Living Proof

As you probably already know, I grew up in an Italian household. Mom had three girls, and then seven years later, she had an “oops”... me . I didn’t mind. It was like having four mothers and one large man who always protected us. I remember I was about three years old lying in my parents’ bed and Dad was busting my chops and teasing me, so I looked over at my mom and said, “Why did you give birth to him?” I just thought Mom was like some “god” who produced all these different people who were living with us. Even back as a kid, I remember Dad being so hard of hearing, or perhaps he just had selective hearing. We’d ask a question and he would botch it up like autocorrect on an iPhone. Me: “Dad, where’s the fly swatter?” Dad: “What? Ya want a glass of ice water?” Me: “Hey Dad! I brought home some quesadillas for you!” Dad: “What? A case of beer?” It always seemed like a challenge trying to get something across, especially if you were in the other room, which was maddening. He was a...

Lately, I’ve come across something I haven’t in a long time. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been single or dating, or perhaps I just didn’t ‘see’ it or acknowledge the desperate attempts to get me to play the game: the chase. Women are fickle, be it in friendships or in relationships. I know there are women reading this right now that say, “Oh I don’t play that game,” yada yada yada -- and you may be the 1% that doesn’t, however, I have seen this all too often enough to generalize it into a female characteristic. And let me explain... In my ~own~ experience and point of view, there are two types of these women. The first one, we’ll call her Wanda (like that?) -- she’s the type that wants to know where she fits in. In fact, she’ll even ask you, “Where do I fit in?” And of course all of this has everything to do with insecurity issues. She wants to know ‘where she stands’ and to what level of friendship is she considered. It’s not so much as a desperate need for attention or playing game...

The world of technology has wreaked havoc on my poor parents. They’ve gone from rotary telephones, to cordless phones, touch dial with an answering machine attached. Voice mail would be another challenge to tackle and we’re just not there yet. On a previous post, I’ve mentioned how my mother would call me up and ask if I could bring her my “blacktop”. “ What ma?” “Bring the blacktop over.” “What do you mean?” “I need to look up a certain product for the pool and none of the stores have it.” “Oh, you mean my laptop!” Fine. I bring over my laptop and she makes this comment that I shouldn’t meet people on that “intercom”. “The what?” “Don’t you be meeting people on that intercom!” “You mean, the internet, ma?” “Yeah, whatever it is.” When I used to work for a telecommunications company in their call center, I remember senior citizens calling in, asking for technical help with getting onto the internet. “Well, my son just bought me this thing here that goes on my computer and I don’t know ...