The Eye-Closed Talking Doctor

I’ve been complaining for the past three weeks about the plague that’s over-taken our lovely square-shaped abode.

The boy kicked things off with a stellar four-day 103-temperature caused by a lovely viral infection.

I quickly followed by becoming victim #2.

I’ll save you the details and leave you with the knowledge that my wife is a freakin’ saint for having to deal with sick me.

Then…the girl caught it.

Envision Gary Coleman stuck in quicksand, wearing a straight jacket, while saying the ABCs backwards and trying his hardest to take steroids away from Hulk Hogan. That’s what my daughter’s immune system is like trying to fight any sickness.

For five days she’s been dealing with a fever, pink eye in both eyes, and yesterday morning…puking.

So, yesterday afternoon we decided enough’s enough and that’s when we took her to the doctor.

I’m a bit of a germ freak…for the main reason that I don’t want to get sick. So walking into a pediatrician’s office is like asking me to lick just one ball from a Chuck-E-Cheese ball pit.

My visits usually start with me walking in holding all the door handles so my already sick daughter doesn’t – stupid, I know.

I walk up to the counter and immediately locate and use the hand sanitizer thingy.

I then sign in and get another squirt after putting the pen down.

This is followed by me having to pick the pen back up to sign my co-pay receipt which is quickly followed by another sanitizing squirt.

I’m exhausted just writing this.

We make it back to the waiting room and that’s when the doctor rolls in.

Completely ignoring me he walks up to my daughter and asks her what’s been wrong. Knowing damn well my six-year-old shy-as-hell daughter wasn’t going to give him the blow-by-blow of her illness I chimed in.

He looks her over, does some kid-friendly stuff to get her to cooperate, then gets on the computer to log-in the diagnosis while we wait.

That’s when it happens.

The man turns to me, looks me in the eyes for a split second, closes his eyes and proceeds to explain to me his diagnosis of my daughter’s current condition without opening his eyes again.

I’m sitting there all “is this guy for real? Is this a joke? Should I wave my hand in front of his eyes to see if maybe he’s just got lazy eyelids? Should I look at my daughter and ask her if she’s watching this freaky shit go down too? Should I kindly reach out and thump him in the forehead? Is he broken?”

I was overwhelmed with what was happening right before my eyes!

He was an eye-closing talker.

People who close their eyes for extended periods of time while talking to you scare the shit out of me.

As do:

• The person that looks ever-so-slightly above your head and to the left as they’re talking to you. It freaks me the hell out! Do they see dead people behind me?
• The cold limp handshake giver. That will seriously get you throat-punched.
• The mumbler. Nothing more needs to be said.
• The crowder. I need my space damn it. Respect it.  Just because we’re sharing words doesn’t mean I want you to see, smell and almost taste what you had for lunch.
• The pontificator. The guy who talks to you with his hands behind his back the entire time. Why? It’s not even comfortable…not since you were in the third grade!
• And of course the antithesis of the eye-closing talker…the starer. Every conversation to this person is a staring contest. When you look away just so you can freakin’ blink again you expect this person so scream “I WIN!!”

Finally, the eye-closed talking doctor opened his eyes scaring the ever loving shit out of me because I was leaning so far forward trying to figure him out.

Fumbling around gathering my daughter and my things I thanked him and left in a huge rush, even forgoing the hand sanitizing as I leave ritual.

Walking to the car in the parking lot I got the wife on the phone.

Wife: “So, what’s wrong with her?”

Me: “The doctor closes his eyes when he speaks, honey.”

Wife: “What ?”

Me: “Yeah…I got the doctor who keeps his eyes closed the ENTIRE time he’s talking to you. Do you realize how insanely freaky that is to me? Have you seen this guy?”

Wife: “Wow…really? Seriously? Can you not just tell me what is wrong with our daughter?”

Me: “Oh shit.”

Wife: “What? Where’s Macy? Did you leave her in there?”

Me: “No, I have her right here but I was so busy obsessing about the eye-closed talking doctor that I didn’t hear anything he said.”

I quickly concluded that since I didn’t walk out with any prescriptions it must be a viral infection. Genius…I know.

I also concluded that not only do I hope to never come in contact with freaky eye-closed talking doctor again…but I’m definitely going to be him for this Halloween.



I'm Done With You Snuggie!!

At some point in my social media madness I became as synonymous with Snuggies as Sarah Palin has with shotguns, seeing Russia from her backyard, and thinking North Korea is our ally.

Could it be my original post about sex and the Snuggie?

Could it be my take on the Great American Snuggie Family?

Could it be that I just brought this Snuggie-shit-storm on myself?

Quite simply…yes is the answer to all the above.

Fact: At least once every three days I get a tweet, Facebook message, or text from a friend about a new Snuggie that’s come out.

It’s like I’ve become the Woodward and Bernstein of Snuggies. Apparently you’re all my “deepthroats” leaving it up to me to blast the hell out of the underground sadistic Snuggie world.

And I love it!! It’s been awesome!

However, it’s become blatantly apparent how the marketing gurus of the world jam just about anything down our throats and make us buy it.

If Justin Beaver’s skill-less singing triumphs aren’t enough to reveal how marketing sadly dominates our interests, then by Baby Jesus Snuggies definitely do.

It wasn’t until my dear friend Stacey (@ieatmykidzsnack on Twitter) sent me a Tweet of a Santa Snuggie that it hit me…I’m experiencing a mild, diluted version of what child actors must experience.

How many times did Gary Coleman get asked by a nervous elevator-rider to just say “what you talkin’ about Willis?!”

How many times did Macaulay Culkin get aftershave thrown on him in the hopes he’d throw his un-chapped palms against his cheeks and reveal his young, innocent “O-Face?”

The numbers must be obscene.

Am I even in same realm as a child actor? Hell no.

Did I think it was an awesome opportunity to use “O-Face” in a blog post? Yes.

But, it’s time for me to part with the Snuggie.

I’m forever grateful for every email, text, Tweet, Facebook post, etc…. that includes Snuggie insanity.

But I’ve made a grown-ass decision to try and leave it all behind. And, like most child actors…I’m doing it by nudity.

I’m grabbing my long coveted “Pants Optional Friday” by the balls and making it a life-style.

Clothes & Snuggies optional baby!!!

I mean come on! The Snuggie Sutra is just a cumbersome reminder of how painful it was to “get it on” under pegged jeans, long sweaters, and Madonna bracelets back in the day.

Who in the hell wants fake fibers creeping into private areas and getting absorbent at the wrong time? We’re all adults now, right?!

So let’s drop trow, throw those tops on a lamp shade and be done with it. It’s Clothes & Snuggies Optional Lifestyle!

Maybe it’s called the “Nudie?” Maybe it’s called the “What Honey? Yeah I Showered Today, I Swear.” Or maybe it’s called the “No I’m Not Sitting On The Remote, I’m Pretty Sure I’d Know!!”

Whatever it is, it’s not a blanket covering our holy given goods, instead, its letting them flaunt, breathe and hang.

So join the club my fellow campers. Let’s go Clothes & Snuggies Optional this holiday season and give the family something to REALLY talk about.

This blog post is not sanctioned by the people at Snuggie. Snuggie is a trademark carried by the Dudes Owning Universal Class H Eveningware (DOUCHE). Snuggies does not believe individuals should copulate, grope, see, touch, imagine, feel, dream, remember, or even brush up against anything that should resemble human skin. Snuggies should only be worn by WhyIsDaddyCrying’s daughter in the hopes it will keep all participants of the male gender from her doorstep. Any man and/or woman seen at Why Is Daddy Crying’s daughter’s doorstep with the desire to copulate, discuss copulation, or any other inappropriate action should be warned a gun is currently aimed at your “feel good” areas. If you are with the local law enforcement agency or FBI please note that last sentence was only a joke. No it wasn’t. Yes it was.

I Fantasize About You....

So a few months ago I started “following” on Twitter this ballsy, cunning, and very funny lady named @IEatMyKidzSnack. She’s kind of like a mix between a sleeping lioness, a unicorn spewing Skittles, and that chick from college who did nothing but take bong hits and spew phenomenal one-liners that had you pissing your pants in laughter.

Her Tweets are hilarious but if you choose to talk directly to her, you better buckle-up and get ready. She’ll tell it like it is, wrapping up her 140-character response with one of her many endearing patented adjectives like “lover” or “assjacket.”

Anyway, enough about her (oh, she has a blog too. Go check her Electrical Box.)

One dark and dreary day I got a tweet from her that read:

“I fantasize you do ‘jazz hands’ after you orgasm.”

Anyone who knows me understands that when you drop a bomb on me like that…I’m gonna obsess over retaliation. So I thought…and thought…and then dropped on her:

“I fantasize about you Googling something and it returning 100,000 ‘go fuck yourself’ results.”

From that point on a vicious “I fantasize about” match has ensued.

So I throw it to you World…read the top 20 “fantasies” below, and then comment and let us know who you think is dominating the battle. (pppssssttt….. over here…come here… Hey, if you pick me I’ll give you a giraffe and my kids for the summer. Just sayin’!)

And now…..the top 20 “Fantasies” between @ieatmykidzsnack and @whyisdaddycryin:

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you getting wet every time Pinocchio tells a lie.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize asking you to play rock, paper, scissors and you bringing me crack, rolling papers and lesbians. You are sick.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you getting a colonic and 7 gerbils, 2cats and Gary Coleman come out.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize your wife telling you she wants Stove Top Stuffing & you waiting in the kitchen with your pants down all day.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you running a prosperous business smuggling families of Mexicans across the border in your vagina.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize going on the Amazing Race with you and trading your passport for weed.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about swapping your bong water out with cat urine.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize that you keep Snausages in your boxer briefs so dogs lick your crotch.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize that you make Susan Boyle look like Jennifer Aniston standing next to you.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you drunkenly pissing in your Neti Pot and forgetting before you use it to clear your sinuses.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about Octomom and Justin Bieber getting restraining orders against you?”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you taking too many licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop and it falling asleep.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you running down a flower-covered hill like Laura Ingalls only with 3 bears & a giraffe chasing after you.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you going for acupuncture but end up getting gender reassignment surgery.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you calling Sarah Palin's daughter regularly for life advice.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you going to Chuck E. Cheese and getting shanked with a spork by a 3 year old.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you going in to the dentist & them reading your chart wrong & stapling your vagina shut permanently.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you going on Fear Factor & having 3 minutes to eat a bull’s testicles & time running out with one bite left.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about your therapist giving you up for Lent.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you needing a taint episiotomy.”

OK world…judge us.