Interview with a Pre-K-er
I stole the general concept of an interview with M from my good friend, Maddie Powell’s blog, so please pay her site a visit as well (madpo dot blogspot dot com). That being said, hopefully it reads with as much fun as I had interviewing my baby girl. Enjoy.
1. How does Daddy make you laugh?
“When you dance in the kitchen with our dress-up clothes and toy guitars” (Don’t even think that you sick bastards will be seeing any photo evidence of this!)
2. How tall is Daddy?
“7 feet tall” (This was her scientific response after looking me up and down for at least 30 seconds)
The power couple and their...recent "acquisition"
3. If you become famous, what will it be for?
“A famous singer like Justin Bieber” (God help us all…)
4. Who is your favorite Singer?
“Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift” (Those two
should hook up…they would be the caucasian version of Jay-Z & Beyoncé)
5. What is Daddy really good at?
“Making corn dogs” (Seriously? That’s what I am noted for? She must be so proud…Guessing she will be “sick” on bring-dad-to-school day)
6. What is Daddy not good at?
“Saying bad words” (Bullshit. What the fuck is she even fucking saying!)
Klu Klux Kids
7. How are you and Daddy the same?
“We both have light skin” (Wow! Silly racist, the Klan ain’t for kids)
8. Who is the President?
That's Mr President to you
“Has George Hamilton died? I think it’s George Hamilton” (WTF?)
9. And where does George Hamilton live?
“In the White House in George Washington” (This is what we get with her private school tuition)
10. Do you think that people have been to the moon?
“NO!” ( emphatically stated as if I were stupid to even ask that question…My little conspiracy theorist)
11. What are hotdogs made of?
I don't see any milk in there...
“Milk and chewy stuff ” (Yeah…keep tellin’ yourself that, sister…In fact, why don’t you cram another “milk dog” into your mouth while I tell you what they’re really made of)
12. How do you feel about the current gas prices?
“I think it’s not so much money” (I’ll show you not so much money when your allowance suddenly dries up)
At this point, we were having so much fun that I had to keep going with her. Here are a few responses from our word association game in which I would say a word and M would have to follow-up with the first thing that came to her mind…She is like the Karl Pilkington of the pre-K community…
Led Zeppelin: Bread
Kanye: Ballerina
Twisted Sister: Mermaid
The Beatles: Lady Bugs
Colonoscopy: Princess
So, now you have all been inside the mind of a 5 year-old. It’s not roomy, but there sure is a lot going on in there. I had so much fun doing this with M that I am sure to do it again. Perhaps you all should suggest topics and I will get the “expert” opinions of M & b. Until then, thanks for reading. I am going go get my David Carradine on!
Time’s Closet
Strap on your cone-shaped bras and come rummage through Time’s closet in my latest article for The Music Initiative. Page 18-19
It’s Holiday Season Again: Christmas…Execution Style
I am proud (or embarrassed) to present the final installment of the Holiday Season Series. So sit back, drop your pants, tighten that belt around your neck one more notch and try not to lose conciousness before you “finish”.
Ah Christmas, the culmination of a long journey that is the holiday season. Complete with enough glitz and glam to impress even little bearded baby Jesus, who just happens to share a fake birthday with our favorite day to celebrate capitalism. It’s funny really when you take a step back and look at how we have bastardized what was once a holy day to many. Frankincense and Myrrh have been replaced with PS3 & iPad. Saint Nicholas is now a fat ass cookie-gobbling home invader, and the traditional nativity scene now comes with Yoda as the baby Jesus. But hey, at least we are winning the war on terror… Suck on that Bin Ladin! However, I admit that I, too am to blame for the capitalization of Christmas, but screw it, I like blinky lights and boxes wrapped with shiny paper just as much as the next guy, which brings us to Christmas and my family.
I have purposely waited 2 months to publish this entry because it has taken this long to recover. I still shutter at the mere thought of a Christmas tree. Once upon a time Christmas could quite possibly have been my most favorite time of year. My folks were blessed with the good fortune to be able to afford to buy my sister and me pretty much anything we asked for, and believe me, we asked for a lot. I think at one time I had enough G.I. Joe paraphernalia to invade a small country and my sister had a enough Barbie dolls to recreate Hugh Hefner’s wildest Playboy Mansion shindig…that is until we turned all of those plastic bitches into Pope-shredding Sinead O’Connor doppelgangers! It’s safe to say that my sis and I loved us some Christmas.
Fast forward from prepubescent, kung fu grip-enthusiast to 37 years old, married with kids. Now I am getting a glimpse behind the shimmering, happy happy-joy joy facade that is Christmas and I don’t like what I see. I used to look under the ole Christmas tree and I was instantly transformed into a present-hoarding Gollum, or Smeagolif you prefer…my precious…Now when I look under that same tree I see boxes wrapped in my money and an ever-worsening toy infestation problem in our home.
Looks more like my sister than me
I don’t know how my folks did it. It seems like my sis and I had a ton of toys and somehow my folks managed to keep the toys from taking over their home. I can’t walk through my house now without stepping on a Zooble (WTF is a Zooble??), or having to clear the furniture of stuffed animals and books just to sit down. In fact, we once had a guest room in our house that is now overrun with Elmo and his gang of Asian-made marauders. And this Christmas is no exception.
Christmas Eve: My House
Since Francine, our Elf on The Shelf, came to live with us a couple of years ago, we have ceased to travel for Christmas. The original thought of setting up the Santa crime scene was endearing…until we realized that “some assembly required” means that you will spend endless hours putting together toys that your kids will play with for about an hour on Christmas morning. Those same toys are never to be seen again once they are shuttled off to the confines of Elmo’s World…er the playroom. Still, with the dexterity of South American sweat shop workers we assemble toy after toy. We are about half-way through a handle of Crown when I notice that the decals are going on a bit crooked, but screw it, we are on a mission and we will not be delayed by drunken decal-ing! It is about midnight and I am putting the finishing touches on Lil B’s new basketball goal when in walks a groggy M. We just freeze like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar (who the hell has an actual cookie jar?). The wife suddenly breaks herself from the Crown-induced haze and shields M’s eyes from the harsh reality as she whisks her back to her bed.
Thank You Roofies Jr.
Amazingly, M has no recollection of waking up that night and is fully surprised on Christmas morning…thank you Rohypnol!- (When simply being an irresponsible parent just isn’t enough)
Christmas morning goes as expected, or at least my hangover-hazed memory tells me that it did. M walks into the room calm and collected. She makes her way through the maze of toys that “Santa” painstakingly set up and she is silently taking inventory. The first thing from her mouth is not, “YAY!” or screams of delight. No, M remembers exactly everything that she asked for and she is mentally scratching each item from the list as she makes her way around the tree. Upon completion of her rounds, she simply looks at us with a sad little face and says, ” I didn’t get the Zhu Zhu Palace”…(WTF is a Zhu Zhu??)
To add to our toy prison overcrowding problems, our kids just happen to have some of the best grandparents in the world. With the undying love of grandparents comes…you guessed it, boxes and boxes of toys arriving almost daily throughout the month of December. My neighbors must think that our house is acting as an overflow distribution center for FedEx. It got so “bad” this year that if there was no box on our porch when we went to check the mail, that my greedy kids thought something was wrong. The toy situation is so bad that we have to cull through the post unwrapping carnage and sneak as many of the toys away as we can to be hidden away and used for bribes during the coming year. (I highly suggest this if you have the room to hide more toys)
Despite the fact that we are prime candidates to make an appearance on Hoarders, this Christmas goes off with little incident. We are thankful and lucky to have such great grandparents and an Elf on the Shelf that knows how to regulate. I am starting to feel the stress of the holidays melt away as we edge ever closer to spring. In fact, I am already making a list of toys to get the kids next Christmas. Actually, my list is not toys, but rather a list of those to be executed. Three guesses as to what bearded, fat-bellied bastard is at the top of that list.
One Down...Now where is that damn Easter Bunny?
Bluesy Blue Blues
http://issuu.com/themusicinitiative/docs/blues
Feeling blue? Come wallow in your bluesy sorrows with us!
Film, Television, and All That Jazz
The not-so-boring history of music in film from the silent era to the mega soundracks of today.
http://www.epaperflip.com/aglaia/viewer.aspx?docid=bbac203fb6de4c2fb851dd6c85ae90cb
It’s Holiday Season Again: Thanksgiving
Okay,
so I promised to complete the holiday series and by GOD I am going to do it! For those of you that have long since put the torturous memory of Thanksgiving out of its misery, I am happy to reopen that wound for you as I am doing so to myself by authoring this very entry.
As is often the case, we opt to travel for Thanksgiving this year. Only this time we are not on a 3-hour tour, we jump in head first and sign up for the 6-hour variety of road trip. Granted, if I roofie the wife and NyQuil the rug rats , I can make that trip in 5 hours flat. This being said, I am fresh out of roofies and at last check we have two wide-awake ankle-biters in the back seat. Begrudgingly, we head off to the windy, treeless prairies of the Texas panhandle.
Based on previous road trips (see http://genericdad.com/2010/09/21/were-no-donner-party/) you all know my children do not do well in the car over long periods of time. Now, in the past we would typically drive thru a fast food joint and scarf down a high calorie, deep-fried mystery meal while I would attempt to distractedly eat and drive. This is coupled with the wife riding reverse cowboy (on her knees in the front seat facing the back seat trying to force the kids to eat food that they don’t want in the first place)…maybe ”Reverse Cowboy” is not the term…In fact, I know it’s not…I have Cinemax ya know. Needless to say, this is not the safest way to transport our precious cargo, so in recent trips we have been stopping at an actual restaurant with actual waiters. This, at the very least, allows the wife and I to enjoy decent food while our kids run around howling like banshees in whatever Small Town, TX eatery we bless with our noisy presence.
The meal goes without incident. I tip the poor 78 year-old woman who had to endure the ear-piercing shrieks of my kids and we are back on the road just as an icy rain starts to fall. Because the kids are somewhat behaving and because they actually ate some lunch we are inclined to let them have some candy while they watch their annoying movies (thank GOD for headphones!). I don’t know if is something that he ate at lunch, car sickness, or something else entirely, but Lil B lets out a painful sounding belch that would put Booger Presley to shame. That air bubble must have been serving as some makeshift cork because as soon as the cork blew, so did Lil B. The kids had each just plowed through a tasty sack of M&Ms, so naturally, what was currently being projectile-vomited all over the back of my seat had the look of a lovely chocolate fountain one might see at a decent reception. The comparison to the reception stops there because this is about the time that the smell hits the front seat. Of course, we are in the middle of nowhere by this time and it’s pouring rain. Luckily we see a roadside stop that we can at least have some cover to get Lil B. out of his Baby Gap Chocolate Fondue gear. Clean as I might, I am not able to rid the vehicle of the scent of chocolate mixed with stomach bile, but some creative directing of the air vents at least keeps the smell in back with the livestock…err kids.
By comparison, the rest of our journey goes swimmingly and we soon find ourselves in the dusty plains of the panhandle on the outskirts of Amarillo. There is not much to do in Amarillo other than binge drink and get pregnant. Since we are already saddled with two fun babies, we opt for binge drinking. We relax and visit with family in the days leading up to the turkey day feast(s).
Our first feast requires a short jaunt to the metropolis of Dumas, a small agribusiness-centered community in which the wife’s family resides. Dumas is filled with good people and…hispanics, but mostly good people and I do not mind our brief visits. It is actually a nice departure from the busyness of Dallas. Things are quiet and simple and there is not much to do and I kind of like it…if only I could get 4G to connect so that I could Facebook and watch internet porn…maybe I don’t like being out in the boonies after all…at least there’s binge drinking…
After a delicious Thanksgiving meal with the wife’s family we are forced to exit rather quickly as we are already running late for our 2nd feast at my folk’s house back in Amarillo. We arrive at my parent’s place just as my family is sitting down to eat. So as not to disappoint, I heap the fixin’s onto my plate as though I had not seen food in days. You can’t show up to mom’s and not eat after she has spent an entire day preparing a meal…So, the wife and I take one for the team and eat our second complete Thanksgiving meal within a two-hour span. I am a fat ass and this is not much of a feat for me to accomplish, but I give the wife credit as she made a great showing at both feasts. I am not positive, but I could swear I hear the sounds of a desperate woman purging her system later that day…it reminds me of high school and for a short time I bask in the nostalgia of my hometown.
The voyage home is uneventful. There is no projectile vomiting, no crying, and no rain. As we listen to an audiobook my mind drifts in and out of the story. My liver and colon wreaking havoc on me for a week’s worth of overeating…and drinking, I am left with a warm sensation knowing that we are blessed with such a great family…nope, that’s not it…I think I just sharted…where the hell is that roadside stop!
It’s Holiday Season Again: Halloween
Let’s face it. Halloween is one of those holidays that people either love or hate. There simply is no middle ground when it comes to All Hallows Eve. As I grow older I find myself in the crossroads of hating and loving Halloween.
When I was a kid I loved all things Halloween. The costumes, the trick-or-treating and especially all of the candy. It was the one time of the year that my folks would let me run loose around the neighborhood soliciting sugar high-enducing treats. My parents were so cool that they didn’t even go through my candy claiming to pull out the unsafe looking pieces while secretly culling out the good stuff for them selves. 
Nope, I was free to tear into every razor blade-infused apple, every drug-laced, unwrapped candy, and even those nasty ass candy corns. Although I have it on good authority that they would sneak into my stash once I finally crashed from my sugar high.
As I grew a little older the trick-or-treating would give way to just running wild through the neighborhood wreaking havoc on people’s Halloween yard art and kicking in the faces of their lovingly carved jack-o-lanterns. Rather than begging door to door for candy I would simply steal the candy of a younger ‘treater. Yes, I know this is wrong, but kids did it to me and by God, I was going to have my revenge. Plus, I couldn’t return home empty-handed and dressed like a zombie.
As I entered the high school scene Halloween would shift gears significantly. For me and my crew it was all about property damage. We would steal pumpkins and drive around hurling our loot at unsuspecting brick mailboxes and parked cars. 
Trick-or-treating would become underage drinking-themed house parties. This trend would continue on into college with the property damage portion of the evening eventually fading away. Call it maturation if you will, but I credit 
binge drinking and girls dressed in slutty costumes. Who wants to toss pumpkins when you can stare at coeds while drinking your way to tossing your cookies just before you pass out on a stranger’s couch. Man, I just realized how much I miss college. These first 3 phases of Halloween are what I always loved about the holiday.
In the years after college the fun would begin to fade. Dressing up for costume parties would become a source of stress to have the most kick-ass costume. Binge drinking would become a liability as we all had jobs and responsibilities. I would also develop a hatred for overaged trick-or-treaters. Why won’t those teenagers just move to the next phase? Get to a party, get to stealing other kids candy, or get to smashing pumpkins. Either way, just get off my porch you greedy little bastards! Essentially, I begin to hate Halloween at this point in life.
Enter marriage and babies and the cycle begins again. This time it’s my children entering phase one of Halloween. It is such a great feeling to see the pure joy on their faces as they are handed a piece of candy from a complete stranger. Their little eyes just light up at the sight of that dum-dum being dropped into their oversized plastic pumpkin buckets. Watching them fight through the completely ridiculous costumes that we force upon them while trying to run to the next house brings forth a hearty giggle. And perhaps the best part of the evening is when we have made our way home, candy buckets dumped onto the floor, and we drop the big one on them. We tell them that they can have one candy before bed, and one candy only. Their little, round faces become serious with the weight of the decision that is upon them. Despite their selection we all win. They get delicious and hopefully unlaced candy and we get to feel like good parents…for a night. I think it’s safe to say that I have come full circle on Halloween. Hell, I think I am gonna go smash my neighbor’s pumpkins and steal some poor kid’s candy just for the nostalgia.
My Little Zombies
It’s Holiday Season Again…Where’s My Shotgun? (Prologue)
Ah yes, it’s that time of year yet again. The leaves are turning, football is in full swing, and all of our coats have been unpacked and dewinterized. For many folks, fall symbolizes the start to the best part of their year. They look forward to turkey, taking time away from the stresses of work and exchanging in pleasant fellowship with loved ones.
I can just see them wrapping up in that new ”Snugg Life” Snuggie that they got for Christmas with a nice hot mug of cocoa as they settle in to watch Miracle on 34th Street for the 97th time. Doesn’t that sound lovely? It’s like a Lifetime original movie and you are the star. Too bad this pumpkin spice-scented dream simply does not exist in my world. In my world that same scene would be more like me drunkenly stumbling my way through a maze of toddler toys as I half fall-half sit into a 1/2″ layer of kid snack crumbs on the sofa in an
attempt to rub one out to Sue Heck’s Hello Kitty-concealed jugs before I pass out. (I know Sue is under age, but I love me some Hello Kitty!). While that scene may not be entirely realistic, (you all know I am too cheap to buy my kids toys…or snacks) it sets the tone for the holiday season in my family.
As I sit in jail for domestic abuse, I have some time to reflect on what it is about the holiday season that sends me down the path to suicide each year. It’s the three-pronged attack of holidays that starts, and keeps the beating ball rolling. Think of it in military terms. The first wave of attack is Halloween. If you survive the attack, you find yourself staring Thanksgiving right in the face. Many do not make it through this second wave, but those that are unlucky enough to survive are rewarded with the shock and awe of Christmas. Just the string of those three words has me ordering up my autoerotic asphyxiation kit…hold the lemon.
This year, in an attempt to keep my sanity, I have decided to chronicle the holiday season with my family. I will provide a detailed account of each holiday wave of attack. Hopefully, I keep the shotgun out of my mouth long enough to finish this endeavor. Wish me luck and stay tuned…
National Debt Crisis Resolved
A quick note that I wanted to share with you all regarding a commercial that I recently saw on a channel that my 4-year-old frequents. Typically, I do not pay much attention to the crap that is on the television when M is watching. I make the mistake that many of you make in that I trust in the “children’s programming” format of the network with which my daughter is enthralled.
So, I am sitting there picking my nose or adjusting my junk as I often do in my spare time when my attention is brought to a commercial on the TV. View the commercial now and then rejoin my discussion below so that we are all on the same page:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDyOD1C67J0
Now that you have witnessed at least some version equal to that which I saw. My question is simple; what are we teaching our children with games like this? I may be an idiot, but what I see in that commercial is that handling, playing with, and collecting feces is fun. Not even during the depression was playing with your own, let alone animal shit a fun thing to do. Fine, they added some happy colors to the fake dog shit so that it’s appealing to everyone and a good time is had by all…playing with faux shit. I can only assume that there is no realistic feces smell included. I don’t know about you all, but if I let my near 2-year-old watch that commercial, I would soon have a mound of randomly collected turds in my house.
Jackpot!
What is a kid to learn from this game other than, “If I collect the most pieces of shit, I can win in life”? What about that game tells a child that feces is disgusting and carries bacteria and diseases? Nothing! Instead, they make shit seem colorful and fun. Hey kids, it’s okay to scoop up that turd from the yard. In fact, take a bite because we have colored it to look like a friggin’ candy cane. Plus, it’s worth 5 points! I can only imagine the repercussions involved on the first day of school when my kids show up with a cache of dog shit or worse acting like they own the joint. According to this game, shit is the new bling. “You like my new grill? Yeah, it’s thoroghbred horse shit, dawg. Fo reals”
Diversified, Yo!
This game is not the only source directing our kids to embrace poop. Mr. Hankey has been around for years and recently the Easter Bunny movie made it socially acceptable to eat rabbit shit. That movie alone has made me start systematically eliminating the rabbits from my yard. I feel like the Hitler of bunnies! Something has got to give…I think I will just keep my kids playing Chutes and Ladders or Candy Land …at least until I see them gnawing on the furniture.
