In the American South, we are raised with manners as a matter of breeding. We are taught to hold open doors for complete strangers, help those in need and say thanks to everyone for everything. And I do mean everyone for everything.
A few years ago, I was driving about 74 in a 55 during a rainstorm in Marlboro County, South Carolina, on my way back from Myrtle Beach. A cop stopped me and asked me the most original question, "Do you know how fast you were going?"
It's as simple as that. This article could end right now and you'd all know what I meant without me having to go into it. But where's the fun in that?
Whatever intelligence edge or business advantage men believe they have in this world, it disappears when faced with a nice set of boob cleavage. A man could be at the top of his game in the prime of his concentration and totally break down, drooling all over himself, if confronted with a set of Double D's and a low v-neck.
Cleavage is the colossal equalizer, the secret password, the greatest feminist weapon ever invented. Cleavage overpowers the strength of the penis ten times out of ten. Even bad cleavage is as mighty as a chunk of Kryptonite.
I turned thirty-six about a month ago and as you can tell from my blog, I consider myself officially getting old. Well, middle age at least. Thinning hair and aching joints have become priorities which I think are decent indication that any "Boy Toy" status I might could have achieved, has vanished.
I've dated older women before, some of which were old enough to have birthed me. My favorite decade of music is the 60s, before I was even born. I love old house architecture and old cars and I've always been pretty mature for my age. So I guess that sort of explains the mutual attraction between me and older women.
And lately I've had oler women flirt with me in ways that could only mean they were interested. Only now, older means a ten year difference rather than twenty. What is it about women in their forties that dig me?
I was telling a friend last night about a movie I'd just seen on IFC, Intacto. It's an amazing foreign film that's totally refreshing and brilliant, especially after being bombarded with a steady barage of predictable Hollywood films. I didn't want to ruin it for him so I just told him of the opening scene and how it began like the movie, The Cooler. The similarity ends after five minutes, and although both movies are good, Intacto was spectacular and cinematic.
When I told him the movie's central theme was luck and the games lucky people play, he interrupted me. He told me the story of his cousin who had a cushy job in the corporate world making six figures. He had it made and after a weekend of playing internet poker, he quit his job. In a few short days, he'd cleared sixty thousand and decided he could do that for a living.
It's the beginning of September and I have already seen three Halloween stores open on the route I take to work. Three stores that sell nothing but Halloween costumes and Halloween accessories. Doesn't this seem a bit much?
I remember back when Woolworth's and K-mart used to set up Halloween sections for shoppers. If you wanted a Batman or Wonder Woman costume, that's where you went. And while you were there, you picked up candy for the ghosts and goblins that would be visiting. Blammo, you were done.
For the longest time, my Mom even made mine and my sister's costumes. I was Dracula the same year my sis was a ballerina. My Mom spent hours sewing our outfits from scratch and I wore that cape for years until it finally gave out. It lasted forever and provided hours and hours of pretend fun for both of us.
Among the many number of things I did wrong with my two wives, I did a great many correct. It takes a lot to make a marriage work and outside forces are always working against you. From your jobs threatening to steal your time to bills stealing your money to the mundane daily chores stealing your mojo. One thing I learned is that you must always be vigilant because true love can only carry you so far.
There's one idea I had with wife number 2 that I'm particularly proud of. I'm not a hundred percent sure it was my idea because when you're really a couple, you collaborate on everything so closely you're never sure where an idea originated. Everyone hates Mondays, right? It's the first day of the work week and signals an end to your weekend. What if I gave you the secret to looking forward to your Mondays?
Nascar is the biggest sport in America, believe it or not, and its roots originated here in the South. Illegal moonshiners in the mountains would spend their time and money on fast cars so they could outrun the law during transport. And over time, the pursuit became a national pastime.
Loyalties to different car brands were a badge of honor in those days. Ford people were Ford people and Chevy people were Chevy people. This brand loyalty has been carried forward to today as most Southerners identify with one car maker or another.
I'm an exception to the rule. I have zero car loyalty and I can prove it.
