Eavesdropping

“Hey, how are you?”

“Eh, you know.”

“That’s true, I do, but I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Yeah, you don’t really ever shut up do you?”

“You shut your mouth when you are talking to me!”

“Hahaha, I love that line.  You always know how to make me laugh.”

“Of course I do!  Who knows better?”

“Good point.  When other people get involved with us, they can get overwhelmed.”

“We are a lot to handle.” 

“And we like to be handled, if she’s hot.”

“Hahahahaha, high five me brutha.”

“So that was a good movie last night, right?”

“Yeah, it made me think about Will and Drew and raising them as a single father.”

“Of course their mother isn’t dead.”

“Right, thank goodness for that!”

“Amen.”

“Hallelujah!”

“Heh heh.  We sound like we actually go to church.”

“Phhhbbbbt.  As Will would say, what is church?”

“Church is Wrigley Field, isn’t it?

“Hell to the yeah home-skillet!”

“You are doing a great job with the kids, by the way.”

“Aw thanks, they seem to operate in a mostly friendly manner.  And they are happy.  So it must be going fine.”

“It’s okay to worry.  But stop worrying.”

“I usually don’t.  But I can’t control everything, nor do I want to.  It’s scary out there.”

“You are way more involved than your own parents and you turned out okay.”

“Except for that incident in high school when I came home and pissed on the end table.”

“Oh yeah, that wasn’t good.  That is when we found out about the sleepwalking.”

“Drunk sleepwalking.”

“Right.  Well, good thing you don’t get drunk.”

“On Mondays.  Hahahahahahahaha.”

“End tables look a little bit like toilets.  You really shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I thought so too, but man, the parents felt otherwise.”

“It was high school.  Let it go.”

“What if my boys piss on somebody’s end table?”

“The apple doesn’t fall from the tree.”

“Fuhhhh.”

“Listen to me.  Your boys are great.”

“Then why do I feel weird?”

“Because it’s the holidays man.  They’ve never been the same since you divorced.”

“I know.  The holidays are better than ever because the boys are prime ages for the fun.  It’s all about them and they love this time of year more than I love sex.”

“What is the matter with you? How can you talk about your boys like that and throw in sex at the same time?“

“You know we think about sex pretty much all the time.  Hi client, how are you (sex).  I’ll have the cobb salad (sex).  When are these TPS Reports due (sex)?”

“You have never ordered a cobb salad.”

“I love sex.”

“So think about sex when you feel weird over the holidays.”

“Yeah but then I will want to have sex.”

“So have it!”

“I don’t really have holiday worthy sex partners.  I feel like holidays are meant for family and close friends.   Besides, this isn’t about me getting laid.  It’s about me worrying about my boys and feeling weird around the holidays.”

“The holidays are hard on single parents.”

“There you go again.  Yes, I’d like to be hard on a single parent, but this isn’t about sex, damn it!”

“Stop it.  And stop worrying about your boys.  They are fine.  And you fucking know it.”

“I know it.  You had to say fucking didn’t you.”

“High five me.”

“So why do I feel this way?”

“Because you slept in your old house’s basement last year on Xmas Eve so you would be there when your kids woke up to find the presents Santa brought them?  Because this year you will sleep at home alone on Xmas Eve but be able to drive five minutes to see the kids wake up Xmas morning?” 

“I guess that is part of it.  It’s all fine, really.  I’m just not used to it, you know?  I can see why a lot of people get depressed around the holidays.  I am a very happy man who is very sure of himself.  I have never been so sure of myself my entire life.”

“But yet you don’t know what is ahead.”

“I do and I don’t.  And I like that.  Why is that scary?”

“You see your sweet beautiful little boys with unbridled joy and not a care in the world because you are taking care of them, with your ex wife, and you are doing a phenomenal job.  You aren’t afraid of their future at all.  They are safe.”

“But?”

“No buts.  They are good.  This is about you, friend.”

“I know where you are going with this.  I don’t need anybody to take care of me.”

“But it would be nice if someone did.”

“Like late on a Saturday night with a little buzz going on and some sexy times music…”

“Those are short term needs being taken care of you horndog.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Seriously, I don’t need anyone to take care of me.  I don’t even want anyone to take care of me.  I am in a good spot.  My boys are in a good spot.  Everything is going great.”

“You don’t need it.  But you know what it’s like to have and you miss it.”

“Shuddup.”

Try This for Guaranteed Fun

I have acquired a new skill.  I know it’s hard to believe I can become even more talented than I already am.  I amaze myself all the time.  And this time it doesn’t even involve taking down my pants, although it does involve my nether regions.

I can shove a quarter in my butt, penguin walk toward a glass on the floor, straddle it and drop the quarter right into the cup.  I know!  I’d expect a call from Letterman however I have to admit this skill isn’t all that difficult to achieve, although it does take lots of practice. 

Now before you try this yourself, you need more information.  Don’t forget, I said this does not involve taking down your pants.  I’m sorry!  You know nobody loves taking their pants off more than me, but in this case the pants are necessary for making the game harder and to protect the innocent from an unpleasant scene, much less the next holder of the defiled quarter. 

The first step is location, location, location.  Sure you could try this at home, but what fun is that?  Do this in bar with lots of people around.  It’s about a 50/50 split as to others that can’t wait to take a try versus those that will not under any circumstances walk like a constipated penguin to drop stuff from their ass. 

Next, if you are using a glass cup, you might want to put in a tiny bit of water.  I still call total bullshit but the first time I was able to drop my quarter from my ass crack into the cup, it bounced out and the chicks that taught us the trick claimed my feat was invalid.  I had to do it again.  Plastic cups don’t seem to promote bouncing, but a little water will guarantee success.

Now you are ready.  Stand a foot behind the cup (you are not allowed to start while hovering over the cup).  I recommend you hitch up your pants quite a bit.  Bagginess makes clenching more difficult.  Simply insert the quarter into your butt crack (while wearing pants) and clench like a vice grip. 

You need the quarter buried in your ass to line up directly over the cup.  This requires maneuvering over the cup; which you will find can only be done with an extremely humorous waddle.  Once you think you are in correct drop mode, unclench your butt cheeks and let the quarter fly.  This is a surprisingly exciting moment for the participant and viewers. 

If you miss, there will be collective sighs of disappointment and you will have to try again.  Once you start this game, you are not allowed to quit until you make one.  Although you may take turns with others to get refocused and perhaps to learn some new strategies.

If you make it, the whole bar will erupt in cheer and merriment.  It is amazing how happy everyone gets when somebody successfully drops a quarter from his or her ass crack into a cup on the floor.

I look forward to your comments detailing your experience because I know you all are going to try it.  Vapid Vixen, I want video of your attempts.

Zippy, Lemonhead and all the Other Little Rascals

I’m on an airplane right now.  And by right now, I mean right now, not your right now.  By the time you read this, I am no longer on a plane on the way to Chicago.  Rather, I am probably helping old ladies cross busy streets or serving food to the homeless.  Or maybe I’m taking a dump.  I don’t know what I’ll be doing while you read this – lay off already!  Anyway, right now, my right now; I’m on a plane to Chicago.  Don’t worry; I’m not flying it.  I’d never blog and pilot at the same time.  Heck, I’m not even a pilot.   Nor do I play one on TV.   Haha, that joke never gets old does it?

This is quite the boondoggle of a trip.  I’m going to see my sister for a couple hours this afternoon before she commutes home to the suburbs.  Then I’ll hook up with my buddy Lemonhead. I met him and my other best friend Zippy while building a castle out of wooden blocks in Kindergarten.  Best friends ever since.

Lemonhead lives in downtown Chicago and is in the know for cool places to eat, drink and be merry.  Lemonhead is my age – 44 biologically, 12 humor wise.  And yet he lives like a 25 year old.  Get this; he goes to concerts on Tuesday nights for fucks sake!  Last time I was in Chicago, Lemonhead took me to an Italian restaurant in the Ukrainian Village, which is primarily populated with Hispanics.  The neighborhood is populated with Hispanics, not the Italian restaurant.  Give me a break, I’m not a writer! That sentence still doesn’t seem right, but I can’t harp on it, especially while I’m flying.  Somebody has to keep an eye on the ominous clouds and watch out for flying unicorns.

Lemonhead and his girlfriend are taking me to Hopleaf for dinner tonight.  I was there this past summer but we just had beers last time and I was distracted by some random girl that I had met earlier in the day at a street festival.  Good old Chicago.

On Saturday evening, we are driving out to the burbs to see Zippy and about ten other guys from my childhood.  Zippy invited the old gang and their significant others to his house for a holiday party.  It’s really because we haven’t all been together for ages and the last few months were rough for some of my homeys.  Zippy’s brother died a couple months ago and then another buddy from junior high lost his dad a few weeks later.  I couldn’t make it out here at the time and when Zippy said he was getting the band back together, I said I was in no matter what. 

I am way more excited than I thought I’d be.  I see Lemonhead a couple times a year, but I haven’t seen Zippy in over two years now.  And longer for some of the other guys.  I come from a very small family and have just the one sister.  These guys I grew up with are my brothers.  And even if we don’t talk much and see each other even less, it takes about three minutes and twelve seconds to catch up (kids, family, work) before we revert right back to when we were kids. 

We harass each other and are sure to bring up some of the finer moments from our past.   The wives and girlfriends don’t get many words in but they don’t retreat to the kitchen like most women do at parties.  We are laughing too much and are too damn entertaining for anyone to miss out. 

I’m sure we will make fun of Hammer for chewing straws while shirtless driving around in his ’67 Mustang.  And I’m sure we’ll talk about the time Wally broke his hand punching that moron in the parking lot at the movies.  And I bet JD hasn’t been called a Red Headed Fool by anyone lately after getting it daily from me when we lived together in college.  And the Stantonian Device; my goodness there is so much fodder with him.  We might talk about the time we threw him over a hedge of bushes in Lincoln Park or perhaps his cassette tape collection of heavily incorrectly named bands (i.e. Hauling Oats for Hall & Oates).  I understand getting lyrics wrong, but how do you screw up an entire band name?  Wolfey will get blasted for always begging us to go to Cock Robin for lunch.  Who names a restaurant Cock Robin?

Zippy and Lemonhead are fair game too.  I’m sure Lemon’s bulging neck veins when his angry Italian temper erupts will come up in the first ten minutes of laughs.  And I just cracked up out loud here on the plane as I thought about that time Zippy fell through the sliding screen door to the patio at a party.  I still remember it like it was this morning.  His face and one of his hands made 3-dimensional imprints in the screen and it all happened in super slow motion.  The music stopped as he was falling and all 127 people at the party turned to watch.  He made a deep groaning gurgling wail that was drowned out by the erupting laughter of everyone else.  I swear I pulled a stomach muscle laughing so hard. 

Oh my, I’m smiling ear to ear right now.  What’s that? You want to know what they’ll tease me about?  Please.  I was a boring kid that never did anything stupid, funny or interesting.

Words in a blog, this blog anyway, don’t do justice to the power of healing, nurturing and feel goodness that comes along with hanging out with best friends.  The holidays tend to turn into stressful and hectic moments of gift buying, logistics, hosting, excess and simply too much. 

What do we really need?  Family.  Comfort.  Laughs.  Health.  Love.  Idiots like my friends.  That’s all I need.  And this lamp…