I've decided to take down Sam's website. I only use Sam's site for picture's of Sam but soon we will have another baby, with her own site to update, plus updating here, plus uploading to SIX Ceiva's (all bought by us for family). I'm going to be busy enough as it is once Mac arrives.
(Did I mention that my new daughter will be named Mackenzie Christine? That my daughters will be Sam and Mac.... that my Dad has two brothers named Sam and Mac... that's it's all a coincidence. You see, I'm so busy that I don't even have time to devote a full post to the whole "name" issue..... geez. Still, how cool is it that the three most important women in the world to me will be Bob, Sam and Mac?)
So, I created a flicker account and from now on I'll just upload everything there. There's also a link on the right side bar over there----------->>>.
Let me just say that it pains me to use a generic photo sharing program when I am a web-designer, but lately I've been putting off uploading photo's to Sam's site because it's not as easy as just uploading to Ceiva. Now, with Flickr it'll be just as easy... so hopefully I'll do it every time I update the Ceiva's. (In another post I'll elaborate on how do-it-yourself web design is getting so good that eventually web-designers like myself will be useless anyway...)
One more thing: The photo upload program that Blogger uses compresses the photo's regardless of the original size, which pisses me off because it makes the picture's I upload here look grainy. Click on the picture of Sam that accompany's this post, then go to the Flickr site and look at it there. See the difference?
Well, it's now official. I'm no longer reading Dooce.com.
I first discovered Dooce two years ago just before Sam was born. I loved it! Dooce was pregnant, we were pregnant! Dooce had a girl, we had a girl (one day apart)! Dooce is married to an older man, we're married to an older man!
It took a while for me to realize that Dooce was a blog juggernaught. For a while I was under the impression that she just had a few readers and I had discovered an un-noticed talent among the flotsam and jetsum of the blog world (note: first use of "flotsam" in The Boo-Log). I soon discovered that wasn't the case. Dooce is, in fact, one of the most popular blogs on the web but that's okay, because she's good and deserves it. It didn't bother me at all that she didn't write me back despite my repeated attempts to become her friend. (C'MON! Who wouldn't want to be friends with ME!)
Then, her husband quit his job. So, Dooce has decided to try and support the family with her site, which is cool, except now the site has become ad crazy! half the time you go to her site you get a two paragraph post surrounded by a million ads (Hey! Stretch Mark creme!). It's like trying to read a grocery list in the middle of Times Square, only without the possibility of stepping in urine.
So, I wish her good luck but I won't be reading anymore. She's grown too big, too typical, too obvious. Plus, she never seemed to recognize the genius that is me despite repeated emails (and really, the restraining order was just rude...)
I was all set to do a rant today after watching the story on "60 Minutes" about the "Plan B" pill. This pill can prevent pregnancy if taken within 72 hours of having sex. The FDA scientific advisory board has approved the drug for over the counter sale but the FDA President has ignored their advice and blocked it.
Now, as I said, I was all prepared to rant about legislating morality, etc... but then I got to thinking. The people who oppose this drug claim that it's not because they are pro-life but rather because the availability of the drug will lead to more promiscuous sex, which leads to more STD's, etc.
So, I want to know the truth. Ladies, if this drug had been available when you were a teenager, do you think you would have had more sex? As a follow-up, do you feel that the government should care about whether or not your daughter is a slut? Do you feel that drugs like this one will make it harder to control your daughter's raging hormones?
Seriously. I have a daughter and another on the way.
My family decided several years ago to stop buying presents for extended family members at Christmas. Instead, My Dad, his two brothers, and their families all get together at a restaurant and have a big dinner. Everyone buys presents for the kids but not the adults. It makes sense when you consider that many of the people in the family only see each other once a year, to exchange presents. (Personally, I have been pushing for a new rule that you only exchange gifts with people you see on Christmas Eve or day. No more mailing gifts...)
Two years ago, we were on our way to the "Perry Christmas Dinner" when we realized that we had forgot the presents for the kids. Since the dinner is on the other side of the bay, we decided to just stop at Target and buy new presents.
Yesterday, we bought presents at Target for this year's gathering.... and left them in the store. Since we just happened to be at a Target on the other side of town, we just decided to go to the nearest Target today and replace them.
Target is making entirely too much money off of me.
(Side note: When I'm King, you'll be allowed to punch anyone in the face who tries to sign you up for a store credit card while checking out. "Would you like to save 10% on your purchase today with a Target charge account?" POW!!)
My niece is getting married. Finally.
She's been living with her boyfriend for four years and now they've decided to get married. Naturally, they expect my sister to plan and pay for the whole bash. Naturally, my sister doesn't get any input into the particulars of the ceremony (ex: my niece doesn't want to say the vows because she doesn't like speaking in front of people. I suggested flash cards.)
Since I'm about to be the proud father of my second little girl, let me just lay down a rule right now: Once you've lived with a man for over two years, I am no longer responsible for the wedding.
I'm not saying you can't live with a guy before you marry him, but if you can't see your way clear to marry the guy within a couple of years, all bets are off. Once a guy has been a part of Family Christmas twice, he's already being treated like one of the family. I'm not paying for what is basically a free party for you and your friends. I'll be happy to help pay for the marriage license but the hall, the D.J. and the booze are out. If you don't think that's fair then I'll make you a deal: I'll pay for the wedding as long as I am not expected to treat the guy like a son-in-law until after the wedding. That means he doesn't do holiday's with us, doesn't get presents, doesn't get to sleep with you under my roof. Remember, he can do all those things for the first two years you live together, after that, if you want me to continue to treat you like you're married, fine, you're married.
Let's say your daughter has been sick and you've been going into her room at night to give her medicine and calm her down but now she's all well and still expects you to go into her room everytime she wakes up (instead of sleeping through the night like she's been doing for over a year).
Now, let's say that, after a few nights, you decide to "tough-love" her: Go check on her when she cries but then put her down and let her cry it out.
Then, let's say that she finally stops crying and goes to sleep but the next day has laryngitis so bad that she sounds like a throat-cancer patient.
How long should you punish yourself for being a terrible parent?
Yesterday, while Mom and Dad were over at the house visiting the baby, my Dad told me about his recent visit to have his hearing aids adjusted. Apparently, the nurse adjusting his hearing aids had an I.Q to rival Forrest Gump. This is the sort of thing that happens to my Dad and I all the time.
First, a little background: My Dad's hearing aids have four volume settings that he can adjust. The idea is that you should keep them on setting #2 most of the time and only have to adjust to a higher or lower setting on occasion. My Dad, however, keeps his on #1 or "off" most of the time because #2 is frequently too loud and #3 and #4 are out of the question.
So, he goes to the doctor and the nurse begins to adjust his hearing aids (turning the gain up and down with a special tool).
"I need you to turn down my hearing aids."
"They're too loud. I never use settings 3 and 4."
"You're not supposed to.... that would be too loud. You should stay on setting #2 most of the time"
"Okay, but I hardly ever even use #2... most of the time I'm on #1 or off altogether. So, adjust the gain down."
"I can't do that."
"You're doing it right now. Just turn it down so that I can use #2 and #3."
"But that would be too loud..."
This went on for another 5 minutes. (He didn't even bother to get into a discussion of why #3 and #4 existed, since you're never supposed to use them.)
When my Dad told me this story I immediately began to explain to him the story behind a cult phenomenon called, "Spinal Tap" and the amp that goes to "11." Then, realizing that I had "This is Spinal Tap" on DVD, I decided to just play the scene for him.
Now, this is a tricky situation because, while it's true that I get my sense of humor from my father, he's now in his 60's and we don't always agree on what's funny anymore. It's quite a shock to find out that the man who introduced you to "Monty Python's Flying Circus" when you were 12 now gets a big kick out of "According to Jim."
Thank God the appreciation of true comedic genius runs deep. When Christopher Guest says (after a perfect pause) "...but this one goes to 11," my Dad almost fell off the couch laughing.
Postscript: If you don't know the scene I'm talking about, I'm going to have to insist that you stop reading my blog because you're obviously not funny.
We've been trying to prepare Sam for the baby sister that will be arriving in five weeks but I'm not sure she grasps the concept entirely. She does understand that Mommy's big belly is caused by the "baby."
Today, she came up to me while I was sitting on the couch, pulled up my shirt, poked me in the stomach and said, "Baby?"
"No, sweetie, pop-tarts and ice cream."
Did anyone notice the new commenter on the post below this one? That's right losers, yet another denizen of the internet has discovered the genius that is me! (Bonus: she's hot!....unless she's underage, in which case she's cute) Can it be mere coincidence that all my readers are hot babes? (Actually, I don't know if all my readers are hot babes. BlackberriesGirl claims to be so freakin' hot that her gynecologist makes passes at her but I've yet to see actual proof). Let's face it, I attract women like a fire-sale at "Bath and Body Works."
I've added her page to my links because that's the sort of self-sacrifice I'm willing to make for my fans. Check out her page here. Quote below:
The morning passes without much fanfare. Jenn’s shower curtain has ceased emitting the stench that resulted in my getting high and scribbling my name on my shoes so they wouldn’t get lost last night, and I can almost breathe again.
That's quality prose people and don't try to deny it.
My Mom punched me today for saying "fuck" in front of Sam.
First, let me make it clear that I say "fuck" a lot. I'm a guy who can say, "Fuck you... you Fucking Motherfucker" and not think he's overdoing it. I try not to say it in front of my Mom because she doesn't say it and, well, she's my Mom for fuck sake. Today I got slapped in the arm for it and I swear, for a second there, I thought she was going to ground me.
I don't know what I'm going to do when Sam picks up the word (and she will, because I say it all the fucking time). I guess I'll just have to try and make her understand that it's a "grown-up" word and shouldn't be said by children. Personally, I think the whole thing is stupid when you get right down to it. Why is "feces" okay and "shit" bad? They both describe the same thing and you wouldn't want either one in your bathtub, so why the distinction?
At the same lunch I put Joanna on the defensive about her husband Teague. All I said was that in every relationship, someone has "traded up." Someone got lucky and landed a mate that is out of their league. In the case of Joanna, her husband Teague is the lucky one. Don't get me wrong, Teague is great (and I love him like a cousin that I see about once a year) but Joanna is in "the show" and Teague is stuck in Triple-A ball. I know this because I'm in Triple-A myself. If Teague and I have one thing in common, it's the self-confidence to go after women who can do better than us, and we've both managed to hook winners. The only difference is that Teague is so good at dishing the bullshit that he actually believes it himself. I'm more realistic about my abilities, except where sex is concerned, where I'm a God. (Really. God-like.) I don't know, maybe I'm wrong but I personally think Joanna is the shit but that's mainly because she laughs at my jokes and has huge tits (two very important assets..... and the laughing is good too). Joanna, God bless her, treats my like that Uncle everybody has that seems nice but at the same time is just a little creepy. You know, the one that holds the hug just a little too long? That's me as far as Joanna is concerned. Deep down inside she suspects that I actually mean all the things I say about her and secretly fantasize about a threesome with her and my wife (relax Jo, that honor is reserved for my wife's sister). Someday she'll come to love me for who I am and no longer be a little worried that I might try to slip a cat-tranqualizer into her drink (doesn't work, BTW).
"He grabs his thing all the time....." She said.
"Well, he's a little boy," I replied.
"I know, but Meghan wasn't like that. She discovered her.... "area".... one day, checked it out, and moved on. Gabriel is constantly playing with his thing. All the time!"
"Hey, I'm 41 and I'm constantly playing with mine too. Get used to it."
I apologize for not updating as frequently lately but since I got my new TV all I do is watch HDTV and eat Cheeto's. (The new TV is so big it almost makes me feel better about my appalling lack of penis size.) Anyway, I have DVD's to watch so suck it world, I'm on the couch until further notice.
Today, Sam discovered the box of sandwich bags in the middle drawer in the kitchen. Much fun was had by all.
I'm frequently accused of being a bit of a "Grinch." It's not that I'm not all about the holidays, but rather that I am a realist, always have been. For example, I don't think Christmas is that big a deal to a baby that is less than a year old. The same applies to Halloween. I say, don't bother until they are old enough to understand what's going on. (I feel the same way about sex, which is why I was a virgin until I was 32.)
No matter how hard I try, the women will not leave me alone. First, a friend of ours gives us a costume she made for the baby.... then Bobbi calls and tells me to be sure and put her in the outfit and take a picture (which is hard to do when you are trying to lay on the couch all day). Then, the neighbors come by with their kids and when I inform them that I'm not taking Samantha out, Maritza gives me the stink eye like I just told her I was gonna feed the baby some Red Bull and sit her down to watch Deep Throat.
So I decide to take her out. Luckily, Bobbi arrives home from work just in time and we suit up. We dress the baby in her little devil costume with cape and horns and give her a bucket (side note: The bucket belongs to neighbor Alicia, who was holding it when she came to the door with her son. Rather, it used to belong to Alicia, who should know better than to bring any sort of container around the baby as she is in love with all things that hold other things. Really. For her birthday we bought her Tupperware).
We head out into the night with Sam walking along with her bucket and it's then that I realize what a fool I've been because she is quite possibly THE CUTEST FUCKING THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE! OH MY GOD, COULD YOU BE ANYMORE CUTE?! (Seriously, you can take your kittens and shove em' up your ass, they got NO GAME.)
She insisted on carrying her bucket and walking herself. She was wearing the cape, the hat, everything and she didn't care..... I'M OUT BABY! LET'S GO!
She eventually figured out that she could just walk up and grab some candy from the bowl but seemed to think that she should return the candy at the next house, like some sort of Communist Halloween Re-Distribution Program. My daughter, the red menace of Halloween.
I can't believe we almost didn't go out.