Earning Coins for the Bank of Nookie

“All right kids – you ready?”

“Daddy, we’re gonna miss it – lets’ go!!” my son screams with a tear literally creeping from his eye.

“Dude, we’re good. We’re gonna be early….let’s just go!”

Thirty minutes earlier the wifey had just left in one of our two cars to arrive early to my son’s elementary school. Tonight is the holiday play for  1^st graders, starring none only than my little red-headed rock star. The wifey bit the bullet to volunteer as an usher so that we could be guaranteed front row seats. A kick-ass move, promising nothing but great vantage points for pictures and a stunning view of all the MILFy moms scrambling to get pictures of their littler ones on stage. I promise I wasn’t looking.

So I’m at the door, fumbling through my “key bowl” looking for the one and only key to the car. And…yeah, it’s not there. Despite my repeated request that the car key serve as a stand-alone key from the wifey’s massive key-ring of no return, so that it will be free for use by whoever needs it….it has yet to happen. As a result, she took the only key we have for the car she DIDN'T take. The one I need in order to get my child to the play he’s supposed to be in for which this entire night centers around.

“We’re gonna miss it daddy!!! I knew it. I knew we’d never make it and that I’d miss it after all this practicing,” the boy screams as he kicks make-believe mommies and daddies in the air, turns red-faced, and somewhere in his mind imagines blowing us all to pieces.

“Dude…I’m on it…have I ever let you down?” The little angel on my right shoulder immediately says, “yes…remember that time that…”

“Shut up bitch!” I scream at right shoulder angel.

My son’s still crying, my daughter couldn’t care less and is pumped to score more time playing with her Lil Pet Shop critters. Me? Well I do the natural thing and call the wifey on her cell phone.

Now…out of all our monthly expenditures, the wifey’s cell phone is by far the biggest waste of money. Why? Well that’s a damn fine question…because she never freakin’ answers it. There’s been times where I’ve been with her and she opens her phone, see’s she has 8 missed phone calls and 5 voicemails and she goes, “huh?” Like she's amazed 1) someone called her, and 2) she missed it. She’ll go to work without it. She’ll plug it in to charge while it’s fucking off. She’ll have it soooo buried in her purse that it’s such a pain to dig out that she’ll just hear it ring and give up in pre-exhaustion of trying to fish it out.

Long story short…after five calls…there’s no answer.

That’s when I feel a thought coming on and coming on strong.....And then it hits!

“I’ll call @momomatic!!,” I yell!

Her son’s in the exact same play my boy’s in and they live only a few blocks away. So I call, she answers, and they agree to pick us up! Score for me!!

Outside the boy is pacing up and down the sidewalk, mumbling, crying, informing the world there’s no possible way in hell we’ll make the play, we should have all listened to him and left hours ago, and everyone within earshot is mean.

“Grayson! Do you have a watch?”

“No!”

“Do you know what time it is right now?”

“No Daddy!”

“Do you know what time your play starts?”

“DADDY!!!! No!!!”

“Then how in the name of all things SpongeBob, do you know that you’re going to be freakin’ late?”

“Cause…daddy!!! Cause it’s dark outside!!!”

We made it to the show with plenty of time to spare. My wife seated my daughter and I in our rock-star front row seats. As she handed us our program I said, “Oh…hey, before you leave…can I have the car key to the Nissan? I'd sure hate for you to leave me stranded at home without it!”

It took a sec to sink in, but when it did….I immediately deposited that “oh shit I fucked up” coin into the bank of nookie. Only 23 more coins and it’s go time!!!

You're a Meany!

So I’m officially a meany. How do I know? Well my son whispered it under his breath three seconds after I got upset at him.

“Meany,” he whispers while slowly glancing up just to make sure I was still drooling, sitting on the couch oblivious to everything around me.

I’m not really sure when that phase ends. The phase where you still believe if you’re not looking at someone, then they clearly can’t see you. Or if you mumble something, there’s no possible way in hell someone eight feet from you could hear it!

What my child is too young to realize is that I’m the poster child for ADD. I don’t miss a fucking thing. No….thing. If he rolls over in his bed at night, I hear it and wonder if he’s about to start puking everywhere. If the wifey sighs just a fraction harder than normal, the hairs stand-up on the back of my neck and I get queasy with fear. I can hear my neighbors two doors down having sex every other night…well…that might be because I have a video camera in the house, but I digress….

“Meany,” he mumbles, slowly looks up, and I can only imagine how badly he shat himself when he saw the look on my face.

“I’m mean?!! Really? I’m mean? Because I had to ask you four times to do the same thing and you wouldn’t do it so I raised my voice and now I’M MEAN?”

I remember as a kid getting in trouble and being chewed out and sent to my room. I’d be walking up the stairs and I’d stop and hold my middle finger up towards the kitchen where my dad had just reamed me. I was a totally bad-ass like that. I was all mumbling “fuck you!!!! Suck on this ya bastard!!!!,” while I grabbed my tiny package and shook it at him.

I’m still trying to figure out a way to rig a series of mirrors and cameras along the stairs to his room so I can catch him doing the same thing to me.

But then it sets in…. “damn….was I being a meany? I mean..he did kinda have a legitimate excuse. I know I said it four times, but in all reality, iCarly was looking pretty good on TV, there was a shiny object in the corner of the room, the cat did walk by, and old man Jenkins was cutting his grass creating some damn loud noises. So….there were quite a few distractions from him actually hearing me say the same thing four freakin’ times in a row.

So I start feeling bad…I want to call him back down, hug him and say let’s move on. But then what would that Super Nanny show woman say? In her British accent she’d be all, “you have to be consistent and stick to your guns.”

I always wonder if she’s like that in bed. “Paul…I’ve been naughty and you haven’t put my on my naughty stool yet. You won’t even spank my arse or give me a stern talking to. You must show me who’s boss of this house…and do it sternly, consistently, and while wearing leather.”

So I just let him sit up there and stew…while I stew…and try hard not to kick the cat.

And it’s always funny how the daughter acts like an angel after her brother’s gotten into trouble.

And then I let him back down…I do hug him…all’s good….we play, we laugh, and usually within 10 minutes I’m in the corner, naked, crying, and rocking back and forth….again.

Girly Girl is Taking Over My Life

My daughter's birthday is Saturday and it's she reminds me of me as a kid….couldn’t sleep, dreams of new Transformers running through my head. Maybe a new Atari game or…OR!!! a new bike?!!! Then the day came and I got a soccer ball and three pairs of homemade Jams shorts where the front was so poofy it looked like I had a BIF (butt in front).

Every day the daughter’s all "is my birthday tomorrow?"

"Not yet baby...2 more days, then you'll be...."

And her face lights up and she holds up her fingers as she says, "fiiiivve!!!!"

Then I usually give her a quick tickle, smack on the butt, and rub her head.

The wifey is planning a total girly girl party for her. The playroom is decked out for a tea party, complete with dresses, hats, a table for the little ladies to pop-a-squat in pure princess decadence, and a blackboard that says "Macy's tea party."

So yesterday I had the day from hell and I'm walking to the train in a virtual sea of business men and women on their way to Union Station. I call the wifey to tell her what train I'm on and she tells me about her decorations for the party:

"I'm just gonna let them pieeck what dress they wanna waaar and let them juss have fun. But I need yuuu to be the phoootograaapher," she says. (Keep in mind the wifey has a very southern accent)

"Honey, they'll run ramped. You need activities."

"Jesus...don't complicate this…aaaahhhriiight?!"

I remain calm, "Shnookums, they're fucking 5...they need activities."

"Hoooney Buuunches…if you wanna play all Mr. Fucking Rogers than have at it!"

"I got your Mr….” and then I had an idea! A real idea! “I know, get beads and string…let them make necklaces. Then let them pick a dress to try on. Maybe get some little cheapy clips and a mirror or two and let them do their hair all up. Then we can put some good music on and let them do like a fashion show and we'll give them all little prizes and stuff"

Silence.....then..."That's a pretty good idea."

Now those words are never...I mean NEVER uttered to me by my loving wife. My chest puffs all out, I'm proud, and my first instinct is to look around like "did you hear that?! Huh?! I'm the shit!!! Did you hear it?!!"

But as I look around I quickly realize, all the business folk, suit-clad money-makin', business folk had looks of complete and total "what the fuck is wrong with this dude?" looks on their faces.

I hunkered back down into my little world and said, “Thanks…I thunk it all up myself.”

It’s definitely getting girly at our house. The wifey rocked out one killer tea party room. Dresses are hanging everywhere. There’s fucking pink all over the damn house….but I love it. I’m soaking it in. Cause pretty soon…there’s gonna be blood all over the front lawn, from the douches that try to roll up to my front door asking the daughter out on a date. Oh..and it won’t be me causing the blood. It’ll be the big brother, and all his kick-ass, over-protective friends. I’ll be behind them, holding the camera…all giddy for new material to throw on my blog…..

 

Q & A With "Why Is Daddy Crying" II

After the first Q&A I was shocked that is was not only my most popular post, but that I was asked by so many to unload more of my stupidness on to provocative questions asked by my Twitter followers and friends. So...here goes round two. Damn I have the best Twitter dudes and dudettes ever.....

@optimom Notty Nana wants to know how you keep things "alive" in the Rumpus Room!!

I’m gonna assume you’re talking about my kid’s playroom? It’s kind of challenging to keep things alive in there cause…..oh….oh you mean….oh that’s embarrassing. Honestly? Well, I’ll admit it…I’m kind of into the role reversal thing. I’ll have the wifey come into the bedroom wearing a business suit and I’ll wear a Snuggie while knitting and watching Oxygen out of the corner of my eye. And she’ll be all: “Hey baby. I sure had one hell of a day. Whatya say we knock boots….you know, take the ole skin boat to tuna town?”

And I’ll be all: “Oooh, Fraaank. Don’t be silly, it’s not Friday and I’m just so tired from the children.”

And she’ll say, “Now damnit Fey, don’t put it on lockdown woman. I really need to let off some steam.”

“Well then take the Jergens and go ‘let off some steam’,” and I’ll throw the bottle at her.

And she’ll scream, “Damn you Fey…I’m goin’ out with the boys for beers then. To hell with ya.” And she’ll go stomping down the stairs and slam the door.

@crazysahm if you could be any person dead or alive for a day who would you be and why?

I’m gonna go with Caillou. I mean, that little shit amazes me. He’s got his own fucking TV show…and kids around the world idolize him…they’ll kill for him. Second he lives in a dream world where everything is a damn primary color the fads off into white. He’s protected from ever being murdered by the millions of parents that want him dead cause he’s a cartoon. His parents treat him like gold, he’s not a racist, he gets kick-ass meals, his mom’s not too bad looking, and if he wanted to he could get his douche dad kicked off the show cause after all…it’s called “Caillou,” so guess who’s calling the shots on that set?!

@mamabennie Who eats the cookies & drinks the milk (beer) while pretending to be Santa, you or the wifey? (My dad left beer for Santa)

That’s awfully damn brave of you to assume I celebrate Christmas. Jesus lady, in this day in age you should be just a bit more PC about your damn questions. I mean, I could…oh…oh you saw the Christmas video of my kids on my blog? My bad..just kiddin’! High fives?!!

@shelleblok Do you prefer redheads, blondes, or brunettes. You know for ring side girls? :)

Dear Shelle….my sex life is constantly hanging on the edge cause of all the stupid shit I say and do around the wifey. And here you come, tossing out one of the killer questions of all time. I can just see my wife out of the corner of my eye standing there, arms crossed, tapping her foot, and thinking “go ahead you gap-toothed fuck…answer the woman. Which is it asshole?”

Well I’m not falling for it. I’m not….it’s redheads. I can’t hide it. I’m a complete and total sucker for redheads.

@gratefulkim If you weren't working & raising nippers, what is your dream job?

Here we go….the question lady. This is the lady who drilled me with questions last Q&A. How the hell do you have friends? Do you notice everyone around you drinking mass quantities of alcohol all the time?

I’d kill to be novelist. I’d love to be a writer knockin’ out books or whatever brought in money, allowed me to write, and gave me enough time off to travel.

@gratefulkim How has BJ Brittany impacted your life thus far?

Jesus GratefulKim…what is it with you? Honestly. Come on..it’s just you and me right now. Take a seat….relax… Are you comfortable? Good….NOW TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!

BJ Brittany has taught me that you really can get a terrific image of a BJ if you just put the camera at the right angle. She taught me persistence and that you should never give up when hundreds and thousands of people push you away every hour of every day. BJ Brittany is the definition of inspiration.

@gratefulkim Right now I'm enjoying some oatmeal and egg whites? What is your "breakfast of champions?"

Did….uh….did I ask you what you were eating? I mean, I just re-read everything I wrote and I couldn’t find anything where I asked you a question….probably because I know if I asked you a question, you’d follow it up with 10 more. And how the hell do you eat egg whites with oatmeal? I feel I really need to spend some time understanding you.

I usually don’t eat breakfast…if I do it’s a banana. I used to steal cute little puppies out of children’s arms and eat them…but I’m a vegetarian now.

@gratefulkim What scares you?

YOU DO…you fucking scare me GreatfulKim. With the questions, and the why this and the why that..you scare me…. And Sarah Palin makes me shit myself every time I hear or see that alien woman. Great…I just lost 32 followers with that one….@gratefulkim being one of them….

@grnladybug Q: If you could be a superhero what would you be and why?

Phew…a different person asking questions. Seriously @grnladybug…did you see @gratefulkim go to work on me? I mean…I love her…she’s awesome…but fuck! I’m sorry…what did you ask? Oh…umm….I have no clue…which ever one has x-ray vision. And I think you know why……. Damn that was douchey….

@allconsoffun You mentioned the boy will someday "pretend to shit" in yesterday’s blog. How do you honestly think you'll handle that "shit talk?"

Umm…for those who didn’t read it…I mentioned how someday I’m sure I’ll be talking about how my son claims to be in the bathroom shitting when I know he’s really “salting the beef curtains.”

You know…I’m probably gonna play dumb like I don’t know what’s going on and just hope it doesn’t get out of hand. Pretty much the same way the wifey deals with the issue with me.

@mommieswhodrink 1) Who was the first girl you kissed? 2) What is your drink of choice? 3) Do you have any fetishes? 4) Do you have any friends on the train?

Are you….what happened to…oh…oh I see @gratefulkim standing over there. I thought she put on a costume and came back as you…

1) I have no idea who my first kiss was with. I just remember it was in 1^st grade – I leaned across the isle in the middle of class and kissed her. So hott….

2) Drink of choice…anything with alcohol…love gin in tonic, Newcastle’s a damn good beer, and I could shoot Jager all night long.

3) Any festishes? If you take the word “fetish” and mash it with the word “guy” you’ll see you always get a “yes.”

4) Friends on the train? You’re following me aren’t you? Seriously…you sit in my train car and notice I’m one of only a handful of people that don’t have “friends” on the train. I have a friend….you can’t see him but he’s there.

@musicsavvymom What is the airspeed velocity of the unladen swallow?

It’s really a simple question of weight ratios when considering the kinematic ratios in winged flight. Take for instance the Zebra Finch. That stupid fuck only eats tiny bits of seed because its so small and insignificant it can’t really handle anything much bigger. Therefore, when that stripped bitch takes flight…he’s bookin’. There for his airspeed velocity would be 15 meters per second.

Now…an unladen swallow by nature is of the “slut” side of the flying feathered family. You can tell by the way in which its beak tilts towards the sky, throat open, and its ability to swallow a variety of things. Given that, I would use the Strauhal equation. Based on that equation and a bit of math…I’d say 11 meters per second or 24 miles per hour…which isn’t bad for a swallower.

@drlori71 If you're watching TV drunk, which would you be most likely to buy: Snuggie, Touch n Brush, Bendaroos, or Big Top Cupcake?

I’d have to be in a coma to buy a fucking Snuggie. The Big Top Cupcake would be great if I was sooo drunk I needed something to puke in. The Bendaroos and Touch n Brush are interesting though….

The Touch n Brush I’d totally use to put lotion in. It’d be a quick way to just get a dab or two when you need it in a jiff. The only problem is the hole. Now I’m really tiny, but not that tiny. The Bendaroos could be kinky as hell in the bedroom though. Bondage….clamps….rings…..the list is long. I think given that I’d naturally be horny as hell while drunk and thinking irrationally about my wife being adventurous in bed…I’d go with the Bendaroos.

@mimiruse Would you rather be zipped into a Snuggie for a week, or take your kids to a public crapper every time they have to go for a week?

Nice…I’m gonna go with the public crapper…and since you didn’t specify which public crapper, I’m gonna go with the women’s public crapper for a week. I can’t wait!!!

@lesleehorner What's one thing you are passionate about, and lose all track of time while doing?

Well…you specified I couldn’t say tantric sex. So, I’d have to say ridding the world of chewed gum left in public places. I’ve been devoted to this cause for a number of years and have spent countless hours scrapping, documenting, and studying the evolutionary flow of gum as it moves carelessly from a chewers mouth, to the ground near a trashcan, to your shoe, to the elevator, and onto a janitor’s scraper. Provocative…I know.

@nuckingfutsmama If you got a "free pass" from your wife to use on a celebrity, which one would it be & why?

Well…there’s a lot of celebrities I’d like to grudge-fuck… I know…I’m sorry...that was crossing the line. I apologize…I’m just speaking from my heart kids…

I’m gonna have to say Jennifer Aniston. She’s a classic in my book. From the hair, to the face, to the eyes, to the breasts, back to the eyes, to the ass, to the breasts, to the legs, to the ass. She makes me wanna be a better man to my wife so that some day she gives me a free pass.

I’d take her to a nice restaurant, we’d laugh, she’d tell me about what a goofball Chandler was on the set, I’d tell her about the blog post where I wrote about the evolution of shit….then I’d open the door to my Chevrolet Lumina and wisk her off to the Palmer House Hilton where I’d have a bottle of champagne I bought at 7-11 waiting on ice in the bathtub. Then the moment would be right…we’d get closer…we’d touch hands and I’d be able to smell her and feel her presence. I’d feel her breath…and then our lips would slightly touch…then I’d need to be excused…..

After cleaning myself up I’d walk back in the room and she’d be laughing, but I’d know it was just another story about Chandler on the set of Friends she was really laughing about. Then she’d ask if we could just be friends…and I’d say “Friends…get it…Friends.” Then she’d slap me…call me a douchebag…grab the champagne and leave.  

Oh..and why would I chose her? Because she owns her sexiness in a classy, seductive as hell way…kinda like my 4^th grade teacher….but that’s a whole other story…

@kitterztoo If you could describe yourself as a color, which color would that be?

Casper white.

 

The Evolution of Shit

When my wife was prego she went through a variety of different poop cycles. Some days too much…some days too little. Then around the eighth month of pregnancy came the “what?! You poop while you push the kid out?!!” realization that ruled her mind until it came time. I was there…yes it’s true…you poop while you push. And yes…I had the easiest freakin’ job in the entire hospital wing…I stood, I sweated, I thanked whoever rules us above that it wasn’t me, I cried, I cut the cord.

Back to the poop.

Then there’s the baby poop – the black tar poop. Baby’s should be born with a damn ice scraper to get this crap off their skin. It’s a miracle it only lasts for a few days. But just when you think you’re out of the woods, comes the breast-fed poop. The light brown, seedy poop. It looks like the baby ran away from home, found some shady friends, hid under a freeway and freebased seeds and split pea soup for a week. Oh that stuff is fucking foul.

But then the poop’s taken up yet one more notch and that’s the cruelest part of the entire scenario. You’re sleep-deprived, dropping C-Notes on massive packages of diapers, taking stock out in wipes, and spending baby’s nap time praying that this is the worst of it. Then come the blow-outs. And it’s never convenient. It’s always when you’re driving to the grocery store, handing the baby to Aunt May, or a split second from the most precious picture the idiots at Picture People could have ever taken. That’s when you hear the sound of your sweet, innocent child’s colon unleashing a stream of seedy shit right through the diaper, up their back, out their arm sleeves, and filling every fat crevice they proudly own. The only positive – you just bought a shit-ton of stock in wipes.

Then comes the stage where it’s no longer poopy..it’s just plain shit. Turds to be exact. You pull the diaper off and they roll out. Sometimes they’re half smashed…most of the time they have you quickly grabbing to pull your shirt over your nose. But if they could talk..they’d say, “that’s right bitches…it’s time for potty training.”

So their shitting in the pot now…and it’s cool! Right?! No…no you’re not done yet sucker. Now comes the time where you still wipe their ass. Dropping mad cash on diapers is gone, but you’re still putting your hand right smack dab in the crack of their ass…..and it sucks. You teach them to wipe themselves..sometimes it works, sometimes you’re tossing a ton of Shout on their stank skidmarks. But you’re getting closer….

Then it happens. They shit in the toilet! They wipe themselves! They're even OK with shitting in public restrooms!!! And then…you move into a one bathroom house. Why?! Because other people’s shit is destined to be a significant part of your life FOREVER!!

So now, just when everyone elses shit is their own problem and I can't even enjoy my own - I get interrupted. Jumping around outside the door, knocking every two seconds “I gotta go daddy!!” And the newest…every time I start the shower for the boy, he’s about to step in, then he says, “I gotta poop daddy.” So I turn everything off and wait…and wait….and wait….

I guess in a few more years I’ll update this recap of the evolution of shit in my life. It'll ramble about the boy claiming to shit when I know he's really stroking one out. Or how my daughter obsessively text-messages when she claims to be dropping the kids off at the pool. But none the less…I have no doubt…shit will continue to rule my life.