Football got me sex!

Last night after the little bastards’ heads nestled calmly on their little cartoon-covered pillows and the dog assumed his position as chief asshole in the house, the wife and I turned on Monday Night Football.

At first I was shocked she was actually sitting there watching the game with me not all, “I think Cake Boss is on!” Or, “I have a new episode of Sister Wives, wanna watch?”

Those are the phrases that usually get me reaching for my beer and heading out of the room at the speed of light.

That’s when she started it:

The Wife: “Why is it called ‘football?’”

Me: “Seriously?”

The Wife: “I mean, they had to name soccer soccer cause football was already taken, so why did they name it football? Why not pigskin or man-game or tight ends?”

Me: “There wasn’t a single word in that entire question that remotely made sense. I award you no points and may god have mercy on your soul.”

The Wife: “You seriously need to stop stealing lines from movies. Why didn’t you ever play football? Cause you whittle mommy wouldn’t whet you? Hummmm? Scared da big bad player might hurt your whittle bones?”

Me: “You know I’m over a foot taller than you and could literally crush you with my thumb, right?”

The Wife: “I think it’s awesome that they’re wearing pink though. I mean…they do make pink look sexy as hell.”

Me: “I’m wearing pink right now… Wanna see?”

The Wife: “Only if it’s a pair of pink underwear made of $50 bills.”

Me: “So what I’m taking from this conversation is that you want to role-play in the bedroom. You want me to dress like a football player supporting breast cancer month? Is that what all this is about.”

The Wife: “Are you gonna look like that quarterback right there for the Colts? Cause I could have me some of that!!”

Me: “You mean the guy who right there who likes like he fell straight out of a Def Leppard video from the 80s? I’ve got an old mullet wig down in the basement I could toss on if that’ll help?”

The Wife: “Quick…go get it and turn the game on the HD flat screen downstairs. I’ll be right there…”

Thanks Cults new quarterback Curtis Painter! I owe you one buddy!



The Boy Drops The F-Bomb

So my son dropped his first F-bomb over the weekend.

Yes, it’s my fault. I do have a pretty filthy mouth and try so very hard to keep it clean around the kids. But, we live in a small house and sometimes I forget my place and well…a word may sometimes slip out.

I have to say though…he used it absolutely perfectly.

Here’s how it happened.

The boy’s on a travel soccer team. This past weekend he had a tournament about 45 min. away from our house. After his first game we spent a few hours wasting time before he had to play game number two. And, what’s more fun that wasting time at a Mexican restaurant with an oversized margarita?!

While enjoying my beverage I take out the trusty phone and check out the radar (I’m one of the biggest weather geeks on the planet). That’s when I see a whole big blob of shit headed our way.

Me: “Dude, looks like you’re game is gonna get cancelled. It’s about to storm pretty bad.”

The Boy: “No way daddy. It’s sunny and nice outside. We’ll play it.”

Me: “I’m looking at the radar and we’re gonna get nailed by Mother Nature. Trust me dude.”

The Boy: “Whatever daddy. We’re gonna play.”

Me: “Wanna make a bet?”

The Boy: (After thinking for a few seconds he gets a grin and says) “Yeah! Let’s bet!!”

Me: “If you play even a half-second of your game, I’ll give you a NuttyBuddy every day for 5 days.”

At this point the boy’s literally bouncing in his seat with joy because how could he lose?! The sun is out for shit-sake!

Me: “If the game gets cancelled though…everyday next week, as soon as I walk in the door from work, you have to take my shoes and socks off and rub my feet.”

At this point he immediately stops bouncing in his seat. The daughter starts dry-heaving and the wife says, “oh dear lord, don’t do that to him. He’s just a boy!!”

The boy starts looking out the window at the sky, then at me, then at the sky, then…he puts out his pinky and says, “it’s a bet. Pinky swear it!”

With the bet now underway I sat back to let the day take its course. Literally five minutes later it starts to get dark outside and the sky opens up.

Ten minutes later the wife checks her email on her phone and reports, “oh no Grayson. The game just got cancelled.”

And THAT’s when it happened. Slamming his elbows on the table and letting his head fall to his empty palms in shame he says, a little louder than a mumble, “fuck!”

Shocked at the word that just came out of his mouth, he immediately looks up at me as his face turns beat red. He then looks at his mother and immediately buries his face in his arms out of shame.

And thank baby jesus he did, because the wife and I ask quietly as we could started laughing like hell.

It's not like he used it in a harsh way by including it in a verbal bashing to someone. He used it absolutely perfectly because having to take your old man's shoes and socks off and rub his feet after a long day at work is definitely a "fuck" moment.

Daddy? What's My Penis For?

You know those Saturday’s when you’re just kinda hanging out?

The kids are doing their own thing. You’re zoned out plowing through the newspaper while the wife is obsessively drilling through Facebook and for a brief moment that’s when you realize “no one wants anything.”

No one’s screaming “nu-uh!!! I’m gonna tell!!!”

And the dog isn’t at the backdoor slamming his hellish paw against the annoying as shit bell we taught him to ring every time he wants to go out.

Bliss!!!

And that’s when the boy rolled up and muttered to me, “daddy what’s my penis for?”

Working hard not to spit my coffee all over the cute little redheaded bastard, I took a hard swallow and responded, “ummm, to pee with dude!”

The Dude: “Really, that’s it? Just to pee with?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Well, I mean, there’s other stuff but you’ll learn about that later.”

The Dude: “Like what daddy?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Seriously dude, we’ll talk about it later, it’s complicated and daddy’s tired.”

The Dude: “Is is where babies come from?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Holy mother of ….. I mean…man, what are they teaching you at school? Who are you hanging out with!!?!”

The Dude: “No I’ve just been wondering.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “No, baby’s do not technically come out of your penis.”

The Dude: “What if something happens to it.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Well then you put that thing on ice IMMEDIATELY and find yourself a damn good attorney .”

The Dude: “I don’t understand.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “I’m jumping ahead. You remember when daddy said to make sure and talk to me before you get married?”

The Dude: “Yes daddy.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “That’s all you need to know right now my man. Now go ride your bike or blow bubbles or something.”

The Dude: “You’ve made me scared to have a penis daddy.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “It’s a big damn responsibility my son. You shouldn’t take it lightly. Many important people have died or ruined their lives cause they couldn’t handle their penis. It’s a lifetime battle dude…just know that I’ll do all I can to guide you along this bumpy road.”

The Dude: “Daddy, why would my penis go down a bumpy road?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Hey – is that the ice cream man?”

The Dude: “No…I don’t hear anything.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Who wants to go for ice cream?!!!”

Later that night I cried myself to sleep….

I'm Having Visions!

I got a glimpse of what life could possibly be like with kids who actually do things around the house.

I was making hamburgers for the family to shove down their throats when I thought, “I should totally ask the boy if he wants to learn how to grill.”

Seeing as every dude is born with the small molecule called “if it involves a flame and eatable flesh count me in,” I figured the boy would answer with a resounding “yes!”

“YES!!” he yelled! I was right.

As I stood there watching him flip the burgers, astonished that he’d managed to not combust into a screaming pile of flames, a small beam of hope crept through my body causing a smile to appear across my face.

Visions of me coming home from work to find the daughter folding her clean laundry as the boy puts the finishing touches on my filet mignon replaced outdated visions taking up space in my head. Visions of strippers saying “no silly, you don’t need to pay us, these dances are on the house,” left my brain to make room for my expanding perfect children scenario.

My smile got larger as I imagined sitting on my lawn chair drinking an ice cold beer as the boy mowed the lawn while the daughter watered the plants.

Next thing I knew my children were suddenly wearing delightfully clean and proper clothes. The boy in his blue trousers and sporty ironed shirt was asking, “Father? Would you like another beer?”

My overly helpful daughter clad in a stunning full-length sundress bursts from the door announcing, “no need, I have already fetched one for him. Here you are father!!”

And that’s when I notice my perfectly prim helpful children were speaking with English accents.

Blood was flowing through my body like a young teenager sneaking a peek at his mother’s friend’s cleavage.

I had convinced myself in a matter of 1.5 minutes that by simply supervising my son’s first attempt at grilling hamburgers I was altering time and setting into motion the very events that would turn my children…PERFECT!

I was a freakin’ genius and I had to tell someone immediately!!

Grabbing my beer I flew open the back door, found my loving wife, and quickly explained the awesomeness that was the perfect children formula I just created.

Her response?

“So where is your perfect son right now Mr. Genius?”

“OH SHIT! The grill!!” I screamed running to the backyard hoping I didn’t see my vision of brilliance literally going up in flames.

I didn’t.

Instead I found the boy catching fire flies while our delicious dinner transformed into hard, black, round weapons of mass destruction.

“Grayson?! What happened to dinner dude?”

The boy stopped, thought for a second, then said, “But you like to cook daddy.”

It was at that moment that I finally realized that I’m a total idiot and that I will forever be stuck serving my precious little children.

But, at least I still had my stripper vision.



What Us Dudes Do When Left Alone

So the wife and kids have been in North Carolina since Saturday and they’re going to be there for the next three weeks visiting family, going to the beach, hitting parties, and just living the good life.

Me? I’m left behind with the damn cat, the stupid dog, and my jobby job.

Us dudes crave alone time…as do the ladies I’m sure. I’ve been dreaming about this family vacation that I’m not a part of for months now.

But when it finally comes to fruition, well, it’s not all it’s cracked-up to be.

I mean getting all the time you want in the bathroom AND being able to keep the door open? Pretty damn sweet.

Getting pictures sent from the wife of the kids having an amazing time at the beach. Sucks.

Having the ice cream man drive down your street without getting barraged by children screaming “daddy I want ice cream please please please please please!!!?!!!” is like Christmas early.

Climbing into an empty bed…sucks.

Taking a picture of yourself at midnight brushing your teeth? A whole batch of dumb instigated by boredom.

Walking by the kids’ rooms and seeing their empty beds day after day after day? Sucks.

Doing a cartwheel in the hallway naked just to see if you’re physically capable of doing it and hitting your head on the wall? Awesome!

Not having sex for three weeks? Hold on…I’m tearing-up again…I’ll be right back.

Sliding into your room naked in front of a mirror and only wearing socks while singing at the top of your lungs? Scary but awesome.

Cleaning the entire kitchen and living room and not being able to brag about how you “helped around the house?” Sucks

Yelling at the half gallon of milk in the fridge because it’s taking up too much beer storage space? Things are going downhill at this point but still awesome.

Getting amazing news that you’ve gotten a new job and can’t celebrate because you’re family’s gone for three weeks? Sucks

So as you can see it’s a win/lose situation. But in the end I’m so happy the family gets to experience those great summer vacations.

I just hope with this new job, next summer I’ll be with them.