tired

I miss my wife.

Thanksgiving

I do so love the holidays. I love the way my wife turns into a crazy ball of stress while frantically getting everything done on time. It's the best!

cell phone chargers

What the hell?! Why do I have to buy a new charger every stinkin time I I get a new phone? USB, mini USB, micro USB, kinda USB, not really USB, nothing like USB... The list goes on and on. I'm not a pro government regulator kinda guy but this is ridiculous. Someone needs to do something. And by something I mean get all the phone manufacturers together and come up with one. Now please.

The boy

The kids get a treat every once in a while. They get to fall asleep next to momma while I take a shower. The awesome thing about that is I get to see my wife interact with our children in a way that I will never be able to. As the nurturer, she is inherently better at all the lovey dovey crap the kids need. It is genuinely great to see this in action. 

Now, the bad part of this is that my kids sweat like Teamsters. Tiny little angry dock workers who haven't been paid in three weeks and are about to strike. My pillow always ends up wet from their sweaty little heads. Oh, yes. And they drool too. Lucky me.

*insert curse word here

I've been driving for over 20 years now. I passed my written test missing 2. I passed the driving portion with a perfect 100%. I consider myself a pretty good driver. I have my head on a swivel, looking around all the time. I try to gauge what other cars will be doing, where they might be wanting to go. I try and think ahead. I like to drive. It's fun. I have a class B license with a passenger endorsement and I hope to add the M1 soon. Because I drive as part of my job, you could say I'm a professional driver of sorts. Now if you're asking why I'm rambling like this, it's because I have something that's been bugging me for quite some time now.

I know this has happened to you... You're driving along (on a surface street) and the car ahead of you steps on their brakes. The brake lights light up and they start to slow down. The car then begins to turn. It is at this time when one of the lights on the back of the car begins to blink. The turn is finished and the car goes on its merry way. What's wrong with that?

I'll tell you what's wrong with that.

That little blinking light on the back of the car, that's called a "turn indicatOR", not a "turn indicatED".

Yes, the stick on the left side of the steering column either pushed up or down determines which side of the car the little light blinks on. The little light, again, that is called a "turn indicatOR". It indicates where you WANT to turn. Not where you ALREADY turned. I don't give a crap where you turned. I certainly don't need a little light blinking at me to tell me that. What I would like to know is where you'd like to turn so I don't smack into the back of your car as you slow down for NO APPARENT REASON! Holy crap this is infuriating to me. The name of the device couldn't be any more clear. Turn indicator. To indicate where you'd like to turn. What a freakin awesome invention. Push a stick up or down and presto! A light blinks on the back of your car letting everyone behind you know what you're thinking of doing. Besides the glove box light, this is my favorite part of a car. Nothing else on a car lets other drivers know what you're thinking. Nothing else is predictive. When I see a turn indicator light blinking, I'm inside the driver's head. I know his or her thoughts. We're connected. It's awesome.

Now for all of you who don't share this frustration with me, who think I might be a little overboard on this one. Well, you can all bite me. And while you're at it... USE YOUR FREAKIN TURN INDICATOR BEFORE YOU TURN!

The stache is gone

I just couldn't take it. The ridicule, the looks, the itching. Facial hair and me don't go together.

hormones

Is there a support group for dads with daughters who are just beginning the wonderful journey into womanhood? My sweet little girl just got several little bra-like pieces of undergarment clothing. I am not ready for any of this. I thought I'd have at least another year or two until the raging hormone monster sank its teeth into her. Crap.

Oh, and to make matters worse, every time she says something or has a snotty remark and I comment on it: the wife has to "remind" me that it's just the hormones. I'm pretty slow at things. I'll admit it. Freely. But come on. Every time? It stopped helping the second time she did it. I don't need another book about my daughter's transition into the wonderful world of maturity... I need a group of guys going through the same thing that I can talk to (and yes, sometimes cry with).