The Wifey & I Have a Talk

Wifey: “I did this for an entire freakin’ summer you douche!”

Me: “I don’t know how in the hell you pulled this off. Were you on crack the whole time or what? I mean, I’m two minutes from jumping off a bridge.”

Wifey: “That’s why men could NEVER birth children.”

Me: “Fuck yeah we couldn’t!!! The world as we know it wouldn’t exist. Humans would have died out centuries ago. We wouldn’t be having this conversation cause I’d be a tiny worthless sperm cell sitting in front of the egg all: “screw that dude, you go ahead…I’m good. I’ll just take pictures of you being all bad-ass and put it on your Facebook page!”

Wifey: “Speaking of Facebook, you seriously need to be more careful about what you put on there. People there know who you are. It’s not Twitter jackass.”

Me: “Say that shit on Twitter…people will cut you woman.”

Wifey: “If Grayson ever calls me ‘woman’ cause he over-hears you saying that to me I swear you’ll need to wear a cup around me for a year.”

Me: “Look – you’re getting off the point. Three days!! Three day’s I’ve taken the kids sledding. And today I added a third child. And there was crying…anger…crying…ambulances…more crying. But it’s only been three days. How the hell did you do it for three months?”

Wifey: “Seriously – snow and ice and you want a medal?”

Me: “And when I got home I made snacks. The children loved the peanut buttery snacks. And TV was on. And all was good. Serenity rained down upon the land. And then Grayson came down stairs crying like a baby cause your freakin’ “mini-me” daughter socked him in the eye for trying to teach her how to say “the!” The simplest word on the planet – “the!!!” Well, next to “a.”

Wifey: “She hit him in the eye? What did you do?!”

Me: “I Googled ‘daughter hits brother in eye’ and a ton of videos came up. And they were so awesome. So then I Skyped my brother to show him some of these videos so I could see his reaction. It was hilarious. Actually – get the lap-top you HAVE to see this one...”

Wifey: “You seriously need medication you ADD bastard! What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “Oh, no…it’s cool. The kids made up and were making art projects by the time I got off Skype! In fact, they made you a Valentines card!”

Wifey: “For the record – when I leave in the morning for work…I leave scared for my children’s lives!”

Me: “You’re taking me all wrong. I just wanted to say that I appreciate everything you did as a stay-at-home-mom for a year. I’ve been doing it for not even two weeks and I hurt. I hurt everywhere. And I appreciate you.”

Wifey: “No!”

Me: “No what?”

Wifey: “No. No we cannot have sex tonight. I still have to write like 30 thank you notes from Christmas.”

Me: “Damn you and your ninja mind-tricks. How in the hell did you know?!”

Wifey: “You’re like the cat, dumb-ass. You only come around all happy and caring and stuff when you want to be fed. In your case, when you want some action. Back off dude!”

Me: “No, seriously. I appre-ci-ate you!!!”

Wifey: “It….ain’t….happ-en-ing!!!”

Me: “I took your children to see the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie woman! Baby Jesus…that should get me sex for 6 weeks straight!”

Wifey: “’Your children?’ Really…you just dropped the ‘your’ word in talking about ‘our’ children? And also – idiot-boy - I was there, too! We shared the pain together!”

Me: “Holy shit you saw that movie too?! I swear to god…if I ever see anything as awful as that again…I told you I appreciate you right?”

Wife: “You seriously scare me. And, No!!!”

Me: “Fine! The appreciative train has left the station. You’re gonna have to work for it now!”

Wifey: “Damn. That sucks. And you said we weren’t doing Christmas gifts this year. Hey – can you toss me that pillow before you leave the room? That’d be great!”

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.....

A Day With Pink Ducky Part Deux

A month ago, almost to the day, I pulled a good little plastic dude from the depths of depression and showed him one hell of a good day. Yep, Pink Ducky.

He was stuck in a real bad routine of sitting in a rotting, moldy bath-tub bag, alone, cold, depressed. So I showed him a good time!

Well, after posting pictures from his day on Twitter and this blog, Pink Ducky became a star. He got an endorsement deal from Jared Galleria of Expensive-Ass Jewelry and got paid!

I kinda lost track of the little guy cause he was so damn busy. Then, on Saturday I woke-up to the smell of waffles wafting through the air. Everyone in the house was asleep, so the first thing that came to mind was, “Oh shit, someone broke in my house to make waffles!” Thinking of family first, I grabbed a bat and walked downstairs holding the wifey in front of me for protection. And much to my glee I found Pink Ducky!!!

“You’ve been in a slump,

And feeling like a chump,

So I’m crankin’ out some waffles and here to say,

Today is gonna be YOU’RE day!!”

“Why the hell are you talking in rhyme’s Pink Ducky,” I asked?

“It’s kind of a long story,

But if you really wanna know the whole thing will be on Maury.”

“You were interviewed on the Maury Povich Show? Damn Pink Ducky, you’re a rock star!”

Anyway, the conversation continued…. But the bottom line was, the little bastard wanted to lift my spirits and enjoy a day together. So…we caught the first train to the city.

Then, he brought me to the Sears Tower.

Once we got up top he said, “Everything you see here can be yours if you try,

Damn..this is getting scary…we’re up pretty freakin’ high.”

After telling Pink Ducky the rhyming stuff was getting pretty damn old, we headed out for some grub at Ada’s Restaurant.

Then, we went to the Marshall Fields building (Macy’s) and wrote letters to Santa.

Not five damn minutes after Pink Ducky wrote his letter, Santa freakin’ delivered. That’s the luckiest Pink Ducky I’ve ever seen in my life.

Then, after dodging falling ice, having to deal with Pink Ducky having an “accident” cause the bathroom was broken, and buying him a pair of Crocs – the #2 ranked article of clothing on the list of things I can’t stand….#1 of course being the Snuggie – he decided he knew what my problem was.

“You know what’s wrong with you baby?

You’ve got to learn how to get down and sexified with your lady”

So we pounded a shitty PBR and headed home.

Then he whipped-out the guitar and showed me the art of serenading.

Took me on a tour of my wifey’s naughty drawer.

And showed me how a glass of red wine always helps get thing started.

But none of it helped. Pink Ducky failed. I tried to break it easy to him that I was still pretty depressed but he kept getting calls on his cell phone and said he had to run off to “a thing.”

In the end – it was kinda cool hanging out with the little fella again. And I do miss him. And I can’t freakin’ wait for the Maury show so I can find out why the hell he talks in rhymes.

Which Came First

I admit it….I got lazy. I had a shit day, I wanted to knock out a Wednesday post and I got lazy. I went on Twitter and asked my rock star friends to toss out a topic they’d want me to blog about. I said – the 7^th one would be the winner. Honestly, I thought I’d have to ask three times to hit 7…but it only took once. And the winner:

@rdemelo with the question “Which came first – the chicken or the egg?”

Fuck!!! Why do you have to get all “hey WhyIsDaddyCrying I know you’re having a beer, relaxing, but I’m gonna make you use your brain….?”

My Answer: The chicken came first and let me break it down for you sister.

The chicken’s a badass dude. He’s all: “I worked my feathers off today….I made some deals, I clocked my time, my phone rang like a bitch, and my email’s screaming ‘uncle…uncle!!!’ It’s Miller Time!!”

Then he grabs his stuff and heads out ready to find some kick ass action at the local pub. This bastard doesn’t even make it two blocks before he finds some neon that screams just the right message:

“Beer - Hens”

FastForward to beer in hand, cold pitcher on table, and hens giggling, texting, and clucking all over the house. My man Chicken is in roasted breast heaven. A couple of head nods and 14 winks later, my man’s gotta a hen all giggly and wrapped around his finger.

“Cluckity cluck cluk,” he says – trying to rap his best game.

“Bawk bikity bawk bawk,” says the hen as she clearly falls into this seductive trap.

Knowing all’s good and the gravy train has arrived, he lays down the final tracks leading to his lair of manhood – “Cluck…c…l…u….c..k. …clikzuck”

Well that sealed the deal. FastForward and they’re hanging out at his pad, she’s all: “I’m not sure, we just met.”

He’s all: “Naww baby, I’m not like that. You make me smile and I want to get to know you and stuff….”

She smiles, makes herself vulnerable… He smiles and knows he’s got his A-Game on….

FastFoward to 2 months later.

Chicken dude slams the phone down, “Shit!!! What a crap-ass day!!!”

“What’s wrong Ted?,” the chicken in the cubical next to him says.

“Nothing man – it’s just been a shit day! Let’s get a brew and check the hens out.”

Three high-fives and a cab-ride later, their rolling up in a local pub. The pitcher comes quick, the stories are flying, then comes that same hen coming to pay our star Chicken a visit.

“Daaaaaamn,” he says watching her walk up. “Hen’s got some junk in the trunk. Check it out!!”

The hen comes strolling up….checks our main man out from head to toe and says… “hey baby….remember me?”

“Uhhh...yeah I do. I remember those fine feathers…”

“Good, cause I got something else you can remember….”

FastForward…our famous, sexy-ass Chicken is naked, blindfolded and chained. Hotty hen says, “OK sexy boy…I’m gonna unblindfold you….get ready for a life altering experience.”

Playboy chicken is jittery he’s so freakin’ excited, “I’m ready baby..give it to me.”

The blindfold comes off and nothing but brightness hits him. He blinks and blinks until the picture slowly comes into focus…. And as it does he says pieces of thread, hay, and twigs. He feels a warm lump under his ass which at first kinda had him excited…then he noticed…it was an egg…

“You take care now….raise it well OK?!,” Hen said as she laughed, slamming the door behind.

Gettin' Our Spontaneity-On

So the wifey and I had “that talk” again. Yeah…that one. The one where I’m all:

“We need some spontaneity in our sex life…”

And she’s all, “sponta-kiss my ass idiot-boy.”

“come on…don’t be like that…I’m just saying, sometimes I feel like kids are ruling our lives these days and we never get a..”

“Hold on..JUST HOLD ON!!.......what Grayson?” long pause….then “yes, I fed your fish just before you came up stairs…now go to bed!!” she then looks at me, “I’m sorry… you were rambling about some kind of ‘aneity’ or something…”

“Hey, we’re both dealing with this….and it sucks at times, but if we don’t…”

“Jesus..hold on…yes Macy?!!!” the wifey yells as she throws yet another layer of blankets over her… “Yes…you can read one more book, then GO TO BED!!!!” she then contorts her face into a well-crafted smart-ass face and says, “I’m sorry…you were trying to make me feel bad for not being a hardcore porno slut, wearing nighties, thongs, and knee-highs to help you get your rocks off…..please continue…”

“I…I uhhh…baby you look really nice tonight and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate what you do for this family,” I say as I’m turning the channel from the MLB playoffs to Oxygen. “I can’t even remember the last time I went to bed without smelling your shirt and missing you like crazy.”

“Say the word ‘spontaneity’ again and I’ll fucking cut you….”

"Whoa!!!...let's not get crazy here, OK?...I just.."

"Did you really just call me crazy? Seriously...as I lay here on the couch, trying to relax for the first fucking time tonight....did you really...just...call..me...crazy? Cause if you did, I just want to be clear and understand correctly that you thought long and hard before selecting that word. I want to be sure, that in your tiny little brain, hidden deep within the beer, the Jennifer Anistons, the baseball, the football, the masturbating....that that's what you really thought was the smartest thing to say to me?"

"I uhhh.....yesterday we.....on Friday I was uhh.....Honey!!! I'd like to volunteer to make the kids' lunches and bathe them and put them to bed for an entire week....just for you!!!"

I sat there for what seemed like at least 30 minutes..but it was only 15 seconds before she said..."Oooohhh....I spontaneously just remembered we're out of peanut butter for the kids' lunches!!!"

It was raining that night when I had to run to the grocery store...and I have to give it to her...it was pretty spontaneous......