I am going to tell you the biggest disappointment of my life. No, it wasn’t that time I was fired from my crappy first job out of college. It wasn’t even the time my wife announced she was filing for divorce.
My biggest disappointment is when I realized that women don’t really care if a man is blonde.
From a woman’s perspective, it’s not that difficult (is anything with men that difficult, really?): men are born to be providers. Whether they embrace that role or not, our society thrusts it upon them from a very young age. Even if they eschew materials things, it’s still a point of pride to be able to provide them.
I had a great joke for my ex-wife yesterday.
No, I didn’t mistype. â€For†– not “about.â€
I’ve been open about my journey through divorce. I have even been on tv and spoke about it. My relationship now with my ex-wife mostly consists of questions I have about the pets (she’s a veterinarian) and something funny I know she’ll laugh at.
A few days ago I talked about how depressing it is to catch myself naked in the bathroom mirror. Many of you reported similar feelings of shame.
Here’s another knock to my vanity.
Last night, while visiting my girlfriend in Atlanta, she decided to record me sleeping. Why? Because apparently I snore like a dick.
If you’re Jewish, or secretly wish you were, (like me) you know that Passover is upon us. I don’t know much about their religion, but I know that the Jews have some pretty fantastic food.
Ever eaten matzo ball soup? It’s the best thing ever. I’m totally shocked that I’ve never once seen it on a restaurant menu outside of a few delis. Also, just matzo crackers – delicious.
Yesterday, I revealed that until last November, I had no idea that the red thing inside of a green olive was a pepper. I thought it came with the olive. I am 35.
Today’s story, believe it or not, is even more embarrassing.
And lest you think I exaggerate, I can even ask the person who witnessed this almost twenty years ago to verify. His name is Justin, and has been a great friend for twenty-five years. In fact, when I got married, he got a marryer (that’s probably not a word) license and became our officiant. I also blame him for the subsequent divorce.
About two years ago I had my dog certified with Therapy Dogs International so that she could participate in programs with the elderly and children in hospitals.
Unfortunately, I found that because this organization resides is Jersey, the certificate is largely useless here in Chicago. They have little pull in the Midwest.
In Part I of my Paris-Ochial story, I spoke of a woman who suggested that I would need to covert to Catholicism if we had children.
The day after that was published, she sent me an email expressing her sadness about the story. She said that I had misrepresented her, and that she had not actually asked me to convert to her religion but that our kids ought to be raised Catholic.
So, this just happened.
I was on the phone talking with a friend, lying down on the bed in the second bedroom, when all of a sudden I smelled smoke. I leaped up, ran into the hallway, and noticed smoke accumulating around the ceiling lighting. My first thought was the air conditioner. Even though it’s sort of past air conditioning season, today was 82 here in Chicago. Since I’m on the top floor of my condo building, it’s always extremely hot. When it’s 70 outside, it will register as 77 inside, so the air has to be on.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
