Do Men Think More Than Women?

      Over Thinker

Life can really be a kick in the groin sometimes. What causes me the most grief is that I tend to “over think!” When I was a young man I was seldom wrong. I would even debate my own doctor and dentist. Then, as the years piled up like old pizza boxes, I eventually had to admit, on occasion, that some of my decisions and pontifications may not have been totally correct as a result of outside tampering or malicious advice. Or so I thought.

     Well…..once into my thirties and with the addition of life experiences and herbal alterations, I did learn to slowly analyze and rethink many of my decisions in the event they might be flawed due to poor input. I still tended to be argumentative and was too often ready for rebuttal.

     In my forties, I switched from Democrat to Republican and then back again. I also bought an expensive Betamax.  This decade was not a good one for Aquarius.

     My fifties gave me both a bad prostate and a bad sense of judgment. I believed my accumulated years of life experience and worldly knowledge had placed me in a position of a respected social shaman. I was often defiant to those that questioned my logic or even the grounds on which many of my prophecies and yammerings were based on. More and more I was having to defend myself…….mostly to Wifey.

     My true epiphany was not until my sixties when I realized that knowing everything about the cosmos was not all that important. I stopped raising my hand to give unsolicited advice to those that really needed it. Now, when I hear my grown offspring’s making stupid remarks or decisions based on assumption or nonsense, I just tune out and sit back and think of a Rolling Stone’s song. Later, when their mental handiwork has dissolved into goat shit, they will come running to me like a Prius to a recall and then I can strangulate them with my pent up wisdom until they finally regurgitate my point of view. But, that’s family.

     Don’t misunderstand me, I still contemplate as an elder, but on a much lower level of importance. 16oz package of Oreos at $3.29 or 12oz package of Mega chip cookies for $2.79.  Will I change underwear today. Leave the lid up or down for Wifey. Everyday confrontations with life that require a thought process.

    My judgment today is not flawed, but still tends to be over reactive. Even in some of my past blogs I may have produced goat shit in lieu of good judgment, but what can I say?…..I’m getting old?…..I bumped my head?….no, I’m just human. My greatest asset now a days is Wifey, who is truly the wise one. I run most of my decisions pass her now and if they later produce goat shit…..well then, I’m off the hook. That’s called wisdom.

 

Viagra….Sex….and Peanut Butter

                                                                                                         Nature’s Curse

 

    When old elephants know it’s time, they seek out some secret valley to go die in. Whales beach themselves, old grizzly bears find ancient caves to demise in and liberals self implode.  They all know when their time is up and as did the generations before them, they accept their fate and succumb to it. Humans, on the other hand, don’t know when to give up. We medicate, transplant, enhance, liposuc and dress ourselves to remain socially young and viable. But, often all the efforts in the world means nothing if the Greek god veneer can’t compensate for a “leaner wiener.”  After years of recreational, as well as physical abuse, spontaneous blood infusions, aggressive bike riding and belly flops off the diving board….the appendage, known as Mr. Wally, has now packed his bag and is also looking for the genitalia graveyard. So…..what’s to do?

     Sex is still essential, if only mental. Sure, life without sex might be saner, but it would be most esuriently dull. It is the sex instinct which makes women alluringly beautiful, and men appear to be courageous and noble. If we were to lose those allures, we would be reduced to the level of wandering goats.
    In your senior years, think of a fancy cocktail party as life and the hors d’oeuvre tray as sex. You now take only a few select samplings, so pick the best ones and skip the Velveeta spreads.  Sex, in your later years, should be caviar and Romanian goat cheese…..not peanut butter on a Ritz! Just pick the right morsel and at the right moment. 

     Now the dilemma. The man is either Erectus Maximas, or he is Erectus Limpnus. Here we introduce the magic potion known as Viagra. The stiffacator used by millions of phallic challenged males all over the world.  Old “blue” has resurrected many a love life as well as the self-esteem of numerous geezers. Now, the old fellow can get to talking dirty in the bedroom again instead of just hearing it on the phone at $4 dollars a minute. Wives are now content again, but with only one drawback; There’s a lot of men folk that wake up aroused in the morning. It’s like a curse, we can’t help it. We just wake up in a breeding mode. Now, I know women are thinking, “Why the hell does he want me the way I look in the morning?” Well, the fact is, it’s because the male libido has transferred all available blood supplies to the southern hemisphere of the male body and away from the optic nerve.

     It’s interesting how, as many believe, God gifted us all with a wondrous body, but the Devil stuck on the goodies.

Charlie

Women’s Restrooms….a mystery to men!

         Don’t Give A Squat!

   

    When Wifey has to visit a public restroom, she usually finds a line of women, so she just smiles politely and takes her place. Once it’s her turn, she checks for feet under the stalls like a pervert, and most times every stall is occupied.  Finally, a door will open and she’ll dash in, nearly knocking down the poor woman leaving the stall. She gets in to claim the porcelain and finds the friggin door won’t latch. It doesn’t matter, the wait has been so long that her body’s sprinkler system is about to purge! To better set the mood, the dispenser for the modern “sterile seat covers” (invented by someone’s Mom, no doubt) is empty. GOD!  She would normally hang her purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn’t, so she quickly drapes it around her neck, (You don’t put $50 purses on restroom floors!), she then yanks down her pants, and assumes the “STANCE!”
    In this position, her aging, toneless (God she should have gone to the gym!!!) thigh muscles begin to shake.  She’d love to sit down, but she certainly hadn’t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so she holds “The Stance”.  To take her mind off her trembling thighs, she reaches for what she discovers to be an empty toilet paper dispenser. In her mind, she can hear her mother’s voice saying, “Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have known there was no toilet paper!”  Her thighs shake in spasms now.  She remembers the tiny tissue that she blew her nose on yesterday….(the one that’s still in her purse.) Oh yeah, the purse hanging around her neck, that she now has to dig deep into while trying not to strangle herself at the sometime. She finally finds the tissue and then crumples it into the puffiest shape possible. It’s still smaller than her thumbnail.
    Someone pushes her door open because the latch doesn’t work. The door broadsides her purse, which is hanging around her neck in front of her chest, and she and her purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. “Occupied!” Wifey screams, as she blocks the door, dropping her precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a mysterious puddle on the floor. She then loses her footing altogether, and slides down to squat on the dreaded toilet seat. It is wet of course.  She then bolts up, knowing all too well that it’s too late. Her bare bottom has now made contact with every imaginable germ and life form breeding on the uncovered toilet seat that SHE never covered with toilet paper –not that there was any, even if she had taken time to try.  During all the commotion, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused, that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a rogue fire hose against the inside of the bowl spraying a fine mist of water that covers her butt and runs down her legs and into her new $70 CROC‘s.
    The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that she grabs onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in. At this point, she gives up. She’s soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. She’s e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d. She finally tries to wipe with a gum wrapper she found in her pocket and then slinks out of the stall from hell while the next tenant goes by her like a Green Bay line-backer.  Wifey, inconspicuously, heads to the sinks.  She can’t figure out how to operate the damn faucets with the techno-sensors, …..so she cleans her hands with spit and a dry paper towel and then walks past the line of women still waiting. She’s not smiling. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from the heel of her squishing CROCs. (Where was that when she NEEDED it??)  She yanks the paper from her shoe, plunks it in the woman’s hand and tells her warmly, “Here, you just might need this”.
    As she exits this rest haven, she spots me, as I have long since entered, used, and left the men’s restroom. Annoyed, I ask, “What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck and why are you wet?”  I will not print what was said, in respect to Xanga’s guidelines.
    This dab of a blog is dedicated to women everywhere who must deal with public restrooms (which has nothing to do with rest!).  It finally explains to us men what really does take women so long. It also answers our other most commonly asked question, why do women go to the restroom in pairs? It’s so the other gal can guard the door, hang onto her purse, and hand her Kleenex under the door!  Different kind of bonding than just standing next to a guy taking a whiz.…….

How it feels to be a “Baby Boomer”

Patriotic Flag American March Marching Parade July 4th Memorial Day Smiley Smilie Emoticon Animated Animation Gif

“TIME MARCHES ON!”

The march of time. It amazes me how time continues to make the transitions necessary to accommodate the times. So many things and events occur each decade and then they seem to be swallowed up in the abyss of our memories.  

1972: Long hair……..2012: Longing for hair

1972: KEG……..2012: EKG

1972: Acid rock……..2012: Acid reflux

1972: Moving to California because it’s cool……..2012: Moving to Arizona because it’s warm

1972: Trying to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor……..2012: Trying NOT to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor

1972: Seeds and stems……..2012: Roughage

1972: Hoping for a BMW……..2012: Hoping for a BM

1972: Going to a new, hip joint……..2012: Receiving a new hip joint

1972: Rolling Stones……..2012: Kidney Stones

1972: Screw the system……..2012: Upgrade the system

1972: Disco……..2012: Costco

1972: Parents begging you to get your hair cut……..2012: Grand kids begging you to shave their heads

1972: Whatever……..2012: Depends

    The generation that’s starting college across the nation this fall, was born in 1994!! They are too young to remember the space shuttle blowing up. Their lifetime has always included AIDS. Bottle caps have always been screw off and plastic. They have never owned a vinyl record. They have always had an answering machine. They have always had cable. They cannot fathom not having a remote control. Jay Leno has always been on the Tonight Show. They never took a swim and thought about Jaws. They can’t imagine what hard contact lenses are. They never heard: “Where’s the Beef?”, “I’d walk a mile for a Camel”, or “de plane, Boss, de plane..” There was only one phone in the household and it was wired into the livingroom wall. Protection on a date was deodorant. The only people who lived together were relatives. The morning after pill was a multi-vitamin.

 This is a rehash, modification, improvement and bastardization, by me, of different quotes, confessions, statistics and bullshit that I have mentally regurgitated or yanked off the internet.

1972:Well read……..2012: Plagiarized

                                 

Fat is beautiful

   

    I got out of the shower, a few weeks ago, and noticed that it took me longer to dry off than usual. I powder spanked myself and dabbed some English Leather pit salve on and emerged from the bathroom like a bottled up genie in a cloud of steam vapor. Wifey was busy sabotaging my sock drawer when she looked my way. I have to be careful when I suddenly expose myself like this to Wifey as her hormones may implode and cause an uncontrollable desires on her part. She denies it, but I do hear a type of groan coming from her when I present myself in all my glory.

   “Why did you buy smaller bath towels,” I asked. “took me twice as long to dry off.”

   My good Wifey continued her sock project and simply said, “I didn’t. They’re the same towels we’ve had for the last two years.”

   “No, they‘re not,” I say, “these are smaller!”

   “They are the same old towels.” she said, “You just got bigger.”

   There was a silence during that moment that only occurs a few times during a marriage. The first fart of the marriage…..the first time she sees you picking your nose…..and when she asks how much is in the savings account. Mind bending silences. This was one of them. After standing there exposed and quickly becoming insecure, I asked, in one of my quiet voices, “What ya mean?”

   “Honey, you’re gaining weight again,” she answered in one of her own quiet voices. “Don’t buy anymore dark blue socks,” she continued, “because they’re a pain in the butt to match!”

   “Gaining weight?” I asked in another one of my quiet voices, the type you use just before you cry or have an orgasm.

   “Sweetheart, you’ve been gaining weight ever since M.A.S.H. went off the air,” she answered as a matter-a-fact. “Towels don’t shrink and neither do you.” She can be ruthless at times.

   I’ve always been a big guy….my entire life. I weighed almost 200 pounds when I was in high school and 230 pounds when I wrestled in college. In my thirties, I stayed around 225. I was almost 6’ 1” and very active. Towards the end of my forties, I believe I was one of the few men to ever go through menopause and then once again in my fifties. At 55, I was 300 pounds. Wifey called me her Teddy Bear, but I’m sure, behind my back, she referred to me as her Pillsbury Dough Stud.

   I tried a few diets, I think about 80 or 90 of them. Most were only for two or three days at a time and when I didn’t see results, I would always console myself at the Wel Hong Dragon, Chinese smorgasbord. I’ve also had more advice from skinny people than I want to remember. They always make comments like, “You need to cut down on your portions,” or “stay away from breads and sweets.” I’ve had diet advice like eating pineapple skins and corn husk followed by Alka Seltzer enemas! Seems no one understands that I have a gland problem….my salivary glands.

   Now, in my sixties, I do pay more attention to what I eat. I concentrate on the four food groups; bacon, deep fried, Häagen-Dazs and gravy. I allow myself lite snacks like buttered items, fried cucumbers, fried bananas and fruity cream cheese. I feel more active now and go to the golf course twice a week now……they have a great buffet in the clubhouse.

                                                                                                                             

                                              The Pillsbury Dough Stud

 

 

You’ve come a long way….sweetie pie.

    The American woman has had a difficult journey through our history as well as our culture. She was fundamental in the success of the pioneer movement and vital during wartime. Yet, her place in our society has been convoluted as well as strictly defined. She was seldom allowed to own property, prier to the 1800’s, and in most cases she was often considered chattel or indentured to her husband. The decades rolled on and times and laws changed. The suffrage movement lead to the nineteenth amendment in 1920 and the right to vote.
More decades passed and during the 50’s and 60’s, women were still judged to be the weaker, (both mentally and physically) of the two sexes. They were mostly relegated as both homemakers and baby makers. The ads during this time may shock many of you, but to us “baby-boomers”, it was as normal as Mom’s apple pie.

    The 21th century has come of age with the emergence of the truly New Woman. The world now benefits from their leadership as great political minds, corporate leaders, great teachers, artist and innovators.  And now, Sara Lee makes the apple pie.

The Sparrow Story

    “It’s cold.”

    “I know. Move closer to the window, it’s warmer there.”

     “The season’s never gotten this cold so early before.”

     “I know. Are you warmer now?”

     “Some,” she said. He stood there close to her, blocking the chilly wind. It had been a sad nesting season with the lost of all three of their fledglings. Sad for their loss and sadder still for the emptiness she now felt. “Are you feeling stronger today?” his mate asked.

    “Yes. Much stronger,” he lied. He was in his fourth season…..too old to survive another winter much less a strenuous migration. “Do you feel the warmth from the window yet?”

     “Oh yes, much better now,” she answered. “There is so much light inside and I can see them moving and hear their sounds.”

     He shuttered for a moment and then worked his wings to fluff the insulation of his chest down. He was getting weaker. “You must fly now. South to the warm waters,” he said. She kept silent and continued to look into the window. “Soon the snow will be here and then it will be too late. You must fly now.”

     “I will stay with you. You have always been my protector and I won’t leave without you.”

     “It is my time and you still have another nesting season ahead of you.” He knew she would have no problem finding a mate next spring and then maybe a chance of healthy fledglings. “Go!” At that, he flew off and after awhile, he settled on the limb of a barren oak and perched there for the rest of the day. He did not want to fly back and make sure she was gone, he was too tired.

    Three days later, the first snow fell. It was a light snow and the sounds of excited children could be heard throughout the neighborhood. It was overcast and the windy chill was a harbinger of still more snow to come. By evening, all were sheltered warm in their homes awaiting the next snowfall.  With the last of his strength, he had found their abandoned nest and collapsed in the familiar comfort of what they had built together. His heart was beating slowly now and the cold was no longer a discomfort. He thought of his mate and the two wondrous seasons they had together….most of their lifetime. In his last moments he felt a gentle commotion. He opened his eyes and saw her in the nest.

    “I’ve spent days looking for you. I still want to stay with you.”

    “Why?” he quietly asked.

    “We have spent most of our life together. It is only right that we finish it together.” She knelt down beside him and gently laid her head on his back.

    The snow came later that night and left a frigid blanket that covered everything. Under the snow were two dead sparrows. Both of no real importance to the world. But even in their last moments, these simple creatures knew and experienced what many simply call instinct……the loyalty of love.

You did what to Mom??

“Let me get this straight……”

   

Teaching your kids about sex is an emotional quagmire. When I first discussed it with my son, he was 10, and he was so used to me making up bedtime stories that he simply assumed it was another one of my horror tales. The other obstacle to my dissertation was having the poor kid visualize me doing these weird contorted acts with his Mom! On occasion, I have felt the same way myself. When I assured him that what I was saying was in earnest, I could feel a weakening in our established bond. It was almost as if he wanted to run to his Mom to see if she was okay or needed protecting. Fortunately, she was at the mall checking out the plus sizes at Frederick’s of Hollywood.

    I know a lot of folks believe that sex education would be better taught at school, but considering my son’s math and reading grades, he’ll end up making wine in a monastery in Oregon and remain celibate. You cannot have sex education without saying sex is natural and that most people find it pleasurable. Problem is…..conservative Christianity has enriched this erotic meal with the appetizer being curiosity and spoiled it with a heavy dessert of remorse. Sex and hypocrisy, they go together like coffee and cream and always have. So, I tried to avoid the politics and religious scrutiny and just gave him the basics to work with in the hope he’ll pick up the tutorials from his friends as he hits his hormonal peak during his teens.

   There is just no way to properly explain the absurdities of lovemaking to a child and that sex is not as neat as the HBO movies make it. Real sex is messy. Good sex is even messier. Like I said, lovemaking or ’sex’ is just too absurd to describe. In their adulthood, they will find that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly or they were alone when they did. Sex education is not an easy responsibility for a parent, but it is a parent’s duty and not the school system or state‘s…..seems their job comes later when they attempt to confuse our children on their sexual orientations.

CHARLIE

Wisdom….sort of

    Last night, I laid in my bed and looked up at the bright stars in the sky. I thought to myself about all of the many years of my life and all the different types of people I’ve met and sometimes even married. I had learned so much. Then I thought to myself……where the shit’s my roof??
The only reason people get lost in thought is because it’s unfamiliar territory.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. It’s just that yours is stupid.

There are no stupid questions, just stupid people.

Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

The road to success is always under construction.

When I die, I want to go peacefully like my Grandad did, in his sleep….not screaming, like the passengers in his car.

If you’re going to die in an elevator, be sure to push the Up button.

Friendship is like peeing on yourself: everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings.

Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils.

What you call dog with no legs? Don’t matter what you call him, he ain’t gonna come.

Duct tape is like the force. It has a light side, a dark side, and it holds the world together.

A computer once beat me at chess, but it was no match for me at kick boxing.

Women are like phones. They love to be held, talked to, but if you press the wrong button you’ll be disconnected!

Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.

Everybody wants to go to heaven; but nobody wants to die.

Everyone has photographic memory; some just don’t have the film.

I told Wifey that a husband is like a fine wine; he gets better with age. The next day, she locked me in the cellar.

If Barbie is so popular, why the hell do you have to buy her friends?

I told the doctor I broke my leg in two places. He told me to quit going to those places.

Always remember you’re unique, just like everyone else.

How many roads must a man walk down before he admits his ass is lost?

Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.

You know….I could’ve eaten Alphabits cereal and crapped out a better blog!!

Which of your senses would you sacrifice?

This Has Nothing To Do With Good Sense…..(know very little on the subject.) 

                                                                            

    The human body is unique beyond words. The ability to hunt woolly mammoths and make fire to cook em and then go to the moon all in 10,000 years….incredible! We have been, and still are, able to do so much because of some incredible and mysterious factors……our SENSES! Those wondrous gifts that we spend an entire life taking for granted, until by accident or illness, we lose the use of one or more.

SMELL…..attracts us to people, food, a different seat on the bus, and the joys of holiday aromas. It also serves as an alarm as it alerts you to the reason why the old lady next door has not been out to get her mail for two weeks. Smell enhances our experiences with new cars, babies in the morning, crowded elevators and petting zoos…..so much of our world goes up our nose.

TASTE……the list of things we have put into our mouths since birth is staggering and in many cases horrifying! Wonderful restaurants, greasy drive-thrus, your aunt’s pork fat pudding, every form of alcoholic drink and concoction, dirt from your childhood, dirt from the front yard of your frat house, a garlic French kiss…..and on and on. The things we have allowed to go pass our teeth. (Do not confuse with “good taste”, as that died during the 1960’s.)

TOUCH……the purest form of communication. Your mama’s caress, the friendly guy at the school bus stop, the feel of comfort, handshake of gratitude, holding hands, getting to first base…(not to be confused with a touchdown), the sting of a slap, reaching ecstasy with or without company. Hugs that give us our sense of being and belonging. It is this wonderful sense that has made it possible for humanity to mate and produce children faster than a crop harvester.

SIGHT……the sense to the mind. The visual understanding of our world. The sadness, the horror, the shame, the ridiculous, the very ugly, the very beautiful, colors, a baby’s smile, your Mama’s face, the Super Bowl, Lady GaGa. Sight can stand on it’s own to help the mind to interpret or entertain us. But, the sight of a molting Nightingale means nothing without the sound of it’s celestial singing. Seeing Britney Spears fall off a stage before she sings is a plus though.

HEARING……the necessary mechanism to total understanding and construction of thought. In conjunction with SIGHT, it aids in comprehension and conclusions. Alone, it gives the mind the joy of music, story, debate, American Idol, sounds of children, squalling babies and non stop rhetoric from spouses. With hearing alone, there’s the ability to create music and answer the front door bell.

COMMON SENSE……This is only a superficial sense, in that, humanity commonly loses that sense during national election time.

OK…….Here’s the question:  If you had to have budget brain surgery under the new Health Care system and were allowed to only save one of your senses, which one would you select for the remainder of your life?

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