Follow Me On InstaRegret

Follow Me on InstaRegret

I have regrets. But they’re not the kind you might expect. I mean, I married the right person, I finished college, and I have gone 30 years without once attempting to climb Mount Everest (I intend to continue that streak until I die peacefully in my sleep—not horrifically in a YouTube video called “Amateur Climber Accident – WARNING: DEATH”). The regrets I’m talking about don’t happen over the course of a lifetime, they happen instantaneously. It’s a little phenomenon I like to call InstaRegret. Like, say, when you’re window shopping with Wife, and something catches her eye – e.g. the diamond quilt – and you walk into the boutique and realize the only other person in the store is the owner who seems way, way too happy to see you, and you suddenly feel like a Hobbit in a tunnel who is just beginning to notice that the tunnel has lots of spider webs. Like, more spider webs than a Hobbit-friendly tunnel should typically have. That’s InstaRegret. Or, when you ask the hostess if there’s a table with a view of the water, and, since she’s a hostess working the lunch-rush in a pizza restaurant and you’re a guy asking for a nicer table during the lunch-rush in a pizza restaurant, she hates you and seats you in a shared booth next to a couple of giant man-eating spiders. Big time InstaRegret. The only thing worse than InstaRegret is pre-InstaRegret. Like when you’re standing in line at Subway and you lock eyes with the Sandwich Artist and you both know that what is about to happen will be embarrassing for both of you. Embarrassing for you because no Plimoth Plantation Cornucopia of Spinach, Cucumbers, Lettuce, Green Peppers, and Tomatoes is going to make your steak & cheese sub a responsible decision. And embarrassing for the Sandwich Artist because he only had three more credits to go until graduation, but fell into a bad group of wolf spiders, started dealing and smoking web, and failed out of school. Textbook pre-InstaRegret. So what’s the moral of the story? Stay indoors, avoid all human contact, and you probably won’t be eaten by mutant spiders. Probably.


The Crawling Game

"Do not, under any circumstances, ask these guys for help when you are lost."

“Do not, under any circumstances, ask these guys for help when you are lost.”

I’ve been tricked. No, I’m not talking about the new street magic show for Millennials, Tricked, which is hosted by that really popular boy band – Multiple Instructions I think they’re called. I’m talking about the fact that my daughter, Kid, deliberately misled me into believing she was nothing more than an oversized paperweight. Granted, I would never let her near important documents, for fear of them being drooled on, (because baby drool is apparently more acidic than the blood of the Xenomorph in Alien) but this is a humor blog, not an important document care and safekeeping lifestyle blog. Incidentally, if that’s what you’re looking for, has everything you need to get started. It’s a cute little document care and safekeeping lifestyle blog run by two middle-aged, former businessmen who decided to quit their jobs in finance and blog about all things document. From filing cabinet reviews, to tips on how to buy laminators factory-direct for substantial savings, is the blogosphere’s best-filed secret (PUN ABSOLUTELY INTENDED). Back to how kid pulled a fast one. For seven whole months, she just kinda lay around the house, not lifting a finger to help with the dishes or shovel the driveway or take the car to AutoZone for new windshield wipers. Then, one day, she started crawling. She didn’t even have the decency to send me a notarized memorandum 45 days in advance, you know, like the law says. I’m still waiting for Multiple Instructions to pop out of the closet and say, “You’ve been Tricked.” Except instead of saying it they would sing it. And confetti made from various instruction manuals would rain down from the ceiling. I don’t know, it’s a Millennial thing.

Run Dada Run

"Follow that shiny object!"

“Follow that shiny object!”

Can I run something by you? No, it’s not my idea for a new line of hearty soups called Stock-y’s® (our flagship mélange is a playful little number called French Onion Rings), but remind me to bring that up when you’re in a high-risk-investment kind of mood. Actually, it’s more like a some-one that I intend to run by you. I’m talking about my daughter, and, gurl, am I proud of her! I mean, she’s only 5 months old, and already able to move at speeds of up to 10 miles per hour. How is this possible, you ask? Well, if you think I’ve been beefing up my baby by feeding her a prototype of Stock-y’s® Filet Mignonstrone, you are sorely mistaken! Although, I could see how one might think Stock-y’s® FDA-acknowledged Liquid Entree Creations would be perfectly suited for a toothless baby. Furthermore, I could see how an innocent suggestion to ditch the organic butternut squash puree in favor of Stocky’s® Premium New England Cheeseburger Chowder could go viral on the mommy blogs in a matter of days. Farthermore, I could see how this would all make me very, very rich. But that’s not what I’m saying. Actually, the reason my daughter could beat Usain Bolt in the 100 meter dash (Usain would be driving a really slow golf cart) is because I recently acquired a jogging stroller. That’s right, I’m one of “Those Guys” who conveys their child around the neighborhood like Egyptian Royalty. Of course, after only two days of ownership, it snowed. In retrospect, buying a jogging stroller in November may have been a high-risk investment. Speaking of, let’s talk Corn Syrup Bisque!