A Man and His Wiener

So I’m a man…and I’ve lived with my wiener for 34 years and over that time I feel comfortable in saying I’ve gotten to know it pretty well. I can’t say I’ve ever laid in a field, smoking a pipe, with a serious look on my face and reflected on my life together with the little fella. But when you have a son…you’re sort of forced into trotting down memory lane.

Many a morning I’ll be shaving as the boy walks in the bathroom in his little skibbies to take a wiz. The pants drop and there’s his little pecker standing tall and proud unleashing a child-sized stream of pee all over the toilet, floor, walls…. Ahhh morning wood at its best.

Woodies are just a fact of life as a kid – well, shit…actually throughout life. It happens, you don’t know why, and it doesn’t even enter your brain to care as a kid.

I remember when I was little and on the swim team, I was called “boner” by some of the older kids. I was all, “Hell yeah they like me. I’ve got a nickname and shit!!” Then I realized they always laughed after they called me Boner.

“Hey mom….what’s a boner?” Oh I remember asking that question to my mom like it was yesterday…..

Pubic hair was something I wanted desperately as a kid. I spent days praying at night that I would wake up in the morning with a virtual afro of pubic hair shrouding my man-wand, thus completing my journey into becoming Magnum PI (I always assumed he had a virtual forest down there cause…well cause it was Magnum P-fucking-I).

Over the summer I was taking a shower and heard the boy come in to pee. He finished, but I never heard him flush. As I opened the curtain to yell for him to come back and flush his stuff, I noticed he was still there, naked, looking down at his little pecker and pulling on a tiny little hair on his coin purse. “I didn’t know that,” he whispered.

Being the asshole that I am, I couldn’t resist scaring and embarrassing the shit out of him by saying, “Whatcha got goin’ on there sailor?”

“Daddy!!!!” he screamed as he ran off.

Then comes the touching. The constant rubbing of the package, I guess to make sure it’s still there. I remember after soccer games on the way home, my mom saying, “honey, you really need to try and stop touching it. Seriously…it’s not going anywhere and you’re embarrassing yourself.”

The boy is going through an introductory stage of that now….unlucky bastard.

But the part I’m not looking forward to….the masturbation. I remember giving it a try a couple of times and after a few minutes giving up cause nothing happened. But then the gift of having an older brother reared its head and the glorious day finally arrived where he one day said,

“You’re a fucking idiot. You have to use lotion moron.”

It was like the clouds broke, a rainbow came out, birds chirped a bit louder and crisper, and I was alive!!! For the next few years, I could not put my dick down. I was a man on a mission….and I can only imagine how many times my parents had wished they could shroud themselves in plastic when walking in my bedroom, or worse, my bathroom.

A man’s wiener is like an imaginary friend you have your whole life. It knows all your secrets, it grows with you, changes as you change, listens when you need a friend, reacts to all your emotions, talks you into things you probably shouldn’t do, and is by your side through thick and thin. High fives to my tiny little guy….thanks for being there bud.

Oh…and don’t forget, we’ve got our first therapy session at 5 p.m. today to deal with your separation anxiety from the wifey’s whoo-ha!

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.

 

Hey - Pass the Santa Eyedrops

My poor little sweet 5-year-old daughter has "The Pink Eye." There's a huge difference between pink eye and The Pink Eye. Pink eye is what adults get, or older kids who just roll with the punches. "The Pink Eye" is what cute little girls get and think the end of the world is crashing down around them when they have to have eyedrops put in.

Earlier this morning the daughter said to me, "Daddy, I know what Santa's gonna bring to me."

"And what's that little lady?"

"Santa eyedrops," she said.

"Really? Santa eyedrops?!"

Shortly after Twittering this awesome statement from my little princess, a kick-ass Twitter follower, @DuchessOfBlog wisely said I should capture her statement of magical Christmas eyedrops on tape. And I did. And here it is....

Santa Eye Drops from on Vimeo.

I'm the Meanest Father Alive!

How is it that we can drive from Chicago to North Carolina (14 hours) in one day with the kids and have it be somewhat sane, but from our house to the grocery store – maddening?

It seems to be the case these days. We can’t go anywhere without:

“Stoooooppp Macy.”

“Mooomm….she’s crossing the line”

“Daaaddd, Grayson just said I’m not his friend anymore.”

“Mooommm….Macy unbuckled from her seatbelt.”

…..and it goes on and on. I spared you the blood-curdling screams, the crying, and the death threats the wife and I impose on them.

This past weekend I hit my limit. We’d spent the entire day going fishing, getting ice cream, looking at replacement fish, playing with friends, roasting marshmallows, and riding bikes. We were on our way home and the screaming, yelling, kicking, telling on each other started and I lost it.

I finally reached the point where I would actually order, and use, a My Therapy Buddy while swaddling myself in a fucking Snuggie, sucking my thumb, rocking back and forth naked in a closet.

I’m all: “you know what – I should start treating you like my father treated me. No more bike rides, no more ice cream, no more fishing, no more playgrounds, no more anything. You mow grass, wash my car, wash windows, rake the yard – you earn your fun time.”

The daughter totally didn’t give a shit. She was all, “whatever jagoff, you know you’re not gonna do shit to us. Now fetch my sippy cup bitch!”

The son – whole different story. He started uncontrollably bawling. The whole way home this went on. Finally I pulled him aside. “Dude, why are you so upset?”

“That’s the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

And it hit me – the kid thinks I’m gonna instantly turn his life of bliss into a replicated childhood like mine.

Now don’t get me wrong – I got to go swimming, ride bikes with my brother, do some playing, etc… But, that was usually when my father was “traveling” and rarely, if ever, involved the guy. When he was around, fun times were few and far between.

“Grayson, I said I ‘should’ do those things. I didn’t say I ‘would’ do those things. When I was growing up my daddy didn’t go on bike rides with me. He didn’t take me to parks for hours at a time. He didn’t do a lot of things. I would never do that to you. I just want you to appreciate what we do do for you.”

You could see his little sponge brain soaking in words flowing from my undersized mouth. He quickly cheered up, quit the crying, gave me a hug and took off.

Ten minutes later he was kicking the shit out of his sister on the couch.

I didn’t ever expect to be telling my son about things from my childhood this early in his life. But it seemed to make sense to me. It seemed to be the right time to teach him a lesson he could relate to. It seemed the right time to strengthen our relationship a bit by letting him know how lucky he is to have a dad who loves him to pieces and makes sure their time spent together is kick-ass and not getting your ass-kicked.

Regardless, I still can’t wait till the little bastard can push a lawnmower.

Death, Lesson, Inspiration, Timing…..Livestrong

Anyone who read my earlier post about putting a sex magazines and blow-up dolls under my pillow could have seen it coming, right? Either I post a follow-up about how I can’t even walk to the train anymore cause I’m so freakin’ over-sexed….or….I write about death – the death of an innocent,  young, frugal, vigilant, Democratic, healthcare reform advocate, fish. A young, brilliant-colored little guy named – Swimmy.

Quick flashback for those too lazy to read older posts. Friend tells story of how her son puts shark tooth under pillow, wakes up to can of tuna. My wife tries to one-up her. Son puts shark tooth under pillow wakes up to fish in fish bowl. Daughter disappointed she didn’t do the same so puts shark tooth under her pillow that night. Wakes up to fish next morning.

There…so, we get back from a relaxing, long day at a folk music festival – friends are about to come over – wife walks up to me and says,

“Swimmy is dead.”

I say, “fuckin’ who?”

“Swimmy”

“You wanna have sex now when friends are about to come over?”

“Jackass!!! – Your daughter’s fish – Swimmy – is fucking dead!!”

Me – “oh…..shit….that sucks….”

Swimmy was a good kid. I mean – he really did nothing but make my daughter happy every morning when she thought about feeding him – and every night when she wanted to use him as fuel to delay the inevitable.

The dilemma – should I tell her now when friends are walking in and involve them in the drama. OR – wait till we’ve had too much to drink, are ready for bed, and risk her seeing the fish and have her spend the remaining hours of the night crying? We decided to tell her now - “your fish died, sister.”

She took it hard. She cried. She cried hard. And even my son cried hard. Just earlier that day I explained to him why his mom was crying – “her cousin, Brett, who she grew up with has cancer and was told by doctors there’s nothing they can do.” Death took on a whole new meaning for my son today……

It’s kind bizarre and sadistically funny how shit seems to work out in your day-to-day life. One day you’re blogging about the stupidity of bringing in fish that will inevitably die and cause drama to your life. The next day you’re putting the pieces together about how that seemingly thoughtless act turned into a life lesson for the three greatest people in your life…and yourself.

I’m posting the picture of my kids by Swimmy’s grave not as a joke…..but as fuel to spark memories in my readers of their first loss…their first pet…their first family member…their first death.

My wife’s cousin, Brett, is a fighter. Fuck that – he’s the damn Man! He’ll win this fucking battle against cancer, because the love behind his fight is undying, relentless, passionate, and one of the most moving experiences I’ve ever witnessed.

Livestrong Brett!