Men, boys, or anyone of the male persuasion, please stop reading right now.
No, I mean it. Stop. You are going to get your tender feelings hurt if you keep reading.
Okay - but I warned you.
Get your hankies out then, dudes.
WHEN A WOMAN CLEANS THE KITCHEN AFTER DINNER:
- She unloads the dishwasher and takes care of the clean dishes.- She scrapes, rinses, and places all plates, glasses, silverware in an orderly fashion that will ensure a thoroughly complete washing by the machine.
- She runs the garbage disposal to ensure no back-up when the machine runs.
- She fills the machine with detergent, sets it on the proper cycle for the load, and begins it.
- She washes by hand as necessary any large pots, pans and lids that cannot fit in the washing machine.
- She dries and puts away the aforementioned pots, pans and lids.
- She wipes down the stove, the counters, the kitchen island.
- She sweeps the floor, and wipes up any spills.
- She empties the trash, and takes it out to the container in the garage or on the street..
WHEN A MAN CLEANS THE KITCHEN AFTER DINNER:
- He sticks as many dishes as will fit, regardless of what is already in the dishwasher or if they are possible already washed, higgly-piggedly on top of each other.
- He leaves any large pots, pans and lids that do not fit on the counter or the stove.
- He doesn't even think about running the garbage disposal, checking the dishwasher settings, or taking out the overflowing trash.
- And if having a really good day, begins the dishwasher.
What prompted this sexist post?
It wasn't even washing the dishes.
My husband, bless his sweet little heart, browned the hamburger for our sloppy joes while I was driving home from the doctor's appointment yesterday.
And when I, the female in the house, did the dishes that night, I didn't understand why the skillet was so incredibly encrusted and difficult to clean.
Then I realized something.
He had obviously browned the hamburger and stirred it... maybe twice in the entire process. Burning the pan.
Why are men so difficult... nay, impossible to house-train?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
SNIPS OF SNAILS AND PUPPY DOG TAILS
at 19:09 1 comments
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
STEREOTYPICAL
Last night I was (SURPRISE!) in the drive-thru line at Dairy Queen because I was feeling..
1) unappreciated,
2) sorry for myself, and
3) angry at my spouse.

I know, I know; someone, please tell me there is a twelve-step program out there for this, and send me the website address.

testosterone glands judging by the amount of underarm hair in plain view....
at 22:30 0 comments
Labels: avocados, ice cream, Men, paper shredder, truck
Thursday, March 19, 2009
MEN ARE FROM MARS, PART IXX
Let's just say that there is a word.And how about we make these words be potato chip.
Now to you, and me, and most other English-speaking individuals (well, except the British with the whole chips/ fries/ crisps bit), a potato chip is a slice of potato, fried and salted.
Right? You and I agree on that, okay?
So suddenly in through the front living room window crashes in this huge weirdly-marked extraterrestrial from some distant galaxy. Totally uninvited. Distinct odor. Like bad eggs and extremely full diapers. May

But no politeness, right into your space.
And to HIM, and all of the aliens like him from his corner of the universe, the word potato chip is the equivalent of filming your mother sexually active on prime time television with Jerry Lewis (i.e. not good).
You explain to this alien that no, potato chip means, well, potato chip here o

The galactic visitor refused to accept your explanation, immediately contacts all his warships in space, threatens to leave the entire earth in nuclear annihilation, and leaves, slamming the bedroom door, in complete and utter disgust, and refuses to talk to you the rest of the night.
Anyone got a better explanation?
at 21:10 0 comments
Labels: aliens, Men, potato chips
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
ASKING A BLIND MAN FOR DIRECTIONS



at 20:41 1 comments
Labels: blueberry tart, boy, clean, Men
Friday, February 20, 2009
POSITION OPEN
NEEDED TO START IMMEDIATELY: Hard working self-starter for chores, decision making, decorating and repairs. Must be a professional-trained nutritionist, personal fitness trainer, motivational speaker and voice coach.
I'm tired of being the one who is always in charge.
One of the nicest things about being in vacation is that you don't have to do the things you detest. If your laundry piles up, hey, it's vacation. The walls that need to painted, the microwave which was bombed last night by someones left-overs, the film of dust on the piano... none of it has to be addressed.
The sagging stomach muscles, the skimming of important documents - when I get home, I promise.
You can take the second dessert without any guilt - stay up late talking because you don't have to get up early tomorrow. You obviously have earned the time off, so why worry.
Which only worsens coming back to the waves of unfinished laundry, stacked piles of unopened mail, empty cupboards, animal hair everywhere.
Suddenly you have to acknowledge the scale which says yes, you still have 45 lbs. to lose - the mirror that screams, WHY HAVE YOU NOT BEEN MOISTURIZING - the church that whispers, you don't have your two grandchildren as an excuse anymore, you need to attend your meetings!
But our heating system is what began this train of thought. It's sort of like a faithful wife - you don't her until she is gone. This winter has been a particularly cold one, and our trustworthy little heater just keeps grinding on and spewing forth slightly warm air until the requested temperature is reached, and then shuts off with only one small gasp.
And yesterday, she seemed to be working just fine; at least the groan was familiar. It was a cold day, but I was accustomed to wearing three shirts, so I didn't notice any change.
Until it was 11:30 p.m., and when I walked back in the house after saying good night to Najale and Sally. And opening the front door, anticipating that nice rush of warm air.... in vain.
Some of you must have husbands who at least pretend to be a handyman. Who stare knowingly at the gauges, bang the machine with something silvery, take some things off and place theses greasy, dirty parts right on the newly cleaned carpet. That take two trips to Ace Hardware, come back with various mechanical pieces that turn out to be part c-117 and NOT the essential part C-118.
And then you call in a professional to fix the stupid thing - it takes him 12 minutes, and costs you $178.00.
My husband's honesty in this area should be commendable, but it drives me NUTS.
"Hey, honey, the heater isn't working!"
And that's it.
So then I am the one who has to stare knowingly at the gauges, bang the machine with something silvery, and take the two trips to Ace Hardware.
Fortunately, I, being the superior sex, also unplugged and replugged every wire I could see, cleaned out the fan area and rebooted the entire system.
And it worked.
I dust off my hands and sit back down in proud superiority.
at 08:13 0 comments
Labels: home, Men, repairs, whole wheat, women
Sunday, December 21, 2008
WANNA BET ON THAT?
There a lot of differences between men and women.
No, let me rephrase that. There are hardly any similarities between men and women. It isn't "women are from Venus, men are from Mars" - women are from Earth, and men are from a galaxy far, far away that obviously still operates under primeval laws of survival.But tonight, a man (read that "primitive life form") tried to convince me that his wife (read "mature intelligent adult"), whom I also have known for the past, uh, let's see, nine plus years (read that "know from personal experience to be a awesome woman"), would NOT pay any reasonable airfare to see any potential (read that "now with two married children, bounded to happen soon") grandchildren.
HA!
I have discovered the reward for not killing our own children through their terrible-twos, the fiendish fours, stinking sevens, terrible tens, precocious pre-adolescents, temper-tantrum-throwing teenagers and all-knowing-and-condescending young adult....
... is that eventually, hopefully, they give you wonderful, incredible and dear grandchildren that you can nurture, spoil and just generally fall in love all over again.
at 20:28 1 comments
Labels: children, grandparent, Men, women