So....vacations are supposed to be relaxing right? Fun, family and chill out time right?
Have you met my family? We go on what is called "weekender" - time to relax.....or what I call an "aneurysm".....time to go postal.
The five days before going on vacation:
5 - Sunday
After 3 weeks of discussion, we have narrowed our choice of places to stay to two hotels.
Hotel one: Has a large pool and a two room 'suite' allowing us space so we can at least get more than 2 feet away from each other.
Hotel two: Has a smaller pool, OK room, but has free breakfast and evening snack. That alone will save me $180 in food over the weekend.
We have also decided that we will leave on Friday night (around 6:00)...because that makes more sense.
We remind each other we need to wash clothes.
4 - Monday
We have decided to leave Saturday because with work and traffic it doesn't make sense to drive all night. We also start our discussion on whether or not to board the dogs because God knows they can't stay in the yard without us for more than one night.
We begin to look around the house for some minor project to start (like replacing the front door) because "it will only take a couple of hours and we can finish before we leave."
We remind each other we need to wash clothes.
3 - Tuesday
After removing all the plumbing from under the kitchen sink, we decide that it probably would be better to leave on Friday...that would give us more time to 'do things' on Saturday.
We have decided on a hotel and since it's November we choose the larger pool.....that hotel is booked so we go with choice two.
We call the Vet and set up boarding for the dogs, only to discover neither of them had a 'check up' since they were born, so that will have to be done. Estimated cost: $200.
We remind each other we need to wash clothes.
2 - Wednesday
One of my children will announce he/she has been invited to a 'gathering' on Friday afternoon that will last until 4:00pm. We are assured that he/she will be home in plenty of time to head out at 6
The replacement plumbing for the sink has to be ordered....it is being shipped next day air from Zimbabwe.
We cancel the Vet and ask one our children's friends to 'check on the dogs' for us.
We remind each other we need to wash clothes....so we wash all the towels in the house.
1 - Thursday
We take inventory of needed clothing, and discover that nothing we need to take is clean. Approximate time to wash and dry all the needed clothing....72 hours.
I get a call from the StressMan Plumbing Service that the all the parts are in except for the 38 cent 'grommet' ,,,which holds the entire system in place. Without that, "we really can't do much." Should arrive the next day.
Our child's friend calls and says that he has tickets to see a local band called "ElectricPenis" on Saturday and he is leaving town, so he can't check on the dogs. We call the Vet, they still have an opening, but the price has gone up 10% due to last minute reservations.
Departure Day - Friday
We place a bucket under the sink. "We aren't going to be here anyway...no one will use the sink"
The dogs are taken to the vet, we are informed of a new vaccine just released yesterday each dog needs....add $100.
We take trash bags and throw in damp underwear, socks, T-shirts and jeans. "They'll dry on the way"
6:00 - our child arrives, "the thing ran late". Not that it matters, we forgot to clean out the car for the trip and we are in the middle of that project.
7:00 - we pull out of the driveway
7:03 - we pull back into the driveway because someone forgot a cell phone and no one checked to see if the porch lights were left on.
7:08 - we pull out of the driveway.
7:16 - we pull into the "Chuck -n- Go" gas station for gasoline and methane producing snacks.
7:46 - all the snacks are gone and the children announce they are hungry.
8:10 - drive through the local Burger Belch and load up.
8:30 - the car is quiet and we settle in for the drive
8:32 - a series of gastrointestinal noises are heard followed by the words, "GEEZ, roll the window down".
8:32 to 9:00 - the noises continue along with shouting between the children....
9:01 - Dad threatens to drive off the bridge we are on....the car quiets down once again.
11:46 - we arrive at our destination.
12:31am - everyone is either asleep or very close.....except my wife who is still walking around with a Black Light looking for stray germs, strands of hair, trash, homeless people. I will know if she finds something because I will hear (and so will the folks in the next room) her say, "OH MY GOD...this is so GROSS". She will continue to do this the entire weekend.
1:26am - My wife will climb into bed while loudly commenting on the condition of the room, the quality of the towels, the comfort of the bed, and the current government of Syria. She falls asleep in less than two minutes.
1:55am - I finally fall asleep after coming to grips with the condition of the room, the types of towels, the comfort of the bed, and the fact I really don't care who is running Syria at the moment.
Such is my 'restful' weekend.
This is not the way I wish to be remembered.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Dog Poop
On Saturday morning, prior to cutting the grass in the back yard, I go out and clean up after what could only have been a herd of elephants that camped out in my yard during the week. I have two dogs, neither are what I would call 'large'....however the sheer volume of poop they create simply amazes me.
I have a friend named Joe (not his real name - his real name is Carl) who told me that he makes his 8 year old son gather the dog poop left in his yard and pile it up in one place. He does this daily, and after a time, he believes his dog will stop pooping at random spots. His reasoning was "The dog will go where the poop is". Sounded logical, I mean Joe is a pretty smart guy.....and he had the foresight to make sure his son used a shovel to pick up the stuff....so I thought why not?
So on Monday afternoon I started gathering. I found a spot in the far corner of the yard and began to create a very, very large pile of poop. I did this ever day for a week...marveling at the sheer amount I had to move. I don't really know what's in dog food....but I can tell you it has a fair amount of roughage in it. Each day I search, gather and pile quantities of dog poop while the dogs look at me and think "hey, I wanted it there. now I'm going to have to create more".
Every afternoon I'm out in the backyard....didn't matter what the weather (once it was raining and, unable to reach Joe for a ruling, I decided I still needed to continue the process in order to continue the training) By Friday, I'm actually talking to the dogs. "You see this pile here? THAT'S where you go! You don't just go in whatever direction your butt is pointing. You understand?" Of course, the dogs just wander off wondering why a deranged human is walking around the yard with a shovel full of poop.
Saturday comes along and, having a small child, we attend the latest stage show catered to small children. You know the type....wonderful events like "Bobby the Badger Sings about Condiments". 90 minutes of wonderful tunes such as:
Ketchup can help you Catch Up
Oregano is fun to grow
Salt for my friend Walt
All sung by costumed characters....each costume looking like it was shipped to the USA from Chernobyl....just after the meltdown. Then a trip to the 'souvenier stand' for a $20 pennant featuring random farm animals holding various condiments which, after being in my house for 36 hours, will end up on the floor and the dogs will use it to sleep on.
Anyway, I get home and think "hey, let me check the yard". Surely by now the dogs would have discovered what I now call Mount Poop...and say to each other excitedly...."why poop right here on the water hose when we can go to Mount Poop!"
What do I find when look around my yard?....yup, you guessed it.....not only does the yard look like the same herd of elephants camped out, now I also have an enormous pile of dog poop in one corner of the yard. In a final act of defiance, one of my dogs walks out in front of me and pauses for a moment. He turns and looks at me....and POOPS! He walks by as if to say "put THAT on your Mount Poop"
Come to think of it, I never actually ASKED if Joe's method worked. Perhaps I should have done that first.
I have a friend named Joe (not his real name - his real name is Carl) who told me that he makes his 8 year old son gather the dog poop left in his yard and pile it up in one place. He does this daily, and after a time, he believes his dog will stop pooping at random spots. His reasoning was "The dog will go where the poop is". Sounded logical, I mean Joe is a pretty smart guy.....and he had the foresight to make sure his son used a shovel to pick up the stuff....so I thought why not?
So on Monday afternoon I started gathering. I found a spot in the far corner of the yard and began to create a very, very large pile of poop. I did this ever day for a week...marveling at the sheer amount I had to move. I don't really know what's in dog food....but I can tell you it has a fair amount of roughage in it. Each day I search, gather and pile quantities of dog poop while the dogs look at me and think "hey, I wanted it there. now I'm going to have to create more".
Every afternoon I'm out in the backyard....didn't matter what the weather (once it was raining and, unable to reach Joe for a ruling, I decided I still needed to continue the process in order to continue the training) By Friday, I'm actually talking to the dogs. "You see this pile here? THAT'S where you go! You don't just go in whatever direction your butt is pointing. You understand?" Of course, the dogs just wander off wondering why a deranged human is walking around the yard with a shovel full of poop.
Saturday comes along and, having a small child, we attend the latest stage show catered to small children. You know the type....wonderful events like "Bobby the Badger Sings about Condiments". 90 minutes of wonderful tunes such as:
Ketchup can help you Catch Up
Oregano is fun to grow
Salt for my friend Walt
All sung by costumed characters....each costume looking like it was shipped to the USA from Chernobyl....just after the meltdown. Then a trip to the 'souvenier stand' for a $20 pennant featuring random farm animals holding various condiments which, after being in my house for 36 hours, will end up on the floor and the dogs will use it to sleep on.
Anyway, I get home and think "hey, let me check the yard". Surely by now the dogs would have discovered what I now call Mount Poop...and say to each other excitedly...."why poop right here on the water hose when we can go to Mount Poop!"
What do I find when look around my yard?....yup, you guessed it.....not only does the yard look like the same herd of elephants camped out, now I also have an enormous pile of dog poop in one corner of the yard. In a final act of defiance, one of my dogs walks out in front of me and pauses for a moment. He turns and looks at me....and POOPS! He walks by as if to say "put THAT on your Mount Poop"
Come to think of it, I never actually ASKED if Joe's method worked. Perhaps I should have done that first.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The Dance Recital
If you have children of the female persuasion, there will come a time where your wife will approach you and say, "Why aren't you wearing pants?"......wait, that's not what I was thinking of....although, as you age, you might get asked that question. No, what your wife will say is that your daughter wants to take "dance". No series of words, other than "I am late" (from your wife) or "Do you remember where I parked the car?" (from one of your children) strikes such fear in the heart of a Dad. For you see, if your daughter takes dance, she must participate in the dreaded "Dance Recital" To understand this fear, we must define what "Dance Recital" is:
Mom's Definition: Cute little girls showing off the adorable routines they have learned over the last year.
Dad's Definition: My daughter is dressed like a tiny little street walker.
Dance Recitals are held in large sports arenas, attended by moms and grandmothers who will kill you if you take their seat, and typically last 10 to 12 hours.
If you have NOT experienced such an event, let me walk you through this fun time.
Your daughter will have 'dance practice' roughly 1,356,238 times between August and May of any given year. Because the people who teach dance are space aliens without real jobs, these practices are scheduled at very convenient times like 4:30 to 6:11pm on Mon/Tue, 5:06 to 7:36 on Wed/Thur, 4:00 to 'whenever' on Fridays, and 6:00am to 7:00am on Saturday. Your daughter cannot miss a practice because if she does she will not know at what point during the 'routine' to run head first into the girl to her left while spinning out of control.
After each practice, the thoughtful alien teacher will say something like "Smotherina is doing better, when she falls down she doesn't hit her head on the floor anymore, and the other girls have learned not to step on her" As a parent, you are supposed to praise the child for this feat. They get 'atta girl' for falling down. I do the same thing after a bottle of Merlot and I get thrown out of the restaurant. So you praise them for falling, praise them for kicking the girl next to them, praise them for spinning out of control to the point they throw up, all in the hope they will "get the routine down" before the Recital.
Sometime in April, a note will arrive stapled to your daughter's dance bag. Oh yea, they have 'dance bags'. At the reasonable cost of $6,000 you can own a custom made dance bag. My daughter's dance bag is capable of holding 4 pairs of tights, 3 pairs of shorts, 3 t-shirts (festooned with colorful sayings like "we're dance-a-holics"), 2 undershirts, 4 pairs of socks, tap shoes, ballet shoes, jazz shoes, hair bands, hair clips, a hairbrush, several granola bars, several juice boxes, six geese-a-laying, seven swans-a-swimming, and a box of tissue. The note says:
Your child (insert name) will be participating in 112 routines, each lasting about 2 minutes.
Our costumes have been ordered. The deposit required is $50 - this due tomorrow.
The balance on the costumes of $6,800 is due the day after tomorrow.
So, after selling a few organs you pay the fee and the costumes arrive. Then there are the photographs. These take place a couple of weeks before the recital in order for parents to have time to repair the costumes destroyed while taking pictures. Beginning at 5:00am, rabid mothers bring their daughters to the studio in the back of a semi-trailer packed to the hilt with rouge, blush, hair spray, hair bows, eye liner, lipstick, baby powder, staple guns, hot glue guns, double sided tape, single sided tape, duct tape, allen wrenches, bobby pins, hair clips, industrial blow dryers (that, if properly aimed, could allow the Israelites to walk across the Red Sea again), hair straighteners, hair curlers, and snacks. After 11 hours of "prepping", the child will stand in front of the camera for 2.5 seconds, and close her eyes at the exact moment her photo is taken. "Next" the photographer will shout...."TAKE IT AGAIN" the rabid mom will screech.
After several attempts the photos are taken, the costume is removed because it needs washing after your child spilled Yoo-Hoo on it, and Mom and daughter head for home. Mom then waits for the photo's to be posted on a website. Mom pulls up the website and then shows Dad. Your child is dressed in one of the thousands of 'costumes' you have purchased.
The actual photo looks like this:
A Dad looks at the outfit and sees this:
"How could you dress her like that?" he will say angrily
"Who chose that costume? What's the name of the routine....'Street Walking?'"
"You're not ordering those, what the hell is wrong with that alien teacher?"
"It's cute" the wife will say. "What's wrong with the outfit....it's a dance outfit. There's nothing wrong with it. Good Grief, you are over-reacting"
After a few minutes, my wife agrees not to buy any of those particular shots...except for one copy because it is my daughter's favorite. We agree to purchase some of a different pose, for which we will pay $1100, plus another $500 to publish it in the Recital "Program". There's another thing....the "Program". 200 pages of little girls dressed "all cute" with notes that say:
"Way to Go Lumberina! You didn't land in the hospital once this year!" Love, Mom and Dad
"Great Dancin' my Dancin Girl" Love Mom, Dad, PimplePa, Gramplepus, ZantieAuntie, and the Dog
"We're proud of our Ballerina! Keep Chasing your Dreams....God knows we don't have any anymore"
Recital day arrives! The show begins and somewhere in that group of children on stage is your daughter, but you can't find her. Your wife is sitting on Row 3, she is stationed up front and ready with a loaded 18 wheeler full of costumes and accessories waiting to pounce backstage when the current routine ends so she can prepare your daughter for the next routine. However, because you did not want to arrive at the Recital 8 hours before the show started you cannot sit with your wife. No, as a Dad you sit a little further back, like in the next state. So you make use of powerful camera lenses to watch carefully as the various groups of small children come out on stage and:
Walk around aimlessly
Fall down at random
Get some serious wedgies corrected
Spend some quality time picking their nose
You eventually locate your daughter and.....here is where the "rabid recital mom syndrome" rubs off on you....you video her doing those things! Why do you video? You respond with "because she is doing them so much better than the other girls".
**I have to come clean and admit that once, during my daughter's recital, I took video of someone who I thought was my daughter, but was not. They were all dressed in yellow outfits with black hats. "How the hell could I tell the difference? They all look like 4 year old short banana's" was my only defense. "Maybe by recognizing your own daughter" was my older kids response. "Remind us never to go in a crowd with you Dad."
So, after several days and hundreds of routines, the recital ends and we get to go home and have a nice meal while continuing to heap praise on our daughter ("you got that wedgie out first try! good job!) until she gets bored and runs off to play on the Wii. My wife will spend endless hours looking at the Program, looking at the costumes, carefully packing up the myriad of accessories (hats, bows, gloves, glasses, bracelets, goggles, flippers, roman candles, and necklaces)....and then we get to start the whole thing over again....at the NEXT AGE LEVEL. Which will require more practice time because at this age "we try not to have them fall down as much."
People often times ask me why I drink.
Mom's Definition: Cute little girls showing off the adorable routines they have learned over the last year.
Dad's Definition: My daughter is dressed like a tiny little street walker.
Dance Recitals are held in large sports arenas, attended by moms and grandmothers who will kill you if you take their seat, and typically last 10 to 12 hours.
If you have NOT experienced such an event, let me walk you through this fun time.
Your daughter will have 'dance practice' roughly 1,356,238 times between August and May of any given year. Because the people who teach dance are space aliens without real jobs, these practices are scheduled at very convenient times like 4:30 to 6:11pm on Mon/Tue, 5:06 to 7:36 on Wed/Thur, 4:00 to 'whenever' on Fridays, and 6:00am to 7:00am on Saturday. Your daughter cannot miss a practice because if she does she will not know at what point during the 'routine' to run head first into the girl to her left while spinning out of control.
After each practice, the thoughtful alien teacher will say something like "Smotherina is doing better, when she falls down she doesn't hit her head on the floor anymore, and the other girls have learned not to step on her" As a parent, you are supposed to praise the child for this feat. They get 'atta girl' for falling down. I do the same thing after a bottle of Merlot and I get thrown out of the restaurant. So you praise them for falling, praise them for kicking the girl next to them, praise them for spinning out of control to the point they throw up, all in the hope they will "get the routine down" before the Recital.
Sometime in April, a note will arrive stapled to your daughter's dance bag. Oh yea, they have 'dance bags'. At the reasonable cost of $6,000 you can own a custom made dance bag. My daughter's dance bag is capable of holding 4 pairs of tights, 3 pairs of shorts, 3 t-shirts (festooned with colorful sayings like "we're dance-a-holics"), 2 undershirts, 4 pairs of socks, tap shoes, ballet shoes, jazz shoes, hair bands, hair clips, a hairbrush, several granola bars, several juice boxes, six geese-a-laying, seven swans-a-swimming, and a box of tissue. The note says:
KrippleKick Studios Invites You to Our Annual Recital
"Stop, Drop, and Roll"
June 3rd from 8:00am to Midnight.
Our costumes have been ordered. The deposit required is $50 - this due tomorrow.
The balance on the costumes of $6,800 is due the day after tomorrow.
So, after selling a few organs you pay the fee and the costumes arrive. Then there are the photographs. These take place a couple of weeks before the recital in order for parents to have time to repair the costumes destroyed while taking pictures. Beginning at 5:00am, rabid mothers bring their daughters to the studio in the back of a semi-trailer packed to the hilt with rouge, blush, hair spray, hair bows, eye liner, lipstick, baby powder, staple guns, hot glue guns, double sided tape, single sided tape, duct tape, allen wrenches, bobby pins, hair clips, industrial blow dryers (that, if properly aimed, could allow the Israelites to walk across the Red Sea again), hair straighteners, hair curlers, and snacks. After 11 hours of "prepping", the child will stand in front of the camera for 2.5 seconds, and close her eyes at the exact moment her photo is taken. "Next" the photographer will shout...."TAKE IT AGAIN" the rabid mom will screech.
After several attempts the photos are taken, the costume is removed because it needs washing after your child spilled Yoo-Hoo on it, and Mom and daughter head for home. Mom then waits for the photo's to be posted on a website. Mom pulls up the website and then shows Dad. Your child is dressed in one of the thousands of 'costumes' you have purchased.
The actual photo looks like this:
A Dad looks at the outfit and sees this:
"How could you dress her like that?" he will say angrily
"Who chose that costume? What's the name of the routine....'Street Walking?'"
"You're not ordering those, what the hell is wrong with that alien teacher?"
"It's cute" the wife will say. "What's wrong with the outfit....it's a dance outfit. There's nothing wrong with it. Good Grief, you are over-reacting"
After a few minutes, my wife agrees not to buy any of those particular shots...except for one copy because it is my daughter's favorite. We agree to purchase some of a different pose, for which we will pay $1100, plus another $500 to publish it in the Recital "Program". There's another thing....the "Program". 200 pages of little girls dressed "all cute" with notes that say:
"Way to Go Lumberina! You didn't land in the hospital once this year!" Love, Mom and Dad
"Great Dancin' my Dancin Girl" Love Mom, Dad, PimplePa, Gramplepus, ZantieAuntie, and the Dog
"We're proud of our Ballerina! Keep Chasing your Dreams....God knows we don't have any anymore"
Recital day arrives! The show begins and somewhere in that group of children on stage is your daughter, but you can't find her. Your wife is sitting on Row 3, she is stationed up front and ready with a loaded 18 wheeler full of costumes and accessories waiting to pounce backstage when the current routine ends so she can prepare your daughter for the next routine. However, because you did not want to arrive at the Recital 8 hours before the show started you cannot sit with your wife. No, as a Dad you sit a little further back, like in the next state. So you make use of powerful camera lenses to watch carefully as the various groups of small children come out on stage and:
Walk around aimlessly
Fall down at random
Get some serious wedgies corrected
Spend some quality time picking their nose
You eventually locate your daughter and.....here is where the "rabid recital mom syndrome" rubs off on you....you video her doing those things! Why do you video? You respond with "because she is doing them so much better than the other girls".
**I have to come clean and admit that once, during my daughter's recital, I took video of someone who I thought was my daughter, but was not. They were all dressed in yellow outfits with black hats. "How the hell could I tell the difference? They all look like 4 year old short banana's" was my only defense. "Maybe by recognizing your own daughter" was my older kids response. "Remind us never to go in a crowd with you Dad."
So, after several days and hundreds of routines, the recital ends and we get to go home and have a nice meal while continuing to heap praise on our daughter ("you got that wedgie out first try! good job!) until she gets bored and runs off to play on the Wii. My wife will spend endless hours looking at the Program, looking at the costumes, carefully packing up the myriad of accessories (hats, bows, gloves, glasses, bracelets, goggles, flippers, roman candles, and necklaces)....and then we get to start the whole thing over again....at the NEXT AGE LEVEL. Which will require more practice time because at this age "we try not to have them fall down as much."
People often times ask me why I drink.
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