865You guys have been asking for it. Okay, so not like how when I was a kid and my dad would tell me I was asking for it whenever I did something bad (which was a lot).  In that case “it” was being grounded and then forced to do manual labor…like painting the deck.

I don’t think my dad had any idea what I was really asking for.  <HINT:  It was a new car.>

Apparently my dad was just really bad at reading me.

In this case, you guys have been asking for it, but you haven’t been “cruisin’ for a bruisin'” as my dad used to say.  You’ve been asking for an updated version of “Shit my husband says.”

Because I’m good to you, and because I don’t have any manual labor that you guys would actually do, I’ve decided to give in to your request.

Without any further delay, I give you an updated version of random crap my husband said.

Sadly, each of these comments are 100% true, which is why I’m 100% embarrassed.

Back CameraPhilosopher

Matt: “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘To each his own?‘”

Lisa: “Yeah.  Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Shut the f*ck up?'”

Matt:  “Yeah.”  <looks down and whispers softly> “You say it to me regularly.”

Medicine Man

Lisa:  “What would you say if they tell me I have cancer?”

Matt: “Well fuck, it’s cancer.  I guess we have to roll with it now.”

Man of the Cloth

Matt: “One of the Commandments says you shouldn’t covet your neighbor’s wife.  Why would you covet his wife?  Why not just bang her?  It’s all the same sin in God’s eyes.”

Back CameraMan of Many Words

Matt:  “I totally didn’t say something creepy.  Wait.  What did I say?”

Coffee Expert

Lisa:  “I want a latte.”

Matt:  “Latte means ‘milk’ in Spanish.”

Lisa:  “No it doesn’t.  ‘Leche’ means milk in Spanish.

Matt:  “Like I said, ‘leche’ means milk.  It comes from the old English word, ‘latte.'”

Germaphobe

Lisa: “Ew.  Get your finger out of my face.  I don’t know where it’s been.”

Matt:  “What do you mean, you don’t know where it’s been?  It’s been on my hand.”

918

I always like to include a picture of us at the end to show you that we really do like each other. Please disregard my shiny face in this photo. I just lubed up on sunscreen. Don’t judge.

 

Why moms can find lost thingsFor some reason, men can’t seem to find things. Maybe it’s because they’re usually focused on other things; like what’s in their pants…or getting into yours.

Whatever the reason, my experience with men and locating items is they can’t seem to do it without my help.

Am I just a really good finder of missing items?  Probably, although I often lose my dignity at karaoke bars and have trouble locating it.  (It’s not at the bottom of five glasses of vodka.  That’s always the first place I check.)

Maybe I’m just overly talented at finding things and that’s why I’m often summoned to locate anything from missing car keys to the mustard in the fridge…in the same exact place it always resides.

I suspect part of the reason I’m so good at tracking things down is because I’m great at word searches.  I’m fricking fantastic at those bitches. I can find the most complicated of words among a sea of vowels and consonants.

photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc

photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc

Actually, that fact doesn’t have anything to do with this post.  I just wanted to find a way to sneak in the fact that I kick ass at word searches.

Mission accomplished.

Back to locating things: I don’t think I’m alone in my experience of being the go-to person for finding lost items.  I think it’s a widespread occurrence.

For some reason, men need women not only for procreating and endless hours of boob-grabbing, but also for tracking down missing underwear.

Dare I say this is an epidemic?  I dare.

Dare I say it’s worldwide?  I double dare.

I’m totally a daredevil when it comes to making allegations about men losing things. (I also love Double Dare and Marc Summers.)

"Where's MY uterus?" See what I mean?  Males are always looking for something... photo credit: Mohammed Alnaser via photopin cc

“Where’s MY uterus?”
See what I mean? Males are always looking for something…
photo credit: Mohammed Alnaser via photopin cc

I feel confident saying that women across the globe are inundated with inquiries as to where their male loved-one last left his favorite pair of running shoes.  (In the bathroom under the sink.  Duh.)

This phenomenon is not limited to adult males.  Rather, such forgetfulness starts at a young age.

Forgetting where they put their favorite fire engine develops into forgetting to call their girlfriends and then eventually leads to forgetting they were supposed to be home at 6:00 to clean the house.

Okay, those last two aren’t necessarily about losing things but I think they support the overall premise that men are forgetful.

What’s my point? That’s an excellent question.  My point is that either men are lazy and want to make women do all of their searching, or men are born with an inherent ability to lose things.

I’m not sure which explanation makes me sadder.

The only logical conclusion I’ve drawn from all of this (aside from the fact I will definitely get comments on this post about being a man-hater), is the reason women are so great at locating lost items is because of their uterus.

photo credit: dullhunk via photopin cc

photo credit: dullhunk via photopin cc

It’s one of the things that makes us different from men, and it’s clearly where we derive our ability to locate long lost possessions.

Notice I didn’t say it’s our vaginas.  It’s not.  Vaginas have enough things to worry about without having to locate little Timmy’s lost soccer uniform.

Plus, men can purchase artificial vaginas and I don’t think they have any better luck locating things just because they have a pocket pu$$y.

This leads me to my well-reasoned belief that women are capable of finding nearly anything simply because we have (or have had) a uterus.

It’s a fact, mostly because I said so.

The uterus is basically a beacon shining brightly, pointing the way to all of those missing puzzle pieces and lone socks.  What else could be the cause of our magical powers?

Nothing.  It’s the uterus.

Does that mean if you’ve had a hysterectomy you are no longer a finder of things?  Of course not!  If you’ve ever had a uterus, even if it was subsequently removed, you still retain your mad GPS skills because you were initially granted the infinite tracking abilities a uterus provides.

So there you have it.  Mystery solved.  Now you know why everyone comes to women for anything that’s lost (or in plain sight).

Come to think of it, if women were in charge of the search party, they would have found Amelia Earhart within an hour.

woman with lost item

photo credit: Kevin_Morris via photopin cc

photo credit: Kevin_Morris via photopin cc

I fly fairly regularly both for work and for pleasure.

SIDENOTE: I hate it when people say “for pleasure” because that sounds creepy.  It sounds like they’re going to an orgy or a porno convention.  (That was last month, by the way.)

I often travel the friendly skies, and I’ve noticed a thing or two about flying.  For starters, I’ve noticed the friendly skies are much more friendly when they’re viewed through vodka-hazed eyes.

One of the other things I’ve noticed (aside from the small portion sizes of alcohol), is there are two different levels of travelers when it comes to airlines; first class and economy.

We all know what first class is.  It’s for those far superior to everyone else, or at least that’s what they tell me as I’m being escorted out of their bathroom.

Don’t judge.  They have perfumed soap in there.

You know this bitch is flying first class. photo credit: partymonstrrrr via photopin cc

You know this bitch is flying first class.
photo credit: partymonstrrrr via photopin cc

Since there’s first class, that means coach/economy is really just another name for “second class.” Although I appreciate not being called “second class” I’m not sure being called “economy class” is much better.

Every time I wait in line to board, they call all first class passengers and allow them to board first.  I guess it makes sense that if that’s why they’re called “first” class, but why are the rest of us called “economy?”

Isn’t that kind of a crappy moniker?

For those of you living in your parents’ basement because the bottom dropped out of your scented diaper invention, you know the economy sucks at the moment.  You also know that adding a rose-scented fragrance to diapers literally makes people’s shit smell like roses.

It also makes you vomit immediately every time you pass a bouquet of flowers.

Either way, the “economy” label is especially offensive.  It’s basically another way of reminding us that me-maw can’t afford her house anymore and has to move into the basement with Uncle Jeb.

As if the lack of birthday cards with a $5.00 check weren’t enough of a reminder that me-maw’s decision to invest in blow up furniture wasn’t her best financial plan.

So let’s change the world one label at a time.  Dear reader, let’s make this our life’s mission: to change these obnoxious monikers.

Instead of economy, maybe it could be called “somewhat normal people who have to fly and deserve to have toilet paper in their restroom too.”

Perhaps a more appropriate term for first class would be “those flying for work and sticking it to their boss by purchasing a higher priced ticket” or “men with tiny peckers who want to feel important.”

Or maybe just “douchebags.”  Whatever works.