Men, Help Me Understand

I just got off the phone with the Shill.  On the one hand, I’m totally gloating because I’ve been saying since 1994 that this dude we went to college with was madly in love with her.  On the other hand, he hasn’t talked to her in ten years.  Why would he email her out of the blue to confess his love and his sadness that he’d heard she’d gotten married?

Menfolk, this is what I need help understanding.  What are you thinking when you tell a woman, long after it’s too late to do anything about it, that you used to love her and still morn that you never got together?  Do you think we’ll find this flattering?  Do you think we’ll suddenly be all like “Well, praise Jesus, I just happen to have some divorce papers right here.  Let me sign them and run away with you!”

Don’t get me wrong.  I can understand the whole “We run in the same social circles and sometimes there’s some weird awkwardness and part of that is because I used to really like you and even though I’m over that, I still get wistful” conversation.  It’s unpleasant, but we know each other; we’re actively friends; so sometimes you just have to say that shit so that you can acknowledge it and move the fuck on.

I mean the whole “I haven’t spoken to you in years, but I’m going to take my one chance to admit my feelings, even though nothing can come of it.”  What do you think is going to come from that?

Do women do that?  I used to have a huge crush on Andy Kulak in college.  I pined for him epically.  I never told him, which was stupid.  But I haven’t spoken to him in ten years. I’m not going to look him up on the internet and drop him a line just so I can tell him I used to love him.  I have no desire to do that.  I hope he’s fine and happy and has a good life.

I’m not a part of it.  I don’t feel bad about that.  I don’t wish things were different.  I don’t think about him often, except when I’m talking about college with the Shill.  If we ran into each other in Starbucks and recognized each other, that might be cool.  But I have no desire to search him out and contact him.

So, I don’t really get the motivations of people who do.

Obviously, the Shill doesn’t either, so she’s asked me to ask y’all: What the fuck?

Queen of the Dairy Queen

Did I tell y’all how I used to work at Dairy Queen?  Of course I worked at Dairy Queen!  Come on.  My family once took a vacation that consisted of nothing but driving around the middle of the country stopping at every Dairy Queen that hit our fancy.

When we were little, we used to all pile in the… shit.  You know, I used to think that I couldn’t remember anything vividly from before about third or fourth grade.

But I was all set to tell you about how, when we were little, we used to pile into the car and drive clear from Nokomis into Taylorville, listening to the Cards on the radio.  And we would stay strapped in the back seat and Dad wouldn’t want to miss any of the game, so Mom went up and placed our order, paid, came back with napkins, came back with waters, came back with a peanut buster parfait for Dad and either small cones dipped in chocolate or Dilly Bars for us, and we would eat them and listen to the game and watch the other families come and go.

And then, after a long time, we’d slowly pull out of the parking spot and head home.  I was always asleep before we got there.

I remember that as clear as anything.

That was before the Butcher was born.

Hmm.

Anyway, so yes, no surprise that I ended up working at Dairy Queen.  I did a little of everything.  I learned to pull the soft serve.  I worked the grill.  I even regularly worked the drive-up.

Still, it was a boring job and I had to do things to amuse myself–such as instituting the policy that, whenever someone ordered a Hawaiian Blizzard, we would hula dance for them.

Good times.

Anyway, my mom’s apartment is right next door to a Dairy Queen (one of the reasons, I suspect, she’s having a hard time giving the apartment up) and she likes to regale me with tales of how handy it is to know someone who used to work at Dairy Queen when ordering at a Dairy Queen.

And I though, shoot, it’s summer time.  Dear readers, get in the car, turn on some baseball, and go treat yourself to some Dairy Queen.

Here’s the inside scoop (so to speak) on the important things you need to know when ordering:

–You don’t have to have the toppings that come with any Treat.  For instance, you could order a banana split and get all chocolate or hot fudge, hard shell, and chocolate.

–That’s a useful thing to know, too.  There are three chocolaty toppings–chocolate syrup, hot fudge, and hard shell.  The hard shell gets hard when exposed to the cool of the soft serve because there’s a lot of wax in the hard shell.  Be sure your server gives the hard shell a good mix before he uses it on your item.

–The absolute best thing you can get at a Dairy Queen is the following–an M&M Blizzard made with strawberry instead of chocolate sauce.  It is so good.  If I weren’t allergic to strawberries, I would get it all the time.

–The rumor was, when I was working there, that the yogurt was actually more fattening than the soft serve.  Soft serve is full of air (and calcium) so it’s practically good for you.

Aw, shucks.  I wish I’d never brought up the strawberry M&M Blizzard.  Folks, you can develop allergies as you get older and sometimes, those allergies are a cruel, cruel joke played on you by the universe.