Tag: musings

Road Rage Attitude

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Cruising down the freeway at 70+ I see you coming off in the distance.  You are a blip, a faint blob, an anomaly made of carbon fiber, plastic and steel.  You move between cars with ease, accelerating, decelerating. Jig to the left cut to the right. Every lane is the fast lane for you, there are no obstacles to overcome while driving a $140,000.00 piece of German engineering. 

I envision you, enveloped in fine leather upholstery, cooled to meet the demands of this warm spring day.  You move closer and as you cross from the number one lane to the number three, I take mental notice of the special “Aero” package that adorns the lower half of your car. A $25,000.00 dollar extra with suspension upgrades and race inspired braking.  The dream of every red-blooded, automobile loving, testosterone filled male! 

I feel as though you are a well-rounded man, one of travel and education.  Most likely the product of a family with means.  Nothing was too good for you growing up and the expectations associated with it must have held a heavy burden.  But you survived and prospered.  Pledged to the best fraternity and graduated with honors.  Voted most likely to succeed adored by all who have known you.   

Your closing fast, having cut off two lessor commuter cars along the way.  Why are you driving like a jerk? That car should be effortlessly moving between vehicles without any need for “cutting” someone off.  Maybe they were just beneath your piece of freeway art, they deserved to see nothing more than a flash of your rear bumper in passing.  Judging by the move you just placed on that semi-truck to my rear right, patience must be wearing thin? Or could it be the horses under the hood, all 640 of them screaming to be let out of the stable.  They don’t let just anyone drive this type of car you know! Only someone with skill, stamina and good looks!  It won the 24 hours at Daytona and with that type of pedigree this is nothing more than a short sprint! She is hardly even breathing hard moving from side to side annihilating anyone or anything in its path. 

Oh my it seems you have picked my lane and are closing rapidly on this old 4×4 truck.  You are still driving angry which isn’t cool in my book, I hate guys who drive like idiots!  I have scraped to many of you off the freeway in my career.  You are closer and I can see the silver paint glistens, like fresh rain laid across its landscape. Although as I understand it carbon fiber has a tendency to look that way.  You are close enough now for my envy to take full hold of my emotions.  You are driving the kind of vehicle I have always envisioned myself using for transportation.  Fast, artfully designed, the finest materials, handling of an F-1 racer, just sinful. 

We are coming up on a group of cars and I am trying to get into your head. I am traveling at 70, you are closing the gap with a fervor reminiscent of the fast and furious!  You must be well into 100+! I find myself depressing the fuel pedal as if I have a chance to run with the likes of you.  Further I push, the faster we go, you want the easy pass but my exuberance for parody wont let you have it. You need to slow down and there is no way I am going to let you keep driving that gorgeous metallic sculpture like a tool!  You are on my bumper now, I have left you no options, we are trapped in traffic. Jigging to the inside you’re taking a look at the right lane only to find it blocked, a slip to the outside, you take the lane and punch it, I press harder closing the gap, leaving you alongside so I may admire and yes even drool a little over you four-wheeled masterpiece. We are running window to window when I look over, hoping all my premonitions will be true.  Hoping to get a glimpse of what I wish I was, refined, educated, well-preserved, dressed as a man of my stature should.  And there you are, we make eye contact and, and, and….

You are a teenager! A freaking teenager! A freaking teenager driving a $165,000.00 dollar dream machine! Not only driving it, but driving it like an a-hole!  Who the heck do you think you are?  Son of a biscuit eater!! This is horse shit!  As the blood drains from my face you turn your 115 pound frame my direction and look up from under your sideways, bandana wrapped, flat brimmed Raiders hat and throw me the bird! Suspicions confirmed! Road rage driver! But are you bloody serious!! Throwing me the bird? Minutes ago you were revered as a pillar to social perfection and now I am faced with this baggy pants, pimple popping moron who either has a daddy Warbucks or is a kingpin in the local drug trafficking operation.

Well son, I don’t know if you have taken a good, long hard look at Ole red here but she is big, with big tires, a big engine and one thing is for certain she has hit before and she will hit again!  I hope you have you big girl panties on! I peddle her up and keep the little punk blocked in, he lets out and falls behind to move back up the right side hoping for a clear shot to cut in front of me.  I give him no such chance. Using an R.V. to block his advancement he is trapped like a cabbie in New York rush hour traffic.  I have ole red almost floored but every time junior picks up speed so do I.  When he lets off the gas, I coast her down just enough to keep him trapped.  No longer will he abuse the roadways and use our vehicles for his own personal day at Daytona! You earn that right with age buddy! This back and forth goes on for minutes, he is highly agitated judging from the flying fingers and hands each time he passes behind me moving onto the opposite sides.  Finally after 5-7 miles of messing with Mario jr by creating the equivelent of an automobile “blood clot”.  The boy gets the best of me, an opening, a small one, but an opening just the same; he takes it, runs in front of me and starts to take off!  Then without explanation he slows down, not just a little bit, but slows all the way down meeting the flow of traffic. Then stays that way.  Why? Is there a cop ahead? Was he angry with me for slowing his butt down ?  Did he feel the need for some form of revenge? Or maybe, just maybe, he had taken “the hint” from a disgruntled sorry old man who can only dream of owning a car of that caliber? “The hint”? To slow down, and calm down before you kill someone!

Or maybe just maybe he realized that; sometimes it’s not about the car or the speeds its capable of reaching.  Sometimes its about realizing you are out of control. Recognizing that you will get there when you get there and just because you have 640hp doesnt mean you need to use all of it just to go to 7-11 down the street! Sometimes its about maturing and keeping your road rage in check.  Sometimes those things can only be shown to you by a crazy old man in a big red 4×4 with three times the driving experience. 

And…..

Sometimes crazy old men should just quit dreaming about little silver sports cars and be happy with their beat up old 148,000 mile red 4×4.  (heavy sigh)

Sometimes its fun to be “that guy”…….

Glitter

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Glitter is an awesome party favor.  Glitter is used to make things shimmer.  Glitter is the staple of any New years Eve party! Glitter is worn by young girls, older women and any male subject who has recently visited a strip club (so I am told).  But what I recently discovered about glitter has me befuddled, perplexed and strangely mortified.  You see I was recently informed that glitter, actually comes from the female anatomy?

I know, crazy huh? Yet I was informed very directly by a nice young lady that glitter comes from girls.  Now as a father of reason and fair judgment I decided to delve deeper into this subject.  Also being a firefighter/EMT I have a reasonable amount of knowledge in regards to both the male and female anatomy.  Yet no where in the volumes of medical jargon I was forced to endure, do I remember the female anatomy having one gland, one organ that produces glitter?

Deciding more in-depth questions needed to be asked I sought out the little starlet in question and found her conversing happily with my boys.  What was her angle? Who was the direct source of her knowledge base.  (Plain lingo; what fool told this little girl she can produce glitter?) How can she create glitter and why?  She was very assured of her position and when I asked her to explain to me in detail the gist of this modern-day side-show miracle she simply motioned me over to her side.  As I knelt down she whispered to me to please be very quiet.  You see her cheeks were turning red as she quietly stated: I want to whisper this to you because it’s not the type of thing a girl should be talking about, but just so you know I told your boys the very same thing I am about to tell you.

I was all abuzz, I couldn’t wait to hear the little secret that surely would unlock some mystery to the female anatomy.  I leaned in closer and whispered’ go ahead honey I am all ears.  

Girls dont fart they glitter!

WHAT!!!!!  No wait uh WHAT!!!!  HUH!  UH! Duh! HMMMM??  Ok??? AAHHH??

Yep that’s what she said, girls don’t fart, they glitter! Seriously you can’t make this shit up!  I held my composure as to not laugh in front of the young lass as she was being so very serious in her response.  I excused myself for a moment to take a breath of fresh air outside and let out a hearty chuckle solely at the expense of  little princess with the glitter producing bum!  After composing myself, I returned and before I could rejoin the conversation my middle child approached me to let me know it was true! He had seen it with his own eyes!  Now for a split second I was mortified, terrified, and panicked!  I had visions of an irate father accosting me in response to my son seeing a whole lot more of his precious angel than should be witnessed prior to marriage! But before the panick attack could set in he followed up his statement with;  Yeah dad she let out a big old fart in the car!  We all started laughing because well you know; farting is funny!  But she just smiled and told us she didn’t fart she glittered!  We all heard it dad really!  But whats strange is when she got up from her chair there was glitter! it was everywhere in the seat; she told us that her mom says its ok, because girls don’t fart they glitter.

Clearly someone had pulled the wool over these boys eyes!  Yet they had bought the production lock, stock and barrel.  They now believed when a girl farts she glitters.  Now I was ready willing and able to dispel this new-found myth right away! Nip it in the bud or butt as it where, yet something just couldn’t bring me to do it.  Something just hammered at my conscience about ruining the illusion this young lady had created for herself.  I actually envied the creative process that allowed her or her mother to come up with this little charade and the best part is they pulled it off!  I know the truth, you know the truth and all you women out there definitely know the truth!  I have heard stories, I have seen a few of you girls in action, all innocent and lady like them BAM! Your nose is on fire, tears streaming from your eyes and all you get is a coy little “oops, sorry was that me?” Well of course it was you, there are only two of us here and that tuba sound didn’t come from my posterior!  Truth be told, I have known women that could make the 49ers defensive line cry!

Yet what purpose would it have served to call her out?  None.  My boys believed for the longest time she had the power to fart glitter.  My boys also believed that all women farted glitter.  That it was what a true lady of refinement, class and culture does;  ultimately is that really such a bad thing to believe?

Now someone show me the man who belches Hershey’s kisses.  If the two of them meet we might have ourselves a New Years eve party…

 

Shots fired

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There appears to be something amiss in my household. Something just isn’t adding up by my calculations. You see with all the time spent going over this particular subject it makes no sense to me why we are having a problem! Now most young men of age naturally figure this out, it is genetic after all. But yet here we are, confused, scratching our heads and wondering, why? Why has this happened to me God? Why? Is it something I said? Is it something I may have done? Please, please let me know! I mean you did bless me with three sons, not three daughters! (Nobody get your hackles up, this is obnoxious satire)

I am not sure the cause, but it appears none of my boys have very good aim.

I know! Strange huh? You would think just because they are boys “good aim” would come naturally to a young lad. Seriously, having good aim must be in our genetic makeup as “men” don’t you think? The hunter, the provider, the sole servant to the family. How hard can it be? Just point and shoot! How much skill can that possibly take? Point and shoot! Point and shoot! For the love of god, just point the damn thing and shoot!!! Yet time after time all three of them miss! No skills what so ever! Its frustrating! I was shooting at little targets when I was three. Sure I probably missed a time or two, but every single time! Come on! Point and shoot! I even tried getting them to breathe while doing it. You know, take the proper stance, legs spread apart, shoulders square, point, breath in , slowly exhale then shoot! It’s that simple, yet none of my boys seem to be able to grasp the concept!

Oh my lord its like they have Parkinson’s, body shaking, and jerking around uncontrollably. Nervous stance, weak grip, and absolutely zero accuracy! They shoot everywhere but the intended target. Experts refer to “painting” the target. Zeroing in on your intended point of contact then hitting it with everything you have using controlled precision! I can tell you one thing for certain, they know how to “paint”alright. “Paint” everything but the intended target! Oh yeah these boys couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn standing three feet away! Hell, I would even spot them the other two feet!

It finally came to a head this morning. Man it was ugly. One at a time they lined up at the door, and one at a time they sprayed patterns on everything except where they were aiming! My wife finally had enough of this fiasco and opened fire! (pun fully intended) She really let them have it with both barrels. Those boys never knew what hit them. You see the boys lack of aiming ability had finally become their undoing. The wife had identified all three as the scurgiest of hombres in our house. The lowest of low lives, the bottom of a snails belly! No more patience, no more cleaning up after them, no more second chances. From here on out there was a new sheriff in charge! It was mom, and no matter how much “practicing” I swore to on their behalfs, the end had come for the Blackcloud Ranch sprinkler boys!

Oh yeah, my boys are toilet violators. The worst kind too, they stroll in and out in seconds! Sometimes the toilet seat is left up. Sometimes the toilet seat is left down. Either way the boys are known for leaving behind the kind of unsanitary conditions that would make a truck driver blush! Oh yeah it’s that bad! It happened this morning, it went down something like this….

Three boys walked into the bathroom and without hesitation, without remorse, without so much as an ounce of decency they covered the walls, the seat, the lid, heck even the floor! Like a shaky teenager holding his first Colt 45, they were trembling and swinging it around uncontrollably! (of course that might be some of the aiming problem) Or a firefighter trying to contain an out of control firehose! It was everywhere! Amazingly the Three stooges would have gotten away with it too if weren’t for mom walking in minutes later to relieve herself upon the sturdy porcelain throne. Carefully lowering her britches she was met with the horrific indecency of a wet barrier forming between her skin and the seat below. Jumping up and slipping in the yellow ring that laid at her feet she was last heard in a shrill voice swearing to the deaths of who ever left this unsanitary trap for her to stumble upon. She vowed from that moment on, no person of female persuasion, in our house or visiting our house should suffer such wrong doings ever again! The boys were promptly tracked down and when cornered they begged for mercy..

Mercy was not found this day my friends! Oh quite the contrary, the boys have been banished to our bathroom downstairs for an undetermined amount of time. Cleaning the toilets with bleach they have accepted their fate, understanding the consequences of irresponsible toilet tinkling. They also know, should they shower the downstairs bathroom with the same zeal as the upstairs bathroom the only place of bodily relief available for the three of them will be a bush or tree on the backside of the property. Just like in the old west. When you gotta go, you gotta go but for them it will be outside rain or shine…

Moral of the story; Simple

If you sprinkle when you tinkle please be neat wipe the seat……..

When a doughnut is no longer just a doughnut…

theycallmebetty2 Comments

Hello, my name is Betty and I have a weakness for sugar.  (everyone now) Hello Betty!

It all started when I was a child and my father would hoard the ice cream on any given evening after dinner.  Ice cream was a coveted item in our house and it was a well-known fact that dad always got the first scoop out of any carton about to be opened.  We all respected this little rule because well lets face it he was dad!  But I can remember watching him slowly scoop out what he wanted, taking his time to increase our anticipation levels to the point of cracking!  Oh yes, he would fill his bowl with scoop after gigantic scoop, staring at us, taunting us, making sure we knew just how good the ice cream was by licking his fingers in between!  Then as he finished and we gazed upon the Mount Vesuvius of ice cream that flowed from the banks of his porcelain container, he would close the lid and direct our mother to “let us have some”.  It was pure torture!  To make matters worse mother would remind us as we received our customary two table spoons of ice cream ( yeah no joke, two exact sized tablespoons) that we were in training for swim team and ice cream wasnt good for bodies.  Are you freaking kidding me I am 10 and I want as much as he had!  Why isn’t he in training he weighs like 300lbs!!!!  Sorry Dad, I was angry….

We would walk back to the living room with our shoulders slumped low and sit on the floor to watch television while we slowly picked at our melting little dollops of sugary goodness that laid before us.  I was very crafty in the way I ate my ice cream.  I would smear it around the bowl until it was soft, (yeah that’s right Cold Stone I thought of it first, if you have received my letters you know where to send the royalties) leaving me with the ability to take even smaller portions and enjoy it that much longer..

My mom hated sugar and felt it was the sole reason for our erratic behavior so we ate a lot of granola, carob covered raisins, and yogurt.  I liked all of these things and still do to this day, but nothing , and I mean nothing tasted like anything with pure sugar in it!  I craved it I need it I had to have it, I would go out of my way to hide allowance money so that I could hit the snack bar at our swim meets when mom wasnt looking!

Hang out with my friends in town at the park, no problem! Mom left after dropping me off, straight to the ice cream shop we went! Devouring M&M’s, ice cream sundaes, Laffy Taffy, dippin sticks and snickers bars!  Oh it was sooo goood!  

So about now you are asking yourself, self; what does this have to do with doughnuts?

When I found doughnuts, I mean truly found doughnuts. Nothing compared! Nothing came close, I forgot what ice cream and candy bars were all about.  It was the difference between a foot rub and a message!  Driving a Corvette or driving a Corvair, drinking a Samuel Adams or knocking back a Pabst Blue Ribbon!  Oh well you get the point.

I was an adult! Doughnuts were no longer just a sugar covered, maple bar or an old-fashioned.  Nope the doughnut had evolved into the fritter, whip cream filled, jelly filled, apple turnover, sprinkled in candy, chocolate, icing, and; oh goodness my mouth is watering as I type!  Doughnuts had become so much more than when I was a child.  I liked them as a child but I didn’t love them!  I love them now, I can’t get enough, God help the person that shows up with the customary “how ya doing” box of those little doughy morsels at the firehouse!

I start out strong, you know how it goes; I am only going to have one.  I slowly let the sinful taste over take my body, leaving me with chills as I slide it down with a hot cup of joe.  Then as I realize I still have half a cup left and I find myself circling the box like a shark. Circling around to check out the floating object on the surface after a shipwreck, that to the shark vaguely resembles a seal.  Hmmm, round and around I go, the guys can see it coming too.  They slowly  move out-of-the-way for fear of losing a finger  while possibly reaching for the one that I desire.  Then just as I have myself talked out of having number two, I strike!  And before I know it its all over, It’s a horrible sight really, doughnut shrapnel everywhere, icing on my face, and me laying in a recliner trying to focus on what just happened.  Not knowing exactly  where I am…

Its awful, I feel guilty and pleased all at the same time.  I can never seem to over ride the voice in my head that tells me; Hey Betty, just one more it will be fine, sure you don’t need it, but do you want it? Do you? Then it ok just go for it, soon they will all be gone and you wont have to worry about it anymore..

Shameful really..

I have been known by fellow co-workers for two things when it comes to food.

  1. If doughnuts show up, you had better get yours before I find out.  And then it becomes a spectator sport watching me go through the phases of greed, grief and denial.
  2. I can smell chocolate before it clears the parking lot.

Yep that’s the doughnut for me, the perfect sugar fix! The perfect little treat no matter what time of day.  I crave them, I long for them, they have control over me. It is sad really, I am weak….

I see the same behavior in my kids when the doughnut arrives to the party.  They lose their minds, eating with no inhibition whats so ever!  If I come home with a dozen for a special occasion, they are annihilated before the first pot of coffee has even been brewed! My wife and I teaching them good eating habits through the use of moderation.  Something I was never taught as a child.  It was always one extreme to the next in my house. I don’t want that for my children.  Let them experiment and then maybe they wont crave what they never were allowed to have.

Yep I’d blame my parents for holding out on me for all those years.  For constantly teasing me with the good stuff while they devoured extreme amounts in front of my sister and I.  But really I blame myself.  I have the will power to stop… Oh shit who am I kidding?  I am never going to stop, I will just keep adding another 15 minutes to my cardio routine.  See justified!  Yep I am that good!!!

Oh yeah! And as for the smelling chocolate from a mile away issue.  Well that’s a whole different story..

Youth of Today

theycallmebetty4 Comments

Today I was posed an interesting question. Are the youth of today the same as the youth of my generation?

My inner grumpy old man was the first to wiegh in on the subject with a resounding “Hell no”! I then broke into a 5 minute tiraid about the disrespectful, lazy, self entitled, occupying, video gaming, dope smoking, waste of space for a brain youth that are inhabiting our planet at this very moment. I followed that up with the grumblings of hypocricy as I recounted how ( get ready here comes the 5 miles up hill in the snow speach) our generation had manners, we said please and thank you. We were respectful to our elders, including teachers and the police. We opened doors for women and never treated them with anything but the utmost respect! We definetly knew the difference between right and wrong and hold those same values today!

As the class went on there were multiple theories thrown back and forth but none of any substance. During discussion I found myself having flashbacks to my teen years up into my early twenties. The new generation in class were busy exaulting themselves as texting, computer program writing, tweeting, skypeing, blogging, I-Phone app devoloping brainiacs of the future. Suddently I started to realize I may have been wrong in my “Mr.Furley” snap to judgement. Hmmmmmm…..

Now lets clarify something, I will not tell you my exact age, but I will drop you a hint, as I sit and listen to the Flock of Seaguls recounting the first day M-TV aired. My graduating year from high school was the same year Andy Kaufman, and Marvin Gaye perished. It was the same year Desmond Tutu won the Nobel Peace Prize and Ronald Reagan won a landslide re-election. Run-DMC are the first rap group to achieve gold record status and APPLE releases the Macintosh personal computer.

We were a youth filled with multiple sterotypes and avenues to follow with our unbridled enthusiasm. Early in the decade country western was being replaced with the wild side of disco. Drugs, mainly cocaine and pot were our choice, Miami Vice was a hit, long hair (everywhere), bell bottom pants and platform shoes were all the rage. Punk Rock also had a strong foothold. The british youth were a huge hit and their fight against the mainstream way of life was easy to recognize and associate. Our generation felt “you gotta fight for your right to party”! (Thank you Beastie Boys) And party we did! Every chance we could get and no adult was going to tell us how to act or what to do! We were in the process of discovering sex without peramiters, mutiple partners and Aids. In school little things like “black beuties and mushrooms” were being passed around like Pez and experimented with amoungst friends. It was not uncommon to cut school after lunch and not return. All you needed was a friend on the inside who would write your name on the attendance slips then hand them into the office. We drove cars that expressed who we were and what we were about, or so we thought. On any given day you could drive into our parking lot and 1/4 of it looked like a car show. 50-60-70’s era muscle cars and trucks parked side by side gleaming in the sunlight.

I look back at those years, and I realize the youth of today really arent much different from the youth of my generation. (Easy, EAAASSSSYYYY, hear me out) They have a very strong sense of what they feel is right and wrong. The “Occupy” youth remind me very much of my friends that embaced “Punk”. Punk was brought forth as a rebellion in Britain against the political climate, loss of jobs, and economic uncertaintity. It was their way to rebell against the system. Hmmmm sound familiar?

Where we had gas guzzling hot rods to show off, todays youth have flashy Iphones and computer systems that are personalized through blogs and web pages to help express themselves. We were running with the shadows of the night (Thanks Pat Benetar) We were loud and obnoxious, we wanted to be heard, we dressed in our own style, we had a message and a story to tell and so do these kids. We were fighting for an identity, a place in society, we wanted to make a difference in the world without restriction from our government. So does this generation. We had it all, everything our parents didnt and more. We were called self entitled, brash, careless and dangerous. Our parents worried about our futures with the invention of home computers and other technology that was streamlining the American workforce. We were against war and wanted to “just give peace a chance”. We created Hands Across America and cheered as President Ronald Reagan told Mr. Gorbachev to “tear down that wall”! This generations parents have also given our youth everything they didnt have, which if you think about it is just an extension of the “entitlement” issue we all see today. It has just been compounded over multiple generations. These kids are also fighting for some of the very same world views! The story might be a little different but the battle is still the same.

So as I sit here rocking out to one of my youth punk/rock hero’s Billy Idol, I cant help but change my point of veiw. So what has changed? What has people from my generation constantly yelling at our youth as we see them protesting in the streets, placing tents in the park, riding skateboards on the sidewalk, (like we didnt do that) swearing and behaving with disrespect. What has brought us to the point we are behaving like our mentors and leaders of the past?

Simple: We grew up! We embraced the machine that feeds us and provides for our children and families. We have responsibilites and a future to protect. We see things as our parents did, not with blinders on but quite the contrary. We can see far into the future, seperating what will and wont work. We have done this through trial and error, through learning from painful mistakes. Bettering ourselves and our position in society through calculated moves that cant possibly be understood from someone who has not walked in those shoes. As you become older your views change along with some of your ideals.

So are todays youth the same as the youth from our generation?

Todays youth are exactly the same as we were with one exeption. Todays youth are smarter. That doesnt make them any better or any worse than we were, they are just smarter. They have more tools in their tool boxes than we ever had at the time. They feel as though what they are doing is right, regardless of whether or not we approve! We felt the same way! Hopefully they learn from their experiences, so as they grow older they will have created a better life for the next generation they bring into the world. As I look at my children and ponder their futures its the very best I can hope for….

If life was like Law & Order

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Every night my wife and I , shower away the day, brush our teeth, I go downstairs and lock up the house, she checks in on the kids then we shut the door turn out the lights, climb into bed, turn to each other and (get your mind out of the gutter) ask who has the remote? Yep, you see neither one of can sleep until we have watched a full episode of Law and Order. Thank goodness for our DVR, we have at least 10 episodes recorded for any sleeping emergency! My night just isn’t complete until I hear one of Dennis Farina’s smug little quips! Or Jerry Orbachs opening one liners as Det. Lenny Briscoe;

Sample: Mike (discussing infidelity as a motive for murder): Don’t wives always know?
Lennie: Mine did.
Mike: Yours didn’t hire a hit man.
Lennie: Not yet.

That is TV gold man!!! So as I am watching this little gem of a show it dawns on me, why can’t life be like Law & Order? You know everything tidied up in a neat little 40 minute (minus commercials) segment.

Opening scene; Dad comes down the stairs to find the kids fighting over who murdered/broke dads favorite coffee mug. After asking several questions and examining the crime scene it is determined that someone was obviously using the cup for ill intended purposes. (used to hold milk instead of coffee). Several people of interest at this point but no one is copping to the murder. As dad directs his partner (mom) to bag it for evidence, mom asks what are you going to do now that the mug is broken and dad quips back; well It appears there’s no crying over spilt milk! (Thanks Lennie)

Next scene; two of the kids are around the dining room table (interrogation room) with their heads down. The other two are upstairs with mom, they have already been identified as witnesses thus excluding them as suspects. Of course the two seated at table with dad don’t know this yet! Dad is circling the table trying to draw out a confession. Trick questioning, lies to deceive the suspects! I saw you two I know it was you two, I just don’t know which one for certain! Slapping his hands down on the table, focusing one suspect in particular he is heard proclaiming; there were plenty of other cups to be used yet you chose that one why, why did you choose that particular cup? I think you had a score to settle, angry that old dad wouldn’t let you have chocolate milk before bed last night you decided to get even didn’t you, (louder shout) DIDNT YOU! Oh yeah one of you better start talking cause we only make deals with the first bird to sing and I guarantee you those other two are singing like canaries right now!! The frightened look on the kids faces show they are about to crack when mom busts in the door and asks; are you done now? What do you mean am I done now, they are about to talk! Mom has now changed roles from detective to counselor! She proclaims to be working in the best interest of her clients and tells me since I have no conclusive evidence that she will be taking her clients now! What! As she exits the room she reminds me to follow the evidence trail correctly and the answers will become obvious!

I find myself back at the scene of the crime, looking for anything that will help my case, when the call comes in that one of my suspects has been beaten! I rush back to the back of the house to find the two recently released suspects sitting on the back porch crying while there counselor reprimands them for their improper behavior. I can see one of them is about to break. I lean forward and proclaim quietly to the aggressor in the situation; I know it was you, it’s just a matter of time.

That night after dinner, they are cleaning the table when I am dropped a note inside my napkin. It indicates that the mug was broken accidentally and my main suspect is ready to talk, but not here, away from his counsel. As I walk out back to get some wood for the stove, I turn around to find one child has followed me, he is upset and ready to cry. I place my around him and tell him to let it out, purge his guilt, I am ready for his statement.

He recounts the morning going along smoothly until he decided he wanted to drink a cup of coffee just like dad! So he climbed up on the counter, retrieved my special mug out of the cabinet, poured himself a glass of milk and as he was sipping, it slipped from his hand shattering on the ground. He then breaks down from the guilt and starts crying. I comfort him and tell him thank you for telling the truth! He asks: what happens now? I tell him because he came forward and told the truth I am sure by pleading guilty in front of the family court the judge will be lenient. He looks in disbelief and asks; How much time will I get? I let him know he is looking at 1-3 for the crime he committed. He squeals 1-3! Are you kidding me it was just a glass! It wasnt just a glass son, it was my special mug and we had to go through all of this to find out the truth. You also broke the rules by climbing on the counters to retrieve the mug that adds a little time to your sentence. I then remind him to count his blessings had he not come forward, and through discovery we had found him guilty he would have received the maximum of 5-10 days of restriction! I then remind him to be thankful milk wasnt the only thing he spilled, he spilled his guts, which in the end saved him. (corny ending one liner) He sighs, slumps his shoulders, I put my arm around him and he walks off to bed. Case closed, day done.

See! If life was like Law & Order it would be great! Everyday a new plot, everyday life tidied up in a neat little sell it the public on TV format! Yeah that’s the ticket! I wonder if you could make life-like “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills”? Oh wait, that IS supposed to be real life isn’t it?

God help us all!!!!!

Old School Lessons

theycallmebetty2 Comments

Today I went old school. Thats right I traveled back into the deepest reaches of my brain, drawing upon lessons learned the hard way. Lessons that at the time I felt were bunk, hooey, or just plain old bull! Never understanding or seeing the bigger picture in the situation, I would kick the dirt and thumb my nose at “the man”! Surely one day I would never ever repeat this kind of behavior, it was humiliating and unjust. I swore upon my grandfathers life these lessons would never be repeated. But I was wrong….

The year; 1975 I was nine years old, President Gerald Ford was in office. The average income per year was $14,100.00, a home would set you back a staggering $39,300.00! The cost of gas was 44 cents per gallon. 1975 was the year I saw Jaws and never wanted to go into the ocean again. I also found country music wasnt all there was to listen too and to my parents dismay I started soothing myself to sleep with the classic sounds of Queen, ZZ top, and Led Zeppelin! 1975 was a very good year or at least it started out that way.

1975 was also the year I learned one of the most valuable lessons a young lad needs to learn. Because regardless of who you think you are at 9 years old there are two people you will always have to answer too! Mom and Dad! Now dad was gone a lot on the road as a salesman so mom is the key to my little reflection on life lessons. When dad was gone I built it up into my head that I was the man of the house. Yep that’s right, 9 and in charge, why? AAAA Duh! I was the man! Anyway this constantly led to butting heads with my mother over doing chores over and above my obvious talents and pay grade as head of the household! Oh I did what was expected of me, although it was hard with all my other “head of household” duties! But I managed to accomplish most chores thoroughly and on time. Notice, I stated “most of them”. You see there was two things I was always slacking at, always shirking my responsibility of completion. It drove my mom nuts that I could never seem to accomplish these two simple tasks. Are you ready? Here it is….. Cleaning my room and changing my sheets.

I know! No big deal right? Or so I thought, as have hundreds of thousands of children over generations across this great nation and possibly the world! I’d always throw down some snide little “yeah ill get to it” then brush mom off as I headed off to school. Walking down our half mile road to the bus stop I would be giggling that I had pulled one over on her again! I aint changing no sheets no how, if she wants them changed so bad she can change them herself! Pick up my clothes off the floor, hah! If she wants them picked up she can do that herself too! Yep that’s right, man of the house and in charge! All should kneel before my greatness!

Until one day….

Mom picked me up from swim practice one day and was in an exceptional mood. That should have been a clue right from the start. But heck I was nine and dumb as a box of rocks. Mom was always grumpy in the afternoon, but to her defense, dad was never around and she was basically a single parent frustrated with the situation. She laughed and joked with us all the way home. My guard was down and I had been sucked into the joyous vortex. We got home and snacks were made, the table was cleared and ready for homework. That should have been the second clue! But hey, ole box of rocks is digging the love! Home work was done and snacks devoured, mom leans over and asks if there is anything else she could do for us. Anything else she can do for us, I thought? WARNING, WARNING, WARNING DANGER WILL ROBINSON DANGER!!!! She never says that, and the way she said it, holy crap what did we do! I studied the furthest reaches of my brain to see if there was any pressing bit of trouble someone may have squealed on me for doing or participating in. Nope! Oh this is going to be bad!!!

Thats when she took me by the hand and stated “good, for I have something to show you”! She has something to show me? Oh god this is bad, it’s really freaking bad!! As she turned the corner of the hallway her grip tightened on my hand just enough to leave no room for doubt about trying to escape her clutches. She stood me in front of my bedroom door and slowly opened it. There I stood in shock, sweat pouring from my tear filled face as I looked upon the remnants of my room. I had never been to war or seen its gory ramifications, but I was sure this is what a Viet-cong bunker looked like after our boys were done with it! Like a hand grenade had detonated in the corner of the room! Every belonging, every cherished piece of my room was piled up in the middle of the floor! My model cars, hand painted and dusted everyday lay strewn upon a pile of clothes that were a combination of dirty and clean. You see in her eyes it wasnt enough to make a statement with just the sloppy scraps I had strewn about. NOOOOO she went and emptied all my drawers, tore off my bed sheets and just for effect, the “piece de resistance” if you will. She tied all my clothes into knots. Thats right, square knots, half knots, overhand bends, she had them all well represented! She should have earned her Boy Scout merit badge for such effort! Sock shrapnel was strewn all around the blast site and it appeared my G.I. Joes had been lost in the battle. No survivors…..

As I stared into the depth of this nightmare, my mother leaned over and said very clearly; son, your room will be cleaned before you leave for school everyday, your dirty clothes will be in the laundry room and your clean clothes will be put away. Your sheets will be changed every Saturday and there will be no exceptions! Everyday that you fail to follow these directions you will come home to a room that looks just like this, and everyday you will clean it all back up to my liking until you get it right! I am your mother, I am not your maid! Am I clear?

Yes ma’am……

I hated her for doing that back then, I cursed her when I thought the job was good enough, only to come home to a destroyed room once again. After a long period where my room was aces, I think she destroyed it just to keep my ego in check! And yes, even though I hated it then, it is the sole reason I am clean, neat and organized today.

Speaking of today, here is why I have shared this story with all of you. As I stated earlier, today I went old school! You see my children apparently have decided that cleaning their rooms just isn’t in the cards on a daily basis! When my oldest refused to change his sheets knowing full well I had warned him of dire consequences, well there was only thing left that had to be done! Yep that’s right, you guessed it, my mothers sadistic evil form of cleaning revenge spewed forth like a genetic tumor. I walked into each room individually, took a deep breath, rolled my eyes into my head and let the demon have my soul. When it was over the carnage was spread far and wide! The piles were large and filled with every portion of their little lives. It was a thing of beauty..

I picked them up from school with a smile on my face, I told them we were headed straight home! No barn, no horses, no barn chores. I even-handed out a piece of candy or two. They laughed and giggled and talked about their new-found freedom for the afternoon! We entered the house and I motioned to my wife giving her the sign to please keep quiet. She grinned and walked outside leaving their destinies in my hands. I lined them up on the couch, quieted them down, then very calmly I leaned in close and said: children, your room will be cleaned before you leave for school everyday, your dirty clothes will be in the laundry room and your clean clothes will be put away. Your sheets will be changed every Saturday and there will be no exceptions! Everyday that you fail to follow these directions you will come home to a room that looks just like this, and everyday you will clean it all back up to my liking until you get it right! Your mother and I are your parents, we are not your maid! Am I clear?

Something to be said about “old school child raising” we will see what tomorrow brings. But judging from the work done today, things are looking up!

Dad, doing what he does best!

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Here we go the ire is up! The steam is rising from my forehead! Teeth are clenched tightly and I am stammering for the right words!  I am ready, willing and able to ridicule another company one more time!!

I will always proceed any rants with the following; As you know from following my blog, I am a very involved father who believes all relationships should share equally the trials and tribulations of running a household and raising children! I have also made it my personal mission to “call out” any company or companies that exemplify the stereotype of dad being a moron, lazy, absent, disrespectful, or ignorant.  I also don’t believe that mom should be stereotyped as the frantic, know it all, does it all, at home personal maid to the family. 

With that being said; I saw a commercial today that at first I will admit peaked my interest a little.  It started out strong, and as it went on I found myself thinking “why yes nice lady tell me more”! But then they did it! Yes sir they did it! They crossed the line!  The blatantly took the low road pandering their inferior product to the masses.  They took it upon themselves to assume we as a society really function at a fifth grade level. Both with humor and intellectually.  Oh and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did.  They attacked all fathers around the world. Wondering who this company could possibly be?  Pondering what they might actually sell? 

FOREVER LAZY!!!  Have you heard of these Snuggie rip offs?  Oh yeah that’s right I said it, SNUGGIE RIP OFF!!  I laughed my butt off at the Snuggie, even got into a squabble over a white elephant gift one year that involved a Snuggie! Snuggie has a certain humorous respectability in the consumer world!  Apparently Forever Lazy wants a piece of the market! Now as I admitted earlier, I was pondering one of these absurd little gems as a great gag gift for the firehouse!  But after seeing the commercial and reflecting on their wonderful marketing strategy. I think not! Tearing down the human fabric that is our society,  I say not only no, butt heck no!  There will be no Forever Lazy in my household or fire station!  I have banned them completely from existence! 

Never have I seen such blatant use of the word lazy in describing the great people of this nation!  Never have I seen men, women and children all portrayed as such horrendous lazy sloths!  I will never stand by idly as a company states and I quote; Everyone can watch the big game while dad does what he does best! (dad is on the couch asleep) Being lazy?????  Sleeping????? Drunk??? Is that really what dad does best?  Apparently the household runs itself, or has Forever Lazy provided maids, accountants, teachers, coaches and cooks with every purchase of a Forever Lazy @ $29.99 plus shipping?  Well I for one wont stand for it and neither should you!  Put on a comfy pair of sweat pants!  A nice long-sleeved shirt or sweater will do!  Heck buy a Snuggie! Watch the Forever Lazy ad, you can find it on YouTube!  They even have you wearing this thing to a football stadium!  Yuck! Its like walking around in a pair of footsie pajamas!  Oh yeah and its ok to be out in public with the darn thing on because it has dual trap doors so you can go to the bathroom! Can you imagine sitting on a toilet in a giant Sham-Wow! Can you say germ magnet!! 

Let your kids know how highly you think of them by purchasing them anything that doesn’t lead to laziness or is associated with laziness by name!  Just think your kid has straight A’s and then for Christmas you purchase the Forever Lazy as a lark.  Now little Johnny is confused.  What message is mommy and daddy sending me?  Am I working to hard?  Should I be lazy?  Should I be “Forever Lazy”? When I grow up am I going to end up doing what dad does best? Little Johnny slips into the Lazy suit and Bam! Brain cells start dying, next thing you know its X-box all the time, he never gets off the couch, grades all drop to a D and little Johnny is headed to reform school!  All because you bought into the Forever Lazy hype!

I know it’s not really that way, I am just worked up and rambling!  But really no company should ever portray people as moronic, idiotic and lazy, especially when it involves the family circle.  Humor is one thing, ignorance is another, but pandering ignorance is the very worst kind of sales tactic around.  So please remember this, you are a reflection of all the people who helped you to become who you are today.  If I see you with a Forever Lazy on well, game over my friend, game over….

My wife the single parent

theycallmebetty3 Comments

She rises at 5:30 to start her long day.  A shower, some coffee, a heavy sigh, a moment alone.  She does her hair and makeup before the sun rises.  A brush of the teeth, a layer of lipstick, a wry little jokeresque smile.  She looks at the little lines on her eyes, sighs, then puts her game face on, its time to go.  The doors are tossed open the covers pulled back, sleepy eyes open to thin light from the hallway afar.  The first two are moving, then its down the stairs, the last two still sleeping, time ticking, alarm sounding, no response.  A gentle rock of the hand, a slight whisper in ear.  The last two have awoken, they stretch rise and get dressed.  Breakfast is a hustle, like that of a subway coffee stand.  A bagel, a doughnut, some cereal, or toast.  Four other people, begging for help, wanting some food, needing their hair brushed, gathering some thoughts.

Lunches are made she is feeling the pressure, the clock is ticking departure is near.  One goes to high school and starts zero period.  Three go to elementary school their arrival is eminent.  The dogs are outside playing with glee, the goat and the horses munch quietly on their breakfast of oats and hay.  The two oldest return with reports on the animals well-being, subjects are changed, backpacks are filled, home work is gathered now head to the car with five minutes to spare.  One last cup of coffee before heading away, only to find no one has a jacket, two forgot their lunches and one wants to argue about whether or not his pants are too dirty to go to school that day. 

As she pulls out the driveway, one in the back screams he forgot his clarinet, the car turns around and in a jiffy she’s back where they started.  It’s at this point she can feel the pressure truly mount.  The high schoolers grade gets dinged if he’s late and we are ten miles from town.  Nine times out of ten they make it in time, but he is now grumpy for this is the tenth time.  She rushes across town to the elementary school and finds her parking spot.  You see this is where she works, her three children now turn into thirty.  Thirty kids who all need the same attention as that of her three.  A deep breath a moment in the car, a poised smile on the face, a whistle in hand and before she can catch her breath she is directing hundreds of other parents where to park and drop off their little angels.  As these parents drive some give her the nod.  The nod of “I understand what you’re going through right now” the gesture is returned with appreciation.  Some simply smile, some wave.  Some are truly glad to see her for she brightens their day and some are so self-absorbed they wish she would just get out-of-the-way. 

In a flash it is done not before she is frozen by the mornings bitter air.  But she turns on her heels and steps into the hallway that leads to her room where her partner reveals, the plans for the day and the lesson to be learned.  Its assist a child over here, adore a child there, its bathroom breaks and sorry mishaps.  Its challenges met and opportunities missed, its laughing and crying and some throwing fits.  It’s a fine ballet of tag team education where the goal always remains the same; send children home with more brain power than they came to school with that particular day. Teachers and parents, administrators and children, she feels attached to them all both mentally and emotionally.  By the end of the day she feels a strong sense of accomplishment and a foreboding sense of exhaustion.  For she understands the day is not done and as she winds down from thirty daughters and sons, she’s left facing the remaining three that need her the most. 

A half hour break then the pick-up begins, first the little ones then the high schooler and before she knows which way is up and which way is down she has a car full of the most important children she knows.  One would think the day was over, but not for our girl, she still has grocery shopping to do, animals to feed and horses that need riding.  Stalls need cleaning and friends who have looked forward to seeing her are happy she is there at the barn.  The smallest ones are tired, and grumpy is rearing its ugly head.  Squabbles and bickering are broken up, feelings are hurt and she does her best to referee.  A sit in the car, a timeout, a strong reprimand along with a please say your sorry thrown in for good measure.  A parent is apologized to for some inappropriate behavior, it’s always met with an “its ok I had kids once that age too” then the nod of understanding soon follows. 

By the time she returns home 12 hours have passed, it’s homework and dinner, showers and bedtime stories.  The kids once again take care of the dogs, put out the trash, quickly pick up their rooms and get ready for bed.  If she’s lucky everyone gets along and it all goes swimmingly.  If she’s not lucky its reminiscent of a gang fight at Pelican bay. 

By eight things have started to wind down, a few dishes are washed, a load of laundry is done, some clothes are folded.  The two little ones have laid down their heads. they are fast asleep as the worries of a hard day, education and playing have taken its toll on their little frames.  The two older ones have finally settled down, one is reading, the other is quietly watching a hunting show.  She slowly for the first time today starts to let her guard down.  A glass of wine and some brain-dead TV usually do the trick. 

As the warmth of the wine settles into her soul, one child goes up to bed and the oldest stays up just a smidge longer.  You see he knows what is going to happen next.  At fifteen he is starting to grasp the strains of a fully scheduled day.  He also holds quite a bit of responsibility as older brother to his younger siblings.  He switches channels and gazes across the room, checking so carefully not to disturb her for he knows it will happen quite soon.   Another glass is poured and before it can be savored. She simply slips off to sleep, so soundly, so quietly, the comfort of white noise, good wine and a soft comforter are more than her frayed senses can handle. 

He lets her sleep for a while then carefully wakes her.  He points her in the right direction, waiting for her to make it to the top of the stairs.  He turns out the lights, locks the doors and sends himself to bed.  She clears the top of the stairs, takes a warm shower where she washes away the emotional grime of the day.  Slowly she makes it into her empty bed, she mumbles, she grumbles and turns on the TV.  You see white noise makes it easier to fall asleep when you are all alone.  When you are a single parent.  When you need some form of comfort after a hard day.  And as she drifts off into the land of dreams and serenity she thinks about the day he will return to give her the break she so desperately seeks.  Ahhhhhh sleep.

5:30 am the alarm goes off……

This is truly a typical day for my wife.  I wrote this out of admiration for her, for all the wives of public servants, true single parents and military personnel who are gone for days, weeks, months and in the case of the military years at a time.  As a firefighter I am not home for a guaranteed 10 days a month.  Though most months its closer to 12-14 days.  That is half a month away from our families and our wives.  They are amazing people to be married to us, and yet at the same time be alone as single parents.  Its never easy for a couple, I respect you all and promise to give all I have as a father and friend when I am home. Out of respect for you.. 

I love you Jacy……….