MIGHT BE FUNNY
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The Cleanse
That fucking message. Twice a day. Usually right in mid-spoon of ice cream. So I’m fat. New fat. Like there’s Old Money and New Money. I’m New Fat. It’s fun being New Fat. People don’t know what to say when they see me. They just pretend they’re not staring at my stomach. Now I know how girls feel when guys look at their boobs while they talk to them.
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The Game
The greatest Vampire Baseball player ever Baseball field, Brooklyn – 1984
Bottom of the sixth inning, last chance for the Braves, down 7-6, 2 outs.
Playing shortstop for the Giants, the seven-year-old boy who would grow up to pretend his name is Brett Grayson, waits for the pitch. The pitcher delivers (okay, I’m lying, it was T-Ball, no one delivered any pitch). The batter crushes a ball over the outfielder’s head. The Giants outfielder, who was in the outfield for a reason (not coordinated), retrieves the ball. The batter is rounding the bases, heading for home to tie the game.
The outfielder throws the ball to me, and I relay it home. The throw is hard and high. The catcher jumps, but it goes over his head. The umpire, standing behind the catcher, gets in the way of the throw, and it hits him right in the neck below the faceguard.
And he’s out! No, not the runner. The umpire. Out. Unconscious. Coaches run to his side and attend to him.
Me: (to my father) What’s the call, Dad? Is he out?
35 years later
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The Snow Trip
When you live in a cold weather climate, you are miserable in the winter – at least I am. One way to overcome it is to convince yourself there are fun things in the winter. There aren’t. We’re just waiting for it to end. But we try.
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INTRODUCTION – What Could Go Wrong?
If you’ve read the book already, click here: Intro with new commentary:
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I FUCKING HATE Frozen. Maybe it’s because I’ve watched it 22,342 times.
The only thing I hate more than Frozen (other than those people who hold the door for you when you’re too far away, and then you have to half-run, even though you had no intention of running otherwise), is my sex life. Last Valentine’s Day, I bought my wife, Lauren, lingerie from Victoria’s Secret. I’m 39. She’s 34. If the night is right; if the mood is right; if I didn’t go to the gym earlier that day (I didn’t. My back hurt.); if Lauren doesn’t pass out in her clothes five minutes after the kids go to bed; if all these things break our way, we’re still young and vibrant enough to have some fun.
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Introduction – What Could Go Wrong (updated with commentary)
Honey, do you hear something? Note: All new commentary will be preceded by the word “NEW”
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I FUCKING HATE Frozen. Maybe it’s because I’ve watched it 22,342 times.
The only thing I hate more than Frozen (other than those people who hold the door for you when you’re too far away, and then you have to half-run, even though you had no intention of running otherwise), is my sex life. Last Valentine’s Day, I bought my wife, Lauren, lingerie from Victoria’s Secret. I’m 39. She’s 34. If the night is right; if the mood is right; if I didn’t go to the gym earlier that day (I didn’t. My back hurt.); if Lauren doesn’t pass out in her clothes five minutes after the kids go to bed; if all these things break our way, we’re still young and vibrant enough to have some fun.
NEW: Fitness update – I spent Thursday afternoon at my desk like this:
When your zipper and button snap at the same time, you need to be creative -
The Vacation
“Family vacation” is an oxymoron. Transporting a four and a six-year-old to a different country is like climbing a greased telephone pole. And even if you get a few moments of relaxation when you’re there, it is sure to be cancelled out by the process of getting them home.
Some days, though, are just weird enough to make it all worth it.
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The One Parent Weekend
My wife, Lauren, went away for the weekend with her mother, ostensibly for some R & R at a spa in Pennsylvania. She might have just gone to her parents’ house and hid there for 48 hours. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
This left me alone with the children from Friday evening through Sunday. Expectations were low as I am a sometimes-depressed/always-lazy parent who preaches discipline, which in reality translates to impatience, yelling and finally caving to all their desires.
Lauren (before leaving): I left you four notes.
Me: I’m fine. I don’t need notes.
Lauren: Four! Read them and text me any questions.
Me: You can’t wait?
Lauren: No.
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The Concert
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The Family Trip
As summer in the Northeast ends after seemingly lasting only fifteen minutes, I will take my annual dive into the abyss that is autumn. Before that though, here is a bookend to my previous two attempts (The Dance Recital and Visiting Day) to lighten things up for summer:
We took a family trip to Hershey Park last weekend. Why, you ask? Well, a masochist would say it’s because I enjoy torture. My wife, Lauren, would say it was to enjoy family time with our two children, Liz (5) and Matt (4). An analyst would say it is a test run for the shitshow of Disney World that is coming eventually. Matt would say it’s to eat endless chocolate until he throws up. Should I stop? Okay, fair enough.
Saturday morning
A long day lies ahead. The good – Liz and Matt will be in heaven. Also good – I will get my 10,000 steps in. The bad – the heat, lines, people, germs, Liz and Matt’s behavior at numerous points, and again germs.
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Visiting Day
“You’re an idiot,” my wife, Lauren, affectionately tells me on our drive home from Visiting Day at our daughter Liz’s camp.
“Why?”
“The swimming. Tennis. Kickball!”
“They didn’t even play kickball,” I point out.
“Exactly.”
I take a cookie from my pocket.
“Where did you get that?” Lauren asks. “Did you steal a cookie?”
“Liz raves about these cookies.”
“You just had two ice creams.”
“One-and-a-half … oh, you’re not good with fractions. That’s between one and two.”
“Funny … I think I should be allowed to have an affair. There has to be a law which allows it in special circumstances like these.”
“If you do, can he at least pay for camp?”
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The Dance Recital
Today marks the anniversary of arguably the most notorious event of my childhood: the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman.1<—– CLICK ON THESE RED BOXES FOR MY TERRIBLE JOKES
