I Love New Yorkers

Today my daughters requested that I notify them prior to entering the basement when they are playing dolls.  I narrowed my eyes at them.  I know exactly what this means... their Barbies are now sexually active.  Because we were poor growing up, my family could not afford to purchase an actual “Ken” doll.  My Barbie was forced to have sex with one of my brother’s G.I. Joe’s.  I just pretended she had really low self-esteem and was willing to settle for a short guy.  I proudly informed Mike our children were meeting their developmental milestones.

Moving on to the skinny of the week...We recently took a trip to see New York.  I made the profound observation that if you live anywhere else, you are most likely a giant pussy.  We got off the plane and Mike had arranged for a car to take us to our hotel.  Our driver was a hardcore, Italian, mob boss, New Yorker.  The kids and I climbed into the back of his black, pimped-out Escalade.  Mike sat up front so he and the driver could sing the song of their people.  

I listened as our driver pointed out various parts of the city (like the cemetery where his dad, John Gotti, was buried) and told us all about “the blacks” “the wops” “the jews” “the mexicans” and “the muslims” in a thick New York accent.  I turned to the kids and whispered, “Do NOT ever use the word ‘the’ before you reference any race or ethnic group of people.”  I paused, “Actually, just don’t ever reference any race or ethnic group period.”  They solemnly nodded.

I then watched in sheer horror as the car in front of us hit a bicyclist.  The guy stood up, dusted himself off and yelled, “FUCK YOU!” to the driver of the car.  The driver yelled back, “FUCK YOU!” and drove off.  I was like, “Oh My God.  We need to call the police!  We witnessed an accident!”  Our driver said, “Why?  Who caaaares, he’s nah dead.”  I sat there in stunned silence.

After a week, the kids are I were jaywalking, hailing cabs and not using the pointless terms of “please” or “thank you.”  Annnnnnd this brings me back to why you might be a pussy...Since I have been home, I have heard six different people threaten to “contact their attorney” or “pursue this matter in court” because they didn’t get enough caramel on their frappacino or their ex-husband cut the children’s hotdogs “incorrectly” during his parenting time wah, wah, wah.

I should have been an attorney.  I would love to capitalize on hearing stupid shit and then writing letters about it.  People will literally pay someone $400 an hour to validate their feelings of victimization.  Lawyers-High Five.  

Now here is how I look at it:  We maaaaybe have a hundred years on this planet if we are super unlucky or not a cyclist in New York.  I personally, choose not to waste one single second of my life.  Go fall in love with yourselves, create some greatness, laugh at a few inappropriate jokes and have some FUUUUUUUUN.    

*Love to everyone, especially that bicyclist.  Fuck dude, it is seriously too bad you live in New York.  That would have been a lawsuit fo sho.  XO