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A charming little Magpie whispered this disclaimer into my ear, and I'm happy to regurgitate it into your sweet little mouth:

"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

These views represent the thoughts and opinions of a blogger clearly superior to yourself in every way. If you're in any way offended by any of the content on this blog, it is clearly not the blog for you. Kindly exit the page by clicking on the small 'x' you see at the top right of the screen, and go fuck yourself."

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Make Pretty Like

I've always been rather insecure about my looks.

I've never really been moved to do anything about this, it's just kind of a fact. I'm well aware of the fact that what we look like and how we dress and groom ourselves (or not) conveys messages to the people with whom we interact and meet. These people then make judgments about us, and that's not necessarily fabulous, but it is what it is. That's what people do.

You do it too, snarkypoo.

I'm a big offender in this area. I encountered a woman today who is approximately 5'10" and weighs probably in the neighborhood of 200 pounds. She's built, essentially, like an assemblyline product. She was wearing a pair of skin-tight black pants, asspants, really-- the kind that sororisluts wear to keggers so that fratococks can easily find a warm, happy home during grinding sessions--and I swear to you these pants revealed portions of her anatomy that I did not care to see. Forget cameltoe, we're talking walrusfoot. I was petrified, and thankful that there were no children around.

I judged this woman instantly. And, you know what? She deserved it.

Others judge me, and that's okay, too. I've recently come under fire from peers for my propensity to overdress. I work at a small non-profit and, every day, I come into work in a shirt and tie. Now, I own approximately eighty-seven ties, so why wouldn't I trot those fuckers out on a regular basis? It would be a waste if I didn't. They're all colorful-- except for the one reserved for funerals and visits with local clergy-- and some of them sport whimsical scenes, like one rabbit slowly devouring thirty carrots, pigs wearing little sweaters and custom-made appliqued penguins courtesy of Mrs. Apron. My penchant for formality and my love of nice clothes is well-known amongst my long-time friends and associates, but some people just have to say something.

Last night:

Him: "So, do you ever, like, wear jeans or sweats?"

Me: "No."

Him: "Oh."


Him: "Never?"

I then proceeded to tell the story of the girl I dated in college who tried to change me (bad idea, ladies) by "strongly encouraging" me to purchase a pair of jeans at Express for Men at a cost of $68.00 a pair, and how I hated and resented her for not appreciating me for who I was and then, after we had broken up, I stuffed the jeans in a drawer and never wore them again. This is the same girl who nagged me and nagged me to attend a formal dance with her our senior year and, after I finally capitulated and spent however much I spent on a rented tuxedo, she looked at me in it, smiled wanely and said, "You're going to look so handsome when you can afford clothes fit you."

I've been thinking recently about this blog, and about its look, and about what that look says about me. I've been in the blogging world for almost a year now, and I've seen a fair amount of blogs, and I respect and admire people who know html (or give frequent blowjobs to people who do) and thus have eye-catching, beautiful blogs that are lavish in design, liberal in their use of color and/or attractive aesthetic elements.

That said, though, I kind of like My Masonic Apron the way it is. I'm not visually artistic in any way, shape, or form. Even my "Hangman" stick-figures look like they were done by a four-year-old with special needs. Therefore, I think that a visually arresting blog with my pseudonym on it would kind of be a bit of a misrepresentation of me-- kind of like an avatar of me holding a camera up to my own face, implying that I'm, like, a photographer or something.

I'm a writer, and, as such, I feel that the focus of this blog should be the writing. I don't want to get distracted and I kind of don't want you to get distracted, too. Sure, every now and then I'm tempted to spruce up the place a little bit, to make pretty like, but it passes because I remember that this is a place for the written word to take the forefront and that, really, I'm rather a plain type of fellow. Give me a white shirt and a cutesy tie and that's who I am. I like that you come here and read even though it's hardly the most glamorous IP address on the web.

I like that.

I like you, too.

Even though I do, I'd probably judge you by your appearance, but I'm sure you'd reciprocate.

Also last night:

Her: "I just wanted to tell you that the beard's really not working for you."

You know what, though? It's kind of nice to be the kind of person that people feel comfortable enough around to be honest with. They're not afraid I'm going to get offended or pissed, or cry, or pull out a Tec-9 and shoot them in the face. All I'm going to do is write about it in my basic, stripped-down, no-frills, roll-up-windows kinda blog.


  1. I'm intrigued by your rabbit tie. 'xplain me . . . how do you know he's eating slowly? While I do like the look of a stripped-down blog, I think posting a picture (or 87) would only add to the window-to-your-soul appeal your blog holds. After all, ties provide that personal glimpse we're looking for. Just don't go this far:

  2. Well, Cecily-- the tie features a plethora of carrots, and one bunny, in the spot where, presumably, a carrot would have been.

    Therefore, we can assume that the furry little bastard has eaten but one and is, then, eating them slowly.

    Thank you for your feedback, and the link to the Brian Williams insanity. That blog's probably being kept by his mom.

  3. Now I know what to get you for your birthday next year.

  4. After seeing you use the word "sororisluts" I was reminded of a word my friend created that I feel must be shared. This word refers to the young girls that dress themselves (or have themselves dressed by an equally reprehensible parent) in a highly inapropriate manner for their age.


  5. PROSTITOTS!! I love it! Too funny! and a little sad.. jk thats funny!


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