Q & A With "Why Is Daddy Crying?"

@MotherhoodFilm asks: What do you think of women who use the word "like" in a sentence repeatedly?

I was hoping you’d stop the question right after the word “woman.” Well, like, I totally think women who like say “like” all the time, or like totally not women at all….but girls. It like reminds me of last week when I like totally sat behind these two college girls who like OMG, drove me fucking nuts. And, I totally didn’t have my like, iPod. I was sooo, just….like OMG, OMG, OMG. I finally went and like slammed my head in a door for the rest of the train ride. Like…

@TrishB asks: How did you meet your wife, how did you know she was the one & how did you propose?

Jesus TrishB…get all up in my business why don’t you…. Seriously, we’re high school sweethearts. We met our junior year – she was the new girl in school – all the other girls wanted me dead or were tired of my stupid shit. She came walking into class wearing these white, tight jeans. Her ass mesmerized me and it was love at first…I knew she was the one. I proposed one day by walking in from work, flipping a ring at her and saying, “Let’s do this shit!!” Seriously – I spent months putting money down on a ring while we were in college. I finally put enough down to where the guy was willing to let me have it. I drove 6 hours to see her at her college, proposed, and she broke up with me. Aaahhh those were the days.

@ryanashleyscott asks: Do you enjoy playing cars w/ the kids? I gotta say, I really don't - but I'm thinking it's because I'm mom, not dad.

I enjoy playing cars with the boy for about 5 minutes. From that point on it’s a struggle. But I’m pretty much that way with everything….golf, sex, work, doing backflips, staring into my neighbor’s windows, streaking town hall meetings, painting random kids along the side of the road blue as they walk home from school….

@MamaBennie asks: How are you so fucking awesome?!?!?

By “so fucking awesome” I’m gonna take a stab that you really mean “such a fuck-stick.” For years people have pondered that question. My dad was the most vocal – “Jesus Christ…how are you even able to stand on two legs you fuck-stick?” My brother just beat me with sticks…and occasionally shot at my feet with a pellet gun. I hear my wife praying sometimes when she thinks I’m asleep – “dear lord…make this fuck-stick disappear. Honestly…I didn’t know what I was getting into and you’re all about forgiveness and stuff…so whatta say fella?!! Wanna give a girl her dream to start fresh?!”

Sorry I couldn’t answer it…..it’s just one of those unanswerable things….

@4uandme asks: Why is daddy cryin'?

Because fucking Twitter has a restriction on how many letters can be in your name. I wanted to have the “g” on the end, but nnnoooooo…can’t do that can we TWITTER?!!

@hotmom_of3 asks: What are you going to be for Halloween?

BJ Brittany from Twitter

@GratefulKim asks: U work, U cook, U help with the kids, UR funny, U love & honor your wife, U write...what is your advice for men?

Well GratefulKim…I’d like to thank you for helping me shoot to the top of the Dude Hit List. Why would you blow my cover like that woman?! Now all the husbands are gonna try and put a cap in my ass. My advice dudes….don’t do shit around the house. I don’t do jack around the house…I make the woman do it. That’s why I got married, so I could sit around and….hold on, what honey……no…no, I was just….yes dear..I mean ma’am…yes ma’am.

I gotta go.

@GratefulKim asks: What is the meaning of life?

Didn’t you just ask a question? You’re that kid in the backseat during carpool who can’t just chill…you gotta know EVERYTHING. Are we there yet? Why is the sky blue? Why does mommy need the mailman to go upstairs just to pay him for the mail?

The meaning of life is good beer, good laughs, good friends, and experiencing true love.

@GratefulKim asks: Boxers or briefs?

Jesus, you ARE that kid. You’re as bad as I am with the questions… Do people go running screaming from you sometimes?

I go commando GratefulKim. I let the boys breathe whenever I can. But during the winter – it’s boxer-briefs. Actually...I lied. I wear boxer-briefs all the time. I even blogged about it once. Except on Pants Optional Fridays…then…well…ya know.

@GratefulKim asks: What is the best surprise your wife could give you that doesn't involve sex or groping?

Holy shit GratefulKim…..all right. Let’s make a deal. I’ll keep answering your questions if you promise to buy me a beer for every question I answer? Deal lady?!

I’m not sure I understand how something can be called a “surprise” if it doesn’t involve sex or groping. I mean…sex and groping is….well when it happens it’s a huge surprise. I guess outside of that I’d have to say that I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle…without her telling me I’ll shoot my eye out.

@grnladybug asks: Do you believe in extraterrestrial life out there and if so, are they cooler or crazier than we are.

I used to scoff at the thought of extraterrestrial life forms. Then…Sarah Palin came on the scene and since then, I’ve seriously changed my mind.

@Jabulani9 asks: OK, Daddy, why were you cuddling mummy like that last night? You don't cuddle me that way.

Seriously…are you on crack? Did your parents drop you as a kid? There’s no cuddling going on in the WhyIsDaddyCrying estate.

@barbaragaines asks: What are Santa eyedrops?

You mean the eyedrops my daughter says Santa’s gonna bring her for her pink eye? Click here to see.

@allconsoffun asks: What's the best advice/worst advice you parents ever gave you? Please support your answers in a 25 word minimum essay style format.

Best: “Hey boy…come here and listen close cause I’m only gonna say it once… Don’t ever piss on an electric fence.”

Support: Pulling your pecker out and using it where everyone can see is not smart. Keep that guy to yourself and whoever you’re with …and use it wisely. You’ll live longer and happier if you do.

Worst: “Hey boy….come here and listen close cause I’m only gonna say it once….drink the milk in the pink container…it’s strawberry milk.

Support: Even though the container was pink, it was just regular milk inside. Making personal decisions based on the exterior look of things is the most ignorant way to live your life. Read the carton, open it, sniff it, taste it, get to know it…then make your decision.

@crazysahm asks: Would you accept the Snuggie if it came with two options: 1) spots for beer cans and 2) BJ Britney.

Ab-so-fucking-lootly. But then afterwards I’d burn it.

@sassygael asks: Why aren't kids freaked by Yo Gabba Gabba like adults are?

I’m personally insulted by this question. I happen to watch Yo Gabba Gabba while stoned, at least 5 or 6 times a day. I have learned so much from that show that it’s ridiculous. “Freaked out?” About what? From learning awesome things like that you shouldn’t bite your friends? Or that there’s a party in your tummy? That freaks you out? You know what – you freak me out?

I’m sorry about that…that was mean… You wanna go smoke and watch Yo Gabba Gabba with me?

@drlori71 asks: What do you think is the most annoying kids show on TV?

Holy shit that’s easy. Caillou. Holy mother of all things that make me want to rip my ears off, shove them up my own ass, throw myself through a glass window, and run into oncoming traffic….I hate, hate, hate that show. His voice makes me…well…it makes me want to do everything I just said. I want nothing but misery for everyone of those characters on that show. I hope they all become crack addicts and featured on Intervention.

I Need You Maury Povich!!!

Yesterday I was changing out of my work clothes in my room, when the boy came in and said, “daddy…I looove math.” I immediately got tears in my eyes, fell to my knees, and started sobbing. I knew right then and there….he couldn’t be my child.

I mean...just look at us both side by side!!

I rest my case.

So, I collected myself, rose to my feet…gave him a huge hug and said, “I’m proud of you. Keep it up…not everyone rocks like you do at math.” Then I walked passed him to find that hussy wife of mine.

She was on the computer in the basement…or should I say, her love communicator machine….when I found her. I said, “woman, we need to talk.”

She looked annoyed and said, “please stop calling me woman…and broad…that’s just so..”

“Look, this is more important right now. Tell me who the real dad is damn it,” I interrupted.

She shook her head and went back to what she was doing. “I’m serious!!!,” I yelled.

“What the hell are you talking about now?!”

“Grayson just said he likes math,” I belted out.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“You know, for years people have asked me, ‘where does your son’s red hair come from,’ and I’ve always joked saying, ‘the mailman I guess.’ And now he comes to me saying he loves math when I still think 2 + 2 = 3. What gives? Who’s the boy’s pop?”

“You seriously need help,” she said while giving me a dramatic pause, death look, followed by a “you’ve got 3 second to disappear before I fucking cut you” look.

I ran upstairs, kicked the cat out of my way, grabbed a beer, opened it and threw the bottle cap at our framed wedding invitation, snagged the laptop and immediately typed into Google, “Maury Show.” I was determined to get answers and if anyone could knock out a paternity test, Maury Povich could.

As I started plowing through the Maury website, desperately trying to figure out how to send that daytime TV god an email, Grayson came walking by and sat down to watch TV. I glanced up at him, then back at the screen…then back at him. He had those kick-ass freckles all over his cheeks and nose. It reminded me of when kids at school made fun of my freckles and would try to draw on me like they were connecting the dots. I smiled and chuckled cause the little bastard just couldn’t sit still…kinda like me. Then he did his little thing he does with his hands, something I spent half my childhood doing.

He could feel I was looking at him, so he looked at me and that’s when I saw those massive ears…the ones I clearly genetically burdened him with. That’s when it clicked…..my wife didn’t bang the mailman. She didn’t wanna keep me from ever duplicating any part of my idiotic self and hit the sperm bank. This little punk was mine…all mine!

I threw the computer off my lap, stood up and hugged the little guy. “I love you man,” I said.

As I put him down, the daughter came walking through with a stick doing some weird throwing motion. I said, “whatcha doin’ baby?”

“I’m playing lacrosse daddy..I love lacrosse!,” she said.

I immediately fell to my knees, started shaking….and crying….then got up and stormed back down stairs….

Herding Cats is Making Me Crazy

I thought I’d just give a quick run-through of this past Friday morning. A somewhat typical morning in my family’s house.

4:41 a.m. – My alarm goes off. I make the snooze bar my bitch for a little bit, by 4:55 a.m. I’m out of bed. Kick back some water, head off to the Y and have an awesome spin class.

6:45 a.m. I cruise back up to the house. It’s the wifey’s first day of work. Before I left earlier, I had re-set the alarm for 6:30 a.m. to wake her up while I was gone. I slowly look up and no lights are on.

“Shit!”

6:46 a.m. I open the back door and I hear someone stomping up the basement stairs, turn the corner…it’s my daughter. She continues, then stomps up the stairs to the second floor. She’s carrying clothes. I think to myself..well, that’s a start!

Daughter – “These mommy!! I WANT TO WEAR THESE!!!”

“Oh fuck..” I say as I drop my gym back. I walk into the kitchen to make a quick cup of coffee and WWIII in its very infancy upstairs. I think, "bye sanity..it was nice knowing you. It was such a short relationship."

7:00 a.m. Slowly I walk up the stairs..

Wifey – “Grayson, get your pants on son!!”

Son – “IIIIIII AAAAAMMMMMM!!!!”
Wifey –“Macy..no, you cannot wear that you wore it yesterday and it’s dirty, put this on now!”

Daughter – “But it’s blue!!! I’ll look like a boy!!”

I hesitate for a second before reaching the top of the stairs, only because I remembered there’s still a ton of beer in the fridge. Then I continue up… I look in my son’s room and he’s still in his little red undies tapping on his fish tank…jeans still on the floor. My daughter brushes by me to go down stairs – still wearing the pink dress she was told to take off. Wifey, checking her ass out in the mirror to see if she has panty lines.

Me – “Macy…get back in your room and change please. Grayson – are you trying to get your fish to help you put your pants on? Come on man – it’s simple…one leg at a time, button, zip – score – you’re all done!”

My daughter falls to the ground screaming and crying. Son – “I FORGOT DADDY sheeeshh..never give me a second to do ANYTHING!!”

My chest puffs out and I start stomping towards my son’s room, “son, you’d better respect me…do you hear me? Don’t talk to me like that ever again!! Now put your pants on now!!” He falls to the ground crying, but somewhere in the crying he manages a, “yes sir.”

I turn feeling as though I’d won one battle. “Macy, get those clothes on now, or I’ll put them on for you and you won’t like that!!” She stands, walks to her room and throws herself on top of the clothes she should be wearing.

7:11 a.m. - I storm in our bedroom pissed. “Fuck!” I mumble under my breath. The wifey is all: “I know, I just don’t understand why it’s got to be so damn hard. Every morning I have to…..” her voice slowly turns into Charlie Brown’s teacher as I start to pull my work clothes out to iron.

Five minutes later, my son walks in our room, STILL in his underpants, holding a picture from his room and says, “Daddy…what was the name of this fish I caught again?”

It took a second for the disbelief to fully hit before I could speak… “Grayson..is this a joke? Seriously, are you kidding me?

Son, with his arms out, eyes big, true confusion on his face, “What daddy? What do you mean?”

Me – “Seriously…are there cameras in here? Are we con Candid Camera? Is that douche gonna jump out holding balloons with my family laughing and tell me it’s all been a joke?”

Son – “DADDY!!! Just tell me what the name of this fish is!”

Me – “FIVE minutes ago I told you for the 4^th time to put your pants on and you’re still in your skibbies!!! What are you doing? Son – you have to focus!!! GO…PUT…YOUR…PANTS….ON….NOW!!!!”

Son…immediately becomes the victim, starts crying, stomps off angrily and screams, “Daddy you’re so mean, I just wanted to know the name of the fish!!!”

This went on for another 10 min. before I turned into the atom bomb, flew myself into each kid’s room, dropped myself from their precious angle-filled skies, and exploded. There was a lot of tear debris, screams could be heard for miles, the cat was in the basement trying to tunnel out of the house, but no lives were lost.

We should be able to fire our children if they don’t perform simple tasks well when asked. Then, you put an ad in the paper, interview new children, and hire the right ones. Then…life would go on blissfully with beautiful songs, rainbows, helpful – well behaved children giggling and bringing you beers….ahhh…if only.

My Chest is All Swollen

Swollen from my first experience as a proud dad after watching my son win something. Not like a soccer game, or a video game…but a bike race.

For the past couple weeks the boy’s been coming home blabbing about some bike race at the zoo nearby. My floppy ears perked up a bit, given that we’ve put some serious miles on his bike this summer. I was all: “that’s cool, dude. We should do it and see how you do!”

It was somewhat on my radar, but nowhere near like it was on his.

Come Sunday, he woke up pretty early. He climbed in bed and said, “daddy, I couldn’t stop dreaming about the bike race and buying a cap gun.” Oh…I forgot to mention, I promised him I’d buy him a cap gun the day before, because he broke a catapult gun a friend had given him that day.

I’m getting sidetracked here, but bare with me… I fucking hate Wal-Mart. I don’t mean hate like I don’t like it. I mean hate like I want some science experiment to go completely wrong so that a huge giraffe is born and goes on a tirade obsessing over eating Wal-Marts across the country and when he’s done he takes a big steamy poop on the empty shell of a building encircling it with signs that read… “I shit on you Wal-Mart. I shit, and spit on you Wal-Mart” (read in a bad French accent). I hate it like that. But…we went anyway because I was confident it was the redneckiest store around that I was confident would have cap guns.

Later that day it was time for the race. My little guy has on his kaki shorts, a red polo shirt, and green checkerboard slip-on Vans. I was all: “Umm..you sure you wanna wear that for the bike race?”

And he was all: “yeah….why? Should I tuck my shirt in?”

We get to the zoo and we’re waiting in line….a long line. He’s not saying a word, he’s just looking around. I finally said, “are you OK dude?”

And he said, “daddy, I’m nervous.”

“It’s cool if you wanna bail and just watch the race.”

“No way…I’m gonna win this thing!!!” he yelled.

The race track was about 1/3 of a mile around a huge fountain and they raced in groups – preschoolers, 1^st and 2^nd graders, etc… So he was all jacked up ready to bike in the 1^st and 2^nd graders boy division. Then - they called all the 1^st and 2^nd grader boys and girls to the line. That’s when we got a look at which kids were going to race against him. We both knew…he was gonna get his ass drug.

The girls did their race, then it was time for the boys. I said, “Gray…just have fun man. This is so cool – enjoy it! My best advice, stay close to the inside of the loop, look straight ahead, and just go.”

“These are some big boys daddy. I don’t think I can beat them.”

I slapped him on top of the helmet and said, “just ride hard and have fun, man.”

So 20+ 1^st and 2^nd graders line up and he’s looking kinda little. The gun went off and my dude stood up on his pedals and never looked back.

(Son is third from the right in the red Polo shirt)

(From the start he takes the lead)

From the beginning he led and never gave it up. I was going ballistic screaming like a little bitch and was probably being videoed and will soon be on Digg.com as the over-energetic asshole dad who’s kid didn’t get picked last at dodgeball…..but I didn’t care. I ran up to him, with his sister dragging behind, and said – “You won man!!!”

And he said, “I did?”

“Ahh yeah…there was no one in front of you the whole race!!!”

He was sooo freakin’ happy and I thought my chest would explode.

(My little dude crossing the finish line)

That was an amazing experience. I knew he was a strong biker and focused on the event. But I have to say I had doubt. I thought those kids were going to make a meal out of him. On his own…he just went balls to the wall and won.

As a kid I played soccer and I remember getting screamed at many a car ride home by my father because I wasn’t giving it my all. Because I wasn’t paying attention constantly and trying to become a pro athlete at it. Eventually he’d say he wasn’t going to waste his time watching me if I wasn’t going to try…and he came to fewer games.

My little shit did me proud. I feel bad I doubted him, but I just didn’t want to be pushing him too hard. And I’m glad I didn’t because for him and me, it just made his win that much sweeter.

  

 

Super Dad!!....Redux

Today begins round two of being a stay at home dad. The wifey took off to N.C. to be with her family and help them put her cousin to rest. Until Tuesday night, it’ll be me, the two precious bastards, a cat, two fish, and the house.

Last week when I went through this we had a pretty good time. This week…I’m gonna blow the roof of this joint. I plan on planting serious fucking memories in these kids heads—even if it kills me. I mean, the way I look at it, that’s the only real selfish benefit I get out of it.

“What do you mean you gap-toothed, big-eared freak?” you might be asking yourself.

Well, in most circumstances I’d be banking the living hell out of the days I’ve spent as a single dad. I’d be keeping a pretty little row of binge drinking cards, sex cards, oh hell no you’re cooking tonight cards, and why don’t you wipe her ass this time cards. But wifey’s dealing with a death in the family, which just shits all over my capability to get any benefit from being Mr. Mom.

I can’t whip-out my kick-ass cards to ask her to spend the week rubbing my feet, clipping my fingernails, shaving my back, taking care of the kids, feeding me dinner, and watching football. I can’t make plans to hit the Irish pub with the dudes. And I certainly can’t plop down next to her on the couch wearing my crotchless SpongeBob thong and leather mask holding a picture of PeeWee Herman and say “let’s do this.”

So instead, I’m gonna funnel all that energy towards the two midgets in the house. We’re gonna hit a birthday party, ride some bikes, maybe put a dent in Kiddieland, eat lots of ice cream, play kickball, roast marshmallows in the fire pit, and maybe even chase the cat around the house and shave our names in him.

And when the wife comes home I’ll help her move past this tragedy in her life and then over time we’ll all fall back into our routine. Oh sure, I’ll have the urge to ask her to shave my toes…. and even to wear the SpongeBob thong (I may wear them under my pants..just in case.), but I won’t.

Instead, hopefully she’ll look through all the shitty photos I take of the kids and feel relaxed that even though she married a sex-crazed douche – I can still support her in a time of need.