Monthly Archives: August 2009

Animal House

I’m staying at my parents’ house tonight and Will is already fast asleep. I’m here to catch up on True Blood and Entourage because I don’t have HBO spend time with my family and while my mom and I were waiting for our shows to start and for my dad and brother to get home, we watched an old family favorite.

Animal House.

Yeah, get over it. I watched Animal House with my mom. Big whoop, wanna fight about it? Seriously, it’s no big deal. They let me watch it when I was like 12 years old, and I even watched it with my grandma. Her favorite line was when Dean Wormer told the Deltas they better watch it, or they’d be out of there “like shit through a goose.” Cracked her up every time. Sometimes she’d make us rewind it just to hear it again. Grandma didn’t screw around like an old betty knitting scarves and adjusting her bifocals, she’d rather be watching R-rated movies with her pre-teen grandkids and snorting lines of blow off the glass coffee table.

Relax, I’m just kidding. She only smoked pot. But I digress…

Watching Bluto and the Deltas wreack havoc on the campus of Faber University is always enjoyable for me, because the movie has deep meaning for me and brings back similar memories of my own from college.

For starters, my dad was a dead ringer for John Belushi when he was younger. Check it:

Dadbluto

But beyond that, Animal House was the nickname bestowed upon the house I lived in for my senior year of college. It consisted of 2 apartments upstairs and downstairs, with eight total bedrooms. And it was a shithole. I mean it, just a small step above being condemned. The walls were crumbling, the stove had a funky forest of something or other growing in it, the floors were uneven and it smelled from decades of abuse stemming from college kids renting it.

I loved it.

I told my parents I wanted to live there but they had never seen it. I hoped to persuade them to cut me a rent check without them actually viewing the house, but they’d have none of that. On the final day of school junior year, they demanded we head to 60 Porter St. in beautiful North Adams so my parents could see where I’d be habitating.

I was petrified because I had just come from there and without getting too specific, let’s just say the guys were in no state to entertain. That’s why when we got close enough, I opted to yell up to the open window rather than knock. A very red-eyed flustered Alex (nicknamed The Bear) poked his head out the window and quickly realized he was going to have to play tour guide. I just hoped my parents hadn’t noticed the mushroom cloud of smoke that had emanated from the upstairs window when they opened it.

Needless to say my parents told me there was no way in f*cking hell I was living there they had some minor concerns about the house being conducive for studying and furthering my education. But with some convincing and cajoling, they finally gave me their blessing.

Time couldn’t possibly permit me to regale you with every funny/horrifying/amazing story that occurred in that house, but it was a blast. First of all, we were all armed with BB guns. One guy got one and the rest of us felt threatened and defenseless. So within a week we all had one. Getting to and from class was always an adventure because we set up a sniper’s nest from the top floor window. We’d literally have to serpentine and duck and cover some days coming home from class.

When we were in the house, you had to be armed at all times because none of us trusted each other. And for good reason. One night we were all sitting around watching TV (with our guns) and our buddy Ian spilled his beer. At that moment, everything went into slo-motion. Ian looked at the beer on the floor and then his eyes went wide as he looked up at all of us with a knowing panic growing within him. The rest of us looked around, nodded at each other, and proceeded to shoot the holy hell out of him as punishment for his party foul. It was like a scene out of a Quentin Tarantino movie. And true to the script, we had that one crazy guy who took things too far and maniacally started to shoot poor Ian in the nuts repeatedly.

Then there was the time I was passed out in a drunken stupor sleeping on the couch after a party and the guys thought it would be funny to play a little prank on me. One guy, The Sarge, was in the National Guard and had a bunch of MREs in the house. Well little did I know with the help of a 2-liter bottle, you can concoct a mild explosive pretty easily. They set it off next to my head. It’s a helluva way to wake up, lemme tell ya.

The Bear had a severe case of sleep apnea and he was impossible to wake up. He’d literally stop breathing for prolonged stretches of time. We timed him one night at over a minute. So it was the job of other people in the house to make sure he was still alive in the morning. But Bear is not a morning person and he hates being stirred from his hibernation, so he started locking the door. One day it was noon and his door was locked. We didn’t know if he was dead or just hungover. So after several minutes of knocking and banging on the door we grew impatient. We had to beat his door down but how? Reasonable people would’ve picked the lock or entered through the outside window. But we thought it’d be better to put a helmet on our friend Ryan and use him as a human battering ram.

A keg tap wouldn’t work one night so we used a power drill to make a hole. Then we got a Gatorade bucket and put a collinder with a coffee strainer in it to filter out the bits of metal so we could continue to drink. Our friend Dino ate a raw onion at our Jimmy Buffett party. My buddy Lozo kicked a girl out of a party for not liking Dave Matthews. Our friend Lav stuck a mozzarella stick up his backside and then offered it to an unwitting townie who crashed our party. But that was only after Lav lit a dumpster on fire and tried to hijack an Army vehicle at the nearby armory.

That was 10 years ago and I’ve since grown up. I graduated, got a job, bought a house, got married and now I’m a father and a role model for a beautiful son. I no longer live in Animal House nor would I want to considering my station in life.

But sometimes it’s nice to reminisce and that movie always allows me to revisit my capricious youth.

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FF: Random Friday Thoughts

Check out Dad-Blogs for all the wicked cool dad (and mom) bloggers showcasing their talents today.

I hate e-mail forwards. Who doesn’t, right? Usually they’re trite, stupid, tacky crap and because of that I delete them instantly. Yesterday I received one and opened it accidentally, and I’m glad because it cracked me up. It was all about some random thoughts tailored to people my age and they brought back lots of memories and laughs. So I’ll be using some things from the forward and some of my own to bring you an unoriginal, but hopefully entertaining Fatherhood Friday post taking you down memory lane.

  • Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and the game wouldn’t work? To fix it you take the cartridge out, blow in it and it would magically fix the problem? My question is, how the hell did every kid in America know how to do that??? There were no Internet message boards and we couldn’t jump on Twitter to figure it out, yet it was widespread kid knowledge. I know I’ll sound like a grumpy old man but today’s kids are soft.
  • Speaking of Nintendo, remember Duck Hunt? My mom was so strict about guns, my brother and I weren’t even allowed to have squirt guns. Yet we were allowed to virtually blast our feathered friends into oblivion for hours on end down in the basement. Go figure.
  • You ever watch a movie when you were younger and then re-watch years later as an adult only to realize you had no idea what was really happening when you first watched the movie? My parents loved the movie “Pretty Woman” with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, and I liked it as an 11-year-old because I liked long, red hair. Imagine my shock a few years later when it clicked and I realized Julia Roberts was a common street whore who Richard Gere randomly picked up on Hollywood Blvd and played house with for a week.
  • While we’re on the topic of movies, I have a real problem when it comes to watching my favorite movies with other people. Since I know all of my favorite movies by heart, I usually end up with my eyes on the other person who hasn’t seen it yet. And if that person fails to laugh at the appropriate moments or is unappreciative of the movie, I get ridiculously upset. Needless to say MJ and I don’t watch movies together.
  • After I go grocery shopping and it’s time to bring everything in the house, I’m determined only to make one trip. I take 15 bags in one hand and the plastic loops cut off circulation to my fingers. I have bags hanging from my shoulders and my neck and I risk permanent injury, but that’s still better than making two trips.
  • I nearly cried recently when a group of my friends were at a party and decided to play the long treasured game of Beer Pong, but instead of pouring beers straight into the cups we filled them with water and they agreed to drink from their own beers. The idea was to cut down on the spread of colds and germs. What the hell??? You only have to drink those beers if you suck and you lose, so really this is just added incentive to play better!
  • The only thing more pointless than the existence of pennies at this point, is the fact that schools still teach cursive writing.
  • I think I’m going to change the name of my Fantasy Football team to “The Stepdads,” because I hate all the other players who aren’t mine, and I’m going to beat them mercilessly.
  • When someone says “I’m street smart, not book smart” all I hear is “I am not smart.”
  • I would like to officially make a motion that the term “catching the Swine Flu” be redefined to mean hooking up with a fat slampig you met at the bar. Moving forward, when two guys are talking and one says “Hey did you hear, Dave caught the Swine Flu last night” it should be translated accordingly.
  • Bad decisions are OK because they make for the best stories. Even a choice to catch the Swine Flu.
  • If Carmen Sandiego and Waldo ever had a kid together there would be an Amber Alert daily.
  • Have you ever been walking down the street and suddenly realized that you’re headed in the completely wrong direction. But since there are people around and you don’t want to look crazy, you have to do something like check your watch or pretend to get a text on your cell phone, wave your arms in an exasperated state and only then can you turn around and go in the right direction?
  • Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets filthy. Socks can get pretty funky and all of these must be washed. But pants? Pants can be worn for all of eternity without a trip to the washing machine.
  • Don’t you hate it when your cell phone is ringing, you run to get it and just miss the call. So then you call the person back and it rings and rings until it goes to voicemail and you wonder where the person could’ve gone off to in the span of 8 seconds.
  • If you have a blind date or you’re meeting someone off the Internet, don’t you get worried that you’ll inadvertently mention something on the first date that you learned about them from stalking them online?
  • My son has a monkey that he uses as his “lovey” and it makes him feel safe. Except it’s so filthy and smells like it was just removed from a dead skunk’s ass. Jack Bauer is better off using it as an interrogation tool on terrorists at this point.
  • Is there anything worse than being at a concert and standing next to the guy who feels the need to belt out every single word of every single song just to prove that he’s the band’s #1 fan of all time?
  • The answer is yes, because the guy sitting behind home plate on his cell phone constantly waving to his friends watching TV is worse than Concert Guy. Cell phone guy must die.
  • Has anyone else realized how much pressure Facebook puts on us when you get that friend request from the loser in high school? You know you should friend him/her because you’ve been out of school for nearly 15 years and you’ve matured and risen above the pettiness. But still…what if everyone else sees you friended the loser? Clicking ignore…
  • One of life’s most unanticipated pleasures is when you find out someone you’re Facebook stalking left their profile public. It’s like Christmas morning combined with your birthday!
  • Who do we have to petition to bring back nap time for adults?
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A Disturbing New Development

It’s been well documented here that I think it’s pretty hilarious when my boy fondles himself. Well not anymore.

In a disturbing new trend, Will has picked up a bad habit. Namely he is constantly tugging the front of his diaper. He pulls and pulls and pulls until the top of it is down and exposing his little twig and berries. Last night at his grandparents’ house, he whipped it out right in front of them. All of that is expected and not so bad, but this morning is where I draw the line.

After waking up THREE times during the night (I’m getting no sleep lately) he woke up for good at 6 a.m. I was lazing on the couch while he played with toys and watched TV. I saw him pulling at his diaper and told him to stop. A few minutes later I heard what sounded like water being spilled on the floor. I looked around but saw nothing and tried to go back to sleep. Then I heard it again, but this time more muffled. That’s when I noticed a dark spot on the carpet.

I got up and walked over there trying to figure out if it was the cat or the dog that had just peed on the floor. Well imagine my surprise when I turned my head, saw my son yanking his diaper down and his pecker up, and then pissing all over the floor and my foot.

Will has peed on my before, but it was during diaper changes. This is the first time he’s hosed me down from a standing position and in the living room. I went on to discover about four more piss spots on the floor from where Will had pulled down his diaper and let loose.

Is this normal? Does anyone have any suggestions for how to remedy this situation. It’d be one thing if I had been stung by a jellyfish and Will was urinating on my foot to save me from swelling and irritation, but that’s not the case. He’s just whizzing on me for sport.

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MIA

Hey guys:

As you probably heard, U.S. Sen. Ted Kennedy has died at his Hyannisport home. That means I, along with all the other reporters, will be working around the clock and so I may not be able to post for a few days. Check back often though, I might be able to squeeze a little something in now and then over the next few days, but with Pres. Obama vacationing on the Cape as well it’s the perfect storm of craziness as far as the media is concerned.

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A Day Off? I’d Rather Work.

To me, a day off means just that. Off. As in, do nothing.

A day off is a day to relax, to unwind and not to worry about all the shit that’s been plaguing me at work. I need to decompress from the considerable amount of stress I’ve been under, enjoy some time with my family and allow my brain to literally stop working for just a bit.

But my wife doesn’t share my definition of a day off.

To her, a day off from work simply means shifting her work mentality to focus on issues at home. Her “day off” means doing laundry, cleaning the house, finishing off the dishes, paying bills and running errands. In short, her perception of a day off is often busier than work itself.

Look, I’m not an idiot. I understand all those things are chores that have to be completed. But they don’t all have to be done today, especially when Sundays are the only day we get to spend together as a family. And soon we won’t even have those because let’s face it, football season is starting! I go to half the games because my dad has season tickets and the other half will consist of me and Will going to my parents house to watch DirectTV’s Sunday Ticket all day to root on the Patriots and our fantasy teams.

I just want to spend time with my family on my days off and do nothing but enjoy them. I don’t want to clean, I don’t want to do the laundry and I’ll worry about the damn dishes later. Human beings (seemingly with the exception of my wife) need to have some “chill” time or else they will go postal. But unfortunately my choices today are hop on board the MJ-OCD-must-get-everything-done-today Express or laze around on the couch while she does all the chores and makes me feel like a lazy, good for nothing slob.

I might as well go into work.

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