I digress. The point is, I’ve been busy. The content on the site has been mostly driven by Kent and hilarious contributors. I receive a loud voicemail every other day from Kent that is almost entirely comprised of vulgarities and racial epithets that don’t apply to me. I’m sorry buddy, but you just can’t coerce hilarity out of someone. It has to come from inspiration.

And well, I found some inspiration the other day. The following is my commentary on a list from a website called “The Frisky” about what you should teach your sons about women. What kind of website has that kind of ridiculous name? Good question. It’s a site by women, for women. Anytime a woman writes something about how men work, what men think, or generally anything about men, you can almost guarantee that it’s completely wrong. This list is a decent example of that, although I do agree with some of what it says. The rest of it… well… You’ll see. Here it is. The list itself will be in bold, my comments will be in italics. Bon Appetit, gluttons.

1. Pick your battles.

Right on. Some stuff just isn’t worth the blood and violence. Like with Iraq, you know? After we got into the thick of it we realized, “hey, this might have been better to avoid.” Love is like that. Love is like Iraq. Yeah, that’s it. Remember that, all you single kids. Love is like Iraq.

2. Walk on the outside (closer to the street) of your female companion.

Also a good point. Although I’m not sure that the ladies over at The Frisky know the origins of that rule – it started back in the day when roads weren’t paved. The man walked on the outside in case there was mud or water in the crappy streets. If there was a splash from a passing horse or cart, he’d take the brunt of it. See that? TTM just educated you. You’re officially not wasting your time.

3. Saying “You’re being crazy” is never an appropriate response, unless you want her to go postal on you.

Hmmm… I mean, I get what she’s saying here. That’s probably not a productive thing to say in an argument, but essentially point #3 says that calling a woman crazy makes her crazy… which in effect proves the statement correct, doesn’t it? And going “postal” usually refers to really violent actions, i.e. a disgruntled postal worker shooting a bunch of people. So what you’re saying, Friksy (which coincidentally was also the name of my first dog, RIP) is that calling a woman crazy will turn her into a murdering psychotic.

4. Cooking, cleaning, and taking care of kids are things men can actually do as well as women.

True, true, maybe. Maybe it’s just me, but when my Dad would take care of us while my Mom was sick or out of town, it was a drastically different experience involving lots of microwaved food and diapers made out of newspaper.

5. Keep backup supplies of quality chocolate in the house for her to raid.

True. Chocolate is like catnip for women.

6. Buying tampons and other feminine products shouldn’t embarrass you –everyone knows they’re not for you.

Pshhh! How do they know they’re not for me?! I’m not buying that crap, like I’m gay or something. Chhh. Dumb chicks. (Seriously though, dudes don’t like doing this because it’s kind of weird and gross, not because they’re afraid people will think they’re bleeding out of their vagina.)

7. Women like compliments and gifts.

Men like beer and nudity. And compliments and gifts.

8. Earning less than her shouldn’t be emasculating.

Earning less than him shouldn’t activate the inferiority complex that your loveless father ingrained in you as a child.

9. Be on time, even if she usually isn’t.

That way you can make her feel really guilty about always being late and use it as a tool to manipulate her! Brilliant, Frisky!

10. Don’t be a pouty puppy when shopping with her.

Don’t make him go shopping with you if you don’t want to deal with him inevitably hating it. Studies have shown, actually, that women enjoy shopping because for them it’s a sensory experience – they enjoy the colors and textures of the items, making the experience very stimulating for them.  Mens’ brains, however, aren’t wired to appreciate the same stimuli. Suck it, Frisky.

11. Find out what her favorite flower is.

Conceded. Good point. Otherwise you’d never have a good card to pull out when you screw something up.

12. If you like her, then don’t buy her shoes; it’s bad luck.

Sounds like someone is inserting a little bit of their own personal narrative into this guide. I feel like some dude’s name should be italicized at the end of that statement.

13. Smiling and nodding aren’t the same as listening.

Thought vomiting isn’t the same as talking.

14. It’s OK to cry in front of her, but keep the blubbering to a minimum.

Wow. “Be vulnerable, but only to the extent of novelty. Any real vulnerability isn’t welcome.” Someone is a little dysfunctional.

15. Personality goes a long way.

Trying to justify your ugly boyfriend, huh?

16. At some point she’ll be more important than your mother.

Unless your name is Oedipus! BAM!

17. You will never completely understand women.

That’s because they’re crazy. Oh, no! Please don’t shoot me!

18. Oh yeah, and no woman will ever be good enough for my baby!

I don’t even know what the hell this is about. Freud? Where are you?

I have long suspected that college was one big, $120,000 racket, and the fact that I have learned more about The Human Condition in eight months at a cash register than I ever did in a Philosophy class gives credence to this suspicion.  In an effort to spare you from having to relearn all my hard-earned wisdom, I have prepared a primer for you.  What follows is a smattering of observations and truths that I have gleaned during eight months spent in the aisles, check lanes, fitting rooms, and stock rooms of a mass retailer.  Enjoy.

1)      Of all the unconscionable tortures endured by children before they turn five – flu shots, baths, and naps, just to name a few – being made to go shopping with mom is unquestionably the worst.  Or so their tireless, ear-splitting screams would seem to indicate.

2)      Shoppers will never trust the product images that appear on packages.  Swatches of fabric and huge color photos of the Thomas the Tank Engine sheet set they’re interested in mean nothing to them until they remove the comforter from the package, wrap their toddler in it and have him roll around on the floor.  Then, after it has been rendered useless to everyone else, they will determine if they like it or not.  They refuse to believe that the six foot tall curtain samples or microwave displays bare any resemblance to the one in the box until it has been removed and strewn all across the aisle.  I’m going to stop talking about this now lest I have another rage blackout.

3)      There is nowhere in all the world as creepy and unsettling as the motion activated baby doll aisle before sunrise.  Imagine walking the store at 5:30 in the morning, half-awake and unaware, only to be startled out of your stupor by shelf after shelf of Little Baby Wet N Wiggles and Poop N Giggles suddenly sprung to life.  They coo and crawl in their flimsy cardboard packages knowing, as well as you do, that one day they will break free of their restraints and be free to roam the store leaving a trail of terror and synthetic poo in their wake.

4)      It does not matter how inexpensive an item might be, people would still rather have it for free.  This truth is supported by the many real, live grown-ups who have been busted for stealing things that cost less than $2.00.  It is also supported by the following conversation, which occurs at least once a day:

• Me: Ok, that’ll be $59.67.
• Her: What! There was a sign back there that said $59.37! YOU PEOPLE ALWAYS TRY TO RIP ME OFF! I WANT TO TALK TO THE MANAGER!
• Me: (defeated sigh) I am the manager.
• Her: AHHHHH!! I’M CALLING THE BETTER BUSINESS BUREAU! THEY’RE GONNA SHUT YOU GUYS DOWN!!
• Me: That’s not necessary ma’am, I’d be happy to adjust the price.
• Her: (beginning to foam at the mouth) I’M NOT TRYING TO BE A PAIN! IT’S REALLY NOT A BIG DEAL.  IT’S JUST…I MEAN…THERE’S A RECESSION GOING ON PEOPLE! AND YET HERE YOU ARE TRYING TO OVER CHARGE ME FOR MY ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSH! MONEY DOESN’T GROW ON TREES YOU KNOW!
• Me: Take me now, Lord.

5)      Otherwise competent, confident men are completely overwhelmed by the experience of shopping.  I see them every day; vacantly wondering the aisles with expressionless faces and defeated postures.  They furtively shift their gaze from the list, to the shelf, to the cart, the list, to the exit doors, and back to the list.  I once heard a father ask his oblivious two-year old daughter, “Are you sure we didn’t forget anything?”  If they’re not entreating help from their infant children, they’re on the phone with their wife who is no doubt sick, pregnant, working or some combination of all three:

“A what?…What the hell is a loofah?…Where are they?…No there aren’t any employees around…I’m standing near the exit…I’m pretty sure they’re  out of loofahs…yeah, definitely all out…why do you make me do these things?…What?…No!…I already told you, I don’t go into the underwear area…”

Even better is watching them stare emptily at the ever rising dollar amount on the cash register.  I can hear them thinking, “Damn organic basil and exotic yogurts! Cold Vienna sausages and Ramen noodles did me just fine at three bucks a week for two years. ”

6)      Apparently, the only thing more detrimental to the health of high schoolers than a gorgeous Saturday evening is a gorgeous Saturday evening on Homecoming weekend.  The maladies that afflict these young employees are diverse, but the remedy is always the same: they definitely cannot come into work.  They call to inform me that they’re really, really sorry, but they’re really, really sick and there’s really nothing that can be done.  A few common symptoms include strained voices, forced coughs, and the shushing of friends who are laughing in the background.  It’s as sure a bet as anything.  If the weather is warm enough to go get drunk in a field somewhere, my entire workforce under the age of twenty will be deathly ill by 3pm.

-Kent-

If there were any lingering doubts regarding my unfitness for independent living, a quick survey of my monthly grocery bill should quickly put them to rest.  Of course, one can’t really review my bill because I don’t keep receipts and am still unfamiliar with the whole “budget” thing, but you could always look at the selections in my cart if you happen to bump into me at the grocery. That being unlikely, as I only go grocery shopping three times every fiscal year, I’ll just tell you about it.

My main problem with grocery shopping is that I never received any formal training on how it should be done.  The education establishment apparently assumed I would figure it out by watching my mom or through some innate evolutionary hunter/gatherer impulse.  Unfortunately, I – like most young boys – spent my trips to the store with mom whining, throwing tantrums in the snack aisle, and trying to sneak boxes of Gushers into the cart when she wasn’t looking.  This being the case, the art of grocery shopping has taken on a mysterious, almost mythical nature.  I am aware that my mother was able to routinely fill her cart with food that kept me alive, but I wasn’t taking notes on which items she selected.  As a result, I typically find myself wondering the store for several hours before filling my cart with Kraft Mac and Cheese (It’s the cheesiest!) and calling it a day.

There are two primary hazards with my approach to grocery shopping: (1) I am exceptionally cheap and lazy and (2) I am still getting back at my parents for my excessively nutritious upbringing.  Shopping hazard number one immediately disqualifies any items that cannot be cooked in a microwave or cannot be eaten in the container they come in.  It also rules out any food with the words organic, fresh, All-Natural, or quality on the label.  Some people mistakenly assume from this that I do not eat fruits or vegetables.  This is only partly true.  While I have technically never been to the produce section, I have  had Campbell’s Chunky Soup (The Official Soup and Chili sponsor of the NFL) and occasionally they will sneak in a few vegetables.  Also, my Hungry Man Salisbury Steak dinner last week featured a delightful apple strudel as it’s dessert, which I’m almost certain contained a few pieces of fruit.

Even more disastrous is the second hazard, my nutritious childhood.  The ruling parents of the Woodyard home held many backward and draconian beliefs regarding food.  Example:  A baggie of Oreos, some Go-gurt, and a can of Coke do not a school lunch make.  Entire cans of Cool Whip should not be consumed in a single sitting.  Donuts should not be eaten after 8pm.  Cookie Crisp is not actually a cereal.  Fruit Roll-ups are not an acceptable substitute for apples, even if you eat eight of them.  As you can see, my childhood was one of near constant deprivation and disappointment.

That being the case, my trips to the grocery these days become avenues to the fulfillment of all my childhood dreams.  I wander the aisles looking for all the things mom wouldn’t let me have.  I eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch three times a day.  I have whole meals of Doritos, Dunkaroos, and Dr Pepper, known in some circles as an Oklahoma Thanksgiving.  Three brands of chocolate milk, industrial-sized tubs of animal crackers, gigantic bags of cheese puffs, and a veritable buffet of Hostess products fill my shelves.  It’s beautiful, it’s delicious, it’s exhausting.  There are reasons why children, especially 23 year-old children, should not be allowed in grocery stores unsupervised; namely, our complete lack of self-control and common sense.  I’ll admit it, there are times when I don’t want 15 powdered donuts for breakfast, but I eat them anyway just because I’m so thankful to live in a country where I can.  I can’t help myself.

This creates a bizarre paradox wherein the food I’m eating may actually kill me quicker than simple starvation.  Want more evidence?  Last week I had boxed macaroni for 5 out of 6 dinners.  Also last week, I made an effort at healthy living and bought a carton of eggs.  Unfortunately, they never made it into the fridge and had to be thrown away the next morning.  I once purchased an entire weeks worth of groceries for under $15.00.  My chemical dependence on Goldfish crackers has escalated to the point that I am now consuming 38 oz cartons at the rate of one per week (at $8.50 a pop, this also constitutes about 90% of my monthly food expenditures).  The list goes on.

Nobody told me it would be like this.  When systematically freaking out about the cold realities of post-collegiate life, I somehow forgot about food.  I figured it would just arrive before me in the form of home-cooked casseroles and mass-produced cafeteria cuisine as it always had before.  I was wrong.  I need to be trained.  I need classes, seminars, and Power Points.  I need a mentor to help me navigate the perils of the dairy section and that wall of vegetables with the sprinklers on it.  This much is owed to me.  It was society that transformed me from the club-wielding barbarian high atop the food chain to the incompetent omnivore I am today, and it is society that should bear the burden of caring for me in my weakened condition.  Whatever happens, something must be done soon.  At my current pace, it won’t be long before I start pouring that chocolate milk over those cheese puffs and calling it breakfast.   Trust me, no one wants to see that.

(This discussion brings up another, vaguely related point. I have an ongoing debate with a friend about the difference between going to the “grocery” and going to the “grocery store”.  I am of the conviction that the word “store” is implicit in the word grocery – as every grocery is necessarily a store – and is therefore understood and unnecessary.  She holds that the word grocery is a modifier and is incomplete and nonsensical when not coupled with a concrete noun (i.e. store).  We are at an impasse and I would appreciate your help in resolving this quandry.  You may do so in the section labeled “comments” below.)

While these are all fascinating studies, I’d like to spend our time today focusing on the fourth topic with special attention to the near-hypnotic effect the word “clearance” has on shoppers, particularly those of the female persuasion.

It doesn’t take a neurosurgeon or hypnotist to recognize that something explodes in ladies’ brains when they are presented with a sign that says “75% off.”  They lose complete control of all cognitive abilities.  Basic motor skills are often lost as well.  Normal human emotions are replaced with a manic, single-minded hunger reminiscent of a Discovery Channel special on piranhas except with more scratching, biting, eye-gouging, and screams of pain and rage.

It is a terrifying thing to witness.  Entire shelves are emptied into already towering carts as mothers entertain previously inconceivable thoughts like, “Look at that price!  What daughter wouldn’t love a Dora the Explorer throw pillow?  I think I’ll get fifteen.”  When given quizzical or disapproving looks, they say things like, “I’m doing all my Christmas shopping today.”  And I say things like, “You have twenty people on your list who asked for Baby Burp N Giggle this year?”

And that’s the point.  The object of all this madness is stuff that no one and I mean no one needs or even wants.  It’s garbage.   It’s a mistake, a miscalculation, a tragic misinterpretation of consumer trends.  Some guy somewhere thought someone would want to buy something and he was proven incorrect.  The stuff sat unloved on a shelf for months.  It was then marked down to 50% off, and still, at half the original price, shoppers decided they could continue living their lives without it.  But then it went 75% off and became the last HoHo in fat camp.  It started flying out the door as everyone realized just how empty and incomplete their lives were without at least one – but probably several dozen – Barbie Hair Extension Kits.

Truly, it defies all logic and sensibility.  I mean, isn’t useless crap still useless crap no matter how much it costs?  I respect bargain hunting as much as the next impoverished college grad, but the fact that I can now get 100 bags of chocolate marshmallows for less than $10.00 doesn’t change the fact that chocolate marshmallows are monumentally disgusting.  I thought there was a recession going on.  Shouldn’t we all be saving our paychecks for mortgage payments, gas bills, and stockpiles of food and thermal blankets for the impending apocalypse?

I don’t know.  If nothing else, this behavior gives further credence to one immutable truth of human nature: no matter how reasonably priced a product may be, people would still rather have it for free.  It can also serve as a cautionary tale/survival tip.  In the same way you would never come between a mama bear and her cub, never, ever, for any reason, come between a mama human and her clearance.

That is all.