CelebriTuesdays: Larry David – He Curbed My Enthusiasm when he bolted for the car but seriously – he might be my dad!

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I made a stupid, amateur move last week: I was texting when I should have been paying attention and a huge catastrophe happened: I missed getting a picture of Larry David. I wouldn’t have been able to get one with him as he was rushing out of there like he stole something, but I couldn’t gave at least gotten a shot of that fabulous bald crown! Stupid texts!

 

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I was texting my friend Beena back about things that definitely could have waited but I thought I had more time when the commotion started as he came out and was rushing to the car. It took me far too long to realize and react to what was going on; although I tried to get my phone out of text mode and over to camera mode, it wasn’t to be as he was just too fast for me. I realize the absolute absurdity of that statement because basically a 70 year old man outran me…I should have been on my game, and now I know that when they say texting can wait – they mean it!

 

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I was happy that I did at least get to see him in all his neurotic glory in person, but I didn’t get a snap. Normally my cat-like reflexes kick in, but apparently, this feline must have been asleep. I followed him to his car and tried to get a quick shot, but his people were maneuvering so fast. I was right there, but it was like little bald Larry shouted “cover me” and all of a sudden from out of nowhere, there was a bright red ass in between us! They have facial recognition software so advanced now, but the posterior recognition technology is severely lacking. Forget Amber and consider this my Imodium Ambutt Alert to help me identify this backside so she can help me get a message to Larry about how we need to connect.

 

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Just like Jimmy Kimmel did to Larry and Larry did to Suzie in the season premiere of Curb Your Enthusiasm – I was Foisted! They got a bum assistant thrust upon them, while I just got an assistant’s Bum thrust on me! It’s not like I can brag and tell people – “look right past that red ass and you can see Larry’s shoe and the crest of his bald scalp!” That could be my bald scalp in the car and no one would know.

 

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I have been speculating for some time now, but I’m pretty sure Larry David is really my father. Don’t see the resemblance between us: I’m bald, have terrible eyesight and once stepped over a woman that had fallen into the tracks on Amtrak without ever considering offering to assist because I didn’t want to miss the train…No one likes to ever think bad things about their own mother, but who could blame any young woman for not being able to resist that Mack Daddy’s considerable charms back in the day? Homeboy had some mad game! If I find out he was hanging out at the Central Islip bowling alley back in the 70’s I’m definitely calling Maury and getting a cheek swab from him! I was going to start a website to keep people informed of my progress with Larry, but http://www.islarrydavidmydad.com was already taken!

 

 

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Come on – who wasn’t trying to hit this back in the day? One glance and I bet the panties were a droppin!

 

 

 

Help me out and let’s get this mysterious red bottom trending on Twitter until she gets me a tete-a-tete with Larry. If you recognize that bottom, tag her and put me in contact. If not, share it and maybe a friend will claim that backside. If you own that bottom, don’t be afraid – I’m harmless. Families should be together and one day, Larry and I are gonna look back on this and plotz!

 

 

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They didn’t call him Black Magic for nothing! When he borrowed these clothes from Richard Simmons and teased out that fro, he looked just like a younger, Menschier Hugh Hefner. Look at that leg tone – no wonder I’m a runner!

 

 

Larry – let’s meet like Cary Grant & Deborah Kerr planned to in An Affair to Remember except, not in a romantic way, not at the top of the Empire State Building as I don’t really care for heights, and let’s look both ways before crossing. We can meet at the finish line of the NYC Marathon Sunday November 5th. I’ll be about 43,000 people back from the front – you can’t miss me as I’ll be the chubby guy leaving an oil slick of sweat through Central Park and you can present my medal to me as if I were in the Olympics! You can hum the Chariots of Fire Theme song and I’ll already be running in slow motion. Afterwards, we can compare forehead sunburn stories and hit up the Who’syourdaddy.com DNA truck on Lexington Avenue for a quick check then head to dinner. I’d say we could go and have a catch like Kevin Costner and his dad in Field of Dreams, but then I’d need bug spray and who wants to hang out in a creepy field anyway? I know what can happen there – I saw Signs!

 

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I was bummed about Larry and didn’t see how I could possibly cheer myself up, when there was another small commotion shortly after: Nicole’s here, Nicole’s here…That was all I needed to hear and instinct kicked in! I pushed past a few people to get to the car thinking this is how the universe will make it up to me for missing Larry David’s picture – and then she came out of the car. I thought when people were clamoring about Nicole that it was Ms. Kidman which set my heart racing and sent me pushing, as there’s always “The One” and for me, it’s her. When it turned out to actually be Nicole Richie and not Nicole Kidman, I had now pushed my way through other people like an animal and couldn’t pretend that I didn’t like her as much because I’d seem like a lunatic so I asked for a picture.

 

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She smiled and posed and I was like “you look great” although I wanted to take the Clif bar out of my bag and feed it to her or put it into the pocket of that Jacket she obviously borrowed from Cruella De Ville. I was trying to get my good selfie face on and not think about the stroke face I was sporting in the picture with her father Lionel when I tried to sing and be funny but, alas, this face can only do so much. I was so worried about my expression looking weird, that I didn’t even worry about the shining spotlight reflecting off of my own bald head – it was as if I’d gotten Larry David in the photo after all! 

 

 

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It’s like I should be a wedding photographer – my photog skills are on point!  🙂

 

 

 

 

Forget the Mountain, she Brokeback Christmas?

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This time of year always makes me think about the close family and friends that may not be with me in person any longer, but are never far from my heart. That being said, I thought I’d honor the memory of my Aunt Margie in the only way I know how!

She was very special to me and I loved her dearly…If she were still with us, she’d be celebrating a birthday and the holiday this December yet she’d say the story that I really should be sharing is when my Aunt Beanie Vote ruined her Christmas.

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The Holiday Season was upon us and it took Aunt Margie weeks and weeks and weeks of looking through many many many stores in order to find the perfect artificial tree and yet mere minutes for Aunt Beanie Vote to crush the woman’s Christmas Cheer. The tree was all assembled and we took a step back to admire it – but it was slightly slanted. We cocked our head from side to side to make sure, but it was definitely crooked. I thought it might be the stand or the fact that it was on a carpeted floor, but Aunt Beanie being The Christmas Tree Whisperer saw the problem immediately: The mini tree that fits into the pole and rests on top of the tree to form the peak was ever so slightly slanted off to the side. She grabbed a hold of that tree and started to Bend it like Beckham. A little to the left didn’t do it, a little to the right didn’t seem to straighten it a bit and then one bend too many snapped that mother right in half. I’m not saying she was a little to rough with the branches as I’m not a Christmas Tree Whisperer like she is, but maybe she shouldn’t have gone all Rambo on the tree topper

Aunt Beanie Vote takes down another one "I wish I knew how to quit you!"

Aunt Beanie Vote takes down another one
“I wish I knew how to quit you!”

As these situations usually do tend to bring out the best in me, I fell onto the couch laughing like the immature child that I still am all these years later. She stood there holding those branches aloft not daring to turn around and make eye contact with Aunt Margie, who was definitely not laughing…Despite her Meryl Streep in The River Wild physique, Aunt Beanie Vote really doesn’t have super-human strength or anything. She just bent the top part of the tree a little bit too far and it just so happened to snap. It was so random that she probably couldn’t do it again if she tried, which makes me all the more glad for witnessing it.  

My helpful grandmother (who was always one to generously stir the pot) took in the attack on their tree like a champ and in her beneficial way yelled at me “Come on, don’t laugh or she’ll hear you!” I guess she didn’t realize that since Aunt Margie was actually standing right next to me she could already hear me laughing. She was about two feet from me and had already seen me collapse into a hysterical mess onto their couch before she stormed into the kitchen for her black coffee and cigarettes without a sound…

To be fair, Aunt Beanie Vote was the one who drove her to all those many many many stores and spent weeks and weeks and weeks taking her to look at countless trees and never got frustrated or mad. She was much more patient than I would have been. I’m not even sure what the difference was in any of those trees since they were all green and pretty much looked the same, but Aunt Margie would know “The One” when she saw it. She knew she would find the perfect tree; there was a voice calling to her like the one Kevin Costner heard in Field of Dreams except she wasn’t building the tree and Beanie Vote was no James Earl Jones. Her voice was apparently trying to warn “If she bends it it will break” but you know how unreliable the voices can be…I say this not to make fun of her, but to stress the point that Aunt Beanie Vote was the absolute last person in the world who thought it was funny that the tree broke because now she’d have to pack up the pieces and go back looking for a new tree with my aunt all over again so she wasn’t laughing either.

Aunt Margie did get over it eventually and this happened a hundred years ago when I was seventeen, but I can still hear Aunt Beanie Vote gasping and see her standing there after that tree snapped all these years later and it still makes me laugh hysterically…

That’s the shortened version, because you know how I don’t like to embarrass anyone or blow up their spot…Love ya Beanie!!!

 

This one’s for you Aunt Margie!

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Forget the Apple store, the only Mac I care about starts with Big or ends with Rib!

Hard as it is to believe, I’m a guy that really used to go to the gym every day and actually really cared about how I looked. Don’t worry, I’m still that same shallow person underneath; I’m just underneath a lot more layers now. I wasn’t always so self-conscious until people started reacting oddly to me.

Just me daydreaming again at work - they really need to fix that Air Conditioning.

After the last tuxedo incident I wrote about, I thought it better to go out and buy a tuxedo instead of renting one. I was interrupted while browsing the selections by the sales guy who felt the need to yell at me across the store “Hey! What are you doing over there? You need to be in the short and portly section down here!” As if I wanted everyone in the store to know that the height Gods might have snubbed their noses down at me but the fat Gods had given me an overabundance of gifts. And who calls someone “portly” anyway – is that even a real word? As funny as I didn’t think he was, he didn’t seem at all fazed when I yelled back “Thanks asshole; do you have any portly shoes to match this?” Some people might have gotten the hint at that point, but he then proceed to follow me into the dressing room and lecture me on how short people look even shorter when wearing the vest of a three piece suit as I was undressing. I’m not sure why, but I always seem to find the most helpful people out there…    

If you were to ask my sister Marlene to share her sage advice on the topic of me gaining a few pounds, she’d gently say “It’s because he’s fucking lazy!” but I like to think of it as being conservative with my energy. The kind and gentle words of a mentally unstable sister can be so soothing sometimes…

I’ve gained so much weight, that if you were to look at my driver’s license picture (which was taken when I was in college, when I was younger and, more importantly, when I was hotter) it looks like a distant relative. You know how when people look at a fake ID and squint and then tell you, unconvincingly, how you could almost pass for the person in the photo? It’s just like that although it looks like I have swallowed the person in my picture. Seriously, people look at that photo and then look back at me, and then back one more time at the photo to make sure it’s really me. They usually furrow their brow as if unsure how to respond and although no one has actually said it out loud yet, I know it’s only a matter of time. I just know that they’re looking at that photo and thinking “What happened you fat fuck?” Don’t tell me that people wouldn’t say that because that’s the type of thing that I would say to someone!   

I don't know why my wife won't go to the beach with me!

I almost feel like I need to explain to them that I broke my left ankle twice – two years in a row on April 22nd actually. It takes a real uncoordinated ass to do that but I’ll wear that crown. Whenever I try to offer that up into the conversation, my ever-supportive wife likes to remind me that it has been five years since I broke my ankle for the second time so it’s probably healed by now enough for me to start exercising again…She also likes to throw in for good measure, that three Presidents have been in office since I was last considered “in shape” so the excuse doesn’t really hold water anymore.

Would she say that to Joe Theismann about his injury? I thought not. As a side note, that is the first and only time you’re ever likely to see a sports analogy used in anything I write. It’s not because I don’t think sports analogies offer anything to the dialogue, it’s because that’s the only sports factoid I actually know and to be perfectly honest, I really only know that one because it was in The Blind Side.

I know very scant bits about sports and can offer little by the way of anecdotal evidence unless you’re referring to the subject of an Oscar-nominated movie. I wouldn’t know Lebron James from Rick James, but you get me started about The Fighter, Field of Dreams, or Rocky and I’ll light this mother up.  

Isn't he on the Miami Heat now?

I was always way too uncoordinated to ever play sports anyway. The last time I tried was the first time I broke my left ankle. Picture it like a mathematical equation if you will: volleyball + a really tall bitch spiking the ball in my face + short stubby me + a one-time jump trying to block a shot that was three feet over my head = Emergency Room, Crutches and then surgery. Get the picture?

Don’t even get me started about that surgery on my ankle because Like B.A. won’t get on an airplane, I will never go in that hospital again. They gave me a sedative and my wife and sister walked me down the hallway as the attendant rolled me towards the elevator and into surgery. I had taken my contact lenses out and couldn’t see anything past my nose. As we passed by, another attendant asked the attendant pushing me to drop a sample off at the lab and then proceeded to toss the sample on the stretcher and it landed next to me. I was squinting like mad to make it out for sure, but I knew it was shit in a bag and I looked to my wife and sister for help.

I pity the fool that put shit on my stretcher!

 Little use they were, because they were looking at each other trying not to laugh. The only thing protecting me from a log of someone’s shit was a thin layer of cotton that the hospital was calling a sheet! The last thing I remember before the sedative knocked me out was me trying to sit up and get off that stretcher because I was so worked up and muttering over and over “There’s shit in that bag…Oh God, There’s someone’s shit in that bag…” No, I am not exaggerating and I am not mistaken – THEY LITERALLY PUT A CLEAR PLASTIC BAG FULL OF SHIT ON TOP OF ME!

My biggest fear in life had been realized and where was my wife during it? Laughing in my face! I might have to go back and rewatch our wedding video, but I’m pretty sure that we covered this in the vows. If it is at all still unclear Honey, please let me remedy that right now because to me “in good times and in bad times” actually means that I vow not to let someone transport a bag full of shit on my spouse!!! 

Incidentally, the second time I broke my left ankle on April 22nd was exactly one year after the first time I did it. No volleyball this time, but I went out with friends to “celebrate” my anniversary and my finally being able to walk unassisted after a year of surgery, physical therapy, wearing a boot cast up to my knee, walking with crutches, falling with crutches, and then walking with a cane like every pimp should. I got drunk that night and left the bar to get into a cab towards home when I tripped stepping off the curb. I twisted my ankle and smashed head first into the rear quarter panel of the cab as I was screaming in agony on the ground clutching that damn ankle again.

One would think that in that situation, a normal person might get out and help someone that had fallen, but the cab driver leaned over the front seat and yelled out the open back door towards me “Are you getting in or not?” As I tried to crawl off the ground and into the back seat, he asked me “where to?” I just cringed and muttered “Hospital – I think I broke my ankle again.” The nurses and doctor thought it was so funny and so ironic that I somehow managed to break the same ankle on the same date two years in a row, but you know who didn’t think it was funny: My wife who was in Florida with her sister. At least the second time, I didn’t break a piece of the bone along with the ankle and need to have another surgery but I was back in that cast and back on those crutches for months again…       

I hope that you weren’t expecting a positive, lesson-learned ending to this post: That’s not me. I will admit that I have gained a little weight and while others might waste time with vows to lose weight this time of year, I am actually heading the other route. I’m vowing right here and now to gain at least ten more pounds over the next month to spite all of those people on a diet!

Screw you! Next time your stomach is growling or you’re tired from getting up early to go to the gym and you’re nibbling on carrots for lunch, picture me and my McRib sandwich laughing as I pass by on the obesity train. Next stop – Elastic waistband pants, Chubb Rubb, and medical intervention with the lap band surgeon! CHOO CHOO!