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!

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!

Continue reading “How to prepare for summer. Struggle is real!!”

Beating a child back in the day Vs today

Beating a child today is much different than child beatings many years ago.

I can only speak of beatings I received from 1974-1994. Everything else is speculation and stories I have heard.

I remember the beating I received as a child. It was honestly only one. It was quick and to the point. Although my Dad was mostly a peaceful creature back in the day, when you pissed this hairy Italian off it was time to hide in the medicine cabinet or else.

My brothers, sister  and I would drive my mom crazy all day. She would threaten us with the “wooden spoon” and daily phrases like “wait until your father comes home”. We all laughed.

Until one day this man actually came home. I’ll never forget that moment my dad walked into the house. He was dressed in his coffee stained white tee shirt, back-up cigarettes in both ears, construction boots covered in horse manure, black curly pubic hair protruding out off the back of his v-neck and a fake leather belt six sizes to small which would eventually become the weapon of choice to beat the piss out of us.

Back then there was no cell phones, no text messages or warnings. Our ringtone was my Dads broken down work truck with three wheels and a muffler scraping on the pavement as he pulled into the driveway.

It was beat first ask questions later.

My mother with all of her threats still did not want to see her children pummeled. It was too late. My dad took 37 1/2 minutes and smoked a pack of Viceroys trying to yank his Mustang belt off as he ate too much pasta the night before but he finally managed.

We lined up in a single file in front of our extremely out of tune broken cigarette ash stained piano and pulled our flannel plaid pajamas down and exposed our white butts and prepared for our beatings. My brother Jefferey started to cry like that “Cindy Lou Hoo” chick from Hooville as that Grinch stole her Christmas. So naturally he was beaten first. The rest of us took our licks like champs. Even my little sister was beat down like a butternut squash at Thanksgiving Dinner.

After that, we were never beat again. It was a one time deal. I like to think all the stress of my Dads current employment status of selling broken down vacuum cleaners door to door in Spring Valley, NY after clearing .87 cents per week after taxes had something to do with it. I understood.

Make no mistake. My Dad is a great man. He just had an off week and if Jefferey didn’t cry like the daughter of Mommy Dearest getting whacked with a wire hanger we probably could have talked our way out of it.

Today I have my own kids. A beating is very hard to come by. I proceed to threaten to no satisfaction.

The other day my boys were throwing chicken nuggets at each other and I said in my toughest voice ” cut the crap guys or I’m gonna spank you.” They googled the word “spank”, laughed at me and said “go ahead Dad”, spank us. Our lawyer is on standby.

They had their Instagram, Musically, Snapchat and any other social media account ready to film my ass smacking the crap out of them. Next thing you know some Hilary Clinton looking specimen with a dark blue suit and a mullet would be at my door looking to lock me up. I thought better of the situation and refrained.

As soon as Hilary left, I beat them with the only thing I could. Their cellphone. That is the confiscation of it. These two started to cry just like Jefferey did so many years ago.

And that’s how we beat our children today. Take away their precious social media. The phones, the YouTube & Facebook. Don’t get me wrong. We need to knock them around a bit to keep them honest. Just be smart about it!

I wonder if they would prefer a quick whack to the ass cheek??? Hmmm

I would love to hear how the rest of you were beat as kids and how you currently beat your children!!

Continue reading “Beating a child back in the day Vs today”

Alcohol. Friend or Foe?

I enjoy my beer and drink. I always have since the ripe age of 15. Well not so much.

I remember going to a club at 15 and drinking pitchers of “Sex on The Beach.” The next day the only sex I had on a beach was in my cast iron rusted soaking tub French kissing my Kohler elongated toilet bowl as my upper lip was glued to my floor tile bonded by stomach bile.

Over the years I learned to adapt.

Today I am a husband and father of two. I still enjoy my drink but I try and do it with responsibility.

My issue today is my wife and kids.

Some families and situations frown upon drinking and understandably so. So many people abuse this great legal privilege. We as a family celebrate.

My family of first cousins, 2nd, 3rd, 4rth, inbreds and the honorary members can throw a celebration involving alcohol for just about anything. One of our children scores a 37 on their math quiz we throw a $300 per head bash at Ciprianis on a Saturday night. One of our kids sprains an ankle we call in the Beastie Boys for the live entertainment and order 4 Budweiser trucks and 17   cases of Pinot Grigio in celebration. God for bid a real reason to celebrate rolls around. This usually results in stomachs pumped at the local hospital, multiple DWI’s and child protective services confiscating 40% of our kids. My family is the best!

Alcohol has a reverse affect on me. One sip of beer and I turn into Mother Theresa! One shot of vodka and I’m looking to start a “Go Fund Me” page for wild turkeys. It’s insane and my family takes full advantage of this weakness and kindness of mine.

When I walk into my home with a 12 pack of beer my wife and kids start “Dancing on the Ceiling” like Lionel Ritchie at the Nicole Ritchie adoption process. It’s magical.

For me, drinking a beer after work takes the edge off of the stressful day. It also loosens me up so my wife can hit me up for the weekly “deli cold cut” money and my kids can get me to agree to reduce their cell phone confiscation sentence. They have me all figured out. I’m an easy target.

My issue is this. Sometimes my liver and kidneys begin to lip sing internally “I Hate Everything About You” by Ugly Kid Joe. But I must ignore this warning and keep my family happy as I proceed to drink a case of beer and release more piss than a camel. I still to this day don’t understand the connection to camels and pissing. These fuckers are so dehydrated from carrying Arabs through the desert all day I just never understood the comparison.

I sat my family down and explained to them I am worth a lot more alive than dead so I can’t drink a case of beer every night. I mean I wish I could but….

They all respond in unison “yes you can.” I value their opinion so I do. Just kidding. It’s a case of beer every other night.

I find it amazing to see how alcohol affects different people. You have the “socially sober retarded” people who take their first sip of alcohol and morph into Oprah Winfrey. Then you see the 5ft nothing dude with a severe napoleon complex that slams a shot of Tequila and becomes “The Incredible Mini Hulk.” Let’s not forget the women who consume a glass of Chardonnay and turn into Beyoncé headlining at a strip club. Finally, and we have all been there, the people who drink a bottle of JD and hug the bowl for 3 hours as they rest their face on the cold ceramic tile floor the following morning to only swear off drinking forever and begin to pound Alabama Slammers that same day at happy hour and use their bras or tighty whiteys as hammocks before 8pm!

Alcohol is funny and affects us all in different ways. I thank god everyday for it. Prohibition must have been a bitch.

Drink up my fellow men and women. Just don’t be an idiot about it. Would love to hear some of your drinking experiences and what type of drinker you may be?