Unexcused Absence

Forgive me readers... it has been nearly 2 months since my last confess... er umm... I mean post.
The very simple explanation for this is that there are things occurring in my life which keep me from being able to maintain a blog the way I was able to before. It was a part of each day I truly enjoyed, and from what I'm getting back from many of you - a part of your day that you enjoyed as well.
I regret to say that this blog will just never be updated as often as it once was, if at all... Going back to school, and changes in work and possibly career are among the plethora of reasons I am simply unable to write as much as I once liked.

So in parting - I wish you all well and remind you to "Party On" and to "Be Excellent To Each Other".

The First One Is Made Of Glass

The difference in how you treat your first born and your second born is truly like night and day.

Girl was fragile in my eyes. The slightest scrape or cut was treated as though it were a severed limb, and she was never allowed to wander more than 5 feet from my side for fear she'd be abducted or attacked by wild dogs.

Now it is 7 years later, and we have The Boy.
The Boy is not fragile. The Boy seems rather indestructible in fact...

My son recently turned 1 year old and on that very day hit his " terrible 2's". Unfortunately for us he was an early walker, and is now capable of scrambling away from us at amazing rates of speed. If he does not want to be caught - he won't be.

Had my daughter ever climbed onto the furniture - we surely would have stopped her before she started climbing up the curtains. Now Mrs. Chronically Insane and I simply yell at each other to go get The Boy down from the curtains again.

In years past, whenever food hit the floor it was considered untouchable. Now, 80% of my son's diet is comprised of food that has touched the floor.

Girl was given a rocking horse when she was 2. She loved the rocking horse and would sit and rock on it while she watched television.
The Boy has the same rocking horse, only rather than rocking while watching television, he stands on the seat, teetering back and forth while yelling at us with his hands in the air.
Instead of scrambling to his side when this happens- I scramble to get the camera...

I don't ever remember my daughter even attempting to eat a crayon... The other 20% of The Boy's diet is comprised of crayons.

I don't know exactly what makes the difference in how they both behave and how we treat them... It could be the fact that he is a boy, or that I've been a parent for 7 years. Whatever it is, things are certainly different.

Maybe it is the fact that my reflexes just aren't as sharp as they once were...
6 years ago I would have definitely stopped him before he'd put his hands in that pile of dog shit.

Pearls of Wisdom

I often ride the bus with a gentleman named Mike. Mike is a little old Italian guy who likes to call me "Kid" and always asks how the wife and children are. We talk about baseball and hockey - 2 topics which typically consume the greater part of the bus ride each day.

Well - yesterday, Mike threw me a curve ball...

As the bus was pulling away - an Asian man came running from around the corner and up to the side of the bus and was let on.
Mike said - "Look at this guy..."
I chuckled, then dismissed his comment - thinking Mike was referring to nothing more than the fact that he was winded and disheveled after running.

The bus ride was nothing out of the ordinary, we discussed how great the Redwings are and how the Blackhawks will never be a good team until the owner decides to spend some money and stop blacking out local games on television... blah blah blah.

We arrived at the train station and were walking down the platform when I heard the unmistakable sound of women's high heeled shoes and a rolling suit case rapidly approaching from behind. It was getting louder and louder when I finally decided to jump off to the side and let the woman pass. As she ran straight between Mike and I, Mike immediately noticed she was an Asian woman.

"God damn! Those Orientals are the runningest Sons of Bitches I ever seen!! You know Kid - that's why you never see a fat Oriental!"

My mind was flooded with so many different responses - but the respect for my elders that my parents ingrained in me took over - and I simply smiled and kept my mouth closed.

But I can honestly tell you that I feel so much better for knowing now - that Orientals are in fact the "runningest sons of bitches" in the world.

This Has To Get Easier...

I recently discovered the one event when all parents hate being parents. It is the one time that every parent dreads - no matter how well behaved or how terrible your children are.

That event? The 1st through 3rd grades Spring Sing Along.

The paper advertising the stupid "Spring Sing" came in our daughter's backpack a week before it was to take place.
Mrs. Chronically Insane immediately called me at work.

"Is it bad that I don't want to go to this stupid thing?" she asked.

"No" I replied, "Do we have to go?" I asked.

Mrs. Chronically Insane scanned the page quickly but didn't see anything.
She asked Girl - "Do Mommy and Daddy have to go to this thing?"

I heard the answer over the phone... "Yes!! You have to go!! My teacher said so!"

Damn it.


The day of Girl's Spring Sing arrived. I tried finding extra things to do at work that required me to stay late - but no such luck.
I arrived at home to a hurricane of children, children's toys, and children's clothing.

"Okay - help me out. Take The Boy - I have to get Girl dressed" my wife said as she hurriedly handed me The Boy. "Anyone who doesn't live here - please leave" she demanded.

I made the mistake of asking what was for dinner...

"We aren't having dinner tonight! We don't have time - we have to leave in half an hour!"

On the edge of my tongue was - "But - you've been home all day...", but 7+ years of marriage has taught me one very important lesson.

Never say - "But you've been home all day" to a woman who stays home with kids and who used to play hockey. That woman will inflict pain on you.

I took my son to the play room and immediately started showing him the best way to grip the ball when throwing across the infield.
I heard footsteps pounding towards me.

"Aren't you getting him dressed?" my wife asked.

Good Lord...

"No! I'm showing him how to grip the..." was as far as I got before realizing that she wanted me to get The Boy dressed, and she wanted it done NOW!

My wife and the kids were finally ready to go, and we were headed for the door when she asked - "What are you wearing, Honey?"

Again, I've been around this place long enough to realize that her tone implied that she wasn't pleased with the jeans and t-shirt I had on.

"Listen" I started my answer with caution, "I'm here, and I'm going with you. This is what I'm wearing."

Good enough...

We arrived at the auditorium with only 3 minutes to spare and discovered immediately that seating was at a minimum - and by "at a minimum" I mean none.
We managed to wedge ourselves between a family of what appeared to be Lemurs, and an extremely short tempered, grumpy individual who decided that getting up to let us pass him was unnecessary - but complaining and staring at us was...



The show began on a bad note (no pun intended) with serious technical difficulties. My daughter's class was forced to sing the first 2 songs of the performance twice because the sound engineer couldn't manage to find the appropriate buttons to press on the 8 track player...

Chaos broke out in the front row when all the parents started laughing and cheering. The children started jumping up and down yelling "This isn't the end of the show! This isn't the end of the show!!"
This encouraged further cheering and laughing from parents.
The music director had difficulty getting everyone calmed down - but she finally succeeded.

It was at this point when The Boy decided to restore a little chaos for himself. Somehow, among a sea of 3,000 people, my son managed to be the loudest and most excited child at precisely all the wrong moments...
He started screaming at his sister, bouncing up and down on my lap, and slapping the gentleman's shoulder seated in front of us.
Every parent within 300' of us who was trying to record their child singing has The Boy screaming "dat! dat! dat! dat! dat! dat! gah!!!" in the background.

My wife decided it would be prudent to remove him from the auditorium. He didn't go without a fight, however, and managed to kick a few heads and knock a few cameras on his way out.

The Spring Sing came to a close, we collected our daughter, made our way to McDonald's for a healthy dinner, then finally returned home.

After putting the children to bed - Mrs. Chronically Insane and I reflected on our evening by flipping a coin to see whether she'd be getting her tubes tied, or I'd be getting a vasectomy...

It's Time To Stop And Smell Something

I am an extremely patient guy.
When we were standing in line and God was handing out patience, I got a double helping. But an even stronger quality of mine is how amazingly nice I am - my niceness far outweighs my patience.
Oh - and humility! Don't even get me started on that...

The last seven days, however, have tested my patience and my kindness in a way I have never experienced before.

It began last weekend with the sewer backing up again into my basement. I recently told you how my father in law assisted me - or rather I assisted him - in de-clogging the main sewer line that runs from my house out to the street. Well - 3 weeks later the problem was back, but worse. I was forced to move my family out of the house for 3 days until the problem was taken care.
Taking care of the problem, in short, involved rodding out the sewer line a second time, and hiring a large man, with a booger hanging out his nose, to come and pump out a giant hole we discovered next to my house containing all the sacrifices my family and I had offered to the sewer gods over the last 3 weeks. The hole is approximately 6 feet deep and is designed to take the nasty bits, and drain them into a pipe that carries them happily on their way to the city sewer. Apparently the hole was clogged near the bottom and had filled to about a foot from the top.
Yummy.

When my new sewer sucking, booger toting friend departed - I expected to return to my basement and find my problem resolved.

Not so much... my basement was still a cesspool.

After a few hours of tracing pipes, and a prayer of supplication to the sewer gods - I discovered an entirely separate drainage system on the opposite side of my house that was the source of the back up. I took my hand powered sewer snake and began rodding out the newly discovered pipes.
In moments I was pulling black and rotting tree roots from the pipes. Unfortunately I mangled the sewer snake beyond recognition before my job was complete and had to run to the hardware store to purchase a new one.
Once again - I rodded and poked and pulled at the sewer snake until the gods gave up one long, loud gurgle. At last - the dark waters receded from my basement.

The remainder of the day was spent bleaching every inch of the basement floor and returning my family to our beautiful home.

So then it was back to work on Tuesday, where I am spearheading a rather aggressive project involving online conferencing technology and a British woman confined to a wheel chair who abhors the thought of using online conferencing technology.

Again - I am the nicest and most patient person in the world, making me the most qualified for such a task.

Wednesday, I was provided a car and sent to her residence to deliver a tutorial and familiarize her with said technology - but 6 hours later I had not even scraped the surface of her understanding.

You see - given the fact that I am the nicest guy in the world, and that she sensed that - I was immediately dispatched to carry out such tasks for her as retrieving her misplaced reading glasses, let the dog out to relieve itself, connect her wireless network router, fetch her a ginger ale, and my favorite - help carry her in her wheel chair up an uneven sidewalk.

5 o'clock arrived with the realization that I had not yet used the restroom or eaten lunch. I decided it was time to leave when she asked me to try on a pair of cut off jean shorts...

Complicating things even more was the fact that I had forgotten about Mrs. Chronically Insane's hair appointment. No one stands between Mrs. Chronically Insane and her getting her hairs did!

Her appointment was in an hour - and I was in Evanston, in rush hour traffic, and about an hour away from home. I drove home as fast as I could to take over with the kids. She decided to take Girl, and the 2 of them raced off to her appointment.

15 minutes later, she called me in tears, to tell me the stylist didn't show up that day and they had cancelled her appointment - but neglected to inform her of that. My wife doesn't often get her hair done and she had made this appointment over a month before.

She decided a small shopping spree was in order to make her feel better... I disagreed, but didn't have the heart to tell her so.

Have I mentioned I am the nicest and most patient guy in the world??

I'm Having A Hard Time Making Lemonade

If nothing else, I always try to look on the brighter side of things, to find the silver lining... But lately, life just seems to be handing me a lot more lemons than I know what to do with.

I have definitely had rougher patches in my life, it's just that I notice what seems to be a steady degradation in things in general.

Metra has been consistently later each morning and the bus drivers consistently slower. Where before, I was arriving to work by 8:30 each morning, now I'm arriving at work at 8:45 to 8:50. I haven't changed my routine at all.

I have been trying to exercise more and eat healthier - and yet my waistline is expanding a little more every month.

The weather has become increasingly unpredictable. Yesterday was 50 degrees and mild. Today it's in the 30's and we're having hurricane force winds.

The battery life in my mp3 player isn't what it used to be. I used to get 3 days on one charge - now I'm lucky to get 1 day. It's just awful!

My little pity party came to a climax last night as I sat in my Lazyboy ( which is only 2 months old and has developed a squeak ) watching History Channel. The program that was on was explaining how for centuries, even millenia, people have been accurately predicting certain cataclysmic events such as the Bubonic plague, the World Wars, the terrorist attack on New York, the terrorist attack in London, Hurricane Katrina and much, much more!

One such terrible, earth shattering event has been predicted for 2012 - Dooms Day.

Perhaps the most disheartening part of all this, was the prediction of how a large portion of the world once lived in will one day be completely submerged by water. The narrator immediately launched into a series of scientific facts supporting this theory by explaining how global warming is responsible for the polar ice caps melting at a rate faster than ever recorded before. The more the earth warms, the more it tips on its axis causing the alignment of the planets to get thrown out of whack.
In short - one of the planets will end up hurdling towards the Sun destined for certain destruction - and chances are it's the one closest to the Sun. Hmmm... let's see - who would that be???

I've had Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth" sitting next to my television for 2 weeks now and I still haven't gotten the courage up to watch it. I think I'll be waiting at least another 2 weeks before I do...

It's Pronounced Pia-nist

After a few hours of pushing slush across my driveway Sunday morning and nearly suffering a heart attack - my wife decided it would be a nice thing for me to get her and the kids out of the house for awhile.
There is a partially vacant mall about 15 minutes from our home that we decided to be the perfect place to let them stretch their legs, run around and crash into people and things. It has a play area, a Mrs. Field's Cookies stand and a Von Maur... What more does a family of 4 require in a mall?

Girl decided a spin on the 25 cents a minute all the bacteria you want for free motorcycle ride just inside the entrance of the mall was in order - so we complied. About 7 quarters later it was time to move on to where the really big germs hang out - the play area. For those of you unfamiliar with malls and the children's play areas with "soft" jungle gyms most malls possess inside of them - welcome to America... I hope you can stay awhile. For the rest of you - you'll understand what I mean when I say this play area is a 4 handywipe play area. My skin started crawling within 50 yards of it.
Girl made a dash for the shoe cubby and started peeling off her sneakers immediately. The Boy caught the scent of a few other rugrats and I was no longer able to restrain him, he wrestled his way from my grip and toddled off into "the swamp" after his sister.
It took 30 seconds for my boy to walk up to the nearest kid and rip the pacifier right from her mouth and stick it in his.
Yep - that's my boy.
My wife reacted pretty quickly - but not as quick as the other kid's mom... We got that "who the hell's brat is that?" look from her. Wisely, Mrs. Chronically Insane decided to remove our son from the play area before he started taking kids' wallets.

Our daughter remained in the play area for a few more minutes while we wiped boys tongue, face, hands and arms off with antibacterial wipes - all to his great displeasure.

It was finally time to do a bit of shopping. We are going on vacation next month and my wife needs some good walking shoes - so we decided to look at what Von Maur had to choose from. As we entered the store, piano music could be heard drifting upwards from the first floor. I took Girl to the railing and we looked down.

"Hmmm - a live pianist" I muttered half to myself, surprised this place still did something like that.

In a voice audible to all passersby, Von Maur patrons and staff, and very possibly the pianist herself - my daughter let loose with "What's a Penis?!"

Well there it was - the question no dad wants to explain to his little girl. And there I was - center stage, with at least 20 people who stopped what they were doing to observe how I'd handle the situation.
I have to blame myself for not seeing this coming ahead of time. I should have just said "Wow! A person playing the piano"... but it was too late.
I had to decide whether to head for the nearest exit with my hand over my daughter's mouth and my head down, or whether to head for the nearest exit with my hand over my daughter's mouth and my head down.

So there we were just outside the nearest exit - I had decided to avoid her question altogether and was trying to explain that she had mispronounced the word "pianist".

"I thought it was penis" she said again.

"Please stop saying that word" I begged. That only encouraged her to say it more...

A few more minutes passed of me trying to teach Girl the pronunciation of "pianist" and her insisting it be pronounced "penis".
My wife had a go at it, stressing the "A" sound - like "pia-a-a-anist" - but to no avail.

We finally decided that rather than sit there and argue with her or explain to her the difference between a musician and the male sexual organ, it was much less embarrassing for us right now if Girl simply thinks that anyone who plays the piano is a penis...

Fecal Matter And The Father-In-Law

One of my least favorite things to do is asking my wife's dad for help. He is always there whenever we need help, but his help usually comes with a price - my pride...
He and I get along really well, we've gone fishing and hunting together several times and each time I've returned alive. It's just that we don't often see eye to eye when it comes to our method of doing home repairs.

My father-in-law is the Alpha male. He knows everything about everything and isn't afraid to tell you that. "No one tells K-dog what to do but K-dog" is one of his favorite things to say. Definitely one of the more confident people I've ever known - he can come across as intimidating if you don't know him well.

I'm cut from a slightly different mold. I am the type of person who knows very little about anything and am overly cautious and take my time when it comes to doing projects around my home.

Whenever he and I get together on a project - he typically designates me his "gopher" right from the start, which can be a little humiliating, because he doesn't have the patience for me to figure things out.
I truly believe he thinks I am more inept at doing home repairs than my 6 year old daughter. I have actually asked for his help on projects before - and arrived home to find out he had already done it himself while I wasn't home.

Well - this weekend the sewer got all funky in our home. Every time the toilet upstairs flushed - there was a good chance that whatever got flushed was going to make an appearance in the toilet downstairs. Things really got serious a few nights ago when the basement toilet started growling in the middle of the night.

I was foolish enough to mention to Mrs. Chronically Insane that I would attempt to clear the blockage in the sewer myself - I had seen it done before and felt fairly confident that I could take care of the problem.

She disagreed.

I'm certain she had visions of raw sewage spewing from the pipe in our basement and me flopping around like a fish all over the basement floor.
The call was placed to my father-in-law.
He would be there on Sunday morning to take care of the sewage problem.



Sunday morning arrived and I rushed around the house to get my sorry excuse for a tool collection together.

K-dog arrived with the sewer auger and seemed to be in a rather amiable mood. I actually lifted my head and looked him in the eyes to see if he'd growl at me and he didn't...

We took the cap off the sewer and quickly got to work.

"Hand me a screw driver" he said, "I have to switch heads on the auger".

No problem - I handed him my cordless screwdriver.

"Not that! I need a REAL screwdriver" he said.

Damn it! "Here we go" I thought. I quickly scrambled through my tool box to find a screwdriver and there wasn't one. I dashed off to the garage to find one when I heard him grumble "How can you not know where a screwdriver is..."

I grabbed a screwdriver from my workbench and ran back to the basement to find my father-in-law pounding away at the head of the sewer auger with my paint scraper.

"That's okay - I'll just buy another paint scraper" I said as I handed him the screwdriver.

He just looked at me.
I knew I had broken an unwritten code by snapping off to the Alpha, and I hoped he wouldn't lift his leg to pee on me.

We got back to work on the sewer clog.
The auger is equipped with a small motor and a switch that directs the cable forward or backwards as it snakes it's way through the pipe.
My job was to press the switch in whichever direction K-dog told me to while he manually fed the cable into the sewer pipe.

Simple enough...

"Move it forward a little" he said.

I switched the motor forward.

"No! I mean move the whole thing forward towards me! Bring the auger closer to the pipe!"

Good Lord. I couldn't do a fucking thing right... I moved the auger closer to him and the pipe while he pressed the button to spin the cable and splashed us both with nasty sewer water.
After a few minutes of this, we had accumulated a nice sized puddle of sewer water on the basement floor, which we were standing in the middle of.

We cleared out the pipe which had been clogged with tree roots - those too were lying on my basement floor.

"You're going to have to clean this up now" he said.

"Uh - yeah" I replied.

He just looked at me again.

"I'm going upstairs to say Hi to my grandkids then I have to leave" he said as he headed towards the stairs.

I followed him to the top of the stairs where I watched him wipe his shoes on the rug then take a step towards the carpet.

"Wait!!" I yelled. "Take your shoes off man! Don't walk across the floor like that!"

The words escaped me before I realized what I was doing. I had just confronted the Alpha male...

"Why?!" he snapped back.

"You have been walking in shit water for the last 45 minutes and now your ready to track that across the floor where the kids play. Please take off your shoes" I demanded.

He took off his shoes and shook his head.

"It's your poop - I don't see the big deal" he replied.

K-dog hugged the kids, then proceeded to the upstairs bathroom and shut the door behind him.
He resurfaced about 5 minutes later and declared our plumbing was up to his standards with "Well - if that didn't clog it..." then left.

I had stood up to K-dog and so had the plumbing.

Overall - a pretty good day.

Another Thing My Wife Would Never Let Me Do...

Not that I'm jealous of the lifestyle a swingin' single guy gets to live as compared to the lifestyle I lead... Okay - maybe a little jealous...
Afterall - it's babes in nurse's uniforms.


Sweet asses and hamburgers.
By Dublin O'Shea

I never would've thought that beer, giant hamburgers, and sexy nurses would go so well together. Maybe you are of the same mind. Well, I'm here to tell you that you could not be more wrong.

I'm not much for places like Hooters or strip clubs. Sure, I've been around the block a few times. I've even worked the corner a time or two. And I can't say I've never had a lapdance. I can't even say I've never given a lapdance. But that's a story for another day. My point is that these places hold no interest for me anymore.

Hooter's wings just aren't that good. Ray's Pizza, The Dubliner, and Barwinkles have wings that are so good, it'll make you want to smack your mother.

And strip bars are lame. Sure there's lots of naked boobs. But $10 cover charges and $6 beers just ain't worth it. Besides, I'm not allowed to go anyway. I'm engaged. That should explain it.

But in spite of the lack of enjoyment I get from these establishments, I went with some friends to a little place called the Heart-Attack Grill. Let me paint you a brief mental picture. Who knows, you might want to fly to Phoenix just to see it in real life.

Imagine a plaza with a small restaurant. Then imagine 3 types of beer (Bud light, Corona, and a hometown fave, Kiltlifter). Now I chose the latter. Not only because I think Bud light and Corona aren't worth drinking, but also because Kiltlifter has more booze per bottle. And it's called Kilt-lifter. And if that isn't a winner, then frankly, I have no idea what is.

So we have a small joint, with beer. So far so good. Let's add food options. You can order a Single burger, a Double-bypass burger, a Triple-bypass burger, and a Quadruple-bypass burger. (note that the Heart-Attack Grill sells a Quadruple-bypass burger. Yep. Good times.) And just so you know, the single is a 1/2 pound of meat. I'm sure you can do the rest of the math.

Oh, and you can get fries. These are no ordinary fries, but these are potatoes fried in 100% LARD! Trans-fats galore. Oh boy.. now that's some eatin'!.

And I think you can order a soda or water instead of beer, but only if you're a pussy.

So to recap, we have giant f-ing burgers, lard-covered fries, and beer. This is my own personal wet dream. Because dammit, the beer was good, the fries tasty, and I swear it was the best flippin burger I've ever had.

And for dessert, every employee was a chick in a nurses outfit. If I could choose my own personal heaven, I think this would be it. Not that I need chicks in nurses outfits... but to be honest... nurses outfits are hot. Ladies, keep this in mind. Nurse outfit = hot. Enough said. (mostly because I'll be in deep shiesse if I don't stop talking about it)

Needless to say, this place is a gold mine. Great burgers, beer, and nurses outfits. I wish I would've come up with the idea. I'd be rich by now. And if you're ever in the Tempe, AZ area, head over to Warner & Kyrene and check it out. You won't be disappointed.

Sweet Georgia Brown. That was a tasty burger.

The Week In Rearview

This Guy Is A Dick
Imagine you're a skinny little 11 year old twirp.
Now imagine you are competing in a wrestling match with another 11 year old and getting your ass kicked. You're flopping around the mat like a fish and getting batted around, then you begin whimpering and cringing in pain as your competition overpowers you and starts to pin you to the mat.
You're feeling powerless and humiliated and things just can't get much worse - then your dad does this...

Awesome!


Denver Happy God Hates New York Now

11 feet of snow? That's unbefuckinglievable!

















Vagina Is WAY Cooler Than Originally Thought

Don't take my word for it - check out what this doctor had to say about the vagina, on Oprah the other day...





Interview with Dr. Oz on Oprah





Comparing the vagina to a household appliance? Genius.




Tim Hardaway Has Really Good Gaydar
















"What? All I said is that I hate all gay people!"

Don't misunderstand him... he doesn't hate all gay people - just the ones who have sexual intercourse with people of the same sex.

It's not his fault though - he's just Homophobic...

It Begins...

Sibling conflicts are kind of a bitch. My brothers and I always seemed to be competing for the attention of my parents while growing up and never managed to get along very well until adulthood. It made for some difficult times as a kid and there are still a few emotional scars from those years. That is why Mrs. Chronically Insane and I are planning to take every possible measure to avoid our children experiencing anything like that.

It became apparent to us a few nights ago, however, that there may not be an awful lot you can do to prevent it...

The Boy just turned 10 months old, and celebrated by going completely bi-pedal.
There was no persuading him otherwise.
The house is as "baby proofed" as it's going to get for now with plastic plugs in all the electrical outlets, door stoppers on all cabinets, and child gates with pillows at the stairs and kitchen doorway. He has perfected walking - just not stopping...

We were getting the kids ready for bed - my wife was taking care of Girl's last minute snack request in the kitchen, while I got the task of wrangling The Boy and hog-tying him while trying to change his diaper. This is my least favorite time of every day.
You see - God decided to grant The Boy superhuman strength in his legs... I've taken to wearing a cup when I change his diaper because, on more than a few occasions, he has kicked me in the balls harder than any guy ever did when I played soccer.
Seriously - his feet are like highly trained, heat seeking nut kickers.

Well - I had finally gotten him into position on the floor and adequately distracted with an empty water bottle. I started to change his diaper and get ready to put on his pajamas - when things turned ugly.
I was preparing to place the clean diaper on him when he suddenly threw the water bottle at my face. Naturally, my first reaction was to grab for the water bottle.
This was exactly what The Boy had anticipated.
While I was distracted with protecting my face - he ninja kicked me in the nuts!
I went down like a bag of concrete...

When I came to - I remember looking up to see a naked baby ass toddling away from me at maximum cruising speed.
My cries for help went unheeded at first.

"Naked baby - Naked baby..." I managed to squeak out.

I took a deep and painful breath and yelled out - "He got away!!! Help!"

The first person to come to my aid was Girl. She is useless at baby wrangling...

By this time I had staggered to my feet, but was stooped over, holding tightly my nether region, and trying to walk as quickly as I could.

"Someone hurry! He is going to pee" I heard Girl yell.

Mrs. Chronically Insane hurried out of the kitchen - but it was too late.

There, standing in the middle of the living room floor, was The Boy in all his glory taking a whiz on my daughter's Easter Bunny hat.

"My hat!! He's peeing on my hat!!" she cried.

Now - wiser and more experienced parents may not have stood there and laughed - but it really seemed like the appropriate reaction at the moment. I wasn't certain what was more funny at the time - watching my boy pee all over my daughter's hat on the floor or watching my daughter wrestle with the decision of whether or not she should reach into the puddle of pee (and the line of fire) to rescue her beloved Easter Bunny hat.

It may not have been a deliberate action on his part, but I do recall a certain little 6 year old girl tormenting her 10 month old brother by placing the pink bunny hat on his head only a day earlier...

A little while later, The Boy properly diapered, Girl's tears dried, the pee cleaned up, pink bunny hat disposed of, and the kids in bed, my wife and I just sat on the couch and looked at each other. We seemed to realize instantly what the other was thinking...

"Our hands are much fuller than we'd realized."

I'm Super Depressed...

It's Wednesday morning, and I'm slowly beginning to drag myself out of this funk I've been in...
The Cubs had a shitty season, the Tigers lost the World Series, Michigan lost the Rose Bowl, and now the Bears lost the Super Bowl - a Super Bowl fraught with some pretty terrible moments.

The first half had a few good moments for the Bears - a 92 yard return from Devin Hester and Rex threw a touchdown to Musin Muhammad... but going into half time I had a really bad feeling in my stomach - and it wasn't all the chili dip I'd been eating.

The commercials were mediocre at best, and the half time performance by Prince was okay - I'm not a huge fan of his - but at least it was a genuine performance.
My favorite part, however, was when they raised that curtain in front of him while he did his guitar solo and it looked like he had a huge boner... I know I'm not the only person who thought that.

It was back to the game and the most painful half I've had to endure in a long time.
We all know what happened next - so there is no point in describing it much further... just that Rex Grossman and Steve Bartman are roommates somewhere in Florida today.

So yeah - I'm feeling pretty blue still. It sucks to watch your favorite teams lose all the time and never win the "big game". It's kinda like going on a date with a supermodel - then walking in on her and some other dude having sex in the bathroom.
It just makes you feel dirty...

It's Time To Crown Their Asses!

For all you doubters and naysayers out there - I have this to say to you...

They is, in fact, who we thought they was...

GO BEARS!!!!

I Can't Figure It Out... Sasquatch Make Boy Sleepy??

I hate when I can't figure something out.
I can't rest until I've figured out the problem I've been working on at work, or at least until someone helps me figure it out.

What is worse is listening to someone prattle on and on about how they have a problem they can't figure out - but you've already read this far, so you might as well finish reading...

My son is almost 10 months old and still won't sleep through the night.
Every person I have ever spoken with who has kids, tells me that their children were ALWAYS sleeping through the night by at least 6 - 8 months old.

Those people are jerks and I hate them.

Mrs. Chronically Insane and I have tried everything.
We put him to bed at 8 or 9 every night and he wakes up at 12:30am, 1:50am, and 2:30am every night.

We have tried placing him to bed later - at like 10 or 11. He still wakes up at 12:30am,1:50am and 2:30am.

We've tried feeding him baby food right before putting him to bed, and not feeding him baby food right before putting him to bed - he still wakes up at 12:30am, 1:50am and 2:30am.

We've tried putting him in bed with us to sleep - but he still wakes up at 12:30am, 1:50am and 2:30am.

People have told us to feed him baby cereal mixed with formula just before putting him to bed. Yep - same thing...

It sucks.

Well - last night my wife decided to go shopping with the neighbor rather than making my favorite supper of Blueberry pancakes and sausages. I was alright with that though because she has to watch the kids at home during the day and needs to get out of the house.
She took Girl and I kept The Boy - I figure we'd have a little father/son bonding time.

We worked on his walking skills for a while, until he'd fall... then he worked on his crying skills. I'd tell him that he was weak and that real men don't cry when they fall down.
He seemed to take this to heart. He got back up and walked across the kitchen with out any help. I was proud - but then started thinking of how much it's going to suck to have a 10 month old toddling around the house. I gently knocked him back to the floor and decided to not encourage him any more...

We played on the floor some more. We banged on a drum for a while, rolled a ball around the house, pulled books off the book shelf, and chewed on the edge of the television.
It was a good time.
Finally at around 8 o'clock he seemed to hit the wall... He just laid in the middle of the floor and whined. This is his way of telling us it's "sleepy time".

I changed his diaper, put on his pajamas and fed him a bottle. Then we sat in the rocking chair and watched a documentary on Discovery channel about Sasquatch.
(It looks like Sasquatch may not be real...)
He fell asleep in my arms and I put him to bed around 8:30. This is our normal routine except for the fact that my wife and daughter weren't home.

They got back from shopping at 9 - we talked a little, then we all went to bed.

I was amazed at 5:45 this morning when I woke up to my alarm!
My immediate reaction was that something must be wrong... I probably set my alarm for the wrong time - but I got up and double checked the clock and it really was 5:45!!
I returned to bed to share my excitement with Mrs. Chronically Insane...

"The Boy slept through the night!! He did it finally!!" I told her.

"Please be quiet and go get ready for work... and don't be noisy - I want to sleep some more" was her reply.

Well - I was excited...
I got ready for work and tried to figure out what we did different to make him sleep through the night. We didn't really change our routine much.

Could it have been watching Sasquatches on television?
Could it have been not having my wife and daughter home when I put him to bed?

Well - tonight I plan to find out by recreating the exact same scenario as last night.
I just have to figure out a way to get more Sasquatches and less wife and daughter for a few hours...

Dear Rude Guy On The Train,

You really weirded me out yesterday... and I kinda think you're a douchebag.

You sat down in front of me, and I immediately smelled you. It was fart. That really isn't cool - and if you aren't going to apologize, at least look around as if to blame someone else for it...

The awful stench from your lunch had finally dissipated when an elderly woman came along looking for a seat. She kindly asked you to remove your bag from next to you so she could have the last seat available in our train car.
You refused.
Many of your fellow riders, including myself, stared at you in disbelief.
She was walking with a fucking cane man!
She just shook her head and started to walk away when another passenger gave up his seat for her.
I'm not saying that at that precise moment I wanted to cut off your balls and shove them down your throat... it may have been a few moments later that I felt like doing that.

Next, I noticed you reach for your mobile phone. I sensed that this was going to be a bad ride home...
You spoke, in your native tongue, into the phone at an audible range far too loud for use on the train. I had my headphones on, turned my music up as high as I could tolerate - but still heard every part of your conversation. This lasted nearly the entire train ride.

Just when I thought things couldn't get much more annoying, you produced a McDonald's cheeseburger and french fries from your bag.
Oh Damn you! You son of a bitch!
I watched you eye the burger and fries for almost a minute as though they may have been your last meal... You slowly unwrapped the burger and began, what appeared to be, making out with the sandwich - stopping for only a few seconds to shout something into your phone. You managed to put that burger away in the most disgusting fashion imaginable.
I'll not be eating McDonald's for a very, very long time.

As you arrived at your stop, you began packing away your things and putting on your coat and hat. While doing this you belched, then exhaled a long, exaggerated breath.

I'm neither a confrontational nor violent person, but I had the overwhelming urge to at least pull your underwear up your back and over your head, then kick you while you exited the train, sending you tumbling down the steps and onto the platform.
I'm pretty much hating you right now, and feel that you're a mostly worthless individual.

Yours Truly,
Chronically Insane