I don’t think I have ever dated anyone for any length of time that didn’t do this and it still amazes me that it happens. I have tried to study it and I still don’t have a clue why or how it happens. So if you have a idea, please comment. Anyway, this is what’s going on. Things are going well in the relationship, she’s happy, I’m happy she’s happy, and I’m trying not to do anything rock the boat. But basically out of the blue, she brings up something that you thought was settled months ago and she is a hot and upset as she was when it happen. This is hard to understand for a guy because when we finally ‘deal’ with it, its done, its over, we have released all emotions for it and have now moved on. But it seems that women never really release it and I don’t understand why. Is it that they can’t, don’t know how to let it go or they just don’t too? And why bring it up when everything is good in the relationship? That really confuses me!!!! I can see brining past shit up when things are going bad, but why when things are good?
So we have two points to that I need help with. Why does it seem that women cannot get over something and actually move on? And why do they bring something up when everything appears to be going well? I would really like to have a logically answer to both of them.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Accept THIS!!!!!
Men and Women do NOT think the same!!!!!!!!! What motivates men is not the same that motivates women. That does not mean that one is better, it just means there is a difference. And this goes for ALL guys. Every weekend I listen to my friends (men and women) complain about what their boyfriend/girlfriend and the drama that it creates. And it's all because you 'expect' them to act a certain way because its what you would do. Just stop it!!!! Please!!!!
Here is a little video on youtube to help you understand..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuMZ73mT5zM
Here is a little video on youtube to help you understand..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuMZ73mT5zM
Friday, January 2, 2009
Excerpt from Why My Wife Thinks I’m an Idiot by Mike Greenberg
Now, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I hate the supermarket. I detest everything about the experience and, consequently, I seldom go. But today, when my wife hit me with an unanswerable question, the only way I could think to get out was to offer to do the food shopping.
Unfortunately, I cannot spend more than three minutes in the supermarket without calling her, so it sort of defeats the purpose. In fact, I have no idea how men ever did the food shopping before cell phones, because I invariable have to use mine at least five times to ask questions.
“Honey, they don’t have the Philadelphia cream cheese in the block, they only have it in the tub, unless we want the fat-free. Which do we want?”
That last – ‘we’ – is laughable, isn’t it? Obviously, the issue is not which we want, but which she wants, because if I had so much as a vote in this, I wouldn’t have to call every two minutes. Let’s face it; she decides which brands we use. I’m not sure when I ceded control of that, but I’d bet it happened right around the time I realized it all really mattered to her.
Frankly, I don’t know which brand of toilet tissue I used to buy when I was single. In fact, I’m sure there was not one brand I used to buy, just as there was not one brand of tuna fish or deodorant or peanut butter. The things I was passionate about then are the same few that I still am today: Kellogg’s corn flakes, Tropicana orange juice, Dannon yogurt. Otherwise, when I ask, “Which brand do we buy?” what I am really saying is “Which brand do you like?” Because we both know I don’t give a shit. I cannot for the life of me tell all these different brands of cottage cheese apart; they are less different than the identical black shoes in my wife’s closet.
So as I walked the aisles this afternoon, I found myself wondering just how women became so specific. (This was right after I called to ask whether the butter we use is salted or unsalted.) I was pushing my overflowing cart down the produce aisle, watching some woman demonstrate for her husband the proper way to squeeze a melon, when, just like that, it all became clear to me. Suddenly, I understood the dynamic that dictates my relationship with my wife, and the thread of commonality I have with all men everywhere. And it is so bloody simple I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.
We are all married to women who think we are idiots.
It’s that simple. Your wife thinks you are an idiot and mine things the same of me. In fact, my wife also thinks you are an idiot. But don’t take it personally: It’s a fender thing; all women think all men are idiots.
This crosses all boundaries, including race, religion, and socioeconomic status. Rich guys and poor, black ones and white, Christians and Jews and Muslims – every man everywhere has a wife who thinks he just doesn’t get it. This has nothing to do with intelligence, book smarts, street smarts, or any of the other traditional means of measuring brains; the simple reality is that men and women are operating on different wavelengths and that disconnect makes it inevitable that a woman will someday look upon her husband and think: I just have no idea what does on in your head.
Now, the questions: Why doesn’t that disconnect work both ways” Why don’t men become frustrated when their wives don’t get it?
The answer: Because men don’t care.
Mostly, we just want to be left alone. And a woman’s need to discuss our problems only interferes with our need to pretend they do not exist. This is the central difference between a husband and a wife.
We men do not believe our wives our idiots, because we take them at face value; they are what they are. Women, meanwhile, see us for what they thing we could be, or should be. (Marlon Brando described it in Guys and Dolls as cutting men up into different shapes and sizes, depending upon how they’re wearing husband this year.) Women do that; your does, mine does, they all do. And we resist it, and that’s what makes us idiots.
This goes for all men, even the smartest and most successful. I guarantee you George Will’s wife calls her girlfriends the moment her husband leaves the house in the morning and says, “You’re not going to believe what that schmuck did last night.” Now, what George probable did was finish some correspondence with several heads of state, write a column for Newsweek, and calculate the combined batting average of the Chicago Cubs dating back to the last time they won the World Series. But maybe his bow tie didn’t match his socks while he did it, so now she is making fun of his different shades of brown while he is on his way to the White House for an exclusive interview with the secretary of defense.
How about the Boss, George Steinbrenner? One of the most influential and powerful men in the nation, he makes millionaire ballplayers with guaranteed contract tremble. But don’t think for one minute he doesn’t return home after negotiating a billion-dollar deal and steps out of his limousine to find his wife waiting in the driveway with her arms folded across her chest and that look on her face.
“Now you listen to me, Mister Most Powerful Man in Baseball….”
I’ll bet the driver gets out of there quickly on those nights; probably because he has the same thing waiting for him at home.
Of course, you must realize that this issue is insurmountable. We certainly aren’t going to change, and it isn’t fair to expect us to. Men are actually ridiculously easy creatures to understand; women are just trying too hard. Their problem is they cannot conceive of just shutting off their minds. But we can. We do it all the time. Women need to stop trying to figure out what we are thinking, because of the time we are not.
So there I was today in the supermarket, standing by the deli, holding a number that would not be called for half an hour, watching all the other men read notes with very precisely written instructions, when I realized I finally have it all figured out.
It’s not about understanding them. It’s about understanding ourselves. If our wives want to believe we’re idiots, let them. From now on, that’s going to be just fine with me. I have neither the desire nor the energy to fight any longer. I know that she loves me, and anything beyond that doesn’t have to matter.
Besides, what are the options? We can either try to live without them – good luck with that – or try to live with them, which is what I pledge to do. And if that means accepting the fact that she thinks I’m and idiot, I can do it. And I will – from this day forward – be at peace with it. And all I ask is one thing is return: Every now and again, I would like just a few minutes of uninterrupted quiet to watch the ballgame.
Unfortunately, I cannot spend more than three minutes in the supermarket without calling her, so it sort of defeats the purpose. In fact, I have no idea how men ever did the food shopping before cell phones, because I invariable have to use mine at least five times to ask questions.
“Honey, they don’t have the Philadelphia cream cheese in the block, they only have it in the tub, unless we want the fat-free. Which do we want?”
That last – ‘we’ – is laughable, isn’t it? Obviously, the issue is not which we want, but which she wants, because if I had so much as a vote in this, I wouldn’t have to call every two minutes. Let’s face it; she decides which brands we use. I’m not sure when I ceded control of that, but I’d bet it happened right around the time I realized it all really mattered to her.
Frankly, I don’t know which brand of toilet tissue I used to buy when I was single. In fact, I’m sure there was not one brand I used to buy, just as there was not one brand of tuna fish or deodorant or peanut butter. The things I was passionate about then are the same few that I still am today: Kellogg’s corn flakes, Tropicana orange juice, Dannon yogurt. Otherwise, when I ask, “Which brand do we buy?” what I am really saying is “Which brand do you like?” Because we both know I don’t give a shit. I cannot for the life of me tell all these different brands of cottage cheese apart; they are less different than the identical black shoes in my wife’s closet.
So as I walked the aisles this afternoon, I found myself wondering just how women became so specific. (This was right after I called to ask whether the butter we use is salted or unsalted.) I was pushing my overflowing cart down the produce aisle, watching some woman demonstrate for her husband the proper way to squeeze a melon, when, just like that, it all became clear to me. Suddenly, I understood the dynamic that dictates my relationship with my wife, and the thread of commonality I have with all men everywhere. And it is so bloody simple I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.
We are all married to women who think we are idiots.
It’s that simple. Your wife thinks you are an idiot and mine things the same of me. In fact, my wife also thinks you are an idiot. But don’t take it personally: It’s a fender thing; all women think all men are idiots.
This crosses all boundaries, including race, religion, and socioeconomic status. Rich guys and poor, black ones and white, Christians and Jews and Muslims – every man everywhere has a wife who thinks he just doesn’t get it. This has nothing to do with intelligence, book smarts, street smarts, or any of the other traditional means of measuring brains; the simple reality is that men and women are operating on different wavelengths and that disconnect makes it inevitable that a woman will someday look upon her husband and think: I just have no idea what does on in your head.
Now, the questions: Why doesn’t that disconnect work both ways” Why don’t men become frustrated when their wives don’t get it?
The answer: Because men don’t care.
Mostly, we just want to be left alone. And a woman’s need to discuss our problems only interferes with our need to pretend they do not exist. This is the central difference between a husband and a wife.
We men do not believe our wives our idiots, because we take them at face value; they are what they are. Women, meanwhile, see us for what they thing we could be, or should be. (Marlon Brando described it in Guys and Dolls as cutting men up into different shapes and sizes, depending upon how they’re wearing husband this year.) Women do that; your does, mine does, they all do. And we resist it, and that’s what makes us idiots.
This goes for all men, even the smartest and most successful. I guarantee you George Will’s wife calls her girlfriends the moment her husband leaves the house in the morning and says, “You’re not going to believe what that schmuck did last night.” Now, what George probable did was finish some correspondence with several heads of state, write a column for Newsweek, and calculate the combined batting average of the Chicago Cubs dating back to the last time they won the World Series. But maybe his bow tie didn’t match his socks while he did it, so now she is making fun of his different shades of brown while he is on his way to the White House for an exclusive interview with the secretary of defense.
How about the Boss, George Steinbrenner? One of the most influential and powerful men in the nation, he makes millionaire ballplayers with guaranteed contract tremble. But don’t think for one minute he doesn’t return home after negotiating a billion-dollar deal and steps out of his limousine to find his wife waiting in the driveway with her arms folded across her chest and that look on her face.
“Now you listen to me, Mister Most Powerful Man in Baseball….”
I’ll bet the driver gets out of there quickly on those nights; probably because he has the same thing waiting for him at home.
Of course, you must realize that this issue is insurmountable. We certainly aren’t going to change, and it isn’t fair to expect us to. Men are actually ridiculously easy creatures to understand; women are just trying too hard. Their problem is they cannot conceive of just shutting off their minds. But we can. We do it all the time. Women need to stop trying to figure out what we are thinking, because of the time we are not.
So there I was today in the supermarket, standing by the deli, holding a number that would not be called for half an hour, watching all the other men read notes with very precisely written instructions, when I realized I finally have it all figured out.
It’s not about understanding them. It’s about understanding ourselves. If our wives want to believe we’re idiots, let them. From now on, that’s going to be just fine with me. I have neither the desire nor the energy to fight any longer. I know that she loves me, and anything beyond that doesn’t have to matter.
Besides, what are the options? We can either try to live without them – good luck with that – or try to live with them, which is what I pledge to do. And if that means accepting the fact that she thinks I’m and idiot, I can do it. And I will – from this day forward – be at peace with it. And all I ask is one thing is return: Every now and again, I would like just a few minutes of uninterrupted quiet to watch the ballgame.
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