More Balls Stories

If you are looking for the post on Rich and his pulverized foot, it’s down one blog; or click here.  This post is about other fun stuff besides friends getting run over by cars.  There are other ways to feel pain.  My kids for example.

Our Florida trip was great.  The kids had a blast.  But Drew didn’t enjoy the beach so much.  We were playing in the waves when Drew said, “Daddy, my balls hurt.”  I love it when my kids talk about their balls.

“What’s the matter with your balls buddy?”

“They hurt!”

“Yeah you said that. But why?”

“I don’t know.”   And then he moaned and held his sack while a wave crashed over us.

I sighed.  “Okay, let me see them.” 

“Right here?”  He started laughing.

“Sure.  Nobody will notice.  Let’s take a quick look.”

He yanked the front of his bathing suit down and sure enough the poor little guy’s balls were red.  They were smooshed by his bathing suit and rubbing against the mesh.  The combo of mesh with salt water was irritating Drewby’s ball sack.  He said, “That feels better already.”  He would have been happy skinny-dipping.

“Oh buddy, I see the problem.  Your suit is too small.  Let me see the tag.”  He turned around and I saw that he was wearing a 4.  Which is sized for four-year olds.  Drew is turning seven in three weeks.  Daddy of the Year.

Speaking of balls, my buddy Tom had to guard his the other night at Second Home.  We went out for drinks Wednesday night and spent some time at the trendy bar in Cherry Creek North.  The people watching there is outstanding.  And humorous.  It’s a meat market that is 50/50 men to women and covers the spectrum in ages. 

Tom and I were hanging out by an island table chatting and watching the show.  Some guy was walking by us and looking to his left.  A waitress was coming toward the dude from his right with a tray full of drinks.  Tom put his hand on the guy’s shoulder to stop him or he would have plowed right into her.  Disaster averted.

The funny thing was the guy just stood there next to Tom instead of continuing on.  He was peeking at Tom while looking around, clearly hoping he would talk to him.  Tom and I both realized it right away and I had a hard time not laughing too much.  I gave Tom the raised eyebrows and asked him if he wanted me to take off.  Tom is not gay, by the way.  At least he claims he’s not.  His wife vouches for him.  All those hot chicks at Second Home and Tom picks up a guy.  Classic.

Continuing on with the balls theme, everyone in Colorado is sweating their balls off.  Yes, even the chicks.  We had six straight days over a hundred degrees before two days in a row only in the nineties.  Back over a hundred today.  But I’m not complaining.  My house isn’t burning down.  The whole state seems to be on fire.  Between four fires, over 700 homes have been lost.  That sucks balls.

I have my kids this weekend and most of next week.  Then I’m taking a break to hit Vegas.  I’ll be with lots of friends which is nice cuz they can help me celebrate my 45^th birthday on July 9^th.  On the 10^th I will be closer to fifty than forty.  Yikes.  That sucks old man balls. 

The good news is that every year seems to be better than the last for me.  I’m in a good place.  I’m doing pretty well living in the moment while having things to look forward to.  I have a great balance of responsibility (particularly with my children and business) and freedom.  In fact, I have a full week in early August when my ex is taking my kids on vacation.  Even though I’ll be going to Burning Man at the end of the month, I think I should go somewhere that early week in August.

I’ve thought about a road trip out west.  I’ve never spent much time in Seattle.  Or I could fly somewhere like Costa Rica.  Or backpack in the Tetons.  Or visit some friends in the New York area.  Chase down some music, maybe somewhere like Austin?  It’s fun to think about.  I don’t feel old at all.

Life Changing Moments

I have lots of stories.  After a week of ‘vacation’ in Florida with my kids, my parents, my sister and her family (hub and three more kids), I have stories.  I say ‘vacation’ because now that I’m home, I need a vacation from my vacation.  I’m convinced Seinfeld used my family as a source for his material.  Anybody that has spent extended time with out of town relatives knows what I’m talking about.  I love them all dearly but it’s good to be home.

I will write my stories.  But something big happened that I have to write about first.  Something so big that it stopped me in my tracks.  Just as it stopped dozens of others in their respective tracks as well.  It’s bad.  And good.  It’s scary.  It’s life.  It could have been death.

People often reflect when something big happens.  Particularly when it’s serious and frightening.  This is one of those times. 

It happened nine days ago.  I was making dinner for my kids as we were talking about our trip that was to begin two days later.  My pal Rich sent a group text to Tom and me.  He said, “In ER going into surgery.  Got hit.”

Tom and I sent a flurry of questions and were able to find out Rich was run over by a car.  Rich was on his motorcycle in the left lane of a four lane road.  It was a suburban road with lots of stop lights and strip malls.  A car in front of him in the right lane decided to make a left turn into a Boston Chicken.  From the right lane.  The driver turned directly in front of Rich and there wasn’t much he could do.  He turned the bike and slid into the side of the car.  He doesn’t remember much else.

Luckily he had on his helmet.  It is trashed.  His foot wasn’t as lucky.  It got crushed.  Somehow Rich’s foot got tied up in the wheel well and ended up getting run over.  Rich texted that on a scale of 1 to 10 the pain was a 10. 

It is a much longer story.  Rich is a father of two children and a husband.  And he recently started his own business that is reliant on his presence since he is basically the only employee.  Nobody can afford to be run over by a car.  Rich in particular.

The doctors had to relieve pressure in Rich’s foot.  It was bleeding internally and bones were pulverized.  They lacerated and basically his foot popped like a balloon.  Then they went in to see about saving the foot. The docs were skeptical upon sight and warned his wife he could lose his foot but didn’t tell Rich.  It was dire but luckily they were successful.  The surgeon said that even just minutes later in terms of getting him in, prepped and under the knife, and he would have lost his foot. 

Amazingly Rich has had an upbeat attitude throughout the last week.  Despite all the pain and uncertainty (nobody knows if he will be able to walk normally again much less get by without a cane), Rich has been joking around and having a positive attitude.  Tom and I were texting him regularly throughout the week.  I’ve been laughing at the texts as I go back through them.  Rich appreciated us taking his mind off the pain and fear of what lies ahead.   I texted Rich how there is a bright side in everything.  For example, I’m looking forward to introducing Rich to strangers.  It could go like this: “Hi, this is Tom.  He runs like the wind.  And this is Rich.  He got run over by a car.”  I’ve been checking concert schedules.  The handicapped section at Red Rocks is in the fourth row!  I reminded Rich that now is the time to stop putting his foot in his mouth.  I’ve called him Gimp only about 27 times so far.

Once the doctors knew the foot was saved, they focused on the little parts.  Rich’s little toe in particular.  It was detached on the inside and they weren’t sure if they’d be able to piece it back together.  Cutting it off was a real possibility.  This excited me.  I figured Rich could bronze his little toe and put it on his key chain like a lucky rabbit’s foot.  But alas, the surgeons are really good over there at the chop shop and they were able to fix the baby toe too. 

I was able to visit Rich for a couple hours before we left town.  I brought him some porn magazines, a gnome and a huge pack of pirate tattoos.  I don’t have a lot of experience with friends laid up in the hospital so I went with what I thought I’d like if my foot were shattered and I was jacked up on morphine. 

In hindsight, the pirate tattoos were a big hit.  Porn and gnomes are givens so the pirate tattoos positive effect was unexpected.  Rich’s wife and I applied pirate tattoos all over Rich’s upper body.  He was a bloody mess and stuck in the hospital bed in nothing but his grimy South Park boxers with his balls hanging out and a swollen disgusting foot that looked like a prop from a Wes Craven slasher movie.  Covering him in pirate tattoos seemed like the natural thing to do.

Throughout the last week, Rich texted photos and uploaded more on Facebook of all the people he got to put pirate tattoos on themselves.  Nurses, hospital staff, his grandma, relatives, kids, every person that visited and even his surgeon. They all stuck pirate tattoos on themselves and posed for pictures.  The best was the night nurse that did a tramp stamp.

Rich got home yesterday – the same day as me from my vacation.  I came over with beers and to eat the awesome green chili one of our friends brought him.  I’m thinking I should stop by every night around dinner time – the women in the hood are great cooks.  Rich has some more surgery ahead of him, including some skin grafts.  There are two huge stripes on each side of his foot where no skin exists.  I tell you, it’s fucking gross.  I think they might fix it with ass skin.  That seems even more gross!  Rich will constantly be kicking his own ass.  Not many people can do that.

There is still a long road to recovery.  Healing.  Hoping his business survives.  Insurance and settlements.  And pain.  Still lots of pain.  But through it all Rich is smiling and positive.  His mind is amazing.  He is doing his best to be worry free.  He knows worse things can happen.  It could have been his head in that wheel well.  It could have been his last ride on earth.  

Rich’s sons visited him in the hospital on Father’s Day.  Rich told me yesterday it was the best Father’s Day he ever had, by a longshot.   Wow.  That really hit me.  All Rich needs is to be loved and to love.  He certainly has both going strong.  My gimpy friend Rich is lucky to be alive.  Aren’t we all?

Boxing is Stupid

I wear boxers.  I like watching my kids play in boxes.  I think boxers are funny slobbering dogs.  It's fun to be obnoxious with guys and talk about hot boxes.  But I think boxing is stupid.

I’m a lover not a fighter so I admit I’m biased.  But my problem with boxing beyond the violence and health risks is the corruption.  I barely follow the sport and am really only exposed it to because I watch way too much ESPN and I still read the sports section of the newspaper.  Apparently there is an investigation into the results of the Bradley-Pacquiao fight. 

Bradley was awarded a split decision victory while the overwhelming majority of the rest of mankind thought Pacquiao easily won the bout.  Three judges score each round and none have access to television commentary, outside opinions or the punch counts that viewers get in real time.  Pacquiao landed a ton more punches and also way more ‘power’ punches, whatever those are. 

Who knows if anything will happen, but some boxing oversight association that is probably corrupt in it’s own right is investigating the situation.  I think the solution is simple.  Three judges without any technological input on punch counts and I assume no video to replay are susceptible to error in judgment.  So why not use nine judges or eleven? Simple solution.

Crazily, I have other boxing news to scoff at.  World Champion Floyd Mayweather is serving time in prison.  I think he used his woman as a sparring partner against her wishes.  So he’s in jail for a few months.  I just read that he asked to be released because he isn’t getting enough water, he is malnourished and he can’t get in his preferred regime of workout time.  The judge ruled that he has plenty of water and is not limited in access, he’s not eating well because he’s not eating (he says the food is gross) and that he has a perfectly acceptable amount of recreation time as do all inmates. 

Maybe if Floyd Mayweather didn’t beat up women he wouldn’t have to experience the taste of jail food and imprisonment.  Duh.  Thankfully the judge rejected his appeal to be released because he doesn’t like being punished.

Checkout Line Fun

Yesterday, I was trolling the streets of Denver looking for a fix.  I drove by an alley filled with overflowing dumpsters.  Two shady characters were loitering on the sidewalk.  Perfect.  I pulled up and parked my car in a lot strewn with broken glass and litter.  I’ve acquired a habit that is worse than crack and I needed a score.  The gangstahs by the alley glared at me as I got out of my SUV.  They have seen the likes of me every day.  A seemingly normal looking white guy pulls up in a 4-Runner with a booster seat in the back and look of edginess attributed to his need to fill the craving of his addiction.

I gave the traditional tough guy head nod to the street kids and opened the door to the 7-11.  I was about to feed my evil addiction.  I like to drink a Monster, nearly every day.   I know.  Way worse than crack.  It doesn’t even taste good.  And there are ingredients made up of combinations of letters that don’t even form real English words.  But lately I’ve injected my body with Monster energy drinks and I was craving one yesterday.  I’ll hope for an intervention someday, but for now, I’m enjoying the ride.

I walked up the counter to pay for my crack.  The cashier was a sloppy looking white guy in his early thirties with a really full beard and tobacco stained teeth.  He said, “What is the logo on your shirt?  It looks familiar.”  I was wearing this:

I said, “Remember those red plastic adapter things you had to wedge into the big holes on 45s – those albums that played singles – to get it on a phonograph – they weren’t even called turntables back then.”

The 7-11 guy got excited and said, “Oh yeah, that’s right.  That reminds me of my favorite Christmas time story.”

I was holding out my three bucks, but the 7-11 guy wasn’t taking it.  “You are going to tell me the story, aren’t you?”

He launched right into it.  “I remember slowing down an Alvin and the Chipmunks album so that all their voices sounded normal, but then Dave’s voice sounded like a demon and he was yelling at the chipmunks.  It was so cool listening to this demon scream at them.  That is my favorite Christmas time memory.”

“Wow.  I thought you were going to reminisce about listening to Bing Crosby’s White Christmas album with your parents, but that is a pretty good Christmas memory about the demon and chipmunks.”

“Yeah.  My favorite Christmas memory.”

I really have to stop drinking Monster.

The very next day (which is today), I had another fun encounter at the checkout lane.  I like to buy the Sunday newspaper and have a nice long breakfast at a greasy spoon.  I stopped in a Walgreens to pick up the Denver Post.  There was a stack of them by the front door and it was just a ten-foot walk to the line at the cashier.

The second person in line was a very gorgeous woman.  She was probably around thirty and was in really good shape and had a naturally beautiful face.  Her eyes were rich and her long hair was shiny.  The thing is; she was pissed.  She looked fricking angry at the world.  The physical contradiction of her stunning beauty and severe anger was startling. 

I glanced down to see what she was buying.  Suddenly it all made perfect sense.  She had one item in her firmly clenched hand.  An early pregnancy test. 

When it was her turn to pay, the cashier asked her if she wanted a bag.  She quickly answered yes.  I got the impression she was hoping for a negative test result.  And I also deduced that it would not be good timing to invite her to join me at breakfast. 

The Evils of Kids Having Fun With Chalk Art

I took my kids to the annual chalk art festival this past weekend.  It is really fun.  Over 100 artists do some magnificent work on the streets around Larimer Square.  There are food booths, bands and a great kids area for physical activities and doing chalk-art of their own. 

My kids love doing chalk on the sidewalks at home.  We live on a block where all the houses face in to a central courtyard that is comprised of grass, landscaping boxes, a lot of sidewalks and a central area of concrete.  It’s a great place for biking, scooters and a wonderful canvass for chalk. 

On our first weekend in the new house, the boys and I drew a giant human board game in the courtyard.  Each sidewalk square became it’s own space on our human board game.  The outer courtyard sidewalk is a complete square making for a perfect Monopoly style game board.  We created all kinds of fun spaces such as:

• Move forward or back X spaces
• Stand on the big rock and yell “My brain is made of macaroni and cheese” as loud as you can three times
• Stand in a cloud of bugs for one minute without moving (this was Will’s diabolical square as there happened to be a swarm of bugs by some bushes that evening)
• Spin around in a circle ten times
• Change places with any other player
• Ding dong ditch this house (an arrow pointed to a neighbor’s house – I had to strike that one from the game, but I appreciated the creativity)
• Eat a leaf (again, I had to nix this one)
• Run around the courtyard square while slapping your butt and yelling “My pants are on fire!”
• You must hop for the rest of the game
• Give daddy a hug and tell him he rocks the world and also that he is very handsome (one guess as to who came up with this gem)
• Crab walk to the tree and back 

There were about fifty game squares along with some free spaces.  We used a deck of cards for moving.  Some other kids came over and played with us and it was really fun.

The boys also do random chalk drawings just like all kids do.  Ironically, on the chalk-art festival weekend, it came to our attention that chalk is not allowed on the common area sidewalks.  The HOA sent an email out to all the homeowners (there are four blocks like ours comprised of the HOA).  About 80% of all the homes in the HOA have young children in the household.  And about 80% of those 80% routinely do chalk on the sidewalks.  This reprimand and warning caused an uproar amongst everybody.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m new or because I’m clueless and never signed up to receive HOA info (probably the latter), but I haven’t heard or seen any of the hoopla surrounding this issue from the HOA.  But the neighbors have told me all about it.  One mom even called the television stations and got some interest from them to come out.  She was aghast that the HOA would even spend time on this and demanded to know what assholes want to tell her children they can’t play hopscotch.

I speculated as to whether or not our human board game caused the HOA to send out the notice.  I was surprised that most people were aware of the human board game even though it only lasted about a day until the rains and sprinklers took it out.  They all said they loved it and their kids wanted to play.  But apparently there is at least one household that went to the trouble to find the bylaw in the HOA rules and made a formal complaint.  Nobody seems to know who it is.

Even the kids are in on the debate.  They don’t understand it.  I told them this is one rule they can mostly ignore.  I told them not to chalk the sidewalks right in front of other houses, but if they want to do the middle of the courtyard and in front of our house to have at it. 

They are amazed I am authorizing them to break a rule.  Will has taken it upon himself to protest by chalking the middle of the courtyard with messages such as, “Kids love art,” and “Why can’t we have fun?”  I am not sure I’m doing the right thing to let them violate the rule and even be part of the protest. There are other parents fighting the HOA and I guess we will honor whatever comes out of that battle.  But if the HOA sticks to their guns, I want them to tell all the kids in the neighborhood why they can’t have fun and do art.

As Denver celebrates art with a spectacular chalk festival downtown, a battle is brewing in my little neighborhood over the dark-side of chalk-art.  Which is what again?