The husband gave me the LOOK again last night. Do you know the one? That just-this-side-of -edible scowl over my latest attempt at a wholesome meal for my hardworkin’ man?
Uh…oops?
THE SHUSH. DECONSTRUCTED. (A Chickspeak Post)
Boys and girls watch movies differently.
In my house, the closest we’ve gotten to a chick flick lately is The Proposal with Sandra Bullock. My husband actually enjoys the movie. Well, I think he does. Usually, while it’s on, he and our five-year-old son are roughhousing so loudly that my eleven-year-old daughter and I can’t even hear the movie; so mostly I’ve watched how hubba hubba gorgeous Ryan Reynolds is, lip-read the dialogue, and drooled over Bullock’s fab clothing, shoes, and handbags.
It seems really good, though.
I’ve certainly enjoyed Reynold’s abs quite a lot.
When the boys watch their B sci-fi movies, like The Blob or the classic The Day The Earth Stood Still, the volume is turned up so loudly, surely our neighbors can hear every word.
I know my guys haven’t suddenly lost their hearing. I wonder–why do they have to have it up so loud? Especially since they’ve seen these movies at least fifty times already. Asking my husband to turn it down is apparently a travesty and against unsaid marriage vows (who knew?).
Thank goodness for iTunes and industrial strength earbuds.
Are men and women simply wired to watch movies differently from a young age?
Having observed a husband, son, and daughter, I’d say that’s an unqualified YES.
I was raised around women. I have two sisters, a niece, my mom, and (had) two grandmas. In my experience, chicks sit quietly when watching our preferred dramas or chick flicks, perhaps with popcorn, munching neatly, rarely speaking, wanting to hear every word of dialogue.
Dude Power
I hadn’t planned on putting out a book, doing a blog tour, and getting the flu, all in the course of about a month.
My family has pretty much forgotten what I look like.
They’ve also apparently forgotten what chores are, how to shop for groceries, and what dinner is.
Before I let myself drown in guilt (hey I’m Jewish—we know of guilt), I realized wait—it’s okay. I have a husband! A good man, a sweet man, capable of figuring out that children need to be fed, clothes need to be laundered, and the house….well, okay that definitely could use some help.
What do I mean?
Come on. He’s a dude.
My guy sees a sink full of dishes and runs the other way. I truly think that if he sees a clean, pretty kitchen counter, it’s like a switch flicks on in his brain that gives him permission to pull out every dish, utensil, and seasoning we own to make as big a mess as possible. And then pile on even more shit. It’s a territorial thing.
I think the messmaking is part of a man’s Dude Whatnot of Power. It should be written into our vows. Along with the bride saying goodbye to her TV remote and a clean-smelling bathroom. But I digress.
Once JP figured out that not only was I not up to making dinner (um, like…iffy on a good day) but that any chance of me making school lunches, doing laundry, making beds, or well, anything else at all, was zero given that I was an achy, moaning mess, the man totally stepped up.
Always one to put laundry into the washing machine, where it will stay, forever (Mancode, page 55), he actually put it into the dryer! I had to remind him to take it out (and let’s not discuss the tragic lint screen conversation) but it’s alright. I couldn’t be prouder. We’ll tackle folding and putting away when he’s a little older. #babysteps
And the grocery store. (I’m getting verklempt.) He went without a list. This, my friends, is monumental. He remembered my coffee, didn’t call me once, and though he brought home food from China I’ve never seen before, it’s okay. As long as he cooks it, I don’t care. It’s food. (I did check it for lead content and MSG though. We’re good.) It’s important for a man to have his freedom.
I still ended up cleaning the kitchen. I think it was just too overwhelming for him. All those family meals, piling up. His brain went into Manesia mode and he just couldn’t deal. He was a bit wild-eyed at the sheer prospect of having to deal with the dishwasher (what goes where? How much soap?). When a man reaches hombrenosbrainos, you know you need to pitch in at least a little bit.
TOOTHPASTE. DECONSTRUCTED.
Eighteen years of separate sinks.
It’s been, in a word, clean-freak heaven.
For some reason, however, our new home—while equipped with a lovely long counter, has only one sink in the master bath.
So I started noticing lately that little white spots have shown up on my previously pristine countertop. A new phenomenon that I hadn’t experienced previously in Girlworld.
What are these little white spots? After a bit of investigating (watching husband brush his teeth), I had my answer.
Toothpaste droppings.
I’m not quite sure what may have caused these icky toothpaste clumps to start popping up all over the counter as of late…is it King of the Castle laziness? Lack of attention to detail? Hurry to get out (to his office down the hall) in the morning?
I really thought we had dodged the toothpaste bullet. He rolls from the bottom. I couldn’t be prouder. I thought, with pride, ‘WE are not like THOSE other common toothpaste couples!” with a sniff of superiority.
Sigh. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
You don’t realize that you’ve become a victim of The Toothpaste Clumping until it first shows up in tiny little smears & droppings. You think NO, that can’t be right. Surely, he knows better than that. He’s been through Husband Training School. And there are towels right here next to the sink, waiting so considerately to be used just for that purpose, right?
But then. It keeps happening.
Men Deconstructed — Contest Winners, Baby
If you recall, I posted a contest on my site last week where I invited anyone who was brave enough to take on the pile of words that came out of the anagram of these three little words: THE MALE EGO.
The Male Ego. Deconstructed. A Contest?
As much as men want to protest with regard to what I write about (The Mancode), there really is no arguing with the fact that there are years of study dedicated to men and their behavior–um, Freud, Jung much?
Sure, people discuss the ID, and the subconscious, but when it comes right down to it, many issues in relationships can be traced directly to THE MALE EGO (I was just on a road trip. I know. Let’s. Not. Discuss. Directions.)
Fellas, you may have the best of intentions when it comes to your chicks but there’s no denying that you are dudes. Whether you believe in God or apes, it doesn’t take a genius to see that the um, equipment is different. And with those characteristics comes er, complications.
But I’m not here to get into all of that. I want to talk simply about the male ego in its most pure form.
In fact, let’s take just those three little words: THE MALE EGO and oh, deconstruct them…cause ya know, that’s what I do, baby.
In fact, I had a little anagram fun with THE MALE EGO (in no particular order):
Ogle, eagle, hotel, hoe, meet, mega, omega, game, lame, hole, goal, mole, lam, ale, heel, heal, meal, theme, tome, leg, tag, eel, gee, get, team, log, hat, math, gal, lag, ago, melt, meat, ah, ha, alto, eat, ate, hag, oh, mate, hate, gate, goat, heat, metal, hale, late, lego, go, home, gale, age, male, ego, the.
I found this exercise amusing because some of these words are so incredibly male in the purest sense of the word: I mean, how much more male can ogle be? Especially when put together with meat, metal, log, hotel, heat, melt, and goal? Come on! (I tried really um, hard? to spell penis, boob, or Star Wars but it just wouldn’t work, dammit.)
So I’ve devised a little contest for any of you who’d like to take it on (I didn’t say “who are man enough” cause I want chicks to bring it, too):
• Pick a minimum of ten words– or go crazy and pick all of them–from THE MALE EGO. DECONSTRUCTED pile and write me a little story. Give your male ego character a night out. He can meet the babe of his dreams, cheat on his chick, do it with a goat (one of the words, by the way)—I don’t care—just use all of your words and make it interesting.
• 100 words or less, baby. I WILL count.
• I’m the ultimate decision-maker (Queen of Snark, remember?) and if your words amuse me and you have decent spelling and grammar, I’ll post the TOP FIVE STORIES on my blog next Monday, January 10 for #MentionMonday. Don’t get all pissy if I don’t pick you. Be a grownup. It probably just means you forgot how to spell a lot (pet peeve) or the difference between your and you’re (another pet peeve) so watch out.
• You must click the FOLLOW button here on my blog to participate #der (just up there on the right) — or get the insta-boot with my sexy black Prada heels.
• The deadline is this Sunday, January 9, 9PM PST.
• Send your story to my email: [email protected]. Any questions, shoot me a DM on my Twitter stream or Facebook.
Meanwhile, I’m back to editing my ebook A WALK IN THE SNARK: THE BEST OF RACHELINTHEOC which will be available for $.99 to all of you peeps in about two weeks on Amazon, Smashwords, iBook–everywhere, baby.
Now go create some deconstructed men…or something. Yea!
He Said/She Said: Party Planning — Who Does it Better?
My guest this week is the ubertalented writer Ryne Douglas Pearson, a screenwriter of one of my personal favorite sci-fi movies, Knowing. Author of Top Ten & Simple Simon (made into the Bruce Willis movie Mercury Rising). He’s a devoted bacon aficionado, good guy, and all-around cool dude.
Fooling Yourself
Pleasing both male and female tastes can be next to impossible in many homes.
Man of The, er, House
Man of the House.
Most men enjoy that title.
They work hard for it and we as a society still tend to raise our little boys to grow up into those big shoes, despite huge leaps in equality for women. I’m raising both a girl and a boy so I see it every day, all around me.
So what happens when the man puts his foot down and no one listens?
Welcome to my home.
My husband and I make most of our major decisions together, but we’re not perfect. Sometimes he’s bossy and if I don’t agree with him, he gets a little touchy. I, in turn, get really quiet if he doesn’t agree with me. We both need a little time til we’re ready to talk it out.
I’m not a yeller and I rarely raise my voice. But I can be a bitch…more of a stealth bitch, if you will. (If being an independent woman with an opinion who wants her way is being a bitch, then hell yea, that’s me. Deal with it.)
As a woman, I’ve come to understand that men need to assert themselves in a much louder way than women do. Is it a testosterone or territorial thing? Well, it does make a woman wonder: if men could pee on a conversation, would they? Hmmmm….
My husband has a very assertive style of communicating. That’s not to say he’s a yeller or violent; he’s neither. He’s sweet and generous. He just speaks very loudly and is quick to interrupt to have his voice heard. (Classic Mancode behavior, page 102). And of course, it’s his way or the highway.
Til it’s my way.
When we first met and started having long, romantic talks, he would cut me off. Why did he interrupt me so much? I thought he was being rude. Why was he telling me what I “should have done?” What, did he think I was stupid?
My husband, to this day, says no, he’s simply embellishing the story. When I take a breath, he sees that as an opportunity to launch. He calls that a discussion. I call it cutting me off. (We still can’t agree on this and it’s been eighteen years.)
What happened to the art of listening?
Bear with me here but that’s where the difference lies, I believe, between a man who has to be the man of the house and one who takes into account the needs of those around him.
Men look at the big picture, baby. Women focus on the details.
In other words, I listen. Then I put my foot down.
I wouldn’t say marriage is a game. But I definitely have had to learn that while my husband may roar like a lion, I know I’ll have to hear him out, build my case, present my evidence, and then change his mind.
I’ve Been Nominated–Twitter Moms Award, Baby!
Yesterday a friend tweeted me with some awesome news. He had nominated me for Student President.
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