“Peyton, I’m sorry but it was buried deep in the contract and no one realized it was required, but it looks like there is really no way out of it, and the penalties are Draconian if you don’t comply with the terms of the contract.” stated Tom Condon apologetically.

“In hind sight, it appears that the one million dollars they paid me, to say I’m going to Disney World after winning the Super Bowl, wasn’t really worth it in light of the obligations I was not made aware of.”  Peyton said disgustingly.

“I don’t see what the big deal is?  They are putting you up in the best accommodations at the entire resort and you can bring your entire family, I think you can even bring Eli and his family at no additional expense if you like.”

“You don’t understand, your old, you don’t have kids, have you ever been to Disney World?  Scratch that, it doesn’t matter, if you have it was a long long time ago and Disney is an entirely different place now.  I understand the concept of the express pass so that you can go to the front of the line for the rides, but all of their rides suck ass.  On top of all that, your stuck out in the sun with your kids and your wife is constantly telling you to put your phone away and pay attention to your kids, I’m never around so I’m pretty use to not having to deal with my kids.”

“I went to Epcot Center once, does that count?  Not even sure if it exists anymore but it may have been the worst experience of my life.”  Condon indicated trying to soften the blow.

“The express pass thing, how does that even work?  What if everyone bought an express pass  that went to the park that day? You can’t tell me those greedy bastards at Disney are going to cap the number of express passes they hand out, not in a million years.  So, if everyone decides to buy one they can’t just let everyone go to the front of the line, it’s not logistically feasible.  Omaha! Omaha! Omaha!”  Manning had begun to say Omaha at the end of statements when he was really trying to drive his point home.  It was quite annoying, but who is going to question him on it, he’s Peyton Manning.

“This is the price you pay when you are one of the most marketable people on the planet.  If you don’t visit Disney World by April 30, 2016 the  penalty in your contract is that you have to also go to Disney Land and Euro Disney within a year.  I’m sorry but imagine Disney coupled with the French, the French are assholes, I don’t even think you would wish that fate on Tom Brady.”

“Listen, I understand, I am a complete whore when it comes to marketing myself, if I was a prostitute I would have no orifices left to stick things into.  That being said, and I have thought about renting out my forehead to advertisers due to it’s enormousness, I just don’t think I can bring myself to going to a public place like that, especially since they have regurgitated that story about when I put my sack on that lesbos face back when I was in college.  That was hilarious, and everyone knows lesbos don’t have feelings.  On top of that people still think it’s suspicious that my wife was getting HGH delivered to our front door and if I hear Chicken Parm you taste so good, one more time it may make me even more angry than when Layne Kiffan stabbed all us UT fans in the back.  There’s no telling what I might do.”

“Can’t you wear some type of disguise?  You must have some type of disguise for when you go out in public and don’t want to be seen?”

“Seriously?  You think I have a disguise?  I’m 6’5 with a forehead the size of a drive in movie screen, how do you disguise that?  Besides I’m one of the whitest and goofiest looking people on the planet.  Everyone thinks I became a quarteback because my dad was a quarterback, that’s the farthest thing from the truth, I did it so I wouldn’t get picked on for being such a goofy looking bastard.  Plus, I knew it was my only path to landing a hot chick, otherwise I would have been stuck marrying the unsuccessful version of Melissa McCarthy if you know what I mean?”

“You mean the unsuccessful and not funny version of Melissa McCarthy, right?”

“I never said Melissa McCarthy was funny, just successful, she’s somehow parlayed her annoying fatness into comedy gold and she’s done it by not being funny.  Similar to what Trent Dilfer did as a qb, absolutely no talent but somehow he won a Super Bowl, pretty pathetic I only have one more super bowl than that douche bag, I think I may just tell ESPN I’ll work for them next year as long as they fire Trent Dilfer and pay someone to beat him up, he deserves that, maybe I will have them beat up Joe Buck as well.”

“Joe Buck works for Fox, I don’t think ESPN has any control over that, but I suppose you could just pay some random person to beat up Joe Buck, it would probably be worth it.”

“Damn it!  Now I’m torn, I think I, no I know I hate Joe Buck the most, I’m going to Fox and telling them I will work for them but they have to get rid of Joe Buck, no, on second thought that’s what you are going to do to make up for this Disney screw up, also, I’m not working with Chris Berman, he looks like he has bad breath and farts a lot, I don’t want to have to deal with that, I’ve been around enough lineman that have similar problems.  Wait a minute, I don’t have to work with Berman he’s at ESPN, and all of those guys at Fox appear to have pretty good hygiene, I like it, I really like it.  I’m also hoping you can get me out of anymore Chicken Parm commercials and get me a pizza gig for a pizza chain that has edible pizza.  It’s terrible, the guy who owns Pappa Johns thinks we are bros now that we have done a couple commercials together and he won’t stop texting me.”

“Ok Peyton I will see what I can do, I am pretty sure I can get you a gig at Fox but I think you need to aim a little higher, tell them they need to do away with not only Joe Buck but also sideline reporters.  Side line reporters are about as useful as a second marriage, if it doesn’t take the first time just be done with it.  Can you imagine NFL broadcasts without cut outs to some annoying fat chick who has absolutely nothing of value to say, if I wanted that I could watch the View.”

“Great idea!  And I don’t typically give a shit about this stuff, you know in light of my putting my junk on a lesbos face, but Disney had this completely bullshit advertisement that I saw when I was watching Bachelor this week and  it depicted this Hispanic family that had recently immigrated to the United States.  The story played out and the family was building up, and obviously saving up, to do what every American family dreams of doing, go to Disney!  Really, you are going to blow $5,o00 so you can wait in line for It’s a Small World After All for an hour and a half, when you could have used that money to immigrate the entire rest of your family?  I didn’t want to say it, but their entire gimmick and marketing strategy where they make parents think they owe it to their kids to take them to Disney is complete bullshit and I don’t want to be a part of it any longer.  By the way, that check cleared for the Disney thing for the Super bowl right?”

“Honestly, the only way you get out of it is by coming clean on the HGH thing and letting the world know that you were enhancing with human growth hormone.  It was obvious with Barry Bonds, his head grew, but your head is so big that no one can tell when it grows.  If you come clean on the HGH Disney will likely distance themselves from you and probably won’t make you go to their park.”

“I think I’m just going to find another lesbian to stick my junk on, at least that is pure hilarity and then I won’t be lumped in with guys like Bonds, McGwire, and Sosa.  You know any lesbos that owe you a favor?  You must represent some WNBA players.”

 

 

Everyone remembers when their first born could sit up, crawl, walk and talk.  In fact, most people record it in a baby book just in case their memory fails them or they make claims about such milestones that are completely absurd and need to be called out for making such unrealistic claims about their child.  What most parents don’t remember is when their second child accomplished the same milestones.  They know the approximate age, somewhere between zero and three years, but don’t ask them if it’s recorded anywhere,  because chances are it isn’t.  They have two legs and two arms what do they care when they actually began to use their legs and arms for something worthwhile?  The one thing I do remember about Ted is when he stopped shitting his pants.  That happened about a week and a half before Christmas, I think he was walking at that point in his life as well, but I’m not positive.

In all reality, these milestones are somewhat meaningless as long as they are eventually able to accomplish most of them, especially the not shitting in their pants milestone (which I still sometimes have trouble with).  However, Tod accomplished something recently that is a life changing milestone that couldn’t have made me more proud.  No, he didn’t finally make a basket in his mini nerf hoop, he didn’t actually make contact with a wiffle ball, nor did he tell me that girls are the only way to go (not sure I will ever hear that one, but there definitely is some upside to that path if he chooses it, but I will elaborate on the upside at a later date)  What he did do was way better than all three of those things combined, he learned how to use the remote control for our television.  Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!  Not sure why we didn’t hammer home an intensive remote control tutorial right after he learned how to walk, to all you new parents out there, don’t make the same mistake we did.

The sky is the limit for this kid, who knows what he will become now that he has figured out how to use a remote control, ok, maybe I am exaggerating, he’s either going to be a tv critic (and not a very good one because from what I can tell he likes everything, he even watches Dora intently) or the guy at the sports bar who turns on all the tv’s and helps people switch their tv from the Detroit Lions game to another game after the first quarter when the Lions are down by six touchdowns.

Regardless of what this new skill set has to offer for him, it is truly amazing for Shirley and I.  I imagine days where we don’t even get out of bed at all, the kids just go down, Tod turns on the remote and away they go.  Granted, Tod is still claiming he’s scared and needs us to go down there with him,  but I’m not falling for that,  “come on Tod, you know how to use the remote, there’s nothing to be scared of, if you push this button way over here it gets rid of any monsters you may encounter.”  That’s one of the few upsides of kids, you can lie to them about just about anything with no consequences.

There are still a couple of things that need to be ironed out before we have reached complete Nirvana at our house, but I feel like we are pretty damn close.  The first issue is that all of the cereal is on the top shelf of the pantry, so after about a half a show the kids start complaining about being hungry and needing some cereal.  This requires one of us to get out of bed to retrieve cereal.  The problem with this is that they can never make up their minds as to which cereal they are in the mood for, similar to me when I’m trying to pick out a candy bar,  Skittles seems to always be the right choice but for the Green Apple which is an after taste that can be almost impossible to overcome.  Obviously you can’t go wrong with Milky Way, but then there’s Take Five, Screw it, I’ll just buy all of them.  What I do know is I am never buying a Payday or Baby Ruth, I can’t believe they have even sold one of those candy bars, whoever was behind that probably also came up with the Pontiac Aztec.

So, when they are vacillating between cereals the clock is ticking, if I stay out of bed too long then I am never getting back to sleep.  That’s bad for both me and Shirley because I’m still going back to bed no matter how awake I am, but instead of sleeping I am groping until she relents.

The second issue is that our kids refuse to agree on anything, they are incapable of agreeing what color the sky is when it’s blue.  It’s green Tod, No it’s Green!.  Tod says it’s blue daddy!   So, they often end up fighting over what show to watch next and on top of that, Tod will typically come bitching about how Ted is sitting too close to him and that we need to make him move.

However, Tod now has the upper hand because he knows how to work the remote.   Similar to the brother who has a copy of the key to the liquor cabinet or knows where his dad’s porno stash is hidden.  (Pretty sad that the day’s of porno stashes are coming to an end) You should see how Tod takes command of that remote, he holds it like a 16 year old girl does her iphone, complete confidence in his ability to navigate the remote and admiration for the power that it holds and can unlock.  Looks like all I need to do is lower that cereal shelf and the weekend mornings will once again be mine.  Anyone know a good handyman?

 

The original movie Back to the Future and the sequels that followed did a fairly good job of forecasting what the future actually held for those who were able to stick around and find out.  However, had they depicted an internet site that allowed the most obnoxious of individuals (your friends) to shamelessly brag about themselves, document how amazing their lives are on an hourly basis, launch multi level marketing careers (pyramid schemes) that take advantage of fat people, and post endless amounts of pictures of themselves doing the most mundane of things all well making billions of dollars for it’s founders most people would have thought to themselves “the Cubs winning the world series, that’s plausible, an apparatus that turns garbage into fuel that could happen, but whatever that internet thing is and that thing they are claiming will be it’s most popular site, no way that could happen!”

The phenomenon is hard to believe, it’s like a girlfriend that is entirely crazy but she’s good in the sack so you keep going back to her hoping she doesn’t eventually boil your rabbit and possibly kill you in the process.  Every time you get done with what she’s good at your entire body fills with regret and you ask yourself how did I get here again? Damn you penis!  You’re going to be my down fall someday, I still love you, but come on we have to start making better decisions.”  How many times have you either went into the Facebook app or pulled up their site on your computer only to ask  yourself 20 minutes later “how did that just happen?  I just wasted another 20 minutes of my life, I would have been better off watching Telemundo, at least I could have possibly picked up some Spanish.”

This past weekend Shirley and I were traveling up North for a ski weekend (neither one of us skied, but we pretended like we were going to to justify taking a weekend off from our kids, and let me tell you it was marvelous, I took a three hour nap in the condo while everyone else was out on the slopes, and Shirley was working remotely).  On the way up to the Petoskey area Shirley was on Facebook catching up on all of her good friends on Facebook (people she never talks to but knows intimately, even more intimately than her co-workers who she sees everyday, because of the fictitious lives her so called friends have created on Facebook)

There is one person in particular who she somehow still has as a friend of hers on Facebook.  The moment I met this friend I knew she was a complete phony and had a difficult time even being in her presence.  In person she went out of her way to name drop and make sure I knew that she was on her way to a meteoric rise in whatever career she had chosen to focus upon and grace with her presence.

She is completely obnoxious on Facebook as well and posts endless selfies and make as many post as she can to illustrate how truly amazing she is and how unbelievable her life is, even though she lives in Detroit, come on nobody is dumb enough to believe that your life is amazing if you are living in Detroit, plus she is pushing 40 and not married and has no kids so…. maybe that isn’t so bad, but the Detroit thing, yeah I see right through that one.

So, why put yourself through that? There is nothing that is compelling Shirley to remain friends with this obnoxious self promoter on Facebook, she never talks to her in real life.  On top of that, if the wheels fall off and this person’s life begins to completely crumble, which I am hoping will happen sooner rather than later, they aren’t going to post “hey, just filed for bankruptcy because I maxed out six different credit cards, had to give six different guys handies because that was the only way I was going to afford my daily dose of crack, and on top of that I drive a Kia.”  Life continues to be glorious on Facebook no matter what actually is transpiring in someone’s life.

This past weekend I also received a text from a friend of mine, we share a mutual disdain for a certain person, and once again that person posted something entirely obnoxious on Facebook.  When this person isn’t being obnoxious on Facebook, his wife typically is, continually lauding his accomplishments even though he’s a complete ding dong who rarely helps out his wife with anything and has absolutely no self awareness.  Had Facebook not existed, or had either one of us not paid attention to it, this idiot would be at the back of both of our minds and never make his way to the front.  However, since his wife is continually trying to portray an amazing life with her other worldly husband (who I am pretty sure no one else would have wanted), amazing kids, and a lifestyle do die for their obnoxiousness is always lurking around every corner.

Now there are steps that can be taken to make Facebook palatable, but why would you want to?  What is the point to having it in your life?  Someone who I like very much has a significant other who has used Facebook as a platform to launch her career in a multilevel marketing scheme that has made her more money than she would ever be capable of making anywhere else.  She actually brags about how much money she earns on Facebook, or at least use to brag, I de-friended her because I couldn’t take it anymore and it was turning me into an even more bitter person than I had previously been, which is saying quite a bit.  Seriously, telling the whole Facebook world how much money you make?  Can you imagine getting a megaphone, standing on a street corner, and telling every passer by what your income was for 2015?  Was that net or gross?  On top of the information about how she was killing it, she also posted at least 43 selfies a day.  Fuck you!

The most happy I have been recently, other than when Aaron Rodgers and the Packers lost in heart breaking fashion to the Arizona Cardinals in the playoffs, was when the Facebook app on my phone was on the fritz.  I never went on Facebook and was completely oblivious to what was going on in the lives of my “friends” on Facebook.  The reality is that Facebook is primarily used to see how much better you are doing than people you went to high school or college with, or how much better they claim to be doing than you.  Facebook sucks people, it truly sucks.

Now, just when I didn’t think it could suck any worse, I have been getting bombarded by advertisers on the rare occasion I actually decided to creep on somebody on Facebook.  Seriously, I don’t need an advertisement for a penis pump following me around the internet, I was just wondering how they work, I wouldn’t ever think of actually using one, do they work?  Good thing I wasn’t in Shirley’s Amazon account when curiosity got the best of me.  Those things can’t actually work can they?  If they worked they would make more money than Apple and Microsoft combined, right?  Regardless of the functionality of a penis pump I need to at least get rid of my Facebook app, anyone know how to do that?  Is it even possible?  I’m concerned Mr. Zuckerberg has not only figured out a way to follow me around on the internet, but also how to keep me from ridding my life of Facebook.    I hate you Facebook!  I wonder how many likes my post got today?

 

Society is full of people to fear and things to fear, from Terrorists to Michael Moore there are plenty of things out there that are constantly at the back of our mind making us anxious and uneasy.  A majority of the things people fear are completely rational, clowns, hugs, and a women in the Whitehouse are all things that no person should take lightly.  (In theory I’m not opposed to a female president, just the particular female that is trying to become Commander and Chief at this particular moment)

Often times I will wake up in the middle of the night to take a leak or get a glass of water and my imagination immediately begins to take over and I make my self look out into the driveway.  Why do I do this?  I want to make sure there are no flesh eating zombies in my driveway chomping away at a deer carcass.  Is this fear at all rational?  I’d like to say yes based upon my consistent viewing of the Walking Dead for the first three seasons (I can’t believe that show is still on the air) and what I really need to do is befriend a black person at the next sign of the zombie apocalypse because according to the show once a new African American shows up the original one is a goner.  “No T-Dog! No!”  However, the likelihood of a Zombie Apocalypse has got to be pretty close to zero, I haven’t googled it or anything, but I’d probably be more likely to find John Travolta hugging another man in my driveway than a decomposing zombie nibbling on a deer hoof.

Accepting the fact that I do have irrational fears, there is one thing that I fear that is completely rational, carwashes.   I have developed an anxiety about car washes that is based in reality.  The car wash where I use to live actually would allow you to let them drive it through for you, you mean you will actually drive my car through for me?  And it isn’t extra?  Take it! Take it now! before you change your mind this sounds way too good to be true.  When I was living at the same place I happened to decide to bring my car for a wash when my go to car wash was closed.

There was a little rust on my car wash game since I was use to having my car driven through for me and I had an electronic transmission in my car at the time which meant you had to click a button to get it into neutral. (Neutral was like the female g spot, almost impossible to locate) I was at a car wash on 28th street and the attendant instructed me to put it into neutral.  I kept clicking the damn button but it would only go into reverse or drive, the cars began to line up behind me and I immediately began to perspire profusely.  After what seemed to be at least ten minutes, but was probably more like a minute and a half,  I was finally able to coax my car into neutral.

The inability to get my car into neutral is just one of the many problems I have encountered at car washes, and whenever I go to a car wash I am always on edge even though my current transmission could be operated by an asian elderly women (I just described the worst possible driver on the planet unless you throw in handicap)  If I want to double down on my anxiousness I bring passengers into the equation.  It’s one thing to struggle navigating the car wash when you are all by yourself, but it is even more emasculating when people you know are there to witness it  first hand.  Typically I try to avoid going through a car wash with occupants other than myself in my vehicle, but for some reason I had a brain fart on Sunday and took my entire family with me.

We were coming back from Great Wolf Lodge and my truck was filthy, besides I had a new car wash that seemed to be fool proof.  I ordered the Rainbow wash and proceeded up to the spray area.  Oh shit!  There’s no longer an attendant there to direct you into the track and make sure your tires are properly lined up.  Immediately panic kicked in and I was considering letting Shirley take over driving responsibilities.  Unfortunately, the panic clouded my perception of everything and I didn’t realize they replaced the attendant with a mirror.  I blindly pulled forward and completely missed the track with my front tire, running it over while putting the attendant in charge of spraying off the vehicle into a tizzy along with my wife.

Everyone was screaming at me and I felt utterly helpless.  In my second of clarity I said “Fucking relax, I have a truck I will just back up and put my truck in the track properly!”  having finally noticed the mirror, and yes I dropped an F bomb in front of my kids, not the first time and won’t be the last.  While it was nice that they put a mirror there, I have much more confidence in an attendant, and really hate to rely solely on myself for anything.  This automated world we live in blows.

Fortunately, Shirley found it more amusing than alarming that I had lost my temper and everything turned out ok after we made our way through the car wash.  However, the car wash is not the only thing that percolates my uneasiness.  With summer approaching I am gearing up for a second completely rational fear that overwhelms me at times.  That fear is authority figures who are younger than me, much younger than me.  Seems like kind of an odd fear doesn’t it?  Well hold back your judgment until you have been chastised by a 13 year old pimply faced life guard with braces for unsavory conduct at a public swimming pool.  “Yes sir, I’ll behave, I’m really sorry.”  Wait a minute I’m three times older than that kid what am I doing cow towing to him, screw it, CANNON BALL!  Of course that last part didn’t happen, the only thing worse than being yelled at by a 13 year old life guard is being kicked out of the pool area by a 13 year old lifeguard.  “You may have won this battle you little bastard, but at least I have a driver’s license!”

While the public pool is a mainstay for teenage workers, Craig’s Cruisers may employ even more teenagers than all of the public pools in West Michigan combined.  For the most part this isn’t a problem unless you love go karts, and my five year old and I love the shit out of go karts.  I have never seen anyone legally able to purchase tobacco products working a go kart track and a go kart track needs twice as much regulation as a public pool.  You need to rule that go kart track with an iron fist, and if you don’t treat that go kart track like you are it’s lord Geoffrey, that go kart track is going to rule you.  Have you seen the wing nuts they let drive on those tracks?  It would be like driving down 131 if it was comprised solely of elderly female handicapped Asian driver’s.

The reality is, I am an excellent driver when my vehicle is moving forward, and I dominate the go kart track.  So, I can count the times on one hand that I have been spoken to by the go kart track attendant and they have all been for minor infractions that were no fault of mine, typically being spun out by some 12 year old girl who had no  business being on the track in the first place.  However, I have plenty of go karting ahead of me and I’m sure that if the day comes where I am confronted for a major go kart infraction I will do the right thing, I will blame it entirely on my kid.

“I’m not sure how this could have happened, I googled “swinger’s resorts Northern Michigan” and the only thing that came up was Great Wolf Lodge” stated Lindsey.

“They must be casting a pretty wide net to get customers to visit their resort.  This place is full of families with children, not sure there are any swingers within 25 miles of this place.”  George stated with a bit of disgust in his tone. “92 percent of the people here are families and the other 8 percent are either grandparents or pedophiles.”

“Well, we are stuck now, we didn’t cancel in time and now we are going to be out almost $500 if we put this place in our rear view mirror.  Besides, remember that time we booked a hotel and we were unaware that they were holding a theological conference entitled”Are we there yet? The in’s and out’s of predestination in modern times” we still managed to find a few theologians who were totally depraved.  Let’s give it a shot, we might be pleasantly surprised, and you can’t tell me you aren’t dying to try that monster water slide not to mention the lazy river.”  Lindsey responded in a pleading tone.

“We need to have a plan, there’s a certain demographic we probably need to steer clear of, the families with young kids who can’t escape their room.  I did see someone in the pool area wearing a thong speedo but it was a european cut and you know we don’t want to mess with European’s, never had much luck with them. You know, I really feel like an idiot trying to carry this cooler into the park, the sign says no outside coolers, no idea why Beth would have told you you can bring in your own booze.”

Later that evening at dinner:

“Did you see that guy who was standing outside of his room with a band aid on his forehead?  He looked completely out of sorts and I could have sworn he was mumbling red rum, red rum, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a frontal lobotomy in anticipation of his trip to Great Wolf.  We should probably keep an eye on that guy, not for swinging purposes but for our own safety.  On top of that guy, I was in line for one of the water slides and this little bitch of a girl went blowing past at least ten people and cut into the front of the line.  I wish everyone in the park had a temporary tattoo with an id number on it so you could make formal complaints against them with management.” George noted as he sipped on his Derby Daiquiri.

“On the bright side I saw a women in a bikini who was at least 8 months pregnant, nothing says skank quite like an overly pregnant women in a bikini.  We could cross that off our bucket list if we play our cards correctly.  I actually followed her into the hot tub not realizing it was the kiddie hot tub, and likely comprised of 50 percent urine  and 50 percent water.  There were no less than three band aids floating in the water and they keep it at a tepid 80 degrees, which is probably elevated by at least 5 degrees due to the fresh urine.  Fortunately I discovered the adult hot tub within minutes of sitting in the kiddie tub, and I was able to talk our overly confident pregnant friend into joining me.   Apparently she is here with her boyfriend and three other children with two different fathers, all out of wedlock.  Jackpot!”  Lindsay had already drank four pina colada’s and was having a hard time keeping her voice down.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m struggling here, but if we can make it happen with prego, this may all end up being worth it.  By the way, I stopped in the snack shop to grab something to tide me over until dinner,  and they had one of those touch screen soft drink machines.  You should have seen the hill rods trying to figure that thing out.  One of them actually told the other one, yeah they have one of these at Wendy’s already and then proceeded to take three minutes to figure out how the machine worked and then another two minutes to final decide on Mellow Yellow Zero.  Seriously, your going to go with Mountain Dew’s ugly step cousin, mellow yellow, when you have 150 other options?  That’s the problem, we have way too many options today, 200 cable channels, unlimited drink options.  Back in the day it was Coke, diet Coke, Sprite, and Dr. Pepper and that brief time period where Tab was popular, whatever happened to Tab?”  said George quizzically.

“I’ll say this, I had my doubts about this place and I should have known they wouldn’t build an indoor water park in Northern Michigan for swingers, seems like a little too specific and small demographic to be profitable, but I am enjoying the fact that I can wear sweat pants wherever I go, including dinner.  However, sweat pants aside, the amount of tattoo regret in this place has to be second only to people leaving Vegas after their first trip there.  This place is like Wal Mart with water slides, there are things I’ve seen here that no amount of therapy is going to be able to get me past.”  barked Lindsay as she attempted to flag down a waiter to order her fifth pina colada.

“Did you see the sign on the door prohibiting firearms?  Not that I  believe a sign is going to keep some wing nut from bringing a sub machine gun in here, but if I was here with my wife and kids the last thing I should have in my possession is a firearm.  Furthermore, even if I didn’t use it on the guests, I would most definitely shoot out all the windows in the water park so that they couldn’t open it the next day.  Can you imagine going through a day of this with your kids and then knowing you had to come back and do it all over the next day?  I would probably get in my truck and drive aimlessly around Traverse City listening to Conway Twitty all the while hoping that my wife and kids find a new dad while I’m gone.  Isn’t that the prego skank up at the bar?”  George asked with a bit of hope in his voice.

“It is, should I buy her a Jager bomb or a shot of tequila?”  asked Lindsay as she made her way to the bar.

 

There are things about being a kid that make me think to myself that I wouldn’t mind going back 35 years or so and reliving my younger years all over again.  One of the things that is truly amazing about being a kid is there seems to be little to no restriction on what a kid is required to wear, regardless of the setting.  As a parent I have attempted to make my children presentable when attending day care or preschool but it has come to the point that that is a fight that isn’t even worth engaging in any longer.  So, since the kids were running low on sweatpants I made a trip to the Tanger Outlet Mall to try and find a screaming deal on some weenie benders (sweat pants).

It was a gold mine and I was able to come away with bags full of sweat pants for both kids, I even managed to locate a pair of cargo sweat pants that are truly amazing.  I would imagine someone somewhere has managed to develop cargo sweatpants for adults, but I can’t even begin to fathom how incredible it would be to own a pair of cargo sweatpants.  Unbridled comfort coupled with maximum storage, no need for a fanny pack because you have side pockets, do they come in camouflage? because that’s the only way they could be even better.

The reality is that when you see people in sweat pants out in public it likely means one of two things.  They are so fat they can’t wear regular pants, not even jeans with an elastic waste band, or they are in a laundry cycle that has resulted in sweat pants being the only thing that isn’t unwearable due to it’s over all filth.   One of the truly nice things about sweat pants, unless you are a fat bastard, is that they are loose fitting and don’t get dirty as quickly as say a pair of jeans.  Farting, sweating, farting and sweating don’t seem to as significant of a toll on sweat pants as they do on jeans.

My question is this, why doe we wear anything but sweat pants?  Just think of how much more happy people would be if sweat pants were the only thing people wore in non warm weather months.  (I suppose a line of sweat shorts could be rolled out for summer and warm weather purposes)  On top of that, think of the money that we would save if we did away with all other clothing.  Bye bye business casual hello business sweat pants!   We already allow doctors to wear a much less comfortable version of sweat pants, scrubs, why not let everyone enjoy their seemingly endless comfort and convert current fashion entirely into sweat pants?  (Does anyone else have a problem with the doctor’s who wear their scrubs everywhere so that the entire world knows they have a medical degree?  Almost as bad as the guy I saw at a first grade basketball game on a Saturday at 2pm wearing a full suit and tie, you must be really important!)

Imagine an attorney addressing a jury for closing arguments in a full blown sweat suit.   Cubicle upon cubicle of  office workers wearing weenie benders as they sip on their Starbucks.   On top of saving an amazing amount of money on clothing, it would do away with one of the biggest scams of the modern time, dry cleaning.  Do they even really do anything with your clothes other than press them? Even the most minimal stain is nearly impossible for a dry cleaner to remove.  Ring around the collar, forget about it, I’ve never met a dry cleaner capable of hurdling that obstacle.  Donald Trump debating Hillary Clinton both wearing sweat pants, I’d pay money to see that, and sweat pants would likely hide Hillary’s kankles quite well.

Unfortunately, sweat pants is the epitome of my parenting style.  My children have worn me down to the point that I no longer fight with them about what they may or may not wear, “you want to wear an elsa costume to day care?  Sure no problem.”  Am I to the parenting equivalent of wearing sweat pants in public? (meaning I have given up all hope of being a presentable parent), not quite, but sometimes I feel like my lack of involvement and inconsistent parenting leads to the wrong message for my children.  That, on top of the fact that my oldest has shown up for pre-school in regular clothing when there has been a costume day, pajama day, and various other themed days.  On top of that he’s missed show and tell at his day care roughly 14 times and is probably sick of using one of his sneakers for show and tell.

It would be one thing if everything else was going splendidly for him, inattentive parents who 90 percent of the time don’t have their shit together would be surmountable, but he doesn’t.  Today they were celebrating Valentines day and for some reason Shirley decided to play Mario Party 9 last night with Aiden instead of preparing his 16 valentine cards to be given to his classmates.  First of all, it’s a miracle we even knew about this event and that he didn’t show up empty handed.  Part of me wants to have this conversation with whoever is in charge at his school “Yeah, if you want Aiden to participate in all of these frivolous and unnecessary events (Pajama day?  the kid wears sweat pants every day, do we really need a pajama day?)  I’m going to have to have you send me an invite via Microsoft office for every specific event, I don’t read the newspaper let alone school newsletters, who do I need to give my email address to? you or the lady who sits at the front desk and doesn’t seem to do a whole lot?”

So, anyway this morning as I was wrangling the kids to get them off to school and bible study with my sister and I needed to get Winston to sign (illegibly write his name) on all 16 of his Valentine’s day cards.  I brought out the first card and presented him with a pen, he had absolutely no idea what to do with it and was completely clueless.  I managed to get him to attempt to write his name and it became painfully clear that it would take until Valentine’s Day actually arrived for him to get his name on all 16 cards.  So, I decided to try to write like a 5 year old (which Winston can’t do) on the first card and then said fuck it and just wrote his name in my actual writing on the remaining 15 cards.  If one of his six teachers (I may be exaggerating, but they seem to have a lot of adults running around his classroom for there only being 17 kids) sees his V-day cards they will realize it wasn’t him who did his cards but so what I’m pretty sure they are well aware of my parental deficiencies.

One last anecdote to fully drive home my two pronged approach to parenting.  Upon completion by me of the V-day cards we were ready to roll on out except for the fact that Shirley had tried to Fluff dry the kids coats in the dryer and they were still soaking wet.  Ultimately, I had to coax them into wearing their coats from last year, not sure why that was so objectionable, unless they were just trying to screw with me, but they wanted no part of their old coats and claimed to be willing to wear their old coats.  I had no time for winter coat roulette and had to make a decision.  The first prong of my parenting approach, bribery, was necessary to get them out the door.  I gave them each a small cup of chocolate chips in exchange for them not complaining about having to wear their old winter coats.

Had I not been quick enough on my feet to realize bribery was my best option, I likely would have had to resort to the second prong of my parenting approach, a hybrid of yelling and punishment.  Due to my lack of time there was no way I would have been able to adequately punish them for being such dickheads (unless I was willing to double down and bungie cord them in my truck bed on the way to pre-school as punishment for their unruly behavior) so I would have had to resort to yelling at them, and in turn feeling bad about all of the terrible things I couldn’t take back, until ultimately I realized they are 5 and 3.  The reality is, and I need to realize this every time I feel bad for losing my shit when they drive me crazy, as long as I give them chocolate chips and candy on a fairly regular basis they will love me regardless of the terrible, yet true, things I say to and about them.

 

Parenting seems to be a constant struggle for many people out there in today’s overly soft and sensitive world.  Parents are constantly on their guard.  Concerned that they are being too harsh with their children, implementing parenting strategies that contradict what the so called experts believe to be sound parenting, or doing something that their spouse finds unacceptable.

Where do you go for sound parenting advice?  Do people actually seek advice from other people about parenting?  I feel like parenting is just something you should wing, if a particular strategy doesn’t work, just scrap it and try something else.  Occasionally I listen to the Freakonomics podcast.  They cover a wide variety of topics, but somehow they managed to address parenting in one of their episodes.  One of the contributors to the podcast, Stephen Dubner, who is an economist who is a professor of the University of Chicago, gave his take on parenting.

He indicated, or at least this is what I took away from it, that you can let your kids do pretty much what they please, including watching as much tv as they want, playing endless amounts of video games, while eating twinkies and pop tarts, and it won’t have any baring on what their adult life.  This would probably be welcome news to my parents and make them feel much less guilt about how my brother Jesse turned out.  Mom, dad it wasn’t your fault, it was bound to happen.

While part of me wants to agree with his thesis, because it makes parenting a whole lot easier when you give in all the time, I am fully aware that this technique would create human beings that I would be unable to tolerate for long periods of time.  So, I have decided to try and implement a hybrid of this parenting technique.  Give in when it becomes intolerable and you have lost the will to live but make sure you torment your children significantly after giving in so that they get some pay back for being such little a-holes.

The key with this strategy is taking everything from your childhood that was truly awful and determining which awful things could have value when introduced into your children’s lives.  There’s two things that need to be considered when implementing this strategy. First of all, can I get away with this without having my children taken away from me and or facing criminal charges?  Secondly, what affect does it have on my happiness.  (if bringing terrible shit from your child hood makes you as a parent suffer in some way, shape, or form, it’s probably not worth it)

As an example, my dad was relentless when it came to making fun of me for things I had absolutely no control over, and were primarily his fault for passing on poor genetic material to me.  One of his favorite targets was my acne.  He would refer to me as pizza face and tell my brothers not to squeeze my head because it may explode.  I tell people about this and they don’t believe me, and then when they realize that you can say pretty much anything to me and it won’t hurt my feelings, they believe me.  He also called me bean pole because I was quite skinny.   He didn’t save it for just me though, he was talking to me about one of my friends and he said “that so and so is really quite a pussy.”  He was, but still he probably shouldn’t be saying that to me.

In his defense, he did somewhat redeem himself by getting me a groupon for counseling services this year.  Just kidding, he managed to use his awesome benefits from his job at GM to get me on Acutane when I was in seventh grade.  I’m sure it was somewhat bitter sweet for him though, now he could only mock me about being skinny.  However, I did dodge a bullet by getting rid of the zits, if not for the acutane I would have been a triple threat as I entered the high school years, acne, braces, and a mullet, I would have had the chicks eating out of the palm of my hand.

So, in consideration for my three year old Ted turning into a complete monster who thinks he should have candy as an appetizer before dinner, get to pick out the tv show he wants to watch every single morning over his brother’s objection, and trying to wipe his own butt (ok that one is on me, I should have been paying closer attention, but he damn near clogged the toilet with all the tp he was using, and he somehow managed to smear poop all over his butt cheeks) I have started calling him Turd Ferguson.  I said it once jokingly, and it really struck a nerve with him.  So, since it bothered him so much I decided to randomly start referring to him as Turd Ferguson.  “I”M NOT TURD FERGUSON!  That’s not nice daddy!”  Since three year olds have no long term memory he can’t hold this against me like I do with my dad.  (For those of you who don’t get the Turd Ferguson reference Google it, it should make you laugh)  Yesterday I went to Meijer and ordered his Frozen themed cake with Elsa on it and the bakery attendant asked me what I wanted it to say, I wanted to put Happy Birthday Turd Ferguson but went the much safer route with “We Don’t Love You Anymore, Maybe When You’re 4 we Will Again, Happy Birthday Anyway!”

While my dad directly attacked my self esteem when I was growing up, my mom indirectly did so by the way that she dressed me.  The clothes that she picked out for me when I was in middle school were the opposite of in style and primarily purchased based upon price and utility.  This caused me to get a paper route in sixth grade and start working in the muck in seventh grade, ok partially caused it, my parents told me to get a job or they were going to put me to work around the house.  Wait a minute, I can work around the house for free and have the worst boss ever (my parents) or I can go work somewhere else and get paid?  Being able to purchase my own clothes was not enough to overcome my acne, braces, and terrible hair, but it helped.

It may be a bit too early to try and get my kids to start working around the house, especially since neither one of them can effectively wipe their own butt yet, but I have to figure out someway to decondition all of the pansy like traits their mother has beset in them.  I have always thought that the way to toughen a kid up is to make them work on a muck farm.  It’s truly awful work and you meet some of the worst people, at least that’s what I thought, they were just public school kids, but I had very little exposure to a anyone who didn’t whole heartedly believe Jesus Christ was their lord and savior.  So, it builds character, and part of me thinks, like being made fun of by my dad, they should have to endure the same awful things I endured.

Unfortunately, from what I have heard about muck farming, they no longer employ middle school aged children to work for them and instead hire migrant workers.  I’m pretty sure there is no other job out there that is as character building (awful) as toiling on a muck farm.  Playing Super Mario Bros 9, getting an Elsa birthday cake, and watching any cartoon you want on DVR may be impossible to counteract, but I am sure I can figure out a way to do my best, it just can have an impact on the overall enjoyability of my life.

 

 

As some of you may or may not know, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer a couple weeks ago and today she was scheduled to go into Spectrum Health for surgery.  I picked her up this morning at around 11 am, and on my way to picking her up, wondered what I should have playing in the background as we traveled to the hospital.  (the good news is that they caught it early and the surgeon believes if all goes as planned she will be able to avoid chemo or radiation, the bad news is it’s cancer and she was unable to have surgery due to a transplant taking place that bumped her surgery to Friday at 12:30pm)  That being said I knew she wouldn’t appreciate the podcasts I typically listen to, Bills Simmons and Tony Kornheiser are my go to podcasts, nor would she enjoy whatever would be playing on NPR.

Since it was a stressful situation for both of us, and especially stressful for my mom, I decided I could sacrifice my mental well being for one car ride and turned it to WOOD radio to listen to whatever right wing wind bag happen to be airing their particular talk show.  Lucky me, Glen Beck was on and they were airing a commercial.  The commercial was for the Glen Beck water purifier and indicated that no matter how dire times ended up getting this thing would do the trick, it could even derive clean drinking water out of a swamp.  (Not sure why they haven’t shipped 92,000 of these things to Flint)

A second commercial aired touting solar power generators that allow you to go “off the grid” and can be used even when the basic fabric of our society falls entirely apart so that you can power your sump pump, refrigerator, or short wave radio.  Hold on, I fully understand the necessity of a solar powered generator, not sure why every red blooded American doesn’t have one of these, but short wave radio? You lost me at short waive radio.  This commercial was followed by a commercial for a gun safe, and of course Glen Beck has that very brand of gun safe just in case the shit gets real in Beverly Hills and he has to take matters into his own hands.  You go Glenn!  (He use to be a DJ on a morning zoo but has now transformed himself into a right wing, Mercedes driving, product peddler, you got to love capitalism,  shouldn’t somebody who thinks to themselves “America Hell Yes!” drive an American car?  Google it, he drives a Benz, what a dick)

I picked up my mom, we engaged in small talk, both not real excited about the up coming surgery and the uncertainty that lingered in the air.  My mom had to stop at the Post Office so I waited out in the parking lot while she went in to have them put a hold on her mail.  Being the post office, this took a bit of time and there were more commercials of the same general nature.  There was a commercial that indicated that Obama hates coal and that electricity prices are soaring because of his disdain for coal.  It’s hard for me to imagine anyone hates coal, coal is an inanimate object, what did it ever do to Obama?  I can just imagine him driving through Pennsylvania with his arm out the window screaming “Damn you coal!”  Guess what Obama hates, he hates pollution, and in his mind and probably based upon a significant amount of scientific research, coal is a primary culprit in polluting our air.  He could give a shit about coal as it sits in its natural state in the ground not harming anyone, but when it creates plumes of unhealthy smoke that is hurled into the air he takes issue with coal.

Ultimately we ended up at the hospital neither one of us paying all that much attention to the radio as we engaged in conversation most of the way to the hospital.  My mom ended up in a pre-op room waiting to be moved to the operating room when we discovered that she was getting delayed.  It was similar to having your flight delayed, only my mom was in a hospital gown with IV’s protruding out of her about to get an epidural.

My mom had begun giving me names and phone numbers to put in my phone of people she wanted me to contact to update her on her condition after surgery.  Ultimately I took the phone and began to scroll through her contacts.  Some of the contacts were interesting to say the least, but one stood out to me.  She had Justin Amash as one of her contacts.  “Justin, yeah it’s Ardis again, I have this son who I don’t even think he voted for you, actually I think he doesn’t agree with your politics, is there any way you could just give hime a call just to show him you aren’t the huge asshole everyone seems to think you are?”

Only my mom wouldn’t use the word asshole.  It made me wonder if she had ever actually spoken to Justin Amash, I wouldn’t put it past her, she’s been on Rush Limbaugh a couple of times and she is a regular on the Wood Lawn and Garden show hosted by Rick Buist and some chick who thinks she’s funny but isn’t (men are just funnier than women, it’s a fact ladies).  One Saturday morning I was heading somewhere in my truck and for some strange reason, I”m not even sure why, I had my radio on WOOD and I didn’t bother to change it when I got in my truck.  I hear Rick Buist say that they have a caller on the line and her name is Yardis, I’m like you have got to be shitting me, so my mom gets on the line and she’s all clever and witty and the hosts both know her quite well.  It’s crazy to see your parent or parents in a way you are never use to seeing them.  I had no idea my mom, Yardis, was a quasi local celebrity.

Shirley works at Spectrum Hospital and was with us in the room when the manager of the entire floor came in and informed us of what was going on and the reason for the delay.  My wife knows  him well and he explained that they had a transplant come in along with five open heart surgeries going on at the same time.  If you ever want to feel like your job is unimportant and insignificant think about surgeons doing an organ transplant that saves a persons life while at the same time other surgeons are busy saving five  other lives.  The Cardio Thoracic surgery center at Spectrum is a truly amazing place and we are quite fortunate to have such an amazing health system in West Michigan.  The composure, talent, and intelligence these surgeons possess is truly remarkable.

Ultimately, I had to leave while my mom and Shirley waited for the surgeon so they could find out if the surgery was feasible for today.  (it wasn’t) I was somewhat deflated because I had a bad feeling that the surgery wasn’t going to happen and I knew my mom really wanted to get it over with.  As I exited the parking garage my radio was still tuned into WOOD and Rush was on the air.  It had been quite sometime, probably decades since I had listened to his show.  He was explaining how the Ted Cruz victory in Iowa was a mandate that Americans wanted a leader who stood up to big government because Ted Cruz stood up to Ethanol.  He then went on to say how he didn’t mention a poll the previous day about global warming  where 92 percent of the people polled didn’t believe global warming existed.   That’s why I can’t listen to right wing talk radio anymore. It’s not even plausible to disregard the fact that there is global warming.  I just read an article that was based upon scientific data that factually showed global warming exists due to the fact that the earth’s average temperature continues to increase on a yearly basis.  It’s as if the political parties base their platforms solely on the opposite of what the other party believes on a particular issue.

I’m not shouting on the street corner as to what the causes of global warming are, all I am saying is that it is happening and what I don’t understand is why it is a left win right wing issue.  Shouldn’t we all be concerned by the fact that the average temperature globally continues to increase? and shouldn’t we all pay attention to the possible negative consequences regardless of if we voted for Hillary Clinton or Ted Cruz?  Why do all of the people on the right insist that there is not a warming trend occurring?  When people on sports radio say ridiculous things about sports it’s fine, because it’s just sports and it doesn’t matter.  When political radio hosts say ridiculous things I take issue with it because their listeners purchase their ridiculous products and buy into everything they say hook, line, and sinker even though in another life the person they are buying into was wearing Hawaiian shirts to work while doing morning drive traffic.  Why can’t we all just join together and fix the shit that’s broke instead of always taking one side or the other?