love – Mother, Inc

love bites

What men really want

May 28, 2009

The husband sent me this pic with a giant header that says “This has to appear in your blog”, so I’ve decided to be all nice and obliging since Superdad has been saving my ass the whole of this week. And who doesn’t just LOVE a life-sized remote control with all the buttons for dudes to control women.

I’m all done with my bra-burning days, so hello, Stepford Mom.

I love that all the needs of a man can be filtered down to 3 simple words – sex, food and beer (in that order). All the others are inconsequential.

Take work for example. The whole point of working is to earn a bunch of dough so that they can buy food and beer and a fancypants sports car, which will lead to some smoking hot sex in the sports car. Or outside the sports car so the fancy upholstery wouldn’t be all ruined which would mean the end of all future prospective hot sex, cos the only sex they’ll be getting with a crummy, beat-up junk is from a toothless transvestite who just had a hair transplant.

And married men (especially fathers) need the remote more than their bachelor friends, since their only hope of having any food or hot sex (forget the beer) is if they cleaned up the house, fed the kids, bought some diamonds, gave me a bubble bath and a nice massage, by which time I’d be sleeping like a baby, except on good days where I’m not pregnant, or having PMS or feeling too fat.

I say it’s tough to be a dude. Problem is, most guys who don’t get the sex end up eating more food and guzzling down more beer to try to fill that giant void in their lives. But then they (i’m still referring to men here) end up looking like they’re 7 months pregnant and that also eliminates all hope they have for getting any sex in the foreseeable future. Vicious cycle.

Men are, in fact, the weaker sex. Hey, read the news.

So take it from a chick. It’s far easier to do the housework and run the bubble bath. At least there’s a chance (however slim) it might just be your lucky day.

by Daphne

Technology, the bane of my life

April 22, 2009

I have a love-hate relationship with technology. I love it because it has made my life a lot easier as a mom (I can’t imagine how mothers used to survive without the assistance of modern technology). But I hate it when it fails me.

I’d like to think otherwise, but on the scale of technology idiots, I’m probably way ahead of the pack. I’m bright enough to recognize the giant (usually red) on/off buttons to work most devices, but when it comes to customizing complicated settings and troubleshooting for problems, it will usually involve some hair grabbing and guttural howls.

There’s nothing more frustrating than having some technological device fail you in the middle of something important like say, preparing a meal. Cooking a decent meal for Tru is tough enough, (I’ll save my culinary exploits for another time) and it is too much to ask for all my kitchen appliances to cooperate?

As usual, the husband and I were puttering around in the kitchen trying to whip up a pot of nutritious porridge for Tru yesterday (it’s a two-men operation) when my blender decided to commit kamikaze midstream. Halfway through the carrots, it let out a final screech and died. It then decided that it could only dice tiny pieces of food one at a time, which is more painful than having to chop it by hand (at least my hands won’t go on strike).

It was just terribly frustrating, to the extent that I considered flinging it against the wall and letting it go out in a blaze of glory.

Die, you pathetic excuse for a blender.

Good thing there’s Superdad to the rescue. After struggling with the accursed appliance for a few minutes, it suddenly resurrected from the dead and sputtered to life. And that’s how I decided to let it continue its miserable existence. But I assure you, it will not be so fortunate the next time around.

by Daphne