Monday, September 28, 2009
I've been wearing color underwear since I was about 12. I remember specifically my Mom would buy me tubes full of color briefs at the Flea Market. Some of the tubes contained solid colors and some contained striped patterns. Green, Blue, Red, Yellow, White with Teal Stripes, Teal with Black Stripes. Like a cotton rainbow in my pants, it was liberating. Still is... When you're a 13 year old kid going through puberty, it's tough to express yourself outwardly. Maybe my mother recognized this and thought self expression via my underwear was a safe and healthy outlet. I guess the Guitar lessons weren't enough.
So anyway, I'm sitting in bed in my red underwear and I'm feeling and looking quite bloated. I don't have a shirt on or anything else for that matter. I just got done scarfing down about a pound of Brisket and some Chicken Wings. Lately I've noticed that my teeth haven't been as white as they used to be, so tonight I decided to try Crest Whitestrips. I can't talk without drooling on myself. I haven't shaved my shoulders or trimmed my chest hair in a while, so my torso is starting to resemble a Cardigan Sweater. I'm wearing my glasses. My angelic wife just removed a piece of glass from the bottom of my right foot with a pin. I whined like a little bitch the entire time. Earlier in the day, my almost three year old daughter, asked me to fart on her head, so I did...
Recently my barber has started trimming my ears, eyebrows and nose hair at the end of my haircuts. Every time I look at a picture of myself in a pool, I see a bald spot on the back of my head. I have a freckle on my face that is probably not a freckle. I think they call it an age spot. I still like to wear my black rock concert tees but I think it creeps the neighborhood kids out when I drop my daughter off at school. If I don't floss, my breath smells and every few months, I notice some sort of weird, random growth on my body. Every so often, I pluck out a gray chest hair.
I work out six times a week and I still gain two pounds for every pound of food I consume. My wife used to tell me that I had a great ass. Now, not so much. I'm always afraid that I smell. I used to look in the mirror quite often, when I was younger. Always checking out my hair or trying to catch a glimpse of a rippling triceps. Now I usually try to avoid my reflection at all costs. I have to be honest, it's really starting to depress me.
I don't feel so pretty these days. I feel like I'm getting old. I hope my wife isn't disgusted with me.
I am an aging Baboon. Slowly becoming Out-Numbered by gray chest hairs.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
My wife went back to work a couple of weeks ago for the first time in three years. For three years I’ve been living in a bubble. I got up. I worked out. I pranced around in my underwear eating Zone Bars and drinking Rock Star / No Sugar Energy Drinks. I went online and updated my status on Facebook and Twitter. Sometimes I even watched re-runs of the Odd Couple when the rest of the family was asleep. I came home after work and dinner was waiting. My kids were bathed and ready for bed. It was like I had a Fairy Kid Mother watching over me. She made my life easy.
Sound of said bubble bursting.
Those days are over. Gone like a fart in the wind. Now, hangover permitting, I get up at 5:45am to work out. There is no prancing around in my underwear. I still eat Zone Bars and drink Rock Star / No Sugar Energy Drinks. It’s too damn early to update my status on Facebook and Twitter; Unless I’m sending a shout out to France or India.
I have no friends or followers there, respectively.
Felix and Oscar are an after thought and I pretty much live on Subway Tuna Heroes.
To be honest, I had a ton of anxiety about the change in our routine but it didn't quite sink in until it was too late. My wife was going to be leaving the house before me.
Out-Numbered - “Uh honey, who’s going to get the kids ready for school? How will they get there?”
Wife - “That would be you, my lazy, spoiled, piece of shit husband.”
Out-Numbered - “Oh Snap. I need a plan.”
The first week in my new role was awesome. I pretty much kept this a secret but I didn’t have to do shit. I’m not sure if my kids were psyched to have me around or if I just got lucky but everything just clicked. My oldest daughter was up and dressed before I even woke up and while I was in the shower, she took it upon herself to get her younger sister ready as well. I didn’t even have to ask.
Even though I didn’t have to lift a finger, I started to take a lot of pride in my morning contribution to our little family.
Unfortunately I lost my glass slipper at some point over the weekend and I turned into a big fat pumpkin on Monday morning of week 2.
The whole, "We want to impress Daddy act" was gone like, well… a fart in the wind. I started to grasp at straws. Yesterday, I missed two trains because I couldn’t find a God damn pink purse for my two and a half year old and my seven year old told me she hated me because I wouldn’t give her a dollar to buy her friend snack at school. Tell your grubby friend to get her own fucking snack. What am I? UNICEF?
I need a plan.
It’s time to get tough.
So I’m flipping through the channels late that night and I come across one of my all time favorite movies. Full Metal Jacket.
That’s it. I need to send a message. Scare them straight. If they don’t respect me, I’m as good as dead or even worse... A pussy.
Starting tomorrow morning, I am officially becoming…
GUNNERY SERGEANT POOPY PANTS
This is how it will go down.
Out-Numbered - “I'm Gunnery Sergeant Poopy Pants, your senior drill instructor, from now on you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and the last word out of your filthy sewers will be "DAD". Do you maggots understand that?”
Daughters – “Dad. Yes Dad!”
Out-Numbered – “Bullshit I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair!”
Daughters – “DAD! YES DAD!”
Out-Numbered – “If you young ladies leave my house, if you survive the morning commute to school, you will be a kid weapon. You will be a minister of death praying for playtime. But until that day you are pukes. You are the lowest form of life on Earth. You are not even human, fucking beings. You are nothing but unorganized grabastic pieces of amphibian shit. Because I am hard you will not like me. But the more you hate me the more you will learn. I am hard but I am fair. There is no racial bigotry here (True but I'm not sure it applies to my kids). Here you are all equally worthless. And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Kid Corps. Do you maggots understand that?"
Daughters – “DAD! YES DAD!”
Out-Numbered - "Now that's more like it. Now let's hear the mantra loud as a bell."
Daughters - [chanting] "This is my sippy cup. There are many like it but this one is mine. My sippy cup is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my sippy cup is useless. Without my sippy cup I am useless."
Out-Numbered - "Enough. Let's do this..."
Too much? Probably but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Definitely Out-Numbered on this one...
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Next time you're at a friends BBQ or even out at your local Outback Steakhouse, try and rearrange whatever you have on your plate and turn it into a big schlong.
Always gets a laugh and makes eating really fun for the whole family.
This also happens to be reason #437 of why my wife thinks I'm an idiot.
Spreading joy one potato at a time. That's my calling. No time to be Out-Numbered when you're a joy spreader...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
SONY has started a program called DigiDad by which, various well known and influential Daddy Bloggers are being given a wide range of digital products to review on their web sites. SONY claims that the Daddy Bloggers will not be paid and will have to return the products when they are finished.
SONY hopes that by letting the Dads use their gadgets on their own terms, they will be able to provide fun and honest feedback for their readers about the products.
Great idea SONY!
SONY did not ask me to review any of their products. Go figure.
Here is my unsanctioned SONY product review.
SONY DREAM MACHINE AM/FM DIGITAL CLOCK RADIO
When my Mother first purchased this semi-digital slice of goodness, she probably had no inclination at the time, what an amazing return on her investment it would provide. When I started Junior High School, it was pretty obvious that I was fast becoming a lazy piece of shit with almost zero sense of responsibility. My Mother, being the wiser, thought that it was time I take on some sort of accountability for my own schedule. With this in mind, she gifted me The SONY DREAM MACHINE AM/FM DIGITAL CLOCK RADIO.
In my younger years, I certainly did not appreciate the importance and the rarity of fine craftsmanship. Why the fuck would I give a shit anyway? I wasn't paying for it. Looking back on the purchase now, I can honestly say without hesitation that the SONY DREAM MACHINE AM/FM DIGITAL CLOCK RADIO, is the greatest single semi-digital product I have ever owned.
This workhorse is 25 years old and it's never once, so much as skipped a tick. Who would have thought that those master Taiwanese craftsmen would touch my life in such a profound way?
Aesthetically, it's nothing more than simple and nothing less than understated; The perfect blend of genuine plastic and faux wood finish. Perhaps its most outstanding quality is the unbelievable durability of the body itself. I'm pretty sure it's been punched, kicked and thrown, as well as, vomited on, peed on and spat at. There's a very good possibility that it has touched my pecker at some point (I got it when I was in Junior High School).
It has never failed! Not once. Quite frankly, it has been the most consistent thing in my life.
For all of the above reasons, I urge you to purchase the SONY DREAM MACHINE AM/FM DIGITAL CLOCK RADIO immediately. I'm pretty sure you will be able to find it at a local Garage Sale or even a reputable weekend Flea Market. If you still can't find it, of course Ebay is always an option.
I'm not sure why but I haven't bought a single SONY product since. Technically, I didn't even purchase the SONY DREAM MACHINE AM/FM DIGITAL CLOCK RADIO (Thanks Mom!). Either way the SONY DREAM MACHINE AM/FM DIGITAL CLOCK RADIO has my full Dad Blogger endorsement... Unsanctioned of course.
SONY, no need to thank me for the free PR. I might not be "influential" enough for your DigiDad program but I tell it like it is and the SONY DREAM MACHINE AM/FM DIGITAL CLOCK RADIO kicks motherfucking alarm clock ass! Nice Work.
*** ACTUAL PRODUCT TESTIMONY ***
Thanks to you, I have never been Out-Numbered in the AM...
Friday, September 11, 2009
This post is dedicated to my amazing and beautiful Wife. She is the rock of our little family. Thank you for spending the last three years at home, loving, teaching and raising our kids. You have the patience of a one legged man, running a marathon. I don’t know how you did it…
The house is dark.
I’m sitting on the toilet in my bedroom bathroom with the door open. My morning pee. Too tired to stand. One of life’s little pleasures. My wife is still sound asleep. My kids are probably dreaming of either lollipops or Swiper the Fox, tearing them limb from limb. From the sounds of it, today seems like any other day but it is not.
It’s the morning of the first day of school. I’m up before everyone, as usual. No surprises there. There is one very subtle difference that camouflages itself amidst the quiet. It’s only a detail that I will notice. It might seem small but to me it signifies a cosmic shift in my personal universe.
For the last three years, I have sat on the same toilet bowl; indulging in the same morning pee. From this vantage point, I have a direct line of vision to my wife’s side of the bed. In the first year, I was still able to see the time on her digital alarm clock. It’s the same alarm clock she’s had since she was in Junior High School. It looks like a miniature Boom Box. Its body is white and it has pink speakers with green trim. The colors always remind me of Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy. The dim, fluorescent light that emanates from the display, casts a soft green glow across my wife’s night table; making it easy to see the scattered Post-It notes and half empty sippy cups.
Sometime in between the first and second year, her alarm clock started blinking. The time wasn’t even accurate anymore. Probably the result of a power outage somewhere along the way. She never bothered to reset it. Why should she?
During the third year it became a running joke between us. The display on her alarm clock had gone dark for the first time in twenty some odd years, with the exception of maybe moving days or trips home from college. The truth of the matter was she didn’t need an alarm clock anymore.
We had made the decision (as we did with our first child) that she would stay at home with our second daughter until she was old enough for Pre-School. We thought that the school year preceding her third birthday was a perfect age for the transition.
I have to admit that I was often jealous of her and the fact that she didn’t need to set her alarm. Of course there were days when our kids would rise way before any alarm would dare yelp its morning buzz; Like a digital frog. Bastard kids. On those mornings, I would perfect the art of fake sleeping. A master of the Mexican standoff. I was in the clear. One of my perks as a working Dad, I suppose.
Now the day of reckoning is upon her. After three years of being a full time, stay at home Mom, it’s time for her to go back to work. To me, that seems like a big deal. You can’t just wake up one morning, after three years and switch it into high gear. Can you? Don’t you need some practice? Take some time and ease into it, no?
One week before her big day, I say to her:
“Don’t you want to set your alarm one morning this week and see if it works? Maybe get up a bit early to get your body back into the swing of things?”
To this, she replied:
That was it. Just a simple, “Nope.”
OK then. So be it. To each her own.
So here I am, sitting on the toilet, in my bedroom bathroom, with the door open. My morning pee. Too tired to stand but more than happy to sit, right here in my front row seat. Today is different. Once again, I can see the light of her alarm clock. Today it reads the correct time. There is no flashing. Only one minute to go…
I smile… This is going to be good.
On this morning, she just might be the one feeling Out-Numbered... Or not.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Somewhere in Milwaukee
At risk of sounding overly formal (which is totally not me at all. I wear shorts and $5 white sunglasses to work), I am writing this letter to you in expression of my deep gratitude for your complete and utter, well, existence. In this cyber and sometimes faceless world we live in today, I wanted to make sure I took a moment to connect with you in a more personal fashion. I also noticed that you're not on Facebook yet.
I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciate all you have done for me and how accessible you have been over the past twenty years or so. I know this sounds corny but you've been a real friend to me. You've always been there for me, in good times and bad, never judging, never once placing your needs before mine. I know I can be moody (Don't even say it, I know...) and even downright selfish at times. I'm well aware of my propensity to take take take, without ever taking into consideration, your needs or your feelings. I can't help it at times though.
There are days when I feel as if I can't carry the weight that sits upon my shoulders. Sometimes I need someone or something to take the edge off, help me deal; You know what I mean? There are other days, when everything seems picture perfect, when all I want is someone or something to just share and recognize my accomplishments. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, there are days when I've just, well you know, needed a beer and you've always been there for me. For this, I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, from the core of my soul.
You've been sort of my crutch for a very long time and I guess there are reasons for that, maybe not the best reasons but reasons nonetheless. But now it's time to put that crutch away. Perhaps it's time to take a little time off. What I'm trying to say is that I need some time away, some time alone, to figure some things out. I swear it's not you. It's me. It's difficult to say this and I feel like kind of an asshole doing it in a letter but I've found someone else. Someone who can (has been) give me what I need to be happy. She gives me confidence, support and love. She's also a great listener. You haven't met her yet but she's amazing. Not that you're not but she's a little more mature than you and I'm getting older. She makes me feel like I'm the most important guy in the room; On the planet, actually.
Her name is Vodka.
I can't believe I just told you that. It feels good to get it off my chest. Please don't blame her. She didn't even know about us. Here's a picture of us from the other night. Look how happy I look and we both love olives! It's so crazy how much we have in common.
The point is, I can't see both of you at the same time. It's just not right. She deserves better than that. You deserve better than that and I'm sure there's a million guys out there, that are lining up right now, outside your case.
So I know this is sort of sudden but I'm inspired, I'm turning a page so to speak... I hope you understand. I don't regret anything, not for one second, I promise. It's just the way it goes...
Take care my old friend. I'll always remember the good times we had...
P.S. I found this old picture of us from our vacation in the Caribbean. I thought you might want it. I can't believe you even liked me back then. I was such a dork. You look great though. I'm sorry...
P.P.S. If you're ever feeling alone or Out-Numbered, just pick up the phone. I'll always be here for you...
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wife - "Slow down. You're gonna get us killed."
Out-Numbered - "I can't. If I don't get to a bathroom in less than a minute, I'm gonna shit my pants."
Wife - "Why do you eat Pizza and Ice Cream if you know it's going to make you sick?"
Out-Numbered - "Because I'm a moron. Can you please not give me shit right now. I can't talk."
Pulling up to the Hotel, we notice 4 Fire Trucks and a Police car parked in front. Something's going on...
Out-Numbered - "Roll down your window and see if we can go in. QUICKLY!"
Wife - "OK. Jeez."
Rolling down the car window
Wife - "Officer, is everything OK? Can we go inside?"
Police Officer - "Yes Maam. Everything is fine. Just a blown transformer across the street."
Wife - "Great. Thank you."
Rolling up the car window.
Wife - "He said everything is fine. Just a blown..."
Out-Numbered - "...Transformer! I HEARD! I need to stop the car and run to the room. Grab the kids and I'll meet you inside. I can't hold it in anymore. FUCK!"
Wife - "OK. GO! WAIT! Take the left over pizza from the back seat."
Out-Numbered - "Are you fucking kidding me? YOU TAKE THE PIZZA!"
Wife - "Sorry, GO!"
Clenching my ass tightly, I scurry through the Hotel Lobby and find the elevator.
Out-Numbered - "Shit. What's my room number? God Damn!"
Brisk walking like a duck with a pulled hamstring, back to the front desk...
Out-Numbered - "Excuse me Miss. Can you please tell me what room number I'm in?"
Front Desk Lady - "Why yes but the power is out throughout most of the Hotel due to the blown transformer, so the keys aren't working."
I start to notice families with their kids, in Pajamas, sitting and wandering throughout the lobby. I'm starting to break into a cold sweat.
Out-Numbered - "How do I get into my room? It's an emergency."
Front Desk Lady - "If you can just wait a few minutes, I'll walk you upstairs. I have the master key."
Out-Numbered - "Where's the bathroom?"
Front Desk Lady - "I'm sorry. Give me one minute to finish helping this woman."
Out-Numbered - "THE BATHROOM PLEASE!"
Front Desk Lady - "Right at the end of the hall Sir. There's no power though."
Sweating profusely, biting my lower lip, I feel myself starting to lose control. I can barely walk fast enough. I shuffle down the hall, in a way that must have looked like, a cross between the Turrets Electric Slide and The Spastic Safety Dance.
I hear my wife calling from down the hall...
Wife - "What are you still doing here? Did you go to the bathroom?"
Not looking back...
Out-Numbered - "NOT NOW!"
I push the door open frantically. The room is dark. There is no power. I reach into my pocket for my cell phone. I rush toward the stall, the last bit of light from the open door...
Out-Numbered - "Motherfucker! Comfort INN my fucking ass!"
I turn on my phone to get some light. I shine it on the bowl. Do I have time to paper the seat? Not a chance. Fuck it. I'm going in. Skin first. I balance my phone on the handicap rail. I tear off a sheet of paper and wipe the seat recklessly with one hand, pulling my pants off with the other. I barely make it to the sitting position.
Out-Numbered - "Holy Shit. Thank you God."
As I sit on the cold public toilet seat, in the complete darkness, I realize that I am lucky. I have cheated the Grim Reaper of Lactose Intolerance one too many times. I think back to the time, ten years ago, when I crapped my pants on the corner of Yellowstone and Jewel, standing in a crowd of people during the rush hour.
Out-Numbered - "Uhhhhh."
I threw away my clothes that day, for two slices of Häagen-Dazs Ice Cream Cake and a Peroline Cookie. I barely made it off the subway. Hardly worth the cost. I also threw away a lot more...
Out-Numbered - "Mmmmmah."
It's time to acknowledge that every man has his Kryptonite. Mine just happens to be dairy products and instead of losing my super powers, I get terrible diarrhea and stomach cramps.
As I wipe my ass by the light of my cell phone, I can hear my kids running back and forth in the Hotel lobby. They are asking for me and calling out my name. This is what they must mean by hitting Rock Bottom. I can't do this anymore. This is no way for a man to live...
Tonight, I was Out-Numbered by Mystic Pizza and Mud Chocolate Crunch Ice Cream...