Sunday, March 7, 2010

Monday Male

Blasé wanted to run away and hide from the Blogosphere for awhile because of all his sudden pressure in his life, but SB (his lovely lady who needs a gold medal for puting up with all his crap) came through with encouragement and his confidence has returned.

So, here he is -  for the second time on my Monday Male feature -  the eloquent, the ever-classy - Blasé.

All About "HO"

No, I will not be speaking Ghetto talk, nor will I be wanting you to sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas. Just be patient and do the 'Michael Jackson, 'hold-your-crotch' thingy...and you'll understand shortly.

SweetBaby and I owned a ranch home in a rural county here in North Carolina a few years ago. We enjoyed fixin' 'er up and making it "our" home.  I spent much time in the yard (it was a half acre lot) conforming the yard to my standards.  It would be a first for me.  That is, having a yard exactly the way I wanted it.  It would take hard work.  I cut down many trees, planted countless of grass plugs and several varieties of trees and bushes.  I built a wooden buffer fence along the back yard and then painted it with a Blue-Gray stain.  I designed the yard in such a way that it received a compliment of- "Your yard has character" from a passer-by.  What I just shared with you doesn't have a damn thing to do with my story...I just wanted to boast about an accomplishment of mine.

I enjoy music, but only if it is singing / playing to me in HI-FI... great quality HI-FI.  One particular day in the beginning of our moving transition, it was time to re-wire the stereo system.  Otherwise, I'd be sitting in my recliner staring with depression at the JBL Tower Speakers only to be listening to my wife jibber-jabber about things that she really needs to be sharing with her female friends who might just give a shit.

This was a two-man job.  Yes, I said "man" because it is quicker to do it that way, than to type-"person".  I had SB stay inside the house stationed where the wires would be manipulated.  I would be doing my part of the deal which would partly entail me squatting underneath the house....and also trying to spot any potential snakes before they spot me.

I had previously drilled holes through the flooring / carpet in order to insert the wiring through.  The plan of attack was for me to push the wires up to SB, and then SB would grab the wire and pull the said wire until I gave her indication that it was time to stop pulling.  The problem was I didn't give SB a prior 'heads-up' of what that signal or word would be.

So, I handed SB a wire through the hole and she takes off with the wire as if she was afraid someone was going to steal it from her.  Either that, or she always wanted to know what 'looting' felt like???

Well, needless to say, she was taking too damn much wire.  I needed her to stop, immediately.  I holler- "HO!".  Now, you must understand that where I come from, 'ho' means Stop.  Unfortunately, me and SB were raised in different Counties, so she didn't even comprehend the 'h', she just got the 'o' part of it which in turn caused her to interpret my command as being- "GO!".

Every time I yelled out - "HO" (I'm actually screaming 'HO' as if I were watching 'The Exorcist')... she kept pulling that wire just as hard as her big ass could pull.  I was angry.  I mean, I was- 'daring-any-snake-to-show-its-smirking-face-just-so-I-could-bite-it-off' kind of angry.

I go back up inside of the house and ask SB - "What....the ......FUCK..are you doing?"

"I was pulling, you told me to GO"

"No, I was yelling - HO"

"Well,.. what.... the...FUCK does HO mean?"

Ever since then, we use the term 'HO' as our private inside joke for different situations that call for it. For example, when SB is pouring my beverage (she enjoys doing things like that for me), I will say "HO" whenever I need her to stop pouring...

So, there ya go... All about HO.

Go and experience his "Box of Chocolates" for more warm, touching and inspiring soft-centred stories written by this charming, sweet southern gentleman (I'll bet he's never been called that before) at My Game...Its Your Move.


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