I'm Applying To Be On The Bachelor! A Guest Blog Post

The other day my good friend Stacey (@IEatMyKidzSnack on Twitter and the author of THIS funny-as-hell blog) and I got into one of our fantasy wars.

If you haven’t seen them before they kinda go a little bit like this.

Well this recent battle was about how awful we thought the other person would be as a contestant on The Bachelor.

That led to an email from Stacey to me which said, “I’m filling out the official Bachelor submission questionnaire for your right now.”

I responded, “If you do, I’ll post it as my first guest blog ever.”

And well…here it is.

I hope you laugh as much as my gap-toothed dumb-ass did.

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A Guest Blog Post By Stacey "Lady of the House"

www.IEatMyKidzSnacks.com

After a recent “I fantasize” tweet battle with my good friend, WhyIsDaddyCrying I decided to see what would happen if he wasn’t a happily married father of two and actually applied to be the next Bachelor.

THE BACHELOR QUESTIONNAIRE

Name: Don’t you know who I am? I’m @whyisdaddycryin on Twitter.

How did you hear about our search? Are you kidding? Ever since I was a boy I’ve dreamed of being surrounded by hot chicks with daddy issues desperate to hang out in a hot tub with me and compete for a crack at ALL this:

Occupation:  I’m a vegetarian and a blogger. Plus I started a movement called “Pants Optional Friday” where I advocate no one wears pants on Fridays. Frankly, this would work to my advantage at those Rose Ceremonies. Maybe change my line to, “Ladies, will you accept my balls?”

Annual salary: Let’s just say, I like a nice Sizzler salad bar once a quarter and even though I’m a vegetarian, I roll my own sushi.

What is your highest level of education?  Yes.

Are you a legal resident of the United States? Yup, unless there’s a place where hookers & weed are legal. What? Where? I’d like to change my answer.

Where did you grow up? I grew up in North (hick) North Carol (hick) North Carolina. Sorry, I have a case of the hickups.

*No offense to anyone from North Carolina. I just like to get daddy’s goat.  Since he probably fucked it while growing up in North Carolina.

Have you ever been arrested, charged or convicted of a crime of any type? Does an inmate shit in his cell? There may have been one time. What? I read dolphins love human contact.

Have you ever had a temporary restraining order issued against you? Please give details and dates: Yes, but it was terminated when Mr. Coleman passed away.

Have you ever been a performer, participant or contestant on television, radio or in film? Does really amateur porn count?

Do you drink alcoholic beverages? Yes, yes I do. Let me take you through what a “one on one date” would look like. First I’d have a cocktail while putting on my makeup getting ready to go out.

Next I’d do 5 or 6 shots of Jaeger in the limo all the while trying to fit my massive head out the top so I could yell “I’m The Motha Fuckin’ Bachelor bitches.” I’d spend the next several hours alternating between wine and Maker’s Mark and Sprite.

While eating annoying things like hummus and sprouts I’d talk incessantly about the weather and high cost of oil. I’d end the night by stroking my date’s hair, fumbling with her bra and vomiting into the hot tub. The same applies for a “group date” with the addition of trying to milk each girl like she was a dairy cow.

** This was the part of the application where they asked for age, height, weight, etc. I felt those questions were inconsequential compared to what I feel ladies need to know if they choose to use the overnight date card with WhyIsDaddyCrying.

Degree of halitosis: Somewhere between baby diaper and rotting corpse.

Diameter of space between teeth:

Degree of erectile dysfunction:  Moderate unless I’m watching “Meerkat Manor” then I’m fine.

How many days in between your period: N/A. But every 28 days I cry into a Snuggie because I feel unappreciated & bloated.

Brain Size: A full 4 ¼ inches. Yeah baby.

Thickness of back hair: Let’s just say there better be at least 3 pool skimmers.

Please describe your ideal mate in terms of physical attraction & in terms of personality attraction.  She’s got to have boobs, a butt and a face. Oh and hands and a vagina. She has to laugh at all my jokes and be smart and stuff. This is hard. No seriously it is. I’m like a pre-pubescent boy when I talk about boobs. Did I mention boobs?

How many serious relationships have you been in? 6

What happened to end those relationships? Came out as a lesbian, moved to Dikshit, India, attempted murder (her on me), rehab, eaten by a dingo and again, lesbianism.

What are your hobbies? I drink a shit-ton of beer, I love music, and I pleasure myself to pictures of Bea Arthur run. I also take zumba.

What is the unique talent of which you are most proud? I can fart the alphabet. I mean shart. I can shart the alphabet.

List the 3 adjectives that best describe you: Smoove, Phat and Foine.

Do you have any tattoos? If yes, what are they? And where are they located on your body? Yes.

Have you ever been married? Look a helicopter!

If yes, how many times? No, seriously isn’t it a prerequisite to arrive in a helicopter at least 3 times on “The Bachelor?” I assume you provide Depends Undergarments for men who have problems with high altitude and vibration?

Have you ever been divorced? Not yet but please, please don’t show this application to anyone who claims to be “married to me.”

Do you have any children? How is this relevant to me getting drunk and cliff diving with scantily clad women?

What accomplishment are you most proud of?  Ugh. Shit. FINE! MY FAMILY. I am most proud of my beautiful wife and children.

Why would you be a great husband? Because, well…………read my blog.

Why are you America’s Most Eligible Bachelor? I’m not.

*In the end WhyIsDaddyCrying would realize no amount of free tail is worth giving up the amazing family he allows all of us to see glimpses of on his blog.

**Also you have to submit a picture and video. We all know after seeing that “gap toothed bastard” all we’d hear is women openly weeping and limo tires screeching.

The Wife, Anderson Cooper & Egypt

To say the wife loves Anderson Cooper is to say that I think Jennifer Aniston ranks as “eh” on a scale of “I just threw up in my mouth” to “I’d murder someone just to have her look at me!”

I mean, I can see her thinking he’s good looking… what with the perfect hair, skin, and what-not.

Just the other day a friend revealed to her that he’s gay. Her response, “that’s cool. I’d still be there for him.”

My response, “hang in there kiddo, you never know. You could lay the magic touch that turns him straight. But if you do…deal is…the dog, hamster, cat, and fish go with you!!”

Regardless, she’s a fan.

So much so that my dear friend @ieatmykidzsnack on Twitter pulled some heroic strings and got a personalized, signed autographed picture of Mr. Cooper as a Christmas present to the wife.

But I guess the part I love the most is that she doesn’t obsessively watch thousands of hours of his broadcast. Which, in my phenomenal inspector/FBI training abilities, tells me she’s just in it for the looks.

So, apparently Egypt has been kicking the living shit out of Anderson Cooper lately.

This past Wednesday pro-Egyptian government campers threw 10 fist blows at my man’s head. Yesterday, they stepped it up a notch and went after him in his “news van.”

As a side note…if he was in a Hummer…I would have even joined the group trying to attack him. But that’s a whole other blog post.

Knowing my wife tends to lean significantly towards the “I don’t read the news too much but love me some Hoarders episodes,” I filled her in on her boyfriend’s Egyptian experiences by treating it as though I was having to tell her the cat is dead.

I walked down to her basement work-from-home office, embraced her to the point to where she was in pain and wanted me to “just go away!!!”

I said, “Shnookums (cause she loves it when I call her that) I need you to sit down for a sec. I…..I have to tell you something.”

Wife: “Why are you drinking a beer at 9:18 a.m.?”

Me: “Because I’ve been traumatized on your behalf and needed something to help me get through this.”

Wife: “Oh my god what is it?”

Me: “Anderson Cooper got his ass kicked in Egypt…twice.”

Wife: “Is he alive? Is he hurt?”

Me: “He’s still reporting and I can’t see a damn scratch on that guy…I seriously think he’s a robot!!”

Wife: “Oh thank God.”

Me: “You mean Oh thank baby Jesus?”

Wife: “Maybe you should think about visiting Egypt.”

She clearly took it well.

Later that night I swear I walked in on her talking to her signed Anderson Cooper picture. But being the delightful husband I am, I just gave her a knowingly smile, patted her on the head (cause she loves that) and walked out of the room to give her more time with her love.



Attachment Issues

My daughter is one of those girls that stays attached to her mommy at all times.

Occasionally it works to my advantage.

Like, when the daughter puked up a vat of semi-digested popcorn the other night.

I got stuck cleaning chunks off sheets while the wife got to hold the daughter's hair back as she "talked to Ralph on the big white phone."

Other times...well, it's not so awesome.

Like, when 10 adults and us spend the first hour of a dinner party having to spell out naughty words so the daughter doesn't learn what "flashing, douchebags, and quickies" are.

It's been a long and painful road watching the daughter remain attached to the wife in social settings.

I stay out of it waiting for the wife to drop her Jedi-mind-trick-ninja-awesomeness stuff on her. In the old days that would result in the daughter perplexed and left hanging with kids before she knew what happened.

Now, the daughter just laughs and gives the wife that, “time to step-it-up a notch loser” look within seconds of saying, “hey look, an awesome movie’s on in the other room!!”

However, this past weekend was huge.

The family hit an awesome party which for the first hour the daughter decided she was 38 and ready to be an adult with everyone.

I watched as she made eye-contact with the adults as they told stories. She smiled at punch-lines. She was entranced at long tales recounting drunken nakedness through the neighborhood.

That’s when I knew the attachment had to be broken.

Visions of the daughter being 12 years old, drinking beer, hanging with the adults, telling stories we’re all drunkingly laughing at while wondering “who invited the super young chick to the party” filled my head.

NO!

She needed to hang with the kids.

And that’s when I come in.

Scooping the daughter up, tickling her as I lead her to the massive cookie stash just steps from the “Night at the Museum” movie blaring next to the gaggle of kids with juice-stained mouths.

Within minutes she was double fisting sugar awesomeness and being swept up by the kid-magic.

And I…I escaped back to the world of drunkin stupidness. A couple hours later, she was in the middle of the room doing the robot as we all laughed our asses off.

A circle of adults and kids were her audience as she juked and jived around the floor. The same little girl who a few hours ago wouldn’t let go of her mommy’s leg.

The wife and I basked in the light of hope that our little angel might finally be breaking out of her shell. Doubtful…but hopeful.

 

My Kids Are Making-Out In the Back Seat

“Let’s have a kissing war! Grayson, you kiss me and I’ll kiss you back!”

Those were the words which cut through the air and pierced my eardrums as we were driving in the car over the weekend.

I immediately looked over to the wife who was engrossed in her Christmas gifted Kindle.

Clueless as to the words that just filled the air she looked at me and said, “what? What are you looking at? Do I have a boogie hangin?”

Me: “The kids are making out in the backseat!!!”

Wife: “What?!!!”

In movie-like slow motion I see her turn to her left, burning me with a “why does everything have to do with sex with you” look which quickly turns to a “holy shit my daughter and son are about to make out” look.

Watching through the review mirror I see the same horror as her. The daughter is leaning into the brother with a smooch on her lips as the boy finds the nearest solid object to hold in-front of his face.

Being a born and raised North Carolina native, all I could imagine was trotting off with the wife 15 years from now to see our children and driving up to wobbly trailer with my son in nothing but overalls, holding a Budweiser and missing three-quarters of his teeth.

I pictured getting out of the car to hear the boy yell to his pregnant sister/wife, “go on now and feed baby number 5 fore I’s- a tell mamma and papa you’s-a-been smokin’ and drankin’ durin’ pregnancy agin.”

Wife: “Macy!!! No! We don’t do that!!”

Macy: “But I see you and daddy do it!”

The wife and I immediately looked at each other with a “when the hell has she ever seen us kiss? We haven’t done that nonsense since…well since New Year’s 1994” look.

Wife: “Baby, mommy and daddy aren’t brother and sister. We are adults and married. We are happy that you want to kiss Grayson, but you should only do it as a peck on his cheek. Not on the lips.”

Me: “Macy, boys are disgusting. School work and never going out with boys until your 26 years old is really the way to safely go about living your life.

“Now, your brother was brought into this world simply to provide protection against the gross boys who might try to hold your hand, caress your hair, or baby-jesus forbid…kiss you. You should not kiss Grayson, yet merely thank him when he beats-down a young lad who’s entered your ‘personal zone.’”

Grayson: “Mommy, is that true? Is that really why I’m on Earth?”

Wife: “No dear, your father’s an idiot and a freak-of-nature. You are with our family because we love you and wanted a beautiful young boy to share our lives with.”

Macy: “Mommy?! Can I really not kiss boys until I’m 26 years old?”

Wife: “Yes dear. Sorry, but those are the rules.”

When the kids weren’t looking the wife and I gave a quick fist-bump to each other. Now THAT’s good parenting!



A Pictorial Look Back

I put this picture on Twitter the other day of the girl rocking out like it’s 1983, and it got me thinking.

I should take a walk back in time through pictures I’ve tossed on Twitter over the past year. I enjoy whipping-out the ole phone camera from time to time in the hopes I’ll catch an unforgettable moment, and toss it on TwitPic.

So, I did just that…I dug through the vaults and now I give you, an assemblage of pictures I’ve snapped and thrown on Twitpic over the past 365 days, complete with commentary:

I volunteer every Monday in my daughter’s kindergarten class. Her “boyfriend” always spends those days drawing thought-provoking pictures of me such as this. His pictures make me cry at night….

Hell yes I played Santa for a friends’ family holiday party!

One of many reasons I can’t wait until the summer. Looong bike rides with the boy along the river.

Sometimes you just have to step outside the box when it comes to requesting a little nookie-time with the wifey.

Unloading chess-jedi-mindtrick-knowledge on the boy…just incase chess becomes a multi-billion-dollar-a-year industry.

And if chess doesn’t work, I’m falling back on roller-derby with my bad-ass daughter!!! Bring daddy the paycheck!!!

Yes, it’s true. Jesus was a tow-truck driver before he became…well..Jesus. I still regret not buying this damn painting from the Antique store.

One of many awesome notes the boy and I pass back and forth every day through his lunch box.

Fuck yeah Pink Ducky got praised by random Spider-dudes in downtown Chicago.

Last but not least, the absolute love of my life on her 36^th birthday.