MamaKat’s Writer Workshop has prompted: “Who made you red hot this week?” …so here I go.
Please also go visit my friends over at DadBlogs this week for FatherHood Friday.
Daddys are awesome. We help make Mommies. Most of the time.

I feel sick.

This post may end up being an eyeroller for some of you, and I apologize. But that doesn’t make this feeling any less real, or frightening.

My wife approached me this week, and as indelicately as she could, said

“C has something she wants to tell you.”

My 5 year old daughter drifted to me, peered up with her ocean-blue eyes and infectious smile and said,

“Daddy? Alex B. is going to be my boyfriend again.”

And that word began its ping pong match in my brain.

boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend

And then it was replaced with the word I almost didn’t notice…

again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again again

Now, I know what you are doing right now. “Awww, daddy’s little girl…” and “oh boy, you just wait!!”

Go ahead. Have your fun. Because while you are over there yuckin’ it up,

I feel sick. And now just a tad angry.

Who taught her that damn word, anyway? And then who encouraged it?
When was this kid her boyfriend? And then what caused the breakup? And when did they get back together??!!

And who the hell taught my daughter to give men second chances if he was the one who fucked up the first time? You fuck up, you’re GONE. You respect, or YOU ARE OUTTA HERE.

Wait a minute.

Did SHE dump YOU? Then why did you come back around? Do you have no self respect? If you don’t, then she doesn’t want to be with you anyway. Get the hint, kid. Have some pride!! Wait…I don’t care about your pride…Just frickin’ BEAT IT ALREADY!!

I feel sick.

Was it me? Did I do this? Did I yell at her once too often and she thought, “Fine…I’m gonna go get me a bad boy”. When I made her eat three more bites of green leftovers and STILL wouldnt give her a cookie, did she silently decide, “Oh Daddy, you just bought yourself a world of pain.” Whatever it was, honey, Daddy is sorry. Just ask the boy to please go away. For good. NOW.

It is incomprehensible to me that there will come a day when she doesn’t consider me the most important man in her life. Not that she even thinks that now, but I am. And this kid is not gonna drive a wedge between me and my girl. Not now, not while I am still buying her Princess crap.

You just made the list, kid. A very short list of one.

And you don’t want to be on this list.

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Good Morning, dear friends, and welcome to Crowley, Texas.

Population : 14 + me.

My job offers me enough flexibility to explore some of the retail establishments along the way to needy patients and hungry nurses, and this little gem popped into my consciousness and aroused my curiosity enough to stop and meet the locals.

I don't mind telling you, the sign out front didn't slow down the blur between my hand and mouth in the least. And in all fairness, my donut barista was kind enough to put down the Raid and change gloves before handling my bavarian creme.

Today here at HalftimeLessons, we address an age old question that plagues us all. Well, not all of us, just those of us who have a better chance of winning the lottery twice in a month than being allowed to go party with 1500 women for four days.

The question being, “How do you do whatever you want without destroying your marriage, losing your kids, and owing alimony and child support until you are bled fully lifeless?”

You see, I am one of those people. I’m a guy who loves to write, loves to see the smiles on faces that I have humored, who loves to spend time in this blogger world, and with you people.

But in the absence of a kitchen pass, I am also the guy destined to enjoy BlogHer from the safety of his own computer. I’m a salesman, but not that good.

So in the spirit of “Not Me Monday”, let me now come clean.

That was not me reconnecting my Starbuck’s I.V. in O’Hare.
The streaker? Not me. Lucky you.
The guy who triple-dipped into the Unicorn cake? Didn’t even taste it.
That was not me in the back of the cab, twice complaining about the smell. Or adding to it.
The guy with the line of women waiting to talk to him, definitely not me…pretty sure I only dreamed that one.
Nor was it me who trashed up the hotel… why do “grownups” do that?
I didn’t have dinner with Julie. There is no Julie. To the girl whose lovely picture I borrowed, it looks like you had a fun time. Good luck with your life.
Absolutely was not me ogling women at the 704 party, nor was it me bawling like a complete and utter sissyboy at the Keynote. (Although I may have)
The great news was that it was not me who threw up in the lobby, or stole all the swag bags…and that’s the kind of thing I am normally famous for.
For at the end of the day, sadly, that guy you saw at BlogHer…

Not me. ;-(

I’m not the guy who went to BlogHim, sadly. I’m the guy who had a blast at BlogHer, but wasn’t actually there.

And yet, despite missing a chance to spend time with some writers who I find to be a giant, glittery, passionfruit-flavored slice of amazing, my weekend was only partly spent in my depths of disappointment and self-absorption.

A couple of people were awesome enough to feed me pictures and info to help in this prank, and I won’t name them publicly for fear that someone eggs their mailboxes. You know who you are, and I love you for your mischievous spirits. Thanks also to my close friend, The Internet, for providing everything a guy could need to magically transport himself to another place without fear of socially-transmitted diseases, or airport bathrooms, or both.

I loved hearing that you were all having an amazing time, I hope the conference was everything you had hoped, and much more. Although I missed getting to meet IRL some folks whose writing I adore (like Brittany, Heather, Tena, Lee, Deb, Annie, Pauline, VodkaMom, Mariah, Bitchin’ Amy, Jyl, Elaine, and many more), your updates and tweets made it almost like we were there with you, and I thank you. Make sure you check them all out today, I am sure they will have great stories and pictures for you.

Yesterday I began laying the groundwork for New York in 2010.

I said, “But honey, it’s in New York!”

She replied, “Does that mean I could go?”

(pause)

“Um…yeah………….but not to everything, ok?”

I told you, I’m not that great a salesman.

Thanks to MckMama and her “Not Me Monday” for hosting the perfect vehicle for this confession, and please pray for Stellan.

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The truck that ran over my head this morning was kind enough to stop. Then reverse. And then PARK on my head.

Back at O’Hare at this most ungodly of hours, and these kind people in line at Starbucks are about to move the fuck out of the way so I can work on feeling even subhuman again…isnt that sweet of them?

MOVEYOURASSESNOWWWWWWWW

Headed home to the Spanish Inquisition that awaits.

I’ll be doing a “special” BlogHer’09 post tomorrow…hope you’ll come and see…teehee…

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Real quick, this is what happens to a beautiful legendary animal when you give 700 women forks. Some argued that it tasted like tangerine or passionfruit, I could swear I tasted mango.

This is going to be what sets my wife off, btw…she is an avid cake connoisseur, and she’s gonna be PISSED.

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Well, last day, and it’s gonna be a doozy…
I’ve met so many awesome people, but still have to find some folks I will just kick myself if I dont see them!!!

Coffee, check. No food, check. pheromone cologne, check.

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All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.