The Write Stuff

Somewhere between being sick...

moving into a new house...

having writers' block...

getting offered a job interview...

and then having that offer rescinded... 

restarting my own version of the Atkins Diet...

getting a blister from shoveling snow... 

and watching the Super Bowl.

I haven’t published a blog in five days.

And it is killing me.

But it's not due to not trying.

(Two negatives makes a positive.)

In fact, in those five days, I wrote two blogs.

Two completely different blogs.

But neither one was right.

And you deserve right.

One blog was about a miserably sleepless night I recently had.

A night where I contemplated, but ultimately rejected, my maiden voyage into the land of Xanax.

You see, I had knots in my stomach like I had done 60 million sit-ups.

But that’s not possible.

Only Herschel Walker could do that.

But you can only stare at the ceiling for so long.

So finally I turned to the drug I have used and abused for the last 14 months.

It’s called writing.

I wrote a blog about exactly how I was feeling at exactly that moment.

It went a little something like this:

If there was ever a night to try the X-factor.

This would be it.

I could be sleeping right now.

Instead of writing.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a good thing.

Writing has been the best medicine any doctor could’ve prescribed.

It has bailed me out more times than I can count in the last year.

In fact, with every hit of the keyboard I can actually feel the wind coming back into my sails.

Or maybe somebody opened the window when I wasn’t looking.

I’m really glad that most of my stories are funny.

Or hopefully funny.

Because that’s who I am.

A guy who just wants to laugh.

And make people laugh.

I have so many things to be happy about.

I couldn’t count them on the hands of an octopus.

If octopi had hands.

And it makes me feel like a selfish fool that I can’t break this funk that I am in.

My kids have tried to break me.

Fortunately they think I have a fever.

My wife has tried to break me.

She knows the truth.

And it hasn’t set her free.

She is sitting next to me trying to find the right words to say.

Or not say.

I wish it was that simple.

Somehow at the end of my writing, all 673 words.

I felt better.  A lot better.

I still couldn’t sleep.

But the knots had gone away.

Writing is like Tabasco sauce.

It goes with everything.

A few days later I tackled the latest twist and turn in my pursuit of employment.

Recently I had a business meeting.

Not a job interview.

Just a meeting.

At this meeting, we talked about my life.

Their company.

And our business.

We never talked about a specific job opening.

Because there wasn’t one.

This particular meeting was with a very high ranking person in my industry.

I traded in a bunch of favors and a Pete Rose rookie card to get her email address.

I was shocked when she responded.

Maybe she thought I was somebody else.

But either way, this was my chance to shine.

And apparently I did.

About twenty minutes in she said... 

“It’s not often that great people occupy the couch you are sitting in for meetings like the one we are having.”

(Did she just call me “great?”)

“Does that mean that I am great?”, I responded.

My response was one part humble, one part tongue-in-cheek and seven parts PLEASE SAY YES.

“Yes.”

“You are great,” she said.

Holy ego boost Batman.

Upon hearing this, I did what any bashful person would do.

I threw both of my arms into the air like I had just completed a 149-yard touchdown pass.

Being called “great” in an interview, I mean meeting.

Wow!

But what did it really mean.

Well, in this case, it meant that six weeks later I had heard nothing from her.

Nothing.

Not a word.

Until a few days ago.

Out of nowhere she emailed me.

SHE emailed ME.

“I wanted to check in to see what you are up to?”

Um, nothing, absolutely nothing, positively nothing, I’ve got more free time than the greeter at WalMart.

I thought to myself.

She then asked if I would be interested in...

YES.

Interested in _______, fill in the blank.

The answer is still the same.

YES.

But in this case, I actually was REALLY interested.

Dream job, maybe not.

Great job, definitely.

Job!

I was going to wait three days to respond to her note.

Like they taught me in Swingers.

But instead I responded in three hours.

And I said I was very interested.

Not interested.

VERY interested.

Too eager I suppose.

About an hour later she replied back.

And said she had jumped the gun and that this wasn’t the right job for me.

But you called me GREAT.

Actually, I had to agree.  On the job not being right part.

But she also said she will stay in touch.

SHE will stay in touch with ME?

Nice.

Hey, the fact that I’m even on her radar is the victory here.

And that will help me sleep tonight.

Sick and Twisted

Nobody has ever died of a Vitamin-C overdose.

Well I can’t confirm that.

But when I googled “Vitamin C” and “Overdose”.

Nothing like that came up.

So it must be true.

And that’s a good thing.

Because I think I tested the limits yesterday.

Disclaimer:   If you take too much Vitamin C, you can get a bad case of the runs, maybe even some hurling.   If that happens, the internet says, stop taking Vitamin C and drink lotsa water.

You see, I developed this nasty head cold.

And I tried throwing everything with a C at it.

Emergen-C.

Cough Drops with Vitamin C.

Vitamin C tablets.

There were so many C’s, I thought I was looking at my college transcripts.

Even at lunch, one serving of my barbecue potato chips had 10% of the daily vitamin C requirement.

Really.

Good thing I had four servings.

But even with all that, this cold was kicking my behind.

And I couldn’t limit my meds to just the letter C.

I had my one a day vitamin.

Tylenol.

Tussin DM.

The younger, cheaper brother of Robitussin.

Don’t worry.

I took the recommended dosage.

At the recommended times.

But nothing was working.

I stayed hydrated.

With water.

And Vitamin Water.

And this concoction from Starbucks that some barista threw my way a couple of years ago.

Hot tea.

Honey.

And steamed lemonade.

A shot or two.

Honestly, I have no idea if it works.

But the good news is they have no idea how to charge me for a shot (or two) of steamed lemonade.

So they rarely do.

When I’m sick, I will listen to anyone who has a cure.

Gargling with warm salt water.

Chicken soup.

Steam.

Vicks VapoRub.

Euthanasia.

Echinacea.

Whatever.

You name it.

I’ve tried it.

And exactly... none of them work.

Well, none of them work right away.

I’m sure they all work with a good night sleep.

But how I am supposed to sleep when my nose is stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey?

And my throat is as raw as the daily special at Sushi Roku.

And my eyes are as watery as...

Well you get it.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury of lying in bed.

I had already committed to a field trip with my sixth grade son’s class.

And I wasn’t going to pass on that.

I had done that too many times in the past.

So I brought my box of kleenex.

And my sack lunch.

And I got on the bus.

Sitting next to me was one of the teachers.

And she sniffed out pretty quickly that I had the sniffles.

So she suggested a new remedy.

Well, a new one for me.

Take two tablespoons of Apple Cider Vinegar.

Mix in some Cayenne Pepper.

And gargle.

Who came up with this?

Dr. Emmett L. Brown?

I don’t think so.

But thanks for thinking of me.

So I fumbled and stumbled my way through the trip.

And through the rest of the day.

Until it was time for my son’s basketball practice.

By this point, I was major league hurting.

But I’m an assistant coach on the team.

And what kind of role model would I be if I missed practice.

When we got there, the head coach realized pretty quickly that I left my A-game at home.

But instead of sending me there.

He sent me to the store.

“Have you ever tried ACV?”, he said.

ACV?

Before I could figure out he wasn’t talking about something sold in a dark alley, he jumped in.

“Apple Cider Vinegar.”

Ex-squeeze me.

Baking powder.

“Wow,” I said.  “I was told earlier today to gargle it.”

“With Cayenne Pepper.”

“Don’t gargle it,” he snapped back.

“Drink it!”

So let me get this straight, I’m supposed to drink Apple Cider Vinegar?

Actually, Organic Apple Cider Vinegar.

And that is going to cure me.

“Yep,” he said.

He told me that it cured him of pneumonia in 2006.

And he hasn’t been sick since.

Anytime he feels a bug coming on.

Mix two tablespoons of vinegar with a glass of water.

And presto chango, “you feel better in 20 minutes.”

20 minutes?

Where do I sign?

“Whole Foods,” he said.  “They have the organic kind.”

So after practice, I headed over there, got the goods and took it home.

$4.99 for one of them big jugs.

And I did exactly as instructed.

The glass of water.

The two tablespoons.

And within minutes....

My stomach was burning.

Well, not burning burning.

But I could feel it.

But I could also feel myself feeling better.

I’m not sure how much of this was in my head.

And how much of this was in my blood.

But somehow this little ACV thing actually worked.

Well it worked for now.

I’ll know more in the morning.

If I wake up.

Car Games

T.G.I.F.

Thank God It’s February.

I don’t think I could afford one more day of January.

You see I had this brilliant idea at the start of the month to keep the kids entertained.

As you may recall, 2010 ended with me getting a brand new car.

My mom’s 2004 P.T. Cruiser.

So me being me, I told the kids I would give them a quarter for every P.T. Cruiser we saw during the first month of the year.

I figured it would be a fun way to keep them busy.

And help the time fly by.

And at the end of the month, we could take the kids and the money we owe them to 7/11 for a couple of Slurpees.

Over the years, I’ve been part of quite a few road trips.

San Diego to Chicago.

My mom and I ran into an electrical storm in Nebraska that was so strong, it still scares me to this day.

But that’s when she told me that I can’t control lightning.

And you should never worry about things you can’t control.

Unfortunately it didn’t work then.

And it doesn’t work now.

Los Angeles to Las Vegas.

Hartford to Quebec City.

Four of us made that trip.   

In the dead of winter.   

I’m not sure what was more frozen.

The ice at the Nordiques hockey game.

Or the ice on the highways.

Talk about scary.

Los Angeles to Las Vegas.

Cleveland to Toronto.

My wife and I made that trip.

We were running a little late.

So when we got to Niagara Falls, I pulled a Chevy Chase from Vacation.

Nodded a couple of times at those amazing waterfalls.

And said we gotta go.

We... I didn't want to be late for the Blue Jays game.

Classy move, I know.

Los Angeles to Las Vegas.

Yes, I love driving to Vegas.

Its the trip home that sucks.

Especially the one in college when I left most of my rent money on a craps table.

But no matter where you are going.

Or who you are going with.

The goal is always the same.

Help time fly by.

Whether its 99 bottles of beer.

The song, not the drinks.

Or seeing how many out-of-state license plates you can find.

If you can make a 10-hour trip feel like eight.

You win.

Nowadays parents like to use a different device to hypnotize the kids in the car.

The DVD player.

And it works.

But sometimes things can get out of hand.

Your honor, Exhibit 1A:

I was with a friend the other day who put on a movie in the car for their kids to watch.

The trip we were taking was from their home.

To the grocery store.

Five minutes away.

Really.

You can’t even watch the credits in five minutes.

We have one of those DVD players in our car too.

But we’ve never turned it on.

Never.

I’m not saying we are better than anyone.

I’m just sayin.

But once you’ve turned it on, there’s no turning back.

We feel it is a lot more important to conversate with our kids.

Teach them new words.

Like conversate.

Introduce them to some of our favorite things.

I love to turn on Howard Stern to see how many seconds it takes before he says something they shouldn’t hear.

I think the max is two seconds. 

And there’s always the opportunity to just talk to them.

Learn about them.

For example, just today, we were driving home from school.

Out of nowhere, my daughter says...

“I hate throwing up.”

Ok.

So my wife responded as any caring parent would.

“You won’t always feel that way.”

“What?”, said my little girl.

“I won’t always hate throwing up?”

“Oh, throwing up.   I thought you said growing up.”

“Oh.   Yeah, you’ll never like that.”

Every moment we spend with the kids is precious.

And the times in the car are among the best.

With the least distractions.

And this P.T. Cruiser game was something we all got to enjoy.

But as the days went on... and the quarters piled up.

They were really into it.

This was real cash.

In fact, at month’s end, the tally reached a whopping $29.50.

Yep, we saw 118 P.T. Cruisers in one month.

118?

I didn’t know they made that many.

But hopefully long after each kid has spent their $9.833333333.

They will remember our car rides.

And smile.