Is This Thing Still On?

For three years it was just me and my little me. Batman and Robin. Yogi and BooBoo. Ebony and Ivory. And “The Girl” of course. We would party hard at breakfast, run the streets after lunch, and settle down on the couch for a movie. Those were the days. Now that I look back it was truly the time of my life. These days everything is different. This stay-at-home Dad is now a working Dad and that sweet little baby is a big preschool learnin’ Mohawk rockin’ boy. Finding time to eat, sleep, and get in one of his life affirming hugs before work is a daily struggle. Playtime is a fantasy and the wife probably sees me as more of a roommate than a husband. Even the mythical “pickle tickle” has to be planned out in advance. There’s nothing like the romance of scheduling sex.

“How’s next Thursday around 6?”

“Can’t. Got to take Donny to teeball. Monday night?”

“Monday?! I can’t stay up late on a school night? 4^th of July is open. Going to have to be early though”

“Pencil me in!”

Awww, parenthood. The one thing there’s never enough time to do is write. Which hurts my soul a little bit. With so much going on in the world I’m desperate to get so much off my mind and onto the Internet. Without this blog how can I communicate to the masses how I feel about space aliens, Donald Trump, and fidget spinners? The latter being most important. I mean, for real, humans? Is this what we’ve become? Are we so distracted and lacking in discipline that grown folks are carrying TOYS at all times in order to do the simplest task of sitting fucking still??? It’s not even clever. Such a rudimentary design. It just spins around your finger. Some shmoe has gotten rich off of this! This is the type of declining human thought that allows a guy to make a fortune and get a TV show because he’s good at tricking ducks into thinking he wants to mate with them. This is the type of mass thinking that will make it easy for the space aliens to takeover. This is the type of downward trending mental capacity that gets Donald Trump elected to the (formerly) most respected office on Earth. Can you imagine when the space aliens arrive in their light year efficient Pluto Prius and demand to speak with the leader of Earth? Can you imagine that man being National Enquirer reading, pussy grabbing, lying ass Donald J. Trump??? The aliens will have no choice but to takeover the planet for the sake of the galaxy. Thinking back, the intergalactic Prius will probably still be made by Toyota. I remember the opening ceremony to the Beijing Olympics. It was absolutely breathtaking. I recall thinking at the time that the Chinese were making a very clear statement that they run this shit now. This shit being Earth. While Toyota is from Japan which isn’t exactly a friend of China, I think that all the truly awesome future innovation is going to come from that region. Including a space traveling Prius. An ugly space traveling Prius. Because, you know, Prius. And if you’re wondering why I don’t believe in American innovation right now, the Americans just voted en masse for draft dodging, covfefe spelling, lying ass Trump.

I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’m coming back to the internet because I desperately need to unpack all this ridiculousness that’s been building in my head. I hope you’re still with me. And if you’re reading my stories for the first time, I hope you’ll stick around.

Daddy Day By Day – No. 23(Draymond Green edition)

What Ever Happened to all the Old Racist Whites from those Civil Rights Photos?

AfroSapiophile

What ever happened to those white folks from those old photos?

A few months ago from this day of publishing, I had an interesting discussion with a white guy at work. The subject of riots came up. Pretty much, he attempted to place a mass association of “riots” to Black Lives Matter protesters. Fascinated with his thoughts (which severely lacked critical thinking), I threw him a critical thinking question:

“Do you think that Black Live Matter protesters, command riots?”

I had to repeat the question because he was in total shock, as if he had walked from a train wreck, because he didn’t expect to engage in critical thinking.

detroit_race_riots Do you think MLK changed this white man’s bigoted social ideology? Any of them?

He answered no, which was smart; they do not command riots to occur. It’s a bit stupid to suggest such. While he did concede the point that…

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Don’t Stop Believin’

I just had the worst day ever. My team went down in the worst way. We won 73 games this season. No team had ever won more than 72. We had come back in the conference finals from a 1-3 deficit against a team that everyone said had two of the best five players in the world. We were up in the final round 3 games to 1. No one had ever blown that big of a lead in the championship round. We had this! The champagne was on ice. But right after halftime it all fell apart. We lost. Everything went down the drain. I sat silently in despair. It didn’t get any lower than this.

…until we lost our baby. Again.

How could this have happened? We had gotten past the tough part; the first trimester. We’ve endured more miscarriages than we care to relive. Each time we lost our baby in the first three months. Our son Donny was the only one to make it out of the first trimester. He was our benchmark. We knew if we could just get our fragile little baby past that point we were home free. And then we did. We had our appointment at fourteen weeks and we heard her heartbeat beating fast and strong. She was moving around and very much alive. We celebrated. We had pie. I should note here that for us, celebrating and eating pie are not the same thing. We love pie. The celebration was eating out. The pie was the normal part of the day. Banana Crème, in case anyone wanted to know. We were happy. I was happy. No, I was ecstatic. For the first time I was looking forward to this baby from the start with no worries or fears.

I’m still trying to figure out what went wrong. Maybe we got ahead of ourselves. We were starting a whole new chapter in our lives. We moved to a bigger house in the suburbs with central air –`cause we fancy now. The place even had an extra bedroom for our growing family. We moved to a real suburb where there’s no traffic and people say good morning when you pass them on the street. One of those types of neighborhoods where you feel like you don’t belong because everyone else on the block is an adult. I mean, we’re adults too but our neighbors are all adultier adults. The kind of adults that probably play tennis and pronounce GIF, “jif” like the peanut butter. Everything was going well and nothing could stop us. We announced our pregnancy to the world! The congratulatory messages and well wishes poured in. And then it all ended.

I was numb too. How are you suppose to feel when you’re faced with the exact same disappointment you’ve felt over and over again? The feeling of numbness eventually gave way to embarrassment. How could I be so stupid as to get my hopes so high? The feeling of embarrassment soon became anger. Why is the world doing this to us again? I was mad at life. I felt betrayed by it. How could it take this baby away from me? THIS baby? I wanted her so dearly. I wanted to break something. I wanted to throw my fist through the wall until it looked as shattered as my heart felt. But I was an adult now. A father. And with age comes maturity and the knowledge that my frail aging bones could never absorb the punishment the wall promised to give back. I stood there staring at a wall that suddenly felt like it was mocking me. Saying, “Go ahead. Take a shot, punk. You’re not even close to your deductible.” I conceded. My anger turned to sorrow and I did what any reasonable adult does. I ate. Everything. I started with a few slices of watermelon and then some chips. I chased them with a handful of grapes and a few carrots. Then I slathered some hummus on a couple of stalks of celery before getting out the crackers and dipping them in this exquisite artichoke and jalapeno dip we had bought from the local farmers market. Then it was back to watermelon and more chips. The combination of salty potato chip and sweet melon was so damn good it was magical. With every bite I took I could feel all my sorrow and pain and anger come together to give me the strength to tell my wife the craziest thing I could think of,

“Let’s try one more time.”

She was not on board. She told me that she thought this was life’s way of telling us to stop. That we had Donny and another child simply wasn’t meant to be. I couldn’t argue with her. This was our [redacted] miscarriage. [Redacted] times now we have made plans to welcome a life into this world with no one to show for it. Too many times now a dream has come true only to end in tears and confusion. No answers, just questions about how and why this keeps happening. I’ve had to watch my wife swallow one foul pill after another in order to force her body into giving birth to nothing way too many times. How could I be so selfish as to ask her to continue to endure this? How could I sit beside her and watch her struggle again and again to come back to me as she laid recovering on a hospital bed? I couldn’t. I decided I wouldn’t ask her to do it again. She has already fought so hard and given me her most precious gift, the miracle that is our son.

My wife is a Warrior. She’s so tough and doesn’t even know it. I’m just speaking about her physically. Mentally, she can not be defeated. She may see me as her rock and the foundation of our family, but she is without the question the engine that drives us and carries us through this wild unpredictable ride we call life. She has tried so hard to give us another child and never feared the consequence of failure because she’s so damn tough. She fights for this family with every fiber of her being. That’s why it came as no surprise when a few hours later she said,

“F— this. Let’s try one more time”

That’s my girl! She may not have said, “F— this” because she’s a classy lady but that’s the way I took it. This woman can’t be beat. So try again is what we’re going to do. We’re both getting older so it’s not going to be easy. We’ll get in better shape, eat better, live healthier, and take all the professional advice we get. There are no guarantees in life and we know this could end in heartbreak again. However, it is said that fortune favors the bold; bold we shall be.

We lost our child. It sucks, but we’re ok. We’re better then ok, we are determined. Determined to not let this destroy us and determined to not let our failures define us. What will define us will be our strength and resilience in the face of everything life has in store for us. We don’t require your sympathy, what we do desire are your smiles. Be happy and hopeful for us. Happy for our present and hopeful for our future.

“Everything depends on what is in our hearts. Heartfelt prayers will definitely be answered. If we decide that something is impossible, then, consistent with our minds thinking so, even possible things will become impossible. On the other hand, if we have confidence that we can definitely do something, we are one step closer to achieving it”

– Learning From The Gosho

Daddy Day By Day – No. 22

She Only Like It If It’s Brand New

We have officially bid farewell to Los Angeles.

Before we’ve even settled into our new digs, MM(Mommy Moneybags) has already made me mad. First of all, I consider myself the Michelangelo of fine homemade vegetarian cuisine. I can slice, dice, and grill an olive oil soaked eggplant to buttery perfection. On a nightly basis I attack summer veggies with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind. To truly turn the underappreciated produce aisle into a magical wonderland of taste and aromas, all I need are a few simple things:

My Music:

Anita Baker for something sweet.

Jamiroquai for something savory.

Kendrick Lamar for something spicy.

My Wine:

In the words of the great Julia Child,

“I enjoy cooking with wine, sometimes I even put it in the food.”

My Knives:

A true culinary genius knows you can’t make magic happen without the proper wand.

So as I began to prepare our inaugural feast, a delicious combination of tempeh, orzo, tomato, squash, and mushrooms, with garlic, fresh basil and spices; my knives are nowhere to be found.

“Babe, which box did you pack my knives in?”

“Babe??”

“MONEYBAGS!”

She could hear me. She was standing only a few feet away from me this entire time. I knew what the silence meant. I could feel my black skin turn red. “The Garbage Lady” as I’ve called her on occasions such as this, has struck again. MM has this habit of tossing out old(er) things that work perfectly fine. Some of the things could use a little fixing up and probably deserved to be tossed but a lot of perfectly good stuff seems to get mixed into her purges. MY perfectly good stuff. Typically she gives me a notification that turns into a discussion. A discussion that turns into a debate. A debate that turns into an angry husband who doesn’t want to argue about it anymore regardless of the fact that he’s right and we already spend too much money on things that don’t need to be replaced!

“We threw them out”

“We” she said. She knows I’m mad. Why else would she divide the blame amongst herself and someone else. My mind has settled on her BFF Sunshine as her partner in this crime. While I’m thankful that Sunshine has been such a wonderful friend to my wife and was willing to sacrifice her weekend to help us pack, she will be receiving some stink eye.

“We need new ones anyway”

No we don’t. They were great. Sure the knife holder was a wooden lysteria infested block of trash but the knives were fine! All they needed was a quick vinegar rub. Perhaps a minute or two in the hot oven. Maybe a hospital surgery room sterilization just to be certain but they were perfectly fine!

“We’ll buy all new ones”

There she goes with we again. Implying that she uses them. Implying that we share this frustration. Implying that we wanted new ones. Well you know what we’re eating? Cheap pizza. Hmph!

My beautiful wife, my queen, has this thing about getting new stuff. I fight her on it but the new stuff is always awesome. When she has her heart set on something the old item quickly becomes obsolete. Often times the old garb is eliminated before it’s been replaced. So as we welcome our second child into the world this fall, I can’t help but worry about the future of our current one. I’ll probably need to hide him in the garage like I should have done my knives. She’s a spectacular mother and she’ll be great as a mother of two, but old habits die hard. Hell, I should probably hide myself in the garage too. You never know when she might look at me with my graying hair and crankier disposition and say to herself, out with the old and in with the new.

…Yes, we’re having a(nother) baby

THREE THINGS:

Thing I learned today – The first pregnancy was scary. Really scary. I remember being constantly worried about the future. With experience brings confidence. I’m really enjoying it this time around.
Random Thing – I live in the countryside for the first time in my life. I’m really enjoying it. This might be the place I want to settle down. Until the hipsters get here of course.
Sports Thing – Stephen Curry is really struggling. I think I know why…

…kryptonite indeed.

Thank you very much for stopping by. This is the twenty-first Daddy Day By Day. The way things are looking, there will be many many more. If you have any questions, rants, feelings, anything positive, please feel free to email me at daddydaybyday@gmail.com or simply comment be

Gone Baby Gone

I drove out to the middle of the desert, stopped the car, and left my son.

…with his Aunt.

I wasn’t ready. When she first made the offer to babysit him for a few days I was a little hesitant. I didn’t know how he would respond to being away from home for so long. I always wonder if people can handle him. He’s like an unstoppable ball of energy with an engine that never stops. Eventually MM rightly convinced me to let go and allow us all a small break from each other. I made grand plans to party like the good ole days. Free and unattached with little regard for curfews or sobriety. I planned to golf all day and drink Cadillac margaritas every night. I envisioned staying up late with my wife watching movies and eating pizza straight out the box. I planned to pack up the house in preparation for our big move all while blasting my favorite albums with the curse words left in. Then the day came to drive him to the meeting place in the middle of nowhere halfway between our house and his aunt’s. When I woke up that morning there was a knot in my stomach. I felt sick and my mind was racing in all different directions. A feeling I am all too familiar with. An anxiety attack. As I drove through the mountains with my son in tow I desperately racked my brain searching for the source of my anxiety. Some stressful impending situation? No. Money problems? Not at all. Guilt? Nope. Then it hit me. I was heartbroken. I was giving my son away. The long drive felt like we were having our final long and drawn out conversation before we went our separate ways. It would only be for two nights, which I know makes me sound slightly pathetic, but this was the first time he would spend more than a night away from me. Far away where I couldn’t get to him the second I thought something was wrong. He would be independent of me. I felt this odd combination of fear and sadness and I had no idea how to make it stop. In the past, once I could narrow down the source of my anxiety it was easy to squash. But this was different. This was deeper. When I finally arrived at the meeting place everything happened so fast. The exchange was a blur without giving me a chance to think. My sister-in-law had beat me there and the minute I got out of the car she came at me with a million excited questions. She can be quite the chatterbox. Her own daughter was there with her children. One of which is very close to Donny in age and he was excited to see her. She practically taught him how to walk the day of his 1st birthday. He looked eager to learn some new tricks from her. I secured Donny’s car seat to Grace’s(MM’s sister) car while trying to keep him from wandering in the street and making sure I did not forget anything. I briefly spoke to Grace’s daughter while Donny eagerly hopped into the car seat and settled in his auntie’s car. I gave a few last instructions and made sure Donny didn’t have to potty before they hit the road. I was trying to do so much at one time that before I could catch my breath they were gone. It all happened so fast. I only remember telling him to listen to his Auntie and be a good boy. I don’t even think I kissed him goodbye. It felt like we had just arrived 30 seconds ago and now I was already on the dusty road trying to find my way back onto the interstate. I felt alone and empty. Not whole. When Grace drove off she not only took Donny away from me, she also took a piece of my heart with her.

When I finally arrived back at home I went straight to bed. My buddies were waiting for me at the golf course but I needed to lay down and collect myself first. I felt horrible. I could have stayed in that bed all day watching reruns of The Golden Girls and eating ice cream out of the container. After about a half an hour of cat videos with the curtains closed I came to my senses. This was silly. He was just going to be gone for a couple of nights. He was with people I trusted and with kids his age. It was like a slumber party. He was going to have fun. He was going to be fine. What was my problem?

I eventually made it to the golf course that afternoon. And again the next morning. It was great. I went running on my schedule and showered late in the afternoon. I met up with old friends and got a haircut. One of the nights I managed to get in a few margaritas. But nothing made me as happy as waking up the morning he would return to me. I was anxious again. This time it was a good anxious. I couldn’t wait to leave the house to get him. I arrived 30 minutes early to our same dusty meeting spot in the middle of nowhere. When Grace showed up I tried to play it cool but I was so excited I was shaking. When she lifted him out of the car seat and handed him over I kissed his face and squeezed him tightly to me. I literally felt whole again. I even brought him his favorite peanut butter crackers and a juice box for the ride home. As if I had to bribe him to restore his affections. Silly, I know.

I’ve had my heart broken before and I’ll always remember what a friend told me then, “Don’t worry, it only hurts like this the first time.” I sure hope that’s true in this case as well. I know eventually his first day of school will come. Then summer camp, college, space travel, and marriage. But for now I’ll just focus on his next adventure without me, Grandma’s house. This weekend in fact. He and I will make the 400 mile drive up to my Mother’s house where I will leave him for 3 nights. I’ll be worried again. Mostly for her this time. He’s a wild child and my Mom is going need all the energy she’s got to keep up with him. I hope she has some back up in mind. Once I drop him off and begin to head back home, I wonder if the feeling of helplessness will shift. Not to Donny, but to my Mom. I wonder if a small piece of her heart will long for my safe return. I think I’m more sensitive and emotional than my mother, or maybe she’s just better at hiding it.

This whole parenthood thing is a trip. It’s so emotional and challenging. Sure it’s rewarding but it definitely comes at a cost. I think the whole left side of my head has begun to turn gray following these last two years. I can honestly say that Donny owns a piece of my heart. If you could break it into little pieces he at the very least owns a third. I can’t imagine having another kid. That would be insane. That would be two-thirds of my heart gone. Claimed. Owned. Who can live like that? It’s not physically possible. Right now I still have the two-thirds majority. Which is the only thing keeping me from crying into a bowl of fruity pebbles whenever he goes away.

THREE THINGS:

Thing I learned today – I love being a Dad. But it’s not the end all be all. I miss playing golf every week and staying up late at night. I miss hanging with my friends and traveling. I love my life and wouldn’t change anything about it. Parenthood is amazing. Having the freedom to do YOU is equally satisfying.
Random Thing – I have had a pet turtle since I was 13 years old. This will be his 11th change in residence. Time to settle down and buy a house so he can relax and kick the bucket in comfort.
Sports Thing – With 73 wins and a(soon to have) Championship… remember when I said that? I don’t feel so good anymore.

Thank you very much for stopping by. This is the twentieth 20 2-0 twenty-twen-twen Daddy Day By Day. And it only took me 2 years to do so. If you have any questions, rants, feelings, anything positive, please feel free to email me at daddydaybyday@gmail.com or simply comment below. Please click on one of the two “follow my blog” links on the right. For you mobile users the links are at the bottom of the page. Talk to you soon…

My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

I used to date this super sexy girl who like most super sexy girls, was crazy. She had a few wild ideas but the one that will always stick with me is that she wanted 5 kids. After only a few weeks of dating she revealed to me that she had dreams of a big house with a white picket fence that she could fill up with what amounts to a litter. Needless to say, I ran for the hills.

My son is awesome, but he’s kicking my ass. I may be winning our daily battle of wills but these new grey hairs tell the real story. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat fearing the day MM presents to me another urine soaked tube with a pink plus sign on the end of it. Most of my friends and family have multiple kids. Some seem to be trying to build a small army. They just can’t help themselves. They all seem happy but at the same time I can’t help but remember what this one guy at the gym told me about a year ago,

“Me? I have two. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you need to have two.”

Then there was this guy I worked with who had three kids. This is what he had to say,

“Two is tough, really tough. But three? That’s just stupid. You’re always outnumbered. You better hope your oldest kid is old enough to make his own sandwich.”

The horrors of having multiple children were on display this past week at the park. A place that has become a free parenting workshop every time we’re there. On this particular trip the lesson began immediately. As soon as we arrived I saw one of the other guys I often talk to, I call him Specs. We, midday Dads, always gravitate to each other out of solidarity and fear. Fear that if we don’t huddle together in the corner we’ll get trapped talking to the other Moms about nutrition and poop. As oppose to what we want to talk about, sports and poop. I quickly walked over to Specs and Donny ran over to his son, Ry. I hadn’t seen Specs in quite a while because of what was tightly strapped to his chest: a beautiful 6-month old baby boy. Before the word “congratulations” could fully get out of my mouth Donny began to cry. He and Ry who usually got along handsomely seemed to be in some sort of conflict. Ry always brought his three big dump trucks to play with in the sand and had always shared them with Donny, but not today. In fact when Donny picked one up Ry quickly snatched it out of his hand and ran away to hide it. Donny was confused and upset. Specs half-called after his son while also telling Donny it was ok and that he could play with the other trucks. Donny picked up the second dump truck. Ry immediately returned with a scowl and snatched the second truck out of Donny’s hand. Specs again chastised his son who simply ignored him and hid the second toy. Specs apologized to me while telling Donny he could play with the last dump truck remaining. I could feel a bit of embarrassment in Specs’ voice. I assured him it was ok. I’m learning that sharing might be more of a learned trait than an instinctive one. Donny picked up the third truck and I’m sure you can figure out what happened next. As Donny sat there feeling empty and alone I retrieved his monster trucks from my backpack and gave them to him. He was disappointed but he took his monster trucks anyway. As did Ry. Right out of Donny’s hand. Specs had enough. He raised his voice at Ry and demanded he stop and give Donny his trucks back. Ry responded by running away with Donny’s toys as fast as his 2-year-old legs would take him. Specs apologized and slowly pursued his once sweet and friendly son while trying to avoid waking the infant strapped just below his chin. To be honest he looked kind of silly. A grown man trying to quietly speed walk after a screaming child with another baby hanging off him like a exopregnancy. I saw him battle with Ry at the other end of the park while Donny not so quietly sobbed in the sand beside me. Luckily, I had more trucks. I’m a veteran Dad now and I’m prepared for everything. However, park peace would not be found on this day. To the right of us a little girl laid with her hair buried in the sand and began making sand angels. Her mother pleaded with her to stop. To the left a young rambunctious boy was kicking sand at two other children that were playing together. One of the children immediately started screaming from the sting of sand in his eyes. When things like this happen I always like to observe the parents. Such an uncomfortable situation that I was happy not to be involved with. I realized that I was surrounded by madness. My own son in front of me still bitter despite the fact that his trucks had all been returned. Children to the left of me with faces covered in sand. Both of them screaming with one Mom refusing to look in the direction of the other Mom who looked mortified and apologetic. A child to the right of me kicking and squirming in the sand disregarding the specific request from her mother to lift her hair out of it. I started to breakout in a cold sweat, only this time I was already awake.

I learned a lot that day. Multiple children, multiple issues, multiple reasons to quit while I’m ahead. Was this enough madness to crush any silly notion of wanting a second child? YES! I’M happy. I’M content. The problem is, I’M not making the decision. You see, that super sexy crazy ex-girlfriend became my super sexy crazy wife. Before we married I was able to talk her out of 5 kids. The problem is we never agreed to only 1 either. And now I think she’s got that crazy look in her eye. It’s probably just a phase but I’ll spend the next several weeks avoiding rom-coms, chocolate, and oysters just in case. MM may want another son, Donny may want a little brother, but my sanity may need a vasectomy. Then again, my Dad had 5 kids and stepped up to the plate for 2 more. He never seemed stressed out. In fact, my Dad was always a pretty happy and content dude. So maybe MM and I can come to some sort of compromise. I’ll let her get a puppy.

THREE THINGS:

Thing I learned today – Donny is turning into a very outgoing kid and he needs a playmate. Badly. And my old dog ain’t cutting it. If it was up to him I think he would welcome another child.
Random Thing – My Dad’s birthday is tomorrow. He passed away several years ago. I don’t remember exactly how many years ago because I don’t see the point in keeping track of things like that. I still find myself waiting for the day when I can look at my son without feeling a bit of sadness that my Father, Donny I, never got to meet his grandchild, Donny III. Happy Birthday Dad, from your son who still misses his Dad.
Sports Thing – With 73 wins and a(soon to have) Championship, The Golden State Warriors are factual the best team in NBA history. Eat it Scottie Pippen.

Thank you very much for stopping by. This is the nineteenth Daddy Day By Day. Lately I’ve had a real pressing urge to write a blog regarding the presidential elections currently taking place. Or maybe I’ll write a blog reviewing children’s movies. It could go either way. If you have any questions, rants, feelings, anything positive, please feel free to email me at daddydaybyday@gmail.com or simply comment below. Please click on one of the two “follow my blog” links on the right. For you mobile users the links are at the bottom of the page. Talk to you soon…

Dick Soup

I went for a swim last night. It was nothing impressive. Nothing brave or manly like taking a swim in the ocean or the malaria infested L.A. river near my home. Instead I flailed and kicked and struggled my way up and down the slow lane at the gym pool for an exhausting and unimpressive 20 minutes. To reward myself for not drowning I decided to end my evening by relaxing in the communal hot tub.

I thoroughly enjoy exercising. After a hard 60 minutes of sweating on a treadmill and straining to push weights that would impress no one, I like to reward myself with a nice long steam bath. Occasionally I step into the sauna. After my swim yesterday I decided to remain in my swim trunks and unwind in the hot tub. I am a member of a new fancy gym. It’s three stories tall in the heart of downtown with all the services you can imagine. Expansive locker rooms, pool, indoor track, basketball courts, even massage rooms. In the lockeroom there is also a steam room, which I love, sauna, and whirlpool hot tub. At first I thought putting the hot tub in the locker was genius. It’s there to provide relaxation and nothing is more uncomfortable than sitting in close quarters topless with someone of the opposite sex. Hell, I even get bashful taking my shirt off around my wife after a big meal.

“Take it in babe, look at all this beautiful gut you married.”

I never anticipated that the same aspect of jacuzzi exclusivity I once thought of as genius would have a dark side. Before entering the whirlpool I always shower. Not a full soap and lather shower but enough to rinse the sweat and gym funk off my skin. It’s a shared hot tub, I’m sure the common courtesy is appreciated by my fellow gym rats. The moment I stepped into the empty spa I could feel my troubles drift away. Once I was knee-deep I could feel the stress of parenting a spirited two-year old release itself from my pores. Once I was waist deep I could feel the argument Mommy Moneybags(MM) and I had about the lack of gas in her car– drift away. Once I sat down chest deep in the steaming hot water, I could feel the constant stress of watching daily televised klan meetings masquerading as political rallies– evaporate away. Ahhh, I was relaxed. I closed my eyes. I had found my moment of zen. Then there was a disturbance. Something large and clumsy splashed about beside me. It sounded like a drunken hippo had stumbled down the stairs and splashed into the corner area across from me. When I open my eyes another gentleman was also chest deep in the water and looking right at me. He gave me a wink and smile. He seemed friendly. A little creepy but friendly. I decided to name him Buddy. I kept an eye on Buddy for a minute or two until I trusted him enough to drift back into that zen-like state. Before my eyes could fully close my tranquility was shattered. Not long after Buddy sat down he was followed by another man. I only saw him coming out the corner of my eye. I decided to take Buddy’s approach and welcome the new comer in with a wink and a smile. Hey, maybe that’s how they do things at this gym. So I turned my head with a smile from ear to ear only to be rudely greeted by a pale uncut dick! I couldn’t move. I was stuck in a state of shock. Like when you go to quench your thirst and mix up your glass of water with the glass of vodka sitting right beside it. C’mon, I can’t be the only one drinking vodka by the glass with an ice water chaser. Either way, there I was stuck watching some dude and his bare penis disappear into the same body of water I was sitting in. I was outraged! This wasn’t his personal bathtub. This wasn’t some clothing optional pool party from the 70s that could break out into free love and cocaine at any minute. This was the public spa at the YMCA damnit! I couldn’t even make eye contact with the guy. I just stared at my new friend Buddy with a smirk. One of those “can you believe this guy?” kind of looks. Buddy just kept on smiling, always the optimist. I frantically searched the many signs covering the wall looking for a “no-nudity” rule to gesture toward when a third gentlemen entered the small enclosure. He stepped over toward the coat hooks on the wall and proudly removed the towel around his waist only to reveal, yet again, nothing. As in no bathing suit. He then gleefully stepped into the now overcrowded whirlpool and sat down right beside me. I was again outraged. I felt violated. I looked angrily at the two naked men. The first seemed peaceful. He had closed his eyes and found his happy place. Just like me before I was rudely interrupted. I wondered what he was daydreaming about. Probably some Caribbean nudist resort where prudish bartenders like myself had to serve mai tais all day in uncomfortably close proximity. I peeked over at the second guy. He looked deep in thought. Probably pondering the negative consequences to his sperm count by allowing his bare balls to boil in a hot tub full of other innocent men. I looked over to Buddy, he looked back over to me and then over to the submerged staircase. He too was planning his escape. With a quick nod he stood up and made his way over. Buddy, like myself, was surely thinking, F#@% this, I’m out. I would soon follow. He gave me one last wink when he reached the stairs and began to make his ascent. I looked upon Buddy fondly. Like an ally and a friend. Someone that also saw the ridiculousness of the situation. That was until he reached the third step and his bare hairy ass was revealed to me. C’mon Buddy! Has the world gone mad!?! Not you too??? The gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. This whole time I had been in there marinating with a bunch of guys and their johnsons hanging out. It’s like we were making dick stew or something. The only thing missing was some Looney Tunes character standing over us slicing carrots and onions into the pot. OMG I was cupping some of that water in my hands and splashing it on my face!!! Needless to say, I stood up and quickly left.

I accept that I work out at a busy gym where people feel free to walk around the locker room in their birthday suits. It’s all good, man. Do you. I don’t turn my nose up when guys step into the sauna without rinsing off in the shower even though there is clearly a sign on the door instructing gym members to do so. I’ll even forgive the guy** that passed gas in the steam room. Maybe the gas was really cramping up his stomach. And I guess letting it out was a better option than shitting himself in front of strangers. The point is, I have no problem sharing space and facilities with other strangers so long as boundaries are respected. Call me childish, immature, call me a prude if you want, but that will be the last time I step foot into that jacuzzi without deep sea scuba gear, or at least a wet suit.

**it was me

THREE THINGS:

Thing I learned today – I still have body image issues. It’s something that began when I was just a teenager. I was never really fat or anything, I was just fat enough to be teased. Teased by not only my classmates but some family members. Those are the ones that hurt the most. Please, think before you speak. That sharp hurtful little joke that provided you with 5 seconds of laughter can have consequences that last a lifetime. The one you hurt could be someone you love.
Random Thing – Donald Drumph is clearly going to win the republican nomination and promptly lose the general election. So what happens to all his passionate and angry supporters? They certainly aren’t going to feel any better. Scary times ahead.
Sports Thing – It’s a great time to be a Oakland sports fan!

Thank you very much for stopping by. This is the eighteenth Daddy Day By Day. This was definitely my most immature post to date. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have any questions, rants, feelings, anything positive, please feel free to email me at daddydaybyday@gmail.com or simply comment below. Please click on one of the two “follow my blog” links on the right. For you mobile users the links are at the bottom of the page. Talk to you soon…

Eulogy For A Bad Dog. Bad Dog.

I always wanted a cat. They’re independent, sneaky, and even a little mean. In some unexplainable way, I like that. I didn’t just want any old everyday cat, I wanted a female cat. The more complicated the better. Finally I got one. A legendary 6 pound chihuahua named Bunny. Today we laid her to rest.

She belonged to my wife at first. I used to sneak her food when my wife and I were dating. I thought this was a surefire way to make Bunny like me but my thinking was all wrong. That’s how you get a typical dog to like you. However, this was no ordinary dog. She was a bad dog. A very bad dog. From the day I met her till the day she died, she tried to bite me and everyone associated with me. Off the top of my head I can remember her biting my good friends Doc, Buss, Eel, Captain America, and A.D. She went after the ankles of our neighbors, the mailman, an elderly man at a park, and the pizza guy. She hated the fucking pizza guy. She was also a pee-er. I think she pee’d on everything I owned. She pee’d on the carpet. She pee’d on the couch. She pee’d on my shoes and on the rare occasion in them. She pee’d on my playstation controller. She pee’d in the bottom pouch of Donny’s stroller. One morning I thought she had magically found away to pee in my locker at the gym. Later I would realize she just pee’d in my gym bag to save herself the trip. She didn’t just target me. We also have a 70 pound pit bull labrador mix named Domino. She made him her bitch from day one. She bit him on the nose, she pee’d on his bed, she even ate his food. Sometimes, when the mood hit her just right, she’d skip right over and hump him. He never made her stop. She was a bad dog and he knew it. Best to just let the alpha dog take what’s hers. If there was a baddest dog in America contest she would win Best In Show every year.

When you’ve lived with a bad dog for so long you start to think life would be better without them, until they’re gone. I realize the reason she was so bad is because she was so good…at being bad. Like that one time she bit my friend Buss. She didn’t bite him because of anger issues or aggressive behavior. She bit him because he was play fighting with Domino and she always protected her bitches. When my buddy Eel was dog-sitting she didn’t find a way to unzip and go through his backpack just to be annoying. She did it because she knew pot brownie’s were delicious and she liked to party. Needless to say, he was never allowed to dog-sit for us again. And I know she didn’t pee under the covers of my bed that one time because she wanted to be an asshole. She…actually I think she just wanted to be an asshole. But that’s the point. Being bad was her business and business was good. And I’m going to miss her.

I’m going to miss how she would follow Donny around the house whenever he had a snack. Eventually jumping up to snatch it out of his hand.

“No Bunny. Leave him alone, bad girl”

I’m going to miss her burying herself in clean laundry fresh out the dryer.

“No Bunny. Get out of there, bad girl.”

I’m going to miss telling her to get off of the couch.

“No Bunny. You have your own bed, bad girl.”

But mostly, I’m going to miss sharing cheez-it’s with her once everyone went to sleep.

“Hey good girl, shhh. Don’t tell.”

I’m going to miss her heart. It was that of a German Shepherd, always on guard, barking at the front door.

“That’s a good girl! Let em` know you in here.”

I’m going to miss her laying on my lap, like she did one last time tonight.

“I’m sorry good girl. I wish we could have done more. Shared one more snack. Taken one more walk.”

I always wanted a cat. Instead I got a really small dog. I miss her already. When she awakens her next life will begin. I bet she’ll be a tiger. Or maybe a leopard. I’m sure it will be something grand. Or maybe she’ll be something she’s good at, like a chihuahua. A bad one. The only thing I know for sure is that her spirit will live with me forever. Because good or bad, a legend never dies.

Big Poopin’

I have the pleasure of fathering my child in what feels like the golden age of Parenting. There is so much advice and opinion on the internet that no obstacle seems too large. With the simple click of the mouse — I suppose I should say trackpad, what is this the 90s? — I am instantly connected with child care experts all over the world. However, every once in awhile I come across an instructional article that is such horse crap that I wish to beat the author with a bag of Donny’s dirty diapers mixed with nickels. Coincidently enough the article was in regards to potty training. Potty train your toddler in three days it said, quick-training works for many parents it said, this isn’t some new trend it said. After 1 feces filled hour I say, rubbish!

If you don’t have time to read the full article I will supply the cliff notes:

Remove child’s pants and diaper…for 3 entire days.
Fill child’s and parent’s bladder with liquids and sodium.
Force child to watch parents pee and poo. Yuck!
Do some silly song and dance when child goes in the potty
[Berate] child for having any accidents

Monday morning I started my day with coffee, oatmeal, and optimism. Little did I know it would end with Pine Sol and disappointment. As soon as MM(Mommy Moneybags) left for work the chonies came off. For the next 72 hours I would have to watch him like a hawk. Wherever he went my eyes followed. I stayed on his heels as he ran back and forth from our room to his. I was stuck on this kid like white on rice. Like a hotdog on a stick. Like a fly to — you get it. It was easy at first. I was confident. This was going to work out just fine. By the 4th minute my focus started to wane and my eyes began to glaze over. There’s only so much baby buttcrack a Dad can take. He went into the bathroom and sat on the potty and I sat on the toilet right across to give him guidance and encouragement. At first I was excited! This was finally going to happen. I stared at him and smiled, all teeth and raised eyebrows like some creepy clown with botox injections. I waited for the sound of success; The first drops of diaper liberation! Nothing came out. Then I waited some more until the wait turned into boredom. That’s when I made my first mistake. My mouth became dry and my palm started to itch. The shakes slowly began and I couldn’t take it anymore so I gave in to my addiction. Like Scrooge McDuck diving into his vault of gold I plunged my hand deep into my pocket and retrieved my coveted instrument of distraction. The iPhone felt cool and velvety in my hand. I can’t believe I had gone 8…maybe as much as 10 minutes without touching it. Hello old friend. With a quick swipe and a few soft touches I was quickly plunged into a dark underground community of global poker players. All of us hellbent on achieving fake riches and a false sense of glory. My focus was so great that I never noticed Donny stand up and shuffle back into our bedroom. All I knew was I was on 4th street with a strong two pair. Aces and 9s. All the online players had dropped out of the hand except for me and Suckmyballs75. She pushed me all in with 2 spades showing on the board. It was decision time. As I weighed the risk a siren went off in my head. Don’t do it. But I needed to. She had bluffed me the previous hand and I was determined to rescue my fake chips from across the fake digital table. The siren got louder and louder until it could no longer be ignored. That’s when I turned off my phone, took a deep inhale, and uttered the F-bomb under my breath. I was familiar with that particular wailing siren and it was coming from the bedroom. I knew before I walked into the room that I had missed the boat. The only question was, how bad was it? To my horror, that boat turned out to be a gravy train. The water bottle sized poop laying on the floor stopped me in my tracks. It was light brown decorated with bits of last nights dinner on the outside like wallpaper. It had a bit of a oval shape going from left to right until I reached the end. The end of the poop was interrupted. Smashed down and slightly smeared like…uhhh…well…I got nothing. Smashed down like some idiot dude allowed his kid to step in his own poop because said dude was sitting on the toilet playing fake poker on his phone. Damn you Apple! (blame everyone but myself; Classic) I continued to assess the situation as I followed three poop shaped footprints that led me to my horrified son. He was yelling frantically trying to rid his foot of crap by rubbing it further into the hardwood floor. A screaming kid, a filthy foot, and a lump of shit on the floor. I was suddenly staring at a multifaceted disaster that needed my immediate attention. I quickly spun around and stepped toward Donny and slipped and ended up flat on my back. I banged my head a little and probably lost consciousness for a quick 1 or 2 seconds. As my eyes fluttered open I rolled over and realized I was laying there nose to poop. The gross scent of digested day old cumin and lentils filling my nostrils, my cotton tank top soaking up Donny’s urine from the floor. Did I not mention there was pee all over the floor too? Of course there was because who poops without peeing. Poop and pee are like peanut butter and jelly, Kermit and Piggy, Me and doing stupid shit that my wife has to learn about through my blog. I eventually peeled myself off our now bedroom floor sized potty. I cleaned his foot, changed my cloths, then mopped and disinfected the floor. All under the disapproving glare of my newly diapered son.

This past Monday may have traumatized me a little bit. I’m considering leaving Donny in diapers his whole life. We all grow old and end up back in them at some point, right? At 11 he could be viewed as advanced for his age. We’re going to give it another try. MM believes we have not yet taken the proper steps to prepare him for this 3 day potty training exercise. These are the steps I plan on taking this weekend:

Wake up before everyone else
Line all the flooring in plastic wrap
Leave flowers for MM next to a bottle of Pine Sol
Spend weekend at golf course while she gives it a shot

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step”

-Lao Tzu

THREE THINGS:

Thing I learned today – According to my Mother I was potty trained by the time I was 1. As unbelievable as that is, she now expects Donny to follow in my footsteps. How quickly she forgets how exceptional I was. And how many years I proceeded to pee in the bed after being potty trained.
Random Thing – I recently switched from Old Spice to Dove deodorant. Dove deodorant is garbage. As I give Gillette a try I first must apologize to my wife and friends whom I may have offended…with my B.O.
Sports Thing – WARRIORS BABY! I KNEW THIS WAS OUR YEAR! ALL HAIL THE GOLDEN STATE WARRIORS! CHAMPIONS OF THE NBA!

Thank you very much for stopping by. This is the seventeenth Daddy Day By Day. I apologize for the all the feces filled imagery, I just really wanted to bring you all there with me. Thanks for continuing to read. If you have any questions, rants, feelings, anything positive, please feel free to email me at daddydaybyday@gmail.com or simply comment below. Please click on one of the two “follow my blog” links on the right. For you mobile users the links are at the bottom of the page. Talk to you soon…

Barbershop(Black)

Let me get this out there now; I hate the barbershop.

There are two types of barbershops in this world. Black barbershops, and others. Needless to say I get my haircut at the former. The Black barbershop isn’t exactly a place of business. It’s more of a social club. To the straight-haired passer-bys on the street it may seem mysterious and highly exclusive. It’s not. If you’ve ever been curious as to what goes on in there, I’ll tell you.

“In the Black barbershop the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups. The Barbers who cut the hair and the brothas who waste their days waiting for them. This is my story [dune dune].”

Having an appointment at a Black barbershop is the most frustrating aspect of getting my haircut. Mainly because I seem to be the only one that owns a damn watch. This past Saturday I made an appointment with my barber for 9:30AM. I always try to get the first appointment of the day. Not because the blades are fresh or I know my barber won’t be fatigued, but because if I let even one person get ahead of me I’m liable to be stuck at the shop for damn near 4 hours to get a 90 minute cut. I hate being late to anything. As MM will attest I usually like to leave absurdly early for any function that has a start time. Naturally I arrived at the barbershop 30 minutes early leaving me plenty of time to finish my coffee and read an article or two out of TIME magazine. As I shut off the car engine in front of the barbershop I received a text message from my barber telling me he was running late. Which is odd because he’s ALWAYS late. This is the first time he’s contacted me to tell me so. He’s never just 10 minutes late, or 15 minutes late, he’s LAPD late. The kind of late that makes you question, “Is he even coming?”

As I made it half way through my magazine I got the urge to get up and grab another cup a coffee. There’s a lot of things people in Los Angeles don’t do. Among them is use turn signals, or wake up before noon. The streets were practically empty. My walk down the block was peaceful and quiet with the occasional faint sound of shuffling behind me. As I walked a few blocks down to the convenience store I felt the hungry eyes of cheap beer and broken dreams upon me. The Real Hobos of Hollywood. I bought my $3 cup of coffee and paired it with a $2 bottle of water. Upon exiting the store I was greeted by a scene straight out of Thriller.

Derelicts of all shapes and sizes practically walked me back to my car. Invigorated by the cool morning air and smell of fresh coffee I decided to be the Warren Buffet of Bum Boulevard. I was handing out money like Oprah Winfrey. You get a dollar, you get a dollar, you get a dollar, everybody is getting dollars! By the time I reached the barbershop I barely had enough cash left to pay for my cut. This appointment was getting expensive and I still had not seen my barber yet. While waiting in my car AGAIN I noticed movement inside the shop. I was so excited I practically burned my esophagus trying to down my coffee. It must have been rust flavored. A rust roast perhaps. There’s no way the coffee tasted that horrible by accident. I fed the parking meter AGAIN and gleefully stepped into the shop at 10:18. He wasn’t there. Instead it was one of the other barbers. The female stylist whose name I’ve never bothered to learn. The one who shows up on time even though she has no appointments! So now I’m sitting there in a cold quiet barbershop with some random girl walking around. Awkward. At this point in my life I accept that I look like an adult, but I’m not, I’m just playing a role. Girls still make me uncomfortable and I still think they carry cooties. Now I’m forced to breathe in all this cootie filled air because my barber can’t seem to be on time to his own postponement. At this point I’m pissed! Although, I should be used to this because every haircut I’ve ever had starts this way. Now it’s 10:24. I’ve finished reading TIME cover to cover and run out of angry faced emojis to text MM so that she too may stew in my frustration. Why I do that I don’t know. Its therapeutic I suppose. Like passing gas in the car and locking the windows before your partner can save themselves. Not that I would do something like that…I step back outside to put the magazine in my car. It’s a really nice day out. The city is starting to come alive. I’m tempted to say F it and go to the beach. Overgrown afro and all. Instead, I slowly drag myself back in and sit down. At 10:34 my haircut finally begins.

This story repeats itself every time. Not just with my current barber but with every barber I’ve ever seen dating back to when I was a child. Wrecking my Saturday morning seems to be a Black barber theme. A tradition. You may be asking yourself, “Well did you say something to him?” “Did you still have to tip him?” The answer to the first question is yes. I said a lot of things to him and he said a lot of things back. We argued… about sports. We talked about movies. We discussed police violence. We traded stories about our kids. We joked about each others shoes and nodded to each other when pretty women walked by. And yes, I tipped him. That is where the beauty of the Black barbershop lies. The relationship between the barber and the client. The relaxing hum of the clippers against your hair. The feeling of relaxation and swag that you walk out with. In the movie Barbershop, the character Eddie says,

“This is the barbershop! The place where a black man means something! Cornerstone of the neighborhood! Our own country club! I mean, can’t you see that? Hell, that’s the problem with your whole generation. You know, y’all… you don’t believe in nothin’. But your father, he believed in something, Calvin. He believed and understood that something as simple as a little haircut could change the way a man felt on the inside.”

I have a close friend with curly blonde hair. Needless to say he is white. He has a blonde wife, grew up in the midwest, and has a serious bacon obsession. He’s practically Captain America. When I asked him how long it took to get his haircut he told me around 45 minutes. Must be nice. But here’s the thing, I also asked Capt. America whether or not he gets the same barber all the time? What they talk about? “No, not much, but I do get a scalp massage” was his reply. My haircut experience may be expensive and a little frustrating, but it’s worth more then gold.

I hate the barbershop. Maybe I love to hate the barbershop. Or maybe I just love the Black Barbershop.

THREE THINGS:

Thing I learned today – My barber is a good guy. Donny and I randomly ran into him in the street the other day. Donny had never met him before but immediately smiled and gave him a high-five. If the boy trusts him, he must be a good dude.
Random Thing – When people say “You have a cute kid” do you say “thank you”? I mean, they aren’t complimenting me, they’re complimenting him. Maybe they’re complimenting my genes, which would be weird. Usually the focus is on his blue eyes. I can’t take credit for that. Next time I’ll just say, “fo sho.”
Sports Thing – I am highly disappointed that the Clippers host the Spurs in the first round of the NBA playoffs. I was hoping my Golden State Warriors would have the pleasure of eliminating them both. I guess one will have to do.

Thank you very much for stopping by. This is the sixteenth Daddy Day By Day. If you have any questions, rants, feelings, anything positive, please feel free to email me at daddydaybyday@gmail.com or simply comment below. Please click on one of the two “follow my blog” links on the right. For you mobile users the links are at the bottom of the page. Talk to you soon…