Archive for August, 2009
I met a very nice woman at Starbucks today who was kind enough to read this post, and then be the THIRD person this week to already know what I learn below. If you read this ma’am, it was very nice to meet you, and thanks for critiquing my silly passion.
Last week some really wonderful neighbors had us over to gorge ourselves on their fabulous food, drink all their expensive champagne, wine, vodka and port, and allow our children to destroy their lovely home. Oh, and then stumble out the door without even offering to help clean anything.
They said that they want to come over to do a repeat at our own home, but we know better than to let hungry, angry, ungrateful strangers into our home. I mean, that’s just dumb.
Now during the course of this fantastic evening, as we stood admiring the brand new fence at the back of their property, the conversation became…enlightening.
“Why did you decide to go with an 8foot fence on the back and not on the sides? is there something wrong with that neighbor?”
“We didn’t get the 8foot fence, they did. And there’s a LOT wrong with that neighbor.”
“Why?”
“They swing.”
I am only just hip enough to know that he didn’t mean they have a very large playset back there. Or maybe they do, but not for the kids.
They further explained that our lovely suburban mecca has a high concentration of swinging couples, and that often the sounds of their…events…would waft over the fence for the kids to enjoy.
“”All right ladies…change laps!”"
Now, we have been residents of this neighborhood for five years, and have lived in this city for nine. And in all that time, this was our first ever exposure to this subject. And then not two days later, I hear someone else make a similar comment about our ferociously swinging suburb.
Where the hell have I been? And where the hell have you people been doing all this? And most importantly,
Why the hell have we not been invited??!!
Ok…I know there are some things that may have kept you away. I mow the lawn with no shirt on. I only leave the house after having shellacked my pasty, doughy, translucent form with factory SPF 50. I don’t lift weights. My wife and I have a standing date to mow my back. I rarely bathe. Ok, that last one isn’t true, but you get where I’m going here.
So I can see why you may not have wanted me… But every news story I have ever seen about swingers showed folks that, well, I don’t really care too see…swing. And surely I bring more to the Mazola pit than some of those guys?!
Or not?
I would have thought that the fact that my wife is attractive might have had some guy making advances before asking his wife to approve ol’ Halftime Jay?
Well, regardless…we’re insulted. And we aren’t interested. We aren’t swingers, nor are we willing to learn. Each to their own, but not for us.
But would it have killed you to ask?
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First day of Kindergarten, over.
She cried.
Mom cried.
Dad…was strong…
She came home full of life and stories.
And she was fine, without us.
We played “Moose in the House” with our Kindergartener.
Mom planned Day 2.
And everyone went to bed. Except me.
She’s going back tomorrow.
She’s fine.
Mom’s fine.
And I’m….strong.
who is a tiny redheaded package of AWESOMENESS.
SuperStar!
Welcome to Sunday Citar! This blog quote meme was created by Tabitha @ FreshMommy. You can stop by her blog to see the quotes and photos that she and everyone else is loving right now.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009
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.
MamaKat’s Writer’s Workshop has prompted: “Hi, my name is ______ and I am a _______.” …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.
By the way, this post is dedicated to Holly. I had the revelation for this idea minutes after meeting her.
Read into that what you will.
I’ve never eaten a booger. This being my blog and not needing to impress to any great degree, I can tell the truth. I’ve never eaten a booger, but I saw friends do it when I was younger, and they didn’t seem to think anything of it. When I saw a classmate in high school do it, however, I immediately knew there was something not quite right with the lad.
I had a recollection and a revelation recently, about Gross, and it’s evolution.
When I was in college, home was a small town in Colorado for a number of years during the ’80s. Money was tight, so activities consisted of a $5 pizza from Blackjack, trying to impress the freshmen at the local dorm, or…one last one…that I now shudder to recall.
It was called My Tubbery. A business. A small building filled with individual rooms that contained hot tubs to be rented. By the half hour. I can think of multiple dates, and girlfriends, that My Tubbery entertained. And I think back to those blissful, bubbling tubs, and my ignorance.
I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. And I may again.
I’m sure the chlorine killed some of what we luxuriated in, but today I’m pretty sure I would have a problem partying in a used condom.
It’s one of life’s great ironies…by the time you realize how profoundly terrible something is, most times you’ve already done it, stepped in it, eaten it, or worse. I’ve spent a thousand nights in hotels, from the hi-falutin’ to the hovel, and yet it took the majority of my life before Dateline thought to take me on a tour of one with a blacklight.
I’m considering boiling myself in acid.
Ignorance really is bliss, my friends, and a helluva lot more fun than the sanitizer-toting obsessive compulsive I see in the mirror today. Early adulthood taught the “5-second rule”. Kids have an “infinite second” rule, which I continued in college. Today when I see my son eat something from the floor, knowing our beagle has been marching there minutes before on her poo-dipped paws, I have to resist the urge to take a wire brush to his tongue and make him gargle with Clorox.
Ultimately, though, the evolution itself is killing me much more than any airborne carcinogen. I miss that ignorance, and there is no going back. My destiny is to finish out my days in a level 5 biohazard unit having friends and family push my favorite soaps to me through the airlock.
I’ve evolved, you see. I grew up. And it sucks. Hard.
As I write this, I sit on a flight with my exponentially more hygienic wife winging our way to one of the dirtiest cities (figuratively and literally) in the US, Las Vegas. I note the airline blanket I thoughtlessly draped across my legs as I sat down. As soon as I did, my pretty wife kindly pointed out how disgusting I was. And I now wonder, despite the fact that the blanket is touching the skin of my legs, if I will have the courage to use two fingers to drop it to the floor.
Maybe I could use my elbows.
This article (pictured here) was just published on Friday in DFW’s NeighborsGo publication, and today on BurbMom.net. Holly, Bianca, and Shauna, you fiery rockin’ sirens, thank you all for helping me publish something on actual paper for the first time since college. And if I haven’t said it enough yet… I’m ecstatic to be a BurbMom…er…Dad.
Hey, sweet girl.
Your mom and I have thought about this day for a long time. And been excited. And worried.
The thing is, we can barely remember us without you anymore. We know we were happy before you came to be with us, but the crushing love and pride we have for you makes it hard to remember a picture without your magical eyes, and infectious smile.
Today we realized that you have been moving away from us for a long time. You’ve been collecting pieces of us to pack in your pink backpack… and as you take the steps of your life, the story of us will, in part, be written by you.
You’ve learned so much already, big girl. What’s right, and mean, and what’s sweet, and fair. We need you to remember those things now. There will be a lot to think about, we know. Teachers, and friends, manners, and strangers. And we know you can do it.
As much as we want to hold you here forever, we know you have places to go. Daddy had a great plan to keep you here until you were 30, but I’m learning that my happiness won’t always be your happiness. A doctor, a teacher, or a princess still need to learn everything they can. So listen close, and always be smart.
And today if you see Mommy crying, or if you see Daddy trying to be strong, just give us your best smile to light up our hearts. We’re a little sad, but we’re mostly proud. Of you. And us.
We’ll be here when you need.
And please. Come home soon.
Jay Lessons is a novice ‘burb daddy, a husband-in-training, and a sarcastic elitist. You can find more of his reflective rants at HalftimeLessons.com.
Vegas is on sale…that’s what they say. The economy has taken a squeegee to Sin City, and they are practically giving away flights and hotels. So this experienced traveler and his bride recently took it upon ourselves to find the true cost of 4 days and 3 nights in Las Vegas.
It came down to either an all-inclusive in Cancun ($1400), or an above average hotel in Vegas…and ultimately the winner was Mandalay Bay. Less travel headaches, plenty to occupy my ADD head, beautiful pools and a more reasonable price tag of $900.
Now, it is far too easy to stop comparing at that point, and it would be wonderfully naive to leave it there. But vacations cost you, and in more ways than one, so lets look at how daily activities affect the human condition to the soundtrack of slot machines.
Arrived at the airport. Taxi, $15. Checked into the Mandalay, where they upgraded us to a mini-suite either due to my boyish charm, or to the fact that I have a friend who is considered a “whale” at Mandalay Bay. He maintains he did us a favor on the room, I maintain I had the nice lady at the front desk drooling over me despite my wife’s presence. I know what you’re thinking here, just let me have my pride. gorgeous room, complete with freaky little hangout couch for “chatting”, and a view of the Hotel’s seven pools.
Walked throught the casino to our suite, ingesting an entire pack of secondhand smoke along the way. This is not a criticism of Mandalay, mind you, this is simply a fact of Vegas. Part of the cost of your trip will be shaving an entire year off your life due to the smoke. Plus, I learned that a pack of cigarettes these days is nine dollars. NINE DOLLARS. This next statement comes directly from the empathetic, previously charred lungs of this long time ex-smoker….WHAT in the HELL are you people thinking??!!
Get to the suite…FAN.FRICKIN.TASTIC. The Mandalay Bay is a wonderful hotel, truly, but I had never enjoyed it from the comfort of an upgraded room overlooking seven world class pools. My wife and I were absolutely BEAMING as we unpacked.
5pm. A swim before dinner, and a chance for my beautiful girl to put her toes in the sand as she had been longing to do for upwards of two years. Two margaritas, $20. Ouch…Really? It’s been a while since I have been a vacationer here, and not throwing drinks on a business tab suddenly became real. I often forget as a married man living in the central US what has happened to the cost of partying while I’ve been starting my family. And I thought you said this city was on sale? How ’bout throwing a gift-with-purchase on my drink bill, pal? Maybe a two-fer?
Dinner. We had a sushi craving, and Mandalay Bay willingly provided raw fish in the desert. You bet it’s fresh, pal. Just flew it in from the “coast”. (Hoover Dam) Spicy yellowtail, California Roll, Las Vegas Roll (because it’s state law), one vodka, one nondescript white wine, $110.
Holy. Schnikeys.
“Say honey, you know that downtown tends to be a bit cheaper, why don’t we head down to Binion’s and the Fremont Street Experience and have some fun tonight?”
Cab, $25. Two yard dogs of Jungle Juice, complete with extra shots, $35. But then with the exception of the $25 cab ride home, we simply walked around, enjoying the lights, people and music of Fremont Street. And one hot showgirl. Great time.
The morning brought about the need for strong coffee, several lifeforce-sustaining Advil, and a greasy breakfast to enable transition back to the land of the living. Starbuck’s Coffee and banana, $6. Two breakfast buffets and tip, $40. Twenty toes back in the 300 degree sand, 3 bottles of water, a true necessity in the desert, 3 bucks apiece, $9. Didn’t bring nearly enough sunscreen, one bottle of waterproof SPF 15, $14. And finally, a $40 lunch brings the first 24 hours to a close.
The next logical step would be to add it all up, and do some apples-and-oranges comparison…and I am NOT going to do that. Because there is one more way that Vegas costs some of us who have less-than-average restraint having paid $20 for an all you can eat buffet. Inches on your waistline.
I gorged myself. There. I said it.
Months of exercise and restraint came to a sudden and abrupt halt when presented with endless entree options and oceans of desserts. And I mean, I ATE. And Drank. And then showed several hundred people at the pool what over-intake of salt, fat and alcohol does to the human form.
It would be far too depressing to sit here and actually tally up calories, so I will just let it lie.
The good news is that we barely gambled.
I was too busy eating.
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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.
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