Archive for December, 2010


Posted in Mundane Events, Whose Spouse? My Spouse! on December 25, 2010 by butthorn

I’m gonna try to do an end of year blog post with my wife.  I don’t really know if it’ll work out or not.  If she knows I’m writing down everything she says, it might make her less inclined to say anything at all.  On the other hand, the resultant self-consciousness might make her even funnier than usual.  At any rate, Freddy is loudly voicing protest re: going to bed in the other room so it’s a moot point right now anyway.  I have to wait until she works her magic to get him to calm down and rehit the hay.  It shouldn’t take too long.  Annie is very good at child soothing.  I can get him wound up no problem, but I have a tough time convincing him to lie prone, still, and silent on a comfortable surface until unconsciousness overtakes him.  I just know that were he to ask “why should I go to sleep?”, my only honest answer is “because I’m exhausted from catering to your every need, and I want to briefly warp back to a time when a random snap decision on my part wouldn’t necessarily harm or kill an adorable, defenseless human being that happens to share my DNA; also, I want to lie on the couch and finish watching ‘9 to 5’ “, and frankly I don’t think that’s a very good reason to make someone turn in for the night, even less so for the mid-afternoon.  There’s also the whole “you need sleep because if you don’t you’ll go crazy and eventually die”, but being that an awareness of his fate blissfully eludes him at this stage in the game, that too becomes irrelevant.

And with that, he seems to have stopped crying for the moment, and my wife is back here with me, seated on the floor in the living room, playing “Fable 3”, an Xbox game wherein you run around the woods, slaying fantastical creatures and digging up treasures that a canine companion tracks down for you.  It’s a good video game for people who aren’t very good at video games, and we’ve both spent a lot of our newly less-than-boundless spare time commanding an untrue-to-life animated representation of ourselves to flay the digitized flesh of “Balverines” and “Hobbes” via a none-too-precise chain of jabbed colorful buttons and growled profanities.  Let me see if I can engage her in a stilted, unenlightening back-and-forth.

So how do you think this year went in general?



I mean, what did I do most of it?  I sat with Freddy.  I sat pregnant with Freddy, then I sat with newborn Freddy.  Now I sit with infant Freddy.  A lot of sitting.

If you could do this year over again, would you try to sit less?

See, that’s a hard question.  If I wanted to sit less, it would be standing with Freddy, right?  I did plenty of that.  I can’t believe you’re typing this.  This is not…is there a troll in here?

I think so.

Do you remember where?

I think you’re right near it.

You’ve moved on to typing other things, right?

What do you think the next thing we need to do with Freddy is?

With Freddy?

Yeah.  Like now that we’ve sat with him a lot, what now?

Some form of locomotion.  I don’t know.  Now that I know what you’re doing, I can’t speak normally.

Yeah, I was afraid this might happen.  So was the year boring, or…?

No.  It was uneventful, but not boring.  Well, uneventful other than childbirth.  That part was eventful.  But…you know what I mean.  You can make it sound like I know what I mean, right?

Do you think your sister having a baby next month will affect how you deal with Freddy next year?

Like change my parenting?  No.

Or maybe how you look at him or perceive him?

What?  No, don’t type that!  What were you asking?

I’m probably not wording it well.

I think it’ll be another dimension of how I interact with Lorrie.  That doesn’t have anything to do with anything, right?  What is your blog about?  The whole thing isn’t you asking me questions, is it?

What are you looking forward to most about Lorrie having a baby?

Being an aunt.  Freddy having a cousin.

Are you going to be with her when she actually gives birth?

I don’t know if we could work that out.  Since, you know, it’s a five hour drive, although I’m sure her labor will be much longer than that.  It may not be possible.

Do you hope that it is?

I think so.  Be interesting to be, you know, present for labor and not in it.

I know that if men could give birth, and my brother were pregnant, I wouldn’t want to be in the same room as that event, but I don’t know if that’s a guy thing or a reflection of our relationship, or of your relationship with Lorrie.

Maybe all of those things.


But I’m sure men giving birth would be a lot more horrific

(We both laugh.)

I wouldn’t want to watch Justin’s penis explode.

But you’re okay with watching Lorrie’s vagina explode?

It won’t explode.  If she’s doing it right.

No, but it’ll be in the room, and it’ll be front and center, and going through some stuff.

Well, I don’t have to be at the receiving end of the birth, you know?  I’ll be on the other end, you know, keeping her on task, or something.

I think it’s probably less of a big deal for sisters to see each other naked than for brothers, and maybe also sisters are more capable of helping each other through something painful.

Well, maybe the latter part.  I’m not thrilled at seeing Lorrie naked, as I’m sure she doesn’t really care to see me naked.

But you can get over that possibility to the point where you’d go right into the delivery room no questions asked.  I would be nowhere near the delivery room if my brother were giving birth.

Because he’s naked?  That’d be the reason you wouldn’t go in if your brother wanted you there?  I’m not necessarily going in because I’m desperate to see a baby squeeze out.  I wanna be there because she wants me there.

See, I didn’t even consider the idea that he might actually want me in there.  I’m assuming he wouldn’t request my presence.  If he came right out and asked me to be there, that’d probably be different.

Yeah, Lorrie asked.  It’s not like she got pregnant and I was like “Ooh, can I be there?”  That’s not my cup of tea.  I’m trying to jump the fence!  Patience, dick!  I can’t vault the fence!  Jesus!  What’s so funny?

Your difficulty with the fence.

Oh, why are you typing that?  Jeremy, stop!

Do you still think the baby’s gonna be a girl?

Yes.  Mostly.  I mostly think it’s gonna be a girl, I don’t think it’s mostly gonna be a girl.  Don’t type that.  Don’t type that part.

Do you want it to be a girl?

Yeah, I think so.

Just for variety’s sake, or…?

I’m not answering that.  No, don’t type that!  Get rid of the question!  I’m not gonna talk anymore.  Ooooh!


The bridges are new!  I brought a carpenter to Driftwood.

Why don’t you want to elaborate on wanting it to be a girl?

Don’t…no…Jeremy!  I’ve told you before and I don’t think however hundred people read your blog need to hear it.  Jeremy, seriously.  No, really, get rid of it.


I don’t want you to type it.  It’s stupid reasoning.  Are you getting rid of it?

But you didn’t give any reasoning.

It’s cause you’re still typing.

Well, it’s not like you’d be disappointed if it was a boy.


Do you just see her with a girl?

Oh, I can get this now!  Oh yesssss!  Where did it go?  I have no idea what hitting that did.

Maybe it affected something elsewhere on the island?

It must have. Oh!  Oh!  I don’t wanna accidentally kill the dog.  Where’d it go?

It’s weird that it just keeps moving around.

Well, that was the third thing I did.  I did a shoot, then a sword, then a magic.  I don’t know what to do for the next thing.

So when we have another kid, would you be pulling for a girl?

No.  I’ll be happy either way.  Again, I see us more with boys, but it’d be kinda cool to have a girl.

So it’s more that you want Lorrie to have one, or hope that she does, at least somewhat?  I don’t think it’s bad, I just think it’s interesting.

If I remind you of why it was, will you delete the line of questioning?

If I did, pretty much 2/3 of the blog entry would be gone.

2/3 of the blog is you trying to ask me just why I want Lorrie to have a girl?  Stop!  Jeremy!

What?  This was gonna be about how our year went, but when I asked you that you just said “sitting”, so it ended up being about this.

Well, I didn’t know that.  If I had realized your intent was to make your blog our conversation…I thought you were just asking “By the way Annie, how was your year?”   So I tried to be succinct.

Have you always said “succinct”?

I don’t not say “succinct”.  I don’t know that I use it regularly.

Do you think Lorrie will freak out a lot throughout the infancy or do you think she’ll be pretty calm?

It’ll be a mix of the two.  Now that I know she reads this, I’m not gonna answer.

Yeah, that’s a good point.  Is this the last thing you have to decide on for the game?

Yeah, I’m on the last day.  I have one other thing to decide on before this.

Do you have anything else you want to add about 2010?  Make it good.

(Groans exasperatedly several times.)  It was…good?

I guess you made it good.

What?  What’d you say?  You guess what?  What?  Jeremy, stop typing and tell me what you said!  (Groans exasperatedly.)  Seriously, what’d you say?

I told you before you said anything to make it good, and you said the year was good, and then I said I guess you made it good.  Because you said “good”.



My wife then went on to beat “Fable 3”, in an exciting display of might and magic.  At one point she did a barrel roll between a guy’s legs and then turned around and shot him point blank in the asshole.  It doesn’t get much more exciting than that.  Happy holidays, everyone!  Let’s try to get something done this year!  We’ve all been coasting for long enough, am I right?


Posted in Mr. Bitch Goes to Bitchtown on December 8, 2010 by butthorn

Let’s not talk about how terrible I’ve become at blogging.  It’s late, and what’s done, or not done, is done, or not done.  Let’s just press on.

A bunch of snow fell out of the sky and now it’s winter.  I can feel doldrums doing their best to settle in, but this is no time to succumb to that sort of foolishness.  I need to get something, anything, done.  Dishes count!  As does signing up for free personal finance software, reorganizing a baby’s dresser, and drinking a highball of Dr. Pepper.  These are all things I’ve done tonight, and now I can retire to my downy bed with a song in my heart and an overall feeling of deep soul satisfaction.

I am angry at the clothes of my baby and wife.  Both look cute and respectable wearing the clothes.  Appearance is not the major malfunction here.  My hands cannot fold these clothes or shape them into anything that attractively and/or effectively fits into a drawer.  Their garments are miniscule and asymmetrical, and lend themselves only to wadding and tossing callously onto surfaces where they don’t belong or look good.  Sure my featureless tee-shirts and less than notable pants droop off my body like giant frayed loogies, but they fold quickly and easily into near-perfect squares that can be neatly stacked inside drawers or hung effortlessly from hangers.  Baby and lady clothes defy geometry and don’t listen to reason.  I will forthwith rend them to pieces.

It was sad about Leslie Nielsen dying, huh?  I don’t think any of us wanted that for him.

Look, here he is as jolly old St. Nick, pouring himself a nice glass of milk.  Boy, it really doesn’t get any cozier than that combination of elements, does it?  What could be better than Leslie Nielsen in a Santa outfit showing up at your house on Christmas Eve, tripping over presents, knocking over the tree, and setting himself ablaze?  There are certain sounds that if you think about them hard enough, you can actually hear them, and one of those is Leslie Nielsen saying “Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!”  Try it!  He was at least twice as good as Santa, and will be missed.

I will be telling my child that there is a Santa Claus.  I just know that I’ll do that.  I don’t care that it’s lying.  It will no doubt be but one of a legion of lies I impart to my son over the course of our time together.  My parents had me believing in Santa until about fifth grade, thanks to cynical rumblings on the playground paired with a sudden, hurtful realization that the whole thing plain doesn’t wash, with the flying reindeer and the obese senior citizen squoozing himself down a claustrophobic fire tube, tens of millions of them in one night.  It’s beyond bullshit, and it makes you wonder about your own sanity that you ever believed it at all.  Aside from the inherent deception, the inevitable conclusion to the Santa Claus experience quashes an amount of wide-eyed wonder equivalent to if not greater than the amount generated while you’re in the thick of buying it hook, line, and sinker.  Is it a bitter rite of passage disguised as a harmless holiday tradition?  An unintentional lesson of trust?  A cruel gag?  Simply a fun pastime that we naturally outgrow?  I remember the palpable Christmas Eve excitement all too well to deny my child the same.  I’m sure once he gets to kindergarten some dick-lick whose parents hate him will ruin the fun, but until then, I greatly look forward to the annual festive subterfuge that awaits our clan.  Not sure if I’ll bother with the Easter Bunny or not, though.  I don’t know about that guy.  And the Tooth Fairy…seems too easy to get caught lifting up the pillow, plus you gotta handle their tooth, which yuck.  My God, what an unbelievable and potentially saddening nightmare this is all turning out to be!  I think I’ll abandon my family tonight.  Toodles!









(My wife and I watched “Tooth Fairy” starring Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson for our third anniversary.  I teared up with emotion at a pivotal moment near the end.  I can’t in good conscience recommend it, but we were talking about tooth fairies and everything.  It seemed like a good opportunity to reintroduce cognizance of its existence to your brain.  Maybe you can set some time aside to think about it today, and reflect on why you haven’t treated yourself to a viewing.)