Friday, August 19, 2011

I Fought the Lawn and the Lawn Won

Today is the first time in my life that I cut my lawn in fear. Every step another bead of sweat formed on my brow. I'm ashamed and my neighbors are probably laughing at me but I didn't think it would be this way. I just couldn't put my body at risk anymore. Today I found out the hard way that my front yard is infested with bees. And not just any bees...I have blood thirsty car-jacking baby-stealing Italian hating  pirate bees. Bees that make a grown man swear and sprint into the house not once but three times. Bees that mess with a man's yard. Now that is just wrong! As a result my front yard now has a Mowhawk. A perfect little strip that I physically couldn't mow today for fear of the aforementioned pirate bees. "What you talkin' about fool?" I'm talkin' about pain Mr. T. Pure unadulterated pain.

Dear bees who stung me through the ankle sock...and in the calf...and in the knee...I'm coming back with poison tomorrow bitches. I've heard that you die after you sting someone but just to be sure I'm coming back with a shock and awe campaign. Like George W I'm gonna smoke you out. There's nowhere to hide. I'm not confusing you with your benign honeybee cousin. Oh the honeybee!  Nature's little helper. Not you you little yellow jacket bastards! You don't pollinate my beautiful flowers. You don't make honey (OK you might, I'm not sure but I'm coming from a place of pain and ignorance). You're pure evil and I will take every measure to bring you to justice. And how dare you mess with a man's lawn! That crap is sacred! You also sting my wonderfully stupid dog. Winston the super Lab. And for that I cannot forgive you. You have hurt myself and my family. Now it's personal.

Friday, August 12, 2011

My Little Man...Not this Little Anymore

I love this shot of my son. Sometimes when I look at him this is still how I see him. However I can assure you that he's not this size anymore. He's 8 years-old and I just bought him a pair of size 6 sneakers for school. Size 6! What happened to my little boy? Some mornings he saunters downstairs I think he's bigger than the night before. Are the fertilizer fairies sprinkling him with their fairy dust at night or what?

How awkward will it be for me on the morning he comes down looking like Vin Diesel and I have to ask him why he came home so late the night before. I need to start doing some push ups. Perhaps some hot yoga or something. I gotta get buff before he can crush me with two fingers.

You know you shrink when you get old? It's a fact and I have that working against me as well.  It's a matter of time before I start looking like Mickey Rooney. Time is a cruel co-pilot.

The good news is that he's a gentle giant. I have that going for that's nice. Plus he really loves his Mom so I can always call her in for backup if needed.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

A B-52's Concert (Not the Kentucky Derby)

Oh the paparazzi. How they hound me. I try to cruise back into Stamford to attend a B-52's concert and the press can't leave me alone. C'mon people, I haven't been gone that long! This photo appeared on the Stamford Advocate website yesterday. Clearly they were after a shot of me and not the two lovely ladies I happened to be with (I'm delusional). Do you know why these ladies were photographed? Because they look like elegant women.

That said, allow me to address the ladies (not pictured) who attended this fantastic event:

Dear All Under 30-year old Women of Fairfield County:

Just because it's summer does not mean that you're given license to dress like street walkers. I shouldn't have to say this but a half-shirt should not be worn as a dress. Men have amazing imaginations - perhaps you could let us use ours and put on something that doesn't make you look like Snooki's sluttier sister. How about having some faith in your wit, charm and sense of humor? Maybe show off your brain off a little rather that your lower back tattoo aka "the tramp stamp." Give the male gender more credit and put your best face forward (not your ass).

The Evolved Male