I Got Blocked!

Writer’s block from hell has set in.

The past two weeks I’ve been all out of sorts. I’ve walked into walls, fed the kids rocks, and spent hours chasing the dog around the backyard screaming “come here piggy piggy.”

I guess it’s not technically writer’s block because I’ve been writing.

I write a lot for work. I wrote (and drew) a little something something for JC Little and her blog that should be posted soon! Stay tuned!

But as far as here. Well….it’s been sporadic at best.

So, I’m going to just free write about a few blog ideas I’ve been toying with, post it and move on hoping it solves my problem.

At first I was going to write something about politics because…well because you better have voted today! Except you people…please don’t vote today.

I was going to continue the post I’d done a week or so ago about my kids running campaign ads against each other and write about them at polling stations telling voters as they walked by that the other candidate pees on Dora’s map and at night tells their most inner secrets to a stuffed SpongeBob doll.

But then I was all, “that’s stupid. You can’t recycle old posts like that.”

Then I thought about writing a post about how my wife just got prescription glasses.

She’s had headaches for a longtime and recently it dawned on her that, “holy shit. I think on account of me not see’n too good (she’s from the south) I reckon I might need me some spectacles.”

Originally I thought she said “testicles” and promptly ripped my clothes off, tackled her, and was seconds away from “the sex” when the pepper spray hit me.

So, she got her eyeballs checked, a prescription written, and yesterday, picked-up her new eyewear.

Then, as I was sitting at my computer working she walked by sporting her new glasses. BUT!!! Not JUST her new eyeglasses, but also her tight-fitting spandex running gear.

*Side Note: I have a huge….HUGE glasses fetish. I have no clue where it stems from. Maybe I had a super sexy elementary school teacher that sent me down this road, but regardless… glasses do it for me.

*Side Note’s over…back to the stupid.

My foot started thumping like a happy puppy’s tail, my eyes bulged from their sockets and immediately my wife reached over, tapped my nose hard and said, “NO!!!! DOWN BOY!!!! NO!!”

But then I was all, “you can’t write about that…it’s just too revealing and women sporting glasses will avoid the ever-living hell out of you!”

Finally I contemplated the fact that our stupid damn new dog, who I’ve affectionately named “That Furry Fuck I Didn’t Want Yet My Kids And Wife Talked Me Into But That Now The Wife’s Even Overwhelmed By Even Though It’s Always Left To Me To Take Care Of Him Dog,” has an obsession with peeing on our damn kitchen carpet.

He’s awesome everywhere else throughout the house. But for some reason, that red carpet is his pee-bitch.

But then I was all, “who cares? Everyone’s dog pees in the house at some point and who wants to read about your damn pets?”

So…that’s how my brain’s operated over the past two weeks. Yet, I’ve blogged and yet, I blog today.

So, with that, I make my final plee to the blogging lords and ask them to free the brain!!!!

Guess we’ll see what their verdict is over the coming days! Hang in there reader kids, I promise it’ll all come back!!



I Have Two Fuck Trophies!

My brother (@IbeeNORM on Twitter) lovingly and occasionally refers to his children as “fuck-trophies.”

Now, he only does it in front of the right audience, and never in front of the kids—just making sure that’s out there so no angry parent-mobs form and go after him. But the first time I heard it, I laughed like hell while jotting it down on a little pad so I could whip the phrase out later as if I’d sat in my thinking chair late one night, sporting my pimped-out smoking jacket, pondering new and hilarious things.

But then later it hit me. My children really should be clad in gold, thrown on a pedestal, forever frozen in some award-winning pose as tribute to the wifey and me getting it on. Why? Because they truly are representative of a time when the wifey and I rocked the house of its foundation.

I’ll never forget our decision to start having kids. It was one of those spoken, but kind-of not-so-spoken decisions. And we started having unprotected sex. And a lot of it! And everyone around me knew something was different because I had perm-a-grin on my warped head.

Even people who didn’t know me were all, “oh yeah, that dude’s getting laid daily, if not hourly.”

Leaving Virginia after work one day to drive to North Carolina to be with family for Christmas, I joked to the wifey, “We should totally knock boots before we hit the road.”

Then, a loud boxing ring bell rang, clothes flew in the air, and it was on! I’m pretty confident I just laid there with deer-in-the-headlights look the whole time.

Then….she became pregnant. And that’s when that jagoff sex bouncer showed back up to guard the wifey’s sex-making area. He was all, “ummm….are you on the list to get in here tonight buddy?”

“Uhhh..yeah, I’m attached to the husband here. He should be at the TOP of the list.”

“Yeah…there’s no one on this list. Go on…go hit the shower pal. Get outta here.”

Pregnant with our first kid, the wifey went through a paranoia stage thinking the act of sex might hurt the fetus. And she was tired all the time. And sometimes sick. And I was left, still naked, raring to go, with perm-a-grin on my face, standing in the bedroom waiting.

And waiting……

Then it hit me—she totally used the hell out of me! And it was awesome!! But now that I’d tasted the sweet nectar of constant sex, it was like I was a teenager who’d just learned how to jerk-off again! I was humping trees, the leg of the cat, the mail box, apple pies…..it was sad.

But just like everything related to children—from pregnancy through every stage of their lives—I was being prepared for the next phase. And for our sex life, the next phase was the dreaded six-week post birth “Sex Shut Down Phase.” Wifey originally told me doctors said she couldn’t have sex for the first two years after birth, but Google set that shit straight.

So now, when I’m sitting on the back porch, relaxing, drinking a beer and watching my little fuck trophies run around, a smile creeps across my face as a think back to the time when sex was plentiful. When I could ask the wifey if she wanted to “drop the donkey” and she’d actually say “yes” rather than slap me. When I’d climb in the sex swing, wait for her to come home, and she was actually appreciative when she saw me strapped in. And, when I’d wake up to her on top of me and she’d say, “sshhhh….don’t even speak, look at me, or move. Just lay there,” and then she’d put the pillow back over my head.

Those were the days.....