Thursday, July 16, 2015

The Pros and Cons of Having Babies

I worked a few days as a nanny (or manny, if you prefer) this summer for a 6-month-old girl.  A lot of people have teased me by saying things to the effect of "Oh, you're practicing for when you have your own kids."  Sort of, but more I would say that I'm using this experience to decide if I really want to have my first kid in my late 30's.

Here are the pros and the cons I've worked out thus far.

Con: Raising a baby is boring.  Yes, sometimes it's beautiful and rewarding and all of that stuff, but a lot of the time it's the most boring thing in the world.  No one tells you that.  People tell you that it's a lot of work, that they don't get any sleep, but you never hear anyone say how boring it is.  Well, I'm saying it.  It's boring.  I wish more parents would just admit it more.

"Booooooooring"
Pro: It can be a heartwarming and wonderful experience.  All I have really done is warmed up some milk and popped it into her mouth, but you can't help but get a feeling inside you that says "I am giving this young being life!"  And this isn't even my kid.  I imagine it's ten times the effect when it's your own.

This isn't me, and this isn't the kid. But same general idea.
Con: It's messy.  The first thing I do when I get home is throw all my clothes in the wash and take a shower because I feel like I'm covered in drool, pee, poop, and woman's breast milk who I'm not even sleeping with.  Sometimes the baby will take a dump while she is sitting down and the pressure created by the floor will send the poop clear up her back almost to her neck.  Powerful ass on this kid.    Mom and dad should be proud.  Then you're trying to change her diaper while she tries to kick her feet into her own poop.  Good lord.  Parenthood is a messy existence.

"And, we're done here."
Pro: Great for meeting chicks.  I spend most of my day at a gigantic park in Chicago, whether we're walking around, playing on the swings, or just laying down a blanket and chilling.  You wouldn't believe how many women are out there, and they're all just as bored as me!  Day after day of baby time leads an individual to want to talk to some adults to make sure you don't lose your ability to converse with people without blurting out pee pee or poo poo.  So all these babes want to talk to me, but I'm spoken for.  So this really is only a pro for those single dads out there.  Or for single dudes that want to use a kid as bait to meet chicks.  There's gold in them there baby parks!

"Come, little one! Together we will be the lords of the baby park!"
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That's all I got so far.  You guys got some more pros or cons, either from direct experience or as an outsider looking in?

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

The other night I met my good buddy, Southie, for some margaritas and Mexican food before attending a Chicago Cubs game together.  On my way out I used the establishment's ATM for some cash.  My money didn't come out, and when I called my bank to see if the $200 I requested and didn't get was taken out of my account, it was as well as random attempts at taking $20 and another $40.  I cancelled my card and made a claim about those transactions.  Important tip: If a machine ever says there will be no receipts given, cancel right away.

Fast forward a week later when I'm at the bank cashing a check and ask for a printout of my last 20 transactions to be sure there is no more funny business on my account, and there are numerous withdrawals of $500 from an ATM I have never been to on the far west side.  I am freaking out at this point, and while the cashier is looking into it for me she suddenly says, "Oh.  This printout isn't from your account.  This is someone else's."

What?  You're just handing me information on someone else's bank account and scaring the crap out of me?  To tell you the truth, I was so relieved that all was okay that I didn't even give the woman a hard time.  I have worked a lot of jobs, and in every single one of them I have made colossal stupid mistakes.  I truly believe that all is well that ends well, and there is just no need to yell at someone at times like this.  She knows she screwed up bad.  Me hollering at her won't make her get that any more.  Me yelling at the Cubs didn't help them beat the evil Whitesox that afternoon either.  But I did it anyway.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Anyone Need a Karate Announcer?

I know this crazy son of a gun who used to be a prison guard and now does security at a school.  He is all of 5'5" but is intense as hell and a scary ass drill sergeant when he needs to be.  This guy also teaches karate at the school, and he asked me if I would be a judge for a karate tournament.  I tried to respectfully decline do to the fact that I don't know my ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to karate.  His response was hilarious and was this:

"Yeah, but when you see a fight, you know which guy got his ass whipped, right?"

Okay, by that definition I guess I'm a karate judge.



When I got there there was another security guard struggling through his soundcheck on the microphone in an attempt to warm up as the announcer.  He asked if I would swap roles with him.  In my estimation announcing was a way safer bet because as the judge I might have parents pissed off that I picked their kid's opponent.  And with that brilliant trade I made a switch to become the MC for the evening.

I got into the swing of things pretty quickly with my commentary.  When I didn't know what was going on in a match, I just defaulted to pointing out how hard one of the kids was trying with lines like, "Isn't he a scrapper, folks?  Let's give him a hand!"

If it was a back-and-forth tussle, I would say "We got a scrap here, ladies and gentlemen!"  The kindergarten division was particularly cute, by the way.

Just before the judges' decisions I would say something to the effect of "That was a closely contested bout.  It will be interesting to see how the judges scored this one."  Then the four judges would flip their flags to the white or red flag for which opponent won in their uninformed opinions.  It probably would have made more sense to have an odd number of judges, but whatever.  In the result of a tie there was only one way to settle it . . . Who can do more push-ups?!  I'm serious.  So then I counted out the push-ups on the mic and commented on who's arms were shaking and who was losing the integrity of their push-up form.  The organizers of this event were winging it, and I was improvising what the hell to say about it.  It was a blast.

My air time on the mic got me warmed up for my third reverend gig that I had on the upcoming weekend (I got "ordained" online to officiate weddings for friends).  My good buddy, Southie got married, and I was happy to help him out  Just like every other time, I was nervous.  I wasn't sure how I did when I wrapped it up, but I got nothing but compliments all night long.  They weren't just people who bumped into me at the bar and felt a need to say something - many made a point to come up to me for the sole purpose of saying how great they thought the ceremony was.  It felt really good to know that I made the couple's special day even better and managed to entertain and please so many guests.

The reverend rides again.  And I hope the karate announcer sweeps the leg again because that was hilarious.

Thursday, June 04, 2015

Anyone ever hear "'Da Butt" by E.U.?  I heard it on my bike ride home from work today and started laughing my ass off at this line: "If you get that notion get your backfield in motion."

I'm going to say something right now: That is singlehandedly the best line ever about American football, booty shaking, or combinations thereof.

The minute I got home I added it to our wedding playlist.  This was a point of contention, but to compromise I'm going to give the d.j. a time to fade it out midway through the song, likely just after that backfield line . . .

Wednesday, June 03, 2015

The Great Gig In the Sky

I had this dream the other night where I was at a comedy club, or was it a strip bar?  It was hard to tell because the late great Robert Schimmel was trying to do his set on the same stage as a stripper.  I remember being pissed at the time because there were some drunks heckling him, but that's to be expected.  It's just weird trying to make jokes with a woman to your left taking her clothes off.

Here I was yelling at these jerks to shut up, but Schimmel was so understanding.  He was saying, "It's all right.  A gig's a gig."

The real life Robert Schimmel was in a car wreck in which his 19-year-old daughter was driving and the car flipped over on its side.  His son in the car was not hurt at all, his daughter sustained some injuries, but sadly, Mr. Schimmel died from his injuries.

"Yup, she has no clothes on, but listen to this . . ."

I guess I visited him in a dream state in that great Titty Bar/Comedy Club in the sky the other night.  And he was good to see him truly at peace when he said to me "A gig's a gig."

Saturday, May 23, 2015

"Good Game"

A bunch of us went to the "American Beer Classic" at Soldier Field (where the Chicago Bears play) where you pay $65 to sample as many beers as you want all day long.  There were two sessions so we were heading in for the 3:30PM session just as the 11:30AM session was getting out.  Giant hoards of people were filing out of there in the opposite direction completely wasted before noon.

It was then that I feel a couple gentle pats on my ass and fat man who was around 6'4 and 280 pounds saying "good game" to me.  I looked up to him to see him staring right back at me.  So, I said what just about any man would say at that point: "What the fuck!?!?"  He said, "It's not gay if you say 'good game.'"  To which I exclaimed as I walked away, "Well, it's a little gay, isn't it?"

I think this guy was looking for a fight or something because if he kept doing that, I would say he would be likely to find someone ready to fight.  I'm not homophobic, but it turns out I really don't like gentle pats on my ass from strangers.  I guess I never knew that until someone did it to me.  He said "good game," and that statement goes along with one slap with decent force.  That I might have been put off by too, but I wouldn't have felt . . . violated.

These guys both thought he had a good game.
I guess for a moment there I understood how women feel powerless when they are harassed by men, to an extent, because what were my options here?  It's not worth fighting this guy, getting arrested, and losing the chance to drink all that beer.  Also, the guy was enormous so a fight might not have went well for me  Then again, he was completely drunk and I was stone sober, so I might have done okay.  But probably not.  I'm a drinker, not a fighter.

So into the beer festival, feeling a little icky, but after a few samples I had forgotten all about the man-on-man sexual harassment I had encountered moments before.

If there are any lessons here they might be as follows:

1. Don't pat the rear ends of anyone you don't know.  If you have developed a bond with someone new and you just shared a victory in a sporting even or even watched one on television, then maybe, but still no.  Saying good game and doing an ass pat on someone you never met and shared no experiences with is just weird and creepy, so don't do it.

2. Try the Chocolate Peanut Butter Porter by Horny Goat Brewing Company.  It's absolutely delicious and helps you forget things.


Good game, readers.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

All This Time Off of Blogging and It's a Dang Dream Blog?

I had a dream the other night where I'm out at the bar, and then all of a sudden everyone wants to do cocaine and put things in each other's butt holes.  I don't do either of those things, so in the dream I was desperately trying to get out of there.  Even if I were to dabble in either venture, right in plain sight at the bar hardly seemed like the right time.  To make things even weirder, everyone had bright blue bungholes.

The friends in my dream thought I was the biggest prude ever when I finally got out of there, but boy was I glad to get free of those twisted, blue-butted, drug fiend, anal exhibitionists.

Tell me the last time you saw the above sentence.

And what in the blue blazes do you think the dream means?