Sunday, November 29, 2009

The Saddest Thing I've Ever Heard...


A child laughs up to 300 times a day. Compared to an adult, who laughs only 10-15 times a day on average.

Assuming this statistic is correct, I would probably categorize this as the saddest thing I have ever heard.

I can’t help but draw the following conclusion from the aforementioned statement:

When we are children, we are so happy and so free spirited, that we can’t help but express ourselves through laughter; Sometimes as much as 300 times a day.

With the exception of rolling my eyes or sighing, I can’t think of anything that I do 300 times a day.

What’s even more depressing is that somewhere along the way, society will deliver the inevitable kick to the nuts of a child. From that point on, little Huck Finn begins his slow, cold, spiraling decent into the dark abyss of adulthood.

Who’s laughing now?

Not me.

I’m fucking pissed. You know why? Because it’s impossible to recapture that innocence. You can’t recreate it. It’s gone; Like a fart in the wind.

This also clears a few things up for me. Are you ever just sitting around the house and you hear your kids laughing uncontrollably?

This happens all the time around my place. Whenever I hear that sound, first I smile.

But then for some reason, I always get a little emotional and it makes me sad.

Not in a start bawling like a big pussy sort of way but my eyes well up a little and I try to hold on to the moment for a bit. I always thought that maybe that’s just what parents do. Maybe it conjures up some repressed shitty memories from my childhood?


It makes me sad because that feeling of reckless joy was ripped out of me like the gizzards of a chicken and inevitably will be ripped away from my kids as well.

There will be tests that stress them out, bullies that kick the snot out of them for their fucking Twinkies. Hell, they probably won’t even have Twinkies by then. Then they’ll grow tits and pubes and have to deal with zits and just when it’s about all they can handle? BAM! Some douche bag boyfriend will make them feel like a pile of garbage and I’ll be too fat, old and bald to kick his ass.

I don’t even remember what I was talking about.

Right. The saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Well I have news for you.

The following statement is not a threat. It is a PROMISE:

Dear Life,

I see your anger, your cruelty and your sadness; and I raise you joy, comfort and laughter. I will not allow you to bitch slap me or my awesomely happy kids, into submission any longer. I will fight your wickedly, complacent ways to the death and win. I will Out-Number you with humor and love.

I will start right now, with this blog…

Join me.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

100 Things I Am Thankful For...

1. My Wife
2. My Kids
3. My Mom
4. My Grandma
5. My Dad and Step-Mom
6. My In-Laws
7. My Brother and his family
8. My Sister
9. My Uncle
10. All of my cousins and my extended family.
11. My Friends
12. Public Restrooms
13. Cutis Sliwa and The Guardian Angels
14. My Armenian Barber
15. Lactaid Milk
16. Zombie Movies
17. Tube socks with the stripes on top.
19. Monster Energy Drink (The blue one)
20. My Co-Workers
21. Gefilte Fish
22. SARNA Sensitive Anti-Itch Cream
23. Kaopectate
24. Baby Benadryl
25. Country Pork Ribs

27. Steamers
28. Beer
29. Tanis Miller
30. People uglier than me.
31. Women Train Conductors
32. Boobs
33. Hydrocodone
34. Comments on my blog
35. Hair Sculpting Cream
36. Alec Baldwin
37. Hockey
38. Black light Posters
39. Captain America
40. The Ass of the Turkey.
41. Psychologists
42. Multiple choice
43. Vaginas
44. IPods
45. The Backstreet Boys
46. Nick
47. Brian
48. Kevin
49. A.J.
50. Howie

51. Backstreet’s Back (2nd International Studio Album)
52. Millennium (3rd International Studio Album)
53. Black & Blue (4th International Studio Album)
54. Never Gone (5th International Studio Album)
55. Unbreakable (6th International Studio Album – Not so much)
56. Manowar
57. My Peter Gabriel, Painted Denim Jacket
58. Grey Goose
59. Grey Geese
60. Emoticons
61. Willem Dafoe
62. Penny Loafers and / or Tube Tops
63. Papaya King
64. Lox
65. Boners (My boners)
66. Maine
67. D Minor chord
68. Activision’s Kaboom (For Atari)
69. Activision’s Stampede (For Atari)
70. Boxing Gloves
71. Smurf Figures
72. Jo from Facts of Life
73. John Ritter
74. Honeycombs
75. Open toe sandals

76. 70’s bush
77. Clowns
78. WPIX's Pix TV Game
80. Kris at DaVinci Tattoo
81. Hash browns
82. Neil Diamond’s Mother
83. My first hand job (See #65)
84. Baskin Robins (All 31 Flavors)
85. My last hand job (See #1)
86. The guy who first said, “It’s not my yob.”
87. Fist bumps
88. Natalie Portman
89. French accents
90. Captain James T. Kirk
91. Crest White strips
92. Bacon cheeseburgers
93. My Sony Dream Machine
94. One Hour Photo
95. Sleeveless flannel shirt wearing dudes in Chelsea
96. Caller ID
97. Kosher Butchers
98. Vanilla air freshener
99. The Sad Trombone sound
100. YOU! Yes you...


Monday, November 23, 2009

Backstreet Boys: Request For Audition...

Dear Nick, Brian, A.J. and Howie,

I know you fellas are probably quite busy at the moment, on the heels of the big release of the new album, “This Is Us”. I just wanted to take a moment to reach out and discuss the possible merits of a mutually beneficial business collaboration between myself and the band.

My motivation for contacting you is two fold.

First of all, I realize that the sudden departure of founding Backstreet Boy member, Kevin Richardson, must have had a profoundly negative effect on the chemistry of the band. I am aware that he has not been replaced and for good reason. As the oldest member of the group, his patriarchal influence must have been an essential ingredient to the overall balance and order of the ensemble. He was like an older brother to the rest of you and quite possibly the strongest song writer. Judging by the initial negative reaction to the album, from both critics and fans alike, the void that Kevin has left, still remains unfilled.

And second of all, I am a loyal and longtime fan of the Backstreet Boys. I had front row seats for the Into The Millennium Tour back in 99'. You might remember me, as I was the guy with the beard and the Backstreet Boys tank top, that accidentally elbowed the young lady with the "We Love You Nick!" sign. Yes that was my underwear that hit Howie during "Show Me The Meaning Of Being Lonely".

Furthermore, I am a talented musician, break dancer, singer and songwriter. I have plenty of life experience and I know the catalog of material well. I am 38 years young. I can replace the empty space left by the older and wiser Kevin. With me, comes much needed leadership and guidance. I am an older brother to two siblings. I was a C0- Captain of my High School Wrestling team and Senior Class Historian.

Please allow me to present a brief synopsis of my background and credentials.

1982: Mrs Gart's Production of "The King and I" - Played Prince Chulalongkorn. Duet with Louis - "A Puzzlement".

1983 - 1984: Founding Member of the Merrick Meshuganas - Long Island's first and only, all Jewish, competitive, break dancing crew.

1985: Founding Member and Rhythm Guitarist of Black Diamond - Hard rock cover band, that performed in the Jr. High School Talent Show. Brian Bloom was our lead singer.

1990 - 1992: W.O.N.Y. Radio Station, Oneonta NY - Hosted Heavy Metal Radio show, "On Air Armageddon".

1998: Sweet Cherry - Supporting Role as "The Bad Boy" in the Independent Short Film, Sweet Cherry. Role was inspired by A.J. McLean of The Backstreet Boys.

1999 - 2008: Didn't do anything creative whatsoever.

2008 - Present: Out-Numbered - Author of the Dad Blog, Out-Numbered. Have posted several videos (2) of myself singing either Karaoke or Freestyle.

I am also happily married and a Father of two beautiful and popular daughters. I am confident that my strong connection (Via Out-Numbered) to the Parenting community and in turn their offspring, will help cast a wider and more diversified net, across what is currently, a modestly narrow demographic.

In conclusion, I'm not sure if you are currently taking unsolicited audition tapes. In any case, I am hereby submitting both a vocal audition tape and a dance audition tape. In the event that you are interested in meeting in person, please contact me via Twitter @Outnumberedisme or kindly leave a comment on this blog post. In order for me to verify the authenticity of your response, please leave your comment under the name of Nick's first puppy. I am certain this will provide you with the anonymity you most certainly require.

The Perfect Fan,


Thursday, November 19, 2009

The Ass Ninja...

Roast Chicken and Brussel Sprouts fuel my toxicity.

I am silent.

I am deadly.

You can do nothing to stop me.

I will find you.

You will not see me coming.

By the time you realize I was in your midst, I will already be gone.

I do not know how to show mercy.

I feel nothing.

I will devastate the world around you.

You will be left in ruins.

I am...

The Ass Ninja.

6:18pm - Sunday Evening

I eat Roast Chicken and Brussel Sprouts. I leave the skin on. I chew the bone. I eat half the bird. I drink Diet Coke.

7:02pm - Clean Up Time

I clean up the kitchen. I sneak one more piece of Roast Chicken. Dark Meat. More skin. Two more Brussel Sprouts. My stomach rumbles.


7:15pm - Bath Time

You finish up with the youngest and take her to her room. You leave the oldest in the shower alone. She is vulnerable. My first victim.

7:16pm - Engage First Target

I enter the bathroom. The air is heavy. It is dense and humid. The perfect conditions. I creep up slowly, like an Ass Ninja dressed in black. I draw the curtain back slowly. She is not paying attention. She has shampoo in her eyes. Unsuspecting. I back into position. My ass is in the shower.



I am gone.

I wait...

7:16pm and 26 seconds...


Direct hit. I must keep moving.

7:18pm - 3 Yr Old's Room

You stand at her changing table. You are drying her hair. So peaceful. There is laughter. I do not pay attention to laughter.

7:19pm - Engage Second Target

I must move quickly. Do not linger. In and Out. No distractions. No prisoners. Do not look them in the eye. It is not personal...

Wife - "Hey what happened in there? Why was she yelling?"

Ass Ninja - "Who knows?"

I approach them. I am close. I bend over to pick up something that isn't there.

Wife - "What are you doing?"



Ass Ninja - "Nothing."


7:19 and 48 seconds...


Mission Accomplished.

I must lay low. Regroup. Recharge.

9:37pm - Docking Station

I head to the kitchen to eat more Dark Meat and Brussel Sprouts.

I am armed for my final mission.

Now I wait.



10:14pm - Bed Time

You lay in bed reading your "Novel". Beautiful and silent. Like a sitting duck. About to be roasted in a dutch oven.

10:17pm - Engage Final Target

- "I'm tired. Come snuggle with me."

Ass Ninja - "Just brushing my teeth."


10:19pm - Lock and Load

I climb into bed and turn out the light.


Wife - "Good night honey. I love you..."

Tough love.

Ass Ninja - "I love you too."

Kiss of death...



Goodnight my sweet love.

I am sorry.

10:19 and 31 seconds...


My power is great. You are Out-Numbered. I am the Ass Ninja...

Fatherhood Friday at Dad Blogs

Monday, November 16, 2009

What Would OZZY Do?

Driving in the car with my two daughters. My wife is at the Salon, again. We are on a mission. French Toast and Bacon at the Diner.

I have Black Sabbath playing in the CD player. I love Black Sabbath but it is obvious that my daughters do not share this passion with their Father.

Out-Numbered (Singing in Ozzy Falsetto)- "Nobody will ever let you know. When you ask the reasons why"

3 Yr Old - "You're the best singer in the whole world Daddy."

Out-Numbered - "Thank you sweetheart." (Continue singing) "
They just tell you that you're on your own. Fill your head all full of lies..."

7 Yr Old - "No he's not. He's the worst singer in the whole world."

Out-Numbered - "That's not nice baby." (Singing louder) "Where can you run to.
What more can you do. No more tomorrow. Life is killing you."

3 Yr Old - "No. He's the best singer!"

7 Yr Old - "No! He's the worst singer and the person singing on the radio is even worse."

Out-Numbered - "Now stop that! Ozzy is the best singer of all-time and I'm a very good singer too."

(Making the radio louder and singing louder.)

Out-Numbered - "Dreams turn to nightmares. Heaven turns to hell. Burned out confusion. Nothing more to tell."

7 Yr Old - "He's terrible. He sounds like a girl and you can't even understand what he's saying."

Out-Numbered - "Let me ask you a question. Does he sound like any other singer you've ever heard?"

7 Yr Old - "No. He's annoying. Like you."

Out-Numbered - "That's my point."

7 Yr Old - "What? That you're annoying?"

Out-Numbered - "No, Dufus. That Ozzy is totally different than anybody else and that's why he's the greatest singer ever."

(Making the radio even louder and singing even louder. Trying to be annoying.)

Out-Numbered - "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath. Nothing more to do."

3 Yr Old - "I like OZBY, Daddy."

7 Yr Old - "It's OZZY dummy."

(Screaming over the music)

3 Yr Old - "I'm not a dummy. You're a dummy!"

7 Yr Old - "YOU ARE!"

3 Yr Old - "YOU ARE!!!"

Out-Numbered - (Singing) "Living just for dying. Dying just for you. Yeah!"

7 Yr Old - "I HATE YOU!"

3 Yr Old - "I HATE YOU!"

Out-Numbered - "I WILL PULL THIS CAR OVER RIGHT NOW!!! Just as soon as this song is over..."

(Turning it up one more notch...)

7 Yr Old & 3 Yr Old - (Screaming inaudibly behind a wall of Black Sabbath.)

I bet you Ozzy never felt Out-Numbered. He would have bit their little heads off...

Friday, November 13, 2009

F, Marry, Kill...

Let’s have some Friday fun!

OK, here we go.


If you somehow read that to yourself in that fucked up, disturbing computer voice from War Games, then you can stay.

There’s a game that I love to play with my friends. You can play it with guys, girls, transgender folks, whoever. The game is called “F, Marry, Kill?” If you don’t know what “F” stands for, then you probably don’t know what cock-docking is either. Don't worry about it. Not important.

Here are the rules:

1) You must have at least two people to play the game. It’s especially fun with strangers on Twitter.

2) One of the players must choose three random people. They can be celebrities, co-workers, your best friend’s Mother, your fat neighbor, the hot cheerleader you used to crush on or even some crazy cougar from the supermarket. Meow! Be creative. But all the players involved must be familiar with the people chosen.

3) Once the three people are chosen, the other players must assign each of the three people to a category: F, Marry or Kill.

4) Justifying your choices is not required but open debate is encouraged. There are no wrong answers. Only stupid ones.

5) Assume someone is holding a gun to your head. This is serious stuff.


Marsha * Jan * Cindy * (Teen years)


This one is deceiving. Don’t get suckered into the easy choice here.

– You 100% F Marsha. She is by far the hottest of the three. She was beautiful with a killer body. She wore tight sweaters and drove all the boys crazy. She was a total tease but at the same time she was a colossal prude. She was an A-List score back then and chances are you wouldn’t have a cold shot in hell in real life, so go for it. Plus she was a complete narcissist and would drive you insane in the long run. The only other option would be to off her and that would be a waste.

This is where it gets tricky. Both Jan and Cindy were pretty annoying and neither was very good looking. You need to use a bit of foresight here. Everyone knows Cindy went on to become some kind of crazy drug addict and she never really lost her lisp. That’s way too much effort to expend as the result of a bad choice in a game. On the other hand, Jan was super homely and she tilted the creepy scale a bit too far at times. The key is the glasses. If you drink a few beers, remove Jan’s glasses and you squint a little bit, she jumps from a 5 to about 7.5. That’s good enough for a jerk off like me. You need to think long term.

– Sorry Cindy. Unfortunately, you’ll be selling seashells by the seashore in the afterlife.

Get the picture?

Now you try it. I’m going to throw one out for the Men and then a separate one for the Ladies. Feel free to tackle both. Have fun!


Jewel * Tina Fey * Your Wife’s Best Friend *


Jimmy Fallon * Angelina Jolie * Scott Baio *

I know my answers but I don’t want anyone to feel Out-Numbered…

P.S. If you wouldn't mind, please take a moment to vote for me in the Blogger's Choice Awards. I know it's a complete pain in the ass but I'm pretty close to representing in the two categories below. I'm obviously worthy of both because I am able to weave parenting anecdotes with drinking games about fucking. Thank you.

The Management

My site was nominated for Best Parenting Blog!

My site was nominated for Hottest Daddy Blogger!

Fatherhood Friday at Dad Blogs

Monday, November 9, 2009

Fairytales From The Darkside...

So my daughter is in the 2nd grade and one of the things they do in her class is called Snack-Story Time. Parents are supposed to pick a story, a snack and a day to come to the class to read that story and then administer the snack to the children. The hook is that if possible, you should pick a story that will tie into the snack of choice, as to make it more of an interactive experience. Sounds like fun! I obviously love stories and judging by the red indentations from my skin tight jeans, where my waistline used to be, I love snacks as well.

My only potential conflict is that I loath the thought of being a complete bore. I’ve been laughed at and humiliated in these types of situations before (Don’t ask) and I refuse to let it happen again. So I have decided that instead of picking an existing story that the children are familiar with, I will write my own story. Those poor little bastards...

I present to you some rough sketches and my first draft of…

Do Witches Make Fishes?

There once was a boy who never ate dinner.
His Mother would kvetch, “You can’t get much thinner!”

And the Boy would reply,

"I hate all your dishes and besides,

I like candy not Carrots and Fishes.

Well the Mother would worry and then she’d get mad

But despite all her efforts, no meals would be had.

Then finally one evening after cooking a stew,
The Mother imparted a message brand new.

It wasn’t a question or simple request
But something much stronger than Mother knows best.

She looked at the boy and his half eaten plate
And said to him, “Boy! You’re tempting your fate.”

What he didn’t expect, is the words he heard next.

His ears were confused and his brain was perplexed.

The Mother came forward and put forth the notion

That she was a witch and the stew was her potion.

She went on to reveal, the frightening deal

That she’d make with the boy, if he turned down the meal.

If you refuse and say no
Out the window you’ll go
And I’ll cook up a spell

That will fix you quite well.

I promise you this
All the fine and the dandy
Will soon disappear

There will be no more candy.

You’ll land in a pit
Filled with Veggies and things.
With lollipops just out of reach,
on a string.

You’ll spend all your time

Thinking thoughts about dishes
That you'll wish would consist

Of my Carrots and Fishes.

So eat or do not

My offer is clear

But whatever you choose

Choose wisely my dear.

Now the boy had gone speechless
And rightfully so

For he hadn’t a clue

About Witches you know.

So he took a deep breath
And he let out another
Then yelled to the Witch,

Then it occurred to him, suddenly so.

That witches hate candy!

That much I know.

Then he reached in his pocket
That always felt sticky

And pulled from it something incredibly icky.

He’d been saving it up

For a special occasion

And now was the time, for the Candy Invasion.

There were Gummy Worms, Candy Corns, Fun Dip and Charms.

Appleheads, Fireballs and Chocolate Yarn.

With his last bit of strength

He drew back his hand

And let go of a handful, of One Hundred Grands.

It hit her on target

Right in the belly

And she fell over backwards

Right into some Jelly.

She didn’t seem hurt but was certainly stuck
Thank goodness for that and a bit of good luck.

The funny thing is,
after all the commotion
He heard some loud growling
And felt a compulsion.

"I AM HUNGRY!" He cried.

But I don’t want my sweets.

I don’t want these sugary, lollipop treats.

What I want is my Mommy

To cook me her dishes.

I want her to make me, her Carrots and Fishes…


I hope the kids will be hungry. I'm thinking of bringing in Gobstoppers and Talapia.

The teacher will have to decide which is worse; Being Out-Numbered by Kids or Fish...

Do Witches Make Fishes?

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Thursday, November 5, 2009

Funeral For A Friend...

There comes a time in every man’s life when he has an epiphany of self reflection. This moment usually comes without warning and is never kind. Like most of my peers, I’ve always carried myself with an air of invincibility. It’s hard not to laugh at your elders when you’re still frolicking around in a young man’s skin. There’s no remorse in goading the freshman when your plume is in full dress.

But be careful…

Youth is but another layer of skin, shed from the snake.

Your time will come. It always does…

And when it comes, it will be you who cries the tears of a clown.

My time came this week in the form of a Black Leather Motorcycle Jacket. The day started out like any other day. Zone Bar and Rock Star. The breakfast of A-holes. I showered, brushed and picked out my clothes. Jeans, a t-shirt and blue Adidas kicks.

Nothing to see here.

It’s my ensemble du jour. Axe deodorant and two sprays of cologne on the neck. Walk into the second spray. My brother taught me that. I’ll wear my contacts today because it’s sunny. I only wear my glasses in the rain. Should I sport my Francis Llewellyn 'Ponch' Poncherello style, mirrored, trooper sun glasses? Or shall I go Bono, lesbian sheik and don my white women’s Polo sunglasses?

Not many people can pull that off.

Like the triple Lutz of hipster cool.

White women’s Polo it is.

Then I made my choice. My self esteem lay dormant in a hidden sleeve pocket…

In a closet.

You know what they say. The devil’s in the details. God knows they were right.

Me – “Honey! What’s the temperature out there today?”

Wife – “It’s chilly.”

Me – “Like sweatshirt chilly or Jacket chilly?”

Wife – “Why don’t you just check for yourself?”

Good idea. I open the door and take a step outside. It’s brisk. A clear, Fall day. Fall reminds me of college and college reminds me of…

My Black Leather Motorcycle Jacket.

Oh sweet Jesus in heaven. Your zippers shine like the brightest star on the darkest night. Like old friends that have been out of touch, we pick up right where we left off. We never even skipped a beat.

I slip on my leather. It speaks to me.

What did you just say?


I know what you’re thinking. I can feel it too. We can take on the world together. One windbreaker at a time. Those posers are no match for our combined forces. Who cares if I’ve never ridden a motorcycle? No one will know. So what if it’s unconventional for Jews to wear leather.

Arthur Fonzarelli was a member of the tribe.

But it was just a TV show.


Don’t ever let such blasphemy roll off of your tongue.

My wife kisses me before she leaves, like Michael kissed Fredo.

Wife – “Nice jacket.”

Me – “What?”

Wife – “Bye!”

What did she mean?

I walk into the den. I approach my two daughters. They are transfixed by the magic box of light that projects talking pictures. They do not acknowledge me at all.

Me – “Guys.”


Me – “YO!”

My older daughter answers without disengaging from her business.

7 Year Old – “What?”

Me – “Do you like this jacket?”

7 Year Old – “No.”

She has still yet to make eye contact with me.

Me – “But you didn’t even look at me?”

She looks at me for a moment and looks away.

7 Year Old – “No.”

Me – “That’s it?”

My time is up. What does she know? She’s never even seen Happy Days.

I arrive at the train station. I get out of my vehicle. I brisk walk. I maneuver in and out of parked cars in the lot, like a leather clad duck. I pass a Mini-Van and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window. I stop for a moment and stare at my reflection like a modern day Narcissus.

But wait.

Is my hair too short? My head looks like a cone. I've never noticed all of these buttons. I need to catch my train. I move on.

I sit on the train, wedged between too fat ladies that smell like Nova, Coffee and Spit. I choke back the vomit. I fumble for my ipod and then my phone. My Black Leather Motorcycle jacket is squeaking with every leathery move. I am the annoying, squeaky, leather jacket guy. The fat ladies seem to be losing their patience with either me or my jacket.

I can’t tell.

I find a small, powder blue dreidel in one of the 8 zipper pockets, on my sleeve. I pretend to fall asleep.

My train arrives in Penn Station. I feel safe here. So many freaks. I will blend into a sea of Black Leather Motorcycle Jackets. I walk through the station listening to my ipod and I pass a group of college kids. I glance at them and they are staring at my jacket. I am positive I see one of them mouth the word LOSER and they erupt in laughter. My stomach feels weird.

I feel sorry for him and then I realize that HIM is ME.


I feel uncomfortable all of a sudden. I contemplate buying a sweatshirt and stuffing my Black Leather Motorcycle jacket in my bag. There's an American Eagle Outfitters right down 7th Ave.

God Damn, piece of Shit jacket!

I should have listened to my daughter. She's cooler than I am.

I arrive at work. I say hello to the Russian doorman. He has only 3 fingers on his right hand. He looks like Whimpy from Popeye. I wait for him to mutter his usual, lifeless greeting. It's always a "Happy ______ (Insert day here)."

Wait for it...

"Happy Monday. I like your Jacket."

I am through.

I slip into the elevator and remove my Black Leather Motorcycle Jacket. I crumble it up into a leathery ball. It squeaks with every wrinkle.

Everyone stares at me.

When I get home, I will put my Black Leather Motorcycle Jacket back in the closet and leave it there forever.

It is dead to me.

I suppose we were never right for each other. Perhaps there is someone out there who would want the jacket. Maybe a wayward Steppin' Wolf fan or a member of The Chai Riders.

I don't care. My days of being Out-Numbered by zipper sleeve pockets are over...

Monday, November 2, 2009

Where Were My Wild Things?

"It's easier to cry in the dark. No one sees you in the dark. Crying always reminds me that I still have feelings. They are just hiding in places that you can't see. They only come out in the dark."

Me - November 1, 2009

After her Soccer game, I took my daughter to see Spike Jonze's re-imagining of Where The Wild Things Are. We asked my Mother to join us. I'm not very familiar with the book. I'm sure I've read it but for some reason, it never stuck with me.

My parents separated when I was 7. They got divorced when I was 9. I was in the third grade. I don't remember much of anything before that year. Like none of it ever happened. I never thought that was a big deal. Now that I have two daughters of my own, I realize how big of a deal it was. It would crush my heart to think that my daughters wouldn't remember when they were 7. Especially if they didn't want to remember... Like me.

Growing up I can recall being angry and often disappointed. I don't remember about what or even why. It's just a part of me that lingers in my head. As an adult, I have always had a hard time asking for help. I always tell myself, "No need to rely on anybody. You'll only be disappointed."

I've been in and out of therapy since I was a kid. I'm always trying to figure out who I am. Does it really make a difference? Maybe I should be trying to figure out who I was. At what point did the little kid in me disappear from the face of the earth? Why the fuck would I want to know the answer to any of those questions? Besides, self discovery is for pussies.

My daughter and I shared a double love seat in the movie theater. She was practically on top of me. She holds my hand and it makes my heart warm. My Mother sat just to her left but she seemed a mile away. She always does but it's not her fault. I create the distance.
That's just the way it is. This is how it was written.

As I watched the movie, I saw myself in the little boy's eyes. I too was always running away from something, looking for someone to save me. Children are very delicate when they are young but they don't shatter like fine, expensive crystal when you drop them. Little pieces chip away and fall to the carpet with each slip. The fine shards of glass, hide in the strands and crumble more over time, emulsifying under the dull footsteps of everyone who passes through the room. It's hard to see the damage if you don't look closely but it's there.

It makes me sad when I think about how fucked up I am underneath all of the armor that I wear. I'm not sad for me but for my Mom. She tried very hard and did a great job raising my brother and me. I wonder if she saw the stark similarities between our broken family and the one in the film? I'm sure she did. You could hardly miss them.

I wish I could remember the book but I'm starting to understand why I don't. Max is lucky to have the Wild Things. Where the fuck were my Wild Things when I needed them?

My daughter climbs on top of me because one of the Monsters is chasing the boy. She is scared. She squeezes me tightly and it makes me cry. I cry because I'm afraid she won't remember this moment. She's only 7. I know I will remember. I look at my Mom. I squeeze my daughter back. Maybe this is why I like the movies. Because it's dark and it's easier to cry in the dark. Maybe easier isn't the right word.

That night before bedtime, I asked my daughter to read me the book. As she articulated the story to me in a whisper, I stared at her a little bit too long and she caught me.

"Stop staring at me Daddy."

"I can't."


"Because I love you..."

I like the book way better and with the lights on. It makes me feel less Out-Numbered...