It's A Brand New Year!

Well…I’m back after a two-week hiatus.

The fam and I took a little trip to North Carolina to recharge, enjoy some family and friends during the holidays, and to ditch the kids for multi-night excursions of gallivanting, drinking, thumb-wrestling, and graffiti by moon-light.

I thought about boring you with a play-by-play of our 12.5-hour trip from Chicago to North Carolina with a young nipper in the back who decided to grace us with the puke bug three hours into the trip.

But, I’m just not talented enough to pull off a puke story that doesn’t involve Bobcat Goldthwait, a tiger, a cage-match with two moles, and the Sanford and Son intro song as background music.

So, instead… I’m going to do what we all must do this time every year and toss out a snippet from the much longer version of…

My New Year’s Resolutions

I only ran just over 500 miles last year. The lowest mileage I’ve had since Brett Farve first realized he could pic text the contents of his jockstrap to sideline hotties. This year…I WILL break 1,000 miles by December 31.

I’m going to finally stop giving a fuck what other people think!! I mean…if…if it’s cool with you? If not, I could always postpone it another year or so, or something like that. I don’t know. Hey, I just found $5 on the ground. Want it?!!

When I finally shave my beard I will keep a handlebar mustache for longer than two hours!

To finally get my half-sleeve tattoo finished…without going bankrupt.

I will not sleep, eat, or read to my children until I make it to the Presidential debate, earn the right to hold a mic, and ask the question: “Mr. President. You have made it clear in previous campaigns for your current position that you are opposed to the war in Iraq. You worked hard to repeal the “don’t ask don’t tell” military policy, and are working closely with other UN constituents to keep North Korea at bay despite Sarah Palin’s belief they are our ally. So I ask you…will you vehemently support the growing Pants Optional Friday movement?!!”

To go to bed each night having my kids tell me they love me…unsolicited.

This year I will support the grape farmers! I will go above and beyond the call of duty to make sure grape farmers far and wide who just so happen to provide the wine industry its much needed ingredient are given their due during hard times!

To tell my wife one more time than necessary every day that I love her.

That’s the short short version. The longer version is anonymously hand written on a paper that’s been mailed to an unsuspecting gentleman in Arizona I’ve never met.

It’s my annual ritual, it works for me and I’m pretty sure once the guy finishes reading them he’s going to pour a stiff drink and thank his maker he’s not me.

Happy New Year world! Make this one count.



Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

Tomorrow at 5 a.m. our lovely, adoring, sweet little family will sleepily pile into the over-stuffed car and head south from Chicago to North Carolina for Christmas.

Presents will be packed amongst suite cases, games, and high hopes that Santa will make this THE most bestest Christmas EVER!

Me? I’ll be in the driver seat clutching a large cup of joe looking at the open road thinking “bring it bitch! Let’s do this.” And, I’ll have full intent of making the trip in no less than 14 hours.

Come hell or high water, this car will drive into the in-laws’ driveway by 7 p.m.

Want to make a bet? No?

Well, here’s something you can bet on!

The Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

1) Grayson: “Macy, stop looking at me. Stop. STOP!!!! Mommy…Macy’s looking at me!!! Can we leave her at the next McDonalds we pass?

2) Macy: “Ewwwww….what’s that smell? Eww…skunk.”

Wife: “No dear…it’s your father.”

3) Me: “So, I says to the guy… ‘that’s what she said.’ Hahahahahahaha”

Wife: “honey, I think you’ve had enough coffee for now, mmmkay?”

4) Grayson: “Mommy can you hear this bell ring? If you can it means you ‘Believe’ in Santa.

Wife: “Yes, yes I can.”

Grayson: “Daddy, can you? Daddy? DADDY!!?”

Me: “I believe in the fact that Indiana is the worst state to ever drive the fu..”

Wife: “STOP! No cursing sweetie. No cursing.”

5) Grayson: “Daddy, is it true that Justin Bieber is a horrible singer and just a pawn of a major music corporation to sell a well packaged, innocent looking young man singing over-produced music to the mass general public in an effort to get rich quick?”

Me: “I love you Grayson. I really really love you.”

6) Wife: “HONEY!!! WATCH THE ROAD!!!  You can Tweet later!!”

7) Grayson: “Daddy I have to go boom boom!”

Five minutes after we stopped for Grayson to go boom boom:

Macy: “Daddy, I have to go boom boom.”

8) Macy: “Mommy, where do babies come from?”

Grayson: “Yeah, good question. Where do they come from?”

Me: “Wow…that IS a good question. Honey, where do babies come from?”

9) Wife: “Oh look, a town named Grayson! Let’s stop!”

Grayson: “Really?!!! Cool, yeah let’s stop!!”

Me: “Next person that speaks dies. It’s that simple. Words come out of your mouth and you stop living. Less speaky, more sleepy!!”

10) Grayson: “Daddy? Where is mommy?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Grayson: “She’s not in the car daddy. I just woke up and she’s not in the car. Where is she?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It should really be a fun trip! Happy Holidays readers!



I Play Fake Santa & Survive

So, last week I was asked/told by a friend of ours that I would be playing “Santa” at her family’s holiday party.

“I talked to your wife and we both agreed you’d be terrific playing Santa at my family’s holiday party. You’ll be so good and the kids will love it. I’ll bring the suit by your house so you can make sure it fits. You’re the best, thank you!”

That’s pretty much how the conversation went as she hopped in her car and drove away.

A day later I tried the suit on and scared the ever-loving-shit out of my kids by walking downstairs sporting the Santa threads.

I then carefully broke it to them that I was to play Santa at a party this weekend and they have to be super secretive about it.

Reluctantly they agreed.

Party day arrives. We cruise into the shindig. The wife is scanning the room for a coat room while I’m in desperate search of anything with alcohol in it.

A few glasses of wine later it’s Santa time! 

I head down to a 1950s tiny little backroom bathroom to make my epic transformation. I ask the wife to come with me so she can give me final touches.

And, of course the daughter comes with us because she’s attached to the wife at the hip.

I’m fairly confident our daughter is scarred for life after watching her daddy slowly turn into the Christmas fat guy.

But she did a good job documenting everything on camera.

Like…me putting my fake boot cover thingies on.

The wife giving me a final prep.

And the scarring picture of all…mommy kissing Santa!

And finally!!! I was ready. (side note…the wife took this picture, not my daughter so please don’t come after me with a pitchfork.)

I bust-up to the scene and the kids are actually buying it!! No one’s kicking me in the shin or farting on my knee.

It all goes kinda well.

Even both my kids fake it really well!

Afterwards the boy informed me that when he was sitting on my lap and put his arm behind me “your back was really sweaty and gross.”

If that’s the worst thing that happened….I’ll take it.

Will I ever play Santa again? Hell no…but I’m glad I did it. At least my daughter was the only child traumatized from the entire event.

A Day In The Life Of Our Elf On The Shelf

Until a couple weeks ago I had no damn clue what an Elf on a Shelf even was.

Once I found out I figured, holy-leverage-over-the-kids’-awful-behavior-patterns-recently, it’s time for me to partake!

So, I ran out, bought the little shelf-bastard, and made it known “kids…Santa’s watching!!”

Then I kinda gave it no thought. Until a day ago when I noticed the little bastard wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, there was a note that read, “I can’t take it anymore…I…I just can’t!! Merry Christmas sickos!”

Scratching my head and trying to put the puzzle pieces together I noticed the dog chewing a tiny little book.

I immediately ran over and yelled, “DROP!!!”

Picking-up the drool-drenched book I immediately began to flip through it and quickly realized it was the Elf on the Shelf’s one day diary of his time in our house. In fact, he didn’t even make it a full day.

Here’s how it read:

Day 1. 5:13 a.m.

Dear Santa…did I really just see what I thought I saw. The dad just came downstairs, buck-naked, made a cup of coffee, got on the computer to announce he was going to go for a run then walked by me expelling some of the most horrific air ever!

Where are the happy children?

Day 1. 6:42 a.m.

“Drop, drop…DROP me damn it!!! He said ‘DROP!!’ Do what your master says and drop me!!!” That’s what I would have yelled at the dog if we were allowed to talk.

I’M NOT A PUPPET you stupid dog…..I’m an extension of Santa damn it!!!

Day 1 8:00 a.m.

OK, the boy’s gone to school and it’s just me and the daughter.

Day 1 8:11 a.m.

Elf on the Shelf does not get touched or dressed up for a tea party with Barbie!!!! Didn’t these rat-bastards read the book about me?!!! OK…sorry..I should not have spoken that way. I’m sorry Santa.

Day 1 10:42 a.m.

Awwww…the daughter has made me her “BFF.” She’s such a sweetie. Love little girls at this age.

Day 1 10:58 a.m.

I’m going to throw-up. Apparently the daughter picks random toy “best friends” to join her when going “boom boom” on the toilet.

How can something so tiny and innocent create smells so horrific?!!!?

Day 1 12:02 p.m.

Second kid’s gone to school. The two adults are working in their separate at-home offices. Dog is asleep. I’m so….so very exhausted.

This job seemed so much more glorious on the commercials and in the brochures.

Day 1 1:46 p.m.

Hey, very cool. Right on! The husband seems to be giving me a tour of the house! I shouldn’t have complained so quickly!

Day 1 1:48 p.m.

Hey, here’s the bedroom. Nice…they have a small, but pretty cool bedroom! I like it.

Day 1 1:49 p.m.

Wait!!! Wait!!! No!!!

The husband just told the wife, “hey, let’s see what Santa thinks of an afternoon quicky!”

Why are they doing this with me on the pillow next to them? Why…WHY!!!?

Day 1 1:53 p.m.

OK, that was sad. Really? Four minutes? Santa, I know what this guy wants for Christmas.

Day 1 2:01 p.m.

Do I look like a post-sex teddy bear to snuggle with? Oh you bad-breathed, bearded sicko…I want my mommy.

Day 1 2:21 p.m.

He finally woke up to shower and left me here on the bed and guess what? Yeah…the cat’s cleaning me like I’m some damn kitten.

FUCK YOU SANTA…FUCK YOU!!!

Day 1 2:34 p.m.

I feel so dirty. All I want to do it strip naked and cry in a warm shower.

Day 1 3:11 p.m.

I think I passed out for a while. But now, I’m back on my shelf.

That was some horrific dream I just had.

Day 1 3:13 p.m.

Where in the hell is my left leg and why can’t I see out of my right eye? It wasn’t a dream was it!!! Oh my dear lord the dog is chewing on my detached leg. I think I’m going to be sick…

Day 1 4:20 p.m.

Hey, quick question.

What is a bowl and why would the husband be asking the wife if she thinks “the elf on the shelf could possibly work as a make-shift bowl?”

Day 1 4:21 p.m.

Just Googled “bowl” on the elf iPhone. I’m fucking outta here!!!!

____________________________________________

And that’s it. That was all he wrote.

We’ll miss that little bastard. He was fun while we had him.

And hey, if you make it to the pole, tell the bearded fat man I want an iPhone.

Come on…I’ve been good this year…hook a brother up!!

Rock on Mr. Elf On The Shelf. We’ll always have your leg to remember you by.



A Letter On Bondage To My Son's Future Wife

Dear Grayson’s Future Wife:

I’d like to start this rambling batch of mess off with a big “I’m sorry!!”

Actually, I don’t really know why I’m apologizing. Your husband’s the one that really screwed it all up for you!

Let me start from the beginning.

It was a Fall day.

Grayson’s mother-dearest was working from home and it was a holiday which means your fella and his sister, were home taking full advantage of unsupervised hell-raising.

Much quietness fell upon the house.

This was followed by loud banging, crashing….and yes, crying.

Your man’s mom ran down the stairs to find her daughter wrapped in clear masking tape around her ankles, wrists, and waist.

Words flew. An understanding was reached. In short – no more bondage activities were to “EVER” take place again.

An hour passes and again the wife questions the quietness of the house.

Scared out of her mind to go in search of her offspring, she continues to work with a keen-ear to the sky.

Moments later there comes a predicted slam to a wall, followed by the horrific screaming of the boy.

Leaping from her chair she runs towards the sounds of death only to find your dear husband bound by his ankles and wrists with masking tape. His head was resting uncomfortably against the wall.

“I tried to leap the first step mom but I missed and my head slammed into the wall,” was what the dear boy muttered to the wife.

Ten minutes later she managed to finish un-wrapping your husband from his sadistic bondage get-up before calling me.

I immediately suggested she take him to the ER just to make damn sure his claimed “fuzzy eye-sight and muffled hearing” were just an effort to instigate the wrath of our parenthood punishment on the daughter for wrapping the boy up.

After sitting in the ER for an hour your husband’s mother was met with a doctor laughing his ass off as he read the chart detailing why his next “patient” was sitting before him still chaffed from where the tape was ripped off his skin.

The day ended with Grayson properly scared out of his mind and assuring us repeatedly that he’d “never tie anyone up again for the rest of his life!”

So this is why I write to you today.

This is why your dear husband has not and will probably never come home with silk wrist and ankle ties from your favorite naughty store.

This is why your bed posts will remain unscathed from crazy feel-good games.

But hey, he does enjoy getting tickled, warm chocolate milk, and announcing to the entire room when he’s gotta go “boom boom.” So, there’s that!

Better luck in your next lifetime.

Love,

Grayson’s Dad