Hot & Bothered

Because I cannot sit quietly when people are nonsensical, I often become more than uptight listening to Bob Lonsberry.

You've heard how I love my talk radio. And I do. After 9 AM. Because before 9 AM, at least during the hours that I am conscious, my favorite talk radio station features one of my least favorite radio show hosts.

In case you have never had the narrow experience of listening to Mr. Lonsberry, imagine someone who sees the world from his singular point of view, that is about as broad as a grain of mustard seed. And if you fall any direction outside that parameter, and how could you not, then you are in error. In a nutshell, or shall I say mustard seed, that is Bob.

But for some reason, this morning, I tuned in anyway. I dropped in on a discussion about the Mormons Exposed upcoming 2008 missionary calendar and I realized something Bob should already know. It is difficult to hold a debate on something when no one disagrees with you. And for once I even agreed, in principle anyway, with Bob.

But let me back up and fill you in, because chances are you have not heard of the soft-porn, ruckus-causing publication. Basically Mormons Exposed is a calendar featuring topless male Mormon returned missionaries. Sounds harmless to many of you, but in Mormon country, it's definitely causing a stir.

I agree this calendar is an odd enterprise within the Mormon culture. If you know Mormons, and understand their commitments to modesty, then you may appreciate the conflict. If not, then you'll have to trust me. It's a bit of a screwy concept. And I'm not just saying that because I have not yet been contacted by CMH Entertainment LLC to model for the sequel calendar Hot Mormon Moms.

But that was not my point when I dialed Bob's number on my cell phone this morning. I called him up to voice my opinion on the idea behind the calendar which applies to any product in this type of genre. Basically, men have to get over themselves and how they look because as women, we don't really care.

Now before you start arguing about how I'm screwed up or how you, your girlfriend, you sister, or your mom loves this type of junk, let me say one thing: PlayBoy outsells PlayGirl one thousand to one. The end.

It is a fact that women do not think like men. And if you are a man you probably first realized this when you were six and caught an elusive, slippery frog in the nearby pond and when you excitedly went to show it to the neighbor girl, she screamed and cried and then wouldn't even look your direction for a month.

If you are like Bob and have not had the fortune of learning that little bit of information, do so now. It will go a long way in your future relationships.

Don't forget it: Women Do Not Think Like Men. Ever.

All a man needs to do is think of how he would react to something, flip it upside down, do a 180, turn a few somersaults, jump up and down and then you'll be there or somewhere nearby. As in the vicinity of where a woman is in her thought process. But don't think that as a man you can actaully go "there" on your own. Consider yourself gymnastically challenged in this regard.

So I gave ol' Bob a jingle and he kindly put me on the air. I told him women are more complex than men. We are not as easily sexually stimulated visually like a man. We are wired differently. I proposed that if there is any market for these types of calendars among women it is largely because such thinking has been imposed on women by a male dominant society. Men like to think that women want to stare at their bodies, but we don't find it as stimulating like a man does looking at a woman.

Bob said apparently I've never seen him in his Levi 501's.

Point made perfectly. Thank you, Bob.

Oh, and a big ol' Charlie Brown, "Urrgghhh!" to you too!

If you have nothing better to do with your time the radio broadcast can be heard here. Go to Monday, September 24th and fast forward to 95% of the way to the end. (I was the second to the last caller for the day. I called in under the secret code name of "Debbie.")


If you want to read one of many credible scientific studies that backs up my statements about women and visual sexual stimulation compared to men go here.

As Fast as a What?

On the way home from school Friday, D2 begged me to go to the local copy store. I know it is an unusual request for a second-grader. However, let me explain that it is not because she had any plans to increase the demand for the merciless death of helpless trees. It is the 25-cent gumball machine in the front corner by the window that continues to attract her fancy.
Now when I say "begged" you need to understand the intensity with which she petitioned this favor. From the time she climbed in the Yukon, while we waited for D1 and S2, and then for friend of D1, and then friend of S2, and for friend of S2's scooter, and for all backpacks and arms and legs to be safely stowed inside the vehicle, and then while we drove out of the school parking lot, and veered right down the first street, and then took a left turn down the next street, she did not stop pleading, "Can we go to Copy Right, please, please, please, please, please, please can we go to Copy Right, please, please, please, please, please." This she repeated incessantly.
Finally, I could not take the repetition anymore, not to mention the fact that her constant jabber was making it difficult to focus on the AM Talk Radio commentary screeching over my car speakers. So I momentarily turned down the volume, and spoke to D2 very calmly yet firmly, "We are not going to Copy Right. No matter how many times you ask, that is my final answer and it will not change at all today." D2 paused and then replied in a solemn voice, "But, Mom. I'll be as fast as a chicken. I promise."

Getting Old: AM Talk Radio and Jazz

My DH just celebrated his 40th birthday. I'm married to someone much older than I am. Okay, he is only two years and three months older, but older is older. Personally, I'd like to think that despite his unfortunate birthday, I am still quite young. While there are many times DH finds me to be a bit juvenile, he will admit that I can also act too mature for my age.

For example, I love to listen to Rush Limbaugh, Dr. Laura, and Glenn Beck. DH finds my talk radio addiction mildly humorous. He believes I should have waited until I was at least forty to be an AM talk radio junkie. By his count I started approximately ten years too soon. I'm just hoping (once again this year) to finally get XM Radio in the Yukon for my birthday. I detest that loud, fuzzy AM radio static I hear every time I drive by any sort of interference, such as a car with an antenna or a house with a microwave. It is so shrill and someday, it's going to ruin my hearing. I have no idea why my usually generous DH has held out on me, year after year, regarding this gift.

But I guess I've held out on DH as well, since I have yet to give him any kind of present for his regrettable birthday. It is hard to know what to buy the elderly. Even though he is old now, he aged way too fast while in his thirties too. I wish he would have waited to fall in love with jazz until after my funeral. Though I'm pretty sure he fell in love with Diana Krall first, and the jazz music adoration was just part of the package.

He's lucky I'm such a confident and secure woman, because Diana Krall is sultry. I know many wives that would be very jealous of their own DH buying every album Ms. Krall ever produced, travelling across the country to see her in concert twice in a 2-month period, hanging out in some dark alley of New York City for two hours after her concert just to watch her slip into a car with Elvis Costello (what does she see in him?), and watching "Diana Krall: Live in Paris" over and over and over again. Actually, when I think about it like that, if I weren't so tall and leggy with long blonde tresses and a musical prodigy myself, I would be jealous!

All right, so you know I'm not blonde. I must confess, I'm not tall either. And sadly, I have never, ever been referred to as "leggy." Well since I'm being so truthful, you should also know that even though D2 insists I need to try out for American Idol (don't you see why I just love her?) anyone who is not my elementary school-aged offspring, would never suggest such tryouts would be in my best interest.

So why am I not jealous of DH's affection for Diana Krall? Have you heard that lady sing? Her voice is getting worse every day. Frankly, I don't know how she sells any CD's. For the most part, her music sounds like that high-pitched AM radio static. Weird, huh?