Let Me Be Frank With You

I have just formed a bond with my dog that is so deep and rare between human and canine.

He rarely throws up on the carpet but today he stood right next to me and blew chunks. I quickly grabbed the Resolve and skillfully wrapped my hand with half a roll of paper towels ready to clean up the tiny mess. As I dropped to my knees and touched the paper towel to his innard fluids, I gagged and dry-heaved (as I usually do) but then I went the extra distance and actually soul-coughed on the floor myself.

He watched me do all of this and clean up both messes with a look of gratitude and understanding in those soulful brown eyes of his – cementing our already strong bond.

I love that dog but hope that any future bonding we do is done in a more conventional manner.

Stopped by Costco at lunch today. I don’t know what the thinking was behind the “member” sign which points directly at the member of each member but I get really uncomfortable calling attention to my member at the checkout stand of a wholesale club…personally, I prefer to call attention to my member at the checkout stand in Kroger grocery stores.

I came within moments of being the impromptu primary speaker at a Veteran’s Day celebration at my son’s elementary school today when it was uncertain if the primary speaker would attend. Fortunately, he showed up and delivered an awesome presentation to the kids that ended up being informative and lots of fun.

This taught me the life lesson that at any point in time, any of us could be called upon to deliver a keynote address with little notice at any event. I will now proceed through life with a keynote speech in my pocket at all times. For the record, the only thing that I could think of to really bring the message home was to re-enact the motel room scene from Apocalypse Now where Martin Sheen’s character is hallucinating, drinking, sweating, cussing, bleeding, crying and rolling around in his underwear while destroying the motel room. I thought the kids would benefit from a strong dose of reality in my one man theatrical interpretation.

The day is still young so if you know of an elementary school in need of a Veteran’s Day presentation that keeps it real (as they say), let me know. I can follow it up with a ‘Scenes From Full Metal Jacket’ presentation if need be.

I just drove past a kid probably about 5 years old who was dressed up in a pirate costume. He had a fake knife in one hand and he was looking at me and pointing at the Trump campaign sign in his yard with his other hand. I had my windows rolled up but I could see his little-kid mouth say some variant of how I should vote for Trump. 

Something about that whole scene gave me the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was the foreshadowing thought that if Trump is elected, by the time that kid is 18 Americans will have regressed to the point where old-timey swashbuckling pirate garb will be what everyone actually wears on a daily basis because it provides less restrictive movement when you need to pillage and plunder your own community searching for food, medicine and weapons caches after Donald Trump brings this country to its knees?

Anyway, his parents were behind him and smiling at the ‘cuteness’ of the little Trump Pirate (heebie-jeebies…again). Since he was a kid, I managed to muster up a small smile and a little wave but it took every ounce of restraint for me to not do that thing Trump did with his face and arms when he was making fun of that reporter and yell “Grab her in the pu**y, little fella!”

I didn’t do that because I still can’t figure out how to pronounce “pu**y”.

I emerged from my basement for a moment at mid-day to enjoy a short lunch break after a busy morning of helping to drive America’s economic engine.

At the end of my driveway, I saw a lone representative from the landscape company we hired to do our fall cleanup and mulching who was struggling mightily to hoist a large tarp full of limbs, weeds and ornamental grass into the bed of his truck to haul away. Five minutes went by as I witnessed him make a variety of attempts to load it – all creative but unsuccessful.

As I sat there watching, there was a fierce debate going on inside of my head about whether or not I should go out to assist him. If I help him, will he be offended that I don’t think he can do it himself? Will he think that I’ve been watching him from inside since he arrived? Will he expect me to help him with any future heavy lifting as he hauls the rest of it or spreads mulch? What if I’m so weak that we still can’t load it on the truck with me helping him? How embarrassing would that be for both of us?

I sat there watching with those (and similar) questions running through my head until I saw him make one last unsuccessful attempt. He threw his hands up in the air and kicked the bag repeatedly in frustration. I knew that at that point, it was time for me to spring into action.

I quickly slipped my crocs on and exited the front door. The overcast skies burned my pale skin (on account of the fact that I rarely leave my house these days) as I confidently strode across the lawn offering my name, a firm handshake, a notice that I just happened to SEE him but that I was not WATCHING him and an offer to help load the bags.

He seemed glad to see me and took me up on my offer. I took the heavy side and he took the light side and we easily picked it up and threw it in the bed of the truck – no problem. He thanked me and I provided the reasons that I will no longer be able to help him because lunch time is over. He seemed ok with the idea that we would each be returning to our separate roles as we bid farewell and I returned to my desk downstairs.

I’m not sure there’s a point to any of this but I guess if I’d be forced to summarize my points, they would be as follows: 1) despite my sedate lifestyle, I am still relatively strong and capable of landscaping jobs in short bursts with plenty of rest in between and 2) it may not be an instant reaction but when I see a man about to lose his religion over something I can help with, I will eventually offer to help and 3) I don’t WATCH men from my house, I just SAW the guy – I want to be very clear about that.

Frank Fact # 9: I am no stranger to medical trauma. Over 9 broken bones, countless stitches, and a couple of cases of food poisoning to name a few. Starting from age 3 when a dog bite left a large scar on my left cheek to several months ago when a TV fell on my hand (which I am certain was broken but I neglected to seek medical attention). I live in a well-worn body.

This leads me to another short story involving a broken rib or two with no medical documentation due to my refusal to seek medical attention.

It was a routine game for the Stimulus Packages softball team a few years back (yes, we cleverly named our men’s beer league softball team made up of mostly guys in the financial services industry the Stimulus Packages). I was about 3/4ths of the way through my second 32oz Pabst Blue Ribbon draft when I came up to my final at bat of the game. I remember a solid shot to left center field followed by a burst of high level energy to move my disproportionately large torso out of the batter’s box on my small, inflexible getaway sticks.

My intention was to get to second base. because it just felt like a double coming off the bat. As is routine, I went a little wide as I approached first so I could touch the front, inside part of the base with my left foot as I headed towards second. That part went well but somewhere in between first and second, I turned my head to look for the ball. When I turned my head, I became disoriented, my scrawny legs tangled and I hit the earth like a meteor. I popped back up to a chorus of laughter between the guys on both teams and the few people in the stands and gingerly headed back to first base.

Thanks to the PBR’s numbing effect, I didn’t make too big of a deal about it during the game. But for the next six weeks, each rise from bed, each sneeze, each laugh and each cough told me that the combination of drinking beer and thinking I can run like Usain Bolt (there would only be a resemblance there if he were heavily sedated and running through a pool of molasses while dragging two boat anchors) is a horrible combination.

This is where I learned that I should either drink a moderate amount of beer OR play a recreational sport but never both simultaneously.

I came dangerously close to crossing a point of no return this evening. It’s probably more than you care to know, but I’m going to tell you anyway.

In my haste, I forgot to pack underwear for my trip. Fortunately for me, I haven’t been working out but I have been bringing my workout clothes…just in case. The two pairs of shorts have been suitable alternatives to your standard underwear but now I’m out. No store is close to me other than a CVS drugstore in the lobby so whatever they have is my only choice.

Having never purchased drug store underwear for myself in the past, I went to the logical place to find them (near the socks). They had one three pack of men’s size small which would be like wrapping my loins in a tourniquet so I moved on.

It struck me that they make Depends adult diapers and I could use them not to soil myself in but to simply use as a shield between my body and the thin worsted wool dress pants I need to wear tomorrow. After scanning my options, I was delighted to see that I wear a size small/medium in adult diapers so I grabbed the smallest pack of generics and moved towards the register.

I swear to you that on my way to the register with a full and honest intention and acceptance of wearing an adult diaper for the first time tomorrow, my eye caught a three pack of boxer briefs in my size next to the candy section.

Almost reluctantly, I picked up the three pack and walked the adult diapers back to their place on the shelf. It’s weird that once I accepted the idea, I was almost looking forward to giving it a go and basking in the glow that I would surely feel tomorrow as I mingled with the public with my little secret. I briefly even flirted with the idea of giving a pair the old load test when I returned to home base.

You don’t ever want to wish incontinence on yourself but after considering this so strongly tonight for the first time in my life, I do hope to give them a shot one day. I believe today has readied me for such an experience.

(Actual pic of the actual pack I almost purchased tonight)

Earlier today I shared a Frank Fact with you. It was part of a series of stories that I posted on social media a few years ago leading up to my October birthday and was designed to give you a bit more info about how I arrived at this point in my life. I thought the last one was worth reposting as a cautionary tale. Same as this one.

Frank Fact #2: I had many jobs while working through college, one of which was as a truck loader for UPS.

The hours were 4am-8am and my responsibility was to unload semi-trucks by hand into the terminal so the brown trucks could be loaded. I worked hard enough on my first day that there was steam rising from my sweat-soaked clothing into the cool, Florida-winter-morning air (like a clip from NFL films).

My new coworkers, all seasoned UPS veterans, chuckled and advised me to take a few aspirin before leaving the building. I did not do this and really just dismissed that idea as being for pansies. It’s not like that was the first time I’ve unloaded a truck – that used to be my profession for a time. I have calloused hands and a strong back. I had worked hard before so there was no need for preventative sore muscle treatment.

The paralyzing pain hit me around noon. I was struggling to make my way around campus and felt as though someone had tightly tied a two by four from my head to my butt and a two by four all the way up each leg. I recall trying to take a drink of water from a water fountain in one of the buildings at school and it being physically impossible for me to bend down to get my lips near the water. I just stood there with my lips moving like a fish trying my best to keep a tear from rolling down my cheek.

“Too sore to return to work” was the reason I gave for quitting that one-day job. This story illustrates my decision to eliminate any career choice that involves a significant amount of manual labor. It’s a young man’s game. I don’t even mow my lawn anymore. I’m like a veal calf these days – fed a diet of whole milk and kept contained most of the day in my dark basement where muscle tone fades a little more each day. If you cut the ribeye out of me and put it in the deli case, mine would be the one in the “human ribeye” section with noticeably more fat marbles than the other human ribeyes.

From a series of daily facts that I published about myself on social media in the days leading up to my birthday a few years ago. Fact #3 was worth sharing again as a cautionary tale.

Frank Fact #3: As a young man of 12 or 13 growing up in a small Ohio farm town, my friends and I would routinely ride our bikes to the downtown area to buy candy, browse the stores and engage in various hijinks.

One particular day, a piece of exercise equipment caught my eye in a sporting goods store. It was a thick coil spring with a T-handle at the top and a heavy rubber base at the bottom. The idea was to stand on the base and raise the T-handle repeatedly to work out various parts of the body.

Always being one to show off my strength and manliness, I encouraged my friend to witness my feat of strength. Stepping on the base, I slowly and powerfully raised the T-handle over my head and held it with a cocky smile. I did not realize the rubber base was slipping from beneath my feet before the spring-propelled, pound-and-a-half slab of rubber hit me in the chin at a high velocity.

I instinctually put my hand to my mouth and staggered a bit before removing my hand to ask my wide-eyed friend if it was bleeding. The freshly pooled blood in my hand was distributed in a perfect arc around the place I stood with my sweeping arm gesture.

No teeth lost and I was able to ride my bike home just fine. The only lasting effect of this event is that I still refuse to work out with spring loaded exercise equipment. I am also pretty confident that if I used a bow flex, I would propel myself into the ceiling like an arrow from a crossbow.

Have you ever seen those stolen valor videos on YouTube? The ones where some guy in a mall spots another guy wearing a military uniform that looks out of regulation so he takes cell phone video of the guy and asks him pointed questions about his military service in order to confirm his suspicions that the guy is an imposter? I had an online version of that happen to me today.

Without going into too much detail, I noticed that this guy’s pro-America 9/11 posts were coming in unusually fast and furious along with claims of having been a special operations soldier. Something seemed off about it so I asked a few questions in a veiled attempt to see if he was legit – when I was starting from being 99% sure he was full of it.

I have to say that I have seen a few of these stolen valor videos and think that some of them are a bit over-the-top and unnecessarily humiliating for the imposter. It seems to me that about half of the imposters are apparently dealing with significant mental issues and they don’t need to be publicly shamed – those are the videos that I have trouble with. The other 50% seem to be losers, liars and scam artists and I’m all for publicly calling them out.

Anyway, I elected to send this guy a private message to inform him that both he and I knew that he was lying and it’s my opinion that it’s extremely disrespectful to those who have actually served when you’re out here making up stories and bragging about something that others have done but you didn’t do. My intent was to simply let him know that I knew he was full of excrement, as did other friends of mine, and he needed to stop. He blocked me without response – which is genuinely ok with me. I didn’t expect my four paragraph written lecture to change him as a person, I just wanted him to know that I knew, that it’s such a disrespectful thing to do and one of these days he’s going to get himself into a bad situation with someone when they easily detect his fraudulent claims and they’re having a rough day and want to take it out on someone.

I’m not telling this story so you’ll think any less or more of me. I mention it because it just amazes me that someone would string such a series of lies together to falsely and unnecessarily build up part of their life story. You can still be an outstanding human being and not have ever served in the military – I know plenty of people who fit that description. They’re all fantastic people and don’t feel the need to lie about their past. It shouldn’t have to be said that those who have elected to volunteer (or be drafted) for military service and have put themselves in peril in the name of national defense should not have their honor tarnished by people who have no qualms about living a lie that boosts their low self esteem.

There’s no “I almost joined the Marines” or “I almost signed up for Navy Seal BUDS training” – you might have thought about it but you didn’t do it…and that’s ok. But the moment you turn your unfulfilled fantasy dream of being a Delta Force operator into a web of lies to try to impress people, it becomes a pretty dark thing you’re doing. There are enough people walking around this world who know just enough to sniff out an imposter. My advice is to never play that game because you’re going to be exposed by one of those people.

Be proud of who you are and what you’ve done. If you’ve even made it through a day of life, that’s something to be proud of. (Back to my normal senseless writings now.)