This is not about Pink Floyd. Snow White ruined them for me a long time ago. I used to love Pink Floyd until Snow White told me they are bad luck to listen to on the radio. Upon further inquiry, I found out that she had no real good reason for this declaration which makes me believe in it even more. She is a spiritual person and I’m into karma so I just couldn’t mess with that. Which sucks because anytime Pink Floyd comes on the radio I Pavlovianly (that is a sweet new word right there) change the station. I used to love to bellow out, “We’re just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.” But no more.
The dark side of the moon I’m talking about is much more personal. Consider this fair warning that the following is not all rainbows and unicorns and although Fletch is one of the funniest movies ever (at least in terms of movie lines), I don’t find this story funny at all. In fact, I’d like to file a complaint with somebody or at least get a free toaster for my troubles.
I’ve written about my androgynous doctor before. I’ll lead with ‘she’ in the she/he because I’m 87% sure she/he is a ‘she.’ I don’t want to put her name here, but it is indeed one like ‘Pat,’ immortalized on Saturday Night Live ages ago – a name that works for both women and men. There is that sizable element of doubt that no matter how much I stare and look for signs of say, boobies or balls, it just isn’t possible to tell with the naked eye. She/he is a large person. Bigger than me which puts her/him at about 6’-3” and a little chunky making it impossible to tell if she/he has small woman boobs or big man-boobs. She/he has spiked short hair and wears male dress shirts with cheap jeans. She/he wears earrings and wire-framed glasses. She/he has a deep female voice or a feminine sounding male voice.
The more I analyze this; and clearly I’ve spent hours doing so, I realize this is the perfect doctor for me. I’m not all that comfortable with the idea of a male doctor handling my junk while I cough nor would I be too thrilled to lower my drawers in front of a female doctor. Unless we are role-playing and she is providing extra special services. So, I guess I’m happy to have Dr. WhoKnowsForSure.
I was happy. Not anymore. Dr. WhoKnowsForSure betrayed me. I went in there for a routine physical. I’m a pretty healthy dude. Although there is some prostate cancer in my family, I checked out well in the last blood-work I had done. Dr. WhoKnowsForSure did the whole gambit and it seemed like things were winding down. But then she/he pulled out a box of rubber gloves.
I eyed the rubber gloves cautiously and then realized she/he was probably just going to check how well I’m hanging. Sure enough, she/he said to lower my drawers and turn my head to the side. Cool, I can handle it if she/he can; haha. But then I noticed she/he put a box of tissues on the exam table. I knew this was a legit doctors’ office and that happy endings are not part of the physical so this couldn’t be for that kind of cleanup.
She/he then directed me to lean over the exam table on my elbows. Talk about getting caught with my pants down! “Uh, Doc,” I said in a Peter Brady voice-changing tone, “Didn’t we do the prostate check last time with the blood-work?”
“Yes, but we didn’t check for enlargement nor feel for soft and hard spots. This is the only way to do it.”
I leaned over and tried to remember the last time I pooped. Memory failing, I hoped that I smelled like skittles and roses down there. Dr. OverExploratory than probed into the dark side of the moon, supposedly with a rubber gloved single finger. All I could think of was Chevy Chase in Fletch asking if the Doc was using the whole fist and then singing Mooooooooon River.
Dr. WayTooThoroughAndLingeringWithTheFingering seemed to take a left turn and I thought okay, this totally bites, but it’s almost over. Suddenly Dr. SeemsToBeEnjoyingHer/Himself dove in deep and in the center. I literally gulped and said something but I can’t remember what. I think it was, “Whoa-ho uh excuse me,” or “What the fuh,” or some sort of quiet whimpering. I have never engaged in the receiving end of ass-play during sex and I can now confirm it is NOT going to become part of the package in the future. No thank you, do not pass go, do not collect $200 and do NOT stick your finger up my a-hole!!!!!
The good news is that Dr. Violator said everything checked out just fine. The bad news is that I needed to be held, but certainly not by Dr. BackMeAllUpForTheNext24Hours.
I put on my sunglasses while still in the building thinking everybody looking at me would know I just had somebody up my ass to their elbow. I didn’t even stop to ask for my free toaster. I limped out without my dignity, but at least I apparently have my health.
I got in the car and the radio popped on. Yep. Pink Floyd. Dark Side of the Moon.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Another Phone Call with the Parents
Ring ring
“Hello?”
“Hi Dad!”
“Brett, how are you?”
“I’m…”
“ELLIE. BRETT’S ON THE PHONE. ELLLLLLLLLLIE!”
“fine, thanks. How are you?”
“ELLIE! IT’S BRETT. PICK UP THE PHONE.”
“I’m here. Hi Brett.”
“Hi Mom. What are you two doing?”
“Nothing today. Can you believe it?”
“Well, every day is a Sunday for you, so yeah.”
“Your sister is really excited to see you. Isn’t it great that we will overlap for a day? How are you getting to the airport? What time is your flight?”
“I booked my tickets a long time a go and I don’t remember the flight times. I haven’t even thought about that stuff yet. The trip isn’t for two more weeks. Hey, thanks for sending the check for Drew’s birthday.”
My parents haven’t sent actual gifts to their grandchildren in years. They send a check to me; I buy presents and tell them what they got them. They do send a card with barely legible handwriting.
“You got him a hex bug set. Also, um, thanks for sending the article on credit cards with the best rewards. I especially appreciated the areas that you underlined in pencil. “
“Don’t pay any fees though!”
“Okay Dad.”
“What is the price of gas out there?”
“I don’t know Dad. I run low on gas, I pull in to the nearest gas station and fill it up. I pay whatever it costs.”
“How can you not know what gas costs?”
“I thought I just explained that. Get this. I have no idea how much a gallon of milk is either.”
“Beeeel.”
When my mom gets mad at my dad, she acquires an accent from a completely unidentifiable origin. Bill becomes Beeeeeel.
“It doesn’t matter what gas costs in Colorado! So when we get to Chicago, we want to go see the Marilyn Monroe statue by the Tribune building. It is apparently quite the talk of the town.”
Beeeeeeeel piped in with, “It’s 26 feet tall.”
“You two really have run out of interesting things to do in your retirement, haven’t you?”
“It’s the famous pose of her with her skirt flying up.”
“Yeah, I figured Dad. I can’t wait to see where you stand for the photo.”
Click click
“Hold on hon, that’s another call. Bill, hang up the phone.”
Nothing happens. I can hear my dad breathing. Click click
“Beeeeeel! Hang up the phone so I can answer the call.”
“Okay.”
Click click
“Hello?”
“It’s still me, Mom.”
“Hold on.”
Click click
“Hello?”
“Hi Mom. Still me.”
“BEEEEEEL! DID YOU HANG UP THE PHONE?”
Click click
“I can let you go Mom. Sounds like you are expecting an important call.”
“No honey, hold on.”
Click click
“Hello?”
“Hola! Donde esta el banyo? I’d like a pepperoni pizza please. Hey, is your refrigerator running? If so, you better go catch it!”
“Brett!”
“Mom, you need to get rid of that call-waiting. You can never work it anyway and what in the world is so important that you can’t miss?”
“I can work it when your father isn’t on the other phone. I could hear him breathing!”
“Well, yeah, I heard him too. But that is a good thing he is still breathing, right?”
Ding dong
“Hold on. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL! ANSWER THE DOOR. Hold on.”
“Mom, I’ll let you go. I’m almost to the office anyway.”
I was nowhere near the office
“No hold on. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL!”
I hear a faint muffled discussion as I imagine my Dad shuffling to the door in his slippers
“Mom, I have to go. The boys are great. Work is fine. The new place is good. Life is good. Go help Dad answer the door.”
“Okay honey. We can’t wait to see you. Bye bye.”
I hear her yelling “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL” as I say goodbye and hang up
If I turn completely into my parents, please karate chop me in the neck.
“Hello?”
“Hi Dad!”
“Brett, how are you?”
“I’m…”
“ELLIE. BRETT’S ON THE PHONE. ELLLLLLLLLLIE!”
“fine, thanks. How are you?”
“ELLIE! IT’S BRETT. PICK UP THE PHONE.”
“I’m here. Hi Brett.”
“Hi Mom. What are you two doing?”
“Nothing today. Can you believe it?”
“Well, every day is a Sunday for you, so yeah.”
“Your sister is really excited to see you. Isn’t it great that we will overlap for a day? How are you getting to the airport? What time is your flight?”
“I booked my tickets a long time a go and I don’t remember the flight times. I haven’t even thought about that stuff yet. The trip isn’t for two more weeks. Hey, thanks for sending the check for Drew’s birthday.”
My parents haven’t sent actual gifts to their grandchildren in years. They send a check to me; I buy presents and tell them what they got them. They do send a card with barely legible handwriting.
“You got him a hex bug set. Also, um, thanks for sending the article on credit cards with the best rewards. I especially appreciated the areas that you underlined in pencil. “
“Don’t pay any fees though!”
“Okay Dad.”
“What is the price of gas out there?”
“I don’t know Dad. I run low on gas, I pull in to the nearest gas station and fill it up. I pay whatever it costs.”
“How can you not know what gas costs?”
“I thought I just explained that. Get this. I have no idea how much a gallon of milk is either.”
“Beeeel.”
When my mom gets mad at my dad, she acquires an accent from a completely unidentifiable origin. Bill becomes Beeeeeel.
“It doesn’t matter what gas costs in Colorado! So when we get to Chicago, we want to go see the Marilyn Monroe statue by the Tribune building. It is apparently quite the talk of the town.”
Beeeeeeeel piped in with, “It’s 26 feet tall.”
“You two really have run out of interesting things to do in your retirement, haven’t you?”
“It’s the famous pose of her with her skirt flying up.”
“Yeah, I figured Dad. I can’t wait to see where you stand for the photo.”
Click click
“Hold on hon, that’s another call. Bill, hang up the phone.”
Nothing happens. I can hear my dad breathing. Click click
“Beeeeeel! Hang up the phone so I can answer the call.”
“Okay.”
Click click
“Hello?”
“It’s still me, Mom.”
“Hold on.”
Click click
“Hello?”
“Hi Mom. Still me.”
“BEEEEEEL! DID YOU HANG UP THE PHONE?”
Click click
“I can let you go Mom. Sounds like you are expecting an important call.”
“No honey, hold on.”
Click click
“Hello?”
“Hola! Donde esta el banyo? I’d like a pepperoni pizza please. Hey, is your refrigerator running? If so, you better go catch it!”
“Brett!”
“Mom, you need to get rid of that call-waiting. You can never work it anyway and what in the world is so important that you can’t miss?”
“I can work it when your father isn’t on the other phone. I could hear him breathing!”
“Well, yeah, I heard him too. But that is a good thing he is still breathing, right?”
Ding dong
“Hold on. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL! ANSWER THE DOOR. Hold on.”
“Mom, I’ll let you go. I’m almost to the office anyway.”
I was nowhere near the office
“No hold on. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL!”
I hear a faint muffled discussion as I imagine my Dad shuffling to the door in his slippers
“Mom, I have to go. The boys are great. Work is fine. The new place is good. Life is good. Go help Dad answer the door.”
“Okay honey. We can’t wait to see you. Bye bye.”
I hear her yelling “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL” as I say goodbye and hang up
If I turn completely into my parents, please karate chop me in the neck.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
A Cautionary Tale for All Women in My Vicinity
I hate running. Unless it’s my mouth. I run my mouth all the time. I’m actually very good at running my mouth. If Major Awards were given for running mouths, I’d have an awesome leg lamp sitting in my front window right now. And I’m okay with running errands. I’m pretty good as long as instructions are clearly written down in detail. You need milk; I’m your man. Just be sure to specify a gallon or quart, white or chocolate, skim or a percent, organic or not and I’ll be happy to fetch you some goddamn milk. There was absolutely no reason to goddamn that milk, but it just flowed out of my mind and my fingers took over.
Maybe there is a reason. My therapist is taking a hiatus and I haven’t seen her in over two years anyway so I don’t get professional help anymore. Instead, I discuss things with the voices in my head and if there is a disagreement or confusion, I go to
The Google. Besides, I’m not sure how much that particular therapist can help me anymore. She was quite attractive and talked to me like a buddy at a bar. I found myself losing focus and instead of listening, I’d tilt my head with a crooked grin on my face and hope she would suddenly kneel down to give me a blowjob. The result of that mindset was that I extended those sessions an extra few weeks that I probably didn’t need just because I am forever optimistic and I thought she might want to give me head.
I seem to have a lot of pent up energy. I’ve been putting unnecessary blue words in front of nouns a lot lately. “Anybody want a fucking coffee from next door? Those are nice goddamn shoes. Please hand me that cock-sucking pen. “ I’m not saying these things with anger, but rather some sort of underlying antsy feeling.
And the running. It coincides with working out regularly again. Basketball, elliptical, some weights (I hate lifting more than running – those fucking weights are really heavy) and the running. Of course I am doing this to be healthier but also because I have to release this energy before I start cussing at the intern during idle conversation.
I didn’t even need The Google to figure it out. The voices inside my head told me. Actually, both heads told me. The issue is that I need to get laid. It has been over two months now. Snow White and I broke up after our Mexico trip, so I know exactly when the last time I had some serious action was. We had to end our fairytale romance. With her living in the forest and me in a kingdom far far away combined with us both having dwarfs to take care of and our own stalls at the market, we simply couldn’t keep going.
I’m one horny mofo. I really need to get laid because all this swearing and exercising is great, but not a good replacement for a little sumthin’ sumthin’. The voices inside my head have all taken construction jobs, but they never work. They sit around making crude comments about every skirt that walks by. The wind blows and I have to carry a newspaper in front of my package. The Google seems to deliver nothing but porn (no idea how that keeps happening).
People say things and I turn it into something sexual. Somebody says, “Our special today is roasted chicken…” I think – choke this chicken, baby
“Can you come to a meeting this afternoon…” – all over your face
“We have a big problem...” – in my pants
I’ve even turned the simplest and most innocent things into something inappropriate.
“Is it okay if I bring the puppy I’m watching into the office…” – oh yeah, doggy style
It gets worse.
“I have to go to a funeral…” – I’ll do your sister!
This is a serious problem. All the exercise, swearing and masturbation in the world isn’t gonna solve this issue.
In the meantime, I gotta jet now. I’m going for a goddamn fucking run and I hope I don’t stop to hump a cock-sucking tree.
Maybe there is a reason. My therapist is taking a hiatus and I haven’t seen her in over two years anyway so I don’t get professional help anymore. Instead, I discuss things with the voices in my head and if there is a disagreement or confusion, I go to
The Google. Besides, I’m not sure how much that particular therapist can help me anymore. She was quite attractive and talked to me like a buddy at a bar. I found myself losing focus and instead of listening, I’d tilt my head with a crooked grin on my face and hope she would suddenly kneel down to give me a blowjob. The result of that mindset was that I extended those sessions an extra few weeks that I probably didn’t need just because I am forever optimistic and I thought she might want to give me head.
I seem to have a lot of pent up energy. I’ve been putting unnecessary blue words in front of nouns a lot lately. “Anybody want a fucking coffee from next door? Those are nice goddamn shoes. Please hand me that cock-sucking pen. “ I’m not saying these things with anger, but rather some sort of underlying antsy feeling.
And the running. It coincides with working out regularly again. Basketball, elliptical, some weights (I hate lifting more than running – those fucking weights are really heavy) and the running. Of course I am doing this to be healthier but also because I have to release this energy before I start cussing at the intern during idle conversation.
I didn’t even need The Google to figure it out. The voices inside my head told me. Actually, both heads told me. The issue is that I need to get laid. It has been over two months now. Snow White and I broke up after our Mexico trip, so I know exactly when the last time I had some serious action was. We had to end our fairytale romance. With her living in the forest and me in a kingdom far far away combined with us both having dwarfs to take care of and our own stalls at the market, we simply couldn’t keep going.
I’m one horny mofo. I really need to get laid because all this swearing and exercising is great, but not a good replacement for a little sumthin’ sumthin’. The voices inside my head have all taken construction jobs, but they never work. They sit around making crude comments about every skirt that walks by. The wind blows and I have to carry a newspaper in front of my package. The Google seems to deliver nothing but porn (no idea how that keeps happening).
People say things and I turn it into something sexual. Somebody says, “Our special today is roasted chicken…” I think – choke this chicken, baby
“Can you come to a meeting this afternoon…” – all over your face
“We have a big problem...” – in my pants
I’ve even turned the simplest and most innocent things into something inappropriate.
“Is it okay if I bring the puppy I’m watching into the office…” – oh yeah, doggy style
It gets worse.
“I have to go to a funeral…” – I’ll do your sister!
This is a serious problem. All the exercise, swearing and masturbation in the world isn’t gonna solve this issue.
In the meantime, I gotta jet now. I’m going for a goddamn fucking run and I hope I don’t stop to hump a cock-sucking tree.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Do I Need to Wear Protective Headgear to Concerts?
Grace Potter is a wildly talented freak! I saw half of her opening act at Red Rocks on Saturday night. We were way too far up to really enjoy it and feel the vibe. So on a whim, I crashed my friend’s night out on Sunday at the Ogden. Grace was the headliner and the Ogden is a very small venue. To be exact, the Ogden has a capacity of 1300.
For some reason, I was asked twice in like twenty minutes how many people the place holds. I may be an idiot, but I’m no savant. Apparently the nearly two hours of standing around waiting for the show to start leads to small talk and recognizing the inner Rainman of others.
I suggested since all five of us have smartphones, why don’t we ask The Google? So me and the step sister that I’ve been assured is not dating her step brother even though they looked like a cute couple and apparently she is broken up with a very large man (not her stepbrother) that showed up and stood in our group taking up the space of at least four teenage Grace Potter groupies in order to stand next to said stepsister and holy shit I just read this sentence four times and I’m not sure I am following myself so let me try again by saying there was a couple that looked like they really dug each other but apparently they are stepbrother and stepsister and then the stepsister’s humongous ex boyfriend showed up and it was all around an interesting dynamic. What? I dunno, let’s move on.
So this gal and me had a Google race to find out how many people the Ogden holds. I put in “Ogden Denver capacity.” A couple seconds later I got a list with the second one showing 1300 in the summary. The other gal had just finished typing her inquiry and had just hit send. I wondered what took so long so I asked to see what she put in the search. It was something along the lines of, “I would like to know how many people can attend a concert at the Ogden Theater in Denver Colorado, United States of America.” I thought that was damn funny how thorough she was trying to be.
Finally the concert started and I’ll tell you what, Grace Potter and The Nocturnals know how to jam. Listening to their music on the ipod and/or radio is great, but does not do justice to the long and building riffs that eventually end up being a mad fast paced loud symphony of freaking awesome rock. There is even one song where Grace and the other three guitar players grab sticks and all play the drums at once with the drummer. It is really cool. I highly recommend anyone see these guys in concert at a small venue. I’m betting they won’t be so accessible much longer.
At the end of the concert, they threw some picks out and a couple sets of drumsticks. One of the sticks was tossed our way and bounced off of at least two pairs of hands and grazed the head of the large large large man that used to date the stepsister that is allegedly not dating her stepbrother, and ended up right in my hands. All those years of catching flies with chopsticks paid off for me.
I don’t know why rock stars keep throwing all their shit at me. I saw Sheryl Crow in Vegas about a year ago and she threw two guitar picks at me. I may have been a little buzzed and too busy making sexy times eye contact with her to actually catch either pick, but they both bounced right off me. And now a drumstick. The shit is getting bigger. Kind of reminds me of the St. Patty’s Day parade in New Orleans last year when they threw cabbages off buses at people, hitting some in the side of the head. It was painfully funny. I gotta keep my head up at concerts.
I think Sheryl Crow and Grace Potter are vying for my attention. They seem to think I’ll just come back stage and let them have their way with me.
They are totally right.
For some reason, I was asked twice in like twenty minutes how many people the place holds. I may be an idiot, but I’m no savant. Apparently the nearly two hours of standing around waiting for the show to start leads to small talk and recognizing the inner Rainman of others.
I suggested since all five of us have smartphones, why don’t we ask The Google? So me and the step sister that I’ve been assured is not dating her step brother even though they looked like a cute couple and apparently she is broken up with a very large man (not her stepbrother) that showed up and stood in our group taking up the space of at least four teenage Grace Potter groupies in order to stand next to said stepsister and holy shit I just read this sentence four times and I’m not sure I am following myself so let me try again by saying there was a couple that looked like they really dug each other but apparently they are stepbrother and stepsister and then the stepsister’s humongous ex boyfriend showed up and it was all around an interesting dynamic. What? I dunno, let’s move on.
So this gal and me had a Google race to find out how many people the Ogden holds. I put in “Ogden Denver capacity.” A couple seconds later I got a list with the second one showing 1300 in the summary. The other gal had just finished typing her inquiry and had just hit send. I wondered what took so long so I asked to see what she put in the search. It was something along the lines of, “I would like to know how many people can attend a concert at the Ogden Theater in Denver Colorado, United States of America.” I thought that was damn funny how thorough she was trying to be.
Finally the concert started and I’ll tell you what, Grace Potter and The Nocturnals know how to jam. Listening to their music on the ipod and/or radio is great, but does not do justice to the long and building riffs that eventually end up being a mad fast paced loud symphony of freaking awesome rock. There is even one song where Grace and the other three guitar players grab sticks and all play the drums at once with the drummer. It is really cool. I highly recommend anyone see these guys in concert at a small venue. I’m betting they won’t be so accessible much longer.
At the end of the concert, they threw some picks out and a couple sets of drumsticks. One of the sticks was tossed our way and bounced off of at least two pairs of hands and grazed the head of the large large large man that used to date the stepsister that is allegedly not dating her stepbrother, and ended up right in my hands. All those years of catching flies with chopsticks paid off for me.
I don’t know why rock stars keep throwing all their shit at me. I saw Sheryl Crow in Vegas about a year ago and she threw two guitar picks at me. I may have been a little buzzed and too busy making sexy times eye contact with her to actually catch either pick, but they both bounced right off me. And now a drumstick. The shit is getting bigger. Kind of reminds me of the St. Patty’s Day parade in New Orleans last year when they threw cabbages off buses at people, hitting some in the side of the head. It was painfully funny. I gotta keep my head up at concerts.
I think Sheryl Crow and Grace Potter are vying for my attention. They seem to think I’ll just come back stage and let them have their way with me.
They are totally right.
Friday, July 8, 2011
July Isn't What You Think
July is a big month for me. Many of you know that July 4th is a national holiday to celebrate the independence of our great nation. Most of you don’t know that about 44 years ago, the purpose of the fireworks switched from celebrating the nation’s birthday to celebrating my life.
Yep, July is all about me. They thought about changing the name of the month from July to Wowtember but you wouldn’t believe how powerful Hallmark is out of their calendar division. They are so clever, they know what days of the week fall on which dates years in advance so they mass produce calendars ten years at a time to save on photography and copywriting fees. Yep, little known fact. So they balked at Wowtember because they’d have to trash eleventy billion calendars.
July 4th kicks off Wowtember every year. July 5th became relevant in 1997 when I got married. July 5th became a lot less relevant in 2010 when my divorce became final, but hey, plenty of good things came out of that union; primarily a couple of blonde haired blue eyed two legged monsters called my sons. Now on July 5th I kind of lay low and walk around with a shrug and ‘who knew’ look on my face.
July 7th is the anniversary of my company. I put up my own shingle fifteen years ago. I didn’t do a lot of planning, nor was it a lifelong dream to start my own business. But things happened, I did it, and I’ve never looked back. Smartest and best professional decision of my life. There have been ups and downs, particularly in the last few years with the tanking economy – difficult times to be in advertising. But we persevered while many of our competitors did not. I hate to see anyone go down, but I admit it gave me more pride that we had a solid business. We are still recovering, but the future is bright; like the fireworks that are all about me.
July 9th is my birthday. I turn 44 this time. Yikes, right? I don’t feel 44. I feel more like 34 and often act 24. Or maybe even 14 when you consider pinning my children down and farting on their respective heads. This fourth decade of my life has been the most challenging. I already mentioned the tough times with running a business. I also figured out some big things about myself that resulted in a major life change –getting divorced. And then effects of that change have been tremendous and I still live them every single day. But I am happy. I feel like every decade is better than the last.
So although my birthday isn’t a big deal anymore (I’ve had so many of them), it still represents a time for self reflection, gratitude for the life I am privileged to live, awe and wonder at the two little boys I am raising with my most excellent ex-wife that is a fabulous mother.
That is plenty, right? Well, nearly six years ago, a new important date was added to Wowtember. The 20th is Drew’s birthday. The little squirt has been talking about it for months. The big brother is kind enough to remind everyone regularly that he is still 2-1/2 years older than Drew and therefore way smarter. You have to love older siblings.
More good news just came in, making Wowtember 2011 even more fun. I just got eliminated from the Blogger Idol contest. My post about being the opposite sex for a day was eleventh best out of eleven. It’s all good though because I saw it coming the way it is set up. I think sweet Heather who has worked her ass off to put together a comprehensive site (with a sister contestant site) and spent countless hours on the project is unwittingly running a popularity contest. Candice you warned me! Sour grapes? Mmm, no not really. The good news is that I don’t have to pimp myself anymore (which I hated doing), and if I ever try anything like this again, I have learned to make sure it is about the writing. With that said, I mean no disrespect to any participants, judges or voters. The contest is what it is and I lost fair and square. I’m cool with that. Good luck to the survivors.
As great as Wowtember is, there are still challenges and obstacles to overcome. Some linger and some are blips on the radar screen. I still have plenty of shit to deal with, but who doesn’t?
So I watch those fireworks every year and I silently thank my lucky stars for my life. I am thankful for my family, friends and co-workers. I am thankful for frosted cookies, the Cubs, beaches, books, music, traveling, basketball, mountains, chai and penguins. I am thankful for so much more, but Thanksgiving is in November, not Wowtember, so I’ll stop at all this.
Happy Wowtember everyone. Be sure to appreciate everyone and everything around you, including yourself.
Yep, July is all about me. They thought about changing the name of the month from July to Wowtember but you wouldn’t believe how powerful Hallmark is out of their calendar division. They are so clever, they know what days of the week fall on which dates years in advance so they mass produce calendars ten years at a time to save on photography and copywriting fees. Yep, little known fact. So they balked at Wowtember because they’d have to trash eleventy billion calendars.
July 4th kicks off Wowtember every year. July 5th became relevant in 1997 when I got married. July 5th became a lot less relevant in 2010 when my divorce became final, but hey, plenty of good things came out of that union; primarily a couple of blonde haired blue eyed two legged monsters called my sons. Now on July 5th I kind of lay low and walk around with a shrug and ‘who knew’ look on my face.
July 7th is the anniversary of my company. I put up my own shingle fifteen years ago. I didn’t do a lot of planning, nor was it a lifelong dream to start my own business. But things happened, I did it, and I’ve never looked back. Smartest and best professional decision of my life. There have been ups and downs, particularly in the last few years with the tanking economy – difficult times to be in advertising. But we persevered while many of our competitors did not. I hate to see anyone go down, but I admit it gave me more pride that we had a solid business. We are still recovering, but the future is bright; like the fireworks that are all about me.
July 9th is my birthday. I turn 44 this time. Yikes, right? I don’t feel 44. I feel more like 34 and often act 24. Or maybe even 14 when you consider pinning my children down and farting on their respective heads. This fourth decade of my life has been the most challenging. I already mentioned the tough times with running a business. I also figured out some big things about myself that resulted in a major life change –getting divorced. And then effects of that change have been tremendous and I still live them every single day. But I am happy. I feel like every decade is better than the last.
So although my birthday isn’t a big deal anymore (I’ve had so many of them), it still represents a time for self reflection, gratitude for the life I am privileged to live, awe and wonder at the two little boys I am raising with my most excellent ex-wife that is a fabulous mother.
That is plenty, right? Well, nearly six years ago, a new important date was added to Wowtember. The 20th is Drew’s birthday. The little squirt has been talking about it for months. The big brother is kind enough to remind everyone regularly that he is still 2-1/2 years older than Drew and therefore way smarter. You have to love older siblings.
More good news just came in, making Wowtember 2011 even more fun. I just got eliminated from the Blogger Idol contest. My post about being the opposite sex for a day was eleventh best out of eleven. It’s all good though because I saw it coming the way it is set up. I think sweet Heather who has worked her ass off to put together a comprehensive site (with a sister contestant site) and spent countless hours on the project is unwittingly running a popularity contest. Candice you warned me! Sour grapes? Mmm, no not really. The good news is that I don’t have to pimp myself anymore (which I hated doing), and if I ever try anything like this again, I have learned to make sure it is about the writing. With that said, I mean no disrespect to any participants, judges or voters. The contest is what it is and I lost fair and square. I’m cool with that. Good luck to the survivors.
As great as Wowtember is, there are still challenges and obstacles to overcome. Some linger and some are blips on the radar screen. I still have plenty of shit to deal with, but who doesn’t?
So I watch those fireworks every year and I silently thank my lucky stars for my life. I am thankful for my family, friends and co-workers. I am thankful for frosted cookies, the Cubs, beaches, books, music, traveling, basketball, mountains, chai and penguins. I am thankful for so much more, but Thanksgiving is in November, not Wowtember, so I’ll stop at all this.
Happy Wowtember everyone. Be sure to appreciate everyone and everything around you, including yourself.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Moving, Hairy Cow Lips and Box Rides
Ahhh moving. It is right up there on the fun factor scale with going to the DMV and eating hairy cow lips. I have never actually eaten hairy cow lips, but I’ve seen people do it on television which means I need to get out more. Over two hundred channels and I find myself stuck on hairy cow lips for lunch?
I hired movers. I figured at nearly age 44 (my birthday is in three days – you still have time to shop and overnight gifts to my new addy) that I am too old to recruit friends in exchange for pizza and beer. I am now back in the community where I lived as a married man amongst the Pleasantville Truman Show Neighborhood of Everybody is in Your Bidness and Is There Really Life Outside the Bubble?
There are some great advantages to The Bubble. First and foremost, I’m a two -minute drive to the kids’ house with their mom. No more half hour shuttles back and forth.
B, I have a ton of friends in the hood that will create endless opportunities to fill my social calendar.
III, I will be exercising regularly again. I’ve got my old four mile running route, a new rec center that has a basketball court, I’m in close proximity to where I already play hoops once a week, also close to the racquetball courts and I have a slew of people to call to feel obligated to actually follow through on a workout.
Fourthly, I can walk or ride my bike to just about anything – coffee shop, liquor store, restaurants, ice cream, parks, neighbor’s man-cave of a basement where there is always sports and beer, bank, grocery store, cleaners, etc.
E, it’s only a ten-minute drive to work during non-rush hour, twenty minutes max. Which means the same thing for going downtown when I need to escape The Bubble.
VI, the kids have a billion friends in the neighborhood. I no longer will have to be their sole source of entertainment when they are with me (we were pretty isolated in Boulder).
Seventhly, the kids have their own rooms. They like bunking together, but they are both much happier to have separate bedrooms. I took them to Target so they could stock up on stuff to decorate. They both got stickers for the walls (supposedly they are easily removable – Will got owls, Drew got some action hero dude). Will got a big mushroom chair, Drew a bean bag. Will got a princess nightlight, Drew a Toy Story rocket.
Lastly, this really has nothing to do with The Bubble, but moving has created endless hours of entertainment via The Box Ride. Why spend money on games, toys, Wii and all that other shit when you can give your kids empty boxes? The boys decorated their boxes with Sharpies and pretty much non-stop requested rides. One of the boxes is really tall and sturdy, just right for holding a little boy. I close up the top and proceed to spin them, tip them over, roll them, shake them, wobble them and even turn them upside down. It is the kind of stuff that makes moms cringe. Good thing their mom doesn’t live with us! Injuries have been minimal. An inadvertent self punch to the face, a few bruises and even an upset stomach, but no blood or concussions!!
So anyway, between the move, having my kids over the entire holiday weekend, work, no internet access for five days and everything else, I feel like I’ve been off the grid. I had to rush yesterday to do my Blogger Idol contest post. It’s a great topic. Our assignment was, “If you could be a member of the opposite sex for a day…” I’m excited to read everybody else’s post. You should be too. Please go over here and vote!! I had fun with mine and think you will enjoy it.
I hired movers. I figured at nearly age 44 (my birthday is in three days – you still have time to shop and overnight gifts to my new addy) that I am too old to recruit friends in exchange for pizza and beer. I am now back in the community where I lived as a married man amongst the Pleasantville Truman Show Neighborhood of Everybody is in Your Bidness and Is There Really Life Outside the Bubble?
There are some great advantages to The Bubble. First and foremost, I’m a two -minute drive to the kids’ house with their mom. No more half hour shuttles back and forth.
B, I have a ton of friends in the hood that will create endless opportunities to fill my social calendar.
III, I will be exercising regularly again. I’ve got my old four mile running route, a new rec center that has a basketball court, I’m in close proximity to where I already play hoops once a week, also close to the racquetball courts and I have a slew of people to call to feel obligated to actually follow through on a workout.
Fourthly, I can walk or ride my bike to just about anything – coffee shop, liquor store, restaurants, ice cream, parks, neighbor’s man-cave of a basement where there is always sports and beer, bank, grocery store, cleaners, etc.
E, it’s only a ten-minute drive to work during non-rush hour, twenty minutes max. Which means the same thing for going downtown when I need to escape The Bubble.
VI, the kids have a billion friends in the neighborhood. I no longer will have to be their sole source of entertainment when they are with me (we were pretty isolated in Boulder).
Seventhly, the kids have their own rooms. They like bunking together, but they are both much happier to have separate bedrooms. I took them to Target so they could stock up on stuff to decorate. They both got stickers for the walls (supposedly they are easily removable – Will got owls, Drew got some action hero dude). Will got a big mushroom chair, Drew a bean bag. Will got a princess nightlight, Drew a Toy Story rocket.
Lastly, this really has nothing to do with The Bubble, but moving has created endless hours of entertainment via The Box Ride. Why spend money on games, toys, Wii and all that other shit when you can give your kids empty boxes? The boys decorated their boxes with Sharpies and pretty much non-stop requested rides. One of the boxes is really tall and sturdy, just right for holding a little boy. I close up the top and proceed to spin them, tip them over, roll them, shake them, wobble them and even turn them upside down. It is the kind of stuff that makes moms cringe. Good thing their mom doesn’t live with us! Injuries have been minimal. An inadvertent self punch to the face, a few bruises and even an upset stomach, but no blood or concussions!!
So anyway, between the move, having my kids over the entire holiday weekend, work, no internet access for five days and everything else, I feel like I’ve been off the grid. I had to rush yesterday to do my Blogger Idol contest post. It’s a great topic. Our assignment was, “If you could be a member of the opposite sex for a day…” I’m excited to read everybody else’s post. You should be too. Please go over here and vote!! I had fun with mine and think you will enjoy it.
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