Monday, July 18, 2016

Can I Get a Hand, Here?!

I do NOT get the mentality that the working  away from home partner does precisely jack shit when they get home. I don't get that. "Oh, honey, I'll help you by taking out the trash...occasionally." Motherfucker. Said. What?!?!? How...so the whole time you're at "work", obviously I'm home just f7xk8ng around, and not ONLY do I not start "working" until you get home, the entirety of what I do revolves around what you do with your tired ass!?!? Guess what, motherfucker- have I got news for you. While you are at "work", my ass is shopping, feeding, cleaning, feeding, doing laundry, drinking maybe, feeding, paying bills, cleaning, more laundry, a little more tipple, cooking, feeding, cleaning, whup- more shopping, and THEN you get home, which involves more cooking, cleaning, feeding...every. motherfucking. day. So, come to me again with the "I'm the working parent, I'll take out the trash and do some yardwork." Yardwork is a fucking VACATION. Outside? By myself? For hours?!Are you fucking kidding?!?!  That is NOT an equal partnership. An equal partnership is, you get home, you ask what the fuck you can do to assist. "But I've had a long day at worrrrk...*pout*" well Guess. Fucking. What. So have I. I have done all the shit, whilst wrangling children, pets, and the occasional confused and now slightly disheveled passerby. So pitch in. Help out. Equalize. Because we're in this shit together.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

This blog entry is about my daughter

I have had enough. Refusing to refer to Caitlyn Jenner as Caitlyn, as a WOMAN, is not witty. It is not funny. It is bigoted, callous, and disrespectful. More than that and to the point, it is transphobic. I don't give a flying fuck what you think of her as a person, or whether or not you agree she is deserving of some meretricious award, or whether you think she is a shallow pedant who makes wildly inaccurate statements about her gender. Caitlyn Jenner is not the first woman to say something stupid about being a woman, and I guarantee you there are many men who have done worse on a far grosser, ridiculous, idiotic scale. It does not make her less of a woman, and neither does having formerly identified as a male. But that part of her, what she did, who she is - it's bigger than that. She, and Laverne Cox, and a host of other trans advocates have recently brought transgender issues suddenly and unexpectedly into the public eye. Trans issues of being taunted, tormented, killed and driven to commit suicide because of who they are.
Who.
They.
Are.
It is NOT a motherfucking choice. It is who they are, it is their identity, and I swear to fucking god if you approach my trans daughter and intentionally refer to her as anyone other than who she is, we will have words. I am a father. My children are my life. You hurt them, and you will KNOW who I am.
My daughter will not suffer for your - or anyone else's - ignorance. To that end, it is my duty to bring enlightenment to those not possessing the knowledge regarding the impact of their actions. If you are one of these, consider yourself further educated. If you are not, feel free to share your wisdom with others. 

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

All It Takes is Faith and Trust...

That moment when the booger that falls out of your nose appears to have magical properties because your daughter has sprinkled you with so much "fairy dust" in an attempt to turn you into a unicorn and help you fly that you now sneeze glitter.

42

Me: "So, Boogs - gonna drop a little existential quandary on you - why life, the universe, and everything?"
B: "Stop saying weird words. Say things I know."
Me: "...so, why are we here?"
B: "You mean how."
Me: " I said 'why'."
B: "Yeah, but that's not a real question. 'How' is a real question. Because, SCIENCE! 'volution and stuff."
Me: " But why?! Why are we here on this bright blue ball hurtling through space at a kajillion miles a second?! WHYYYY?!"
B: "HA! I don't think you know how big the universe is."
Me: "How does that have anything to do with it?"
B:(getting very, very close to my face) "Because we are specks of stardust. DO YOU KNOW HOW BIG DUST IS?! THIS BIG! (Holds up finger and thumb squished together) TINY! The universe isn't a thing. It doesn't care. It doesn't care about dust. Do you care about dust?! HUH?!"
Me: "You are very close to my face right now. (She backs up about an inch) Well, that seems...sad. I mean, if there isn't a why, then we wouldn't really have a purpose."
B: "Riiiight...which means we can do whatever. Be whatever. I'm gonna be a SPACE EXPLORER. I'm going to swim to planets and harvest stuff. That's MY purpose. Harvesting planets."
Me: " If that's the case, I know a giant purple dude that likes to eat planets who's got a surfboard with your name on it. "
B: "Heeheehee - you're weird." And she scissorkicks off, pretending to swim through space.
She will go far. Of this I have no doubt. I would move heaven and Earth to make that happen, but I know I won't have to. My children ARE strength, and the embodiment of intelligence, and kindness, and love. I am awed and schooled by them every single day.

Happy Birthday, Mister President

Believe it or not, our lack of wealth is not indicative of a desire by myself or my family to possess cheap shit. If you feel a need to shop at the dollar store or send "freebies"(e.g. stickers from your dentist or local politician, regifted gift cards, bits of string you found on the sidewalk...)as gifts, please kindly fuck off. If it's the thought that counts, then think long term. Think about the shit we are going to have to peel off the walls, wash off the windows, scrub off the children. The amount of crap we are going to have to throw away because you thought "any gift is a gift", and then sent the relatives poorer than you piles of crap, while publicly displaying the extravagant gifts you give those relatives at the same level of wealth as yourself. I notice you don't post pictures of the "Vote Kerry '08" Stickers the kids received in their most recent birthday cards. 

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Say Hello to My Little Friend...

90% of my "battle scars" are from working in the kitchen.
You'd think that would make me want to quit.
You'd be wrong.
Every scar is a story.
Not every story is a scar, though.
Not in my book.
In my book, my scars are a reminder of how far I've come and where I've been.
But I don't let them define me.
I am more than the sum of my scars.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Elephant in the Room or, A Brimful of Asha

I just had the police called on me. For being out in public. With my children.

We were out, trying to get some lunch, and I had had the kids sit on a flower box on the sidewalk while I called the bank regarding a pin issue. 

Some old lady drove up next to us, rolled down her passenger window, and got all up in my business. She asked me if the children were okay, then asked if they were in danger, the whole time giving me the stink-eye.

"I'm their father. They are in a safe location, and are being supervised. What possible danger could they be in?!"
"I'm calling the police."
"To report yourself for getting all up in my business and being a public nuisance?"

I'm not sure if she called them or flagged them down, but a few minutes later, the police showed up. They drove through the parking lot, took one look at me, gave a wave and a nod, and kept going.

Between this, the Timmy incident, and the too-long grass, is it any wonder I never want to leave my motherfucking goddamn house?! GAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Honestly, I realize this issue is small, comparatively, opposed to, say, the sexist oppression women face everywhere, but it is awesome to me that everyone I know and love understands that narrow-minded shit like this is not okay. I don't understand what her motivation was. 

I was told once at a park by a mom that, as a man, I didn't have the ability to nurture that it takes to effectively and lovingly raise children. I get statements like this every once in awhile, and generally I have a decent retort, because, um, ME. Often, though, I get "Daddy's day out, huh?" "Is it Dad's day with the kids?" "Got yourself a day off work, huh?" Mother. Fucker. This IS my job.


It's funny, in a sad way. The snap-judgement extremes people go to. I receive from total strangers either total big-scary-man avoidance, or in-your-face counsel, condemnation, and reprimand, or just the assumption that being a dad is a part-time gig. I can't wrap my head around that mentality.

I like the middle-grounders, the opinionated, outspoken neutral non-neutrals. Those that don't give a fuck about the gender of myself or my children, or the clothes we wear, or how we spend our day. Those that know we are just parents and children, trying to enjoy life as much as possible, and trying very hard not to hate with the burning fire of a thousand suns everyone else that feels the need to ejaculate their anecdotal blurbs of parenting wisdom all over us.

Monday, March 9, 2015

Rage Against the Machine

After last year's bizarre factory reset of our home PC, in which we lost all music, photos and documents stored there, I have to re-rip my 1500+ cds to the drive again. This monumental task is offset by the fact that I have 3 more-than-eager technojunkie helper monkeys fiending to earn screen time who are doing an amazing job focusing on prep, rip, and file. Who knew having kids would pay out in tedious labor?! Wait...only every parent EVER before us. At the very least, mine...

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Subject to Change...

I'm going to get real, for a moment, on an issue I would like to address. 
Anyone that knows me knows I love to debate. I love to play devil's advocate. You give me a topic, and I will try to see -and argue - it from multiple vantage points. This characteristic allows me to be fluid. Malleable. To adapt and change with logic and information. To progress. And this is the issue: The one thing I have learned in my years of research, discourse, and debate: being a pretentious, overbearing, judgmental, know-it-all prick is not going to sell you or me on anyone's opinion, politics, religion, line of reasoning, or get me to revise my stance on an issue. If you want me to hear you, want to engage me, it would benefit you to implement my (recently discovered as I am writing this) guidelines of respectful discourse(which I should probably have been following but HEY! I just discovered that I have guidelines, so give me a break):


First: Be polite. In discussion, make respectful requests for information, use proper names, show that you are actively listening to me by telling me what you are hearing me say. And I will try to do the same. Actively listening, instead of just waiting for one's turn to speak, can have surprising results. Many, many times, an explosive disagreement that could have been avoided came down to simply a matter of semantics and/or miscommunication.


Second: Communicate respectfully. Do not denigrate, attack my character, address my stance on other issues not related to the topic in order to call my intellect into question, or in any other way attempt to undermine me as a person. And namecalling? For fucks sake. 
Also, while being facetious or sarcastic is humorous when communicating amongst friends, in debate it is unwarranted and unwanted. HOWEVER! Humor, charm, and genuine wit can help alleviate tension and keep the discussion lighthearted and flowing.
Second B: As to swearing-well, I like to swear. It can help emphasize a point, but in civil discourse, it is not absolutely necessary (I should probably implement this rule more in my daily communication as well).


Third: Present your argument with logic, facts, patience, and RESPECT.

Fourth: Allow time for me to process new information, acquire new thought paths, reposition and expand my thinking. I love to learn, but not if I'm beat about the ass and neck with it. I learn and progress by researching, by studying, by analyzing, by hearing others opinions and statements, and then drawing conclusions. As new information comes to light, new truths revealed, this may change my stance. This is how progress works. 

Finally, I cannot emphasize respect enough. For your fellow human, for the topic...for everything. Being a dick will get you noticed, but genuine respect will get you much further.

Also - if I DO change my mind on a topic, I don't want my face rubbed in it, because you think I'm flip-flopping on the issue. It's difficult enough to alter my mindset, but to be mocked about it is embarrassing, infuriating, and unnecessary.

As a lengthy aside - I firmly believe in progress. Progress advances us and our world, but progress requires adaptation. One of the greatest jokes "society" ever played on humanity is that one must conform - rather than adapt - to be accepted. So the human mind is burdened with a wall of conformity that prevents progress, if we wish to "belong." Remaining steadfast in the face of adversity and providing a united front has always been seen as a strong suit, and, for a large part, it rings true. Early on we discovered that sticking together upped our odds for survival considerably. There were those that stuck out, though. The innovators, the inventors, the artists...


What's the one thing unique to the majority of the thinkers, the geniuses,  the writers, the inventors,  that have led to the advancement of civilization? They thought differently. SO differently, they were branded rebels. Outcasts. Freaks. Weirdos. Why? Why do we shun those that make us stronger? It's stupid! Why not instead be a rebel civilization, a community lauded for our ability to work together to propel humanity forward to great heights, rather than be mired in religiosociopolitical stigma? Or is it that persecution that empowers the greats to become great? I don't know, honestly. Perhaps a little of columns A, B, and C. But I do know that that hostility did not influence them to think like everyone else. They were not swayed by the popular opinion. They thought for themselves, pushed parameters, redefined or in some cases obliterated boundaries. But they did it because they could change, adapt, and, in the end, progress.

So, Respectful Communication begets Progressive Rebel Society.

If you have any suggestions for points I might add, feel free to let me know in the comments. :-)

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Wacky Waving Inflatable Arms Flailing Tube Man

Imagine, for a moment, this entirely absurd scenario - you wake up to find yourself face to face with 100 beautiful clones of you. All of these yous want to do everything you love to do - cook everything you've ever wanted to cook, talk about everything you love to talk about, listen to all the music you ever wanted to listen to, plant and harvest and grow all the things you've ever wanted to grow, play games and Facebook and twitter and imgur and Pinterest all day, do dishes and laundry and clean the house so sparkling clean, write those stories you always wanted to write, go hiking, learn a new language, start a new business, no, make that two, no THREE new businesses, throw a vase, go hunting, take dance lessons... They all want to do something different from every other you, and they all want to do it now. They talk at you incessantly, sometimes mumbling, sometimes yelling, always interrupting...well-mannered, polite, and filtered, these clones are not. There is no order, only cacophonous chaos.

Now your kids are getting up, and their energy is like adding 3 perpetually energized electrically charged bouncing rubber balls to the mix. They, of course, think the clones are great fun, because everything they want to do, well, there's at least ONE clone that wants to do that, plus PANCAKES!


THAT is ADHD. THAT is my every morning, day, afternoon, and night.  I have such grandiose plans, but am inundated with options until I am paralyzed with indecision. I am jacked up to the point of exhaustion, but I am too wired to sleep. I don't use coffee to stay awake, I use it to focus, and it doesn't work very well. I do things, but only parts of things. When I DO make a decision to act, it is often sudden with no advance warning. Where someone else reflects on a million points of light, I am trying to touch every single one instantaneously. Where someone is being driven to distraction, I am the vehicle. How long did it take me to write this? At this point, several months, but I'll really never know, because I'm never done.


There is a flipside. I see shit that no one else sees. I can hold a dozen conversations at the same time. I can MacGuyver the fuck out of anything on a moments notice. I'm funny as hell. I handle anxiety and stress exceptionally well, and recover from conflict remarkably fast. When necessary, I actually, truly "multitask" like a motherfucker. As a parent, I can attend 3 vibrant, confident, energetic individuals at the same time - and keep up! And, when properly medicated, I can hone my skills with laserlike precision. Yes, medicated. And yes - it works. I take 2 little pills of something called Methylphenidate, and I am FOCUSED. I am no longer Wacky Waving Inflatable Arms Flailing Tube Man. I am...LASERBEARD. DUN DUN DUHHHHHHHN. I can get shit DONE. Oh, the things I have accomplished. (Now, I just have to work out the kinks with the dosage, and, hopefully, a semblance of peace and normalcy can be attained.)


So please - tell me ADHD is not a thing. Tell me I'm just a daydreamer that needs to learn "self-control." Tell me I'm undisciplined. Lazy. Lack motivation. "Hyper." I've heard it all, and I've heard every layman's "cure." And I'll tell you this - you're full of shit. I know purely from my own experience that you are  full of complete and utter bullshit. I am the EMBODIMENT of ADHD. It's not a fucking choice. ADHD is very real. I speak from my own life's experience, of course, but there are also at least 200 years worth of documented research and experience to prove it.^1  I implore you - don't dismiss me as a daydreamer, or inattentive, or bored, or dumb. Me, or anyone like me. It really is not a choice. We are who we are, every one of us, and beautiful as all fuck.