Blue Bag Blues

I love the environment. I love the environment so much that since I've bought a V8 Jeep, I make my wife drive it and I drive around in her little Corolla. That way, when the real Happening occurs all the trees will be mad at her and not me. But having done all I can to ensure my survival has not given me a solution to my newest problem: Because of the hate campaign against plastic grocery bags, I don't know what to do with all the cat poo. Those of you who have cats will know what I mean. Cats have this fear of their own poo touching their paws, so when a cat box gets poo in it, cats stop using it. Humans, because we "own" cats, must do something about this and that means emptying the cat box. The only solution I've thought of so far is to throw the poo into my neighbors yard. Strange story there. My neighbors are trying to sell their house so they moved. Across the street. And apparently they turned off the electricity in their old house. So now, whenever the neighbor Man needs to do maintenance, he stretches extension cords across the street. Awesome, right?! True Dude! No, not really, he's an asshole. Anyway, I suppose I could get cat box liners, but those are plastic too(but they're strangely exempt from the hate). And they suck. Or I could do like the zoo and sell it. But because nobody really buys cat poo and I learned over the summer that it's bad for compost piles and vegetables, I'll need to sell it on America's marketplace: eBay. Quality is not an issue since most of the stuff on there is crap anyway. Also, with two cats I can easily meet the high demand that such a specialty item will command. I've got it! I'll make my own Kopi Luwak. Just mix in some Folgers and shape into convenient logs and 'Bam!', gourmet coffee! And you know what, As a special offer to the two readers of this blog, I'm giving away free samples. Just hook me up with your name, address, bank account number and SSN and I'll ship you out a free ten pound sample in a five pound bag. What's that? No, no don't thank me. It's you who have made this possible. Yes, my friends that's right, you are the shit!

On The Daddy Tip #6

Have you ever heard that radio commercial with the Dad who's giving advice to his kid regarding letting a girl know that the kid likes her? The Dad's all like "Just grunt and pick up heavy stuff around her." Useful advice but there's no mention of lifting with your legs, not with your back. Well, I obviously care more about you than that Dad cares about his kid, because my Daddy Tip today is all about safety. One thing that commercial did get right is how you don't have to be perfect to be a good Dad. That's why I only know about four or five signature dishes to prepare. One of those dishes however, is quesadillas(QDs). I've had a QD pan for a while but it's cast iron. It's a good, heavy cast iron pan but it's hard to dodge when my wife throws it and its handle gets very hot. The solution to my quandry was a handle pot holder courtesy of A****Bee's. Back when A****Bee's food was edible, the fajitas were the bomb-diggity. Conveniently, they would come with a handle pot holder in order to avoid lawsuits. Even more conveniently, the pot holders fit in a pocket and are virtually invisible to metal detectors. If you can stand the crappy food, head on over to A****Bee's and get the fajitas. Then buy yourself a QD pan and learn how to cook like Rick Bayless.

All I Want for Christmas

This is going to be bigger than Halo 3

Dr Frostkenstein

I love my wife. Let's just get that out in the open right now. Even if her attitude is funky. She's a smokin' hot, intelligent young woman who doesn't let me get away with anything. Also, she's my favorite baby momma. That being said, I'm scared now. My sister gave my wife this winter scene thing that requires some assembly. There's a tree, some birds, huge candy canes and some glitter that represents snow...or blood. That's right. Blood. You see, in this idyllic winter scene lurks Dr Frostkenstein. "Aww, how cute," you say. Well friend(s), you've been duped. As I let my mind ponder Christmas past and lost myself in childhood snow days my eye happened upon the stack of alleged snowballs to the left of the cheerful snowman. And then I looked, and I mean really looked, at the snowman. Notice anything, or the lack thereof? He doesn't have arms! How in the hell can he throw snowballs with no arms?!?! Then the realization hit me. Those aren't snowballs, those are snow people body parts!!!! Here you have Dr Frostkenstein caught in the act! Notice the beady black eyes, the look of innocence in the worlds smallest carrot nose and that scarf that screams "I need a hug". All the tools of a master body snatcher! Luckily I caught on to him in time. Thank me later. Just be happy you and your children didn't have to go through this:

Smashing Idea Baby!

I guess Bush learned his lesson about having a slow reaction time:

Maybe the reporter got the idea from here?

Thank You, Free Market Economy

Usually during trips to WalPurgis-Mart(hereinafter referred to as "WP-M") things go pretty smoothly, which I guess is odd in and of itself because if there is one place where humanity clashes in the most violent of ways, not including murder, it is within the blue walls. But the other day was different. I've been to WP-M countless times, as I'm sure most of you have, but during the most recent trip something happened. Living here in Purgatory, I can remember the Blackout of '03(And I thank God that the good people of Great Lakes Brewing took advantage of everyone's misfortune with their wonderful Blackout Stout). More recently, there was the Blackout of '08(during which time I was home alone for four days wondering how to save a freezer full of breastmilk). As a consequence, rechargeable lanterns were in order. Anyway, the other day my wife and I headed to WP-M to pick up some basic discounted household goods. Due to the latest First Energy F*&$-up, there was a quick check for the aforementioned lanterns. This trip we were in luck, or so we thought. Upon arriving at the checkout we were greeted by Stolichnaya* who was amenable enough, until she rang up our lantern. As the register beeped I was greeted by a message which I have never before encountered. The little display on the register read "Unsellable Item." Stolichnaya promptly picked up our lantern, mumbled something about "You cannot buy" and started to walk away. As my wife looked at me questioningly I thought to myself, 'Good, now a manager will tell us why we can't buy this uber-desirable lantern.' Alas, it was not meant to be, as Stoli only walked as far as the returns cart, deposited the lantern, walked back to her register and continued to ring up our purchases. When my wife recovered from her shock and asked why we couldn't get the lantern, Stoli only said, "I don't know, register says you cannot buy, so you cannot buy." As we left the store sans lantern, my wife and I could only express disbelief at our "No Sale." Now, as I think back and as my liver processes some wonderful Goats do Roam 2006, I can only feel sadness. Sadness for Stoli. And for all of our Eastern Bloc brothers and sisters who were raised to believe that questioning authority(and unsellable Coleman lanterns) is a crime punishable by death. So I say to you all, "Rise Up!" Now is the time for change, people! Before one more person concerned about sitting in the dark for four days tries to buy a lantern and is denied. We need to stand up and be the change we need! Do it for me! Do it for my wife! But most of all, do it for Stolichnaya! Does she even know it's Christmas time at all?!

Everything Has a Season

I officially have a saga! Last year, in an attempt to be more organic in my everyday eating and to show my daughter where food comes from, I planted a garden. That's right, I'm a hippy, har, har. For a while you could've found me toiling away like some geriatric Dude with very little time left. I found out something really interesting in the process, though. First: Tomato Hornworms are huge! and B) A compost pile is essential and should be in play before a garden is started. Because I was a late bloomer(get it?) I started my pile after my garden was running. Religiously, I would fill up my little scrap bucket with...um...scraps and truck it out to the backyard to feed my pile. Well, it's winter now so my garden is dead but I made an interesting discovery a short time ago. Much like Waldo it was hidden in plain sight. I found the scrap bucket. And apparently I forgot to empty it before tundra set in. As a consequence, it's full. My plan is to wait until spring, pop the lid and see what I've grown in there. It started out as lots of coffee grounds, some broccoli, tomatoes and whatever else I could think to add while my wife wasn't looking. Tune in in the spring to see what's cooking. But still read my blog until then, too.

memento mori

This is either very creepy or very sad.

My wife and I woke up early this morning because she's not working-again- and I'm off for a couple days. The plan was to drop off the kid at daycare and hang out for a few hours. You know, enjoy each others company and all that. When I went outside it was a crisp winter day, like a postcard. I saw this lone fang-cicle hanging from the bumper of my wife's car and thought to myself "Now, that's poetic". Anyway, I stooped down to take this picture and my wife started her car up. Luckily, the dizziness of carbon monoxide poisoning passed quickly and when I regained my senses I smashed the fang-cicle. Since it was all the fang's fault I figured that would be a poetic ending.

On the Daddy Tip #5

Today's Daddy Tip is sort of a no brainer but I didn't think about it and you probably didn't either. While being bitten on the finger due to baby Orajel's need to come in direct contact with erupting gums, I noticed something icky. And no, it was not that I should find some other way besides sticking my dirty finger in my daughter's mouth to apply the Orajel. I noticed that the inside of her mouth was ragged. Both me and my wife had noticed the snaggly-ness of our daughter's teeth but neither of us thought to check the inside of her mouth. She had, and has, been biting the inside of her cheeks while sleeping and as a result was waking up...a lot. So when you too have to deal with erupty-ness of snaggly-ness(that's Latin) make sure you check the inside of your kids mouth for holey gum's. Or they might just chew all the way through their cheeks and have a mouth on the side. And then everyone will know what a bad parent you are. And your kid will hate you. Forever. Or at least everytime they try to eat and food comes out their sidemouth.

On the Daddy Tip #4

Today's Daddy tip is from the Day Care test kitchen. If you're a Dad like me, you probably like to eat right? Right. And sometimes your wife in her infinite wisdom will go out of town to visit your parents and leave you alone with unprepared foods. Foods that you must heat using something other than the microwave. Foods that require the stove. Well, if you find yourself hankering for a curry here's a quick heads up: Pam baking spray...is for baking! Unfortunately, the good people at ConAgra Foods didn't factor in the Man contingent when posting warning labels on their cans of baking spray. As such there isn't one that advises against using the spray in a saucepan and then leaving the room while the pan gets hot. But not to worry! If you are blessed with caring neighbors like I am then someone will call the fire department when they notice the smoke coming out of your house. Just remember, the firefighters will most likely be Men and woMen and they will laugh at you as you struggle to regain consciousness.

I love the city of New Orleans. Maybe because I'm a southerner or maybe because the French Quarter is beautiful. And I'm not talking about Bourbon St. I don't need to go to another city to get drunk, that's just a perk. Recently though, I saw this show on YouTube that disturbed me deeply. After watching all eight parts I realized something. Not that NOLA is crap, or that I had missed something in my visits. I started wondering how in the hell can a government, whether local, state or federal, ignore such a problem. Sure there's the argument of people needing to be responsible for themselves but doesn't the government have a responsibility also? For a government, even one of a city I love, to allow people to live in such conditions is reprehensible. Anyway, I was all set to throw a fit and then I found this with its links to dissidentvoice.com. Now I'm all confused about whether or not the "destruction" of the Magnolia, Melpomene and Calliope projects being blamed on Katrina is a bad thing. On the one hand, new housing projects will probably not be built so those folks are SOL due to the literal theft of their homes. On the other hand, if I had lived in the 3rd ward I wonder if I would have complained about having to move.

Goin' slimmin'

First a little back-story:
My daughter does this thing with her arms when she's pissed at you. She'll sit with her legs spread for stability and rapidly swing her arms up and down. It usually results in her falling backwards with her legs up in the air and her head hitting the floor.
Now some middle-story:
I had this dog. A border collie/black lab mix. Best dog ever. In my opinion(cause I'm a professional) this type of dog should be recognized as a breed. They're super smart, they love the outdoors, have great stamina and they don't herd. They're also everywhere; I might not know you but even you have seen at least one. Anyway, one day hiking with my dog, I came upon a small pond. I had always wondered why he never went in water so I decided to see what was up. I picked him up, walked over to the pond and tossed him in. He almost drowned. And he wouldn't go in water after that, either. I later found out that that is the wrong way to introduce your dog to water.
Now some now-story:
My wife: Isn't it weird that Ruby doesn't sit down in the bathtub anymore?
Me: Yeah...Weird. Maybe because she likes standing on her own so much?

On the Daddy Tip #3

A recent article in Parenting magazine gives you advice on how to deal with a tantrumic 2-3 year old. It's basically a short list of different ways to reason with or trick your child: Hold my keys for a minute, hold onto your yell until we leave the store, when I'm mad I get hungry, let's hunt down some food and drink. The most brilliant tantrum diffuser I ever saw however, involved no words, no reasoning and no rewarding your kids tantrum with a snack. I was in a grocery store when a kid blew up. You know the drill, lay on the floor, kick the feet, bang the hands, cry "uncontrollably". The kid's mom, who earned honorary Dad status for her no BS policy, left the kid. Without breaking stride the mom just kept on walking, ignoring the kid. But wait, you say, how would that end a tantrum? The key is your kid. Even at three a.m, when your poor dear is crying and snotting because she can't sleep, the kid is paying attention. No matter how loud and out of control they get, kids are listening. You can even test this on your own. Next time your kid is crying and such and it's late, just before you go into their room, make a noise. You don't have to knock over an armoire or anything, just stomp your foot a little louder than usual. The result, instant quiet because your kid is listening for you. Yes, you still have to go into the room but the point is to prove to you that even when they seem inconsolable, kids are lying to you. That's why ignoring your kids tantrum is so brilliant. There's none of that, "I'm going to do this or that" bluffing, because tell the truth, if your kid calls you on it, are you Man enough to do it? No, you cut to the chase. Ignore the kid, ignore the tantrum and let other Dads watch in wonder as you leave your child writhing in the sawdust on the floor of Home Depot. Oh, and the little girl whose mom left her? As soon as she realized mom was continuing to shop she bolted to her feet and ran after her mother without another peep.

The Guess Who

My daughter has given me Captain Trips. Fortunately, I think I'm one of the few that are immune so I'm on the road to recovery. But while I've been stewing in a hallucinogenic stupor for the last three days I've had the opportunity to think about something. I'm either the most selfish Dad in the world or the most truthful. In a baby class my wife made me go to when she was still expecting, the instructor/nurse asked if there were any questions. I raised my hand and asked the soon-to-be Dads in the room if there was anyone else who felt as if their baby or wife's pregnancy was taking away everything they used to love. Everyone in the room turned and looked at me as if I was crazy but I could see the truth in their eyes. I've always been the one in my family who couldn't wait to start a family. Since before I really knew where babies came from I've wanted a daughter who looked just like her mother. But, in month number six, as I scrubbed the beer stains off the hardwood floor of the Man-Cave in preparation for the Coming of the Kid I asked myself, 'What have I done?' I'll admit I volunteered the Cave because it was the coolest room in the summer and the warmest in the winter but I had no clue of what was in store. Yes, having my Dad come over and help me with some construction was awesome and the EVP I captured after the furniture was in the room but the kid was still imminent was neat but now I'm in the basement. My basement leaks. My cousin said my Cave is cool but there are spiders down there. I used to worry about electrocution by Fender but since I can't find time to play anymore I should live forever. In a very roundabout way I come to my point. The kid has been at daycare all week because of the Captain and I've been off work in the mornings but I can't play my git-box. It seems like whenever I have time to play and not interrupt people with bad AC/DC or crappy B.B. I'm sick. Or working midnights. Or Notre Dame is playing. Or cleaning needs done. Or it's raining and my basement is moist. I know a guy who played bass. I asked him why he doesn't play anymore and he said, as he glanced at his two year-old, "No time." I used to tell myself I'd never stop skating or hiking, biking, drawing, making salsa, playing video games, drinking foreign beers, driving slightly drunk or playing the guitar. But now I have "No time."

Life's a Bitch and Then You Die.

I just recently heard from a friend who is having to sit around and wait to find out if she has cancer or not and that started me to thinking about being an adult. I became aware of my own mortality when I was 27 and had to have my first colonoscopy but I never seriously thought about dying until a co-worker passed away earlier this year. A famous man once said "Everyone dies alone", but who ever stops to think about their own death? Sure, there are fears of serious injury from spiders, sunroofs and heights but I don't really concern myself with being killed by those things. No, death is that silent, sneaky thing that comes when we least expect it, whether we've made our peace or not. And when you actually sit in a dark room with no TV, radio or loved ones to distract you and think about your death, it's scary. How will it happen?, Will it hurt?, Will I see her graduate from anything?, How soon will my wife re-marry? Throughout her life or death situation my friend can joke about it. She can tell the cancer weight loss and glowing in the dark jokes and continue on. I sit and listen to her and the one thing I'm struck by is how now I'm a member of that generation. You know which one I mean. They sit around talking about a recently deceased friend and say "Oh, they were so young. That's so sad." Well that's me and my friends now. Life is happening to us and no one asked us if it was okay. I mean, I know I'm old because high school kids look so small now but I feel and act young. Well, aside from the creaky knees, stiff fingers and intestinal problems. My point is, there is no map for the territory I'm passing into now. I have to figure this stuff out on my own and if I'm wrong and there is no reincarnation, I've only got one chance. It's true that life is unfair but that just sucks.

I.O.U.

For my grandparents and parents, who lived through this, this, this, this and this so that I could see this. Thank You. And Congratulations.

On the Daddy Tip #2

Listening to a baby's head hit the floor is disgusting. And babies tend to cry when it happens which causes moms to come running and Dads to get in trouble. Fortunately, kids are resilient. I'm a firm believer in painful lessons and not just because I'm a Manly Man. Think of it this way: You buy this goofy-ass helmet for your kid, your kid thinks, "Sweet, I'm Unbreakable", then proceeds to fall a lot and not get hurt. What has your child learned. Nada. Dads and moms, please, let your kid get hurt every now and again. Nothing serious mind, just enough little bumps and bruises so that a lesson can be learned. As much as it pains me to say it, sometimes kids do need limits set. That, however, is no reason to give your child a Bubble Boy complex by forcing him or her to exist in a world where nothing can or is allowed to hurt them. Kids need fear, it's healthy to a certain point and it teaches them more about themselves and the world around them than anyone, aside from some doctor somewhere, can fathom. Remember, a person with no fear is just an idiot.

This kid rocks!

Already more of a Man than most Men, this kid decided public school might not be for him and was going to walk across the country, with a couple packs of cookies. Trek on, little Dude!

I ain't scured! Much...

I'm a Dad so I'm not scared of much but there are a few things that get my blood boiling. The first two, spiders and heights, are obvious, if you value your life you should be scared of them too. The third is a painful death. I figure since life is so rough anyway, it would be a pisser if death hurt(Please God, just let me go to sleep one night and wake up in the morning sitting in a corner booth with Hemingway, van Gogh, Kurt Cobain and Brian). The last thing I realized I was scared of came about due to some krod deciding that my Jeep would be convenient to hydroplane into on I-90. As I spun around and stared into traffic coming at me at 60 mph hoping and praying that a semi wasn't lurking back there somewhere, I realized that I'm scared of sunroofs. I know, you're probably saying, "What kind of righteous Dude is scared of a sunroof. Well, me. As I faced an impending rollover that never came all I kept thinking was "What if my car flips and the sunroof glass breaks out?" I figured if that happened I'd have to do some heroic James Bond type handstand as sparks flew and gas leaked and bad guys followed with blazing machine guns. Easy right? No. You may not have guessed this from my quick wit but I weigh a tad more than the average Guy. With my luck my car would have flipped, all the glass in the car would have blown out, I would have lost a leg or two and then would have had to support my weight(and my bloody torso) so I wouldn't go through the sunroof. Of course at that point, jelly arms would activate, and my head would hit the pavement sliding past the open sunroof and I would slowly be ground away into nothing. A painful death. All this is in hindsight, obviously, but it brings home an important point: Sunroofs should be banned by the NHTSA. Oh, and provide for your family in case you meet my krod.

My anniversary...

Today marks the one year anniversary of the best four days of my life. I was basically homeless, sleeping in my clothes on a foldout chair, with only a thin blanket for warmth. For four days the only things I ate were a Chipotle burrito, two donuts, a couple nabs and a lot of hot chocolate. I was only able to shower once in those four days and that was only after I cleaned up blood that someone else had left in the bathroom. In this sorry state, I was ignored in a room full of people as I cowered Gollum-like in a dark corner with only a Batman graphic novel for company. I was locked out of the place I was staying and had to walk a quarter mile in one direction in order to beg for sympathy from a stranger, before having to walk another quarter mile back. I was yelled at, smiled at and then looked upon with derision by one individual during a three minute period of time, all because I wanted a bagel and they were closed. I missed a Notre Dame football game. I was awakened every two hours, told I could go back to sleep if I wanted and was then yelled at because I did. I learned that if you say you are a nurse, my wife will let you touch her boobs while I watch(and I found out that this is not as sexy as it sounds). I broke Venetian blinds that did not belong to me, in a vain attempt to jump out of a window and escape my future. I stole a matchbox car from a kid who probably wishes he had never taken it out of his room. In one of the highest places in Ohio, I had to listen to two girls with valley accents attempt rudimentary speech. I found out my car was stupid and I drive too fast. I watched an alarming shade of purple turn to a beautiful cafe-au-lait. I breathed a sigh of relief after ten harrowing months...and I welcomed my daughter into the world. Happy Birthday, Ruby Louise.

On the Daddy tip #1

So, Dads, just so this doesn't seem like a free-for-all rant against babies, kittens, puppies, butterflies and everything "cute", I figure I'll try to instill a wholesome amount of Daddy-ness into this blog with a tip now and again. If you're sittin' around being a Man and you think of some way your Man-ness has improved the lives of babies everywhere, let me know @ daycare4dads@gmail.com and we'll learn, together.
Today's tip is actually mom approved(which shows that they're right sometimes). The next time you find yourself in a baby store, snag some of these brightly colored rings. They come in packs of about a bajillion(so you know a Man packaged them) and they're reasonably priced too, so you'll have money left in your allowance after you pay for them. String a bunch together and not only do they look like a chain a baby would wield in a rumble, they're pretty damn handy in that you can attach one end of the chain to a car seat, stroller, whatever and the other end to whatever your kid is repeatedly throwing on the floor this week and save yourself the hassle of bending over. Instead teach your kid a fun new game I like to call "Pull it back up yourself and stop your whining."
Or, at the very least, you can wrangle a duck.

In the Beginning...

A long time ago(6 months), I got fed up with parenting and more specifically "proper" parenting, being a one person job, namely that of The Mother. I'll admit I do things wrong in the parenting game but a win's a win, right. So what if I use one bottle all day every day, that makes for a healthy immune system. And not using Desitin with every diaper change saves money, right? All I'm saying is, my daughter's as healthy as any baby and I've never given one thought to what to expect in the first year. Playing it by ear is my right as a dad and I've decided to take a stand.
So that's what this here blog is for: Dads. All the lifesavers out there who have dropped their kids from great heights and have been able to get their hearts beating again before mom got home; Every English major who's explained away a bee sting or a snake bite as just a boo-boo; For the virtuous, who have had to repeatedly either turn the channel back to football, turn the TV back on or even just turn the volume back up or down; And to my brothers who have made the ultimate sacrifice and converted the Man Cave into the nursery, this blog is for you!
So, Father's, put the baby down so you can open a beer, raise your arms high and give yourselves a pat on the back cause you deserve a fair shake.
Stay tuned as I chronicle my journey from self-proclaimed man to full -fledged father. As soon as I can get the cat off the baby's face I'll be back to take those first revolutionary steps!