On My Way (Back) To The Forums

It's been a long while since I've rolled up my sleeves and trolled the treasure trove of forums and chat rooms that Al Gore's® Internet invention has to offer; I actually forgot how addictive web surfing can be.

For instance, recently I found myself enjoying an iced tea (pronounced: Jameson and self regret) with a couple of buddies and the topic of conversation turned to the following:

"How old is Kenny Rogers?"

I'm not sure, exactly, how or why Kenny Rogers came up in conversation between me and the guys but I feel that it's a clear indication that I need to find new and more exciting friends.

When I returned home later that evening, I pulled out the laptop and visited the most reliable research engine on the Internet (Wikipedia) in order to confirm Kenny's age.

The Internet is a lot like Walmart, in that there's no such thing as a "quick visit" and there's usually a pedophile or two lurking somewhere. 

Upon learning more than I needed to know about "The Gambler", one click led to another until I eventually found myself online for approximately 6-hours.  My, seemingly, simple web session transported me to fascinating places...such as:


The Internet Movie Database
Home Depot

E-How: "How to convince your ex-girlfriend that you're NOT an asshole"
Genealogy.com
E-Lyrics: Keith Urban "You'll Think Of Me"
Profiles of notorious mass murderers in the United States
Paula Deen's Chicken & Wild Rice made simple
How to not be an ass-hat
Facebook (stalking)
Match.com
E-How "How to convince your ex-girlfriend to have sex with you"

and, finally, a porn site titled:

"Indiana Bones And The Temple Of Bootie"

By the way, Kenny Rogers is 122 years-old. His face is only fourteen.

After an endless web surfing session, I felt that it might be time to continue with a long overdue project that I documented a couple of years ago. The piece was titled:

                                                 "On My Way To The Forums"

http://pontchartrainpress.blogspot.com/2010/08/on-my-way-to-forums.html

So, once again, I've spent the past seven weeks getting to know many wonderful people around the planet via forums, boards, chat rooms and social sites.

First up...

Ferret Lovers.com

I have absolutely NO problem with owning a rodent and I have a larger appreciation for those who inherit these lovable creatures after their 12-year old child becomes so bored, apathetic and lazy to the point where the kid nearly starves these defenseless creatures to death.

If you ask me, ferret lovers are TRUE humanitarians and it's high time that they receive the respect they deserve. After all, ferrets ARE one of God's creatures, otherwise Noah wouldn't have placed two of them on the ark. Here's my entry into the (short lived) world of ferret chat:

Slimshady: Anyone know of a good recipe for grilled ferret?  I have some snow peas and water chestnut to go with it...I need to use the veggies before the expiration date.

Angel: WTF?

Slimshady: Since you asked, he's right here with me.

Angel: I didn't ASK anything dick...other than WTF???

Slimshady: No need for unpleasantness.  You wrote: WTF..."Where's The Ferret?"

Angel: That's not wat I meant, and you know it.  I'm not sure if you know much about our community but much of wat we promote ctrs round rescuing abandoned and unwanted ferrets and we're sanctioned by the SPCA.

Slimshady: You do love abbreviations don't U?  Or, RU missing keys on your keyboard.  I am...but that's a long story which primarily centers around an urgent situation where I had to drop my computer bag from a balcony ledge.  It was a fun evening though. 

Angel: You probably don't even KNOW what SPCA stands for...jerk.

Slimshady:  I know what SPCA, GMAC, FreddieMac, ACLU, GDP. SDI, STD and DMV stand for...pretty impressive huh?  (Well, except for STD.)  I didn't know what DP stood for until my friend, Darrell, explained it to me.  He likes to watch a lot of pornographic videos.  BTW, earlier, you misspelled "what." WTF?

Angel: You are ignorrant. We're trying to serve a humane cause by giving homes to thousands of abandoned and unwanted ferrets. Do you know why????

Slimshady: Because they were initially an "impulse purchase" at Pet Smart?  BTW, you misspelled ignorant.

Angel: You must have a lot of time on your hands!

Slimshady: Given my current relationship status, yes. The ferret actually belonged to my girlfriend and she offered to move it to her sister's house because I have a cat and a dog..I also accidentally stepped on it one evening after staying out all night with my buddies. 

 

I actually just wanted my girlfriend to move out now that I think about it. BTW, I noticed that there's an icon on your site titled "Modern Ferret." Does your ferret use the Internet or play X-box? If so, I'd love to chat with him/her sometime.  How can you tell a male from a female ferret anyway? 

Angel: I'm done with this convo.

Slimshady: OK. Nice chattin' with you Angel. I'd love to come by and meet you sometime and maybe we can enjoy a test tube of water and five or six Cheerios with the little guy. 

I'd also love to learn  some tips as to how to remove the putrid smell that ferrets emit in the house. If there's time for a sexual encounter, that'd be great also...between me and you, NOT the ferret.  LOL.  Anyhoo...Take care. TTYL.

Next up, I decided to get to the bottom of the trials and woes facing seniors by educating myself via the AARP website.

Jim: I'm soooo sick of dog food. Any ideas?

Moderator: Are you serious? Do you need assistance through a local outreach facility?  I noticed that your profile indicates that you live in New Orleans.  We work closely with a Catholic Charities facility in your community.

Jim: No, I'm afraid of Catholics.  Actually, I'm really afraid of the Pope.  
 

 

I live in an assisted living apartment complex, so I have shelter...I'm simply not able to stretch my social security through the month so I run a little short on or about the 20th of each month, so I eat dog food. 

Moderator: Goodness! We have outreach availability through our membership program if you need it.

Jim: Is it covered via Obama Care? Because according to the Tea Party and Fox News, it's not.  I have limited government funds since I'm not Canadian, a U.S. politician or a Cuban refugee. How much is membership?

Moderator: $16.00 and it covers spouses too.

 

Jim: Whoa!  $16.00 would buy a lot of dog food at the Save a Center!

Moderator: It covers you AND your spouse...and there are numerous programs that can help with food and housing needs.

Jim: Thankfully, my wife is dead. She was such a bitch...I also suspect that she slept with Mike Ford back in 1973...he was our next door neighbor...he's dead now.  

The wife and I stayed together for the kids sake...and for the incredible sex, until she turned 49. That's around the time when I began "staying at the office late" working on "projects" with my secretary.

Moderator: Hmm. Out of curiosity, how old are the kids?

Jim: 58 and 66. They're absolutely adorable!

Moderator: I see. And how did your wife die?

Jim: She "fell" from a 4-story balcony one night while I was trying to watch the new Hawaii Five-O program on the CBS television network. 

Moderator: I think it's time for you to move along Jim.

Jim: Yeah, that's what my kids tell me after Sarah died. Sarah was my secretary.

Moderator: No...I mean to another website.

Jim: Ok.

I'm always on the prowl for the next BIG business opportunity. If I could find one which allows me to watch ESPN all day, WHILE I earn a living, I'd be in HEAVEN! 

After stumbling upon an advertisement for Career Builders.com and their professional online counselling program, I figured it to be a potentially enlightening prospect to confirm my top career options.  After all, we all want to make sure that we're chasing the "best suited" employment path.

　

Steve: I'm Stephen and I'm here to guide and help you today. We match the right talent with the right opportunity and do so more often than any other site.

Weezer69: Thank you Stephen.  Is your name pronounced Steph-aahn (short "A"), or Steeeven)?

Steve: Long "E."  How may I assist you with your path to the future today? 

Weezer69: Are you a computer? Judging by the way that you write, you sound a little rigid. Are you having a rough day or do you just feel a little backed up in the doo doo department? 

BTW, my name, Weezer, is pronounced with a long "E."  It's looooong...at least that's what SHE says.  LOL!

Steve: I'm going to have to insist that we keep the chat engine application professional.  I'm a real person...I assure you. How can we begin building a gateway to your future today?

Weezer69: Steeeeeeve...first of all...you are NEVER going to get laid if you speak the way you write. Not that I get laid either, but I don't get laid for numerous reasons.  Neither I, nor my therapist, can explain how this came to be my lot in adult life. 

I suspect that my ex-girlfriend, likely, has a few ideas on the subject...none of which still make any sense to me.

Steve: Did you need legitimate assistance with our site or counselling resources today?

Weezer69: Actually, yes. I'm completely satisfied with my career and the company but I absolutely HATE my manager. 

Hate is a really strong and unprofessional word now that I think about it...let's change that to abhor. 

Fact of the matter is that I really wish that the company owner would wise up and fire, I mean, terminate, him...or simply explain to me why he makes 5-times more than I for doing nothing but screw around on Twitter all day long and engage in intercourse with several of our interns.  He even has a company GAS CARD!

Steve: I'm not sure that our site can assist, unless you're looking for another place of employment or a career change.

Weezer69: No...I don't want a new place of employment at all...I haven't had to purchase green tea, toilet paper or salt and pepper in years...thanks to our employee break room.  Plus, there are sooooo many hot girls who work here, one of which just lost her children to Child Protective Services in a nasty divorce proceeding.  You know what that means?  She has the apartment ALL to herself!. Sure, she might be an unfit mom or a total nut job, but there are certain acceptable flaws that I'm able to live with.  In manager lingo, that's the old baggage not outweighing the benefits rule Steve.   

What I need advice from you for pertains to an entirely different area. I want to know how that one might be able to kill their manager and get away with it...kind of like O.J.  Only not with a knife and a small glove...I gag at the sight of blood.  And, I don't own a pair of gloves.

There MUST be some sort of pill available to the public that might make it appear as though he had a heart attack or something...sort of like the stuff that the CIA uses on foreign despots that we simply wish to "go away" after we're finished aiding their own warfare efforts with a mutual enemy...unless you ask George W. Bush.

System Admin: account suspended pending review

Steve seemed like a nice guy,  but I'm somewhat irritated that he called the "System Admin" police out on me.

One of my fondest childhood memories centers around the motion picture release of Star Wars.  My father took me to see it on opening night and that evening will forever hold a special place in my heart. 

With that, I decided to surf over to one of the (too many) Star Wars chatrooms where I made a few new friends.  I adopted the name of Jabba The Hut's little pet, Salacious Crumb.

When these Star wars guys aren't talking all things Star Wars, I'm sure they're doing important things, such as raising a family, constructing a home made light saber or fantasizing about Princess Leia chained to a fat, menacing blob in her sexy slave outfit. 

Salacious Crumb wrote: Does anyone else feel a little let down by the fact that Carrie Fisher looks like a bloated saddle bag and sounds as though she's smoked 800-million packs of cigarettes?

Boba Fett47: She's still hot to me.

Salacious Crumb wrote: Gross. 

Boba Fett47: What's gross about it??

Salacious Crumb wrote: I would rather see Skywalker's Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen engaged in a full-blown "69" position over seeing Carrie Fisher naked today!  Of course Luke's family is dead now...with the exception of Leia.  How creepy is it that George Lucas wrote a scene that nearly brought about incest between Luke and Leia???  I'll bet that he was molested at a young age.

Anyway, I'd rather see the emperor naked in a 3-way with auntie and uncle.  I actually cried when I first viewed that scene of their charred remains.

Boba Fett47: Seriously?

Salacious Crumb wrote: Yup.  It reminded me of my own deceased aunt and uncle.  Only they didn't burn to death at the hands of the evil Empire (not Clear Channel Radio) in order to quench Lord Vader's quest for galactic control.  They burned to death because of a lit cigarette in bed.

Jabba Wabba: LOL!  That's effed up dude.

Salacious Crumb wrote: Which part?  Hey...did anyone else in this room ever wonder why Chewbacca's penis wasn't visible?  I mean, you can plainly see the package on all other animals...even those little yappy fur ball dogs, which are typically owned by a high-maintenance girlfriend who likes to shop and yell at you all the time.

Force-Full: You cant see his dick because of the fur.

Salacious Crumb wrote: I'm, oddly, aroused now.  Most importantly, I cant even believe that you actually KNOW why Chewie's penis isn't on display!  Have you EVER had sex?  Hookers don't count.

Boba Fett47: LOL! 

Salacious Crumb wrote: Now that I think about it, I'm a little disturbed that there are, apparently, 46 other Boba Fetts on this board Boba47.

Aretoooo-Deeeetoooo:  Aunt Beru was hot!

Salacious Crumb wrote: These are not the droids you're looking for.


Leave it to the geeks, living in a basement somewhere in a fly-over state, to NOT toss me off the chatroom.  Let that be a lesson to you before making fun of a geek.  They, obviously, have mediocre judgement in character...and for that, I applaud them.

Although I spent my childhood summers in the country, I've lived in the inner city for a better portion of my life.  As opposed to farm girls, inner city girls don't seem to understand simple things...Such as how to milk a cow, gather eggs, not be psychotic, not to have sex with your room mate, etc.

I felt it to be an excellent idea that I return to the roots of yesteryear in the dating department with the assistance of Farmers Mingle.com.** 

**Not the actual website name.  It seems that the farmers "web massah" don't have no sense of humor...and Pontchartrain Press cant afford a lawsuit right now. 

I found a lovely young farm girl who I feel is the perfect match for me.  Yee-Haw!

Mr. GreenJeans:  Greetings!  My real name is Jim, but I thought Green Jeans was a cool name since I always wondered if he was a REAL farmer when I watched Capt. Kangaroo as a kid.  Judging by his demeanor, I suspect that he grew marijuana...given the era and all.

Anyway, I'm 5' 11'' blonde hair, blue eyes and I weigh 160lbs.  Although, I've put on a little weight lately since I've been making poor life decisions.

Kassie: LOL!  What kind of life decisions?

Mr. GreenJeans: A new Taco Bell opened down the street from my house.  It's the first one in Orleans Parish since Hurricane Katrina, which I think serves as a true testament that this city is SERIOUS about rebuilding!

Kassie: You're funny.  So, have you ever farmed or lived on a farm?

Mr. GreenJeans: I have indeed. 

Kassie:  What did you do on the farm?

Mr. GreenJeans: As I recall, I cried a lot because my parents dumped me there each summer for three months.  Other than that, I split a lot of logs and baled hay with my uncle and his farm-hand, Mr. Billy.  That is, until Mr. Billy touched me in an area that my mother described to the authorities as "inappropriate." 

Which is funny, because when my first real girlfriend, Andrea Pearson, touched me there, it was nothing short of spectacular.

BTW...When I say "short" I don't mean "IT" if you know what I mean.

Kassie: So, why did you and Andrea break up?

Mr. GreenJeans: She was, tragically, killed in a car accident.  Her dad drank a lot and he ran over a mule and buggy...they lived near an Amish farm.

Kassie:  Well, Mr. GJ, it's been nice chatting with ya.' If you're ever near Western Kentucky, stop by for a visit.

Mr. GreenJeans: I can be there by 9am tomorrow.

Kassie:  Um, seriously? 

Mr. GreenJeans: Yeah, I don't see any need to waste time.  I'm a good judge of character just by talking with someone. I can already tell that YOU are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.

Mr. GreenJeans: ????

Kassie: Member has logged off

So much for blue skies and fresh air.  Sigh.

I finished my session with the fine folks at a Turrets Syndrome support group.  Please forgive me for, what I will call, a bit of gratuitous nonsense.

Community Member Jim: FUCK MY BALL SACK!

Admin: User Account Suspended

You got to know when to fold em'

copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2013

 

Author's Note: This is a piece which is presented as a belated birthday gift to a talented comedy mind, Eric frrom Philly.  It also represents two important aspects which comprise my character...I hold total disregard where dates and time are concerned, and I'm a cheap bastard.

Ya' Baby Momma

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.

                                                -Oscar Wilde

 

 

While guys, typically, become one with their fathers, and girls to their mother, there remains an inexplicably silent and special bond between mother and son.  If you require proof, ask Oedipus.

I knew at an early age that my mom was more than a sympathetic ear during difficult situations and much more than an ombudsman by keeping my foolish antics from my father so that I wouldn't be beaten within an inch of my life.

My mom also served as protectorate general of the houshold when dad was away, as evidenced by her almost shooting me with a 12-guage shotgun when I tried to slip back in at 3am after leaving an overnight sleepover at a friend's house.

As I recall, I even immortalized her heroic actions in a hand written Mother's Day card that my 6th grade teacher assigned as a classroom activity that year. It read:

"Dear Mom,

Thanks for your love and support and for not shooting and killing me in the foyer two months ago.

Love,

Jim

This is the precise moment in time when I KNEW that I had been blessed with the gift of effective writing skills because two social workers took particular interest in this card.

My mom was special indeed. She always encouraged me to chase my dreams, she taught me how to cook, she bailed me and my friends, Raul and Keith, out of jail when we thought it to be a good idea to Xerox our bare asses on a grocery store copy machine at age 18 at 2 o' clock in the morning. (I'm sure that she never shared THOSE pictures with her lady friends at the tea party).

Recently, my writer friend, Marie, asked if I might take some bullet-point notes from her and construct a special Mother's Day message that she planned on including in a gift basket for her mom.

Since Marie works closely with me and knows me well, I was absolutely shocked that she asked me to write such a special note, but, because she is a friend, I felt that I was equal to the task.

Here are the bullet-points, as dictated by Marie:

• Wherever you are, you're in my heart
• We've had our differences
• I know you had hopes and dreams for me
• I remember sitting on your lap when you read to me
• You cared for me when I got hurt
• You were there for me on my first day of school
• My first prom
• Graduating college
• My first real job

With bullet-points in hand, and personal knowledge of Marie and her life (outside the confines of her bullet-points) I quietly sat at a pub with computer in tow. I gazed out the window on a peaceful afternoon and crafted a letter that I felt appropriate for her to submit to mom on her special day.

Dear mom,

Wherever you are this Mother' Day, I hope you know that you're in my heart. That I don't know where you are makes me less of a person than my older sister...I want you to know that I'm still trying really hard to live up to failed expectations.

　
I know that we've had our differences over the years, but you've been there for me from the beginning...even though my brother regularly informed me that I was an accident, borne from an evening of indiscretion after a Whitesnake concert, you were STILL there for me!

When I was born and you looked down into my baby blue eyes, marveling at the miracle that is new life; I'm sure you had hopes and dreams for me, as any mother would. Have I lived up to them? I've certainly tried and my therapist tells me that this is an important step.

As you sat me on your lap and read to me, did you daydream about all the places I would go? Even though my brother, William, and my sister, Kristen, studied abroad and now live in West Los Angeles and Paris, France, respectively, I have been to some fantastic places throughout the Mid and Deep south. (By the way, I've enclosed a personalized airbrushed t-shirt that I purchased in Destin, Florida...I hope it's the correct size).

　
I know you wanted the best for me and I couldn't ask for anything more. With the exception that I wish that you and dad would have taken me seriously about Uncle Robert when I came to you.

When I fell and scraped my knees and elbows, you wiped away my tears...as Dad and William called me a pathetic p*ssy. I hope you didn't blame yourself when I got hurt. I blame dad. My therapist calls this transferrence and I'm working really hard on it.

What was it like when you sent me off to preschool? And what about the first day you dropped me off at kindergarten? Did you tear up as you sat in the car, thinking about how quickly the years (which included numerous school-yard beatings and an inappropriate moment between me and Ms. Campbell, the gym teacher) had passed? Or did you worry about whether I would make friends and/or become a lesbian?

I made friends, mom, but no one could take the place of you...even though dad feels differently on the matter.

Were you proud at the parent-teacher conference when I had straight A's? My teachers said you were; my classmates called me an ass-kisser, but that NEVER deterred me from pushing upward.

When I went to sleepovers at friends' houses, were you worried that I would get into trouble? I promise I never did, because, thanks to my friend, Angel Harbsmier, I used condoms. I didn't want to let you down. (By the way, Angel is back in the battered women's shelter...so sad.)

Did it break your heart to see me cry when I was hurting? Thank you for letting me crawl into your lap and for chastising William and dad for calling me a pathetic P*ssy. Thank you so much for telling me that everything would be, relatively, OK.

You were, somewhat, right.

When I found the dress for my first dance, was it magical for you like it was for me? Did you marvel at how quickly I was growing up? I know that my date, Chad Griffith, certainly did. But, that's a long story.

When I graduated from high school, did you wonder where the time had gone? In retrospect, I now fully appreciate that you and dad pushed me out of the house and changed the locks.

Did I resemble the kind of person you had hoped to raise? I hope I did, no matter what my brother, Billy, says. You know why?  Because he's a dick!!  Ooops...that's the transference thing again.

Were you excited for me when I called you to tell you about my new job? Was it everything you had hoped for me? I think it was. Where else can you make $1,000 per night?  Those were the most exciting moments of my life.

Did it make you proud to see me walking across the stage in my dark blue robe, and to hear my name called out in front of thousands of people as I graduated from college? I did it for you...even though it took eight and a half years, I'm glad that I stuck with the Art History degree.

When I have a daughter of my own one day, I will likely pull a Susan Smith and kill her...but, in case I don't, what will I want for her? Will the world be enough? Was it enough for you? According to dad, it wasn't. I visited with him at the apartment where he stays above that grocery store the other day..but I don't want to bum you out.

To you, then, mom, on Mother's Day. Thank you and I love you...even if dad doesn't.

Love, always,

Marie

Marie didn't think much of my scribbles but she thanked me for my time anyway, and I asked if I might be able to see her naked.  She politely declined.

On this special day for mothers everywhere...including my own, who is no longer with us, I wish you a happy day.  Please know that you hold a special place and the debt that is owed to you can never be fully repaid (especially the tuition loans).  What we CAN, and must, offer is to never, ever, miss an opportunity to utter three simple words...

I love you.

Sincerely,

James Patrick

copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2013

Author's Note: This piece is dedicated to one of the hardest working moms in the biz...Michelle.

My Birthday And Other Calendar Flaws

A substantial amount of time has passed since I last contributed a writing to the fine folks at Pontchartrain Press. 

I've been doing important things over the previous few months, such as devaluing the journalistic integrity of a New Orleans magazine via a few of my articles. 

Actually, I blew off all writing deadlines and pretty much everything else upon learning that the Mayans had, somehow, developed a calendar with an expiration date- thus bringing about the end of the world.

Upon receiving this alarming news, I immediately did what any logical person would do...I finally proposed a sexual encounter with my next door neighbor and robbed a grocery store.

Now that I think about it, the Mayans were a relatively advanced civilization whose people demonstrated brilliant innovations in applied math and writing techniques; they created topless beaches in Cancun AND the bottomless margarita. 

Constructing an incomplete calendar will forever cast a dark shadow over these impressive accomplishments as far as I'm concerned.

This lax work ethic should also serve as a stark reminder for those who consider hiring Hispanic "Day-workers" in front of the neighborhood Home Depot.

Example: The Mayans constructed pyramids (and my neighbor's house) which are referred to as "Ruins", while Egypt's pyramids proudly live on!**

**Note: Minor codes exceptions as it relates to Egyptian pyramids include isolated scorpion infestation and acts of deadly homeland terrorism in and around the neighborhood in which they are situated.

I squarely place blame for the Mayans architecture failure on the likelihood that they outsourced construction to illegal aliens...those lazy Americans constantly infiltrated their borders. Dick Cheney is also a likely culprit.

Before anyone hastily judges me as a xenophobe, or a Dick Cheney hater...I am NOT.

I absolutely love Hispanics...especially Salma Hayek.

I also fully appreciate and admire the rich legacy and history documented within Hispanic culture. They've blazed amazing and important trails across the board in society, while setting immeasurable standards in the art of landscaping, the Dirty Sanchez technique, car stereo equipment, drywall hanging, Rave parties, hotel linen service, the tasty breakfast burrito and flashy gold jewelry.

Since I really have nothing of measurable importance to contribute upon my return to Pontchartrain Press, I figured it to be acceptable that I simply offer the annual birthday rambling.  The piece documents a 364-day journey of self-awareness and is titled:

                                           "Things That I've Learned"

Also known as:

                 "I'm Glad That My Parents Aren't Alive To Witness This Shit-Show."


1. Gossip still amuses me, in that one can only WISH that half of it were true. Unfortunately, my "gossip" life is much more exciting. To clear the air, here is a typical day in my world, regardless of what one might hear through the grapevine:

Wake up
Have some coffee and a smoke
Go back to sleep
Watch Judge Judy
Flip between Judge Nasty and whatever baseball game is being televised
Drift off to sleep
Wake up to find that the neighbor's cat has entered my house and is laying on top of me.
Order food
Think about writing
Go back to sleep
Wake up to learn that the Red Sox lost the game
Scrap plans for writing
Watch Jeopardy

2. As evidenced by an aggressive fly which has been dive bombing me in the house this week, stinging caterpillars on the sidewalk and a city-wide infestation of knife wielding mosquitoes, I've learned that even the insects are thugs in New Orleans!

3. I came to know three angry gentlemen this year who are age 74, 76 and 79 respectively. If I made it that far, I would be happy to still be ALIVE. If I were able to attain an erection at that age I'd consider it an added bonus.

4. I accept the fact that I'm far from perfect, as are we all...except for Ryan Seacrest.

Through the years in my life there have been missteps, mistakes, errors in judgement, approximately 4-minutes passed out (face down) in the snow, attending a Loverboy concert and downright stupidity. 

The saving grace which illuminates the road before me is to work toward reconcile, to help others when I can and to recognize every experience (good or bad) as a learning curve.

5. My friend, Doug, has apparently mastered a gardening feat in that he has grown peppers in his back yard which are so hot that they could be weaponized and sold on the black market to North Korea.

6. My neighbors are clinically insane...and usually drunk.

7. From an astute observation by my friend, John, I've learned that ANYONE can host a diner/dive show on The Food Network by dying their hair, driving a convertible and authoritatively asserting:

"That's the bomb! Tastes great! Mmmmm! The perfect mixture of crunchy, sweet and savory! You rocked it!"

8. The aftermath of hurricanes trigger incredible sale prices.

While waiting in line at the ONLY operating convenience store, thanks to generators, this is an actual transcript between me and a store customer.  It's important to note that she is a known neighborhood prostitute:

Me: Hey how ya' doin'?

Hooker: Good...it's been slow since the Hurricane passed last night.

Me: I'm sure.

(Insert awkward silence)

Hooker: So...you want a quick Bl*wjob for $20

(Insert awkward silence)

9. Me and my friend, Cornell, can indeed solve the world's problems from his front porch...until his pint of Gin runs dry and/or his wife comes out to yell at us around 3:00am.

10. The most stupid name an automaker could ever give to a car is "Yaris."

11. In the aftermath of the Boston Marathon attacks, many people, from first responders to everyday citizens, displayed remarkable acts of dedication, courage, tenacity and kindness. And...the New York Yankees are a class act for their tribute to an age-old rival.  Even though I absolutely HATE the song "Sweet Caroline," it was a kind salute.

12. My friend, Todd, is still somehow married, which teaches me that...well, it actually teaches me nothing.  Other than the fact that he's often quite intoxicated, is regularly forced to attend functions which include in-laws who are also regularly intoxicated as nephews and nieces run around in circles screaming as though they are running from the scene of an Al Qaeda attack. 

13. Words are more powerful than many people realize. I learned that I need to measure mine more often.

14. The Hot Tamale candy machine at an establishment in New Orleans is broken and dispenses candy with no money required. I will NOT be naming this establishment in the interest of greed.

15. Mike, the editor, recently paid me a compliment!  Which confirms that, no matter what YOUR doctor says, Adderall IS indeed right for him.

16. I learned nothing again this year about the rules of professional soccer...or HOW a tie can be claimed by a team as a win?  Also, why is it that the wall surrounding a soccer field looks like the Las Vegas Strip with $7-million dollars worth of advertising scrolls yet the scoreboard is being held up by some random guy on the sideline?

17. No matter what you might think, there is absolutely NO way to look cool while driving a mini-van.

18. The easiest way to make a 13-year old kid stay out of your way is to purchase an X-Box.  Of course, they also will never, EVER bathe, brush their teeth, do their homework, take out the trash, remember anything that you've told them for longer than 7-seconds, wash the dishes, witness the spectacle of grass, trees, sunlight or any semblance of human interaction...with the exception of a headset while playing against another kid 5-thousand miles away.  I've never understood how a kid can forget why he/she went to the kitchen but they can tell you how to negotiate 900 levels of Halo as though they wrote the game program.

19. Creative appreciation is in the eye of the beholder.  For instance, I recently suggested that a friend, who's trying to come up with a name for his band, call themselves: 

"Tom Selleck's Moustache" 

Against protest, my suggestion was flatly rejected.

20. All cell phones are different, so make sure to do your research before making the purchase.  For instance, mine sends out random, idiotic texts after about 4 Irish whiskeys.

21. I learned that, sometimes, it can be an impossible mission to cheer up a friend or loved one and that it's best to leave well enough alone so that they might handle it in their own way, as painful as it might be.

Another year has come and gone and I meet the new year with renewed hope and tremendous optimism by focusing on memories from birthdays past...

Such as the time that I sat on Santa's lap on the front porch of my neighbor's house and felt that I was sitting on something funny.  The fact that my birthday is in April should have been the first warning sign.

Then there's the time when I received a motorized 3-wheeler on my birthday, which my cousin crashed into a tree; he's paralyzed from the neck down to this day.

Or the feeling that I get since age 10 every time I get into a van that smells like cotton candy and cigars.

It wasn't easy being a kid...and not much easier as an adult, but growing older DOES bring one perk: discounts.  I understand that the neighborhood "working girl" is running a birthday special.

copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2013

Running With Scissors

Laughter gives us distance. It allows us to step back from an event, deal with it and then move on. ~Bob Newhart

My day pretty much begins the same as most every other day. 

The hustle and bustle of the busy city street which runs past my house slowly comes to life as children playfully jump about on the corner (I.e. make fun of the smallest kid while pummeling him with rocks) as they wait for the school bus. 

It’s a nice little slice of Americana…with the exception of screams and bangs from, what sounds like, violent sexual activity, involving machinery, emanating from the house occupied by a 25-year old woman who lives next door to me.  Meanwhile the dogs, belonging to the neighbor on my left, bark uncontrollably.

It’s sort of reminiscent of the movie, Groundhog Day; only instead of the Sonny and Cher song blaring from the alarm clock, it sounds as though I’m sitting in the middle of a hardcore porno production…which is being filmed inside an animal shelter…or Michael Vick’s backyard.

In retrospect, today was supposed to be a pretty simple day:

                    Give Michelle a lift to work

                    Take a nap

                    Finish editing two pages of a writing project for a friend

                    Watch TV

                    A short conference call with a director of national sales/promotion

                    Watch TV

                    Take a nap

                    Think about writing a book chapter

                    Go watch Jack (Michelle’s 12-year old) at football practice

                    Scrap plans for writing a book chapter

                    Give Michelle a lift home from work

 

Michelle is like many people…slow to wake.  So, she sets her alarm slightly earlier than she actually needs to be up and at it so as not to be late.  By slightly earlier, I mean that she sets her alarm to go off on the previous Tuesday at 3am so that she might wake up at 6:15am on Wednesday of the following week. (After hitting the snooze button approximately 75 times.)

It was a quiet drive this morning, with the exception of a Lil’ Wayne song roaring at the volume level as that of a military aircraft engine. 

When we finally arrived to Michelle’s place of employment, I was reminded, and slightly envious, of pleasantries that are typically exchanged between average couples at the end of the car pooling experience:

Man: “Love you” (quick kiss)

Woman: “Okay, see ya’ later today”

Man: “Have a nice day sweetie…you think we can have sex later?”

Woman: (Blank stare)

Man: Can I borrow 20-bucks?

Not me and Michelle.  Instead, she exited the car and dropped the following bomb:

“Oh, the kids are outta school today and the sitter can’t make it…can you watch them?”

Fully aware that if she’d asked this question three minutes earlier, while I was driving, I would likely have veered the vehicle into oncoming traffic, killing us both instantly.  So, she appropriately waited until she was completely and safely four feet from the vehicle.

Watching the 6 and 12-year old can be slightly challenging in that they have more energy than your average kids**

**Pronounced AD/HD and an apparent crack cocaine addiction

In order to watch Jackson and Lucien, one must possess certain basic skills:

• Cooking healthy, balanced meals (9 times per day)
• The ability to do laundry as though one works for housekeeping at the Hilton hotel
• Washing dishes 30 times per day
• Calmly answering no fewer than 725-thousand questions
• A direct and personal contact hot line to the national poison control center
• Strong organizational skills
• Haz-Mat first responder certification
• Emergency field surgical training
• District attorney cross-examination skills in order to fully and accurately complete an investigation into actions which result in moderate destruction to the entire back quadrant of the house.

Upon pulling into the driveway back at the house, I took a deep breath and prioritized a day which would now include looking after two kids, 3 cats and a dog.  Realizing that this would likely be more than one person could juggle alone, I formulated a solid game plan; I decided to bring our neighbor, Glen, into action.

Aside from a few minor glitches when Glen and I watched the kids on Mardi Gras Day (See archives at the following link):

http://pontchartrainpress.blogspot.com/2012/02/greatest-show-on-earth.html


Glen and I work well together in watching the children.  The word “child endangerment” only came up once during that episode and Michelle finally began talking to me again a week later.  So, I feel that our field trip went fairly well. 

Glen is an animated and energetic individual who works as a fashion industry makeup artist.*

**Translation: He drinks champagne and wine with 79-pound models all day at work, eats very little and says “fabulous” a lot.

I lightly tapped on Glen’s door to enlist his assistance for the day.

Me: Hey, I need your help for a little while today with the kids so I can do a conference call and some writing.

Glen: I thought we weren’t allowed to watch the kids anymore; plus we lost the kids for 30-minutes that day.

Me: No one got hurt and we eventually found the kids…so I think we’re still allowed to watch them.

Glen: I ended up in a first aid tent on Canal Street with a panic attack during Mardi Gras.

Me: Yes, but the fact that the KIDS didn’t end up in the first aid tent means we’re in the clear.  Can you help?

Before opening the front door to my house, I stared Glen down with my best poker face and assured that this should be a piece of cake.

That is, until I actually opened the door, revealing, Scrappy, the dog, tied to a skateboard and the kitchen table by his front and rear leg.  He was also covered, as was the 6-year old, with Michelle's body glitter. 

Pook, the 200-year old cat, lay under the table, all four paws completely tied with brilliantly colored Mardi Gras beads.  It was at this moment where I felt that I was trapped inside of a nightmare from which I could not awake...or a bizarre Lady Gaga music video.

Standing before us was the 6-year old, wearing a wig, his mother’s dress and high heels proudly announcing:

                                        

                                                “I’m a GIRL!!”

Glen:I KNEW IT!
Me: Shut up.

In the background, I spotted the 12-year old, Jack, who lay, passed out asleep, on the couch with the television blaring an “R-rated” movie and a trail of potato chips scattered across the floor.

I quickly and forcibly grabbed Glen by the shirt as he tried to leave.

First order of business…provide trauma counselling to the animals, then feed the kids and administer AD/HD medication to the youngest child.

As I scrambled to gather my notes for the conference call, Glen prepared a bowl of cereal for Lucien.

I’ve since learned a valuable lesson…communication is key when tending to a 6-year old with AD/HD.  Example:

• Glen dishes a couple of teaspoons of sugar into the cereal
• The oldest kid stumbles into the kitchen and also shovels a couple of teaspoons of sugar   onto the cereal
• Finally, I breeze through and sift sugar into the cereal bowl before serving it.

Behold… the net result…

A child with super-human abilities as that of the Incredible Hulk…only he doesn’t tirelessly right injustices within the confines of a tired and predictable television plot line. 

Instead, he tosses his mother’s entire jewelry collection, a bag of cat food, a bottle of body wash, a package of crackers, all of the bathroom towels and the cat into the kiddie pool in the front yard just before beating his older brother senseless with a plastic sword. 

Keep in mind; he’s still wearing the dress, wig and high heels while my neighbors stare in horror from their front porch.

After grabbing Glen again by the shirt to keep him from leaving, I administered minor first aid to the oldest kid, Jack, as Glen exhausted his best efforts to occupy Lucien by inserting a Sponge Bob DVD into the player. 

As I nervously awaited my conference call, I noticed that the house had fallen eerily quiet.  This is approximately the moment when I spotted Lucien, fully engrossed in the Sponge Bob DVD, sipping from a cup that Glen had left on the end table.

Me: Glen...The kid is drinking your orange juice.

Glen: (Heart stopping gasp) That’s NOT orange juice!

I’m no legal expert, but I feel strongly that accidentally serving a screwdriver to a young child might, in fact, constitute child endangerment in the state of Louisiana.

Needless to say, I was quite upset with Glen’s reckless behavior and I let him know about it…primarily because he was stashing vodka and didn’t make a screwdriver for me.

My favorite time of day while watching the kids is lunchtime.  It’s a period of time where both kids typically settle down, shoving their faces with food while saying “I hate you” a dozen or so times to one another.

I’ve heard stories of sibling rivalries in my lifetime; however, Jack and Lucien take it to a level that even Hollywood screenwriters can’t possibly imagine.  Examples: (And, I’m NOT making this up)

“Stop breathing my air Jackson!

“You’re ugly just like my butt hole.”

“How do you know what your butt hole looks like?  Gross!”

“Stop talking about my butt hole Jackson!”.

"When I get rich, I’m gonna buy an entire country and I’m gonna let everyone
 in the world in it…except for you.

 “Stop laughing at the TV Jackson!”

"Shut up and eat your food punk!"

"Stop looking at my food Jackson or I’m gonna throw it away.”

"Then you won't get to eat punk"

"Don't tell me when to eat JACKson!"

Sadly, the list goes on and on and on and on and on.  To the point where I find myself wishing to fall victim to a drive-by drug related shooting.

After Scrappy the dog devoured the briefly unattended lunch plate, it was finally time for my conference call.  I felt pretty good about the household conference call ambiance, as the kids had finally settled down.  I pleaded with Glen to exert extra precautions in keeping everyone quiet so that I might get through this call without embarrassment. 

Mr. Bentley: As you all know, we’ve stepped up extra promotion and sales efforts in the Mid-south and in the Pacific Northwest.  I’d also like to welcome Jim to our weekly call.  He will be working closely with our promotions office to cover the Deep South.  Welcome Jim…

Me: Thank you.  I’m happy to be a part of…

Lucien: I FARTED!!!

(Awkward silence on the conference call)

Mr. Bentley:  Uh…who was that?

Me: We have a pet McCaw…he sometimes blurts out weird stuff.

Mr. Bentley: (nervous laugh)  Oh, okay.  Anyway, as I was saying…

Lucien: I just saw Mr. Glen’s pee pee.  Mr. Glen has a long pee pee!! (Giggles)

Me: (rapidly disconnecting from the conference call; glaring at Glen as he appeared from upstairs)  WHAT THE HELL GLEN?

Glen: I had to go to the bathroom…he picked the lock and came in while I was finishing!

After dispatching a quick explanation email to the director of national sales, explaining that the house suddenly exploded, resulting in my conference call disconnection, I figured that a quick nap might calm my nerves.

I asked Glen to keep a close eye on the 6-year old and informed him to wake me if anything happened or if he needed assistance.  Translation: "I planned to murder Glen if he even THOUGHT about waking me."

I must admit, I’ve never seen a child completely reconstruct his bedroom…outside on the front lawn.  But, upon waking, there it was, complete with the mattress, lamp, dresser drawers and Scrappy the dog, tied to the flat panel television base.

On the front porch sat Glen, head tilted all the way back, snoring, with Lucien nowhere in sight…that is, until I quickly made my way down the sidewalk around the corner of the house. 

A pizza delivery guy strolled toward me with a stack of pies when I spotted Lucien hanging out of the side door to his SUV.

Delivery Guy: Anyone order a pizza?

I can fully appreciate that someone who has never had children might not convey a sense of concern or urgency where these matters are concerned, but I feel strongly that MY first question would have been:

Hey…do you know WHO the 6-year old hanging out of my car window belongs to??

After smacking Glen in the head with a stuffed animal, I woke him and we began to reconstruct Lucien’s bedroom…safely within the confines of the house.

It was finally time for football practice…the home stretch of the day before I was scheduled to retrieve Michelle from work.

Taking Lucien out later in the day can be hit or miss as his energy level becomes slightly elevated like many small children. 

Nothing out of the ordinary, he simply becomes excited around people and does things which might be a little more than your average adult can effectively manage. 

He runs, jumps, hides things, sprays an entire bottle of expensive perfume onto the cat, rakes a 7-foot shelf into the floor with his arms at the grocery store, destroys the floral department, attempts to jump from a balcony, performs factory unauthorized tests as it pertains to the buoyancy of cell phones in mud puddles and challenges the durability of the neighborhood electric and water department grid by activating every single outdoor faucet and indoor light.

Before heading to Jack's football game, Glen and I grabbed a shoulder bag so that we might visit the convenience store near the park to purchase a few refreshments for our outing...Gatorade, snack crackers, peanuts, bubble gum, vodka, orange juice, cigarettes, Valium and bottled water.

At the checkout, Glen and I placed our items on the counter while we waited for Jackson...who, as usual, dumped a basket onto the checkout totaling the approximate down payment amount for a new BMW.

As we watched the game, Lucien played with the other 6-year olds on the playground within the field fence line as Glen and I chatted with a few parents who sat nearby.

Lady: I think it's awesome for you both to come out and be a part of sports with the kids

Glen: Thanks.  We usually get nervous taking them out together...they have a lot of energy and don't get along very well..

Lady: Well, I think it's fantastic. 

Glen: It's not that big of a deal...we just both need eyes in the back of our heads to watch him.

Lady: Jackson is a good kid not to be worried about what his friends and coaches think.

Glen: What do you mean??

It was at this point when I realized that this lady assumed that Glen and I were a same sex couple.

Football practice went well and Jack, being the newly selected first-string quarterback, loitered on the field, chatting with fellow team mates and the head coach.

We wandered onto the field where we stopped and exchanged pleasantries with the coach and his staff.  Midway through our conversation, the coach suggested that I enroll Lucien in the 6-year old league which was set to begin in a week...that is, until a young woman approached with the following question:

Woman: Is THAT your child over there (pointing to the playground)

Me: Yes...why?

After carefully focusing toward the playground, I noticed Scrappy, the dog, firmly tied to the base of the slide with Mardi Gras beads; bubble gum was plastered through both Lucien's hair and Scrappy's fur.  I nervously laughed and politely excused myself from further football contract negotiations with the head coach.

As an added visual, Lucien was also wearing his mother's hair extensions which he'd smuggled in his pants.

As I scanned a little further to the left, I noticed Glen surreptitiously mixing a screwdriver.  It was decidedly time to leave football practice and go pick up Michelle, capping a day that no one that I know would ever believe.

Upon retrieving Michelle, we caught up on the news of the day, exchanging pleasantries:

Michelle: Ugh...what a day!  I'm soooo glad to be off work.  How was your day?

Me: Nothin' to write home about.  Pretty quiet.

Michelle:  Is that bubble gum in your hair???

A simple day indeed.

copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2012

Author's Note: I like to joke around a lot in order to put a more acceptable face on serious topics...I tend to do so in a manner, unlike my father, who served salmon on the evening that he informed me that my gold fish died when I was age seven. 

Or, for that matter, when the first girlfriend with whom I had sexual relations microwaved a bag of popcorn in 2-minutes at our friend's house and coyly asked if it reminded me of anything.

The truth of the matter is, it's been quite difficult to watch a young child struggle with a psychological situation that a team of therapists can't seem to identify...but they continue to diligently work hard to lead Lucien to a happier and normal place.

I would also be remiss by not admitting that there have been good days and bad days for all who have been involved on this journey.

Lucien is not mentally challenged, quite the opposite actually.  I believe that he's too smart for the physical and mental faculties for a six-year old to handle...much less two unlikely babysitters.   

Words can not begin to describe what it feels like to have a front row seat to witnessing the toll that his situation has taken on the person who gave birth to a beautiful child, only to be told by many specialists (and casual bystanders) that they KNOW something is wrong with her precious boy, but they just can't figure it out. 

It's even more painful to witness the tears after no fewer than ten people give her the dreaded "run-down" on a daily basis as to her child's antics; be it the school bus driver, the teacher, the principal, me, Glen, Jackson, the neighbor or the team of therapists.

Then, I realize that I DON'T have a front row seat...SHE does.  I can't possibly imagine how that must feel for a proud, hard working and loving mother...all of which she is.

At present, Lucien is undergoing competent and careful therapy and I'm optimistic for great success. 

In the meantime, this piece is dedicated to Lu...and to the fact that I do, in fact, last longer in the sexual department than a bag of microwave popcorn!

Please cut me some slack...I was 17 for God's sake!




Lucien and Pook...the ancient cat...just before Hurricane Isaac