Awwwwww snap!
I couldn’t resist. I laughed more this week than I have in a long time over this thing…so, I bought one.
I’m starting up a Bunco group for some friends in my neighborhood. Our first game is tonight. One of those lucky bitches will be able to shake her way to flabless arms…WITHOUT assistance from her man friend, or husband!
I’m so excited. Whoever wins this little gem, I’m gonna beg them to let me video them demonstrate it.
One giant leap for man's time!
We've been entertaining the idea for a while, to shut off our satellite tv. I've lost interest in most of my shows, and Jake is mainly in it for the ball games. We knew it would hit the kids the hardest. They watch too much tv.
Jake promised that when the Cowboys were finished with their season, we could shut it off.
The playoffs came, and Jake was on the edge of his seat...rooting for his team, and for his satellite services.
When the Boys lost their second playoff game, I didn't want to add insult to injury. I didn't say a word about the tv...and gave Jake a proper amount of time to mourn his teams' loss, and distract himself with his shows.
Yesterday, his time was up.
I casually mentioned, "Oh yeah. Weren't we going to shut off the satellite now that your Boys are done?"
"Oh...um...yeah. I guess we were."
"Why don't you do it," I dared.
Likely, hoping I was bluffing, he grabbed the phone, and dialed the number to cancel the service.
I knew this was going to be hard, because I knew the people on the other end of the phone, weren't going to let this go without a fight. I knew they'd sell their asses off, trying to get him to stay.
As I expected, from Jake's end of the convo, I heard, "Well...nah...just cancel it. NO, it's not really about the money. I'd just like to cancel. Well, is that even possible? So, it'll only cost me this much, if I drop those channels? Really? Yeah, let's keep the Tivo, and HD. Sure, we'll give that a try."
He hung up the phone, and turned to look at me. No words were needed. My eyes said, "You big puss!"
He bumbled and fumbled, and tried to justify keeping a few channels. He tried to sell it to me, as it had been sold to him, that he was weaning himself off the tv.
I wasn't buying it. I didn't say anything. I just figured it was gonna take some time, and that this was a decent first step.
Then he says, "Fuck it," and he dialed the phone again.
He stood his ground this time, and even when she offered him a discount on our service, he was strong, and had her disconnect our satellite.
We had a couple of hours left with it.
The kids plopped down in front of it, absorbing as much Hannah Montanna, Spongebob, and WWE as they could, I sat down to watch a few shows left on Tivo, and Jake couldn't bear to see the tv. Not even to say goodbye.
Jake took Lil to practice, the boys were still soaking it in.
At 7pm CST, on January 27, 2010, the satellite went out.
I knew it was gone because of the screams of horror that bellowed from the play room. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Then, Avery stormed past me, announcing that he was going to bed since there was nothing else to do.
This was gonna be even better than I expected.
We have grand plans for our time that has been freed. Bike rides, games, we'll still have movies, maybe I'll get around to all that laundry, and Jake says he might start a band!
Yeah...I'm betting it's back on within the year!!
Really…it’s embarrassing!
Two awards have been bestowed upon me…and I’m honored.
Honestly…honored!
Thanks so much to Robin at Lolidots for this awesome award…
I just saw a commercial for this little gadget...and literally, almost choked on my crackers!!
Seriously...the funniest thing, that's not trying to be funny...that I have EVER EVER EVER seen!
I've been "fat sitting" for far too long.
Far. FAR!! Too long!!
It's high time I returned this fat to it's rightful owner.
There is some skinny bitch out there who is missing her fat!! Bless her heart!! She's probably cold. Having trouble deciding which dude to lay. And wants a burrito.
Well, here ya go, sweet cheeks...I'm done with this shit. It's all yours!
Uh...actually...
I'm gonna need just a couple more weeks with the fat, so I can give it a proper goodbye. After that...I SWEAR!! I'll return it!
**Please remind me that I declared this publicly...and hold my fat ass accountable to shedding some LBs!! Deal?**
Jack: Hey, Dad! Did you know it's Martin Luther King Day on Monday?
Dad: Yeah, I did, buddy.
Jack: Martin Luther King was this guy, who said, "I have a dream..."
Dad: That's right. Do you know what his dream was about?
Jack: Yup. We learned about it in school. MLK said, "I have a dream...that black people are cool."
They're back...and this time, it's personal.
These rats are a thorn in my effing side, I tell ya!
We live in a neighborhood that is still being developed, and when they do a lot of building, we get alotta rats!
We had a pretty bad infestation a while back. We defended our territory with snap traps, glue traps, and finally an airsoft gun.
Jake is always so hell-bent on handling things himself. No exterminators. He can take care of it. Big, bad man, protecting his domicile! While effing rats run amuck in my house!!
We persevered over the first invasion, and the next time, the rodents came back bigger and badder! We had to pull out the heavy artillery, and fight this fucker with a BB gun!
We thought we'd showed them.
Until today...
Our dishwasher started leaking. Water spilling out, all over my kitchen floor. I mentioned it to Jake, and he said he'd get around to it. Just a week, or so, later, we noticed that the bottom of the cabinet, under the sink, was sagging in the middle.
**Nooooow he wants to check it out! Noooooow he listens to me, after the fucking cabinets are falling apart!!**
We slid the dishwasher out, to investigate. Rat shit, everywhere! Just as we were about to run the machine, to watch for the leak, we saw a jagged, broken peice of plastic, only partly covering a plastic tube. The source of our leak.
Look...
I'm still on sabbatical. Enjoying a little R and R. Lovin' life.
Easy...quit hatin'!!
Part of my contract says that I get to sleep in on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays...and then, of course, most Saturdays and Sundays. Alright, so, it would've been easier to tell you which days I don't get to sleep in. Whatev!
Anyway, Monday came, and I was sabbaticating (hey-it might be a word).
I was juuuuuusta sleepin'!
Until...
The phone rang, and it was the school. At 8:15am. On Monday morning.
I'm thought, it had to be the nurse. The kids had only been there for twenty minutes! What kind of trouble, warranting a call home, could they get into, in twenty minutes?
This kind...
It was the P.E. teacher. She wanted me to talk to Avery, because he was refusing to dance.
He got on the phone, and I was all...
"Dude! Just dance, will ya!"
"I don't want to. It's stupid."
"Well, son, from what I can tell, it's not an option."
"I don't like it."
"Well, I don't like waking up to a phone call from your teacher, because you are in trouble, either, but, that's what I had to do today!"
We go back and forth like this for a few minutes, and I ended it by telling him, "FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!! JUST DANCE. DO WHAT YOUR TOLD. I HAD TO DANCE. YOUR DAD HAD TO DANCE. YOUR SISTER AND BROTHER WILL DANCE. DANCE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SANE! OR, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES!!" All the while, hoping I wasn't on speakerphone.
The worst part of it all...was that I couldn't go back to sleep. Ooooooh yeah. There would definitely be consequences!!
I saw parts of Monday morning that I haven't seen in ages, and went on with my day.
Until...
A call from the PRINCIPAL at 1:00pm. Same kid. Same problem. He refused to dance! The principal offered to dance with him. He refused. The assistant principal offered to dance with him. He refused. They gave him to option of dancing with the second P.E. group in his class. He refused.
This dude was simply not gonna dance!
When he got home from school, his punishment was...to dance! He danced for an hour straight, then had to deal with his father, when he got home from work! Poor kid!
I've lived in Texas all my life. When I was a kid, we did square dancing. I remember it being a big deal...not wanting to hold the boys' hands, but, I did it. And I thought it was kinda fun!
I wanted to ask you guys in other states...did you dance in P.E.? Was it part of your curriculum? It is here. It's part of the state's curriculum.
Is it just a bumpkin thing?
What about cow-tippin' and banjo strummin'?
Your kids have to do that in P.E., too, right? RIGHT?
The other day, we were heading home from running some errands. The kids had been in the car for an hour, or so, and we pulled into the Jack in the Box for dinner.
Because it's delicious.
And more importantly, cheap.
As we circled behind the building to the drive through, and rolled the window down, we were hit with a smell. A seriously god-awful smell. We frantically rolled the windows up and down, trying to figure out, from which direction the stench was coming.
Was it coming from inside the car? Outside the car? Is it a dead body?
We assumed it was the dumpster, and that dumpster was FUN-KEE!! The kids were coughing, I was screaming, our eyes were watering, and we were laughing.
I cannot accurately describe the odor...but, it was gross. If they didn't have a Jumbo deal for like $3, and we didn't have, like, eight people to feed...we woulda left. It was THAT bad!!
As we pulled out of the drive through, the smell subsided, and we marked that particular Jack in the Box off the list of the fine dining establishments that we visit.
Fast forward a few days, and we were measuring the kids height. I commented that our normally perfectly stair stepped children, are not so stair stepped, as one of the boys has had a growth spurt.
We told Avery to take off his shoes, to level the playing field, to truly see the difference in their height. A few seconds later, the smell. Eerily similar to the putrid dumpster behind the Jack in the Box.
A recent incident with the bowels of my youngest child, prompted me to say, "Jack...DUDE!!! Did you poo yourself, again?? OH MY GOD! It's smells like poop."
Offended, Jack said, "UH...NOOOOOO! That's not me! I swear. My pants are clean. Look."
As I gasped for air, covered my mouth, held my breath, and writhed in nasal discomfort, I noticed that Avery was laughing...while the rest of the family seemed to be in pain.
He finally sputtered, "Sorry...it's my feet. It was my feet the other day at Jack in the Box, too. I took my shoes off in the car, but put them back on when y'all were freaking out!"
I kid you not, people, this smell was...not human. Like, ass crack would be cool and refreshing next to this smell.
In between belly laughs, Jake said, "IT SMELLS LIKE...IT SMELLS...LIKE...AN OLD, DIRTY, SWEATY...HASN'T SHOWERED EVER...DESERT BUTT."
I, myself, have never smelled 'desert butt,' but, if it can be compared to the stench that seeped out of the tarsals of my eldest child...I'll pass. No thank you. I'd rather die. And die, I might, because this "desert ass" smell, had launched olfactory jihad on my ass!!
It was so bad, that I actually became angry. Fighting mad. I believe that my body perceived the smell as a life or death threat, and I went into "fight or flight" mode.
I just started wildly screaming, in a voice I didn't recognize...
"OUT. OUT. OUT. OUT. DON'T MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN. GET THOSE SHOES OUT INTO THE GARAGE--NO, THROW THEM IN THE STREET, AWAY FROM THE HOUSE. NO WHERE NEAR THE HOUSE. THE SOCKS, TOO. OUT. AND DON'T EVER BRING THEM BACK INTO MY HOUSE AGAIN. OUT. SHOWER. GET IN THE SHOWER. NOW!!!"
Laughing uncontrollably, he complied to my demands.
I sprayed half a bottle of Febreeze, and retreated to the shower myself, to escape from the "desert ass" residue that was lingering.
If I ever smell that smell again...so help me God, we're amputating his feet!!
We were selling one of the kids beds on craigslist. Not, like, as a punishment, or anything...Ave was given a new one from his grandma.
The lady who came to look at the bed, happened to be an old friend.
A mom of a kid Avery used to play football with, four years ago. We were both surprised to see a familiar face when I opened the door, and it took just a minute to recall that she was one of my favorite football moms.
Our boys only played one season together. Avery aged out of that division, her son didn't, we lost touch.
We chit-chatted for a while catching up. Remarking at how time is flying. Just as she was asking me, "...and how are the babies," she noticed a recent picture of Jack on my wall. As she remembered the wispy curls that framed his face, his mischievous nature, and chubby cheeks, tears welled in her eyes. Triggering mine to do the same.
He was only two when she'd known him. Just a baby. He is now the same age as Avery was, when he played ball with her son.
Father time is relentless.
I asked about her boy. He was one of the best looking kids I've ever seen. Handsome. Sweet. Amazingly beautiful eyes. Just like hers.
She told me that her boy couldn't play football after that season, because they found he had an eye condition. One that was degenerative. One that couldn't be helped, or fixed, or stalled. One that will eventually rob him of his sight.
The tears that had welled in my eyes, over my son's fading baby face, began to burn, for her son's fading sight.
We talked for a while longer, then she left.
Since then, I've been thinking. About her boy. About him losing his sight.
I would imagine it's an oddly beautiful and cruel thing to know that one day, your child will never see again. The cruelty of him being robbed of one of his most important senses. And the beauty in being able to show him as much of the world, as you can, before it's gone.
People have their "bucket lists" of things they want to do before they die. What would top my "bucket list," of the sights and beauty that I'd want to show my child, before he was blind.
Sunrises. Sunsets. Mountains. Oceans. Canyons. Movies. Art. Pyramids. Deserts. Small towns. Big cities. Family, far and near.
That all seems trite.
Still, I pondered the fragility of it all. Time. Health. Life.
Father time is a relentless ass!
I have some of the most entertaining conversations with my youngest son, between the closed doors of public bathroom stalls.
The kid always has to poop. No matter where we may be. If Avery is with us, he will accompany the boy to the throne. But, if it's just me and the boy, I make him go to the ladies room with me. Because he gets bored in there. And he likes to strike up a conversation while he evacuates his colon...and I DON'T want him striking up conversations with pedofiles.
Anway, this was a convo from the other day...
Him: So, I still don't get it. Girls pee and poop out of the same place.
**SIGH...I have had this SAME EFFING conversation with the kid a THOUSAND times. I try my hardest to explain that there are THREE entirely separate processes going on in our girly bottoms, and that I do not expect him to even coming close to understanding it at six years old. Hell...his father barely understands it at thirty-four!! That shit is, and always will be, an enigma to men!!**
Me: Same general area, yes. Same exact place, no.
Him: Ooooooh yeah. Boys have a penis...and girls have a brain. Right?
Me: That is EXACTLY right, son...perfectly put. You are so smart!! Now, wipe, flush, and let's go!
Gotta love that kid! He's so insightful!!
To the detriment of my children's psyche, it has happened, that Jake and I have been "walked in on" while doing...our laundry. So, we've learned, to wait until the kids are sleeping soundly, and always make sure the...laundry room...door is locked.
Sometimes, it seems, that's not enough...
The other day, while doing...our laundry, we heard a faint sound.
**I should note that Jake talked me into watching "Paranormal Activity" with him recently, and these days, I'm a little jumpy. Every little sound, every shadow, every little thing that goes bump in the night...SCARES THE HOLY SHIT OUT OF ME! It took me six years to recover from watching "The Ring"...I don't plan on sleeping any time in the next decade. Anyway, back to the...laundry...**
A sound...
"Honey, WTF was that? Jesus, did you hear it? Go check it out."
"Relax, babe, I'm sure it was the dog, or a kid. Did you lock the door?"
"Yes, I locked the door...but..."
We continue...folding socks...
Another noise, this time louder, and closer, and the noise had a shadow...
"HONEY! DUDE, LOOK! Someone's at the door. I'm scared."
Laughing at me, just a little, Jake said, "Jesus...it's probably Jack. Nikki, go put him back to bed."
"Uh-uh, fucker...I'm scared. Probably Jack? That means there's a chance it's not. I'm not going out there. You made me watch that movie with you...and I told you that you'd have to do middle of the night stuff. You go. No. WAIT. Don't go. I'm scared. There's still a shadow...look."
Without opening the door, Jake said sternly, "Jack..."
Nothing...
Again, "JACK!"
Still...nothing. But, the shadow remained.
**Jack would've answered us. It's a demon. I just know it's a demon, and I'm scared. And it's dark. And all my clothes are...in the laundry, so I'm vulnerable.**
Jake said sternly, this time at me, "Nikki, just open the door! I'm sure it's Jack. Chill the fuck out, and open the door." We collected ourselves I collected myself, and moved toward the door. Like a big, big, pansy...I held my breath, clenched my jaw, and as if preparing for my soul to be sucked out of my esophagus, I braced myself.
I slung the door open, and the source of the shadow was revealed...
A small tub of cotton candy. And a pair of tube socks.
I gasped.
Jake laughed.
I yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK?! This is just like in the movies. Ghosts are always moving shit around in people's houses!! DID YOU LEAVE THAT THERE?" I didn't wait for him to answer. I continued, "NO. YOU DIDN'T. WELL NEITHER DID I!"
After a brief pause, I pressed on, "And if it is Jack...and he is up...and he did put this stuff here...WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE DO THAT? What's wrong with him?! Is he just fucking with us? What in the hell?"
Jake thought the whole thing was hilarious, and as the surge of adrenaline subsided in my veins, I began to see the humor in it.
I mean, after all, if it was a demon...that's pretty fucking funny. That our demon has a good sense of humor. Some demons leave shit like the severed head of a horse, or a goat...or a fucking human...but, ours leaves cotton candy. And tube socks.
I went to Jack's room, and there he sat, wide-eyed, in the dark.
"Dude. What were you doing?"
"I can't sleep."
"Well...what's with the cotton candy?"
"I was just bringing it to you. I thought you might like it."
Even more confused than ever, I said, "Oh. Well. I do like cotton candy. Thanks. But. Uh. Not this late at night. You're supposed to be asleep. Now close your eyes, and sleep, kid. G'night."
Satisfied with the explanation, I left.
I didn't really care to ask about the socks.
