My foot surgery was more like General Hustle than General Hospital!

It’s a little known fact that while laid up recuperating on my couch in Sleepy Hollow, I pretty much invented the “binge-watching” movement along with my friend Li (The Chinese food Delivery Guy made famous by my Tony no Here post. I needed surgery because I’d broken my left ankle while playing volleyball and I was extremely worked up because I’d never broken anything before unless you count the record I smashed binge-watching all nine seasons of Dynasty!



Without a doubt, the best show ever made!


Keep I mind that this wasn’t binging TV shows like it’s so easy to do nowadays with a million things available on Netflix or Amazon or Hulu or on your phone; this was me having to get every season of the show piecemeal on EBAY. Then when I finally got them (in the mail, mind you, which took forever), I tore through them non-stop like a rabid dog with a bone. I was laid up and laid out but finally they were gonna slice me open and fix me like The Six Million Dollar Man. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and if my life was a movie you’d faintly hear Michael Bolton singing along with me on the couch “When I’m back on my feet again…”




The day of the surgery, I was a bundle of crazy nerves and my normally neurotic self was on hyper-overload. I’d arrived armed with my wife and my sister for emotional comfort, two boxes of Imodium AD for gastric support, and a big black X drawn on my ankle for physical support and to make sure they didn’t cut open on the wrong foot. That may seem like an urban legend, but I wasn’t taking any chances. My surgical prep nurse, Nurse Ratched, took one look and needless to say, she was not amused with my sharpie skills and that was just the start of multiple things we wouldn’t see eye to eye on.


nurse ratched


It was an early morning surgery and I hadn’t eaten anything since midnight and was starving. My nervous stomach wasn’t playing nicely with all the butterflies and the painkillers I was on mixed with a splash of my ever-present Imodium AD. As the nurse was filling out the paperwork and asking me questions, she told me to remove my clothes. Obviously I thought this strange as it wasn’t a casting call for the Magic Mike sequel, just a random hospital examination room.


nurse meme 3


“Um, that’s OK, just the ankle getting done, so not really gonna get naked but thank you for the offer.” I said.

She was not very interested in discussing it. “You need to be completely undressed for surgery.”

“No, actually I don’t. Once again, thanks for the offer, but I’m having surgery on my ankle – why would I need to be naked? You know where the ankles are right? I can see taking off my socks and maybe my pants, but why would I possibly need to take off my underwear? I’m not taking my underwear off! What’s going on here?” I’m not a calm person normally, but this was starting to set me off.


nurse meme 2


“Listen Sir, if you don’t take your underwear off, we’re going to cut them off of you!”

“Listen lady, if I wake up and you’ve cut my underwear off, I’m cutting yours off next!”

“This is not optional, it’s not sanitary and you need to remove your clothes!”


never nude 2


The peanut gallery, and by that I mean my wife and sister, were not being very supportive or having my back at this point and really just trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness. My wife was like, “just take your contacts out and lay back and relax – you’ll feel better and it’ll be over soon.” It was just like what the masseuse told me before she massaged me and then proceeded to flick my testicle on our Honeymoon. Advice you should never take: “Just take your clothes off and listen.”


nurse meme 4


I was outnumbered and outgunned here, so I begrudgingly removed my clothes all the while picturing the conversation they’d be having about this up in the operating room over my listless body: “Why wouldn’t he take off his underwear? Is he a never-nude like Tobias? What’s with this big black X on his ankle? Poor little guy, he’s obviously a grower, not a shower.”


never nude


Either way, relaxed is not a word one would be using to describe me that day. As they came in to wheel me down the hallway to the butchers in the basement, I was contactless so everything was blurry which actually did make me feel better. They’d already administered the anesthesia, which also helped to make me groggy, and they told me to count down from 100 and off I’d go…My wife and sister were following the gurney down the hall telling me to relax when an orderly sidled up to the guy pushing me: “Hey Scott, are you heading downstairs? Will you drop this sample off at the lab on your way?” and he proceeded to gently place a bag on my stretcher. My wife and sister gasped and looked at each other in shock as I was squinting up a storm and trying to sit up and see if I was hallucinating with that clear plastic bag. “Is that shit? Is there shit in that bag? That looks like shit! Is that Sh…” and with that the anesthesia kicked in and I was knocked out! There was a bag of someone’s shit – someone’s shit – being transported on me like it was nothing! Literally, my nightmare came true and there wasn’t enough Imodium AD in the world to prevent that shit storm from getting me!



As I was coming to in the recovery room, my wife and sister got Nurse Ratched to tell her I was awake and I started babbling again as if someone had just pressed pause on me when the anesthesia kicked in: “There was shit on me! There was shit on me! I saw it – it was shit! There was shit on me!” My wife was saying I was crazy and trying to tell me that I must have been mistaken to reassure me and calm me down, but one look at my sister’s face told me it was definitely shit! The nurse thought I was having a reaction to the anesthesia and was concerned until my wife told her what my incoherent babbling was about. Needless to say, it was a shitty operation!




Only me right? I mean, who does that happen to? I go in for what was supposed to be routine surgery and they turned me into a fecal drug mule! I can’t help but feel like this wouldn’t have happened on ERGrey’s Anatomy maybe – but definitely not on ER…Where’s Julianna Margulies when you need her?


greys anatomy

As if being married to me wasn’t thank you enough… (My NYC Marathon thank you)

thank you shout out

I am working on a full recap but I’d be remiss if I didn’t devote a little space and time to give a shoutout to the amazing support system that got me through not only the 26.2 miles of the NYC Marathon but also the hundreds of miles logged leading up to that race day. No, this is not just another shameless Imodium AD plug – although I do owe them a thanks as well – this is a testament to the amazing, funny, crazysexycool, gorgeous, inspiring woman that just happens to be my best friend and wife.


logo nyc marathon



Unless you count the night of our Honeymoon when we broke the bed twice, I’ve never really been congratulated for my physical prowess. I started running about year ago and famously ended my first race getting popped in the chops by a fence while face planting into the pavement with a bloody nose and then getting trampled like Mufasa did by the wildebeasts in The Lion King from the rest of the runners. Talk about a sign to not take up running – those were obvious red flags that I ignored.

This and the NYC Marathon finisher medal are the only trophies in my sports case...

This and the NYC Marathon finisher medal are the only trophies in my sports case…


I’m a Klutz through and through, so when I took up running, you can just imagine my wife’s concern. After all, I’m the guy that broke the same ankle two years in a row on the same day, sprained ligaments in the other ankle last year because I didn’t have my glasses on and walked into the bathroom door, fell face first into a brick wall and recently got a black eye when I tripped while chasing my son in our kitchen and fell into the garbage can face first. Basically there’s not a single speck of coordination running through my body but she’s been nothing but encouraging. And this is from my wife who had never heard of me running in my life except for the time I went for a run in Hyde Park while studying abroad in London and got so winded that I got an ice cream cone and took a cab back home – not the tell-tale signs of the track star I’d turn into.


lion king trampled



Through every run – long and short – she’s been a constant source of positive encouragement and believed in me fully without question when I cooked up this NYC Marathon pipe dream. Whereas I didn’t fully think I could do this until about nineteen miles into the Marathon on race day – she was always my loudest cheerleader. I struggled and doubted while she massaged sore feet and applied the icy hot…Each and every mile became possible because she believed in me and that was contagious.


True-to-life rendering of me in all my athletic glory.

True-to-life rendering of me in all my athletic glory.


I’m not sure if you know how many people come out and line the streets for the NYC Marathon, but out of those two million people – there was no bigger smile or louder cheer to be found than hers at mile 18 & mile 23. As I made my up to mile 18, I glanced up and there they were – my wife, my two sons and my mother-in-law – with huge smiles and tearing eyes like an oasis in the desert. Shouting, screaming, waving a big orange balloon and beaming with pride – there they were. A big hug, a quick kiss, a fast photo and they made me feel ready to conquer anything.

mile 18


As I darted away, knowing I’d see them again in five more miles I started to wonder why I hadn’t believed in myself when they so overwhelmingly and unequivocally believed in me. Why was I the only one who didn’t think I could do it? Their excitement was contagious and the proud looks in their eyes carried me through. I never cared about the timing – just that I could finish the marathon and have fun with it, and after seeing them there was no doubt that I could and would make it through.

running guy

As I arrived at mile 23 – there they were again screaming and even more excited than the first time. Kisses, hugs and smiles all around and then I headed off again to finish. They navigated the crazy, busy, crowded streets and subway system with a two and a four year old in order to see me in two different spots to encourage me along the way when they knew I’d need it and never once complained or thought about anything but how happy they were for me. They gave me the encouragement and the strength to finish strong and to believe in myself as much as they did.


I know that it might sound like the start of a joke to say I looked up and saw my mother-in-law’s face in the crowd, but she’s my Boo and they was such a sight for sore eyes. There she was – standing with my older son while my wife wore his brother like they were in Dagobah – he was Yoda and she was the young Jedi in training Luke Skywalker…At that exact moment there was no better sight that I could see then the four of them right there on the street! Granted, the last time I wrote about my mother-in-law it was about inappropriate movies and stuff so hopefully, this post is a little tamer…

Luke and Yoda

This is a different type of post than I usually write, but I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to thank them for pushing and encouraging me. They’ll never know what their smiles, cheers and laughter did for me. I think of how much my wife sacrificed over the past few months to encourage me and my crazy pipe dream while I ran like a madman training run after training run, day after day, night after night…I certainly couldn’t have gotten through it without her encouragement, support and love. Here’s to you honey – I love you!



For all my homies to get to know mes

hearye hearye


I posted this a few months ago for all the newbies – and it appears the time is ripe for it again. I’ve gotten a ton of new followers since then and I want to make them feel right at home and steer them down the right path. With so many posts on here, it’s hard to know where to start and unless you’re dedicated like Crazy-Annie-Smack-that-Fannie, you might not go back and start at the beginning to read them all…

Click here to start the ride and get caught up!

For all my Homies to get to know mes

Of all the questions that people ask me about this site, nine times out of ten there is some variation of “Your poor wife, how does she do it?” as the very first question. The second question is which is the best post to read if you’re new to this site and haven’t had a chance to catch up on all the older stuff posted here. If you fall into the latter category than today is your lucky day!

I’ve created a list of what I think are the essential posts you MUST read in order to get to know this site. Others are really funny as well, but this is where you should start. These are in no particular order, just a random collective to get you up to speed. I must advocate caution while ingesting these posts, as some of them are really funny. In the lab, some of the test subjects were known to lose control of themselves while reading – so avoid liquids while consuming them at all costs!

As an added treat, I will be reposting some of the oldies in between new posts here on the site….if you’ve already read them, it’ll be a refresher. If you’re an Imodium virgin and this is your first time getting a piece – Enjoy it! If your favorite isn’t listed here, let me know in the comments which one you’d have picked…


When I was mistaken for a retarded person TWICE in less than a half hour!!!

Assaulting Tom Cruise-Part 1: Hit and run

Assaulting Tom Cruise-Part 2: Great, now Rosie O’Donnell thinks I’m a scumbag

Just for the Holiday Season: My Famous Baby Jesus Story

One of my many Ah-Shit Moments (Literally!)

Who does this shit happen to?

Like I’ve heard so many times before “Wow, That’s a long one!”

Wanna hear something ironic? Imodium AD actually tried to stage an intervention with me!!!

Our Honeymoon Part One: Ain’t no joke, our bed broke (Twice!!!) and I had to call a bloke who was sippin’ on a coke; All because I gave her a poke!

Our Honeymoon Part Two: Forget finger lickin’- my masseuse was testicle flickin!!!

Drop a note below and let me know which one is your favorite.

Our Honeymoon Part One: Ain’t no joke, our bed broke (Twice!!!) and I had to call a bloke who was sippin’ on a coke; All because I gave her a poke!

When we booked our Honeymoon at a resort called The Body Holiday in St. Lucia, my spidey senses should have been tingling that something was off. I wanted to be a good sport for my wife because she was really excited about going there, but I just knew in my core that it might not be the right fit for me.

It was early April when we went and it really was remarkable. Everyone, except for me, thought the weather was fantastic, but I didn’t even make it out of the cab from the airport without completely sweating right through my linen shirt and leaving a mark on the back seat. I was literally stuck to that seat like white on rice, but I kept quiet (believe it or not) and made the best of it. Travelling with me is never an enjoyable experience for anyone, as I will readily admit, so I was really going out of my way to make this a pleasant experience for my wife. It was our Honeymoon and I wanted her to always remember these moments and have the most amazing experience.

By the time we arrived at the resort, it was dark and we were starving. They led us to our absolutely amazing suite and we dropped off our bags and went right to eat. We were seated quickly and I was so hungry and sweaty that I didn’t realize it at first, but we were outside. The restaurant was little more than a hut with no walls. It was a really nice hut and pleasant enough, but there were birds sitting on the beams of the roof. If I have neglected to mention this before, or if I am repeating myself, please accept my apology: I do not eat outside. I’m not a squirrel and I have absolutely no desire to brave the elements or fight with wildlife while trying to devour my chicken and rice. Those birds in the rafters were giving me the stare down like someone’s feisty grandmother and it’s like they knew they could take me if it turned into a fight which was very disconcerting. And do I even need to bring up my traumatizing experiences with birds anyway? There were fewer birds in the rafters at night than during breakfast the next day which was small consolation at the time.   

I will admit that it really was an amazing beach-front resort but the trouble is that I actually hate hate hate the beach. I am so pale and ill-colored that, at times, my wan complexion has been mistaken for that of an albino and I burn like a hot dog when I go outside in the sun. I actually have no tanning potential in my body; I go from zero to red-as-a-smacked-ass with no in-between. Also, beaches skeeve me out: I mean what’s relaxing about sitting in dirt? You’re sitting in fucking dirt – That’s disgusting!

As my wife went swimming in the ocean after breakfast, I was wandering around that beach all covered up under a bathrobe and Hello Kitty parasol like Michael Jackson searching for some shade. I made a bee-line to the first available beach chair that I saw with a shaded umbrella above it. There were two lounge chairs under it and I dropped into the empty chair next to the one cradling an elderly bronze woman. She looked at me and said in a very nice old lady British accent “Honey, my husband is sitting…” to which I cut her off and offered my right pointer finger along with my almost polite answer of “Not anymore!” She got mad and left in a huff, but I didn’t ask for both chairs; Screw her if she didn’t want my company.

My wife came over to me and was surprised how I got two shaded seats so quickly on a crowded beach, but I just smiled and shrugged because I just knew that she would have made me give them back to the old lady. She asked me to make sure I stayed there as she was concerned how we would find each other if we got separated on the beach. “Look around Honey – I’m like the moon out at night – you can’t miss me.” As I scanned the beach, it was almost as if I was glowing. Everyone around us had the perfect bronze/leathery skin and there was my Breyer’s vanilla complexion shining like a nightlight in the center of it all. 

The best thing (well really the only good thing if you ask me) about that beach was the drink system. Each person got a flag and when you wanted waitress service you placed your flag standing upright into the ground and they came over to take your order. Alcohol Efficiency at work and the only way to get me to stay on a beach! I actually tried to implement that same system into my living room at home, but the waitress there threatened to disembowel me if I brought that flag out again…          

After a tense situation later that afternoon, we called it a day. It turns out that taking scuba diving lessons for the first time (against my will mind you – I mean really: How many people have had these snorkels in their mouth? And can you just imagine how many filthy feet have used those flippers? All this and me without my bleach) isn’t a good idea when you have a bad stomach normally and then add a bad hangover to it. As that equipment was strapped on and we were heading under, I was getting queasy and starting sweating profusely (I know right, who else sweats in water?) and I just knew that there was no possible way that this could end well. I know those symptoms and sort of like when you hear a doorbell and you know someone’s there – I knew someone was knocking at my door if you get my drift.

I got that equipment off of me like it was on fire and ran off like a flash of lightning only to find the Housekeeper in our room cleaning. I begged her to get out immediately or at least step aside and let me into the bathroom, but something was lost in translation and she wouldn’t get out of the way. What wasn’t lost in translation was me speeding off and clenching the whole way back down to the restaurant bathroom before I caused a St. Lucian mudslide. I made it just in time and Thank God I didn’t have to sneeze or there would have been a whole new trail to follow down from the bungalows. My wife was actually mad that I left her in the water with a French speaking couple that she couldn’t understand, and she said that almost shitting my pants served me right. I caught a quick-hitter during scuba and almost shit my pants because of a rogue housekeeper yet she’s the one who’s mad?

Dinner went without incident and then we went to the Piano Bar before calling it a night. I will be a gentleman and kindly use the Fast Forward Pass and skip ahead to the midde of the night when I had to call the Front Desk because our bed broke. I will admit that at first, there was a little part of me that was arrogantly beaming with macho pride that we had just broken our honeymoon bed, but that part was quickly smacked down by the bigger part of me that was mortified as I tried to explain it to the Front Desk Agent on the phone. I’m not sure if it was me talking too fast, his heavy island accent, or more likely, me being drunk – but I just could not for the life of me explain it to him clearly so I finally just blurted out “Dude, it’s our Honeymoon – How do you think the bed broke?” Yep, cleared that right up!

Think there's any way that we can pretend it was like that when we got here?

The agent called the hotel carpenter at home to have him come and fix the bed immediately. St Lucia must be smaller than a legal sized envelope, because that carpenter was there so fast that I really couldn’t believe it. As soon as I opened the door to let him in, he gave me a knowing look and he then asked me (in his really heavy Island accent) how I could have broke the bed as he was glancing around the room. In my stupor, I had no idea what he was looking for until it hit me like a truck: He thought I was there alone and broke the bed by myself. My wife was nowhere to be found (she had locked herself in the bathroom because she was embarrassed) and there I was making small talk with the carpenter and the shit-eating grin on his face. I could have just been a mature adult, but I got embarrassed and blurted out “My wife is in the bathroom – it’s our Honeymoon you know” which I’m not quite sure he believed anyway. After what felt like an eternity, he finally fixed the bed and my elusive wife appeared from the bathroom ONLY after he left the room so she could go to bed.  

Don’t you know that the very next night, that bed broke again! I‘m not sure if it had anything to do with my training as a college gymnast or if that carpenter jimmy-rigged the bed with scotch tape and paper clips, but it was ten times more embarrassing calling the second night (to the same exact agent) than it was the first time. Forget the ten shades of red that my face was when the carpenter showed up again, and focus on the twenty shades of red that my face got when he said in his island accent while pointing at the bed “Tomorrow, you go easy on this man!!!” Needless to say I was ready to put that freaking mattress on the floor or sleep out on the balcony instead of risking that frame collapsing again…

Senior Year at regionals in college – That’s me in the scarlet unitard!

 Coming up on Thursday:

Our Honeymoon Part Two: Forget Finger Lickin’- My Masseuse was Testicle Flickin!!!