S.O.S. FROM MIDWAY AIRPORT

I’m writing this while sitting on the floor in line “C” at gate B3 in the Southwest Airlines terminal at Midway Airport in Chicago. They just told us that there is a tornado watch and that everything is grounded. This means that I’m going to spend at least the next several hours trying to look away from the pink and green thong sticking out of the back of the pants of the 300 lb woman with the halter top and bright pink hair who is seated directly in front of me.

To everyone who has told me how much they envy the fact that I get to travel so much, I would clean out all my bank accounts and gladly turn it over to you if you would please come and take my place right now.

ESTROGEN – THE ULTIMATE WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION

Fifteen years ago I did a three year tour of duty as a house parent in a home for young ladies who had found themselves “in the family way.” I have the odd distinction of being able to say that I’ve lived with 76 pregnant women in my life time. If it seems strange that I refer to that period of my life in the same manner a returning soldier might refer to their time in Iraq, it’s only because my son and I learned survival skills during that time that no Marine ever learns in boot camp. I realize that soldiers today face the threat of biological weapons. While that is a truly frightening prospect, I contend that the extremely high concentrations of estrogen I was exposed too during that period have the potential to be just as lethal.

I could tell you stories about what it’s like to be the only adult male in a house full of pregnant teenagers, but I don’t want to give you nightmares. Besides, it might trigger a flashback and I’m all out of my Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder meds.

Shortly after moving out of the “home” my son and I entered into an existence of blissful “guydom.” It was just the two of us living together doing guy things like eating Ding Dongs for dinner, playing “Doom” on the computer until 4:00 a.m., and passing copious amounts of gas. I truly believed my estrogen-intensive days were over.

That’s all changed now.

This weekend my step daughter Chase came home for a visit. Her best friend, Dustina, also spent most of the weekend with us. Dustina thinks she is our daughter as well. Even though Chase moved away two years ago, Dustina still routinely walks into our home unannounced, goes straight to the refrigerator to get something to eat, and plops down at the computer to do homework.  We’ve gotten to the point that we hardly notice this anymore.  When you place Chase and Dustina along side Jamie and my wife, our house suddenly seems very small and I find that I’m suddenly back to living in an estrogen-intensive environment. Thank God none of them are pregnant.

I’m not really complaining. It’s actually nice to be surrounded by four beautiful women. And none of them were trying to kill me the way they often were at the Children’s home, so that’s a nice bonus as well.

Even though I’m a decorated veteran of the gender wars, I’m still completely baffled by some female behaviors.

The five of us were getting ready to go out to a Theater Tulsa production Saturday evening when Chase, Dustina, and my wife suddenly decided to play “dress up” with Jamie. They approached this endeavor with the manic glee of a bi-polar meth addict on a Starbuck’s double espresso binge. 200 clothes, make up, and jewelry changes later we were finally ready to leave. Guys NEVER play dress up with each other. If a group of guys were getting ready to attend a formal dinner at the White House and one of them mistakenly put their underwear on over the top of their tuxedo trousers, I guarantee none of the others would say a word to him.

I also never cease to be amazed at the sheer number of words that can be produced when a group of women get together. If they are all talking at once, how can they understand each other? A perfect case in point: I’m writing this on flight from Tulsa to Chicago and there are three women seated in the row behind me on their way to a convention. We are about an hour into the flight and the flight attendant just came by to manually lower the oxygen masks in their row because they haven’t shut up long enough to catch a breath and they were complaining of being light headed. A group of guys can go fishing together and spend a 12 hour day saying nothing to each other besides “pass me a beer” and reflect back on the day as a time of rich bonding and meaningful communication.

Well, I guess I’d better put my laptop away before I use it to beat the women behind me to death. I should probably refrain from that because the beating might release estrogen into the cabin and I wouldn’t want to be guilty of endangering the other passengers.

(To my female readers…this was written with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek. Please don’t send a suicide bomber packing an estrogen based IED my way.)

Tulsa, Oklahoma

106°F at 4:42 p.m.

  Heat Index – 113°F 

I’m Melting!!!

THESE WERE JUST TOO GOOD NOT TO POST

OUR LEADERS IN DRAG

THE INVISIBLE MAN

I have lots of experience hanging out with a teenage boy; I hung out with my son all his life. I have very limited experience, however, hanging out with a teenage girl (two weeks now).  I can point to one very significant difference:

I’m getting much better service in restaurants, convenience stores, and gas stations.

Being a nondescript middle aged man, I’m used to being invisible. We are a cheap commodity like white bread or soy beans…marginally useful, but not very interesting. As customers, we are just another face; a person to be dealt with, and more likely than not, we’re prone to be jerks. Therefore, I’m used to dealing with clerks who mumble and never bother to even look me in the face. That’s all changed now.

An incident that occurred yesterday afternoon is a perfect example. I picked up our foster daughter Jamie after summer school and we stopped at a convenience store for gas and something to drink.  The young man behind the counter looked up at me as I walked into the store but did not acknowledge my existence. Just as he was looking back down, however, he caught sight of Jamie’s 5’ 8” 110 lb frame, encased in tight jeans and a tank top, and his demeanor radically changed.  Suddenly it was; “Hello! How are you guys today? Is there anything I can help you find?” He was talking in my direction, but his eyes never left Jamie. He cheerfully rang up our purchase, and invited us to come back “really soon!”  

Annoying little prick…

The same scenario repeated itself virtually verbatim when we stopped at a fast food establishment for a snack later in the evening. Jamie wanted a frosty, but the frosty machine was broken. The young man behind the counter almost hurt himself apologizing to Jamie for the horrible inconvenience.  If I had ordered the frosty, it would have been “you’re shit out of luck, mister.”

There is only one convenience store clerk that ever flirts with me. It’s the 400 lb, tattoo covered, Indian woman who works at the EZ Mart down the street from where I live. She always calls me “sweetheart” or “honey” when she rings up my purchase. But then again, she calls everybody “sweetheart” or “honey” when she rings up their purchase.

If I had known I would receive service this much better with a cute teenaged girl in tow, I would have hired one a long time ago.

I’m also finding that I’m uncomfortable with any male attention that Jamie gets that I perceive as being even slightly testosterone based. Therefore, Jamie, if you’re reading this, I have no choice but to wrap you in electric fencing until you graduate from High School. I know it seems a little extreme, but it’s for your own good.

SNAKE OIL

Step right up! Don’t be shy!

Friends…let me ask you a question. Are you a bed wetter? Do you suffer from erectile dysfunction? Or, as we say here in the heartland of America, are you just ate up with stupid? Well, I’ve got the answer. Just a single tablespoon of my magical snake oil elixir will dry up you and your mattress, give you a world class stiffie, and add 20 points to your I.Q. (giving you a total of 80).  You can’t buy my product in stores (due to those pesky FDA regulations) but you can buy it online. This product regularly sells for over a quarter of a million dollars, but it’s yours today for only $9.95 (plus $100.00 shipping and handling). If you act quickly, I’ll throw in a set of Ginzu steak knives, and a free Flowbee!  All of your problems can magically go away. Why wait? Act today!

A radio spot I heard today promising “immediate results” reminded me of one of my biggest pet peeves…our national obsession with the “quick fix.” We want to solve every problem in our lives with a magic pill that works immediately and requires absolutely no effort. Two minutes of Google searching yielded the following internet claims:

“If you feel that changing your diet and exercising just isn’t for you, you are not alone. Lose up to 20 lbs in 30 days or it’s free! Its doctor recommended! It’s guaranteed!”

“You can change your spouse and have a better marriage in just ten minutes…learn how.”

“Earn a recognized degree based on life experience from Belford University in only seven days!”

Don’t get me wrong. I like microwave ovens, high-speed internet, and the commuter lane on the expressway as much as the next guy, but why is quicker always better?

“Quicker” has spawned a generation of young adults swimming in debt because they can’t wait a few years for the big house and the fancy car. “Quicker” has presaged a million divorces because working out your problems and growing as a couple takes too much damn time and effort. “Quicker” has started hundreds of wars because loading a gun or dropping a bomb is so much less time consuming than diplomacy.  We live in a world of Snake Oil cures, Snake Oil philosophies, and Snake Oil politics.

Belief in Snake Oil makes us think that our lives will only be complete once we have a certain “thing” or solve a certain “problem”; and if we can do it quickly and with no effort, why not?  The problem with that kind of thinking is that it causes us to live in a future that never comes and in doing so; we miss the “now”. And, in truth, the “now” is all we really have.

I know of what I speak because I’m often guilty of looking for the quick fix, or for instant gratification. I’m determined, however, to take pride in the work it takes to accomplish a goal, to live in the present, and to always enjoy the “process.”  I’m determined to change, and, by God, I want to change RIGHT FRIGGIN NOW!!!

MI FAMILIA

Sorry…after a week in Mexico I’m still trying to use some of the 12 Spanish words I learned in High School.

Mi familia is expanding. Our new foster daughter Jamie has arrived! She’s an absolute delight and we are thrilled that she is finally here. She’s a Mountain Dew addict like I am, so it’s great to have someone in the house to share my vice with.

Here’s a couple of pics:

Jamie is an accomplished artist. I scanned in one of her sketches (Goku from Dragon Ball Z):

Jamie will be a Junior in High School this year and we are in the midst of getting her enrolled, getting her room set up, etc. I’m in midst of getting used to living in a house full of women.

If you have a second, leave a comment and help me welcome Jamie to our family.