Carjacked!!!

17 Years ago today... If I don't write it, I will eventually forget the details (Now 23)

The grass was lightly frosted from the late January winter night, and a light flurry made the cold even more visible. Being only 11 years old I was surprised and excited when my mother asked me to warm up our car, an old blue dodge van that seated twelve. Slightly embarrassed I admitted that I had no idea how to start the car.

My sister and I stood in the cold as we watched my mother turn on the car. As we rubbed our hands together a large African-American man walked past us, I was not sure why but something stuck out about him. Our street was adjacent to both the local middle school and high school; both had a student’s that constantly frequented our neighborhood. Normally, they barely register, but for some reason, he stuck out, almost like he did not belong.

While the car warmed up, we prepared for school and filed into the car. There was nothing special about that morning, my younger brothers, Yaakov, Menachem, Gedalia, and Asher filed into the van, and we placed my youngest sister Rachel in the front seat. We waited for my mother she opened the front door and began making her way to the car. Having just stopped using her cane, as she recuperated from a shattered kneecap, she moved slowly especially on this cold morning.

We had yet to buckle in, and I was facing backwards talking to one of my siblings that sat behind me. Glancing out the back window I noticed that the same young man was making his way back around the block. "What the hell is he doing back here?" I wondered aloud as I turned back around.

Baby vs. Alcoholic

In an attempt to start of 2012 and actually get back to writing in this, my favorite blog, we will start with 10 reasons a baby is just like an alcoholic

1. They are both addicted to the bottle
2. They both need help getting dressed
3. They both speak incoherently
4. They are both extremely loud when you want them to be quiet
5. Neither can walk very well or at all

We're back!!!

Welcome us back!!!
 Superhuman, can almost describe the effort it took for me to get off my lazy ass and start my blog again. But the ravings are back, as well as the mad man. It may take a bit before we are up and running full time but here's to trying!!!

All comments are wanted and appreciated!

Crazy Baby

"Thank god you're here," I managed as I opened the door. Stepping into my house was a man in a long black robe and a white collar around his neck. "This way father, I said, as I rushed him into the adjacent room. 

"When did it begin?" he asked calmly.

"About an hour ago, and it is steadily getting worse."

Before I continue, let me clarify a few things. I am Jewish, I do not believe that Jesus is my savior, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The priest entered the bedroom. "You haven't tied her down?" he said angrily.

"Can I just hold her down?"

"Fine."

I climbed on to the bed and pinned my baby to the mattress. The priest opened his book and began to

The Supermarket: Trials and Tribulations

When I go shopping, I try to leave with as little bags as possible. It is important because when I get home I normally need to trudge to the elevator with my hands filled with bags and at times holding a baby. For this reason, I bring my backpack with me when I go to the supermarket; I prefer, to fill my backpack with the majority of my groceries and leave my hands free for other activities.

Unfortunately, the supermarket does not seem to accept or embrace my lifestyle choice. In fact, they throw as many obstacles in my way as they possibly can.

Today I neared the end of my thirty minute shopping trip, and arrived at the register with a cart and baby filled with food. As I approach the register I noticed the bag boy waiting for me at the opposite end. I smiled in his general direction and announced that I do not need his help but thank you. Smiling back he ignored me. Not wanting to press the issue I began unloading the food as fast as I could. Once more I nodded the bag boy off, this time I showed him my backpack implying that this is the bag I would like to fill. Once more he smiled and promptly ignored me. Frantically, I continued throwing my items on to the belt. There is an order to my chaos; I hope to get to the other end before the smaller items reach the bagboy.

My daughter, who was quiet until now begins pulling small candies from the shelf and throwing them into the cart and on to the belt. Quickly, I began to throw the candy back on the shelf, while trying to explain to her that we do not want this kind of candy anyway.

Deck the Halls (or Someone Else)

He's Tougher in Person
Being Jewish eliminates the option of Christmas. Not believing in Jesus is apparently connected to the holiday. Therefore, I found myself doing nothing come Christmas time. I was not decking the halls, nor decorating my tree. Instead, I am left to my own devices and I watch movies I have rented since all that is on the television is a Christmas special. My Christmas Eve is spent on the couch; at least I can have milk and cookies. Those Christians at least got that part right.

It must have been around two o'clock in the morning when I woke with a start. I had fallen asleep while watching Die Hard 3 and the TV screen was now blue telling me that there was no disc in the player. Rubbing my eyes I froze, as I heard footsteps from above. Someone was on the roof. Smiling to myself, I realized that it was ridiculous, anyway I had no chimney.

Getting up from the couch I turned around and found myself face to face with a large man with a long white beard. "Eliyahu?"

"Santa!" The man yelled as he pulled out an IPhone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" I asked, disturbed and confused.

"Checking my list," said Santa.

"On an IPhone?"

"Hey, I was nice this year, Santa also deserves a present every once in awhile!"

"How can you be Santa? You don't exist!"

My Nobel Prize

The other day as I was sitting in my living room playing with my daughter the phone rang. My wife picked it up and slowly handed it to me.
"Who is it?" I asked
She shook her head and shrugged.
"Is this Shraga Weissmann?" asked the caller.
"Why yes it is," I answered hesitantly, "May I ask who's calling?"
"Of course, this is the Nobel Prize committee."
I laughed, "No, really."
"Yes, we are for real. We have read a manuscript of your unfinished novel, and would like to give you the Nobel Prize for Literature."
"No, seriously who is this?"
"I have to say that Tommy Greene is a personal hero of mine."
"Thank you, wait, how did you get a copy?"
"We are the Nobel Prize Committee!"