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Entries in intervention (2)


How Santa Will Make My Son An Episode Of Intervention

It’s the holidays!

And you know how I know?

Because everyone’s becoming just a bit more of an asshole than they normally are. Even the kids! Hell, the dog has even gotten into the holiday spirit by gnawing on the strap of my man-purse I carry to work every day.

He’s never done that before!

Ahhh the holidays. When people pepper-spray you for buying video games at half-price at a Wal-Mart instead of doing what you should normally do at Wal-Mart….bring your best camera and search for great pictures to upload to

I found a catalogue over Thanksgiving weekend the daughter had taken a liking to. Upon opening it I thought, “oh cool, she’s circled a few things in……oh…oh she’s circled everything in here.”

The son is still an incredibly devoted believer in Santa. Which sucks for two reasons…

1) It’s gonna break his heart and be rough as hell on him the day he finds out that fat bastard is really his MILF mom tossing extra un-wrapped gifts under the tree late at night while his drunk dad stands naked next to her whispering loudly, “just look at it…I’m making it look like helicopter blades!!”

I can’t help but see an episode of Intervention 20 years from now when my son’s all cracked-out, crying on national TV saying his addiction started when he learned Santa wasn’t real.

2) He thinks he can get whatever in the hell he wants. All “I gotta do is ask Santa!”

It’s like a huge middle finger being jammed in our faces when the boy asks for an iPhone, we rightfully say no, and he responds with that. It makes me want to out Santa right then and there.

But then we wouldn’t get away with my favorite phrase which keeps him in line, “really? You’re gonna give your sister a swirly in that toilet while Santa’s watching? Wow man…you’ve got balls of steel.”

Then there comes the wife. I procrastinate. I’ll occasionally look at commercials showing other rock-star husbands blowing the socks off their wife with cars, jewelry, vacuum cleaners and more. I can’t afford a new car, the wife sells all the jewelry I buy her and I might as well cut my own throat before buying her a vacuum cleaner.

So I wait. And wait.

And wait.

Until a couple days before Christmas and decide to fight the crowds. Bitching the whole time about finding no place to park, the long lines waiting to check out and the check-out ladies being rude because I had the gall to actually purchase something from them today.

I bitch about not being thanked as I hold the door for some jack-wad whose arms were full and mumble angrily to myself as I get stuck in endless shopping traffic.

And it’s at that last stoplight that I realize….the holidays and I need each other. Like my future cracked-out son needs his drugs, I need the holidays to be angry about something. I thrive off the rush of anger that I got on December 22 and 23 when I’m last-second-shopping for my wife. It makes me feel alive. It makes me…




Gimmie Back My Sweater Woman!!!

Hi, my name is WhyIsDaddyCrying and I’m addicted to wearing the same green-striped sweater every day. It’s been six days since I wore my sweater.

How am I able to make such a comment? Because my former really good family friend @momomatics (now a person I know and might give an occasional glance to) stole my damn sweater last weekend. Here’s a quick back story.

For the past three months since I became unemployed I’ve slowly become a piece of shit. Reasons to shower first thing in the morning become few and far between. The desire to slide a razor along your face to keep that “clean-cut look” dies completely. And, the wearing the same outfit every day seems to become the only comforting regularity you can latch to.

My green sweater became my security blanky.

One day the wifey said, “honey, you seriously need to wash that thing.” So I did, and found myself naked and camped out in front of the washer and dryer rocking back and forth for two hours till all was said and done.

A few weeks later our friends started to notice. “Hey man, ummmm….how many of those sweaters do you have?” And my head snapped immediately towards them in disgust. How could I ever betray my sweater with a second, or third sweater. I’m faithful damn it!

I mean…it was there with me at the top of the Sears Tower.

During family moments like decorating the Christmas Tree!

Volunteering at my kid’s class and playing games!

Then I woke up last weekend after hosting a family get-together with @momomatics family and it was gone. GONE!!!!

After I finally got over the shakes and sweats, it became all too clear…an intervention had begun. My three-month stint of time with my sweater had come to a forceful end.

And to make matters even worse I discovered it wasn’t an intervention…worse—it’s aversion therapy! @momomatics is chronicling this “aversion therapy” on her blog. She’s not only taken my sweater, but she’s making it experience all of my worst nightmares. Chucky-Cheese….the fucking BUTCHER!!!!

While I continue to wallow, drink too much, and cry….go check out the crux of my pain at @momomatics blog.

Part 1 of the Sweater Chronicles: The Abduction – Also Called – The Night We Made WhyIsDaddyCrying Cry

Part 2 of the Sweater Chronicles: Aversion Therapy

She claims part 3 is coming any day…hopefully my sweater is coming home soon after. Although after that sweaty meat-holding bastard wore it….