taking my talents to south beach

For the single woman attending a family reunion on one of the last weekends of the open mating season is absolutely the poorest use of time, as any good looking men are immediately ruled out as prospective husbands. On the other hand, attending one is priceless in the quest to understand where one's disproportionately long arms came from or where one's now svelte figure may be going if she doesn't IMMEDIATELY knock it off with the Oreo Balls.*

I spent a little bit of time going through the books of my family tree with its roots planted in Bohemia (as in Prague and its surrounding province in the Czech Republic--not flowy dresses and a guitar case). But mostly I misbehaved with my little brother who was in from Vegas for no better reason other than the fact that we are really good at it.

In addition to general mischief (No, dad, we did not see who poured a half of case of Pilsner Urquell in Great Great Aunt Katrine's fish pond**), we had some fun at Lebron's expense. During the volleying of insults, I discovered my brother's fervent (somewhat startlingly so) desire to somehow have the phrase "I'm taking my talents to South Beach" enter the English vernacular. After a few moments of consideration, I decided--as painful as it is to admit--that my little brother was on to something here.***

The phrase is at once concise, culturally relevant, and impressively agile.

For instance:

You've had a bad day. Lose your cool, grab a beer, slide down a plane's emergency chute and say "I'm taking my talents to South Beach."

Your ex calls you. Again. You say: "Um, didn't you get the text? I took my talents to South Beach."

I could go on, but the fun will be in your own personal application of the phrase.

*Oreo Balls!!?? Has anyone else ever eaten one of these things? I mean, I feel somewhat slighted that in all of my years on this planet nobody tsk tsk bothered to tell me about these little truffle cream cheese frosting cookie sugar bombs. I found them to be sublime despite the fact that I abhor Oreo cookies.

**Contrary to the culprits'(who shall remain nameless) hypothesis, fish cannot get drunk. Contrary to common sense, in the state of Ohio there is an actual law against attempting to get fish drunk. Contrary to Great Great Aunt Katrine's otherwise pleasant mood this day, alcohol kills fish.

***It has been my observation that one of two things happens when an East Coaster (or Midwesterner) moves out west.

1. He or she turns into a still recognizable but somewhat more obnoxious and tanner version of himself or herself who is overly concerned with juicing and/or Juicy Couture.

or

2. He or she turns into a slightly cooler, more relaxed version of himself or herself who is overly concerned with, well, not much.

I came back East before there was a chance for either, but my little brother five years in, seems to have gone the latter route. NO ONE BY THE WAY UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES IS TO DISCLOSE THIS INFORMATION TO HIM FOR REASONS THAT ARE SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OBVIOUS. Anyway, I thought my brother was on to something with this "taking my talents to South Beach" business, so I told him I would help him institute it. That he let me drive his black Mustang convertible around all weekend had absolutely I swear no bearing--none whatsoever--on this decision.

little fluffy dogs: a field guide to flexers, charmers, and ostensibly sensitive types part 3

Let me preface this final part of the field guide series by saying two things.

First, Ohio boys should be given the benefit of the doubt before being pegged as flexers, charmers, or ostensibly sensitive types. In fact, I love-just love-Ohio boys, particularly my Ohio boys. Cases in point: A boy from, say, California or New Hampshire would never willingly climb INTO a Taco Bell dumpster late at night searching for the wallet I was pretty sure I threw into the trash with the leftovers earlier that evening.* Nor would a boy who was not from Ohio gather his brothers to meet me at a inconveniently located gas station in the middle of subzero January night to--in what was a true gesture of Ohio masculine teamwork and effort--pull off the super cute boots that try and ugh try as I did WOULD. NOT. COME. OFF.**

Second, unlike the first two parts of the field guide series, what I have to say below is not so much for women as it is for the Ohio boys themselves. While it is true that Ohio boys can misbehave with the best of them (both the Vegas millionaire flexers and the Wall Street charmers***), at the end of the day, they are just solid guys who love Jesus (OK, OK, and Lebron), horses, their mamas, and their girlfriends, too.

The pointers below were borne of my observation that the attendant difficulty of being recognized as a good guy in a state full of, well, good guys is an unfortunate one, and that ultimately the onus of distinguishing one good guy from all the others belongs to the fellas themselves.

So, gentlemen: listen up.

Here's what to do...

1. Refuse to wear a blue dress shirt. By not wearing a blue dress shirt, the Ohio boy can automatically separate himself from 95% of other Ohio boys. Don't believe me? Well, then, go ahead and look in your closet. Do it now. What you are seeing is exactly what 95% of all the other boys are seeing. Most likely there is a disproportionate number of blue oxfords hanging there. And yes, for the record, light blue, slightly less light blue and sky blue all still qualify as blue.

2.Eschew all public displays of sports mania. I know I know BUT if you can do this in addition to wearing a not-blue shirt, you will automatically belong to the upper echelon of good guys in Ohio.

3. And, finally, pretend like you have never seen The Shawshank Redemption, let alone that it is your favorite movie OF ALL TIME and congratulations just like that you, my friend, are a member of the elite 1% of the male population in Ohio.

4. If you cannot imagine following any of the above, you, alternatively, could move out of the state. It is out of state--trust me--where you can truly shine. (Now you may end up a small fish in a big pond, but at least it is guaranteed that you will be a small fish not lost in a massive school of other small fish wearing blue shirts, genuflecting Lebron, and gushing about the profound depth of The Shawshank Redemption). And take heart, many of your brethren have already made such a move. It has been my experience that regardless of where I live in the country, Ohio boys abound. In fact, 8 out 10 boys who live in Naples, Florida are from--surprise surprise--Ohio.

*This is a true story and may persist as the single sweetest thing a guy has ever done for me even though he didn't find my wallet. And...AND when I found my wallet under the car seat the next day, this gem of an Ohio boy only yelled and chased me around for 5, 10 minutes tops.

**When I made this late night SOS call, NOT ONCE did this Ohio boy nor his (Ohio) brothers say to me "Just sleep in the freaking boots...who cares?" or "Why would you buy boots that won't unzip?" Ohio boys do not presume to understand you--if you refuse to sleep in boots or buy footwear that is super cute but highly nonfunctional then the Ohio boy smiles, shrugs, and simply says One! Two! Three! Pull!

***Please note that no self-respecting Ohio boy would ever hire a personal stylist, as color coordination of wardrobe has by default been rendered unnecessary because blue goes with everything (duh). Likewise, no self-respecting Ohio boy would ever be caught dead walking a little white fluffy dog just to impress a girl. Plus, little white fluffy dogs tend to get lost among the snowbanks 9 months out of the year, which makes the whole facade less than worth it anyways.