Live your life in such a way that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders and says "Oh shit, she's awake."

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

The Vagina Monologues

I have noticed an interesting, albeit annoying, phenomenon lately – completely heterosexual men with vaginas.  I am not saying the have REAL functioning, vaginas.  They have vaginas in the figurative sense, which makes them act like women.  No bueno.

Now before you point your finger at me in an accusatory fashion, please know that I am not saying ALL men have vaginas.  There are still the manly men out there who grow beards in “Movember” and scratch parts of their anatomy in public that makes their significant others cringe.  I, for one, like my men “manly” and am happy to report that my husband Bill has never exhibited signs of even a tiny vagina as part of his anatomy.  Yes, I have seen him cry, but not without a good reason.  He hates shopping, and  has never exhibited signs of bi-polar behaviour.  He is an all-American guy who would rather have his teeth drilled without novacaine than get a manicure.  He passes gas regularly and thinks it is incredibly funny.  He is more comfortable in his Levi jeans and a fishing t-shirt, and he actually had to purchase a suit when we got married, since he didn’t have one to his name.  He gives great bear hugs when I am sad, and always makes me feel “little” even when I’ve gained weight.  He is also more than capable of telling me to pull myself up by my bootstraps when I am being a big baby.  He keeps it real, and I am thankful for my manly guy.  

Seriously, these vagina-sporting men are rocking that particular girl part with great enthusiasm.  They are moody, weepy, given to temper tantrums, and would rather go shopping than watch sports.  They are “in touch” with their feminine side, dress better than most women I know, and they fight like girls – nasty.  They show signs of manipulative behaviour and use the guilt card on a regular basis.  Every time I am around one of these dudes (I am using that term loosely here) it makes me break out in a rash.  How DARE they impinge on those womanly traits?  Women are the only ones who are allowed to act like that.  It is expected of us. It is our God-given right.  It is what makes us one big collective pain in the ass.  Seriously, I’m pretty sure if Bill caught himself acting in that manner, he would make me take him out to a field and shoot him with one of his big manly guns.

I do know women who think guys with vaginas are “cute” and are thrilled to have a shopping buddy, as well as a bed buddy, all rolled into one.  I, for one, could not deal.  To me, there is nothing sexy about a man who is more obsessive about waxing his guys parts than I am about waxing my hoohah.  Of course, I am not repulsed by man hair.  I find it kind of appealing, and it certainly is handy in the winter when it’s cold outside.  I understand that there are guys out there that are sporting the “fur coat” on their backs.  I realize women may not find that attractive.  That’s fine.  Go get laser hair removal.  But for chrissake, don’t make a public service announcement about it.  This is way too much information.  I don’t even want to think of ME getting a wax job.

I think the most annoying thing about these vagina-equipped men is that they are so “in tune with their feelings” and feel compelled to inform anyone who will listen about how they wished their girlfriend could understand their needs.  Do I think men have needs? Yep, absolutely.  Are guys supposed to talk about it ad nauseum?  Nope, not last time I checked.  That is a conversation FOR YOUR GIRLFRIEND, not the entire world.  I do not want to “chat about it” over a cup of coffee.  That is what I have female friends for.  Us girls have the lock on whining, moaning, complaining and going on in great detail about every little aspect of our lives, no matter how trivial.  I can’t even imagine what Bill would say if one of his close buddies came up to him and said, “You know, I really love [insert name here] but she just doesn’t take the time to understand what I’m feeling about our relationship, and that I really just want her to listen.”  Really? Yeah, let’s just say Bill wouldn’t handle that interaction well.  But it’s never going to happen, because out of all of his guy friends, NONE of them have a vagina.  I’m 100% sure he’s happy about that.

It’s not that I don’t miss having a homosexual guy friend.  THAT is a totally different animal. They are allowed to have an imaginary vagina. They are the most awesome at telling you which outfit looks like crap on you, and will partake in heartfelt chats for hours about feelings and relationships and Real Housewives of New Jersey.  I’ve had several gay friends over my lifetime who not only have maneuvered me through some very dicey relationship issues, but have also kept me from committing some devastating fashion mistakes.  Gay guy friends are like great female friends without the competitive edge.  There is no competing. It is apples and oranges. 

So to any overly-sensitive, overly emotional, moody, weepy guys out there.  Stop it.  It’s not attractive, or sexy, or even remotely appealing.  Pull out your tampon and MAN UP.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Her name is Lola...she is a showgirl...with yellow feathers in her hair...

This one is for all my "bird" know who you are...

Most people don’t understand my unnatural obsession with birds…all birds really, but specifically MY birds, and mostly my umbrella cockatoo who I lovingly named Lola when she came into my life at 12 weeks old.

Lola appeared in our lives sort of haphazardly, but then again not really.  I’m pretty sure she had a plan from the moment she laid eyes on me, because as soon as I picked her up she laid her head on my chest and literally cried like an infant.  It must have been that “sucker” tattoo on my forehead that she spotted because I was “stick a fork in me” done immediately.  I had owned birds for many years, but this pile of white feathers captured my heart with one fell swoop, and I haven’t been the same since.  We took her home on my birthday, the weekend of the 2010 blizzard, and she held our hearts hostage.  We hand fed her with a 60cc syringe filled with bird formula for over a year. I even began making her bird baby food from a concoction of applesauce, vegetables, sweet potatoes, a dollop of peanut butter, and numerous other things that would go into a blender, then into the syringe.  I still make up a mix of fresh food for her every day, and I’m sure I will until the day I die.

We doted on her, played with her, spent a small fortune on toys, bought her a cage that takes up half of my living room, and let her run our entire life.  She was thrilled at her ability to make us do her biddings.  At the same time, we taught her to play by herself – with her mountain of ridiculously expensive bird toys – and enjoy the company of her feathered brother and sister, Sam and Lisa.  Overall she was unimpressed with her siblings, as she is with anything that might possibly take the spotlight off of her, but she found enjoyment in her new surroundings.  I contribute her impressive socialization to the fact we encouraged her to “make her own fun” and we hand fed her for so long – something that is not unusual for cockatoos in the wilds of Australia, Malaysia or Indonesia.  In fact, parent cockatoos have been known to feed their young well into their second year or until the mommy and daddy bird have another “clutch.” Cockatoos have an inherently strong flock mentality, and they rely on each other for most everything, including emotional support.  Yes, they are highly emotional.  If Lola were human, she’d be considered a drama queen.

To know Lola is to love her.  She’s a brat, a clown, a master manipulator, a skilled snuggler, and about a million other things.  No one believes me when I tell them that she crawls under the covers and curls up next to me when I am lying in bed watching tv. She’d attached herself to me with Velcro if she could.  She demands all of my attention when I am in the room, and you cannot even believe how hard it is to ignore a pet that can actually say its own name OVER and OVER and OVER to persuade you to pick her up and give her a smooch on the beak or a scratch under her wing.  This past week, we left for a trip and she was without us for five days. I had a slew of friends stop over to feed her and talk to her, but I was worried.  It was a first, even though she had just turned three years old.  Cockatoos can pluck themselves, sometimes to the point of self-mutilation, if they perceive themselves to be lonely, or unloved.  Loneliness can turn to neuroses, and that is very very bad for a bird.  But we arrived home and there she was, looking especially cute, bouncing up and down, and repeating “HI LOLA!” until I got her out of the cage and covered her with kisses.  She was fine. I was relieved.  She is an extraordinary bird and I am so proud of her.

I’ve owned pets my entire life.  Indeed, I really can’t imagine my life without my “feathered and furry babies” for one moment. I currently have Lola, my blue pionus parrot Sammy, my sweet flighty cockatiel Lisa and my bedroom slipper of a Pekingese Marlen.  All of them are so intrinsically woven into the fabric of my being, but Lola more so than the others for sure.  Maybe it is because I know she stands a very good chance of outliving me.  Thankfully, she is in love with my daughter as much as Bill and me, so I know if something happens to me, she will be loved like no other bird. I find great peace in that fact.

Would I recommend to anyone that they go out tomorrow and get a cockatoo so they can understand these incredible creatures?  No I absolutely wouldn’t.  Why?  Because far too often people bring birds into their homes without understanding all that is involved with these highly social, highly intelligent creatures.  No they are not merely “decorations.” Yes, they will love you to death.  They will also break your eardrums with their “singing” (I used that term loosely.) They are messy, expensive, demanding, painful if they bite, and incredibly stubborn when it comes to getting their way.  We live in their world, not the other way around. And while I have brought my three feathered kids (fids) into my home, the fact of the matter is they are still wild animals – not at all domesticated like a dog or a cat.  You cannot predict their behaviour, and you cannot promise that they won’t unexpectedly lean over and take off an earlobe.  Lola has yet to draw blood, but I know it is not a matter of “if” but “when.”  It will happen eventually, and more than likely it will involve stitches – something I have never had before, and honestly, I am not looking forward to at all.  But I will still love her to pieces, and I will still encourage her to be exactly what she is…one of the most glorious, affectionate species of birds on earth.  Cheers to the cockatoo – creatures with the intelligence of a five year old and the emotionally reasoning of a two year old, equalling the smartest brattiest most delightful two year old…for the rest of their lives. 

If you are looking for information on cockatoos or other birds, please contact me and I will be happy to direct you to where you can find the most relevant and honest information.