First things first… I have a new book out!
Now on to the subject of dating… again.
Whenever a guy I go on a date with finds out I’m a writer that writes about my everyday life, they say “So, are you gonna’ write about me?” I usually respond out loud joking, “Only if you plan on being an asshole!” Which is basically true. But most of the time the response in my head is “Don’t flatter yourself”.
I just think it’s a stupid question. I don’t know, maybe I’m the jerk but I just think it’s an awkward thing to say. “Don’t flatter yourself”is really the gist of it. Especially when they ask me several times. Why in God’s name would I write about you? You’re the single most boring man I’ve ever been out with. However, commit an act of sheer assholery and you’re in like Flynn!
Funny, my friends never ask me to write about them. They never say “Hey you need to write about our crazy night at karaoke at the gay bar!” My girlfriends never say, “Why don’t you write about me and the cupcakes I bake?” Why? Because 1. They aren’t rude and 2. They don’t flatter themselves thinking that they are that interesting. (Even though they are that interesting)
Next we have the guy who endlessly suggests topics for me to write about. “You know what you should write about? You should write about why women lead men on?” Well, fella I don’t have to write about it, I’ll tell you right now, see… women are just being nice while they are out with you in the midst of figuring out that you are a complete douche-canoe. Then you ask them out again and they say no, or you text and they just don’t answer. Why because she just wasn’t feelin’ you. Or she just couldn’t take another minute of your miserableness.
Another one that I thoroughly enjoy is men suggesting subjects that I should write about that are not anywhere remotely near my realm of expertise. “Hey you should write about dating from a man’s point of view and how much we get screwed over!” Why not? Because 1. I’m not a man and 2. No. It’s my damn blog or column, I write from my point of view. Maybe I’d write about the other side if I had someone with something interesting to say. If you just want to bitch, get your own damn blog. And by the way dude, I know why you’re single, I don’t have to write a blog to investigate.
I liken it to me saying to them, “Hey you know what you should do at work? You should re-structure your management team so that there is not overlap in the… yada, yada, yada” I don’t analyze your work, be mindful not to analyze mine.
However, thanks to these overly helpful dudes I now have a new barometer for choosing the right man for me… one who doesn’t ask if I’m going to write about him.
I’ve been known to say and do many odd things around my kids.
There’s the time we were living in Denver about 7 years ago, we went to the grocery store to get cookout supplies. We’re driving back down into our neighborhood and my son was about 11 or 12 and was sitting in the front passenger seat, the two girls ages 7 and 9 in the back. I saw some kids up ahead walking on the sidewalk (on my son’s side of the car) who we didn’t really know but they were annoying young teens who always roamed the neighborhood. So I instructed my son on what to do for a laugh when we drove by…
He yells out the window, “Hey, look at my buns!”… then holds up the package of hot dog buns we just bought out the window.
And we sped off.
It sent my pre-pubescent children into belly laughs in the car. It’s just one of our memorable little family chuckles.
Another time, it was like just a year ago or two, we’re all in the car (kids are all teens) driving here in Rochester in the winter down a wide city street. I see some young boys, about 7-9 on the side of the street attempting to throw snowballs at cars as they pass. Now mind you, these kids were young and I don’t think the balls were gettin’ within 10 feet of the car. We were all laughing about something else and as I approached, I got this slightly animated cranky old broad face and said , “Oh yea, come on just try and throw one at me ya’ little bastards” and leaned into the steering wheel like I was Mario Andretti and as I passed them I gave them “Grumpy Cat” Face and gave a little shake of my fist.
Just as I get passed I look in the rear view mirror and see a pitiful little pflurf of a snowball go up in the air and land like 5 feet from the kid… to which I murmured “Heh, take that bitches” in a grumpy old broad voice. For some reason that became another memorable moment that always elicits laughter.
One might not think my language or “risque” humor would be appropriate around my kids. But I think it has cultivated the opposite… they know when things are appropriate and when they are not. They understood that I was parodying a grumpy old ignorant man or woman when I was messing with the snowball kids. They know that I would never call a kid a little bastard, well to his face anyway. heh They also know that the bun joke was just a silly play on words. We weren’t malicious and said, “Kiss my buns” or “Lick my buns” or “Give it to me hard in the buns”. Oh sorry. Or it wasn’t like I told my 11 year old to say, “Look at my dick!” and hold up a picture of Andy Dick.
By me exposing my children to different language and different situations, they can better understand things. They don’t use profanity or talk back to me or other adults or peers, ever. (I’m sure they use profanity when out amongst friends but not maliciously) My kids have never yelled at each other or me “I hate you”, nor have they ever called each other a name. Oh sure, they get annoyed with each other once in a while but they just stew for a while, stomp around and finally address it with, “Why are you always borrowing my stuff without asking and always breaking it?”. There’s never any “Fuck you, you asshole whorebag stuff stealer!”. I would not tolerate that… ever. I just taught them from a young age that we all treat each other with respect, not just our family but everyone on Earth.
I think it’s because their Father was such a dirty fighter. He was an incredibly competitive hockey player, so a fight was like… you stepped on his toe so he had to try and slice your jugular. Ya’ know something like this, Me: “God, why can’t you just pick your underwear up off the floor?” Him: (yelling at me with his massive muscular frame in my personal space) “You know what, your Father doesn’t love you because you’re not as successful as his other uptight kids” Uh ok, I’ll just defer this round to you.
After that mishigas (Yiddish for clusterfuck) I decided my household was always going to be rational and respectful. There really is no yelling other than boisterous nonsense with laughing involved. I never yell. They never yell. I know, I know it ruins the image you have of me doesn’t it? But I’m telling you icy stares go a long way. Oh wait, I misspoke there is the occasional exasperated yell from the kitchen “Jesus Christ, why do you people keep piling crap on the garbage like a Jenga game when it’s full, instead of just emptying it?!”. Then I usually go in and calmly address it by telling them to empty it otherwise I’ll find out who put the last thing on top and I will make them sleep with it in their bed. Nobody’s perfect.
I know a person who grew up in a pretty uptight family, everything was controlled. No foul language, no off color humor. Now as an adult this person started to become themselves and kind of gravitates toward adult humor, “That’s what she said” type of humor. Which is fine, I have some of that. But the trouble is the person now has no filter at this point. They just blurt stuff out in front of the wrong crowd. Ya’ know, it’s ok to say that joke at cocktails with our good friends but not to my co-worker you just met.
What’s my point? I don’t know, I just wanted to swear a lot today. Nah, I just think that it’s not a terrible thing to be off color with your kids. Now I don’t mean like this Mother-Daughter porn team I’ve heard about, or the Father-Son pimp team that’s on trial in NY currently. Not that kind of inappropriate. I just think exposing them to things teaches them how to make choices in life instead of sheltering them from it, then they have no idea how to deal when confronted with it… without Mommy and Daddy around. Just my two cents. Now off with you, ya’ little bastards, enjoy the day…
Oh and today only for my loyal readers get a FREE Kindle version of my hee-larious book, “When Life Gives You Lemons… at Least You Won’t Get Scurvy!” Making the best of the crap life gives you. on Amazon.com. CLICK HERE NOW!!!!!!
I have a new little guilty pleasure. Every Monday night I sit down and watch “The Carrie Diaries” with my two teenage daughters. You know it’s that sort of pre-Sex and the City “Carrie Bradshaw – The Wonder Years” kind of thing. Her in her teens in 1984. The girls like it because it involves teenagers and it shows them what life was like for Mom when she was in high school and college.
For me… it reminds me that I’ve actually lead a pretty interesting life. For instance, in the show Carrie somehow finagles an internship at Interview magazine. Interview magazine was founded in 1969 by Andy Warhol. Very artsy, very hip. Now Interview magazine was my bible when I was in college 1983-1987. I had a subscription and used to save all the issues under my bed. I had stacks of them. I must have thrown them out when moving out of college. 😦 The same thing with the Village Voice, the iconic New York City newspaper. Had stacks under my bed. No idea where they went. Even though I was in college in Maine, I was a New York City hipster at heart.
I would have given my left nut (wait, what?) to live Carrie’s life back then. Sans, the fabulousness because I was a punk/new wave hipster back in the day. The days before hipster became douchie. However today I could do the fabulous, I already do. Hey girl hey! Yes, Carrie is a fictional character but that’s the life I dreamed of back then. I won’t lie, I still dream about it. If I hit it big right now, I’d move to NY in a heartbeat. Live in the Village but try to avoid my son at NYU so I wouldn’t cramp his style. It would be a little creepy for Mom to crash his fraternity kegger.
So yea, once upon a time I was cutting edge. I was a radio DJ. The name of my show was “Soaking in it with Madge”. The ole Madge the Manicurist Palmolive reference, get it? Ok, back then it was relevant. I went to gay clubs before it was cool because they had the best music. Dude, seriously nowhere else could you dance to “Kiss Me” by Tin Tin? They didn’t even play that on the radio!
Speaking of gay clubs… did I ever tell you about the first (and only) time I was introduced to a hardcore gay club?
So, I worked at a summer camp near Pittsfield, MA in the Berkshires during college. Which in itself is a whole other slew of stories. It was a camp for young Jewish girls from the NYC area (and FL), none of us counselors were Jewish. The girls were all wealthy self-proclaimed JAPs (Jewish American Princesses). Again, for another time…
So on one of our nights off one of our friends took a few days off and we needed to go pick her up at the train station in Springfield at like 11pm. Turns out her train was late and we needed to kill some time. So there were about I think 6 of us girls and one obviously gay guy (Larry the theater counselor). We girls all had funky asymmetrical haircuts and wore boxer shorts for shorts and had boxer shoes with scrunchy socks. I’m sure we looked like freaks.
We were walking down the street looking for a place to sit and have a drink. So we ask this very friendly black guy with a giant afro with a fro pick sticking out the back what was open for a drink. He says “Oh oh yea, I know what you guys are looking for”. So we follow him to this restaurant, and we figure oh great perfect. No, he says follow me. We go down a back hallway, turn a corner, go down a flight of stairs, down another hall, 2 more flights of stairs, hallway… and enter a dank basement. I’m thinking we’re going to die, but we turn a corner and what’s there? A bar with a tranny bartender, a makeshift dance floor with bare lightbulbs hanging down, bare chested men in biker and S&M gear with thick mustaches grinding on each other. It sounds cliche’ but I thought I was in a Village People video. We were actually kind of in heaven because it was a buffet of people watching.
Then somebody grabs us and says, “Oh no we think you want to be back here”. We follow them down another hallway, passed a guy pressing another guy dressed as a woman up against the wall and fondling his/her junk (it wasn’t such a good tuck and tape job). We get to this back room and it’s all women. Yup, very butchy, shaved head, Members Only jacket wearing women. Uhhhh, I guess we’ve been brought to the lesbian room. Funny, we alterna-girls did look a bit like the crowd in that room but none of us were lesbians. There was lots of masculine-type posturing and leering. No offense ladies, but the other room was a bit more entertaining.
Finally we decide we need to go pick up our friend. Our one friend Jill from Texas who was quite goofy and loud was like “No y’all I’m havin’ fun!” She kept asking people to dance, I thought we were going to get our asses kicked. Not sure if she thought it was a novelty or was kind of mocking the lesbians in asking them to dance, but either way you just don’t want to mess with that. We drag her out. A tranny starts to follow us, I think he/she wanted to hang. He/she was strung out on something, we didn’t want to be saddled with that so we ran.
And ran all the way to the train station. Laughing our asses off. It was only 1984, that story probably doesn’t sound like much by today’s standards but it was a complete freak show that people didn’t know existed by 1984 standards.
When I think about it… my life still consists of some pretty strange/fun events like that. I was hesitant to tell about them, having kids and all. But then my friends started asking me “How come you never mention us in your blog?”. Hmmmm, maybe because you all belong to a country club, own companies or are CEOs, have children and don’t really think it’s right to talk about the time we all went swimming in our underwear at a party, or parked the car in the bushes, or drunkenly tried to crawl on top of a golf cart and hit a shot from there, or during a golf outing stole a cart and took off down East Ave. to visit a friend across the street, or broke several glasses at the club trying to do the “pull the tablecloth out from under the dishes” trick. (that was a huge run-on sentence, but for effect) But ok, I’ll mention all that stuff if you want? Next time… 🙂
However it does beg the question… if I write for entertainment and have some great juicy stories, at what point can I/should I tell them without worrying about my kids? 16? 18? 21? You tell me…
Here is another attempt at a vlog. This time I discuss my least and most favorite reality stars.
Thanks for coming over to see what all the fuss is about! So, I have a little announcement…
After much prodding from others, and a need to add something legitimate to my writing resume, I am… writing a book.
Yes, After writing blogs for 7 years, I decided to do something constructive (one would think) with my stories. So I have a book that’s in the editing stages and I hope to have it out in time to make a great holiday gift! I figure if Snooki can write a book, so can I!
The book is a collection of re-worked blog posts with some additional content and summary lessons. The content mostly focuses on overcoming adversity in regard to relationships, finances, children, and career, all with a big dose of humor. And the working title is…
“When Life Gives You Lemons… At Least You Won’t Get Scurvy!”
In recent years I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming over to the bright side. I’ve had no choice but to stare that bright side in the face and decide to make the best of whatever life brings. However, for years I did find strange comfort in soaking in the hot tub of the dark dreary side of life, you know the one that drunk spring break couples got nasty in? (that was a metaphor kids, I didn’t really hang out in a skanky hot tub) It was easier (so I thought) to expect the worst and be angry at the world. I honestly don’t know how some of you folks put up with me. Obviously some didn’t, if you take a look at my dating resume. Oy.
I don’t claim to be all self-righteous and pretend “Madge Knows Best”. What I do know is I made some mistakes along the way, as well as some good decisions too. I hope others can gain some insight from the lessons I’ve learned because things always seem a little more manageable when you know someone else has been through it and survived. I also give helpful hints on things like which douchecopters to stay away from and how to prevent your kids from becoming A-holes, like those kids down the street.
I’ll keep you all updated. Any questions, feel free to ask!