My brother Joe tells me that one day I’ll be that person they find weeks after their death because of the strange smell coming from the house. I assured him that would not happen. First of all, there are enough people that I interact with that would miss me if I suddenly disappeared.
Suddenly, a wave appeared and before I could turn and rush to the shoreline the ocean attacked. I found myself in a world of foam, pockets of air allowed me to breathe as I was tossed like a wet sock in a dryer. Head over heels I tumbled, my legs and arms scrapped by the crushed sea shells that covered the shoreline.
On my first day of vacation in Belmar, N.J., I unloaded my car and then headed up to the beach. I got to the boardwalk and decided to take a walk. Cars are parked all along the boardwalk and as I neared a silver van in a handicapped spot I noticed what appeared to be a hand-written note under the driver’s side windshield wiper.
The days I spent with the kids usually ended up with us going out to dinner, then to Blockbuster (yes, it was that long ago) to pick up a movie. Last stop before home would be to the closest supermarket to pick up dessert, which was usually ice cream, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup.
Once the graduates entered and were seated, and after the initial greeting by the President of the University, the commencement speaker was announced. He rose and he stepped up to the podium.
I know I have put on some weight over the last few years; up until this point, I could still convince myself that I was just on this side of a circus attraction. It wasn’t until that moment did I realize how close I’ve come to “step right up and see the worlds fattest man — don’t get too close kids, he hasn’t eaten today.”
The day I was discharged from the hospital one of the phantom heads that popped into my room over the last nine days took pity on me and took me on as a patient. I felt like the fat kid picked last for Dodgeball; you’re on the team, but they know you’re not going to last very long.
Then, after for not speaking for a while and after a few drinks (and then a few more) I picked up my cell phone and called. It was late at night, and I knew it was a mistake, but I was happy to hear her groggy voice answer the phone.
In the 70s and 80s we owned the Jersey Shore; it was our playground, our education. Manasquan was Middle School, Seaside was High School, and Belmar was College.Today, watching MTV’s Jersey Shore is like watching a girl you were in love with in High School and seeing that she married an asshole.
I blame movies for my failures in love. I was taught, at a very young age, that when you fall in love, you will know it. There will be fireworks, the soundtrack of your life will swell to a magnificent crescendo and, if you are very lucky, there will be some slow motion running in a field of flowers.
One thing that I found very interesting about my blog posts were that other websites were linking to some of them. Websites that specialized in or talked about divorce linked to the post I wrote about my divorce. The same was happening with dating websites. I often Google myself (and I haven’t gone blind yet) to see where some of my posts landed out there on the web.
The bartenders were all characters, but my favorite was a tall, lanky man named Robert John. I don’t know if John was his middle or last name, we just called him Robert John. He was over six feet tall with crew-cut black hair and Coke-bottle-thick glasses that made his eyes appear surprised whenever he looked at you.
Online dating — where we take the culmination of mankind’s technological advances that could be used to cure cancer, bring universal peace and allow for the expansion of truth and knowledge throughout the world, and instead use it to post pictures of ourselves and tell total strangers who we are.
After your initial separation, the first thing you will need to do is find a place to live. You may have the option of moving back in with your parents but, if you ever want to get laid again, rule that out. I was lucky in that respect when I separated. A friend had a condo she was trying to sell, and it had been empty for months.
When I was younger, I was a bouncer. I walked through crowds, wearing the “I’m in charge here” shirt, broke up fights, threw out drunks and tried (tried) to pick up girls. It was a great time. Even after my bouncer days were over, I would still jump in and break up fights, though it proved more dangerous without the shirt (I’ve heard ‘who the fuck are you?’ more than once).
Online dating — where we take the culmination of mankind’s technological advances that could be used to cure cancer, bring universal peace and allow for the expansion of truth and knowledge throughout the world, and instead use it to post pictures of ourselves and tell total strangers who we are.
The first thing I need to say is that Boots and Sparkle are not strippers.
We all board the train. After one stop, Amanda, her boyfriend, whom we’ll call ‘Paul’ (because that’s his name), and my youngest son got off, leaving myself, my other son, my ex-wife and her boyfriend behind to finish the journey. The doors closed, and we were off to Jersey City.
At least, that was the plan.
I tell my kids they are lucky to be living in a time where there are so many outlets available to them which allow people to read their stories or essays, or listen to their music. “Not like when I was a kid,” I lecture, one cliché away from telling them how I walked ten miles to school in the snow, or how we had to actually get up and change the channel on the TV by hand. Apparently I grew up during a technological Dust Bowl; if John Steinbeck were alive today he would most definitely blog about it.
