New Year's Resolutions 2010

Thanks to everyone who read my ramblings since I started this madness in August. Thanks to everyone who took time to knock out a comment. And…well, just thanks!

My New Year’s Resolutions

1) Get a job.

2) Stop calling the cat “jagoff,” “furry turd monster,” “sack-o-shit,” and “piece of shit” because it’s just got to be hurting his self-esteem.

3) Run a total of 1,000 miles by the end of the year.

4) Promote Pants Optional Friday until it becomes a global phenomenon or until the wifey starts participating—whichever comes first.

5) Find whatever the hell’s living in my garage and murder it.

6) Write the first three chapters of my book and start pounding down publishers’ doors.

7) Perfect my Moon Walk and be the first person to ever Moon Walk every sidewalk in the Village I live in.

8) Video myself burning the wifey’s Snuggie and YouTube the shit outta that thing.

9) Love the wifey and kids twice as hard as I loved them in 2009.

10) Continue our 7-year streak of not getting caught having sex by the kids.

11) Start a support group for people traumatized by being caught masturbating by their mother when they were a teenager.

12) Teach the boy that when he flicks a bugger they don’t just vanish in thin air—they land and turn into little hard, sharp landmines that eventually cut daddy’s foot open days later.

13) Continue to be honest, open, and consistent on whatever this blog thingy is that I’m doing here—cause in some screwed-up way it’s awfully damn therapeutic.

14) Finally take the picture of Robert Degen down from the wall in the living room and acknowledge that my idol really has passed on.

15) Invest myself more in my life than I ever have and stop acting like I’m waiting for something.

The Wifey & I Have a Talk

Wifey: “I did this for an entire freakin’ summer you douche!”

Me: “I don’t know how in the hell you pulled this off. Were you on crack the whole time or what? I mean, I’m two minutes from jumping off a bridge.”

Wifey: “That’s why men could NEVER birth children.”

Me: “Fuck yeah we couldn’t!!! The world as we know it wouldn’t exist. Humans would have died out centuries ago. We wouldn’t be having this conversation cause I’d be a tiny worthless sperm cell sitting in front of the egg all: “screw that dude, you go ahead…I’m good. I’ll just take pictures of you being all bad-ass and put it on your Facebook page!”

Wifey: “Speaking of Facebook, you seriously need to be more careful about what you put on there. People there know who you are. It’s not Twitter jackass.”

Me: “Say that shit on Twitter…people will cut you woman.”

Wifey: “If Grayson ever calls me ‘woman’ cause he over-hears you saying that to me I swear you’ll need to wear a cup around me for a year.”

Me: “Look – you’re getting off the point. Three days!! Three day’s I’ve taken the kids sledding. And today I added a third child. And there was crying…anger…crying…ambulances…more crying. But it’s only been three days. How the hell did you do it for three months?”

Wifey: “Seriously – snow and ice and you want a medal?”

Me: “And when I got home I made snacks. The children loved the peanut buttery snacks. And TV was on. And all was good. Serenity rained down upon the land. And then Grayson came down stairs crying like a baby cause your freakin’ “mini-me” daughter socked him in the eye for trying to teach her how to say “the!” The simplest word on the planet – “the!!!” Well, next to “a.”

Wifey: “She hit him in the eye? What did you do?!”

Me: “I Googled ‘daughter hits brother in eye’ and a ton of videos came up. And they were so awesome. So then I Skyped my brother to show him some of these videos so I could see his reaction. It was hilarious. Actually – get the lap-top you HAVE to see this one...”

Wifey: “You seriously need medication you ADD bastard! What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “Oh, no…it’s cool. The kids made up and were making art projects by the time I got off Skype! In fact, they made you a Valentines card!”

Wifey: “For the record – when I leave in the morning for work…I leave scared for my children’s lives!”

Me: “You’re taking me all wrong. I just wanted to say that I appreciate everything you did as a stay-at-home-mom for a year. I’ve been doing it for not even two weeks and I hurt. I hurt everywhere. And I appreciate you.”

Wifey: “No!”

Me: “No what?”

Wifey: “No. No we cannot have sex tonight. I still have to write like 30 thank you notes from Christmas.”

Me: “Damn you and your ninja mind-tricks. How in the hell did you know?!”

Wifey: “You’re like the cat, dumb-ass. You only come around all happy and caring and stuff when you want to be fed. In your case, when you want some action. Back off dude!”

Me: “No, seriously. I appre-ci-ate you!!!”

Wifey: “It….ain’t….happ-en-ing!!!”

Me: “I took your children to see the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie woman! Baby Jesus…that should get me sex for 6 weeks straight!”

Wifey: “’Your children?’ Really…you just dropped the ‘your’ word in talking about ‘our’ children? And also – idiot-boy - I was there, too! We shared the pain together!”

Me: “Holy shit you saw that movie too?! I swear to god…if I ever see anything as awful as that again…I told you I appreciate you right?”

Wife: “You seriously scare me. And, No!!!”

Me: “Fine! The appreciative train has left the station. You’re gonna have to work for it now!”

Wifey: “Damn. That sucks. And you said we weren’t doing Christmas gifts this year. Hey – can you toss me that pillow before you leave the room? That’d be great!”

I Would Totally Suck as a Terrorist

So this sack of shit Umar Farouk Abdul Mutallab tried to blow up an airplane coming into Detroit on ChristmasDay. There’s so many screwed up things wrong with this picture I don’t even know where to begin. I guess the most important is—why Detroit? I mean seriously…I have a new respect for Detroit living in Chicago and being so close to Michigan – but damn, Detroit is struggling!!! It’s the poster child for our shitty economy! So what in the hell kind of damage is dropping a plane in Detroit gonna do to the bigger USA picture? (no offense people that live there—I only mean that hypothetically!)

Anyway, the bottom line is, this sack of shit made it through security with all kinds of crap tied to his body. I kinda wish I’d thought of that earlier. I totally would have strapped my after-shave, mouthwash, and hair gel to my thighs and hips if I’d known I would have just breezed through security. Damn I hate learning kick-ass lessons from other people.

(Yes, this is really me. I'd like to thank the wifey for having the patience

to take this. I'd like to also thank Baby Jesus for being there, and most of

all, Marmaduke for just being you my man.)

But, I guess I have many down-falls which pretty much would keep me off any potential terrorist list that ever existed. What? What are they? Well…OK – here’s the top 10 reasons why I’d fuckin’ suck as a terrorist.

1)  Literally the second after I walk out of a store from buying the wifey a present, I call 10 people to tell them what it is, and usually within one minute of walking in the door, I’m all “so uhh..you wanna open a present early? I mean, cause you should. Cause I bought you something, wanna see it?!”

2)  I HATE any type of clothing or straps touching my body. Hence the Pants Optional Friday. Seriously, when I had to wear a heart monitor for a day, strapped to my belly with wires attached to my chest…I just laid in bed all day wanting to die.

3)  As much as I’ve flown during my life you’d think it was comfortable for me. And it kinda is…but not so much. So mix that with me being on a plane knowing I’m gonna blow it up!!! I’d drink to try and deal with it, then I’d get all “let’s party bitches!!!” and then I’d rip my shirt off and everyone would see the explosives and it just wouldn’t be pretty.

4)  I get nervous taking my cell phone through security. I mean, what if they confiscate the picture I pic-messaged the wifey last year of my...well, of my "thingy?" I mean, I was kinda proud of it, so I really wouldn’t mind if they stole it…but I’m pretty sure the wifey would be horrified. She called me within two minutes of sex-texting that pic to her, all “what the fuck is your problem? You just sent me a picture of your ding-a-ling? What’s wrong with you?!”

5)  I’m pretty sure that at the rate I’m going with this blog…I would have already written about my potential efforts to be a terrorist before it even happened which probably would have ended badly.

6)  My son would talk me out of it. His soul is still untainted and solid and I love him for that. If only we could all stay that way! He’d totally be all “but daddy why? Airplanes are good. And they’re all shiny and stuff and look cool in the sky and when they fly-by all loud and stuff I can say ‘shit’ and ‘damn’ and you won’t hear me cause they’re so loud!!”

7)  Because I have the whitest, most non-threatening name there could possibly be. And…well….I look like I’m too much of a tool to even be considered as a terrorist. They’d pull me aside for “special screening” and just spend 10 minutes laughing, all “if I ever look this white, just shoot my ass.”

8)  I can’t even light a damn grill without screwing it up. Seriously! I admit it…I’ve walked away from a fully-stocked grill, full gas tank, in total frustration cause I couldn’t get the damn thing light. And I swear as I walked away, the damn thing lit itself.

9)  Cause I’m too fucking tired to plot a damn thing. I mean, I’ve been with the kids for a month, with no job, only a few hours of the day alone, and I’m tired. Checking my email puts me over the edge. I just want to sleep….let alone strap shit on, fight traffic to the airport, sit next to some chatter box, act all normal and shit, then at the end have to remember what mixes with what and why? Screw that man!

10)  Cause I’m just not that angry. I mean…I’m angry when the wifey says, “can’t we just watch TV for a bit” when I ask her for sex, but that doesn’t want to make me blow shit up! Well…maybe it does, but not a plane!

So in conclusion – I’m lucky I can even breathe on my own and tie my own shoes. Oh – and I hope Umar Farouk Abdul Mutallab gets a hot poker in his ass…twice.