Alcohol Filled Grenades

Remember those days when you used to be able to pour a beer or glass of wine or both, and leave them sitting on the counter or coffee table and they would be there when you got back?

Since the infestation of children in our lives, alcoholic beverages have been like grenades throughout the house.

You place them down and walking away is like pulling the pin. You have just seconds before it’s knocked over, shattered, kicked, or used because, “my horsey wanted some water.”

And literally making matters worse…my damn cat is obsessed with knocking over full glasses of liquid.

I have a mental list of areas throughout the house that are not only out of the reach of the kids, but tight enough that my fat-ass cat has no chance in cat-hell to get anywhere near it.

Those spots are almost as precious as those along the wooden steps in our house that don’t creak in the early morning when the children are on the brink of cock-blocking a solid hour of silence, coffee, and the newspaper.

The trouble is always remembering if I’d finished that beer or placed it in one of my sacred kid-free places.

If it’s a particular late night with friends I’ll spend a good half-hour on a scavenger hunt searching for half-full beers or overflowing glasses of wine. Somewhere in the middle I’d ultimately get completely turned around checking and re-checking spots.

Eventually, our guests will find me in the fetal position, sucking my thumb, crying and carving messages into the wall with my jagged thumbnail.

But I guess everything in the house suffers the same possible destruction.

When I was dating the wifey in high school I was notorious for breaking lamps, vases and chairs in her mom’s house. Clumsy, no self control and stupidity were the main culprits.

So who am I to judge the nippers for being who they are and just flat out flailing around the house in the midst of a giggle-filled tickle rages and taking down beers, wine and lamps in their wake?

Maybe I should just attach flashing beacons to my beers. That way I’d always know where I left them.

Either that or I’d spend way too much time having seizures.

A Discussion About Shirtless Dudes & Chicks on Bikes

Yesterday marked a sad sad day for this brother. It was the last game of the World Cup. I’m a long-time soccer geek and live for the World Cup.

This past weekend the wife and I watched the Germany third-place game. I thought I’d be all manly and watch the game with her and impress the hell out of her with my soccer knowledge. By the end of the game I thought for sure she’d be ripping my clothes off and confessing that I’m quite possibly the sexiest gap-toothed bastard on the planet.

Instead…..

Wifey: “So when do they take their shirts off again?”

Me: “Seriously, that’s all you care about? That really hurts…that hurts down deep.”

Wifey: “So when do they take their shirts off again?”

Me: “Not all the players do that…some of them kiss their country’s emblem that’s on their shirt, some just run around like they’re trying to get away from the rest of their team that wants to tackle the hell out of them.”

Wifey: “So we have to wait for them to score before they do it? Well this sucks.”

Me: “Would it make you feel better if I took my shirt off.”

Wifey: “Oh God no…. I mean, if you’re warm yes, but don’t do it on account of me. Love you honey.”

Me: “Why is it that I want you to take your shirt off worse than Gary Busey wants a gum-reduction, but you say, ‘oh God no!?’”

Wifey: “Hey, what’s that? Why are they touching it with their hands?”

Me: “Because their wives won’t touch it anymore for them. So now they have to do it all on their own!”

Wifey: “Ooooh…OK…we’re even now jackass. At least I told you I loved you after I made you my bitch.”

Me: “They’re throwing the ball in, it went out of bounds.”

Wifey: “So why aren’t there any women in the Tour de France? It’s 2010. That’s pretty messed-up they won’t let any women in.”

Me: “You honestly think a whole bunch of guys got together and made the unanimous group decision to not allow a super fit women wearing extremely tight clothes with her ass perched high in the air for all to see while riding a bike for a solid month throughout all of France? I don’t think so.”

Wifey: “That’s true. She’d probably become the Yoko of the Tour de France anyway.”

Me: “And when she won a stage she could get off her bike, run towards the crowd and rip her shirt off like soccer players. That would be hot.”

Wifey: “You’re a pig.”

Me: “But…you…just a minute ago you were…oh forget it. I’m going upstairs to watch the game.”

Wifey: “Can you pour me some more wine before you go? Love you honey!!”



The Wife & I Discuss the Off Road Commode

Yesterday I happened upon this absolutely stellar, award-winning, high-class commercial in the Interweb Machine Thingy.

Doing what my wife hates the most, I immediately say, “honey, seriously, come watch this...”

As a side note, that is by far the worst phrase you could ever utter to my wife. She HATES when I ask her to watch videos. But then, nine times out of ten, she laughs her ass off. I know at the end of the day she’s writing in her diary: “…and then my sexy-ass husband showed me the most hilarious video and I almost peed myself watching it. God I love that man!”

Actually, it went a little bit more like this:

Wife: I don’t understand. You shit right behind your truck?

Me: Ummm…well yeah, I guess so.

Wife: That’s just stupid. Then it’s right next to your truck. And worse, it’s at the tailgate. What if you bag a deer? Then you’ll be stepping in your own shit while trying to put the deer carcass in your truck bed.

Me: Did you just say “tailgate,” “deer carcass” and “truck bed” to me? I want you so bad right now it’s ridiculous.

Wife: You’re a douche. Seriously, that is the dumbest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

Me: Maybe he dug a ditch, shat in it, covered it back up, and went back to ruthlessly killing innocent deer which he justifies by saying they’re overpopulated, which they really aren’t we’re just encroaching on their damn habitat.

Wife: Here we go again. Blah blah blah…nature…blah blah….save the animals…blah blah… Can you at least go pour me a bit more wine while you’re talking?

Me: Look, I was just trying to show you a funny-ass commercial that’s trying to pass off a trailer hitch toilet seat as a luxury item to rednecks that enjoy killing shit.

Wife: It’s hilarious. Can I leave now?

Me: I’m going to buy one for you for your birthday and make love to you on it.

Wife: OK, first, that’s just dumb. Second, you don’t have a trailer hitch. And third, if you did, you’d have to ask me how to hook the toilet seat up to it.

Me: That’s why I’m buying it for you and not me!!

Wife: That actually might be kinda sexy.

Me: Oh my God – are you serious? Cause I’ll order it right now. Actually, I’ll get on Craigslist and see if anyone close-by is selling them so I can pick it up now. Oh, and I need to buy a trailer hitch and find someone to weld it on…

I paused and realized while I was off on this wild goose chase, my wife had relocated her sexy-ass to the couch where she was drinking her wine and watching her show in peace.

It didn’t matter though, I’m still buying it…

Returning the Favor

Yeah, I just got back from a dude weekend. It’s true.

I hopped a flight to North Carolina leaving my sweet, innocent wife alone for three days with a five and seven-year-old, while I hung out with two old-school college buddies at a lake-front log cabin.

We drank beer and good wine without a care in the world, while the wife frantically sucked back leftovers from the kids’ plates, forgot where she put her wine glass, and was woken up throughout the night by the kids during thunderstorms.

I won’t lie…there was guilt. I’d call and hear the exasperation in her voice.

She’d say: “That’s awesome you guys did so well at the 10k trail race.”

What I’d hear is: “Run it again only this time fall off a cliff you dead-beat dad!”

She’d say: “That sounds like you had a really cool day!”

What I’d hear is: “I’m putting eye drops in all your drinks for the rest of the week when you get back, punk-ass!”

I’ll definitely spend the next few weeks trying to make it up to her in little ways. Girls’ night out, a night alone without kids or me, or a night of letting her watch me try on various Speedo bathing suits.

I think back to how far we’ve come as men. Back in the day the men-folk would spend their weekends golfing, playing poker, and shooting the shit in their garages with other neighborhood dudes. The wives would shuttle the kids to the pool or their parent’s house to make sure the husband was relaxed on his two days off from work.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been to parties these days where the stay-at-home moms declare to the men “kids are yours, we’ll be in the house relaxing,” and then disappear never to be seen again.

For so many reasons I’m OK with that. I think most guys are OK with that. Because today it’s understood that whether a woman is a stay-at-home mom, or successful executive – they’re working and deserve down-time too.

Let’s look at stay-at-home parents in comparison to those working and you’ll see my point!

Stay at Home Parents                                                        Work

Mind-numbing requests from uneducated,

immature humans daily                                                                     X

Continuously fighting to have peace while you eat                X

Endlessly plotting against the person that got you

into this position                                                                                  X

Faking optimum productivity & interest when

others are watching                                                                             X

Constantly motivated to slam your head against a wall         X

I think you see what I mean.

So yeah, I’m grateful my wife threw herself on the tracks for three days so I could dude-it-up. I’m thankful more than she knows. And that’s why I’ll have no problem at all making damn sure I return the favor.

And, it’s in everyone’s best interest that I do it quickly.

Our Neighbors Think We're Heathens

My neighbors think we’re horrific parents.

I’m convinced of this is fact.

It’s spring, everyone’s outside, windows are open, wind’s blowing in the right direction…life couldn’t be better. We live in a very urban area – I can almost touch my house and my neighbor’s house at the same time.

So, I’m outside drinking wine and watching the kids live-out their childhood. Occasionally I’ll wave to a neighbor with that calm, collective, “what’s up man! Life’s good…just relaxing with the family” kinda wave.

Usually that’s the kid’s cue to go absolutely ballistic.

Immediately the boy yells “I said no Macy now STOOOOOP!!!!” Then rides away on his bicycle towards the corner of the street inches from going into traffic.

As I’m running down the sidewalk carrying wine, yelling “HONEY…GRAB MACY…SHE’S BLEEDING” I happen to notice half the neighborhood stopping mid-discussion and turning towards our rabid family.

“WHAT?!” my wife screeches from inside the house.

“GRAB MACY…GRAYSON MADE HER BLEED AND NOW HE’S RIDING HIS BIKE INTO TRAFFIC!!”

This is where I bring the scene to a screeching halt and reveal that we are actually the “older” family on the block. My kids are almost 6 and 8. The average age of the rest of the block’s children… 1.7 years old. So they’re standing there in horror as they watch elements of parenthood unfold that they have yet to experience.

As they gather their children and herd them away from the scene with disappointing looks on their faces I can almost hear them mumbling “we’ll never be like that will we George?”

“Never Marcia. We’ll never parent like those heathens!”

The neighborhood air is consistently filled with the loving ramblings of our family-of-four as sentiments such as these come flying out our house windows regularly:

 “I said GO BRUSH YOUR TEETH!!! How many times do I have to ask you?”

“I AAAMMMM finishing in the shower…geeeeze!!”

“OOOOWWWW daddy!!! Your pulling my hair, let me comb it!!!”

“Mooooommmyyyyyyy Macy won’t stop snoring!!”

“NO! You cannot have a chocolate bar while you go to sleep!! That’s just insane! Now go to bed!!”

“But honey!!! I thought tonight was really going to be ‘the’ night!?”

I think back to before we had kids and I remember the many times in the grocery seeing the mother say to the little boy, “stop touching things on the shelf. Do you hear me?! One more time Mr. and you’re in BIG trouble.”

And I always thought…I’d never, NEVER talk to MY kids like that. Guess it goes to show the number one rule as a parent is never say “I’ll never.”

Now if I can get my wife to stop talking to me like that in the grocery…