Adam J. Choit

With more and more friends getting engaged/married, I’m much more likely to write about all that stuff.  That’s one of the advantages about blogging about whatever the hell I want.  As I get older, perhaps the topics of what I talk about might expand.  Don’t worry though, despite the potentially more mature subject matter, I don’t plan on taking on a less juvenile tone and point of view.

So while it might be somewhat old-school for a guy to get his girlfriend’s dad’s blessing before proposing, I don’t believe it’s essential.  In fact, and in many cases, it’s more of a formality than anything.  It’s a nice gesture on the guy’s part.  It’s not like if dad says “no,” then the guy will alter his plans to propose.  In fact, going against the girl’s dad’s wishes probably makes the whole thing more forbidden/romantic/etc.

But what about mom?  How come you don’t hear much about guys getting the girl’s mom’s blessing before proposing?  Does mom not count as much?  Such sexism.  Societal sexism!

It’s so ingrained in our culture and society to respect and obey your parents.  10 Commandment-type stuff is what I’m referring to.  But what if your parents (either mom, dad, or both) are assholes?  Being assholes doesn’t necessarily mean they are criminals, abusive, or are vile human beings — it could just mean that they’re neglectful and/or unloving parents.

Whatever the reason you think you’re mom or dad is an asshole, you may in fact be right on the money with your assessment.

Parents are people too, and unfortunately often very flawed ones.  I think kids often grow up feeling obligated to love their parents, and continue to do so into adulthood.  All I’m saying is that there is no right or wrong here, and if you feel that it’s the right thing to do to cut your parents out of your life entirely, I have no problem supporting that.

In today’s landscape of American life, the whole idea of what family means has in many ways been redefined.   As long as a person is both giving and receiving love in his/her life, it doesn’t matter if parents are part of that.

If you’re a male between the ages of 22-35, smoke a lot of weed, work 20 hours or less per week, and live at home with your mom, you’re probably going to be viewed by society as a slacker.

“I bet you still live in your mom’s basement” — is a popular phrase we hear when referring to guys like this.

But what about in California, land of earthquakes?  Most homes out here don’t/can’t even have basements because of the nature of the land.  In fact, I don’t even think many homes out here have attics either.

Where do these slackers live then?  In their childhood bedrooms, I guess.

Anyway, if you fit this description of the type of guy I’ve described, don’t take any shit from those giving you a hard time about your lifestyle.

You look them straight the eye, and proclaim, “Fuck off.  I have my own room!”

Growing up I did have some white sneakers, but more often than not my sneakers had logos/designs on them.  What I’m saying is that I’ve never really owned pure white sneakers.

My mom always told me, “White sneakers never stay clean.”   Other times she was more straight forward, “You are a slob and you’ll never take care of them.”

Well, before Halloween 2009, I decided to dress as Jerry Seinfeld (which was a costume that received mixed reviews).

Part of the outfit is wearing white sneakers, which I purchased particularly for Halloween.  Since Halloween, I’ve worked these sneakers into my regular rotation of footwear (I own more pieces of footwear than most women….ok I don’t)

The point is this —- I’ve managed to keep these sneakers in pretty damn good shape through regular shining-ups.

Don’t ever doubt me again Mom!

What I was wondering — is after a baby is born, how quickly have both of the biological parents then died?

I suppose if the mother dies, and the baby is rescued, that would get rid of one parent right off the bat.  Perhaps if the father is in the delivery room witnessing all this, he might feel woozy, have a heart attack and die too.

Or maybe the dad gets into a car accident and dies on the way to hospital.  That might be the quickest possible route to orphanship.

Especially these days, affordable medical insurance can be tough to come by.  For me, I try to avoid doctor visits unless I absolutely have to go.  If a problem can be diagnosed and solved without getting a doctor involved, I’m all for it.

Usually this means asking my mom, the Internet, or complete strangers on the street for their input on personal ailments.  I’ve found that the CVS pharmacist is also another good source of free medical information and advice.  I’ve asked this woman for her two cents on several occasions now.

However, it’s a little unnerving to talk to her, and reveal very personal things about my body to her.  In addition, any CVS customers within an earshot also can become privy to things about me that should be confidential (FYI, I’m perfectly healthy so don’t worry).

Nevertheless, I’d still prefer to talk a pharmacist, than drive to the doctor, wait for 3 hours amongst gross people, and pay money — only to find out I have a minor case of raging diarrhea that I can really only basically cure by drinking lots of water, taking Imodium, and by “waiting it out.”

Since your mom has such an ugly face, and I’m a Beatles fan, what song should I listen to while I’m having sex with her?

“Paperbag Rider”

Me and good friend Bozzz will often “IM” each other song lyrics to the song we might be currently listening to as we chat online.  Not sure why, I guess it’s a way of singing/typing along to the music.  Somehow this can deviate into perversion.

ME:  PAPA WUZZA ROLLING STONE

BOZZZ:  WHEREVER HE LAID HIS HAT WAS HIS HOME

BOZZZ:  I laid ur mom in my home.

ME:  I fucked ur mom in my home without a jimmy hat.

BOZZZ: I had sexual intercourse with your mother inside your father

ME:  I had sexual intercourse with ur mom and stuck both my left and right fists up her anus simultaneously

BOZZZ:  I had sexual intercourse with your mom and was so far inside her my penis came out of her mouth and then went into your sister

ME:  I had my penis so far up ur mom’s ass that it came out her vagina so she blew me too

BOZZZ:  I LOVE US

ME:  Me too.

Over the weekend my mom told me a story how she recently went into Vincent Bruce, a hair salon type place back on Long Island.  I’m telling you, she hadn’t been in there in literally 15+ years, and the same goes for me.

Seconds upon entry, the woman at the counter goes, “Hey, you look familiar. Do you have a son?”  My mom says, “Yes.”  The lady responds, “I think I remember him. He was on crutches and had really thick hair.”

Yup, I was recovering from foot surgery back in 5th grade (1991), and it’s true my Jewfro’s thickness is legendary.  I guess I don’t really have a point, other than noting that 17+ years later, and despite living 2800+ miles from Deer Park Avenue, my hair still has a reputation and is widely talked about.

The other day she upgraded her cell, and apparently has decided to start texting more now.  For some reason, this intensely frightens me.  It’s clear that the novelty of texting for my mom is not even close to wearing off.   This is what she sent me yesterday:

“You’re the best!What’s up?Whatcha doing?What do you think?”

I’m not sure that a single thing in there makes any sense.  What do I think about what?

My mom needs to adopt a 14 year old girl to help her out with her newfound technological endeavor.