Acrapolypse now

There is a lot of speculation about the end of the world. Most people assume the there will be some kind of natural disaster or maybe a nuclear war. No matter how you see the world ending, it typically involves going out in a blaze of glory. Personally, I think the end of the world will look a lot like my bathroom did tonight.

My son Zach is on the tail end of potty training. It was kind of long haul because, well, he's a boy. He's done very well lately and we've gotten to the point where we don't have to remind him to go to the bathroom. Well, for the last week Zach has been feeling a little under the weather. He ran a fever, but had no other symptoms. He stopped running a fever a couple days ago and we figured it was over. We were wrong.
My wife was first on the scene. I heard the horrified shrieks only moments before the smell hit me. I grew up on a farm, so the smell of raw feces isn't foreign to me. However, I wasn't prepared for the sight.
My first thought was that our bathroom had been violated by a dozen truckers after a chili eating contest and the toilet exploded. The sheer volume of excrement that my 40-pound son had produced was unbelievable. In fact, it looked like he had crapped more than his body weight. And, of course, almost none of it made it into the toilet.
The first thing we did was call the National Guard. After all, this was a natural disaster. We got a recording. My next idea was to light the house on fire. I don't think we'd even need to make it look like an accident. The insurance company would agree the house was a total loss already.
Cooler heads prevailed and we set about cleaning up the Zach and the bathroom. And the hallway outside the bathroom (not sure if he was leaking on the way or if his explosive diarrhea shot crap 8 feet). Make sure to keep plenty of Clorox wipes around. The end of the world is going to be messy.
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Romance on the dirt pile

My 8-year-old came home from school the other day with a strange request. She asked if she could go to the dirt pile. The dirt pile is due to the construction going on behind our house. Our view of open field will soon become the view of a new development. Anyway, my wife naturally refused this request. She didn’t know why our 8-year-old princess would want to play on a dirt pile, but I’m guessing she was suspicious enough to deny the request immediately.

Luckily, my wife runs a daycare which means she has access to several tattle-tales. One of them informed my wife as to why our daughter wanted to go play on a dirt pile. Apparently the little boy that she has a crush on was going to be playing on the dirt pile after school and they were going to meet up and play together. While I’m not prone to over-reacting, I can’t help but think the girl that meets boys on a dirt pile could grow up to have facial tattoos and body piercings.
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What happened to your face?

The wife and I went out last weekend to celebrate a friend's birthday. It was a fairly large group of people consisting of co-workers, family and friends. I think it's safe to say no one knew everyone else in the group, except the birthday girl. We went to a comedy club and then moved the party to a local bar. And hilarity ensued. Or maybe not so much hilarity as uncomfortableness.

I'm the type of person that doesn't seek out new friends in this type of social gathering. I'll sit in the corner with people I already know. A friend of ours is the opposite. She'll strike up a conversation with anyone. In fact, I'm fairly convinced she recently took up smoking purely for the social aspect. Anyway, this friend starts talking to a guy in the group I'll call "Uncle Doug." I call him that because he is the birthday girl's uncle and his name is Doug. Anyway, Uncle Doug has a fairly sizable scar on the side of his neck up to his face. She opens the conversation with "What happened to your face, did you try to kill yourself?" Unfortunately the answer was yes. And that's why I don't strike up conversation with people I don't know.
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Discount movie review-Paranormal Activity

I've been on a roll lately. Every movie I see somehow manages to suck more than the previous one. My most recent terrible movie is Paranormal Activity.

This movie's big claim was it was made for about $3.50. I would have paid 10 times that to not see it and get that hour and a half back. I was thinking it would be like the Blair Witch Project, only with camera work that wouldn't make my wife puke. That really happened, by the way. I told her not to get wasted before the movie. It did have better camera work, but it was missing what made Blair Witch good. This movie wasn't scary, which is fairly important in a horror movie. I had been mislead that it would be scary from the movie advertisements showing people jumping out of their skin. My guess is they were watching a different movie. So there it is folks. If you want to get scared, don't watch Paranormal Activity. Instead, go find a Toyota with a sticky accelerator.
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A scrotum by any other name

Sometimes I create a post strictly because the title I come up with really cracks me up. Here's the story:

The wife was explaining to one of the day care parents about yeast infections. She knows more about yeast infections in babies than pretty much anyone I know. That's probably not something to be proud of. Anyway, she was explaining to one of the parents that yeast infections on boys shows up as red spots on their scrotum. At that point my 8-year-old daughter piped up and asked, "What's a scrotum?"
The wife responds, "It's their ball sack."
My daughter comes back with "Well why didn't you just call it by its real name?"
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Pillow fight

This is an actual conversation I had with my wife a couple nights ago. It’s as close as we get to pillow talk. Don’t worry, it’s mostly safe for all audiences.

Wife: I really appreciate that you made the bed…
Me: I smell a ‘but’ coming
Wife: HOWEVER
Me: That’s pretty much the same as a ‘but’
Wife: Anyway, do you see how some of our pillows have zippers? (at this point she uses a prop in case I’m unfamiliar with zippers)
Me: Yes
Wife: When you put the pillowcases on the pillows, can you make sure the zippers are at the bottom of the pillowcase?
Me: Um, why?
Wife: Because if the zippers are toward the open end of the pillowcase, the zippers can cut me.
Me: You’ve suffered lacerations from a pillow zipper?
Wife: Yes
Me: Really
Wife: Yes. The pillow can work its way out of the pillowcase and the zipper digs into my skin.
Me: That’s different than getting cut.
Wife: It’s uncomfortable and I’d like you put the pillowcases on differently.
Me: So you’re admitting you never really suffered lacerated from a pillow.
Wife: Just do it and shut up.
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Vegas musings-part 2

My brother joined me in Vegas on Friday and we shared the luxury accommodations at the Flamingo. The first night he was there the people in the room next to ours started partying at about 5am. My guess is they had started partying elsewhere and had to move the party back to their room. Needless to say I didn’t get a lot of sleep after that. The next night a guy started pounding on a door near ours between 5 and 6am. He was very persistent, and probably very drunk. He finally gave in after beating the crap out of the door for a half hour. My brother was up an about around 9 that morning and he found him passed out in the hallway right outside our door.

I saw a guy walking through a fountain outside Ceasar’s Palace picking up change that had been thrown in it. I got the feeling he wasn’t supposed to be there, especially since he seemed to be avoiding the pennies. I guess the economic downturn is hitting the panhandlers too. That reminds me, I saw a panhandler holding a sign that said “I’m not going to lie, I need a beer.” I wonder if he does better than the average panhandler because of his amazing wit. If so, I know what my next career move will be.
One of my favorite parts of traveling around Vegas is talking to the cabbies. They always have an opinion and they tend to be great storytellers. I was really disappointed this trip. The driver to my hotel didn’t speak very good English and he was more interested in talking on his cell phone. The guy that took me back to the airport was the laziest cabby I’ve ever met. He didn’t put my luggage in the car and he insisted the bellhop put it in the front seat with him. When we arrived at the airport, I had to get the luggage myself as he made no move to assist. Needless to say, I under-tipped him.
All in all, it was a pretty decent trip. I got to hang out with my brother and John while completely focusing on gambling. When I left I thought I was way down, but I hit a couple sports bets and I’m now about even. It wasn’t my cheapest trip ever to Vegas, but it was close. All told including gambling I spent less than $550 for 4 nights. I didn’t exactly eat like a king (although I did eat at Burger King) but I did get to one of my favorite places to eat, Toby Keith’s Bar and Grill. The pulled pork sandwich is very good and they serve beer in mason jars.
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