Monday, January 19, 2015

So much for apologies OR Human nature

Around this time last year I blogged about insulting people who have wronged me in a Super Bowl commercial, but lately I've been thinking about all the people that I have wronged. I hate to admit it, but there have been a few people over the years, and in a few cases I feel like I really owe someone an apology.

I don't want to call people, or talk to anyone face to face. That would be too awkward for both of us. I think instead I will just print up cards that say:


Time heals all wounds and so do Doritos Locos tacos. Nothing repairs a relationship like a fluorescent orange monosodium glutamate shell stuffed with steaming horse meat. But that's about all I am willing to do. They know that I know that what I did was wrong and they get an apology of sorts, but I don't have to face them and there's no awkwardness.

Which is interesting: when someone has hurt me I want to humiliate them in front of as many people as possible, and when I have hurt someone I want to resolve it as quietly and anonymously as possible. But I guess that's human nature.

Immediately after thinking of this apology idea, I started thinking of more revenge fantasies. For example, I want to write a hugely popular bestselling book and put a bunch of passive aggressive dedications in it, such as:

"To Percival, 
Thanks for never helping me ever."

"To Herbert,
May you always suck it."

After plotting both simultaneously, I have to say it is much more fun to plot revenge than plan how to make amends. Ah, human nature.

Monday, November 10, 2014

I am (still) getting old

In the last few years I've looked for the defining moment when I officially got old and the good times officially ended. After much searching, I believe I've found that moment. It was the moment I had to buy this:
That's right: a nose hair and ear hair trimmer. Honestly, when I was younger I imagined that by the time I turned 32 I would have more money and less nose hair, but here we are.
Getting older used to freak me out, but now I've made peace with it and I kind of enjoy it. I feel myself getting more curmudgeonly with each day.

I balk at prices. I say things like, "This costs how much?" and "Let me see that receipt!" and "Didn't this use to come with more?" A close cousin of price-balking is cheapness. I just bought $11 shoes on clearance that I don't like at all. They're ugly, but they match my shirt which is covered in baby spit up and my pants which are covered in toddler grime.

I criticize what people who are younger than me are wearing, like, "Why is everyone in yoga pants all the time? Like, you just got out of yoga class, or you're perpetually on your way to yoga class? I don't buy it."


I've also said, "Everyone is always texting me. Why don't people ever call anymore?"

I have problems with some new music. Whenever we're listening to the radio in the car, I'm always raging: "They're not even trying with these lyrics! They're just rhyming things! I wonder how many copies 'downloaded.'"

When you get married you get someone to grow old with, literally. My wife and I were driving and there were several songs in a row about "live like we've only got tonight" and my wife snapped. She said, "Why are all the songs about this cliched nonsense? Why doesn't somebody write a song that's like, 'plan for your future, open up a checking account and start building credit' or something like that!"

I looked at her, and in that moment I realized that we are going to be an amazing old couple.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Birth Story


My wife had Baby #2. She labored like a champ for a day and a night and I just want to mention that for most of the time a woman is in labor in a hospital, there's no doctor there. The nurses say there's a doctor there, but there isn't. They say things like, "The doctor says to increase your pitocin," but it's an illusion, like the Wizard of Oz. The doctor might have called on the phone or whatever, but they're nowhere near that hospital. They might roll out of bed and drive over in their Mercedes if things get wild, but until then: we all know there's no doctor.

When a doctor did finally arrive she congratulated my wife on all of her hours of labor and announced that the baby would need to be ripped out aka "delivered via cesarean section."

Bummer.

When we were in the operating room the OB and her staff we're just talking away about the stupidest things, such as: "Have you tried that new burger place? You can get a bacon cheeseburger with a fried egg on top, and then a chocolate milkshake with bacon bits in it.”

I wanted to shout, “Can you idiots please focus!"

Right here I wrote some more details about the c-section operation, but it's just a drag so I edited it out, which is not to say I'm not glad my son is here, because I am, even though he still looks like wrinkly old man. Through the whole bloody ordeal my main thought was: There has to be a less violent way to make people.

My wife was upbeat and serene and it got me thinking. Moms go through all that pain for their child, who they don't even know. He could grow up to be a murderer or a lawyer or a Republican for all they know, but they do it anyway. That level of selflessness and sacrifice blows my mind.

Welcome to the world, Baby #2. I will never forget the day you were born.