Parenting

Growing up I really didn't learn a whole lot from my parents--parenting wise. I wasn't focusing on what I could one day use as a parent myself, as far as skills and techniques. The only thing that did transfer is the old adage, "There are starving kids in China." So, the other night, when my daughter didn't want to eat her dinner, I told her, "Sweet Pea, there are starving kids in China." Apparently she felt pretty sympathetic toward the starving kids in China, because she ate her whole dinner. Score. I'm great at parenting.

Later that night my daughter didn't want to go to bed and this is the conversation that transpired.

DAUGHTER: I don't want to go to bed.

ME: You have to go to bed. 

DAUGHTER: Why?

ME: Because you'll be cranky tomorrow.

DAUGHTER: Why?

ME: Because you will have not slept.

DAUGHTER:Why?

ME: That's what we're trying to figure out right now...

(Pause)

DAUGHTER: Why?

ME: Look, there are tired kids in China. They're exhausted. Now go to sleep.

Prince

        I really dig Prince's music. He had an eclectic point of view and always laid down some funky fresh beats. It's interesting though, you can definitely tell which songs he wrote when he was sober and which ones he wrote when he was high. I'm pretty sure he was sober when he wrote songs such as Little Red Corvette and Raspberry Beret. Because, I saw a little red corvette once. And you know what? It was going much too fast. Raspberry Beret? Yup, I've seen one of those too, in a second hand store. I didn't buy it, but I did try it on. It didn't go with my outfit though. And Purple Rain...well, he was definitely fucked up when he wrote that one. If you're sober, you're thinking, "Purple Rain? What the hell is he even singing about?" But, if you're high, you're thinking, "Yes. The rain is purple. It's so...fucking purple." When Doves Cry? If you're sober, you're thinking, "I've never ever heard a dove cry, or any bird cry for that matter. And I'm sure it wouldn't sound like the music which follows the lyrics, "This is what it sounds like when doves cry."" But, when you're high, you're thinking, "...Yes. That is what it sounds like...when doves cry. I've heard it time and time again, and that is spot on." I swear if I ever hear a dove cry, and the sound of Prince's music comes out it's mouth, I will lose my shit and say, "Damn, Prince was right...or I'm just fucking stoned."

Squirrels be like

       One day I brought a ham and cheese sandwich to work. When I got to the break room, I checked my bag and my sandwich was missing. Where in the hell could it be? I informed the authorities, being the sheriff officers who worked in the building. But, they just looked at me like I was crazy. I said, "There's a ham and cheese sandwich missing. And you're not going to do anything about it? I guess I'll have to go at this alone. I just hope it's not lost forever or even worse, half eaten...If it was a donut, you'd give a shit!" (I shouted that last part from a distance, then took off running).

        So, I decided to do some backtracking, which was extremely hazardous, because I had to walk backwards the entire time." I got to the parking lot and suddenly I heard a certain sound, like, the sound of a sandwich in a Ziploc bag that just got stepped on. "Son of a bitch!" It must have fallen out of my bag when I got out of my car. Well, it's not like I still could have eaten it. It's been sitting on this asphalt for quite some time. So, I picked up the sandwich and threw it in the trash can right outside of the building.

        The next day I went to work and the sheriff officers were laughing. 

"Hey, I think I found your sandwich," said one of the officers. 

"Impossible! I closed that case yesterday. I found it in the parking lot. Then I threw it away in the trash can outside," I replied. 

"Ohhhh. That makes sense. Because I saw a squirrel on top of the trashcan this morning eating it. Now, picture that."

"I am, and it's a very odd picture. Was he holding it like you and I would?"

"Yeah. If he wasn't sitting on top of the trash can, and wasn't being all squirrel-like, then I would have thought, "Hey, now there's a guy enjoying a sandwich.""

"I guess I'm just a little flabbergasted. I thought squirrels only ate nuts. I can see if it was a PB & J, because of the peanuts. But no, this was a fucking ham and cheese fucking sandwich. I mean, where do we go from here? So now squirrels are just hanging around eating second hand sandwiches?"

"It appears so. At least it didn't go to waste."

"That's true. And I guess if I ever see someone trying to lure 
a squirrel in with a nut, I can say, "You're doing it all wrong! Here, try this ham and cheese sandwich."

Bob In A Box

Growing up, my dad was sort of a handy man. He was quick to fix things. Well, he was more or less quick to want to fix things (this excludes his attitude, temper, and general asinine way of thinking). But, he didn't necessarily get the job done in a timely fashion, nor did he conduct his work in the most practical way. Let's just say he was a Master Duct Taper & Caulksman who never completed his apprenticeship in Spackling. More often than not his projects were fueled by alcohol--beer specifically. With each beer, his perspective became slightly more askew. His measurements got progressively less accurate, to the point where my room looked like something out of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory--where all of the walls started closing in. "Watch your head. I know, I'm sorry. It looks like an optical illusion. It's not though. It's just poorly constructed. I know, it does look like a drunk guy did it."

My dad has 6 stages of drunkenness. And these stages of drunkenness coincide with the progression of each project. Let's call this project: Studding and Sheet Rocking. The first stage is the happy go-lucky, free-form jazz stage. "We're just going let it flow...man." The quality of workmanship is good, and it's the best it's going to get for the remainder of the day. The next stage is the lovey dovey, adult contemporary/easy listening stage. "I'm in awe of what I'm creating. I'm going to sit back and admire it." The project is still looking pretty decent. The third stage is the argumentative, punk rock on a static radio stage. "Who the hell put all of these dashes on this tape measure? Fuck it, I'm just going to wing it. Fucking fuck! That's way off. I should have not winged it. Wung it? Wanged it? Shit. I'll just make up my own word...flubbnugg. Perfect. I will no longer flubbnugg it. They say it's okay if you talk to yourself, as long as you don't answer. Isn't that right? Yup. Damnit! You just answered yourself. I can't get a word in edgewise and I'm talking to myself. That's really bad. If Abraham Lincoln was around, he'd just cut down his own tree and use that wood. And then he'd snack on some cherries. He was a great president." The fourth stage is the belligerent, politically driven, hardcore death-metal stage. "Abraham Lincoln was an asshole! I should be president. I would send all of the assholes to their own island so they can battle it out. May the biggest asshole prevail! And then I would get rid of teacher's pensions." By this point, he has created an enclosed structure and has trapped himself inside of it. The fifth stage is the reminiscent, extremely emotional, awkward, cinematic, depressing soundtrack stage. "(Excessive crying)." The sixth stage is the quiet, glazed over, super awkward, introspective stage. "Where am I right now? Who the hell built this structure? It doesn't seem structurally sound. Sound...sound. I can't hear anything except my inner voice...which isn't audible at all. Which means I can't really hear it. I can't feel it, see it, taste it, smell it. It must be a new type of sense. I discovered a new sense! I'll call it...flubbnugg."

Man Oh Man

        Men are perverts. It’s true. There’s definitely something wrong with us. Even the really, really, really, really good guys have their moments. And trust me, I’m one of them. You’ll be driving down the road and see a girl jogging 200 yards away. Your initial reaction is to say something sleazy like, “Mmm girl!” moaning like you just enjoyed a delicious brownie--in fact you did. You wipe the crumbs off of your shirt because you're a slob.Then you begin talking like your favorite black entertainers. First you channel your inner Will Smith. “Don’t call me Mr. Rogers, but it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. You know what I’m sayin’? You know what I’m sayin’?” Then your Martin Lawrence comes out. “Deeamn Gina!” You don’t even know if her name is Gina. You don't even know who the hell she is. But, you continue to keep on, keep keepin' on. You start saying some really perverted stuff like, "Mmm girl, you got my crotch moaning and groaning. You got it groining. I just made up a new word. You make me want to be a rapper. For rizzle."

        Quickly approaching, about 30 yards away, you say something like, "Awww yeah. Awww yeah. Awww...no. That's a man. That is a man with a pony tail." You're so disgusted with yourself. "I can't believe I misread that. I can't believe I thought this guy was a chick. I can't believe...how tone he is. He must do a lot of squats. Because you don't get an ass like that just by jogging. Good for him. Good for his ass."

        You finally come within 20 feet of this guy. Then you realize, "Oh shit. I can't believe this...It's my Uncle Billy. Son of a bitch." Completely embarrassed and ashamed, you proceed to roll down the window, "Hey Uncle Billy! Lookin' good! You've been doing squats, haven't you? I knew it!" Then you turn to your wife who has been sitting next to you the whole time, "Say hello to Uncle Billy, honey." She just shakes her head and says, "There's something seriously wrong with you."

Some Women

This is about some women.

It's easy for some women to say to men, "You don't understand." It's easy to say because it's almost entirely true--it's almost a full proof argument. Men don't know what it feels like to have a period or give birth or go through one of the many things that only women have to endure. However, women shouldn't be able to use the "You don't understand" line, if it in fact can be comprehended by a man. Here is a little scenario which encompasses the types of rebuttals or responses that women use.

WOMAN

You don't even know.

MAN

Alright. Well, explain it to me then. I want to know.

WOMAN

I just...

MAN

You just what?

WOMAN

I just can't.

MAN

You just can't?

WOMAN

I can't even.

MAN

You can't even what?

WOMAN

I just can't even.

MAN

You just can't even...?

WOMAN

I can't deal.

MAN

So, you just can't even deal?

WOMAN

Exactly.

MAN

Oh...You just can't even deal with what?

WOMAN

I just can't even deal...with the Philadelphia Eagles losing to the San Francisco 49ers.

MAN

Awww, honey. Is that what all the fuss is about? It'll be alright. I feel the same way. There were just way too many incomplete passes and missed opportunities. Look, if you want, we could do a recap of the game and see how we can do better next time.

WOMAN

I can deal with that.

Color Me Dad

I'm a man. But, I'm a dad first. I'm a daddly man.  

My daughter is beautiful. Everyone tells me so. But, don’t worry; I’ll make sure it doesn't go to her head. People say that she looks like me. That’s great to hear because for the longest time I wasn't sure who she resembled. Then I started thinking: If my daughter is beautiful and she resembles me, does that make me a beautiful man? I mean, I’m not going to lie, I've been told that I’m very handsome—and not just by my mother. But, I've never been told that I’m beautiful. It’s probably just an unspoken kind of thing or politically incorrect thing. Whatever. So, I guess it’s safe to say that my daughter gets her beauty from me and not necessarily from her mother—which is usually the assumption. Not to take any beauty away from my wife, but maybe I’m just more beautiful.

I put the arm in karma. And by arm I mean muscle.

Being away from your child can be very hard. Sometimes a whole day seems like an eternity. Well, not an eternity. An eternity is just a ridiculous exaggeration isn't it? We’ll just say it can be somewhat unbearable. But, when you finally get home everything falls into place right? Nope, that’s not always the case. Sometimes you arrive home and your child wants nothing to do with you. That’s when you jokingly shout, “Go to your mother!” or “Go to your father!” This got me thinking: I'm going to wait for the next time my wife brings our daughter with her on a long day of shopping. When they arrive home I’m going to ignore my daughter and maybe throw a fit. No, two fits. After she has endured a little slice of karma, I’ll take her aside like one of those really dramatic scenes from Full House, and explain to her that, “You’ve just been karmaed! In your face!” Sure, it might be a little uncalled for, a little spiteful even. But, sometimes you can’t wait for real karma to come straggling along. Sometimes you have to conjure up some self-made karma (imitation karma if you will) roll it up, flatten it out, throw it in the oven, let it cool down,  slice it up and serve it.

The straw that helped get the camel addicted to narcotics and then maybe broke his back.

My daughter drinks from a sippy cup with a straw. The other day I caught her sticking the straw in her nostrils. Initially I laughed and told her to knock it the hell off. Then I started thinking: Addiction is a serious matter. I really don’t want her getting used to sticking straws up her nose. With that said, I think now is the perfect time to switch her from a sippy cup to a big girl cup.