Good Morning

It should take about ten minutes for my boys to eat a bowl of cereal. It should take two minutes for them to have a banana. It should take three minutes for them to change out of their jammies and into clothes. One minute to put on clothes if like lately, they were sleeping in nothing but their undies. It should take about three minutes for them to brush their teeth. Two minutes to gather all their shit that they like to bring between their Denver home and Boulder home depending on if they are with me or their mom.

Based on the fact they run around mostly in their underwear lately, that means the boys should take less than twenty minutes to get ready for the day. I’m happy to give them an extra ten minutes to wake up and dick around in the morning. So, a half hour, right?

Well, why does it regularly take an hour, no matter what? Why, I ask, why?!!! What happens during that extra half hour? I was sitting here shuffling paperwork around my desk and decided that my time is much more better bestest spent trying to figure it out. So I lounged out on my office couch doing my best Mad Men imitation and I think I may have fallen asleep for a few minutes. And somehow my yellow Silly Band (of Porky Pig) was off my wrist and lying on my chest. I must have been sleep fiddling with my Silly Band.

I got up and realized it isn’t a good example to the peeps to literally sleep on the job, so I am back behind my laptop on my desk appearing to be very very busy on an important work project while muttering something about TPS Reports because I love the movie Office Space and I accused a barista of wearing flair this morning and she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about which made me sad for her for not knowing one of the finest movies ever made about working for the man. So here I am, Silly Band back on my wrist (thanks Will) and I’m going to figure out where that half hour went.

I woke up first and remember brushing my teeth when Will walked in carrying a red balloon and a panda bear (stuffed, not live) named Fluffy. He was in superhero undies. I said, “Hey monster, good morning! Where is the little guy?” Just then Drew walked up in his superhero undies carrying a blue dog name Blue Dog and a blue bear named Bluey. Again, neither was real. The animals. My boys are real all right. My goodness are they ever real!

Okay, start the clock. I let them chillax while I was getting ready. Then I made them breakfast from scratch. I poured Drew some Lucky Charms and Will some Frosted Flakes. I peeled them both a banana. I filled their bowls up with milk and rang the breakfast bell. I took a quick shower and they were done eating. Cool, on schedule. I threw them both clean clothes and asked them to get dressed while I did the same.

I peeked out my bedroom a couple times to remind them to get dressed. Apparently they went deaf. Although they had no trouble hearing each other barter over a Silly Band shaped like a heart. I got dressed and loaded up my backpack with workout clothes. I cleaned up the place a little bit and told them to get dressed for the fourth time. Shorts pulled up to the knees followed by a series of low speed races ending in crashes that involve boys piled on top of each other doesn’t seem like getting dressed to me.

I admit it was amusing to watch and now realize this must be part of the missing half hour. I tried hard to not smile while I demanded they stop horsing around and better get dressed or I’d take away their Silly Bands. Which was a threat that only had about a 12% chance of being enforced which might explain why they ignored me again.

I closed up my laptop and remembered to grab a towel for the post workout shower at my office. Last time I had to use a hand towel and that wasn’t a very productive experience. I walked out of my bedroom again to see Will holding my iPhone and taking pictures. He was sitting in his shorts (hooray – progress!) on Drew’s back. Drew was pretending he was a bucking bronco for Will. And somehow his shorts that had previously been pulled up to his knees were nowhere to be seen. The bucking bronco was clad in nothing but Batman whitey tighties. I tried to look very serious and pissed off while Will took my picture and giggled.



Fail.

It took a good five minutes of tackling and tickling to get the boys back on track and focused on putting their clothes on. The mission was finally accomplished and I checked my watch. It had been an hour since they walked into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth!! What the?

We got our act together and hit the road. I admired the dark blue sky surrounding the majesty of the Flatirons and took a deep relaxing breath. Colorado is a great place to wake up every morning.

I looked in the rear view mirror and saw my beautiful happy boys spitting in a tiny cup to make “tea.” I smiled and before I yelled at them for being completely disgusting, I took another deep relaxing breath. These two boys make every day a beautiful day, spit tea and all.

“Boys, I love you.”

Nearly in unison, “I love you daddy.”

“Good. Now please never spit in the car again. Give me that cup.”

I looked at my watch and realized we would be a little late again. Loitering in superhero undies, shorts at the knees racing, bucking bronco picture taking, tackling and tickling.

Yeah, we aren’t late. Our time is very well spent.

Thank You Internet

This Internet thing is really something special. As you know Tina Godwin and I are an item. And now I’ve got a super sweet business proposition that came my way via the Interwebz as well. A reputable sounding gentleman named Adams Kojo sent me an email with the subject line being, “Awaiting your reply ASAP.” Here is his message.

Sir/Madam, I am seeking for good, serious and genuine business relationship on Gold concession inheritance,which is currently under Village local miners. We shall enter into agreement on how to deliver/ship to you for sale abroad in a reduced price below the world market.we also hope to enter into a long time partnership.Email to:adkojoadams@hotmail.com for details.Rgs,ADK.

Just call me Mr. Lucky. Despite Mr. Kojo not being sure if I’m a Sir or Madam, I’m certain he thoroughly researched me for this good, serious and genuine business relationship. I have to admit, I’m tired of bad, silly and fake business relationships. If I get one more offer to receive gold inheritances right out from under the local village miners abroad at reduced world market prices that are not good, serious and genuine; I’m gonna be cranky with Tina the next time she asks me to wire her more funds; boob job or not.

If I’m going to enter into a long term partnership with my internet business contacts, I want it to be like my relationship with Tina – good, serious and genuine. Adams Kojo sounds very good, serious and genuine.

I mean, he does talk a little funny, but all foreigners are like that. I just ran into one yesterday - he was from Texas – and I couldn’t understand a darn word he was saying! I think he got tired of me laughing at his face because I couldn’t believe he didn’t realize I don’t speak his language, nor do I understand his local customs so all I could really do was point at his ridiculous cowboy hat that he must have gotten at a seven year old boy’s birthday party while I tried to enunciate in my American Midwest accent, “Hello man from foreign country. Welcome to Cal-oh-raaaah-doe. That is a bueno belt buckle, comrade. Would you like to try some American food such as a hot dog, krispy kreme donut or cheese from a can while you look over my Gold flown in from a local village overseas, perhaps near your own country of El Houston-o? Perhaps we can trade goods that are unique to our home countries as a sign of solidarity among different nations. I will take that funny hat and you can have this Airbender character my son didn’t even want from his Happy Meal because nobody in the world, including those from your great nation of Texas has ever seen the stupid movie.”

The confused foreigner in the tall hat threw up his lunch (it was a runny brown mix of something resembling dark gravy and pulled pork, but conveniently he had a throw up cup – he must have some sort of rare disease likely from the third world living conditions I assume he lives in since he isn’t American). He said something in his foreign tongue along the lines of, “Y’all got any Kerrs Light?”

I just laughed my ass off at him and said, “You international tourists are so interesting. What language is that anyway?”

He said, “Hey pardner, I’m from the great state of Texas,” and then he threw up more of his lunch neatly in his throw up cup.

I looked over both shoulders before leaning in closer to the strange man with pointy shoes, “Listen. I don’t want to take advantage of immigrants, so I’m going to do you a big favor and you will be able to have all the Kerrs Lights you want, cowboy. You need to contact a Mr. Adams Kojo. He is a good, serious and genuine businessman. And he talks funny, just like you. I don’t know how he does it, so don’t even ask. Just send him all the Euros you got and he will send back Gold from the village of miners at prices far under the world market rate! No. Don’t say anything. I can’t understand you with that, what did you call it, Texas I think, accent and all those made up words. Next time at least buy an English translation book and try to communicate with Americans in their own language would you? Okay, I gotta run. I want to get back online and check in with Adams and Tina. In case you are wondering, Tina is my internet girlfriend. Yeah, I know, impressive for a gringo. I know a good woman and a good serious genuine business deal when I read one in my spam folder.”

So yeah, in a matter of two days, I got myself an Internet girlfriend, an Internet business partnership and I got to talk to a guy from Texas. Three complete foreigners! Heck, don’t call me Mr. Lucky, let’s go with Mr. International! Woot!

Education

I like learning. I read a lot of books, articles and between surfing porn, I check out a lot of blogs too. I attend conferences and seminars that are usually business focused but I seem to get a lot of personal growth from them as well. I really like discovering new things on the fly. I learn from experiences, interactions with others and just living life. I learn new things every day. Here are some recent noteworthy discoveries:

Drew’s Butt is Gross
I took Will to see the BodyWorlds exhibit at the museum. He said ‘gross’ at least a hundred times. But he loved it. We both learned a lot. When I asked him for a list of top things he learned, one of his answers was, “Now I know what the inside of Drew’s butt looks like.”

Racism is Funny
I ran into one of my African American friends last night. We did a quick catch-up and agreed to get together for beers soon. I told him I was thinking about becoming a racist against White people. He said, “I think I’ll join you.”

My Best Friend is Clueless
My buddy Lemon and his sister stopped by my office on the way to the airport. They were in the mountains for a family trip and had to head back to Chicago today. We grabbed a quick lunch and were talking about their visit. They said they went on a long hike yesterday. I asked how long and they both said they had no idea but they threw out their guesses based on how much time it took. The trail sounded great so I asked him what it is called. His answer: “Ten Mile Trail.” I nearly spit diet coke out my nose.

Floors Don’t Clean Themselves
I have hardwood floors in the kitchen and entry way of my bachelor pad. Once the dust bunnies began to look like tumbleweed and I got tired of wiping debris off my bare feet every time I walked in there, I decided to take a broom and wet mop to the area. Who knew how shiny those floors really are? And so slippery when there aren’t built in speed bumps also known as shit on the floor. Wow!

It Takes One to Know Someone
See last blog post.

My Son Wants to Change His Name
The good news is he just wants to add to it. Drew wants to be known as X-Ray. He already answers to it like it is completely normal. He says it will be after his last name and is effective immediately.

Roughhousing and Underwear is an Effective Way to Pull Teeth
I don’t know if I have ever said, “Boys, put on your pajamas,” just once. It usually takes between two and eleventyseven times of saying it before they boys will finally put on their fucking pajamas. On Friday, after about the tenth time of telling them to jammy up, I couldn’t believe they were goofing off in their undies. Will had jumped on top of Drew and was tickling him. So I did what any Dad would do. I jumped on top of Will and Drew and tickled them both while telling them I won’t stop until they put on their pajamas. Of course, they were laughing hysterically and couldn’t get away from me, so it was a hopeless situation all the way around; but it sure was fun. The fun came to an abrupt halt when Will said, “Stop! My tooth!” One of Will’s big front teeth had been hanging on by a gummy thread. Not anymore. He was perturbed at first. He said, “Daddy, this is your fault. You were roughhousing with me and caused me to catch my tooth on Drew’s underwear and then when you tickled me I moved my head and my tooth flew out.” You know, just like tying a string to the tooth and doorknob for a quick slam except it was undies and tickling. I reminded him that means the tooth fairy would be visiting and I became a hero (along with Drew’s underwear) for causing the tooth to come out.

As you can see, the last few days have been very enlightening. How I apply these learnings is important. The only one I’m not really sure what to do with is the fact that it takes one to know someone. I guess maybe I shouldn’t consider spam as a learning vehicle, but I’m open minded.

Sometimes I have to learn old things all over again. This happens a lot, if I let it. Most recently, I have re-learned that I need to keep my head up and just have fun. I’ve been working out regularly again, goofing off and not taking a heck of a lot too seriously. Life has been good. I guess the jammy thing isn’t all that crazy. Repetition is education. Life is good. Life is good.

Life is fucking good!

Love From the Racially Tolerant UK

Perhaps you have noticed that in my post divorce life I have already found myself dealing with a crazy range of emotions with a new relationship. Problem solved.

I got an email last night from a name I didn’t recognize – a Tina Godwin. The subject was “Site recommendation from a friend.” Although it seemed like spam, I decided to open it since it didn’t get filtered into my junk mail. Here is the note unedited and unaltered:

Hello from Tina
My name is Tina I got your contact details through internet search
and I am interested in knowing you and being friendly
with you . I would appreciate if we get acquainted as soon as possible, you
can reach me through my private e-mail stated below so that we can get to know each other better.
My private e-mail: tina4godwin@yahoo.co.uk
I quite believe that we can start from here since it takes one to know
someone. I want you to understand that race or distance does not matter but
loving and caring matters a lot in life. I look forward to hearing more
from you soonest .
yours Tina.
tina4godwin@yahoo.co.uk


Holy sure thing, Batman! She wants to be friendly with me!!! As soon as possible! And she is wise. Although she seems ready to get in my pants now, she acknowledges that we can start with her private email because it takes one to know someone. I admit I was still a little skeptical because the UK is far away; plus for all I know, she might be Caucasian (she says race doesn’t matter though). Even though I’m White too, I thought it might be amusing to become a racist against other White people. Imagine the fun when for example if someone is taking a long time to pay for their groceries, I can shake my head and mutter, “Stupid White people,” or if someone cuts me off on the road I can shake my fist out the window and call the offender an Idiot Cracker!

Lovely Tina doesn’t care about race though. Nor distance. Someone recommended me to her, or at least a search engine directed her my way; probably when she was Googling “amazingly awkward with big feet” or “douchebag.”

I admit I am not going to privately email Tina back. I think just knowing she wants to be friendly with me (boom shocka locka) is the ego stroke I needed. I don’t care if you are really spam Tina Godwin. I don’t care if you are another fucking whitey being all white in the UK offering loving and caring cuz that’s all that matters to any and every search result on “douchebag.”

Thank you Tina Godwin.

Spider and Bug

“Hey Mr. Bug, how’s it going?”

“Hi Ms. Spider! Looking good today, baby. Hairy legs and all.”

Batting eyelashes seductively, “Why thank you, Bug. You are such a gentleman. Why don’t you come closer?”

“Really?” Smiles bashfully and then notices sticky web of commitment and certain doom. “I mean, I would, but I never really know what you want from me Spider.”

Licking lips, “Oh Bug, you should never try to understand a woman. Haven’t you learned that by now? Since when do you follow your brain anyway?”

“Ha, that is the problem Spider. I always follow my heart. But sometimes it sets me up for trouble.”

“What makes you think I’d cause you any trouble?” Spider casually steps in front of a recently spun lost relationship – poor little insect.

“Well, I’m no fly on the wall, but I think you might be a real heartbreaker.”

Spider gets pouty in a somehow very sexy way. “Oh Bug, it hurts me to hear you say that.” Bug steps closer, eyeing those long legs. And legs. And legs. And legs. Some sort of secretion normally meant to break down food into something malleable drools out of Bug’s mouth.

Spider enjoys the attention and stretches her legs and cephalothorax for a little extra tease. “My my, isn’t someone a bit bug-eyed?”

Bug snapped out of it and realized he was nearly within touching range of the beautiful Ms. Spider. “I, um, well hi, yes, hey look! Something shiny.” Spider instantly was lost in her own world, transfixed by a sparkling light.

Bug looked at her and knew she was special. She was different, like he was. It didn’t matter that she was a spider and he was a bug. They could overcome anything. Sure, she should just find a spider in a nearby corner to spin wild yarns with, wrap a newly grown leg around his pedicel, and tickle his pedipalps. Bug isn’t a spider. But they had a connection like no other. Their hearts beat faster with each other. Why can’t they be together?

Spider’s transfixion with the shiny thing ended and she set six of her twelve eyes back on Bug. He was close, yet so far. Her other six eyes were lost, searching for something she didn’t have.

One second, Bug felt so attached, the next he felt like he was on the bottom of a shoe. He couldn’t leap into her tangled web right now. There didn’t seem to be any choice. She pushed him away. He backed off.

Spider eyed Bug longingly. But she didn’t say anything. She just let him go. Bug thought of Spider longingly. It all changed so quickly. He wandered aimlessly.

They were sad.

This is it

I just posted a blog on Sunday and usually don't do another one so soon. I don't like to miss potential witty comments and feedback. But I have to go ahead and post this new one. I hadn't seen this picture until today. It is seven months old now, but is easily my favorite of all time.

This is how life should feel every day.



Best picture ever.

Helping Out the One-Legged Needy

I think I donated a really expensive shoe to Goodwill. I can’t find my left Ecco black loafer. I wore it on Thursday, along with the right one. I decided to clean out my closet on Saturday. I ended up with a ton of clothes to donate. I found things I forgot I even owned. So I made a big pile on the floor, right next to my shoes. When I was done, I put everything in a big black trash bag by making giant swooping bear hug grabs of the pile. Things tipped over, making a shorter pile, but much wider. Wide enough that I think some of the clothes were on top of my shoes. And I think I bear hugged and scooped up my left Ecco. Now there is probably some large footed man running around in Boulder with an Ecco loafer on his left hoof and a flip flop on the other. I sure hope they discounted it even more since it was a single.

So Thursday was the last time I wore my left Ecco. It was at The Med, a great tapas restaurant here in Boulder. It was an impulsive visit since I had no plans and was alone, but I didn’t feel like cooking at home. Because cooking at home means heating something up.

True, there is a big appliance in my kitchen that somehow creates massive amounts of heat capable of cooking meat and vegetables, but my familiarity with it seems to lie with the top part of the apparatus which quite magically does things like make my kids chicken nuggets. Wait, that sounds like it turns my kids into chicken nuggets. I need an editor. Steph? It makes my kids chicken nuggets to eat. No, now it sounds like I can eat my kids. It makes chicken nuggets for my kids to eat. Aha, there we go! It also warms up leftover pizza. And the pizza originally comes from the big pizza maker found at the bottom of the large heat making apparatus. I’m not sure why there are so many racks in there when I only need one to put the pizza on. I also don’t understand why they put burners on the middle part of the heat making apparatus when it’s only function is a place to put the pizza while shutting the door to the pizza making part of the unit.

So anyway, since I didn’t have my kids and didn’t feel like eating pizza, I decided to try The Med at happy hour. I heard they have a great bar menu and that it is packed with great people watching. I put on both my left and right Ecco and headed over. I found a spot at the bar and had a delicious meal of mussels and ceviche. The orange vodka and tonic was yummy too. I got sucked in to watching the stupid LeBron James drama on TV, so I hung around for a couple hours.

People were very cool there and I found myself having lots of conversation. The first person was an older guy who bellied up next to me to order a shot of tequila. A double. For the second time in the last fifteen minutes. Straight up – not chilled, no limes no nothing. This guy was hardcore. As he waited for his drink, he asked me where I’m from. He kept asking questions until he found out I’m originally from Chicago. He used to live there too. He and his wife sold a furniture store and the building it was in and moved to Colorado. Mid story, he said, “Oh shit, there is my wife,” and he quickly excused himself. I don’t think she knew he was pounding tequila.

Next up were two cougars (hey, they admitted it and used the word, not me). They were chatty and had lots of attention from other people in the bar (I think they are semi-regulars). They somehow adopted me as their pal and introduced to me everyone that came by. One guy was talking about how Carmelo Anthony hasn’t called him back yet, probably because he is in New York getting married. Another guy asked one of the cougars if she went to a neighborhood pig roast despite knowing she is a die hard vegetarian. Interesting people!

I tuned in and out of the conversation, kept an eye on the LeBron stupidity, and watched the people around me. I got stuck on an Asian girl probably around thirty years old. She had on a tank top and had a tattoo on her left shoulder. I don’t know what it said because it was in Chinese or Japanese symbols. It probably said, “peace love and happiness,” or something inspirational. Unless despite being Asian she didn’t bother to double check and ended up the victim of a cruel tattoo artist’s joke that left her with symbols saying something like, “I’m a fucking dork, have a nice day.” Which got me thinking about how it seems like White people are the ones who always get the Japanese symbols as tattoos; and who knows what they really say. So, shouldn’t an Asian woman have to get something in English for her tattoo? English words or symbols that she thinks mean “peace out” but really says “fuck you” or something like that? I ran this by a few people next to me and surprisingly they laughed. Gotta love Boulderites.

I left The Med and retired to my bachelor pad. I kicked off both Eccos, and thought I really should clean out the damn closet.

Two days later and now I’m left left shoeless (two lefts are correct here, I think). But I least I may have helped a one legged, large footed man in need. Maybe I’ll donate the right one next time.

Wise Little Man

“Do you guys want to go to the Renaissance Festival on Saturday?”

In unison, “What is a Renaissance Festival?” Except Drew said Red Sauce Festival.

“It is people pretending they live in medieval times. They dress up and talk funny.”

In unison, “What is medieval?” Except Drew said midval.

“It is when there were kings, queens, princes, princesses, knights, jesters, dragons, wizards, and all kinds of interesting people. Do you want to go?”

“Yeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh! Can we dress up,” asked Will?

“Oh Daddy, can I bring my sword,” Drew screamed a little too psychotically for my liking. It was as if for years he has been looking for a good opportunity to wield a sword in public and has finally struck gold.

“Yes, you guys can dress up. But it might be hot and I’m telling you right now I’m not carrying your stuff around if you get tired of wearing it.”

I looked in the rear view mirror and saw Will smiling ear to ear. “Daddy, I bet kids will dress up as princesses. I sure would like to, but they may not be ready for a boy as a princess.”

In a low sort of man-voice, Drew announced, “I’m going to bring my sword!!”

“Yeah, Will, there will probably be princesses there. I’m not sure how happy you would be in a dress anyway. It will be hot.”

“Maybe I’ll just wear my Wizard cape and hat. What are you going to wear daddy?”

“I am going to wear a big smile, a glorious attitude, and clean underwear.”

“Daddy!” Laughing. “We are going to wear dirty underwear! With poop in it!”

The ensuing conversation remained in the bathroom for about ten minutes. I have to say I haven’t been to one of these things since I moved to Colorado fifteen years ago. I have a loose rule about not attending venues that sell giant drumsticks. It just tends to draw a demographic I don't really fit into. I guess I'm a festival snob. Inevitably those same places sell food on sticks. Unless it’s a popsicle or ice cream, I can’t think of anything that should be eaten off a stick. But for the sake of the boys getting to do something new and different, I knew I had to make an exception.

Saturday came along and we made the hour commute to medieval times. It felt like a long drive down I-25 more than time travel, but sure enough, we arrived within the walls of a castle full of odd talking and looking souls. I wasn’t quite prepared for the heavy adult spin on everything. There was a lot of boobage. And the little shows they did were filled with sexual innuendo. Prince Charming and Prince Dashing are little man-whores.

There were lots of cool kid focused things though. The boys enjoyed getting dragon tears from a fairy. As you can see, they decided not to get dressed up after all.





Isn’t she cute? Of course she wanted a dollar for the pictures and dragon tears which I was happy to give. But man, every ‘character’ in the festival wanted a handout if you even made eye contact with them. I’ve had less pressure at strip clubs to fork out singles.

At the end of the day, we watched one more show. It was called the Washing Well Wenches. Commonly referred to as the Wenches Show. Dad of the Year, I am.

“What is a wench daddy?”

“Um, those two ladies right there.”

“Why are they wenches?”

“Are you thirsty? Who wants a root beer?!”

In unison, “I do!”

“Wait daddy, why are their teeth blacked out? Is that real?”

“If you think it’s real, then it is.”

The wenches put on a funny show that involved getting the audience wet with their laundry. But it was indeed filled with innuendo and some pretty direct propositioning of various men in the crowd. Even though I was sitting there with my two kids, they made a comment to me along the lines of, “Hey handsome, feel free to let us wash your clothes,” while they made some crazy tongue action that I haven’t seen since watching the movie Porky’s.

"Daddy! She called you handsome! Why did she stick her tongue out though?"

"Have some more root beer, son."

At the end of their show, they picked four guys from the crowd and had them do silly things to earn a rose to give to their women. It was funny and the kids actually laughed a lot. The show ended and as we were walking out, Will said, “Daddy, you don’t have anyone to give a flower to, do you?”

I looked at him and said, “No son, I guess I don’t.”

He said, “Its okay. I don’t either. And neither does Drew.”

“It’s just us guys right now, huh? You think that’s cool?”

“Yeah daddy. Don’t worry,” and he held my hand.