It's been a tough week here at Casa de Baby but we've managed to muddle through with the help of a few big milestones. Samantha learned how to say, "I Love You," this week and every time she says it I just melt inside. Nevermind that she doesn't know what she's saying and only does it so that she can get cookies as a reward. I'm sure that for the rest of my life I'll look back with great fondness on the first time I heard those three little words: "She has bulimia."
Sam also has learned how much fun it can be to cuddle up on the couch with Daddy under her new Elmo blanket and watch Sesame Street. After being dragged across the floor all day and being used as a cat mattress at night, the Elmo blanket has actually grown penicillin... but we don't care. Now, just suck on a corner and Presto, no gonorrea!
Today I bought my first "Happy Meal", beginning what I hope will be a lifetime habit of denying my children healthy food so I can watch Wheel of Fortune. Rolling down my car window to order a happy meal for the first time is almost a rite of passage. I swear I could actually hear women all over the world deciding that not only will they definitely not sleep with me, they won't even consider me a sexual being anymore. At this point, the plastic Chronicles of Narnia figure that comes in the box has a better chance of getting laid than I do.
I watch a lot of television. All day long I sit on the couch and watch television. Frequently in the nude while eating a big bucket of chicken. Mmmm..... that's good chicken.
Naturally, I've become quite the critic. There are two things that bug me every time I see them: Things that don't make logical sense and stupid sound effects.
My favorite plot device which makes no sense is the hostage situation scenario. You know the story: Bad guy points gun ay innocent victim and demands that brave cop drop his weapon.... WHICH THE COP ACTUALLY DOES!
Okay, let me explain something to you. If a person takes a hostage, the only thing preventing him from killing said hostage is the knowledge that as soon as he does, the cops will kill him. Therefore, threatening to kill someone is a hollow threat; keeping the hostage alive is the only thing keeping the bad guy alive. Therefore, NEVER GIVE UP YOUR WEAPON. If I were ever in that situation I would press my gun against the bad guys head and say, "If you think you can kill the hostage and kill me before I blow your head off, go right ahead and try, punk. YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, MAN!! STOP CALLING ME "PROFESSOR PERRY!" I CAN'T HELP IT IF I'M SMART INSTEAD OF ATHLETIC! ....... sorry, High School flashback...
Lately, I've been particularly annoyed by a trend that has developed that is just, well, annoying. It's the "noisy gun" scenario. Whenever someone pulls out a gun on TV, it always makes noise. Not just any noise, but one of two distinct noises: either the sound of the hammer being pulled back or the sound of the slide being pulled back. These two sounds are distinct because they immediately show that the person pointing the gun is serious... there's a round in the chamber... as if pointing the gun wasn't serious enough. "I'm not just pointing a gun at you, man.... it's loaded."
Here's where they really piss me off...
Usually, the gun in question IS INCAPABLE OF MAKING THE NOISE! They'll whip out a Glock and you'll hear the hammer cock even though the Glock HAS NO EXPOSED HAMMER! Or, they'll pull out the gun with ONE HAND and you'll hear the slide operate even though IT TAKES TWO HANDS TO OPERATE THE SLIDE ON AN AUTOMATIC PISTOL!
All of this pales, however, compared to the mother of all stupid sounds: The Shotgun. Every time someone points a shotgun on TV, it makes the "Chunk-Chunk" sound that a shotgun makes when you chamber a round... an action that takes two hands and quite a bit of force. Yet, on TV, all you have to do is point the damn thing and "Chunk-Chunk" I MEAN BUSINESS MOTHERFUCKER!
I also like when someone points a shotgun at a bad guy and when the bad guy starts to get antsy, they rack off a round in the gun. What that means is, up until that point, they didn't have a shell in the chamber which means THEY WERE PRETTY MUCH STANDING THERE WITH THEIR DICK IN THEIR HANDS.
You're probably thinking, "Really, it's not that annoying," but now that I've pointed it out, you'll notice it all the time. It's like they're calling us idiots. Every time someone pulls out a gun, "Ka-chick," you're an idiot.
Watching Law and Order with my niece, Alicia, who is 18 years younger than me:
"See the black guy? That's Jesse Martin. He was in Rent on Broadway and in the movie too." I said
"Yea. He was on The Ellen Show and Ellen told him she had no idea that he was a Broadway actor. He said that's a common mistake that people used to make about Jerry Orbach. Did you know that Jerry Orbach was a big Broadway actor when he was younger? As a matter of fact, he originated the role of "Billy Flynn" in Chicago. That's the part Richard Gere played in the movie."
"You know who Jerry Orbach is, don't you?" I asked.
"Sure," she replied, "He put baby in a corner."
When I was growing up in Louisiana, my two best friends were Donny and Chris. Both were blessed with what I call, "Cool Moms." Chris' Mom, Robin, was possibly the coolest Mom in the world in that she did absolutely nothing Mom-like with us. Instead, she drank and played poker with her sons and their friends, laughed a lot and told me to "kiss her ass" on more than one occasion. (She continues to treat me that way to this day. My Mom, on the other hand, would never tell one of my friends to "kiss her ass," even if said friend had convinced her son that he could use her vacuum cleaner to suck the water out of his flooded car, burning up the vacuum cleaner in the process.) Donny's Mom, Sandy, was a little more traditional but still, she was cooler than most. When she talked to you, she genuinely seemed excited to hear what you had to say. If you were fighting with your girlfriend, Sandy (Mrs. Magee back then) wanted to hear all about it. She laughed a lot, too, and always treated us like we were people and not just "kids." She was one of those Mom's who embarrasses their kids because they want to be involved, but she was so likeable that it made us feel special that she wanted to talk to us.
This Christmas Eve, while my father-in-law was playing Santa in the living room, I sat on my back-porch talking to my oldest friend Don about his mother, who died the day before.
Whenever I think about Mrs. Magee, I always think about Christmas. Back in 1984, Donny was in the army and I was working at a radio station and going to college. I would stop by and talk to Mrs. Magee sometimes to see if she had heard from Don. I was 20 years old.
That Christmas was strange for me because I had to work Christmas Eve. I think that we all have that Christmas when we have to admit that we've made the transition to adulthood.... that Christmas will never again feel the same as it did when we were kids. I was working until midnight and my parents would be in bed when I got home (my sister had married a few years earlier and had a family of her own). For the first time in my life I would not have a traditional Christmas Eve with my family. I must have mentioned it to Mrs. Magee because she invited me to her house when I got off. They were having a party, and she asked me to stop by after work and have a drink.
I've often thought about that night over the years. I don't think there is any way that Mrs. Magee could have known that it would stay with me, but it did. That night, as I finally came to terms with the reality that I was an adult and couldn't get all worked up over Christmas anymore, Mrs. Magee saved me from being stuck in transition limbo. She immediately treated me like an adult, inviting me to her private party like I was an old friend of the family and not just an old friend of her son.
I did stop by but I didn't stay long. Still, the fact that I had gone to my first Christmas Eve party, with real grown-ups and stuff, took the edge off the childhood I was leaving behind.
Whenever I think about Mrs. Magee, I always think about Christmas....... and I suppose I always will.
Christmas Eve..... Bobbi and her Dad assemble toys while I watch Mac.
After feeding the baby today, my Mom said, "Do you want me to put this bottle in the sterilizer?"
"That's okay.." I replied.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know, we're not really using it."
"I thought you had to sterilize the bottles..."
"Only with the first child. With the second you just clean them in the sink."
"What about the third child?"
"You just dip a towel in formula and let them suck on it."
I consider myself to be a good father and yet, yesterday, somehow, I managed to lose the baby.
First, let me show you how our house is set up. We have what's called a "great room" style house, which is a fancy way of saying that everything is in one room. In our case it's more like a "not-so-great room," or and "okay room." It's not very big.
The kitchen is against two walls and there's a bar that runs the length of the room. Sort of like this:
I was sitting on the couch watching TV when I looked over to check on the baby and she was gone... and not just the baby, the entire bassinet. I jumped up and went to where the bassinet was sitting, figuring that Sam had pushed it into the kitchen area.... but it wasn't there. In fact, it wasn't anywhere in site and Sam was standing right next to me. Now, I knew in my heart that it was impossible for an entire bassinet, with baby inside, to just vanish... but all of that good rational thought was immediately pushed out when I COULDN'T SEE MY BABY ANYWHERE! SHE WAS RIGHT HERE!! The panic that gripped me in that few seconds was as real as if I had dropped the baby in a pit full of wild dogs (how do you spell "Dingo's?").
Thank God, I found her. Sam had quietly managed to push the bassinet all the way across the kitchen and around the corner of the bar, leaving it in the one place in the entire "great room" that can't be seen when standing where the bassinet was supposed to be.
The mistake I made was in not paying close enough attention to Sam, who loves to push things. However, that mistake pales in comparison to the mistake I made in telling my wife the story. She wasn't upset with me, far from it. She thought it was hilarious. This morning, I awoke to find that Bobbi had made a modification to the bassinet to prevent me from losing the baby again.
God, I love that woman.
"The Senate has in the past blocked efforts to open the Alaskan refuge to energy exploration. But because the proposal is now part of a bill funding troops in wartime, President Bush's long-sought goal of allowing drilling in the refuge will be politically tougher for senators to oppose."
I'll vote for any candidate who supports stopping crap like this. No, I'm not talking about drilling in the Arctic.... I'm talking about attaching a bill to drill in the Arctic to a bill that that has nothing to do with drilling in the Arctic. Now, if Congressman who are opposed to drilling vote against it, they will also be voting against supporting the troops and their opponents will hang them with it come election time. When the Democrats were in power they did it to the Republicans, now the Republicans are doing it back. It's very common in Washington and it pisses me off because each issue doesn't get the fair vote it deserves. When the elections roll around, you'll see ads that say, "He voted against funding for the troops," when in fact he might have been all for funding the troops until they attached that stupid drilling bill.
This is why you can't believe a word you hear in a political ad. It's impossible to be a politician without being forced to vote against something you like because they've attached something you hate (or vice-versa). One of the reasons that we get so many governors in the White House (our last 4 presidents were all governors) is because they can't have their voting record used against them. That's why I always pick my candidate based on shoe-size.
(For the record, I couldn't care less about what they do in the Alaskan Preserve. I've never been there, I don't know anyone who's ever been there. Strip-mine it for all I care. I do believe it's a short term solution to a long-term problem: oil.)
It's been almost a week now since the new baby came home and so far it hasn't been so bad... in the same way that getting punched in the face isn't so bad when you consider it could have been a kick in the nuts.
Mac is sleeping a little better than Sam did when she came home, as is evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this now instead of laying on the couch with a caffeine drip, which is how I spent the first week of Sam's arrival. Of course, when Sam came home she was the only baby in the house so on the rare occasion when she did decide to sleep a little, I could sleep too. Now, I can only sleep when Mac is asleep and Sam is asleep which, according to my calculations, should occur sometime around Easter.
Sam is mostly indifferent to the new baby, although she does get upset if Mac starts crying. Yesterday I was holding Mac as she cried and Sam came over and put her head on my leg and started crying, too. It was so sad to be the cause of two girls in tears. I haven't felt that way since I had a threesome in college.
I read a lot of magazines. I still get a professional discount sometimes because of my old job and it's hard to turn down Entertainment Weekly for 15 cents and issue. Consequently, I notice a lot of annoying things so, with that in mind:
When I'm in charge, all magazines will follow these rules:
1. No ads on the back of the magazine that are primarily black ink. Black ink runs all over the readers hands. I don't want to have to wash my hands after reading GQ, nor should I have to. You know it's going to run, you print it anyway and we're just supposed to take it?! I recently stopped subscribing to GQ because I had to get out of bed and wash my hands before turning out the light.
2. No ads inside the magazine that are on any type of paper different from the paper used to print the magazine. No thick paper, no small paper, no pop-up or fold-outs. I refuse to even glance at a page that sticks out as different. I avert my eyes like it's a naked picture of my mom rather than give the advertiser one iota of my attention after ruining the continuity of my copy of Newsweek.
3. This one is really simple, although it sounds complicated. If I'm reading an article and there is a side-bar article, (You know, a little sub-article that pertains to the main article?) then the side-bar article must be no longer than the page it is on. For example, I was reading an article the other day and it was continued on page 88.... there was side-bar article so I decided to read that real quick before finding page 88. How silly of me because not only was the side-bar article longer than the page, IT WAS CONTINUED ON PAGE 167!! So, now I've got to flip to page 88 and finish the main article, then flip to page 167 to finish the sidebar, then find my way back to the original article so I can continue with the magazine. What a bunch of crap! I'M TRYING TO TAKE A SHIT FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR A FUCKING TREASURE HUNT THROUGH THE DECEMBER PLAYBOY! (I read it for the articles.)
4. The table of contents is the first page. I'm pretty sure that Oprah's magazine is the only one that does this and only because Oprah herself insisted on it.
5. More nudity.
The doctor says that we should be able to bring Mac home tomorrow. It's a great relief to know that she's coming home in perfect health but mostly I'm relieved that I can soon go back to writing about blowjobs and pop-tarts on The Boo-Log. Two subjects on which I have a great deal to say.
"I'm making cookies, you want some?" I said.
"If you're making them, I'm eating them."
"You should put that on my tombstone..."
Mac's breathing has returned to normal levels and they say she will probably come home in a few days. She has a little jaundice so she's currently undergoing photo-therapy. When I went to visit today she was naked on her stomach with her butt in the air, which is exactly the sort of behavior that led to her being born in the first place.
Bobbi couldn't go visit today because she was heavily medicated. Apparently, when you boobs double in size in one day it can cause some mild discomfort.
Things are really looking good now. Mac has been off oxygen for 8 hours, they've dressed her in the pajamas we left for her and they will be feeding her in a little bit. Now that her little body has realized that she's out in the real world, she's started to get ready. I imagine it will still be at least three days until she comes home. Here's a short video.
A few days ago I designed a new logo for this blog but couldn't get my ftp to work so I could upload it. I finally solved my ftp problem but now I can't upload it because it won't be funny in light of the current situation. I'll wait a week or two until we are definitely in the clear...
The only thing worse than being told that your daughter has to go to Intensive Care is having to then go tell your wife. About a half-hour later, a doctor appears to inform us that Mac isn't getting enough oxygen in her blood and is going to be in I.C.U. for a while. She's breathing fitfully and they put her on 22% oxygen (we breathe about 21%).
After an hour in recovery, Bobbi and I are sent up to a room. The nurse who set us up in the room is careful to inform us that, while Bobbi will be fed 3 times a day, the father is only allowed 2 meals for the entire stay at the hospital. If you’re a new Mom, they do everything possible to take care of you. If you’re a new Dad, you…. and your penis… can walk to McDonalds, motherfucker.
That night we get little sleep because we're in a hospital and they don’t want you to rest there. To that end, they come in and wake you every other hour. I swear, one time they woke up Bobbi to give her a sleeping pill.
The day passes with little change from Mac. They took her off oxygen for a while, then put her back on. She continues to breathe very quickly (80-100). Friday night the doctor decides to do an echocardiogram and discovers a problem. Basically, we all have a shunt that moves extra blood to the lungs. This shunt closes after we’re born. Mac’s hasn’t closed. The doctor says we’ll just have to wait a while longer, that it’s not uncommon (in fact, my neighbor informs me that her daughter’s shunt took two days). Our biggest fear is that she will tire herself out with the fast breathing and be put on a respirator. Through all this we’re comforted by family and friends, including our neighbors Nelson and Maritza. As a team they’re unbeatable: Maritza the pediatric nurse explains everything that’s happening and answers all our questions.
Nelson brings food.
I’m not sure which is more valuable.
We check out of the hospital without our baby girl. They tell us it will probably be a week before she is ready to come home.
This is not how it's supposed to work. You check in, you have a baby, YOU LEAVE WITH THE BABY. You don't go home alone.
Richard Pryor dies.
The doctor calls in the morning and say's Mac is much improved. The shunt appears to be closing on it's own. They take her off oxygen and when we go to visit, Bobbi gets to hold her daughter for the first time since delivery.
Our neighbors and friends continue to come through for us. Alicia (2 doors down) babysits when we go to the hospital at a moments notice. It's times like this that you realize how important your friends are.
Tomorrow they hope to feed Mac for the first time.
Would it be too much to ask to just have a baby when you’re scheduled to have a baby?
Eight days before she was scheduled to arrive by c-section, Mackenzie decided she was tired of waiting on us (like her parents, she likes to shop early). Bobbi was at her Doctor’s appointment when she was informed, to her surprise, that she was having contractions. She has a high tolerance for pain and didn’t even realize she was in labor. She doesn’t flinch easily, even when I put cigarettes out on her arm.
“We need to schedule your c-section,” the doctor said.
“Can I go home and get my stuff?”
“No, you’re going straight to the hospital.”
(BTW: Bobbi drove herself to the hospital. “That’s right, we must get you into surgery right away so get your keys and meet us over there…”)
Meanwhile, I was in the middle of a classic sitcom moment, rushing to pack, calling family and friends, hiding the sex toys because my parents were coming to stay at the house…. I finally made it to the hospital only to find my sister had beat me there. Duana is the only person on the planet who actually keeps a rocket up her ass in case of family emergency.
At 1:18 Mackenzie was born. She weighed 7 pounds 4 ounces and “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” by Bruce Springsteen was playing in the delivery room. At that moment I said a little prayer, thanking Our Lord Jesus that my wife and newborn daughter were healthy and that it wasn’t “Grandma got Run Over by a Reindeer.”
I went up to the nursery with Mac while Bobbi went to recovery. After they got Mac situated, I went down to get my sister. As we stepped off the elevator at the nursery, we were met by a nurse pushing Mac in a baby bed. “We’re taking her to Intensive Care,” she said. If you’ve never had a nurse say that to you, trust me, you don’t ever want to hear it. Mac’s blood oxygen level was low and she wasn’t breathing well. They said they were going to take her to I.C.U. for a few hours to monitor her. They were wrong.
This post will be about sex so stop reading now if you are easily embarrassed.
Last week, "Oprah" did an entire show about porn (check that off your dream list!). Her guest was a gospel singer who claimed to be addicted to porn. Here's what he said:
- He started looking at porn at a young age.
- He had sex with as many women as he could before marriage.
- Even after marriage, he was still like looking at porn.
Oprah was shocked.... SHOCKED! You mean even after you were married you still had a sex drive?! That's not RIGHT! You have a serious problem!
If that guy was a porn addict then so are most of the men in America. Ladies, your husband likes porn.... he just doesn't tell you about it. So, let me spell it out for you....
For the remainder of this post, sex will be replaced with "coffee" and masturbation will be refered to as "instant coffee."
I'm 41 years old and I would like to have coffee every day. It doesn't have to be a production, I just want to get that release every day and why shouldn't I? Not only is it perfectly natural, it's proven to reduce prostate cancer (look it up).
However, my wife doesn't like to have coffee everyday. So, that leaves me to fend for myself most days. Now, I'm not a machine, I need mental stimulation. I can either watch 5 minutes of porn and be done with it or I can use my imagination. If I use my imagination, I'll probably be re-living some past coffee adventure (when I was a teenager, it was all fantasy but as an adult I no longer get aroused by imagining coffee with the girl behind the counter at McDonalds.) So, as my wife, which would you prefer..... I watch a little porn or I remember in great detail the time I had coffee with an old girlfriend on a jet-ski? (I made that up, but it would be cool)
Ladies, if your husband would rather have instant than have coffee with you, then you have a problem (or rather, he does). But if he just wants to have a little coffee and you don't want to meet his schedule, get over it. If my wife gave me a coffee every day I would never watch porn (especially if it was the kind of coffee you have to blow on). Do you want to know the real reason men like porn? It's not that the girls are sexy, it's that they're willing. We're turned on by the fantasy that there are women out there who want to have a lot of coffee! You mean I don't have to beg for coffee?!
Oh, before I forget, don't start in with the whole "He should be happy with the coffee he gets from me!" We are. We love your coffee but, guess what? IT"S NOT ENOUGH! Imagine the thing that you enjoy most in this world, something you get everyday if you can.... let's say you love chocolate. Now, imagine if, after you got married, your husband told you that for the rest of your life you could only have chocolate when he said so and he could go weeks without even thinking about chocolate.... he doesn't understand why you even like chocolate so much.... you're just weird. Would you stand for that? I didn't think so. You'd be screaming, "Hey! I like chocolate! people all over the world like chocolate! Why can't I have a little chocolate every day!" (You'd probably be willing to settle for the same chocolate all the time but having no control over when you get chocolate?)
Me, I'm lucky. My wife understands that men have a different coffee drive than women.... doesn't make us freaks. (Ladies...... you like coffee... you have screamimg coffee orgasms... you feel great afterwards.... it only takes a few minutes with a partner or alone..... and yet you don't feel like having coffee everyday!? Yea, right..... I'm the freaky one!) But I know a lot of guys, most guys in fact, who have to sneak around and pretend they don't have instant coffee when the wife's not around. They do, ladies! Every one of them. You should be ashamed of yourself for making them feel like they have to hide it from you. If you don't want to have coffee with me everyday, that's fine, but don't be surprised if I grab a quick cup of instant while you're at the grocery store. It doesn't mean I don't like you, it just means I like coffee! As long as I'm drinking alone, why should you care!
Whew! I need some coffee.
I watch three hour-long drama's on TV. I watch Lost and The West Wing because they're great and I watch E.R because I always have and I've loved Maura Tierney ever since News Radio. Recently, I rented the first season of Veronica Mars from Netflix and Bobbi and I have been watching it for the last two weeks.
It's really good.
Veronica is a hign school student who's Dad used to be sheriff but now is a private detective. Her best friend was killed and the confessed killer is lying.... Veronica was drugged and raped at a party and doesn't know who did it... her Mom has run off and she's trying to find her.... She may be the illegitimate child of her Mom and her ex-boyfriend's father, who, is also the brother of her best friend and might have killed her..... it goes on and on.
The thing is, when you type out the plots like I just did, it sounds like a stupid soap opera but it's really not. It's funny and witty and makes sense most of the time. Plus, every episode has Veronica solving some case for her friends (well, associates... Veronica is outcast despite being the hottest girl in school...).
Check it out.