I do not know why people tell me things. I am not particularly friendly looking. Most people think I am an ass when they first meet me, and if you were trying to find an example of what "stranger danger," looks like to show your children, you would probably choose me.
So why do people just blurt random things out to me.
"So give me an example you say." But of course.
The other day I stopped at a convenience store to get gas. I went in to pay and the the young girl behind the counter looks up at me and said, "You know that thing in your mouth that connects your upper lip to your jaw? Well mine was to long and I had to have it cut."
SERIOUSLY!!! I could not make that up if I wanted to.
Now it would be one thing if the random statements people made to me were in some sort of context, but it is as if they just cannot control themselves and stuff flies out of their mouth when they see me.
Now, I used to keep a list of things I did not need to know, but it got to long to continue keeping track.
Other examples of odd things people have just randomly said to me include:
1. "You know the strangest thing that I have ever seen, was that time I was in Greece, and these two guys
were having sex on the beach in front of me." -Classmate.
2. "You know the bruise on my forehead? I got it having sex with my boyfriend. He was behind me and
pushed so hard I lost my balance and hit the wall." -Co-worker.
3. "You know Fred? Well after he got divorced, his wife told everyone he likes to wear women's
underwear!" Mother-In-Law.
4. "Well I was doing rounds and there was this obese man giving himself a towel bath. He proceeded to
scrub his testicles with the towel and then wipe his face." -Mother-In-Law
5. "And then he told me I was so cute he wanted to do a line of coke off my ass." -Employee
6. "You know she wears bicycle pants under her regular pants so her legs don't rub together." -Employee
7. "I ran into my old girlfriend at our 30th reunion and we have been going at it like a couple of teenagers."
-Older (not attractive by conventional standards) Neighbor
8. "I had the flu so bad I just kept shitting myself." -Boss
9. "Yeah, my ex-husband just kept telling me I needed to lose weight. He just did not understand some
things just don't go back after you have kids." -Co-worker
10. "I need to stop at the pharmacy on the way in because the tampons we have at work just aren't big
enough." -Employee
11. "Well as you can see I am fat now. You know I was anorexic in high school." -Former Classmate
12. "Oh, one time I threw up on my husband. I went down on him and gagged and puked spaghetti and
meatballs right in his lap." -Employee
13. "Sorry I was late I had explosive diarrhea this morning." -Professor 8 A.M. class
14. "Oh yeah, my sister-in-law had the inside of her vagina cauterized this weekend she was up and around
the next day." -Co-worker
If you are one of those people, who others just randomly blurt out information to, remember these simple rules.
1. Do not get startled. If you do, you will make the person feel bad, and you are likely to say something that points out to the other person how odd they just sounded. It will make a rather uncomfortable situation even more uncomfortable.
2. Keep going with your original conversation like what they just said was an extension of the original conversation. Also if you acknowledge what the person said, it may make them want to share other tidbits that you do not want to know.
3. Do not point out your own relate-able type of tidbit or fact. If you are talking to someone who can so easily offer up such an odd fact into a conversation without even thinking about it, then god knows what will come up next if they think that what they said was ok.
4. Do not under any circumstances ask the person to repeat themselves. This will not only lead to them repeating what they just said, but they will also give you an explanation of what they said, and why they said it.
So the next time someone says something random just remember these simple rules, and if no one has ever said something like this to you, chances are you are the one saying them.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, December 26, 2013
12/28/13 Love Stinks
We all know the saying, sugar and spice and everything nice, that's what little girls are made of. We grew up hearing it, and no matter how hard we try we will never forget it.
There is some truth to this. Most girls, women, ladies who have any kind of self-respect or self-esteem try on at least some level to smell and look presentable.
O.k. well most of the women I know.
O.k. well some of the women I know.
O.k. if I know a woman and she does not try, I will not go anywhere near her.
Because of this I married a woman who took care of herself, smelled good, and looked nice when we went out. I hit the trifecta. When we had two little girls I knew they would be ok because they would learn from their mother how to look and smell good.
I remember when I was young. All that little boys want to do is gross out any other human being that is within earshot of them. The louder the burp or fart the better, and if you could make someone gag then you definitely won. There wasn't a sleep over that went by without one boy sitting on another boys head and farting. Yes you can guess which boy got farted on. Anyway the more gross the act the better. And there was nothing that could get boys laughing like a fart, or burp, or smelly shoe.
I knew I would never have to re-live these treasured yet somewhat disturbing rites of passage with girls, and I will be honest I was looking forward to it.
How did I know you say? Well, when I came home from work my girls would always say, "Daddy you stink take a shower." Any time I ate a food they did not like they would say," ooooh that stinks how can you eat that?" And any time I even walked remotely close to a bathroom they would say,"Are you going to use that bathroom? You stink, Daddy!"
I was safe. Cute little girls who were clean and had a clean, fragrant, mother.
Oh baby was I wrong.
One day one of these cute little cherubs burped and then the other farted, laughter ensued, and all bets were off.
Just a note. As I sit here and write this, my little one just ran out of the hallway screaming, "SHE FARTED." All I could hear from the hallway was giggling, and now they are chasing each other around making fart noises. They are 8 and 11.
I guess I would just chalk it up to adolescence, but then my whole world paradigm came crashing down. My wife went on a cleanse. No sugar, no gluten, no fat, no dairy. She lost weight and felt great. With such a restrictive diet she had to find alternative snacks. One of these snacks is a nutrition bar low in sugar and other things that are bad for you, but full of alcohol sugars, glycerin, maltitol and soy lecithin. Turns out she had found the secret formula for a noxious gas that now spews forth from her about 30 minutes after she ingests a bar. The girls have nicknamed them fart bars. They run screaming when they see her eat one and they try to hide them around the house.
By the way my older one just burped as loud as she could at the table.
Sorry back to the fart bars.
This is not the woman I married. This is some creature that has eaten my wife and replaced her with a smelly shell of the woman I married.
Now I completely understand why she does not want to give up the only treat she has but there are some side effects from the creature that ate my wife.
In bed she lays with her butt toward me and then giggles when the smell finally hits me. She plays circus tent (this is when you fart under the covers and then pull the covers up over your partners head). She crop dusts (this is when you walk through a crowded area and fart the whole way through), and do not get me started with the car trips. Each of these incidents leaves her giggling like a school girl. I even get the occasional text like this one, "Just crop dusted the children's department at Target!"
Don't get me wrong it is funny and I laugh and I want her to be healthy, but also I want my wife back.
By the way my wife just let out a huge burp while washing the dishes. I think deep down inside she is just a little proud of herself.
Now I have loved my wife through sickness and health, but no one said anything about burping, farting, or circus tent.
Now, I would gladly take the healthy wife over the good smelling one, but there are a few things you can do to protect yourself as the new year approaches and your wife thinks about her diet plan for the new year.
1. Go to bed before your wife. If you are asleep you cannot smell it.
2. If you go to bed after your wife, make sure it is about an hour later so that any pent up gas can make its way out of her before you go to bed.
3. Whatever you do, do not retaliate. If you try to gas her out she will blame all the smells on you and anytime she farts she will just blame it on you, and bring up the time you gassed her out. This is an argument you will never win.
By the way my older daughter just threatened to fart on my younger daughter.
4. Send your daughters to finishing school so that they learn not to burp or fart in front of their future husbands. If you do not, they will be stuck in your house forever, and I cannot have these little burping farting girls living with me forever. I have enough trouble with the creature who ate my wife.
So invest in some strong smelling candles and pray for me.
As I finish writing this blog my little one just sat down next to me ripped one and then laughed.
Honesty, I cannot make this stuff up.
There is some truth to this. Most girls, women, ladies who have any kind of self-respect or self-esteem try on at least some level to smell and look presentable.
O.k. well most of the women I know.
O.k. well some of the women I know.
O.k. if I know a woman and she does not try, I will not go anywhere near her.
Because of this I married a woman who took care of herself, smelled good, and looked nice when we went out. I hit the trifecta. When we had two little girls I knew they would be ok because they would learn from their mother how to look and smell good.
I remember when I was young. All that little boys want to do is gross out any other human being that is within earshot of them. The louder the burp or fart the better, and if you could make someone gag then you definitely won. There wasn't a sleep over that went by without one boy sitting on another boys head and farting. Yes you can guess which boy got farted on. Anyway the more gross the act the better. And there was nothing that could get boys laughing like a fart, or burp, or smelly shoe.
I knew I would never have to re-live these treasured yet somewhat disturbing rites of passage with girls, and I will be honest I was looking forward to it.
How did I know you say? Well, when I came home from work my girls would always say, "Daddy you stink take a shower." Any time I ate a food they did not like they would say," ooooh that stinks how can you eat that?" And any time I even walked remotely close to a bathroom they would say,"Are you going to use that bathroom? You stink, Daddy!"
I was safe. Cute little girls who were clean and had a clean, fragrant, mother.
Oh baby was I wrong.
One day one of these cute little cherubs burped and then the other farted, laughter ensued, and all bets were off.
Just a note. As I sit here and write this, my little one just ran out of the hallway screaming, "SHE FARTED." All I could hear from the hallway was giggling, and now they are chasing each other around making fart noises. They are 8 and 11.
I guess I would just chalk it up to adolescence, but then my whole world paradigm came crashing down. My wife went on a cleanse. No sugar, no gluten, no fat, no dairy. She lost weight and felt great. With such a restrictive diet she had to find alternative snacks. One of these snacks is a nutrition bar low in sugar and other things that are bad for you, but full of alcohol sugars, glycerin, maltitol and soy lecithin. Turns out she had found the secret formula for a noxious gas that now spews forth from her about 30 minutes after she ingests a bar. The girls have nicknamed them fart bars. They run screaming when they see her eat one and they try to hide them around the house.
By the way my older one just burped as loud as she could at the table.
Sorry back to the fart bars.
This is not the woman I married. This is some creature that has eaten my wife and replaced her with a smelly shell of the woman I married.
Now I completely understand why she does not want to give up the only treat she has but there are some side effects from the creature that ate my wife.
In bed she lays with her butt toward me and then giggles when the smell finally hits me. She plays circus tent (this is when you fart under the covers and then pull the covers up over your partners head). She crop dusts (this is when you walk through a crowded area and fart the whole way through), and do not get me started with the car trips. Each of these incidents leaves her giggling like a school girl. I even get the occasional text like this one, "Just crop dusted the children's department at Target!"
Don't get me wrong it is funny and I laugh and I want her to be healthy, but also I want my wife back.
By the way my wife just let out a huge burp while washing the dishes. I think deep down inside she is just a little proud of herself.
Now I have loved my wife through sickness and health, but no one said anything about burping, farting, or circus tent.
Now, I would gladly take the healthy wife over the good smelling one, but there are a few things you can do to protect yourself as the new year approaches and your wife thinks about her diet plan for the new year.
1. Go to bed before your wife. If you are asleep you cannot smell it.
2. If you go to bed after your wife, make sure it is about an hour later so that any pent up gas can make its way out of her before you go to bed.
3. Whatever you do, do not retaliate. If you try to gas her out she will blame all the smells on you and anytime she farts she will just blame it on you, and bring up the time you gassed her out. This is an argument you will never win.
By the way my older daughter just threatened to fart on my younger daughter.
4. Send your daughters to finishing school so that they learn not to burp or fart in front of their future husbands. If you do not, they will be stuck in your house forever, and I cannot have these little burping farting girls living with me forever. I have enough trouble with the creature who ate my wife.
So invest in some strong smelling candles and pray for me.
As I finish writing this blog my little one just sat down next to me ripped one and then laughed.
Honesty, I cannot make this stuff up.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
9/15/12 Pink Cadillac
My wife makes these little kids blankets. They are cute, and every once in a while she sells a few. My wife's best friend also makes blankets, and she thought that they could pool their resources and sell some blankets out at a county main street town fair. So the girls worked on the blankets and today was the day. They went to the fair and sold some blankets, well my wife did not sell any, but her friend did. So today was Daddy day, and I took the girls for the day. We started by watching some of their t.v. shows and I made breakfast. Later we went to the gym because they wanted to climb the rock wall. I could not have been anymore proud of them. They both climbed to the top of the wall and rang the bell.
Later we got some lunch and we went to the main street fair. We went so that we could bring my wife some lunch and so that the girls could see their mom. It was your normal small town gathering. Flags, food, games, booths, vendors selling crap that will break as soon as you get home, lots of families enjoying the day, and yes, oh yes, a car show.
The street were lined with classic cars and their proud owners. I grew up in the automotive business and part of what we did was participate in car shows. I loved the car shows. Old cars, new cars, rebuilt cars, race cars, cars, cars, cars. I don't know what it was about the shows or seeing the cars, but to me there was a kind of art show feel to all of it, never mind the fact that these were muscle cars, and it is every boys dream at some point and time to own a muscle car.
Here was my chance. I could share my love of cars with my girls.
"Girls do you want to go look at the cars with daddy?"
"No daddy we want to go buy some piece of crap toy from that booth over there and then go."
"How about we just go see a few on the way out."
"No daddy it is hot and we just want to leave."
"Well we will just walk by a few on the way out."
Silence.
So as we were walking by I tried my best to tell them something interesting about each car so that maybe they would also find something interesting about them and we could stay and maybe they might share my interest for just a few minutes.
"This is a 32 deuce coupe. That is a Challenger. This one is a 55 chevy. Over there is a Ford Fairlane"
Then I pulled out the big guns.
"Look ladies, this one is called a Nova. Do you know what Nova means in Spanish?"
I was hoping that this one could do the trick. I would take their love of learning and combine it with their like of learning new Spanish words and combine them.
"No daddy we do not know what it means."
"Well Nova means no go and they could not sell the cars in Mexico because no one wanted a car called a no go."
Turns out the story was a no go and all I heard from the girls was,
"Daddy its hot can't we go?"
As we turned the corner to go to our car, and leave the sea of classics, my little one turned to me excitedly and said,
"LOOK DADDY!!! A GOLF CART!!"
In a sea of classic American muscle and steel, my girls were more impressed by a golf cart.
So as I lamented about my muscle car loss I thought about the rock wall, the basketball games, the swimming and diving lessons, and all of the other exceptional things that my girls do to make me proud.
So as I sit here and write to you tonight I realized something important. Someday I will own a classic car, and now I know I won't have to share it with them.
Later we got some lunch and we went to the main street fair. We went so that we could bring my wife some lunch and so that the girls could see their mom. It was your normal small town gathering. Flags, food, games, booths, vendors selling crap that will break as soon as you get home, lots of families enjoying the day, and yes, oh yes, a car show.
The street were lined with classic cars and their proud owners. I grew up in the automotive business and part of what we did was participate in car shows. I loved the car shows. Old cars, new cars, rebuilt cars, race cars, cars, cars, cars. I don't know what it was about the shows or seeing the cars, but to me there was a kind of art show feel to all of it, never mind the fact that these were muscle cars, and it is every boys dream at some point and time to own a muscle car.
Here was my chance. I could share my love of cars with my girls.
"Girls do you want to go look at the cars with daddy?"
"No daddy we want to go buy some piece of crap toy from that booth over there and then go."
"How about we just go see a few on the way out."
"No daddy it is hot and we just want to leave."
"Well we will just walk by a few on the way out."
Silence.
So as we were walking by I tried my best to tell them something interesting about each car so that maybe they would also find something interesting about them and we could stay and maybe they might share my interest for just a few minutes.
"This is a 32 deuce coupe. That is a Challenger. This one is a 55 chevy. Over there is a Ford Fairlane"
Then I pulled out the big guns.
"Look ladies, this one is called a Nova. Do you know what Nova means in Spanish?"
I was hoping that this one could do the trick. I would take their love of learning and combine it with their like of learning new Spanish words and combine them.
"No daddy we do not know what it means."
"Well Nova means no go and they could not sell the cars in Mexico because no one wanted a car called a no go."
Turns out the story was a no go and all I heard from the girls was,
"Daddy its hot can't we go?"
As we turned the corner to go to our car, and leave the sea of classics, my little one turned to me excitedly and said,
"LOOK DADDY!!! A GOLF CART!!"
In a sea of classic American muscle and steel, my girls were more impressed by a golf cart.
So as I lamented about my muscle car loss I thought about the rock wall, the basketball games, the swimming and diving lessons, and all of the other exceptional things that my girls do to make me proud.
So as I sit here and write to you tonight I realized something important. Someday I will own a classic car, and now I know I won't have to share it with them.
8/5/12 Little Old Lady From Pasadena
It seems that I have always been surrounded by women, and it is not in that good fantasy way all males dream about. I only had one grandfather, and he passed away when I was twelve, and my parents divorced the next year. These events left me with my mother, grandmother, three great aunts, and all of my grandmothers widowed friends. My 13th birthday was a real gem. It was me, my mother, and the Golden Girls (my Grandmother, her widowed cousin, and her widowed friend). I will save that story for a different blog. By the way I received an electric razor for that birthday, WHOOPEE.
Because I was young and my mother worked I ended up with my Grandmother quite a bit. Just a note here. My Grandmother was one of the coolest people I have ever met. She was fun, outgoing, educated, caring, and when I was 14 and could not get into see Eddie Murphy's "Raw" in the theater, she took me and a friend.
My Grandmother being quite the social butterfly went out or had people over for dinner all of the time. It was the talk at these dinners between she and her friends that will stick with me forever.
"My bursitis hurts."
"Oh, my arthritis!"
"I take a blood thinner now."
"Sorry about that, my new medicine gives me gas."
"Give me a hand out of this chair."
"Run and get me (insert item here) so I don't have to get up."
" I have cataracts!"
"Did you hear, (insert name here) has (insert illness here)."
"Did you hear, (insert name here) is in the hospital."
"Did you hear, (insert name here) died."
And so on, and so on, and so on.
As I grew older I thought I would never have to put up with this kind of talk until I was old and deaf.
Turns out I would only need to wait until I had daughters.
I don't know what it is about them that makes them complain about every itsy bitsy, teeny tiny, itty witty little thing, but it takes me back every time they open their mouths.
My 6 and 9 year old daughters are little old lades.
My older daughter's bedtime is 8:30. By 9:30 she has been out of her room an average of 6 times. 4 of these visits are for me to look or hear about some ache and pain, or to view some sort of physical abnormality she thinks she has procured since 8:30.
"Daddy does this hair look normal?"
"Daddy are my eyes red?"
"Daddy does this booger look like it is a normal color?"
"Daddy my back is sore!"
"Daddy my hair hurts!"
"Daddy, daddy, daddy!!!"
Just incase you are wondering, the other two visits out of her room are to ask me some sort of inane questions like. "When you were 9 years old, did you have a favorite color?"
My younger daughter is more stoic and her complaints are to be taken more seriously, but she still complains just as much.
"Daddy I'm hungry."
"Daddy theres a bug on my window."
"Daddy can you get me some water?"
"Daddy I don't want to ride on the bus again! Can't we just take a cab wherever we go?"
"Daddy can you set up the computer in the bathroom so I can watch netflix while I am in the tub?"
Her complaints are a little cuter, but they are still complaints.
So what is it about little girls and little old ladies that lead them to complain, I don't know, but here are a few tips on how to deal with it.
1. Anticipate the complaint. Look at the situation. Is there anything there that will cause them to complain. O.K. who am I kidding there is no way to anticipate their complaints. They just complain. They complain when it is cold, they complain when it is hot, they complain when they have something to do, they complain when they have nothing to do. Sorry, the tip here, is just to anticipate that they will complain and that you just need to brace yourself.
2. Work on your responses. You need to work on two or three responses for any situation. These are mine, so repeat after me:
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Oh, that's to bad, I'm sorry to hear that."
"GO TO BED NOW!" (Depending on the age of the women in your life this one can work on the little and the older ones.)
3. Suck it up. You cannot change the little old lady mentality no matter how hard you try. You can try bribes, yelling, screaming, sarcasm, stories, jokes, or threats, but I will tell you now none of them will work.
So to those of you who have a little old lady in your life, good luck, and for those of you who do not, just take a look in the mirror because the little old lady might be you.
My older daughter's bedtime is 8:30. By 9:30 she has been out of her room an average of 6 times. 4 of these visits are for me to look or hear about some ache and pain, or to view some sort of physical abnormality she thinks she has procured since 8:30.
"Daddy does this hair look normal?"
"Daddy are my eyes red?"
"Daddy does this booger look like it is a normal color?"
"Daddy my back is sore!"
"Daddy my hair hurts!"
"Daddy, daddy, daddy!!!"
Just incase you are wondering, the other two visits out of her room are to ask me some sort of inane questions like. "When you were 9 years old, did you have a favorite color?"
My younger daughter is more stoic and her complaints are to be taken more seriously, but she still complains just as much.
"Daddy I'm hungry."
"Daddy theres a bug on my window."
"Daddy can you get me some water?"
"Daddy I don't want to ride on the bus again! Can't we just take a cab wherever we go?"
"Daddy can you set up the computer in the bathroom so I can watch netflix while I am in the tub?"
Her complaints are a little cuter, but they are still complaints.
So what is it about little girls and little old ladies that lead them to complain, I don't know, but here are a few tips on how to deal with it.
1. Anticipate the complaint. Look at the situation. Is there anything there that will cause them to complain. O.K. who am I kidding there is no way to anticipate their complaints. They just complain. They complain when it is cold, they complain when it is hot, they complain when they have something to do, they complain when they have nothing to do. Sorry, the tip here, is just to anticipate that they will complain and that you just need to brace yourself.
2. Work on your responses. You need to work on two or three responses for any situation. These are mine, so repeat after me:
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Oh, that's to bad, I'm sorry to hear that."
"GO TO BED NOW!" (Depending on the age of the women in your life this one can work on the little and the older ones.)
3. Suck it up. You cannot change the little old lady mentality no matter how hard you try. You can try bribes, yelling, screaming, sarcasm, stories, jokes, or threats, but I will tell you now none of them will work.
So to those of you who have a little old lady in your life, good luck, and for those of you who do not, just take a look in the mirror because the little old lady might be you.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
6/16/12 Summertime
It's officially summer and millions of children all over the country are running free, and twice as many parents are trying to figure out what to do with them. You tried sending them to bed early but the sun sets at 9 pm, and they just came out and complained that it was still light outside. You tried sending them to the neighbors but when they came home they had the neighbor kids with them, and then you just had twice as many children to deal with. And forget about sending them to the grandparents, because they just send them back.
I am a product of many summer camps, because as we all know, a child at home at in the summer is a burden to its parents. So from 1983 to 1988, and then again in 91, I went to sleep-away camp. Now I am not against you sending your children to camp, but I do have a problem with sending your child away year after year to a place they hate for your own sanity. My parents, to this day will say I chose to go to camp, but in my defense my choices were sleep-away camp A and sleep-away camp B.
I hated camp. Summer is hot, and I was a fair skinned fat kid. I either needed to be put somewhere inside with plenty of air conditioning or I needed to be sent to fat camp. I was sent to neither. For 4 years I was sent to jewish camp and for two years I was sent to an arts camp.
The jewish camp was horrible. It was filled with mosquitos, city kids, and was built from post World War II surplus parts. (I am not kidding here the cabins were originally painted with paint given to the camp by the government left over from WWII.) The worst part was that you had to pray every day, and because is was a jewish camp every meal was a milk based meal. I, being lactose intolerant, made sure that I was never too far away from one of the lovely communal bathrooms.
After 4 years my parents finally got the hint that that I hated the camp. I don't know if it was the crying or the screaming, the arguments or the mule-like behavior that I exhibited whenever anyone mentioned camp that helped them see the light, but they finally decided that I did not have to go back.
In this case the misery you know is better than the misery you don't. My new option was an all summer arts camp. Again not an option and I was going.
The camp was a nationally known arts camp in northern Michigan (Think, "This one time at band camp."). Our family had a good friend who attended the high school there. She was an exceptional flutist who eventually went to a music college, played in orchestras, and today still teaches music.
Everyone was sure I would love it, lots of geeky kids playing music, singing, and doing art, and I would fit right in. As with all of my stories there was a little twist (my childhood years are like making a good wish with with an evil genie).
It turns out these were not geeks spending the summer swimming and dabbling in fine arts, these were savants, art students, and prodigies who needed a getaway for the summer while still being able to practice their art.
We had five classes a day and two sports. We were awaked daily by a expert reveille played on either bugle, trombone, french horn, or if it was a special day bag pipes. We got up, got into our uniforms..... o.k. I will stop right there. The camp started in 1928 and the story goes it snowed the first year. In order to keep the tradition going we wore the original uniform. For girls it was a blue shirt, belt, navy blue knickers, knee high socks, and sturdy shoes. For the boys it was a blue button down shirt, belt, socks and navy blue corduroy pants. Thats right take it all in. I will paint a picture for you.
Fat kid, navy blue corduroy pants in the heat of northern Michigan. Kid Rock can stick it, he was at a lake with a cute girl, drinking and listening to music. I was stuck at a smart kid arts camp in the heat in corduroy. To add insult to injury we had to walk a half mile to the campus to take classes.
My schedule was as follows. Walk a half mile to class. Take two morning classes. Walk back for lunch. Change. Take one of my sports. Change. Walk back to school, and take three more classes, and then walk back for my other sport. In all we would walk four or five miles everyday just to get to our activities. The up side, I lost about 15 lbs. The down side, I wore the crotch out of three pairs of corduroy pants. And to make this feat all the more memorable I had to pay 5 dollars every time I wore out a pair of pants to get them fixed.
At the end of it all I was just as miserable as I was at the other camps. 8 weeks, 15 lbs., and three pairs of corduroys later it was time to go home.
Now my parents would say that camp helped to make me the man I am today. I would say, well first I would say they are delusional, and second I would say karma is bitch. Somewhere there is a special punishment waiting for parents who do not listen, and if I am right it includes corduroy pants.
Now what can you do to avoid the shame and misery of corduroy.
1. Find a camp that your child wants to go to. As I have mentioned before, just because you loved something, it does not mean your child will also. Case in point the afore mentioned WWII surplus parts Jewish camp.
2. If your child does not like the camp you send them to, don't make them go back just because all of the other kids are going. If all of the other kids parents jumped off of a bridge would you?
3. If your kid just hates camp, suck it up and find them something else to do. Not everyone loves camp.
4. Go to the pool, take a trip, light some fire works, go to the pool again, and mark off the days on your calendar, school is just around the corner.
So what is the answer? Camp!!!! Day camp, church camp, science camp, ballet camp, swimming camp, french camp, basketball camp, soccer camp, literature camp, art camp and finally sleep-away camp.
I am a product of many summer camps, because as we all know, a child at home at in the summer is a burden to its parents. So from 1983 to 1988, and then again in 91, I went to sleep-away camp. Now I am not against you sending your children to camp, but I do have a problem with sending your child away year after year to a place they hate for your own sanity. My parents, to this day will say I chose to go to camp, but in my defense my choices were sleep-away camp A and sleep-away camp B.
I hated camp. Summer is hot, and I was a fair skinned fat kid. I either needed to be put somewhere inside with plenty of air conditioning or I needed to be sent to fat camp. I was sent to neither. For 4 years I was sent to jewish camp and for two years I was sent to an arts camp.
The jewish camp was horrible. It was filled with mosquitos, city kids, and was built from post World War II surplus parts. (I am not kidding here the cabins were originally painted with paint given to the camp by the government left over from WWII.) The worst part was that you had to pray every day, and because is was a jewish camp every meal was a milk based meal. I, being lactose intolerant, made sure that I was never too far away from one of the lovely communal bathrooms.
After 4 years my parents finally got the hint that that I hated the camp. I don't know if it was the crying or the screaming, the arguments or the mule-like behavior that I exhibited whenever anyone mentioned camp that helped them see the light, but they finally decided that I did not have to go back.
In this case the misery you know is better than the misery you don't. My new option was an all summer arts camp. Again not an option and I was going.
The camp was a nationally known arts camp in northern Michigan (Think, "This one time at band camp."). Our family had a good friend who attended the high school there. She was an exceptional flutist who eventually went to a music college, played in orchestras, and today still teaches music.
Everyone was sure I would love it, lots of geeky kids playing music, singing, and doing art, and I would fit right in. As with all of my stories there was a little twist (my childhood years are like making a good wish with with an evil genie).
It turns out these were not geeks spending the summer swimming and dabbling in fine arts, these were savants, art students, and prodigies who needed a getaway for the summer while still being able to practice their art.
We had five classes a day and two sports. We were awaked daily by a expert reveille played on either bugle, trombone, french horn, or if it was a special day bag pipes. We got up, got into our uniforms..... o.k. I will stop right there. The camp started in 1928 and the story goes it snowed the first year. In order to keep the tradition going we wore the original uniform. For girls it was a blue shirt, belt, navy blue knickers, knee high socks, and sturdy shoes. For the boys it was a blue button down shirt, belt, socks and navy blue corduroy pants. Thats right take it all in. I will paint a picture for you.
Fat kid, navy blue corduroy pants in the heat of northern Michigan. Kid Rock can stick it, he was at a lake with a cute girl, drinking and listening to music. I was stuck at a smart kid arts camp in the heat in corduroy. To add insult to injury we had to walk a half mile to the campus to take classes.
My schedule was as follows. Walk a half mile to class. Take two morning classes. Walk back for lunch. Change. Take one of my sports. Change. Walk back to school, and take three more classes, and then walk back for my other sport. In all we would walk four or five miles everyday just to get to our activities. The up side, I lost about 15 lbs. The down side, I wore the crotch out of three pairs of corduroy pants. And to make this feat all the more memorable I had to pay 5 dollars every time I wore out a pair of pants to get them fixed.
At the end of it all I was just as miserable as I was at the other camps. 8 weeks, 15 lbs., and three pairs of corduroys later it was time to go home.
Now my parents would say that camp helped to make me the man I am today. I would say, well first I would say they are delusional, and second I would say karma is bitch. Somewhere there is a special punishment waiting for parents who do not listen, and if I am right it includes corduroy pants.
Now what can you do to avoid the shame and misery of corduroy.
1. Find a camp that your child wants to go to. As I have mentioned before, just because you loved something, it does not mean your child will also. Case in point the afore mentioned WWII surplus parts Jewish camp.
2. If your child does not like the camp you send them to, don't make them go back just because all of the other kids are going. If all of the other kids parents jumped off of a bridge would you?
3. If your kid just hates camp, suck it up and find them something else to do. Not everyone loves camp.
4. Go to the pool, take a trip, light some fire works, go to the pool again, and mark off the days on your calendar, school is just around the corner.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
5/26/12 Signs
O.k., I am back.
So I am a little over four weeks out from my rotator cuff surgery. Everyone I have seen or has seen me since the surgery has made some sort of comment.
Those who have had rotator cuff surgery in the past have given me their advice, their best wishes, or their similar story of discomfort and eventual triumph from their surgery.
While those who have not had rotator cuff surgery ask, "What is wrong with you?"
You may be asking yourself how do people know that I have had surgery, and the answer is, I am wearing this rather elaborate sling. You cannot miss it, and to add insult to injury, the surgery center that I went to has put their insignia in white letters all over my black (mother of all slings) sling.
For the past four and a half weeks I have endured the inability to use my left arm. It just hangs there and causes me pain and the unwanted attention of strangers.
And what do I do when I am uncomfortable? That's right. I eat. The damage has been minimal though. I have only put back on about 10 pounds, which if I were a ballerina, would be devastating, but since I am a fat dad it just causes me some discomfort.
My current discomfort is coming from my sling. It is equipped with its own fat sensing device, a belt that goes around the middle of my stomach. I think at this point I have created my own fat loss device. The belt. Just put it around your stomach and if you get fatter and the belt gets tighter you need to lose weight. If the belt gets looser, you simply tighten it and you keep losing weight.
It's brilliant, and Suzanne Sommers and I are going to do an infomercial (By the way what kind of society are we living in? When I typed the word infomercial, spell check did not try to correct it).
At first I just lied to myself.
Oh, I must just have my sling on wrong.
Oh, the shirt that I am wearing is just thicker than the one I wore yesterday.
Oh, I must have eaten too much salt and I am retaining water.
At the end of the day I knew that I had gained weight, and I am now back on my perpetual diet.
So in honor of my new weight loss device, the BELT (Body Expanse Limit Tester) I am now going to give you my list of the signs that you need to go back on your diet:
1. If you only have two pair of fitted pants in your closet that fit, you need to start your diet.
2. If you question whether or not you've eaten too much to have sex, you need to start your diet.
3. If you get angry that your kids finished the ice cream, you need to start your diet.
4. If you buy any sandwich from a gas station, you need to start your diet.
5. If you go through the drive through and the cashier says, "See you tomorrow." You need to start your diet.
6. If you ask yourself if you can wear sweat pants to your child's parent / teacher conference, you need to start your diet.
7. If you have ever eaten dinner at a fast food restaurant before going out to dinner, you need to start your diet.
8. If you have ever had the restaurant manager tell you to take it easy at the salad bar, you need to start your diet.
9. If you have ever been told your pet needs to go on a diet, you need to start your diet.
10. If you found any of these funny because they are true, you definitely need to start your diet.
It's good to be back.
So I am a little over four weeks out from my rotator cuff surgery. Everyone I have seen or has seen me since the surgery has made some sort of comment.
Those who have had rotator cuff surgery in the past have given me their advice, their best wishes, or their similar story of discomfort and eventual triumph from their surgery.
While those who have not had rotator cuff surgery ask, "What is wrong with you?"
You may be asking yourself how do people know that I have had surgery, and the answer is, I am wearing this rather elaborate sling. You cannot miss it, and to add insult to injury, the surgery center that I went to has put their insignia in white letters all over my black (mother of all slings) sling.
For the past four and a half weeks I have endured the inability to use my left arm. It just hangs there and causes me pain and the unwanted attention of strangers.
And what do I do when I am uncomfortable? That's right. I eat. The damage has been minimal though. I have only put back on about 10 pounds, which if I were a ballerina, would be devastating, but since I am a fat dad it just causes me some discomfort.
My current discomfort is coming from my sling. It is equipped with its own fat sensing device, a belt that goes around the middle of my stomach. I think at this point I have created my own fat loss device. The belt. Just put it around your stomach and if you get fatter and the belt gets tighter you need to lose weight. If the belt gets looser, you simply tighten it and you keep losing weight.
It's brilliant, and Suzanne Sommers and I are going to do an infomercial (By the way what kind of society are we living in? When I typed the word infomercial, spell check did not try to correct it).
At first I just lied to myself.
Oh, I must just have my sling on wrong.
Oh, the shirt that I am wearing is just thicker than the one I wore yesterday.
Oh, I must have eaten too much salt and I am retaining water.
At the end of the day I knew that I had gained weight, and I am now back on my perpetual diet.
So in honor of my new weight loss device, the BELT (Body Expanse Limit Tester) I am now going to give you my list of the signs that you need to go back on your diet:
1. If you only have two pair of fitted pants in your closet that fit, you need to start your diet.
2. If you question whether or not you've eaten too much to have sex, you need to start your diet.
3. If you get angry that your kids finished the ice cream, you need to start your diet.
4. If you buy any sandwich from a gas station, you need to start your diet.
5. If you go through the drive through and the cashier says, "See you tomorrow." You need to start your diet.
6. If you ask yourself if you can wear sweat pants to your child's parent / teacher conference, you need to start your diet.
7. If you have ever eaten dinner at a fast food restaurant before going out to dinner, you need to start your diet.
8. If you have ever had the restaurant manager tell you to take it easy at the salad bar, you need to start your diet.
9. If you have ever been told your pet needs to go on a diet, you need to start your diet.
10. If you found any of these funny because they are true, you definitely need to start your diet.
It's good to be back.
Friday, April 27, 2012
4/14/12 Taking Care Of Business
I have a problem. I know you are shocked, but I will tell you what it is anyway. I have a problem with customer service. It seems that no matter where I go, or who I do business with, I receive the worst customer service. Now I know there are plenty of people out there who do a fine job and that they conscientiously take care of their customers, but I find that none of these people ever help me.
I normally would not have such a problem with customer service, but I am a good customer. In fact I go out of my way to find the right person to help me so I do not waste other peoples time.
When I need help, I look for qualified people to help me because, unqualified people will act like they know even though they do not. and the whole situation will end in a fiasco. As Dirty Harry said, "A mans got to know his limitations." Meaning, if you don't know, then you need to man up and just admit it from the beginning.
I will give you a few examples of what I mean. First, A few weeks ago I was at the grocery store. I needed to buy a pastry brush (this is the little brush that looks like a paint brush, but it is for food). I went to the utensil aisle and did not see one. I went to find a grocery manager to help me. Not a bakery manager, not a produce manager and not a deli manager, but a grocery manager. After explaining to the manager what a pastry brush was (I knew I was in trouble at that point), he walked me all over the store looking for one. We ended up in the utensil aisle, where I started, he looked me right in the eye and said, " We do not sell those here."
"No Shit Sherlock!!!"
This guy could have saved so much time and energy by just admitting from the get go that he did not know and he could have checked with someone and I could have been on my way 20 minutes sooner. I do have to admit that the extra 20 min walk probably did me some good.
I know that I have probably made my point, but that example was not that funny or self-depricating so I do have a few more examples for you.
The Fat Dad and his NOT fat wife needed a bed. By this point we had been to every furniture store in town. We just could not find a bed we liked. In a last ditch effort we went to one of those, Mattress Giant, Pillow Top, Sleep Slumber Waterbed Showroom places. Again we struck out, but on our way out of the store we saw a display. On the display were about 10 examples of different metal bed frames. Each example was just a corner, and listed under each frame was a price. So we found what looked like a competent sales person and started to ask him some questions. The salesman was in his late 50's, he still had his buzz cut from the military, and he was wearing a suit.
We began by asking him about the metal bed frames and the difference in price and what that meant.
He told us that each frame was increasingly more durable, and that each carried a larger bed as well as more weight. It is what he said next that I will never forget. He looked at the FatDad and his not fat wife and said, and I quote, "Now big people like yourselves are going to want the number 7 or 8 frame."
All I remember after that was physically pushing my wife out of the store while she yelled things like, "Oh yeah!!! Well what do you and your $^% ^#%&ing Wife sleep on?" I could not get her out of the store fast enough.
Finally, I went in for surgery the other day. No it wasn't for a lap band, gastric bypass, or lobotomy like many of you guessed. It was for a rotator cuff injury, and no I did not get it from being fat. I fell on the ice. Anyway I did my research found a great doctor and clinic to go to and made my appointment. On the day of surgery my wife brought me in and I changed for surgery. I sat on the gurney and the nurse came in to go over a few things with me. Smoker? No. Drink? No. Family history of heart disease? No. Do you snore at night? No. So the nurse finished the questionnaire and she looked up and said, "So your diabetic, right?" UH!!! NO!!!. Just because I am fat that does not mean I am diabetic.
So, the FatDad struck out again.
Look I know that being in a customer service job is difficult. I do it everyday, and it seems like it never gets easier. As soon as you learn how to handle one type of customer another evolves and you have to learn how to take care of them. It is just a part of the business. But for those of you who can still use some pointers I have a few for you.
1. Do not under any circumstance ask the woman with the large belly, "How far along are you?" I do not care how old she is, how big her belly has gotten or how long you have known her. Chances are she is not pregnant and you will just end up insulting her. You can just simply ask, "What's new?" And if she wants you to know she is pregnant she will tell you.
2. Do not under any circumstance refer to the woman with your regular gentleman guest as, "your lovely wife." The reason for this is, if it is his mistress, she will want to be the wife and you will upset him. If it is his wife and she has not been there before, she will wonder who he was there with before. The end of that story never goes well. I have worked at a place where I only met the mistress and not the wife and I can assure you it is uncomfortable.
3. Do not ask you regular guest if the younger woman or man that they are with is their son or daughter. If it is not you will embarrass them by making it look like they are with a guest that is too young for them. Also if they are not old you will be implying that they are old because their friend looks that much younger then they look.
Never say anything that you cannot explain away or you would not want to have said to you. Be nice, listen, and do your job. You are not funny enough, smart enough, or fast enough to get out of calling someone, old, fat or a cheater. Keep these things to yourself, and talk about them with you significant other later at home. It makes for some great pillow talk.
I normally would not have such a problem with customer service, but I am a good customer. In fact I go out of my way to find the right person to help me so I do not waste other peoples time.
When I need help, I look for qualified people to help me because, unqualified people will act like they know even though they do not. and the whole situation will end in a fiasco. As Dirty Harry said, "A mans got to know his limitations." Meaning, if you don't know, then you need to man up and just admit it from the beginning.
I will give you a few examples of what I mean. First, A few weeks ago I was at the grocery store. I needed to buy a pastry brush (this is the little brush that looks like a paint brush, but it is for food). I went to the utensil aisle and did not see one. I went to find a grocery manager to help me. Not a bakery manager, not a produce manager and not a deli manager, but a grocery manager. After explaining to the manager what a pastry brush was (I knew I was in trouble at that point), he walked me all over the store looking for one. We ended up in the utensil aisle, where I started, he looked me right in the eye and said, " We do not sell those here."
"No Shit Sherlock!!!"
This guy could have saved so much time and energy by just admitting from the get go that he did not know and he could have checked with someone and I could have been on my way 20 minutes sooner. I do have to admit that the extra 20 min walk probably did me some good.
I know that I have probably made my point, but that example was not that funny or self-depricating so I do have a few more examples for you.
The Fat Dad and his NOT fat wife needed a bed. By this point we had been to every furniture store in town. We just could not find a bed we liked. In a last ditch effort we went to one of those, Mattress Giant, Pillow Top, Sleep Slumber Waterbed Showroom places. Again we struck out, but on our way out of the store we saw a display. On the display were about 10 examples of different metal bed frames. Each example was just a corner, and listed under each frame was a price. So we found what looked like a competent sales person and started to ask him some questions. The salesman was in his late 50's, he still had his buzz cut from the military, and he was wearing a suit.
We began by asking him about the metal bed frames and the difference in price and what that meant.
He told us that each frame was increasingly more durable, and that each carried a larger bed as well as more weight. It is what he said next that I will never forget. He looked at the FatDad and his not fat wife and said, and I quote, "Now big people like yourselves are going to want the number 7 or 8 frame."
All I remember after that was physically pushing my wife out of the store while she yelled things like, "Oh yeah!!! Well what do you and your $^% ^#%&ing Wife sleep on?" I could not get her out of the store fast enough.
Finally, I went in for surgery the other day. No it wasn't for a lap band, gastric bypass, or lobotomy like many of you guessed. It was for a rotator cuff injury, and no I did not get it from being fat. I fell on the ice. Anyway I did my research found a great doctor and clinic to go to and made my appointment. On the day of surgery my wife brought me in and I changed for surgery. I sat on the gurney and the nurse came in to go over a few things with me. Smoker? No. Drink? No. Family history of heart disease? No. Do you snore at night? No. So the nurse finished the questionnaire and she looked up and said, "So your diabetic, right?" UH!!! NO!!!. Just because I am fat that does not mean I am diabetic.
So, the FatDad struck out again.
Look I know that being in a customer service job is difficult. I do it everyday, and it seems like it never gets easier. As soon as you learn how to handle one type of customer another evolves and you have to learn how to take care of them. It is just a part of the business. But for those of you who can still use some pointers I have a few for you.
1. Do not under any circumstance ask the woman with the large belly, "How far along are you?" I do not care how old she is, how big her belly has gotten or how long you have known her. Chances are she is not pregnant and you will just end up insulting her. You can just simply ask, "What's new?" And if she wants you to know she is pregnant she will tell you.
2. Do not under any circumstance refer to the woman with your regular gentleman guest as, "your lovely wife." The reason for this is, if it is his mistress, she will want to be the wife and you will upset him. If it is his wife and she has not been there before, she will wonder who he was there with before. The end of that story never goes well. I have worked at a place where I only met the mistress and not the wife and I can assure you it is uncomfortable.
3. Do not ask you regular guest if the younger woman or man that they are with is their son or daughter. If it is not you will embarrass them by making it look like they are with a guest that is too young for them. Also if they are not old you will be implying that they are old because their friend looks that much younger then they look.
Never say anything that you cannot explain away or you would not want to have said to you. Be nice, listen, and do your job. You are not funny enough, smart enough, or fast enough to get out of calling someone, old, fat or a cheater. Keep these things to yourself, and talk about them with you significant other later at home. It makes for some great pillow talk.
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