Tuesday, January 27, 2009

She Cooked!!! She Cooked!!!!!

No shit.

The apocolypse is upon us. Mrs. McNoogin made me dinner last night.

More or less but, given there was some stove usage and a few pots were actually used, I'm going to give this one to her for the effort.

I came home around 7:00 last night. I was greeted by the baby sitter and my daughter's best friend's sitter. The kids were quietly playing and my wife was nowhere to be found.

The friend's sitter asked me for the recipe for the sugar free crustless cheesecake. She said it was awesome. I thanked her as nobody else had tasted it so I didn't know if it was really good or I just like cream cheese. Now I know.

Anyway, I asked our sitter where my wife was and she smiled and said "in the bedroom getting dinner ready."

I was a bit surprised. I couldn't imagine my wife, who is not exactly the outgoing sexcapade type, was summonning me to the boudoir for some late afternoon fucking.

She wasn't.

She was on the internet looking up recipes. She was planning on making me dinner and she needed to learn how to make what she wanted to make.

Not a good sign.

Anyway, I removed my ridiculous boot, put on some sweats and a tee shirt and went to say hello to the kids. I was greeted by all three of them with hugs and kisses and cheers. Then my daughter leaned in close and whispered "mommy's cooking" in a somewhat frightened tone.

I told her not to worry, she was googling recipes and I'm sure it will be great.

I went into the kitchen and heard the sitters talking about their obama crushes, my wife's lack of skills in the kitchen and my apparent skills in that same room.

I stuck my head into the kitchen, more to see what was being prepped for me than anything else and this is what I saw.
A big bowl of chopped spinach - frozen and defrosting.
Butter in a pot
Several different seasonings
Heavy Cream
One nut
Two steaks wrapped in the shrink wrap that screams "not the best meat."
computer printouts

So I asked what was going on and the sitters said "steak and creamed spinach but she doesn't know what you can and can't eat so she took everything out and she's been waiting for you to come home before she started cooking."

So the butter, the heavy cream etc have all been sitting out for a few hours. gross.

The steaks? One was a shell steak, the other a ribeye. The label on the rib eye said bone in. There was no bone. The shell steak was some organic, no anti-biotic etc company. The color was not the color of raw steak. My wife came in as I was inspecting the meats and she said "they didn't have two rib eyes from the same company and the woman told me the steaks were identical so I got this one."

I had to explain the different cuts of meat to her.

I had to show her the colors.

I had to show her the fat on the steak and explain the importance of said fat.

I had to explain the concept behind aging - the steak she bought was new baby, new.

I had to do all of this without upsetting her as she was trying to make me dinner but she didn't know that you are better off going to a butcher for steaks.

I managed to do this without putting a damper on the night.

Then I hit the bottle.

It was a necessity. The steaks were not going to be great. They wouldn't suck but they would rank in the bottom of the list of all time great steaks.

Way down at the bottom.

But she was cooking so I couldn't complain.

So, the sitters left and we got the kids in bed and asleep and we went back to cooking our dinner.

I offered to help and my wife said she'd do it. I asked her if she was going to salt the steaks a bit and she asked what that meant. I explained that a light salt rub would seal in the juices, keep the steak nice and flavorful blah blah blah. she asked me to do it.

So I did.

So, the end result was, she made me creamed spinach. It was pretty good. The rib eye was eh and the shell was horrific. It turned an even stranger color after cooking and the only way I could eat it was by first drowning it in bleu cheese dressing.

All in all, she cooked so the cook watch is over.

Should I start the sex watch next? I can put up a sex watch clock right next to a hell freezes over clock.

We can all bet on which one ends first.

Monday, January 26, 2009

She Cooks, She Ruins, She Kills!!!! (almost)

Well, it was bound to happen. The wife actually made a meal.

Sort of.

I spent the better half of yesterday afternoon making cupcakes with my daughter and then a crustless sugar free cheesecake for myself. This is the second time my daughter has requested baking with daddy and it has proven to be a rather fun event. She loves going to the market to get the goodies, she loves mixing and pouring and making the desserts and she loves licking the bowl, as most kids do.

So, we baked. All afternoon.

My wife came home around 6 with my son. They spent the day at a birthday party and then they did some shopping and hit the Children's Museum. A great day, the little man claimed.

Then the wife announced "I'm making dinner."

A cold breeze ran thru the apartment and an eerie music could be heard.

So, while my daughter read a book and my son watched some tv, Mrs. McNoogin toiled away in the kitchen.

First she opened a can of beans that looked like pasta, poured them in a bowl and put them out in front of my son so he could snack on them. My daughter walked into the room just as my wife was doing this and she came skipping over, hoping to grab a few bites as well.

Both kids reached into the bowl, grabbed one of these long pasta looking things, put it in their respective mouths, took bites and spit it out.

"ugh, that's not pasta"

from both of them.

Next, my wife announced to the room "dinner is ready, wash up and sit down."

So, cart the kids off to the bathroom, they wash up and get ready for dinner. My daughter looks up at me and asks "what do we do when it tastes gross?"

I tell her it won't. I tell her mommy probably made something they love.

So, we sit down, the three of us. Apprehensive smiles on our faces.

And out she comes, holding what appears to be a quiche.

A quiche?

She didn't make dinner. She heated it.

The kids looked at the quiche on the table, looked at me, looked at my wife and looked back at the quiche with a bit of fear on their faces and my daughter says "I'll have soup."

My son then said "I want chicken thunders." (chicken tenders)

I tell them to try the quiche.

They look at me like I'm nuts. I then take a slice of the quiche and put it on my plate. I start eating the top portion, trying to avoid getting any of the crust in my mouth as I cannot eat that and I don't want my kids to see me spit out the crust.

My kids laugh at me and both get up from the table. They ask to be called back when their dinner is ready. I tell them to sit their asses back down and try the quiche.

My son says no, my daughter says fine. As soon as her soup is ready, she says, she will try the quiche.

So we sit and talk about the party, the baking and whatnot until the soup comes out.

My daughter eats the soup.

My son says it lookes like poop.

My wife comes out with another bowl of beans. Butter beans this time.

Shunned again.

I explain to my wife that the only way to get the kids to eat beans is by mixing them with something else, like rice.

"I'm not making rice"

I'm not asking you to, I tell her.

My son asks where his chicken is.

My wife says "shit, I forgot to plug the toaster oven in."

My daughter has her bowl of soup. My son, eventually, has his chicken thunders and the kids are excused from the table.

I tell the kids they have a few minutes before bed time and I ask them to behave as I am running out to grab some soda for myself.

When I return from the store I almost pass out. The smell of gas overwhelms me. I actually get my first whiff of it when I am outside the apartment, in the hallway.

I walk in, walk straight into the kitchen, open the window and look at the stove. The front left burner is on, no flame burning. Gas has been pumping into the apartment for some period of time.

I ask my wife if she smelled the gas and she said she thought it smelled a bit but it always smells a bit in our kitchen. This is true, there is, at times, a very faint gas odor.

Apparently she heated up some corn and some soup and in the process of moving pots around she accidentally turned one burner back.

I asked her when she made corn. She said she heated it up for our daughter but it didn't look or taste right so she didn't serve it.

So, my wife finally "cooked" a meal and almost asphyxiated the family in the process.

Here's what she cooked:
2 cans of beans. Process of cooking - open can, pour into bowls, serve.
1 can of corn. Process of cooking - open can, pour into pot, heat over low flame, serve. This resulted in disaster. The food couldn't be served (not sure why) and the gas was left on, almost killing my family.
1 can of soup. Process of cooking - open can, pour in pot, heat and serve. One child ate it, one didn't.
1 Quiche Lorraine. Process of cooking - preheat oven, unwrap and cook for 20 minutes.
Chicken Thunders. Process of cooking - preheat toaster oven, put one chicken fillet on the baking pan, slide into oven, cook for 7 minutes, flip, cook for 7 minutes and serve. One side was crunchy and browned, the other side was wet from not being flipped.

As I left the apartment this morning she said she was going to make dinner again tonight.

I'm increasing my life insurance and investing in gas masks for all.

Friday, January 23, 2009


Ok, so a bunch of local department stores settled a price fixing lawsuit recently and the end result is that starting this past Monday, they all had to give away free make-up. They are doing this until $175 million in overcharged merchandise is returned to the customers.

And how, you ask, are they doing this? Starting this past Monday, you simply had to go to any of the stores and pick up your free shit.

Since their doors opened Monday morning, there have been insane lines to get the freebies. At Macy's, the line stretches around the all four sides of the building and then heads into a back entrance. Where it goes from there is beyond me but the line barely moves. I've watched it. Bloomingdale's has a similar line, not quite as long and, I presume, the other stores also have lines like this.

Today is Friday. Five fucking days of standing on line, shuffling foreward two steps, standing still, shuffling, standing, shuffling. I asked how long the line was taking and the girls responded "hours."

Hours. Not an hour. Not a couple of hours or a few hours but hours. That, in my book, means 4 or more hours. Like this was an all day affair for these folks.

And all this waiting is for what?

I figured they were giving out store credit. The news said they were giving the overcharge back to men and women so it couldn't be a single product and, since it wasn't an overcharge of just one manufacturer, whatever they were returning should cover everyone and everything in the makeup section, no?

No. The women are waiting on line for a little mascara tube. One little tube of mascara. That's it. 4 or more hours for fucking mascara.
A product that costs $7 at walgreens and $25 at Nordstrom? Four hours for that? Seriously? Is this what we've come to? I'm waiting for free shit, regardless of the wasted day or the unpaid hours.

If I announced free shit for two days would all these morons line up for a bag of my shit, free?

I do think so.

An experiment is in order. I just need to start bagging my shit first.

I'd ask for help but then I'd be giving away your shit, not my shit and I highly doubt anyone would want to help bag my shit.

UBP, Firearms And A Good Book

So, I'm talking to a friend yesterday and I'm bitching about the boot I'm wearing and how, thanks to the size of the heel on this thing, I needed to put a small lift inside my right shoe to try and even out the legs. So, I'm complaining about teetering on two different heel sizes and I realized how hard it must be for women to walk around on those heel stilts. If I can barely handle an inch or so of insert in my shoe, how can women manage to walk on 6 inch heels?

Of course my calves and ass look great in these heels but has anyone noticed? Has anyone said "Floogin, check out the shape of those stems!"


So, as I continued my whine about my long shapely legs, firm, tight butt and the foot pain I endure to provide the world with the view of the aforementioned legs and butt, I realized I was a couple of boobs away from being a woman so I told my friend I needed a pair of boobs and vageen to make me complete.

She laughed and the conversation turned, of course, to something a bit more graphic and she said I would not be too happy with the accidental period in public.

Would anyone? To spontaneously bleed from any hole is nasty. To do it in public and have that blood come from your most private of privates? Um, no thanks but, given that we all know women get their period each month, is it not expected that, sometimes, an accident might occur? And yes, we do all know. Y'all are sure to tell us. It's almost like we're reminded so as to turn us off in the event we want some sex (we do, we always do).

You know how it is.
Honey, do you have the phone with you?
I'm bloated.

Honey, what do you want to do for dinner?
I'm getting my period

Sweetheart, I'm going to leap in front of a bus.
I'm cramping.

And so it goes.

Anyway, where was I? Right, thanks. Accidents in public. So, anyway, this friend brings that risk up and I explain that it should not happen too often as women seem to always be "getting my period any minute" and, besides, it happens. Women certainly can't be embarrassed by it. Every other woman knows that risk and men? We don't care. We see a woman with a period stain and we're thinking "blowjob."
So I tell this friend I'd rather get the blood spots than a public erection.

A what?

Unwanted Public Boner. UBP. The dreaded public hardon.

Girls, you think the high beams were bad. Try pitching a tent and having to hide it from the class.

So, this friend asks what an unwanted public boner is and I simply say "imagine sitting at a funeral and your dick decides to stretch. Hard? At a funeral? Yeah, try getting a date with anyone now sicko.

UPB is actually far more common than accidental public period. Far more common. The wind blows the right way and BOING!! now you neeed to convince the other parents on the playground that you have a condition.

A woman flashes a smile, shows a bit of cleavage and HELLO. So, there you are, standing on the wing of an airplane that just crashed into a river in sub-arctic temps, sporting a giant pleasure stick.

If only we had control over it.

So, instead of trying to harness this power, and use it for good, we have mastered the art of concealing the UPB.

Some of the many ways to conceal:
Hunch over and claim back troubles.

Spill coffee all over yourself, yank the shirt out to dry. The untucked shirt should work as a nice cover.

Grab a pencil and stick your hand down your pants. If anyone notices, pull the pencil out and say "how the fuck did these get in there?" as you pull the first one out. Then dive back in for the others.

Do not tuck it up inside the waist band. The rubbing could prove to be disastrous. Then a coffee stain will be welcomed.

And somehow this leads me to gun control. Now, I'm not a pro or anti gun person. I've fired a gun before. It didn't make me feel like I had a bigger cock. I didn't feel any more power or control but that doesn't mean others don't get that rush. So, do we have the right to control gun ownership in our country? Yes and No. The second amendment to the constitution gives us the right to bear arms. Of course, at the time, they were using muskets and pistols which did little damage. Think bb gun. You know, you'll shoot your eye out Ralphie. Or, better yet, it'll lodge under the skin and cause a very bad infection (points to the reader who can tell me who said this and where).
So, our forefathers knew it was important that we, the people, be allowed to own a gun. Not a machine gun. Not some mini-cannon that shoots thousands of rounds of metal piercing bullets that enter your body and explode, releasing hot magman and flesh eating bacteria that sing abba tunes.

No, our forefathers wanted us to be able to shoot pheasant and deer.

How important was this right to bear arms? Pretty fucking important. Let's see, draw up the basic foundation of our laws and government. Done.

Wait, guys, we forgot something. We forgot to say "we have the right to speak our minds, to practice any faith we see fit (except witches, they burn in hell), the press can report what they want and we shall give everyone the right to protest the government. That should keep us all on our toes. Jolly good. Let's go.


We should also be allowed to carry guns.


Let's see. Say what you want. Assemble peacably and protest. And do it all whilst carrying guns.


Bunch of dope smoking drunks just put all the ingrediants for a riot into our consitution.

The second most important thing, behind free speach is the right to bear arms.

Fuck, the thirteenth freed the slaves and the nineteenth gave women the right to vote.

that means it was more important for a man to carry a gun than for a woman to vote.

Actually, if you look at the amendments, it looks like they tried to fix the mistakes created by the previous amendments.

1. free speech, free assembly etc.
somebody brought a gun to a rally.
2. right to own a gun
The military, knowing Jim had guns, took over his home during some fight.
3. Forbids the military from using a private citizen's home for quarters during peacetime.
someone had guns, wouldn't let a military man inside so they went in anyway and found contraband.
4. must have probable cause to search a home.
someone was re-arrested after using the 4th amendment as his excuse for why he shouldn't be in jail.
5. double jeopardy, grand jury indictment etc.

Read the amendments and put your own story together. It's fairly easy to see how the government was taking advantage of people until the amendments were added.

And the good book?

The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death by Charlie Huston.

I've read all of his books and they're all incredible. He writes pulpy pulp fiction. He's got a series of books about vampires, another about an ex baseball player who has some dealings with some bad people and two stand alone novels. The one out now, mentioned above and another called The Shotgun Rule.

All are incredible and, if you like to read action packed, funny stories this guy is your man.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Counting The Days

It's been 21 days since I've had a smoke.
21 days without a toke
21 days, that's no joke.
21 days without a smoke.

15 days since the wife got fired.
15 days and so far here's what she's accomplished.
She has not made me one dinner. Nor has she cooked for the kids.
She has not, yet, filed for unemployment.
She has not, yet, dealt with her severance package.
She has not, yet, done shit.

She has, however, chastised me for not making good photo copies (she can go to fucking kinkos downstairs next time).
She has complained about how I should be more concerned about the cost of things. She told me this while she was shopping for shoes with a friend. (in her defense, she didn't buy anything or she hid the new boxes).

7 days since I got this dreadful boot on my foot. one week of hobbling around like some fucking frankenstonian gimp. one week of banging the bulky boot on doors and furniture.
do I feel better? nope. the moment I take the thing off, my ankle hurts. my knee is starting to ache from the new method of climbing up and down stairs.

7 days so far. 35 days left.

I need a fucking smoke.

Monday, January 19, 2009

A Short One About The Short One

I took my kids to see may parents over the weekend. They'd been cooped up for days, sick with Strep so I figured a day or two out east would be nice. The bay is frozen, it snowed most of the time we were there and they stayed indoors for two days (except the trip to see the seals) but it was a change of scenery and it gave them a chance to see the frozen tundra of the east end of long island.

Anyway, Saturday night, we're having dinner and my son is cracking us all up. He's on a roll and he knows it. He has this ability to make everyone laugh and push all the right buttons, knowing just the right time to stop. So, he's going on about god knows what and my daughter, who's sitting next to him, is in hysterics. Suddenly, as she lets out a loud, hearty laugh, she releases a rather large, rather loud fart, amplified by the position she has taken on the large, wood dining room chair.

My son, without missing a beat, turns to her and says "that's enough apples for you"

and goes right back to his story.

my father almost had a heart attack from laughing so hard.

My wife was stunned, my mother was cracking up. Me? I had heard it once before so I just sat back, smiling, knowing that one day, soon probably, I was going to be meeting with teachers, trying to convince them my son isn't the trouble maker they make him out to be.

Friday, January 16, 2009

There's Hope For Our Future

I've read about these groups that bring Israeli and Palestinian kids together for summer camp, with the hopes that the kids will learn that the Hatfield and McCoy hatred is unwarranted, that they are all very much alike and that people can get along, if they actually open their minds to it and accept that we aren't all the same.

This morning I read more about the current situation in the Middle East. It always makes me ill.

Then I read about the plane that went down in the Hudson yesterday. The pilot's heroic landing, which has never been accomplished with zero fatalities (according to the Daily News) was incredible but to read that he then walked up and down the aisle, making sure everyone was ok, then he got everyone off the plane and then, as the water was rushing in, he took one more pass thru the plane to be 100% sure he was the absolute last man off the plane. A local cop was talking about the pilot and how cool he was. He said the pilot was sitting and drinking coffee a short while after, smiling and talking as if it was just another routine day.

The article went on to talk about the actual incident and, as a New Yorker, the first thing that came to mind was 9/11. Everyone who saw the plane said the same thing "oh no, here we go again."

One of the passengers on the plane was quoted as saying "god put me on that plane."

What? The fucking plane went down in 20 degree weather, crash landing in icy waters and you say god put you there?

I read on.

This gentleman, it seems, missed his flight and wound up on the doomed flight. He was responsible for saving an infant's life yesterday. His first reaction wasn't to think "why on earth did I have to miss my flight." No, this brave soul said he was put there to help.

Then I read about how the pilot gave very little warning "brace for impact" and then the plane went into the water. The passengers all helped each other off the plane. Women and children first. Ferry boats pulled up to immediately assist in the passenger removal.

All done in a calm, orderly, humane manner. The pics in the paper look horrific but the people? They all seem to be calm and in control.

Thank you humanity for showing you can, once again, rise up and act in a proper manner.

So, anyway, Gaza, Israel, Palestinians, Jews, Muslims, airplane crashes....What the fuck does this have to do with anything, right?

Here's the thing. I had a cute little story to tell from last night that, when taken in the context of current events, made me think that, perhaps,humanity has hope.

Here's the story.

My son is sick (both kids are - raging strep going around). So, he slept all day and now he's up all night and who does he keep up? Me.

So I'm lying in bed with him and he's talking talking talking about everything anything nothing. He's telling me about the store across the street with the magic box and how he has a present for me and on and on and on and suddenly he says...

"Dad, a plane crashed in the water yesterday. Near the Trepid (intrepid, we'd just visited a couple of weeks ago). A plane crashed and a boat hit the plane. I saw it on the news."

I tried to interrupt him, to tell him everyone was ok, nobody got hurt but he wouldn't let me speak.

"Dad, put your finger up. Now, put it to your mouth. Say shhhh"

(always makes me feel like a little boy when he does this. I almost say yes sir)

"Dad, the plane, it crashed. A boat hit it and then they took all the people to the hospital. It happened in the city."

I know, it happened in our city

"DAD, No, it happened in a city, where everyone is black. All black people"

(I'm clueless as to where this came from or where it might headed so I give him some rope)

all black people?

"Dad, yeah, Rock Obama is from there. He has two daughters you know. They're little girls, not as little as me but little. And he has a wife, Michelle. He's the president of the flag of the united states of america."

(he's 3 and a half)

I'm stunned. Not that he thinks all black people live in a city but that my three and a half year old, who can't even get his colors correct can tell me the name of our next president, his wife and that they have two daughters. Fucking impressive.

About ten minutes later my son gets up to pee and when he comes back he says "Dad, my hands have ink on them from before"

I tell him that the stamper he was playing with colored his hands and fingers and that was why I told him to be careful with the ink pad. He said "it won't come off" so I tell him it is permanent.

He gets this freaked out look on his face and starts rubbing his hands.

He then says "Dad, Barbara (his pre k teacher) is going to think I'm turning into a black person"

I start laughing and he looks up, his face is still red from the fever, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot and he looks, pretty much, like a tired, sick child. A smile creeps over his face and his eyes brighten up just a bit.

Dad, if I turn into a black person, I can be president too.

So, there you have it. My son only knows of a black president. He doesn't know that the current president is a mental midget from a wealthy family. He doesn't know that since the beginning of our nation's history, we've had white folk fucking things up and now we're giving a black man the same opportunity.

My son, only knows black presidents. In his eyes, if he were lucky enough to be black, he could, one day, run for president.

Oh, the times they are a change ing.

The Israeli/Palestinian Camp concept is pretty much the same concept. Get people when they are young, teach them the way it should be and maybe, just maybe, the prejudices of the world will fall by the wayside.

Of course, in most cases, the kids go home to parents who teach them that one color is better than the other, that one faith is better than another, my god kicks you god's fat, hairy pimpled celestial ass etc.

Not true.

Here's the deal folks. Pass this on to your kids. Maybe then we'll break the circle.

all colors are good, all colors are bad
all faiths are good, all faiths are bad
all gods suck ass. if they didn't, there'd be no death and no suffering.
there is only on race. the human race. better to run together than go it alone.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

No Smoking Observation

A double dose from me. Yay.

So, today is day 13 without a smoke. Not bad. Truth is, it has, so far, been somewhat easy. Too fucking cold to smoke. Seriously. So, I have not been tempted to inhale frozen air and smoke whilst my fingers ice over. No sir, not for me. The hands are warm and cozy stuffed into my pockets.

This cold sticks around and I should have no problem coasting thru January sans smoke.

And after almost two weeks, here's what's gone down.

My taste is back. Not in clothes. I'll always dress like a schmuck. No, the taste in my mouth. I can actually taste foods again. I know this because I had to order food from the diner last night and it tasted fucking amazing. Ok, perhaps it tasted great because it was a warm meal cooked just for me. So what if it was cooked for me by a fat sweaty man in a diner. If I close my eyes it could be Mrs. McNoogin. She has really let herself go since she got laid off last week. She looks like some greasy spoon chef, minus the food stains on her shirt of course. That only comes when you cook.

Another thing I noticed - my lungs are starting to clear themselves out. Gross? Yes. Still, it is happening. Climbed a shitload of steps coming out of the subway yesterday and I wasn't the slightest bit winded. That's comforting. Makes me feel like it is working.

Lastly, smells are back. For better or worse, I can smell everything again. I'm like a werewolf now. Riding on the subway yesterday, I sensed Chanelle #5 to my right, some sweaty pakistani man to my left, some cheap j lo perfume in front of me and what's that? is it? yup, curry sweats from an indian man behind me. I was identifiying the stink before the person came into view. It was impressive and horrific. I knew some dude at the end of the car stepped in two day old poodle shit and I knew that the baby on the platform had rice and peaches for breakfast as there was a nice rice and peach turd squishing around his diaper.

This is great. I can smell the secretary and she is a good 50 feet away, in another room. I can smell the take out shit the guy down the hall is eating and I can smell the sharp stench of piss mixed with urinal cake from the bathroom down the hall.

If I had known the world smelled like shit I never would have quit.

The Audition Process

Here's how an audition works. You show up, do your absolute best to convince the person hiring that you are the best person for the job, then you wait while that person sees other people and makes a decision. The most important thing is to do everything you can to convince the person making the decision that you are the absolute best person for the task.

So, with that in mind, my wife spent her first day auditioning for the role of stay at home mom. Yesterday I told you that I gave her three tasks. The first one was very high on the importance list. Ignored. The second one was not at all important. Ignored. The third one, make me dinner, was actually a joke. I knew it wasn't going to happen but, I figured, she understood the cardinal rule in my home. Make sure I have the three things that make me smile.

1. Coke Zero
2. Sugar Free Jello and Whipped Cream
3. Food should I want more than the first two. This usually consists of cheese, meat, eggs etc.

Not exactly fine dining. Hit the deli counter, the butcher counter and the dairy for eggs, jello and the whipped cream. All told, you can be out of the market in 12 minutes.

So, I get home last night around 7 PM. I take off the heavy coat, remove the scarf, hug the kids, work my way into my bedroom and start to undress for the night. I come back out in a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. Comfy, cozy, ready to talk to the kids, put them to bed, eat dinner and watch the first two hours of 24.

I go to the fridge to grab me a glass of zero. Nothing. Not even a fucking half drank can of flat soda.

So I ask my wife "no coke zero?"

The nanny, who was getting ready to leave, says "I told you daddy would be mad at us."

So I go back to the bedroom, put on jeans, pull on a sweater, put on socks, shoes, scarf, coat and head back out into the frigid cold to get myself a bottle of soda. As I am leaving, my wife says "oh, we need light bulbs too."

"For the lamp on your side of the bed?"

"yes" she tells me.

So, she can't even get herself a fucking light bulb. I guess she didn't notice when the light went on over her cartoon head because it was fucking burned out.

So I trudge out to get her bulbs and me soda. Of course this means two places instead of one. So I get the soda, the bulbs and get back home. Put the soda in the fridge, put the bulbs in the closet, take off the coat, the scarf, the sweater, the jeans, the shoes, the socks, put on the sweats and head out to pour myself a glass of soda. No glasses. What the fuck?

"oh, yeah, we need dishwasher detergent"
Did you do anything today?
"fuck you, I was running all over the place."
Fine. So I go get dressed again. Before I leave I take a piss in the kids's bathroom. I flush and go wash my hands. There's water in the sink. I open the drain. Water doesn't drain out. I wash my hands, filling the sink some more. I ask Floogin Junior why the sink is clogged. He tells me he stuck some tissues and a wipe in the sink. So I take off the coat, the scarf, the sweater and start trying to get the shit out of the sink. No such luck. Then the wife tells me "oh yeah, there's something wrong with the sink."

Did you think to ask the super to come fix it when he came to fix the drip in our bathroom?

"I didn't ask him to come up yet."
"too busy?"

"fuck you"

I get the coat on, scarf etc and head to the store again. Grab draino and the dishwasher stuff and head home.

undress, unclog, turn on the dishes, get to see the kids off to bed, order my food from the fucking diner and while I'm waiting for it to arrive, I put a nice sign up on the fridge. It reads:
1. Coke Zero
2. Sugar Free Jello and Whipped Cream
3. Food That I Eat - eggs, cold cuts, etc

So, I'm still auditioning. Oddly enough, I got a call this morning from a photocopier sales rep. She is so damned hot that I actually had to tell her that she should come by once a month just so I could see her.

She called to say happy new year, see if we changed our minds about the copier and then she told me she had no heat last night and she said it was cold and if she only had a boyfriend, someone she could cuddle up to, stay warm with. She said she has this big apartment and she's all alone. She's got a fridge filled with her favorite things, coke zero, sugar free jello, whipped cream, eggs, cold cuts and steaks, and nobody to cook for.

When I get home tonight, I am not even taking the coat off. Just going to see what she didn't buy today. Then I am packing my bag and heading to copier girl's apartment.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Doctors Suck and As The Wife Turns.

So, let's see, I finally found a doctor who takes insurance and can see me in 2009. Everyone I called started off with "we don't take insurance and our next appointment is in 2013."

These doctors are the equivalent of the velvet rope night clubs. Nobody is being let inside and then, when you get inside, there's nobody there. Exclusivity so stringent that you feel compelled to pay out of your own pocket for services that other doctors will perform and bill your insurance directly for? Interesting concept. Where have I heard of someone who refuses admittance to almost everyone? Someone who rejects people without hearing their tale? Someone who's inner group was so select, so secretive, so fucking desirable that people were willing to skip the formalities of actually bothering to see if they knew what they were doing? Someone who created such a legendary myth that people blindly turned themselves over to him?

That's right, Bernie Madoff, Ponz Scum. Thanks for reminding me. By the way, that's my term but you can use it. Not like anyone would ever give me credit for anything.

My wife is spending her first day at home today. She spent the first 3 days of her unemployment clearing out her desk. Today, she woke up, took snoogin to school and then called me a few hours later to tell me she hasn't done shit yet and can't figure out what she should do first.

One fucking day without working and she is already becoming one of those women who I hear the old men bitching about on the golf course. OK, I don't play golf but it sounded good.

Here's the deal. My mother has had, as far as I know, two jobs in her life. Both of them were working for her own company, which my dad backed and supported. The first was a retail store with a very well known (back then) fashion designer. So, in essence, my dad's client wanted to open a store, needed money, asked my dad for assistance, he put up the cash and put his wife in the store to watch the investment. Store closed after a year or two. Designer and her boyfriend were drug fiends and other assorted problems, you know the drill.

Job 2, a print shop for higher end artwork. My dad and a client set their wives up with this one. Why? The client was (is) a very famous artist and my dad had many artist clients who needed a place to go for printing so they figured they'd set their wives up to supply the art world. Business lasted a few years, mainly fueled by the husbands' connections.

So, my mom, really never worked. She has no clue what it is like to deal with stress or deadlines or the specter of unemployment. she knows how to ask her husband for money, she knows how to spend it and she knows how sales people treat you well when you are buying. When my mom heard my wife lost her job, her reaction was to call my wife and tell her how sorry she was and how she knew what she was going thru because she "lost her new sunglasses this morning" and she's "devastated!!"

My dad will ask my mom to put gas in the car, pick up his dry cleaning, grab him some food from the takeout they like etc and she never, ever has the time. she does nothing all day but never has the time. So, my dad and I came to the realization that people who don't work have the busiest schedules.

How is this possible.

Think about it. All the time in the world to do the few things you need to do. So, you try to not finish anything, lest you find yourself with nothing to do and, therefore, boredom sets in. Or, perhaps, you simply cannot take on new work because you are so busy doing absolutely nothing that you have no time to spare. This second one might be the case.

Over thanksgiving, my mom was making a big deal about needing to head back to the city early Sunday morning because she "had a ton of things to do." I asked what and she got pissed off and stormed away from the table.

Last night, she was nagging my dad to leave our apartment to get home in time to watch the golden globes. They went on at 8 last night. It was 4:45 when she started nagging. They live 15 minutes away. My wife asked "what's the rush?" to which my mother said "I have to get home for the awards." My wife told her they were in 3 hours and she had plenty of time and my mom said "I have other things to take care of." My dad, playing with his grandson, looked up from the couch and said "no you don't. what could you possibly have to do on a Sunday night?"


No more talking from mom.

So, here we go. My wife has been out of work for 3 days but today is the first day out of the office and she hasn't been able to figure out what she should do. The malaise of the non-working woman is setting in.

don't get me wrong. There are plenty of women who don't work who are sharp as tacks, take care of a million things and run a tight ship at home. I respect and applaud all of you. Seriously. I find those kind of women to be very appealing. They are no different than the high powered business women, only they have more sex appeal because most high powered business women I know have decided to release the motherly instinct and, in turn, that certain sex appeal goes with it.

No, I'm talking about the women who don't work, have someone else taking care of the kids, the house etc and have all day to do nothing but shop.

As I was leaving this morning I told my wife she needed to get ahold of the lawyer regarding the severance package, she needs to take our daughter's ipod to the apple store to get it fixed and she needs to go to the market and buy food so she can cook dinner tonight.

The nanny made a comment about how, in six years, she has never seen my wife cook anything. I said I hadn't seen any kitchen work in close to 15 years. My daughter said "mommy knows how to make toast. she usually only burns one piece before getting it right."

So, let's see, call the lawyer, hit the market and hit the apple store. Both stores are 5 minute walks from the apartment and the lawyer is a phone call. she should be done with all three by now.

If I got laid off and had three things to do, The three things would be done by 10 am and I'd be locked in my room with a ton of porn, some food, a bottle of coke zero and some lotion to avoid the chafe for the rest of the day. My wife? still trying to figure out which one to do first. Thus, the nonworking wife syndrome is setting in.

I'm doomed.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Mmmm Shit Sandwich, My Favorite

So the holiday season is over, life returns to normal. The kids go back to school, I gear up for the upcoming busy work schedule, the wife starts nagging about my birthday, her birthday, the spring trip, a late winter visit to her mother, a new car and anything else that she can think of that might be worth spending money on.

So, as the holiday spending spree is being tallied up by the various creidt card companies, let's focus on the upcoming trip to Disney and the inevitable request to visit her mother.

Yes, I'm going to Disney. The trip that was postponed thanks to Junior being sick was moved to presidents' week. Fitting time. Over crowded and just starting to get hot and rainy. A recipe for disaster for sure.

So, the trip is booked, the flights booked. Reservations for any and all meals were made. We are all set to go but...perhaps....maybe...well...we should at least think about.....visiting her mother for a few days before we head to Disney.

It would get the visit out of the way, keep the cost down by not forcing a second set of flights on my fragile wallet. Sure, great, and the psychiatric bills will quadruple thanks to the added time in the so called sunshine state.

Of course, all of this changed about 3 hours ago.

I highly doubt if there will be a single nagging request to go visit her mother. I doubt if there will be any nagging about me spending money on anything for a little while at the very least.

My wife got laid!!!!!!!!

off that is.

That's right, the company she worked for for 9 years, the company that screwed her out of back pay owed as a result of her working full time after taking a pay cut to work 4 days a week has let her go. They gave her ten weeks salary. At that point the pay becomes unemployment and the benefits are gone. So, right around the time I am celebrating my 40th year on this orb, I will be spending my well earned birthday present for myself on fucking medical insurance so my family is covered.

This unemployment thing is going to cost me a fortune. Forget the whole lack of income from the wife. I now need to get medical insurance which is very expensive for small companies such as mine. I need to put restructure my business and the tax handling to accomodate the salary and medical benefits for employees. I will, in about ten weeks, know if she is going to find a job or stay home with the kids. If she picks the latter, she is going to lose the nanny. This should result in some serious fights and other such fun stuff.

Yeah, stellar fucking day.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

I quit....and this time, I mean it. I hope.

Well, it's been almost 3 days without a smoke. Not even a puff. Shit, I won't even inhale when I pass a smoker in the street. So, far, so good. Around 11 PM on New Year's Eve I had my last smoke and the urge, while there, has yet to get the best of me. Sure, I haven't fully tested myself yet but I have certainly given myself many reasons to hit the stick.

My normal routine during the week is to wake up, shower and help the wife get the kids ready for school. Then one of us takes my daughter to school. If it is me, I drop her off and walk the ten or so blocks to my office. 2 butts smoked during the walk. Then I hit the office and I light up whenever I leave to get food, drinks, hit the bank etc. No smoking in my office. I smoke on the walk home. A mile, maybe a mile and a half walk. Several smoked along the way.

On weekends, the smoking is actually reduced. Wake up, toss on some clothes and get Starbucks. Smoke on the way to Starbucks and on the way back. Add another butt if I also pick up food for the kids (doughnuts, bagels etc). Then I smoke whenever I am alone. So, the wife realizes we are out of something I am very quick to run and get it. We need the car? I get it and pick the family up in front of the building so I can get one last smoke in before we hit the road.

So, I stopped on Wed. night. Yay me but the work day, the stress and the need for a break will put me to the test for sure. That said, so far, here's what I've done that has not resulted in my enjoying a long deep breath of carcinogens settling into my already scarred and tarred lungs.
1. Got the coffee two days in a row.
2. Ran several errands for the wife.
3. Two pointless, I am stressed and suffering from nicotine withdrawal fights.
4. One trip to get the car, on trip returning alone from the garage.
5. One long day at my mother in law's. That's right, I spend an afternoon with my wife and kids at my mother in law's apartment. To make the time there more enjoyable, my sister in law and her husband and kids were there. 9 people stuffed into her apartment while she berated and yelled at her daughters for infractions like trying to clean up, offering to help and being blond (not even natural).
6. Walked to my office from Times Square. Dropped the wife and kids off with her sister and her kids so they could do some touristy shit and, since my brother in law was not coming, I figured I'd head to the office, go thru the mail, fuck around and kill time. Freaked me out when I walked in to find someone else in the office - employee of the web design firm we share space with.
7. Took copious amounts of pain meds. The ankle has been acting up quite a bit lately. Might be the walking around, climbing up and down steep steps in the Intrepid (awesome, heading back on Wednesday I think) or just that the ankle is getting worse and, therefore, hurting more but I had to loot the percocet supply big time over the last 2 days and I do so love me a perc haze smoke. Still, I haven't had one.

I hate to be a gun jumping jackass but I will say that I have quit for extended periods before, once for about a year and the first week is usually tougher than the last few days have been so, perhaps, the whole mental planning, promising myself that, at 40 (3/12/09 start shopping now) I would no longer smoke etc worked as intended.

Who knows, maybe my seeign two movies in a row last week where one of the lead characters coughs up blood freaked me out enough. Don't care why it has, so far, been this easy. Just know that it has.

Oh, the two movies?
Bucket List which I had seen before but I was one of two people that really enjoyed the film. My wife was the other.
Gran Tourino - new Clint Eastwood movie. Fucking brilliant. Clint at his grizzled, crusty, angry codger with a heart best. Even if you removed Clint's oscar worthy performance, took away every other actor's incredible performance (they were all incredible) and you took away the amazingly emotional, comical, nerve wracking, heart wrenching story, you'd still have a movie worth seeing. The stereotypes, the bigotry and the ethnic slurs are genius. With about 8 minutes left in the movie, when you think you have heard every single asian slur known to man thru the course of the movie, Clint drops 4 or 5 new ones in a row.

While smoking.