Drinking the Murky Waters

The Curse of the Wayward Traveler- Part 2

2013-08-20T07:54:00.001-07:00

Yep, Montgomery, Alabama. Home of...umm...shit I don't know. I saw some random bovine type creatures on our approach to the bodunk little airstrip that our Delta flight would soon be calling home.

After we landed, our genius captain, clearly a great leader of men, came back on the speaker. "Well folks, we'll be back up in the air as soon as we can, there are a few other Delta flights stuck here too and it's pretty much first come-first serve." The endless row of fire engines and men in silver Haz-Mat suites were not a comforting scene; however, as I looked out the window. One of the airliners on the tarmac in front of had somehow spilled jet fuel all over the runway. But hey, at least my new friend Jordan, who had silently sat next to me for the last couple hours, brought me a pack of cookies. "Here you go, they gave me two."

Sweet, at least I wouldn't starve to death on this doomed vessel. We introduced ourselves and then I invited her to look out my window. "I don't think we're going anywhere for a while."

As the temperature rose inside the cabin, one sprightly young man took his guitar out of storage and started playing some music and singing a song he had just wrote in his head. I was actually very impressed. The captain again came on but the whispers of mutiny had nearly drowned him out. He mentioned something about there being jet fuel on the runway, not enough people to get us out to the gate, and him having to go outside to inspect the plane before we take off. OK, no worries, we'll be in Atlanta soon and I'll be on my later flight to Providence, Jordan will be back in her own bed, and everything will be right with the world after this little hiccup.

The End.

Except when the captain re-boarded the plane and indicated that we had a landing gear tire that was dangerously close to blowing out because it was so bald. OK, I could deal with the thunderstorms, the critical low fuel level, the gas spill on the runway, the rising temperature inside the fuselage of the plane...but WHO THE FUCK CHECKED THE LANDING GEAR BEFORE WE TOOK OFF?? I mean, did we really land on a messed up tire? Who is regulating this shit??

We finally exited this apparent death-trap of an airplane and made our way to the gate, where we met my other new insta-friend, Jeff, who was clearly the most intelligent individual passenger on the plane, and had already called ahead to Budget Rental Car. After a small debate, it was determined that we three strangers would abandon our luggage and get the hell out of there to make the 2 hour drive to Atlanta, where I would (hopefully) catch the last flight home to Providence. We were on a mission. After leaving bumf**ck Alabama with Jeff at the helm, me co-piloting, and Jordan providing food and beverage from the backseat. We had some fun conversations, especially the one where it was determined that we would somehow get me home that night, come hell or high water. At one point Jordan thought it was a good idea to call her Dad and tell him that she had met two strange men at the airport and was currently in a rented car on a rural highway. Jeff and I thought this might be a bad idea, but she assured us it was cool. The funny thing was, after we all realized that we wouldn't kill each other, (see quote from part 1), it was like we had known each other forever. The nightmare of a travel day turned into a great adventure to get me home to my fiancé and in my own bed for some much-needed TLC. As it turns out, this type of thing is actually commonplace for Jordan, who runs into this type of shit all the time, and she travels a lot for work. This entire mess was clearly her fault, but Jeff and I forgave her.

Luckily Jeff knew the mega-airport very well, dropped my ass off right at the gate, and I made it through security and onto my plane home with about 4 minutes to spare. Yes I was in the middle seat between an old woman and a large guy who had bare feet, smelled something awful, and snored...but I was happy all the same.

This was one flight where I wasn't watching the aisle wondering just who would be in my row. I figured I had exhausted my good luck for the day, and was just happy to be on my way home to my girl, and my bed.

The Curse of the Wayward Traveler-Part 1

2013-08-15T05:53:00.002-07:00

"What you have going for you, Jordan, is that the two of us are also strangers. It stands to reason that you're actually safer from a gangbang/murder since there's a high percentage that at least one of us is not a psycho."

We'll get back to that.

I'm generally a big proponent of chatting up people while travelling. I enjoy hearing peoples' stories and meeting all different types of folks from all over the country. It relaxes me. It intrigues me. I walk the line between being friendly and knowing when someone just wants me to shut the hell up so they can work or read or stare out the window or whatever. I get like that too occasionally, after a bad day or many miles.

While conversing
with people I sit next to on a plane or who I meet at an airport gate is one thing, and makes for great temporary friendliness, it most often runs its course and ends the moment I step off the plane at home. In other words, it's a great distraction from the monotony that flying can sometimes be, but for the most part, nothing more.

Nothing like a complete abortion of a trip home to change the above. It started out innocently enough, with me standing at the gate waiting for zone 54 to be called so I could find seat 117 E. How I wound up with such a shitty seat, I'll never really know. I'm guessing it had something to do with my change of flight plans...but as fate would have it, my seat number would be the one and only reason I made it home that night. Sorry, **SPOILER ALERT**!! Yes, I made it home. It wasn't the same calendar date, but I made it home. Before my fiancé finally picked me up from the airport in Providence, at 2:00 a.m. on the day after I started my trek home from Dallas, I had nearly given up any kind of hope that I would ever see home again. The comedy of disasters preceding the end of the night was alarming at the time. 13 hours, 46 texts, 12 phone calls, 1 pack of cookies, and 2 brand new friends later, I'm glad shit hit the fan the way it did. As luck would turn out, I wouldn't have had the day go any other way. Like I said...it started when I boarded the Delta flight. Pure ridiculousness is what follows.

Redemption came in the form of a pack of cookies. You've all done it. You've sat down on the plane in your row of seats and just hope upon hope that someone AT LEAST normal sits down next to you. You eyeball each and every would be temporary friend that climbs aboard. You sigh with relief every time a fat lady or a brown person who starts praying angrily to an unknown God either sits down in front of you or passes by you without staring at your row of seats. What?! It's true!!

When Jordan sat down next to me I was relatively confident that I wouldn't have to breathe through my mouth for the whole flight or wrestle a box cutter out of her hands. She appeared normal enough, smiled when she sat down, and soon after busted out her laptop to catch up on some apparently much needed Friday afternoon work. (Laughing.) I wouldn't find out about her horrible curse until hours later. I made a bit of small talk, walking that line, and got the feeling she just wanted to do her own thing. So I shut the fuck up, put The Town on my laptop, stuffed some headphones in my ears, and settled in for the flight to Atlanta.

Ah yes, Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. As of the end of 2012, it was the world's busiest airport. Not the country's, the world's busiest airport. 95 million souls traveled through Atlanta in 2012. It also serves as Delta Airlines main hub. Over 50% of all Delta flights go through the ATL. Safe to say it would be bad if this airport had to shut down for any amount of time, especially for those en route on a Delta flight.

"Ahhhhhh.....hi folks. This is your captain. Looks like we've run into a little weather immediately over the airport in Atlanta and we're not yet cleared to land. We're going to slow things down and hope it opens up here in a few minutes, otherwise we're going to get critically low on fuel and have to divert the aircraft."

I'm pretty sure you don't EVER want to hear the word "critical" when you're 37,000 feet in the air, especially when it's said by the guy driving the plane. Jordan and I looked at each other and I stated to her calmly that I had a 4 hour layover in Atlanta, so a delay wouldn't really affect me. Atlanta was her final destination, so even though she stood by to fly on this aircraft since it left earlier, it really wasn't the end of the world if she was delayed either....and then we landed in Montgomery, Alabama.

KRG 2.0

2013-07-30T12:44:00.001-07:00

"So big guy, you can have anything you want for dinner tomorrow night for your birthday. Anything in the whole wide world. Where do you want to go eat?"

I can't put into words exactly the way I feel about my son. Anything I write on paper or post as a blog could never do justice to the purest kind of love a person can feel for another person; which is the love a parent has for a child.

As my oldest son turns 4 years old on Wednesday, July 31st 2013, I've been reflective of the 4 years that have flown by like a Concorde. I have been thinking about how grateful I am to spend the rest of my life being the father of the most incredible little boy who walks this Earth. Each day and every birthday brings new excitement to me, and I wonder if other parents feel the same way...I'm sure most do. Each day is a brand new experience. Every conversation we have is always the first of it's kind. There is no play book or instruction manual on how to be a father. There are definitely specific ways to NOT be a good father, but there are a myriad of ways to be a great father. So many combinations of how to bring him up. I am always wondering if I'm being a good father. I want to be the best that I can possibly be and show my son just how very much he means to me. At the same time, as with anyone else, I want to teach him to be a good person and instill in him the values my parents have instilled in me, only better. That's not to say that my parents didn't do a GREAT job by raising me and my siblings, because they did. I wouldn't change anything about the way my parents have raised me, but it's only natural, I think, to want to do even better for my kids.

Being a divorced parent is a hard job. In a way, I'm lucky to have my father for advise because he was divorced from my mother, and can relate to how my life is. I don't get to see my boy every day. At first, this was almost too much pain to bare. I hated being away from him for 5 minutes, never mind days at a time. I still do. But as with every new thing you learn as a child grows, I became more comfortable with having to be away from him. Although I would love for him to live with me full time, it's just not the way it is, and I don't like it, but have accepted it and adapted to it. If nothing else, it makes the time I spend with him every weekend that much more precious and makes me appreciate what he has done to make my life what it is. I'm lucky to get along with his mother just enough so that I see my son as much as I want. Some fathers are not as lucky.

The first 4 years of a child's life, in my experience, have been so incredible in such different ways, from the time he was a newborn up until now. He has his own personality. He can speak so well and is so smart. He learns things so fast and the greatest feeling in the world is explaining something to him and have him understand what I teach him. I love to look into his bright blue eyes and just see the knowledge pour into his sponge of a brain. To talk to him on the phone and have him remember and talk about something that I taught him weeks ago is amazing to me. Being a first time father, I never knew how I would teach him. I always worried, and still do, that maybe I don't teach him enough or I worry that he doesn't have as much fun as possible when we hang out. As we go on though, and as he gets smarter and funnier and develops his very own personality, I feel better about the job that I do. I feel natural being a dad. It's what I was meant to be, if nothing else. Prior to him being born, I lived for myself. I wanted to be successful in my job. I chased girls, I partied with my friends, I traveled all over the place for fun. I always knew that I wanted kids, some day, but I could never have predicted how much it has changed my life for the better.

Having a child, especially a son in my case, being male, is like being born again, (not in a religious way, yuck) and experiencing the joy of growing up for the first time all over again. It's a second chance. It's giving another human being the knowledge to live his life in the best possible way, and at the same time, having so much fun doing it! I play trucks and Legos with him and we wrestle around and play monsters and watch Disney movies and sports...like my dad did with me when I was a boy. I get to say silly things and be a kid again. Christmas is exciting again. Watching cartoons or going to see a G-rated movie is a blast. Going to the playground and pushing him on a swing or riding on a merry-go-round at his very first carnival are more fun than I could have with anyone else. I look forward to teaching him to play baseball and ride a bike and help him with homework and to be friendly and outgoing and learning more about what the type of person he's going to be. And when the day comes when I've taught him all that I can, and he is his own man, I know that I'll not only be his father, but want to also be his best friend, until the end of all things. I want to be able to look at him and whatever he decides to do with himself or have a family, and maybe a son of his own one day, and say, "Ya did good Vin." I can't wait to be even more proud of him than I already am.

When I look at my son, I see me. To think that I made him and he is part of me is pure joy. His eyes are my eyes. His voice is my voice. His heart and his soul are parts of me. When Jr. was born, when I saw him enter this world, when I was the first person on Earth to see him and touch him....this brand new life...I knew and felt right away, instantly, that I no longer lived for myself, but that I do so for him. Everything I do is for him. Of course I have my own life, my other family members, my friends, my fiancé and everything else good in my life means so much to me and I'm so happy. When I'm with my son; however all of it vanishes, and it's just him...the person I helped make. The world and all my stress and anxiety and problems goes away, so far away that I could not possibly be unhappy when I am with him. Four years ago, I began to live for someone else. And I would die for him as well. He is the reason I live, the purpose of my life. His happiness is my happiness. His failures and pain are mine. I want so badly for him to be better than me. I want him to know that he can be anybody. He has so much time to do what he wants, and I won't let him forget it. He is so pure and innocent and it's my job to make sure as the evil in this world and pain and heartache get to him, as it does to us all as we grow, it is as much on my back as I can possibly make it. I'm his ozone layer. I can't absorb all of the negative that might come his way, some will just get through, inevitably. But I will always be the first one to help any pain he might feel become my own. My instinct is to shelter him from everything, but I also know that he has to experience things to make him strong on his own as well, and become a strong person.

He's recently been calling me "Dad" instead of "Daddy" on occasion and it gives me mixed feelings..."Dad." Yeah, I guess at 4 years old, that's about right. It makes the last 4 years seem to have gone by so fast. It makes me a little sad, in a way, that at some point, each time we talk there will no longer be any "Hi Daddy," the name fading away with the years. I'll just be "Dad." My little baby is now a little boy, and one day he'll be a young man. I hope I can continue being the best "Dad" to him in the world. I want to be his hero, just by loving him and teaching him. I want him to love spending time with me, especially now, before he'd rather hang out with his friends someday.

Being the best father I can be is the most important thing in my life. Buddy, I'm talking to you....I hope down the road, and you learn to read, you will look at this and be happy to acknowledge the admiration I have for you, my boy.

I love you little guy. Happy 4th birthday. I'll try every day to be the best I can be for you, and make sure I say that I love you every day. And yes my little man, we can just stay home and have chicken nuggets, beans, and ketchup with some juice for dinner on your birthday...like I said, anything you want in the world.

Paradise By The Dashboard Light

2013-06-24T16:50:00.001-07:00

Dear Meatloaf, please don't break my balls for using one of your most famous song titles. Those of you who are smart enough might actually get the irony involved by the end of this.

I recently got engaged to my girlfriend, Chloe. Naturally, I proposed in writing because I can't seem to properly express myself verbally. (I won't bore you with the story...) I'm hoping this time around it will work out. I think it will. Even statistics are on my side. First marriages only work half the time, but second marriages work out much more frequently...and I'm truly happy and in love. Plus she's hot, funny, smart, driven, cooks and cleans, and gives fantastic blowj....ummmmm....back rubs.

To say that I've kissed a few swamp donkeys along the way is an understatement. And by kissed of course I mean, well you know. (Disease and unplanned pregnancy free since '96, by the way!) Let's consider the history for a moment...and if I offend anyone, too bad, frankly. Nobody said this space was meant for the thin-skinned, the politically correct, and the easily offended.

My major relationships have consisted of the following:

1. A girl who cheated on me with one of my good friends, (no blame from me on him, by the way...situations like this are the girl's fault, 100% of the time.) Then she turned to crack, literally, at which point I promptly dumped her. She moved to a trailer park in Pawtucket, popped out a couple of illegitimate kids whose father is in prison, and has generally failed at life.

2. A girl who has ballooned by about 250 pounds since we broke up and makes me vomit in my mouth every time I run into her.

3. A girl who I wound up marrying who I legally can't speak badly about. You'll all just have to trust me on this one. She is the Antichrist. My family hates her and for good reason, that of which, again, I can't get into. She even told me after we got divorced that she knew we'd be divorced before we were even married. Who DOES that?!?! I just deleted 3 paragraphs following this on the advise of my attorneys. I had my son with her, which is the one good thing that came out of this doomed relationship. I'm hoping that enjoying my first born for the rest of my life will outweigh the fact that I have to deal with utter nonsense for the rest of my life. The saddest thing is...I really like her family, and I even get along great with her new boyfriend. I've tried everything possible to get along with her, even killing her with kindness...but it just doesn't seem to be in the cards. Oh well.

4. A girl who is 10 years older than I am, lived 60 miles away from me at the time, in cow country, and lost power every time there was a stiff breeze. Her shitter very rarely worked and I guess the silver lining is that I learned how to flush a toilet by dumping a 2 gallon bucket of water in the bowl and letting gravity do the rest. She had a chicken coop with a rooster who made it's presence known at the crack of dawn every morning too. Not good times.

5. A girl who tortured me for a year with her nightmare of a child and a cat who makes Beezle from "Movie 43" look tame. It's ok though because I'm pretty sure she is now bulimic or has AIDS. She has lost so much weight since we broke up that she looks like one of those kids who you can sponsor for only pennies a day. I actually asked her when I bumped into her recently if she needed me to buy her a cheeseburger or some mayonnaise or something. Side note: Do yourself a favor and look up "Beezle" on Youtube if you haven't seen the movie....great fun.

The good thing about all these disastrous relationships, you ask? I have finally, FINALLY found someone who treats me nicely, with respect...you know, the way that a couple SHOULD treat each other. A beautiful woman who I can live with without wanting to savagely murder. Someone who treats me the same way I treat her; with care, nurture, and love. Someone I'm madly in love with, more so than I have ever been, and she feels the same way. It's different this time, believe me...I've had enough practice with shit-headed women to know the difference.

The moral of the story, if you're young, and you think you're in love....there's a pretty good chance you're not. But do yourself a favor...fuck a bunch of sea-cows. Kiss some swamp-donkeys. Date some dumpster fires. In the long run, it will tell you exactly what NOT to look for in a relationship.

Why take relationship advise from me?? Damned if I know. Honestly, I wouldn't. But hell, there is a little truth to what I speak of here, is there not?

Anyways, thank you Chloe, for making me the happiest I've ever been, and ever will be. "Mo chuisle, mo chroi."

Boston, You're My Home

2013-04-18T06:28:00.003-07:00

I tried leaving Boston once...it didn't take. My mom and my sister tried leaving and that didn't work either. My girlfriend tried to leave Boston. No dice. Someone told me once that the only two ways you are born in MA and then leave are you either turn 65 and move to Florida or you die. Of course it's not that extreme, but there is a sense of home to Bostonians, New Englanders, that is fiercely apparent more so here than probably anywhere else in the world.

My dad texted me last night and reminded me that he and I were in the exact spot of the bombing recently, and it hit me. I've been there probably a thousand times. I've been to several marathons. I've been training to run one. We got hit in our very own home, and we as Bostonians, are not ok with that.

We get made fun of a lot. We get called Massholes, shitty drivers, we talk funny, we make up words, we pronounce half the towns in our state in ridiculous manners, we are addicted to Dunkin' Donuts, we are the fiercest sports fans in the world, we don't recognize the letter "R" unless the next word begins with a vowel. (True, by the way...if you have the accent....say the following: "I left the car back at the bar." Now say: "I left the car over by the packie." See! HA! You pronounced the "R" in the second sentence didn't you?) I saw a joke recently that the four seasons of Boston are "Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Road Construction." I laughed probably harder because it's very true, rather than the actual humor in the joke.

When I travel out of town on business, it takes someone less than a second to ask me if I'm from Boston as soon as I speak. Sometimes, I don't even have to say anything...people just know. We have a look to us. A swagger. A confidence unmatched by anywhere else in the country. The fact that I just typed this paragraph and am dead serious about it should show you that. We LOVE that you think our accent is funny, cause guess what? YOU'RE ACCENT IS FUNNY!! WE WERE HERE FIRST! HA!

When I first heard and saw the footage of the bombs that were detonated at the finish line on Patriot's Day, (Yup, we even have our very own holiday, just for us), I got scared. I thought of friends that were running and possibly there. I wanted information and to know everyone I knew was safe. Then I got sad, knowing how many people were affected, all those who were injured and the 3 who lost their lives. Then, I got mad. Who did this? Why? String them up in the Common for us all to stone and torture and kill. THEN, I became proud. The posts came flooding over Facebook. The President spoke of the toughness of Bostonians. Late night comedians, famous actors, sports figures from all over the country spoke of our great town and Commonwealth. The word "tough" and "resolved" came up almost everywhere. "Boston Strong." "You Fucked With The Wrong City." These rallies could be heard and seen on every Facebook page and emails and tweets.

Boston is the cradle of the American Revolution. This is where the war of our freedom began over 200 years ago. If it weren't for the Patriots for which the holiday was named, we may very well be drinking afternoon tea every day and our national anthem may sound very, very different...We have such a proud past, and instead of this being a dark time in our history, what I'll remember most, aside of course those who were lost, is the image of the first responders rushing towards a FUCKING EXPLOSION TO HELP COMPLETE STRANGERS! Are you kidding me? That's how we do it here. You can call us Massholes all you want, but when the shit hits the fan, there is NOWHERE I would rather be.

Sports is always a soothing normalcy that reminds us of who we are and allows us to turn to something familiar for peace and comfort. This was true after 9/11, and Sandy Hook, and it is now. All across the Nation, the thoughts in baseball stadiums, hockey rinks, and basketball courts were on our town. "Sweet Caroline" was played in several major league baseball stadiums. It was played in YANKEE STADIUM! Just as we were there for them, they are here for us. The Chicago Tribune paid tribute to our sports teams on the back page on 4/16....look it up. Pretty awesome.

We're all just Americans when it comes down to it, during times like this, and until the end of all things. San Diego, CA to Wichita, KS to New York, NY, to my home, where the dirty water flows as much as the Sam Adams beer, Boston, MA. The toughest motherfucking city on this planet. Just ask the sumbitch or organization who is about to be caught for this atrocious act. They will feel the full weight of every Bostonian's anger and sense of justice.

Renee Rancourt sings the National Anthem before every Boston Bruins home game. He didn't make it too far into it last night...the 18,000 fans drowned him out after about 3 lines and he just stopped singing into the microphone and encouraged the masses, letting the crowd take over with a resounding, clear, thunderously loud version of our anthem that rose in a cacophony so immense that it shook the Garden and brought several people in the stands to tears. Anyone watching and listening become immediately covered in goose bumps. When they were done, "USA" chants began and American flags were waved throughout the crowd.

You can punch us, you can stagger us....shit, you might even knock us down once or twice. But we'll get up. Every. Single. Time. It's told in the history books and the stories of the Herald and the Globe....and in the faces of our citizens. We won't be terrorized. Whoever detonated those bombs made the biggest mistake of their lives. They stirred up a hornet's nest while accomplishing NOTHING for their "cause."

Why am I so confident about this? Cause I'm from Boston, born from Dorchester where my father grew up and his father before him. And that's just how we are. Boston, you're my home, and you always will be. See you at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, Patriots Day, 2014. I'll be there with thousands of others....just like it will be until the end of days.

Dorothy Mantooth Is a Saint!

2013-01-30T07:06:00.000-08:00

Good evening,

For those who might not know me, I'm Kevin Garrigan, Anne's oldest son.

People sometimes have to make up nice things to say after someone passes away. That won't be the case tonight. It's very easy to truthfully say good things about Anne Marie Francis.

Though my mom left us far too early, I could not be happier with the constant gift of her presence while she was with us. Her 54 years were too few, but the amount of living she did while with us was enough to fill several lifetimes.

The four of us kids could not have asked for a better mother. She did such a great job raising us in a happy home. Katie, Mike, Shauna and myself didn't make it easy on her by any means, but somehow she managed to raise 4 sometimes out of control kids and teenagers into 4 relatively well-adjusted adults. There was no better Grammy to her 3 grandchildren. Her face lit up and her joy was evident when she spent time watching Keegan and Brooke play; and of course the few precious months she got to spend with baby Colby were truly a gift.

She had a way of putting a positive spin on most things, and would always be there to lend an ear and offer sage advise....I know I myself needed a lot of it. I will miss our talks terribly. Mom never wanted to put anybody out of their way. In her eyes, it would always be better to give than to receive, better to love than to be loved, and especially better to be concerned for others than have others be concerned for her. This of course drove us all crazy at times, because we have so much love for her and wanted to help her as much as possible. None of us wanted her to fight this fight alone, and despite her best efforts, we weren't about to leave her side. She was stubborn, but very well aware of the love that so many had for her. She didn't have an enemy in the world. If you were lucky enough to spend any significant time with my mom, you definitely knew that you were around a special person. Whether she made you belly-laugh by telling stories about her youth and causing trouble for her parents and siblings, or offered soothing comfort after you had a bad day, there was just something about her that made you leave her feeling good.

I remember one time when I was about 10 years old, I decided to add laundry detergent to the washing machine after my mom had put a load in...probably like half a container or so. It didn't take long for an endless stream of bubbles to start pouring out of the washer and all over the floor of the basement. I did what most 10 year olds would probably do and ran upstairs to my room and denied it to the bitter end when mom started screaming at me. I was the only one there, so I wasn't sure who I was trying to fool. So after really letting me have it, eventually my mom "asked" me to come down to the basement and help her clean. "Ok, but I didn't do it mom." She said fine and we both went down to the basement to clean up the mess. After about 5 minutes of silent cleaning, knowing that she was furious, I told her, "mom, I did put the extra detergent in there, I thought I was helping." She told me, "No shit Kevin." When she saw how guilty I was, she started laughing. I'll never forget her face. I couldn't believe it. I figured at the time that I really messed up, not fully understanding that it wasn't the end of the world, because I didn't know any better...until my mom laughed at me. She gave me a hug and we finished cleaning up the mess. I probably had a hundred different fights with my mom when I was a teenager, but I always remembered that no matter how bad I screwed up, my mom loved me and we'd eventually be able to laugh about it, which we very frequently did, the older I got.

My mom was a true believer that being a good person and doing good things would come back around to you in some type of Karmic circle. These are values that I live my life by and that I instill into my son, niece, and nephew. I think my siblings will agree with this. She knew that if she lived a good life, that when the day came when she had to leave us, she would be in a good place and with her lost loved ones. I like to think that she's in that place know, breathing deeply and easily, and having a good laugh with her parents, her boyfriend Bob, and other loved ones around the dinner table. I know that if I continue to follow my mom's core values, that I'll join her one day around that table. It gives me peace to know that when I leave this world, I'll have the most special, strong, good-hearted, nurturing woman that I have ever known, waiting for me with a big hug, and a kind word.

I love you mom. I'll miss you...and as you would tell me every time we parted, with a series of kisses on the forehead: Goodnight, God bless you, I love you, see you in the morning.

Thank you all for coming. We are so lucky to have such great friends and family. The outpouring of love shown by you over the last two weeks has been palpable, and something that the 4 of us will never forget.

The Fall of an Empire

2013-01-13T05:49:00.000-08:00

"Will you help us catch Pluto's super duper bouncy ball?" No current asshole Mickey from the shitty "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse"....I want to go fly fishing with you and Goofy and watch Goofy get his mouth caught by a fishhook....or watch Donald Duck play hockey with his nephews and watch his nephews fuck with him. I HATE CURRENT SHITTY DISNEY MICKEY!!! I WANT THE OLD ONE BACK!!! 20th Century Mickey is what made our childhood entertainment so wonderful. Every kid wanted to go to Disney World....

The movies and the cartoons from when I was a kid, such epics like The Lion King, Alladin, Beauty and the Beast, Peter Pan, Lady and the Tramp, The Mickey Mouse Show, Duck Tales. Sure, sometimes there would be an epic battle at the end of those movies between good and evil. Isn't that "lesson learned" enough for a cartoon? Do the cartoons of today need to teach kids colors and how to count? That's what school and daycare is for you dumb fucks! Steamboat Willie is more entertaining then the crap they put on today. Jake and the Neverland Pirates?? Back in the day Captain Hook would be trying to put his hook in Peter Pan's jugular...now all he does is basically cry about 3 kids who keep outsmarting him over and over again while calling them "Puny Pirates." I feel sick sometimes watching this garbage. Chip and Dale were just playing with a bouncy ball....are you kidding? Chip and Dale would be plotting how to steal the ball and fuck shit up in the old days.....now the closest thing the Mickey Mouse show has to a villain is Pete, who basically just helps the rest of these morons count. Hey Disney Channel, our kids are educated just fine, it's called SCHOOL YOU CHILDHOOD RUINING FUN STOMPING ASSHOLES!!!

And I HAVE to watch these cartoons and pretend they're awesome, because my 3 year old loves them....and only because it's not a choice, it's a lack of options. Sure, I could change it to Spongebob on Nick, but then I would be forced to murder myself after about 5 minutes. I'd love to hold Spongebob under fresh water...let's see if he can make my eardrums bleed after THAT!

Back to Disney....every conflict in every story is resolved in a friendly, soft resolution with absolutely no climax...it's storytelling 101. Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner never had that problem. Sure, you knew a safe would fall on the coyote's head or he would launch himself into a mountain...but even though you knew he'd always lose, at LEAST there would be a resolution to the story. Triumph and failure. Good overcoming Evil. Tom and Jerry? Jerry always outsmarted Tom and Tom would wind up getting a bomb in his face or something like that. You know why that happened? Because Tom tried to EAT Jerry. What would YOU do? Once again, good triumphing over evil. How can this be a BAD lesson?

The only good thing about the Disney Channel these days are the Disney Shorts when they play classic stuff for like 3 minutes between the shitty shows they have on; except they make sure they cut anything remotely violent out of them...Gawd forbid anyone sees anything that is CLEARLY fake violence. My son is 3 and he knows damn well that when Simba and Scar are fighting at the end of Lion King it's FUCKING MAKE BELIEVE!!!! It's a cartoon for chrissakes!!! It's not like he goes to the zoo and expects an epic battle between the lions in a pit full of fire while other lions fight against hyenas.

Here's an idea...just a small thought. Be a good parent!!!!!! TEACH your kids good from bad. If you let the T.V. teach your son about violence....scratch that. If you let the T.V. or movies or video games teach your kids ANYTHING. You ARE a bad parent. It's very simple. Instill good values in your children, let them know that what they see on T.V. isn't real, and there you go. Your kid will grow up just fine. YOU are your kids biggest idol, not fake-ass Mickey Mouse OR Scar from the Lion King. Their parents are their role models, and they WILL listen to you, (or they should be institutionalized.) I'm not saying kids are perfect throughout their elementary years and teenage years, but if you parent them, they will share your values. If you let them just do whatever you want, they'll probably end up as assholes. Tell them about condoms, it's ok. Don't let them stay up late. Tell them about how drugs and alcohol are very bad. Encourage them to play sports or dance and socialize and follow their dreams. This isn't fucking Dr. Phil shit, it's common sense. There are too many shitty parents out there, and corporations....EMPIRES like Disney are crumbling beneath our feet because they don't want to be responsible for the demise of the human race. Give me a break.

Or better yet, give me back the Roadrunner, Tom, Jerry, and Simba.

Happy New Year Vinny

2013-01-12T17:38:00.001-08:00

I feel great. I haven't lately, but I do right now. Circumstances have come into play that have put a lot of things in perspective for me. Is it worth it to get hung up on one person, any person, when there are so many people and things that make me happy? I wear my heart on my sleeve a lot of the time. I get sad, and I let people know about it. I decided just now that I'm done with it, all of it.

I have a lot going on. My son makes me so happy it's ridiculous. The more he learns and the clearer he speaks and the more questions he asks and the way his eyes brighten when he figures something out and the way he says, "I can do it all by myself Daddy." I'm a good dad....a great dad. I'm an uncle, recently for the second time. I thought to myself, "How can I possibly bitch about anything when I have these beautiful kids in my life and such great friends and such a close family."

Most of all, I recently went through a breakup, and got all sad about it, and wanted her back. Why? I was lied to. I got shit on, and I wanted her back? Nah dude. Done with it. I can do better, and I will.

And maybe it won't be for a while...and that's ok too. I can do me for a bit. (Not that way you fucking sickos.) I have another surgery this week, and I won't be putting anything up for a bit. But when I come back, it will be with a vengeance. Watch out everyone, here comes Vinny Mac. I'm killing it at work, I'm going to take a writing class so these posts don't suck so much, I'm gonna get published at some point. I'm gonna travel to California. I'm going to the gym all the time when my elbow is healed...first to rehab it, and then to feel good, and look healthy. By the summer, I'm going to be back all the way.

I have so much going for me, even if I don't see it sometimes. I'm going to make the most of this life instead of just gliding through it.

Doubt me.

I'm Glad the World Didn't End Because....

2012-12-22T21:59:00.001-08:00

I have only had one threesome, and it wasn't with hot twins.

Brady hasn't won 5 Superbowls yet.

The Cubs haven't won a World Series in forever and I feel bad for Chicago.

I do not yet own my own company.

My oldest is only 3, and that would have been weak to not see him grow.

I haven't had sex in several weeks, and I would not have wanted to go out like that.

I haven't written a book.

We won't have had our first New Years Eve without Dick Clark drooling on himself. (Poor Dick Clark, by the way. Who is the asshole who wheeled him out there the last couple years when he was practically already a corpse?)

I spent too much on Christmas presents for them to have gone to waste.

I'm kinda looking forward to seeing that new Paul Rudd movie.

I'm in the middle of Assassin's Creed III on Xbox and haven't had a chance to beat it yet.

Massachusetts has deemed me a danger to society and is therefore requiring me to take an 8 hour driver retraining class. I would have surely hated to miss that.

I haven't had a threesome with hot twins.

If I live to be past 60, it would have deprived either dozens of women from being with me once, or just a few women being with me many times. Either way, what a waste....

I haven't been across the Atlantic, specifically to Ireland.

I'm only ONE car accident away from being renamed "Crash."

I haven't choked out the three people on my list of people I want to choke out.

I would have died without my elbow being surgically repaired, (again) and finally being healed.

I haven't had a threesome with hot twins.

And you know what, screw you Mayans, we win!! Boom!

Shaken to my Core by Newtown, Connecticut

2012-12-17T21:04:00.001-08:00

The massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT seems to me like the worst case of senseless murder I've ever seen, and in my opinion, one of the worst in the history of mankind. Don't be a fucking jerkoff and say I'm being insensitive to the victims of Pearl Harbor, 9/11, the Holocaust and the Oklahoma City bombing, for examples. In those cases, there was an agenda. Don't say, "Vinny, what the fuck about the Holocaust?" Of COURSE that is one of the most horrible things that has happened in the history of mankind. In those specific cases, which I'll use as examples, there was at least a reason. The reasons were albeit military or completely insane ones conjured up by the minds of madmen, but there were reasons, nonetheless, for those acts. Those examples were horrific in their own rights. A disturbed little fuckface smashing through the locked door of an elementary school, shooting his way to a 1st grade classroom, and murdering children, who have barely had a chance to live, is the worst case of evil I can ever begin to think of. I keep trying, without success, to wrap my head around it all. I can't fathom the insanity of someone deliberately shooting and killing ONE seven year old. Multiply that by 20. Of course those aforementioned examples had body counts thousands more than what happened in Newtown. They were also carried out by the order of faceless cowards. In Newtown, this "man" looked into the eyes of young children and deliberately ended their lives, far sooner than they should have been ended. It was deliberate, and needless. There is no reason that can convince me that these innocent little children were taken from us. The details aren't out as to exactly how the final seconds of those poor souls played out, but this is a fact: The shooter was a remorseless coward. As destroyed as his brain must have been to carry out such an act, it remained that way after the first child fell...after the second.....the third. And he kept going. Why? That's the cliche question, but really, WHY? Nobody on this world will ever be able to understand or wrap their heads around how this could happen. The worst kinds of questions are the ones that have no answers. The most frustrating outcomes to any situation, are the situations that if they were to somehow occur 100 times, they would be surreal and unfathomable all 100 times. Why didn't this animal just go out into the woods and end his pathetic life on his own without ruining the lives of the victims, their families, their friends, their community, state, country, planet.

I can't imagine, or maybe I don't want to, the thought of the first responders who were forced to witness the carnage of the aftermath for the first time, but carrying out their jobs regardless. How will they ever be the same after seeing that? How will they remove the images of the still bodies of the departed children. I don't even want to think of what the scene looked like. These heroes battled through a sight worse than a battlefield in a war fought by men. These were children, and my bet is that some of them had children the same age, or close to it. What about the surviving teachers doing their best to keep their children calm, somehow finding the courage to lead the surviving children from the building while trying to keep their eyes covered, blinding them when possible to what had happened to their classmates and friends? How did they compose themselves and think to do this when they themselves HAD to have felt pure terror. Learning that they huddled with their students and kept them as calm as possible while shots rang out just feet away from where they were must have been the hardest thing they have ever or will ever have to do. The bravery of the school's principal and the teachers who gave their lives, making the ultimate sacrifice, in valiant attempts to minimize the death toll that was to be carried out by a cowardly maniac is an incredible story. I can't help but marvel at these tiny shimmers of light in what was ultimately one of the darkest days in the history of the human race.

Is there a link between acts of violence and being immortalized by having your name in a history book? Did Hitler do what he did to have his name be remembered as one of the most feared of all time? How many parents have named their sons Adolf since the late 1930's? Did Osama Bin Laden's hatred for the western world cause him to carry out the worst attack on American soil in U.S. history? Or was it for the "recognition." What about Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris during the Columbine shooting? What if the media doesn't give out the name of the shooters when these events take place? Would that tiny thought in an otherwise destroyed brain prevent said person from taking out so many with him? Does Columbine take place if those two knew for a fact nobody would know who they were? David Koresh? Marshall Applewhite? Madmen who convinced people to kill themselves through brainwashing. Did they have conviction in their beliefs, or did they just want to be remembered forever for something evil because they didn't have anything else going for them. The Columbine shooters were two talentless fucks who would have never amounted to anything, and thus would never have been remembered when they were gone....unless.....

Would the fact that if "he" knew he wasn't going to be immortalized be the difference between him killing 26 people and himself just walking into the woods after killing his mother and just quietly off himself with one shot to his own head? Could it be that simple? Am I trying to come up with an impossible idea to an answerless question? Is society's need for information fueling these kids to commit these acts? Is there any way to give information about the shooter, which is fair, while at the same time calling him John Doe? It's not possible in today's world of social media and rival news outlets, of course. It's just not feasible for something like this to be done, even if it would make any kind of difference. Even if it would mean the difference between a murder suicide and a legit mass murder.

Call me one of those parents that thinks a tragedy involving young children affects me more than someone without kids. I used to HATE that. Who are you to think it affects you more than me because I don't have kids? That was my thinking, circa late 2001. But you know what? It absolutely DOES affect people with children more. That's my opinion of course, and feel free to disagree, but I've lived through horrible, senseless tragedy's and I have been much more rattled since having kids. The slaughter of 20 1st graders last week shook me to my core. And no, you can't QUITE understand the feeling if you don't have kids of your own. You can be 99.9% as upset as someone with kids, but not that .1% that parents feel. It's just an instinct your body has once there is another human being on this planet that you created, whose blood is your own. As president Obama put it, and I'm paraphrasing him, when you have a baby, it's like a piece of your heart is put out into the world, exposed, and constantly growing farther apart from you. Their comes a point where you can't be with your child every step of the way...every minute and every place you go.

Out of all of this, I'll try to end with a positive, somehow. Everyone already knows about the heroism of police, firefighters, military...those men and women go without saying. But there are heroes in this world that often times get overlooked. Teachers are incredible. You have to be a special kind of person to do that job. These people make it their livelyhood, their profession to not only instill knowledge into young minds, but to be responsible FIVE out of seven days for the children of total strangers. We put our trust in these men and women. When you hear about the acts of heroism of teachers faced with valuing the lives of children, who aren't even their own blood, over their own lives, brings me a measure of hope that at least we have good people on our side when these things happen. We're forced in this world to trust others to take care of the ones we love. We can't be with our kids 100% of the time. If I could, I would. It's not possible. We have to make a living to put a house over their heads and food on their tables. When you send your child to school, you're putting your trust in the educators responsible for not only their education, but their general well being and care. Hearing the stories of the brave principle and teachers at Sandy Hook who made the ultimate sacrifices in attempts to minimize the death toll is an incredible story to me, a shimmer of light in the darkest of days. It makes me feel better when I send my son to school, knowing that teachers are a special breed of people who would put themselves between a madman with a gun and the children they've been charged to protect. The bravery of those people should not be forgotten in the shuffle and the sadness that ultimately defines this story. It won't be for me, at least. I hope others will feel the same.

I don't care how old he grows to be before my time on this planet is done, the last words my son will hear from me whenever we part for the day, whether it's tomorrow when I drop him off at school, when I put him to bed, when I put him on the bus for school, when he gets on a plane for spring break, when I say goodbye as he leaves for his honeymoon, or 40 years from now when I hang up the phone after asking how his kids are doing, will be, "I love you."

Life: Part 3

2012-12-13T18:14:00.002-08:00

My sister Trid just had her first child...my first nephew. She gave birth naturally, accidentally. Trid is the best person I know at taking things in stride and just laughing it off...even if she's telling a story about how pissed off she was, she's definitely the happiest of the 4 McRoberts siblings. Being a new mom is not just an easy, everyday thing, but you'd think it was watching and listening to my sister. Nothing bothers her. The doctors fucked up her epidural, and instead of bitching about how much it hurt every second, or suing the hospital, she turns it into a funny story. That's what I love about my sister. Just like my younger sister Sissa, Trid is a natural mom. You'd think she was doing it all her life. I'm amazed by that, I really am, and I'm so proud of her.

Regarding the birth of my first nephew, I couldn't be happier that he's here. I have a son, and there's NOTHING better than that for a guy, I mean let's face it, but to now also have a nephew? I'm a lucky guy. Much like my first born son, he is a handsome dude. Trid even said that she thinks his face reminds her of Vinny Jr.'s when he was first born. I couldn't believe how incredibly happy I was when he arrived. When my other sister's daughter was born, she came very soon after my son, and I think that prevented me from enjoying her as much as I could have when she was first born. Don't take that the wrong way...it's just that I had a 4 week old son at home myself and had to focus on him. My oldest son is 3 now, along with my niece, so when my new nephew was born, I had/have a little more time to enjoy the little dude. It's great now how they get along. There is nothing better than watching them play together and hug each other when it's time to say goodbye. Maybe I couldn't enjoy her as much as an infant...but we're making up for it now in a big way.

I'm thankful to be so close to my siblings. I know that in the future, when we lose those closest to us, we'll have each other, and now we'll have the kids too. The way I figure it, part 1 of life is birth to adulthood, in it's broadest form. Part 2 is discovering who you are, partying, being with your friends, having fun, defining who you are and what you'll do for work. Part 3 is starting families and expanding your extended family. We'll worry about parts 4 and 5 in the future. For now, "Hello part 3 of life, how are you today? I think I'll grab you by the horns and fuck shit up."

I'm so happy to be where I am in my life. The last couple years have literally tried to destroy me. The world is definitely conspiring to send me over the edge, but I'm just not going to let it. I'm so happy that my family is expanding. Part 3 of life is a good part of this trip through my existence, regardless of the bad things that have happened to me. I could have easily mailed it in and gone into hiding and grown a really long beard and just live off the government and write a blog, waiting to get "discovered," which of course would never happen. I could have enjoyed my kids and basically have given a big, "Fuck You!" to everyone and everything else...but I chose not to. Sure I've bitched from time to time, but every time has been justified.

Regardless of all that, my family and my close friends have kept me afloat...especially my kids. My niece is such a big part of my life, and she didn't exist 4 years ago. That's so cool to think about. My new nephew...my first nephew, being born a couple weeks ago has reminded me why life is so great. The world could fall apart around me, and the simple fact that I have so much love for my kids, parents, siblings, and now my niece and brand new nephew, makes nothing else matter.

I wonder what life will be like when our kids are grown, but I know that nothing could tear the bond I have with my brother and two sisters. To think that our kids will grow up and see the bond that we have and the love we all have for each other is a great thought, even when the rest of my world always seems to be falling apart.

I love you Trid, thanks for reminding me what is so important in my life. Bonus thank you points for going through a miserably painful child-birth. It will be a fun story to tell my nephew one day, when he's playing with his cousins or we're around the Thanksgiving table. Parts 4 and 5 of life don't seem so bleak....hell, maybe they'll even be great!

All the Trouble Money Can't Buy

2012-11-15T23:11:00.003-08:00

Night 1 of vacation....home by myself...watched the first two Lord of the Rings movies on DVD....Gonna pop in Return of the King, but will likely be out before it's over. Had two subs from Quiznos and drank two Mountain Dews....yup. One of them was a Code Red. I am obviously a baddass who is not to be fucked with...if anyone can handle these kinds of late night shenanigans, come on by.

Man, what happened to me? If it was 10 years ago at this same time on a Friday night, I wouldn't even be able to type this, for several reasons: One hand would be holding a beer, one hand would be punching something or someone, my legs wouldn't be able to keep me upright, and my eyes would not be able to focus on this screen. The pussification process is apparently complete. I left my cock in Middle Earth, I guess. Fucking Gollum has it and he's all stroking it and shit going, "My preciousssssssssss......"

Anyways, I'm all healed up and I clearly have no life, so Vinny is back. Unfortunately for you poor suckers who mistakenly clicked on this link, there will be a lot more garbage jammed down your throats in the hopes that you'll find something mildly amusing or touching or nostalgic. At least my page isn't a pop-up ad. Do those still happen? Thank gawd for this guy!! Lucky for everybody out there nowadays Vinny gets a little loopy when he takes an Ambien or five and pounds away at the keyboard in the middle of the night because I fucked up and messed around too much in my 20's. Life 1, Vinny 0.

Are you kidding me? Do you think I believe that? I'm only in my 30's and I've lived like 3 or 4 lifetimes. I've had weddings, childbirths, birthdays, funerals, surgeries. I've done a lot of good things and a lot of bad things but I'm here to write about them all. So I'm beating the shit out of life on the "scoreboard." I tempt fate a little less often then I used to, sure....but a dickless loser who stays in every night? Bitch please. My dick is firmly between my ankles and I can still party with the best of them, only now it's in moderation. Sometimes I like to stay home and watch gay movies, so what? Return of the King won the Oscar for best picture. Did you know that? Go look it up, I'm not kidding....

My landlord is this 80 pound lady that comes around every month or so knocking on my door looking for rent. I basically tell her to fuck her dog every month, pay her when I feel like it, and what does she do? She writes me a letter about how great of a person I am! I shit you not. It was a page long! It would have been shorter if she didn't babble on for half a page about how she prays for me and church and Jesus and this and that, which I mostly skipped, but the point is, my parents have never written me anything that sweet. (Yes you have ma, I'm just kidding around for the thing here...relax.) We learned (or at least validated) a couple things here. I am an asshole. I am a GREAT talker. Little old ladies should probably not own property without some kind of enforcer. I do not make enough money. And lastly, my landlady probably partied harder than me tonight. HA!

See? Now if I was out all night, what the fuck would you be reading right now? Your welcome....

The Fire of '87

2012-11-10T10:55:00.003-08:00

It was days after the Winter Solstice and days before Christmas. I had just turned 7, and the following is an account of what happened, as I remember it. This Christmas will be 25 years since it happened, and since it changed the lives of our family forever.

I was in my bed, on the top bunk above my brother Joey. My clock read 8:03 p.m. I remember distinctively looking at my digital clock for some reason and seeing the red numbers as my family's late friend Kenny was heard as he came upstairs from the apartment below us. "Annie, I think we have a fire escape, he said to my mother." I could see his face from my bed as he stood in the hallway, and it was a much paler shade of it's usual dark, Italian looking skin. I don't know if that's exactly what was said, but that's what I remember I heard. The next few minutes are foggy, but I remember my mom getting me and my sister Trid down the stairs, (we were on the second floor.) Kenny, I believe, grabbed 2 year old Joey and 4 month old Sissa and brought them down the stairs. My dad was at work. After safely getting outside, we went in our pj's to the Dunkin' Donuts next door, where it was warm. The next thing I think I recall is my dad screeching up the street in my family's little red car and stopping in front of our house, now engulfed in flames and surrounded by firetrucks, with their lights flashing and lighting up the night sky.

It was chaos...I remember that. Soon after my dad arrived, with the fire trucks and police already on scene, we were walked down the street to my neighbor's house, where we stayed while I imagine my parents stayed near the fire, seeking answers. As I walked down the street with my sister Trid, who had just turned 5 years old, holding her hand, and my mom and Kenny carrying Joey and Sissa, I looked up at the house and noticed the flames through the windows. It was the most incredible thing I had ever seen. All my stuff was in there! I had so many questions and I was scared, but even at 7, I was trying to calm down my little sister. I held her hand as we walked in the cold down the short street to our neighbor's home. "What about the Christmas tree?" Those words are forever seared in my memory. I had no answer...I was only 7. I figured the fireman would save it. "How will Santa know where we are?" Again, I had no idea.  I think I cried at this point, because I didn't know how Santa would find us either. Of course, despite seeing my house engulfed, it was my assumption at the time that the fireman would put the fire out and we would be back in our beds by tomorrow. The next hours are foggy. I don't remember what my parents did while our home burned down. The next thing I remember is being driven to my grandparent's house, who lived a few blocks away, with a couple of my aunts and my uncle in a 3 bedroom house. My family piled in and slept on cots, on the ground, on a couch, wherever we could find a spot. I don't know what my parents did that night. I can't remember if they stayed at my grandparent's too, or if they were up all night dealing with everything or what...I remember I was on a green cot and I didn't sleep at all.

The next day, I went with my dad and a few of his buddies to check out the damage. I remember I said, as adult as I could muster..."This couldn't have happened to a nicer family." I remember everyone there laughed, and I suppose looking back, if I was an adult and heard a seven year old say the same thing, I would have thought it was cute and funny too. A moment of light-hearted innocence from a boy who didn't quite understand the scope of what happened. I felt embarrassed after saying it, because the grown-ups laughed at it, but looking back I'm glad I did. The house was all black, and wet, and it smelled like a campfire. I was amazed at what the fire had done.  Everything was gone.

Our fire made the paper and the news. There's a clip of my dad picking up our charred Christmas tree from the local paper and my mom digging through the rubble. At my grandmother's house, on Christmas Eve, Santa came and visited the house and we sang Christmas songs. Donations from friends and the community poured in. We had no clothes, no toys, nothing to keep us busy...we lost everything. We didn't go without these things for very long, probably less than 24 hours before people heard about what happened and jumped into action. I still don't have many pictures of myself from when I was real young, only what my other family had. Those things, of course, couldn't be replaced. I had a glass piggy bank with probably a couple bucks in it in coins and a few bills. I was saving up for a Nintendo. A fireman who was on the scene the previous night came by my grandmother's house to check on us, and he gave me the glass piggy bank, which was shaped as a pig, that had somehow survived the inferno. Nothing much else did. My "girlfriend" Miranda Watson, who was in my first grade class, (and one of the very few real names I use in this space,) came by my grandparent's house with her parents and several garbage bags full of clothes for my sister.

We had a fundraiser, and I can't remember if it took place before Christmas or after. I have no idea how much money and donations were made, but I remember how emotional it made my parents. I remember my dad using the microphone to thank people. I remember there being food and dancing and the song "That's What Friends Are For" played at the end and everyone stood in a big circle and held hands and sang along. Seems kind of cheesy, I know, but the outpouring of generosity was touching, even for a 7 year old boy.

We were essentially homeless, and it was tight quarters in my grandparents small home, but we made it work. I can't imagine the stress it must have caused my mom and dad, even though their 4 kids were safe and had temporary shelter...they were in their late 20's. What would they do? I'm sure that thought was the only thing running through their minds. My family was eventually put up in a shelter, ironically situated directly next door to our house that had burned. I returned to school, but I don't remember how long we were out. I know that I was in first grade, and that my classmates had been made aware of what happened. When I came back, I walked around the room and each of the kids sad on the floor and had a penny or a coin for me. I felt embarrassed as I walked around and collected the coins and hand-drawn cards. My first grade teacher bought me a Huffy bike with training wheels.

My house was rebuilt, and we moved back in several months later, into the downstairs apartment this time. Kenny moved on to live somewhere else. We had learned soon after the fire had engulfed all of our personal belongings that our furnace had malfunctioned and caught some nearby items in the basement on fire, which quickly spread up throughout the inside of our home, with most of the damage being in my bedroom, directly above the furnace. If it hadn't been for my neighbor...who knows. He was a great man, and not to be overly dramatic, but could very well have saved our lives. The timing of the fire being what it was, probably saved us as well. If the furnace had faltered at 3:00 a.m., with all of use asleep, I shudder to think about what would have happened.

Now a Christmas without presents can be very traumatic for kids, especially for me and Trid, aged 7 and 5, as I mentioned.  As it turned out, we never had more presents in our entire lives that Christmas. I believe my parents had to eventually turn down Christmas presents at one point. I got my Nintendo. It brought us together as a family, and I know that it brought my parents' friends and family very close together. You sure find out who cares about you after tragedy strikes. As far as fires go happening a couple days before Christmas, especially with nobody getting hurt, (except for our cat, who didn't make it) this fire brought out the best in people. And for us kids, and the presents that we got, it wound up as the best Christmas ever. More because it showed how many people cared about my family, and less because I got to stay home from school and play with all of my many new toys.

When bad things happen, it's human nature to want to help out, which is what makes people so great. The goodness of mankind is out there. Through the fighting and bad-blood that people of different races and religions have, there is more goodness out there than hate. Sometimes it takes horrific things to show it...but it's out there. Be nice to people for no reason every once in a while. I have to remind myself of that sometimes....ok, a lot. But my true belief is that treating others good will come back to you. I have no religion...not interested in it. I have faith in the goodness of people. I tend to think there are more like-minded people out there than not.

Vinny on the Mend

2012-10-18T10:44:00.002-07:00

Nothing new for a bit...recovering from surgery. Back with a vengeance soon....

Ohhhhhhh, Love

2012-09-17T08:12:00.001-07:00

Gay title right? Well it's a new Green Day song, and it felt inspirational at the moment, so.....don't worry, the actual body of the post is even worse, but I recently did some soul searching and am attempting to come up with some finite conclusions.

I'm trying to figure out a few things about relationships, compatibility, friendship, and all of those age old meanings for the way people interact with each other, particularly those of the opposite sex....(or I suppose the same sex, if that's your thing.) There are people on this world capable of absolutely being in love with someone else, and receiving that same love in return. The "ideal" group. Good for them. They seem to be few and far between, but if you have that, hang on to it. Don't fuck it up, no matter what you do, because you'll regret it.

There are hopeless fools who wander the Earth looking for the perfect person, only to settle and become too stubborn as time goes by to make a change. There are people who have been in love, and somehow blew it, and are now stuck in limbo, maybe never to return to what they had before. What's that saying? "It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all..." I'm not sure I believe that. It's kind of like a tease from which you generally have nobody to blame but yourself. There are people on the other end of the spectrum, who feel they have the perfect life, the perfect mate, and they get cheated on or they wind up not loving them as much as was thought.

Out of the above, aside from the couple madly in love who wind up together for 70 years, it's about how brave one is about their situation. They can settle, be satisfied with their life, and just go on, being halfway miserable for the rest of their life. It's the easy play, ya know? It's the safe way out. I'm starting to think that may be the chicken-shit way to do things. The life that these people have, though it may not be complete happiness, it's at least a routine. It's comfort. For some people that's ok. Some people get so hurt that they give up. Maybe they wait for something to happen, and it never does, and they never have the life they want to have.

I think it's a brave thing to be one of the people in the above paragraph and do something about it. Now. Make a change. Do what you have to do to be happy. If it's not with the person you're currently with, fucking change it man....make the bold move. Do what you need to do to find complete happiness. Peace. You only have one life. Think about that for a minute....REALLY think about that....how many years do you want to be miserable when happiness is out there for you somewhere. Just have the balls to go get it. I know it's easier said than done, but like I said, you have one lifetime, don't waste years of it being unhappy.

Same thing with your job, or your friends, or your lifestyle in general. Have the intestinal fortitude to change the things you don't like in your life. There are better things out there for you. Better people. Just remember your family. They're the constant. Be good to your family. If you have a bad family situation, that's different...and I'm not talking about you and your brother had a scuffle on Thanksgiving 4 years ago, I mean things like abuse, etc. Clearly a different situation. For those lucky enough to be loved by your family, don't let that go for anything. If you have kids...be good to them. Even if you don't have the nuts to make changes to relationships or careers or friends, your kids will always be there for you if you show them the love that a parent should.

So what are you waiting for?

"Oh Love, Oh love
Won't you rain on me tonight
Oh life, Oh life
Please don't pass me by

Don't stop, Don't stop
Don't stop when the red lights flash

Oh ride
Free ride
Won't you take me close to you

Far away, far away
waste away tonight
I'm wearing my heart on a noose."

-Billy Jo Armstrong

Butternuts the Police Horse

2012-09-17T07:10:00.002-07:00

Pepper spray tastes like shit....believe me. It hurts your eyes, nose, and throat too. If you really want to find this out for yourself, go up to a policeman who is either riding a bike or a horse and try to get anywhere near his modified crotch rocket. Me and B-Ride found this out the hard way many years ago. You're damn right I'm gonna tell you about it, relax, I know you're very excited....

You all remember the Complex in Providence, right? No?!?! Some of you are under 30? Oh, ok, well the Complex was the shit back in the late 90's and early 00's. I had my first legal drink at this particular facility. I got in fights, made out with chicks, pissed on bathroom walls, did drugs, sold drugs, and on one clear, cold night, got a pepper spray bomb right in my face. This was not my crew's first encounter with Providence's finest, but it was my first personal experience with their careless use of excessive force.

One time B-Ride got pummeled by about 5 bouncers in the Complex....and they're lucky there was 5 of them, cause B-Ride had about 4 of them smashed to pieces before he was finally overwhelmed. Merph and me were there and saw the whole thing, but we couldn't do shit, because I had a bottle of drugs in my pocket, and Merph was on probation for smashing a beer bottle over some dude's head a few months back.

Another time a buddy of mine had the audacity to walk out the door with a beer. This dude is intimidating in his shear size, and I don't even think the bouncers wanted to fuck with him. So there he was, in the middle of the sidewalk, bud light bottle in hand, while the Complex emptied into the street. A police officer asked my buddy to drop the drink, to which he completely ignored. The second time he asked, my friend tipped the bottle up, finished off the beer, and smashed it on the ground. He then did his best Rodney King impression and just got fucking PUMMELLED by at least 3 cops. I'm talking knees to the back of the head after they smashed his face in the pavement, kicks to the ribs. It was legit police brutality. C'mon guys....really? For breaking a glass bottle? Anyways, the cops took him, and the rest of my friends left him in Providence. What else could we have done? We finally got a call to go pick him up. The cops didn't bring him to the clink...they dropped him off in some shitty alley and told him "Good luck Fucko!" Less paperwork, I guess.

On to my personal experience. If you've never been outside of the Complex at closing time, than you probably can't picture it...but it's pretty shady. Everyone is drunk or fucked up. Most guys want to fight. Hell, most of the girls want to fight each other by this point. Me and B-Ride were in no such mood on this night. We WERE, however, in the mood to get friendly with a horse who carried one of the crowd-control sumbitches police officers. B-Ride and I started petting him and calling him Butternuts and Buttercup and all kinds of stupid shit that you probably shouldn't call a police horse, WHILE a human police officer is riding on said horse. The cop then actually threatened us and told us that we were "assaulting an officer." In our drunken state, nothing could have been funnier, so we laughed as hard as we could....until of course we couldn't breathe. The last thing I heard was B-Ride yell out, "What the FUCK!!" My eyes felt like they were bleeding, I couldn't breathe or talk. Snot ran out of my nose like a sieve. It only then dawned on me that the asshole pig threw a pepper bomb, MADE FOR DISPERSING CROWDS directly at our feet. We were virtually incapacitated...but we stayed out of the clink! Winning!

I had my fair share of good times and great memories with many friends at the now-defunct Complex, but clearly, there was a good share of disasters as well....the above is just one example of such. I'm kinda sad that I can't go back today for old time's sake...

The Battle of Dairy Queen

2012-08-23T15:50:00.003-07:00

"All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him."
- Sun Tzu, the Art of War

OK, using a Sun Tzu quote might be overdoing it a little bit...but this is how we felt in the late summer of 1998. We being, of course, the towns of Foxboro and Mansfield. It all started on the football field, (where else.) During our summer passing league my Foxboro Warrior high school football team played against the Mansfield Hornets. They were the biggest pains in our asses all through high school. We played them every Thanksgiving. We hated them. So we talked shit, and they talked shit back...and at some point it was suggested that we square off in the local Dairy Queen parking lot.

Surely that was just kids being kids and nothing would come of that.

We went that night, to the parking lot, just to be safe....nobody from Mansfield showed up. Just as we thought, nothing would come from these shenanigans. Except I was hanging out with a few of my friends the next night. Back in the day I was about the only one who had a cell phone, so when I got a call from a strange number, I answered. It was a frantic dude from my school, not even a football player, just another senior. Now the friends I was with were all girls, but I was summoned. "Vin, you gotta get your ass to Dairy Queen, they're here!" And so we went.

"We gotta go!" Now the girls were obviously in no mood to fight, but I wasn't about to let that get in the way of my pride. We drove strait there. Took us 5 minutes, and when we got there, it was like a fucking hornet's nest, no pun intended. I jumped out of the car and immediately looked for answers. "What the fuck happened, I thought this was supposed to go down last night?" I learned that a bunch of 'them' had shown up, phone calls were made for reinforcements on both sides, and next thing you knew, it was a standoff. There were even kids there that had graduated last year, two years ago....maybe even three....There was no Eisenhower-like, Operation Overlord military strategy...it was us on one side, shoulder to shoulder...them on the other side of the parking lot. I believe one of them had a small dog...

The dog actually set the whole thing off. It barked, onc of us yelled that he'd kick that fucking dog across the street, and we charged. The adrenaline took over and I don't remember the next minute or two. I just know that I swung a few times, hit a kid, and then I was getting my head slammed against the side of the vehicle. One of my fellow brawl buddies ripped the kid off me. I was up, and blindly swinging again. There was anarchy everywhere. Apparently those pussies brought weapons, cause a couple of our big guns got hit with some home-made, medieval type devices that were later learned to cause some pretty bad damage. Anyways, after what seemed like half a second, I was the only one left in the parking lot...well, and my girlfriends. Next thing I knew, a cop slammed my face against the hood of his cruiser, which actually fucked me up more than the actual fight. I forget what the fuck he asked me, I was concussed, so the girls talked to him, made up some bullshit about me being a victim of circumstance, and we were out of there.

My friend Lola bought a pint of ice cream and held it to my jug while I tried to shake the cobwebs. They dropped me off and made me promise not to go to sleep. (Apparently they had read on Webmd.com that you weren't supposed to sleep with a concussion....hold on a second, was the Internet around back then? Shit I don't remember....either way, they told me not to sleep.) My friend Lola even called me in the middle of the night to make sure I was awake. I lied and told her that I was, but I slept like a baby that night.

I woke up the next day and felt like a train hit me, but I felt awesome at the same time. A good old fashioned ass kicking fest in a parking lot. Ahhh....high school. I remember that Monday morning and the stories that were passed all around the school. Kids were in with busted up faces and bruised knuckles. The whole fight probably lasted a minute, maybe two, before the cops scattered everyone, (except me.) Everyone had a story. "Dude, did you see me smash that dude against the Dairy Queen Window!" "That was sick, did you see me smash that kids face into the pavement?" "I saved Vinny from getting his head smashed into a car!"

Of course, now that we're in our 30's, and even for a long time since high school ended...many of us have mended ways with our fiercest rivals and the two towns get along and we're all friends with each other....except on Thanksgiving. Great times!

Somebody That I Used to Know

2012-08-16T15:58:00.003-07:00

I know it's the name of a Gotye song, and I shamelessly stole it for the title of this post, but hang in there.

My youngest sister turns 25 this month. She's almost 7 years younger than me, and you would think that siblings, especially of the opposite sex, so many years apart, would not get along whatsoever. For a long time, that's exactly how it was. I didn't even know her.

To begin to describe how somebody has matured over the years, I think it's prudent to first describe how that person used to be. To say that my sister was a complete bitch when she was a teenager is more of an understatement than saying O.J. had a bit of a temper. She was a C-word. In any other post, I would spell it out for you, but you all know the meaning.

It's a tough thing to say you hate a sibling, but damn it was pretty close to it. From the time I was about 18 and she was just becoming a teenager, we couldn't be further apart in every aspect. I was no hero when I was a teenager, but I played sports, got whatever grades I felt like getting, ( I underachieved), I had a good amount of friends, etc. Sissa was like any other 13 year old, rebellious, teenage girl, except multiply that by about a million. She was downright nasty. She treated my mom like garbage. She told the rest of my siblings and myself to shut the fuck up and stay out of it when they fought. She did whatever she wanted. She was spoiled. She went out for the night and didn't come home.

Some of it I'll blame on my mom, and my mom will say the same thing. She just couldn't battle with my Sissa. It was too exhausting, and my mom had no choice but to just give up. So I tried to get her to turn it around, and I couldn't either. I was the oldest, and like any other teenager, I had my battles with my mom too, but I couldn't stand the way Sissa treated her. It made me sick. There was a screaming match just about every day for 5 years or so. She hung out with shitty people, she dropped out of high school and moved to South Carolina with my mom. She leached off of her. She got a hillbilly piece of white trash boyfriend who stole from my mother and then she defended him.   She moved back to Massachusetts to live with my father, but got kicked out, so she moved into a hotel room with the white trash kid. *Side note, if the piece of shit white trash kid lived any closer to Massachusetts, my brother and I would have saw to it that he would be a corpse by now.* She smoked weed, she smoked cigarettes. She moved home and stole cars from both parents and a step-parent, crashing one of them, and not giving one shit. She got other boyfriends, (who subsequently got beat up by my brother and I.) She couldn't get a job, not that she tried that hard, if at all. I could go on about more specifics, but this is supposed to be a positive story, and I don't want to embarrass her any more than I already have. I will say that she was the worst person I knew on the entire planet. Those who know the McRoberts family and have for a long time know what I'm talking about.

Something happened to Sissa in her early 20's. She got pregnant. I know...downhill from there, right? It was right around the same time my then wife got pregnant with my first son. I thought that I had it all figured out. A wife, a kid on the way. I was resentful that I had "done things right" and now my thunder would be stolen by my least favorite person because she got knocked up. I was sure it would be a disaster. I believe I even threw an office chair through my drywall because I was so pissed. Anyone else with the personality of Sissa would have probably went into a downward spiral. I just pictured her overdosing on meth while she was 7 months pregnant or something. I was literally terrified of how this would turn out. I figured it would surely destroy our family. I hoped she would have an abortion. What an awful thing to think, looking back.

I could not have been more wrong. If anyone really knows me...you KNOW how difficult it is for me to admit being wrong, because it literally has only happened like 2 or 3 times in my life. I was SO wrong. I still don't know what happened exactly.  Maybe some kind of super mutated mom gene kicked in or something, but she took her pregnancy every bit as serious as my wife and I took ours. She moved in with my mom, who had become pretty sick. She did all the right things to get the help she needed. She got a job. She worked so hard to get her G.E.D. She helped my mom pay the bills that she couldn't pay for by herself any more. She started talking to me and my brother. (Trid had become closer to her before this time.) Her demeanor changed. She was a different person. She was somebody that I used to know, but was now completely different. She stopped swearing. She quit smoking. She was excited to be a mom. She was excited to be an aunt. She was stoked that our kids were going to be born around the same time.

I remember a heart to heart that my Sissa and I had on the phone maybe half-way or more through the pregnancies. I thought I was going to be the stern older brother and talk to her like I had it all figured out and she would HAVE to listen to me or she wouldn't survive. I'll never forget that phone call, because she changed my whole perception of who she was as a person. I got off the phone and was so happy I think I might have even cried.

In the summer of 2009, my son was born. Sissa might have been the happiest person aside from my wife and I. It was hard to explain. I think it made her that much more excited to be a mom. Exactly 4 weeks later to the day, her daughter was born. She took on motherhood like it was in her the whole time...like it was no big deal. She was a single mom. Yeah, the father helped, when he could...but they weren't destined to stay together. I'm pretty sure Sissa knew that from the beginning. It didn't matter. She stayed living with my mom, and in addition to taking care of her newborn daughter, she took care of my mom. I think if the Hunger Games was real, she might have even volunteered to be one of the girls in the battle...that's how strong she had become.

I can't decide if it happened gradually or if it was like a switch. My sister and I had a common bond now. Since our kids were born, we've been closer than ever before. It was like I had a new sister that I never knew I had before, and it was great. It was special to me. She called me...all the time. She came and visited me. Sissa...the girl I hated as a teenager.   She came to visit me when nobody else would. She would call me when nobody else would. My family was there for me when I got divorced, but nobody more so than Sissa. I thought all along that I had it all figured out, that I would have the big family and the happy marriage and the house. I couldn't have had it more wrong. While my sister went through one of the greatest transformations one could go through, it made her tougher than granite. And I was the one who fucked up...not her. I was so smart and did things right and she was a fuckup who would surely be a shitty mom. There is no right way to do things. I know that now and I didn't know it then. My sister knew something, somehow, that I didn't. How could this have happened? I still have no idea.

I get along great with my whole family. My brother has been my best friend since he got out of high school. Trid and I are only a couple years apart and have been close since high school. I was captain of the boys track team, she was captain of the girls track team. We partied together, we had a lot of the same friends. My parents have always been there for me. I'd like to think that even though I'm not perfect, I've made them both proud over the years. My uncles and aunts and cousins have always been close to me, (save for a couple...different story, different day.) My grandmother might be my favorite person in the world, and I am openly her favorite grandchild.

Despite all that, Sissa has become my closest ally. She's the one I call when I'm having a bad day, and I've had plenty of bad days. She calls me to see how I'm doing. One day, when I had no money and my son was sick, she bought medicine and a thermometer to my apartment for me. I couldn't buy medicine for my son, and my little sister, who I didn't even know when we were growing up, was there for me when nobody else was. She helped me more than anyone with my son's 3rd birthday, knowing how important it was to me. The cousins get along great. Her daugher wants to "marry" my son when they grow up. They're so damn adorable together. We help each other take care of my mom.

I don't know if it's fair to say that my neice saved my sister's life. I think it might be fair to say that they saved mine. By becoming close to me, someone I can rely on whenever I need her, she's reminded me how important family is. I love my sister who I barely knew existed when we were kids...who I despised as a teenager, and who I would take a bullet for now as an adult.

I love my sister, but what makes me feel even better, is how happy she's made her older brother. Thank you for showing me the real way...not the way that I thought it should be. I love ya so much, and I'm so happy that we've become the siblings that we always should have been. I can't wait for so many more happy times we'll have together, and with our kids growing up together.

I can say with no trepidation that teenage Sissa is just somebody that I used to know. Now....I'm so very proud of you. Happy birthday.

P.S. consider this my birthday card. Ha!

The Evolution of Date Rape

2012-07-29T22:51:00.002-07:00

I roofied my girlfriend one time just to see what all the fuss was about. (OK, it was a dangerously high dose of Klonopin, which chemically is about the same exact thing....look it up.) First of all, it was a consensual science experiment, before you go calling the cops on me.

I was unimpressed. If I wanted my girl to pass out on me after her not wanting to have sex despite my repeated pleas and attempts, I'd marry her. ZING!! Hahahahah!! Seriously though, she just acted really drunk and fell asleep. Then I just felt creepy. What's the point of date raping someone who you regularly have sex with anyways? The thing it did make me realize about this particular narcotic is that you have to be a desperate motherfucker to spike a chick's drink just for the possibility of her staggering back to your place to have sex with her lifeless, passed out body. Is that really fun for people? Are there REALLY guys still out there that do this? Seriously, go fuck a fat chick if you really need it that bad.

Let's get this out of the way...I'm not making light of rape. I think it's the most horrible, disgusting thing that can be done to someone. I think that even in some cases, it can be WORSE than murder. OK? Everyone on the same page? I'm not making jokes about rape, got it? Great, thanks. It's sad that I even had to type this paragraph, but fuck me if I'm not politically correct or whatever. The last thing I need are the P.C. police knocking on my door...(that's P.C. as in Political Correctness Police, not Providence College Police...which is a story for a whole other day, but I digress.)

So now that everyone knows Vinny is not a fan of rape, let's move on. What kind of desperate homo needs to drug a girl to get sex? How impetuous does one have to be to make the conscience decision to say, "Ya know what...I like that girl, I think I'll drug her Appletini and drag her stumbling ass to my car and bring her home to Mom's basement for an epic 30 second romp!"

Say there is a girl hot enough out at a bar who is worth taking the chance to go to prison for date rape. Do you really think she would be the slightest bit interested in talking to some limp dick whack job chump who needs a hot girl to be unconscious if he wants to fuck said hot girl? So in this scenario, limp dick whack job wouldn't even get the chance to drug her drink, because she wouldn't allow him close enough to it to even give him an opportunity. If by some miracle, this dude even had the stones to talk to a 10 anyways, she would use her super hot, level 10 hot chick superpowers to immediately know that he had a 4 inch pecker, and immediately shut him down. Let's take it a step further, and say that Ms. 10 is alone. (She's not, of course...as I've blogged before, 10's do not travel alone, they travel with a herd of 6's to make themselves appear even hotter....this is a fact to which there is no argument against.) The limp dick whack job would be better off kidnapping her in the alley and going the old fashioned rape route...which of course doesn't make any sense, because limp dick whack job is not looking for a power trip, which if you go by the profile, is what legit rapists are really after. This guy is such a pussy, that he's willing to sneak a benzo into a drink just to have sex....he is clearly not looking to outright rape anyone.

My point is this...go on the Internet you dumb fuck. There's plenty of free porn out there. There's some nasty shit too! Pretty much whatever your perverted mind can think of....just go pick whatever you want to watch or read about and fire off some knuckle children, as Peter Griffin would say. Either that, or hit up a free dating website. If you can't get laid hitting some ladies up on plentyoffish.com, you either have your standards set way to high for your own pathetic ass, or you should just go kill yourself, because you will never have sex.

By the way, ugly girls out there, can you chime in on how this works going the other way? If a girl really needs to get some, but she's a totally busted swamp-donkey and is out of AA batteries and can't afford to buy more because she just spent the last of her change at the laundromat washing all of her extra huge clothes, what does she do? See, in my opinion, it's different, because ugly girls don't usually KNOW that they're ugly, so they have more confidence and can usually snag up a dude at last call who has given up and is just looking for a cozy place to put his pecker for the night, in which case, everybody wins. Even in the morning...the girl goes home, still thinking she's hot because some drunk dude settled for her, and the guy has a funny story about boning a fat chick. Winning!

When it's a guy, who is all together ugly, timid, AND creepy, he's got no chance....unless he's got a script of Xanax and he's not afraid to use it.

Negligent Homicide of a Feline

2012-07-14T12:18:00.001-07:00

When I dropped my 3 year old cat off in the woods on a cold, November evening several years ago, essentially leaving her to die, would it be considered 1st degree murder, or negligent homicide? No shelter would take her, and I had no choice.

Forget for a minute that she is a cat, and as we all know, cats have no souls. Pretend it was a human and I was actually sick enough to do such a thing. Let's also, hypothetically, of course, say that I left a handful of cat food on the side of the road where I kicked her out of the cat carrier and sped off. I almost expected her to find her way back to my home, but she certainly either froze to death, or was eaten by a coyote, well before she would be able to make the long journey home to my condo. Still, I found myself looking out the window or occasionally checking the front door...thinking that maybe...just maybe, it was not her time to go.

I like to think that a nice family took her in and gave her a nice home; but unless she actually made it out in the wilderness long enough to face starvation, I'm thinking she probably would not have approached another residence.

I'm continuously haunted by the image of my cat, who had never been outside before, never mind left to fend for herself. Maybe that's why I'm reluctant to care for another pet. A little bit of me died that day, I think...the day I left my poor cat to die.

The question; however, remains. 1st degree murder, negligent homicide, or neither? After all, her body was never found, and I never actually committed the direct act that ended her life. I always wondered that to myself, and now it's out there. I mean, who would bring up the fact that I left another living creature alone to suffer a horrifying existence, leading inevitably to a death that I can't imagine was quick and/or pleasant in any way, shape, or form. I can't say that I feel like a weight is off my chest. I'm sure I'll burn in hell for many things, and this is just one of those things. I'm beyond redemption.

I'm sorry Kiwi, I hope wherever you are....you stop fucking showing up in my dreams. Seriously. If I'm forced to kill you all over again in my nightmares, I'm not sure if I could live with myself. That being said...rest well my friend.

Partying Like a Three-Year-Old

2012-07-09T15:00:00.002-07:00

I'm a bad father. Terrible, actually. I guess I just can't help myself. Case in point: Last Saturday night when Vinny Jr. was over, we partied like fucking rock stars. His idea, not mine. He's about to turn 3 years old, (where does the time go?) So with no job and no responsibilities, my son came up with the idea for a guys night. That was the thought, anyways. He showed me how old I really am, but at the same time brought me back to my glory days. Here is a running diary of the night:

6:24 p.m.   "Hey Dad, since Mom already thinks you're a shitty father, why don't we really go overboard tonight? It will be a guys night...ya know, you, me, and a few friends over the apartment. We ARE bachelors, after all."

"OK bud, but you're cleaning up in the morning. You know the song, right? Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere, clean up, clean up, everybody do their share!"

"Dad, that shit is gay, I'm almost 3 for chrissakes."

"Sorry."

6:31 p.m.   I strapped my kid into his car seat and we headed to the local packy (That's liquor store for those of you who live outside New England and say things like "pop" instead of Coke or soda.)

6:59 p.m. We returned to my shag palace with a 30 pack of Natty Lights, a gallon jug of Poland Springs vodka, some Southern Comfort, plenty of mixers, and a bottle of Patron. (Yeah right, I'm fucking poor and my son has no money...it was Jose Cuervo.)

7:14 p.m.   Vinny Jr. was burning up the phone lines, getting people together for our party. I was putting the alcohol on ice and overheard some questionable phone calls. "Dude, don't be doing anything stupid...that's my cell phone. The last thing I need is for that shit to get subpoenaed if things get out of hand."

7:21 p.m.   We each cracked a beer and did a shot of Cuervo. "Shot for shot, old man?" he asked me. "Fuck it." We did 4 each in the next 20 minutes, but I had to stop if I wanted to make it past 9:00 p.m. "Pussy...."

7:51 p.m.   Some random people showed up, no doubt friends of my boy. He was the most popular kid in daycare, after all. I thought it was weird that they were all in their 20's, but what the hell, I didn't ask any questions. Jr. introduced me, even though I didn't care who they were, and then they busted out the crack rocks. "Dad, you gotta hit this shit!" I rolled my eyes, but proceeded to hit the crack pipe. Whatever, it was a party. I've never smoked crack before, but apparently Jr. had, because he took it look a champ.

8:04 p.m.   Three girls waltzed in with very little clothing. I knew right away that one of Jr.'s calls was to an "escort company." "Dude!" I looked at him. He just shrugged. The music started cranking and the girls started doing shots and dancing around like they owned the place. Someone put up a foldable card table in the kitchen. Me and Jr. continued drinking beer and doing shots, like most everyone else that was there.

8:22 p.m.   I was pretty sauced, and on top of that, high on crack. Jr. seemed to be taking it pretty well considering he's only about 35 pounds. The little shit could hold his booze. People were getting pretty fucked up, and the girls were losing more and more clothing. Jr. got in on a hand of poker.

8:33 p.m.   After a few hands at the card table. Someone took out a revolver and put it down on the card table. "Let's make this interesting..." He looked like a stand-up dude, so I completely trusted him with a gun in my home and at the same table as my young son. "Russian roulette you bitches." Jr. picked that shit up, and I don't know if it was the crack, but he put it right to his temple and pulled the trigger. He didn't even flinch. It clicked, no bullet came out, and he slammed it down on the table without saying a word. Victory. The guy to his right spun the chamber around, (I think that's what it's called, right? I don't know guns.) He hesitated, but pulled the trigger and sprayed his brains all over my fridge. "Holy fuck!" someone shouted. I immediately sprung into action to get control of the situation. "I'll pass it off as a fire cracker if anyone asks, just get that body into the basement. Wrap him in something first." One of the girls puked everywhere. Luckily, a few of the guys there cleaned up both messes and the party went on. We weren't gonna let a little "suicide" take away the fun of the night, it was still early.

9:18 p.m.   The party was rocking again. Drinks, shots, now completely naked chicks doing weird shit. Let's just say at one time it involved a bottle of mustard, several AA batteries, a wrist watch, and an emptied out McDonalds drink cup. A band showed up and set up shop in the living room. They were clearly all on heroin...at least that was my guess until they all shot up right in my bathroom with the door open, negating any doubt that I previously had. For being amazingly high and barely able to keep their eyes open, they rocked it.

9:26 p.m.   As expected, my bitch neighbor showed up to complain about the noise. Jr. answered the door and punched her in the stomach before she even got a word out, doubling her over so that her face reached down towards his. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled out his pocket knife. Holding it to her jugular, he whispered calmly in her ear. "Listen you nosy bitch. You're gonna go back home, turn your t.v. up, and pretend like you don't even know we're here. If the cops show up, I'm going to immediately assume it was you. They're never gonna bring me to the clink, I'm fucking 3 years old. Guess where my first stop is gonna be? Your house. So move it on down the line." She backed out of the doorway, white as a ghost and trembling like the prostitute with the weak stomach was about an hour ago. "Atta girl...get on now." We didn't hear from that old whore for the rest of the night. I give little Vinny some knuckles and thanked him for handling her. "She's always busting my balls...thanks buddy!"

9:58 p.m.   Vinny Jr. threw up, but only to make room for more alcohol.

10:19 p.m. I threw up for the same reason.

10:25 p.m. One of the hookers puked on another one of the hookers...but I think it was on purpose. I was too fucked up to figure it out. On the other end of the room, one of Jr.'s friends punched one of the hookers in the ear and yelled something to her, but the music was too loud for me to hear.

10:58 p.m. Vinny Jr. walked up to me, so I bent down to hear what he had to say. "Pretty sweet party old man...hopefully nobody's rocking their iPhone as a camera, haha! Shots?" I nodded. "Let's do it, bust out the Poland Springs vodka in it's plastic jug. Clearly must be the good shit." We each proceeded with three shots in a row, and passed a bunch more out to random people.

11:26 p.m. We popped the iTunes back on as the band ran out of songs to play. Plus, I was pretty sure the bass player had overdosed. "Hey!!" Jr. yelled. "Get that guy the fuck outta here, Pulp Fiction style!" Good move Jr. It was gonna be hard enough to get one body the hell outta the place. The band carried him out and took off.

11:57 a.m.   A fight broke out in the kitchen and everyone converged on the scene. It was a bigger guy vs. a small dude. The little guy held his own for a few seconds before he started to get pummelled. This went on for another couple of seconds until the big guy's knees buckled, and he crumbled to the ground. Vinny Jr. was standing behind him with my 8 iron. "No fighting." He slurred. Everybody laughed and the big guy was dragged out into the parking lot, where he would surely drive home drunk and embarrassed from being cheap-shotted by a toddler.

12:34 a.m.   The hard alcohol was running out, but luckily, most people brought beer, so we had plenty of that. A few people left, but most of us were going pretty strong. "You know it's way past your bed time, right?" Jr. smashed a beer bottle against a wall and held the now-deadly weapon up to my face. "Are you fucking kidding me Pops?" "I'm just saying, chill out!" He laughed and threw his arm around his shoulder. "Thanks for being cool with this party Old Man!" I laughed for a minute. "No worries little guy, but I'm not getting you shit for your 3rd birthday." Jr. now laughed. "Ahhh, you son of a bitch, don't worry about it!"

1:04 a.m.   I sat my tired ass down on the couch. People were starting to get to the point of no return. Then someone poured what seemed like a bag of sugar on my coffee table. Once people started snorting the shit up their noses, I figured it out. 15 minutes later, I miraculously caught a second wind...and a runny nose.

1:09 a.m.   Jr. and one of the hookers waltzed out of the bathroom together. I thought for a split second about how the logistics of that might have worked, but I quickly decided not to try.

1:58 a.m. More people filtered out. My son and I continued to drink beers. The night had become pretty foggy at this point. I remember one of the hookers looking for money. Jr. took a $20 out of my wallet and gave it to one of them. "Here's some cash for the 3 of you to get home and stop at Wendy's."

"What the fuck!" One of them yelled.

"Do you really want to argue with me here? Do you even have the slightest idea of how many felonies were committed here already tonight? Do you want to add 3 to the total? Get the fuck outta here." The sluts left. I looked at my son, puzzled. "Why did you give them my last $20?" He just shrugged.

I don't remember anything after that.

6:02 a.m.   I woke up on the kitchen floor in a puddle of my own vomit. I had pissed my pants and the place stunk to high hell. Vinny Jr. was putting the finishing touches on cleaning the place up. "Dad, let me borrow your keys, I gotta get rid of that package in the basement." I nodded towards the kitchen table. "Back in a couple hours."

"OK, but hurry up, your mother will be here to pick you up at noon."

6:09 a.m. I made my way to my bed, where I found a chubby chick with a decent face sprawled out on top of the covers. I got her just conscience enough to where it wouldn't be rape, and had at it with her. I then politely donkey punched her and kicked her out. "I don't have a ride!" she whined. "Well if you were up 10 minutes ago, you could have caught one with my son...but you might have ended up like the passenger in the trunk." She was confused, but hastily exited.
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I woke up and found Vinny Jr. on the couch watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. "Morning Daddy. I have a fruit bar a beafest....pleeeeaaasssse Daddy?"

"I just had the most messed up dream...did you have a good sleep buddy."

"Yeah."

"What do you want to do today?"

"Go a the park!"

"You got it pal....I love you!"

"Lub you too Dada."

"I'm not drinking Mountain Dew before bed any more, especially on a day where your mother yelled at me from giving you Reese's Puffs and juice for breakfast."

A bad father? Me? C'mon! A little sugar for breakfast doesn't make me a bad father, in reality. In the dream world though? Maybe....

People I Hate-Part 1

2012-06-16T19:36:00.002-07:00

At least I'm pretty sure I would hate them if I knew them personally, which most people on this list, I don't. Also, you can assume that I hate all Muslim extremists, rapists, and child molestors. This list would be longer if it included people who were already dead.

Jimmy Fallon
Ernie Boch Jr.
Paul O'Neil
John Brussard
Bob from Bob's Discount Furniture
Claude Lemieux
George Lopez
Carrott Top
Captian Elliot Neese
Hank Steinbrenner
People who let their dogs shit in public areas and don't clean up after them
Ulf Samuelsson

Samuelson

Mike Felger
Miss Wanda from daycare
Barry Bonds
Ray Lewis
People who take golf so seriously at a public course that they bitch at me if I don't use proper etiquitte
LeBron James
Sergio Garcia
People who sit right next to me on public transportation or movie theaters even though their are empty seats elsewhere
Maria Carey
Kim Jong Il
Jerry Sandusky
Ugly babies
Chris Berman
People who make stupid lists
Traffic cops who give me a ticket despite how awesome my excuse is
Peter McNeely

John Lackey

Lackey

Alex Rodriguez

Jerry Jones

Divorce lawyers

People with underbites

Joe Morgan

Jessie Jackson

My aunt Kathy

Bernard Francis Law

Kanye West

Fidel Castro

The Dugger Family

John Mayer

Mitt Romney

Bill collectors

Stuart Scott

People with yellow teeth

Flo from the Progressive commercials

Guys on steroids that walk around flexing their lats who try to start shit if you glance in their direction, or in the direction of the girl they're with, (who obviously like guys who have a complex about their tiny dicks) but when it comes right down to it, won't do anything about it.

In Between Insane and Insecure-Part 3

2012-05-28T07:44:00.001-07:00

Part 3- The Origin of Penguin Face

Day 1, ??? p.m.

As the evening wore on, the hard liquor began to catch up with me, and the night began to become fuzzy. Images in my head include my friends around the campfire, eating snackies, and getting ever-more wasted. Being a new dad, my schedule was completely haywire. I was the first to fade, and stumbled into my tent, somehow knowing that tomorrow would be worse. I was told that my sister drank more or less the entire handle of Captain Morgan's that she so dearly loved.

The next thing I remember, or don't remember but was told later, were Nails and Slatz trying to get me up by shining headlamps inside my tent, but I was finished, and nothing short of dry-humping me was going to wake me up. Well, my friends thought of that also, and proceeded to try just that. I was told the next day that Nails was very gentle. That's me there, all snuggled up in my sleeping bag.

In the morning, I woke up early, (another side effect of being a new dad. As I said previously, I slept on the far left of the tent, Vixen was next to me, then Nails, then Kelley. Nails, half asleep and surely hungover, was down to spoon. "Vixen, your hair smells so good." He unconsiously blurted out. "That's actually me." Kelley corrected. "Same difference." Was Rob's reply, without missing a beat.

Seemingly out of nowhere. Slatz groaned, clearly just awoken, but still ready to take a dig. "Smoothe move Ex-lax." I thought this was about the funniest thing in the world, so I started laughing, and it was contagious, especially with Nails. He is the easiest dude to get to laugh. Most of the time, just looking at him with the slightest smirk will send him on a bender of a giggle fest that will last several minutes. This was just such an occasion. So much for anyone sleeping in. Vixen and I headed for the bathroom building and we walked past Lynne's car. We peeked inside and there she was, asleep in the car. I knocked on the window to make sure she was up, cause I'm an asshole like that.

Day 2, 8:34 a.m.

Trid and her friend departed the area on a quest to replace the baggo board that I had destroyed on the previous day. Nails cooked up some delicious breakfast. I went through my routine with Fuzzynuts, who was pretty much appearing at every meal by this time. The rest of us congregated around the campfire as Slatz and I started the blaze. The ridiculous conversations picked up right where they left off. We turned on the music, and it was a beautiful day. Time for Bloody Marys and Screwdrivers. And it began. Nails cooked up some delicious breakfast and we feasted. We had to coat our bellies for what would sure to be an even longer day of drinking.

After a not so long time, Trid and her friend returned from their trip. "We found a Wal-Mart." My sister placed a "wet floor" sign, that was obviously stolen, on top of the rock that we had all been tripping over all weekend and nearly killing ourselves. "One problem solved." She said calmly, the rest of us just kind of accepting what had happened. "And, we got a replacement for baggo!" "Nice!" I thought, I was off the hook. The game formerly known as baggo was forever renamed Penguin Face, by yours truly. Strangely, it fit. The boards looked like gian penguins, with the holes where the bags go directly over the penguin's face, thus, the origin of Penguin Face. We promptly began a tournament, and game 1 was not a friendly competetion. It was a no-holds-bar, drag 'em out, beat 'em down brawl. It pitted Slatz and Emma vs. Trid and her friend. Trid's team quickly shot out to a 12-0 lead. Instead of fading off into the night, Slatz and Emma would not be denied. They came back slowly but surely. 12-6, 13-8, 16- 12, 18-18! I was judging the contenst, and of course drinking my face off, which led to this pronouncement. "THIS IS THE GREATEST COMEBACK IN THE HISTORY OF PENGUIN FACE!!!" Well no shit dude, it's the first ever game of Penguin Face. My Al Michaels impression would not be deterred; however. The game was to 21, but of course, needed to be won by two points. Standard drinking game procedure. It went well into overtime. Sweat poured from the competitor's faces, though it was mostly comprised of booze seeping from their pores. The spectators were on the edge of their seats. The competitor's nerves were like steel. It was the greatest game in Penguin Face history. The score ballooned to 29-28, Slatz team ahead. Trid hit a Penguin face on her first throw of the round. The pressure was on Slatz. If he scored no points, my sisters team would win. Slatz, however, channeled his inner David Ortiz. He nailed a Penguin Face, negating my sister's clutch shot. Trid put both her next bags on the Penguin, and Slatz missed his next shot. If Slatz missed his last shot, Trid would be up 30-29. Ice water in his veins...Slatz drilled a Penguin Face, setting off a celebration, beginning with me jumping up from my chair, spitting my mouthful of beer all over the place and exclaiming, "DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES!!! YES!!" It was epic, and may never be duplicated.

Day 2, 12:57 p.m.

After lunch and a celebration filled with Captain Morgan's, we elected to hike up the nearby hill, leading up a 2.3 mile trail. Luckily, Nails had traversed this treacherous journey once before, so we knew we would be ok. After what seemed like a 4 hour trek, we began to ask Nails if we were almost there.

He continued to assure us that the top was "right around the corner." After what seemed like an additional 4 hours, we finally reached the summit. Victory was ours. Was it reckless to climb a mountain and peer over the ledge while completely shitfaced, with one mis-step leading to our untimely death? Of course, but that was part of the fun. The feel of triumph far outweighed the danger.

We climbed back down the mountain, after taking in some truly breathtaking views. It was truly a place between the insecurity of man and the insanity of nature, and we made sure we appreciated it. The rest of the trip went as expected. We drank well into the night. Ran around with headlamps on, and woke up in the morning, ready to make the trip home. We cleaned up our site and made our way home. I was pulled over by a Vermont State Police trooper, who asked me why I was speeding. "Trust me officer, you want me out of this state as soon as possible."

"Just right." He said, and let me go. What the hell was with these hippies in Vermont?

In Between Insane and Insecure- Part 2

2012-05-16T05:35:00.001-07:00

Part 2-The Legend of Fuzzynuts

Day 1, 12:58 p.m.

Burgers and dogs were up. That's how you start. We bought all kinds of good food, you start with the easiest stuff and open up the Doritos and snackies and start with burgers and dogs on the grill. The weather couldn't have been more....well, you get it at this point. The weather was good. I'm not going through a thesaurus to look for words that mean the same as perfect. Ideal, maybe? Nah, doesn't do it justice.

I settled into my seat next to the fire. I had a nice spot between the grill and the fire, and the woods that ran down a large hill began directly to my left. My friends sat with their food and drinks in a half circle. Trid, her friend, Emma, Slatz, Nails, Vixen, Kelley, and Lynn. We had a LOT of beer to go through, and we were up for the challenge. Slatz is famous for being a huge bully when it comes to drinking. When he gets his buzz on, he usually lets us have it, though always with a huge smile on his face. "Drink up you pussy." He laughed at me, even though I was on about my 5th beer of the 1st hour of drinking. He then got pretend serious. "Seriously, Vin, DRINK!" This prompted me to slug another beer, and another, and another. Nails laughed at the situation. (He laughs at EVERY situation.) I'm not sure I know another grown man who giggles as much as that silly motherfucker.

"What are you laughing at?" Slatz asked, now looking at Nails. "You drink too, pussy!" Nails can't drink beer quite as fast as the rest of us could. In fact, he's not really supposed to drink beer at all because of his stomach, so he broke out the vodka, and started pounding that instead. This prompted my sister Trid to crack open the Captain Morgan's, which is her drink of choice. She even dressed as Captain Morgan for Halloween one year. Now THAT is dedication to your drink. At any rate, the shit-show had officially begun. It was like a snowball. Nails hit the vodka, Trid opened the rum, and this made me and Slatz jealous so we started in on the hard shit too. Luckily, the rest of the girls stuck with the beer or who knows what would have happened.

I cooked some more burgers and some sausage on the grill, knowing that soon enough I would be incapable of cooking anything edible without burning my hands off or destroying the grill. I was still coherent enough to know that we needed some more food lining our bellies if we had any chance of seeing the sunset.

3:32 p.m.

The conversation ramped up around the fire. Something took hold of me and I got locked in as I ate my burger. I can't remember exactly what I was saying. It was almost like I had blacked out and suddenly became the funniest person on Earth...or I was just drunk. It did feel in a way like I was Frank the Tank during the debate scene at the end of Old School, where he owns the debate against the Ragin' Cajun and then snaps out of it and says, "What just happened?" This prompted Kelley to declare, "Vinny, you are by far our most quotable friend." I'll say pretty much anything to get a laugh, regardless of how inappropriate it is. I was in the middle of telling the story of Nails' near-death experience, (go to my archives and read the entry titled, My Friend's Brush With Death), and the craziest thing happened. This tiny little chipmunk appeared from the woods, walked right up to me, looked up, and pretty much said, "What's up?"

It stopped me dead in my tracks. Don't chipmunks usually run away at the first sign of being noticed by a group of humans? Not Fuzzynuts, which is what I quickly dubbed our new friend. I looked in his eyes for a what seemed like a long time. He was undeterred. "What's happening Fuzzynuts? You hungry bud?" Fuzzynuts nodded and pointed to my half eaten burger. I looked down at the now blurry looking cow meat that sat in silence on my plate. "Oh hell yeah Fuzzynuts, you gotta try some of this shit." My friends laughed and implored me to feed the poor little scavenger. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I'M DOING!!" Apparently, they hadn't just heard my conversation with my new friend.

I broke off a piece of my burger and I laid it at my feet. Fuzzynuts cautiously but confidently approached. He grabbed the burger, stood up on his hind legs, and began to feast...right at the side of my sneaker. He packed his little mouth with a man-sized portion of burger. "Where's my beer motherfucker?" Fuzzynuts scolded. I shook my head smiling. "Dude, I'm drinking vodka right now, but I can grab you one if you want?" My friends were now confused. Was I really having a conversation with a wild rodent? I reached into the cooler, cracked a Bud Light, and placed it next to my furry friend. Fuzzynuts inspected the beer and decided it wasn't for him. "Suit yourself, Fuckface." I shrugged and took another blast of vodka. I placed another piece of burger on the ground, this time soaking it in beer. Apparently all the chipmunk needed was a mixer made of meat to drink with, because he gobbled up the beer soaked burger and ran back into the woods. "Great, now he's gonna bring that shit back to his family and his kids are gonna get drunk. Is it weird that I feel bad about that?"

"Vin, you're fucking losing it." Vixen laughed. And that was pretty much the sentiment around the campfire. "No, Vixen, I'd be losing it if I told you that 9-11 was my favorite holiday, or that I enjoy seeing car accidents on the highway, or that I love the smell of nursing homes...THEN, I'd be losing it."

5:44 p.m.

Well as you might imagine, the alcohol began to flow even faster and with the fierceness of Tyson in his prime. We elected to start playing some camping/drinking games. Slatz and Emma brought up the drinking game formerly known as Baggo. The night gets a little foggy after that. We cooked up some steak tips for dinner and continued to drink unnecessary amounts of hard alcohol. I chose the word unnecessary because when it comes right down to it, does anything good really happen when people get THAT drunk? Especially with a large campfire going? There was that rock that I mentioned in part 1, and at several points throughout the weekend, I stumbled over it, mostly in the direction of the raging inferno that we called a campfire. At one point I thought I was going in...to the point where everyone jumped up and reached for me. Being the physical specimen that I am with the dexterity of a surgeon and the agility of an NFL running back, I regained my feet while gracefully stepping through the fire, barely singing my leg hair and not spilling a sip of my vodka.

"Holy shit guy!" Nails said, clearly rattled. My sister just shook her head. Slatz gave one, "Ha." I had escaped a certain hospital trip. Had I wound up in the fire, I would have surely been in trouble. I was drunk enough where it would have been hard enough to get to my feet if I hadn't been on fire. In addition to that, nobody was sober enough to get my ass out of the fire before I got burned pretty bad. It was all moot; however, since my athleticism saved me. My cockiness, however, burned me. Literally. I leaned over the fire to talk shit to my fallen enemy, and a flame reached up and whipped me in the face, singing my nose hairs. Beer muscles even come into play when you try to brawl with a fire, apparently. Feeling pretty good about myself, I started to run around camp like a maniac. I approached one of the Baggo boards and apparently thought it was made of solid oak and not plywood, because I tried using it as a springboard. It snapped under my feet as if it was a paper bag. I stopped in my tracks and looked around at the shocked faces of my friends.

"Nice job dick." Slatz said. "That thing cost $20 bucks."
"Well it was only worth about $3, look how flimsy it is."
"Was." Trid rubbed it in.
"Well at least now I can throw it in the fire." And I did. It went up in a blaze of immense glory and triumph. It was if I had destroyed the board subconsciously on purpose, so I could engulf it in flames.

I began flexing over the fire, and just then, out of the corner of my eye, at the edge of the forest in front of the now setting sun, was the silhouette of Fuzzynuts. It was the largest shadow ever cast by his species. There he stood. Defiant. Brave. Hungry. I was frozen as we made eye contact. I mouthed to myself an amazed, "What the fuck??" My friend's bitching about the piece of shit game faded and the world went away. Fuzzynuts exuded something indescribable. He was like the Perseus of the chipmunk world. Half God, half rodent. "Friend or foe?" I asked him. Fuzzynuts just stared at me. I reached for the knife utensil hanging from the grill....slowly. I held it in front of me as my adversary rose up on his hind legs even taller. "FRIEND OR FOE!!"

"What the fuck is he doing?" Kelley asked nobody in particular.

Fuzzynuts turned and looked up at the grill, then back at me. He pointed a tiny but steady hand up towards the grilled meat. "STEAK TIP MOTHERFUCKER!!" I fell backwards but quickly scrambled to my feet. I scraped a giant steak tip onto a paper plate and placed it near Fuzzynuts, who had clearly stolen alpha male status from me, and for the rest of the trip, if he was present, he was running shit. I conceded power like an old lion, once the leader of the pride, and relinquished my role to the clearly superior mammal, both physically and mentally.

That's the way I remembered it anyway. I was later told that the chipmunk came back and I gave him a steak tip and that was pretty much it. Look at this picture. This was no Demigod...just a chipmunk. But to those of us in the forest that weekend, high in the Green Mountains, he was much more than that.

Fuzzynuts was only the beginning. We ventured into our 8th strait hour of mostly drinking hard liquor. Who would pass out first? Would anyone fire vomit all over the campsite? How would it workout in the tent which housed myself, Nails, Vixen, and Kelley? How many bad decisions would be made? Could we match the drinking intensity of day 1? What would replace Baggo for fun for the remainder of our stay? Would we escape the woods with our dignity intact and our lean-to not in a pile of smoldering ashes? Would our friend Merph make a surprise appearance all the way from his then home in Miami, Florida? Would this trip be the beginning of the end of my marriage? Find out in the thrilling conclusion of In Between Insane and Insecure-Part 3, The Origin of Penguin Face.

In Between Insane and Insecure-Part 1

2012-05-11T22:42:00.001-07:00

Part 1: The Long, Strange Trip

This will likely be most funny to those of us who were in attendance, but I'd still read it, if I were you. You might want to smoke some weed first, though....and get comfortable. You might even want to print this one out and leave it next to your toilet. I have friends who still read at a 4th grade level, and it might take them more than one sitting to get through this.

This three-part tale documents the three best days of camping in the history of mankind! That's a complete overstatement. It was actually three straight days of a group of friends who are way too easily amused.  It took place deep in the woods of Vermont, at a campground named Gifford's Woods, nestled between two large hills in the Green Mountain Range.

It was more than just 3 drunken days of camping. What transpired on this weekend was much more. It was the perfect storm of personalities, leaving our stresses of everyday life behind, and being the people that we truly are. It was a perfect situation, in the perfect setting, to let the very souls of us involved to be seen the way we should be. Every day. It's impossible of course to be what you want to be and still live in the real world, where there are responsibilities and bills to pay. That's not to say we were different people from the time we unloaded our camping gear until the time we packed up. We were all just, I don't know...the BEST of ourselves, for one weekend. And it was fun. It was epic. We laughed until we slept, and then woke up laughing. This entry won't do the memories that we all have of that weekend justice, but I'll try anyways. Ironically, the reason I don't recall every last detail of the weekend,  is probably a result of the weekend itself.

And so, on to the culprits. It was me, Slatz, Emma, my sister Trid, her friend, (who contributed nothing to this weekend and will therefore be almost completely left out), Nails, Vixen, Irish Kelley, and Lynn. 3 carloads of campers. Endless food, beverages, and supplies anyone would bring on a camping trip. Admittedly, Slatz and Nails are far better at camping than I am. Hell, most of the 6 women that were with us are better outdoorsmen than I am. My job is to cook, (at least in the absence of B-Ride, who is far and away the best at cooking in our entire crew, regardless of the heat source, utensils, and ingredients available.) It was also my job to be as entertaining as possible while the others do things like remember to bring lanterns, tarps, and those such essentials.  They were also the driving force in planning out and building the campsite. I mostly supervised. In the entertainment department, however, everyone brought their A-Games. It wasn't just me...not even close. We were missing some usual suspects, B-Ride had to work all weekend, my brother Joey couldn't make it, Merph was in Florida, (at least he started the weekend there...more on this later.) In retrospect, it may have worked out, as the number of people we had fit comfortably in the campsite we reserved, which had been the same one we had the year before...the biggest one on the grounds. If we had any more people, our group would have been split into two campsites, which wouldn't have made a huge difference, cause we'd all be together except for when we were in our tents, but still.

Day 1: Friday- 6:48 a.m.

I got up, packed my shit into my Jeep, and kissed my 9 month pregnant wife goodbye for the weekend. What? She was fine. She wasn't due for 3 more weeks with my first-born and her pregnancy had gone swimmingly. Did I mention before that I'm divorced? My reasoning at the time that if something DID happen, and she went into early labor, I would be a mere 3 hours away, and would be there in plenty of time. I made sure that our nearby family and friends were aware I was away and could get her to the hospital quickly if needed. The fact that I'm even writing this might be my subconscious guilt coming out, but whatever.

First stop, Trid's apartment, where she and her friend were all packed up and ready to go. Easy pickup. Moved some stuff from her friend's car into mine, take all of Trid's stuff, which had been packed and ready to go since the previous night, and we'd be on our way within 2 minutes. That's when the first bad omen of the weekend took place. Trid, exited her home with her friend to meet me in the parking lot and smoke a cigarette before we left, cause there was no smoking in my Jeep. She closed her apartment door behind her, and locked herself out, with all her packed shit sitting neatly in her living room. Karma had struck me again. It was then that I knew that I shouldn't have yelled out the window at an elderly woman who had the audacity to cross the street in front of me and cost me precious seconds on my way to Trid's. After about 15 minutes of buzzing every apartment doorbell from the outside, and receiving no response, we resorted to literally yelling through the open windows of the building's tenants, aka Trid's mortal enemies. She's a McRoberts. It's programmed into our DNA to hate our neighbors for some reason. They heard us, those useless unemployed fucks...every one of them heard us, and I'm sure every one of them took pleasure in learning that Trid was begging with futility to be let inside.

Finally I took command and smashed through her 1st story apartment window. I asked my sister if it was OK, of course. Her response: "I haven't paid rent for like 4 months anyways, what are they gonna do, evict me?" Classic line #1 of the trip. We grabbed the stuff and we were on our way.

7:28 a.m.

After stopping for gas, Mountain Dew, and other munchies for the ride, we headed to Slatz' house to meet up with him, Emma, Irish Kelley, and Vixen, who drove car #2. We planned on driving up, caravan-style, just to make things easier. Lynn and Nails were driving up a little later in the day. Somehow, though the three of us in my Jeep had lived in our hometown for the majority of our entire lives, we zigged when we should have zagged. We basically went left when we should have gone right, to get to Slatz' house. A minor error, which didn't cost us any time, but still seemed like bad omen #2, and we weren't even on the highway yet. It was comforting to pull up to Slatz' house and see that their carload was just finishing packing the car. Slatz had a certain look in his eye. He was all business, and it was at this very moment the fear from the bad omens had dissipated as quickly as an outdoor fart. I had a real good feeling now. I was fired up now. Game on.

9:04 a.m.

After a mostly uneventful ride across the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts, we stopped at the New Hampshire State Liquor Store. The store operates for the sole general purpose to provide liquor to those of us from the Commonwealth who get taxed up the ass, tax free. New Hampshire is basically a quaint, harmless state where Massholes such as ourselves use as our own personal playground, to buy their booze, camp in their forests, and snowboard down their mountains. They're kinda like an ex-girlfriend, or "buddy" who works the gate at Fenway park, or France, in the way that they're just used up, squeezed for every ounce of fun that they have in them, and then discarded like a used, filthy condom. We loaded up on vodka, Captain Morgan's spiced rum, which is my sister's drink of choice. We even bought some weird banana liquor type filth. I took a few swills of it in the car. It was potent, but disgusting. I mean REALLY disgusting. Despite this, it didn't make it through the trip. By the end of the night, it tasted delicious. You know how it goes, you bunch of alcoholic sumbitches. We made the stop as quick as possible, and continued north, into the beautiful Green Mountains in central Vermont. Hippy country. I'd be willing to bet, pound for pound, Vermont is the hippiest place in the country.

My carload stopped at a small convenient store located on the scenic road that takes you from the interstate to the mountains. Slatz continued towards the market where we stop for food every year, closer to the campsite. We entered the store to buy a few supplies, bug spray, Excedrin, toilet paper, etc. I walked past the clerk, about 65 years old, pretty chubby, dirty blue shirt and circle frame eyeglasses worn low on the tip of his nose, who never quite made it out of the late 60's. He gave us a huge smile as we entered. "How's it going my friend?" I said. The clerk just kept on smiling for about a 3 count, leaned back against the wall on his stool, put his hands behind his head as if he was in a recliner in his living room, nodded his head, and softly answered, "Just right." Epic quote #3. I had never heard that question answered in such a fashion, and I challenge any of you out there to think of anyone else who has. His light brown, nappy dreadlocks spilled out of the sides and back of his bandanna. I thought I could faintly smell the scent of weed on him, and thought to myself, "Why am I even the slightest bit surprised that this dude is high already? His weekend probably starts on Tuesday afternoon."
"Wellsir, I couldn't agree with you more. It is just right, isn't it."
"Right on brother..." and he started to laugh as he leaned forward over the counter. He then abruptly stopped laughing and got serious for a minute. "We had a lot of rain this spring." He said, practically looking right through me with his bloodshot eyes. "Lots of flooding. Y'all got bug spray."
"Well, yeah, we have some, but we're gonna buy some more here if that's cool with you." I answered, becoming more perplexed with every passing second of this conversation. "What's your name friend?"
"I'm the wolf."
"You sure are, man."

We loaded up, and were on our way. I explained the conversation to my passengers and couldn't stop laughing. I just thought the guy was great. I felt even better still about the trip. We caught up with the others at the supermarket, and, like every year, bought more food and beer than the 9 of us could possibly have consumed over 3 days, or so we thought. A few hundred dollars and about 5 coolers worth of beer and food were squeezed into the two vehicles, and we departed on the last, 20 minute leg of the journey. In all seriousness, it is a pretty nice ride. It has some great views, a bridge that overlooks a deep trench with a river a few hundred feet down, and the couple towns you drive through are true, northern New England, old school towns. They consist mostly of one main road with a small commercial area containing a few small diners, ski shops, and stores for tourists that sell little trinkets and post cards and whatnot. All of this is fine, except for the fact that it's a 3 and a half hour drive from home, and the location is basically just a lean-to in the middle of the woods. The only difference between Gifford's woods, and Foxboro State Forest is that it's in the mountains, which we later found made for great hiking. We were blessed with epic quote # 4 of the trip in the parking lot of the grocery store. We were smashing ice against the ground and filling the coolers when Irish Kelley, clearly amazed at exactly how far away we were from home, turned to Slatz, "Dude, what the fuck, were there no campsites available in Ontario?" During the previous summer, Slatz found Gifford's Woods when we were researching, at the last minute of course, places to camp on the weekend of Independence Day. It wasn't really a choice, it was a lack of options. Well we had so much fun on that trip, that we chose to camp there again. It was inadvertently and immediately cemented as a tradition. At any rate, it was still a far ride, and Kelley, out of nowhere, made a pretty good point. Those of us in earshot got a kick out of this, because truthfully, we WERE further north than about 70% of the population of Ontario, Canada. We were far north of Toronto and nearly as far north as the city of Ontario. Slatz was less amused. He actually became a little defensive and felt he needed to explain his decision. Ending his diatribe with a "Fuck you guys, go camp in Canada then!" It's just Slatz though...he said it with a big smile shining through his full, black beard. "These ass-clowns couldn't find anything closer last year either." He was right, and we got a good laugh out of it. I'll admittedly take the ride up to Vermont just for the nostalgia, at this point.

10:52 a.m.

Arrival. Game time. It was on. We unloaded the cars and set up the campsite the way it had been the previous year. We moved the picnic table up into the lean-to, set up our chairs around the fire pit, strategically placed the grill, moved the coolers near the circle, put the dry food and the speakers with the iPod dock and all of our bags in the lean-to. This is another reason I won't camp anywhere else, if I have my way. The lean-to campsites at Gifford's woods were fantastic. These weren't just thrown together. They were well built, Lincoln log style with a clean, wood plank floor, raised up off the ground. If it rained, you weren't getting wet if you were inside this thing. Ours was spacious enough were an entire picnic table could be setup inside with plenty of room to move around and leave room for supplies. Lanterns could be hung from the nails on the outside so we could party well into the darkness of the night.

We knew that the faster we got setup, the faster the fun would start. And by fun, I mean the drinking. The proper way to start any camping trip is by firing up the grill and cracking beers. The supplies were unloaded, and next came the tents. The year before, Nails was so proud of his setup, that he joyfully called it "Tent City." He had arranged a series of tents and tarps arranged between trees where the tarps hanging from rope tied around the trees. The year before, we had two separate sites, because we had more people, and by the time I arrived, Nails had his "Tent City" completely constructed. Nails is a carpenter by trade, we don't just call him Nails cause we think it sounds cool. I swear he probably drew up blue prints for this thing and he was so proud of himself. It rained for a good portion of the trip that year, and Nails and his then girlfriend spent two nights sleeping in their car. "Tent City" was a complete disaster. He was determined not to make the same mistake twice. He went the opposite direction this time. 1 tent, 4 people, situated closer to the lean-to. Taking up residence in this tent was Irish Kelley, Nails, Vixen, and then me, in that order from left to right. We strategically set it with the alternating-gender sleeping arrangement in order to decrease the gayness factor. Slatz and Emma were in another tent, Trid and her friend occupied the third tent. Our setup was perfect. We had the lean-to, the grilling area, the fire pit with the circle of fold up chairs situated around it, an area adjacent but off to the side of the lean-to. We then left an area big enough for our outdoor games to be setup. A space now soaked with the blood of the warriors who played in what would become the inaugural, and greatest tournament of Penguin Face ever played. More on this later in the trilogy.

We looked around, proud of the blank slate we had transformed into the perfect campsite. It was pristine. A glorious masterpiece of a site, utilizing every square foot of land that we could. Even the location of the site was perfect. We had the high ground. We were so set back from any other site, that nobody could come close to bothering us, and more importantly, nobody would bitch about us if we were loud and stayed up late. Believe me, both took place in abundance. There were two bathroom cabins with running water, and we were a path down a hill away from one of them. You could pay to take showers there, (more for the women then for us guys), and also toilets. This also benefited the women more than us, but us guys, on more than one occasion throughout the weekend, made great use of the men's room. And by great use, I meant we splattered the toilets with our collective Bud mud in a nice, daily cleaned toilet complete with nice soft t.p. Have you ever had to take Vodka shits in the woods? It's not fun. It can ruin a weekend. They're the type of dumps you take where you'd need an entire tree full of leaves, (or both socks) to wipe. I don't care if it's a luxury that "hardcore" campers don't need. Same with the lean-to. I'd rather not be "hardcore" if it meant hanging out in the woods during a downpour while dodging lightning bolts and not getting poison ivy on my asshole. I'll take the lean-to and the bathroom cabins, thank you. For those of us with penises, we even had a nice urinal at our disposal right at the edge of our site, but away from where everyone sat. It was basically a rock that we stood on near the far side of the lean-to which overlooked a hill. It was perfect, and a perfect campsite is paramount for having a perfect camping weekend. If there was any type of blemish, it was a medium size rock protruding from the ground which was easily stumbled upon if you weren't paying attention, more so when you were drunk. It wasn't near anything in particular, so that if someone fell over it, it would do no damage. More of a nuisance than anything. This insignificant part of nature would become the catalyst for the weekend transcending into something more than a weekend of camping, into something much, much more.

Me, Slatz and Nails, who had now arrived driving up seperately along with Lynn, drove the Jeep down to the office area where we purchased a shit-ton of firewood. I LOVE campfires. I love being in charge of the campfires. I love to build up the base, get kindling, construct the perfect structure of logs, and lighting that bitch on fire and keeping it burning for the entire day. Nails and Slatz took care of the fire throughout the weekend too, but I loved to do it, and I tended to it until I started seeing two of them late in the night and had to relinquish the duty to someone else before I fell in and gave myself 3rd degree burns and smoke inhalation.

12:13 p.m.

We brought it in and stood in a circle between the lean-to and fire area. We all made eye contact. We had fierce determination in our eyes, the sheer joy of children in our hearts, and ice cold beers in our hands. We cracked the cans open and raised our frosty beverages up in front of us and we all let out a primal yell to announce to the grounds that we had arrived. The first taste of beer was perfect, which if you hadn't noticed by now, is the running theme of the story. Perfection. I blasted up the grill. It was lunch time. I got myself in the zone, and we cracked into the first food and drinks of the weekend. It reminded me of when I was a kid going outside on a snow day and being the first one to jump in the freshly fallen snow in the yard.

The long, strange trip to Gifford's Woods was complete, but our journey was only beginning.