Sunday, July 31, 2005

The Miracle of Bookstar

This is a long one.

There's an unwritten law in my house. Never under any circumstance am I allowed to touch my wife's romance novels.

So I spilled a protein shake on my wife's romance novel yesterday.

The damn thing was on the dining room table, opened up face down to save her page while she was at the gym.

My first reaction was to run to the sink with the book and wash it off and then throw it in the dryer with beach towels.

It's a fine line between acting like an idiot and trying to get your ass out of trouble.

(I was in a panic, I wasn't thinking straight, cut me some slack here.)

Then my Italian male senses kicked in.

Bookstar was five minutes away. She wouldn't be back from the gym for at least another 45 minutes.

I cleaned up the mess and dumped the book in the "outside" trash to cover the evidence.

I made it to Bookstar in just under five minutes.

I run up to the Napoleon Dynamite clone at the information desk and lay out my dilemma.

"Look sport I'm in a hurry I need to find this book I think it has something to do with mining or something like that. It was a blue book; I think someone was fishing on the cover. It had big white letters on the front. My mind was blank I couldn't remember the name of the damn book."

"Do you know the author's name?"

"CRAP!!! Um.... I think it was Remington Steele."

"You mean Danielle Steele?"

He points me to a section, "over there."

I'm dead.

How many books did this broad write????

I'm staring at row after row of books by Danielle Steele.

I also have less than 30 minutes.

There are three or four books that could be the one so I grab them all. In my mind when I get home I'll fish the original out of the trash and make the match.

I run back to check out and there's a line.

The line is not moving.

There's one person working.

It's Napoleon.

There are five of us in line.

There's a fat broad at the counter berating Napoleon about her son's summer book reading list and how Bookstar sucked for not having any more copies of whatever crap the little brat was supposed to read.

She wouldn't let it go.

I have a thing about people picking on the little guy.

I look at Napoleon; I'm sure he ended up working at Bookstar because he wasn't rude enough to work at Starbucks and doesn't have enough body odor, tattoos and piercings to work at Tower Records.

He reminded me of this kid named Tommy I went to elementary school with that spent most of his time eating paste.

Tommy is now a superior court judge.

The clock is ticking.

What was needed now was a man of action.

I spy something on the counter.

Godiva Chocolates. (It makes sense. How can you read some of this drivel without a sugar high to keep you awake?)

"Excuse me. I'd like to buy this lady a chocolate candy bar. I understand they may help her get through that time of the month."

It got so quiet you could hear a fish fart.

Napoleon had this look of horror on his face.

The woman grabs the candy bar out of my hand. Tells me to go @#$% myself, and storms off.

The line breaks into applause!!!

I've got less than 20 minutes.

I tell everyone in line my problem and because of my heroics the line lets me take cuts to the front.

I pay Napoleon and head for the door when I notice something.

A book of card tricks on sale for nine dollars!!! And it comes with two packs of cards!!!

I've always wanted a book on card tricks.

So I'm back at the end of the line.

Everyone thinks I'm nuts now.

Then I remembered something my father taught me.

I peel off a twenty and cut to the front yelling to Napoleon that I'm getting this book of card tricks and he can keep the change.

I head out the door and the security thingy goes off.

I stop dead in my tracks.

I turn towards the line and Napoleon and they are all gesturing to me to GO GO GO!!!

Napoleon yells, "You've still got time!!!"

As I turned the corner to our house I spied my wife's car in my rear view mirror.

It was going to be close.

I went in through the garage grabbing the trash bag with her book out of the can on the way in.

The name of her book?


How appropriate.

Miracle was one of the books I had grabbed.

I opened the book up and placed it face down on the dining room table, threw the whole Bookstar bag into the trash bag and headed out to "dump" the trash just as she pulled in.

"Hi babe. How was your workout?"

"Why are you out of breath?"

"Um... I was running down the stairs."

"Running "down" the stairs?"

"To dump the trash."

"Uhuh... I need to take a shower."

She goes upstairs to take her shower and I fish out my book of card tricks from the trash bag and hide the rest of the evidence.

Ohhhh..... I'm good. I am sooooooo good.

I crash on the couch and turn on the TV.

She comes down stairs and heads for the dining room table.

As I sit smugly on my couch drinking my diet ice tea reveling in my victory when I hear the following:


Victory over....

Time for the agony of defeat.

"What did you say babe?" (Always fake deafness when confronted)

"Someone touched my book. It's not on the page I was reading when I left."

"Wow. That's weird babe. Well you know I don't read that stuff." (Technically none of my responses are actually a lie.)

"You knocked my book off the table didn't you?"

"I may have. I don't remember knocking your book off the table. I may have done it when I was straightening up the house without being asked."

I'm good. I'm sooooooooo good.

My wife is now standing on front of me holding "Miracle" in her hands.

It was at this moment that I noticed the Bookstar 10% off sticker on the cover of the book.

Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace.....

"You look pretty."

"Have I told you today that I love you?"

"I like that color on you."

"It brings out the color of your eyes."

"You really are in great shape babe."

"How's your mom? We should go visit her."

Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace.....

"It brings out the color of my EYES?"


"It's white."


"White brings out the color of my eyes?"

"What? It brings out the color of your eyes to me. I can't let white bring out the color of your eyes?"

Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace....

"What did you do to my book?"

Damn she's good.

So I told her the whole story. Everything. Even the chocolate bar thing.

She just shakes her head and has this look.

And then she laughed.

I got her to laugh.

Men if you can get them to laugh, no matter how stupid you are, they will let you live.

It was a "Miracle."

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Show Me Crane Technique Dad

Last night I became a Sensei. What I have hoped and dreamed for all my life happened. My oldest son came to me for my wisdom, looking to be enlightened.

"Dad, I don't get it. I come home from work after a fifteen hour day, say hi to my wife and crash on the couch for a few minutes just to unwind. She sits across from me not saying anything so immediately I know something is wrong. (He's learning already.)

I make the mistake of asking her, "What's wrong? She says predictably, "nothing." Now I know I'm really in trouble. If I press the issue I'll piss her off for pressing the issue, if I ignore her I'm dead because I'm not communicating. (He is wise beyond his years.)

Finally she relents and says, "You never want to do anything." So I say, "What do I not want to do?" She says, "Anything." So I say, "Give me an example." She says, "Like go to a coffee shop and just hang out and read a book." So I say, "You don't even drink coffee." She says, "I drink tea." I say, "I can make you tea right here." She says, "It's not the same atmosphere as a coffee shop." So I say, "Okay let's go to a coffee shop." She says, "You're only saying that to make me happy. You don't really want to go to a coffee shop." So I say, "I don't ever want to go to a coffee shop. I would only go to a coffee shop to make you happy. Isn't that the point?"

I looked at my son, who now had this lost look on his face, and I remembered when he was a boy and scratched his first Lotto ticket and came up empty. I knew that look.

"Grasshopper, show me sand the floor."

"What dad?"

"Show me, paint the fence."

"Dad this isn't funny."

"Show me, Wax on! Wax off!"

"Dad, you're not making any sense."


"Now grasshopper you are beginning to see the light."

"But dad I'm trying to make her happy."

"There is no try, only do."

"Do WHAT???"

"Sweep the leg?"

"Sweep the leg? You want me to trip her? Are you nuts?"

"Um... Fear has no place in this Dojo."

"I'm afraid and confused every damn day dad. Give me a little real advice please."

"STRIKE FIRST. STRIKE HARD. NO MERCY SIR. Wait... that's what women do, let me think."

"Dad knock it off I'm trying to learn how to make my wife happy."

"First learn stand, then learn fly. Nature rule, son, not mine."

"You're a big help dad. Is this how you deal with mom?"

A moment of serenity now filled the room and I could swear I smelled Lotus blossoms. I saw by the look on my sons face that he had seen the light. He was one with the hopelessness that is the married man. He now knew that he would never know and that all was right with the world.

"You know dad, you're not Japanese."

"Yeah I know son. You good?"

"Yeah I got it."

"We should have a Karate Kid marathon."

"Sure dad, as long as we don't have to watch the one with the chick."

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love, Get a Hip Replacement

There are times where we men do things, or agree to things, just to make our women happy. What this actually means is... we want to have sex.

Most women want that moment of raw passion to happen out of the clear blue sky with no rhyme or reason.

The few that don't dance around a pole naked for a living.

They don't want us to ask for lovin. Women want spontaneity.

So men, that leaves us with the problem of "planning" spontaneity, which brings us back to my first paragraph and explains why I agreed to go see the Commodores and KC and The Sunshine Band last night.

In my mind a night of romantic Commodores songs and KC and the Sunshine Band would mean we'd do little dance, make a little love and get down tonight.

Oh Contraire...

We went to this "concert" at Harrah's Rincon Casino, "just 20 minutes north of Escondido", which translates to the middle of the desert an hour and a half from San Diego.

Their new "open air" theater was a stage set up in the parking lot of the casino surrounded by folding chairs and bleachers.

It was $60 a ticket.

It was so hot they were passing out fans to us as we sat down.

The soles of my shoes actually melted on the asphalt.

We're talking hot. But that was okay because we could buy water, little tiny eight ounce bottles of water, warm water.

Oh I felt quenched.

We had great seats though. Seven rows from the front, dead center. The concert started and no one sat in front of us...yet.

The Commodores, who are now obviously collecting Social Security, lead off with their rendition of.....

I have no idea. Why? Because the feedback was so bad from the bass player who thought he was playing for Black Sabbath that all you heard was what sounded like the roar of a jet airplane your face.

I'm looking around like, hello???? Am I the only one hearing this? And I notice that everyone but me has their fingers in their ears.

30 minutes later they work the sound issue out but at this point I don't care because I am now deaf.

It was at this time that a man the size of a Sumo wrestler and his friends find their seats.

In front of us.

He sits down in front of my wife. She's 4'10".

I don't care where we go, a movie, a show, a ballgame. Someone huge is going to sit down in front of my wife. Every damn time.

I always offer to change seats with her but by this time the damage is done. My odds are slipping folks. This fat @#$% is killing my spontaneous moment.

The Commodores finish with a tribute to Marvin Gaye but it could have been a tribute to Marvin Hamlish and no one would have known the difference.

Maybe someone should point out to the Commodores that there's a reason they are "opening" for KC and the Sunshine Band.

During the twenty-minute intermission we took a potty break. I'm a guy, I have no problem with "Porto-potties" my wife on the other hand is not a happy camper.

My planned spontaneity moment is not looking good at this point. But hey I've still got KC and the Sunshine Band as the ace up my sleeve.

When KC came out to start the second half of the show the crowd went wild. It was at this time that I noticed that the entire audience was filled with Vietnam veterans who weren't homeless.

You hardly ever see those.

One thousand fifty year old plus white people in one place.

Trying to shake their booty.

Booties that shouldn't be shaken.

Someone could lose an eye.

There needs to be a law.


KC is now fifty-four years old. He's got a beer belly and, well, let's just call it plenty of booty.

He should change the groups name to "KFC" and the Sunshine Band.

It was sad it really was. KC's now arthritic hips don't move the way they used to. This night was deteriorating rapidly.

I was ready to concede defeat when the Sunshine Band dancers hit the stage.

Oh my.....

These two girls were smoking hot!!!

There wasn't a man in the place watching KC's feeble attempts to move. All eyes were fixed on these two angels of lust. This one black goddess, wearing hotpants and a bikini top, does this move where her left leg shoots straight up and her right leg is planted on the ground. She was doing the splits standing straight up!!!

I don't know what came over me but I yelled, "Yes baby, let me be your Mandingo warrior!!!"

Huge mistake.

I felt the left hook from my wife just under my rib cage. Yes she's 4'10" but she teaches women's boxing.

As the air forced it's way out of my lungs my right arm shot up into the air. The idiots around us must of thought I was doing my best Tony Manero Saturday Night Fever impression because they all shot their arms up. Even the Sumo wrestler joined in.

My wife has the now familiar "no chance" look on her face.

All I could think of was to cool her off with my Harrah's Rincon Casino official concert fan.

When the concert ended we didn't talk much.

Her feet were swollen from the heat of the asphalt.

Freeway construction crews only had one lane open on the way home.

It took two and a half hours.

We got home just in time for fake porn on Cinemax.

We have a very comfortable couch.

I just love spontaneity.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

The Wonders of the Pharoahs, Breasts and Chocolate

As you may have surmised from my previous post I went to Los Angeles with some friends on Saturday to see the King Tut exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

Here's a quick history lesson. King Tut ruled Egypt when he was nine years old. I've known nine-year-old children. I've had two of them.

When my sons were nine one of them used our stapler as a hammer to build a fort, the other made a Samurai sword out of the vacuum cleaner attachments.

This is not necessarily the best age to rule an empire.

We took the train up from San Diego to LA and then had a limousine take us to the museum.

No I am not an elitist snob that needs to be driven around LA in a limousine. I rent a chauffer driven limousine every time I go to LA for medical reasons. I don't want to kill or maim someone in LA traffic, because LA traffic would turn me into a freeway shooter.

Before I continue with this you might want to put some Egyptian music on. If you don't have any Egyptian music just tune your TV to the History or Discovery Channels. No luck there then sing the Steve Martin favorite, "King Tut".

Don't be annoying; sing it in your head.

The King Tut exhibit called, "Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharoahs" is incredible.

I had purchased VIP tickets to the exhibit and thank God I did. There was a Disneyland style line of peasants waiting in general admission dressed in their Wal-Mart summer active wear sweating their asses off.

There were hundreds of these people in line and we walked right in. Now I know how the Romanoff's must have felt just before the Russian revolution.

It feels real good.

Security there is similar to Amtrak security. There's one guy yelling at the women to open their purses so he can check for illegal contraband that might be smuggled in to the exhibit. I'm not sure what they were looking for but I swear the woman in front of me had the head of a baby in her purse.

They shuttle our group like cattle to a dark room. I think they pumped in the smell of ancient Egyptians as well.

A screen appears above us and we see a short film narrated by Omar Sharif and the head of the Egyptian Antiquities Supreme Holy Council, Dr. Obi Wan Kanobi (something like that) giving you a brief history of Egypt and the Pharoahs and of course, King Tutankhamun.

The doors open and our journey began with our viewing of some of the most beautiful pieces of ancient Egyptian artifacts you will ever hope to see.

You hope to see them once you fight your way through the thousands of people they have now wedged into the room.

(Turn down the sound now so the music is just in the background. Do that in your head too.)

We went from room to room, each room filled with display cases with items more incredible than the previous room. Each room also more packed with people than the previous room as well. We were sardines.

I'm not proud but I did give a forearm shiver to an old woman who wouldn't move from the display of the Chair of Sitamun.

The intensity was building as we reached the room with King Tut's golden-jeweled dagger.

Here we saw the most magnificent breasts I have ever seen on a woman in my life. She was standing on the other side of the glass display case so I think that may have magnified them.

It dawned on me at that moment that even in the midst of all this ancient wonder, we men will still find the time to identify and rate every woman in the place.

It dawned on me....... I didn't say it made me stop doing it.

When we left this room we were greeted with a video theorizing about King Tut's death and a replica of his skull.

Breathless with anticipation we moved on to what we knew would be the most incredible finale we could possibly hope for (TURN UP THE MUSIC AND SING OUT LOUD NOW) and we turned the corner and entered.........

The gift shop of King Tut.

The gift shop of King Tut?

Oh the wonders!!!!!!!

Chocolate heads of King Tut..... on a stick, authentic King Tut postcards and pens, books, calendars, stuffed King Tut dolls, King Tut hats, tee shirts and coffee mugs.

Not to mention the King Tut junk jewelry.


Shut the music off now.

Do it in your head too.

We have just seen some of the most amazing ancient artifacts on the planet and now we need to buy King Tut's chocolate head on a stick?

You gotta love this country.

I heard the following, "Hey Timmy, why don't you get some of that King Tut Silly Putty to remind you of what you saw when you get older?"

I don't even know how to respond to that.

I wanted to beat them to death with my King Tut chocolate head on a stick.

I just wonder if three thousand years from now people, or whatever mutants are roaming this earth, will be going to a museum to see the King Bush and the Golden Age of Oil exhibit.

Maybe they'll get chocolate "weapons of mass destruction" or a Dick Cheney candy coated pacemaker with matching plastic earrings from the gift shop when they leave.

So I didn't buy the King Tut chocolate head on a stick.

I bought a King Tut hat instead.

I'm on a diet.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

It's good to be bilingual

I found myself speaking Uzbek in Los Angeles on Saturday.

Um..... I didn't know I could speak Uzbek. I must have learned it from my father.

There are those people, when talking to foreigners, who think they will be understood by speaking louder in English.

My father was different. My father would speak to them in English but use their accent.

That's not all. He would use their accent but speak to them in his version of Spanish. I think he figured what the hell, we're in California; if they don't speak English they must know Spanish.

That's the main reason I'm afraid to go back to China Town in San Francisco. I'm afraid they'll recognize me and take me back to that place were they kill the chickens.

Try to picture an overweight balding Italian man that looked like Al from Happy Days, speaking broken Spanish, with a Chinese accent, trying to get directions from a Mandarin butcher.

So I'm speaking with our Uzbek limo driver......

"Donde es de museum of Senor King Tut....?"

It sure is good to know a second language.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Birthdays, Trains and the Magic Kingdom

Yesterday was my 48th birthday. Oh thank heaven for 7-11!!!

They don't make many things that last 48 years anymore so I feel this is a major life accomplishment.

I was thinking about that today. What do they make that lasts 48 years? A paperclip?

Sure you see things that say "lifetime warranty" but is that really so special if you're eighty when you buy it?

Do we really need lifetime warranties on things like hearing aids and walkers?

Show me a product with a lifetime warranty that you can give to a two year old and I'll be impressed.

You give a two year old a cast iron shovel and an hour later it will be in pieces and the dog will have disappeared.

A two year old can destroy anything.

I actually began celebrating my birthday last Thursday by spending a day and a half in Los Angeles and then two days in Disneyland.

I then I did what any normal 48-year-old Italian would do to celebrate his birthday. Last night I went to see Frankie Valli live in concert at Humphrey's in San Diego.

There's a show that didn't need security. Why? Because half the audience was in the Witness Protection Program and the other half had names that ended in a vowel.

There were more baseball bats in the trunks of the cars in the parking lot than the Padres and Dodgers own combined.

I'm not saying Mafia: let's just say there were a lot of legitimate Italian businessmen that were persecuted by the Federal Government in the audience last night.

If you know what I mean.

There are three people that helped create more Italian children than anyone else on this planet.

Frank Sinatra, Barry White and Frankie Valli.

Those guys sing you get sex.

I think it's a law.

It's not like the music people listen today.

You listen to Rap and all you want to do is put a cap in your own head.

If I ever sang, excuse me, rapped, a song/poem whatever, that called my wife a bitch "I" would have to join the Witness Protection Program.

So back to Thursday.

I went to Los Angeles by train.

Right after the London bombing.

Train depot security in the United States isn't like Airport security.

They don't make you take your shoes off, they don't X-ray your wife's purse, they don't ask you stupid questions like, "Did any Muslim terrorist unbeknownst to you help you pack your luggage or ask you to carry any suspicious looking packages that may contain a bomb onto the plane today."

No, they have a guy named Earl, who says, and I quote, "Today we're checking ID's of all passengers whose ticket number ends in the number two. That's two like in, two for one or too late."

There were only four of us on the train.

None of us had tickets that ended in the number two or "too".

I sure felt safe.

I then rented a limo to get around Los Angeles.

Why not take a cab?

Because I don't want someone whose last name sounds like the sound I make when I spit driving me through LA traffic.

I also don't want a driver who gives me his life story which is the same story I get from those e-mails from Nigeria.

I took the train to Anaheim on Friday to spend two days in the Magic Kingdom, the happiest place on earth.....DISNEYLAND!!!!

I love Disneyland. Disneyland is truly the happiest place on earth....the first day.

On day two if you see Mickey you want to beat him to death.

$345 dollars per night for a room at the Disneyland Hotel!!!

$345 DOLLARS!!!

I stopped being happy.

For $345 dollars Minnie Mouse better be lying on my bed wearing something from Fredericks of Hollywood saying, "Me love you long time" because it sure feels like you're getting screwed.

Two days in Disneyland before buying food or anything else cost me $624.

They have a new park called California Adventure, which is appropriately named because here you get to compete with gang bangers for your spot in line to get into the park and they're upset because they just came off the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and they didn't see Johnny Depp. (That's not a joke)

Quick note to any border patrol agents reading this. I may have a clue were some illegal aliens are.

Seriously if you go to Disneyland do not go on a Saturday in July. Unless of course you like standing in line for two hours with fat people wearing orange tank tops, Bermuda shorts, socks with sandals and Mickey Mouse Ears who smell like old cheese and feet.

If I'm going to have to stand in a line that long behind people who smell they should at least be required to renew my driver's license and registration.

I don't mean to pick on the chunky. I just lost 74 pounds. I know what fat is. But I never left the house in a bright orange tank top, shorts and sandals. That's just wrong.

There was one whole family, six of them, all fat, I'm talking really fat, all dressed in the same orange tank tops.

Well I couldn't stand it,I had to ask why.

The answer..."so if we get separated we'll be able to spot one another."

"Spot" one another?

Um.....these people were huge. These were immense beings. A traffic helicopter could have pointed them out.

But people don't care what they look like when they're in the Magic Kingdom.

I saw freaks, geeks and Sikhs.

I saw Japanese people, who apparently can't enter Disneyland without a suit and tie. I think they worship Winnie the Pooh.

I saw "Goths", which made me laugh because it was about 105 degrees and their white face and black eye shadow was melting.

Bozo the Clown would have been so proud.

By the time our stay in Disneyland was over I'd spent close to $1,500.

I bought a Pirate hat and a sword.

I'm going to use it the next time I go to the DMV.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Nothing needs to be said.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Animals love me.....

When it comes to pets my entire knowledge of the pet realm is about dogs and sea life. By sea life I'm talking mainly goldfish and guppies but we did own a freshwater crab once.

It was the last pet we held hostage.

The crab was never really part of the family. Not like a dog or a cat or some bug the kids brought home. No this crustacean from hell spent its entire life trying to escape.

One night my wife and I were feeling amorous so I went to check on the kids to make sure they were asleep, a standard parental foreplay technique.

I crept naked down the hallway and sure enough they were both out like a light so daddy was feeling real good, real good, until I felt this dampness under my right foot. When you have boys this is never a good sign but you do tend to get used to it.

I looked down expecting to find a squished grape when out of the corner of my eye I spied the empty fish tank. Satan was loose. He had crawled up the ceramic castle the kids insisted he needed, propped up the lid and flung himself down to freedom.

I immediately dropped down to the floor to search for the fugitive when it dawned on me that I was naked in a room with something that has pinching claws. People, that is a fear unlike any other fear you will ever experience in your life.

I ran to our bedroom informed my wife what had happened then sprinted to the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight and a saucepan.

It seemed logical.

As a man I'm thinking I've still got a shot at sex if I can nab this little bastard without waking the boys.

As I run back by the bedroom I notice my wife is now standing naked on the bed with a shoe in her hand. I'm sorry but that will cause any man to stop. I walk into the bedroom with my flashlight and saucepan and in my best "how u doin" voice start to make my move.

The shoe hit me in the forehead and snapped me back into reality.

The crab had run down the hall and into my wife's closet. She caught a glimpse of him and grabbed the only weapon she could find handy, one of her Dolce & Gabbana black rhinestone heeled sandals.

The sound of the shoe hitting me on head and the subsequent commotion woke the boys and they both came running down the hall and into our bedroom to find... their father... bare ass naked on his hands and knees in the closet with a flashlight and a saucepan.

I think I may have scarred them for life.

My oldest son, who was eight years old, doesn't say a word. He walks into the closet and picks up the crab goes back down the hallway to his room and drops him in the tank.

Then he goes back to bed.

My youngest son, who was five at the time, wanted to know why we were naked and could he be naked too.

He also wanted to know if I was making hot chocolate.

My wife gives off a sarcastic, "my hero."

Needless to say it was not my lucky night.

That story leads up to this past Saturday.

When I was a kid my only pet was a dog, a white standard poodle named Trixie, so I got picked on a lot. But it made me stronger. You had to be tough to bring a white poodle named Trixie to a stickball game in an Italian neighborhood.

So dogs, I can handle dogs.

My oldest son moved back to San Diego from Boston on Friday. He brought his wife, his cat and...his pit bull.

A pit bull is way different than a white standard poodle.

They spent the night at our house and on Saturday my wife goes to our gym and my son and his wife go to sign the lease on their new apartment.

Leaving me alone...with a cat...and a pit bull.

But it was okay because my son left me a bag of doggy treats.

It wasn't a big enough bag.

I spent the first hour playing fetch by throwing a 30-pound rubber dog bone to "Cali".

Sweet name isn't it?

The cat just sat there looking at me like I was an idiot.

I spent the next two minutes giving "Cali" all of the doggy treats in the entire bag.

Actually I think she just ate the bag.

I was talking to this dog like I was a SWAT team hostage negotiator when it dawned on me...THE ANIMAL PLANET!!!

Why not? It keeps my grandson occupied.

So I turn the TV on and Animal Planet is showing an Orangutan give birth. Not my first choice but what the hell.

The dog jumps on to the leather couch and sits facing the TV and I swear is watching this show.

The problem was, I'm a man, I have the remote, "Cali" is a woman, and she just wants to watch one channel.

Trust me guys you don't want to piss off a female pit bull by channel surfing.

So I'm back to watching this Orangutan give birth....

That damn cat keeps staring at me.

I need a saucepan.

And more doggy treats.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Two Quickies!!!

I was listening to XM radio this morning and I heard something disturbing. XM radio, which claims to be radio without all the annoying commercials, has in fact the worst product commercials of all time.

Case in point, "The Bad Breath Bible." I'm not making that up. They actually advertise on the radio, "The Bad Breath Bible." I can't even believe I'm using those four words in a sentence.

Who's joining this religion? Are there that many bad breath fans? What is Sunday service like in that church?

A reading from a letter from St. Paul to the Halitosians,

"And the lord said cast out thy brush and floss and drinketh coffee and smoke cigarettes and eat garlic and stinky cheese."


I had to put myself on a time out last night. I said the word "Bull****!" in front of my grandson.

So my wife made me go sit on the time out step. We didn't have a time out step when I was a kid... my mom had a rolling pin.

My grandson didn't quite understand why "poppa" had to go sit on the step. He wanted to go sit with poppa.

My wife told him how poppa said a bad word and poppa needed to sit by himself on the time out step.

This sweet little two and half year old then looks straight up at his gramma and says, "that's Bull****."

So my grandson and I are sitting on the step......

I could hear my wife in the kitchen rattling around the drawers looking for a rolling pin.