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?

Big Zen Wannabe Wolf - Asks Hot Dads

I know that it is not Monday but I had some questions and thought I'd serve you all up a plate of daddy wisdom spew!!

*Make sure that you keep sending in all of your questions.

OneZenMom Asked: What personal trait of yours do you hope your kids will share? What trait do you hope they WON'T get from you?

TentCamper says: Besides my stunning good looks….I hope that they inherit my logic and calm demeanor. On the other hand…I pray that they do NOT overdo things the way I tend to.

Hubman says: I'm a hard worker, but I understand the importance of maintaining perspective and having fun every day. All work and no play, something like that, is an attitude towards life that I hope they share with me. On the flip side, I have a bit of a temper at times. While it's gotten better over the years, I hope that managing anger or frustration is something my kids do better than I do.

Captain Dumbass says: My sense of humor, or better yet, their own twisted version of mine.

DC Urban Dad says: Whew, that's an easy one. I wish her all her Mommy's traits and none of mine. Especially not my temper.

SurferJay says: I hope my kids love to surf as I do. Because if they would rather play something like, oh I don’t know, baseball, I would just die. For one thing, that sport is so boring, I don’t how I could ever sit through one of their little league games without falling asleep.

I hope my boy doesn’t inherit my fur. I have some good size fur coats on either side of my back. Now that I’m getting older at thirty, I’ve started to acquire the fur stragglers. You know, the individual hairs that sprout up all over the shoulders and upper back. And it’s a lot of work to pluck each one individually, and my wife will only bust out the buzzers for me on special occasions.

Dadshouse says: Hope they get: The ability to enjoy life without feeling the need to spend and consume. Hope they won't get: Keeping a messy kitchen table. (there are papers everywhere)

Canadian Bald Guy says: My fun-loving attitude. I do my best to be "the fun guy" and see the positive side of things, so I'm hoping they'll both get that trait from me.

When pushed I do have a bit of a temper, though. I'm really hoping that they don't get an attitude or anger issues from me.

Trooper Thorn says: a) I hope they become patient as adults; I can’t wait for that day. b) I’d prefer that they didn’t procrastinate the way I do, but they will likely leave that up to the last minute.

LiteralDan says: I hope they'll be able to laugh at most anything, especially stuff that sucks but can't be changed. Most of the traits I hope they don't get they're already clearly fated for, like the special brand of compulsive precision that earned me my nickname.

Daddy Geek Boy says: My kids are already showing a sense of humor similar to mine, so that said, I hope they develop the ability that I learned later in life, which is not to be so sensitive.


OneZenMom Asked: What TV show, or movie, are you embarrassed to admit you like to watch?

TentCamper says: ‘Spose I’ll have to say that I am embarrassed to admit that I cried during an episode of Quantum Leap…beyond that…I have no regrets!!

Hubman says: Occasionally, when Veronica is watching Project Runway I find myself getting sucked in and start paying attention. But if she catches me, I'll only admit to watching Heidi Klum, who is one delicious piece of eye candy!

Captain Dumbass says: I watch a pretty wide variety of TV and movies and can't say I'm really embarrassed by any of them. I loved the first few seasons of Gilmore Girls because the writing was fantastic and Lorelai Gilmore was HAWT so win/win. Where's the shame.

DC Urban Dad says: To tell you the truth, none. I am super confident in the crap I watch. Sure I watch a little Rachel Zoe on Bravo, have been known to watch some Pussycat Doll's search for the next girl.

SurferJay says: I would never admit to anyone but my wife, that I sobbed tears of sorrow while watching the movie, Lorenzo’s Oil. And that was before I even had kids.

Dadshouse says: Koyanisqatsi. (If you've heard the Philip Glass score, you'll know why.)

Canadian Bald Guy says: I have a LOT of "guilty pleasures". My biggest embarrassment would probably be my fandom for professional wrestling. Although it's been waning over the past year, I was such a "super-fan" for such a long time that my first online writing experience (for over four years) came writing for wrestling websites. I might watch an hour or two a month these days, but it used to be a five-hour-a-week addiction...and even at an hour or two, it's still embarrassing.

Trooper Thorn says: I will watch Desperate Housewives, but I complain bitterly (to whoever will listen) if the episode does not contain at lease three decent lingerie scenes with at least one gratuitous side-boob shot.

LiteralDan says: Probably Law and Order: SVU. Mostly I wouldn't readily admit it because I mock my wife for the inescapable pull the show has on her, no matter what else is going on when she happens to flip to it, new or in reruns. Nothing ruins a planned night of fun like a gripping tale of the police's efforts to apprehend a child rapist. Still, it's kind of a good show.

Daddy Geek Boy says: Believe it or not, I can't think of anything that I would be embarrassed if anyone knew I watched. For a while there, I really liked the movie 40 Days and 40 Nights. Having rewatched it, my initial enthusiasm for it has dampened. But I still like it.


OneZenMom asked: Name one blog - besides Hot Dads, your own, or your spouse's - that you read every day (or just most often).

TentCamperm says: Obviously….Manic Mariah MY WOMAN!!!!

Hubman says: I have a folder in Google Reader called "Friends", which contains about a dozen or so blogs, so I can't name just one.

Captain Dumbass says: Just one? Seriously? My list is long and distinguished (like my johnson. Oh! Thank you, Top Gun) so to avoid pissing anybody off I'll pick kottke.com.

DC Urban Dad says: I have quite a few actually. I can hardly name them all, it would take too long. But here is a super quick snapshot ---- Clark Kent's Lunchbox, Scary Mommy., Undomestic Diva, Luke I am Your Father.

SurferJay says: …(…nothing)

Dadshouse says: http://vinomom.wordpress.com/ (I could name a bunch - this is first in my blogroll, counting backwards)

Canadian Bald Guy says: I love The Quest for T. I may not leave as many comments as I used to, but she's one of the first I'll read (next to my girlfriend's) on a daily basis.

Trooper Thorn says: I always check out twodogsrunning.blogspot.com to hear what animals MamaDawg is rescuing today.

LiteralDan says: I misunderstood the question at first to be asking for a blog both my wife and I read, so I'll stick with my answer for that (since I read way too many blogs to pick one, anyway)-- Barefoot Foodie. Brittany is one of the original Hot Mamas here at Hot Dads, incidentally.

Daddy Geek Boy says: My blog roll has gotten out of control and I can't keep up. (Sorry if I've stopped commenting on yours, I'm working my way through them.) Some not mentioned above that I dig are you Zen Mom, Tales From the Dad Side, Sorry For the Convenience and oh yeah, This Is Why You're Fat.


OneZenMom Asked: How do you split holiday time between your family and your wife's family (or for the divorced guys, between your house and your ex's)?

TentCampersays: well…this is a confusing one when you put everything together as Mariah and I are both divorced. But if you have not been keeping up….I don’t get shit! YET! As for other family, mine are spread a;; over the country and it’s been a long time since we’ve all spent a holiday together, but luckily, Mariah’s family, though spread out, does everything in their power to be together for the big holidays. …makes me very happy…as I miss my own ‘pretend’ blood.

Hubman says: Veronica and I are in the Boston area, my mom is in Pittsburgh and the rest of our families are on Long Island, NY. Usually, Thanksgiving is at my in-laws house, though when we lived in PA there were years when we alternated between Pittsburgh and Long Island. Ever since Darling Boy was old enough to get into Christmas, we stay home. All of our immediate family has an open invitation to join us, but we are NOT traveling for Christmas.

Captain Dumbass says: My wife's family doesn't really do Christmas, but we try one year with them and the next with mine. Of course, the terrifying snowy mountain drives up to visit my family are beginning to lose their magic. We don't really get a lot of snow in Vancouver, but fuck it, rain isn't actively trying to kill you.

DC Urban Dad says: We alternate across both families. This Turkey Day we are with my family at the beach in NC. Then for Xmas we are with my wife's Mother and then will spend a few days with her father. Next year, we will change it up again. Luckily everyone is in NC so it is a bit easier.

SurferJay says: Have you ever heard that a good compromise leaves both parties unhappy? Well that’s how, we’re both unhappy about it, (some more than others, ahem).

Dadshouse says: I'm divorced, and every other year I get Xmas. On year's I don't get Xmas, I get Thanksgiving. The other holidays we play by ear, but we aim for 50/50.

As for splitting holidays within my family, we almost always go to my parents house. We've gone to my brothers' a few times. My place? Once. (The women plan these things months or years in advance, and I'm not a woman.)

Canadian Bald Guy says: As a dad with two children fathered by two different mothers, visitation during the year can be tricky (especially where one lives half-way across the country). 'Holidays' for me usually revolve around Christmas and birthdays. The attempt right now is to have my kids every other Christmas and birthday and rotate annually. So far, it's worked out quite well.

Trooper Thorn says: Time between houses just depends on which one of us my kids hate more at the holiday: me or my ex.

LiteralDan says: We spend most of the holidays with my family now that we live closer to them, though we used to spend the slight majority with her family when we lived closer to them. Now, we'll just fly back out there every other year or so for Christmas. (It's becoming clear they will never come out here, any time of the year.)

Daddy Geek Boy says: We laid out the rules from the very beginning to our parents: You will get us every other year. No exceptions. This is for Thanksgiving. We don't travel for Christmas.


OneZenMom Asked: How do you do your Christmas shopping - Do you plan ahead? Wait 'til the last minute? Shop throughout the year? Do it all in one day?

TentCamper says: I’d like to do it year round, but times I have done that, by the time X-mas rolls around, the gift will be ‘the older model’. I end up doing it last minute.

Hubman says: I really only have to shop for Veronica, she takes care of everyone else. She and I have already started talking about ideas for family members and it wouldn't surprise me if she's even bought a few things. She is so stinkin' efficient, when we drive to NY for Thanksgiving, Christmas gifts for family there are already bought, wrapped, and delivered to the respective homes to be opened on Christmas Day. I try to have my shopping done by mid-December. If there is something I hate more than shopping, it's fighting holiday crowds to shop.

Captain Dumbass says: If it's for the kids then I plan ahead. If it's for my wife I like to leave it until the last possible moment. There's nothing like blind panic for romantic inspiration.

DC Urban Dad says: We try to do as much online and early. Now that we are a little older we don't do Christmas for the adults. Now it is all about the kids. With my wife's family we draw names and are only allowed to spend $100. For my family, we are only giving presents to the kids.

SurferJay says: A-m-a-z-o-n-.-c-o-m. As long as my free three day shipping makes it into to unwrap Christmas morning, we’re all good.

Dadshouse says: Last minute, for sure!

Canadian Bald Guy says: I absolutely HATE that I wait 'til the last minute, but that's what I do. EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR.

Trooper Thorn says: I firmly believe stores don’t put the good stuff out until the afternoon of the 23^rd. If you really care for people, why would you shop before then and purchase marginal gifts?

LiteralDan says: Every year I try to plan ahead, and every year I fail almost totally. I don't quite do it all in one day, though in the past I've nearly gotten to that point, but the last week or so is frantic, especially when shipping is involved. Thank Jebus for Amazon, I say.

Daddy Geek Boy says: I echo the praise for Amazon. If I never have to step foot in a store from now until January, I'll be happy.


BigLittleWolf asked: What would you do if you had a hot night out (and in) with a babe who spoke with a French accent, and in the a.m. over a steamy cup of coffee à deux, she dropped it, in a playful way? (The accent, not the coffee.)

TentCamper says: Not that I’ve been in a situation to go on a date with a random person in more than 15 years, but I don’t think it would bother me…unless I was really into the girl. If it was just a roll in the hay…act away!!!

Hubman says: Do you mean that she was faking the accent all night? I wouldn't really care, though I'm ambivalent about French accents anyway. Now an English or Australian accent, that's another story! Maybe she could try one of those next time?

Captain Dumbass says: Meh, whatever.

DC Urban Dad says: Did you say she was hot?

SurferJay says: I would make a confession to her as well, “yeah, you know how I told you I’ve only slept with 3 girls, well I feel guilty about lying to you so I must confess, it was really 23. More coffee?”

Dadshouse says: I'd laugh. Besides, I usually date women with south american accents.

Canadian Bald Guy says: I think I'd be pissed off. I'm not a fan of lying. And no, I'm no angel...but that's purposeful deception. If she was hot enough, I suppose I'd get over it quickly. But yeah...I'd be pissed at first.

Trooper Thorn says: I’d breathe a sigh of relief and take off the George Clooney mask. How the two of us would laugh…

LiteralDan says: I'd pay her a little more for the extra effort, of course. Actually, I'd probably be happier, because that means she smelled better AND she was less critical of my breakfast options.

Daddy Geek Boy says: As long as it wasn't replaced with a Long Island accent no worries.

BigLittleWolf asked: What's the sexiest, most unexpected sexual surprise you've ever encountered?

TentCamper says: My woman being ok with having sex with me and another woman…and what I talk about in this (explicit) post. Just being with Mariah is all the sexy I need.

Hubman says: It's a story that's perhaps a bit explicit for this blog. But I've written about it on my blog! Click here for the story.

Captain Dumbass says: Getting laid in a racquetball court. That was unexpected. And it sounded a lot like whales humping. Not that I've ever heard whales humping, but if you've ever been in a racquetball court I think you'll know what I'm talking about.

DC Urban Dad says: Love being woken up in the middle of the night and "connecting".

SurferJay says: …(failed to fire)

Dadshouse says: When a woman did a certain act without me asking, and without her first demanding to be serviced. As for which act, that differed for each woman who did this sort of thing. Sadly, there weren't many. Most woman either had to be coaxed, or insisted on being serviced first.

Canadian Bald Guy says: The greatest sexual experiences of my entire life have happened over the past year with my current girlfriend. She reads this blog, so forgive me for not divulging details.

Trooper Thorn says: The first time I ever got laid. I mean, who saw that one coming?

LiteralDan says: I guess, if pressed, I'd have to pick that one time when Rachel Weisz showed up at my door late one night, saying she had an unexpectedly long layover and wondered if I could help her pass the time.

Daddy Geek Boy says: Not sure WonderWife™ would be comfortable with me putting that out there. But I have a big grin on my face right now.


WannabeVirginia W. asked: When a woman looses weight does her vajayjay get smaller, in particular the bits (parts)?

TentCamper says: WHAT THE…???? If there was a Slim Fast for women’s privates and you could diet to make it tighter or bring it back to what it was in High School….that shit would be flying off the shelves and the person who developed it would have won like 45 Nobel Peace Prizes or something.

Does that answer it for you?

Hubman says: I've never heard of that before and have no idea. Veronica's big changes in weight have come with pregnancy, the end of which of course has it's own effects on the almighty vajayjay, so I have no experience to draw on. But why would it?

Captain Dumbass says: I've never actually been a woman or had a vajayjay so I can't answer that definitively, but I think it might be wishful thinking.

DC Urban Dad says: Good question. Odd, but good.

SurferJay says: …(plead the fifth)

Dadshouse says: I honestly don't date women whose weight fluctuates that much for me to notice.

Canadian Bald Guy says: I've got no fucking idea.

Trooper Thorn says: It doesn’t necessarily get smaller, but it does get tighter because she feels better about herself. Know what I’m talking about?

LiteralDan says: These are the kind of questions you just can't make up... I have no idea, but I'd doubt it. I think the only thing that could manage that would be a time machine! Where's Doc Brown when you need him?

Daddy Geek Boy says: I'm not a doctor, but I'd be happy to study photographic evidence to either support or disprove a theory.

Tough to admit

Sitting on a cold concrete floor with my arms crossed and my head buried in my chest, a man twice my size and with blood all over his shirt began to walk toward me.

He stopped a foot away from me to my right, unzipped his pants, and began to pee in a urinal. I could have reached over and touched the dirtiest toilet I had ever seen from the only available place to sit when I was led into the cell in the Los Angeles-area jail.

Never moving my head while he was there, I closed my eyes and began to wonder what brought me to what was no doubt the lowest point in my life. I am lucky enough to be a father of four beautiful girls, have the job that I wanted ever since I was in grade school, and I am generally pretty happy in life.

Yet, here I sit with nine other men, at 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, in a 10x10 cell, knowing that five hours later my girls would wake up and ask my roommates why their Dad was not home. That thought made me realize that there was really only one thing that could make me jeopardize everything that I had in my life.

It was alcohol. Like my mother had been all my childhood and my older brother who developed into one as a young adult, I knew then that I had become an alcoholic.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seven hours earlier, I fought through Los Angeles traffic en route to my 20th high school reunion. Truthfully, I didn't want to go and see my former teammates on what was one of the best football teams our school ever had.

However, I was repeatedly told that I had no choice.

"Brett, you have to go," Jenny said, who I had known since junior high and was the reunion organizer. "You are the football coach of the school we graduated from. How can you not go? Everyone will want to see you!"

That was exactly the reason why I didn't want go. While seeing old friends and sharing stories from the past was intriguing, having to answer questions on why our football team is now struggling was worth avoiding.

"Don't worry about all that..." Jenny continued. "You will have a blast and everyone won't care about what the team is doing now."

She was right. I did have a blast and everyone was more interested in seeing pictures of my girls than how the team was doing.

For five hours, I laughed, shared parenting stories, and reconnected with people I had grown up with and hadn't seen since graduation. And, I drank.

Every time another former teammate or friend walked up to me to talk, they brought with them a drink for me. I didn't buy a drink during the night. But, that didn't stop me from not knowing how many I drank.

Despite going with the intention of not drinking, I never turned down a drink and was enjoying downing beers with my former drinking buddies.

I was funny, loud, and felt pretty damn good about myself. The shy, insecure kid from high school was now the head football coach at the school we all went to and was also the fun guy to be around.

Shortly after 11 p.m., I began to say goodbyes and started to head to my car when I was stopped by one of my oldest friends.

"Hey, are you OK to drive?" he asked while puffing on a cigarette.

"Yea, I am good. But, let me bum a few cigarettes for the drive home. It will keep me busy and awake."

He handed me three cigarettes and I got in my car and jumped on the freeway. I drove for 30 minutes and thought I was driving just as I would if I was sober.

Driving in the fast lane, I finished the first cigarette and flicked it out the window to avoid the smell lingering in my car. Rolling my window back up, I checked the rear view mirror. My heart began to race as I saw the flashing lights of a California Highway Patrol car behind me.

I couldn't believe it. I had no idea how drunk I was, but was pretty sure I was over the legal limit of .08. Moving my car off the freeway and onto an off ramp, I told myself to calm down and act relaxed when the CHP approached my car.

Stopped on the side of the road, I waited as two officers approached both sides of my car.

"License and registration please," said the younger of the two CHPs.

"Here you go, Sir. Everything alright?"

"Well, everything was alright until you threw a cigarette out your window. Have you been drinking?"

I was speechless and didn't know what to say. Stupidly, I lied.

"No, Sir."

"Well, you were driving fine and we pulled you over because of the cigarette. But, I can smell alcohol on you. If you would have told me you had two beers, we would probably have let you go. You need to get out of your car for a sobriety test. Are you willing do that?"

"Yes, Sir. Whatever you want."

I got out and went through test after test. I touched my nose with my eyes closed, counted backwards, and walked foot over foot down an imaginary line. After I was done, the CHPs talked to one another quietly for a moment before asking me to blow into a breathalyzer.

I agreed and waited patiently after blowing the first time. The younger CHP then asked me to blow again. It was after the second time that I began to understand the situation I was in.

"How fucked am I?" I asked as he waited for the results. "Am I fucked? I am so fucked. Damn... I can't believe this. I am so fucked."

He then looked up from the breathalyzer and told me what I didn't want to hear.

"Sir, you blew .0823. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"

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After two slip-ups on consecutive weekends after my arrest, I am proud to say that I have not had a drink in 115 days. It hasn't always been easy, but it also hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be either.

Instead of drinking after football games with other coaches, I drink iced tea or have a non-alcoholic drink. No one harasses me about not drinking, and I can't believe how much easier it is on Saturdays or Sundays at football meetings or practices without suffering from a hangover.

The definition of an alcoholic is different for every alcoholic. I believe I am an alcoholic because I couldn't stop once I got started. Enough said.

I am thankful that my night in jail didn't involve me hurting anyone with my car, didn't cause me to lose my family, my job, or end the relatively new relationship I am in with a wonderful woman. It could have been a lot worse for me and my family.

But, that still doesn't change that fact I am... "Brett, and I am an alcoholic."

In Which Chunks Fly

One can never fully appreciate a baby involved bodily fluid tale unless they have experienced one firsthand. I have read the stories of projectile vomiting in public places, have been told the tales of vile excrement being flung across a room, and have listened in on moms talking about puke stained shoulders. Of course I cringe at such horrific occupational hazards of parenthood. But mostly, hearing those stories would make me dread the day I finally had kids of mine own. Or they would merely make me laugh and feel sorry for the recipient on the other end of the stream. But up until now, I never fully appreciated them. I could not have. Now, as I read other peoples stories of such occasions, I can practically feel the vomit dripping off my face, I envision the stench of soiled diapers permeating the air under my nose and I cringe with gag inducing revulsion.

Now that I have been personally violated, now that I am a soiled and seasoned veteran of such horrific tragedies, only now am I worthy of relaying such a tale to you.

My favorite five year old niece and my sixteen month old son were chasing each other back and forth across a thirty foot long bench seat as my family was dining at Pat & Oscars. For ten minutes they frolicked back and forth with stomping feet and joyous laughter. The boy had really worked up a sweat. It was around his usual bedtime, so he had already entered that late night wild child mode, bursting with exaggerated energy. Upon making another pass on bench, he stopped right in front of me, looked up, and started crying. I assumed he had finally hit his breaking point, finally being ready to pass out. I had planned on leaving dinner a few minutes before everyone else anyway, so I swooped down and grabbed my boy and said goodbye to the family. Just then, just at the precise moment when I was bringing in his body towards mine to rest him on my hip, the contents of his belly burst forth upon me.

Torrents of chunky vomit gushed forth from his mouth without prejudice or warning upon my face, neck, shoulder, backpack and subsequently, it ran down my chest. This was no babies formula spit up, no. But rather it was a full-fledged belly full of half liquefied and half solid food. I had finally discovered that he doesn’t chew everything he swallows. His nostrils were as mini fire hoses, two perfect streams of the nights garlic sautéed chicken dinner and apple juice came bursting forth upon me. What have I done to deserve such a vile fate! Had a kid. That’s what I did, I went and had a kid.

At times of crisis such as this, I typically become outwardly calm and go into a very rationally oriented state of problem solving, as my inward panic silently escalates. There was no yelling emanating from my mouth as there would have been if this happened to my wife. But rather a stone cold pair of eyes staring into this vile creature dangling from my arms before me, wondering what it is that I have done to him to deserve such treatment. I immediately shoved my boy out in front of me at arms length, and yet the vomit ceased to flow. But the initial overbearing pressure had already been released upon my face. So now there was a consistently slow, yet steady stream of puke oozing out of his mouth and down onto his shirt as his face turned white and his legs dangled in thin air. And I froze. I froze for five seconds to figure out what to do. Also, initially my instinct was to run. Although lying in my path to the door was thirty or so peacefully dining, unmolested restaurant patrons. Of course my thoughts were not lying with the sanctity of the restaurant and it’s patrons, I was not afraid of offending anyone by running through the place leaving a chunky vomit trail in my wake. I held little regard for the diners’ ability to hold down their food. No, I was just plain embarrassed. So I did what any puke soaked father would do, I hit the floor. Ducking between two of the tables my large extended family had occupied, I hid myself from the public’s view. Soon as I made my move, my brother’s wife stood up, gawking at me as I cowered between the tables. I couldn’t tell whether she laughed or gasped in astonishment, but soon I saw her feet running off somewhere. It took a while for the others to notice what had transpired. I calmly asked for all their napkins. Someone tossed a few napkins my way and I started wiping the larger chunks off my neck and shirt. I peeled my wet shirt away from chest, but it proved futile as I needed my hands to continue the clean up. I flinched in revulsion as my shirt fell back and stuck, with thick pasty puke, back onto my chest as I let it go.

Not so surprisingly, out of the 10 family members I was with, only my sister in law and my mother came to my aid, the only two females above the age of five that were there. The one brother that has a house load of kids started laughing uncontrollably, as he has seen it all before. And the other brothers who do not have kids either choked, gagged, or turned their heads in utter revulsion, perhaps all three.

The sister-in-law came running back and handed me a single restaurant style citrus scented wet nap. The kind that some restaurants dispense to their patrons in the little condom sized paper wrappers. I don’t know when the last time you used a wet nap was, but if you recall, each one is only large enough to wipe down one finger, perhaps two if you use it wisely. And if you take too long to use it the dam thing dries out faster than Black Hockey Jesus’ attempt at blogging about his daughters vagina. I didn’t even look up at her, I was hoping that if I avoided eye contact with anyone else in the restaurant, no one would see me cowering down there all covered in puke. Shortly after I used up the entire wet-nap, all four square inches of it, she handed me another one and said, ‘well, this is all I could find, and I have to unwrap each one individually, so I will hand them to you as I get them out.” I glanced up at her with a look of pure disbelief on my face, ‘really….really,’ was all I could utter in the ugliest sarcastic tone I could muster up. Why she even bothered with those, I don’t know.

My mother was tending to my boy who was sitting where I dropped him, right beside me on the floor. He wasn’t really crying, but never the less he was in a state of emotional distress, letting out soft whimpers as I scraped the larger chunks off my shoulder. She quickly realized that tending to him there was useless, so she swooped him up and ran off to the bathroom. The brothers wife also realized the futility of unwrapping a dozen wet naps, so she followed her to help with my boy.

After cleaning off my face and removing as many chunks as I could from my neck and shirt, I dug through the boys bag and found a clean shirt for him, and some disposable diaper bags for the soiled clothes. Have you ever walked through a restaurant after spilling your drink on yourself? Yeah, well you know that feeling of, I’m a dumbass, well imagine how much bigger of a dumbass I felt walking through the restaurant with half my shirt covered in puke. I needed to get his fresh clothes to him, so I made a b-line for the women’s bathroom. Ever walk into a public bathroom, only to discover that instead of the putrid mens bathroom odor that hits you like a wall upon entering, there is a group of women staring at you through the mirror while manicuring their overly manicured faces? Yeah, well imagine that, but having to walk in there intentionally, and covered in puke. No small blue door sign with a white 1960’s skirt on it was going to slow me down. I needed to get out of that restaurant asap. So I handed off his clothes to my mom…..in the womens bathroom. Then I still had to go all the way back through the restaurant covered in puke, to get to the exit door. By this time, the stench was overbearing. The shirt was so drenched you could see my cold hard hotdad nipples poking through it. I couldn’t bare it any longer. The stench, the stickiness, and the multicolored chunks which were imbedded into the cotton. So standing in the hallway adjacent to the bathrooms, I just yanked the shirt right off. Then I chose the path of least resistance, keeping my eyes focused on the exit door, and walked through the restaurant half naked with a puke soaked shirt hanging from my hand, all the while flexing every muscle in my upper body as nonchalantly as possible. I heard a woman gasp in horror, a child grab her daddies arm and scream, and the manager yell ‘hey’ from behind the sticky front counter, as I just kept on briskly walking.

It turned out that my boy got a stomach bug and puked chunks for nearly a week straight. I would strongly recommend it to any prospective parents. T’was quite the experience. And my wife just happened to be out of town on a business trip all week. It really is a gut wrenching feeling waking up to your boy puking in the middle of the night. We sat out in the hall, me soothing his aching body, as he dry heaved for twenty minutes straight. So far, 16 months into my parenting experiment, that was absolutely the most emotionally challenging event. Buuuut, yesterday he threw my cell phone across the room, grabbed a piece of my neck flesh and yanked on it, bit the neighbors dog, and had an exploding diaper. Oh how sympathy is but a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of my kid terrorizing me.

Gentlemen, Start Your Moustaches

This morning I learned that November is no longer November. Oh no. It is now "Movember": International Grow a Moustache for Prostate Cancer Month.

As a former owner of a kick-ass moustache, I jumped at the chance to rationalize re-growing some upper lip hair before the snow flies.

"But how can I get involved?" you ask. It's as easy as not shaving it turns out. You can go to the Movember International page to find your country of residence and start taking donations for your own cookie duster growth. Women are welcome too; not to grow but to support.

If you want to donate only, you can go to my page. You'll notice a clean shaven pic of Trooper that will get hairier over the month.

But remember the immortal words of Peter Griffin: With great moustache goes great responsibility!"

Who's Your Daddy?

Well ladies and gents…

It should be no surprise that we here at Hot Dads have taken some of our valuable time to scour the web for some fresh meat...I mean... new Hotties to join our growing family.

So it is with pleasure that I formally introduce you all to:

Our newest Hot Mamas:

Mommy Geek of MommyGeekology

And

Shauna of Is It 5 O’Clock Yet?

And if that is not enough…we’ve also added to our roster of sperm donors Hot Dads with the addition of Captain Dumbass of Us and Them!!!!!!

Please welcome them all and treat them with the kindness and respect that their royal asses deserve.

caption contest, Sunday Slides, Funny,

World's shortest fairy tale...

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl 'Will you marry me?' The girl said, 'NO!' And the guy lived happily ever after and rode motorcycles and went fishing and hunting and played golf a lot and drank beer and scotch and had tons of money in the bank and left the toilet seat up and farted whenever he wanted,

The End.












Who wants to meet me for supper?









That right there is some cracker ingenuity!







LOL, shes right!









The police arrested Patrick Lawrence, 22 year old white male, in a pumpkin patch 11:38 p.m. on Friday night.

On Monday, at the Gwinnett County (GA) courthouse, Lawrence was charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication.


The suspect explained that as he was passing a pumpkin patch on his way home from a drinking session when he decided to stop, 'You know how a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around for miles or at least I thought there wasn't anyone around' he stated in a telephone interview.’

Lawrence went on to say that he pulled over to the side of the road, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purpose, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his alleged need. 'Guess I was really into it, you know?' he commented with evident embarrassment.


In the process of doing the deed, Lawrence failed to notice an approaching police car and was unaware of his audience until Officer Brenda Taylor approached him.


'It was an unusual situation, that's for sure,' said Officer Taylor.. 'I walked up to Lawrence and he's just banging away at this pumpkin.' Officer Taylor went on to describe what happened when she approached Lawrence .

'I said, 'Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you're having sex with a pumpkin?’


‘He froze and was clearly very surprised that I was there, and then he looked me straight in the face and said...

'A pumpkin? Shit... is it midnight already?'


Caption Contest!
Lets see what Y'all can come up with!




Wel there ya go. Hope everyone has a big ole Sunday!