What to wear?
Hey, we’re all family here, right? Well then I have a question for you. How in the Hell do all you guys have cool clothes to wear all the time?
I’m not talking about the women reading this. I understand how you have clothes, because you go shopping every now and then. But how do your men always show up with cool stuff to wear? Do you buy it for him? How do you know what he likes to wear? And how do you keep up with his size? I don’t even know my own size half the time.
For the past year or so I’ve been noticing other men’s clothes. (And yes, I’m well aware that isn’t the manliest thing I’ve ever said. But remember, we are family.) Whether my wife and I are at a restaurant, or I’m at one of my kids’ games, or just hanging out playing poker or something, lately I always notice what other guys are wearing. And it’s always better than what I’m wearing.
I’m not sure when this happened, because just a few years ago I was about even with everyone else. But I guess I got busy with kids, work, family and stuff like that. I just never think about shopping for clothes until I have to. And even if I did think about it, there’s always something else that needs to be paid for.
I was looking at some pictures the other day, and came across a couple of photos that were about three years old. It suddenly hit me that the shirt I was wearing in the picture was the same shirt that I was wearing now, three years later. And- here’s the bad part- it’s considered one of my nicest shirts.
Once I thought about it long enough, I got up and went to my closet. What a sad, sad sight.
I’ve got a funeral or wedding jacket (whichever one I’m attending at the time), a plain white button up shirt that goes with it, and my “going out” shirt- a long sleeve button up with stripes.
I’ve got three short sleeve button ups that I’ve had for years (one of which I’m wearing in the photo), one polo shirt that is way too tight on me, and a couple of old sweaters and hoodies. Half of those are Longhorn sweatshirts that I couldn’t wear last winter because they couldn’t win a game.
Speaking of the Longhorns, I have a 2005 National Championship t-shirt in my closet. And I still wear it. A lot. The other ones either have Franklin Cowboys or Mumford Mustangs on the front.
Pants? I’ve got two pair of jeans that I can work in, and one pair of nice jeans that are still nice and new only because I haven’t been able to button them for the past two years. Hence I don’t wear them.
And thank God I haven’t been to a wedding or funeral in a while, because the tan slacks that go with the nice jacket and shirt are at least fifteen pounds away from fitting. And I don’t own a nice belt, either- my belt has homemade holes punched out.
Don’t even get me started on the footwear. I have a pair of flip flops, an old pair of Nikes, and some steel toed work boots in the bottom of my closet.
So my question is, how do guys today end up with nice clothes to wear? Do they go buy a few items at a time? Or just go load up two or three times a year? And how do they keep from feeling guilty about spending the money?
My wife said to me, “Just take a hundred bucks out of your poker account and go shopping. Look for sales.” I told her you probably couldn’t buy a nice pack of underwear for a hundred bucks nowadays.
And speaking of underwear- I’m glad I’m married. If I were dating, I wouldn’t want anyone to see mine.
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Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Was it worth it?
I was cruising the internet, and came across this story from Florida. Two guys got into a fist fight in public, and one of them got hurt pretty bad before the fight could be broken up. The other one went to jail of course, and the whole incident is going to cost both of them plenty of dough- one with hospital bills and the other with court fees.
Here’s a quote from one of the guys, “I’m not even sure how it escalated so far. One minute we were fine, the next minute we were swinging on each other like madmen.”
Do me a favor. Play along and try to guess what they were fighting about… No, it wasn’t politics. And no, it wasn’t money related, drug related, or in-law related. The two guys- grown men, mind you- were fighting over a referee’s call in a Pee Wee football game.
“It’s silly,” said one witness. “These are eight and nine year old boys. There isn’t even playoffs on this level.”
I’ll bet you something. I’ll bet you both of these guys are really pretty decent guys. I’ll bet you that ten minutes before the altercation, both men were just as normal as you and I. Both of them probably have families, jobs, and friends in the community. Each of them has probably lectured their children on how to act in public, and to treat others with respect. Even when their opinions differ from your own.
I’ll bet you that neither guy ever dreamed that they would be involved in a fight, much less in public and over something as silly as eight year olds playing ball.
And I’ll bet you something else, too. I’ll bet you that ten minutes after the altercation, both guys felt terrible over what happened. They were probably worried, scared, embarrassed, and remorseful.
While we are betting, I’ll bet you that not one kid on either team would have given the referee’s call a second thought after ten minutes. Their minds are more worried about who’s house they can spend the night at, who can spend the night at their house, where Dad is taking them to eat after the game, and how they can talk him into seeing the Lion King in 3D.
At some point, everyone reading this has been at a football, basketball, baseball, softball or volleyball game and has left shaking their heads. There’s always someone in the crowd yelling at a ref, a coach, an umpire, another parent, or even a kid. Sometimes they even yell at their own kid from the sidelines, maybe expecting more than the little fellow is capable of.
“Yeah, but even though they are only eight years old, it’s still important to teach them that second place is just the first place loser,” I can hear you say. “Everyone wants to win, even eight year olds. Besides, what happened in Florida is extreme, it would never happen here.”
I’ll bet you one more thing. Both of those guys probably used to say the exact same thing.
I was cruising the internet, and came across this story from Florida. Two guys got into a fist fight in public, and one of them got hurt pretty bad before the fight could be broken up. The other one went to jail of course, and the whole incident is going to cost both of them plenty of dough- one with hospital bills and the other with court fees.
Here’s a quote from one of the guys, “I’m not even sure how it escalated so far. One minute we were fine, the next minute we were swinging on each other like madmen.”
Do me a favor. Play along and try to guess what they were fighting about… No, it wasn’t politics. And no, it wasn’t money related, drug related, or in-law related. The two guys- grown men, mind you- were fighting over a referee’s call in a Pee Wee football game.
“It’s silly,” said one witness. “These are eight and nine year old boys. There isn’t even playoffs on this level.”
I’ll bet you something. I’ll bet you both of these guys are really pretty decent guys. I’ll bet you that ten minutes before the altercation, both men were just as normal as you and I. Both of them probably have families, jobs, and friends in the community. Each of them has probably lectured their children on how to act in public, and to treat others with respect. Even when their opinions differ from your own.
I’ll bet you that neither guy ever dreamed that they would be involved in a fight, much less in public and over something as silly as eight year olds playing ball.
And I’ll bet you something else, too. I’ll bet you that ten minutes after the altercation, both guys felt terrible over what happened. They were probably worried, scared, embarrassed, and remorseful.
While we are betting, I’ll bet you that not one kid on either team would have given the referee’s call a second thought after ten minutes. Their minds are more worried about who’s house they can spend the night at, who can spend the night at their house, where Dad is taking them to eat after the game, and how they can talk him into seeing the Lion King in 3D.
At some point, everyone reading this has been at a football, basketball, baseball, softball or volleyball game and has left shaking their heads. There’s always someone in the crowd yelling at a ref, a coach, an umpire, another parent, or even a kid. Sometimes they even yell at their own kid from the sidelines, maybe expecting more than the little fellow is capable of.
“Yeah, but even though they are only eight years old, it’s still important to teach them that second place is just the first place loser,” I can hear you say. “Everyone wants to win, even eight year olds. Besides, what happened in Florida is extreme, it would never happen here.”
I’ll bet you one more thing. Both of those guys probably used to say the exact same thing.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Letter to My Wife
Thirteen years ago, I married my best friend. I know that’s an old, silly, cliché thing to say, but it’s true. There are very few people in this world that I need to talk to on a regular basis. As a matter of fact, you’re the only one I can think of.
Some days, I’m at work before you even wake up for the day. But even then, my day doesn’t start until I at least get a text from you saying good morning.
I’ll never forget the day I proposed to you. We’d been broken up for a while, and things were going downhill for me pretty fast. One Friday morning I woke up late for work with a hangover, and on the way to work my truck broke down. I said to myself, “You know, my life just seemed to go better when I was with her.” An hour later, I wrote a little note asking you to marry me.
And thirteen years later, it still seems like it was the right thing to do. I’m sure we both know where and what I would be right now if it weren’t for you. So I wanted to say thank you.
Thank you for those three gorgeous, healthy children that I act like I can’t stand to be around sometimes. Other than being a little too spoiled for my taste, they are perfect. Thank you for giving me a family, and a reason to be a responsible adult.
Thank you for running the household when I was off working out of town, or spending way too many hours at one job or another instead of at home helping you change diapers, clean house, cook supper or do homework.
Thank you for understanding when I’ve slept on the couch every Monday night for the past twelve years in order to write the sports section, or being patient with me when I put our lives into this silly column every week. Even as our vehicles were being egged and firecrackers were being set off on our front porch, you’ve never asked me to stop writing what I felt.
And God knows it hasn’t been easy. I’m not the sweetest or friendliest person to be around, especially when times get tough. I gripe when family visits. I complain when friends visit. I get mad when the phone rings. I’m sure at times it feels like you’re living with a cranky old man who is never satisfied with anything.
But over the past thirteen years you’ve made me realize that tough times surrounded by family and friends beats the Hell out of tough times all by yourself. And I know that without you and the things you bring to the table, some of the tough times over the years would have won.
I guess what I’m trying to say with all this yapping I’m doing is this- thank you for making the past thirteen years my best thirteen years.
Now, I’m well aware that nobody hates romance or public displays of affection more than you do, so I know I’m going to be in trouble when this hits the newspaper.
Like I tell our kids, some things are worth getting in trouble for. Happy Anniversary.
Thirteen years ago, I married my best friend. I know that’s an old, silly, cliché thing to say, but it’s true. There are very few people in this world that I need to talk to on a regular basis. As a matter of fact, you’re the only one I can think of.
Some days, I’m at work before you even wake up for the day. But even then, my day doesn’t start until I at least get a text from you saying good morning.
I’ll never forget the day I proposed to you. We’d been broken up for a while, and things were going downhill for me pretty fast. One Friday morning I woke up late for work with a hangover, and on the way to work my truck broke down. I said to myself, “You know, my life just seemed to go better when I was with her.” An hour later, I wrote a little note asking you to marry me.
And thirteen years later, it still seems like it was the right thing to do. I’m sure we both know where and what I would be right now if it weren’t for you. So I wanted to say thank you.
Thank you for those three gorgeous, healthy children that I act like I can’t stand to be around sometimes. Other than being a little too spoiled for my taste, they are perfect. Thank you for giving me a family, and a reason to be a responsible adult.
Thank you for running the household when I was off working out of town, or spending way too many hours at one job or another instead of at home helping you change diapers, clean house, cook supper or do homework.
Thank you for understanding when I’ve slept on the couch every Monday night for the past twelve years in order to write the sports section, or being patient with me when I put our lives into this silly column every week. Even as our vehicles were being egged and firecrackers were being set off on our front porch, you’ve never asked me to stop writing what I felt.
And God knows it hasn’t been easy. I’m not the sweetest or friendliest person to be around, especially when times get tough. I gripe when family visits. I complain when friends visit. I get mad when the phone rings. I’m sure at times it feels like you’re living with a cranky old man who is never satisfied with anything.
But over the past thirteen years you’ve made me realize that tough times surrounded by family and friends beats the Hell out of tough times all by yourself. And I know that without you and the things you bring to the table, some of the tough times over the years would have won.
I guess what I’m trying to say with all this yapping I’m doing is this- thank you for making the past thirteen years my best thirteen years.
Now, I’m well aware that nobody hates romance or public displays of affection more than you do, so I know I’m going to be in trouble when this hits the newspaper.
Like I tell our kids, some things are worth getting in trouble for. Happy Anniversary.
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