Doomsday? Tomorrow's Not Convenient For Me

So apparently tomorrow as each time zone reaches 6 p.m. the end of the world as we know it will come crashing down.

I was driving in my car when I first heard about this impending doom. I was listening to NPR when the story came on.

This guy they interviewed was 110% confident that as each time zone reached 6 p.m. it would start to experience horrific earth quakes which would soon be followed by the skies filling with the “believers” as they ascended into the heavens while the rest of us douches were left to live “hell on earth.”

When the story ended I was still driving. A drop of sweat trickled down my forehead to my eyebrow before falling from my face and landing on my crotch making it look like I had a pee stain on my pants.

My heart was racing ever so slightly like when you’re taking a shower and the wife walks in and for a split second you believe it’s because she’s going to hop in there with you.

And a tiny bit of fear crawled down my spine the same way it did the first time I overheard my parents having sex.

Logically I knew this all couldn’t be true.

Was there really some elaborate code weaved throughout the words of the Bible telling people that on May 21, 2011 the earth was gonna crack like an egg, morph into hell and launch the good souls into the air like bottle rockets?

And why 6 p.m.? Because they wanted to piss-off the people left behind by interrupting their dinners, drinking, and trash TV with lava flows and death?

And what about people that are flying in airplanes? Or the space shuttle docked at the space station right now? Did they manage to find some cosmic loophole? Does that mean they just get a free pass?

And the logistics of all this is really driving me bat-shit.

What if you’re a good soul but happen to be in your basement? Do you get pulled through two floors of wood, beams, roof, tile and all the stuff in your house on your journey to heaven?

Or does your soul just leave your body and rise leaving your flesh and bones to simply collapse to the ground?

Cause that would be freaky as hell if you happen to be standing around a whole group of people who are good souls.

And what if you’re masturbating and your soul rises from your body leaving your corpse naked, vulnerable, and unsatisfied only to be found by your wife….or mom?

What if “become a believer and one with the lord” was on your Bucket List but you just haven’t gotten to it yet? Do I get a free pass?

I guess only time will tell.

I’m sure I’ll be a little on edge that afternoon like I was on New Year’s Eve 1999.

But logic has me confident it’ll be just another day of chasing the nippers, checking out the wife’s attributes, quoting the Honey Badger video, and showing the neighbors my favorite lawn dances like “the sprinkler” and “the shopping cart.”

I guess the only way I’m ever going to buy-in to the doomsday thing and really start to panic is if an announcement is made that Dick Cheney would like to address the world at 6:30 p.m. on the 21^st.

Then I’ll know I’m fucked.



Stopping The Time Continuum

My son is slowly killing me!

It’s true. And he’s doing it with one simple little phrase “hold on, one sec!”

With that one little phrase the boy truly feels the time continuum comes to screeching halt.

Parents slow to a grind. Soccer games, swimming lessons, school, homework…everything that he should be helping to arrive to on-time is slammed with a huge “pause” button and shelved for kick-ass things like shuffling through eight-foot-high stacks of Pokemon cards, SpongeBob, and burying his sister in pillows.

Of course if I were being truthfully honest I’d take a portion of the blame. After all, I am the dumb-ass that waited until it was time to go before I ask the boy to stop what he’s doing, stand, put on a coat, and walk out of the large rectangular door.

No, I clearly must secretly enjoy the pain and still go by adult time rather than children time.

Instead I say, “OK, grab your shoes and coat and let’s go!”

Son: “Hold on, one sec daddy.”

He then immediately throws on the jittery, jerky, fast-moving motions like he’s going as fast as he can to finish what he’s doing so he can leave as per my request.

His eyes are darting all over the room like he’s trying to locate his shoes and coat, but in reality in his tiny little brain he’s thinking, “OK, if I stand here long enough looking like I might implode he’ll leave to go get my shoes for me giving me enough time to finish watching SpongeBob while I give the dog Macy’s favorite dolly to chew on while we’re gone!”

Me: “Grayson, seriously…you’re shoes are right next to you. Put them on your feet and let’s go!”

Grayson: “OK daddy…one sec!”

This is when he quickly runs up the stairs.

Me: “Oh my god!!! Where in the world are you going son?!!”

He then throws on the fake urgent mumbled voice knowing damn good and well I can’t hear a word he’s saying and that I’ll be way too lazy to go up the stairs after him.

Me: “Dude!!!!! I’m going to carry you out the door in one second!!”

He then comes running down the stairs with absolutely nothing in his hands, blows by me, and heads to the table to start shuffling through his Pokemon cards.

Which makes sense because in his mind time has literally stopped. The bitching and stomping his old man is doing is not really happening. The clock hasn’t moved one second.

He dropped the “hold on, one sec” so he’s got all the time in the world.

Meanwhile the blood has rushed to my head leaving my fingers numb, a gray hair pops to the surface of my massive head, and my heart is pounding out of my chest as I try like hell to keep my cool.

This is the point in which I shock the hell out of him by breaking his little time stopping trick, grab him by the back of his shirt and physically move him towards his shoes and the door.

Which is always met with, “OK DADDY!!! I was just about to get my shoes….geeeze!!!”

And now, I’m an asshole, the worst father ever, and in his mind, the poster-child for lack of patience.

Tomorrow I think I’ll wake him up at 5 a.m. to start getting him ready for the 8 a.m. start-of-school bell.

Think he’ll learn his lesson then?

Yeah, me either.