Dear Woman: How About A Date?

I hate to break it to these guys, but I’ve had a “growing sense of worship” for the “gifts of the feminine” since I read my first Playboy.

And grow it did.

Okay, past that I got nothing. This film is creepy on a number of levels. First, the speakers all sound like the serial killers you see in those scary movies. You know, with that slow, hypnotic lyrical voice that lulls a gal to sleep more slowly than a ruffie but without the morning-after headache.

“Hello, Clarice.”

Secondly, it’s an insult to the 95% of women who love men for what they are, which is men. Manly men. But with a sensitive side. Men who don’t mind washing a dish now and again, always notice when they’ve had their hair done, and never comment on how much their butts have grown over the years. The other five percent? Lesbians and women who love inanimate objects. Not just enjoy now and again like normal women, but actually fall in love.

Third, these guys somehow think I’ve given them permission to apologize for my being a man. I didn’t. I have nothing to apologize for. Okay, okay, maybe I should apologize for trying to feel-up my old girlfriend in high school, but it’s not like she complained and it’s been a long, long time and I’m sure she’s forgotten.

Anyway, I can’t imagine any woman being impressed with what is the obvious pick-up line that is this video. Granted, I’ve been out of the dating scene for 29 some-odd years but I really don’t see, “Hey babe, how would you like to co-create something amazing” as being any more successful than “Hi, will you help me find my lost puppy? I think he went into this cheap motel room across the street.”

And that “How’s it going, babe” vibe is maybe the most creepy thing about the video. The way it repeatedly slips in sexual innuendo with apologies for war, violence against women, religious persecution, and assaults on the family is so icky I felt like I needed a shower after watching it.

Don’t believe me?  Here’s one jewel out of many spewed forth by the guys in this video.

“I honor your capacity to listen to your body and it’s needs for food, rest and playtime.”

Get that? Playtime, baby. It’s on the way. Inserted deliciously between apologies for misogyny, pornography, and commercialization of beauty.

Foreplay with a purpose.

And how nice of them to help take their minds off of all the “man-caused” evil in the world by allowing them to focus on what’s needed –  a nice slice of double-fudge chocolate cake, a nap, and a slap and tickle afterward.

Not exactly subtle. Nor original. Men have been using important issues like world hunger, war, global warming, and women’s rights to get laid since the 1960s.  Before that it was “I’m being shipped-out to tomorrow and I might not make it back” which was used to great success by millions of men in WWII I’m told.

Most women knew it was a line. And still do. Which is one reason I don’t believe they need apologizing to. Women are smart. Tough. They can take care of themselves. Apologizing to them in this way – for these things –  plays them off as weak fools who simply cannot handle the world around them. Including the men around them.

And they can.

It’s one of their “gifts of the feminine.”

What’s not to worship?

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Not-So Private Confessions

I found this interesting post about “Testimony Sunday” over at Maggie’s Farm and had to laugh. I’ve never been to a regular protestant service, having only attended two Southern Baptist weddings, so I’ve never experienced this. But since I’m the kind of Catholic who dreams of bringing back the solemnity of the Latin Mass and absolutely cringes at the ritual “Sign of Peace” shaking of hands (germ city), I don’t think I would take it very well. I like my church-going experience to be quiet, reflective, and with as little human interaction as possible.

What’s funny is how the kid reacted though.

Jonathan thought this was the coolest church service ever. Having only been to Lutheran services to that point, the idea of church where people would get up and cry and talk about their alcoholic parents and being beaten, going to school in awful clothes, having only bread and milk for food for a week – or alternatively, having husbands that went off for “affairs,” – we had covered in our Ten Commandments teaching that “adultery” was stealing someone else’s husband or wife, and I think he dimly grasped that something like this was up – and the police coming to your house or being teased at school… well my goodness, this is the most interesting church we have ever been in, Dad. Can we come back next week?

Beats putting the kids in the “cry room,” although the kids who really wail are never somehow put there. And I have to say I’d love the chance to verify some of the rumors one hears.  But you’ll never catch me testifying. I may share a thing or two here in my semi-anonymous status, but no way I’m going to talk about my fantasy of feeding grapes to Monica Bellucci while standing in the middle of a couple hundred fellow parishioners.

That’s between me and the priest during confession.  You know, when I really want to make him feel uncomfortable.

You Know, Because A Banana Would Have Been Too Obvious

Yeah, I know, I just posted this photo, but this alternative title just popped into my head and I couldn’t waste it . . .

Again, hat-tip to My[confined]Space.

I’m Pretty Sure That’s The Dress She Wore In The Matrix

He thought, thereby confirming his nerd-dom . . .

Hat-tip to My[confined]Space.

That’s Monica Bellucci by the way.


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