Fat Kid Series--part 1

This is the first installment in my 'Fat Kid Series'. I think it's important to come to terms with, laugh at, and prevail over a once humiliating time. Former fatties, you know what I'm talkin' about! Many of you know these stories, but for those who don't I hope you enjoy and I encourage you to openly laugh at and mock my former woes.

Second grade dime.

Lunch is a favorite time for any second grader. For a fat second grader however, lunch time is more than just a favorite part of the school day; it is what you live for, dream about, its what your chubby bones work for.
Lunch time has a specific smell. Maybe it’s the smell of government subsidized meals, maybe it’s the smell of freedom and anticipation; who knows for sure. For me, it was the smell of gloriousness and this day was no different. The smells were as ripe as ever and my spirits soared.
The halls of Hebron Avenue Elementary School were congested with lines of students following their teachers, and the air was punctuated with the mumbled roar of every K-5 kid on their way to lunch. Mr. Schoen navigated our class fearlessly through this jungle of animals eagerly thumping towards their sustenance. Every man for himself, which, as a second grader, I always found awkwardly intimidating. I made my way though. My stout legs, packed full into their denim encasement, worked vigorously to keep up with the class. I always found it much easier to work this fervently when I knew there was a generous reward awaiting me.
We finally reached the cafeteria, or the “all purpose room” if you will. The irony of this room was amazing. The place that fatties were able to relax and gorge themselves with sandwich meat and French bread pizza, was the same room they were ridiculed and silently laughed at for not being able to climb the rope or do a pull up. At lunch time though, the echoes of competitive disapproval and insecurities were now replaced with those of mindless conversation and banter.
The class divided up, half going straight to the table to unwrap their brown paper bags containing a myriad of tastes, the other half forming the line. The endless line that somehow always lead you to your $1.50 prize. The lunch line was the earliest form of blue balls. You were always so close, but never quite there. Any sort of conversation I had in the lunch line was a half-assed contribution on my part. How could I hold a cohesive conversation when my thoughts were in one place and one place only.
The line was moving quickly that day. Quicker than normal. The lunch lady working the register was now in sight and only a handful of people away from me. It was time to get my money. I impatiently stuck my portly hand into the tight slit that was my pocket. After tussling around I pulled out the crumpled up dollar and change and began to count. “A dollar twenty-five. A dollar thirty. A dollar forty…hmm I‘m missing a dime.” No big deal I thought. I knew I had enough money. I counted again, “ A dollar twenty-five. A dollar thirty. A dollar forty…“ I squeezed my hand back into my pocket and began to search the constricted quarters. I knew that dime was hiding somewhere; somewhere deep, in a crevace inaccessible to my pudgy fingers. Damn these pants. Damn my fat. Damn the dime! I was now 2 people away from the register. I wouldn’t give up. Franticly trying to search the two-square inch pocket, I began to panic. The sweat forming on my hand did not help the friction between my skin and the cotton lining of my pocket. One person away from having to pay, I took an action unknown to me. I left the lunch line.
My soul sank. Embarrassed, ashamed and confused, I fought back the tears. I went to sit down justifying my lack of lunch with trite, unbelievable statements such as “I’m not hungry.” or “I don’t feel good.” Maybe I hid out in the nurses office, I don’t really remember. It was a tragic day to say the least, one that would not be forgotten.
I needed to make a change in my life. Conform my ways as to avoid any mortification of this sort again. I needed to regain my dignity and start with a fresh foot forward. Every young fat boy comes to the realization when he knows its time to make the change. This was my moment. From that day forward, every waking moment was spent wearing sweatpants. That’s right, no more skin-tight, body-hugging, unbreathable denim jeans. From then on I wore nothing but stretchy, pocket-less pants with an elastic-stretch waistband. I carried my lunch money in the security of a plastic baggy which I stored in the spacious lodgings of my backpack.
I continued to wear the stylish styles of Hanes sweatpants (sometimes accompanied by the matching sweatshirt by the way) until the kids at my sixth grade bus stop started making fun of me and asking why I wore sweat pants every day. Ten cents cost me 5 years of ignoring the current fashion trends and adding to my self-conscious feelings. But you may ask, if I could do it all over again, would I change a thing? And the answer is Yes. Yes I would.

A blog about Emily, Dom and Melissa (cuz they made me)

sometimes you meet people who force you to write a blog entry about them the next day.


I went out last night with Carolyn--which always proves to be a raucous good time. Add her crazy cohorts to the mix and you get a joyous chaos that leaves you eating skillet-grilled ham and someone else's macaroni and cheese at 4:30 am.




Emily is my new best friend. Here she is circa 1992(??) She's the one to the right of Mary Poppins with the unfortunate bowl cut and wearing a solar t-shirt. Clearly I am in love with her because, much like me, she was a fat kid who I'm sure with that haircut was mistaken for the opposite sex on multiple occasions. Now people only mistake her for a lesbian. Much improved. (I was trying to add one of the numerous lesbianic pictures that I have of Emily at my disposal...But blogger isn't being my friend and letting me do it right now.)


Dom shat himself in the womb and was born covered in poop. Fortunately he lived to tell about it. UNfortunately, I don't have a picture of it. Today is his birthday, so he used that as an excuse to make demands on people. He may be a little upset that this entire blog entry is not about him but he can deal. He also learned that he was gay when Emily gave him this very prideful rainbow bracelet.






This is Melissa. She kept walking away in order to, as she put it, "poot." She blamed her over active gas on the vegetarian/vegan diet she kept and the fact that she hadn't eaten all day. I blame it on her overactive gas problem. To her credit, we were drinking $2 pints of piss-water (Bud Light)--that'll keep anyone pooting all night.





And finally here we have Carolyn who pretty much just laughed her full-body cackle at the events of the entire evening. This may have been after Emily drunk dialed Dom's mother at 3:30 to "Thank her for conceiving and giving birth to Dom." Or maybe it was right after we over heard the bartender saying "nah, its been pretty quiet all night, except for these drunk hags..."



All in all it was a shamelessly fun night. And thus concludes the blog entry I was coerced into writing about my new friends. What kind of world do we live in where in order to make and maintain friends you have to blog about them. Maybe Carolyn is right. Maybe blog IS the new reality.....

Praise Yaweh

Praise be to Matt Saccullo for passing this along to me. If you could see me right now, you'd see me dancing like this lady.

Who is Yaweh and why should we praise him? Judging by the way she is executing this fierce choreography, he must be somethin'--but I've never heard of him. I'm not being politically incorrect or ignorant for saying that, right? I just want to know the origins of this religion. Are all believers in Yaweh required to dance to that music? Are the mumu and ill fitting hat included in the registration? These are legitimate questions that need answering. Please people, help me out here!!!

we love wasting time!

indulge me as a try to entertain myself here at work. Today is Thursday. Only Thursday?!?! are you kidding me? ugh. I still have to get through friday till I make it to the weekend? Oh, Father Time, you fickle, maniacle beast, you. Why do you forsake us? Who are you, really? In search for answers to these questions, here are some depictions of this so called "father":






Yes folks, here he is: Father Time. and he's carrying a SICKLE?! He's gonna fuck you up! What's that in his other hand, a motorcycle helmet? So what this depiction is telling me, is the force that controls the past, present and future is actually a drunken, old timey, serial-killer, biker with grizzly hair. kick ass.





Well this one makes me feel better. In this rendering, artist brian o'conner portrays father time as a rapist, eerily carrying a drunkenly passed out Mother Nature over his shoulder. I don't know about you, but i suspect foul play--look at her hanging lifelessly off his naked back. I know what you're thinking, and I have an answer that will make you smile: YES you CAN buy this painting!! For only $3,500 you can hang this picture above your bed serving as a constant reminder of the delicate balance (abduction) between nature and time.




And finally, I hand you this: An interpretation from Michael, a 4th grader in Mr. Leatty's class. Great work Michael. How ever did you come up with the idea to draw Father Time as a googley headed man with a beard, wearing a robe? Oh, and he's standing on a grandfather clock--wow, that's really clever and original, Michael. And, wait--are those more grandfather clocks floating mysteriously in the air around him? And, no...wait, yes!!! You drew colorful squares at the base of each of those floating clocks!!! How whimsical!!! Michael!!!! Your creativity is astounding! And just incase we didn't get your subtlety, you gave us "father time" sloppily crammed in at the top. douche.


I know what you're thinking. and, yes, i did do a google image search of father time. So? you're just jealous cuz you didn't think of it yourself! And so what if i have to make fun of a 4th grader's art assignment in order to feel good about myself. You're just jealous cuz you don't have a boring ass job making $20,000 a year w/ no benefits.

sigh.

Well i hope you feel you didn't waste too much of your time today perusing these random pictures of a fictional figure. It served my purpose though--its now 5:04 and I only have an hour and a half left of work.

an hour and a half...hmmm...

ok, bear with me. here's a picture of Mother Nature:





Oh boy. Fuck global warming--this bitch is why the weather has been screwy. one more drink and I think she's ready for that father time to carry her home...


And thus concludes my blog entry about Father Time and Mother Nature. Wow. We've hit a new low....i hope you enjoy it as much as i do.

YOU can cure cancer. Yeah, that's right. YOU!

My friend Will passed this message along and I wanted to keep it going into the dark trenches of the internet. William Paul Barrett is awesome and one of the kindest people I know. Clearly, I shall heed whatever advice he gives me via a myspace bulletain, as should you. Together, Will and I make up AGD--the critically acclaimed, painfully talented theatrical duo. Our comprhensive catalogue of work includes, and is limited to, "Agony", "Summer Nights" and a behind-the-scenes documentary exposing the people behind AGD. In short, A gesture of support for him and his family is a gesture of support for me. Just take a look at the link. If you're reading this blog, I'm fairly certain you have the time to click HERE. or HERE. or even HERE.

HEY FUCKO! YEAH YOU, THE ONE WITH THE SHIRT! CLICK HERE!

To all of my friends,
I just wanted to pass this along to all of you. My mom is participating in a 3 day/60 mile walk to raise funds for breast cancer research. Below is the link to a site where you can read more:

www.The3Day.org/Boston06/Lynn

My mom is walking in honor of her sister and best friend, Lynn, who passed just over two years ago after a decade-long battle with breast cancer. Lynn was a beautiful person and a warm soul who loved her family very much. I promised my mom that I would forward this website to everyone I know, and I plan on keeping that promise. Please continue to forward this on to anyone and everyone that you think might be willing to pledge their support (Donations can be very small, or as big as you want - All are welcome). It is a very important cause for my family and I. My Aunt Lynn is still very close in our hearts, and we would all like to make her proud. Again, send this to everyone who might be interested! My mom needs all the support she can get.

Thank You,
Much Love
Will

PS Corey Johnson is possibly the coolest dude I know. You should totes do anything he says and after you donate money to support my mom, you should donate money to support him.

ok. i added the PS...i don't think Will would ever say "totes"