From Yahoo! News
2005-06-10, 10:46 a.m.

From Yahoo! News: The latest edition of the Collins English Dictionary published Thursday contains hundreds of new words that its editors say give a snapshot of how society is changing.

"Back, sack and crack" -- a beauty parlor waxing procedure made famous by English soccer captain David Beckham --is officially defined as "(cosmetic depilation of) the back, scrotum and the area between the buttocks."

Well, well, well. Back sack and crack. I�m�I�m speechless. I�m speechless because what kind of pain would be it be to have your scrotum waxed? From what I understand, the boys are pretty sensitive, and it seems that the pain of waxing would be compounded by said sensitivity.

DW reports that a previous girlfriend talked him into shaving his sack once, and the resulting discomfort convinced him to not only never do that again, but to go ahead and break up with her, too.

Today is the last day of the Khaki on the Bottom, Green on the Top Experiment. I am either a brilliant sociological performance artist, or am completely demented. So far, nobody in the office has mentioned it to me, but that doesn�t mean they didn�t notice. Am quite sure that the weirdness I feel on the inside is now glaringly apparent on the outside.

Ahem.

Our live music in the park date went very well last night. UNTIL. Until the Park Rangers came up to DW, who was drinking a Zima, and told him that glass containers are not allowed in the park. DW poured his Zima into an empty beer can, and all was well. Or so I thought.

The man then launched into a 20-minute diatribe about rules, and laws, and government, and Park Rangers, and Rent-a-Cops, and so much of his right-wing dogma bullshit, that I thought my head would explode.

I know what his political beliefs and opinions are, and I don�t mind if he spouts from time to time. But the man cannot stop once he starts, and I think he�s waiting for me to start agreeing with him and backing him up. Um, NO. Stupid.

I told him that I�d rather be in a park with park rangers than without, that the glass container law is one that was created when some asshole ruined it for everyone else, and that small rules and laws that keep order in society and keep the assholes from bothering the good people, don�t worry me. I�d rather save my outrage for larger issues, or issues that really negatively impact me.

Oy. It just got worse from there, but the upshot of it all was that he says he can�t believe how liberal I am (y�all, I vote Republican much of the time. I am decidedly conservative in many ways) and that I am nothing like he thought I was when we first met. And that it bugs him that there are people out there who think like I do.

It�s like his civil liberties are being violated because he can�t drink out of a glass container at a park, and I�M one of THEM.

So now, I�m just looking for places to hide the body parts. Because yes, I have killed him. Mrs. Beans and I attempted to eat him, but we couldn�t finish him, so I�m just trying to figure out where to hide one BIG FAT HEAD that appears to be mostly skull.

Perhaps I can make it into a planter.

I�m not mad; we�re not even fighting. I just keep thinking �Idiot!� in my best Napoleon Dynamite vernacular. It is as if every right-wing, goose-stepping, ultra-conservative ideology that he�s ever heard, he has taken to heart and mushed up in his head til we have these DW-style politics.

This is why I don�t discuss politics, public policy, or social issues with my husband.

This is after I spent a half hour on the phone yesterday afternoon with my sister as we lamented how stupid men can be, particularly our husbands, and my sister asked the question �How did you two end up together anyway?� Good question.

Here�s the answer: As DW and I agreed after the ill-fated politically-fueled discussion as the old-man band played Elvis Costello�s �What�s So Funny �Bout Peace, Love and Understanding�, we are so totally alike in so many ways. So so so so so many ways, that it would impossible for us not to marry each other and (earning the gratitude of everybody else around us) take each other off the market.

But here�s the rub, and it�s not the friendly kind of rub you were hoping to get out of me today, it�s that I am light years smarter than he is. Book smart. School smart. I have gone to way more school, have taken way more classes than just runnin� and jumpin� (he�s a PE grad), I read (he doesn�t), I remember, I understand, I comprehend.

It�s simple. I believe that my beliefs and views re politics and policy are far superior to his. I have learned about and weighed the options; he has taken the ultra-conservative rhetoric to heart, hook line and sinker without understanding what �the other� side stands for. He never took a political science class, or a sociology class. He knows nothing about world history, or world politics. He lives in a little bubble.

Sigh. Eye roll. Head shake.

In short, I�m right and he�s wrong. However, I don�t tell him that. I just tell him that we disagree, and that in the grand scheme of things, neither one of us is wrong, and it doesn�t matter anyway.

Ironically, the next song the old-man band played was that one that says �there ain�t no good guy. There ain�t no bad guy. There�s only you and me, and we just disagree.�

Ha. DW got tears in his eyes listening to that one. Sucker. He thinks it matters to our relationship, but it doesn�t. Slowly, as I civilize him, I will encourage him to read, to learn, to observe real life and the real world, and hopefully we�ll start scraping some of that bone out of his skull and allow the mushy pink brains to expand a little.

And after he has learned, if he is still a right wing ultra-conservative asshole, then fine. I�ll let him be that way. But any uninformed opinion is idiocy and THAT�s what I have a hard time tolerating.

So, muffins, that�s your weekly shot of serious from me. May your weekends be filled with rainbows, fluffy bunnies, prancing unicorns, pretty ponies, blow jobs and booze.