Thursday, August 28, 2014

The End of summer and the THE SHITTY HUMORIST

Riding along on Skyline Drive this summer, one of a few highlights to an otherwise sort of lame summer.  Rumor has it that this winter is going to be bad again.  This wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't also always long, unlike the typical Midwest shorter winters with a season called "spring" where I grew up (Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, etc.).  Mountain weather like John Denver said in, "Rocky Mountain High" can just melt your heart,  or it can really piss you off.

Speaking of pissing me off, other than having to go back to work at my old job, AND having a lame summer, is someone who's not funny but thinks he is.  It's even worse if the said person is NOT funny, thinks he is, and is trying to date you.  They say that women are strongly sexually attracted to a man with a great sense of humor. True that.

Likewise, the opposite is true, too, when a man or woman's humor SUCKS ASS. Trying to date?  I've got a little tip for you.  Humor is like being artistic.  It's a gift.  Like being able to sing really well, or write well, or being a chef.  Most people aren't that creative.  So if your humor sucks ass, try other things to impress your date.  Knowledge of history, being a good debater, talking about books, showing off your listening skills, or being handy.  These are other things you can do to woo your paramour.


In the hands of someone skilled, say like Bill Bryson, this can be a good thing.  Howling laughter, tears running down your cheeks when you're reading A Walk Through the Woods.  If you don't know Bryson, think George Carlin.  What could be better.  But in the hands of the UNFUNNY, this is dreadful.

Here's what the Shitty Humorist has been up to.

1. Changing the letters to a word that is slightly different and alarmingly unfunny while you're talking.  It usually takes several seconds or minutes to even see it was a joke.

A.  "There are a few good places to eat in Custer," I said as we were debating the merits of several restaurants in that town.
"Custard?" The Shitty Humorist asks then giggles.
"Yeah, CUSTER," I say, annoyed.  OK, that's not funny.  That's STUPID.

B. "I don't know why the tomatoes this year are so over-priced," I say as we walk through the farmers' market the other day.
"Tor-matoes?  You have to be careful around tor-matoes, they can blow over your house," he notes and giggles.  I stop and stare at him for a few seconds as I have NO IDEA what the fuck he's talking about then realize it's an alarming pun.  I shake my head and hope no one heard that.

C. "I've got to mow the yard tomorrow," I noted the other day.
"Whhhhhyyyyyy?" asks the Shitty Humorist in a very feminine 8 year-old way.
"Duh.  Because it's long,"" I say, catching on to this fucking game he thinks is funny.
"Whhhhhyyyyyyy?" he asks again.
"Because it's been raining and the lawn has been growing really fast!" I say and walk away.  Otherwise the "Whyyyyyyyys?" will keep going. How is this different than the "I know what you are but what am I?" game you'd play in junior high?

It's. NOT. FUCKING. FUNNY.  It's a turn off.  And it's even worse if the person is genuinely nice.

Stay tuned.

Camping with Effeminate Men, Manly Men and Gender Roles

"I'm here, Momblee, in case you accidentally drop some of that portebello burger," says Bennie as we're "yard camping" this summer since I cannot find anyone to backpack or camp with other than Indifferent Man.

Manliness.  What is it?  Why is it important to a tom-girl?

This is something I've been contemplating lately since it appears I've only been dating effeminate men lately.  So what is manliness?  I'm not sure, but I can tell you what it isn't.

Talking in a baby voice (saying "peas" instead of "please"), giving long plot synopses to Disney movies, not knowing how to chop wood or start a fire, biting one's nails, singing to Micheal Jackson/Micheal Bolton/Winger songs in a falsetto voice, and bustin' out some disco moves in the grocery store, for starters are NOT manly things.  They are libido-breakers. 

You can't even begin to know what effeminate is until you run into it face-to-face.  But some men are just that.  Sex and the City even did an episode about it with a friend of theirs who married someone whom everyone thought was a gay, only he wasn't gay.  He was just very, very effeminate.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I like a dude who's emotionally available.  I require it, actually.  But I also like a Lee Marvin kinda man who also holds doors open, pays for my tab, chops wood, works on his own Shovelhead.  Speaking of, I know someone like this, but he lives 200 miles away in N.D.

He's that old school kind of kinda guy that I can't seem to find.  "Old School" around the Black Hills translates to Nascar-watchin'-cammo-wearin' redneck around here.  And that ain't either cool or old school.

Here's the kinda old school he is:
1. lots of stylin' black clothes and a deep low voice like Johnny Cash
2. cool tats, (not tats of howling wolves, eagles or the words "Harley Davidson")
3. races modifieds (race cars) semi-professionally.  I mean, how sexy is that?  (Picturing a pit crew with cool mechanic's shirts on that say his racing team on the back while he calmly gives out orders to his men while they hurry to get the car back on the track is a helluva lot sexier than some redneck belching and watching Nascar on the couch in his cammo, skid-marked underwear.)
4.  has a kick start old Shovelhead that of course, only HE works on (swoons in a Sons of Anarchy kind of way).  He kinda reminds me of Jax, only his head is shaved.
5. likes cool music (not Micheal Jackson and ABBA)
6. owns his own old house with hardwood floors
7. has grown daughters he is close to (emotionally available!)

But, alas, he works all the time (works in his family's metal shop, sexy=check!) and is totally passionate about his racing, so it takes up almost all of his free time, and again, lives at least two hours away.

Sigh.  More later on this one, I hope.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

How Manly Does a Man Have to be to Trip Your Trigger?

Me and my dog-son, Bennie, on our camp out a few weeks ago.
Ben, was pretty manly, more manly than Indifferent Man whom I was camping with.

I don't want to sound like a bitch, but I resent men who force me to be more manly then them.  If I have to take the mouse out of the mousetrap, chop the damned wood for the fire, or change the oil because he doesn't know how to, that's fine.  We're living in a post-modern world.  But if he wants any sexy time, forggetabboutit.  There's something about a dude making me be the real dude that is a super turn off.  Why bother?

Either that, or I'm becoming more of a post-menopausal-man than most men.  Or I'm just a bitch.

But I had to chop the wood, keep the fire going, cook the meal, and set up the rain shelter.  And that sucks.  I want to fall into the strong John Wayne arms of a dude who knows what he's doing.  Well, with Indifferent Man, he is just so feminine and sweet, that I don't mind he's not manly.  Until he wants to kiss me.  Then I want to barf and run for the hills.

As a feminist, this has left me in a quandary.  Why should I have these gender expectations?  Poor Indifferent Man.  PLUS, did I tell you that Mr. Big bounced back into my life for one night two weeks ago?  I started this blog years after AFTER Mr. Big.  Short story.  Mr. Big was manliness incarnate.  And the passion between us was at the Hollywood level.  More later.

But seeing Mr. Big, only reminded me of what I used to find as PASSION in men.  Mr. Big was a former Marine, 6'4", voice of Barry White, could build you a log cabin with only a pocket knife, throw you over his shoulder as if you were just a sack of flour, and give you the sass that only an educated man could do.

Tonight I had a date with more of a manlier man than Indifferent Man.  But he might be a cheapskate.  A cheapskate is not a manly man.  And that sort of made my libido take a nose dive.

If I have to cough up fifty percent of the bill, why not just go out with one one of my girlfriend bro's, like Dooders?

I'm trying to figure this all out for us.  More later.  More on Mr. Big, too.  Lookin' out for all of us, so Peace Out.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Rally, End of Summer Blues

The interior of Laura Ingalls Wilder's schoolhouse back in DeSmet, SD.  And the beginning of summer's road trip.

Now it's almost the end of the summer, and other than this roadtrip, I've not done much.

In fact, the Sturgis Rally is almost over, and I went through my entire phone 3 times trying to find someone to go to Rally with other than my ex.  It turns out, that I only went up there with my ex.  This of course was bittersweet, because no one whom I have dated since him, cares a fig about motorcycles, racing, etc.  Including his current squeeze--who insists on spending every day and night at rally with my ex.  My ex cannot go more than ten minutes without having a girlfriend.  The longest he's gone between girlfriends is ten minutes.  In fact, he wanted to know if I wanted to go up to rally with them Saturday.  The three of us.  And they would just drop me off at rally, while they would go off all lovey dovey, while I hang out by myself like an unpopular loner loser.  Sounds fun, right?  Fun like getting audited, or having a dentist hit a nerve ending is fun.

I was going to go up to Rally and meet a new guy I've been talking with this summer who IS very much into cycles and racing, but his mother suddenly died a few days ago.

What's up with this year and depressing things?  Fights with bosses, reduced pay, friends' parents dying, canceled trips, lack of money, fights with exes, just depressing things.

At least Indifferent Guy is still in the picture and being very sweet to me.  He also isn't into rally, or motorcycles.  Moreover, I am still indifferent, even though he's nice.  He's not into manly things, and so that makes him sort of indifferent to me.

It's weird, to be say, chopping wood or working on a car engine with a guy who does NOT know how to chop wood, or change his oil.

Or, maybe I'm just a sexist asshole?  More later.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Summer Rains, Cancelled Road Trips and Indifferent Guy

Here I am on July 5th, investigating claims that Seth Bullock's Hotel in Deadwood is screamingly haunted.  Thought for sure I'd come up with something in my photos, but I didn't--unless you want to count that strange thing in the mirror above my head.  Then again, my camera phone is LAME.  Need my idiot-techie roomie to upload my camera software to my Netbook.  I'd do it myself, but I have no idea what I'm doing.

So what else is new?  The BIG ANNUAL trip was called off.  Sadly, Dooders pops passed away unexpectedly, so before we even left town for the Pacific Northwest, she had to turn around and drive back to Minneapolis.  Sad, huh?  Sad for her family.  Sad for us, too.  We use that trip to re-invigorate ourselves before school starts again.  Oh, and JJ slipped and fell down and twisted her knee just like I did last month. 

So things are pretty blah right now, but I am dating Indifferent Man.  I call him that because I still feel indifferent about him.  As in, if he kisses me, so what.  And if he doesn't, fine, and in fact, I'm relieved.  There are not really any sparks.  But he's not so fugly that I need 6 beers to kiss him--so that's a step up from most.  Mom asked, "Have you had a little kissie or anything yet?"  My response was, "Yeah but it's not high on the priority list.  It's right up there with watching ice melt and paint dry." 

But, still . . . he's nice to me.  As in spoils me silly.  In fact, he's the one who took this picture and took me to Deadwood for the day, racing out in front of me to open doors, buys me dinners and wine and candy.  He even carries my backpack.  He's absolutely so nice to me.  BUT, and you always know there's always a big "but" involved.

1.  He sings all the time.

And not to cool songs but songs from Disney movies and musicals that I hate to CD's that he makes of his favorite songs.  Little despicable ditties like, "It's a Small World After All," or the theme song to "The Lion King."  The other day he played a "The Best of the 70's" CD that had "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head" on it.

"Can you turn on the radio for a while?" I asked over his singing.  You know, I may be an asshole, but I don't enjoy listening to people sing along to a song.  Thankfully, he has a good singing voice.

"What's your favorite Disney movie?" he asked a while later.  He loves Disney movies, too.  I HATE Disney movies.  I mean, yeah, sure, they were OK--WHEN I WAS 9.

2. And his sense of humor is right up there with Micheal Scott's from The Office.

"Yeah, everyone likes a hot dog from Wrigley Field now and then," I said biting into my jumbo hot dog while we were at the brewery Saturday.

"Wrigley?  You mean like Wrigley gum?" he notes and giggles at his "joke."  I just stared at him then realized he was making a bad pun.  "Am I not being very PUNNY?" he noted and giggled again.


I don't know.  Maybe I'm just a giant asshole.  Stay tuned. 

Friday, June 20, 2014

Cell Phone Holsters are a No GO

Ahhhh.  Summertime.

The time for new dates, campfires, books, outdoors.  Who isn't in heaven?

Speaking of new dates.  I met Green Eyes, and it was a bust.  Here's why.  With internet dating people fall into two categories: those who look better than their pictures and those who don't.

He was sadly one of those who don't.

In his PICTURES, he looked very manly, sensual, attractive.  In person, he was much smaller and shorter in stature than me.  I have a simple rule.  I don't date guys who weigh less than I bench press.  I'll bet this guy was 30 pounds lighter than I.  But it wasn't just that.

He.  Wore. A.  Cell-phone. Holster. 

Who the fuck wears a cell phone holster under the age of 80?  The kind that you have to take off your belt, attach holster to belt (aren't belts like 80's anyway?), put back on belt, tuck shirt in (tuck shirt in damn it?!).  I once saw a guy at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally wear a cell phone holster, leather-man tool holster, cigarette pack holster and wallet holster.  I think I even took pics and blogged about it.

PLUS, he wore stone-washed, knee length denim shorts.  Hello, Tiffany called, and she'll be singing her top 40 hits at the mall later today.

And white tennis shoes.  AND white socks pulled up to his shins.  Are you effin' kidding me?

AND, a polo shirt tucked in.

AND, in his PICTURES, he had very short hair which looked nice, since he has a receding hairline, but in PERSON, he had grown it out a couple inches so on top it stood straight up, but was the texture of a baby bunny.  It was all I could do to not stare at it the whole time and refrain from touching it.

Needless to say, it was a miss. 

Plus, he kept saying in a very exhilarating fashion, "Really?!!!!!" to half the things that I said that weren't that interesting to begin with.

"It sure has rained a lot lately," I said as we sat at Indy's having a beer.
"Really??!!" he exclaimed.  (Well, yeah, no shit.  How can you NOT see the weather?)  Plus, talking about the weather is generally the kiss of death on a first date.

Then later,

"I'm reading a good book about a white water rafter on the Colorado River," I began, then remembered he said he doesn't have much use for reading or books in general.

"Really??!!" he exclaimed for the four hundredth time that afternoon.

Sigh.  I'm watchin' out for us. 

More later as Indifferent Dude has suddenly become rather interesting.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Indifferent Dude, Bouncers and 1980 Moustaches

Well, the good thing about being laid off for the summer, is if you're clumsy like me and twist your knee, you have plenty of time to heal and reflect.

The Bouncer
Speaking of reflecting, I don't think many people do that anymore between relationships.  A "Bouncer" doesn't take time off from relationships.  A Bouncer is a person who skips from one failing relationship, immediately to a new relationship (with no single time in between), sometimes having two feet in two different relationships at the same time.  1. doing so is not fair to either relationship and 2. is unhealthy and allows no time for the Bouncer to learn or heal. 3. and is really narcissistic when you get right down to it because why they're doing it in the first place is secret fear (they're not aware of it) of being alone, despite all costs to others' involved.  My ex is a "Bouncer" and bounced right into another relationship with another Bouncer (she just recently got divorced from an abuser) just as he was closing the door on his last relationship, the embers not even cooled.  His ex is no better and also Bounced into a new relationship, and in fact, moved in with him, IMMEDIATELY after said break up.

How is this healthy or normal?

I have to admit, I've even been a Bouncer before, but not for a long, long time.  The past ten years has taught me that being one isn't cool.  In fact, I cringe at my past Bounces.

So what's going on as of last night?

Indifferent Dude is Growing Slightly Cuter
The meeting with Indifferent Dude last night was FUN.  Not only did he pick me up and help me into his vehicle with my crutch, he ran to open all doors for me and give me his arm.  Aahhhhhh.  How sweet.  And, get this, he picked up the tab without that awkward tab-grabbing ritual you sometimes have to go through!

We talked books, and I loaned him one.  Even though he wore his "work Dork clothes" Dockers (e'gads!) and a tucked in shirt, he looked sort of cute in a nerd-way, but not so nerdly that he was getting dressed up to go to a Star Trek convention or anything.  I'm up for getting to know Indifferent Guy!!!!

Then there's Magnum PI Mustache--
I'm not remotely interested in this one.  But he's a project I'm considering taking on, since he's begged me to help him.  I originally wrote him, not to be condescending, but because he had the worst profile I have ever seen, yet seems like a clueless, nice guy.

"I've had this stache since 1980 and my first Trans Am.  You think women like it?" he asked.

"Uh, no.  Women don't normally go for a thick lip-shrub full of food-crumbs which engulf their entire lip.  And 1980 called and Olivia Newton John wants her leg warmers back, so NO, it's not cool," I wrote.

"Really?  No gal would like that?"

"Uh, (not wanting to further hurt his feelings) maybe someone in a geriatrics' home."

Also envision a 1970's Marty Feldmen style hairdo with a horribly receding hairline.  Then this lip-bush-Magnum P.I. mustache business.  Imagine several pics of tucked in shirts, pants that come up to his moobs.  His gawd awful shirts have had to been from 1979.  He admitted that no one writes him back and asked me for my help.  It might be more than I can take on.  LOL.  OR it could be lots more fodder for this blog.

You decide.