Thursday, June 30, 2011

More Unwelcome Candy Bars

Why did these childhood gaps happen?  I'm fairly certain your parents were not hippies.  I feel like that's the only reason kids ever don't know about important things like Transformers and Gushers.  I have major childhood music gaps.  This was because pop music did not interest me.  I only wanted to listen to oldies and musical soundtracks.  Obviously, I was super-cool.  I know almost nothing about New Kids on the Block.  I think one is named Jordan and one is Mark Wahlberg's brother, and I think they aren't the Backstreet Boys.

I like Belgian Whites and Tripels too, generally.  I don't think they're wimpy.  Maybe it's because they're a little fruitier?  Tasting, that is.  You know Chris is starting a brewery, right?  He makes some really great fruity beers.  Tasting, that is. 

Actually, I am a little surpised about you being enraged about the candy bar.  I could predict you  being mildy grumbly or something, but why angry?  Who cares?  I think it's charming.  World, send me candy bars.  This sounds like something I would do.  Should I not? 

You know my living situation, right?  Chris and I have moved in together, but my lease with Molly was up June 1st, and Chris' isn't up until August 1st, so I'm shacking up with him and his roommate for a couple months.  I mean, I'm paying rent.   But I have still invaded their home.  It's sort of like being on vacation though.  The vast majority of my belongings are in storage.  It sort of makes me realize that I don't need a vast majority of my belongings. 

Anyway, the roommate, Kris, (thank goodness for the spelling difference!) is moving to San Francisco in a couple weeks, so he had a going away show at Subterranean last night.  It was awesome.  BUT.  There was a lady there.  A crazy, crazy lady. 

The outfit: Vintage short black shift dress with weird sleeves and decorative piping.  Elbow length gloves.  A black purse that had big red lips for a handle.  Gold high heels.  An embroidered handkerchief with which she held her plastic cup of beer. 

The offense:  She kept parading around directly in front of the stage, filming the show on her iPad.  Just walking back and forth, holding it over her head.  She would tilt it one way or another, or sometimes toss and catch it, all while filming.  I don't know if iPad cameras don't have zooms, and apparently she doesn't either, because she kept walking forward and back to zoom.  Which is why she needed to go up on stage with Kris to get a good enough close-up of him.  It's not like he was on a stool - he was dancing around and playing guitar and stuff.  He kept having to dodge her and her FUCKING iPad.  It was so weird.  I filmed her a little with my phone for some meta-comedy, and then she started filming me back from the stage.  After some REALLY artistic shots of Kris through the lips-handle of her purse, she came back down front and started responding really loudly to something Kris said in-between songs, and trying to engage me in conversation about some weird thing that happened outside.  I just kept saying "crazy" at her.  I think she thought I meant about what happened to her outside.  I didn't. 

The weirdest thing was that she totally acted like she was on drugs, but seemed to have so much control over her body.  I feel fairly certain that if I were trying to film something on an iPad with gloves on and high, I would have dropped it.  A lot.  And fallen in my golden high heels.  But she never faltered. 

At the last show I saw of Kris', it was at a cafe, and a mom and daughter came in selling candy bars in the middle of a song.  They had clearly just bought them from the nearby Walgreen's.  They were not the fundraiser kind.  Kris bought some and gave them to the audience.

Beer and Candybar Weapons

I feel like I have major gaps in my childhood stories/television/pop culture knowledge.  I missed a lot of those cultural milestones as a kid and I don't want the same thing to happen to my daughter.  I spent most of my childhood pretending that I knew what everyone else was talking about when I actually had no idea.  Actually, that's a pretty useful skill.  Maybe I'll just lock her in her room and jam all wireless signals.

Parenting plan complete!

I believe that Bug and Beetle is interchangeable when referring to the VW vehicle in question.  I believe Beetle is the official name but I'm not going to waste Internet looking it up.  I have noticed the vanity plate phenomenon with the Beetles.  They should all just read, "TRYINGTOOHARD."

I think I passed by you when I first walked in to the party.  You looked nice and summery in your green dress.

The bank teller hussy/vixen was cute.  Exotic.  Dark hair and olive skin so she could be Hispanic, Polynesian, Greek or just about anything at all.  Melting Pot, you know.  She seemed awfully chipper and confident so maybe she was too cute for her own good.  It probably wouldn't have worked out.

I guess I could understand some people using the dump buckets for beers they don't like.  Still, three ounces isn't that much to choke down.  I like beer, but I feel like I have a deficiency.  Everyone that really enjoys beer always seems to love IPAs.  I'm not a big fan.  I mean, I'll drink them if that's what's available but I'm not making that choice if there are options.  I like the Belgian Whites and the Tripels.  Those tend to also have high alcohol content, so more bang for your buck.  However, I feel like people regard those as wimpy lady beers.  Thankfully, I don't give a shit.  I'm past the point in my life where I'll choke down something I don't like because people say it's good.  Take that, other people's opinions.

I've not seen people wearing Toms.  Maybe I have but I just thought, "That guy is wearing ugly ass shoes" because I didn't recognize them as Toms.  I went to the website.  They look ridiculous.  Who cares if they are super comfortable.  Pajamas are super comfortable, but we all don't go around in our pajamas in public.  The world might be a kinder place if we did, though.

I just got out of a meeting where I told a story about a dude who sent me a candy bar through interoffice mail.  I'm sure you won't be surprised that this seemingly friendly gesture enraged me to the point where I wanted to walk to his office (which is halfway across the country) and beat him with said candy bar.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011


It was air-conditioned.  Very comfortable.  The seats were pretty nice too.  I think your Peter Pan knowledge, while lacking, is sufficient.  Peter Pan comes to the home of the Darling family, and the children go with him on an adventure to Neverland.  Michael is the youngest Darling child.  The book is excellent.  I recommend that you share it with your daughter when she's old enough to enjoy such things.

I haven't been in many portable toilets, but I always notice the names.  I mostly just see them when I walk by construction sites. 

Speaking of a weird little structure that has stupid stuff written on it, have you ever noticed the incredibly high percentage of VW bugs that have vanity plates?  It is ridiculous.  My theory on that is that people who own Bugs (Beetles?  Are they the same?) have them because they are desperately trying to show their originality to the world by buying the same car as the all the other "one-of-a-kind" folks.  And then they have to personalize it even further with vanity plates.  I would go so far as to guess that 70% of VW Beetles have vanity plates.  And about 50% of those have the word "bug" in the plate.  ie, "KATIEBUG" or "BUGABOO" or "IBUGTHESHITOUTOFPEOPLEWITHMYSTUPIDASSCAR."

I was thinking this morning about how we never talked at the party last night.  I don't think we even got within 20 feet of each other.

Good eye on the bank teller vixen!  Wait, was she cute?  I mean, for a hussy?

I guess the dump buckets are mostly for if you don't care for one of the beers.  I don't really care for super-dark beers, and dumped part of a couple of them.  I almost screamed seeing the lady at the next table dump almost her whole glass of Lagunitas IPA.  I looked beyond that, though, when we became friends later.  Lagunitas is a great brewery.  I really like their stuff.

I feel like men's summerwear is something you've struggled with for years.  I don't mind sneakers with shorts on dudes.  I do mind sandals.  You're right - they always look so feminine.  Remember when those sandals were really popular that look like Italian peasant children would wear them?  Blech.

There's always one shoe trend that drives me crazy.  Right now, it's Toms.  WHY ARE THESE POPULAR?  Yes, it is neat that they give a pair of shoes to poor kids.  Your soul may be beautiful from buying these shoes, but your feet look like crap.  Apparently, they are quite comfortable.  I don't care.  I don't want my feet to look like the mummified remains of Regatta competitors.  I just don't.

Dump Buckets

It seems I completely mis-imagined how this whole Peter Pan thing went down.  I was imagining something more like a circus tent or Honda car sale tent.  The Peter Pan tent looks very high-end and structurally sound.  Was it air conditioned?  It seems like it would have been air conditioned.

I still have no idea what "Even Michael, the youngest Darling child" means.  Am I missing a major portion of pop-culture knowledge by not really knowing (or remembering) the Peter Pan story?  All I really know is that he's some kind of flying leprechaun that battles pirates and sleeps with fairies.

The flying in front of the big screen looks pretty cool.

I feel like you've had a much broader experience with portable toilet products.  I'm only aware of Port-a-Potties and Port-a-Johns.  It could be that I just assume that every portable toilet I use is a Port-a-Potty.  Maybe I have entered a Drop Zone or Lepre-can.  I know I've used portable toilets outside of Notre Dame Stadium and it seems like they would have some kind of exclusive contract with Lepre-can.  I bet I've used one of those.

Thank god we didn't talk to each other at all last night.  We might have enjoyed each other's company.

I was able to confirm that the bank teller was hitting on me.  I saw her outside the bank on my way back from lunch and she stopped to talk with me.  Eventually, she asked me if I was going to ask her out.  I told her that I had a date with my wife on Thursday, but I'm free after that.  I don't think she knew I was joking.  About being free, not having a wife.

At your alphabetic beer-tasting, I would have been drunk by "D" or whatever equals one beer.  I'm a complete lightweight now.  Even when I only have one beer, I feel slightly crappy in the morning.  I suppose that's different than being a lightweight, but it's lame just the same.  The sad part is that I really enjoy beer.  I bet they have to have the dump buckets there for legal reasons.  Who are the assholes that use the dump buckets?  Assholes, that's who.

Do you know what makes me angry?  Men's summer clothing options.  We can't dress comfortably without looking like overgrown children.  Plus, summertime footwear is a lose-lose situation.  If you wear sneakers with shorts, you look like you have on giant clown shoes.  If you wear sandals, you look like you raided your wife's closet.  If you wear flip flops, you might as well not wear any shoes at all.  I'm ready for the fall.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Z is for zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I am indeed not surprised that you're unfamiliar with PP360.  I was going to answer your questions in outline form, but the answer is pretty much the same:

Yeah - it was in a  big tent.  It was fine.  Everything was fine.

Fine - here are some more in-depth answers. 

IA.  It was in the city.  In fact, Cassie and I walked there from my apartment.   It was at Chicago and Halsted in a big parking lot.  I'm not sure what's usually there.  Cars, I'm guessing. 

IB.  They were projection screens, so it was really just the side of the tent. 

II.  Grown ups, every one.  Even Michael, the youngest Darling child.

The tent was very well-scaffolded.  It's not like we were all huddled in an L.L. Bean 4-sleeper.

Here's a link to a video advertising it when it was in San Francisco.  You can see the tent and some of the flying.  Peter Pan 360  It's really long, but the first two and a half minutes is plenty to get a feel for it.

IV.  No blue liquid for the port-a-potties.  There was running water.  It was more like an airplane toilet with the little flap that covers up the festering waste-hole that only opens when you flush.  Is that water blue?  It is, isn't it?  This water was clear.  I think that port-a-potty/barber comb water is also used in mini-golf courses. 

Speaking of port-a-potties, why is it acceptable, nay, mandatory for them to have creepy turd pun names?  I can't think of many right now, but Drop Zone and Lepre-can come to mind.  Oui Oui is a pretty popular one...  If I had one, I'd name it Filthy Stinky Shit Box.

We'll have to make sure that when we see each other, we talk about very personal things or make fun of our friends.  Stuff that is no good for blogs.  Or, great for blogs, but no good for us.

I don't know that waving and shouting "Good Morning" constitutes a bank teller hitting on you.  I think it depends on the tone of voice.  You are a good-looking chap though.  In your case, it's probably safe to assume that people are hitting on you.

I forgot to mention that I went to this beer-tasting event on Saturday.  It was an A-Z tasting, with one craft brew per letter.  They asked Chris to be the "expert" that leads the tasting and tells people what tastes/smells/sensations to look for, so I came along for support.  And free beer.  I was pretty drunk by "J."  This was weird because I was sitting alone, as he was up front at the microphone.  I made friends with the couple at the next table around "Q."  26 beers in two hours is a lot.  I mean, they were all tasters.  Probably three ounces or so each.  There were dump buckets, but come on.  Like I'm going to throw away beer? 

Too Early for Meta?

I'm sure you're not surprised that I am not familiar with Peter Pan 360.  I had no idea that such a thing existed.  I have several questions and I now feel like they must be presented in outline form.  Precedent has been set.

I. The tent
   A. Was this in the city?
        i. How the hell did they erect a tent in the city?
        ii. Where the hell did they erect a tent in the city?
   B. Were you concerned that very heavy video screens were attached to a freaking tent?
        i. I'm assuming that these were flat screen televisions.  Am I wrong?
   C. I feel like this tent was supporting a lot of heavy shit.
II. The kids
   A. Was this show performed by children?
        i. Were you afraid for the lives of children flying around on apparatus attached to at freaking tent?
III. Legal concerns
   A. Were you forced to sign a waiver in case the freaking tent collapsed under the weight of all the gear?
   B. Did the flying children sign some kind of waiver in case they fell from a great height when the freaking tent collapsed?
IV. The Port-A-Potties
   A. Was there still a giant festering waste hole filled with that weird blue liquid?
        i. Can we assume that the weird blue liquid is the same weird blue liquid that barbers put their combs in?

I saw you briefly last night and I will most likely see you again tonight.  I enjoy seeing you but I sometimes worry that we'll have a hilarious conversation in person that would have been perfect for this blog.  I'm not exactly worried that we'll run out of hilarious stuff to write about, I just worry that we'll use our best stuff when we talk to each other.  Is it a bad sign that I'm already going meta?  Does that mean we're running out of material?

How do you know if a bank teller is hitting on you?  Does shouting "Good morning!" and waving from across the bank count?  Or is that just good customer service?

Monday, June 27, 2011

Pee-ter Pan

You are wrong about the W3 (As in-the-know gym-goers call it...) locker rooms.  I mean, they're okay.  But I think I pay like $18 a month for membership there.  So, nothing there is exactly top-of-the-line.  I used to go the Halsted Street Multiplex, where I paid $79 a month.  Those were some nice locker rooms.  All the people there had the same nickname though - "Muscly Gay Guy."

Speaking of nice locker rooms, I went and saw the Peter Pan 360 show yesterday.  This, in case you are unfamiliar, is a play in a huge tent, and all around the top there are video screens.  When the kids fly, they show London sweeping by or whatever, and it's quite breathtaking.  Anyway, as it is in a big tent, there are port-a-potties.  BUT THEY ARE LOVELY.  There's all this wood panelling, and they flush, and there are sinks in the individual stalls and everything.  I think the part of the show where I was most awestuck was when I was peeing.  But the show was good too.

Work kitchen small talk is the worst.  Particularly if you are microwaving something.  Because it's not like you can make up an excuse to leave.  You both know that you are trapped there for another minute and 21 seconds.  Even worse is when you can tell that neither of you wants to make conversation, but you just have to because you're within two feet of each other, and ignoring one another makes you both feel like a big dick.  Or, rather, a big penit. 

Bag of What, Now?

Men's restrooms also have a low urinal. It's weird and everyone tries to avoid it if they can.  If they can't avoid it everyone laughs and throws Underoos at them.

Women's Workout World. I knew Curves needed a major competitor to be considered legitimate. I imagine the locker rooms are very nice in those gyms.

Fake boobs create a weird conundrum for me. I feel like they are okay so long as you're not trying to pass them off as real. Though, if you went around telling people that you had fake boobs I would feel like it's not okay. Basically, boob jobs are okay if you're someone I like, you had the boobs before I met you or you are in an industry where better boobs are necessary. Or if you are having sex with me right now.

I hate when people make small talk in the kitchen area at work because things like this happen:
Lady: "There's a big bag of penis."
Me: "What?"
Lady: "Penis."
Me: ...
Lady: "Penis.  In the vending machine.  Just like you'd get at the ballpark."
Me: "Oh, peanuts."
Lady: "Right.  Penits.  I'd never noticed them before."
Me: "Yep, the vending machine sells peanuts, all right."
Lady: "I love penits."
Me: "Goodbye."

Now, she clearly wasn't saying "penis" but that's what I heard.  She was saying "penits" however.  That's awfully close to "penis" when you swallow the 't'.  Pun aggressively intended.  My point is that there is absolutely no need to talk to me about anything when I'm in the kitchen filling my water bottle -- especially if you're going to say things that sound like "penis."

Friday, June 24, 2011


I feel like closest thing we have to a tall people/short people compromise world is water fountains.  Isn't it weird how there's always a tall person one and a short person one?  I thought for a moment just now that maybe the little one is for the wheelchair-bound, but it would have to be way lower.  Plus, why would they get thirsty?  They're not even doing anything. 

It's a good thing I don't believe in Hell. 

I just looked Humpty Dumpty up, and Wikipedia says, as you did, that the rhyme used to be a riddle.  So you figure out he's an egg because people wouldn't fall into bits.  Or something.  I like that I am too lazy to look up childbirth facts, but will jump at the chance to research anthropomorphic eggs.

My gym is Women's Workout World.  Catchy, no?

I've known quite a few people pre and post boob job.  Does that say something about me as an acquaintance?  Like maybe I need to stop calling people "Bee-stings" and "Ironing Board"?

What's your stance on boob jobs?  Is a fake boob just as exciting as a real one?  Or is it like margarine, where it's okay, but something's just sort of wrong about it?  I'd always been of a play-with-the-cards-you're-dealt kind of person, but that metaphor is kind of dumb anyway.  What game does this refer to?  Poker?  Because in some types, you can trade for a couple better cards.  Or, you can fold.  Or bluff.  Is that what a boob job is?  Bluffing that you have a big pair? 

My Apologies, Ladies

Every sport would be very different if we kept growing.  Hell, everything would be very different.  Everything would have to be built to accomodate both the young (short) and old (tall).  Airplanes would be enormous.  Well, even enormouser.

I bet Libya and Afghanistan are dudes that his wife is banging (that has to be the most douchebaggy term for sex) but they just won't leave his house and he's not very good at proper punctuation.

We're sure Humpty Dumpty is an egg?  It's not explicit in the rhyme.  Maybe it's a riddle and that's the solution?  If so, why name an egg?  Why keep an egg on a wall?  Why would the king care?  Isn't there better use of taxpayer money than egg reconstruction?

You're gym is women only but it's not Curves?  I guess I thought Curves is the only one, but that probably just indicates some kind of latent male chauvinism I'm carrying around.  This is the part where I would try to guess the name of the gym, but I'm not going to do that.  I'd just come up with things like "Kim's Estrogen Hut" and "Ladies Only (Closed One Week a Month)" and "Lips" which would all be terribly offensive and not properly convey my respect for women.

I'm fascinated by New Boob Job, but not for the obvious reasons.  I've only known one person both pre- and post-boob job.  Everyone I know who has fake boobs got them before I met them with the exception of a high school friend of mine.  However, I didn't see her for about eight years and didn't really notice she had a boob job until she told me -- at her wedding, no less.  She then urged me to touch them.  I did not touch the bride's boobs.  Anyway, I'm curious to know what it is like to see someone go through that and to see them deal with it.

Some other people at my gym:
-Old Marine (he was probably never a Marine, but he seems angry like an old Marine would)
-Twinkletoes (he runs on his tippy toes when on the treadmill)
-The Shadow (she follows someone around and copies what they do)
-Leadfoot (the whole room shakes when he's on the treadmill)
-Master Yoga (he does Yoga by himself in the stretching area)
-Skip Dance (she skips and dances on the treadmill)
-America's Got Talent (she sings out loud to the music on her iPod)

I should also mention that my gym can only be used by the people that work in my building, so all of these people have jobs.

I call him Rusty Nails because his toenails look rusty.  All of them.  It's disgusting.  He needs to have them pulled and start over.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Long coffins

Isn't it weird that we start out so little and get bigger for so long, and then stop after puberty? Wouldn't it be cool if people just grew and grew until they died?  If it kept going at the same rate as childhood growth, by the time you were 80, you'd be like 32 feet tall.  (This is based on a very shoddy formula of growing about 4 feet every 10 years.)  You'd know how old people were by how many tree branch scratches they had on their foreheads.  If you were old enough to see their foreheads, that is. 

Basketball would be a very different sport.

Maybe Libya and Afghanistan are actually the names of men that that guy's wife is cheating on him with.  But she wears disguises to get to and from their homes, so the guy doesn't recognize her.

Good point.  Horses would be terrible at reassembling an egg.  So would men.  Why didn't the king send some ladies?  Their hands are much daintier.

My gym is weird.  It is really cheap, and it's women only.  SO, it has a very interesting clientele.  I feel like in a co-ed gym, there's a little more self-awareness than you get at an all-ladies one.  I would like to point out that I attend because it is near my office - not because I'm afraid of men.  I should also point out that it isn't Curves.

Here are some people that go to my gym:

-Boob Job
-New Boob Job  (formerly Jump Rope Badass)
-Patty Shadow (She looks like Patty Blagojevich, and always makes a point of standing RIGHT behind me in classes so that she can follow my steps if she can't see the teacher.)
-Cargo Creeper (Always wears cargo pants, and in the course of an aerobics class, she will have stood pretty much everywhere at some point.)
-Knee Socks
-Crazy Noodles (Asian lady who modifies every move in class to be harder/wilder/flailier, sacrificing rhythm in the process)
-The Beaver (She, um, looks like a beaver.  She's also SUPER old.)
-Hobo (Surely a homeless person doesn't belong to my gym?  And yet...)
-Vertigo (Loves to talk about how she has it.)
-Old Naked Fat Lady

I'm not really sure about Rusty Nails.  Here are my guesses:
1) He has red hair.
2) He is so dirty that you feel like you would contract tetanus if you touched him.
3) His fingernails are dirty.
4) That is actually his name.

Lumberninja Battle

If I had to guess why babies poop so much, I'd say it's because of their tiny little tummies and intestines.  Also, the liquid diet.  Too bad I don't have the Internet handy to find out the correct answer.

C-section scars go across.  Dee's does, anyway.  I'm judging all C-section scars based the only one I've ever seen.  However, I'm sure you could request a vertical C-section so you could have the super badass lumberninja scar.  Or you could battle an actual lumberninja and emerge victorious but severely wounded.  You could have a very own "You should see the other guy" moment.

Are you certain that those signs were referring to the U.S. military presence in those countries?  Maybe he just thinks those countries are uninhabitable and that everyone that is currently there should leave.  I often wonder about people who still hold signs in the street that aren't part of some larger demonstration.  Wouldn't it be way more efficient to open a Twitter account?  That shit is free.

There's a dude that works out in my gym who I refer to as Humpty Dumpty.  This is because he looks like what I imagine a real-life Humpty Dumpty would look like.  He also smells like sour milk and stinks up the whole gym when he's there.  One of my co-workers calls him The Milkman because of the sour milk stench, but I stick to Humpty Dumpty because I imagine that Humpty Dumpty would begin to smell much like sour milk after several hours of the King's horses and men trying to put him back together.  Mine works on two levels.  Also, I feel like letting the horses help put Humpty Dumpty back together was their first mistake.  Wouldn't they just crush him into more pieces?

There's also a guy in my gym I call Rusty Nails.  I'll let you guess why.

Leave Womb Now

It's weird that babies poop so much.  Why is that?  Is it their diet?  Is it that they have short little intestines?  Or is it just that they haven't learned not to poop yet, so they never store any?

Do C-Section scars go up and down or across?  I was thinking that since I have such a big scar on my back, if I ever get a C-Section, and the scar is vertical, it'll look like a got sliced in half by a ninja.  Or a buzz saw.  Or a lumberninja.

Now I seem to just be asking you for actual facts about childbirth, versus your experience.  I could just look these things up.  But I shan't.

Yesterday on the way home from work, I saw a guy with a little stack of paper held together with binder clips.  We was holding it up like a sign.  I was behind him, so I only saw the back, which read in very neat Sharpie, "Leave Afghanistan Now."  When I got around to the front, his sign said, "Leave Libya Now."  This brought up many thinking points for me:

1) Does every piece of paper in his stack instruct people to leave somewhere now?
2) I cannot leave Libya, as I am not there.  Sorry, man.
3) At whom is this aimed?  He's standing next to the blue line stop.  Presumably most lawmakers are not talking the subway to Wicker Park.
4) I do not mean to imply that this dude is crazy or stupid or anything.  Yeah - war sucks.  I just wonder what his deal is.  Does he get off work in the afternoon and think, "Time to do my REAL work"? Does he feel like he's helping?  Does he find it rewarding? 

It's sad that you're not reviewing The Bachelorette this season.  It is way more hilarious and sad than usual.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

All About the Baby

We are indeed public.  That doesn't necessarily mean anyone is watching, though.

I can't believe that we haven't talked about the baby yet.  I feel like I've talked about the baby with everyone.  It's at the point where I'm worried that all I'm talking about is the baby.  And now, I will take this entire post to answer questions about my baby.

Yes, I was in the delivery room.  However, my view only included Dee's head, shoulders and arms.  A large sheet blocked my view of anything below her armpits.  Thankfully, her armpits were covered with a gown so I was witness to zero grossness.  Are you confused yet?  Dee had a C-section.  Therefore, nothing flew out of her junk.  It was less like regular childbirth and more like Alien.  I only got to see my daughter after she was completely free of my wife.  She was covered in all sorts of gross stuff, but I was too overwhelmed to really notice.  All I saw was a pointy-headed screaming baby.

I did not smoke a cigar, but it would have been gross.

I didn't cry until two days later when the weight of a new child and of a wife battered by the whole ordeal broke me.  It felt like the right thing to do.

The baby cries way more than I do now, but not by much.  She gets fussy in the evening sometimes but she mostly cries when she needs something.  We give her that something and then she stops crying.  She's pretty good like that.

I don't feel creepy changing her diaper.  I do worry about proper vagina care.  I've never had to care for one before and I'm afraid I'll break it.  So far, all I have to do is keep poop out of it.  Easier said than done.

She's now starting to smile at things.  Before her smiles were just a symptom of gas.  Now, she's actually starting to react to things.  She loves when I read her my reviews of Dancing With the Stars.

I get less sleep than I used to but much more than I thought I would.  Since Dee is on maternity leave and she's the only one who can feed her (since she has the boobies) she is the one that usually gets up at night.  Sometimes I take over when Dee's done feeding her and put her to sleep.  In all, I'm feeling rested enough.
B. Do you ever forget you have a kid and then while you’re conducting a meeting or something, think, “I am a dad now”?
I totally do that.  I'll be all, "I'm totally going to watch the game when I get home."  Then I'll immediately think, "Nope.  I'm totally going to watch the baby when I get home."
i. Did I punctuate the previous question incorrectly? 
I have no idea.  Quotes fuck with everything I don't really know how to handle them, but that's exactly how I would have written it.

I do not want to buy her little outfits all the time.  Dee does.  I feel like I'm fighting a constant battle against an avalanche of pink.  I have this irrational fear that she'll turn out to be a terrible person if we dress her in too much pink.  She'll probably turn out to be a terrible person because I have irrational fears about the colors she wears.  I can't win.

My baby's butt is wrinkly, red and often smeared with poo.  It is also some sort of super powered air cannon.  I'm pretty sure all rocket technology is based on babies' explosive buttholes.

You totally freaked me out for a second when you mentioned your birthday.  I thought I had missed it.  Then I realized that I didn't.  Crisis averted.

When I'm on the train I'll do the same thing.  I'll think, "Why would this dirty fellow who reeks of cheese choose not to shower, wear clothes that fit, get a job and take Prozac like the rest of us?"  Then I'll think, "I'm really excited for Tristan to see her boyfriend who is coming back from his camping trip today."  Then I'll think, "Maybe this dirty fellow who reeks of cheese is on his way back from his camping trip to see Tristan."  Then I'll say, "Hi, Chris."

Yes, it makes you a bit of an egotist.  Just like all humans.


Dipping a toe in...

Jeff –
Hey.  Wow.  We’re public now.  The world must not be denied our self-satisfied drivel any longer.
So, we’re a little behind.  For example, we have not talked at all about you having a baby.  Who, I presume, has a little behind of her own.  I was just going to ask what that’s like, (being a father, not your baby’s butt) but that seems a little broad and harrowing.  (The question, not your baby’s butt).  So, here is an outline of questions about your new-found fatherdom:

I. The birth
     A. Were you in the delivery room?
     B. Was it gross?
            i. Or was it so beautiful and thrilling and magical that you didn’t even notice all the poo and goo and tiny people flying out of your wife’s junk?
     C. Did you smoke a cigar afterward?
            i. Was that gross?
     D. Did you cry?
            i. Did you feel like a pussy because you did?
            ii. Did you feel like an asshole because you didn’t?
II. The baby
      A. Does she cry a lot?
      B. Do you feel creepy changing her diaper?
      C. What is her latest milestone?  (I never know what babies “should” be able to do.  If you said she could walk, I’d be like, “Oh, okay that makes sense.”  I’d say the same if you said she just learned how to open her eyes.) 
III. You with a baby
     A. Do you get much sleep?
     B. Do you ever forget you have a kid and then while you’re conducting a meeting or something, think, “I am a dad now”?
            i. Did I punctuate the previous question incorrectly?
     C.  Do you just want to buy her little outfits all the time?
            i.  Or do you want her to just have a few in rapid rotation because she’ll just grow out of them/get shit and barf on them soon anyway?
IV. Your baby’s butt
     A. What is it like?

Okay, that’s it for baby questions for now.  I’m sure I’ll have more later.
So, I realized on the bus last night that I have this weird sort of self-involvement.  It’s not like I don’t consider other people – I just assume that they are like me.  The catalyst to this was thinking, “Everyone on this bus must be so excited to come home from rehearsal and see their boyfriend, who will finally be back from his camping trip.”  Probably not the case…  Similarly, I usually take the day off from work on my birthday.  When I go outside on that day and see people wandering around enjoying themselves instead of being at work, I always immediately think that it must be their birthday too.   Does this make me an egotist, or just stupid?  

Baby butt,