It’s been a while since I wrote anything that made anyone angry. But about 80 percent of you that come here and honor me with your keyboards are going to get really ticked off.
There’s something the “dashboard” of my blog that allows me to click and see who reads My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. It shows where the comments, likes, and reblogs come from and I know that eight out of ten people who hang here are female. Well, guess what ladies, I’m a dude, I have testosterone, and while I love you, I think some things you do, say, think, and promote are craphouse rat crazy.
My house’s doorbell rings a lot, every day. Most of the time it’s little boys ranging in age of five to sixteen, wanting to talk and play with my three daughters, who are eight, nine, and sixteen. A few days ago, one of those boys, who rings my doorbell more than most, shows up on my front porch wanting to talk to Tay. He’s been her friend who is a boy (I don’t use the other word because it will cause robot circuitry to malfunction and people will get hurt) for over two and a half years. He and Tay have been to two homecoming dances, numerous school functions, and even went to Disney World together (with the rest of our family). So they know each other well. Yet, there he was, with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a balloon in the other. He was wearing a Yankees baseball cap, shorts, loafers, a dress shirt, a tie, and a sports coat. As my daughter bounded the stairs she caught me staring at the kid and jumped in the middle of us, swooning.
Really, Tay? A week ago you two were talking about not going to homecoming and now this is a romantic moment even with John Cusack stalking, I mean standing outside Ione Skye’s house, holding a boombox with Pete Gabriel’s In Your Eyes (the light, the heat) blaring?
A few days later, I come home and Tay and and her mother show me pictures of one of her cheerleading friends, whose friend who is a boy delivered her a huge cupcake (I swear Cupcake Wars is the zombie apocalypse) with a tiara on it saying something like, “every Princess deserves a Prince, let me take you to Narnia err homecoming”. Of course the twitter, the book of face and instagram blew up with these pictures. Instagram had to be involved, it was a photograph of food.
Here’s the kicker, and the one that will prove my thesis.
A boy, who really is just a friend to a girl, who appears to be really full of herself, had his Customs official daddy fly his helicopter (against regulations) and drop a Teddy Bear to the Ms. Whatever, asking her to homecoming. She gave him a lukewarm “sure”, then the kid bragged on the twitter “wait til you see what I do for prom”.
I hear the words oozing from my eighty percent female audience now, “Oh Lance, these gestures are so sweet and they honor women and you’re just a cynical butthole that needs to listen to Bon Jovi”. I love you all, but shut it.
What’s missing here is reality and actual communication. I did these acts. Well, I never had a helicopter, but I did other stuff, for women who eventually found more interest in dudes that did NOTHING.
I’m glad my daughter’s friend who is a boy, is a good kid that went the extra mile for her. But how about asking her like a man, not a Wal Mart paperback book.
What I’ve noticed in my children and their friends is they don’t do the small things with each other. They don’t talk, wonder, help, comfort or understand. They fly helicopters and make cupcakes, though!
Maybe my daughter and her friend will stay together and this latest romantic act will be a brilliant chapter in their lifetime together. But things like this tend to not last.
I’m romantic with my wife. The woman has jewelry she never wears because we’re busy working and taking care of kids. These boys (and girls) need to be taught communication so that relationships are more real.
Today’s song is the often misinterpreted Come As You Are by Nirvana. It’s about fake friendships. Turn it up.