St. Valentine's Day! Why I Love Women.

How We Men See Ourselves-



Empirical Man - How I Are. Anyway -








"As Madam Sappho in some sonnet said / 'A slap and a tickle / Is all that the fickle / Male / Ever has in his head' " Cole Porter, who went no where near Sappho, or any other skirt, on her best day.

("Unless they [men] are castrated, their brains do not function properly" Erica Jong from Sappho's Leap.


I have been a committed Sapphist all of of my life. Like most men, I have perpetually visiting Sapphic desires that are only augmented by a healthy regard for the dignity and strength that is woman, taught by women themselves. Nevertheless, I choose to hang on to Le Dieu du package donné Homme ( literal and metaphorical) until the warranty gives out; thank you, very much.

From Holy Mary Mother of God, to Ma - Ginny, to Sis Joan, to the departed Mary Cleary Mother of my children, to my girls Nora and Clare to my mother in-law Alice, to sister in law Gail Cleary and my St. Cajetan's sexy neighbor gals,to Sophisticated Lady, to Lady is a Tramp, to Snow White's Wicked StepMom ( my personal Milf #1.)to Alligator Woman, to Thank Heaven for Little Girls, to the Woman of My Dreams who deigns to be seen in public with me, to girls that had the very good sense to give me the brush off, To all the girls I've loved before Who travelled in and out my door I'm glad they came along I dedicate this song To all the girls I've loved before To all the girls I once caressed And may I say I've held the best For helping me to growI owe a lot I know Happy St. Valentine's Day!

Why you have anything to do with us lumpy, shiftless, attention defective, cartoon watching, lazy, whiney, horney, slip-shod hypochondriacs I will never know, but thank you.

We do what we can. . .if there is absolutely no way of putting it off, or getting out of it.

Women rule our thoughts, our vanities, our insecurities and our obligations. You clean us up, get us to church, and inspire us to be better than we are. No small task that.

A girl married to a very lucky Chicago Fireman in my neighborhood writes possibly the best antidote to the idiotic radical feminism so dominant in our culture. I believe that radical feminism nearly emasculated the American Male and diminished the natural and spiritual worth that is Woman. Marianne writes this about her choice in men. Girls and Perpetual Boys are the by-products of feminism it seems to me.

Girls are silly romantic dopes, like Amelia in Thackeray's Vanity Fair - in love with a fecklessly cruel sneak of a spoiled child, well into her middle age. Boys are obnoxious preening fops, who believe that they are poets and brigands - Byronic goofs. Boys are serial goats -leaping from sexual conquest to contest and always armed with a battery of bullshit.

Marianne, of We Band of Mothers notes:

Romantic Guy is the man who has perfected the art of making women swoon. He is poetry and roses. He is chivalrous. Gallant even. He is hard to resist because he feeds into a woman's desire for Hollywood romance and utter adoration.

Of course, Romantic Guy typically has the attention span of a flea. He tends to leave women sobbing in their lattes once his attention turns to the next best thing.

After one such relationship, I swore to my girlfriends that I didn't want to waste another moment with Romantic Guy. Instead, I longed for "Thick & Thin Guy."

Thick & Thin Guy stands by his gal in good times and in bad. He cares as much for her when she's a size 16 as he did when she was an 8. He is loyal, committed, and has never written a poem because he thinks only sissies do that.

I met and married Thick & Thin Guy. Life with my husband is not perfect, but it is pretty darn nice. I never doubt his love for his family, and he is the only man who has figured out that it's better to make me laugh than to do battle when I'm "in a mood."

You girls know what I'm talking about it

I love women! Girls are OK to witness, but absolutely lousy partners in anything. The only worse partner is a Boy. Try getting one to meet an obligation - too many toys and too much time.

I love women unconditionally.

Happy St. Valentine's Day!

We Band of Mothers Blog - Real Women for Real Men!

Really sexy and self-assured women shovel and know 'house-shorts.'

We Band of Mothers is a blog written by Marianne the wife of a Chicago Fireman. This is a Woman!

Marianne
Chicago, mom@webandofmothers.com
Once upon a time, I was a single gal, living in Lincoln Park, and judging all the women pushing around double strollers with Cheerios in their hair. I now have 3 sons, no paying job, and boogars wiped on every article of clothing I own. Help me.

Forget the selfish and self-absorbed hags of Sex in the City; they never did much for my inner lesbian. I like real women. I love real women! The author of We Band of Mothers provides an accurate picture of what it means to be a Real woman.

One of my favorite features of this brilliant blog is "Funny Things My Husband Says"
e.g. -Funny Things My Husband Says

I figure I should probably give a page over to some of the funny things that come out of my husband's mouth that could probably make up an entire blog (except he doesn't know how to type and can barely turn on the computer). I will continue to add to these as I remember things or as new material comes in. Friends and family are welcome to submit any of their favorite Joe-isms to mom@webandofmothers.com:


NEW! C'mon lady! (in the car at the ATM machine behind a particularly slow patron). It's not like you got to program the f*ckin' thing!

Why the f*ck is there braille on the toll booth? (driving to our friend's house up north)

A$$holes are a test from God. If you can get through life without killing one, you go to heaven.

An affair? (a suggestion I made during one of my paranoid-laced pregnancies). You think I'm having an AFFAIR? Like I need two of you in my life?

Every woman is crazy. It's just knowing full well how much crazy you can marry.

Tell the DJ (from our wedding) that if he plays one Rush song, he's not getting paid and I'm punching him in the face.

The only reason your friends think I'm grumpy is because you tell them I'm grumpy. I'm happy, goddammit.

This south side, St. Baranbas Parish bride of one lucky lad, exudes intelligence, warmth, and fierce indepedndence. That is sexy. The Prada and botox'd trout mouths who strut up and down North Michigan Ave. are sad things indeed. They seem so unhappy and uncomfortable in the skin God gave them.

Get a load of these babes! Pleasure yourselves in the world of Real Women.

Monday, September 12, 2011Sex & the City for the Target Crowd
It had been a long week. The school stuff. The bus stuff. The 10-year anniversary. So I did the only thing I could think of when Joe headed off to the firehouse Sunday morning: I got a sitter and called the girls: Atheist-Friend and BFF (I'm still working on a better blog moniker for her).

It was time for breather. Or a bender. I wasn't picky.


We decided on Champp's sports bar because (1) Atheist-Friend likes the salads there, (2) I like the Bears, and (3) BFF likes a good Long Island Iced Tea. A few beers and a 4-shot of Ibuprofen to kill my migraine did just the trick to ready me for our day ahead.

After lunch, we hit a litany of stores. Perhaps there are husbands out there who believe these shopping excursions are completely selfish in nature and designed to feed an insatiable desire for over-priced shoes. I am going to blow the lid off that stereotype right now. If anyone is interested in the truth behind the non-glamorous purchases middle-aged women make, keep reading:


Atheist-Friend

"House shorts" (Atheist-Friend told us she needed a pair for cleaning the house. We couldn't quite figure out what she was talking about until she showed us a pair. Apparently, they are just soft, comfy shorts that are way too inappropriate for a 40 year-old woman to wear in public. So they are relegated to in-house use only, hence the name.
Squash for some very odd macaroni and cheese recipe that Atheist-Friend found
A pack of Cottenelle wipes
A vat of pretzel pub mix for hubby
Clothes for daughter

BFF

A book on the mortuary arts
A pack of Swedish Fish (that I ate most of)

Me

House Shorts (because now I was just curious)



Jeans for Danny
The Jaycee Duggar biography
A new back-up hair dryer (the old back-up is out of play because our current hair dryer fizzled out today)
Rice Krispie Treats for the kids' lunches

There is so much more at this treasure trove of sexy feminity!

Click my post title for We Band of Mothers! God bless you,Marianne!

Frat Boys at Yale, Hollywood Producers, TV Pilot Jockies, Clothing Industry Need to Meet Dad.

" I'm not a Yale Man, but I can Tell Time, Me Old Son. Midnight. Later is no option. Am I right, Son? Say, I'm right! That's a Good Boy! Have fun."

Dad is the guy, that I met on many occasions. He was the guy who allowed me to escort his daughter to the Beverly Theatre, Chuck Cavellini's Buffet in Midlothian, The Four Top with Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band at the Auditorium Theatre, various proms Longwood Academy of our Lady, Queen of Peace in Burbank, and my own at the Blackstone Hotel for Little Flower.

Dad was always politely appraising with eyes, and probing with nose to determine signs of sexual intent, or after odors of the great taste of Schlitz. " Be home by midnight or before, I gotta big tomorrow working the lock-up of Gresham - did Peggy tell you I was a cop?"

Once, I picked up a gorgeous Italian girl from River Forest, Illinois, with whom I shared a science lab bench at Loyola. Her dad was cleaning a Smith & Wesson of large caliber it appeared. " What's the Clancy Bothers? Why not catch a good show at the London House? Forget about it. Carla says you are from the south side. I got alotta cousins down there around 1755 W. 75th Place: phone number Stewart 3-1570, where Pat, Ginny, Kevin and sweet little Joanie live with you . . . and that great red bearded dog of your's Leroy. Have a great time, kids! See you soon." Now, that's a Dad what am a Dad!

I never had car trouble. Respect does not begin with Dad, but it should in the best of all possible worlds end with Dad, if decency, morality, common sense and fundamental honesty can not prevail. Respect begins with the human being who fundamently resembles your mother, sister, and aunts, but also signals a chemical and emotional reaction in males that filters sounds, words, images and impulses in an elemental and wonderful way. That is why sappy songs get sold.

Women are not at all like us thanks be to God. They are better. They are magnificent!

There have always been creeps and louses of my gender who abused and misused and frightened and threatened and deployed charm in order to have one's wicked way with a young lady.

Dad, my Dad, taught respect for women by displaying genuine affection for my mother with words, gestures, and by taking on the cooking, cleaning, diaper changing, laundry, as well as the plumbing, carpentry and furnace maintenance. Moreso, I caught the two of them 'making out' on any number of occasion, returning earlier than expected from my date.

I hate the sight of clothing ads that present young girls and boys as sexual predators, sexually ambiguous. I am no fan of TV sitcoms written by morons for imbeciles that make light of love. I am appalled by the news of the Yale Frat Boys: "No Means Yes, Yes Means Anal." that is the least objectionable chant by these privileged punks.



Sorry sweetheart, me and your Dad agree that Calvin needs a face-to-face with Dad. The ads are stupid and make perfect sense to stupid people.

Yale is getting close scrutiny by the Nanny Press and now the Nation of Cowards Justice Department. Yale is a great school that is the Alma Mater for several of my dearest friends - Vigorous and intelligent Dads themselves.

Boys are dogs, if they wish to be and the tolerant eyes of a society that bases all of its Hegalian assumptions upon " Who's to Say" as the 1st Commandment. The same society that valorizes Tupac as the new Andrew Marvell and places his idiotic utterances in the canon of literature at Yale, Brown, Harvard, Columbia and Princeton, because some loud mouth with an alphabet after his name plays the race card, is now huffing and puffing that Yale Men are sexists?

Many of those poor louts have been raised without Dads, or at best weekend Dads, I venture to say. Marriage is so . . .sexist and patriarchal and hard work.

I am blessed to live in a neighborhood that for a widower like me is a dating desert. Everyone is married and stays married - for better or worse, in sickness and in health, and until death do they part. The women are often tougher than the men, though they look like movie stars. They were Daddy's Girls and had brothers with hands like meat-hooks who started for Mt. Carmel, St. Rita, Leo and St. Lawrence. These women respected themselves and demanded the same from us knuckle-draggers. Several of those knuckle-draggers hold degrees from Yale, BTW. They sit next to their brides at Mass. At the kiss of Peace, after the Pater Noster, these men gently kiss the women who are their lives. These gentle men are Dads and not above giving a lout who speaks disrespectfully, much less lays hands on a daughter a thorough and pious tune-up.

Many of those poor Yale louts Tweet for Obama and about the MILF Sarah Palin in the most vile and unworthy ways possible. The same clown opera that is MSNBC and CNN and the networks is hand-wringing about the Yale boys, but calling Mrs. Palin and other women out of their political circles in the same manner as the Yale Men.

Louts are louts. Louts need clouts. Yet, the smarm merchants chant against violence. The Yale Men and Hollywood and the Music Industry and Calvin Klein and Snoop Yo'Dog Gangstah Sex Pimp and Abercrombie and Fitch need a good session with a Dad.

A gentle man similar in inclination to Carla's Pop . . .the huge knuckled second generation Italian-American with the comfortable home in River Forest, IL would be just the ticket.

Woman -Why Boys Never Understand and Girls Can Not Be

The Bible ( Old and New Testaments), the Word of God that we Christians and Jews pay lip-service to, tells these truths wrapped in mystery -

WEAKNESS IS THE PATH TO STRENGTH

SACRIFICE IS THE PATH TO GAINING

GIVING IS THE ONLY WAY TO HAVE

DOING BAD TO DO GOOD IS FORBIDDEN

SURRENDER IS THE ONLY MEANS OF VICTORY


These are headscratchers, Bretheran and Sisteran, to be sure. Yesterday, I received this comment on my tease about President Obama playing at being Italian by flashing the Corna - The Horn sign with the hand.

wow you have alot of time on your hands! how bout helping me with something ? i need help! i read your blog about how mothers are the Divine plan...i truly believe this with all my heart. that is why I've always wanted to be a full time mom. i was. for more than 15 years. the courts awarded my x with sole custody with my three children because he has higher education and the finances. i was thrown away and my children just started today at st caj. i was only informed 24 hours ago. the courts in the city are selling our children please help us

I do have time on my hands, thanks be to God, from 4Am to just before 6AM when I pound the keys to practice my writing. More so I have had time to think about the sadness of the note. I know nothing of the situation other than the words above.

I can only imagine the sense of loss, because I have lost my wife to brain cancer. My three children have been without a mother since January 17, 1998. A great woman went home to Christ.

It took me years of courtship, remonstrances and litanies of 'What, are you just Stupid? Yeah, going to Prairie Tavern is a great way to get ready for that job interview tomorrow morning. You are going to iron your shirt and go the bed before 10, Bub! Go read and think great thoughts . . .Move it!' Got the job.

However, witnessing the power, courage, tenacity, and superhuman love from a woman in three very difficult childbirths grew some whiskers on this Boy Male.

To learn that I was in the company of a woman and not a girl was a Blessing from God. We boys, if we are to become men, must learn that the center-folds in Playboy are air-brushed conceits - two-dimensional images. Women are flesh and blood embodiments of God's Divine Plan, without whom males would wallow in filth and end up eating one another.

Women are the most powerful force for good, because they constantly renew humanity. They pick us husbands up off of the sidewalk, more than their little boys who fall off the Schwins when Mother let's go of the guiding fender. Women are our training wheels.

They nurture our better selves and introduce us to better interests, foods, habiliments and inclinations.

Boys believe in fairy princesses, as much as little girls, who will wave magic wands and make the dishes disappear from the sink, clean the toilet-in, out, and behind, make groceries appear out of nowhere, and provide a balance in the checking account at the end of the two week pay cycle, bathe the kids, check homework, call the appliance man, cut the grass and make love to them, while they play fantasy football and blow off steam at the local gin-mill.

Women spark the creative will in males to be better than they were the day before and salve the self-loathing impulse when we fail miserably to overcome our inclination for grandiose and usually very public self-pity.

Girls believe that being a two-dimensional image is the path to happiness. Happiness is hard work. Boys and Girls hate hard work, shoot they hate easy work. Spending, acquiring and ingesting are no paths to happiness.

Boys and Girls make one another wildly unhappy.

Men and Women are happy because they mutually sweat and labor until each task is complete - love making, bill paying, and child rearing.

I prayed that the poor woman who wrote the note works her way to happiness, last night and this morning; more so, I prayed that I can avoid being a boy.

Here are two Catholic Prayers - One for Couples, which is pretty safe and dull

Married Couples: Gracious God, you joined couples together in the Sacrament of Matrimony. Your Son, Jesus sanctified the married state by his miracle at Cana. Bless with your loving grace the married couples of this parish that they may see you in each other, raise their children to love and serve you, and in the fullness of time live forever with you in the joys of eternal life. AMEN.

One for the Divorced, which is more compelling and powerful . . .and needs to be so.

Separated and Divorced: Gracious God, for some among us, dreams and hopes have died. Marriages have ended. Promises and hearts have been broken. Heal those broken hearts, we pray. Help those persons whose marriages have failed to know that the one never failing love can be found in you. When they feel lonely, make them aware of your Spirit. When they feel guilty, help them to know your forgiveness. When there is anger, send them your peace. We pray for these gifts in the name of your Son, Jesus. AMEN

Happiness is not easy, but it is possible. Pray, it can't hurt.

Real Housewives, Moms, Lovers, Best Pals, Body Guards of the Faith of Morgan Park

I never saw one episode of Desperate Housewives, Sex in the City, or any . . .any Reality TV Show.

I was dragged to see first wave feminist movies back when I was a student at Loyola, right after Dewey took Manila from Spain. I went along to those strident 'woman must liberate herself!' soft core porn films - where some babe skanks around with pipe smoking professors from whom they learn secrets of sex and Blake's Poetry and then toss off the Jugs Harness and run through New York with other mini-skirted Feminists.

I dated a 'Dip-stick in Lip-stick' who thought Abortion was the signature of real Feminism . . .once.

Hell, I am a sucker for babies and detest the thought of murdering an innocent. I'm a Caveman.

The family is mocked in the film arts as well as plucked brow literature.

Women are never happy in these films unless they are slapping the mattress with a young Che Guevara wannabee and ditching their kids and their Old Man. Romantic Forbidden Love That ALWAYS ends tragically is the ideal.

I'm a hand-holder. I come from the very same place where I happen to live right now.

Last Night, my Daughter Nora and I ( Conor was frying fish at DiCola's) watched Clare receive the St. Cajetan's Computer Science Award at the 8th Grade Honors Ceremony. All the girls, text-message-ing little women who play basketball, volleyball, softball and work service hours at the two nursing homes in Morgan Park looked like run-way models and the fourteen something young men, looked like their Dads . . . sad to say.

I looked around at all the Moms, because Clare's Mom, my Bride, is an angel. Mary died when Clare was two and a half. However, Mary would have fit in nicely with Anne, Collette, Darleen, Sheila, Peggy, Kerry, Jennifer, Linda and all the rest.

Happy women. Not Cosmo guzzlers. Real women and not poor confused victims. Knockouts and most of them could care less. They are married to 'older versions' of the boys who struggled into an actual tie that you need to tie for the first time: Pete, Desmond, Declan, Jake, Jack ( about four by my count), Sean, Danny, Ray and Nick!

Their Moms are married to their Dads, their best pals. Their Moms don't need Botox. These are Real Women and they do not buy obscene numbers and qualities of shoes, read How to Be Happy Manuals by Skank Head-Cases, pop pills, 'take time for themselves,' wallow in self-pity. They are Happy Women. They have no tolerance, let alone capacity for Bitching. They are the Women that Feminists hate to the very marrow of their beings!

They are women of Faith, who do not seek some stupid alternative life-style, pierce their beautiful bodies, or Tattoo their limbs, or sculpt their personal destinies with Dr. Gaddam Gupta. They have it all. They have borne the pains of child birth and nurtured babies to a point where these babies too can become Real Men and Women.

They are the Breeders. They are the Real Family Core. The makers of tortilla roll-ups with lime and jalapenos! They know how to 'Work a Beer Glass' and a Mikita Power Drill. I love each and every one of these women.

The love of my life, lives in Chicago's Gold Coast and my Morgan Park neighborhood is familiar to this elegant and beautiful woman who sings at the Pump Room, because she grew up among Real Women in Chagrin Falls, Ohio as well.

I am a thrice blessed man. My love Mary went home to Christ. Not my call. I had a huge hole in my heart that Christ allowed me to patch up with my mistakes and stupidities, but allowed me to realize the majesty that is Woman. For better or worse I too am a Mom. A homely, lumpy, Mom, but a Mom nevertheless. I buy the Feminine Hygiene products in this house! Yet, I am blessed with the love and affection of another Real woman.

Whenever, I see the vapid, self-absorbed, shallow, and indulgent clothes horses portrayed in film and on TV, I click on Paula Deen on the food Channel. That is a Woman! Women make the home and in so doing create the world where kids do not need to take Zoloft, or fill their hours on the internet. The daughters of the Housewives of Morgan Park are women.

These Real Little Women play sports, play with make-up, but they also have learned to be friends and best pals with Ray, Pete, Jake, Jack (our by my count), Sean and Danny.

The Women of Morgan Park make a happy world. Thanks Be to God.

Today in Chicago Tribune, the sun dial for the changing times, there is another stupid couple of paragraphs about some stupid reality show that wants to further insult Women and the Family.

A show revealing the lives of upper-echelon housewives -- Botox parties, tennis matches and all the drama in between -- is coming to Chicago.

Towers Productions is casting for the Midwestern premiere of a housewives show similar to Bravo's "Real Housewives," which has focused on Orange County, New York, Atlanta and New Jersey.

The producers are searching for "a dynamic group of women" who have a unique connection to one another, whether through their lifestyles or social network, casting director Becky Cattie said.

Interested women can e-mail casting@towersproductions.com (a date for auditions has not been set yet). Include your name, age, the area where you live, contact information, a photo and some personal background information.

Reality my Broad Manly Ass!