Doing laps in the pool, gasping for air after lap 2, away from my 3 kids for the 1st time in a long, long time. I say to the couple lounging nearby as I come up gasping for air again, “I don’t even suck down weed from a metal bat anymore yet I’m huffing and puffing like Miley Cyrus trying to mouth Metallica lyrics on extra strength weed edibles. Still can’t believe my dad didn’t force me into regular swimming ever like Rocky in Rocky 3. So, I’d have some semblance of muscle memory to plug into today. Afterwards, as the lounging, smile ready couple proceeds to leave the pool I say, “Thanks for letting me go long and never giving me the light to wrap up my set already. Now, whenever I interrupt my kids precious train of thought again, they’ll point their arm out at me and say, “Pause Daddy.” Works like a charm every time.” Older poolside couple on their way laughs long time.
At the car dealership getting a new key after jumping into the pool prior with the electronic key on me prior. White privilege issues, represent, represent. And that’s not because the black man isn’t dominant in swimming to, which makes zero sense like NBA players today being more brittle than Kamala Harris under border control questioning.
Two genius ideas I share with my daughter over the phone to keep secret. First, I record my next comedy record in JFK country in Cape Cod but take our cat left behind like an intentional anchor my wife, only to call that podcast episode, Miss Kitty Does Cape Cod. 2nd genius idea, is writing my next book of fiction based on these mental health testing, blatantly avoidable COVID controlled times where my kids have have actually used the S word, to describe how depressingly dark it got for them during their 2 year blended learning experiment, which went down worse than mixing, malt liquor, southern comfort shots and gravity bong hits in that order without the temporary heady buzz relief in between either. And this career launching book is called 3 Year Wave Runner Plan. Because that’s when my daughter will be old to old enough to get a Bat Mitzvah gift like no other. More importantly, it gives me a concrete deadline to make my funny man career fertilize funny man loads of money already because Wave Runners make you immune to depressive turns to the suicide side. Danish Tosh lives. And I thought I was a hilarious shishy bitch. Thank you very much.
At the pool club, riffing or sampling as usual, and I ask a nice looking couple. Do you live in CT? They say, “Yes.” I say, “Glad I asked. Was going to make a CT joke but I actually love CT. I call CT the New, New York. I’m a native New Yorker myself and live in the northern suburbs of New York currently, yet the current state of Manhattan doesn’t give my New York bred ego much to brag about anymore these days either. All I ask is that Manhattan smells like a higher grade of weed sometime this century. So New York City can feel posh, exclusive again. Aren’t there enough unemployed undergraduate burnout students from Kenyon college to make the smell of green sparking magic more common place at least by Washington Square Park to counterbalance the smell of freshly roasted crack rock for a change?
New game plan in life: Find a hot actress to write a career relaunching script for like Winona Ryder and call it Gen X Forever.
Message to daughter after mommy aggravated me again by texting me, “Aw, after I made a sweet based comment about our cat Miss Kitty’s interaction with me in their absence, which wasn’t nearly over the top mushy emotive on my part either. I say to my daughter over the phone, “Matilda, when you get older, if you’re lucky enough to find a grown man whose capable of expressing a sweet based side, never ever, reply with “aw”, via text or in person ever. Aw isn’t for somebody done with their baby years already.”
Biggest buzz kill today by the lake. Some dude mixed 4th of July firework talk and soccer talk together in semi-seamless seamed fashion. To make matters worse, I bring this up to my wife over the phone currently in Delaware with our 3 kids, with her English dad who plays the European sport of choice and watches it religiously on the Teli away from his beamish, fuss free, Jew blood tainted, 3 grandchildren as usual on the regular for the past decade and counting with zero confessional driven church regret whatsoever. Wife says, ” We watched soccer with my dad today. I enjoyed watching it. I say, “Oh, so it must be the World Cup then.” Wife says, “No, it’s the European Cup.” I say, “I give a shit even less now, USA, USA, USA.”