You Think You Know Us? You Don't.

So my general routine this last year has been to do whatever work it is I'm doing at the time on this computer...writing a script, working on a proposal, editing the book, etc., while at the same time leaving my email open so that The Wife can tell me things to do, what my children are doing that no one ever bothers to let me know of, and of course, anything that has happened throughout the day that has screwed us even more than we've previously already been screwed.  By the way, I remember when I was little, how "screwed" was an awesome word.  It always meant sex. "What?  Fred screwed Denise?" or "What? Fred screwed Sam?" (Fred was a complicated individual).  Now when someone gets screwed, it has absolutely nothing to do with sex and usually means a financial or career catastrophe which will ultimately lead to a bottle of Jack Daniels, drunk emails or phone calls that make the situation 100x worse, and possibly a night sleeping in the yard in nothing more than underwear with a gopher trying to burrow in a hole that doesn't need burrowing.

Most of you know "The Broyls Luck".  It's an awful, awful thing.  One of my best friends once told me that even Job got a break at some point.   Job from the Bible, of course, not a job as in something that I apparently will never have again.  So I looked this "Job" fella up.  Good Christ.  This dude got his ass kicked continually.  Family members killed, boils, the whole works.  Well, while we haven't had any of that...yet...The Broyls Luck is pretty ruthless.  So to bring it all the way back to where I started this post...about The Wife emailing me about shit...I figured I'd give you a taste of some of the things her and I discuss throughout the day...and this is just THIS WEEK.   No wonder I'm breaking out in zits.

Thursday, Dec. 9th

8:32am, The Wife to Me:
Our daughter sure got the Broyls bad luck!  I was almost to work when the Nurse called me.  Ugh.  I knew it was bad when she started off by saying, “Hi Kim…I’m so sorry….”.  I guess a kid got lightheaded and dizzy in Special Chorus rehearsal and threw up.  Well, it got on her pants, socks and shoes.  She asked if we had another pair of pants…..of course not; I only bought them for that choir thing.  She said that they could wash them up in the sink and that they have a dryer.  The last thing the Nurse said was, "Don't worry...I'll take care of her.".

My response: Of course she will.  She wants to be both kids' mother.  You should feel threatened.  Actually we both should because she'd have me removed as well so she could take them to live with her and her lesbian partner.  

9:33am, The Wife to Me:
So I called the dentist this morning about the 17yr old's wisdom teeth because yesterday and today, her mouth was hurting and she has been taking Ibuprofen.  She said she probably needed to do a panoramic x-ray to get a better look and said she wasn’t sure if our insurance would permit that.  Then at the same time that I said we don’t have any, she realized that we don’t have any.   I was about to ask her how much that will run and she said that it will bring our total balance to $315 and she will need full payment before they can see her.  I said that you have been unemployed for the last year and she said she knows but that she can’t do that much on a $30/month payment schedule because it will take almost a year to pay off. Gee, thanks for working with us.

Wednesday, Dec. 8th
10:04 am, The Wife to Me:
Don’t be mad but I guess that boy asked the 17yr old if she would want to go on Dec. 26 or Jan. 2, since that’s the last Chiefs game.  She forgot about us going and told him that Jan. 2 is fine, because he seemed to really want to go to that game.  I told her to just go and I’ll stay home.

My response: NO FUCKING WAY.


3:06 pm, Me to The Wife: So here's what Jason just sent me:  "I took a girl to a football game when I was 18.  She blew me later that night.  Good luck."


The Wife's response:  That's just what we didn't need to hear.

Tuesday,  Dec. 7th
8:41am, The Wife to Me:
I left you the van so that you can fix the headlight. Also, on your way to or from the doctor, can you please stop at Quik Trip and buy some oil for the van (and put it in)?   Also, don’t forget that she has her choir practice after school and we need to give her $6 for her choir lunch next week so can you please go to the bank and get out $10 so that we can cover the $6, plus give the kids each $2 for the money drive that they are doing at school? Oh, she's sounding really bad today.  When she coughs, it sounds like a low bark and she said it hurts to cough.  I took her temp, which is normal.

My response: This is the worst email I've ever woken up to.  Thanks.

4:10pm, The Wife to Me:
It's too bad we aren't rich...I'm craving Red Lobster!

My response: I could buy some catfish.

My next response after I came back from the store:  There was no catfish.  Pork chops it is.


4:44pm, Me to The Wife:

This music teacher is a psycho.  She told her NOT TO COUGH.  I said, "Was she kidding???" She said, No.  She said, "I have a cold too but I'm not coughing."  Are you fucking serious?

Also, the teacher sent her to the nurse to get cough drops.  Great pt. 1.  Then Mrs. Fucking Overzealous Nurse Johnson says, "Well, it's a little red in there." I hate that nurse.  She thinks we are the worst parents ever.

The Wife's response: Wow.  Not to cough, huh?  She’s a piece of work.  It’s FOURTH GRADE!!!  It’s not BROADWAY!!
Damn that nurse!  I have been sending cough drops and I only had 1 to send with her today. I was hoping to avoid her going to the nurse because I know how crazy she is!


THE VERY NEXT DAY:
4:41pm, Me to The Wife:
The little one had to see the nurse today.  Her ear was bleeding.  She denies it but she picked a scab.  This nurse must think we're just the worst. 


The Wife's response: The nurse is probably going to report us to DSS.  Great.


Monday, Dec. 6th
11:58am, Me to The Wife:
My head hurts.  I'm still drunk.


The Wife's Response:  You get no sympathy from me.  I told you so.


11:30am, The Wife to Me:
Did the guy come?  Did you oversleep?  I haven’t heard from you, so I’m hoping everything went smoothly with selling the cabinet.


My Response:  I completely forgot.


1pm, The Wife to Me:
She said she’ll request Jan. 2 off so that we can go to the Chiefs game.


My Response: Okay.

Where is Dr. Ross When You Need Him?

Sigh.  George.  Now why can't doctors be like this dude?  This scene was probably part of the best promo in the history of network television, with probably the best doctor in the history of network television.  I wish my doctor was more like this.  Confident.  Strong.  A look in his eyes that says "I know what's best for you and dammit it's my call...you hear me??? MY CALL!!!"  Now you've got idiots like Dr. House, probably the most unlikeable television lead since whoever Balki's cousin was on Perfect Strangers.  And in real life, I continually get people who take years to figure out what the hell they want to do with me, and by the time they get an clue, it's time for me to move again.

So yesterday I had an appointment to go in there to check out the shoulder blade I injured when I violently sneezed a month ago.  The thing is, I knew I was going to be screwed because I made the appointment three weeks ago when the shoulder started going numb.  Of course the first time they could get me in was yesterday, three weeks later, when I was pretty sure that the pain would not be nearly as intense, and I'd look like a jackass for coming in there with a "sort-of sore back".  Whatever, I kept the appointment anyway because I figured I could get a flu shot while I was in there.

The day had already started out like bullshit because I was going on the second straight day of a hangover...the hangover you have after two straight days of getting bombed.  It's different than the Day 1 deal.  Day 2 is almost worse for me, because I've spent the entire night before laying in bed, terrified to fall asleep because my heart is racing at 100mph and I'm worried I won't wake up.  And when you do sleep, it's only in minute-long shifts, as you keep having to wake up to pee and then drink more water and confirm you're still alive.  It's brutal.  So after getting about as little sleep as I'd imagine a serial killer does, I wake up feeling like ass.  I flipped on the computer and the first thing I read is an email from The Wife giving me a list of shit to do.  In my state, I don't even feel like doing my daily canvassing of the neighborhood looking for wayward children to approach, let alone bother with this list my wife has given me.  On top of this, I learn that my teenage daughter may have a boyfriend who we've never met and who is apparently taking her to the Chiefs game this weekend.  More fantastic news.  But apparently the boyfriend is "excited" to meet us, which makes him either an idiot or a con artist.  I'll decide that on Sunday.  If he's smart he'll get here before I'm too many beers in.

She really wasn't too far off base with this performance.

I get to the doctor's office, luckily early enough to compensate for my incredibly bad luck.  There are two doctor's buildings here, about a football field apart from each other, so it's really a pain in the ass if you pick the wrong one because it takes time to get to the other one.  Of course when I get in to Building 2, and walk up to the office, the lady says, "They've moved offices".  Well that's nice.  I'm glad someone felt the need to give me a call to alert me of these proceedings.  Then, in leaving, I somehow get turned around and instead of walking out of the door to the parking lot where my car is, I'm at one on the completely other side of the building.  So I figure I'll just walk to Building 1.

When I get in the right office, I sign in...but dude doesn't see I'm there.  He's a "Ross the Intern" lookalike AND soundalike, running his mouth about the latest Lance Bass video or something with another patient and seriously hasn't even glanced in my direction.  Now you're SUPPOSED to sit down after signing in and wait for them to call you...but how is he going to call me when he doesn't even know I'm there?  So I stand there.  I stand and wait for someone to acknowledge the black man with the hoodie and skull cap pacing the room like a mental patient.  Finally, some other woman behind the counter comes up to the window.  She scolds me for standing there: "You're SUPPOSED to be sitting down, but since I'm here now I'll help you."  I play dumb and say some shit like "Yeah, it's been so long since I've been here I forgot the procedure."  Not a smile from her at all.  Is it me or are 99.1% of people behind the desk at a doctor's office serious assholes?  She takes my info and I have a seat.  Coincidentally, although when I normally get in to see this doctor, it's usually 10 minutes or less.  This time it was 30 minutes.  Passive-aggressive bitch.

 This fat kid looks like he's wearing a Halloween costume of a fat kid.

Amazingly enough, despite not working out in a month, my weight stayed the same.  That wasn't what I was worried about.  I KNEW I was on the Day 2 hangover, and every time I've gone to the doctor on a hangover, I'm super dehydrated and because of that, shit has gone horribly wrong.  My sugar was way off once and they thought I had diabetes, my heart rate's been too high, and the thing I was worried about was my blood pressure.  Well, I was right to be worried.  Normally it's 120/80.  It's been 120/80 for years.  Today it was 150/80.  I explained to the nurse that I had a "weekend of over-indulgence".  She laughed and then talked of her own indiscretions.  She wasn't hot so I could really have given a shit. Next she asks me if it's okay if an intern comes in to observe or something.  I said fine.  While I was waiting for the doctor I decided to get a flu shot.  It was then I realized that the nurse wasn't joking around when she said she used to do her share of partying, because in explaining how the flu nasal mist works when it goes up your nose, she said, and this is EXACTLY what she said...

"It won't sting like coke or anything."

DID I JUST HEAR WHAT I THOUGHT I HEARD???  And the worst part was she didn't laugh when she said it.  I chuckled thinking she was joking but the lack of a chuckle back either makes me think she thinks I'm a cokehead because of the high blood pressure and racing heartbeat, or she's putting her nursing salary to good use.  And the intern didn't flinch either.  Is "It won't sting like coke" common medical terminology these days??  

That bitch don't know what she talkin' about.  Coke don't sting if you eat it.

So the intern, by the way, was a 46-year old MILF straight from Wisteria Lane.  (The fact that I just pulled a Wisteria Lane reference is simply for comedic purposes and you should infer nothing about my sexual preferences because of it).  Anyway, she even mentions how she's got great genes and how her hair is outstanding.  I'm starting to dislike her because she is talking about great hair to a bald man who looks like Clyde Drexler when he goes a few days without shaving.  Anyway, the MILF actually gives me an exam which was a waste of time.  She feels my shoulder blade and asks me a bunch of questions.  Of course my shoulder only hurts a little so she literally says, "Well, you got me."  That's encouraging.  I can't wait to see what you score on your board exam because I don't think the proctors will accept "Well, you got me" as an answer to half the questions.  So she leaves the room to get the doctor and I hear her tell him exactly what I just told her.  He comes in, feels my shoulder blade and asks me a bunch of questions.  Then he tells me that it's probably a torn muscle and to take more Advil.  I say that's awesome because with all the other medications I'm on that affect the liver, my liver will be REALLY be thanking me now.  Because, as most people, even laymen know, Ibuprofen if taken too much can damage the liver.  Apparently I overstepped my bounds by "knowing" a little medical information, because he says:

"Actually, it damages the kidneys."

I said, "Really?" because for the life of me I always thought it damaged the liver (which it does, as I'd later look up when I got home, because I don't let shit go).  But after I said "Really?" he gave me the strangest response I've ever gotten from a doctor:

"No, I'm just kidding."

Wait, what?  Well then why the fuck did you say it?  I was stunned.  I had no idea what to take from that.  He wasn't smiling, but yet he said he was kidding.  Seriously, maybe dude thought I had caught him in something he should have caught, namely the interactions with all my other medications...and that because I'm already bombarding my liver with crap, maybe telling me to take ibuprofen every six hours might not be the best option, so he tells me the kidneys to throw me off, but then realized I was a lot smarter than he gave me credit for and would call bullshit on him the second I got home, which I did.  I mean, maybe it does affect the kidneys, but I know for certain it can damage the liver.  Anyway, it was the oddest moment of the day.

So to change the subject he moves on to my 150/80 BP.  I tell him I over-indulged, and half-joking I say, well, the top-number isn't as big a deal as the bottom number anyway.  He scolds me for thinking that.  "Well, we've learned..." he starts with and I tune him out.  At this point I trust what he's telling me as much as I trusted my uncle after too many times being lured into the shed to "help him with the gardening".  Maybe we HAVE learned, but you blew it, sir, with that "I'm just kidding" bit.  Then, because he refuses to prescribe an actual sleep aid like Ambien, and I told him how the first bunk ass medication he prescribed last month worked about as well to defeat insomnia as if I'd gone to bed with headphones on blasting Public Enemy's "Don't Believe the Hype" on a continuous loop, he goes on to prescribe me another anti-depressant to use as a battle against insomnia.  The only problem?

One of the side-effects is insomnia.

Holiday Cheers...and Sneers...

Without fail, the Christmas season takes its toll on me every year.  It's not just because of the fact that it coincides with football season and my body has to get used to being Andy Kapp for four months.  It's all the stuff that goes with it.  The things we HAVE to do.  The way we HAVE to feel.  It's a time of the year that I look forward to but when it gets here I can't wait to end.  I'm not being a Scrooge here, just telling it like it is.  Because it's not like there are activities or rituals about the holiday that are strictly "good" or "bad" things...every part of the season has it's positives and negatives, and depending on the situation or time of day or severity of the hangover, I'll either be extremely happy at the moment or extremely annoyed.  For example:

CHRISTMAS SPECIALS

Likes:  Rudolph and such.  The specials that bring me back to when I was a kid growing up in the 80's with nothing on my mind but Cheetos and fruit pies.  I love seeing the commercials for the old school specials, and I try to make sure my kids watch them with me.  Although, as much as I've tried they still don't "get" the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.  I think when Linus says "Lights, please" and talks about the true meaning of Christmas, they check out.  It's like when someone knocks on your door and asks if they may spread the word of the gospel.  I mean, you know you should be listening, but really who has the time.  Jesus.  God.  Disciples.  Dead.  Rise.  Wine.  Smiting.  That's about all you need to know.  Just get to the part where I'm surrounded by 40 virgins or come back as a beetle or whatever it is that happens.

Dislikes:  Sappy holiday bullshit specials.  I swear to God, the Lifetime Network would not be in business were it not for their ability to take previously cool actors, throw them in terrible movies and make me lose all respect for them.  Every year you'll see numerous ads for these pieces of slop.  Piano music.  Slow motion.  A lot of hugging.  Probably some tears.  Someone running down the street in the snow.  A night scene where someone is looking up at the stars.  More hugging.  Meredith Baxter.  And for some reason these things are always three hours long.  With the production values of a Jerry Lewis Telethon.

PRESENTS AND SHOPPING

Likes:  The joy of seeing people get something they want.  Getting good deals.  Hell, although I didn't do it this year, there is a certain rush you get when you get up on Black Friday at 2am to run to Kohl's or Best Buy or Toys R Us, frantically run around the store and just start grabbing shit as if a jury just acquitted two white officers in the shooting death of an innocent black man, and come home with your Christmas shopping done and it's not even December yet.  It's fun to also play detective all year and REALLY listen closely to the things your family members say in order to get clues about what gifts they'd really like.  Giving is fun.

Dislikes:  Giving sucks.  The fact that we are forced to take on second jobs or participate in sleep studies to "pay" for this holiday is the worst.  And it's never good enough.  Now commercials are riding this thought process...I think it's Sears who has the slogan now "Be the Santa You Want to Be".  Christ.  You'd think that it'd just be okay to buy a few gifts that your kids really want and everyone would be happy but it's to the point where as a parent, excess isn't only accepted, it's required.  In fact, last year was the first time in I don't know how many years that The Wife and I actually got each other something for Christmas.  Usually we spend the money on everyone else because we have to.  And you can forget going to the mall or the toy store or whatever on any weekend in December.  The parking lots are filled and the lines are out the door.  I should bring a grill and tailgate next time I go shopping on one of these days.  I cook a mean flank steak.  

NEIGHBORHOOD LIGHTS

Likes:  This is fun.  I love driving around and pointing out to the kids, "Hey kids, look at that!"  And they look.  And they say "Oooh" or "Ahhh" or some other cliched phrase used to signify being wowed. It's fun though.  In California we drove a ways to check out a famous neighborhood of lights that once we got there I realized was the sole reason the state has such a power crisis.  The line of cars was extremely long and we all could have walked faster than the car was moving, but it was pretty cool.  I also like the people who connect their lights to music and the lights move in sync with the beat.  Although I have yet to see anyone connect the lights to Snoop Dogg or Eminem.  That'd be neat. 

Dislikes: A couple of things.  First of all, if you're going to put up lights, at least have some sort of cohesiveness going on.  The houses that don't know what they want to be with white lights here and colored lights there bug me.  This is not an interracial marriage.  The two don't go together.  Figure it out.  Stick to one race type of light and go with it.  And if you're going to put up 10,000 light bulbs, at least make it good.  The houses where the lights just hang in places as if draped up by a 95 year old invalid need to check themselves.  It's like The Snookie.  Gaudy, sloppy and an eyesore.  Tighten the shit up.  This is why I don't put anything up on my house.  I know my limitations.  I suck at anything household related that requires effort, skill or a ladder.  That's why the tree we have already has lights attached, and, as was the case last year, my nine-year-old daughter will be in command of lighting the house.  

MUSIC

Likes:  This.  This picture right here.  If all I heard was "Christmas in Hollis", I'd be a happy man.  It makes me think of a time when rap was good, Santa Claus was real, and Die Hard.  But beyond this song I LOVE Christmas music.  Bing Crosby, Sinatra, Nat King Cole, the shit is great.  I have a running tradition of waking up with the kids on Christmas morn, turning on the radio (or in more recent years the Digital Cable Music Channel) to Christmas music and watching them open the presents while we listen to Silent Night.  Hearing Christmas music gets you all warm inside and makes you want to have cocoa and lay around in your robe and slippers.  And smoke a pipe.  And maybe have a snifter of brandy.  Perhaps a little Ecstacy.  But not too much.  Doing snow angels out in the front lawn while naked is not only not good for your skin, but is apt to cause some issues with the neighbors.  

Dislikes:  Crimeny O'Pete.  Make it stop.  I love listening to Christmas music on my own time, but Jimminy Christmas...EVERY store you go to is playing it.  Gas stations, banks, grocery stores, everywhere.  It's overwhelming.  It's almost like the oxygen the casinos use in Vegas to keep you awake and gambling.  The Christmas music when you walk into the store gets you alert to the fact that Christmas is around the corner and forces you to buy things.  It's sadistic.  Plus, if you're going to play the Christmas music, at least change the station now and then.  The last three times I've been to the store I've heard Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas" and let me say this...I am not a fan.  Not a fan.  But Kudos to you, Nick Cannon.  You're the Bobby Brown of the next generation.

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

Likes:  I LOVE the whole "Goodwill and Holiday Cheer" bullshit.  It's great.  For the one time all year, people actually stop looking out for themselves and actually think of others.  They give to the Salvation Army bell ringers, they give Toys for Tots, they make donations...it's a fun time to be a positive human being.  In fact, when I picked my five-year-old up from Kindergarten yesterday afternoon, she immediately told me that "The Principal wants us to give money to kids who don't have any, and I have a lot of money so I want to give it to them."  I had something in my eye at that point.  It was a contact lense.  But I also had a tear welling up.  This is the reason I look forward to the holiday.  If nothing else, despite all of the money we have to spend and the stress and the shopping, pretty much everybody you run into is in a great mood.  Makes life go a lot more smooth when you're greeted with genuine smiles.  

Dislikes:  ONE BIG DISLIKE.  It's too much.  The holiday is so based on gifts and buying and spending and whatnot that it's not even about the true meaning of Christmas.  That's why people really should be paying attention to Linus' speech.  It doesn't matter if the tree you get is small or big or the amount of presents you bought don't pile up to the ceiling.  Now I'll admit I'm pretty darn rotten at going to church, but one year a few years back I was SO completely disenchanted with the what the holiday had become that I got up early on Christmas morning, threw on some sweatpants and went to church.  And would you believe it actually helped?  I'm the last person that should be preaching about "the true meaning" and all that crap, but regardless of one's faith, I really think this holiday is simply about being with family.  And I could really do without all the pomp and circumstance that surrounds it.  I say quit putting so much pressure on yourselves to "be the best Santa you want to be", and simply do what you can.  Your loved ones will appreciate the effort.  Unless they're my kids in which case they'll continue the Christmas tradition of bitching and moping the second they're done opening their gifts.  But you get the point.

It's Always Been This Way

This has been a strange week.  Not the least of which was the fact that my nine-year-old thought she was starting her period.  Now this is an impossibility because despite her genius, she physically is BEHIND everyone because she was born three months early.  The reason she thought she started her period is because she'd been stressing about "the talk" about female issues that the school was going to give her, which it did.  You know, the last thing I want my nine-year-old to think about is Aunt Flo coming to town.  She should be thinking about Rock Band and The Disney Channel and how boys have cooties.

So it got me to remembering.  I looked back at one of my blogs from the past and remembered a day that let me know that living with all girls was not going to be fun...ever.  So, because it does relate somewhat to what happened this week, and because I'm hungover, you get a blast from the past.  Enjoy.

9/4/05

SO THIS IS WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LIVE WITH FOUR WOMEN.

I knew this day would come eventually. I just didn't think it would come so fast. Who knew a 4 year old could have PMS?

Thank God I was out drinking last night until 5am, because while I was sleeping off a tremendous hangover this afternoon, the shit hit the fan. So my 4-year old, Amaya wants to play a game. My wife Kim says sure. Amaya starts arguing as soon as the game begins. Then her 12-year old sister, Megan, decides to up the ante by playing with a toy made for 3 year olds that Amaya hasn't looked at nor thought about in a good 6 months. Amaya immediately gives up on the game she's playing with Kim and wants to play with that toy. Megan says she's playing with it. Amaya starts yelling. Kim yells back, telling Amaya the game they're playing is over. Amaya starts crying and wants the toy Megan is playing with. Kim yells at Megan, telling her to give back the toy. Megan is pissed. Amaya now has the toy and plays with it for all of two seconds before getting bored. Now the real fun begins.

I guess it's around 1:30 now. Megan wants to go to Target. Sydney, the baby, is upset now because it's time for her to eat for like the 30-millionth time today. She eats more than a shark at a cruise ship disaster. Anywho, Kim tells Megan she has to feed Sydney. While Sydney's eating, Kim looks up and Megan is crying. Kim says, "WHAT IS GOING ON??" Megan says she wants to go to Target. Kim says that she is feeding Sydney, her drunk-ass dad is asleep and there is no way they can go to Target until I'm up. Megan doesn't get it. Kim says to her, (and I wish I was lying but I'm not), "GOD, MEGAN ARE YOU PMS'ing!??!" I know. Anyway, since I've commandeered Megan's room and am sleeping in there, Megan runs off to Amaya's room to cry. Kim finishes feeding Sydney and goes to Amaya's room to see what is wrong with Megan. Megan explodes, saying she can't do anything because of Sydney and everything she wants to do is put on the backburner until everyone else is taken care of and blah blah blah. Kim basically tells her "Tough shit" and that she's going to have to deal with it. Megan crys more. Amaya runs in and says she wants her room and for everyone else to get out. Kim tells her to get out. Amaya says no. Kim says it's time for a nap. Amaya, (now in tears) flees the room, running down the hallway screaming that she isn't taking a nap. Megan picks up another toy of Amaya's as she leaves the room, a stupid-ass beachball that I took a knife to the second I heard this story.

Now Amaya is screaming that 1) she wants the beachball and B) she isn't taking a nap. Kim yells so loud she disturbs my drunken hibernation. She says, "AMAYA! BED! MEGAN! YOU'RE NEVER PLAYING WITH ANY OF AMAYA'S TOYS AGAIN!" Megan starts with the sniffling again. Kim goes to put Amaya down for her nap, and Amaya defiantly sits on her bed, on her knees, as if she's about to be executed. Kim asks her is she going to take a nap. Amaya grunts. Kim says, "What?" Amaya grunts. Kim tells her that she better stop grunting and start talking. Amaya starts crying so hard she's hyperventilating. Kim tells her to stop and go to sleep. That's when I, obvlious to all that has transpired, finally emerge from Megan's room with a headache that only Excedrin Tension Headache can cure. But I'm out. I ask Megan to go to the store and get me some Excedrin, and the second she leaves the apartment, Kim explodes at me, telling me how the last 20 minutes has been the worst of her life and it's all the apartment's fault and if we had a house this never would have happened.

All I can say is thank God I was drunk last night.

Shut Up, Day. I Hate You Already.

Nothing ever good comes at 7am.  Nothing.  The sun is barely up.  Your dream is at the middle part, you know, AFTER you're tied up and waiting for the bad guys to come back and shoot you, but BEFORE you actually escape and start that three-hour running sequence.  For the second time this week I've been awakened by The Wife at 7am in what has been bad news of some sort.  The first time was Monday when the kindergartener was "sick" and had to stay home from school.  The reasoning behind putting "sick" in quotes is laid out here.

Today, the news was at least presented to me in a less jarring fashion.  On Monday, The Wife's light brushing of my arm to "gently" wake me up resulted in me thinking spiders were crawling up to eat my face.  Today, however, she followed my instructions I sent her in an email that morning:

"Next time you wake me up, NEVER rub me lightly.  Just poke or shake me.  I swear I thought some huge spider was on me.  My heart was on fire."

So this time, she did EXACTLY what I asked, shaking me like I had been crying for 10 straight hours, time she used to do plenty of research about the success rate of postpartum depression defenses in baby murder cases.  And while my brain may have knocked around in my head a bit and I've suddenly lost all memory of my middle school years, at least I didn't think there were any spiders on me.  Immediately I thought the five-year-old was sick again and I was going to have to watch her all day.  That would have been bad enough.  But the news was worse.  For the second time this week, and the third time in six months, the fridge was out.  After it died on Monday, I ordered a part, the same part that went out over the summer, put it in on Wednesday, it worked, and now it doesn't.  That bastard at the parts store said I had four months left.  Not two days.  He called himself playing Nostradamus but instead he was just a half-ass Jimmy the Greek.  So now all of our food is back in the mini-fridge and on the porch.  Although there's really not much on the porch since a)we threw pretty much everything out when it went out the first time, and b)it's going to actually be warm today.  So we did the only thing we could, go online, and max out our Best Buy card to get another refrigerator, which sucks for two reasons, 1) It took us two years to pay that card down to a manageable balance, and now it's MAXED out again, and 2) It won't be here until NEXT THURSDAY, which means a week of this bullshit circus of going outside to get a bottle of water and soggy waffles.  It's a cluster which I really didn't want to hear at 7am.  In fact, there's a number of things I would have rather heard at that point.  So, uh...

7 Things I'd have rather heard this morning at 7a than "The Fridge is Out".

1.  "Your penis is inadequate at best and you have never satisfied me sexually."  

Now although this is a hurtful statement that hits to the core of who one is as a man, let's be real...it's not totally unexpected.  In this regard, it isn't really that difficult of a pill to swallow.  Unlike the refrigerator, it doesn't lead to me having to spend any money, unless she insists I contact Jimmy Johnson and figure out exactly how much Extenze I need to take to make me "adequate".  Although I'm guessing if she wakes me up at 7am JUST to tell me this, she really isn't looking for me to try to better myself, because the very next thing out of her mouth will most likely be, "That's why I've been sleeping with a man named Deon behind your back.  And another named Travon.  They're both in their early 20s."

2.  "The house is on fire.  Unfortunately your arms and legs seem to be handcuffed to the bed.  Goodbye."

Again, an unfortunate circumstance.  My wife is not only leaving me and taking the children, but she is killing me in a pretty gruesome way.  It's weird because in my dream I was having before she woke me up, I had let the gas overflow when filling the tank and it got all over my hands and then everything smelled like gas.  Then when I woke up, I realized that the reason I had that dream was because everything does smell like gas, including the bed and my clothes and sheets.  But the good thing is I won't have to pay for a new refrigerator.  There's some smoke.  Well, at least I'll have a good idea what hell is like, which is most likely where I'm going anyway.

3.  "The dog shit on your flatscreen TV."

Well first of all, kudos to the dog for somehow scaling the big screen television and despite not having opposable thumbs, spraying stick-um or something on his paws so that he could stick to the screen and take a dump.  Also, crapping while horizontal has to be extremely difficult, so, again, very commendable.  But this all seems pretty unrealistic.  I would need to take a smell test to determine if it, indeed is dog shit.  And honestly, who turns down the chance to smell shit?  Again, not too bad a situation, especially if we catch it when it's still wet and we can wipe it down with one of the kids' shirts.  Plus, if your wife is actually trying to destroy the television because she's sick of never seeing you during football season on Sundays and Mondays, and her way of doing this is by taking fresh dog shit and wiping it on the television, well, good effort, but you realize any aversion you have to the Dirty Sanchez is hereby null and void.

4. "There's a bum in my car."

I actually got this one once.  Back when we were living in Michigan.  I was awakened by my screaming and hysterical wife who then was my fiance, about a man sleeping in her car.  She was headed to work, opened the door, and there he was.  It was the dead of winter, freezing out.  I went out to investigate, opened the door, and sure enough, there was a guy sleeping in the car.  A college student, no doubt.  Dude smelled like beer and had obviously gotten torched the night before, gotten lost, thought he was going to freeze to death, and for some reason decided he had to find a car to stay warm.  I don't think he had any shoes on either.  I told him to get the hell out of the car and he mumbled something about being cold.  It was the strangest encounter with a car bum I've ever had.

5. "The kids were on the computer.  Care to explain why 'skinnyasianboys.com' was on the screen?"

Well that's a shame.  Although, in my defense, you're never to early to learn about the wonders of sex and in particular the smooth, hairless body of a Filipino teenage boy.  Let's be real...the girls are 5 and 9. Let's cut the cord already.  They probably already talk about this stuff amongst their friends at school.  Hell, what do you think "Time Out" is for in Kindergarten?  They don't send you to the corner by yourself just to sit and do nothing.  They expect you to do SOME exploring, and I'd be a bad dad NOT to present them with safe options to make themselves and Teacher satisfied.  

I'm going to jail, aren't I.  

6.  "The cat isn't breathing."

Here's something I really can't help you with.  The cat isn't breathing.  O...kay.  I'm not sure what you want me to do about that.  I'm not a vet.  Nor am I Jesus or David Blaine.  I can't simply bring something back to life.  And we have a perfectly good hole in the back yard that the dog has been working on for a year now.  Put 2-and-2 together and there really is no reason for me to be involved here.  Cover the hole with a rug and when I get up at noon I'll go get some potting soil from the Lowe's.  And as far as the kids are concerned, it seems like a good a time as any to explain Kitty Heaven and such.  Again, they're girls...so like periods, make-up and ironing, this should probably be your show.

7.  "There's a man at the door.  He says you owe him money.  He has a gun."

Okay, look.  Before you wake me up at 7am can we be a little more specific?  What kind of gun?  And how much money?  I owe a lot of people money.  Although the fact this man would show up at the door has taken things to a different level.  But these things I can handle.  The guy is probably a thug with the intellect of a oh he's in the room now.  Look, sir, I was simply trying to explain to my wife that at 7am it really would make more sense to...$50,000?  Really?  Hmmm.  I mean, I knew I was in the shit but that's quite a bit of change.  How about this, I don't really have the money right now, but I can get it to you in probably a few...what are you...handcuffs?  Okay dude, you really don't have to put gasoline on me.  OHHHH...so YOU'RE Travon!!  Huh.  Really didn't picture you being white.

Wasting Time at The Starbucks

So this morning started out pretty hectic.  A guy was coming over to take photos of the house at 9am, so I had to vacate and figure out something to do for an hour.  Most of you know how tied I am to this computer, so it obviously had to be a place that had Wi-Fi.  I immediately thought Starbucks, and when he got here right on time at 9, I headed out the door with the laptop.  As I headed to the coffee shop, I thought, you know, I could probably do a little running account of my morning at Starbucks, which would be great...but what's even greater is that I could go to the Starbucks at the Price Chopper grocery store, and REALLY get a good base of people watching to report on.  And that's what I did.  So here it is...a typical hour at the grocery store coffee shop, from a psychopath's perspective.

9:15am:  Well first of all I couldn't get started with this blog fast enough.  The decision to do this from the Starbucks at the store was brilliant.  I figured I'd get a better class of people to talk about and boy was I right.  Well then, let's see what's happening.  Christmas music is playing here at the store.  A couple is sitting here drinking coffee, the woman has a Bible and both are smiling sneakily as if they're planning to start a holy war against non-believers.  I'll keep an eye on them.

9:22am: There's a woman here with her toddler in the cart.  Not too strange, right?  Except the kid is dressed as a giraffe.  Not giraffe-themed jammies or something like that...a full on Halloween costume a full month after Halloween ended. I'm guessing this kid screamed and threw a fit until he got to wear the costume, and probably has worn the costume every day since Halloween, because his mother gave up on trying to fight with the little dude every day.  Okay, it works for now, but in six years you're going to have an eight-year-old who still sleeps in the bed with you, and just you, because your husband long since divorced you because he got tired of not having sex yet watching his seven-year-old son suck on his wife's breasts more than he does.

9:26am:  Something's not right with that couple.  I think it's obvious they're having an affair.  The Bible is there so they can find passages which makes their lurid undertaking seem more acceptable.  I could have told them that there's no place in the Good Book that says, "And God shall reward those 40 year old adulterers with multiple orgasms and the ability to continue without their spouses finding out and slicing off their nuts and/or nipples with a box cutter."  That's not in there.  But then again, I haven't read the Bible in a while, so maybe the Branch Davidians have an updated version that I just haven't seen yet.

9:35am:  I love that they've been paging the Meat Department for five minutes now, yet they could give a shit.  The two meat guys are sitting here drinking coffee like they're on strike and the store doesn't know it.  "Uh oh", the Starbucks lady just said.  Oh, it looks like one-half of the cheater couple left their purse.  I'm guessing it's the woman but who knows, if they're having an affair they could be into some kinky shit which involves the man dressing up as Condoleezza Rice.  His afro could be used doubly as part of his costume as well as a birth control device.  Oh, okay.  It was the woman.  She came back in to get her purse. She smiled.  She shouldn't have.  Her teeth are the color of fritos with the jaggedness of Reese Witherspoon's chin.

9:41am:  Good God.  Three absolute douchebags just walked in.  They all have douchebag goatees.  Well, one has a beard which looks alright but the others are truly assholes.  College dropouts obviously who are planning their next "rave" or whatever it is that college dropouts plan nowadays. Now they're making small talk with the girls behind the counter.  No, Slick, you didn't make an impression on her.  She forgot about whatever joke you said about Caramel Machiatto sounding like a "sweet musical tempo" the second you paid her.  (Okay, he really didn't say that, but I'm on a time crunch and figured it was a lame joke a douchebag would make).  Oh Goddammit.  They're sitting down in here.  Okay, maybe I can pick up some of their real conversation and write it down for you.

9:48am:  Apparently they need "Customer assistance in floral".  I've always thought that buying flowers at the grocery store is pretty much the same as buying no flowers at all.  Douchebags decided to move tables because they were in the sun.  You didn't know that when you sat down?  The sun hasn't changed in five minutes.  After they moved, one said, "Right on."  Douchebags.

9:49am:  I'm out of coffee.  Shit.

9:52am:  There goes the customer who needed assistance in floral.  She was probably in her 60s and had a helium balloon and some flowers.  You've got to wonder why a helium balloon was necessary at 9:50 in the morning.  I mean, whatever party or celebration she's going to probably isn't taking place until the evening.  And cheap ass grocery store helium doesn't last but a few hours as it is.  Not to mention the horribly short life span of grocery store flowers.  By the time she gets to the retirement home for Arthur's 92nd birthday party, she's going to have a handful of weeds and a plastic bag.

9:55am:  Holy shit.  Okay, the douchebags are apparently discussing a business plan that involves telemarketing.  The head douchebag just said to one of the littler douchebags: "You're gonna be my guy on the phone.  I'm the man."  He's explaining how everything they need is already on the internet and as long as they don't take rejection personally they'll make a lot of money.  Well, from hearing only 30 seconds of this, I can tell you that unless your business is selling an opportunity to "Smack a Douchebag", this will be a tremendous failure.  Well, hold on, let me google that.  Well shut my mouth.  Looks like according to Business Weekly, Smack a Douchebag may be the next Microsoft. Well, I guess I'M eating crow!

10:00am: Top of the hour features our first 300lb woman in sweatpants.  Honestly by now, in a grocery store, I figured we'd have a lot more of them.  The foundation only slightly moved.

10:02am: And there goes the first mother who clearly had her child as a result of prostitution.  She's got on the hooker boots, the tight, acid-wash jeans, and a sweatshirt that if I could inspect closer I'm sure I would find blood stains.  I probably should get up and help her find the antiseptic aisle.  Problem is the second I speak to her she'd see the skull cap and my blackness and assume I was a pimp looking to acquire her services.  And that would of course include a bitch slap to see how she responds.  As well as a slap for her child to assert my authority over her entire family.  So I won't help her to the antiseptic aisle.

10:07am:  Jesus, these meat department guys don't do anything.  One of them just came back over here.  Makes me think that grocery store meat really isn't as special as I thought it was.  Goddammit.  One of the weird employees sat down behind me.  He's only talked to me once, but it was about the Bears and he only brought it up because I was wearing a Bears T-shirt and he knew nothing about the Bears.  I think he thought I was a single dad who had given up on women and was into weird, gross, Gary Sinise meets Steve Buscemi-type grocery store workers.  Christ.  He's probably back there staring at me from behind because this is angle he is fantasizing abo...oh he's leaving.

10:14am:  Douchebag Update:  The head douchebag is explaining the process of "selling shit".  "That's the type of business decision I make.  We have to be smarter."  You insert your own business cliche here.  I've determined it's some sort of repair business.  AHAHA!!! They just ended, got up and he goes, "Good meeting."  You douchebag.  Did I mention the head douchebag has a T-shirt and jeans on with a skull cap and sunglasses?  Yes, this is the look that I think of when I think business champion.

10:17am:  My hour is about up.  And thank God because three old ladies just sat down behind me who told the Starbucks worker that they're "going to sit and visit".  I could probably sit here another hour and come up with a book with all the material they'd give me.  Now although that book would be about the benefit of high-fiber diets and a detailed schedule of every Bingo Night in the Metro and surrounding areas, it'd still be a book.

10:21am:  I honestly haven't seen a blind person in years.  Years.  Yet, there she is.  If there's one person on this earth for some reason I don't make fun of, it's the blind.  Now the deaf are fair game.  Same with the mute.  But for some reason the blind make me think back to like the creepy witches or oracles in those movies about the Greek Gods and Perseus.  They're always blind but they've got powers that if you mess with them will curse you for life and give you a goat head and a tree stump body.  So seeing as I don't want a goat head with a tree stump body, I choose to leave the blind alone.  You hear what I'm saying, Marlee Matlin?  No...of course you don't.

10:25am:  Okay, let's pack this thing up.  The coffee is starting to produce the undesired yet expected results on my stomach and I don't really want to use the grocery store toilet.  Although grocery store bathrooms are consistently one of your cleanest restrooms around and in a pinch you can feel pretty confident you won't be confronted with feces-stained walls or anti-Semite messages like you do in your average McDonalds restroom.  The women behind me are now discussing why they chose to wear jeans today.  Done.

Boredom + Electric Razor = This.

When one is unemployed, there's really no reason to keep up on normal grooming techniques like wearing matching socks, showering before 5pm, or at the very least, shaving.  Now lately I've had a pretty good beard going, to the point where I've started a comedy bit where I freak out the children solely by slowly walking towards them while creepily scratching my long, unkempt beard with both hands.  For some reason they find this chilling and their screams have sustained the bit for a while now.  However, for the last couple of days the beard got itchy and just annoying, so I decided to shave it last night.  But before I did, I decided that it would be a shame to just waste all this hair.

So as I looked at the razor I thought to myself, "You know, I could easily take my next unemployment payment, buy a plane ticket to some remote island in the Caribbean, and leave this shitty life forever and never be found.  The wife could remarry someone decent with money and the kids would soon learn to love him.  Maybe he's an athlete.  Or a surgeon.  And tall.  Maybe white.  Yes.  This plan could be best for all parties involved."  Then I chickened out because I knew that they'd find me and I'd still have a shitty life but it'd just be in the Caribbean.  So after I stopped crying, I got back on topic and thought to myself, "Why don't I shave this beard down in increments, to show people the stigmas that come with the way men wear their facial hair." And there are certain stigmas that maybe you don't really think about unless you're confronted with them.  So, uh...here's your confrontation.

"THE BUM"

This is the full beard that I was telling you about.  It's a look that says, "I've been sitting on the side of the road all day with a sign that says, "I want $$ for Booze, not Food".  It says that I haven't showered in two weeks, I've been wearing the same sweatshirt since I pulled it off my buddy Larry who died three months ago under the 18th street underpass, and I know where every library in town is located.  When I've been going to pick up the kids with this beard, I've felt a strong combination of pity and disgust.  Once I went with not only the beard but my hooded sweatshirt as well.  The teachers must have thought I was a disgruntled father who came to exact revenge on my bitch of an estranged wife with a shoehorn and a bottle of acid, grab my kid and tell her mom's sick and she wanted us to get in the car right now and drive to Oregon.  There's nothing good about the look of "The Bum".

"THE CONVICT"

This is the look of the beard shaved down a bit to where it's kind of a half-beard but connected to the goatee.  To me this reminds me of how my cousin "Sugaman" looked when he got out of the joint after a four year bid for assaulting a pizzaman with a crowbar.  I wish I was kidding but that's a true story.  He and some of his friends order a pizza- TO THEIR APARTMENT- then rob the delivery boy and smash his face with a crowbar.  Interestingly enough the police somehow had a pretty good idea of where they needed to go to find the perps.  So every time I see this beard I think of Sugaman and shanks and trays of mashed potatoes.  Whenever I want to go out and look like a bad ass, I wear "The Convict".  Two things that make you feel invincible...being the only black man at da club...and wearing "The Convict".

"THE DOUCHEBAG"

A smaller, thinner version of "The Convict".  It's a prettier cut that is used by your Kevin Federlines and Chris Daughtrys that some refer to as the "chinstrap".  I prefer calling it "The Douchebag".  95% of men who wear this are people you just know will start off a conversation with "So yo, I was at Diddy's yesterday..."  However, when you know it's coming from a douchebag, the translation of that is "I spent yesterday wearing ripped boxers and a wife beater, picking the jam out of my toes, sniffing it before I flicked it to the carpet and then ate cold pizza without washing the remaining jam from my fingernails."  Don't ever wear "The Douchebag" unless it's part of a Halloween costume or you're trying to be ironic, and even then it's a gamble people will be able to look past your douchery in order to laugh at the joke and not at you.

"THE ASIAN TRUCKER"

There's something about the disconnected mustache and goatee that looks decidedly Asian.  Add the long sideburns and the Wheaties cap and you've got "The Asian Trucker".  Looking at myself I kept thinking I was going to be taking on Jean Claude Van Damme in a Death Match, but at the Stuckey's off I-94.  This is one that even I honestly couldn't leave the house with.  I think if I did go out, the only place I'd feel comfortable with a look like this is at a casino in the Baccarat room.  Or maybe a strip club.  Other than that when you're "The Asian Trucker" you've probably got your speed dial filled with take out restaurants, ecstasy dealers and hookers.  

"THE STACHE"

God, there are so many things one can be when wearing "The Stache"- A cop, a porn star, a Mexican man...or woman- the list goes on and on.  For some reason, there's something that's super seedy about this look.  I think the only legitimate mustaches belong to Army Sergeants, baseball umpires and LeVar Burton.  I remember the first really good stache I saw belonged to Tom Selleck.  Then Ted Lange.  Then no one.  Mustaches are brutal for the most part and unless you're one of the aforementioned people, more than likely if you have a mustache, you enjoy Old Milwaukee beer, have four-to-five mistresses all of whom are over 290lbs, and at least three arrests, two for domestic violence.   It's best to avoid the man behind "The Stache" at all costs.  And finally...

"THE GAY BUTLER"

There's really no explanation needed for this one, except this: Eat your heart out, John Waters.