Watching Vikings games, one inevitably gets several shots of perky cheerleaders, not unlike the woman above, shaking their pom poms and making the internationally recognized sound for a good time "woooooo woooooo". Despite the official job responsibilities of leading cheers, we all know that they are there simply for the visual amusement of straight guys under the influence of a few beers and hot dogs. I think that straight men must get some sort of arousal or other cheap thrill from watching the cheerleaders. This perplexes me to no end and really proves, if you had any doubt at all, that I am most certainly at the furthest reaches of the homo end of the Kinsey scale. I just don't get it. When I see cheerleaders dancing around in tiny unattractive little outfits, I think:
1. Put some clothes on. There are little girls watching who might think this is a legitimate means of self expression.
2. Quit dancing like that. Those moves -watched by the same little girls who already want to dress like whores due to your influence- end up in dance recitals in Fridley where, frankly, they just don't know any better.
3. Hey, you with the blond spiral perm flipping your hair just that much harder than your teammates, quit trying so hard to stand out. It is not 1990. The spiral perm's days are long over and you look desperate.
4. Did you not get enough attention from your father? I base this remark on my experience working with an actual Minnesota Viking cheerleader at a former job. This gal had to be counseled by her manager to wear skirts that covered her butt cheeks. She once crawled under my desk in one of these short skirts to look at cabling, then emerged to say "Oh, that's right. That doesn't work on you." She also got married in a big Martha Stewart style wedding and started an affair with a co-worker who was engaged to his pregnant fiancee within 6 months of getting hitched. SEEK THERAPY. WEAR CLOTHING.
5. Even though you might be a rocket scientist, your hardest job must be trying to look only sexy and not smart for roughly 4 hours every Sunday.
So, to my one straight guy reader and the husbands of my lady friends, let me ask you this:
Do you see the same things I see when I look at cheerleaders? And, if so, are they still fun to look at?
1. MUSIC!! If you hear music when you come to my blog, you are not hallucinating. As disappointing as that may be for some of you, I have simply added a sparkly new feature called a PlayList to my blog. If it annoys the living daylights out of you, scroll down and hit the pause button. Your honest feedback will inform my choice as to whether or not to keep this feature.
2. Have you ever sent a three sentence e-mail at work and gotten a response back that clearly indicates that the last two sentences, however brief, pithy and concise, have gone unread? Boy, is that annoying, and it happens ALL THE TIME. Message to the offending parties: you could decrease the amount of time spent on e-mail if you read them the first time. I hate to use this word, but here goes.- duh.
3. Short of camping out all day in a blind yesterday, I needed to figure out how to get pictures of the birds that I so desperately want to take pictures of. Being wild animals, they all scatter when I come out the door with equipment, that in their minds, might resemble a gun. So, I consulted the internet regarding "nature photography." What was the internet's recommendation? Lots of patience and a damn blind- two things of which I am in short supply.
4. My lovely Curt is an extreme lightweight. This is his birthday weekend- 47 years. So last night at dinner, Curt has one margarita to celebrate his birthday eve. One. So what happens? On the drive home- and thankfully its me driving- Curt is thrashing around in his seat, dancing to Shalamar's Dancing in the Sheets on 80's on 8. The next songs come on and he's over their making sounds like "NGEEEEEEE! Neee! N,n,n, NEEEEE!" to the guitar solo and making up alternate version of song lyrics, much to his own amusement. Happy Birthday, honey. Reason number #4309 that I adore you.
5. You may or may not know this about me, but I cannot bear suffering of any kind. Suffering, physical or emotional pain, whether it be affecting humans or animals, just ruins me. It is one thing, that despite all my indignation and bluff at certain religious and political figures, instantly reminds me of our shared humanity and makes me extremely humble. (Yes, if I saw James Dobson get hit by a car while crossing the street, I would indeed stop to help him, even though I might first entertain the thought of hitting him one more time to put him out of the collective misery he has created.) That is why this week's earthquake in Haiti has just about ruined me. Even though I can't do anything right now except screen the charities I donate to carefully, I'm going to work with some of my connections at Habitat for Humanity and see if there is something I can do six months from now. And that leads me to ask what is enough? Am I doing enough? How far is far enough to go in helping these people that cannot catch a break? When do I know? I struggle with these questions every day and not just about Haiti- the guy down the street, the dogs in breeding mills, the chickens in cages. How do you know?
6. And on that note, let me add a bit of levity, stolen from a fellow blogger:
I love this blog. Sleep Talkin' Man is the blog of a woman in the UK who's husband is an active sleep talker. She records his nightly ramblings and posts them for all to enjoy. Check it out.
Watching Vikings games, one inevitably gets several shots of perky cheerleaders, not unlike the woman above, shaking their pom poms and making the internationally recognized sound for a good time "woooooo woooooo". Despite the official job responsibilities of leading cheers, we all know that they are there simply for the visual amusement of straight guys under the influence of a few beers and hot dogs. I think that straight men must get some sort of arousal or other cheap thrill from watching the cheerleaders. This perplexes me to no end and really proves, if you had any doubt at all, that I am most certainly at the furthest reaches of the homo end of the Kinsey scale. I just don't get it. 