Do I Look Like a Giant Doormat?

I mean, really, I know I've gained a little weight (not totally my fault) but come on. Is it that obvious?

It's not like you go out of your way to step on me, either, because you wouldn't do that. I mean, if I'm here, and in your path already then I'm sure you would. Hopefully I am not too far shifted (perhaps by the wind or other uncontrollable factors) to the left or the right too far away from said door. Maybe then you'd never step on me at all. Instead of feeling used perhaps (in a good way) I would just feel neglected (in a bad way). I mean, either way, I'd still be there, right?

Right?


So my Gmail Google snooper sensed that I was having some issues and offered up the following web snippet:

Know The Secret To Men? - www.CatchHimAndKeepHim.com - Learn The "Secret Psychology" To Getting A Man Hooked For Good

I just kind of sat there and pondered that snippet for a minute or two. The secret to men? "Secret Psychology"? Hooked for good? I mean, forgive me male readers, but why I am supposed to hook you guys? I'm a chick. You should be hooking me. Remind me why us chicks try so hard in the first place? 

I mean, I'm the one that is going to be thoughtful enough to buy and cook your ass dinner when you'd be all right with Wendy's. And, the one that gets all dolled up in nice clothes to make you proud to be with me, even though you probably expect it/don't notice/would be happy with me no matter what I was wearing/I am way out of your league anyway.

Put off nights out with our girlfriends for you, and don't feel the need to have to tell you how much wanted (and unwanted) attention from men we're missing out on? Check. I mean, our girlfriends understand (the ones that aren't cunty).

And when your "secret psychology" sends me inappropriate emails, puts your hands into my pockets at a bar without asking, or grabs my ass, I don't tell you about it. Not because I have anything to hide, but rather, because I don't want you to have any misconceptions that I totally belong to you. I mean, I don't want to slave over anyone else's needs. Especially not guys who put their hands into my pockets. Unless they give me a compliment first.

No... I'm loyal, I care about you, and I put your needs before my own most of the time, I try to impress you, I do impress you (even though you don't tell me), and I go out of my way to make you happy.

Why is it that I'm hooking you again? Why am I doing the catching and keeping? 

You go out of your way once, which pretty much just qualifies as "maintenance", and still we get super-excited about it and let you keep sliding by. Wow, we're stupid.

Hooked for good? This? Really? Um, no thanks, I'd rather drink bile.

Seriously, if guys (as a whole) could be any lamer, you would all have your own parking spaces.

END RANT

Turning The Page

I went to Thurman cafe with Vaughn and Andy last night and, as expected, the wait to be Thurmanized was bordering on an hour. I don't know what it is about the sense of accomplishment gained by waiting the famed hour at Thurman's to get a burger, but it does exist and I can't explain it.

As we were enjoying our beverages in the main lobby -- small enough to see everybody, large enough to talk shit about them without them overhearing you -- a small family waited in the corner. The mother and father appeared to be in their early thirties and their son was probably like, 5. I really suck at identifying kids' ages. But that kid had to have been around 5. They chatted softly, probably about what they were going to order (or something else equally lame) while the kid ran amok in the small waiting area -- large enough to comfortably wait, not large enough to accomodate a hyperactive 5-year old.

He had made his way over to our slightly elevated waiting platform and began gnawing on a metal fixture when Vaughn, with his chin resting on his hand, turned to me and said, "Then it's all over."

"What's all over?"
"When you have kids, man, it's all over."

I knew what he meant. It is the difference between "me" and "we", between "you" and the implied plural "you". Turning the page. Growing up. Whatever.

I thought of all the other things that signified that "it" was all over. The odd shift of patience when others hurry and a sense of urgency when others see the opportunity to relax.

Case and point: 
Ordering from a catalogue 
Getting the menu before you are seated

That is when it's all over. For me, anyway.