Friday, February 29, 2008

Poster Child

I'm officially offering my services to any company that wants to put me on a national commercial.

Here's the deal, all you corporate executives and studio mogols: I have no shame. You can put me in any commercial you want, as long as it's a national commercial.

Diarrhea? Sure, I've had that, and better yet, you can pay me to pretend like I have it again. I like to get into the heads of the characters I portray, so I might eat an entire package of sugar-free Twizzlers just to get in character. I'm like the Daniel Day-Lewis of diarrhea commercials.

Diet pills? Heck yeah. Mortgage loan? Why not? Erectile dysfunction? I'll be the Bob Dole of Generation Y for some cash money.

I know that I have a face for radio but a voice for the silent movies, so I have no dillusions of being a famous actor that people would actually pay to see. But let's be honest, nobody wants to be in a national commercial about constipation - except me. You know it's true.

Let's make it happen. I'm going to store to buy some sugar-free Twizzlers if anyone is looking for me.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

American Idol Promises to Switch It Up

American Idol on Wednesday announced plans to "switch it up." What exactly are they switching up and why? Our investigators got the behind-the-scenes scoop!

Our source, who asked to remain anonymous, told us, "If I'm being honest, we have a gender issue on our show. We have one male contestant who is a total wanker and we have a female contestant who has a larger set of bullocks than all of the other male contestants combined. So we're going to switch it up."

Researching further, it appears that if Danny Noriega and Amanda Overmyer both make it through to next week then each will sing on the night that the opposite sex sings.

"I'm not trying to be rude, but Danny Noriega is the Sassy Gay of the group, and he fits in more with the ladies. It's like when Elton John sang 'The Bitch is Back' with Tina Turner in VH1's Divas in 1999."

As for Overmyer, Simon - er, our anonymous source - said he "really, really likes her but wished she would stop injecting herself with testosterone and horse adrenaline."

If the switch is successful, American Idol may make future changes. For instance, instead of kicking off the contestant with the least number of votes, each state might end up getting a certain number of delegates who will vote on behalf of everyone in the state, much like the presidential elections.

Another possible change would be to switch up how contestants are kicked off the show. Instead of having the one person with the least amount of votes getting kicked off, the two contestants with the least amount of votes might fight each other in a cage. This showing of American Idol could take place on a Friday, which would follow the Results Show, which typically takes place on Thursday, thus spreading American Idol's schedule to even more days out of the week.

But first things first. Says our source, "We're first going to start with putting the Sassy Gay where he belongs and then we'll go from there."

You heard it here first.

In Search of the Perfect Pediatrician

For the past week or so, Betty and I have been traveling the countryside in search of the best pediatrician for our baby. Betty was interested in finding someone who would listen to our needs, has lots of years of experience, has flexible office hours, is always on call, is easy to contact and would answer all of our questions.

I just wanted a pediatrician with a bunch of cool toys in the waiting room. All doctors go through the same schooling, but they don't all buy the same toys, am I right?

We only interviewed two candidates before making our choice. The second pediatrician had all of the qualities that Betty was looking for, plus is the twin sister of one of Betty's coworkers (who is also amazing with children). And of course, her toys were far superior to the first pediatrician's.

Now, I don't know what most of you are thinking at this point, but I know what my mom is thinking: think of the germs!

Yes, it's true, children carry germs around. It's what they do best. And by allowing my child to play with any toys, regardless of how cool they are, will expose him or her to countless cooties. In fact, having cooler toys may even be a downside, because more children will want to play with the cooler toys, which will only increase the germ-to-toy ratio.

That is why I plan on personally playing with every toy in the pediatrician's office every time I bring my child in. I will play with and test each toy for durability, then will wipe the toys down with a "wipey." I will then immediately let my child play with the toy under tight supervision, and will smack around any other child who tries to join in on my child's fun. Sharing is fine, just as long as you're not sharing germs.

So listen up all you pediatric dentists and other pediatric specialty doctors: you'd better get your acts together and buy some cool loot for us to play with, otherwise you'll have to find yourself new clients! We only accept the best for our children!

Monday, February 25, 2008

Selected Bibliography

I love to write my blog every night, but sometimes I need to recharge my creative batteries before I can begin something new. In those instances, I look to my fellow bloggers for inspiration.

My first source of inspirado is Scott Adams, the creator of the comic strip Dilbert. On Sundays Adams writes serious blogs that are interesting yet entertaining. The other six days he writes stuff that will make milk drag itself from the fridge, force itself into your mouth, then explode out of your nose. You can check out Scott Adams' blog at http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/.

Another blog I read is Exploding Unicorn. The guy who writes this one is Creative Writing major and an aspiring journalist. His blog was linked to Fark.com one day and now that I've found it I make a daily trek out to his site. You can check out his blog at http://explodingunicorn.blogspot.com/.

Lastly, I "read" Funny or Die.com, which is Will Ferrell's digital playground. It's like YouTube, but strictly for comedy videos. Most of the site is made up of videos from regular people like you and me, and some of the stuff is friggin hilarious. I've had to change my pants more than once after visiting this site.

All of these links are located on the right side of my own blog for future reference. Now if I could just find someone who will put my own link up on their website....

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Your Princess is in Another Castle

I just beat Super Mario Galaxy for the Nintendo Wii. Actually, I beat it at 2:15 on Saturday morning, and staying up that late had serious consequences of which are too difficult to explain in this blog post. Regardless, I think I have some much-needed advice for Mario:

Give it up.

Seriously, bro, how many times have you saved Princess Peach? And yet you're still not "Prince Mario." There's a reason for that: she's not into you. It's time to move on with your life.

Maybe Princess Peach likes being kidnapped by Bowser every year or so. Have you ever thought of that? Some women just like all the attention.

And let's face it: you're a plumber and she's a princess. That only works in the movies. Bad movies.

Bowser's actually not a bad suitor for Princess Peach, if you look past his mutant turtle persona. Bowser is also known as King Koopa, so he actually is royalty while you're just a plumber. Sure, you have skills that every American family will need at multiple points in their lives, but kings have money, land, and, quite often, huge scepters.

If you really want to continue your tireless adventures across the universe to save your beloved princess, you might want to consider a change of outfit. Seriously, you've been sporting that red and blue outfit for twenty-something years now. And the overalls - are those simply to hide your plumber's crack or do you just like looking like a lumberjack?

Also, you might want to consider that maybe Princess Peach isn't into mustache rides, know what I mean?

I'll admit, watching you save the princess time and time again is endless fun. Super Mario Galaxy was a great game. But do you know what's even more fun? Watching you fail in your love life for twenty-something years.

In Donkey Kong you saved Pauline. Who was Pauline? Was she just a friend? What happened with her? Oh, I remember now, she was a primatologist studying gorillas, who was doing Nobel-like work out in the jungle with Donkey Kong until you came along and snatched her from her job. How did that work out for you?

And what about Princess Daisy? You saved her from Tatanga in Super Mario Land and how did she repay you? By shagging your younger yet taller (and more handsome) brother Luigi. All too familiar.

Look, Mario, you're a good guy so I'll be a straight shooter with you. You've got heart - maybe too much heart. You're working too hard for this girl. Chicks like it when you ignore then a little bit. That makes them think you don't like them, then they start thinking about why you don't like them, then they realize that they care about why you don't like them - and once you've established that they care for you, then you can save them from your arch-nemeses. You're not giving Princess Peach any room to miss you.

So Mario, I wish you good luck on your quest for love. Until then, you'll just have to keep cleaning your own pipes, plumber boy.

Breastfeeding Basics

On Saturday Betty and I went to a class at Woman's Hospital called "Breastfeeding Basics." It was as much fun as it sounds, and more!

For those of you who know nothing about breasts, breasts are not simply happy fun bags that you get to play with anytime you want to. Your significant other has probably already informed you of this on several occasions.

Actually, breasts (otherwise known as boobies or ta-tas, as they are technically known) are there to provide milk for babies.

Mother's milk is good for babies for several reasons. First, it has all the nutrients a baby needs. Second, a mother's milk passes antibodies - which fight off diseases, like colds, smallpox, and homosexuality - to the baby, so the baby can fight off diseases more easily. Third, when a woman is breastfeeding, her boobies get bigger - and that's good for everybody.

The breastfeeding class was very informative. We learned how to stimulate milk production, how to correctly hold the baby so it will latch on, how and when to burp the baby, which bottles to use, and how to shoot milk across the room by using the thumb and forefinger to apply pressure to the areola.

So, onto the question that's really on all of your minds: did I see ta-tas? The answer is a resounding yes.

During the class, a video is shown several times. This video was apparently shot in the early 80's, because every woman had bangs, a mullet, and colorful shorts with black leggings. No joke. All of these women also had breasts, and they all showed them to us so we could understand how to properly breastfeed the baby. I thought the video was very informative and acted mature throughout the entire class, but I can't say the same for Betty. Oh, okay, I might have made one or ten off-color remarks about needing cream for my coffee, but what did you expect?

If you are pregnant and thinking of breastfeeding, or if you're not sure if you want to breastfeed, I urge you to take this class. Bring your baby daddy along - tell him he'll see some boobs. That's what Betty did for me and it worked just fine. Just don't tell him about the mullets and black leggings.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

I Just Twosied in my Onesie

I made a new onesie in honor of my unborn child. I call it...

I Just Twosied in my Onesie.

[Picture: I Just Twosied in my Onesie, the Incredible Onesie]


This onesie has a 100% accuracy rate if you leave it on your baby long enough.

I also thought of a friggin great idea that Huggies should feel free to steal after paying me a finder's fee: diapers that change color when the baby needs to be changed.

All one would really have to do is spray the diaper with some of that stuff that they put in pools that turns red when someone pees in it. Is that so hard? I'd pay an extra couple of bucks to know when my baby is filling up that diaper. Plus it would be a lot of fun to see how much of the diaper can turn a different color before the baby starts to wail.

Until that day arrives, my baby can let me know that he or she has just dropped a twosie by wearing this fashionable onesie.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Last Minute Cramming

I'm cramming in as much knowledge as I can about how to be a good dad. I've just finished reading The Expectant Father: Facts, Tips and Advice for Dads-to-Be by Armin A. Brott, and recently bought another book by him called The New Father: A Dad's Guide to the First Year.

I'm also halfway done with the manual for Super Mario Galaxy for the Wii. It's on the accelerated reader's list for dads-to-be.

But what just may be my greatest find is Be Prepared: A Practical Handbook for New Dads by Gary Greenberg and Jeannie Hayden. This book promises to teach me how to change a baby at a packed stadium, babyproof a hotel room in 4 minutes flat, and construct an emergency diaper out of a towel, a sock and duct tape. Sounds like my kind of book!

One of the authors of Be Prepared also wrote The Pop-up Book of Phobias, The Pop-up Book of Nightmares and Self-Helpless. I think those names are funny, which is why I trust their advice about how to raise my baby.

Betty and I are not learning how to be better parents by just reading books. We're also taking classes. I've mentioned a few of those classes in previous posts. This weekend we're taking a 5-hour breast feeding class, or as I like to call it, our "5-hour softcore porn class." I'm bringing popcorn.

In other news, Betty said I can't play with any of the shower gifts until she writes all the Thank You notes. She's been finishing up those Thank You notes while I've been trying to finish my To Do List, and at this point my most urgent item is to beat the last 4 songs on Guitar Hero on Hard and to beat the remaining 20 songs on Expert. Is it even possible to beat Metallica's "One" on Hard anyway?

Sunday, February 17, 2008

The Sopranos

Last year Betty and I went on a Sopranos marathon. We knew going in that The Sopranos was an incredible TV series, since the people who loved it would never quit yapping about it, but what we didn't know was how wrapped up in it we would get.

86 episodes later, I think my unborn child knows Tony Soprano's voice better than my own. The baby would always kick when the Sopranos were on, but for me all it does is lay on Betty's bladder. Ah well, fuggetaboudit.

The Sopranos was not all fun and games; it was also educational. For instance, in Season 5, Episode 62 ("Cold Cuts"), Tony's sister Janice starts an Anger Management class, and in the episode she tells Tony that she can't control what other people do but she can control her reaction to it.

Well, Janice ends up attacking Tony with a fork at the end of the episode, but it was good advice anyway. I thought long and hard about this line, and I think it really helped me to control my own anger.

For example, historically, when another driver cuts me off while my wife is in the car, I usually end up threatening to drag the woman on her cellphone - because yes, it always is a woman on her cellphone - through the driver-side window, ram her cellphone up her ass and then bitch-slap her puss of a boyfriend who is sitting prostrate in the passenger seat. Betty gets mad at me for this reaction, but hey, I don't apologize for hating bad drivers.

But the very night that I saw that Sopranos episode, a woman tried to change lanes on the I-10 and would have sideswiped us had I not laid on my horn and gone onto the shoulder. Did I explode? Did I blow a vein out of my forehead in anger? No. I quietly took note of the license plate and simply planned to liquidate all of the offending party's gene pool if I ever saw her again.

So thank you, Sopranos and HBO, for showing me that violent sociopaths are not just scary and mean, but they can also be fun, entertaining and educational.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Baby Shower

James Taylor told us in song to shower the people we love with love. But at Betty's baby shower on Saturday, our friends and family showered Betty with baby clothes, pack 'n plays, exersaucers, baby books, singing laptops, stuffed animals, and hundreds of millions of other packages. Wow, did the baby rack up some loot!

One gift that really "stands out" is a 5' tall stuffed giraffe. This thing is as tall as I am, and just as handsome. I threw a saddle on it and rode it around the house today, just to test it out for durability. I think I'll have to play with it more to know for sure if it's safe for the baby - you never know how wild animals will act around children.

I've gone through all of the emotions that I think every rookie dad has - fear, apprehension, acceptance, excitement, fear again, and finally exhaustion from trying to finish my To Do List. But having all of the shower gifts around the house really makes me excited to be a dad.

I used to think it would be a lot of fun to relive my childhood by watching cartoons with my kids, throwing the baseball around outside, etc. I still think that will be fun. But just being around kids the last couple of weeks has really made me want to just watch kids enjoy being kids.

For example, my friend Tony brought his two year-old son Anthony over to my house last week. Anthony and I went to visit the neighbor's dog, Buster. When I was formally introducing Buster to Anthony, Anthony heard his name, got real excited, pointed to himself and shouted, "Anthony!" It's indescribable to watch a child learning, becoming self-aware, and just growing up in general. I can't imagine what it will be like when it's my own.

And while the ladies were at the baby shower, us guys were at my house watching the LSU basketball game, eating burgers and playing Guitar Hero. My seven months-old godchild Joshua hung out with us, and he was a trip. He would just look around, stare at everyone with a blank stare, then break out into hysterical fits of laughter over nothing in particular. (Just so you know, Joshua, I patented the "Bob Stare.")

So I guess what I'm saying is thank you to everyone who made this day special by driving into town, giving us loot, and getting me even more excited to be a dad.

Now I've got to end this blog post, because I've got to go re-test the giraffe for durability.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

To My Beautiful Valentine

To my beautiful Valentine...

Before I met you I was totally lost.

[Picture: Lost Tanory Tourists]

Then you came along and you were my GPS in Human Form, just like in all those science fiction books I like to read.

[Picture: The Betty GPS Navigation System]

You didn't just help me to get around town for 10 years (one day I'll learn); you also showed me how to love.

[Picture: Bobby's love manifests itself]

Now you are going to have my baby, which is the physical manifestation of our love. Hopefully the baby will have your good looks, your uncanny navigational skills, and my humongous genitalia.

[Picture: Bad Rooster Pun - I couldn't help it]

And if our baby is a girl, I will need your GPS skills to track down every last boy on our street and tag them with RFID chips.

[Picture: Just Try Me]

We make the perfect team. I love you!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Postpartum Class

Betty and I are taking a class to learn all about life after the baby is born. The topics in our class include, but are not limited to, breastfeeding, how to hold the baby, how to change diapers, and how to feed the baby with one hand and play Wii with the other.

Another interesting fact I learned is that the baby will be born via the "vagina," which is just a fancy name for the lady's Hoo-Hoo.

Who knew?!

Tuesday's class was really just a long lecture, but Wednesday we will get to play with dolls and will practice changing diapers, suctioning snot from the baby's nose, and playing tea party. Hopefully there will be a Wii there as well so I can get in some quality practice time.

Monday, February 11, 2008

CrackBerry Withdrawals

If you have a BlackBerry, more popularly known as a CrackBerry, then you may have been affected by a service outage Monday afternoon that left you unable to use your portable device as well as crippled your ability to act normally in a non-virtual social environment.

If you don't have a CrackBerry then you might have noticed that some of your friends, family and co-workers, and even total strangers, were having symptoms of gradual withdrawal. If a person started to sweat profusely, shake one or more legs uncontrollably, or constantly pick up and set down a hand-held digital device for endless hours, you may have been looking at a CrackBerry addict.

[Picture: Black berries]
Not only are Black Berries tasty, by their tiny purple fruit also act like terrestrial antennas for hand-held digital devices.
(Picture lovingly stolen from http://www.northwestweeds.nsw.gov.au)


That's right, for one full afternoon countless thousands of people had to resort to speaking to one another, watching TV, reading, daydreaming or spending the afternoon doing chores. Many of the people who decided to talk to another person simply talked about the CrackBerry outage.

If you or someone you know has a CrackBerry addiction, don't despair. There's help. There's hope. Just point your BlackBerry over to eHow's website and read up on "How to Break a BlackBerry Addiction."

Googlewhack!

I just got this email:

Just to let you know sir, you are a Googlewhack! Typing "icosidodecahedron bootylicious" into Google returns a single result - your blog page. When one achieves a single web search result on google using two words (in the English dictionary, no place names etc etc) this is a Googlewhack.


Of course, now that I've just blogged about "icosidodecahedron bootylicious" Google should now return two pages, so maybe I'm not a Googlewhack anymore. Dash it all!

You can check out more Googlewhacks, as well as adding your own to the Googlewhack registry, at www.googlewhack.com.

Just be careful while Googlewhacking - supposedly doing it too much can make you go blind.

Thanks to "Stuart" who informed me about my Googlewhackage via my TanoryLand Contact page.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

A Valentine Murder Mystery

Betty and I joined some friends at Ralph & Kacoo's on Sunday for a dinner show called "A Valentine Murder Mystery." It was kind of like a live-action version of "Clue," but with food.

I don't want to spoil it, but the killer was the chef, in the kitchen, with the puffer fish.

[Picture: Butler + Candlestick = Blunt Trauma to the Head]
In Clue, Butler + Candlestick = Blunt Trauma to the Head


Let me first say, the service at Ralph & Kacoo's was great. Originally they didn't have us down on the reservations list - they had us down for the night before. But after I explained to them how my wife was pregnant and was hungry, and that if she didn't eat right then she would get angry, and how she turns into a smaller, fiercer, just less green version of the Hulk when she's angry - and you don't want to see her when she's angry - they managed to accommodate us.

After they arranged for us to sit, our waitress made sure that we were taken care of. It's pretty handy to have a 7+ months pregnant woman sitting with you to get your server's attention, especially when there are 40 other people being waited on by the same person.

But great service aside, everything else totally sucked.

First, the food was terrible. Sure, it was a Murder Mystery play, but we were there to eat as well. And it's really hard to concentrate on amateur acting when your stomach is actively refusing the food you've just jammed down it. For a while there I thought I was supposed to be the one who gets murdered - by the chef.

Quick interlude: One time when I was a kid, I tried to order seafood at a BBQ place. My dad, in all of his infinite wisdom, told me, "Son, when you're at a BBQ place, you get BBQ. When you're at a steak place, you get steak."

Ah, words to live by.

Unfortunately for me, Ralph & Kacoo's didn't understand this simple rule to the restaurant business. Betty got the rib eye, but I ordered the Rainbow Trout - Ralph & Kacoo's is a seafood place, after all, and I always aim to make my dad proud - but it tasted like congealed vomit, only worse. I don't even think the fish would have eaten it had it been chum in the ocean.

Second, the acting was terrible. The story of the Murder Mystery goes like this: a group of celebrities (played by the actors) meets in a large room to celebrate the Oscars. There are a couple of actors, a producer, a director, etc. Then a movie critic, whom everyone hates, arrives, pisses a bunch of people off with his witty banter, and subsequently gets poisoned and dies.

But who dun it?! Oh my!

My thoughts as to who did it: Who cares? My stomach felt like it was about to lurch off the table, grab the stuffed Marlin on the side of the wall, and stab me with it.

[Picture of alleged marlin]
Death by marlin spear would have been a better fate than sitting through the Murder Mystery at Ralph & Kacoo's


The character of the critic must have been based on a real-life critic who actually saw the Valentine Murder Mystery at Ralph & Kacoo's. But had someone actually killed him, chopped him up and put him in my food, it probably would have tasted better than what I was served.

Sure, there are a lot of reasons to cut the Murder Mystery some slack. First, it was in a restaurant - if we wanted to see real acting, we should have gone to the theater. Touche'. Second, if we wanted to eat well for $100, we should have gone to Ruth's Chris. Touche' again. Third, if we wanted our stomachs to not be in dire straights, we should have actually thrown up instead of holding it down to "be a man." Touche' thrice. But live and learn, I guess.

Drilling and Screwing All Day Long

I spent most of the day Saturday drilling, screwing and playing with my pole. As kinky as that sounds, I was only putting up a shelf in the baby's closet.

[Picture of Bobby posing with his pole]
Bobby poses with his pole.


For those of you who know me, you'll know that putting power tools within my reach is like signing your own death warrant. You never know what I'll do with those tools, because to be quite honest, I don't know what to do with them. I usually end up drilling into wires, sawing off something that keeps the building from falling over, or blowing out all the power on the street.

I know my own limitations, and it is for these reasons that I prefer to stick with the more traditional tools - illegal immigrants. But for some reason my wife thought this would be the day that I learned how to be useful, and so, with my father-in-law there to teach me and make sure I didn't electrocute myself, off I went into the deep dark depths of the baby's closet.

Picture of Bobby drilling random holes in the wall
A picture of Bobby drilling random holes in the wall.


There's a saying that goes, "Measure twice, cut once." But it doesn't say anything about drilling, so I just eyeballed it and started to randomly drill holes in the wall. I knew when I was off-target because my father-in-law would make discouraging sounds behind me. In the end, it all worked out, and I only had to plaster twenty or so off-target holes.

I screwed in the supports for the shelf into the holes I had just drilled, then snapped the shelf into place. Voila! Instant shelf - if by instant you mean 2.5 hours later.

Picture of Bobby screwing
A picture of Bobby screwing.


Next we put up the pole. But first I had to have one last photo-op with it.

Picture of Bobby's pole
A picture of Bobby's pole.


My parents must be proud.

At the end of the day, we were one step closer to getting the room completely ready for the baby. We put stuff up on our new shelf, jammed other stuff into the bottom of the closet, and then Betty sat in the glider and her eyes glazed over as she thought of a billion more things for me to add to my To Do List.

A picture of Betty daydreaming of Bobby doing more physical labor
Betty daydreaming of Bobby doing more physical labor.

Friday, February 08, 2008

Bed, Bath and Beyond

I just thought of a brilliant idea: A bed that cleans you while you sleep. I call it the Bed, Bath and Beyond.

It would work like so: You sweat when you sleep, and that means you're covered in a thin layer of water and salt for most of the night. As you move around in the night to get comfortable, the salt from your sweat rubs against the sheets and blankets, creating friction. Now, if we could have some sort of time-release capsule or a certain chemical in the blanket that could be combined with your body's sweat then heated up by the friction to cook the ingredients just right, we can create a synthetic soap.

Then voila! No more showering!

Just like how an electric blanket has different settings on it - from "warm and toasty" to "my genitals are on fire!" - the time-release function of the Bed, Bath and Beyond would have different levels of soapiness. If you wanted to take a bubble bath and a cat nap at the same time, well, that's not a problem for our nifty product. Just crank up the dial on the blanket and put on your night-mask, and get ready for some good "clean" fun.

If you were making love to your spouse, partner or favorite inanimate object, you could get dirty and get all cleaned up at the same time. The synthetic soap could also function as deodorant and cologne.

Wearing a mouth guard? I'm sure we could turn that into a toothbrush.

Now I just need to think of a way to have my bed shave me and make me breakfast, and then I'll be able to take care of myself once the baby arrives and my wife can no longer micro-manage me.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Steamy!

When a woman is pregnant she goes through an instinctive period called the "nesting period." While nesting, the woman runs around like a frenzied animal trying to get the house ready for the baby. Anything that stands in the woman's way will be crushed to death.

But somehow all of the woman's nesting actually translates into physical labor for the man, which in this case is yours truly. Although my To Do List is getting longer every day, I've given up procrastinating for Lent, so my To Do List is now down to only 43,129 tasks. I should have that done by next century.

Thankfully I've been able to outsource most of the work to my father-in-law, who works as tirelessly as an illegal immigrant.

I thought I could help to alleviate my wife's nesting instincts, as well as saving my father-in-law a lot of time and energy, by hauling in a bunch of straw and twigs and dumping them around the baby's room, like a giant nest. This only made my wife angry for some reason, and then added several items - mostly dealing with cleaning products - to my To Do List.

At this point I knew I needed professional help, so I called in Stanley Steemer.

Let's just say that it was way past time to call in the Pros. The previous owners of our house had dogs and cats, and judging from several bite marks on the base boards, a marmot. Sure, we've vacuumed, swept and mopped, but we've never really been able to get our house looking and feeling as clean as a whistle.

After Stanley Steemer came and went, the carpets look the same but are damper than usual, but we also got the tiles cleaned, and wow do they look different!

Apparently the previous owners of our house put down some sort of wax sealer to protect the tiles in the kitchen. By doing so, dirt and mud got trapped in the wax, and no amount of mopping, sweeping or Swiffering could clean the tiles. I always just thought the tiles had a pattern of black swirls, or maybe were even black tiles with speckles of white, but lo and behold, our tiles are a brilliant shade of white! Who knew?! Thanks, Stanley Steemer!

I guess all of my helping around the house finally paid off. Not only did I help to clean the floors of our house so our baby wouldn't have to crawl around in leftover marmot hair, but we've also been able to steam away a layer of filth from our kitchen floor.

Scratch that item off my list! Only 43,128 to go!

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Lent Brush

Get out your lint brushes, kids, because the Season of Lent has arrived.

That's right, we partied our asses off during Mardi Gras and now we're punished for 40 days until Easter. So pick one thing that you really like to eat, drink or hump and forget about it for the next 40 business days.

Most people deprive themselves of something during Lent. Others do something extra to better themselves, like doing thirty push-ups a day, walking around the block more often, or leaving the toilet seat down for the wife. I've decided to deprive myself of something as well as do something extra at the same time, by giving up procrastinating.

Procrastinating is more than just being lazy: It's an art form. And by depriving myself of being artistically lazy, I'm gaining the joy of doing things that I've never really wanted to do. I should do this more often instead of snoozing on the couch.

Now that I'm not procrastinating, I'm having to deal with years and years of sitting on my ass while my To Do List gradually grew larger. But I'm slowly chipping away at this forty page list of chores. Today I promptly took out the trash, cleaned the inside of our cars, sprayed WD40 on some squeaky hinges, and beat 5 levels of Guitar Hero on Expert. Check those off my list!

Thankfully, Lent doesn't count on Sundays. That means I can get in a week's worth of laziness every Sunday, which is the day that my wife traditionally tries to make me help clean the house.

What did you give up / decide to do extra for Lent, if anything, and why?

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Bun in the Oven

Forget dressing up a "Flashing Cow" and showing people your teets at Mardi Gras. The real way to bag some shiny beaded loot is to impregnate your wife and then dress her up as a Bun in the Oven.

Betty's Bun in the Oven costume


For Mardi Gras day, Betty wore her man-made Kenmore oven and I dressed up in some an LSU apron, mitts and a chef's hat, and together we walked down St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans. All we heard the whole way was, "Awww, look at that, a bun in the oven - that is so cute!" and "Are you sure that bun is yours?"

Touche'.

Walking up and down the street tired Betty out pretty quickly, and once she sat down to rest I became rather restless. My Middle Child Syndrome makes it nearly impossible to not be the center of attention for too long in one span, so I resorted to being as obnoxious and loud as possible by banging a large plastic spoon against the bottom of a plastic bowl, as if banging a drum, and singing Mardi Gras songs at the top of my lungs. I banged the drum slowly, if you know what I mean. The act of banging the bowl got people's attention, then I would turn the bowl over and let people use it as a target for their beads. Let's just say that I need to bring a bigger bowl next time.

Our bun and baker costumes


Speaking of next time, next year we'll have a little baby and there will no longer be a bun in the oven. This will seriously hamper our ability to catch a lot of loot.

I guess I'll just have to work on knocking my wife up again for the 2010 Mardi Gras season.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Post-Super Bowl Blues

The commercials, the half-time show, the scoreboard pool, and the love of the game - all valid reasons for watching the Super Bowl. For some it is the epitome of the sport of football, or even the epitome of all sports. For others it is a chance to meet with friends, throw back some beers and scream at the telly, and occasionally challenge each other to push-up contests and then steal each other's beer while one's opponent is passed out from drinking / exercising too vigorously.

For me, it is a time of sadness.

Super Bowl Sunday is the end of the football season and all that the season stands for. Football is about more than just sweaty, hulking guys in tights clawing at each other. It is about carthasis. At the end of a very long week of work, I could always count on plopping myself down on the couch, taking a swig from a nice cool drink, and then screaming in fury as the Saints lost one game after the next.

Watching LSU and Saints games this year got my heart pounding, which as I've tried to explain to my wife, is as good as doing actual exercise. I think that's a good enough excuse to get me out of at least one Sunday mass a year, right?

Listening to the NFL Network on Sirius is one of my favorite things to do. But for a whole off-season I'll now have to listen to people who once thought the New England Patriots were the Greatest Team of All Time trounce them as the Most Disappointing Team of All Time. (I'd have to disagree with that, by the way. The '82 Bengals probably sucked more, although I know nothing about them. But let's face it, they're the Bengals - how good could they have been?)

So what do I have to look forward to? March Madness? That's a whole month away! The NBA? Snooze-fest. NASCAR? Only if someone flips their car in a fiery lap of death and destruction, and if that's the case, I'll catch it on ESPN News.

I guess I'll just have to find other ways to occupy my time until the next football season. At least the Super Bowl was very beneficial to my little family this year: it gave us our child's name, regardless of if it's a boy or a girl. Wanna know what our name is?

Plaxico Tanory.

It just has a special ring to it.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

Vulcan

My very first parade in New Orleans, four or five years ago, was a neighborhood parade called Vulcan. I knew it was destined to be my favorite parade of all time when I met and subsequently fell in love with a giant anthropomorphic slice of pizza on the parade route.

[Picture: Bob and pizza share physical love]

It was also the parade where I caught my first pair of panties. Did I mention that Vulcan is a neighborhood parade?

We don't like to half-ass our parade watching, so since Vulcan is the first parade of our Mardi Gras season, we go all out as a trial run for the larger parades. We catch the parade right at its start, then we pile all our loot in the family van and drive to the middle of the parade route, where we dig trenches and settle in for the long haul. While entrenched, we occasionally blast the opposite side of the street with dabloons long enough to force them to retreat so we can raid their bags of beads.

It's a lot of fun to watch the kids in the parade. And after we pack up the van for a second time and head to the end of the parade route, it's even more fun to yell "Just five more miles!" to the exhausted band members and dance teams. Nothing is more fun than making tired children cry in the middle of the street, with the exception of flashing foreigners while dressed in a cow outfit.

If you're going to be in the New Orleans area on Sunday thru Tuesday, look for us at the corner of St. Chuck and General Pershing.

Friday, February 01, 2008

Udderly Ridiculous at Mardi Gras

Mardi Gras is one of my favorite holidays, mainly because it's one of the three days during the year when it's perfectly acceptable to dress up as a cow, put on a t-shirt, stand on the corner and flash one's udders to unsuspecting passerbys. The other two days where this is perfectly acceptable are Halloween and National Dress Like a Cow and Flash People Day (December 12th).

Certain people enjoy being flashed by a guy in a cow outfit more than others. Foreigners, for example, can't get enough of my udders. Cops, on the other hand, not so much.

Most small children love the cow outfit, however wearing a cow outfit around children is dangerous business, considering that the udders fall right around my crotch. I don't know what the law says about children yanking on a grown man's udders, but I'm sure it doesn't rule in my favor.

Fear of being branded a pedophile aside, dressing up like the cow has many benefits, like when an uncostumed woman returns the favor and shows you her udders. (It's New Orleans during Mardi Gras - you're bound to see it anyway. This way you just don't have to give her any of your hard-earned beads!) It's also a lot of fun to flash people marching and playing in the bands during the parades to try to make them laugh and mess up.

You might be saying to yourself, "Wow, dressing up like a cow with big juicy udders, hiding them under a shirt and then flashing someone sounds like a lot of fun! How do I do that?"

Have no fear! Just follow these easy steps and you'll soon be getting beads from eccentric strangers in no time.

1. Buy a cow outfit.

I bought mine at Wal-Mart 8 years ago for a fraternity exchange with my wife's sorority. I haven't washed it since, which gives the cow outfit a more authentic smell.

2. Pick out a shirt to wear over your costume.

In the past I've worn my "Caution: Drunk!" and "Legalize Pot Pie" shirts, but this year I'm going with my very own creation, "I Love Ground Chuck."



3. Put on the cow outfit and put your shirt over it.

You should also wear clothes under your cow outfit in case someone yanks your udders too hard and the plastic udders rip off of the cow outfit. Unless you just really enjoy drafts.

4. Walk outside, stand on a busy street corner (preferably at a parade), hold the shirt down over your udders, stare someone down, then flash people when they happen to glance at you.

If you can get someone to stand alongside you and yell or scream to get someone's attention, all the better!

You're all set to follow in my hooves-steps and flash the bejesus out of someone. Just remember, if you get arrested for flashing cops, don't call me to bail you out.

Real Men of Genius - Houston Traffic

My friend Sarah sent me the link to this "Real Men of Genius" video about Houston Traffic. It's funny because it's true!



Here's the link if you can't see the embedded video.

My favorite line is, "There are over two million cars in this city, and at any given time, all of them are on Westheimer."