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.



Getting The Kids To Stop Asking "Why?"

You’d think once your kids reach the age of six and eight that the “why daddy’s” would stop.

Yeah, not so much.

It’s gotten so bad that now when I answer the children’s question I try to be completely honest about everything in the answer I give, in the hopes they’ll be so brain-numb afterwards they’ll just walk away.

Example

Child: “Daddy, can we buy Kool-Aid?”

Me: “No, because it’s loaded with sugar which is not good for you and will make you hyper and completely out-of-control which will then get you into trouble with your brother, friends, dog, and us and will then cause mommy and daddy to yell at you and send you to your room with you crying while mommy and daddy stay downstairs and fight ultimately getting a divorce leaving you to have to live with mommy and see daddy on the weekend where I’m living in a one room shack crying, not showering, and surrounded by phone numbers of call girls which are girls that daddy has to pay money to have dinner with him. AND…it contains red dye 40 which will make your head explode from nasty chemicals people pumped into the sugary drink just so it’s the color red in the hopes we’ll drink more of it and provide the boss of the company with more money he can spend on bigger houses and more cars.”

And it worked.

Well…not at first.

At first they laughed and thought it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Half of what came rambling out of my mouth they couldn’t understand, but for some reason it was just hilarious to them.

Then…the light bulb went off. If I give their mother a long rambling answer they’ll see her immediately get disgusted and walk away.

They’ll learn by example!

So, I waited….and waited. And then…

Wife: “Honey, let’s go to Ikea and look around for a little bit. Maybe have lunch there with the kids.”

Me: “Schnookums, I don’t think that’s really a good idea. First of all the last time we went there both kids ended-up getting the puke bug from playing in the kid’s zone, while you got mad at me for publicly confessing in a very loud manner that you were the hottest MILF within eyesight, and after we made our huge purchase we spent an hour trying to find a clear spot where we could roll the cart to the car without having a 4-foot tall curb blocking us in and eventually we couldn’t so I had to go get the car and fight half the SUVs in Chicago for a space to back in and load the stuff we…..”

I quit at that point because she was long gone.

The kids? They took every bit of it into their tiny little developing brains and slowly digested it.

Then, the magic words came out as I overheard the daughter say to the boy, “I kinda don’t ever want to go to Ikea again.”

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve enjoyed a semi-blissful existence of having the first answer I give be the only answer I have to give.

And my responses are getting shorter and shorter. Usually by the time I’m taking my first breath so I can keep my ramble going, one of the kids just yell “fine daddy!!” And walk away to something else.

Now that, my dear people, is “winning.”

For now…