Am I Your Weirdo?

I have certain responses that I totally dislike.  Like, I say, “How are you doing?”  The response is “I’m doing”.  What does that even mean?   How about how's work?  And someone responds with either “It’s work” or “It pays the bills”.  Jeez, thanks for sharing.  I got a scolding from my daughter for needing to work on my juvenile sense of humor. I was hanging out with the grandboys and one was talking about a birthday party he was invited to.  The only weird thing is that it was going to have boys and girls.  He asked me what kind of things I would talk about to girls at parties.  I told him that usually I would ask the young lady if she was carrying pepper spray.  My daughter, off in the kitchen with what seems like super hearing, yelled out, “Dad, really! "  I then explained to my grandson about pretty girls.  I told him there are three types of girls: Pretty girls, Girls that have Pretty Potential.  (That means if they put in a bit more work, they could be prettier.  And then there are girls who might not be really pretty and cute, but have a great sense of humor.  My daughter looked out again from the kitchen and just gave me that evil stare.  Sure, I have a juvenile sense of humor, but at least I have a sense of humor.  I had a rough-looking guy behind me in line at the grocery store, and I asked about his day.  He said he’d had a heart attack a week ago and just got back home.  He said he was also struggling with COPD.  I told him I knew about COPD, that I had a friend who has it.  I said the poor guy got that COPD, can’t even blow up his date.  I saw the man slowly smile and knew he got my juvenile humor.

I was out this weekend and made a discovery.  As I’m walking through the men's department looking to add something flashy to my wardrobe, I discover that Shaquille O’Neal has his own clothing line.  Yep, Shak has his own fashion line.  Now I like Shak, but I never thought of him as someone I would want to tailor my look after.  Hey, if he can put out a line of clothes, why not me?  There is no reason I could’nt put out a polished, high class look in clothes.  I would label my clothing line.  “Affordable elegance with a splash of down home.”  And to give my special line a hook, I’d mention how Kangaroo Hair is part of our product.  I lean on simplicity and practicality.  My line is clothes you can afford and live in.  Why have a Rolex when a Timex will tell time just as well?  I asked my wife what she thought the trademark of my look was.  She said, “Well, honey, I’d say food stains on your shirt.”   I bet Shak got the same negativity when  he first started his fashion line. My slogan for my fashion line would read: “Clothes to attend a fine restaurant, and also feed the chickens if you need to.”

I shared a new fact with my granddaughter this week.  Her hair was in a ponytail, and I asked her if she knew the history of the ponytail.  She said no.  I told her that since the beginning of time, girls have loved ponies.  She said, and also kittens, right?  I told her she was correct.  I said that because of the little girl's love of ponies, that style of hair was called the ponytail.  And because kittens purr, we came up with the word “perfect”.   I noticed my daughter was listening in on our conversation and kind of rolled her eyes when I looked at her.  I’m sure she was thinking of how her father is such an intellectual.  I saw the other day that it was Senior Fitness Day.  What is that all about?  How exactly is Senior Fitness Day celebrated?  My vote is on either Balloon Volleyball or Nerf Weightlifting.  The three things I keep hearing over and over in the news are Gas Prices, Ebola, and Iranian Uranium.  I told my wife Let’s get these gas prices fixed first.  She said how she thought this Ebola problem in Africa should be my first concern.  I explained that my thinking was that we lower gas prices and, with all that extra money, we can send it to Africa to help fight Ebola.  See, honey, a win-win.  She said I’m sure that money you save at the pump will be sent to help fight the Ebola problem.  If it doesn’t go to fight Ebola, it will at least go to buy a big Stromboli for us for dinner.   I’ll only eat a tiny piece because I still don’t think it’s too late to try and get that Summer Body I’m striving for.  

I publicly share comments on my observations.  My wife says I need to keep my thoughts to myself in public.  Like today, we stopped in at a new Thrift Store.  While I was walking by a rack of items, a couple of ladies were checking out a bowling ball in the sporting goods section.  I blurted out how hard it is to find a good bowling ball at thrift stores.  I got a nasty look from that comment.  Sure, I make shoot-from-the-hip comments, but I’m just a friendly person.  Think about it, how many times have you gone to a thrift store and brought home a bowling ball?  Let’s say never.  I did get a slight lecture from my daughter recently about perhaps I should think about some things before I share them with her boys.  I asked her what she was talking about.  She said, “Okay, Dad, did you tell the boys that people who wear stocking caps are usually wearing them to hide bad haircuts?”  I vaguely remembered making a comment like that.  My daughter explained how her kids shared that knowledge at school, and the kids on the playground made comments to those wearing stocking caps during recess.  I had to laugh at that, but then my daughter went on to say that the teacher traced it back to my grandsons, and she heard about it when she picked the kids up the other day.  So I’m the bad guy because my grandsons tattled on me.  Yep, she said:  They sold you out in a New York Minute.  I can’t believe my own family would turn on me so quickly.  I have some interesting information about Global Warming. I know they would have enjoyed hearing it, but I might just sit on it for a while.  It has to do with birds shrinking.  I don’t want to tell you what that means to the Tennessee Warbler.  Not Good!

My wife and I had an argument the other day that still hasn’t been totally settled.  But this controversy was about something unusual.  Sure, most married couples have misunderstandings about money, chores around the house, or even parenting.  Well, I think I have something new to add to the list. Our disagreement had to do with frozen vegetables.  Yep, you read it right, frozen vegetables.  Let me explain this to you.  I have no problem with vegetables, corn, carrots, peas, hey, even mixed vegetables are welcome in my home.  The issue is that my wife keeps buying all these little bags of frozen vegetables and tosses them in our freezer, the one that is located above the refrigerator.  I asked her to please stop doing that.  Put your bags of frozen vegetables down in the freezer and keep this freezer for our fun items like a frozen pizza or ice cream and ice cream bars.  You’ve taken all the freezer room with these stupid little bags of vegetables.  I made a big deal about this recently and cleaned out the freezer downstairs and took all these little bags of frozen vegetables and neatly stored them downstairs.  Then I went out and got a box of freeze pops to put in the upstairs freezer for the upcoming hot weather.  I even had enough room for a bag of ice and some ice cream.  I told my wife what I had done and explained that I was quite proud of my freezer accomplishment.  I came home the other  night and opened up the freezer for a freeze pop, and to my surprise, the freezer was stuffed with more frozen vegetables.  And to add to my disgust, even a big bag of Brussels Sprouts.  (I don’t even like Brussels Sprouts.)  I asked my wife what was going on; did she forget our talk about the little bags of frozen vegetables?  She said she was tired when she got home and would arrange things better tomorrow.  I’m not stupid, I know that is not going to happen.  She has the freezer so full of silly little bags of vegetables again. I tried to put some freezepops into the freezer, and could only fit three.  Is there anything sadder than a man who can only fit three freeze pops in his freezer?  I wanted to take those silly bags of vegetables outside and play corn hole with them, but I didn’t.  I’m sure my wife is trying to taunt me with the bag of Brussels Sprouts.  I haven’t figured out my next move, but trust me, I’m getting control of the freezer back.  Why are women so devious sometimes?  

I’m against government regulations.  Everything involves a fee and paperwork to be registered.  Too much red tape.  Well, I have to backtrack on one thing.  I’ve run into too many people on their electric mobility scooters who have no business driving anything. (They would be dangerous on a Teeter Tooter.)  I had my foot run over by some knucklehead driving too fast in Walmart while talking on her cellphone.  It’s gotten crazy.   I also recently had a lady flying down the aisle, eating a Whoopee Pie at a store on her mobility scooter.  She had to slam on her brakes to stop just inches from taking me out.  She immediately states how she didn’t know how to get it moving again. (Yep, driving something that she didn’t understand, all its controls.  Doesn’t that scream SUPER SAFE? I said a short prayer to myself and said, “Thank you, Jesus.”  I just see more and more scooter users who are reckless drivers.  Try to push their way through crowded areas.  Don’t get me started on the increase in aggressive mobility scooter drivers. (I don’t believe that because you’re on a mobility device, you have the right of way in the Cereal Aisle.) Some people need them, and I am sympathetic to that.  But let’s be truthful, many users are just too flippin' lazy to take two steps to grab some Pringles off the shelf.  I see no problem with a person wanting to use one of those mobility devices, but they need to take some type of driver's test.  Yep, you can’t drive through stores and street fairs unless you have a driver's permit for that vehicle.  I swear many of these scooter drivers picture themselves as Vin Diesel in The Fast and the Furious”.  As things stand right now, Stevie Wonder could be driving one of those mobility scooters through a store doing some shopping.  I hear it now.  “Hey, Dad, is that Stevie Wonder who just drove through that Bounty Paper Towel display?  Yep, son, it sure is, but I sure love his music. “

Am I a sharp dresser? Well, I’d say I’m a free-spirited dresser. I have a relaxed attitude when it comes to my attire. For example, while out at a vintage clothing store, I spotted a long sleeve button down shirt that I really liked. I showed my wife my find and told her I love this shirt. She says you can’t get that shirt. Look closely, it’s missing a button. I told her it’s only one button. I can live comfortably in a shirt with one absent button. Heck, I’ll just wear the shirt unbuttoned. My wife said, “Who do you think you are, Fabio?” I told my wife that one or two missing buttons don’t scare me if I really like the shirt. Now I might pass on a shirt missing three buttons. I do have standards.

For some reason, I’m always in trouble with someone in my family.  I was raised around people who said what they thought.  If you disagreed, my relatives could handle the blowback.  My kids might raise their eyebrows at my comments, but they always told their friends how their father was a good man, but never was on the PC bandwagon.  Now let’s move up to the present, like this weekend.  While out to eat, we were talking about a woman we know and her dating life.  I mentioned how I thought she needed to put herself out there more.  But all the females I was around honed in on my term of “Put out more”.  You’d have thought I was endorsing a person becoming a stripper.  (I do always love those movies about the stripper with a heart of gold.)After getting verbally attacked for a minute, I explained that I said she needed to put herself out their more, not that she needed to put out more.  I did joke that, hey, if she put out more, who knows how that would affect her dating life.  (My relatives would have laughed at that  where I grew up, but not this bunch.) I tried to regain control of this crazy group.  I said this woman is very nice, but if I can share one thing, my mother told me when I was young, that the number one most difficult task of being a woman is dealing with men. I asked Mom how she dealt with Dad.  She said if we had a disagreement, I made him a sandwich.  (Mom was a dynamite sandwich maker.) Perhaps a female friend needs to pack sandwiches for her dates. My wife gave me a look like should I hand you a shovel to dig yourself out of this.  I decided I was not going to grovel like I had said something terrible.  I said this is the last thing I’ll say on this silly subject.  I explained how, in my view, this woman, well into her adult years, gives off a weird vibe.  I said I bet if a guy makes it to three dates with her, the furthest he’ll get is maybe unbuckle her seatbelt.  There's nothing wrong with that, but I’m just saying.  

Well, the weekend is just about here.  I mentioned to my lady that I’m ready for hugs and kisses and all the wonderful things that could come with that. (What a beautiful gesture for Mother's Day.) I told her that if I were a part of an NCIS episode, they would assess that I was a ticking love bomb.  Yes, you could be due for a love explosion this weekend.  I asked, “What do you think?”  She just said, “We’ll see,” and walked away.  How can a proclamation of love like that be followed up with a “We’ll see”?  As any man knows, a “We’ll see” from their lady is the same as “Fat Chance” OR  “In your dreams”.  I’m still hoping for the best, but I must admit my heart's been bruised.  I enjoy movies.  Watching them on TV and even going out to one.  I am looking forward to the new Spider-Man movie this summer and the Avengers Dr. Doom one also.  I came across an article that talked about how most Americans love movies that involve Amnesia.  When I thought about it, I had to agree. Think of the Bourne Identity.  I don’t think  I’ve seen a bad Amnesia movie.  If a man suffered Amnesia and hooked up with some gentle, nurturing woman who tried to help him through his crisis.  If his wife finally found him.  Heck, she’d have to forgive him because he couldn’t remember he was married.  Yep Amnesia gives you a get out of jail free card.  Doesn’t mean you still can’t end up in the dog house.

I came across some information that surprised me.  It said that it’s very easy to hypnotize a chicken.  I had never heard of that before.  My daughter has chickens, so I’ve decided to go to her home and try to hypnotize one of her chickens.  She has small children, and I know they’ll all be in on helping with my experiment.  If I get her chickens under my spell, I wonder if I can get them to do some tricks?  If I can do that, wow, I could make extra money doing parties with my hypnotized chickens. (Hey, Miss Cluck Cluck, go inside and get me a beer.) I told my wife about this, and she was unimpressed.  She told me not to bring this subject up with her work friends when we see them this weekend.  So I told her I guess I can’t share my special insights about animals and hypnotizm.  She just gave me a judgmental look and said, “Please do not”.  I said I assume I shouldn’t share my new information about Polish car pools?  She asked:  “What pray tell is a Polish Car Pool”?  I said all the members meet at work.

I try not to share my life stories. I know if I doled out a lot of them, people would think I was making them up or was showing off, a one-upper person. I have never shared the tale of how my daughter came home from elementary school and pulled our Jumper Cables out of her backpack. I asked her what was going on. She explained how she took them for show and tell, and shared how I used them all the time with our car. Interesting story I’ve never told. I’ve never told others how one year I tried to convince my wife for us to try to do our living room in a kind of jungle motif. This was after the first Jurassic Park movie came out. It would have been fantastic, but I never could get my wife on board with the idea. I try to fight for good. I know people who have been to jail. Heck, I have a couple of old friends who went through reform school on Scholarship. A lot of men marry before they’re ready. I think there should be a marriage anonymous. A call center where you can call, and someone will try to talk sense into you. How often do you know a couple engaged, and you think? “That’s going to be a train wreck.” If a couple is a bad match, I wish something like a smoke alarm would go off. Some young fella has dreams of being the man of the house, but his wife to be has a vision of him just running errands for her. Yep, we need a Marriage Anonymous call center.  I think the motto for it should be.  Remember, marriage is a continuous process of getting used to things you hadn’t expected.  And in order to have a good spouse, you have to be one.

Some things just don’t make sense to me.  I had a salad the other day and it had raisins in it.  What is this all about I said?  I ate it but hated it.  My wife said I should have told them when I ordered to hold the raisins.  I told her I had never seen raisins in a salad.  How am I supposed to mention something that I’d never seen before.  I thought whatever I’ll be smarter next time.  Well that night after my salad tragedy we were watching TV and that annoying commercial came on.  We all have seen it, “Kars for Kids”.  That commercial is so annoying and I get tired of seeing and hearing it.  I then told my wife we should do something like that for homeless people.  My wife laughed and said how would that go?   I said I think we should try and get transportation for the homeless.  Perhaps we could call it “Bikes for Bums”.  We try and get people to donate their old used bicycles to the homeless.  Let’s help make the homeless more mobile.  I can’t help but smile at the thought of a homeless person peddling down the road to a different street corner.  Maybe on an old Schwinn with the banana seat and a basket that they could put their stuff or even a small dog in.  Thinking of that scene makes me tear up.  Bikes for Bums.  Hey I have an old bicycle I’d give to prime the pump.  I told my wife even though she scoffed that I think the “Bikes for Bums” is a worthwhile idea.  Lets assist the homeless populations mobility problems.  I told my wife this weekend when I happen upon someone begging on the street I’m going to ask if they’d like a bicycle?  My lady said you’ll get punched.  I told her I believe I’ll get a positive response.  In fact I bet the person will want to shake my hand and maybe even give me money.  Well my wife is not supportive of my idea but then again Orville and Wilber Wright didn’t have many supporters, either did Alexander Graham Bell or the guy who invented the Sham Wow…  Yep my Bikes for Bums project is something I believe in.  I’m not going to be happy till I have every street person in my area peddling around town.  Instead of rolling my window down to hand them money, I’ll be able to toss them some change or an apple as they peddle past me.  

I was informed that I was not personally up to date with the times. It happened with my daughter the other day when we were out at a restaurant together, and I grabbed a packet of Sweet & Low for my coffee. She chuckled and made the comment, “Still use that? No one does anymore.” What are you talking about? Sweet and Low is the high-water mark of sweeteners. I once saw a kid dressed up in a Sweet 'N Low costume for Halloween. I remember thinking that kid is on the ball. Bravo, young man. I tossed extra candy in his bag.   Well, I don’t care what you say, I’m not giving up my Sweet and Low. Whatever the latest fad is, I’m not getting on that bandwagon. Well, this attack about how I’m not up on the times continued. I had mentioned how I had picked up some packets of Kool-Aid and was told no one drinks Kool Aid any longer. I was informed that Kool-Aid is called the Poor Man's drink. I spoke up and said how can that be?  I was not from a poor family, and we were raised on Kool-Aid. In fact, my neighbor Miss Bogar used to make Kool Aid popsicles with her Tupperware popsicle kit. I was treated to those popsicles every summer for years at her place. Now I’m told that Kool-Aid is a poor man's drink. Did Kool-Aid Man ever seem poor and out of sorts? That guy was always so full of energy. I cheered inside every time I saw a commercial with him crashing through a wall. Damn, that Kool-Aid man is something else. I wish they’d put him in an action movie with Jason Statham or The Rock.   I’d be the first one in line when it opened at the theater. I’m loyal to things that work for me.  Remember when Bill Cosby was having all his problems?  I didn’t toss my love for Jello aside during that.  Nope, Bill Cosby was closely tied to Jello, but I wasn’t going to toss my Jello allegiance aside.  To this day I still smile everytime I remember the first time I had Jello 1,2,3.  What a magical dessert. I walked past a mom pushing a grocery cart through a store with a five-year-old sitting in the basket. The kid was sucking on a Capri Sun, and I thought I bet they’d be happier with a Kool-Aid Jammer.  It’s such a delicious beverage.

I recently lost my wallet and had to obtain a new Driver's License.  The process was actually simple  except when they asked if I wanted to be an Organ Donor. I quizzed the  gentleman if I could designate which organs I was willing to donate.  He gave me a surprised look and asked, 'What do you mean exactly?'    I told him I had given this some thought and would prefer to only donate one eye, then if I have an open casket funeral, I’ll still look presentable.  Kind of a Nick Fury from the Avengers look with the eye-patch.  I mentioned my heart is fine to take, and might I also suggest they can take one of my big toes if they like.  I explained how I think it would be cool and my kids would be impressed if my toe were to end up on the foot of an NFL kicker.  Talk about something they could brag about.  I shared how I can’t help but smile thinking of my toe being on TV Sundays during the football season.  He said he didn’t know they did big toe transplants.  Oh yes, I shared that a person can’t actually walk well without the Big Toe.  Also, with no Big Toe, you’d be looking at a life without dancing, especially Square Dancing.  I was told that if I were to register myself as a donor, it had to be all or nothing.  I was surprised by how strict the guidelines for donating happen to be.  They need to add a bit of wiggle room on this stuff.  I didn’t end up being an Organ Donor.  Sorry, I wanted to hang on to a couple of my organs.  I told my wife I’d like to put in my Living Will that I am willing to donate an eye and one of my Big Toes.   I told her can you imagine my Big Toe on the foot of a Prima Ballerina.  She just started laughing and left the room.  I imagine her laughing is a defensive mechanism to help her deal with the thought of her ever losing me.  

I attend get-togethers with my wife from time to time. I know to wipe my feet at the door, how to say please and thank you, and always use a napkin. We had a function we were both going to this weekend. I was going to show up a bit late and meet her there. She asked me to bring a bottle of wine for the hosts. Of course, no problem, so I picked up wine and went to the party. I showed up, handed off the wine to the hostess, and started enjoying the gala. My wife and I finally linked up a few minutes later. We went into the kitchen to get a drink. My wife asked what I had picked up for the party. I pointed it out over on the drinks table. All of a sudden, she squeezed my hand hard, really hard, and looked at me with a weird face and said: “Really, Box Wine”!? I told her look it has a cool little faucet you can easily turn on and off. The hostess really smiled when I handed it to her. I think she likes Lambrusco. My wife said that no one brings a box of wine to a party. That’s the same as showing up with a couple of large orders of fries at a potluck affair. She said Box Wine is usually something you would bring home and put in your fridge for yourself. I told her that I’m not a big drinker, so I didn’t see a problem. We’re not at Downton Abbey for heaven's sake.  Well, the Box Wine did not wreck the party.  The world kept spinning, and I saw many people walk up and laugh a bit while dispensing some of that fine wine from a box I had brought.  At home that night, as my wife pointed out, I was a knucklehead bringing that wine.  I told her she needed to have a little more faith in my party manners.  I’d never show up at a Potluck affair with a couple of orders of fries.  I’m more upper-class than that; I’d bring Jalapeno Poppers.

I think I’m a typical man in many respects. Sure, I make mistakes from time to time, but I think I have a pretty good track record. I honestly think sometimes a man just can’t win with a lady. I had something come up recently and asked my wife’s opinion. She just told me to do what I think is right. I told her, “Okay, thank you.” Well, I ended up doing what I thought was right. When my wife found out what I decided to do. She told me, “I can’t believe you did that.” I expressed how she encouraged me to do what I thought was right. She explained how she didn’t think I’d do what I decided to do. So what I thought was right was the wrong decision in her eyes. I told her that I assumed there was no wrong choice, since you said to do what I think is right. What happened to that belief in my decision-making? She just muttered how she thought the decision was a slam dunk, and I surprised her. I just pointed out that if she ever tells me to do what I think is right, then anything I do is right. No complaints. Trust me, that will never happen. The wife and I went out later on with friends of hers. I didn’t know them very well. I, as usual, was given the lecture to not take a subject and make it bizarre with my comments. Well, I had been very good. I actually kept fairly quiet and just nodded and smiled. Yes, I was my wife’s arm candy for this dinner out. Then a subject came up that was just too tempting for me to hold my tongue. This couple had just attended a funeral of someone they knew. They chatted about the flowers and casket and blah blah blah. This was when I forgot about my wife’s warning to behave and not make random, bizarre comments. I mentioned how to cut funeral costs for my wife and me, I had looked into possibly being buried in an old Tanning Bed. They’re very cool-looking and quite comfortable. I’m looking into finding a couple to put in storage til we need them. The look on their faces was priceless. I told them I had an Uncle that had been buried in an old fifty-gallon drum. The funeral home was fine with it. I told them what was crazy was when the hearse arrived at the cemetery, the pallbearers together rolled the barrel to the grave site. It was rather beautiful.  Did my wife get angry about this?  All I can say is the dog is sharing its house with me.

I hope you’re having a wonderful weekend. Even if you have a couple of stormy moments, remember that even in the worst storms, you know there will be a rainbow on the other side. Yep, I’m letting my motivational side show through today. I was talking with a friend this week who’s getting married. I congratulated him and mentioned how it would be good for him in every aspect of his life. I also shared the fact that those couples' love sessions, scientists say, will give him as much exercise as swimming twenty laps. He was surprised and said, “He had no idea”. I also shared that he didn’t need special sneakers for this. It felt good to be there to build him up and be his Rainbow. I did share from my marriage experience that the one area of adjustment I had was that my wife wanted to clean the house all the time. She’d want to do some cleaning, and I’d ask: “Are we expecting company?” She’d go no, and I’d follow up with, “So what’s the urgency in cleaning?” Women want to clean a lot; men clean when company is coming over. I told my wife that part of my reasoning for the house being a bit cluttered is to make it more difficult for burglars to hit our home. They’ll look around and be confused, and have trouble locating valuables. Heck, they might think someone broke in right before them and trashed the place. I have gotten better over the years, my wife will admit, but I still have a lot of room for improvement. Like I told one of my kids' friends recently, I’m a work in progress. You’ll never see me with the nickname Fancy Pants, plus I never ask at restaurants if they have any Grey Poupon. But you’ll never find me in an alley with a shopping cart, eating beans out of a can with my fingers. But yes, for my wife and kids, I will go the extra mile to be a pleaser. Usually, it’s because I missed the exit.