In two weeks I am going to be a full time stay at home dad. As such, I need to train to handle the riggers of the position. But before you start training for a position you need to get a baseline assessment of where you are starting off at.
With this in mind, I took a quiz called:
How Many 5 Year Olds Could You Take In a Fight.
I figure that given that my daughter is gourgous, this might come up and I need to be prepared. Good Lord I love on line quizes
Let’s see. First we start with body type questions and arm reach. There is no selection for “Badass Vengence Giver”. Obviously this quiz is culturally biased.
“How high can I kick”. That’s a tough question as I have never measured myself and in general I try not to kick high because it leaves the sack and potatoes exposed, not a good fighting strategy. So lets just put “Not Very High.” Alright then, let’s keep moving.
The next question is “How many fights have you been in.” Here we go, now we are getting to the nuts and bolts of it. I am counting the fights I got into with my brother. And I’m counting the fights I got into with my brother at my side. And I’m counting all the fights I got into because of my brother. It’s about here that I realize that my brother might have been a bad influence on me growing up. Let’s say more than 8.
“Do you have any experience fighting swarms”. Well hell yes, I fight the alien swarms on Xbox all the live long day, Poncho.
“Have you ever been trampled.” Only by the ladies.
“Would you fight dirty.” Hell yes. Those that say they wouldn’t fight dirty don’t know how to survive. You gotta be willing to throw some dirt and kick in the junk if you want to make it out of the bush.
“Would you feel morally comfortable picking up another child and using him as a shield.” Tough question. Although since I already admitted to fighting dirty, I suppose this would count. Sorry kid, tough luck.
“How do you feel about fighting a bunch of kids”. For that, it really depends. Are they like Zombie possessed kids, are they the undead? Are they the Children of the Corn type kids? Because then I would have no problems what so ever. Those little bastards are killers.
“Click for your answer.”
“You could take 23 five year olds on in a fight.”
I’m calling bullshit. I could whip at least 30 or so with my kung fu style. Do I get a sidekick? Everyone gets a sidekick. If I had Little Hoss with me, you could double that number.
12/17/07
Take a Knee
“Take a knee” I told my daughter. She’s 2.
She very carefully put one knee on the ground and then put her hand on her other knee. When you give pep talks, this is how it is done—with everyone taking a knee. That’s what my coach taught me and that is what I have taught my daughter. When we are going to have a heart to heart, we have to take knee.
“Ok,” I say. “We are going to put up the Christmas lights. I know, I know, we have been lazy and they should have been up a while ago. But never mind that because we are doing it now.”
She leans in closer to really hear her instructions next.
“What I want you to do is to run around the front yard and cause havoc. I want you to destroy and rip and go nuts. See those boxes of lights over there? I want the lights unpacked and boxes ripped apart pronto. Those stakes over there, those I want thrown about. Think you can do that?”
“Newt!” She yells. She yells the name of our dog when she means yes.
“Good deal. Let’s get rolling.”
I love it when my daughter helps, it’s very entertaining. I know some people get pissed off when the little kids help because things do slow down and something is bound to get lost. I, however, love the hell out of it. It makes any job fun and I gotta be honest here, I love it when she looks so proud when she has accomplished something like putting a stake in the ground. Hossmom says she is very eager to please her father. Great, I have a toadie.
Imagine Godzilla rampaging in downtown Hong Kong. Now imagine Mothra showing up and Godzilla and Mothra doing battle in downtown Hong Kong. That’s how we put up lights.
“Brahhhhahahahahahah~!” she yells.
I look over and she has just tripped over the lights that I have put in the sidewalk on the stakes. 5 stakes have popped out of the ground.
I look at her and say “Well, put them back in” and I turn my back to the tree in the front yard. I have to put up lights on this thing while at the same time dodging spiders and old wasp nests. While my daughter is Japanimation in action, I am the freaking ballet. Together, we are formidable.
A minute later I look back over to my daughter. She has accomplished putting most of the stakes back in and to my amazement, they are straight. I am raising a genius, all of you should be jealous.
But then she steps over them to the other side of the sidewalk and proceeds to again trip over the strand of lights and pulling them out of the ground. This time she doesn’t even look for my instructions, she just begins putting the stakes back in the ground. However, she has decided that if she licks each light bulb before putting them back in the ground, they will stay better. I can find no fault in her logic.
I have finished the tree and have only screamed like a girl once, I am counting this as a good day. It’s time to move on to the reindeer that my daughter has so generously unpacked for me 20 minutes ago. At my feet is a mass of metal and lights that is supposed to look like Rudolph. I have no idea where most of the parts are that keep this thing together thanks to Little Hoss. I love the challenge and call over my henchman.
I tell her to bring the wire and to my amazement, she does. Seriously, she is a great helper and we work well together.
The next 20 minutes is spent putting together the reindeer. I am 99% sure that Scrooge himself designed these things so that fathers would eventually get pissed off and just throw them in the gutter. But we are resourceful and we have duct tape and chicken wire, enough to build a god damn Macy’s Float if we have to.
We get the reindeer up and things are starting to come together. I am getting pleased. A neighbor comes over and says that I am starting to make them look bad because they haven’t put up their lights yet. Secretly, I agree with him. You do look bad next to this gaudy over the top Christmas spectacle that I am putting on.
My philosophy on Christmas is that the tackier it is the better it is. Lights, lights and more lights are the way to go. Presents poorly wrapped, colored lights mixed with white lights and an 8ft inflatable snowman, that’s the only way to go.
Sadly, our 8ft snowman—named Princess Candycane by the neighbors kid—is not going to make this years celebration. She has passed beyond that point that I could repair the nylon and will be sorely missed.
As well as the lights that I normally put on top of the house, but this was done in protest. Hossmom does not want me to “risk” myself on top of the roof this year. She seems to think that I will come tumbling down and brain myself. She has it in her head the image of me last year up there laying upside down on my stomach, spread eagle, trying to reach the last corner of the roof. No worries, I made it. I think having a second kid is making Hossmom soft.
It still doesn’t mean we can’t go all out and tacky though because this year we are bringing in “The Machine.” My mother in law actually got me a machine where you plug all the lights into it and it synchronizes it all to music. Think the bud light commercial with more lights, none of which that match.
I am eager to try this thing out and so is Little Hoss. She is starting to growl which I know means that she is getting impatient. Soon, my little one, soon.
Everything is plugged in and ready to go. I call my wife out with Bubba Hoss. We stand out front and I look at my daughter.
“Flip the switch” I say. She pushes the red button.
If you have epilepsy, or think that you might have it, please stay away from my house. In fact, even if you don’t, you may want to still stay away because this might cause it.
The lights blink and twirl, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes only one side of the yard is lit up and sometimes the whole thing is. Carol of the Bells, Here Comes Santa Claus, Feliz Navidad—words cannot describe the beauty.
I look down at Little Hoss and she has her hands on her hips, looking at a job well done. I am doing the same and sometimes it amazes me when she mimics me. I spit and she tries to with the effect of some slobber just rolling off her chin.
Maybe she can get on the roof with me next year?
She very carefully put one knee on the ground and then put her hand on her other knee. When you give pep talks, this is how it is done—with everyone taking a knee. That’s what my coach taught me and that is what I have taught my daughter. When we are going to have a heart to heart, we have to take knee.
“Ok,” I say. “We are going to put up the Christmas lights. I know, I know, we have been lazy and they should have been up a while ago. But never mind that because we are doing it now.”
She leans in closer to really hear her instructions next.
“What I want you to do is to run around the front yard and cause havoc. I want you to destroy and rip and go nuts. See those boxes of lights over there? I want the lights unpacked and boxes ripped apart pronto. Those stakes over there, those I want thrown about. Think you can do that?”
“Newt!” She yells. She yells the name of our dog when she means yes.
“Good deal. Let’s get rolling.”
I love it when my daughter helps, it’s very entertaining. I know some people get pissed off when the little kids help because things do slow down and something is bound to get lost. I, however, love the hell out of it. It makes any job fun and I gotta be honest here, I love it when she looks so proud when she has accomplished something like putting a stake in the ground. Hossmom says she is very eager to please her father. Great, I have a toadie.
Imagine Godzilla rampaging in downtown Hong Kong. Now imagine Mothra showing up and Godzilla and Mothra doing battle in downtown Hong Kong. That’s how we put up lights.
“Brahhhhahahahahahah~!” she yells.
I look over and she has just tripped over the lights that I have put in the sidewalk on the stakes. 5 stakes have popped out of the ground.
I look at her and say “Well, put them back in” and I turn my back to the tree in the front yard. I have to put up lights on this thing while at the same time dodging spiders and old wasp nests. While my daughter is Japanimation in action, I am the freaking ballet. Together, we are formidable.
A minute later I look back over to my daughter. She has accomplished putting most of the stakes back in and to my amazement, they are straight. I am raising a genius, all of you should be jealous.
But then she steps over them to the other side of the sidewalk and proceeds to again trip over the strand of lights and pulling them out of the ground. This time she doesn’t even look for my instructions, she just begins putting the stakes back in the ground. However, she has decided that if she licks each light bulb before putting them back in the ground, they will stay better. I can find no fault in her logic.
I have finished the tree and have only screamed like a girl once, I am counting this as a good day. It’s time to move on to the reindeer that my daughter has so generously unpacked for me 20 minutes ago. At my feet is a mass of metal and lights that is supposed to look like Rudolph. I have no idea where most of the parts are that keep this thing together thanks to Little Hoss. I love the challenge and call over my henchman.
I tell her to bring the wire and to my amazement, she does. Seriously, she is a great helper and we work well together.
The next 20 minutes is spent putting together the reindeer. I am 99% sure that Scrooge himself designed these things so that fathers would eventually get pissed off and just throw them in the gutter. But we are resourceful and we have duct tape and chicken wire, enough to build a god damn Macy’s Float if we have to.
We get the reindeer up and things are starting to come together. I am getting pleased. A neighbor comes over and says that I am starting to make them look bad because they haven’t put up their lights yet. Secretly, I agree with him. You do look bad next to this gaudy over the top Christmas spectacle that I am putting on.
My philosophy on Christmas is that the tackier it is the better it is. Lights, lights and more lights are the way to go. Presents poorly wrapped, colored lights mixed with white lights and an 8ft inflatable snowman, that’s the only way to go.
Sadly, our 8ft snowman—named Princess Candycane by the neighbors kid—is not going to make this years celebration. She has passed beyond that point that I could repair the nylon and will be sorely missed.
As well as the lights that I normally put on top of the house, but this was done in protest. Hossmom does not want me to “risk” myself on top of the roof this year. She seems to think that I will come tumbling down and brain myself. She has it in her head the image of me last year up there laying upside down on my stomach, spread eagle, trying to reach the last corner of the roof. No worries, I made it. I think having a second kid is making Hossmom soft.
It still doesn’t mean we can’t go all out and tacky though because this year we are bringing in “The Machine.” My mother in law actually got me a machine where you plug all the lights into it and it synchronizes it all to music. Think the bud light commercial with more lights, none of which that match.
I am eager to try this thing out and so is Little Hoss. She is starting to growl which I know means that she is getting impatient. Soon, my little one, soon.
Everything is plugged in and ready to go. I call my wife out with Bubba Hoss. We stand out front and I look at my daughter.
“Flip the switch” I say. She pushes the red button.
If you have epilepsy, or think that you might have it, please stay away from my house. In fact, even if you don’t, you may want to still stay away because this might cause it.
The lights blink and twirl, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes only one side of the yard is lit up and sometimes the whole thing is. Carol of the Bells, Here Comes Santa Claus, Feliz Navidad—words cannot describe the beauty.
I look down at Little Hoss and she has her hands on her hips, looking at a job well done. I am doing the same and sometimes it amazes me when she mimics me. I spit and she tries to with the effect of some slobber just rolling off her chin.
Maybe she can get on the roof with me next year?
12/13/07
The Stay At Home Dad
I just quit my job. No more than 20 minutes ago.
It’s scary just even writing that. I have been gainfully employed since I left college 9 years ago. I have never been fired and I have never been laid off. I have been with the same company, although in different roles, for the last 8 years which seems to be somewhat of an aberration for my generation.
But I don’t want you to think that this was a rash decision or that I lived the dream of saying “Take this job and shove it.” It’s actually quite the opposite.
10 months ago my wife and I started having serious discussions about a parent staying home with the children for a few years. It has always been hard for us to drop off our daughter off at daycare even though we had a great lady. Over the 10 months we looked at a lot of angles, a lot of options and answered a lot of questions to ourselves. How important is it to us that someone stay home with the kids for awhile.
That was probably the biggest question. I’m not an anti-daycare guy, not at all and before I found out we were having a second kid, I was ok with the status quo. But we started thinking and there was a revelation in my head.
I’m going to work 50 years of my life, probably constantly. Out of that 50 years is it really going to make that much of a difference in my career if I take off 3 or 4 years? When I said it like that, my mind started to shift. 3 years out of 50. It doesn’t sound so bad stated like that and let me look at things a little bit differently.
Do you work to live or live to work? I am certainly one of the latter ones on that. I have always put my wife and children ahead of my job. I even took my current job so that I would have more time off with the kids. I decided even back then that I wanted to spend more time with my daughter, for me. It may sound kind of selfish but that’s the truth. I didn’t like missing some of the things in my daughters life. I don’t want to be that kind of dad. I want to be there when she took her first step or says her first word.
I want to be there when she learns that dog food is not the same as people food or when she puts make up on her brother. I wanted to be part of that because I think when I get older those are the things I am going to remember, not whether or not I filed a memo correctly—that’s not the person I wanted to be.
I know a lot of you out there may be asking—why the stay at home dad? Isn’t this a bit unusual? It is but not as much as you may think.
My wife makes a lot more money than I do. She works in advertising and I work in social work. I have always joked with her that she lies for a living but I make up for it with helping people, our karma has equaled out. So it wasn’t that hard of a decision for us as to who was going to stay home. Her income is a lot more than mine.
And then I started to do research on the subject and this is when I realized that it’s actually not such an aberration. There is a whole culture out there of stay at home dads. Everyday I read about 10 to 15 stay at home dad blogging sites. When I first started doing this, it was the attitude that I loved about it.
There was no judgment here, only support. And everyone was gun-ho as well and freely admitted that they do things much differently at home that the normal stay at home mom. There was advice, the pitfalls, a plan on how to do it and everyone had pretty much the same reason. We all love our kids and we all want to be a bigger part of their lives than maybe our father’s where.
In my case, I actually had a role model of someone I respected that did this. My own father was a stay at home dad for many years. So this has been done even in my own family. Growing up my dad was a carpenter while putting himself and my mom through college. For the most part, there was no daycare for us. We were usually at the job site with my dad. I have mixed more concrete and hauled more lumber than I care to remember. But I got to spend a hell of a lot of time with my dad and those are some of the greatest memories that I have of my childhood. Would your mother allow you to build a boxing ring out of spare lumber—probably not.
So as I read more and more of the dad blogs and thought more of my own childhood, I was pretty sure that I wanted to take on this challenge. But my wife and I do nothing without research and caution. We are those people that actually have a 5 year plan.
What would I do during the day? Will there be depression and how do I handle the isolation? How do I approach this, what rules will I put upon myself? What about my own sense of self worth and self esteem? The dad blogs are where I found the answers.
First, I make a vow to never end up on the couch eating bon-bons while watching Oprah. I won’t go that way, my sanity depends on it!
I read on one dad blog that there big project this week was brewing home made beer. There was another that built a deck on his house with his kids. That got me thinking as well: If I do this it’s going to have to be my way. I don’t have fit into some kind of mold of the stay at home parent, and these guys certainty don’t.
And I found that a lot are still the macho men. Sure, they stay home, but they have no problem cussing and whipping a little ass from time to time. I don’t have to cut off my balls and get implants to do this. We’ll just do things a little bit different.
In my head I picture the colonel from the sound of music. He comes into the room and blows a whistle and the kids show up. That’s not a half bad idea. Two whistles mean lunch, 3 mean nap. I could do this.
I also took the time to talk to a lot of stay at home mom’s. Like it or not, they are going to be part of my world and it would be foolish not to listen to some of the things that they have said. No one knows how to do things during the day for cheap like stay at home moms. But also practical advice, like do your grocery shopping twice a week rather than once. It counts as an outing and the kids love to run the long hallways.
And then I found out there was a stay a home dad convention. This kicks so much ass. That’s how gun-ho a lot of stay at home fathers are about this and the decision was pretty easy from there.
What about the view that I may get from society, friends, family etc? Well, for the most part, I don’t care. I have never made apologies for doing what I thought was necessary for my family and I won’t start now, that just ain’t me. But the majority of my friends and family were extremely supportive. What about other guys who work? Believe it or not, a lot in my age range with kids were jealous. They thought it would indeed kick ass. They would even talk about the things that they would do—like attend the World Series of Video games with the kids.
But there will always be that part out there that freaks people out. My wife was approached by a stay at home mom with a mothers group. When my wife informed her that her husband was going to stay at home instead of her, she quickly withdrew her offer for her to join.
That’s understandable I think. I mean, you don’t really want to talk about your episiotomy scar with me. I get that and I won’t force myself down your throat. But I’m not going to hide either.
So to date I have set up the following: a day schedule for how things are going to work, flexible of course, I’m joining the early childhood PTA, I do have a mom’s group, I know at least one other stay at home dad, and I have a blog to continue to get the support that I have gotten so far.
I know that there will be failures and I know there I times where I will be ready to snap. I know that some days I will fall flat on my face and be tired of coloring books and baby vomit. But I also know that this is a rare opportunity and I don’t want to pass it up, because I need this as much as my kids need this.
Finally, you may be asking yourself what was the first thing I did when I quit my job this morning. Well, I put my feet on my desk and it felt good.
It’s scary just even writing that. I have been gainfully employed since I left college 9 years ago. I have never been fired and I have never been laid off. I have been with the same company, although in different roles, for the last 8 years which seems to be somewhat of an aberration for my generation.
But I don’t want you to think that this was a rash decision or that I lived the dream of saying “Take this job and shove it.” It’s actually quite the opposite.
10 months ago my wife and I started having serious discussions about a parent staying home with the children for a few years. It has always been hard for us to drop off our daughter off at daycare even though we had a great lady. Over the 10 months we looked at a lot of angles, a lot of options and answered a lot of questions to ourselves. How important is it to us that someone stay home with the kids for awhile.
That was probably the biggest question. I’m not an anti-daycare guy, not at all and before I found out we were having a second kid, I was ok with the status quo. But we started thinking and there was a revelation in my head.
I’m going to work 50 years of my life, probably constantly. Out of that 50 years is it really going to make that much of a difference in my career if I take off 3 or 4 years? When I said it like that, my mind started to shift. 3 years out of 50. It doesn’t sound so bad stated like that and let me look at things a little bit differently.
Do you work to live or live to work? I am certainly one of the latter ones on that. I have always put my wife and children ahead of my job. I even took my current job so that I would have more time off with the kids. I decided even back then that I wanted to spend more time with my daughter, for me. It may sound kind of selfish but that’s the truth. I didn’t like missing some of the things in my daughters life. I don’t want to be that kind of dad. I want to be there when she took her first step or says her first word.
I want to be there when she learns that dog food is not the same as people food or when she puts make up on her brother. I wanted to be part of that because I think when I get older those are the things I am going to remember, not whether or not I filed a memo correctly—that’s not the person I wanted to be.
I know a lot of you out there may be asking—why the stay at home dad? Isn’t this a bit unusual? It is but not as much as you may think.
My wife makes a lot more money than I do. She works in advertising and I work in social work. I have always joked with her that she lies for a living but I make up for it with helping people, our karma has equaled out. So it wasn’t that hard of a decision for us as to who was going to stay home. Her income is a lot more than mine.
And then I started to do research on the subject and this is when I realized that it’s actually not such an aberration. There is a whole culture out there of stay at home dads. Everyday I read about 10 to 15 stay at home dad blogging sites. When I first started doing this, it was the attitude that I loved about it.
There was no judgment here, only support. And everyone was gun-ho as well and freely admitted that they do things much differently at home that the normal stay at home mom. There was advice, the pitfalls, a plan on how to do it and everyone had pretty much the same reason. We all love our kids and we all want to be a bigger part of their lives than maybe our father’s where.
In my case, I actually had a role model of someone I respected that did this. My own father was a stay at home dad for many years. So this has been done even in my own family. Growing up my dad was a carpenter while putting himself and my mom through college. For the most part, there was no daycare for us. We were usually at the job site with my dad. I have mixed more concrete and hauled more lumber than I care to remember. But I got to spend a hell of a lot of time with my dad and those are some of the greatest memories that I have of my childhood. Would your mother allow you to build a boxing ring out of spare lumber—probably not.
So as I read more and more of the dad blogs and thought more of my own childhood, I was pretty sure that I wanted to take on this challenge. But my wife and I do nothing without research and caution. We are those people that actually have a 5 year plan.
What would I do during the day? Will there be depression and how do I handle the isolation? How do I approach this, what rules will I put upon myself? What about my own sense of self worth and self esteem? The dad blogs are where I found the answers.
First, I make a vow to never end up on the couch eating bon-bons while watching Oprah. I won’t go that way, my sanity depends on it!
I read on one dad blog that there big project this week was brewing home made beer. There was another that built a deck on his house with his kids. That got me thinking as well: If I do this it’s going to have to be my way. I don’t have fit into some kind of mold of the stay at home parent, and these guys certainty don’t.
And I found that a lot are still the macho men. Sure, they stay home, but they have no problem cussing and whipping a little ass from time to time. I don’t have to cut off my balls and get implants to do this. We’ll just do things a little bit different.
In my head I picture the colonel from the sound of music. He comes into the room and blows a whistle and the kids show up. That’s not a half bad idea. Two whistles mean lunch, 3 mean nap. I could do this.
I also took the time to talk to a lot of stay at home mom’s. Like it or not, they are going to be part of my world and it would be foolish not to listen to some of the things that they have said. No one knows how to do things during the day for cheap like stay at home moms. But also practical advice, like do your grocery shopping twice a week rather than once. It counts as an outing and the kids love to run the long hallways.
And then I found out there was a stay a home dad convention. This kicks so much ass. That’s how gun-ho a lot of stay at home fathers are about this and the decision was pretty easy from there.
What about the view that I may get from society, friends, family etc? Well, for the most part, I don’t care. I have never made apologies for doing what I thought was necessary for my family and I won’t start now, that just ain’t me. But the majority of my friends and family were extremely supportive. What about other guys who work? Believe it or not, a lot in my age range with kids were jealous. They thought it would indeed kick ass. They would even talk about the things that they would do—like attend the World Series of Video games with the kids.
But there will always be that part out there that freaks people out. My wife was approached by a stay at home mom with a mothers group. When my wife informed her that her husband was going to stay at home instead of her, she quickly withdrew her offer for her to join.
That’s understandable I think. I mean, you don’t really want to talk about your episiotomy scar with me. I get that and I won’t force myself down your throat. But I’m not going to hide either.
So to date I have set up the following: a day schedule for how things are going to work, flexible of course, I’m joining the early childhood PTA, I do have a mom’s group, I know at least one other stay at home dad, and I have a blog to continue to get the support that I have gotten so far.
I know that there will be failures and I know there I times where I will be ready to snap. I know that some days I will fall flat on my face and be tired of coloring books and baby vomit. But I also know that this is a rare opportunity and I don’t want to pass it up, because I need this as much as my kids need this.
Finally, you may be asking yourself what was the first thing I did when I quit my job this morning. Well, I put my feet on my desk and it felt good.
12/12/07
The Commando Shopper
Trivia Question: What is a Pummelo?
Think real hard. What is it? Is it a thing or a place? Is it what you do to the guy who cuts you off in traffic or is it a small town in the panhandle in Texas?
Seriously, who the hell knows. I didn’t. I had no idea and it has taken me a good 30 minutes searching the all knowledgeable OZ to figure it out. It would appear that I don’t have a brain.
I went to the grocery store tonight to pick up some ingredients for dinner as I am also in the role of Top Chef now as well as chief poop handler. It was no big deal as I am also an excellent shopper unlike my wife who happens to come back with a 10 dollar magazine every time she goes. And Kleenex, I have no idea how we go through so much god damn Kleenex.
I am a commando shopper. I am in and out, no browsing. I have a list and we shall get what’s on the list. We do not wander, we do not check out the specials. We ambush the meat aisle and then head to the checkout. The guy that you may or may not see behind the stack of tomato soup with painted red face, that’s me. Or it isn’t, you can never tell. By the way, you might want to stay out of aisle 9 next to the spaghetti, there may or may not be a tiger trap there.
On this trip I was as efficient as ever and headed to the checkout stand. There were three lines. Two of them were really long and one only had one couple in it. I love the short check out line, it’s like winning a free tank of gas for the being the 100th customer.
I get in line and there is a middle aged couple ahead of me. They have a 5 items, one of which is a fruit. I’m thinking that I have scored, I should be out of here fast.
“Ma’am, ma’am! You rang this up wrong, it’s not a cantaloupe.” Says Ms. Dickwad as her tool of a husband nods his head next to her.
“Oh, I thought you said it was a cantaloupe.” Says the checkout lady who looks like she is only doing this to supplement her social security.
“Well I never said it was a cantaloupe. It’s a Pummelo.” Says Ms. Dickwad.
“A what?”
“A pummelo, it’s a fruit.” Says Mr. Dickwad. At this point, it’s the tone of voice that is starting to piss me off. I think we can all see that it is a fruit jackass. Agreed, I have no idea what type of fruit but to me it does look a little like a cantaloupe. I see no reason to get an attitude with a lady making minimum wage, butthole.
“A what?” she says again
Now everyone who has been to a grocery store knows that on a lot of fruits there is a sticker. On this sticker is a number that lets the check out people know what code to put in so that they charge you right. But Mr. and Mrs. Dickwad’s weird Pluto Fruit has no sticker on it and they god damn well know it. So our poor check out lady has no idea what the hell this is and what to charge for it. Houston, we have a price check.
“It’s a pummelo and it’s 1.78 a pound” says Ms. Dickwad with a swear to god was almost a sneer like she thought she and her pummelo where the shit. Look, I don’t know what the hell a pummelo is either, how about talking down to me?
But it would appear that the price check is taking to long for Mr. and Mrs. Dickwad. Now I know why this line was so short—every one could feel the evil coming off these people.
There are times like this that I wish to god the Soup Nazi really existed. You give the checkout people any shit and you get kicked out of line. That’s it, no debate, just get your ass out of line. Look, it’s basic line etiquette. You get your shit together prior to getting into line. If you don’t have your shit together, get the fuck out of the line so I can pay for my loaf of bread. Seriously, I got only three things here and you are arguing about a fucking fruit that doesn’t really exist. I have come to the conclusion that it really is a cantaloupe that has just gone bad and your to dumb to realize it. Either way, make sure it has a fucking sticker on it before causing a scene.
The price check apparently is taking to much time for Ms. Dickwad. So she actually leans over the lady’s counter and picks up the special grocery store book with all the codes in. This is the same one that our checkout lady has spent the last 10 minutes looking in. It would appear that Ms. Dickwad does not think that checkout lady can spell. I want to punch her or at least get my daughter to headbutt someone in the crotch.
Of course Ms. Dickwad can’t find her Twilight zone fruit listed as it doesn’t really exist and the manager has to come over. I realize that I should have changed lines by now with a turn of disgust but I am boxed in by 2 people behind me. We are all pretending to read the latest gossip on Britney but we all know we are listening to this ridiculous argument.
The manager says to just charge her for a cantaloupe and call it a day. Good decision my man, let’s just get this going.
But Mr. and Mrs. Dickwad protest stating that the cantaloupe is more expensive than the pummelo. Now I’m not a fruit pricing guru here, but seriously, it can’t be more than like 20 or 30 cents. Because all that shit is close together. Cantaloupe, watermelon, honey dew melon, it’s not like it’s 40 bucks more expensive. It’s not like you are buying the Rolex of fruit. And it’s not like these a-holes are hurting for money as she takes out her gold credit card, so pay the extra 50 cents just to shut the fuck up and release the hostages you have in the line behind you.
Finally the manager states that they will give them a store coupon so that the fruit will cost no more than 1.78. Fine, you have your victory. You just gave 20 minutes of shit to a nice lady who just likes to talk to people while at the same time fucking over the 30 people now behind you just so you could make it known to everyone that you are buying a Pommelo and not some ghetto fruit like cantaloupe.
They eventually leave, almost in a huff and I slide my bread over to the checkout lady who now looks beat down. I want to tell her not to worry.
Because I may or may not have left a trip wire attached to a claymore by the exit.
Think real hard. What is it? Is it a thing or a place? Is it what you do to the guy who cuts you off in traffic or is it a small town in the panhandle in Texas?
Seriously, who the hell knows. I didn’t. I had no idea and it has taken me a good 30 minutes searching the all knowledgeable OZ to figure it out. It would appear that I don’t have a brain.
I went to the grocery store tonight to pick up some ingredients for dinner as I am also in the role of Top Chef now as well as chief poop handler. It was no big deal as I am also an excellent shopper unlike my wife who happens to come back with a 10 dollar magazine every time she goes. And Kleenex, I have no idea how we go through so much god damn Kleenex.
I am a commando shopper. I am in and out, no browsing. I have a list and we shall get what’s on the list. We do not wander, we do not check out the specials. We ambush the meat aisle and then head to the checkout. The guy that you may or may not see behind the stack of tomato soup with painted red face, that’s me. Or it isn’t, you can never tell. By the way, you might want to stay out of aisle 9 next to the spaghetti, there may or may not be a tiger trap there.
On this trip I was as efficient as ever and headed to the checkout stand. There were three lines. Two of them were really long and one only had one couple in it. I love the short check out line, it’s like winning a free tank of gas for the being the 100th customer.
I get in line and there is a middle aged couple ahead of me. They have a 5 items, one of which is a fruit. I’m thinking that I have scored, I should be out of here fast.
“Ma’am, ma’am! You rang this up wrong, it’s not a cantaloupe.” Says Ms. Dickwad as her tool of a husband nods his head next to her.
“Oh, I thought you said it was a cantaloupe.” Says the checkout lady who looks like she is only doing this to supplement her social security.
“Well I never said it was a cantaloupe. It’s a Pummelo.” Says Ms. Dickwad.
“A what?”
“A pummelo, it’s a fruit.” Says Mr. Dickwad. At this point, it’s the tone of voice that is starting to piss me off. I think we can all see that it is a fruit jackass. Agreed, I have no idea what type of fruit but to me it does look a little like a cantaloupe. I see no reason to get an attitude with a lady making minimum wage, butthole.
“A what?” she says again
Now everyone who has been to a grocery store knows that on a lot of fruits there is a sticker. On this sticker is a number that lets the check out people know what code to put in so that they charge you right. But Mr. and Mrs. Dickwad’s weird Pluto Fruit has no sticker on it and they god damn well know it. So our poor check out lady has no idea what the hell this is and what to charge for it. Houston, we have a price check.
“It’s a pummelo and it’s 1.78 a pound” says Ms. Dickwad with a swear to god was almost a sneer like she thought she and her pummelo where the shit. Look, I don’t know what the hell a pummelo is either, how about talking down to me?
But it would appear that the price check is taking to long for Mr. and Mrs. Dickwad. Now I know why this line was so short—every one could feel the evil coming off these people.
There are times like this that I wish to god the Soup Nazi really existed. You give the checkout people any shit and you get kicked out of line. That’s it, no debate, just get your ass out of line. Look, it’s basic line etiquette. You get your shit together prior to getting into line. If you don’t have your shit together, get the fuck out of the line so I can pay for my loaf of bread. Seriously, I got only three things here and you are arguing about a fucking fruit that doesn’t really exist. I have come to the conclusion that it really is a cantaloupe that has just gone bad and your to dumb to realize it. Either way, make sure it has a fucking sticker on it before causing a scene.
The price check apparently is taking to much time for Ms. Dickwad. So she actually leans over the lady’s counter and picks up the special grocery store book with all the codes in. This is the same one that our checkout lady has spent the last 10 minutes looking in. It would appear that Ms. Dickwad does not think that checkout lady can spell. I want to punch her or at least get my daughter to headbutt someone in the crotch.
Of course Ms. Dickwad can’t find her Twilight zone fruit listed as it doesn’t really exist and the manager has to come over. I realize that I should have changed lines by now with a turn of disgust but I am boxed in by 2 people behind me. We are all pretending to read the latest gossip on Britney but we all know we are listening to this ridiculous argument.
The manager says to just charge her for a cantaloupe and call it a day. Good decision my man, let’s just get this going.
But Mr. and Mrs. Dickwad protest stating that the cantaloupe is more expensive than the pummelo. Now I’m not a fruit pricing guru here, but seriously, it can’t be more than like 20 or 30 cents. Because all that shit is close together. Cantaloupe, watermelon, honey dew melon, it’s not like it’s 40 bucks more expensive. It’s not like you are buying the Rolex of fruit. And it’s not like these a-holes are hurting for money as she takes out her gold credit card, so pay the extra 50 cents just to shut the fuck up and release the hostages you have in the line behind you.
Finally the manager states that they will give them a store coupon so that the fruit will cost no more than 1.78. Fine, you have your victory. You just gave 20 minutes of shit to a nice lady who just likes to talk to people while at the same time fucking over the 30 people now behind you just so you could make it known to everyone that you are buying a Pommelo and not some ghetto fruit like cantaloupe.
They eventually leave, almost in a huff and I slide my bread over to the checkout lady who now looks beat down. I want to tell her not to worry.
Because I may or may not have left a trip wire attached to a claymore by the exit.
Life Through the Eyes of My Cat
I hate you all. I hope you die and leave me all your money.
And Catnip, lots and lots of catnip.
And Catnip, lots and lots of catnip.
12/11/07
Life Through the Eyes of My Dog
Drop it. Drop it Drop it Drop it Drop it Drop it!
Drop the food! Drop the food on the ground! Drop the food on the ground near my mouth!
Don’t look at the other dog. She doesn’t like you, trust me, I know. I am the only one that likes you and the only one that deserves that piece of meat that you have in your hand. The other dog is just using you for your food, you mean nothing to her. I love you all the time. Drop the food towards me!
No no no no no no, don’t give it to the cat! The cat is evil, you know this! How many times has the cat tried to scratch you, huh? And who chases the cat away from you when she gets all uppity? Me, that’s right, me the dog. You owe me that meat in your hand.
The cat is a snob to and spreads bad rumors about you. Didn’t know that did you? Yesterday I heard her tell the plant that she thought that you stink. She did, I heard it with my own floppy ears.
I think you smell great. There’s nothing better than the smell of a fresh diaper if you ask me. I could smell you all day if you wanted me to. Of course, if you liked it, then perhaps you should just drop that piece of meat that you are hanging onto.
I mean, honestly, we both know that you aren’t going to eat that piece of meat that the big guy made for you. So what’s with this game your playing? JUST DROP IT!
Ya know, I let you eat my food all the time. You know that, don’t you? I could just push you out of the way and eat my dinner. But I don’t because I love you and I know that you love food. So I let you have the first handful out of my bowl. That’s just the kind of dog that I am man, I’m a giver.
And when the big guy over there tries to tell you “no” and comes to pick you up, who do you think gets in his way so that you can shove at least one more handful into that piehole of yours. I do. Hell, I’m a hero to you. So give me the meat.
Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll turn around like I’m not paying attention. Then you can fling it at my head like you like to do at times. Then I’ll act all shocked and all and you’ll laugh and I’ll get my meat. How’s that work?
Ok, maybe you want me to do some tricks. Ok, fine, I can do some tricks. How about this one.
See, are you looking? I’m sitting because I’m a good boy. How you like that?
Ok, maybe that isn’t doing it for you. I got more. This one gets you all the time.
Look at my face, look hard. See my sad little puppy dog eyes and my slobbering. That took years of practice on the big guy. I’m almost crying, how about that?! Emotion on demand, I’m freaking Al Pacino!!
All right, I got some more. You like my tail right? Ok, watch this. Watch how fast I can make it wiggle. Look at that little bastard go! That’s right, it’s like a little energizer tail, right there. Yup, you are making me do that. You are that powerful and all knowing. NOW GIVE ME YOUR MEAT!
Hey, Hey! Don’t look at the lady coming at you. TURN YOUR EYES AWAY! Don’t listen to her, she wants to take away your piece of meat! Listen to me kid, she doesn’t want this happen so don’t look at her!
What has she ever done with you, huh? Has she ever dug in the yard like I have with you? Has she ever barked at all the scary sounds at night so that you are safe? No, that was all me. I was the one that barked at 4 in the morning last night because there was some clanking going on out there. And trust me, you don’t want that clanking in this house, it will steal your soul.
So don’t listen to that lady talking to you! C’mon! Your stronger than her!! Quick, just drop the meat in my mouth before she notices anything! We can do it in one quick movement, quick like a cat, quick like a cat, quick like a cat!
DAMIT! You let her take the meat away! SON OF A BITCH! Jesus H Christ hopping on a stick, why the SAM HELL did you let her do that? See, see! I told you, she’s just eating the meat herself. See, SEE! Now you got nothing, nothing at all because you didn’t listen to you good old pal the dog.
Hey, what’s that? What do you have in your hand now? Is that a stick? Is there meat on that stick!!!!!!! THEY MAKE STICKS THAT HAVE MEAT ON THEM!?
Drop the stick. Drop it drop it drop it drop it drop it!
DROP THE STICK!
Drop the food! Drop the food on the ground! Drop the food on the ground near my mouth!
Don’t look at the other dog. She doesn’t like you, trust me, I know. I am the only one that likes you and the only one that deserves that piece of meat that you have in your hand. The other dog is just using you for your food, you mean nothing to her. I love you all the time. Drop the food towards me!
No no no no no no, don’t give it to the cat! The cat is evil, you know this! How many times has the cat tried to scratch you, huh? And who chases the cat away from you when she gets all uppity? Me, that’s right, me the dog. You owe me that meat in your hand.
The cat is a snob to and spreads bad rumors about you. Didn’t know that did you? Yesterday I heard her tell the plant that she thought that you stink. She did, I heard it with my own floppy ears.
I think you smell great. There’s nothing better than the smell of a fresh diaper if you ask me. I could smell you all day if you wanted me to. Of course, if you liked it, then perhaps you should just drop that piece of meat that you are hanging onto.
I mean, honestly, we both know that you aren’t going to eat that piece of meat that the big guy made for you. So what’s with this game your playing? JUST DROP IT!
Ya know, I let you eat my food all the time. You know that, don’t you? I could just push you out of the way and eat my dinner. But I don’t because I love you and I know that you love food. So I let you have the first handful out of my bowl. That’s just the kind of dog that I am man, I’m a giver.
And when the big guy over there tries to tell you “no” and comes to pick you up, who do you think gets in his way so that you can shove at least one more handful into that piehole of yours. I do. Hell, I’m a hero to you. So give me the meat.
Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll turn around like I’m not paying attention. Then you can fling it at my head like you like to do at times. Then I’ll act all shocked and all and you’ll laugh and I’ll get my meat. How’s that work?
Ok, maybe you want me to do some tricks. Ok, fine, I can do some tricks. How about this one.
See, are you looking? I’m sitting because I’m a good boy. How you like that?
Ok, maybe that isn’t doing it for you. I got more. This one gets you all the time.
Look at my face, look hard. See my sad little puppy dog eyes and my slobbering. That took years of practice on the big guy. I’m almost crying, how about that?! Emotion on demand, I’m freaking Al Pacino!!
All right, I got some more. You like my tail right? Ok, watch this. Watch how fast I can make it wiggle. Look at that little bastard go! That’s right, it’s like a little energizer tail, right there. Yup, you are making me do that. You are that powerful and all knowing. NOW GIVE ME YOUR MEAT!
Hey, Hey! Don’t look at the lady coming at you. TURN YOUR EYES AWAY! Don’t listen to her, she wants to take away your piece of meat! Listen to me kid, she doesn’t want this happen so don’t look at her!
What has she ever done with you, huh? Has she ever dug in the yard like I have with you? Has she ever barked at all the scary sounds at night so that you are safe? No, that was all me. I was the one that barked at 4 in the morning last night because there was some clanking going on out there. And trust me, you don’t want that clanking in this house, it will steal your soul.
So don’t listen to that lady talking to you! C’mon! Your stronger than her!! Quick, just drop the meat in my mouth before she notices anything! We can do it in one quick movement, quick like a cat, quick like a cat, quick like a cat!
DAMIT! You let her take the meat away! SON OF A BITCH! Jesus H Christ hopping on a stick, why the SAM HELL did you let her do that? See, see! I told you, she’s just eating the meat herself. See, SEE! Now you got nothing, nothing at all because you didn’t listen to you good old pal the dog.
Hey, what’s that? What do you have in your hand now? Is that a stick? Is there meat on that stick!!!!!!! THEY MAKE STICKS THAT HAVE MEAT ON THEM!?
Drop the stick. Drop it drop it drop it drop it drop it!
DROP THE STICK!
12/10/07
Stockings
If Hossmom did your stocking for Christmas, this is what you would get:
1. Some sort of Tupperware container for organizing.
2. Toothpaste
3. perhaps a keychain
4. a gift card to have your oil changed.
5. socks and/or underwear
6. a nice pen for taking down phone messages.
7. A calendar of some type.
8. Probably some dried fruit or chex mix for a snack.
That is why Hossmom is not allowed to do stockings at our household and hasn’t been allowed to do them since I met her.
It’s not that she doesn’t put a great deal of effort into them. Good lord she does. She will spend a good week researching the perfect place for you to have your oil changed. And that toothpaste, it will at least be the special kind of toothpaste because everyone needs toothpaste. You can never have enough socks or underwear and who doesn’t want to be more organized.
The stockings are given with love and supreme effort.
However, as you can tell, my wife is practical and is shocked that everyone else is not practical. Therefore, everything in your stocking must have a practical purpose. Because to her, practical is supreme fun. What could be more practical and fun than having a new filter for your Brita? One year for Chirstmas she got me luggage with wheels as a gift.
Granted, it was a pretty great gift and lord knows that I wanted them. But it wasn’t exactly Castle Greyskull when I was six either.
So she is no longer allowed to do the stockings for anyone.
Christmas is supposed to be about fun and surprise. It’s supposed to be about something you really wanted but maybe you didn’t really ask for. It’s supposed to be about getting that completely off the wall fun gift that has no other purpose other than having fun or being used later as something you throw at your brother’s head. At Christmas, you are basically chasing that first high like you are a 40 year old Meth Head. It’s never quite the same but you are always hoping.
The stockings are your first introduction to that day. They should be filled with the most un-useful things you can imagine. If you get pencils in your stocking then they should at least be Spider man pencils. If you get underwear then they should at least have a funny slogan on them. Hard Candy, suckers and some type of gooey material that will one day be lodged in the fibers of your carpet.
I do the stockings for the whole family. Trust me, it’s necessary unless the whole family wants a coupon for a day at the carwash.
My wife is ok with this because she does all the other shopping for the family. And when I say all, I do mean all. If you get something from me this year, I didn’t get it for you. I didn’t trudge down to the mall. I didn’t fight the crowds. I didn’t punch some old lady to get you a scarf. My wife does all the WWF maneuvers in this family. It may be one of the single greatest things about being married.
It’s like I’m ordering at a drive through. “Hey Honey, let’s get my sister a hula-hoop.” And like magic, the next day a hula-hoop shows up under the tree. Santa is real kids and she has two kids and loves luggage with rollers.
I’m going to brag on myself here. I kick ass at stockings. I really do. And I do all my own shopping for the stockings, it’s the one thing I really get into every Christmas. If you get a stocking from me then your Christmas will be great. I’m all about the surprise.
Here’s your recipe for you other stocking cookers out there or those that are trapped in the mindset that a holder for your business cards are a great stocking stuffer.
First, start with candy. Everyone gets candy. What else are you supposed to do while you wait for everyone to get out of bed at 3 in the morning.
Second, know your audience. What does your person like? Don’t go generic and give everyone the same stocking, that sucks. You think that I would like some hand lotion? Nope. Give me some WD-40 and then we are in business.
Third, put in a toy. Every stocking must have a toy. It doesn’t have to be a big toy but it does have to be a toy because you give toys on Christmas and it sets the tone for the day. For example, one year I gave my sister a pen that wiggles when you write. Completely useless but greatness.
Fourth, it does at least have to have one thing that is useful in it. Practical is good but it needs to be hidden behind the great. So if you are giving Dental Floss in a stocking, make sure it is behind the 3 lb bar of chocolate.
Fifth, always get something surprising. It has to be something that when they open it and look at it there expression should be “What the hell?”. I do not mean putting in your divorce papers, that’s the wrong idea. For example, this year in my daughters stocking she will be getting scented bubbles. One of the scents are grape because I am assuming that she will eat them so I tried to get her tastes with the surprise.
Finally, get your 2 year old daughter to help with picking out the stuff for the stockings. They have the right idea of what should go into a stocking! The look of surprise on the morning of will be priceless as they pull out a sucker that whistles while you suck on it.
But this doesn’t always work because there are times that you run into the wet blanket that loves the practical.
That’s ok, just change up your style a little bit. Still get some fun stuff but keep in mind that “fun” to them may be a hair clip. So get a hair clip.
Just make sure that it is a Spiderman hair clip.
1. Some sort of Tupperware container for organizing.
2. Toothpaste
3. perhaps a keychain
4. a gift card to have your oil changed.
5. socks and/or underwear
6. a nice pen for taking down phone messages.
7. A calendar of some type.
8. Probably some dried fruit or chex mix for a snack.
That is why Hossmom is not allowed to do stockings at our household and hasn’t been allowed to do them since I met her.
It’s not that she doesn’t put a great deal of effort into them. Good lord she does. She will spend a good week researching the perfect place for you to have your oil changed. And that toothpaste, it will at least be the special kind of toothpaste because everyone needs toothpaste. You can never have enough socks or underwear and who doesn’t want to be more organized.
The stockings are given with love and supreme effort.
However, as you can tell, my wife is practical and is shocked that everyone else is not practical. Therefore, everything in your stocking must have a practical purpose. Because to her, practical is supreme fun. What could be more practical and fun than having a new filter for your Brita? One year for Chirstmas she got me luggage with wheels as a gift.
Granted, it was a pretty great gift and lord knows that I wanted them. But it wasn’t exactly Castle Greyskull when I was six either.
So she is no longer allowed to do the stockings for anyone.
Christmas is supposed to be about fun and surprise. It’s supposed to be about something you really wanted but maybe you didn’t really ask for. It’s supposed to be about getting that completely off the wall fun gift that has no other purpose other than having fun or being used later as something you throw at your brother’s head. At Christmas, you are basically chasing that first high like you are a 40 year old Meth Head. It’s never quite the same but you are always hoping.
The stockings are your first introduction to that day. They should be filled with the most un-useful things you can imagine. If you get pencils in your stocking then they should at least be Spider man pencils. If you get underwear then they should at least have a funny slogan on them. Hard Candy, suckers and some type of gooey material that will one day be lodged in the fibers of your carpet.
I do the stockings for the whole family. Trust me, it’s necessary unless the whole family wants a coupon for a day at the carwash.
My wife is ok with this because she does all the other shopping for the family. And when I say all, I do mean all. If you get something from me this year, I didn’t get it for you. I didn’t trudge down to the mall. I didn’t fight the crowds. I didn’t punch some old lady to get you a scarf. My wife does all the WWF maneuvers in this family. It may be one of the single greatest things about being married.
It’s like I’m ordering at a drive through. “Hey Honey, let’s get my sister a hula-hoop.” And like magic, the next day a hula-hoop shows up under the tree. Santa is real kids and she has two kids and loves luggage with rollers.
I’m going to brag on myself here. I kick ass at stockings. I really do. And I do all my own shopping for the stockings, it’s the one thing I really get into every Christmas. If you get a stocking from me then your Christmas will be great. I’m all about the surprise.
Here’s your recipe for you other stocking cookers out there or those that are trapped in the mindset that a holder for your business cards are a great stocking stuffer.
First, start with candy. Everyone gets candy. What else are you supposed to do while you wait for everyone to get out of bed at 3 in the morning.
Second, know your audience. What does your person like? Don’t go generic and give everyone the same stocking, that sucks. You think that I would like some hand lotion? Nope. Give me some WD-40 and then we are in business.
Third, put in a toy. Every stocking must have a toy. It doesn’t have to be a big toy but it does have to be a toy because you give toys on Christmas and it sets the tone for the day. For example, one year I gave my sister a pen that wiggles when you write. Completely useless but greatness.
Fourth, it does at least have to have one thing that is useful in it. Practical is good but it needs to be hidden behind the great. So if you are giving Dental Floss in a stocking, make sure it is behind the 3 lb bar of chocolate.
Fifth, always get something surprising. It has to be something that when they open it and look at it there expression should be “What the hell?”. I do not mean putting in your divorce papers, that’s the wrong idea. For example, this year in my daughters stocking she will be getting scented bubbles. One of the scents are grape because I am assuming that she will eat them so I tried to get her tastes with the surprise.
Finally, get your 2 year old daughter to help with picking out the stuff for the stockings. They have the right idea of what should go into a stocking! The look of surprise on the morning of will be priceless as they pull out a sucker that whistles while you suck on it.
But this doesn’t always work because there are times that you run into the wet blanket that loves the practical.
That’s ok, just change up your style a little bit. Still get some fun stuff but keep in mind that “fun” to them may be a hair clip. So get a hair clip.
Just make sure that it is a Spiderman hair clip.
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