I'm Not an Animal!

I recently discovered this about myself - I’m really hung up on how people smell. I was watching a makeup commercial with Drew Barrymore on it, and all I could think was “I wonder if she’s ever farted in public? Does it stink when she does? In fact, I wonder if she’s ever queefed and owned up to it?” Weird, I know, but this is a large part of why I find myself unable to be attracted for too very long to any movie star or media icon. I think about the reality of the person. The odor of the person. I know I’m not supposed to, that they’re supposed to be these projections of beauty, but I can’t help it. “Hmmm…Robert Downey Junior talks about spending 12+ hours a day on set. I wonder if he walks around smelling like balls and ass?”
Angelina Jolie and NPH are the exceptions. I’m pretty sure she smells like angels and stardust. And I'd bet Angelina smells pretty good too.

The Twins: "Daddy, can we have cookies for breakfast?"

Me: "Sure!"

The Kids: "YAYYY!"

Me: "With milk?"

Roman: "Yeah, and, Mommy is at work, so she can't say no."

Me: "Wait - Mommy already said no?"

Roman: "Yeah, but she's at work. Sooo..."

Me: "And you are bragging about this? NO COOKIE FOR YOU!"

The OTHER Vulcan

Boogie (holding her hand up in the Vulcan V) - "Live long. With a crossbow."

No more Ace Ventura for that boy...

I'm going to my very own special hell, methinks. Well, I'm certain our doctor's assistant thinks, anyway.

Today was "Shot Day" for the twins. Which, with them, is a big production, but it's generally over pretty quick. YAY! (I say "yay", not because I LOVE seeing my children jabbed with pokey metal objects [I really don't], but because dealing with the cacophonous chaos of their powers combined STILL doesn't hold a candle to dealing with Gaius on Shot Day. They scream and cry. Biscuit overturns exam tables. They sit and kick their feet. Little brother requires a full body tackle and bear hug from Daddy, and still manages to squirm free.  [Also, I'm pretty sure he has already started a hit list, and our doctors assistant is numero uno on that list.] On Shot Day for Gaius, the minute we walked into the room, it was like he had whitecoat flashbacks.  He started screaming his head off, scrambled up onto my shoulder like a cracked out chimp, and got a death grip on my eye sockets. I'm kinda surprised he wasn't flinging poo. I finally got him calmed down right about the time the doctor's assistant administered the shots. Ooooh...big mistake. He SCA-REAMED vehemently at the top of his lungs, jabbed at her with Angry Monkey finger, and gave her such a murderous glare that she got uncomfortable enough to mention it. "I REALLY don't like the way he just looked at me. It was very threatening." If it were any other toddler, I would have been like "He's just a baby" and laughed it off. But Gaius? I think he could execute a little of the old ultraviolence, were he of the mind. )

ANYWAY. Back to the story.  It comes Roman's turn, and he - being the most dramatic of the twins - starts wailing at the top of his lungs. I try very hard not to smirk, because this is SERIOUS BUSINESS. According to the needle person. She wipes him with the alcohol swab and he sets to SCREAMING like he's being mauled by a Bengal Tiger. And then she pokes him, and he freaking loses it, and shrieks "IT'S INNN THE BOOONNNE! IT'S INNN THE BOOONNNE!" At which point I can't hold back, and start roaring with laughter so hard I very nearly pee myself, while the doctors assistant stares at me, aghast. 2 seconds later, Boogie starts cracking up, and the next thing you know we're ALL laughing maniacally - including Roman - while Miss Pokey slowly backs out of the room, eyes wide in horror at the family possessed.

If laughter is the best medicine, I think we’re all stocked up. With an overflow of crazy.

REE REE REE REE!

Aaand my Halloween is now complete. Just scared the living SHIT out of about 20 middle school kids that all came to the door all at once. I opened the door with a big happy grin, and then suddenly lunged at them, shrieking, my best demonwitch scream straight from the bowels of hell. One little dude couldn't take it and bolted. Everyone else screamed and clutched each other in white-knuckled fear until they saw the giant bowl of candy and all was forgiven. *sigh* I ♥ scaring little kids. Oh, and I ♥ Halloween.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

The cleaner you are, the more a witch can smell you... Guess my boy is safe.

Okay, lady-with-a-giant-hairy-wart/mole-on-your-face. If you go shopping 2 days before Halloween, expect that children - namely, my son - will point at your wart and think you are dressed as a witch. A professionally dressed witch, but a warty evil witch nonetheless. ESPECIALLY if you get all screechy and offended because he pointed out your "beauty mark." Crazy ass.

As a side note, it probably doesn't help that he had recently finished watching "the Witches" based on the book by Roald Dahl, so he went completely MENTAL when I quietly assured him that you were, indeed, a witch. "DON'T LET HER GET ME, DAD!!! If she tries to give me candy, I will throw it at her! With a snake!"

I'm not like everyone else...

This morning I walked in on Boogie peeing while standing. She was proud of it. "Look Daddy! I can pee like a boy!" Never thought I would have to tell my girl child to put the toilet seat down AFTER she was done.

Speaking of why do you not shut up...

I look at Brie’s family, and I am insanely jealous. Her dad and her brother have this awesome bond. They go on fishing trips, go camping, and hang out. The kids grandparents have us over about every other week or so for dinner and games, and they love to watch the children for us whenever we need it. Brie’s mom loves to have us up, loves to keep in contact with her children, encourage them, help them achieve their goals and relishes her role as grandmother. Her husband is always hiking, biking, and exploring with his sons, and often invites the kids to come along. Holidays with Brie’s family are extraordinary. There is so much love it hurts.

I wish my family was like that. The family on my side does not play well together. There is always drama, always someone butthurt about something. They are perpetually stuck in the "victim" mentality. It’s something of a paradox with them, really. I am an outcast with my parents because I don’t follow their religious beliefs (in fact, I intentionally had myself forcibly evicted or “disfellowshipped” from the religion so I wouldn’t have to deal with their shit) and because I don’t assume the accepted role of breadwinner and king of my own domicile, but they come to me to solve their problems or whine about their drama. I get fucking sick of it. I have actually moved 3 different times to get away from them, but they keep goddamn motherfucking son of a bitch following me. So far, they haven’t come to P-town. Knock on wood. Throw salt over my shoulder. Pray to Bob. (My Bob is different than your B.O.B. My Bob controls the weather) Pray to the gods I DON’T believe in. Sacrifice a goat. Sacrifice a virgin. Whatever it takes, man. Just keep them away.

So, instead of family, I try to make friends. I have found that I can be a bit of an outsider because of my outspoken nature, but I’m usually able to counter that with my charisma and the fact that I adhere to a simple rule - “If you’re going to tell people the truth, make them laugh. Otherwise, they’ll kill you.” Some guy said that, and it’s the truth. My wife has often marveled at how much shit I can say to someone and they’ll stand there and crack up because I’m saying it with a smile or laughing myself. 
I am an outgoing, boisterous, generally happy man, so that would normally endear me to quite a few.

But I am also an at-home dad. From my observation of others in this unique circle, I don't quite fit the part. I’m too large, robust, worldly, and outspoken. A large portion of the at-home dads I’ve met here are short, scrawny fuckers and whiny as shit. All they want to do is bitch about how they feel emasculated, or how their wife or partner doesn’t appreciate and thank them for the sacrifices they make, there’s no glory in what they do, their work is never finished…blah blah blah. Beer night with them is a fucking crybaby I-wish-she-would-listen-to-me-like-you-guys-do-we're-here-for-you-brother-she-says-my-dicks-to-small-we-didn't-need-to-know-that-mine-too fest. Guess what, motherfuckers? The plight of ALL at-home parents are these internal/external struggles. And I can understand venting about it when it comes to a point, but EVERY FUCKING TIME WE MEET?! GAHHH!!! Talk about something else. Fuck, man.

The mom’s group I am a part of is actually quite a bit more to my liking. First off, I have always gotten along with women. B: the women are, for the most part, much more level headed than the dad’s group. Sure they have their cliques, but what group doesn’t? The only problem I have with this group is that they’re clear on the other side of the goddamn river, and it’s a fuckin’ pain in the ass to commute there and back with 3 kids. (Lookit me bein’ whiny. God, this whole post is a bit of a whine fest, isn’t it. Oh well - don’t expect much more of that from now on) Anyway, I am just not getting the social interaction I crave.

And I AM a social person. I need to communicate. So guess who is the recipient of my expenditure of pent up emotion in the form of affection (Ambush snogging and attempts to roughhouse or engage in foreplay), constant contact (read ass-grabbing), and endless babble as I relate to her even the most miniscule detail of my day, told in such a way as to make it exciting and extraordinary, when the reality of it all is, it's boring as shit. That’s right - dear ol’ wifey poo. All she wanted to do was come home to a nice, quiet, clean house, dinner ready, go for a walk, play with the kids, and then watch Firefly or Torchwood until we go to sleep, secure in knowing that I will always be there beside her. She gets most of that, all except the quiet bit. She is bombarded by a constant stream of chatter, and, eventually, she just has to tune it out. So, then, of course, I get offended because she isn't listening. Now I'm grumpy, she's upset, the kids are screaming, and it just goes downhill from there.

I just need an outlet. And I’ve found an online group that is perfect for that. You should check them out. MWDAS. DON’T tell ‘em I sent you, though, or you’ll never get in.

Why do you not shut up?!?!?

You know why I don't have a Twitter account? Because I already get inane updates every 15 seconds from my children.
"Daddy, when I said 'hi', you closed your mouth, so I thought you was not listening."
"Uh-huh."
"Daddy, this is my tea cup."
"Uh-huh."
"Daddy, this is my bear."
Uh-huh."
"DADDY! GAIUS JUST ATE A PRETZEL!"
"Aaaand..."
"Daddy, I'm playing with this alligator. It makes music."
"That's cool, love. Go play with it in the playroom, please. Daddy's trying to work."
30 seconds later...

"Daddy, I'm playing with this alligator. It makes music."

"Really? No fucking way. You mean the SAME alligator you were playing with half a minute ago when you gave me this very same status update, or is this a DIFFERENT goddamn alligator? Because if it IS different, I want to know where the hell you got it. Do we have a magical freaking xylophone alligator duplicator hidden somewhere in the playroom? Because I want to capitalize on that shit. Otherwise, GO FUCKING PLAY!!! GAHHH!!!"

She giggles mischievously with a just a hint of demonic influence and scampers away, secure in the knowledge that she is driving me batshit loco.

The worst part, for me, is that with the twins, I hear everything twice. Seriously. 
"Daddy, can I have your hammer to fix my baby?" 
"No, Boogie. Go play." 
A few SECONDS later - "Daddy, Boogie needs your hammer to fix her baby..." 
"GAHHHH! Go AWAY! You don't use a hammer for baby repair!"

Apart from feeding them constantly - with the feeble hope that having food in their mouths will prevent them from talking, or at the very least, muffle the sound - there are a few methods I use to distract my children from assaulting me with an incessant barrage of inane chatter.

I have a GINORMOUS table, and that table is sitting on my decent sized lawn, and I cover that table with about 10 yards of banner paper, and give the kids every marker, tub of paint, tube of glue, crayon, and snapcase of glitter that I can find and let them go to town. I then pull up a lawn chair, pour my sangria, and read. In a couple of hours, I hose them off or have them wash off in the pool, and, when the paint has dried on the paper, I wallpaper their fort with it. I do this once or twice a week.
Outside playtime is our favorite activity. We have a nice big beautiful yard, complete with trees and a clubhouse, and the kids spend hours out there letting themselves and their imaginations run wild.
As always, there is the "Super Ninja Turtle Monkey Princess Dance Time Power Hour" or "Dance Time" for short.
Also TV. TV is a good distraction. Wait, what's that? Experts say TV is BAD for kids? "Experts" can fuck off. I know when too much TV is too much. 
Reading time. My kids LOVE to read, so I encourage "reading time" at every opportunity.
And naps. I love that my kids still go down for 3 hour naps right in the middle of the day. And if they aren't napping, they are at least having some personal quiet time. Which means so am I. Yay!

I'll be what I wanna do

The word for today is “ignorance”.

So, anybody that knows me well knows these 4 things - I have been struck by lightning, I have that “Hulk” thing that happens, I am (not that it should fucking matter to YOU) a pansexual male in a monogamous heterosexual relationship with my lifemate Brie, and…oh yes - I cannot abide stupidity. The definition I use for stupidity has broadened over the years, to the point that I have become an outrageous cynic when it comes down to my perception of humanity. I want to change that, but holy fucking shit, man. It seems every time I start making headway, start seeing beauty in people the way I once did, some fucking troglodyte pops his thick ignorant head up and says something so intolerable that it brings my whole house of cards crashing down.

Case in point:

I was having a conversation with a friend of a friend. He is of the opinion that gay people check themselves in to counseling centers to be cured of their homosexuality, not because of the stigma surrounding being gay, or the stress and intense guilt they feel from their religion, family, and community telling them that it is wrong, but simply because they want to. He further went on to inform me that “no one discriminates against gays anymore. They are an accepted part of society for the most part.” When I pointed out to him that, in fact, in our town, in the last year alone, there had been several acts of violence targeting gays, he said something along the lines of “Well, statistically, it’s so much better for them now than it used to be, so there’s really not any reason for them to feel discriminated against anymore.”

.

.

.

.

…What. The. Fuck. Motherfucker.

This is it though, right? This right here is going to be my point -the rights of the individual. In order to respect his individuality, do I have to accept his ignorance as well? Because I don’t wanna. I want to get in his face (and would have, if not for the intervention of a number of friends and my wife, being that we were at a mutual friends house, and I am influenced by the Way of the Circle when it comes to domocilicus domesticus) get him in a motherfucking headlock, and scream in his ear:

"FUCK YOUR “STATISTICS”! FUCK YOUR IGNORANCE! BECAUSE THERE IS DISCRIMINATION STILL GOING ON, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! ON A GRAND SCALE! BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU’RE A FUCKING IDIOT!!!

FUCK DISCRIMINATION! FUCK GENDER BIAS! FUCK INTOLERANCE OF SEXUAL ORIENTATION! FUCK RACIAL PREJUDICE! FUCK “GAY” RIGHTS! FUCK “TOLERANCE”! AND FUCK YOU, FOR EVEN THINKING YOU HAVE AN IDEA AS TO WHAT THESE ARE!!!"

That’s what I wanted to do. Because we, as a society, have abso-fucking-lutely no clue.

A perfect example - “gay marriage”. What is the purpose of distinguishing “gay” marriage from “traditional” marriage? Or any other type of marriage, for that matter? Nothing says “I love you” like a shotgun wedding. Right?! I’m being told that marrying someone for no other reason than you don’t want to conceive your fucking bastard spawn out of wedlock is a better reason to form a life union than, oh, I don’t know - LOVE? You fucking twatwaddle. That’s an AWESOME environment for a child to be raised in. One of self-perpetuating ignorance. Unless that child has the intelligence to see it for what it is and the strength to rise above it, here we go AGAIN. Doot doot doodle doodle doot doot doo doo… mother fucking circus of life.

Oh, we would like to think that we have come into an age of acceptance. We delude ourselves into thinking that prejudice is passing away, because we now use words like "acceptance" and "tolerance" on a regular basis. Like any one part of humanity need go to the other part for their approval. Fuck you, you egomaniacal bastards. As if my religious beliefs, or race, or gender, or orientation, or my sexuality has ANYTHING to do with you. “GAH! Don’t go near him! You might catch Gay!” Imbeciles.

Bigotry is the product of the ignorant wallowing in self-loathing and stupidity, too self-centered and focused on their own presumed superiority to understand that in the end, we are all human. Every last fucking one of us. All constructed of the same starshit, all on equal footing, in the face of that bitch Mother Nature, in the goddamn trenches, we are all of us stuck to this fucking rock, being tossed willy-nilly about the infinite chaotic motherfucking cosmos, subject to the crazy ass whims of the universe. And I haven’t met a person yet who has made it out alive. Of course, I haven’t met a person who has made it out dead, either. What I’m saying is, we are equal. We all know this. On the surface we know this. Deep down we know it. So why can’t we all just motherfucking GET ALONG?!

And I do want to respect others rights, sexuality, religion… but where do I draw the line? Do I respect the other person’s "right" to discriminate, or do I ”educate” them in the shallowness of their intellect?

It’s not really a “line”, though, this principle of respect. It’s more of an intangible…thing, an amorphous cloud, a bubble, a projection of the individual. The Respect-a-bubble!

Because I think, simply, it comes down to respect. Respect the rights of the individual to choose to be or do or say what they want, as long as those decisions don’t disrespect others' rights as individuals. Seems simple enough, right? *sigh* Guess I just have to keep up with my plan of world domination. Then ALL you cockmunches will HAVE to see it my way.