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.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
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.
Monday, April 2, 2012
3/19/10 Barbie Girl
My girls are on spring break, and for those of you who do not know what elementary school spring break is, it is what they used call easter break. My wife never wanting our girls to miss out on anything, used the opportunity to invite over some of the girls friends to play. In all we had 5 girls at the house. My little one was playing with the twins and my older daughter was playing with one of her friends. Inevitably they all ended up playing with, and it pains me to say it, Barbie.
I know that I should not care, but I hate Barbie. When my wife found out she was pregnant (both times) I was sure she was going to have a girl. I did not care that we were going to have girls and not boys, but I loathed the idea that someday they might want to play with Barbie.
Please do not tell me all of the positive or negative things that you think about Barbie, I know them already.
Pro: Barbie creates a positive self-image for women to strive for. Also it lets girls know that no matter how pretty they are they can still be what ever they want.
Con: Barbie creates an unattainable image of women that will leave girls with a poor self-image. Also Barbie is a poor example of family values, blah, blah, blah.
Look I really don't want to get into the 50 year history of Barbie's impact on our society. I know some of you are saying, "Oh he just does't like dolls, and doesn't want his daughters to play with them."
To this I say, "You could be onto something, but between my two girls we have 7 American Girl dolls, and about 20 baby dolls." So I think that theory is shot.
I can also admit here that some of my problems with Barbie stem from the fact that I was forced play with Barbie's when I was a kid. My godparents had a daughter who was the same age as me, and she was also a little intimidating, and when we played which was quite often, we played Barbie. Of course I was Ken. I can say with some certainty, that there is nothing that helps build a short, dark, fat, Jewish kids self esteem like playing with a tall, thin, blond, Arian doll.
Anyway, I just don't think that Barbie is the right kind of friend for my girls. For years we fought to keep Barbie out of our house, but one day one of our older neighbors stopped by with a shoebox full of them. I was so happy when the girls looked at them and then walked away without picking up a single one. It was great and I thought that we were out of the woods.
But, two years ago at my older daughters birthday she got a Barbie, she seemed interested, and then last year at Christmas Santa showed up with two more. Actually they came from the girl's great aunt, and even though I like her I could have killed her.
Its not as if Barbie has taken over our lives, but now we watch Barbie videos, and we buy the occasional Barbie coloring book.
So what is my problem you ask?
1. There are so many Barbies to choose from, but they all boil down to this, just add hooker as the second name for every Barbie and it will make sense. For example, my girls own, Christmas Hooker Barbie. Now wasn't that easy. Lets try with some others. Astronaut Hooker Barbie, Doctor Hooker Barbie, Teacher Hooker Barbie, Veterinarian Hooker Barbie, Horse Riding Hooker Barbie, Cheerleader Hooker Barbie (oxymoron) and last but not least Malibu Hooker Barbie (Now this one is interesting, because she comes with her own beachfront bordello.)
2. All of the girls end up saying inappropriate things when they play with Barbie.
"Daddy why doesn't Barbie's dress cover her butt?"
"Daddy why doesn't Barbie wear a bra?"
"Daddy why does Barbie have a baby but no husband?"
"Daddy...Daddy...Daddy..."
3. Barbie has just become a little to P.C. for me. If you want Barbie to be this ideal woman, an imaginative toy for girls, then that is what she should be, but these other incarnations of Barbie to make others less repulsed by her drive me crazy. Why do you need Barbie of every ethnicity. It is pretend. If you are Indian or Cuban, is it easier to play pretend if Barbie looks more like you. When I was a kid, I played the hell out of my Star Wars characters, and I did not look a thing like any of them. O.k. maybe I look a little like Chewbacka.
Who's feelings are we trying to protect? Its a F'ing doll.
If you want to be offended by something take a look at the price of Barbie's clothes and accessories. The toy people don't care about your feelings, they just want you to buy a doll, and if you will only buy the doll if it is Black, Russian, Polish, or Mexican, then by god they are going to make one.
No matter what you think about Barbie, she has been around a lot longer then most of us, so here's to you Barbie.
May my children out grow you before they learn that you have a Malibu Beach house and make me buy it for them.
I know that I should not care, but I hate Barbie. When my wife found out she was pregnant (both times) I was sure she was going to have a girl. I did not care that we were going to have girls and not boys, but I loathed the idea that someday they might want to play with Barbie.
Please do not tell me all of the positive or negative things that you think about Barbie, I know them already.
Pro: Barbie creates a positive self-image for women to strive for. Also it lets girls know that no matter how pretty they are they can still be what ever they want.
Con: Barbie creates an unattainable image of women that will leave girls with a poor self-image. Also Barbie is a poor example of family values, blah, blah, blah.
Look I really don't want to get into the 50 year history of Barbie's impact on our society. I know some of you are saying, "Oh he just does't like dolls, and doesn't want his daughters to play with them."
To this I say, "You could be onto something, but between my two girls we have 7 American Girl dolls, and about 20 baby dolls." So I think that theory is shot.
I can also admit here that some of my problems with Barbie stem from the fact that I was forced play with Barbie's when I was a kid. My godparents had a daughter who was the same age as me, and she was also a little intimidating, and when we played which was quite often, we played Barbie. Of course I was Ken. I can say with some certainty, that there is nothing that helps build a short, dark, fat, Jewish kids self esteem like playing with a tall, thin, blond, Arian doll.
Anyway, I just don't think that Barbie is the right kind of friend for my girls. For years we fought to keep Barbie out of our house, but one day one of our older neighbors stopped by with a shoebox full of them. I was so happy when the girls looked at them and then walked away without picking up a single one. It was great and I thought that we were out of the woods.
But, two years ago at my older daughters birthday she got a Barbie, she seemed interested, and then last year at Christmas Santa showed up with two more. Actually they came from the girl's great aunt, and even though I like her I could have killed her.
Its not as if Barbie has taken over our lives, but now we watch Barbie videos, and we buy the occasional Barbie coloring book.
So what is my problem you ask?
1. There are so many Barbies to choose from, but they all boil down to this, just add hooker as the second name for every Barbie and it will make sense. For example, my girls own, Christmas Hooker Barbie. Now wasn't that easy. Lets try with some others. Astronaut Hooker Barbie, Doctor Hooker Barbie, Teacher Hooker Barbie, Veterinarian Hooker Barbie, Horse Riding Hooker Barbie, Cheerleader Hooker Barbie (oxymoron) and last but not least Malibu Hooker Barbie (Now this one is interesting, because she comes with her own beachfront bordello.)
2. All of the girls end up saying inappropriate things when they play with Barbie.
"Daddy why doesn't Barbie's dress cover her butt?"
"Daddy why doesn't Barbie wear a bra?"
"Daddy why does Barbie have a baby but no husband?"
"Daddy...Daddy...Daddy..."
3. Barbie has just become a little to P.C. for me. If you want Barbie to be this ideal woman, an imaginative toy for girls, then that is what she should be, but these other incarnations of Barbie to make others less repulsed by her drive me crazy. Why do you need Barbie of every ethnicity. It is pretend. If you are Indian or Cuban, is it easier to play pretend if Barbie looks more like you. When I was a kid, I played the hell out of my Star Wars characters, and I did not look a thing like any of them. O.k. maybe I look a little like Chewbacka.
Who's feelings are we trying to protect? Its a F'ing doll.
If you want to be offended by something take a look at the price of Barbie's clothes and accessories. The toy people don't care about your feelings, they just want you to buy a doll, and if you will only buy the doll if it is Black, Russian, Polish, or Mexican, then by god they are going to make one.
No matter what you think about Barbie, she has been around a lot longer then most of us, so here's to you Barbie.
May my children out grow you before they learn that you have a Malibu Beach house and make me buy it for them.
Monday, March 19, 2012
3/10/12 Home Sweet Home
It was a beautiful day. I of course was at work, but none-the-less, it was a beautiful day. As I left work and went to pick-up my daughter from a friends house, I could not help but think, what a beautiful day! As I drove home I talked to my daughter about her basketball game (they just finished their season) and looked out the window and thought about how nice spring will be. As we drove onto our street I looked at the houses and trees and thought what a nice neighborhood. As I drove over the hill I saw our house.
Ahhh home crap home.
Ahhh home crap home.
For those of you who have been following along you know that we live in a 1979 fixer-upper. And again for those of you who have not listened, houses from the 70's are crap. Last spring we decided that we were basically done fixing up the inside of the house and that we needed to begin work on the outside of the house.
So as I drove up to my castle what did I see but the half painted eyesore of the neighborhood. Don't get me wrong, we tried to finish the house, I took a week off work and we made sure we had all the supplies we needed. To our dismay it rained the week I took off. Then it got so hot at the end of the summer that did not want to paint in the heat so we waited. So when the stars aligned and the clouds parted we worked as fast as we could and the end result, a half painted house. So right now if you can imagine, the right half of our house is painted a dark tan and the left side is painted a monkey puke pumpkin color.
We are truly the envy of the trailer park set. I think I saw a picture of the house on the people of walmart website.
Now just the half painted house would not completely make us look like the white trash of the neighborhood, but we have some accessories to go along with it.
A. Our neighbor across the street parked her car out on the lawn.
B. We installed new windows but only had enough money to replace the really bad ones, so when you look at the house you see the new white windows on the ground floor and the old ratty off white windows on the second floor. Additionally the upper windows still have the original burgundy shutters on them. These are a real fashion statement by the way. Nothing sets off burgundy shutters like monkey puke pumpkin paint.
C. We have a trampoline in our yard. Nuff said.
D. We put a down payment on new gutters, but because we did not finish the painting they could not be installed. So our gutters are rusting and leaking on one side of the house and we have our own little garden growing out of the gutters on the other side of the house. We tell the neighbors we are going green. It is our own little carbon offset.
E. On the right side of the house, the city came by and said that one of our biggest trees was dying, and we had to remove it. We removed it and now we have a huge hole in the landscape with a giant stump at the bottom.
F. The driveway is what the professionals like to call alligator cracked. Just a note here, if you come over watch out for the divot in on the left side, it could take your ankle off.
G. Our christmas lights are still up. Nuff said.
H. One of the great aunts wanted to do something nice for the girls so we have a fairy garden on our front yard tree. Nothing wrong with it but when you add it together with all of the other features, it adds to the house with removable wheels motif that we have going here.
I. Finally when you drive up to our little abode you will be greeted by our dented mailbox, courtesy of one of the little neighbor hooligans trying to play mailbox baseball.
The moral of the story. Do not do what I did.
1. Make a real list of the projects that need to be done. This is the time when it would be helpful for the wives out there to help make the list instead of just saying, "You know what needs to be done, just do it." This is not helpful and honestly nothing will get done. Guys can sleep on month old sheets, eat day old pizza off the floor, and wear the same pair of pants everyday for a week. We do not have that sense of urgency about what needs to be done at home as our wives, and the sooner you accept that fact the more you will get done.
2. Start and finish one project at a time. If you try to start and work on too many projects at one time you will get lost and furthermore you will end up with a half painted house and worried neighbors.
3. Budget twice as much as you need for the project. You might not spend it all, but at least you will have enough money to cover the project.
4. Finally, be honest about how much you really want to do. If you don't want to move 500 lbs of pink rocks (very popular in the 1970's) from the front yard to the back then be honest and make a separate plan for getting it done. If you truly do not like or want to do one of the jobs, then honestly it will never get done.
Just a note here if you find that you do not want to do any of the jobs, then you either need to marry rich or convince your significant other to do it all without you.
We are truly the envy of the trailer park set. I think I saw a picture of the house on the people of walmart website.
Now just the half painted house would not completely make us look like the white trash of the neighborhood, but we have some accessories to go along with it.
A. Our neighbor across the street parked her car out on the lawn.
B. We installed new windows but only had enough money to replace the really bad ones, so when you look at the house you see the new white windows on the ground floor and the old ratty off white windows on the second floor. Additionally the upper windows still have the original burgundy shutters on them. These are a real fashion statement by the way. Nothing sets off burgundy shutters like monkey puke pumpkin paint.
C. We have a trampoline in our yard. Nuff said.
D. We put a down payment on new gutters, but because we did not finish the painting they could not be installed. So our gutters are rusting and leaking on one side of the house and we have our own little garden growing out of the gutters on the other side of the house. We tell the neighbors we are going green. It is our own little carbon offset.
E. On the right side of the house, the city came by and said that one of our biggest trees was dying, and we had to remove it. We removed it and now we have a huge hole in the landscape with a giant stump at the bottom.
F. The driveway is what the professionals like to call alligator cracked. Just a note here, if you come over watch out for the divot in on the left side, it could take your ankle off.
G. Our christmas lights are still up. Nuff said.
H. One of the great aunts wanted to do something nice for the girls so we have a fairy garden on our front yard tree. Nothing wrong with it but when you add it together with all of the other features, it adds to the house with removable wheels motif that we have going here.
I. Finally when you drive up to our little abode you will be greeted by our dented mailbox, courtesy of one of the little neighbor hooligans trying to play mailbox baseball.
The moral of the story. Do not do what I did.
1. Make a real list of the projects that need to be done. This is the time when it would be helpful for the wives out there to help make the list instead of just saying, "You know what needs to be done, just do it." This is not helpful and honestly nothing will get done. Guys can sleep on month old sheets, eat day old pizza off the floor, and wear the same pair of pants everyday for a week. We do not have that sense of urgency about what needs to be done at home as our wives, and the sooner you accept that fact the more you will get done.
2. Start and finish one project at a time. If you try to start and work on too many projects at one time you will get lost and furthermore you will end up with a half painted house and worried neighbors.
3. Budget twice as much as you need for the project. You might not spend it all, but at least you will have enough money to cover the project.
4. Finally, be honest about how much you really want to do. If you don't want to move 500 lbs of pink rocks (very popular in the 1970's) from the front yard to the back then be honest and make a separate plan for getting it done. If you truly do not like or want to do one of the jobs, then honestly it will never get done.
Just a note here if you find that you do not want to do any of the jobs, then you either need to marry rich or convince your significant other to do it all without you.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
2/23/12 YMCA
Throughout my whole life, it seems, that no one who liked me ever really saw the outside me. I can also say that this is a blessing because the outside me is kind of a wreck. Now don't get me wrong there were many, many people who only saw the outside me and they were a complete pain in the ass. The girls were especially cruel, but I cannot blame them, who wants to date a really fat guy. I mean you never hear anyone say, "Oooooh look at the beer belly on that guy, thats hot. I want him" I mean can you imagine a calvin klein ad with Jack Black instead of Marky Mark. Now isn't that a sexy mental picture?
The problem I have with the people who only see the inside me is when I dress up. These people somehow get me confused with a bear (big harry gay guy). My whole life my mother tried to cover up my girth by dressing me in really nice clothes. Turns out, people can still see that your fat, and the colors just make you look like a circus tent or walking billboard. The really nice clothes just ended up making me more of a target then helped me blend in.
I remember once in junior high my mother had bought me this rather expensive but femme' argyle sweater (black with pink, yellow, and baby blue diamonds). I begged her, "Please don't make me wear that sweater, I'll look like a girl and everyone will make fun of me." But it was a Benetton, and my mother was convinced that everything from Benetton was metro-sexual, and so she made me wear it. I became very popular the next day when one of the most popular girls in school wore the same sweater. I did not think it was possible to be more of an outcast then I already was, but this just proves that no matter how bad things are, they can get worse.
Things did not get any better after that. Over the years I have owned green jeans, white suede buck shoes (look them up, I was 13, and I will never live those pictures down), numerous overly tight t-shirts, and once a mesh shirt arrived from Bloomingdale's. Don't get me wrong I have over the years owned really nice clothes, but it was always those times when I needed to look nice that the homo-erotic attire came out. I once went to a million dollar wedding in Miami wearing gray dress pants, a black and white flecked sport coat and a pink shirt. It was like showing up to P-ditty's white party in the Hamptons in a brown suit.
I thought that things would change when I got married, but the blinders are definitely on my wife also. Over the past twenty years she has brought home some real winners. Boy short underwear from H&M (you know the kind with the built in crotch). I pleaded with her in the store not to buy them but she assured me that I was mistaken and I would look not only manly, but sexy. From the amount, and volume of laughter that came from her when she saw me wearing them I know that not even she believes that anymore.
Just an aside here while writing this blog I walked past my older daughters room wearing some new, but not the afore mentioned boxers, that my wife just bought me. My daughter stopped me and said, "Daddy those look like girl shorts."
On any given day I dress in a plain fashion. I dress appropriately and comfortably. I am not a slob, but I understand that unless you can really pull off a look or outfit, that you should dress cleanly and simply.
Is it me? Do I give off that vibe? Do women think I am gay and that I need to dress the part?
My Grandmother always told me a story that when she was in college in the 1930's that she took a human sexuality class. Part of her class consisted of guests coming in and talking about their sexuality. During class they had a lesbian come in and talk about being gay. Someone asked how she knew if they met another lesbian. The woman answered, "Well I just know." My Grandmother said for weeks she walked around wondering if the women she saw looking at her thought she was gay.
I always wonder what my mother or wife think when they pick out clothes for me?
George Clooney? Brad Pitt? LL Cool J?
Because when I put the clothes on all I can think is (you might have to look these people up):
Harvey Fierstein! Barney Frank! Bruce Vilanch!
O.k. you are definitely going to have to look these people up.
This is one of those times when I just have more questions than answers, but ladies all I can say here is have mercy on your husbands, boyfriends, or significant others.
1. No matter how attractive the clothes look in the store they will not make your significant other look, thinner, more handsome, sexier, or thinner. (Yeah I know I said thinner twice, I just wanted to make sure you were listening.).
2. Do not bring home clothes that are not the right size. He will not want to try the clothes on, he will not lose weight so that they will fit later, and the last thing he needs to hear is you giggling like a school girl at him while you try to take pictures with your iPhone.
3. Karmas a Bitch, and what goes around comes around. Just remember, someday you may want him to tell you how you actually look in an outfit, and if you mess with his clothes long enough he will not tell you.
Note here, you will not actually know that he did not tell you how you really looked, until you see yourself in the pictures from the wedding, christening, christmas party, or bar mitzvah. Guys are kind of mean that way so stay on their good side.
The problem I have with the people who only see the inside me is when I dress up. These people somehow get me confused with a bear (big harry gay guy). My whole life my mother tried to cover up my girth by dressing me in really nice clothes. Turns out, people can still see that your fat, and the colors just make you look like a circus tent or walking billboard. The really nice clothes just ended up making me more of a target then helped me blend in.
I remember once in junior high my mother had bought me this rather expensive but femme' argyle sweater (black with pink, yellow, and baby blue diamonds). I begged her, "Please don't make me wear that sweater, I'll look like a girl and everyone will make fun of me." But it was a Benetton, and my mother was convinced that everything from Benetton was metro-sexual, and so she made me wear it. I became very popular the next day when one of the most popular girls in school wore the same sweater. I did not think it was possible to be more of an outcast then I already was, but this just proves that no matter how bad things are, they can get worse.
Things did not get any better after that. Over the years I have owned green jeans, white suede buck shoes (look them up, I was 13, and I will never live those pictures down), numerous overly tight t-shirts, and once a mesh shirt arrived from Bloomingdale's. Don't get me wrong I have over the years owned really nice clothes, but it was always those times when I needed to look nice that the homo-erotic attire came out. I once went to a million dollar wedding in Miami wearing gray dress pants, a black and white flecked sport coat and a pink shirt. It was like showing up to P-ditty's white party in the Hamptons in a brown suit.
I thought that things would change when I got married, but the blinders are definitely on my wife also. Over the past twenty years she has brought home some real winners. Boy short underwear from H&M (you know the kind with the built in crotch). I pleaded with her in the store not to buy them but she assured me that I was mistaken and I would look not only manly, but sexy. From the amount, and volume of laughter that came from her when she saw me wearing them I know that not even she believes that anymore.
Just an aside here while writing this blog I walked past my older daughters room wearing some new, but not the afore mentioned boxers, that my wife just bought me. My daughter stopped me and said, "Daddy those look like girl shorts."
On any given day I dress in a plain fashion. I dress appropriately and comfortably. I am not a slob, but I understand that unless you can really pull off a look or outfit, that you should dress cleanly and simply.
Is it me? Do I give off that vibe? Do women think I am gay and that I need to dress the part?
My Grandmother always told me a story that when she was in college in the 1930's that she took a human sexuality class. Part of her class consisted of guests coming in and talking about their sexuality. During class they had a lesbian come in and talk about being gay. Someone asked how she knew if they met another lesbian. The woman answered, "Well I just know." My Grandmother said for weeks she walked around wondering if the women she saw looking at her thought she was gay.
I always wonder what my mother or wife think when they pick out clothes for me?
George Clooney? Brad Pitt? LL Cool J?
Because when I put the clothes on all I can think is (you might have to look these people up):
Harvey Fierstein! Barney Frank! Bruce Vilanch!
O.k. you are definitely going to have to look these people up.
This is one of those times when I just have more questions than answers, but ladies all I can say here is have mercy on your husbands, boyfriends, or significant others.
1. No matter how attractive the clothes look in the store they will not make your significant other look, thinner, more handsome, sexier, or thinner. (Yeah I know I said thinner twice, I just wanted to make sure you were listening.).
2. Do not bring home clothes that are not the right size. He will not want to try the clothes on, he will not lose weight so that they will fit later, and the last thing he needs to hear is you giggling like a school girl at him while you try to take pictures with your iPhone.
3. Karmas a Bitch, and what goes around comes around. Just remember, someday you may want him to tell you how you actually look in an outfit, and if you mess with his clothes long enough he will not tell you.
Note here, you will not actually know that he did not tell you how you really looked, until you see yourself in the pictures from the wedding, christening, christmas party, or bar mitzvah. Guys are kind of mean that way so stay on their good side.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
1/22/12 We Are The Champions
"THAT'S NOT FAIR." My daughter shouted at me.
"Life's is not fair." I said back.
This is the only good lesson my parents taught me, and it is a lesson I want to teach my daughters. The funny thing about life not being fair is, the sooner you learn that life is not fair, the easier life will be. People sit and lament about their perceived misfortune and everyone else's good luck. I've got some news for you Jack, sitting on your ass telling everyone else how unlucky you are will not make your life better.
I unfortunately I was too old when I really took this lesson to heart. You may say, "Why do you need to learn this lesson early in life?" Children are precious and if you make them deal with the realities of life to early you will break their little spirits."
To this I say Bulls**t. Let me give you an example. By show of hands, who had a girl in their class fail a test, and then go cry to the teacher until they got an A. O.k. everyone put your hands down. Everyone hated this girl. What a complete utter and total PITA (pain in the ass) she was. You studied, and you worked hard, and you got a good grade on your own, or you didn't and you got a bad grade on your own.
No one likes the little girl who cried to get a grade, and deep down no one wants their child to be that girl. Do you remember her excuses, "The questions were not fair?" "I really meant to answer A not C." "My parents will kill me if I do not get an A." "This will ruin my 4.0 average." And my favorite, "If I don't get an A I won't be valedictorian, and I wont be able to speak at graduation."
Now I ask you, wouldn't we all have been better off if she had not have gotten that A. I mean had she not been valedictorian I would not have been forced to sit through one more speech that I do not remember or care about. There's twenty minutes of my life I will never get back.
"Bitter, party of one!"
So why am I bringing this up now you ask? Well because my daughter started basketball this year and I started to think about all of the activities I quit instead of working harder.
First there was gymnastics. I took this from about 4 years old until 6 years old. I was pretty good. I was agile and strong and I could do most of what the coach asked. I quit because I thought the coach was a creep (he was), also we had to wear make-up at the recital and I did not ever want to do that again. My parents let me quit.
Second, there was swimming. I swam on a swim team from pre-K through second grade. Why did I quit? Well, because by second grade I was big, and when I went to try on that speedo and looked in the mirror all I could think of were those fat foreign guys in the Banana Hammocks on the beach in Florida, and I never wanted to see that again. My parents let me quit.
Third, there was soccer. All of that running, back and forth, who needs it. My parents let me quit.
Fourh, there was tae kwon do. I was good at this one, I tested from one belt to the next and I made it to orange belt quickly. It was tough and I worked hard, but as it got more difficult, I found that I did not want to put the time in. Also my uniform came open a lot, and I found myself trying to cover my baby man boobs most of the time.
Fifth, there was baseball. Tight polyester uniforms in the heat, nuff said.
I do have one thing to say here. You might want to explain the rules to your kids before you send them out on the field otherwise they may try to overrun every base like it is first base and then they will get tagged out like some sort of moron. Just throwing that out as a cautionary tale.
Then there was football, rugby, track, tennis, etc.
Like I said I learned my lesson too late. I quit every time I thought something was getting to hard our was not fair.
Kids need to learn how to lose so that they can learn to work harder. Deep down we all know that working harder will make life easier. So I have come up with a few things to help teach your children to work harder.
1. Turn the scoreboard back on. I don't care that your kids team is losing 50 points to 10. Your kids know they are losing and turning off the scoreboard off will not make them less of a loser. Also how will the other team know that they won. Arn't you taking away their accomplishment?
2. Give back the participation trophy. You do not get anything in this world for just showing up. We need to help them learn to work hard to get what they want. By the way you are the one who should get the trophy. You got them dressed and there on time every night or weekend. Where's your trophy.
3. Let them play. Your child out on the field or in the classroom is not some opportunity for you to re-live your glory days, or live through them the life you wished you had. They are there to learn how to compete and work hard and accomplish something. Don't take that away from them by screaming at them from the stands or by calling the coach or referee an idiot (like my wife). This is their time. Support them, teach them, practice with them, but don't just let them quit because they decide they do not want to work hard.
"Life's is not fair." I said back.
This is the only good lesson my parents taught me, and it is a lesson I want to teach my daughters. The funny thing about life not being fair is, the sooner you learn that life is not fair, the easier life will be. People sit and lament about their perceived misfortune and everyone else's good luck. I've got some news for you Jack, sitting on your ass telling everyone else how unlucky you are will not make your life better.
I unfortunately I was too old when I really took this lesson to heart. You may say, "Why do you need to learn this lesson early in life?" Children are precious and if you make them deal with the realities of life to early you will break their little spirits."
To this I say Bulls**t. Let me give you an example. By show of hands, who had a girl in their class fail a test, and then go cry to the teacher until they got an A. O.k. everyone put your hands down. Everyone hated this girl. What a complete utter and total PITA (pain in the ass) she was. You studied, and you worked hard, and you got a good grade on your own, or you didn't and you got a bad grade on your own.
No one likes the little girl who cried to get a grade, and deep down no one wants their child to be that girl. Do you remember her excuses, "The questions were not fair?" "I really meant to answer A not C." "My parents will kill me if I do not get an A." "This will ruin my 4.0 average." And my favorite, "If I don't get an A I won't be valedictorian, and I wont be able to speak at graduation."
Now I ask you, wouldn't we all have been better off if she had not have gotten that A. I mean had she not been valedictorian I would not have been forced to sit through one more speech that I do not remember or care about. There's twenty minutes of my life I will never get back.
"Bitter, party of one!"
So why am I bringing this up now you ask? Well because my daughter started basketball this year and I started to think about all of the activities I quit instead of working harder.
First there was gymnastics. I took this from about 4 years old until 6 years old. I was pretty good. I was agile and strong and I could do most of what the coach asked. I quit because I thought the coach was a creep (he was), also we had to wear make-up at the recital and I did not ever want to do that again. My parents let me quit.
Second, there was swimming. I swam on a swim team from pre-K through second grade. Why did I quit? Well, because by second grade I was big, and when I went to try on that speedo and looked in the mirror all I could think of were those fat foreign guys in the Banana Hammocks on the beach in Florida, and I never wanted to see that again. My parents let me quit.
Third, there was soccer. All of that running, back and forth, who needs it. My parents let me quit.
Fourh, there was tae kwon do. I was good at this one, I tested from one belt to the next and I made it to orange belt quickly. It was tough and I worked hard, but as it got more difficult, I found that I did not want to put the time in. Also my uniform came open a lot, and I found myself trying to cover my baby man boobs most of the time.
Fifth, there was baseball. Tight polyester uniforms in the heat, nuff said.
I do have one thing to say here. You might want to explain the rules to your kids before you send them out on the field otherwise they may try to overrun every base like it is first base and then they will get tagged out like some sort of moron. Just throwing that out as a cautionary tale.
Then there was football, rugby, track, tennis, etc.
Like I said I learned my lesson too late. I quit every time I thought something was getting to hard our was not fair.
Kids need to learn how to lose so that they can learn to work harder. Deep down we all know that working harder will make life easier. So I have come up with a few things to help teach your children to work harder.
1. Turn the scoreboard back on. I don't care that your kids team is losing 50 points to 10. Your kids know they are losing and turning off the scoreboard off will not make them less of a loser. Also how will the other team know that they won. Arn't you taking away their accomplishment?
2. Give back the participation trophy. You do not get anything in this world for just showing up. We need to help them learn to work hard to get what they want. By the way you are the one who should get the trophy. You got them dressed and there on time every night or weekend. Where's your trophy.
3. Let them play. Your child out on the field or in the classroom is not some opportunity for you to re-live your glory days, or live through them the life you wished you had. They are there to learn how to compete and work hard and accomplish something. Don't take that away from them by screaming at them from the stands or by calling the coach or referee an idiot (like my wife). This is their time. Support them, teach them, practice with them, but don't just let them quit because they decide they do not want to work hard.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
1/3/12 Back In The Saddle
On April 7, 1775 Samuel Johnson said, "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel."
On January 3, 2012 The Fatdad said, "The next diet is the last refuge of any fat guy."
I have heard people say that they don't go out on New Years Eve because it is amateur night. New Years is the one night a year that many people who do not usually drink or party, go out to drink or party, and that makes them are dangerous.
I feel the same way about those people who make a new years resolution to lose weight.
AMATEURS
I am a professional, and these once a year people piss me off. I watch the local news at New Years and inevitably there is always a group of people with their smug little smiles telling the reporter how they are going to lose weight and get healthy this year, and that on Jan 1st you will find them at the gym.
Well guess what. I was already at the gym and now I have to put up with you.
What is the problem you ask? Why am I so hostile? Well I will tell you!
1. I now have to walk 3 extra blocks or take the shuttle to the gym because the parking lot is full of people who were too lazy to come to the gym yesterday.
2. I now have to wait in line for you to find your gym I.D., drivers license, or library card so that you, can prove you are who you say you are, to get in the gym.
3. All of the lockers are taken, because you could not figure out how to get all of your stuff into one locker.
4. All of the towels are gone because you need two towels instead of one to mop up all of the alcohol and grease you are sweating out from your new years party.
5. I have to wait longer for every machine because it takes you twice as long to read your book, listen to your podcast, or finish your story about how no one understands your new found love of the gym with your new work out partner.
6. I have to wait to use the stretching area because you are in the way. Look I know you are excited, but stop looking in the mirror it has only been a week you do not look any different. Give it 8-12 weeks.
7. Every machine is gross because you have sweat all over it, you have no gym etiquette, and you do not know that the sani-wipes are for the machines and not for you forehead. By the way good luck with the new rash.
8. You stink. Use the restroom before you get on the machines. I understand that some good exercise will get your systems going including your gastrointestinal system, but what you fail to realize is that even if you somehow manage to only let a little gas out at a time, the rest of us can still smell you.
9. You are loud. I do not want to hear about your day, your dates, you new diet, your goals or how much all this exercise equipment costs. Shut up, put your ear buds in, and run. A little tip. If you can comfortably have a conversation with your new BFF while working out, then you are not doing it right. You two might as well go talk over a cup of coffee or a pint of beer instead of wasting space at the gym.
10. Your attitude. If I hear one more of you New Year's warriors complain about how busy the gym is, or how there is no parking, I will personally push you off your treadmill.
Selfishly, I know that by February the gym will be back to normal, you will be out $150.00 on exercise clothes, and I will not have to see you again until next January.
Personally, I know you are trying, I commend each and every single one of you for getting off the couch, and at least finding the gym.
I hope you succeed but if you don't:
1. Keep trying.
2. Don't wait until Monday,
the day after your birthday,
your next vacation,
tomorrow,
your next doctors visit
your next diet or
New Years
3. Go this afternoon, who cares what you do, your making it a habit, and when you finally make it a habit you will change.
So good luck, and if you succeed, just remember I will be happy for you, but jealous of your success.
Happy New Year,
The Fatdad
I have heard people say that they don't go out on New Years Eve because it is amateur night. New Years is the one night a year that many people who do not usually drink or party, go out to drink or party, and that makes them are dangerous.
I feel the same way about those people who make a new years resolution to lose weight.
AMATEURS
I am a professional, and these once a year people piss me off. I watch the local news at New Years and inevitably there is always a group of people with their smug little smiles telling the reporter how they are going to lose weight and get healthy this year, and that on Jan 1st you will find them at the gym.
Well guess what. I was already at the gym and now I have to put up with you.
What is the problem you ask? Why am I so hostile? Well I will tell you!
1. I now have to walk 3 extra blocks or take the shuttle to the gym because the parking lot is full of people who were too lazy to come to the gym yesterday.
2. I now have to wait in line for you to find your gym I.D., drivers license, or library card so that you, can prove you are who you say you are, to get in the gym.
3. All of the lockers are taken, because you could not figure out how to get all of your stuff into one locker.
4. All of the towels are gone because you need two towels instead of one to mop up all of the alcohol and grease you are sweating out from your new years party.
5. I have to wait longer for every machine because it takes you twice as long to read your book, listen to your podcast, or finish your story about how no one understands your new found love of the gym with your new work out partner.
6. I have to wait to use the stretching area because you are in the way. Look I know you are excited, but stop looking in the mirror it has only been a week you do not look any different. Give it 8-12 weeks.
7. Every machine is gross because you have sweat all over it, you have no gym etiquette, and you do not know that the sani-wipes are for the machines and not for you forehead. By the way good luck with the new rash.
8. You stink. Use the restroom before you get on the machines. I understand that some good exercise will get your systems going including your gastrointestinal system, but what you fail to realize is that even if you somehow manage to only let a little gas out at a time, the rest of us can still smell you.
9. You are loud. I do not want to hear about your day, your dates, you new diet, your goals or how much all this exercise equipment costs. Shut up, put your ear buds in, and run. A little tip. If you can comfortably have a conversation with your new BFF while working out, then you are not doing it right. You two might as well go talk over a cup of coffee or a pint of beer instead of wasting space at the gym.
10. Your attitude. If I hear one more of you New Year's warriors complain about how busy the gym is, or how there is no parking, I will personally push you off your treadmill.
Selfishly, I know that by February the gym will be back to normal, you will be out $150.00 on exercise clothes, and I will not have to see you again until next January.
Personally, I know you are trying, I commend each and every single one of you for getting off the couch, and at least finding the gym.
I hope you succeed but if you don't:
1. Keep trying.
2. Don't wait until Monday,
the day after your birthday,
your next vacation,
tomorrow,
your next doctors visit
your next diet or
New Years
3. Go this afternoon, who cares what you do, your making it a habit, and when you finally make it a habit you will change.
So good luck, and if you succeed, just remember I will be happy for you, but jealous of your success.
Happy New Year,
The Fatdad
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