Enough with the Candy!

Candy, candy, contstant candy…

In the morning, “Daddy can I have a piece of candy if I eat ALL my cereal?”

And that’s followed by the sincere, but to-the-point explanation of why the candy cannot be taken from the bowl unless it’s following a lunch or dinner. And since the majority of lunches are at school, and we don’t want to be bothered at work from the principal claiming our children have climbed the flagpole 32 times in 5 minutes and are hitting up bums for pieces of chocolate and have the shakes…we reserve the right to dish out 2 pieces of candy following a delicious, nutritious dinner made with love by the wifey or I.

But…they…just…don’t….fucking…..get…..it…..

 So, we continue to deal with the fighting.

Yesterday I’m upstairs trying to iron my clothes cause it’s 2009 and I can’t rightfully say to my wife: “Woman….my work clothes have a wrinkle. Get in there and slap some heat on em!!” And I’m watching the Today Show cause …yeah, I watch the Today Show!!!... and I hear all holy hell breaking lose downstairs.

“But IIIIII should get a piece mommy,” this shrill little girly voice bounces its way upstairs pounding my ears and bringing me to my knees.

“I didn’t give him any candy Macy!!!” Now I know this voice well. This is the same voice that says things to me like:

“I asked you twice to please wash the dishes, yet you made the decision to….”

And – “Why is all this CLEAN laundry on the bedroom floor. You could have folded it with the time it took you to toss it on the floor.”

And – “Oh really? REALLY? I look ‘fine’ in this outfit? Not hot…or hawt…or sexy…or MILFy…but ‘fine?’ That’s what this has come to?!’”

So, fearing for my children’s lives, I decide to get involved. So with towel wrapped around my waste, shaving cream in my face, I bust all up in the argument.

“Hey – hey-HEY!!!!! What’s going on?!!”

Now I’ve been trying like hell for over a decade to break this woman…this saint…this goddess I call my wifey. And not even for a damn second have I seen the underside of that thick-ass shell she’s encrusted in that keeps us all shivering at night. But my kids…who have collectively been alive less than the number of years the wifey and I have been married…managed to do it.

Like a freakin 4-year-old…the wifey turns to me, holding an empty candy package and says, “Grayson picked up this old empty candy wrapper and Macy saw him holding it and thought I gave him candy, but I didn’t……I really didn’t and now everyone’s yelling at ME and I don’t like it and I didn’t do ANYTHING!!!”

Most people would have shat themselves…a few would have slowly sat down on the steps and started crying. If I was dressed, I would have said nothing and headed off to the train a few minutes early. But I manned up. I took control. I grabbed my virtual crown, threw that bitch on my head, put on the “look out cause the wrath of hell is coming down on your now” look on my face and I said, “The candy shall be thrown……AWAY!!!!”

And holy mother of shit did that unleash tears…. Even I had to bite my lip from crying at what a dick I’d become.

After pleading and negotiating, and reconfiguring the written contract originally drawn-up…we came to a conclusion. Candy will be given when the crying becomes too much, the parents can’t take anymore, and it’s the only thing that will shut everyone the fuck up.

After everything was signed, heads were in bead, snores were heard throughout sleepy land…I crept out to the ally with an evil grin on my face and threw everything but 12 pieces of candy away. Standing in the ally with my SpongeBob undies and undershirt with armpit holes I realized I’ve become that guy that hates candy, and therefore children, and therefore Halloween, and therefore all the awesomeness that comes with it. So I snatched the candy back out…ran inside…threw it back in their bowls and righted what was wronged.

I slept peacefull last night….but for shit-sake, don’t tell the wifey I accidentally dropped her favorite Twizzlers in our neighbor’s dog’s……

RIP

Janet Watson

July 7, 1919 - November 3, 2009

Thank you for being such an endearing part of my life and for all the love you showed as my grandmother and my children's great-grandmother. You will be missed tremendously.

I'm A Little Uncomfortable With This!

I was totally thrown out of my element on Friday. Wifey had booked-up my morning by volunteering me to work both my son’s and my daughter’s Halloween classroom parties. Luckily the schools are across the street from each other…unluckily Mother Nature was on the rag that day and decided to unleash a deluge of water all morning long. It was kind of her way of saying – “here…take this you gap-toothed idiot. Yeah…how would you like to be in charge of all weather all the time and get blamed for deaths, and ruining Timmy’s birthday party, or Suzie’s wedding which will ultimately end up in a divorce cause she got caught with her sister’s husband and goat on his birthday….” That woman seriously needs therapy.

So I get to the boy’s classroom and there’s about 28 seven-year-olds sitting around dressed up as race car drivers, princesses, a lion, White Sox player, a Bears player, and…well, I don’t know what the hell this one kid was, but I’m pretty sure I saw him in a porno once.

I’m all, “Hey – I’m Grayson’s dad. My wife volunteered me to help with the party”

“Hi Grayson’s daddy! Everyone – this is Grayson’s daddy. Say hello!”

It took me a second to realize I should quickly switch into “Grayson’s daddy” mode where everyone talks to everyone else like their 7 years old. So I quickly imagined all my conversations being in 1^st grade teacher lingo…

“Hey sweet wifey…how was your day pretty little girl.”

“Uhh..fine?!”

“Awesome, give me high fives!! Hey, you wanna juice box and a snack?”

“Fuck you…give me a beer and walk away from me.”

“Uh oh…does someone need a tickle? I think so!!! Someone needs their frown turned upside down!!!”

“Touch me and I’ll cut you!”

Now that I was in the mindset – in comes the ringleader…the classroom volunteer head-mother-in-charge. Dressed in a girl-scout outfit, just to prove she was “in the spirit,” she proceeded to gather her tiny gaggle of parents together to begin informing us of our tasks.

Girl Scout Mom delegated tasks like a fucking general. And when she got to me, “and you…you get the game activity. I brought a small pumpkin. Take it – figure it out. Your station’s over there.”

Now, I’ve led a pretty successful career so far and I’ve prided myself on needing little to no supervision or management. I’m a freakin’ strategy creating and implementing machine. But I was literally stumped. If a tree were placed immediately in front of me just then, I would have spent the next hour walking into it repeatedly while pissing myself.

So the little bastards are split up in four groups of approximately 6 kids each. The first group I get is staring at me. I’m killing time by having them explain what characters they’re dressed as while I fake nod like I’m listening (the wifey knows this nod well) but all the while I’m going through my childhood memories trying to remember a cool game we can play with this damn pumpkin.

Then little Franky says, “are well gonna play hot potato with that pumpkin?”

I was so damn relieved I caught myself just as I was about to scream, “fuck yeah we are!” and high five the little bastard through a wall.

So each group of approximately 6 kids came to my station for a total of 12-minutes each. And during that time, one kid looked at me like I was an idiot cause I didn’t know what Star Wars character he was, another kid clearly has no father at home and insisted on sitting in my lap and rubbing my back making me the most uncomfortable I’ve been since the time I watched Michael Jackson with that kid when….well pretty much anytime he was with a kid….., another girl thought it was the funniest thing in the world to stomp my damn foot, and the most memorable little bastard was the one who thought it was hilarious to cough in my face!

When it was over I returned the bruised and beaten small pumpkin to Girl Scout Mom…thanked her for her leadership…slipped my phone number in her purse….and ran into the pouring rain to the daughter’s classroom party so I could do it all over again.

In the end, I did survive…the kids did have fun…and I did get acknowledgement from the wife that at some point in the very distant future, I would be rewarded with sex for my deeds.

My Life Scripted

"Hey Bob, how you doin'?"

"So uhh..are we in New York now?" I said as I looked around for some laughter, but everyone was looking at their feet.

"Hahahha man you're funny...you're a funny guy. And the Yankees suck!!"

"I'm actually a Yankees fan so that kinda pisse...."

"Hey yeah whatever, so listen. Can you pull together that PowerPoint presentation by tomorrow instead of next week? I gotta present it and it's crunch time! You gotta play to get paid right?!!!" and if it couldn’t get any worse he raises his hand to fucking high-five me!

"Sure...ahhh...sure thing. I'll knock that.."

"You're a team player...you da man!!..," he interrupts as he walks away spotting his next victim.

Fighting the urge to run outside and spend an hour kicking kittens, I jump right in to work….

Later, I come home, happy to see the family, hug the lil’ bastards, hear how everyone’s day was rough cause Samantha wouldn’t color with a green crayon, and cause Teddy wouldn’t throw the kickball slow enough for him….and then I head to the kitchen. I grab a beer…open it…slug back a few sips…set it down….catch my breath for a second…then turn and see this:

Yeah..that’s right…my day scripted. I busted my ass all day Sunday, I get a comp-day, I decide to use it on Friday – my son’s birthday and what does the wifey do?!!! Oh…oh I’ll tell you for fuck’s sake. She signs me up at not just my son’s school, but my daughter’s school to “volunteer” to work parties and shit.

So, in my head I planned, sleep….wake-up, take the kids to school, sleep, wake-up, run, bike, shower, go to store, buy all their Snuggies, burn the Snuggies, talk to Jennifer Aniston for an hour on Skype, make a deal with PlayGirl for $1 million to model for them, sleep, pick kids up, play and have fun, buy son sushi for his birthday dinner, open presents, twit pic and comment back on all the people who said he’s adorable, put the kids to bed, walk around the house naked in front of the wifey, and go to bed with no sex.

But in wifey’s head – my day goes like this – wake up, tell wifey she’s beautiful, let her kick me in the shins, get kids dressed, feed kids, take kids to school, meet wife at parking lot near her work so she can kick me in the shins, volunteer at both kids’ schools, pick kids up from school, do laundry, make dinner, bathe kids, put kids to bed, rub wife’s back while telling her how all men suck, pick out wife’s clothes for the next day, sing a sonnet to the wifey as she drifts off to sleep, then go to bed.

The moral of the story…honestly I don’t know…I guess all I can say is…kick-ass lady-folk that read this…don’t make a fucking chalkboard list of shit for your hubby to do on his day off. And for shit-sake, don’t volunteer him for crap on his day off. Let the man breathe.

And if you ‘re reading this honey..I love you schnookums… P.S. umm…can uh…can we “do it” tonight?

 

Which Came First

I admit it….I got lazy. I had a shit day, I wanted to knock out a Wednesday post and I got lazy. I went on Twitter and asked my rock star friends to toss out a topic they’d want me to blog about. I said – the 7^th one would be the winner. Honestly, I thought I’d have to ask three times to hit 7…but it only took once. And the winner:

@rdemelo with the question “Which came first – the chicken or the egg?”

Fuck!!! Why do you have to get all “hey WhyIsDaddyCrying I know you’re having a beer, relaxing, but I’m gonna make you use your brain….?”

My Answer: The chicken came first and let me break it down for you sister.

The chicken’s a badass dude. He’s all: “I worked my feathers off today….I made some deals, I clocked my time, my phone rang like a bitch, and my email’s screaming ‘uncle…uncle!!!’ It’s Miller Time!!”

Then he grabs his stuff and heads out ready to find some kick ass action at the local pub. This bastard doesn’t even make it two blocks before he finds some neon that screams just the right message:

“Beer - Hens”

FastForward to beer in hand, cold pitcher on table, and hens giggling, texting, and clucking all over the house. My man Chicken is in roasted breast heaven. A couple of head nods and 14 winks later, my man’s gotta a hen all giggly and wrapped around his finger.

“Cluckity cluck cluk,” he says – trying to rap his best game.

“Bawk bikity bawk bawk,” says the hen as she clearly falls into this seductive trap.

Knowing all’s good and the gravy train has arrived, he lays down the final tracks leading to his lair of manhood – “Cluck…c…l…u….c..k. …clikzuck”

Well that sealed the deal. FastForward and they’re hanging out at his pad, she’s all: “I’m not sure, we just met.”

He’s all: “Naww baby, I’m not like that. You make me smile and I want to get to know you and stuff….”

She smiles, makes herself vulnerable… He smiles and knows he’s got his A-Game on….

FastFoward to 2 months later.

Chicken dude slams the phone down, “Shit!!! What a crap-ass day!!!”

“What’s wrong Ted?,” the chicken in the cubical next to him says.

“Nothing man – it’s just been a shit day! Let’s get a brew and check the hens out.”

Three high-fives and a cab-ride later, their rolling up in a local pub. The pitcher comes quick, the stories are flying, then comes that same hen coming to pay our star Chicken a visit.

“Daaaaaamn,” he says watching her walk up. “Hen’s got some junk in the trunk. Check it out!!”

The hen comes strolling up….checks our main man out from head to toe and says… “hey baby….remember me?”

“Uhhh...yeah I do. I remember those fine feathers…”

“Good, cause I got something else you can remember….”

FastForward…our famous, sexy-ass Chicken is naked, blindfolded and chained. Hotty hen says, “OK sexy boy…I’m gonna unblindfold you….get ready for a life altering experience.”

Playboy chicken is jittery he’s so freakin’ excited, “I’m ready baby..give it to me.”

The blindfold comes off and nothing but brightness hits him. He blinks and blinks until the picture slowly comes into focus…. And as it does he says pieces of thread, hay, and twigs. He feels a warm lump under his ass which at first kinda had him excited…then he noticed…it was an egg…

“You take care now….raise it well OK?!,” Hen said as she laughed, slamming the door behind.