Mr Responsible 

Growing up is weird. You’ve spent your entire childhood being told to  go outside! Don’t sit in front of the TV!  Do something productive! Now you’re an adult, you’ve paid your bills, you’ve got your groceries, going OUTSIDE costs money…it flips. The responsible, Productive thing becomes staying inside and watching Netflix. Hey, you paid the bill. It’s ok. If you go outside it’s going to cost you three months of Netflix…

And face it, if you go outside and play with a stick and climb on swing sets you just end up in prison.

I struggle with this all of the time. I feel like I should be doing something… if I’m reading I feel like I should be writing, or cleaning, or going out and  doing the mysterious Productive…

My wife is always reminding me, it’s ok to sit down and relax. Cook inside, work-out inside and being Productive is taking on a whole new meaning as an adult. Just don’t be TOO productive…

Hey, it’s not my fault the price of college increased over 500 percent and text books shot up 1000 percent since the ’70s. How can you afford college for your kid? You can’t even afford it for yourself!

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m just a really young old man. I’m not going to have any more apps on my phone. I’m not learning another techno gadget. I can’t- I’m out and not in a good way. I don’t have anymore energy to learn another word processor or app. 

Face it. The only reason FB is still here is because it’s integrated itself within our lives, like Kudzu. Or that third wheeling friend that shows up in all of your photos but you’re  not really sure when you became close. You use fb to sign in and out of everything. It forced you into a marriage you’re not that proud of. And it knows all of your dirt. 

I don’t even have Snapchat. I deleted it for storage space. Why do I need an app that allows me to send text and pictures? Don’t I do that with messenger and my phone already? 

Remember Skype? Whatever happened to that poor thing? Somewhere out there is a little green light saying you’re logged on. It’s just hoping you’ll come back. Also, it probably still has all of those messages you forgot to delete from drunken frat houses. 

Which is probably why someone created Snapchat. . . 

These days we have to constantly upgrade and relearn everything every other  year. I don’t ask for much… just a nice laptop, like a Dell. Remember those? One that will outlive the expiration date on the credit card I used to pay for it. 

A picture of my much older self…


The one about fist fights with dust 

So my wife and I, my better half, my kick ass roommate. My best friend until I hate her and then I need her to be my best friend, so I can complain about her to her, because I tell her everything. 

We had this huuuge fight the other day. 

It was terrible. There was breaking of things…Simon was upset. 

I used her blue toothbrush for a solid two minutes that morning…she specifically told me mine was the green one and I was like, got it. And then I didn’t got it. 

No that’s not what we fought about. It’s true. Totally took that toothbrush to germ warfare. There was bacteria everywhere. But it’s not what we fought about.

She is converting to some religion and I’m not enough for her anymore because we’re not equal. So I kicked her out. It was bad. 

I’m lying. That’s just not true. That’s stupidly obvious. I would be writing so much bad poetry. 

What DID happen. Was the following. It all started with a dog. No,no, it all started with coffee. 

We were sitting in bed drinking coffee, it was morning. And our dog, Simon. The graceful,lanky, 35 lb beagle mix, gracefully managed to hit me with all his 96 elbows as he collapsed on top of me. 

And as I was telling him how he is the best dog in the world. Because he is. I could smell something. And I thought to myself, gosh, my wife should really brush her teeth. 

And she was thinking the same thing…

And then we had a telepathic moment that only happens when you’ve been roommates who sleep together and share rooms together for a long time. We both looked at each other and then Simon. And I smelled him. And -it-was-vomit worthy. It was so bad, you could use it to catch a thief. 

He had rolled in something dead. It smelled like death and sewage. So I gathered him up and took him to the bath. 

It was so bad, I had to wash his collar in the washing machine and soak it in Pine Sol. That’s how bad it was. 

We walked out of the bathroom all clean. When the woman I love stormed passed me. Throwing clothes. And talking to herself. Then she Yelled at me, help me clean up this mess! I can’t take it anymore! 

I stood there, hoping that if I stayed really still maybe she would be like a dinosaur and not see me. 

Simon ran under the table and blew my cover. 

I was thinking to myself. Trying to figure out what I had done that morning to make her mad…

I was in the bathroom. No no , I was having coffee, I gave Simon a bath…

I gave Simon a bath. I changed the bed…we were having coffee …

I couldn’t figure anything out. 

So we had to talk about it. You know, like you’re supposed to. 

But not like in the way they do in law and order 

We weren’t trying to get kicked out of our building or end up in prison. 

We did it the old fashioned way. Like Hemingway. With boxing gloves and Shot Guns.  No not really. 

We talked about it. 

What really happened that morning was, we were on our phones and it was our off day. And I thought we were just drinking coffee and I was writing. She felt like we were wasting too much time on our phones. Rather than reading books or really being together. 

You have to talk about things 

Rather than post some deeply vague meme on social media and hope that a friend of a friend see’s it and just before pitching their pyramid scheme to your significant other-they mention it and THEN they know you’re really upset.

I feel like in a lot of ways, as I scroll through my newsfeed and pretend I’m not like everyone else…

We waste so much time online. I get it. I do. But no one really gives a shit. You know, I walk by people who look like, were it the 1950’s they’re  undercover pretending to eat  food. Staring and scrolling on their phones. 

Or I see them pulling from parking lots, Staring into their palms. Because that’s how you drive a car. 

What I realize. Is, it’s all a bubble. Designed for you. No one but you cares about what’s in your newsfeed. And no one cares about all your selfies. 

We will all die one day. Having spied on everyone else. And if we saw our flashback. We would say…”how do I look at Rachael.”  Because our newsfeed isn’t that big of a deal. 

So read a book. Walk a dog. Cook. Drink. Watch Frasier. 

Things that suck 

In case you haven’t felt 

Your age lately 

Grab on to your cane 

There are grandparents who identify as 90s kids 

There are parents who were born in the year 2000 

You may not be able to tell a kid about a time without electricity,but you can tell them about a time before everyone had access to the internet. 

they will consider you old for this 

A kid born in 2000 will never have trouble remembering their age-if they do,punch them for it. 

Any music earlier than 2009 is old to any teenager today. 

Drunk sex.

Writer’s friend Arthur, 

As in  Arthritis.


Running out of sponges 

Wanting bacon but not wanting to clean up the kitchen after 




Rejection letters

Things that don’t suck….

Sober sex.



Writing a pro\con list without involving world news or politics. 







(How to properly take a bath. For anyone born after 2000.  Take shower. Make sure you’re clean. Run hot bath with bath salts and lavender. Light candles. Bring a book, podcast, or your naked wife into bath with you.

P.S. if your phone is plugged into charger do NOT bring it into bath you WILL DIE.)



Random makeout sessions 

My wife in high heels 

My wife in anything 

My wife in nothing 


Post cards 

Ink pens 

Old typewriters 

Hard sole shoes 

Hot chocolate 




Goofie socks 



The Beach 

Handwritten letters 


Book stores 



Sci Fi and other things 

It’s important to note. Blade Runner 2 just dropped it’s trailer. Which is a different film than Blade. This trailer is spine tingling and everything you hoped it would be. For perspective (those of you born in the years 2000-2001)  I have prepared some rare photos made not rare because of the internet.

You know, that thing you’ve never been without. No not your phone. Not Facebook either or snapchat. Or your watch. It is the thing that gives you fb and everything else. Well, it used to be separated from your phone. Kind of like an iPad or a surface. Only you had to dial into it and take a shower waiting for it to connect. Hopefully by coffee, you had checked your email. No that’s not a fashion box add in your newsfeed. That’s Harrison Ford. 

Ridley Scott being Ridley Scott 

We’ve been waiting for so long. Feeding on rumours of a sequel to Blade Runner. Again,different than Blade. 

How long have we been waiting? 

35 years

1982 was a few minutes ago

And Harrison Ford and Ridley Scott were a lot younger then. 

Frankly, I’m just grateful  they’re still with us for this moment. 

I know it’s sci fi but it opened the doors for so many other stories 

And I started writing like crazy after watching this film. 

So I had to write about the sequel 

Even if it’s a let down at least we finally got it. 

And people can say the original sucked and it was confusing like a riddle inside an enigma or an idea that wasn’t finished. Or how did they actually pitch this idea and they didn’t really like it.

To all of that, I raise you, not one or two or three, but five Sharknado.


Have a swingin’ Christmas. 

Hey! It’s Christmas. Oh my gosh guys! I love it! I mean, I always write about this time of year. Note years past post Here. Did that rhyme? Thyme? I feel like it did. 

Last year I bought my wife a kickin’ Kitchen Aid Mixer. If you remember, she walked in and I threw boxes at her to distract her. And she didn’t know. Because I’m a genius. 

We’ve been cooking a lot. I love it. We use Blue Apron. I would post more about it, but who wants to be that guy? “I made lamb and salad.” With something like Blue Apron everyone else using it had the same meal that week. We’re on to you Alan. 

If anything I would do a redneck video…”Ok it says to pre-heat skillet with oil. Okay Simon go out to the garage and get me some Castrol but don’t spill it! We gotta use it for the lawnmower next. Aight! What’s next? Test the Ladke  until it sizzles. Looks like a typo there. Simon! Go git me some lake water we gotta test the heat!”

Something like that. 

We get our meals once a week. I always get a text message from Fedex before hand. “Scheduled delivery for Friday…”

Well, I got the text on a wed and they dropped the box on Thursday. It looked like any box. It said Blue Apron on the side,but it was smaller. And across the side it said “Glass Fragile” Simon got his mail off the top of it. A milk bone they always leave him. And I thought Oh boy. We got a bottle of wine for the Holiday. 

I opened the box and didn’t see any ice or food just white boxes. Shit. Oh shit. This is not our box. I’ve ruined someone’s Christmas. I taped the box back shut and left it in the floor. 

When L (my wife) got up later. I was sitting at the table drinking coffee. She walked in didn’t say anything just picked up the box. And carried it into her walk in closet. 

Our box of food. 

Later she texted me after she woke up real good. And was like, “did you open this box and tape it back shut?” 

What am I supposed to say? No, or yes.  Do I ruin everything? I don’t know what’s in the box. Is it cookware? Or a Blue Apron? Or should I pretend that my wife just likes to hide boxes of fresh meat and vegetables in her closet?

I don’t know. Maybe I can still fake it. Maybe it’s not for me. 

I ended up telling her I did open it  And taped  it back shut. Who am I? I’m not running for president. I can’t lie to my wife. 

Maybe I can just pretend to be running for president on Christmas. 

“This is the best box I’ve ever seen. It’s huge! It’s fantastic. I’ve got binders full of boxes!”

Merry Christmas. Now let’s go watch The Santa Clause.

Fire Hydrants 

I was thinking about fire hydrants the other day. I keep seeing them on the back of trucks, parked on the side of the road. And in every colour.  Like a big box of crayon tops. Reds and  blacks, greys and blues. I always thought they were just red. 

I never realised there was such a market for fire hydrants. I didn’t. But after seeing these trucks I realised…against my childhood dreams…I would not be a good politician or city employee.  

Who thinks about replacing fire hydrants?  

“Well, we put those in after the burning of San Francisco in 1906 …they’re paid for. Why would we need to replace them.” 

But then you have the county and the rural roads….

“That’s what water hoses and ponds are for.” 

I’m just glad someone thinks about those kinds of things… 

 The Burn 

I feel like purgatory is just public service. 

Repeat the same day over and over again …

Screaming children chewing on things and pitching  fits in the floor…

Random adults demanding that you carry things you would never even have in your business…



Flu shots 

Pamphlets for herbal remedies against vaccinations. 

And until you make it through a day without a single negative thought…

You have to repeat the same day . Exactly. 

Hell would be the same. With the exception of the escape route;

Your day just gets longer and longer. You know, that last fifteen minutes that seems like two hours…only it takes an eternity. 

I wish I was making this up

I love my wife.So I recently got one of those Victoria’s Secret credit cards. But they don’t call them that. They call them Angel cards. To make you feel special. Like a rare unicorn. 

I got the card. I don’t know, I haven’t even used it. I always get L gift cards… A hundred dollars or so…they have those nice pajama pants and robes…kimonos…

We really are that easy , just wear it with nothing else. Seriously. 

 I’m pretty sure I’m the only guy with an angel card and here’s why;
I called to activate the card. The guy starts talking on the other side…and when he hears my name…he’s surprised…and he actually almost laughed. Saying “ohhh..ok…so…how’s the weather over there today?”

And I wanted to say. “Ok dude. I’m not some pervert. I’m not going to max out this card and wear an entire catalogue or anything around my house. I’m using this to buy gifts for my wife…

But I didn’t say anything I just let the guy almost laugh to himself. I figured he deserved this moment. 

The bed 
Since I’ve been sharing a bed with a woman. I can tell you. We are all pretty much like tall 12 year olds.We still fight sleep. Just in different ways. Apparently I start making moves on L and she gets pretty annoyed and is like “I’m reading.” So I just set my head on her breasts and she plays  with my hair. And seven seconds later I’m asleep. 

The next morning she is a little annoyed. Because apparently I was just fighting sleep.

I remember when we first started seeing each other. I was like in this old horrible bed. I’m pretty sure Joan of Arc slept in it. Our feet could touch the bottom and it creaked every time you turned over…so you never could actually reach a deep sleep. It was just maybe a full size bed. And then I got this queen size bed. And it was huge. And new. We just laid there in it. Thinking “man…this thing is so much better than that old bed.”

The first time L saw it… She tried to jump up in it but couldn’t and just laid against it and said “how am I supposed to get in this thing?” 

Later on vacation,we stayed in a hotel and they had a KING. It was like a bed inside a bed. There was so much space. We didn’t touch each other. There were moments I forgot she was there. I would turn  over just to look for her. Make sure I did in fact bring her with me. And we both were like…” We’ve got to upgrade to one of these.” 

I’m pretty sure whoever invented the KING was either a king with many women. A recluse with lots of cats, or someone inside an 18 year marriage or on their 4th child. 

I’m only guessing but I assume at some point they are just like “I don’t want to know you’re here or feel you next to me. I don’t care what you’re doing…I’m in my kingdom right here. This is my part of the castle …

A couple could have two television sets at the foot of a king and it wouldn’t even matter. 
The salesman who sold me the queen said he would see me after a few years for a king. Once he went king he never went back. His wife was sitting all the way across the furniture store reading a paper. 

And that’s how I know all of this is true.