As men, one of are traditional defining (and obviously somewhat sexist) claims to fame has been that we make decisions. We make bold, direct, defining decisions with superhero chest puffed out that save the day. We adorn the cover of romance novels with perfect pecs, glorious McDreamy hair, the woman huddled into our arms as we command her love through our sheer manliness. (Including apparently deciding to never wear a closed shirt.) While a traditional cultural sexist interpretation, we feel it is still inherent in our testosterone archetype. With our command of the decision making, we go to the moon. We charge Heartbreak Ridge. We are Genghis Khans, founders of the Mongol Empire. Take these grand decisions away from us, and we lose our identity as the hunters and gatherers of the tribe.
Welcome to unemployment; the battle against losing our romance cover novel self decision making self. The enemy in this battle: Coffee.
Yes coffee.
I recently went to the grocery store to purchase my fiance's and I weekly supply of coffee. (Most important in that it is the fuel that keeps her running as the Alpha female of my life.) In purchasing coffee, my manhood decision making was quickly threatened and called into question.
To me, coffee is coffee. Its a healthy, legal stimulant that allows me to excel. To me, it all tastes the same. Its fuel. Apparently I was wrong.
So there I am, standing on my imaginary manhood hill, being assailed by row after row of the vast horde of coffee descriptions. One is a medium roast from South America. Wait, no, not just a medium roast from South America, but a coffee from the vast hidden Mayan hills that has hints of vanilla, chocolate, grass, made with love and sunshine. Or I can choose a Dark Roast from the dark continent of Africa that has a nose of bitter, strawberries, and conflict diamonds. Oh no! It doesn't end there! Now a light roast from Malaysia has entered into the fray with both hints AND aromas of unicorns dancing on rainbows while it showers Care Bears and gold doubloons.
WTF?!?!?!
I personally, have no clue what any of that means. I don't know what a dark roast versus a light roast means! I don't know why a coffee from South American is different than a coffee from South Africa. Maybe I don't have a developed pallet. But why the hell do I need a developed pallet for something that costs a $1.25 at 7/11?? A glass of wine, sure. That's $9 bucks. I better damn well have enough of a pallet to discern wine at that price. But coffee??
So now, in the middle of the grocery store, I am in a downward spiral. What do I choose?? What is the right coffee? If I choose the wrong coffee, what does that say about the rest of my manhood making decisions? Previously when I had a job, I could of been the lead role in a Michael Bay moving saying "That asteroid is going to destroy earth?? Not on my watch! I am going to punch that asteroid back to the galaxy in which it came from!!" Then I would hop on a NASA spaceship, lean out the portal window, and upper cut that asteroid back to God.
Not now. I am now reduced to my 4 year old self. Sniveling, almost crying, with a slight snot bubble coming out of my nose, looking around furious for my mommy to tell me which coffee will be the best and restore my manhood.
Then it happened. Over the loud speaker at the grocery store, Kate Perry speaking directly to me saying:
Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?
Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin
Like a house of cards, one blow from caving in?
Do you ever feel already buried deep?
Six feet under screams but no one seems to hear a thing
Do you know that there's still a chance for you
'Cause there's a spark in you?
You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine
Just own the night like the 4th of July
'Cause baby, you're a firework
Come on, show 'em what you're worth
Make 'em go, oh
As you shoot across the sky
Damn right I am a goddamn firework!!! While getting manhood inspiration from Kate Perry is questionable, its effect is without rebuttal. I don't give a shit what your shade your roast is and if it came from the buttholes of Polar Bears dancing at the north pole singing Christmas carols. I knew who I am. I can make decisions because I am a man.
Right there then, in the middle of the grocery store, my shirt came unbuttoned. My pecs swoll. A strong breeze came down the aisle, blowing my hair into a perfect quaff. I developed a Texas accent akin to John Wayne.
With bulging biceps and clear American determination in my eye, I took my coffee choice for purchase to the counter.
Grocery seller: "Is this all today?"
ME: "You are goddamn right it is."
I then walked out of the grocery store with my manhood restored and my coffee in hand. My purchase? The cheapest coffee I could find. Because that is who I am. I am a man who purchases the cheapest goddamn coffee because its fing coffee.
Today I hold my head high because of Kate Perry and cheap coffee.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Hitting Rock bottom...at Trader Joes
How you hit rock bottom as an out of work yuppie...
Today I hit rock bottom. Not the the "addicted to heroin, lying in the gutter, turning tricks on K Street for money to buy lululemon clothing" rock bottom, but much worse. "Yuppie out of work rock bottom".
As one of my duties as the stay at home husband, not brining home the bread winning money, I went to Trader Joes at 9 in the morning for our weekly grocery run. My attire; I was wearing flip flops, a worn hoody, and my J Crew Snow Flake pajama pants. Two year old pajama pants.
So I went to Trader Joes, purchasing some over priced Coffee that I really dont understand the description of (subject of a soon to be separate post), and made my way to the check out line. Keeping the above clothing attire description in mind, add to the fact I havent showered in awhile and may have a lazy man's beard.
While at the checkout line, the following conversation happened:
Very nice old woman (VNOW): OH excuse me young man. (Possible insert of british accent)
ME: Oh yes, how may I help you. (Possible dejected, loss of manhood, listening to Sarah McClachlan on my porch drinking wine voice)
VNOW: You seem to have something on your back.
ME: Oh yes?
VNOW: You seem to have a magazine subscription card on your back. (Possibly from my lying on my couch in a testosterone deficient state amongst back issues of People and InTouch magazine).
ME: Oh thank you, that is very sweet of you. (Possible tear in my eye)
VNOW: You okay young man? You seem upset.
ME: Yes, just mourning the loss of my manhood, Ill be okay. There are some new issues of the Big Bang Theory I havent seen yet. Leonard and Sheldon always cheer me up with their science/social akward hijinks.
After having completed my purchase, I decided to collect myself and do something positive to change my financial and hormone situation; buy a lottery ticket.
Wrong answer.
Upon going to the 7/11 I realized I don't even know how to buy a lottery ticket. So many choices. Pick 6. Pick 7. Pick 8. SuperBall. VA Lottery. Christmas Specials. Scratch Off. I quickly became overwhelmed with the magnatude of trying to pick a winning lottery ticket. I became so overwhelmed that all systems shut down in what I can imagine was some attempt by my brain to hit control-alt-delete and attempt to reboot.
Upon rebooting, instead of buying a lottery ticket, I bought Ben and Jerry's Funky Monkey ice cream.
Hope I have enough episodes of Big Bang Theory to last the whole bucket of Ice Cream.
Today I hit rock bottom. Not the the "addicted to heroin, lying in the gutter, turning tricks on K Street for money to buy lululemon clothing" rock bottom, but much worse. "Yuppie out of work rock bottom".
As one of my duties as the stay at home husband, not brining home the bread winning money, I went to Trader Joes at 9 in the morning for our weekly grocery run. My attire; I was wearing flip flops, a worn hoody, and my J Crew Snow Flake pajama pants. Two year old pajama pants.
So I went to Trader Joes, purchasing some over priced Coffee that I really dont understand the description of (subject of a soon to be separate post), and made my way to the check out line. Keeping the above clothing attire description in mind, add to the fact I havent showered in awhile and may have a lazy man's beard.
While at the checkout line, the following conversation happened:
Very nice old woman (VNOW): OH excuse me young man. (Possible insert of british accent)
ME: Oh yes, how may I help you. (Possible dejected, loss of manhood, listening to Sarah McClachlan on my porch drinking wine voice)
VNOW: You seem to have something on your back.
ME: Oh yes?
VNOW: You seem to have a magazine subscription card on your back. (Possibly from my lying on my couch in a testosterone deficient state amongst back issues of People and InTouch magazine).
ME: Oh thank you, that is very sweet of you. (Possible tear in my eye)
VNOW: You okay young man? You seem upset.
ME: Yes, just mourning the loss of my manhood, Ill be okay. There are some new issues of the Big Bang Theory I havent seen yet. Leonard and Sheldon always cheer me up with their science/social akward hijinks.
After having completed my purchase, I decided to collect myself and do something positive to change my financial and hormone situation; buy a lottery ticket.
Wrong answer.
Upon going to the 7/11 I realized I don't even know how to buy a lottery ticket. So many choices. Pick 6. Pick 7. Pick 8. SuperBall. VA Lottery. Christmas Specials. Scratch Off. I quickly became overwhelmed with the magnatude of trying to pick a winning lottery ticket. I became so overwhelmed that all systems shut down in what I can imagine was some attempt by my brain to hit control-alt-delete and attempt to reboot.
Upon rebooting, instead of buying a lottery ticket, I bought Ben and Jerry's Funky Monkey ice cream.
Hope I have enough episodes of Big Bang Theory to last the whole bucket of Ice Cream.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
A Draw...
Not sure whether I lost or won in today's battle for testosterone...
See recently, my Fiancee and I have decided to get a puppy. A cute, commercial product selling, advertisers dream, of grey fur and rainbows. Seriously that cute. Testosterone down one point. Seeing as he is a mutt, my saving hope is that he is part killer wolf mixed with a little "Ill rip your throat out at my masters command". Long term investment, if true, Testosterone market could go up as high as five points. But I digress...
As we are getting ready for the yet to be named puppy, obviously we need to stock up and kit this soon to be bad mofo up. So, being the Mr. Recycle that I am, I decided I was going to use a sweet piece of Maxpedition gear I had from a previous deployment, pictured immediately below. This bag is to be used as what my Fiancee refers to as,"his doggy bag". This is wrong. Its his "GO BAG". We fight a lot about the future of the puppy. Anyways, so here is below picture:
Now keep in mind, this bag used to carry some useful pieces of bad ass destruction and gear all in service of the US Government. This bag has seen three wars, serious sand, and serious dirt goblins. Previously, this bag carried all sorts of instruments that could be official classified as to "lighting your ass on fire", causing mayhem and destruction, and "bringing down the fiery rain of the red, white, and fing blue". But most importantly, it carried goddamn FREEDOM.
But as I am now unemployed, and have no further official capacity to or in any way legally able to call down the thunder and lighting of Justice and the American Way, I decided to save money (savings to be used later to buy some man dignity back) and reuse this sweet sweet tactical bag as the puppy's "GO BAG".
I think I have made a grave mistake.
Whereas the bag carried the above listed Testosterone boosting tools of ManBadAssNess, the bag now carries:
-Soft and Chewy Buddy Beef Biscuits
-Terrabone Edible Dental Chew Bones
-Omega Paw Treat ball (bright, highlighter pink)
-Mutt Mitt (so I can pick up the lesser intelligent animal's poo. Much like a welfare state or democrat policies)
-Go Dog Pink Dinosaur toy
The bag now looks like this:
So, does employing a previously used tactical bag as my puppy's "GO BAG" and calling said bag a "GO BAG" represent reclamation of some manhood? Does this enhance my puppy's standing at the dog park that his owner has a fashionable accessory that can go from war zone to dog park, all ready to wear? Or have I simply applied a band aid to my testoersone's sucking chest wound and given estrogen the battle disgracing my oh so badass bag of American awesomeness and destruction?
To be determined...
See recently, my Fiancee and I have decided to get a puppy. A cute, commercial product selling, advertisers dream, of grey fur and rainbows. Seriously that cute. Testosterone down one point. Seeing as he is a mutt, my saving hope is that he is part killer wolf mixed with a little "Ill rip your throat out at my masters command". Long term investment, if true, Testosterone market could go up as high as five points. But I digress...
As we are getting ready for the yet to be named puppy, obviously we need to stock up and kit this soon to be bad mofo up. So, being the Mr. Recycle that I am, I decided I was going to use a sweet piece of Maxpedition gear I had from a previous deployment, pictured immediately below. This bag is to be used as what my Fiancee refers to as,"his doggy bag". This is wrong. Its his "GO BAG". We fight a lot about the future of the puppy. Anyways, so here is below picture:
Now keep in mind, this bag used to carry some useful pieces of bad ass destruction and gear all in service of the US Government. This bag has seen three wars, serious sand, and serious dirt goblins. Previously, this bag carried all sorts of instruments that could be official classified as to "lighting your ass on fire", causing mayhem and destruction, and "bringing down the fiery rain of the red, white, and fing blue". But most importantly, it carried goddamn FREEDOM.
But as I am now unemployed, and have no further official capacity to or in any way legally able to call down the thunder and lighting of Justice and the American Way, I decided to save money (savings to be used later to buy some man dignity back) and reuse this sweet sweet tactical bag as the puppy's "GO BAG".
I think I have made a grave mistake.
Whereas the bag carried the above listed Testosterone boosting tools of ManBadAssNess, the bag now carries:
-Soft and Chewy Buddy Beef Biscuits
-Terrabone Edible Dental Chew Bones
-Omega Paw Treat ball (bright, highlighter pink)
-Mutt Mitt (so I can pick up the lesser intelligent animal's poo. Much like a welfare state or democrat policies)
-Go Dog Pink Dinosaur toy
The bag now looks like this:
So, does employing a previously used tactical bag as my puppy's "GO BAG" and calling said bag a "GO BAG" represent reclamation of some manhood? Does this enhance my puppy's standing at the dog park that his owner has a fashionable accessory that can go from war zone to dog park, all ready to wear? Or have I simply applied a band aid to my testoersone's sucking chest wound and given estrogen the battle disgracing my oh so badass bag of American awesomeness and destruction?
To be determined...
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