My wife hopes I die before her

A little tip of the hat to The Bloggess on the format for this one. She does a lot of me/Victor (her husband) posts that never fail to crack me up.

As we got ready for bed tonight, K and I were in our bedrom and we turned down the bed. There was. . . how shall we say. . . evidence of our last intimate encounter on the sheets.

K: “That’s nice.”

me: “What?”

K: “All I’m going to say is that it sucks that all the cleanup is on my end now.”

me: “So, what? You want me to go back to wearing condoms?”

K: “No, we can’t do that. We’re Catholic. And we confessed it already. We’d have to go to confession again.”

me: “Yes, but I already confessed the vasectomy. Both of them. So we wouldn’t we using them for birth control. Just for cleanliness.”

K: “And cleanliness is next to godliness.”

me: “Exactly!!”

K: “I hope we die together.”

me: “Why?”

K: “Because you’re the only one who’s going to be able to talk your way out of all the bad shit we’ve done when we have to go answer for it.”

me: “Well, that sucks. If you die first, I give it three days, tops, and then I’m dead. Thanks. Thanks for that.”

K: “Wouldn’t you just die of a broken heart?”

me: “Yeah. That’s it. Uh huh.”

I love these conversations. A close second is the conversation with my four year old describing what his plans were with the package my daughter received tonight, a few days shy of her birthday.

4: “I’m just going to look at her box. I’m not going to touch it. It’s her box. I won’t open her box. She can open her box on her birthday, but I’m not going to. I’m just going to look at it.”

K: “Ok. Let’s just stop talking about your sister’s box.”


My mind, as warped by 80s and 90s movies

I was reminded in quick succession this week, that my mind works in ways that likely no one else’s does.  And the more I thought about it, the more and more disturbing and deeply rooted the evidence of my oddness became.  It all started when I heard a co-worker say start a sentence with “I believe. . . ”  Unfortunately, as is often the case, they weren’t talking about anything that interested me, so my attention drifted off.  To make my lack of attention even more pronounced, my mind went to a completely unrelated, yet completely vivid place.  Jackson Heights.   With completely different person – Randy Watson.  If neither of those two  proper nouns means anything to you, the movie they come from might: Coming to America.

Randy Watson was one of Eddie Murphy’s (many) alter-egos in the movie, and in this case Randy was the frontman for the band “Sexual Chocolate” that played at the Black Awareness Rally.  And, right or wrong, Randy’s version of “The Greatest Love of All” is what starts to play as soon as I hear anyone use the words “I believe. . .” For your viewing pleasure (and selfishly in the hopes of jamming this song in your head for at least a day), I give you. . . Jackson Heights OWN. . . RANDY! WATSON!

I have several more of these that have occurred to me over the past few days, which have given me some sick and disturbing insight as to the influence 80s and 90s movies have had on my psyche.  I’ll pass some more of these on soon!

Everything happens for a reason

“We are given so few minutes and dollars during our time. Doesn’t wasting some of them give all the more meaning to those we used wisely?”

I just came up with that. Well, I think. Unless Google can prove me otherwise.

I feel like Even Steven from the Seinfeld episode. Let me ‘splain. I’ve been working an extra job for the past few months. Only a night or two a week, but still a few added hours onto long days. The extra money was good. Helped avoid the pressure of bills, worrying about all of that. A little wiggle room. I told myself that if I kept it up long enough, I would be able to squirrel enough money away for a MacBook Pro with Retina. I convinced myself that having one would inspire me to (a) learn to code and (b) blog/write some more. The down side is the job provides the money, but takes away the time. I hate that damn balance. So, here’s where it gets interesting…
I received an unexpected bonus yesterday. And today, I found out that the next time I would be needed at my extra job was January. So, basically, I just got this great opportunity dumped in my lap. All the reward, none of the work. Very fortunate. So, why do I have a hard time just going out and “treating” myself for my good fortune? It’s odd. It’s like I feel guilty for doing anything for myself.
Sure, there are more “responsible” things that could be done with my money and time. Retirement. Kids’ college funds. Cleaning out the gutters (where I think a two-foot weed has been sighted). But, is it all like that? I would like to believe that I could buy the computer, learn to code, and blog/write. But I fear I would instead buy the computer, and end up wasting all this newfound time.
Either way, I don’t want to dismiss or overlook my good fortune and blessings. And I realize that neither money nor “stuff” is happiness. I consider myself blessed beyond belief. I suppose it’s more of a question of drive and willpower. And I just read that we have a limited amount of willpower. That sucks. And I thought my stubbornness was infinite.

37…in a row?!?

So, I’ve been meaning to start a blog for a long time, but have just have never quite gotten around to it. I suppose I felt like I had nothing important to say, or that I was worried that no one would read it, or I would get negative/discouraging comments. I’ve come to decide that none of that matters to me. And, I’ve come to decide this on the eve of my 37th birthday… Hence 37… In a row?!?
The name is in homage to Kevin Smith, and a quote from my favorite movie, “Clerks.” For the uninitiated, it’s a crude, bawdy film with brilliantly written dialogue, all done by a fledgling filmmaker on a budget. All of these aspects of the film speak to me. Not to mention I found, and continue to find, a great deal of humor in it. And humor is, to me, one of the most important gifts of life, and in some ways part of the universal human vocabulary.
As I thought about my first post, I felt somewhat like Luca Brasi from “The Godfather.” I was mentally practicing my first few lines in my head in the shower, and when it was all said and done, if felt more like “I am honored and grateful that someone is reading my blog post, and may it be a masculine blog post on the day of my birthday for a blog post.” Important to me, but thoroughly botched in the delivery.
So, what is my blog to be about, you ask (I hope, if you’ve read this far)? Family, parenting, work, daily life, observation humor, personal evolution, my own personal slant on the world. Really whatever I feel moved to talk about. But, it’s mine. I hope you’ll join me for the ride.