Glitter Bitches!

I’m a huge fan of being on the pranker side of a good prank. Although, when you choose that route in life, you so very often become the prankee, which requires humility, humor, grace, and the rare ability to not get such an itchy trigger finger. Qualities I’m so very far from mastering.

The other day, the wifey stopped off at a grocery store to look for a type of tea that might help curb her appetite.

So she buys “Dieter’s Green Herbal Tea,” a Triple Leaf Tear-brand product. She goes to work, heats up some water, drops the tea-bag in, lets it sit all day, and slowly sips her delicious, thinning, super tea. Later that day, she (how do I put this delicately?) throws-up out her ass for hours and can’t figure out why.

After recalling her day and doing a little detective Google research, she found out this type of tea is a super ninja natural laxative stuff. And the longer you leave the tea-bag in the water, the harsher it is on your system.

All I could think was: Holy shit this is the greatest freakin’ prank tea in the entire world!

And as I drifted off to sleep that night, I couldn’t help but reminisce about other wonderful and memorable pranks I’ve pulled off or experienced…

Glitter Bitches!

Before our children were born one of my wife’s college roommates came up for a visit. So naturally we threw a party. Tons of people were hanging in the backyard, good music, great beers and wine, tons of laughing… I’m sitting on a lawn chair, half-shnockered when the wifey’s lovely and talented roommate calmly walks by me, stop, turns, and shoots both her hands towards me like a crazed spiritual healer and yells “Glitter Bitches!”

Within a matter of 1.3 seconds, I was covered from head to toe with glitter. To this day, I still find a random flake of glitter in my clothes.

You have a message!

During my first job I was a writer for a weekly newspaper. Small staff, no budget, two phone lines, no answering machine, and the editor’s mother was our receptionist. After returning from an interview, there would undoubtedly be a stack of pink phone message thingy’s that have who called, why, when, and return number on them.

Occasionally, I’d leave one on my editor’s desk with an important person’s name and reason they called. Then the beauty of the prank comes in. I’d put 1-800-, and then make up a three letter word, followed by a four letter word that was sexual—HOTT-SEX, BIG-TITS, GAY-LOVE—find the corresponding numbers for those letters and wha-la! So his message would be like, “Mayor XYZ called with some interesting information, call him back at 1-800-244-8487.” (Go ahead, call the number!)

I Love You, Come Meet Me

By far the most vicious prank I pulled was while I was in college. The interweb machine thingy was still somewhat new to college campuses and chat rooms were all the rage in the late 90s. I found a buddy of mine’s chat room “handle,” and decided to mess with him by creating a female name and going after him for some hardcore loving. The boy immediately got hooked to this mistress of sexiness I created. The entire dorm hallway knew about it and would pack my room for days as I’d chat with the boy for hours at a time. Finally, a sense of remorse came over me and I decided to end it by asking if he wanted to meet me in person. When he said “yes,” I said, “then come on down to room G18 in your dorm and I’ll be waiting.”

Sadly, the boy knew he’d been had, walked downstairs to our hallway, and took the hard pill to swallow of 30+ guys howling and laughing at him. A month later, I got another guy with the same prank. Funny thing is, the guy I got, was in on the prank the first time I did it.

So many good stories and pranks could be told, but I’ll save those for another post, or to share with the boy before he goes off to college. They make life memorable. Besides, everyone should be able to at least tell one story in their lives that involves the phrase, “glitter bitches!”

My New Road

Yesterday I officially became unemployed. My severance ran out, Cobra kicked in, and the wifey and I stood staring at each other holding calculators and shaky, hopeful grins.

Three months ago I was given a choice from my employer – take half the pay immediately and you won’t be guaranteed a job come the end of the fiscal year, or take your full pay and benefits for three months and look for another job. After a weekend of sleepless nights and long discussions, the wifey and I chose the latter.

I’ve had one iron in the fire the whole time—a great job working for an organization that would allow me to rock a newly created position. I’ve worked with, and known, the executive director for a couple years and she is eager to bring me on. The only constraint thus far has been the internal bureaucracy requiring dozens of people to sign off on the job description and another dozen to oversee the posting of the job before it’s awarded to the “qualified candidate.”

Supposedly I’m to start work a week from today.

I’ve changed quite a bit over the past three months. I’ve spent a considerable amount time alone…in my home…on the phone…on the computer….but very little face time with people. I’ve seen my Achilles-heel. I’ve seen it look me dead in the eye with its “sexy come-hither” look. I’ve been angry as shit. I’ve been depressed. I’ve taken it out on my wife, my kids, my friends and family…myself.

I’ve drank too much, felt too sorry, looked for oblivious forces to blame it on such as…karma. I’ve looked back at my life and picked it apart… “what if I didn’t move to Chicago?” “What if I’d taken that job in North Carolina..?”

What if…

And at the end of the day, after all that wondering, I’m still here, in Chicago with my family and friends, about to start a new job after ONLY three months. I’m still here…in my life…not my life’s past…but my life now.

Where it is…right now.

And I’m so fortunate. I’m so lucky to be where I am. I’ve met more people than I care to have met who’ve been unemployed so much longer than I was.

Tomorrow I’m meeting with my new boss to talk further about the job and to begin signing paper work. Within a week or two I’ll be employed again, making a paycheck, benefits, and picking up the pieces. We’ll struggle to fill the short gap between paychecks, but we’re fortunate it’s only a short gap and confident it’ll work out.

But there’s still one thing that’s keeping me from fully enjoying the knowledge of this good fortune. It’s that I know I’ve changed. I’m not who I was three months ago. I’m not who I was two years ago. In fact, I have no fucking clue who I am right now. I feel like I’ve lost some type of identity, direction, path, or journey. I’ve lost something that I desperately need to recover.

I’ve always felt that our 30s were such a fickle time. The 20s it’s all about starting the career and finding that love. The 30s are all about, “OK, I’m in the career, I’ve got my love, maybe some kids on the way….” and then it all hits home. Like a cannon to the chest. You have no idea who you are…

I am fortunate. I have a phenomenal wife. I look in my kids’ eyes and I undoubtedly know they adore me. I have a job on the horizon. I am fortunate.

And so that will be my focus. Despite this nagging, empty feeling of self-purpose, I’ll funnel my energy and heart into family and my career.

I’ll do that, but not without ignoring the fact that this journey has absolutely ripped my chest open and given me front row seats to my soul and then handed me the keys along with the responsibility to choose my new road.

My new road…