I think this means I can't be sexist anymore

Earlier this week I was sitting next to my son, explaining the more intricate details of the Green Lantern back story and thinking to myself “I’ve done it. It’s taken 3 1/2 years to do it but I’ve finally done it.”

“I’ve become comfortable with being a father.”

Then two days later I had that ripped away from me.

If you say it right, janitor sounds like a He-man villian

The other day someone was asking my son what he want to be when he grew up. He gave his spiel and I waited patiently for my turn to answer, figuring I would be asked next.

I would wait indefinitely, as the question never came.

After five minutes of awkward silence, I was like “Holy buttnuts! I’m grown up.”

And so as a responsible grown up, here is some advice for you young whippersnappers on how to properly be a janitor, because trust me at some point in your life your need for food will over power your need to not be up to your elbows in someone else’s toilet.

Maybe my real son is in another castle

I’m slowing learning that kids are more than an endless story of great poop stories.

Contrary to how it’s portrayed in after school specials, there’s actually a lot of advantages to having kids. They force you to grow up in ways you never thought possible. You see the world again for the first time with fresh eyes. You get to experience all the highs and lows of life all over again, now with the wisdom of your years.

They’re also little balls of proof that you’ve had sex that follow you around.

Along with all that, you get to teach them stuff. Not just stupid stuff like how to tie shoelaces or right from wrong. Fun stuff too. Just as my dad spent hours with my and a wiffle bat trying to teach me the sport he loved, I too can now spend time teach my son about what’s important to me.

And I have to say, I love my son, but I hate how bad he is at video games.

I can’t talk to my parents about this frustration. They’re normally great at reminding me that everything my son does to me I totally deserve. Every time I tell them about how he has drew on the wall, threw dinner in my face or walked around naked at church they just laugh as recount some story about how I did the exact same thing when I was his age. Or my senior year.

It’s demeaning and comforting at the same time which - as far as I can tell - is the basis of all good parenting.

But when I bring up the video game thing they just change the subject to something unrelated like how I need to focus more on growing up.

And they could totally do that again here. Everything he is doing to me I totally deserve. I have a vague recollection of Pac-man machine at grocery store and an even vaguer recollection of my mom hating that thing.

It's easy to understand why she hated it. This was the mid 80s when 25 cents was a lot of money to let a 3 year mash buttons and move a joystick in random directions for 20 seconds followed by 5 minutes of crying because the ghost got them.

That’s my life now. Only it didn't cost me a quarter, the ghost had way more pixels and I’m the one crying instead of him.

Seriously, how can he be this bad at them!

This is up early because tomorrow after work I'm going out of town for the week end. Always remember, Steve never leaves you hangin.

The only Bell I want to toll for me is Taco.

I make it a point not to speak ill of the dead. Or of the people who killed them.

I’m not a hypochondriac or anything like that, but I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately.

This is partially because I’m getting older, experiencing more of life and realizing that time only goes in one direction, pulling all of with it in an unending march to that final destination that we all know lies ahead. I’ve seen loved ones come and go and learned first hand that it is the fact that this is all temporary that makes life beautiful and worth living in the first place.

It’s also because I’ve been playing a lot of Mortal Kombat lately.

There’s just something about ripping the still beating heart from your enemy’s chest to make you realize how precious the time we have here is.

As I’ve been considering this ultimate end credits I’ve decided all that sentimental stuff I said above was bull dookie. I wanna live forever. There is just too much in life that I want to experience, with more coming around all the time. I want to climb the Alps. I want to eat one of those six foot long hoagies. I want to learn how to play the Pokemon card game.

Besides, all the cool kids are immortal: Duncan McCloud, Doctor Who, LL Cool J.

Now that my living forever has been decided, I just need to figure out how. I figure having grown up in Idaho, I can count all that time as being cryogenically frozen, so that’s a good start. Plus if you are what you eat, and I eat mostly things with tons of preservatives, I should be in pretty good shape to end up being preserved as is.

So I’m just going to drink from every stream I find hoping it’s the fountain of youth and sleeping each night wrapped in toilet paper, just in case.

Oh and if I see that Harry Potter kid, I’m totally kicking his butt. Not for Philosopher's Stone, the Seventh Book just sucked.

(Stupid Column)

So this one starts out whiny, but I promise if you stick with me, you’ll get two nut shots.

No you personally, but two people that I talk about. I don’t want to spoil it, but you know what I mean.

So I’ve had one of those days (stupid days).

One of those days you just hate to have.

The kind where you have to lie to the cashier at the grocery store because if you answered “How you doing today?” with anything close to how you’re actually doing  you would get kicked out faster than the time you started swearing at the soup aisle because clam chowder was over two bucks a can (stupid soup).

We’ve all done that right?

It’s been one of those days where you drive faster than you like to, where you are constantly flipping people (stupid people) the bird from the confines of your pocket or farting in confined areas and you don’t even care because screw those guys, they totally deserve to get a nice big mouthful of last night’s enchiladas (stupid enchiladas).

It was a combination of a thousand different things, most of which were probably figments of my own imaginations (stupid figments). Which makes it all worse because nothing makes you madder than thinking about how you’re going to explain what’s making you mad to another person and realising it’s pretty ridiculous (stupid thinking).

So you sit (stupid sitting) and you stew (stupid soup again) and you watch the clock (stupid standardized work day) and then you go home. And then, if you’re really lucky, your son racks himself on his high chair.

He was trying to “do a trick” which involves some “new” way of getting into his chair and then looking expectantly to his mother and I to be blown away.

I’m not sure how he started this trick today, but I know how he ended it: screaming “My weewee, my weewee, my weewee!”

I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I also know that I shouldn’t eat sandwiches using donuts as bread. I know a lot of things.

I did my best to not show my mirth, but the massive amount of stress ripped from my shoulders was obvious. I was soon able to dance around with my son, until he head butted me, right in the Smith and Wessons. He laughed. I was about to tell him not to. Then I remember that he’d had a bad day too.

I guess he deserved a bit of the medicine he’d given me earlier.

(Stupid crotch blasting medicine).

It's not you, it's me. And the fact you could kill me with your bare hands.

I made an important personal discovery today. Not as big as the time I figure out that its ok to pretend to be a superhero in the shower (no one can see you)  but still better than when I realized that I’m not afraid of rock chucks.

I love ninjas, but I don’t think I could ever love a ninja.

Now let me be clear, I’m of course talking about love in the settle down and have a family kind of love a ninja. Not any other kind.

I could totally love a ninja like a brother from another more deadly mother.

I could have Christian love for a ninja. Heck I could Christian love the crap out of a ninja. Especially if they were a ninja widow, or a window made by a ninja, which is much more common.

But I just can’t see myself creating a life with a ninja.

Of course they’re the obvious logistical nightmare of actually finding a ninja and asking them out for the crucial first date. They’re some elusive buggers. People have written libraries worth of blog posts about how hard it is to find someone to love in today’s disconnected world. Just imagine trying to find someone to love with a lifetime of training in the art of invisibility. And when you think you finally found one, it turns out it just a kid in a ninja costume which causes a whole new stack of problems.

But once you found that special little assassin, you’re marriage is going to have issues.

Ninjas work late nights all the time. And their schedule is really erratic. You never know when they’ll have to run off to kill the Shogunate and even worse, you never know if they’re really killing the Shogunate or if they’re running around behind your back.

Kissing that mask would get old quick.

Smoke bombs are the perfect way to get out of spending time with your side of the family.

Forget throwing plates when you fight. While you’re at it, learn how to dodge ninja stars.

So yeah, no ninja love for me. I guess I’ll just have to settle for getting my wife a ninja suit for Christmas.

It ain't fair that ain't ain't a word and all the rest

Today I had a chance to live my lifelong dream of hand feeding a zebra outside of a gas station.

(I have very specific lifelong dreams).

Unfortunately, it turned out the zebra was a total jerk and literally knocked the food out of my hand and spat on it, right in front of my son.

My mom was dead right on two things. Sometimes, life just ain’t fair (number two was about spitting out a bug. Good call Mom).

So as I’ve spent the last three days on vacation, I’ve had plenty of time to consider things about life that just aren’t fair.

It just ain’t fair that days spent driving to your vacation count as part of your vacation. Driving cross state/country is hard work. I think we need to do something about this. I don’t know what though, because I’m still technically on vacation.

It just ain’t fair that adults can’t wear goggles to the pool. Ok granted, adults can wear goggles to the pool, but if you do, you’re either going to look like you take swimming very seriously, or you are an extremely lost snorkler.

While we’re on the subject, why can’t I spend money on a hobby without looking like I take it super seriously and should be way better than I am? Maybe I just wanted that real nice cake decorating frosting bag to eat frosting directly out of. I think this is pretty unfair.

It just ain’t fair that I look like to do with my shirt off.

It just ain’t fair that it didn’t rain while I was gone and my grass looks like dried crap now.

It just ain’t fair that it’s suppose to rain tomorrow.

It just ain’t fair we only get a few truly carefree days a year with our family to build memories that have to be good enough to make it into our eulogy.

It just ain’t fair that vacations have to end.

It just ain’t fair that childhood ends.

It just ain’t fair that anything ends actually. We work so hard only to have time and life slips away from us like a scurrying lizard on the red rocks of life. There is no constant. There is no rest. There is only running and the change it brings.

But it’s like that for everyone.

So I guess, in a sense, it’s fair after all.

But seriously zebra... that was cold.