Recently in Family Category
Things it's probably not OK to write in a Valentine's Day card to a 1 year old (I just can't help it - whenever I write cards it's like I'm writing to the 30 year old version of the person):
Dear [insert name of one year old here],
Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie! I hope that no matter what comes your way, you'll always remember that there is infinite love out there in the universe. Well ... not, um ... infinite ... not like slutty love. Oh crap. Nevermind. You'll know what I mean when you are older. You're too young to know what this crappy holiday is all about anyway.
Love,
Uncle [me]
Dear [insert name of one year old here],
Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie! I hope that no matter what comes your way, you'll always remember that there is infinite love out there in the universe. Well ... not, um ... infinite ... not like slutty love. Oh crap. Nevermind. You'll know what I mean when you are older. You're too young to know what this crappy holiday is all about anyway.
Love,
Uncle [me]
Occasionally, when I'm out grabbing drinks with friends, I'll get some ... um ... undesired attention from a drunk guy that thinks being obnoxious can somehow be substituted for charm - a deadly mistake, boys. Being the genuinely nice person that I am, I usually have a difficult time signaling my disinterest and end up embroiled in bizarre conversations. Recently, however, I was able to end one such conversation rather quickly.
The next morning, however, I woke to a frantic call from my mother. An enormous oak tree had apparently fallen in a storm the night before and had come precariously close to smashing through the roof and killing both my parents at they lay in restful repose (not a bad way to go if you ask me). My mother was still a shaken as she described how the oak tree had flattened her fake pine trees like pancakes, and I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty.
What made me feel even more guilty was when I realized that I would probably use my new 'conversation-killer' again. But don't worry - I'll only use it if absolutely necessary.
Drunk: (coming up behind me, throwing his arm over my shoulder and slurring) You're cute. Do your parents know you're gay?Not bad if I do say so myself. I was worried for a few moments that I had somehow damned my very-alive-parents to some horrible catastrophe, but alcohol soon removed those worries.
(Brilliant opening line, right?)
Me: Um, no.
(Lies are sometimes more interesting, aren't they?)
Drunk:Why not? Afraid to tell them?
Me: No. (dramatic pause) They're both dead.
Drunk: Oh (pause). Um (removing arm from around my shoulders). Oh (walking away).
The next morning, however, I woke to a frantic call from my mother. An enormous oak tree had apparently fallen in a storm the night before and had come precariously close to smashing through the roof and killing both my parents at they lay in restful repose (not a bad way to go if you ask me). My mother was still a shaken as she described how the oak tree had flattened her fake pine trees like pancakes, and I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty.
What made me feel even more guilty was when I realized that I would probably use my new 'conversation-killer' again. But don't worry - I'll only use it if absolutely necessary.
What I found under the tree:
- a cuisinart toaster oven
- an electric razor
- photos/frames
- new underwear
- new white undershirts
- a wind-proof umbrella
- a mixture of oils used by thieves during the plague
- a new belly button
- a cuisinart toaster oven
- an electric razor
- photos/frames
- new underwear
- new white undershirts
- a wind-proof umbrella
- a mixture of oils used by thieves during the plague
- a new belly button
While at my parent's house this weekend:
[My Dad hands me a piece of the newspaper]
Dad: What do you think of this haircut?
Me: Um. Isn't that Scott Peterson?
Dad: Yeah, but look at the haircut.
Me: Wait. You're really going to bring a picture of a murderer to a barber and say, 'Make me look like that?'
Mom: (taking newspaper and throwing it away) No. He isn't.
Score: 1 for Mom.
[My Dad hands me a piece of the newspaper]
Dad: What do you think of this haircut?
Me: Um. Isn't that Scott Peterson?
Dad: Yeah, but look at the haircut.
Me: Wait. You're really going to bring a picture of a murderer to a barber and say, 'Make me look like that?'
Mom: (taking newspaper and throwing it away) No. He isn't.
Score: 1 for Mom.
During one of my parent's brief visits into the city, my mother surprised me with a much needed treat. Sitting at my kitchen table talking about how good the christmas trees still look, she spotted a cut on my finger that I told her I had gotten while 'out' the weekend before. Suddenly, she lunged for her purse and began riffling through. "Wait, I've got something for you. This should make you very happy". Shortly thereafter, she pulled out:
Was my mom giving me hard core drugs? Had she resorted to dealing in order to save up some money for retirement? Why was my dad just sitting there calmly like nothing strange was happening before his eyes?
'Go ahead,' my mother suggested, 'try it.'
My heart was thumping a mile a minute. I looked closely at the small vial sitting in front of me. I looked through the brown glass that comes only from a cheap recycling processes and into ... wait ... into emptiness? No, into liquid? Now, I was really confused. Confused, that is, until my mom continued, "It's essential oils! I've been taking classes. Rub two drops on your finger and you'll feel better almost immediately!" She was very proud of herself ... and continued, "I mixed up little bottles - aren't they cute? I got them on the internet for 50 cents each - for all of the ladies at work. They just sit there all day and hold them by their nose to smell the lavender oil I gave them. It's supposed to calm them."
I sat there, my jaw hanging out, trying to picture my mother's work buddies sitting at their desks, pulling out little brown vials from their purses, and snorting. I looked over at my dad. True to form, he was just sitting there - quietly shaking his head back and forth.
Um, thanks mom. ... and it actually did make my finger feel better, btw.
Was my mom giving me hard core drugs? Had she resorted to dealing in order to save up some money for retirement? Why was my dad just sitting there calmly like nothing strange was happening before his eyes?
'Go ahead,' my mother suggested, 'try it.'
My heart was thumping a mile a minute. I looked closely at the small vial sitting in front of me. I looked through the brown glass that comes only from a cheap recycling processes and into ... wait ... into emptiness? No, into liquid? Now, I was really confused. Confused, that is, until my mom continued, "It's essential oils! I've been taking classes. Rub two drops on your finger and you'll feel better almost immediately!" She was very proud of herself ... and continued, "I mixed up little bottles - aren't they cute? I got them on the internet for 50 cents each - for all of the ladies at work. They just sit there all day and hold them by their nose to smell the lavender oil I gave them. It's supposed to calm them."
I sat there, my jaw hanging out, trying to picture my mother's work buddies sitting at their desks, pulling out little brown vials from their purses, and snorting. I looked over at my dad. True to form, he was just sitting there - quietly shaking his head back and forth.
Um, thanks mom. ... and it actually did make my finger feel better, btw.
The trees have been 'planted' and no one seemed to notice so far. I have to say, they look pretty good.
During the tech boom, my grandmother took the money she had saved for her funeral and invested it in the stock market. Thinking that she could make a small fortune that could get her to Vegas and back, she had no clue that the tech boom was soon to turn into the tech bomb.
About a year later, the company went under - leaving my grandmother flat broke. As she sat in her chair and cried, muttering about how she wasn't going to have a proper funeral, we tried to console her, "Don't worry, Granny," we said. "We'll take care of it. We'll just bury you in the backyard!"
For some reason that made her cry even more.
I hope for my own sake that she's been saving up again - she's a big woman, and I don't want to get stuck digging the hole in the backyard.
About a year later, the company went under - leaving my grandmother flat broke. As she sat in her chair and cried, muttering about how she wasn't going to have a proper funeral, we tried to console her, "Don't worry, Granny," we said. "We'll take care of it. We'll just bury you in the backyard!"
For some reason that made her cry even more.
I hope for my own sake that she's been saving up again - she's a big woman, and I don't want to get stuck digging the hole in the backyard.
This weekend, I went to my nephew's christening at my old church. Quite an odd group of individuals had gathered for the event - mostly family. Even my grandmother and her three sisters were in attendance. Shocking. You see, two of them were baptized and two were not (we'll refer to these last two as the sisters-H ... the H, of course, stands for 'Going to Hell'). This odd inconsistency within their family occurred when the youngest of the sisters was an infant and almost died in a freak accident involving a slippery table, the hard kitchen floor, and her head. While she walked the fine line between life and death in the hospital, it was explained to my great-grandmother by her doctor that "if she dies, she won't go to heaven because she's not baptized." As a precautionary measure, my great grandmother had her baptized her along with her sister (who just happened to be at the hospital that day). The infant eventually recovered, and nothing extraordinary happened to either of the two baptized sisters ... ever again.
The sisters-H, however, suffered a worse fate. Around the same time as the accident, they both discovered an allergy of sorts to ... well ... to churches. They could walk up to the church ... they could touch the church ... but the minute they stepped into the church ... any church ... they became violently ill.
Psychosomatic or not, this was a very real phenomena. I have a clear memory of my graduation from kindergarten which took place in the church. As I received my diploma, I looked out towards my family (photo op!) and spotted my grandmother running for the door, handkerchief over her mouth, barely making it outside before she lost it. Fast forward a few years later to a funeral. She gave a repeat performance ... except she didn't quite make it outside. Fast forward to my brother's wedding. This time it was my great-aunt's turn. By the time the bride showed up for the ceremony (her car broke down on the way) my great-aunt was already sweating. By the time the words 'you may kiss the bride' were uttered, she had the handkerchief over her mouth. In some magnificent show of strength, she managed to hold it all in until the bride and the groom had hopped in their limo and been zoomed away. We assumed, naturally, of course, that this was just part of the Curse of the Sisters-H. In actuality, the 'forces' in the church had ruptured her stomach and she had to be rushed away by ambulance ... but not before spewing on the flower bed in front of the church. (She ended up being fine, btw, after a little surgery).
So, naturally, it was quite a shock to see them both at the christening. I surveyed them quickly. They appeared to be fine. There was no garlic around their necks ... no talisman to protect them from the evils of the church. They were just standing there ... looking healthy ... smiling in fact ... flanked by their two baptized sisters. Flanked by their two baptized sisters? "Ah," I thought, "they've finally figured out a way to sidestep the curse of the sisters-H. Sneaky."
“ “ “
While in the church, I also had some time to think about gay marriage. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why the Church would be resistant to gay marriage ... after all, they've been doing it for years. Granted, they've been matching up gays with lesbians ... but that counts for something ... right???
The sisters-H, however, suffered a worse fate. Around the same time as the accident, they both discovered an allergy of sorts to ... well ... to churches. They could walk up to the church ... they could touch the church ... but the minute they stepped into the church ... any church ... they became violently ill.
Psychosomatic or not, this was a very real phenomena. I have a clear memory of my graduation from kindergarten which took place in the church. As I received my diploma, I looked out towards my family (photo op!) and spotted my grandmother running for the door, handkerchief over her mouth, barely making it outside before she lost it. Fast forward a few years later to a funeral. She gave a repeat performance ... except she didn't quite make it outside. Fast forward to my brother's wedding. This time it was my great-aunt's turn. By the time the bride showed up for the ceremony (her car broke down on the way) my great-aunt was already sweating. By the time the words 'you may kiss the bride' were uttered, she had the handkerchief over her mouth. In some magnificent show of strength, she managed to hold it all in until the bride and the groom had hopped in their limo and been zoomed away. We assumed, naturally, of course, that this was just part of the Curse of the Sisters-H. In actuality, the 'forces' in the church had ruptured her stomach and she had to be rushed away by ambulance ... but not before spewing on the flower bed in front of the church. (She ended up being fine, btw, after a little surgery).
So, naturally, it was quite a shock to see them both at the christening. I surveyed them quickly. They appeared to be fine. There was no garlic around their necks ... no talisman to protect them from the evils of the church. They were just standing there ... looking healthy ... smiling in fact ... flanked by their two baptized sisters. Flanked by their two baptized sisters? "Ah," I thought, "they've finally figured out a way to sidestep the curse of the sisters-H. Sneaky."
While in the church, I also had some time to think about gay marriage. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why the Church would be resistant to gay marriage ... after all, they've been doing it for years. Granted, they've been matching up gays with lesbians ... but that counts for something ... right???
Thirteen has always been my lucky number ... and Friday the 13th has always been my lucky day. I even went to a college where this day was special. I recently learned that this day is my father's lucky day ... and was my grandfather's lucky day as well. Apparently - it was also the number of my grandfather's race car. Isn't tradition something?
I wonder what the day will bring!
I wonder what the day will bring!
Ever wonder what happens to the hundreds of artificial Christmas trees that are left unsold in stores everywhere? Yes ... that's right ... they go on sale! Of course! But who buys them? Let's take a look at my parents - a case study of sorts:
My parents had a wee case of post-holiday blues this year. After all the excitement was over and the house was empty once again, they realized one day upon returning to their humble abode that the pesky deer had once again eaten hundreds of dollars of shurbbery (and other non-descript landscaping) that had been planted only a few months before. That night, my mum and my dad discussed over their nightly dinner of cold cereal what to do. They decided to do what any American would do in their situation - head to the mall and shop their troubles away!
Arriving at the mall, they were shocked to find so many artificial trees for sale - and at what prices! It was at this moment that a light bulb went off in my dear mum's head. Dropping a couple of hundred bucks, they loaded up the back of the truck with 6 or 7 artificial (but 'very realistic looking') trees and headed for home. Under cover of darkness, they snuck the trees into the basement - eyeing the neighbors' houses suspiciously - as if they were being watched.
The following weekend, cold as it may have been, my handy parents ventured to the front lawn. My dad had a shovel, and my mum had ... could it be ... yes! ... 6 or 7 artificial Christmas tree bases. (Hold, please, while I die of embarrassment. Ok. Moving on.) After a day of hard work, they had submerged the bases at strategic positions on the front lawn - leaving just the little center hole sticking up a wee bit from the earth. Currently, that's all that has happened. Mum and Dad are waiting for the right moment - when under cover of darkness once again, they can sneak out and screw the artificial trees into the bases (so they don't 'end up on a neighbor's lawn during a storm').
"Let's see those friggs [meaning the deer] eat these trees!" my Mom says proudly as she looks at the fine specimens standing in the basement - ready for deployment.
Me? I just stand there and nod - happy my parent's didn't opt for the fiber-optic trees that turn pretty colors.
My parents had a wee case of post-holiday blues this year. After all the excitement was over and the house was empty once again, they realized one day upon returning to their humble abode that the pesky deer had once again eaten hundreds of dollars of shurbbery (and other non-descript landscaping) that had been planted only a few months before. That night, my mum and my dad discussed over their nightly dinner of cold cereal what to do. They decided to do what any American would do in their situation - head to the mall and shop their troubles away!
Arriving at the mall, they were shocked to find so many artificial trees for sale - and at what prices! It was at this moment that a light bulb went off in my dear mum's head. Dropping a couple of hundred bucks, they loaded up the back of the truck with 6 or 7 artificial (but 'very realistic looking') trees and headed for home. Under cover of darkness, they snuck the trees into the basement - eyeing the neighbors' houses suspiciously - as if they were being watched.
The following weekend, cold as it may have been, my handy parents ventured to the front lawn. My dad had a shovel, and my mum had ... could it be ... yes! ... 6 or 7 artificial Christmas tree bases. (Hold, please, while I die of embarrassment. Ok. Moving on.) After a day of hard work, they had submerged the bases at strategic positions on the front lawn - leaving just the little center hole sticking up a wee bit from the earth. Currently, that's all that has happened. Mum and Dad are waiting for the right moment - when under cover of darkness once again, they can sneak out and screw the artificial trees into the bases (so they don't 'end up on a neighbor's lawn during a storm').
"Let's see those friggs [meaning the deer] eat these trees!" my Mom says proudly as she looks at the fine specimens standing in the basement - ready for deployment.
Me? I just stand there and nod - happy my parent's didn't opt for the fiber-optic trees that turn pretty colors.
Family secret #543 (use to remove warts from hands): During a full moon (it must be raining outside), slice a potato in half. Bring both halves outside and splash them in a puddle of rainwater. Rub both pieces of potato over both your hands. Bury the potato back in the ground.
Old Wives Tale? Perhaps - but I've seen it work where prescription drugs have failed - leaving doctors stroking their beards in amazement.
Old Wives Tale? Perhaps - but I've seen it work where prescription drugs have failed - leaving doctors stroking their beards in amazement.
Being home for the holidays (where damn near everyone in my family is in the medical field), I got my fill of bloody stories that should under no circumstances have been shared over Christmas dinner. It did, however, bring me back to my first college job working in an operating room as a Medical Surgical Technician. Technically, I got the job because I was pre-med, but honestly, I really didn't know what the hell was going on around that place. Highlights of my job included:
• chipping away at an old lady's hip with a chisel and hammer
• getting to wear scrubs
• having patients think that I was the youngest doctor ever
The nasty parts of the job included (but were in no way limited to):
• getting hit in the face with a piece of someone's heart
• having to check that the patients removed all of their piercings
• having to carry amputated limbs (read: full hip to toes) through the hallways of the hospital to the morgue (they were always still warm and only wrapped a sheet and a plastic bag)
The biggest lesson I learned from that job involved the morgue ... which was not a series of nicely ordered drawers like in the movies - but rather one enormous industrial fridge (think: the freezer in the Shining). The lesson was this: Do not trust people that work in morgues. Although they have all-you-can-eat-peanut-brittle and play rock music, they'll lock you in the fridge the first chance they get and play it off as some horrible, horrible, horrible 'initiation' ritual. Ah. This is our Youth.
• chipping away at an old lady's hip with a chisel and hammer
• getting to wear scrubs
• having patients think that I was the youngest doctor ever
The nasty parts of the job included (but were in no way limited to):
• getting hit in the face with a piece of someone's heart
• having to check that the patients removed all of their piercings
• having to carry amputated limbs (read: full hip to toes) through the hallways of the hospital to the morgue (they were always still warm and only wrapped a sheet and a plastic bag)
The biggest lesson I learned from that job involved the morgue ... which was not a series of nicely ordered drawers like in the movies - but rather one enormous industrial fridge (think: the freezer in the Shining). The lesson was this: Do not trust people that work in morgues. Although they have all-you-can-eat-peanut-brittle and play rock music, they'll lock you in the fridge the first chance they get and play it off as some horrible, horrible, horrible 'initiation' ritual. Ah. This is our Youth.
The big fat man in red brought me the following:
• the Peter Max coffee table book inscribed with '4 [insert my name] love Max' and a design made out of my initials on the first two pages
• 7 pairs of surprisingly sexy underwear
• 1 pair of socks
• 7 jars of assorted spices (including chives, dill, sage, and marjoram)
• color ink for my printer
• large jar of cashews (Santa knows I like nuts!)
• a can opener
• rainbow colored (cause I'm gay) velcro ties for my comptuer wires
Yippie! A pretty successful year for presents if you ask me.
• the Peter Max coffee table book inscribed with '4 [insert my name] love Max' and a design made out of my initials on the first two pages
• 7 pairs of surprisingly sexy underwear
• 1 pair of socks
• 7 jars of assorted spices (including chives, dill, sage, and marjoram)
• color ink for my printer
• large jar of cashews (Santa knows I like nuts!)
• a can opener
• rainbow colored (cause I'm gay) velcro ties for my comptuer wires
Yippie! A pretty successful year for presents if you ask me.
When I was young, Christmas Eve would consist of eating pizza for dinner, admiring the tree (which managed to look surprisingly similar each year), and attending midnight-mass. One of these things does not happen anymore. Three things I miss by not attending midnight mass are:
1) The mostly glass manger scene.
2) The operatic soprano hired by the church each year.
3) The fishing line.
Let me explain: Two parallel pieces of fishing line were strung 3 inches apart all the way from the balcony at the back of the church down to the empty manger at the front of the alter. At 11:59 - coinciding with an always stunning rendition of 'Oh, Holy Night' - one lucky individual positioned on the balcony would take the 'unborn' baby Jesus, rest his outstretched arms across the pieces of fishing line, and release. The effect was supposed to be that of baby Jesus levitating from heaven to earth. The actual effect was always that of baby Jesus zooming uncontrollably down towards a barn. Fun, just the same, sure.
Nothing, however, will erase the memory of one special year when baby Jesus scored a perfect ten on his landing (which did not always happen - despite him being Jesus and all) just as our lovely soprano hit the very highest note of 'Oh, Holy Night' causing the Virgin Mary's pretty little glass head to first vibrate ... and then downright explode. 'Oh night divine' indeed!
1) The mostly glass manger scene.
2) The operatic soprano hired by the church each year.
3) The fishing line.
Let me explain: Two parallel pieces of fishing line were strung 3 inches apart all the way from the balcony at the back of the church down to the empty manger at the front of the alter. At 11:59 - coinciding with an always stunning rendition of 'Oh, Holy Night' - one lucky individual positioned on the balcony would take the 'unborn' baby Jesus, rest his outstretched arms across the pieces of fishing line, and release. The effect was supposed to be that of baby Jesus levitating from heaven to earth. The actual effect was always that of baby Jesus zooming uncontrollably down towards a barn. Fun, just the same, sure.
Nothing, however, will erase the memory of one special year when baby Jesus scored a perfect ten on his landing (which did not always happen - despite him being Jesus and all) just as our lovely soprano hit the very highest note of 'Oh, Holy Night' causing the Virgin Mary's pretty little glass head to first vibrate ... and then downright explode. 'Oh night divine' indeed!
OK - that word means something totally different when it's in reference to a 2 year old's birthday. But still - a party is a party - and this one was definitely worth the 3 hours of travel time. After throwing together a quick package re-design* for 48 multi-colored blocks whose original box I somehow managed to horribly mangle since purchasing them over a week ago, I proceeded to:
1) Eat way too much sugary cake (yum!)
2) Lie with my head on the ground and watch the wheels of the big yellow plastic bulldozer go right round (like a record baby right round round round).
3) Examine each and every light on my brother's Christmas tree and say the color of the bulb when my nephew pointed to it ... each and every time
4) Revel in the fact that he liked the wooden blocks more than any of the uber-cool electronic toys he received
5) Play catch while enjoying the humor in the fact that my newly 2 year old nephew may well throw better than I do
6) Realize that I really really want kids ... someday.
*In order to optimize present opening fun, the re-design consisted of blocks inside of a handmade drawstring bag (complete with mocked-up label) inside of a flashy box (complete with easy-open pull tab) inside of crinkled up tin-foil wrapping (for both light reflection and cool sound) tied with lots and lots and lots of manly cowboy ribbon (cause who doesn't like cowboys??!!).
1) Eat way too much sugary cake (yum!)
2) Lie with my head on the ground and watch the wheels of the big yellow plastic bulldozer go right round (like a record baby right round round round).
3) Examine each and every light on my brother's Christmas tree and say the color of the bulb when my nephew pointed to it ... each and every time
4) Revel in the fact that he liked the wooden blocks more than any of the uber-cool electronic toys he received
5) Play catch while enjoying the humor in the fact that my newly 2 year old nephew may well throw better than I do
6) Realize that I really really want kids ... someday.
*In order to optimize present opening fun, the re-design consisted of blocks inside of a handmade drawstring bag (complete with mocked-up label) inside of a flashy box (complete with easy-open pull tab) inside of crinkled up tin-foil wrapping (for both light reflection and cool sound) tied with lots and lots and lots of manly cowboy ribbon (cause who doesn't like cowboys??!!).
I bought my nephew's birthday present today. Who knew that wooden building blocks were so damn expensive!?
Today was a good day. A damn good day. I am thankful for the following:
1) That today was such a damn good day
2) That I successfully moved my entire apartment around
3) That my dad helped me carry things from room to room
4) That my dad was in the other room when I managed to fumble my porn DVDs, handcuffs, condoms, and lube - sending them skidding across the floor
5) That I managed to hide all of the above before he came into the room to see what all the commotion was about
6) That my dad thought the sample of 'Boy Butter' he spotted under the couch was actually lip balm
7) That 'Boy Butter' actually tastes like butter (being that my paranoia forced me to slather some on my lips so he wouldn't suspect that it was anything other than lip balm)
1) That today was such a damn good day
2) That I successfully moved my entire apartment around
3) That my dad helped me carry things from room to room
4) That my dad was in the other room when I managed to fumble my porn DVDs, handcuffs, condoms, and lube - sending them skidding across the floor
5) That I managed to hide all of the above before he came into the room to see what all the commotion was about
6) That my dad thought the sample of 'Boy Butter' he spotted under the couch was actually lip balm
7) That 'Boy Butter' actually tastes like butter (being that my paranoia forced me to slather some on my lips so he wouldn't suspect that it was anything other than lip balm)
