It's 2 am, what the hell am I still doing up? I'm a 34 year old man with 2 kids, I don't do 2 am unless it involves a kids nightmare or a strip club. Or maybe some Tivoed Skinimax because let's be honest, when do I have time to go to a strip club. Say night night to daddy kids, he's got to help put Crystal Chandelier through college. She's got a bright future.
But I am up at 2 am. I am at the convention in my room and I am jibber jabbering with my convention roommate like a high school girl whose parents don't understand how cool and sensitive her 21 year old musical boyfriend is. By the way, his name is Chester and it's my life's mission to destroy him. Little punk, you're not sensitive, you're lazy. There's a difference jackass, now go pick up some litter.
Chester is completely made up and only resides in my head. It is my overwhelming fear that this is the the type of d-bag my 3 year old daughter will date when she gets older just because she knows how much this would bug me and I would hate him. Ok, try this one on then: I hate clean cut kids who are morally responsible, want to go to college and keep their hands to themselves. Reverse psychology--please work.
And these are the exact type of things that I'm telling Mr Rogers at 2 am. I call him Mr. Rogers because he's very crafty. I've seen him make things that you wouldn't believe. When we played with Lego's with the kids, I made the dad standard which is a plain multicolored box. It can withstand a 9.2 earthquake and makes an excellent object for your son to bean you in the head with. Mr. Rogers made a dinosaur. It ate my box.
We're friends and part of the same dad's group but we've never talked like this before. Why? Because we're guys and we NEVER talk like this unless it involves sports or very possibly whether or not that girl has a boob job.
We're not drunk, we're not lonely, we are just talking. You got to understand how weird and unusual this is for me. I don't talk, to anyone. My phone calls to my own mother are less than 5 minutes. My wife's #1 complaint is that I don't want to talk. She wants to talk about this but I refuse to talk about it. But what about the blog? Isn't this talking? This isn't talking, there is no give or take. You just get a piece of the chaos that's in my head.
But for some reason the convention has encouraged us to open up and share. Hossmom may be a little pissed that she wasn't here for this. This could have been her Christmas present. We are sitting in our PJ's, snuggled up to pillows, talking about everything. If I had hair, he would be braiding it.
Every subject comes up, gets fully analyzed, turned around and then put to bed unlike us two yahoo's. There's only 2 other people in my life I've shared this much with. One was with a girlfriend who had problems with fidelity and the other is my wife. But Mr. Rogers isn't either of these and as a good guy I'm sure he would never attempt to gang bang my entire dorm. (I've been asked to clarify that it wasn't Hossmom that tried to do this.)
This is one of the unusual things about the SAHD convention that I wasn't expecting. We go to learn and to meet new people. To network and get different opinions. But it also looks like a great opportunity to get to know the guys you are already friends with a little bit better and that's pretty cool.
And at 2 in the morning and several hours of soul sharing, I feel I know Mr. Rogers pretty well. Not in a carnal way, but pretty good for two guys. It's a very Kombayah moment all we are missing is some guitars and some dirty hippies.
But I've made a better friend who promises to bail me out of jail once I beat the shit out of Chester the Boyfriend 12 years from now, and you really can't ask for more than that. Unless it's to hide a body, which is a possibility if Chester pushes it.