Terry's 10 Steps to Becoming a Better Man

In an effort to be a better man, I wrote down some areas that I think are important for me to remember in meeting that goal. Take the time to read them...I know it's not my usual weak, comedic fare...but I figure it can't hurt to be serious every once in awhile...

Terry’s 10 Steps to Becoming a Better Man.

1. Marvel Over and Appreciate Your Family. Part of truly being a man is recognizing one’s need to not just provide for, but to be a true part of, one’s family. Your wife is not your mom, your maid, or your whore. She’s your partner, your best friend, and your lover. She should never be revered, nor put on a pedestal. She should always, however, be appreciated, cared for, and loved. She married you for the long haul…not just for when the sex was good and life was less cluttered and pressing. Appreciate her commitment to YOU, by recommitting yourself to her. Likewise, you brought your kids into this world; did you really think your involvement ended there? Kids need more than a distracted grunt in response while you’re watching the game on TV; they need your ATTENTION. Most problems with kids these days aren’t a result of parents being either too loose with the rules or too tight with control…most problems result because parents aren’t paying attention. Listen to your children, whether they’re 2 or 22. They need your help, and desperately need to know you have their back…not just when they ask, but especially when they don’t. Be a good example by showing them proper respect, and settle for nothing less in return.

2. Stop Making Excuses: It is vitally important that a man own the decisions and actions he takes. If your decision is the correct one, then move on to the next one. Don’t take time to revel in your success; you don’t have time…men are supposed to be busy. If you make a mistake: accept it, correct it, and move on. If that mistake affects others (and most do) openly communicate and ask forgiveness for your mistake. A man should always make the most informed decision he can, and then act on it. Making excuses is unnecessary, and keeps one from learning from one’s mistakes. Learning to accept one’s successes with humility, and one’s failures with quiet resolve, provides a good example for others.

3. Work Hard: In today’s world, it’s become easy for males to become complacent, and more than willing to “coast” through their day. But a real man will look for things to do. A man looks for the opportunity to get yet one more thing done, and will strive to do every task better than expected. He will push himself to perform and achieve, and will help others to do the same. Whether at home or at work, there is always more to do, more to accomplish. In direct contrast to revelling in one’s decisions, there is nothing wrong with being satisfied with an accomplishment. However, keep that pride to yourself…and let others judge your results.

4. No More Profanity: It’s been said that profanity is the vocabulary of the uneducated. Why use profanity when what needs to be said can be said without it? Far too often, especially in the workplace, profanity becomes the vernacular of choice among men. This is unprofessional, and unacceptable. Say what you mean, without unnecessary vulgarity. Respect your own intelligence and use the appropriate vocabulary…always. Set the example for others.

5. Respect Your Body and Mind: Every man looks back to his earlier years and remembers that young Adonis that roamed the dance clubs and college quads. What happened to him? Your wife didn’t marry the dumpy guy you’ve become. Why did this happen? Age is a factor, of course, but in most cases, it’s simply the result of men letting their personal standards slide. Excuses abound: “I have no time; I travel too much; my wife is a terrific cook; etc”. While all of these may seem valid, it should be noted that every man takes a certain amount of time for himself at some point every day. How you spend that time makes all the difference. Likewise, how you eat also impacts your appearance. We, as men, owe it to our families to give our best for as long as we can. Improve your appearance, and your health…and your mind will follow.

6. Respect Others: When a man treats others with respect, most often that respect is returned, even between enemies. Likewise, taking the time to listen to others’ opinions or experiences, shows that you find their input to be important and worthy of consideration. Try to have an open mind. It is difficult to respect anyone that considers only himself. Cultivate humility by considering the fact that you might not be the wisest in the room. Also, be polite; it enhances your image.

7. Take Control of Your Life: Do you make the decisions that govern your life? Or do you wait to see if someone else gives you direction? A man must make his own decisions and stand by them. He must set goals for himself, and strive to meet them. How can you get where you want to go, if someone else is sitting behind the wheel? Serve as a leader when you can, but recognize that for any man there may be a time to follow. Following is also a decision; just make sure that it’s not the only decision you ever make.

8. Recognize Your Place in the World: It’s important for a man to realize his place. Every man has his own area of influence…some are smaller, and some larger, than others. For some, one’s place is being a good husband and father. For others, maybe it’s being a public servant. It’s vitally important that a man understands his limitations and works within them to do the best he can within his area. Remember, no matter the size and scope of your area, make sure you’re up to the task of giving every aspect of your area the same level of attention; choose changes your area carefully. We are all potential leaders…so, lead.

9. Choose your Friends Carefully: True friends that you can respect and emulate are few and far between for most of us. Ask yourself if you’re hanging out with someone just because it’s convenient, or do you truly respect and enjoy this person? A good friend should share your ideas of commitment, to others and themselves. And should not be detrimental to your efforts to follow the guidelines listed above. A true friend will correct you when you falter, even if it will make you angry. If you find that a friend is not in line with your goals and ethical views, then maybe it’s time to find another friend.

10. Lead by Example: Always be ethical. How you are perceived by others determines your reputation, and that image has a direct impact not only on how others treat you, but also how they act themselves. A man should strive to put forth his best effort to show others that one can succeed by following the steps above. If you slip, recognize it as a mistake and return to your course. Always do your best to be above reproach.

Can I Call In "Fat" To Work?

Can I Call In "Fat" To Work?


This morning as I was getting ready for work, a news story caught my eye on the TV.

Apparently, according to Nikhil Dhurandhar, an associate professor at The Pennington Biomedical Research Center, in Baton Rouge, La, obesity can be "caught" as easily as the common cold! I can't make this up...they say that obesity has been linked to a virus, known as AD-36, which infects the lungs then whisks around the body, forcing fat cells to multiply and also causing sore throats.

"When this virus goes to fat tissue it replicates, making more copies of itself and in the process increases the number of new fat cells, which may explain why the fat tissue expands and why people get fat when they are infected with this virus," Dhurandhar said.

This brings me to my initial question: Can I call in FAT to work? And if so, how would the conversation between me and my manager go?

(The Boss)
"My company, boss speaking..."

(Me)
"(weakly) Hi Boss, I'm not going to be in today (*cough*, *chew*, *cough*)...I'm fat."

(Boss)
"Oh no way! We have the Epperson account presentation today at 10! Are you sure you can't make it?"

(Me)
"No...there's no way. I was feeling a little fat last night before bed, and I thought maybe if I got a good night's sleep it would pass...but as it turned out, I was up all night being fat."(*sounds of chewing*)

(Boss)
"That sounds terrible..."

(Me)
"It is. I was on my knees all night in front of the refrigerator eating. Just when I thought I coudn't possibly eat any more, more would go in! I got zero sleep, and woke up this morning even fatter than last night. I'm not sure how long it'll last."

(Boss)
"Is the rest of the family ok?"

(Me)
"Well no, I'm pretty sure I caught it from my wife. She's been fat all week, and the other night I took a bite of her ice cream without thinking and now I'm fat too. And she's really having a hard time.(*chew*) At one point last night, we were both on our knees on the kitchen floor and jockeying with each other to get our heads into the fridge. Now she's bruised and I have a black eye. She had it so bad last night that I ended up having to hold her hair while she ate (*chew*)! I just want it to be over...this is the worst!"

(Boss)
"Well, I guess it can't be helped...I've heard this virus is going around."

(Me)
"I'll be in as soon as I can get rid of this fat...good luck with the Epperson account." (*more chewing sounds in the background*)

click.


So now that I know what's causing my weight gain, I can explain the increase in the size of my jeans and those Burrito Supremes as for "purely medicinal purposes"!

I almost wept with joy as I felt the years of guilt lifted from my weighty shoulders! Imagine, all the persecution and insults from carting around the extra 20 pounds...and all this time, IT WASN'T MY FAULT!! IT WAS A VIRUS!! YAY!! Take two tacos and call me in the morning...


Oh boy, I overdid it...feeling weak, gotta go eat...

'til next time...

Terry

(It's good to be back!)

One Last Video Store Tidbit...

The other night, I was working the front counter at my video store (where else would I be?) when an older, well-respected customer walked in with his usual, cheerful hello. I said hi back, and left him to his browsing. He walked the aisles for a good 20 minutes, as he looked for the perfect movie to take home to his waiting wife. Aha! He finally finds that elusive DVD and brings it to the counter for check out.

"That'll be $3.43, please..." I say with a smile.

He nods his acceptance and appreciation of my lower than Blockbuster rental fee, and reaches for his front pocket to pull some cash. But...he finds something in his way. He looks down (as do I) and see a plastic grocery bag tied to his belt loop. Suddenly he gets this white-as-a-ghost look on his face and hurriedly tries to untie it. He's so red I thought he was having a heart attack...until he started laughing.

Turns out it was a bag of dog poop.

He'd been walking his dog earlier that afternoon, and had tied the bag to his pants to have both hands free for shifting the leash back and forth. Since the dog walk, he'd been to the supermarket, the gas station and my place...all with the bag o' poo swinging from his hip.

I almost peed, I laughed so hard. I felt bad doing it, as I really do respect this older guy, but I couldn't stop if he'd put a gun to my head. He was laughing too, but made me promise not to tell my wife about his situation. I agreed.

But I didn't say anything about telling you...

Best laugh I've had all year.

Birthday Coming Up...

My birthday's coming up.

My birthday is in only two weeks, and against all odds it looks like I'm gonna make it to the ripe ol' age of 42. So, now that I'm an old sage...I feel obligated to share a few tidbits of wisdom that I've learned since I fell out of the womb and onto the hard linoleum floor of the delivery room so many years ago.

Thinning hair?

Bald spots can be a shock, especially if you normally only see your head from a face-first view (as when you're shaving). The other day, my wife's medicine cabinet mirror, which is mounted directly across the room from mine, was left slightly open, and as I started to open mine to get some Tylenol the two mirrors aligned perfectly and presented me with a clearly illuminated view of the crop-circle on the back of my head. I gasped like my testicles had just been slam-dunked into a bucket of ice water.

Do yourself a favor...and don't worry about it. Yes, it's depressing. Yes, it means you're getting older and probably not the Adonis you were in high school. Rest assured, if you're like me and you've managed to crawl your way through the desert of life and reached the #42 dune, any bald spot you're sporting probably isn't your biggest date-killing feature. So don't worry about it. Instead, worry about

Gaining weight!

Baldness probably won't kill you, unless you're unlucky enough to get skin cancer on the top of your head. But that extra Grilled Stuff'd burrito from Taco Bell will. Oh sure, maybe not today...maybe not even this year. But it's working on you from the inside. It'll fool you with the promise of love and cheese, working it's magic until it's inside you, and then it sets up shop and decides to stay...right next door to your heart. And then...one day...*poof*...you're gone. Make the effort to eat a little healthier, maybe a salad once in awhile. Cut back on the alcohol, the junk food, and the couch. Get outside, and do a little exercise, even if it's just walking the dog around the block. Chances are, it won't turn back time and you won't wake up tomorrow that lean, mean girl-chasing machine you were back in the day. But it will make a difference someday. And it'll be worth it. Because who wants to have a heart attack when you finally get around to getting your prescription to

Viagra!

Someday, your wife/girlfriend (who still remembers enough of what you looked like back then to resent you now) will get too drunk, or too tired, to fight you off and then you're in! What a gyp it would be to have a coronary just as you're about to prove you've still got the moves, even if she won't remember how good you were tomorrow (much less if she remembers any of it at all). So, you've done your exercise and you're ready. But there's one muscle you've been neglecting over the years, and you find it's flabby when it needs to be rock hard. No worries, go to the medicine cabinet (being careful not to look into your wife's mirror across the way) and grab that bottle of little blue pills. Slug one down and in a half-hour or so, you'll be hard enough to cut diamonds. Combine your natural 42-year-old charm and 42-ounces of margaritas and you'll be irresistable! Go to it, enjoy yourself...comfortable in the knowledge that the worst you'll have to deal with is

Premature Ejaculation.

Actually, I haven't figured out how to get around that one yet. But when I do, believe me, I'll most likely post it here. And anyway, it may actually be a plus at this age, as my wife would probably wish it would be over as soon as possible anyway.

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me...
Happy Birrrthday, dear meeee-eee,
Happy Birthday to me.

Catch you next time!

Godless Heathen or Just a Small Business Owner?

One of my biggest pet peeves (besides "Granny Panties", loud cell phone talkers, and smokers that throw their cigarette butts out their car window) has always been know-it-alls that can't wait to force their opinions on people. Owning a video store has made me and my wife more accessible (read: captive audience) which only makes it easier for these folks to expound on such wonderful topics as: the insurance rates in Florida, late fees, Granny Panties, and of course, God.

Now I'm not usually one to force my opinions or beliefs on others (and if you notice while you're reading my blog, you always have the option to click elsewhere), nor do I give you too much personal, inside-info on myself, especially concerning religion. However, I will preface my story with this: I believe in God, even though my actions and words may seem to point in other directions. It's a closely-held, private relationship...but it is a valid one.

So...on to the story. My wife had the shift last Monday, and a couple that had been renting videos from us for almost two years was in to pick up "The Bourne Supremacy". They paid for their movie, signed their rental agreement and my wife was just about to wish them a good night, when the female side of the couple suddenly leans in and says, "You might want to reconsider carrying 'The DaVinci Code'. We wouldn't want the weak-minded to start believing it."

My wife, curious, asked them if they've seen it, and of course the answer was a dramatic clutching of the pearls and a resounding NO! "But," they say, "we saw a show on TV about it, and the author is saying it is based on fact, and it's not." She continued to rant away about how the uninformed and weakminded were in danger of believing the lies, and how all of their souls would be damned forever. They questioned our religious beliefs, and asked whether we were comfortable with being responsible for so many people burning for an eternity. Apparently the whole world would burn, all because we chose to carry the movie.

My wife, who not only saw the same interview, but also both read the book and watched the movie (as did I) attempted to have an intelligent conversation about the subject. Apparently, however, she wasn't aware that she was dealing with people blessed with knowledge of all things. Lisa wanted to tell them that it was a work of fiction, and anyone that was secure in their beliefs couldn't possibly be swayed by a movie. Anyway, it was a mistake to say anything in response other than "Amen" because the woman got herself on a rant. The rant was so explosive, and so energetic, that she had to go outside to calm down. But luckily for Lisa, her husband felt compelled to pick up where she left off, for another mind-numbing 25 minutes.

They finally left, and Lisa (who was throroughly pissed) immediately marked their account as closed, which is what we do to any customer who is so rude. It wasn't so much in response to the subject matter as it was to their unwillingness to hold a two-sided conversation, and for the way they forced their uninformed opinions down her throat.

Two nights later:

I'm standing behind my counter at about 4pm when a woman walks in and hands me a movie. I tell her thank you, and have a great night...but she's already back out the door before I can finish. I open the movie box and find this note inside:

"We will no longer patronize your store, as you have chosen to carry "The DaVinci Code" And that is BLASPHEMY!"

oh, no way.

I take the note outside, and as she's trying like hell to get in her car and make her getaway, I put it under the passenger side wiper blade and told her through the windshield that she doesn't know me, has no right to judge me, and to take her note and never come back. And she drives away (she could probably see the invisible demons that constantly circle my evil self).

I was so angry. I ended up calling her answering machine and left a message to the effect asking if she was also no longer patronizing WalMart (where I bought it), Brighthouse cable (which was airing it) or any other store on the island that had it for sale or rent. Or was my family the only recipient of her blind judgement? Then I hung up and decided to let it go. But it was hard.

Anyway, she ended up calling the cops on me the next day. She told the cop I came "barrelling" out of my business in a threatening manner, and left an evil message on her answering machine. Oh, and someone knocked on her door very early in the morning, but she didn't dare see who it was, but she thought it might have been me. The cop listens to the message, then reads the note. Then he made the mistake of asking her why in Hell she thought that leaving a note like that was an appropriate thing to do? Why didn't you just not rent there anymore? Why did she have to insult the store owner? She got defensive, telling him that it wasn't personal, it was only about the store. The cop chewed her ass royal. Told her that she was lucky I was as restrained as I was...and that I didn't press charges for harrassment.

The cop calls us after talking with the nutjob, and we give him our side, and he relates everything I mentioned above. So now they're gone, and I'm pretty much over it. But could you ever, in your life, do that to someone you don't know? I couldn't, even though I'm apparently a Godless heathen.

Has something to do with "Do Unto Others..." or something I read somewhere...

Following the Way of Ray

W.W.R.D.?

That's the question I find myself asking on a daily basis.

Who's Ray? He's the new guy in my office. A fountain of wisdom, wit and verbal abuse, Ray sits at the desk across the room from me...endlessly providing words-to-live-by to all the guys in the office. I'm not being facetious, I honestly am starting to think I may have found the answer to so many questions in my life, simply by dedicating myself to the Way of Ray.

Ray cracks me up. He's funny in a very subtle way, his jokes quietly delivered with laser-like accuracy. He's fun to be around. He lies. There's a lesson there for me.

Ray has a fine fashion sense. I've found that lately, I tend to wear whatever is clean (or sometimes not so clean) in the closet. But Ray is always dressed to the nines, styling like the pimp he is. Today after work, I'm planning on an emergency trip to Target, where I will max out my credit card on polo shirts, and hip-hop jeans. No more will I come to work with frayed, over-sized Hawaiian shirts and too-tight Wranglers. I will become trendy.

Ray doesn't worry about things. He's carefree, and loves the New York Giants. I've been a Raiders fan my whole life, but if Ray loves the Giants...then I shall also love the Giants. All my afore-mentioned clothing will now be either Red or Blue...or both.

Ray sees the world as something to be conquered, not just tolerated. He doesn't sit still and just watch life pass him by. He challenges himself to gain the skills he needs to eventually dominate the world and all it's creatures. He's taking up golf, so he can work his way in with those already in power. Good idea...can I get clubs at Target?

I wish I had a picture of Ray that I could post, so you too could bask in his presence. I can almost guarantee that you too would be riveted by his gaze. Come over to the Ray side. Be a believer. I am.

Follow the Way of Ray.

Better Call A Toe Truck...

My wife's been teasing me for the last week or so that I've pretty much told everyone in town about breaking my little toe the other night, sooooo...why should you be left out? I mean, in a world where the news is filled with such boring tripe as Bush being called a "devil", death by spinach (way to go Popeye), and Tailand's coup, why shouldn't the demise of my piggy toe rate some attention?

Of course, I could end it here...but that's just not my way, and besides...you want details, the bloody, gory, stomach-turning details....you know you do. I don't blame you. So here's the tale, just in time for Halloween...

It was the end of another long, slow sales night, and I'd worked my usual 8 hours at the Cape, immediately followed by another 6 at the video store. Time to head home...finally. I groggily drove myself home, the road dimly lit by a sliver of moon, and pulled quietly into my driveway doing my best to be a courteous and stealthy neighbor.

The house's porch light glared me its cold welcome, its yellow eye merciless and uncaring at my fatigue. I battled its army of flying bugs up the porch until I reached my front door. Damn. The deadbolt was locked again. Fishing around for my keys, I fumbled the right one into the lock while simultaneously flailing around at the onslaught of swarming porchlight soldiers. The lock clicked...success! I hurried through the door and quietly closed the door behind me.

The house was dark except for my bedroom lamp at the end of the hall, beckoning to me like the walking dead I was to go into the light. I set my paperwork on the small table in the entryway, and began the final leg of my journey. The hall seemed to stretch forever, the walk to the bedroom an endless torture for my tired legs. Only the promise of cool sheets and a good 7 to 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep kept me on my feet. As I finally crossed the threshold, I found my wife sitting on the side of the bed, her face strained with concentration as she worked at beating level 112 of Wario's Woods on the TV against the wall. She hardly looked up.

"Hey, I'm home," I mumbled as I started taking off my shoes. How could I know that unlacing was the first step towards my impending doom? I kicked off my shoes towards the closet and fished around my dresser drawer for some appropriate sleepwear. Ah. My favorite Scooby-Doo sleeping shorts...perfection. I ditched my clothes and slid into my Scoobys, the well-worn fabric caressing my bare ass like a secret cotton lover.

"So...how'd you do?" my wife asked, referring to my night's total at the store. "It was slow, hardly broke 250," I grumbled back and moved quickly across between her and the TV to the bathroom, trying hard not to mess up her game. She continued pressing buttons like a woman possessed...her score climbing. I was invisible.

I did my nightly "gettin' ready for bed" ritual, and made the same quick move between her and the game again. This time too slow, her man died and now I had her full attention. "You made me die!" she cried, the anger and blame in her eyes as evident as the lump in the front of my Scoobys. I could have said I was sorry, but instead, as I moved quickly around to my side of the bed I turned my head to say something smartass in reply and...

BLAM!

The heavy oak deskchair in front of my rolltop wasn't pushed in, and in my haste to both insult my wife and get into bed I'd kicked the Hell out of one of the casters. It was a grazing kick, with the entire impact squarely centered on my piggy toe on my right foot. I howled like a monster from Hell itself, waking the kids, the dogs, and I'm certain at least one neighbor. I was breathing like a marathon runner, trying not to cry (ain't manly), and squeezing my fists hard enough for my nails to cut my palms. I made it to the bed and sat down, as my wife laughingly said, "See? That's what you get for killing my guy!"

Comments like those in instances like those are the leading cause of divorce...check the stats, they'll back me up. Top Five Causes of Divorce in America (in order):

1. Making some light-hearted, smart-ass comment immediately following a spouse's careless destruction of a piggy toe on any peice of furniture.

2. Cheating.

3. Unclipped toenails in bed.

4. Insistence on wearing clothes in public that were goofy when worn back in '82.

5. Bad sex.

I was in too much pain to pack my bags, so having decided that I was going to have to stay, I finally looked down to see the damage. Oh God. My piggy toe was not only broken, it was completely dislocated. I just about threw up. "Lisa, you'd better look at this." I didn't really need her to look at it, I was just hoping that she WOULD throw up (that would get her back for the comment...heh heh). It was a close thing. My toe was sticking out completely perpendicular to my foot...sick. It was really nasty. My head was filled with thoughts of having to buy shoes with side compartments for the rest of my life.

I gritted my teeth and reached down with both hands. "What in Hell are you doing?" she said, the note of fear and revulsion ringing clear and weirdly satisfying. "Gotta try and put it back", I answered. I pulled and pushed my mangled toe and clearly heard it crack 3 times and then it went back in place with a muffled thunk. To my credit, I didn't even yell. Lisa did though...loudly. At least I got a little satisfaction knowing that she probably felt bad for making that smart-ass comment when I hit the chair.

It felt a little better once it was back in place, but then the swelling started. I laid down on the bed and Lisa got me some pain killers as my toe started its transmutation into a fleshy plum. In less than an hour, my foot looked like it had two big toes, one on each side. Throbbing and aching all night, I got about 3 total hours of sleep. Every time I started to get into some decent sleep, I'd roll and bump it and immediately get woke up from the shooting pains running up my foot.

Got up the next morning at 8, because we'd made arrangements to pick up our new puppy and we had to drive about an hour and a half to go get him. I drove, because no one else in my family seems to know how to get back alive from anywhere farther than a mile and a half. Yelped everytime I hit the brakes.

It's almost back to normal now, although it's still a little swollen and occassionally sends me a sharp little reminder that all is not well in my Adidas. Believe me, I've learned my lesson. Next time I get ready to blast my wife with a "wit sampler" I'll make sure there aren't any chairs around.