Resolutions Are Like Old Lady Hips. Made To Be Broken...

It's 10:23pm on Wednesday night. The night before the last day of the year. 2009 seems to be ending the same way it started. I'm laying in bed, in my flannel, feety pajamas. I'm in pain. My abs are sore from doing P90X. It's not working. I feel uncomfortably overweight and I'm regretting the obscene amounts of BBQ I inhaled at supper time.

I will probably take a pain killer in a few minutes but not before I'm at least half way through this post; For I know it will be a race against time. This is a race I always lose. I will be unconscious shortly after. Unconscious is a good thing when you can't straighten your body. I have the posture of a giant prawn.

If I had to fight Estelle Getty in a cage match, I would lose miserably. I don't care if she's dead. It doesn't matter. I suck.

At this time last year, I posted: New Years Resolutions Are Stupid. I'm not going to get into it but suffice it to say, I botched just about every one of them. Isn't that what always happens to resolutions? We tend to make them for the wrong reasons, at our most vulnerable of moments. We put unrealistic expectations on ourselves. We never even give ourselves a fighting chance to succeed.

This year I promised myself that I would keep it simple and on the level. I will not place any unnecessary pressure on myself. What's most important this year is to be better, stay healthy and move forward.

I can throw some funny ass bullshit at you like last year, about fictitious resolutions that never get resolved. I could tell you that I resolve to create my own language, like in Avatar or that I'm gonna shave my pubes regularly but that's not being honest with you. I could also tell you how I am committed to vasectomizing myself this year, for the good of the planet and my wife's vagina. Except, I am too much of a pussy to go through with the procedure. I was thinking about resolving myself to learning braille, so that I could offer this blog to those who are living without the gift of sight. But that is just stupid talking. Shut up dickhead. You're too lazy and that's not funny.

Fuck all that shit.

I know what I need to do.

This summer, I got some new ink. It's a personal credo or a mantra of sorts. I put it on my arm so I wouldn't forget how important the words are. They have significance to me. It's really quite simple but I've always had trouble sticking to it.

WARNING! HOT SEXY JEW GUNS PICTURED BELOW.























Have Strength. Speak Truth. Give Love.

I figure that if I can do all three of these things, even just a little bit better this year, I will be a better man. I don't need to make a resolution this year. It will only get broken. What I need, is etched in my skin. A permanent reminder.

All I need to do this year is look in the mirror.

It's not a lot to ask of oneself.

Just be better.

Being Out-Numbered isn't so bad...

Oh and Happy New Year Peeps! I love you all.

While you're here, you might as well go check out my last Mamapop post of the year. Just click on the link below. It's like the cherry on top of your sundae.

Rumors Of Vision Quest Remake Are Giving Me Diarrhea.

The Power Of Ham...

"It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air."
- W.T. Ellis

"Cook a Glazed Ham on Christmas for a friend and you will never again, walk life's path alone. You also get to eat the ham."
- Out-Numbered

Growing up, most of my close friends were Christians. When I was a kid, that simply meant that I celebrated Hanukkah and they celebrated Christmas. It was pretty simple. As a young child, I clearly remember being jealous of my friends come Christmas time.

There was no great logic behind it. It really had nothing to do with religion. None of my friends went to Church. I don't even think they went to Sunday School.

It was the power of Christmas.

It was the smell of the Christmas Tree.

It was the heat from the lights. The fabulous colors. The sheen off of the tinsel.

It was the music that filled the air; Right down to the subtle skip of the needle tracing across the vinyl.

It was a cozy fire, crackling on Christmas Eve and the anticipation of Christmas morning.

I remember how badly I longed for a red stocking of my own, with Jason written in script along the top.

But it wasn't meant to be.

I would sit at home and open my presents on Hanukkah or Chanukah or Hanukah or Hannukah or Chanuka or Chanukkah or Hanuka or Xanuka. WTF? There are at least 16 known ways to spell Channuka. How can anyone feel passion toward a holiday with that many spellings? Kids are smarter than that.

"But Hanukkah has 8 nights! That's 8 nights of presents. Far more lucrative than your Christian counterparts."

I'm not falling for that garbage. It's not the same.

We might have 8 nights but that just means, shittier presents, like mittens and UNO and stupid chocolate money.

It loses it's luster after the first night. It's like seeing the same movie over and over again. With all due respect, Hanukkah ain't no "Breakfast Club".

It's like comparing Atlantic City to Vegas.

They have a Christmas Ham. We have Latkes. How many spellings are there for that abomination?

Apples to Oranges.

Latkes to Ham.

Bah! Humbug!

About 13 years ago, all of this changed.

One of my Wife's best friends had started seeing a new guy. His name was Mike. We all liked him immediately. He was the kind of dude that could walk into a room and make you feel at ease. He was funny. He liked sports and he was Catholic.

One night when we were hanging out, we found ourselves talking about family. The holidays were fast approaching and he had mentioned to me that his family lived out of state. I asked him what he did on Christmas day. He said it had become too much to travel. We talked about how much he missed spending Christmas with his family and all the great things that came with it.

At that moment, it dawned on me.

Me - "Why don't we do Christmas day at my place?"

Mike - "You're Jewish."

Me - "So What?"

Mike - "You don't have to do that."

Me - "No. I want to. I'll even bake you a Ham."

Mike - "Seriously?"

Me - "With all the trimmings."

And so it began...

We did in fact have Christmas day at our place that year. About 12 people joined us. All of them Jewish. Except for Mikey. But he didn't care.

I even baked him a Ham.

Over a decade has passed since my first Christmas day at our home and the tradition has continued to thrive. At times, we've had upwards of 50 people join us.

It has nothing to do with religion. But it has everything to do with love, tradition and most importantly, friendship.

All those years ago, I wanted to make sure that a friend was able to spend Christmas with family.

In the end, I never did get a tree or even a Jason stocking for that matter but I did figure out what made the holidays so special. Ironically it had nothing to do with the Ham.


















Or did it?

Over the holidays, I hope you were all Out-Numbered by Peace, Love and Ham...

A Very "Special" Out-Numbered Christmas...

In the joyous spirit of the Holidays, my family and I have prepared a very special Out-Numbered Christmas Carol. We hope you enjoy viewing it, as much as we enjoyed making it. And we enjoyed it alright...



From our Out-Numbered family to yours...

Happy Holidays!!!

Continuing on in the Holiday spirit of things, check out my New Years Post at Mamapop. Just click on the link below...

2009 Was Ass-tastic!

Babies Got Back...

'Tis the season of the holiday party.

Ho fucking Ho.

About 5 weeks ago, I promised myself that I wouldn't drink for 100 days.

Don't ask.

All I'm going to say, is it had something to do with a white pashmina scarf, a bar named The Cock and some vomit.

Nothing to see here.

Needless to say, the cheer in my holiday has been a bit, well, cheerless.

I don't think I've been dry at a party since my 8th birthday.

Don't get me wrong. I love people and I love parties but making conversation with drunk people when you're sober, is an art form. It's not dissimilar to engaging in conversation with your fat, annoying Aunt that smells like spit at your Bar-Mitzvah or having a catch with your retarded cousin. It's not impossible but you need to focus.

Alcohol is to a party like Auto Pilot is to an airplane. You don't have to pay attention after you hand over the controls. You just coast on through.

Last week I had three Holiday parties to attend. I didn't exactly have a game plan, or any game for that matter but I figured I'd give it a shot.

I banged out two of them back to back during the week. I'll be honest, I didn't miss the alcohol at all. As a matter of fact, I had a very nice time. I was coherent. I didn't hug anyone I wasn't supposed to and I actually got home when I said I would.

Go figure.

Ironically, the only part of my prohibition that might prove to be difficult for me, is the consumption of non-alcoholic beverages. I must have drank a liter of diet Coke, 5 or 10 Orange Juices (straight up) and a shit load of Club Soda. God that stuff is horrible. It's like drinking carbonated saline solution. I probably pissed a bucket each night. Oh and do me a favor. Keep your dirty lemons and limes out of my soda. I don't want your H1N1 in my drink. Thank you very much.

The third party was the one that had me nervous...

My 3 year old's, Pre-School Holiday party.

I don't think there is a parent in the lot that stays sober at those things. It's practically impossible to keep your wits about you. Nervous MILF's chasing after their kids. Toddlers screaming and shitting themselves underneath tables. Dads standing around drinking Coors Light, checking football scores on their Blackberry's. It's like a damn war zone and there's always a truck load of casualties.

I swear to God the DJ played Sir Mix-A-Lot's, "Baby Got Back". Who plays that song at a toddler party?

Excerpt, "Baby Got Back"

I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, wanna pull out your tough
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I wanna get with you
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got makes me so horny.

Takes creepy to a whole new level.

But the good news, is that if I had been drinking, I might have slapped one of my daughter's teachers in the ass.

Not the new Jay.

I only touch my own ass.

In addition to the dancing, my daughter performed in her very first dramatic role. She was cast as the Dreidel in the Holiday show. Kind of a shitty part. She's like the Oliver Platt of Pre-School.
















Doesn't matter.

She nailed it.

And it made me proud. I bet if she knew how many diet Cokes I drank, she'd be proud of me too.

The only thing that's going to Out-Number me during the Holidays, will be diet Cokes and smiles...

Year End Self Reflection...

I promised myself that before the year came to a close, I would take pause and reflect on what has been a grueling but truly gratifying year for me personally. Like everyone else, my family has had to find ways to make do with a bit less this year. My business has successfully weathered what some have considered to be the perfect, economic storm. I am beyond thankful to all of the people that have surrounded me, both personally and professionally. I couldn't ask for a finer group of friends. I consider myself blessed.

When I started this blog a little over a year ago, my intention was to digitally archive the experiences I have with my family. It was to be a personal journal; One that my daughters could look back on, long after I am gone. I couldn't have imagined what an important role it would play in my life. Having a place to spew my thoughts, however random, has been nothing less than liberating. This space has provided me with an avenue of self discovery and an opportunity to grow, both mentally and spiritually. It has made me a better father, a more understanding husband and certainly a more humble person.

What I did not expect, is YOU. I have never felt such a strong connection with so many. I can't tell you what your comments, emails, phone calls and letters mean to me. They give me strength. They keep me honest and they provide inspiration on a daily basis. You have changed my life forever. I am grateful for that. It's hard to explain but one year later, I write this blog for many reasons. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I write a big part of it because of you.

I try to write about the things that matter most in my life. Sometimes I just write about farting and pooping. When I'm not writing about farting and pooping, I often look deep inside myself. I don't always like what I find. I've had a lot more of these moments recently and it makes me realize, that if you don't take the time to really look at yourself, then you can never really move forward.

Albert Einstein once said:

"How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he senses it. But without deeper reflection, one knows from daily life that one exists for other people."

I chose this quote because it was the first one to come up when I googled "Quotes about self reflection". The truth is, I have no idea what it means, nor do I know what "sojourn" means. So I googled sojourn.

This is what I found:

Sojourn: a temporary stay (a sojourn in the country)

I still have no fucking clue what the quote means and I'm not sure I am confident enough to use sojourn in a real conversation.

But I still think it is healthy to look at one's self and ponder who the person in the mirror really is and what he or she has to offer.

This is what I saw...


























































Not as productive as I'd hoped. I guess it's back to farting and pooping.

Self reflection makes me feel Out-Numbered, by myself...

As always, check out more of the nonsense at Mamapop. Click on the link below for my latest post...

Dee Snider Is Taking Back The Horns...

Turn On Your Jew Light...

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a dilemma on our hands and something must be done.

Last week after school.

3 Year Old - "Daddy, am I a nice girl?"

Out-Numbered - "Of course baby. You are the nicest little girl I know."

3 Year Old - "I'm not naughty?"

Out-Numbered - "Nooooo. You are a very good girl."

3 Year Old - "Then why won't Santa come to my house?"

Out-Numbered - "Huh?"

Wife - "They told her at school that if she's a good girl, then Santa will come to her house and bring her presents."

3 Year Old - "But I'm not naughty"

My daughter begins to cry...

Out-Numbered - "Oh Shit."

Wife - "Exactly. When I told her that Santa doesn't come to our house, she started hysterical crying. Now she thinks she's been naughty."

Out-Numbered - "Did you explain to her that we're Jewish?"

Wife - "She's 3."

Out-Numbered - "So?"

Wife - "So I'll give her a lollipop."

3 Year Old - "Lollipop!"

Wife - "Here baby. Have a lollipop."

3 Year Old - "YAY!"

Out-Numbered - "That's it?"

Wife - "Yep."

I'm sorry but this is Bullshit.

I have no problem whatsoever with Santa Claus. He's a good dude and he has a job to do. I don't blame him or my daughter's school for exposing her to this.

My problem is with my own people. The Jews have been around a lot longer than the Christians and we haven't had the wherewithal to come up with a good Holiday Marketing tool? That's messed up.

No excuses anymore. We need to get this done NOW!

I nominate Neil Diamond to be the Jewish Santa Claus.



















You heard me.

Neil Diamond.

Why?

1) Because he is Jewish.














2) Because he has experience spreading joy to the "Jewish" masses.

3) Because he has a gazillion dollars and a ton of clout in the industry.

4) Because Jewish people trust him and therefore would let him into their homes.

5) Because he has already penetrated the already saturated Holiday market.



















Here's what I propose.

Neil Diamond assumes the title of Jewish Santa Claus. There would obviously need to be a denominational appropriate title. Like Jewey Claus or something to that effect.

During the eight nights of Hanukkah, Neil Diamond (Jewey Claus) would travel from home to home (Only in the Tri-State Area and Florida) and deliver toys to young Jewish children.

BMW would engineer a flying car, powered by the light of a supercharged Shamus candle. Not coincidentally, this would be totally green.

Instead of entering each house via the chimney (too dangerous), every home would have a temporary code for their alarm system. Only Neil would have access. This code could only be entered once (by Neil) and would expire immediately after he makes his exit.

Every family would leave out a plate of Macaroons and a glass of Seltzer for Neil as a snack.

Neil would have a signature sound byte, similar to Santa's "Ho Ho Ho". Perhaps he could customize one of his existing songs. For example:

Sung to the tune of "Heartlight"

Turn on your Jewlight
Let it shlep where ever you go
Let it make a shmaltzy glow
For all the mishpocheh to see

Turn on your Jewlight
In the middle of a young boy chick's dream...

And so on...

I know this seems like a lot and I know that it might be a bit too late for this year but WE CAN DO THIS.

Neil Diamond is on Twitter. Neil Diamond is a good listener and he cares.

So for the sake of my children and Jewish kids all over the Tri-State Area and Florida, please give them something to believe in, during the Holiday Season.

Re-Tweet this post to: @Neildiamond on Twitter.com

Let this site serve as an online petition. Leave a comment here for Neil. Tell him how important this is.

Re post this link on your Facebook page.

We will not let our children be Out-Numbered...

Shalom and Happy Hanukkah!

The Lost Sessions...

A few days ago, a new Rock Band was formed.

This band was made up of an aging, guitar virtuoso and a talented, young, female lead vocalist.

He was hanging on to a fading dream.

She was ready for the spotlight.

Together, they collaborated for a fleeting moment in time.

And they left us, with but one song.

It turns out they both felt Out-Numbered.

Here are The Lost Sessions...



And for anyone who cares, here is my latest post at Mamapop:

Death Match: Lee Majors VS Patrick Dempsey

Happy Berfday Douchebag...

Today is my Birthday.

I am 39 years old.

My head is too big to wear those stupid party hats. The rubber band always snaps.

I can't eat my own fucking ice cream cake because I'm lactose intolerant.

If I get one more #1 Dad coffee mug, I'm gonna smash it into my own skull.

Don't sing Happy Birthday to me. That song sucks ass. Save it.

39 x 2 = 78 It doesn't take a mathematician to figure out that I'm almost dead.

Birthday sex. That's good.

My wife's birthday is in 2 days. That's a lot of sex for one week. I will take a vitamin.

Mom, Dad and Grandma, It's OK to stop sending me a check. We're square.

Pearl Harbor Day. I know. You're not the first to realize this. Save the "A day that will live in infamy" jokes. Not funny. Never was.

Yes I'm almost 40. I'm still a sexy bitch.

You will not see me in my Birthday suit. It is disgusting. If I could return it, I would.

My dentist never signs my card. You're a phony bastard. Floss my ass.

I will settle for nothing less than the Outback Steakhouse for dinner tonight.

I don't care if you're 3 years old. It's not breakfast in bed unless there's bacon. Now stop crying and get it right.

If you are Jewish and God hates you, he makes your Birthday the same week as Hanukkah.

If you are not Jewish and God hates you, he makes your Birthday on a Monday.

If he does both, you're fucked.

This year I am Out-Numbered by more than just candles...

She Drops F Bombs...

As parents, we often struggle to understand our kids. We are always seeking that elusive connection. We want to know what they are thinking. We want to feel what they are feeling. Most of all, we want our kids to know that we get it; that they can talk to us.

But it’s hard.

They are just kids.

These things take time.

Through time, we gain experience.

With experience, comes wisdom.

But remember…

We are all cut from the same cloth. Most of the time, you won’t need to look for a “connection” with your kids. The connection, almost always finds you…

Sunday evening after dinner…

Out-Numbered – “Let’s go buddy. Bring your plate into the kitchen.”

7 Yr Old – “After my show.”

Out-Numbered – “Dude. Let’s go. I’d like to get this kitchen cleaned up, so I can relax.”

7 Yr Old – “When my show is over!”

Out-Numbered – “If you don’t get you butt off of that couch, right now, there’s not gonna be anymore show to watch.”

7 Yr Old – “It’s not my yob.”

Out-Numbered – “Excuse me?”

7 Yr Old – “IT’S NOT MY YOB!”

Out-Numbered – “You’re not even doing the accent.”

7 Yr Old – “What?”

Out-Numbered – “The accent. What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense, unless you do the accent.”

7 Yr Old – “Leave me alone.”

My wife is snickering at me.

Wife – “You’re doing great.”

Out-Numbered – “Shut up.”

Out-Numbered – “You have until the count of three to get in here.”

7 Yr Old – “ONE MINUTE!”

Out-Numbered – “One…”

7 Yr Old – “DAD! I SAID ONE MINUTE!”

Out-Numbered – “TWO…”

7 Yr Old – “Ugh. Fuck!”

My wife and I look at each other.

Out-Numbered – “What did you just say?”

7 Yr Old – “FUCK!”

Looking at my wife for help.

Out-Numbered – “Can you take this one?”

Wife – “Nope.”

Out-Numbered – “OK.”

Check please…

There you have it. We finally connected. They grow up so fast.

Why am I always Out-Numbered by fucking dishes?

Official Announcement...

Pop Culture / Celebrity Gossip website, MamaPop.com, asked me to join their amazing team of smart-ass writers.

What do I know about Pop Culture?

Um... The 80's Rocked and Natalie Portman is smoking hot?

Anyway, the good news is that now you can get an extra dose of my bullshit, in addition to the crap I shovel over here. To make it easy for you, I've posted the link to my first column below. Just went live at 3p today!

Here ya go...

Dangerous Ball Tapping Practices Uncovered

I'll be posting there, every Wednesday at 3pm EST.

Please check it out. Do me a solid and leave me some comments over there. It'll make me look important.

Rock On!

Out-Numbered