Men Are So Random
1. The Catch.
At the campground today, I was walking down the road to our site when I saw the cutest little puppy dog standing by the side. The doggy whimpered when he saw me; clearly he wanted to play. The dog was attached to a scrawny, pale, ordinary-looking, middle-aged guy.
"Is that a puppy?" I asked the guy.
Out of nowhere, he replies, "It's my wife's dog."
It took me a full ten minutes before it hit me. Unsuspectingly, I knelt down, petted the doggy, talked to it, scratched it under the chin, and went on walking when I suddenly realized what the dude had been trying to say: "Get your lusty hands off me, bitch! I'm taken."
It's not you I was interested in.
It's your dog. I have a dog at home, and I miss him. Your dog reminds me of my dog. That's all there is to it.
How many guys are like that, I wonder. How many absolutely ordinary men go through life thinking, for no apparent reason, that they're God's gift to women? Does it help a person in life, or vice versa? Should I teach my sons to be like that, or not? This could be one of the few questions where the answer really is, "42". Rock on midlife crisis.
2. The Hot Bully.
Once back home, I logged onto the Russian classmates site, odnoklassniki.ru. It is a social networking site that many people have been using lately to reconnect with their school friends, college friends, coworkers from jobs long gone. Personally I lost track of so many people in the olden days because none of us had phones or email, and snail mail was just too much work. So these sites have been a lot of help. This afternoon, though, I saw I'd just had a new visitor. I followed the link to a blank page with five pictures on it, and wouldn't you know, it was a guy I went to school with.
Back in the early 80s, in high school, when I was a flaming nerd, this guy used to be my number one bully.
I mean, a lot of people did things like snicker behind my back or ask me if I had a boyfriend (when it was quite clear from my nerdy looks that I didn't), that type of thing. But this guy - this guy was the only one who actually spit in my face. Who actually kicked me and tried to push me down the stairs. Who once changed out of his gym shirts and into his school pants in front of me, like I was an animal and not a female. Who told people I was so ugly, I didn't deserve to even be called a girl. My heart stopped for a moment as he stared at me from his pictures.
Well, wouldn't you want me to give you the classic, textbook, Romy and Michele version of what happened to this guy over the last 25 years? Something like, he's fat and bald and single and he's living under the bridge, while I am all successful and gorgeous. Guess what. The second part is still true. The first one, however, isn't.
The guy is a knockout.
Granted, he's five feet tall, but you can be a five-feet-tall knockout apparently. His face has not changed at all. He looks like a much cuter version of Marty McFly. He has a killer body. I actually saw a six-pack. On three pictures out of five, he's wearing speedos and he manages to look good in them. He still has all of his hair, for God's sakes! He has a gorgeous wife and an incredibly pretty daughter. I should've felt good for the guy.
But that wasn't what I felt.
What I felt was scared.
I totally felt like, any minute now, he would leap out of the picture and deliver a swift kick to my ass, or a well-aimed spit to my face. Damn. It's been twenty-five years and I'm still afraid of that guy. For a second I considered deleting my profile from the site.
On second thought, I realized, not only could Mr. Goldie kick his ass, any of my two sons probably would, too. Heck, LilProgrammer is a full foot taller and works out every day.
I also have a vicious dog. Granted, he'll run away and hide from any intruder, but he's one hell of a barker.
All that said, I'm feeling safe again.
3. My son CB, my hero.
ChinchillaBoy doesn't want to be called that on my blog anymore, so from now on he's CB. What I want to tell you is, about a month ago, just for shits and giggles I took a free online admission test to something called Long Ridge Writers Group. Two weeks later, they sent me a letter of acceptance. Dear Goldie, you have what it takes to be a writer, we only accept 30% of all applicants, blah blah blah.
I always wanted to take a writing class. I enjoy writing. The process gives me a natural high. I do, however, feel my limitations in that English is my second language and I have no formal English lit education, not even at a high-school level. I have always wanted to try and overcome that factor by taking a class. I am, however, also paranoid. So, as soon as I got the letter, I started freaking out.
"Oh what if it's a scam? Oh what if they send these letters to just anyone with a bank account?!"
Now my son CB is a real writer in the making, a turn-on for any language arts teacher. They all love him and praise him to the skies. As he was listening to my whining, here's what he said:
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm going to submit a crap application, and, if it passes, then it's a scam. If it fails, then it's the real deal."
So my son, CB, goes online and fills out the form, including, I remember, a story from his life that had to be 250 words long. CB's consisted of one sentence:
"Then, like, stuff happened."
And he hit Submit.
Last week, at work, my phone rings and it's an ecstatic CB.
"Mom, guess what!!! I failed!! They're legit, Mom!"
I was humbled.
CB is a much better writer than I will ever be, and he put himself on the line so I could enroll in a writing class. Which, by the way, I did. After what he'd done for me, how could I not?!
Moral of these stories, if you're looking for a perfect man, look no further than the Goldie household. We may have the only two decent, available guys left on the face of the Earth.
I credit, of course, my exceptional parenting skills.