My father is a stock broker and he knows his fair share of tricks and trades when dealing with financial issues. Yet, it was when I was four that I taught him a little-known secret about American currency.
Pops brought home one of those large calculators that also printed out receipts. When he stepped out of the room for a break and a cool glass of water, I took over at the calculator. I started printing receipts as fast as I could.
My dad re-entered the calculating factory and said, "What are you doing?" I told him I was creating money. And LOTS of it! "Look at all of these numbers on the paper, dad! We're gonna be millionaires! No, wait! We're going to be trillionaires! I'm going to need some Power Ranger toys!"
I was removed from the table and was never to return again. Why would I ever come back after striking it rich the first time? I was a gazillionaire.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Pretty Heavy Set
Always the fat kid. Always.
Looking back on it, I probably shouldn't have eaten so much pizza. Or hamburger helper. Or chicken nuggets. Or whatever was in the fridge.
From the age of four and up, I had man boobs. This social cancer was nearly as bad as a real medical disorder. Dealing with it was a piece of shit. And I would personally like to beat the person who invented titty twisters. Seriously, why?
My name is Matthew. Which gets shortened to Matt. My mom called me Matty. Which rhymed with fatty. Couldn't I just have been a Jim or a Elvin or something?
Kids didn't really pick on me all that much but when they did, they'd always say, "Just kidding," in order to make everything better. I'd laugh, but I'd be thinking, "Oh, that was joke? Man, you're FUCKING hilarious. I've never heard the one about how fat I am. Great social satire. You're so witty. Can you sign my pog?"
People just don't put themselves in the shoes of a fat person and understand quite how shitty it is. We are THIS close to being normal (I'm pinching my fingers) but we're just not. We are the most sensitive human beings in the world. Everything is misinterpreted as some type of reference to our weight.
EXAMPLE:
Regular, skinny guy: Wanna go work out?
Fat guy: Why'd you ask me instead of him (regular guy)?
regular, skinny guy: Um, Um. I'm leaving.
You get the point. It's like asking a black person if they want to go to a rap concert. There are certain activities that are reserved for asking certain people to them. Sadly, the oppressed (the fat and black folk) fall into this category.
However, at the peak of my fat years (probably grade four), the idea that I was pretty heavy set sunk in. I was pretty used to wearing fat kid clothes (Big Dogs, anyone) and regularly ordering more food than my dad already. But one fateful day after a baseball game, I did the unspeakable for a fat kid.
I tried climbing a fence. I'm still alive, so don't worry about that. But still, there's a story to be told.
My team had just finished a regular season game and I was helping my dad clean up the team's equipment when I needed to grab something from the other side of the fence. In a high-pitched squeal, I yelled, "Got it dad!" and did the whole fat kid climb. You know what I'm talking about. Rather than putting one leg atop the chain-linked transportation stopper, I do the chunky eight-year old straddler move. Perched on this fence, one of two things can occur.
1.) You make it safely across.
2.) You get stuck.
I got stuck. First the pants ripped. I called for help. No such luck. My colleagues were a bit too far away.
Then the boxers ripped. Panic.
Finally, as I tried to wriggle me and my fat ten-year-old self free, my testicles ripped. Just a little. It certainly hurt like a bitch.
Following that painful experience, I didn't take the hint to go lose weight. No, I had a Choco-Taco later that day. But I did learn how to climb fences. Embarrassingly enough, my dad and I would go practice on the weekends.
Now I'm still somewhat of a husky young man, but I can climb a fence like none other- without ripping my testicles.
Postscript: It's fucking awkward to write something this honest. They're just words but they're hard to say.
Looking back on it, I probably shouldn't have eaten so much pizza. Or hamburger helper. Or chicken nuggets. Or whatever was in the fridge.
From the age of four and up, I had man boobs. This social cancer was nearly as bad as a real medical disorder. Dealing with it was a piece of shit. And I would personally like to beat the person who invented titty twisters. Seriously, why?
My name is Matthew. Which gets shortened to Matt. My mom called me Matty. Which rhymed with fatty. Couldn't I just have been a Jim or a Elvin or something?
Kids didn't really pick on me all that much but when they did, they'd always say, "Just kidding," in order to make everything better. I'd laugh, but I'd be thinking, "Oh, that was joke? Man, you're FUCKING hilarious. I've never heard the one about how fat I am. Great social satire. You're so witty. Can you sign my pog?"
People just don't put themselves in the shoes of a fat person and understand quite how shitty it is. We are THIS close to being normal (I'm pinching my fingers) but we're just not. We are the most sensitive human beings in the world. Everything is misinterpreted as some type of reference to our weight.
EXAMPLE:
Regular, skinny guy: Wanna go work out?
Fat guy: Why'd you ask me instead of him (regular guy)?
regular, skinny guy: Um, Um. I'm leaving.
You get the point. It's like asking a black person if they want to go to a rap concert. There are certain activities that are reserved for asking certain people to them. Sadly, the oppressed (the fat and black folk) fall into this category.
However, at the peak of my fat years (probably grade four), the idea that I was pretty heavy set sunk in. I was pretty used to wearing fat kid clothes (Big Dogs, anyone) and regularly ordering more food than my dad already. But one fateful day after a baseball game, I did the unspeakable for a fat kid.
I tried climbing a fence. I'm still alive, so don't worry about that. But still, there's a story to be told.
My team had just finished a regular season game and I was helping my dad clean up the team's equipment when I needed to grab something from the other side of the fence. In a high-pitched squeal, I yelled, "Got it dad!" and did the whole fat kid climb. You know what I'm talking about. Rather than putting one leg atop the chain-linked transportation stopper, I do the chunky eight-year old straddler move. Perched on this fence, one of two things can occur.
1.) You make it safely across.
2.) You get stuck.
I got stuck. First the pants ripped. I called for help. No such luck. My colleagues were a bit too far away.
Then the boxers ripped. Panic.
Finally, as I tried to wriggle me and my fat ten-year-old self free, my testicles ripped. Just a little. It certainly hurt like a bitch.
Following that painful experience, I didn't take the hint to go lose weight. No, I had a Choco-Taco later that day. But I did learn how to climb fences. Embarrassingly enough, my dad and I would go practice on the weekends.
Now I'm still somewhat of a husky young man, but I can climb a fence like none other- without ripping my testicles.
Postscript: It's fucking awkward to write something this honest. They're just words but they're hard to say.
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