My last three lovers quarrels and Lionel Richie is one of them!

Had a fight with the wife. Actually had a few discrepancies. She was mad I didn’t take her to the Lionel Richie concert tonight at MSG that she just heard about 6 hours ago. Like I have a Lionel Richie concert tracker App installed on my phone. As if I wake up everyday wondering where Lionel Richie will be serenading us next. WTF! Last I remember, Lionel was molesting some blind chic on MTV.

Below is the last three lovers quarrels I have participated in. On a positive note, if this is what couples always fought about, we would all be ok.

# 1 Lionel Richie Fight:

A) I thought Lionel Richie was dead.

B) I’m not gonna try and scalp last minute “Lionel Richie” tickets. God for bid I didn’t succeed. I would be damaged for life.

C) What would I wear to a Lionel Richie concert? I donated all my “turtle necks” years ago. How do I react as an audience member when “Dancing on the Ceiling” comes on? Suicide would be my first option. What does one do? Hopefully that song would never be performed and I could simply just bump and grind my wife to “Easy like Sunday morning”. Who the hell knows!

D) Are the Commodores gonna be there? If so I will consider this.

E) “Hello” A classic. Only song I would actually want to hear.

F) Asked my wife to look up another Lionel Richie concert coming to town in the near future. She replied “Really, he will never play again”

G) Duh! My point exactly!

My wife sat pouting on a chair all night as I asked “Alexa” to play all the greatest hits of Mr Richie.

#2 Where’s my Pizza?

I slaved in the kitchen all day yesterday to make everybody’s favorite dish, eggplant parmesan. My wife went to work today. I figured she would bring a slab of eggplant to satisfy her hunger. We went to a friends house. I ordered some Dominos pizza for the children. My boys and their friends wolfed down every slice like Hannibal Lecter at a liver transplant convention. It was truly a sight to see.

My wife walks in demanding a slice of Dominos pizza as if she’s “Vlad the Impaler.” She drilled me for a fucking hour about how I didn’t have the respect, honor and audacity to save her a slice. “It’s $5.99 you hump!!! I’ll order you a fucking pie if you want!” I defensively mumbled under my scared shitless breath. She said “forget it asshole.” I said “Ok.” So that was that. Pizza would have gave her the shits anyway.

#3 I’m tired! Let’s go!

This woman could fall asleep at a coffee bean factory. She passed out at our wedding during the Venetian hour. I was trying to drink another beer and buy some time as my wife was drooling on our friends cashmere couch. She made it clear. She was ready to go. So I played a Lionel Ritchie song to close out the night and shoved a pacifier in her mouth and carried her out to the car. When she gets tired, watch out. That “resting bitch face syndrome” turns into the “Walking Dead” version of “Bert and Ernie.” Its bad. I complied.

We all have our fights. Most of the time in our relationships, it’s petty shit. Lionel Richie and Dominos??? Hahaha. When she starts breaking my balls about lack of performance in the sack and paying the bills, then I’ll start to sweat a bit. Until then, I will keep on “Dancing on the Ceiling.”

Until the next quarrel!





Parental Guidance. Are parents at war with social media?


Parental Guidance. Are we at war with social media?

Does any other parent out there sometimes feel like they are raising R2D2?

I do. At times I try and get my boys attention and all I see is the two of them posing for the camera phone only to morph themselves into panting dogs. They constantly distort their photographic appearance to make them appear as if they are becoming a chicken pox infected eggplant. Weird! Why is everything “lit”, “100” and that stupid fire emoji? These kids today are regressing. They communicate through hieroglyphics (it honestly took me 17 tries to spell that word correctly.) I browse through my kids social media news feeds and all I see is images. No words. Are they creating a new language? What is going on here? What do we do? I’m so lost. When I see all this I believe I’m playing a game of Pictionary.

Parenting in the world today is no walk in the park. Parents must be sharp.  Adapt. Become chameleon like. We must try to understand technology and it’s rapid progression. We also must try and interject some of our upbringing and beliefs. We need to create a stable platform to raise a decent human being without offending anybody. And by the way. Please stop being offended. Offensiveness is overrated and I’m tired of reading about a woman who read a Betty Crocker cook book and became offended because it didn’t have enough chocolate morsels in the recipe for a brownie. Take your God given right to be offended and shove it up your ass. If shit bothers you, exclude yourself and walk away. Life is way to short to sweat the small crap. I get offended when the old lady at the Supermarket puts 16 items on the conveyor belt on the 15 and under express checkout line but I keep my mouth shut. I move on. But honestly, that’s fucking aggravating! Count your items lady.

I strongly believe raising children in today’s society is the most difficult it has ever been. The current generation of parents have the task of blending the old techniques of how we were raised with the ever so evolving poison of social media and all of life’s technology plagued advancements. The devil on so many levels. It has become the way of life. Can’t change it. Can’t stop it. We must embrace it!

I believe pre-technology / social media parenting was a cut and dry method. If you misbehaved you were placed over a splinter ridden piano bench and absorbed the lash of your fathers fake leather belt. The wrath of your mothers “wooden spoon.” There was no fear of child abuse reports. Kids did not press charges against parents because their cornflakes were soggy. When you made a childish mistake, you paid the price and you never did it again. All parties hugged it out and kissed on Christmas morning.

I believe the future of parenting will be enforced by robotic nannies and google advice columns. (Which I think is a current practice for some parents.) I get it. Raising children is hard. It’s not for everybody. Some find out the hard way.

I never personally judge other parents on how they discipline and raise their children. Neither should anybody else. All families and situations are different. It’s like a snowflake. No two are ever the same. I have my thoughts on what I think is the correct way. That’s what I instill in my boys. If I see a parent in Shoprite beating their child with a frozen pack of Bubba’s Burgers I just sit back and say “That kid must have done something to deserve that.”  I can’t stand when judgemental people whisper under their bad breath, “Look at that woman,  she shouldn’t be a parent.” Or “Get control of your kid.” Shut up. Just shut the hell up. Until you have the pleasure of dealing with these little unappreciative shits on a daily basis, again shut up. Let us parents raise our miserable kids peacefully while you lonely pricks search Starbucks for an Angle Saxon fella named Kyle with frosted bangs and a hoop earring from Spencer’s decked out in a cashmere orange cardigan who will magically sweep you off your judgemental feet!

Bottom line. Mind your business. Unless a child is in obvious physical danger, (excluding a Bubba Burger beating) let the parents do their thing and move along.  Nature will take its course.

When children are born they don’t come with a set of instructions. There is no App. We learn as we go. Trial and error.

Today we face a greater enemy. Social media. A road block in parenting!

We attempt to raise the next generation to the best of our ability and deal with the influential, mind warping, socially pressured world of social media that has completely consumed our children and way of life. It has managed to take over most of the older generation as well. I think that’s fine as our upbringing is done. We are who we are. Social media shouldn’t determine “Us.” Well for some it just might. Sucks for you I guess.

Social media has the power to influence our youth. Trigger suicide in some heartbreaking situations. It’s powerful and it’s real. It becomes a challenge within parental guidance and direction we as parents work so hard to achieve for our young ones.

I guess in the end we can only hope and pray our children and future generations will prosper & flourish from the fruits of our labor.

Do your best parents. Buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. It’s not getting any easier.

Teach your children love, respect and to always be humble and kind like the great Tim McGraw says. Hopefully that will guide us all through this shit show called life.

Remember, our children are a reflection of their parents. What they do and how they treat others is a direct line to how they are raised and what they are taught. Who they will become.

Teach them well. Teach them right. “I believe the children are the future, let them lead the way”

-Whitney Houston



Childbirth!! Thank God I’m not a woman!

Child birth. Fascinating. The gift of life. The most beautiful experience on Earth.

Yet there are so many different forms and deliveries of these little miracles throughout the years. So much time. So many changes. So much we just don’t know. All we do know is somehow someway we survived and evolved.

I have a hard time wrapping by brain around childbirth before doctors. Before hospitals and ultra sounds. Before Tri-mesters and Babies R Us!

In today’s world there are so many procedures and precautions. So many tests. Concerns. Which is fine. If we have the technology and resources today for a safe birth of a child, I’m all for it. I’m naturally curious of childbirth before these advancements within our human race.

I’m going back a few years but what transpired when a woman gave birth before doctors and hospitals? They couldn’t send a text message to their husband stating they think their water broke and it’s time! They didn’t have gender revealing parties! The men were out hunting and gathering while the women sat around in a cave and gave birth to children. They dealt with it and figured it out. Cut their own cords. Dealt with pain. No Vicodin. Life went on. Damn that must have been some scene.

Today is much different. My wife gave birth to our twin boys in 2005. There were some complications. Babies were breached. They had to schedule a C-section delivery. What a walk in the park this is compared to natural childbirth. I think!

We set our date. We glided into the hospital at 6am the day of delivery. They put my wife in a wheelchair and strolled her into the maternity ward as we passed 347 labor induced women prancing the hallways looking like they haven’t taken a shit in a month. They were cursing, vomiting, sweating, threatening to kill their husbands and many other situations I can’t mention in this blog because we like to keep it clean around here. 😜

They separated me from my pregnant wife like I had the plague. They rinsed me off. Threw a shower cap on me. Dressed me in a blue smock. Shoved a sour tuna sandwich down my throat. Installed foot booties on me. Forced me to fill out a questionnaire form and instructed me to sit tight and don’t move. I felt like I was in prison for sexually assaulting a squirrel. It was terrible.

They injected 17 ounces of morphine into a woman who catches a buzz from a sip of White Zinfandel.

It was now safe for me to enter.

First thing I saw as I approached was her smiling. Naturally I thought there was complications as a result of her excitement. Turns out all was going according to plan. So I thought. The image of my wife happy, the Hasidic love making sheet that separated my vision of reality, the soothing words of the doctors along with the fact I simply could not see through the oversized old lady shower cap I was wearing gave me a sense of comfort. Things were going to be Ok.

Then the Doctors words echoed “Hey Dad? Do you want to meet your son?” Fuck!!! This meant I had to cross the safety of the sheet and participate. I accepted the challenge. I tip toed towards the action. I turned the corner. I threw the fuck up!!!! Twice. All I saw was a child suspended in the air attached to a bloody slinky. My wife’s heart, pancreas and left nipple were carefully placed on a silver dinner plate and I panicked. I needed to check my wife for assurance she was ok as her liver was pulsating on the floor. She looked at me and gave me the biggest smile and said “I love you babe.” I replied “what the fuck is going on here?”

Keep in mind there’s another little bastard in there. Next thing you know I see two babies suspended in mid air with telephone wires attached to my wife’s stomach and intestines everywhere. It was bad.

We survived. We all made it out alive.
Childbirth has come a long way.

Please tell me about any of your child birth experiences!

Taking a vacation? Here is your “pre vacation stress check list”

Preparing for a family vacation may be one of life’s most challenging obstacles for us parents.

It’s not so much the beginning stages and planning of the trip. It’s the few stressful days leading up to the departure that really get my nuts in a bunch.

I speak of this as I just broke out of a family huddle at 11pm Eastern time on my couch that has left me $1000 poorer, my wife not talking to me and my kids disowning me.

Booking our vacation initially was quite easy. If you happen to be like me you borrow your sister and brother -in-laws Visa mileage credit card. Proceed to book a $5000 vacation to Mexico on a random Tuesday after a night of slamming Tequila Sunrises off your partners dirty belly button. You both have absolutely no idea how in the hell you will pay for this trip. Your only saving grace is the credit cards 30 day payment policy. As stressed out irresponsible parents you collectively throw your balls and tits on the line and hope for the best. Only way it should be!

It always seems to work out. Most of the time.

What just transpired in my household has ultimately left me speechless. Well. Not really. That would be impossible.

It was 10:45 pm and my wife and I along with two curious children gathered around our living room sofas and coffee table for a vacation meeting. I felt trapped and began to sweat uncontrollably. I was embracing for the “pre stress vacation check list” that was about to be dropped on me like Rocky Dennis at childbirth.

Pre-vacation stress list as follows:

1. Confirmed reservation. My wife insists I must call the Resort in Mexico at 11pm the night before arrival to confirm our hotel reservation even after we have received 329 email confirmations in six languages. I asked “what if they say we don’t have a reservation?” She replied “shut the fuck up.” So I dialed the number to confirm only to be put on hold. I patiently waited and listened to a terrible rendition of La Bamba for 86 minutes. The helpful customer service representative who appeared to have been a bottle and a half of tequila deep returns to the phone line walking me through the confirmation process like he’s the best man giving a speech at an El Chapo wedding. I honestly still have no idea if our reservation is confirmed. All I heard was a Mexican man choking on lettuce for 6 minutes.

2. Luggage weight. My wife is so concerned the luggage will weigh more than the allowed amount of 50lbs she placed the luggage on the treadmill trying to shed a few pounds. She walked around the house with this weight testing device measuring and weighing tooth brushes and bars of soap. She has officially lost her mind.

3. Clean house. My wife must have the entire house cleaned before we leave. I explained it’s ok to relax and clean when we get home. Not her. She set up scaffolding to clean the tops of window treatments and ceiling fans. She’s running around the house with 3 different types of vacuums sucking up every type of dust mite to ever be discovered. I walked into the bathroom and her legs were hanging out of the toilet bowl as Pandora radio belted out “I want your sex” by George Michael so I turned around gracefully and went about my business. I returned after she completed her hard work and dropped a “Red Lobster” inspired deuce. I honestly felt horrible. It was either the clean toilet or the micro- suede couch.

4. Man scape. My wife just realized we didn’t man scape me properly in order to take the trip. Now that the bathrooms are cleaned we must now figure out the best option to remove this unwanted fur in order to avoid embarrassment at the Resort. So we run down to the local CVS and purchase 3 gallons of Nair. We then tie me up to a tree and hire Edward Scissor Hands to trim me up. Does it matter? Like I give a frogs fat ass if somebody witnesses a few hair follicles on my shoulder blade in Mexico? The answer is yes. I must look my best for the Mexican cook wandering around the pool with cubic zirconia teeth and a tattoo of Richie Valence on his cheek passing out sun ridden mad cow disease double cheeseburgers. It’s all about image.

5. Pill dispensers. You would think my family travels as a group of four individuals requiring Hospice care at all times. At first glance it appears our immune systems couldn’t defend against a piece of liverwurst. We consume more daily medication than Michael Jackson at a Neverland reunion. I never realized this until tonight. Combined family daily pill intake just north of 37. Should I be concerned?

6. Medical safety. My wife panics and must pack every pill, cream, patch, gauze, tape and any other medical remedy in case any of us trip and scrape our knee caps on the poolside concrete. My wife’s vacation survival kit could most likely save soldiers at war. Ironically, my kids resemble burnt shriveled hot dogs after the first day of vacation as a result of sun poisoning but if they stub their toe, my wife has them covered.

7. Money concerns and excursions. I must be honest. I just dropped $5000 I did not have and my wife wants to know how much cash I’m bringing to an All Inclusive Resort. Seriously? I’m showing up to the airport with enough money to buy a gum ball and a bottle of tequila. I’ll figure the rest out. I hear her mumble under her breath “I hope you bring enough money so we as a family can ride a Mexican Flipper.” I tried to explain to her the Dolphins in Mexico are not like the graceful animals we encounter at Sea World. She believes we will all hop in the water with a friendly Mexican dolphin and it will kiss and wave to us, drive us around the water so we can take cute photos to post on Instagram & Facebook.

I don’t agree. I believe we will
jump into the water with no life jackets as 27 sleep deprived “Montezuma
Revenge” infected dolphins will bite down on our cankles and induce rabies upon us as our mouths begin to foam just in time for our new Instagram profile pic.

8. Let’s make memories.  I get it. I’m on board with this one. It’s important to document these moments. I also need a constant reminder of WTF I actually spent this money on. Problem is this. My wife and I have different interpretations of memories. For instance, my wife will make every attempt to snap a memorable photo of our family eating a cheeseburger. A timeless action family portrait of us all walking on sweltering hot stamped concrete. It’s nice. My interpretation of a vacation memory is slightly different. I believe an iconic vacation moment consists of my wife and I climbing up to the hotels clay Spanish tile roof as our kids sleep below and we toss rocks at the Mexican planes flying above running out of fuel. Then we make triplets on that same roof and come home to tell our friends we gave birth to Mexican children. We then try to negotiate our children’s heritage for free college tuition. Now that’s a memory. My wife wants to buy a poncho and some jumping beans and she believes that’s a memory. Please.

I have many more but I’m tired. I would love to hear all of your “pre vacation stress” rituals and requirements.

It’s vacation. It should be relaxing. Stress free. I get it though. You are leaving the comfort of your own environment so it’s only natural to sometimes stress and worry.

It’s all worth it once we all get to our destination and get a drink in our hand.

Feet up. Relax. It will be over before we know it!





You want 50 Years of happiness? Listen up!

Here is my 10 top “50 Years of marriage” survival tips based on what has worked for my parents. I think. I don’t really know. But it’s fun!

My parents are about to celebrate 50 years together. Wow.


This advice is based entirely on what I believe has worked for them from my own personal interpretation and experience of what I have witnessed from my 42 years as being their child. My parents have neither confirmed or denied any and all information in this post.

#10. Forget about working out. Muscles mean nothing. My dad was 87lbs soaking wet when he swept my mom off her feet. For 50 years to be exact. Maybe more. He resembled a hairy string bean but his mal-nourished physique kept my mom interested for 50+years. I’ve known guys who eat corn starch with lats, triceps, pecs and anal muscles who couldn’t hold a woman for a week. 50 years Lou Ferrigno!

#9. Smoke as many cigarettes as possible and ash wherever you feel like. My dad has been smoking cigarettes since his kindergarten graduation. Every single photo in circulation of my Dad features a burning cigarette. This man smokes in the shower. This man jack knifes off his diving board and smokes a full cigarette before he hits the water. I’ve seen him put his cigarette butt out on the poor Shoprite cart boys forehead. 50 years. It works.

#8. Grow hair everywhere. I’ve seen old photos of my Dad. In the early years his hair was concentrated in one area. Right above his ass crack. As time went on and updated photos surfaced, this guy looked like a chia pet in a forest fire. He had hair growing out of his temple. 50 years. Don’t shave. Let it grow! When it sprouts from your knuckle, embrace it.

#7. Whistle through your nose. I know. Sounds odd. My dad has a built in trumpet within his nasal cavity. I can deal with that as long as it plays normal songs on today’s top 40 hits. Somehow, someway his nostrils tends to whistle “Frosty The Snowman” on a hot August day. It’s a miracle. I want to slice his Italian horn off with a butter knife but he has been married for 50 years. I must respect this odd harmonic practice. My mom moonwalks down the hallway as she prepares Sunday dinner while my dad blows out Silent Night from his snot hole at 8am on Palm Sunday! It’s a marriage miracle.

#6. Always drive a vehicle that couldn’t pass a routine inspection in Ghana. Ever since I can remember, my brothers, sisters and I always knew my Dad was pulling in the driveway of our home as it sounded like a derailed WD-40 deprived rusty train on fire. It was a mesmerizing. 50 years. My Mom loved that sound I guess.

#5. Cook. Cook. Cook. I don’t care if the sun explodes. Make a pot roast with mash potatoes and your marriage will last 50 years. Keep cooking. Shove pork chops down your husbands throat like you are packing to go to London! Feed. Feed. Feed. 50 Years.

#4. Always ask your husband how many pounds of pasta you should make when the family is coming over to eat on Sunday. My Dad is so deaf he has no idea what the hell my Mom is asking but he just answers “6” pounds Paula. This makes her feel special. 50 years. Incredible. Say any number. It won’t matter. There will always be leftovers.

#3. This is important and should be #1 but I don’t feel like changing it. Always remember to fuck up your wife’s Christmas gift. For 50 years we have all witnessed my Dad purchase the wrong item for my Mom. Every Christmas morning it’s the same shit. My Dad presents his gift to my mom as his $3 pair of reading glasses are slightly tilting to the left of his clogged nose. As he sits helplessly in his broken recliner dressed in his stained Bacon, Egg and Cheese wife beater , we all gather around the tree. My Mom opens my Dads poorly wrapped gift in disgust and puts on that fake ass smile as a piece of tinsel always seems to dangle from her lip. It’s honestly the most uncomfortable feeling in the world. He’s been screwing her gift up for 50 fucking years and she’s still here. He’s onto something.

#2. Put your feet up on a broken recliner and watch WW2 reruns. My Dad is infatuated with WW2 and Hitler. Not that he supports Hitler, he is just intrigued by the whole war and what took place. He will sit on his recliner and eat Doritos as the crumbs accumulate on his dense chest hair like a fire ant colony and will piss my Mom off to the point where she will throw lentil beans and asparagus directly into his eyeball. He’s been doing this for 50 years. It works. I’m gonna vomit saying this but I think this is foreplay!

#1. When invited to a wedding wear a suit 26 times to big for you. My parents were invited to a wedding and my Dad wore a suit that made him look like he was a jumpy castle. Guests started to pounce on him like he was a Sponge Bob Macy’s Day Parade float. It was terrible. Again 50 years. Amazing.

Trust me. These tips are enough to ruin any marriage within a millisecond. For my parents it has worked.

I do hope any of you suffering within your marriage can maybe take some of this advice. Hopefully it will help. But probably not.

50 Years! God Bless!

Please Children. Stop growing up so fast!

Damn our kids seem to grow up so fast.

Where does the time go? Seems like yesterday my twin boys were addicted to “The BackYardigan” re runs as they latched on to my wife’s inflated boob like an Arab man sucking on a garden hose on a hot desert morning. I miss those days.

Time needs to slow down. Please.

Nothing seems to make me realize my boys are becoming young men more than when we go out to dinner as a family. These bastards have been weened off the kids menu. It is a drastic leap. One day these little shits are eating mac and cheese for $3.95 which includes a soda and desert. Next week they are ordering escargot, surf and turf and a vodka and tonic. I complain like all fathers do and my wife says “Stop babe. We are making memories. They are growing boys. Enjoy this time with our family.” So I pay the bill as I slam three bottles of red wine and accept it for what it is.

Memories? I can’t pay the mortgage. My car was repossessed in the restaurants parking lot. My homes water supply has been disconnected but we have 37 lbs of calamari on the table and and fancy bottle filled with tap water. Life is good.

Memories. Sure. Let’s keep building these magical moments my love.

Next reality check that my children are growing up way to fast is the use of deodorant. My boys arm pit stench could put a family of elephants to sleep. They are approaching 12 years of age but smell like “King Kong Bundy” in a spin class hosted by Richard Simmons. Before my boys realized they had some odor issues my wife and I would throw cough medicine and tic tacs at them when they woke up to try and deplete the smell. We felt gasoline would work best but we were a bit concerned about future potential health issues and possible jail time.

My boys think I’m dumb but I have picked up on something. Naturally as they grow older they are becoming more curious about life and girls. They use my wife, their mom, as target practice. They are kissing her on the lips, laying on her boobies, giving her massages, holding her hand and playing seven minutes in heaven in our coat closet. You know, all the shit I use to do with her before they arrived and fucked it all up. My wife thinks it’s cute but I know they are just using her and she will eventually come back to me. I’m waiting it out. If she only had three boobs we would all be happy!

Last is how much I actually depend on my children for shit. As they get older, I rely more and more on them for daily information. Kids are like little books of knowledge. Our own personal assistants. They retain and remember. As we get older we tend to forget things like our wives birthdays, anniversaries, turning off the stove burner while cooking, you know things of that nature. My kids, as they grow and mature have a ability to educate me and keep me in the loop. For that I love them but it’s a constant reminder they are not our babies anymore. I see the growth and maturity each and everyday.

I honestly miss the days of uncontrollable diaper rash cries for help and the true meaning of what it was like when my children actually relied on my wife and I to wipe their butts and shove cheerios down their throat.

Each passing day seems to separate that innocent child dependence as they gain a bit more life confidence and independence.

I hope each memory we make as a family is cherished and my babies never forget. Life moves fast. Ride it. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Love it. Make it your own as you only got one shot at this!

Now I’m gonna go try and make another baby.




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.

50th Post! 50 Years of Marriage!


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.

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!