Last Friday was a winter break day off from school for most kids in West Michigan but Caledonia intermediate school system was scheduled for another day of school until they decided to call in a snow day. Knowing that my kids would be on devices for at least twelve hours if I didn’t intervene, I offered to take them and the neighbor kids to Craig’s Cruisers. The neighbor kids came prepared with their own Craig’s Cruisers socks (they don’t let you wear Skyzone socks, Altitude socks, or any other trampoline park footwear). The neighbor kid’s mom had left $50 to cover her kids expenses. Having taken them last summer (and gone to the driving range while they were partaking of the rides and games) I knew the $50 wasn’t going to cover it. We arrived just before the place was opening and when I made my way up to pay the girl asked if I had waivers filled out for the kids, I confidently said “yes” only to find out that for some reason there were only waivers for Aiden and I even though I had to fill them out for everyone last summer. I started getting pissed but quickly realized there was no way to get around redoing the waivers and the sooner I did that the sooner I could get to Craig Cruiser’s world famous buffet. I made my way back into the line and was faced with a decision, do I go with the wristband that includes the lunch buffet for the kids or do I just make them wait until they get home to eat lunch (at 3pm)? I splurged and bought all of them wristbands that included the buffet and felt good about it due to the fact that they drank and wasted enough Soda and ate and wasted enough food to make the $5 extra per wristband worth it. The grand total for the 4 kids wrist band package and my buffet was $161. If you take my buffet off it and my kids socks it still comes out to $22 that I had to pay to get the other two kids in the door. Sadly, I can’t tell their mom “hey you owe me another $22.” I shouldn’t say I can’t but it would create an awkwardness beyond the usual awkwardness anyone has interacting with me. We arrived at noon and left at 2, leaving an hours worth of jump time unused due to the fact that I had to play pickle ball at 3. I’m willing to not go into the office to keep my kids off devices but I’m not willing to forego with the fastest growing sport in America.

The following morning Parker had a basketball game at 8am. The opposing team had a player who made two of my players cry as well as the neighbor kid tell me “coach don’t ever do that to me again” when he had to guard the Charles Oakley of CYL basketball. At one point I told the other coach he had to get the kid under control, he made no attempt to do so and high fived the little fucker when the kid came back to the huddle. On top of that, the opposing starting point guard was talking trash to my point guard and really got into his head causing him to come completely unhinged. As a coach its tough when your players come back to the bench crying do you tell them to stop being a bunch of pussies or do you pretend like you care about their well being? To make matters worse the head of CYL basketball was reffing our game and he came up to me and the other coach and said “Coaches there will be no trash talking by the players” like I had something to do with it. At what was suppose to be halftime I talked the head of the league into foregoing half time and just going right into the third quarter (I had to play pickle ball at 9 and didn’t need coaching to get in the way of a timely arrival), besides halftime is a complete waste of time where the kids loose focus (if they have any to loose) and the parents get restless. I couldn’t tell if the trash talk stopped, but the goon on the other team continued on with his aggressive play. Had he not taken the biggest kid on our team out I would have instructed the kid to send him a message, unfortunately, everyone on the team seemed to be deathly afraid of the kid. With less than a minute to go we found ourselves down by 4 but there was no way I was calling a time out, on top of it causing me to be late for pickle ball, I tried to run a play in practice and it was about as successful as the Biden Administration has been decreasing the federal deficit. We managed to tie the game up with just a few seconds left and the other team wasn’t even able to get off an attempt at a game winner. It felt like a win. Rumor is that the Caledonia AD will be reaching out to me soon to fill out the varsity coaching staff based upon how masterfully I handled the final 50 seconds of the game.

(this is what the enforcer on the other team looked like, minus the braces and coon skin cap, but a lot chubbier)

That night I had a poker game to attend but made dinner before leaving. As I was on my way out I went in the basement to say goodbye and found the two kids and Shirley playing a Harry Potter game on the X box. When I returned from the poker game I found them to still be playing on the X box and the next night Shirley logged another two hours playing the game. Still trying to figure out where my kids get their attraction to electronics and video games since I had and have very little interest in video gaming. The bright side is, while Shirley is somewhat of a gamer, she also enjoys playing board games. We were able to force our kids to play code names with us last week and it was mostly an enjoyable experience, at least the first couple of times, but Shirley pulled the plug on code names after Parker and I dominated her and Aiden.

While having the kids around at the age they are at is mostly an enjoyable experience in light of what it was like when they were much younger, it is nice to have a break from them every once in a while. The weekend prior to last the stars aligned, my sister took our kids and we managed to arrange a night out in downtown Grand Rapids with some other couples. Due to the late notice my buddy booked a table at a Hibachi place, at least I blame it on the late notice, I can’t knowingly be friends with someone who actually likes Hibachi. When we walked into the place my spidy senses were up, I said to my buddy “they don’t serve booze here!” He didn’t think that could be possible, but sure enough they didn’t serve booze. Being of a vocation that typically requires problem solving I ended up going to a liquor store located under Z’s and bought some beer and wine along with a pint of Crown for everyone to imbibe at dinner and also make the Hibachi somewhat edible. (I did risk my life to get our party of 8 adult beverages, had the homeless people congregating around the liquor store known I was carrying $80 worth of booze they would have torn me limb from limb to get at it) When the bill came it was a lot less than what I was use to compared to when Shirley and I eat at a place where you can also drink, so maybe bringing your own booze isn’t such a bad thing. After dinner we made our way reeking of cooking oil, cheap meat, and booze but still smelling better than most of the patrons of the BOB. The guy who arranged our dinner reservation tried to smuggle the Crown into the Bob but was caught red handed.

I had checked out the comedian online to see if she was funny, my initial inclination was that she wouldn’t be because women comedians typically aren’t. My stance on women not being funny has nothing to do with me being a misogynist, it’s entirely based upon experience. One specific example is Amy Schumer. Shirley somehow talked me into watching her sketch show on Comedy Central. She lured me in with her only funny skit and I thought to myself “maybe I was wrong about women not being funny” only to discover that every other sketch we endured grew increasingly unfunny. The comedian we saw wasn’t much better and her act was not relatable to me and a lot of the other people at the show. Being a single women in her late 20’s from California, her act didn’t exactly resonate with me. Both her and her opening act dove into online dating head first. I have no reference point for the current online dating climate, I have been married for 13 years and began dating my wife in 2006. That’s why I really appreciate the sophisticated humor of comedians who focus on the difficulty married men have getting sex from their wives, that is something 50% fo the married population can relate to as well as the hilarity of bodily functions, which even women can find the humor in.

I may have mentioned this before but in order to secure a spot for Parker in the CYL (Caledonia Youth Basketball League) I was forced to coach. Our first game was Saturday and while I had a problem with the refs, I had to cut them some slack because they had no idea what they were doing. The refs are players on the Caledonia team and seem to have no awareness of when to call what. Sadly I had even more of a problem with the mother who insisted on a snack rotation (I’ll get to that soon) I get it, there are at least seven traveling violations, twelve double dribbles, and eighteen fouls that could be called every possession. However, I am pretty sure they gave the other team points we scored and they missed a crucial traveling call on a made basket (I get not calling traveling or anything else when it doesn’t result in a positive play) which there were only 9 of the entire game between both teams.

The day before the game I received an email from a parent about starting a snack rotation. I ignored it. She also claimed she played high school basketball and if I needed help to let her know. Granted her kid is one of two players who can actually handle the ball, but I’m not bringing anyone on as an assistant coach. If you want to take over as head coach I will gladly step away, but I’m not taking on an assistant. What do you know, she started the snack rotation without my approval and brought doughnuts for the kids. The doughnuts did make sense in theory since our game was at 8 am, but doughnuts after the kids played basketball? Most of the kids on the team are already terrible, doughnuts are not going to help them get better. When I was a kid we didn’t get snacks after every game and my parents rarely showed up to any of my games, frankly I’m surprised they even signed me up for anything. To be honest, I had to beg and plead to get my mom to sign me up for 4th grade rec league b-ball and when she did she made me wear Sunday socks instead of the white striped tube socks everyone else wore. I was ridiculed by all the kids in the league, my moms reasoning was that Sunday (dress) socks aren’t hard to keep white because they aren’t white, but tube socks are because they are white at one point but eventually become the hue of jizz when my mom is the one laundering them. It was tough being made fun of for my socks but I should thank my mom for making me wear them, that along with my dad calling me pizza face and bean pole are the primary reasons for it being almost impossible to hurt my feelings. You should hear the shit my kids say to me, if they are saying stuff like that to me I don’t want to know what they say to kids at school, no idea where they get that from.

I do remember going out for ice cream after games as a reward. The problem is one year I was on such a terrible team we went out for ice cream after a tie because our coach knew it was probably our only opportunity of the season not to lose, I actually threw out a runner at home to preserve the tie, probably the greatest achievement other than winning the 6th grade rec league shootout, in my entire athletic career (although I am in a pickle ball ladder league currently so it is possible that I didn’t peak in 6th grade) However, why do kids need snacks after a sporting event? Not only do the kids not need them, the parents don’t need the hassle. She created an online snack schedule and sent out an email that there are two spots still available like it is something that is sought after. We have five games left and that means only three parents have volunteered. The end of the games are like church in my mind, I want to get out of there as fast as I can, I don’t make eye contact with anyone after church out of fear they will try to engage me, and I have the same policy when my coaching duties are completed. I am half tempted to sign up for snack detail and bring celery sticks and raisins for the snack with yoo hoo to wash it down, I want to throw up just thinking about that trifecta of awfulness.

Having Parker play basketball has required that he buy an additional pair of shoes, at least in his mind, so he can preserve the Giannis shoes I bought him a couple months ago for purposes of basketball. Knowing I had to wear Sunday socks to hoop in as a child, my shoes obviously weren’t much better. Parker has no idea how good he has it nor does his brother. Granted, most of it is under my control, ok some of it, the privileged life they live does have a lot to do with Shirley, but I also want them to experience things I didn’t have growing up, like joy. That being said, I did have an idea, that if it could be fashioned into an actual thing, would be a multi million dollar idea and possibly a way to save upcoming generations. Create a camp that recreates the parent’s childhood and send your kids there. It would be difficult to completely replicate my childhood, not sure you can create a camp where a kid has to wear Sunday socks to play sports while all the other kids where tube socks, but I’m sure there is room to really have an impact on kids and show them how awful life was when their parents were kids, if the creators of the camp are creative enough. Forcing the teenage boys who attend the camp to find actual porn instead of just surfing for it online would put them through some true adversity and likely be a character builder.

We ended up heading to the Dick’s sporting goods on our side of town to look for shoes. Aiden tagged along and decided he wanted to get in on the purchasing, requesting that I buy him a bright blue pair of crocs. While attending a camp that creates a parents childhood for their children is next level in putting a kid through the wringer, wearing crocs can also mold a child or turn them into a serial killer, depending on which fork in the road they decide to take. Did I do Aiden a disservice buying the crocs for him? They are extremely comfortable as well as practical, but I also need to protect him to a degree. On the other hand, I did my fatherly duty when it came to Parker, he wanted to settle for some Nike high tops that were not nearly as cool as ones he could get at the Rivertown Dick’s, when I suggested we wait until tomorrow and go there the sales associate even agreed with me. While we were standing in line to purchase the Crocs I continued to crop dust Dick’s, Aiden yelled out “Dad you just farted!” While I had some reservations about purchasing the Crocs there was no turning back after he outed me for breaking wind.

One of the reasons I was out and about besides looking for frivolous shoes and crocs for my kids was that my dad needed a refill on depends. I don’t think he would care that I mention that, not much seems to bother him, but he is bound to a wheelchair and doesn’t always have an easy time making it to the bathroom. Costco has the best deal on depends, granted you have to buy a years supply at a time, but it’s the go to place for adult diapers. I had just hit Costco the previous day so I only needed depends but also purchased Vanilla and something else but don’t remember what, it wasn’t a kayak though. As I was walking through Costco with enough depends to allow someone to shit their pants for the entirety of March and April, I realized there are certain items you should probably buy online, depends being one of them. Basically I was announcing to the store that I shit or piss my pants, possibly both. Similarly, when you buy condoms from the store you are announcing to everyone you come across that you don’t trust your partner (nobody uses them for birth control do they?) Tampons, while being purchased by a female don’t say much other than “hey I still get my period” but when a man purchases them it says “I can’t tell my girlfriend no” (if it’s a married man it’s a whole different story, married men have lost any reason to live and would buy whatever their wife tells them to as long as it gets them off their back). What was truly remarkable to me is how happy the people look on the depends package. These people are grinning from ear to ear, how happy can someone be when they routinely shit and piss themselves? On top of it they are depicted wearing a T-shirt and a pair of depends, how humiliating. “Hey Carl, I know it’s been a while since I’ve gotten you any work but I just landed a big one for you, you’re going to be the new face of Depends!”

I had left the kids in the car to spare them the humiliation of being the kids whose dad shits and pisses himself. When I got back to the car I put some notes in my phone. Parker asked me what I was doing and I told him it was notes for blog topics. He did not realize I had a blog and wanted to know how to access it. Obviously, I did not tell him but did explain that the two of them are frequent topics along with Shirley and max. Do I pull the plug on the blog on the off chance they find it on the inter web? probably not, most of the stuff is stuff I would say to their face and there are some valuable life lessons buried in this thing. I just hope the kids don’t try reading it to Shirley some day.

A week ago Wednesday Shirley and I left out of Detroit for Cancun. Our flight departed at 6:30 am so we rented a hotel by the airport. I think I recounted an experience I had last year on this blog when I made the mistake of staying at a Howard Johnson by the Atlanta airport, to this day I still don’t know how I wasn’t murdered. While this hotel didn’t have bullet proof glass at the check in, it did have the general air of being a complete shit hole. When we got to the hotel I suggested we get our sexcation off on the right foot, granted on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being a women who has been married for more than two weeks and 10 being a male teenager on prom night, I was probably an 8 when it comes to being horny, but you could wake me up at 3 in the morning and I’d be at least a 7.5. Needless to say we played cribbage and went to bed. We ended up flying out on Spirit and you have to pay for everything, even the privilege to fart not the plane, when you fly Spirit. I decided since I have trouble with leg pain even when I am driving into my office that I should try to upgrade to the exit row. The suggested bid for an exit seat was $36, I was awfully tempted to just put one bid in but that would have gotten our sexcation off on an even worse foot than staying in a hotel teaming with other peoples jizz and asbestos. Unfortunately my bid was not accepted but then the day before we flew out I received incredible news, they must have resubmitted my bid and Shirley and I landed in the exit row.

We were separated and sat on different sides of the plane. Shirley sent me a text to be sure to put my phone on airplane mode, often times I feel like Shirley views me as her fourth child and the one she loves the least, it would probably go Max, Parker and Aiden would be tied and then I would finish last. Now, for those of you who have not had the honor of sitting in the exit row it comes with a lot of responsibility, if the plane goes down ( we would all be fucked if that happened, even if the Rock and John McClain were occupying the exit row) you have to help people off the plane prior to vacating the plane. You are also expected to know where the life rafts are and the proper procedure for off boarding people who are completely losing their shit (I am assuming you are expected to not be losing your shit). The two people sharing my row with me were a combined 212 years old and needed help getting out of their seats to go to the bathroom, quite the rigorous screening procedure for placing people in the exit row. Not only did I splurge on the exit row I also purchased Wifi. However, looking back on it I could have just purchased it for myself, Shirley would have had no idea that I had Wifi, and as it turns out even though I told Shirley we had it, she didn’t use it. Also, had I known logging on to Spirit’s wife was almost as hard as breaking into the main frame computer at the pentagon I probably wouldn’t have purchased it. (On the flight home I finally swallowed my pride about an hour out of Detroit and asked for Shirley’s assistance in logging on to the wifi, that’s how bad I wanted to watch the third episode of The Last of Us, had I know what it was about beforehand I wouldn’t have bothered).

The one good thing about flying on Spirit is that it is a direct flight from Detroit to Cancun. We landed around 10:30 and the bonus was that Cancun is in the same time zone we are. We deplaned and headed out to find transportation to the resort. I had booked an inclusive called Secrets Vine. Normally I am quite a bargain hunters when it comes to almost everything but I just wanted to get to the resort so I paid $85 for Shirley and I to ride in a Nissan Sentra to the resort. (we paid $40 for the return trip to the airport). We checked in at the resort but were unable to get into our room until 3pm. Turns out we had $200 in what I would call shop credit that we could use towards various things that would likely have had us spend double that if we actually utilized our shop credit. After fending off a sales pitch to join a vacation club (time share) we decided to have lunch and ended up being seated next to a couple from West Michigan. I though we really clicked and that they would end up being our BVFF (best vacation friend’s forever) but I only saw them again one time.

After lunch we changed and headed to the pool. I was really into a book so I let Shirley get us into the room. I booked an ocean facing honeymoon suite for the trip and boy did it pay off. Shirley mentioned something about a guy bitching about being Ocean facing after we had made up for staying in the other people’s splooge suite at the Detroit Airport Comfort Inn. What would make someone think Ocean view is going to be on the Ocean? I will tell you this, going on a trip without kids makes you wonder why you had kids in the first place. You mean I could go on vacation, drink whenever I want, do whatever I want, and not have to worry about kids cock blocking me? Sign me up for that. Granted, there are a lot of other things that make me question having kids, but the five days in Cancun really made me wonder. Fortunately, Shirley and I realized if we weren’t called upon to do our exit row duties on the way back to Detroit we would be reunited with our kids so we made the most of the trip by hitting the pool, enjoying the leisure an all-inclusive provided as well as the alcohol. However, I had a suspicion that the alcohol was significantly watered down, a suspicion I was able to prove on Sunday night when we went out to eat because we were sick of the resort food. I was knocking back doubles of Jamison, Jim Beam, and Jack Daniels like my kids go through Prime. (It’s a drink that Jake Paul came up with, like that guy needs more money) The restaurant we went to was just across from our resort and their bourbon of choice was Wild Turkey. I decided to stay on the doubles train and took a double to start off the meal. I also ordered the Lobster as big as a small human, that’s not what it was actually called, but due to the Wild Turkey doubles (which I also lost track of) I can’t remember the name of the lobster. (It actually was a lobster with another lobster attached to it)

It was difficult to depart Mexico knowing the weather that awaited us back in Michigan, but we were both ready to get home so we could see Max. On the flight back I did manage to catch most of the third episode of the Last of Us which is a post apocalyptic series on HBO that my brother in law is also watching. We have been communicating about the show and it is probably the one thing that we really have in common. He doesn’t seem all that into sports and he has basically stopped drinking and has devoted most of his life to being the world’s best dad (what a loser) so the world of streaming is what brings us together. The third episode of the show centered around Ron Swanson (Nick Offerman) and the compound he created that allowed him to weather out the apocalypse and life after it. His character had little to do with the main story line but it did allow HBO to go gay, he ends up trapping a guy in one of his pits and ultimately falls madly in love with him. I looked at it as a filler episode, my brother in law loved it. I don’t care if you’re a dude and you love a dude, or you love a real doll, or even a women, however unconventional that seems to be now days. But what I don’t need to see is two dudes with post apocalyptic beards rolling into bed together and going at it, there’s gay porn for that. I don’t want to see an unsightly heterosexual couple getting it on either. (I’d be down with two hot lesbians though, but I don’t know that they will fair well in a post apocalyptic world)

In November I signed Parker up to play basketball in the CYL (Caledonia Youth League). I circled back in late December and discovered he had been put on the wait list and the only way he could get a spot was if I coached. I hate coaching and I am pretty sure kids hate being coached by me. However, I agreed to coach so Parker could have a spot. I also managed to get the neighbor kid on the team because a kid dropped off our roster. I’d like to say I’m selfless, but I”m not and I wanted the neighbor kid on the team so his dad could help coach and fill in for me, particularly this past Monday when I was coming back from Mexico. Unfortunately, deplaning, getting through customs, and driving back from Detroit didn’t take as long as I had hoped it would and I ended up running our practice. I did get my proposed fill in to lend a hand and whenever we split up I let him take the good kids and I took the kids on the team who would have a tough time qualifying for the special olympics. On the way home I was talking to Parker and I told him there are maybe two or three kids who are good on the team, he asked if he was one of them and I immediately said no. That’s why I had kids.

I often times wondered what my mom did all the time that kept her so busy and made her routinely late. Had I been technologically savvy I would have put a tracking device on her vehicle to determine what the heck she was doing. With her passing almost two years ago, I have spent little to no time wondering where people are or how they are occupying their time, that is up until the Saturday after Thanksgiving I hadn’t. Typically on Saturdays when the weather has turned for the worse I play basketball at 8am and then head home and expect to find everyone dip shitting around when I arrive back there. However, for the past three Saturdays Shirley has been gone when I get home. This past Saturday was an exception to my normal routine, I ended up going to Byron Center to clean my dad’s room at Railside assisted living center, I was unable to get enough commits for a hoop run and my sister had just visited my dad and complained that his room smelled like piss, it must have been real bad because my sister has five kids 7 and under and if anyone should be use to the smell of urine it would be her. When I returned home around noon my two kids were there as well as a friend of theirs, but Shirley was no where to be found. Turns out she was keeping her Lou Gehrig streak of Saturdays spent shopping in tact. One of my brother in laws is a loser and has no friends, well not just one, but one in particular has turned running errands into his one and only hobby besides the hobby of being a loser. I refer to Shirley as that brother in law when she spends hours out running errands. “What did you do today (insert brother-in-law’s name)?” The first Saturday after Thanksgiving she descended on Target and bought a bunch of Christmas shit, we already had too much Christmas shit. The next Saturday she spent going to various stores and returning a lot of the stuff she bought the prior Saturday. This past Saturday she spent most of the day putting together a gift basket for a co-worker who retired (was shit canned). She was incredibly proud of herself and indicated to me when I arrived home just after her around 5pm that she could easily turn creating gift baskets into a vocation. Unfortunately, it probably wouldn’t be quite as lucrative as her current job due to the fact she spent 7 hours running all over West Michigan acquiring shit for the gift basket and her net profit was roughly $3 had she charged the market rate for a gift basket. (I didn’t even factor in gas and wear and tear on her vehicle)

Some of you may ask why did I get home at 5pm? Well, Parker had his friend Cooper over and it was determined that they wanted to go to Launch. Launch is a trampoline park, but way better than Skyzone. Shirley had texted me earlier asking/telling me that I was taking the kids to Launch. I wanted to text back and ask why she couldn’t do it but I was still in my refractory period from earlier that morning and wasn’t as sharp or irritable as normal. One other thing that is different at Launch as opposed to Skyzone besides it being better is that they made me wear a wrist band even though I was not participating in any of the activities. (fortunately they didn’t make me buy their stupid socks, what a racket that is) The bracelet I wore was different from the one given to my kids, which made me wonder do they have another bracelet for men who come by themselves and just sit and watch the kids, one with a GPS monitor in it perhaps? Lately, and this may have happened at Launch, I have been getting “Go Blue” when I am wearing Michigan gear. Now, when I am at a rally and wearing appropriate attire, I know how to respond when someone says “White Power!” I say “White Power!” emphatically right back. But “Go Blue!’ how do you respond to that? With a return “Go Blue!? I find myself saying yes, or just mumbling something indecipherable. It’s become so awkward that I am tempted to cease wearing Michigan gear all together. The alternative would be to become a State fan, I know they never have to hear “Go State!” when they are out and about wearing their gear.

Another place where I have had awkward interactions with strangers is the mall (some of them have actually been because I am wearing Michigan others have not). A week ago my kids demanded that I take them to the mall so they could go Christmas shopping for their cousins. It was all subterfuge as a way to get me to bring them to the mall so they could point out all the shit they wanted to buy me for Christmas. Long gone are the days where a kid would look through a JC penny Catalogue and put together a list with specific page number and item on it in the hopes that the powers that be would actually get them what they wanted and not wing it. As I walked through the mall with my kids I thought to myself “this is awful”. I wouldn’t have thought that pre internet, but knowing that I could just sit at a computer and search for shit and click a button and it would magically appear at my house with the only real consequence being the possibility of my garage filling up with empty card board boxes (why does it take three separate card board boxes to ship one item?) made my trip to the mall unbearable. Another thing that made it tough to swallow was the fact that Torrid and Layne Bryant have decided that humongous posters of fat chicks in lingerie are perfectly acceptable as window displays in their stores. It’s bad enough that I am now suppose to feel bad for fat shaming (I don’t) now I have to see land monsters in lingerie when I go to the mall?

Quickly back to last Saturday, we had a holiday party to attend in the evening and the kids decided that they were ok staying home alone. They are at the perfect age for this, totally enamored by their devices and too young to have girls come over with the hopes of some finger banging. What made us (Shirley) more comfortable with the idea is that we have ring cameras and were able to monitor the kids while at the party. They didn’t really move from the time we left to the time we arrived back home. Electronics are great and eventually if you have them long enough, are way cheaper than a baby sitter. I mentioned earlier in the blog I was in my refractory period, I sent a text to one of my buddies about my fortunate encounter on Saturday morning and indicated that the allusion of sex that I hold onto all day is what keeps me motivated, with that gone I had no reason to try and accomplish anything. He indicated that I would be sure to replicate my amazing accomplishment after the Christmas party. I told him there was no way. Possibly on vacation that could happen, but it’s become all too clear that I am getting old. Yesterday when I stopped at Meijer I grabbed some beer along with things that I didn’t actually need and went through the U scan. I don’t remember when they changed this, but the button on the U scan use to be “Over 40” but now it is “Over 50”. The attendant didn’t even pretend like he was in need of my ID, instead he went straight for the over 50 button. I’m 48 if anyone cares.

My wordpress site that allows me to blog is set up for auto renew so I guess I’m on the hook for another year since I just received the email notification that I was charged yet again for this site. That being said, when my debit card linked to this site expires that will likely be the end of this blog. While at times it can be a struggle coming up with material, there has not been a shortage in recent months, it’s just been a matter of sitting down and writing. Last night at dinner, two things of note occurred. The first was the fact that Jacob, one of the neighbor kids, and son to Joe and Stephanie (all real names) told our kids that he thinks we are lazy and not good with our money. Jacob is in fifth grade and I am quite certain he is unable to formulate such opinions on his own. We have spent time socializing with his parents and they have been over to and inside our house. I have yet to step foot in their home but have seen their yard and their garage and if I didn’t know better I would say Joe is a serial killer, that’s how well organized his garage is and how meticulous he keeps his lawn.

Shirley instantly busted out her phone to text Stephanie, to which I immediately objected. “They need to know what their son is saying about us!’ She exclaimed. I was able to talk her off the ledge but she indicated that the next time she saw Stephanie she would address the issue face to face with her. (hopefully they both have a couple of glasses of wine in them when this happens and our ring camera records the entire interaction) While the claims by Jacob seemed to upset Shirley, they didn’t phase me. However, I did explain to everyone at the dinner table, including my dad, that Jacob’s (Joe and Stephanie’s) observations were some what on point, that we, or at least me, are actually procrastinators. I’m not lazy per se, I am actually quite active, but that activeness leads to me neglecting things that need to get done. We have had a garage full of furniture that has been there since our new furniture arrived this summer as part of our home makeover. While I was able to get rid of some of it, there is still a sectional that needs to go up to the play room above the garage (aka Max’s poop room) and there is an entertainment center and some other odds and ends that needs to find its way to Goodwill. Had I not been golfing, skiing, playing pickleball, and or basketball every weekend since the home make over this would have been taken care of months ago. However, my plan was that once the weather began to decline I would get on it. The weather has yet to decline.

Joe and Stephanie are both type A. Shirley and I are closer to type B than type A and as I said we are both procrastinators. The reason Shirley doesn’t stay on task has nothing to do with her extreme activeness, it can primarily be attributed to her ADHD. During the week the ADHD is kept at bay with medication, but on the weekends she typically is prescription free. The only thing that I am type A about is my truck. It is my fortress of solitude and the only thing I have exclusive control over in my life. So, at a minimum of at least once a week I spend a good half hour vacuuming it and detailing it. This infuriates Shirley because this is time that could be spent engaging is vigorous sex. Yeah right, it’s actually time she thinks I should be spending cleaning the house even though we have a cleaning lady named Donna. I do get her point, we have decided there is little to gain in trying to make our kids pick up after themselves so I should she thinks I should probably focus on that instead of keeping my truck immaculate. The crazy thing about Donna is that she comes through our house like a tornado and leaves a trail of shit out of place in her path. Rugs in the shower that normally are on the bathroom floor, waste paper baskets in the other shower that are normally not in the shower.

What’s better, two type A’s in a marriage or two type B’s? I guess you could have an A and a B but I can’t see that working. I think if you want a marriage to last two type B’s. Not because the marriage will be good, probably just the opposite, but two type B’s are much more likely to stay in an unsatisfying marriage because it’s too much work to do anything about it. Whereas an unfulfilled type A is going to say fuck that, I’m out of here. As far as being bad with money, I’m not sure how Joe and Stephanie, I mean Jacob, was able to surmise that we are bad with our money, but I am sure there were clues. Five I pads and three Nintendo Switches along with the latest X box? No less than three Amazon deliveries every day? My kids wanting and getting Prime sports drink which can only be bought at exclusive retail locations like GNC and goes for $30 a case (12 bottles). I have no doubt that Jacob told his parents about Aiden and Parker drinking Prime and that one of them researched what Prime was and how much it costs. Do I make similar judgments about Joe and or Stephanie? Of course not, even though Joe has a pair of Jordan golf shoes, a golf simulator, and just bought Stephanie a gargantuan Infiniti SUV. (There is a bit of pot kettle there due to the fact that I was on a golf trip in Atlanta this spring and stumbled upon a pair of Jordan golf shoes, but they are now my favorite golf shoes of the 12 to 15 pairs I own, admittedly I have a problem)

The second remarkable thing that occurred at dinner was my kids cutting up their own steak. Ok, thats not all that remarkable unless you know my kids. However, Parker cutting up his steak did lead to him saying “this meat is sus”. I lost my shit on him because it was prime filet from Costco (not to brag) and it was quite expensive (that may be another not good with money clue). He claims sus (suspect) was not a bad thing but his explanation for why it wasn’t made no sense. I’m in charge of most of the cooking which is a tall task when you couple that with all the work I do to keep my truck clean. I make chicken tika masala, chicken pot pie, chicken fettuccine alfredo, meatloaf, lasagna, and a lot of stuff on the grill just to name off what can be found on the Jansma dinner menu. I also throw in routine things like tacos and spaghetti when I am feeling somewhat unmotivated. On top of being treated to what I believe to be an outstanding dinner menu, I also make sure our house is always stocked with a number of ice cream flavors and a variety of ice cream novelties as well as a shit ton of candy. In addition, our kids do not lack when it comes to devices and toys. Lastly, I frequently cave in and bring my kids to school instead of making them ride the bus which results in an hour door to door for Aiden, it’s not as bad for Parker. Finally, throw in all the money spent on camps and sporting endeavors and my kids have had led Never Never Land like childhood (without having to be molested by Michael Jackson) in comparison to the prison camp I lived in growing up.

Did I list off all of that stuff to illustrate how awesome of a parent I am at spoiling my kids and doing them a disservice in their adult years, no, I already am fully cognizant of that fact. Also, I am certain most parents are equally as negligent in their parenting as I am. However, I do regret, and maybe this is somehow actually possible but I would probably have to suffer equally as much as them, that I can’t fully replicate my childhood experience and make my kids endure it for at least a couple weeks possibly even until they are 18. I would even go so far as to make them find actual hard copy pornographic material, when they are old enough to look at such stuff obviously, but that would be the ultimate character builder. Having to actually go out and look for porn instead of just getting on the internet? I would have never left my room if the internet existed when I was a kid. Other things my kids would have to endure would be:

Riding their bikes to and from practice and on the rare occasion they would be given a ride I would pick them up at least a half hour late.

Only having three rooms in the house heated in the winter. Yes, our kitchen, living room, and bathroom were the only rooms that had access to heat when I was growing up. We had electric blankets and it was a bitch getting out of bed in the morning in the middle of the winter, routinely there was actual frost on my bedroom window, I was half tempted to scratch “save me” in the frost but nobody would have.

Receiving no more than an hour of TV watching/Device time per day. My mom gave us a certain amount of monopoly money per week to purchase television time with that when rationed properly amounted to roughly an hour a day. If I wanted to watch the entire Lions game, which in hindsight may have been the start of me wasting money, I had to save up for the weekend and forego watching anything on at least two weekdays.

Raking up walnuts, weeding the garden, helping my dad plant grass seed and cover it with hey etc. Basically chores is what I am going for here. I had to do chores and I wasn’t allowed to bitch about it. However, my kids, when asked to do the most basic of tasks act like we are asking them to comprise the role of the main character in One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. (its about a forced labor camp in Siberia for those of you who are not as well read and educated as I am).

For those of you who don’t know this, my dad has MS, is in a wheelchair, and lives in an assisted living center. I try to have him over at least once a week and he was over last night because we are heading out of town and more importantly because we switched from Verizon to Spectrum Mobile and he is on our plan so we had to put a new sim card in for him. (maybe we are not so bad with money after all, we are saving a LOT of money with the switch over, enough to cover the cost of at least three new pairs of golf shoes on a yearly basis). As I dropped him off at Railside assisted living center he said to me “I have two words of advice for you, don’t respond to the neighbors and don’t spoil your kids”. If only I could have Shirley and the kids move in with him that might actually be possible.

As my kids age they become more and more like me, I look at it as a good thing but it is hard enough for Shirley to deal with one of me, now facing the prospect of three of me, she may lose her mind. The latest example of them morphing into me is the scheduled birthday party for Shirley’s niece, Riley (Ry Ry) yes that’s what her parents call her and its kind of annoying. Their oldest is Maddy and her nickname was Madders, quite creative. I never got into nicknames with my kids, name calling, yes, nicknames no. Regardless, the birthday party is this Friday night and my kids decided they don’t want to go, I don’t want to go either primarily because I don’t like hanging out at other peoples houses but also because they are vegetarians (which I have mentioned before) and they never have enough food and they never have any meat. Meat eaters must accommodate vegetarians but the reverse is not required of those who prefer a plant based diet. The kids came to me first with their complaint and I could have put the fire out by stating that I was looking forward to it and that it will be fun. However, I prefer not to lie to my kids unless it directly benefits me. I went on to state why in my opinion the parties at their aunt’s house are underwhelming and indicated that I felt it was weird that their aunt invites friends to the birthday party along with family members. Last night as we were going to bed things came to a head with the kids finally indicating to Shirley that they did not want to go the party. Shirley initially kept her cool but as the kids named off all the reasons they did not want to attend the shindig she felt as if she was being attacked due to her loyalty to anyone related to her regardless of how weird they are or indefensible their actions may be. Ultimately, she told the kids they would have to call their aunt and tell her why they were not attending the monumental 4th birthday party of their cousin. Obviously they were not going to do that, not sure they have ever spoken on the phone to her, they do call my sister eight to ten times a week wondering what time she is going to arrive at our house with her five kids or at green lake with her five kids.

I explained to Shirley that I felt it was strange that her sister invited friends to the party when it should just be family. I went on to mention that when I was growing up the entire extended family did not gather to celebrate every single birthday but that we lumped four or five together to celebrate. She responded by stating that my family was weird, to which I agreed wholeheartedly. The problem with Shirley is she can not step back and view what her family does and gain any type of perspective on some of their peculiar behaviors. I tried to give an example of us having our friends over with their kids along with her family to celebrate one of our kid’s birthdays but she refused to allow me to continue with the argument because we wouldn’t do that and the friend her sister was inviting over was so close to her she was like a third sister. Sorry, that may be the case, but she’s not an aunt in my kid’s minds and their kids aren’t their cousins.

An additional example of how out of whack my wife’s families’ birthday celebrations have grown occurred this past summer. Her sister who is hosting the party Friday has an August birthday. Shirley rarely speaks to me during the week and failed to mention the fish fry at my in laws to celebrate her sister’s birthday had been moved from Tuesday to Wednesday. Yes, somehow fish are on the menu even though they are vegetarians. Not sure how you can feel morally superior to meat eaters if you are into seafood but they somehow still do. I had moved my pickleball match from Tuesday to Wednesday to allow me to attend the fish fry. I learned from my mother-in-law, not my wife, the fish fry had been moved. Shirley told me I needed to call my sister-in-law to see if it was ok that I didn’t attend her birthday fish fry to play pickleball. I was about to do so until I found out her husband wasn’t attending either. I was tempted to cancel pickleball to show that I am a much better family member than her husband by attending the fish fry but decided that while I am, no one will think my attendance establishes that point. Covid was a godsend to my brother-in-law, he rarely leaves the house, especially on weeknights and being forced to stay home by the government was possibly the best thing that ever happened to him.

Still raging from her kids turning on her family, Shirley proceeded to tell me that the story I relayed to her about a furry at Forest Hills Central requesting a litter box to pee in was merely an urban myth, emphasizing that I was an idiot for believing such a tall tale. I had heard the story straight from the horse’s mouth so to speak, in that my buddy actually spoke to a teacher at the school who told him that they are accommodating furries and that there is a trans bathroom that his kids take a dump in because it’s clean. His youngest was caught dropping a deuce by the security guard and told him he identifies as “they”. Furries, transgenders, people who use fourteen pronouns, they are all fucked up in my opinion and should be forced to live in California and the UP. I would imagine there is a state that doesn’t put up with this kind of shit, but I don’t feel like moving to Texas. Of note is the fact that Shirley followed up last night’s conversation by sending me a couple of articles indicating the litter box thing is BS and I passed along the articles to my friend who still wears it really happened. My response to Shirley was that the litter box thing may be inaccurate but they are still serving up cat nip and milk bones in the FHC cafeteria.

That has nothing to do with the subject of my blog but is a catchy title to say the least. There was a character in one of the Adam Sandler Netflix movies (not my choice to watch) that had a T-shirt with that on it. I am tempted to search that very same T-shirt out on the internet and order it but feel there are only a couple of places I can proudly wear such a T-shirt, bowling league would be the first, and any future bachelor parties I am invited to or happen to attend. Speaking of shaving balls, yesterday I attended Aiden’s first cross country meet (no, I didn’t shave my balls specifically for that) and there was a women in attendance who must have done some landscaping prior to attending due to the fact that the shorts she wore proudly displayed her camel toe. Either she has no self awareness or she thinks she has a great set of lips. Regardless, cross country, from what I can tell, is a family event that has no place for protruding labia.

Some of you may ask why Aiden is participating in cross country? Is it because I want him to remain a virgin until he is married, that’s not exactly the goal but it may be an ancillary benefit of the whole ordeal. (Draft Kings has the over under of kids at the meet yesterday remaining virgins through high school at 97%) The main reason that we, and this was mainly Shirley’s idea, signed Aiden up is because he gets home from school at 2:30. Shirley is home, but she is really not home, and even if Putin invaded our first floor she probably wouldn’t notice. What that means is Aiden is on his device until at least dinner time. He actually cried when Shirley told him she signed him up and he would have practice every day, and who could blame him? What she didn’t realize is the toll it has taken on me, I have to pick him up everyday from school at 4pm and then turn around a bring Parker to football practice at the exact same location by 5:45. Fortunately Caledonia has pickle ball courts and I can play some pb while Parker practices, or on occasion I can watch practice (I did that once, it was awful).

The good news is that Aiden actually seems to like it, or at the very least, tolerate it. When I picked him up on Tuesday he asked me to make pasta in preparation for his meet. I’ll be honest I was a bit nervous about his meet for a couple of reasons, one, he could have gotten the poop while running gene from me and two, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t finish the race. (I didn’t have to worry about him suffering the humiliation of losing to a girl, or a lot of girls in his case, because boys and girls run separately) He managed to finish the race without crapping his pants so that was a win, and he finished fourth out of 9 Caledonia 6th graders.

I left the meet so I could hook up with a guy who wanted to play tennis and after that went to grab Parker from practice. He is on a 3/4 Caledonia team and there are two other teams. It appears that the powers that be have stacked one team (not Parker’s) and are content with the other two teams getting their doors blown off each week. I’m no Matt Patricia when it comes to being a football tactician, but I do know there is one thing that has to happen first for an offense to have any chance at success, the quarterback/center exchange. On 90% of the snaps I witnessed they derfed the exchange. It seemed mostly to be the center airmailing the shotgun snap, but sometimes it would hit the qb right in the hands and he would drop it like it was a hot potato. Parker was playing split end and managed to get a played called for him. Unfortunately, he had no idea the play was called for him. His coach yelled “Jansma, do you know what you are doing?” and then had to explain to him it was a play designed for him. (Chip off the Ole block) To his credit he got the hand off and went right up the gut for a nice run, in the interest of full disclosure, there were 11 guys on offense, as there should be, but only 6 or 7 guy on defense.

On our way home Parker told me he had had has worst practice (he had missed the previous two claiming that he was ill so not a real big sample size). I told him he looked good on his run and that his team sucks and he is probably going to play a lot regardless. I have been texting his coach, not because I am that type of parent, but because his coach was putting on a fantasy football league for the kids and Parker was interested so his coach was texting me about the draft. My text to the coach was “Parker said he had his worst practice last night, let me know if there is anything I can work on with him one on one at home. Also, when is the team BBQ?”

The coach responded with some encouraging words and informed me that the BBQ is tomorrow night. I will be honest, I don’t want to attend. Last years team party was the worst. All the football dads (primarily the coaches and dad of the qb and star rb) were huddled around talking about the Cal glory days and how awful Rockford is because they stack their teams and have sex with animals. True and True I thought, especially my buddy Dom who hales from Rockford. The non-football dads were on the outside of the circle, awkwardly sipping our beers and trying to think of something clever to say to gain their acceptance. I had plenty of ideas spinning around in my head, but didn’t have the balls to say any of them. It was like being in high school all over again, trying to garner the attention of the cool kids. It is going to be more of the same tomorrow night and I may just send Shirley, I don’t think that dynamic exists among football moms and non-football moms, and if it did she wouldn’t notice and would just start talking about stuff no one cared about, possibly our dog Max or even worse, her job. I will say this football dads are the worst.

When Parker and I arrived home we were greeted with Chicken Alfredo from Costco, the original plan was for Shirley to make tacos but that was too much for her and instead she went to Costco, which is never a good thing. Shirley told Parker about how proud she was of Aiden for how he performed in his cross country meet and that set Parker off. He proceeded to claim that we never praised him for football and that he was feeling disrespected, ok he didn’t say disrespected but it’s only a matter of time before he does say that about something. Rarely has Parker been jealous of his brother so it was refreshing to see that side of him. He claimed he could run faster than Aiden so this weekend I will take them to the Davenport track and settle the matter once and for all, that should pretty much lock up dad of the year for 2022. I should write a book, well, I should write a lot of books, but at least one on parenting.

The following is a post on the Kilmer Street Community Facebook page:

I hate to have to be a street “Karen” but the speeding on our street is getting ridiculous. I know most of us are very aware of all the walkers, runners, and small children that use our street, that have NO (I love it when people throw the all Caps in, some people actually do the all caps post which is really an attention grabber) sidewalks or any place to get out of the road, but it seems some on the street. I will be contacting Kent County Sheriff’s office tomorrow asking for increased patrols. Thank you in advance for slowing down (going 25 on our street from start to end) and keeping your friends and neighbors safe!

There is a lot to digest here. First of all, our street is about as wide as the Grand River so there is plenty of room for people to walk, run, do cartwheels, or even take a nap if they so choose. Also, if you want a sidewalk so bad go move into Grand Rapids or Kentwood you loser. As far as the calls to increase patrols, I’m not sure if Kilmer Karen (KK) for short realizes this, but the police don’t give a shit about anything these days so I’m pretty sure they may actually decrease the patrols on Kilmer from zero times a month to zero times a month. This is an example of one of the many things wrong with Facebook and Facebook kind of blows, actually it really blows, I recently tried to log in to see if someone was hot that I hadn’t met yet and I was told that I was blocked for activity that was in direct contradiction to Facebooks community standards. I don’t post anything on Facebook so I am not sure how that is even possible. However, Facebook is a platform for KK and others to rant and rave about shit that doesn’t matter or post photos or antidotes about their family that would make an outsider think that person’s life is amazing when it probably really sucks. Lastly, no one has died from getting hit by a car, let alone been hit by a car in our neighborhood so what’s the big deal? I’m an awesome driver at any speed and am confident I will never run over anyone in my neighborhood no matter how fast I go, unless they jump in front of my truck. However, I do try to be somewhat cautious going out of my neighborhood and down Kilmer due to that fact, we have droves and droves of deer who live in the area and they will jump out in front of a moving vehicle and I don’t want them damaging my truck.

Speaking of my neighborhood, I was volunteered against my will by Shirley to mow a neighbor’s lawn because the man of the house broke his toe. So, I did it, I even went back with my push mower after I ran my zero turn to hit the spots that were too dangerous to try and mow with my zero turn. Did I get a big thank you? No, I did not. In fact I actually mowed their lawn twice and when I drove Parker up to the bus the wife looked at me like she wouldn’t even piss on me if I was on fire. I immediately thought to myself, does she think I drive too fast? Does she secretly read my blog and realize I think she’s hot (I referenced her once because Max kept getting boners around her) and now she can’t even look at me because she finds my appearance objectionable and my reference to her as hot completely inappropriate? Regardless, she did ask Shirley what kind of beer I like and Shirley said not to bother because we have plenty of beer. Easy for Shirley to say, she’s not the one who risked life and limb to mow an almost complete strangers lawn.

While somewhat on the topic of Max, his happiness is much more important to me than my kids. When Max is happy I’m happy, it’s why I have spent countless hours hitting tennis balls for him in the driveway even though he rarely brings them directly back to me (he likes to fuck with me just like everyone else). When my kids are happy it usually means I have spent ungodly amounts of money. Part of Max’s happiness involves bringing him to Camp Bow Wow. He loves camp BW even more than licking where his balls use to be. When we get close to the parking lot he begins to whine in anticipation and starts moving all over the cab of my truck out of pure excitement that he is unable to contain. He has actually hurdled the entry gate before he is so excited to gain access to camp BW. A couple weeks ago they charged us for Wednesday water day even though I didn’t give them the green light to have him participate, and more importantly, they didn’t send me pictures of him participating in water day. (I did sign him up for the olympics in February and he dominated, not sure if he participated for the United States or Australia) So, this past Wednesday I brought this to their attention and they had him participate at no additional charge.

When I picked him up I did something I have never done before, they allow for a tip when you run your credit card and I gave them a tip. Not to brag, but we pay $35 every time Max attends camp BW. This really added up when we were doing our remodel (not to brag again) and Max constantly tried to herd our builder. You just can’t get the shepherd out of him no matter how hard you try. I’ve continually hit the no tip button with zero remorse due to the fact that these people get to hang out with dogs all day and I have to spend my time with the dregs of society (criminal defense attorneys) as well as criminals. Should I feel bad that I have never tipped before? Should I feel bad that when I get takeout I never tip? I’m doing the work, I’m driving to get the food and taking it back home, if anyone should get a tip, it should be me.

Speaking of my kids who don’t seem to care about my happiness even thought they are right below Max on the food chain, Parker was already complaining about going to school this morning. Ok, he was more complaining that when he asked me where I was going I said the gym. He said to me “you don’t do anything”. My response to him was “How do you know what I do?” I’ve found asking a question in response to a statement that is alarmingly truthful is typically the way to go. He then proceeded to say all I do when I go to work is lose. This statement was so factually accurate I couldn’t even come up with a question in response. Not that I feel any guilt about my devotion to Max, but this interaction coupled with the fact that he is the only one happy to see me when I get home from whatever I am doing, makes me realize dogs are truly a man’s best friend.

The past four months the Jansma’s have been basement dwellers as a result of a first floor renovation that gutted our kitchen and left our TV room with an inch of dust and all of our first floor furniture stacked in it. While the basement was a fortress of solitude for me when Shirley’s relatives came over, it was good to know it could be used on other occasions beyond when her entire family invaded my house. While being reintroduced to the basement was somewhat of a positive, the real win was acquiring an air fryer. We ended up receiving the air fryer for Christmas but the renovation didn’t commence until the middle of March. Stupidly we waited until we relocated to the basement to start using the air fryer. It would be similar to purchasing a sex doll and waiting until your wife or significant other stopped putting out to use it. I cant’ imagine going back to eating baked french fries, pizza rolls in the microwave? You must be out of your mind. I did a couple briskets on the smoker a few weeks back and took the left overs and put them in the air fryer to make open faced brisket sandwiches, they were jizz in your pants good. I’ll be honest, if the house was on fire and I had to choose Max or the Air Fryer to take to safety I’d still take Max, but I would be on Amazon after I called the fire department to order a new air fryer. (since my kids still sneak in our room and sleep on the floor next to Shirley, she has a floor bed with a comforter and sheets already made up for them, I’m assuming they would have made it out with me and I don’t have to choose between them and Max)

While the air fryer doesn’t make me even better than 99% of the population I was already better than, this weekend resulted in a life changing purchase. Being Dutch is a burden for a number of reasons, but the biggest is the predisposition to attempt and save money ALL THE TIME! This has resulted in the purchase of a number of shoddy coolers. We bought an Arctic soft shell cooler and the zipper broke, we bought the Costco version of the Arctic called a Coho and the fucking zipper broke. I’ve also bought a number of square portable coolers with plastic shells that melt ice faster than the a microwave oven would. Well, this weekend we decided to visit Shirley’s aunt and uncle in Cadillac on Saturday with the plan of hiking in the Manistee National Forest on Sunday. I ended up golfing with Shirley’s dad and uncle at Antioch Golf Club in Mesick early and somehow managed not to hurdle myself in front of their golf cart to put an end to my misery. When we arrived back in Cadillac I was tasked with running to Meijer for supplies for the hike and Shirley also suggested I purchase a backpack cooler. Lately I had been doing research on coolers in an attempt to find the best value, I even picked one out that I sent to Shirley to purchase off Amazon (she changes our prime password routinely and I can never purchase anything on my own as a result). Thank goodness she pays very little attention to me since it allowed me to explore other options and if she did pay attention to me, she’d realize I’m not around that much.

Cadillac has a Dunham’s and that was where my search began and ended for what would be a life altering purchase. At the entry to the Dunham’s they had some huge display set up with water bottles and soft coolers from a single brand. I was worried that this single brand was the only option I would have but my desire to find the best deal possible drove me to continue on through the store despite the fact that Dunham’s may be the worst sporting goods store still in business with MC sporting goods shuttering their doors years ago. Ultimately, I located the cooler section and there were a number of options available. Knowing I didn’t want to make the same mistake I had with previous coolers I went right to the Yeti and almost shit my pants when I looked at the price tag.

There are a couple relatives of mine who brag about their purchases, grills, vehicles, power tools, as if they are the only ones allowed to purchase such items. I want to say to them, hey fuck face I can buy that shit too (I imagine everyone has a couple of these people in their lives). I never do, but someday I probably will, but just leave out the fuck face. I suppose the same can be said for the Yeti back pack cooler that I purchased that historic morning, but most people are not going to spend that much money on a back pack cooler because most people do not have a need for a back pack cooler so I am even that much more awesome now that I own one. Since the hike the cooler has sat in our garage, I will be honest, I have been tempted to hug it every time I go out to the garage and see it. The big question is how do I use it more? I’m in a golf league and this fact should be no surprise to anyone, I smuggle my beer on to the course. Part of it, ok most of it is to save money, but a fraction of the reason is gives me a much larger range of what I can drink on league night. I took (stole) one of the course coolers, the ones that are flimsy and have plastic handles that ultimately break off the cooler and are green with golf carts on them and I use that to smuggle my drinks on. However, even at the risk of detection, I am tempted to start utilizing the Yeti backpack cooler, not only because it keeps ice frozen for what seems to be a length of time that is scientifically impossible, but because it is a status symbol similar to pulling up to the course in a Ram longhorn addition truck (they have actual leather saddle bags attached to the rear of the driver and passenger front seats).

Yesterday I did stop at Costco and they were selling the Coho coolers again. I just chuckled to myself thinking how naive I was to think purchasing one of those could actually bring about cooler contentment. I’m not ashamed to admit I am now a cooler snob, I will look down on every cooler that does not start with a Y and end in an I. While at Costco I picked up two containers of the Sanders salted caramel milk chocolate bites, these are also jizz in your pants good but the problem is my kids devour them. When I arrived home I tried to sneak them in the house and hide them but Parker saw them. Wouldn’t be surprised if one container is already gone and sitting on the counter of our pantry empty when I arrive home from golf league tonight. However, hiding shit from my kids does create an additional use for the Yeti. While I can hide non frozen treats pretty much anywhere, and typically do out of necessity, we only have four freezers at our house (humble brag) and my kids will explore every single one of them to find ice cream novelties, It’s basically the only thing they will put any amount of effort into. Those two turds will eat the last Klondike bar, Melting Moments Ice Cream Sandwich, or any other boxed frozen treat and leave the box or packaging in the freezer so when I go to get one all I have is the empty box to consume. However, with the incredible longevity the Yeti gives ice I can now put the treats in there and hide them wherever I want or even carry them with me wherever I go. Life will never be the same.

Shirley bought a Waverunner in 2015 and she did it in one day, she decided she wanted one on a Saturday morning and by Saturday afternoon we had a brand new Waverunner. I had nothing to do with the purchase, as hard as it is for me to do, sometimes just stepping back and staying out of it is the preferred course of action. In hindsight I would have made sure Shirley purchased one that was fast and only a two seater so I didn’t have to take two other riders with me when I went out on it. Sadly, after Shirley went through the buying process in less than 12 hours she completely abandoned the Waverunner leaving me responsible for everything that needs to be done with it. Initially, I had Fox Powersports winterize it but they don’t provide any lube when they bend you over so I opted to start winterizing it myself, thanks to a youtube video and a discussion with my buddy Dom I was able to save myself $150 a season. However, it is always touch and go at the beginning of the season, did I do something wrong? Something catastrophically wrong? Up until this year there hasn’t been an issue, but when I dropped it in the water the first time this season the thing started barking at me louder than my Australian Shepard Max when he wants my attention. “Oh shit!” I thought to myself. Turned out the check engine warning light also covers electric issues and the battery was kaput. Fox was going to do me a solid and replace it for $160 plus labor and on top of the diagnostic fee of $130, I’ve represented criminal clients who have more honor.

I scoured GR for a replacement battery and ended up ordering one online for $70. It arrived on Saturday and I attempted to put it in that afternoon only to spend an hour and a half of my time while ultimately losing one of the square nuts and having to call it a day. I am one of the most mechanically un-inclined persons on the planet and that coupled with my Bill Bixby like temper is a recipe for disaster. I believe I mentioned in a previous blog how I threw the bagging tube from my mower at the pavement of my driveway out of frustration and it came back and hit me in my face as Shirley came down the driveway. Had I continued working on the Waverunner battery a similar event was likely to unfold. Sunday I ended up grabbing 3 replacement nuts and was able to successfully connect the positive terminal to the battery without much effort. The Waverunner fired up no problem and I was relieved that I was going to finally be able to get it in the water so we could get at least 45 minutes of use out of it this summer. I texted a photo of it hooked up to my truck, or at least I thought it was hooked up to my truck, in my driveway to my buddies and headed for Green Lake. I made it about a quarter of a mile out of my driveway and down the road before getting a call from my neighbor. That wasn’t a good sign, we text once in a while but we never speak on the phone. I hesitantly answered only for him to immediately inform me that my Waverunner was in his driveway, I looked back as if it might be a different Waverunner but sure enough mine was no longer behind my truck.

Miraculously, it came to a stop on its own in the middle of his driveway and he had both his vehicles in his garage and his dog in the house at the very instance my Waverunner came sailing into his driveway. My driveway goes up a hill and his driveway is off to the side, I have no idea how it managed to turn on its own and come to a complete stop without causing damage to it, the trailer, or something else. I will say this, this is my one mulligan, if I do something similarly absent minded and dangerous, it’s not going to work out for me. While it was great to actually get the Waverunner in the water and somewhat fun to ride it with my kids and my nieces and nephews in tow, my string of terrible luck continues. I had my favorite pair of Oakley sunglasses on and had thought about leaving them on shore but thought I’d be fine. I hit a 13 foot wakeboard wave head on and it washed my glasses off and down to the bottom of Green Lake. In the past month I also have lost a pair of Oakley transition glasses (the ones that tint when you go out in the sun, yes I know I’m old), had the very same frames to said glasses destroyed initially when Parker threw them haphazardly in my backseat and they eventually fell out and were trampled, as well as had my lawn tractor’s engine blow mid mow. (I should have checked the oil prior to mowing so that is a bit on me, but I was able to talk Shirley into letting me get a zero turn so that’s a win right?)

The fact that we only have one phillip’s head screw driver probably speaks to where I am at as a do it yourselfer, and while most dad’s ask for power tools and cool shit that runs on a mixture of oil and gas my only two requests were for a 40 ounce water bottle and a cool front plate for my truck. I had the perfect 40 ounce bottle that I found at Nordstrom’s Rack but it didn’t hold up when I threw it as hard as I could against the pavement after dropping a very important set of tennis. Shirley even said to me “didn’t you have a 40 ounce water bottle?” I do have a front plate and it is, or was, of an Australian Shepard(Max is my last hope for greatness) but within two weeks it was completely white, thanks Amazon! Shirley came through with a new water bottle and a front plate for my truck along with a shirt that says “I’m not for everyone” truer words have not been spoken. The problem is the front plate is an MC for Master Craft. I own a Mastercraft boat and have owned a number of them in the past. I am a loyalist to the brand but never wanted to be that guy. What do I do? It’s mirrored and pretty cool but I have always thought having a MC license plate or emblem on your vehicle is kind of douchey, not as douchey as the 13.1 or 26.2 decals or the stick figure families, but douchey none the less. Maybe I need to drain all the oil out of it, run it, and talk her into letting me get a Ski Nautique.