No, You Call the Babysitter

So the wifey’s college roommate visited this past weekend. And we decided to get a babysitter so we could enjoy some kid-free time. A mere four days from the impending visit I realized, holy shit, we don’t have a sitter and I’m going to end up being left in the lurch as these two ladies hit the town leaving me behind.

Kicking into baby-sitter ninja action I decided to take matters into my own hands and have a conversation with the wifey:

Me: “Hey…so we should definitely get a sitter for Saturday night.”

Wifey: “Go for it slugger.”

Me: “But you got the Mecca of babysitter lists months ago. Can’t you just call one or two and make it happen?”

Wifey: “I lost it.”

Me: “You what? Are you serious woman? You lost that shit? That’s like someone giving me the unlock code for constant, unlimited free porn and then losing it…it just doesn’t happen!!!”

Wifey: “Call me ‘woman’ one more time. Seriously…say it…call me ‘woman’!”

Me: “Look, your college roommate’s gonna be here in …shit, what day is it?”

Wifey: “You really need a job! Seriously…you need to get out of the house, look at the sun, enjoy the day…you’re losing your mind in the basement!”

Me: “All right…let’s focus. We need a sitter. Who are we gonna call?”

Wifey: “ ‘We?’ No, you…you are gonna make that happen while I’m at work.”

Me: “Awe come on…that’s fucked. Guys don’t call to ask for babysitters. Seriously…there are rules against that shit.”

Wifey: “Rules…really? And who the hell came up with these rules? You’re just as capable as me to call and ask for a sitter.”

Me: “I know but seriously…what if her dad answers? I’ll be all, ‘hey man…is Tiffany there?’ And he’ll be all, ‘Who the hell is this? You sound like you’re 40 years old. Who the hell is this?’”

Wifey: “How in the hell can he tell if you’re 40 by the sound of your voice?”

Me: “Are you kidding…cause I’m all experienced in life and shit. Listen to me. I totally sound like I’m 40 and involved in 40-year-old life stuff…seriously listen…the stocks rose eight percent today as the Dow didn’t quite respond as well as investors had hoped and…”

Wifey: “Whoa!!! Wait…you’re calling our potential babysitter with stock options? Seriously you dork…seriously!!?”

Me: “I’m just saying that I know stuff! And I know that if I call the sitter her dad, her boyfriend, or her brother will answer the phone and they’ll be pissed and I’ll probably get killed when all I wanted to do was freakin’ drink beers with you and the college roommate away from the kids.”

Wifey: “Wow. You seriously need help. Look, bottom line is, I’m going out with Stacy whether you get a babysitter or you ARE the babysitter. So, ball’s in your court Mr. Man. Make it happen or don’t.”

Me: “You’re gonna regret it when I get killed and you have to raise these kids by yourself.”

Wifey: “It’ll be rough but I’m pretty sure we’ll pull through.”

Me: “Shit! Fine…I’ll call. Hand me the phone WOMAN.”

Oooh...and one more thing!

Two days have gone by…and we’re already at the “oooh…and one more thing!” phase as the wifey walks out the front door to her jobby job. Oh how evil the flip-side of the coin is. There’s a part of me that thinks that after dropping an “oooh…and one more thing!” list on me, the wifey jumps in the car, cranks the radio, and bee bops her fine ass to work knowing I’m at home throwing stuff animals at my son’s imaginary friends, punching pillows, kicking cushions, and wasting valuable time that could be spent taking care of the “simple activities we’d talked about this morning.”

Wifey: “Hey, so are you picking up the kids today from school?”

Me: “Uh..yeah, I can…but I’m supposed to be making calls, and working on getting a job right?”

Wifey: “Yes dear, but I just thought you….oh, just forget it, I’ll do it.”

Me: “No…I want to do it, I just don’t want it to become this….”

Wifey: “Oooh …and one more thing, could you clean the cat litter box? I just walked down in the basement and it smells like your dirty underwear down there.”

Me: “My dirty underwear is down there…”

Wifey: “Oooh….and one more thing, please don’t spend any money, we really need to be careful.”

Me: “We needed milk…and you said, ‘oooh…and one more thing, could you get some hummus’ remember….!’”

Wifey: “Yeah… I remember, but do you really need all that beer!?”

Me: “Yes!!! Yes I do!!! Do you really need all that..”

Wifey: “Oooh…..and one more thing …can you please just wash one load of laundry…?”

She was a stay-at-home-mom for almost a year. I feel like such an ass cause I can count on my hands, and five of my friends’ hands, how many times I dropped the “oohhh” bomb on her before bolting out the door with the confident feeling that when I got home, the children would be dressed in their dinner clothes, smiling, pulling chairs out for me, asking me how my day was while dinner was wafting through the air, and birds were grasping my top coat and hat to be put away.

And now the shoe is on….yes…the wifey’s foot. And, she doesn’t mean it maliciously. At least I don’t think. I like to think she has no clue that she’s pulling the payback page right out of the book and shoving it up my ass. I like to think she’s giving me payback, without even knowing it! But, that would just be my ignorance showing again.  

A Day With Pink Ducky

So we have a ducky. A pink ducky to be exact. He’s a cool dude, hangs out, doesn’t really cause much trouble. The little bastard used to light up from within. When we first brought him into our crazy life he was a rock-star. The kids slept with him…the daughter held him on a pedestal. Mainly because his flashing guts made them feel like the owner of the most bad-ass piece of awesomeness that ever existed.

Then his lights stopped blinking.

He spent a week shoved between the mattress and the wall of my daughter’s bed until he was saved by the ole fashioned sheet changing maneuver. Then he lived on my daughter’s dresser and was there the day fishy died. A week later, the daughter rediscovered him and he was transported to the tub. Since that time, he’s become one of two dozen toys crammed in a bathtub toy baggy, rarely played with, constantly cold, damp, wet, and ignored. Until yesterday.

During a regular shower routine, I noticed pink ducky chillin’ in his bathtub bag. Sad. Angry. Depressed. I scooped him up and said, “hey little man!!! What do you say I make today, YOUR day?”

Three high-fives and a wing-bump later, we were on our way to live life to its fullest. And so….here’s our day….

He drove us to a pancake breakfast where he quickly scoffed one plate after plate after plate of yumminess. He carbo loaded like a master.

After we got home, well fueled pink ducky said, "all right bitches...let's go for a ride!" So the whole family hopped on our bikes and headed out.

Along the way we made a stop cause ducky got wood.

Knowing this would probably be the last time pink ducky ever has a day in the real world, he thought he'd make his mark and let everyone know how he feels about the war.

Worn out, pink ducky ate a quick little snack and setteled in for some TV time and a nap. I took off and took care of some stuff around the house. An hour later I went back to check on everyone and pink ducky was gone. I looked everywhere. Then...I found him.....and was horrified.....

I decided to leave them alone....and let them get done what clearly needed to get done. Lucky ducky.

  Then we headed out for dinner with our good friends, the @momomatic family. It was there that Pink Ducky decided to get his "drink on."

And that wasn't enough.....afterwards he hit the liquor store for more....

Pink ducky didn't just get drunk....he got stupid drunk. He took his clothes off. He streaked a Chuck-E-Cheeze. He got depressed and tried to cut himself open to remove his dead flashy light thingy. He told off-color racist jokes. He even made passes at the wifey. Then...like all good stupid drunk pink duckies do....he got sick.

He puked like he'd never puked before. We all got to experience his Mexican dinner all over again. A couple hours later, we cleaned him all up, laughed about the memories, gave each other hugs, and promised we'd do it again soon. I love that little pink bastard.

After I tucked him in to his cozy warm bubble bath for night time, I cried myself to sleep and dreamt of pink ducky and me running through fields of dazies, laughing, and being free, together, and happy.....

The End

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.