This is why you hug your daughters every single day and tell them how special they are. You don’t want to be on the posting bail side of this situation.
I also sooooo love the tags: arrested, knives, pregnant teen. It’s like playing the home version of “Taboo: High School Drop-Outs” edition.
And then there’s this:
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.
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.
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:
If this truly is the new mullet, I long for the days of Billy Ray Cyrus.
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.
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.
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?
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.
So…two days later, this happened.
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.
Effing kill me now.
I think 90 percent of the trauma and drama (llama baby mama chicken shawarma) in my life happens at my dinner table. With as much bad shit that goes down there, you’d think I wouldn’t be such a fat ass because I would willingly skip meals.
I’ll have you know I’m a fat ass because I live a sedentary lifestyle, thank you very much.
So, anyhow, I am sitting – what? I can’t just gloss over the fact that I haven’t written a blog post in a year? (sigh) Ok, fine. Let me get you up to speed.
I’m older, more out of shape and, because good things come in threes, losing my hair. Weirdo is a year older and therefore developed that fine Christian trait known as shame of one’s own nudity (gift horse, I look not in thy mouth). Crazy has become self-aware and is tactically eroding the sanity of her mother and me with her iron will. As for Mrs. Off the Pole, talking about her on this blog pretty much guarantees me I won’t get laid for a very long time, so let’s just say she’s fine, fancy and free, and leave it at that, shall we?
May I continue now, pricks?
So, I’m sitting at dinner with the fam. Crazy is seated to my left (and by seated, I mean she’s standing on her chair…because that’s what she does). Next to her plate is a small pile of almonds.
Suddenly Crazy picks up two almonds, a euphoric expression spreads across her face and she swishes wistfully back and forth as she places them on her chin.
In shock, I turn to my wife and exclaim – no, demand, “Why is she putting nuts on her chin?” I do this not only because, umm, well, NO. Not my babies. But also because I tried pulling off that little joke once (“Look, hon. My nuts are on your chin.” Tee hee, tee hee) and let’s just say after that my “nuts” didn’t go anywhere near her for a spell.
Tangent: Anyone have a line on just how long a “spell” technically is? How about its duration in relation to a “coon’s age?”
I am horrified, but my wife simply explains that Crazy “loves her almonds so she’s giving them a hug.”
I bullshit you not. She is giving her almonds a hug.
Now, this should have been adorable….had it been with Chicken McNuggets or green beans or goddam pecan pie (and, yes, pecan pie should be damned by God), but nuts? That’s just too effing weird for me to find the innocent cuteness in it.
Add it to my list of hang-ups…which add to my hangovers.
Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there enjoying our day. This is the day our children reaffirm that we are doing the right things to keep them growing in the right direction.
Give ’em a hug, dads, especially your daughters. I’m sure there is a scientific study somewhere that says if you hug them more they are less likely to become whores and prostitutes.
Or maybe I just listen to the Howard Stern Show too much…
Anywho, I got some nifty – and interesting – stuff from the kids. Let’s start with the cards.
As usual, the kids were given free reign to pick whichever card they want and the results, although highly enjoyable, raised an eyebrow.
Here we see Weirdo went with a slightly religious card. At 6, she isn’t too religious and sort of in that “Jesus is Magic” phase where she doesn’t get it. And church is basically a time to wave at friends and color. Nevertheless, it expresses her thanks for having a great daddy so a solid effort all around. I’m touched.
Now we move on to Crazy. At 3, you’re pretty much guaranteed she’s gonna pick whichever one has the picture she likes most. Probably a kitten or doggy. Maybe a dinosaur like Weirdo’s. Put, as she is crazy (hence “Crazy”), I Get this.
She loves the life we’ve built together. Emmm, ok. Sure. I can get with that, I suppose. The text inside however about the special love we share can probably get me arrested in all but about 3 states, so I’ll just stop here.
Lastly, I got a giant cookie cake from Mrs. Fields. It was designed by Weirdo, I’m told. My big girl knows her daddy well because she wanted it in green and white, the colors of her daddy’s alma mater, Michigan State.
Thank for another special Father’s Day, kids! Daddy loves you! So much in fact I’m never going to let you near a boy…even the one who declared his crush on Weirdo on the last day of school (another day, folks…)
Happy Father’s Day, Dads! Keep fighting the good fight!
Sorry I have been away for so long. Hasn’t been for a lack of content but rather for a lack of time. I spoke with several of my “fans” over the past week who are bugging me for an update and I know I owe you one.
I’m guest blogging on the DIFF blog again today (www.WhatsTheDIFF.com), and although it’s not a funny story about the horrors of life that is being a father of girls, it is a deeply personal story that I felt I had to share about someone important in my life who truly has been “the DIFF” in hundreds of others.
If you are so inclined, head on over and check it out, and I promise some tales of hilarity and misery in the very near future: http://kauf.in/795q35.