Wednesday, September 30, 2009

My Son

My son and daughter each had a soccer game at 6PM Monday. Damn schedulers. Of course, different fields. So I chose to take my son to his game to make daddy-son time for him. (and for me!) I picked him up at 3PM from daycare for his 6PM game.

We went home to eat and to get his power rangers. He left them at my place and we needed to get them because he was upset about having left them the night before.

"What are we going to do, daddy?"

"Well, we need to do what BOYS do - let's go shave!"

"YAY! Shave!"

He gets a straight edge razor when we shave, but he's not allowed to remove the protective cover from the blade. He lathers up and so do I and I show him how to shave. He's 6, remember.

There's shaving cream all over the place and he asks if the knives hurt on my face.

"Not really, but if little hairs get stuck in there, that gets scratchy - so that's why we keep tapping it and running it under water"

I show him how the hair on my face gets stuck in the blade and he says, "ooohhh"

We shave together and he is getting the hang of shaving in ONE direction - as opposed to rubbing it back and forth all over your check. He watches me and mimics me and gets all of the shaving cream off of his face.

We splash cool water on our faces and wipe clean with a towel. I give him my gillette after shave and he squeals in delight, "My face is shiny!"

"Mine too, look!"

And we laugh at each other's shiny face.

And then I sprayed him with Axe body spray. He thought that was the coolest - and then sprayed it all over his stomach until it ran down his belly is streams. Whatever - waste it, boo - it's so worth it.

We bought his friend's birthday present - he picked out a power rangers halloween costume for himself ... and then we sat in the car and play nintendo DS against each other for 30 minutes until his game started. It was tie.

Damn Mario ... how the hell I REALLY have to work to play against a child?!? UGH

But, whatever - that's my little man.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Daddy's little girl

I don't care if she's 7 - she's still my little girl.

One of my son's bestest friends turns six on Tuesday and his friend's mom wanted him to come over and spend the afternoon there. I decided it was a good idea and touted it as an opportunity to spend daddy-daughter time with my little girl. She was all about it.

She got to choose whatever she wanted - to my surprise, she chose bowling. As I thought about it, I realized that the last two times I had daddy-son time, I took my son bowling and putt-putting (six year old boys and gold clubs = a STRAIGHT mess, btw), so I think she wanted to have her turn bowling with daddy. It's totally not her thing, though - we got one game in and she was frustrated. It was sweet of her though.

We went to dairy queen and had lunch - she had some chicken strips and ended with a chocolate dipped soft serve cone. I had a BLT.

We ended up at this place called Kiln Creations - they have a myriad of figurines and things all molded and stuff - all white. And you get to paint it with a wide selection of paints. They then heat it in the kiln for you and you come back and get your glazed porcelain thing. We chose a heart shaped box, chose our paint colors and went to town. It will make a perfect jewelry box for her.

My daughter is quite artistic and loves to draw and paint and color and tells me that her art teacher calls her one of the best artists in the school. So, I thought this was a perfect way to spend time with her doing something SHE liked, instead of bowling.

We sat at this large square table - only she moved the stools side by side so we were on the same side of the table. We sat touch close and painted, making a big 'ole mess of this jewelry box. (I'll never understand how to use stencils properly) She chose the colors and we just chatted and talked about art and about what she was going to put in the box.

"Do you think you'll put your jewelry in this?"

"No - I have to find something more special."

"Why's that baby"

"Cuz we made it together."

I love the shit out that girl.

I've been reading this book on being a good dad and it's totally made me feel like garbage. One of the suggestions is to really make moments with your children and make one-on-one time on a regular basis - so I admit that I was really trying to do the right thing by my daughter while my son ran around yelling like a maniac with his little friend. We strolled down the street holding hands and talking and I really was focused on listening to what she had to say.

The text talks about leaving a legacy for your children, so that they will grow old remembering their days with their father (because absent fathers BLAH BLAH BLAH, you know the statistics, I'm sure) so the other day I asked my daughter a simple question:

"When you're a grown up and you think about being a little girl - what will you remember about daddy?"

"Your cuddles, and that you always tell me I'm the best daughter in the whole wide world."

She asked to sleep in my bed that night - guess who DIDN'T say no?

Sunday, September 27, 2009

A week in the life ...

I drove to Chicago on Sunday night of last week thinking about the fact that it had been 9 weeks since I got laid. So, yuh - I was overdue. Monday night - I did the deed ... got that out of my system, and kept it moving.

I have this idea in my head that I should really keep my business away from home. I don't bring dudes to my house - I usually go to theirs. That means that I must have a safety plan in place. So, Jaded already had this boy's address. Someone must ALWAYS know where you are when you're out creeping.

So, we get the deed done (it wasn't bad, actually - I enjoyed myself) and he tells me to call him. I nod, but of course I have no intention of doing any such thing. I got in, got off and got out. Why is that such a hard fucking concept nowdays. You're my Au Revoir Nigga ... so au revoir, nigga.

On Wednesday I really wanted to go out to the bars - the gay bars. It was one of those weeks. I just needed to step outside of myself, get out of my own way and have a good time. So my roommate and I end up at this place called Jackhammer - I read about it in another blog and was interested in seeing it. Of course, it was a Wednesday night and you could count the men up in there and that was actually kind of nice. After three drink and two games of pool, we went to The Anvil.

At the Anvil, more of the same - Wednesday, few dudes ... very just perfect. And a dude there by himself passed out on the back porch where I went to smoke. Some other dude walks over and says he's been macking on this passed out fool all night. I was confused by what this White dude meant but then he leaned over and started making out with the dude that was so passed out he had no idea what was going on.

I told my roommate that I was leaving and went inside. 1) I don't know the passed out dude and how the hell you gonna go out drinking alone and pass out? 2) I don't know creepy kissing dude and I just wanted out. So I went inside. Left them there to do I don't care what.

Back outside a little bit later it turns out one of the dudes we were talking to about how to make pot brownies (apparently, you saute the weed and get the THC into the oil and strain it to use the oil in the brownie - who knew?!) actually lived next door. So, he asked us to his place to eat pot brownies and my roommate and I left with him.

I made it clear that I wasn't going to eat any. I haven't had weed in 12 years and this was not the way to get back in the habit, in some dude's house I just met.My roommate had one while I played with Frank's cat. Eventually, we left. My roommate didn't feel the weed ... must not be the right way to make it.

On Friday I drove back to Indy, took my kids out for pizza ... and then headed to the ER to get the staple removed from my son's head. They came at him with a pair of scissor looking things with clamps on the end. My son didn't like it. He was freaking out ... I held him down and the staple came out with an OW!" out of his mouth. My daughter came back in right after talking about "I heard him say OW when it came out so I knew it was over" (She had to stay outside while we got it done)

Saturday - daughter's soccer game at 9am. Son's soccer game at 3pm. Some scheduler somewhere is laughing it up to the stucco ceiling, I'm sure. I slet all afternoon between games.

Then we went to run errands. I bought clothes I didn't need. But I like them.

It's amazing the extra-curricula activity you can pack into six days ... amazing.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

A Trip to the ER

Wanna know what happens when you approach a 6 year old with this here device? Well, Let me tell you ...

... but I have to start from the beginning.

While working on my Masters degree I looked forward to completing it to work for some online university to teach. Earlier today I decided that I needed to bring that intention to fruition. Well, that and my boss has been aggravating me so I was looking at some full time opportunities too. (I sent out one resume - wish me luck!)

The kids were in their grandma's bed watching TV in the other room. They were laying there watching cartoon network and I was looking for better ways to support them. We had already been to my daughter's soccer game at 9 am, and then to my son's game at 1:30 pm (fuckers can't schedule ANYTHING right - next Monday, they both play at 6PM in two different parks!), I had baked a ham (left that bad bitch on 180 degrees for 18 hours) and cut half of it up for my ham and 15-bean cajun soup ... it was a full day and the kids were chillin just fine while I surfed (the best job search engine I can think of) ...

that is, until there was a loud bang ... followed by my son's wailing.

We walked towards each other in the hallway. He was holding his head and my daughter was right behind him looking ghostly talkin' about "it was an accident! it was an accident!"

I held my sons head for him while asking what happened - and then I removed my hand to find it bloody. and not just tinged with blood. BLOODY. May daughter saw my hand and proceeded to freak the fuck out. At that moment, my mind began racing ...

... omg, he's bleeding!

... omg, she's freaking out!

... omg, i'm home alone with two kids!

... how the fuck do I get him to the hospital if he has to be in a car seat in the back and I'm the only adult who has to be in the front doing the driving?!

... Let me walk him to the sink in the bathroom

... Gotta grab a hand towel first

... cold. Cold water. The water has to be cold.

... soak the towel in cold water - cold compresses. Stop the bleeding. That's gotta be first

... if this daughter of mine doesn't stop screaming IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I might lose it

... can't lose it - this hand towel is soaked with blood. Cold compresses. Cold compresses.

... Can't call grandma - she's working a double. Can't call the ex - she's working a 10 hour shift. I gotta take him to the hospital ... bleeding's gotta stop first though. Cold compresses.

... omg, we're all back in our PJ's!

... bleeding has slowed. walk him to the kitchen to get ice.

... daughter has to get dressed. "Go get dressed!" "Why, daddy?" "Cuz we're going to the hospital!" "Hospital?! No! I'm not going!"

... omg, this hospital's gonna need the defibrillator for me

... At the top of my lungs, "YES YOU ARE! GET IN YOUR ROOM NOW, AND. GET. DRESSED. AND FAST!"

... ice. ice. ice. ice. Inside wet towel, the cold will transfer well. Put the bloody hand towel, packed with ice now, back on his head.

... daughter's dressed but she's running around freaking out with her laces untied. That's all I need, "TIE YOUR SHOES. NOW!"

... Leave son holding his own cold compress so I can get dressed. I change.

... I have to call their mom

... I have to get dressed

... I have to drive to the hospital

... I have to get the kids in the car

... I'll call on the way


... Carry son to car - strap him in ... fuck his shoes. I'll carry him in.

... Call ex on the way ... no answer. Figures. Leave pleasant message "Hey - she pushed him off the bed and he hit his head on the coffee table - it bled. On way to ER. If you call and phone is off, we're still there - they don't let you keep it on in the ER."

... Drive to Free Valet at the hospital.

... Get out car with kids, leave keys in ignition

... Don't stop to talk to any valet - I don't give a fuck WHAT they do with the car. Rush into hospital and into ER

... Sit son on counter with bloody hand towel packed with ice and stand there with daughter looking ghostly and worried.

Made it.


From thud in the other room to arrival at ER = less than 15 minutes, including cold compresses to wait for the bleeding to subside. I wasn't playin no games.

Triage asks me if their mom has custody, since it's her Insurance card. "Yes, she has primary physical custody - we share joint legal"


So, why did the OTHER bitch in there start quizzing me about how to pronounce my son's name. And his middle name. And his last name! It's *MY* fucking last name too, carajo! And then his date of birth.

... if this bitch don't stop asking me stupid questions, HER head gon need stapled too

The doc comes into our room (when we finally get there) and takes a look ... will need one staple she says ... I figured, I said.

At this moment, fear grips my son like Amy Winehouse grips a 40. He begins wailing - and the doc and I discuss whether or not to give an injection to numb the area first. I consider ... and decide that the drive home will be better if numbing medicine is doing its thing.

I send my daughter out of the room. Get out and shut the door, I say.

Two nurses and I have to hold down the little fucker - the wound is flushed with saline solution 5 times ... why? Because he keeps squirming and we wanna make sure it's clean. Solution of saline and blood drains all over me - I don't care.


injection of Novocaine




and more WAILING

The two nurses and I release our restraint and he relaxes

"All done, see?"

.. and my daughter returns from having picked out a new get well blanket with one of the other nurses. And some stickers.

The ex wife and I meet at my house - I from the hospital and she from her job.

"Better you than me," she says.


Friday, September 18, 2009

Reporters Slay Me

Friday, September 11, 2009

Caption Contest (cuz my blog needs some levity)

You know the rules - you get to create a caption for this photo (taken last year by JACK's camera on Chicago's Red Line) and submit it in the comment section. Happy captioning!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Earth is man

I was sitting in my patio, smoking. The night not quite dark enough due to the lamppost out back on some telephone pole and the occasional airliner making its way to the airport some 20 miles away on the other side of town. The sound of the engines flying by periodically doesn't actually bother me - I grew up so close to LaGuardia Airport that when a plane flies over my house, high enough to still look like it radios to some neighborhood kid's remote control, the sound comforts me. Sometimes, if they fly just right, I can see the planes through my skylights when I lay on my living room couch. But on this night, I was in my patio ... thinking.

There I was, a small indecipherable spec in the expanse of earth. Did you know the radius of earth is 6,999,125 yards - that's like 70,000 football fields. The fucking thing weighs 6,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms - and I'm complaining about 20 pounds! But overweight or no, I lived through a week that epitomized a cliche: I had the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I got to thinking about the weight of the world, though - and about how it's the attributes of earth itself (gravity) that determines how much it weighs. Floating out in the expanse of space - it weighs nothing. Nothing at all.

So you see - it's a matter of perspective. I refuse to feel like my job, my kids, my responsibilities, my finances, my car, my mortgage, the recession and blah blah blah all weigh 6,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms. If I'm to believe that the Lord hung the sun in place and made the oceans and birds and shit - then I'm also to believe that he wants me to realize that the weight of the world is nothing.

And sitting there filling my lungs with tar and nicotine, while a plane flew over the house, I let it go. I let the week go - I let the stress go. I simply gave it over to the Lord.

Truth is - that job did not give me my joy ... and that job cannot take it away.

And in that thought it came to me - how man is very similar to earth. Like ozone, a tough skin wards off all sorts of cancerous nonsense ... and deep within us, we each possess the the busying things that make us who we are. Oceans ebb and flow, cars and trains and planes travel to and fro, magma and lava come and go ... much like the biological, emotional and psychological activity within us stays in constant flux. And more importantly ...

It's the gravity WITHIN the man that determines the man. All of the external weights and measures that try to weigh me down and define me amount to nothing.

Nothing at all.


Friday, September 4, 2009

Soup to nuts

Life's been a bit hectic as of late - I attribute it to the universe's attack on my endeavor to lose weight. Damn devil. But, yeah - so work has been crazy: CA-RAY-ZEE, ok? This week in particular was busy - my son's birthday, a drive to chicago, three 9+ hour days, a 4 hour day and a drive back to indianapolis ... blah blah blah.

You know how you could handle work if you had one project to do and only one project and that you wouldn't have to deal with another project until this first project is done? How, you wish you could have both kids in sports and they could somehow NOT have their fucking games at the same time? Life never loads evenly ... EVER.

Life is like some Chicago alley dumpster. That's really what I'm trying to say.

A few weeks ago, I packed my bag to go to Chicago. I was in a black/grey mood - so I didn't pack any khaki's, just black dress slacks. All my socks: black. All my draws: black. And my roommate's cat?


And this little mother fucker will attack you and literally BITE you ... cuz he's playing. Bitch is still a kitten. Mother fucker bit me pretty good the other day and I find out ... short-haired house cats slide pretty far on hardwood. No, seriously, they do!

But the cat needs some serious home training. I'm about to just tell my roommate that his cat is about to get hisself a lesson. The other day, he was on the dining room table ... roommie asked me to get him down. So, I grabbed a water bottle and sprayed him.

ROOMMATE: That's spray cleaner

ME: oh. well, he's wet now.

You might think I'm being hard on the cat. But I'm not - I'm SOOOO not. Wanna know why?

Because this is my papasan chair.

I mean, look at him. The little bastard all ON my footstool and turns his back to me. He really doesn't give a fuck that there's white cat hair all over the cushion - doesn't care. I'm about to line the footstool padding with double sided masking tape ... When I do - I'll let you know how it goes.