Everything has to be EPIC.
Trips to the grocery store are epic. Katie Perry's new album is epic. The amount of candy wrappers I've found in my studio this afternoon is epic. The amount of curly brown hair that my wife leaves in the shower drain is epic.
The amount of LIKEs my step-son gets when he complains about mid-terms on Facebook is epic.
Well, actually it's disproportionally inflated in relation to the content.
It's my jealousy that's epic.
If I had a tenth of the social media engagement that he has, well, I could most likely pay off his student loans.
Which would be epic.
And failure isn't failure unless its epic.
Running out of juice boxes?
Epic fail.
Mosquito in the house?
Epic fail.
That shirt you're wearing?
Tragic Epic Fashion Fail.
Man is measured by two things. How good he is at winning, and how good he is at failing. And since I've been asked a lot lately how I'm doing, I thought it might be a good time to for a little Epic Fail progress report on this week's adventures:
Epic Fail Numero Uno:
My beloved son has no idea how to Trick or Treat. You have to think strategically, going down one side of the street and coming back the other. I watched him for twenty minutes running up and down and crisscrossing the streets until he had complete forgotten which houses he'd been to. And we live in a cul-de-sac. No rhyme or reason. No understanding of which houses to avoid. It is by luck alone that he ended up with at least a few peanut butter cups, which are in my opinion as important for Halloween as Turkey is for Thanksgiving as Gift Cards are to Christmas as Hookers are to Mardi Gras. So it wasn't a total loss, but like the head coach of the Jacksonville Jaguars, I can only shake my head and hope I get luckier in next year's kid draft.
Epic Fail Too:
I actually answered an ad for a show I was already booked for. Honest mistake, but it made me look like a rube.
I hate looking like a rube.
Epic Fail Three:
I accidentally booked a smoking room for our trip to LA. Joann and I kind of looked at each other, like, hey, maybe its not such a bad thing, I mean, we've got the room, might as well toss in a pack of Marlboro Lights with the wine and cheese.
Neither of us have had a cigarette in eighteen months. We have to celebrate sometime.
Epic Fail For:
Let the big son take the car for the week just so he could get some proverbial fresh air. First thing he does, drives to a Halloween Party out of town and misses class the next day.
You thought he wrecked it, didn't you?
Nope, just your normal mildly irresponsible 20 year old behavior. Which in almost every other case would elicit nothing but a shrug from me, cause I firmly believe we all are guilty, but it was really terrible timing, especially since I told him he couldn't take the car and then chilled out at the last minute.
Makes me look like a rube.
And you know how I feel about that.
Epic Fail Five:
I may or may not have gotten accidentally hooked on Downton Abby. It's not official yet, but I did wait till the end of an episode to get up and pee. And if the rumors are true, I'm gonna have to grow a handle-bar mustache and get into the bare-knuckle-fist-fight circuit in order to get my "Man-Card" back.
Next Week: Setting sail with a thousand ships to get Helen back. Which should be epic.
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