So it started as an innocent work day like any other. I came in, checked my e-mail, responded to friends. Then I checked my blog to see if anyone had written a comment, hoping there was one extra, just to hold off my fragile writer ego for one more day. Then I went onto other blogs, commenting where I thought my pseudo witty comments could be taken as they were intended. Not surprisingly this kills a good portion of the morning. That combined with getting some coffee, chatting with co-workers, thinking about lunch, daydreaming, looking out of the window in my office, practicing my golf swing, and attending to other not so important matters.
But as is the life of a lawyer, I had a potential new client come in. It was some time in the afternoon. This involves a procedure to get ready for the client, including but not limited to, checking my tie in case I spilled any lunch on it, practicing my golf swing to "loosen" up for the interview, getting my game face and voice on, checking to make sure my zipper it up and of course checking my eyes for eye snot. This day was no different, I went through the routine, I was ready.
I entered the conference room with the confidence and easiness clients want from their attorney. I opened with pleasantries, threw in a few jokes, then got down to what the clients wanted to hear, including letting them know that once they signed their retainer, not only were they getting an attorney, they were getting damn good one at that. You see immigration law is a strange bastard child of the legal community. Sometimes foreigners like to pretend that they are back in the old country and some of the old country rules apply. While covering all aspects of the case with my clients, I couldn't help but notice, that the wife in the couple was a very nice looking young lady. During the meeting I had to step out of the office, and get some documents. I made some reference to my male co-workers about her looks, including using the expression sweater melons (in my defense, I did mention in my first blog, that I am a bit of an asshole). I meant it as a compliment.
So upon returning to the meeting, she mentioned that she is a mother of three. Well this immediately elevated her to MILF status.
Now for those of you who don't know what a MILF is, it stand for a "Mother I would Like to Fuck"***
***Disclaimer: I would never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, cheat on my wife. I love her very much. But I am human, and a part of being human is noticing when other people are attractive. And as the term is now in pop culture, it could be used in this situation. End disclaimer here.
So after the meeting was over, I was discussing with another co-worker how I thought the new client (yes, they retained us) was a MILF. Sure enough, just as I say that, my boss walks by and ever so innocently asks "Whats a MILF?" I pause. So many ways to handle this: walk away and pretend I didn't hear her, lie, defer to co-worker who is female. I went with option 3, deferring to the co-worker. And what does she...she sells me down the fucking river, with "No...why don't you tell her." I regroup. Then I just blurted it out. Thankfully my boss laughed. She's usually good about that sort of stuff. And once again she was in this situation.
...and that's why I had to explain to my boss what a MILF is!
Epilogue: My wife is MILF to other people. But to me, she is MIG(et to)F.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
The Bender
I had started this post some time back, but never got a chance to complete it. But I was reading another blog this morning about her upcoming trip to SF, and thought about this entry that I never finished. Well here it is.
By the time I give my son any of this material to read, I will be well beyond the point of appearing to him as someone who was young, a little bit crazy and did a lot of stupid things. This is blog is about one of those days.
A brief background: My wife has a sister who she is very close to and lives in the same city as us with her husband and their small child. My sister-in-law's husband and I get along very well, including but not limited to, similar interests in drinking a lot and smoking a lot of weed. So the whole family was invited to San Francisco for one their family friend's weddings, in the second week of May, 2006. Now I used to live in the city by the bay for just under 3 years, in one of the best times of my life (just after law school, had a job with decent hours, three of my best friends in the city, enough money and a healthy liver, just met the woman I would marry). Needless to say I have very fond memories of the SF. I hadn't been back in about a year when we were sent the save-the-date for the wedding. I started planning a drinking bender immediately. My brother in law had been to SF only once before, and aside from doing some touristy things, I felt that I didn't show him the local side SF. We had another friend, who was also coming to the wedding and also married into the group of family friends, who was also on the same page as us, and would be joining us.
I wanted to make it a drinking adventure that encompassed a chance for these guys to see parts of the city that tourists don't normally see. Plus we would have the chance to get absolutely shitfaced. We had a pre-wedding event to go to later that evening but we didn't care. I was up early that morning and about as excited as 6 year old on Christmas morning. After taking care of a few things, we all met up at about 10:45 a.m. in the hotel lobby.
It was a Friday morning. And so it began.
We were staying in the financial district, because the place the wedding was to take place was very close.So to get started, I wanted them to take on the Muni local trains, so they could get the experience of riding on that. We jumped on the N-judah line and headed for the Inner Sunset. Now one might wonder why would anyone go to the Inner Sunset part of SF. Well, it is close to Golden Gate park and it was where I lived for my three years in SF. A bit of the suburbs of the city, but still an OK area with some decent bars. The neighborhood is just one of many in SF, and somewhere I wanted the guys to see. After getting our shit together, we arrived there at about 11:30. We decided the smart thing to do was get a good drinking base. This combined with the fact that you can not get decent Mexican food on the east coast, we opted for Mexican food to start. We went to one of my favorite places, L'avenida. And that is where the drinking began. We had two beers a piece with lunch. From there we walked to another bar near by called the Mucky Duck (a sports bar, where I spent many a Sunday watching football.). One drink.
Being about 12:30 at this point, we decided it was time to move on to the next neighborhood. We jumped on the N-Judah line heading back towards downtown, but we didn't go that far. We exited in Carl and Stanyan, near Kezar stadium, the former home of the SF 49ers. We walked a little ways, heading towards the Haight neighborhood, but stopped off at Kezar Pub. This is a decent area, just on the edge of the Haight, with an interesting case of characters. Its also the Eastern end of Golden Gate park. Good place to buy a dime bag or watch the disaffected youth skateboard. But as this was a drinking bender, we started drinking. Kezars pub was good for 2 more rounds. And we were off.
From there we walked onto the famous Haight St., only a block and half up. The are is clearly not what it used to be, even when I lived there (to wit: there is a fucking GAP store on Haight), but in terms of seeing, it was worth it. So our second neighborhood was the Haight. We stopped at the first bar we saw - I think it was the trophy room. Great dive bar that was completely empty. The beauty of doing a bender on a Friday afternoon is not ever having to wait for a drink. Two more rounds. I do believe I was still drinking beer up to this point and was enjoying Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap. Glorious.
Now it was a gorgeous day(not a normal event in SF), so we decided to move on and see if we could find a bar with a patio. On we went down Haight St.I cant remember the name of the next bar we stopped at, less than 2 or 3 blocks down, but it had a wonderful patio outside, where we sat for a long time. It was about 2 or 3 p.m. when we got there. We had started losing track of time, and to this day, none of the players can give an accurate description of what time things were happening. We couldn't waste the great day and the patio, so we settled it. And by settled in, I mean we transitioned to hard alcohol and about 5 rounds. We started playing lair's dice (one of my all time favorite drinking games). It was one of those afternoon, where everything is perfect. You are with your friends, sitting outside, drinking, laughing, not talking about anything serious. Just perfect. So as you can imagine, this continued for a while. Now our mission was to get shitfaced. And I don't mean just really drunk, I'm talking embarrassed wife, mooning formal crowds, no one wanting to talk to us drunk. And we were well on our way there, but by the time we finished up in the Haight. Another friend had joined us here, so it was foursome. We were all married, so this was truly a drinking adventure, we none of hoping to meet women, just drink and get to know the locals and the city.
From there, it was off to the Castro. Now for those of you unfamiliar with SF, the Castro is the gay neighborhood. Some people have asked me, why four married guys would go to the Castro. To answer that with multiple parts, all of us are comfortable with our sexuality, its a great neighborhood with very nice people (gay and straight) and how do you go the SF, which is known for it's gay community and not go the heart of that, as a way to experience the city. So we jumped in a cab from the Haight and headed down to Market St. and Guerrero. Now some might claim this isnt quite the Castro, but we saw a bar I had been to few times and went in. It was the The Mint Karaoke Bar. It was dark, we were drunk and we stumbled in like a tornado. It was about 4:oo at this point and the happy hour crowds were just trickling in. We were rowdy at this point. We weren't mean, but I don't think we were everybody's favorite people. So we bellied up the bar and began drinking. All of the patrons and the bartender were gay. We got a bit of a weird vibe, like the patrons were uncomfortable with us. But we were on a mission. My brother in law, got up and sang Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue" There was clapping all around. At this point one of the patrons said something about us and the bartender asked us to leave. We still don't know why. I think we were just a bit much for people at the time or we made them uncomfortable. My brother in law claims that he distinctly heard cheering and clapping when we escorted out. But the resume still reads that we were booted from a gay karaoke bar.
At this point, time was getting short. We needed to be at this event by 7:00. But there was a lot of drinking to do. So it was onto The Mission neighborhood of SF. A great neighborhood, with wonderful food, not preppy at all and certainly not pretentious. The happy hour crowds were out in full force at this point. We jumped in a limo (they are like cabs in SF) and asked to be take us to a bar in the Mission. We ended up at, I think, the Elixir lounge. And we picked up right where we left off. Had about 3 rounds here. At this point, standing was getting to be a bit of a problem. But none the less we played a game of pool and chatted up the locals. We had done this at every bar we were at. That was my favorite part of the bender(or all vacations) was talking to the locals and getting a sense of the city. I had lived in SF, so it wasn't so much for me.
After about an hour in Elixir, it was onto Chinatown, via a short cab ride. We had picked up some ganja prior to the bender and the driver was kind enough to supply us with some rolling papers. So we began to smoke. We ended up at one of my favorite dive bars in SF, the Buddha Lounge. Strong drinks, dark bar, great jukebox - pure perfection. We continued drinking. Lovely. At this time we started getting call from our respective wives. We finished off the one and only round there, and headed back towards to downtown. It was walking distance, and downhill. Perfect.
We walked, we smoked, we laughed...we got paranoid when we saw group of cops and threw the second joint away. We ended up getting back to the hotel and getting ready. It was a bit of work. We ended up at the party a little late. True to our plan, no one wanted to talk to us. We continued drinking at the party. The bender had been a success. Based on this experience, I wanted to write a travel book, called the drinking guide to (enter city here). A chance to get hammered and see distinct neighborhoods and areas of cities. I think I may be the only one to buy it. Writing this was fun. Its time for another bender.
Sum up: 4 friends, 6 neighborhoods in SF, 2 joints, 17 rounds of alcohol, 0 people wanting to hang around us.
By the time I give my son any of this material to read, I will be well beyond the point of appearing to him as someone who was young, a little bit crazy and did a lot of stupid things. This is blog is about one of those days.
A brief background: My wife has a sister who she is very close to and lives in the same city as us with her husband and their small child. My sister-in-law's husband and I get along very well, including but not limited to, similar interests in drinking a lot and smoking a lot of weed. So the whole family was invited to San Francisco for one their family friend's weddings, in the second week of May, 2006. Now I used to live in the city by the bay for just under 3 years, in one of the best times of my life (just after law school, had a job with decent hours, three of my best friends in the city, enough money and a healthy liver, just met the woman I would marry). Needless to say I have very fond memories of the SF. I hadn't been back in about a year when we were sent the save-the-date for the wedding. I started planning a drinking bender immediately. My brother in law had been to SF only once before, and aside from doing some touristy things, I felt that I didn't show him the local side SF. We had another friend, who was also coming to the wedding and also married into the group of family friends, who was also on the same page as us, and would be joining us.
I wanted to make it a drinking adventure that encompassed a chance for these guys to see parts of the city that tourists don't normally see. Plus we would have the chance to get absolutely shitfaced. We had a pre-wedding event to go to later that evening but we didn't care. I was up early that morning and about as excited as 6 year old on Christmas morning. After taking care of a few things, we all met up at about 10:45 a.m. in the hotel lobby.
It was a Friday morning. And so it began.
We were staying in the financial district, because the place the wedding was to take place was very close.So to get started, I wanted them to take on the Muni local trains, so they could get the experience of riding on that. We jumped on the N-judah line and headed for the Inner Sunset. Now one might wonder why would anyone go to the Inner Sunset part of SF. Well, it is close to Golden Gate park and it was where I lived for my three years in SF. A bit of the suburbs of the city, but still an OK area with some decent bars. The neighborhood is just one of many in SF, and somewhere I wanted the guys to see. After getting our shit together, we arrived there at about 11:30. We decided the smart thing to do was get a good drinking base. This combined with the fact that you can not get decent Mexican food on the east coast, we opted for Mexican food to start. We went to one of my favorite places, L'avenida. And that is where the drinking began. We had two beers a piece with lunch. From there we walked to another bar near by called the Mucky Duck (a sports bar, where I spent many a Sunday watching football.). One drink.
Being about 12:30 at this point, we decided it was time to move on to the next neighborhood. We jumped on the N-Judah line heading back towards downtown, but we didn't go that far. We exited in Carl and Stanyan, near Kezar stadium, the former home of the SF 49ers. We walked a little ways, heading towards the Haight neighborhood, but stopped off at Kezar Pub. This is a decent area, just on the edge of the Haight, with an interesting case of characters. Its also the Eastern end of Golden Gate park. Good place to buy a dime bag or watch the disaffected youth skateboard. But as this was a drinking bender, we started drinking. Kezars pub was good for 2 more rounds. And we were off.
From there we walked onto the famous Haight St., only a block and half up. The are is clearly not what it used to be, even when I lived there (to wit: there is a fucking GAP store on Haight), but in terms of seeing, it was worth it. So our second neighborhood was the Haight. We stopped at the first bar we saw - I think it was the trophy room. Great dive bar that was completely empty. The beauty of doing a bender on a Friday afternoon is not ever having to wait for a drink. Two more rounds. I do believe I was still drinking beer up to this point and was enjoying Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap. Glorious.
Now it was a gorgeous day(not a normal event in SF), so we decided to move on and see if we could find a bar with a patio. On we went down Haight St.I cant remember the name of the next bar we stopped at, less than 2 or 3 blocks down, but it had a wonderful patio outside, where we sat for a long time. It was about 2 or 3 p.m. when we got there. We had started losing track of time, and to this day, none of the players can give an accurate description of what time things were happening. We couldn't waste the great day and the patio, so we settled it. And by settled in, I mean we transitioned to hard alcohol and about 5 rounds. We started playing lair's dice (one of my all time favorite drinking games). It was one of those afternoon, where everything is perfect. You are with your friends, sitting outside, drinking, laughing, not talking about anything serious. Just perfect. So as you can imagine, this continued for a while. Now our mission was to get shitfaced. And I don't mean just really drunk, I'm talking embarrassed wife, mooning formal crowds, no one wanting to talk to us drunk. And we were well on our way there, but by the time we finished up in the Haight. Another friend had joined us here, so it was foursome. We were all married, so this was truly a drinking adventure, we none of hoping to meet women, just drink and get to know the locals and the city.
From there, it was off to the Castro. Now for those of you unfamiliar with SF, the Castro is the gay neighborhood. Some people have asked me, why four married guys would go to the Castro. To answer that with multiple parts, all of us are comfortable with our sexuality, its a great neighborhood with very nice people (gay and straight) and how do you go the SF, which is known for it's gay community and not go the heart of that, as a way to experience the city. So we jumped in a cab from the Haight and headed down to Market St. and Guerrero. Now some might claim this isnt quite the Castro, but we saw a bar I had been to few times and went in. It was the The Mint Karaoke Bar. It was dark, we were drunk and we stumbled in like a tornado. It was about 4:oo at this point and the happy hour crowds were just trickling in. We were rowdy at this point. We weren't mean, but I don't think we were everybody's favorite people. So we bellied up the bar and began drinking. All of the patrons and the bartender were gay. We got a bit of a weird vibe, like the patrons were uncomfortable with us. But we were on a mission. My brother in law, got up and sang Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue" There was clapping all around. At this point one of the patrons said something about us and the bartender asked us to leave. We still don't know why. I think we were just a bit much for people at the time or we made them uncomfortable. My brother in law claims that he distinctly heard cheering and clapping when we escorted out. But the resume still reads that we were booted from a gay karaoke bar.
At this point, time was getting short. We needed to be at this event by 7:00. But there was a lot of drinking to do. So it was onto The Mission neighborhood of SF. A great neighborhood, with wonderful food, not preppy at all and certainly not pretentious. The happy hour crowds were out in full force at this point. We jumped in a limo (they are like cabs in SF) and asked to be take us to a bar in the Mission. We ended up at, I think, the Elixir lounge. And we picked up right where we left off. Had about 3 rounds here. At this point, standing was getting to be a bit of a problem. But none the less we played a game of pool and chatted up the locals. We had done this at every bar we were at. That was my favorite part of the bender(or all vacations) was talking to the locals and getting a sense of the city. I had lived in SF, so it wasn't so much for me.
After about an hour in Elixir, it was onto Chinatown, via a short cab ride. We had picked up some ganja prior to the bender and the driver was kind enough to supply us with some rolling papers. So we began to smoke. We ended up at one of my favorite dive bars in SF, the Buddha Lounge. Strong drinks, dark bar, great jukebox - pure perfection. We continued drinking. Lovely. At this time we started getting call from our respective wives. We finished off the one and only round there, and headed back towards to downtown. It was walking distance, and downhill. Perfect.
We walked, we smoked, we laughed...we got paranoid when we saw group of cops and threw the second joint away. We ended up getting back to the hotel and getting ready. It was a bit of work. We ended up at the party a little late. True to our plan, no one wanted to talk to us. We continued drinking at the party. The bender had been a success. Based on this experience, I wanted to write a travel book, called the drinking guide to (enter city here). A chance to get hammered and see distinct neighborhoods and areas of cities. I think I may be the only one to buy it. Writing this was fun. Its time for another bender.
Sum up: 4 friends, 6 neighborhoods in SF, 2 joints, 17 rounds of alcohol, 0 people wanting to hang around us.
Friday, March 23, 2007
American Craphole
I don't watch American Idol. I never will. The thought of tuning in to watch a televised karaoke contest, just doesn't do it for me. The fact that these poor shlubs are willing to go on and be berated, even though they think they are good, makes it that much more sad, in my opinion. I hear enough about the show, as some people will just not shut the fuck up about it. It throws me a little, that people will actually call in or text in (whatever the kids are doing these days) and contribute. WTF? Really, you like that guy's version of a song he didn't write or compose so much that you must must must call in and let the producers of the show know. Also, I don't get the fact that there are judges to rate, but then people call in and vote. To use our president's language - who's the decider? Even more, I am baffled by the fact that these people who win, go on to tour. Its not that - these people are using the fame gained from belting out dolly Parton's Jolene well on television. Its that people will buy the tickets and go to the concert. I guess I just don't get it. I am not sure I want to get it.
With that said, I am not one to judge what people like and don't like - in my opinion if it rocks your world, keep doing it, unless it harms someone else.
But it has recently come to my attention that there is young Indian lad who made the show and continues to be on it. From people who have seen the show, I am also under the impression that this kid isn't very good, but somehow seems to keep getting the "votes" to stay on. I have read on other Indian-American blogs, that these individuals support this kid and that they keep voting for him, apparently despite the fact that he sucks.
I guess what I don't get is why. Why do we support somebody just because they are Indian. The people who vote for him, don't know him from a hole in the wall. I thought the point of the American Idol exercise is to determine the best karaoke singer, not the person who has similar physical attributes to you and comes from the same region of the world that you do. By their logic, black people, should vote for black contestants and white- white. I have found recently, that Indian Americans, support other Indian Americans, simply because they are, not because of who this person is. For every other race, we would decide who we like and dislike based on their individual attributes that we either support or don't.
I am all for knowing one's ancestry and where you come from, but where I come from, there are a lot of bad people and a lot of good people. To blanketly support someone because of their being Indian is ridiculous. I am a fan of Jhumpa Lahiri, because I like her writing. Not because she is Indian. I am not the biggest fan of Mira Nair because of the way she tells some of her stories (do we really need to include pedophilia in a light hearted romantic comedy, where everything turns out OK in the end.)
For example, if an Indian person who was involved in the riots in Bombay(I still call it that - thats the name of when I was born there, and that is what I will call it forever) and killed a bunch of Muslims, cause they are different, and came on the show, and sang just like this kid on American Idol, would people still vote for him, simply because he is Indian.
Maybe this is why I didnt connect with my Indian club in college. I liked some people. I wasnt one to want to hang out in a group of only Indians. I know too many people like that. I didnt have a single Indian groomsman at my wedding. I've been to parties of Indian people I know and only Indian people show up. How is this possible. I understand being able to relate from similar experience and backgrounds, but to think that only another Indian person can have an understanding is over the top.
At some point I think people have to be held for who they are and not gain because of where they are from.
With that said, I am not one to judge what people like and don't like - in my opinion if it rocks your world, keep doing it, unless it harms someone else.
But it has recently come to my attention that there is young Indian lad who made the show and continues to be on it. From people who have seen the show, I am also under the impression that this kid isn't very good, but somehow seems to keep getting the "votes" to stay on. I have read on other Indian-American blogs, that these individuals support this kid and that they keep voting for him, apparently despite the fact that he sucks.
I guess what I don't get is why. Why do we support somebody just because they are Indian. The people who vote for him, don't know him from a hole in the wall. I thought the point of the American Idol exercise is to determine the best karaoke singer, not the person who has similar physical attributes to you and comes from the same region of the world that you do. By their logic, black people, should vote for black contestants and white- white. I have found recently, that Indian Americans, support other Indian Americans, simply because they are, not because of who this person is. For every other race, we would decide who we like and dislike based on their individual attributes that we either support or don't.
I am all for knowing one's ancestry and where you come from, but where I come from, there are a lot of bad people and a lot of good people. To blanketly support someone because of their being Indian is ridiculous. I am a fan of Jhumpa Lahiri, because I like her writing. Not because she is Indian. I am not the biggest fan of Mira Nair because of the way she tells some of her stories (do we really need to include pedophilia in a light hearted romantic comedy, where everything turns out OK in the end.)
For example, if an Indian person who was involved in the riots in Bombay(I still call it that - thats the name of when I was born there, and that is what I will call it forever) and killed a bunch of Muslims, cause they are different, and came on the show, and sang just like this kid on American Idol, would people still vote for him, simply because he is Indian.
Maybe this is why I didnt connect with my Indian club in college. I liked some people. I wasnt one to want to hang out in a group of only Indians. I know too many people like that. I didnt have a single Indian groomsman at my wedding. I've been to parties of Indian people I know and only Indian people show up. How is this possible. I understand being able to relate from similar experience and backgrounds, but to think that only another Indian person can have an understanding is over the top.
At some point I think people have to be held for who they are and not gain because of where they are from.
Monday, March 19, 2007
The Recap
A brief recap of my Sat. evening and Sunday.
6:32 p.m. Drive to see the in-laws in town about 50 miles away. Its a small town that is characterized by the fact that schools get a day off on the first day of hunting season. We see an only Ford Truck as we are driving out with a bumper sticker that reads "This car was made with tools, not with chopsticks." Are you fucking kidding me. Some people are just too stupid to even help.
11:15 p.m. Attend St. Pat's party at my father in law's golfing country club with him. I am the only individual in the place who is under the age of 50. They have a DJ that does not play a song made after 1975.
11:17 p.m. Determine that his is what hell must be like. Conclude that the only way for me to not kill myself from depression by being in this situation is to drink a lot. Order first drink.
11:22p.m. Order second drink.
11:29 p.m. Order third drink.
11:30 pm. Slightly buzzed and realize that no amount of alcohol is going to make the situation better and remember that I still have to get up in the middle of the night for help with the burping and holding my baby upright after feeding.
Sunday
12:30 a.m. - Arrive back at in-laws. Proceed to get ready for bed. Kind of tired. Its dark. Get my toothbrush out of the travel bag. Grab small tube of paste.
12:31 a.m. 12 sec. -Start brushing my teeth.
12:31 a.m. 37 sec. - Notice a funny taste.
12:31 a.m. 43 sec. - Grab tube of toothpaste to see if some natural toothpaste that my wife got from Trader Joe's or something.
12:31 a.m. 44 sec. Read back of toothpaste. Specifically read portion that says "in case of anal itching..."
12:31 a.m. 45 sec. to 12:34 a.m. - begin spitting violently all of the contents in my mouth.
12:35 a.m. - Ask my wife why she would pack the cortisone creme, which looks eerily similar to a travel toothpaste tube with the toothbrushes. Inform her that I just brushed my teeth with ass itch creme.
12:37 a.m. Wife stops laughing.
(Fall asleep, wake up for one feeding. Lazy Sunday watching basketball and golf all day. Took a nap for one hour too.)
7:01 p.m. Depart for home.
8:11 p.m. Shaan has a massive blowout after a 5 days of constipation. It takes us 4 diapers on top of the one that he was wearing to get a handle on the problem. My wife was so happy that she decided to call her sister to share the good news and not help me take care of the situation.
11:30 p.m. Fall asleep. I have this crazy dream that my wife and I are back in L.A. and driving toward the 10 fwy from our old apartment. Up in the sky I see two planes crash into each other. One starts falling straight to the ground with smoke behind it. We see it crash in the distance with an explosion. Then in the sky we see another collision of helicopters. One falls to the ground as well. Then we see a guy a makeshift flying contraption with wings and bike pedals start falling to the ground. He crashes right in from of us, under the front of the car. We get out hurriedly. I tell my wife to call the police and tell them we are on Wilshire and the 10 fwy(in actuality the part of the city we were in Wilshire and the 10 fwy are parallel. The street resembled either La Cienaga or Fairfax). As I walk up the guy laying on the ground to see if he is alive, he yells something and jerks back shoots me in the stomach. He stand up, as I fall to the ground. (Oh one of the thing. All of my dreams and memories are in third person. I don't have memories through my eyes, but I see myself, as if I were watching it on TV.) He then turns and shoots my wife. That's when I woke up this morning. If there is anyone out there who knows anything about dream interpretation, I could sure use the help. Or just make something up that sounds pretty cool.
6:32 p.m. Drive to see the in-laws in town about 50 miles away. Its a small town that is characterized by the fact that schools get a day off on the first day of hunting season. We see an only Ford Truck as we are driving out with a bumper sticker that reads "This car was made with tools, not with chopsticks." Are you fucking kidding me. Some people are just too stupid to even help.
11:15 p.m. Attend St. Pat's party at my father in law's golfing country club with him. I am the only individual in the place who is under the age of 50. They have a DJ that does not play a song made after 1975.
11:17 p.m. Determine that his is what hell must be like. Conclude that the only way for me to not kill myself from depression by being in this situation is to drink a lot. Order first drink.
11:22p.m. Order second drink.
11:29 p.m. Order third drink.
11:30 pm. Slightly buzzed and realize that no amount of alcohol is going to make the situation better and remember that I still have to get up in the middle of the night for help with the burping and holding my baby upright after feeding.
Sunday
12:30 a.m. - Arrive back at in-laws. Proceed to get ready for bed. Kind of tired. Its dark. Get my toothbrush out of the travel bag. Grab small tube of paste.
12:31 a.m. 12 sec. -Start brushing my teeth.
12:31 a.m. 37 sec. - Notice a funny taste.
12:31 a.m. 43 sec. - Grab tube of toothpaste to see if some natural toothpaste that my wife got from Trader Joe's or something.
12:31 a.m. 44 sec. Read back of toothpaste. Specifically read portion that says "in case of anal itching..."
12:31 a.m. 45 sec. to 12:34 a.m. - begin spitting violently all of the contents in my mouth.
12:35 a.m. - Ask my wife why she would pack the cortisone creme, which looks eerily similar to a travel toothpaste tube with the toothbrushes. Inform her that I just brushed my teeth with ass itch creme.
12:37 a.m. Wife stops laughing.
(Fall asleep, wake up for one feeding. Lazy Sunday watching basketball and golf all day. Took a nap for one hour too.)
7:01 p.m. Depart for home.
8:11 p.m. Shaan has a massive blowout after a 5 days of constipation. It takes us 4 diapers on top of the one that he was wearing to get a handle on the problem. My wife was so happy that she decided to call her sister to share the good news and not help me take care of the situation.
11:30 p.m. Fall asleep. I have this crazy dream that my wife and I are back in L.A. and driving toward the 10 fwy from our old apartment. Up in the sky I see two planes crash into each other. One starts falling straight to the ground with smoke behind it. We see it crash in the distance with an explosion. Then in the sky we see another collision of helicopters. One falls to the ground as well. Then we see a guy a makeshift flying contraption with wings and bike pedals start falling to the ground. He crashes right in from of us, under the front of the car. We get out hurriedly. I tell my wife to call the police and tell them we are on Wilshire and the 10 fwy(in actuality the part of the city we were in Wilshire and the 10 fwy are parallel. The street resembled either La Cienaga or Fairfax). As I walk up the guy laying on the ground to see if he is alive, he yells something and jerks back shoots me in the stomach. He stand up, as I fall to the ground. (Oh one of the thing. All of my dreams and memories are in third person. I don't have memories through my eyes, but I see myself, as if I were watching it on TV.) He then turns and shoots my wife. That's when I woke up this morning. If there is anyone out there who knows anything about dream interpretation, I could sure use the help. Or just make something up that sounds pretty cool.
Friday, March 16, 2007
One Day When I'm King
I would put the following people on a little island and let them have at each other:
Anyone who has a sticker of Calvin (from the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip) urinating on something they dislike. For example, the driver of a Ford might have him urinating on the word "Chevy", and vice versa. A Pittsburgh Steelers fan might have him urinating on a Cleveland Browns helment. Just a few words: You people are fucking idiots.
I know its your car and you can do whatever you want with it, who am I to stop you. But if you would just stop and think for a minute and maybe balance a few issues, such as your hatred of Chevy/Ford/Hybrid cars or a particular football team or lawyers vs. the image of urine on your car.
Someone please explain to me why people do this. When placing a bumper sticker or an image on a car, you are giving it out there for the world to see. But what sometimes goes by without thought apparently, is that you can not discuss the issue with people. Maybe your grandmother was run over by an individual driving a Ford truck, and thus you now resent an loathe all Ford cars. But the guy driving the car next to you doesnt know that. There is no discussion on the matter. Why do you need to let the world know you hate something enough (a fucking car company?) to have a classic comic strip character urinating on. Its not even that you dislike Ford because of Henry Ford and his support of the Nazi's during WW II or anything credible like that. I guarantee its just that you think your Chevy is a superior automobile. Just so you know, my car gets me from point A to point B just fine. And I dont want to even know what you think of the fact that I bought a japanese car. Are people that lonely and have such low self esteem that they need to be a part of a group, not based on the car they buy, but the kind of car they hate.
The stickers have since changed to other issues - Osama Bin Laden and terrorists are popular one these days. I guess I just dont hate terrorism or Bin Laden enough to defile my car in such a manner. I assume the placement of the sticker was a measure designed to "support our troops," instead of actually joining the army and bringing some of those kids home.
And so you know, I drive a piece of shit. I am happy with my piece of shit. I dont need the a car to let people know how big(hummers) or smooth (corvette) I am, or even who I would like to urinate on. I'm just not into the urinating on someone fetish, but I dont knock those who are. Or maybe my car does define me, and I am a just a piece of shit.
Calvin and Hobbes was a great comic strip. Why would you ruin that.
I dont even have the words the desribe you assholes that actually buy the image of calvin defecating. What's next, Calvin giving something a dirty Sanchez. There is a certain level of stupdity that this crosses that I just cant understand, someone please explain it to me.
Next time: What to do about those people that own the t-shirts that read: My favorite team is X and my other favorite team is whoever is playing X's rival.
Do you even for a second get the fact that whoever is playing X's rival is probably in the same division as X and there most likely will play team X at least twice a season.
Anyone who has a sticker of Calvin (from the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip) urinating on something they dislike. For example, the driver of a Ford might have him urinating on the word "Chevy", and vice versa. A Pittsburgh Steelers fan might have him urinating on a Cleveland Browns helment. Just a few words: You people are fucking idiots.
I know its your car and you can do whatever you want with it, who am I to stop you. But if you would just stop and think for a minute and maybe balance a few issues, such as your hatred of Chevy/Ford/Hybrid cars or a particular football team or lawyers vs. the image of urine on your car.
Someone please explain to me why people do this. When placing a bumper sticker or an image on a car, you are giving it out there for the world to see. But what sometimes goes by without thought apparently, is that you can not discuss the issue with people. Maybe your grandmother was run over by an individual driving a Ford truck, and thus you now resent an loathe all Ford cars. But the guy driving the car next to you doesnt know that. There is no discussion on the matter. Why do you need to let the world know you hate something enough (a fucking car company?) to have a classic comic strip character urinating on. Its not even that you dislike Ford because of Henry Ford and his support of the Nazi's during WW II or anything credible like that. I guarantee its just that you think your Chevy is a superior automobile. Just so you know, my car gets me from point A to point B just fine. And I dont want to even know what you think of the fact that I bought a japanese car. Are people that lonely and have such low self esteem that they need to be a part of a group, not based on the car they buy, but the kind of car they hate.
The stickers have since changed to other issues - Osama Bin Laden and terrorists are popular one these days. I guess I just dont hate terrorism or Bin Laden enough to defile my car in such a manner. I assume the placement of the sticker was a measure designed to "support our troops," instead of actually joining the army and bringing some of those kids home.
And so you know, I drive a piece of shit. I am happy with my piece of shit. I dont need the a car to let people know how big(hummers) or smooth (corvette) I am, or even who I would like to urinate on. I'm just not into the urinating on someone fetish, but I dont knock those who are. Or maybe my car does define me, and I am a just a piece of shit.
Calvin and Hobbes was a great comic strip. Why would you ruin that.
I dont even have the words the desribe you assholes that actually buy the image of calvin defecating. What's next, Calvin giving something a dirty Sanchez. There is a certain level of stupdity that this crosses that I just cant understand, someone please explain it to me.
Next time: What to do about those people that own the t-shirts that read: My favorite team is X and my other favorite team is whoever is playing X's rival.
Do you even for a second get the fact that whoever is playing X's rival is probably in the same division as X and there most likely will play team X at least twice a season.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Double Blind Taste Test
Having a baby is hard work. Its nothing like on sit-coms. My wife and I are very tired. Very tired. So tired I had to repeat it. So fucking tired. This has resulted in quite a bit of snapping at each other. The little things start to annoy you. The things, that pre-baby would never have bothered. The thing about us is that our relationship is preety resiliant. We will usually snap at each other and then forget about and it wont even come up. This isnt always the case (although I wish it were), but it happens most of the time. Our biggest issue of late seems to be related to the baby of course. Much like everything else, individuals have their own sense of how a baby should be raised and taken care of, based on their own individual experiences and what they think is important. Now we are on the same page about most things, but there are the occassional things that come up that cause these snapping situations - how often to give him a bath, how long he should cry before being picked up, bottle vs. breast, if to give him formula, etc. With any luck we wont break him, go insane or completely annoy the shit out of each other. We will continue to press on, like any two individuals with their first born, learning as we go along, knowing that though others will help, in the end it us two together who are mainly responsible for raising this kid. Boy did I ever ramble there.
The Wife
"Our Children" - March 10, 2007.
C Print, 5 x 7 inch (not framed)
On to other not so pressing concerns. I had an adult moment yesterday. Before I explain what happened let me state that I dont like being a legal adult. My outlook on life is very immature. I dont think like an adult and I certainly dont act like an adult. I thought that once I had a child it would propel me into some state of maturity, where I would be responsible, not procrastinate, think things through - but it didnt happen. Getting stoned and golfing this weekend would be just and example. But yesterday, there I was at work. An ordinary day as attorney in the office. But then I had a meeting late in the day at a potential new client. Dressed in a suit, I proceeded to their office. I had to change my shoulder bag, to a brief case type look(i think it just looked more professional.) I was in a suit. The meeting lasted an hour, I think we landed the client. I came home, holding the brief case in one hand, my coat thrown over my other hand. And there was my wife with our child. I just had an image of my dad coming home from work when I was a kid. It felt uncomfortable.
Lastly: Fruit Loops. There has been a debate raging in our home and there is no end in sight. I claim that each of the individual color and shapes of fruit loops have a distinct taste, where as my wife claims they all taste the same. I let her know that this is because she doesnt have a refined palate, and therefore is unable to appreciate the sweet, sweet goodness that is fruit loops. But her retort(which is a valid argument) is what fruit flavor is the new added item of "Star Berry." She wants to have a double blind taste test to see if I can tell each flavor. The problem is that neither of us knows what a double blind taste test is. I respond by leaving for work. I think I might be in trouble if she ever figures out what a double blind taste test is.
Next time: A tribute to the greatest cereal of all time: Alphabits
The Wife"Our Children" - March 10, 2007.
C Print, 5 x 7 inch (not framed)
On to other not so pressing concerns. I had an adult moment yesterday. Before I explain what happened let me state that I dont like being a legal adult. My outlook on life is very immature. I dont think like an adult and I certainly dont act like an adult. I thought that once I had a child it would propel me into some state of maturity, where I would be responsible, not procrastinate, think things through - but it didnt happen. Getting stoned and golfing this weekend would be just and example. But yesterday, there I was at work. An ordinary day as attorney in the office. But then I had a meeting late in the day at a potential new client. Dressed in a suit, I proceeded to their office. I had to change my shoulder bag, to a brief case type look(i think it just looked more professional.) I was in a suit. The meeting lasted an hour, I think we landed the client. I came home, holding the brief case in one hand, my coat thrown over my other hand. And there was my wife with our child. I just had an image of my dad coming home from work when I was a kid. It felt uncomfortable.
Lastly: Fruit Loops. There has been a debate raging in our home and there is no end in sight. I claim that each of the individual color and shapes of fruit loops have a distinct taste, where as my wife claims they all taste the same. I let her know that this is because she doesnt have a refined palate, and therefore is unable to appreciate the sweet, sweet goodness that is fruit loops. But her retort(which is a valid argument) is what fruit flavor is the new added item of "Star Berry." She wants to have a double blind taste test to see if I can tell each flavor. The problem is that neither of us knows what a double blind taste test is. I respond by leaving for work. I think I might be in trouble if she ever figures out what a double blind taste test is.
Next time: A tribute to the greatest cereal of all time: Alphabits
Friday, March 9, 2007
The Carnival Life
A few posts back one of the readers commented that I should be wary of Shaan peeing in my mouth while I am changing. So there I was two days ago. My changing of the diaper has not slowed down any, but because I am so tired I get distracted by shiny objects and noises very easily. Its one of those situations where you are so tired that images and sounds enter your head, but don't actually process. Where you hear something, and it just repeats over and over again in your head but doesn't make any sense.
So on this fateful day the little one is crying just a little bit, and its just before the time for a feeding. I grab him and put him on the changing table. I remove the old diaper and place it to the side. I give him a good wipe, when I get distracted. I don't know what it was, but it could have been an ant, a car honking, the dog, whatever. I turn for what seemed like only a second. As I turn back with the new clean diaper in hand, it begins. But recalling the reader's admonition about being careful, I start to dodge the urine stream heading straight for my mouth. Side note, I chose not to use the diaper to deflect the urine, because last time I did that it ricocheted off of the diaper and went all over the baby, including a few drops on his face and over the changing table, requiring me to change the baby and all the sheets.
So I start to dodge the urine. But like one of those carnival games, where the player has a water gun and must hit a target, like clown's mouth, allowing a balloon to grow to certain size till it pops before the other player's balloons, Shaan kept aiming for my mouth. I was clown. I swear no matter how I dodged it, the stream kept following me. All the while he is laying there cooing. My wife stood there watching this and after it was all finished in a true testament to timeliness says "yeah you should watch out for that he usually pees after he wakes up and is ready to eat." I thanked her for the information.
Last night after I had unsuccessful tried to get the kid to fall asleep, we were sitting on the couch and watching whatever droll television was on that particular evening, when I feel this warmth around my belly. Apparently earlier in the day to avoid the aforementioned situation, I was too hasty is putting on his diaper and it came loose. He peed through his onesy(sp?) and onto me. Startled at first, I thought, this is still better than getting it in the mouth. But I couldn't put him down because he had just eaten and needed to be held up for a while. About five minutes after the peeing his decides to spit up a good chunk of his meal all over me. The lesson, if you are excited about having children, please know that the good outweighs the bad every time. But bear in mind there will be days when you will be covered in urine and breast milk mixed with baby bile and just have to sit there keep on watching that rerun of 'Scrubs.'
I also told Shaan that my wife's breasts are on temporary loan to him from me. They are mine and I will want them back shortly. Eventually, I told him, he will have to go into the world and get his own. He might even want to try a few own before he settles on the ones he likes. But that one day he will have to temporarily bequeath them to his child. Elton John's 'Circle of Life' plays in the background.
I am so fucking tired. I got a little less than 5 hours of very interrupted sleep last night. We have been trying to put Shaan on a schedule, but he keeps doing his own thing. He is kind of a rebel that way.
Next Time: Here's hoping I don't have to write a blog about Mira Nair fucking up the movie version of Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Namesake"
So on this fateful day the little one is crying just a little bit, and its just before the time for a feeding. I grab him and put him on the changing table. I remove the old diaper and place it to the side. I give him a good wipe, when I get distracted. I don't know what it was, but it could have been an ant, a car honking, the dog, whatever. I turn for what seemed like only a second. As I turn back with the new clean diaper in hand, it begins. But recalling the reader's admonition about being careful, I start to dodge the urine stream heading straight for my mouth. Side note, I chose not to use the diaper to deflect the urine, because last time I did that it ricocheted off of the diaper and went all over the baby, including a few drops on his face and over the changing table, requiring me to change the baby and all the sheets.
So I start to dodge the urine. But like one of those carnival games, where the player has a water gun and must hit a target, like clown's mouth, allowing a balloon to grow to certain size till it pops before the other player's balloons, Shaan kept aiming for my mouth. I was clown. I swear no matter how I dodged it, the stream kept following me. All the while he is laying there cooing. My wife stood there watching this and after it was all finished in a true testament to timeliness says "yeah you should watch out for that he usually pees after he wakes up and is ready to eat." I thanked her for the information.
Last night after I had unsuccessful tried to get the kid to fall asleep, we were sitting on the couch and watching whatever droll television was on that particular evening, when I feel this warmth around my belly. Apparently earlier in the day to avoid the aforementioned situation, I was too hasty is putting on his diaper and it came loose. He peed through his onesy(sp?) and onto me. Startled at first, I thought, this is still better than getting it in the mouth. But I couldn't put him down because he had just eaten and needed to be held up for a while. About five minutes after the peeing his decides to spit up a good chunk of his meal all over me. The lesson, if you are excited about having children, please know that the good outweighs the bad every time. But bear in mind there will be days when you will be covered in urine and breast milk mixed with baby bile and just have to sit there keep on watching that rerun of 'Scrubs.'
I also told Shaan that my wife's breasts are on temporary loan to him from me. They are mine and I will want them back shortly. Eventually, I told him, he will have to go into the world and get his own. He might even want to try a few own before he settles on the ones he likes. But that one day he will have to temporarily bequeath them to his child. Elton John's 'Circle of Life' plays in the background.
I am so fucking tired. I got a little less than 5 hours of very interrupted sleep last night. We have been trying to put Shaan on a schedule, but he keeps doing his own thing. He is kind of a rebel that way.
Next Time: Here's hoping I don't have to write a blog about Mira Nair fucking up the movie version of Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Namesake"
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
The Ten Commandments
If I could pass on 10 truths or commandments to my child they would be the following:
1. Do not watch TV shows with a laugh track. You will be disappointed. If the writers and actors need to prompt you when to laugh by having a canned laughter from others, it will not be funny. You may laugh out loud once or twice, but that is it. These shows appeal to the lowest common denominator. At one point every one of these series if left on long enough will have a character in a panic during an emergency asking "What is the number for 911?" This thought goes for just about anything where you are prompted to give the same response as other. Think for yourself.
2. Once you've reached a certain age, except in rare circumstances, a woman will know if she wants to sleep with you within about 10 minutes of meeting you. If she doesn't want to sleep with you, there is nothing you can do. If she does, it is yours to mess up. So if you think a woman is into you and you fail to sleep with her, you did something to fuck it up.
3. Don't define yourself by religion, ancestry, nationality, race, place you were born or city you were raised in. The second you make yourself a part of a group, you immediately exclude those who are not a part of it. People are people, each of the above listed groups has good folks and bad folks, people you will get along with and those you do not. The arbitrariness of such things is wholly defined by things you have no control of and could just as easily have been another category.
4. It is better to have a few very good friends than a whole bunch of mediocre or fair weather friends. It may be lonelier, but the moments with your real friends, which feel like a day hasn't passed though it may be months since you have seen each other, will let you know it is worth it.
5. You can believe in God, but don't think for a second that s/he will answer prayers or do anything to affect your life. Prayer may help people, but that's because all it does it make them think that actions are out of their control and some benevolent being wants it all to be alright for them. Your life will be dictated by your actions, the actions of those you surround yourself with and a bunch of random people who have never heard of you. If something bad happens, its not God or luck, it just is. Deal with it. Don't follow an organized religion. If you want to take a leap of faith and believe that a man can ascend to heaven after his death and not believe that a human can have a head of an elephant, you are getting yourself into trouble. Religious leaders are no different than political leaders By being a member of an organized religion, you immediately claim that because you understand the supreme being, everyone who doesn't is wrong. You better have some proof to back that up. Religious texts are not proof, they are something some douche bag wrote a long time ago to get others to act like they do because they feel safe in conformity or to act in such a way for their benefit.
6. Travel but don't be a tourist. Don't take pre-arranged trips with only tourist destinations. The locals of any culture/place are so much more interesting that the tourist destination they live near. That is not to say that you shouldn't see the tourist destination(it is one for a valid reason), but don't make it your only stop.
7. Always questions the actions of any government. Leaders of the world/state/local offices are just as self interested as you. Everyone has a motivation for doing what they do.
8. Learn to play an instrument. Chicks dig it.
9. Love what you do for a living. If not, don't talk about it after work hours. There is nothing more annoying than hearing other people bitch about their work. Leave work at work. Its fine to talk about exciting things and major changes. But if you hate your job that much, quit and get one where you don't complain at the end of the day. The constant complaining will wear on you and reflect in other areas of your life. Money isn't everything. If you work too much, but get a great salary, the money you get isn't going to bring back your youth or your time with friends/wife/children. Better to be poor and drinking a Pabst with your friends, then rich and drinking the finest wine alone.
10. Read. A lot.
*More on this later.
Next time: What would 11 be?
1. Do not watch TV shows with a laugh track. You will be disappointed. If the writers and actors need to prompt you when to laugh by having a canned laughter from others, it will not be funny. You may laugh out loud once or twice, but that is it. These shows appeal to the lowest common denominator. At one point every one of these series if left on long enough will have a character in a panic during an emergency asking "What is the number for 911?" This thought goes for just about anything where you are prompted to give the same response as other. Think for yourself.
2. Once you've reached a certain age, except in rare circumstances, a woman will know if she wants to sleep with you within about 10 minutes of meeting you. If she doesn't want to sleep with you, there is nothing you can do. If she does, it is yours to mess up. So if you think a woman is into you and you fail to sleep with her, you did something to fuck it up.
3. Don't define yourself by religion, ancestry, nationality, race, place you were born or city you were raised in. The second you make yourself a part of a group, you immediately exclude those who are not a part of it. People are people, each of the above listed groups has good folks and bad folks, people you will get along with and those you do not. The arbitrariness of such things is wholly defined by things you have no control of and could just as easily have been another category.
4. It is better to have a few very good friends than a whole bunch of mediocre or fair weather friends. It may be lonelier, but the moments with your real friends, which feel like a day hasn't passed though it may be months since you have seen each other, will let you know it is worth it.
5. You can believe in God, but don't think for a second that s/he will answer prayers or do anything to affect your life. Prayer may help people, but that's because all it does it make them think that actions are out of their control and some benevolent being wants it all to be alright for them. Your life will be dictated by your actions, the actions of those you surround yourself with and a bunch of random people who have never heard of you. If something bad happens, its not God or luck, it just is. Deal with it. Don't follow an organized religion. If you want to take a leap of faith and believe that a man can ascend to heaven after his death and not believe that a human can have a head of an elephant, you are getting yourself into trouble. Religious leaders are no different than political leaders By being a member of an organized religion, you immediately claim that because you understand the supreme being, everyone who doesn't is wrong. You better have some proof to back that up. Religious texts are not proof, they are something some douche bag wrote a long time ago to get others to act like they do because they feel safe in conformity or to act in such a way for their benefit.
6. Travel but don't be a tourist. Don't take pre-arranged trips with only tourist destinations. The locals of any culture/place are so much more interesting that the tourist destination they live near. That is not to say that you shouldn't see the tourist destination(it is one for a valid reason), but don't make it your only stop.
7. Always questions the actions of any government. Leaders of the world/state/local offices are just as self interested as you. Everyone has a motivation for doing what they do.
8. Learn to play an instrument. Chicks dig it.
9. Love what you do for a living. If not, don't talk about it after work hours. There is nothing more annoying than hearing other people bitch about their work. Leave work at work. Its fine to talk about exciting things and major changes. But if you hate your job that much, quit and get one where you don't complain at the end of the day. The constant complaining will wear on you and reflect in other areas of your life. Money isn't everything. If you work too much, but get a great salary, the money you get isn't going to bring back your youth or your time with friends/wife/children. Better to be poor and drinking a Pabst with your friends, then rich and drinking the finest wine alone.
10. Read. A lot.
Next time: What would 11 be?
Friday, March 2, 2007
Welcome to the Parent Club
At about 2:15 a.m. I was woken up by my wife, who in a "I'm too tired to be frustrated right now, but something needs to be done and you are the one to do it" voice asked me to get up and check on the baby. He had been asleep in his bassinet, but had but been squirming around and making these noises that are similar to what I think an adult yak that is in a steel cage wrestling match with a sea lion would sound like.
Needless to say, I very slowly got out of bed. You see, I just took the bar exam the two previous days, and the day leading up last night was my first full day back at work. Its been a stressful week. But don't tell my wife I said that, cause I am pretty sure, she would trade me what she is going through right now for what I went through. I am pretty sure she would trade me even if the trade involved her carrying a 50 lb weight with her everywhere she went.
When I finally picked him up, he settled down for a bit, his eyes remained closed and slowly walked him back and forth in the bedroom. I was still pretty much asleep, so I figured, I can settle him down in about a minute or so, using my father magic, and I would be back asleep before I knew it and I could continue on with my fucked up dream about driving to work with the wheels falling off the car. 50 seconds into it, everything was going according to plan. He was quite, not moving, I was trying to figure out the symbolism of the tires falling off. 1 minute in - Perfection. I declare myself the greatest father in the history of the universe and lay Junior back down in the bassinet. My wife, wakes up for a brief second(although I don't think she sleeps anymore) to ask if he was hungry. I confidently reply "no he just needed to be held for a while." Don't we all. I proceed to go lay down. I assumed a comfortable position after finding the warm pocket under the sheets. I close my eyes ready to enter the blissful world of uninterrupted sleep. Then he starts up again. I think "give him a minute." The yak noise comes and goes. I think "this will pass." He wants me to sleep, because he's my friend. This goes on for about 5 minutes of it starting and stopping. The wife is getting annoyed. I am getting annoyed. The normally very mellow and docile dog is getting annoyed. The dog gets up from his bed on the floor, sits up and gives me a "what the fuck, doesn't that kid know that I need my 20 hours of sleep, I have been incredibly patient with him, now go and fucking take care of this" look. I decide I should get up and attend to this.
So I pick him up again and think maybe he just needs to be changed. Side note: I change this kid like lighting. I have a pattern figured out to ensure minimum crying when naked(irrespective of my attempts to let him know that the best parts of his adult life will involve nudity), expedient removal of soiled diapers and clothing and of course limiting feces geysers. This changing was no exception. He was back ready for his bassinet in a matter on minutes and I was ready to see where the dream about the car with the wobbly tires was going, hoping that there might be some nudity involved.
But alas, this would not do. The noises persisted, as did my frustration. So downstairs we go. Time to eat. I placed the pot to boil the water and removed the prepared bottle with 2 ozs of boob nectar ready to go. I was so tired I used a pot that was already on the stove. It apparently had too much water in it and took forever to boil. The sounds had now become crying. Loud crying and getting louder. I knew I my wife had woken up, but I was really concerned about the wrath of the dog. Finally, the pot got to the point just before boiling. I turned off the stove and moved the pot to another stove top. Placed the bottle in the pot to heat up. Being that I was little tired, I wasn't thinking about physics. But apparently, when the water level is higher than the level of the liquid of the item...something, something, something, the bottle tips over. That happened here. The kid is still crying. The wailing, ear piercing cry that only a small child who needs his milk can make. I panic and try and fish the bottle out. I am still holding onto the kid. I am still half asleep. This wakes me up completely. The milk starts pouring into the water in the pot through the nipple. I panic, because, if the nipple gets too hot it will burn his lips. Still panicking, still trying to pull the bottle out of the near boiling water, still holding the baby who is still crying. Fuck me.
I finally gather my thoughts. First, put the kid down. Second, remove the bottle from the hot water. Third, fill up new bottle, fourth, pick up child again to reduce crying levels about 10-20 decibels, fifth, start heating new bottle, being sure to hold it steady for the designated 2 1/2 minutes, sixth check temperature, seventh, put down child and bottle, eighth, grab boppy pillow and place around waist in as manly a manner as possible, ninth grab child and bottle, tenth, give bottle. Eleventh, enjoy silence.
He polished off the milk in about 5 minutes. 5 minutes to burp. 20 minutes to hold up to make sure he doesn't throw up the milk and choke. I was back in bed before 3 :15, a little sad that my status as greatest father in the history of the universe might be in jeopardy. Being wide awake, I layed there for about 15 minutes before finally falling asleep only to be woken up this morning by my alarm, letting me know it was time to get ready for work.
Before I was about to leave this morning. I picked up junior and was holding him and saying good bye. He slowly cracked open his eyes. Looked straight ahead and then over to be. Gave me an acknowledging look and closed his eyes again. After a half second pause, the right side of his mouth breaks into a grin. I fucking love this kid.
Next time: A tribute to the dog: our first child.
Needless to say, I very slowly got out of bed. You see, I just took the bar exam the two previous days, and the day leading up last night was my first full day back at work. Its been a stressful week. But don't tell my wife I said that, cause I am pretty sure, she would trade me what she is going through right now for what I went through. I am pretty sure she would trade me even if the trade involved her carrying a 50 lb weight with her everywhere she went.
When I finally picked him up, he settled down for a bit, his eyes remained closed and slowly walked him back and forth in the bedroom. I was still pretty much asleep, so I figured, I can settle him down in about a minute or so, using my father magic, and I would be back asleep before I knew it and I could continue on with my fucked up dream about driving to work with the wheels falling off the car. 50 seconds into it, everything was going according to plan. He was quite, not moving, I was trying to figure out the symbolism of the tires falling off. 1 minute in - Perfection. I declare myself the greatest father in the history of the universe and lay Junior back down in the bassinet. My wife, wakes up for a brief second(although I don't think she sleeps anymore) to ask if he was hungry. I confidently reply "no he just needed to be held for a while." Don't we all. I proceed to go lay down. I assumed a comfortable position after finding the warm pocket under the sheets. I close my eyes ready to enter the blissful world of uninterrupted sleep. Then he starts up again. I think "give him a minute." The yak noise comes and goes. I think "this will pass." He wants me to sleep, because he's my friend. This goes on for about 5 minutes of it starting and stopping. The wife is getting annoyed. I am getting annoyed. The normally very mellow and docile dog is getting annoyed. The dog gets up from his bed on the floor, sits up and gives me a "what the fuck, doesn't that kid know that I need my 20 hours of sleep, I have been incredibly patient with him, now go and fucking take care of this" look. I decide I should get up and attend to this.
So I pick him up again and think maybe he just needs to be changed. Side note: I change this kid like lighting. I have a pattern figured out to ensure minimum crying when naked(irrespective of my attempts to let him know that the best parts of his adult life will involve nudity), expedient removal of soiled diapers and clothing and of course limiting feces geysers. This changing was no exception. He was back ready for his bassinet in a matter on minutes and I was ready to see where the dream about the car with the wobbly tires was going, hoping that there might be some nudity involved.
But alas, this would not do. The noises persisted, as did my frustration. So downstairs we go. Time to eat. I placed the pot to boil the water and removed the prepared bottle with 2 ozs of boob nectar ready to go. I was so tired I used a pot that was already on the stove. It apparently had too much water in it and took forever to boil. The sounds had now become crying. Loud crying and getting louder. I knew I my wife had woken up, but I was really concerned about the wrath of the dog. Finally, the pot got to the point just before boiling. I turned off the stove and moved the pot to another stove top. Placed the bottle in the pot to heat up. Being that I was little tired, I wasn't thinking about physics. But apparently, when the water level is higher than the level of the liquid of the item...something, something, something, the bottle tips over. That happened here. The kid is still crying. The wailing, ear piercing cry that only a small child who needs his milk can make. I panic and try and fish the bottle out. I am still holding onto the kid. I am still half asleep. This wakes me up completely. The milk starts pouring into the water in the pot through the nipple. I panic, because, if the nipple gets too hot it will burn his lips. Still panicking, still trying to pull the bottle out of the near boiling water, still holding the baby who is still crying. Fuck me.
I finally gather my thoughts. First, put the kid down. Second, remove the bottle from the hot water. Third, fill up new bottle, fourth, pick up child again to reduce crying levels about 10-20 decibels, fifth, start heating new bottle, being sure to hold it steady for the designated 2 1/2 minutes, sixth check temperature, seventh, put down child and bottle, eighth, grab boppy pillow and place around waist in as manly a manner as possible, ninth grab child and bottle, tenth, give bottle. Eleventh, enjoy silence.
He polished off the milk in about 5 minutes. 5 minutes to burp. 20 minutes to hold up to make sure he doesn't throw up the milk and choke. I was back in bed before 3 :15, a little sad that my status as greatest father in the history of the universe might be in jeopardy. Being wide awake, I layed there for about 15 minutes before finally falling asleep only to be woken up this morning by my alarm, letting me know it was time to get ready for work.
Before I was about to leave this morning. I picked up junior and was holding him and saying good bye. He slowly cracked open his eyes. Looked straight ahead and then over to be. Gave me an acknowledging look and closed his eyes again. After a half second pause, the right side of his mouth breaks into a grin. I fucking love this kid.
Next time: A tribute to the dog: our first child.
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