Tag: Studly Doright

Studly and the Second Amendment

Trust me on this, I’m not going to get political in this post, it’s simply a summary of a conversation Studly Doright and I had this afternoon in regard to the Second Amendmendent to the United States Constitution. 

First, here’s that amendment:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

Normally Studly and I don’t discuss gun issues. We own a couple of guns, but the only time we plan to carry them is when we go to the shooting range to learn which end to hold and which to point. 

In other words, we have no plans to run around carrying weapons of deadly force in public. Ours are for snake killng, period.

But there are a whole lot of folks in this country who advocate for open carry of firearms. This gives me the willies for a couple of reasons. 1) how do I know this gun toter is sane and 2) how do I know this gun toter is sane. I could add more reasons, but they’d look just like reasons 1and 2.

The simple answer is there’s no way to know for sure, but in Texas now police officers are not allowed to ask a gun toter if he or she has a permit to carry. That seems counterintuitive: There exists legislation requiring gun owners to have proof of licensing, but the officers who are sworn to uphold that law are not allowed to make sure it’s being followed.

This is where Studly comes into the conversation. I read an article about the new Texas law aloud to him, voicing my concern. 

“Well,” said he, “I really don’t see what the problem is as long as the person is obeying the law. Once they step outside the law then police officers can take action.” Then he topped this off with, “It is a second amendment right after all, “‘to keep and bear arms.'”

That always infuriates me when someone isolates that phrase from the amendment, but instead of getting pissed, I said, “Arrgh!!!” Okay, maybe I got a little pissed.

“What?” Studly asked. “That’s what it says, right?”

Patiently I read the entire amendment to him. To me it’s black and white. The well regulated militia is key to the whole argument. But Studly believes that the phrase “well regulated” has more to do with the registration and licensing than with an actual organized militia.

Sigh. This seems to be the cause of much misunderstanding. Not just in my home, but in the nation. I’m not comfortable with folks carrying guns in public. I know all the arguments for and against. I know the propaganda and the emotions involved. 

I just wish we could evolve past the Wild West mentality. 

 

Peace, people. 

Shopping Online for Motorcycle Pants

Studly Doright and I are gearing up for our annual motorcycle trip scheduled for the 21st of June. We’re planning on trailering our bikes out to this year’s destination, Springdale, Arkansas, rather than riding them due to time constraints.

June is one of Studly’s busiest months at work, and not only do we have the bike trip in the works, but a Doright family reunion the week before. Poor guy is having trouble keeping his sanity while I can only act as his sexy support crew. It’s a tough job, but I’m well qualified.

I haven’t ridden my motorcycle in ages, and the last time I did so I remember being unable to zip my riding pants due to, well, accumulations of fatty tissue in the waist area. I tried the pants on a few minutes ago and found the gap between button and buttonhole even wider. Damn.

Apparently, though, Studly is in the same gravy boat, so here we are shopping online for riding pants that fit our expanded sillouhuettes. For him it’s easy. Men’s sizes are plentiful and assume that the wearer is going to be at least 5’8″. 

Women’s sizes are a different matter, though. Apparently someone hasn’t informed the motorcycle industry that woman come in all sizes; we are not all 5 feet, 2 inches weighing 100 lbs.  

I googled “women’s mesh motorcycle pants, tall.” Now I just want to know in what universe 31.5 inches is considered a tall inseam? Honestly?!  Finally I found a pair of riding pants that might fit, if I cut a couple of inches off of my legs. There’s nothing quite so appealing as a pair of motorcycle pants that strike mid-calf.

Motorcycle Superstore had a style I’ll try. My fingers are crossed that they’ll fit. stay tuned for a review. And maybe tears.

Not me.

Cooking for Studly May Update

A couple of folks have inquired as to whether I am still cooking meals for Studly Doright. Why, yes. Yes, I am.

Studly Doright remains among the living
Even after all of my cooking.

Some nights I create minor miracles
Other nights we survive on cereals.

Still, I miss the cool days of winter
When I could just serve soup for dinner.

Tonight I’m serving veggies and roast
They smell pretty great and that’s no boast.

Let’s raise a glass to good home cooking
But I dropped the roast when he wasn’t
looking.

shhhhhh!

  
Peace, people!

Too Much

Studly Doright and I are doing some home improvement projects this spring. His man-cave is approaching completion and we’ve found someone to help turn the area leading up to our front door into a mini courtyard. After that we’ll tackle our back porch which is lovely but almost unusable during the rainy season due to drainage issues.

In preparation for the courtyard project I’ve been browsing Pinterest and wandering around two of the local nurseries looking at paving stones, outdoor seating groups, and large pots and planters. My goal is to make the area pretty and low maintenance.

Even though I’m no gardener I enjoy trips to the nurseries. There’s such an abundance of colors, textures, and scents. And ornamental junk. Lots of ornamental junk.

  
Now, I have nothing against ornamental junk. I can see me owning a metal rooster or an ornate concrete birdbath. The problem is that I’m not sure if I’d know when to stop. 

  
Could I draw the line at one rooster or would I need a dozen metal hens and a few chicks to add to the display? If I buy the concrete birdbath do I then follow up with a concrete bench, a concrete fairy, a pair of concrete children reading a concrete book, and an array of concrete stepping stones?

  
We’ve all seen those yards that have so many little animals or whirlybirds or garden gnomes that one cannot even see the lawn or the front door. Who is to say that one lone rooster won’t lead to an entire flock?

Studly assures me he won’t let it come to that. Oh, look! A metal dolphin!

Peace, people!

World’s Most Pitiful Garage Sale

Our little neighborhood of Lake Yvette planned a community garage sale for this fine Saturday morning. Eagerly I joined the ranks of those willing to participate. Gamely I priced some of the treasures (junk) that we moved from Illinois to Florida a little over a year ago. 

I’d forgotten that the roofers were coming this morning. They were supposed to have come on Thursday, but we had rain so they rescheduled. Now there are nail guns hammering to the mind-numbing tune of an air compressor, not to mention a truck partially blocking my driveway.

Here I sit, surrounded by treasures (junk). People stop and look for a few minutes before saying something like, “How do you stand this racket?” 

I answer, “Huh?”

Then they leave. 

I’ve taken in $3. My portion of the ad was $10. My signs cost $7. Only $14 until I break even.

Peace, people!

Oh, Studly Doright is on the golf course, I get 100% of the profits. How much is 100% of nothing?

Why I Like This Photo, Round 2

  
Sure, it doesn’t look like much now, but in a few weeks this is going to be Studly Doright’s long-anticipated man cave.

To hear Studly tell it he’s never, ever had a place to call his own. Now keep in mind, this is a guy who, after he spends 10 minutes in a bathroom, owns that bathroom, simply because no one else will venture inside.

Of course he did move directly from his parents’ home into our cozy little (read: crummy) rental house 38.75 years ago, so even though we’ve purchased progressively nicer homes every time we’ve moved, he really never has had a place of his very own.

Studly’s man cave is going to be part motorcycle garage/part workshop. I’ve even hinted that we could put a cot out there for those times when he snores so loudly that even the cats need earplugs.

I’m almost as excited for the man cave to be completed as Studly is. It means more space in my, I mean, our garage, less clutter in my, I mean, our home, and more opportunities for Studly to build stuff for me, I mean, us.

Who knew just how much I needed a man cave?

  
Peace, people!

Good Old Days

I had a motorcycle exactly like the one pictured below back in 1977 or ’78. Even better, I was once as slender as the young woman on this DT 175 Yamaha.

Now nearly 38 years, two kids, and probably 50 pounds later I can look back on those days with great fondness, at the time though life felt very complicated. 

Studly and I were learning how to be married. We were just kids, really, and pretty selfish. I was unwilling to learn the domestic arts. Studly felt like I should be able to do everything his mom did, and smile in the process.

I was ready to enjoy freedom from parental control, while Studly, raised in a very male-dominant household thought it was his duty to provide me with structure. That did not sit well with me.

We butted heads. Often. But we also had a lot going for us, not the least of which were our respective senses of humor and the commitment to making this very young marriage work. There were a lot of folks who didn’t think we’d make it, so of course we had to prove them wrong.

Not long after we married Studly went to Ronnie’s Yamaha in Dumas, Texas, and bought me a little yellow scooter called a Chappy. I rode that little scooter all over town and gained some much needed self-confidence. 

After I proved I could stay up on two wheels Studly came home with a DT 175 like the one pictured above. I loved that bike. We took it to the Canadian River, just north of Amarillo, almost every weekend, and while David took on the big challenges I learned how to ride in deep sand (go fast!) and shallow water (go slow!) and on rock strewn trails (pick a line and give the bike its head!). I even ran over a couple of snakes and a good friend (sorry Patricia!)

After our kids came along I stopped riding. It just didn’t seem to be a motherly thing to do. Back then I was pretty bound by what others thought of me. Dammit. Oh, to be young again and to know what I know now! 

Once our youngest graduated high school I took up riding again and wondered why on earth I hadn’t been on a bike for 18 years. There is something about having one’s own motorcycle that is both grounding and freeing, especially for a woman.

Even though I have a mega scooter now, I’d like to find an old “foo foo” bike like the DT. It wasn’t outstanding at any one aspect of riding, but good at most of them. And the memories of those early days of marriage are all wrapped up in it somehow.

I guess if there’s a take away from this post it’s that no matter at what stage of life we find ourselves we should do what makes us happy and more fulfilled. To heck with what others think.

Peace, people.

Delight in D Minor

Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Pick a letter any letter then write a story, poem, or post in which every line starts with that letter.

Don’t you know, I let Studly (aka David)
Doright decide on my letter?

Delight to
dandelions,
dolphins, and
dragons.

Drink to danger,
departures, and
dalliances.

Dance with
danger,
drama, and
destiny.

Delight to
doggies,
diamonds, and
daisies.

Do it.
Do not
Delay.

D won’t wait even one more
Day.

  

Coulda Been

Studly and I were chilling out at Doright Manor on Saturday evening, binge watching the comedy series Last Man Standing, and the same commercial played at every break. 

In this commercial an actress delivered the line, “My name is Cookie ask about me.” No pause, no comma. I took exception to her delivery.

After the fourth time I said, “It sounds like she’s saying her name is Cookie Askaboutme. The line should be, ‘My name is Cookie. Ask about me'” And I said it in a drop dead perfectly sexy voice.

“Isn’t my delivery better?” I asked Studly. Wise man that he is, Studly nodded his head in agreement.

“I coulda been an actress,” I said. “All I needed were good looks and talent.”

Building on that theme I continued, “I coulda been a boxer if I’d had muscles and strength!”

“I coulda been a singer if I’d had a good voice and rhythm.”

“I coulda been a model if I didn’t weigh so damned much.”

Studly just kept nodding his head sagely at each declaration. Finally I prompted him to contribute.

“I coulda been a loser,” he said, “if I weren’t so damned talented.” 

What a negative Nellie. I coulda been a rich woman, if I’d married someone with a positive outlook….

Peace, people!

Eternal Love (or the next best thing)

As a modern, open-minded and sexually-awakened (whatever the hell that means) woman, I thought I’d seen just about everything. But nooo! As I was browsing my Facebook page today I came upon this little gem:

Because love never dies: Put your loved one’s ashes in a glass dildo 
In 1901 Dr. Duncan “Om” MacDougall began a series of experiments wherein he placed elderly, terminal tuberculosis patients on massive industrial scales, hospital bed and all. MacDougall weighed six subjects before and after death, and concluded from the postmortem weight loss that the human soul weighs 21 grams—hence the name of designer Mark Sturkenboom‘s “memory-box.”
With 21 Grams Sturkenboom has managed to create an opportunity for a truly libidinalmourning experience. The “kit” comes in a sleek, Jobsian case, openable only with a key that doubles as a lovely pendant necklace. Inside you find an atomizer bulb (to spritz your beloved’s perfume), a set of internal speakers to amplify music from the iPhone dock in the back, and a blown-glass dildo containing a tiny urn of ashes—21 grams of ashes, to be precise. Sturkenboom describes the project thusly:

21 Grams is a memory-box that allows a widow to go back to the intimate memories of a lost beloved one. After a passing, the missing of intimacy with that person is only one aspect of the pain and grief. 
This forms the base for 21 Grams. The urn offers the possibility to conserve 21 grams of ashes of the diseased and displays an immortal desire. By bringing different nostalgic moments together like the scent of his perfume, ‘their’ music and reviving the moment he gave her her first ring, it opens a window to go back to moments of love and intimacy.She is able to have an intimate night with her sweetheart again.
Before you go all Social Justice Warrior on Sturkenboom for the heteronormativity of “widow,” (for who wouldn’t want to be penetrated by a loved one’s earthly remains, regardless of gender or marital status?!?), the inspiration for 21 Grams” is actually an elderly widow—he sometimes helps her carry her groceries. Sturkenboom noticed the urn containing her husband’s ashes, remarking, “she always speaks with so much love about him but the jar he was in didn’t reflect that at all.”

Sturkenboom has not said whether or not his muse is flattered by his tribute.

Yes, should Studly Doright precede me in death I can take steps to insure that he is with me always. I hope my second husband, Bradley Cooper, is okay with this arrangement. 

And if I should precede the Studmeister? Maybe they’d construct a fitting receptacle from my ashes. Too much? Dahling, puhlease!

Peace, People!