MetroDad

Merry fucking Christmas (Sorry, Happy fucking holidays.)

Those of you who share my innate disregard for political correctness might find this amusing... 

MEMO TO ALL EMPLOYEES
RE: Christmas PARTY ON DEC. 23RD
DATE: DEC. 1ST

I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place on December 23, starting at noon in the banquet room at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue. No-host bar, but plenty of eggnog! We'll have a small band playing traditional carols...feel free to sing along. And don't be surprised if our CEO shows up dressed as Santa Claus! A Christmas tree will be lit at 1:00 P.M. Exchange of gifts among employees can be done at that time, however, no gift should be over $10.00 to make the giving of gifts easy for everyone's pockets. This gathering is only for employees! A special announcement will be made by our CEO at that time!

Merry Christmas to you and your family.

Patty

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FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 2
RE: Holiday Party

In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees.

We recognize that Chanukah is an important holiday which often coincides with Christmas, though unfortunately not this year. However, from now on we're calling it our "Holiday Party." The same policy applies to employees who are celebrating Kwanzaa at this time. There will be no Christmas tree present. No Christmas carols sung. We will have other type of music for your enjoyment.

Happy now?

Happy Holidays to you and your family.

Patty

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FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 3
RE: Holiday Party

Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous requesting a non-drinking table ... you didn't sign your name. I'm happy to accommodate this request, but if I put a sign on a table that reads, "AA Only"; you wouldn't be anonymous anymore. How am I supposed to handle this? Somebody?

Forget about the gifts exchange, no gifts exchange are allowed since the union members feel that $10.00 is too much money and executives believe $10.00 is very little for a gift. NO GIFTS EXCHANGE WILL BE ALLOWED.

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FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
To: All Employees
DATE: December 7
RE: Holiday Party

What a diverse group we are! I had no idea that December 20 begins the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which forbids eating and drinking during daylight hours. There goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a luncheon this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees' beliefs. Perhaps Luigi's can hold off on serving your meal until the end of the party — the days are so short this time of year — or else package everything for take home in little foil swans. Will that work?

Meanwhile, I've arranged for members of Overeaters Anonymous to sit farthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant women will get the table closest to the restrooms. Gays are allowed to sit with each other. Lesbians do not have to sit with Gay men, each will have their own table. Yes, there will be flower arrangement for the Gay men's table. To the person asking permission to cross dress, no cross dressing allowed though. We will have booster seats for short people. Low-fat food will be available for those on a diet. We cannot control the salt used in the food we suggest for those people with high blood problems to taste first. There will be fresh fruits as dessert for Diabetics, the restaurant cannot supply "No Sugar" desserts. Sorry!

Did I miss anything?

Patty

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FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 8
RE: Holiday Party

So December 22 marks the Winter Solstice...what do you expect me to do, a tap-dance on your heads? Fire regulations at Luigi's prohibit the burning of sage by our "earth-based Goddess-worshiping" employees, but we'll try to accommodate your shamanic drumming circle during the band's breaks. Okay???

Patty

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FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
To: All Employees
Date: December 9
RE: Holiday Party

People, people, nothing sinister was intended by having our CEO dress up like Santa Claus! Even if the anagram of "Santa" does happen to be "Satan," there is no evil connotation to our own "little man in a red suit." It's a tradition, folks, like sugar shock at Halloween or family feuds over the thanksgiving turkey or broken hearts on Valentine's Day.

Could we lighten up? Please????????? Also the company has changed their mind in announcing the special announcement at the gathering. You will get a notification in the mail sent to your home.

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FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All #%&$**@ Employees
DATE: December 10
RE: The %#*&^%@*%^Holiday Party

I have no #%&*@*^ idea what the announcement is all about. What the %#&^!@ do I care...I KNOW WHAT I AM GOING TO GET!!!!!!!!!!!! You change your address now and you are dead!!!!!!!!!!!! No more changes of address will be allowed in my office. Try to come in and change your address, I will have you hung from the ceiling in the warehouse!!!!!!!!!!!

Vegetarians!?!?!? I've had it with you people!!! We're going to keep this party at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue whether you like it or not, so you can sit quietly at the table furthest from the "grill of death," as you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your #$%^&*! salad bar, including hydroponic tomatoes. But you know, they have feelings, too. Tomatoes scream when you slice them. I've heard them scream. I'm hearing them scream right now! > HA !

I hope you all have a rotten holiday! Drive drunk and die, you hear me!!!!!!!!!!!

The Bitch from HELL!!!!!!!!

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FROM: Terri Bishop, Acting Human Resources Director
DATE: December 14
RE: Patty Lewis and Holiday Party

I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Patty Lewis a speedy recovery from her stress-related illness and I'll continue to forward your cards to her at the sanitarium. In the meantime, management has decided to cancel our Holiday Party and give everyone the afternoon of the 23rd off with full pay.

Happy Holidays!

(from Snopes.com)

Blogging is hard, hard work!

You know, this blogging thing used to be a whole lot easier.  Back in the day, I'd just pour myself a scotch, sit on the couch, ruminate about my impending fatherhood and crank out a post in about 15 minutes.  Of course, there was no pressure to write anything because the only two people on the planet even reading this blog were me and the BossLady (and back then, I'm not even sure SHE was reading it all that much.)

Originally, this site was just supposed to be a place where I could throw down some thoughts, work some shit out and find a community of like-minded men.  It was going to be a place where, for posterity's sake, I could track my transition into fatherhood and chronicle the love I have for my daughter.  But somewhere along the line, I started just talking about whatever was on my mind.  And by opening up other sides of myself, I found an even wider community of people that I could relate to.  Some were older, some younger, some with kids, and some without. And as I've said before, I've found it all to be so amazingly cool.  And I'm continually surprised at how rewarding I find blogging to be.  As most of you know, I love going back and forth with you, checking out your blogs, e-mailing with you and grooving on all the various perspectives we each bring to the table.

But now, I've somehow picked up a wider audience and garnered a small following.  And though that was never my intent, you know what's the coolest part of having a wider readership? I get actual hate mail now.  That's right, friends.  Some people will actually take time out of their own day to sit down and type me a nasty note, telling me what a conceited asshole I am.  Some e-mails are just plain idiotic.  Several are borderline racist.  Not only that, but on a good day, I'll even get some good old-fashioned personal-attack comments on the site as well (that's why, as some of you have noticed, I've been screening the comments before they get posted to the site.)

Do I understand where it comes from?  Sure, I guess so.  After 37 years here on the planet, I've learned that my cynical demeanor and self-deprecating humor can often rub people the wrong way.  Some people dislike me because they think I'm an overconfident son-of-a-bitch.  Some people think I'm yuppie scum.  And some people just dislike me because I have great hair (want to touch it?  I just washed it this morning.  Silky, isn't it?  Soft too, right?) 

I know that my sarcastic sense of humor can turn people against me.  But God damn it, if that's the cost of trying to change the world, one post at a time, so be it!  I'll just have to learn to live with the consequences.  After all, how can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat!   (That's a joke, people.)

But in all seriousness, I don't take the hate mail or nasty comments too seriously.  After all, they don't know the real me.  They only know the persona of MetroDad.  I like to think there's more to me than what I share on this blog.  I'm not sure whether that's actually true...but I like to think so. 

For instance, do you know that when I'm not blogging, I cry?  Really, I cry a lot.  And I dance.  And I sleep in the fetal position.  I'm so sensitive that some of my friends call me Wilma.  OK, none of that's true.  But I'll tell you one thing.  There's a lot of pressure in keeping up a blog.  Especially one that carries the responsibility of representing fathers in the blogosphere (and now that Summerland has been canceled, I'm carrying the gay demo as well.)

But really, I strain more muscles at home writing this blog than I ever did playing sports.  You know why?  It's called commitment, baby.   

In actuality, I like to think that this site is just a place where I can meet interesting new people from all over the world (and Jersey too!)  It's a place where we can hang out, shoot the shit, get into some discussions every once in awhile and have some good laughs together.  As my good friend Jason put it recently, a blog is like a house.  When you comment on someone else's blog, you're a guest in their house. If you're a guest, mind your manners.

So all you playa haters, anonymous commentors and unwelcome dog turds?  I'm not sure what your problem is, but it tastes like chicken.  If you don't like me, my blog or the people who come here, feel free to leave. 

Like the flight attendants always say to me when I get too drunk on the plane ride back from Vegas, "you don't have to go home, sir, but you got to get the heck up outta here!"

Comments are now open. 

 

The Lost Arts

I wrote a post last week over at DadCentric about the lost art of the mixed cocktail. .  Aside from the fact that the post got me thinking about turning the Peanut's diaper-changing table into a homemade mini bar, it also got me thinking about other lost arts..like the hand-written thank you note, the two-handed bounce pass, and the hand job. (Just kidding.  Sort of. Ok, not really. Whatever!)

Anyway…I think I'm stating the obvious when I say, "the times, man.  They are a changing."  But seriously, I think that there are quite a few significant socio-cultural traditions in America that are starting to lose significant ground and may soon become extinct.  I think that by the time the Peanut hits 18 and I bring up any of these so-called "lost arts," she's going to look at me as if I'm totally crazy.

So, while I was sitting on the can today, I started thinking about other so-called "lost arts."  Here's what I've come up with so far...

The Lost Art of Lunching

Approximately once every two months, I meet my buddy Kyle for lunch.  He works in a relatively nearby office so, occasionally, we’ll phone one another up to to grab a sandwich and shoot the shit.  But the rest of the time?  I either go to the deli downstairs and find something to eat at my desk or I bring my lunch from home and eat it at my desk.  The whole process usually takes about 10 minutes.  Clearly, the days of steak sandwiches and a few martinis are over.  But does anyone take a full hour anymore?  Are we, as a society, so rushed that we can’t even sit down and eat a proper meal during the workday anymore?  Because honestly? I feel like pretty soon, we'll all just be shooting up Big Macs in the backroom during our pee breaks.

The Lost Art of the Bender

These days, the only time that you generally hear about people consuming copious amounts of alcohol is when the conversation turns to the growing trend of binge drinking (the weekly act of high school and college kids boozing it up until they pass out, solely for the sake of entertainment.) But what if you have a deeper, darker desire?  What if, in a time of great personal sorrow or despair, you simply wish to escape, disappear from sight and drink unrepentantly for a long period of time?  What if you feel the need to vanish from the planet for a “lost” weekend?  Then, my friends, you plan on going on a bender. 

Now, is it me or has the bender been forgotten as a semi-legitimate form of self-exploration?  Because I’ll be honest with you, folks.  There have been a few times in my life where therapy and the comfort of loved ones haven’t always been enough to soothe my soul.  I wouldn’t prescribe it for everyone but there’s something to be said for grieving via a bottle. But I feel society frowns upon it now.  So, is the bender as a form of self-therapy dead?  Has it been replaced by Prozac nation?  Jut wondering.

The Lost Art of Talking Trash

When I was a kid growing up and playing competitive sports, talking trash was often an integral part of the sub-culture.  Many times, it was the battle within the war.  With a few well-chosen words, you could get inside your opponent’s head and gain a subtle advantage.  Sure, it was part braggadocio.  But it was also part entertainment.  And make no mistake, talking trash was an art form. Guys like Charles Barkley, Muhammad Ali, and Reggie Jackson were the Van Goghs, Picassos and Rembrandts of the genre. 

But now, it seems that political correctness has decried that talking trash is uncivilized and has no part in competitive sports.  Furthermore, now you not only have crazed parents in the stands, ready to jump down and attack people but, if you someone is perceivably disrespected, you're also likely to get shot!  Too bad.  Because talking trash is like great poetry.  And I hope that the time comes again when instead of admiring guys do idiotic TD dances in the end zone, we'll have more eloquent spokesmen like Reggie Jackson (who after all, uttered the following: "The only reason I really don't like playing in the World Series is 'cause I can't watch myself play."

The Lost Art of Hitchhiking

When I was in my teens and early 20’s, I used to hitchhike all the time.  Now, I’m not talking about thumbing it across country like Tom Robbins’ Sissy Hankshaw.  But there was many a summer when I was working in rural Pennsylvania or Massachusetts when I would get around town simply by thumbing a ride.  It was cheap and you never knew when you were going to meet someone interesting.  But somewhere along the line, something changed. Somehow, hitchhikers became synonymous with criminals (even though they were more likely to be the victims of a crime.) And somehow, we began to trust our fellow brethren less and less. Nowadays?  I can’t even remember the last time I saw a hitchhiker. 

But hitchhiking is an interesting experience.  Do you know what its like to be alone on the side of the road, putting your faith in the kindness of strangers?  Sure, there’s always the slightest hint of fear (which probably makes it a little more exciting.)  But picking up a hitchhiker truly is a random act of kindness.  And you know what?  We don’t see too enough of those these days.

The Lost Art of the Crank Call

When Caller ID was first introduced to the public, it’s safe to say that few people were happier than I was.  At the time, I was single and in my early 20’s.  I won’t go into all the details but let’s just say that I was a horrible dater.  If I went out with a woman a few times and I no longer wanted to see her again?  I would simply employ technology to disappear off the face of the planet.  My friends used to refer to it as the “Total Media Blackout.”   

Now, I wasn’t necessarily proud of those times but, in all honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to pull them off without Caller ID.  God, I loved Caller ID.  Still do.  Without it, I would NEVER answer my phone.  But with every technological advance, it seems that something irreplaceable has been lost along the way.  For me, it’s the lost art of the crank call. 

I’m not talking of those asinine crank calls like, “hello?  Is Mike Hunt there?”  That’s juvenile frat-boy behavior.  No, the prank calls my young friends and I did were more cunning and Chekhovian in nature. 

Growing up, one of our favorites involved going through the neighborhood directories and crank calling strangers. 

Victim: "Hello?"

Me: "Hi.  Is this William T. Gibson?"

Victim: "Yes, it is."

Me: "William Gibson in Manhattan?”

Victim: "Yes."

Me: "At 1249 Broadway?"

Victim: "That's right."

Me: "Phone number 555-1212?"

Victim: "Yes."

Me: "Well crap, I must have the wrong number. Sorry!"

Victim: "Ok.  No problem!" *

We used to make calls like this ALL THE TIME and never--not once--did anyone ever notice anything odd about the conversation.  Sadly, the Peanut will never be able to follow in her father's footsteps. Because of Caller ID, the fun aspects of telephonic anonymity are long gone.  Alas, the age of innocent pranks may be gone with it.  The age of innocent fun has died as well.

(*Upon further contemplation, this type of prank call may have had more in common with Beckett than Chekhov.  I'll leave it to my man Dutch to correct me if I'm wrong.)

Again, this may be another case of an old man reminiscing about his youth.  But what do you think?  And are there any other "lost arts" that you think your child will never get to witness?  As always, an inquiring mind wants to know. 

It's "bling, bling" not "bling, bling, BLING"

As much as I love living in Manhattan, one of the real problems I have about raising a daughter here is the gross display of wealth. 

Now, don't get me wrong.  I've got absolutely nothing against people making as much money as they humanly can.  It's the great American way.  If you've somehow figured out a way to become obscenely wealthy or you're a member of the Lucky Sperm Club?  Good for you, dude!  And if you choose to blow your wealth on Evian-filled swimming pools, gold toilet plungers and matching fur coats for the entire family AND the dog?  Well, it's your God-given American right! 

What I'm trying to say here is that I'm all for capitalism.  All the other systems seem to have worked out about as well as Steve Urkel's comeback. 

I bring all of this up because of the recent news story about the richer-than-god NY defense contractor David Brooks, who reportedly spent over $10 million on his daughter Elizabeth's bat mitzvah.  For his 13-year-old daughter's auspicious entry into womanhood, Mr. Brooks not only took over both floors of the famous Rainbow Room but he also hired 50 Cent, Aerosmith, the Eagles, Stevie Nicks, Ciara, Kenny G and Tom Petty to perform at the event.  The performers were flown in on Mr. Brooks' private plane.  A specially-built stage was built to accommodate the concert.  And goody bags for the little kids cost over $1,000 and included a digital camera, the latest video ipod and other assorted luxuries. 

Now, at this point, I'm not quite sure what disturbs me more: the fact that my boy 50 Cent actually sang the lyrics "go shortie, it's your bat mitzvah. we gonna party like it's your bat mitzvah" or the fact that I think such a gross display of ones wealth is morally reprehensible.

Some of you may be saying to yourself, "wait, Metro.  Didn't you just say that it's every American's God-given right to spend their hard-earned money any way they want?"  Yes, I did.  And if Mr. Brooks wanted to burn hundred-dollar bills off a hooker's ass?  Well, shit, I'd be first in line to pat him on the back and lend him some matches.  But my problem with the whole bat mitzvah brouhaha is the fact that children were involved. 

Because let's face it.  We all know how malleable kids are.  For many kids out there, Eminem's got more influence on them than mom and pops.  And while you can say "please," "excuse me," and "God bless you" in front of your kids all you want, that doesn't necessarily mean they're not going to walk around, ending every sentence with "you know what I'm saying, motherfucker!"

Though my little daughter is only 14 months old, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how I can instill the right moral values in her.  How does one raise a kind, intelligent, well-adjusted child in New York City?  How can I ensure that she remains grounded despite the insanity around her?  I want the Peanut to always have drive and ambition.  I want her to always remain modest.  And I want her to always keep things in perspective and strive to help those who may be less fortunate.  Not an easy task in and of itself.  And it's much harder to accomplish when guys like Mr. Brooks are vulgarly displaying their wealth and subsequently teaching their kids that money has no moral value. 

By no means do I intend to single out Mr. Brooks for this phenomenon.  Anyone who's watched two seconds of "Laguna Beach," "My Super Sweet Sixteen," "Cribs," "Rich Girls," or "Filthy Rich: Cattle Drive," knows what I'm talking about.  Am I turning into a cranky old man or do today's kids seem to have less respect for money than previous generations? 

Again, I'm not saying that Mr. Brooks should be spending that money on victims of Katrina, homeless people or African refugees.  It's his money and he can do what he want with it.  I'm just saying that, like anal sex and smoking dope, there are just some things you shouldn't do in front of the kids.  And spending obscene amounts of money on children who can't fully fathom the meaning of it is one of those things.  All those kids see is the bling. 

Personally, I'm glad that I have plenty of time to think about all this.  So far, the Peanut hasn't come up to me complaining about the fact that she doesn't have a gold binky and cashmere diapers like Muffy von Foufeenberg.

But seriously, folks, what do YOU think about all this?  An inquiring mind wants to know. 

Let's hug it out, Bitch!

I was somewhat reluctant to post about this because it feels a little like I'm using the blog to pimp for something. And when I started this site, I swore to myself that I would never do that.  However, it's for a good cause that's very close to my heart so, after considerable debate, I decided that I'm going to cross over the line.  Anyone got a problem with that, you know what you can do to yourself. 

As some of you may know, I lost one of my best friends on 9/11.  I've written about Andy before and though it's been more than 4 years since he passed away, I still think about him all the time.  To remember his spirit and honor his memory, a few of us have started a charity in his name.  The sole purpose of the charity is to provide mentoring and scholarships to numerous New York City public-school kids.  So far, the charity has proven to be a remarkable success and we've been able to help many kids extend their horizons and imagine possibilities beyond their wildest dreams.

I mention all of this now for two reasons.  One, because as the year comes to an end, many people may be looking for non-profit charities to donate to for tax purposes.  Many of you may also have companies who match charitable contributions.  If you are feeling so inclined, I ask only that you read about the Andrew Golkin Memorial Fund and consider making a donation.

Second, for any of you that are in NYC, we're holding our annual benefit cocktail party tonight at Diane von Furstenberg's private studio.  Tickets are available at the door from 7-10 pm.   We've collected some very cool items for our auction this year.  So if you're interested, come downtown tonight, get really drunk and bid on some of the following items:

• A walk-on role in an episode of HBO's "ENTOURAGE"
• Two tickets to the 2006 Grammys and private after-party.
• Front-row seats to various film premieres, fashion shows and concerts.
  
• Original artwork by Charles Gwathmey, Julie Mehretu, and Oscar de la Renta.
• Season tickets to the Jets, Giants, Rangers and Knicks.

Those are just a few of the many cool items we're auctioning off.  If you want to know what else is available, you're going to have to come down to the event! 

Thanks for your support. 

MetroDad will return to its normally scheduled programming of poop jokes, brain farts, rants and raves later this week.   This message has  been brought to you by the fine folks at Johnnie Walker. 

A letter from the Peanut (age 14 months)

Dear Da-Da,

You know how much I love you, right?  After all, you and I go waaaaay back.  Aside from the lady who takes care of me all day and that other woman who shoots warm milk out of her chest, you are definitely one of my all-time favorite people around.  I love that you let me stick my finger up your nose all the time.  I love your funny faces.  And I love the fact that you want to hang out with me all the time. 

But, Da-Da, I’ve just got to say one thing…What. The. Fuck?  What’s going on these days? Where the heck am I?  I feel like I'm inside one of those psychedelic Baby Einstein videos.  Don’t you know I’m a Weissbluth baby?  Holy crap, Da-Da!  How about a little refresher course?  ‘Cause you’re really messing me up these days and I’m getting a little stressed out here. 

One day, I’m sitting in our living room, enjoying the soothing rumble of the sanitation trucks and the screeching wail of the fire engines.  Next thing I know, we’re out in the  middle of someplace called Texas.  I don’t know where this Texas place is but the people there are fucking enormous!  Don’t they read Baby Vogue?  Have they never heard of Atkins, tofu or wheatgrass?  And why the heck did you keep putting those cowboy hats on me and laughing?  I’m going to remember that for a long time, Da-Da.   

Anyway…just when I start to get comfortable back in NYC, what do you ass-clowns do to me?  You screw up my routine again and take me to someplace called Denver.  WTF, Da-Da?  It’s freezing here!  My milk is chilled like a martini and my sippy cup is like a freaking icicle!  And is it me or is my nose like the Trevisi Fountain of snot?  Seriously, you don’t have to feed me anymore.  I’ll just eat this IV drip of boogers that keep streaming into my mouth. 

By the way, what’s with this puffy red snowsuit?  It makes me feel all chubby and stuff.  Also, I overheard some lady say that I look like a little red Ewok.  I don’t know what that means but it doesn’t sound flattering.  That’s why I coughed in her face when she got all up in my grill.  Besides, NOBODY squeeze my cheeks unless I say so.  You know that, right? 

Anyway…all I’m saying, Da-Da, is that I think we need to call a truce.  You stop messing with my sleep routines and I’ll stop making your plane rides a living hell.  Now, do me a favor please and heat this bottle up, ok?  I’m cold and I need a nap.  And if that lady comes by with those peanuts again, grab me a bag, will ya?  Oh yeah, and buy yourself a scotch, Da-Da,and put it on my tab. 

I love you, Da-Da.  You’re the best!

Sincerely,
The Peanut   

 

 

Reason #247 To Quit My Job

BossLady, the Peanut and I are in Winter Park, Co for a few days of skiing and snowboarding.  It dumped over 8" of fresh powder today and they're expecting another 20" tonight.  Pure heaven,.

Someone tell me again why I haven't quit my job, sold my apartment, and moved the family here? Because as I breathe in this fresh mountain air, look out over the gorgeous scenery, and watch the Peanut gleefully frolic in the powder, I'm really thinking that we might be doing something wrong with our lives.

Maybe tomorrow I'll look and see if they're hiring at the local bookstore...of course, that'll be after I'm done wiping all that powder off my enormous grin!  Boo ya!  Fresh tracks!      
   

Tales of Tryptophan, Turkey & Texas

We just returned from visiting the BossLady's folks out in Dallas.  As always, we had a wonderful time.  The grandparents were absolutely thrilled to hang out with the the Peanut and we all enjoyed our little inter-generational love-fest.  Personally, I've always thought that 4 days is the perfect amount of time to spend with ANYONE'S parents so, despite our jolly-good time, I'm glad to be back in NYC. 

Anyway, as I usually do when I'm a little jammed up in the office, I thought I'd engage in a little random chaos theory.  If there's a unifying thread to all this, let me know.  My shrink and I would love to hear what it is.  Otherwise, I hope that you and your families all had a great Thanksgiving and that none of you burned your houses down by deep-frying a turkey. 

SHE'S NOT MY BABY.  I'M JUST THE MANNY!

You know that nightmare baby that you sometimes encounter while flying?  The one who cries incessantly, only pausing to moan or whimper?  Well, flying out to Dallas, our little Peanut was THAT BABY.  She'd woken up too early that morning, was thrown off her schedule and was overtired all day.  By the time, we got on the plane, she was in total meltdown.  How bad did it get?  At one point, I took her to the bathroom to give our fellow passengers a break.  Suddenly, she stopped crying.  I don't know whether it was her fascination with the blue toilet water or the fact that she unrolled about 800 feet of toilet paper in a 3 foot space but I wasn't going to disrupt the silence.  We ended up hanging out inside the toilet for about 20 minutes!  You should have seen the smile on her face!  When people knocked on the bathroom door, I just grunted loudly like I was battling a giant turd.  Unfortunately, when we came out, Peanut started wailing again.  And as I handed her off to BossLady, I could have sworn I heard myself say, "Here's your daughter, lady.  I'll be at the bar!"

BRIBERY, COURTESY AND "THE PRICE IS RIGHT"

We travel enough with the Peanut to know that there are good flights and there are bad flights.  And usually, you don't know which one it's going to be until you get on the plane.  That being said, I like to think we're pretty courteous people who respect the rights of those around us.  I bring this up because we were so scarred by the flight out to Dallas that we started coming up with a game plan for the return flight.  I won't go into details but the plan involved buying a large box of ear plugs, a few bags of candy and a stack of Continental drink vouchers.  We didn't have to use any of them but, just out of curiosity, would that have made things better?  Has anyone ever given you a sympathy bribe on a plane before?  Because I'm thinking about packaging these up and marketing them to itinerant parents.  What do you all think?  Is this a million dollar idea (or just a 5 cent one)? 

TURKEY IS A GATEWAY DRUG TO AMBIEN

We don't eat turkey on Thanksgiving.  The last time BossLady and I ate turkey was 7 years ago.  We were dating long-distance.  She was in L.A. and I was in NYC.  One weekend, she took the Friday night red-eye and arrived at my apartment around noon.  We lounged around for awhile and then decided to order in some buffalo wings for lunch.  And although the wings looked suspiciously large, they were mighty tasty so we indulged ourselves to our heart's content.  Feeling a little full, we decided to lie down and take a nap.  The next thing we remember was the sound of my phone ringing...14 hours later!  Turns out the buffalo wings were Turkey wings and we'd both overdosed on Tryptophan.  BossLady had to leave a few hours later so it turns out that she'd flown a total of 10 hours just so we could have a meal and a long nap together.  We swore on a jumbo wing that we'd never eat turkey again.

IS THERE A SWEETER PHRASE THAN "JACK-IN-THE-BOX DRIVE-THRU (OPEN 24 HOURS)"?

Last time I wrote one of these chaotic posts, I ended up discussing my love of Jack-in-the-Box.  Well, it turns out that they opened a 24-hour establishment less than 5 minutes away from my In-Laws' house!  (For those of you who are vegetarians, please proceed to the next post.  Otherwise, NSFW.)  Not only did I go there every day to get my beloved Sourdough Jack with cheese and extra bacon, BossLady was reunited with her Spicy Chicken Club.  And the Peanut?  Her new best friend is the Oreo milkshake.  God bless America.  God bless fast-food.  And God bless Dallas (where, judging by the increasing girth of its denizens, I think a baby's first words are, "Hey, dude. Can I get fries with that?")

BETTER TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST THAN TO HAVE NEVER LOVED AT ALL

The in-laws don't have cable TV, TiVo, DVR, high-speed internet or Wifi.  Sometimes, I felt like I was on a bad episode of "Survivor: Plano."   

I WAS ONLY GONE FOR 4 DAYS BUT IN BLOGGINGBABY.COM TERMS, THAT'S LIKE 275 POSTS!

Ahhh...God bless Blogging Baby!  Without them, how else would I have kept up on Jennifer Garner's pregnancy, Rod Stewart's newborn and the state of lesbian cloth diapering in Western Mongolia?  Just kidding.  I can give them a little shit because all my favorite bloggers are now working for them.  And if you want to play a little game, here's a pretty fun link that allows you to try and match up the bloggers with their baby photos.  I'm guessing my buddy Dutch is the one dressed like a street urchin, Jay is the weird kid with a goatee and Stefania is the cute one.  In a similar vein, we'll be running a similar contest over at DadCentric next month (except there, you're going to have to match the blogger with a drunken photo of his ass!)

THE SUBTLE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN WEIRD, DYSFUNCTIONAL & JUST PLAIN CRAZY!

During the past four days, I've watched BossLady's father unconsciously rip a flurry of belches at the dinner table that would have made Belushi proud.  Another night, I watched as he decided to start repairing the motor of his edge trimmer...on the kitchen table...at midnight.  I also got to witness BossLady's mom and her cooking OCD.  Watching her in the kitchen is like watching Iron Chef on amphetamines (and by this I don't mean me doing some smack and watching TV.  I mean it's as if the Iron Chefs took some meth and started cooking.)  I love watching my MIL.  She'll cook until she's absolutely wiped out and collapes from exhaustion.  When she wakes up?  It's right back to the kitchen.  If the results weren't so gastronomically amazing, it would be almost frightening to watch. 

It's funny because these idiosyncrasies of her parents are sometimes embarrassing for the BossLady but, on the other hand, I think they're absolutely endearing and totally charming.  These weird habits of her parents only make me love the BossLady more.  But of course, after thinking about it for awhile, I can see where she's coming from. I know there are PLENTY of times when my parents will do something that not only drives me to the brink of insanity but also absolutely embarrasses the hell out of me.  Witness...

Whenever we’re in a restaurant and my father wants something, he snaps his fingers and yells, “Senor!”  It doesn't matter whether the waiter is Chinese or Italian, my father somehow believes that Spanish is the universal language for the food-services industry.  Similarly, he also doesn’t believe it’s necessary to have an empty mouth when having a conversation.  These are basically two of the many reasons I don't invite friends out to dinner with my folks anymore. 

I was once playing golf with my mother and some of my buddies when we looked up the fairway and saw her sitting in the middle of a giant orange tree. After climbing down, she then ran over to us yelling “Here, boys! Eat, eat!  Oranges!  Vitamin C! It’s good for you!” Not only was I completely embarrassed but she then went on to birdie the fucking hole.

I'm not even going to bring up my father's ability to clear out a room with his farts or his tendency to cut his nails in public.  The list literally goes on and on.  But as I sit and think about it, I wonder whether it's all some sort of manifest destiny.  In a way, I think parents are supposed to embarrass their kids.  It's all part of some cosmic circle involving payback and penance.  And knowing this?  I can only begin to think of the numerous ways that I'm going to embarrass the Peanut in front of all her friends as she gets older.

But want to know the truth? 

I can't wait!

 

 

Giving Thanks

During the past week over at DadCentric, I’ve been writing about the bizarre history of past Thanksgivings.  I’ve also posted about how, for me, Turducken symbolizes all that is great about America. 

But as I sit here tonight in Dallas, stuffed out of my gourd and staring ay my MIL’s collection of refrigerator magnet business cards,  I'm thinking about what Thanksgiving really means to me.  In a year that has witnessed a country at war, the loss of countless American lives and several natural disasters of epic proportions, I think that this Thanksgiving stands out as a time when we should all truly think about the things for which to be thankful.  Whether large or small, there are many things in life that we all both respect and appreciate.  Here’s my 2005 short list…

MAJOR DOMO...

A happy & healthy family.  The Peanut was only 7 weeks old last Thanksgiving.  Now, she’s a beautiful and healthy 13-month-old girl who loves nothing more than to scamper around all over the place at full speed.  Not only am I thrilled to see her running and climbing, I’m thankful that everyone in her family is well enough to run and climb alongside her.  May we all continue to keep up with her as the years go by.

A dysfunctional family.  Sure, they’re all healthy but man, nobody drives me nuts like my family.  But, at the end of the day, you’re stuck with them.  And likewise, they’re stuck with you.  So…this Thanksgiving?  As we all sit around with our crazy uncles, our psychotic aunts and our senile grandparents?  Remember...you are not alone!  And as the years go by?  Who knows?  YOU might be that crazy uncle or psychotic aunt! 

My friends.  Coming from an incredibly small yet remarkably dysfunctional family, I’ve always had extremely close friendships and I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that friends are the family that you get to choose.  I have great friends.  They’re smart, funny, interesting and caring.  And for the most part, I’ve known many of them forever.  I realize how rare that is and I’m thankful to have all of them be a part of my past, present and future. 

My wife.  Before I met the BossLady, I was becoming somewhat comfortable with the idea that I might be alone for the rest of my life.  It wasn’t that I hadn’t met any beautiful or interesting women.  It was just that I hadn’t found one with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life.  I was living a fairly independent life and I was cherishing all the freedom.  Besides, I can be a moody, goofy, strange and eclectic motherfucker.  Maybe I was better off alone.  But then, the BossLady came into my life and turned it upside down.  Meeting my soul mate and learning what it means to commit our lives to one another is something for which I’ll always be thankful.  Sharing parenthood with her makes it even more special.

NOT TO BE DISMISSED LIGHTLY…

Role models (v. 2005).  Kudos and respect to Pat Tillman, Chuck Hagel, Sandra Day O’Connor, Lance Armstrong and George Galloway.  One day, I’ll tell my daughter stories about all of you.  I’ll explain to her that no human is perfect and how, as individuals, you all had your faults.  But I’ll also explain to her how all of you stayed true to your beliefs, always spoke your mind, never took shit from anyone and, if necessary, took your licks to remain faithful to your own ideals and principles.  I’ll tell her your stories and explain how, in Daddy’s opinion, right ultimately prevails over might. 

Hope, faith and charity.  First, there was the Asian tsunami.  Then, there was Katrina.  And right after that?  The earthquake in Pakistan.  After each and every natural disaster, Americans consistently reached into their hearts, their pockets and their souls to assist those who desperately needed our help.  As a nation, we may have a ways to go before we are able to adequately tackle society's problems, both at home and abroad.  However, as individuals, we proved once again that there are few people as selfless and generous as us.   

Only 25 months until we have a new president.  Liberal or conservative, it’s hard to imagine how anyone can be supremely enthusiastic about our current president.  I’m not talking about partisan politics or party loyalty.  I’m talking about a general dearth of leaders in this country.  Where are the leaders who will inspire us as a nation?  Who will motivate us to greater heights?  Because while I would never disrespect the office of the presidency, I eagerly look forward to the next election and hope that we can achieve some sort of paradigm shift in our selection.  From top to bottom, we deserve far better from those who seek to represent us. 

My fellow passengers on Flt. #1137.  I am so sorry that my daughter’s overtiredness caused her to be so cranky during the entire flight from NY.  I apologize profusely.  I cannot believe how incredibly patient and understanding all of you were.  While your advice was greatly appreciated, I continue to be blown away by your kindness.  Thanks for truly embracing the holiday spirit and being so amazingly cool.

MINOR BLESSINGS.  Roasted chestnuts.  The return of Fiona Apple.  TiVo. Good books read by the fireplace.  Homemade pumpkin pie.  Pitchers and catchers reporting for spring training in 3 months.  Regular bowel movements. The decreasing popularity of Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears.  Grandparents.  And new babies. 

So on this day of stuffing our faces and watching football with our weird relatives, may we all remember how lucky we truly are.  May we all remember to help those around us in need.  And may we all remember that health, love and friendship are never to be taken for granted. 

From all of us to all of you…Happy Thanksgiving to you and your families!

Reflections on a Monday Morning (as a Paean to Dooce)

Monday mornings are a bitch, aren't they?  Commuting to work via the NYC subway system not only sometimes inflicts salt to the wound but also often truly tests the outer limits of one's patience.  With apologies to my friend Heather, I offer a brief glimpse of my Monday morning.  Thankfully, it's going to be a short week. 

How to Annoy Me

Spread your legs wide while sitting in a crowded subway train, thereby taking up two full seats.  Then, cough up a lung without covering your mouth.  Finally?  Refuse to give up ONE of your damn seats for a pregnant lady.  Don't you know how much that fucking pisses me off?  I would have excused the leg-spreading and the coughing.  But there was no way I wasn't going to get all up in your face for not offering your seat to a pregant lady, asshole! 

How to Charm Me

Saying thank you.  People don't realize how far a simple thank you can go.  (Bonus points for remarking that I must be a father myself, asking whether I have a photo of my child, and cooing for an embarrasingly long time while looking at the Peanut's pic on my cell phone.)

Boobs

I saw a man on the subway today and he had bigger boobs than any woman (pregnant or otherwise) I've ever seen.  It was grotesquely fascinating and I found myself rapt with scientific curiosity.   What's the biggest cup size of any man on the planet?  Would it be in the Guiness Book of Records?  Would they have shown it on "That's Incredible!"?  What kind of support system would be needed with a rack that large? 

Poop

No real poop stories from the Monday morning commute.   But last Friday?  There was a man on the train who smelled as if he'd mixed poop with some Indian food and then rubbed it all over his smelly feet.  On the one hand, I was totally grossed out.  On the other hand, I sort of started craving Indian food.  Kind of weird, eh?

Poop (Part Deux)

Yesterday, the Peanut's butt machine-gunned out what looked like a whole carton of Whoppers malted milk balls!  Twice!  We checked her diaper and there were literally about 10 of these perfectly-formed poo balls that were so well uniformly well-polished that they looked they were made by Hersheys.  I was in such total awe that I wanted to zip-lock the balls of poop, stick them in the fridge and show them to everyone who came over to our apartment.

Feeling Guilty

For pretending that I didn't smell the poop in my daughter's diaper this morning and letting her walk around with a diaper filled with crap until the nanny arrived because I didn't feel like changing her diaper due to the aforementioned traumatization of the Whoppers incident.  Feeling guiltier for hearing the nanny in the other room exclaim, "Wow, Peanut!  That's quite a poop!  How long has that been in there?"

I Take Pictures Every Day with a Nikon D70

Ok, I don't take pictures every day with my D70.  But we did take this one recently.  The leaves were changing colors so we decided to take a drive up to Storm King Art Center, an amazing outdoor sculpture and nature museum in upstate New York.  If any of you are ever visiting in the Tri-State area, go check it out.  It's one of New York's secret pleasures.  Anyway, we call this photo "A Man, a Girl and a Biscuit."

   

MetroDad was once MetroBoy

As I mentioned in my previous post, the TV special and album "Free to Be You and Me" brought back a flood of memories from my childhood.  And in thinking about how important that the album was to me as a young boy, I started reminiscing about other memories from my childhood.  Swimming in a stream-of-conciousness, I compiled a quick list of random things that I longingly remember from my childhood...

• Shrinky Dinks
• "50 Facts about the 50 States"
• "Brite Lites"
• Schoolhouse Rock
• Encyclopedia Brown, Boy Detective
• "James & the Giant Peach"
• Mad Libs
• "Tales of a Fourth-Grade Nothing."
• Play-Doh
• Pop Rocks, Fun Dip & Dots
• Stickball bats made out of broomsticks
• Mattel Football 2 LED game
• Pogo Sticks
• Home-made ice sticks made with orange juice
• Sea Monkeys
• Felt banners of my favorite sports teams
• Big Wheel & The Green Machine

What I'd like to know is...

(1) Are kids still into this stuff?  As the Peanut gets older, will I be able to share these memories of my childhood with her?

(2) What do YOU remember from your childhood? 

"Free to Be You and Me" (A MetroDad Recommendation)

There are many things that "the boys" over at DadCentric have in common.  We all love our kids.  We're all involved fathers.  And we all try to maintain a sense of humor about parenting.  But another thing that seems to bind us together is our love of music.  Whether it's Chris strumming baby songs to Mia on his guitar, Jason making playlists for Lucas or Peter talking about his earliest musical memories, it's clear that we all share a passion and love of music that we want to pass onto our sons and daughters. 

Personally, I love playing my music for the Peanut, my lovely 13-month-old-daughter.  She loves it when I sing Morrissey tunes or hum The Killers to her.  And when BossLady is making up silly songs and singing them into her stomach, the Peanut absolutely shrieks in laughter.  Of course, to her, it's just melodic noise and she's happy because she's having fun playing with mommy and daddy. 

But the other day, we put on the "Free to Be You and Me" DVD for her to watch.  And though the Peanut was more interested in her bottle at the time, BossLady and I were absolutely in rapture watching it.  A flood of memories engulfed us both and we sat in amazement as we realized that we still remembered all the words to the songs.  Sitting together, we sang along with Marlo Thomas and Harry Belafonte performing "Parents are People."  Cradling the Peanut, we joined Michael Jackson and Roberta Flack on "When We Grow Up."  And who could ever forget "Helping" by Tom Smothers? 

But not only did we remember the words but we also came to realize how important of a role the album played in our lives.  Thinking about it wistfully almost brings a tear to my eye. 

It's easy to look back at this record as a dippy, feel-good paean to the sensitivities of the 70's.  Using poetry, songs, and sketches, the basic concept of the album and TV show was to salute being oneself; the thematic message was: you, whether you are a boy or a girl, can achieve anything you want.  Maybe it's because this issue strikes such a chord with me now that I have my own child or maybe because this album is like a cult classic to me, but watching it now is an absolutely incredible feeling.  It's so optimistic and uplifting in its goal to teach children valuable lessons through music.  It's really what kid music should be all about. 

And though I'm going to continue to play my music for the Peanut and though I'm sure we're going to be listening to The Wiggles soon enough, I'm going to recommend to all of you to dust off your old copies or to buy the DVD for "Free to Be You and Me." 

Because sharing YOUR childhood with your son or daughter is a trip down memory lane that I think you'll all truly enjoy. 

Confessions of a Grammar Nerd

In the interest of complete disclosure, I want to admit something to all of you that I've been holding out on ever since I started this blog.   It's only fair that I come clean now.  I almost feel like I've been lying to all of you by omission.  But, Internet, I'm here to expose myself now and finally tell the truth...

I am a complete (and borderline dysfunctional) grammar and punctuation freak.

It's not that I get appalled when I hear someone butcher the English language.  It's more like every fucking bone inside me writhes in pain.  I'm not like normal people.  I've come to accept that about myself.  It's something I've worked on internally for many years.  But sometimes I kid myself into thinking that I've got it under control and can safely reenter the world as a functioning member of society.  But last night, I had one of those conversations that rapidly reconfirmed the fact that I'll never be completely cured.  It turns out that I can't even order dinner without raising a ruckus. 

Witness my phone conversation tonight with Carl's Cheese Steaks...

Me: "Does the steak chili have beans?"
Carl's: "Yeah, a few.  Less than regular chili though."
Me: "You mean fewer?"
Carl's: "What?"
Me: "You mean your chili has fewer beans, not less."
Carl's: "Are you fucking kidding me?  You want the God damn chili or not?"
Me: "Yes, please.  How long will it be?"
Carl's:  "When it's ready, I'll have someone bring it over to you."
Me: "You mean he'll take it over."
Carl's: "What?"
Me: "Um, nothing...Please don't spit in my food!"

Ok...so I left out that last part about spitting in my food.  But let's face it, people.  I've worked in the food service industry for years.  I've scrubbed floors, prepped food, bussed tables and waited on hundreds.  Let's be honest.  We all know that he totally spit in my food.  Or dropped some rat shit in there.  Maybe even coughed on my cheese steak.  And you know what?  I totally deserve it.  I know I deserve it.  And I still can't help myself. 

Part of the problem stems from the fact that my mother was a linguistics major in college.  She speaks six languages and has always been a stickler for correct grammar usage.  It's funny because English is nowhere near her native language but, when I was a child, she was constantly correcting my grammar.  She'd even correct my friends' grammar.  It used to drive me fucking nuts!  It's probably what drove me to therapy.  (On the other hand, my father came to this country barely speaking a word of English.  I like to think I'm the illegitimate love child of Strunk, White & Fu Man Chu.) 

But as if my problems at home weren't bad enough, my parents then chose to send me to a very small prep school that was famous for its traditional focus on the classics.  In particular, the school was known for producing a bevy of talented writers (famous alumni include Jack Kerouac, William Carlos Williams, James Salter, Robert Caro,and playwright Ira Levin.)   So not only was I a seventh-grade geek studying Latin, I was also being exposed to an environment that had a zero-tolerance policy for incorrect grammar or punctuation.  I'm not saying my teachers used the cane but there were several times I thought I was going to pee my pants because I was having problems with the subjunctive. 

Life, over the years, hasn't gotten much easier.  It's tough being a stickler for punctuation these days.  The feelings of panic, anger and isolation are not easily understood by others.  Frank McCourt once wrote about missing his bus because he was so angry to see a billboard with the movie poster for "Two Weeks Notice."  Who was responsible for this?  Where was the apostrophe?  The producers certainly would have used it if the film were named "One Month's Notice" or "One Week's Notice."  What happened to "Two Week's Notice?"  Do you care?  Probably not.   But my problem has deep-seated ramifications that affect my daily life.  Witness...

I stopped going to Food Emporium because all their checkout signs said, "10 items or less" (it should be "fewer.")

When someone asks me when I finished college, I literally flinch on the inside when I say "I graduated from Cal in '91." (instead of "I was graduated from Cal in 1991.")

I loved Steve Carrell's work on "The Daily Show" and I continue to love him in "The Office."  But this past year, I really did cringe every time I saw reviews of "The 40 Year-Old Virgin" (correct title should be "The 40-Year-Old Virgin.")  I almost couldn't go to the movie. 

And although I'm lactose intolerant, I still would never order sweets from a restaurant that listed "Deserts" on its menu (Remember..."cold desserts taste good in the desert.")

I know I've got a problem here.  I'm really trying to get better.  But in actuality, it's probably much worse than you think.  In fact, don't even get me started on bad spelling, dangling participles, misplaced modifiers or mix-ups regarding "they're", "there", and "their."  I'm working on it, my friends.  But does anyone else have the same fucking problem?  Am I really the only one who cares about this crap? 

CORRECT GRAMMAR IS THE ONLY THING THAT HOLDS US TOGETHER AS A SOCIETY, PEOPLE! 

(I'm the only one, aren't I?) 

 

 

Dadcentric

I'm pleased to announce that a bunch of the boys and I have gotten together and launched a new website to write about fatherhood.  It's called DadCentric. 

Aside from myself, I'm joined by an illustrious group of fathers.  Many of them are probably familiar to you.  We've got Chris of Rude Cactus, Tony of Cheeky's Hideaway, Jason of Pet Cobra, Chag of Cynical Dad, Peter of Chocolate Makes it Better, Warren of Mr. Big Dubya, and WhiffleBoy. 

Although there are a lot of Mommy and Parenting sites, there's not a whole lot out there for the other half of the parenting equation. So several of us got together to create a site for dads. What you'll find there are tips, stories, advice, reviews, links, and blather...all related to the noble art and science of fathering (and all written with a sense of humor.)  Of course, none of us have any professional experience that qualifies us as experts on fathering.  It's more like a forum or roundtable for discussion.  But it's pretty cool and I think you'll enjoy it.  Go over and check us out. 

Most of the other dads are much more prolific than I am.  I'll mostly be posting a lot of my sporadic brain farts and random musings on fatherhood over there.  In fact, if you want to hear some of my invaluable contributions to the site so far, you're more than welcome to go over and read...

My profound thoughts on the topic of circumcision

How I learned to stop worrying and love "the bomb"

The lengths men will go to protect their daughters

So stop by for a visit, say hello to the boys and come back to tell me what you think!   

Breaking the 4th Wall

When I first started this blog, I thought it would be the web-based equivalent of talking to myself.  I thought it would be a therapeutic way for me to chronicle my transition into fatherhood.  How was I going to adjust from being a care-free guy who loved living a life of spontaneity to becoming a dependable father whose sole responsibility would be to care, nurture and love his infant daughter?  Was my entire personality and inner essence going to be inalterably transformed?  Could I really give up the velvet rope for the velvet slipper?  Was my life going to revolve around the sippy cup?

But I also started this blog to try and find a community of like-minded fathers who were bent on being great parents but who didn't take themselves too seriously.  I wasn't looking for guys who were "too cool for school" and just happened to have become fathers.  No, I was seeking out guys who were taking fatherhood as seriously as me, who always knew they wanted to be fathers and who also knew that humor and a good attitude were valuable tools of the trade.

And I found these cool dads.  I also found a bunch of cool moms.  And surprisingly, I found a bunch of cool people who are neither moms or dads.  And throughout all of this, a funny thing happened...

I fell in love. 

(Ok, maybe Love is a tad strong.  I just thought it would be a nice dramatic literary effect.  Don't worry.  I'm not the drunk party girl who swears she loves you, vomits in your living room and then passes out at your front door.  You know what I'm talking about, right?)

Anyway, in all seriousness, I really did kind of fall in love...with all the readers of this blog who comment and lead me to their own blogs.  I truly consider blogging buddies to be friends.  I'm invested in their lives.  I care what happens to them.  When shit goes bad for one of them, I find myself worrying like a mother hen.

It's funny because the BossLady doesn't read very many blogs.  She basically reads mine and Greg's.  So, in a way, it's like I've made all these friends without her.  And often, I find myself talking to her  about one of my blog friends as if they're either friends from work, friends from distant places or friends I made when I was younger...

"Did I tell you that Dutch & Wood are moving from SF to Detroit?  Dutch told me that they can get a mansion there for almost nothing!"

"Speaking of SF, I wonder if RBrown has found a place to live yet.  Do we know anyone there who could hook her up with a pad?  What do you think about setting her up with one of the SF boys?  By the way, did I tell you her tampon story?"

"I feel badly for Anne.  Her mom just passed away this past week.  Also, it's the one-year anniversary of Weigook's father-in-law passing away.  I wonder how they're both holding up."

"Remember that conversation we had about how crappy parents sometimes make the best grandparents?  MIM just wrote about that on her blog."

"Hey, honey.  What do you think about just getting an Ikea kitchen?  Stephania and her husband are installing all the cabinetry from Ikea and investing in great appliances."

"Remember I told you about Tony?  Anyway, he gave me some great networking resources to think about for potential new jobs.  I think we're going to grab a scotch together one of these days and have a little bitch session together." 

See what I'm talking about? 

Maybe I'm overthinking it all. Maybe we're all just a bunch of voyeuristic turds who are fascinated by the daily transactions of other people's lives. But I feel like it's more than that. And though I can't quite put my finger on it, I'm sure someone much smarter than me will be able to. Because I think the friendships forged over the blogosphere are real. And I'm pretty sure if I met most of my blog buddies in the "real world", we'd get along fabulously.

I bring this all up because I'm breaking through the 4th Wall for the first time and will soon be meeting up with two of my favorite blog friends, Jay and Kim.  They're two of the first people that I ever met online via blogging and I'm looking forward to meeting them.  I couldn't picture two people I'd rather lose my virginity with more.  I know everybody else meets up with blog friends all the time.  I've just never done it before.  That's all.  Will it hurt?  Just kidding.  It actually just made me think of how the internet has changed the social dynamics of society and how we interact with one another.  I mean, I knew it was good for porn and online shopping. But for making new friends?  Who would have thunk it?      

Anyway, let's turn the mic over to you. What do you think about forged friendships via blogging? How do you think blogging has changed the way we interact with one another? How do you feel about blogging in general? How do you feel about the people whose blogs you read? Throw anything out there.

Let's see if we can figure this shit out.