Ever fall in love? Ever fall in love with a woman who you pursued for a year? What if she had already seen your dong? This happened.
Holy jumping Jesusfish! It’s been over four months since I let you promote your crappy blog on my crappy blog!
And it’s time, like that ridiculous phoenix everyone talks about metaphorically (but nobody actually knows the story) and rise from the ashes.
Today, and for the next twenty-four hours, you get to pimp out your blog in the comment section of my blog. Get some new followers! Increase your internet exposure. Make friends with other bloggers!
Wait… not so fast, Turbo.
You gotta earn the free plug.
In the past I’ve made you write me poetry or reveal something embarrassing about you that nobody else knows. Let’s do something equally awesome.
In order to promote your blog, this time you must tell me something embarrassing about your father.
Maybe he farts in front of your friends. Calls your best friend Brent when it’s really Brett. Only tips out at 10%. Runs around the house in his underwear, and they’re not boxer briefs but tight whites.
My most popular story is the one where I saw my father’s donger as an adult. I’ve already done my work. Now do yours.
This is a great way to kick off Father’s Day next month. Or not a great way. I don’t know. Don’t really care.
So remember, start the comment with… My father is embarrassing because he ______________.
Then put your blog underneath and tell us what it’s all about!
Special thanks to oSex co-host Karen who came up with this concept. Watch our latest episode!
We always use a Wil Wheaton photo to do these posts. This one is inappropriate.
photo credit: WilWheaton via photopin cc
http://thoughtsfromparis.com/wp-content/uploads/medium_1394924546.jpgI’m writing this from a date in progress. A ThoughtsFromParis first, as it were.
A woman I’m seeing who requested that I don’t use her real name (it’s Helen) asked me over for dinner tonight. The first bloggable moment came in the way she brought up this dinner over the phone.
Would you like to come over for dinner?
Sure! Thanks! What are you making?
Well, here’s the thing. I have some stuff, but you’re a much better chef than me.
Okay…
How about if we made dinner together and you assisted?
—
Now, I do love to cook. And, I’m decent at it. But it’s not often when someone invites me over to dinner. It’s even less often when I’m invited over for dinner but have to do the cooking. Truth be told, I was thrilled to even be invited. I have no problem putting together the dishes, and I’ll even clean up afterwards. I just love entertaining. When I told my friend and co-host of oSex Karen that I was having dinner made for me she said:
It’s not a true invite if you have to do the cooking. You’re getting gypped!
Now, when I got to the condo, there was much less work for me than was anticipated. All I had to do was take chicken breasts and put them in the oven. All the prep work was done. I was expecting to don the apron, open up a Bon Appetit and start slinging paprika.
The next hilarious moment came when I went to sit down to eat. Since I’m not a total animal I always take a napkin and lay it on my lap before eating. As soon as I went for cloth (which was ON my placemat as seen below), I was told…
I couldn’t wait to slobber all over it.
Oh, please don’t use that cloth napkin.
But it’s on my placemat!
Um, the thing is… it’s dry clean only.
I’m not worthy of dry cleaning?
—
As I said this last line she was already up tearing a square off of a Bounty paper towel holder to hand to me. I started laughing that not only was I not getting to use the decorative hand towel, but that I was going from the best case scenario (cloth) to the worst case scenario – the paper towel, half piece.
Even worse she accidentally wiped her hands on the paper towel and started mashing it together as she handed it to me. As I accepted it I asked if she could get me a fresh piece since I didn’t need the one that had her hand gook all over it. She laughed and was embarrassed, not realizing she was handing me the soiled square.
Dinner was great and then we relaxed until dessert. She told me excitedly that she had ice cream waiting in the freezer. I was thrilled at the idea of finishing off the evening with some Breyer’s vanilla bean.
So, about that ice cream. Let’s do it!
But you’re on a diet and need to lose ten pounds to win the bet with your father!
That’s true. So, I probably shouldn’t have ice cream.
No – that’s a good decision.
But you offered ice cream! You promised ice cream!
I’m really looking out for you.
I just got gypped again!
—
So in the end, I didn’t exactly get a homecooked meal, a real napkin, or dessert. But I do have to say that my host is an amazing person and we laughed about all of this. She made me sit down and write this post from the condo, and has been reading over my shoulder the whole time.
The truth is she’s not bossy, inconsiderate, or selfish. I almost never write about dates, but she insisted that I had to. I told her I was just going to write about my bike ride to work, but we agreed that would have been boring.
Next time I’m bringing my own cloth napkins, because I’ll be damned if I’m not worth a little dry cleaning.
Oh, I need to go buy some cloth napkins, now that I think about it. I don’t own any. I guess I don’t even think I’m worth it!
http://thoughtsfromparis.com/wp-content/uploads/rsz_camerazoom-20130514212615498.jpgIn my longest interview to date, I interview the brilliant Neil Kramer, screenwriter and longtime blogger. We talk about all aspects of blogging. Just listen – it’s worth it!
I’ve got four weeks to lose ten pounds.
My father on Easter Sunday, during brunch, asked me how much I weighed. I clock in at just a hair under 6’3″. I get away with a little extra weight as it evenly proportions on my body as it gains. Well, my metabolism has finally caught up with the rest of the bozos my age. I can get fat just like you.
I was not proud to admit it but I was at my heaviest of all time. I had checked the scale just before brunch and then announced my score. I was at a robust 224.
Please understand that at my wedding, four years prior, I was at my thinnest at around 175 lbs. Of course I was totally stressed out and not eating much.
After doing a ton of research I’ve determined that the only thing that really matters is what percentage your body fat is at. I could be 220lbs with 8% body fat and be totally ripped. Conversely I could be 190 with a 20% body fat and be unhealthy. All that really matters is how much lean muscle I have and how much fat.
Well, I have calipers which are the things that pinch your sides and give you a readout of your fat. At the time of Jesus’s resurrection I was at 24%. That is a big, fat boy.
As I told my parents my weight they started laughing. I’ve always been the most fit one in the family. I bike twenty miles to work (which is good), eat like a total pig (which is bad), and have a metabolism that just won’t quit. Since it’s obvious that I had some habits that needed changing, my parents quickly quieted their laughter with a serious tone.
“You need to lose some weight. It’s scary because you don’t look big at all,” my mother said. She was right!
So my dad proposed a bet. My birthday is coming up on June 10th. If I could lose something reasonable, say twenty pounds in ten weeks, then he would pay for my birthday dinner. This is great as we’re going to a pretty expensive place to eat. If I lose, however, the bill comes to me.
Now, instead of getting all caught up in the fat vs. muscle showdown, I realized I needed to peel off some easy weight first. I remember losing five pounds in a week before, when I was younger. Totally thought I would have all twenty pounds down within four weeks. I cut dramatically down on my calories. Not to an unhealthy degree, but enough to have me go to bed a little hungry. I was probably eating 500 less calories a day than I was during my normal gorging self.
Well, it’s been five weeks, and I’m down eleven pounds. While this is cause for celebration, it’s also cause for alarm. I only have four weeks to lose almost ten pounds.
The only option other than blatantly starving myself is to beef up the exercise. Increase the muscle mass and do more cardio. This does not come easy to me. I can’t believe I bike to work even now, as during the winter I don’t move at all. So, to add to that is crazy.
But I’m not getting stuck with a huge birthday dinner bill.
I’m glad, though, that this last ten pounds is a struggle. Struggles are good for the soul. It’s a nice reminder that I’m not the all-powerful being I treat myself as most of the time. I’m just a guy whose body is finally shapeshifting. I was going to complete that sentence with some animal, but I couldn’t come up with one. Oh well…
Once I get to twenty pounds, by the way, I’m going to celebrate by giving away twenty copies of my book to my email subscribers.
So tomorrow my lunch will be, not joking, chicken and vegetables. No seasoning, sauce, or anything that resembles taste. And yes, I know I could put a little sea salt or marinade on there, but I won’t. I want to learn to love it bland. It’s not fun, but this is work dammit!
I’m on my first diet ever, folks. I haven’t had pizza or anything too terrible in over a month. I just hope it becomes a lifestyle.
And, if not, I’ll become the jolly fat guy humorist. Hey, that’s a decent niche!
If you want to feel terrible about yourself, spend ten bucks and get these. You’ll cry, guaranteed!
I used to be wholly against the idea of sponsored posts.
When I was number one on Google for terms like “best blog” and “funny blogs” I was approached a lot by companies who wanted to sponsor my posts. Most were firms of ill repute and were peddling dildos and other items of adult nature. But still, it was an offer of free money. The problem is that they all required me to do something ridiculous like put a link to their product in the ad, or write about a topic which featured their items, etc. Stuff that I don’t approve of. I have integrity, yo!
At one point I almost went for it and had this idea of having my cat and dog review each product. But I think that one-joke sketch would have gotten old pretty quickly. Like most SNL recurring characters.
Then Google spanked me and I lost my SEO high status. Since then I’ve had to build up my brand back from the beginning, reader by reader. Now, my traffic is higher than before and my social media presence is growing.
This is funny. I was chatting up this girl recently who I wanted to date. She asked me if I was a big deal on Twitter. I was just about to say, “Well, not really, but I do have 56k followers.” In short I wanted to brag. Then, she said, “The last guy I dated thought he was kind of a Twitter celebrity and I dumped him.” So, I kept my mouth shut.
Since I’m not a mommy or fashion blogger I’m not cornered by brands who want me to pimp their stuff. Pre-natal vitamin companies aren’t beating down my door to advertise on the site. Heavy flow tampons don’t want to be associated with a guy that once wrote, “Why can’t we just send them to the edge of the village for three days?” Other than the occasional penis-pump manufacturer, I don’t get a lot of corporate love. Which is a little ironic because most of my readers are women in that demographic. Well… not the penis pump demo. At least I don’t think so. God, I hope not.
But what if I did have people courting me (I actually do have a few now, surprisingly), who didn’t require me to write particular pieces of content? What if at the end of each post it had a “sponsored by Deez Nuts” or whatever company wanted to put their name at the end? Would that piss you off? Would you run the other way screaming? Would I have sold out?
Truth be told I’ve put a lot of money into this blog over the last two years. I am in NO way complaining, as I will continue to put money in whether I decide to go with sponsorship or not.
I’m asking you because I give a shit about your readership. Sure I’ll make up my own mind but I respect your opinion. Some people hate the idea that a sponsor has input over content. Mine wouldn’t, but perception might equal reality and I don’t want to lose any of you.
So, what’s the consensus? I can afford the bandwidth and hosting charges, so if nobody ever spends a dime (other than my lovely advertisers), I won’t be shedding any tears. Do you care if I start getting some sponsors?
And, also, while we’re at it, should I start trimming down my chest hair? I mean, I am dating and all.
One of my friends, named Hungry Joe, died about a year ago.
He was one of the most brilliant (maybe the) men I have ever met. I spent a considerable amount of time with him toward the end of his life. He was afflicted, most likely, with Aspergers. He had a difficult time communicating except through metaphor. For years (and I mean over a dozen), he slept on rooftops in Chicago without a real home. When my ex-wife asked him why he did that Joe said he was inspired by a character in a Dickens novel who did the same. Plus, he was broke.
Joe had translated, individually, each word of the New Testament from the original Greek text. He was convinced that all the previous scholars had got a bunch of important stuff wrong. A theologian put Joe’s life’s work out to the academic community and nobody could critique it because they couldn’t find anyone with the appropriate knowledge.
I remember him telling me once about the nature of God. He said, “I have a hard time envisioning a God looking down from above, omnipotent. It just doesn’t make sense to me. There’s too much bad crap out there.”
“…but… where I can see God, right here and now, is in between two people who love each other. There is magic standing in front of human relationships and it’s visible and crackles with life. That is God, and it makes sense to me.”
I’m paraphrasing but you probably get the idea.
That is the single greatest piece I had ever heard – and I didn’t even take to the religious angle. Whether God is real or not, there is undeniably magic between two people who love each other. It’s the juice, in my opinion.
When I reflect on what is ultimately important in my life I often think about relationships. People who have been there when I reached out. Just tonight a friend who is struggling thanked me for being present for her.
Maybe all we really have are relationships.
I am well-known among my friends as having a terrible memory. Despite the fact that I watch Game of Thrones each week, I still need the wiki pulled up online to remind myself of the characters’ histories. I just don’t have a great recall system.
This means that I don’t store memories well. If I want to participate in life, all I have is the present. I can’t go back so I must try harder to be there when there is happening. This is hard work. Over the years I’ve become adept and being present. Being present has been the key to developing intimacy in my relationships. I went from never sharing my truth with people to having a core group who regularly talk about the hard shit. It’s scary, but it builds the relationship into something deeper and more fulfilling.
And the currency of relationships is intimacy, I believe.
Since intimacy is all about sharing what’s hard, being present is essential. Trust is essential. So is safety. These are all earned through risk. Do I trust this person enough to share what might get them to run away? Or worse, they could stay and hurt me. It happens. Mostly, if you’ve developed strong boundaries, you share with appropriate people. Intimacy grows and the relationships bonds tighter.
If God is nothing but what’s between two people, then I can see it. There’s sparks that fly when we’re vulnerable, honest, loyal, and present. I’m grateful to the people in my life that participate this way.
I don’t have a great ability to recall funny stories from my youth. I’m out of ‘em. This blog started because I thought I was a master storyteller. Truth is, I only had a dozen. And they’ve all been told by now.
So, now, it’s about what I’m experiencing. This is what I had today.
I can never remember why he’s being tortured. And he looks too much like Robb Stark!
D.J. talks about his time as a Protestant at a Catholic high school and how seeing Jesus on the cross really bums him out.
To check out the podcast
I need YOU to determine the fate of the object in this video – tell me what to do, dammit!
As some of you know I’m on the board of Band Back Together, a fantastic not-for-profit organization that showcases stories of emotional distress, physical and psychological trauma, and surviving. It also celebrates the victories we have over adversary. If you’re not a regular reader I encourage you to check it out. I’m proud to be on staff.
May is Mental Health Awareness Month.
Now, the fun news – to help the Band with their annual fundraiser I’m going to host a twenty-four hour blog-a-thon. This means that I’m going to stay up for a whole day and post each hour. Yeah, that’s twenty-four posts. I didn’t pass calculus, but by my estimation that’s twenty-three more than I generally do in a given day.
We’re still working out the particulars. I plan on having giveaways and prizes, live Google+ webchats, games, and other fun ideas.
Since there’s no way I’m going to write twenty-four quality posts in a day, I need your help.
If you have a post you’d like to submit, drop me a line at dj@thoughtsfromparis.com. I’m looking for posts that reflect on mental health issues preferably with a humorous tint. If you’re a blogger there’s a 93% chance you have already written such a post. Send it over.
I’ll publish it and it will get seen by thousands that day and forever immortalized on my blog. Further, if you have a book or other gift you’d like to give away, let me know!
Email me your posts and I’ll judge their worthiness.
I’l probably do a few live interviews that day to publish as podcasts. If you’d like to be interviewed about your adventures or experiences with mental illness, let me know.
Thanks, yo.
D.J.
P.S. Date of the marathon session to be announced in the next week. Somebody needs to hook me up with some Class I stimulants, by the way. Don’t bogart.
