I received an email tonight from a friend of mine. Rob. He said that although he
loves my blog more than life itself enjoys reading my posts, he finds there isn’t enough “man” stuff in them. Man stuff? Thank goodness he specified because to me man stuff means gutting a fish, talking about motor’s, scratching your balls. Man stuff.
No. He’d like me to expand upon certain topics such as farting in the bathtub, and -I quote- “road head.”
Yes. Road-head. I guess this refers to when you give your man a blowjob while he’s driving. Which – excuse me while I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes – is not about to happen in my lifetime. Why would anyone try that? It’s illegal to talk on your cell phone while driving. I highly doubt that “road-head” is deemed law-abiding.
Not to mention, giving head of any kind will give you those long, deep wrinkles around your mouth.
So “road head,” although quite possibly fodder for the male fantasy, is not high on my list of things to do or things to write about… although, I guess I did manage to fulfill the latter, so there you go Rob, a post about “road head.”
Rob also mentioned that he thinks it’s quite funny that bloggers will refer to one another in very affectionate manners; he referred in particular the oft-mentioned BFF.
Once I got over my momentary “What fucken nerve!” I did contemplate this observation. The blogging community is a very loving and respectful one. There are few faux-pas, little political incorrectness when addressing a fellow blogger, and a lot of mutual admiration. I even read a blog yesterday in which the women were referring to each other as “blogbians.”
Obviously the women were not lesbians. Well, they could have been, but I don’t think so because their posts talked about life with husbands and kids. But the level of their bloggy intimacy was such that they couldn’t stay away from each other’s blogs, faithfully followed each new posting, read each other’s comments, commented on each other’s comments. In essence, they couldn’t get enough of each other in the blogosphere.
And by the very definition that I’ve written, I, too, could be considered a blogbian. I too, on a certain level, adore a few blogs out there, reading each new post with rapt attention, mentally composing my reply as I devour every word my fellow blogger is sharing, eagerly commenting, praising, hoping the object of my blogger desire will feel the same way for me as I feel for her. See. Blogbian. Completely natural. We’re just born that way.
But really, when you think about it, how can blogging not foster these kinds of bonds. We, as bloggers, are pouring our hearts and souls out, sharing private experiences, divulging secrets to one another that in some cases, we’ve not even told our mates. So yeah. Blogging is intimate. And yeah, friendships do develop.
And really, this could bring me to an entirely different topic: that of real life friendships. Because aren’t we, as women, linked to our female friendships, sometimes so deeply, that we’d rather be with our girlfriends that with our men? Sure. We live with our men. We raise children with them. Some of us do perform road-head. But when it comes down to it, wouldn’t we rather be eating cheesecake, each of us eating our own big honking piece, not SHARING it, with our best girlfriend than our guy?…I’m just sayin’…
Men may be good for some things. But when it really comes down to it, your girlfriend, or your bloggy BFF, is going to the one to listen to you sympathetically when you complain that you had to sleep in the wet spot.