoughts about her relationship with her live-in boyfriend, Lenny, a man that I’ve grown to adore and someone so perfectly suited for her, the two of them might as well be Ricky and Lucy.   

Maybe she is so scared of failure that she’d rather just walk away on her own, I’m not sure.  All I know is that it’s not always easy.  It’s not always going to be perfect – we don’t live in a fairy tale.  But don’t you think that sometimes, “good” really is good enough? 

I hope she can see that someday.

Q

no shame here.

July 16, 2010

Some women treat buying condoms like robbing a bank.  They scan the store to see who’s in there, make sure it’s no one they know, tuck the box beneath one of the other 14 items they’re purchasing (all of which are purely props), make the purchase, and get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible – probably with a getaway car idling out in the parking lot.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less who sees me making this purchase (except for maybe my mother… that would be weird.  And, I’m pretty sure she still hasn’t recovered from finding my birth control in my suitcase that weekend I was visiting from college. )  In fact, I kind of see it as empowering and sexy.  No, I don’t wave them around in the store, or wear a big sandwich board with the words “IM HAVING SEX” written on it, but I’m not ashamed. 

It’s 2010.  I like sex.  I’m being safe about it.  What’s the big f-ing deal?

We all know you can’t rely on men to BYOC.  Let’s face it, men are pretty damn unreliable.  (Hell, I couldn’t even get my ex to remember to pick up pasta sauce on his way home from the office.)  I’m not about to stop in the middle of whatever’s goin down to run out to 7-11 to pick some up, either.  I’m a believer in always having them on hand and always within an arm’s length of my bed.

The last time a dude was tryin’ to get a piece of all this sans rubber outterwear, I told him “hey, I like sex… but AIDS is for hookers” and that was that.

So listen up, ladies.  Quit your cowering in the “family planning” aisle.  March right into your local Wegman’s and make that purchase with your chest out and your head held high, ’cause you’re taking your body and your life into your OWN hands, and that is something that we all ought to be pretty damn proud of.

So can I get a “hell yeah”?

Q

not just construction workers.

July 1, 2010

I think I could probably write a book of all the weird things men do or love that make absolutely zero sense to me – farting under the covers, the attraction to girl-on-girl action, and naming body parts (just to name a few).

But what has continued to blow my mind more than anything over the last several years is WHY men feel the need to hoot and holler things to women on the street.  I honestly don’t get it.

I’ll be all hot and sweaty, with my hair pulled up in a ratty ponytail, minding my own business while walking the dog down the street… then I’ll feel the presence of a car slowing down beside me.  “Hey Baby, where you headed?” or perhaps even more puzzling is the “Woot woot” cat call done while the car is speeding by.

Has this EVER worked for men?  Have there EVER been any successful relationships that have started from this sort of contact?  Is there a woman out there that would respond to this with a “Oh hello! I really appreciated the way you so sweetly called out to me from your car.  No, I wasn’t aware of how nice my ass looked today, so thanks for pointing it out! Would you like to get a drink?”  Are there any statistics on this?  If not, can we start keeping statistics on this?  I feel like this is something we need to track.

You know, I can almost understand or excuse this if it is done by a carload full of young men. Oh ha ha, it’s so funny… and they all laugh and exchange high-fives.  But for a middle-aged man to do this while driving alone (probably on his way to pick up his kids from soccer practice or something), is just downright weird.  What is the freakin POINT?

Still puzzled,

Q