Honey

I was catching up with a friend and felt like my news (divorcing, moved to Boulder, four eleven-point words in Boggle, etc.) were all pretty big. Well, this friend totally trumped me by informing me of a recent adventure learning bull fighting in Mexico and earlier this year getting shot in the head. There was something else too, but I already feel like getting shot in the head is a bit of a show stopper. I appreciated this news on many levels and admit wholeheartedly that sometimes I like to hear this stuff so I can think to myself, “at least I’m not so and so.” Right?

It doesn’t have to be big things for me to take solace in the fact that I’m not as fucked as some people. Take for example my friend Daren. Let’s protect his identity and call him Darrin.

I took the boys up to the mountains for Thanksgiving. Some friends own a condo in Winter Park and were kind enough to have us hang with them for a few days. On our last night, Darrin and his wife and kid joined us for dinner since they had been skiing that day. We were supposed to go out but five kids were running around like psychos and us five adults were having fun playing cards and hanging out at the condo. So we decided to order pizzas.

Let me just say that pizza in Colorado pretty much bites. I’m from Chicago and I believe that alone qualifies me as an expert. For example, if you want the best thin crust, order from Pat’s. If you want deep dish, try any Baccino’s. If you want the stuffed kind with that yummy sauce and crust, do Due’s. Out here, they just can’t come up with anything close to Chicago style pizza. Anthony’s does a great job with New York style, but that is an entirely different preference.

Anyway, the point to make about this pizza from Hernando’s in Winter Park is that it is average at best. But they do have a yummy feature of keeping honey on the table so you can dip your crust in it after you eat the front part with all the toppings. They make their crust really puffy specifically for this honey experience. It is quite tasty.

We cut cards to see who had to go pick up the pizzas and Darrin lost. I told him to be sure to ask for honey. As he walked out, his wife also reminded him to ask for honey.

When Darrin got back, somebody was getting the food organized and didn’t see the honey. She asked Darrin if he forgot the honey. He had this puzzled look on his face. He cocked his head to the side and a little glimmer of light flashed in his eyes. He smiled tentatively and said, “Wait, you wanted me to get some honey? Real honey? The sticky gold stuff?”

We all looked at him like he was from Mars.

He started laughing and told us what happened. He walked in Hernando’s and went up to the bar. He said, “Hi, I’m supposed to ask for Honey.” The bartender turned around and pulled out a couple containers of honey to go. He quizzically looked at the honey containers, wondering how they would happen to have some all neatly poured and ready to go like that and said, “No I don’t need those. I am supposed to ask for Honey. But I’m just to here to pick up some pizzas; I’m sure anyone can get them for me.”

So he got our pizzas, paid the bill and assumed Honey was busy in the back or not working or something. Until he got back and we all asked where the fuck the honey was so we could dip our pizza crust. Apparently Darrin has never heard of that before. Despite there being a big chain called Beau Jo’s in Denver that is known for the honey dipping as well. And he admitted that he was impressed that they’d have an obscure item like honey all packaged up for people if they asked. When we told him to ask for honey, he thought we meant to ask for Honey. Who outside of a strip club is named Honey anyway?!

The rest of the night was filled with tormenting Darrin.

“Hey Darrin, next time you go to the grocery store, be sure to ask for Sugar.”

“Darrin, ask for Coco when you go to Starbucks.”

“Darrin, you have a thing for twins, right? Ask for Daisies when you go to the flower shop.”

“When you go to the bakery, be sure to ask for Cupcake.”

It went on and on and pleased me greatly. And I thought, at least I’m not Darrin!

That Gesture Wasn't Clear to Me

I turned into a rectangular shaped parking lot. There were about twenty parking spaces on the left and right. It was narrow with just enough room for cars to pass each other going both ways through the lot. As I was pulling in the lot, I had to squeeze by a car that was about five feet away from the street and was flashing the right blinker. As I slowly drove by, the driver gave me some sort of wave. He was an older guy, probably in his sixties with a mustache (and he wasn’t even a porn star, cop or Yugoslavian grandma) and one of those paperboy hats. I wasn’t sure if it was a wave hello, a sorry I’m kind of in the way as I make my turn out of here or both. I gave a head nod back.

The lot was full, however about thirty feet behind the old man’s allegedly right hand turning car, another vehicle was pulling out of a space. And two other vehicles had their white reverse lights on waiting for the first car to get out of the way so they could pull out too. Too complicated?

All you really need to know is this: The old man had his right turn blinker on by the street and was about thirty feet in front of three opening parking spaces.

That first departing vehicle pulled behind the old man’s car (why didn’t he turn yet?) and I pulled around him to take the open space. I fiddled with my cell phone, grabbed some stuff and got out of my car. I shut the door, turned and was slightly startled to see the old guy that waved at me standing there.

He said, “You took my space. I was going to take that space.”

As I said, “Oh, I didn’t know you were waiting for this space,” I noticed the other two cars were both long gone and nobody else was in the parking lot.

He said, “I gave you the signal.”

I bewilderedly responded, “I had no idea that was a signal. Do you want me to move my car or can you take one of those two open spaces?” The old man already had turned his back on me and was angrily ambling back to his car that still looked like it was ready to take a right turn on the street thirty feet away.

I was literally in and out of the place in two minutes (it was a restaurant and I just wanted to check it out). I had noticed the old man hadn’t entered yet so I was excited to see what he was up to in the parking lot. I walked back out and he was just walking in. I stopped as he approached and asked, “Did you get your space okay?”

He said, “My space?”

I said, “Yeah, did you get parked okay?” I noticed he had backed his car into one of the two open spaces that was just one space away from my car. He looked at me with a scowl and shuffled away without a response.

I couldn’t help it. He was so angry for no reason. I didn’t know the fricking signal and there were two other spaces, both of which were closer to the front door! I figure I did the old man a favor. He was an ass in the first place and might have felt guilty about it later. Since I was a smartass on the way back out, I evened the score. And we both have a story to tell. Except mine is in a blog and his is over the early bird dinner with his crotchety friends. Win win.

Room 256

The last couple days have been interesting. On Wednesday morning, I stopped by Room 256 in the Denver County Courthouse to file a joint petition for divorce. There was a strange little man yelling in the halls for anyone attending traffic court. I had to side step two menacing looking men cuffed in blue jumpsuits being escorted by two cops with beer bellies and mustaches. How come the only guys with mustaches are cops and porn stars? And old ladies from Yugoslavia?

I filed the papers and didn’t really feel anything. The clock has started and from that moment, I should be officially divorced in ninety days. Do I celebrate? Do I weep? Neither. I go to Vegas.

I arrived around noon and was going to sit by the pool all afternoon while I waited for one of my friends to arrive that evening. But I got distracted by the craps table. And three card poker. And roulette. And a bunch of vodka tonics.

My buddy arrived and we met up with some of his friends. More distractions ensued and way more money went out than came in. I crashed around 2a – early by Vegas standards. I did the pool thing the next day. Until my ninety minute massage late in the afternoon. Turns out my masseuse got divorced five months ago so my therapy session was both physical and mental. It was interesting to share experiences while some chick was rubbing oil all over my body.

I showered and was going to go back to my room to change. This time I got distracted by a shop with some cool men’s clothing. I never buy clothes in Vegas and thought I’d take a peek. Next thing I know, I’ve got a sales lady loading up a dressing room and I’m trying on jeans and about ten different shirts. I was in my bathing suit, so I was sans undies. Oops. I didn’t buy any of the jeans, but I did decide I like hanging free in there and think I’ll give going commando a shot from here on out. I did buy two shirts and may have gotten more but my phone was buzzing as more people were showing up and ready to do dinner.

This was a couples’ trip to celebrate a pal’s fortieth birthday. Since I’m no longer a couple, I attended Wed and Thu solo and my ex in ninety days came out Fri and Sat while I flew back home to be with the kids. We are working smart for a couple of divorcees, right?

I hit that magical point of Thursday night where I either needed to go back to the room to sleep a few hours or I’d just stay up all night and go back in time to pack my bag and grab a taxi to the airport. The blackjack table made my decision for me. I was actually winning and couldn’t leave. Of course the tide always turns, but fortunately or unfortunately, my airplane departure time was fast approaching and I had to leave just as I lost a few hands in a row.

Since I showered in the spa and I didn’t really sleep much, it occurred to me that it was stupid to have a room at all. I never showered in the room and I only slept in the bed for about four hours. Unless I count the feeling of sleep packing I had as I threw my shit in the bag and headed to the taxi stand.

I slept on the plane and had about an hour before I had to pick the boys up from school. Those darn kids didn’t seem to care I just got back from Vegas. There was no rest in sight. Luckily my good friend Sponge Bob was available to help watch my little monsters.

Now that I am acclimating to the real world again, it is interesting to reflect on impending marriage and impending divorce. Months were spent planning my wedding and as the date got closer I went to Vegas with my buddies for a bachelor party. Months have been spent planning this divorce and as the date gets closer, I went to Vegas with my friends for a birthday party.

A big part of the wedding planning was where to do the deed which ended up being at a chapel on a college campus. I don’t have any choice on where the divorce deed will be done. A security guard directed me to Room 256 to get it started. Upon saying, “I do” twelve years ago, we went to St. Lucia. Upon saying “I do” in divorce court in less than ninety days, I will be going somewhere. Maybe I’ll go on a trip too, but by going somewhere, I mean I will be really going somewhere with my life. A new beginning. A path with many forks. Dreams to chase. Castles to storm and dragons to slay. Commando.

Terror in the Grocery Store

My boys accompanied me on a big stocking up trip to the grocery store. The big one (boy; not store) is nearly seven and is way too big for shopping carts with the nasty plastic cars attached to the front that are always stained by kid snot and vomit. The little one is four and isn’t very little. In fact, he is way too big for the jump seat by the pusher handle thingamajig where I usually put my chai, grocery list (which I rarely have), coupons (which I never have) and soft stuff such as bread, fruit and veggies.

Drew (the little big one) raced to the nasty sticky car part and climbed through the window like he was one of the Dukes of Hazzard until he bonked his head on the roof (chip off the old block) and then caught his foot on the edge and ended up face planting himself into a dirty stain of sucker drool and juicy juice ringlets. I didn’t think it was uncalled for to laugh while he cried considering his feet were sticking out the window. I pulled the typical Dad, “Shake it off,” line and asked him to do it again next time. He got settled in there and barely fit.

Will wanted to ride inside the basket which would have left very little room for my major stock up plans so I rejected his proposal with a firm, “No way dude, you are walking.” Surprisingly, because little boys never argue, Will protested vehemently that it wasn’t fair that Drew got to wallow in the cramped kid stained race car while he had to be forced on a death march through the produce aisles on his own exhausted little string bean legs. I said, “Okay you big baby, let’s put you in the baby seat then.” Rather than protest that, Will smiled ear to ear and raised his arms to me like a sunflower seeking the sun.

I lifted the monster up and he turned his clown feet sideways in order to shimmy in the tiny leg holes. Drew was pounding on the fake car horn and yelling, “Daddy, let’s go, let’s go!” I pushed the cart about ten feet when Will said, “I want out. This hurts my legs.” I stopped and while Drew yelled at me (damn front seat drivers), I tried to lift Will out of the jump seat. His water skis for shoes for some reason couldn’t make the proper angle to get through the leg holes. It was like trying to walk through a doorway holding a broom sideways. We gave it about five tries with me thinking Will would turn his feet just right. Finally, with Drew becoming an irate driver and Will complaining that now his arm pits hurt, I took off his shoes and told him to climb out.

As Will put back on his shoes, I strolled up to the passenger side door of Drew’s trash can of a vehicle and asked him if he knew what road rage was. He said, “What?” I asked again, “Do you know what road rage is?” He said, “What?” We did this a couple more times when I finally realized we had a Who’s On First thing going on. He was saying, “Tell me what road rage is” not “I can’t hear you.” Just then, Will pushed me aside and forced his banana body inside the little mucky car with Drew. I braced myself for Drew to scream bloody murder and head butt Will but was pleasantly surprised when Drew scooted over the two inches of clearance he had and said, “C’mon Will, get in. Let’s tell Daddy to go fast!”

At this point, we had been in the store for a good fifteen minutes and were still closer to the front doors than we were the produce. I got to the bananas when Drew and Will started chanting, “Go fast Daddy, go.” It was sweet at first. But then, as they both got excited and the cart wasn’t moving because I was squeezing the melons seductively, they got louder and more emphatic. Their cute little chant became a migraine causing shrill as they barked orders to me like I was their personal bitch. I shook a pineapple I had no intention of buying at them and ordered them to shut the boggle up. Will told me to stop shaking Sponge Bob and Drew laughed like a wicked witch.

Their little bodies were convulsing with laughter and hyper activity so much that sure enough; the cramped quarters finally got to them. Will told Drew to move over and he said exactly what you would expect, “No, you move over!” They went back and forth maybe three times which felt like five minutes while I hastily grabbed raspberries and fantasized about pelting my boys with them. Yes, I admit it. I took pleasure in imagining firing little squishy balls of juice at my treasure of offspring because they were being so obnoxious. Instead, I told the big kid to get out. Drew was there first and Will barely fit anyway.

So Will climbed on to the side of the cart with his feet on the bulk toilet paper rack below (that is all that goes there right – bulk toilet paper – and how come I am always buying toilet paper in bulk every time I go to the store). Drew was still in the driver’s seat making NASCAR sounds and all was well for about ninety seconds. Will claimed exhaustion again (it is tiring doing things like walking short distances) and slouched on the side of the cart so that his boney ass was sticking out. This would be fine if the grocery store wasn’t utilizing every square inch of space to display produce.

I side swiped the potato bins with Will’s ass causing him to accuse me of being a bad driver. I blamed Drew – he was in front handling the fake steering wheel. Five feet later, wham! I plowed Will’s ass into the mango baskets. Luckily they were soft and didn’t have corners so Will just glared at me like that bitch on Arapahoe Avenue that got pissed at me for taking a right turn from the left lane when I noticed the Starbucks at the very last second and I thought a chai would be super swell for the trip to the grocery store.

Three times was the charm and I’m not talking Lucky Charms. Kapow! I got distracted by the avocados and Will sideswiped the corn. I don’t think it’s even corn season. Those fuckers shouldn’t have even been there to give Will that charley horse! Drew was getting more road rage for all the starting and bump stopping while Will complained about being a crash test dummy. I told him to stand up straight – clearly my driving wasn’t improving and if he wanted to maintain a bottom on his bottom he better keep it out of the way! He gave me that look again and I threw a timely lemon into the cart.

Finally we made some progress and were cutting through the bakery section to get some fresh bread. There was a cart sized gap between a table full of coffee cake and a display of chocolate chip cookies kept in those clear plastic containers. All seemed well. Will’s ass was tucked in and likely clenched in fear of bodily harm and Drew was doing NASCAR sounds again. Just as Drew’s end of the cart got by the cookies, I saw a pale little arm shoot out of the driver side window. His tiny fingers spread out wide like he was going to accept the baton in a relay race. Everything went to slow motion. I screamed, “Drew. No!” Which came out like a deep Charlie Brown teacher voice on a vinyl record slowed down to drag out as a barely decipherable, “Daaaaaaaah-rooooooooooo. Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooo!” The little hand made contact with a stack of four plastic containers of cookies. John Cougar’s song “Crumblin Down” shot through my mind as of course the top container opened and cookies were everywhere.

Needless to say, Drew flunked driver’s ed and was forced to join Will on the other side of the cart. They were quiet and well behaved for nearly an aisle and a half. It was all rainbows and unicorns. But then we hit the cereal lane where they demanded box after box of colorful sugar. This was actually kind of fun for me to say no to every single request especially as I found creative ways to break the news. Them: “Apple Jacks?” Me: “Let me think about it no.” Them: “Lucky Charms?” Me: “Ummmm no.” Them: “Cookie Crisp?” Me: Ohhhh great idea no.” We finally picked out some decent cereal but then I caved in and let them get one box of the bad (good) stuff. Fruity Pebbles baby!

I could go on, like my boys did, but this adventure is getting way too long for a blog. Let me sum up by telling you that they started bickering like they were arch enemies. It finally involved a shove or two and at checkout I had to make them both stand against a wall, five feet apart, and they weren’t allowed to move. Of course, this became a fun game for them to see if they could stretch out their arms far enough to touch fingers. They thought they were being stealth by doing it while my back was turned which was hilarious because they were laughing like little school girls getting their feet tickled. I pretended I didn’t know they were doing anything since they were having fun.

The bag lady asked why I didn’t let them get on a toy horse ride that was free by the checkout lanes. I told her because they were being little assholes. Okay, I said they were misbehaving but I was thinking assholes. She looked at my beautiful boys smiling ear to ear, butts to the wall, playing with each other sweetly and must have thought I was the asshole. She wasn’t there man! She wasn’t in the trenches!! That shopping trip should have taken a half hour, max! I was beyond enemy lines for an hour!

I asked her where the nearest park was and if there was a liquor store on the way. The cart was loaded with my bags and the boys offered to push. I said sure why not and admit I enjoyed the looks of fear from the senior citizens in the handicapped parking area as my boys were hidden behind the full cart pushing it at high speed in drunk looking wild swerves. I corrected coarse, perhaps a little later than I should have, and we finally completed our grocery store run.

I had the boys again last night and was a little low on some groceries. I decided I’d make do with what we had and am going to the store tonight. Alone. Why do I think I might actually miss those little assholes and their dirty stinking car cart? I shouldn’t, but I know I will.

They are my little assholes. I love them.

I Thought I Did This Part Already

Is this thing on? It’s awfully quiet around here. And there is dust on my keyboard. That can happen when you live solo again.

Things don’t just clean up by themselves. I finally decided to put my dirty clothes inside the washer instead of just near it. A couple days later I found some detergent left by the old tenants and decided to put that in the washer too. I pressed a button or two and holy shit, that machine started right up! I didn’t even put in any quarters! A day or two later I put the damp clothes in the dryer and even found some leftover Bounce from the old tenants too. I pressed the button and again, no quarters needed! And since I was in my own condo, I decided I didn’t really need to put a chair in front of the dryer and sing ‘Watchin’ the laundry go round, watchin’ the laundry go round,” while I read a magazine. I mean, the washer and dryer is right off my kitchen and living room, so I could microwave some Spaghetti O’s and watch Sponge Bob from the comfort of my couch that I inherited from the old tenants as well.

I ignored the walk-in closet full of clothes and bedding still packed smartly in black lawn bags. They are the big kind with the drawstrings. They always talk about the amount of garbage and leaves you can pack in those things without them breaking. What about my t-shirts, socks and mismatched towel sets? I could be a great spokesperson for Hefty and I’m not talking about my waistline.

I was pretty excited when I went to the bank and got my own checking account. $500 dollars baby! Which I cleverly turned into $550 by accepting the $50 cash gift instead of taking an iPod Shuffle. Why would I take a free $50 Shuffle when I can spend $150 for a Nano the day before anyway? Stupid bankers. They act like money doesn’t grow on trees. Money is made out of paper. Paper comes from trees. Duh!

And they sent me a checkbook, something I haven’t used since well before the days of auto-bill pay, PayPal, and credit/debit cards. Apparently I can take things from stores and restaurants in exchange for writing on and autographing these cute little checks. How awesome is that? They sent me like 1,000 of these things!! I had no idea about this type of currency! I saw a kid selling lemonade so I wrote him a check for seventy five cents. I figured I’d miss these checks less than I’d miss my cash so what the heck.

Now I just need to get some concert posters and maybe some swimsuit model ones too. Oh and some sort of flag draped on the ceiling. I think the chicks dig flags. I am looking for a Chicago Bears helmet lamp and can’t wait to put a Nerf hoop on the door.

I went to the grocery store and stocked up on condiments and beer. Then I realized I had nothing to put the condiments on, nor anything to wash down with the beer. So I went aisle by aisle wondering what the hell to get, realizing that I didn’t want any fresh stuff without having cooking plans and that I didn’t really know what other ingredients to have on hand for spur of the moment meals. I began to wonder how healthy it is to live on cereal when I came to what will surely be my primary aisle of grocery shopping.



I stocked up on ‘healthy’ frozen meals which basically means the portions made for midgets (I love midgets!) can’t really hurt me with bad fats and mass calories although I do have processed food, additives and preservatives to pollute this temple of a body. Good thing I’m not home much to have to eat this crap!

So it has come to this. I am 42 years old and back in a bachelor pad. I have a successful business, two awesome kids, a very sweet soon to be ex wife, and a giant house for them to live in, while I decide if four bowls in the cupboard is enough, how long to leave my stuff in garbage bags before organizing them in a closet or perhaps even some sort of containing unit (like a dresser), wondering how many pay cable channels are too many, and eyeballing this strange device in the closet that I thought the primary use was for witches and Harry Potter but somehow it seems linked to a mysterious contraption known as a dustpan.

I wander around my two bedroom condo and think about how I got to where I am today. People ask if I am lonely and if I feel weird living like a kid right out of college. I was lonely before. And dude, this condo has granite counter tops! And a private community center with a full gym, a heated year round rooftop pool, hot tubs and fire pit.

And best of all, my condo has a second bedroom with bunk beds in it. My boys love it. They love having two homes. We had so much fun this past weekend, despite them having moments of evil activity that caused me to look for gypsies willing to take them off my hands.

I don’t mind scrounging for dishes, lugging my shit around in garbage bags, and overpaying for movie channels I will rarely watch. I’ve got a family that has changed in logistics, but a family nonetheless. A great family. I am lucky.

Come on over to my crib and celebrate with me. Please bring some beer and food. And feel free to help with the laundry. That shit doesn’t fold itself you know.