Posts Tagged ‘men

09
Apr
19

Fashions Signaling The World’s End?

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When Target commercials are worse than Old Navy commercials, I fear the world (of fashion) coming to an end.  Seriously, I don’t expect much from a retailer like Target.  I know they are not a “high-end” clothing store, but they used to have options I…well, liked.  But, some years after they began airing ads with trendy songs-of-the-summer and montages of jagged shifting imagery, and years after certain feature fashion designers started boasting their lines at the stores, Target seem to have lost their money-lovin’ minds.  I used to say the same about Old Navy.  I used to think Target put Old Navy on the endangered shopping list.  Now, it seems things have shifted.   And, that really scares me.  A place with OLD in its name showing clothes better than what you can get at what used to be a favored department store.  Sad times, indeed.

What am I talking about?  What is so bad at Target?  Let me put it as clearly as I can, in my personal opinion, mind you.  I don’t like pastels.  I detest melon orange and shades of aqua-marine/sea foam/turquoise, even if the last one is said to be lucky for Sagittarius.  I am tired of the same old striped crap that looks like the bottom of the wallpaper or card stock barrel.  I am tired of pants too tight for my man parts, apparently designed by gay folks looking to score some action in the rear…just sayin’.  And, in general, as I say again and again, I am astounded there aren’t more options and that, it seems, no one cares to design or make quality men’s clothing that isn’t cheaply screen-printed tees and sloppy pants or costly suit-and-tie combos that do nothing outside of an elitist boardroom or convention event.  It seems I will have to scrounge around the shady import websites, these “pop-up” outlet malls of the Far and Middle east, and pay ridiculous shipping, no doubt, to get anything more appealing to my artistic and heterosexual senses.

As if shopping for men’s clothes isn’t bad enough, these days.

Vent complete.

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08
Dec
16

My Response to “Fantasizing in New York” (Dear Abby)

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Now available for your viewing and opinion on the designated page

A married woman claims to be bisexual while in her second marriage to a man.  [Her first marriage was to a woman.  I presume she married both rather quickly and recently unless she married the woman outside of the US or “on the down low.”]  She wants to pretend her husband is another woman during sex.  He is decidedly heterosexual and monogamous with next to no tolerance for her alternative notions.  I have a fairly strong response to this which contradicts the professional advice she was given.

08
Nov
16

At the Relationship Crossroads

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I’ve come to the realization, more than once, that when I hesitate to move forward with a woman that sparks my interest, someone is lurking in my blind spot just waiting to beat me to the punch, spoil all my effort and claim the most costly of prizes (or cheapest, depending upon your perspective) as if it was always within reach. The long drive may be the promise of the sweetest things, but that doesn’t stop the fast and furious. And, at the same time, haste makes waste. Too many race to get the cup without checking under the hood and pacing themselves. This often results in devastating crashes and other crimes of the heart.

You may have seen it in a movie or one of the lewd cartoons polluting the airwaves these days. The “good” guy goes through the trouble of getting to know the woman, picking out just the right flowers and gift for a special day. Then, along comes Captain Jack Killjoy with one slick line and that irrestistable musk that drops Beauty faster than a Bela Legosi can raise an eyebrow, even though she tells you she’s not the type to fall for that crap. The “good” guy gets wind of what just happened, watches his flowers wilt and walks away with nothing (maybe a lesson learned if you’re that glass-half-full type). Some may crack their routine and join the rat race. The rest patch their tires and hit the same, old road one more time, looking for Lovers’ Lane, the best bed and breakfast in a serene neighborhood.

If you ever find yourself in a position where the one you want to spend your life with is heading far away for some time, don’t make any promises. It may be an epic romantic fantasy to receive love letters and reunite years later, but you could just as likely be the focus of a ghost story, waiting on some cliff for your love to return until you die of misery.

Maybe some day, I’ll be remembered as the genuine “road warrior.” Like the movies, that may be all that is remembered about me. All the sweat and tears I went through, avoiding car-wrecks and striving to stay in the right lane, may just be dust in the wind, along with all the rules and road signs the system tries to stick in our faces.

In the end, you go with your gut when you reach that same intersection that stopped me in my tracks. So, let me ask you. If you’re pursuing or riding with a love interest, are you coasting along Learnmore Road or racing down Efher Avenue?

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14
Jul
14

You Need to Get Lathed!

Have I told you the intense thrill I get from working with wood? I’m not talking about some run-of-the-mill joy you get from completing that dusty spice rack or bookshelf for your friend or family member. This thrill goes deeper than any man’s “lower appendage” can reach in the deepest of “woman wells.”

Yes. That’s right. If you know anything of sexual intercourse, you know the language I am speaking. You also know some version of the feeling. But, if I am not using the infamous tool of innuendo, am I seriously comparing “hot sex” to carpentry?

I am. There’s just one problem. Well, there’s more than one. But, I’m only focusing on one at the moment because more would probably blow both our “computer laundered” minds. [You know, how some articles of clothing get shrunk in the wash. There ya go. You got it. Right?] If I am not careful, my crafting could result in the creation of a birdhouse. I know it might sound crazy, but it’s true. I put myself to work for the thrill of it, and, suddenly, I’m staring at a birdhouse. But, I don’t want this.

If you ask me, there are already way too many birdhouses out there in the world. Heck. Birds are quite capable themselves of making nests in all sorts of places. Why do we need more?

So, to prevent this, I must wear special protection. And, if I share my skills with any women in this world, it seems vital that they too use protection lest they end up with a birdhouse they cannot fully enjoy. Unfortunately, the female version risks the function of internal organs with the potential for side effects spanning a lifetime. Luckily, more women than men seem content with finding a place in their lives for my unwanted sparrow shacks. I guess the risk of their lives seems less threatening than the loss/destruction of a birdhouse.

Knowing that protection was created by someone no more capable of invention than myself, it’s flawed at best. And, when the flaw reveals itself, guess what? You got it. I’m staring at yet another unwanted, unintended pigeon poop coop. These things are eating up my resources, including living space, and they’re starting to get on my nerves. But, I can’t give up the pursuit of that singular thrill. Can I?

If you’re tuning out or thinking I’m some sex-starved fool, dude (or dudette), you need to get lathed. Or, in other words, go file, drill, wrench, plumb, jack, plunger, pump, punch and/or hammer yourself. All it takes is for the fire of trending to spark a revolution.

If you’re going to get your hands dirty, do it without affecting the lives of others or be prepared for a surplus (or shortage) of robin roosts. Give a hoot; don’t contribute to the plagues of all mankind. Labor responsibly.

[In all seriousness as an artist, I prefer to work with pencil/pen and paper or clay, myself. But, to each their own.]

10
Jul
14

It’s Still Just a T-Shirt (Problems with Modern Man’s Wardrobe Choices)

Here I go (again) griping about heterosexual men’s fashion. I think I go through one of these outbursts every few weeks or so after searching sales flyers/papers for replacements to my damaged/lacking wardrobe only to be presented with the usual options A, B and maybe C. The general points may be the same, but the humor tends to vary with each rant.

I have yet to see–in my life time–anything other than a sweatsuit that really appeals to me. And, even that limited niche of apparel tests my patience for covering my nakedness to appease modern mankind. The rest is just a tired, old assembly line of polos, suits, jeans and t-shirts. No matter what color or print you slap on them, they still “smell” the same.

While I can conform to liking a variety of t-shirts, I can only manage so many “whimsical expressions” before they blur together like too many flavors of ice cream consumed in one sitting. Eventually, they’re just something I put on to cover my body. And, if anyone thinks anything significant about what one displays, I have no enthusiastic response. [Sort of like some folks with tattoos who don’t know what to say anymore about what they had inked on them years ago.] The makers of these garments simply take advantage of mental impulses and faded memories to make a quick buck. Why do I need to own or discard dozens of these things when the interest fades, certain environments don’t approve of them or a lack of space requires the pressing of a button labelled EJECT? [And, considering the alternatives, how many red, blue, green, plaid, floral or striped polo/dress shirts can one guy purchase before he feels like he’s eating raisin bran every day of his ever-growing-longer/shorter life? If you happen to like wearing the same shirt (shape) or eating raisin bran every day, pretend you didn’t just read that.]

[“Gee, I could really go for that beverage I had when I was a kid. Oh, look. There’s a t-shirt displaying an image of that very drink. I must have it. Gee, now I am thirsty and out twenty bucks.” Three years later. “(Name of beverage)?” some observer mutters upon seeing the image on the shirt. “Hmm?” replies the one wearing the shirt. “Oh. Yea. I was a fan…once.”]

Men might as well buy their clothes from soda machines. You get as many (if not more) options picking a soft drink. I have a harder time choosing something from a snack vending machine than I do settling for something to wear. Usually, I need the clothes more than the snacks. The latter barely satisfy me, and the former eventually bore/discourage me.

So, why pay twice or three times the price some other “discount” or “poor man’s” store charges for the same product just because it carries a unique or “trending” name?

[“Oh, good. I see Jessamin Aljazirah, that famous actress, has put out a fashion line with her face and ‘signature’ on it. I liked her in (movie title). I wish I looked like her. She takes care of injured cats and makes diapers that sing my baby to sleep. I’ll buy that for a hundred bucks a piece.”

“I’m too good for THAT store where all the ‘riff raff’ shop. I’ll save myself the spread of germs if I spend a little more shopping at the quiet alternative.”]

What’s sad is when something as basic as a color we like can only be found in a particular store or clothing line while a less expensive store sits with heaps of the same garment in colors that do not appeal to us, at all. Do we spend twice the price or more for the color we like or try to settle for a color that makes us vomit a little inside? Do we feel as good about our expensive purchase when we get a stain that just won’t come out (or one that requires special cleaning) on it? Do we laugh, cry or feel indifferent when we or someone else finds dozens of the same item at a closeout/bargain basement store for a fraction of the price when the original retailer must dump its no-longer-in-season stock somewhere? And, what do we think/do when that bargain basement business no longer charges the cheaper prices after droves of customers dissatisfied elsewhere turn to their stores for help?

I think I’ll design my own line of all-purpose wraps, potato sacks or togas…whatever I decide to call them…dip them in vats of colors like Easter eggs and tell everyone I’m dressed “professcasual,” or “pro-fook-trendy,” should they bother to question my appearance. If I am lucky, I’ll start my own trend, amass a growing staff of computer handlers and become the next flash-in-the-pan rich person before someone else takes me down a peg and wears the crown for a while. At least, I’ll be wearing something that I can approve and adjust to my changing figure/mood. And, it will be cheaper than retail/catalog. But, where will all the PARTY LIKE IT’S 2099 items go?

31
Mar
14

Women Blog, and Men ‘Insta-poop’ Elsewhere

Dr Writingbolt’s Social Assessment 3-31-2014

Women blog, and men “insta-poop” elsewhere.  Yes.  It’s a philosophy/theory I’ve been chewing on for some time.  There seems to be a dominance of women attempting to upkeep a daily blog like a cow produces milk.  I keep running into them.  But, the men?  What are they doing?  I find more guys posting links for music videos or maybe sharing some new project they started/finished.  But, daily posts?  Not unless some rare guy is attempting self-therapy online, venting his daily drinking/drug/bipolar journal.

Ablee-ablee.  That’s all, folks.  ‘Simple as that.  Women can’t squeeze enough into their day and need to blog it out.  And, men do simpler things elsewhere.  I know I sure can’t (imagine/manage) a daily blog.  Either my fingers, my brain or even my schedule (with stronger interests and better eyesight elsewhere) won’t permit it…won’t produce that daily milk of “blabnesia” or rotten egg.

Take two deep breaths and call me in the morning.  Doctor’s orders.  “Ah salaam ah lei  koom.”

27
Aug
13

Why Am I Posting/Looking Here?

First and foremost, I consider myself an unusual, perpetually single heterosexual guy. At least, I haven’t found another guy like me with which I care to associate myself. This is not as much a rebellious choice as it is simply an observation. Please understand this comes with occasional humor, sarcasm, cynicism and/or pessimism. You might see this as negative/unattractive. I see this as honest. If you prefer exaggeration and lies, continue saying yes to the bad boys, drug addicts and smooth talkers.

I hate pick-up lines and common/modern dating practices. I don’t go with the flow. I technically have zero friends, no inner or casual circle with which I “hang out” or speak regularly. I am terrible at mingling in a crowded place. I am lost in the woods, looking for a direction right for me.

Second, I know this isn’t an internet dating site. I don’t feel anymore comfortable at a site designated for comparing dates than I do entering a bar of guys ogling a few women. I am generally intimidated by women (for a few reasons) and male competition. And, sometimes I scare people without understanding why.

I don’t want to be afraid or discouraged by a misguided attempt/approach without a “wingman”. Men come in beer-guzzling wolf packs and cross-town rivalries, pushing each other around to get their prize to the bedroom. Women come armed with female friends or massively selective egos. Women can turn to their “sisters” for emotional support or to cut a guy off at his genitals before he knows what’s happening.

Online, I see how women receive dozens of “letters” from men seeking their attention, and the women can simply brush them off or filter through them like junk mail. Do the men have this liberty? Do women line up at a man’s door and let him pick them off one by one? I highly doubt it. I’ve dabbled. I was disappointed with the results. I am not comfortable with this. Everyone is supposed to be good for someone. Or, is there actually a subspecies–unfit to be coupled–destined to rot like bad apples alone?

Some even have family on their side. I don’t have these luxuries. I can’t recall the last time I could talk freely with anyone and feel completely at ease with myself.

Here is about as unusual as any to assert my “single and looking” status; no? I can assert myself here as well as any other website; right? It’s not like anyone puts that much personal info out for the public eye to see on their profiles. It’s all stored in some dating database and used to track/direct prospects to the right person/s with mixed results. So, why not mix it up somewhere different? I could put this on my About Me page. But, I will give this post a try, first. Consider this a free opportunity to meet someone instead of paying $30 a month.




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