Friday, October 31, 2008
I was pleasantly surprised by Newton. I had never heard of him, but definitely knew his hit song Dream Catch Me. He was a great entertainer and got the crowd involved.
And then there was Alanis. I do like a strong female voice, but I was a little concerned about attending a concert full of angry women. I went open minded though. After all, how many opportunities does one get to see God in concert (she played God in the movie Dogma)?
Appropriately, it was the night before Halloween as Alanis took the stage. She was kind of scary. They started off with some wild riff, strobe lights flashing like a lightening storm, Alanis screaming into the mic and then running around wildly on the stage. She kept bending over and shaking her head so her rat’s nest hair would fly around. It looked like she was doing a Puke Dance. She had on gray jeans that from my viewpoint looked frosted. And tell you what, Alanis hasn’t missed many meals lately. She must enjoy a donut with her morning coffee every day. Her caboose looked to be slowing down the A-train.
We stuck it out until she played one of her more popular songs about female anger, angst, or agitation, whatever the heck it was. I didn’t want her to ruin my Newton and G Love experience, so we bailed at that point.
I do like seeing live concerts, especially when it introduces me to new good music such as the dreadlocked crazy man Newton Faulkner. I don’t remember the song very well, but one set of lyrics referred to aliens and watching out for anal probes. Now that is talent my friends.
As I was driving home, I saw a bunch of police cars with lights flashing on the road ahead of me. I thought about detouring around them to avoid whatever disaster they were attending to, in addition to the fact that my back left brake light has been out for a couple months now.
The new bulb has been purchased for at least a month and is safely stored in my glove compartment. What an outdated name, by the way. Who the hell keeps gloves in that compartment? It should be called a gun compartment or sunglasses compartment, or junk compartment shouldn’t it? Mine will hereby now be called the bulb and napkin compartment.
How in the world can just one brake light go out? Shouldn’t both bulbs burn out at relatively the same time? Every time you brake, both lights go on. Same question with headlights. I can see maybe a few days difference, or even a week. But months? This has never made any sense to me.
The roof of my mouth seems to be bleeding right now. I ate Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast this morning. Nothing quite like little sugary squares of goodness to jumpstart my day. The only problem is that I must have crunched a corner too hard and scraped the top of my mouth. Yah, ouch. There is a little cut in there, I just checked. It is almost impossible to use a mirror to see the upper underside of your mouth, by the way. But I pulled it off. I have circus ninja skills.
I decided to drive by the cops anyway. I am a bit of a curious fellow. There weren’t any fire engines or ambulances, so I was pretty sure there wasn’t a gory accident. It must have been bad guys getting chased or a shoot out of some kind.
I drove up slowly. This was a three lane one-way road (Stout Street if any of you are Denverites). One cop car was parked in the middle lane, lights flashing. Another cop car was pulled over on the side of the road, working a strobe light. Thank the real God Alanis Morissette wasn’t there doing some wild Puke Dance in the strobe. Another cop was in the middle of the cross street, lights pointed on the intersection. Finally, a fourth cop car with lights flashing was pulled over on the side of the cross street.
I reached into the bulb and napkin compartment because I had to sneeze. Three sneezes into a napkin later, I was upon what I assumed was a grisly crime scene or some wild standoff. Does anybody ever sneeze just once? Is it possible? My sneezes are really loud. I tend to add a meaningless string of nonsense words after my last sneeze for emphasis. Something like this:
My windows were rolled down. It was a chilly but nice night in Denver despite the sure doom and gloom occurring at the intersection on Stout Street. As I rolled up to the scene, one of the cops turned toward me with a menacing look.
He said, “Bless you sir.”
I said, “Thank you, thank you very much.”
That is when I observed the tragic scene causing all the police attention. There was a ginormous pothole in the middle of the road, center lane. A civilian stood by his car that had incurred a flat tire no doubt from hitting the hole. There was already a Denver Streets and Sanitation dude filling the hole with whatever they fill those holes with.
Careful to not touch my brake pedal at all, I continued through the intersection and made my way home. Just then Alanis Morissette came on the radio. I quickly popped in a CD and pondered whether or not I’d rather have bionic arms or bionic legs.
I think my mouth stopped bleeding now, thank you.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
But who am I to conform to what is expected and accepted by society. Besides, society kind of blows right now anyway. Who isn’t a little freaked out these days? So why not talk about what every guy thinks about every 3.7 seconds anyway? Yep, pizza and beer. No wait, that is every 3.7 minutes. Sex is every 3.7 seconds.
Speaking solely from the male point of view (because I am male and unlike my six year old boy, I have never worn a dress), I’d like to discuss what turns you on. What trips your trigger? What makes your head spin and your knees wobble? What makes you step on your tongue? What makes you tingle? What stops you in your tracks, makes you blush, gets you excited, and makes you squirm?
Usually when this question is asked of a man, the answer will be boobs, ass, legs, eyes, hair, body, face or whatever physical description gives him a rise in the pants. This is quite natural. But how many people are really satisfied with just something purely physical. Don’t get me wrong, there is no doubt that there must be a certain threshold of physical attraction there to make legs rubber. Lipstick on a pig is just that.
But let’s go deeper than the obvious. Sure, you are a boob man, or whatever. But what else?!!
Me? I get turned on by wit and brains. Both lead to funny and stimulating conversation. And I love to be entertained. That gets me going too. Now before you throw 350 pound smart funny gals at me, I admit that there still needs to be a physical attraction of some kind. But take your version of what gets you hot and apply this exercise. Would I rather have a supermodel moron with no sense of humor or an attractive woman with brains that can also crack me up? Clearly it depends on how good a cook the supermodel is and if she is into threesomes. Kidding!!! Of course there are supermodels out there that have brains and wit. Physical traits are obviously not related to mental capacities or sexual preferences.
In general, I’m just saying wouldn’t it be refreshing to hear some guy ask another guy what gets him going with women; and instead of him saying her tits, ass or legs, he says compassion, great listeners or ambition?
What about you? What makes your jaw drop?
Friday, October 24, 2008
Back to coffee. My parents drank coffee as I grew up and I was fascinated by the routine of it all. Back then, Starbucks and the like didn’t exist. Our games of Kick the Can were played with those big Folgers coffee cans that the parents would consume religiously. Do kids even play that game anymore? What do they use, Coke cans? As I got older, like any kid, I always asked my parents if I could taste whatever they were drinking. My kids already do that to me today. We rarely let them have any soda (pop to the Midwesterners) and of course they haven’t tasted any alcohol yet. We call soda and booze Ickies. No Ickies for the kiddies.
Back to my childhood. At some point, I asked one of my parents if I could try their coffee. I did, and it was horrible!! It was so bitter and left a horrible after taste; I nearly spit it out. The look on my face apparently brought great joy to my parents as they quite often offered me more coffee after that first episode.
I’m guessing that it was high school when I probably tried coffee again. At that point, I was on the brink of growing up and some of my friends were drinking coffee now and then. I liked the idea of sitting at a table, with a big steaming mug, chatting with friends, or reading the paper. So I tried a cup again. It was horrible!! It was so bitter and left a horrible after taste; I nearly spit it out. The look on my face apparently brought great joy to my friends as they quite often offered me more coffee after that episode.
My next coffee tasting effort was in college. Cramming for tests, pulling over-nighters, nursing hangovers, hanging out on campus – all were perfect coffee drinking scenarios. I remember trying a sip of my roommates’ coffee. He put lots of crème in it for me. It was in a big blue mug. It was a chilly winter day and we both had slept in from a night out of partying. Perfect java conditions. I leaned over the mug and gave it a tentative smell. Yep, smelled like coffee. Here goes nothing. I took a sip and it was horrible!! It was so bitter and left a horrible after taste; I nearly spit it out. The look on my face apparently brought great joy to my roommate as he quite often offered me more coffee after that episode.
I think I took the next few years off from coffee tasting. I was battle scarred and between Coke, Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew, I was getting plenty of artificial boosts. I just wasn’t getting the coffee experience I craved.
After a long night out in Chicago in my early twenties, I ended up at a greasy diner for 2am breakfast with a co-worker friend. He was a major coffee drinker at the office and also met his girlfriend out for quick coffee breaks a lot. We were seated at the diner and I had to hit the head. I told my co-worker what food to order me and went to see a man about a horse. When I came back, there were two big mugs of coffee on the table. My co-worker pal didn’t know what I wanted to drink, so he assumed I’d take a cup of joe. I informed him that I hate coffee, but I usually try it every few years hoping I will have developed a taste for it. I loaded it up with crème and sugar this time until it looked milky brown. I was a little buzzed from the night out, so I had confidence I’d like it this time.
I took a big sip and it was horrible!!! It was so bitter and left a horrible after taste; I nearly spit it out. The look on my face apparently brought great joy to my co-worker pal as he quite often offered me more coffee after that episode.
Coffee shops were now springing up everywhere. If it was too early to meet for a beer or cocktail, then people would meet for coffee. Chains and independents teased me with their comfy chairs and couches. Big tables set up for ideal people watching. Men and women of all ages and races would partake in the coffee experience. I had gotten off the sugary sodas now and was pumping Diet Cokes down like they were water. I’d gaze longingly at the loungers on city sidewalks sipping their coffee while I slurped down 64 ounce Big Gulps usually resulting in hiccups and massive burps.
I remember getting invited to a dinner party which included a fabulous dessert. It was some kind of hot brownie with ice cream masterpiece. It had hot fudge on it. I loooooove hot fudge. I want to marry hot fudge and have hot fudge babies. I took a giant spoonful of this dessert paradise and it was horrible!! The sweet brownie and rich hot fudge flavors of sheer joy were overwhelmed by the bitterness of the coffee flavored ice cream. I nearly spit it out. Luckily, nobody was really paying attention to me as they were all scarfing down their own desserts. I cleverly shoveled the nasty ice cream aside and devoured the brownie and hot fudge despite the faint trace of coffee taste residuals.
As Starbucks began taking over the world, I found myself overwhelmed with desire to partake in the coffee experience. Starbucks inventors used me as the perfect example of their target consumer. A dude willing to pay four bucks for a large beverage costing them pennies to create. The only catch was that, uh, I hate coffee.
At some point closer to age thirty, I tried coffee at a shop yet again. I was with my girlfriend at the time. Guess what? It was horrible!! It was so bitter and left a horrible after taste; I nearly spit it out. The look on my face apparently brought great joy to my girlfriend as she quite often offered me more coffee after that episode.
And then I discovered chai tea. Yummy!!!! Every coffee shop makes it slightly different and I have my favorites all over town. I like to add vanilla and love chilling out in a coffee shop, sipping my chai, reading a paper and watching people. It is a rare day when I don’t have a chai tea.
I stopped in a Starbucks late last night on the way back into the office. I needed to catch up on some stuff before I left for this trip. I ordered a venti non-fat sugar free vanilla chai. I know, ridiculous. Dunkin Donuts customer for drinks, I am not. There was a delay as they screwed up someone else’s order, but eventually I got my drink. I walked outside and took a sip of my venti cup of goodness. It was horrible!! It was so bitter and unexpected that I spit it out! We are talking cartoon spitting funnel cloud of coffee everywhere. Yes, coffee. They made me a coffee by mistake. The shock of the unexpected disgusting taste made it a difficult recovery. I hate cats too, but now I know what it must be like for a cat to have a fur ball in its mouth. I kept trying to reject and erase the taste by rubbing my tongue over the roof of my mouth, teeth and lips; sticking it in and out of my mouth. I was making verbal sounds of “blecth, yick, yuck, ugggh, bleeeetch, ooof, yuck, arggggh, shit, fuck, gross, blahhhh, damnit.”
I went back in with an uncontrollable look of disgust asking for my chai. They had a look of sympathy that was overshadowed by amusement. I mentioned that I hate coffee and they said they kinda figured it out. Apparently they saw the coffee eruption out of my mouth.
Now I’ve had my three to five year test, confirming I still indeed cannot stand coffee. Plus, they gave me a free drink card. So I have that going for me. Which is nice.
*I wrote this on the plane yesterday. I am going to post it now and head over to a coffee shop for a chai tea, Chicago Tribune and to nurse this hangover.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Watching the Cubs at Wrigley Field (I’m not talking about this years’ debacle), biking along Lake Michigan, playing volleyball at North Beach, death defying rollerblading throughout the city streets, beers outside anywhere, taking the El, spitting in the Chicago River (rule of thumb when walking over a bridge – it’s good luck), cheese char dogs, stuffed pizza, Italian beefs and sausages (with sweets), Greek Town, Taylor Street, playing flag football, 16” softball, batting cages above Sluggers, late night Mexican at Taco Burrito Palace II, breakfast at Nookies, concerts in Grant Park, Blues Fest, great live music in the bars, St. Patty’s Day partying, people watching, the skyline, the sunrise from Oak Street Beach after a long night out, cab drivers that tell jokes, doing shots at Burwood Tap, getting in fights at The Raven, Bucktown, the museums, Michigan Avenue, the people, the arts, taunting Sox fans, El Jardin margaritas, Old Styles with Sue the bartender/buddy at Wellingtons on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, laughing at the amateurs on Division Street, partying with the amateurs on Division Street, crazy street people, Lincoln Park, Old Town, Wrigleyville, the zoo, parking my car and forgetting where it is a week later, boat rides, ethnicity, the architecture, the history, Wiener Circle, Billy Goat, the vibe, Flashing Mary, holiday lights, our annual family dinners at Como Inn, my parents’ stories, having lunch with my sister, the subway, Lake Shore Drive, the noise, four o’clock bars, and the endless sources of entertainment. Yes, I know this was just a short list of the things I love about Chicago, but I don’t want to bore you too much.
Despite having a list of things I love about Chicago a magnificent mile long, there is really just one thing I am anxiously looking forward to this weekend. Sleeping in. No just kidding. It doesn’t matter if we are in a cornfield in Nebraska or the middle of Manhattan. There is nothing like hanging out with your best friends.
I’m going solo to hang out with my childhood buddies. I’ve known two of these chumps since kindergarten. The other eight or so are from junior high and high school.
My high school closed after our junior year. We all had to graduate from a different school. Which in hindsight was great because all of us guys hung out with the new school girls and our old gang of gals hung out with the new school guys. It made for some wild parties. This trip was instigated by a reunion for the juniors from my first high school. I still communicate with all the guys, so really this is just an excuse for me to boondoggle to Chicago. And it will be fun to see some of the folks I lost touch with since high school. I am thinking I will present myself as Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago. The whole Art Mandalay thing is getting old.
But really, I am exited to see my pals. We do a fair job of staying in touch. I’m sure there will be some small talk, but most likely, we will revert right back to the old high school days. We will rip each other mercilessly and exhaust ourselves with laughter. There will be little to no talk about our jobs, the economy or politics. The obligatory “How is the family,” will be followed up by “Clearly you are still a complete moron,” and “Look at those hot chicks over there. I think they want us.”
The best part about my core group of buddies is that we are brothers. Hold off on the Brokeback Mountain jokes. I’m feeling sentimental. Many of us are flying in from all over the country – Colorado, Seattle, New Jersey, upstate New York and Florida. The rest are still in Chicagoland. The email banter going on back and forth the last month or so has been priceless. The economy can suck, friends and family can have health issues, work can be depressing, family life can be stressful, marriage can be difficult, and times can be tough. But no matter what, I have these total idiots to fall back on, whether I’ve talked to any of them in days or months. They will always be there.
Who knows how much being in Chicago will play into the fun for the weekend. It really doesn’t matter. Here is to good friends. If you haven’t talked to your best friend(s) in awhile, give them a call or drop them an email. Tell them I say hi. And don’t forget how great it is to act like a 17 year old again. Well, maybe a 17 year old with a fake ID and money in the wallet.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Since I have a short week, I figured I may as well make it shorter. There is a golf tournament fundraiser going on today for our kids’ school. I was signed up to go with the wife and another couple. Unfortunately, Will isn’t feeling well so I volunteered to stay home with him. I figured since I have a bunch of Chicago debauchery ahead (the second best kind, right behind Vegas), I could take care of the little fellah and also do some work.
Poor Will. This is what he did the first couple hours this morning.
I’m pretty sure he has nothing left to give.
He has bounced back a little bit, although he hasn’t eaten anything yet. He perked up and requested some TV. He seems to have two favorite shows.
One is SpongeBob SquarePants and who can blame him. We have cable on demand and have been having a SpongeBob Festival. I have to say, this is pretty good shit. Way better than the stuff I grew up with such as Casper the Friendly Ghost, Woody Woodpecker, Bugs Bunny, Mighty Mouse, Underdog, etc. I haven’t gotten much work done with SpongeBob and Patrick going on wild adventures together. They are idiotically ding dong ditching in costume – during Halloween – right now. Good stuff.
Will’s other favorite show is something less well known. The Winx Club.
Have you seen these babes? Holy shit, every single one of them is hot! Look at the curves and the outfits! They are supposed to be ferries. No wonder little boys like this show. I wonder if there is a porno version for adults yet.
Looks like my little puker is ready for another SpongeBob. I cannot get the SpongeBob song out of my head. Luckily it is such a good one. C’mon, join me at the top of your lungs. I’ll be the Captain, you be the kids (non-puking variety):
Captain: Are you ready kids?
Kids: Aye-aye Captain.
Captain: I can't hear you...
Kids: Aye-Aye Captain!!
Captain: Oh! Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
Kids: SpongeBob SquarePants!
Captain: Absorbent and yellow and porous is he!
Kids: SpongeBob SquarePants!
Captain: If nautical nonsense be something you wish...
Kids: SpongeBob SquarePants!
Captain: Then drop on the deck and flop like a fish!
Kids: SpongeBob SquarePants!
EveryBody: SpongeBob SquarePants! SpongeBob SquarePants! SpongeBob SquarePants!
Captain: SpongeBob.... SquarePants! Haha.
Friday, October 17, 2008
What makes you happy? Go ahead, tell me. There must be something. Even the biggest naysayer, doomsdayer, glass half empty, debbie downer, party pooper, sky is falling freak has something. Some people are happy being miserable. Others get happy when they see something shiny.
It’s Friday and my plate is full. I’m stressed out and my back hurts. But they sky is blue, the temperature is perfect and the trees are golden. Until I can get back outside to enjoy this beautiful fall day, I thought I’d throw a happy list at you. Here are twenty things that make me happy. In no particular order and certainly not all-inclusive.
- The sound of kids laughing (especially mine)
- An unexpected phone call from an old friend
- Being sore from playing basketball
- Intelligent conversation
- Days like yesterday
- Things to look forward to
- A job well done
- A book with a great ending
- Challenges met
- Seeing what is around the corner or the next bend
- Great hugs
- Beer with friends
- Writing something good
- Friends and family successes
- Silly people
- Hot fudge
This took two minutes to list and that is only because I had to take a pee break. Recently, I asked a friend what makes him happy and he only came up with about four things. Perhaps he wasn’t being honest with himself, or maybe he was dismissing the little things. But often times it’s the little things that are the best.
So, what about you? Gimmie two or three things that make you happy. I’m curious today.
Monday, October 13, 2008
“Daddy, where is my ghost?”
“I don’t know Will. Where did you leave him last?”
“I can’t find him.”
“Well of course you can’t. He is a ghost.”
“Why can’t I find him?”
“Because ghosts are invisible. How in the world can we find something we can’t see?”
“It’s not a real ghost Daddy! It’s a sticker ghost.”
“Ohhhh, okay. When is the last time you saw him?”
“While I was eating.”
“Breakfast, lunch or dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, I’ll help you find him.”
We went downstairs and the ghost was the only thing on the kitchen table in front of his chair. This kid is already a typical male.
In my case, I often thought I was just a typical male. But I know I’m too whacked out to be typical. So I think I may be losing my mind. Many of the following scenarios are typical for men and/or women. But to have all of them seems a little out of the ordinary. In the spirit of the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, I am providing Seven Examples of a Highly Ineffective Bretthead:
I asked my blogging pal Steph for her email address and she reminded me that it has been clearly posted on her ‘About’ page for months. I looked and sure enough it was there. I reminded her that I could look for milk in the fridge for fifteen minutes and conclude that we are out of milk. And then my wife or kids would open the fridge and pull out the milk in three seconds.
I once looked all over my house for my sunglasses. I looked in the cars, in the backyard, under things, on shelves, in drawers – I looked everywhere. I had a baseball cap on. The sunglasses were perched on top of my cap the whole time. I'm not going to mention the time I left my wallet on top of my car and drove off, or the numerous times I did the same thing with chai teas or sodas on the roof.
I often forget the names of people I meet within seconds of meeting them. I realize it though, and covertly try to get the name again and then go out of my way to use their name in every other sentence when I talk to them.
I go to parties with my wife and often end up segregated – guys hanging out in one area, gals somewhere else (usually the kitchen). We will come home and the wife will tell me all kinds of updates about what is going on with everyone. She will blab on and on and on. She will ask if I found out anything interesting and 90% of the time, the answer is no.
I will struggle to remember the names of ex-clients but yet I can name the entire starting lineup of the 1976 Cincinnati Reds.
I like to keep moving and I don’t like to backtrack. I have added countless miles and wasted lots of time driving aimlessly to avoid a traffic jam or even just being stopped at a red light. I don’t mind asking for directions or even looking at a map. But I don’t like to stop to do the asking or looking.
Example Seven (this one drives my wife absolutely crazy)
I will ask my wife something and she will give me a major look of irritation followed by some form of, “Are you serious?”
I will take one step backwards and tentatively say, “Yes.”
She will say, “We talked about this twice already, including a five minute conversation YESTERDAY.”
I will rack my brain and have ZERO recollection of this. “Um, well, that sounds sort of familiar.”
“Oh my God.”
“Well, you can be mad at me, but I still don’t know the answer. So can you just tell me and then go on being irritated at your leisure?”
“Oh my God.”
“So, what is the answer?”
Today's word of the day from dictionary.com is very appropriate:
otiose \OH-shee-ohs; OH-tee-\, adjective:
1. Ineffective; futile.
2. Being at leisure; lazy; indolent; idle.
3. Of no use.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Will: I don’t want to go home.
Drew: And me
*Drew doesn’t like to be left out of anything, even when he has no idea what he is talking about.
Me: Don’t you want to warm up and get ready to go to Tommy and Katie’s house?
Will: Five more minutes!
Drew: Lots more minutes!!!
*Snot is running down Drew’s face, the temperature is dropping fast. I contemplate getting the kids’ coats out of their backpacks.
Me: I gave you guys the five minute warning about 15 minutes ago.
Will: But Daddy, I want to do a spider underdog with Jill!
*Wondering if you have to be at least 17 years old for that to be legal. And if Jill’s father would approve of such debauchery.
Drew: And me!!!
Me: Jill isn’t that kind of girl Will. Let’s go.
Will: What do you mean Daddy?
Me: Nothing. Say goodbye to Jill and watch out for her Dad.
Will: Why should I watch out for Jill’s Dad?
Drew: Where is her Dad, Daddy?
Me: Cuz he might be a big man and step on all of us. I don’t know where he is Drew. Let’s get out of here!
Will: Why will he step on us?
Me: Because he has really big feet.
Will: Bigger than yours?
Drew: Daddy, I’mmmmmmmmmm hungry.
Me: No Will, not bigger than Daddy. I’m just kidding about Jill’s dad. Don’t worry about him. Let’s go.
*we walk to the mini van – yah yah mini van. I call it the party bus.
Drew: Daddy, I’m hungry!!!
Will: Were you just being silly Daddy?
*we are in the car now
Me: Yes, I…
*Drew screams at me
Drew: Daddy, I said I am HUNGRY!!!!
Me: Drew, I heard you! We are going home to get ready and will eat at Tommy and Katie’s!
Will: DADDY! Were you being silly?
Me: Yes Will, daddy is always being silly.
Drew: And me!
Will: You are the silliest one in our house!
Drew: Can I put this in my nose?
*I look in the backseat and he is holding a red torpedo from his Buzz Lightyear ship close to his nose holes.
Me: No Drew!
*Will starts laughing which makes Drew laugh.
Drew: I’m going to put this in my nose…..
*He has a taunting tone like a red torpedo up his nose will torment us and scar our memories for life.
Me: Drew, put down the torpedo. We don’t put things in our noses.
Will: Drew, put this in your nose!
*Will is laughing hysterically while holding a matchbox car
Me: That doesn’t help Will.
*Drew has an angry look on his little face
Drew: Wull Wull give me my car. Give it to me!
Will (Wull Wull): Here.
*Will fakes the handoff and pulls back the car to his chest laughing like he just invented the funniest joke ever.
Drew: No Wull Wull, no!! Give me my car!!
*Drew is screaming now, while Will laughs at him. I haven’t even pulled out of the school parking lot yet.
Me: You boys need to knock it off. We have the whole weekend together and I need you to cooperate, not fight, and not be my enemy. Ok?
Will: Okay, but what is an amenity?
Me: Enemy. An enemy is someone who is always working against you, causing you problems. I’m asking you to work with me and not cause any problems. Is that cool?
*Drew is putting the red torpedo in his nose
Will: You want us to cooperate and not be an amenity?
*Drew is still putting the red torpedo in his nose. I reach back and nearly dislocate my shoulder as I tell him to give me the red torpedo.
Me: Yes, Will. Drew, give me the torpedo right now.
Will: Drew, you are being an m&m-nenity.
Drew: Here Daddy. Sorry Daddy.
*Drew has a shit-stirring grin on his face. His ‘sorry’ was about as genuine as Pam Anderson’s boobs. I finally pull out.
Drew: I’m hungry.
*Will very sarcastically responds
Will: I’m hungry
Drew: Don’t copy me Wull Wull!
Will: Don’t copy me Will Will!
Drew: Stop it!
Will: Stop it!
Drew: Ah, lalalala, ga ga goo goo bum bum!
*both kids are cracking up
Will: Ah lalalalala gag a bum bum
Me: You forgot some parts Will.
Drew & Will nearly in unison: You forgot some parts Will!
Me: Oh great. You are going to copy me now?
Drew & Will nearly in unison: Oh great, you are gonna copy me now?
*kids laughing like drunk hyenas
Me: Daddy rocks.
Drew & Will: Daddy rocks!
Me: Daddy is the coolest ever and I will do whatever he wants!
Drew & Will: Daddy is the coolest ever and I will do what he wants.
Me: If I talk at all right now, including copying Daddy, I will not get to have any dessert at dinner. Which is a big bummer because we have yogurt covered raisins, ice cream and fake Oreos.
*Confusion reigns as to what to do. Luckily we live less than five minutes away and we are almost home.
Will: Daddy, let me out first.
Drew: No me!
Drew: Nooooooooooooo, me!!!!
Me: How ‘bout I leave you both in here all night?
Will & Drew: Yahhhhhhhhhh!
Me: Don’t tempt me. We are home now. No fighting. Besides, the first one in has to eat the last one. And everybody knows the last one is a rotten egg.
*Neither would get out of the car until I took title as first one in.
Time for another day of bonding and intelligent conversation. I was working on a sitter for tonight but am striking out. I think once the kids go to bed, I’ll spend my evening with some of my friends like Jack or Jim. Maybe Mr. Stoli or that Sam Adams guy.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
But we do have some rules. For example, he can’t play dress up and go outside. He can’t wear dresses to the kitchen table. He can’t dress up at friends’ houses unless they ask him to first.
Our big thing is that we don’t want him to get teased. Luckily, he is really smart and he is fully aware that he likes girly stuff more than boy stuff. He admits it freely and even jokes about it. And he does like some boy stuff. He does play with boys too. At this age, we aren’t aware of any harassment from anybody, kids or adults. So we let him do his thing.
So, Cinderella for Halloween. Do we let him do it? I was discussing this with Mo Mo and the only alternative we came up with is to suggest he dress up as poop. He loves talking about poop and laughs hysterically when we call each other poop names. So I think he’d go for it. One problem would be if the wife would go for her son dressing up as shit for Halloween. I’m sure he’d be the talk of the school parade. And what is worse, Cinderella or poop? Probably poop. Heck, tons of guys cross-dress for Halloween.
We settled on letting him do it, but deep down were hoping he’d find some other idea. My wife had a chat with him last night and we had an epiphany. She asked him what his second choice for a Halloween costume would be. He said Sleeping Beauty. Third choice. Belle. Fourth choice. A witch. Fifth choice. A ghost. The wife asked him if he thought it would be fun to be something scary for Halloween. Especially since he can dress up anytime as a princess. He then confessed that if he is Cinderella, then he will have the dress to wear again and again after Halloween. Aha. The smart kid was playing us for long term dress up fun. Brilliant.
His 6th birthday is in December. He now knows he is getting a Cinderella dress for his birthday. He is going to be a witch or ghost for Halloween. I’m sure it will be the witch. My mom would be proud (she has witch in her blood and a really crooked index finger).
My three year old Drew is going to be a dragon.
I wanted us to go as pirates. We rocked at the pirate party on the Disney cruise. Until five minutes after we got to the party when Drew had a cartoon charactor melt down (on ground, hands and legs stomping deck, screaming) and Will said he was tired and wanted to go to bed. Beware my gnarly crew of savage pirates. We will take your women and children. We will steal your valuables. Unless it is past 10p in which case we are toast.
Monday, October 6, 2008
The kids loved the cruise. I had fun too. Consider that the recap.
Oh okay, let me elaborate. At least on the highlights and things cluttering my mind from the voyage.
Per my last blog, I did some basketball experiments and determined that moving ships are really fricking windy. Thereby rendering said experiments meaningless. I did play a game of HORSE with my pal Tom late one night. Actually it was two in the morning and we were both a teeny bit over-served. Alright, we were drunk. Shooting baskets while drunk on a moving wobbly windy ship isn’t easy. Neither is foosball. Or shuffleboard. Ping pong is nearly impossible. You try chasing down those errant balls under those conditions. We ended up having a drunk ship Olympics. Yes grammar experts; the ship was drunk too.
I started a rumor that Minnie was fucking Goofy while Chip and Dale watched. All the guys thought it was hilarious. The women pretended they thought it was rude, but deep down, they were laughing and some were even perversely turned on.
It is 11pm and this is the first time in a week that I am not at least buzzed by now.
Kids Club with hours from 8am to midnight is pretty darn cool.
I was kayaking with the five and three-quarters year old (that is what he has been saying his age is) in Cozumel. We were near a long pier that people can use as a jumping point for swimming. A woman about to swim asked me if I had seen anything in the water. I said, “Yes. A shark, a barracuda, lots of jellyfish, a ninja diver with a knife in his mouth aiming a harpoon at the dock ladder, a hungry eel and a blowfish.” I gave a Beavis and Butthead cackle with that blowfish comment. She was mildly amused. My son looked like he just shit in his bathing suit. Oops.
The best places to drink beer in Cozumel are at the local dive bars where they rarely speak English and they can’t make change in dollars. I toasted to Mickey Mouse and his ass-raping as I drank Modelos costing 200 pesos.
I hate the Dodgers.
Grand Cayman is a wonderful place. No, I didn’t do Stingray City or any diving. Nor did I shop or see any local attractions. Instead, I found myself eating a mahi mahi sandwich at a beach hotel restaurant while we drank buckets of cerveza. Living out a Corona commercial is not a bad thing. In hindsight, I know nothing about Grand Cayman.
I was in an epic pillow fight with my three year old. He took a mighty swing at me and his momentum carried him over the edge of the bed. He was plummeting toward the tiny space between the bed and the couch. More specifically, the couch with the hard wooden armrest. Luckily with rounded corners. I caught Drew before he hit the ground, but not before his face hit the armrest. His right eye almost instantly swelled. By the next day, he had a shiner. Luckily he was otherwise okay. Inevitably, parents yell at their kids. Or talk sternly to them. I was afraid to raise my voice at black-eyed Drew for the last three days of the trip in fear of being accused of beating my sweet little boy. I think somehow that little booger knew this as he became the devil at least twice a day.
Speaking of twice, that is how many times I exercised. Unless you count that long walk along the beach to get a second helping of ribs from the food shack. That was exhausting, especially while I was carrying all that weight (bucket of beer).
It is now 24 hours later since I started this blog. Just an FYI. Since it is 11pm again and I am still sober! Two days in a row!
My older son’s favorite part of the cruise was meeting Cinderella. My younger son’s favorite part of the cruise was eating the little chocolate squares they left on his pillow every night. Cinderella was pretty hot, by the way. And the chocolates were pretty tasty, by the way.
The boat is called a ship. The floors are decks. The cabins are staterooms. The front is forward, the back is aft. I told one of the bartenders my cabin on the second floor of the back of the boat was a little far from the front for my liking. He didn’t get it.
There was a U.S. Coastguard ship docked on our pier in Cozumel. It was flying the Mexico flag though. Any theories on why? I’m sure it is something simple like stockings for circulation or the physics of velocity, but I’d rather ask someone here than googling it.
We seemed to be racing a Carnival cruise line throughout the week. I’d see them in the distance every now and then and also at port. I’ll bet you no mice were fucking dogs while chipmunks watched on the Carnival ship.
Good spot to end with that visual. I hope Disney is never the same for you.