Tag Archives: eat

Through A Glass Dark(Green)ly

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. Unless it’s directed at you because you’re walking into an event with two smokin’ hot ladies on your arm.

And by you I mean me and by two smokin’ hot ladies, I mean my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Shown Off Every Once In A While, and her friend, the Sultry Siren.

It was an entrance for the ages.

Both ladies were dolled up, dressed to the nines, with hair swept up and styled just so. Dresses tight in just the right places, and flowing along suggestively suggested lines. High heels accentuating the well-toned calves in every leg.

Provided you didn’t look in the middle of that particular grouping, you’d probably have your eyes dazzled by the pure, raw sensuality they were pumping out.

The middle being me, of course. Now, I didn’t look bad, understand. I looked pretty good — for me — in my tux, wearing a shocked, disbelieving grin as I kept looking side to side. Still, I was all right. The ladies on my arms. . . Another story all together.

I wasn’t the only person who looked either. I noticed a lot of men glancing our way, looking away, then shooting another glance at us, their eyes slightly greener as they imagined how much better they would look if they were sandwiched between the two smokin’ hot ladies.

What they didn’t know was that they couldn’t have pried my arms out of theirs with a crow bar, three elephants, a camel and one very stubborn platypus. (Which, as you know, are quite stubborn.)

As disappointed as I was that I had to give up two very nice tickets to the off-Broadway production of Sleeping Beauty, I had to feel that I’d received the better end of the deal by going to the March of Dimes Signature Chef’s Auction. Unfortunately, no, the March of Dimes wasn’t auctioning off the chefs.

Instead, the chefs each prepared a single dish and then we, the attendees, would wander throughout the high-toned feeding trough, getting a slice of awesome at each stop. In addition to the food, there were about 50 different silent auction pieces, and another live auction.

Each item or service auctioned off goes to benefit the March of Dimes and that organization’s efforts to help every mother carry her pregnancy to term, and providing care and treatment for children born too soon or with congenital defects. They are, to put it mildly, a pretty fantastic organization.

So when I had the opportunity to dress up, slink out for a night on the town with She Who Must Be Seen To Be Believed and the Sultry Siren, there was no way I was going to pass that up.

Being the object of many, many jealous glares was just icing on the cake. And I love icing.

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Why Are They?

Why are men such morons?

Every little while, I’ll go digging deep into the metadata here at A Dude’s Guide . . . to Everything and what I find is sometimes a big of an experience.

For instance, take that question a couple of sentences above here. No, really. Take it. This kind of thing just annoys the heck out of me.

I mean, let’s look at the assumptions behind this, all right, dudes? First off, since the Questioner was asking about men being morons, that would imply that being a moron is something only men do? After all, Q didn’t ask about people being morons. This interrogative simply assumes that men are, in fact, morons and is asking the reason for this totally believable state of affairs.

Yes, I’ll readily admit that some men are morons. Huge, drooling, mouth-breathing morons. No question. However, that state of being isn’t reserved simply for those sporting a Y chromosome. I’ve run into plenty of the ladies who wouldn’t know what to do with an original thought if it snuck up on them and slapped them in the face with a semi-conscious cod.

Morons cross the gender barrier with a great deal of ease.

But you don’t see anyone asking why women are morons, now do you? Instead, the most common question you hear asked about women is something along the lines of “What do women want? I’ll never understand them.”

Basically, both questions are looking to pierce the same heart of darkness: they don’t understand the motivations that drive the opposite sex. However, in both cases, in both questions, the dudes are to blame Either men are morons because of the way they act, or they are morons because they can’t figure out what women want.

Seems as if the deck is a bit stacked there, yeah?

And, really, neither gender is all that hard to figure out.

Women want what they want, when they want it because they want it. Unless they don’t want it.

See? Dead easy.

Men aren’t morons. Really, we’re not. We are simple beings at heart. The vast majority of us seek physical comfort, a group to which we can belong, and a chance to run riot every once in a while, as long as we’re not causing permanent damage.

Again, dead easy.

If anyone sat down and thought about this seriously for about five minutes, it would all be solved and we could go home early, maybe score some steaks for the grill and sit in our chairs watching football. Or something.

The problem isn’t in what men and women are. The problem is what we say.

Which is a perfect time to say I’m outta here for the day. We’ll reconvene tomorrow and I’ll finish my thought. Provided I can actually come up with something semi-intelligent sounding between now and then to fill in the space.

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Labor Day

No, even though my Mom kept saying this was the truth, today doesn’t have anything to do with how long our various mothers labored to bring us into this world.

Instead, Labor Day is a day set aside to allow us to labor over a grilling fire one last time before summer ends, to give us one more day at the lake, one more time out in the heat of the backyard with the sprinklers flashing rainbows into the sunny sky.

Or, you know, not.

It could be that Labor Day originally was founded to celebrate the working man (and he was, for the most part, a man back then), who sweated his day away on the assembly line, or out in the hot streets, laying down the roadway the white-collar workers used to drive in to their cushy jobs in the city with their fancypants air conditioning.

Labor Day was designed to honor those who actually produced an actual thing, instead of giving us a service. The people honored by Labor Day were singled out for a number of reasons: 1) to say thanks for helping build this country on their metaphorical, economic backs and 2) labor unions used to have a lot more members, a lot more money and a lot more pull so they could get something like this put on the national calendar with relative ease.

What? It’s true.

Since it’s founding, many folks have tried to usurp Labor Day’s reasons for celebrating. (Hello, Mom, wherever you are!) A lot of folks these days think it’s a celebration of the dwindling few who actually are able to find, get and keep a job for longer than a quarter or two. And a job with bennies? Dude! That’s something to celebrate.

Regardless of the reasoning behind Labor Day, I do enjoy one last fling at summer. I’ll be using the day off to relax in the backyard, crawl under some shade and spray an appalling amount of bug spray at anything that so much as twitches a blood-thirsty proboscis in my general direction.

We all have our own ways of celebrating. That’s mine.

Enjoy yours.

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