Things that Can't be Unseen or Forgotten

The following event occurred over two years ago and is only now gotten to the point that my personal statue of limitation for uncomfortable and creepy situations has expired.

While I can never be called a prude or a strict goody-goody moralist for the most part I am not overly familiar with most people except close friends and certain family members. The best way I can describe myself is that I am quite formal around most others to the point I can seem standoffish. Over the years there have been numerous instances where my behavior and intentions were grossly misjudged which ultimately caused a considerable amount of hurt feelings.

I actually blame this on my size and appearance. See, I stand over six-feet, five inches with a body type that suggests a different life path could have saw me become an NFL linebacker. Add to that a general facial expression which one army drill instructor told me point blank would easily scary the hell out of an already nervous recruit tends to makes it difficult for some people to judge my true demeanor. In fact, one cold morning at Fort Carson, Colorado a rather meek second lieutenant came around the corner of a building in the motor pool and saw me pulling radio equipment out or a vehicle. Somehow I startled the guy because he immediately snapped to attention and salute me like I was a full bird colonel or something. One word of advice to any young soldier or potential recruit who might read this, if something like this ever happens to you quickly respond back the proper way because the last thing your budding military career needs is a bitchy little officer hounding your ass.

I'll also admit my own sense of humor is almost incomprehensible to many, which by itself throws a huge monkey wrench in how others relate to me. When the main form of humor of those around me involves fart jokes and funny events concerning their redneck adventures while I laugh at Monty Python and Patton Oswalt comedic routines its hard for either to identify with the other. Once again I'll admit that I am a pretentious snob who sees the zany antics of those appearing on such shows as Duck Dynasty frankly beneath me and anything else appealing to the lowest cultural common denominator.

Taking all this into consideration it shouldn't surprise anyone that when my son, Darth Spoilboy, started dating I kept a respectful distance from his various girlfriends. On occasion I've seen how other dads act around their son's girlfriends and while I'm sure it's all innocent and good-natured hospitality, I frankly wouldn't feel comfortable acting in a similar manner. So you might understand how the following incident totally creeped me out.

It started on a Friday with me going to the individual laundry hampers in each room and essentially dumping everything in the floor in front of the washer and beginning the weekly process. Since my workweek begins on a Sunday night Friday mornings are the start of my weekend. Unfortunately, during that time the other members of my family are either at school or work, which leaves me “free” to do the required chores. That always means laundry, and to be honest not only have I become quite good at the job it is not unusual for me to enter a zen-like state when folding the clothes. Believe it or not, I have actually found that the motions of taking a chaotic item out of the dryer and returning it to a state of order quite spiritual. I liken my folding of clothes to videos I've seen where Tibetan monks create beautiful and exceedingly intricate sand art only to destroy once their creation is completed.

During those moments time ceases to have any real meaning with the universe and I becoming one. In fact I often just sit on the floor in front of the dryer and just pull out and fold the clothes there and just use the laundry basket to transport everything back to the rooms they belong.

It was during one of those quiet and spiritual moments that I pulled a rather odd item out of the dryer. It was skimpy, lacy underwear that in all honesty probably came from a place like Victoria's Secret. Yeah, this was one of those times that proved I was never the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer because I sat on the floor for almost a full minute wondering who that sexy undergarment belonged. Excuse the disclosure of far too much information but lets just say that as the custody of the family laundry I knew neither my wife much less my daughter wore anything like that.

When my poorly wired mind finally came up with a possible owner of such a mature and small undergarment I dropped the item and began crawling away from it as if I had stumbled upon a highly radioactive alien lifeform that wanted to drill a hole in my skull and suck out my brain like watery apple sauce. Okay, please no one write comments or send me emails trying to inform me what it meant that my son's girlfriend had her underwear in his dirty laundry, trust me I'm slow at times but this was a no brainer.

The problem I had was how to dispose of the garment since I sure as hell didn't want either individual to know I knew the damn thing, and possibly others, were in the family laundry system. The creepy part in all this was me sorting through the mound of dirty laundry on the floor in front of the washing machine looking for those particular items or anything else that might belong to my son's girlfriend.

After searching I came up with six items, not all of them undergarments, I couldn't readily identify and I threw them, and all my son's clothes, back into his laundry hamper. If young Darth Spoilboy asked me why I hadn't done his laundry my intentioned was to claim I forgot and tell him it was his chore that particular weekend. The two lovebirds showed up at the house a few hours later and I found that I couldn't look the girl in the face. There are just some things I DO NOT want to know about people and the style of underwear they like is quite high on that list.

Thankfully, the two broke up a month or two later, it was never more than a normal high school relationship with one of them losing interest. Needless to say I was quite happy with that turn of events since after the incident because I always felt I needed to leave the living room when they were at the house watching television.

My son is in his second year of college now and came home yesterday not only with a load of dirty laundry but also his new girlfriend. Old habits die hard and I think Darth Spoilboy believed I was going to include his clothes with the rest of the usual laundry. He was quite puzzled at my strong reaction when I told him I didn't care what possible events he had planned for his weekend back home, he was going to do his own damn laundry.

College Life

Six months after the birth of our son, Darth Spoilboy, my wife and I were playing with him on the floor of our den. It was early morning with various toys scattered about along with a couple of sippy cups that somehow could appear out of no where and then disappear again. What I remember most though was a casual but off the wall comment my wife made at the time.

“Well,” she said, “it's been six months and we haven't killed him yet.” Nuance being the key here what she meant was that as brand new and totally inexperienced parents neither of us had done anything stupid yet that could have harmed our son. I, of course, agreed especially since a couple of weeks before that I had seen a new dad actually drop his baby. I just happened to be looking in the right direction when this person placed his child into one of those baby carriers without properly securing him. When the father picked up the carrier the child slipped out and plopped on the grass an overly large and floppy doll.

Luckily, that baby was fine, although I think the dad probably came close to having a heart attack once he realized what happened. The incident scared me as well to the point I spent years making sure neither of my children ever had to suffer through a similar event because of some careless action on my part. It's has been eighteen years since then but I have now reached a point where I can't look after my oldest child.

Yesterday we loaded up his car and mine and along with Dragonwife and Darth Wiggles we followed him up to Clemson University to help him set up his new residence in one of the dorms. It was a simple chore compared to some of the other parents I saw there. They seemed to have brought along everything from home including the kitchen sink for their kids.

As we drove away leaving Spoilboy to begin his own life I couldn't help but remember that father who didn't have the baby carrier secured correctly for his child. All I can hope is that my wife and I have prepared him fully for this new phase in his life.

News from the Home Front

Last Saturday afternoon the kids and I accompanied, Dragonwife, my lovely spouse, to Columbia International Airport so she could begin what would be a week-long business trip to Geneva, Switzerland. Unlike many airports Columbia's is actually a pleasant place to visit. Skylights in the roof provide a fantastic amount of natural sunlight, there are scores of places to sit including old fashioned wood rocking chairs along with plenty of plants scattered about to add some green to the surroundings. While I was okay with staying longer the kids wanted to go home to their respective activities while Dragonwife was eager to get the TSA security checks done and cross over to the section of the airport only passengers can go.

“You really need to get the kids home,” Dragonwife said absentmindedly while digging through her shoulder bag, “plus, I don't want you paying the short term parking fee.”

“Whatever,” I responded feeling slightly ticked that I was the only one of the four of us feeling any warm fuzzys at her getting ready to travel across a significant portion of the planet. So, with nothing left to say I turned and started heading for the exit hoping my kids, my eighteen-year old son and eleven-year old daughter, who were already way ahead, remembered to look both ways before crossing the street going towards the parking garage.

So with one last glance as my wife was scanned down to her bone marrow and felt up by some unisex TSA official I headed out the door feeling the last four of five months of her scrambling to get ready for this trip had ended rather anticlimactically. All things considered it didn't matter much to me since both simple duty and common sense required that I take a week off from work to watch over my kids. Even though Spoilboy is a semi-responsible kid, I just could not fathom leaving them at the alone house while I go do my usual night shift routine.

During the buildup she and I had debated on which one of us would be pulling the toughest duty. She made her case saying it was a business trip and I responded saying yes, in Geneva, Switzerland. I would then mention my National Guard summer camps that were always business along with being in either an alligator infested swamp or some hot and dry desert. Contrary to the nifty and sleek television commercials depicting awesome adventure training my summer camps in the peacetime National Guard were usually less exciting than watching grass grow or paint drying. Now there were the few exceptions when some anal retentive officer, desperate to gain favor with the active duty types, volunteered us for every crap detail under the sun.

Even if I understood the complicated details of my wife's tax attorney profession I could not reveal anything since in all respects it would certainly mean the forfeiture of vital and sensitive parts of my male anatomy. However, I can write that her previous business trips were always in far nicer locations than I could have dreamed compared to places where I regularly removed engorged ticks or cleaned out coarse desert sand from those same sensitive male areas.

During these last several days I have stopped my son from trying to sneak a girl into his room. Made sure my daughter brought a real lunch to school instead of attempting to stuff a bag of frosted flakes cereal into her backpack. Insured that the dogs and cat had fresh food and clean water everyday despite the fact those duties belong to the kids. This list could go on but lets just say they kept me busy and leave it at that.

Along with keeping the two Sith Lords honest I had the normal duties of making sure the house stayed reasonably clean, the refrigerator doors were kept closed, the front door was locked at night, and that a mountain of laundry did not grow so high as to touch the ceiling. In short, while I did not delve deeply into the “honey-do” list left by Dragonwife I stayed consistently busy during her absence, not that I will get any credit for it. Several times during this past week while in the middle of some mundane chore I had a chance to reflect on the irony of the current situation. While I love to leave the house and the curiously inbred little town I find myself marooned by wife is very much the homebody. That she travels quite a lot lately doesn't bother me at all, I'm proud of her intelligence and abilities. But what does bugs the living shit out of me is that every time I plan a short escape something always comes up. It's a small recompense but at least she is suppose to bring me a t-shirt from the famous CERN Large Hadron Collider located in Geneva. What can I say, it appeals to the SheldonCooper/science nerd/total geek side of me. However I am getting a little nervous since what happened yesterday.

While I was getting a jump on the weekend bedsheets and blanket washing Thursday afternoon I heard the obnoxious squealing brakes of the FedEx truck that goes through the neighborhood. At first I figured the delivery dude was just dropping off stuff to the angry troll across the street, he works at home and rarely leaves. But instead delivery dude came to my door carrying two medium-sized packages. Both were sent from Switzerland by my wife with each of the boxes addressed to one of the kids.

When the kids got home from school we opened them and discovered a beautiful coo coo clock for my daughter, Darth Wiggles. My son, Darth Spoilboy, had several things in his box namely a fancy Swiss army knife, a nice leather toiletry bag, and a sweatshirt with some sort of emblem on the front. But no, nothing from CERN for the hardworking dad who did his duty and made sure the house was still standing and the kids stayed out of jail.

An oversight? I surely hope so, or papa is going to be pissed.

Why I Have Grey Hair

Unfortunately for me a dumbass vaccine to protect myself from my all too regular bouts of stupidity is something that will never be available. I have long since resigned myself to the fact that what few active wits and viable IQ points I have will more than likely always be utilized in getting me out of trouble and generally uncomfortable situations that I seem to have developed an all too encompassing talent in finding. I did have high hopes that my son, Darth Spoilboy, had inherited the bulk of his brain cells from my wife saving him from my often funny but ignominious fate. A very recent event suggests that might not be the case.

This all started a couple of Saturdays ago when my very socially active son actually came and sat down in the living room with my wife, Dragonwife, and I as we were play acting at being American couch potatoes watching some documentary on Netflix. While the idea of our son willingly spending any amount of time with us seems simple his social obligations to his buddies and the two different girls he currently dates in actuality makes it a rare event on par with the proverbial blue moon.

“Hey mom and dad,” he said while typing some text message, “just wanted to tell you that my car is getting hard to start.”

It took me a few seconds to sort out his statement since when he does grace us with his presence it is often just to request that we purchase some item for him at the grocery store. Even though Spoilboy has a part-time job at a local deli my wife and he have an agreement in which he does not have to purchase certain items with his money. When I did sort out the meaning of his statement and asked him what he meant, I was rewarded with a nonsensical description of how his car acted when it gave him trouble starting.

“Alright dude, “I said, “next time you head out stop by Big Franks Auto Parts Palace and have them do one of their free series of tests. They can give us an idea of what might be going wrong and then we can plan some sort of response.” While I am not quoting myself exactly that was pretty much the jest of what I said. Even in hindsight it seems concise and to the point, at least enough that my son should have been able to follow my instructions.

“Sure dad,” he said while still texting someone on the other end of his real conversation. With that apparently settled he informed us that he was going to pick up girlfriend number two, the one he just hangs out with and who likes to play video games as much as him. While it has never been stated to me girlfriend number one I guess is the serious one since he actually cleans up and dresses nicely for her when they go out.

Fast forward to early yesterday afternoon, around twelve-thirty, and Spoilboy storms into my bedroom desperate for me to give him my car keys so he can get to work. For those who may not know I work nights, which makes getting the required sleep during daytime difficult at best, add the fact that this is currently summer break with both my son and daughter home and that makes the issue even harder.

“Why do you need my car?” I groggily asked since, like I said at the beginning I am a dumbass.

“Mine won’t start.” Spoilboy sheepishly said.

It took several more seconds for the worn and rusty wheels in my head to begin to turn. Sadly the hamster whose duty it is to power everything has long since died but I have worked around that issue in some respect.

“Please tell me you stopped by Big Franks and had the car checked?”

If this was a screenplay I would have to insert a prolonged silence here punctuated by a high degree of awkwardness on the part of my son.

“Well Spoilboy,” I said “no, you are not going to drive my car to work for the simple fact that you will not be home by the time I have to leave for work myself. In truth, I should make you walk.”

With that Spoilboy walked away and I plopped my head back on the very comfortable pillow figuring that I would have to play the decent but tired dad and go outside and try to figure out why my son’s car would not start.

Long story short, we pulled out the jumper cables and tried to start his car that way just on the off chance he had once again left his lights on and ran down the battery we had installed just four months ago. No such luck, in fact the symptoms suggested his starter had gone bad. This was confirmed today by the garage Big Frank runs right next his parts palace after we had a tow truck come pick up his car.

This begs the question that keeps running through my mind. Am I a bad parent for starting to dream about the day my son goes off to college? On a side but ultimately related note, I literally tremble in fear with the idea that my daughter has a little over five years before she starts to drive and demand a car of her own.

A Milestone in the Road of Life

The incessant banging on my bedroom door last Tuesday afternoon forcing me back to consciousness from a deep sleep was the signal that my son, Darth Spoilboy, had returned from his last formal driving lesson with a professional instructor. It was also the indication he was more than ready to take the driving test at the local department of motor vehicles office, which unfortunately for me meant I would have to go with him.

For a few moments I continued to lay in bed struggling to find the motivation to go visit a place that even the most radical atheists often described as hell, despite the fact my son’s pounding threaten to shatter the door into a million pieces sending a swarm of deadly wooden splinters my way. The thought did cross my mind that such a fate might just possibly be preferable than having to spend time dealing with low paid and irate civil servants along with the hordes of spoiled civilians with bad attitudes.

In the end for my son, I did get up, slip on my sandals, and get out of the room before any real damage was done. I owed Spoilboy that much, Monday marked the last day of a desperate six-month waiting period after taking the written examination for his driver’s permit allowing him to take the road test and get his restricted license. Aside from a horrible condition, he suffered from back in 2005 resulting in massive surgery to his intestines and several weeks of painful recuperation, the six-month period waiting for his driver’s license was the most anguished time in his young life.

The driver’s permit allowed Spoilboy at the wheel of a car only while accompanied by an adult, which was problematic when we came anywhere near his friends resulting in severe embarrassment for him being seen with his parents. Several times Spoilboy asked my wife or me to slump down in the car in an attempt not to be seen as we passed close by someone he knew. He stopped making this request after I started picking my nose and eating phantom buggers in clear view of anyone nearby in their own cars. So you can understand how he viewed his driver’s license as a form of personal liberation for his young soul.

Now our battle plan was to arrive at the DMV around 1:00pm, the time we theorized the least amount of people would be there trying to get business done that particular weekday. Walking into the confines of the building, a glorious testament to bureaucratic architecture, we were first assaulted by the heat from the lack of air conditioning and then by the sight of long lines at the counters and the unwashed masses sitting in uncomfortable chairs certainly designed by one of Satan’s minions. After grabbing the ubiquitous slip of paper with a number printed on it signifying our place in line and the greater scheme of things we joined the sad group with me wondering if we would leave before Doomsday arrived.

As we waited I could not but help wonder why such a pro-business and free enterprise state like South Carolina had not installed a bar in every DMV office not only as a money making venture but a way to alleviate the depressing mind funk that hang over every building like it. I figured after hanging a few tropical posters showing beautiful Caribbean islands the hypothetical bar could sell non-alcoholic beer, low sodium pretzels, and hypoallergenic peanuts at exaggerated prices. The marketing of those items could certainly offset the salaries of many of the civil servants and possibly make the state a little money. And I will not even mention the cash bonanza corporate endorsements of beer, tourism, and snacks would bring.

Going further on making the DMV friendlier, I figured they could throw in a little steel-drum music over the intercom, place several fake palm trees in strategic locations, and have the staff wear Hawaiian shirts complete with colorful leis. Of course, its common knowledge that all DVMs are run by Nazis, ever eager to inflict suffering on people, as well as being gateways to hell so any attempt to humanize such places is simply impossible.

Just as misery from waiting threatened to overwhelm me my son’s number was called and we quickly jumped toward the counter with the smiling clerk waiting to serve us. The clerk was very life-like, almost as good as the automatons in the hall of presidents at Disney World and after checking the various forms to assure the state that Spoilboy was who he was we promptly sat back down to wait for the examiner who would test my son.

With my usual luck, right as I struck up a conversation with a redneck MILF (imagine a 40-something, chain smoking Kate Middleton dressed in an AC/DC t-shirt and tight jeans) there with her daughter the examiner called Spoilboy for the test and wanted to speak to me for a moment. The examiner just wanted to inform me what he was going to test my son on and how long it would take. It was an extremely professional thing to do but annoyed the shit out me since my spot next the hot redneck lady was lost the second I vacated the seat. Looking back, I saw two generic bubbas competing for her attentions and the possibility to join her list of boyfriends with the chance to vie for the grand prize of being her fourth husband.

After a mandatory check of the vehicle by the examiner, he and Spoilboy drove off for the test leaving me waiting outside. Without sounding too much like the proud father I figured my son had the test in the bag, along with several sessions with a professional driving instructor, Spoilboy and I had spent many hours just driving around. I found him a careful and considerate driver, which was good for my heart given how teenagers usually are when they first start driving.

During this time what was funny was seeing his intense focus on getting the parallel parking portion of the test right. A few times during these practices, I started feeling the first symptoms of motion sickness as he repeatedly ran through the maneuvers it would take to get him inside the assigned space. So, when he and the instructor pulled back into the DMV area and drove up towards the barriers that served as the parallel parking test site I was sure he would make it but I still found myself holding my breath.

With a deftness and skill I admired, Spoilboy whipped the car inside the required space completing and passing the test. Soon afterwards, my usually levelheaded and calm son was clearly walking amongst the clouds as we waited for his driver’s license to be made. Out of all the uncomfortable waiting in a place I almost would not wish on my worst enemy it was totally worth it to see him pass this milestone on the way to adulthood.

The only problem now is that Dragonwife and I are feeling the pressure by Spoilboy to purchase him his own car. I just wish his driver’s education had included a lesson on how insuring teenage boys cost their parents several body parts along with the pawning of younger siblings. That reminds me, I have only seven years before Miss Wiggles gets her license, any prayers and funds sent my way would be greatly appreciated.

A battle I choose not to fight

"Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing up is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing."
Phyllis Diller

"Thus we may know that there are five essentials for victory: (1) He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight..."
Sun Tzu

It has been a while since I mentioned my son, Darth Spoilboy. All is well, for a fifteen year-old boy, his life right now revolves around his soul consuming desire for his restricted drivers license which he will be able to test for in a little over a month. Life with him is a constant dialog over when and what car we will eventually buy for him and how he will go all out helping his parents. Promises abound with Darth Spoilboy guaranteeing how he will gladly assist us in things requiring a car and more normal things around the house. 

Since we are not a rich family by any means any car we purchase for his use will be a something very basic and hopefully reliable. This goes counter to the various sports cars that idly drift in and out of his fantasies. As for his current eagerness in helping his parents both Dragonwife and I have no illusions that it will last. We fully expect him to artfully forget all the things he said he would help us with like driving Miss Wiggles to her gymnastic practices, making runs to the grocery store, and the very basic thing of simply keeping up with cleaning his room.

Some progress has been made on that front, on a previous post I remarked how I once found a fossilized McDonalds double cheeseburger underneath his bed and how it was so hard I believe it would beat depleted uranium as an antitank weapon. The worst thing lately has been his collection of used drinking glasses that never make it to the dishwasher. It's a stupid pet peeve of mine I admit, but I cannot stand how every time he gets something to drink Spoilboy always gets a new glass from the cabinet. Throw in a  few empty cereal bowls and spoons and I can go into his room and nearly find another load for the dishwasher before I unload the one still in the machine.

I have long since given up on having him make his bed everyday, while it was something my grandparents instilled in me to do as a form of cleanliness and self-discipline the ubiquitous argument he will always put forward is that he will only mess it up that evening so it is not worth the effort. I just have him make his bed every Saturday morning after changing the sheets.

One fight I have completely surrendered on is making any sense of his closet, weekends at my house are a total military-style campaign on getting all the laundry done before another work week begins. No one wants the hassle on washing clothes while fighting children on homework and the epic school projects that teachers gleefully assign tired parents like my wife and myself.

Thankfully Spoilboy usually does all his own laundry and takes custody of it after it is dried but every once and a while will forget about it when something pops up. On a recent Saturday when Spoilboy suddenly departed the house with a buddy I mistakenly folded his clothes along with items belonging to Dragonwife and Miss Wiggles. It wasn't a big deal, I was watching a movie and as far as chores go folding clothes is actually relaxing in a Zen-like way. Being a dutiful father after I finished I gathered all the folded clothes up and put them away in the correct drawers. Except for Spoilboy's stuff, I opened up his closet door and was greeted with what you see above.

I believe the clothes on the shelf in his closet are clean while the stuff in the hamper below are dirty, although I could not smell any real difference between the two separate piles. For several seconds I stood there holding the laundry basket containing his neatly folded clothes trying to figure out what I would do. My grandparents would have flipped out and made me organize everything had I ever dared to do something similar. In the end the little voice in my head said to leave it alone and I turned the laundry basket over and dumped his clothes out on the floor. When Spoilboy came home later that evening he went into his room and never said a word.



       

Channeling my Inner Drill Sergeant on Vacation

Vacation fun with the family, marine mammals, and all the free beer I can drink.



Some think I nicknamed my son "Darth Spoilboy" just out of some strange attempt at humor, that my son could not really deserve such a title. Most of the time that is true to a great extent but he truly earned his screen name Saturday. After months of waiting, we finally began our vacation Saturday morning after leaving the in-laws. We left Columbia Friday afternoon to drive up to their house and spend the night just to give the kids some time with them. However, it was already easy to tell that Spoilboy was not enthusiastic about the trip, he was being forced to leave his friends behind and in fact Thursday night had come home around 10:00pm wanting to know if he could stay at his best friend's house.

Now understand this trip had been planned for months with a trip to Discovery Cove in Orlando already paid for which cost the entire family nearly $900. No, refunds were not available since we had bought the package under the 30 day time frame. When Spoilboy was told about the Discovery Cove trip when it was purchased he said "cool, sounds like fun".

Last Thursday night Spoilboy went into a panic about being away from his friends, which was understandable, but he wanted us to organize a way for him to stay with his best friend but with us leaving the house the next morning that was impossible. As far as Spoilboy's best friend was concerned it would be okay with his parents but neither Dragonwife nor I were about to call anyone so late and ask them to take on such a huge responsibility on such a short notice. While I am not the sharpest knife by any means I figured if what Spoilboy's best friend said was true about his parents being okay with their sudden plan I figure they should have called us.

Anyway, while on the road Saturday Spoilboy did everything in his power to make Miss Wiggles, Dragonwife, and myself miserable. After driving all day, we arrived in Orlando late in the afternoon still listening to Spoilboy whine between text messages he was sending to his friends back home. While we were at dinner that night Spoilboy finally crossed the line when he said he would ruin the vacation for everyone. Seeing my daughter, who was sitting beside him, begin to look like she would cry was the straw that broke the camel's back. This trip was all Miss Wiggles had talked about for months with the dolphin encounter she and I would have being the part she was most looking forward to doing.

My inner Drill Sergeant emerged and I went off on Spoilboy saying things that my wife would later claim had put the "fear of God in him." Seriously, I'm not proud of what I said, its not easy to get me enraged and when it happens the anger is soon spent leaving me feeling stupid and foolish. Never the less, Spoilboy has been amazingly easy to get along with since then and is doing his best to convince me he is having a good time, at least for his mother and sister's sake.

As for the picture above, it was taken today at Discovery Cove were I kissed a dolphin, swam with sharks and barracudas, floated down a tropical lazy river, played with stingrays, and watched a multitude of MILFs cavort in the crystal clear water wearing tiny bikinis. As everyone can see above, my wetsuit had a fantastic effect on my body with me turning all the heads in the place, or at least until told that I was wearing the damn wetsuit backwards.

Discovery Cove is part of the Sea World chain of theme parks which are owned by the Anheuser Busch company. Much is said about how they should not be confining marine mammals into small enclosures and putting them on display, there is something to be said about for that point-of-view but what I can say is that the general American public will never win any awards for knowledge of the oceans and the animals that live there. I honestly believe places such as Sea World and Discovery Cove provide an outlet of real education wrapped nicely in a family theme park which massive but delicate American egos will far more readily accept than blunt force preaching. No, it ain't pretty or full of warm fuzzies for the animals but right now we are just not in the position to turn away any possible educational advantage in a country full of Marching Morons.

After our dolphin encounter today I am convinced that the trainers truly care for the creatures under their stewardship and only wish to educate as many people as possible about them and their environment. Our schedule time with the dolphins slipped back twice with the trainers explaining that the animals really ran the show, if they did not feel like working they simply did not work until they were ready. The biggest reason for the delay this morning was that several of the animals felt "flirty" and had no intention of arriving on time. Wiggles was not at all happy with the delay but as long as someone was getting some I figure more power to them. My understanding was further enhanced since the adults were served all the free beer they could drink for the entire day, God bless their golden corporate hearts.

Master of the Sith and ultimate coolness

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Tangible discourse with teenage boys is a difficult thing to achieve in the best of times. But as I listened to the video game gun and laser fire coming from the upstairs family room last Saturday mingling with the cacophonous strains of an electric guitar I didn’t even try to tell them to turn the volume down. A few hours earlier as the stream of teenagers raced upstairs carrying everything from sleeping bags, stacks of video games, and the ubiquitous snack food items I had accidentally overheard one of the boys say that Darth Spoilboy, my son, had the “cool dad.” Being that none in the small group heading upstairs openly disagreed or laughed made my day.

How such a title had come my way was a little beyond my understanding since I had never allowed much in the way of outrageous behavior and in fact had shut the breaker off one time to the family room after repeated yells for the guys to tone things down were ignored. Never the less I did take a sort of sanctimonious pride in hearing that I had been award such a title as compared to the other nearby dads who are far more conventional or, dare I say, boring being caught up in the near Stalinist conformity and regimented lifestyle of Southern suburbia.

While other dads are willingly tied down by indentured servitude to manicured lawns forever demanding more and expensive fertilizers and maintenance equipment I shrug off such bourgeois mindsets and do my best to let my lawn grow wild and free. I refuse to be condemned to mindless serfdom, forever tied to a tiny piece of land praying to the gods of mortgage brokers and real estate that my piece of the pallid and stale American Dream never declines in value. Only my lovely and charming wife forces me at least twice a summer to trim the curb and pick up the limbs from our trees that have fallen off. As for the leaves that fall from the trees during autumn I let my ally the wind blow them happily down the street and into other people yards. After all the anal retentive ones with the high tech riding lawnmowers with the super suction vacuum attachments might as well have the chance to enjoy their toys even more.

As much as it might irritate those around me I revel in my non-conformity happily embracing the liberal/tree hugging/anti-capitalist/gay marriage supporting mantle declaring my opposition to those for whom Rush “Oxycontin addicted lard ass” Limbaugh and Glenn “ insane corporate lackey” Beck are intellectual heroes. On more than a few occasions I have walked past such people and heard them whisper, “Yeah, he’s a liberal, and he was in the military, I wonder how he could have gone so bad.”

So why does this make me the “cool dad”? Because I believe the younger generation understands that the residual traits from an even earlier period, which today are called modern political Conservatism, are the dying embers of a fading fire flaring up one last time before the more tolerant and progressive younger generation and simple demographics assign them to the dustbin of history.

Never the less as Saturday went on I did have to run interference for the various young Sith Lords saving or maybe enslaving the galaxy. My daughter, Miss Wiggles, had a few friends of hers over and they took an interest in what the boys were doing upstairs. Several times I had to pull the girls out after they snuck up to where the boys were and tried to stage a coup by grabbing the controllers for the X-Box360 wanting to play the games themselves.

Only using the ultimate, urbane coolness of the “Cool Dad” was I able to play the peacemaker separating the two groups and restoring balance to the house. Well, ultimate coolness and the fact that I agreed to play tea party with them, complete with me wearing a seriously floppy hat, plastic jewelry, and day-glo pink feather boa. I drew the line at the matching pink tutu, even though I was shocked that my daughter had one I could even wear. Oh yeah, any pictures that might surface of me attending such an event dressed in floppy hat, plastic jewelry, or feather boa are pure fabrications created on the computer by my enemies….or my wife.

However the day was climaxed late in the evening when I decided to go to bed early. Nothing was on television that I wanted to see, the boys were in full swing with their activities, Miss Wiggles was in bed and I figured I would read until I dozed off. Though sometime after 11:00pm I was awakened by voices in my room.

“Dad?” I heard my son say in the darkness next to me.

“What’s up dudes?” I responded using the ultimate coolness lingo to him and his cohorts lingering in the background. Now I was a little worried. The last time my son had woke me up on a weekend while he had friends over was when he had broken the two month old 40” high-definition LCD by banging into it with the controller from his last X-Box360. That legendary calamity will be remembered alongside my wife turning the wrong way down a crowded one-way street in Washington DC, me gouging a four-inch strip on the bumper of the brand new Corolla by bringing the garage door down too early, and Miss Wiggles taking a bottle of red hair dye to the dog.

“Dad, someone coming to the door in a few minutes, can you let him in? We’re in the middle of an important part of the game.” My loyal son said with such earnest. But I was tired and didn’t want to be disturbed. So what did these fine examples of young men do? They all grabbed my feet and arms and bodily lifted me out of the bed carrying me to the couch. Only such a Cool Dad would receive such treatment and I was honored, except for the part when the tossed me the last couple of feet. However, when duties calls I have always been one to answer.

I didn’t really have to ask about, or wait very long for, the person they wanted me to let in. I saw the pizza guy coming up the steps and intercepted him before he had a chance to knock or ring the doorbell alerting the boys. This wasn’t the first time for such an occurrence, last summer the boys had ordered food without telling me and its wasn’t until I had an irritated delivery guy on my doorstep demanding money for the six pizzas he was holding did I know anything about it.

This time it was only two large pizzas and a couple of sodas, which I paid for and then hid after grabbing three slices for myself. Being caught up in the game it was a good while before the boys realized they should have long since received their pizzas.

They apparently suspended their efforts to save or enslave the galaxy and raucous guitar playing long enough to come down in mass searching for their delivered booty. Shock flashed across their faces as they saw me finishing the last of my three slices and gulping down their precious soda.

“Dad, when did the pizza guy come?” My Sith Lord son Darth Spoilboy asked. I actually heard a few grumbles from his friends who over the years I had given Sith titles to as well. Which is something they thought was a laugh riot.

“Oh, almost an hour ago,” I said smiling knowing what I was going to make them do for pulling the pizza trick again.

They didn’t like it but I made them bow down and declare their allegiance to the ultimate master of the Sith, Darth Cooldad, and to forever abandon all attempts to order pizza unless I have a chance to add to my own pizza to the purchase. After they all agreed and I received the tribute of another slice and more soda I then released my young Sith apprentices and started watching Saturday Night Live and reveling in my greatness and power.

Things we did this weekend

The overt consumer materialism thing ain't for me however several months ago our main television started showing strong signs that it was approaching a terminal end of useful life, so we thought it best to get a new one before it blew up.
When after everything else has been eliminated and the television picture goes to static on the screen and a weird smell starts drifting through the house its best to get a new television.

Our purchase of a 40" LCD screen television went extremely easy with the giant retail corporation more than happy to sell us one using the credit card we had with them without coughing up one of the kids as collateral. It was quickly setup back at the house with a minimum of fuss even with the usual snarky comments from my wife. That television gave excellent service until an unfortunate even that happened just last Friday night.

Darth Spoilboy came into my room sometime late Friday evening while I was trying to sleep to tell me that he had inadvertently "hit" the television while entertaining several of his friends playing X-Box360. Puzzled and with more than a few cob webs running through my brain I went to inspect the damage but did not realize how bad it was even with Dragonwife busting a couple of gaskets upstairs.

I found a crack in the screen very similar to one you might find in a car windshield after it had been impacted with a small rock. It took the shape of a star but the resulting damage had never the less royally screwed the picture as you can see. Now I must admit I was a little upset but I hadn't quite gone into orbit like Dragonwife who had the poor kid close to being drawn and quartered in front of his friends. I am a little puzzled still, a few days later, about his explanation over how he hit the screen but its all water under the bridge now. Sunday afternoon Spoilboy and I took the television back to the place we bought it with the copy of the extended warranty we bought and were promptly told we were shit out of luck. The expensive extended warranty not only doesn't cover accidental damage but it would cost just about the same amount to buy a new one as have our not yet six month old television repaired. Of course this was something we found out Sunday afternoon but a more pertinent question is what do the next day after having an expensive and not yet paid for television ruined?


You go to the Carolina Renaissance Festival up near Charlotte, North Carolina. After a frustrated Dragonwife almost canceled the trip a near mutiny that resulted changed her mind and we all piled into the car and made our way up.

On a side note it must be stated that I almost had a mutiny on my hands with the selection of music I brought along. Naturally, Buffett was my choice but neither my wife, son, or his girlfriend, Darth Shopalot, thought much of my musical tastes. Even Miss Wiggles, who normally would have agreed with me, went to the other side forcing me to surrender and listen what they liked on the radio. The picture here is of the two traitorous Sith Lords, Shopalot on the left and my son, Spoilboy on the right.





Trying to be a good husband I pointed out to my wife the wide selection of brooms she could purchase at the festival to get her around town. My sense of humor, as with my music on the ride up, was unappreciated to the extreme. Even after I pondered out loud that she at least could purchase her mother one, as long as it the broom stick was extra strong. Much to my surprise that comment didn't go over any better.
















No one call Child Protective Services, that's just my son holding my beer. The drunk look on his face is just an act, I promise.















The festival hosts many performers with a very wide spectrum of acts. This guy is doing his impersonation of a statue. While I kept Miss Wiggles on a metaphorically short leash around this guy doing his thing another, younger child, tried to make off with the small box, that is slightly out of this picture, that he was using to collect money for his "performance".











This is Don Juan of "Don Juan and Miguel"an act that showed their talents with whips, comedy, and some less than spectacular sword fighting although I wouldn't tell them that. They were hilarious and if you get the chance to visit a nearby renaissance festival see if they are performing.















This troop of performers are called "Barely Balanced" and did some great tricks doing some serious acrobatics, juggling, fire breathing, and comedy.

I had to really admire all these performers who did some very difficult acts out in the open were the weather can at a minimum cause you to make a fool of yourself to a crowd that might not be very forgiving. At worse, given some of what these guys were doing, a mistake could kill you.








As the day was drawing to a close we stumbled upon Ms. Sarah Marie Mullen as she was playing her harp. Miss Wiggles was in awe of what she was doing and after a set Ms. Mullen gave my daughter a short lesson in playing the harp. I did record it and if adding the video hadn't thrown my computer into spasms I would have included it. I may try again on a separate post although the video is short.

As much as my wife might disagree lust played no part in my demanding we purchase several of her CD's.









The kids on our way out after the purchase of several expensive hats. I tried to get Dragonwife in the picture but upon threat of severe pain I was reminded of our agreement about her showing up on my humble blog,

















I don't know why I included this picture in the post. It may be because it was the only one where my stomach didn't make me look pregnant. Or it may be because the skeleton is a good analogy of my dead sex life. Either way we had a good time and if I wasn't so tired and wanted to bore the living daylight out of y'all even more I would have included more pictures.

Doing the Disney and a few peaceful days next the ocean

Our first stop on our epic and long awaited journey was to Dragonwife's parents house to spend a couple of days with them. They don't see the kids all that often, at least not like my grandparents did with their grandkids, and Dragonwife and myself wanted to give them some time together. We hadn't spent thirty minutes at their house when my son, Darth Spoilboy, came running down from the computer room after talking with his girlfriend saying we had changed his mind yet again and would be staying with his grandparents while we went to Disney. The idea had been floated weeks before since he did not want to loose contact with his girlfriend and other buddies with school being out for the summer but after bending to Sith blackmail such as two bags of 90 count pizza rolls and five pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream we thought he was going to come with us after all . I was more than slightly ticked to have him change his mind, especially after buying all that ice cream he would not share, but neither Dragonwife or myself wanted to force him to go since a whiny twelve year old would do his best to make the rest of us miserable. When we left the grandparents house he was sitting at the computer desk instant messaging his girlfriend, playing his guitar, and downloading more songs for his iPod completely happy. The one good point in his staying was that he and I would not fight over the two bags of Chips Ahoy cookies we were bringing for the trip.







After making it to Disney's Wilderness Lodge Miss Wiggles and myself went straight to the pool while Dragonwife relaxed reading a magazine on some bench in a nearby garden. The pool was crawling with bikini clad tennis and soccer moms and I spent a great deal of time floating around with Wiggles enjoying my surroundings. But my usual luck held out with those tennis and soccer moms bringing their husbands along for the trip. Whether there were any desperate housewives around the pool is unknown as well with Wiggles keeping me walking down the straight and narrow because whenever I did strike up a short conversation with a mom in the pool Wiggles would raise enough of a ruckus that ended whatever was being discussed pretty quick.
At some point she started playing with the three boys in the picture. At first the boys and Wiggles had no idea how to even play together and just circled each other for several minutes. The boys wanted to shoot imaginary guns and jump around the pool claiming they couldn't be hurt due to their protective force fields while Wiggles wanted to play a simply game of tag. After awhile they compromised with them playing tag with Wiggles trying to jump on top of them. The various parents involved and myself just watched seemly agreeing that as long as the pool stayed free of blood we would relax and let the kids play. The play did end when Wiggles started chasing the boys in the pool wanting a kiss from them which completely freaked them out sending out of the pool and back to their rooms. Who would have thought the a little girl wanting a kiss could defeat the massive forcefields of three little boys.




This is a photo of some little ornamental pond inside the resort. A better description is a sure-fire money making scam in that anywhere someone constructs one of these things people will give their children small change for them to throw in it and make a wish. One visit to Florida a couple of years ago we stopped at a small grocery store that had one of these small ponds inside but had clearly not taken care of it for quite awhile. But that didn't stop a father (no, not me) from giving his son a couple of coins to throw in the pond which was covered with pennys, nickels, dimes, and even many quarters at least a couple of inches deep. The biggest example of one of these wishing well ponds is Disney's "It's a small world" ride. You ride in some small boat viewing different stages that have puppets of children from around the world doing local dances. Several times Dragonwife and the kids have rode that ride to view the puppets and hear that damn song. I in turn looked in awe at all the money covering the floor of the indoor river we were on. I swear even though it was all small change if I have one night to clean the coins up I could rest easy knowing I could put my kids through a good college, it was that much. I've tried to get a good photo of all that coinage on the ride but never have been able to get one that shows how vast and deep the river floor is covered. I asked a park employee after getting off the ride and she said that every few months maintenance type vacuum the money up give it to Florida charities.






One Beach Bum and one Miss Wiggles at the pool on a beautiful day. We were one of the first people at the pool that morning. Miss Wiggles assured this by running into the room before sunrise and promptly jumped up and down on me several time making sure certain injuries to the lower portion of my body prevented me from going back to sleep. After I recovered she and I had a breakfast of sweet rolls and went to the pool were she again met the three little boys with forcefields and I again ogled the various bikini-clad moms. Right then I was breathing a small sigh of relief in that Dragonwife (who is taking the picture) did not freak out after learning that I had just paid eleven dollars for the Mickey Mouse swimming goggles Wiggles is wearing. Wiggles and I looked for the pair of goggles ( which cost two bucks back home) we brought with us all through her luggage but couldn't find them even though Dragonwife assured us she had packed them. We learned that Dragonwife had packed them in her small bag she had placed her tooth brush and other small items. The fact that I would have never looked in a million years in my wife's toiletry bag for a little girl's swimming goggles that should have been in Wiggles' luggage went straight over my wife's head.








I don't care how others might feel I'm secure enough in my manhood that I freely admit I had a hell of a good time riding the merry-go-round at the Magic Kingdom. All told we spent ten and a half hours at the Magic Kingdom that day. At least five hours of that time were in line letting Wiggles get pictures and autographs of Disney characters. My one disappointment was that the "Pirates of the Caribbean " ride was closed down for repairs. And I was told that Disney no longer has the character of Captain Jack Sparrow give autographs.















Animal Kingdom offers a pretty good mock safari that has the benefit of specially designed rough sections in the paved road to give the customers bruised rear-ends for that real roughing it in the wilds of Africa feeling. I will tell you that riders should keep a tight hold on their cameras as they view the animals. We have been to Disney a lot since joining Disney's Vacation Club timeshare and we are in on the secret that they use to let riders off the truck to recover their dropped cameras only to speed off leaving the befuddled tourist behind. The reason? The food bill for lions is huge and Disney started the program to defray some of the cost to keep the place going. Honestly who is going to miss a tourist or two? But never fear, the lions were getting far too much fat endangering their health and Disney stopped the program. But, now if you drop your camera it is simply lost since they will not stop the truck. Then again, I've heard rumors that if a tourist is especially obnoxious and has at least a decent body fat ratio they may just make an exception.











A near perfect picture of a giraffes ass end. Luckily I missed this dude dropping a load only moments before.
As I have noted several times Wiggles and I do Riverbanks Zoo close to home quite often and in doing so my daughter has soaked up a lot of information about various animals. Many have, with good points, criticized the very nature of animal theme parks and even zoos saying how unfair it is to the animals. I will say that the people who criticize the theme parks and zoos are generally very knowledgeable about nature and greatly care for it. But listening to the people around me at Animal Kingdom and during several of the visits to Seaworld I have been very surprised to hear how grossly ignorant Mr. And Mrs Middleclass can be on some of the most basic facts about the animals who we share a rapidly shrinking world being strained far beyond what it should. If these parks and zoos can educate a population that at times takes a great pride in ignorance that would send chills down George Orwell's spine if the man wasn't dead then these places provide a service to the planet and those who say they care about it.





I had a fairly decent picture of this rhino only to have this ostrich literally run into the shot at the last second. Female birds having a duller color as compared to their more flashy male counterparts somehow gave me the idea that this birdy wanted attention. So I named this attention hungry feathered freak "Brittany" in honor of the drugged out, missing pop diva Brittany Spears. I almost named the ostrich Anna Nicole Smith but figured that was too much of an insult to the poor bird. But after few minutes I felt bad even for naming it Brittany.












We were surprised to be one of the first groups allowed into the captive corporate and neocon Republican preserve allowing these cold hearted bastards and bitches to shrug off the outward human appearance and have their behavior and appearance match. The big guy on land we were told is one of the Cheney clan pursuing the fine family tradition of a deferment, this time in a natural setting, instead of actual service to the country in Iraq. But we were assured that the Bush and Romney clan members in the water were all discussing how to enter public service.










Many places in Animal Kingdom was simply beautiful offering lush surroundings that in themselves are worth the price to get in the park. I could have stayed in this spot all day just watching the water fall and the tropical fish in the water.




















I don't know what you would exactly call this plant/human hybrid and what it was doing walking around the park on stilts and almost erotically pole dancing at various places but it surely kept my attention. I really needed to post the second and more provocative picture but Blogger was being a bit of a pain that night and wouldn't let me. She has been at Animal Kingdom for at least three years now and draws a fair amount of attention all by herself.











Miss Wiggles getting her face painted. I am not looking forward to her teenage years for many reasons. From looking at that face and reading my posts about Miss Wiggles it shouldn't be hard to guess why.

















This is the spray pool at Disney's Vero Beach resort. If there hadn't been kids already playing or several lifeguards that would have gotten upset I would have moved my chair into the spray. As I watched Miss Wiggles the water coming from the area was quite cold and felt damn good.
















The huge national restaurant chains such as.... well you know them all have come damn close to driving local restaurants wherever they may be out of business. So on our last full day of vacation I was finally able to drag Dragonwife out of the resort to one of the local places I heard served locally caught seafood. I had no idea what the place looked like but once I saw it I fell about as in love somebody can with a building. Squid Lips looked just like many of the "arrogantly shabby" places that use to be open in the Pawleys Island and Murrells Inlet area before all the yuppies came south and converted everything to chic upper crust style that they preferred. One the many items I liked about it, beside the fantastic food, was how it was over the water of Indian River lagoon. Our table viewed out toward the lagoon that was dotted with many tiny islands that gave it an almost South Pacific feel. Looking out I saw people fishing, casting small shrimp nets into the water that many people use to do at Pawleys to catch their evening meal. Dragonwife was somewhat taken aback due to the looks of the place, it just wasn't clean enough for her at first and I admit she carries a huge strain of yuppy-dom wanting things that meet her chic gourmet standards. But with the evening breeze blowing in from the lagoon and the live band playing some great songs even she relaxed and got in a good mood. All told the Vero Beach area still hasn't been completely Borg-like assimilated the way most of the southeast coastal area has with McMansions raising property taxes to the point it forces locals to move inland and mushroom like condos that pop up to the point that any view of the water is restricted to "residents and guests only". Signs that its coming were there but that evening as I soaked up the atmosphere of the place I prayed to God that when it comes time for me to up and find my small piece of paradise for my retirement years I can again find something similar to what I found that night.







On a lighter note as I was enjoying the best grouper sandwich I had in a very long time I looked out toward the lagoon and saw this red sailboat. Now I've seen plenty of sailboats and while this one did have the strong get-the-hell-out-of-dodge appeal and leave the crappy world behind as Buffett plays on the stereo it drew no more than an envious casual glance. That was until at some point I saw what looked to be a drop dead gorgeous dark haired very naked lady come out of the cabin. She appeared to adjust something about the windmill on the stern then jumped back in the cabin disappearing from view. My grouper sandwich almost fell to the floor as I tried to pull out my camera hoping the lady of my dreams would appear again on a sailboat that I suddenly had a huge urge to know more about. Many shots later and after Dragonwife began to wonder that I had lost my one mental marble I gave up and settled for just another hopeless but erotic fantasy.






Another view of the lagoon with a couple of the small islands in the distance. Wanted a better shot but Wiggles gave every sign of wanting to jump in the water that was swarming with catfish, yes catfish, living off the scraps of food tossed by kids and a few adults.

















I don't want to go and get all spiritual, its just not my style but in the quiet of the evening or early in the morning every time I walk on an empty beach I feel somehow closer to God. I'm not talking about some abstract notion of being next to something far larger than myself although the ocean does act as a conduit at times for the "feeling". But an actual presence that at very difficult times in my life has helped me to carry on and at least cope with what was happening. I claim no special VIP pass with the Almighty and from a rational viewpoint I realize I may be crazy but I'm just reporting something that hits me from time to time and carries far more weight than I can describe. Although I am often reminded of the saying that God looks after children, fools, and the United States of America.







Like all good things time and the money ran out forcing us to drive back up north, claim Darth Spoilboy from his grandparents; I swear I found him in the exact seat and position as we left him in front of the computer playing his guitar as he was exchanging Instant Messages with his girlfriend. We drove back home the next morning after my butt absolutely refused to get back in the car and drive given how sore it was. I came away from this vacation knowing that at some point in my life just for my mental health I will have to move back closer to the coast. But at the moment this photo was taken I was in heaven with warm sand between my toes.