11 months ago
Thursday, January 29, 2009
If you have seen the Disney movie Bolt, then you know Bolt is a serious ass kickin crime fighting super dog! Bolt has a “Super-Bark” and can shoot lasers out of his eyeballs to shoot down evil helicopters and shit like that. Bolt can talk and is bad-ass from the word go!
At one point in the movie Bolt finds out that he is not a “Super-Dog,” but merely a run of the mill mutt. He saves the girl in the end and thus is still pretty much kick ass.
Why do I know soo much about the movie Bolt? It may be that I have seen Bolt 15 times in the last several days because my boys love to watch our pirated DVD version of this blockbuster animated feature, or the morally correct answer to this question, I simply have an extremely good memory of when I saw it in the theater a couple of months ago. Whatever the case, the dog f-ing rocks!
Toby, my pooch, cannot “Super-Bark” evil-doers onto their back-sides, he cannot jump 100 feet in a single bound, he cannot work mathematical equations in his head to figure out the geometries of incoming missiles and thus hit them with his paws at that exact moment to deflect them out of the way of innocent victims. No…he cannot do any of these things.
Toby can, however, slobber on my nicely pressed work slacks, steal the boys peanut butter and jelly sandwich from their hand as they watch Bolt, shed all over the furniture, scratch our hardwood floors with his massive paws, leave huge landmine piles of poo in the yard, bark at absolutely nothing 2.3 seconds after the boys have fallen asleep, scratch my screen-door to smithereens & whack my son in the face repeatedly with his tail.
Although Toby does all the above things in his own annoying way, he also happily welcomes me home, warms me up at night, warns me when people approach my house, makes a great couch for B and separates me from all the hatred, pain and suffering the world can produce.
Now that I think of it, I can’t jump buildings in a single bound, shoot webs from my wrists, or bend steal with my hands.
Neither one of us has super powers, but we do our best and that is good enough around these parts. Toby and I will leave fighting the evil-doers to secret government agents. Who wants to deal with that? Besides, the laser powered blaster eyes are dangerous around the kids.
I’ll take Toby the way he is; lazy, slobbery and constantly begging for attention. Toby will take me the way I am; lazy, slobbery and constantly begging for attention.
If you could be a Super-Hero, who would you be?
Monday, January 26, 2009
There are some people you just don’t wanna mess with when they wake up, my son B is one of them. B is 2 ½ years old, and if you look him directly in the eye within 5 minutes of his latest R.E.M cycle, you’ll wish you wouldn’t have! If you hear him cry just let him be. If you go into his room during that first 5 minutes, watch the hell out.
There he is, hunched over in the corner of his shaded room, like a Gorilla in the mist, protecting his youngling (Or in this case “Jaffy” the Giraffe he takes everywhere he goes.), possibly pooping, pondering his next move to attack you and all you hold dear.
If you have the pleasure of watching B in the future, don’t go near him right after nap…I’m telling you. Don’t do it!
The other day I walked into that dark room he calls home during this volatile waking period and naively said, “Hi B, how ya doin?” He aptly replied, “You get outta here, Don’t say dat to meeeeeee!” He then charged and attempted to grapple. I fought him off, narrowly escaping tragedy. I realize that I am not nearly as tough as my 2 ½ yr. old, so I got the hell outta dodge. I still cringe at the thought of him rushing toward me, springing from the shadows like a fullback smelling the end-zone.
Take this into consideration before entering his room post slumber all Christopher Columbus confident. He’ll cut your ass down to size.
After the 5 minute grace period the kid is sweet as can be, just wait it out…wait it out….
Friday, January 23, 2009
One Sunday morning I awoke and decided I wanted something greasy for breakfast. I conferred with my wife about such a proposition. She agreed that it was a good idea, so I jumped into her SUV and drove toward the local McDonald’s. Instantly, I was annoyed by the mess within the SUV, but remembered she has two kids to deal with all day, and besides this was the only vehicle in the garage with enough gas to make it to that greasy deliciousness.
The night before I had drank an adequate amount of beer, so I wasn’t feeling so chipper. As I drove closer to the McDonald’s I became even more eager to get my hands on the damn Mc Muffin, hoping it would alleviate the pounding sensation in my head. “I will never drink that much again,” I reiterated to myself…again.
Sitting at the stop-light I thought of all the stupid crap suburban life brings. “Wonder how my 401K is doing this month? I need to fix that freakin broken screen door the stupid ass dog scratched to shit. I gotta remember to install new batteries in the smoke alarms…soon. How can I save enough money to go to Hawaii with the wife, alone.” The light turns green…my minds descends back to the breakfast…sweet, sweet breakfast!
As I drove up to the McDonald’s menu to order, I struggled to remember what my wife wanted. I couldn’t remember what the hell she said. An egg Mc Muffin? A Sausage Mc Muffin with Egg. I think that Yo Gabba Gabba show was distracting me! The stupid green monster with the noddle arms whacks me out! I ordered more than we needed and assured myself that I would eat anything she didn’t want.
The high-school kid came over the intercom in an annoyed manner. “Can I take your order?” I replied, “Ya…I’ll take 1 egg Mc Muffin, 2 Sausage Mc Muffins, with egg, 1 pancake breakfast, three orange juices, and 3 hash browns…and four asprin.” “We don’t have asprin…sir. That will be $10.22 at the first window. He said.
I quickly drove around the corner anticipating the wonderful creations only McDonald’s can accomplish to drown out a big-time hang-over. I got to the window, and gave the kid 11 bucks. As he gave me my change, he looked at me, gave me a sly wink and a smile and quickly walked toward the kitchen.
I wondered what the problem was. Did I have a booger in my nose, hanging in the breeze? No, I checked before I left the house. Did he think I was a dumb-ass for wearing my hat backwards at the tender age of 34? Screw that punk if that’s the case. Was it the two car seats in the back? Again, screw that punk if he doesn’t like kids.
I drove to the pick-up window and was handed my breakfast by a giggling young teenage girl. I couldn’t figure out what the hell these kids were laughing at. I quickly scanned the vehicle. As she slowly walked toward me with three orange juices my eyes caught the reason these kids were laughing at me, the reason my existence was so funny, the reason my vehicle welcomed such ridicule…the porn star endorsed bondage tape on the passenger seat!
The messed up thing is this; the bondage tape was not even mine! It was for some customer! Someone I know sells this shit, and that someone owns the SUV. Why didn’t my truck have gas?
Yes my wifey is a Slumber Parties Consultant. I’m proud of her, and she does so tastefully, but I just wish she woulda put the item in a bag on that particular day.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Before beginning this blog I would like to define what a “new parent” is to me. “New Parents" are those parents who still have trouble putting a car seat into a vehicle, or are grossed out by the visual of pulling a long, wet, nasty booger out of your kids nose and then proceeding to wipe that same booger on the inside of your khaki work pants because there just isn’t any other spot for it. New parents are those still enthralled by the miracle of life, and send out weekly email updates & photos of their 1 month old child.
I realized recently that when you are a new parent you are a freakin liar. When you have a newborn people ask how things are going, and you reply with some sort of B.S. answer like, “We are just so blessed right now.” Or, “We just couldn’t be happier with her/him.” He’s such a great baby.” We’ve lost a little sleep, but it’s soo worth it.”
New parents are f-ing LIARS! New fathers are by far the worst kind of lying new parent.
New fathers will say, “It’s been awesome, the whole experience.” And gaze into the baby’s eyes in front of mommy. I’m calling bullshit. I have two sons, one 5, one 2 ½, and I love them both, however, I’m likin them a hell of a lot more now than when they were 1 month old.
When you are the father of a 1 month old, you do not want to be left alone with that kid. They cry & shit and you have no breasts to give them to make it better. It’s freakin horrible. I’m puttin it out there. Don’t get f-ing suckered into thinking the miracle of life will have you tip-toeing through the tulips with Ann Geddes.
Everyone wants new parents to believe this miracle of life will begin at the birth and go on forever. Trust me, the miracle is when the kid can go potty alone, and fix themselves something to eat on a Saturday morning while you snooze. Now that’s a damn miracle.
New parents go from freedom to hell in one short day. Of course we don’t ever tell you that. Those of us who have kids keep this part a secret. It’s our little joke. We smile and say, “Oh…I’m soo happy for you, this is awesome!” The whole time we are thinking, “You are in for 6-9 months of hell!” The woman is more prepared for this hell of course, because they have had the little bastard inside of them kickin the crap out of their ribs for 9 months.
Here is my Child-Rearing Scale of Comfort:
1-6 Months – HELL
6 Months – 1 yr – TORTURE
1 yr – 1 ½ yrs - SEVERE DISCOMFORT
1 ½ - 2 yrs – INDIFFERENCE
2yrs – 2 ½ yrs – SLIGHT ENJOYMENT
2 ½ yrs – 3 yrs – MODERATELY FUN
3 yrs – 3 ½ yrs – FUN
4 yrs and beyond – VERY FUN
Today I had my 2 ½ year old and my 5 year old, and I can honestly say I had FUN. I am able to calculate this fact through the simple scale shown above. I have one child with a SLIGHT ENJOYMENT score on the Child Rearing Scale of Comfort, and one child with a VERY FUN score on the Child Rearing Scale of Comfort. The two together drives the overall score to either a HIGH MODERATELY FUN or LOW FUN. Today’s activities I am scoring a FUN.
The 3 of us went to another 5 year old’s Birthday Party where there was face painting, presents, other kids, cake, and alcohol for the parents. (Damn, I thought I could make it through a blog without mentioning alcohol.) The Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer was definitely a contributing factor toward making the day score a FUN on the Child Rearing Scale of Comfort, rather than a MODERATELY FUN. Another contributing factor was the fort we built together in the living room tonight just for the hell of it.
Today I was takin in by my son’s like a fine pair of trousers by the tailor. My meaning here is this, it takes time to get the trousers right, but after a couple of hem jobs and fittings, everything fits just right. You understand where the slight imperfections are, and hide them the best you can, but understand that the trousers just are not perfect.
I am now having so much FUN with my kids because they are in it everyday to have FUN. They have no other objective or rationale for the day other than to pursue the quickest route to FUN.
So if you’re a parent, take a hard look at the Child Rearing Scale of Comfort when answering the question, “How’s everything going?”
I am now, finally, at peace with my answer for today, “I had FUN with the boys today!”
The majority of new parents reading this will say, “This is not me, I love my baby so much, and I genuinely love every second with him/her.”
This is because New Parents Are Liars! Watching babies is brutal, admit it now! God will not punish you, he’ll embrace your honesty.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I used to be cool. I used to wear my hat backwards. I used to go out every Friday and Saturday night till 3 or 4 in the morning and get completely f-ing wasted. I used to drink and fight and lift weights. I used to play video games with my "boys" all day until my hang-over was healed and then do the weight lifting, drinking and fighting all over again. The nights didn't always include the fighting part, but the rate of occurrence was fairly high.
It happens to you oh... so slowly. First it's the realization that you don't have a fucking clue why anyone ever even watches MTV anymore. Then it's the understanding that you don't know any of the texting slang, much less how the fuck to send a text on your old ass broke down phone. The greatest realization that you are old and uncool is when you hear a song from the early years of true grunge, say...Mudhoney...with a high school kid, and they don't even know what the hell it is. It sneaks up quick and then bam, LIKE A SPIDER MONKEY you're too damn f-ing old to even ponder saying "That Shit is Phat."
To place a final layer of fine chocolate icing on this "I Used To Be Cool" Cake of mine is the transcript of the interaction between my 2 year old and I.
(I put him to sleep, he got up 5 minutes later):
Me - Super Dad - "Go To Bed."
B - the 2 yr old - "No".
Me - Super Dad - "Why?"
B - the 2 yr old - "I can't."
Me - Super Dad - "GO TO BED!"
B - the 2 yr old - "BE QUIET!"
Dissed by a 2 year old. (I'm too old to say diss....shit.)
Now , if you are a 20 something, you probably are bored by now, however this only provides the adequate amount of fuel to my "I Used To Be Cool" Cake fire.
The fact that I'm even writing about this makes me uncool to all the dumbass 20 somethings that will find this shit all so unlighting in 10 years. Ya, I used to be cool like you. Now I'm not. The weird thing is, I'm totally cool with this. In fact I like it. It is less work. I used to be cool and worry about what everybody thought of me. Now...who cares. I am soo cavalier about the fact that I am uncool that it has actually made me cool...OK Maybe not.
Stop looking at me with your straight billed cool hat...you look like a clown...and turn down your bass...bitch...my kids are sleeping...I'm out like Vanilla Ice!
I USED TO BE COOL!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
That Marley and Me movie made me " Sensitive." Now I am back to me. The pissy half drunk Bobby everybody missed.
Anyway, My kid told his teacher that he drinks beer with his dad. My 1st question to myself is where did I go wrong? Do I drink too fuckin much? As a write this I have had 2 Captain & Coke's. Not too bad. Although I am alone. maybe I'm a loser? (That's a later blog...back on topic.)
My kid told his teacher that he drinks beer with his dad.
Upon hearing this over the phone comment from my wife my first instinct was to laugh out loud about this situation. Then I was whacked in the face by the realization of where I live. I live in
My kid told his teacher that he drinks beer with his dad. This situation makes me harken back to my feeling that I should have been born in the 1940's. If somebody (in the 1940's) told you, "My kid told his teacher that he drinks beer with his dad." 99% of people would laugh, light up a stogy and go on with the next topic.
Here is the difference today. 99% of people laugh, but they do not go on to the next topic so easily. Every one's next thought pattern goes to how you are going to deal with this situation so it doesn't happen again, because God Forbid anyone take a fuckin joke. I mean, what if Susie Teacher decides to turn you in? What if Susie Teacher thinks it is true? What if Susie Teacher takes the 5 year old's joke seriously.
That's what is soo f-ed up in
My kid told his teacher that he drinks beer with his dad. My first instinct was to laugh out loud about this situation. I think I'll stick to that.
Along the lines of movie time - We saw "Marley & Me" last night. This movie was a prolific commentary on "One Love." There is only one living thing that I know that truly practices "One Love" and his name is Toby.
Toby is my dog. He is a 7 year old lab just like the one in the movie. Just like the lab in the movie, Toby loves you unconditionally whether you are pissed off, sick, tired or moody. Whatever the case may be, there's Toby ready to practice "One Love."
Cynics may say that Toby is simply not smart enough to understand the complexities of human life, and therefore defaults to "dumb love." Regardless of his intellect Toby & Marley are poster children for this "One Love" concept.
Oddly enough, the "One Love" theme has been a major part of my life the past couple of days. My friend, who plays in a band, is a big huge fan of reggae music. He loves Bob Marley, and preaches about "One Love" constantly. It is a good theme for life and I agree with him, but the message never really hit me until I saw the movie.
There is so much hate and discontent in the world, and we see it on a daily basis. We are surrounded by it, we are engulfed by it, we are consumed by it. Hope awaits and I have seen a slight reversal.
There is a strong energy for "One Love" going on in the world right now, and every day I am seeing it. It is subtle, but the message strong. Whether it be a comment about how good Bob Marley's music is, the message at a church service, or the premise of a chick flick, the implication is the same. Perform "One Love" in your life and all's good.
Now... can we all do this everyday day? No we can't. Our egos are too strong, and our feelings of self, revenge and pity tend to cloud the "One Love" sky.
The one thing to take away from this is that the nasty, smelly dog laying in the corner has it right more often than not, and by digging to the roots of "One Love" and making it more a part of your everyday routine, maybe the world will get better one slobbery dog kiss at a time.
Tonight I went to the Movies with my wife and ran into the situation that peeves me greatly. I was exiting the theater and held the door for some dude who was also leaving. I held the door, he walked through it, I was peeved. What was missing? Was it a gift? Was it a gift card from Best Buy? Was it a new cover for my cell phone? The answers are - No, no & no.
Although a gift from a stranger would have been nice, it is not what I expected. What I did expect however was a simple "Thank You" for holding the door. Once again I was let down by the absence of this simple gesture in return for my polite deed. I was not surprised by this situation, as it happens quite often.
I just don't f-ing get it! How can you just walk through an open door (held open for you) and not make a simple acknowledgement that you appreciate it. There are a few excuses I can examine that may justify the non-disclosure.
1.) You are distracted. - excusable in certain circumstances.
2.) You lost your voice. - excusable if you at least nod your head in a thankful manner.
3.) You had a stressful day, and are deep in thought on a serious matter. - excusable on a rare occasion.
In the case tonight, I could be a compassonate person and go with option #3. He was probably stressed out from a long day and was deep in contemplation about his sick Grandma, or money problems. I could go that route and know deep down inside everyone means well, and that everyone will try to do the right thing. I, however, am not going with the lame #3 excuse.
Tonight I will stick with the fact that some people in America (Colorado to be exact) are douche bags! Some people thrive on being rude because it make them feel good for some sick and twisted reason. I will stick with the fact that no matter how many times I sarcastically say, "Your Welcome" to someone who has walked their lazy ass through the door I am holding for them, they just don't get it. Some people never will get it. So this is a comment about that which peeves me. More to come. I hope you read this and "get it" and simply say thank you the next time someone holds the door for you. Unless of course you are in deep though about your credit card debt, in which case, I'll still think you are a douche bag.
Comment Added - You'd think I'd be more in tune with love after the movie I'd just seen, but there's that ego again.