Do you think you should do that?

I think I was ten years old, riding double, on the back of my best friend's bike, when I thought it would be a good idea to cover his eyes.

"Do you think you should do that?" Bob (probably) asked since he was steering the bike.

We were just cresting a small hill by the Methodist Church near Round Meadow Elementary School.  Bob with his eyes covered missed the path on the down slope, we hit a tree, then hit the steep side of the hill and then hit the street. Bob broke his front tooth,  bad. I thought it was a good idea at the time, two friends on a bike being daredevils.

When his parents asked me why I thought it was a good idea I told them I was checking to see if Bob had a radar sense. The second time I tested his radar sense we crashed and Bob ruptured his spleen against the upturned handle bars.


"Do you think you should do that?" My dad asked me as I set out to change the spark plugs on my  1976 Ford Granada. I was 19 and it was my first car. I don't think he asked me because he thought I could not do it. I think he asked me because he knew that I could not do it.

"How difficult could it be?" I replied. "I don't have the money for a real tune up." I thought it was a good idea at the time, saving money and learning about cars.

It took me 6 hours, a phone call to get the car towed and something like $200 dollars for the mechanic to fix my mistakes.

"Do you think you should do that?" is a rhetorical question that my wife asks me from time to time.  "Do you think you should do that, putting that red shirt in with the whites?" "Do you think you should do that, feeding the boys Skittles and Slurpees right before bed?" "Do you think you should do that, drinking all that vodka, you have an early morning?"

The other day I thought it was a good idea to try to cut the kids' hair. We have clippers, why not use them right? How difficult could it be? I would save us money, time and aggravation.


Lauren came out onto the porch in mid cut and asked "Do you think you should do that?"

It was too late.

His hair, or lack there of, is not as bad as this picture shows.

Besides he is incredibly handsome no matter how foolish his father is.

Crunch

I have been trying to get rid of the spare tire I have had hanging around my midsection for the past 10 years. I have dieted and I exercise with some moderate success.

Two weeks ago I told my wife Lauren I was going to start working on my abs. I told her I wanted to get them in better shape in hopes that she would be more attracted to me.

Last week, while I was on vacation, I was lucky enough to get to go the gym a few times with Lauren. Besides my normal treadmill and light weight work outs I decided to add a few abdomen exercises. My wife and I were working on some of the newer machines, trying them out, when I jumped on the Ab Coaster machine. This machine requires some semblance of coordination as well as some semblance of abdominal muscle control, neither of which I have. But how else was going to get 6-pack abs for the wife so I gave it my all.

I knelt on the pad, gripped the handles and rocked my hips back and forth and tried my best to contract the muscles I was supposed to be working. It hurt. It hurt a bunch. But I kept at it. I gritted my teeth and concentrated on my hips rocking. Bearing down I thrust-ed my knees towards my chest crunching my abs. I was breathing hard and fast, a whooshing-huffing-grunting noise escaping my lips with every repetition. Sweat was burning my eyes. My face was red from exertion. I scrunched my face, eyes squinty, bottom teeth protruding in determination to get the most out of this machine and to cope with the pain.

Thrust, crunch, huff. Thrust, crunch, whoosh. Thrust, crunch, grunt. Thrust, crunch, huff.

In mid crunch I looked up at Lauren, my inspiration for my new abs, who was stretching a few feet away. She was just standing staring back at me with a look of horror and a tinge of embarrassment on her face. Her eyes went wide with some kind of dumbfounded astonished expression, which I knew was directed at me. She started to giggle. I finished my set and I started to giggle a bit as well. I knew I must have looked ridiculous.

I walked over to her (which I think she wanted to walk away from me so other people in the gym would not think we were together) and said "I told you was I doing this so you would be more attracted to me."

 "It is not working." she said as she shook her head laughing.

"I mean the end result. When I have the abs of steel. You'll see." I said.

"I don't know Bill," she shook her head. "I don't think I will ever be able to scrub that image out of my brain."

High Tolerance

Last week I went in to have my upper wisdom teeth* removed.

I am not a fan of any type of surgery but after talking to some friends and my doctor I decided to get it done. After all I was not using them the way they were supposed to be used. They had the potential to cause more problems and complications which could be costly. I was also told that the procedure was not painful, would only take about 30 minutes and only required a couple of days for recovery.

Lauren dropped me off at the surgeon's office the morning of the operation. I asked her to pick me up in an hour. Even though I was only having a local anesthetic the people at the facility suggested I have someone drive me in case I ended up feeling woozy post operation.

I laid back on the chair as the nurse pushed pedals to make adjustments to the height and angle of the chair. The surgeon prepped his instruments. I watched as he inserted a huge needle into a glass bottle of the local anesthetic. He pulled back the plunger and filled the syringe with the clear liquid. The nurse left the room as the doctor started his work.

"You will feel a slight pinch and quick burn. Then you shouldn't feel anything after a few minutes." the doctor said.

I felt a pinch. I felt the burn. We waited.

I watched the doctor grab some shiny metal things and I closed my eyes as he went to work. He must of sensed that I was not completely numb when as he made his first cut I nearly jumped out of the chair.

"Can you feel that?" he asked.

"Yes. How could you tell?" I responded somewhat sarcastically.

The doctor gave me a little bit more of the anesthetic.

I felt a pinch. I felt a burn. We waited.

The doctor went back to work. I could feel him cutting me. I felt him prying and poking with his instruments. I broke out into a sweat.

"I can still feel everything you are doing." I said through gritted teeth.

"Do you feel pain? Or pressure?" he said. "Pressure is normal." He added.

"Pain! I can feel everything you are doing. Every cut, every move, every instrument, everything." My knuckles were white from where I was gripping the chair, my nails were leaving indentations in the vinyl covering.

"You must have a high tolerance the the anesthetic. Most people only require 4ccs. I have already given you 6. I will give you 2 more and we will wait. It should do the trick."

I felt a pinch. I felt a burn. We waited.

The doctor went back to work. I nearly leaped out of the chair.

"I can't believe you felt that?" The doctor said. He was clearly annoyed.

"I am not making it up." I was starting to panic.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I just don't understand." He tried to comfort me.

"Let's just get it done." I said. "I will deal with the pain just hurry it up."

He called the nurse into the room and they looked at the bottle of anesthetic, making sure it was within the expiration date. They spoke in hushed tones and I heard him say something about never having to use the full 10cc before but he will try it. The nurse opened and prepped a new syringe and needle. The doctor gave me the last 2cc in original needle.

I felt a pinch. A dull burn. We waited. I was finally numb.

The doctor grabbed his instruments and went back to work being very careful and meticulous. He made sure I was not feeling anything. What was supposed to take a half hour turned into an hour. Lauren texted me to make sure I was okay. She was back to pick me up. I texted back saying that I would be a few more minutes.

The doctor sighed in a way that signaled he was done. He placed his metal instrument on the tray next to him. "Okay. You didn't feel any of that, did you?"

"No." I said. "Am I all done?"

"No." he said. "I still have to do the left side."

My eyes went wide. I may have whimpered. A tear may have slowly rolled down my cheek.

"Don't worry." he said, "I will give you the full 10ccs to start with."




*For the sake of the male readers I substituted the words "Upper Wisdom Teeth" for Vas Deferens.

Distraction

"You seem a little stressed out." Lauren said to me in a matter of fact way. We were cleaning up from lunch. "You need to go and drink some beers with the guys or something."

"The guys?" I said. "I don't have any guys. Besides it is Sunday afternoon. 1 o'clock no less."

"If you could go and drink beers and hang out with someone," Lauren asked "who would it be?"

I thought to myself, "Bob. But he lives 40 minutes away. Half my beer drinking time would be spent on travel time. Dave, but it would be weird to call him and ask him to go drink beers. He would think I was in some serious trouble."

I said. "I don't know."

Lauren finished wiping down the table.

"Ken." I blurted.

"What? Who?" Lauren asked.

"Ken M." I actually said his last name but I do try to give people a bit of anonymity on this blog to potentially save them from embarrassment. "I could always call Ken and say Let's meet up for a beer or whatever, and Ken would be like, 'Okay."

"Call Ken." Lauren said.

"I haven't spoken to Ken since I dry humped in the super market parking lot. I am not calling him."

I then took Maxfield and Wyatt food shopping, to Rita's Water Ice for free water ice day, then to play baseball, (me as a dad playing ball, not as a coach with other kids) then to the playground (apparently me as dad playing ball is no where near as fun as when there are other kids around) then we went home.

"I am going to go out to get beer." I told Lauren.

"Really?" She asked.

"Yes. You asked me who I would want to just hang out with and have a few beers, well that would be you. We will sit out back, in the sun, and have a couple while the kids play."

"Okay."

"I will be back in a bit. Any preference?" I asked as I grabbed my keys. "Blue Moon or Yuengling Lager?"

"Lager." She said.

I returned 20 minutes later. Lauren greeted me at the driveway. A maroon minivan was backing out. It was my neighbor Lisa's Van. My boys play with her boys all of the time. My two older boys were inside the minivan.

"Where are the boys going?" I asked.

"To Lisa's to play with her boys. Lisa asked me if I wanted to go to Home Goods. I said yes but I needed to wait for you to come home since Jackson is napping. Her husband is watching the kids while we go to Home Goods. She is coming back to pick me up."

"Wait," I said "you are going to Home Goods with Lisa? What happened to drinking beers out back in the sun with me?"

Then it hit me, Home Goods. Lauren said Home Goods. The store that on most days, can just overpower Ikea as the best store ever, in the whole wide world. Me and a few Yeunglings didn't stand a chance.

A few minutes later I grabbed a beer and went out back. I sat on a wicker rocker in the middle of my yard and watched the dog chew a stick. I probably looked like a fool to my older neighbor who was busy raking her back yard and filling her birdfeeders with seed.

A few minutes after that Lauren and Lisa popped their heads out the back door.

"We're leaving." Lauren said. "Keep an ear out for Jackson."

"You are like the dog in the movie UP." I told Lauren. "But instead of the word squirrel, you hear Home Goods and you're like all distracted."

My neighbor, Mrs. T. (no relation to Mr. T of the I pitty the fool fame. I just am not using her last name give anonymity to people to save them the embarrassment of being on this blog. Although if her husband did use the phrase I pitty the fool it would be awesome.) head popped up from her diligent raking duties and said "Did you say Home Goods?"

It was like a squirrell ran in front of all of them.

Make Out

There is no such thing as a bad cheese steak. Sure some are waaay better than others but there is no such thing as a bad one. A cheese steak*, to me, is just like making out; sometimes it is a little sloppy and wet; sometimes it is a little dry; sometimes you need to use more tongue; and sometimes it smells like onions but for the most part I am just happy to be getting some. Now that Lauren and I have 3 boys there is not a lot of time to be getting cheese steaks (see another way to compare it to making out). We try to set a good example of eating and cooking right and we leave the fatty take-out to a once in a while occasion.

This past Saturday night was that once in a while occasion.

In the city there is a debate about who has the best cheese steaks, Pat's, Geno's or Jim's. Out in the burbs most places make a decent cheese steak but none ever can compete with the those big three. Lauren found a coupon for Tonelli's and we decided to give it a try. I've gotta tell you it was one of the best cheese steak sandwiches I have had.

Saturday night into Sunday morning, around 2 AM, Lauren woke up and told me she was not feeling well, she felt nauseous. Twenty minutes later she was vomiting. My first thought was "Man I hope she does not have a stomach bug or flu." My second thought was, "I hope she will be okay." My third thought was "Looks like I have go the kids all day. My fourth thought, "Maybe it was something she ate. What did we have different that we normally don't have?" And my fifth and final thought, which I guess I should be ashamed to admit was, "OH NO! Cheese steak. We had Cheese steaks. I hope it was not the cheese steaks. Oh I hope she has a stomach bug. I hope she has a stomach bug. I hope she has a stomach bug."

I need to defend my wish that my wife had a stomach bug.

Did you ever drink too much gin or eat some kind of curry dish, only to get sick later and throw-up? You end up swearing off that brand of gin. Or you refuse to ever eat curry again. It has nothing to do with the food itself , but just the smell of curry brings back the memory of the dry heaves it caused is enough to make you stay away. It can be any kind of food or drink, once you associate it with vomiting you usually, for years, will not touch the stuff. So if Lauren associated the awesome Cheese steaks with her being sick, there was a really good chance that we would, not only never go that place again, but we would never get cheese steaks again. I couldn't have that. These cheese steaks were that awesome and were only minutes away from my house.

Turned out Lauren had a bug. She was in bed all day Sunday. When she was not in bed she was throwing up. It was a bad day.

I did my best to occupy the kids throughout the day getting ready for Valentine's Day parties on Monday. I also did my best to take care of my sick wife. All day I had a nagging thought in the back of my head that there was a chance that I may get the stomach bug too. I kept trying to eat bland things or maybe things that I knew I already did not like just in case I got nauseous. I did not want to have a an episode that would cause me to banish the delicious chopped steak and cheese in a long roll. I had cereal for breakfast, toast for lunch. I made a dinner of plain grilled chicken, asparagus and crackers.

Sunday night as I placed out Valentine's days cards and gifts for my kids and wife I decided to have a snack. We had a bag of Doritos and a bag of plain corn tortilla chips. I am so glad I chose the plain corn chips. At 2 AM I caught the stomach bug. I was thankful for puking tortilla chips. I love Doritos. I was in bed all day Monday. Thankfully Lauren was doing better (it was only a 24 hour bug). It was her turn to take care of me. I couldn't move at all on Valentine's Day. Nothing says "I love you" like the willingness to clean up a person's bag of vomit and bile.


As I was laying in bed in a sleep deprived dehydrated cramp induced delirium I couldn't help but be thankful that I too had a stomach bug. Because then I knew it was not the cheese steaks.

I look forward to another night of Tonelli's cheese staek make-out. I mean take-out.



* When you live in the Philadelphia Pa area you don't call a a cheese steak a "Philly Style Cheese steak. It is just a Cheese steak.

Frost Bits

"Touch it." I said.

"I am not touching that." Lauren said. She knows my tricks and she thought I was trying to, well, get her to touch it. The last time she fell for this trick we ended up with our third boy. And now, after having three boys there is not much time or desire to be touching anything.

"Seriously Lauren, I am not trying any games I need you to touch it. I think it is has frostbite."

Lauren looked down. I was stretching my waistband out so she could get a better look.

"Oh my God!" She said startled. "It is bright red. Are you okay?"

I winced. I was not okay. I was in serious pain. I looked down. I was shocked of how much of it was shrinking up into my belly. Everything they say about shrinkage is true. I reached my hand down and tried to make sure everything was intact. As soon as my fingers touched the tip, the fire helmet, I could feel it all burn. My lower abdomen ached, as did my groin.

"What happened?" Lauren asked.

"I think my pecker is frozen."

I explained how I decided to go for a long run, after all it was early Saturday morning and the sun was coming up. Part of the Half-marathon training program I am trying is to do one long run a week. This was my first true long run. I always wear spandex-moisture wicking pants under a loose fitting, breathable, mesh sweatpants. The rest of my running outfit is various layers depending on the temperature. It was in the low to mid twenties so I bundled up on top wearing new tight fitting vest and running shirts as opposed to the multi-layers of long t-shirts I usually wear.

When I run, I just run away from my house until I feel the need to turn around and head home. I set out that morning intending to do a 6 to 7 mile run. Somewhere around mile 3 and a half, 30 minutes into my run, I could feel my thighs start to numb and a pain throb in my groin. I started heading home, going back the 3 or so miles. I was running into the wind. A cold cold wind.

Somewhere around mile 5 I could tell I was in trouble. Things started to burn and then go numb. I only had two more miles to go. I figured I could just tough it out. The rest of my body was warm and I worked up a really good sweat. Normally when I run my X-tra large T-shirts and other layers would kind of cover the area below my waist. I was not wearing X-tra large shirts. The moisture wicking spandex was taking the moisture away from my body to be frozen by the cold wind blowing through the mesh work-out pants I was wearing. I was freeze drying my bits. And quite frankly after I inspected the area, it, they, had the appearance of freeze dried fruit. The icy feeling put the "icle" in the, you know, "test".

"I gotta go take a shower." I said to Lauren and I hobbled up the steps.

I took off my pants and was amazed and slightly horrified purplish-red color of my upper thighs. From my waist line to my knees was the color of an overcooked ham. Did you ever spend a few hours in the snow making snowmen and snow balls (pun totally intended) and once you go inside your hands start to burn from the temperature change? That is how the shower felt. It burned.

I waited in the hot water for every thing to descend from their un-descended positions. I waited for the red color to soften to a dull pink. Eventually the burning stopped but I could tell there was a slight lack of sensation. There was also a steady ache from the inside of the, well, just the inside of it all.

I have a pain medication that I take on an as needed basis for herniated disks in my neck. Part of the medication has an anti anxiety element to it. When my herniated disks flare up some of the symptoms are similar to that of having a heart attack. The anti-anxiety meds help relieve the panic stricken, chest tightness stress I may feel during the flare up. I did a quick Google search on Frost Bite and after looking at a few pictures of blackened gangrene-semi amputated digits I decided that I should take one of my pain pills.

By the end of the day, when the effects of the medicine wore off, everything seemed to be fine. Later that night Lauren asked me how I felt. She joked that she was going to sew me a fleece or flannel codpiece.

"It seems to be fine." I said. "It stills aches a bit, but otherwise I think it is okay."

"That's good." She said.

"Although maybe we should make sure it is in entirely in working order." I smiled raising my eyebrows.

"Oh. And how should you do that?" She said rolling her eyes.

"Well I have an idea."

She did not fall for any of my tricks.

The next day I asked Lauren if she thought I should blog about my fozen bits.

"Why would you even hesitate? Of course you should." Was her reply.

Junk

So apparently and allegedly Brett Favre had done it. And then there was this kind of popular dad blogger, Dad Gone Mad, who used his popularity and recognition as a reason/excuse to (allegedly) do it. I am talking about sending pictures of their junk to people.

I figure I need to do it as well. But since I don't have everybody's email addresses I will, in the effort to save time and what not, just post pictures of my junk on my website.

Here are pictures of my junk.

This is the junk in my garage. I do not know how it got there or how to even use half of the junk there. It is just there.


This picture is of the junk on the top of my chest of drawers. Lauren hates my junk on the chest as well as the fact that it clutters the drawers. This is the junk that litters my pockets everyday.

This last picture is of the junk that I pull out of the laundry on a regular basis. The picture above is a collection from just the past week. An Elephant, a domino a Lego Star Wars light saber a die from a board game and yes, that is a partially eaten pickle that I had taken from the washer after I had run it. I have no idea why any of my kids would have put a half eaten pickle in their pocket, but it sure did make me laugh when I found it as I was transferring the clothes to the dryer.

What kind of Junk do you have after you run your laundry?

Intruder

I sat straight up in bed. Something, a noise maybe, a feeling, an instinct woke me up. The projected image of the time on my ceiling read 3:36 AM. I tried my best to silence my breathing and quiet my pulse which were the only noises I could hear beside the soft hum of the quiet baby monitor. I held my breath and listened towards the boys room. Did one of them cry out? No, nothing but silence from the direction of their room.

Did you ever try to listen harder? You attempt to stretch the muscles in your neck and face in an effort to squint your ears hoping that will be able to make you listen farther. I tried that. Nothing. I laid back down. A minute passed and I started to drift back to sleep when I heard the noise again. I shot back up. The noise was coming from downstairs. Something downstairs was moving. We lost the dog a few weeks ago and we no longer have any cats. What the hell was moving? My heart raced as a I did a quick mental check to make sure I was truly awake and not dreaming. Damn it, I was awake.

I jumped out of bed and put on my glasses. I hate having poor vision. I grabbed a rather large utility knife that I keep stashed in my room and I headed for the steps. I paused, a few steps down, to debate whether I should call 911. My heart racing, my breathing quick and shallow, I descended one more stair, when a loud electronic chirp pierced the dark silence. I stifled a small yelp, my heart stopped. I felt a wave of relief pass over me as I realized that the chirp was from Lauren's cell phone. She must have missed a text message or something. The movement I heard was probably the phone vibrating in her purse which was hanging in the foyer closet. I sighed. I walked down the steps to the closet so I could silence the phone.

I flipped the light switch at the bottom of the staircase. The foyer lit up and splashed light into the darkened kitchen. I turned at the bottom of the steps and I stopped cold. I thought I saw movement in the kitchen. My feet felt frozen. They warmed when I realized I was catching my reflection in the kitchen bay window. I turned profile and sucked in my gut. I shook my head knowing I had gained back about 5 pounds of the weight I worked so hard to lose. I chucked to myself at the fact that I was standing in my underwear holding a knife. How embarrassing would it be to get into a fight with a burglar while wearing nothing but boxer briefs. I don't even like arguing in just my underwear. (Most of Lauren and my personal conversations happened either at night right before bed or in the morning when we first wake up. It is the only time we can talk privately. If Lauren and I ever get into an argument or disagreement it is during this time when we are in bed or getting ready for bed. I always get up and put pants on when we argue. She laughs at this. The first time I did it, she asked me what I was doing and I said "I can't argue in my underwear." Which would be the title of my book on relationships if I ever had a book on relationships.)

I reached into Lauren's purse to silence the phone when I heard movement from the kitchen. It sounded like some one brushed up against a wall. It was a faint noise but I definitely heard it. My whole body went numb with fear. I mentally counted to three and jumped into the kitchen with the knife outstretched ahead of me. I flipped on the light hoping to startle whoever was in there. The problem is our light in the kitchen is on a dial dimmer switch so the whole flick the switch /startle the intruder was more like a turn the dial and slowly increase the light output and un-romanticize the intruder. No one was there.

I searched the entire house, all windows and doors were locked, all closets and burglar hiding spaces were empty. I was confident that there were no intruders. The noise I heard must have been the wind. I went back to bed.

The next day, late in the afternoon, Lauren told me she heard noises coming from the walls between our kitchen and dining room. What kind of noises I asked. She told me "critter like" noises. That night I sat and listened to the wall. There were definite critter like noises coming from the wall. But these were big critters. It sounded like something was trying to climb up the inside of the wall. The noise was the same noise I heard the night before. There is a wooded area behind our house so it could be anything. I thought it was likely squirrels or moles or possible a raccoon.

The next day I climbed down into the crawl space under the house to investigate. I don't like critters. Underneath the kitchen area I discovered a hole that could allow an R.O.U.S. into our house. Everyone knows that R.O.U.S.es are the third danger of the fire swamp. My heart started racing, my feet grew cold. I was more scared than the night I thought there was a robber in my house. I followed the path that I thought a critter would follow from the hole to the wall where the noise came from. I scanned with the flashlight and searched and searched. Just as I was underneath the area where the dishwasher sits, it started through a rinse cycle. The noise from the dishwasher startled me so much that I may have tinkled a tiny bit. I was thankful that I was wearing pants this time.

I searched the entire crawl space and found nothing. I used some steel wool and Great Stuff and sealed every possible hole that could be used by a critter. I just hope that I didn't trap the varmint in the house, and if I did, I hope it is big enough to scare away any burglars.

A Stripper Taught Me How to Do Laundry

My mom never taught me how to do laundry. She did most of it and when I was old enough to do my own I just winged it. I moved out of my parent's house when I was 19 and most of my laundering was done at the Laundromat or some other coin operated machine in various basements of the various apartments I rented. I was working as a life insurance underwriter so I took most of my dress shirts and dress pants to the dry cleaner, which was the only other true expense I had at the time; rent, food, beer and dry cleaning were my bills. I got by.

I started working in a nightclub when I was 24. The after hours club where I worked downtown was located right next door the city's premiere gentleman's club (AKA a nudey bar or strip joint). I worked 5 nights a week during hours of operation and 2 days a week dealing with vendors, promotions and book keeping. One of the managing owners of the strip joint also was a partner at the place I worked. I spent a lot of time going back and forth between the two places to borrow supplies, make change, persuade VIP customers to visit my club and report numbers.

One day around 2 in the afternoon I had to run next door to see my boss. I entered the darkened black light lit gentleman's club from the bright sunny outdoors. I waited a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and my ears to adjust to the too much bass mixed Guns N Roses Paradise City. Once I could make out faces I nodded a hello to the doorman and I waved to the barmaid. A dancer, named Mercedes or Porsche or some other type of fancy car name, sitting by herself at the bar pointed at my shirt and started laughing. She directed the barmaid's attention to my shirt and she too started laughing.

I looked at my shirt and I could see big purplish fluorescent splotches spattered all down the front. I walked towards the bar and I asked the barmaid what was so funny. She told me my shirt looked like it was, well, what she said was not very nice but it involved body fluids. The dancer then asked me if I did my own laundry. I found the question to be odd but I answered yes. She then asked me how I did my laundry. I told her that I put all my clothes in the washer, pour the liquid detergent over the top of the clothes and then I turn on the washer.

The dancer took a drag from her cigarette, as she exhaled up into the air she said, "That's the problem right there." She then explained to me that the by pouring the liquid detergent over top of dry clothes was causing it to "stick" to my shirt. The soap was not dissolving completely in the load of laundry. Liquid laundry detergent has fluorescent qualities that make it glow in the presences of black lights. Mercedes, or Porsche or Miata, then told me that I should put the detergent into the washing machine first, then turn it on and let it fill halfway before I put my clothes in. The soap would have a chance to dissolve and not stick to any one article of clothing. I would also get a cleaner load of laundry overall.

The front door to the club opened, silhouettes of a three male patrons appeared in the door way, back lit by the bright sun. The door closed and three men paused waiting for their eyes to adjust. Darkness enveloped them except for the bright white fluorescent splotches scattered across their clothes.

I am sure most strippers have all kinds of cleaning tips.

Kissing Daniel

Warning: Some of the mental images the following post may invoke may be graphic and not suitable to all readers. Reader discretion is advised.


I have big thighs. I get this from my mom’s side of the family. One of the problems with having big thighs is that I tend to chafe. I tend to chafe in the groin area. What causes the chafing? Well it is a combination of friction of my inner thigh rubbing against the seam of my underwear or shorts. Often times, moisture in the same area, can cause me to chafe even more. Some people refer to the chafing as a sweat rash. It is hot down there which is where the term hotter than balls comes from. Now that I am running I have been getting more chafed, like really, really bad. Running causes me to sweat as well as it increases the friction in that particular area. The moisture from the sweat causes the underwear I am wearing to become more heavy and clingy and also more abrasive. This then causes me to chafe. It is a bad case of diaper rash for a lack of a better term.

Another big chafing scenario is when I go to the beach. The moisture from going into the ocean as well as getting sand stuck in my trunks has caused me some of the worst rashes as well as pain I have ever felt. Combine that with the walk to and from the beach it feels like I have sand paper scraping my grundle. Usually by the end of the walk home I have the gait as if I had just rode a horse for a few hours. It would be so bad I would then spend the next day smelling like baby powder and Desitin. The rashes I have gotten from the beaches would be so red and bumpy and painful and inflamed that they could ruin an entire week vacation.

This curse of chafing also affects other members of my family.

During our family’s big July 4th/Mom’s birthday party, I overheard my brother Dan talking to a few of my other brothers. As often is the case when you grow up with 7 other boys the conversation switched to the topic of balls. Not baseballs or soccer balls or basketballs but, you know…balls.

“I swear” Dan said to Jimmy. “You will want to kiss me after you try the new shorts.”

“Really?” someone else asked.

“Yeah. I now wear them all the time under my swim suit.” Dan confirmed. “I have not had a rash since.”

"Are you talking about preventing monkey butt?" I asked.

"No. I am talking about the sweat rash you get at the beach." Dan said.

I was intrigued by the conversation and I asked Dan what he was talking about. He told me he bought some new moisture wicking underwear, the kind that athletes use, and that he wears them under his swim trunks. The underwear wicks the moisture away from his groin and it has dramatically reduced any kind of chafing he would get from his walks to and from the beach. Dan called the underwear his junk protectors. He then told me I should get a pair and try it since I was going to the shore the following week.

“You will not believe how much better you will feel.” Dan said. “You will want to kiss me for me telling you about this underwear.”

Now my brother Dan is not one to just give out unsolicited advice. I mean maybe he will tell you about a new tool he recommends or that he discovered better bourbon, but to suggest new clothes is just not his (pardon the pun) style. Since he was so adamant about the new underwear I purchased a few pair for my trip to the beach.

I bought the boxer brief style which were a little smaller in size than the boxer briefs I am used to wearing. The material is made with “moisture wicking technology” (I have never worn underwear with technology in them) and has a stretchy-spandex kind of feel to them. The smaller size, the tight fit and the stretchy fabric made everything look a bit bigger, which, I gotta admit, I did not mind. The smaller size, the tight fit and the stretchy fabric made me feel like I was wearing part of a superhero costume, which, I gotta admit, was kind of cool.

I wore my new underwear to the beach every day while I was on vacation. Let me tell you this is the best underwear I have ever worn. I did not get one rash. I wore them one my runs, no rash. I wore them in the ocean and in the sand, no rash. Half way through my vacation I called my brother Dan to thank him for the advice on the underwear.

"Dan, the next time I see you I am going to kiss you." I said.

"Was I right about the shorts or what?"

"I love them. Not a single rash. I wear them everyday."

"I told you." Dan said.

"Not only do I not have any chafing but when I put them on I feel like I am putting on a superhero costume, and for that, well Dan, when I kiss you I may even give you some tongue."


UPDATED 7-28-10
I purchased my awesome underwear at Sears and bought the Structure Brand. (make sure they are the moisture wicking kind).

I'm 40- Please Touch

I am older than I have ever been. I know that everyday I am older than I have ever been. I am thankful for every day that I am older than I have ever been. But older than I have ever been is how I described turning 40 this past weekend.

40 is a "new demographic" age. 40 is the "mid-life-crisis-buy-a-red-convertible" age. 40 is the "holy cow 40 cows on the front lawn" age (you never see 30 cows on a front lawn). I am 40. I knew 40 was coming and I was prepared.

A month ago I received an email from the Please Touch Museum (no it is not the Clinton Library) inviting my family to a blogger day the were have on June 4th. I have never been to the Please Touch museum and I figured what a great way to forget that I was turning 40 than to play in a museum designed for children 7 and younger. How is that for changing my demographic? The museum has 6 or so exhibit halls that encourage kids to play in a variety of ways.

One of the halls has a super market where kids can load up carts with all kinds of toy groceries and play shopper or shop keeper. This was by far my kids favorite hall in the museum. They loaded cart after cart after cart in the little grocery store. I did my best to encourage the "real life" aspect of the pretend play by laying on the floor of the store, crying and wailing, begging Max and Wyatt to buy me something. I also knocked over displays and ran down other aisles so they could not see me and think I was lost. They didn't "get it".

I would shop there again because they had the hottest check-out girl, ever. The other halls like the Roadside Attractions and the Wonderland were also big hits with my kids. The maze of mirrors was my favorite. I look like my brother Kevin in this picture.

Lauren, the kids and I had a great time and for the few hours we were there I forgot I was turning 40. When we wrapped it up and headed home I was so exhausted from chasing the kids that I felt 40.

When Lauren asked me what I wanted for my birthday I told her I wanted the Wii. Instead of a red convertible I thought a new game console that I could play with my kids would make me feel younger.

I was happy she got me the Wii. She got me the Wii with the Wii Fit Bundle. You know, the game where you work-out, exercise, lose weight etc. Was she trying to tell me something? I have lost 10 lbs in the past 3 weeks doing the P90X. Maybe I am not progressing fast enough. I guess it does take a 40 year old more time to get into better shape.

Lauren also had her mom babysit and she took me out to a Brazilian style steak house for my birthday. A Brazilian steakhouse is where men walk around with skewers of various cuts of meat (they had 13 different varieties the night we went) that they slice for you at your table. Instead of 40 cows on my lawn I had all-you-can-eat beef (garlic sirloin tips, ribs, Filet Mignon, flank steak) lamb (chops and leg of), pork (sausage, ribs, tenderloin) and chicken. I felt young sitting across from a beautiful woman, having a cocktail, enjoying the fine food and eating like I was in my twenties.

I woke up at three in the morning with horrible cramps and a lot of gas. Just like a 40 year old.

I am older than I have ever been. I now get the meaning of the term "Old Fart."

Hairy

I can barely type this post. I'm hurting.

I am not kidding I can barely keep my arms up on the desk to reach the keyboard.

It all started a few weeks ago after this incident in the ER. Since I had to sit for a few hours, with no shirt on, while nurses looked at me I realized something about myself; I am a very hairy person.

The next day I took my electric beard trimmer and trimmed some of the chest hair that was creeping up my neck protruding from my collar.

The next day after that I looked in the mirror and I realized that now that I trimmed the hair on my upper chest, my lower chest hair and nipples looked kind of wild and unkempt. I trimmed that as well. I remember having contests with my brothers to see who could have the longest nipple hair, now I was cutting them all off.

The next day after that, I looked in the mirror and I realized how silly the hair looked on my belly while my chest was all nice and neat. So I charged up the trimmer and I clipped the hair on my stomach including the "trail to happiness".

The next day after that I found myself trimming all the hair on my trunk and upper legs. I could not stop myself. Everywhere I looked I messed up somewhere, something was uneven, and I had to trim and cut and shear. It was like the begatting of hair trimming. The next thing I knew I was practically all stubble from neck to mid-thigh.

The next day after that, I told Lauren what happened. She laughed.

The next day after that, I looked in the mirror and without the fur coat I usually sported I realized I was fat. With no hair to hide my man boobs, my man boobs looked like, well, really big man boobs. Without the hair under my chest and on my belly I could see just how much of a gut I was getting. My spare tire looked like it could fit a pick-up truck. Everything looked bigger with no hair (yes even that did too except now I looked like some pre-pubescent boy with a large gut.)

Tonight, I started the P90x workout. I am sure you have seen the infomercial for this intense 90 day workout. I did chest and arms. Now I hurt. I can barely type this post.

Part of the program they suggest taking a Day 1 photo of your body (no shirt) to compare it to pictures at Day 30, Day 60 and Day 90. I did not take the day one photo. I am afraid if I did, when I compared it to the later pictures it would look like time lapse photos of me turning into a werewolf, or maybe a human Chia-pet.

Art

I was finishing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen when Lauren came down the steps. The kids were all in bed, asleep for the night.

"What do you want to do?" She asked.

I dried my hands. "How about you and I...you know." I raised my eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"What? I can't help it. It is partly your fault. You always look so hot."

She looked at herself in her tattered T-shirt and sweat pants. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail.

"Oh right." she said sarcastically. "I am so hot in this."

"You are." I said.

"I don't feel hot." She said rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Some days these boys wear me out."

"Well I think you look great."

"Really? You are only saying that because you want something."

"No. You know I still think you are attractive."

" I know. Sometimes I just don't see what you see."

I thought, that maybe, I was winning her over. You know what I'm saying. I put my arms around her waist and gently kissed her forehead. She did not pull away.

"You are like a priceless piece of art work. You are beautiful. You are like a Picasso or the Mona Lisa or any of those old masterpieces hanging in a museum." I said.

She looked up at me. "Really?" She asked.

"Yeah." I kissed her neck.

"Okay." She said. "But just so you know, those paintings, hanging in the museums they are to be looked at." She nudged me away. "You are not allowed to touch those old masterpieces."

That night I really enjoyed episodes of The Office and 30 Rock.

I Need New Underwear

I reached into my underwear drawer and grabbed the ratty, elastic stretched, thread worn, holey, navy blue boxer briefs. There was quarter sized hole by the waistband in the front and a one inch tear down the right groin seam. There was a newer pair of white boxer briefs in the drawer. It was a Sunday, most of the laundry in our house gets done on the weekend so my choices were limited. I was going to be working a trade show all day so I stuck with the blue briefs. I figured comfort would be important since I would be on my feet all day. I finished getting dressed and I went downstairs.

I drank some coffee and talked to Wyatt about the birthday party he was going to that morning. It was the first time in his 3 and 3/4 years that he was ever invited somewhere without his older brother. Wyatt was very excited to be going somewhere by himself. I was very happy for him, he needs his own friends. I took the last few sips of my coffee with a pill I sometimes take for my herniated discs. My back and neck were stiff and aching from the 3 yards of mulch I shoveled the day before. I kissed the family goodbye and I drove towards the trade show.

Two minutes before I entered the turnpike my scalp started to itch really bad. My face felt flush, I could feel my ears start to burn. I opened the window to get some air. My feet and hands started to hurt and I could see my wedding ring getting squeezed by the flesh around it. I looked in the rear view mirror and gasped. My faced was completely red, my eyes bloodshot and my lips were puffing up. I was having another allergic reaction.

I turned around and drove home. I could barely walk to the front door my feet were so swollen the laces and seams of my fake wingtips were bulging. I walked into the kitchen and called out for Lauren. She looked at me and made the same face she makes when she sees me naked. She was horrified.

"I need to go the hospital." I told her.

"Oh my God. What happened?" She asked.

"I have no idea. The only thing I did different this morning is that I took one of my pills. My tongue and lips are tingling and I need to go to the hospital."

"Let me call someone to watch the kids." She said as she picked up the phone.

"No. Wyatt needs to go to his party. I will drive myself."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"No. I don't Wyatt to miss his party. He needs this party."

"Bill, He is three. There will be other parties."

"Maybe we should call 911." I said. "No. I don't want to scare the kids. I will drive myself. I want Wyatt to go this party and I don't want him to miss it because his dad has allergies."

"Oh but it will be okay if he misses his party because his dad died?" Lauren said always trying to make her point even though I may have been dying.

I left and drove myself to the hospital. I called Lauren to let her know I was safely in the ER. A nurse asked me to walk back through the triage area. I could hardly move, my feet were so badly swollen.

"Why are you hobbling?" The nurse asked.

"My feet hurt."

"Take off your shoes." She said.

"I can't. I think my feet are stuck in them."

"Do you want me to cut them off of you?"

"No. These are the only dress shoes I own. I will get them off but it will take some time."

The nurse helped me onto the bed and she instructed me to take off all my clothes except my underwear. My ratty, torn, hole filled underwear. I was embarrassed. As I took off each article of clothing I discovered the most hideous rash I have ever seen covered my entire body. I was more mortified at my underwear. A doctor and another female nurse entered the curtained exam room. They looked at me and winced, maybe from the appearance of the rash, but I thought it was because of the holes in my boxer briefs.

The doctor asked me to stand up so they could examine everywhere. The two female nurses helped me out of the bed and then the three of them all used flashlights to inspect my back side and inner thighs. The doctor decided I needed a epinephrine shot and a bag of IV fluids with steroids. I was also to be placed on a heart monitor in case anything bad happened.

The two nurses worked quickly and in sync to get everything done. One prepped one side of my body for the IV and heart monitor while the other sorted through the various equipment. They chatted together the entire time talking as if I was not even laying there completely exposed except for my really bad underwear. Once the heart monitor was hooked up and beeping they inserted an IV into my left arm and injected epinephrine into my right arm. The nurse on my left stood next to me holding the IV bag above my head. They asked me to scooch back in the bed a bit. As I did I could feel the holes in the front of my underwear shift a bit exposing certain parts of my anatomy. I asked for a blanket.

The nurse on my right, finally acknowledging I was there, said that everything looked okay and that they would keep me for a few hours to observe. She nodded to the nurse on my left who was fiddling with the IV bag and asked, "What are you doing?"

"This one does not have a big pole. How come I am always stuck with the ones without any kind of pole."

I then cleared my throat and said, "I know you just inspected me with flashlights and that my underwear is full of holes but you didn't even get a good look there so please do not insult me."

It took her a minute but then she laughed.

Later when she was removing the heart monitor clips that were taped to my chest, I think she took pleasure in ripping sticky pads from my body.

This is kind of what my reaction looked like except my entire body was covered. This picture is a reaction to the type of tape they use in the hospital. The good news is I do not think I am allergic to chocolate like I thought before. The bad news is I am allergic to the medicine I am supposed to take for my neck pain. I am also allergic to hospital tape and nurses ripping hair out of my chest.

Big Nipples

When I was 12 I hit puberty. Well actually puberty hit me. Puberty was not very kind to me. I did not get acne. My hair grew in all the right places. My voice changed but not in an awkward way. My muscle mass grew. From reading this it sounds like I had a very normal almost good puberty. Well when I went through puberty I suffered from pubertal gynecomastia. Sounds bad doesn't it? Well let me tell you, for a 12 year old boy it was bad.

What is a gynecomastia? In simple terms it means I suffered from enlarged breasts. During puberty certain hormones get all out of sorts and get confused and start to give boys breasts. The estrogen based hormones once entrenched in the mammary glands decide to stay there and set up shop until the testosterone based hormones come in and kick them out. Basically the hormones fight over the space. In my case the male testosterone hormones, like any 12 year old boy, liked the idea of having breasts around and did not put up much of a fight. Besides they were busy making sure other parts were growing (and at the most inconvenient and awkward times I might add, like Algebra or Social Studies).

But I did not suffer from just a mere swelling of the breasts, no my big boobs were also complicated by little marble calcifications that developed under my nipples. That's right, I had big nipples. Not big round flat nipples. No, my nipples were pointy and stuck out from my chest, like big pink, slightly hairy, rock hard, Hershey kisses.

In the early 80's if you had a questions and needed to know something you asked my mom. My mom, in the 80's, was like Google. She did not know everything but she could provide you with at least 5 or so relevant stories to fit whatever the topic or question. I told my mom what was happening and she told me it was part of the process of growing older. She told me that one of my older brothers suffered the same thing and that it happens in about 30% of boys going through puberty. She then, because we were talking about puberty, tried to talk to me about the birds and the bees and "disgusting" things like vagina's and penises. Like I said, my mom was just like Google.

I was very self conscious about my nips. I always wore a T-shirt under my regular shirts. I never changed in the locker room after Gym class. I avoided pools and the beach. Not only was the size of nipples embarrassing but they also hurt like hell. The slightest pressure against my chest felt like jagged rocks were trying to pierce my nipples. I played football and just wearing shoulder pads made my eyes tear up. My big marble filled nipples lasted 3 years. It took three years for the male dominated hormones to win the battle inside my boobs.

Now that I am pushing 40 and I am somewhat settled in my activity it appears as though my boobs may be making a comeback.

Meat

I am the primary hunter gatherer for my clan. Since my wife and children refuse to paint images on our walls of me coming home with boxes of buy-one-get-one-free Stove Top Stuffing I have to brag to people about the awesome deals I find.

This past Saturday's hunt I came home with 11.5 pounds of pork. The Acme Market was having a sale on a Hatfield (a local meat supplier) bone in pork loin combination, which was a package of ribs, center cut chops and a sirloin roast for 99 cents a pound. (A side note, Lauren thinks I do too much impulse buying when I shop but seriously, 99 cents, I had to get as much as I could.) I felt very good about my hunt, very manly.

Me William. Me hunt food.

Part of the testosterone fueled caveman in me wanted to tie the package of meat to the hood of my car so everyone in the neighborhood could see the bounty of my hunt, but I didn't. I was, however, lucky enough to have my neighbor and Lauren chatting out front as I pulled into the driveway. I thought of holding the plastic wrapped, foam bottomed beast over my head and chanting as I unloaded the car, but I didn't. I carried all of the other groceries into the house first and them I made a big display of having to get the last bag.

As I carried the bag, with two hands mind you, I nodded to Lauren and my neighbor and said, "Acme is having a great sale on pork. I got 11 pounds of it right here."

I puffed out my chest a little bit hoping the two women would ask to see what was in the bag. I wanted to show the fruits of my hunt. I needed to brag, or boast, or something.

Lauren said, "Good Lord. We don't need that much meat."

My neighbor faked a smile and said, "Oh, I don't eat anything that walks on four legs."

I knew in the back of my head that pseudo-vegetarians would not want to see a package of butchered chops and ribs. I was deflated, but I did not give up hope.

"Oh that's okay I only buy pork from two legged pigs." I said hoping I could show the awesomeness of my purchase.

I got blank stares.

They went on to discuss how my neighbor only eats meat of the two-legged variety like chicken and turkey.

Then something happened to me which was very weird. Just as I was about to say something, a little image of Lauren rolling her eyes, her face turning pink and her apologizing for me, flashed across my brain. I opened my mouth, but thought better of what I was going to say, for Lauren's sake. This must be what a filter between the brain and mouth is like. I struggled to not say the thing I was thinking of, mumbled something and went in the house.

Later I told Lauren about the strange struggle in my mind about the pork conversation.

"What were you going to say?" Lauren asked me.

"Well when she said she only eats two legged animals I was going to ask her if she knew any good chimp or human recipes."

"I would have laughed at that." Lauren said.

"Great." I said. "The one time, in the history of our relationship, that I actually thought before I spoke, completely wasted."


Sidenote-My neighbor is one of the nicest people anyone could be lucky enough to have as a neighbor. Her decision not to eat meat is, as she explained but I did not include in the above post, a personal, health conscience decision. This post was not about her choice, or anyone else's choice to not eat meat.