Opt Out

I was talking to the Buddha yesterday about all the extra shit that is out there everywhere. Even on my desk, since he hangs out there.

If it weren’t for Maria de los The Cleaner (I’m not telling you her last name – I’m not sure she is legal), I probably wouldn’t have seen the Buddha to talk to him about all this crap. The Buddha was partially buried under a pile of mail and a manila folder labeled “Shit to File.” How rih-tarded is it to have a file of things to file on a desk full of clutter and unfiled papers?

Maria cleans every Saturday and Buddha bless her soul; she tidies up everything, including stacking random change that I end up knocking down every week.

She declutters and makes piles for me to unpile and reclutter every week. I can’t believe those three words aren’t words (declutter, unpile, reclutter)! Hold on while I call Danny Webster and give him some whatfor while I pound my fist and knock over more change.

Maria is an angel. Or illegal alien. Anyway, The Buddha Man was eyeballing me so I said, “Yo yo yo, what up dawg? Looks like you have lost some weight homey!” He just sat there grinning at me while holding a gobstopper in one hand and a sack full of monkeys in the other (what do you think he is holding?). “Okay home skillet, you don’t have to answer. I know I have to simplify. This is ridiculous.”

Just then five new email messages popped in. All newsletters I don’t ever read or some sort of spam. I haven’t unsubscribed from any of this shit forever. The Buddha and I made eye contact (after I positioned him to face me at eye level). I said, “I know what you are thinking jolly man. I want a jelly donut too, but that isn’t important right now. I have to get rid of this fucking spam and extra email clutter. It is time to opt out!” The Buddha nodded at me. Or maybe I just dropped him and he rolled on my desk in a head-noddy way.

I started going through my inbox and deleted folder to unsubscribe and opt out of everything I could. In 24 hours I have already noticed a difference! It is awesome!! So I did some more. Opt out. Opt out. Unsubscribe to all. No, I’m not filling out a short a survey to tell you why. I’m just sick of you and The Buddha said to opt out!!

This worked so well, I decided to carry over the opt out strategy to other facets of my life. I brought the Buddha along for inspiration. If you are wondering if that is the Buddha on my shoulder or am I just happy to see you, the answer is a resounding yes!

A co-worker reminded me about a group lunch we had scheduled for today. I said, “Sorry, but I’m opting out of that one,” and I looked down at my laptop and pretended to be typing something important while I held my breath. My super power peripheral vision revealed a slightly stunned employee that proceeded to walk away. Yes!!

My phone rang and it was one of those fucking ‘mergers and acquisitions’ people claiming they had interested buyers for my business and blah blah blah they’d sure like to bend me over and have their way with me if only I’d listen to their shit and sign up for an expensive valuation service. I said, “Hold on. I opt out. I’m unsubscribing to this nonsense. I’m out. Delete!” And I hung up. The Buddha sighed.

I went out to lunch since my lunch hour became unexpectedly free and upon walking down a crowded sidewalk a complete stranger made eye contact with me. I tried to avert but it was too late. She said, “Hi.” I said, “I opt out,” and picked up my pace without glancing over my shoulder because I was afraid I’d knock the Buddha Man over.

I got to the lunch place and ordered an ahi tuna sandwich. They asked if I wanted chips or some sort of cold potato salad or slaw garbage with it. I said, “No, I’m unsubscribing to your lame side dishes.”

My mom called my cell on the way back from lunch. I picked up and said, “Mom, how are you doing, is everything okay? Is Dad good?” As she said “fine” and began to ramble on about happy hour parties with people nearing dementia, early bird dinners, the obscene cost of fresh produce, bingo at the clubhouse and the new lanai they had put in four months ago; I interrupted and said, “Mom. Listen Mom. I hate to do this, but the Buddha and I agreed it’s necessary. I’m going to have to opt out of this call right now. Don’t worry, I won’t completely unsubscribe, but you need to stop pushing these calls on me. I’d rather pull what I need from you. Can you update your contact management database to reflect these changes to my profile please?”

She laughed like I was kidding and I said, “Damn it I hate when I go to the opt-out link and it just spools. Mom, are you spooling with me right now? Not cool Mom, not cool at all!”

She pretended like she was calling from India and didn’t speak my language well with her feigning understanding of my wishes. The number three is often the delete button on voicemail so I tried that. After four beeps, I could still hear my mom.

“What is all that beeping?”

“I don’t hear any beeping Mom. Maybe you are finally going crazy. I know the time has been nearing. You seem to be losing it lately Mom.” I pressed three again. And again.

“There is that beeping again. Is your father on the phone? BEEEEEL, are you on the phone?!”

“Mom, I have to opt out. I don’t want any of this. Can you just contact me at the regularly scheduled times about once a week? I need to simplify and declutter even though declutter isn’t a word. The Buddha agrees.”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“We must have a bad connection. It keeps beeping and your father is asleep on the couch so it can’t be him.”

“I don’t hear any beeping. Isn’t it 1p there? Dad is sleeping?”

I pressed the three button two more times.

“Okay honey, it was nice talking to you. I’ll let you go. This beeping is too much”

Beep.

“Alright Mom. I love you. “

I am kid free and in town all holiday weekend long. I got a little carried away and mostly opted out of all the plans I had. So now I’m free as a bird with nothing to do and it feels great.

The Buddha man seems content just sitting there. He must be meditating again.

It’s really quiet.

I like it.

My phone just rang three times. I just got five new email messages. Three are things I need to opt out of. Two are for making plans over the weekend. Two of my peeps just walked up to talk about stuff I missed during their lunch meeting.

I knocked over my change and put the Buddha back under the “Shit to File” file. Back to reality.

Weak Understanding of Women

Recently, I was told that I have a weak understanding of women. The accuser is not someone I know and came to me from online. I have tons of female friends and always seem to have great and in-depth relationships with the women I have known. Says the divorced guy. Hey, I was married for a long time and think I understood that woman pretty well too. I just finally understood that we shouldn’t be together as husband and wife.

I also work with practically all women and rarely have inappropriate thoughts about any of them. My employees have all been with me for a long time and I think it is in part because of how I get along with them and how I just do whatever they say and stay out of their way. I’m only somewhat kidding (because I understand them!).

I have and/or had lots of women buddies, female friends with benefits, online friendships (not just the kind where my pants are down), women work associates, acquaintances, girlfriends, casual dates and pretty much all kinds of relationships you can think of between a man and a woman. Chicks dig me. And I dig chicks.

I said to the accuser “You don’t know what you are talking about. Who put you in charge of determining my understanding of women?” She said she is a woman which makes her qualified. Well played. I knew already that I was in trouble. See? I do know women!!

So I fired back and said that although women are more confounding than an M.C. Escher staircase, I think the reason I get along so well with them is why I have so many great relationships with them.

She said I shouldn’t confuse my jovial nature and witty charm with understanding women just because they respond well to my banter.

I said I had no idea if she just complimented me or insulted me and who are you to judge me anyway – you don’t even know me?

She then said she is a psychiatrist. I asked her if she got her degree from an online school based out of Pretendville. She threw some sort of Ivy League bullshit at me.

So I retorted with an oh yeah well just because you are a female quack, it doesn’t mean you can analyze me based on a short email conversation and some blog comments – I rarely even write about women. I mean how can I write about something I barely understand?

Shit.

I mean; my understanding of women is not perfect. That would be impossible. Women don’t even understand why they do things sometimes, they just expect us men to shut the fuck up and accept it. Our problem is when we open our mouths and begin to speak. See, I totally understand women.

There are a lot of whackadoodles on the internet and I think this woman may have a gold membership to the loony committee, so I had to end the conversation before she asked how long I breast fed (what guy ever really stops).

I started asking women I know if they think I understand them. Before they could answer, I’d say, “Wait. I’ll prove it. Right now, you are tired, hungry and cold.” The ultimate female trifecta. There isn’t a woman alive that usually isn’t all three at once unless she is basking in the sun in hundred-degree weather.

A common response was that I was good at noticing physical attributes. With a look of surprise and mild denial I’d say, “You could see me looking down your shirt?” The answer was always yes, but they meant I was good at telling they were hungry, tired and cold. And supposedly those three things are not related to how women think and how their emotions work.

I’d then say, “Clearly you are on the rag.”

This always gets women angry even if they laugh. Inside they are saying, “You dick.” See, I totally understand women.

Listen to me. Some things shouldn’t be solved. That is what makes them special. Women are art. Every woman I have ever met is different and has beauty inside and out that I will interpret in a way that relates to our connection at the time. There is no final answer Regis. I am not trying to understand women. I am trying to understand the people I connect with, good and bad to the degree that we can communicate well.

And I’m not trying to understand everything. I am comfortable living in the moment and speculating about the future knowing changes can happen faster than a woman can eat chocolate.

If you are a woman, I just want to know if I should feed you, offer you a warm hug or let you get some rest. I thought I knew the answer, but sometimes I’m too busy staring at your tits.

Do I have a weak understanding of women? I don’t think so. But then that is like saying I have a weak understanding of quantum physics isn’t it?

Do the Jackknife

I have lived in my new pad for 53 days now. I may or may not have cleaned my place at least once so far. I am having a cleaning service start this week. Unlike every woman I know, I will NOT clean up for the cleaning people. I have never understood why women do this. It’s like cutting the grass before the lawn boy shows up. Ridiculous.

I also don’t understand why women won’t walk three blocks in the chilly late night air past two perfectly good restaurant bars to cross a six lane road and go into the seedy DoubleTree hotel bar with three drunk guys and me, the only sober person in a five mile radius.

It was Tom’s birthday this weekend. He and a bunch of other people started celebrating early at a giant beer festival being held in our Truman Show Pleasantville Bubble of a neighborhood. The post festival party moved to the local restaurant and then for some reason all the women dropped liked flies on the way to the DoubleTree dive bar.

In addition to Tom, Jerry and Jeffery were the other two guys at this point. Jeffery is a nice guy, but the real entertainment comes from the other two chumps. First off, I love going out with them and introducing them to as many people as possible. “These are my friends Tom and Jerry,” just never gets old for me. A surprisingly large amount of people don’t see the humor in that in which case they fail the litmus test for getting to further enjoy the pleasure of our company.

For some reason Tom was polling us on our favorite sexual positions. My answer was “Yes.” Jerry answered, “Normal.” Tom thought this was hilarious but also wanted a more specific description. Jerry was too drunk to remember how to say “missionary” and none of us would help him. Finally a bar-fly woman sitting near us helped him out. I think we were being a little bit loud.

Of course we asked what her favorite position is and as she was contemplating between “Doggy” and “Jackknife,” the guy she was with returned from the bathroom. He didn’t take kindly to us talking about sex with his girl. I did not introduce him to Tom and Jerry.

I huddled the guys in close and said, “What the hell is Jackknife?” None of us knew. So we asked the waitress.

“Hey, when you have sex, do you like to do the Jackknife?” I shook my head and apologized on behalf of Tom and said, “He meant to ask you if you know what the Jackknife is, in terms of sex positions.”

She cocked her head and I did too. When in Rome. She corrected her head position and put her hand on her chin. I did the same. She put her other hand on her hip. So did I. Suddenly there was a twinkle in her eye (my eyes are always twinkling so I didn’t get to copy her) and she said, “Google it.”

So we did and all said, “Ohhhhhhhhhhh, yeah, sure. Done that. Just didn’t know it was called the Jackknife.” We collectively looked at the bar-fly woman and nodded while mouthing, “jackknife” with a little winkie wink. Her dude still seemed angry with us.

Just then, two more friends walked in. They ordered a round and scoffed at me and my Diet Coke. Tell you what, if you ever get scoffed at by a dude wearing his wife’s straw cowboy hat, an open flannel shirt over a big beer belly covered by a yellowish white undershirt, and a necklace made out of mardis gras beads and beer cans, then perhaps you have sunk to lower than low. But I’m fine with that.

We finished up and were excited to hear our friends had shown up in a golf cart. For some reason, lots of people own them in our neighborhood. The owner of this one had his loaded down with a tent and props from being a sponsor at the beer festival so there wasn’t much room on it but he said we could all climb aboard. We walked out the front lobby doors of the hotel and I was laughing because the morons had pulled up and parked right there in front where cars and shuttles drop off passengers. It reminded me of The Hangover when valet brought them a police car.

Four guys piled in front and me and another guy stood on the back bumper. We took a slight detour through Park Hill and found out it is possible to get one of those things to make sharp turns and end up on two wheels despite going only ten miles per hour.

And then I remembered why the women left us. They know we are idiots.

Words of Great Wisdom

My eight year old son used air quotes on me last night. Where the hell did he learn that? I hate air quotes and never use them, but have to admit he made me laugh when he did them. I am always amazed when kids incorporate sarcasm into their humor.

I tend to write down funny things people say. Often times the humor in them is the idea of what they said being out of context. But other times it is just plain funny. My kids are often the source of the Quote Notes I keep on my phone. I may have mentioned some of these in previous blogs, but I think it’s time to put some out there all in one post:

Me: How was school?
Drew: Good. I mean bad. First I fell off the swing at lunch. Then I was bleeding at nap. And I’m bleeding now.

Will: Is there really a sub atomic universe in every part of our body?

Drew: For some reason I forget things very quickly.

Drew: This festival only has porty parties.

Me: I’ve got two sweet boys.
Drew: Just like you wanted.

Drew: I saw an ant carrying a dead ant to the graveyard.

Will: I’m bringing the Live Girl in to Einstein’s.
Drew: And I’m bringing the Buddha.

Will: I wanted to cross breed but we don’t have enough coins.

Me (noticing Will spacing out – this was in June): How are you doing?
Will: Good. I thought of a great trap for leprechaun day. St. Patrick’s Day.

Me: Are you walking funny cuz your bottom hurts?
Drew: Yeah, it happens a lot.

Will: One time at micro science camp…

Will: Are you really going to cut off my head if I drop your MacBook?
Me: Yes.

Will: Are you going to do the Stairs of Terror or the Hallway of Horrors?

Will: Grandpa is 100% Bohemian. Daddy is 50% Bohemian. And I am 25% Bohemian.
Drew: And I’m 100% Jedi!

Will: I love you.
Me: I love you more.
Will: I love you most.

Me: I love you.
Drew: Ok


I have accomplished a lot of great things in my life. But nothing has come close to what I’ve got with my two little angels. And who knew they would be such great actors. Here they are being (insert air quotes) injured.

Chicago Adventures

I have been vacationing in Chicago for the last eight weeks. Okay, it’s only been eight days, but it sure feels like eight weeks. There isn’t a pullout couch in the world that can comfortably accommodate eight nights of my temple (of doom) of a 210 pound body (of pure steel). My vertebrae have turned into cheap bed springs.

I’m not complaining at all. I love sleeping on what amounts to a blanket covering two dozen broken Slinkys in a den with doors covered in little window panes without any curtains. I like that everyone can see into my room 24/7, including the fish in the giant tank that is the size of a small automobile and makes a gurgling whirl of a noise all night long. And I love that this den has so many bookshelves and random shit in it that any ventilation is covered and basically non-existent which means I get to bake in my sleep, despite an oscillating fan that is powered on high and frozen on my head all night long. Bed head is one thing; wind blown face is another.

I’m with my boys at my sister’s house in a suburb of Chicago. We’ve been here for the second half of the trip. It has been all family all the time which is particularly nice for my boys to play with their cousins and all the neighborhood kids. Activities have included jumping on a trampoline, playing cops and robbers (reminds me of Kick the Can), baseball in the yard, playing in the park and countless games. It really has been great, despite the sleeping arrangements.

But I am ready to go home. It is all so exhausting to hang with family. And today is going to get crazier. It’s our last night and my parents are coming in from Flar-da. I think I’m getting downgraded to the family room couch.

The first half of the trip was quite different, other than sleeping on another pullout, this one owned by my buddy Dave. I was without the kids for the first four nights of the trip and I stayed with my homie that I’ve known since Kindergarten. He lives in Lincoln Park and still does things like go to concerts on Tuesday nights. Yes, he is a crazy man.

We had a fabulous time. We met up with his girlfriend the first night and ate in Bucktown at the Handlebar, a primarily vegan place that was surprisingly good for a dive-looking place. On day two, Dave and I had a huge breakfast at Toast and then made our way to Wrigley for a Cubs game. Another nice surprise – the Cubs won and we didn’t get rained on! Post game was at a street festival and then a few other bars. We met up with some really great people along the way.

The next day we went on a bike ride along the lake which ended up being a people watching afternoon on the rooftop of the beach restaurant on North Ave Beach. That night, I had a very romantic dinner for three with Dave and his girlfriend at The Girl and the Goat – a restaurant Dave made reservations at over three months ago. It was fantastic and upheld all the hype. The next day was more bike riding along the lake with a long stop for an epic lazy afternoon of tossing the Frisbee. Then we went to Kuma’s for the best hamburger I’ve ever had. Google it. Two to three hour wait is normal, even on a Monday afternoon when we were there. Although we bellied up to the bar and got a seat in five minutes because we had all kinds of great Karma going for us all weekend. That night we caught a movie and the next day I met up with my kids to head to the burbs. There you have it – a spectacular trip.

You may have noticed that I was the third wheel for quite a bit of this trip. I want to talk about something I normally don’t blog about. I met someone while in Chicago. She was sexy, fun and sleek. She ended up staying the night with me. We had quite a ride together – literally (wink wink). We went to breakfast and spent most of the day glued to each other. I couldn’t stay off her.

We had a great time even though she was a bit costly. Yes, I admit it. I paid for her company. Dave was all set and I needed a companion. So I paid $60 to have Uma for 24 hours. She was a little bit old and used, but hey, I couldn’t be choosey with such an impulsive decision. And she really did look good. She was prepared for me and even offered protection. But I threw caution to the wind and went uncovered.

I brought her back to her corner and paid her keeper. Talk about customer service! He asked how my ride with Uma was and I told him she was spectacular. Next time you are in Chicago without a bike, be sure to rent from Bob by Diversey Harbor. He names every bike after a woman and in hindsight, she was worth every penny.