Older, Wiser, Fatter

Getting older, there are a few truths I have come to accept. Here is a short list:
1. The sun rises in the east
2. Teen super-stars crash in their mid 20's
3. If its not on my google calendar, its probably not happening
4. Little Asian women can't drive (im not racist.. love the Asians.. just a fact).

Beyond this list I have many others in the on-deck circle, but not fully proven yet. That was until today at 2:37pm.

For years I insisted old and fat is just lack of motivation. Eat your veggies, go to the gym, take the stairs... basics. See, I enjoy working out and this fat thing was never going to happen to me.

"5. My pants from HS would fit me forever"

It started two years ago after I got married. Walking into work, Eve greeted me at the front desk and wanted to see my ring. It was my grandfathers ring, and I insisted it remained unchanged, which Eve noticed and said - "...its a little big on you, but when you get older and fatter it will fit, so don't change it". WTF? Fatter? Does she know nothing of my life plan? She cursed me.

A few weeks later I had to get my suit altered because my feet turned blue when I buttoned it up. There is no covering up with tailors.. see.. it is their job to make you fit into your clothes when you get fat, so he came out and set it straight when I stood up on the box. "heey... you are getting fat". That night I signed up for pillates with my wife.

So here we are two years later and I'm still fighting the good fight. Eating well, working out, and getting fatter. I systematically started moving my pants that no longer fit into my car with the understanding that one day I would either drive to the tailor to get them re-fit, or bring them back upstairs when thinner days prevail.

THEN I FOUND THIS.

Enter Reality- SLAP.

If Tyson can't beat it, how the hell can anyone?

Reality list addition:
5. Older = Fatter.

*UPDATE 12/19/08
Voodootikigod was nice enough to add this little pic. Thanks.

Versace… put it on my tab.

The Versace mansion was just how I had pictured. The night was a perfect 70 degrees with a light breeze off the ocean and zero humidity. But what made this night different than all other nights? Why did we sit on pillows, drink wine, buy white shoes and party like rockstars? It was Danny’s wedding!

Walking through the front door we were immediately greeted with glasses of wine and food flown in directly from heaven. The little Cuban man on the right was making real Cuban cigars for the crowd of 300+, and the crowd loved it. Looking directly up you could see the stars, and the four floors of party people lining the stairways.

Greeting our friends and family as we made our way through, we reached the pool area where the legendary DJ SUSS serenaded us with rump shaker.

Bars lined the place, and everyone was going crazy. An hour in, and 15 drinks deep, it was time for Jon and I to explore the rest of the open mansion.

It wasn’t long before we found ourselves lost and confused somewhere in Versace’s house. Donning my glass of gin and Cuban cigar, we tried to find our way out of the maze of corridors. We followed the music, and found a room which overlooked the pool party area… it was Versace’s bedroom. This is the same place people like Madonna or Princess Dianna would stay when they were in town. OK- Now this was f’in cool. We were chilling in Versace’s room, overlooking my friend’s ridiculous party.

This was too good for me to not mess up, so we decided to get out. As we passed by the overlooking balcony I took a last wave to the party down below….. and smacked my drink into the door. The lime fell out of the glass, onto Versace’s bed, then hit the rug. “OK, no big deal” I thought as I leaned down to pick up the lime with my cigar hand; and then biggest chunk of ash fell off! In slow motion it floated down to the bed, then crashed into the floor. In a state of panic, I spastically tried to clean it up. Do I rub the ash in? Do I blow on it? Do I ask for a paper towel? I tried to rub the ash into the carpet… and made a huge skid mark…wonderful.

Normally I wouldn’t condone blowing anything in Versace’s bedroom, but every man has his price, and I am quite certain mine is about as much as this rug cost. Dropping to my knees I began to blow Versace’s rug in a hyperventilating frenzy.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the battle was lost. I ruined Versace’s room.

Luckily, our accident didn’t get any attention, so we continued our tour of the house and took pictures of some real random shit

And our partying continued as planned into the night…

We stayed out well past my bedtime, and tor up South Beach like never before. But all things to come to an end and around 4am it was time to go home. After all, this was just the pre-party for the wedding the next night at the Setai!

Ice Cream

Family trips are those times you can always look back on for good memories. I think the greatest part is no matter how bad things got, looking back everything just seams funny. This story is no exception.

We were traveling with two families who we had spent every new years with since I was born. The seven of us kids were all boys, and everywhere we went, we raised some hell. There was a great dynamic, and just the right balance of personalities to make any situation a recipe for a great time.

This summer trip we were traveling through Maine, just chilling out and walking around town. As soon as we spotted the local ice-cream store, we needed to go. The idea was met with resistance from the parental units, so we began our campaign. It started with a chant “ICE-CREAM, ICE-CREAM”. This was usually followed by one of us refusing to walk as if our legs didn’t work, and then further guerrilla tactics if need be. One way or another, the seven of us were going to get our ice-cream


Surrendering to inevitable defeat, the parents took us in. My bro and I both wanted banana splits, which was apparently way too unexciting for my Dad. My Dads defeat was not going to be as graceful as we had planned.

As the as ice-cream arrived, it hit the table we hear the word SHARE. There was only one banana split. Our victory dance came to a quick halt as this horrible parental strategy became our reality. For those who do not know, first rule of brother sharing is : The first person who gets it makes the rules. This usually includes eating while debating what the rules should be, and then releasing the rest when full. I got it first.

As I thought (and ate) my way through the meaning of sharing, FatScott began to yell. A few more scoops into it, FatScotts yelling got louder and awakened the Father’s inner pistoffness. I tactfully took one last bite and gently slide the ice-cream down to my brother before my Dad could get involved. I’m not sure who greased up the table, but that ice-cream moved a bit faster than I had planned, and landed in my brothers’ lap.

Without looking back at my Dad, I knew shit was about to go down. The table went quiet and I saw him get up out of the corner of my eye. It was on. I knew he was coming for me. The question of fight or flight was quickly answered, and off I went.

I darted straight down the main street in-between traffic on the double yellow line. There was a peer at the end of the street just far enough away to be my safe haven. About 15 seconds through my sprint-for-life, I looked back to see how the family was cleaning up. CRAP! I WAS BEING CHASED BY DAD! THIS WAS NOT IN THE PLAN! A few feet behind my Dad, my Mom! My little legs were carrying me through the last minutes of my life. Sprinting past the cars and people, everything went into slow-motion as I took in the last of my pain free existence. Remember the famous Wally World sprint? Imagine the same thing just Rusty was being chased by Clark.



I had underestimated my Dad’s land speed as he was catching up. The peer, my original targeted safe haven, was now looking more like a runway. A 15 foot jump into the ocean at its end was a sure way to lose him. He may have owned the land, but my swimming was Olympic-like.

Dad had gotten to within arms reach and I still had 20 feet to go. Mom was closing in fast behind him. I had resorted to evasive maneuvers. With Mom inbound, this could get messy… I had no idea which one of us she was backing up!



Yes! Mom was one of ours!!

Dad had chosen to not engage, and I did not have to dive into the ocean. I’m not sure how my Mom defused the situation, but it all ended as quickly as it had began.

Little did I know, this was also my 15 minutes of fame and I didn’t even get to enjoy it! Walking back to the ice-cream store everyone in town (including the traffic which pulled over to watch) slowly returned back to normal. The war was over… and so was vacation. With peace restored no words were spoken. I think it was understood that after a vacation event like this one, it was end game. We got in the car and went directly home.

I think it’s a funny story only because of how loving my Mom and Dad truly are. I owe them everything. From vacations at the beach and driving down to Florida, to building water-guns and peddle carts, every single minute together is worth.
Happy Points for years of swimming lessons at camp = +230

The Motion In The Ocean

The wedding was over and the honeymoon had begun. We were off to Australia for two weeks to live it large and throw around starwood points like they were going out of style.





Aim was awesome at this traveling stuff so I followed her lead. She took care of the flights, hotels, restaurants, and even making sure we had "happy wedding" candy waiting for us at the hotel.... I had no idea I had married a part-time travel agent. I love her to death, and the thought of spending two weeks alone with no worries on beaches 1/2 way around the world sounded great. Ironically, I'm not much of a traveler. I am a huge fan of creature comforts like my blankets and the nook my ass has made in my new couch.

We took an early morning flight out of JFK airport on United Airlines. For this honeymoon we splurged with first class, and had no idea what we were in for. The restaurant-like food, warm cookies with milk, a chair like a bed and movies. No wonder I didn't like traveling, apparently I was doing it all wrong before! To top it off, the flight attendant was tipped off that we were just married and popped us open a bottle of champaign. Its good to be the king. I was in a state of euphoria and didn't want the flight to end. With Aim's movie headphones on I turn to her..


Me - "Aim, I love United"
Aim - "Oh honey, I love you too. I love you so much"

OK, so what the hell do you do with this? A few minutes later I turned into Larry David and tried to explain the situation. It should have been a United commercial.

We stayed in Sydney for a week, then traveled up to the Gold Coast. After a few days on the beaches we flew up to Airlie Beach, which is the greatest backpacker town next to the Great Barrier Reef.



The concept of a boat has always thrilled me. 70% of the earth is covered by water, and to think that if you own a boat you can explore all kinds of cool unknown places. You don't even need gas! I have never been on a real boat in the ocean, so you could imagine how excited I was when we made the plans to take one out for a 5 day exploration of the reef.


Our boat was about 40ft long, and we were the crew. There were two other couples, one in their early 30s, the other in late 40s, and only one of them had ever been sailing before. We stocked up the boat, got a tour on how it works, and within an hour we were sailing. I was so excited, I felt like BOB!

Day 1 - I'M SAILING! This was going to be the greatest thing Aimee and I had ever done. Its good to be the king, but pirates are cooler. As we taxi out (yeah, no idea on the terminology), our first adventure begins. They sky over the ocean had started to go black, the radio was going crazy with people talking, and we were headed right into a storm.

It felt like a 7 person orchestra with one guy who knew how to play. We were 15 minutes into the trip and the skipper was considering turning around. If we had waited 5 minutes longer the port would have not let us leave because of the wind / waves. But we were in it now, game on. The skipper stood at the steering wheel and called out orders for each of us to quickly pull and release random ropes. We were moving fast and the waves were getting huge. The boat was tipped so far to the side the deck was going under water. We were no longer standing on the deck, but rather on railings and other sticking out of the boat. It was awesome.. AARHHGG


Hours later, the sun set and things calmed. We were alone, anchored in between islands somewhere out in the reef. Hundreds of miles from any real civilization, the sky was as clear as I had ever seen. Thousands and thousands of stars above an ink black ocean. It was beautiful, but I was tired and it was time for bed.

We had reserved the largest room on the ship 9 months earlier. We had a private bathroom and a queen size bed. Not very pirate like, but I do need my pampering after a hard day of sailing. The other quarters were more like bunk beds folded into closets,with a shared common bathroom. We got very lucky with this one, and it was a source of jealousy on the ship. The other people were cool, so I was going to have fun with this a bit.


At dinner one of the other sailors asks me "How big is that private bathroom?" My only reply was "Which one?" We got a good laugh, but little did I know the joke was on me.


The gentle rocking of the boat, the soft breeze of sea air and relaxing sounds of rippling water splashing against the side of our boat made me want to shoot myself. Aim was fast asleep and I can see that the sun would be rising soon. As if a switch went off in my brain, my body said - get the hell out of this room and never go under this deck again. I slowly walked up to the deck and watched the sun rise.


Day 2 - The next day we picked places on the map to explore with our pirate boat. The weather was clear and temperature warm, it was a good day for sailing. For lunch the skipper docked us in the middle of the ocean and promised to show us something. As the hour went by an island appeared from beneath the water. It was the largest sandbar you had ever seen, and during low tide becomes its own island. HOW COOL IS THAT. Aimee and I got onto the new island and I claimed it.  The land was short lived after the tide changed.



The night began the same way as the night before, but this night I was going to sleep on the deck like a real man. Using a life vest as a pillow, I begin my night. It wasn't long before I realized this was bad. No matter what I did the constant rocking was never going to stop. I had 3 nights left. I said to myself - Stop being such a bitch , just get some rest. A few hours later I sat there starring off into the ocean waiting for the sun.. as it began to rain.


Day 3 - We took out the map, and I looked for land. I needed to get onto land and I didn't care what anyone said. We found a pristine beach that could have been on a postcard, and I laid there flat on my back praying for the end.


Back on the boat my wife started hinting that my hygiene was suffering from my boycott of the lower deck. Until this point I had figured out cleaver ways of avoiding this inevitable slice of hell. As I begin my decent into hell the stale smell of boat sent me back on deck. I thought OK- 2 minutes of brushing according to the ADA, no more. Can I hold my breath for that long? I think I can do 1.5 Min, which gives me one or two breaths max down there. Here we go. I run, down into the bathroom, close the door, grab any brush and put on the paste. The countdown is on. 15 seconds in I hear and feel something strange about this room. Was the sink breathing? Every time the boat would rock the sink would take in air and then release it back.. strange. Everything going well, 1 minute in, time for a breath. It was a cheep shot and a devastating blow to my plan. After days at sea all of the wastewater for the boat was sloshing around in a storage tank under our sink. Locked in and now dry heaving I continue to try to brush. The 2 inch vent is just enough for me to mash my face into for a clean breath of air, but the toothpaste now coming out of my nose makes it impossible to breath. Brushing and dry heaving with toothpaste all over my face I run back up on deck. No more for me.


That night I did not attempt to get to comfortable. The constant drizzling would make any comfort impossible, so I took my shirt off and sat at the tip of the boat all night. It was cold. It sucked.


Day 4 - We are somewhere in the ocean, no land in site. We had less then 48 hours left on this boat. The night is my enemy, and I dread it like in the movie Silent Hill. The day went by in a big blur as I haven't gotten sleep in days. Again, I laid out my towels on the deck and curl up into a ball. My delusional state is working for me now as the night rains role on in. I felt nothing and finally got some rest. 4 days of not sleeping will do that to a man.


Day 5 - I hated pirates and I didn't want to be one anymore. I had lost my mind. The only relevant measure of time was how many hours until we got back to port and I could walk on land. Everyone was getting anxious to get off the boat, which made me feel great. It was almost like we were hating the boat together as a team. As sick as it sounds I liked that.


I had learned one very important lesson from this trip.

If the polar ice caps melt and I have to live on a boat I'm going to be very pissed off. Why the hell would anyone buy a boat to begin with?

Every man has their limits, but most do no reach theirs on their honeymoon. This memory is priceless and worth 100x more than the cost associated with making it happen. I love land, United, and Aim. Aim - Thank you for this memory. I had a great time with you honey!

I think my dad said it best when he said "I will refund everyone's money to turn this boat around". But that is another memory for another time.

Happy Points for getting off of the boat alive = +1007

Las Vegas, we have your quarters.

A couple of years ago my brother FatScott jumped on a flight and met me in Vegas. Staying at the Venetian in a fully expensed business room, we were living like kings.


It was 9am when it started. Already a few "free" beers in, we were working the blackjack tables. Living large like dumb and dumber. Here ya go.. here ya go.. tipping everyone that walked by us. Then Scott found the luck tipping point. Putting $75 on the spin-the-wheel-of-stupidity, everyone at my table watched as he was going to hit it big. Spinning, spinning spinning, stop! Balanced right on the needle! What are the chances! How do you not win or lose on a spinning wheel game? Scott did it, and the casino determined they needed to do another spin. He lost, and it started our downfall from power.

Within an hour we gave everything back to the casino, and more. We were just about broke, with two days left to our trip. The very reasonably priced burgers at the Venetian were now way out of our price range, and free beer stopped flowing.

We began our adventure down the strip in search of food and drink. As we walked down the strip the advertisements on the billboards hinted at the type of area we were entering. $5 Corona, 2 for 1 $5 Corona, A bucket of beer $5, bucket and a steak $7. About an hour on foot we found our place... I believe it was 25 cent draft and street food. Poor, lonely and strung out on drugs, the girl walking next to us begins to complain about how she was pregnant and hasn't eaten for days. OK, maybe not the greatest neighborhood but with the economic hit we took earlier, our $10 cash in these parts is equal to $1000 back at the V. At least we would be treated with the service we had become accustomed to. With our $10, we were again... kings.

We hit the slots. Carrying huge buckets of coin like rockstars we committed to a location. Bring me my beer, I'm just getting started. 1,2,3 credits... do I dare.... ok 4, 5. I have maxed out the machine and pull the lever. Shit. 5 cents gone. We play for 30 min, drink lots of beer and walk away down another $4.

Gambling was not working. We needed to burn some time and see some sights. At the front of the ghetto casino we come across a huge dollar slot machine. Clearly a tourist trap, but we were here so it was necessary. In this part of town it could have been the only thing of value left to take a picture of, because it was bolted down to the floor. Standing next to it is a police officer on patrol. As FatScott takes a picture with the machine I manage to distract the officer just long enough for someone to grab our camera bag without being noticed. In amazement, Scott and I start laughing uncontrollably. They got the bag, but not the camera which was around FatScott's neck. It was time to leave the ghetto.

As the days go by we manage to seal the gaping hole in our pocket and control our losses a trickle. We eat only when necessary and scam free drinks when thirsty. Our grandfather once told us an awesome trick. Walk around the high rollers area with cash in hand like you are looking to play something and you will get a drink immediately. IT WORKS. We pooled our money and invested in a $20 bill. Before we knew it we were living like kings again. Bring me my beer.


Our trials and tribulations taught us much, and we had successfully snuck ourselves back into the lifestyle which was taken from us at noon on the first day. Its was time for revenge. A total of $20 left, and five hours until our flight, we begin our mission. It felt like Oceans 14 meets Vegas Vacation. After a short pep talk in the room, we got riled up to make our final visit to the casino floor. When we reached the casino floor FatScott shut his eyes, held his $20 out, and told it to lead the way. Lead the way... Like the scene from Princess Bride when Westley finds the hidden door - Scott found his machine.

Its a 25 cent machine that takes 4 credits. Always playing full credits, that would give us 20 tries. Go big or go home right? $10 into the gambling... nothing. $11, nothing. Then the luck changed. A HIT. We had 2 hours left and we won something! 250 QUARTERS!!! WE ARE RICH!!

Me - "Scott, lets cash this in an get out of here"
FatScott - "No, its mine"
Me - "I know- get cash and lets get out of here"
FatScott - "No, I mean the quarters. They are mine. I want all of their quarters."
Me - "Right..."


I'm not sure how many of you have tried doing this, but apparently carrying 250 loose quarters in a carry-on piece of luggage is frowned upon by TSA. When asked, FatScott told them the same... "They are my quarters, I won them".


Las Vegas.... we have your quarters.