Zamboni Tuesday

Worked an extra shift on the Zamboni tonight. And the law of averages being what it is, I broke the Zamboni tonight. Using only my right arm.

This is a Zamboni:



I have a penchant for breaking big truck-like things.


When I was 17, I totaled a 1980 Ford Econoline Ambulance. With working siren. It was technically my first car. Why was this my first car? They were out of fire trucks.

Long story short, my mother and I were moving and we wanted to go quickly and nothing says quickly like a 1980 Ford Econoline Ambulance.

Before I totaled it, I did manage to have an accident where the ambulance was fine but I completely ruined a brand new Lincoln Continental. As I was giving another kid who worked with me a ride home from work.

Backed right into it and just crushed the grill. The kid I was giving the ride to decided to walk. I was honestly surprised. We were fine, it was the other guy's car that got destroyed.


Then, while driving for the post office I got into one accident that the post office actually knows about. No one was injured. I blamed the bend in the street. Another one I got in, I was slowly backing the postal truck up, noting the large tree stump behind me, when a loud abrasive voice in my head suddenly shouted, "go mutha fucka, go!" and while I disagreed strongly with that sentiment, my right foot thought that this was a great idea. I exploded a huge chunk of stump. Then I sped out of the area in a shower of wood chips and furtiveness while The Voice screamed "YAAAAAAHHHHH. take that, you fuckin' tree stump!"
That one stayed between me, the truck, and that poor stump.


With the Zamboni, I have stalled, frozen, insulted, defiled and otherwise made it difficult for my boss to trust me alone with the thing, but I never actually broke it before.


There is a sort of plunger that you push down on when the ice is building up and this plunger has a device on the end that chops up the ice and gets it moving again. I was wailing away on the thing, far harder and more frequently than necessary probalby, when it just . . .gave.

I could see that there was one nut that held it together, and I had the nut, but I couldn't figure out how to get in there to put the nut back. I had to call the company mechanic. It turned out to be a fairly simple process, which he made sure I understood by explaining it to me in a tone one could only describe as eat me you condescending douche-bag Zamboni mechanic. Tone.

S'alright. Wait til they come in in the morning and see that I've Zamboni'd the bleachers. Wonder what I'll get to drive next. Maybe a Mack truck on the Pacific Coast Highway. How do I keep getting these jobs?




Homemaker Man

This Blog's Title and Why the Anonymity/Haiku Sunday

First off, the blog's title. I know that when anyone uses the word "musings" in anything really, but especially a blog title, it probably causes a lot of shrugging and mumbling of the phrase, "hm, this guy must be a little douchy," among those who read it. I mean "musings," really? I should just call it Masturbations from the Big Pink (ooh, dirty!) and be done with it.

But . . . the title is actually a bastardization of Music From Big Pink, which is the title of The Band's first album. It was written entirely in and around a big pink house. So, I hope that makes the title seem a little less pretentious. Maybe it makes it worse. I don't know.

Second: My anonymity. I didn't start out to write this blog anonymously. I've got nothing to hide. But as I was reading blogs and getting ready to start, I came across some blogging tips that suggested anonymity is not a bad idea . And with my wife being a teacher, I said ok and went incognito. The problem is, I have a beautiful family. And I am very proud of them. I want to post pictures of them all the time, but I can't. it is a struggle for me. So I have decided to post likenesses of my family. One time only, never to be shown again. I hope you who read this blog from time to time find them as beautiful as I do:







Aren't they beautiful? Did I get anyone? Craft time with my 2-1/2 year old again. My poor wife. That is not an accurate representation of her. She is a beautiful woman with deep and expressive green eyes and full lips and wild and curly auburn hair. My rendition makes her look like a lunatic woman who got into the lipstick and did 6 or 7 heavy-handed laps around the outside of her mouth before finally eating it.

My likeness is a little off too. I feel that it looks like a retarded Tony Danza. Is that redundant? I feel that it looks like Tony Danza. The kids are both pretty spot on. They are both chalk white-skinned, pink-cheeked, demon babies whose eyes consist only of giant iris' and pupils.

Haiku Sunday

Drove the Zamboni again today. Someday I'll crash right through the boards, out of the building, and cover the entire city in a 1/4 inch layer of ice. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Haiku time:


Skates gleam, wicked blades
slashing sticks make bloody ice
Now go have some fun.

Immature and Scatological

Warning: Some may find this post distasteful, in length and content. Lord knows I did. I was just excited to be posting . . .


Sorry I haven 't written in some time blog and anyone reading it. It wasn't my fault. I, uh . . . I misplaced my fingers. My computer got H1N1. Someone left the cake out in the rain. My dog ate both my elbows.
I mean homework. I don't have homework. I mean elbows.

So we had some new windows put in today (just in time for the cold weather) and they look great. They had to seal all the new windows and to do that they use caulk. So the whole house has smelled like caulk the for the whole evening. And of course witty and mature adult that I am, I was making smelly caulk jokes all night. For example:

Headline: "Family of Four Overcome by Caulk!" "I was totally smothered by it," says woman. " I choked on it," her husband agreed.

So childish. But you don't do that in a blog. It just doesn't work because it's dumb and you can see the spelling of the word caulk. For a joke like that to work it has to be verbal. And repeated ad infinitum. No one is going to laugh at caulk unless it's constantly coming out of their mouth. Ok. Moving on.

Something that I have been noticing in a new way since I became a parent is metaphors in pop culture. Not that I didn't see them before, but more that I'm seeing different ones and I am finding it a little unsettling. For instance, one that is fairly obvious and not too unsettling is that Quaker Oatmeal commercial where the wife straps the oatmeal jet pack on to the husband's back and flame shoots out of the bottom of the oatmeal containers and the husband rockets happily off to work. That, of course, is a pooping metaphor. Quaker Oatmeal: We'll make ya crap rockets!

Here is one that really bothers me. You know the song Lollipop? It's a cute song from the 50's. I sang it to my daughter the other day and she loves it. For those who don't know the song, I've posted the lyrics at the end or you can listen, and we'll wait (what's with the royal we? Either I have an actual staff of blog writers, or I am the ruler of the one man kingdom of Douchelvania. Tough call.)


As I said, my daughter loves this song. She can sing half the lyrics at least. That's right. I've taught my 2 and half year old daughter how to sing the blowjob song. And that is totally what that song is about. Right down to the pop sound in the refrain. And check out the tongue in cheek shrug that guy is giving in the video. He knows what it's about. That's how they had to sing about oral sex in the 50's. They couldn't just sing "blowjobs." They were very coy.

There is one more that I wish I never noticed. It feels more appropriate to label this one symbolic, I guess. I wouldn't bring it up at all except that a friend of mine made the same observation without knowing I felt this way. It's . . . disturbing. It's about Telly, from Sesame Street. And before I point this next thing out, I think Sesame St is excellent and it is the only show we allow our daughter to watch regularly. Now then, Telly. Telly Monster is completely and utterly obsessed with triangles. He loves triangles of all shapes and sizes. He thinks they are all "beautiful." He practically worships them. He is part of the "Triangle Lover's Club." He has gone on a search-a "quest," actually- for the "Golden Triangle of Destiny." I don't think I need to say anything else here. Because really, I just can't.

Vagina.



Ramblingly yours,

Homemaker Man


Lollipop lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli
Lollipop lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli . . .
Lollipop (pop)

Call my baby lollipop
Tell you why
His kiss is sweeter than an apple pie
And when he does his shaky rockin' dance
Man, I haven't got a chance

I call him
Lollipop lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli
Lollipop lollipop.....

Sweeter than candy on a stick
Huckleberry, cherry or lime
If you had a choice
He'd be your pick
But lollipop is mine

Lollipop lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli
Lollipop lollipop.....

Crazy way he thrills me
Tell you why
Just like a lightning from the sky
He loves to kiss me till I can't see straight
GEE, MY LOLLIPOP IS GREAT

I call him
Lollipop lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli
Lollipop lollipop...

My daughter the mimic

My two and a half year old daughter has a pretty good ability to mimic sounds. She already does a passable chicken and donkey and she's working on an elephant. She also does a great Daddy:

Me: "What's a chicken say?"

Her: Bawk Bawk!

Me: "And a donkey?"

Her: "Hee haw hee haw!"

And what does a Daddy say?

Her: "Son of a bitch!"

Me: "No honey, daddy says oh my goodness."

Her: "Oh my bitch!"

Yup. She's making up new blue phrases.

I am very chagrined.

My wife and I are both fairly well read and educated (rather, in my wife's case) people, but apparently we like the blue language a little too much. Or I do, anyway.

Since that incident, I've been trying to teach her to say things like "great Caesar's ghost!" or "by the power of Grayskull!" or "Holy Mackerel!" when she is searching for an exclamation, but it's spotty at best.

I'll keep trying (maybe she'll like "Crom!").

Of course, what I'm sure I'll end up with eventually is, "by the power of Grey Bitch!"

She has the power, apparently.

So, unfortunately because I will be making a serious (I mean it) attempt to watch my language, this space may be a little bluer than usual from time to time.



Embarrassed,

Homemaker Man


Bonus Blog area!!!!

I drove the zamboni today, which it seems often inspires me to write Haiku. Here is one for today. I would've posted another one, but haiku should be printed in odd numbers apparently(according to my learned wife). Like the petals of a flower or the leaves on a tree. Fuckin' Japanese.

Here we go:


Our boy loves hockey.
That equipment costs how much?
Our boy loves soccer.


HM

Pet Anecdote Alert

There is alot of work to be done around the house right now, and we're doing it ourselves because we are conducting an experiment concerning the exact level of incompetance a home can take before it collapses or spontaneously combusts.

So I'm working the other night and the case for my drill is open behind me and I happen to turn and see the dog (1 dog 3 cats at home) snuffling madly inside my drill case. I figure out why she is snuffling madly which leads me to yell the following:

"There are two things I do not need right now: I do not need anyone (cats) puking in my drill case and I do not need the dog to eat it. "

On the bright side, she did help with clean up. So actually I guess did need her to eat it. Gooood Dog. Love having pets.


Homizzeh Mizzeh

Breaking the Winger Paradigm: Part 2. The Solution

The problem with a solution, as I implied in Part 1, is that there are solutions. They just aren't perfect. Sure, you could forbid your teen daughter from dressing inappropriately. Forbid her from wearing make-up, a half shirt and a pair of Juicy shorts or a mini-skirt out of the house. You could even go through her bag in the morning before she leaves for school so as to prevent her from changing from the lovely and stylish Amish smock you got her for Christmas in to the ever popular skank wear many of today's young people seem to prefer. But where would that lead? Eventually she would just leave home and go through a host of unsavory careers before settling on a life time of work as a drug mule for a for guy named the Thumb.

It's an old story.

You could try to control the young men that will eventually come calling. However, without a tazer, a pair of handcuffs and diplomatic immunity, it would be very difficult.

So what is a dad to do? Well, how about this:

Let her dress however she wants. No arguments. Let her put on the half-shirt or the see through thing with the thing that makes her look like she actually has things to show off. Don't say a word. Let her wear the Juicy shorts. Let her put on lots of make-up. Let her wear whatever. Smile and tell her she looks "nice today."

Then, while she is having breakfast, you inform her that you are going to take her to school that day. You say, "let me just go get changed." You get changed. And you come walking down the stairs in the exact same outfit. Right down to the shorts. Just think of the middle-aged dadness hanging out of an outfit like that. Not pretty.

And when she protests and cries and begs and threatens you shrug and simply say, "hey, if you can dress this way, I can dress this way. So what if I like to show off my body? It's harmless."

"Dad, you look totally disgusting. You can't go out like that" she might say.

"Awww c'mon. Mr. Johnson down the street dresses like this all the time and his kids are cool about it. Besides, honey, I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm 49 years old. I'm practically a grown woman." You get to say back.

You are now in control. There is very little she can do. Teenagers are powerless against embarrassment. The only caveat is that as a dad you have to be willing to go the whole way. You have to be willing to follow her out of the house like that. There can be no idle threats where teens are concerned. This is not a bluff.

I just want to say here that I am not a sexist dad. I have thought about my son in a similar context. What if he goes out of the house in wife beaters and baggy jeans with his ass hanging out? What if he is sexually inappropriate or overly precocious? I have a solution for that, too.

Just wear that exact same outfit you wore for your daughter. I think it'd still be pretty effective.

Really, I think if you are willing to dress in that sort of outfit and then go out in public, it could probably be used to solve a lot of issues around the house.


So that's pretty much it. I really think this will work. And while I fervently hope she skips the experimental dress skanky phase, a small part of me is looking forward to it a little. I am not afraid.


Sweet Transvestitedly yours,


Homemaker Man



P.S A couple of disturbing postscripts to this whole thing. 1.) My daughter is 2 and a half. If the shorts say "Juicy" now, what the hell are they going to say when she's in high school?

2.) For those of you who want a visual of a skankily dressed dad, I think in many cases it might look a little like this:

Breaking the Winger Paradigm: Part 1

She's Only Seventeen
Her Dad says she's too young
But She's old enough for me

A gentleman named Kip Winger sang those words approximately 22 years ago. It is a terrible song. I liked it well enough when it first came out. My friends and I would sing it at the top of our lungs in the kitchen of the busy breakfast joint where we worked. Sing and dance and high-five and revel in the message. Of course, we were only 14 at the time. We had no real understanding of the lyrics and even less of irony. We just sang and blissfully absorbed and re-interpreted the song's sleazy dogma.

We were like, "She's only seventeen? That's awesome! I'd love to do a senior!" And by "Do" we meant . . . we didn't really know.

We didn't know any better. It was the 80's. It was the 80's and W's were wild. Winger, Warrant, Whitesnake, and White Lion. The Four Whoresman of 80's Wrock. "Who would win in a fight?" we might argue. "Whitesnake or White Lion? Well, that depends, what kind of snake is Whitesnake ?" Of course I just realized while writing this that it's probably a penis. So, fight to the White Lion, I guess.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Flash forward to now. I no longer sing that song. Un-ironically anyway. Now I have a 2 year-old daughter.
Now, that song can wake me from a dead sleep in the middle of the night, sit me bolt upright, sweating and mewling.

Me: "Mmmewwwwwrrrl. Whimper."

My wife: "Are you alright honey?"

Me: " Naaahhrrrrmm"

My wife: "The Winger dream again." She says, not unkindly.

And all I can do is shiver and sob as she reaches over to sooth me.

But, I have a solution. A way to prevent my daughter from falling prey to the Winger paradigm. Without yelling, threats, invading her privacy, punishment, or otherwise damaging our relationship. That will be part 2.

And for your . . . edification, the video Seventeen, By Kip Winger

Art for art's sake.

I hope everyone enjoys my new title pic above. It's my house. You like the "bird"? Yeah, apparently I have deformed pterodactyls patrolling the skies of my neighborhood. They just hover around my house, you know. hoping for a bread crumb or a kind word or for me to take my eyes off of one of the babies for an instant so they can strike.

I made it, by the way. The whole picture. Mad construction paper skillz. It's sort of like I have the hand-eye coordination of a raccoon. Clever for an animal but it's really just annoying when I get in your trash. Oh, and that grassy, sun swept hill? Uh, no. Not in my neighborhood. In fact, that's probably like a 20 minute drive from where I live. That's what they call an artist's rendition. It's an art term.

The thing came about because I was doing craft time with my 2 year old daughter.

You think I'm bad? She's all like" no, no paper, just glue." And she is just painting glue on a paper plate for a half hour and then sticking random pieces of construction paper on it.

This is how that mess came out:
















Kids.





Artfully,

Homemaker Man

Dribs and drabs?

What's a good cutesy title for a post where you just have a couple quick things to say and you want to get them out of the way? Leftovers? Loose strings? Bits'npieces! I think that is the one that would make someone want to kick me in my bb's.
Bongos? Bingos!

Bingo-bongos?

First, I felt weird about my last post. So this is an apology.

My wife said: "Rape jokes aren't funny."

I said: "You're smiling. And besides, it's more of a not worthy of you so I have to blah blah blah annoying senseless noises coming from my mouth. And rape jokes are too funny. And you're smiling."

She said: "I'm your wife (implication: "you butt munch.").

So, that might be an ok point. So I apologize if I offended.

Secondly, my 2 year old girl has started conversing about her vagina lately. Often, I'm fine with it.

This exchange however, I actually found delightful.

Peanut: (her name) has a 'gina."

Me: yes you do sweetie.

Peanut: "Daddy and Baby pumpkin man have a penis."

Me: That's right, very good.

Peanut: (her name) has a 'gina and mommy have a gina. Mommy have a big BIG 'gina.


I'm sure this is purely a matter of perspective.


gigglingly,

Homemaker Man