You Like Me, You Really Like Me

So apparently some insanely awesome editor at Babble.com took it upon herself/himself/itself to add my blog as the #7 position in their Funniest Dad Blog category of the annual list of top 10 Dad Bloggers.

And I’m pretty damn proud of that. I mean, it’s kinda like a pat on the top of the head from parenting world to say “who’s a good boy?!!” as I sit on the kitchen floor slamming my tale to the ground in happiness while hoping someone accidentally drops a beer.

When I found out I immediately texted the wife: “Hey – I just made the annual babble.com top 10 Funniest Dad Blog at #7 position!”

Five hours later she texted back, “how much is the check you get for that?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Her: “Oh”

Then I texted my brother (@ibeenorm) the same thing.

His response? - “neat”

I didn’t care though. I felt good about myself. So….I decided to pull out a pen, some paper and write my thank you list for all those who made this award-winning #7 a crowning achievement in my blog life.

So, here it goes.

I’d like to thank all the other sperm that allowed me to reach the egg first. You guys and girls put a lot of trust in me to not fuck this life up and I’m forever grateful. It sucks to be you right now.

I’d like to thank my children. You give me lots of great material, memories and amazing moments. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t drink so much, crouch naked in a corner crying at night and probably have tons more sex with your mother.

My brain. I’d like to thank my brain for being demented and twisted enough to pull together the words on this blog. I know the wife wants me to filter what you produce way more than I do, but we both know life would be so much lamer if I did.

I’d like to thank my dad for showing me how not to parent.

I’d like to thank my house for only having one damn bathroom in it. Because mornings should be spent with your wife in the shower, son brushing his teeth while holding his nose closed and daughter at the doorway holding her crotch and jumping up and down screaming “hurry up daddy I have to pee!!!” while you have your a.m. poop.

The wife….the apple of my eye.

What the hell does that even mean? I know it’s super old. It’s been in the bible and Shakespeare used it, but how the hell can an apple and someone’s eye merge to join a literary phrase pertaining to someone you want to bone the hell out of?

I’d like to thank the wife for letting me obnoxiously flail around in her life as the third child in the family and for not chopping off my pecker in the middle of the night so that I’ll stop chasing her around the house with it while screaming “just look at it!!!”

Finally, I’d like to thank the Interweb Machine Thingy. Because of you I can spew my insanity onto endless pages. Thank you for becoming my therapist and for allowing me to dump on you with no regard of self preservation or respect of others.

Now let's go celebrate!

True Confessions You Never Wanted To Know About Me

I’ve been a little pint-up over the past few days.

Recently I’ve felt like a kitten chasing a red laser dot all over the house, slamming into walls, and frustrating myself until I pass out in a sleepy ball just steps away from where I messed the floor.

Maybe I’m just starting my period a few days early.

Or maybe I’m hitting my mid-life crisis at a really inconvenient time in life.

It could be all this stress of the impending date-dodging rapture. I brace for May 21….now I’m clenched for October 21….or maybe Baby Jesus conspired with the Mayans and now we have to wait till 2012?

It’s freakin’ exhausting.

So, I took all my clothes off, walked out into the harsh thunder and lightning last night, threw my face towards the dark skies above and waited for an answer.

And that’s when it hit me. I need to unburden myself of needless, brain and conscience-consuming matter.

I need to confess!!

I need to turn my blog into a creepy, dark, wooden, confessional booth with you lucky readers on the other side of that screen that doesn’t hide you from seeing the other person.

So, grab a stiff drink and you’re favorite blanky cause you’ll need it. I give you:

10 Things You Really Don’t Care Or Want To Know About Me But That Are Going To Make Me Feel Less Like I’m Stuck In A Dark Closet With A Zombie Clown Eating My Brain And Juggling My Sanity

1) I masturbated in a public library. It’s true. I got a D one year in a class, so my father decided to drop me off at the local library every day after school for three hours to study. I used my time wisely one day by finding a special place where I could “interrogate the suspect.”

2) I vandalized my own car when I was 16. I finished drinking a 40oz of Old English and threw it out the car window….only the car window was still up. I quickly grabbed some of the glass, threw it on the passenger seat, and found a good sized rock and tossed it on the seat. The next morning I was all, “holy shit someone threw a rock through my car window!!”

3) I used to blow my nose in my sheets. It was before I was a teenager, but old enough to know better. But yeah….there’s not really anything more I can say about that one…except….sorry mom.

4) Five years ago when I lived in Virginia I was on a 8-mile run early one morning when my colon let me know I had exactly 1 minute to drop trow and unleash the fury. I had no choice. I pooed on someone’s front yard as I leaned my back against a tree and tried to cover it up with the dirty leaves I used post-explosion.

5) My mom caught me masturbating. Oh yeah…I already wrote about that one.

6) In eighth grade I carved my girlfriend’s initials into my arm (very tiny.) My parents found it and you would have thought they found me shooting heroin while having sex with my grandmother and feeding a baby bourbon. Actually, now that I’m a parent I’m pretty sure I’d freak-the-hell-out too.

7) When I was volunteering as a tour-guide one day at a historic home, I had to poop extremely badly. And so I did. In the historic bathroom. Minutes before I had to tour 25 people through the house and the newly soiled bathroom. I blamed the smell on the fact the bathroom used well water. No one believed me. I still have nightmares about that day…and I’m sure they do too.

8) The very first concert I ever saw was Paula Abdul. Just saying that makes me want to throw myself in front of an ice cream truck. It’s true. But I did it for my girlfriend at the time because I was weak and hoping that she’d let me touch her boobie through her shirt. She didn’t.

9) In eighth grade I came to school with no underwear on and wearing a very short pair of Umbros. Don’t ask why…I was a teenager  in the late 80s damn it! Anyway, my decrepit 80-year-old teacher took me in the hallway and told me “you’re going to have to keep your legs closed the rest of the day. I can see your personal area. And I’m sending a note home with you for your parents about it.” The note never made it home.

10) I Favred my wife two years ago and she almost divorced me. I was living alone in Chicago while she was in Virginia with the kids waiting for our house to sell. So, thinking the wife probably longed for a pic of my man-part, I took a picture of it and pic texted it to the wife. Eagerly I waited for a return pic text. Instead, I got a call…from the wife…threatening to divorce me if I ever did that again. So…I did.

OK…that should be enough to lighten my load for at least a few hours.

Thanks for letting me vent and if you’re a psychiatrist and want to give me free session, my email’s on this blog page.



Daddy, I Have to Pee

It’s the dreaded words I can’t stand to hear my daughter say…. “Daddy, I need to go pee pee.”

In my mind I immediately turn to a 3-year-old, throw myself to the ground, start kicking and slamming my fists, crying and screaming “I don’t wanna!!!!” But in reality, I suck it up, pack-up whatever the hell is around me, tell my son “come on dude, you might as well go, too,” then head to the nearest shit factory.

As a quick side note, my precious, darling little angel was born with the magical gift of needing to pee at the worst possible times – especially when it’s just me and the kids. As soon as food is served at a restaurant..she has to pee. Movie just started and we have all our popcorn, drinks, etc….she has to pee. Just climbed aboard the Metra to head into the city…yep, she’s gotta pee.

I’m fine with the boy. Once I taught him to use his damn zipper so his pants wouldn’t land in a heap around his ankles and in a massive pool of piss in front of the urinal – we were good to go. The daughter…well, she has to sit where dudes poo, pee, puke, and whatever other P-words you can think of.

I usually kick open the bathroom door while holding coats, popcorn, food, camera, and all the other kid accoutrements you can think of, and immediately announce, “all right…nobody touch anything but yourself. OK?!!!!” Which is then followed by a simultaneous “yes daddy.”

The boy heads off in his own direction. I then begin a frantic search for the cleanest shitter for my princess to place her precious bum on while also keeping an eye on her to make sure she really isn’t touching anything. I find one with only a dribble of pee on it. Score! Ripping toilet paper out like a mad man on a mission, I clean up after some douche who’s too lazy to use his foot to lift the lid. I stand back and admire the perfect little soft toilet paper seat and announce, “your majesty?! Your throne is ready.”

As she sits sideways on the seat – hands in her lap – I’m glancing around to check on the boy who’s already washing his hands. Score again! I hand over a wad of toilet paper, she gets dress, I kick the handle to flush it, we wash our hands, and we’re done!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to throw a diaper on the girl before taking her out by-myself. I’ll never do it though – mostly because I’m confident someone would notice, call TMZ and Parenting Magazine, and next thing I know I’ll be on Oprah crying and telling the world what a miserable wretch I am because I hate taking my daughter into the men’s room to piss. Instead…I’ll keep cleaning up after sick fucks so my daughter can keep her kidneys healthy. And one day, hopefully she’ll return the favor by choosing to continue lifting me to the toilet rather than putting me in an adult diaper.

I Have to Pee Standing Up, Again?!

All my life I had been peeing standing up.

As a wee lad I'd wake early, stumble to the potty with my tiny morning wood and Underoos and pee all over the toilet. In high school I'd pee standing up in the ratty men's room while getting as close as I could to the urinal so no one could check out my junk. In college I'd pee standing up....well pretty much anywhere, stupidly grinning and pointing at my junk.

Then our boy was born. The bathroom was right next to his bedroom and every time I'd pee standing up the noise would wake him up. Awake baby + nighttime = suicide material. So I started peeing sitting down. And you know what? It's fucking nice!

I mean – the only time I do it is in the middle of the night and the only reason is because it’s like I’m peeing and sleeping at the same time. I can just lean my oversized watermelon head on my fist and trot-off right back to La La Land.

But recently, I’ve fallen victim to the woes you women-folk have to deal with. Remember when I created the mind-numbing image of me as a boy with a tiny morning boner peeing all over the toilet….yeah – I have a 6-year-old who’s currently enjoying that sprinkler action. So in the middle of the night when I settle in for a relaxing unmanly sleep/pee – I sit in his piss.

So now…I’m forced to give-up a secret enjoyment of life. And that’s not cool. I’m pissed about it (that pun was not intentional).

I will forever hold it against that kid and look forward to the pay back – me, 90 years old, laying on my back as he changes my wet adult diaper.