U2, Mother's Milk, and Drunken Doctoring

Week in review, let's skip to Wednesday.

Here was the high:I went to a U2 concert with Babyboo and some babies' mamas (some of her friends) and it was righteously awesome. To a sold out crowd in Giants stadium, Bono and company rocked it out. I screamed out like a little school girl to all the hits (lots of Joshua Tree and Achtung Baby). I was raising my hands and closing my eyes just like the hundreds of thousands around and it felt like a religious awakening. In front of me was this large alien ship type structure to greet me: a 90-foot tall, four-pronged monster that had a jumbo tron that wrapped around 360 degrees and gave everyone the same view.

But while the show was happening frenetically in front of me, there was another show happening directly to the right of me and Babyboo. A couple had brought what seemed like a freshly new born baby (she was so tiny) and apparently they had been to other concerts with her across the country (Bob Dylan, Jimmy Buffet, etc). They were the ultimate hippy parents and were so laid back. The baby was cute and playful and seemed to be enjoying Bono's croonings but then she started crying and kept on getting more upset.

The parents didn't know what to do at first but then realized that she might be hungry. (Here is the show part) Before I knew it, the mom whipped out the goods and was feeding her right in the open. It was both amazing and awkward at the same time. I had to tell Babyboo to stop rubber necking and someone told me that we should have taken a family picture with them at the time. I think everyone was just happy that I was not whipping out my goods and nursing anyone.

Here was the low:
I went to a colleague's going away drinks after work yesterday and I was probably the most efficient drinker/appetizer eater for about half an hour. A little tipsy, I told everyone I had to race off and people conjectured that I wanted to workout (clearly they don't know me) but really, I had to go to a doctor's appointment (really? yes really). Probably not a good idea.

I fell over myself onto the repulsed receptionist's desk and filled out the insurance forms poorly with awful, scribbled penmanship. All in, I think I made the doctor's diagnosis easy: "So, Phil, here's the problem; you are drunk." Well my momma only told me to always have clean underwear on before a doctor's visit but nothing about not having dirty martinis right before.

A crazy week: Sleep Apnea, Halloween, Irish Car Bombs Oh My!

This week has been a whirlwind of ups and downs. Let's skip Monday because it sucks and in general, I think we should start out the week on Tuesdays. On that day, I went to the doctor for a full checkup and everything else went fine except the doctor asked me a strange question: "What is your neck size?" And then he asked me to lower my head and chin and he touched the folded flab of skin that creates my third and fourth chin and pondered my flesh for several minutes from different angles. Then he asked me a couple of other questions related to me snoring and if my wife complains about how my snoring may sound like I am choking or gargling. He said, 'Given the size/girth of your head and neck area, I would say you might be highly susceptible to sleep apnea." Sleep apnea is a disorder in which one has one or more pauses in breathing while sleeping and often caused by weight (a flappy chin, for example) pressing against air passageways at night. I asked him what the solution for curing this disorder would be and he mentioned exercise. Hmm...then I asked him if he was calling me fat but the doctor refrained from answering.

So with that knowledge, one would repent and start purging and doing jaw/chin exercises but I did exactly the opposite and went to a Yankees game in grand fashion on Wednesday but you have to hear me out. I was able to partake in a once in a lifetime situation, something called 'Legends' seats and I think the only way to get these tickets aside from some egregious ticket broker is to be in with the mob or the Yankees or probably both (I went the easy route and simply mortgaged my soul and first born). I could go on and on about the benefits: a bathroom with fancy toilets and all the 'free' food that I can consume. Okay let me go on for a little bit: they had private buffets w/carving stations etc right before the game, they had a private dugout lounge where you can eat all the hotdogs, cheeseburgers, nachos, even sushi you want). The most amazing thing was the dessert/candy pyramid of treasures. All the Skittles, Starbursts, Snickers, Mike & Ikes, etc, that you can stuff in your pockets and stuff I did! When I got home that night, I unloaded my pirate's booty of sugar onto to the table for Babyboo (I am a provider!) and it was like Halloween in my pants! That night, FreePhil was so overstimulated that he was shaking in ecstasy and quietly wept to himself in sheer happiness.

And now yesterday, we had our team team/morale/building night out at a comedy club and it was great! Besides viewing some hilarious comedians, one of our colleagues who does standup on the side got up there and was so funny, he made us soil our pants. When his first joke singled out the compliance and HR individuals in attendance and told them to get the 'f*ck' out, I knew it was going to be a good night. Long story short, I had one too many Irish Car Bombs and here we are now ready for the weekend.

Confessions of a Shopaholic and the husband who loves her

This weekend Babyboo and I did not go anywhere or do much of anything at all. Instead, we placed all our focus, resources and energy in surviving the retail maelstrom that swept into New York known as the Barneys' Warehouse Sale. Everyone who goes there knows the drill: no fitting rooms, no exchanges, no returns, and no place for modesty when there are bargains to be seized. Everyone is equipped with comfortable shoes, eagle eyes, and quick hands to snatch away the best merchandise. This is a once in a blue moon sale that offers a treasure trove of designer clothing, shoes, accessories etc all discounted by 50-75% and afterwards, one must check into rehab.

Like an athlete preparing for gameday, Babyboo spent time looking at film (Confessions of A Shopaholic), while I worked on plays (Pick and Roll) to unleash on the field, and remembered that with no pain (credit card bills) comes no gain. After waiting a couple of hours in line to get in, we sprinted onto the scene and split up between floors for men and women's apparel. Here at this retail circus, the sight of people stripping down to their underwear between the racks to try on clothes rarely raises an eyebrow. I was just glad that I did not wear my 'man'kini that day although some dudes did (I think this is excellent strategy as it does temporarily blind other shoppers to create a competitive advantage).

I am a relatively efficient shopper and surveyed the field quickly and honed in on the shoe and jeans section. I found shoes in ten minutes but found myself lost and confused as I rifled through the jeans section. Elbowing against those trying to sustain their metrosexual street cred, I got sucked into the 'Third World Manorexic' skinny jean section (who wears a 25 waist?) when a worker saved me and guided me towards the 'Extra Extra Large' jean bin which had bell bottoms for whales.

Upstairs, men know it is best to steer clear of the women’s department and let the ladies claw it out amongst themselves which they do as Babyboo came back with a couple of bruises and no guy wants to come off as a leering perv although some do and are escorted off (not me, this time). After I finished, I waited in the unofficial holding pen right near the womens' department waiting with other purseholders and was called upon as the 'closer' only when Babyboo was ready to go to checkout. Usually she is almost out the door with her purchases and the cashier, confused, asks if she will be paying for things only to point to me who is lagging behind getting my wallet out. She loves this arrangement.

The trick to attacking this sale is timing when to go to hit the sweet spot of quallity items to maximum savings. You see, every few days the discounts increase another 5-10% but the supply becomes limited and terrible until the warehouse becomes an increasingly dangerous, pillaged village with nasty looters. These sales are so famous that people often buy the same patterned dress shirts and embarrassing antics ensue in workplaces. The third time one wears the same shirt at work, it is not so funny and there becomes a gentlemen's agreement on what days one can wear certain shirts in the week cycle such that I cannot where a certain blue striped shirt on Tuesdays and Thursdays, ever (not that this happens).

All in, this event is like a national holiday for Babyboo and I let her go hogwild: she went on Friday, Saturday, Sunday and then secretly, she went yesterday as well which turned out to be one too many as she received a sobering punishment for her sins when she called me in a panic saying that her purse had been stolen (sad but true). Given this badness, I hope that she will get this retail bug out of her system and if necessary, take up a different, less expensive addiction like..uh porn. Oh Babyboo!