Accident Prone

Accident Prone

Yesterday, I talked about how accident prone I've been in my life and I just thought I'd share a little of what I've been through. I think that once you read this, you'll see that I'm not just saying I was accident prone. I really was.

When I was born, I was circumcised. They lopped off an inch of foreskin from my penis. It was traumatic. I cried and screamed a lot. I don't remember it but I'm told I did this. I'm still traumatized even today about it. All I can think about is, "My penis could be an inch longer."

When I was around three, I liked to run. I ran so much that an accident was bound to happen. Once, while I was running like a crazed Forrest Gump, I tripped in the living room and landing forehead first on the edge of a round coffee table. I had to get stitches. I still have the scar in the middle of my forehead. It doesn't hurt any more.

When I was seven, I bumped into a huge fire extinguisher at school and it fell onto my right foot. It chopped off parts of a few of my toes and deformed them forever. Two toes don't have toenails and another has one that's a centimeter thick. Lovely visual huh? Try cutting the bitch.

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Safety Freak

Safety Freak

I admit it, I'm abnormal when it comes to safety. I don't know if it's because of nature or nurture, but for some reason, whenever there's a hint of danger, I opt for the safe way to do things.

Depending on how you look at it, this will either appear stifling or sweet, but when I was dating wife number 1, I wouldn't go anywhere until she buckled her seatbelt (of course, this only worked when I drove). She never wore her seatbelt, no matter what. Not even in inclement weather. Not even after she had an accident where she busted her lip on the steering wheel and cracked the windshield with her head. She never gave me any reason why she hated seatbelts so much. I blame her strict Catholic upbringing. It was only natural she buck against the system as soon as she had her first taste of freedom at college.

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Big Church Is Big Business

Big Church Is Big Business

I heard someone talking yesterday about how this pastor and his church owned half a city block and had a membership of more than five thousand people. By "Big City" standards, that's small but by my little country church standards, it's huge. Too huge. It seems to me that big churches have become big business in America.

In Europe, way back in the time before the Knights Templar, the Catholic Church was the only game in town if you weren't Jewish. It was the epitome of big business, affording special privileges and tax-exempt status from the Kings and Queens of the land.

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The Concept of Separate Bathrooms

The Concept of Separate Bathrooms

I have some simple advice. And since I've been married twice and freely admit to my mistakes, you can take it for what it's worth. I can safely say that even though both marriages ended in divorce, I learned a lot during those relationships. One tidbit I've gleaned is to always, no matter what, use separate bathrooms.

Marriage is a solemn vow between two people to spend the rest of their lives together, till death do they part (or one party changers her mind, whichever comes first). During a marriage, you share everything with each other.

Holidays. Ambitions. Desires. Goals. Housework. Pepperoni pizzas from the place down the street when neither of you feels like cooking.

And a bathroom.

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My First Fight

My First Fight

Second grade. His name was Marvin. He was in first grade but he was my age. He either failed or was held back or started late. And no, I don't remember who won.

Actually, Marvin wasn't my first fight. I've got studio-made pictures from pre-school of me sporting a blond bowl cut and a bloody nose. Obviously there was a fight involved but I don't remember it. So it doesn't count.

The fight with Marvin I halfway remember. It happened on the playground during recess and neither of us suffered any scrapes or bruises. After she broke it up, Mrs. Mims sent us to the principal's office. Nowadays, that's no big deal but back then it was super scary. This was when spanking with a paddle was not only condoned, it was highly endorsed.

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Alone In A Movie Theater

Alone In A Movie Theater

You know what's great about a weekday matinee movie? Not only is it cheaper but every once in a while, you can get the whole place to yourself.

It's not much different from being at home. Except for the gum stuck to the chair. And the overpriced food. And the inability to pause for bathroom breaks. And thirty minutes of previews you can't fast forward through.

There are some plusses though. For a well-produced sci-fi movie with lots of special effects, you can't beat the huge screen and surround sound and the cinematic experience it all provides. You have to turn off your mobile so no one can bother you and you don't fee the least bit guilty about doing it. And sometimes the previews are pretty good but I find lately that more times than not, they've gotten out of hand with actual commercials thrown into the mix. I didn't pay to see commercials.

As for the over-priced food, I always stop by the dollar store and grab some snacks to sneak in. If their food wasn't marked up 300%, I wouldn't go to the trouble. Paying a buck for a big box of milk duds is so much more fun than paying $2 for a small box.

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America The Slob

America The Slob

It disgusts me. The litter I see on the side of the road. Potato chip bags, aluminum cans, candy wrappers. You name it, Americans throw it out their car windows instead of simply dropping it into a trash can.

Not only is it infuriating to me, it's sad. Down right pathetic. To think the country that enjoys the highest standard of living the world has ever seen can't take the time to pick up after itself.

It's enough to make a grown man whine on the internet.

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Salmon Treats Anyone?

Salmon Treats Anyone?

It was many years ago on a Christmas Eve that my Aunt Pat did something none of us have ever let her forget. On a dare, she ate a cat treat, one of those little soft chewy ones that come in the resealable foil Ziploc packs. I think it was salmon flavor.

First, a little background. In the family, I was known as the cheapskate. If there were any penny pincher jokes, they were always aimed at me. And Aunt Pat was the butt of all the blonde jokes, despite being a natural brunette and never having had anything close to blonde hair. She had that dingy thing going pretty good though.

A few of us were sitting around the table, playing games, because that's what my family does on Christmas Eve. We gather about thirty family members in a single house, eat like Southerners at a Sunday dinner, open presents, and play games till time to head home and get ready for Santa.

I'm not sure how it came up, but I think I was giving one of our cats a cat treat when Pat said something like, "I wonder how those taste?"

A light bulb went on. "Why don't you try one?" I asked.

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Stealing Our Tennis

Stealing Our Tennis

I was hanging out with a bunch of guys watching the US Open on television the other week. We were watching the women's game (no comment) between Venus Williams and Jelena Jankovic when one of the guys said, "Man, I'm getting tired of all these foreigners coming over here and stealing our sports."

I looked over at him but said nothing. He continued, "When they gonna learn tennis is our sport and we're the best at everything."

That prompted me to say something derogatory. "John," I said, "please stop being such a redneck."

He looked at me in a redneck way, throwing out redneck vibes in waves, then said, "What're you talkin' about?"

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The Deal Breaker

The Deal Breaker

I had a once in a lifetime deal pass my way the other day and I felt the need to tell you about it. If you had a chance to make forty to fifty thousand dollars flipping a house, wouldn't you be excited too?

A tenant my bosses are about to evict dropped by the office to explain why she hadn't paid rent. She had two houses that had been given to her that she'd been working a deal on. The deal fell apart, blamed on all the recent mortgage companies going under. She was in dire straits and was about to lose her car also, a fifty thousand dollar Range Rover.

Huh?

And to top it off, she had surgery two weeks ago. A boob job. Serious guys, I can't write stuff this good. All I do is spit it out as it happens.

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I Am Native American

I Am Native American

I was born in America. I was raised in America. I possess a distinctly American belief system. Therefore I'm a Native American by all sense of the term, right? Then why am I supposed to check Caucasion White on all those damn government forms?

What they mean by Native American is obviously the race of people who were here before Columbus screwed their lives up or some guy named Amerigo Vespucci won the naming pool. We call them the American Indian, even though Columbus missed India by about 10,000 miles.

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Saying Thanks In The South

Saying Thanks In The South

In the American South, we are raised with manners as a matter of breeding. We are taught to hold open doors for complete strangers, help those in need and say thanks to everyone for everything. And I do mean everyone for everything.

A few years ago, I was driving about 74 in a 55 during a rainstorm in Marlboro County, South Carolina, on my way back from Myrtle Beach. A cop stopped me and asked me the most original question, "Do you know how fast you were going?"

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Cleavage Makes Men Stupid

Cleavage Makes Men Stupid

It's as simple as that. This article could end right now and you'd all know what I meant without me having to go into it. But where's the fun in that?

Whatever intelligence edge or business advantage men believe they have in this world, it disappears when faced with a nice set of boob cleavage. A man could be at the top of his game in the prime of his concentration and totally break down, drooling all over himself, if confronted with a set of Double D's and a low v-neck.

Cleavage is the colossal equalizer, the secret password, the greatest feminist weapon ever invented. Cleavage overpowers the strength of the penis ten times out of ten. Even bad cleavage is as mighty as a chunk of Kryptonite.

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Boy Toy Status Revoked

Boy Toy Status Revoked

I turned thirty-six about a month ago and as you can tell from my blog, I consider myself officially getting old. Well, middle age at least. Thinning hair and aching joints have become priorities which I think are decent indication that any "Boy Toy" status I might could have achieved, has vanished.

I've dated older women before, some of which were old enough to have birthed me. My favorite decade of music is the 60s, before I was even born. I love old house architecture and old cars and I've always been pretty mature for my age. So I guess that sort of explains the mutual attraction between me and older women.

And lately I've had oler women flirt with me in ways that could only mean they were interested. Only now, older means a ten year difference rather than twenty. What is it about women in their forties that dig me?

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The Price Of Insanity

The Price Of Insanity

I was telling a friend last night about a movie I'd just seen on IFC, Intacto. It's an amazing foreign film that's totally refreshing and brilliant, especially after being bombarded with a steady barage of predictable Hollywood films. I didn't want to ruin it for him so I just told him of the opening scene and how it began like the movie, The Cooler. The similarity ends after five minutes, and although both movies are good, Intacto was spectacular and cinematic.

When I told him the movie's central theme was luck and the games lucky people play, he interrupted me. He told me the story of his cousin who had a cushy job in the corporate world making six figures. He had it made and after a weekend of playing internet poker, he quit his job. In a few short days, he'd cleared sixty thousand and decided he could do that for a living.

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Attack Of The Halloween Store

Attack Of The Halloween Store

It's the beginning of September and I have already seen three Halloween stores open on the route I take to work. Three stores that sell nothing but Halloween costumes and Halloween accessories. Doesn't this seem a bit much?

I remember back when Woolworth's and K-mart used to set up Halloween sections for shoppers. If you wanted a Batman or Wonder Woman costume, that's where you went. And while you were there, you picked up candy for the ghosts and goblins that would be visiting. Blammo, you were done.

For the longest time, my Mom even made mine and my sister's costumes. I was Dracula the same year my sis was a ballerina. My Mom spent hours sewing our outfits from scratch and I wore that cape for years until it finally gave out. It lasted forever and provided hours and hours of pretend fun for both of us.

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Looking Forward To Mondays

Looking Forward To Mondays

Among the many number of things I did wrong with my two wives, I did a great many correct. It takes a lot to make a marriage work and outside forces are always working against you. From your jobs threatening to steal your time to bills stealing your money to the mundane daily chores stealing your mojo. One thing I learned is that you must always be vigilant because true love can only carry you so far.

There's one idea I had with wife number 2 that I'm particularly proud of. I'm not a hundred percent sure it was my idea because when you're really a couple, you collaborate on everything so closely you're never sure where an idea originated. Everyone hates Mondays, right? It's the first day of the work week and signals an end to your weekend. What if I gave you the secret to looking forward to your Mondays?

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Zero Car Loyalty

Zero Car Loyalty

Nascar is the biggest sport in America, believe it or not, and its roots originated here in the South. Illegal moonshiners in the mountains would spend their time and money on fast cars so they could outrun the law during transport. And over time, the pursuit became a national pastime.

Loyalties to different car brands were a badge of honor in those days. Ford people were Ford people and Chevy people were Chevy people. This brand loyalty has been carried forward to today as most Southerners identify with one car maker or another.

I'm an exception to the rule. I have zero car loyalty and I can prove it.

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