Ordering Out

My wife is so weird in some ways.

For example, she ordered Chinese food, and I’ve just picked it up.  Normally, when food arrives, the bag is ripped open, and people descend upon it.  Then they start to scarf their meals like a pack of hungry wild dogs.

Not my wife.  She continues doing whatever she was doing before the food arrived.  It’s a lot like how a cat will feign disinterest in dinner and then sneak in later to gulp down the food.

I can’t abide this behavior.  So I’ve decided to leave her alone and write this blog post about it.  Let’s see how long it takes for her to start her meal. 

Is this difference in behavior a male/female thing?  Is it because she’s from New England and I’m from New York, where we open a box of pizza, take a piece, fold it in half, and rip out a huge bite while walking away, causing painful burns on the roof of our mouths in the process?

I came home with the food at least 15 minutes ago.  She asked just now, “Do you want to eat with me in the living room?”  “Okay, sure.”   Then she walked in the opposite direction of the kitchen.

Now she’s back in my office with a fistful of papers that need to be filed.  She’s talking about hiring a new helper.

[tick, tick, tick…] Now, finally, I hear her in the kitchen, more than twenty minutes after I’ve set the Chinese food onto the table.  But still there’s no indication that food is on her mind.

It’s as if the food is a visit to the dentist, or a tax return to be filed.  Why is she avoiding it?

I’m shaking my head in total confusion.

[much time passes]

She finally sits down.  Then she abruptly gets up, “I forgot a plate for the cat.”

She sits down again.  Then, once again, she abruptly gets up, “I forgot my drink.”

She sits.  She fidgets a bit, then uses the remote to switch channels.  Commercial.  Switch.  Commercial.  Switch.  Commercial.  All this time she’s still not eating.

Finally she started to eat more than 30 minutes after I came home with the food.

Book Review: “I’m Fine: A Practical Guide to Managing Your Emotions,” by Rob Nugen

This is a book written for men, and written by a man describing his life experience.  It's a book that every man should read.  I know that sounds cliché; in fact one of the endorsements says "A must read for every man"

I liked how the book was structured.  Between the foreword and closing words, it's divided into five parts, which are broken into chapters and subdivided into small sections.  I was able to read just one section if I was lacking time, and then when I returned to it, I was able to get re-oriented easily.

I expected to read the first part, or a few chapters, and then post a preliminary review.  And that review would have consisted of what I just wrote previously, plus a comment on how easy it is to read and the lack of typos.  And then I'd read through the rest quickly before "Paying it Forward."

But then I started to identify with the author's life experiences.  This is what went through my head:

I'm not the only one who tried to please everyone.  I'm not the only one who did something foolish while driving my parents' car.  I'm not the only one who endured demeaning treatment from a high school girl.  I'm not the only one who thought "My life is over..." after hearing my partner say she's pregnant.  (Except in my case I said it out loud.)

I started therapy a few years ago.  At the beginning of each session, my therapist would ask, "So, how do you feel?"  And I'd reply, "I dunno, okay I guess."  Gradually I learned that the stomach pains I experienced prior to a meeting with the boss weren't caused by food; they evolved from a severe aversion to episodes of humiliation.  When I was laid off and finally walked out of the building, the weight of all that lifted.

The author's discussion of fear was my favorite part of the book.  As I wrote on my blog¹, fear can point you in the direction of growth.  But if you succumb to fear, it can hold you back.  So it was easy for me to accept the author's idea that other "emotions are messengers, not problems."²

The author encourages his readers to pass the book along to another man.  But I'm not sure I'm willing to give up my copy so quickly.

---

¹ https://square--peg.blogspot.com/2013/06/fear-as-ally.html
² https://www.robnugen.com/en/books/im-fine/

This review was posted to LibraryThing on 2026-02-11.
I received a free signed copy of this book in order to write this review.

Alternate Advice

I read the “Ask Amy” advice column nearly every day.  Yesterday's column kept gnawing at me to respond with “Alternate Advice.”  Let's start with the letter from the advice seeker:

Dear Amy: My wife and I love the beach. We walk on the beach, kayak and picnic, and in the summer we swim. 

When it's hot, and the beach is crowded, my wife invariably asks me, "Are you checking out that girl in the bikini?"

I always say no, which is a lie she sees right through. An argument ensues, dampening our otherwise beautiful day.

I am in my 50s. I have no delusions of long-term futures with young girls (or anyone else) on the beach, but I love to look at attractive females. I try, apparently unsuccessfully, to be discreet, but my natural instinct is to stand and applaud. I know I sound like a dirty old man, but I doubt I am alone.

So, how can I be honest and not hurt my wife? And can we still go to the beach?
-- Lying on the Beach

This would be my response:

Dear Lying: You're not alone.  First, get a pair of dark, wrap-around sunglasses.  A hat is not enough to protect your eyes from the sun, a lot of which is reflected off the water and sand.  Plus, they'll afford you some privacy from your creepy wife.

Yes, I think your wife is creepy.  Here's a woman who, situated in a relaxing natural environment, is too obsessed with what you're thinking to pay much attention to the limitless sand and surf, the sea breeze, the variety of people.  This tells me that she is way too insecure or she wants to pick a fight with you. 

Here's how I would react.  First I would blatantly admit (without being defensive) that I was checking out the girl in the bikini.  Then I'd follow up with one or more of the following (or something similar): 

“That polka dot bikini she's wearing reminds me of that old song....” (1) And then I'd start to sing the song.

“I wonder if Tommy Hilfiger carries around a bag with her name on it.” 

“Doesn't she work at the library/coffee shop/drug store/church?” 

“Don't get jealous.  She's not at all my type – she's just too old.” 

But then it's important to follow up with, “Why do you ask?”  Not gruffly, or with an annoyed tone, or as a “piss-off” type of reprimand.  Ask with genuine concern.  Because it's a very good question.  Why is she so tuned in to you in this wonderful environment? 

And what's so bad about looking at a woman who is essentially walking around in brightly-colored underwear, which is precisely what a two-piece bathing suit is? 

If your wife's erratic behavior continues or gets worse, mention this to her primary care doctor.  She might need the help of an endocrinologist to treat the effects of menopause, or a mental health professional to deal with insecurity. 

Note that while I'm siding with you, it's under the assumption that:

1. You're only looking and not actually standing and applauding, nor are you fondling yourself, or whistling, or making lewd comments like, “Ooo, what a piece of ass...”
2. You're not checking out young girls but rather young women.

(1) Don't try this on a nude beach.

Here's the advice seeker's letter but with some minor changes:

Dear Amy: My husband and I love the beach. We walk on the beach, kayak and picnic, and in the summer we swim. 

When it's hot, and the beach is crowded, my husband invariably asks me, "Are you checking out that guy in the Speedo?" 

I always say no, which is a lie he sees right through. An argument ensues, dampening our otherwise beautiful day. 

I am in my 50s. I have no delusions of long-term futures with young guys (or anyone else) on the beach, but I love to look at well-built men. I try, apparently unsuccessfully, to be discreet, but my natural instinct is to stand and applaud. I know I sound like a cougar, but I doubt I am alone. 

So, how can I be honest and not hurt my husband? And can we still go to the beach? 

-- Lying on the Beach

In this version of the letter, the husband sounds jealous and maybe a bit possessive and scary.  The first step on the road to being a victim of spousal abuse is to rearrange your thinking and behavior to placate your partner, even if you've done nothing wrong.

Ms. Dickinson's response seemed to imply that the husband was actually standing up and applauding.  She writes, "All 'attractive females' know when they're being checked out. Some may enjoy the attention, but even if they do, the last thing they want on their day at the beach is a round of applause from you."  [My emphasis]  And the title of the web page is "Man at the beach gives bikinis a round of applause."  Huh?

The page also features a video with the caption, "Sexually objectifying girls and women leads to aggression toward them, a recent study has found."  Amy, I look at attractive things -- artwork, flowers, cars, architecture, and, yes, women.  It doesn't mean I want to have sex with them.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/lifestyles/askamy/ct-ask-amy-ae-0425-20170425-column.html

Blogher and the Male Blogger

This is the first year I've been cross-posting on Blogher during NaBloPoMo.  I confess that I feel like an alien on that site.

Before I ramble on, I want to make it perfectly clear that I am grateful to Blogher for hosting NaBloPoMo.  And I admire the team of talented writers that contribute to the site's content.

But, the reason I feel like an alien on Blogher is because of the predetermined set of tags I have to choose from.  They're so... gender-skewed toward the feminine that I feel a bit stifled.

The complete list of tags is given below.

A few of the main categories are typical of a content provider or message board: Food; Health; News & Politics; Entertainment.  Yet the sub-categories under them seem incomplete.  For example, "Food" could use "Desserts" "Paleo" and "Outdoor Grilling".  "Health" could use "Vaccinations" and "Exercise" rather than "Infertility" and "Pregnancy".  "Entertainment" is fine except that "Sports" should be a main category all on its own.

DIY really should be called "Hobbies" because its sub-categories are essentially hobbies, and because it lacks such real DIY subjects as "Flooring" "Electrical/Lighting" "Plumbing" and "Automotive"

And then there's the most feminine main category of "Style," which includes:  Makeup; Nails; Shoes; Fashion; Hair.  Oh yes, I'm so looking forward to writing about makeup....  Hmm, then again, it might be a fun challenge to write about each sub-category of "Style," from a guy's perspective, of course.  Maybe Melissa Ford will make me write Style posts for the remainder of NaBloPoMo as punishment for dissing the tags.

---

The list of predefined Blogher tags, as of Monday, November 16, 2015...

Blogging

Social Media

 -Tips, Tricks & Tools 

 -Blogging Events 

 -BlogHer Publishing Network News 

 -NaBloPoMo 

Food

 -Food Politics 

 -Baking 

 -Drinks

 -Cooking for Health 

 -Frugal Kitchen 

 -Gluten-Free 

 -Quick and Easy 

 -Recipes

 -Special Occasion 

 -Vegetarian and Vegan 

Games 

Health 

 -Body Image 

 -Mental Health

 -Diet & Fitness 

 -Infertility 

 -Wellness 

 -Pregnancy 

DIY 

 -Crafts 

 -Style DIY

 -Home & Garden 

 -Knitting, Crochet & Sewing 

 -Photography 

Work/Life 

 -Childfree 

 -GLBT 

 -Grief and Loss 

 -Humor 

 -Midlife 

 -Career 

 -Pets 

 -Finding Balance 

 -Caregiving 

 -Spirituality 

 -Travel

 -Green 

 -Money 

Love & Sex 

 -Dating 

 -Divorce 

 -Marriage and Commitment 

 -Sex 

 -Weddings and Anniversaries 

Family 

 -SAHMs 

 -Working Moms 

 -Tweens & Teens 

 -Adoption 

 -Empty Nesters 

 -Grandparents 

 -Home Schooling 

 -Multiples 

 -Special needs 

News & Politics 

 -Science 

 -Current Events 

 -Politics 

 -Media and Journalism 

 -Race & Class 

 -Feminism 

 -Technology 

Entertainment

 -Arts & Culture 

 -Astrology 

 -Books 

 -Movies & Television

 -Music 

 -Pop Culture 

 -Sports 

Style 

 -Makeup 

 -Nails

 -Shoes 

 -Fashion 

 -Hair

Advertise and Market with Women 

BlogHer Conferences 

 -#BlogHerFood16

 -BlogHer Food '15 

 -BlogHer 2016 

 -BlogHer 2015 

 -BlogHer Conference 2012 

 -BlogHer Entrepreneurs '13 

 -BlogHer PRO '14 

 -BlogHer Conference 2014 

 -BlogHer Food '14 

 -BlogHer Food 2013 

 -BlogHer Conference 2013

 -BlogHer PRO 

 -BlogHer Pro '13 

 -HealthMinder Day 2013 

 -Pathfinder Day 2013

 -Viewfinder Day 2013 

 -BlogHer Entrepreneurs '12 

 -BlogHer Food 2012 

 -BlogHer Handmade 

 -BlogHer Writers '11 

 -BlogHer | bet 

 -BlogHer Conference 2011

 -BlogHer Food 2011 

 -BlogHer Food 2010 

 -BlogHer Conference 2010 

 -BlogHer Business 2010 

 -BlogHer Conferences 

 -BlogHer Food '09 

 -Reach Out Tour 2008 

 -'06 Conference news 

 -'06 Podcasts 

 -'06 Sessions/Speakers 

 -'06 Sponsors 

 -'07 Conference news

 -'07 Sessions/Speakers 

 -'07 Sponsors 

 -BlogHer Business 2008

 -BlogHer Business 2009 

 -BlogHer Conference 2008 

 -BlogHer Conference 2009 

Web site 

 -From the 'hood

Germany vs. Italy

I'm part German, part Italian. Growing up, I felt that I was audience to a duel between my German father and Italian mother. "Which nationality was better?" was the perennial question. German cars out-numbered Italian by a wide margin, so score 1 for Germany. But Italian food was the best as far as I was concerned, so score 10 for Italy. Germany is known for precision machinery. But Italy was the birth place of the Renaissance. And so on. And that was the back drop of my childhood.

I remembered all this today at the pizza shop. That was because of how I eat pizza. In New York, you fold your pizza lengthwise so it doesn't flop down. You can eat it with one hand, which, in NY you gotta do. It makes it easy to eat with one hand, leaving the other hand free to hold a drink (so you can eat while standing or walking), or to talk on the phone, or grip the steering wheel. 'Cause in NY, things happen quick, and you always gotta do other stuff when you eat.

My wife has complete disdain for my New York ways, especially the eating pizza part. When our daughter started to copy me today, my wife told her to stop, which (teenager that she is) made her copy me much more intently. Clearly, we were having an effect on her, just like my parents did on me.

My wife and I tend to polarize on some things, such as money, shopping, food, and more money, as described on the following diagram:

My Philosophy	My Wife's Philosophy
Money: Get a job you can enjoy, live modestly, set aside some income for retirement.	Money: Get the highest-paying job you can get, even if it's stressful and demeaning, and then spend all your money on diversions to help you forget what a lousy job you have.
Shopping: Figure out what you need, and which stores carry these items at a reasonable cost, and then buy the items as quickly as possible so as not to inconvenience other family members.	Shopping: Go to any trendy store, one that you really like. Mull around for several hours, picking up items that you didn't realize you needed until you actually saw them, and then buy those items, never mind that your husband's legs have become petrified from standing around waiting for you, and that he should stop acting like a child already.
Food: Select unprocessed sources of proteins and fresh or frozen vegetables. Avoid products that contain wheat, dairy, corn, and potatoes, and other inflammatory substances. Stick with low-glycemic foods.	Food: If you spend a lot on it, it has to be good food, so it should be good to eat. And anyway, we grew up on macaroni and cheese, Chef Boyardee and Hamburger Helper. They wouldn't put anything bad into our food, so why can't you eat it, Mr. Picky-Ass-Pants?

I wonder exactly what effect my wife and I have on our daughter, especially when we discuss money, shopping and food in front of her.

One thing I clearly remember from my teenage years was how reluctant I was to show a preference for any girl, at least not in front of my parents. I felt like I'd be under a microscope. I would predict my parents thoughts: "Oh, he likes short girls," or "Oh he likes brown-eyed girls," or "he likes dark girls with hairy arms and large breasts." But I especially couldn't commit to liking any girl with obvious Italian or German qualities. Which was rather a shame since I was most fond of the Italian-looking girls with their thick, dark-brown hair and large, warm brown eyes and somewhat mocha skin tone, and there were a lot of them. But I just couldn't side with the Italians.

Will our daughter's choices in a companion be contaminated by the conflicts between my wife and me? Will she choose a boy with New York mannerism just to annoy her mom?

And what about you? How did your parents' conflicts affect you? Did you find yourself making choices based on whether a parent would approve? Or disapprove? Or did you try to avoid choices altogether?

Please Tell Me There's an Appliance Heaven

I’m always trying to eek the very last bit of function from my gadgets and appliances. Duct tape is so well suited to repairing a vacuum cleaner hose, it’s a shame to get rid of the vacuum cleaner, even though it fails to retract its electrical cord. We finally did get rid of the old Hoover canister vac -- the one we bought with our wedding money -- only because the guy who sold us the new Miele offered to take it "on trade-in".

Last month my wife complained to me about the food processor. The only thing wrong with it was that the little plastic locking mechanism broke off the lid. You could still use it just by holding the lid down. But my wife insisted that the blade could somehow fly out like a ninja weapon and impale our daughter or, worse, injure one of the cats. She was adamant, and she threw it out. And when she threw it out, she didn't just toss it in the trash. She did the following:

1. Encouraged the cats to engorge themselves on an extra mid-day meal on the previous day.
2. Scooped out the three extra-full litterboxes (I suspect it was the first time she cleaned them since before she was pregnant with our 11 year old daughter).
3. Cleaned out the garage, filling two trash bags worth of garbage.
4. Combined all the above waste with the "broken" food processor.
   

Nothing kills a good session of dumpster diving faster than a salvageable appliance littered with cat excrement. Otherwise I definitely would've surreptitiously removed that poor little food processor from the garbage and brought it down to my workbench where it would sit in the land of unwanted tools and appliances, with the industrious spiders, just waiting for a handy dad-person to fix it.

It's at times like these that I hope there's an appliance heaven.

---

This post was inspired by
Jenny Ryan's "The Firstborns".

Primates in the Locker Room

Men who are strangers don't talk to each other in the locker room. But that doesn't mean we don't communicate.

Our wordless language consists of various sighing, gasping, grunting noises.

We announce our entrance with a long drawn out "Pfffeeewwwwuuuuhgh." We mark our territory when we choose our locker. We drop the gym bag and sit with a short "ughhhh," usually emitted through the nose.

Reaching down to pull on our socks or shoes will require a sort of breathy grunt. We punctuate our presence with snorts or clearing of the throat, lest a competitor forget that we're there.

The more important we think we are, the louder and more frequent the noises. Long, dramatic yawns and burps come from those who would lead the tribe.

I wonder what the ladies do? Hum? Sigh? Or are they belching and grunting in a parallel universe? Might be a good question for an installment of Petra's He Blogs She Blogs.

Blah Blah

My wife has this habit, this annoying habit, of getting me to answer the phone for her when she's expecting a call from someone she doesn't want to speak with at the moment.

The caller is usually "AM," who likes to call my wife on her cellphone during her morning commute. Ending a conversation with her is like being trapped in a crushed automobile -- you keep hoping the jaws of life will arrive in the form of some major distraction, like a package delivery that needs a signature, or a vomiting dog, or a refreshing bit of burst plumbing spewing water all over the place.

And I perfectly understand my wife for not wanting to take the phone call. So I'll answer the phone and tell AM that my wife's not at home or that she's in the shower and then quickly say good-bye and hang up. That's not the annoying part.

Here's the annoying part. My wife then questions me about the phone call, even if she was standing there listening to my side of it, which consisted merely of, "Hello?... Oh hi, AM! ... Sorry, she's not at home now, but I'll tell her that you called have a great day bye." My wife wants a play-by-play. "What did she say? What did you tell her?"

First all all, when I talk on the phone and then hang up, I instantly forget the entire conversation. It's as if the act of placing the handset back on the hook flips over my mental Etch-a-Sketch.

So I tell my wife, "I said 'hello' and I said 'good-bye'. I probably exchanged some pleasantries in between, I imagine." Which must really annoy her. She has no idea about my mental Etch-a-Sketch. I can't even remember what I said, never mind about what the caller said.

But then my wife will want to know how AM seemed, as in her emotional state. "Was she upset? Did she seem tense? Tired? Frustrated?" For a 5 second phone call? Look, on us guys on Mars don't even speak that language.

So anyway, what got me thinking about this is Cheerful Monk's Whatever... post. I used to try to explain to my wife that I wasn't being rude to her but that I really couldn't recite the conversation back to her. But now I do the equivalent of answering "Noodle," which on some days is, "If you wanted to know what she said, you should've talked to her yourself." On other days it's just "Blah blah."

Why Not Ask For Directions?

I may be an oddball-misfit, but I'm a typical guy in one respect. No that's not what I mean! Okay, make that two respects.

I hate to ask for directions. Here's why:

1. There are some neighborhoods so dangerous, you shouldn't even stop at traffic lights. Forget pulling over to stop and admit you're lost. If you do that, you'll either get pulled out of your car right then, or you'll get directions to a gang of punks who'll pull you out of the car. You're much better off following the greatest amount of traffic. It will most likely lead you to the highway, and then you can get out of there.
2. Guys like to be in charge. The moment we ask for help, we're putting someone else in charge. No likey.
   
3. We're pioneers, explorers. We're never really lost, actually. We're still somewhere on Earth, eager to blaze new trails and find our own way.
4. We can't listen to directions, actually. The moment we try to memorize the directions, we'll hear, "Go blah blah blocks and turn blah. Then take the next blah and go a few more blocks until you see blah blah and make a blah. Then make a blah at the Wendys." Even if you just tell us to take a right on Forestville Road, we'll take a left on Fountainview Road. Face it. We're lousy listeners and we know it.
   

Guys Just Want to Have Fun

On Monday Petra Wise "The Wise (*Young*) Mommy" wrote about ovulation. I enjoyed every word.

It was her first ovulation after stopping birth control. The account of how she tried (unsuccessfully) to get her husband to conceive their next child(ren) almost inspired me to respond, "I would've given in right away."

But I didn't write that, and I'm glad. It was the way my horny hormones wanted to respond. The fact is that the worst sex I've ever had was when my wife wanted to conceive. Thankfully, it was only once.¹

Because for a guy, the meaning of sex changes when conception is the goal. It suddenly stops being fun. One day you're holding back from getting the new sheets spotted, the next you're trying to perform. One day you're sneaking it in and pulling back just before it's too late, the next you're almost forcing it to happen.

Making love is fun; making babies is not.

Ironically, once my wife found out that she was pregnant, sex was fun again. Why? "Because," I told myself, "she can't get pregnant, again."

So I'm sorry Petra. You're beautiful even with the tattoos. But I'm not available right now.

¹ Yes, my wife got pregnant on the first try. She said later that if she knew how easy it was, she would've waited another year. But nearly everyone else around her was having so much trouble getting pregnant, she was worried it would be difficult. Not me. I figured I'd be buying baby furniture and losing that second income real soon.