Occasionally I eat doughnuts on my way to work.
When I do, I stop at the Quick Trip just before getting onto the highway and only usually when I need gas.
This past Friday, I needed gas and ipso facto… I got some “holy” goodness. (Pun)
My first act was to fill my truck to the brim, to the tune of roughly $55 worth of go-go juice. I then headed inside to get lunch for later in the day, a few doughnuts, and a large coffee; which added another $9 or so to my total.
When I went to the check out, the guy asked me “large or small?”
My response… “Three small”.
Now mind you, I base my large and small on the fact that some doughnuts are big and some are not. My ‘nuts were clearly the runts of the litter, thus my response of “three small”.
Apparently, the clerk’s proper mode of questioning my doughnut selection should have been, “holes or no holes”. Then I would have responded, “Two with holes and one without”. But as it stood, I didn’t.
And therein lay the rub.
For after I began my walk out the door; the lowly clerk gave me a yell to come back to the counter. This is where things began to get dicey. When I re-approached the counter the man said, “You said three small, that one is a large. That’s like trying to steal.”
I was all like, “Whaa-huh?”
He then began, and this is with a gas station filled with an ass load of morning commuters, to ask me to fork over an additional twenty-four cents (the price difference between the “large” and “small” doughnut). This is something I would have gladly done under ideal circumstances.
Telling me my intent was “like stealing” did not put me in a proper frame of mind to carry a pseudo intellectual debate of any kind or. So this circumstance was not ideal.
I responded…
“Twenty-four cents! Are you f@#king kidding me?”
I then added what I thought was a fairly logical counterpoint, “I just spent nearly $65 and you think I want to skip out on twenty-four damn cents from your Quicky Mart?”
Hand to god, this went on for nearly three minutes (an eternity in stupid speak).
Finally the manager intervened.
He asked for my side, I politely obliged. He then asked for an explanation from the rocket surgeon behind the counter. And in his defense, he told the honest truth.
The manager then turned and said, “Thank you sir, and have a great day.”
Many a wise men have said that you can’t argue with logic.
On my way out I asked smarty if at least got the correct number of doughnuts. I of course was asking under the assumption that his drop out level of education might not be able to handle simple arithmetic. This caused me to smile from ear to ear.
After I got in my truck and started my journey to work, I contemplated my next step in criminal evolution. After all, I had just successfully heisted less than two bits from a major gas and snack supplier… perhaps Hoosier homerun derby (mailbox bashing for short) or maybe mattress label removing.
Baby steps you know - J
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Some More B.S.
What do you want from me? The kid s#!t on me twice in three days.
One can’t be too careful -J
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Small Blog w/Small Thoughts
Last night we visited the building where the Kalenator will start her scholastic career. There were roughly twelve million kids running around unchecked.
The chaos prompted me to wonder at what point is it ok to kick start natural selection.
Anyone?
- J
The chaos prompted me to wonder at what point is it ok to kick start natural selection.
Anyone?
- J
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Weekly B.S.
I know some of you have been wondering where this strip has been. In order to explain a little, I thought I would give you a peek inside my creative process.
As you can see, it isn’t very complicated. The ingredients are one part procrastination, one part blank slate, and two parts distraction. This strip is almost dead on accurate. Only I no longer have an actual drawing table, nor is our toilet that loud.
But other than that... dead on accurate.
I wish I could blame my lack of comic posts to the family and/or hard work. The reality is more like this strip. I will try and do better.
Now leave me alone, its ice cream social night in our household – J
Thursday, July 22, 2010
“Excuse me life, I think you served me this anxiety by mistake.”
Stop Googling that quote, it was me… just now.
As a topic, it perfectly sums up my mood these past few days.
For the handful of you that have befriended both my wife and I on the social ‘book, you’ve no doubt heard that this past week our trusted babysitter informed us that she is moving and therefore no longer able to continue watching the Kalenator or start watching the baby Hayden. Since Melissa is set to return to the work force this coming Monday, you can imagine the panic that has crept its way into our normally somewhat placid lives.
We instantly began the search for a new sitter. All inter-resources have been exhausted. And there’ve even been a few hits here and there that have lead to some interviews tomorrow. But put aside the stress of searching and assume we find and agree upon one of the potential baby watchers, THEN I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that there will be a perfect stranger watching my baby girl.
This is where that miss-served plate of anxiety comes into play.
You see, I didn’t sign up for this. At no point along the way did anyone bother telling me that loving one’s wife and kids so much puts a terrible amount of uneasiness in your stomach. It’s enough to drive a person mad.
The rub is that now I couldn’t imagine my life without Melissa and Kalen… not to mention the most amazing little thing I’ve ever seen, Hayden. So with no other way to say it, I am stuck with these worrisome thoughts and this undercooked anxiety.
What if the sitter is a trickster? What if her/his ruse misleads us? What if they turn out to be d-bags? These are the things you have to deal with. And believe you me… it blows.
The only saving grace I have is that the institution of babysitting has been around for ages. And its practice is widely accepted. Oh, and I have a friend that can run background checks for me.
So that helps.
Now I just have to prepare for the next couple of weeks and the start of Kalenator’s school career…
If you excuse me, I’m going to go throw up - J
As a topic, it perfectly sums up my mood these past few days.
For the handful of you that have befriended both my wife and I on the social ‘book, you’ve no doubt heard that this past week our trusted babysitter informed us that she is moving and therefore no longer able to continue watching the Kalenator or start watching the baby Hayden. Since Melissa is set to return to the work force this coming Monday, you can imagine the panic that has crept its way into our normally somewhat placid lives.
We instantly began the search for a new sitter. All inter-resources have been exhausted. And there’ve even been a few hits here and there that have lead to some interviews tomorrow. But put aside the stress of searching and assume we find and agree upon one of the potential baby watchers, THEN I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that there will be a perfect stranger watching my baby girl.
This is where that miss-served plate of anxiety comes into play.
You see, I didn’t sign up for this. At no point along the way did anyone bother telling me that loving one’s wife and kids so much puts a terrible amount of uneasiness in your stomach. It’s enough to drive a person mad.
The rub is that now I couldn’t imagine my life without Melissa and Kalen… not to mention the most amazing little thing I’ve ever seen, Hayden. So with no other way to say it, I am stuck with these worrisome thoughts and this undercooked anxiety.
What if the sitter is a trickster? What if her/his ruse misleads us? What if they turn out to be d-bags? These are the things you have to deal with. And believe you me… it blows.
The only saving grace I have is that the institution of babysitting has been around for ages. And its practice is widely accepted. Oh, and I have a friend that can run background checks for me.
So that helps.
Now I just have to prepare for the next couple of weeks and the start of Kalenator’s school career…
If you excuse me, I’m going to go throw up - J
Saturday, July 17, 2010
“There is nothing more thrilling than to be shot at without result”
Winston Churchill if you were wondering.
The relevance of that quote weighs primarily on this past week of work, Thursday to be specific.
Thursday I found myself in a bit of a shootout with a truck driver. This was not a planed fire fight. Nor was it dangerous. But none the less, the results of said unanticipated gunplay were note worthy and self entertaining enough that I thought to share it with you.
My job… not very glamorous.
Of late it is downright taxing (physically and mentally). But it pays decent. And from time to time, like Thursday, it can be somewhat laid back with moments of subtle hilarity.
Thursday, stuck with very little outgoing deliveries and equally numerous walk in customers, I found myself waiting on some sort of event to break the monotony. That’s when the trucker arrived with an inbound delivery.
On a blisteringly hot day, he began to exit his “rig”. After executing a properly safe and perfect three point dismount of his cab, he met my greeting with a smile, a nod. And then he drew.
From his hips, he raised his arms, made guns from seemingly innocent hands, and fired.
At first I was shocked. I didn’t anticipate anyone outside of the old west (or without being a cheesy sitcom character) to take shots at me with such high caliber finger guns. Luckily his aim was atrocious, thus allowing me to continue working and him to resume his trucker duty.
As I continued driving my forklift for the next thirty minutes or so, the humor in the grown man trucker’s twin hand pistols started to sink in. Never have I seen anyone do this and never would I expect to again. Knowing this, I had to seize the moment.
I had to engage him in all out finger gun fire.
So, after unloading his trailer and signing for the invoice, I carefully plotted for the perfect moment to be an epic level smart ass. It came, I pounced, and said, “Hey buddy. You just go on and have a good day.” I then drew my own two fisted finger six shooters and under my breath voiced a small “bang, bang!”
To my surprise, and dismay, the trucker was the model of cool. In fact he seemed to enjoy the return fire. And even more to my dismay, and as if to purposely steal my thunder… the son of a b!%@h retorted with a Fonzie like two thumbs up and he said…
“Aww-right man!”
I can only assume the gesture was some sort of a finger gun version of popping pins on two grenades.
In which case, the damn truck driver destroyed me easily and with no remorse.
Whatever, pretty great Thursday for me - J
The relevance of that quote weighs primarily on this past week of work, Thursday to be specific.
Thursday I found myself in a bit of a shootout with a truck driver. This was not a planed fire fight. Nor was it dangerous. But none the less, the results of said unanticipated gunplay were note worthy and self entertaining enough that I thought to share it with you.
My job… not very glamorous.
Of late it is downright taxing (physically and mentally). But it pays decent. And from time to time, like Thursday, it can be somewhat laid back with moments of subtle hilarity.
Thursday, stuck with very little outgoing deliveries and equally numerous walk in customers, I found myself waiting on some sort of event to break the monotony. That’s when the trucker arrived with an inbound delivery.
On a blisteringly hot day, he began to exit his “rig”. After executing a properly safe and perfect three point dismount of his cab, he met my greeting with a smile, a nod. And then he drew.
From his hips, he raised his arms, made guns from seemingly innocent hands, and fired.
At first I was shocked. I didn’t anticipate anyone outside of the old west (or without being a cheesy sitcom character) to take shots at me with such high caliber finger guns. Luckily his aim was atrocious, thus allowing me to continue working and him to resume his trucker duty.
As I continued driving my forklift for the next thirty minutes or so, the humor in the grown man trucker’s twin hand pistols started to sink in. Never have I seen anyone do this and never would I expect to again. Knowing this, I had to seize the moment.
I had to engage him in all out finger gun fire.
So, after unloading his trailer and signing for the invoice, I carefully plotted for the perfect moment to be an epic level smart ass. It came, I pounced, and said, “Hey buddy. You just go on and have a good day.” I then drew my own two fisted finger six shooters and under my breath voiced a small “bang, bang!”
To my surprise, and dismay, the trucker was the model of cool. In fact he seemed to enjoy the return fire. And even more to my dismay, and as if to purposely steal my thunder… the son of a b!%@h retorted with a Fonzie like two thumbs up and he said…
“Aww-right man!”
I can only assume the gesture was some sort of a finger gun version of popping pins on two grenades.
In which case, the damn truck driver destroyed me easily and with no remorse.
Whatever, pretty great Thursday for me - J
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Another Small Blog w/Small Thoughts.
They say the difference between a good friend and great friend is that a GOOD friend will try talking you out of doing something dumb before you spiral into regret. Where as a GREAT friend will tell you how pissed they are at you from the neighboring jail cell.
I'm just saying to the few of you that are my great friends... you need a body hid, I am your man.
Remember though, I scratch your back... etc. - J
I'm just saying to the few of you that are my great friends... you need a body hid, I am your man.
Remember though, I scratch your back... etc. - J
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Small Blog w/Daddy Day Thoughts
Today, while grilling dinner for my wife, I took a small trip from Mexico to Germany with a brief stop in Jamaica. All the while in the company of a tightly wound Honduran friend... in the form of a cigar contributed by the late Mike Foss before his untimely demise at the paws of the Murph.
The trip was made possible by a mix of beers (Dos Equis, Red Stripe, and St. Pauli Girl) from around the world gifted by my fantastically awesome wife… she is basically my raven haired version of Mary Jane.
And though I am not sure what the exact ratio needed. The smooth blend of booze, BBQ, and stogies almost always come together in one rich, layered concoction that make a man’s tiny mind run rampant with reflective thought.
It’s man science. You can look it up
As far as what thoughts… that is another blog. This one is called “Small Blog…” after all.
Duh – J
PS, Happy Father's Day to those deserving of such a title.
The trip was made possible by a mix of beers (Dos Equis, Red Stripe, and St. Pauli Girl) from around the world gifted by my fantastically awesome wife… she is basically my raven haired version of Mary Jane.
And though I am not sure what the exact ratio needed. The smooth blend of booze, BBQ, and stogies almost always come together in one rich, layered concoction that make a man’s tiny mind run rampant with reflective thought.
It’s man science. You can look it up
As far as what thoughts… that is another blog. This one is called “Small Blog…” after all.
Duh – J
PS, Happy Father's Day to those deserving of such a title.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
"Exaggeration, the inseparable companion of greatness."
Voltaire said that.
My daughter is awesome.
I am fairly certain that How Pow said that.
Although his exact wording may have been different. Thus the lack of confidence in adding quotation marks. And maybe I am just being a proud daddy, but with all due respect to the Baby Pow… MY daughter is the most awesome-est.
Now that my come across as a bit asshole-ish. But I am sure if polled, almost every dad with a new baby girl would give you roughly the same answer. As well we should.
As guys we also like to think our daughters (and sons I’m sure) can do things far better and far before any other kid. Maybe we are love blind. Or maybe this is what it takes to knock us off of our logic thinking pedestal and into the realm of emotional based assessments.
Take for instance that Hayden, right out of the womb, can raise her head up and look around. Her neck seemingly is close to being fully operational (I’m thinking a Death Star joke should have been used here). Last night Melissa placed her pacifier in her hand and I s#@t you not, she raised it to her mouth and put it in. We tried to immediately duplicate this last miracle, but clubbing herself in the nose was the closest outcome. Just last week I spent hours on hold with DirectTV trying to get my remote reprogrammed with the receiver. If I would have just waited a few days, Hayden could have done it for me.
Hand to god, she is that smart.
Now having said all that… my kid is not yet a rocket surgeon. She's more like a grad student. There's some room to grow after all. Regardless, she is pretty damn cool. And so far this dad thing s kind of a hip gig.
A fellow blogger (one I’ve credited more than once) told me yesterday that he likes my kids influence on the blog. He said it was nice to see that I can write with a softer tone. He was glad to see we (as a friendly collective) can do more than penis and fart jokes. Maybe that is true. But like I told my wife, we’ll see where the jokes go after a few weeks. After all, the new dad sheen still has a bright glow.
Wait till her poop really starts to stink. See what comes out of those blogs.
But for now, I have to jet... Hayden is practicing her summersaults – J
My daughter is awesome.
I am fairly certain that How Pow said that.
Although his exact wording may have been different. Thus the lack of confidence in adding quotation marks. And maybe I am just being a proud daddy, but with all due respect to the Baby Pow… MY daughter is the most awesome-est.
Now that my come across as a bit asshole-ish. But I am sure if polled, almost every dad with a new baby girl would give you roughly the same answer. As well we should.
As guys we also like to think our daughters (and sons I’m sure) can do things far better and far before any other kid. Maybe we are love blind. Or maybe this is what it takes to knock us off of our logic thinking pedestal and into the realm of emotional based assessments.
Take for instance that Hayden, right out of the womb, can raise her head up and look around. Her neck seemingly is close to being fully operational (I’m thinking a Death Star joke should have been used here). Last night Melissa placed her pacifier in her hand and I s#@t you not, she raised it to her mouth and put it in. We tried to immediately duplicate this last miracle, but clubbing herself in the nose was the closest outcome. Just last week I spent hours on hold with DirectTV trying to get my remote reprogrammed with the receiver. If I would have just waited a few days, Hayden could have done it for me.
Hand to god, she is that smart.
Now having said all that… my kid is not yet a rocket surgeon. She's more like a grad student. There's some room to grow after all. Regardless, she is pretty damn cool. And so far this dad thing s kind of a hip gig.
A fellow blogger (one I’ve credited more than once) told me yesterday that he likes my kids influence on the blog. He said it was nice to see that I can write with a softer tone. He was glad to see we (as a friendly collective) can do more than penis and fart jokes. Maybe that is true. But like I told my wife, we’ll see where the jokes go after a few weeks. After all, the new dad sheen still has a bright glow.
Wait till her poop really starts to stink. See what comes out of those blogs.
But for now, I have to jet... Hayden is practicing her summersaults – J
Monday, June 14, 2010
From Blast Off to the Gangs All Here: Countdown part 2.
I last left you with the prodigal daughter returning to the room… and a sign off by me. Let’s start with skipping ahead to the 12 o’clock hour.
12:00 p.m. – The nurse informs us that she has paged Melissa’s doctor. I equate this to the placing of presents under the Christmas tree a month before the holiday. Just mean.
12:45 p.m. – My patience is wearing thin. At this point if patience was a shirt, it’d be transparent in parts. And my wife would beg… nay… threaten to throw it away.
1:04 p.m. – The doctor is in! He shoots holes in my previously stated theory of making Melissa an indentured servant. She is released, looks like we’ll be returning home in full force.
1:28 p.m. – I failed to mention that on this day we have a mutated two headed nurse that acts as nurse to both Melissa and Hayden instead of having one exclusive to each of them. One head is dressed in the colors of Ronald McDonald and appears to acquiesce to the knowledge of the other head, which is wearing blue… obviously the color of choice for positions of authority since the heroic Rachel wore the same color. Oh, and they said that the patient transporter would be up in fifteen minutes with a wheel chair and a cart. Hopefully they’ll allow Melissa the comfort of the wheel chair.
1:45 p.m. – Both heads lied.
1:50 p.m. – Despite all my meditation, anger has taken control of me and I change into a rampaging monster and destroy much of the 7th floor. Good thing for me Rachel was off this day. And still no transporter.
2:10 p.m. – Sorting through the ruble of the 7th floor I find a nurse and inform her that we’ve been waiting for our transporter for 45 minutes. I am off by three minutes.
2:17 p.m. – The transporter arrives looking nothing at all like Jason Statham. In fact he is more of a socially awkward Asian guy. Could be undercover Triad, I will keep an eye on him.
2:26 p.m. – Turns out he was just kind of a goober. Nice guy, but a goober. I get the truck and drive at a break neck pace so as to get the good parking spot at the door.
2:27 p.m. – Mission accomplished! Porn star parking!
2:34 p.m. – I get on the highway driving about ten miles an hour slower than my normal five over the speed limit. Best not take chances.
3:01 p.m. – I drop the family off at home, let out the Murph, and head to Walgreens to purchase women products. Somehow in my thirty-two plus years of living I have managed to never do this for anyone. Thankfully I was humble enough to enlist the help of a pharmacy tech. She navigates me out of the adult diaper aisle and into the correct area. Good thing, I was beginning to think feminine products were encrypted; turns out I am just an idiot.
3:20 p.m. – Although not as bad as one might think, the hospital food was too much by this day. So we stepped up our cuisine with some Taco Bell.
3:30 p.m. – One more swing by Walgreens to pick up legal drugs for Melissa and back home to eat and rest.
4:36 p.m. – The grandparents bring the Kalenator home! Our family is complete again.
From 4:37 p.m. to 7:08 p.m. not much occurred. The family stayed for a short time and we settled into our role as a two rug rat family. And then…
7:09 p.m. – The Long brothers arrive to meet baby Hayden and socialize for a bit.
8:11 p.m. – The Longs left. Kalen and I make a quick run to Sonic for some late dinner and slushies.
8:52 p.m. – We quickly straighten the house up and place baby care products in every room as needed. Big sis retires to her room and the wife and I watch the season premier of True Blood. All is right in the world.
10:23 p.m. – True Blood ends for us; we collect ourselves and head to bed for a long and peaceful night's rest. The weekend has officially run its course.
11:02 p.m. – Restful night my ass. I almost couldn’t even type that sentence.
I am sure you can surmise what took place from the hours of 11:03 p.m. to this morning when I awoke, made coffee, and began typing this blog... lots and lots of up and down throughout the night. But hey, this is what we signed up for. You have to go through some of this crazy to get to all the great. And at the end of the first weekend, I already see the worth. She is great and having my group of girls in my life is better than anything I could have planned for myself. I am dad, and I can’t think of any “promotion” I’ve ever received in life that comes close to that one.
Super Rachel tells me that she read part one of this blog and liked it enough to post it at work. So to wrap this long winded blog up I want to say thank you to all of the staff at St. John's Mercy. My wife’s frantic hour and a half was nowhere near the nightmare it could have been. And thank you to Rachel. Hyperbole aside, you and John have become a pair of our closest friends in a very short period of time and your presence in the room was something that we couldn’t have done without. You somehow remarkably balanced being a best friend and the most gifted of professionals. It can’t be easy to wear those two hats at once, but you pulled it off and we will love you forever for it.
And…
A huge thank you to my wife for not once, but now twice making me the luckiest man on the planet. You’ve taken me from single man to husband, and now father of two without so much as a hiccup. And watching you do what you did Friday made me think of my mom. I mean this with all my heart when I say that you are every bit as tough as she was. I can’t think of a better compliment I could give another woman. She would have loved to see you do that and see her little granddaughter.
I promise to not fumble this gift you’ve given me.
And finally…
To the rest of you, thanks for the well wishes and support.
Now leave us alone already. We're exhausted - J
12:00 p.m. – The nurse informs us that she has paged Melissa’s doctor. I equate this to the placing of presents under the Christmas tree a month before the holiday. Just mean.
12:45 p.m. – My patience is wearing thin. At this point if patience was a shirt, it’d be transparent in parts. And my wife would beg… nay… threaten to throw it away.
1:04 p.m. – The doctor is in! He shoots holes in my previously stated theory of making Melissa an indentured servant. She is released, looks like we’ll be returning home in full force.
1:28 p.m. – I failed to mention that on this day we have a mutated two headed nurse that acts as nurse to both Melissa and Hayden instead of having one exclusive to each of them. One head is dressed in the colors of Ronald McDonald and appears to acquiesce to the knowledge of the other head, which is wearing blue… obviously the color of choice for positions of authority since the heroic Rachel wore the same color. Oh, and they said that the patient transporter would be up in fifteen minutes with a wheel chair and a cart. Hopefully they’ll allow Melissa the comfort of the wheel chair.
1:45 p.m. – Both heads lied.
1:50 p.m. – Despite all my meditation, anger has taken control of me and I change into a rampaging monster and destroy much of the 7th floor. Good thing for me Rachel was off this day. And still no transporter.
2:10 p.m. – Sorting through the ruble of the 7th floor I find a nurse and inform her that we’ve been waiting for our transporter for 45 minutes. I am off by three minutes.
2:17 p.m. – The transporter arrives looking nothing at all like Jason Statham. In fact he is more of a socially awkward Asian guy. Could be undercover Triad, I will keep an eye on him.
2:26 p.m. – Turns out he was just kind of a goober. Nice guy, but a goober. I get the truck and drive at a break neck pace so as to get the good parking spot at the door.
2:27 p.m. – Mission accomplished! Porn star parking!
2:34 p.m. – I get on the highway driving about ten miles an hour slower than my normal five over the speed limit. Best not take chances.
3:01 p.m. – I drop the family off at home, let out the Murph, and head to Walgreens to purchase women products. Somehow in my thirty-two plus years of living I have managed to never do this for anyone. Thankfully I was humble enough to enlist the help of a pharmacy tech. She navigates me out of the adult diaper aisle and into the correct area. Good thing, I was beginning to think feminine products were encrypted; turns out I am just an idiot.
3:20 p.m. – Although not as bad as one might think, the hospital food was too much by this day. So we stepped up our cuisine with some Taco Bell.
3:30 p.m. – One more swing by Walgreens to pick up legal drugs for Melissa and back home to eat and rest.
4:36 p.m. – The grandparents bring the Kalenator home! Our family is complete again.
From 4:37 p.m. to 7:08 p.m. not much occurred. The family stayed for a short time and we settled into our role as a two rug rat family. And then…
7:09 p.m. – The Long brothers arrive to meet baby Hayden and socialize for a bit.
8:11 p.m. – The Longs left. Kalen and I make a quick run to Sonic for some late dinner and slushies.
8:52 p.m. – We quickly straighten the house up and place baby care products in every room as needed. Big sis retires to her room and the wife and I watch the season premier of True Blood. All is right in the world.
10:23 p.m. – True Blood ends for us; we collect ourselves and head to bed for a long and peaceful night's rest. The weekend has officially run its course.
11:02 p.m. – Restful night my ass. I almost couldn’t even type that sentence.
I am sure you can surmise what took place from the hours of 11:03 p.m. to this morning when I awoke, made coffee, and began typing this blog... lots and lots of up and down throughout the night. But hey, this is what we signed up for. You have to go through some of this crazy to get to all the great. And at the end of the first weekend, I already see the worth. She is great and having my group of girls in my life is better than anything I could have planned for myself. I am dad, and I can’t think of any “promotion” I’ve ever received in life that comes close to that one.
Super Rachel tells me that she read part one of this blog and liked it enough to post it at work. So to wrap this long winded blog up I want to say thank you to all of the staff at St. John's Mercy. My wife’s frantic hour and a half was nowhere near the nightmare it could have been. And thank you to Rachel. Hyperbole aside, you and John have become a pair of our closest friends in a very short period of time and your presence in the room was something that we couldn’t have done without. You somehow remarkably balanced being a best friend and the most gifted of professionals. It can’t be easy to wear those two hats at once, but you pulled it off and we will love you forever for it.
And…
A huge thank you to my wife for not once, but now twice making me the luckiest man on the planet. You’ve taken me from single man to husband, and now father of two without so much as a hiccup. And watching you do what you did Friday made me think of my mom. I mean this with all my heart when I say that you are every bit as tough as she was. I can’t think of a better compliment I could give another woman. She would have loved to see you do that and see her little granddaughter.
I promise to not fumble this gift you’ve given me.
And finally…
To the rest of you, thanks for the well wishes and support.
Now leave us alone already. We're exhausted - J
Sunday, June 13, 2010
“It’s the Final Countdown… Ohh ho ohh” part 1.
First off, yes that was a Europe reference up there… and yeah Europe!
Second… I must warn you, in this blog I may ignore appealing to delicate sensibilities of the masses. My younger readers outside of the industry standard target demographic of 18 to 35 may want to try and read some words with an audible bleep noise as to not offend their impressionable minds.
And finally before I begin, who would have thought that anyone would ever read a sentence like the one that kicked off this blog. But it perfectly captured what transpired this past Friday. The only problem with our countdown, Hayden forgot to mention to us that she was ready for blast off.
But!
Regardless of her failure to adhere to any form of an itinerary, we came through with flying colors. Stars and stripes even. And since taking my word for it defeats any purpose of writing today’s blog, I shall take you through the weekend’s events as best as my skewed memory will allow.
Friday June 11th: Roughly 2:30 p.m. – Melissa and I decide to leave the house and try to salvage some shred of productivity and accomplishment for the day. Our attack plan includes a stop at Target for impulse shopping and Wal-Mart for paint and supplies.
4:30 p.m. – Both stops went off without a hitch. But at this point hunger has begun to creep into our lives. A quick congress of our household has determined that Mexican food is our best chance to fend off such an adversary.
5:10 p.m. – We arrive at La Salsa. The main thing you should gather from this point is that it would behoove you to try the mango salsa. It is “shit” worthy. As in, “this mango salsa is the shit.”
6:00 p.m. – Food was great, now we decide to stall our evening by stopping at Borders for some casual window shopping. I find many things I want, Melissa echoes this sentiment.
7:30 p.m. – We return home to an expected evening of collectively sitting firmly on our asses and doing nothing.
7:38 p.m. – I run to the store to indulge my wife’s impulse craving for chocolate. And pick up some Chips Ahoy for myself. I love Chips Ahoy.
8:58 p.m. – It is almost time for Real Time with Bill Maher. I arrange myself in a position to maximize my comfort and perform relaxing foot rubs on my over taxed wife without detracting from my ideal viewing angle.
9:05 p.m. – The first vocal contraction hits.
9:22 p.m. – After four more intense contraction, we decide to use our direct line to a labor and delivery nurse (thank you Rachel) and see what she suggests. Coming to the hospital was here instructions. Seems like a smart plan.
9:28 p.m. – The truck is packed and we are heading to the hospital.
9:39 p.m. – I miss the first exit to the hospital and begin to release some profane language. All the while Melissa keeps focused by repeating the mantra, “The epidural is my friend.”
9:46 p.m. – Not deterred by the slight detour, we arrive and take “blue to two” where we check in and Melissa uses a “6 or 7” as to describe the intensity of her current pain level.
9:46 and a half p.m. – She changes her answer to “10!”
9:49 p.m. – Check in is over and we are wheeled to a prep room where Melissa is to change into the traditional unfinished gown of the hospital. Not half way through the disrobing of the daily clothes she firmly instructs me to get a nurse because she wants to push right away.
9:50 p.m. – Total fucking chaos.
You’ll now have to excuse me, but apparently from 9:51 p.m. to roughly 10:28 p.m. time managed to somehow slip itself into some cosmic vortex were the surreal kung fu kicked the shit out of the real and then bombarded me with a series of quick mental images containing bright traces of crimson and loud protest of intense pain. At this point the doctors informed us that the friendly epidural will not be joining us tonight in some sort of protest of our not sticking to the mutually accepted course of action.
10:29 p.m. – The real reasserts itself in the continuum by violently punching the surreal in the throat when it was distracted by the Klingon shaped “crown” that added itself to the equation.
10:32 p.m. – Rachel’s previously unmentioned presence in the room has paid it’s next dividend by instructing Melissa to bear down and give one last good old college try push.
10:33 p.m. – Baby Hayden introduces herself to us with what would be a very annoying series of screams were she someone else’s newborn. Instead, she might as well been channeling Maria Callas because it was breathtakingly beautiful.
Saturday June 12th 2:39 a.m. – After me cutting the cord, the docs and nurses tending to the wife, seeing to the health of Hayden, visiting with some friends and eventually changing to our extended stay room; the three of us settled down for the night. Missy in her hospital bed, Hayden in a plastic box mounted on a wooden cart with wheels, and me on a couch that fit as snug as a coffin (I don’t know this for certain, but I would guess a coffin is way more comfortable).
3:45 a.m. 4:58 a.m. and again at 6:30 a.m. – Hayden woke up, cried, we soothed, and repeated.
For the times between 6:45 a.m. and 1:10 p.m. we did our own thing with the occasional dropping in of a nurse or two.
1:21 p.m. – Our first official visitor came bearing gifts. And then was threatened to have her kids removed from the waiting room when impatience took a hold of her 4 year old the Lilly-Bug. Things were resolved, her two boys and finished watching USA play to a tie after rallying behind a Buckner-esque play by England’s goalie. D’oh! Now I am off to release the hound… or take care of the Murph. He’s no doubt went stir crazy and I fear for the safety of the house.
2:18 p.m. – I have returned to the hospital with Mike Foss in tote. He has agreed to Murph-sit for the evening. Fifty minutes from now he will leave, this will be the last time anyone has ever heard from Mike Foss again.
2:30 p.m. – Family visit time, or Kalen meets her lil' sis for the first time! We finally have some family come and see us. Me ‘maw and pa ’paw showed up with Aunt Kay-Kay and the Kalenator. Hayden was passed around like a baton in a relay race.
3:10 p.m. – Baby to boob time. So we all leave the room. In the waiting room Uncle Chris appears with a side of Korah Beans.
3:40 p.m. – The two sisters appear to have hit it off… I suspect sibling rivalry to develop in the very near future.
4:48 p.m. – As quickly as they descended upon us, the family files out into the hall and out the doors. We are left with a small bit of quiet time before dinner.
5:20 p.m. – The Benders show up with Bread Co. and a plaque officially labeling Hayden by name in hand. Rachel has now accomplished a third and fourth labor for us. She is becoming much like Hercules in this respect.
6:30 p.m. – The Benders have now left. Rachel to work here at the hospital and John to no doubt go and perform some sort of tribute for being bestowed such a legendary and heroic fiancé.
The rest of this night was filled with short one hour bursts of sleep and occasional visits from nurses, both for Hayden and Melissa. If I had label an official start to this third day I would say it was around at 6:02 a.m. when I awoke seeking coffee.
Sunday June 13th 6:12 a.m. - Coffee was found.
6:15 a.m. - A brief encounter with Rachel in the cafeteria lead to no labor accomplished. After all, heroes get to take a morning off.
7:02 a.m. – Breakfast was ate by Hayden and then by us. Slowly, preparations are being made for our exit.
7:15 a.m. – Rachel visits before leaving work for the day. She blesses us safe journey and grants us leave latter today. It’s not official in the eyes of the hospital, but this is her fifth labor to us. By my count she is still seven behind the mythological figure Hercules. Knowing her she’ll strive for a thirteenth so as not to be outdone by anyone.
8:10 a.m. - I hold Hayden while mom takes a fifteen minute nap.
8:52 a.m. – The nurses took my child. They claim their intentions are pure, but one can’t be too careful. Supposedly this will lead to me being allowed to take her home. No word yet for Melissa. At this point it I can only assume she has to work off her debt to the hospital. It will be an odd week without her.
9:08 a.m. – I struggle to find an end to this blog. Perhaps I will just add “End of part one… see you at home for the finally of our weekend – J”. Or something to that effect.
9:18 a.m. The baby's doctor came in and told us all the ins and outs of operating a baby. She is allowed to leave. Still no word on the fate of Melissa. Baby is back in the room.
9:28 a.m. - End of part one… see you at home for the finally of our weekend - J
Second… I must warn you, in this blog I may ignore appealing to delicate sensibilities of the masses. My younger readers outside of the industry standard target demographic of 18 to 35 may want to try and read some words with an audible bleep noise as to not offend their impressionable minds.
And finally before I begin, who would have thought that anyone would ever read a sentence like the one that kicked off this blog. But it perfectly captured what transpired this past Friday. The only problem with our countdown, Hayden forgot to mention to us that she was ready for blast off.
But!
Regardless of her failure to adhere to any form of an itinerary, we came through with flying colors. Stars and stripes even. And since taking my word for it defeats any purpose of writing today’s blog, I shall take you through the weekend’s events as best as my skewed memory will allow.
Friday June 11th: Roughly 2:30 p.m. – Melissa and I decide to leave the house and try to salvage some shred of productivity and accomplishment for the day. Our attack plan includes a stop at Target for impulse shopping and Wal-Mart for paint and supplies.
4:30 p.m. – Both stops went off without a hitch. But at this point hunger has begun to creep into our lives. A quick congress of our household has determined that Mexican food is our best chance to fend off such an adversary.
5:10 p.m. – We arrive at La Salsa. The main thing you should gather from this point is that it would behoove you to try the mango salsa. It is “shit” worthy. As in, “this mango salsa is the shit.”
6:00 p.m. – Food was great, now we decide to stall our evening by stopping at Borders for some casual window shopping. I find many things I want, Melissa echoes this sentiment.
7:30 p.m. – We return home to an expected evening of collectively sitting firmly on our asses and doing nothing.
7:38 p.m. – I run to the store to indulge my wife’s impulse craving for chocolate. And pick up some Chips Ahoy for myself. I love Chips Ahoy.
8:58 p.m. – It is almost time for Real Time with Bill Maher. I arrange myself in a position to maximize my comfort and perform relaxing foot rubs on my over taxed wife without detracting from my ideal viewing angle.
9:05 p.m. – The first vocal contraction hits.
9:22 p.m. – After four more intense contraction, we decide to use our direct line to a labor and delivery nurse (thank you Rachel) and see what she suggests. Coming to the hospital was here instructions. Seems like a smart plan.
9:28 p.m. – The truck is packed and we are heading to the hospital.
9:39 p.m. – I miss the first exit to the hospital and begin to release some profane language. All the while Melissa keeps focused by repeating the mantra, “The epidural is my friend.”
9:46 p.m. – Not deterred by the slight detour, we arrive and take “blue to two” where we check in and Melissa uses a “6 or 7” as to describe the intensity of her current pain level.
9:46 and a half p.m. – She changes her answer to “10!”
9:49 p.m. – Check in is over and we are wheeled to a prep room where Melissa is to change into the traditional unfinished gown of the hospital. Not half way through the disrobing of the daily clothes she firmly instructs me to get a nurse because she wants to push right away.
9:50 p.m. – Total fucking chaos.
You’ll now have to excuse me, but apparently from 9:51 p.m. to roughly 10:28 p.m. time managed to somehow slip itself into some cosmic vortex were the surreal kung fu kicked the shit out of the real and then bombarded me with a series of quick mental images containing bright traces of crimson and loud protest of intense pain. At this point the doctors informed us that the friendly epidural will not be joining us tonight in some sort of protest of our not sticking to the mutually accepted course of action.
10:29 p.m. – The real reasserts itself in the continuum by violently punching the surreal in the throat when it was distracted by the Klingon shaped “crown” that added itself to the equation.
10:32 p.m. – Rachel’s previously unmentioned presence in the room has paid it’s next dividend by instructing Melissa to bear down and give one last good old college try push.
10:33 p.m. – Baby Hayden introduces herself to us with what would be a very annoying series of screams were she someone else’s newborn. Instead, she might as well been channeling Maria Callas because it was breathtakingly beautiful.
Saturday June 12th 2:39 a.m. – After me cutting the cord, the docs and nurses tending to the wife, seeing to the health of Hayden, visiting with some friends and eventually changing to our extended stay room; the three of us settled down for the night. Missy in her hospital bed, Hayden in a plastic box mounted on a wooden cart with wheels, and me on a couch that fit as snug as a coffin (I don’t know this for certain, but I would guess a coffin is way more comfortable).
3:45 a.m. 4:58 a.m. and again at 6:30 a.m. – Hayden woke up, cried, we soothed, and repeated.
For the times between 6:45 a.m. and 1:10 p.m. we did our own thing with the occasional dropping in of a nurse or two.
1:21 p.m. – Our first official visitor came bearing gifts. And then was threatened to have her kids removed from the waiting room when impatience took a hold of her 4 year old the Lilly-Bug. Things were resolved, her two boys and finished watching USA play to a tie after rallying behind a Buckner-esque play by England’s goalie. D’oh! Now I am off to release the hound… or take care of the Murph. He’s no doubt went stir crazy and I fear for the safety of the house.
2:18 p.m. – I have returned to the hospital with Mike Foss in tote. He has agreed to Murph-sit for the evening. Fifty minutes from now he will leave, this will be the last time anyone has ever heard from Mike Foss again.
2:30 p.m. – Family visit time, or Kalen meets her lil' sis for the first time! We finally have some family come and see us. Me ‘maw and pa ’paw showed up with Aunt Kay-Kay and the Kalenator. Hayden was passed around like a baton in a relay race.
3:10 p.m. – Baby to boob time. So we all leave the room. In the waiting room Uncle Chris appears with a side of Korah Beans.
3:40 p.m. – The two sisters appear to have hit it off… I suspect sibling rivalry to develop in the very near future.
4:48 p.m. – As quickly as they descended upon us, the family files out into the hall and out the doors. We are left with a small bit of quiet time before dinner.
5:20 p.m. – The Benders show up with Bread Co. and a plaque officially labeling Hayden by name in hand. Rachel has now accomplished a third and fourth labor for us. She is becoming much like Hercules in this respect.
6:30 p.m. – The Benders have now left. Rachel to work here at the hospital and John to no doubt go and perform some sort of tribute for being bestowed such a legendary and heroic fiancé.
The rest of this night was filled with short one hour bursts of sleep and occasional visits from nurses, both for Hayden and Melissa. If I had label an official start to this third day I would say it was around at 6:02 a.m. when I awoke seeking coffee.
Sunday June 13th 6:12 a.m. - Coffee was found.
6:15 a.m. - A brief encounter with Rachel in the cafeteria lead to no labor accomplished. After all, heroes get to take a morning off.
7:02 a.m. – Breakfast was ate by Hayden and then by us. Slowly, preparations are being made for our exit.
7:15 a.m. – Rachel visits before leaving work for the day. She blesses us safe journey and grants us leave latter today. It’s not official in the eyes of the hospital, but this is her fifth labor to us. By my count she is still seven behind the mythological figure Hercules. Knowing her she’ll strive for a thirteenth so as not to be outdone by anyone.
8:10 a.m. - I hold Hayden while mom takes a fifteen minute nap.
8:52 a.m. – The nurses took my child. They claim their intentions are pure, but one can’t be too careful. Supposedly this will lead to me being allowed to take her home. No word yet for Melissa. At this point it I can only assume she has to work off her debt to the hospital. It will be an odd week without her.
9:08 a.m. – I struggle to find an end to this blog. Perhaps I will just add “End of part one… see you at home for the finally of our weekend – J”. Or something to that effect.
9:18 a.m. The baby's doctor came in and told us all the ins and outs of operating a baby. She is allowed to leave. Still no word on the fate of Melissa. Baby is back in the room.
9:28 a.m. - End of part one… see you at home for the finally of our weekend - J
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Small Blog w/ONE HUGE TOPIC!!!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
“Patience and fortitude conquer all things”
Ralph Waldo Emerson was the proud owner of that little nugget of goodness I placed conveniently in quotation marks at the top of this blog. And in case you wanted to know my opinion…
Waldo up there was full of shit.
Now let me qualify my bitching a bit here. This pregnancy has been relatively easy based on horror stories viewed on TLC. Judging from what some friends and acquaintances of have shared, we could have had a much more stressful ordeal. And of all the people involved… it’s my wife that has experienced any discomfort really.
But all that said… I am ready for Baby Secret Name to get her butt out of Melissa’s belly and into this world.
Come on all ready.
Despite all of my boasts of possibly selling our bouncing bundle of joy on the baby black market (reverse the first two words of that phrase and I become an instant racist), I was secretly hoping that she would have came today since today was my mom’s birthday. The idea of sharing that with my mom, who wanted nothing more in life then to have a little granddaughter was enough to almost make me a little misty eyed this past week.
But to no avail. The little girl has shown the same stubborn resolve that my mom was famous for. Maybe it’s in that respect that our sweet angel will actually be grandma’s little devil. I can’t say that I’d be too upset were that true.
Even still… as we sit here and watch Sex Drive on premium cable for the umpteenth time, we wait. We remain patient. She bides her time.
And it is driving me flip’n crazy.
Maybe it would be a tad easier on me if my wife wasn’t engaged in a “subconscious” mission to f@#%K with me every chance she gets. She tries to deny it, but I am on to her ruse. I think she enjoys having the upper hand in this arena. Science has thankfully yet to level the playing field in the bearing children department. So for the foreseeable future, she’ll continue to hold all the cards.
Luckily that future and her upper hand both slightly decrease after Sunday. Not so lucky, I slip further behind the ladies in the guy/girl ratio in this household.
It’s only going to harder on this solo manly blogger – J
PS, happy birthday mom.
Waldo up there was full of shit.
Now let me qualify my bitching a bit here. This pregnancy has been relatively easy based on horror stories viewed on TLC. Judging from what some friends and acquaintances of have shared, we could have had a much more stressful ordeal. And of all the people involved… it’s my wife that has experienced any discomfort really.
But all that said… I am ready for Baby Secret Name to get her butt out of Melissa’s belly and into this world.
Come on all ready.
Despite all of my boasts of possibly selling our bouncing bundle of joy on the baby black market (reverse the first two words of that phrase and I become an instant racist), I was secretly hoping that she would have came today since today was my mom’s birthday. The idea of sharing that with my mom, who wanted nothing more in life then to have a little granddaughter was enough to almost make me a little misty eyed this past week.
But to no avail. The little girl has shown the same stubborn resolve that my mom was famous for. Maybe it’s in that respect that our sweet angel will actually be grandma’s little devil. I can’t say that I’d be too upset were that true.
Even still… as we sit here and watch Sex Drive on premium cable for the umpteenth time, we wait. We remain patient. She bides her time.
And it is driving me flip’n crazy.
Maybe it would be a tad easier on me if my wife wasn’t engaged in a “subconscious” mission to f@#%K with me every chance she gets. She tries to deny it, but I am on to her ruse. I think she enjoys having the upper hand in this arena. Science has thankfully yet to level the playing field in the bearing children department. So for the foreseeable future, she’ll continue to hold all the cards.
Luckily that future and her upper hand both slightly decrease after Sunday. Not so lucky, I slip further behind the ladies in the guy/girl ratio in this household.
It’s only going to harder on this solo manly blogger – J
PS, happy birthday mom.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Small Blog w/Small Thoughts
Today I am giving you a new item to my ever expanding toy chest of blog features.
This version of my blog will always be short, sweet, and to the point. Sometimes poignant, often funny, and never dependable… it’s the mini blog!
Today’s mini blog is inspired by a term coined by co blogger AC (visit his rarely posted blog site for some occasional nuggets of goodness http://wanderingsofagypsyking.wordpress.com/).
A few nights ago AC texted me that he saw my “scrunchy”, a doppelganger that had been smushed down to a creepy pint sized version of yours truly. I decided that this was some cleverly sharp wit from the KC based writer.
Damn shame he doesn’t post more frequently.
Any who… at some random point during this fine Sunday, I stood up off the couch and embraced the urge to go wee wee. On my way to the bathroom I told the wife I’d be back in a jiff. While doing my business I decided that numerical labeling of whizzing and pooping has become somewhat passé. So in an effort to reinvigorate the act of relief, I have decided to change the term for #1 to using the “drive thru”. And dropping a deuce will now be called “dining in”.
So there you go. Drive thru or dining in?
With me, it’s almost always a sit and eat visit - J
This version of my blog will always be short, sweet, and to the point. Sometimes poignant, often funny, and never dependable… it’s the mini blog!
Today’s mini blog is inspired by a term coined by co blogger AC (visit his rarely posted blog site for some occasional nuggets of goodness http://wanderingsofagypsyking.wordpress.com/).
A few nights ago AC texted me that he saw my “scrunchy”, a doppelganger that had been smushed down to a creepy pint sized version of yours truly. I decided that this was some cleverly sharp wit from the KC based writer.
Damn shame he doesn’t post more frequently.
Any who… at some random point during this fine Sunday, I stood up off the couch and embraced the urge to go wee wee. On my way to the bathroom I told the wife I’d be back in a jiff. While doing my business I decided that numerical labeling of whizzing and pooping has become somewhat passé. So in an effort to reinvigorate the act of relief, I have decided to change the term for #1 to using the “drive thru”. And dropping a deuce will now be called “dining in”.
So there you go. Drive thru or dining in?
With me, it’s almost always a sit and eat visit - J
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The Update Blog or Blog Potpourri
It’s been many a days since I last blogged. And in those days, many a things have changed.
To the best of my ability I will try and summarize those changes in a quick, efficient manner while maintaining the same sharp wit that you’ve grown to love and expect from me.
To start, much to the dismay of my ever expanding wife, as of this Saturday we are still a one kid family. This number will double regardless of this week’s events no later than next Sunday… and almost assuredly before BP caps the oil leak. I am setting the over/under on my baby’s age versus the time before a solution to the leak is discovered around 17 months. You may begin betting at any time.
Next up, and thankfully for the health of my sanity, we are now living in a house. Although the unpacking isn’t quite finished, I’ve set a personal goal of accomplishing that before the Kalenator’s birthday.
Feel free to make wagers on that as well.
Some of you will be happy to know that thanks to the inter web knowledge of some of my more geekly friends and the ambition of pirates across the globe… I am reading comics again. And while I do miss the oddly pleasing feeling of turning a page, the kick start to my creativity should show through with each passing blog and cartoon strips (coming soon… again I promise).
Fourthly, I now commute from the warm and safe bosom of Missouri life to the dark and seedy underbelly of Illinois. And while I enjoy the new position of having limited authority, I am not sure it balances out with the loss of my humanity due to working in the same state of residence as the Cubs.
Some of you will argue that I am still in Card’s country… but you’re not fooling me you sneaky S.O.B’s.
Finally, if you haven’t noticed, I have internet again. And like last’s night’s mini blog indicated, the blogs should from this point on flow forth like saliva from my dog’s mouth.
I wanted to use a BP joke there, but fought off the urge so as not to sound redundant.
Oh wait!!!
Also, I have a new (to me) and larger grill! I’d say that the increase of cooking surface means that you are all invited over for a BBQ, but I am not sure that I have the finances or patience to entertain the you people.
So there… now if you keep reading, I’ll keep writing.
Catch you on the rebound - J
To the best of my ability I will try and summarize those changes in a quick, efficient manner while maintaining the same sharp wit that you’ve grown to love and expect from me.
To start, much to the dismay of my ever expanding wife, as of this Saturday we are still a one kid family. This number will double regardless of this week’s events no later than next Sunday… and almost assuredly before BP caps the oil leak. I am setting the over/under on my baby’s age versus the time before a solution to the leak is discovered around 17 months. You may begin betting at any time.
Next up, and thankfully for the health of my sanity, we are now living in a house. Although the unpacking isn’t quite finished, I’ve set a personal goal of accomplishing that before the Kalenator’s birthday.
Feel free to make wagers on that as well.
Some of you will be happy to know that thanks to the inter web knowledge of some of my more geekly friends and the ambition of pirates across the globe… I am reading comics again. And while I do miss the oddly pleasing feeling of turning a page, the kick start to my creativity should show through with each passing blog and cartoon strips (coming soon… again I promise).
Fourthly, I now commute from the warm and safe bosom of Missouri life to the dark and seedy underbelly of Illinois. And while I enjoy the new position of having limited authority, I am not sure it balances out with the loss of my humanity due to working in the same state of residence as the Cubs.
Some of you will argue that I am still in Card’s country… but you’re not fooling me you sneaky S.O.B’s.
Finally, if you haven’t noticed, I have internet again. And like last’s night’s mini blog indicated, the blogs should from this point on flow forth like saliva from my dog’s mouth.
I wanted to use a BP joke there, but fought off the urge so as not to sound redundant.
Oh wait!!!
Also, I have a new (to me) and larger grill! I’d say that the increase of cooking surface means that you are all invited over for a BBQ, but I am not sure that I have the finances or patience to entertain the you people.
So there… now if you keep reading, I’ll keep writing.
Catch you on the rebound - J
Friday, June 4, 2010
A Blog of Few Words.
I promise the blog will be back up and adhering to a regular schedule once again starting soon.
Blame moving, baby, and mostly laziness.
For now, you people don't go a changing - J
Blame moving, baby, and mostly laziness.
For now, you people don't go a changing - J
Monday, April 5, 2010
To Steal a Line from Pre-Republican Dennis Miller, “I don’t want to get off on a rant here.”
These next few months offer changes a plenty.
Obviously the biggest and most important change is the oncoming birth of the new baby Bohaagon. But slightly less known but still fairly important is the seemingly more impending and much welcomed move out of our apartment and into an actual house.
It is in that second big looming change that I find inspiration for today’s blog.
Moving from an apartment and into a house is cause for major lifestyle alterations. And while a move does mean a sacrafice of some amenities... for the sake of this blog, we’ll ignore those perks and concentrate on what I absolutely will not miss…
First up, the hippies:
Tree hug all you want. I myself am in favor of saving the planet and all. And hell... a good chunk of us have packed our bags, ate some mushrooms, and enjoyed the ensuing trip. But eventually we grew up. And hanging out on the grassy areas of our complex is fine. But can’t you play ultimate Frisbee or even just zone. Watching you stare at the sky as a group and discuss how the shapes of the clouds make you feel on a spiritual level just creeps me the hell out.
And as for you Mr. Wandering Hippie Minstrel; if you walk by my apartment again, strumming your guitar and humming some “ditty” you wrote… I’m going to punch you right in the damn throat.
The pool party crashers:
On any given day during the summer I could find anywhere from twenty to upwards of eighty people chillin’ at the pool. And while when I was a younger more less attached man I would have popped open a brew dog and kicked it with a good chunk of you, as a dad wanting to teach his kid to swim… I feel like punching the half or more of you that don’t ACTUALLY live here right in the damn throat.
And that brings us to the posers:
Guys, while at the pool, you are not allowed to show your tribal tattoos, have bleached hair, and use assorted tanning oils AND still try and pick up chicks while oozing pre packaged manliness. It just comes off as false bravado and only the slowest and drunkest of the female heard will fall privy to it.
And most of those females are fat… so happy hunting.
The toddler Hell’s Angels:
All of the kids that ride their bikes in the parking lot while traffic comes to screeching halts and swerves to and fro to avoid kiddy splatter will most certainly not be missed. Every time I see them out there I feel like reminding their parents that “not a year goes by, not a year, that I don't hear about some bicycle accident involving some bastard kid which could have easily been avoided had some parent, I don't care which one, but some parent conditioned them to fear and respect that parking lot.”
But instead I am overwhelmed with the urge to encourage the kids out into Dorsett Rd. to drag race cars and read license plates.
The cliché noisy upstairs neighbor:
Nothing witty here, I just want you to know that I will not miss the heard of buffalo that live above us.
And lastly, the laundry room:
Not enough can be said about this den of pure unfiltered annoyance. Everything from the three or four hundred foot walk to the occasional “out of order” change machine needles at my last nerve. Some highlights of previous laundry days include a busted water main and no note indicating the room being out of order, mysterious shutting off of washers and driers, and clothes removed from machines seemingly all on their own.
I'm sure you can no doubt surmise that if I were to catch someone in the act of laundry shenanigans… I would punch them right in the damn throat.
So as you can see, moving is imperative for my sanity. I simply don’t have the time or the energy to go around punching people in the throat all day. I greatly welcome the serenity of landscaping and do-it-yourself home improvement.
And although there have been some good things about living here, this past year has been a strain. Perhaps the evolution of our family dynamic has brought to surface the urge to make a REAL home. Maybe it’s the fact that three (plus one) of us and the mini horse dog are just getting too crowded. Or maybe you can chart the decline of our mood with vacating of the Benders.
I tend to blame John the Neighbor.
No matter what, I can’t think of anyway living here could wear on my nerves any more than it does now... except for maybe zombie Nazis moving next door.
You just can’t live near zombie Nazis - J
Obviously the biggest and most important change is the oncoming birth of the new baby Bohaagon. But slightly less known but still fairly important is the seemingly more impending and much welcomed move out of our apartment and into an actual house.
It is in that second big looming change that I find inspiration for today’s blog.
Moving from an apartment and into a house is cause for major lifestyle alterations. And while a move does mean a sacrafice of some amenities... for the sake of this blog, we’ll ignore those perks and concentrate on what I absolutely will not miss…
First up, the hippies:
Tree hug all you want. I myself am in favor of saving the planet and all. And hell... a good chunk of us have packed our bags, ate some mushrooms, and enjoyed the ensuing trip. But eventually we grew up. And hanging out on the grassy areas of our complex is fine. But can’t you play ultimate Frisbee or even just zone. Watching you stare at the sky as a group and discuss how the shapes of the clouds make you feel on a spiritual level just creeps me the hell out.
And as for you Mr. Wandering Hippie Minstrel; if you walk by my apartment again, strumming your guitar and humming some “ditty” you wrote… I’m going to punch you right in the damn throat.
The pool party crashers:
On any given day during the summer I could find anywhere from twenty to upwards of eighty people chillin’ at the pool. And while when I was a younger more less attached man I would have popped open a brew dog and kicked it with a good chunk of you, as a dad wanting to teach his kid to swim… I feel like punching the half or more of you that don’t ACTUALLY live here right in the damn throat.
And that brings us to the posers:
Guys, while at the pool, you are not allowed to show your tribal tattoos, have bleached hair, and use assorted tanning oils AND still try and pick up chicks while oozing pre packaged manliness. It just comes off as false bravado and only the slowest and drunkest of the female heard will fall privy to it.
And most of those females are fat… so happy hunting.
The toddler Hell’s Angels:
All of the kids that ride their bikes in the parking lot while traffic comes to screeching halts and swerves to and fro to avoid kiddy splatter will most certainly not be missed. Every time I see them out there I feel like reminding their parents that “not a year goes by, not a year, that I don't hear about some bicycle accident involving some bastard kid which could have easily been avoided had some parent, I don't care which one, but some parent conditioned them to fear and respect that parking lot.”
But instead I am overwhelmed with the urge to encourage the kids out into Dorsett Rd. to drag race cars and read license plates.
The cliché noisy upstairs neighbor:
Nothing witty here, I just want you to know that I will not miss the heard of buffalo that live above us.
And lastly, the laundry room:
Not enough can be said about this den of pure unfiltered annoyance. Everything from the three or four hundred foot walk to the occasional “out of order” change machine needles at my last nerve. Some highlights of previous laundry days include a busted water main and no note indicating the room being out of order, mysterious shutting off of washers and driers, and clothes removed from machines seemingly all on their own.
I'm sure you can no doubt surmise that if I were to catch someone in the act of laundry shenanigans… I would punch them right in the damn throat.
So as you can see, moving is imperative for my sanity. I simply don’t have the time or the energy to go around punching people in the throat all day. I greatly welcome the serenity of landscaping and do-it-yourself home improvement.
And although there have been some good things about living here, this past year has been a strain. Perhaps the evolution of our family dynamic has brought to surface the urge to make a REAL home. Maybe it’s the fact that three (plus one) of us and the mini horse dog are just getting too crowded. Or maybe you can chart the decline of our mood with vacating of the Benders.
I tend to blame John the Neighbor.
No matter what, I can’t think of anyway living here could wear on my nerves any more than it does now... except for maybe zombie Nazis moving next door.
You just can’t live near zombie Nazis - J
Monday, March 15, 2010
More Comfortable Then Making Love in the Back of a Volkswagen
This blog will be short.
Many a time I have mentioned that I am beginning to feel the strain of time on my psyche. But in spite of my slowly approaching expiration date, I still dig the occasional use of penises and flatulence as a vehicle for laughter.
I bring this up because tonight I find myself sitting in front of my TV watching Mallrats...arguably Kevin Smith’s most sophomoric film. This may be my kabillionth time watching it and like Bettlejuice said, “It keeps getting funnier every time I see it!”
For real…
I can’t think of many movies outside of Smith’s that always leave me reminiscing about the good ol’ days of late high school and early college with such fond reflection. It illuminates some of the best memories I had of those time periods.
Not chasing skirts. Not swilling barley and hops. And not rounding the bases after saying “buh-bye” to Mr. Softball.
Nope, some of the best times I can reflect on were laughing and discussing Smith-ian dialogue and Tarantino’s intentionally missing plot threads with the likes of Big D and Carter.
And regardless of Smith’s ever expanding waist band and over blown since of geeky divinity… I will always like him and the other directors like Robert Rodriguez, Tarantino, and David Fincher. They are what kept me going to the movies and inspired me to enjoy more depth in my stories then I would have thought entertaining just short years earlier.
So I guess I am trying to say thanks to tuba tubby for making the films that can still remind me what it feels like to relax, laugh, and enjoy when relaxing, laughing, and enjoying were really all we had to most days.
Blog over, slightly shorter then Smith’s time on Southwest Airlines… BONG!!! - J
Many a time I have mentioned that I am beginning to feel the strain of time on my psyche. But in spite of my slowly approaching expiration date, I still dig the occasional use of penises and flatulence as a vehicle for laughter.
I bring this up because tonight I find myself sitting in front of my TV watching Mallrats...arguably Kevin Smith’s most sophomoric film. This may be my kabillionth time watching it and like Bettlejuice said, “It keeps getting funnier every time I see it!”
For real…
I can’t think of many movies outside of Smith’s that always leave me reminiscing about the good ol’ days of late high school and early college with such fond reflection. It illuminates some of the best memories I had of those time periods.
Not chasing skirts. Not swilling barley and hops. And not rounding the bases after saying “buh-bye” to Mr. Softball.
Nope, some of the best times I can reflect on were laughing and discussing Smith-ian dialogue and Tarantino’s intentionally missing plot threads with the likes of Big D and Carter.
And regardless of Smith’s ever expanding waist band and over blown since of geeky divinity… I will always like him and the other directors like Robert Rodriguez, Tarantino, and David Fincher. They are what kept me going to the movies and inspired me to enjoy more depth in my stories then I would have thought entertaining just short years earlier.
So I guess I am trying to say thanks to tuba tubby for making the films that can still remind me what it feels like to relax, laugh, and enjoy when relaxing, laughing, and enjoying were really all we had to most days.
Blog over, slightly shorter then Smith’s time on Southwest Airlines… BONG!!! - J
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Caffeinated Snobbery
As recent as four or five years ago I would go to bed with calm anticipation for the next morning’s predetermined offerings.
Some days I would be looking forward to things like softball tournaments. Other days it would be to hit the hard court for some day long basketball. Sometimes crazy nights led to morning after trips to my favorite greasy spoon for breakfast (that was Colonel’s for all you people familiar with Joplin MO). Most days it would just be a lackadaisical wake up to watch Sports Center.
Last night before bed, I pointed out to my wife the further realization that I am getting up there in age.
Because now, every Friday and Saturday night when I go to bed with my wife… I think to myself, “I cannot wait to wake up tomorrow and make a full pot of MY coffee.” And what makes me feel so much older then those four of five years ago is that as much as I liked those things and looked forward to them… it doesn’t hold a candle to how I feel about that pot of coffee.
In all of it’s pretentiously priced caffeinated goodness.
And it can’t be just any coffee. Monday through Friday doesn't cut it because I’m drinking work coffee… a far inferior blend. It must always be whatever coffee I pick out from the gourmet section of my local grocery store.
Not only has my aging papillae habituated toward that little brown bean, but they’ve became quite the little “budding” snobs.
The awful play on words aside… this is proof that the older we get, the more life’s simpler things become the most fulfilling.
Luckily for me my wife is going through the same thing with men - J
Some days I would be looking forward to things like softball tournaments. Other days it would be to hit the hard court for some day long basketball. Sometimes crazy nights led to morning after trips to my favorite greasy spoon for breakfast (that was Colonel’s for all you people familiar with Joplin MO). Most days it would just be a lackadaisical wake up to watch Sports Center.
Last night before bed, I pointed out to my wife the further realization that I am getting up there in age.
Because now, every Friday and Saturday night when I go to bed with my wife… I think to myself, “I cannot wait to wake up tomorrow and make a full pot of MY coffee.” And what makes me feel so much older then those four of five years ago is that as much as I liked those things and looked forward to them… it doesn’t hold a candle to how I feel about that pot of coffee.
In all of it’s pretentiously priced caffeinated goodness.
And it can’t be just any coffee. Monday through Friday doesn't cut it because I’m drinking work coffee… a far inferior blend. It must always be whatever coffee I pick out from the gourmet section of my local grocery store.
Not only has my aging papillae habituated toward that little brown bean, but they’ve became quite the little “budding” snobs.
The awful play on words aside… this is proof that the older we get, the more life’s simpler things become the most fulfilling.
Luckily for me my wife is going through the same thing with men - J
Monday, March 8, 2010
We Aunt Talking About Jemima
Last week was a rough one.
Well rough at least from the perspective of a struggling blog writer.
I had no less than four or five really good ideas for writing and scripting my comic strip. You might’ve said that… and I’m paraphrasing Hedley Lamarr here… that my mind was a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives. Only like Ryan Franklin at the end of last season… when I sat at the laptop or drawing pad, I couldn’t close on any of them.
So when I sat down today at work to make some “sales calls”, one word came to my mind and an entire blog materialized behind it.
That word… syrup.
Now not just any syrup; we’re talking about what I, in my esteemed opinion, consider the crème de la crème of syrups… Log Cabin Maple Syrup. And just so you know, when I say that the L.C. is the top dog of all maple goodness… you should consider it the gospel.
You see the amount of work and what not that my mom had to effort in order to clothe and feed the likes of my brother and I led to a lot of fending for ourselves. Many a mornings were kick started by three primary meals; cinnamon rolls, Homestyle Eggo Waffles and canned biscuits. The later is quite delicious when buttered and dipped in syrup (and don’t judge… this is one of those 'don’t knock it till you try it' things). I just fear that the shortcoming of the canvas that is my blog doesn’t offer enough clarity needed to paint the kind of picture I want to convey toward the abundance of syrup based breakfast I’ve digested for damn near a decade of my childhood.
Just buy into the aforementioned gospel of me… Log Cabin is the cat’s pajamas.
And luckily for me, in spite of a myriad of disadvantages both self inflicted and out of her hands, my mother tried her damndest to never let me want for anything. I never had all the things that made the other kids jealous, but I possessed all the necessities and entertainment I needed to not only survive, but also thrive as kid. While we didn’t always have the money for steak, mom never skimped on breakfast food. And the one breakfast item she never missed when picking up groceries was Log Cabin syrup. Log Cabin isn’t the cheapest of syrups. But she loved it and because of that we loved it too. So she bought it for us all.
I guess the destination that the syrupy path I’ve been trying to lead you to here is this… I sincerely feel that as a current and soon to be new parent, I have a leg up on my mother based merely on lifestyle choices alone. But the thing is, being a good parent isn’t always framed in a Norman Rockwell painting. Sometimes providing love and care in face of incredible odds, even those avoidable and unnecessary is enough to make for an amazing parent. I just hope that like my mom, Missy and I will always be able to provide our children with Log Cabin Maple Syrup.
If you didn’t get it, that last use of syrup was meant to be symbolic.
And yet still very yummy - J
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Total B.S.
While finding out you're going to be a new dad is the one of the most amazing and the most surreal of any experiences I've had in my life… I must keep a level head.
Just like when Kalen turns into the Kalenator; at some point this kid is going to be a terror on two legs, and I’m going to be stuck with an eight and four year old that want nothing more then to torture me mercilessly.
And to slightly elevate my blood pressure.
So comparatively speaking, the toddler years of lost sleep and changing diapers doesn’t seem all that scary. AND I guess it could always get a little worse… eventually they’re going to be fourteen and eighteen years old.
But at that point I will be more then happy with my dementia - J
Oh and P.S. Road trip for the Bohaagon clan this weekend... and from it shall come a new look for the comic strip.
That's my version of a tease.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Sigmund Theory... or The Aging Id.
It has occurred to me that my rate of maturity due to being married and expecting a child is being lapped by the increasing feeling of getting old… both emotionally and physically.
Last night I had this big long blog about being a learned man and sharing my knowledge about surviving a relationship with a woman. It was all related to this past weekend and helping a younger friend move and his lack of preparation. There were all these jokes about the jabs from his girlfriend and his getting off lucky compared to how Missy would crucify me if I were in that situation. I even replaced Pavlov's dog with men as the primary subject in conditioned versus unconditioned responses.
But alas… that is a blog that will never see the light of day.
Instead, after about typing three quarters of the way through that blog, I ran out of gas. I was so tired that I was weary of having to put my boots back on later that night to take out the Murph; I didn’t even bother taking them off. We turned a movie on around eight o’clock and around eight thirty I was out. I’d love to say it was because I put in a “hard days work”. But that sure wasn't it.
So it has to be one of two things.
Either I am getting old. Or the crazy dreams and nightmares that have kept waking me up of late are being brought on as empathy to the wife’s pregnancy.
I am betting on a combination of the two.
Both things are a bit upsetting because neither can be helped. I mean no one likes getting old. Mortality of one’s self is a hard pill to swallow. And the dreams… well let’s just say this pregnancy has been rough on me.
…
Ok… I need to hit the breaks and change momentum. While ninety-nine percent of this blog is true; the tired thing, the move, the dreams and the whole deal about the boots… I may have intentionally angle my way to that quick little joke about the pregnancy. I know it isn't the funniest joke I've ever used, but it cracks me up.
And Missy loves when I use that line.
...
But seriously… why else would I be having dreams about losing fingers, being monster slayer trapped in a maximum security prison and going on long Sunday drives with Snoop Dog.
It’s that or my id has some ‘splainin to do - J
Last night I had this big long blog about being a learned man and sharing my knowledge about surviving a relationship with a woman. It was all related to this past weekend and helping a younger friend move and his lack of preparation. There were all these jokes about the jabs from his girlfriend and his getting off lucky compared to how Missy would crucify me if I were in that situation. I even replaced Pavlov's dog with men as the primary subject in conditioned versus unconditioned responses.
But alas… that is a blog that will never see the light of day.
Instead, after about typing three quarters of the way through that blog, I ran out of gas. I was so tired that I was weary of having to put my boots back on later that night to take out the Murph; I didn’t even bother taking them off. We turned a movie on around eight o’clock and around eight thirty I was out. I’d love to say it was because I put in a “hard days work”. But that sure wasn't it.
So it has to be one of two things.
Either I am getting old. Or the crazy dreams and nightmares that have kept waking me up of late are being brought on as empathy to the wife’s pregnancy.
I am betting on a combination of the two.
Both things are a bit upsetting because neither can be helped. I mean no one likes getting old. Mortality of one’s self is a hard pill to swallow. And the dreams… well let’s just say this pregnancy has been rough on me.
…
Ok… I need to hit the breaks and change momentum. While ninety-nine percent of this blog is true; the tired thing, the move, the dreams and the whole deal about the boots… I may have intentionally angle my way to that quick little joke about the pregnancy. I know it isn't the funniest joke I've ever used, but it cracks me up.
And Missy loves when I use that line.
...
But seriously… why else would I be having dreams about losing fingers, being monster slayer trapped in a maximum security prison and going on long Sunday drives with Snoop Dog.
It’s that or my id has some ‘splainin to do - J
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Total B.S.
Now to some, this joke may strike you as being a little crass… but after I give credit where credit is due… it may make a little more sense. A few years ago I heard my brother say this in reference to when his wife was pregnant with one of their children and I’ve been waiting my entire adulthood for my chance to use it.
And before anyone gets up in arms and shines a judgmental eye in my direction, I think truth be told I’ve been pretty sympathetic and have done good job of showing extra care and love toward my wife. Gun to her head she may even agree.
Still… every time I think of that line, I crack up inside.
So if your slightly disgusted… you can blame Shannon (my bro).
Most everyone does - J
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Cathartiac Arrest
It’s official. Last night I had my first bout with anxiety during our pregnancy.
I was laying there in bed and the weighty realization of my looming fatherhood walked directly into my room, sat right on my chest and placed its legs squarely on my head.
Now before my loving and very understanding wife strikes me right on the side of my calculator, I should tell you that the amount of sleep lost due to this moment of man panic was about twelve whole minutes. Which, as a by product of stress, actually wasn’t so bad. It allowed me to finish watching the ten p.m. showing of Two and a Half Men. Which leads me to this theory… could the brevity of my inner turmoil be directly inversely proportionate to the comedic stylings of Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer?
Or maybe more so the comments of the chick that plays Berta?
Really no matter how long the “attack” or even what saving grace was dealt to relieve me, the point is that it was really the first moment that the severity of having a little person bred of my loins crawling this Earth solely relying on my sense of responsibility and love. Well, me AND the wife (I should mind my p’s and q’s here; I seem to be poetically tip toeing around my own literary land mines).
I mean, I couldn’t say this any other way then I am going to be a dad. Try that again… I am going to be a dad.
I am the same guy that very casually drifted from my high school to college, from hometown to several cities, and from friendship to relationship leaving behind ignored appointments, broken hearts, and empty beer bottles. I rarely stopped to take in the needs or wants of anyone. Be they male or female.
Maybe with the title of new father the sum of one’s own self worth really comes into focus. I mean, I had an idea that I have cruised through most of my life with more luck then I deserved. Hell, it’s that same luck that landed me in a marriage with a wonderful wife and beautiful stepdaughter. I know I am more then blessed with the friends I’ve clung to over the years. Because they’ve done more on their end to keep me as a friend then I could ever manage to repay. And that’s why…for at least moment… I thought, “S#!t… how the hell can I be a dad when I’ve relied on the strongest support network any slacker could ask for? What in the Sam hell am I going to do” (Because “Sam hell” is a common phrase in my brain).
It was after about ten of those lost twelve minutes of sleep, I came up with this answer… because I simply have to.
Well... I mean it’s a LITTLE more complicated, but not much.
Since meeting Melissa I’ve done a lot of growing up in a bunch of different ways. She’s been an enormous point of relief when I’m down (and occasionally a colossal pain in the @$$ even when I’m up... but that’s love people). And because of her, I will be a great dad.
I also feel that as a product of my mother and father, I have seen a tremendous amount of example of do’s and don’ts. Sometimes it seemed that the don’ts outnumbered the do’s, but that’s only made me more secure with my ability to raise my own kid. Add my childhood with my rapid onset adulthood, and I think I’m going to be ok. And if I should ever stray from my responsibility, that amazing wife of mine will kick me in exit hatch and get me back on path.
So after those ten minutes of thinking about all that and then coming up with the conclusion from the previous paragraph, I used the next two minutes of lost sleep to smile and settle right back into being excited about this next step in my life.
Our life.
And then I feel asleep - J
I was laying there in bed and the weighty realization of my looming fatherhood walked directly into my room, sat right on my chest and placed its legs squarely on my head.
Now before my loving and very understanding wife strikes me right on the side of my calculator, I should tell you that the amount of sleep lost due to this moment of man panic was about twelve whole minutes. Which, as a by product of stress, actually wasn’t so bad. It allowed me to finish watching the ten p.m. showing of Two and a Half Men. Which leads me to this theory… could the brevity of my inner turmoil be directly inversely proportionate to the comedic stylings of Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer?
Or maybe more so the comments of the chick that plays Berta?
Really no matter how long the “attack” or even what saving grace was dealt to relieve me, the point is that it was really the first moment that the severity of having a little person bred of my loins crawling this Earth solely relying on my sense of responsibility and love. Well, me AND the wife (I should mind my p’s and q’s here; I seem to be poetically tip toeing around my own literary land mines).
I mean, I couldn’t say this any other way then I am going to be a dad. Try that again… I am going to be a dad.
I am the same guy that very casually drifted from my high school to college, from hometown to several cities, and from friendship to relationship leaving behind ignored appointments, broken hearts, and empty beer bottles. I rarely stopped to take in the needs or wants of anyone. Be they male or female.
Maybe with the title of new father the sum of one’s own self worth really comes into focus. I mean, I had an idea that I have cruised through most of my life with more luck then I deserved. Hell, it’s that same luck that landed me in a marriage with a wonderful wife and beautiful stepdaughter. I know I am more then blessed with the friends I’ve clung to over the years. Because they’ve done more on their end to keep me as a friend then I could ever manage to repay. And that’s why…for at least moment… I thought, “S#!t… how the hell can I be a dad when I’ve relied on the strongest support network any slacker could ask for? What in the Sam hell am I going to do” (Because “Sam hell” is a common phrase in my brain).
It was after about ten of those lost twelve minutes of sleep, I came up with this answer… because I simply have to.
Well... I mean it’s a LITTLE more complicated, but not much.
Since meeting Melissa I’ve done a lot of growing up in a bunch of different ways. She’s been an enormous point of relief when I’m down (and occasionally a colossal pain in the @$$ even when I’m up... but that’s love people). And because of her, I will be a great dad.
I also feel that as a product of my mother and father, I have seen a tremendous amount of example of do’s and don’ts. Sometimes it seemed that the don’ts outnumbered the do’s, but that’s only made me more secure with my ability to raise my own kid. Add my childhood with my rapid onset adulthood, and I think I’m going to be ok. And if I should ever stray from my responsibility, that amazing wife of mine will kick me in exit hatch and get me back on path.
So after those ten minutes of thinking about all that and then coming up with the conclusion from the previous paragraph, I used the next two minutes of lost sleep to smile and settle right back into being excited about this next step in my life.
Our life.
And then I feel asleep - J
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Happy Happy Heart Day
Happy Valentine’s Day people.
I would love to sit and write this blog and tell you that up until I met my wife, I’ve never given much weight to this holiday. The operative phrase being that I would love to tell you that. The truth is… I’ve always liked the day. I’ve never really taken the masculine stance of it being manufactured or some kind of racket to steal our manly hard earned dollars. Nope, I’ve always felt that with the right focus and viewed with the right clarity… it can be a pretty beneficial holiday for us guys.
That said. I once broke up with a girl on Valentine’s Day. In my defense I thought it was just a normal Tuesday until she showed up with a big heart shaped cookie and some gift wrapped present.
Just so you know, I never ate the cookie or found out was in the present.
Like I said earlier, I’ve always like the day. But it does seem that this time around, this one is much better. Maybe because the air seems clearer, the food tastes better, and the sun shines brighter… well that last part isn’t quite true… right now its snowing for the umpteenth time this season… but that’s not really the point.
The point is having a family for V-Day is way better then being a single man. It’s true I tell you. Just yesterday I spent my Valentine date with wife and daughter walking with dinosaurs at the Science Center. That was followed by some romantic grocery shopping and an evening of TV on the couch watching NBA All-Star Weekend with a bottle of wine and one sexy pregnant wife (she did not have the wine).
I’m not even trying to be funny. I really enjoyed the whole day. Why if it wasn’t for last weekend, it might have been my favorite so far of this young year.
Last weekend I found myself caught in one of those unexpected “I am now almost a grown up” moments. We took the Sunday and went baby registering (at Target and Babies R Us in case you wanted to know) and it was some of the best fun I’ve ever had. I took every chance I could to scan every “daddy’s little girl” item within range. When the Kalenator and Melissa went to the bathroom I probably scanned at least 5 or 6 more of ‘em.
You might say I got a little out of control.
But I think that’s ok. After all, this is my first bio-kid and in the past I may have became a little more over zealous for some much more trivial things. So I feel I am entitled. Besides, I figure proportionately the extremity of my behavior isn’t near as bad as it will be when both of my little girls start dating.
When that day comes, someone may need to tell me to dial it back just a little.
For now I’ll just take pleasure in being out of control - J
I would love to sit and write this blog and tell you that up until I met my wife, I’ve never given much weight to this holiday. The operative phrase being that I would love to tell you that. The truth is… I’ve always liked the day. I’ve never really taken the masculine stance of it being manufactured or some kind of racket to steal our manly hard earned dollars. Nope, I’ve always felt that with the right focus and viewed with the right clarity… it can be a pretty beneficial holiday for us guys.
That said. I once broke up with a girl on Valentine’s Day. In my defense I thought it was just a normal Tuesday until she showed up with a big heart shaped cookie and some gift wrapped present.
Just so you know, I never ate the cookie or found out was in the present.
Like I said earlier, I’ve always like the day. But it does seem that this time around, this one is much better. Maybe because the air seems clearer, the food tastes better, and the sun shines brighter… well that last part isn’t quite true… right now its snowing for the umpteenth time this season… but that’s not really the point.
The point is having a family for V-Day is way better then being a single man. It’s true I tell you. Just yesterday I spent my Valentine date with wife and daughter walking with dinosaurs at the Science Center. That was followed by some romantic grocery shopping and an evening of TV on the couch watching NBA All-Star Weekend with a bottle of wine and one sexy pregnant wife (she did not have the wine).
I’m not even trying to be funny. I really enjoyed the whole day. Why if it wasn’t for last weekend, it might have been my favorite so far of this young year.
Last weekend I found myself caught in one of those unexpected “I am now almost a grown up” moments. We took the Sunday and went baby registering (at Target and Babies R Us in case you wanted to know) and it was some of the best fun I’ve ever had. I took every chance I could to scan every “daddy’s little girl” item within range. When the Kalenator and Melissa went to the bathroom I probably scanned at least 5 or 6 more of ‘em.
You might say I got a little out of control.
But I think that’s ok. After all, this is my first bio-kid and in the past I may have became a little more over zealous for some much more trivial things. So I feel I am entitled. Besides, I figure proportionately the extremity of my behavior isn’t near as bad as it will be when both of my little girls start dating.
When that day comes, someone may need to tell me to dial it back just a little.
For now I’ll just take pleasure in being out of control - J
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Bohaagon’s: A Reintroduction or a Natural Evolution
Man have I been absent.
Absent or absent minded. Either way, you’ve read no blogs from the self proclaimed ayatollah of the blog-ola (It’s true, in the way back I used that title on an ancient social networking site called MySpace) for some time. And now I feel like it’s time to say hello once again and take, what I feel, is the natural next step in my blogging.
In all phases of life and life forms, there is a need… or instinctual hunger to evolve. I am no different. My need to evolve comes from a few things. Things like a comedic drought, a more insightful approach, and a creative desire to expand. Whatever reasoning you attach to it, this blog is the first steep in my evolution.
I’ve been an awkward kid, a rabble rousing teenager, a directionless adult, a step-daddy in training, and finally a new bio-daddy to be. It’s all those experiences and stages of my evolving that have led me to the decision to change the direction of this blog.
I loved talking about my little Kalenator. And I still will. But from now on I’m going to start talking more about myself, my lovely wife, and my partially witless dog. It’s going to be framed with all the same humor (or lack there of), pop culture referencing, and sophomoric comments that you’ve come to know and love from me. I’m going to take you on a journey, MY journey, of not only being a step-dad... a bio-dad... a love’y hubby... but also as just a guy.
A thirty-two year old, slightly educated, and sometimes clueless guy.
And have no fear... there will still be a comic strip coming weekly (hopefully), and it will still prominently portray the Kalenator. Only now there will be frequent guest appearance by some other characters (namely me, the wife, and the Murph).
So read and watch my family through my own skewed vision and distorted sense of humor. And enjoy the blogging evolution from The Khronicles of Kalen to The Bohaagon Saga.
Hopefully reading it will be slightly easier than and just as entertaining as living it.
-J
Absent or absent minded. Either way, you’ve read no blogs from the self proclaimed ayatollah of the blog-ola (It’s true, in the way back I used that title on an ancient social networking site called MySpace) for some time. And now I feel like it’s time to say hello once again and take, what I feel, is the natural next step in my blogging.
In all phases of life and life forms, there is a need… or instinctual hunger to evolve. I am no different. My need to evolve comes from a few things. Things like a comedic drought, a more insightful approach, and a creative desire to expand. Whatever reasoning you attach to it, this blog is the first steep in my evolution.
I’ve been an awkward kid, a rabble rousing teenager, a directionless adult, a step-daddy in training, and finally a new bio-daddy to be. It’s all those experiences and stages of my evolving that have led me to the decision to change the direction of this blog.
I loved talking about my little Kalenator. And I still will. But from now on I’m going to start talking more about myself, my lovely wife, and my partially witless dog. It’s going to be framed with all the same humor (or lack there of), pop culture referencing, and sophomoric comments that you’ve come to know and love from me. I’m going to take you on a journey, MY journey, of not only being a step-dad... a bio-dad... a love’y hubby... but also as just a guy.
A thirty-two year old, slightly educated, and sometimes clueless guy.
And have no fear... there will still be a comic strip coming weekly (hopefully), and it will still prominently portray the Kalenator. Only now there will be frequent guest appearance by some other characters (namely me, the wife, and the Murph).
So read and watch my family through my own skewed vision and distorted sense of humor. And enjoy the blogging evolution from The Khronicles of Kalen to The Bohaagon Saga.
Hopefully reading it will be slightly easier than and just as entertaining as living it.
-J
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