Ostomy Memories of Real Manhood

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HenryM

MY MASCULINITY IS NOT THREATENED by such things as house work. As a teenager, my misdeeds were punished by having to do KP. In college, I was compelled to wash my own laundry, iron my own shirts, and cook my own meals. Today I work out at the gym, I have plenty of hair on my chest, and yet…and yet, I don’t hesitate to pitch in with dishes, laundry, and cooking. My machometer does not sound an alarm when I wield a hot iron, wash pots and pans, or whip up a meal. It’s a man with a fragile ego, a guy who’s not too sure of himself, who rebels at doing housework. At the extreme of the chest pounding, tough guy poser is the guy who feels the need to kick the dog and hit the wife or kids. (I can almost see our UK friend Bill bouncing in his chair as he reads this and pulling out his bully poems on the subject.) Real men, as I’m sure it’s been said by someone, don’t have to act out physically or strut around the house like banty roosters. Marriage is a shared experience, not a you-do-this and I-do-that designation according to gender. Besides, when I feel like bragging, I can always point out that I do a better job of some household chores than my spouse. That doesn’t make me a wuss; it makes me a complete man.

ron in mich

Hi Henry, funny you mentioned sharing the work. After I got done vacuuming yesterday, I had to go out and service my snowblower. I had to change the oil, spark plug, and this year, the belts. It takes two people to do this because the unit needs to be split in half. So, my wife was called upon to steady one half while I changed the belts, and then we joined the two halves together. It is almost impossible to do it by myself as the bolt holes need to be aligned, but together we got it done.

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Caz67

Hi Henry, what's KP? You are right about the joint sharing of housework, cooking, etc. I believe the reason that women used to do it all was because the man went to work and the woman stayed at home. Now, both parties are out at work, it's only fair that the chores should be shared as well. XX

HenryM
Reply to Caz67

KP stands for Kitchen Patrol (it's from the Armed Services). 

Past Member

Hi Henry ... I would take Kitchen Patrol before Shit Patrol. Up to your elbows in clean, hot soapy water rather than up to the knees in cold, stinky Shite..

 
Staying Hydrated with an Ostomy with LeeAnne Hayden | Hollister
HenryM
Reply to Anonymous

That's precisely why I kindly allow my wife to deal with the four litter boxes in our house.  To quote Dirty Harry, "A man's got to know his limitations." 

Past Member

Any guy who has ever lived alone gets the value of a little housework. When the pile of dishes in the sink means that the next step is getting out the paper plates, the pile of laundry demands sniffing out a T-shirt that does not smell like a marathon runner's armpit. The bathroom requires a spritz with a large size bottle of bleach....just to step into the shower, actually sitting on the toilet demands the courage of a WW1 soldier going "over the top" into a hail of bullets and exploding shells. The floor cannot be vacuumed because it is no longer visible under the various objects littering the floor.

This is the point where you either become domesticated or you are doomed to be found by the landlord crushed and suffocated under the pile of old newspapers and empty pie tins, struck down with a Hefty Bag half open and your last words scratched out in the dust. Now where did I put that vacuum cleaner.....!!!!

I used to manage some apartment buildings in Pacific Heights in San Francisco, a very upper crust area. The Getty family down the street, millionaire's row extending to billionaire's row. Happily I had a nice one-bedroom with a view and a salary in a 60-unit building. All I had to do was collect the checks and call the repair guys.

Everyone living there was very well-heeled but they were just people with the odd behaviors afflicting most of us mere mortals in one form or another.

We had the young Japanese guy who collected newspapers, not just the couple of papers or magazines you leave in the bathroom to peruse while occupied therein. I mean tons of old neatly folded newspapers. They were stacked in neatly folded piles, from the floor right up to the ceiling. He had been thoughtful in his construction project and had left some living space. There was a passageway leading to his only comfy chair. Enough of the 4-foot-wide window remained clear to allow a little light to enter. His small bed was barely visible at the end of another newspaper tunnel. The really scary part of the story was the small kitchen. Newspapers filled the small space, right to the ceiling and alongside the electric cooker with just enough space to access the cooking surface and no more. The entire floor space was filled with these square paper towers right up to the ceiling.

I had to enter the apartment to check for a leak in the apartment below. He answered the door when I knocked and showed no "Oh shit, I'm in trouble now!!" reaction which you might expect. He just greeted me and after I told him that I had to come in and check for a leak, he invited me in. The leak was in the bathroom downstairs so my first stop was his bathroom. All I could see was a toilet and sink. I could not look under the sink but figured out that the leak was not in his apartment. I just stared at the scary sight of so much flammable kindling in the apartment of a person who was a chain smoker who actually cooked in his newspaper-stacked little kitchen.

For a few minutes, I was speechless, just staring at the piles of paper and imagining what would happen if he dropped a match or fell asleep with a lit cigarette. His floor was concrete but the four floors above were wood frame construction. He was not concerned at all about how strange this looked to me or any other "normal" person.

"I have to ask you Mr..., is there some particular reason for all these newspapers to be stacked in your apartment??" Without missing a beat he said, "Research". I asked why he needed the actual papers inside his apartment rather than maybe going to a library or making photocopies of any relevant pieces, relevant to what you might ask!! This guy was a sushi chef in a fancy, expensive restaurant just down the street on Fillmore St, not a researcher or university lecturer, etc. I just wondered what makes a person like that tick!? He seemed perfectly normal outside of that apartment, always friendly, always paid rent early, he just seemed like a normal nice guy.

I think he must have had some delusions about some undefined conspiracies and the proof was in the newspapers?? The papers were obviously useless, so dry they just crumbled at being touched. He agreed to get them out of the apartment and I gave him a few days to clear them out or eviction proceedings would be the next step....trying to be respectful and explaining that if there was a fire he would be liable for any damage, deaths, or injuries. I did a formal notice to have a written record of the encounter. I managed to snap a photo when he wasn't looking, as my evidence. There were no arguments or excuses, he just agreed to do as I asked.

The next day I was in the underground garage and I saw him opening a locker over his car, every tenant had a locker which were quite large. I walked over and greeted him to see how the cleanout was going. Of course, there were the crumbling newspapers, stacked neatly in the locker which turned his 3-foot by 4-foot locker into a ready-to-light fire log!!! Again, I had to explain why this was not an adequate solution to our problem!! He just did not get it, he genuinely looked puzzled at why I was upset. Again I had to explain that all this flammable material was breaching our fire codes and had to be removed from the building. A week later I confirmed that all the papers were gone....finally!!

The point of this little story is that people can seem perfectly "normal", regular people until you encounter them in the middle of their abnormality. That is worded awkwardly but not sure if I have the words to convey the strangeness of this encounter.

In the same building, there were maybe 5 tenants (tenants living there before I got there!!) who had their strange habits, behaviors, and compulsions. The one lady who collected new clothes, labels still on, very expensive and just stacked them, unworn, in her apartment just the same as the other tenant and his newspapers!!

These personal encounters and others convince me that all political candidates should be required to have some kind of psych tests before they are given the reins of a city, a state, or leadership of an entire country. Trump could have come across as a "normal (almost) person" if he had kept his crazy ideas behind closed doors and not actually said the quiet part out loud!!!

I do ramble on so yeah Bob...OH Magoo, I've done it again!!!

Past Member
Reply to HenryM

Lol....got that right, Henry, that's why I have no pets!! Enough to deal with cleaning up my own shite

Past Member

Magoo Man,

This is hilarious!! You are quite the storyteller.

Now it's time for me to take the garbage out to the curb before it piles up to the ceiling.

Goodnight and thanks for the laugh.....

:o)

Past Member

Hi Tessa and any other readers, thank you for reading and for your fantastic comment, Tessa, so nice that I gave you a smile.

I just wanted to point out that every word of it is true, sadly. The reason he gave in such a matter-of-fact way is exactly what he told me. "Research" was his reason for living in an Fueled Up Unlit Pizza Oven (only needed a match to fire it up!!!). I never got him to explain exactly what he was trying to do research on. Then I thought, that's it.... Spontaneous Human Combustion!!

An old saying is, "Any defendant who acts as his own attorney has a fool for a client." Similarly, any untrained non-scientist who does his own research into molecular biology, viral pathogens, DNA/RNA-based treatment protocols, etc., that person has a fool for a patient. A condition called Dunning-Kruger effect is now officially recognized. So happy there's a name for it.

One can be intelligent enough to know a fair bit about a lot of things and be conversationally competent in lots of things... technically called "being a good bullshit artist" but expert in none. As Henry/Dirty Harry and myself have said, a man's (woman) gotta know his limitations. I believe I have a fairly broad spectrum of knowledge about a lot of things (called a good liberal arts education) but I know when to defer to the real experts.

An intelligent person should know where amateur ends and expert begins, otherwise you're just my one-time tenant with piles of crumbling bits of information without the foundation to stand up to scrutiny or criticism.

Tess, I have some hilarious and dangerous examples of people's foibles and misdeeds from my days as a babysitter to rich kid tenants and baby adults.... maybe I should write a book!!??

Mister Magoo out.... Love to all the baggers out there. Keep smiling.

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