starting to crack

First girls U10 soccer game was this past Saturday.

We showed up to find that our team of 11 3rd graders and 2 4th graders was going to play a team entirely comprised of 4th graders.

So what the big difference you ask ? We'll apparently all that shit they say about the evils of giving steriods to dairy cows is correct. Because starting at 4th grade, girls start to grow a freakish rates.

All that passing and trapping and running around cones doesn't mean shit when you're a 3rd grade girl getting run over by 5'6" girls with fully developed breasts and moustaches.

Anyway, it was a fitting ending to an otherwise shit-laden week.

I'm really starting to crack. I can't take much more bullshit and despite increasing my intake of beer to record levels I don't think I can stave of the inevitable flipping out that is about to occur. My biggest hope is that I can get through one more PTO meeting ( yeah there's ANOTHER ONE tonight) without going after someone else with a show shovel.

Interestingly enough, despite all the termoil, stress, and alcohol....or maybe because of it, I'm playing the greatest golf of my life. I recently started playing again and after a lifetime of shooting 90, I find myself about 8-10 shots better. I flirted with breaking 80 last week, followed that up with a 2 over 38 for nine a few days later, and shot the lights out this past Saturday.

Maybe if I sign up for volunteer community penis piercing at the local Church it will send me over the edge and I can join the PGA tour.

Here's hoping to getting through the night

The PTO

I think I've provided some background on the PTO and how I was duped into the whole PTO thing etc etc. I've tried to put that in the past and really focus in making the best of the situation.

Right now my main challenge is in dealing with the other board members. They're extremely nice people, and I think I'm finding that part of the problem. They're super psyched about their kids, they're super psyched about the school, and they're super psyched about the PTO. Everything is totally fucking awesomely wonderful. Most of the members are stay at home Moms who've directed all of their energies into the school. The few guys who sit on the board are middle management business men and/or salesmen who look at the board as a networking tool and a chance to practice the strategies found in the self-help/business guide that they're currently reading. So I get a lot of business cards, overly firm handshakes, and guys paying earnest attention to my inane answers to their equally earnest questions.

The fact that their positive attitude bothers me makes me feel like a dick. How can I be critical of someone for being into the shit that they're supposed to be into ? These are the pillars of the community and I should be looking to them with admiration and gratitude for their efforts, but instead I find myself contemplating what they'd all look like wearing a ball gag in some rednecks basement or devising a plan to slip peyote into their double decaf lattes.

I think it stems from a combination of two factors. The first is that I don't have any interest in competing with the people for airtime, or with their enthusiasm, or their pride....they win. And the other factor is that they make me feel like I'm a douche for not being into the whole thing like they are...I recognize that's my issue and not their fault, but it does foster at least a little resentment and a ton of uncomfortable feelings.

So anyway, in light of all of that I just try to go to the meetings, keeps a positive attitude, be polite, and then get the fuck out of there.

Last night was the first "Back to School Night" of the year at the intermediate center, grades 3-6. For me this has always been "PTO has you hostage night" because you come to the school under the auspices that you're going to go meet your kids teacher, but while they have you the PTO uses the event to proselytize to the masses and pass around the hat. The difference this time is that instead of being the guy in the audience who has to hear 8 different people get up in the front of the room and go on about the ages/grade/teacher of each of their kids and how super totally wicked awesome the school and the PTO is....I'm now going to be one of those guys in the front of the room doing the rambling.

So I got home from work last evening and had an hour to spare. Anxious about the impending meeting I decided that the best course of action was to go for a run and get rid of some of the stress. I ran for about 30 minutes, came home, and showered. After I dried off and started getting dressed I realized that I wasn't totally dry. I took off my shirt, towelled off again, put the shirt back on and was wet. For one reason or another, the shower didn't take and I found myself 20 minutes from the start of the meeting and sweating like a pig.

I was starting to panic a bit, but I realized that my only hope was to relax and settle my system down. I started doing some deep breathing and trying to relax as I headed out the door with a shirt, tie, and towel in hand. I jumped into the car and drove over to the school with the air conditioning on full blast. When I got to the school, I turned all the air vents on me and toweled myself off and to my great relief it all seemed to be working. With the air still blasting I put on the shirt and tie, composed myself and started to walk into the school.

Two strides into the building I realized that the air conditioned deep freeze that I put myself through was only a temporary fix and as I started to walk into the auditorium I started to sweat at a rather unusual and I have to admit, repugnant rate. By the time that I sat down in my chair for the start of the meeting I look like I just swam a mile.

As if my life wasn't becoming complicated enough, just as the meeting is called to order the President leaned over and asked if I wouldn't mind making a couple of comments regarding the PTO ( which I know virtually nothing about) and then introduce the PTO Treasure ( who I regularly avoid because I'm not sure if his name is Chris, Steve or Scott). Two minutes later I was handed a microphone.

I turned around to face the crowd and without any fanfare went right into a very abbreviated explanation that I was new the organization, but would welcome any suggestions, and I wished them the best for the year. About a third of the way into those statements I could feel the first beads of sweat running down my cheeks, and by the time I wrapped up my bit, I could have used a snorkel. I'm sure I was quite the site.

At the end of my speech I looked over at the Treasurer and considered what his name might be. No luck. I mean, I'm a guy with pretty good memory. I can rattle of figures and statistics with unusual accuracy. I can recite people's phone numbers from years ago. I can remember with precision poker hands from two years ago like I was sitting there. But tell me someones name and it's likely that I wont remember it by the time that we've stopped shaking hands. I narrowed it down the Chris or Steve but that's about as far as I could go. I just simply handed him the microphone and sat down.

The treasurer stood up, walked to the podium and much to my chagrin said, " Hi, my name is Steve and I'd like to thank Flick for that heartfelt introduction".

I hate the PTO.

yikes

I just took a disc out of my James Brown: Live at the Apollo case and shoved it in the drive expecting to hear " Please, Please, Please" instead Hammersmaith Palais from the Clash starting coming out of the speakers. Not the most unexpected sound but as close to the opposite of James Brown as you can get.

If Urkle was white, that might be more opposite than James Brown, but for now we'll have to settle for the clash.

You be the judge.

coining a new phrase

The new phrase I just invented is:

" Happier than an Amish girl with a weedwhacker "

For those of you not from these parts, there seem to be a couple of exceptions that the Amish make in their pursuit to stave off advancements in technology. How they come about these exceptions is beyond me, but the two that I've seen somewhat regularly are letting teenage boys use chainsaws and letting teenage girls use weedwhackers.

And over the years, as I've ridden my bike through the Amish countryside, I've found myself coming upon some of these young ladies in full Amish garb, usually with a pair of goggles on, weedwhacking away. And in each of those instances the girls were blissfully happy and completely unaware of my presence or anything to do with the world around them.

These reasons for this can, and should be, speculated upon by scholars and armchair philosophers as I think it might provide some insight into the nature of man. But for me, I'm happy to settle for a new saying.

And on an unrelated note, if you might find yourself too grown-up to dig Merlot and French impressionists, you'll not want to look at this.



Thankfully, I still find myself pleasantly unsophisticated.

Sometimes you get the dove and...

Last night I was riding my bike down this hill at around 25-30 mph. It was a rural road with 8 foot high corn on either creating a bobsled-chute-like feel as I flew down the hill and around the curves.

About half way down I spooked a dove sitting in the high grass. In these parts, that's not unusual as there are a lot of ground nesting birds and you just get used to them going ape shit when you ride up on them.

What WAS unusal this time was no sooner had the dove popped out of the grass and started flying out in front of my bike, then this huge fucking hawk fell out of the sky...I mean completely out of no where, going 300 mph....and slotted in head-high between me and the dove.

Now with the corn as high as it was, there was really nowhere left or right for the dove to go, so the dove just started hauling ass down the middle of the road. Right behind the dove and closing was the hawk, and right behind the hawk, keeping pace, was me.

It was like being part of Mutual of Omaha's Wild friggin Kingdom.

Unbelievably and inexplicably, just as the hawk got to the dove's tailfeathers he started to run out of gas. The dove put in one more dig and opened up a little bit of daylight. Then the hawk, recognizing that he was losing ground, just broke off hard left and peeled away over the tops of the corn.

Pretty cool.

I have a hangover in my ass

This one is new to me. I think it must be from drinking on an empty stomach AND being on some whoop ass anti-biotics. Whatever the cause, it's horrible. But at least there's no headache.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I never post anymore. I couldn't take the pressure of coming up with shit to say and I was worried that too many people close to me were reading this thing and sooner or later it was going to bite me in that ass. I figured a good summer lay off and a couple of political youtube clips should chase off all but the most stubborn of readers.

< I'm going to interrupt this post to tell you that I just ripped the most ass-stinkiest fart ever. It smells sort of like old meat floating in pig manure. 2 seconds after I let it rip, the secretary walked in with my mail and tried telling me something. After 10 seconds of her talking and both our eyes watering, she just gave up and walked out. Whats a brother to do?>

Anyway, you'd think that after all this time I would have come up with something interesting to write but the bet two things I came up with started with " I once had sex with a girl who was so short..." and " this one time I got crabs..." neither of which is really worthy of a comeback tale.

In the meantime I'll share this picture with you. I'll preface it by saying that my kids have a skewed view on life in general, but an especially twisted perspective on baseball in particular. When I was a kid I'd go one...maybe two...Phillies games a year. We'd usually sit in like the 300 level right field at the Vet, under the decking. In that shithole of a place, that meant we were a good 200 yards away from home plate. We'd see the Phillie phanatic only a a distance with our version of mascot entertainment being provided by whichever guy in our section was the first to get falldown drunk and start wresting with Veterans Stadium Security. There were no games, no fun stuff and our chances of catching a baseball were about one in a billion.

The only time I can remember getting anything was the time that they gave everyone in the stadium a full sized baseball bottle-bat. That, predictably, was a bad idea.

< The police cheif just walked in. I told him straight up, " Dude, I just beefed so come in at your own risk". Understandbly he didn't stick around>

Anyway, despite all those hardships, anytime that we had an opportunity to go to a game we were over the moon. Our excitement was only overshadowed by our appreciation for our parents, grandparents, or whomever was taking us to the game.

Now lets fast forward to 2007. My kids get to go to the games at least a half dozen times a summer. I'd say that 50% of the times that we've gone they've gotten something. Part of it is planning on my part, but the other part of it is this sick run of luck they're on. So far we've gotten prize packages, t-shirts slung into the crowd, a free pizza, gifts walking through the door, foam baseballs, and of course the coveted foul ball.

So on tuesday night, my parents decided to take TheBoy out to a Trenton Thunder ( Yankee AAA affiliate) game. Different team, different people taking him to the game, different friggin state. You'd think that the boy would, like any other kid, just go to the game, eat some cotton candy, and watch some baseball. Well, you'd be wrong. Here's TheBoy out on the field calling the start of the game.

I'm sure you've seen this

but Im posting it anyway. 1499 prisoners, one transvestite, and a Michael Jackson video...how can I NOT post it ?

more of the same

Don't play cards with this guy

great game

http://www.freeworldgroup.com/games6/gameindex/the-return.htm

Chocolate Rain

You can call me when you catch yourself humming this on your drive home tonight and thank me.

WORD

lying sack of shit

***Yet Landis asserts, "There is no culture of doping in cycling. Yes, there are riders who dope, but if you look at the pool of 5,000 or so pro riders in the world, the percentage is small. There are stock traders who cheat, but you don't hear people say there's a culture of cheating on Wall Street."***

First off retard people do say that there's a culture of cheating on Wall Street. That's what all those CEOs going to jail is about. What a maroon.

And there are NOT 5000 professional cyclists in the world. Not that many who are making a living and not that many who are subject to drug testing. That's just a load of shit that's up there with " the dog ate my homework" and " my extroneous testosterone is from drinking whiskey".

Landis is a lying sack of shit.

He doped. He's had teammates who have doped. And he damn well knows that there is a culture of doping in cycling. So statements like this remove the last little shred of credibility or even dignity that he held onto after threatening Greg LeMond.

Yeah, he cheated. But I think all of us could have understood and forgiven that.

But fuck him for lying about it. And more over, fuck him for using his family and friends to extort money out of people who have the decency to believe that someone wouldn't look you in the eye and lie.

He dared us to Believe again ( I mean the capital B) in Stage 17 and we had the rug yanked out from underneath of us. Now he's challenging everyone to believe again ?

Go rent Less Than Zero , that should tell you all you need to know.

Go work back bedrooms for your drug money Floyd, you aint getting any from me.

Lindgren's Prop Bet

Erik Lindgren wagered $350,000 that he could WALK 4 rounds of golf, carrying his own clubs, from the black tees ( 7200 yards), in Nevada in the summer, and shoot under 100 all 4 rounds.

the video

you guys are going to so hate me !

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/games/bloxorz

WSOP coverage

Thomas Wahlroos, who’s apparently a bit intoxicated, walked up to Roland de Wolfe’s table and knocked his chips all over the place. Afterwards, he then snuck up behind Phil Hellmuth and proceeded to knock HIS chips everywhere, only Phil was in the middle of a hand! This is in a WSOP event!



This incident happened during the $5,000 No Limit Hold'em Six-Handed event again, and involved Finnish poker pro Thomas Wahlroos, son of one of the wealthiest people in Finland.

Just after Hellmuth won a huge pot in which he called an 80k all-in bet with pocket aces and watched them hold up against his opponents pocket sixes, he went walking around the tournament area looking for someone to tell that he was most likely the new chip leader. He found Thomas Wahlroos.

An obviously intoxicated Wahlroos, who was apparently taking a break from the $1,000 Seven Card Stud Hi Lo event, eagerly listened to Hellmuth tell him about the size of his stack. At the end of the story he blurted with feigned incredulity, "chip leader? No way. Let me see." He then proceeded to follow Phil to his seat, and upon arrival swept the patiently and lovingly built chip stack (trust us, we watched him) into a jumbled heap of colors.

Wahlroos proceeded to crack (mainly himself) up, while several onlookers smirked and others just stared at the unfolding scene.

Phil yelled for the floor, calling for Thomas to be escorted from the building.

problem solved

A few years ago I had a friend who liked to take my dog for a walk.

I don't know why a grown man would want to walk around with a shit-zu, but that's really not the point of this story. Just accept the fact that this some something that he enjoyed doing.

One day after he and the dog came back I felt compelled to ask him what the fuck he and the dog did while out on their adventures.

" Nothing really. We walk around. She sniffs at stuff. She takes a piss and a shit and we come home."

" She takes a shit ?", I suppose that should have occurred to me but I NEVER walked the dog, and couldn't stand the thing enough to ever consider its digestive habits.

" Well of course she does."

Realizing that when ever the two of them went out the door the only thing they took with them was a leash, I had to ask, " Well if she's taking a nightly shit and I don't see you walking out of here with a bag or anything...what's happening with the shit ?"

" What do you mean ?", he asked as puzzled as me.

" I mean, where do you put the shit ?"

Now he really looked baffled, " Put the shit ? I don't put the shit anyplace. We walk around, the dog sniffs around on someone's lawn, takes a shit, and we move along."

" Wait a second. You mean to tell me that every night you leave her with my dog. Walk around the neighborhood. And have my dog shit on one of my neighbors lawn and then just walk away ?", I was astonished.

" Yeah. Is that a problem ?"

" Yeah its a fucking problem. And when one of my neighbors comes up and throws a pile of shit against my house its going to be a big fucking problem." I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

" Hey man I'm sorry " he apologized, " I had no idea it was a problem."

I drove the point home, " No seriously. You can't do that. If I caught someone's dog shitting in my lawn I'd be furious. They're going to drive me out of town...seriously...you gotta stop that shit."

" OK OK OK, I got it, mellow out."

Two days later I'm coming home from a night meeting and here he comes walking down my street with the dog. No bag, no scoop, no nothing, just him and the dog.

He greeted me with a big wave and I asked, " Hey were you just out walking the dog ?"

" Yeah"

" Well did the dog take a shit ?"

" Yeah.", he answered undeterred.

" Well I don't see you with a bag." I accused.

" A bag ? For what...the shit ? That's gross. I aint walking around with a bag full of shit."

Now I was furious, " Well what part of our discussion the other night did you NOT understand."

" No man, it's cool. I got what you were saying and I took care of it."

I was surprised, but relieved, " You did ? Whew..... How ?"

" Yeah I thought about what you said about shitting on people's lawns and you're right man that ain't cool. So when we were out tonight I'd let her sniff around a bit...and the right when she squatted to take a dump I picked her up and hung her out over the curb. BOOM, she shit right there in the street. No turds on the lawn !!! Problem solved !!!"

The 5 year old

I may have mentioned before that my youngest daughter is insane..but in a good way.

The other two need attention while she can play happily on her own. The other two need validation while she needs to be told that she can't drive a car. When the other two hurt themselves on the swingset in the backyard they run to their mother crying...and when she hurts herself on the swingset she gets the gas can and tries to set the entire jungle gym ablaze.

She has an imaginary friend named Chloe. Yesterday we were driving in the car and out of no where I got whacked in the back of the head with a rolled up coloring book.

" WHAT ARE YOU DOING !?!?!", I hollered.

" That wasn't me, that was Chloe ! ", she offered defiantly.

" Well tell Chloe to CUT IT THE HELL OUT !", I yelled.

" CHLOE !", she mimiced, " CUT IT THE HELL OUT !!!"

Then after a pregnant pause she said, " I'm telling Mom that you made me say a bad word"

One day she was going on and on about "poop". "Poop" this and "poop" that. I could tell the entire time that the only reason that she was saying it was because she knew she wasn't suppose to. Every time she said "poop" she'd look over at me to see if it would elliceit a response.

After a while I finally, calmly said something, " Honey, you know you're not suppose to say that word."

" Why, is it a bad word ?", she asked.

" Yeah, so just stop saying it."

Surprisingly she just stopped and went on doing some other stuff. "Hey, I'm getting good at this parenting thing", I proudly thought to myself.

A little later in the day she walked up to me and said, " Dad, can I ask you a question ?"

" Sure honey"

" When you go to heaven, do you see all your friends and family who are dead ?

" Yeah...sure"

" And then when you're up there with everyone, do you have fun ?"

" I suppose you do. "

" Well what do you do ? Are there games to play ?"

" Yeah, sure....every game you ever wanted to play is up there !"

For some reason this pleased her and a smile broke out across her face, " OK ! Is there music up there ?"

" Absolutely...every song that was ever made is in heaven."

Her smile grew and she continued, " How about food ? Is there food in heaven."

" Oh yes dear, all the food you eat..every food of every kind !"

Now her grin was ear to ear, " Cakes ? Pie ? Everything ?"

" Yep, everything."

Now her tone changed...She still had a big smile on her face but her voice and posture transformed from that of a 5 year old into that D.A. from Law and Order.

" So if you're up in heaven, running around with you friend and eating all this food you're talking about.."

" yeah ?", I answered a little puzzled at her tone.

"...sooner or later you're going to get very full aren't you ?", at this point I almost expected her to ask some imaginary judge if she could treat me as a hostile witness or something.

Uh, sure"

" AND when your belly gets full you go poop right ??!!"

" I suppose "

" AHHHH HAAAAAAAA !" and she jabbed her little finger at me, " SO YOU'RE SAYING THAT THERE IS POOP IN HEAVEN ???!!!"

" yeah..I suppose...but..."

She didn't let me continue, " and since everything is heaven is GOOD...then POOP MUST BE GOOD ! "

" no...you...but..", I stammered like a fool.

" AAAANNNNNNNDDDDDDDDD....if POOP is GOOD, then there's nothing wrong with saying POOOOPPPPP right ?! POOOP POOOOOP POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP !!!!! "

When she finally stopped we both just stood there staring at each other. I was equal parts stunned and pissed and had no idea what to do. All I could think was, " That little bitch just set me up ". We stood there like two gun fighters, toe to toe both frozen in time.

Finally she broke the trance... "Come on Chloe, lets get outta here." and while I stood there wondering what the hell had just happened, she spun on her heel, turned 180 degrees, and skipped away singing a little song.

taking a risk here

I problably shouldn't be posting stuff like this, but I've gotten increasly tired of having this pointless conversation with wives of my friends or women in my neighborhood.

The always come to me and ask, " What do you think my husband would like for " his birthday/fathers day/Christmas etc etc.

Then they usually propose stuff the varies from the mediocre to the really interesting. Actually, now that I think about it I've been really impressed with some of the stuff that wives come up with and I'm amazed at the ammount of time that many of them put into coming up with great gifts. I've seen them rent sports cars, arange golf outtings, send them to fantasy camps.

I think all that effort makes the situation even more frustrating for me...and the source of my frustration is that the answer to the question is so simple. It doesn't require a lot of thought. It doesn't require a bunch of work. It doesn't require a lot of planning.

Ladies. What your man wants...what all men want...for any time or any occassion is universal....men want oral.

Seriously. Oral. No wrapping paper necessary. Oral and be done, it's as simple as that.

Pass it along.

sage advice

" Hey man I'm starting to get worried."

- why's that

" Because I'm drinking like 2-3 beers every night anymore."

- yeah...so ?

" So I went to take some ibuprofin today and I read on the bottle that if you consume 3 drinks of alcohol a day that you should consult a doctor before taking the medication. I think it must fuck up your liver or something....anyway, the point is I think I might have a drinking problem."

- drinking problem ? Nah. It sounds to me like you have an ibuprofin problem. My advice...take asprin.