The Unemployment Chronicles: Hi, my name is Frank and I am a Soccer Mom

If you have followed the trials and tribulations of my seemingly endless job search via C.I.B.F.’s The Unemployment Chronicles series then you have a clear understanding of the insane journey I have undergone since leaving the full time work world.

In this ‘spare time’, I have experimented with several childish and, at times, outright moronic activities. From drinking morning Bloody Mary’s and taking bubble baths to growing mustaches and buying Cadillacs.

In this break from reality, I have mastered a plethora of useless skills. The daytime TV schedule; memorized from Ellen to Oprah. When my Sunday paper arrives I now can quickly sift through the circulars and identify the ultimate deal on hot dogs, cereal and detergent.

As far as the whole “stay at home Dad” role I have been forced to take on? Well, let’s just say I can now teach a PhD level course at flippin Hahhh-vid!

I am the league MVP at making kids lunches.

The F. Lee Bailey of settling child disputes.

Drop offs and pick ups you ask? I drive blindfolded.

In the high stakes game of little girls’ hair styles - ponytails, pigtails, braids and barrettes - I am the long lost savant son of Paul Mitchell and Vidal Sassoon

Kids parties and playdates? Chuck Norris drives ME there.

And even after conquering all of these challenges listed above, I still had the time to work on projects, job hunt and, of course, write this nationally recognized blog each week.

That is…until a couple weeks back.

I am have come to the debilitating reality that, as Alice Cooper so brilliantly shouted, SCHOOL’S OUT FOR SUMMER, and my self-proclaimed mastery of this household has reached a critical crossroads. Just when I thought I could match up against the likes of Carol Brady, June Cleaver and ALL 3 men (Selleck, Danson and the other guy) from 3 Men and a Baby ….summer is here and I am back to square one.

Allow me to elaborate…

Monday, 6:00AM:
The household awakens. My wife gets ready, administers a few chores for me to manage during the day and heads off to her meaningful professional life. I lay in bed until the last possible second when these 3 cherubs of mine force me to get upright and get moving because today marked the true beginning of summer life at home!

One of them is in summer school, one in soccer camp and one in some reading program (Really? Reading Camp? Must take after the mother because I remember taking special pride in my ability to forget how to read during the summer hiatus)

I drop all of them off before 9:00AM. But, unlike school, these activities only last 2-3 hours, so instead of attempting to do something productive with my day, I am now forced to run around and deal with mundane tasks such as the bank, the food store, the post office and then hurry back for picks up. Did I mention it is also 95 degrees?!?! In a blink of an eye they are all back in my possession and it is only NOON!

To make matters more difficult, my wife has ramped up her professional commitments and is working MORE hours as a dedicated hospital nurse.

While I am very thankful for her willingness to do anything it takes to help the family, I am officially jealous.

Her day was spent assisting mothers and their newborn babies; my day was centered on Spray N Washing a pair of Size 5 capri pants covered in grape popsicle.

She was applauded in a newspaper article for her incredible efforts (yes, she really was); I was thanked by some pimple-faced high school kid for remembering to put sunscreen on my child.

It is just too depressing for words (well, I guess it isn’t because I am sitting here typing in this heat which I am now convinced is the seventh circle of hell).

OK, I need to stop. Guess I will go run through the sprinkler before my afternoon cry.

A Lie-fe Lesson

(As a pre-cursor to this post, please note that I am not advocating nor condoning the act of lying. What I am suggesting is that a certain level of “politeness” needs to be maintained in order for our society to function as a whole. Read on.)


According to the great short-cut-creators for the diction deficient, Wikipedia, a lie is defined as follows…

A lie (also called prevarication, falsehood) is a type of deception in the form of an untruthful statement, especially with the intention to deceive others

We all know what a lie is. And whether you are lying about how fast you were driving or the location of the missing body in question, lying, in my experience, will eventually catch up to you. When it does, there is always a price to pay…be it the disappointed look from a parent as you enter a ‘time out’ or the desolate stare from your new cellmate, Bubba, as you enter Alcatraz.

In the incredibly below average film, “The Invention of Lying” (filmed in – cue the Bruce Springsteen background music – my hometown of Lowell, MA) they glimpse into a society where lies do not exist. While the movie was a flop, the lesson is clear; a world with total and complete honesty is dysfunctional.

Nonetheless, most people would agree that lying is a ‘bad thing’, but I contend that without some presence of lies in our everyday life, we would not be able to maintain any of our relationships; with family, friends, co-workers …and so on.

“White lies” are usually told in situations that have no serious bearings or consequences. White lies are the things we say just to keep the day moving and avoid unnecessary conflict. White lies work. White lies are good (or was that ‘Greed’? Have to double check with my moral compass, Gordon Gecko.)

Now before I have to fight off the attacks from all of you God-fearing-Bible-quoting purists, let me explain. How many times in a typical day are we “forced” to tell a white lie? Think about it.

Some examples…

“Hey Steve, so sorry I am late for the meeting…but the traffic was just…”
(Right…and by “traffic” do you mean “hangover”?)

“Julie, I love your sweater! So flattering on you.”
(You excitedly state to your boss as she waddles down the hall wearing something that was spawn from the closet of Bill Cosby & Thornton Mellon's Tall and Fat Collection)

“Oh my goodness, your baby is gorgeous!”
(What you really mean is, ‘Where did you find Shrek the 5th? At the orphanage in a Leper colony?) [that one is for the lovely ladies in the LGH MIU]


Just the tip of the lie-ceberg…


“Honey that was a delicious dinner. I’d love some more but I am totally stuffed”
(After being served Central American prison gruel from her cookbook of horror)

“Boy, Bill, young Billy is sure turning out to be one heck of a little ball player,”
(Moments after his kid dropped 3 fly balls and struck out looking 4 times to cost his team the game. Hey Billy, you stink, pal.)

“Ahh, kids, thanks for this beautiful Cat in Hat, glow in the dark bow tie! I will wear this to work tomorrow”
(Sure I will. Sorry kids, truth hurts)

And that is the point. Certain truths will only cause pain and, at the very least, insult the people on the receiving end.

Just last week I forgot to give my wife an important phone message. When asked about it a few days later, I informed her that I did, in fact, tell her about it (when I knew right well I did not). After all, that is just going to cause ME pain and suffering. (Whew, I am so glad she does not read this blog!) Alright, that specific logic may be a little off point, but you know what I mean?

In closing, I am not endorsing anyone taking the stand as a character witness in the Night Strangler trial, but I am preaching that a healthy amount of teensy-weensy-half-truths will surely result in a more happy and harmonious existence.

Just remember, you can’t spell LIFE without L-I-E.

Isn’t that right, Dr. Drew?

Phrank the Phantom

In the first summer edition of C.I.B.F.; it’s restaurant review week!

Specifically we are talking about customer service. Can it ever be too good? Seems like a stupid question. Who among us does not like a pleasant experience with the nice people who serve us our meals? Oftentimes, great customer service is what builds reputations and ensures loyalty. Right?

Well, if there is such a phenomenon as customer service that was too good, I just experienced it.

Last week, my wife and I were out for our Anniversary/Father’s Day/Bruins-Winning-the-Stanley Cup dinner. We made reservations at an incredible new steakhouse we had never been to before, which I will not name. (but if you really want to know, I’ll tell you!).

The atmosphere was incredible. The food was amazing. The service, however, was simply too good…or more specific too much. Too many greetings. Too many people checking in every 8 seconds. Too many waiters serving us. It was customer service overload.

The following is an actual reenactment of our dining experience (I may be exaggerating a little…but this is really close.)

Enter the establishment. Immediately, we are greeted with Fenway Park-like applause and cheers from the entire staff. I may have even heard a “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ in the mix, but it was too loud to tell. Finally, when the excitement died down we were airlifted like Ali Baba on a magic carpet and carried to our table by four giant men wearing togas (insert ‘Animal House’ line of your choice here). Upon arrival, we are delicately placed into robes and gently placed down onto our gold plated velvet chairs.

We were not asked if we wanted water. These people poured it into our mouths for us.

We did not receive a cocktail menu. Instead Tom Cruise and ‘the other guy’ jumped over the bar to concoct custom martinis tailored specifically for us based on a background check and an extensive family history.

Before we could take a deep breath and attempt to read the menu, we had 3 different cows standing tableside for our choosing.

What the hizzy is going on here?

Maybe I will take a look at the wine list? OH NO! Look out, here comes Kendall Jackson and the Cabernet 5 racing to our disposal with a vat of fresh grapes ready to stomp like that ‘I Love Lucy’ episode.

Jeez.

At this point, we are starting to sweat. This is just way too much pressure for a supposed relaxing dinner for two.

Not only was the service frantic, but the pace was unbelievable. Correct me if I am wrong but when you typically sit down for a nice meal at a high end restaurant you expect to take your time? No? Start with a drink, ease into an appetizer, slowly moving on to the main course and capped off with a dessert or coffee. Not here at Senor Speedy’s. No, no. We were in and out in less that one hour. It was like an episode of Man vs. Food. We felt like we were being timed.

Before I even took my final beat-the-clock-bite of steak, one of the 82 people serving us was abruptly cleaning up the table. The fork in my hand was replaced by a pen to sign the check that magically appeared sometime around salad.

Whew! It was intense.

After a few days to ponder this event, I have come up with some rules of thumb to offer my new friends at the Hurryup Café:

 Most people actually enjoy chewing their own food; I promise you.
 It is most common to request a credit card AFTER the meal is served.
 While foot massages are nice, not necessary during dinner.
 Allow your guests maybe like 5 or even 10 seconds between the crabcake and the chocolate cake
 Lastly, do not stare at your guests with a forced, frightened, pained smile throughout the meal. It really does wreck the appetite

Food for thought. (Ha, ha…get it? It’s a play on wor…uhg…sorry)

Warm Regards,
Phrank (a.k.a. The Phantom Gourmet)
(no, not really…or maybe I am?)