Thursday, August 26, 2010

God Thinks I'm a Dink

Why does God punish me so? I've been a fairly decent person. I don't cheat, lie, or steal. I treat people in ways that they deserve to be treated ( unless you count that time I tripped the little old lady in Wal Mart so I could grab the last bottle of Metamucil. Hey, I had a slight fiber issue a few years back, don't judge.)

People say that God works in mysterious ways. Bullshit, I think he's just a prick. How else do you explain parenthood? My theory is that The Almighty resents parents since he never got to make kids the old fashioned way. Think about it. He's all-powerful, but yet the only way he could get a woman to carry his child is to promise NOT to have sex with her? The Supreme Being, who single handedly created the very ground we walk on and the air that we breathe was reduced to a faceless sperm donor? So, essentially, because Mary had completely unrealistic standards, we parents have been paying the price ever since.

How so, you may ask? Well, my daughter seems to always know how to say the absolute WORST thing at the WORST time. It's like she's the Good Lord's personal marionette. And I'm the dink who has to sit back and watch the show.

We were in Wal Mart one Sunday night. Browsing the aisles and marveling at all the cool stuff that I could furnish my house with. If my house were a 10x20 tin-roofed trailer up on blocks with my dog Zeke chained to the fence as I sit on the front steps picking my one remaining tooth with a stick I found by the side of the creek.

Anyway, we have a habit of playfully poking each other, picking on each other, and giving each other "pigeon kicks" (I'll explain some other time. But they can be very annoying, and hurt like hell if done correctly). We were having our sacred ritual of pissing each other off and giggling as we stroll the aisles, trying to think of new ways to bug each other.

And then God intervened. There must have been a re-run of Jersey Shore on T.V and he was looking for something to occupy his time before Real Housewives of NY came on (and the simple fact that both of these shows exist is further proof that God hates humans).

My daughter just didn't seem to be in the mood. And then God spoke through her.

"Dad!! Stop touching me!!!! I only like it when I touch myself!!!!"

I looked around and sure as shit, people heard her. A pair of blue hairs looked at me like I was the spawn of Satan as they were frantically searching their purses for that little bottle of Holy Water they keep for just such an occasion. A gaggle of teenagers laughed their asses off. And one, lone father who was pushing his 3 year old in the carriage, looked up at me and just nodded his head. He understood.

He must have been a dink too.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Dating On The Interwebs

Alright, gather around kids. Today we are going to talk about something near and dear to my heart. Internet dating. That's right, that wonderful world of e-mails, web cams, pic swapping, and countless hours of browsing little snippets of useless information and blurry pics hoping to find love and live happily ever after.

But there is just one catch. It sucks. I mean, really, really sucks.

I have been using this off and on for about 6 years now. More off than on and with good reason. I don't have too many horror stories of Russian biker chicks trying to initiate me into their gang with a handful of rope and the broken end of a bed post. A few weird moments? Sure. Like the time I was set to meet my potential date in the parking lot of her apartment complex. I was in the car with the music playing watching the plethora of people walk out the back door (yes, I said plethora. Not bad for a vocational high school graduate, huh?). At one point, a woman walks out and I thought to myself "Hmm, who's the old broad? Looks like my Auntie Kathy." But then I noticed that she was walking towards my car and getting closer and closer. Then it hit me "Holy sweet Jesus in Heaven, it's my date!" Needless to say, we didn't play "Davey and Goliath" that night.

My main point of aggravation are the ads. Women are the first ones to complain that the ads from the guys suck and leave little to the imagination. But the women are not much better. Here are some examples of the drivel I have come across over the years:

I don't really know what else to say...I guess if you want to know more, just ask =)
Christ... Helen Keller had more to say. Why don't you try saying SOMETHING so I can decide if I even want to e-mail you in the first place?


I love spending time with family and friends. Do you really? No shit Sherlock, everyone does. You can't think of anything more original, like "I really hate my family, and I wish they would all die in a fiery plane crash. And my friends all suck eggs because they don't understand me and think I should seek professional help." Hey, at least it's original.

And my personal favorites. The same tired lines that EVERYONE seems to use:

I don't like drama - Damn!! I was so hoping to open up to you about my crazy ex girlfriend who likes to follow me and smear pig blood all over my car when I am out on dates. What's not to like about that?

I do not like playing games - So much for my plans of Strip Twister for our first date.

I am not great at talking about myself but here goes. - THIS is your opening line? Yeah, I'm intellectually stimulated now. I cannot WAIT to talk to you on the phone and hear that awesome silence when I ask you "So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?" and all I hear are the crickets chirping in your empty God damn head.

I am a single mother, and my kids come first. - FUCK!!!!! I was REALLY hoping I could convince you to dump your stupid, snot-dripping, glue-eating, nose-picking little rugrats and run away with me to Asia.

So there you have it. Your little foray into the world of Internet dating and the types of things you will read. And these aren't even the strange ones. I'll talk about those later on. These are just the tired, old, boring, contrite, drivel-laden things you will find in most of these ads.

I wonder if I should start picking up chicks at the funeral home again. At least they had more personality.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Walking is For The Birds

My daughter and I decided to go for a walk the other day. I had visions of a leisurely stroll, basking in the warm sun, sharing a beautiful Norman Rockwell painting-type moment with my one and only child. Instead it ended up like a crumpled up section of the Sunday Comics.

OK, so during our walk we saw this little baby bird waddling by the side of the road. It's eyes were half closed and the feathers were all matted. He was chirping, but he sounded more like an 80 year old lady who smoked too many Camel non-filters back in the day. Not exactly a soothing experience.

None the less, it was still cute in a regurgitated piece of ham sort of way. And obviously this poor little fella was misplaced and calling for it's mother. Even the Grinch would have felt a twinge of sympathy and sadness for it. Right before he BBQ'd it and ate it. But that's neither here nor there.

Gabbi asked what we should do and I said "Nothing. We can't pick it up. Because if we pick it up then the mother will want nothing to do with it. Plus, if she's around and sees us picking up her precious little baby, she'll swoop down and peck our eyes out!!!!" And then I got the look from my daughter that I have seen oh so many times in her 11 year career as Daddy's little self esteem killer. "Daaaaaad, you're so immature. When are you going to grow up?"

So, we kept walking. We both felt bad though and wanted to do something. She kept worrying it was going to get run over.

On our way back she asked "I wonder what happened to the bird? I bet it got run over by a car. I really hope not." So we walked towards where we had seen it and the bird was gone. I'm guessing the mother picked it up and took it back to the nest. How's that for positive thinking? Too bad my cynical child doesn't seem to think that way.

"Where is he, Dad? I hope he's OK. I bet a car ran it over." I just looked at her and said "Oh yeah, smarty pants? If a car ran it over, it would be squashed on the ground. Where is it then?" And here was that look again. "Probably under some guys wheel Dad, duh!!!"

My daughter was so dumbfounded that I didn't have the "common sense" to know that if this tiny example of one of God's creations got run over it would end up stuck in the crevice of some young punk's Toyota Corolla with spinning wheel covers.

Next time, we're taking the bus.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Why my Kid is Better Than Yours

Yeah, I know what you are thinking. This isn't one of those stories where I am going to sit here and tell you what a Rhodes Scholar my kid is because I get to put one of those puke inducing bumper stickers on my car telling you that she made the honor roll. You know the ones. “ My kid made honor roll at Cherry Long Elementary School for Future Strippers.” ( Kudos for those of you who catch the school reference. There's hope for man kind yet if you do.). And no.... I am not one of these mosquito-brained idiots who go totally the other way with those “ My kid beat up and shanked your honor roll student in juvenile hall.” ones either. I swear to all that is holy, I don't know which is worse.

No, what I am getting at is her sense of humor. Point blank, she's a friggin riot. And the best part is, she doesn't even know it. Maybe that's a good thing. Because I am getting tired of being schooled by an 11 year old.

I have been a single father for the last 7 1/2 years, and have had some challenges along the way. Early on I had to make some adjustments while taking my daughter out in public. The biggest issue being the bathroom. When your child is only 4 years old, you don't just send them in there on their own. So I would have to take her with me into the men's room and put her in a stall. That also goes for dressing rooms.

I had her with me in the store one day and I wanted to try on some clothes. But I wasn't about to leave my curious, quick witted, short attention spanned daughter outside the dressing room by herself. She would have taken off in a flash just as soon as I had my pants down around my ankles. I can just picture myself bolting out the door while tripping over my pants. So, I picked the biggest room and turned to her and said "Daddy is going to try on some clothes. Just stand in the corner near the door and turn around. I'll tell you when I am done, OK?" "OK, Daddy."..... So I turn my back to her as well as her having her back to me and start to change. No sooner do I take off my shirt and drop my pants ( I had shorts on underneath. Not underwear, not boxer shorts. But regular sweat shorts. This little piece of information is important in a minute.) and I hear "Ugh!!! Daddy. You're NAKED!!!!!!" And this wasn't some sweet, innocnet little voice. This was loud like a God damn bull horn. She may as well had said this over the store intercomm, I'm sure less people would have heard it. My heart sank and I immediately spun around half expecting to see Chris Hansen whip the door open and say "Why don't you come have a seat right over here."...... "No, honey Daddy isn't naked. I have shorts on. See?" as loud as I possibly could. As if that little bit of news would stop anyone from thinking the worst. "Oh, see Dear it's fine. No need to call the cops. Didn't you hear him? He has shorts on. It must be some mistake." " Hmmmm, why you are quite right Darling. Carry on. Nothing to worry about here."................

I quickly put my clothes back on grabbed her and left. The whole time I kept having visions of the cops chasing me as I scooped up my daughter like a football and took off yelling "But I had shorts on!!!!!!!!!" But you know what the worst part was? The fact that I had never before, or ever since, heard such a tone of absolute disgust and shame in my daughter's voice. She's more and more like her mother every day.

I had a friend who bought me some cologne for Christmas one year. It's not bad, actually. I put some on one morning and walked up to my daughter to give her a hug. “Ugh, what's that smell??!!” You would have thought I was wearing a sweaty necklace of old sardines the way she turned her head and wrinkled her nose. I told her it was my new cologne. “It stinks!! No wonder why no one wants to go out with you.” I canceled my E-Harmony subscription that very minute.

This year my ex wife and I took our daughter to lunch for her birthday. We were having a nice time when suddenly she looks at me and says “ You know what Dad? You're going to die alone. Because every woman you go out with breaks up with you.” Are you starting to see a pattern here? I canceled my subscription as soon as we got home.

Now, before I continue let me explain something about my daughter and the relationship we have. You see, she has no filter at all. Whatever pops into her head, she says it. Not to be mean, or spiteful. She's just being honest and expressing what she is thinking. She has the most amazing curiosity and sees the world in such grown up ways for someone so young. I was exactly the same way as a child. I am still that way now.

I took her to the batting cages one summer. She had never been. I walked her into the cage and showed her how to stand, where the softballs would be coming out from, the red light, etc. Easy, right? With my kid, nothing is easy.

The first couple of balls were sent through the machine, but none came out. It seemed to be empty. Suddenly, a loose ball rolled over to her from the cage next to her. She looked down at it, stepped in front of home plate, and tried to hit slap shots with it. “What the hell are you doing??? Get out of the box!!!!!!!” She looked up at me “What?” then SLAM!!! She got a softball right in the mouth. My heart shot out of my throat as I ran in and grabbed her and yanked her out of there. This all happened in the span of 5 seconds. My dreams of her making the majors as the first female baseball player were instantly shattered. After the shock wore off and she realized that she was still going to be able to eat with all her teeth, she looked at me and said “Hey Dad, is that what they mean by getting popped in the chops?” That's my girl.

My precious angel has no problem busting my balls, either. And it's my own fault. I teased her and joked with her from the time she was little. And she kept coming back for more. I knew I was onto something. She has that McGravey spirit. We never back down from getting our balls busted and will come back at you harder and faster until we make you cry in the shower with all of your clothes on while the water runs all over your pathetic, sniveling, face.

Not a day goes by that I don't hear “Hey Dad.” as I look over and she sticks her tongue out at me, or throws the big L across her forhead at me. She'll quote Family Guy word for word from some of the little clips I show her. We watch America's Funniest Videos and cackle at all the morons who let their kids use their hairy bean bags as pinatas as she yells “Oh, that's going to leave a mark.” And I cannot go a week without her saying at least once “Hey Dad, would you be mad if I pushed you down that hill?” and just smile and giggle when I look over at her and wonder why God's such an asshole.

But you know what? You can have your future Hall of Famers, and your little Harvard Professors, and your wanna be veterinarians. I'll take my little Don Rickles over all of those any day.

And if anyone knows of a good free dating site, can you let me know? I am running out of options. And cologne.