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So is this the new thing for middle aged white dudes? Have I stumbled upon the latest iteration of the proverbial mullet?
Yesterday while on my quick 53.5 mile commute to work, something peculiar caught my eye. So, there’s this guy, all suit and tie and slicked-back cocksure hair in his shiny Cadillac SRX.
- Yup. That’s right. The one that’s a *station wagon*
Yes, he’s Mr. Professional. He’s got a career in overdrive, a luxury car, and a six-figure paycheck. He’s all business. But, wait a minute…what’s that? What did I see back there poking out of the trailer hitch? Is that…nooooo. Well, I’ll be dipped in shit. Gollllly. It is a Harley Davidson hatch cover on the back of this straight laced, professional yuppie mobile.
"Yeah. I'm born to run. Shit! @#$&* pothole made me spill my latte all over the TPS reports."
You know what. I bet this guy is a three martini freaking barrel of monkeys after some racquetball. Oh, boy. Just wait until Roger is “off the clock!”
So, instead of the wash-and-go mullet we now have the three layers of the modern business man:
Layers. Kinda like Shrek.
If this truly is the new mullet, I long for the days of Billy Ray Cyrus.
Before there was ever a party in the USA, the Cyrus family was known for parties in the back. Never forget.
So, Crazy Girl, at the wizended age of 5, has it all figured out. If you’ve ever met the girl, she’s a pint-sized, iron-willed creature when she wants to be. And once she’s made a decision, by God, she’s made it, and damn whomever thinks they can change her mind.
A commendable character trait for an independent adult. A real pain in the ass for parents.
That being said, the other day Crazy came home to declare that she is going to marry a certain lad in her class. Shortly thereafter it was declared said young man would sire my grandchildren.
Not so bad. I can take news of that nature from a 5 year old without therapy or illegally obtained pills. Pretty much a stiff quarter barrel of clear liquor does the trick.
That should do for starters.
Well, move it along a few weeks and Crazy comes home from school to declare that she took the lad aside and informed him that he was going to marry her and be the daddy or her babies. What’s more, he agreed.
Now, my first reaction, other than, “You did — wait, what the f…ohmygodohmygodohmygod…I can’t deal with this right now…<jams fingers in ears> ahhyahyahyahyahyahyahyah…I am not listening to Jeffrey…” was one of a sort of ill-conceived pride. Damn right, I was thinking. That’s my girl. Pick one guy, tell him what the deal is, and, BAM!, lock that shit down. No need for all those other assholes to come around trying to spit game.
Deep breath…and…relax…
…
…
…
And then it hit me like one of those That’s So Raven moments.
Sidebar: Yes, I have young daughters. I have seen more episodes of “That’s So Raven” then I care to stop suppressing the memories of. Like you haven’t (<– Inside joke. Yay!).
The forward girl. The girl that walks up to a guy and tells him exactly what is what.
I know that girl. I’ve been approached by that girl. Hell, time was, I liked that girl. At a kegger, I actively sought that girl. It made things so less complicated.
Also, if she throws herself all into this dude, sure it’s cute now but what about when she’s 13? Or 18? Or 22? What if the guy doesn’t feel the same way and leads her on? What if he treats her like shit because he knows she’ll always be there? What if I miss her wedding to an actual good guy because I’m serving 15 to life in Jackson State Prison for taking a tire iron to the dude that strung her along and made her cry?
On the plus side, I would be a folk hero to every inmate with a daughter, so anal rape should be at a minimum.
I suppose the good news is this kid Crazy is, err, crazy for basically appears to be a good kid, which is not to say I haven’t been tempted to jab a finger in his direction from across the playroom at school and administer a “you watch your ass, son” look. And it’s not like they’re actually going to get married, right?
But, c’mon now, this shit below has got to stop.
FML...
So…two days later, this happened.
- It’s like Gizmo up in this. Shit be multiplying.
To make matters worse, the Hannah Montana poster was taken down, folded neatly and stuffed in the trash.
Ish just got real, yo.
And so it begins….
I came home from work the other night to find this on the wall in Weirdo’s bedroom.
"Look what I used my Book Fair money for, daddy."
Effing kill me now.
"Look what I am spending your college fund on, Weirdo."
Oh how the people are regaling me with their tales of mirth