The Importance of Faith, Hope, Love, and Family (and a little bit of booze)

 

 

Exactly one year ago this week I was at the lowest point that I have ever been.  Sure, I’ve had letdowns before: deaths, breakups, and the general humiliation of whatever embarrassment I just caused myself or my family. But never before had I been hit with so much at one time.

 

Of course, by saying “I”, I’m leaving out the fact that my wife Carol was going through the exact same thing as I was.

 

Literally

 

I didn’t write about it at the time because I wasn’t looking for pity. I also didn’t quite know how to fully describe what I was going through because I really couldn’t process the emotions. I had one thing piling up on top of another and I didn’t know what made me mad, what made me sad, what gave me hope, and what gave me that feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me want to just curl up in a ball under the covers and not come out until everything passed us by.

 

But I had no idea when or if that would happen.

 

It all began on the Monday after Thanksgiving in 2012. I say it began with this Monday because it was the first official slap in the face. I had been working at a job for around four years that I really liked. I saw chances for advancement and I really liked the people I worked with/for. It paid a nice salary and I was always able to leave work at the same time every night. I really couldn’t have been happier. On this particular Monday, however, that happiness took a crushing blow to the gut as the moment I walked into the office, before I was even able to sit down in my cubicle, I was informed by a co-worker that our company had been sold.

 

I can’t say I didn’t see it coming as the company that bought us had been attempting to do so for quite some time. We had been assured all along by the higher ups, however,  that our company would not sell as they saw what we were doing and felt very strongly about both our short term and long term growth as a company.  What that translated into, basically, was that they wanted more money and would sell as soon as they got what they wanted. Well, they got what they wanted and they sold the company.

 

At the time of the announcement the writing was on the wall. I was a corporate employee and the company that bought us had a corporate headquarters in Omaha, NB. There is no sense in having two corporate offices doing the exact same things so, essentially, I was going to be losing my job.  Gone were the thoughts of advancement and retirement with a healthy pension. Those thoughts were replaced with the concerns that I may not even be employed long enough to afford Christmas gifts. I didn’t know, my bosses didn’t know, and the execs – if they knew anything – weren’t saying a word. The best we got was our CFO politely telling us, with no time frame in place, that we should polish up our resumes.

 

I’ve been on the brink of losing my job before, but that was before I was married and had a child. That was before I had a mortgage and bills out the wazoo.  We, as a family, had just gotten to a comfortable point where the credit cards were paid off and we were starting to stock a little bit away each month in our savings. I finally felt like a grown-up who had his stuff together before it was ripped from me because my employer had an attractive stock price. The saving grace in all of this was that at least Carol still had her job and we could do what we had to do to make ends meet until I found something else.

 

Carol had been very comforting to me when I told her my news. We hoped that I would be able to hang on to my job for at least a few months so that we could put away every spare penny to get us through what could very well be lean times. It would be rough, but she is my rock and when she told me everything would be okay, I believed her. Together, we can make it through anything.

 

To add to this untimely news, we had both been dealing with ailing grandparents. Both of our grandmothers were dealing with Alzheimer’s and dementia. In a horrible trend, it seemed as though whatever ailment, fall, or incident that occurred with my grandmother would be duplicated by Carol’s grandmother about one month later. It was a sad time for both families as we knew our matriarchs would not be with us for much longer nor would they be able to be fully with us, physically or mentally, for the holidays. They were both trending downwards rather quickly and we were fully aware that this holiday season with them would more than likely be the last. 

 

So, given this information, I was low. I wasn’t in the mood for the holidays and really didn’t want to decorate the house, trim the tree, or do anything.

 

That’s when I got the call from Carol

 

Carol’s boss had called a store meeting for the day after I had gotten the news that my job would soon be eliminated. She didn’t know what the meeting was about but, whatever it could have been, she did not expect to have to make the very next call she made.

 

When I picked up the phone I could immediately tell in her voice that something was wrong. I thought maybe Ben had fallen and gotten hurt or maybe she had some news about her Grandmother. What she told me though came completely out of left field and left me absolutely speechless.

 

After Christmas they were going to close Carol’s store which would put her out of a job as well.

 

Shit

 

As she told me and cried on the phone I fought back tears of my own at my desk. My job as a husband and as a man is to be strong for my wife and family but I had absolutely nothing to give. I’m sure I muttered out the consoling “it’ll be okay” and “we’ll be fine” but I highly doubt that she was any more consoled by hearing it than I was convinced as I was saying it. The reality of the situation at that point in time was that by the end of the calendar year which was little over a month away we could both be unemployed.

 

Merry freaking Christmas and happy freaking new year.

 

When Carol got home that night from work, we hugged. We hugged and cried and consoled each other and tried to convince each other that we could make it through this. We put on a good face in front of our son but the fear was there and it was real and it was overwhelming. I’m not sure I’ve felt as helpless at any point in my life. We had, of course, told our families about the news as soon as we had told each other but, despite their helpful words and encouragement, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had disappointed them.  I guess I’m kind of used to that feeling as any big event like this in the past had usually been the result of something stupid I had done and I more than likely deserved it. But this was different. I knew in my head that it was differnt but I still felt like a disappointment. Carol and I were going to be unemployed, possibly very soon and at the same time, and we, along with our loved ones, were all hurting due to the rapidly declining health of our grandmothers. Everything seemed to be crashing down at once  and I had no clue what to do about it.

                                                                            

Well, at least not in the long term.

 

In the short term, Carol and I were going to get drunk.

 

This is by no means an endorsement of alcohol as a crutch to get you through hard times. If anything, it typically only exacerbates the problem. For this one night, however, Carol and I decided that we were going to get drunk and have ourselves a little pity party.

 

So that’s what we did.

 

And a funny thing happened along the way that night: we laughed.

 

We laughed a lot.

 

I’m not sure if it was the stress of the situation, the alcohol, or just a coping mechanism, but we laughed. We made jokes about being unemployed and things we could do to make money (for the record, Carol is against prostituting herself out for cash but I am not). We made jokes about just walking out of our current jobs and telling each person that we work with exactly what we really thought of them (for the record, Carol is against setting her co-workers on fire but I am not). We even tried to figure out exactly how much Ben would be worth on the black market (for the record, Carol is 99.8% against selling our child for cash but I am not).

 

What started out as a pity party ended up being quite therapeutic. Somewhere around the 5^th or 6^th beer and the 100^th joke about living in a tent in a family member’s backyard I realized something: there was not a single thing we could do to stop what was going on in our lives. I couldn’t convince my company to unsell itself. Carol couldn’t convince her company not to close her store (see my note above regarding her thoughts on prostitution).  And neither one of us could do anything for our grandmother’s health but pray for as quick and painless of an exit for each of them as humanly possible.  We were stuck in this situation where life was on the verge of turning into an absolute nightmare for the foreseeable future and we were sitting on our uncomfortable, ugly, stained-with-God-knows-what-from-our-son-and-the-pets couch and we were laughing.

 

That’s when I knew it was all going to be okay.

 

It seems as though it’s always okay when I’m with Carol.

 

We’ve been together for over 10 years and had our trials and tribulations, some minor and some major, but it’s always been okay. In fact, it’s been great.

 

The next day, we woke up and put our big boy pants on. We both began working on our resumes and told each other that we’ve got this. We were going to face this head on with a positive attitude and we were going to be fine. There was no indication anywhere that we would be okay financially or that we were going to be able to find jobs that paid what we needed them to or would even be anything that we liked but we knew we were going to be fine because we had each other.

 

We will always have each other.

 

As the next few weeks and months played out we had our share of good and bad news. The first bit of good news came rather quickly when Carol found out that she’d be able to transfer within the company to a new store. Sure it was a lot farther from our home and from where she currently worked, but it would do as a steady source of income until we could figure out what was happening with my job prospects. Sadly, this was quickly followed by the loss of my Grandmother on December 13. While difficult for all of us, we knew Grandma was going to a better place and took solace that she would be reunited with Grandpa in the afterlife. Around this time I found out that I would be employed until at least July 2013 which would provide for temporary security but I was not about to stand pat and wait it out so I amped up my job search and began interviewing for a new position towards the beginning of February. Between the first and second interviews, unfortunately, on Februrary 7 Carol’s Grandmother left us as well. Again, this was a tough time for our family but, again, we knew Grandma would be better off moving from her aged earthly body to the new one awaiting her with her beloved Charlie. To help ease the pain of our loss, however, I soon found out that the company I had been interviewing with had not only offered me a job, but was also offering a considerable raise from what I had been making. Needless to say, I took the job.

 

And just like that, everything was better.

 

I guess what I’m trying to say in a roundabout way is that I’m thankful.  I’m thankful for the prayers from our family and friends who knew what we were going through. I’m thankful for the hope and well wishes that each one of them bestowed upon us even though they were going through their own grieving process. I’m thankful for opportunities that may have never presented themselves under different circumstances. I’m thankful for belonging to not only one, but two supportive families who have never once failed to be there when we needed them most.  I’m thankful for any and all adversity that, while difficult to endure, provides ample opportunity for me to grow as a man, a father, and a husband. The adversity will always be there in some form or another but I never have any reason to doubt the outcome as I have one helluva supporting cast in this roller coaster of life.

 

But mostly, I’m thankful for my wife Carol. As I said earlier, she is my rock. She is my best friend. She is my partner, my common sense, and my moral compass. But more than that, she is a selfless mother and wife who, despite the insanity of her work schedule, always makes time for her family and their needs before her own. Whatever we go through whether it be in the past, present, or future I know that everything will always be okay because of Carol’s love and confidence in me – a confidence that I didn’t even have in myself when we first met. She makes my highs higher and my my lows seem not so low at all. She has always believed in me and in our family. She is the glue that holds us together. She is my Carol and I am thankful for her every day.

 

It also doesn't hurt that she's pretty easy on the eyes : )

 

And I love her

 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

 

Zit Happens!!

 

Sometimes I hear what my wife says, and sometimes I don’t. Most times, however, I hear part of what she says and just go with that. It is not a safe way to live and/or survive marriage but I’m fortunate enough to have a very tolerant wife who takes ALL of my many faults with a grain of salt and still loves me anyway. Yes, most of the time my inability to listen drives her insane but at certain times the consequences of the half-information that I ingest affect only me and she can at least laugh about those instances.

 

This is one of those times.

 

For whatever reason, whenever the seasons change my body reacts in a horrible way. My allergies act up, my face breaks out, and I lose my hair. Well, okay, maybe the changing seasons don’t cause me to lose hair, but I’ll take any excuse I can get to explain this travesty atop my noggin. Anyway, those first two items are true and, as a result, right now I look like I am smack dab in the middle of puberty once again. As if puberty wasn’t hellish enough the first time through my body seems to relish in reminding me just how awkward those teenage years were by giving me a good dose of blemishes every year at this time.

 

Normally I can deal with this dilemma as I am used to the occasional breakout, but every once in a while one particular zit comes around that drives me nuts. It hurts, I can’t do anything with it, and it just sits there looking large, red, and 100% awkward.  Back in my younger days I would mess with the stupid thing and attempt to get rid of it until I had essentially bruised the area and made the situation exponentially worse. These days, by way of a lifetime of dealing with this crap, I know enough that I can typically wait it out and get it at just the right time.   

 

I know this.

 

Sure enough, this fall is no different and for the past week I have been dealing with my bi-annual breakout. Like I said, I know how to handle this and am confident enough to deal with a few noticeable blemishes until they run their course. It’s just what happens to me and I’m fine with it. That doesn’t mean, however, that I always do what I know is best. Nor does this mean that I won’t try different things in order to “fix” my problem.

 

This is where listening to my wife comes in.

 

Carol has had a long standing theory that works very well for her in times like these. Her theory is that if you have a zit that is harboring its nasty little self deep under your skin where you can feel it almost to the point of it hurting but it won’t fully develop, you can hold a hot washcloth against the spot to bring it out more in order to eliminate it. I had always (for no good reason other than it hadn’t been my idea) doubted this theory and was hesitant to try it. Lo and behold though, after years of doubt I tried it a while back and it worked wonders. Of course, at that time I was under Carol’s adult supervision and she had been there to assist me along the way.

 

And, as she was giving me the instructions, I didn’t fully listen.

 

This brings us to last Sunday afternoon. Ben and I had spent the morning shopping for his Halloween costume and running some general errands. Carol was at work so we essentially had the entire day to go on a hike, play at the park, go to the zoo or Six Flags, or any other outdoor event we wanted as it was a beautiful day outside. So, as I was sitting there watching TV in between my morning and afternoon naps I reached up to scratch my nose. At the moment my finger touched the tip of my nose my entire body jumped at the sheer sensation of being jolted with about 1.21 gigawatts of electricity. After the pain subsided and I had changed my now-soiled pants I, of course, reached up to the exact same spot to put myself through that intense pain once again. Yes, I had a zit. And it was a doozy!!

 

My immediate reaction: try to pop it. I quickly went to the bathroom mirror to look at what I had. The area was a little red but it hurt like the dickens. Given my history with this I knew right then that I couldn’t pop it and would just have to wait it out. Being the stubborn ass that I am though, I had to at least give it one shot and see if I could take care of this bad boy. Due to the tears flowing from my eyes every time I ever so gently touched it, however, I was unable to eliminate it properly and had irritated it even more. Now, instead of just being a little red, it was glowing a bright shade of red and making my already bulbous nose seem that much more bulbousy.

 

I knew immediately that I needed to do something with this. It hurt, I resembled Rudolph, and I wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about it until it was gone. There was no way I could wait this baby out. I had to go back to Carol’s tried and true method of the hot washcloth.

 

Did I mention that Carol wasn’t home like the last time I did this?

 

What Carol had told me as she walked me through the steps and I had done perfectly the last time was to get a cup of water, put it in the microwave to heat up the water, and then dip parts of the washcloth into the hot water before applying it to the troubled spot on your face. Seems simple enough.

 

What I had heard, however, was get a cup of water, put it in the microwave until the water is boiling, and then dip parts of the washcloth into the hot water before applying it to the troubled spot on my face.

 

Did you notice that word “boiling” there?

 

Just so you know and so that you don’t have to find this out later by trying it yourself, I’m going to drop a little wisdom on you right now. Boiling water is hot and, whether it is in a pot on the stove or whether it is on a washcloth that has just been dipped into a cup of said water and applied to the troubled spot on your face, it will burn you.  It will burn you and it will hurt.

 

As I put it on my face I noticed the pain immediately. I didn’t think it had hurt like this the last time but, then again, my prior zit hadn’t hurt like this one did either. After that pain subsided and I felt the water slowing cooling down, I dipped the washcloth back into the water (more deeply this time to get MORE water on there to REALLY get the job done) and applied the soaking steaming washcloth to my face. Yes, it made me tear up a little (a lot) and, yes, I screamed at the top of my lungs, but I was pretty sure it was working so I held it there. I held it there and then I did it again. And again.

 

Apparently, this was dumb

 

Needless to say, my zit is gone. Yep, I burned that sumbitch directly off my face. Along with the zit, however, I also burned away a small chunk of skin which immediately scabbed over and now makes having a small red zit on the end of my nose seem much more desirable. The pain has subsided and I am, as of today, able to wash my face without crying, but my massive ego has taken a shot and I will have this soon to be scar on my nose as a constant reminder. It will be a reminder that sometimes zits happen. It will be a reminder to trust my instincts and that sometimes you just have to let that zit run its course. And, it will also be a reminder that I should never EVER try doing anything my wife has told me to do without her right there, by my side, giving me step by step instructions.  

 

She’s usually right anyway.

 

And, I’m generally an idiot.

I Need Help!!!!

For those that may not read any of my umpteen million Facebook posts per week, for those who may not be on Facebook, and for those that I may not have spoken with in the past month or so there is big news out of the Scott Hopfinger camp.

I am running a 5k

No, nobody is chasing me. Nobody has threatened my life and nobody is threatening the safety of any of my loved ones. The truth is, I have found something  I care about. A cause, if you will. A really really good cause.

At this point, you’re probably looking for a joke or some type of punch line to go with this really really good cause. Oddly enough, you’re not going to get one.

This is why.

At the beginning of this year I saw a story on Facebook about a college athlete named Cameron Lyle who was in the midst of his senior year on the track and field team at the University of New Hampshire. Before the season finished, however, he was contacted by an organization that he had joined during his sophomore year who needed him. In fact, it may have been a life or death situation. As serious as that sounded and as easy of a choice that may seem to be, deciding to help would mean that he would have to forego the rest of his senior and final year on the track team. Without hesitation, the young man bypassed his remaining season and helped the organization when they needed him most.

What did he do? He answered the call from Be The Match and donated bone marrow to a needing recipient and possibly saved that person’s life in the process.

Be The Match is an organization that connects patients with life threatening cancers like leukemia and  lymphoma with their donor match for a life-saving marrow or umbilical cord blood transplant. This young man had registered for this knowing full well that once he was part of the registry he could be called upon at any time that he was deemed a perfect match for a needing recipient. He also knew that he may never be called. The point is that he was willing to make that sacrifice and do what was needed of him at any possible time. It happened at probably one of the most inopportune times of his life, but Cameron Lyle answered the call.

This inspired me.

I immediately went to the website for Be The Match and answered the short questionnaire that would determine if my overall health was adequate enough to move onto the next step. Surprisingly enough and through no falsification of the facts, I was deemed eligible and I moved onto the next step which was waiting. I had to wait a week or two while Be The Match mailed  me my official packet which consisted of a series  of cotton swabs that I had to run along the inside of my cheek for a few seconds before placing them in the envelope that they had provided and mailed it back  at no cost to myself.

How easy is that? No pain, no cost, no problem.

If I am a match, awesome. If they never call, at least I tried. Every four minutes in this country someone is diagnosed with a blood cancer like leukemia. Just being on the registry improves the chance that that person may have a marrow donor when they need them most. The knowledge that at any point going forward that I could possibly save someone’s  life is pretty damn cool. I’m not a fireman or a policeman. I wasn’t really cut out for the military and the chances of me suddenly gaining superpowers are pretty slim. This is my way of helping. This is what I can do. This is the way that I can really make a difference.

And so can you.

As part of the Be The Match registry I occasionally receive emails and/or flyers in the mail with information on upcoming events. A few months ago I received one regarding a 5k happening in St Louis on Saturday September 7. Now, any of you who know me know that I am not the poster boy for health. I’m trying harder, but it’s a work in progress. That being said, I know I can finish a 5k. And the fact that I can raise money by doing so that will benefit Be The Match made it that much more tempting. So, I signed up.

This is one of the parts where you come in.

I don’t like asking for money. Yes, I do it for a living, but that’s different as that money is owed to my company and I have every right to ask for it. I have no right, however, to ask it from you. This fact, however, has not stopped me and I have spent a good majority of time through emails and posts on Facebook asking for donations. This money is not for me. This money is for an organization that helps people when they need it most. This money is for people whose life is literally on the line. But most importantly, this money could  be for someone you or I know who  has yet to be diagnosed and may need whatever help they can get just to stay in our lives. There are no politics involved.  There are no two sides to any type of religious/moral/political argument. There is just the basic fact that we have the opportunity to help and we, as human beings, should do what we can to facilitate that.

CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO BE THE MATCH!!!

The above link will take you to the donor page for my run. Through the love and generosity of friends and family, I have already surpassed my personal goal of $500.00. I couldn’t be more thankful for that. But just because donations have helped me with my personal goal does not mean that Be The Match doesn’t still need funding. The St Louis race has not met its overall goal and, even once it does it does, it does not mean that Be The Match’s work is done. Hopefully one day there won’t be a need for Be The Match but for now, unfortunately, there is. Please, if you can, donate  a few dollars (or a lot of dollars) to this fantastic organization. By following the link above you can also read about Be The Match and all of the good work it does.

And this is the other part where you come in.

Whether or not you are able to financially assist Be The Match, I hope that through reading this or through perusing their website that you’re moved to take the big step – becoming a member. You and you alone have the power to potentially save someone’s life.

You can save someone’s life.

You may never be called. You may take the very few minutes it takes to complete this process  and never give it another thought again. But what if you are called? What if there is someone out there right now who is in need of a bone marrow donor and you are their perfect match? Can you imagine how great you would feel being able to potentially single-handedly save someone’s life? Now, take that feeling and multiply it by a gazillion if you’re that person who’s been waiting for a donor and they find someone, like you, who is their perfect match.  Personally, I wouldn’t want to take that feeling away from anyone.

I joined

So should you

Please, help out however you can be it through monetary or bone marrow donations.  If the only way you wish to help is by passing this blog on to others, then PLEASE do so as every person that reads this is another person who might be moved to help. Even if you can make a donation, please pass this on to anyone and everyone you can.  Even if only one person in one hundred signs up, that’s one more life that could possibly be saved. Unfortunately, cancer isn’t going away any time soon. Let’s all do our part to fight it where we can.

Thank you so very much for reading and thank you even more for helping – however you can.

The One That Carol Probably Won't Like

I mentioned to my wife the other night that I may write a blog about the following incident and she didn’t exactly tell me “no”. Given that fact, I am going to assume that I have her full permission to share the following story with you about one of our first dates. If I’m wrong in my assumption that it is okay to share this story with you, hopefully one of you will have a couch for me to crash on for a couple of nights while this blows over at my house. Carol, when you read this, remember that I married you regardless of this incident so hopefully you can forgive me regardless of my never ending idiocy.

Here we go

Without getting into the entire backstory of how Carol and I met, how we were separated, and how we reconnected a number of years later, I will simply tell you that Carol and I knew each other prior to our first date. In fact, we had even slept together our Freshman year in college, if by “slept together” you mean falling asleep in a room full of people while watching a movie while lying on the same twin mattress while back to back and having as little physical contact with the other one as possible since we were just friends and were both in significant relationships with other people. But that is neither here nor there. The bottom line is that when we started dating years later instead of having that uncomfortable “getting to know you” phase, we simply had a “getting reacquainted with you” phase. This made things very easy as we pretty much fell right into a groove with very little awkwardness.

Well, it started out that way.

I’m not sure how many “dates” we were into our relationship, but it was very early on and one of, if not the, first time I had met her sister, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew whom she was living with at the time. Knowing them as well as I do now, I understand why after quick introductions to each of them, Carol quickly ushered me downstairs to the basement away from them and to the couch where we would spend our evening watching “Mr. Deeds” with Adam Sandler. Not that they horrible people or anything, but let’s just say that anybody new who shows up to my wife’s family is given almost every embarrassing fact of the family member they are there with within the first 20 minutes. Since joining the family I have become a proud participant in this ritual and it’s a lot of fun. Carol was right to run me downstairs and she was right to do it quickly.

Once we got downstairs we made out like high schoolers at prom for a good 45-50 minutes. I mean, this chick was all over me. It was all I could do to push her away as I really wanted to watch this movie. Plus, being the good Catholic boy that I am, I had a much higher set of morals than Carol who, as I first incorrectly introduced her to my grandma, was pagan.  

(Okay, most of that last paragraph is a lie. We may have smooched for a bit, but more than likely it was me that had both initiated it and also wouldn’t leave her alone. And it was probably only for about 45 seconds – a trend that would unfortunately not end there. The part about me introducing her to my grandma as a pagan was 100% true.)

Anyway, we snuggled up on the nice leather couch that was in the basement and turned on the movie. It was an okay movie that definitely had its funny parts but nothing super hysterical. Now, while I mentioned that the “getting to know you” phase wasn’t necessary, we were still feeling each other up, I mean out, as far as dating goes so there was a bit of nervousness in the air. Nothing extraordinary, but there were still some jitters to be had and things we had to experience with each other to take that next step in our relationship.

One of those experiences was about to happen.

Now, I mentioned that it was an okay movie that had funny parts, but I find it amazing how much funnier something can be when you’re a little nervous. As a result, I was laughing out loud at things that today I would barely give a slight smile to. Carol was laughing as well (good sign) but it seemed she was holding back a little. I didn’t really notice it at the time, but looking back I can both see it and, most importantly, understand why.

I don’t know the exact part in the movie that it happened and I’m not sure Carol could tell you either, but there is a certain part in that movie that may very well be responsible for the extremely sophomoric sense of humor that has come to define our relationship. As I said, while I was feeling free to laugh loudly at certain parts of the movie Carol seemed to be holding back her laughter. At one point however, something funny happened and whether she wanted to or not she finally just let it rip.

Oh yes, she laughed, but she let something else rip too.

Had we been sitting on a normal couch it probably would have gone unnoticed. I know this for a fact as I have dropped many a bomb in my lifetime into the very forgiving cushions of many  very unfortunate couches. Leather couches, however, tend to be much less forgiving and almost act as a type of amplifier. That being said, when Carol laughed I heard something that was unmistakable and, to be honest, quite awesome.

I’ll never forget the look on her face as she stared at me waiting for my reaction. In retrospect, I really should have messed with her. I should have acted disgusted and stormed out of the room. I should have acted offended and questioned her on the spot why she would think that would be appropriate. I should have closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and said “oh yeah, that’s the stuff.”

But I didn’t

Being a gentleman trying to earn points with his new lady friend, what I really should have done was just ignore it and pretend like it never happened so that she would be less embarrassed about it, but we all know that wasn’t going to happen. So what did I do?

I laughed

I didn’t laugh at her, but I laughed with her. We both realized the awkwardness of the situation but, and this is one of the gazillion reasons I love her, awkward is what we are. After a while the redness drained from her face and we laughed even more.  To be honest, I’m not really sure what other reaction she could have expected out of me as, all things being equal, there are very  few things funnier than an ill-timed fart.

 

My point is this: In life, farts are going to happen. Should I have been the first one in our relationship to break wind in front of the other one? Probably. Was I the first one in our relationship to break wind in front of the other one? More than likely, but I had the benefit of not sitting on a leather couch when it happened.  And despite the rumble from down under on that fateful night we still ended up getting married and having a wonderful life together. And, with all sincerity, I’m pretty sure that the events of that evening were what made me fall in love with her.

Well, that plus the fact that we totally did it after the movie.

Just kidding. I would never do it with a farter. That’s just gross.

Love you, Carol

 

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Top Eleven Ways to Drive Your Woman Wild in Bed

1) Be Chris Hemsworth

2) Be Channing Tatum

3) Be Bradley Cooper

4) Be George Clooney

5) Be Brad Pitt

6) Be Adam Levine

7) Be Johnny Depp

8) Be David Beckham

9) Be Ryan Gosling

10) Be Joel McHale (yes, I included you. I know you're reading!!! )

11) Be accepting of the fact that you look like none of these men and grateful that your woman still wants to sleep with you regardless.

Disclaimer: While I am aware that these men do possess certain attractive qualities, I am by no means attracted TO them. I got these names from various websites naming these along with others that I did not recognize. The picture selection, however, was all mine and 99.5% heterosexual.

What I DON'T Like About You

Twitter is an amazing thing. In 140 characters or less you can express your views on any topic you so desire to anyone who has either chosen to follow you or who is following a certain hashtag (#). While I do feel hampered by the 140 character limit, I find it to be a unique challenge to craft what I want to say so that I can express my opinion fully within the limits of those 140 characters. No, I don’t tweet anything groundbreaking or truly thought provoking, but the 55 followers I have (it was only 54 until yesterday when Naughty Loving asked to follow me) get very sporadic and nonsensical tweets from me and seem to enjoy them. Prior to yesterday, this is what I considered Twitter to be for.

Amanda Bynes is/was an actress whom you might remember from the Nickelodeon show “All That” or from some of her other film and  television roles including “What I Like About You” or “She’s The Man”. She was never really a big time actress but was very cute and kind of funny. The thing that I noticed most about her, however, and what I truly appreciated  is that she looked like this:

 

In 2010, Amanda “retired” from acting for no apparent reason and since then has kind of disappeared. After that she had a small role in the Emma Stone film “Easy A” but, acting wise, she has been mostly irrelevant and she officially re-retired in 2012.  

No big loss

A few months ago, however, Ms. Bynes reappeared thanks to Twitter and TMZ. She had a string of car accidents, drunken/stoned escapades, and altercations with law enforcement that brought her full swing into the world of the paparazzi and all of the fun that goes along with it. To defend herself, Amanda took to Twitter and began what I like to call the Amanda Bynes meltdown. She has denied obvious drug use, she has denied any kind of mental instability, and she has taken to calling people ugly. I won't go into her various tweets because, simply, there isn't enough room in this blog to fully describe the insanity. Just know that the chick is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Given how she looked in the picture above though, I could understand the “ugly” references, but she has also become obsessed with her own looks and has had surgery to correct what she thought was wrong. As a result, she now looks like this:

 

And this

Why would anyone do that to themselves?

 

Now, I love crazy chicks. My obsession with Britney, Mariah, and LiLo (and to some extent my lovely wife) are examples of this. I don’t even mind if you go off the deep end a little bit, a la Britney, and shave your head. But poor Amanda has gone and totally disfigured what was really a very pretty face. On top of that, she’s still calling people ugly.

That's fine. To each their own.

I was okay with that until she referred to a picture of Drake (couldn’t name one of his songs if I had to) with a tweet that I was going to repost here, but has since been deleted from her account. In a nutshell, she claimed that they must have photoshopped  a picture of him to cover up his Downs Syndrome eyes. Drake does not have Downs Syndrome and, for some reason and I have zero idea why, that sent me over the edge.

Which brings us back to Twitter.

Since she posted this on Twitter I took it upon myself to respond to her via the same format to make her aware of my displeasure for that tasteless Downs Syndrome comment. This is what I wrote:

oReply

oRetweet Retweeted

oDelete

@AmandaBynes you are a horrible person and are getting uglier by the minute. NO amount of surgery can cure the ugliness in your soul.

 

After that, I was happy with myself. I don't know why as she has over 2 million followers and I'm sure that just one tweet from me would more than likely go unnoticed, but I felt good knowing that I made a stand. But then it started to get to me that she probably wouldn't see that tweet. What good would my stance do if it would go unnoticed by its intended target?

That is when I made it my goal to get blocked by Amanda Bynes

I've seen this happen before. One of my favorite follows on Twitter is @JennyJohnsonHi5 and she has made a career out of taking tweets from the likes of Kim Kardashian and Chris Brown and replying to them with wit and gnarling teeth to the point where they got sick of her and blocked her from posting to their account. I see no harm in calling out idiots who post idiotic things and pointing out that idiocy for others to see. It's the American way of doing things. As a result, I decided to do my patriotic duty and get blocked myself.

Seeing as Amanda has over 2 millions followers who are probably posting to account on a fairly regular basis, I knew my tweets would have to be quick and sharp. They would need to show up on her feed in rapid succession so that she recognized my name and the smiling picture of me in the upper left hand corner. I then began about the process of posting the following tweets to Amanda Bynes

      

@AmandaBynes saw an old show that you were on, but then realized I was actually watching my neighbors ugly dog dry humping a dead squirrel. 

 

@AmandaBynes I thought you were AWESOME in the title role in Mask.

 

@AmandaBynes if you had to pick between being ugly or having your career be over, which one would you... oh, nevermind. #bothtrue

 

@AmandaBynes Knock knock

                             Who's There?

                             Amanda Bynes

                             Amanda Bynes who?

                             Exactly

 

@AmandaBynes you know that movie you were in about that thing? The one where you were pretty and really nailed he role? Yeah, me neither.

 

@AmandaBynes If an "actress" retires from acting and no one is around to give a crap, does the sound of her bombing movies make a sound?

 

Can't wait for @AmandaBynes rap album 2 drop. SOMETHING needs to replace North West as the worst thing 2 come out of a "celebrity" this year

 

 

At this point I was still able to post to her account so I knew that I had not been blocked. I needed to step up my efforts. I needed to hit her where it hurts. I needed to play on her insecurities. I needed to make her feel super ugly. That's when I invented #amandabynesmustache

 

 

Hey @AmandaBynes!! Let's get #amandabynesmustache trending. You do know about your mustache, right? No? #awkward

 

@AmandaBynes I'm having chicken and rice for dinner #amandabynesmustache

 

@AmandaBynes #amandabynesmustache is not trending yet. Surely with your beauty and star power you can help out, right? #amandabynesmustache

 

@AmandaBynes in an earlier tweet I mentioned my neighbors ugly dog. He's only ugly compared to the dead squirrel. Compared to you, he's cute

 

@AmandaBynes so is the dead squirrel. #amandabynesmustache

 

@AmandaBynes "you are a great actress. I hope that you get back on track because I really enjoy your work" said no one #amandabynesmustache

 

I stepped in a big pile of @AmandaBynes career the other day. I threw the shoes away. #amandabynesmustache

 

 

Still tweeting, still not blocked. It was here that I made my intentions known to my buddy Chris and he, understanding my odd sense of humor and need to accomplish this feat, made a suggestion to me in regard to #amandabynesmustache. Based on that suggestion, I tweeted the following:

 

 

@AmandaBynes I was watching Super Troopers the other day and got inspired to ask you a question. Can I have an #amandabynesmustache ride?

 

 

I was now becoming desperate because my time in front of a computer was ending and I wouldn't be back on for another hour or so which would break my flow. I had to let her know what I was doing. Hence:

 

@AmandaBynes block me and I'll be forced to stop, but then you'll also admit to the fact that you're aware of #amandabynesmustache #quandry

 

 

Nothing

 

My day was over and I drove home a little sad that I hadn't achieved my goal. I know that it takes someone who is really good at what I was trying to do a lot longer to get noticed and then blocked by their intended target. But I was only a novice. It would probably take weeks, if not months, to get blocked. As a result I started thinking of more tweets I could send Ms. Bynes to continue my tirade against her. I continued to think about this the entire way home and began to construct tweets in my mind that I could post in the future. I had one in mind but I had to craft it perfectly. I'm not a crude person and I would not resort to vulgar language just to get noticed. That is why the next tweet had to be worded exactly right to fit in the constraints of those 140 characters and my personal code of ethics. This is what I sent her when I got home:

 

Pretty sure the only thing less attractive than @AmandaBynes face is @AmandaBynes lady parts #amandabynesmustache

 

 

After that, I was officially blocked.

 

And it feels good!!

 

 

 ***UPDATE!!***

While posting this blog on Twitter I mentioned that it was a shame that @amandabynes couldn't read it. Upon doing that I was expecting to be notified once again that I had been blocked. I did not receive this notification. I sent her another test Tweet and it also went through. I am officially unblocked.

While saddened that my blocking only lasted less than 24 hours, I am bound and determined to make it a permanent ban. This is my mission. This is my goal. I'll let you know how it goes : )

Thanks for reading. 

Cub Scouts and Danny Tanner

I, believe it or not, am a huge sap. While this big manly physique and tough as nails demeanor might lead you to believe otherwise, I am, in fact, a sucker for the emotional moments in life. While most of the time I avoid anything that may emit some sort of emotional response out of me, it is the exact opposite when it comes to such moments with my son. I live for the fatherly advice moments. I yearn for the I’ve-been-there-before-and-here’s-the-sage-advice-I-can-bestow-upon-you talks. In a nutshell, I love the Danny Tanner moments.

For anyone unfamiliar with Danny Tanner, he was the character played by Bob Saget on the television show Full House in the late 80’s to early 90’s. Danny was a single father of three girls who, after his wife’s death, asked both his brother-in-law and also his best friend to move in with him to help him take care of his family. Regardless of the kinda creepy premise, almost each and every episode’s plot was resolved at the end when Danny would have a sit-down meaningful conversation with the troubled party and they would work out their differences while both learning a lesson from their encounter.  Was it cheesy? Oh yeah. Did I watch the show regularly? For the purposes of establishing a basis for this story, I’ll say yes. Either way, the Danny Tanner moments were inspiring to me and, once I found out my wife was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to have them with my child.

Now, my son is six years old and, while he is extremely intelligent, I’m pretty sure the Danny Tanner moments I’ve had with him in the past have been forgotten or ignored up to this point. I’m not saying that he ignores me, but his ability to sit still for a meaningful heart to heart and his desire to listen to his old man ramble on and on about anything that doesn’t involve Skylanders, super heroes, or the crappy toy he just got from his fast food kiddie meal box just isn’t there. As a result, I’ve wasted great speeches on topics such as the importance of family, the ability to rise above, and the need to not pull your pants and underwear all the way down to your ankles while peeing in a public restroom.  

It’s okay. He’ll get there.

That being said, last night was a big night for him/me – his first Cub Scout meeting.  We had gone to an informational meeting about a month ago regarding Cub Scouts and had purchased the necessary shirt, belt, poorly-sewn-on-by-his-father-patches, and Cub Scout manual. Last night, however, was his first actual meeting and I thought it was a pretty big deal. Now I, myself, had gone through the Cub/Boy scouts in my youth and never really got that into it as I had some really annoying older scouts that acted like the boss of me (and NO ONE is the boss of me. Well, maybe my wife…). But I was really excited for him because it was something that we could do together. We could go on hikes together, we could go camping together, and I could make his Pinewood Derby car for him and let him add an early coat of spray paint to make him feel like he contributed (thanks Dad). It was really going to be awesome.

After I picked him up from his summer day camp, we went straight home and got him dressed in his three sizes too big Cub Scout uniform. After taking the shirt tails that hung down to his knees and tucking them into his shorts so that it wouldn’t seem TOO monstrously big (he’ll be a scout for years and should grow into it) I stood back to take a look at him.

Man.

Ben’s always been my little boy. He just turned six a few months ago and it amazes me how much he’s grown even since then. I know he’s just a kid and that any stranger that looks at him will still see a six year old, but to his mother and me he is just growing so fast.

Too fast.

Anyway, looking at my grown up little boy in his Cub Scout uniform, I was immediately inspired to have a spontaneous Danny Tanner moment with him. I asked him to come into the living room with me and sit down on the footstool while I knelt in front of him so that we could talk eye-to-eye. I told him that tonight was an important night because he was officially becoming a Cub Scout. I told him of all the great and useful things he would learn like fire building, public service, and general gentlemanly behavior. I told him that when I was his age I was a Cub Scout. I also told him that when I was a Cub Scout my dad had given me a Cub Scout pocket knife and that once I learned to use it properly I was allowed to carry it to meetings and other Cub Scout events.

At that moment, I reached into my pocket and retrieved that very same knife and showed it to him (okay, so this wasn’t entirely spontaneous – deal with it). His eyes widened as he asked me if that was the same knife and I responded with a yes. I opened up the blade and showed him how it stopped at a 90 degree angle and then opened the rest of the way. After checking it myself, I showed him how dull the blade was and told him that we could sharpen it together once we learned how to properly handle, use, and store the knife. I showed him the can opener and I also showed him the ice pick looking thingy that maybe was an ice pick or maybe it was something more handy and useful that I wasn’t familiar with. Whatever it was, I was in heaven as I had his total attention. My inner Danny Tanner was reveling in this moment as I was really connecting with him and he seemed to really understand the gravitas of the situation. I then told him that the knife was now his.

That is the moment where he looked me dead in the eye and said with all sincerity “I don’t want it.”

Excuse me?

Did he not understand what was occurring here? I was handing him what I was hoping would one day become a family heirloom. I was passing something given to me by my father on to him. We were having an emotional connection. I was Danny freaking Tanner. I WAS DANNY FREAKING TANNER!!!!

“It’s too sharp” he said as he handed it back to me. “I’m scared I might cut myself.”

Oh. That wasn’t so bad. Not the response I was necessarily looking for though. I simply told him that he didn’t need to be scared of it because I’d teach him exactly what to do with it and how to take care of it so that nobody got hurt. I also asked him if he’d like me to hold onto it until that time. With a look of obvious relief, he said yes.

From that point we left the house, got dinner, and went on to his first Pack meeting where he ceremoniously received his Tiger Cub neckerchief. He also was asked to be a part of the color guard that presented the flags at the beginning of the meeting. He was well behaved and he was reverent. I was disappointed that the knife presentation didn’t go better, but was proud of him nonetheless.

After the meeting, we went home to find my wife waiting to hear all about his first Cub Scout meeting. After convincing him that we did NOT want to hear about the paper thumb wrestlers he got in his kid’s meal from Wendy’s he began to tell her about what happened at Scouts. He seemed pretty into it and is looking forward to some of the upcoming events. At that point, mostly for my own benefit, I asked him if he wanted to tell Mommy about the knife. To my surprise he lit up, came over and got it from me as I still had it in my pocket, and took it over to Carol. My wife, being the great mom that she is, put on her amazed face and asked him to tell her all about it.

“It’s a Cub Scout knife. It was Dad’s when he was a little boy.”

That’s all I needed to hear.

He had listened and he got it.

I was Danny Tanner.

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