Don't Cuss

Don't say fuck.  Don't say fuck.  Don't say fuck. 

That is what was going through my head as I entered the studios for our local NPR station to do an interview about at home dads and the book Dads Behaving Dadly.  I was also plugging our local dads group, KCDADS because why the hell not.  If I'm going to be a shill, I'm going to shill for them all. 

However, according to my wife, my friends, my family and people that I've never met except for one time at a funereal, I say fuck alot.  I tend to cuss at inappropriate times and around inappropriate people.  Like kids.  Apparently I cuss around children.  I'm fucking horrible. 

This was going to be fun though.  I am riding the initial high of the book.  I am soaking up the experience, gathering the most of the memories that I could so that one day in the nursing home I could tell Jim, my roommate that inappropriately grabs the nurses, that once I published a story and someone not related to me thought I was funny.  But I can't say fuck on the radio.  That would be bad. 

I like NPR.  I hope they do well.  I like the idea of NPR, the people's radio.  I do not wish to cause them to have a scandal, much on the scale of the Janet Jackson superbowl, and thus shut down their station, fire staff and basically make it impossible to do a Pete's Schweddy Balls sketch ever again.  So I can't cuss and that could be a problem.  I, apparently, cuss alot.  My wife reminded me before I left for the interview.  This could be a problem as they asked me to also read one of my stories on the air. 

I say "God Damnit" in the story.  Going to have to censor that one.  Look at that, only one story published for 10 dollars and I'm already a sell out.  I have thrown artistic integrity to the wind for a grand total of 10 bucks.  Awesome.  I have reached the big time. 

The whole experience was surreal though, could it be anything else?  Who reads what I write and why would they?  My daughter breaks stuff, my son is a pot head waiting to find his weed and my last son may grow up to knee cap people that owe him money.  That's what I write about.  But apparently it was good enough to get into a book and for a radio personality to want to include it as part of their show. 

So when we went into the sound room, I am guessing that is what they called it, the top thing on my mind was not to say fuck. Because that would be bad and my wife would leave me for someone that has had 2 stories published.  Then I could say fuck. 

On a side note, when I met the "talent", Gina, she looks exactly like my sister in law.  No kidding.  Glasses, reddish hair, sweater and a big cup of coffee, slight of frame.  It freaked me out for a sec, does my sister in law live a secret life of an NPR personality in the Midwest?  Interesting, I've never trusted her.  She is going to do some gotcha journalism. 

But that didn't happen.  It was a great interview, thoughtful questions and a good command of the room.  I was pleased.  I was even more pleased that I didn't cuss, not once.  I didn't even say hell.  Although I did almost slip up.  She asked me how I deal with other's expectations  as a stay at home dad.  What I said was that my wife's expectations and my children's expectations are what matters.  What I wanted to say "Oh, they can fuck off and suck it."  But I didn't, I was diplomatic and was able to say basically the same thing without causing the FCC to come down like gang busters. 

The interview went well and the hour flew by without me even noticing.  I thought I did pretty good and didn't embarrass my group or at home dads nationwide.  The producer came in after the show to take us back to the room where my children were waiting.  They were waiting with some other KCDADS who came with me to watch them and then do a radio station tour. 

They were in there for an hour. 

My kids.  For an hour.  Without me. 

The young chap, classy beard and an NPR aura around him told me "That was great.  Let's go back.  The room is kind of destroyed, you may have to clean up a bit."


And because I'll get asked, here is the link to the interview


Dads Behaving Dadly Now On Sale!

And Dads Behaving Dadly is now for sale on Amazon!

Click here to be taken directly to the link.

 Get it for that special guy in your life.  Or you mom, yes, get it for your mom because your mom loves me.  Then someone should leave a review of the book on Amazon because it's got no reviews and that's very sad.  But it's out, it's official, I'm published!  I'm also going to turn comments back on on my own blog.

That's it.  That's all I've got today.


Wait, I do got more.  I've got the best joke ever told, ever ever.

This joke was told to me by one of the kids I coach for baseball.  During practice I was handling first base during batting practice.  For 6 year old ball, first base is really close to right field.  So I always ask my right fielder to tell me a joke.  It keeps them from running after a butterfly.  I asked one of my boys for a joke.  It turned out to be the best joke ever spoken.

Knock knock.  (6 year olds only tell knock knock jokes)

Who's there?


Pigs who?

Pigs on yo face.

Then he walks off like he just dropped a hot mic and strolled away.

Maybe it was the delivery of the joke that made it so funny.  Maybe it was his utter confidence when he told the joke.  Maybe it was his strut as he walked away as if he knew he just rocked my world.  Maybe it was because I was totally unprepared for the punch line.  I'm not really sure but I can't stop laughing.  It probably has some deep 6 year old meaning, some double pun insult joke.  I'm don't know.  All I know is that when you tell it, and you will, you must walk away like you just owned that motherfucker.


A Pot, A Burner and a Pound of Butter

I am using a very small pot and I am putting it on the very large burner of our stove.  Seriously, the burner is about 3 times the size of the pot.  I have 3 other burners that would be better suited for my little pot.  At least 1 would fit it exactly insuring that no heat is being wasted.  But nope, I'm using the giant one.  The one that you would place a huge rabbit boiling pot on.  I realize exactly what I'm doing.
The handle of my pot will get to hot because almost the entire length of it is over the burner.  I have accepted this, it is a causality of war.  I've already got a pound of butter out to sooth my skin.  I know that you are not supposed to use butter on burns either but I am planning to.  I have to.  At this point, there is no choice.

Let me explain marriage to some of you.  Now, I don't hold out myself as any kind of expert on many subjects.  I have been with my wife for about 20 years, married for almost 15 now I suppose.  I have had kids for 8.  I feel that I have no real expertise to pass on to you.  But that hasn't stopped lesser men than me so come closer to the screen and I'll pass on my knowledge.

Many people will say that marriage is an equal partnership.  Some may say that it is unconditional love.  It's support in tough times and it enhances the good times.  Those people have never been married.  Go away you single people.

No, marriage is about not doing things that your wife will remember 10 years from now.   Marriage is about limiting that ammo for when she needs it.  Say you get into an argument with your wife.  It happens, even to funny people like me.   Side note:  Hossmom does not like my jokes when we argue and it just makes her more mad.  I know this and yet I continue to do it.  You'll understand why later.

Marriage is about not giving her and her elephant memory a chance to store up so much about past personal screw ups that she will use them against you when you are discussing American foreign policy.  You'll make the point that perhaps she is wrong, so wrong in fact that Teddy Roosevelt just dug himself out of his grave and is at the front door to chastise her.  And then boom, from left field, she brings up the time you told jokes during an argument when you guys were dating and it made her cry because she didn't think you cared enough about her.  Then all of a sudden you are no longer talking about American foreign policy and the excellent points you made.  You are apologizing for something you did when you were 24.  Argument over because you'll feel so bad that you just can't continue because she's getting the sniffles even thinking about it.  She's right by virtue of past guilt and your idiot 24 year old self.

This is why I don't argue much with my wife.  I have no desire to be reminded of the mistakes that I have made over the last 20 years.  And yet, she knows this and does not change the tactic.  It remains.

Feminism, it can be to extreme.  What, I used a small pot 5 years ago and burnt my hand and you thought I was going to drop the pot and boil the baby with it.  Yes, you are right, feminism extremo is fantasitco.

Should the kids go to your old summer camp somewhere up in the northeast.  That's dumb, why would we pay all that for a place you barely remember.  But yes, I did once leave the oven on and therefore I was intentionally trying to burn down the house and I must hate my family.  That means the kids will go to summer camp.

You shouldn't buy 12 shoes to see how they look at home and then just keep one pair.  Wait a minute, I forgot the fact, and thank you for reminding me, that for a short period in high school I wore shoes that were made out of plastic.  You should buy 20 shoes.

This is known to all long time married men.  This is relationship fact.  The result is though that your carefree days are over.  Every thing you do you second guess yourself on.  Normal every day tasks beg the question:  is this going to haunt me when I'm 62 and talking about retirement?  What, I once spent 20 dollars on a beer in Mexico because the guy just walked off and I thought he was getting me change but didn't?  Why of course we should invest in the high risk start up at our age, what have we got to lose!

So what happens though is that all this gets pent up inside you, that ain't good.  The only pain you should be carrying around inside is when your team didn't make the playoffs because of a missed field goal that they have hit 500 freaking times inside the 10.  Stupid Philly.  That's the kind of pain that a man carries around with him forever.

You have to find a way to do the stupid, to let it out without her knowing so that one day you can actually win an argument with her.

So when she's not home you put the very small pot on the very large burner and get the butter out.  You know exactly what you are doing, you have it all planned out.  You'll explain the bandage on your hand as a soldering accident.  She won't know the difference because she doesn't know that a soldering  iron can't grill your entire palm and that the scar will be in an odd handle shape.  This is also why you keep her out of the garage.  Take notes fellas, I'm laying down gold.

You have to take the small pains so that one day she will say "Hossman, that's an excellent point.  I have never thought of it that way.  I am very turned on by the size of your brain power.  Make love to me."

Would honesty work better?  Probably but you'll never get that far before she reminds you that one time in college you paid a guy to electrocute you using a car battery.