- Never Mind- for some reason, this is the new "no" for my son. "Do you want $1 Million Dollars?" "Never Mind"; "Hey, she thinks you are cute, say hello", "Never Mind".... Ridiculous really
- Don't eat too much Dad- yeah, he said it to me, plain as day. I'm about to snuggle up to a bowl of my wife's spaghetti and some garlic bread, and here comes Trouble telling me not to eat too much. Sure, I was a little discombobulated during the actual event, but I think this "intervention" mindset may come in handy for me. I just have to time it right in consideration of birthdays, national holidays, and spaghetti night...
- Grip with your butt cheeks dad!!!- Okay, this needs some back story. I have made a habit of saying something like this to my son when we are in the car and either my wife or I make a sudden, aggressive, race car type of move. The reason? Well, my son is strapped into a car seat with five-point restraints and he has no real access to an "Oh Hell NO!!!" handle (some people also refer to it as an Oh $hit handle). So, since he has no way to grab onto something and hang on in the traditional sense, I have suggested an alternate way to secure his load- Grip with your butt cheeks son!!! See, it kinda makes sense...
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
And then there were three....
As promised, I owe you all three more funny comments made to me, and I pay on my debts. I feel two of these are worth their weight in gold...
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Maybe I should wait until January 1st
I say that only because I have apologized for my posting delays and promised to do better no less that one million times this year. Most of those in the last six months. So, instead of the usual "my bad" blog starts, I will just go ahead and say I will keep my mouth hushy hushy until January. Maybe I can tie that in to "I will stop waiting until everyone goes to sleep to crush food" and "I will get to cracking on that project I have been mentally mulling over for six months" resolutions...
Why the delays you ask. Not yanking your chain, after staring at a computer screen for 11 hours a day, it's hard to work up the gumption to do it when I get home. Plus, I think that my aggravations would escape the confines I have built and it wouldn't be a pretty picture they would paint.
I am posting tonight as I received a personal request from a loyal reader who is not my main rump squeeze. Soooo, since I was asked nicely, and I am a nice guy (I think so anyway), I thought I would throw something done and let it roll. Here it is, my top ten list of things I have found funny lately:
Why the delays you ask. Not yanking your chain, after staring at a computer screen for 11 hours a day, it's hard to work up the gumption to do it when I get home. Plus, I think that my aggravations would escape the confines I have built and it wouldn't be a pretty picture they would paint.
I am posting tonight as I received a personal request from a loyal reader who is not my main rump squeeze. Soooo, since I was asked nicely, and I am a nice guy (I think so anyway), I thought I would throw something done and let it roll. Here it is, my top ten list of things I have found funny lately:
- My son using the word "fantastic". Straight faced, he told me one of his puzzles was fantastic. This along with ginormous, he will be dropping multi syllable words like "mayonnaise" all up in school. BOOOOOO YA!!!!!
- My son saying BOOOOOO YA!!!. Hey, I insist on balance in all things. I teach my son a fairly advance word for a three year old to comprehend (point 1 of this post), I offset that by teaching him about a sports bar grunt which can be used in a wide host of situations. Total coolness, BOOOOOO YA!!! to the inth degree.
- I accused my wife's dog of having a reefer problem. I accused the dog of liking The Grateful Dead, I expected to see her wearing a tie dye shirt, I commented that I was sure dogs don't get glaucoma, & no I won't drive her to Pet Smart to satisfy her munchies, etc. I thought it was funny.
- My new name for the dog. My mom once told me that when you register a pure breed pet with the American Kennel Society of some such organization, you have to register them using a high brow or "fancy" name. For instance, my mom had a lovely Cocker Spaniel named Pudding. On her papers she was known as Muffies Pudding Spice. So, in an effort to give my wife's dog the honor and recognition she deserves, I applies my vast creativity to work. With no small amount of pride, I present to you, Gracella Rufusina. Beautiful.
- Hearing my son say Rufusina. Hilarious. Even my wife had to laugh. Rufusina, I kill me sometimes.
- Listening to one of my co-workers explain to Tadpole that he refuses to drop twosies at a public restroom. Many people have that issue, including me. What was funny was I knew the back story. Not mine to tell, but I will give a hint. It involved a faulty look on a stall door. "Nuff said.
- My son likes my car. Not funny like belly laugh ha ha, but amusing. My son likes my 1992 Honda with faded paint and no radio or AC. Loves it actually, says it's his favorite car. Loves it because he can ride up front (no passenger side airbag) and see everything like a big boy. I guess I'm keeping Betsy for a while longer.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Well, I guess appearances still mean something
The only reason I say that is due to some comments I have received while at work with regards to my new haircut. My son has been wanting me to sport a "Hot Shot Hairdo", and I had to wait until I could get back from my last business trip of the year to do it. I do the damn thang, and next thing I know I am getting lip over what and why and how come. Come on people, hair don't change a thing, I'm still the same guy on the inside, and that guy is messed up funny. Seriously though, it's just hair, don't be mad I can still grow it like I have Chia Pet DNA running through my veins. And I know it's jealousy for some of you.
To the guy who thinks it is odd I do whatever my son asks of me, I got only one thing to say- don't worry about it. My interaction with my son is my business, and trust me I have no guilt over how I treat or interact with my son. Your words, "saying no gives you power over people", are philosophically retarded. The correct vision is "saying no gives you power over people, unless they stop asking you". If they know the answer will always be "no", then they will fall back to the backup philosophy, and that is "it is better to ask forgiveness than permission". Mad, just a little bit. Knowing how my son is physically, mentally, emotionally, and intelligence-wise, you start judging what I have done and still do and I will get hostile in a major way. Based on my scoring system, I am batting better than 1000% by what I have done for my son (and my wife has done as much or more), and it does not get better than that. When I turn him loose to do his own thing, the boulder I throw into humanity's pond will create ripples your pebble existence cannot match. Rant over.
To everyone else, there were two sides, the "man that's pretty awesome" side and the "what bet did you lose" side. To the "awesome" crew, thank you for your support and understanding. If you aren't adult enough to act like a child for your child once in awhile, why have children. I've remembered how to have fun again in simple things like running wild through a mall full of people and going to a child's playground and hopping on all the same rides even though you might outweigh all other "children" by 200+ pounds. Sometimes, your child is a higher authority than society, but that might be the inner sociopath talking again...
Reminder- No one has died of embarrassment, especially if they never feel embarrassed.
To the guy who thinks it is odd I do whatever my son asks of me, I got only one thing to say- don't worry about it. My interaction with my son is my business, and trust me I have no guilt over how I treat or interact with my son. Your words, "saying no gives you power over people", are philosophically retarded. The correct vision is "saying no gives you power over people, unless they stop asking you". If they know the answer will always be "no", then they will fall back to the backup philosophy, and that is "it is better to ask forgiveness than permission". Mad, just a little bit. Knowing how my son is physically, mentally, emotionally, and intelligence-wise, you start judging what I have done and still do and I will get hostile in a major way. Based on my scoring system, I am batting better than 1000% by what I have done for my son (and my wife has done as much or more), and it does not get better than that. When I turn him loose to do his own thing, the boulder I throw into humanity's pond will create ripples your pebble existence cannot match. Rant over.
To everyone else, there were two sides, the "man that's pretty awesome" side and the "what bet did you lose" side. To the "awesome" crew, thank you for your support and understanding. If you aren't adult enough to act like a child for your child once in awhile, why have children. I've remembered how to have fun again in simple things like running wild through a mall full of people and going to a child's playground and hopping on all the same rides even though you might outweigh all other "children" by 200+ pounds. Sometimes, your child is a higher authority than society, but that might be the inner sociopath talking again...
Reminder- No one has died of embarrassment, especially if they never feel embarrassed.
Monday, October 08, 2007
I could not come up with a title for this post
So my Mom hit me square between the eyes with my lack of posts. I think her exact words were "So have you updated your blog any, last thing I read was that bullsh-t you wrote about Las Vegas", or something like that. I may be paraphrasing.....
So, first things first- I have a "Hot Shot Hairdo", otherwise known as a Mohawk. My son looks like a delightful little gremlin with a flare for rock and roll. I look like a Marine home on leave/R&R. I think it will get nicer once it grows out a bit. And I gel it up. Maybe add some goth or punk colors. We'll see.
I happen to be at a local ranch/farm/petting zoo/animal refuge with my brother and his family, my Mom (mean woman I reference at the top of the page) & my wife and son, and we happen to be waiting for a wagon ride to go around the 2300 acre "establishment". My son at this point has been in pretty rare form since catching site of his cousin/co-conspirator and had pretty much flushed listening to me right down the toilet (pun intended, be patient). I was around, so his mom had decided to step back and watch my aneurysm unfold. Sweet woman, really she is.
My precious little Stinky Boy had finally gotten on my last nerve, so we needed to walk away from my family in case I needed to throttle him. This way I would be assured of at least 10 seconds before he got help.
I remind all of you, we are at a place where animals pretty much run free. To do their own thing. Like poop wherever the need hits them. And I mean EVERYWHERE. Considering the amount of poop, I thought the grass would have been greener, go figure. I digress, the reason I emphasize the vast quantity of "da deuce" is that if the proprietors didn't wish to organize the defecation events for the animals, they would obviously not be terribly concerned about the cleanliness and functionality of the human facilities. I assumed this, but even my negative view of humanity pales with what I was faced with...
Back to the story. I have sequestered my son from those members of my family that would seek to protect him from a manual correction of his aberrant behavior by my meat hooks. We are away from everyone, so there are no witnesses that can be called on to confirm this story, you will need to just believe me when I tell you this conversation actually happened.
Son- "I don't want to be in timeout", then he throws some mulch.
Me- "Well, you start to listen, we can talk about it. Stop messing with the mulch"
Son- "What is Mommy doing?", then he throws some mulch.
Me- "Looks like she is laughing at me. Stop playing in the mulch. I am not kidding, if I have to talk to you one more time...."
Son- "I'll wisten Daddy. Can we stop being in time out?", then he throws more mulch (I am not kidding).
Me- "Seriously, you can get out of time out when you learn how to listen. Please, stop throwing mulch, I am getting angry."
Son- "I will wisten Daddy, I'm a good boy", then he throws more mulch.....
Me- "Dude, I am going to start spanking you if you don't get it together. No stop f'ing (no cuss words, just eff-ing said aggressively) around. I am tired of talking to you about this".
Son- "Okay Daddy, I will wisten. Can I get out of time out now?"
Me- "No sir"
Son- "Dad?"
Me- "Yes Sir?"
Son- "I need to poop"
Me- "Huh?"
Son- "I need to poop Dad"
Me- "Seriously?"
Son- "Yes, I need to poop"
Me- "You REALLY need to poop?"
Son- "Yes sir, I need to poop"
Me- "Are you messing with me? You have to poop?"
Son- "yes, I need to poop"
Me- "Well, we are about to go on a wagon ride, are you sure you can't hold it?"
Son- "No Dad, I need to poop right now"
Me- "You're killing me here"
We walk over to his mom, I give her my bottles of water, I tell her that her son needs to poop and to enjoy the wagon ride. Let's resume the conversation....
Me- "We're going to miss the wagon ride, I really hope you have to poop"
Son- "I do Dad"
Me- "You NEED to poop" (there is a reason for asking this question 100 different times)
Son- "I need to poop"
Me- "Alright, let's go find a potty"
I walk by a couple who think my son's hairdo (Hot Shot Hairdo) is cute.
Me- "Smiling huh? I will sell him to you for $5 right now."
They did not take me up on my offer.
We walk to two Porta-Nasty's near the wagons. The first look like someone rode a crap tsunami off the seat and out the door. Short of pooping into your hand and finger/hand painting with it, I cannot comprehend how feces gets to where it got without the "artist" being dimwitted, mean, on drugs, or all three. I believe I start cussing at this point. Please forgive me religious field trip group...
My son and I check the next one, and at the least there is no visible poop. I am still pretty sure this is a false alarm, so back to the dialog.
Me- "You sure you need to poop?"
Son- "yes"
I thing begin the task of creating a toilet paper "halo" for my precious son's bottom so he doesn't actually have to touch skin to seat like the savages before him. I do this while kung fu slapping his hands to keep him from touching any surface of the breeding ground for disease that was this "clean" john. The "Halo" is made and in place, trousers dropped, cheeks are in place, let's pick back up.
Me- "Alright son, let's do this"
Son- "I....can't....do it"
Me- "What?"
Son- "I can't poop"
Me- "Are you f'ing on me boy?"
Son- "I don't need to poop Dad"
Me- "I think my brain just cramped up"
Then we go through the walk of shame out of the Porta-Nasty and back to our family. I am so shook up by the events, I don't go into much detail beyond telling my wife "He didn't need to poop after all".
My son plays the poop card when things aren't going his way, thinking that a trip for twosies will erase his parents' memories on what happened prior to the trip, and he can go back to doing what he wants. Not gonna lie, it worked this time.
So, first things first- I have a "Hot Shot Hairdo", otherwise known as a Mohawk. My son looks like a delightful little gremlin with a flare for rock and roll. I look like a Marine home on leave/R&R. I think it will get nicer once it grows out a bit. And I gel it up. Maybe add some goth or punk colors. We'll see.
I happen to be at a local ranch/farm/petting zoo/animal refuge with my brother and his family, my Mom (mean woman I reference at the top of the page) & my wife and son, and we happen to be waiting for a wagon ride to go around the 2300 acre "establishment". My son at this point has been in pretty rare form since catching site of his cousin/co-conspirator and had pretty much flushed listening to me right down the toilet (pun intended, be patient). I was around, so his mom had decided to step back and watch my aneurysm unfold. Sweet woman, really she is.
My precious little Stinky Boy had finally gotten on my last nerve, so we needed to walk away from my family in case I needed to throttle him. This way I would be assured of at least 10 seconds before he got help.
I remind all of you, we are at a place where animals pretty much run free. To do their own thing. Like poop wherever the need hits them. And I mean EVERYWHERE. Considering the amount of poop, I thought the grass would have been greener, go figure. I digress, the reason I emphasize the vast quantity of "da deuce" is that if the proprietors didn't wish to organize the defecation events for the animals, they would obviously not be terribly concerned about the cleanliness and functionality of the human facilities. I assumed this, but even my negative view of humanity pales with what I was faced with...
Back to the story. I have sequestered my son from those members of my family that would seek to protect him from a manual correction of his aberrant behavior by my meat hooks. We are away from everyone, so there are no witnesses that can be called on to confirm this story, you will need to just believe me when I tell you this conversation actually happened.
Son- "I don't want to be in timeout", then he throws some mulch.
Me- "Well, you start to listen, we can talk about it. Stop messing with the mulch"
Son- "What is Mommy doing?", then he throws some mulch.
Me- "Looks like she is laughing at me. Stop playing in the mulch. I am not kidding, if I have to talk to you one more time...."
Son- "I'll wisten Daddy. Can we stop being in time out?", then he throws more mulch (I am not kidding).
Me- "Seriously, you can get out of time out when you learn how to listen. Please, stop throwing mulch, I am getting angry."
Son- "I will wisten Daddy, I'm a good boy", then he throws more mulch.....
Me- "Dude, I am going to start spanking you if you don't get it together. No stop f'ing (no cuss words, just eff-ing said aggressively) around. I am tired of talking to you about this".
Son- "Okay Daddy, I will wisten. Can I get out of time out now?"
Me- "No sir"
Son- "Dad?"
Me- "Yes Sir?"
Son- "I need to poop"
Me- "Huh?"
Son- "I need to poop Dad"
Me- "Seriously?"
Son- "Yes, I need to poop"
Me- "You REALLY need to poop?"
Son- "Yes sir, I need to poop"
Me- "Are you messing with me? You have to poop?"
Son- "yes, I need to poop"
Me- "Well, we are about to go on a wagon ride, are you sure you can't hold it?"
Son- "No Dad, I need to poop right now"
Me- "You're killing me here"
We walk over to his mom, I give her my bottles of water, I tell her that her son needs to poop and to enjoy the wagon ride. Let's resume the conversation....
Me- "We're going to miss the wagon ride, I really hope you have to poop"
Son- "I do Dad"
Me- "You NEED to poop" (there is a reason for asking this question 100 different times)
Son- "I need to poop"
Me- "Alright, let's go find a potty"
I walk by a couple who think my son's hairdo (Hot Shot Hairdo) is cute.
Me- "Smiling huh? I will sell him to you for $5 right now."
They did not take me up on my offer.
We walk to two Porta-Nasty's near the wagons. The first look like someone rode a crap tsunami off the seat and out the door. Short of pooping into your hand and finger/hand painting with it, I cannot comprehend how feces gets to where it got without the "artist" being dimwitted, mean, on drugs, or all three. I believe I start cussing at this point. Please forgive me religious field trip group...
My son and I check the next one, and at the least there is no visible poop. I am still pretty sure this is a false alarm, so back to the dialog.
Me- "You sure you need to poop?"
Son- "yes"
I thing begin the task of creating a toilet paper "halo" for my precious son's bottom so he doesn't actually have to touch skin to seat like the savages before him. I do this while kung fu slapping his hands to keep him from touching any surface of the breeding ground for disease that was this "clean" john. The "Halo" is made and in place, trousers dropped, cheeks are in place, let's pick back up.
Me- "Alright son, let's do this"
Son- "I....can't....do it"
Me- "What?"
Son- "I can't poop"
Me- "Are you f'ing on me boy?"
Son- "I don't need to poop Dad"
Me- "I think my brain just cramped up"
Then we go through the walk of shame out of the Porta-Nasty and back to our family. I am so shook up by the events, I don't go into much detail beyond telling my wife "He didn't need to poop after all".
My son plays the poop card when things aren't going his way, thinking that a trip for twosies will erase his parents' memories on what happened prior to the trip, and he can go back to doing what he wants. Not gonna lie, it worked this time.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Hey, it wouldn't be Vegas without midgets
Sorry for the lack of effort, I just didn't have the time or inclination to update. Not that I didn't care to bring everyone up to speed, but sometimes I need to vegetate in my own head without selling tour tickets and shining a flashlight into my personal universe. Trust me, it isn't all Corona's and nachos in here....
So, what oh what have I been up to. Well, I just got back from a trip to Vegas (all business), I don't plan to do anymore business trips for about 6 months (unless something unexpected pops up), I have all but revoked my charter membership as a fan for my local NFL team, I plan to Mohawk my hair per my son's request (he has walked that path before me, I am just joining the club), I am currently on a Subway kick (in it for sandwiches and cookies), and I am Kryptonite to Rufus (her dog-fu is no match for my athleticism, I spank that Rott butt at fetch all the time). I spoil my son shamelessly (proof came when I went to FAO Schwartz at Ceasars Palace and every Thomas Train represented there already has a parking spot at my house with physical train present and accounted for), oh and he whooped my wife's hind quarters because I was out of town.
Kinda like what I do to Rufus when we play fetch, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Ring Ring Ring
answering machine- "Please leave a message at the tone. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep."
Dhazy- "Hey Gracie Giiiiiiiiiiiiirl, you're welcome!!!"
Gracie "He calls me Rufus" Girl- "snore"
So, what oh what have I been up to. Well, I just got back from a trip to Vegas (all business), I don't plan to do anymore business trips for about 6 months (unless something unexpected pops up), I have all but revoked my charter membership as a fan for my local NFL team, I plan to Mohawk my hair per my son's request (he has walked that path before me, I am just joining the club), I am currently on a Subway kick (in it for sandwiches and cookies), and I am Kryptonite to Rufus (her dog-fu is no match for my athleticism, I spank that Rott butt at fetch all the time). I spoil my son shamelessly (proof came when I went to FAO Schwartz at Ceasars Palace and every Thomas Train represented there already has a parking spot at my house with physical train present and accounted for), oh and he whooped my wife's hind quarters because I was out of town.
Kinda like what I do to Rufus when we play fetch, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Ring Ring Ring
answering machine- "Please leave a message at the tone. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep."
Dhazy- "Hey Gracie Giiiiiiiiiiiiirl, you're welcome!!!"
Gracie "He calls me Rufus" Girl- "snore"
