The voice echoed from behind my right shoulder and I was surprised to hear my name.
“Uncle D.J. is going to read you a bedtime story. Go pick one out.”
I stopped and spun around. My friend Justin was walking his youngest son Jude to his bedroom. Not knowing much about four year olds, a bunch of questions raced through my head. How long do you have to read before a child falls asleep? Can’t they read themselves? I couldn’t recall a memory from my childhood where someone read to me. My earliest memories of life start at six years old, and I had been reading on my own for a few years at that point. My mother brags that I taught myself how to read at age four. And I guess now I’m bragging to you. Anyway, since I couldn’t recall a personal experience of being read to, what came to mind was Peter Faulk reading to that boy in The Princess Bride. And that movie was two hours long, for chrissakes. I can’t read aloud for that long. As a self-centered adult without children, if I spend more than ten minutes with one, I get nuts.READ MORE
Allison Arnone just celebrated a birthday. While a gentleman never reveals a woman’s age, let’s just say this wasn’t the big 2-1. Personally I find that women improve with age (trying to maintain a straight face while typing) and Allison is no different. I would argue she’s become a more beautiful person as she’s progressed. Believe me, she was a real mess just a few years prior. Either way, like a dutiful partner, I’m in for the long haul. Or until she stop returning my calls. This month you wrote in your issues regarding parents doing bad parent stuff. We meditated on these quandaries, and our thoughtful responses are about to be laid as your bequest. Our gifts to you.READ MORE
Are your parents the reason you’re so screwy? You’d better believe it.
The author Robert Bly wrote something close to (I’m too lazy to look up the quote), “The question isn’t – Will we wound our children? The question is – How deep will the wound be?” In other words, the fact that you sleep until noon and fire bongloads all day watching COPS reruns might be related to the fact that your dad was a police officer who worked overtime and spent more time with perps than he did you. Or not. It could just be that you have a nasty pot addiction. And let’s face it, COPS is compelling television. They should change the name of the show to FLORIDA, but I’m getting off topic.READ MORE
Without hyperbole I had a full, blown-out phobia of the fairer sex. Also bees. I can remember in first grade there was a girl who I wanted to date, or whatever we called it back then. I knew that I wasn’t good looking enough, however. That horrible self-image lasted until (in college) my first girlfriend told me that I was handsome. And she was beautiful. With her validation I realized that all those years I had been lying to myself. It’s not like after that moment I walked around campus believing I was chiseled from stone. But I no longer thought of myself as ugly. All it took was one person’s compliment and my lifetime of thinking I was gross-looking went away. I’d love to tell you that I came to an acceptance of my attractiveness through intense self-exploration and maturity. Nope. It just took the prettiest girl I knew to tell me I was hot. Sometimes that’s all you need.READ MORE
Well, even though Allison Arnone is annoyed by me 80% of the time, she temporarily put aside her distaste to pound out another joint advice column. “It’s important for her to stay mentally active,” the doctors whispered to me as she was roaming around the grounds chasing invisible butterflies. Allison’s a lovely girl and we wish her the best. Oh, and here’s our first installment, in case you missed it.READ MORE
And while there’s plenty of humor about dying and being dead, I thought I’d take a short stab at writing something less sophomoric that my usual nonsense. Not a full seven-inches-in-stab, like the murderer in the song Blood on the Dance Floor. Michael Jackson wrote some dark lyrics. But boy could he move like the wind. Anyway, I’m drifting. Back to the topic at hand – my friend’s death.READ MORE
Allison and I worked with this couple a few months ago and now look at them - they're doing that creepy arm in arm love thing! We're amazing!
I was dumped recently.
Should you feel sorry for me? Sure, why not? I like attention. But here’s the good news. According to my single lady friends, the quality of men who are forty years old and single are a real horror show. So are most of the women, but I’m not worried. Crazy people find crazy people. And, thankfully, according to my therapist I’m not crazy. I pay her good money to re-confirm this opinion every week.READ MORE
When you're finished we'll take your half-chewed omelette and send it back to coach.
I’ve never once complained about flying coach.
Let me quickly qualify that before you label me an elitist asshole. I’ve only ever flown first class once, and that was because a boss upgraded my ticket for a short flight to Birmingham. But I’ve been flying since I was a kid, so I’ve shuffled past hundreds of first class passenger over the years. When I say I’ve never complained about sitting in steerage, what I mean is that I’m not one of those people who scowl at the fortunate souls in the first class cabin. I don’t assume they’re horrible people, or that they’re lucky. And while I’m not huge into status, I love the idea of being able to buy a first class ticket. To have the means to plunk down 3k on a flight to Newark if I was so inclined. In fact, when I walk by the first class passengers I often think, “I should work a little harder!” or, “Gotta save better!”READ MORE
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