Where's my AARP membership?

It's official folks - I am now that guy.

It's not like I purposely set out to be that guy. It wasn't my life long dream to become that guy. I actually tried my best to avoid becoming THAT guy.

It just sorta happened. Ya know, outta my control.

You see one minute I am a cool, with-it, got it going on, hot dad. I can roll with the punches and hang with the best of them. Then the next thing ya know, I am calling the cops on my nextdoor neighbors to shut down their Halloween festivities.

I have become THAT guy.

Was it that the my darling 17 month old could not sleep? Not in the least bitl. She was dead to the world enjoying her dreams of ponies and princesses or whatever else captivates a 17 month old's brain. She could have cared less that a bunch of twenty somethings were raging next door. She was clueless.

It was me.

I was the one annoyed. It had been a long week full of meetings, deadlines, colds and problems. I wanted to sleep but the music and rumble of laughter and fun was keeping me from getting my beauty rest.

So I did it.

That's right. I did it. I called 311, they patched me to 911 and I called the cops. I played the Grinch that tried to steal Halloween.

Now I am THAT GUY. And all I feel is old. Guess it's time for my AARP membership?

The Zombie Plan: A Hot Dad's Guide

Do you have a plan for when the zombies attack?

Please, people...don’t tell me that Halloween is the only time of the year that you think about zombies and the undead. C’mon now...surely you must realize that zombies that bring havoc to the land of the living at any time of the year. What will you do when it happens? Where will you go if you’re being chased by flesh-eating beings? How will you survive the impending apocalypse?

Well...I’ve got a plan. It’s not perfect, it’s not absolute, but it’s a plan. In fact, my girlfriend was a bit taken aback at knowing that I actually had a plan in place. Well...she’s gonna be in a world of hurt if she doesn’t at least have an escape route in the back of her mind.

So because you never know if somebody who will eventually be a zombie on my trail will read this (and use it to catch me later....duh!!), I’m not going to provide my detailed plan here. No, instead I’m going to help all of you by providing some very important tips on how to stay alive during a zombie apocalypse:

• Find water. I don’t know about you, but I have yet to see a movie where zombies could do ANYTHING involving water. So find a boat...a life raft, even...and seriously consider going to the nearest island to wait out the storm (so to speak). Of course, if this island has only trees and bugs then you might be in a bit of a jam when it comes to staying alive, so you might need more than just a boat in order to stay alive. Of course, if you don’t live anywhere close to water then you’re probably screwed if this plan is followed.
• Find weapons. Lots of ‘em. Guns...explosives...machetes...anything that can blow something up or cut something off. You’ll need it. Just remember there are only two places you can focus your attack on: the head and the knees. Everybody knows that zombies eat brains. The flip side of that is the fact that zombies will actually “die” if you destroy their brain. So always try to aim for the head each and every time. Of course, if the head isn’t an option then go for the knees. Why? You can out-run a zombie with only one leg. Trust me.
• Find a mall. Not only are there a LOT of resources there that are available for you in order to survive (food...water...those shoes you saw on Sex & the City), but there are normally a LOT of places to hide from the undead hordes that might be coming after you. Obviously, there may be some drawbacks like the distinct possibility that more and more zombies might surround the mall because it’s where they used to congregate when they were alive...but for the most part you’re probably in a pretty safe spot. BONUS: Pick a mall with a Wal-Mart or some outdoor specialty store for easier access to zombie-destroying weapons.
• Find old people. This may sound crass and horrific, but let’s face it: you don’t want to die, AMIRITE?? Do you really think a zombie cares if they’re chewing on flesh from somebody who’s 20 or 80? Nah. If you’re being chased by some flesh-eaters, your best bet is planning an escape route that runs past a senior citizen’s home. You may frown now, but you’ll thank me later.
• Find a remote area. Listen...most of the zombie hordes will spend weeks (possibly months) eating on the yummy flesh within the urban areas and cities. So if you live on a farm or in a suburban area, you’re probably in better shape than you think. Is it free of zombies? Well of course not...but it’s still better than being in a city where the undead will breed faster than Octomom in a sperm-donor clinic.
• Find a way to stay alive for 5 years. The suggestion is that bacteria will have eaten away at the zombies to the point that they cannot actually “survive” after 4-6 years. So if there has been a “zombie war” and you have found a way to self-sustain, then you’ve got a great chance at long-term survival.

Hey...I’m no expert. I’m sure there are ‘official’ websites and books out there that can tell you, in detail, what you need to know in order to completely survive the zombie apocalypse.

But don’t let the Halloween talk make you think this is the only time of the year that you need to think of a plan. Any good dad has a good zombie plan.

It’s just a given, isn’t it?

The Peace Corps

By TentCamper

This friend of mine joined the Peace Corps a few years ago. He was a young guy and wanted to do something special…something for others. He was soon sent off to some desert area near Egypt for his first mission (or whatever they call it) to help build school houses and teach children in need. What a great guy. Smart, loving, dedicated, honest and giving.

Anyway, when he returned we got together for a few beers and to talk about his “journey.” After he had downed more than a pitcher, he began telling me a story that I don’t think he ever intended on telling anyone…but I just sat there nodding my head…and listening.

The story goes as follows:

“So once I got to the desert Corps camp, I was shown into the camp manager’s office. He had me sit down and proceeded to go over all of the rules, timelines, jobs, personnel, etc. When he was done he showed me to my bunk house. I got my stuff situated and joined up with the rest of the workers and started on my journey to help those in need. After a few weeks, I noticed (out of nothing more than my manly urges) that there were no women at the camp. I brought it up to one of my co-workers who said that due to the local customs, women were not allowed to work here and that I should go talk about it with the camp manager. I was a bit embarrassed so I did nothing about it at the time. After a few more weeks, the urges were getting pretty bad and the sleeping quarters and showers were not conducive for pleasuring my self. I decided to bite the bullet and go talk to the camp manager about it.

I went into the office and told the camp manager that I’d been there for more than 6 weeks and was wondering if there were any women that were around…I was getting pretty frustrated and kind of wanted some release. The manager looked at me and said, “Well…around the back of the office…there is a camel…” I cut him off there and said, “Thanks but I’ll be ok.” And I bolted from the office.

It was about a month later when I went back to the office, basically clutching my groin…as if I were going to explode. I told the manager, again, about my situation and he once again said, “OK, there is a camel in the barn behind this building and that is what most of the guys here use…” I cut him off again and ran from the office…thinking about how nasty that would be…especially after all off these other guys…fuck that!

Now I had been there for 3 and a half months…I ran into the manager’s office, with duress on my face. I sternly asked about that camel. He pointed out the back window to the barn. I ran out the door and around to the barn. After grabbing a stool from the side of the barn and placing it behind the tied up camel, I jumped up on the stool, ripped my pants down, lifted the camel’s tail and ….OH MY GOD! I have to say that it did not take me long at all. It did not even really click that it was a camel until after…and at that point…I didn’t care.

I ran back into the manager’s office, with a huge grin on my face and said, “That was great!...Can I do that whenever I want?” The manager looked at me with the strangest eyes that I’d ever seen and said, “what the hell are you talking about? What happened?” I told him that I grabbed a stool from the side of the barn and placed it behind the tied up camel, I jumped up on the stool, ripped my pants down, lifted the camel’s tail and …you know. The manager, let his head fall into his hands and then, after a few seconds, looked up at me with a shitty grin and said to me, “Holy shit boy! Most of the guys get the camel and ride it into the town about 20 miles east of here!”

That was my last day at that camp…I insisted on being transferred to a completely different region where I finished out my 6 months...from that point on…I decided to wait til I got back to the states to get laid.” I have to say that I really hope that this story was not true…I never brought it up with him again, but these days I’m thinking that he’s not as smart as I used to think he was.

A Day That Will Live On Forever

I don’t want to sound like I am beating an old, worn out drum, but I have to throw this out at you all.

This past Sunday was my son’s 8th birthday and both of my boys were with Mariah and I for the weekend.

We have been very excited about this birthday weekend and have been throwing around ideas about what to do for him and what to get him. I know that we talked about taking him rock climbing and buying him a ‘big boy bike’ on Twitter and our blogs. Now this post has two connected, but separate parts.

First of all, as some of you already know, my EX is a blogger and is also on Twitter. I know that she (and or her friends) read/monitor pretty much everything that Mariah and I say while online (and I know I should be more careful about what I say…but I really don’t care if she knows what I am saying.) That being said, I have been confronted by her regarding misinterpreted things that I’ve said and done, and she has brought them to her lawyer and into court. Still…the bottom line is that I know that I am a good father. I know that I have a safe and secure home. I know that the children in this house are very well cared for….and I know that she just wants to feel in control or that she is better than I am. The fact that she and her friends lurk around our blogs and Twitter updates and are too embarrassed or feeble to show their faces …says a little something about all of their characters. (*so ‘other side’ when you read this please feel free to comment and state your opinion ‘like a man.’)

Secondly…We decided to buy a big boy bike (two wheeler) for my son for his birthday. He has mentioned to me that he does not have one and does not know how to ride one. (Personally, I think that every kid (especially boys) should have the opportunity to learn to ride a bike by 5 or 6.) Anyway, I do not know what the reasoning is for why his mother never bought him a bike or encouraged the ‘nanny’ to teach him….but I am glad now. One of the best feelings in the world was getting this bike for him, taking him across the street to the school yard and teaching him to ride like the wind.

After getting to the playground I held the back of his seat while spouting out all of my words of wisdom that pertain to learning to ride a bike; “Always look straight in front of you. Pedal a bit faster. Hold your body up straight. If you feel you are going to fall…put your feet down. Don’t be afraid to fall. Did I tell you how many times I crashed learning to ride?” and the list went on and on. Within no more than 10 minutes, he was riding all by himself. I was amazed…but not nearly as amazed as he was. He told me on the way to the school that he was scared and did not know if he could do it. His face was glowing all day long. by his attitude and the expression on his face...this was far better than a free pass at a candy or toy store. He was so proud of himself. Little mini me could just be the XGames 2018 winner. He definitely got an A+ from this bike instructor.

This I know for sure…neither he nor I will ever forget the fact that we did this together. From my past and from this experience…I know that for a father and son, this is what it is all about.

When their mother came to pick them up, he was so excited to show her that he could now ride a bike…he jumped on and burned rubber all the way down the block and back. Upon his return, she looked at him and said, “Wow…great…cuz a bike is exactly what someone else got you for your birthday.” My son also had mentioned to me that his mother was having a rock climbing party for him. (see BOLD statements above)

I don’t worry though…the first learning how to ride a bike and dad teaching is one thing that even his mother will never be able to take from either one of us…though she may try.

A Porn Story

Watching two people have sex in front of a camera isn’t nearly as exciting as you’d think. I know this because I was in a porn movie. I was just out of college and when the opportunity to earn a little extra cash came up, I jumped at the chance. I kept my clothes on. I was an extra.

One Saturday morning a long time ago, my buddy called me and asked if I wanted to be an extra at a porn shoot. Much like when somebody asks you if you’re a god, when somebody asks if you want to be on the set of a porn movie, you say “yes.” They were paying $50 cash, which for a broke recent-college graduate without a full time job was a decent payday. My friend and I were soon on our way to some gaudy mansion in Glendale to begin our careers in the porn industry.

The movie being shot that day was the sweeping epic tale of legendary lover Rudolph Valentino. Yes, it was a period piece. Not that the crew seemed overly concerned with the accuracy of the time period. I’m pretty sure the casual observer can see more than a few wrist watches in some shots. It was immediately clear that this was not the production of one of established porn producers. Running the show was a trio of aging Italian men. The star of the film was their studly young nephew, who was reminiscent of a thinner, better looking Fabio and could barely speak English. He wandered around the set in a daze asking his uncles in broken English, “Fuck? Fuck yet?”

My buddy and I filmed our scene in the morning and spent the rest of the day hanging out, eating junk food. Telltale signs like empty bottles of KY let us know that they had been filming at this house for a few days. We were told that they were shooting the day’s only sex scene in the afternoon and we were welcome to stick around, which we were planning on doing anyway.

A few hours later, we gathered in the back of an upstairs bedroom to watch the action. There were about fifteen guys in the room, mostly the crew and a few assorted perverts like my friend and me. Finally, they called action. And it was startling.

I no longer think that most porn stars can’t act. The weird thing about watching a porn scene live is the undeniable fact that it’s artificial. The Italian Stud certainly had the equipment for the job, but lacked the stamina so they had to keep stopping the scene before it was over too soon. The woman was screaming in ecstasy, only to stop on a dime when they called “cut”, leaving an empty silence in the room that remained until they started filming again and she picked right back up where she had left off. It was quite a performance, but standing in that room there wasn’t anything titillating about it. The whole thing was oddly uncomfortable. After staring slack jawed for about half an hour, my buddy and I decided we had seen enough. We collected our cash and met our friends in a bar to tell the tale.

A few months after the shoot, I tried to find the movie but came up empty. Years later, I was relaying the story to a friend and not more than an hour later, he sends me an email with the link to buy the DVD.

It’s a really bad porn. It actually fails on every level from the awful story to the mundane sex scenes. But in one scene, when Rudy is standing on line waiting to hear about a job, you can see three quarters of my face, giving the performance of a lifetime. The movie has surely not gone down as a classic, but it was my movie debut and we all gotta start somewhere.

-DGB

The Pauli Girl Was Nice, But...

I do not remember for sure the first time I ever had a beer, when I was growing up. I know it must have been sometime around when I was 15 years old, typical adolescent hijinks and skullduggery involved to “score some brewskis”. I know it was with a group of my friends, my drinking buddies, if such a thing could be said of kids who were years away from being able to legally drink. We didn’t have much money then, and even less common sense, so the emphasis was on whatever we could get. My buddies drank Budweiser; I was the holdout for Pabst Blue Ribbon (in bottles, thank you very much). We didn’t much care, as long as it was there.

I do remember the first time I became aware of how much I liked beer, and it happened on a late summer evening, sitting at a picnic table with a bottle of PBR in my hand. I remember sitting there picking at the label and joking with my friends, watching the sun go down behind the trees and houses across the road. I titled that bottle back and swallowed a big mouthful: it hit me that this tasted so good, I couldn’t believe it. I wanted more, but not so much to get drunk. The buzz was certainly sought after, but I just really dug the taste, the slightly stinging bitterness, the faint sweet taste of the malt. Although I certainly wouldn’t have been able to describe it that way at the time; I didn’t know anything about it. It took years and a lot more beer before I knew what really was in it. But I never forgot that first moment of illumination.

It was also about the same time that I had my very first kiss. I very clearly remember that moment. It also happened while sitting on a bench, on a fall afternoon, in a park not too far from my boyhood home. My best friend and I, along with our girlfriends, had gone for a walk in the park to “get some fresh air” (wink, nudge). There was a little pond there next to a garden amongst some very tall pine trees, with benches scattered about. We were walking around in the garden and my friend, being more forward thinking in these matters, quickly made a beeline for a more secluded section of the garden, girlfriend in tow. Before I knew it, I lost track of them, leaving me alone with HER.

Not knowing what else to do, we found a bench and sat down, close together and barely touching. It was like we thought we would explode if our bodies came into contact, matter and anti-matter. But contact was inevitable; the gravitational pull was too strong. We held hands and watched some squirrels, sitting there in the afternoon sun, and then it happened.

Ka-BLAM. I think we turned to each other intending to say something but the momentum just carried us right into a kiss. Just like that. I was so stunned (and dizzy) that all I could think to do was to put my arm around her and just keep on kissing. Which we did. To the point of not being able to breathe.

For the shy, dorky kid that I was (and in some ways, still am) that moment was transcendental. I had never done anything so intimate, so personal, so physically intoxicating, in my life to that point. I still recall the golden light from the sun, her hair swirling around my face and tickling my cheeks and the sheer heart-racing power of being so close to a female who seemed to like me too. To quote Monty Python, from The Martyrdom of St. Victor:

“…but on the sixteenth day, he cried out, saying “This is FANTASTIC! OH, this is TERRIFIC!”

And it was. I was dizzy, I was swooning, and I felt drunk. The irony of it is, she and I broke up not too long after that. Even so, the taste of strawberry lip gloss never really left me after that day, much like the taste of barley malt swallowed on a summer eve. For me the first beer and the first kiss had a lot in common. They both opened my eyes to a larger world of possibilities, awakening my senses to delightful things previously unknown. They both impressed upon me the ecstasy and the agony of pleasure, making it clear that in drinking deep of certain things one must be very careful not to lose control.

They made me aware of the power of touch, taste, smell.

The secret to enjoying a beer or a kiss, really, really enjoying I mean, is to approach each one as if it were the first you ever had.

But, seriously? If I could have the opportunity to do one again, I’d take the first kiss over the first beer, any day…both may make you warm and fuzzy but a kiss is the stuff of life, my friends, the stuff of life…