Monday, August 31, 2009

Talk about a HOT BLOG!!!!

I am not going to bore you with any of my typical nonsense, that you might find floating around the top of my posts, today. I will only say that I am thrilled with the community of bloggers that we have gathered here at Hot Dads.

First of all, I’d like to welcome our two newest Hot Dads…..(hear that freaking drum roll?) …

OnlyAman of
SingleDadLife of

Both of these guys bring a wealth of knowledge to our Hot-Ass blog, but they also bring with them stories of their lives, families, experiences…and MANLINESS!

Please show them your love (and pressure them to put some posts up here) and give em a pat on the back…or kiss on the cheek for stepping up and hangin with the cool crowd. ..let the testosterone fly!!!!

Secondly (but by far more importantly) we have added some new HOT MAMAs!!!!!

One of my jobs…and one that I hate, is that I have to roam the blogosphere, lurking around all of the mommy blogs…looking for select hotties to invite to be Hot Mamas. I know, this job sucks!

Now, I have emailed 7 MILFs mommy bloggers that I think would make excellent Hot Mamas, but so far only 4 have responded. Is that a sign saying, “Yeah right TentCamper…like I want to be on your freakin list….F off!” or did I send to the wrong email, it was over the weekend and they have not unburied it yet? I don’t know.

Regardless…without further rambling, I’d like to present you with the newest 4 Hot Mamas!!!

ZenMom - OneZenMom
ChurchPunkMom - EmbellishedTruthAndPoliteFiction
Becks – Becky’s Blog
Mindy – Single Mom Says

You lucky ladies now get to sit on the proverbial board of directors of MILFyness, up there with queen MainicMariah (our first Hot Mama …and my woman)…
Shout your stories and we will listen.
Ask your questions and we will answer.
Beg for love and we will come.
Send us hot photos…and we will …stare.

(Take this badge, slap it on and you will be forever known as a Hot Mama!)

Now…as stated above, I selected several others; Time Flies, Suburban Musings, PooBou…who have not gotten back to me yet…go out there and give em some shit for me…will ya?!

Lastly, there is one mommy blogger that I could not find an email address for and I think she would make a great Hot Mama…so if you are out there Danielle – Mid Life Mommy (or have friends reading this) please drop me an email at TentCamper1 AT gmail DOT com

***Question: What do you Hot Mamas think about a reverse of the Ask Hot Dads, supposed, Monday posts? We would chose a few of you (randomly of course) and ask you to answer a series of questions from us.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Sunday Slides, Caption Contest

Well a few funny pics and see who can come up with the best caption on the last one!

1. Reckon what the 09' version is?

2. Here on Hotdads it is expected!

3. Lol, this tickled me!

Well here ya go, give it a caption and well see who has the best one! As many as you'd like suits us!

Hope your Sunday is relaxing!

Friday, August 28, 2009

Friday Funnies

Well I thought I'd send y'all to the weekend with some funnies!

Love Letters

A husband wrote the following letter for his wife and left it on the dining room table:

'To My Dear Wife, You will surely understand that I have certain needs that you, being 54 years old, can no longer satisfy. I am very happy with you, and I value you as a good wife. Therefore, after reading this letter I hope you will not wrongly interpret the fact that I will be spending the evening with my 18-year-old secretary at the Comfort Inn Hotel. Please don't be upset I shall be back home before midnight.'

When the man came home late that night he found the following letter on the dining room table:


'To My Dear Husband, I received your letter and thank you for your honesty about my being 54 years old. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that you are also 54 years old. As you know, I am a math teacher at our local college. I would like to inform you that while you're at the Comfort Inn, I will be at the Hotel Fiesta with Michael, one of my students, who is also the assistant tennis coach. He is young, virile, and like your
secretary, he is 18 years old. As a successful businessman with an excellent knowledge of math, you will understand that we are in the same situation, although with one small difference; 18 goes into 54 a lot more times than 54 goes into 18.

Therefore I will not be home until sometime tomorrow.'

hehehehe mean ole woman!


An older gentleman had an appointment to see the urologist who shared offices with several other doctors. The waiting room was filled with patients.

As he approached the receptionist's desk, he noticed that the receptionist was a large unfriendly woman who looked like a
Sumo wrestler.
He gave her his name.
In a very loud voice, the receptionist said,
4All the patients in the waiting room snapped their heads around to look at the very embarrassed man.
He recovered quickly, and in an equally loud voice replied,


If you don't love at least one Redneck Thinker you oughta!

Subject: Foolproof security system: I LOVE THIS.
Only time this doesn't work is when the intruders are illiterate.


1. Go to a secondhand store and buy a pair of men's used size 14-16 work boots.

2. Place them on your front porch, along with several empty beer cans, a copy of Guns & Ammo magazine, and several NRA magazines.

3. Put a few giant dog dishes next to the boots and magazines.

4. Leave a note on your door that reads:
Hey Bubba, Big Jim, and Duke

Slim and I went to the gun shop for more ammunition. Back in an hour. Don't mess with the pit bulls--they attacked the mailman this morning and messed him up real bad. I don't think Killer took part in it, but it was hard to tell from all the blood.
PS--I locked all four of 'em in the house. Better wait outside.


Redneck Security Company

I hope y'all have a big ole weekend!! I think I posted in Sageville and on the relationship blog Real World Mars Vs Venus. Check those out if you are bored!!!

Thursday, August 27, 2009

I'm an Ass, Man

Hey, wait a sec. Who stuck that comma in the title? This was supposed to be a post about how I’m an Ass Man. How I love the backside of a woman’s body. How you can tell things about a woman from her butt, like whether she works out, and how sexy she is. (All inspired by the Hot Dads post, MILFy is... Hot Boobs or a Great Ass?)

With a comma in the title, how am I supposed to wax poetic about Kim Kardashian’s derriere?

Sigh. I guess I’ll roll with the punches, and write about how I’m an ass. (All you Dad’s House readers quit snickering! Self-deprecation is a good thing.)

I’m an ass because… in the Mai Tai recipe I posted on my blog, I said to use 4 parts rum to 1 part amaretto. Some poor reader commented that he made the drink with 4 jiggers of rum. That’s 6-8 oz of booze in one drink! The concoction was so alcohol loaded, he feared a cocktail fire might break out. My bad for giving a ratio without a measurement. Clearly, if I’d said “one part is 2/3 oz.”, he would have made the perfect tropical drink, and I wouldn’t be an ass.

I'm an ass because... I once left such a cheeky comment on QTMama's blog, she was compelled to delete it! No, QT is not a communist China censor. She's a lovely single mom blogger who happens to have a boyfriend now. In an effort to be funny, I crossed a line, and she'd have nothing of it. (Good for her!) Clearly, if I'd written a comment that was more sensitive (and boring! haha), I wouldn't be an ass. (Does that 'boring' crack make me an ass, twice again? Doh!)

I’m an ass because… I blog about reality TV stars Jon and Kate Gosselin from the show Jon and Kate Plus 8, asking where do Jon and Kate Gosselin live (in denial!), and pondering what the future may hold for the family after a Jon and Kate divorce. One Dad’s House reader said I had no business judging Jon and Kate.Look, I’m not judging them. Heck, I’m divorced too. I’m merely using their much-publicized actions as a springboard for opinionated debate about divorce and single parenting. Clearly, if I’d started my own reality TV show and gotten as famous as them, I could have kept blogging about my own life, and I wouldn’t be an ass.

I’m an ass because… I once sent dirty text messages to a woman I hadn’t yet met. Hey, we met online. We simply hadn’t yet had our first date. Problem is, if you heat things up too quickly, the whole dating thing can spontaneously combust. Besides, she started it! Clearly, if I’d kept my text messages clean, she and I would be happily dating right now, and I wouldn’t be an ass. (At least I didn't send sexy text messages to a lover on a prepaid go phone hidden from a spouse, like one Dad's House reader found his wife doing. If you haven't read that post, you need to.)

I'm an ass because... when Mindy Mom visited San Francsico and we met for lunch, I picked her and her 3-year-old daughter up at their hotel, drove four blocks to North Beach, then spent 15 minutes trying to find parking, which resulted in us driving four more blocks to the far side of North Beach, then walking back to get a bite. (Follow all that?) Clearly, if I'd looked at a map, or had a clue about that part of San Francsico, we could have enjoyed a lovely stress-free stroll from her hotel to the restaurant, and I wouldn't be an ass.

I’m an ass because… the margarita recipe that I love so much came from my favorite Mexican restaurant. It was a huge reason I went there weekly to eat. And now that I know how they fix that drink (served with rocks and salt, amigo!), I can make those margaritas at home, which means I don’t eat at their restaurant quite so often anymore (what an ass!). (The food is excellent there, btw. But it’s a down economy, and I need to cut back somehow.) Clearly, if I’d drunk more shots of Herradura Anejo tequila and didn’t write down that tequila brand name when I was there, I’d still be drinking margaritas at their restaurant every week, and I wouldn’t be an ass.

I’m an ass because… I’m the Hot Dad who stuck that comma in the title. I thought it would be clever fun to write a post like this. Clearly, if I’d left the comma out, this post would be plastered with pictures of Kim Kardashian’s booty, and I wouldn’t be an ass.

(At least I snuck a pic in....)

Image from flickr by fotos, some rights reserved CC BY-NC 2.0.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Visit to the Vault, by Russ

After being awoken by an attractive young lady, who is not my wife (she was ringing the doorbell, not nudging me), I was left to start the day a touch wild eyed. (I don't know who the lady was looking for, to my knowledge, the person has never lived here. However, she is the second person who has come here looking for this person.)

I waited until TV time was over to get the kids out and moving. Specifically, moving to the bank (with the promise of the library if they behaved). I had to hit the safety deposit box to review some paperwork therein.

So we arrive at the bank and I gain access to the vault (not nearly as impressive as it sounds). Mr. B starts quietly throwing his balls all over the vault and Miss L is removing all the little green markers from the keyholes of the boxes. Some bank teller is not going to be happy.

I let the kids run wild in the vault while I filter through the crap that the Wife and I deemed important. I managed to put my hands on my Life Insurance policy fairly quickly and copied down the needed info. Some notes on the application led me to believe that I have more policies. Policies that I could not find.

There I find myself with three piles of paperwork, My Stuff, Wife's Stuff, and Other. Mr. B decided that now is a great time to announce, "Me go Poopy!" (At least we are alone in the vault.) My first fear is that he was referring to poopy in the past tense. Since there was no green cloud about him, we were safe for the moment. Now, I have to pack up all the paperwork and lock up my box to take Mr. B to the toilet.

So we are wandering about the bank looking for the facilities. Mind you, this is a pretty small branch, it should not be hard to find it. After searching frantically for a few minutes, I enlisted the help of an employee.

It seems that, to dissuade rabble from coming in off the street, they have no public restrooms. I told the employee fine, but I have a three year old who just pulled me from the safety deposit box room to go poopy. (Yes, I said "poopy", I must be a Dad.) The employee took pity on me and told me where it was.

We get to the bathrooms and Mr. B bolts for the ladies room. Fortunately one of the tellers was leaving at the moment and was able to redirect him. Upon entering the mens room, we ensconced ourselves in the handicapped stall (more room for everybody). The toilet seat, per usual in a public facility, was the split kind. Mr. B had never sat on one of those before. Add to it that I didn't pack his children's toilet seat (with handy dandy splash guard!) and I was left to cantilever my son on the commode while my hand got to play the role of "splash guard".

Ahh, the shit they don't tell you about becoming a parent.

Speaking of shit, there was none. I got my hand pissed on for nothing.

Oh well, I was able to finish up in the vault and get the kids to the library.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Crossing the Streams

My life, for the most part, is compartmentalized. I have three distinct areas--work, friends and online. My friends are not a part of my working life and my online life is completely segregated from my real life. There are a handful of people in my life who know that I write as Daddy Geek Boy. On line, I write a few blogs and am a regular member in a parenting community called Offsprung. But very few of my readers and acquaintances know me by anything more than my internet handle. However on occasion, there are times when the streams get crossed and one of my worlds bleeds into another.

Blogging is a strange thing. There are thousands of blogs on the interwebs and one of the things I find most fascinating is how small communities of bloggers tend to develop. The same people start to read and comment on each other's blogs. Sometimes these relationships migrate from these postings to places like Facebook and Twitter. And sometimes, you learn that these "virtual" people you have been connecting with live nearby. Before you know it, you've made plans to meet in person and the line between the internet and reality blurs.

This is how I found myself spending an evening in front of a fire pit drinking beer in the backyard of the original Hot Dad, Tent Camper, and his partner in crime, Mariah.

There is an established familiarity when you meet a blogger who's work you've read. You know their voice and you know their stories and you know about the people who populate their lives. It's a nice shorthand that cuts through the awkwardness of the beginning stages of a new friendship.

There were a few other people around the fire that night and as we were telling them how we all knew each other, somebody asked Tent Camper how did he know that I wasn't a lunatic and could be trusted in his home. Tent Camper's response was that he didn't. But he had a feeling I was okay. The same could be said about them. You never truly know who somebody is until you meet them in real life. But even though one's online persona isn't always exactly who they are in reality, if a person writes honestly you have a pretty good barometer.

It didn't surprise me to learn that Tent Camper and Mariah were just as warm, affable and cool as they are on line. We had a fantastic evening and each left wanting to do it again. They are good bloggers but more importantly, good people.

Sometimes it pays off to cross the streams.

So what about you? Have you met anyone from the blogging world in real life? If so, did they meet your expectations?

Monday, August 24, 2009

How Do You Get Around After They Blow Up The Death Star?

Sunday, August 23, 2009

How to send your child to the ER and feel good as a result!

We're on the living room floor, rough-housing and generally being silly. Princess Persistent and Darling Boy are taking turns playing "let's tackle daddy", despite Veronica's entreaties that we stop since it's nearing the kids bedtime and they really need to settle down. PP escapes my grasp, moves to run away, and I gently give her a push on the shoulder.

Forgetting, of course, that gentle to a 195 lb man is a little different than to a 40 lb 3 yr old.

She loses her balance, trips over a throw pillow on the floor, and goes face first into the corner of the coffee table.

Immediately, the crying starts and by the time she stands up and looks at mean old dad, the rivulet of blood has run from the corner of her left eye all the way down to the collar of her pajamas. But facial cuts can bleed pretty bad and I'm not too worried. I pull her close and work on calming her down while heading to the bathroom to assess the damage and staunch the bleeding. I get a close look and turn to Veronica, who has joined us by now, saying "So, who wants to take her to the ER, you or me?" There is a nice, deep split just to the outside edge of her left eye-brow that if it was elsewhere on her body we could probably deal with ourselves. But this is our pretty little princesses face! Veronica says that she'll take her and I can work on getting DB to bed.

You wanna know how much of a trooper my girl is? They get to the ER, decide she'll need 2-3 stitches and apply some lidocaine cream to numb the area. This needs about 30 minutes to take effect, so Veronica cuddles PP in her arms while they wait. And PP falls asleep. And stays asleep with the physician puts in 3 stitches! And continues to sleep for the trip out to the car, the drive home, getting carried into the house and all through the night!

Isn't she cute? [Yes, I took a picture of the damage I caused!]

12 days later, it's time to take her to the pediatrician to have the stitches removed and due to work schedules, I take her. Of course, before we get there I coach PP that "My daddy pushed me" may not be the best answer when the doctor asked what happened. No need to get child protective services involved!

The doc and I make small talk while he's looking at how the wound is healing and I'm telling him what happened. And no, I didn't sugarcoat the story!

God bless him, you know what his response was to my story?

"It's not the kids that get the occasional stitches or broken bone that I worry about. It's the kids who go through childhood without those little injuries that worry me. They're not having fun!"

What a wonderful attitude to have. And exactly what I needed to hear!!

Friday, August 21, 2009


My son has been going through some mild bullying in pre-school. For the most part, he seems to shrug it off, but every now and again he complains about being hit on the head with a toy shovel or being pushed. He still likes the kid who is aggressive with him, but I can tell that it sometimes bothers him.

I wasn't bullied a whole lot growing up. I was only in one true fist fight. I was threatened by a thug with a knife one other time. I mostly had run ins with boys who saw me as a meek and easy target and attacked my psychologically. But I don't think my experience was anything more than typical. Nonetheless, there were a lot of times where I felt like an outcast. I was lonely and felt ignored. There were times when I was supremely unhappy. Enough so that my teachers called my parents in for a conference or two.

I've been thinking a lot about this time in my life while WonderWife™ and I have tried to figure out how to best handle my son's situation. As much as I want to protect him from being hurt, is that the best course of action? The world is not always easy and people are not always nice. There is nothing that is ever going to change that. So it is better to be bullied than not at all? Running afoul of somebody can teach an important lesson in survival. It can teach you how to adapt.

To be clear, I'm not talking about severe bullying--the cases you read about. I'm am not talking about those kids who have been bullied to the point of suicide. Or beaten within an inch of their lives. I'm talking about the inevitable brushes with people that I'm sure most of us have experienced.

Learning to rise above adversity is a good lesson, but it's a hard one to learn. And it's a hard one to watch your kid go through. But when I stop to think about my life, I would not change those turbulent times for anything. They made me stronger.

So is it better to be bullied than not bullied at all?

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Double Blind Date Coercion

by Trooper Thorn

With the weekend coming, you might want to check out my review of G.I. Joe:

Thank you to all the readers who commented on my post "What if You Knew It Was the Last Time?" It was very cathartic to write it and see the events laid out chronologically. You have all been very supportive.

On a more positive note, this weekend marks the First Anniversary of the night I met the woman who has turned everything around for me. The circumstances of our "First Date" were unusual, so I have turned it into a short story. Enjoy.

Double Blind Date Coercion
“Want to meet tomorrow for a beer?” Stanford asked. “We can bitch about our Ex’s.” To this point, the phone call had given Trooper no reason to be suspicious. Stanford’s wife had moved out a few months before, which was no surprise. The two had never been well suited and Stanford had called him before to blow of some “Separation Steam”.

“Sounds good. I’ll call you after work,” Trooper replied before hanging up. A night out would be good. Trooper’s kids were in back East, so he had no commitments, plus he had long ago given up hope of reconciling with his ex-wife. Far from it in fact. He was at that moment, unbeknownst to her, working with a lawyer to get divorced as quickly as possible. Trooper had plenty of reasons and was more than willing to share them with Stanford over a pint or two, or three.

The next evening, Trooper called Stanford on his cell as he left the office.

“I just finished a work out and figured you must be about ready,” he said slowing down for a red light.

“Sure, why don’t you come here for a beer first,” answered Stanford. “Then we’ll go to The Goose.”

“Great.” The Goose and Gun had been their pub of choice during school. It occurred to Trooper that starting over often meant reliving some of the good things from youth. Not a second childhood exactly, but a picking and choosing of some adolescent irresponsibility. “I’m about 15 minutes from you now.”

“It’s a double date and the girls won’t be there until 8 anyway.”

The light changed and Trooper hit the gas.

“Oh, fuck. Stanford I don’t want to do that.”

“C’mon Thorn. You need to do this. I need to get laid.”

He was driving faster now. This was not pressure he was at all prepared for.

“No I mean I don’t want to do this. I have not done any dating and have no intention of doing any.” He paused. “How do you know these women anyway?”

“Craigslist!” Stanford boasted.

“Oh, now I really don’t want to do this. Craigslist?” The engine whined reminding him to shift gears. “They are either hookers or psychos. Or both.”

“No, no,” Stanford said somewhat unrealistically. “They are a couple nice ladies who are just looking to meet a couple of nice guys and have a drink and get out of the house.”

“And you know this how?”

“That’s what the ad said.”

Every instinct told him to bail on this now. No idea Stanford ever had had benefited Trooper in anyway, and most had gotten him in trouble. But he knew he could never withstand Stanford’s particular brand of shamed-based peer pressure. Plus his own curiosity about the impending train wreck was quickly getting the better of him.

“Okay. It’d be rude to cancel now.”

Stanford was delighted. “That’s the spirit. See you in a few minutes.”

Trooper hung up the phone and could feel the unfamiliar jolt of excitement. It had been a very long time since he went anywhere to meet a woman for something other than business. And there was nothing wrong with that.

His Ex-wife was in Vancouver doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who. In fact only God knew how many times she had done God-knows-what with any number of God-knows-whos.
The front door was open when Trooper arrived at Stanford’s.

“Beer’s in the fridge!” Stanford shouted from upstairs.

Sitting down on the couch, Trooper sipped a beer and watched the highlights from the days baseball games. He told himself it wasn’t really a date and there was nothing to be nervous about. After five election campaigns, he had the game to charm strangers, even internet site ones, and the alcohol would only help.

Stanford appeared with is beer, bathed and wearing what was likely the cleanest of his wrinkled, dirty clothes.


Trooper rose from the couch and swallowed the last three mouthfuls. “Yup”.

“Let’s take your car. But plan for the four of us to take a cab later.”

“Understood, however unlikely that might be.”

Stanford shut his door and buckled his seat belt. “Now don’t start with the negative. You never could pick up girls.”

“I don’t want to pick up girls.” Trooper pulled onto the street and headed downtown. “We’re just going for a few beers.”

Stanford poked him in the shoulder. “But if things go well for me, I don’t want you wrecking it by starting to get all sad about your marriage.”

“I won’t. I’m not sad.”

“Or quoting lines from ‘The Three Amigos’. Man you were the worst closer ever.”

Trooper began looking for a parking space.

“I don’t need your help. True, I was lousy back then, but I’d do okay now – if I wanted to. I’m gainfully employed, no addictions and I have my own hair.”

They parked, and began walking to the bar. Trooper put his hand on Stanford’s shoulder.

“But I will agree to be your wing man tonight. You can count on that.”

Stanford opened the door. “Good enough,” he responded without looking at him.

The two men entered The Goose and began looking around for the two likely women. Trooper realized he didn’t know who he was looking for. “Do you even know what they look like?”
“Um, I’ve seen a picture of one; looks like that chick from Sugarland. The other one is taller and like big guys. And their names are both Kate.”

“You have to be kidding.”


Trooper came around the corner and knew he had found them. At least he had found her. There were two women sitting at a table, but only one caught his eye. She smiled warmly at him, her lips parting almost in a laugh, to reveal white straight teeth, the kind that make dentists swoon. He came around to her side of the table and reached to share her hand.

“Hi, I’m Trooper. You must be one of the Kates.”

“Yes” she giggled. “Wouldn't we be cute if you two were both Marks or Daves?”

He sat down and the small talk began. They offered their basic details: marital status, children, work, relative locations of homes etc. Trooper was enraptured with her. He had finished his first beer and realized he had barely heard anything Stanford and the other Kate had said.

His Kate was delightful.

He could tell she liked him too. She held her gaze just a little longer than necessary, sat just a little closer than strangers would and the occasional touch to his forearm was enough to make a heat rise within him.

It was so easy. He could lose himself in the company of this delightful woman. It had to be stopped.

A gradual downshift of chatter was necessary, or else… well, Trooper didn’t really know what might happen, but he had been stuck in his pattern for too long to find out now. Stanford had opened a Pandora’s Box by setting up this blind date and Trooper was determined to shut it.

Imperceptibly the conversation slowed and the moments of silence between them grew longer. It was difficult though because Trooper wanted more of her. But like heroin, he knew he would want more and more and more if he took a first taste.

Across the table. Stanford and his Kate were exchanging phone numbers. It would too obvious he and his Kate were not; He could not let it go unmentioned. Trooper shifted his chair closer to her and leaned in.

“Look, you’re lovely,” he began. “You’re smart, funny, beautiful... if I was interested in dating, I’d be interested in dating you.”

She blinked. “But you’re not interested in dating?”



A switch inside Kate was thrown to 'Off', and the energy that shone from her every pore dimmed. Trooper felt terrible for what he had done, but he had to be fair to her. How could a woman this terrific waste her time with a guy who’s relationships were so screwed up?
They barely exchanged five words for the next fifteen minutes.

When it was time to leave, they walked the Kates to the car. Trooper’s comments hung over the group like a cloud.

A brief expression of what a good time everyone had, an awkward hug, and the girls were gone. Trooper watched the car pull away, Kate in the passenger seat gazing sadly out the window. As he and Stanford walked to his car, Trooper wondered how he could ever see her again after this.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Divorce Court Update

By TentCamper

So as a few of you know, I was downtown Los Angeles today for my 9,864,567 appearance in divorce court. (The low number is due to the fact that this divorce only started in Spring of 2006.)

Anyway, as I was sitting and waiting to see the mediator and then for the judge, I took the 4 hours of ‘hall time’ to check out some of the freaks mulling about.

I hope that I don’t offend anyone reading this…it would not be my intention…but if you do get offended by this…there may be something wrong with you.

Alright, back to my being judgmental, voyeuristic…and bust plain mean.

I can’t recall what order I saw these in but here goes a glimpse of what my eyes witnessed …all before noon today:

A roughly 65 year old black woman walking down the hall, wearing baggy bright turquoise cotton pants and shirt with a train conductor style hat that looked to be made of tin foil. At first glance I thought she had some ready to eat Jiffy Pop balanced on her head.

A 50-something year old black man wearing purple basketball shoes, black jeans (with purple streaks all over, who accompanied his severe pimp walk with the use of a cane…but the cane was solely used as a sort of flare…he’d swing it up in front of him, then give it a bit of a twist (as if it were a move that he saw in some old Michael Jackson video that he thought was cool.) Oh yeah…and dangling from the end of the cane’s handle was about a 5 karat cubic zirconium, dancing itself all the way down the hall, hanging on a little 4 inch string.

A 5 foot 2 inch woman who had to weigh about 250 pounds wearing (unintentionally, I’m sure) skin tight, black pants and a big poofy, bright orange blouse…I could not help but to think ‘pumpkin’… ‘BIG pumpkin!’

A woman sitting on a bench in one of the side halls, breastfeeding her baby…and a 35 (or so) year old guy leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hall…staring, with a creepy smirk and then he readjusted so that his file folders were in front of his crotch. (what was he trying to hide????)

A woman in her late 20’s (Persian I would guess) who had quite evidently had ‘mounds’ of work done on her large and in charge boobs. Her lips were ones that would make Lisa Rena jealous. The problem that I noticed is that SHE, not her man, wanted her to get the work done. Everything on her as she looked into a mirror, I’m sure, looked great to her. As she turned around…I notice that the woman had ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NO ASS. If a man wanted her to get cosmetic shit done to her…I assure you that he would have wanted ‘things’ proportional.
(Maybe the Dr. took her ass and shoved it into her chest and mouth.)

A mid 30’s woman, standing up against the wall across from me looking up and down the hall, (obviously waiting for someone.) She was holding her iPhone in both hands, down in front of her. Then I noticed that she kept twisting her phone back and forth…still glancing up and down the hall. Slow-ass me finally realized that she was iPhone-terbating…right there in the courthouse hallway! WTF!?

Oddly…the strangest one to me was ‘the guy’ that was lurking around the divorce court mediation office. I saw him at 7:30 AM, when I got there, talking to some woman. I thought nothing of it until she was called in and then I saw him winking as he approached some other girl waiting to get her divorce finalized. This guy was still there at 11:30 when I was leaving mediation…and he was sitting and trying to strike up a conversation with some other lady…who by the way wanted nothing to do with him.
(I suppose it is one place to meet a woman who may be in the need for a shoulder…but fuck dude!!!)


Saturday, August 15, 2009

Normal Childhood - Military Training (part 2)

Catch up on Part One if you have not read it yet.

By the time morning hit, we could hardly wait to see if we’d caught anything (or anyone) in our traps. We ignored the stealth policy as we bolted through the woods to the location of our creations. One by one, we closely inspected them, noticing nothing but a few random piles of animal scat and a small handful of porcupine quills.

Disappointed with having caught nothing we regrouped for a new strategy. After thoroughly discussing the mater in detail, we thought that the best plan was to lure someone into one of the traps. Yes…I was the one with 3 sisters and it was decided that little sisters make great prey.

Upon returning from my neighbor’s house we approached my middle sister, taunting her with a large bag of Twizlers and candy corn, we told her to count to 100 and then if she could find us at our fort that she could have our bag of sweetness. She began counting and we bolted into the forest snickering at our own genius.

A few minutes later, as we had taken up position in eyesight of each of our traps, we began to hear the crunching and twig snapping of a non-trained civilian tromping through the woods. Excited beyond belief, we all sat completely still, awaiting our catch.

A few seconds later, she appeared on the path…only 20 feet or so from our spring snare. Prancing up the path with thoughts of mouthfuls of candy, she neared the hidden danger. All of the sudden, we heard it. She had kicked the trip wire and *swoosh* the slip knot had tightened around her feet and she was hoisted into the air. Screaming and struggling, head bobbing a few feet off the ground we all emerged from the bushes, laughing and impressed with ourselves.

We stood in a circle around he, patting each other on the back, completely ignoring her cries for help. After a few brief comments and a bit more laughing, we decided that it would be best to leave her there for a while. Backing away and heading out on the path towards our house, we peaked over our shoulders just to see her squirming, and tears streaming from her eyes and landing in the cushion of pine needles that lined the forest floor.

We got back to my house and in an attempt not to tip off my mother, we busied ourselves with our bikes and the construction of a jump at the end of the driveway. About an hour later, after one of my friends launched off the jump and crashed into a tree at the edge of the woods, we all looked at one another with a touch of fear in our eyes and we took off into the woods. We had forgotten about my sister who had been hanging upside down in the middle of the porcupine and fox infested woods for close to an hour.

When we arrived, we saw my sister, still crying, but too tired to struggle. It seemed that she had just enough energy to tilt her head enough to see us approaching. Her sobs were faint, but at least she was still alive. We quickly released the knot at the base of a nearby tree and my sister fell with a thud to the ground. As she got up and began to stumble down the path she yelled to us that MOM was going to kill us and that we were going to be in big trouble. Chasing after her, with the bag of candy held out in front of us, we bribed her with the contents of the bag along with mild threats of further violence if she did tell.

As far as I know, our secret lived on and from that point on we re-adjusted out traps to only catch animals…which we did.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

What If You Knew It Was The Last Time?

I was going to write about being stung by a bee while riding my bicycle home from work yesterday, but had a less venomous moment of inspiration when I read Just Jules posting about Last Moments. She has an interesting point that we often commemorate Firsts in our lives: baby’s first step or word, first day of school, first indictment.

However, our Lasts are frequently ignored or worse, we don’t know they were Lasts.

It got me to thinking about Lasts in my marriage. I have posted a few times about my Ex, but since I never get that personal she has been an infrequent topic.

People have often asked how long we had been separated and I have been stumped at answering because there was never a definitive “Now we are together, now we aren’t” moment, just a series of Lasts. Put them all together and you can see the demise of what had been a wonderful relationship.

Last Vacation Together as a Family: Christmas 2005. We made a spur of the moment decision to drive to Oklahoma at Christmas to see relatives. I thought it was a fun time, but she was not very intimate.

Last Night Together in what she considered the “Family Home”: April, 2006. The next day I loaded up the car and moved to the West Coast to start a new job in anticipation of she and the kids joining me in the new house when school was finished.

Last Time we Celebrated my Birthday: October, 2006. The next month I rented a friend’s condo because I was getting tired of staying at her mother’s each time she felt like she needed “space”. My birthday the next year she had a date.

Last Time at her Sister’s: August 2007. It started off as a great day, there was even a hint she was willing to give “it” another shot. Then I dropped the camera in the water while trying to take her picture and she reminded me this sort of stuff was why we were never going to be together.

Last Trip Together, Just the Two of Us: November 2007. I asked her to accompany me to Vancouver to a conference. We stayed at a chic hotel. The second night, she made plans to meet a girlfriend for drinks and would call me later to join them for dinner. No call. She came back the hotel room at 2AM. The girlfriend had left the bar around 11.

Last Christmas Together: December 2007. Her whole family was coming to our house (even though I was renting a condo 15 minutes away, it was our house) and she wanted the kitchen reno’d. I was laying new flooring down right up until the minute the doorbell rang.

Last “Time” Together: Spring 2008. This one is a little hazy. I remember the moment, but not the date. We were engaged in the activity and I tried to kiss her and she avoided it. She was pretty drunk so I didn’t think too much of it. Then I tried to remember the last time we had sex when she wasn’t drunk and couldn’t. It dawned on me that it had stopped being ‘love making’ for her a long time ago, and she could only have sex with me when inebriated. When I realized how little respect and how much loathing for me she had, I knew that was the last time. I got up and slept in the downstairs bedroom. She never spoke of it the next day.

To finish this posting on a “bittersweet note”, here’s a wonderful song from Amanda Wilkinson about the last times of love.

My Great Shame

I don’t know how to build anything. I don’t know how to fix anything. I know nothing about cars. I really have no skills at all. But it’s not my fault. I grew up with a father who also lacked skills. He is the kind of guy that when something breaks, calls a repairman or gets a new one. This way of handling a problem has been passed down to me.

I think handiness may have skipped a generation. As I recall, my grandfather was handy. But for some reason, it didn’t transfer to my dad. Maybe it was some form of rebellion that my father perpetrated against his father. But it’s left me without a mentor.

Sure I can do the easy stuff. I can change a light bulb. I can screw together Ikea furniture. I’ve even replaced a ceiling fan. But if the toilet is running or a faucet is leaking, I’m stumped. I don’t like being like this. I want to be able to fix stuff. I hate shelling out my hard earned cash to repairmen whom I know are over-charging me. But I have nobody to teach me.

I don’t feel that I should experiment home repair skills on my own house. If I break something, as I’m all but certain to do it’s going to cost me even more money to get it fixed. I bought a set of Black and Decker home repair books, but they will only take me so far. I wish I had the wrenching gene. I wish I could walk into a hardware store and actually know what I was talking about.

I know we're almost done with the Aughts and we should be beyond old fashioned gender roles. But as a guy, this is my great shame.

What’s yours?

-Daddy Geek Boy

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Selling out for spam

I recently got a spam e-mail, alone amongst all the offers to "grow [my] membr" and "plezure her all nite" and such, with the straightforward title: "Write me some words".

I'm not sure exactly what they were going for here, since Gmail so helpfully blocked all the content and put a red warning banner on it for me, but I must admit I was momentarily fascinated. How specific are these people getting? Are they really taking the time to hand-pick addresses from across the Web and send things like this to targeted audiences like myself?

Are they picturing some beret-wearing English major dropping his jaw at seeing this title, likely read in his mind with a slight pant and kittenish tone, given the steamy setting, and eagerly clicking to find out more about this easy romantic conquest, the one finally won over by his arguably above-moderate skill at selecting words?

Allow me just a moment to wipe the sweat out from under my beret while I compose a response laced with the appropriate amount of disdain.

You will never catch me, spammers, never! No matter how clever you think you are, or how many times you can fool the first-tier spam filters with your creative spelling.

Come to think of it, I have to wonder how many bitter English majors have been reduced to writing these e-mails, given the sluggish earning power of most of my ilk, and the tricksy/antiquated phrasing I've seen appear in this entertaining little folder.

Should I join the ranks of these turncoats? Do I have a better economic choice? Perhaps I should reply to this polite Nigerian fellow here, to see if he has any suggestions?

Posted by LiteralDan

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Why I Cook

I'm divorced, a single dad with half-time custody, and I've been running a household solo for nearly ten years. I figured learning how to cook was a necessity. I had a bit of a head-start, since my ex was Italian and from a family of great cooks. I learned the ins and outs of la cucina italiana directly from the source. (You don't throw spaghetti on the wall to see if it's done!) My Italian-style carrots that I learned from them are to die for. My ex-mother-in-law also taught me how to cook beets, plus a zillion different ways to serve pasta.

One single buddy of mine won't cook on a nightly basis. He'll heat up a can of chili, or microwave some Lean Cuisine, but most often he'll take his hard-earned cash and go spend it in a restaurant.

Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, if you have the money. But there's more to cooking for yourself than saving a buck.

First off, it can be healthier to cook for yourself. I get to pick the ingredients, so I know they are healthy and fresh. I can also cut back on butter and salt (important for an aging dad like me.) Plus, some dishes like my marinated grilled asparagus recipe are awesome, and not something I find in many restaurants.

Second, it doesn't have to take very long. I can cook most meals in 30 minutes flat. Heading out to a restaurant takes longer than that. (My grilled chicken marinade recipe needs to be prepped hours in advance; needless to say, I don't cook it every night!) And in those 30 minutes, I can enjoy the cocktail of my choice. Whether that's the best margarita recipe or mai tai recipe depends on my mood, and doesn't cost me ten bucks a pop!

Third, it's a grounding experience. (This part gets touchy-feely, I suppose. I'm in NorCal, baby!) I feel connected to the earth, and to the farmers and suppliers, and to my kids who I cook for. It feels good to create a meal for them. It's nurturing. I get this feeling whether I'm grilling salmon at the BBQ, or cooking chicken and dumplings at the stove.

When I asked my single buddy why he doesn't cook, he said - "I'll cook for company. But it's just not worth the effort to cook for myself."

To which I said - "you're saying you're not worth it?"

Cook. It's good for you.

And if I didn't give you enough recipe pointers here, go buy a cookbook!

Monday, August 10, 2009

Normal Childhood - Military Training

We gathered at the edge of the woods as the sounds of clanking dishes filled the air. Full from the dinners we had all just finished, we sat and waited for the last two members of our squad.

All dressed in our fatigues (or as close as we could get) we had our briefing. The seven of us agreed that minimal talking/noise …and of course only using our code names would be the only way to keep our top secret mission intact.

We spread out slightly as we entered the woods. For the next ten minutes all we could hear was the faint crackling of pine needles beneath out boots and a random twig snapping as we pushed our way through the trees to our hide-out.

The air was still, breezes blocked by the acres of pine trees on all sides. We entered our 2 story fort one at a time, without making a sound. Once we were all inside, we began planning our day’s activities. In low, but commanding, whispers we discussed the three traps we were going to set along the paths to our hideaway.

*We’d seen enough Vietnam and random other war movies to know the best ones to ensnare the mistaken or intentional intruders.

Over the next 5 hours all seven of us worked diligently to perfect our military works of art. We split up into 3 groups; Pain, Sniper and Grunt worked on the bungee pit, Hammer, Red and Cap worked on the spring snare while Gunny, Top, Nuke and Camo perfected the suspended log (or mace trap).

**I will not tell you which of the above my code name was.

We regrouped as it began to get late in the day and began rounds to check out all of the work that had been done. All of the traps were set…satisfied with our ingenious success, we all headed home for dinner.

Around 8PM, we got back together, armed with flashlights to inspect our newly crafted traps…and to make sure that they were still in place.

The bungee pit was the first that we got to. It was just fine…a 4 foot deep ditch, which spanned the width of the path, covered with branches, twigs and leaves – hiding the bounty of sharpened wooden spikes that were positioned at the bottom, awaiting their first prey.

The spring snare was next. It was set with a young white birch tree, pulled back with a very sensitive network of ropes, a large slip knot and trip wire. We had high hopes for this one. We tripped it a few times and were thoroughly impressed.

Lastly we came to the mace trap. This was the hardest to set as the log, suspended 20 feet in the air, had to have weighed at least 100 pounds. Held in place only by a small stick attached to the rope acting as the trip wire…this was a sensitive one and we were all very careful not to trip it by accident.

Stay tuned to the ending of this story…in my next post.

(until then...go read the first, second and third installments about my childhood)

Friday, August 7, 2009

Friday Fun Quotes, Marriage Quotes

Well here are some funny quotes I thought I'd share!!!

1. When a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to let him keep her.

David Bissonette

2. After marriage, husband and wife become two sides of a coin; they just can't face each other, but still they stay together.

Sacha Guitry

3. By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you'll be happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher.

4. Woman inspires us to great things, and prevents us from achieving them.


5. The great question... which I have not been able to answer... is, "What does a woman want?"


6. I had some words with my wife, and she had some paragraphs with me.
Sigmund Freud

7. 'Some people ask the secret of our long marriage. We take time to go to a restaurant two times a week. A little candlelight, dinner, soft music and dancing. She goes Tuesdays, I go Fridays.'


8. 'There's a way of transferring funds that is even faster than electronic banking. It's called marriage.'
Sam Kinison

9. 'I've had bad luck with both my wives.
The first one left me, and the second one didn't.'

James Holt McGavra

10. Two secrets to keep your marriage brimming
1. Whenever you're wrong, admit it,
2. Whenever you're right, shut up.

Patrick Murra

11. The most effective way to remember your wife's birthday is to forget it once....


12. You know what I did before I married?
Anything I wanted to.

13. My wife and I were happy for twenty years.
Then we met.

Henny Youngman

14. A good wife always forgives her husband when she's wrong.

Rodney Dangerfield

15. A man inserted an 'ad' in the classifieds: 'Wife wanted'. Next day he received a hundred letters.
They all said the same thing: 'You can have mine.'

16. First Guy (proudly): 'My wife's an angel!'
Second Guy: 'You're lucky, mine's still alive.'


there ya go some friday funnies. Pick a fave or 2! Have a great weekend everyone.

HNT faves in Sageville.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

We have a book!

I was browsing some of my favorite blogs the other day and came across this post on Figleaf's Real Adult Sex.

What do you say, ladies? Are we DILFs?

I'm just pissed that they stole a picture of me for the cover without my permission....

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Marriage is the Present Tense of Divorce

Here's some Random Stuff I have learned through the divorce process:

  • The problems you had in your marriage are not solved by breaking up. In fact, it makes them bigger and there is an added bonus of introducing new problems.

  • Things that were mere annoyances in your marriage between you and your spouse (ie. being late, forgetting events, veiled sarcasm) become significant issues once you separate.

  • Unless you put a plan in place to make a "trial separation" a trial of something specific, separation will inevitably lead to divorce.

  • The older the kids are, the more difficult it is to keep them "out of it".

  • Your parents can be far more supportive than you ever imagined possible.

  • No matter what the circumstances are that leads to the break down, it will be "your fault". Either you committed the acts the ended it, or you drove the other person to commit them.

  • All it takes is for one person to want "out"; you can't keep a marriage together all by yourself. The harder you try, the stronger the other person resists.

  • The money you never had to take the family to Disneyland, France, skiing, sailing etc. will all be spent on lawyers threefold.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Hot Dads Quiz

This post is going to test all of you readers. Let’s see how well you actually know us Hot Dads.

See if you can match what you know/or think you know about us with the right number below.
(match a letter to a number)
*****All of these are true!!

A. TentCamper
B. DadsHouse
C. TrooperThorn
D. Southern Sage
E. Hubman
F. DaddyGeekBoy

1. I spent 6 years enlisted in the US Army?

2. I gave the valedictory address for my high school graduation having had my head shaved a few days before for wrestling team initiation. My mom was in tears.

3. I got kicked out of my college marching band for having an "attitude problem" (which means, I refused to take shit from the director). The jazz band director liked that story so much, he gave me a tryout and I played big band music the remainder of my college career.

4. I have an unbridled hatred for cilantro and glitter.

5. I had sex for the first time at the age of 13. It was on a YMCA campout and was with a 16 year old counselor.

6. I played pro baseball (minors) and pro softball (slow pitch)


Feet, Baby Birds and Briefs

Per the request of @Sweet_Life at The Sweet Life, this post will be an overview of my thoughts on a few random subjects that she threw out to me. The subjects that I’ve been asked to elaborate on are; Stinky feet. Baby birds learning to fly. Girl Scout cookies. Black socks and sandals. Boxers vs briefs vs boxer briefs.

With my vast knowledge and expertise about pretty much everything, I will try to dumb it up a bit and use laymen’s terms so that you all can follow what I have to say.

Stinky feet – I’ll get straight to the point on this one…I HATE stinky feet! I am an all around kind of anti-foot kind of guy. I don’t like touching feet, don’t like people touching my feet…so a stinky foot, to me is revolting. Shit even writing about it…thinking about some stinky dirty feet is bringing me to the edge of vomiting. NASTY! Don’t get me wrong, I can look at feet (if they are cleaned up and pleasant) but I see no logical reason to touch them.

Baby birds learning to fly – In general, I have no dislike for birds (bats – I HATE) I have always kind of liked birds…excluding; pigeons, crows and vultures. I have, for the most part, been quite intrigued with many birds (Falcons, Eagles, Hummingbirds, Hawks, etc.) I remember as a child, sitting up in our neighborhood trees watching mother birds feed their babies just after hatching. It was even cooler when I got to see mommy nudge them out of the nest for their first ‘attempted’ flight. I was in awe…and yes, I was careful not to get too close or touch the nest. Now we have two birds. I HATE FREAKING BIRDS NOW!!!! They are noisy. They make a mess with their food. There are feathers and bird shit all over the house. As pets, their wings are clipped so that they can’t fly…so they can be poked, prodded, pulled, tweaked, held, squeezed and yes, showered with. I feel bad for these birds…but they have made me not like birds anymore.

Girl Scout cookies – I absolutely love the taste of almost all Girl Scout cookies…BUT…I have come to the conclusion that the whole cookie thing is an illegal scam that will be shut down by the DEA or Homeland Security one day. I am convinced that the cookies have cocaine or some other kind of addicting drug in them…by the frantic nature of how people act as soon as they hear that the cookies are on sale. Beyond that, hordes of 10 to 12 year old girls work the streets, go door to door, standing on street corners to sell their goods. I don’t know what is worse…sending these young girls out onto the streets and teaching them how to swindle people out of money (like national cookie sweat shops) or little girls pushing seemingly drug-laced baked goods in our faces.

Black socks with sandals – Northeastern Europe…AKA German people. I am not a fan of that fashion statement…and really do not understand the point. Maybe they don’t make white socks in Germany…maybe it never gets warm enough to wear sandals on bare feet where they come from. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT! It goes into the same book as the men in Speedos at the beach, ‘big’ girls in spandex and belly shirts, black and Mexican men always wearing t-shirts to swim at the beach and people buying and putting clothing on their pets.

Boxers vs. briefs vs. boxer briefs – This one is simple:
Boxers – teenage boys
Briefs – gay men, body builders, cowboys and men who think that they are ‘all that’.
Boxer briefs – normal men who need a bit of support whilst not jamming one’s nuts up into their pelvis.

Monday, August 3, 2009

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.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

"Daddy, I got a bra!"

The day I have been dreading for 11 years arrived yesterday. I knew it was going to happen, but just not this soon.

I had hoped it would never happen. But, at 7 p.m., my oldest daughter's mother called me and broke the news.

"Brett, I took Kern out and we spent all the money you gave her on school clothes. . . $250 on school uniforms, socks, underwear, and a couple bras."

I often have to ask Kern's mother "What?". I was never very good at listening when words came out of her mouth. That's probably one of the reasons why we didn't work out.

But, this time, I heard exactly what she said. It didn't stop me from asking her my favorite question.

"What was that last thing you said?", hoping I heard her wrong.

"Yea, we got her a few bras. We have looked at them before because she liked the patterns on some of them. Now, she actually needs them."

I was speechless. I couldn't believe what she was saying to me.

My little girl needing a bra. The same girl I spent three years staying at home with when she was a toddler watching Blues Clues, Sesame Street, and Little Bear. From a bottle-carrying blue-eyed girl whose life revolved around when she would get to go in our pool in the front yard, to a young lady who now sends me text messages and needs a bra.

How did this happen? I know days, months, and years going by is how. But, how did it happen so fast?

You are not supposed to have a favorite child. You are supposed to love them all the same and do your best to treat them equally.

But, Kern will always be special and different to me. She was the first one. The one that taught me how to be a father, how to truly love, and how to put someones' needs, wants and desires in front of my own.

Seems she isn't done teaching me things. Now, I get to learn about buying and washing bras. Took me three years when I was in high school to learn how to take a bra off my girlfriend.

I doubt I will get that same amount time to learn how to be OK with my daughter growing up.
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