Once guys have undergone the torture and humiliation of asking a girl to their high school prom…I have to say, it’s a breeze from there. I have seen both sides…the girly-q side with Wishy and Big C, and the manly-b side with Colinboy. The guy side is waaaay easier. Hands and Tuxedo down.
The girly-q side starts with the dress dilemma…should it be long, short, low neckline, lower neckline, low back, lower back, front, no front? The shoes: should they be flat, heeled, high-heeled? The jewelry: should it be understated, overstated or overrated? The manicure and pedicure: should it be natural or unnatural? Makeup: of course. And the hair: I won’t even get in to the hairdo’s (and the don’ts.)
The manly-b side starts with one-stop shopping…tux, tie, taps…penguin attire.
As for the amount of time to get ready…no comparison. The girls need plenty of it. The guys need 4 minutes. Bri’s prom is tonight…Friday night…and the girls will leave school early…so they can make all their appointments and have time to primp and get dressed.
Only the boys are sitting in math class getting an education on a Friday afternoon…no wonder boys score better in math. And forget the girls going to any sports practices after school. They can’t be getting all sweaty and stinky. The coach has to cancel due to lack of bodies…….
The boys have time for practice…then saunter home, take a shower and throw on their penguin suit. And they look good. Which doesn’t seem fair…but this inequity goes on for the rest of their lives.
Last year a penguin-in-training confessed to his prom date: “My dad says I have to be nice to you. This whole prom thing means more to the girl.” Although his admission does ring true…I believe that was meant to be kept between penguins.
The girls, after all their fussing and primping, …are stunning. They radiate inner beauty and youthfulness. A few hours later…after the corsages have wilted, the disco ball stops spinning (wait, this isn’t 1975), and the limos turn into Forerunners and Fords…these beauties will be back to flip-flops, jeans, sweatshirts, and pony-tails…and will be just as stunning.
The prom is a big deal to the girls. And the boys better be nice to them. (You have learned well, young penguin-in-training.)
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Emoting About Emissions
President Obama is putting forth legislation to make cars cleaner. Just when I was actually beginning to appreciate the smell of auto emissions...that odiferous smell of cyclobutanes with a combo of carburetor fumes. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
You’re familiar with that lovely smell. I love getting a good wiff of it as I’m sitting in traffic on I-95, bumper-to-bumper and the jalopy in front of me emits a cloud of black smoke…that enters every orifice of my car and permeates my clothing. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
And with the legislation, the smog produced by millions of cars over cities like Denver and LA…will be reduced. And just when I was getting used to the pale grey skies that color my world bleak even when the sun is shining. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
Without smog, my complexion will be missing the urban elements. Now I’m going to be faced with youthful skin…just when I got used to that old person looking back at me in the mirror. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
And with the new clean car policy, cars will be made more efficiently resulting in better gas mileage. And just when I was getting used to having to gas-up after going around the block once. I love stopping into gas stations to see what the attendants are doing and to pick up a bag of Fritos. And now I’ll be buying fewer lottery tickets. I guess I can forget becoming a lottery winner. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
And ghastly, I’ll be paying less for gas. I’ve so enjoyed taking my hard earned money (wait, do I work?) and lining the pockets of the oil companies. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
President Obama………thanks a lot.
You’re familiar with that lovely smell. I love getting a good wiff of it as I’m sitting in traffic on I-95, bumper-to-bumper and the jalopy in front of me emits a cloud of black smoke…that enters every orifice of my car and permeates my clothing. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
And with the legislation, the smog produced by millions of cars over cities like Denver and LA…will be reduced. And just when I was getting used to the pale grey skies that color my world bleak even when the sun is shining. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
Without smog, my complexion will be missing the urban elements. Now I’m going to be faced with youthful skin…just when I got used to that old person looking back at me in the mirror. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
And with the new clean car policy, cars will be made more efficiently resulting in better gas mileage. And just when I was getting used to having to gas-up after going around the block once. I love stopping into gas stations to see what the attendants are doing and to pick up a bag of Fritos. And now I’ll be buying fewer lottery tickets. I guess I can forget becoming a lottery winner. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
And ghastly, I’ll be paying less for gas. I’ve so enjoyed taking my hard earned money (wait, do I work?) and lining the pockets of the oil companies. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.
President Obama………thanks a lot.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Race for Southwest
Game On.
Ready…Set…Go. I bet you can beat me in getting a lower boarding pass number on the Southwest Airlines website. Everyone beats my ass….
It seems more people are taking advantage of the online feature of getting your boarding pass 24 hours in advance of your flight. So there are more of us competing; trying to beat each other to the pounce for a low boarding number.
You can almost hear the collective mad dash to our computers. There’s Larry in Lubbock …Robin from Roanoke….Cindy from Cincinnati…and let’s not forget, Zach from Zephyrhills…all sitting at their computers staring at the screen…watching the time tick down…ready to attack.
Seconds can make a big difference in what seat you end up with. If you sneeze and blink (and just try not blinking when you sneeze)…you’re sitting in the back of the plane…while good ole Zach is in Row 1 looking all smug with his Pepsi and pretzels.
Wait another ten minutes and you are flying the unfriendly skies between two big sweaty guys; one with a going problem and the other with a coughing problem AND a going problem.
Yesterday I was determined to beat the system. I didn’t leave anything to chance. I took an antihistamine, so there would be no risk of random sneezes and I sat down to my computer early……….
So I had time to practice with the clicker…working on my clicker speed…working out my trigger finger with a few finger exercises. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4. Add some more paper clips …and s t r e t c h with a couple of rubber bands.
Seconds ticked down...Game on. I ended up with boarding pass: A44. 43 people still managed to beat me and I was on top of my computer. I even practiced.
How do these people do it? Whenever I arrive at the Southwest gate for my flight …I always check out who’s first in line. I have to stop myself from going over and asking, “Do you have a life?” How is it you are able to get first in line?
They probably are the same people you see at concerts standing in prime real estate. From my seat in the stands, I look down and see the lucky ducks right there in the front row…getting showered on by Springsteen’s sweat. Not fair. I want Springsteen’s sweat too. How do people get these spots? A radio contest maybe? And please explain to me, how do you win a radio contest?
Somehow these people have mastered being Caller Number 9. I’ve tried to be Caller Number 9, but I can’t even be Caller Number 3.
I just don’t have the luck. I swear if I bought a raffle ticket…and there were only two tickets sold in the raffle…I wouldn’t win. Unless, of course, if I entered a contest to be thrown under a train….I am sure I would have the winning ticket.
Maybe that’s the ticket…forget Southwest…take the train.
Ready…Set…Go. I bet you can beat me in getting a lower boarding pass number on the Southwest Airlines website. Everyone beats my ass….
It seems more people are taking advantage of the online feature of getting your boarding pass 24 hours in advance of your flight. So there are more of us competing; trying to beat each other to the pounce for a low boarding number.
You can almost hear the collective mad dash to our computers. There’s Larry in Lubbock …Robin from Roanoke….Cindy from Cincinnati…and let’s not forget, Zach from Zephyrhills…all sitting at their computers staring at the screen…watching the time tick down…ready to attack.
Seconds can make a big difference in what seat you end up with. If you sneeze and blink (and just try not blinking when you sneeze)…you’re sitting in the back of the plane…while good ole Zach is in Row 1 looking all smug with his Pepsi and pretzels.
Wait another ten minutes and you are flying the unfriendly skies between two big sweaty guys; one with a going problem and the other with a coughing problem AND a going problem.
Yesterday I was determined to beat the system. I didn’t leave anything to chance. I took an antihistamine, so there would be no risk of random sneezes and I sat down to my computer early……….
So I had time to practice with the clicker…working on my clicker speed…working out my trigger finger with a few finger exercises. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4. Add some more paper clips …and s t r e t c h with a couple of rubber bands.
Seconds ticked down...Game on. I ended up with boarding pass: A44. 43 people still managed to beat me and I was on top of my computer. I even practiced.
How do these people do it? Whenever I arrive at the Southwest gate for my flight …I always check out who’s first in line. I have to stop myself from going over and asking, “Do you have a life?” How is it you are able to get first in line?
They probably are the same people you see at concerts standing in prime real estate. From my seat in the stands, I look down and see the lucky ducks right there in the front row…getting showered on by Springsteen’s sweat. Not fair. I want Springsteen’s sweat too. How do people get these spots? A radio contest maybe? And please explain to me, how do you win a radio contest?
Somehow these people have mastered being Caller Number 9. I’ve tried to be Caller Number 9, but I can’t even be Caller Number 3.
I just don’t have the luck. I swear if I bought a raffle ticket…and there were only two tickets sold in the raffle…I wouldn’t win. Unless, of course, if I entered a contest to be thrown under a train….I am sure I would have the winning ticket.
Maybe that’s the ticket…forget Southwest…take the train.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Bo Report
Duncandog here to give Bo Obama, a report card on his past few weeks as First Dog. Heck, Obama got a report card after 100 days…so here’s yours. From one Portuguese water dog to another….The Bo Report.
In every picture I’ve seen of you with your fam…you’re pulling them across the lawn. Great job. You've earned an “A”. It’s great how you yank the kids on the leash…but I particularly like how you have Obama on his toes. The Obamas will try to train you…and make you submit…but so far you are doing a great job of showing them who's really in charge. Obama can have the country. But you've got Obama...so basically you da dog.
I hear you don't like the water...another "A" for you. For some reason owners think we want to jump in and swim the damn English Channel...just because we have webbed feet. Leave that for the crazy 2-legged humans. My owners are always trying to get me into the water...but if I was a freakin’ fish, I’d have gills and not this cute little black nose.
I also heard that Michelle Obama told a bunch of first graders that you were a crazy dog. Yep, you are doing your thang. "A+". Crazy is good…heck, it works for Jack Nicholson and Dennis Rodman.
Oh, and I like that you woke the President and his wife up when they were sleeping. First of all, what the heck is going on that the whole fam is sound asleep at 10 p.m. They obviously aren’t watching my favorite program, 24. Jack Bauer is the best. Obama could learn a little something about keeping our country safe from Jack.
Nice job with all the barking when you’re playing with your ball. Another “A” for you. Heck, I do the same thing every morning. I have my breakfast of doggie-O’s, go out for my morning dump, then I come in and throw the ball around and bark. That’s when PaulA gets his papers together and hits the road early for the office. But you’ve got Obama trapped…he’s already at his office.
I hear this is your fourth home. Saweet…you get an “A” for being a boomerang dog. I hear your new trainer is part Portuguese herself. So watch out for that one…she might be a dog whisperer and start messing with your head…after all, she speaks the same language.
So it looks like straight “A’s” for you, Bo. Good dog, Bo. Good dog.
Go to the Head of the Class.
In every picture I’ve seen of you with your fam…you’re pulling them across the lawn. Great job. You've earned an “A”. It’s great how you yank the kids on the leash…but I particularly like how you have Obama on his toes. The Obamas will try to train you…and make you submit…but so far you are doing a great job of showing them who's really in charge. Obama can have the country. But you've got Obama...so basically you da dog.
I hear you don't like the water...another "A" for you. For some reason owners think we want to jump in and swim the damn English Channel...just because we have webbed feet. Leave that for the crazy 2-legged humans. My owners are always trying to get me into the water...but if I was a freakin’ fish, I’d have gills and not this cute little black nose.
I also heard that Michelle Obama told a bunch of first graders that you were a crazy dog. Yep, you are doing your thang. "A+". Crazy is good…heck, it works for Jack Nicholson and Dennis Rodman.
Oh, and I like that you woke the President and his wife up when they were sleeping. First of all, what the heck is going on that the whole fam is sound asleep at 10 p.m. They obviously aren’t watching my favorite program, 24. Jack Bauer is the best. Obama could learn a little something about keeping our country safe from Jack.
Nice job with all the barking when you’re playing with your ball. Another “A” for you. Heck, I do the same thing every morning. I have my breakfast of doggie-O’s, go out for my morning dump, then I come in and throw the ball around and bark. That’s when PaulA gets his papers together and hits the road early for the office. But you’ve got Obama trapped…he’s already at his office.
I hear this is your fourth home. Saweet…you get an “A” for being a boomerang dog. I hear your new trainer is part Portuguese herself. So watch out for that one…she might be a dog whisperer and start messing with your head…after all, she speaks the same language.
So it looks like straight “A’s” for you, Bo. Good dog, Bo. Good dog.
Go to the Head of the Class.
Friday, May 22, 2009
What Ails You?
Back in our college days PaulA and I frequented a bar called What Ales You. And not surprising, sometimes the ale gave me an ailment…but that’s another blog. Here I’m talking about some other ailing…and not the Porky Pig flu. It’s called Senioritis.
Senioritis is a real ailment. The reason I know this: Brianna has a classic case and has all the symptoms. At this point in the school year, high school seniors know where they are going to college and are kicking back…got their feet up and enjoying the senior slide. Not only is the weather changing, but so is their outlook on books, school, and advice from parentals.
Cause of symptoms: High School is so old-school.
That’s not to say Bri has thrown in her book bag or tossed her calculator out the school window. Those rumors about colleges not allowing you admittance after a bad senior year…are true. But Wishy is mostly focused on all the fun coming her way.
If you ask her, Sweet Wish is 21 days from graduation…but who’s counting. She loves to tell us her schedule of upcoming events: Cold Play concert, the Prom, the after-Prom party, Physics field trip (to an amusement park), Senior Field Day, Senior Skip day at the beach, Memorial Day, her 18th birthday, Dave Matthews concert….....
But the big event with the seniors is: The Assassins Game…which by the way, is not sanctioned by the high school. Go Figure. It has been a tradition for years and Bri couldn’t wait until it was her turn to play. The game consists of teams of two who must “eliminate” another designated team, but also avoid being hit. Luckily, the guns they use are just water guns…and not the real McCoy …otherwise I would have to put my foot down.
The game can get really intense and guides every senior's actions. Now seniors have real reasons why they can’t do anything or go anywhere. Reasons why they can’t take out the trash…run an errand…or pick up their clothes. Hell, they are in danger of getting knocked off. Ease up rents.
The game can get pretty serious…Bri stood outside one boy’s house in the pouring rain for an hour to take him out...and we’re not talking dinner. Yep, that’s my sweet darling adorable competitive I’m-gonna-nail-your-ass Daughter. So far…Wishy and her equally possessed partner have made it to round 3…leaving 4 seniors in the dust.
During this season of senioritis…I’ve noticed my senioritis has been acting up…but mine really has nothing to do with graduation… mine hits me mostly in the morning when I attempt to get out of bed.
Cause of symptoms: old age.
So what ails you?
Senioritis is a real ailment. The reason I know this: Brianna has a classic case and has all the symptoms. At this point in the school year, high school seniors know where they are going to college and are kicking back…got their feet up and enjoying the senior slide. Not only is the weather changing, but so is their outlook on books, school, and advice from parentals.
Cause of symptoms: High School is so old-school.
That’s not to say Bri has thrown in her book bag or tossed her calculator out the school window. Those rumors about colleges not allowing you admittance after a bad senior year…are true. But Wishy is mostly focused on all the fun coming her way.
If you ask her, Sweet Wish is 21 days from graduation…but who’s counting. She loves to tell us her schedule of upcoming events: Cold Play concert, the Prom, the after-Prom party, Physics field trip (to an amusement park), Senior Field Day, Senior Skip day at the beach, Memorial Day, her 18th birthday, Dave Matthews concert….....
But the big event with the seniors is: The Assassins Game…which by the way, is not sanctioned by the high school. Go Figure. It has been a tradition for years and Bri couldn’t wait until it was her turn to play. The game consists of teams of two who must “eliminate” another designated team, but also avoid being hit. Luckily, the guns they use are just water guns…and not the real McCoy …otherwise I would have to put my foot down.
The game can get really intense and guides every senior's actions. Now seniors have real reasons why they can’t do anything or go anywhere. Reasons why they can’t take out the trash…run an errand…or pick up their clothes. Hell, they are in danger of getting knocked off. Ease up rents.
The game can get pretty serious…Bri stood outside one boy’s house in the pouring rain for an hour to take him out...and we’re not talking dinner. Yep, that’s my sweet darling adorable competitive I’m-gonna-nail-your-ass Daughter. So far…Wishy and her equally possessed partner have made it to round 3…leaving 4 seniors in the dust.
During this season of senioritis…I’ve noticed my senioritis has been acting up…but mine really has nothing to do with graduation… mine hits me mostly in the morning when I attempt to get out of bed.
Cause of symptoms: old age.
So what ails you?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Girl Power
Rachel Alexandra won the Preakness last Saturday on the strength of her girl power. All 1000+ pounds of her. Whoops…no lady likes her weight disclosed. Sorry about that Rach.
I say…never underestimate a woman with four legs. “Girls rule, boys drool.” That’s a little ditty 6 year-old girls say. But in the case of The Preakness 2009…I can’t help but add my own version: Fillies rule, colts are mules. Na na na na na.
The race at the Preakness last Saturday had all the emotion of an After-School Special. Which by the way, is always a tear jerker for me. Any After-School Special (no matter the subject) will have me sitting in a pool of blubber. I mean, blubbering pool.
But an Afterschool Special about horse racing…could only be a double whammy. Remember the movie Seabiscuit? That movie reduced me to blubber because I think horses are beautiful , especially when they are shown running in slow motion. S l o w m o t I o n. . . . seconds my emotion.
I’m hoping the horses like to race as much as they look like they do. Or are they in it for the sugar cubes? I'm guessing it probably is innate because of their breeding. Just like how Duncandog being the Portuguese Water Dog that he is, instinctively picks up his toy and delivers it back and forth, each time he goes through the door.
And when the clock strikes 9 p.m….I instinctively get off the couch and run (in slow motion) toward the kitchen. Ass over tea kettle, as I make my way to the freezer. My arms flailing and reaching out to open the door. The look of extreme bliss as the freezer light shines on my face while I search for my secret stash behind the frozen green beans. Then a series of tears…down my cheeks as I realize …someone beat me to my tub of Chubby Hubby. All the makings of an Afterschool Special.
If a movie isn’t made about this year’s Preakness …I’ll be a horse’s patoot. It was a feel good story which could have only been made better…if the jockey riding the filly…was a woman.
Girls AND Fillies Rule.
I say…never underestimate a woman with four legs. “Girls rule, boys drool.” That’s a little ditty 6 year-old girls say. But in the case of The Preakness 2009…I can’t help but add my own version: Fillies rule, colts are mules. Na na na na na.
The race at the Preakness last Saturday had all the emotion of an After-School Special. Which by the way, is always a tear jerker for me. Any After-School Special (no matter the subject) will have me sitting in a pool of blubber. I mean, blubbering pool.
But an Afterschool Special about horse racing…could only be a double whammy. Remember the movie Seabiscuit? That movie reduced me to blubber because I think horses are beautiful , especially when they are shown running in slow motion. S l o w m o t I o n. . . . seconds my emotion.
I’m hoping the horses like to race as much as they look like they do. Or are they in it for the sugar cubes? I'm guessing it probably is innate because of their breeding. Just like how Duncandog being the Portuguese Water Dog that he is, instinctively picks up his toy and delivers it back and forth, each time he goes through the door.
And when the clock strikes 9 p.m….I instinctively get off the couch and run (in slow motion) toward the kitchen. Ass over tea kettle, as I make my way to the freezer. My arms flailing and reaching out to open the door. The look of extreme bliss as the freezer light shines on my face while I search for my secret stash behind the frozen green beans. Then a series of tears…down my cheeks as I realize …someone beat me to my tub of Chubby Hubby. All the makings of an Afterschool Special.
If a movie isn’t made about this year’s Preakness …I’ll be a horse’s patoot. It was a feel good story which could have only been made better…if the jockey riding the filly…was a woman.
Girls AND Fillies Rule.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Yo Quiero Taco Bell
I read the following news article online: Officials say a suspected drug dealer who led police on a 90 mph chase in Indiana was arrested after he stopped suddenly at a Taco Bell parking lot. The Fort Wayne police say 36-year-old Jermaine Cooper told officers he "knew he was going to jail for a while" and wanted to get one last burrito. “Give me a burrito to go. And make it snappy.” Okay that last line was mine.
I find it interesting that someone would be thinking about their stomach in a time of peril. The guy is driving 90 mph through Indiana…with the cops on his ass and his stomach starts speaking to him in Spanish? Yo quiero Taco Bell.
I’m still having a hard time digesting the article and understanding that guy’s stomach. That’s kinda like those bad, bad people on Death Row who choose their Last Meal the night before they are executed in the morning. I think my stomach would be in knots and a last meal is the last thing I would want. But there are those who order it up….Hmmm should I have the ham, the roast beef, or two all beef patties, pickle, special sauce on a sesame seed bun?
But now I’m thinking…What if I was like burrito loco Jermaine and knew I was going to jail for a while. Where would my high speed chase end?
That’s easy. Dairy Queen.
Last weekend on a trip through the Chusetts of Mass, I asked Colinboy to get off the highway so I could find the DQ that was listed on an exit sign. Being the obedient son…he pulled off. Definitely not something PaulA would have agreed to do. But then again, I’m not PaulA’s mother…although we both have the same name.
Anyway, we exited the highway…drove down the ramp, followed a sign, then a turn, then a mile, then another sign, then a desolate country road. After a couple of miles….we thought: wild goose chase.
We turned around and headed back to the highway. But it was killing me…I had to have my medium twist in a cone…so we pulled into a gas station and I desperately pleaded, “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME…I am looking for the DQ!” “Hey lady, just keep going down that country road.” We turned back around …and our perseverance paid off…My Frozen Frosty Favorite appeared in the distance.
Give the guy his burrito. Give the Kat her twist.
Where would your high speed chase end???
I find it interesting that someone would be thinking about their stomach in a time of peril. The guy is driving 90 mph through Indiana…with the cops on his ass and his stomach starts speaking to him in Spanish? Yo quiero Taco Bell.
I’m still having a hard time digesting the article and understanding that guy’s stomach. That’s kinda like those bad, bad people on Death Row who choose their Last Meal the night before they are executed in the morning. I think my stomach would be in knots and a last meal is the last thing I would want. But there are those who order it up….Hmmm should I have the ham, the roast beef, or two all beef patties, pickle, special sauce on a sesame seed bun?
But now I’m thinking…What if I was like burrito loco Jermaine and knew I was going to jail for a while. Where would my high speed chase end?
That’s easy. Dairy Queen.
Last weekend on a trip through the Chusetts of Mass, I asked Colinboy to get off the highway so I could find the DQ that was listed on an exit sign. Being the obedient son…he pulled off. Definitely not something PaulA would have agreed to do. But then again, I’m not PaulA’s mother…although we both have the same name.
Anyway, we exited the highway…drove down the ramp, followed a sign, then a turn, then a mile, then another sign, then a desolate country road. After a couple of miles….we thought: wild goose chase.
We turned around and headed back to the highway. But it was killing me…I had to have my medium twist in a cone…so we pulled into a gas station and I desperately pleaded, “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME…I am looking for the DQ!” “Hey lady, just keep going down that country road.” We turned back around …and our perseverance paid off…My Frozen Frosty Favorite appeared in the distance.
Give the guy his burrito. Give the Kat her twist.
Where would your high speed chase end???
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