I do not follow most cultural norms.  i know that my loyal fans can attest to this fact RE: my capitalization fluctuation.  I also say shit I really should (see 2 posts ago) and wear whatever the hell i feel like.

That is why it is so strange that I have always instinctually known to lie when asked one specific question.

That question, always posed by another adult male, is:  "Do you shave all the way down your neck?"

Now, let's be clear.  I totally shave my neck.  I mean, it's like 8 stray hairs.  I don't really see how it is a big deal.  When i did it the first time, i certainly didn't stop and think . . . i am crossing a line i cannot come back from.  I just thought, SHAVING!!!! (I was excited).  My facial hair (minus the "Amish chin-strap") has always been pretty spotty, so I figured that shaving was just the process of chopping down any trees in the forest, wherever they may lie.

But, when the first guy my age asked me, brow askance, if i shaved my neck, I immediately and emphatically replied, "NO!?!"  And make no mistake, that question mark between those exclamation points represents the reproach in my voice in response to the gall of being questioned of committing such a grotesque offense.

Frankly, it wasn't until that second that i gave it any thought at all (see "how we destroy each other's self esteem).  And perhaps, as i haven't been asked this recently, the meterosexual craze that shaved the nation reduced the abhorrent nature of the practice itself.  But somehow, admit all my norm-breaking, the animal nature of preserving my continued (non-ridiculed) survival has always known to just say no to neck shaving.

I'm glad i told you all about this.  i really feel better now.

I have been married for well over 3 months now, and I have therefore totally got this marriage thing nailed down.

And while that last statement is almost complete and utter bullshit, i will say that the living is fairly  easy for newlyweds.  I mean, people don't even really take your marriage seriously yet.  Conversations with strangers concerning my recent nuptials invariably go like this.  every time.

Stranger: Oh, you're married . . .  how long have you been married for?
Me:  A little over 3 months now.

Stranger: (Voice octave increases to "talking to a newborn or puppy" level) OH!!! A newlywed!!!!!
Me: (no vocal change).  Yup.
Stranger: (As if still playing with said imaginary puppy).  Well now, (condescension creeping in) you must still be enjoying yourselves. Honeymoon? Kids soon?  Favorite position?

It gets progressively more personal and inappropriate.  The underlying message, however, remains the same.  And that is this:

If you have only been married for a short while, nobody respects that union yet, because *anyone* can stay together that long.  Even them.  And therefore, most people don't see any accomplishment connected to the experience of being married for a short while.  Getting married = accomplishment.  Staying married for awhile = accomplishment.   But that middle period is considered a gimme.

This, of course, totally misses the point of marriage.  The goal is not to survive each other, but rather to enjoy life more as the result of finding someone to share it with.

With a little over 8 months to go til my first anniversary, the wife and i have only one real issue threatening our domestic bliss.  And that issue revolves completely around the chocolate mint wedding cake currently occupying over a quarter of our freezer space.

This cake filling my freezer, as i'm sure all of my female readers immediately knew, is the top portion of our wedding cake.  A wedding cake we purchased about a mile and a half from our house.   The style and flavor of our wedding cake was picked specifically because it reflected one of their signature cakes (which we get on our birthdays).   A cake that we picked because , you can buy a comparable (*cough cough* identical *cough cough*) cake at your convenience during normal business hours--anytime.

But alas, we have a 3 month old version of said deliciousness freezer-burning away its time in our house for the next 8 months.

I don't get this particular wedding tradition.  To be specific, i'm speaking of the tradition of keeping the top layer of one's wedding cake for consumption upon the one year anniversary of marriage.

Mmmmmmmmm . . . nothing says loving like the stale sugar memories of ancient frosting and a 45% chance of love related food-poisoning.

My brother dodged this particular wedding bullet because his friends went late night skinny dipping post wedding, and craved more sustenance after pulling themselves out of the icy atlantic.  I was in full support (minus a broken back and walking cane) of the absolute demolition of their cake top in the name of drunken love hunger.   I would say that the cake was gone before the last person out of the ocean was dry.

and all i can think of now is the amount of freezer space that was saved in that one beautiful moment.

back to me.

That cake is a nuisance. SO much so that my sneaky sneak of a wife has already wondered aloud if i keep eating the freezer cake and replacing it with new ones from the store.  She would really have no way of knowing.  Til next May, when she bites into a defrosted cake that doesn't taste remarkably awful.  Then she'd suspect.  I would probably tell some yarn about how our love is a preservative that time cannot penetrate.  Then she'd give me the "youreawfulsweetandawefullyfullofshit" look (a classic), and i would fess up.

But more to the point.  Isn't this the stupidest tradition of all time.  I mean, how is this romantic.  or remotely connected to romantic.  Spoiling food is not a joke.  (unless you put some green bread under a friends pillow--then it is a joke).  And all food preserving decisions this year now revolve around this f'n wedding cake.

ME: "Should we freeze the yummy leftover soup so that we have it for the fall?"

WIFE: "wellllllllll, we could freeze a little bit of it . . . but we will have to make room for it around the cake."

F THE CAKE!

I guess i just fail to see the bonding element of sharing old cake - even a cake that unarguably comes from an amazing occasion.  And, since i married a woman who hates clutter, it seems odd to me that she has taken such a firm and unwavering stance regarding that cake staying put (the point has been made extremely clear.)  Maybe the bonding element (besides the frosting) comes from a couple negotiating having a crammed and cramped full freezer for a full year together.

Anyway you slice it (CAKE PUN!), what you have here is marital discord.  Perhaps my wife is bound by tradition over and about rational and health related thought.
Perhaps I, in my dismissiveness of this "milestone",  fall victim to a tiny bit of my own "anyone can stay married a year" (not true btw) bias.

This is our current marital dilemma.  Wife says, "No way José!"

I say, "let them eat cake."

I know this is a good story because of the amount of equivocating that i have to do before telling it.

I don't hate German people.  At all.  My wife speaks german fluently, and while it does scare me a little bit (in my ancestral spleen), i harbor no ill will or resentment to the country in general.  Oh, i'm jewish.  if you didn't know that.  it seems relevant.  i identify with said Judaism enough that i went on a summer teen tour that visited a number of concentration camps before heading to los holy land.

I do, for the record, harbor some ill will about the Holocaust.  NOT toward any individual German person, but towards "the country".  (I heart angela merkel for the record.)  The way i deal with this ill will is by rooting against German national sports teams.  The world cup.  The olympics.  I root against Germany.  I do.  I openly admit it.  I feel it fair and it really doesn't hurt anyone.

German people, however, i tend to love.  I have had german coworkers, friends, and colleagues.  Lovely.  The lot of them.  No problems ever.

(I hope you are getting a sense of how good the upcoming story is going to be)

Second equivocation.  Some things are both totally inappropriate and simultaneously incredibly and unarguably hilarious.  Many things actually.  To think that one precludes the other is to have never seen the Louis CK show on TV or heard Carlin at his best.  The trick of it is half content, half delivery and tone.  For example, Daniel Tosh works the inappropriate funny pretty hard, but his dickishness often makes people hate him for it, where as Gilbert Godfrey spouts some of the filthiest most offense funny foulness, and its amazeballs and joyous the whole time.

Because this story also explores this fun line, and i have very little control over delivery and tone via typey-type, im hoping you can just sit back and enjoy the show.  Which i swear actually happened.  There are witnesses.  Here goes:

I am working upstairs behind the bar.  It's the first Thursday in our happy Valley with all of the students back in town.  We are getting slammed.  In addition to the influx of undergraduates, there are at least three birthday parties taking place along with a large group of foreign exchange students.  Now, even in a packed and frenetic bar, bartenders communicate quite a bit with each other.  It should go without saying that when an entire group of people are not tipping, that kind of info travels faster than most.  The exchange students were the non-tippers.  And as non-tippers go, foreigners are not that bad.  If someones gonna stiff me, I'd rather be able to explain it as a cultural difference rather than regular ol college dickishness.

So life went on.  Drinks were drunk.  Time ticked.  And before we knew it (ok, we knew it, we were getting tired), it was 12:30am.  Not last call, but close.

And then one of the German student exchange students, a skinny tall blonde-haired fair-skinned gem, a little drunk and in full celebration mode, sauntered up to my bar.

(It is hard to write in a german accent, fyi):

Hans: "I'll have two VictOry Pilzssnahhs" (victory pilsner)
Me: No problem.

As I open the tap to pour the pilsners, the keg kicked, and when it did, it shot its foam spittle across my front.  It happens.  It sucks, but it happens.  I brushed the foam off, brushed the experience of being coated in foam off, and returned to the german to see what else he might like to drink.

Me: Is there anything else you might like?
Hans: mmm . . . ill have two Purple Hazes.

(quick tangent.  i was surprised to hear the german go for the fruit infused beer (raspberry).  There is nothing wrong with fruited beer, but generally speaking the beer connoisseur tends to shy away from those particular concoctions.  I thought this selection was strange particularly in light of his next statement.

Hans: "What happened to the Pilzssnahhs?"

Now, he knew what happened to said pilzsnahhs.  He watched that shit pop all over me, and I couldn't understand what the hell he was getting at, at first, so I replied as if it wasn't an asinine question.  which it was.

Me:  The keg kicked . . . we're out.

Hans: "In Geeermany we ah nevah ouwt of beer!"

Me: (immediate response): "But what about all those Jews!"

Hans: *stunned silence*

I walked away to grab his raspberry beers.

--------
I'm not saying that i was in the right here.  nor am I saying that my reply was appropriate.  But, holy shit, was it funny.  Fat man in a little coat funny.  Ferrell doing Bush funny.  It was the funpocolypse. Somewhere between the exhaustion, lack of tipping, and telling this Jew of Germany's superiority just snapped me.  In truth, my wit is faster than my ability to censor, and on some level, even though it came out of my mouth, we all heard it out loud for the first time together.   We included the bar back, Liz, who was left in that space washing dishes as I retreated for beer retrieval.

Here is how I described the situation Liz was left in.  I walked in and took a huge verbal diarrhea all over the bar between them.   When I retreated, Liz stood there in the position of now trying to convince said German customer (with her eyes mostly) that it wasn't THAT big a dump.  But it was.  and we all knew it.  So, in form, Liz went with the "well maybe you should tip then" look.  Great call.

Only one other customer got caught in this amazing WWII cross-fire, and i knew her, so Hans, feeling shocked, put in his place, and flailing for some sense of what the hell just happened to his world, was left with no outlet for commiseration.  And what can you say back to that anyway?  What is the comeback to that comeback?

I do feel a teeny weensy bit bad about the whole scenario.  Next time he's in, the raspberry beers on me.

 And now, puppy poses of the week (last night actually):

The Mastercard

The Siamese Twin