Freshly Pegged – The Ramblings

Have you ever sent a post out into the blogosphere, absolutely convinced it was going to be Freshly Pressed?  And then it wasn’t?

You’re not alone.freshlypegged2

I’ve asked some fantastic bloggers to select the post that had them muttering,”THIS One Should Have Been Freshly Pressed.”  A new blogger is featured each week to receive the coveted Freshly Pegged distinction.  Participants will be awarded a genuine, simulated “Freshly Pegged” JPEG badge, suitable for posting in a place of honor on their blogs.  Or not.

Be sure to read all the great Freshly Pegged offerings to date.  But before you do, let’s check out…

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Tori at The Ramblings.  I first met Tori when I had my attorney served her with a Writ of Habeus Knock-it-off to cease and desist using practically my same blog name.  Not only that, she was using it to do funnier stuff than I was!  We got past that legal kerfuffle and went on to be blogging buddies.

Tori is so fearsome, she let her readers plan her wedding.  Not kidding.  They (we) got to pick out colors and flower arrangements, hairdos and jewelry and all the details we women love/hate.   She draws inspiration for blogging from her husband, her adorable, busy son and the funny hiding just under the surface in daily life.

I read Tori because she can shape words into exciting, new positions  better than your yoga instructor making you do Hanging Pretzel Dog At Sunset.

Warning: This post is a little saltier than the usual Peg-o-Leg fare.  I think you can handle it.  Be sure to check out The Ramblings, but first let’s hear what Tori has to say…
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In Defense of Dudes
Dear Men,
I am one ovarian cramp away from flooding this damn house, and I have words for you.
     Surely you just shit your pants. You most definitely have an immediate list popping to mind of what it is I need to get off mine. Full dishwasher? Dirty laundry on the floor? Didn’t look emotionally interested enough during her last weepy conversation about her body? Looked a little too interested when Faith Hill danced through a Sunday Night Football intro? Said something three years ago that was or was not (but certainly was) a jab at her mother? Look at you, guy. You’re sweating, I can hear your blood pressure, and you are, this one time, worried for nothing.
I just wanted to say I like you, Men. I really like you.

It’s become commonplace that a woman can’t shell out a feminist high-five without kicking a man in the pants. It’s believed that one can’t take proper pride in her gender without hate-shaming the opposing team. See? I just said “opposing team”. Proof that dealings between ladies and lads are increasingly hostile. Well,consider this a peace-offering. For while I love that we girls have pretty hair and voting rights and boobs that can feed people, I see the good in you guys,too.

     Beards, innate knowledge of car repair, funny party tricks involving bodily functions: You contribute a lot, mister. Sure, there are a few rotten beer bottles in the bunch. Men will always have to claim Hitler and Charlie Sheen. But you’re also in a club with Jesus and Bob Saget. Women will never be able to boot Ke$ha from our roster. Low points of humanity can’t be helped. So here are some reasons I believe in you, bro.

thedude

You eat like you mean it. Dinner with the girlfriends sounds deceptively appetizing. However, many an outing we wreck a waiter’s night as he takes the slow, exhausting trek around our party of 20. No bread. No mayo. Saute but DO. NOT. FRY. Lettuce shredded on the right side. Wait. Nevermind. Whole Iceberg leaves delicately fanned across the left side. Extra Lemon. I’m detox-ing. Do you sell Diet Appletini? Scratch that. Thirty excruciating minutes later, his order book just reads “Water. Small bowl of carrots“. He would like to quit his job as much as we would like to eat more than infant birds from famine country. Women tend to view food as villain, dangling treats above our heads like a doughy, delicious devil. This is a generalization, of course. Many of us will eat “like a man” occasionally, but every woman, in some small corner of her mind equates food with negativity.
    Meals with men, mostly, feel like a festive feast. You think of what tastes good, wash it down with a beer you didn’t enter into a calorie counter. You eat three plates past when you are full because – zippers be damned!-you’re celebrating life in this here corner booth!
You do friendship right. I’m not speaking to one of my dearest friends right now because she hasn’t called me in weeks and I’m not calling her because this was totally a friendship test. I just want to know she cares as much as I care, so I dumped her.
    As much as gals fight for our rights against hindering laws and ridicule, impossible body image and men who have jobs we want and paychecks we deserve, we can be mighty vicious to one another. Navigating female friendships is akin to break dancing across minefields.One wrong look, one wrong side taken, one too-honest bit of honesty shared and wait for the boom. Not you, sirs. A bro is a bro, and you take your brotherhood seriously by not taking every other thing so seriously.
     I marvel at a group of boys I hung out with in high school. They mocked and pranked each other relentlessly. As one made fun of the other’s acne, the other cracked jokes about someone’s mom. The only girl in the room, I’d cringe, wait for fists to fly, because I was envisioning this same conversation happening at the cheer leading team’s slumber party: tears, tears, tears, and somebody’s gettin’ her weave yanked. I admire your simple relationships, the basic way you can call or not call, hang out everyday or see a bud once in a blue moon, taunt one another ten minutes after sharing some deeply personal struggle, root for different football teams and still manage never to misinterpret who that person is to you: friend.
You admit defeat first, figure out what the war’s about later. Most men are completely comfortable with apologizing. So comfortable, in fact, that you readily accept blame before you know what’s happening. Case in point: I’m on my period. It happens every month (rude!), and the only time I get a break from it is if I commit to baking a whole person in my innards for close to a year. You tolerate our tampon trash, our mood swings, but what you cannot possibly know is that we are mostly furious with you because you do not and cannot experience womanhood. My husband comes home when I’m menstruating, a testament to his devotion. I am irked. The way he takes the trash out is wrong. He’s breathing too much. It makes perfect sense to me to be angry at him. I’d like company in this misery, and there you guys are all womb-less with your perfectly low-maintenance wieners. In reality, no one’s ever been mad at me for having a vagina, but you men- standing by us through pregnancies, the messier miracles of womanhood- are left to accept that you can’t understand or remedy the madness. So you stare at your pants remorsefully, shrug, “Um.Sorry?”.
You are slow to boil, quick to joy. My husband comes home from work. His day consists demanding people, impossible deadlines. It is no small wonder that he isn’t a serial killer. An extra load of laundry, sad blog stats, and frizzy hair is enough to push me so deep down in a funk I might never get out. But there he is, happily eating the dinner I was secretly pissed to prepare. A few minutes of playing with our son, some comfortable sweatpants, and he seems fixed. This is the miracle of your manhood, boys, this quick recovery.
     Where as I might need a manicure, a nap, a new outfit, a lengthy apology, the blood of two freshly sacrificed cats to overcome such disastrous days, dudes can achieve bliss without the fuss. Sports on the TV, a sip of whiskey, and you’re so cured you’ve forgotten anything ever ailed you.
      I’m currently raising a small man, and he shows me that this easy happiness is as natural to him as vertical peeing. There is no glitter, no primp. There is no transference of grudges, lingering moods , just a tiny hombre who’s content to play with a cardboard box. And for this alone, my wallet and I thank God for guys.
     Don’t get me wrong. There are many things to love about women. I’m one, and it’s wonderful. What other majestic creatures can walk in high heels, smell like flowers, and maintain brilliant minds attune to nurture the world’s political and personal needs? At the end of the day, women are the magic machines that got you here with some breath and a push, son. This isn’t your fault. You’re great in your own right. So go forth, menfolk, and for every small or imaginary misstep we are prepared to scold your people for, remember Bob Saget, remember this post. Take pride that you’re a dude, by god, and that’s not entirely awful.

toilet

But in all seriousness would it actually kill you to put the toilet seat down,
                                         Tori
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About pegoleg

R-A-M-B-L-I-N-G-S, Ram...Blin!
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67 Responses to Freshly Pegged – The Ramblings

  1. Pingback: Freshly Pegged: When Freshly Pressed Gets Stale | the ramblings

  2. I remember when you wrote this. It was pee on the toilet seat funny the first time.

    Except, of course, I put the seat down. 😉

    Like

  3. mistyslaws says:

    Wow. That was an epic post, very worthy of Pressing. Or Pegging. But yeah, notice should have been taken of that one. And I heartily agree with all of those points. I am raising 2 men myself, so I see these things as well. Especially since my hubs is the most laid back, yet overly stressed at work, person I’ve ever met. How does he DO that? And the kids are just like him, thank bejeesus!

    Well done, Tori!

    Like

  4. Tori Nelson says:

    Thanks for throwing this FreshlyPressed-less blogger a bone, Peg. Fingers crossed I won’t scare your sweet readers away!

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      You and your particular brand of crazy are all kinds of welcome over here, Tori. Thanks for letting me use your great writing to give the place a shot in the arm. I’m delighted to have you!

      Like

  5. Snoring Dog Studio says:

    Remarkably well done. It should be more than FP’d – it should be inscribed on the walls of women’s restrooms everywhere. Love it!

    Like

    • Tori Nelson says:

      Just not with my phone number. A friend thought that would be a great prank in high school. I still get creepy calls asking for creepier services from the creepiest public pee-ers.

      Like

  6. Oh, Tori, you’ve pretty much nailed it. I grew up surrounded by brothers and yes, they are pretty damn lucky to be men. My husband does the same thing–he comes home, takes off his pants, plops down on the couch, eats three hamburgers, watches Hard Core Pawn and is happy as a pig in shit. It amazes me. Great post, and definitely worthy of FP!

    Like

  7. societycommentator says:

    I have a son and two daughters. Now, right now, the oldest is a tomboy whose good friends are boys and who plays football. She even seems to get thru her period easily. My youngest is a drama queen who started her period by 5th grade. The oldest two are MUCH easier to raise!

    Like

    • Tori Nelson says:

      A 5th grade period! Sounds like a fussy nightmare! My husband still gets a little scared when he notices tampons in the bathroom. He knows terror’s on its way 🙂

      Like

      • societycommentator says:

        Actually, my husband is pretty laid-back, so he takes it in stride. My son, however can be OCD and gets hyper if he sees anything lying around. Of course, even though he loves her dearly (and secretly!), he picks on baby sister, so even if she didn’t leave any evidence, he’d find something to complain about that she may or may not have done!

        Like

  8. The Cutter says:

    Why should we have to put the toilet seat down? It’s a lot easier to put down than it is to pick it up. You know, gravity and all.

    Like

    • Tori Nelson says:

      Getting all scientific with the excuses! I like it. Something about having to stare at someone else’s pee splatter as I lower the seat for myself makes me want to try to hold my pee… eternally.

      Like

      • The Cutter says:

        Just close your eyes and hit it with your foot. It’s painless, I swear!

        Like

      • pegoleg says:

        Besides the thought of having to TOUCH the pee-splattered seat in order to lower it. Bad enough when it was deposited by Y-chromosomed people that you love, but when it comes to public restrooms? There isn’t a broom handle long enough to do the job.

        Like

  9. notquiteold says:

    Just Perfect! Although I wish my man was… he tends to perceive imaginary insults in all conversations and can hold a grudge – oh, forever. He is still mad at his first grade teacher and he is 67.
    On the other hand, he is a very good apologizer.

    Like

    • Tori Nelson says:

      Yikes. I try to hold grudges but I end up forgetting who I was mad at or why. Apologizing is a true skill, though, so he must be a keeper. I’ll go to great lengths to avoid saying sorry!

      Like

  10. speaker7 says:

    I enjoyed the secretly-pissed-about-making-dinner part. Yup. That is my brain right there. I wish I could have that brain that allows me to unsee piles of laundry (#$%#@ I have to do laundry today!!!) and dirty dishes.

    Like

    • Tori Nelson says:

      I need to unsee my whole filthy house this morning. Those dust bunnies are just floating around mocking me. I usually opt for the passive aggressive “Glad you liked your dinner, dear” which my husband understands is his cue to thank me, excessively, for all the chopping and stirring and boiling of the water.

      Like

  11. I loved this post when I first read it. I love Tori. I love Freshly Pegged. I have a limited vocabulary this morning so I will simply stick with 3>.

    Like

  12. Kaela Moore says:

    This post is just as funny the second time reading.
    We simply do not give men as much credit as they deserve. I’ll take dinner with the guys over dinner with the girls any day. While inhaling a steak burger, basket of fries, chicken wings, jalapeno poppers, and a chocolate malt is seen as horrific in girl circles, guys would slap me on the back and congratulate me.
    Tori is the best and those Freshly Pressed peeps are surely sorry they missed out on this one.

    Like

  13. Al says:

    Number 27 on the list of 100 reasons why it’s easier to be a guy: “we’re just plain lovable, no matter what.”

    Like

  14. Pleun says:

    Very cleverly written and very true too!

    Like

  15. This was great and thanks for sharing it. I’m glad you two made up.

    Like

  16. I think I’ve asked this before… but what is it about The Big Lebowski that men find so fascinating?

    Like

  17. I remember this post! Love it!

    Also, I’m wondering the same thing as Jackie about The Big Lebowski.

    Like

  18. Ahhh so true…!! Glad it was Freshly Pegged, as I wasn’t able to read it the first time. 🙂

    Like

  19. Elyse says:

    I think my husband missed the non-stress gene. On the other hand, he always puts the lid down.

    Like

  20. This didn’t get pressed? Someone Up There is sleeping on the job!

    Like

  21. Tar-Buns says:

    This was a great read and tribute to our too often maligned men. Wish my man was less stressed as well. But, like most men, he’s most happy watching sports, drinking a beer and eating good food. Simple needs, kind heart, a ‘Man’s Man’, or so someone once told me.
    Enjoy the Freshly Pegged ride! 🙂

    Like

  22. I`ve see you`ve FINALLY hit the big time Tori sista friend. Fist bump. Love ya!

    Like

  23. susielindau says:

    Yeah for cardboard boxes! Ah for a simpler hormone-free life…

    Like

  24. Makes me proud to be a man, albeit a somewhat sensitive one. The only thought which popped into my head which you might not have accounted for was “I don’t think she’s ever seen Bob Saget’s stand up routine.”

    Like

  25. omawarisan says:

    You’ve been watching us, so you probably know this: It would be appropriate to give you a celebratory head butt if you were another guy, which you are not. Love this post.

    Like

  26. The Dose of Reality says:

    Oh, I love this. I was nodding so vigorously that I almost got a neck crick.

    Like

  27. I probably won’t be able to pull off ‘The Dude Abides’ line again…
    but I want too… I REALLY want to!
    Still AWESOME, Ms. N, – a perfect choice for Peg’s Fresh Feature!!!
    🙂

    Like

  28. Pingback: Faith Hill lyrics and news

  29. This is a spectacular ode to those who suffer from testosterone poisoning, what would we do without them.

    Freshly Pegged is a far better recognition!

    Like

  30. Hilarious! And every blessed syllable is true! Am kicking myself for reading this 5 days late.

    Like

  31. As a dude, I can vouch for the fact that my needs are not sophisticated. I like good food, I like taking a leak, I like movies, and I like more good food. I don’t like worrying about whether or not I was the reason that the women in my life are pissed off. That type of complication makes me want to hide in my room and blog about shit and stuff. But then it’s lights out and I sleep like the damned. That reminds me … I like naps too.

    Like

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