What Has It Done For Me Lately?

I used to be the quintessential pack rat. I kept everything, as I discussed once before. Some of it was in collections, some was just stuff I thought my be important later; the occasional memorabilia from a particularly poignant moment in my life. Whatever. There was a bunch of junk.

No more. I have since flushed from my person this overwhelming need to cling to things. I can without hesitation discard any and all birthday, holiday, anniversary or get well soon cards. I just don't see the point of keeping them. On the rare occasion that the sentiment expressed is from someone who has or will soon pass away, I understand holding onto a token from your relationship to refresh those formerly shared feelings. But other than that, what's the point?

If it's a family member you are still close to, you can express those feelings any time you wish. If it represents a romantic relationship that went south, why keep it around to punish yourself? I mean, unless there's some chance of winning her/him back, it's over. There's no upside to rehashing those feelings you're never going to get to share again. And if the flame can be rekindled, get out there and rekindle it! What good does it serve moping around re-reading creased and crumpled love notes when you can be spending time with the source of such emotions?

And that's just an unnecessarily long diatribe on cards. Don't get me started on the chintzy crap people fill their lives with. I'm all about having nice stuff. I get trying to make a place look nice. But why do you have boxes upon boxes of decorative materials if you already own your home and it's already decorated to the nines? No, you don't need a storage unit, you need a swift kick to the head. Okay, that's a little harsh, but come on people! You have no idea how liberating it is to slough off all the layers of superfluousness and bask in the freedom of the unencumbered.

Sure, all that "stuff" means something. Each little thing has it's own special meaning. But I don't feel like it's accumulative. If you have one stuffed animal from them, then the other 32 don't really add anything. Oh, I know, this orange teddy bear is from when you went to the state fair, and this slightly smaller orange teddy bear is from when you went to the traveling carnival that set up in the Costco parking lot.

Let's un-clutter, people. Give it a try. Ask yourself the hard question, "Will having or not having this ever impact my life again?" If the answer is no, it's time to let go.

Little Help?

I can't get these darn Christmas songs out of my head. It makes me feel helpless, out of control, and a little alone. But at least I have cheery music to accompany me on my road to depression and insanity. No, as a matter of fact, it is not beginning to look a lot like Christmas, Thankyouverymuch.

Any sure fire methods for ridding yourself of looping, inane music that you just can't seem to clear from your cerebellum? I prefer answers free of a specific caliber or grain, but at this point I'm open to all suggestions.

One Man's Perspective

Look, there are a lot of guys out there who will tell you what you want to hear. "Yes, that dress does match your eyes and doesn't accentuate the hips you think are mannish at all." "Of course your co-workers are all plotting together behind your back, bent on your ultimate destruction." "No, she isn't a younger, hotter version of you..." et cetera. I'm not one of those guys. Maybe to my detriment, but just don't see the upside.

So what if it makes you feel better for a moment? In the case of the hot girl, odds are you wouldn't believe it anyway, and go on resenting her for doing absolutely nothing wrong. In the other examples, the only thing accepted would be something regurgitated to agree with your point of view, while secretly rejecting or outright ridiculing any attempt on our part to play devil's advocate.

I think my whole point here is we don't want to hear about your menstrual cycle. There, I said it. I'm going out on a limb in defense of manhood everywhere. And I don't care how many men start sawing on my limb in an attempt to distance themselves from me, because deep in their hearts I know they all agree. Just like you don't enjoy hearing about, looking at pictures of, or having anything to do with what any Y-chromosome equipped creature would consider an amazing bowel movement, there are things going on in the land of womanhood that we don't want to be a part of.

Now this may generate some anger from the fairer sex. I need you to know that it's not that we're grossed out. I need you to know it's not just that we're grossed out. Men are fixers. This is common knowledge, I know, but I think what makes us most uncomfortable about the delicacy of the female state is that there really isn't anything we can do about it. Coupled with the fact that any suggestions toward possible amelioration are more often than not ill-timed to coincide with the event in question, we have little incentive to be involved in the process at any aspect.

This is such a tricky subject to broach, because women have little pity for a man's experience in this situation, typically believing (quite vocally) that we need to just suck it up and quit whining. Now I'm all for that. I couldn't agree more. The problem arises when in our best attempts to avoid the subject altogether we are viewed as uncaring or immature, as in unable to handle verbalization about what is going on. This idea is only exacerbated by the standard male response of, "Ew, ew, okay, okay, enough, I get it. No Really, I Get It." This can be followed up by fingers in the ears and a rendition of the ever-popular "La-La-La", first made famous by the Monkees I believe. Maybe it was the Clash.

I accept we have no point of reference. I couldn't agree more that we have no idea what you are going through every month. My point is that the lack of understanding won't ever get any better, despite the best efforts of both sides to make the other understand. So in the future ladies, when you are suffering from your "visit", please just ask for things. A warm blanket, a pillow to curl around, tissues to wipe your noses as you sob uncontrollably at a strangely worded life insurance commercial on TV. We can do that. We can handle that. We're desperate to do whatever we can to make you more comfortable. Just know that references to volume, color, viscosity and I think I just threw up a little.