Top 10 tips for a successful marriage!

Surviving a marriage is a lot of work and a lifelong commitment. Or at least it should be. It requires dedication and understanding. When I say survive I do mean happily of course. If you are a polygamist you must put fourth a bit more effort.

I have been married to my wife almost 13 years. I am dumbfounded she is still with me as I try not to ask too many questions and count my lucky stars. I just go with the daily flow. I pray each day I wake up and my manhood is not wedged between a toasted hotdog bun. Another fear is my extensive wardrobe consisting of two pairs of jeans and a Yankee hat resting on the front curb of our home for bulk pick-up.

I feel my marriage has been a success up to this point. Others reading this who personally know me will spit up their coffee as a result of that statement. My blog. I can say what I want!

Any relationship is a work in progress and we should take nothing for granted. We’ve had our challenges like everyone else trying to figure it all out. We have been blessed with beautiful twin boys who always seem to keep our lives interesting as they push our parenting skills and patience to the max. It’s a constant work in progress.

I have come up with a “Top 10”  list of what I believe to be the recipe for a successful marriage. **This list is intended for educational purposes only**

Here we go.

#10. Food. You must share this common interest. I’m not talking about kale stuffed tofu burgers and ginger root pita chips. I’m talking hearty steaks, butter infused mash potatoes and everything in between. Eating unhealthy together is a true bonding experience. When my wife becomes hungry I have a 10 minute window to shove a plate of “Nachos Grande” down her throat or we are heading to divorce court. When significant others mention they are starving please don’t yell out you have a “sausage” for them. This applies to men and women. This will result in castration and it’s not cute. I learned this the hard way.

#9. Understand your role within the home and life as you now know it.  Before marriage and children, we all felt like #1. Then it changed. You forked over your life savings for an engagement ring, a luxurious wedding with 225 invites we all desperately wanted to flush down a toilet. We reproduced unappreciative children with oversized heads that walk around the house like “Johnny #5 from Short Circuit.” We bought overpriced houses. We purchased poor quality wedding videos that will make us vomit 29 years later as we are now 299 pounds heavier, bald and realise we are currently last in the pecking order. Wow that was a lot. I might just regurgitate. Point is we actually go backwards in life after marriage but we sacrifice for the family. Remember your wedding night? It was honestly the last time we all truly got laid. You know what I mean. The last real fun and exciting lay. My wife walked into the room on our wedding night like that chick from the Whitesnake video. Since then she’s been walking in like a grey haired 87 year old blind bingo champion dressed in a hand knitted “little house on the prairie” quilt. If you honestly think your spouse has the energy after wiping dirty ass all day, spinning 18 loads of laundry, work a full time job in most cases, cook, clean, battle bill collectors and try and join a gym to get their unobtainable perky boobs and round ass back, you are an idiot. Wait your turn in line. You are now an after thought. Be patient. Know your role. *Hint: I find Tuesday evenings around 8:29pm to be the best time to possibly have your mate respond to a cheesy sexual advance. This is only a suggestion. I am not responsible if you attempt this and wind up with a frying pan to the temple. Good luck.

#8. Just say yes. No matter what. Don’t try and debate. Accept and move on. The more we try and prove our point and disagree the longer our significant other prances around the house like “Matilda on maternity leave” and locks up the “garden of eden” like they are guarding the US Constitution. Yes, yes and more yes.

#7. Take vacations. Even if you’re broke. It’s important. We all need a break from our crazy, stressful lives. There is no better way to do this than jumping on a plane and swimming up to a bar tended by a short Mexican man who can’t see over the blender and speaks 9 languages except English. Order a drink and forget about life for a while. Don’t get to comfortable. Reality sets back in 7 days later. Enjoy it to the fullest.

#6. I said this in an earlier post. Fire. Just burn stuff. Fire appears to be a natural soothing device for stressed out partners. My wife came home one day so mad and upset and I didn’t know how to respond so I lit our futon on fire and she gave me the biggest hug and said “Thank You. I needed that.” I made her day and felt great about it. Next day I lit a pumpkin scented candle and she threw the hot wax on my lip and said it was dangerous to light a fire in the house. Time your pyro techniques wisely. It’s tricky and not always a given solution. Please don’t burn children or animals. This tends to elevate their anger level occasionally.

#5. Get a pet. Whatever. Dog, cat, fish, hermit crab or an overweight hamster that runs 1600 miles a night on a metal wheel that sounds like an approaching train in desperate need of a tetanus shot. I mean come on now. With all the technology today, they still haven’t figured out a way to keep these animals quiet? We can travel to Mars but silencing a colorful genetically engineered sewer rat is above our intelligence? And why are these hamsters overweight in the first place with a life expectancy of 3 days? All they do is eat veggies and jog. These fat rat bastards get stuck in a red plastic tube and unexpectedly croak and we as parents must explain to our children at 6am before home room why the eyes of these rodents are popped out like a toy from “The Island of Misfits.” My point is pets distract us. They manage to take the focus away from some of our daily marital problems and stress. It’s a decoy. Don’t pick a hamster. When my kids hamsters passed away it cost me $3000.00 for funeral arrangements and I had to write a poetic tribute. This was hard for me naturally. I had to rent a tuxedo for this tragedy and currently have a dedicated portrait hanging above my fireplace of a deceased hamster smoking a cigar and doing coke like he’s Al Pacino in  Scareface.

#4. Fart. This is a big one. I have been with my wife for 22 years. This gassy ass woman didn’t fart for 20 of those years. One day I sensed a struggle building within her already “Resting Bitch Face” appearance so I just said “let it out babe.” I knew it was time for me to embrace human nature
as she was in gastric pain. She accepted the invitation and released a string of farts that made my ears pop, eyeballs dry up like raisins and I contracted a lethal form of tonsillitis. I put my gas mask on. Gave her a hug and said WTF was that?? She giggled and hasn’t stopped dropping bombs ever since. She appears much happier these days. Me not so much but I accept the things I can not change.

#3. Sex. So important. With our busy lives its hard to find that spark in the bedroom. There is hope. Guys we do a lot of research on Google. Next time you are on Pornhub or Redtube, pay attention. Study. When you finally get the opportunity to get with your wife do exactly what that accomplished actor did in the video. It may be difficult. You might run out of breath and require a rescue inhaler. You may pull a muscle in your calf. You simply could die but give it your best shot. Keep it interesting, fresh and if you honestly feel like you’re gonna expire, proceed. End it with a bang!

#2. Tell them you love them. Don’t forget anniversaries, birthdays, first time you released gas as a family unit, etc. The important stuff. It’s easy to get so wrapped up in life that we forget how we got to this point. A simple “I Love You” or a nice gesture like flowers can be a reminder that we still care and appreciate our partners. I don’t recommend sexting on these joyous events. First, most of us can’t spell the scenarios we are trying to portray and second, our spouses have so much lint in their eyelids from doing laundry they can’t even read it. Stop sending the eggplant emoji as a penis. It’s weird.

#1. For me this is the key to success in any relationship. Without this ingredient you are doomed. If you lack this get out of your relationship now. Move on. Don’t waste your time. TRUST. This takes time to build but is a must for any companionship to work. I believe my wife and I have so much trust for each other it is ultimately what bonds us. When my wife goes out with friends and drinks a half bottle of O’douls as she performs cartwheels down the local mall escalator, I’m ok with that. I never believe for a minute those cartwheels will result in her shacking up with some horny mall rat sitting on a bench eating a Wetzel Pretzel. Trust, trust and more trust. Can’t stress that enough!

This is my list. I’m sure it may be different for others. Let me know if there is something you think is an important key factor of a lasting relationship.

Memorial Day. Honor the fallen! Our Heroes!

Memorial Day. The holiday that should get the most respect and recognition amongst all holidays.

This is my opinion.

I try and compare to other festive events we take the time out to celebrate. Think about it. We normally acknowledge the birth of Jesus with unnecessary gifts, LED strands of lights engulfing our homes and driving our utility bill costs through the roof. We then install a tree in our living room that we feed a gallon of sprite per day because Martha Stewart said it was a healthy diet for the tree. This is all after we removed every god damn form of plant life from our own property so we could install a Bocce Ball court and a tennis stadium in our backyard. Then Jesus happens to come back to life. This is a pretty serious ordeal so we dye rotten boiled eggs and shower our children with “diabetes in a basket” to honor this epic religious accomplishment. We then proceed to assassinate 300 million innocent turkeys that, when cooked, are as moist as a “Microwaved Indian Termite Farm.” Let us not forget the Jewish holidays where we spin a poorly engineered device made out of clay and fry 72 pounds of potatoes that has every Jewish woman crapping in their pants because they haven’t turned on the stove or opened the spice rack in 11 and a half months after their husbands dropped $85,000 on a major kitchen renovation.

The celebrations are cute and it’s nice that we all participate in our respected holidays but in the end none of this is possible without the heroes we honor this weekend. These heroes should not only be honored this weekend, they should be honored each day we all wake up, breathe our air full of freedom and begin our day.

This day must remind us all of the importance of the men and women that I believe are truly born to protect us. It takes a certain person to do what they do. They are better than me. They died fighting for you and I. They died for the houses we live in. The cars we drive. The underwear we put on. The vacations we cherish. Every beat of our hearts and each breath we take. Respect it!

These fearless soldiers showed up to the German beaches facing an almost certain death to fight and protect our freedom. The same freedom that enables short fuchsia colored Italian men with a disheveled nut hanging out the left side of their  “Mike The Situation” speedo to show up to the beaches of New Jersey with a sausage link pierced nipple and “death before dishonor” tattoos embroidered across their sunburned Adam’s apple as they sip on an ice cold Zima. The only honor these chooches have is the ability to purchase a teal green Iroc-Z with rusted t-tops and a brass Italian horn dangling from the rearview mirror. Remember, that “Vanilla Roma” air freshener only makes your nasty ass Mustang 5.0 smell better because of the heroes protecting your black Reebok, metallic blue Sergio Tacchini wearing sorry ass.

Our right to show up at a restaurant and complain about our cup of coffee and our overcooked steak is because of them. In other countries you would lose your head in front of Dennys on National pancake day for this behavior. The right to go and buy a set of bigger boobies, publicly protest our beliefs, fulfill our lifelong dreams of becoming whatever we want to be. Choice is ours because of them. Let us never forget that.

Our daily lives here in America each and everyday should never be taken for granted. Do we all know just how lucky we are to live in the greatest, strongest, most powerful and opportunistic country in the world? Some will disagree. That’s their right. Remember, those who sacrificed everything gave you that right to leave if you are unhappy. So exercise that right and stop spreading your negativity on social media and go live in Africa. When your legs are dangling out of the mouth of a “Hungry Hippo” let me know what you think of America! Move to Canada. Hopefully you are a good hockey player. They all seem to complain but they never leave. Hmmmm!

Our Country is not perfect. There is room and much need for change and improvement. That takes unity and great effort from all of us as a nation. Some will disagree with leadership. That’s ok. That’s your right but the sense of division and direction we are heading in is a spit in the face to the very individuals who died for us so we can prosper in our way of life.

I love my Country. I bow down and thank you all that have sacrificed everything to even allow me to express my thoughts and appreciation to the heroes, the bravery, the chosen ones and all their families. Thank you. Thank you.

Happy Memorial Day! God Bless!

Our children and today’s school homework load!

The educational process has changed since I was a kid. It all seemed so simple back then. Everything from the bus transportation to the homework assignments has become a difficult and impossible task for these poor kids today.

When we were growing and went to school the bus stop was simple. Get your ass to the destination or you had to walk back home and tell your pissed off parents you missed the bus as they were late for work as well. There was only two outcomes. You were either beat down with a burnt pancake or you were tossed in the vehicle and driven to school as your mom & dad spilled coffee all over the cars console and argued over the rising costs of a pack of cigarettes.

Back in the day a bus didn’t stop 1700 times in front of each students house like they do today. We had one main bus stop per block and we needed to be there on time.  Rain, shine or Nor Easter!

If you were lucky enough to get on the bus the first thing you did was inhale the after burn residue of the bus drivers Camel cigarette as the overwhelming aroma of dirty vinyl seating crazy glue repairs consumed you. The floors of the bus were laced with rotten banana peels. Once you found your seat you looked up and recognized the bus drivers burnt end frizzy ass perm reflection in the 3ft rearview mirror as they rapidly chewed gum like a coked up Mr. Ed and waited for you to make a mistake so they could slam the brakes and tell you to sit the f$&@ down. It was an adventure. In the end you ice skated off the bus as the driver smiled at you with a mouth full of halitosis and wished you a good day as their front teeth popped out and trickled down the vehicles exit stairway like three fat Italian men tossing dice at their mothers funeral.

We survived.

Today is so different. Especially with homework assignments.

When I went to school you owned one Def Leppard trapper keeper for all subjects, a science book you took home and protected with a supermarket brown shopping bag, a #2 authentic lead pencil that caused your finger to fall off if you accidentally stabbed yourself and a lunch box signed by the lead singer of Night Ranger containing a stale bologna sandwich. Simple. You were prepared to learn.

Today is much different. My kids need scoliosis treatment and require a “live in” chiropractor to adjust their spinal chords on a daily basis just to help embrace the 178 pound back pack they must carry around like they are troops preparing to fight a war in Afghanistan. It’s math people. Why do my sons come home like they are landing on the beaches of Normandy?

It’s very unnecessary.

Unfortunately thats the way it is today. I believe the school financial budgets and cost of education has unfortunately compromised the quality of our children’s education. School systems depend more on the parents to get involved and help assist in the kids learning assignments. Big mistake.

I take nothing away from the hard working teachers and individuals who do the best they can to educate our children within the guidelines of the curriculum they must follow. I applaud and respect you all. Thank you.

But remember this. Parents like my wife and I are three steps away from being pushed around in a motorized go kart with a rusted helmet and a feeding tube attached to our temple. We are not smart. The only reason my wife and I graduated high school is because we both ran the 40 yard dash in 4.8 seconds the morning of graduation day. My wife’s knockers bounced up and down like a sewing machine as I pranced around the track like an Ethiopian carving a turkey. It was truly inspirational but we got it done.

This had nothing to do with school or education. This was the process back then. They just wanted us out of the school system. I get it.

Today the schools expect the parents to contribute. Yeah. No!

When I came home from school I asked my parents to help me with a math problem. My dad took one look at the math question and instantly set it on fire and smacked my ass so hard that I never asked for educational help again. It was a simple time. I got the message.

Kids today present math problems to us parents with the new “Common Core” system. I don’t understand it or why they teach it but I’m sure they have their reasons. In my book 2 + 2 = 4. Pretty simple. My kids showed me a math problem the other day. It asked what is 3 + 9? Now I’m pretty dumb but I thought I had this. I said “12.” Good guess right? I’m all happy and I cracked a beer like I just solved world peace and my kids start crying like two Amish kids employed at Microsoft.

They said “No” dad. It’s 3 + 9 = 378 – 235 + 896 – 1289 = 9. So I did a shot of Tequila and said drop the hell out of school cuz I can’t help you.

Next day they signed up for a language class. It was Spanish. Next thing you knew my wife and I had 6 foreign exchange students from Guatemala roll up in a tinted out muffler less Toyota Celica with white windshield wipers low on power steering fluid move into our bedroom closet with Derek Jeter engraved front teeth and Pablo Escobar trapper keepers. I assumed these were the Spanish tutors? I was confused but I just went with it and figured if things didn’t work out they could dig a few holes or demo a few construction projects for me.

I feel today our school systems are so financially tarnished the kids are not getting the proper education and guidance they need and deserve. Teachers within today’s systems do the best they can with what they have to work with but ultimately I believe the education process depends too much on parents who are not capable of assisting our children as we just grew up and learned in a different era.

Growing up my dad was capable of counting to 20 simply because that was the amount of cigarettes in a pack. Simple math.

I sometimes feel like we as parents today are the stepping stone to the next educational generation leap. Makes sense. Our children are learning today’s systems and will be able to pass on the future of education to their children. I don’t agree with many of these programs and policies but I have no influence.

In closing my fellow parents, we have a pass. When your children come home with homework and unsolvable math problems, just look them in the eye and explain we did our best but can’t help you. It will now be up to you to train and guide the next generation into a world of uncertainty and improbability. Good luck.

Do a shot of Tequila and call it a day. It will all work out in the end.

 

50th Post! 50 Years of Marriage!

Wow!

This is my 50th blog post. The fact I actually had the ability to create 50 posts is mind boggling. I can’t seem to count past three and have the creativity of a newborn with no butt crack in potty training.

I honestly didn’t even know what a Blog was until a few friends on FB encouraged me to do this. Thank you . This is honestly one of the best decisions I have ever made. I enjoy writing these posts. I even get more satisfaction from all of your feedback and comments. And the greatest pleasure, when you all see me in person and tell me you think the posts are hysterical and make your day. That is my motivation. I do this for you!

Either way we are here. Its a miracle. I desperately wanted to connect my 50th post with my parents 50th wedding anniversary. I have so much intertwining material on this it is literally leaking out of my earlobes and dripping into my belly button.

This perfect scenario wasn’t possible as the two love birds official date of 50 years of misery is a month away and there is just no way I could wait that long to write my next post. I am upset but I will survive.

I’ll do my best with what I have to work with.

I am 42 years old. I’ve known my parents for as long as I can remember. These memories consist of cigarettes and ashtrays. That is all. Well there is a bit more.

Discontinued Chevy Monte Carlo vehicles painted in a shade that was banned from all color charts in all car dealerships was a staple of my childhood as well. My Dad walked into the dealership with the negotiating skills of a Wooly Mammoth addicted to crystal meth. He worked his magic and they gave him a car which color looked like a ring worm infested mustard induced turd, free of charge. It was amazing!

That’s all fun and games and I’m glad he received a discount until he picked me up from High School Lacrosse practice in front of my friends as a 16 ft pile of diarrhea with no brakes rolled up. Thank god I scored four goals that game or I would have been in trouble.

Give him credit. He negotiated a good deal. He had the pleasure of raising five kids and dealt with my mom who can drive a Priest to drink Alabama slammers off a Hooters waitress on Good Friday!

Another stressful event in this mans life is the fact one of his sons was born a few shades darker than the average white child. Nothing wrong with it. Just looked weird in family pictures as my brother Joe was so dark he didn’t show up in Easter Day family polaroids. That is all. We all think to this day my Mom had an affair with the father of Hootie and the Blowfish. She denies these accusations.

My father has spent 50 years of his life sitting across a table with unstable legs staring at my Mother as they sipped Maxwell House coffee conversing about how many pounds of pasta she should make for the upcoming family Sunday dinner. My Mothers constant whining about the 16 whiskey sours my Dad pounded after their grandkids spring concerts has always been an ice breaker into conversation. Fortunately my Dad is deaf, blind and believes he is Dion from the Belmonts so he just ignores the ridicule.

In the end, they have been together for 50 years. 50 years. It’s a major accomplishment to stay together that long considering couples today separate because their significant others shoelace is untied or the cars front tire is low on air. If I have to engage with my wife for 50 minutes I want to submerge myself in a bathtub full of battery acid as I watch re-runs of Dora The Explorer.

I give my parents much credit. They got married young. They did the best they could.

My Dad really went out on a limb and splurged on their honeymoon. He booked a hotel in the luxurious Poconos, Pennsylvania. Thats fine. I have no problem with that. If I had to settle for PA on my honeymoon I would have made sure my wife and I had a threesome with an Amish woman at Applebee’s. Hershey park wasn’t around then.

No. My Dad dressed himself in white spandex and a pollo shirt fifteen sizes too small and rented two ten speed bicycles with flat tires and banana seats as they traveled in a 7 foot radious circle for a week staring at a rabid squirrel stocking up on acorns for the winter. This is not a joke. We have video evidence. Sad but true. My parents were adventurous.

I understood my Dads decision in all of this. He was socially awkward. His only claim to fame growing up was winning the superlative  “Best Looking White Kid” in an “All Black” school in the Bronx. The man is scarred. He has a plaque to prove it.

My pops in his “Hay Day” was 114 pounds soaking wet. He inhaled three packs of Viceroys a day. He was a backup singer in a band with no instruments. He drove a homemade scooter. His chest hair was, and still is, that of a restored unwanted 1970’s shag carpet. He has an infatuation with Adolf Hitler. Sorry my Jewish friends. He doesn’t support Hitler but he is fascinated by the re runs on the history channel. When “Hitler” in color came out it was like he was watching the assassination of JFK live!

I could go on and on. He is my Dad. I love him. One of the kindest, softest, hairiest beings I know.

If I learned one thing from this man,it is to be kind hearted and don’t give a crap about anything. Live your life. So thank you Dad.

My Mother got off easy on this post. She will get hers don’t worry.

Happy 50 years Mom & Dad. I love you both.

What is something all of you have learned from your parents? Would love to hear.

You are born a Success! One in a half billion!

Have you ever had somebody try and demolish your hopes and dreams? Tell you you’re just not good enough? Justify your very existence as worthless? Make you feel like you have no purpose in life?

I’m sure at some point we have all experienced this. I have.

There is hope.

We must remember we were all born into this world as winners. Leaders. Michael Phelps like specimen. Greg Louganis success stories. Overcoming great odds and completing a mission 400 million others could not. We represent great warriors who fought, swam & doggie paddled a great distance in extreme harsh conditions to get to where we are today.

Life.

Our journey began in a dark, hostile environment. Our soon to be parents created scenarios to enable our introduction to life.

Some scenes were different than others and unique in their own way.

Regardless, we all managed to end up in the same place. Earth.

Whether the improbable & impossible began in the backseat of a gold rusted Plymouth Duster, on a greasy white formica kitchen counter top, a truck stop restroom, on Grandmas plastic covered couch, a White Castle coat closet, under a Pathmark shopping cart or just a result of a routine boring missionary position designed by our future parents, each and everyone of us overcame tremendous odds to earn a place in this beautiful creation called life.

So next time somebody tells you the chances of being eaten by a shark, dying in a plane crash, becoming a professional athlete, a musician, actor or winning the lotto is extremely unlikely, you tell them to kiss your ass in front of Macy’s window as you beat out a half of billion extremely fierce competitors in a winner take all event.

Some contestants have been less fortunate and never even had a chance to compete as they ended up gasping for air on dish towels, have been cooked to death on hot vinyl car seating, drowned in high school toilet bowls, suffocated and crushed between magazine racks, trapped inside giant balloons only to be discarded in an ice cream shop parking lot. The list goes on and on!

Let us take a moment of silence in honoring the less fortunate who endured pure evil selfish acts by their potential creators who didn’t give them a fair opportunity at life. These victims were alone and never had a chance as they were afraid, pushed aside and thrown in the garbage. Literally.

Life can be cruel at times.

Keep your head up. Take advantage of your time here. That guy stuck on the Plymouth Duster seat belt should be the one complaining!

The Party & Show must always go on!

Sorry guys. This topic relates to parties again.  I couldn’t help myself as I will carry over the discussion from my previous post. Like I mentioned before,  these upcoming months seem to be filled with party worthy events and squeezing it all in one post was just not possible. Im sure most of you don’t mind a “Party” themed discussion! 

I have to admit. I have the best family anyone can ask for. Nobody in this bloodline ever seems to give a rats ass about anything and I think that’s just fantastic. We have even managed to accumulate “groupies.” These are honorary family members who show up at our houses uninvited on Christmas morning wearing a Santa hat and Rudolph adult onesies expecting stocking stuffers, candy canes and a pile of gifts under the tree.

I don’t entirely understand the infatuation with our family but I must be honest, it’s kind of flattering as I do everything in my power to remove myself from this scarred genetic family tree that has historically produced nothing but alcoholic Sasquatches, crooked teeth,  IQ scores ranging from 28-63 & Cocoa Pebble addicted offspring. I’m just Joshing ya. Our IQ’s are below 20.

I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Trust me loyal disciple followers, the grass is not greener on this side. In fact, the grass doesn’t even grow in these parts! But our back hair does as it sprouts out of our collared golf shirts and wedding suits like the first cousin of “George the Animal Steele.”

I have made it very clear in my past posts that my family will just about celebrate anything for any reason. Give us four walls (we probably only need two) 17 bottles of whiskey and a radio. We will have naked Great Grandparents bumping and grinding to O.P.P. (Yeah you know me) on top of the poorly remodeled kitchen island granite counter top. That’s how we roll. Of course we would have to dig up our Great Grandparents and recreate “Weekend at Bernies” but make no mistake, it will happen.

A recent family gathering was the inspiration and spark I needed to extend  the topic of partying.

My wife and I  received an invitation in the mail. We opened it. It was from a family member who’s party resume includes sipping on a three ounce strawberry wine cooler on the rocks at prom. His legendary campfire story to pass on to his grandkids involves his blood alcohol content exceeding three times the legal limit as a result of consuming a dozen chicken wings dipped in honey glazed Jack Daniels sauce from Friday’s.

The invitation was unclear as to who or what this event was for. It simply read “Saturday May 13th 7PM….Be There”. So I thought hey, this has got to be interesting so I told my wife to respond “maybe” as I’m not very fond of wine coolers and chicken wings.

Arriving at one of my family events can be an adventurous one to say the least. Our family members have a tendency to change inner circles & friendships like the diaper of a 92 year old man with an expired colon. This tactic ensures a fresh atmosphere and keeps it exciting although I occasionally have concerns about the strange new family acquaintance who moonwalks into my parents closet scratch and sniffing my moms tulip embroidered nightgown she wore on her honeymoon.

The art of kissing 435 people hello upon arrival as pints of Bullet Whiskey is shoved down your windpipe is something you become accustomed to in time. Questions like “Are you busy?” And “How is everything?” always seem to be the icebreaker. As the night goes on the conversations slowly morph into “where is my underwear?” And “you are the biggest anal turd in this family and should be put to sleep immediately!”

My response is always “no I’m not busy” and “everything completely sucks.” Same discussion we had last week at your kids 2nd birthday party who is actually nine years of age but you could only afford two candles so we role played. Same discussion we will have the following week at cousin Joeys pre-school graduation party. Same discussion we all been having for the past 40+ years. Enough. Unless we are going to start doing the wop with an inbred cousin from Wisconsin with a piece of cheese on his head, I don’t want to engage in casual conversation. Let’s drink!

My family literally gets together for everything and anything. I kid you not.

Last week my cousins daughter tripped over a twig. Her life threatening injuries required bacitracin and a Batman bandaid so my family mustered up a social gathering including a live serenation by Michael Bolton, a Macy’s Day fireworks display and a personal cake from Buddy at “Cake Boss”

Turns out the suspicious invitation in the mailbox  was for my cousins graduation from nursing school. What we were actually celebrating was her husband finally getting her ass to work and start contributing to the bills. Makes sense.

My cousins husband, the host,  graced us with his interpretation of a Tony Robbins inspired speech that produced the electric energy of two fornicating snails on a traveling circus Ferris Wheel operated by a man with a “I love Jesus” tatoo across the bridge of his nose and a 14ft Boa Constrictor dangeling from his left nostril.

This man is so frugal he returns tin foil and bottle caps at the local metal scrap yard.

This lad is no fool. He knew this party was a good investment to motivate his wife to hustle and finally pay some bills. She appeared to shed a suspicious tear as this financially desperate husband dedicated a severe speech impaired poetic tribute that would have made Mike Tyson sound like a Harvard English professor.

Her reaction to this speech deserved and Oscar.

In all fairness my cousin gave up many weekend social events to prepare and study to help this poor guy buy groceries and pay the electric bill. He showed his appreciation and hosted a wonderful party that had my 72 year old father drinking pints of whiskey sours and smoking medical marijuana as he slurped Tequila belly button shots off the sweaty Latino bar back in an orange refried bean stained wife beater and wound up in the ICU unit sharing a hospital bed with a newly born illegal immigrant with a better healthcare policy.

Oh man I wish this was true! Although my father appears to be inviting the Grim Reaper over for tea and crumpets in the photo below it was only a routine knee surgery.

In conclusion, I’ve come to realize my family could have a good time at a wake as cousin Eddies embalmed body lays stiff as a board and we begin to form a Glee Club around the casket singing A Cappella Metallic tunes.

We must never take for granted our family and the ones who love us unconditionally.

My family is nuts!! Love it.

Party on!

Does anyone else come from an uncontrollable crazy party family? Would love to hear some stories!

Public Restrooms. When #2 gets the best of us!

Going to the bathroom. Whether it’s a quick pee pee or a toilet clogging event, its a part of all of us each and everyday. I don’t care who you are. At some point in your lifetime, you should be able to relate to this extremely uncomfortable situation. Most take comfort in handling this necessary business in their own personal bathroom space whenever they can.

Understandable.  But!!!

Sometimes, unfortunately, we need to make a game time decision as our butt cracks start to part like “The Red Sea” and a 14 inch stale chocolate covered peanut chew on steroids begins to peak its head out of our anal crevice as we search for the nearest restroom in desperation.

This can be one of the hardest decisions a human being may have to make in a lifetime. It’s right up there with choosing a life partner.

When it’s time to go you simply have to go. We begin to explore all options as oversized beads of sweat roll down the eyebrow and accumulate in the corner of the eyelid. We attempt to clinch stressed out ass cheeks and magically encounter every red traffic light and 15 MPH school zone as the chief of police tailgates our vehicle sipping on his Columbian roasted coffee as a Boston creme donut stains his regulated cheesy police fashion statement mustache.

Bathroom options in these situations are usually as follows:

1. The random construction site “Porter John” that has been baking in heatwave temps just north of 98 degrees under an August sun after a 375lb sweaty flag man with the Zika Virus and a mouth full of fried Twinkies just spent his lunch break depositing last nights Zuppa Di Pesce over rigatoni.

2. Some local convenient store with a broken down restroom. The bathroom door has disintegrated from extreme moisture damage. Location is strategically placed in the rear of store right behind the cases of Doritos. The fancy bathroom interior decor consists of high end asbestos tile and a magazine rack full of Pakistan Porno reading material from the “Babes of Gulf War” edition.

3. Some fancy restaurant that makes us feel obligated to order $300 worth of “food to go” we will eventually throw out after we jamb up the plumbing system. We feel this is fair compensation for the use of their facilities and embarrassment future clientele will endure.

4. Then there is Home Depot. My personal favorite. Don’t get me wrong. I have been known to drop my draws in desperate times and release a deuce on the front steps of a local Church during a Live Christmas Nativity Event as one of the Camels looked at me like I just gave birth to
Baby Jesus at a wake!

I really had to go that particular time.

I feel Home Depot doesn’t judge. We walk in pretending to shop in the plumbing aisle as we hopelessly look up and search for the restroom directional sign.

The destination is finally reached. We now enter an environment I can only describe as a multi-racial rave with a bunch of constipated individuals suffering from Tourette’s syndrome and under developed frontal lobes.

There are normally three doors to choose from.

Door # one which has leftover wet toilet paper residue attached to the bowl and 18 wheeler skid marks stretched out across the tile floor up to the recessed ceiling lights.

Door # two which is built out of 15 giant Lincoln logs stacked up like a log cabin in foreclosure. There’s three dirty toothpicks on the toilet seat and a lit cigarette burning on the floor as a Hasidic child cries for his mother as she left him on the bathroom changing table in order to take advantage of a “one day only” sale of heavy duty plastic construction garbage bags.

Door # three. The money door as I like to call it. The one stall which appears clean because the previous occupant wiped the seat of his own urine and provided a courtesy flush. Although this space is infected with Hepatitis C and Herpes, it’s the best overall choice.

No matter what our fate may be, it’s time to take care of business. As we try and crap in piece we cant help but embrace the sounds of the person in the adjacent stall struggling as if they are giving birth to a Hyena. These vocal outbursts mimick a 500lb elementary school lunch lady with asthma running the 40 yard dash.

All this and we are trying to be courteous with our own personal poop and try and slowly let it crawl its way to the water beneath because we don’t want to offend the pregnant rhino or sub par Hasidic parent next to us.

We actually become so frightened that when we exit the Home Depot stall we will be greeted by three Mexican landscapers with black onyx wisdom teeth, an employee who works in the garden area and a Chinese man who just squeezed out rabbit droppings critiquing our bathroom performance!

Let’s not forget the unidentified person belting out Andre Bocelli’s greatest hits from his asscrack in stall # one!

Lastly. The shoes of our stall mates. Not sure about you guys but first thing I do is check out my neighboring crappers shoe apparel.

That determines my bathroom etiquette. If the individual in the next stall is wearing greasy gray new balance sneakers with freshly cut grass blades embedded into his shoe laces signed by the owner of Taco Bell, I will personally take a dump on the tongue of his shoe.

If you happen to have nice dress shoes on I will attempt to shrivel my anal opening as long as I can out of respect even though I will time my poop so we don’t have that awkward “post poo sink encounter” to identify who sounded like a rusted crop duster piloted by Barry Manilow with Laryngitis as we fight for a smelly brown cardboard paper towel to dry our hands.

I wonder what the cavemen did when they had to poop and didn’t  want to offend others!!!!!

How to prepare for summer. Struggle is real!!

Preparation for summertime can be very stressful. The arrival of summer waits for nobody no matter what type of human you are or situation you may currently be in.

Whether you are first time parents, teeny boppers, the people riding ten speeds dressed in spandex and fluffy leotards, guidos, guidettes, experienced family members or just that lonely 58 year old dude with frosted tips smothered by that extremely painful leftover December barn red tan and overgrown # two pencil eraser looking nipples as he strolls down the Jersey Shore coast all summer long tripping over deceased jelly fish and hermit crab shells, the struggle is real!

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