Archive for the 'Rant' Category

Death to Barney

I thought that horrendous purple blob was off the air? I thought that by the time I had kids shows like Barney and the Telletubbies would be gone. I was wrong. Well, the Telletubbies seem to be gone the way of the Do-Do bird, but much to my chagrin Barney is still alive and kicking. His stupid voice. His dumb smile. His alligator arms. Everything. I. Hate. Barney. This, a horrible reminder upon me waking this morning. My wife was up with the kids before me and as I got out of bed I could hear his voice

Give me Sesame Street any day of the week. It’s classic. Even though my kids will never know who Mr. Hooper is, it’s still the best kids programming on the air. And then came Elmo. Even though Elmo has that high pitched whiny voice that would send most parents into the fetal position, I can’t help but love him. Mostly because he isn’t Barney.

Now don’t even get me started on Caillou. In my opinion, if you want your kid to be a pussy then let him watch Caillou. I could go on for quite some time on the woes of programming that is in place for children today but I digress. I grew up in a time of Thundercats, Tom and Jerry and the classic Looney Toons gang. I mean come on, The Rabbit Of Seville? Please.

Thank God for DVD. I am currently purchasing all the classics to building a library of what I believe is the best in kids shows. Anything to avaid my girls having to watch the crap they call kids programming today.

Nuff said.

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Sympathy… wait…

I’m jealous of my wife’s boobs. There I said it. It’s not that I wish I had a set, but more of what they are capable of. You see dear reader, my wife gave birth to our girls almost a year ago and currently weighs a buck-o-five… actually more like a buck. And this is after gaining 45lbs during pregnancy. I don’t even want to begin discussing how much I gained.

Now like most men I turn a head when a pregnant woman walks by. Something about the whole vessel of life thing I imagine. They just look, well, amazing. At least in Hollywood they do. I imagine there still are some women who completely let themselves go, eating Ben and Jerry’s like it’s a contest while lounging in bad cut off sweat pants and watching Oprah. But can you blame them? They have a “beast” inside of them literally eating everything they can consume. I can’t even begin to imagine.

But I’ve gotten off topic.  My wife’s boobs. Right, I am jealous. But please, allow me to clarify. You see my wife all of a sudden has a sweet tooth. Which I guess means I too have a sweet tooth. She tends to come home with cartons of ice cream or boxes of doughnuts as a, what does she call it, a treat? A treat is a Twix,  plowing through either of these and washing it down with a family pack of the Colonel’s original recipe and not batting an eye is just plain evil. Because after all she won’t gain a pound. In fact she will probably lose weight while eating. I however…

Most would tell me to simply refrain. Use will power. Not eat the treats that she brings home. What? You’re kidding right? She just made a batch of chocolate chip cookie topped brownies and you’re telling me to refrain? They are chocolate chip cookie topped brownies man! It would be rude not to at least try them.

I think it’s safe to say that 99.9% of all men fear their spouse will eventually become Jabba The Wife aprés babies, but let me clear something up for you. As long as they are breastfeeding, they won’t. But you will. Quickly. Why? because you are weak. Put a cake in front of a man and he can’t help himself. Oh maybe I’ll wash this down with a beer. I think it’s a primal thing. Probably to replace the empty hole you have in your life from lack of sex. But that is a whole other story.

I guess there is no real point to this post other than stating that I really don’t hate my wife. In fact I adore her. I just hate that I can’t really blame her for this. I can only place blame where it truly belongs. With my kids. Little shits. I keep telling myself that I “have to get back on the program”. Yeah right. Who am I kidding? I’m a father now. Don’t I owe it to mine to at least start looking like him.

The vagina is not a clown car

I don’t like to judge people for their choices in life, but… these people are f#@*ing retards. This morning while standing in line at the grocery store I saw a magazine which on the cover had a photo of the Duggars holding their latest member of the growing football team of a family that they have been breeding for like, the past 20 years or something. Am I the only one disgusted by this? Should there be a law as to how many children one couple can have before you start to look like you have mental issues? At what point does a woman stop having children before her bikini parts begin to look less like a flower and more like a ham sandwich? I don’t know who to feel more sorry feel more sorry for, her, or her husband. Imagine the prospect of throwing your pencil down that hallway every day. I shudder at the thought. But he sure was all smiles on the cover of this magazine so who knows? Maybe he knows something we don’t.

Generally I feel if you don’t have the means to care for this many children I think a ban might be in order. Or a cap. Like professional sports puts on athletes salaries. I know I know, this sounds like communist China, but just because you CAN have this many kids doesn’t always mean you should. Is there a contest going on somewhere that I am not aware of? This is not to say I would even enter but… what’s the prize? Like those eating contests you see on the news, you just have to shake your head and ask yourself… Why?

Over the past 5 years we have become familiar with John and Kate, Octomom, and of course the Duggar’s. So who is to blame, these attention hungry morons or us, the idiots who are glued to the TV to watch them week after week. I have to blame reality TV for this one. You give an idiot a stage… It’s so horrific that you shouldn’t watch it, but it’s so damn hard to look away. Almost like those video’s you see on the internet of some guy getting killed on a motorcycle by a dump truck that just ran a red light.

I guess the bottom line is that as long as your kids are clothed, fed, have a roof over their heads, provided an education, and not sucking off of the welfare teat, then who are we to decide when you should stop overpopulating the Earth? In the Duggar’s case they see it as God’s gift. However if there were a God, I could only imagine how sore his eyes must be from rolling them every time he looks at this insane clown posse.

The day after yesterday

This morning I caught the Today Show and quickly was reminded of two certainties. 1. Matt Lauer has the hairline of an elephant, and 2. Meredith Vieira ain’t no Katie Couric. Then again, in Meredith’s defense, the prospect of following a woman who shoved a hose up her ass and cleaned her colon on national television would be a daunting task for anyone, so I’ll cut her some slack. So there I was playing with my daughters on a quiet Tuesday morning when from the TV I hear Matt Lauer utter the words “Stay at home fathers”. Immediately I perk up with interest. Hey, that’s me! This is something I didn’t want to miss. I had to pay close attention, having to hear what they had to say about this ever-growing trend. I was actually excited to watch the Today show. It was a day of firsts and it wasn’t even 9 O’clock.

I have to admit that learning that I was part of a large group of stay at home dads in America was quite intriguing to me. Unfortunately my intrigue turned to slight disdain when the term “Trophy husband” was repeated over and over during course of the segment. Trophy husband? That’s not what I am… is it? Who are these idiots that call themselves “Reporters” anyways? As it turns out, the prospect of the stay-at-home dad is a rapidly growing demographic. I recently heard a statistic that in the United States, 33% of families with kids,  the wife tends to be the bread winner. Talk about roll reversal.

I’ve experienced it all since being the “primary caregiver”. I’ve had random women tell me how wonderful it is to see a father handle kids like I do. Or how sexy a man is who changes diapers without batting an eye. Sure that’s great and all, but as Louis C.K. put it ever so eloquently, if you had told me years ago that one day I would be wiping poop out of two tiny little vaginas I would have spit my beer up and laughed in your face and then drank more beer. I guess the joke’s on me.

But is it? I love being home with my girls. I would be the first to admit that I never in a million years thought being a parent would be this fun, but it really is. And any man who thinks this is “woman’s work” is no man in my books. This is hard fucking work. Let me say that again. This is hard fucking work. Remember that. I actually think it is more difficult than going to an office every day. There is no letting up and there are no real coffee or smoke breaks. Sure the pay is shit but the rewards are priceless. I know that soon enough more commercial jobs will come my way and we will have to finally go the way of a nanny or something along those lines, but in the mean time I’m elbows deep in washing bottles, preparing lunches and wiping bums.  I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Now if you’ll excuse me my wife will be home from work soon and I should really go put that dress on she likes and get her a beer.

Two headed dragon

Twins are the new black. The latest accessory. I’ve actually heard that triplets are the new twins. I would LOVE to meet the moron who coined that phrase.  If I had a dollar for every time I heard a woman say “I just want to have twins and get it over with” I’d have… well, a lot of dollars. To be honest, whenever I hear this I think of my wife and the discomfort she felt during the last three months of her pregnancy and how truly miserable she was. If she heard some 23-year-old with perfect tits spout this retarded phrase now she would most likely read her the riot act about how fucking brutal it is to get up a minimum of twelve times a night to feed the ravenous little monsters. That waking up at 7AM is actually considered sleeping in now. Don’t get me wrong, I love my girls and wouldn’t have it any other way, but cripes do I miss a full nights sleep..

When our girls were first-born we would take them out and people would gush all over them. The oooz n ahhs heard on a daily basis was not only endearing, but I totally I loved it. That was until going for a walk became less of a simple outing and more like being a famous person avoiding the paparazzi. Now I know how Lindsay Lohan must feel while attempting to exit a vehicle without someone popping a photo of her beaver. It really started to grate my nerves when we were unable to walk more than ten feet without some overly intrusive woman stopping us with a squeal of delight over our two new humans. Yes they are twins.  Boys? Sure, we just like to dress them head to toe in pink because we’re so progressive. One woman actually reached in to put one of my daughters pacifiers back in. Really? Really?? Who are these people? I stood there looking at her with incredulous disbelief while imagining myself punching her in the face. hard. I don’t know about you, but when out in public and seeing a cute baby I know I love to stick my fingers in the kids face.

Things have calmed down a little now as the girls have gotten older, however we still get a lot of smiles from people as we walk on by. That I don’t mind. What is it about twins that evoke feelings of warmth out of even the hardest looking  Hollywood rocker hipster? It’s like walking down the street with a two-headed dragon. People stare. You’d think that as twins are so common now that we wouldn’t be anything other than parents of perfect looking, and stunningly beautiful twin daughters. I guess folks look at twins like they just viewed something special. Like they caught a glimpse of a leprechaun. And when I think about this, I imagine they did. Twins are special. These two little human beings grew in my wife’s belly. Amazing. Every day I look at my daughters and am in awe of how incredible women are. How amazing it is that my wife grew these two beautiful children inside of her. Whoever said that women are the weaker sex probably never had kids. because if he did he would realize that while we men may be able to lift heavy things, but we are in fact, the weaker sex.Except for me. I’m awesome. Just ask my mother.

Don’t you know who I used to think I was?

Ever since I was old enough to shave I knew I wanted to be a father. Being a family man always looked appealing to me. I probably credit this to my father who, unlike so many fathers you hear about from broken homes, wouldn’t come home from work and immediately hit the bottle of scotch ( something I might not be able to say about myself in the near future) but instead, came home and played with his kids. I came from a home where my dad stuck around. No matter how tired he might be, he always had time for a game of street hockey. I loved that memory, and to this day I try to honor my father by being just like him.

A little bit about me. First off I’m Canadian. Although I’ve lived in America for 15 years now, I am still proud that I am able to point out my country on a map, and every once in a while I might even let an “aboot” slip out just to remind me where I’m from. In the 80’s and 90’s I experienced moderate fame as a professional snowboarder. Think less X-Games,  Olympic superstars of today who wreck Ferrari’s while banging supermodels and more like; I got some free stuff, was big in Japan and once in a blue moon might convince some barely English speaking foreign female that I would be a fun time between the hours of 12 and 3AM. Not quite as sexy, but still quite lovely. Now I am paying for my years of  totally wicked awesome extremeness with aching bones, stiff joints and a few “Don’t you know who I think I was” stories.

Upon realizing that I was better at pressing buttons than being a sports puppet, I moved behind the lens and directed a number of action sports films, wrote a few articles for some international magazines and shot some photographs that got published. This is about the time when I decided that living in the snow was not as fun as living by a beach and moved to the sunny shores of Southern California.

Fast forward to present day. Then “retired” from action sports, I figured I should think about tricking some girl into spending the rest of her life with me. And after dating a string of crazy American women, I did the smartest thing I could think of. I imported a Canadian girl who would be able to put up with my bullshit. You know what they say; behind every good man is a strong woman. And behind me is most definitely a strong woman… rolling her eyes. Of course like every woman, my wife has that growing ticking inside of her shouting “get on with it already!”. We men have little to say in this matter. Mostly due to the Cougar vs Silver Fox factor where she will always look at you with a little disdain because while her chest goes south and her ass starts to look like an old gym bag, you just get better with age. It pisses them off and to tell you the truth I don’t blame them. I guess I consider myself lucky because I have one of those wives who is a total knockout after having children. (See what I did there?)

This leads me to the point of this blog. Kids. Me. A daddy. Jesus Christ. Like I said, I always knew I wanted a family. And when I first found out me missus was pregnant I was overcome with happiness and joy. Then when I found out there were two in there I was overcome with shock and disbelief. Then when I found out they were twin girls I was overcome with finding the closest Walmart so I could begin stockpiling firearms. And 36 weeks later I was a father. Instant family. After their birth I thought, really? They’re just gonna let me take these new humans home? I don’t need a license or anything? Really?? And they did. All joking aside I LOVE my girls. Even the word love itself doesn’t have enough meaning to describe the feelings I get when I look at them. I’m sure every parent would agree. Except maybe Charlie Manson’s dad. He might rethink that one. Ok I’m getting off topic. Let’s get down to this blog. God I hate that word. Blog. Ugh. It sounds like some affliction you get up your bum. “Shit. I think I might have the blogs”.

So now here we are. Family of four. Instantly. Shit. My list of anxieties were a mile long. How are we gonna pay for this? How many diapers a day did you say? What do you mean you have to go back to work after only three months? (thanks America) This is where I come in. As a commercial director I am pretty much unemployed most of the time. And in this economy most of the time means almost all of the effing time. It sucks. The silver lining to that shit cloud is that we don’t have to pay for child care because I could be a stay at home dad. Of twins. Fuck me. To be honest I was terrified of the prospect of being solely responsible for my daughters between the hours of 8AM and 5PM. What the hell do I know about any of this? Well, trust me when I say you learn quick.

So I have now been daddy home alone for ten months. I’m a pro. People look at me with awe. And they should. I am fucking super duper dad. So this is my blog. My pages of rant. A place of brutal truth about life as a stay at home dad. If you are looking for some vanilla blog full of cute anecdotes about my babies first fart and what not, then you are in the wrong place. Okay, maybe once in a while I’ll throw in a cute moment for good measure, but this is my sounding board. My therapist so to speak. Because let’s be honest, my wife loves me, but she’s tired of my wining about being a housewife all the time.


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