Tough Crowd

Sometimes my jokes don’t go over the way I plan (yeah Mark, we know!)

My brother, my dad and myself have a group chat that was originally intended to keep each other accountable for exercising called the “Gym” chat. Unfortunately, the content of the conversation has strayed from its origins, but the group name is the same. Mainly because “Fart Jokes and Fight Nights” doesn’t fit as a group name. I had them over for the Mcgregor vs Khabib fight and at the end of the night my dad texted the group saying “Great night guys! Thank you Mark for hosting.” Now, if you watched the fight you know that after it was over, Khabib jumped into the audience and started whaling on someone. This is a huge “no no.” Among the post-it note of precautions taken in the UFC rule book are: 1. Don’t ruin the other guys chances of passing his single remaining brain cell down to his kids with a low blow 2. The cage is an enclosure, not a jungle gym 3. No interaction with the audience, this is a combat sport, not a Blue Man Group concert. So after my dad sent his text, I replied by saying “No problem! After you guys left I jumped the neighbors fence and started fighting their dog for some reason......” I’m not going to lie, I was kinda giggling to myself as I typed out the message and anxiously awaited their replies. And waited and waited and waited. The group chat saw no activity until there was a completely unrelated text the next morning. My hope is that there was some sort of cell phone snafu that caused the silence, but my fear is that the silence was a form of communication ☹️ oh well, they can’t all be winners.

Student Driver

I have seen a lot of scary things on cars in my day. Treacherous trunk trinkets like bumper stickers with curse words,  New York Yankee stickers on vandalism-worthy vehicles who have clearly taken a wrong turn and wandered deep into the heart of Red Sox country. However, the most attention grabbing auto ornament I have laid eyes on are cars with the catastrophic coupling of words informing me that the car in front is under the command of a "Student Driver." Everyone has to go through the process learning at some point and I understand that. In fact, it is mostly the teachers I have a problem with. I was behind a student driver doing 20mph in a 30mph zone for what felt like an eternity. The frequency and ferocity with which the brakes were being hit lead me to the only conceivable conclusions that either there was a small creature loose in that car both of them were unsuccessfully trying to kill or they were the first contestants on the new GSN Smash hit game show "Crash Cab." Now, I feel comfortable sharing something with you about one of my dads' shortcomings as a father because for him, getting into Facebook is like breaking into Fort Knox so I am sure he will never see this (RIGHT, PEOPLE?!) when he was teaching me to drive he said "Go five miles per hour over the speed limit to keep with the flow of traffic ('but Mark, it is a speed LIMIT! Yeah, well the rim of an ice bowl is the limit to a serving, but do we obey that? No, we compact that sucker down with a spoon like we are packing to leave for a Candy Land Cruise in the morning, heap on a Himalayan mountains sized helping of whipped cream on the top and pray that gravity and gluttony cooperate for the return trip to the couch. My point being, there are grey areas. Proverbs says "Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it." So, please for the LOVE OF GOD, train them to go a little faster!

Adult Language

One way I can tell that I am getting  older is that I am beginning to use adult language. Now, when I say adult language I don’t mean it in the Hollywood sense like using words that would get Dial soap shoved down my diaphragm. Nor do I mean I have started to use words like Periphrasis, which  to me sounds like the name of the Greek god of Paraphrasing and that theory provides enough evidence as to why that word has yet to be incorporated into one of my unabridged anecdotes.  I just find myself saying things that I never thought I would say. I went to look at a house with a friend over the weekend and out loud and excitedly I said “Are those granite countertops!” What the heck is wrong with me?! (Rhetorical question, please do not answer) 😕

The Measure of a Man

I feel as though I have one more hurdle to leap prior to becoming a full-fledged adult.
You see, in the past I have dogsat for my neighbor and she has sometimes paid me in cash which can be spent anywhere and on anything, but as a guy in my 20s I have also accepted a 6-pack of my favorite beer as payment for looking after her pooch. A few days ago, she gave me a very nice gift of some zucchini bread from the garden in our backyard. Several days later, I found a case of orange soda on my steps.

Now, if you have been in a conversation with me for any length of time, chances are you have been subjected to one or all three of these topics:1. Facts about the American Civil War
2. Some poorly remembered and recited bit from a comedian
3. My unyielding and undying love for orange soda.

You have to understand, absolutely ANY OTHER soda would have drawn suspicion. I would have slung a Sprite from my steps to Salem. I would have punted Pibb from my porch to Portsmouth, I would have diaper shot a Dr. Pepper from my deck to the campus at Dartmouth. However, because this soda happened to be my absolute favorite, Mr. Optimist Prime shows up like "Well, this was obviously the second part of my gift and was absolutely meant to be!" Breaking the seal on my third can of soda nearly drown out the bleep of my phone with a text from my neighbor saying that that after years of living in the same home, her son had accidently put a case of orange soda on the wrong set of steps and she inquired as to whether or not I had seen it.

The things that people consider lying about mostly include money or merchandise. For me, the knowledge of the whereabouts of a certain soda are included on that list. Luckily, she concluded her text by saying it was ok if I had drank a few, because what exactly constitutes "a few" is still open to interpretation. I handed over what was left and am alive to talk about, so it is safe to say everyone was a winner here.

Meet the Parents

"Meeting the parents" can be a very stressful interaction. However, the one thing no one bothers to prepare for is the first time your brother meets your girlfriends grandparents.

While my brother, his girlfriend and I were driving back from Michigan, we made a stop in New York to have dinner with her grandparents. Upon answering the door, her grandfather said "Hi, I am Bill and this is my wife, Margaret."

We sat down to a nice dinner and as old folks do, the grandparents got to talking and telling all sorts of stories. Bill punctuated each of his anecdotes by saying "Isn't that right, Mark?" I nodded politely and continued to eat the free food, happy that Bill wanted to include me in the conversation. This continued for some time as Bill rambled his way through retelling after retelling of tales from his younger years, always fact checking his historical accuracy by saying "Right, Mark?"

Now, you are probably well ahead of me on this one and know that he was not saying Mark, but was using a precious little pet name for his beloved wife, Marg, and he was pronouncing the "G" as in "Good going!" and not "G" as in "Gee, I wonder if he is going to embarrass me in any way, shape or form at this dinner?" I had never heard this pronunciation at any prior point in my life.

Because I am self-absorbed with a spotty attention span, this entire time I had thought Bill had been saying my name and of all of the times I could have chosen to finally illicit some acknowledgement, I picked the wrong one. Bill walked over to the fridge and after shuffling a few thing around said "Marg, where's the butter?" Having been snapped out of the spell cast by the scrumptious supper, in a very confused tone I said "I.......couldn't tell you."

They both looked at me with carefree, unmasked judgement that old age allows and I decided it best that I not say anything else for the remainder of the meal.

As much as I hate to reach the end of this story and provide you with a moral that you probably could have given me at the beginning here's the deal: In my lifetime, I performed admirably as Left Wing for the Salem Saints hockey team, I walk into a Buffalo Wild Wings and management there immediately calls their distributors to adjust accordingly for the immense hit that there in stock items are about to take (a fact that I am dang proud of). However, I am not and will never claim to be the greatest wing man in the world.

If the Shoe Fits

I have sank to a new low in my life.

I looked at the shoe rack in my basement and came to the horrifying realization that I can no longer count the pairs of shoes I own on two hands as I am now the out of control owner of 11 different pairs of footwear. I can blame part of that on my move to the city as having trash pickup made it necessary to have a pair of shoes I could slip on and off. My job also made it mandatory to wear a pair of slip-resistant shoes (judging by the effectiveness of these, I'm guessing they tested them out by having a tightrope walking Buddhist Monk Black Belt put them on and walk across some pavement that someone had spilled some water from a pipette onto......"yeah, they're good.") I also have a pair of running shoes that haven't been touched since high school, but are there to look good in case company shows up. Otherwise, they serve as a "Remember your non-lazy self?" on a shelf. Undoubtedly this admission of guilt has split people into one of two camps, neither of which bodes well for me, because right now you are either thinking "HA! LOSER!" or you have the attitude of any of the anabolic enthusiasts with a work schedule that causes them to share a gym time slot with me as these people have a tendency to look at my greatest athletic efforts and think "aw, that's cute."

(I Scream, You Scream) We All Scream for.....

I have been on the road driving behind antique cars and in front of cops, but by far, the weirdest array of emotions came a few days ago when I was driving behind an ice cream truck for a solid twenty minutes. It was weird for me because I noticed in two separate areas the truck had printed on it the phrase “watch for children.” I don’t know at what point something meant to be attention grabbing and informative becomes unnecessary and awkward, but for me, that number is apparently two. It doesn’t matter who your products target demographic is, that seems to be a little much. After a while, it got hot out and I started to want some ice cream, but I didn’t have any cash so I thought about what would happen if I tried to rob them with nothing, but a pair of keys, a sideways baseball cap and the first ever carjacking with the opening line of “excuse me, but if it’s not too much trouble......” but I have this fear that ice cream trucks are all retired converted military vehicles and my unconvincing assault will be met with someone from behind the counter shoving a bazooka in my face. I don’t know where this deep desire of mine came from to hold them up for a few hoodsie cups, because I never played violent video games games growing up, I played Madden and NHL, so my best bet would be to hop in a genetics lab and create a team of employees that all have customer service, speed and dessert knowledge overall ratings of 99% and demolish the competition. Unfortunately, I remembered that driving is a “full attention” task for me and I don’t do well when it is hot out and any ice cream man who glances in his rear view mirror to see someone pouring sweat with this intense look on their face has probably already called for backup