"That's it, everyone get your monkey butts outside!" Dad bellows.
It's a dad's growl, a voice that when deepen with frustration, everyone's heads turn. It's a bellow that says hey, your mom may not believe in spankings but that doesn't mean dad is a true believer. When heard all children know one thing for sure: Shit, we're busted and there's no getting out of it.
No one does it like dad does it. Sure, don't get me wrong. No one can throw a dish busting hissy like mom. There's a place for it no doubt. But there's a significant difference between the two that all kids know.
Here are the facts. Mom is going to lose it. She's going to go absolutely apeshit. And when that happens she is going to open the cabinet and start throwing her own dishes into the sink, smashing each and everyone. As a kid you are looking at this and are amazed at the ferocity of the attack. And you know you are in trouble. However, you know that this shit isn't yours so no big deal. Maybe you'll get a grounding and you can deal with that because your Wii is still ok.
And then you know that later will come the mom guilt and remorse. It's a guarantee. She'll feel bad that she over reacted. In fact, chances are that when you go buy some new dishes you'll get something cool yourself. And a little advice--you'll probably get some candy too if you cry a little.
But dad?
Dad has no remorse. And he doesn't break his own shit. He breaks your shit and he doesn't feel that bad about it. Every kid knows this and that is why when dad uses his dad voice, you fucking pay attention.
Because it says that if you two kids don't get out in the front yard in two seconds I'm going to put Barbie's head in a blender and make you push the button. It says that your favorite ball is about to be chucked on the roof and the ladder is going to be locked up. It says that despite what your mother says, she's got to leave sometime and when she does we are going to have a meeting between ass and hand.
Kids know this.
So when I say "get outside now" both kids stop the fighting, stop the throwing things and stop trying to jerk the phone out of mom's hand. Because now is punishment time and what is all Dad's favorite punishment of all time, everywhere?
Clean the garage you two yahoos.
Because if you have all this pent up energy that mathematically prevents you from behaving then god damnit we are going to be productive about it. My dad was king of this and I'm happy to say that I employ the same strategy.
Because a Dad knows that nothing builds character in children like some good old sweat that will put some hair on your chest. And the garage and front yard is the best place to make it happen.
Here's what dad is thinking. In his head he has a vision of you when you are about 21. You've dropped out of college and are hitting the drugs hard. But the drugs are what get you through your 8pm to 3am shift at Bobs topless club so you need the drugs. And the drugs always make you more flirty so Slimy Mcgreasball tips you better so now maybe you can get some boose with your drugs. And finally, why not ask old Slimy to come home with you and spend the night at your house. And by your house I mean your parents house because that's where you still live thus ruining any and all chance for your Dad's peace and quite which is all he really wants.
That's what dad sees and that's what comes through in his voice. He'll be damned if he's raising a couple of coked out whores and he knows the best course of action to take. Use the dad voice and let's do some manual labor. And he supervises which makes it 10 times worse.
Pick up that piece of trash. There's a screw over there. Let's move it gang, you aren't get paid by the hour. I'll be out here all night if I have to, I love the garage. The garage is my happy place. Elmo does not visit this garage. The wonder pets hate this garage. This is my fortress of solitude and there is no hope for you here. Pablo gets gang banged in this garage.
And then he lectures you while you do it. Fantastic.
He asks you if you want to be homeless by the time you are 13 and he's just curious because that's the way things are going for you right now. Hey, don't blame him, these are your choices. He asks you if you want to be walking for the rest of your life because there is no way your are getting a car, ever. He asks you why do you have to behave like a border ruffian and perhaps its the influence of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse so we should never ever watch that again.
So when Dad bellows you listen to it because if you don't, he's got friends with garages. Hell, he's got a whole front yard that needs to be mowed and weeded. And he knows just the two kids that just volunteered for the job because no one finds willing volunteers like Dad.
And if you do a good job you might get some ice cream.
5/31/09
5/28/09
The Friday Five
The 5 Greatest Dinner's Cooked By Dad.
5. Grill cheese sandwiches and potato chips. The good old standard and one that I use commonly when I don't feel like cooking for the squids and the person that gave birth to them.
4. Cupcakes and apple sauce. Amazingly this little combination goes together better than you would think. Don't knock it until you try it.
3. Taco's and french fries. Roll with me on this. Lettuce is a vegetable. Tomato is a vegetable. And a potato, well I know it's a tuber but I'm not a hundred percent sure if that is a vegetable or fruit. But I know that it's roughage and the kids need roughage, at least that is what my dad told me when he made me eat a raw carrot every day for 5 years.
2. Pizza. That's right, the old standard. What Dad doesn't employ this one when he has the kids by himself. I would bet that this little dinner has saved more marriages than Viagra.
1. Cereal and Chicken Nuggets. This was tonight's little selection, fit for any dinner party you may be thinking about having. Cereal, who doesn't love cereal. Everyone does, boom, there you go. The kids love Honey Combs, yea yea yea, it's not small, no no no. And nuggets, every kids other favorite. Add them to together and you got one kick ass dinner while mom is out "working late". And by working late I mean knocking off at 6 and then calling me from a bar to let me know she is going to be a little later than she thought and probably won't be making it home for dinner. Moms, this is what happens when dad spends to much time alone with the kids. On another note, you wouldn't think that ketchup would go with Honey Combs, but ya know what, not bad.
5. Grill cheese sandwiches and potato chips. The good old standard and one that I use commonly when I don't feel like cooking for the squids and the person that gave birth to them.
4. Cupcakes and apple sauce. Amazingly this little combination goes together better than you would think. Don't knock it until you try it.
3. Taco's and french fries. Roll with me on this. Lettuce is a vegetable. Tomato is a vegetable. And a potato, well I know it's a tuber but I'm not a hundred percent sure if that is a vegetable or fruit. But I know that it's roughage and the kids need roughage, at least that is what my dad told me when he made me eat a raw carrot every day for 5 years.
2. Pizza. That's right, the old standard. What Dad doesn't employ this one when he has the kids by himself. I would bet that this little dinner has saved more marriages than Viagra.
1. Cereal and Chicken Nuggets. This was tonight's little selection, fit for any dinner party you may be thinking about having. Cereal, who doesn't love cereal. Everyone does, boom, there you go. The kids love Honey Combs, yea yea yea, it's not small, no no no. And nuggets, every kids other favorite. Add them to together and you got one kick ass dinner while mom is out "working late". And by working late I mean knocking off at 6 and then calling me from a bar to let me know she is going to be a little later than she thought and probably won't be making it home for dinner. Moms, this is what happens when dad spends to much time alone with the kids. On another note, you wouldn't think that ketchup would go with Honey Combs, but ya know what, not bad.
5/27/09
Bar Song Night Night
Dad: You ready Little Hoss?
Little Hoss: Ready Daddy!
Ahem
I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison. And I went to pick her up in the.....
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
But before I could get to the station in my pickup...........
Little Hoss: TRUCK!
I got run over by a dang ol'....................
Little Hoss: TRAIN!
So I'll hang around just as long as you will let me........
Little Hoss: LET ME, LET ME, OH PLEASE BABY LET ME!
And I never minded standing in the
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
Oh, you don't have to call me Darling...................
Little Hoss: DAAAAAARRRRRRLIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!
You never even call me,
Little Hoss and Dad: WHY DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME!
Why don't you ever call me by my.................
Little Hoss: NAME!
Night night sweet pea.
Little Hoss: Night night daddy. I want to go to Texas Daddy.
Me too honey.
And that my friends, is how we do bedtime in the Hossman household.
Little Hoss: Ready Daddy!
Ahem
I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison. And I went to pick her up in the.....
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
But before I could get to the station in my pickup...........
Little Hoss: TRUCK!
I got run over by a dang ol'....................
Little Hoss: TRAIN!
So I'll hang around just as long as you will let me........
Little Hoss: LET ME, LET ME, OH PLEASE BABY LET ME!
And I never minded standing in the
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
Oh, you don't have to call me Darling...................
Little Hoss: DAAAAAARRRRRRLIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!
You never even call me,
Little Hoss and Dad: WHY DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME!
Why don't you ever call me by my.................
Little Hoss: NAME!
Night night sweet pea.
Little Hoss: Night night daddy. I want to go to Texas Daddy.
Me too honey.
And that my friends, is how we do bedtime in the Hossman household.
5/21/09
The Friday Five
5 things that are complete and total bullshit.
5. The sign on the back of dump trucks that say "stay back 200 feet. NOT responsible for broken windshields". Bullshit. Of course you are responsible for it. First off, I can't read your sign from 200 feet away. Second, it's the very definition of negligence. You guys overloaded, didn't cover properly and now my windshield is cracked. I tell you what. I'm going to come to your house and give you a sign that says "Not responsible for genetic mutants." Then I'm going to fuck your cat and let you deal with whatever happens later. Fair trade. Let me know how that works out.
4. My Barry Bonds rookie baseball card is worth shit. My Mark Mcguire rookie baseball card is worth shit. In fact, my entire collection of baseball cards are now worth shit. 20 years ago you sold me on the idea of collecting baseball cards and how they could be worth something. So like every American boy I had dreams of scoring the next Honus Wagner card, selling it in my 50's and putting my kids through college. Now I can't even afford refridgerator college. I have kept these things in pristine condition for 20 god damn years. Half of them have never been touched and the rest are in plastic. And what do I got? Stale gum. Thanks Barry Bonds. Thanks for your gigantic head and my stale gum. Real pal you are. Dick.
3. Kodak for deleting all my pictures. I know I've railed on this before. But guess what dickhole, I downloaded them all to my computer hard drive. And I bought a new camera. My only condition for a new camera? Not a Kodak. I hope penicillian does not work on your gonereha.
2. The entire baby industry. All bullshit. A regular crap dresser cost 100 bucks. Add baby in front of it so it becomes a special "Baby Dresser" and it's 400. It's the same damn dresser dude. We all know it. Get off it. It's all partical board bullshit. Here take my money anyway because the wife had to have the color maroon.
1. The scrambled porn channel when I was a kid. Thanks man, thanks for torturing a sad and lonely 16 year old by showing me a fuzzy boob and no follow up. If they could black out my local football team I'm pretty sure you could have just blacked out the porn channel as well and saved me years of disappointment. But nope, instead you just added to a generations continued frustration. They were horny as hell but were dumb as hell and couldn't get laid, and you just made it worse. Was that a boob or some dudes butt crack. Am I gay now? I don't like myself. Not cool man, not cool. Regular women turned us down just fine on their own and that frustration would have been enough. We know what you were hoping. You were hoping we'd call the cable channel and pretend to be the "Adult with decision making ability in our choice of cable providers" and order the 17.99 movie. Well we did. Then we had to explain to our Mom's why Jenny's Interracial Gang Bang 4 was on the cable bill. Hope you had fun with your devil money.
5. The sign on the back of dump trucks that say "stay back 200 feet. NOT responsible for broken windshields". Bullshit. Of course you are responsible for it. First off, I can't read your sign from 200 feet away. Second, it's the very definition of negligence. You guys overloaded, didn't cover properly and now my windshield is cracked. I tell you what. I'm going to come to your house and give you a sign that says "Not responsible for genetic mutants." Then I'm going to fuck your cat and let you deal with whatever happens later. Fair trade. Let me know how that works out.
4. My Barry Bonds rookie baseball card is worth shit. My Mark Mcguire rookie baseball card is worth shit. In fact, my entire collection of baseball cards are now worth shit. 20 years ago you sold me on the idea of collecting baseball cards and how they could be worth something. So like every American boy I had dreams of scoring the next Honus Wagner card, selling it in my 50's and putting my kids through college. Now I can't even afford refridgerator college. I have kept these things in pristine condition for 20 god damn years. Half of them have never been touched and the rest are in plastic. And what do I got? Stale gum. Thanks Barry Bonds. Thanks for your gigantic head and my stale gum. Real pal you are. Dick.
3. Kodak for deleting all my pictures. I know I've railed on this before. But guess what dickhole, I downloaded them all to my computer hard drive. And I bought a new camera. My only condition for a new camera? Not a Kodak. I hope penicillian does not work on your gonereha.
2. The entire baby industry. All bullshit. A regular crap dresser cost 100 bucks. Add baby in front of it so it becomes a special "Baby Dresser" and it's 400. It's the same damn dresser dude. We all know it. Get off it. It's all partical board bullshit. Here take my money anyway because the wife had to have the color maroon.
1. The scrambled porn channel when I was a kid. Thanks man, thanks for torturing a sad and lonely 16 year old by showing me a fuzzy boob and no follow up. If they could black out my local football team I'm pretty sure you could have just blacked out the porn channel as well and saved me years of disappointment. But nope, instead you just added to a generations continued frustration. They were horny as hell but were dumb as hell and couldn't get laid, and you just made it worse. Was that a boob or some dudes butt crack. Am I gay now? I don't like myself. Not cool man, not cool. Regular women turned us down just fine on their own and that frustration would have been enough. We know what you were hoping. You were hoping we'd call the cable channel and pretend to be the "Adult with decision making ability in our choice of cable providers" and order the 17.99 movie. Well we did. Then we had to explain to our Mom's why Jenny's Interracial Gang Bang 4 was on the cable bill. Hope you had fun with your devil money.
5/19/09
How We Roll
Normal dads may take their kids to a nice Mcdonalds lunch. Let them play on the jungle gym a little, maybe make some eye contact with hot mom in the corner looking to trade up. They'll sit there in silence and eat some chicken nuggets, just a little ketchup please, and then perhaps an ice cream cone. Then they'll go home and drop the kid off and brag about how they took the kid all by themselves to lunch. And they'll get credit to.
But us. No, that's not how we roll. That's rookie dad stuff.
Instead we go to a downtown restaurant during the rush hour lunch. 4 dads and 6 kids, 3 of them are toddlers and 3 of them are still in diapers. This is dading at an advanced level.
We rolled into the restaurant, put our names down--yes you heard that right honey, we need three high chairs--and then continued to the bar. The 3 toddlers saddled up to the bar.
"Three shots of milk sweet cheeks, this one's on dad."
We finally get out table and left the bar remarkably intact, just a few thousand sets of silverware that our kids had slobbered on and thrown on the floor. A minor setback, it's true, but nothing that we couldn't handle. This isn't a challenge, this is a walk in the park.
We strolled through the business people talking about business things. Take over a corporation here, bankrupt a rival there--all trivial when compared to taking 6 kids, 3 strollers and enough diaper bags to change every baby in America, to a busy downtown restaurant at noon.
The place got quiet as they stopped their discussions of corporate evil and glanced our way. Oh, I know what they were thinking. They were thinking "What the fuck is this."
This is awesomeness personified, observe and bask in our glory.
We got to our table. We had chosen to implement a 3/2 zone defense, yes even our sports knowledge exceeds yours because what else do we have to do all day other than to analyze sports?
Within seconds the table was set and the kids were placed. No one was out of arms reach. The kids in the highchairs were already seated and munching on chips. Smooth. If you blinked you probably missed how we set this up. It's ok, we hold workshops.
And then we ordered. Just like that. No arguments, no questions, no surprises. My own kid threw a challenge to everyone else in the restaurant. He started downing handfuls of salsa. Carnage everywhere, salsa dripping from his chin and mixing with the tears from his eyes. But he was not crying, they were tears of victory. The gauntlet had been thrown, could the corporate pukes keep up?
They could not.
We were a sight to see, something that perhaps is not normal. A group of dads who are actually good at taking their kids out. A group of dads who aren't hurrying to get home, a group of dads and are ready to show you how it's done.
And then it happened. A lady came up to our table with her camera.
"Oh, I've got to get a picture of this." she said.
Yes baby, get a picture of the gun show passing around a package of wet wipes.
This, my friends, is how stay at home dads roll. Try and keep up.
But us. No, that's not how we roll. That's rookie dad stuff.
Instead we go to a downtown restaurant during the rush hour lunch. 4 dads and 6 kids, 3 of them are toddlers and 3 of them are still in diapers. This is dading at an advanced level.
We rolled into the restaurant, put our names down--yes you heard that right honey, we need three high chairs--and then continued to the bar. The 3 toddlers saddled up to the bar.
"Three shots of milk sweet cheeks, this one's on dad."
We finally get out table and left the bar remarkably intact, just a few thousand sets of silverware that our kids had slobbered on and thrown on the floor. A minor setback, it's true, but nothing that we couldn't handle. This isn't a challenge, this is a walk in the park.
We strolled through the business people talking about business things. Take over a corporation here, bankrupt a rival there--all trivial when compared to taking 6 kids, 3 strollers and enough diaper bags to change every baby in America, to a busy downtown restaurant at noon.
The place got quiet as they stopped their discussions of corporate evil and glanced our way. Oh, I know what they were thinking. They were thinking "What the fuck is this."
This is awesomeness personified, observe and bask in our glory.
We got to our table. We had chosen to implement a 3/2 zone defense, yes even our sports knowledge exceeds yours because what else do we have to do all day other than to analyze sports?
Within seconds the table was set and the kids were placed. No one was out of arms reach. The kids in the highchairs were already seated and munching on chips. Smooth. If you blinked you probably missed how we set this up. It's ok, we hold workshops.
And then we ordered. Just like that. No arguments, no questions, no surprises. My own kid threw a challenge to everyone else in the restaurant. He started downing handfuls of salsa. Carnage everywhere, salsa dripping from his chin and mixing with the tears from his eyes. But he was not crying, they were tears of victory. The gauntlet had been thrown, could the corporate pukes keep up?
They could not.
We were a sight to see, something that perhaps is not normal. A group of dads who are actually good at taking their kids out. A group of dads who aren't hurrying to get home, a group of dads and are ready to show you how it's done.
And then it happened. A lady came up to our table with her camera.
"Oh, I've got to get a picture of this." she said.
Yes baby, get a picture of the gun show passing around a package of wet wipes.
This, my friends, is how stay at home dads roll. Try and keep up.
5/17/09
Yup, That's My Fault
I want to officially apologize to my family for the dinner that I just cooked. Judging by the looks you have given me, it was indeed as horrible as your gagging sounds seemed to indicate.
First off, I know that it didn't look appealing. I know that the stuff on the bottom of a garbage mans boot looks more tasty than this dish that I whipped up. I know that the aroma coming off it is a close relative to what's in the diaper champ. And I'm sorry that I cooked it.
I know that I'm not experienced enough to experiment with flavors. Honestly, I don't even know what that means. I'm a culinary idiot, there I'll admit it. A child with a milk and a box of cereal can create a better meal than I can and your constant glares confirm that.
All I knew was that it was meat and meat is good. Meat is God's gift to us and so I cooked it and perhaps I added things that I shouldn't have. Maybe the marinade that I made was more of a death swamp, I don't know but I am truly sorry so you can stop putting your hands over your mouths to stop from puking.
There is no need to take another bite to spare my feelings. They'll be restored when that feeling of relief comes over your face when you realize that I am sincere and not wanting you to ingest anymore of the food that even a zombie would turn his nose at. I realize that a vulture would even judge me on this one so there is no need to shovel one more piece.
Now I don't mean that you can stick your tongue out and let the chewed remains fall on the floor, that's taking it a little to far, don't you think Bubba Hoss? I know your 1 year old palate is not that refined so stop acting like I just made you eat something straight from Satan himself.
And don't cry Little Hoss. It's not actually that bad is it? Ok, maybe it's that bad but it's considered bad manners to actually cry over something your father spent an hour making you. Just say no thank you and move on from there.
Look at your mother, look how she handles it. You could learn a lot from her. She has only turned a soft shade of green and hasn't said one word other than "This is not your best effort dear." See, polite yet firm to let me know that she expects much, much better out of me. And I agree because this is truly aweful.
So I am very, very sorry for this witches brew that I cooked up.
But the rice is still pretty good, isn't it?
First off, I know that it didn't look appealing. I know that the stuff on the bottom of a garbage mans boot looks more tasty than this dish that I whipped up. I know that the aroma coming off it is a close relative to what's in the diaper champ. And I'm sorry that I cooked it.
I know that I'm not experienced enough to experiment with flavors. Honestly, I don't even know what that means. I'm a culinary idiot, there I'll admit it. A child with a milk and a box of cereal can create a better meal than I can and your constant glares confirm that.
All I knew was that it was meat and meat is good. Meat is God's gift to us and so I cooked it and perhaps I added things that I shouldn't have. Maybe the marinade that I made was more of a death swamp, I don't know but I am truly sorry so you can stop putting your hands over your mouths to stop from puking.
There is no need to take another bite to spare my feelings. They'll be restored when that feeling of relief comes over your face when you realize that I am sincere and not wanting you to ingest anymore of the food that even a zombie would turn his nose at. I realize that a vulture would even judge me on this one so there is no need to shovel one more piece.
Now I don't mean that you can stick your tongue out and let the chewed remains fall on the floor, that's taking it a little to far, don't you think Bubba Hoss? I know your 1 year old palate is not that refined so stop acting like I just made you eat something straight from Satan himself.
And don't cry Little Hoss. It's not actually that bad is it? Ok, maybe it's that bad but it's considered bad manners to actually cry over something your father spent an hour making you. Just say no thank you and move on from there.
Look at your mother, look how she handles it. You could learn a lot from her. She has only turned a soft shade of green and hasn't said one word other than "This is not your best effort dear." See, polite yet firm to let me know that she expects much, much better out of me. And I agree because this is truly aweful.
So I am very, very sorry for this witches brew that I cooked up.
But the rice is still pretty good, isn't it?
Cat Watch
Day 1
Stop me if you have heard this one:
So a cat gets stuck in a tree.
The neighbors came over which is a little bit of surprise as they never come over. They are very nice people but not much into the neighbor kind of thing which is cool because I'm not that much into it either. It's our mutual dread of small talk that have bonded us.
"You guys have a cat right? It's stuck in our tree."
Shit.
Shit, shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
My whole goal in the neighborhood is to do nothing whatsoever to draw attention to myself. I just want to blend in, that's all. Its the sole reason why I mow my yard. If it wasn't for the stares of the neighbors I would never mow. I hate yard work like Britney hates a good parent.
I head outside and there is my cat, way up in their tree. It's an oak but only because I call every tall tree I see an oak. I have no idea what it is but it's tall, therefore it's an oak. And crowded around that tree is about 8 people, all neighbors, pointing at my cat who is currently about 50 feet up. Again, I'm guessing at the height as I have no real idea the spacial relationship of things. I'm guessing it's about 5 basketball goals up, thus the 50 feet.
"Is he stuck" they ask.
And I panic. I do the only thing that comes to my head. I pull a Chief Wigem. Nothing to see here folks, move along, nothing to see.
"Oh, no he's not stuck. He does this all the time. He'll come down in about an hour." I don't believe a word of it because A). he has never done this and B) I have no idea what I'm talking about. But I sound good and that's all they need.
The crowd breaks up and I run back to the house cussing the cat the whole way. Stupid damn cat that gets stuck in the stupid dumb tree. I get back inside before I notice my zipper is down and my boxers and showing, bad.
Day 2.
The neighbors are back. Their daughter is scared because the cat is still in the tree and she is worried about it. I want to be a good neighbor but I'm failing miserably.
The only time we talk to our neighbors is when my animals act dumbshit and do something bad to the neighbors. We were introduced because I let my two dumb as rocks dogs out at the same time the neighbors let out their little rat dog. My dogs jumped on that little poofy thing like it was a free hooker on Friday night. That's how I met my neighbors, a doggy gang bang.
And now my cat is stuck in their tree and their daughter is freaking out.
I go over and do the only thing I really can do. I look up at the cat and order him to come down. That's all I got. I am ordering a cat to do something. I see the stupidity in this but I can't help it. He promptly ignores me. So I talk louder. GET DOWN HERE NOW!
Nothing. No surprise here but at least I look like I'm doing something.
I am a man that can't even control my own house.
Day 3.
Does the fire department really come out to get a cat out of a tree. Everyone has heard of this but I have never seen it in action. Would they really? This seems like a waste of city resources to me but I'm determined to get the cat out of the tree today. The look from the neighbors was enough to convince me that today needs to be the day that I call someone.
For the record, the fire department does not get cats out of trees.
But animal control does but only in certain circumstances. First, the cat needs to be injured. Second, the cat has to be of height that they can get there ladder to. I pointed out that if it was just a ladder issue then I could do this myself. I own a ladder, I'm a real man, I promise.
But no, they won't do it either. However, they say they get calls like this all the time and deal with it a lot. They say to just put food at the bottom of the tree and the cat will come down on it's own. They PROMISE that this will happen and not to worry about it. I don't tell them that I'm not worried about the dumb cat, I'm worried about pissing off my neighbors hating me enough to plant poison ivy around their driveway.
The kids and I head out and start our vigil of sitting in the neighbors yard with cat food trying to get the cat down. He's making a lot of racket and I lose it. I tell the kids to put on the earmuffs.
"Listen you dumb cat, get your ass down here right now! I swear to god I will climb that tree and pop you if you are not here on the ground in two seconds."
That's right, I said "Don't make me come up there".
Day 4.
Cat still in tree. I ask my other stay at home dads what the hell to do. I get the same response--the dumb cat will come down on its own. That's it, I'm out of advice.
I start coming up with plans. The kind of plans like the CIA came up with in the 60's to get rid of Castro. Exploding cigar type plans. What if I fly a kite into the tree then the cat can use the string to shimmy down it ninja style. Then I realize that he would cut the string with his claws.
What if I go to the lumberjack store and get some of those spikey boots and then climb up and get him. But where is the lumberjack store? Do they even exist in the Midwest?
I thought about shooting a BB gun at him until he jumped but even I think that is to mean. Truth be told I'm still a softy. Two of my animals are rescues and this cat is the prize of them all. We found him as a kitten when someone spray painted him so we took him in. All in all, he's the best pet I own, a great addition to the family. Poops outside, comes home to eat and sleep, and kills all the varmets. This cat is better than my car.
And knowing my cat like I do, maybe I should play to his weaknesses? I consider going to get a little rat from the pet store and putting it at the base of the tree. The mere presence of an uppity rat might actually do the trick. But then my daughter would want to keep the rat as she loves all things furry.
Crap, crap, crap, crap.
Day 5.
This is it. We have to do something today. I'm actually worried about the cat. He's been up there 5 days with no food and no water. We check on him about every hour and refill both food and water but I think I'm just feeding dogs that the people walk. At first I thought he was doing this just to screw around. A cat prank, if you will. I'll freak out my owners and that will show them.
A storms coming and I'm pretty sure it's going to be a bad one. My cat only weighs about 5 pounds and I'm thinking he would make a pretty good sail for one stiff wind. It's starting to rain.
The neighbors knock again.
"He's coming down!" they say.
About time, I was out of ideas other than cutting the tree down and hoping that they didn't notice that their oak was gone.
We go outside and the cat is very nonchalantly walking down the trunk, like he could have done this anytime he wanted. It's starting to rain pretty hard but everyone's happy. My daughter claims that she "rescued" Clarence and deserves her Diego Rescue Badge now. I hate that show.
We try to pick him up but he bolts for our house. No problem. He's got to be hungry and tired and a little bit wet by now. We get him into the house and I pick him up checking for any obvious signs of injury that my insults might have caused. Nothing, he appears totally fine.
He goes to the food bowl and begins to eat, I'm thinking he's got to be starving by now. He eats for 2 minutes, very leisurely, and then goes upstairs for a nap. I'm wondering at this time did he really come down every night and do some hunting and then jump back into the tree just to mess with us.
Round 1 goes to you sir. Very well done.
Stop me if you have heard this one:
So a cat gets stuck in a tree.
The neighbors came over which is a little bit of surprise as they never come over. They are very nice people but not much into the neighbor kind of thing which is cool because I'm not that much into it either. It's our mutual dread of small talk that have bonded us.
"You guys have a cat right? It's stuck in our tree."
Shit.
Shit, shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
My whole goal in the neighborhood is to do nothing whatsoever to draw attention to myself. I just want to blend in, that's all. Its the sole reason why I mow my yard. If it wasn't for the stares of the neighbors I would never mow. I hate yard work like Britney hates a good parent.
I head outside and there is my cat, way up in their tree. It's an oak but only because I call every tall tree I see an oak. I have no idea what it is but it's tall, therefore it's an oak. And crowded around that tree is about 8 people, all neighbors, pointing at my cat who is currently about 50 feet up. Again, I'm guessing at the height as I have no real idea the spacial relationship of things. I'm guessing it's about 5 basketball goals up, thus the 50 feet.
"Is he stuck" they ask.
And I panic. I do the only thing that comes to my head. I pull a Chief Wigem. Nothing to see here folks, move along, nothing to see.
"Oh, no he's not stuck. He does this all the time. He'll come down in about an hour." I don't believe a word of it because A). he has never done this and B) I have no idea what I'm talking about. But I sound good and that's all they need.
The crowd breaks up and I run back to the house cussing the cat the whole way. Stupid damn cat that gets stuck in the stupid dumb tree. I get back inside before I notice my zipper is down and my boxers and showing, bad.
Day 2.
The neighbors are back. Their daughter is scared because the cat is still in the tree and she is worried about it. I want to be a good neighbor but I'm failing miserably.
The only time we talk to our neighbors is when my animals act dumbshit and do something bad to the neighbors. We were introduced because I let my two dumb as rocks dogs out at the same time the neighbors let out their little rat dog. My dogs jumped on that little poofy thing like it was a free hooker on Friday night. That's how I met my neighbors, a doggy gang bang.
And now my cat is stuck in their tree and their daughter is freaking out.
I go over and do the only thing I really can do. I look up at the cat and order him to come down. That's all I got. I am ordering a cat to do something. I see the stupidity in this but I can't help it. He promptly ignores me. So I talk louder. GET DOWN HERE NOW!
Nothing. No surprise here but at least I look like I'm doing something.
I am a man that can't even control my own house.
Day 3.
Does the fire department really come out to get a cat out of a tree. Everyone has heard of this but I have never seen it in action. Would they really? This seems like a waste of city resources to me but I'm determined to get the cat out of the tree today. The look from the neighbors was enough to convince me that today needs to be the day that I call someone.
For the record, the fire department does not get cats out of trees.
But animal control does but only in certain circumstances. First, the cat needs to be injured. Second, the cat has to be of height that they can get there ladder to. I pointed out that if it was just a ladder issue then I could do this myself. I own a ladder, I'm a real man, I promise.
But no, they won't do it either. However, they say they get calls like this all the time and deal with it a lot. They say to just put food at the bottom of the tree and the cat will come down on it's own. They PROMISE that this will happen and not to worry about it. I don't tell them that I'm not worried about the dumb cat, I'm worried about pissing off my neighbors hating me enough to plant poison ivy around their driveway.
The kids and I head out and start our vigil of sitting in the neighbors yard with cat food trying to get the cat down. He's making a lot of racket and I lose it. I tell the kids to put on the earmuffs.
"Listen you dumb cat, get your ass down here right now! I swear to god I will climb that tree and pop you if you are not here on the ground in two seconds."
That's right, I said "Don't make me come up there".
Day 4.
Cat still in tree. I ask my other stay at home dads what the hell to do. I get the same response--the dumb cat will come down on its own. That's it, I'm out of advice.
I start coming up with plans. The kind of plans like the CIA came up with in the 60's to get rid of Castro. Exploding cigar type plans. What if I fly a kite into the tree then the cat can use the string to shimmy down it ninja style. Then I realize that he would cut the string with his claws.
What if I go to the lumberjack store and get some of those spikey boots and then climb up and get him. But where is the lumberjack store? Do they even exist in the Midwest?
I thought about shooting a BB gun at him until he jumped but even I think that is to mean. Truth be told I'm still a softy. Two of my animals are rescues and this cat is the prize of them all. We found him as a kitten when someone spray painted him so we took him in. All in all, he's the best pet I own, a great addition to the family. Poops outside, comes home to eat and sleep, and kills all the varmets. This cat is better than my car.
And knowing my cat like I do, maybe I should play to his weaknesses? I consider going to get a little rat from the pet store and putting it at the base of the tree. The mere presence of an uppity rat might actually do the trick. But then my daughter would want to keep the rat as she loves all things furry.
Crap, crap, crap, crap.
Day 5.
This is it. We have to do something today. I'm actually worried about the cat. He's been up there 5 days with no food and no water. We check on him about every hour and refill both food and water but I think I'm just feeding dogs that the people walk. At first I thought he was doing this just to screw around. A cat prank, if you will. I'll freak out my owners and that will show them.
A storms coming and I'm pretty sure it's going to be a bad one. My cat only weighs about 5 pounds and I'm thinking he would make a pretty good sail for one stiff wind. It's starting to rain.
The neighbors knock again.
"He's coming down!" they say.
About time, I was out of ideas other than cutting the tree down and hoping that they didn't notice that their oak was gone.
We go outside and the cat is very nonchalantly walking down the trunk, like he could have done this anytime he wanted. It's starting to rain pretty hard but everyone's happy. My daughter claims that she "rescued" Clarence and deserves her Diego Rescue Badge now. I hate that show.
We try to pick him up but he bolts for our house. No problem. He's got to be hungry and tired and a little bit wet by now. We get him into the house and I pick him up checking for any obvious signs of injury that my insults might have caused. Nothing, he appears totally fine.
He goes to the food bowl and begins to eat, I'm thinking he's got to be starving by now. He eats for 2 minutes, very leisurely, and then goes upstairs for a nap. I'm wondering at this time did he really come down every night and do some hunting and then jump back into the tree just to mess with us.
Round 1 goes to you sir. Very well done.
5/14/09
The Friday Five
5 things that happened when this little Piggy went to the market because someone has to go to the market and sure as shit the others aren't going to the market.
5. And this one stayed home. She stayed home because she was a bitter toe. The second toe never gets any credit for anything except to be pointed out that "Man, that second toe is longer than the big toe, that's jacked up" and no one wants to be poked fun at for being gargantuan and an ugly toe. It's most commonly referred to as the "monkey toe". Not flattering. So the second toe stayed home and ate ho-hos and watched her stories.
4. This one had roast beef. Which is street lingo for heroin but no one on the foot knew it. They thought that he just really, really liked roast beef. So they kept buying roast beef and he had to keep eating it or stuffing it in the drain pipe of the tub. Meanwhile, every time that this little piggy went to the market he would hurry upstairs and cook up a good roast beef sandwich and put it between his toes.
3. And this one had none. Nope, she had nothing. The third toe is always totally forgotten, almost invisible until it gets a massive corn. And then it's ugly, like an ugly stepsister but even she had a mother who loved her. She didn't even have that. So she got nothing because the third toe was taking all the heroin and couldn't even see her pain. Her invisible pain from the invisible toe.
2. And this little Piggy went Weee-weee-weee all the home. Because it hit the corner of the god damn coffee table for the god damn 20th god damned time and it's tired of hanging around with the rest of these yahoo's when they do all their other stupid shit why he continues to be made to bear the brunt of their clumsiness. Fuck em, he's taking his ball and going home.
1. And this Little Piggy finally came back from the market to find one toe steeped in bitterness, one toe stuck in a self loathing depression, one toe gorked out of it's mind on roast beef and one toe missing having abandoned the rest. So he said screw it and went back to the market.
5. And this one stayed home. She stayed home because she was a bitter toe. The second toe never gets any credit for anything except to be pointed out that "Man, that second toe is longer than the big toe, that's jacked up" and no one wants to be poked fun at for being gargantuan and an ugly toe. It's most commonly referred to as the "monkey toe". Not flattering. So the second toe stayed home and ate ho-hos and watched her stories.
4. This one had roast beef. Which is street lingo for heroin but no one on the foot knew it. They thought that he just really, really liked roast beef. So they kept buying roast beef and he had to keep eating it or stuffing it in the drain pipe of the tub. Meanwhile, every time that this little piggy went to the market he would hurry upstairs and cook up a good roast beef sandwich and put it between his toes.
3. And this one had none. Nope, she had nothing. The third toe is always totally forgotten, almost invisible until it gets a massive corn. And then it's ugly, like an ugly stepsister but even she had a mother who loved her. She didn't even have that. So she got nothing because the third toe was taking all the heroin and couldn't even see her pain. Her invisible pain from the invisible toe.
2. And this little Piggy went Weee-weee-weee all the home. Because it hit the corner of the god damn coffee table for the god damn 20th god damned time and it's tired of hanging around with the rest of these yahoo's when they do all their other stupid shit why he continues to be made to bear the brunt of their clumsiness. Fuck em, he's taking his ball and going home.
1. And this Little Piggy finally came back from the market to find one toe steeped in bitterness, one toe stuck in a self loathing depression, one toe gorked out of it's mind on roast beef and one toe missing having abandoned the rest. So he said screw it and went back to the market.
5/12/09
A Hossman Classic: A Tribute to Trek
I finally say the new Star Trek movie and now I offer this Hossman classic in salute:
Trekkie Support Group
Hello, my name is Hossman, and I am a Trekkie.
You reply—Hello Hossman.
I know all the actual serial numbers of every Enterprise. And yes Shorty, there is more than one Enterprise. Most forget about the one that was destroyed defending the Klingon base on Kitymar because it had only a short run.
I have had serious debates over who is the better captain, Picard or Kirk and to a lesser extent the one that Scott Bacula played.
I know the name of the first actual captain of the enterprise and no, it wasn’t Kirk
I know the actual actors names of every major character, including guest appearances.
I know where the science station is located compared to the weapons or navigation. On both shows.
You reply—we still love you Brother!
I know what the T stands for in James T. Kirk.
I know where Picard was born.
Every cell phone that I buy MUST flip open so I can imagine that I am using a communicator.
I was once disappointed because when I got my new toy phaser, it didn’t actually stun anyone.
I know that Tasha Yar once had relations with an Android and I thought that was cool.
You Reply—Sing to Jesus, Brother
When I realized that Star Trek didn’t really exist, it was worse than finding out the truth about Santa Claus.
I know exactly how fast “Warp 1” is.
I know who is the inventor of the Warp Drive Engine.
I know the physics behind the “Picard Maneuver”
You Reply—We forgive you!
I know the age at which Spock’s Father died, and I know his name.
I know his mother’s name and place of birth.
My brother once punched me for telling him that I thought Star Trek was stupid. I agreed with him punching me.
When a fellow Trekkie showed up for jury duty in her official star trek uniform, I thought that was a great idea.
You Reply—Bring it home Father Hossman
Bring up any episode, of any show, and I can tell you what it is about based on one line of dialog.
I judge people that are fans of Deep Space Nine or Voyager, because they have gotten away from the roots that is Star Trek.
I truly believe that you can time travel if you sling shot around the sun.
I can tell you in what movie or show you are watching based on the style of uniform that is being worn.
I avoid wearing tight red shirts and black pants so I won’t be the first crew member killed.
You Reply—Preach to us, convert us!
I know how to play Star Trek chess with three levels.
I was disappointed when I discovered that I couldn’t Mind Meld with the dog.
I named my dog Kahn, after the Wrath of Kahn.
Wrath of Kahn is my fantasy football name.
I considered naming my child Tiberius.
I know what frequency of phaser is best suited to slicing through the atmosphere of a planet to dig a hole on the ground.
You Reply----I feel the spirit of the Kirk, I feel the spirit of the Kirk!
I describe my address in terms of which Quadrant of the Neutral Zone I live in.
If in your campaign you mention anything about Star Trek, you will get my vote.
I believe the Prime Directive could fix the BCS.
I am afraid that other Trekkie’s will not think that I am Trekkie enough.
You Reply—Have no fear, have no fear.
My secret ambition is to learn to read and write Kligon fluently.
I celebrate the future birthday of James T. Kirk.
I know that when I meet a green skinned hot alien, I will have to make out with her
I think that fans of Battlestar Galatica are rip off copy cats.
You reply—let them burn, let them burn.
I say “engage” everytime I press the gas pedal on my car.
I let people know that “I’m a doctor damit, not a faith healer” every chance I get.
I wish I had green Vulcan blood.
I wish I had a convention costume.
You reply—come join us, come join us.
I do believe that there is an alien world out there where the super hot aliens where nothing but loin clothes and are in open marriages.
I can sing the theme song.
I boldly go where no man has gone before.
You reply-We will follow.
Let us pray.
Trekkie Support Group
Hello, my name is Hossman, and I am a Trekkie.
You reply—Hello Hossman.
I know all the actual serial numbers of every Enterprise. And yes Shorty, there is more than one Enterprise. Most forget about the one that was destroyed defending the Klingon base on Kitymar because it had only a short run.
I have had serious debates over who is the better captain, Picard or Kirk and to a lesser extent the one that Scott Bacula played.
I know the name of the first actual captain of the enterprise and no, it wasn’t Kirk
I know the actual actors names of every major character, including guest appearances.
I know where the science station is located compared to the weapons or navigation. On both shows.
You reply—we still love you Brother!
I know what the T stands for in James T. Kirk.
I know where Picard was born.
Every cell phone that I buy MUST flip open so I can imagine that I am using a communicator.
I was once disappointed because when I got my new toy phaser, it didn’t actually stun anyone.
I know that Tasha Yar once had relations with an Android and I thought that was cool.
You Reply—Sing to Jesus, Brother
When I realized that Star Trek didn’t really exist, it was worse than finding out the truth about Santa Claus.
I know exactly how fast “Warp 1” is.
I know who is the inventor of the Warp Drive Engine.
I know the physics behind the “Picard Maneuver”
You Reply—We forgive you!
I know the age at which Spock’s Father died, and I know his name.
I know his mother’s name and place of birth.
My brother once punched me for telling him that I thought Star Trek was stupid. I agreed with him punching me.
When a fellow Trekkie showed up for jury duty in her official star trek uniform, I thought that was a great idea.
You Reply—Bring it home Father Hossman
Bring up any episode, of any show, and I can tell you what it is about based on one line of dialog.
I judge people that are fans of Deep Space Nine or Voyager, because they have gotten away from the roots that is Star Trek.
I truly believe that you can time travel if you sling shot around the sun.
I can tell you in what movie or show you are watching based on the style of uniform that is being worn.
I avoid wearing tight red shirts and black pants so I won’t be the first crew member killed.
You Reply—Preach to us, convert us!
I know how to play Star Trek chess with three levels.
I was disappointed when I discovered that I couldn’t Mind Meld with the dog.
I named my dog Kahn, after the Wrath of Kahn.
Wrath of Kahn is my fantasy football name.
I considered naming my child Tiberius.
I know what frequency of phaser is best suited to slicing through the atmosphere of a planet to dig a hole on the ground.
You Reply----I feel the spirit of the Kirk, I feel the spirit of the Kirk!
I describe my address in terms of which Quadrant of the Neutral Zone I live in.
If in your campaign you mention anything about Star Trek, you will get my vote.
I believe the Prime Directive could fix the BCS.
I am afraid that other Trekkie’s will not think that I am Trekkie enough.
You Reply—Have no fear, have no fear.
My secret ambition is to learn to read and write Kligon fluently.
I celebrate the future birthday of James T. Kirk.
I know that when I meet a green skinned hot alien, I will have to make out with her
I think that fans of Battlestar Galatica are rip off copy cats.
You reply—let them burn, let them burn.
I say “engage” everytime I press the gas pedal on my car.
I let people know that “I’m a doctor damit, not a faith healer” every chance I get.
I wish I had green Vulcan blood.
I wish I had a convention costume.
You reply—come join us, come join us.
I do believe that there is an alien world out there where the super hot aliens where nothing but loin clothes and are in open marriages.
I can sing the theme song.
I boldly go where no man has gone before.
You reply-We will follow.
Let us pray.
5/10/09
Happy Mother's Day Hossmom
I realize that I live the sweet life. I know that most of you yahoo's are out there trying to get by in the daily grind. Your boss is a prick, sadistic little man with a bald head and taste for your ass. Traffic is a beatdown because Charley McSwerve has made it his personal mission to cut you off at every opportunity. FICA leaches every penny out of you like a gorgeous suckubus.
And me? Well, I'm at home in my pajamas. I go to the store and there is never, ever a line. I never have to give a shit about clean up on aisle 6. Yeah, my daughter knocked that shit over but I'm not embarrassed because no one is here. I know my mailman by his first name.
I am a stay at home dad. I have been awarded oh's and ahhs by seven different women who find what I do attractive, and I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you, when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that a good man will take care of their son or that their daughter doesn't destroy the brand new chair, who do you think they're praying to? Now, go ahead and read your bible, Dennis, and you go to your church, and with any luck you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was taking his two kids to the WWI musuem on November 17th, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God. (10 bucks if you can guess the movie)
Yup, I've got it good and it's all thanks to Hossmom. I know which way my bread is buttered. She makes it possible for me to stay home with the kids and paint ceramic cars. She makes it possible for me to spend the entire day reading a book in the backyard. She makes it possible for me to spend an entire afternoon in my underwear debating "to shower or not to shower." Have fun with your TPS reports and yeah, we are going to need you to come in on Saturday, that'd be great.
So in honor of Mother's day, I offer Hossmom my very sincere thanks. Thanks for things that she has given me and the kids over the last year and the things that she will give us in the future.
I brought up the subject of letting my 3 year old mow the yard. I thank her for keeping the ensuing lecture under 30 minutes and for not using the words "dangerous" and "you'll shoot your eye out" over 100 times.
And I thank her for going easy on us when she looked out the window a while later and say my daughter pushing the mower (with me of course) and not even mentioning the gas powered weed eater that we moved on to.
I thank her looking at that load of clean laundry that is still sitting in the corner on the chair and not once, not once I say, asking me "what the hell did you do all day."
I thank her for sitting down and actually watching The Increadible Hulk with me, such a bad movie that I just can't not watch. And on that vain, I thank her for acutally liking Starship Troopers and the big brain bug caught by private Zim.
I thank her actually taking the time to trim my eyebrows so that I don't look like creepy old guy even though every time I complain and fight with her about it like I'm the actual 3 year old in the house.
I thank her taking the time, every day, to pick out clothes for both the kids and me so that we don't look like a bunch of roadies for an over the hill 80's rock band. I haven't actually bought a single item of clothing for myself in over 15 years, and I thank her for that also.
I thank her seeing me at 19 years old in whitey tighties and not laughing her ass off and running for the hills and instead saw a project that she could put in boxers and khakis.
I thank her for being the only person in the world, besides my own daughter, that can actually get me upset. It makes no sense to me that I can pretty much ignore everyone else on the face of the planet but those two dig up underneath me and push the buttons.
I thank her for going to every goofy history thing I can find even though I know that she would rather be at a spa instead of hiking through Missouri town 1855.
I thank her for getting my jokes and laughing even when everyone else looks at me like I'm on a bad meth high.
I thank her for encouraging me to blog in the first place and for never missing a single day where she doesn't read it. She's the biggest fan that I have and it doesn't matter if no one else reads this because she always does.
And I thank her for being a great mom to our kids and being the glue that holds this family together. Without her, our socks would never match.
I love you Hossmom. Happy Mother's Day.
And me? Well, I'm at home in my pajamas. I go to the store and there is never, ever a line. I never have to give a shit about clean up on aisle 6. Yeah, my daughter knocked that shit over but I'm not embarrassed because no one is here. I know my mailman by his first name.
I am a stay at home dad. I have been awarded oh's and ahhs by seven different women who find what I do attractive, and I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you, when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that a good man will take care of their son or that their daughter doesn't destroy the brand new chair, who do you think they're praying to? Now, go ahead and read your bible, Dennis, and you go to your church, and with any luck you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was taking his two kids to the WWI musuem on November 17th, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God. (10 bucks if you can guess the movie)
Yup, I've got it good and it's all thanks to Hossmom. I know which way my bread is buttered. She makes it possible for me to stay home with the kids and paint ceramic cars. She makes it possible for me to spend the entire day reading a book in the backyard. She makes it possible for me to spend an entire afternoon in my underwear debating "to shower or not to shower." Have fun with your TPS reports and yeah, we are going to need you to come in on Saturday, that'd be great.
So in honor of Mother's day, I offer Hossmom my very sincere thanks. Thanks for things that she has given me and the kids over the last year and the things that she will give us in the future.
I brought up the subject of letting my 3 year old mow the yard. I thank her for keeping the ensuing lecture under 30 minutes and for not using the words "dangerous" and "you'll shoot your eye out" over 100 times.
And I thank her for going easy on us when she looked out the window a while later and say my daughter pushing the mower (with me of course) and not even mentioning the gas powered weed eater that we moved on to.
I thank her looking at that load of clean laundry that is still sitting in the corner on the chair and not once, not once I say, asking me "what the hell did you do all day."
I thank her for sitting down and actually watching The Increadible Hulk with me, such a bad movie that I just can't not watch. And on that vain, I thank her for acutally liking Starship Troopers and the big brain bug caught by private Zim.
I thank her actually taking the time to trim my eyebrows so that I don't look like creepy old guy even though every time I complain and fight with her about it like I'm the actual 3 year old in the house.
I thank her taking the time, every day, to pick out clothes for both the kids and me so that we don't look like a bunch of roadies for an over the hill 80's rock band. I haven't actually bought a single item of clothing for myself in over 15 years, and I thank her for that also.
I thank her seeing me at 19 years old in whitey tighties and not laughing her ass off and running for the hills and instead saw a project that she could put in boxers and khakis.
I thank her for being the only person in the world, besides my own daughter, that can actually get me upset. It makes no sense to me that I can pretty much ignore everyone else on the face of the planet but those two dig up underneath me and push the buttons.
I thank her for going to every goofy history thing I can find even though I know that she would rather be at a spa instead of hiking through Missouri town 1855.
I thank her for getting my jokes and laughing even when everyone else looks at me like I'm on a bad meth high.
I thank her for encouraging me to blog in the first place and for never missing a single day where she doesn't read it. She's the biggest fan that I have and it doesn't matter if no one else reads this because she always does.
And I thank her for being a great mom to our kids and being the glue that holds this family together. Without her, our socks would never match.
I love you Hossmom. Happy Mother's Day.
5/5/09
Brought to you by Hossmom
I got nothing, not a damn thing in my head that is worth writing about. Hossmom just offered to let me publish her creative brief that she just wrote. Now she says that I am typing way to loud with my grizzly sized paws tearing away at her tiny little laptop. Then she asks if the sound of my typing is keeping up with my poofy hair. Honestly, I have no idea where that came from.
Welcome to Hossman's pillow talk at 11 at night. The best of random bits of random conversations.
She now asks me if a teenager takes a naked picture of themselves and puts it on thier phone, is that child porn. Would it qualify as producing and possessing kiddie porn. I have no idea how we got from my poofy uncut hair to kiddie porn. She says that thier no intent, therefore its not kiddie porn. I ask "what if they send it to someone else." She says then it is kiddie porn. I ask if it's sent to the boyfriend who is also 16. She also says kiddie porn. I realize that my wife may be harder on my daughter dating that I will.
Hossmom is about to fall asleep on me in mid conversation. Now she asks what I'm writing since I told her I didn't have anything to write about. I tell her "I got an idea now" which is basically writing verbatim what she is talking to me about. I'm naked by the way. Just incase you are wondering. I call it bear porn.
Now she moans, but not the way that I know means she is receptive to an offer.
We are moving along in conversation about a boxer dying in Dallas. I point out it's a random comment. My wife is very, very entertaining. That's why I love her. Maybe in a sec she will fall asleep and she will talk in her sleep. That should be a good blog.
Now we are planning our TV schedule for the next week. My wife's a planner as well. She points out that next week is the season final of LOST.
Moving on, talking about some poor awkward guy she met at the conference she was at today. I point out that I'm an awkward guy as well. But I'm not worried because I write the funny. She says that what made it weird is that he offered a lot of personal information. Like how his wife is much younger than he is. She doesn't know why that would come in. Then he gives random stories and talking about how he used to make big bucks. She is trying extradite herself from the conversation but can't. She couldn't leave because she was eating her lunch.
And that's it ladies and gentlemen, she's out. This blog was brought to you by Hossmom who, without her knowledge, supplied all the material written and thereby maintains all copyright claims to it.
Another moan. She moans alot when she's tired.
The new Jen Lancaster book came out. She is a chick auther and I have no idea who she is. Bitter is the new Black. I remember seeing the book on the nightstand but haven't read it yet. She says that she is hysterical.
Welcome to Hossman's pillow talk at 11 at night. The best of random bits of random conversations.
She now asks me if a teenager takes a naked picture of themselves and puts it on thier phone, is that child porn. Would it qualify as producing and possessing kiddie porn. I have no idea how we got from my poofy uncut hair to kiddie porn. She says that thier no intent, therefore its not kiddie porn. I ask "what if they send it to someone else." She says then it is kiddie porn. I ask if it's sent to the boyfriend who is also 16. She also says kiddie porn. I realize that my wife may be harder on my daughter dating that I will.
Hossmom is about to fall asleep on me in mid conversation. Now she asks what I'm writing since I told her I didn't have anything to write about. I tell her "I got an idea now" which is basically writing verbatim what she is talking to me about. I'm naked by the way. Just incase you are wondering. I call it bear porn.
Now she moans, but not the way that I know means she is receptive to an offer.
We are moving along in conversation about a boxer dying in Dallas. I point out it's a random comment. My wife is very, very entertaining. That's why I love her. Maybe in a sec she will fall asleep and she will talk in her sleep. That should be a good blog.
Now we are planning our TV schedule for the next week. My wife's a planner as well. She points out that next week is the season final of LOST.
Moving on, talking about some poor awkward guy she met at the conference she was at today. I point out that I'm an awkward guy as well. But I'm not worried because I write the funny. She says that what made it weird is that he offered a lot of personal information. Like how his wife is much younger than he is. She doesn't know why that would come in. Then he gives random stories and talking about how he used to make big bucks. She is trying extradite herself from the conversation but can't. She couldn't leave because she was eating her lunch.
And that's it ladies and gentlemen, she's out. This blog was brought to you by Hossmom who, without her knowledge, supplied all the material written and thereby maintains all copyright claims to it.
Another moan. She moans alot when she's tired.
The new Jen Lancaster book came out. She is a chick auther and I have no idea who she is. Bitter is the new Black. I remember seeing the book on the nightstand but haven't read it yet. She says that she is hysterical.
5/3/09
Ground Control to Major Tom
Tower. This is Little Hoss 6225 requesting pre-flight check, come back.
Tower, do you read?
Little Hoss 6225, this is tower. We read you 5 by 5, go ahead.
Preparing to launch from the top of the stairs, need clearance, over.
Ah, Little Hoss 6225 hold on a sec, we are showing a wingman on your 6. Can you confirm over?
That's a ten four Tower. Wordsmith 33 niner is on my six. She'll be joining me on today's flyby, over.
Wordsmith 33 niner you said? Didn't she recently tell Parental unit 545 that "you are stupid?", over.
Affirmative tower, she did tell parental unit 545 that he was a few cards short of a full house. That's why she'll be flying with me today, over.
Good Christ Little Hoss 6225. Don't you think you get into enough dogfights by yourself that you don't need that around, over.
Stuff it Tower, Wordsmith 33 niner is my wingman and unless you want a fat lip you'd be advised to shut that piehole mister!
That's a Roger Little Hoss 5225, shuting piehole. Continuing on to pre-flight.
Running radar on Parental units 545 and Parent Hoss 53. We have them both on the couch watching Sportscenter. Can you give us a visual confirmation, over?
Roger Tower. I can see both parental units sitting on the couch watching sports. They're not a problem in today's flight, over.
Why is that, over?
Tower, both fathers went and saw the midnight showing of Wolverine and didn't get to bed until 03 hundred. Wordsmith and I both woke up at 5:30 this morning. Both parental units are the walking dead tower, over.
Good job Little Hoss 6225, we got to take advantage of every opportunity. Continuing flight check, over.
Roger, Roger Tower, go ahead, over.
Are you currently wearing sweatpants as to get maximum slippage down the stairs, over
Check.
Do you have a complete disregard for your own safety as well as those around you, over.
Check.
Are you currently on top of the 20th stair ready to slide down on your booty, over
Check.
Do those same stairs come to an abrupt end right next to a wall, over
Check.
Please verify lack of vomit bags to catch any and all breakfast that may come up during flight, over.
Check.
Ok Little Hoss 6225, you and Wordsmith 33 niner are clear for takeoff. Have a good one girls.
Roger that Tower. Preparing for takeoff. Tell my mom that I loved her.
.............
Hold on Little Hoss 6225, hold on! We got an inbound bogey at the bottom of the stairs! It looks like it is Bubba Hoss 887 closing fast! Over! Over!
Say again Tower?!
Bubba Hoss 887 is closing fast. I say again, He's closing fast! Can you avoid him?!, Over!
That's a negitive Tower. We have already begun our run and we can't shut this puppy down now, over.
Abort! I say again, ABORT!
No can do, Tower. This baby was born to run and run it does. Whatever gets in the way just ends up in my jet wash.
Little Hoss 6225, can you read? Little Hos 6225, can you read? Wordsmith, can you get a visual on Little Hoss 6225?! Wordsmith?
Little Hoss?
Wordsmith?
Little Hoss?
Wordsmith?
Tower, this is Little Hoss 6225 reading you loud and clear, over.
Oh thank god. Are you ok Little Hoss 6225?
As good as could be expected, Tower but it's going to be a long afternoon, over.
Clarify Little Hoss 6225?
Parental units didn't appear to be as dumb as we thought they were. Bubba Hoss was snatched by the collar at the last second and I ran into Parent Hoss's hand knocking me silly. Wordsmith tried to outrun Parental Unit but was snared, over.
Where are you now?
Proceeding to timeout Tower. Should be back in the seat in about 10 minutes, over.
Roger that Little Hoss 6225. See you on the flip side, over.
Communication ended.................
Tower, do you read?
Little Hoss 6225, this is tower. We read you 5 by 5, go ahead.
Preparing to launch from the top of the stairs, need clearance, over.
Ah, Little Hoss 6225 hold on a sec, we are showing a wingman on your 6. Can you confirm over?
That's a ten four Tower. Wordsmith 33 niner is on my six. She'll be joining me on today's flyby, over.
Wordsmith 33 niner you said? Didn't she recently tell Parental unit 545 that "you are stupid?", over.
Affirmative tower, she did tell parental unit 545 that he was a few cards short of a full house. That's why she'll be flying with me today, over.
Good Christ Little Hoss 6225. Don't you think you get into enough dogfights by yourself that you don't need that around, over.
Stuff it Tower, Wordsmith 33 niner is my wingman and unless you want a fat lip you'd be advised to shut that piehole mister!
That's a Roger Little Hoss 5225, shuting piehole. Continuing on to pre-flight.
Running radar on Parental units 545 and Parent Hoss 53. We have them both on the couch watching Sportscenter. Can you give us a visual confirmation, over?
Roger Tower. I can see both parental units sitting on the couch watching sports. They're not a problem in today's flight, over.
Why is that, over?
Tower, both fathers went and saw the midnight showing of Wolverine and didn't get to bed until 03 hundred. Wordsmith and I both woke up at 5:30 this morning. Both parental units are the walking dead tower, over.
Good job Little Hoss 6225, we got to take advantage of every opportunity. Continuing flight check, over.
Roger, Roger Tower, go ahead, over.
Are you currently wearing sweatpants as to get maximum slippage down the stairs, over
Check.
Do you have a complete disregard for your own safety as well as those around you, over.
Check.
Are you currently on top of the 20th stair ready to slide down on your booty, over
Check.
Do those same stairs come to an abrupt end right next to a wall, over
Check.
Please verify lack of vomit bags to catch any and all breakfast that may come up during flight, over.
Check.
Ok Little Hoss 6225, you and Wordsmith 33 niner are clear for takeoff. Have a good one girls.
Roger that Tower. Preparing for takeoff. Tell my mom that I loved her.
.............
Hold on Little Hoss 6225, hold on! We got an inbound bogey at the bottom of the stairs! It looks like it is Bubba Hoss 887 closing fast! Over! Over!
Say again Tower?!
Bubba Hoss 887 is closing fast. I say again, He's closing fast! Can you avoid him?!, Over!
That's a negitive Tower. We have already begun our run and we can't shut this puppy down now, over.
Abort! I say again, ABORT!
No can do, Tower. This baby was born to run and run it does. Whatever gets in the way just ends up in my jet wash.
Little Hoss 6225, can you read? Little Hos 6225, can you read? Wordsmith, can you get a visual on Little Hoss 6225?! Wordsmith?
Little Hoss?
Wordsmith?
Little Hoss?
Wordsmith?
Tower, this is Little Hoss 6225 reading you loud and clear, over.
Oh thank god. Are you ok Little Hoss 6225?
As good as could be expected, Tower but it's going to be a long afternoon, over.
Clarify Little Hoss 6225?
Parental units didn't appear to be as dumb as we thought they were. Bubba Hoss was snatched by the collar at the last second and I ran into Parent Hoss's hand knocking me silly. Wordsmith tried to outrun Parental Unit but was snared, over.
Where are you now?
Proceeding to timeout Tower. Should be back in the seat in about 10 minutes, over.
Roger that Little Hoss 6225. See you on the flip side, over.
Communication ended.................
5/1/09
The Friday Five
5 Reasons why your old ass does not belong in the club.
5. Because it's creepy as hell to see the old guy in the torn jeans and purple jacket suit sitting at the table with his chest hair out. Don't be that guy, you can't pull that off. You look just plan creepy. You look like the weirdo uncle that hit on the bridesmaid at your nephew's wedding. Guess what, you ended up spending the night drunk and farting on your niece's couch. Oh yea, she heard you.
4. For the ladies: because you are never, ever going to find what you are looking for there. Your ideal pick me up line is "Hey, I pay my mortgage on time, have a good stock portfolio, and my credit rating is not bad. I love kids, do you have any?". What you are going to get is "So you look pretty desperate, mind if I give you some of my crabs?" Because that's the only guy that is going to be hitting on you. And you'll be paranoid. By this age you have probably seen Jodi Foster in The Accused and that image is pretty much going to ruin this for you. You'll think that everyone is trying to slip you a roofie, although you will have no idea what that is but you read about it in Newsweek. What you are looking for is a good father who writes a funny blog. Who's bald. Who knows the difference between a 401 K plan and a Roth IRA. Call me.
3. Because the whole time you are there you will be saying "this music is too loud, I can't have a conversation." What you don't realize is that clubbing is not for conversations. But you'll get annoyed because you are old and you will suggest that they turn it down to a reasonable volume, like they do at the Olive Garden. Then your next question will be "do they serve food here, like at the Olive Garden?" Finally, when you actually do get into a conversation it will be about the fabulous bread sticks at the Olive Garden and don't you just love that vinegar salad dressing that they use.
2. Because an hour into it you'll notice that your feet hurt, you trick knee is getting stiff, and for the love of god where are all the chairs because you threw your back out carrying laundry up the stairs. And you are no longer young enough to ignore these problems and you will want to bail because you actually have to go to work tomorrow morning and can't show up looking like Jodi Foster in The Accused.
1. Because when everyone starts yelling "Hey Charlotte, it's your Birf-Day" it will take you a while to realize that they actually mean BIRTHDAY and you'll think "oh, that's nice, the whole club is wishing her happy birthday." Then you will eventually catch on that it's actually some sort of hip hop chant and you'll say "Hold on, I got a good one--The Roof, The Roof, The Roof is on fire!" Then you'll ask the DJ if he can rock some Blondie.
5. Because it's creepy as hell to see the old guy in the torn jeans and purple jacket suit sitting at the table with his chest hair out. Don't be that guy, you can't pull that off. You look just plan creepy. You look like the weirdo uncle that hit on the bridesmaid at your nephew's wedding. Guess what, you ended up spending the night drunk and farting on your niece's couch. Oh yea, she heard you.
4. For the ladies: because you are never, ever going to find what you are looking for there. Your ideal pick me up line is "Hey, I pay my mortgage on time, have a good stock portfolio, and my credit rating is not bad. I love kids, do you have any?". What you are going to get is "So you look pretty desperate, mind if I give you some of my crabs?" Because that's the only guy that is going to be hitting on you. And you'll be paranoid. By this age you have probably seen Jodi Foster in The Accused and that image is pretty much going to ruin this for you. You'll think that everyone is trying to slip you a roofie, although you will have no idea what that is but you read about it in Newsweek. What you are looking for is a good father who writes a funny blog. Who's bald. Who knows the difference between a 401 K plan and a Roth IRA. Call me.
3. Because the whole time you are there you will be saying "this music is too loud, I can't have a conversation." What you don't realize is that clubbing is not for conversations. But you'll get annoyed because you are old and you will suggest that they turn it down to a reasonable volume, like they do at the Olive Garden. Then your next question will be "do they serve food here, like at the Olive Garden?" Finally, when you actually do get into a conversation it will be about the fabulous bread sticks at the Olive Garden and don't you just love that vinegar salad dressing that they use.
2. Because an hour into it you'll notice that your feet hurt, you trick knee is getting stiff, and for the love of god where are all the chairs because you threw your back out carrying laundry up the stairs. And you are no longer young enough to ignore these problems and you will want to bail because you actually have to go to work tomorrow morning and can't show up looking like Jodi Foster in The Accused.
1. Because when everyone starts yelling "Hey Charlotte, it's your Birf-Day" it will take you a while to realize that they actually mean BIRTHDAY and you'll think "oh, that's nice, the whole club is wishing her happy birthday." Then you will eventually catch on that it's actually some sort of hip hop chant and you'll say "Hold on, I got a good one--The Roof, The Roof, The Roof is on fire!" Then you'll ask the DJ if he can rock some Blondie.
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