FRONT YARD LADY FRIENDS BEFORE THE SMOKE

A big reveal from the forest fires in Oregon is understanding the front yard. With a little help, all of the beauty of shrubbery would burn.

Before the fires and smoke, when it was a ‘normal’ lockdown pandemic, the front yard was a place to host friends for lunch.

More accurately, it was where my wife invited one friend at a time to the table, because she has friends. I haven’t had my ladies’ lunch date yet, and I could be missing out.

There’s something special about impressive women making time for each other. They talk, they listen, they agree and disagree, and no one gets hurt feelings.

Do men do the same? If you got invited to sit in a front yard near a fountain for lunch, with wine, would you go? Are the rules the same?

In a word? No. And here’s why:

If a man invites a man friend for a civilized afternoon, there’s an admission. Men have friends. But do they? Really?

A man with a man friend is different than a woman with woman friends. The women show kindness and understanding; men get competitive and one-up each other.

It’s the difference between sharing and slamming. The ladies can share something painful or disturbing and agree that it was painful and disturbing, and let it settle before moving on to other topics.

If guys share something painful and disturbing there had better be a scar, or police record, for evidence. How bad could it have been if there was no blood or police involved?

I come prepared with scars and cops, but it’s pretty low keyed. Like the time I crossed my arms while using a chop saw. One rule of the chop saw, the biggest, is never cross your arms or you might chop more than wood.

The emergency room looked after my left my arm on that one. It’s a scar that’s barely visible now, a good one. It had it’s time as a real scar, a raw scar, which was the same time I broke up a street fight with my face and my glasses gouged me.

I looked like a toughie for about two months. Grrrr.

You’ve heard about the bamboo under the fingernails torture? It sounds painful. When I got a big sliver jammed under my thumbnail during a wood butchering session, I walked it next door to show my neighbor who the badass was. Turns out it wasn’t me. And I should have known, since he was a framing contractor.

His wife opened the door. I showed her my thumb. She looked at it, looked at me, and gave a nice smile.

“Yeah, my pussy hurts, too. Larry, it’s Dave and he’s got a sliver under his thumb. Show him your leg,” she said.

Somehow a two by four broke after using it to lever something big. A two foot long spear of wood had penetrated his jeans and leg. The result was a big keloid scar.

“Did you go to the hospital?” I asked.

“What for, it was a sliver.”

“What did you do about it, then?”

“I got some gauze out of the first aide kit and duct taped it shut. Didn’t miss a day of work,” he said.

And that was the last time we compared scars. I was way overmatched.

MAN FRIENDS IN THE GARAGE

Instead of a front yard love fest, I host in the garage since that’s where the beer fridge is, and I’m not hosting anything without beer. It wouldn’t be ‘normal.’

To make it more interesting, I include a version of Death March through the forest. That’s where you walk and keep walking. No stopping to rest, smell a flower, point out poison oak. Instead, it’s walk, keep walking, and walk some more until you get back to the garage and chug beer.

Is there a better warm up to drinking beer than dehydration? If there is, I don’t know. So walk it out, pop some tops, and tip ’em. Then it’s show time. If you don’t have things to show off in the garage, pay attention.

Here’s the list:

Have you built something recently that you’re proud of? Or built something in past? Bring it out for show and tell.

New tools? I want to see. From drills, to sawsalls, to sanders, it’s a competition.

I got asked to borrow my drill once. Instead, I bought a Harbor Freight drill and gave it away. The problem was power and torque. It had little of either and I ended up loaning my drill.

The one time I loaned out my power washer it came back trashed. I don’t baby tools, but if I borrow something I bring it back in better shape. That’s the man rule for borrowing and loaning.

One of my pals came over and we talked about this very subject, friendship. I said I didn’t have any friends, but my wife had great friends, so it all evened out. It’s a joke when you say you don’t have friends to a friend. I don’t think he got it.

“I’m sure you have friends,” he said.

And that got me thinking. My friends are a lot like family: If I don’t see you often it’s a tribute to the relationship. If I never see you, it means we’re even closer. Weird, right?

Women like my wife and her friends have it figured out better. They make plans.

Me? I’m part of the plan. How about you?