Not a day too soon.

 

Nevermind :p

I guess I’m back. Whatever.

So much has happened since the last time I put finger to keyboard. SO MUCH. FUCK. Like a shit ton.

My waste of space in law OD’d and died. I’ll have a cherry lighthearted post about it… Fuck to I will! Its going to be a shit show.

I made sex again and infected my wife with a 9 month long sickness due to a parasite. Hes going to be 4 in September.

I’m about to become a citizen of Norseland, I’m pretty much a viking now.

I upgraded my place of work by the fucking millions. So, that is kinda cool.

I hope to be back on to write more hilarious and horrible shit soon. Peace.

 

That time I messed up my wife’s hair…

This story is a little old but worth the tell because of how much humor I found (or find, maybe) in it. It was near the end of our first pregnancy. She was about 8 months along. And as some of you may know you start having troubles completing physical tasks that normally you would have no problems with. Well we we’re headed in for our last ultrasound to check on the parasites progress. My wife decided her lady garden had begun to grow rampant and need a good hedge clipping. Guess who got to charge up their beard and mustache trimmer and give it a go? She did! And that’s how she figured out she couldn’t get the job done and needed my help. Ha. So to prepare for the task we headed off to El Mexicana our favorite(closest to our dwelling) Mexican joint. After a 1 or 2 (5 because reasons) Patron Margaritas on the rocks no salt and a celebratory shot of tequila with the wait staff I was fully prepared and lubricated for the monumental task ahead of me.

What possessed my wife to think that after that dinner I was fit to be near such a delicate area with power tools will forever make me question her judgment. I think it was pregnancy hormones or as she likes to call it, baby brain. So with nary a care in the world and a surgeons steady hands I set to the task of poonscaping. At first it was going just fine. She held her belly up I was deftly maneuvering my norelco around her overgrown shrubbery. Then after a couple minutes I had beat the overgrowth back. I had it trimmed all to a level three according to my trimmers gauge. I decided to remove that little depth gauge thing to begin fine tuning the edges and whatnot. I was really into my work at this point. I was taking pride in making my wife’s under carriage presentable to the doctors and such.  All was going according to my plans.

Then it happened.With one nose itch at just the right time that coincided perfectly with the position of my steadily moving hand it happened. With the depth guard off there was no helping how much that trimmer, trimmed. That one belly drop sent my hand straight down from top to bottom. Just a little off center. Enough off center to make it look absolutely, hilarious. I froze. I looked up as she was rubbing at her nose and I clicked the trimmer off. She looked at me and asked if I was alright. Without missing a beat I replied that I was indeed fine and the job was done. I smiled and sent her off to the couch to put her feet up while I got the wheelbarrow(dust buster) to remove the clippings.

The end.

JUST KIDDING!

The next day we we’re off to the gyno for our last ultrasound. By now, a little fuzzy because of being a little buzzy the night before, I had forgotten about the mishap. We get into the ultrasound room and she dropped trou and hopped up on the table to get into position for the tech. [I should mention that this was the third time we had this tech. She was a salty old sassy lady. I loved her. We had some great back and fourths in our previous meetings. I gravitate towards this type of person. We had a connection.] The tech rolled her chair over and was preparing her equipment when she caught sight of, “The hair do” It was at this point I had caught sight of it as well. No doubt my eyes widened and my brows lifted in surprise. And then our eyes met. All pretenses gone we both lost it. At first I think my laughter may have been nervous. But it grew into guffaws. My wife now starting to get suspicious and certainly confused was asking us what was so funny. The tech bless her evil heart asked my wife if she had let me at her with a weed wacker and a blindfold. The color drained from my wife’s face as she asked why. Which led to even more laughter and the tech had to remove her glasses to wipe tears.

We finally got ourselves under control and proceeded to have a great report on our babies progress. Just as she was finishing up putting stuff away and before she let my wife get up and get dressed shes at down between us. She pointedly stared over the top of her glasses at me. Speaking to my wife but never taking her eyes off me she told me in a very serious tone to that I needed to leave there immediately, buy my wife lunch, flowers, and whatever else she wanted as an apology for what I had done. Now my wife even more confused wanted to know exactly what was going on. The tech finally turned to her and asked her if she had ever seen one of those punks with a Mohawk hair cut. My wife said she had, and started to get a little red in the face. The tech said “Well.” Slapped her hands down on her thighs and stood from her chair and said, as she walked out the door. “Its exactly the opposite”

Social Anxiety is a fucking jerk.

Deep breaths. Not to be confused with heavy breathing.

I’ll save the molestation story for another day. Maybe. Suffice it to say I had a real bastard of an older cousin when I was a wee lad. Cliff notes. I was molested for a number of years by an older male cousin until someone finally caught the fucker in the act. It screwed me up a bit.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut. I’m kind of happy to say that instead of turning me into a pedo like some pedos like to claim or blame their child molesting ways on. I’m one of those victims that is so utterly outraged by the act that I could straight up kill a pedophile and not lose a wink of sleep. I think they should be at the very least PHYSICALLY castrated. I would prefer shot/hung immediately and used as fertilizer to grow food for the poor. But hey life’s not fair.

So back to my issues with social anxiety and all that. As I know some victims of this kind of shit do I went from an extroverted outgoing fun loving little dude into a more subdued, shy, introverted little dude. It made me awkward(more awkward) in school. I didn’t start to come out of my shell until my Junior year of high school. Probably due to having lost weight had some good looking girlfriends started having sex going to parties and all that jazz. Normalish for a guy my age at that time I guess. I still suffer at times from issues with physical contact with other humans, mostly with guys, but also females. I have a hard time knowing when to go in for hugs and/or hand shakes and I don’t always feel comfortable hugging or shaking hands. I lock up around people in public. Like I physically can’t speak. Tends to happen around attractive females and people of fame. Or in the case of this weekend, both.

I traveled with a cousin and his girlfriend to Bethlehem PA to go to a Clutch/Mastadon Concert. Fucking awesome show. I met a pair of gorgeous working girls at a bar in the Casino after the show. I knew what they were about but I hadn’t had enough booze to make it physically possible for me to speak coherently to them when approached. In the end that was surely for the better. I think they thought I suffered from some sort of retardation. So yeah that was fun… I moved away to collect myself as I was still a little tense from the show. I also get claustrophobic and the sardine canning process of getting out of the venue was fucking nerve wracking. So all goofiness aside I had a few cocktails in me and I had a nice lounge chair and a table to myself I sat facing the Casino floor. I was people watching and started to feel much better. Boom, Bill Kelliher(guitarist for Mastadon) walking on by. Now normally I would assume a fan would love nothing more than to get an autograph/picture with one of their favorite guitarists. So they would engage said awesome man and get it done. Me? Nope. Too fucking scared. I made eye contact and my throat seized up. I kinda nodded at him. I couldn’t even form an actual word. He just kept on going. I sat there like staring, sweating, and wishing I could function like a normal person. I am a socially weird grown ass man.

So that’s pretty much it. I’m probably lucky I’m not more screwed up than I am. 🙂

My waste of space in-law part two

Rectum? Damn near killed’em!

1. The most common effects associated with cyclobenzaprine overdose are drowsiness and tachycardia. Less frequent manifestations include tremor, agitation, coma, ataxia, hypertension, slurred speech, confusion, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, and hallucinations.

I’m here to tell you about the time I wanted to strangle my wife’s caring but kinda stupid mother. I love her shes a very caring and giving person. Shes just not, smart. Like, at all. Ill set the scene for you.

She comes home from her job taking care of an elderly woman at 2:30am. Her 30 year old son is walking around the house talking to himself and popping invisible pills into his mouth from an invisible pill bottle in his hand. She spends like hours trying to calm him down, she figures out that he has taken all of the Flexeril he had an estimated 90 pills. Now he had an appointment with the hack that did his back surgery to talk about “managing the pain”, again at noon the following day. Instead of, oh I don’t know calling 911 she decides to wait it out. Because after all, drug overdoses are really not that big of a deal…

My Mother in-law is afraid to drive on any type of major highway and the pill poppers doctor is located an hour south of us. She drives 20 mins out of her way to our house to have my wife take time from work to drive them both down to the appointment. Hes 30, his mom still makes the calls, and pays for pretty much everything. He can’t even call his own doctor at 30 fucking years old. Sorry got a little off track.

Its now 10:30 Am, my wife meets dumb and dumber at the house. She realizes something is not quite right. She calls me at work to come help. I get there and the pill popper is busy staring into my sink obviously confused. They he starts yelling about the mouse in the sink and how its not cool that we’re playing tricks on him. Now I’m fully aware that something is not right. I was out voted and the two female heads of perspective households decide to take him on the long ride south. I decide I have to go at this point because its either too hilarious to miss or too dangerous.

On the way there he starts freaking out a little. He wanted to get out of the car, lucky for him, child safety locks. So close. Now the females wanted to keep engaging him in conversation and try to rationalize with him. HAHAHAHAH. Yeah that was working out great. I decided 10 mins out this shit had to stop. NOW. I told my wife if she didn’t turn the car towards the hospital instead of the freeway I was going to call 911 on my cell phone. Needless to say in 10 more minutes we were at the local chop shop. I jumped out went to the security guard at the Emergency room entrance and said hey man, I need some help.

An hour later he was in a bed with IV’s and they we’re working on getting the shit out of his system. As his mother waited so long he had metabolized the pills. So pumping was out. Damn. While propped up in bed in a voice too loud like he had ear muffs on or something he proceeded to tell us about the neighbors horse and how it pooped when it walked down the road past his house. He then proceeded to make the plop and fart noised then giggle madly. It was at this point I considered getting this on video. You know, for uh, scientific reasons.

Three days later he was still breathing and as normal as he would ever be and they sent him back home to convalesces.

What a fucking douche.

Why can’t I hold all these foods?

So, I’m a stubborn man. That statement might even be redundant. Anyways, I struggle with depression, secretly. I have social anxiety. I’m an overweight emotional eater. Its like the round robin hell cycle of terror and self destruction I can’t escape from. I like to go out and eat, I feel like everyone is watching me, judging me, laughing at me. I like to have an adult beverage to make me feel less on edge while I stuff my face since being stressed and anxious makes me eat more. Having a good buzz also makes me eat more. Eating more makes me fat. Being fat makes me feel depressed, anxious, self conscious, and stressed the fuck out. All of which makes me feel like something is missing inside me, like there is a huge void where true happiness would dwell for normal people. So I try to fill said void with food and drinks. Leading me back to the beginning of my problem. The fact I have fucking zero willpower is just the icing on the cake. Don’t even get me started on how my body image has affected my sex life. Nothing like not feeling worthy of your wife of going on 12 years.

So I joined the YMCA. They have a program called “Win by losing” pretty much the same thing as “The biggest loser”. Only (thank everything that is unholy) not televised. I have participated 3 times in the last 2 years. Back in 2013 my starting weight was 297. I’d like to tell you that was my heaviest. It was not. I’m not tall either so, fuck me, right. I was 29 years old, 5’9″ tall and 304 back in 2009. I lost 35 lbs by the time I turned 30 by basically starving myself. Stupid. Because once my Birthday had come and gone I went back to my old ways of eating and drinking like a horse that got loose in the grain bin. And over the next 4 years I put on almost all the weight I damn near killed myself to lose.  I’m currently 272. I’ve Yo yo’d since I started Win by losing 2 years ago I got down to 268 the first time almost 29lbs dropped. I don’t even remember or blocked my second time through. This time I started at 285. Its a 12 week program and I lost 13 lbs. That’s actually pretty fucking sad. People that did this with me killed it. I mailed it in. Sucked.

Now I know I didn’t try my hardest and diet correctly perfectly for the 12 weeks. But, and its a big but. I did curb a lot of my habits and I went to the gym no less than 4 days a week usually 5 and even 6 a couple weeks. My schedule looked like this:
Monday: 5:30 Am 1 hr spinning class
Tuesday: 6am Weight training and Cardio with a physical trainer for 1 hr.
Wednesday : 5:30 Am 1 hr spinning class
Thursday: 6am Weight training and Cardio with a physical trainer for 1 hr.
Friday: 7am Weight training and Cardio with a physical trainer for 1 hr.(this is the weekly win by losing workout)
Saturday: Fuck the Gym I’m haning out with my daughter and watching cartoons!
Sunday : 8:30 Am 1 hr spinning class

I eat protein bars & shakes for my breakfasts & lunches. A dinner of meat, tatters, veggies. Yet I can’t lose more than roughly 1 lb/wk. Granted my endurance has gone up, my pant size has gone down and lots of things are easier and I’m less tired. It just seems like a lot of work for so little results. I can have a week of awesome workouts, nutrition was spot on and I lose just a hair of two pounds. The next week I go out on Friday night have 2 drinks at dinner with my family then back on the program the next day. Too bad not only did I not lose any weight I gained back a pound because my body is a douchey asshole face. At the end of the session we have a big group meeting and rewards are handed it out to the people who lost the most and what not. Then everyone is required to publicly address the rest of the contestants and tell them something they learned, accomplished, overcame, ect. Have I mentioned my fear of public speaking before? Yeah. So when its my turn I hurriedly blurt out “I jiggle less when I run around the track now.” The entire room applauded and laughed. One woman stood, tears in her eyes, looked me dead in the face and with lips quivering said “I jiggle less too.” I’m still struggling to figure out if that was the high point or the low point of the last session.

At any rate I’m starting another Win by losing tonight. 12 weeks of fun fun fun and shit results. YAY! Go team fat ass! WOOOoooott… 😐

My waste of space in-law.

Like many people across the globe I have been cursed with an in-law from hell. I honestly don’t know where to begin with this post. There’s just so much. I’ll start with the big one. Just a few short years ago, my bil(brother in-law) was having relationship troubles. So he asked if he could stay at our house for a couple of days. It was just a few days before our Anniversary. As usual we did what we could to be the kind, gentle, loving, supportive family members everyone should have. Unfortunately for us that’s a one way street. Its a give and take relationship so to speak. We give and he takes as much and as often as he can without ever adding anything positive on his part. I get it, its her little brother and she still feels shes has to take care of him even though hes in his 30’s. Before I go any further let me break it down for you.

He has full time custody of his son(if indeed he is the biological father, I have my doubts), they live with my mother in-law still. He’s “permanently disabled” Yet he has a brand new Honda Civic. He dresses in expensive sports Jersey’s and brand new fancy sneakers. He has more pairs of shoes than most women. He tends to wear way more Red Sox apparel than is normal for person who actually contributes to society. He doesn’t have his own bank account, he doesn’t have car insurance in his own name. He doesn’t have a credit card(probably a blessing in disguise) he doesn’t make his own appointments, Physician or otherwise and he doesn’t go to them alone. He chews tobacco and like the fucking scumbag he is he just spits it wherever he wants weather or not anyone is going to be walking there. I have to carry by daughter in the house the few times a year we actually go there. His mom pays all his bills for him, they’re pretty much all in her name. He sits on the couch and watches sports and plays video games while his almost four year old son runs roughshod over the household. The kid is damn near feral. I hate my daughter being around him because hes wild and has no regard for safety or feelings or anything you have to say. Basically my bil is a white 30 something single dad that dresses like a black guy teenager, chews tobacco, drives a brand new Honda civic has no job, no future, short temper, and lives with his mom.

So jump back a couple years when he was still living with Satan’s mom before she decided she liked her men bigger, darker skinned, and employed. His child was still sweet and innocent. They had a “Big fight”. Again. So on our couch he goes. Says, he might have to stay a couple nights. No problem. We order pizza and wings and we’re all watching ESPN only, because that’s what happens when he comes over. We go to work, you know, because we have jobs. As he lays drooling on my couch. I come home from work. He’s gone. No note, no thank you, no nothing. No lots of things… No big deal, its our Anniversary and we’re going to our favorite restaurant for dinner. I’m jazzed up, I’m looking forward to the excellent meal and good times. My wife, is, well, just not her chipper self. Subdued. I’m trying to shake it off and make the best of what should be a good night. On the way there her sunglasses all but fall apart. They were expensive so I had her stop at the drug store I got one of those tiny key chain eye glass repair kits. Boom problem solved in less than 5 mins. Things start to get a little better. Shes still a little quiet at dinner hands under the table. I ask a few times if shes okay and in (no offense ladies) typical fashion she says yes. But you can totally tell its not. We get home walk in the door and the flood gates open. At the times she was working at a medical supply company in the accounting department. So she had gotten home just after lunch time since it was a Friday. She had time to realize her wedding ring set was missing. Not bragging but it was the kind of set you would claim on home owners and fill out a police report over. She had tore the house apart even trying to get into the drain in the sink in the bathroom. She didn’t want to believe that our visitor could have taken her rings. So she systematically checked and re-checked all the places, all the places everywhere. She had hours of this frantic searching. She was devastated and afraid to tell me. Now is where it gets real shitty. It was my first fathers day. My daughter(mother in-law) bought me a special fathers day scratch off lottery ticket. I won $10. It was on the fridge, past tense. So lottery ticket, $20 bill, and a very expensive diamond ring are gone. It got better later on when I found out that the hydrocodone that I had for dental problem was also gone. So she calls her mom, gives her the update on the ring. Her mom goes through his things and can’t find it. We call the insurance company and they say we have to call the police before we can claim it. So she calls her brother up and tells him whats up and asks him straight up if he has it, maybe grabbed it by accident. She gave him enough chances that’s when she says, well now I need to call the police and file a report so we can claim it on insurance, they’re going to do an investigation. Well that did it. Now he wants to meet at a convenience store not far from here. That’s when I banned him from my house except at holidays. 🙂 I still feel kind of bad for my wife because she had to finally come face to face with her true brother. The brother the rest of us know. The leech, the thief, the liar, the addict. He was/is addicted to pain pills. He is a pathological liar as well. But he’s still her little brother. FML

Next time ill tell you about the time he overdosed on muscle relaxers.

P.S. I was rushed out of here last night and didn’t get to finish. The bil claimed he was getting the ring cleaned for us for our Anniversary. He also claimed he did not take the $20 bill or the $10 fathers day lottery ticket, BUUUUUUT he would give us $30, just because. 😐

OH SHIT! Part one.

Like most some people, I am fascinated by fecal matter. Not so much in the “2 girls 1 cup” sort of way. But more in the “Oh god I just shit my pants” or “You gotta come see the size of this one!” sort of way. I tend to find people pooping their pants to be hilarious. There are so many things to factor into a good pooped pants scenario. I also love a good poop gone wrong story. Which is why I started this post. These are both old stories but at family reunions and other sordid gatherings these have become oft recounted fan favorites. So buckle up we’re going to hop in the way back machine’s restroom and go for a movement.

Hover, don’t sit:

Back in the early part of this century my wife decided we needed to hook up my best friend with a co-worker of hers after he had a nasty break up. And we all know how well rebounds work out… So we decided on a double date. Movie time at the mall followed by dinner at Ruby Tuesdays and a little bit of shopping at Big K. I believe we went to see Pearl Harbor, I can’t rightly remember. It doesn’t matter anyways because the fun stuff started at dinner. My man, we’ll call him “CB” is a pretty quiet guy. Soft spoken but can have some serious funny out of the blue moments. He was on his game this night. We sit down place our drink orders and the ice was broken. Chit chat was going good but I had noticed that CB had eyes for our waitress. I couldn’t blame him she was stunning with a very friendly perky I want all our tip money attitude. So shes taking our order and she gets to CB. “I’ll have the ribs” Makes a point of making eye contact “The FULL rack”  the waitress not missing a beat “That’s a lot of meat.” CB not wasting any time here. “I know, thanks” I’m pretty sure at this point I was doing a great impression of a chameleon. By that I mean I was holding in laughter so hard that my face must have changed like 8 different shades and hues of red, purple, and blue. She leaves and later a different server brings out our food. We both drank the same draft beer and had the ribs for dinner, I’m not sure but that might be important because what happened later. The rest of dinner was uneventful. My wife failed her matchmaking test I can tell you that much. These two did not hit it off at all. That could have something to do with the fact she looked like a female version of Hunk from The Goonies. Now don’t get me wrong I’m not one of “The Beautiful People”  but she didn’t have a personality to fall back on. She kept dropping names of people she either currently hung out with or had in the past like we were supposed to know who these people from an hour downstate were supposed to be. It was painful. So with dinner concluded we headed to Big K. For those of you unfamiliar Big K was K-Marts low budget version of a Walmart. So CB and I are in there walking around the sporting goods section talking about the girls and the girls were walking around the bra’s or whatever girls look at together I’m sure talking about us. Thats when the bubbly guts started. I felt the rumble in my tummy that I knew could only be one thing. Motherfucking explosive diarrhea! And it came on just like that. FUCK NO! OH NOES! I GOTTA GO! It must have been evident by the scared look in my eyes and the frantic movements of my head as I scanned outer walls for the holiest of holy signs. I started to panic wondering aloud “Where or my fuck where are the restrooms!?!” That’s when I realized a sweating CB was standing next to me with a hand on his stomach looking around just as panicked as I was. We looked deep into each others eyes and knew at that moment, if there was only one stall one of use was going to be buying the other new pants in just a few minutes. That’s when I spotted it. I’ve never been stuck in the desert nearly dehydrated and stumbled into a oasis, but I imagine that’s how it must feel. We both started doing that awkward short step walk run thing you do when you know if you take long strides or have too much bounce in your step you’re going to redecorate your underwear. We managed to both get into the bathroom and thanks be to the almighty spaghetti monster there were 2 stalls. So I run in, lock my stall door, and immediately go to work laying down the old toilet paper ass gasket so I can do the doo. That’s when CB pipes up over the sound of him losing a fight with his belt buckle. Through a few grunts during the struggle he managed to ask me “What the hell are you doing?” I was like “Laying down TP so I can go man.” after a pause I hear his belt and whatnot hot the floor followed by “That’s gross, you don’t sit bro, you hover.”  I settled down onto my 2 ply past ass barrier and that’s when it the shit hit the fan, so to speak. The sounds coming from the stall next to me shocked and horrified me. Its almost beyond explanation. Before the cacophony of splatters, drips and well to be blunt very wet farts could fully be processed. CB quietly says “Oh, no” Those two simple words were oh so ominous. The following litany of shocked cursing followed by an outbreak of nervous laughter almost made me drop an “O” ring, if you know what I mean. CB “Dude, I shit everywhere, like, all over.” So of course I repeat this statement back to him in the form of a question. To which he answers yes and I immediately start laughing, hard. Which causes my bowls to kind of well explode. With every belly laugh I literally shit harder into the toilet. The sounds and smells were something akin to a slaughterhouse. It was bad. At one point, crying, I couldn’t even hold myself upright anymore I was leaning against the stall wall just crying and laughing and shitting explosively. After a few minutes I gather myself and proceeded to use a rain forests worth of TP to mop’n’sop. Finally able to stand I dried my eyes, flushed, and stepped out to wash my hands, from the elbows down. Standing in front of the open stall door next to me. CB eyes unblinking slowly lifts his shaking finger to point back into his stall. If you have ever seen the movie Trainspotting? You might have some idea of what it looked like in there. There was shit splatter up both sides of the stall, the back of the stall, and oh my sweet baby Jebus the seat. The poor poor seat. There had to be a gallon of liquid shit sprayed on the seat and the back of the toilet just running down all over and puddling around the base of the bowl. I couldn’t even process this information yet. I turned to the sink and just left CB standing there pointing. Washed my hands and walked out. He comes charging out because he was afraid I was going to tell the girls what had just happened. I assured him I wouldn’t speak of it, ever(I totally lied) and we got the hell out of there. We must have looked guilty the way we hustled through the store trying to locate them so we could get as far from that stall as possible just as soon as possible. In my minds eye I could see a cranky janitor running after us with a mop and bucket. Suffice it to say we got out of it alive and .
Tune in next week for part two!

Big news!

For those of you that I am friends with on Facebook. NOT A WORD OF THIS!!

I got to see my newest work in progress’s heartbeat yesterday!! I done made another future wood peddler! We have only broken the news to my parents a few other necessaries as we’re only 8 weeks in. The rule of thumb is to wait until 12 weeks to go public, so of course that’s when all the public fanfare will begin. But Its so hard to keep this kind of secret when you’re mad excited! Excited yet terrified.

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Fair warning the next bit is a little sad, and a little hard for me to talk about.

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So back in the beginning of the summer of 2014 we miscarried. We knew something was wrong when we went to the first ultrasound of that pregnancy and the ultrasound Tech was like so, it looks like you’re about 5 weeks along, when we were 8. Later that week she started “spotting” (if you don’t know what that is, its not a good thing to be doing when you’re pregnant, google it if your’re into that sort of thing.) The spotting turned into a torrent in the middle of the night and that was all she wrote. It was a toss up as to who took it harder. We had been trying for quite a while. So you have the initial excitement followed by straight up devastation. I turned into a jerk. I took it out on everyone, my wife even a couple times. Which wasn’t fair to her at all. I know this, but emotions can be a real asshole. I got depressed for a bit. Fell off the good eats and Gym wagon. Put on a bunch of weight I had really not handled it well. I didn’t start coming out of that funk until maybe around November. We had started right away after the miscarriage. Her doc said go for it. So I lit into it with gusto. 😉

Fast forward to present day upstate New York. So I don’t know if this is a confession or what but I just need to get it off my chest. I am absofuckinglutely terrified when mamma bear gets up from bed to go to the bathroom during the night. I mean it scares me to the core of my being. Until she comes back and settles in without a noise I hold my breath and just wait. Thankfully she sleeps through the night just about as good as our three year old. So not too many cold sweats the last few weeks, but enough.

So that’s about the size of it. My crazy baby is going to be a big sister and I’m going to have to remember how to make baby burritos. (Baby burritos are when you wrap up a newborn to keep it warm and cozy and from flopping all about.

Baby Burrito Buffet

So yeah equal parts happy and terrified. And don’t none of y’all go spilling the beans!

Sleeping Juice

As some of you know, I’m a pretty big fan of Video Games and the gaming industry. I enjoy spending my evenings after my girls have gone to bed getting on my XBONE and killing time, winding down, escaping reality, or just relieving stress. It used to be I could do it as much and as often as I could. Now I have to work around the kiddo’s schedule of Disney Jr coloring, matching cards, reading books, and naked doll bonanza time(more on that later).  I still spend enough time doing it to stay sane and just enough to still get the stink eye from mamma bear now and again. Now that baby Einstein is paying closer attention to what I do and having a better understanding of it, I have found that it has become a little tougher even though the conversations have become way better.

One quick thing, we don’t call her Einstein because shes super smart, we call her that because she has the same hair. In truth so far as I can tell she actually is wicked smart, and I’m not just saying that, her doctor, friends, family, and her daycare provider(with 25 years of daycare experience) say shes smart, all the damn time.  So I believe them.

Dat hair

So I’ve come to the conclusion that I probably shouldn’t play certain games with my Child in the room. I was online in a party with two friends slaughtering zombies. Lights were off it was after 9pm and we were really whooping it up. When suddenly a tiny voice from pipes up from the edge of the couch.
“Daddy, why you do that to that man for?”
Scared the shit out of me she was supposed to be watching Beauty and the Beast with my wife in our bedroom. My wife fell asleep and the movie finished so my munchkin decided to pay dear old dad a visit. Having my headset on I never heard her coming, and killing scores of the viral un-dead had me a little on edge. Damn near drew mud I jumped so bad. For a second I just sat there staring at her, taking it all in. She stood at the end of the couch in her full length Elmo night gown holding her naked baby doll against her chest and gazed dreamily at the gore and dismemberment splattered across 60″ of Vizio’s finest. So I proceed to spin a tale of Zombies with bad breath trying to hug and kiss me. And that’s why I was pushing and kicking them away(Hacking and slashing). I said they were grumpy and needed naps so I had to put them to sleep. That’s why they were all laying around on the ground and what not. So she hops up on the couch next to me. Seemingly satisfied with the answer she decided to watch. I started to pickup where I left off as my buds kind of needed me to get back into the game at least until we got to a point where I could bounce out. So the violence continued. Blood, bone, and flaming zombie bits flying through the air among a cacophony of Grunts, moans, and howls. Just after a rather awesome disturbing amount of blood had splashed across the screen I get.

“Daddy, what was that?

“That was just sleeping juice, I have to spray that on them sometimes when they are extra grumpy so they will go to sleep.”

“Ummm okay”

I was just starting to think,  “You know, I should probably be a responsible adult and stop.” That’s when the shouting started..

“Daddy! There’s one! Get him daddy, put him to sleep!!! There’s another one, daddy, there’s even more!!! DADDY YOU GOT TO PUT THEM TO SLEEP! THEY’RE TOOOOOO GRUMPY!”

Chip of the old zombie skull smashing block. I immediately shut it down and we watched 15 minutes of Jake and the Neverland Pirates before I tucked her into bed.