I don’t want to turn this forum into one of the many “Daddy” blogs that are out there, but since I spend over half of my free time servicing this kid, I do need to bring her into the mix every now and then.
Tuesday night, we’re in a nice deep sleep and we hear “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”, per the parental handbook I ignore it and hope that she goes back to sleep. A few minutes pass and then there it is again “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”. I go into her room and she is staring through her crib slats at the dresser where her shoes are sitting. “Daddy shoo-oo-oo-es!”. Really? It’s 2:30 in the morning and you woke me up because you wanted to wear your shoes? Then, I start projecting motivations on to her. Well, maybe she wants to be prepared in case there’s a fire, or maybe she plans on running a half marathon while we sleep. Here you go honey, just remember to shut the garage door when you leave.
Like most of my parenting decisions it ends up that I let her do what she wants and wait to see how it turns out. I realize that this is not the best strategy, but being a micro-managing parent really isn’t my style. Hey, if she wants to eat grilled cheese for dinner every night for a month, so be it, at least she’s eating something. There’s a reason the same four items are on every kids menu, it’s all they will fucking eat. Although, some places try to be clever and throw in some random uppity dish for the snobby parents. “Honey, you can have chicken nuggets, spaghetti, a hot dog, mac-n-cheese or a plate if unagi.” Really? My kid won’t eat a green bean, I’m pretty sure she’s not going to knock down a plate of eel rolls.
Then, last night we’re in her playroom and Amy tells her she can’t stand on the couch and in the blink of an eye she turns around with her chest out, head cocked to the side and she goes “WHY?”. There it was. Three little letters hanging in the air for an eternity. Her first “Why”. It wasn’t so much what she said, but how she said it. It had that white trash “You don’t know me!” attitude to it. She may as well have told my wife to go fuck herself with a Marlboro red dangling from her lips. The sarcastic asshole side of me that always questions authority was proud of her, but the parent side of me knew that we were on a slippery slope.
Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a grilled cheese to make and a toddler who is in training for next year’s Boston marathon.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Indian Outlaw
I wanted to let everyone know that Maggie is doing well and on her way back to a full recovery. In fact, we watched the critically acclaimed, Slumdog Millionaire together the other night. Maggie just loves the Oscar winners. I always say “Mickey Mouse or Schindler’s List?”, and she goes with Spielberg over Disney every time. It’s so cute the way she whispers in my ear “The list is life”, before she goes to sleep. I smile, shake my finger at her and say “Achtung Juden”, and then we just laugh and laugh.
Anyway, I thought that Slumdog Millionaire was as good as advertised, but it also reminded me that I never want to visit India. I’m ready to start mowing people down after going to Costco on a Saturday afternoon, so it would take me about five minutes in New Delhi before I snapped and started shooting anything that smelled like curry.
I guess it’s all about the lifestyle that you become accustomed to. Once you have certain luxuries, there’s no going back. Here is a short list of things that I have become accustomed to, that I now can’t live without:
1. An iPod - Being able to access every song my heart desires with the flick on my finger is super delicious. If I want to play “Fuck Tha Police” into “Friends in Low Places” into “Don’t Fear the Reaper”, while playing Flight Control I can make that happen.
2. HD - You just can’t appreciate Barbara Walter’s camel toe or how much make-up John Madden has on during MNF, without the clarity that HD provides.
3. High-Speed, Wireless Internet – If I can’t update my Facebook status while sitting on the toilet, then life isn’t worth living.
4. The Victoria Filet at Outback – My standard order goes as follows: The nine ounce Vicky fill-it, medium, yes I know that’s a hot pink center and its money. A house salad with mustard vinaigrette and a baked potato loaded up. Let’s get it on!
5. Texting – It seems like a waste of time to dial the phone just to tell my brother-in-law that Ryan Miller is a big pussy, but with texting not only can I call insult his favorite sports teams I can also include a picture of me wiping my ass with a Buffalo Bills t-shirt. Livin’ the dream!
Finally, I’ll leave you with my random thought of the week:
I was in the grocery store last weekend and I saw an NBA coloring book. The first thing that popped into my head, was that they should sell it with four extra large black crayons and one regular size white one.
Me: Honey, what color crayon do you want to start with?
Maggie: White!
Me: Ok, but remember it only works on the guys behind the 3-point line.
Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go put on a holocaust flick and break out the big black crayons.
Anyway, I thought that Slumdog Millionaire was as good as advertised, but it also reminded me that I never want to visit India. I’m ready to start mowing people down after going to Costco on a Saturday afternoon, so it would take me about five minutes in New Delhi before I snapped and started shooting anything that smelled like curry.
I guess it’s all about the lifestyle that you become accustomed to. Once you have certain luxuries, there’s no going back. Here is a short list of things that I have become accustomed to, that I now can’t live without:
1. An iPod - Being able to access every song my heart desires with the flick on my finger is super delicious. If I want to play “Fuck Tha Police” into “Friends in Low Places” into “Don’t Fear the Reaper”, while playing Flight Control I can make that happen.
2. HD - You just can’t appreciate Barbara Walter’s camel toe or how much make-up John Madden has on during MNF, without the clarity that HD provides.
3. High-Speed, Wireless Internet – If I can’t update my Facebook status while sitting on the toilet, then life isn’t worth living.
4. The Victoria Filet at Outback – My standard order goes as follows: The nine ounce Vicky fill-it, medium, yes I know that’s a hot pink center and its money. A house salad with mustard vinaigrette and a baked potato loaded up. Let’s get it on!
5. Texting – It seems like a waste of time to dial the phone just to tell my brother-in-law that Ryan Miller is a big pussy, but with texting not only can I call insult his favorite sports teams I can also include a picture of me wiping my ass with a Buffalo Bills t-shirt. Livin’ the dream!
Finally, I’ll leave you with my random thought of the week:
I was in the grocery store last weekend and I saw an NBA coloring book. The first thing that popped into my head, was that they should sell it with four extra large black crayons and one regular size white one.
Me: Honey, what color crayon do you want to start with?
Maggie: White!
Me: Ok, but remember it only works on the guys behind the 3-point line.
Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go put on a holocaust flick and break out the big black crayons.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Intergalactic Planetary
Well, well, well, I hope that most of you enjoyed the spring-like weather today. I was in the bowels of Reston Hospital submitting my child to the E.N.T. gods. As with most couples, my wife is the nurturer and I am assigned the dirty work. So Amy got to hold Maggie all day, then I came in and took her to the O.R.
Before I was able to go into the operating area I had to put on a rockin' see-through jumpsuit. As I was suiting up, I looked at Amy and said "How awesome would it be if I were naked underneath? Just walking around pediatrics in my see-through jump suit waving to everyone like Bozo the clown on Saturday Morning TV." She said, that would so not be awesome, and might even be a felony. So I aborted the plan and posed for some Beastie Boys inspired photos instead.
In the O.R. Maggie got the gas, but it wasn't sealed tight, so I got a nice inhalation of the magic vapors. As I was fighting through the knockout gas, this cougar of a nurse was pressed against me holding the mask and my hands were inches from her "area". Now, I'm trying my hardest to be an adult, but in my head I'm just thinking, aaaaaawkward! A few seconds later Maggie was on the table in la la land, the cougar nurse was setting up shop, and I was headed for the door.
Before I was able to go into the operating area I had to put on a rockin' see-through jumpsuit. As I was suiting up, I looked at Amy and said "How awesome would it be if I were naked underneath? Just walking around pediatrics in my see-through jump suit waving to everyone like Bozo the clown on Saturday Morning TV." She said, that would so not be awesome, and might even be a felony. So I aborted the plan and posed for some Beastie Boys inspired photos instead.
In the O.R. Maggie got the gas, but it wasn't sealed tight, so I got a nice inhalation of the magic vapors. As I was fighting through the knockout gas, this cougar of a nurse was pressed against me holding the mask and my hands were inches from her "area". Now, I'm trying my hardest to be an adult, but in my head I'm just thinking, aaaaaawkward! A few seconds later Maggie was on the table in la la land, the cougar nurse was setting up shop, and I was headed for the door.
I got some lunch with the wife, while Maggie got her surgery on. After an about 90 minutes she was done, and so were we. Time to roll on up to the room. WTF? This was no Loudoun hospital. No flat screens, no DVD players and no PS3's. Just a 15" TV and a VCR. A fucking VCR! How am I supposed to watch Survivor on this thing? C'mon Reston, let's get in the game. How is a child supposed to heal under these conditions? How can a child truly mend it's broken spirit watching 1980's VHS tapes of violent cartoons? The Horror! The Horror!
Well, that about does it from here. Maggie survived the long day, as did we. Amy is in for a rough night at the hospital, while I am at home writing to all of you. In a few days her drain will be out and the final healing will begin. Hopefully, by the time her birthday rolls around at the end of the month this will all be a distant memory, and everyone will be back in the land of rainbows and unicorns and see-through jump suits.
That's right, you know I kept that bad boy, and will be sporting it every year as a tribute to Reston Hospital!
Cause the music is live like an electric shock
I am known to do the Wop
Also known for the Flintstone Flop
Tammy D getting biz on the crop
Beastie Boys known to let the beat...... drop
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
It Cuts Like a Knife
The day we have dreaded is finally upon us. On Wednesday morning Maggie goes in for surgery to remove her cyst and part of the bone in her neck. Ouch! The weird thing is that she has no idea what is even in store for her. She’ll wake up in the morning thinking she is going to daycare and then bam! No breakfast, no morning routine, just whisked into the car, taken to the hospital and within an hour she’ll be prepped and ready for her procedure. It’s good that she doesn’t have to worry about it, and she won’t remember it as she gets older, but on some level that has to fuck with you a little bit.
Can you imagine if your spouse said, “Hey, I need to get something at Target, do you want to come?”? So you get in the car, and then they take you to a hospital, drug you and cut open your neck. The next time your spouse says “Hey, do you want to go to Target?” you’re going to be like; “Fucking nooooooo! In fact from now on I’m driving everywhere to avoid these little surgery games you like to play. I’m just glad you didn’t ask me to go to Dick’s Sporting Goods or I probably would’ve woken up neutered.”
On the upside, to make myself feel better for allowing a stranger to dice up my kid’s throat, I picked up an iPhone this week. If you need to alleviate any guilt for causing your kid’s pain, there’s an app for that. If you want to become more involved and actually assist the Dr. performing the surgery, there’s an app for that. If you want to see what the hot nurse looks like naked, well there’s no app needed for that, just a dirty mind, so I’m in luck.
Well, it’s about time for me to jump on the medical rollercoaster, I promise to keep my hands and feet inside the ride at all times and I’ll try not to vomit on the person next to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to put on some Bob Marley and download the fast forward 24 hours app. ---
Can you imagine if your spouse said, “Hey, I need to get something at Target, do you want to come?”? So you get in the car, and then they take you to a hospital, drug you and cut open your neck. The next time your spouse says “Hey, do you want to go to Target?” you’re going to be like; “Fucking nooooooo! In fact from now on I’m driving everywhere to avoid these little surgery games you like to play. I’m just glad you didn’t ask me to go to Dick’s Sporting Goods or I probably would’ve woken up neutered.”
On the upside, to make myself feel better for allowing a stranger to dice up my kid’s throat, I picked up an iPhone this week. If you need to alleviate any guilt for causing your kid’s pain, there’s an app for that. If you want to become more involved and actually assist the Dr. performing the surgery, there’s an app for that. If you want to see what the hot nurse looks like naked, well there’s no app needed for that, just a dirty mind, so I’m in luck.
Well, it’s about time for me to jump on the medical rollercoaster, I promise to keep my hands and feet inside the ride at all times and I’ll try not to vomit on the person next to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to put on some Bob Marley and download the fast forward 24 hours app. ---
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the rising sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you-ou-ou:
"Singin’, "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Monday, April 13, 2009
Blinded By The Light
On my way home I was listening to the radio and they were talking about movies, TV shows or books that traumatized you as a kid. So here are a couple that come to mind.
The movie that traumatized me the most growing up was Invasion of the Body Snatchers. If you haven’t seen the movie, the premise is that aliens plant these pods and they grow a clone of you when you sleep. Then you die and your clone becomes part of society until all of the humans are gone and only clones remain.
Apparently, my baby-sitter felt this was perfectly appropriate viewing material for a seven year old. As much as I love Donald Sutherland, to this day I don’t want to get with 100 yards of him. Although, it’s a toss up as to which is more traumatizing his screech at the end of the movie or his bare ass in Animal House.
The TV show that scarred me the most as a child was Little House on the Prairie. There was an episode where Mary Ingalls wakes up in the middle of the night and she is totally blind. She wasn’t kicked by a mule, she didn’t fall on a rake, she didn’t masturbate too much, that I know of, she just went blind for no good reason at all.
As a kid, I was like holy fucking shit you can just go to bed all la-dee-da-dee and then wickety-wack, you’re blind? She just woke up and started screaming “Pa! I can’t see! Pa! I can’t see!”. A couple of weeks later I woke up in the middle of the night and the power had gone out, so I started screaming “Pa! I can’t see! Pa! I can’t see!”.
Finally, I will leave you with my embarrassing moment of the day. I was meeting Amy at Chili’s for lunch and I was a few minutes early, so I decided to fix the driver seat in our car. It had become difficult to move back and forth, so I sprayed some WD-40 onto the tracks. As I got out of the car I smelled my fingers to see if they had WD-40 on them. I looked up there was this hot young chick in her car who gave me the biggest “I can’t believe you just did that, you disgusting pig!” look of all time. I guess from her point of view it looked like I reached down between my legs and then got out of the car and took a big ol’ sniff. I wanted to yell at her “I didn’t scratch-n-sniff!”, but figured that would be even creepier.
Does this shit happen to other people or just me? Well, if you’ll excuse me I need to go wash this misguided judgment off of me and try to picture something other than Donald Sutherland’s crack. Here's a picture of Mary Ingalls for you. I can't tell if she is blind here or not, because she pretty much wore that retarded grin on her face for the entire series.
The movie that traumatized me the most growing up was Invasion of the Body Snatchers. If you haven’t seen the movie, the premise is that aliens plant these pods and they grow a clone of you when you sleep. Then you die and your clone becomes part of society until all of the humans are gone and only clones remain.
Apparently, my baby-sitter felt this was perfectly appropriate viewing material for a seven year old. As much as I love Donald Sutherland, to this day I don’t want to get with 100 yards of him. Although, it’s a toss up as to which is more traumatizing his screech at the end of the movie or his bare ass in Animal House.
The TV show that scarred me the most as a child was Little House on the Prairie. There was an episode where Mary Ingalls wakes up in the middle of the night and she is totally blind. She wasn’t kicked by a mule, she didn’t fall on a rake, she didn’t masturbate too much, that I know of, she just went blind for no good reason at all.
As a kid, I was like holy fucking shit you can just go to bed all la-dee-da-dee and then wickety-wack, you’re blind? She just woke up and started screaming “Pa! I can’t see! Pa! I can’t see!”. A couple of weeks later I woke up in the middle of the night and the power had gone out, so I started screaming “Pa! I can’t see! Pa! I can’t see!”.
Finally, I will leave you with my embarrassing moment of the day. I was meeting Amy at Chili’s for lunch and I was a few minutes early, so I decided to fix the driver seat in our car. It had become difficult to move back and forth, so I sprayed some WD-40 onto the tracks. As I got out of the car I smelled my fingers to see if they had WD-40 on them. I looked up there was this hot young chick in her car who gave me the biggest “I can’t believe you just did that, you disgusting pig!” look of all time. I guess from her point of view it looked like I reached down between my legs and then got out of the car and took a big ol’ sniff. I wanted to yell at her “I didn’t scratch-n-sniff!”, but figured that would be even creepier.
Does this shit happen to other people or just me? Well, if you’ll excuse me I need to go wash this misguided judgment off of me and try to picture something other than Donald Sutherland’s crack. Here's a picture of Mary Ingalls for you. I can't tell if she is blind here or not, because she pretty much wore that retarded grin on her face for the entire series.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Brain Droppings
Good Friday! I came to the realization this morning that I am too old and too big to play Jesus in the re-enactment of the crucifixion. Not that I am religious in any way, nor have I ever wanted to participate in such an activity, but this is some of the weird shit I think about when I’m in the car alone. Do you think if Jesus had lived another 10 years or so he would have let himself go, kind of like Elvis? Would there be a debate as to what image of Jesus to use, old, fat Jesus or young, skinny Jesus? Michelangelo what are your plans for the Sistine Chapel? “Dude, it’s a big ceiling so I am going to go with the old, fat Jesus to cover more space, maybe put him on a plush, cross-shaped couch eating a greasy turkey leg and drinking some righteous wine.” And yes, it is a little known fact that Michelangelo was the Renaissance’s version of Jeff Spicolli.
Being Mr. Observant, I noticed for the first time that my dryer has a light inside of it. This struck me as a bit unnecessary. I don’t know about you crazy bitches, but I tend to do my laundry with the lights on. I’ve never been standing in front of my dryer going; “Are there clothes in there? Is that Amy’s underwear or a dryer sheet? Hello? I can’t see shit, if only this thing had a light in it.”
Before I fall asleep every night I have these weird thought progressions that usually end up with me asking Amy some random question. Last night I was thinking about having to refill the gumball machine on my desk with Reece’s Pieces, which led to E.T., which led to Drew Barrymore, which led to the documentary “My date with Drew” where the guy gave her a Snoopy Snow Cone machine, which led to thinking about what kind of dog Snoopy was, which led to beagles, which led me to Amy’s roommate in college who had a beagle, which led me to think about the time we went with her to a Billy Joel concert, which led to other concerts I saw in college which led to the random question:
Do you remember when we went to see Jimmy Buffet in college and that drunk chick beside us was blowing that guy in the rain? And he gave us a look like “I tried to stop her, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do”. Good times.
Finally, I’ll leave you with this gem:
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1905976
Now, if you’ll excuse I need to beat the church traffic, so I can get my cheeseburger on at Fuddruckers.
Being Mr. Observant, I noticed for the first time that my dryer has a light inside of it. This struck me as a bit unnecessary. I don’t know about you crazy bitches, but I tend to do my laundry with the lights on. I’ve never been standing in front of my dryer going; “Are there clothes in there? Is that Amy’s underwear or a dryer sheet? Hello? I can’t see shit, if only this thing had a light in it.”
Before I fall asleep every night I have these weird thought progressions that usually end up with me asking Amy some random question. Last night I was thinking about having to refill the gumball machine on my desk with Reece’s Pieces, which led to E.T., which led to Drew Barrymore, which led to the documentary “My date with Drew” where the guy gave her a Snoopy Snow Cone machine, which led to thinking about what kind of dog Snoopy was, which led to beagles, which led me to Amy’s roommate in college who had a beagle, which led me to think about the time we went with her to a Billy Joel concert, which led to other concerts I saw in college which led to the random question:
Do you remember when we went to see Jimmy Buffet in college and that drunk chick beside us was blowing that guy in the rain? And he gave us a look like “I tried to stop her, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do”. Good times.
Finally, I’ll leave you with this gem:
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1905976
Now, if you’ll excuse I need to beat the church traffic, so I can get my cheeseburger on at Fuddruckers.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
19 Things I Think I Know
Hola amigos. Here is my first installment of "19 Things" for '09. enjoy!
1. I hate myself for watching Rock of Love on VH1, the same way that fat chicks hate themselves for eating an entire box of Krispy Kremes.
2. I tweeted on twitter using twhirl and it twasn’t all it’s twacked up to be.
3. My daughter is addicted to the chicken dance song, which means I have to listen to it over and over and over in the car. Not only do I have to listen to it, but I have to do the dance to appease the little one. Amusing for her, creepy for other drivers who can't see her through the tinted windows.
4. Having Comcast as my cable and internet provider makes me want to strangle kittens. Verizon Fios, you are on my speed dial as soon as hockey season is over.
5. When you and one other car are speeding together down the highway and a cop pulls out, it is always better when they pull the other guy over. Sorry, to the dude with the blue tooth headset in the silver Acura, but you got the short end of the stick.
6. Eating Long John Silvers twice in one day catches up with you… Arrrrgghhhh!
7. Anytime you are doing shots with strangers after 11:00 PM on a Thursday night, Friday is going to be one long ass day of struggling to survive.
8. I have to start watching what I do around Maggie. I faked a smack to Amy’s face with a plastic baseball bat and then Maggie proceeded to pick up the bat and beat Amy down like she was Rodney King.
9. Buying a digital camera that actually takes a picture without a 3 second delay is soooo worth the money. My porn site, I mean my pictures of my daughter are going to be so much better now.
10. At Chipotle the most underated protein is the Carnitas. Just because Jules from Pulp Fiction doesn't dig on swine, doesn't mean you can't enjoy some piggy. You can thank me later.
11. In a state of intoxication I rocked an old school boy band dance to “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe, much the same as Turk did on Scrubs, except that I’m white and have no rhythm. I wonder how long this ‘L’ will be on my forehead.
12. The “Welcome to Virginia” signs might be the worst in the country. They have this stupid cardinal on them and they look like they were painted in some remedial art class at the state penitentiary. C’mon Virginia, tighten up and at least put something on the sign that represents the state like never-ending traffic or a drunk, frat guy smoking a cigarette.
13. It might be sad, but often my biggest challenge of the day is trying to come up with something witty for my Facebook status.
14. Panama by Van Halen is the greatest work out song of all time, and anyone who says otherwise is just fucking wrong!
15. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve driven on the PA turnpike when it hasn’t been raining or snowing.
16. Ever since I saw Mickey Mouse going off on the Jonas Brothers on South Park, I have a hard time watching the Mickey Mouse club with Maggie. I keep expecting him to lose his shit and tear Donald Duck a new asshole.
17. I just found out that my cousin’s brother-in-law is dating Ginnifer Goodwin AKA Margene from Big Love. I wonder what it would take to get him to bring her to Pittsburgh for 4th of July. Lucky bastard!
18. A guy on my team at work grew a Fu Manchu mustache. I’ve always wanted to shave down to that form, but one guy on the team with a Fu Manchu is sweet, two guys on the team with Fu Manchus and the Mrs. might start checking my pockets for receipts to the Backdoor Leather Company.
19. Maggie fell down a couple steps the other day and a small part of me wanted to say “See, I told you so”.
1. I hate myself for watching Rock of Love on VH1, the same way that fat chicks hate themselves for eating an entire box of Krispy Kremes.
2. I tweeted on twitter using twhirl and it twasn’t all it’s twacked up to be.
3. My daughter is addicted to the chicken dance song, which means I have to listen to it over and over and over in the car. Not only do I have to listen to it, but I have to do the dance to appease the little one. Amusing for her, creepy for other drivers who can't see her through the tinted windows.
4. Having Comcast as my cable and internet provider makes me want to strangle kittens. Verizon Fios, you are on my speed dial as soon as hockey season is over.
5. When you and one other car are speeding together down the highway and a cop pulls out, it is always better when they pull the other guy over. Sorry, to the dude with the blue tooth headset in the silver Acura, but you got the short end of the stick.
6. Eating Long John Silvers twice in one day catches up with you… Arrrrgghhhh!
7. Anytime you are doing shots with strangers after 11:00 PM on a Thursday night, Friday is going to be one long ass day of struggling to survive.
8. I have to start watching what I do around Maggie. I faked a smack to Amy’s face with a plastic baseball bat and then Maggie proceeded to pick up the bat and beat Amy down like she was Rodney King.
9. Buying a digital camera that actually takes a picture without a 3 second delay is soooo worth the money. My porn site, I mean my pictures of my daughter are going to be so much better now.
10. At Chipotle the most underated protein is the Carnitas. Just because Jules from Pulp Fiction doesn't dig on swine, doesn't mean you can't enjoy some piggy. You can thank me later.
11. In a state of intoxication I rocked an old school boy band dance to “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe, much the same as Turk did on Scrubs, except that I’m white and have no rhythm. I wonder how long this ‘L’ will be on my forehead.
12. The “Welcome to Virginia” signs might be the worst in the country. They have this stupid cardinal on them and they look like they were painted in some remedial art class at the state penitentiary. C’mon Virginia, tighten up and at least put something on the sign that represents the state like never-ending traffic or a drunk, frat guy smoking a cigarette.
13. It might be sad, but often my biggest challenge of the day is trying to come up with something witty for my Facebook status.
14. Panama by Van Halen is the greatest work out song of all time, and anyone who says otherwise is just fucking wrong!
15. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve driven on the PA turnpike when it hasn’t been raining or snowing.
16. Ever since I saw Mickey Mouse going off on the Jonas Brothers on South Park, I have a hard time watching the Mickey Mouse club with Maggie. I keep expecting him to lose his shit and tear Donald Duck a new asshole.
17. I just found out that my cousin’s brother-in-law is dating Ginnifer Goodwin AKA Margene from Big Love. I wonder what it would take to get him to bring her to Pittsburgh for 4th of July. Lucky bastard!
18. A guy on my team at work grew a Fu Manchu mustache. I’ve always wanted to shave down to that form, but one guy on the team with a Fu Manchu is sweet, two guys on the team with Fu Manchus and the Mrs. might start checking my pockets for receipts to the Backdoor Leather Company.
19. Maggie fell down a couple steps the other day and a small part of me wanted to say “See, I told you so”.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Smokin'
So, how was your Sunday night? Did you expose your junk to any Hindus? I did. Yesterday, Maggie had a fever and was pretty listless all day, so we put her to bed early and settled in for a night of Tivo. After, a few hours of awesomely bad TV, we walked through the usual nightly routine and crawled into bed. Goodnight Ben. Goodnight Erin. Goodnight Mary-Ellen. Goodnight John Boy! All is peaceful at the Crawford abode.
Fifteen minutes later the smoke detector chirps. Maybe it was a fluke, let’s wait it out…chirp. Uggghhh! I get out of my warm bed, throw on my boxers and run down two flights of stairs to get the ladder from the garage. Our detector is about 12 feet off the ground on a vaulted ceiling, nice call home builders. I manage to stand with one leg on the top rung of the ladder and the other on the top of the door frame. I glance down and notice that my blinds are open, so the Indians across the way (dots not feathers) have a great view of my Bahliwood. I look at Amy and say Slumdog Millionaire, more like, Slumdog Underwear. HAHAHA, see what I did there, I changed Millionaire to underwear, because they’re Indian and I was in my underwear. Let me know when they create a show called “I Know I Am Funnier Than a Fifth Grader”, because I would totally win that shit.
Anyway, I manage to unscrew the detector and get the battery out. Victory! Put away the ladder and crawl back into my bed. Two minutes later…chirp. Son of a bitch! It’s midnight, I am half naked, sweaty, wearing my glasses and growing oh so bitter by the minute. I go downstairs to get a new battery, but we are out of 9-volts. I steal one from the baby monitor and of course I have to test it by putting my tongue between the two nodes. Oh, that familiar tingle, we are in business. Now that it’s wet, I also have to check it on each of my nipples. Ooh yeah, we have a live one here, but no time for simple pleasures, its fireman Craw time.
I climb the ladder, replace the battery, connect it back to the ceiling and jump back under the covers. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. This time, my mind starts messing with me, was it this detector or was it one of the other three that are within five feet of each other on our top floor? Let the hearing test begin. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. Ok, I don’t think it was in here, close that door and let’s listen again. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. It was definitely in here! So I break out the ladder and go into my Cirque du Soleil balancing act. This time I press the reset button on the detector, it shrieks like a ten year old girl playing dodge-ball and then it’s silent. Ok, let’s see if that worked. Wait for it…chirp! Fuck me, back up the ladder I go.
This time I take out the battery, disconnect the detector from the ceiling and throw it on the bed. Once again we shut down shop and get ready to sleep…chirp. Really? Much like Dick Clark, this thing just won’t die. I take this piece of shit alarm into the bathroom, grab the scissors, and like a rookie bomb expert I start randomly cutting wires, red. black, gray, white, anything that looks like it’s connected to something. I throw it away, turn off everything and settle back in. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…silence. That’s right smoke detector, say my name bitch! I love taunting inanimate objects with irrational requests.
I wish I could say this was my first time in the ring with a smoke detector that wouldn’t die, but that is not the case. I’ve gone many rounds with these circular white discs that seem to do more harm than good. It’s like they sit up there on the ceiling, draining batteries, just waiting for me to cook up some bacon, or settle in for a night’s slumber, and then they scream “Hey, look at me. I am going to annoy the shit out of you for then 20-30 minutes, good luck shutting me off, fucker!” ---
Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go apologize to the neighbors and buy a future adversary.
Fifteen minutes later the smoke detector chirps. Maybe it was a fluke, let’s wait it out…chirp. Uggghhh! I get out of my warm bed, throw on my boxers and run down two flights of stairs to get the ladder from the garage. Our detector is about 12 feet off the ground on a vaulted ceiling, nice call home builders. I manage to stand with one leg on the top rung of the ladder and the other on the top of the door frame. I glance down and notice that my blinds are open, so the Indians across the way (dots not feathers) have a great view of my Bahliwood. I look at Amy and say Slumdog Millionaire, more like, Slumdog Underwear. HAHAHA, see what I did there, I changed Millionaire to underwear, because they’re Indian and I was in my underwear. Let me know when they create a show called “I Know I Am Funnier Than a Fifth Grader”, because I would totally win that shit.
Anyway, I manage to unscrew the detector and get the battery out. Victory! Put away the ladder and crawl back into my bed. Two minutes later…chirp. Son of a bitch! It’s midnight, I am half naked, sweaty, wearing my glasses and growing oh so bitter by the minute. I go downstairs to get a new battery, but we are out of 9-volts. I steal one from the baby monitor and of course I have to test it by putting my tongue between the two nodes. Oh, that familiar tingle, we are in business. Now that it’s wet, I also have to check it on each of my nipples. Ooh yeah, we have a live one here, but no time for simple pleasures, its fireman Craw time.
I climb the ladder, replace the battery, connect it back to the ceiling and jump back under the covers. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. This time, my mind starts messing with me, was it this detector or was it one of the other three that are within five feet of each other on our top floor? Let the hearing test begin. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. Ok, I don’t think it was in here, close that door and let’s listen again. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. It was definitely in here! So I break out the ladder and go into my Cirque du Soleil balancing act. This time I press the reset button on the detector, it shrieks like a ten year old girl playing dodge-ball and then it’s silent. Ok, let’s see if that worked. Wait for it…chirp! Fuck me, back up the ladder I go.
This time I take out the battery, disconnect the detector from the ceiling and throw it on the bed. Once again we shut down shop and get ready to sleep…chirp. Really? Much like Dick Clark, this thing just won’t die. I take this piece of shit alarm into the bathroom, grab the scissors, and like a rookie bomb expert I start randomly cutting wires, red. black, gray, white, anything that looks like it’s connected to something. I throw it away, turn off everything and settle back in. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…silence. That’s right smoke detector, say my name bitch! I love taunting inanimate objects with irrational requests.
I wish I could say this was my first time in the ring with a smoke detector that wouldn’t die, but that is not the case. I’ve gone many rounds with these circular white discs that seem to do more harm than good. It’s like they sit up there on the ceiling, draining batteries, just waiting for me to cook up some bacon, or settle in for a night’s slumber, and then they scream “Hey, look at me. I am going to annoy the shit out of you for then 20-30 minutes, good luck shutting me off, fucker!” ---
Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go apologize to the neighbors and buy a future adversary.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Big City Nights
My team at work hit our revenue goal last year, so we were treated to a night out in DC. The plan was to leave at 2:30 PM, rock a happy hour for a bit and then roll to the Improv for some comedy, but you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men. That phrase always struck me as odd. I seriously doubt that mice have plans and if they do, there is no way that they are best laid plans. It’s not like mice sit around and work out detailed instructions on how they are going to get the cheese off of the trap, or maybe they do, what the fuck do I know about the plans of mice?
Anyway, it was a rainy afternoon as we rolled out of the office, and before we hit the happy hour we made a pit stop at one of my co-workers pads that he rents from friends of his parents. From the moment we pulled up to this high-rise tribute to the glitz of 70’s excess I knew the inside would be spectacular. The place was a perfect hybrid of the Jefferson’s apartment building and the interior decoration from the hotel in The Shining. Long gone were the days of key parties, disco music and copious amounts of chest hair, but the stench of cigarettes and bad cologne was etched into the vibrantly patterned carpeting.
After pounding a few beers, we rolled downtown and met up with the rest of the crew. As the drink orders came around I ordered my chardonnay and I could feel the douchy looks, so the next go round I took off my skirt and ordered a Jack and Coke. (Sorry Andy, I know I should be drinking Evan Williams) I’m not a big whiskey guy, but after numbing my taste buds with the first one, the others when down easy, like Drew Bledsoe after 3 seconds in the pocket.
Once we were all liquored up I somehow ended up walking several blocks arm in arm with our order processing chick, who was stumbling like a newborn deer. Once we got to the Improv, I was ready to get my ha-ha on. I ordered another drink and some quesadillas, and as I took my first bite the drama started going down. “Everybody get your stuff we have to go”. WTF? Apparently, the manager felt we were all too intoxicated to be served. So 30 of us got up and emptied out about a third of the joint.
Anyway, it was a rainy afternoon as we rolled out of the office, and before we hit the happy hour we made a pit stop at one of my co-workers pads that he rents from friends of his parents. From the moment we pulled up to this high-rise tribute to the glitz of 70’s excess I knew the inside would be spectacular. The place was a perfect hybrid of the Jefferson’s apartment building and the interior decoration from the hotel in The Shining. Long gone were the days of key parties, disco music and copious amounts of chest hair, but the stench of cigarettes and bad cologne was etched into the vibrantly patterned carpeting.
After pounding a few beers, we rolled downtown and met up with the rest of the crew. As the drink orders came around I ordered my chardonnay and I could feel the douchy looks, so the next go round I took off my skirt and ordered a Jack and Coke. (Sorry Andy, I know I should be drinking Evan Williams) I’m not a big whiskey guy, but after numbing my taste buds with the first one, the others when down easy, like Drew Bledsoe after 3 seconds in the pocket.
Once we were all liquored up I somehow ended up walking several blocks arm in arm with our order processing chick, who was stumbling like a newborn deer. Once we got to the Improv, I was ready to get my ha-ha on. I ordered another drink and some quesadillas, and as I took my first bite the drama started going down. “Everybody get your stuff we have to go”. WTF? Apparently, the manager felt we were all too intoxicated to be served. So 30 of us got up and emptied out about a third of the joint.
Dude, this is a comedy club with a two drink minimum. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been on stage dancing, and yes, maybe taking off my shirt was a little gratuitous, and when I grabbed the microphone and called everyone in the audience a bunch of pussies, I may have gone a tad over the line, but c’mon people have a sense of humor. As a comedian don’t you want your audience to be a little sauced? And as a business owner do you really want to just write of 3-5k in sales for a Thursday night? So what should have been a win-win-win situation turned into a long walk back to the original bar where they were glad to serve us. What a gip!
Well, that’s about all for now. The 70’s just called and they need me to return the mirror and razor blade I procured from George and Weezy’s pad.
Well, that’s about all for now. The 70’s just called and they need me to return the mirror and razor blade I procured from George and Weezy’s pad.
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