Adventures in You Can't Make This Shit Up Vol. 1

   Our youngest has broken her wrist after her first attempt at flight.
  I say that this was her first attempt at flight because I am assuming that she was following the instructions of one of my favorite writers Douglas Adams, who stated that in order to slip the surly bonds of earth one simply must throw themselves at the ground and miss.  True, at 1 year of age, she has yet to read Douglas Adams, but I feel that she has picked up on some of his wisdom just by the books being in my house.
  Being that my offspring is a 3rd generation archery expert (well she will be as soon as she is old enough for me to impose my will on her) missing just isn't in her genetics.

We are not impressed

   Unfortunately as a result of her expert aim my 1 year old was forced to break her fall with her sternum, face, and arms.  She did so with a 75% success rate so honestly I'm pretty proud.

   It is frequently said that babies bones do not break but bend.  This is frequently said by co-workers and friends that are attempting to keep you from totally losing your shit after your child belly flops off of the bed and cries for four hours.  These friends and co-workers, it should be noted, are not medical professionals but are dispensing advice fueled by optimism and statistics.  As you continue to visit this page you will learn that statistics have not been our friend.  Statistics have treated our family that way that I would imagine a pretty but insecure girl treats average looking or fat girls.  I wouldn't know, I'm god damned eye candy.  But I've got a good imagination.
  After a dozen or so nosedives off of the bed my child has thus far, been fine.  After the initial impact we typically scoop her up and after two or three minutes of back patting and "there there's" she recovers very nicely.  Last night we were not so lucky.

  In the last blog I discussed how difficult it is to get anything done when you are the proud owner of a 1 year old.  You would think that the silver lining to the broken wrist cloud would be that she was slowed down and contained.  You simple, simple, simpleton.

     It would appear that my child is fueled by pain the way that Superman is fueled by Earth's yellow Sun.  Also known as, The Sun.  Not only is she more powerful than ever, she has developed a contempt for any objects within her reach NOT being on the ground. 

    Think that your phone, wallet, or important paperwork is safe on the desktop?  Well you are full of dumb.  Her royal Gimpness just doesn't have time for that kind of crap.  It wouldn't bother me so much if she didn't wait until I made eye contact with her prior to her tossing whatever has caught her eye to the ground.

As I write this, it occurs to me that perhaps she is trying to appease the god of gravity by offering sacrificial items.

  "Oh Great and Powerful Newtonious! In order to avoid your terrible wrath I offer you this pocket calculator, a scratched Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs DVD, and bad picture of my mother at a wedding!"

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!

   As I typed that last sentence she slipped out of my arms and onto the floor again!  She does not appear any more broken than she was before.  This leads me to two possible conclusions; either Newtonious, the god of gravity that I just invented, is not pleased with my child's offerings and does not enjoy being mocked in blog form, or I should do less multitasking.
  I am going to toss a few items on the floor just to be on the safe side.  I'm sure my wife will understand why the house is a mess once I explain to her that I did it to appease a figment of my imagination.

Newtonious be praised

 It appears that I should be paying more attention to my child.  Prior to signing off I will leave you with the following recommendations to improve society and make it more child friendly.

1. No more Baby vs.Grizzly fight clubs
2. Equal rights for elves.
3. Enough with the laugh track network television.
4. You know that experiment that they did on Wolverine, how about doing that for real science?
5. More running through open meadows, it just feels good.

L&P

 

Of Fatherhood & Life Lessons

I am a scientifically minded individual.  So, one of my favorite things about watching my one year old explore the world is watching her constant experimentation with her environment.  Of the ongoing experiments that she and all children are constantly performing is how to best gain parental attention.  Differentiating between positive or negative attention is still a ways off.  Right now she's just happy to get a reaction.  Not unlike an open mic comic making jokes about rape just to get a reaction, any reaction, from the crowd.

As I watch her learn to navigate the difference between positive and negative attention I am discovering that I am learning something too.  There are a few things about parenthood that no one ever told me about.
The sleep deprivation is something everyone knows about.  That one was no shocker.  Realizing that you are becoming the jerk that assaults others with pictures of your offspring is another one that I was not stunned by.  I already flirt with narcissism so of course I capitalize on any chance to flaunt my brood.
Finally, becoming an under appreciated and under compensated taxi service.  This one hits particularly hard as it is something that I remember my parents utter frequently.

Although they never went 88 Miles per hour

 I would like to share one thing that was never shared with me about parenthood that I would like to give you reader a fair heads up about.  Prior to spawning, keep this little bit of knowledge in mind.

YOUR CHILD IS ACTIVELY WORKING AGAINST YOU ACHIEVING EVEN THE SIMPLEST OF TASKS AT ALL TIMES

Think your going to have a sip of water? Think again dickhead, you've got a baby in your arms and she doesn't take to kindly to you hydrating.

Where you considering trying to pay a bill over the phone to a company with voice recognition software?  Well unless that programmer installed a filter that blocks out the sound of WHAAAAAAAAAA! then your shit out of luck friend.

Did you think you were going to try your hand blogging?  Oh you dumb bastard!  Try baring your soul online after she rips a few keys off the keyboard!

  Alas poor Qwerty, I knew him Horatio

 I don't want to it sound like I dislike any of my children.  They are the light of my life.  Seriously.  I just wish I had been given a heads up about this particular detail so that I could have better prepared myself.
Rationally I know that the reason that I am getting these behaviors is the aforementioned quest for parental attention without the guiding light of experience to shepard her in appropriate attention seeking.  However knowing this does little to alleviate the frustration  of failing to evacuate my bowels in a comfortable an uninterrupted manner.  I don't feel like I'm really illustrating the experience yet.

 Do you remember the scene in Ghost when Patrick Swayze is on the subway and he runs into that other ghost that can touch stuff. The tall weird looking guy that was always known for playing the tall weird looking guy. 

Get off my train!

Yeah, him.

Remember how everyone is just sitting on the train minding their own damn business when the Ghost of Chimo's past starts knocking shit out of people's hands and throwing a big damn ghost tantrum?

It's pretty much like that except that you know good and well who is pulling all of the newly folded laundry out of the laundry basket, knocking over all the coffee, and eating all the pennies.

As a side note, do you know what the only thing worse that having to dig through the contents of soiled diapers for a week in search of a freshly pooped penny is? Not finding that penny.

Again, I love my kids, I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.  

In closing I would like to say that when we first began this blog it was to discuss much of the chaos of our daily lives coupled with some of our more benign ramblings.  Think of your reading experience here as a trip to the pool.  Sometimes you just may want to frolic in the shallow end, other days you may want to dive into the deep end.  We have not had much opportunity go to the deep end yet, consider this dipping our toes into that end of the pool.  We will usually shoot for about 1000 words per blog but since we came up short this week, we are including a short video to illustrate the issue discussed.

 L&P

Bigotry

I am sad and ashamed that I must admit this but I have been guilty of bigotry.
No not racism or sexism.  I have done nothing to offend the gays or those who have religious differences than myself.
Nor have I belittled another of differing age or physical ability than myself.
I, dear reader, have offended a minority that is oft overlooked.  A group of individuals that, even in the warm embrace of today's climate of tolerance has yet to find general acceptance.
For you see, I dear reader, made the mistake of assuming that two ugly people were a couple.
No I did not yell rude remarks their way.  Nor did I refuse them entry to a public school, ask that they register with the government, turn a fire hose upon them, or violate their civil rights in any way.

                                                                   I also did not do this
I simply laid eyes upon them both, sized up their awkward appearance, and made the leap that these two were somehow romantically involved.
Lets go back a few weeks to when this humbling experience took place.
I was at the grocery store purchasing, probably milk and eggs.  I don't really remember but I like to be as accurate as possible and since it seems that I buy milk and eggs pretty much every time I go to the store I'm depending on the law of averages to pan out here.  Also probably bread and laundry detergent.  I do a lot of laundry.
As I stared blankly into the yogurt some motion caught my eye, I looked up hoping against hope that the person approaching me was Bob Barker.  I'm aware that he lives no where near me and he most likely doesn't do his own shopping.  I mean would you if you were Bob Barker?  He probably has an army of animal activists that do that shit for him.  He also probably has a few body guards to protect him against disgruntled dogs and cats that are pissed about their missing genitalia.
Anyways, I glanced over and standing near me were two oddly assembled individuals.  Not circus freak weird looking.  But just... off.
The male of this duo was skinny.  Not crack skinny.  But just slight enough that upon looking at him my first thought was, "I could grab him by the shoulders and press them together until his nipples touched in the middle." He was dressed well enough too.  Just so thin that I imagined future archeologists attempting to make a case for him being some type of human bird cross breeding due to his hollow bones.
The female of this pairing was not instantly alarming to look upon.  Until her gaze shifted my way and I saw that her eyes were very far apart.  Far apart enough that I judge that I could fit my fist between them and nary an eyelash touch.  Did you see Rango? She looked like the girl lizard in Rango.

                                                                             Yes this one
 "Good for them!" I thought.  "Two aesthetic misfits in this crazy mixed up world beat the odds that evolution had stacked against them by finding another of their sub-race of humans and have found love!"
This gave me warm fuzzies.
Then, upon using the self check out I noticed that they were not checking out together.  I prefer the self check out since I use my other half's card frequently and I don't want some dickhead giving me the stink eye because her name is not unisex and I am very manly.  I understand the need to protect against identity theft and just plain regular theft.  But I'm always worried that I'm going to get the checker that thinks he's going to clean up this Fred Meyer one card theft at a time by denying my use of my significant others funds.  It's not like he's going to arrest me, he's just going to force me to pay $2.00 at the ATM to pull out a twenty spot and go back through his line again.  Congratulations Serpico, you cost me five minutes and two bucks.  News flash, "Your are not part of the solution!" But you upheld a useless and benign company policy so good for you!  I also make it a point to go back through his line so he knows that all he did was inconvenience me.

                                                                   This guy's equal
 I suppose I should also mention that this scenario has played itself out several dozen times, in my mind, no where else.  But I have worked it out thoroughly enough that I am certain of it's accuracy.
So they are not paying together, no big deal I suppose.  Maybe they have not moved in together yet, they are in the honey moon phase of their unsightly romance. Maybe she only has a drawer in his dresser next to his petite tidy whites.
But what's this? As we wander out to the parking lot I notice that these two don't walk with their hands in each others back pockets, hold hands, or even walk together.  I began to realize that these two don't even seem to know each other. Just two misshapen ships passing in the night.
Now that I think about it, these two missed out on a golden opportunity.  When her goofy gaze fell across his slight build a choir of angles should have sang to both of their hearts.  She should have fluffed her plumage and he should have performed a mating dance, or whatever it is that unattractive people do to impress each other.  I wouldn't know,  I'm goddamn beautiful.
These two owe me an apology.  I could have witnessed a rare scientific occurrence, the mating ritual of the survival of the least fit.  They owe me and Charles Darwin an apology.  Fuck those guys.
So while I close this paper with a retraction of my previous apology, I would like to issue a few more.  I apologize to the nation of Chad for my lack of interest in anything about your culture.  I apologize to my first live in girlfriend for not properly illustrating how to clean a cat box.  I apologize to my parents for lying about whether or not I had homework.  Finally I apologize to Iron Man, he knows why.

L&P

No one cares about your stupid blog

An open letter to the guy talking about his blog...

    I apologize for having not remembered your name though we met but a few short minutes ago. It seems however that your given name, at least in my corner of the universe, is now obsolete. For you are now immortalized in my mind as the dipshit that believes everyone else wants to hear about his blog.

I must admit that when I was first invited to this birthday party I half expected to be cornered by at least one blow hard and subjected to several minutes of undereducated opinion spouting as I seem to be a magnet for doltery. However, following a silent exchange of knowing glances with my fellow party goers, we agreed that you would NOT be poaching the smooth flow of conversation and wrangling it suite your ego. 

                                                                             Teamwork

       With all the subtly of being slapped in the face with a dear carcass, you have brought up on three occasions, make that four occasions, that you write a blog. I have also gleaned that it may have something to do with cooking, or restaurants, or food. I will now give an appreciative nod to the African American woman to my left who just changed the subject from jalapeno poppers, to breast cancer. Write a blog about that you dink.

     I have been told that in times of great need strangers will band together to overcome incredible odds. In this analogy, you are al qaeda attempting to steer your jet into the world trade center of our conversation. The rest of us are at ground zero, united in the effort to contain your pontifications.

     Now admittedly, I am fairly new to having a blog and I can understand your enthusiasm. Having a blog is like having a new toy that you want to show off to all of the other kids. I also understand the importance of grass roots advertising, especially in the world of blogging. After all, you do not get a lot of walk up business in the blogosphere. That being said, you are acting like a cock. 

                                                                  Not that kind

     My issue is not with your product, but with your presentation. You see, if I were to discover that my farts cured acne, and I were to bring it up in conversation, glanced at a pimply teen then asked if the afflicted would care for a free sample of my pore cleansing gas, and received a response in the negative. I would simply drop the topic and move on. I would drop my belt buckle to my shoelaces, and scurry backwards, chasing said young adult round the room pleading, “Come one! Just let me blast in your face once! You'll thank me!”

      This would be a violation of the social contract, and this is where my issue stems from. According to evolutionary psychology, our social interactions have evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. Behavior that is deemed unacceptable, is weeded out, and behavior that is given the thumbs up by society and culture is kept. As recently as 100,000 years ago it is not longer acceptable to drop feces into one's hand and toss it against the wall (at least in most social circles). It seems to me that this is what you have done. Your blog is the feces, and this social gathering is the wall. 

    Yes it may be in poor taste to bag on another bloggers product, especially one I have not yet sampled.  But I submit to you dear reader that this may be one book that we can judge by it's cover.  On a side note, why do we think it is a poor idea to judge a book by it's cover?  Lots of artists have put hard work into producing cover art.  Also, have you ever seen a child molesters mug shot?  Does anyone ever see a pedophile's mugshot and get surprised?

                                      This book should have to notify you if it moves next door

   Seriously, every time a kiddie diddler gets cuffed and stuffed I see their mug on the news and I think to myself, "What stupid parent let that creepo coach 11 & 12 year old volley ball?"  It seems to me like the number one disqualifying question on the application would be, "Are you a man that wants to coach 11 & 12 year old volley ball?" Anyone that is signing up for that job that is not doing so out of genetic obligation is way up on the creepy meter.  I can see someone signing up to coach their own kid as a protective measure, like driving yourself home because your a better drunk driver than your roommate, but that's about it.

  Back to my point. 

In closing, I wish you luck in your future endeavors, I hope that you review the social contract and find the error of your ways and take corrective action.  I also hope that the Mars rover discovers not only evidence of life on Mars, but also evidence of elaborate dance routines performed by the life on Mars.  Perhaps an entire culture that prized the ability to bust a move over the ability to bust a cap.  Where conflict was settled by pop locking and waltzing rather than ninja spin kicks and hand grenades.  I also hope that homeless men will start wearing shirts when they are on the side of the road.  Why do they  have better abs than me? I mean I guess he doesn't have anything else to do all day other than sit ups and pan handling, but seriously dude, put a shirt on.