Friday, July 11, 2008

Men Play the Game; Women Know the Score

On Wednesday, my good buddy Wicked Thistle and I met up with our respective laptops at a local coffee shop with the goal of eating overpriced pastries and sipping trendy, overpriced caffeinated drinks. And to eventually stop gossiping, eating, and sipping, and maybe tap out some writerly-type stuff on our laptops.

Wicked is a full time teacher and a closet writer. I’m a most-of-the-time writer and a not-so-closet shoe fetishist, which is ironic much, because on those rare occasions when I muster up enough cojones to actually sit down and calculate my really real per hour pay? I shouldn’t be buying a newspaper much less a pair of these:


Normally, I’d never go to a coffee shop with my laptop to write. When I have an assignment, I write at home. On my iMac. In my running clothing because while there may be just enough time to get in a workout before the day starts, there most certainly isn’t enough time to change and shower. Yew. I know. Glamorous.

Anyway, there are several reasons why I make an exception for Wicked:

A. She is a most excellent writer and when I am around her, I am inspired to excellence. Or at least shorter sentences.

B. She never, ever, ever finishes an entire piece of cake and since we know each other well enough by now to share girl germs, that means I get extra.

C. She is two years into a relationship with a man who sounds suspiciously similar to Moi’s own enginemeering-type Spousal Unit, and therefore the path she is treading is one upon which I have already tripped. In flats. Which means I get to have a laugh or two.

So as a prelude to writing, Wicked and I did the gossip thing, and then the what do our recyclables say to the neighbors about our drinking habits thing, and then the, well we’re not really all that bothered by Daniel Craig’s small headedness (and do these celebretard types, like, Google themselves in their off hours, and, if so, do you think there's a chance DC's lawyers would send an email asking us to cease and desist in our disparaging talk about his body parts?) thing, and then, one final thing before actually writing, the All About Our Spousal Units thing.

During which convo I made an observance that isn’t it interesting how some men, upon tipping over into the big 4-Uh-O territory, also seem at the same time to turn ever so slowly into curmudgeons when it comes to the goings-on in the world?

I said to Wicked that I’m not sure I could handle it if, in our twilight years, S.B. morphed from Super Duper Sexy Calm Guy into Bat Shit Crazy Yelling at the Television Guy. Especially if said morphing involved the frequent use of the phrase “back in my day” and the wearing of those weird ass polyester jumpsuits with the little belts at the waist.

Even if S.B. does it during our really, really twilight years together, that is still no excuse, because even at eighty bazillion years of age I will have nonetheless doggedly upheld MY end of the bargain by not putting myself out to pasture with buckets of Ben and Jerry’s and all-you-can-eat buffets with the girls. In other words, I will most likely fool myself into thinking I still have a shot at the tennis pro down the road (an attitude predicated, of course, on there being mucho plastic surgery breakthroughs within the next forty years.)

And while Wicked did give me her classic, “Good grief, what planet are you from?” look, she did eventually have to agree that this would, indeed, be a relationship killer of epic proportions.

Naturally, the conversation then swung 'round to present day annoyances, like the way our spousal units flip with white lightening speed through the channels whenever commercials pop up and how that is, in actuality, tremendously more irritating than actually watching the commercials themselves.

Which is when I dispensed yet another brilliant piece of relationship advice: Always, always, always be on the lookout for ever more clever ways to mess with your man’s mind. In other words: hide the remote. It's the marital equivalent of putting peanut butter on the roof of the dog’s mouth. You’ll only get away with it a couple of times, but those couple times? Priceless.

So, I want to know: what's your relationship equivalent of peanut butter?


The Poet Laura-eate said...

But SURELY there must be such a thing as sexy shoes a girl can WALK in!

Sexy shoes suitable for both officewear and traipsing around building sites (for my day job) are what this dame yearns to find! A forlorn dream, I guess.

But shoes a girl can't walk in are a failure in design to me. And all that grimacing whilst trying to wear them can hardly be sexy either. While I'll suffer for beauty up to a point I've yet to meet the man worth enduring 8' heels for!

moi said...

Ooo, blob jinx. I was just over at your place.

Yes, those shoes are called Naturalizers. But I'm not sure you can get them Across da Pond.

h said...

Lemmy IS the game!

A long time ago, I dated (and slept with) a LAZY girl who didn't like to rise at dawn.

She didn't wear a watch, so I'd advance the time on the clocks as much as 5 hours to get her LAZY ass out of bed.

I wasn't much of a Christian back then.

NYD said...

Answering that question might just be tempting the fates a little too much.

I think I'll just hide that jar of Skippy and make certain that my sweetness in life, my shining light never discovers it.

Doris Rose said...

oh yeah, peanut butter...I forgot. good idea.

the Dread Pirate Rackham said...

love and accept each other just the way you are.

that is all.

oh and the occasional bj apparently doesn't hurt.

the Dread Pirate Rackham said...

wait. what was the question?

the Dread Pirate Rackham said...

also - how come you didn't CAWL MEEEE???? I'd totally come park my ass in a coffee shop and share cake with y'all!

moi said...

Troll: That's a good trick. Consistently late people who do not mend their evil ways will end up in a lake of fire to fry.

NYD: Woman's got cha scared, does she?

Doris: Miss Thang will just think it's FUN! Tundra Dog, now she's one I'd watch out for. That dog is capable of revenge.

Pirate: Lord, girl, you back in town? I can't keep us with where you're flying/running/biking/swimming to these days. I'm almost always in town on Wednesdays. Let's Eat Cake!

moi said...

UP. Keep UP with where you're off to. Gah, it is most definitely Friday and the spell check center of my brain has abandoned Moi for the sofa, Fresca, and puffy Cheetos.

Jenny said...

I'm stuck in the shop, so no time to think of a proper comment.. but I love your new picture.

And I can eat an entire slice of cake in one bite!

xxoo - Happy Friday.

Bretthead said...

40 is the new 30.

Clutter on the kitchen island. Drives her batty.

moi said...

AB: And I can eat an entire slice of cake in one bite! Just one of the many reasons why we are friends.

WTWA: Good one. Clutter anywhere, of any kind, usually drives the female of the species insane. Oh, and for some men, 40 is the new 15.

czar said...

Can I just share two of the wonderful comments that I have heard from my spouse during our cohabitation/marriage?

1. "Try this." (I try it.) "Don't you think it tastes like poison?"

2. "Oh, by the way, I hit a pedestrian today."

Wicked Thistle said...

I have only now been able to get up off the floor from laughing so hard. Thanks, as always, for your hard-earned and valuable advice about messin' wit da man for the pure pleasure of watching him squirm. It was fully worth the loss of that end piece of key lime pie. I have been far too lenient, and it is time for a change. Inner demon, activate!

I'd love to write more but I've got to go take 90% of my wine bottles out of the recyclables and sneak them into my neighbor's pile.

Aunty Belle said...

Wicked has been an' --ah--wicked influence on ya' to judge by yore un-snow white image! (Jes' kiddin')Akshully, I'se jealous of the ad hoc writer's conference.

This were hilarious--yore poor SB...high standards to meet.

Wait a, wait. What is the difference a'tween "buckets o' Ben and Jerry's" and eatin' the rest of WickyThis' cake and your'n too?

moi said...

Czar: I'm always making SB sniff and taste stuff. He's impervious to e. coli.

Wicked: Between the two of us, I bet we could teach a writing class. In rehab.

Aunty: Don't worry; Snow White is always with me :o). As for the cake, that's why I run. And run. And swim. And bike. And cruise on an awfully speedy metabolism. May not be able to do all that when I'm 80.

sparringK9 said...

did somebody say "cake"?

sparringK9 said...

moi i dont get what xdell is saying to me. can you tell me since you got the joke? keep it to 6th grade level please. grherha