Posts Tagged ‘considering becoming a father’

enjoy the go.

4 February 2011

dear charmin,

i want to say that i hate your commercials, but i will temper my words and instead tell you that i don’t understand your commercials. i’m at least partially to blame for this hatred, i mean misunderstanding, as i always replace the bears with humans. you are somewhat culpable however.

take, for instance, the football-playing bears commercial, where the coach stands in for the quarterback (due to honey poisoning probably). while i do somewhat admire coach bear’s restraint upon witnessing the infraction — i’m sure that ben roethlisberger would maul poor maurkice pouncey if something similar happened at the super bowl — i must know if leaving pieces of tissue behind was seriously a concern for people before charmin invented flex weave technology?

i cannot stress this enough, it’s extremely important that i find out the answer to that question, for those times when the nearest bathroom isn’t stocking charmin brand products, because i’ve been declining camping invitations, and coming up with increasingly less believable excuses, since viewing the aforementioned commercial. as a result, many of my relationships have ended because girls don’t want to be with a guy who is allergic to every type of woodland vegetation and suffers from tisantaphobia (fear of tents).

obviously being a lonely bachelor is better than facing the ultimate embarrassment when some mother bear lumbers through the forest to lecture me about poor wiping as she claws little white pieces of toilet paper from around my butthole, but i would very much appreciate it if we could clear this mess up for good, right now, as i would one day like to have cubs of my own and need to know if i should look more closely at adoption instead.

thank you,
scott “tissue” lefaive


it’s a jungle out there.

23 November 2010

the surreptitious nature of the above picture is intentional as it emphasizes something i want to write about. i’m not going to beat around the bush waste time, so i’ll just come out and say it: why are we women still so uncomfortable with our bodies that we have to make up silly words to hide our embarrassment? have we really come so far, advancing out of the kitchen where we were barely more than birthing machines to our present lofty position where we earn about seventy cents for every dollar that a man makes, to now sit idly, watching it all crumble like so many cookies we eat when our cheating boyfriends break up with us? did we learn nothing from rosie the riveter?

are we really content becoming carrie bradshaw, waiting for charlotte york to sell her ring so we can pay off our massive shoe debt? are we going to run towards big every time our situation becomes particularly hairy challenging?

i for one think we’re better than that. i don’t think a utopian society is required before we can snatch reclaim our genitalia. we need to be able to stand up to oprah when she insists on using slang to describe something that is intimately ours. right now eve ensler is turning in her grave. well, she would be if she were dead; believe me, though, she’s definitely spinning in her desk chair, in a very angry and perplexed way, due to this injustice.

i don’t want to live in a world where my daughters have to hear adult women use terminology that even their young innocent minds know is damaging and pathetic. i don’t want to spend another day at the breakfast table where they ask me why their heroes are always failing them. i just want to eat my bacon strips pancakes and talk about the things they want to achieve. i don’t want them to have to worry about obstacles placed by other women’s insecurities.

as women, we know we are smarter than men, we know we are more patient, our dual role in and out of the house is proof that we are better multi-taskers, and we are more in touch with our feelings. it’s about time we took a stand and said, fuck you, cosmo magazine, this is my vagina and i am proud of it.

shaping tomorrow’s leaders.

2 October 2008

in the morning i’m visiting a dairy farm, self-proclaimed as an udderly cool place, in canton, georgia, where, at the end of a one and half hour tour, i’ve been promised a free half pint of either whole or chocolate milk.

admittedly i could have left atlanta by now, venturing out to the interstate where, in all likelihood, i’d be able to fill up, but i was fearful my fate would parallel those we saw at a station where gasoline was expected soon. at nine pm, a man in line told us he’d been there since three because he had heard a rumor. it was a shanty town, with abadoned cars and feral dogs, small fires and hucksters selling panacea.

the reason for my delay in returning to charlotte, then, is that i’m spending time with two people i’ve known for over a decade and their son. during high school we spent most of our waking moments — and quite a few sleeping ones — together. this frequency continued with only a slight abatement through college. for graduate school, they moved to new york city, and i visited only occasionally on the way to and from my own form of higher education in vermont.

their son was born about twenty-five months ago. this is the second time i’ve seen him, the first being a year ago and, thankfully, his head no longer looks like an egg perched atop a toothpick. he speaks in this staccato french-sounding language (curl e na translated into english becomes squirrels eat nuts). since i’ve been here i’ve taught him a lot of important things. for instance, i taught him how to lick my big toe, though i could only get him to do that once. also, i showed him how much fun it is to put ice down someone’s shirt (well, until you get a handful in your diaper). he takes me outside to show me insects; i pick them up to show him their iridescent wings up close. i keep telling people that i’m not his parent and, therefore, i can’t be expected to stop him from pouring sand on a little girl after borrowing her pail at the park (yeah, he did that and it was so awesome my eyes welled up with pride). i’m only responsible for coming around every once in a while to show him cool things, guaranteeing his high school popularity.

after my morning tea finished steeping, i gave him the bag and showed him how he could swing it like a pendulum, and, if he wanted, hit people in the face. he ran around the house with it held as far in front of him as his arm could reach. later, when his father returned to the room, i told the boy (pictured here after scalping the family dog) to show him what he had learned. go teabag, daddy, i repeatedly called out to him, my little puppet pupil, excitedly.

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