The Boy and the Pine Forest

One day, his parents drove him several hours outside of the city and the place that he knew as home. They passed by meadows, farms and forests on the way to his grandparents’ house. As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Ricky was mesmerized by the thick forest that came right up to the edge of grandma’s yard. He stared…a bit fearful, yet very curious. He had never seen so many towering pine trees before.

After saying his hellos, he announced that he was going outside to explore. Ricky slowly walked over to the looming trees. He looked them up and down, trying to gather the courage to enter and run around beneath the canopy of branches.
He peered between the trees, looked for anything that might scare him and then took his first step into the pine forest. Beneath his feet was a soft bed of dried pine needles. It was like walking on a gigantic pillow. He smiled. Slowly walking, looking at the tree bark, the slow dripping streams of sap oozing from most of the trees, admiring the green needles high above and lightly bouncing on the crackly pillow of brown needles under his feet.

He, wanting to be careful, turned to look back over his shoulder to make sure that he could still see the house behind him, saw nothing but the immense trees in every direction. Instantly he became afraid. He thought that this inviting forest had lured him in and then swallowed him whole.

As he started to panic, turning his head back to the forest in front of him, his fear instantly turned into excitement.

There was a gap in the furry branches above and a radiant light transformed the ominous forest into a glowing kingdom in which birds and butterflies danced in the air above his head while teams o squirrels and chipmunks scurried all over the cushiony ground, playing what seemed to be the best game of tag ever.

He walked into the middle of the golden circle on the forest floor, sat down and took in the sights and sounds of what was now the happiest place in the world. After a few minutes, he lay back, resting his head on a pillow of pine needles and closed his eyes. He felt a magical peace that he never wanted to fade away.

Ricky dozed off into a peaceful sleep.

His dreams were filled with all of the sights and sounds of his new found kingdom. From beneath his eyelids, he could see the animals dancing about and he could fee the light brush of butterflies fluttering by his cheeks. Ricky then heard the chirps of birds and squirrels becoming more and more clear. At first he thought that they were just chattering back and forth…until he began hearing chirps that sounded like his name. Amazed by this, Ricky strained to hear. Again he heard, in little chirpy animal voices, “Ricky, Ricky”. Startled and amazed, he quickly sat up. He listened. And then from a distance he heard his mother’s voice calling his name.

He stood up, disappointed that he would have to leave his enchanted land, Ricky looked around and could not figure out which direction to go…everything looked the same. He heard his mother’s voice again and he took a few steps in the direction of her voice. All of the sudden, he could once again see the house…and his mother at the edge of the lawn.

He turned to look over his shoulder to say goodbye to the forest and the dancing animal friends he had made and, as he walked, he saw the glowing golden light begin to fade.

Ricky knew that this had to be his secret and that adults would not understand the magic that lived inside this great pine forest. With an eager anticipation, Ricky looked forward to he next chance to visit his kingdom in the woods.

People In Glass Feathers Don’t Fall Far From The Goats

I am going to take you all on a short journey through time. You ready? Seatbelts on?

About a year ago, Manic Mariah and I were sitting at our favorite coffee shop enjoying a fun game of Scrabble (There will be a post on Scrabble) while eavesdropping on everyone around us. Now, I have to say that what the eavesdropping sparked was a long and drawn out competitive yet collaborative venture that we enjoyed for months to come.

At the coffee shop that day, we heard some of the most ridiculous pick up lines, witnessed horrifying first dates and a plethora of odd people having conversations with their, clothed, dogs. But the funny thing was that what caught both of our attention was when a woman, sitting with her friend made a comment regarding it “raining cats and dogs” and if that was not enough, she followed that, a few minutes later by saying something about a goose and a gander.

Manic Mariah and I, at the same moment decided that it was extremely important to put together a list of all of the sayings that really “got our goats.”

As we began this list, we attempted to not only figure out what some of them meant, but why they became sayings and what their origin was.

Our list was somewhere between 50 and 100 …..and now I can’t find the list. All that time, effort and “important” research …down the drain.

So here is what I am asking of you.

Please post a comment with a saying that really “gets under your skin”, why it bugs you and what you think the origin is.

Where Have The Years Gone?

I have to say that this whole getting old thing is getting under my skin.

I was having a conversation with our 14 year old son (big hockey fan) yesterday and I proceeded to tell the story of going to my first hockey game. Bruins vs. Penguins. I continued saying that I was so excited because Bobby Orr was playing and I had seats right behind the bench.

He threw me an odd look and said, “who the heck is Bobby Orr?” I, feeling old, said, “what?! He was like the …Pele of hockey.” Then I got…”and who is Pele?” I said, “OK…he was like the Tiger Woods or Kobi Bryant of hockey.” The response to that was, “Oh…he cheated on his wife with prostitutes?”

This conversation went on for a few more minutes, until I finally got through to him with comparing him to Michael Jordan and Wanye Gretzky.
It is sad to me how many of my sports heroes are not known by today’s youth.

The one good thing about my …aging is that Mariah has a ‘thing’ for little old men. I think that I am going to give in and invest in a walker.

The Human Mind Is A Mean Fucker

Now I know that everyone ages differently, but I have to say that I think that the human mind is a devilish little fucker.

As many of you know…today is my birthday. I turned 42. SHIT!!!!

For the most part I feel great…when speaking generally. I can run around with the kids, love roller coasters, camping, acting foolish at the beach, ridding in the cart at the grocery store…you know…a typical man who acts like a kid.

On the other hand, my mind has been playing some god awful tricks on me over the last few months. Maybe it is from all of those stupid commercials that spotlight an aging man with his joint pain, or the ones for Viagra or the Hover-round…maybe it is from watching TV and movies with aging men…who know?

What I do know is that I wake up most mornings with a sore back. I get a stiff neck when the is a chilly breeze. I (even though I live in Southern California) even get literally chilled to the bone when it drops below 55 degrees. I get joint pains. I need to rest and massage my shoulder after throwing a football with the boys…and I am now at the stage where I NEVER pass up an opportunity to go to the bathroom.

I really believe that most of it is in my head (seeing as I had a physical not too long ago where I was told that Cholesterol was the only concern.)

I woke up this morning to find that …one of our kids had taped up notes all over the house, such as: the one on the coffee pot that read, “all old guys need coffee to wake up…” or the one that was in the stairwell the said, “Careful old man…you don’t want to throw a hip coming down the stairs” or the one on my computer asking (in very big letters) if I needed glasses to read it.

Bless the kids for their sense of humor…but F them for reminding me of what is to come…and reminding my brain that this is a great day to make me feel old.

Well…this is a lot of writing…I think I need a nap.

Learning About Love - The Hard Way - Part 4

Please make sure to read parts one, two and three before you get sucked into this

My teenage boy brain insisted that she was the one. She had never had sex, never drank, never done drugs, never snuck out of her house, never ditched school….and I was the one to show her how it is all done.

Our relationship was good…while it lasted. I taught her that blow jobs on demand were “what people in love do.” I taught her that slinking up to the college guy outside of the liquor store and putting on a cute smile so he’d buy us beer was the greatest gift a girl could give her man. I taught HER that sneaking out of her house late at night, and walking the ¾ miles to my house, to have sex with me in the woods was best, cuz I would have more energy for her. I taught her that …well…I won’t get into the real heavy stuff. I think you all get my drift.

Anyway, I can honestly (and now shamefully) say that I thoroughly corrupted her. Only a few months into our relationship she; smoked cigarettes, drank on a regular basis, smoked pot here and there, coned beer out of unsuspecting college students, ditched school, snuck out of her house at night and put my sexual gratification above anything else.

It was not long after my step father walked in on …her kneeling before me in my mother’s home office, that I broke up with her. Honestly, I think I did it because I was starting to get more attention from a lot of other girls (she had a tendency to discus our sex life with all of the other girls at school). To top everything off…as payback for me breaking up with her, she asked my younger brother out (and he said yes) and proceeded to have sex with him for about 2 weeks before that faded away.

Now…if you have read all of the parts of this series, you’ll understand that I had finally learned a thing or two.

I moved to NYC shortly afterwards and proceeded to spend the next 5 years just being a single (dog) guy in his mid to late teens. I had no serious relationships…but did have a lot of fun. I guess that is why they say that you have to ‘live a little’ before you settle down.

The End…for now.

Learning About Love - The Hard Way, Part 3

Make sure to read Parts One and Two before you read this one

Summer between 9th and 10th grade, I returned home and was going to go back to public school. I lived in a very small town where everyone knew everyone…until a new family moved into our development. The neighborhood guys and I decided that it would be a good Idea for up to stickball games, bikes and skateboards to the street in front of their house…you know, we had to check them out.

As it turned out, the family was a mother, and a girl about our age and a younger son. No more than an hour into our street shenanigans, we saw the screen door on the front of the house open and the mom saying something to the girl as she pushed her out the door towards us. (old school social enabling)

The girl stopped in her front yard, sat down and just watched us. Most of us began showing off and trying outlandish jumps and tricks on our bikes. After she watched us acting like fools for a while, two of my friends and I walked up to her and introduced ourselves. We found out that she was our age and would be starting in our school in September. They had moved here from another state after her parents got divorced.

The girl was a bit homely and did not really have anything special about her looks. Just kind of plain. After inviting her to hang with us, we began just treating her like one of the guys. Not to mention that she was pretty good on a skateboard.

As the summer wore on and we all hung out together, I made it a point to look out for her…I knew better than to burn ‘girl’ bridges. It was not long before I felt as though she kind of liked me. I was unsure about how I felt about that. I mean, it is nice to be liked but I did not know if she were my type. (as a girlfriend) She was not ‘sexy’, hung out with the guys, had previously confided that she’d never even kissed a boy and was all around kind of a goody two shoes. I on the other hand had started drinking, smoked cigarettes here and there, dabbled in smoking pot, went out at night to cause trouble with the boys and expected sex from a girlfriend.

…beginning of dilemma.

I did not know at that time how much she really knew about me or if she’d like what she saw …but a part of me liked the idea of ‘molding’ her to my liking. I could teach her the rope and then she’d be perfect for me.

My friends did not understand what I was doing when I asked her out, but soon after…they did. (I hate to say this now, but she was like a puppy going through training.)

...More to come.

Learning About Love - The Hard Way, Part 2

Make sure to read Part 1 before this one.

On our 15 block walk back home, we exchanged a few “I am the man” nods…but did not say much to one another. Once we got home, our father wanted to know the scoop. We filled him in to the best of our ability and then went into our room. Antsy and pacing around the room, I did not know how long I could put off calling her. I need to know if we were going to see each other again. I needed to know if she really liked me. I needed to know if there was a chance of a long distance relationship. I was dying. After about an hour and a half…I was defeated. I caved and called the number that she wrote on my hand.

After a few short rings, the sound of her sweet voice filled my ear. I struggled for words. A few seconds later I was comfortable speaking again. She had a weird way of calming me. I adored that in her.

We saw each other a few more times before I headed back home to New Hampshire. During these visits we kissed twice, we sat in her room for hours talking and listening to music, we agreed to be boyfriend and girlfriend and we agreed to call and write to each other frequently.

Once home, I bragged to all of my friends (all that would listen) about how "I picked up the hottest girl in New York and now she is my girlfriend." I don’t think many of them believed me…until the day that I got my first letter from her. It was the sweetest love letter I had ever gotten and it had a Polaroid picture of her in front of Tower Records. My friends, after seeing her picture, both believed and, from then on, looked up to me.

After a few weeks, it was time for me to go upstate to my boarding school. I did not like that idea of being that much further away from ‘my love’ but I had no choice. The adjustment to living at school was tough, but was made much easier with the picture of Vanessa on my desk and the letters I received EVERY day from her. I literally got about 40 letters from her in the first 2 months of school.

After a few more months, and as the letters slowed in frequency, I received the letter that I hoped would never come. The Break Up Letter. I was crushed. I know that I had only known her for a handful of months and that I’d only actually seen her in person 5 or 6 times and she lived 10 hours away…but still. I moped around for a week or so hoping that I’d get another letter…which never came.

The next two years I spent flirting and having flings with all of the teachers’ (age appropriate) children and a few girls from neighboring towns. I suppose it was the experimental phase…where I needed to know where I stood as far as picking up girls and handling short term relationships. It was quite fun while it lasted (barring the time I got caught with the headmaster’s daughter in the bathroom of the church.) but I knew that when I got back home, I was ready for something more.

...More to come

My Balls

As a stay at home dad, I do have a lot of the same concerns, issues and interactions as many of the mommy bloggers out there….BUT…I also have balls…these balls that sway between my thighs send messages to my brain on a continual basis that help me to realize that things such as shopping, cute baby pictures, shoes, malls, brunch with friends and movies like ‘The Notebook’ or “when Harry Met Sally’ are just NOT what I should be blogging or worrying about.

My Balls tell me to pay a bit more attention to; love, sex, hot women, fast cars, fishing, camping, the NFL, poker, action movies (with lots of guns), being ‘king’ of my world, protecting and caring for my family, ….oh…..and beer!

Twisted as women think men are…we, as parents, strive for the same things (I think). It is just that we travel differing paths to get there. Men, well….shit….I’ll talk for myself. I seem to take the most difficult, but exciting paths…anything to add adventure and adrenaline to my journey. Women on the other hand, generally tend to take that meandering, path that moves slowly past the flowers and the pretty houses.

So, all in all…don’t be haters ladies. Love us for the end goals…not the path that we take to get there. Remember it is not us that chooses the path…it is our balls. The balls that provide you with pleasure and children…I assure you…you would hate us without them!

OCD Sucks

Due to some technical difficulties…or my ever-present OCD…I had to erase all of the timers for shows set to record on our satellite system. There were some conflicts and things just weren’t working right (as smooth as I’d like them to be.)

As to not forget any shows…and again letting some OCD seep out, I first made a list (I love lists) of everything that we, as a household, wanted recorded on a regular basis.

35 freakin shows!
And 25 of them are shows primarily for Mariah and I.

What the hell are we thinking? How are we supposed to watch 25 hours of TV a week?

That made me think about it in relation to other things in my weekly schedule…fine…It was an excuse for me to make another list.

Here is what I cam up with…In order:
Sleep – 56 Hours
TV – 25
HoursWriting / computer / work – 25 Hours
Homework help – 10 Hours
Laundry/cooking/household chores – 8 Hours
Carpools – 8 Hours
Sex – 6 Hours
Volunteering at the school – 4.5 Hours
Shopping – 3 Hours

A TOTAL OF 145.5 HOURS!

Being that there are only 168 hours in the week…I have about 22.5 hours unaccounted for. (I know I do other things so I will not stress about ‘losing time’ or anything.)

Now, looking at this list…I know that I need to move SEX MUCH HIGHER in the list, additionally, I am spending roughly 47% of the hours in the week sleeping and watching TV…WTF!? Like I don’t have better things to do.

Super Powers

I have two simple questions for you all today…

If you were invisible for one 24 hour period…what are the top three things you would do?

I chose invisible because out of all ‘super powers’ that is the one that I would most like to have. (FYI…I am secretly honing my skills and practicing to harness the power of invisibility, so if you ever feel a tap on your shoulder and nobody is there…it might just be me.)

If not invisible…what super power would you most like to have?

If I were invisible, I would; secretly walk onto flights so I could visit all of the cities around the world that I yearn to go to, I’d be on the sets of my favorite TV shows…and maybe mess with people there, I’d have to at least do a walk through of the Playboy mansion and lastly I’d see what REALLY goes on in the Oval Office and the ‘Situation Room’.

The Mind, Body and Shit

Well - I think that the majority of you know how I sometimes throw out some major randomness and how speaking my mind is not something that I am worried about doing….so here goes another edition of TentCamper’s Random Thoughts.

I know that it is something that everyone has thought about and even most likely had in depth discussions about….Yawning.

How is yawning so contagious? Why isn’t sneezing, coughing or clearing your throat? It is only yawning. Why does the brain only fuck with us on the yawning thing? I mean, you can see someone across a room yawning and …there you go a big yawn and you are not even tired. It could be someone talking about yawning or yawning right next to you. Even someone writing about yawning can make our dumb-ass brains think that we need to yawn.

What is the point of a yawn anyway? Is there any medical or biological purpose for yawns…or was this our creator’s way of fucking with us?

(How many times did YOU yawn while reading that?)

What about sneezing? Why can’t we sneeze with our eyes open? In follow up…I kind of think that those folks out there with severe allergies, who sneeze a lot….maybe should not be allowed to drive during allergy season.

Lastly, why are women's boobs considered 'privates' and men's are not? I think that my nipples are bust as sensitive as a woman's. If the reasoning is that they are considered a sexual organ....what about mouths? Should we cover those too? Shit...even hands can be quite the sexual organ. I say that we all pe-TIT-ion to have the requirement for women to wear shirt lifted. Men and women....equal! (Fine....some women should remain clothed...but the same goes for men... I guess I think that it should be a person's personal choice.) Let's get this done people!

Why has nobody developed an in the bowl vent for toilets? (I claim this as my idea so back the F up!)

Many (if not most) bathrooms are equipped with exhaust fans in the ceiling. This is indeed a helpful product. BUT what it essentially does is take the looming odor, which is directly under you, and pull it straight up your body, across your face and then up to the vent. Why not have a vent built-in (or even an ‘aftermarket’ product) that would take the emissions from one’s stink pickle and whisk it away…BEFORE one has to hold their breath as the vapors cross the facial area?!

My New Catch 22

So, as you all know I went to the doctor about a week and a half ago and after getting the blood tests back, my doctor told me that to lower my skyrocketing cholesterol and blood pressure I would HAVE to quit smoking, change my diet and exercise regularly.

Now, if any of you know what the diet for high cholesterol is, you’ll know what hell I am going through. I am not a junk food junkie, but not being able to eat 98% of things found in a normal grocery store is…my new HELL.

On top of that, I am a week into weaning down my smoking and am at less than half of what I smoked up until now. If you have quit or know someone who has…you’ll know that the first thing you want to do is EAT! Problem number 1….I can’t fucking eat! Salads and nuts just don’t cut the ‘quit smoking cravings.’ In addition to the food aspect, my loving doc prescribed Wellbutrin (an anti anxiety drug) to help along the weaning process. The thought is good, but after reading the below ‘known’ side effects….What The Fuck?

Wellbutrin

All medicines may cause side effects, but many people have no, or minor, side effects. Check with your doctor if any of these most COMMON side effects persist or become bothersome when using Wellbutrin:

Constipation (everyone knows that a cup of coffee and a cigarette are like bowel draino); dizziness; drowsiness; dry mouth; headache (the smoker’s cure for any pain or ailment….smoking); increased sweating; loss of appetite(when I am not able to eat anything…I am going to get sick from mal nutrition); nausea; nervousness (again…smoking calms the system); restlessness (for this and the last one….mind you, this is an anti anxiety drug!); taste changes; trouble sleeping(can’t sleep….have a smoke…or eat…WTF?); vomiting (who doesn’t have a smoke after a good puke?); weight changes.

(I will not even get into the following SEVERE side effects.)

Seek medical attention right away if any of these SEVERE side effects occur when using Wellbutrin:

Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue); chest pain; confusion; dark urine; delusions; fainting; fast or irregular heartbeat; fever, chills, or sore throat; hallucinations; hearing problems; menstrual changes; new or worsening mental or mood changes (eg, concentration problems, panic attacks, aggressiveness, agitation, anxiety, impulsiveness, irritability, hostility, exaggerated feeling of well-being, inability to sit still); red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin; seizures; severe headache or dizziness; severe or persistent joint or muscle pain; severe or persistent nausea, vomiting, or stomach pain; severe or persistent nervousness, restlessness, or trouble sleeping; shortness of breath; suicidal thoughts or attempts; tremor; unusual swelling; vision changes; worsening depression; yellowing of the skin or eyes.

So….here I am, smoking less, wanting to eat, not being able to eat, suffering from side effects that make me want to smoke, but can’t smoke more, needing to exercise more, but lacking the nutritional energy to do so….basically making myself nuts.

Lastly…I may be wrong, or it may just be a smoker’s mind trick, but haven’t I heard somewhere that the worst time to quit smoking is when you are under a lot of stress? (i.e. out of work, struggling financially, going through divorce, etc….all of which apply to me at the moment! And my doctor knows this.)

Is my doctor a quack? Or is this my withdrawals from nicotine and fatty foods?

Annual Physical Update - Lab Results

I don’t know…you tell me…Is there a better way to really fuck up someone’s day than to have the doctor’s office call and leave you a message that the doctor would like you to come in to discuss the lab results in person? (see below for the post about the physical)

WTF!?

The only thing that they hinted about was elevated cholesterol, but that the doc wanted to go over ALL of the results with me. Now…the earliest I can be seen to talk to the doctor is tomorrow morning.

Now I get to sit here and do one of two things….worry all night and be a mess…or…Drink heavily until tomorrow morning.

HMMMMMMM……

I had better go get a lot of Sam Adams!...just in case.

Annual Physical Update

So, this morning I woke up at about 7AM to birds squawking outside my bedroom window and the looming memory that I have a physical and can’t have any coffee. Pissed off I slam the window shut and yank the covers back up over my head. I did not want to get up until 15 minutes before seeing the doc.

Per the norm, our 10 year old honored us with a visit every 3 or 4 minutes…for one thing after the next…but 5th grade picture day is a special day….so…I reach under my pillow for the remote and on goes the news. (yes…I sleep with the remote under my pillow…don’t ask)

So there I was, laying there under the blankets, half tuning out both the child and the news, grumpy about not being able to have coffee and anxious about the doctor appointment. I guess my state was obvious because with only a few across the pillow glances, I felt Mariah’s hand moving up my thigh and coming to rest on my…package.

My guess is that the wonderful morning romp in the sheets was an attempt at elevating my mood (I am quite OK with that.) But what may have happened is that while breaking my foulness…she pumped up my blood pressure enough so that the doctor had questions for me.

Now on to my appointment. After filling out all of the stupid and redundant forms I was called in to start the exam. The first stop was height and weight…my weight was about 165ish…normal, but what the fuck is with my height? I made the nurse measure me 3 times…I am fucking shrinking!!!!! A year ago….and since I was like 18 I was 5’9” (borderline 5’10”) TODAY I AM 5 fucking foot 8”.

Ok, then I was shown into the exam room, told to undress, put on a gown and have a seat. After changing, the nurse came back in and took my temp and blood pressure (which was high’ish 138/89 - due to sex, nicotine, anxiety and no coffee.)

Then in comes the doc. Long hair, low cut v-neck top…my kind of doctor. Not good looking…but strides ahead of the fat, wrinkly old men that I’d been used to. Anyway, she proceeds to assault me with health related questions, lashing at me about smoking at every opportunity and then begins her exam.

First was checking the ears, eyes and throat with that little mini magnifying flashlight deal. She made no comments, so I felt safe. Then it was on to breathing. She whipped out her stethoscope and listened to my chest from the front and then the back while instructing me to breathe heavily (sounds kind of …adult – but it was far from that.). Then my heart, a few seconds to listen and she backed away from me.

At that point the gloves went on and she asked me to stand up. Flashes of my late night conversation with Mariah flooded my head. (I’ve been doing some recent ‘manscaping’ ….to the point of …well, I believe that I had about the same amount of hair down there when I was born. Tool and jewels…bare as a babies bottom! I told Mariah last night that I was nervous about that if the doc wanted to do a hernia test…but then I thought about it and had not had a hernia test in like 15 years. Mariah laughed for about 15 minutes, but I felt assured that our secret was safe.) Anyway, the doc grabbed the bottom of my gown and told me to hoist it up. And there it was…my clean shaven manhood dangling about a foot from her face. Luckily the doctor (who is also our kids’ doctor – freaking great) was pretty professional and only shot one inquisitive look up at me.

After coughing as instructed, while she tried to cram my balls up into my stomach, she asked me to turn around. I paused and fearfully looked at her as she squeezed about a third of a tube of KY onto her fingers. I looked at her with my best sad puppy dog eyes and said, “Really? I just had a prostate check last year.” She responded with “You are over 40….it comes with the physical now.” I indicated to her that it would be fine if she wanted to use MORE KY…to no avail. I turned around, leaned over, grabbed the sides of the table and WHAM! No warning, no gentle pat on the back…not even a brief reach around. She pulled out (shit that sounds weird) and told me that things were in order and I could get dressed before the nurse comes back to take blood.

HOW LUCKY AM I TODAY!?

I got dressed, waited for the nurse, quickly filled a few vials with my red man juice and was about to leave when Dr. KY came back and handed me a slip that I was to bring to another office….to get a chest x-ray, then she slipped out the door and out of sight.

Curious if she wanted the chest x-ray because she noticed something that she failed to tell me about or just as a routine part of the physical…I don’t know.

I left, went to get the x-ray and now am sitting home awaiting her call to discus the results of the blood tests and the chest x-ray. OH JOY!!!!!

To Pee Or Not To Pee

As you may be able to tell from the name of my blog, I have a tendency to pee into the wind. But that is not the only thing about pee that I like….I grew up in the northeast and spent many a winter producing creative ‘art’ on my white snow canvas. I peed on my brother after my other brother and I tied him up. I have (I am man enough to admit it) peed myself …as a grown man. I pee outdoors at every opportunity…bushes, behind trees, alleys, fields, off boats, in streams…you know…pretty much anywhere. In addition to all of that, I have a small bladder, so I go pretty much all the time.

As a 41 year old man, with all of the aforementioned experience, I do consider myself an expert…or urinary master extraordinaire…as I have been referred to from time to time.

With that said, I have considered writing books on the subject…things like Taking the Piss (The History of PEE) for the guys and How to Pee Standing Up for all of you ladies…who want to let loose and pee in the wind with me.

Maybe I am talking about pee too much or maybe just sharing too much about myself personally, but I really don’t care.

I love to pee. You know when you have to pee really bad?...no when holding it hurts so much that you actually start to laugh. When you finally let go…it is complete ecstasy… A ‘peegasm’ if you will. Or when you (knowing how big or small your own bladder is) pee for so long that you wonder if something is wrong…then you just get that little smile on your face…you’ve actually impressed your own self. What about when ….oh never mind…you get my point.

Lastly, I got a bit upset when I saw this. Who do theses asses think they are anyways?

Vanity - A Nationwide Illness

One of Mariah and my favorite things to do while driving around is …well…besides dissing up people’s outfits and driving skills and pointing out and laughing at the nose pickers, seat dancers and singers…vanity plates. There are tons out there, some foolish and some that make no freaking sense whatsoever.

For the ones that are evident, we read them and then try to get a good look at the driver to see if it is a good fit or not…usually NOT.

Then there are the more difficult ones…the ones that must be vanity plates, but that could just be a coincidence with the mix of letters and numbers.

Anyway, I thought I’d share with you all a few that were quite evident. I would have loved to get a good look at these drivers!!!!

What the hell are people thinking getting shit like this on their cars?!

Love in a Bottle

The following is a letter that I have just sent off to 'my friends' at the Boston Beer Company. I wonder if they will take it to heart and help a brotha out.


Dear Samuel Adams executives,

I am writing this letter to you in an attempt to express to you the extent for my love of your Boston Lager. As I am sure that you have received many such letters, this one I assure you, is straight from the heart.

I first had the pleasure of being introduced to my first Samuel Adams Boston Lager in 1991, whilst living in Boston’s Back Bay. As with some human relationships…it was love at first sight. Our love affair has spanned the past 18 years and its full flavored goodness has been one constant in my life that would always be there for me.

Over the years, I would find myself angered and disgruntled at the fact that everyone does not carry the Sam Adams brand. People just don’t seem to understand the extent to which Sam Adams far exceeds other beers in the realm of quality, taste and …yes…drinkability. Yes…I am the guy with the collection of anything and everything Sam Adams (signs, openers, glasses, bottles and even retail store signage (that I pleaded with owners for.)

Getting to my point, during these times, times in which money is tight and budgets are stretched, I am finding it harder and harder to justify this long time relationship of mine. Currently I am out of work and am a father to 6 children. Besides scouring local stores for sales, the price of Sam Adams is making it like the love a teenage fan would have for a hot celebrity…consistently intense, but unattainable.

As I have written on my blogs about this love affair of mine (http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2009/06/insane-love.html http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-guess-pleasantries-are-overrated.html ) I plan to continue passionately writing about the most superb beer in the world, I am asking, right here and right now…for your help.

As a long time HUGE fan, coinsurer and lover of your beer, please help a struggling guy continue on this journey of love. As I cannot fathom my life without your delicious brew, I’d be happy and willing to plaster my blogs and Facebook pages with banners, ads and text links pointing to Samuel Adams. Coupons, website credits, cases (to review), etc. or anything else that you can think of would not only reinforce that yours is the best beer, but the best company in the world.

I eagerly look forward to your response.

Best regards.


Chris
Lover of Sam Adams – America’s World Class Beer

Confucius Vs. Dr. Phil

I don’t know about you but recently I have been having some issues with the sayings like, “Money can’t buy love.” and “Money doesn’t equal happiness."

I know that literally they are true, but at the core of what they mean….I have always thought it to be… without the ‘pad’ of money, it is much easier to feel/experience what love really is.

Now…Philosophers and ‘wise men’ may say these things, while at the same time, psychologists and socioeconomic studies say the complete opposite. “The lack of money and financial hard times are proven to be the root of a great deal of divorce, break ups, and household dysfunction.”

WTF!?

With the economy, lack of work and rising costs of having 6 kids (schools, groceries, movies, ice cream, birthday gifts, etc., etc.) The ‘lack of funds’ is proving to have a devastating effect on our whole house.

Mariah and I worry about ‘making it’ through the month, while the kids, increasingly, need things - and we don't need the kids worrying about our money situation. Continually telling the kids that we can’t afford it or that it will have t wait kind of puts a damper on their day and makes them wonder how stable our family really is. Meanwhile, Mariah and my stress levels rise and it tends to come out in the form of a cold, angry, or unhappy attitude…which then equates to the Gods pissing on our ‘flame.’

I love Mariah. I love all of the kids. I love the time we are able to spend together. I love what we have. But these days it seems that, whether it is Mariah and I or one of us with one of ( or a group of ) the kids…tempers are short, attitudes uneasy and the lovey, cuddly sides of us all are pushed aside from the stress. I feel like at any given time…someone in the house is in a foul mood…and does everyone else have the right to be cheery and happy?

I miss the constant smiles that we all once shared. I miss the spontaneous love making. I miss the luxury of being able to take Mariah out for an evening.

I want it all back!

I know that it is all part of being an adult, being a parent, being out of work and struggling through hard times…but it is plaguing me and I fucking hate it!!!!

Peeing in a Tornado

OK….What gives?

Let’s just say that reflecting on things…sitting or lying down trying to assess my current situation… has become quite the nightmare of a task.

Basic summary:

I am unemployed.

I have been looking for work for about a year and have literally come up dry. I won’t say that I have been out on the streets banging on doors every day, but I have sent my resume to thousands of people and still….nothing.

I know that the economy and the current job market suck right now…and that huge numbers of people are out of work…which just makes it that much harder.

There seem to be many reasons that I am not finding work:
Over-qualified
No experience
Felony record

Now, over the past 25 years, I have done the following for work; Restaurant (dishwasher, server, bar back, assistant manager), Construction (roofer, grunt for wood framing contractor), Mental Health (worker and then manager for 2 different group homes for mentally handicapped adults), Public Relations (in-house for House of Blues, then started a PR firm which I ran for 8 years), Internet/Magazines (co-founded 2 successful online magazines and acted as Executive Editor for another), Professional (General administration and then promoted to Operations Manager for an LA based financial consulting firm.)

When I apply to PR/marketing companies…I usually get, “too qualified” or “we found someone who better matches our needs.”
When I apply to offices for Admin jobs…I did not work in that field long enough or I am over qualified (what the fuck does that mean?...both over and under????)
When I apply at McDonalds and grocery stores (which I have) I get turned away upon them seeing a felony record.
When I apply for general labor jobs, I do not have current experience…15 years ago does not seem to count.
…WHATEVER… The point is, I CAN”T FIND A FUCKING GOOD JOB!
(**if you know of anything…feel free to let me know)

Am I going to have to move to freakin Greece and become a fisherman? Try out for Deadliest Catch, leverage everything I can and give it a shot as a professional poker player?

What?...you ask what my dream job is? I would start as a crew member and then an owner of a sportfishing charter…fishing the big boys off southern Baja. Shit…I’d take cleaning the docks in Marina Del Rey.

AND THEN…..My (pending) divorce…
This case has been going on for more than 3.5 years. She has a (well she is on her 5th) lawyer and I (since the start) can’t afford one and did not think that there was enough to argue about to really need one. MY BAD! So, I am still not, technically, divorced (although the judge granted the dissolution more than a year ago.) All I want is to have fair / standard time with my boys. I suppose that if I got a job, I could hire an attorney and get this whole thing over with…but scroll back to the top.

With 6 kids – it is hard not to feel like a total fucking loser. The situation is absolutely Maddening!

Well…..enough of this pity / venting shit and back to actually feeling like shit.

Normal Chilhood - Military Training

We gathered at the edge of the woods as the sounds of clanking dishes filled the air. Full from the dinners we had all just finished, we sat and waited for the last two members of our squad.

All dressed in our fatigues (or as close as we could get) we had our briefing. The seven of us agreed that minimal talking/noise …and of course only using our code names would be the only way to keep our top secret mission intact.

We spread out slightly as we entered the woods. For the next ten minutes all we could hear was the faint crackling of pine needles beneath out boots and a random twig snapping as we pushed our way through the trees to our hide-out.

The air was still, breezes blocked by the acres of pine trees on all sides. We entered our 2 story fort one at a time, without making a sound. Once we were all inside, we began planning our day’s activities. In low, but commanding, whispers we discussed the three traps we were going to set along the paths to our hideaway.

*We’d seen enough Vietnam and random other war movies to know the best ones to ensnare the mistaken or intentional intruders.

Over the next 5 hours all seven of us worked diligently to perfect our military works of art. We split up into 3 groups; Pain, Sniper and Grunt worked on the bungee pit, Hammer, Red and Cap worked on the spring snare while Gunny, Top, Nuke and Camo perfected the suspended log (or mace trap).

**I will not tell you which of the above my code name was.

We regrouped as it began to get late in the day and began rounds to check out all of the work that had been done. All of the traps were set…satisfied with our ingenious success, we all headed home for dinner.

Around 8PM, we got back together, armed with flashlights to inspect our newly crafted traps…and to make sure that they were still in place.

The bungee pit was the first that we got to. It was just fine…a 4 foot deep ditch, which spanned the width of the path, covered with branches, twigs and leaves – hiding the bounty of sharpened wooden spikes that were positioned at the bottom, awaiting their first prey.


The spring snare was next. It was set with a young white birch tree, pulled back with a very sensitive network of ropes, a large slip knot and trip wire. We had high hopes for this one. We tripped it a few times and were thoroughly impressed.


Lastly we came to the mace trap. This was the hardest to set as the log, suspended 20 feet in the air, had to have weighed at least 100 pounds. Held in place only by a small stick attached to the rope acting as the trip wire…this was a sensitive one and we were all very careful not to trip it by accident.


Stay tuned to the ending of this story…in my next post.

(until then...go read the first, second and third installments about my childhood)