An Un-Valentine's Day Post

I was watching the movie Valentine's Day last weekend, which left me with more questions than answers:

1. Why do people keep hiring Ashton Kutcher to make movies?
2. Natalie Portman co-stars in Ashton Kutcher's latest film. What? Why? Are we sure she went to Harvard? I went to a state school and am not an actress, but if somebody offered me a role alongside Ashton Kutcher, I'd say "No thanks."
3. Jessica Biel and Jessica Alba in the same movie?! Was Jessica Simpson not available? I'm saying they're all terrible.

Anyway, if you haven't seen Valentine's Day--don't. Also, if you haven't seen Valentine's Day, you don't know that Ashton Kutcher plays a florist (I know, I know). It reminded me of a time that I worked in a flower shop and helped a clumsy man's attempt at romance. I don't want to spoil the ending, but it was a big, fat FAIL.

So, a jittery, nervous, dazed man wanders into the flower shop as if he's accidentally stumbled into Narnia. He wants flowers delivered to his wife at work as soon as possible, and chooses an arrangement from the cooler.

As I'm collecting delivery information and ask what he wants the card to say, he asks if he can handwrite the message. I offer him a blank card, and after several minutes of serious deliberation, he scrawls a message onto the card, folds it so the message is facing out, and hands it to me. It reads:

I can't believe you when you say you don't love me anymore.

Before you file for divorce, can we see a therapist

and try to work through our problems?

I flinched, and my eye twitched, the way it does when information is thrust upon me that is absolutely none of my business. I feel really uncomfortable. I look up, and locking eyes with the fidgety man, I ask, "Would you like to seal this in an envelope?"

"No," he says with a sudden surge of certainty and assertiveness. "I want her to see the message immediately."

"Oh, hell," I think to myself. No good can come from this. It's a good thing he has me. "Oh," I say, trying to carefully choose my words. "Don't you think she would prefer such a private message be...less visible to others?"  Hint, hint jackass! 

"No, no," he replies, becoming slightly squirmy. "It's important that she see this right away."

"I see. Umm, isn't this being delivered to a place of business?"

"Yes."

"And are there other people at this place of business, or is she the only person there?"

"No, it's a big office."

"Ok, so these flowers are going to be intercepted by a receptionist or a secretary, right?"

"Uh, yeah, probably."

"Alright, well here's what's going to happen. When flowers are delivered to an office, the women converge on the flowers like ants at a picnic. They love it. And in doing so, they're all going to read your deeply personal message to your wife. Then all the ladies in the office are going to know your wife's personal business. She's going to be mortified, and your grand gesture is going to backfire in a big way. I need you to trust me on this." Also, I think you need bigger flowers. I keep that thought to myself.

I slide an envelope across the table. He still refuses to sign it. Now I want to divorce him, too.

As soon as he leaves, I write his wife's name on the front of an envelope, and seal the card inside. He may be a complete moron whose marriage is about to implode, but I'm not going to help him embarrass his wife at work.

Us bitches gotta stick together.

Words Men Should Never Say

Are you ever having a conversation with a male co-worker, or perhaps on a date, or listening to a coach speak in a press conference after a ballgame, when a man says a word that makes you go "chicka-chicka-wha?!" It just sounds so...wrong.

I'm not referring to vulgarities or politically incorrect language. I'm talking about regular words in the English language, that when I hear a man say it, I want to tap him on the shoulder and say, "Excuse me, sir? Yeah, I'm gonna need you to hand over one of your 'Man Cards'. I'll give it back to you when you know how to use it." I used to work with a guy--he was such a sweetheart--but I was always having to confiscate his Man Cards and teach him how to talk. I think he appreciated my help.  

I find it very off-putting when I hear a grown man use the word "crap". "That's a load of crap!" It's so emasculating, it's like, profanity by Nickelodeon. I get that you don't want to say "shit" because you're in mixed company or on national television, but saying "crap" makes you sound so inarticulate. "Crap" is what a third grader says when they can't say what they really want to say. Use your words, and say what you really mean. Was it "ridiculous"? "absurd"? "a lie"? "an excuse"? It was not a load of "crap". Find a better word.

There are other words [heterosexual] men should never say, either because they're too feminine, or too specific, or they make a guy sound like a tool. I had some help from my husband and my brother in answering the question: What word do you never want to hear a man say? Oh, and they have actually heard other men say these words, that's their source material.

• crap
• cute
• outfit
• weep
• bro
• boink
• mommy
• blouse
• terrific
• [hair] product
• exquisite
• peep toe
• mojito
• mani-pedi
• fabulous
• taffeta
• yummy

What words have you heard a man use that made you pump the brakes?

I Just Borrowed Some Street Cred From Your Mom

Mom knows best, right? She knows which cough syrup to trust, which peanut butter is best, and a whole host of other really important things. Moms are so worldly and all-knowing, and not afraid to say it, like, "I'm a mom, I know what I'm talking about," and the moms in the room all share a knowing laugh, and the non-moms all feel like jackasses (not that this ever happened to me.)

Well, today I played the "Mom" card, and I must say, it felt great! I realize I'm using it more like a credit card, because I'm "writing a check with my mouth that my ass can't cash" when I make a statement backed up by my authority as a mother and I am unable to produce a child to prove I possess such expertise. I did it anyway. This paragraph is heavy with money metaphors. Will refrain from that going forward.

I work as for the Regional Vice President of a corporation that owns 1500 salons and spas in North America. And that's exactly how I'll spin it at my high school reunion (if I were going to my high school reunion.) I sit in an office in a day spa. I do paperwork. I listen to Pandora. I prop my feet up and drink a Starbucks Vanilla Latte. Sometimes I answer the phone. Sometimes, I help people.

Today, one of my most lovable co-workers bursts into my office workspace in a big gay frenzy. You see, he's been dealing with a man over the phone who wants to purchase a gift card for his wife for Mother's Day. This plan is problematic because:

1. Mother's Day is tomorrow
2. The man can't come in to pick up the gift card
3. It's Saturday, so we can't mail it in time
4. The man is hell-bent on giving this gift card to his wife tomorrow

This is a disaster! As my friend puts it (he drags all his words out to make them longer than necessary) "Ohhh myyyy goshhhhhhhh, I have been dealin' with this guy alllllllll morninnnnnn' whattttt do I sayyyyyyy to him?"

My first response: "Tell him to suck it." What, that's not helpful? Or polite? Fair enough. Then I said, "Ugh, men are so stupid. His wife doesn't care if he presents her with the actual gift card tomorrow, she just wants to know he paid for her spa day." My friend says, "I knowwwwww, I've been tryyyyin' to tell him thaaaaat." Ok, so we have a "talking in circles" situation. What to say, what to say... "Ok, tell him that I am a mother, and that I said for him to give her a card letting her know that she will be treated to a day at the spa, and assure him that we will have the gift card waiting for her when she arrives for her appointment. Tell him I said that his wife will be thrilled and won't mind one bit that she didn't receive the actual gift card. Ok?"

So he says, "Ok, sir? I'm just talking to one of the ladies who works here, and she's a mom so she knows what she's talking about, and she says..." Within two minutes, the transaction was processed and all was right with the world. My friend turns to me as he's leaving the office and says "Who would have thought, after all that, he just needed to hear it from a mom?" I am so pleased with myself right now. [Patting self on back]

Nutso in the Buttso

I've recently discovered that crazy takes a new form in a man named..."Chad." I'm gonna call him "Chad" because he's so freakin' nuts I don't even want to flirt with danger by naming him specifically. I may also refer to him by his original pseudonym, "Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy." Ya know what? I think I'll just call him that. It fits. Forget about "Chad". I am relieved to report that I am not the object of Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy's obsession. He has one of my co-workers in his cross-hairs. If I were the one he wanted, I wouldn't be blogging right now. I'd be busy arming myself with a taser gun, pepper spray, and rape whistle. Continue reading with a healthy mixture of amusement and horror.

Let me preface by saying that I work for a corporation that owns salons and spas throughout North America, and during my pregnancy I have been assisting the Regional Director as she opens a couple of new locations in the Dallas area. Normally it's a lot of fun and I enjoy meeting new people. Unfortunately, I have had a bad spell of luck this week and have unearthed a treasure trove of crazy, the likes of which I've never seen before.

The Scene: Wednesday afternoon at the mall. Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy paces back in forth in front of the salon for several minutes while loudly having what he must want known as "an important business call" on his mobile phone. You know, because he's an important business man. And don't all important business men conduct their business on their mobile phone at the mall in the middle of the afternoon? Bill Gates gets his best work done when he's standing between Forever 21 and Game Stop. I bet.

So, Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy stops loitering in front of the salon and strolls in asking for a haircut, as if on a whim. I'm sure it's an impulsive decison and not a plot he's been formulating for the past 15 minutes while standing in front of the salon on an important business call. Because he's an important business man. I just can't emphasize this point enough. Because he so clearly wanted me to know he's an important business man. I want you to know it, too.

His look is a carefully crafted one. He's a man in his mid-thirties of above-average height and above-average looks. And an above-average amount of hair product in his carefully coifed 'do. His perfectly starched dress shirt and smartly tied red tie say what his body language and conversation's subtext have been screaming for the past 15 minutes: "I am an important business man!"

One of my stylists takes Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy to her station, and the next 30 minutes pass without incident. As he's checking out, he gushes about what a terrific haircut he just got and how he'd happily pay double the price. He pays cash and tips generously, while conducting yet another important business call. He drops some impressive words and tidbits: clients, depositions, $30,000 checks. While he's discussing the $30,000 checks, he actually takes two checks out of his pocket totalling $30,000 and tosses them absent-mindedly onto the counter in front of me. Don't play it so casual, Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy. I know you threw those checks out for my benefit, and believe me, I am so impressed with you right now!

We wait until he's safely out the door and around the corner before we begin making fun of him. Take note, all you men out there: if you act like a goober who tries too hard to impress, you will be mocked mercilessly behind your back. The stylist tells us that he never shut up the entire time he sat in her chair. We couldn't hear any of it, but you can probably guess what he talked about -- important business man things. Also, he tells her that he had noticed her much earlier in the day when walking in the mall and had no idea she actually worked in the mall and cut hair. How serendipitous for Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy. He cushions this revelation with assurances that he is not a crazy stalker. We all share nervous, uneasy laughter. It's kinda funny, kinda not. He returns moments later, and because my face will betray me every time I try to conceal my thoughts, I know that all the color has drained from my face because I am certain he was lurking nearby and heard me laugh at what a crazy coke-head he acted like. And he certainly heard me question what an important business man is doing at the mall in the middle of the afternoon. Wouldn't someone of his stature have...I don't know...an assistant who he could have sent to the Apple store to do his bidding for him? Now he has returned with a rebuttal to my statements. How will I proceed from here? With caution, I decide. I am relieved when he walks past me and approaches the stylist. They briefly exchange words that I am unable to overhear (you know I tried.)

Once Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy is gone (for real this time) we learn that in his coked-out haze he has forgotten where he parked. But he remembers he followed our stylist into the mall, so if she would be so kind as to tell him where she parked, he may locate his car and get back to the office, where undoubtedly important business man duties await him.

At this point you're probably saying, "You're right, Sam, this guy is nutso in the buttso!© " And my reply to you would be, "You haven't heard the worst of it!" Fast forward to this morning: my stylist walks into the salon and slaps onto the counter a business card with a handwritten note scribbled on the back:

"Hey there just wanted to thank you for the talk enjoyed- I want to take you out soon just dinner, you can google me. I am not a crazy person but you are amazing"

"You can Google me?" Evidently, Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer guy is not a lawyer at all, but the President of his own company. And if that weren't impressive on it's own, he's also adept at breaking into cars, because this business card/love note/proposition was sitting in the driver's seat of her (locked) car!  ...and...cue the comparisons to famous psychos of American cinema. She asked me, "Do you think he'll come back again for a haircut?" and I replied, "Of course he'll be back, how else does he expect to make a lampshade out of you?" Too soon for a Silence of the Lambs joke? For answers to that question and more, I consulted my brother, Jarred, Three Mutts and a Baby's resident expert in appropriate humor and sensitivity training. He suggested that "she should get really drunk and help him move. That will end well for her."

I do not know what the future holds for our stylist and Crazy Coked-Out Lawyer Guy, but I predict it ends in a restraining order.

*Nutso in the Buttso © copyright 2010 | Jarred

To Put It Bluntly...

I spent some time with a old co-worker last week, and it was so great so see her and catch up! After exchanging the "so, what have you been up to?" and "have you talked to so-and-so lately?" stories, the conversation turned down this path:

Friend: Do you remember me telling you about my ex-boyfriend?
Me: Yeah, sure.
Friend: I mean...do you remember what I told you about my ex-boyfriend?
Me: Well yeah, I mean, I can't recall specifics...but...didn't you basically tell me how he's just a...steaming-hot bowl of crazy?
Friend: Yeah. We're back together.
Me: I'm so happy for you!

We had a good laugh at that one. At least she has a sense of humor. But seriously, what do you say to the girl whose ex-boyfriend (who stole her identity, went to jail, blah, blah, blah) waltzes back into her life and sweeps her off her feet? I think they're headed for a storybook ending.

What's Your Fantasy?

So, Steve is in the middle of his first year participating in fantasy league. We realize he's a little late to the party, but he's jumped into it with gusto. He got his feet wet during football season, made people take notice during basketball season, and now he is poised for greatness as he embarks on baseball season. Since he has internet on his Google phone, he is able to obsessively monitor his score from anywhere. And he does. One of the highlights for him each season is the draft, and (more importantly) the choosing of the team name right before the draft. This is the part where I participate. I'm proud to say I have made the winning suggestion for each team name to date, and now it's time to reveal the name for baseball season! But first, a brief history and methodology on the fantasy team names:

For his football team, I reached into my memory bank and reminded him of a team name he had used once before -- for a group project in high school. His teacher thought that Fighting Syphilis was an inappropriate name for a team, but when a seventeen year-old Steve declared that "Van Gogh fought syphilis, and so will we!" Well...you just can't argue with that.

When preparing for fantasy basketball, I threw out a whimsical suggestion that I never thought he'd go for...Suspicious Mole. I thought the double entendre was just silly enough for him to like it, and I was right. But when the time came for him to sign up, he absent-mindedly submitted Curious Mole instead...is the mole inquisitive? I do not know, but regardless of this oversight, Curious Mole has dominated in the league and I could not be more proud.

With baseball season quickly approaching, I "stepped up to the plate" and offered up yet another suggestion. It's sure to be a winner! Only this time, I noticed a pattern forming and used that to create his baseball season team name:

Descriptor + Medical Condition = Fantasy Team Name

I'm generalizing here a bit, because I really couldn't say if a mole would be classified as a "medical condition" but you get the point. So, without futher delay, Steve's Fantasy Baseball team name is...

Temporary Paralysis

Conversations with My Boo

Don't you just love it when you and a friend or loved one are just so in synch that a knowing glance or a brief exchange of words can communicate volumes in a way that others wouldn't understand? In honor of our fourth wedding anniversary, here's a transcript of a little convo I had with Steve the other day:

Me: Guess what?!
Steve: There is no telling with you.
Me: This news is sure to rock your world.
Steve: I have no doubt.
Me: Your 2nd favorite actor is starring in a remake of a film that originally starred your 1st favorite actor.
Steve: (pause) Russell Crow is starring in a remake of a Kevin Costner movie?
Me: Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! Am I good or what?
Steve: You're pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?
Me: I am!
Steve: So what movie is it? It's not Dances with Wolves?
Me: No, no. Don't worry. Your precious Wolves remain untampered with for now.
Steve: You better watch your mouth. Dances with Wolves is The Best.
Me: Yeah, yeah, you've mentioned that. Let me be more accurate: He's not so much remaking the film as he is reprising a role made famous by Costner. And Cary Elwes. And an animated fox.
Steve: Robin Hood? What?! That's greatness.
Me: Yeah, it's sure to be an instant classic. But I will always maintain that Disney did it best.
Steve: Of course. You're a ginger kid.

Who's your favorite Robin Hood?

Griddle Me This, Batman

Brinner. It's "breakfast for dinner" and it's this expectant mama's favorite meal. Steve teased me when I unwrapped this Cuisinart Griddler from our wedding gifts. He also mocked my waffle iron. Martha Stewart I am not, but on the eve of our fourth wedding anniversary I am dusting off this griddler and showing off my mad pancake-making skills. Who's laughing now, punk?

Even Laney is getting in on the brinner action. This is how she likes to relax after a meal:

   

This griddler is also a panini press, which my brother characterizes as a "gay toast sandwich". While you should not expect the men in your life to allow you to make them a panini (believe me, I've tried) I still recommend you pick up one of these bad boys.

While we're on the subject of my man, I'd like to take the opportunity to dedicate this post to Steve. He took a moment to glance at my "cute" blog last night and concluded that I must not love him very much if all I've blogged about are the dogs...so let's make this post about HIM!

Isn't he handsome?! He's been told he looks like Noah Wyle! What do you think? Also, he's 15-2 17-2 in his fantasy baskeball league, he's a really good golfer, and he makes the best grilled cheese sandwich ever. What more can I say? He's a catch!