Spanish Fly For Soccer Moms

This landed in my inbox today. Thought I'd post it here and see what you guys think.

*****
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Montgomery, AL -- January 30, 2006 -- Are you in the market for a MILF? Are you a single dad looking for a single mom, hoping to start your own Brady Bunch? Nose Candy Industries has come to your rescue.

"Attraction basically boils down to three principles: physical attraction, personality, and scent. This explains why cologne and perfume sales bring in over four billion dollars a year," said Nose Candy Industries spokesperson Arthur Carter. "Manufacturers have mass-produced scents for years, ignoring niche markets. Different personalities are attracted to different scents. That's where we come in."

Set to debut in the Atlanta, Chicago, and Houston markets this spring, Momvelous aims to be the first scent on the market to attract single mothers. Dubbed "Spanish Fly for Soccer Moms" by industry insiders, Momvelous lists antibacterial soap, baby poop, baby shampoo, baby vomit, chocolate, Desitin, formula, glue sticks, Gummy Bears, jelly, lilac, peanut butter, rose petals, strained peas, and sweat among its many active ingredients.

Nose Candy Industries hopes to have a nationwide rollout by early fall. If this initial scent proves successful, future plans include scents to attract teachers, high-ranking business professionals, and gay cowboys.

"We have had a ninety-five percent success rate with Momvelous in preliminary laboratory tests," Carter added. "All a guy has to do is spray a little Momvelous on his person, head down to the local playground, and the soccer moms will swarm to him."
*****

And so will the flies.

Today's Random iPod Shuffle (If I Actually Owned An iPod)

Imperial Drag: Boy Or A Girl

Zoey has become obsessed with trucks lately. Dump trucks. Cement mixers. Trucks I cannot identify because I'm less of a man than most. If we see a dump truck, she'll want to know what it's carrying, where it's heading, and if we can follow it.

Tell me again what it is like to have a daughter?

The Dead Milkmen: Moron

As I was on my way to Target yesterday, I noticed two fourteen-year-old boys on the sidewalk. One was sitting in a child's red wagon, wearing a helmet, while the other kid, also wearing a helmet, was running at full speed, pulling the kid in the wagon behind him. The kid in the wagon was hitting the other kid with a stick as they were traveling down the sidewalk. It looked like they were in a deranged chariot race or something. Most people would've shook their heads in disbelief and moved on.

What goes through my mind? Someday, idiots like that will want to date my daughter. Kill me now.

Butch Walker: Lights Out

I added another site I've really been digging lately to my Narcikidstic Sites list, (This) Girl's Gone Child. She's hip, funny, and has a great writing style. Plus, she's got a cute kid with a cool name. And one of the coolest website names around.

The Replacements: I'll Be You

I know most kids like to pretend they're characters they see on television. Zoey likes to pretend she's Mary, I'm Jack, and Zed's Mel from Jack's Big Music Show. No problem. We sing, pretend we're playing instruments, and act goofy. It's fun.

But Zoey also likes to pretend to be her friends.

Constantly, she'll pretend to be one of her female friends from preschool while I'm supposed to act like one of her boy friends (note: two separate words!). Should I be concerned about this? Is she obsessed? Or is this something all kids do?

I just don't want to deal with a Single White Female incident on down the road.

Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins: Rise Up With Fists*

I've had a lot of new people stroll through the front doors of my website lately. And a lot of nasty emails as well.

If you're a new reader to this site, welcome. Take a look around. Notice the title? Cynical Dad. Notice what it says under Background Info? This site is supposed to be a humorous and cynical look at parenting and children. Keyword: humorous.

Look. I don't pepper my entries with emoticons. I like to think my new readers, like my regular readers, are intelligent enough to know when I'm kidding. Like the whole year of threats article. Just a joke, folks. Mostly.

You can call me an awful writer. I'll agree.

You can say I'm not funny. Once again, I'll agree.

But when you start questioning my parenting skills and whether or not I love my children?

Step. The. Fuck. Back.

Enjoy the site!

*By the way, if you haven't heard this song, go to Jenny's MySpace page and check it out (Christ, I feel like such a thirteen-year-old for linking to a MySpace page (Sorry, BIYF)). I never cared much for Rilo Kiley, but I love this song. Jenny is my new indie girlfriend.

GHS: 2 (for the Single White Female thing)

I Hope This Prevents Zed v. Chag

Zed came to me yesterday and issued an ultimatum.

Zed: Dad, I'm eleven months old now. Isn't it time to start writing about me more on that website of yours?
Me: I do write about you.
Zed: Whatever. I can count on one hand the number of times you've written about me.
Me: That's not true! And you can't even count!
Zed: You know what I mean. That site should be called Zoey's World.
Me: Well maybe if you did something interesting...

And then he started crying. And throwing around words like lawyers and emancipation. Christ, these kids watch way too much television.

So in the hopes of staving off a lawsuit, here's what Zed's been up to lately:

MOBILITY

After months of worrying on my behalf, Zed finally crawled on Christmas Eve. Now? He's moving around like a champ, unable to stay in one place for too long. He's begun sitting on his knees and pulling up on furniture and the steps. He's even walking a little if we hold his hands!

Unfortunately, with this increased mobility comes a new set of problems. He has a morbid fascination with power outlets, cabinets, and extension cords. He's got toys all over the floor, easily within his reach, yet he'd rather trek across the room and play with the lamp cord. Is this a guy thing? We never needed to put safety devices on our cupboards or outlets for his sister (but did anyway). [Please stop comparing me to the Golden Child.–Zed]

Diaper changes have become a major ordeal. He sits up, rolls over, spins on his head–it's like he thinks it's an amusement park ride. I'm not as fully evolved as some people, so like Matthew, I could really use a changing table with leather wrist and ankle restraints (you know, like the beds you find in a psych ward (not that I have any experience with psych wards (although I probably should))).

LANGUAGE SKILLS

Zed is still not saying much. He can say mama, dada (his favorite word), nana (his term for his grandmother), and bobble (our family's word for pacifier) in addition to the aforementioned lawyers and emancipation.

PERSONALITY

Zed loves to laugh. He is ticklish from head to toe and can emit the deepest belly laugh of any kid I've ever heard. But no one makes him laugh like his sister. He thinks she's the cat's meow. I only hope their relationship continues to blossom.

I love the way he reaches for me first thing in the morning. Ella brings him into our bedroom as I'm waking up and Zed all but jumps out of her arms trying to get to me. It's a great way to start the day.

I need to stop calling him Pooh Boy, but he's not making it easy for me to do so. Zoey cannot watch Sesame Street while he's in the room because The Count and a lot of the secondary monsters (anyone who's not Elmo, Oscar, Grover, or Cookie Monster) bring him to tears. The other afternoon while I was feeding him, he looked out the window and saw the trees blowing and started crying. He really needs to toughen up or Zoey's going to make his life h-e-l-l.

EATING HABITS

I don't think he's ever going to eat real food. We have tried to get him to eat everything: pizza, Goldfish, mashed potatoes, rice, vegetables, etc., but he acts like we've covered our offering with rat feces. He sticks out his tongue and makes god-awful faces as soon as we put it to his mouth. But he'll play with it all day if we let him! And if perchance the food makes it past his hypersensitive taste buds, he gags as if we've stuffed an entire turkey leg in his mouth. Because that's what we're feeding him: rat-feces flavored turkey drumsticks.

Who wants to come to our house for dinner?

The Cynical Guide To Parenting: Threats

Zoey has been an absolute hellion lately. She's a good girl roughly 75% of the time, but lately she has been operating at the 50% level. I have finally figured out why.

For a solid month, she was a good girl 90% of the time. The reason? We were constantly telling her things like, "Santa's watching" or "Santa only brings presents to good boys and girls." It was great.

But now, not only does she have a lot of "badness" to make up for, there's nothing we can hold over her head to keep her in line. Wouldn't it be nice if there was a holiday every month parents could use to threaten entice their children with?

Oh, but there is. (And all of these holidays are real. I got them off the web. And the web never lies.)

January

There aren't many official holidays this month (New Year's Day, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day), so let's take a look at the weirder holidays (which is something we'll have to do for many of the months). In January, one can celebrate Play God Day, National Hugging Day (yuck!), and International Skeptics Day (note to self: look into this one), but I'm going with Thomas Crapper Day.
Holiday: Thomas Crapper Day, January 27
If They're Good: Chocolate (you'll notice an ongoing theme).
If They're Bad: Something that looks like chocolate, but tastes nowhere near as yummy.

February

Holiday: Valentine's Day, February 14
If They're Good: Chocolate, candy hearts.
If They're Bad: Cupid shoots them with an arrow.

March

Holiday: St. Patrick's Day, March 17
If They're Good: Gold-covered chocolate coins (combines two of a child's greatest loves: money and candy).
If They're Bad: The leprechaun gives their Daddy copious amounts of crappy green beer. The Leprechaun pays them a visit.

April

Holiday: Easter, Varies
If They're Good: Chocolate, candy eggs.
If They're Bad: The Easter Bunny eggs their bicycles. Or just leaves droppings.

May

Cinco de Mayo, Mother's Day, and Memorial Day aren't very frightening. Unless you're sadistic enough to take the child's mother away on Mother's Day.
Holiday: Clean Your Room Day, May 10
If They're Good: If they "celebrate" Clean Your Room Day, reward them with Eat What You Want Day (May 11).
If They're Bad: If they fail to "celebrate" Clean Your Room Day, punish them by making them eat healthy on Eat What You Want Day.

June

Once again, there is not much to pick from in the form of traditional holidays.
Holiday: Pee On Earth Day, June 21 (This is the day when you're not supposed to flush your toilets and use your collected urine to water your outside plants. Ugh. No thanks.)
If They're Good: Let them urinate outside. C'mon, what kid doesn't love to take a whiz in the woods?
If They're Bad: Even I'm not that mean.

July

Independence Day just isn't threatening.
Holiday: All Or Nothing Day, July 26
If They're Good: Amass a pile of cool stuff: toys, candy, etc. If they behave, they can have the entire pile.
If They're Bad: Do I have to spell it out for you?

August

Are there any real holidays in August?
Holiday: Sea Serpent Day, August 17 (Finally! Something to scare the little ones!)
If They're Good: Chocolate.
If They're Bad: Let's just say the Labor Day trip to the beach should be awfully interesting.

September

You could always threaten to make them work on Labor Day.
Holiday: Video Games Day, September 12
If They're Good: Buy them a new video game.
If They're Bad: Take a few of their old video games to the pawnshop and buy something for yourself.

October

Holiday: Halloween, October 31
If They're Good: They get to eat all their Halloween candy.
If They're Bad: You get to eat all their Halloween candy.

November

Does your child have an irrational fear of turkeys? No? Neither does mine.
Holiday: World Kindness Day, November 13
If They're Good: If they live up to the holiday, they're allowed to celebrate Pumpkin Pie Day (November 21).
If They're Bad: If they don't, they must celebrate Have A Bad Day Day (November 19).
I was really grasping at straws for November. Help?

December

Holiday: Christmas, December 25
If They're Good: Presents. Duh!
If They're Bad: Lump of coal, no presents -- be creative!

This article is part of the ongoing series The Cynical Guide To Parenting.

Porn or Toddlerspeak: You Make The Call!

Here's a fun game to play over the weekend. All three of these phrases were heard in the Cynical Dad household in the past twenty-four hours. Your mission is to decide whether each phrase came from my three-year-old daughter or from a three-year-old porno DVD.

Phrases

1. "Blow me, daddy."
2. "You can tinkle on me."
3. "Come on. Just suck it. We need to go to Target."
   

Answers

1. Toddlerspeak. We went out to eat last night and Zoey blew the paper on her straw at me and hit me in the face. She thought it was the funniest thing in the world. She was letting me know I was free to retaliate.
2. Toddlerspeak. Zoey doesn't flush the toilet after she tinkles (God, I hate that word). I went in there (not alone, of course!) soon after she did and she was letting me know that I was free to relieve myself on top of her waste. I did tell her the correct phrase should have been "You can tinkle on mine." But then I said, "Maybe you shouldn't say either phrase."
3. Trick question. This phrase was actually uttered by me (get your minds out of the gutter!). I had just rolled up her JELL-O Pudding Stick and she was dancing around and making funny faces at me instead of eating (or sucking) the last bite.
   

Sorry. I may have shared entirely too much with you today. But as Barney says, "Sharing is caring!"

GHS: 2 (there's just something so wrong in hearing your daughter blurt out the phrase, "Blow me, daddy.")

At Least I'm Not I-Hate-You-Daddy Bear

Last weekend, I TiVo'd Care Bears: Big Wish Movie for Zoey. Since she received a Care Bear for Christmas, I figured she might like to see a movie about them.

Was I ever right.

As a result, we have been experiencing Care Bearmania in the Cynical Dad household (which is great because anything that gives even a slight reprieve from the 24/7 talk of Disney Princesses is truly a blessing). Last night, Zoey gave us all our own Care Bear monikers.

Zoey is Love-A-Lot Bear. Ella is Laugh-A-Lot Bear. Zed is Baby Bear or Sleepy Bear, depending on Zoey's mood.

Me? I'm Grumpy Bear.

Thanks, babe! But it's probably not that inaccurate of a name for me. Especially when I first wake up in the morning.

But I will say this much for the Care Bears. Despite the fact that they're sickly sweet and gag inducing, they lead a very easy life. Why? Their personal traits are their names. Wouldn't life be so much simpler if we were like that? You would instantly know what kind of person someone was just by knowing his or her name.

Add in the accompanying belly tattoo and life would be even easier. We wouldn't even have to talk to a person, just look at his or her stomach and we'd know all we needed to know about that person (any other misanthropes in the audience totally digging this Utopia or is it just me?).

Just think of how great life would be if we all had Care Bear names!

We'd want to befriend Responsible-Babysitter Bear, Lots-Of-Money Bear, and Has-Super-Bowl-Tickets Bear.

We'd shy away from Poor-Hygiene Bear, Whines-A-Lot Bear, and One-Bad-Day-Away-From-Snapping-And-Becoming-A-Serial-Killer Bear.

Saving-Myself-For-Marriage Bear would have lots of lonely nights whereas Gives-Great-Head Bear would never know solitude. God, what I could've done with this information in high school.

Now I want to hear from you guys. If you were a Care Bear, what would your name be?

Thanks in advance,
Neurotic Bear

GHS: 0

The Cynical Guide To Parenting

I have recently stumbled onto something that will change the face of human development. I have created a comprehensive guide to parenting that will be used for generations to come. This information could very well be worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize. Or at the very least, a lucrative book deal.

Anyway.

In order to be a perfect parent, one must give 110%*. Here's the breakdown:

• 45% Love
• 14% Compassion
• 12% Instruction (Teaching/Learning/Nurturing)
• 9% Security
• 8% Television
• 6% Discipline
• 5% Fun (Play time, etc.)
• 3% Threats
• 2% Naps/Quiet Time
• 2% Chocolate
• 1% Bribes
• 1% Play Dates
• 1% Alcohol
• 1% Band-Aids
  

If you have anything to add to this list, please leave a comment or send an email. I'll make sure they add your name to the plaque.

*My inner mathematician fought with all the voices in my head over this joke. "One cannot give more than 100%," he argued. Needless to say, he lost. The last we heard from him, he was on his way to Vegas to try out his Blackjack Theory. We wish him the best of luck and a speedy return. The checkbook needs to be balanced.

Bite Me

I know. I've been very needy lately (Vote for me! Leave a comment!). You people come here to be entertained and I haven't been holding up my end of the bargain.

Yeah, I realize you don't come here to be entertained. You come here because I make you feel like you're a great parent (or at the very least, like you're doing a better job than I am). Or maybe, as one of you put it, I make you feel sane. I would like to think that means my writing has a soothing effect on your psyche. But I know it really means that next to me, the guy that stands on the corner in the aluminum foil hat arguing with the clouds is the poster child for equilibrium.

Anyway, for being so patient with me while I've had my head up my own ass, I've decided to reward you with the tale of one of my most embarrassing moments as a father.

Last March, three weeks after Zed was born, I went to pick up Zoey from preschool. She had been having a rough time adjusting to sharing Ella and I with her new baby brother.

I knew something was amiss when Zoey was the last child to be brought out of the building. My heart sank a little more when Zoey was holding her teacher's hand when she came out (instead of the usual running at full speed while yelling, "Daddy!"). And then her teacher said the six words no parent wants to hear: "Tell Daddy what you did today." Zoey didn't say a word. She didn't need to say a word. I could tell by the expression on her face she had done something wrong.

"Zoey bit Alan today."

I was crushed. This was the first time I had ever heard another person utter a negative word about Zoey. I wanted to melt like The Wicked Witch Of The West those dudes at the end of Raiders Of The Lost Ark (manlier reference).

But you want to know the crazy part? The teachers began comforting me. I guess they could see I was upset. Must have been the uncontrollable sobbing.

"It's something a lot of children go through."

"It's just a stage."

"I'm sure it's only because she has a new brother."

"I'm sure it won't happen again."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

But how could I not worry about it? My daughter had bitten someone! I took Zoey home that day and explained to her that no matter how mad we get, no matter how frustrated we feel, we DO NOT HIT OR BITE ANOTHER PERSON. It was a Friday, so I had all weekend to drill this point home. The poor girl probably hated me by Monday morning.

When Monday rolled around, I was dreading preschool. I dropped her off, came home, and sat by the phone all morning. Every time the phone rang, I just knew it was her preschool calling to inform me she had bitten the entire class, both her teachers, and the preschool director. I wondered if one could buy mini Hannibal Lecter masks. I was a wreck.

And then it was time to pick her up. Since all the mothers and I had to wait outside under an awning while the children were released one by one, I knew there was no chance I would avoid Alan's mother. I thought about driving around the school until I saw her leave. I contemplated shaving my head and donning sunglasses in the hopes no one would recognize me. I actually considered calling the school to tell them I needed to pick her up early, but knew this wouldn't work because I would not be able to do this every day. So I decided to do the right thing.

I stood under a corner of the awning, staring at my feet the entire time.

But nothing happened. Zoey was a good girl that day. And the day after. And the day after. And so on.

Eventually, I began talking to the moms again. Even Alan's mom. We are good friends to this day (although neither one of us have ever mentioned the biting incident).

And Zoey has never bitten anyone else (knock wood).

GHS: 10 (the max)

Zoey's Not The Only Ho Around Here

Update: I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to vote for me. I would also like to thank the fine folks at Child's Play x2, Friday Playdate, MFA Mama, and Morphing Into Mama, all of which encouraged their readers to vote for me. This is a great honor as I respect and admire all four of these people immensely. I don't care if I come in last anymore (which may very well happen) because it feels like I've already won.

I'll stop now before this turns into a Sally Field moment. Now on to the original post:

Ok. You can now vote for your favorite finalists for The Bob Awards. And I would truly appreciate your vote.

I know I have no chance of winning Best Daddy Blog. Like last time, I just don't want to come in last place.

Next week, I promise no more self-indulgent posts (no more vote for me crap, no more pleas for comments). I must have been hard to stomach this week.

Have a great weekend.

Like Santa Claus Said

It's sad when your fears and neuroses are so conspicuous that others can easily prey upon them. And it's downright frightening when your own daughter exploits them.

Last night, Ella and Zoey were in the playroom, working on the alphabet (Zoey can write her first name and a few other letters). Before they went to take a bath, Ella wrote Zoey's name on the easel:

Z O E Y
H O L L A N D

This morning, while Zed was taking one of his catnaps, Zoey decided she wanted to play "Teacher" with me. Basically, it's working on the alphabet, only she's the one who asks me what the letters are. You know, just to make sure her dad isn't an idiot. So we went over to the easel and Zoey quizzed me on the letters (I only missed one!).

And then she got the eraser out.

"I'm going to erase one letter," she said. The result?

Z O E Y
H O L L A N

"I'm going to erase more letters," she said. The result?

Z O E Y
H O L L

You can see where this is heading, can't you? I could too. "More letters," she said as she erased the two Ls, leaving:

Z O E Y
H O

She then put the eraser down and walked away. I know if her back wasn't turned to me as she walked away, I would have been able to see the evil grin on her face.

Foreshadowing? Coincidence? I'm praying for the latter.

GHS: 4

The BoB Awards

The finalists for the Best of Blogs Awards have been announced and there are some folks I truly admire on those lists. My former mates over at DadCentric are finalists for Best Daddy Blog. Susan at Friday Playdate and MIM at Morphing Into Mama are finalists for Best Mommy Blog. Wood and Billie Joe Dutch at Sweet Juniper! are finalists for Best New Blog. Congratulations to you all. You are all very talented and I wish you the best of luck.

DELURKING WEEK CONTINUES

First of all, I would like to thank Maggie, Meredith, Wood, and Jen for coming out of hiding and leaving a comment yesterday. And thanks to my regular commenters for coming out in full force yesterday as well.

But I want more! So if you haven't commented before, leave a comment. Tell me a little bit about yourself. Tell me why you come to this site. Seriously, why does anyone come to this site? What's wrong with you people?

Miscellaneous Debris

The Second Child Gets The Shaft

Zed has become totally enthralled with dropping things from his highchair. We'll give him something to occupy his time while we (try to) eat, but most of our mealtime is spent picking up various objects he has intentionally dropped and handing them back to him, only to have him drop them again 4.6 seconds later. He has us trained very well.

Tonight, we went out to eat. After he had dropped his pacifier for the 6,386th time, the waiter accidentally kicked it. The waiter picked it up and offered to go to the kitchen and wash it. We told him we'd be fine. He insisted. Once again, we refused. He reluctantly gave the pacifier to Ella, who dipped it in her iced tea and handed it to Zed. You could tell by the look on the waiter's face he was pretty skeeved out. He must've thought we were the nastiest family in the world!

Look. When Zoey was a baby, we were much more neurotic better parents. If she dropped her pacifier, we would immediately pick it up, boil it in water, and call in a priest to bless it before handing it back to her. Zed? He's the second child. The second child gets the shaft. Unless it falls in toxic waste, we'll just give the pacifier back to him.

I'd like to meet Mr. Waiter down the line after he's had two kids and then hear his position on pacifier cleansing.

Narcikidstic Sites

Added a few sites over the weekend that you guys need to check out if you aren't already familiar with them. First two "mom sites": Grumppopotamus (which is a much more clever term than the phrase we use, crank-ass) and Home On The Fringe (love the logo, which is how the world looks to me most mornings). Go ahead, check them out. I'll wait.

Back? Good. The next site I'd like to make you aware of is parent hacks, "a collaborative weblog of practical parenting wisdom." They're off to a great start and I encourage all parents (even you seasoned pros) to check them out.

And In This Corner, Weighing In At 34 Pounds, Zoey The Marauder

My girls have been fighting lately. A lot. I don't know what the problem is. Last night, their problems came to a head (foreshadowing pun).

Ella told Zoey she couldn't do something. Zoey got up in Ella's face and started grumbling. Ella once again told her, "No!" Zoey then proceeded to head butt Ella. We were too shocked to do anything but laugh, which just made Zoey even madder.

No more WWE Monday Night Raw for Zoey. Just kidding. Only Zed and I watch it. Just kidding again! I haven't watched wrestling since I was eight years old and found out it was fake. I think that explains why I'm so disillusioned now.

I didn't think daughters started having problems with their mothers until they became teenagers. We're in for a long, bumpy ride.

Do they have military preschools?

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

On Monday, I read on Rude Cactus that this is Delurking Week (De-Lurking Week? Sorry. Anytime I see hyphenated words like that I'm reminded of the late, great T. Herman Zweibel.). I have since seen many other sites follow suit. Anyway, the deal goes like this: if you're a lurker on this site, this week is when you're supposed to come out of hiding and leave a comment. I would also encourage my regular readers and first-timers to do the same. I've only had double-digit comments on six of my entries. And four of those were about sex, diarrhea, and/or vomiting. Says something about you guys, no?

So please leave a comment. Here, I'll even make it easy it for you. Just copy and paste the following sentences:

I commented. Happy, Mr. Narcissist?

Now just sign your name and leave your web address. Wasn't that easy? And fun?

Stroke my ego!

Rock 'N' Roll Lifestyle

I've always loved going to concerts. In my youth, so many moons ago, I would attend three or four shows a month, most at this great little club down the road. This club would book alternative acts on the way up (and some on the way back down). At this venue, I've seen such acts as Nirvana, Oasis, Ice-T, Rancid, Cracker, The Cramps, Sonic Youth, Ben Folds Five, Concrete Blonde, and Susanna Hoffs.

True story: my friends and I were at the club to see a band that we followed regularly. Ms. Hoffs was the opening act at a show at a nearby amphitheater that evening. Apparently, her manager was friends with the manager of the band we had went to see, so she agreed to drop in, totally unannounced, and sing a few songs with the band.

Confession time: ever since I first saw the video for Manic Monday, I've thought Susanna Hoffs was one of the cutest little hotties in music. So when she hit the stage, I pushed my way to the front. She performed two covers: Hazy Shade Of Winter and Feel Like Makin' Love. And I swear to God, the entire time she sung Feel Like Makin' Love, she was staring at me. She was singing that song to me!

Until my dying days, I will always maintain that I could have lured Susanna Hoffs to my bedroom (conveniently located in the basement of my Mom's house) had I not been so shy.

Huh? You don't think so? Perhaps I should've called this site Delusional Dad.

There were also times over the years when I would want to see bigger bands in concert halls, coliseums, or amphitheaters. And I usually had excellent seats. I've had twelfth row (or better) floor seats for Jane's Addiction, David Bowie/Nine Inch Nails, Nine Inch Nails/Marilyn Manson, Guns N' Roses/Faith No More, Prince, They Might Be Giants, and a lot of glam/hard rock bands I'm too ashamed to mention.

Every man's got a weakness or guilty pleasure. Mine is songs about fast cars, faster women, and rock 'n' roll, sung by guys slathered in more makeup than most women wear. Sue me.

The best seats I've ever had at a show? Second row, center stage for Public Enemy. Amazing seats, amazing show.

You may wonder how I managed to get such good seats. I camped out for tickets. Let me slip my Grandpa hat on. Kids today, they've got it easy. They got their fancy cellular phones, their Internet computers. They never have to see a ticket agent! And you know what? That's a shame. There's something fun about camping out overnight in front of a record store or a mall, talking to people with the same musical tastes as you until the sun comes up.

Or perhaps I am was a loser.

Towards the end, I really had it down to a science. I would camp out at ticket outlets at least sixty miles away from the venue. True, I lost out on most of the Rock 'N' Roll Camaraderie I heralded in the previous paragraphs, but I got much better seats.

Well, I'm pleased to announce that after all this time, I'm still able to get good seats to shows. This weekend, I ordered tickets over the phone (I feel like such a poseur).

My seats? Fourth row, center stage.

The show? Dora The Explorer's Pirate Adventure.

Rock on!

Yeah, I can so feel your jealousy.

GHS: 0

The Gratingest* Show On Earth**

Zoey loves to sing. Usually AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS. Passerbys and her grandmothers comment on how lovely her singing voice is. And I have to wonder, "Are they deaf?" Because I am. If you had to listen to her caterwauling all day long, your ears would bleed until you'd eventually grow deaf as well.

Imagine a high-pitched, unintentionally off-key version of the first verse of My Way by Sid Vicious. Now toss in the mumbled and slurred vocal styling of Shane MacGowan. Now imagine it on a forty-five minute loop. Are you developing a migraine yet?

She's also been writing her own songs lately. Her latest? Frosty On Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer, which sounds perverse but... is, actually. It involves, among other things, a sleepover between the two. Kind of gives a whole new meaning to the thumpety-thump-thump portion of the Frosty song.

Zoey is also a ham. She loves an audience. So, one might think that if you could combine Zoey's love for singing with an audience, she would be champing at the bit to perform, no?

No.

Last year, Zoey's preschool held a Christmas program. In came thirty little angels dressed in white with halos of garland atop their heads. Except one.

Zoey's halo was around her neck. We were not off to a good start.

After the teachers somehow managed to lead the children to the altar (the phrase herding cats comes to mind), the music started and most of the children began singing. Guess who chose to remain silent? She just stood there with a deer-in-the-headlights look, acting like she had never heard the song before or had any idea where she was. That's my girl!

After a song ended, one of the four-year-old kids would come out dressed as a shepherd, wise man, etc. and mutter a few soft-spoken words. Then another song would begin. Zoey remained stoic through the whole thing. In fact, the only time she showed any interest or emotion was when they would sing a song that required hand gestures. She would act out the song (admittedly, not as animatedly as her classmates) but would not sing. Perhaps she has a future as a mime?

Apparently, wearing the halo around her neck wasn't nonconformist enough for her, so she took it off and started twirling it around her arm. This must have been quite an exhausting activity, because after a few seconds of halo twirling, she had to sit down on the altar. Of course, four other children followed suit, causing the teachers to scurry over to rectify the situation.

Soon, she became totally bored with everything so she started looking at her classmates. Her eyes fell on the watch of her neighbor (and future fellow gang member). Since two-year-olds can only look with their hands, Zoey reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist. The girl recoiled in horror, put her other hand on her wrist, and turned her back to Zoey.

Like that move was going to deter my girl!

Zoey became much more forceful while yelling, "But I just want to see it!" Finally, a teacher came over and separated the two.

Luckily, the entire program was only ten minutes long. I would've hated to see what Zoey could've accomplished given a few more moments of boredom.

Last spring, they had another program at the end of the school year. This one was held outside on a bleacher. Unfortunately, they put Zoey on the bottom row, giving her easy access to the ground. While she miraculously remained seated for the length of the program, she didn't sing or act out any of the songs, as she was too busy picking blades of grass the entire time. 0 for 2!

My stomach was upset with antici... pation the morning of this year's Christmas program. I was expecting the worst and hoping for the best, as my inner pessimist is so fond of saying. About halfway into the program, I saw her turn to the girl next to her. Her brow lowered, her cheeks puffed out, and I thought to myself, "Oh, hell. It's on now."

Zoey got right up into the other girl's face and started wagging her finger at her. Apparently the other girl had accidentally hit Zoey's hand. How do I know this? Because I could plainly hear what Zoey was yelling at the girl, despite being five rows back in the church.

And then the girl pulled out the greatest anti-bullying tactic I have ever seen: she put both hands on Zoey's face and reached in and gave her a kiss on the mouth. Zoey pulled back, but the girl did it again, and both girls started laughing. Crisis averted!

Wonder what would have happened if I had tried a move like that growing up? I know, they would've just kicked my ass even harder.

But the day wasn't a total wash. Zoey acted out a few of the songs and even sang one word to a song. The word? Baa (it was a song about the manger scene). At the top of her lungs, of course.

Baby steps, my friend.

Can't wait until next year!

GHS: 4 (3 for Xmas 2004, 1 for Spring 2005, 0 for Xmas 2005 (it's not like the events came as a shock or anything))

*Yes, I know gratingest is not a word. It is today!
**I apologize for the lateness of this post. I had to find the videotape of last year's Christmas program as I had successfully blocked the events of that day from my mind. Oh, the soothing powers of denial!

Sex And The Suburbs

I know a lot of stay-at-home dads have trouble fitting in with the moms in their children's playgroups or blending in on the playground. But as much as I may gripe about double standards, I really do have the best of both worlds.

In my neighborhood, I spend more time with the wives than I do with the husbands. We'll chat while the kids play. Then the guys come home from work and I put on my Guy Hat and we start talking about sports. My Mondays this fall were spent having coffee in the morning with the moms from Zoey's preschool class followed by Monday Night Football in the evening with the neighborhood guys.

I'm lucky. While I'm one of the guys, it also seems I'm one of the girls. They act very comfortable around me.

Sometimes, a little too comfortable.

Last week, Zoey, Zed, and I attended a brunch with most of the kids (and their moms) in Zoey's preschool class at the home of one of the moms. There's no way I would invite fifteen kids into my home. Unless I was looking to collect insurance on it.

It was nice. She had hired two babysitters to watch the children (except Zed; there was no way I was allowing some teenager to watch my boy. I've mentioned I'm neurotic, right?) while the moms (and me) ate brunch and chatted.

So the moms and I were sitting at the table when Woman #1 began talking about her daughter co-sleeping with her and her husband. Woman #2 asked, "What does that do to your sex life?"

I looked at Woman #1, expecting to find her blushing. But no, Woman #1 answered back! In front of me! And with her answer came the great unlocking of a sexual Pandora's Box as all the women began talking about sex.

Seriously, I felt like I was sitting in the cafe in Sex And The City.

Question! Does that make me Stanford?

I'm thinking, Hello! Y-Chromosome present! But they didn't stop. As I began eyeing the table, searching frantically for a pencil or something sharp to jam into my ear canals, their conversation grew more graphic.

Look. I'm not a prude. I'm just extremely shy and uncomfortable in social situations. I'm uncomfortable enough in my own skin, let alone in a group of people, let alone in a group of women, let alone in a group of women talking about sex. I was trying to think of a way to steer the conversation over to sports (which is my modus operandi when I can't add anything to a conversation), when I realized I had the ultimate Get Out Of Jail Free card.

Zed!

I got up, excused myself, and Zed I headed to another room for a diaper change.

His, not mine.

GHS: 0 (at least none caused by my kids)

Meme On

Okay, the weirdgirl tagged me with this meme thingie:

Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot.

1. Queen of Spain
2. Becky
3. childsplayx2
4. the weirdgirl
5. Cynical Dad (is this a pyramid scheme?)
   

Select five people to play (but only if they want to).

1. Susan
2. MFA Mama
3. Callie
4. Kara
5. You! Yes, you!
   

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Ella and I were in year two of our seven-year courtship. We were living with another girl in a tiny rented house. I was publishing an online satirical magazine that no one read. By the end of the year, said magazine had me writing a spec screenplay for Sony and turning down offers to speak at colleges and high schools due to my severe stage fright. I had also returned to college, this time to get a computer science degree.

What were you doing one year ago?
Hyperventilating. We were one month away from Zed's birth and I was freaking out. "TWO kids? I can barely handle Zoey! I don't know how to take care of TWO kids!"

Still don't.

Five snacks you enjoy:

1. Dark chocolate
2. Little Debbie Nutty Bars
3. Dill pickle potato chips
4. Cheese (any kind will do)
5. Beer (the cheaper, the better)
   

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
All. Of. Them. Seriously.

I've been a singer or played in bands since I was thirteen (which I realize goes against my stage fright, but here's the secret: I always looked down at the ground and paced while singing), been a college DJ, and have surrounded myself with music since I was three (seriously). So, to switch things up a bit, here are the five songs I used to perform most often at karaoke:

1. My Way (the Sid Vicious version)
2. One Way Or Another (Blondie)
3. Should I Stay Or Should I Go? (The Clash)
4. Ballroom Blitz (Sweet)
5. A Murder Of One (Counting Crows)
   

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:

1. Let Ella quit her job as well.
2. Buy lots of cool stuff for the kids.
3. Squash my enemies.
4. Buy a laptop.
5. [insert something here that makes me look like a caring, conscientious individual]
   

Five bad habits:

1. Not responding to emails.
2. Not answering the phone.
3. Spending too much time online at night.
4. Sloppiness.
5. Nervous shaking.
   

Five things you like doing:

1. ANYTHING with my family.
2. Listening to music.
3. Writing.
4. Playing fantasy football.
5. Anything but THIS MEME right now. It was so much fun in the beginning!
   

Five things you would never wear or buy again:
Ok. I'm taking this to mean five things I would never wear. Just FYI.

1. A Red Sox cap.
2. A jeans jacket.
3. Cowboy boots.
4. A suit (except for weddings and funerals).
5. Golf/polo shirts.
   

Five favorite toys:

1. TiVo (but it's not really a toy; more like a life partner)
2. Caller ID (See Bad Habit #2)
3. Do sex toys count?
4. How about the kids' toys?
5. I'm spent.