Uncle Phil!

This weekend Babyboo and I went back home to Chicago to see my niece and nephew. They are so very precious but it is getting more and more expensive to buy their love. The ratio of toys bought versus the return of smiles and laughs is becoming a negative correlation and I am ready to go explicit and paste Tickle-me-Elmo's and 529 plans onto my face to show how much I care. For the weekend, I set my goals high and vowed to regain my status as their favorite uncle for at least the afternoon before they could forget who I am again.

As I have said before, I am the shallow uncle of good times, who bears mounds of gifts and is full of energy to entertain the kiddies for a max of four hours and then I expire and get the hell of there. Unfortunately, my nephew, Jonah, did not recognize uncle Phil during those four hours and cried rivers of tears with every glimpse of me. Not surprisingly, I have grown numb to such rejection, as I have had to deal with Babyboo's disappointment when she wakes up everyday in cold sweats only to find that it was not just a nightmare but that she is, in fact, really married to me.

My niece, Ava, who was initially on stranger danger alert eventually caught on to the fact that my presence equates to treasures and riches for her toy bank. If you see the picture enclosed, it is evident that Ava has embraced her inner narcissist/rockstar. She eventually rifled through our bags of gifts and coyishly (already knowing the answer) asked us (in the third person): "Are these Ava's?" She will be a heart breaker and an amazing gold digger.

For the rest of the weekend, like Jonah, I was babied by my mama and loved it. Mamaboo fed and fed me, cleaned up the drool, and stopped short of changing me. She cooked up all my favorites for breakfast, lunch and dinner in a mathematically impossible caloric orgy and my teeth felt great. I should be dead right now based on the volumes consumed and in fact, I had terrible heartburn and shortness of breath for most of the time at home because I was so full. Babyboo looked at me and my stomach and noted that rolling hills had emerged majestically on my belly but said that "these hills are not alive with the sound of music but the sound of obesity." Ouch.

Anyways, here are some pictures. I am looking for the cheap aww's and so that you can see why my niece and nephew's smiles are like gold nuggets to me...Moviestar Ava, Country Club Nacoleptic Jonah (he fell asleep while taking that picture), and then "Untitled".

Mother effin' Wisdom Teeth Extraction

On Thursday, I was a nervous wreck fearing the corporal punishment that the dentist was about to wage in my mouth. I know that many of you would have gladly lined up to extract my wisdom teeth (and the rest of my teeth) with rusty pliers, while others of you have mentioned that you would have taken great pleasure to numb my face up with your fists (thanks, that really calmed me). At the dentist's office, the oral surgeon had this unnervingly sinister smirk as he prepared his shiny, weapons of misery ready to make me sob like a baby.

Before he began, the dentist re-looked at my x-rays and said that I only needed to take out my upper wisdom teeth and not my bottoms. I felt pretty good about his assessment and was glad that he had my best interests in mind rather than his Porsche monthly payments. But then all those warm feelings changed when the surgeon set me down and unleashed this ridiculously huge horse needle to Novocaine my mouth and proceeded to prick me about eight times. The actual extractions only took ten minutes and I only felt a little pressure, snap, crackle and pop. Afterward, I was ready to be princess for the weekend and have Babyboo baby the hell out of me on hand and foot and even considered having her piggy back me home.

I drowned myself in a liquid diet that I thought would help me to lose weight, but I seemed to have overcompensated for the caloric deficit and increased in flesh on tubs of pudding, yogurt and ice cream per day. I had gory nightmares that first night that involved me eating a whole bag of sharp Doritos and a box of extra chewy Milk Duds (it was very bloody and graphic). I took the doctor's order of 'taking it easy' to another level and caught up on all the latest celebrity gossip to feel in tune with the world (Jon and Kate plus 8 WTF is going on?). Babyboo would leave me at times during the day but would find me in the same position on the couch hours later as I dug in deep and partook in marathon sessions of MTV's "Real World/Road Rule Challenge" and its new reality show called "Hot Chicks with D-bags".

Throughout, I did not feel any discomfort as I was loopy on painkillers so good that in my delirium, I asked Babyboo to blend me a Vicodin smoothie (I hope to peddle it on the streets for secondary income). I did have some complications with my gums though; I was given gauze to create a blood clot in the wound but it did not hold and I read that biting down on tea bags would release tannic acids that would help to stop the bleeding. We did not have the good old regular Lipton black tea, however, and Babyboo gave me some herbal, stimulant, laxative blend of tea called "Organic Smooth Move." It did the trick, on so many levels.

All in, the experience was not so bad and I did not writhe in fetal position all weekend weeping and wailing as I had expected...well at least not because of my teeth, it was just the usual weekend crying alone in the dark.

Speaking in public: M.C. Deprechaun

Yesterday, I was an emcee for a charity bar/concert night to benefit North Korean refugees seeking asylum. It's a great cause but as you can imagine, a very delicate issue, which is why I was boggled that they wanted me, "Mr. Instinctively Inappropriate" to frame the night.

In order to do this, I had to squash all instincts of wanting to dress up as the NK crazy dictator, Kim Jong Il as that would probably be both insensitive and frightening, although I would have loved to wear those big, thick framed Harry Caray like glasses.

To give you some background, here is a view into my 'impressive' list of public speaking credentials: acted as an emergency ( 'junior varsity') fill-in emcee at one wedding; read instructions at some Habitat sites/activities; yelled at kids at my niece's birthday; and anything Karaoke (technically, that is public speaking). So given that level of "experience," I would probably have entrusted myself with undertaking a more remedial and low key engagement on the likes of a motivational speech to myself in front of a mirror (You're good enough, smart enough, and gosh darnit, Phil, people like you!)

The show, however, must go on and I proceeded boldly with the night but was met by a very tough and ADD crowd at an unforgiving bar venue with shoddy acoustics. Also unfortunate for me: right before I was supposed to get on stage, an attractive bar hostess was setting up the mic on stage and it was very evident that when I got up there after her, the crowd was disappointed with the pale glory I brought to the table. I guess it was a bit of bait and switch: tempted with steak, only to get cauliflower (and lots of it).

I had to roll with the punches:

"Hello party peoples!" (no crowd response)

"I can see a tear of sadness on your faces as I got up here and I know what you're thinking, 'Why couldn't they get someone hotter?'"

"Instead you have me, a second-tier, mildly tolerable chump who looks like he, himself is a charity case. I'm sorry about that and I'm sorry for this eyesore of a shirt (I was wearing a really loud sea green t-shirt, which I thought was pretty hipster bad@ss at the time of choosing)"

But then I sassed up and reminded the crowd,

"Unfortunately, you suckers already paid and are stuck with me and will need to learn to love this moneymaker (as I pointed to my face). Let it burn in your minds."

Apparently, that first bit struck a common chord as I went down to the crowds and saw that many had made a b-line for the bar to immediately loosen up on a couple of shots. (So I induce alcoholism, so what?) Fortunately, I think the more the crowd had a couple of rounds (as did I), the funnier I became to them and the night turned out well.

The only small SNAFU that I can confess now was that at one point, I tried to get up on stage without using the stairs and I got up in such an awkward stretched out way that I heard a rip in the back area of my apparently very tight jeans (again I was trying to be hipster).

I paused a little waiting for laughter and finger pointing but when I turned around, it seemed like no one knew anything. So, all good. Frankly, I think the rip makes the jeans even more trendy and helps ventilate the swampiness inherent in that region.

I'm available for Barmitzvahs, Birthdays, and Funerals.

Potty Patrol Phil

This weekend, Babyboo accompanied me for the first time to the school tutoring program in Harlem. She wanted to see what kind of 'fun' that I had with the kids every Saturday morning that made me expend all my energy and left nothing but a narcoleptic husband for the rest of the day. Partly, I think she was convinced that I was not really 'volunteering' with kids but forced to serve a community service sentence of picking up garbage on the highways and asked if we had to change into an orange correctional facility jumpsuit before leaving.

Fortunately for her, Babyboo would get the full taste of the experience as this past Saturday was a field day/picnic and the kids were extra hyper to go to the park. As expected, the kids welcomed Babyboo warmly as if one of their own and maybe they thought that my child bride was really one of their own. But upon introduction as my wife, Babyboo was immediately disarmed by their questions: "Do you really love Mr. Phil?" "You guys make babies together?" and there were even cruder questions that we could only respond with nervous giggles and aggressive blushing and that was just the first five minutes.

To get to the park, we had to take the subway and like usual, the mentors had no control; the kids swung off the poles until they were dizzy and then piled onto each other and into the other riders, who cursed us with their glower power. I saw more than a handful of frustrated riders sprint from our car to the next subway car for solace at each stop.

Once there, we played several rounds of capture the flag, dodge ball, and ended with a grand ole water balloon fight (mentors vs kids) where I was a prime target by both kids and mentors (friendly fire) and wet my pants earlier than usual. Otherwise, I spent most of my time accompanying the wee ones from one end of the park to the other end where the bathrooms were and attained street cred as the 'Potty Patrol' or 'Potty Phil' (my future looks bright!). As the games went on, Babyboo and I could feel the little devils becoming stronger and stronger as they magically siphoned energy from our souls. By the end, the mentors were paralyzed from exhaustion and lay prostrate on the grass, while the kids were all over the park and causing havoc for the park district patrols.

Nothing against the breeders out there and I will hopefully be able to infect the gene pool in time but one thing is for certain, we are not ready to have kids and this experience was the best birth control ever for us. We stayed away from each other the rest of the weekend. :)

I should have gotten the "DD" bread rolls.

Something tells me that this pic might just come back to jeopardize my future political career.

Going solo to a wedding

This weekend while Babyboo took her CFA on Saturday, I had to fly solo to represent team Philistine at a friend's wedding in Bon Jovi country (NJ). Somehow, I was able to ingratiate my way into hitching a ride to the ceremony with friends of friends but the only caveat was that I would be the seventh wheel within a caravan of three couples. To outsiders, I might have looked like the ugly, illegitimate indiscretion of someone's shamed youth, but it was evident that there was still no one who wanted to take ownership of me.

The bride and groom were freshmen in college when I was a senior, so it was difficult to see them as all "growns up" and crudely, in my head, I couldn't get past the idea that these were my babies who were on their way to making babies. Unfortunately, none of my good buddies were going to this wedding and many of the people at my table were several years my junior who I either did not know or had not kept in touch with since college, so this was going to be grrreat :(

By default, because I was the oldest, fattest and loneliest non-single, I became the Papa Smurf of my table during the reception meaning that I became the unofficial chaperon of designated drivers who liked to celebrate such designations near the open bar and was called upon by some of the girls to butt-in on any unsavory dudes who might be uncomfortably smothering them on the dance floor.

For me, this was the first time in a long time of going to a wedding without the wife and trying to explain her whereabouts to others was awkward and often greeted with incisive questions inquiring if she had finally left me or for those who did not know me, if she even existed. The wedding turned out to be fun and filled with all sorts of treats such as an assortment of candies (with which I stuffed my coat pockets) and an open freezer of Popsicles as after dinner treats (with which I wanted to stuff my pants pockets but realized would be a bad idea). There was also a rented photo booth available for guests (mainly couples) to take fun pictures as their wedding favors. Shamefully, I stood in line to take pictures of myself and felt the need to defend my apparent narcissism to those in line who were judging me silently: "Yes, I love myself."

But just as the night was starting to get better, Babyboo texted me as soon as she finished her 6 hour test and said:

'I'm free! I'm going to buy myself something really pretty and expensive to make me feel better. Yay!'

Ugh..the last time she said something like that, we ended with a whole dining room set.

Guilty pleasure concerts: I love Kelly Clarkson

One of my friends told me about an upcoming concert that he wanted me to go to with him. It's one of these guilty pleasure artists that I vow I would never see again, but time and time again, there I am.

What I am talking about are concerts, where one finds that the main demographics that are drawn to these events are apparently, not tall, married, pale, Asian Shrek like characters but rather screaming, pre-pubescent girls and their dads. It was the same with Justin Timberlake, the Avril Lavigne, Hillary Duff and Kelly Clarkson concerts (those events, I kind of knew what I was getting into) and now, an upcoming Taylor Swift show.

Like the other concerts, I expect to go to the men's room only to find it desolate (tumble weeds passing through) while the ladies' room has lines out the door.

I remember the shame I wore when watching Kelly Clarkson the last time she was in town. The tickets somehow worked out such that Babyboo and friends were all in one mezzanine section and I got a single ticket all by myself in the orchestra section. It was a great seat but when I looked to my right, it was teeny boppers and/or couples and to my left was the aisle.

Clearly, to my neighbors around me, including the suspicious dads and boyfriends, I was by myself and gave off indications that I was either a loser, a pedi-pervert, or really, all of the above.

Despite the awkwardness, the show was good, the music was catchy and I may have gotten lost in the inner teenage princess in me and really let loose at the expense, disgust and gagging of those around me because no one ever wants to see me raising the roof or gyrating anything, or screaming in surprisingly high decibels (well, maybe some of you sickies).

Anyways, I'm going. I am so weak.

1y wedding anniversary. Me and My Boo

They said it could not be done. They said that she would get her sight and sense corrected one day. They said that whatever blackmail dirt or voodoo magic that I had against her would fade and burn as would this sham paper union. And, no, surprisingly she did not run away in the middle of the night on the eve of the magical day either. But against all the odds and skeptics, Babyboo and I locked in one year of marital bliss this weekend . Just a year ago, I remember giving a toast to my bride telling her that "More than anyone, I am my biggest fan and in love with myself. So for a belligerent narcissist like me, this night is tough because with her, I have to admit that I found someone who I love more than myself. But good luck to you baby (boo), you won the prize, you get all of me!"

Let's be honest, I still hug myself daily but I think all the ladies out there can give their thanks, prayers and support to the missus for braving it out the full year and sticking with me so that no other woman has to go through what she endures daily. On Sunday, after we chest bumped in celebration, Babyboo set up breakfast in bed for me, which made me feel like the fairest princess of them all.

She had even defrosted and prepared the the top layer of our wedding cake that we had saved. The cake looked deflated and lop-sided as it was crushed and crammed in the blackholes of our freezer. It was mealy and its taste was infused with a weird combination of intense freezer burn and like spicy Korean food to which the cake had been exposed (so, it was delicious). We are waiting to become violently ill today, which will help us lose the weight that we have gained since the wedding.

Also, thinking that I had no game, my mom called me early yesterday to make sure I had plans set and so that I would not ruin this occasion. She peppered me (in Korean) if I had set-up dinner reservations and if I got her something nice, like jewelry:

"You know that's how this works, right? Your dad knows."

So to that end. I made right what I had wrong when we got married. You see, one of the last details a week before the big day was getting our wedding bands. I was tired and rundown and in the wee hours one night, I ordered my platinum wedding band and somehow I must have done the same for a size 3 finger because when the rings came, I had two platinum rings for men (mine and its mini me) instead of the wedding band Babyboo was supposed to get. Whoops!

So for a whole year, she has had a man's ring on her finger and she has not let me forget that fact. At dinner yesterday, I surprised her with her upgrade ring and all the people around us thought I was proposing and the hostess even sent us a bottle of champagne to celebrate. I thought that I had mentioned to them that it was our 1y anniversary but we went with the flow and let them get us tipsy.

Luckily for me, because I know I'm not that good a salesman, Babyboo got a little too tipsy and it was awfully easy to trick her into renewing the marriage for another year (just like an apartment lease) with a free month or two thrown in. Yay!