A Random Collection Of Thoughts....

I felt that I should blog.

I don’t know why. There are those who pressure me to blog, but I generally ignore them. However, I was sitting here, and I had a few free minutes, and I thought I would jot some things down.

Jot? I jot? I never knew I jotted. Damn. Sometimes, when I’m all alone and no one is bothering me, I fancy myself a writer. Not a jotter. Sounds lame.

Wait……I fancy?

Crap.

I’m growing the beard back. Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. The beard has been back for a while. So, technically, I’m continuing to grow the beard. I would love it if I could get it nice and long, like the guys from ZZ Top. Sadly, I don’t think that will happen. I don’t have that kind of support system. I good beard needs a solid support system. Mostly, what I get is, “When are you gonna shave that stupid thing off?” So, I don’t see myself goin’ the way of the “Sharp Dressed Man” anytime soon. Would be nice, though.

I’ve got rock salt all over the front of my house. When we got that big snow, last week, I shoveled really late. So, most of it was snow. Lest the precious snowflakes who walk past my house on the way to school slip and fall, I put down a bunch of salt. Then, it got warm. Now, I have rock salt. Now, I’m waiting for it to rain, and wash all the rock salt away. I could go sweep it up. But, I don’t have time for that. Actually, I do have time for that, I just don’t wanna do it. There are things I like to make time for, and things I don’t. Sadly, the things I like to make time for don’t seem to have the time for me, at this moment. However, this in no way, shape, or form makes me want to go sweep up rock salt. Maybe I can just leave it there until the next snow. Probably next year. I don’t think it works like that, does it?

Speaking of that, there is rock salt residue all over my car. I have to go get it washed. Every other place I have ever lived there were stand alone car washes at all the gas stations. You’d buy your gas, pay for a wash at the same time, then drive over to the car wash and get your it done. It took about 5 minutes, total. I only know of one of these such machines, in New Jersey, and it hardly ever works. There are a lot of things like that. Things that work everywhere else on the planet, but fail to work in New Jersey. Why is that? Is New Jersey some sort of Bermuda Triangle? I’ll have to think on that one.

I’m too busy thinking of other things, these days. I’m working on a book proposal, which takes almost as long as writing an actual book. Plus, I’m getting the feeling that it needs to be better than the actual book. I suppose, though, that if I can’t write a good proposal than I have no business writing a book. So, I’m dealing with that. I’m also working on a new zombie story. I’ve been working on it for a while, and it keeps changing. I think it might be pretty good. I dunno, though. It’s hard to tell, when you’re writing it. I’m also thinking of using the blog as an online novel. I’ve talked about that, before. I might just do that. I actually have several chapters of that already written. This would help when you put in my personal “lazy factor.”

I’m also still working on those websites. I’ve got the names. I’ve even got them registered. Pulling the trigger on it is proving more difficult than I had planned. This, too, is my fault due to the time factor. That keeps coming up. The time factor. I wish I could stop time, when I wanted to, and freeze everyone else in place. Then I could get all my work done, and start time back up again. I’d actually be ahead, for once. I don’t know who I’m kidding, though. I wouldn’t work. I’d go around and look at naked women. Sadly, I know myself too well. I don’t get to see enough naked women. Hell, I don’t get to see ANY naked women. There was a “Twilight Zone” episode about that. Not seeing naked women. It was about stopping time. As I recall, THAT guy used his time stopping ability to steal money, not look at naked women. I’m sure he eventually got to that, though, because he broke the watch that allowed him to stop time, and everyone else got frozen, forever. After a while, I’m sure he looked at some naked women. I’ll try not to do that. Meaning, I’ll try not to break my time stopping watch. Wouldn’t want you all to get frozen. That would suck.

Anyway, I’m working on websites, too.

I’m also working on a few audio things, with a buddy of mine, that may end up airing in other countries. We’ll have to see about that. One issue that has come up is that I’m an American. So, I have an American accent. I guess the Australians were concerned about that. They must think we talk funny, here. I like Australian accents, though. I wonder why they hate me.

I just downloaded the Yellow pages App onto my blackberry. Why do I tell you this? Because I like saying App, that’s why……..App.

By the way, writing this is NOT getting my book proposal done. It’s also not getting my zombie story done. My websites? They aren’t done, yet, either. Life is hard.

My wife never kisses me goodnight, anymore. Maybe I should start brushing my teeth before I go to bed.

I rode bikes with my daughter, over the weekend. It was fun. We rode over and got ice cream, afterwards. It was the least amount of stress I’ve felt in as long as I can remember. I should do more of that. I have a girls bike, though, damn it. Why did I buy a girls bike? Hell, it’s not even a girl’s bike. It’s an old woman’s bike. Why did I buy an old woman’s bike? It was probably on sale. I swear to God, I will spend any amount of money on anyone else. But, when it comes to me, I get cheap. Is it because I hate myself? I wonder. Maybe I hate myself because I buy myself such cheap things. Hmmmm….I could ask my therapist that. But, I don’t have a therapist. I was going to go to one. I even made an appointment. But, they were really expensive. Plus, I don’t know if I trust them. I think they only talk to people, because it makes their lives seem better. Plus, people are far more interesting when they are all, shall we say, f*&#ed up than when they are happy. You never see a therapist telling a happy person to come back. But, you will never see them turn away someone who is good and screwed up. It’s because happy people are boring. Messed up people are interesting. Maybe I should become I therapist. I thought about doing that, once, but someone told me I wasn’t smart enough. They were probably right. Still, I like to hear about messed up people. I’ll make a note.

Yes, in fact, I DO like Yoo-Hoo THAT much.

Someone asked me if I was going to announce the Roller Derby, again. I don't know. I haven't been asked. If I am, I probably will. I didn't know if I'd like the sport, and I did. Fast paced, and fun to watch. I don't know why they'd ask me. I wasn't very good at it. I mostly just stood there and said, "Ohhhhhh...." Stuff like that. I announced women's college softball for a whole season, and wasn't very good at that, either. I only did that to meet girls, though, when I was in college. I went out with a bunch of them. But, they only went out with me so that they could get on the radio. I only got to second base with one of them. Ironically, it was the second basemen. I swear to God, I am not making that up. She stopped seeing me when I found that VERY funny. My mouth has cost me a lot of relationships. If I had a finger that was causing me that kind of problem, I'd have it cut off. I don't think that you can cut off a mouth. If anything, it would just make the hole bigger. I would think a bigger hole, would just cause me greater problems. That could not be good. I could sew it shut, but I gotta eat. Either way, if I tried to get to second base with a derby chick, I think she'd deck me. Maybe that's why they haven't asked me back. Hmmmmm.....

I'm in a "not happy" state. I wish that would end. Maybe when the new "Hannah Montana" movie comes out in a few weeks, that will perk me up......Crap....There's a "Hannah Montana" movie coming out in a few weeks, and I'm probably going to go see it. That's depressing........Wait......I perk, too? What the hell!?!!

My book proposal, zombie story, and websites are still not done..........

Maybe I should go......

Casey

Paging Dr. Freud.....

Recently, I posted a picture of myself, with my daughter, on my facebook page. It brought me a barrage of comments, mostly from women, all of which contained the general message, “Awwwwwwwwwwwww……”

The picture was taken moments before Spenser and I left for the annual father/daughter dance. I’m assuming that most of the comments came from adult women, whose fathers NEVER took them to a father/daughter dance.

Have YOU ever been to one?

You’re missing out.

The father/daughter dance, while being a very sweet concept, really has nothing to do with the fathers, or the daughters. It has to do with the aforementioned, adult women who are longing for memories of their own fathers, and don’t want these little girls to have the same, possibly Freudian issues that they have with their dads.

The dance, itself, consists of 3 groups:

The Daughters

The girls will be thrilled to get all dressed up, possibly in a new dress, have their moms put make-up on them, and look as beautiful as they ever have for their “special” evening with dad. They will get their hair and nails done, put on uncomfortable shoes, and smile big for all the pictures that mom will take, before they leave for the big night.

They will arrive at the dance, happily displaying the corsage that their dad bought them (that’s what I did), and wave at all their friends. There will be one, MAYBE two obligatory dance with the old man. Then, they will kick off the shoes, that you just spent $40 on, and run off with all their friends.

The Dads

These “good” men will come home from work, tired after a long day, and get themselves all cleaned up for their “date” with their little princess. They will put on a coat, AND tie, and comb their hair. Some of them will have to call their 67-year-old father, in California, and have him talk them through TYING the actual tie, over the phone. You see, SOME of their fathers never took the time to teach them how to tie an actual tie. So, they will call their dad, who will laugh hysterically at them, and try and talk them through it. Then, they will get mad and hang up on their dad, forcing them to go through their closets, and find a tie that their father tied for them about 8 years ago. It doesn’t REALLY match, but he was tired of getting laughed at by an old man, who lives on a golf course, AND IS GOING TO FIND HIMSELF LIVING IN AN OLD FOLKS HOME, IF HE’S NOT CAREFUL!!!.........

Maybe they need to do father/son dances……..No…….That would be creepy.

Anyway, the dads will do the same, obligatory, one or two dances with their daughters, and then they will be left on the dance floor, alone, trying to make conversation with OTHER fathers, when they aren’t even certain that their kids know each other. The whole time, there will be a “zany” DJ, playing Hannah Montana music too loudly, while he stares at an empty dance floor.

The Moms

This is by far the largest group, AND the group that the father/daughter dance is really for. This is the group of women who now, in their late 30’s/early 40’s, are realizing that they don’t have very many memories of THEIR dads, because THEIR dads really wanted a son. You can tell because a lot of them are named “Toni,” or “Billie,” or “Alex.” You get the idea.

So, since THEY have no positive “daddy” memories, they are going to FORCE you and your daughter to have some, in the delicate manner not seen since Hitler marched across Europe.

Mom: Where is your daughter?

Me: She’s running around with her friends, somewhere.

Mom: WHERE!?!!!

Me: I….I dunno…..

Mom: HOW CAN YOU HAVE FUN, WHEN YOU AREN’T TOGETHER!?!!!

Me: Well, she wanted to go play with her friends. I didn’t want to force her…..

Mom: Did you have a brownie?

Me: No.

Mom: HAVE A BROWNIE!!!!!!

Me: Uh....Okay.....

Mom: Take one for your daughter.

Me: She doesn't actually like....

Mom: TAKE ONE FOR YOUR DAUGHTER!!!! WE'RE HAVING FUN, DAMN IT!!!! WE'RE MAKING MEMORIES!!!!

Me: Okay.......

Mom: Did you get your picture taken with your little girl?

Me: Uh....Well.....No....Actually......

Mom (closing her eyes): Why..........NOT!?!!

Me: Well....uh.....You see, the line was really long.....and.....uh....we just...you know....

Mom (grabbing my tie, and squeezing): You go find your daughter, right f&*#ing now, and get in that f&*#ing line. You will take a f&*#ing picture, and you will smile the biggest f&*#ing smile you have EVER smiled......AND YOU WILL CREATE SOME F*&#ING MEMORIES FOR YOUR LITTLE GIRL. DO YOU F*&#ING UNDERSTAND ME!?!!!!

Me: Uhhhhhhh.......Okay........Can you let go of my tie? If it comes untied, I'm screwed.

Mom (softly crying): Thank you...

Me (putting my arm around her): Are you okay?

Mom: I will be....

Me: Okay.

Mom: Can I call you daddy?

Me: No.....No, you can't.

Mom: Why wouldn't he love me?

Me: I have to go, now.

So, what you get are a lot of daughters who would rather be playing with their friends, a lot of dads who don't have anything to say to each other, and A LOT of damaged, adult women, who will kill us all if we don't eat EVERY LAST ONE of the cookies that they spent hours making for their fathers.......I mean, the dance. They made them for the dance. That's what they did.

If you are ever "lucky" enough to go to a father/daughter dance, I highly recomend it. Just dance the one or two dances with your little girl, then let her go have fun. Eat the brownies, and cookies, and take the cheesy poloroid picture. You're going to make some girl very happy.....

Not your daughter. Your daugher will be running around, squealing about something with her friends. I'm talking about the 3 or 4 hundred adult women, who will be wandering around, with plates full of baked goods, crying softly to themselves.

Just be sure to do EXACTLY what you are told. If you don't, you may end up with one of thoe little, plastic knives shoved in your throat. And THAT, my friend, is NEVER good.

Casey

Bunny Lovin' Is Wrong

Recently, the British tabloid “The Sun” did a survey to find out who the sexiest cartoon character of all time was. The winner? Jessica Rabbit, from the movie “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” I guess that’s good. I mean, she was drawn to be sexy. So, one could say that the animators hit the mark with that one.

Second place was Betty Boop, who was sexy and scandalous in the early part of the 20th century. I suppose that the most troubling part of the list, aside from the fact that grown men were voting on sexy cartoon characters, is who came in 3rd. It was the Cadbury Caramel (or is it Carmel. I never know) Bunny. That’s right. Grown men voted a furry, woodland creature as the 3rd sexiest cartoon character EVER.

Here’s the problem, in case anyone else hasn’t noticed…..

Jessica Rabbit is a HUMAN, who just happened to be married to a rabbit.

Betty Boop?......HUMAN.

What about the rest of the list?

Cinderella is a human.

Wilma Flintstone is a human.

Daphne (from Scooby-Doo) is also a human.

Snow White is a human, too. Though, if I’m not mistaken, Snow White is something like 14. So, I find it a little disturbing that grown men voted her “sexy.”

But, the Cadbury Caramel (Carmel?) Bunny is an ACTUAL bunny. I did a search, on You Tube, in order to verify it. She’s a rabbit. She has a nice, soothing voice. But, she’s still a rabbit. To find her sexy kinda teeters on beastiality, does it not? I don’t know about you, but I’ve NEVER found an animal to be sexy. I even went to the zoo during the Spring, once, and I didn’t even get a little bit turned on.

Guy: Hey, man. Check out those Flamingos.

Me: They’re just birds.

Guy: Hell yeah, they are. With those long legs, that go ALL THE WAY up.

Me: Wait….What?

Guy: And those silky, pink feathers…..

Me: Uhhhhh…..I’m gonna go ahead and…..you know….GO, now.

Guy: I’ll catch up. I need a minute.

Me: Dude, you’re gross.

Needless to say, animals don’t do it for me.

I did have an unusually large number of crushes on girls who were on TV shows, when I was a kid, though. For whatever reason, the Sid & Marty Kroft shows ALWAYS had at least one girl, who inspired thoughts of PASSIONATE hand holding, when I was a kid.

Don’t know Sid & Marty Kroft? Then you, my friend, are missing out, BIG TIME. Sure, they were probably doing pot, or acid, or mushrooms, or some kind of mind altering drug. But, not unlike The Beatles use of acid to create “Sgt. Peppers,” I believe this alleged use of mind accelerants actually added to their work.

There was “Electra Woman and Dyna Girl.” This was a couple of superheroes, who shared an apartment, would put on skin tight outfits, and fight crime. They were reporters, or something, during the day. I had a serious “thing” for Dyna Girl. She had long, straight, dark hair. I like long, straight, dark hair. I liked Dyna Girl. A LOT. I always wanted to write her a letter, but I was too shy. Who knows? She may have wanted to hold MY hand, too. She may have liked guys who talked like Kermit the Frog. She may be sitting, right now, at the “Sid & Marty Kroft Home For Moderately Talented, Former Actors,” wondering what might have been. Sadly, my shyness kept us from being together. Sigh.

Then, there was “Dr. Shrinker.” As the theme song went, he was “A madman, with an evil mind.” That’s right. He was both mad, AND evil. So, it was just plain bad luck when these three older teens crash landed on his island. They survive, make their way to Dr. Shrinker’s house, and he shrinks them. Honestly, what did they think would happen? It’s right there in his name. They probably deserved to get shrunk. But, as usual in these shows, there were two guys ( a hero and comic relief), and a hot girl. Yep, again, I wanted to share my PB&J sandwich with the hot girl. Her name was B.J. Masterson……….Yeah, I know. But, I was 6. It would be YEARS before I had ANY idea. So, put your nasty thoughts aside, and stop trying to ruin the innocence of my youth, damn it. Anyway, she was 6 inches tall, and I wanted one of my very own. A LIVING one. Not a doll. No boy should have a doll named B.J.. Something about that just seems wrong.

The last one I'll mention is "Wonderbug." This was the story of 3 friends (of course), but this one had a twist. One of the friends was black, and he was tragically hip. He said lots of harmless, cool things that made all of us white kids laugh. He was just a sidekick, though, so we never really got to know what made him so hip. Maybe someday there will be a movie that will provide a backstory. But, there were also two white kids. Barry, who was looking for a car, and Susan, who was beautiful and, for some reason, hung out with two losers. Anyway, Barry was looking for a car. So, of course, they went to the junkyard, which is where you ALWAYS go to find a fully functional car that you can just drive home. Duh! The 3 friends found a talking car named Schlepcar. A dunebuggy sort of thing, that was really beat up, and ugly. It was, after all, a junkyard. Susan (looking lovely, even in a junkyard) also found one of those horns, with a squeezy thing on the end. They attatched this to the talking car, squeezed it, and Schlepcar magically became Wonderbug. As wonderbug, he could fly, and he helped the kids, who had never before fought crime, to fight crime. Make sense? Remember, there may have been mushrooms involved. The cool part about this is that, when I was in the 3rd grade, I got to MEET Susan!!!! Not only that, I got to TOUCH Susan. Susan gave me a hug, and pressed her BODY against mine!!! It was the single most glorious moment of my young life. She even signed a picture for my entire class. This picture, which I stole at the end of the school year, provided MUCH for my young mind to ponder.

This was all before Star Wars came out, and I was introduced to Princess Leia. But, it was a start. A wonderful, warm, soft, hugging start.

That was only the beginning, too. There were also female charecters on "Land of The Lost," "The Buggaloos," "The Lost Saucer," and many many more.

Now, is any of this worse than picking Jessica Rabbit as being sexy?

Yes.

Very much so.

For starters, I was 6!!!! The guys who took part in this survey were adults, who were thinking that young princesses, and actual rabbits for that matter, were sexy. That is just wrong on so many levels. Why would you even take part in such a survey? I can only imagine that the answers were given late at night, in their basements, when "normal" adults were asleep.

Just be careful if you see a grown man glaring at pictures of 14 year old, Disney princesses. That guy needs to register, or something.

Plus, keep your hands off of the live bunnies. I don't care how sexy they are.

Casey

What Happened To Me?

I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking: “Hey! “Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience” is coming out. I wonder if it is possible to purchase ADVANCE tickets to this historical concert event.”

Well, let me just go right ahead and answer that for you…..Yes. In fact, it is. AND, if you’re lucky enough, you may just get to sit next to ME!!!

I used to go to movies all the time. I love movies. I love going to them, I love watching them, I love getting mad at the annoying people who insist on talking on their cell phones, softly, because they assume that no one else will care. I consider it to be a total entertainment experience. I love watching movies so much that I actually watched the original “Halloween,” ON THE PHONE, with a person who was watching it some 30 miles away. It’s a fond memory.

Sadly, the reckless days of youth are out of my reach. The last “big boy” movie that I got to go see was the last “National Treasure” movie. That was, what? A year and a half ago?

Nope. My world has changed. There was a time that I saw almost every movie interest that got released. I mean EVERYTHING. I lived in Los Angeles, and virtually every movie that comes out, will show up somewhere out there. Did you ever hear of a movie, starring Phil Collins (Yes. THAT Phil Collins,) called “Freaks?”

It was released in ONE movie theater, for ONE week. Then, it vanished into thin air.

I saw it……IN the one movie theater it was released in. Better still, I saw it OPENING NIGHT!! My friend John and I were the only two people in the theater. It was a bad movie. Strike that. It was a REALLY bad movie. It’s about a guy (Phil Collins. Again, THAT Phil Collins,) who was teased as a child by some guys. Roughly 30 years later, he lures them into this big, freaky house that he lives in, and tries to harass them, and I think kill them. It was never made clear, by chasing them all around this big funhouse, which has rides, and laughing maniacally, while riding in a little car. He eventually gets them to go down a slide, that leads to a pool, that is filled with water AND little squeaky toys. Then, they get out of the house, and nothing else happens. The end. I know. A classic.

“Inside Monkey Zetterland?” Saw that, too. It’s about a former child star (the aforementioned Monkey Zetterland,) who travels around Hollywood, while nothing happens. He’s sad, though. Throughout the movie he runs into such icons as Ricki Lake, and Sophia Coppola (BEFORE she became talented.) Then, at the very end of the movie, NOTHING continues to happen, but Monkey gets happy. The end. Again, classic. That would be a good name for a band, though. “Monkey Gets Happy.” You can go ahead and use that.

“My Life Is In Turnaround?” Yup. Saw it. This one is about two guys in New York (so, you know they are cool,) who have no talent, but somehow manage to get a movie deal. One of them is the “funny” one. The other one is trying to figure out his life, and whether or not he wants love now, or later. Their movie, which is about nothing, as near as I could tell, but takes place IN New York (so, you know that IT is cool, too) gets put into “turnaround.” It’s an industry term which means, basically, that the money people are going to reevaluate whether or not they want to go forward. The “funny” one flips. But, the one who is in love uses this as an opportunity to put his own life in “turnaround,” and decides that he wants both love AND his movie. In the end, his is kissing a girl on the set of their movie, as both is life and the film are no longer in “turnaround.” The film, of course, being set on the very cool streets of NYC. On a side note, the two guys that stared in this movie BRIEFLY had a TV show, on FOX, called “Too Something.” This is of special note, to me, because I was briefly the network voice for this show.

You don’t remember the show, “Too Something?”

Probably because it was about as good as the movie “My Life Is In Turnaround.”

Finally, “Bound and Gagged: A Love Story.” I’m a little sketchy on this one. But, as near as I can remember, this guy catches his wife cheating. So, he shoots himself in the head. He survives, but doesn’t say much after that. He can. He just doesn’t. He hooks up with his best friend, a lesbian, and they abduct HER mistress, who is married to an abusive man, and head off on a road trip of sorts. The whole time, the guy keeps thinking about his wife cheating on him, while the lesbian tries to convince her girlfriend that they are in love, and she should leave her husband. With me? Wait, it gets better. THEN, the girlfriend’s abusive husband sets out after them, and the chase is on. As I recall, the husband eventually catches up with them, and gets abusive. So, the guy who no longer talks kills him. The lesbians decide that they are in love, and are not at all phased by the dead husband, AND the quiet guy is happy, and starts talking again. This film is notable for the fact that it starred adult film actress Ginger Lynn in her first mainstream role. And I was there. I saw it. I have that. You don’t. Nyah!!

My point here is that I have broad tastes in the types of movies that I will go see. Some of them are even good. I’ve seen “Citizen Kane” IN the movie theater, AND “Gone With The Wind.” It’s not all about “Monkey Zetterland!” (Which would also be a good name for a band.)

These days?

Yeah, I’m like every other parent on the face of the planet. I get unnaturally excited whenever a new Pixar movie comes out, because they tend to be the only ones that are worth a damn. Oh, sure, when a “big boy” movie commercial comes on, I will say something stupid like, “I’d like to see that.” Or, “We should go see that.” But, I know it’s never going to happen.

Not me.

That chapter of my life is over.

The “Hannah Montana” concert movie?

Seen it.

“Chicken Little?”

Yup.

“Underdog?”

That was me, in the theater.

“Madagascar.”

“Valiant.”

“The Chipmunk Movie.”

“Horton Hears A Who.”

“Wall-E.” (Which was excellent)

“Kung-Fu Panda”

“College Road Trip.”

“Hotel For Dogs.”

I……WAS…….THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Slumdog Millionare?”

Nope.

“Milk?”

I couldn’t. My daughter had a basketball game.

“The Wrestler?”

Nuh-uh. Though, I hear Marisa Tomei was naked in it, a lot. I think that’s a good thing. But, I didn’t get to go. There were girl scout cookies to deliver.

This is only sad, because I enjoy movies so very much. NOT because I don’t enjoy being a dad. I enjoy that a WHOLE lot more.

Would you like to know what the REALLY sad part is? The part that you WILL make fun of me for?

I’m going to see “Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience,” AND I’m looking forward to it.

Even sadder? The new Pixar movie is called “Up!” I know the EXACT DATE that it comes out.

If you see the old me, tell him I said hi. Then, if you would be so kind, punch him in the mouth. Just ‘cuz.

Casey

Just A Quick Blog, As Everyone Around Me Is Dying

This will be a short item. I don’t have much time. You see, “the infected” are here, and they are getting restless.

My wife and son are both sick. There is some 24 hour “thing” going around, and they were both unfortunate enough to get it. My daughter and I, as of right now, are fine. But, my wife and son have various fluids coming out of every orifice on their bodies.

It ain’t pretty.

As the dutiful, and supportive husband I am……..STAYING AS FAR AWAY AS I FREAKING CAN!!!!!!!!!!!

ARE YOU CRAZY!!?!!!

I DON’T WANNA GET THAT!!!

My God!! They are both writhing around on the floor, making noises that I haven’t heard since the last zombie flick I saw. It’s depressing, is what it is.

It’s not that I’m not helping. I am. Well, at least as much as I can. I don’t have to bring them food, because neither one of them can keep anything down. That’s probably best. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t be able to keep down anything that I might cook, anyway. Outside of that, I will take a deep breath, hold it, run in a couple of water bottles, and then make a quick dash back out of the room. Then, I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the scalding hot water, and attempt to decontaminate myself.

It’s not that I’m being insensitive. I’m not. But, if I get sick, that leaves my 8 year old daughter to take care of us. We would all be doomed, for certain. It’s not because she wouldn’t TRY to take care of us. The exact opposite is true, in fact. She would try. It is through these attempts that she would kill us all.
She THINKS she can cook….She can’t. She watches Rachel Ray throw a bunch of things in a pot, and make something that tastes good. She thinks that’s how it’s done. You just throw a bunch of things a pot, and magic happens. So, she will just start randomly throwing things in a pot, probably end up with a crude form of mustard gas, and my entire neighborhood would be wiped out.

(YIKES!!!! My son just projectile vomited!!! I gotta go clean that up….It smells like “hot sick” in my house. Gross.)

So, the farther I stay away from all the sick people, the safer it is for EVERYONE.
It would also be worse for the world if I did contract this horrid virus. You see, I am very much a stereotypical male, when it comes to getting sick. In short, I’m a big baby when I get the sniffles.

I moan.

I shake all over.

I roll my eyes back in my head. (Even if they don’t need to be rolled back. I just like the affect.)

I convince myself that I’m going to die.

Basically, I milk it for all it’s worth.

Now, I REALLY AM sick when I do this. I never just fake it. But, the way I play it up, you would think there were awards, with cash prizes, for the most pathetic sick person, and I’m nominated in all the major categories.

(more vomit….I’ll be right back.)

So, when you say your prayers tonight, pray that I don’t catch this, for two reasons, really. First, so that my daughter doesn’t kill us ALL, by trying to help. Second, because we don’t need all the drama, from a 39 year old man/child, who’s convinced he’s walking into the light due to a little stomach bug. It’s not a pretty thing.

Okay, on a side note, I’m working toward starting my own website, which will contain things like the blog, but in one central location. My problem is that I have not the first clue of how to do this. I’m working on gathering information. So, if anyone has any, I’d appreciate any help you could give. I’m not necessarily looking for someone to do it for me, for free. I just need to know what to do. I’m not a patient person, and if I have to figure it all out for myself it will take a WHOLE lot longer. Plus, computers hate me, and when I try to do the work I will become frustrated, and throw the thing out the window. So, any help, would be just super terrific.

Also, you may remember a couple of months back I wrote a short story called “The Becoming.” It was a zombie story. I like that kind of stuff, though I don’t post much of it, here. If you want to look back in the archives and read it, I believe the post was titled “Something Different.” Let me know if you can’t find it. I’ll re-post it. Anyway, I’m working on another one. The working title is “Ed.” If there is interest in reading this, let me know. It’s in the horror genre, and is nothing like the normal blogs that I write. Just reference the other story. Many people have asked me if I was going to write another story like “The Becoming.” But, I know that it’s not for everyone. So, I’m wondering if you would like to see it posted, here. If not, I can find another way to get it to the people who would like to read it. So, leave me a comment, and let me know.

Have a great weekend.

There is more vomit to clean up, and I’m just the man to do it!!!

Casey

The Proper Care And Feeding Of Demonically Possessed Hamsters

So, for Christmas we bought my daughter a hamster. For two years we had been promising to buy her a hamster, and never did. You see, like most parents, we were lying to her about buying her a hamster, for two years. Finally, she got wise to us. In a move that can only be described as “evil genius,” she informed us that she was going to go over our heads, and ask Santa.

Check and mate.

Game: Spenser.

Well played, little girl. Well played.

Our hands were now tied. So, on Christmas morning, she opened up a plastic, hamster dungeon, and some sort of “tube” thing, with a book about the care and feeding of the little rat. Then, the next day, we went down the store, and got the little guy.
You would think that this would be an easy decision. But, you would be wrong. You clearly haven’t met my daughter. While I am in no way, shape, or form suggesting that ALL women are like this, my daughter is the type of girl who CANNOT make a decision…..Not unlike her mother. If she reaches her goal of being President, we are ALL in trouble.

Defense Secretary: Madame President, the Canadians have launched a full-scale nuclear assault. What are your orders?

My Daughter: Hmmmmm……

Defense Secretary: Shall we try and shoot them down with the satellite lasers?

My Daughter: Uhhhhhh……hmmmm….Satellite lasers……uhhhhmmmmm…..

Defense Secretary: Or, should I activate the giant bio-dome, that will cover the entire country?

My Daughter: Oooooooo…..Yeah…..Hmmmm….The Bio-dome……Weeeeelllllll…..uhhhh…..

Defense Secretary: MADAME PRESIDENT!!!!! WE NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!!!!

My Daughter: Okay, you know what? This is not an easy decision, and your yelling at me isn’t helping matters. Why don’t we just take a second and…..

BOOM!!!!!!
Then, we would all be dead. Or, under Canadian rule. I can’t decide which is worse.

Frankly, I don’t know why all of you voted for her, to begin with. Must have been all that talk about “change.”

But, along those lines, there are about 8 billion different types of hamster that you can buy, and the giant, non-descript, monolithic, pet box store has ALL of them. Put an 8 year old, who cannot decide which spoon to eat her yogurt with, in front of THAT display case, and I’m a little surprised we made it home before 2010.

There are Syrian hamsters, Dwarf Winter White Russian hamsters, Dwarf Campbell’s Russian hamsters, Chinese hamsters, Roborovski hamsters, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey- Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamsters-Of-Doom, and many others to choose from.

After what felt like several days of deliberation, we decided to go with a cute, fuzzy, black and white, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey-Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamster-Of-Doom.

His name is Oreo.

Cute.

Our first clue should have been that, while there were several of every other type of hamster, in all the other cases, Oreo was alone. He had a hamster case all to himself. There were no other “Death Hamsters” in his cage. Just Oreo. Looking back, it’s probably because he ate all the other hamsters. At the time, though, my daughter had convinced herself that it was just because he was so cute, and all the other “Death Hamsters” must have been equally as cute. Therefore, she deduced, she was LUCKY to be getting THE VERY LAST ONE!!!!

When the “Hamster Wrangler” went into the cage to get him, he stood up, and opened his mouth, showing us his horrible, hamster teeth.

“That means he’s mad,” she said. “When they stand up, they are not happy, and may bite.”

Oreo is ALWAYS standing up.

When she reached in, to pick him up, he bit her. Hard. You could tell it hurt.

“Do you still want this one?” I asked my daughter. “He bites.”

“Yes, daddy,” she said. “THAT’S Oreo.”

“Of course,” I replied. “What WAS I thinking?”

So, we picked up Oreo, and all the stuff he would need to exist in our home. Had I known then what I know now, I would’ve stopped by the church and picked up some holy water, too.

We got home, and got the cage set up. My wife reached into the little box that we brought him home in, picked him up. He bit her, on the finger, hard. She screamed, and put him back down in the box. When I looked at her finger, it didn’t just have a little bite, with a little bit of blood. It had a huge chunk, with blood literally flowing out of it.

I thought I saw Oreo smile, and lick his face.

Gross.

We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t want to hurt him, by just dumping him in the cage. Plus, no one else wanted to touch him. So, I went to the garage and got my big, thick, snow gloves, and put one of them on. Then, I reached into the box, and picked up Oreo. The whole time I was holding him, he was trying to bite me through my big, thick, snow glove, AND I COULD FEEL HIS DAGGER LIKE JAWS!!!

I put him down, and we quickly shut the cage.

After that, every time we went into the cage, he would stand up and open his mouth to show us his evil teeth. My wife thought that this meant that he was not happy. Her solution was to buy him another little tube to crawl around in.

I didn’t think this was a good idea. When you have an enemy boxed in, you don’t try to increase his territory, thus empowering him. But, as with most things in my house, I got overruled. So, Oreo/Satan got a new tube.

Unfortunately, when my wife attached said tube, she forgot to close it, and Oreo got out.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

OREO GOT OUT!!!!!!!

WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!

All I could think about was this freaky, death hamster wandering around my house, at night, and crawling up onto my bed to go after my jugular. I would die, and he would lap up my blood, laughing his maniacal hamster laugh.

Death by hamster was NOT the way I wanted to go. So, I ran up to the room, and prepared to have to hunt him down.

Now, when you go into the room you’d expect most hamster to scurry away, and try to elude me. Do you wanna know what THIS little rat was doing, when I burst into the room? He stood right up, opened his jaws, and started lunging at me.

And, I got scared!!!

Not my proudest moment. I had 170 pounds, and almost 6 feet on him, and HE intimidated ME!!

I composed myself. I walked over, with him not backing off one bit, picked him up in a towel, which he bit, and put him back in his cage.

We had 14 days to return Oreo, back to the depths of Hell. But, each time I offered, my daughter declined.

“Daddy,” she would say. “He’s Oreo.”

“Of course,” I would say back. “What WAS I thinking?”

So, we are stuck with him. Part of me was hoping that one of our two, worthless cats would accidently “get” him. But, I think they may have already had words.
Since we got Oreo, the cats don’t go anywhere near my daughter’s room. They may be smarter than I give them credit for.

I went in, the other night, and he literally started biting at the air when he saw me.

Just last night my wife went in, and he lunged at the plastic door, on the cage. HE WAS TRYING TO ATTACK HER!!!

I’m not a religious man, but I’ve found myself saying a little prayer before I go to bed. It mostly has to do with asking God to NOT let me wake up, with a hamster attached to my neck.

It’s gonna be this way for the next 18 months. At least, it’s supposed to be. That’s how long Oreo is supposed to live. Though, I would not be surprised if he outlived all of us.

Until then, my nightly routine has been altered. Now, I check the doors, check the garage, turn off all the lights, and make sure the damn hamster cage is locked.

I’m not taking any chances.

Casey

Killer Clowns Are Not Happy Things

It has come to my attention that my 8 month old son’s room is not a “happy” room. Before this, I didn’t even know that rooms could have emotions. But, apparently, this particular room is not happy.

My son, Max, only occasionally sleeps in his actual room. My wife seems to think that this is because the only time he ever goes in his room is to go to sleep. So, this means that the room is not “happy,” and he does not like to be in there. Now, I’m 39, and nobody seems particularly interested that not much, shall we say, “happy” stuff goes on in my bedroom, and I’m expected to suck it up, and sleep in there. Yet, I’m having to go to great lengths to make sure that his room is “happy.” That doesn’t seem fair. But, such is my life.

So, I’m spending a greater than average amount of my day trying to figure out exactly what makes an 8 month old happy. Since he can’t talk, this means that my wife and I having to try and find a common ground as to what WE think will make HIM happy. This means that I am suggesting things and my wife is ignoring me, and will do whatever she wants to, anyway. I think they call this a “communicative marriage.” But, I’m not sure. I stopped listening.

Either way, my boy needs a “happy” room. So, a “happy” room he shall have.

First Challenge: What makes Max happy?

Answer: Pulling cat tails.

We have two “Kitties from Hell.” Mike and Stuart, are their earth names. I’m assuming that the Dark Lord has given them different names, for the underworld. But, here, they’re Mike and Stuart. He gets VERY excited whenever the demon cats come in the room. He shakes, and kicks, and screams, and laughs. It’s pretty cute. But, the cutest thing he does, and it may only be cute because I don’t particularly care for either one of my cats, is pull their tails. Hard. This causes the cats to do that loud, creepy, cat scream that they do.

See?

Cute, right?

It gets better.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been around a baby. But, babies are unusually strong. They can’t life cars, or anything like that. But, every baby I’ve ever come into contact with has possessed an iron vice, G.I. Joe, kung-fu-like death grip which CANNOT be broken. So, when he grabs the cat’s tail, and the cat screams, this goes on for a little while because Max is laughing, the cat is screaming, and I’m too busy looking for the video camera to stop it.

“America’s Funniest Home Videos,” here I come!!!

Solution: Hang several cat tails from his ceiling, low enough for him to reach, and pipe in the soothing sounds of screaming cats.

I can sense the boy getting happier, already.

Second Challenge: What ELSE makes Max happy?

Answer: I’m glad you asked. Why, it’s eating paper, of course.

Fine. My boy eats paper. I’m not proud of it. But, I love him, and I’m not going to judge him. Years from now, when he brings his family over to the house for Thanksgiving, we’ll have turkey for everyone else, and a ream of copier paper for Max to dig into.

I’m also not convinced that this is not normal. I’ve never met a baby who DIDN’T eat paper. They eat all kinds of paper, too. If babies could talk I would ask them if there was a different flavor to different kinds of paper. Did magazine paper taste better than plain paper, because of the pictures? What about wax paper? It seems kind of slick. Does it go down easier? Things like that.

Honestly, I don’t know why anybody bothers with actual baby food, at all. I think it exists just to make parents feel good about themselves. If you provided your average baby with a steady supply of paper, carpet fiber, cat hair, and kibble out of various pet bowls, I think they would do fine. Heck, many of them already do.

If Gerber could find a way to make a baby food that tasted like paper, and cat hair, they wouldn’t be able to keep the stuff on the shelves.

Solution: Buy a paper shredder (what child’s room is complete without one), and spread little bits of paper out, all over the floor.

Are you getting the picture now? Cat tails hanging from the ceiling, screaming cat noises piped in, and delicious paper spread out all over the floor. This is really starting to come together as kind of a “baby paradise.” The corporate boardrooms would have you believe that kids want candy, and balloons, and clowns. But, all they want is your money. Real parents know what real kids want. Paper, and cat tails.

Clowns?

Clowns will kill you. Don’t you EVER watch horror movies? Clowns are killing people all over the place, in horror movies. Have you ever seen a movie about possessed pieces of paper, causing havoc in a small, isolated, college town, stocked with coeds who didn’t have time to change out of their lingerie, and will have sexual relations with any random guy who comes to town?

No. No, you haven’t. It doesn’t exist. I know. I googled it.

So, you can go ahead and put clowns in your kid’s room, and give them horrible nightmares. I’m putting paper in my boy’s room. Who REALLY is the bad parent, here? Exactly.

Third Challenge: Could there possibly be anything else that makes Max happy?

Answer: Yes. My wife. She has to make only one man happy, and she picked my son.

My wife holds him, and feeds him, and bathes him, and puts clothes on him. She sings to him, and reads to him, and has a generally sunnier disposition that I do.
So, while he likes it when daddy juggles, and talks funny, and falls down, and tickles him, he thinks that mommy hung the moon. I’m just a stop gap, for when mommy is not around.

I try. But, I come up short.

I hold him. But, he squirms, and laughs, and tries to flip over, and out of my hands.

I feed him. But, most of it ends up in his nose, and ears. Funny? Yes. Nutritional? Not really, no.

I have bathed him. But, I put too much water in his little tub, and he likes to splash. I also made the mistake of doing it on the counter, where we keep the mail. So, the kid kept splashing, and the bills got all wet, and we had to make a few phone calls to find out what we owed a few people. So, now I’m only allowed to bathe him if someone else is watching. Usually, my 8 year old daughter. It’s a little humiliating.

I put clothes on him. But, if you’ve ever seen the way I dress MYSELF, this usually doesn’t go over too well. My wife used to “accidently” spill something on him, whenever I dressed him. Now, we don’t go through that formality anymore. She just says it’s ugly, and takes it off of him.

I also don’t sing, because I can’t, and it makes people cry.

So, in my son’s mind, the pecking order in the house goes like this:

My wife

My daughter

The cats

The dogs

Strangers that come in, with masks on their faces

Me

Solution: Have my wife go sleep in my son’s room, with him.

Sadly, this will not cause any sort of decrease in my sex life, whatsoever. And, on the plus side, I’ll finally get to control the TV in my bedroom. I think that, in the business world, they call this a win-win.

Let’s recap.

A happy baby’s room consists of the following things:

Cat tails

Screaming cat noises

Delectable paper bits

Mom

Now, go forth and make your children’s room a “happy” place.

And, for the love of God, stay away from the clowns.

Casey