An Ode To Manwife and Dudes everywhere

So somehow Manwife is becoming One of Them. Or, er, us.












Manwife before "the Change"

Manwife's future, complete with freaky beard and armhair. Actually...Dick, is that you?

Now, don't be fooled by the silly pictures, this bothers me not in the slightest. It's simply amazing. My husband is the one that turns out to be the only person I've dated who shows an interest in turning a few wrenches, and isn't too bad at it. He can do manly things that I always had to do like haul appliances and fix them and cook omlettes. He shows an interest in things of a mechanical and dudely nature, like motorcycles, monster trucks, demo derbies, and tattoos. Yes. Unlike the former geeky wet blankets I dated, he shows more interest in things I like aside from proper bong cleaning and the best RPG to play for gore factor.
This is probably one thing that clued me into the huge, neon sign with an arrow pointing at him that hovered about that read KEEPER DO NOT FUCK THIS UP LADY.
The Manwife is a Dude. With a capital D, yes. Beer drinkin, cigar smokin', snowboardin', video game whuppin, lawn mowin', speed-lovin', grill-masterin', stand up guy and daddy-man-ing Dude. He is, as many of my former co-workers (which would be his present co-workers, we met at work, awwwwz) would say, A Guy's Guy. Not like a guy kept by guys, he is probably the straightest guy I've met, with no questionable sexuality issues - which were, btw not MY issues, but the formers. I'm pretty ok with cute boy kissy cute boy, even if it is my cute boy. Anyhow. Not Manwife. He is a Coloradoan almost to the core...I don't believe he fucked any bison in his day though, as many do. or is that Montana....

So it should be no surprise to me that this Dude of Dudes aspires to be a mini-Y. Biker (aka Dear ol Dad and Dude of First nations). I can think of worse role models for a fellow. Shit, I can think of worse role models for a lady, too! I wanted to be my Dad when I was growing up, and I have the facial shaving scars from when I was 6 to prove it. I was even going to be in construction like Dad, and drive hot rods and muscle cars. Then as I got older, I realized I'd end up being like his crusty ol obstinate ass whether I wanted to or not, so here I am, crusty and obstinate before my time.
But for Manwife, Dad is an important fellow Dude to have around. He is a Mentor Dude of sorts. Manwife's dad was a judge back in the tiny town he grew up in in CO (let's just say the TV show South Park is very close to reality...and geography... in that town and leave it at that), and didn't have much to do with the common folk out there, what with everyone hating him for throwing them in lockup for DUIs and posession charges. No car shows or demolition derbies or football games for MW, except for the football games he was IN. A shame, really. His dad I think was a bit distant and distracted with my crazy MIL and being the law and whatnot.
So now MW has me, and along with me comes the flock of black sheep. Mom and dad both, plus assorted "family" we've acquired, plus big bro and SIL...we're a big group of outcasts and folks that people scratch their heads and wonder what the fuck to do with, so Manwife fits in well, being the former rotten delinquent should-be-felon of significant intellect he is. It's nice MW has Dad around to remind him what being a Dude is, and that step-dads are relevant and important (yes, Dad is technically Step dad, but I am not a huge fan of Bio Dad and Dad is a bigger man in that dept so there we are), and that bike building is a good way to channel those former delinquent tendencies in adulthood.

Bike parts stripped and sanded by MW, painted by daddy-o

So here's to you, Manwife, Dude of Dudes and husband of awesomeness. Way to not be a douche and be a great goddamned Dad. Congratulations on your bike endorsement!

San juan Island, what the fuck is wrong with the culinary part of your collective hive brain thing? Fucking islanders.

Dear San Juan Island,
Your restaurants FUCKING SUCK.

The italian place made marinara by dumping a can of stewed tomatoes in a pot and heating them up. No spices, no mushing of said whole stewed matoes, just tomatoes. your chicken was ok, but serving it on SPAGHETTI noodles is pretty goddamned ghetto. This is not dinner at aunt mary's house, this is a restaurant. pay the 20 cents more for some fucking fettuccini. And next time, try not to serve me stewed BEES in my food. That would be awesome. But on the off chance it does happen again, don't have your twatty bartender laugh and throw the food away (no apology, no nada), and don't have the waitress practically ream us out for asking that the dish be taken off of our bill. Grow the fuck up and learn how to be a business.

The weird place that had sandwiches across from the market...why is your restaurant in a warehouse? a carpeted one? i felt like i was in a ups depot. it had office carpeting, ugly and low-pile, with puke green walls and institutional grey accents. also, you do not know what the fuck lava cake is. THE CHOCOLATE IS SUPPOSED TO SPEW OUT OF THE CAKE, YOU DO NOT JUST HEAT UP A DAMN CUPCAKE AND CALL IT THAT. And $2.25 is too fucking much for ONE cup of lousy coffee, I do not care that you are on an island and water costs more out there. i don't. suck it the fuck up. And a tiny slice of pie ala mode should not be ten dollars, who do you think you are, applebees?! That place is redneck chic at least. You are like office depot chic.

And finally, dear ale house. What the hell are you thinking, putting bacon in beer? or peppers? what the flying fuck is wrong with you that you can't make a decent enough beer without resorting to novelties to draw people in?! I came in wanting a beer, saw the paltry non-gimmick offerings, and had water instead (which i was also charged for(!)). Your salad looked like it had been run over, then tossed in a tub of mayo with italian seasoning dumped on it, and your dinner rolls were literally hard enough to knock on. And then shatter into mouth-stabbing shards. And the manicotti...well, i should have known better than to order that at a damned pub. but everything else was dead cow with extra lard on top. I don't eat dead cow, you need to learn about the wonders of chicken and pulled pork. Seriously. Also, hubby's mushroom swiss burger tasted like a big fried egg, how the fuck did you pull that off? Wash your damned dishes once in a while, perhaps!

And to all of these places, your waitstaff fucking sucks! they are either too dumb and slow to remember two coffees and pie in a dead slow restaurant, too bitchy to function, or too weirdly hostile to make you not want to bolt out of the place and go take a shower to wash the creepy off.
waaaaaaaay to be a tourist spot. go to lynden, ignore the religion, and learn from the tourism masters. or even anacortes. or even la conner, for fuck's sake.
TOURIZM INDUSTREE - UR DOIN IT RONG