Since my annual torture ritual at the hands of those who share my genetic material is not yet half over, I am bringing you a guest post by Brandon, formerly of the blog known as "one child left behind". I once described reading his blog as being like having a religious experience that doesn't involve being molested by a priest. Although Brandon has given up blogging, he kindly agreed to do this guest post for me in exchange for nothing. Well, technically, he said that if this post got me laid, that I would owe him a beer. The odds of me getting laid in general are pretty bad, and the odds of me getting laid from my blog make the lottery sound like sound financial planning, so he's really offering to do this for almost free, if you think about it. I don't know which of us that makes more pathetic, but there you go. Take it away, Brandon:
MARRIED MAN SEEKS HANDY, NON-CELIBATE NINJA FOR FRIENDSHIP (AND MORE???)
I never had much of a fascination with ninjas, least not after I bought my first throwing star at a Mexican flea market and proceeded to throw it 40 times into the side of the house, waking my grandmother who saw the shinobi-esque damage and began to beat me with her work shoes, leading me to cry and cover my head in a very un-ninja-like fashion. I do, however, like this idea of being able to walk around wearing a mask and not facing any sort of social stigmatization, an acceptance recently reinforced thanks to the Asian bird flu.
Home improvement, on the other hand, holds no fascination for me whatsoever, being as how I have been in a constant state of household repairs since 1999, when I bought my first residence, a Tudor Revival trapped in the single story body of a California Rambler. I even stored a daybed in the attic as a promise of hope to be fulfilled.
Not that I’m not proud of the tile and wood and study and fake shutters and retaining walls and wood stove and French doors, because I did all the work myself. Custom, I think they call it.
So much so that when we went through our third refinance, the appraiser (who is now on our Christmas card list) said, ‘Wow. Just. Wow.’
True, I don’t talk much about my handy-man skills, because mostly what I’m good at is getting girls pregnant, and the ability to build a home is the last thing you need to mention at a paternity suit hearing. Plus, talking about home repair on-line is a surefire way of getting your inbox filled with related spam. For instance, I just deleted the following emails titled, ‘Need to lay some pipe?’ ‘Problems with Your Wood?’ and ‘Get in Through the Backdoor.’
Oh, and that brings to mind the other thing that has me conflicted about ninjas: they are celibate. This is a tough concept for me, one that I only now fully understand now that the last of my male friends has gotten married. You see, married guys ADORE their bachelor friends. They are endless sources of vicarious amusement and conversational stocking stuffers. It used to be I would accompany my single friend to the bars and never ran out of things to say.
‘You should do her.’‘
And that one, too.’
‘You should do her afterwards.’
‘Do that one. Now. Do it. DO IT!’
‘You curious about that guy, are you?’
Now, of course, it’s just a bunch of married men in a bar drinking and not saying much of anything at all. Occasionally we bring our children so as to break up the monotonous silence. We are desperately seeking another single guy to liven up our existence. One with the ability to patch up throwing star holes in OSB siding would only sweeten the pot."