Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Here's a cell phone ad you won't see......






“I’m dead dad, I’m dead!!!”


“Kim’s going to KILL me!!!”

“What did you do this time?”

“I didn’t do anything. It’s not my fault dad, it’s not my fault I swear. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!!!!”

“Son calm down. What happened?”

“It’s John.”

“IS HE OKAY????”

“Dad I swear I wasn’t watching him for like five seconds and he…. he….”

“HE WHAT??????”

“He swallowed my cell phone.”


“Dad I don’t know. But when I call it he rings. IT’S INSIDE HIM!!!!!!”

“You’re dead.”

“OH MY GOD DAD!!!!!!”

“Did you call 911?”

“I called you.”

“Is he choking?”

“No dad I told you, he swallowed it.”

“Son how in the hell could he swallow something that big?”


“Okay calm down we have to think this through. Does he seem sick? Does it look like it hurts? What’s he doing now?”

“Now? He’s watching Curious George. He looks okay he just RINGS!!!!! What am I gonna do dad? What if they want to cut it out of him? OH MY GOD!!!!!”

“Umm….. Does he eat a lot of fiber?”


“Well maybe if you give him some fruit or bran or something eventually it will come out.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna work dad.”

“Okay here’s the deal. Meet me at Urgent Care. Don’t tell Kim and I won’t tell mom. Maybe they can pump it out of him and no one will ever know.”

“No one will ever know what?”

“Umm…..””Crap dad, is that mom?”

“Yep. I swear she’s a Ninja.”

“Who are you talking to?”


“What are you two up to?”

“NOTHING!!! Why do you assume we’re up to something? I can’t just have a normal conversation with my son?”

”Uh huh…. Then why are you saying that “No one will ever know?”

“It’s a secret. If I told you it would spoil the surprise.”


“Dad maybe we should tell mom. Mom’s know about these things.”

“It’s okay son I’ve got everything under control.”

“Calabrese give me that phone.”

“Anthony what’s going on?”




“What are you looking at me for? Anthony was watching him.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Anthony there is no way John swallowed your cell phone.”


“You’re both idiots.”

“Mom I swear…. call my cell phone number. Call my cell phone from your cell phone and I’ll hold John’s stomach to the phone.”



“Uh huh…. Son…. When was the last time you changed his diaper?”

“Uh…. About an hour ago.”

“Uh huh…. Change it again.”

“Why? He’s not….. oh…… hold on………..”

(A few moments later)

“False alarm mom!!! My cell phone was in his diaper! Boy am I glad he didn’t poop! Thanks Mom!”

“No problem.”

“Uh… so… John didn’t swallow the cell phone?”

“No, when Anthony changed John’s diaper somehow his cell phone ended up in there.”

“HA!!! Kind of brings new meaning to, “Can you hear me now? Now that’s funny. Anthony was worried for nothing. Kim would have killed him. Well that’s one more funny story he can tell when John grows up. Soooooo…… I’m going to the store do you need anything?”

“Sit your butt down Calabrese. Let me get this straight. You and Anthony thought that John had swallowed Anthony’s cell phone and you were trying to hide that from me and Kim?”

“Um…. No….. Not exactly. I was using my superior analytical skills to assess the situation so we could take a prudent course of action and didn’t feel it necessary to worry the two of you at the time.”

“So you were trying to cover up for your son being an idiot like his father?”

“Hey, I’m no rat. It’s an honor thing… you know… a code we Italian men live by.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Come on honey. I knew John couldn’t have swallowed the phone. There obviously was a logical explanation and we would have figured it all out at Urgent Care.”

“Urgent Care…. Tell me again why I married you?”

“My incredible wit and charm and my huge hands. OOOUUUUCH!!!!! I hate it when you smack me on the back of the head like that. Damn woman I’m going to have a concussion.”

“Just be thankful I don’t have your huge hands.”

Monday, January 21, 2008

You either order with us or against us......

“May I have your order?”

“Yes I’d like five pieces of grilled chicken and a pint of coleslaw.”

“You want a large or a small?”

“Umm…. A small or a large what?”


“I want a pint of coleslaw.”

“Do you want a large or a small pint?”

“Uh…. I want a pint. You know, 16 ounces of coleslaw.”

“We don’t have ounces. We have small and a large.”

“How big is the large?”

“Pretty big.”

“HOW BIG???”

“It’s large.”

(I knew at this point I may be talking to the future president of the United States.)

“Do you want something to drink with that?”

“Can you read my order back to me please?”

“You want five pieces of chicken and a small macaroni and cheese?”


“Let me get my shift manager.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“No problem, I’d like five pieces of grilled chicken and a pint of coleslaw.”

"He told you we don’t have pints sir. We have a small and a large. Now you’re holding up the line sir. I suggest you order or leave.”

(Ahhh…. The future secretary of defense.)

“Okay I’ll leave, but let me ask you one more question. How many ounces in a pint?”

“What has that got to do with chicken sir? Do you want a pint of chicken?”

“I don’t want a pint of chicken. I want a pint of coleslaw

“We don’t have pints.”

“Okay let me educate you. There are 16 ounces in a pint. How many ounces in a large coleslaw?”

“I’m going to ask you again to leave sir.”

“HONK HONK HONK. Come on asshole order!”

(Great…. The future vice president is behind me.)

So I left. It wasn’t like I could eat the chicken or the coleslaw anyway. I’m sure they would have graced it with a little something extra for me.

I guess the older you get the more you embrace the “principle of the thing”.

Once you’ve had a colonoscopy you’ve pretty much reached that point in life where you’re opinions and thoughts are irrelevant.

Unless of course you’re married and then you’re opinions and thoughts become irrelevant on day two.

So you grasp at any little chance to prove a point or show the world that, “Hey! I’ve been around fifty years! I know stuff.”

And one of the things I now know is maybe… just maybe…. We need to leave the occasional child behind.

Comedian Ron White says, “You can’t fix stupid.”

But shouldn’t we at least try? Or are we destined to be a nation of illiterates placated by our Xboxes and Playstations and Bluetooths and iPods and and and and………

How can you not know what a “pint” is?

It’s not like the kid was brainwashed by the metric system.

Maybe I have finally turned into my father.

I wonder how many people in their twenties have actually read a book.

How many have read anything other than e-mail or a text message in the last five years?

“No Child Left Behind”?

Why not?

Fix stupid before it gets a chance to screw up your drive thru order.

A small or a large "pint"?

Ma please!

Saturday, January 12, 2008

2008 a year to....

I came home last night to find my wife twisted into a pretzel on my living room floor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It started out as Downward Facing Dog.”

“It looks more like Sideways Curled Up Cripple.”

“Idiot, I pulled something now my back is spasming.”

“You sure you’re not just trying to turn me on?”

“Don’t make me kill you.”

“Do you want some help?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“So this is like sex.”


And so the newest New Years resolution had reared its ugly head.

I don’t know why my wife has to try all this crazy stuff. It started with the Jane Fonda workout about twenty years ago. I’d come home and instead of being able to watch M.A.S.H. I’d have to watch my wife hopping around the living room to that pinko Commie on videotape.

The worst was that Taebo kickboxing thing. We had this stupid pole with a pad on it in the middle of the living room and she’d kick the crap out of it all damn day.

I accepted it in the belief that it saved my life…. or at least significant bruising.

Then it was Aikido. I’m sorry but there is absolutely no reason to give a premenopausal woman a sword.

Then boxing. She did that for five years. I didn’t get away with crap in my house.

For the past twenty nine years the only question I’ve ever been afraid my wife will ask me is, “Do you want to see what I learned today?”

So when she said she was going to take yoga I thought, “Hey that’s great. Go for it. She can’t hurt me with yoga.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you up?”


“Maybe you should have started with an easier yoga position. Like “Lazy Fat Man Sitting On Couch Eating Pizza”. That would be the one I started with. Then maybe go into “Crouching Ego Hidden Self Esteem”.

“I swear you’re a dead man Calabrese.”

“Have you ever thought that instead of doing all this crazy stuff that you should… Oh I don’t know…. try a sit up?”

“I am so going to hurt you.”

“How about next time instead of trying yoga you just eat yogurt? I’ve never heard of anyone pulling anything from eating yogurt.”

“Idiot, help me up.”

“I thought you didn’t need any help. Okay okay.”

“Here’s the deal Calabrese. This year I’m doing Yoga, and Pilates. I’m also taking a “fusion” class. Then we’re going to take up ballroom dancing. I’m doing it for me. Because it makes me feel better about myself and keeps me in shape.”

“Hold on….. I’m rewinding what you just said in my head. Um…. Did you say “we” are taking up ballroom dancing?”

“You don’t want to do it with me? Fine, but I’m doing it and that’s that.”

“What would possess you to think that I would want to ballroom dance?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?”

“Awww Jeeeeezzzz…… I don’t want to dance with anyone. At least you’re finally going to learn how to cook.”

“Excuse me?”

“Um….. You know that….. you know…. um…. fusion class?”

“Idiot that’s not a cooking class!!! It’s an exercise class. You think I need a cooking class?”

“Awwwww Jeeezzzzzzz………..”

Now that 2008 is upon us I look back upon 2007 and can honestly say it pretty much sucked.

Not in a tsunami destroyed the neighborhood kind of way but it just wasn’t as good as 2006.

2007 was not my favorite year, maybe because I turned 50 and have not fully embraced my mortality yet.

I did learn a few things though.

I learned that it is possible to pull a groin muscle simply by getting out of your car.

I learned that it’s dangerous to open a new DVD with a fillet knife.

I learned after I had my colonoscopy that I could never be gay. But I now have unequivocal proof for my wife that my heads not up there.

I’ve also learned that I’m not a ballroom dancer.


I take that back.

I already KNEW I wasn’t a ballroom dancer I just never thought I’d have to PROVE it to anyone.

I would have thought my wife had learned that when I almost threw her out the window during her “disco” faze.

“Stayin alive, stayin alive, whoops…..”

But nooooooooo……….

Apparently one of those hot flashes fried the part of her brain that would have remembered that.

For those of you unfamiliar with a “hot flash” let me explain it for you.

You’ll go to bed with your woman by your side on a chilly night. As you drift off you feel the warmth of the covers around you and the heat radiating off of her body. It’s nice. It’s comforting. It’s peaceful.



IT’S F&%*&#G COLD!!!!!!!

What the hell happened?

She’s thrown off the covers.

She's sweating.

You’re shivering.

She’s still asleep.

If you’re lucky.

Because if she has a “hot flash” while she’s awake you’re going to hear about it.


Menopause and hot flashes are much worse than the one week a month thing you used to have to be afraid of before.

Because now she has all the knowledge and experience to really know how to hurt you if you do something stupid, you know, like breathe.

You do not want to confront a woman about not wanting to ballroom dance or how crappy her cooking is while she’s in the middle of a hot flash.

So apparently I’m going to be the new star of “Dancing with the middle aged overweight Italian guy.”

And… I’m going to be hungry.

This year I’ve given up resolutions. Instead I’ve set goals.

Goal number one – Don’t get hurt ballroom dancing.

Goal number two – Don’t get hurt saying or doing anything that will piss off a menopausal Portuguese woman.

Goal number three – Lose weight, get in shape, blah blah blah……….

Goal number three never changes.


Maybe I should take a “fusion” class.

Happy New Year!