So I have been on what sophisticated people call a hiatus for while. I thought I would never come back to write again when on Tuesday I experienced something destined to be on someones blog somewhere.
If you have been anywhere overseas or even in heavily populated ethnic areas you have heard the jabber of native tongue being spit back and forth and always wondered what the hell they were saying! I used to speak enough Spanish where I could get the gist of what was going on, or at least be smart enough to figure out if they were making fun of me.
This idea brings me to Tuesday when Chris, Danny, and myself were out in Shinnecock on the boat at a nice seaside eatery having lunch. I overheard two elder ladies having a conversation in their hometown slang of German. Call me nosey or plain old interested, I turned Chris, who happens to speak a fine bit of German and asked him translate, or at least find out what was being said.
With that being said, he waited like an inpatient adolescent at great adventure for the opening to spitball in German with these nice krauts and be the one we all envy for knowing another language.
As time had passed and so had the possibility of an opportunity to jump in, we had our last round of shots, Patron of course, and were getting ready to depart this establishment and head out for a boat ride. At this exact moment, like planned by professionals, one of the ladies turns to us and in the greatest of german accents says, "What kinds of Scnapps are yous having?"
As if handed the chance on a silver platter Chris answers in English, "Patron". And not just in english, but with a german accent as if to insult them. Now we just look like fools as oppossed to the well educated socialites out in the hamptons in the afternoon for coctails.
Sensing my discrace and now sensing opportunity himself he forges into an exchange of true Germans at a beer garden in Munchen. I later find out he told them how good Patron was chilled and the ladies made a sexual comment about it effects later on also. Grandious chuckles were exchanged and we said "Guten Tag", and went on our way.
This just goes to show you that possesing the ability to speak other languages comes in handy at the most unthinkable moments......
I will laugh for ever
"What kinds of Scnapps are yous having?"
Friday, July 17, 2009
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Garfield
The move is over, the unpacking and setting up is just about complete, and we are settling in nicely to our new home. As with any new thing in life there are situations that arise that will catch you off guard and make you cock your head in bewilderment. My dilemma is a cat that has the talent of the likes of David Copperfield. He or she, I have not checked, started coming around from the day we moved in and a few crucial mistakes have been made along the way. Fabi likes to feed wild cats so there is one biggie. Fabi also likes to feel like she has accomplished some humanitarian feat by letting it in the house for "just a minute" so it can warm its paws and then back out it goes. To sum up the results of these dastardly deeds, I will tell you the food is more plentiful and the visits inside are longer.
With that being said, I will give you insight as to what it means to live a day in my house.
As the alarm clock blares at me at 7:00am I slowly flutter my eyelids and squint at the morning light as it glares off the freshly fallen snow. With a tap of the snooze bar and a few extra winks of sleep, eventually I awake from the bed and start my day with the speed of a slug in the mud. The dog follows me downstairs and off he goes to make his morning pee and I go to do the same.
As I pass the front door I hear a vibrant "meow" from the other side and decide to open the door so he will stop. I am not surprised at this point because this has been getting progressively worse over the last few weeks. I take a shower and head back upstairs to get dressed and kiss the wife goodbye before I go to work. While coming around from the kitchen, I see an orange cat trying to open my front door with his behemoth paws. I guess now will be a good time to tell you that this cat must weigh 50 pounds and is built like a tank.
7:40am and I am out the door to another day at the job when I am cornered by this massive outdoor feline companion who has has since made his home on my front porch. I pet it a few times, let it rub against my leg, and then run to the car to get in before he jumps in with me.
4:oopm and as I pull in the driveway, a gigantic orange fur ball is waddling down the walkway to come greet me at the car. I step out exhausted from the day of working and almost don't mind the awkward affection of a cat that is trying to butter me up so we let him stay in our house. He follows me to door and as I make all of the goalie like attempts to keep him out, he slithers into a small opening I have left and the saga continues. This shenanigans continues for a few hours, in and out, until finally we succumb to the hassle of keeping him out and let him sit for a while.
After the cat has worn out his welcome, I attempt to pick him up to take him out. The combative episode of resistance begins and with no warning there are lunges with and open mouth, a swat and a hiss in such succession it seems almost like he was planning this attack since I let him in. So after I wait for him to let me pick him up, I put him back outside and close the door.
I wipe my forehead and make a phew sound as I conclude another day in this storybook and begin to mentally prepare for the days of this treachery that lie ahead. My wife knows that it is only a matter of time until this cat, "Nelson", makes his way to being a member of the family and living inside permanently.
Flight calling Ny...... "LXXA"
With that being said, I will give you insight as to what it means to live a day in my house.
As the alarm clock blares at me at 7:00am I slowly flutter my eyelids and squint at the morning light as it glares off the freshly fallen snow. With a tap of the snooze bar and a few extra winks of sleep, eventually I awake from the bed and start my day with the speed of a slug in the mud. The dog follows me downstairs and off he goes to make his morning pee and I go to do the same.
As I pass the front door I hear a vibrant "meow" from the other side and decide to open the door so he will stop. I am not surprised at this point because this has been getting progressively worse over the last few weeks. I take a shower and head back upstairs to get dressed and kiss the wife goodbye before I go to work. While coming around from the kitchen, I see an orange cat trying to open my front door with his behemoth paws. I guess now will be a good time to tell you that this cat must weigh 50 pounds and is built like a tank.
7:40am and I am out the door to another day at the job when I am cornered by this massive outdoor feline companion who has has since made his home on my front porch. I pet it a few times, let it rub against my leg, and then run to the car to get in before he jumps in with me.
4:oopm and as I pull in the driveway, a gigantic orange fur ball is waddling down the walkway to come greet me at the car. I step out exhausted from the day of working and almost don't mind the awkward affection of a cat that is trying to butter me up so we let him stay in our house. He follows me to door and as I make all of the goalie like attempts to keep him out, he slithers into a small opening I have left and the saga continues. This shenanigans continues for a few hours, in and out, until finally we succumb to the hassle of keeping him out and let him sit for a while.
After the cat has worn out his welcome, I attempt to pick him up to take him out. The combative episode of resistance begins and with no warning there are lunges with and open mouth, a swat and a hiss in such succession it seems almost like he was planning this attack since I let him in. So after I wait for him to let me pick him up, I put him back outside and close the door.
I wipe my forehead and make a phew sound as I conclude another day in this storybook and begin to mentally prepare for the days of this treachery that lie ahead. My wife knows that it is only a matter of time until this cat, "Nelson", makes his way to being a member of the family and living inside permanently.
Flight calling Ny...... "LXXA"
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Another Seinfeld Episode....
While we all have stories of our engagement, and we are always being asked questions like, "how did you meet?", "how did you get engaged?". This is an area that I feel needs to be written into some sort of a journal for things that don't happen on a daily basis.
With that being said i will embark on a journey through time and bring all of you loyal readers back to enjoy this moment with me as I relive what most would call a disaster.
It is May of 2006 and I am with Fabi and her family at their house in the Hamptons. I had just purchased the ring I would bestow to my sweetheart and make her my wife. With the eagerness of a 3 year old at Chuckie Cheese, I couldn't help but display the ring to her entire family regardless of the fact that Fabi was there as well. While this will later prove to be a feeble minded move on my part, the family was full of oohs and ahhs with the mere thought of their daughter being engaged.
I will take a step back now to about a month prior. I had informed her parents of my decision and with their blessing i would ask their daughter to be my wife. With sweat on my brow, I waited for a response and was elated to find no quandary from them what so ever. As the smiles emerged and the hugs were in plenty, I now had sought her mothers advice on a ring size suitable for the bride to be. In the midst of excitement and celebration I must have misunderstood, and with my vast experience in ring buying, I was none the wiser.
Bringing us back to the Hamptons, my time as a stealthy ring flasher was just about to conclude. Picture a huddle of onlookers in the yard off to the side of the house all peering in to catch a glimpse of the ring that signified my love for Fabi, when out of nowhere, Fabi is marching over to see what all the ruckus is about. To my dismay, or perhaps relief, she was onto us and the charade was over. With this on the brink of being a total disaster I did the only thing I could to save grace, I decided today was the day.
I assembled her family inside to the dining room and made a mock fight with her step father to create a reason for the gathering.
After the question was popped, and acceptance was granted, the ring was exchanged and she pushed like the dickens to get it on. "POP" It was on. I knew it looked tight and she knew it as well, but after putting it on for the first time she would be damned if she would be taking it off today. As the evening went on and her finger swelled, we knew action had to be taken so we left and headed to my parent house. My aunt and uncle from Boston were there and being doctors I hoped they had some miraculous plan to remove the ring from the now ballooned finger. To my dismay, this turned out to be of no avail so off to the ER we went.
When the doctor finished sawing off the ring which was meant to last an eternity, he began to pry open the ring. In what seemed like an instant the ring erupted in what looked like a volcanic eruption of diamonds. Turns out pave stones do not fortify the ring but in turn weaken its structural integrity. So with diamonds all over the ER and what now was three pieces of gold which was once a ring, we were sent on our way and were now engaged with no visual proof but a zip lock bag with shining shards in it.
My jeweler looked at me like i had somehow done this on purpose. While we exasperated all avenues to put this significant loop of gold together, our efforts were thwarted by the delicate process of remaking a pave setting.
After several attempts to make this whole again, we decided to start over and purchased a new ring, the right size of course, and began to show off our engagement visually as well as mentally.
Note to self; Make sure you have the correct information for sizing a ring, and also when it does not fit, don't force it.
In summation, we are happily married and this proved to be a blessing in disguise. She got a nicer ring second time around.
Till next time!!!!!
With that being said i will embark on a journey through time and bring all of you loyal readers back to enjoy this moment with me as I relive what most would call a disaster.
It is May of 2006 and I am with Fabi and her family at their house in the Hamptons. I had just purchased the ring I would bestow to my sweetheart and make her my wife. With the eagerness of a 3 year old at Chuckie Cheese, I couldn't help but display the ring to her entire family regardless of the fact that Fabi was there as well. While this will later prove to be a feeble minded move on my part, the family was full of oohs and ahhs with the mere thought of their daughter being engaged.
I will take a step back now to about a month prior. I had informed her parents of my decision and with their blessing i would ask their daughter to be my wife. With sweat on my brow, I waited for a response and was elated to find no quandary from them what so ever. As the smiles emerged and the hugs were in plenty, I now had sought her mothers advice on a ring size suitable for the bride to be. In the midst of excitement and celebration I must have misunderstood, and with my vast experience in ring buying, I was none the wiser.
Bringing us back to the Hamptons, my time as a stealthy ring flasher was just about to conclude. Picture a huddle of onlookers in the yard off to the side of the house all peering in to catch a glimpse of the ring that signified my love for Fabi, when out of nowhere, Fabi is marching over to see what all the ruckus is about. To my dismay, or perhaps relief, she was onto us and the charade was over. With this on the brink of being a total disaster I did the only thing I could to save grace, I decided today was the day.
I assembled her family inside to the dining room and made a mock fight with her step father to create a reason for the gathering.
After the question was popped, and acceptance was granted, the ring was exchanged and she pushed like the dickens to get it on. "POP" It was on. I knew it looked tight and she knew it as well, but after putting it on for the first time she would be damned if she would be taking it off today. As the evening went on and her finger swelled, we knew action had to be taken so we left and headed to my parent house. My aunt and uncle from Boston were there and being doctors I hoped they had some miraculous plan to remove the ring from the now ballooned finger. To my dismay, this turned out to be of no avail so off to the ER we went.
When the doctor finished sawing off the ring which was meant to last an eternity, he began to pry open the ring. In what seemed like an instant the ring erupted in what looked like a volcanic eruption of diamonds. Turns out pave stones do not fortify the ring but in turn weaken its structural integrity. So with diamonds all over the ER and what now was three pieces of gold which was once a ring, we were sent on our way and were now engaged with no visual proof but a zip lock bag with shining shards in it.
My jeweler looked at me like i had somehow done this on purpose. While we exasperated all avenues to put this significant loop of gold together, our efforts were thwarted by the delicate process of remaking a pave setting.
After several attempts to make this whole again, we decided to start over and purchased a new ring, the right size of course, and began to show off our engagement visually as well as mentally.
Note to self; Make sure you have the correct information for sizing a ring, and also when it does not fit, don't force it.
In summation, we are happily married and this proved to be a blessing in disguise. She got a nicer ring second time around.
Till next time!!!!!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
What a Wiener!!!
From the title alone I can only assume that you are reading this due to some perverse notion that I was writing about something other than my dog. While you sigh in disappointment and decide whether to read on without the mere mention of a male genitalia, I will let you know this is all about my dog Charlie, the miniature daschund.
When looking for a dog we all search high and low for the breed that will satisfy all the requirements of any young couple preparing to begin having children. While we did to the best of our ability, every breeder or pet shop failed to mention the ever so important piece of information, that the dog is impervious to most house training methods. As any new pet owner, we smirk and almost smile when he goes "sissy", or "poops" in the house, just thinking that this is all a part of raising a puppy and he looks so adorable no matter what crass gift he has left.
With that being said, I will now invite you all to hear of the progress, or lack there of, that Charlie has made.
Lets fast forward now to about one year of age. With the hundred stains all over the hallway carpet it was difficult to spot new marking unless they were fresh, within an hour. The only one that was obvious was poop. For such a small dog you wouldn't believe what he can create back there. So barring a few minor incidences, Charlie was what we had considered to be a well trained dog that due to our work schedule, could not be too blame.
That theory would soon be proved to be a farce.
So as I bring you up to speed I want to tell you what a wonderful dog Charlie is. He has not one mean bone in his body and he is always a pleasure to have around. When people are around him he brings joy out in everyone. Picture it, a stout long dog that weighs 14 pounds and stands 3 inches off the ground. Not to mention the fact that he has an obsession with licking and will lick the skin off your face if you gave him the chance.
Moving on to the reason that I impart this story for all to read. Charlie is over a year and a half old and as of late he is regressing on his training. As you may or may not know, Fabi and I bought a house this month and as we pack up everything it is apparent that something is amiss in the apartment. I think the dog can feel it and Cody the cat is definitely showing signs that he noticed as well. I can come to this rational assumption because as I step over and around boxes and other items, I notice new stains that weren't there before we started to pack. And if that was not enough of a blatant clue, as I left for work the other night, I was greeted at the door while putting on my shoes with a stool sample that I could have done without.
In retrospect, I think we would have done a better job with this or the dog himself may have succumb to the training if we were not in the apartment. Now, we have a yard and a fence so he can be left out to roam and do his business for more than 5 minutes, and more frequently than he had in the past.
I try not to chalk this up to just being the most ill behaved dog in the world, and I will give him the benefit of the doubt and say it is a product of his environment or lack there of.
So stay tuned to find out what lies ahead for us and the wicked wiener.............
C'ya
When looking for a dog we all search high and low for the breed that will satisfy all the requirements of any young couple preparing to begin having children. While we did to the best of our ability, every breeder or pet shop failed to mention the ever so important piece of information, that the dog is impervious to most house training methods. As any new pet owner, we smirk and almost smile when he goes "sissy", or "poops" in the house, just thinking that this is all a part of raising a puppy and he looks so adorable no matter what crass gift he has left.
With that being said, I will now invite you all to hear of the progress, or lack there of, that Charlie has made.
Lets fast forward now to about one year of age. With the hundred stains all over the hallway carpet it was difficult to spot new marking unless they were fresh, within an hour. The only one that was obvious was poop. For such a small dog you wouldn't believe what he can create back there. So barring a few minor incidences, Charlie was what we had considered to be a well trained dog that due to our work schedule, could not be too blame.
That theory would soon be proved to be a farce.
So as I bring you up to speed I want to tell you what a wonderful dog Charlie is. He has not one mean bone in his body and he is always a pleasure to have around. When people are around him he brings joy out in everyone. Picture it, a stout long dog that weighs 14 pounds and stands 3 inches off the ground. Not to mention the fact that he has an obsession with licking and will lick the skin off your face if you gave him the chance.
Moving on to the reason that I impart this story for all to read. Charlie is over a year and a half old and as of late he is regressing on his training. As you may or may not know, Fabi and I bought a house this month and as we pack up everything it is apparent that something is amiss in the apartment. I think the dog can feel it and Cody the cat is definitely showing signs that he noticed as well. I can come to this rational assumption because as I step over and around boxes and other items, I notice new stains that weren't there before we started to pack. And if that was not enough of a blatant clue, as I left for work the other night, I was greeted at the door while putting on my shoes with a stool sample that I could have done without.
In retrospect, I think we would have done a better job with this or the dog himself may have succumb to the training if we were not in the apartment. Now, we have a yard and a fence so he can be left out to roam and do his business for more than 5 minutes, and more frequently than he had in the past.
I try not to chalk this up to just being the most ill behaved dog in the world, and I will give him the benefit of the doubt and say it is a product of his environment or lack there of.
So stay tuned to find out what lies ahead for us and the wicked wiener.............
C'ya
Monday, November 10, 2008
Couch Potato....
This will tickle the interest of any fun loving, lazy, and champion television buff. Whether married, single, divorced, or undecided, all of us television freaks can never get enough of this ancient distraction of life.
With that being said, I will try and divulge as much as I can about my wife's vexation with me and the bright illuminating device that hangs on the wall.
Hi, my name is Alan, I am 30 years old, and I'm a Tube-aholic.
It all began when I was younger and the TVs were bigger than most ovens. They involved the ever so illustrious rabbit ears for reception, tuning knobs that took two hands to turn, and big remote with four buttons on it. We would all gather around it on certain days of the week when shows like cheers and night rider were big. You never got to pick what to watch because of all the rooms in the house, this was the only one that got "cable". As the family would all gather to watch television, I slowly but surely moved my way up the ladder of remote command status.
By the time I was getting into my teens and everyone had their own TVs, I had a laundry list of programs that I watched. Being that I was still in school the programs were limited to what days they were on and at what time they aired. As my schedule freed up over the years, the list of shows grew longer.
I have noticed that no matter where I go and for whatever the occasion, I always manage to sneak in a few minutes of that forbidden visual delicacy.
With the invention and wide spread use of TIVO, I have only seen this obsession grow deeper. Now I feel like I need television to go to sleep, television to wake up, and more television to stay awake. Don't get me wrong, I do have other hobbies that I enjoy but this is the only habitual one.
This is where the wife comes in.
When she comes home I seem to always be on the couch watching, as I describe as, "the last five minutes of a movie!", or "the last 2 seconds of a show I tivo'ed!". Then for the rest of the evening I ask her if she is ready to watch some TV, as we have thirty shows set to TIVO during the week. I have to constantly remind her that the seasons are almost over and we have the entire off season to "hang out". We are working on this together!
So now that I have told you all of my dilemma, you can rest easy now knowing that you are not alone. There are many of us brain cell killing TV junkies out there just waiting for that new exciting program to add to our ever growing list of drool inducing shows!
Til next time......
With that being said, I will try and divulge as much as I can about my wife's vexation with me and the bright illuminating device that hangs on the wall.
Hi, my name is Alan, I am 30 years old, and I'm a Tube-aholic.
It all began when I was younger and the TVs were bigger than most ovens. They involved the ever so illustrious rabbit ears for reception, tuning knobs that took two hands to turn, and big remote with four buttons on it. We would all gather around it on certain days of the week when shows like cheers and night rider were big. You never got to pick what to watch because of all the rooms in the house, this was the only one that got "cable". As the family would all gather to watch television, I slowly but surely moved my way up the ladder of remote command status.
By the time I was getting into my teens and everyone had their own TVs, I had a laundry list of programs that I watched. Being that I was still in school the programs were limited to what days they were on and at what time they aired. As my schedule freed up over the years, the list of shows grew longer.
I have noticed that no matter where I go and for whatever the occasion, I always manage to sneak in a few minutes of that forbidden visual delicacy.
With the invention and wide spread use of TIVO, I have only seen this obsession grow deeper. Now I feel like I need television to go to sleep, television to wake up, and more television to stay awake. Don't get me wrong, I do have other hobbies that I enjoy but this is the only habitual one.
This is where the wife comes in.
When she comes home I seem to always be on the couch watching, as I describe as, "the last five minutes of a movie!", or "the last 2 seconds of a show I tivo'ed!". Then for the rest of the evening I ask her if she is ready to watch some TV, as we have thirty shows set to TIVO during the week. I have to constantly remind her that the seasons are almost over and we have the entire off season to "hang out". We are working on this together!
So now that I have told you all of my dilemma, you can rest easy now knowing that you are not alone. There are many of us brain cell killing TV junkies out there just waiting for that new exciting program to add to our ever growing list of drool inducing shows!
Til next time......
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Midnights
If I have gained one tidbit of knowledge about the midnight shift, it is that sleep deprivation messes with your perception of reality.
With that being said, I will go into a slightly embarrassing, but unfortunately true story of a misinterpretation of a news broadcast. With the excitement of the 2008 election i felt compelled to watch CNN at 8am after just working eight hours overnight. As a registered democrat I found interest in Barack Obama casting his vote while the peering eyes of the camera man were capturing his every move. Keeping in mind that I have been up now for almost an entire twenty four hour period I hear the news man say something about a new optical voting system. In the midst of this newscast I nod off for what could not have been more than a minute or two when the phones rings.
As I answer the phone, the previous notion of an optical vote somehow mutates into ocular voting and the skewed perception begins. With the confidence of an Italian supermodel, I provoke a conversation with my wife about the technological advances of 2008. Whilst in a state of comatose, I divulged my thoughts on the ability to gain a vote by somehow reading the retinas of a person, and this all made sense to me at the time. Without questioning me on this obviously fallacious invention, she did the most understanding thing and got me off the phone so i could resume my trance like state and eventual shut eye.
It is now 4pm and she is waiting for me to get out of bed so we can go and vote. A few minutes pass and I am scrambling around for my stuff so we can leave. In the car she brings up this heinous invention I so boldly spoke about earlier. As the story is retorted to me I can barely hold back the chuckles as I shrivel into my seat like a frightened turtle, or a male organ exposed to the chill of an unheated pool.
This all can be attributed to one thing, sleep deprivation. If anyone has ever worked from midnight til 8am, they can attest to the mind melting that occurs. Things are so distorted from lack of sleep that you start believe things that are obviously not there.
As there is no recourse for me at this point because I was so sure this was really going on, and Fabi got such a kick out of this. I have a suspicion that this story will be in the vault for the occasional reprisal for group humor.
To end this 4:54am rant of mental collapse, DON'T WORK MIDS'.......
With that being said, I will go into a slightly embarrassing, but unfortunately true story of a misinterpretation of a news broadcast. With the excitement of the 2008 election i felt compelled to watch CNN at 8am after just working eight hours overnight. As a registered democrat I found interest in Barack Obama casting his vote while the peering eyes of the camera man were capturing his every move. Keeping in mind that I have been up now for almost an entire twenty four hour period I hear the news man say something about a new optical voting system. In the midst of this newscast I nod off for what could not have been more than a minute or two when the phones rings.
As I answer the phone, the previous notion of an optical vote somehow mutates into ocular voting and the skewed perception begins. With the confidence of an Italian supermodel, I provoke a conversation with my wife about the technological advances of 2008. Whilst in a state of comatose, I divulged my thoughts on the ability to gain a vote by somehow reading the retinas of a person, and this all made sense to me at the time. Without questioning me on this obviously fallacious invention, she did the most understanding thing and got me off the phone so i could resume my trance like state and eventual shut eye.
It is now 4pm and she is waiting for me to get out of bed so we can go and vote. A few minutes pass and I am scrambling around for my stuff so we can leave. In the car she brings up this heinous invention I so boldly spoke about earlier. As the story is retorted to me I can barely hold back the chuckles as I shrivel into my seat like a frightened turtle, or a male organ exposed to the chill of an unheated pool.
This all can be attributed to one thing, sleep deprivation. If anyone has ever worked from midnight til 8am, they can attest to the mind melting that occurs. Things are so distorted from lack of sleep that you start believe things that are obviously not there.
As there is no recourse for me at this point because I was so sure this was really going on, and Fabi got such a kick out of this. I have a suspicion that this story will be in the vault for the occasional reprisal for group humor.
To end this 4:54am rant of mental collapse, DON'T WORK MIDS'.......
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Landlord
While buying a house always seemed like the most exciting time for any newlywed couple, I will impart a story that will soon change your outlook on this fable.
Our one year anniversary had passed and with this came the yearning for our first home. We began to look and with every prospect came the added intoxication of thoughts of a bright future. Sellers were anxious, brokers were pushy, and our minds were made up. We decided it would be three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and enough of yard so that our mini daschund can roam freely.
So the search commenced and a greater situation loomed over us. We were being threatened with eviction because our so called luxury living community had revoked its' dog ownership rules. Our search had just intensified ten fold and we were on what you would call a "mission".
We found what we believed to be the perfect home with the perfect price. The broker was a real asshole and tried to convince us to make a larger bid than we wanted too. While we deliberated the issue we walked outside and noticed the house next door was also for sale, so off we went to take a peek. The asking price was out of our range so we looked around, mouths agape, and left with a pit in our stomachs. Back at the first house, we put our bid in and drove home with a slight feeling of nausea in both of us.
When the phone rang a few days later to inform us that the owners had accepted another bid, we were elated. To make a long story short we went back to the house next door, negotiated, and eventually came to an agreement and the contract was in the works. This shows that you should never settle with something because of the price. We almost bought a home based soley on the price and got very lucky it fell through.
Six weeks passes and our closing is approaching when the phone rings and it is the home owners asking us for our kind hearted help. Their prospective home is not going to be ready for them and with us already planning on closing, they ask to remain in the home til the middle of November. They plead with us that the possibility of being out by November 1st is great. We sign a contract that will give them til the 21st because we have our place til November 28th and figure what is the worst that could happen. On October 15th we closed and are the proud new owners of our first home. Sweet!!!
With that being said, it is November 1st and I am a landlord still, and they have no intention of vacating "my home" until the 15th of the month or so. This is the example of the how not to buy your first home.
Our one year anniversary had passed and with this came the yearning for our first home. We began to look and with every prospect came the added intoxication of thoughts of a bright future. Sellers were anxious, brokers were pushy, and our minds were made up. We decided it would be three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and enough of yard so that our mini daschund can roam freely.
So the search commenced and a greater situation loomed over us. We were being threatened with eviction because our so called luxury living community had revoked its' dog ownership rules. Our search had just intensified ten fold and we were on what you would call a "mission".
We found what we believed to be the perfect home with the perfect price. The broker was a real asshole and tried to convince us to make a larger bid than we wanted too. While we deliberated the issue we walked outside and noticed the house next door was also for sale, so off we went to take a peek. The asking price was out of our range so we looked around, mouths agape, and left with a pit in our stomachs. Back at the first house, we put our bid in and drove home with a slight feeling of nausea in both of us.
When the phone rang a few days later to inform us that the owners had accepted another bid, we were elated. To make a long story short we went back to the house next door, negotiated, and eventually came to an agreement and the contract was in the works. This shows that you should never settle with something because of the price. We almost bought a home based soley on the price and got very lucky it fell through.
Six weeks passes and our closing is approaching when the phone rings and it is the home owners asking us for our kind hearted help. Their prospective home is not going to be ready for them and with us already planning on closing, they ask to remain in the home til the middle of November. They plead with us that the possibility of being out by November 1st is great. We sign a contract that will give them til the 21st because we have our place til November 28th and figure what is the worst that could happen. On October 15th we closed and are the proud new owners of our first home. Sweet!!!
With that being said, it is November 1st and I am a landlord still, and they have no intention of vacating "my home" until the 15th of the month or so. This is the example of the how not to buy your first home.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
I belong in a Seinfeld episode
Just from reading the title, the outer edges of your mouth may have started to curl in anticipation of some quick witted humor or pun. With that in mind, I don't plan on disappointing you at all, in fact if you are as twisted as I am you may down right laugh, or as the young ones these days say LOL....
As you may or may not know, the wife and I bought our first home this month and we are packing up our place to make this as painless as possible. We have noticed that we are typical hoarders in that, we keep anything we have ever come into contact with, even if it is broken. With that being said, I moved on to the spare bedroom where our virtual dumping ground for the unwanted and secondary items have made their final resting place. From a distance things can be seen oozing out from under bed, or poking out from behind the television.
The quest to resurrect cleanliness back to this room has begun and before I know it I was out of floor space.
All of my years of life must have given me great wisdom, because without any rational or even a question, I chose to lean the bed and box spring against the wall. Not only against the wall, but long end up. In retrospect, this gave the bed a greater chance of falling, and when it fell it would fall twice as hard.
With all of this room that I now had to get stuff done you could imagine how the eighty four inch leaning box spring could slip my mind. For what could not have been more than three minutes after I leaned the box spring with such precision against the wall, my greatest fear was about to become reality.
I was in complete and total pack mode. I was on the floor with stacks of newspapers, tape, boxes, and tons of ornamental nick knacks that were destined to become one package. With my mind set on the tedious task of wrapping and packing I must have missed the first twenty seconds of the box springs' journey to my head. Suddenly I could tell something was amiss, when, in the process of looking up I was smashed in the face with a speeding box spring constructed of what seemed like the hardest wood ever. It took me several seconds to utter a noise as too alert Fabi that I was in desperate need of some help.
She heard my whimpering from the other room and came running in to assist her former idol. As the dust settled around the room and I came out from under this beast of a bed item, blood was the final indicator that I had failed.
To conclude this with some dignity, all I can say is to lean them length wise against the wall and never play directly under these unforeseen dangers!!!!!!!
As you may or may not know, the wife and I bought our first home this month and we are packing up our place to make this as painless as possible. We have noticed that we are typical hoarders in that, we keep anything we have ever come into contact with, even if it is broken. With that being said, I moved on to the spare bedroom where our virtual dumping ground for the unwanted and secondary items have made their final resting place. From a distance things can be seen oozing out from under bed, or poking out from behind the television.
The quest to resurrect cleanliness back to this room has begun and before I know it I was out of floor space.
All of my years of life must have given me great wisdom, because without any rational or even a question, I chose to lean the bed and box spring against the wall. Not only against the wall, but long end up. In retrospect, this gave the bed a greater chance of falling, and when it fell it would fall twice as hard.
With all of this room that I now had to get stuff done you could imagine how the eighty four inch leaning box spring could slip my mind. For what could not have been more than three minutes after I leaned the box spring with such precision against the wall, my greatest fear was about to become reality.
I was in complete and total pack mode. I was on the floor with stacks of newspapers, tape, boxes, and tons of ornamental nick knacks that were destined to become one package. With my mind set on the tedious task of wrapping and packing I must have missed the first twenty seconds of the box springs' journey to my head. Suddenly I could tell something was amiss, when, in the process of looking up I was smashed in the face with a speeding box spring constructed of what seemed like the hardest wood ever. It took me several seconds to utter a noise as too alert Fabi that I was in desperate need of some help.
She heard my whimpering from the other room and came running in to assist her former idol. As the dust settled around the room and I came out from under this beast of a bed item, blood was the final indicator that I had failed.
To conclude this with some dignity, all I can say is to lean them length wise against the wall and never play directly under these unforeseen dangers!!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
TCOM
For those who know what TCOM stands for, please tip your cap to Mr. Anonymous. Even though he remains behind the curtain of recognition, he will smirk and grin as he reads the following salute to the brave soldier.
Every few months or so a fresh, untrained, and at times unqualified individual crosses the gateway into the depths of employment. While they are new and pliable, still this is never an easy task to mold them into a star.
Even though the day may start with a smile, this job will eventually subdue most thoughts of rainbows and sunshine. Any of us who may have taken on the duties of "Helper" can attest to the mental and emotional breakdown that follows.
So in concluding this little expression of admiration....
Next time you see this man of secret identity, give him a pat on the back, a high five, or any other type of "PWE" appropriate salutation!!!!
C-ya'
Every few months or so a fresh, untrained, and at times unqualified individual crosses the gateway into the depths of employment. While they are new and pliable, still this is never an easy task to mold them into a star.
Even though the day may start with a smile, this job will eventually subdue most thoughts of rainbows and sunshine. Any of us who may have taken on the duties of "Helper" can attest to the mental and emotional breakdown that follows.
So in concluding this little expression of admiration....
Next time you see this man of secret identity, give him a pat on the back, a high five, or any other type of "PWE" appropriate salutation!!!!
C-ya'
Monday, October 27, 2008
Helping Hand....
Some of you may have noticed that help, at times, can be just as tedious as work. Today for instance I went to my in laws to walk the "Mule" that they call their dog.
Before I get to the point I want to say that I do love Lucy, and if she ever learns to read I will explain this to her. I am relatively confident that it will never come to fruition so... moving on.
As she peed when I entered, I was slightly pleased that half of my job was done without me even stepping foot inside. For anyone who knows this beast you know she is a bit timid and not to be messed with. She will by all means tear you up if she wanted to. Lucky for me she doesn't, so I fed her and prepared for what dismal task lied ahead.
She swallowed what seemed like a trough of food in mere seconds and started pacing around making that noise that says, "Take me out so I can make a BM!"
Well out I went, and off to the drop zone where my worst fears came to light. She whipped and wagged when all of the sudden, her back arched and tail puckered up and there it was.
I am confident that anyone who may have come over and seen this prize work of fecal art would have thought an elephant got away from the circus and stopped by to grace Birchwood with his presence.
The moral is that picking this up is only done for those who do things to help me....
p.s. I LEFT IT!!!!!!!!!!!
Before I get to the point I want to say that I do love Lucy, and if she ever learns to read I will explain this to her. I am relatively confident that it will never come to fruition so... moving on.
As she peed when I entered, I was slightly pleased that half of my job was done without me even stepping foot inside. For anyone who knows this beast you know she is a bit timid and not to be messed with. She will by all means tear you up if she wanted to. Lucky for me she doesn't, so I fed her and prepared for what dismal task lied ahead.
She swallowed what seemed like a trough of food in mere seconds and started pacing around making that noise that says, "Take me out so I can make a BM!"
Well out I went, and off to the drop zone where my worst fears came to light. She whipped and wagged when all of the sudden, her back arched and tail puckered up and there it was.
I am confident that anyone who may have come over and seen this prize work of fecal art would have thought an elephant got away from the circus and stopped by to grace Birchwood with his presence.
The moral is that picking this up is only done for those who do things to help me....
p.s. I LEFT IT!!!!!!!!!!!
Current Events
A new day is upon us and as I settle in for an eight hour shift at my place of employment I peruse the news headlines for the morning and nothing amazes me. It seems to be blurbs like, "Overseas market carnage!", "Record fuel price drop!", "U.S. prepares for more losses!", and so on, clog our news fronts in an awkward attempt to educate the people of this country as to what is going on.
We are experiencing one of the toughest economic times since the great depression. Pardon me if i embellish slightly but lets not kid each other, this is a trouncing of massive proportions. Our 401ks are cut in half, pension funds are depleting, stock accounts are making the panicked transition to cash and or money markets. The only safety net the elders have is the stocks that have managed to remain trading and paying a high dividend, and that, in this day in age is not safe. While we all wake up to down futures, crashing overseas exchanges, the only thing to do is to ignore what you don't have to touch in the next ten years. To end this rant on financial despair, I repeat, evade the current cataclysmic events and think of sunshine in Paris.
For several months, while this collapse of our global economic future approached, oil was on an upward accession. Prices rose from a normal level of around sixty dollars a barrel, to an astounding one hundred and fifty dollars a barrel. This sent fuel prices through the roof. With the looming oil and fuel prices surging past levels that we ever imagined to be possible, life as we knew it had changed. Road trips did not exist, travel plans in every form where decreased, gallivanting for general amusement had ceased. Then, as if to somewhat tickle our innards a little, as the market took a nose dive so did oil prices. So now that we have no money in the bank, we would have been able to afford gas, "Sweet Deal!!!". The cycle continued and the market drew lower, oil reached a reasonable level, and recession has set in. After OPEC had been on its high horse for several months and the Iranian leader and other Saudi Royals had licked their chops, they decided that something needed to be done to screw the American people some more.
Folks like Chavez and Ahmadinejad treat OPEC like a legal price fixing game. If the price drops due to over production and thus leading to declining demand, they simply lower production rates in an attempt to drive prices higher. What they don't understand is the higher the prices the less we use so in essence they cant squeeze any more out of us in this economic atmosphere.
Now that I have wound my self up like a top, I need to end this and decide who to blame for the current economic turmoil just like everyone on wall street and on capital hill is trying to do at this very moment.
Till next time
We are experiencing one of the toughest economic times since the great depression. Pardon me if i embellish slightly but lets not kid each other, this is a trouncing of massive proportions. Our 401ks are cut in half, pension funds are depleting, stock accounts are making the panicked transition to cash and or money markets. The only safety net the elders have is the stocks that have managed to remain trading and paying a high dividend, and that, in this day in age is not safe. While we all wake up to down futures, crashing overseas exchanges, the only thing to do is to ignore what you don't have to touch in the next ten years. To end this rant on financial despair, I repeat, evade the current cataclysmic events and think of sunshine in Paris.
For several months, while this collapse of our global economic future approached, oil was on an upward accession. Prices rose from a normal level of around sixty dollars a barrel, to an astounding one hundred and fifty dollars a barrel. This sent fuel prices through the roof. With the looming oil and fuel prices surging past levels that we ever imagined to be possible, life as we knew it had changed. Road trips did not exist, travel plans in every form where decreased, gallivanting for general amusement had ceased. Then, as if to somewhat tickle our innards a little, as the market took a nose dive so did oil prices. So now that we have no money in the bank, we would have been able to afford gas, "Sweet Deal!!!". The cycle continued and the market drew lower, oil reached a reasonable level, and recession has set in. After OPEC had been on its high horse for several months and the Iranian leader and other Saudi Royals had licked their chops, they decided that something needed to be done to screw the American people some more.
Folks like Chavez and Ahmadinejad treat OPEC like a legal price fixing game. If the price drops due to over production and thus leading to declining demand, they simply lower production rates in an attempt to drive prices higher. What they don't understand is the higher the prices the less we use so in essence they cant squeeze any more out of us in this economic atmosphere.
Now that I have wound my self up like a top, I need to end this and decide who to blame for the current economic turmoil just like everyone on wall street and on capital hill is trying to do at this very moment.
Till next time
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Hint.....
Well here i am again to bore you with things that annoy me like country music.
While working, at the store, or pumping gas at what seems like the nightclub of gas stations, people seem to want to talk to me. I am not just talking about a "Hey, nice weather were having!", or "Can you believe these gas prices?". I am talking about a full blown conversation with the entire calamity of a Q&A session to follow the initial intro, "Do you come here often?".
Allow me to interject with a slight disclaimer to my wife, in laws, and parents alike, that I am not a big fan of this and ...... Wait a tick! What am I doing? I think we get where I was going with that!
Work is another place where, with the exception of the people who know who they are, everyone starts to talk to me and when the conversation should take a hiatus it does not. Take this morning for example. I was minding my own business when a conversation ensued. When I deemed the discourse to be over, I spun my chair around, answered a few flights, and went back to my mindless task of surfing the web. "Can you believe what happened to that girl on the news?" I hear form beyond the carefully placed partition that separates us working folk. I pressed on with my clicking around the internet assuming that by me turning around earlier, I had given the proper notice that I would no longer be a part of the current dialogue. "I just don't see how they don't catch these people! Hey Al! Have you seen this?", emanates from the other side of that worthless partition. As I peer around the corner, my disgust turns to a smile as I transform into a fake partner in the conversation that I already excused myself from. We exchanged a few one liners, quips, questions, and answers when flights started calling me. To my surprise and delectation, when I was finished dishing off my traffic to the unsuspecting people in the room, she was gone and the silent web surfing resumed.
When we are all involved in a conversation and reached that pinnacle of interest and want to graciously exit the verbal interaction, a simple nod or a sigh should do it. The people on the other end of this tug of rope should just take a hint already and not educe an idiomatic exchange of pointless dribble...
Hint Hint....
With that being said, I have some new web addresses to stare at in amusement.....
While working, at the store, or pumping gas at what seems like the nightclub of gas stations, people seem to want to talk to me. I am not just talking about a "Hey, nice weather were having!", or "Can you believe these gas prices?". I am talking about a full blown conversation with the entire calamity of a Q&A session to follow the initial intro, "Do you come here often?".
Allow me to interject with a slight disclaimer to my wife, in laws, and parents alike, that I am not a big fan of this and ...... Wait a tick! What am I doing? I think we get where I was going with that!
Work is another place where, with the exception of the people who know who they are, everyone starts to talk to me and when the conversation should take a hiatus it does not. Take this morning for example. I was minding my own business when a conversation ensued. When I deemed the discourse to be over, I spun my chair around, answered a few flights, and went back to my mindless task of surfing the web. "Can you believe what happened to that girl on the news?" I hear form beyond the carefully placed partition that separates us working folk. I pressed on with my clicking around the internet assuming that by me turning around earlier, I had given the proper notice that I would no longer be a part of the current dialogue. "I just don't see how they don't catch these people! Hey Al! Have you seen this?", emanates from the other side of that worthless partition. As I peer around the corner, my disgust turns to a smile as I transform into a fake partner in the conversation that I already excused myself from. We exchanged a few one liners, quips, questions, and answers when flights started calling me. To my surprise and delectation, when I was finished dishing off my traffic to the unsuspecting people in the room, she was gone and the silent web surfing resumed.
When we are all involved in a conversation and reached that pinnacle of interest and want to graciously exit the verbal interaction, a simple nod or a sigh should do it. The people on the other end of this tug of rope should just take a hint already and not educe an idiomatic exchange of pointless dribble...
Hint Hint....
With that being said, I have some new web addresses to stare at in amusement.....
Commute
When we all searched desperately for the career that would inevitably take over our future years, we could have chose to leave NY, but none of us did! With that being said, I will take a look at the seven minute ride that plagues me almost each and everyday of the week.
You would think that at certain times of the day, like early AM, people on the road would be somewhat reserved in their over dramatic and heedless driving style. I can attest that even with my minor commute this is not the case. New Yorkers, as I see it, are inbreed with a rage that mostly comes to the surface when they start the engine to the vehicle that will soon morph into a "rage cage". Whether you drive on the expressway, parkways, or just local streets you will be faced with the people that think they always have the right away even if they don't. This state is the only place where a simple lane change can be compared to a medieval dual at dusk. Drivers contemplate if they have enough room to get ahead of you before they look into whether or not they have enough room to let you in. The battle for a car length seems to outweigh the conceivability of an accident.
As I restate the mere fact that I have a short commute and I am bothered by the devilish ways in which people drive, I will unearth the reality of a long commute.
Lets take my wife for instance. She has around a thirty minute drive through the sewers that us long islanders call roads. From the first entry way to the expressway there are horns honking and the quest for that car length that will determine one mans tardiness begins. From there we go to the five minutes of a decent cruise speed until the slow expansion of the sea of tail lights engulfs her car in the flood of red and her speed reaches ZERO. As the flood of red recedes and the speed picks up, the anger among the drivers is enraged and lane changes are the new enemy. She picks a lane and the nascar enthusiasts start zooming around her one at a time. When the next slow down approached, all the race car hopefuls are now even with, if not behind, where she comes to a stop. All of this just proves that driving like an ass gets you no where.
As the dust clears and she reaches exit 53, she exits like everyone else and picks her side street of choice. Now the creepy car behind her at a green light is just shy of revving the engine a quarter of an inch off the bumper of her car in anticipation of a green light. This is all too reminiscent of the start of a drag race at the strip with the tower of lights that signal its "go time". When the light changes green a mental reaction is triggered where if he can not immediately go forward, he beeps his horn unmercifully.
With this being said I can surmise this area with one statement, "New York drivers are in a constant state of rage".
So the next time you get in your car and venture out into the depths of hell on our roads, just relax in hopes that they will one day do the same. Remember that if the one car length is the reason you are late in the morning, you need to either leave earlier or get a closer job.
You would think that at certain times of the day, like early AM, people on the road would be somewhat reserved in their over dramatic and heedless driving style. I can attest that even with my minor commute this is not the case. New Yorkers, as I see it, are inbreed with a rage that mostly comes to the surface when they start the engine to the vehicle that will soon morph into a "rage cage". Whether you drive on the expressway, parkways, or just local streets you will be faced with the people that think they always have the right away even if they don't. This state is the only place where a simple lane change can be compared to a medieval dual at dusk. Drivers contemplate if they have enough room to get ahead of you before they look into whether or not they have enough room to let you in. The battle for a car length seems to outweigh the conceivability of an accident.
As I restate the mere fact that I have a short commute and I am bothered by the devilish ways in which people drive, I will unearth the reality of a long commute.
Lets take my wife for instance. She has around a thirty minute drive through the sewers that us long islanders call roads. From the first entry way to the expressway there are horns honking and the quest for that car length that will determine one mans tardiness begins. From there we go to the five minutes of a decent cruise speed until the slow expansion of the sea of tail lights engulfs her car in the flood of red and her speed reaches ZERO. As the flood of red recedes and the speed picks up, the anger among the drivers is enraged and lane changes are the new enemy. She picks a lane and the nascar enthusiasts start zooming around her one at a time. When the next slow down approached, all the race car hopefuls are now even with, if not behind, where she comes to a stop. All of this just proves that driving like an ass gets you no where.
As the dust clears and she reaches exit 53, she exits like everyone else and picks her side street of choice. Now the creepy car behind her at a green light is just shy of revving the engine a quarter of an inch off the bumper of her car in anticipation of a green light. This is all too reminiscent of the start of a drag race at the strip with the tower of lights that signal its "go time". When the light changes green a mental reaction is triggered where if he can not immediately go forward, he beeps his horn unmercifully.
With this being said I can surmise this area with one statement, "New York drivers are in a constant state of rage".
So the next time you get in your car and venture out into the depths of hell on our roads, just relax in hopes that they will one day do the same. Remember that if the one car length is the reason you are late in the morning, you need to either leave earlier or get a closer job.
Simplicity
Well here it goes; The first of what may be many blogs of pointless thoughts that rack my brain and have no room to fester anymore.
I spoke to an old friend today and she shed light on a topic that has bothered me for some time. She told me she is the one in the crowd with the 8 year old cell phone, and she has no intentions of fixing what "aint" broken.
This is where my mind wanders to a simple time not long ago:
Phones used to be 29.99 a month for a plan that included 20 minutes of talk time and "free voicemail" and "free caller ID"
no texts... no ringtones.. no wall paper.. no extended memory space... no google earth.. no unlimited internet.. and navigation..
I think you get the point.
We used phones for emergency calls and the occasional cheeseball attempt to look cool. Which by the way, 50 percent of the time, worked all the time. Lines at the store were safe, nights at the movies uninterupted, car rides quiet.
Now in 2008
Plans are 109.99 and you get 10000000 minutes, 29.99 for texts, 24.99 for special rings, 55.99 for unlimited internet and gps, 1.00 per wallpaper. Again, you get the point...
Now when the wife is at the store on the phone none of my personal life is safe. The guy on line ahead of her knows that the dog pooped in the house and I did not clean it. The poor old lady trying to buy bread knows that after the summer we will be trying to have a baby. The young couple at the deli counter with their child has to come back because she gets into the "funny thing that happened in bed last night" and they dont want to spoil his innocence..
Well all of this just brings me back mentally to a better, more simple way of life that was a lot less invasive.... HUGE SIGH!!!!
Until next time!!!
I spoke to an old friend today and she shed light on a topic that has bothered me for some time. She told me she is the one in the crowd with the 8 year old cell phone, and she has no intentions of fixing what "aint" broken.
This is where my mind wanders to a simple time not long ago:
Phones used to be 29.99 a month for a plan that included 20 minutes of talk time and "free voicemail" and "free caller ID"
no texts... no ringtones.. no wall paper.. no extended memory space... no google earth.. no unlimited internet.. and navigation..
I think you get the point.
We used phones for emergency calls and the occasional cheeseball attempt to look cool. Which by the way, 50 percent of the time, worked all the time. Lines at the store were safe, nights at the movies uninterupted, car rides quiet.
Now in 2008
Plans are 109.99 and you get 10000000 minutes, 29.99 for texts, 24.99 for special rings, 55.99 for unlimited internet and gps, 1.00 per wallpaper. Again, you get the point...
Now when the wife is at the store on the phone none of my personal life is safe. The guy on line ahead of her knows that the dog pooped in the house and I did not clean it. The poor old lady trying to buy bread knows that after the summer we will be trying to have a baby. The young couple at the deli counter with their child has to come back because she gets into the "funny thing that happened in bed last night" and they dont want to spoil his innocence..
Well all of this just brings me back mentally to a better, more simple way of life that was a lot less invasive.... HUGE SIGH!!!!
Until next time!!!
In Laws
This is another one of those topics that are often thought about and discussed "behind closed doors", but never out in the open.
As I delve into a issue that is often considered to be taboo, I want all who may see this to not be offended in any way. These are mere thoughts and occurences from many who have been graced with another set of parents!
I will start with how many of us married folk always invisioned the thought of more family to be a non issue, or just an added bonus. This is where the first misconception was, and by that I mean dead wrong. If you thought you had to impress your wife to get her to fall in love, you are right... If you thought that was it, WRONG!!! From the planning of the wedding to years to come, your mother-inlaw is the new target of kissing ass. A happy mother in law is a happy wife.
For the men, you must remember that a mother and daughter have this bond that you will never understand. The thing they call shy does not exist in this bond. If you have any hangups about public humiliation then leave the room when these two start to touch an area that seems like it could be private. For instance, if you have a sex life, this will come up. If she thinks she may be pregnant, there will be detailed discussion on how you did it, what kind of accident, how often you "do it", and as any concerned parent would ask what type of protection do you use. To avoid all these get a stomache ache or all of the sudden think the dog needs to go out.
I have heard stories of people that have lived with inlaws or had inlaws live with them and what I have ascertained is that this is marrital suicide. I have not had this come up and now we just bought a home so I dont have to, AHHHHH...
All you need to remember is that if you thought having one set of parents was a chore, then dont get married. You must do everything you did to impress your parents all over over again in 10 times less time...
Love to all the inlaws out there... Jan and Dick squared included..
As I delve into a issue that is often considered to be taboo, I want all who may see this to not be offended in any way. These are mere thoughts and occurences from many who have been graced with another set of parents!
I will start with how many of us married folk always invisioned the thought of more family to be a non issue, or just an added bonus. This is where the first misconception was, and by that I mean dead wrong. If you thought you had to impress your wife to get her to fall in love, you are right... If you thought that was it, WRONG!!! From the planning of the wedding to years to come, your mother-inlaw is the new target of kissing ass. A happy mother in law is a happy wife.
For the men, you must remember that a mother and daughter have this bond that you will never understand. The thing they call shy does not exist in this bond. If you have any hangups about public humiliation then leave the room when these two start to touch an area that seems like it could be private. For instance, if you have a sex life, this will come up. If she thinks she may be pregnant, there will be detailed discussion on how you did it, what kind of accident, how often you "do it", and as any concerned parent would ask what type of protection do you use. To avoid all these get a stomache ache or all of the sudden think the dog needs to go out.
I have heard stories of people that have lived with inlaws or had inlaws live with them and what I have ascertained is that this is marrital suicide. I have not had this come up and now we just bought a home so I dont have to, AHHHHH...
All you need to remember is that if you thought having one set of parents was a chore, then dont get married. You must do everything you did to impress your parents all over over again in 10 times less time...
Love to all the inlaws out there... Jan and Dick squared included..
Local Pizza Shop
As Fabienne and I pondered the choices of food to have for dinner, we reverted to the not so original choice of local italian fare. While we waited for our dear friend Chris we gazed over the ever so familiar menu and tried to be creative in our ordering when reality set in, and we decided pizza would do it.
Chris showed up and off we went, a trip past the new home that we desperately want to move into already and then off to pizza shop. Long Island has to be the only place where every street corner plaza or strip mall has a pizza place, and they all have such jazzy names like; "Joes Pizza", "Italy's Finest" (forgetting the fact that this is NY not Italy), "Vinny's Pizza". I am not including the oh so authentic pizza made by dominoes or papa johns with owners like Sayeed and Rajid.
With the big glass window and green, red, and white sign atop this castle of flat bread that is tossed in the air by the typical italian Islander with the pen behind his ear lets us all know we have arrived. So we park the car, bundle up, and shuffle in with our stomaches screaming from what seemed like the longest 6 minute ride ever.
As we crossed the threshold of the fine eatery the smell of fresh pizza and the greasy handlers of this ancient baked art drownses our nasal passages. The glass counter glowed with specialty slices and other types of odd italian works of art. Pin wheels freshly rolled 27 hours ago, the salad slice with all the wilted lettuce atop a soggy triangle of dough, all grab our attention. The typical line drapes themselves over the counter like an art auction screaming the order to the guy with the pad of paper and pen in hand, all the while there is the guy with his pen tucked so neatly behind his left ear throwing wet dough up and spinning it till perfectly round off in the distance. When it was our turn we had this all figured out yet it still took a few minutes to get it right. We ordered and scooted to the side so the rest of cattle seeking out the same italian classic could scream their order over the counter and the cycle continues...
While we wait I notice another treat, Zeppolies, unbeknownst to either one of us that the guy behind the counter would say the closest thing to "pizza guy jargon".
"4 Zeps Guy!!!"
Holding back laughter and a slight eagerness to ask him to repeat it, I said that will do it. So I paid and off we went to enjoy our fresh slice of Italy....
Chris showed up and off we went, a trip past the new home that we desperately want to move into already and then off to pizza shop. Long Island has to be the only place where every street corner plaza or strip mall has a pizza place, and they all have such jazzy names like; "Joes Pizza", "Italy's Finest" (forgetting the fact that this is NY not Italy), "Vinny's Pizza". I am not including the oh so authentic pizza made by dominoes or papa johns with owners like Sayeed and Rajid.
With the big glass window and green, red, and white sign atop this castle of flat bread that is tossed in the air by the typical italian Islander with the pen behind his ear lets us all know we have arrived. So we park the car, bundle up, and shuffle in with our stomaches screaming from what seemed like the longest 6 minute ride ever.
As we crossed the threshold of the fine eatery the smell of fresh pizza and the greasy handlers of this ancient baked art drownses our nasal passages. The glass counter glowed with specialty slices and other types of odd italian works of art. Pin wheels freshly rolled 27 hours ago, the salad slice with all the wilted lettuce atop a soggy triangle of dough, all grab our attention. The typical line drapes themselves over the counter like an art auction screaming the order to the guy with the pad of paper and pen in hand, all the while there is the guy with his pen tucked so neatly behind his left ear throwing wet dough up and spinning it till perfectly round off in the distance. When it was our turn we had this all figured out yet it still took a few minutes to get it right. We ordered and scooted to the side so the rest of cattle seeking out the same italian classic could scream their order over the counter and the cycle continues...
While we wait I notice another treat, Zeppolies, unbeknownst to either one of us that the guy behind the counter would say the closest thing to "pizza guy jargon".
"4 Zeps Guy!!!"
Holding back laughter and a slight eagerness to ask him to repeat it, I said that will do it. So I paid and off we went to enjoy our fresh slice of Italy....
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