The J Word

The J Word

So here’s an actual conversation that I had today with my self-proclaimed unjealous girlfriend.

Jen: “So I see you changed your blanket.”
Me: “Yes, I brought another blanket out. You’re using the other one.”
Jen: “That’s the one your ex-girlfriend made you, right?”
Me: “What? No. My day camp assistant made it for me.”
Jen: “But you dated her, right?”
Me: “No!”
Jen: “But you would have, right?”
Me: “Wha? I – don’t…”
Jen: “Well, you wanted to date her, right?”
Me: “I didn’t date or hook up with every girl that I ever knew, you know.”
Jen: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Why are you doing this?”
Jen: “Well this is the one that you had when you were with Stephanie, right?”
Me: “Well yeah… I mean – I did own a lot of stuff –”
Jen: “See?”
Me: “No.”

To Jen’s credit, she was joking around on some level. And I guess it’s possible the blanket was too close to the grill when she was cooking dinner tonight. And I’ll take jealousy over apathy any day.

Still Standing Right Here…

Testing Loyalties

Testing Loyalties

Lord, I understand you work in mysterious ways and far be it for me to question Your method. I understand this is just one of those times when my loyalty is being tested. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t question why You would allow Sir Donovan to be traded within the division. I’m not necessarily a religious man, but to me, football is a higher calling. I worship at Our Lady of the NFL every Sunday and pray to the divinity of the Quarterback, Head Coach and Left Tackle.

I am here to ask for a miracle and I know you’ve granted them before. I’ve seen your work come to life in the form of the Immaculate Reception, the Holy Roller and the Music City Miracle. I know you rarely intrude into the business of personnel trades, but I remember back in 2004 when T.O. was a Raven for like 13 hours and then somebody yelled “do-over” and then he was an Eagle. Could you please do that again? I didn’t say anything about Brian Mitchell or James Thrash or even Jeremiah Trotter. But this is testing the boundaries of my loyalty as an Eagle fan living in a Redskin world.

My loyalty, first and foremost, will always be to the Eagles franchise. I believe in their front office and trust in this business move, as painful as it is for me. But I also have an allegiance to #5, as a great guy, despite T.O., Rush Limbaugh and the growing majority of haters in Philadelphia who can’t recognize how good of a player he is because he didn’t win a Superbowl. Philadelphia fans are stupid. On WIP, more than one person volunteered to drive him out of town because they hated him, a man who won more games than everyone but Tom Brady, Brett Favre and Peyton Manning in the last 10 years. And for that ass hole and the legions of morons like him, I hope for the success of Donovan. Because I have an allegiance not only to the Eagles and #5, but also to a good story. And it’s almost worth the success of the Eagles franchise to me just to see those haters eat crow. I’m not saying that I’ll ever cheer against the greatest team in any league that there ever could be, forever and ever, Amen. But when the day comes, depending on how things play out, I know I’ll be tested. I only hope I can stay strong for You.

In preparation, I’ve decided not to eat any solid foods for the next few weeks, as I’ll likely throw up the first day I see him in that burgundy and gold uniform.

Dear Dickhead in the Chevy Trailblazer

Dear Dickhead in the Chevy Trailblazer,

First of all, you’re not fooling anyone. It’s not like you’re bagging cheetahs on the weekend. You’re picking up Kaili from soccer practice and dropping off Dylan at his piano lesson. And that “26.2” sticker on the hatchback isn’t as humble or inside a message as you probably think it is. We all know your secret language now. Besides, it’s just a sticker. I can buy stickers too.

Secondly, I know what you did back there. If you’re gonna pud along in the fast lane with your cruise control stuck on “grandma,” at least have the dignity to admit you’re a moron that can’t drive and let me pass you on the right. Getting into the right lane and speeding up just enough so I can’t pass you has upgraded you from moron to dickhead. Congratulations. Kaili and Dylan will be proud. And I realize that you’d have plausible deniability in a court of law, but I know what you’re doing – and out on the streets, everyone is their own judge and jury. Incidentally, I actually mean the phrase “out on the streets” literally for possibly the first time. While I feel that it is cowardly and petty to cut me back off to pass someone, I’d like to thank you for going the extra half mile and using your turn signal to let me know it was going to happen. Also, now that you’re driving the speed I’d like to be going, I don’t care anymore. I hope you feel better knowing that your minivan has better pickup than my 94 Civic with a field liner and 85 additional pounds of disc golf and flag football equipment in the backseat, but it means very little to me. I advise you from now on to drive the speed you’d like to go and not worry about impressing people like me because it’s not working. I should not be that important to you. Have a safe and enjoyable rest of your trip.

Regards,
The Dickhead in the Honda Civic.

Homophobophobic

Homophobophobic

I’ve gotten very comfortable around gay people in the past couple years. Maybe it’s because of that time I was having sex with a guy who turned out to be gay. Seriously though, I’ve always been pretty open to all things, especially when it comes to sexual deviation. But since I started working in the Mt. Vernon area of Baltimore and at a primarily-continuing education school, I’ve been exposed to a lot more openly gay people than I was for three years in the Midwest Bible Belt of Conservativeland, Ohio. So I don’t think much about it. If somebody is willingly “out,” I don’t find it taboo to refer to them as gay when describing him or her to someone. Nor do I find it weird to talk to them about their partners or anything I wouldn’t normally feel uncomfortable talking about. I see the difference as just a preference they have that I don't, like talking to a Redskins fan. And yet, it makes some people uncomfortable. I was joking around about the Hippo Bar being the Coyote Ugly of gay bars. This comment made the already outed friend in our group clam up and think I had a problem with gay people. Sadly, this happens too often. I would guess that people who are not gay but talk about it openly enough to joke about it are more than likely viewed as homo-bashing than homo-friendly. So I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t feel the need to walk on egg shells around the subject and it makes me look like more of an ass to some people. So I have to treat something that’s not a big deal to me like it is so I don’t come across wrong now. As a country, we’ve gotten way too homophobophobic.

Still Standing Right Here…

This Joke is on Me

This Joke is on Me

Oops. The joke is apparently on me this time. I used to be an upper-level prankster when it came to April Fool’s Day. Well, I’ve gotten busier, more mature and quite boring in the last decade and a half. Those days are behind me. Now I just resort to the casual, spur of the moment gags that are as old as sarcasm itself. Well, this year, it backfired something serious.

I decided to post on facebook early today that Jen got me pregnant. It was really my half-ass way of mocking the “holiday” tradition. Well, my sister replies to that post “Congratulations. Good to know you’re still pumping out eggs at your age.” Not particularly funny, but a harmless quip nonetheless. To this, I decided to reply on her wall “Thanks so much, Char. Hopefully there are no more complications. I’ll let you know when the shower is and you’ll the baby’s Godmother of course.”

Here’s the thing about facebook. Now I’ve put that out there without the context of the first two comments. In retrospect, that’s where I went wrong. My Nana is not on facebook, thank the lord. But her good friend is. And she is friends with my sister, but not me (on facebook). Being a drama queen and seeing blood in the water, she called my Nana to tell her the great news. And so begins the telephone game. I’m not sure what things were assumptions and which were blatantly made up and taken as fact from these assumptions, but word got out to my mother, two aunts and somehow leaked into my father’s side of the family too that Jen was pregnant and the baby may have gestational diabetes. OK, I’m making up that last part, but there were concerns about what the “complications” were and several theories were out there, as I found out when I returned from my meeting to find I had 7 messages on my voicemail.

To further aid the ridiculousness of this story, I had taken down my original post after getting several tactless replies to it. So now, no one could disprove any of this by facebook stalking me. All that was out there was my comment on my sister’s wall, and the 27 unanswered replies underneath of it from various family members and congratulatory friends. I finally had to post up that Jen was not pregnant and there thusly were no complications. At least not with a baby. There were many complications elsewhere. Mostly with my mother, who was the happiest she’d ever been in her life for 2 hours, only to learn that her son may still indeed be infertile and afraid of commitment.

So that was my failed attempt at a harmless April Fool’s joke this year. Thank you, facebook, for finally giving me an April Fool’s to remember. Looks like the joke is on me. Or is the joke on you?


Still Standing Right Here…