Monthly Archives: September 2009

No Sex in Front of College Roommates

In a story that is comical yet sickeningly telling of where we’re headed in today’s society, the Boston Herald is reporting that Tufts University has crafted an institutional rule against hooking up with someone while your roommate is present.

This is one of the dumbest things I’ve seen in a while.

First of all, if this rule was in effect when I was in college I’d still be in jail. Hell, my roommate freshman year not only could’ve had me locked up, but I’d probably still be paying the lawsuit he inflicted upon me. And you know what? We’re still friends to this day. As roommates we knew there would be times one of us kicks the other one out in the name of getting some ass. Because dammit, THAT is what college is about. Sure it’s about learning and bettering yourself, but make no mistake, 75% of the college experience is the social aspect of it all. And that includes the ability to be free from parental constraints with a place of your own to have crazy (albeit safe) monkey sex with as many people as possible.

But beyond the puritanical bullshit part of that story is a more disturbing trend. And that is the further pussification of today’s youth.

Look, dealing with a roommate is College 101. Sometimes you luck out and get a good one and you’re friends forever. But most times you get someone with a different background and a whole other set of values and beliefs. So guess what? You need to work it out. You need to learn the art of communication and compromise. Basically, you need to learn how to resolve differences and learn to live in the real world.

So if your roommate is banging his girlfriend and you have a big test the next day, then TALK TO HIM ABOUT IT. Instead of the administration making rules for every single scenario that might arise which only serves to coddle these kids, let them hash it out on their own. With all the technology available today there should be no confusion. If you bring a girl home, text message your roommate to see if it’s cool. Or if you’re that one guy out there without a cell phone, you can always put the towel on the door knob.

Or, if you’re an inconsiderate prick like me, you just toss all of your roommate’s stuff out into the common room and tell him you owe him one. But either way, let these kids deal with it on their own instead of trying to legislate every single little bit of conflict that comes up.

Share Button

Romance After a Baby?

Last Thursday was a good day.

On Wednesday night, MJ and I made it a point to schedule some “adult time” on Thursday. And by “adult time” I mean sandwiches baby! First of all, how depressing is it that carnal relations needs to be scheduled? Just like the dentist and the pediatrician. But you parents out there know it’s also necessary. And if you’re one of those couples who still gets freaky on a regular basis even after becoming parents…fuck you. Seriously, fuck you right in your face. And stop lying.

So, getting back to our regularly scheduled nookie. Despite lacking spontaneity, I was sufficiently pumped about this because frankly, it had been a while. And when my awesome wife surprised with me some suggestive text messages during the day, “sufficiently pumped” turned into “drooling like a maniacal fiend.” By the time I got home it was all I could do not to just toss Will into the crib and drag MJ off into the bedroom a la my caveman ancestors.

But in excruciating parental fashion, we had to wait until Will had dinner, the dog was fed and walked, Will got a bath, we read him his bedtime stories, etc. When you have a kid you don’t do anything spontaneously. There’s a routine for everything and you follow it or you pay for it later. So even though I was looking at MJ like a piece of filet mignon, I had to wait until the little guy was ready for bed.

After what seemed like forever, I tore off my clothes and ran like an overexcited teenager we calmly adjourned to the bedroom. Honestly, at this point I was no better than a dog who had been tied to a leash and starved of any and all female attention for prolonged periods of time. In other words, I started groping my wife more excitedly than Mackenzie Phillips on Father’s Day (what? Too soon??).

Things were going swimmingly (or so I thought), and just as I was ready to go nuclear, I was stopped dead in my tracks by MJ.

MJ: “You know, I’m not a piece of meat.”

I didn’t respond or really hear her for that matter, because all that was going through my head was “BOOBIES BOOBIES BOOBIES NAKED WIFE BOOBIES!”

MJ: “Hey! Did you hear me?”

ME: (realizing she’s talking but not registering the words) “Yeah baby, you’re so hot!”

MJ: (getting irritated) “Seriously, why do you have to grope me like an animal?”

ME: (also getting irritated) “Because you’re so hot I can’t help myself. It’s a compliment. Now where were we?”

At this point she elbowed me in the stomach which I’ve come to learn is my cue for getting the hell off of her. She went on to tell me that she likes a little romance. I told her I thought we covered the romance part with the text messages earlier in the day and 30 seconds ago when I told her she was hot. But apparently we have different ideas of romance.

At that point I tried to tell her that I simply display my feelings in a more physical way. My constant pawing and groping is a huge compliment. Because if I wasn’t interested or if I didn’t think she was smokin’ hot, I wouldn’t bother. I’m not sure how she can’t see my perfectly logical explanation but she didn’t, and so I asked her what she wanted. Because at that point in time, I would’ve done just about anything. And that’s when things went bad.

MJ: “Well, I like a little flirting and snuggling.”

ME: “I like that stuff too.”

MJ: “Yeah but you only like it if it leads to sex.”

ME: “Well…yeah. Obviously. Why bother if it doesn’t lead to sex?”

MJ: “See!?! That’s what I’m talking about!”

ME: “What?? OK, OK…hang on a minute. Just tell me what you want. Tell me what you’re looking for here.”

MJ: “OK. So think back to when you were dating a girl for a couple of months, you know, before you slept with her, and try to remember how you’d touch her. You’d still be a little shy and you wouldn’t know exactly how far you could go. You know what I mean?”

(I should’ve said yes. I should’ve just gone along with it. But before I could harness my brain, my mouth was already moving.)

ME: “No, I have no idea what you mean! I’ve never been with someone for TWO MONTHS and not slept with them. Are you crazy?? Who’s with someone for two months and not having sex? That’s fucking nuts!”

MJ: “Wow. I married a pig.”

(Brain still not catching up to mouth)

ME: “And I apparently I married a c*ck tease.”

Look, I know how this makes me look. And I won’t apologize for ANY of it. Because dammit, when you become a parent things change where sex is concerned. Instead of lighting some candles and her putting on some lingerie, sex is a game of Beat the Clock. You have to get the baby to bed and try to do it before he wakes up. “Making a special effort” means not wearing clothes with spit up, baby food or toddler excrement on it to bed. Do it before the dog jumps back on the bed and starts licking you inappropriately mid-coitus, or the cat takes up residence on your back.

Scented candles and soft music really aren’t an option anymore except for special occasions. And the dog would eat any rose petals I laid out on the bed and I’d end up cleaning dog vomit off the comforter. Sure once in a while we’ll have a night or two without Will, but even then it’s tough.

Having a kid is physically fucking exhausting. MJ doesn’t even get home from work until 7:30 p.m. most nights, and since she’s usually in her sweatpants and asleep by 9 p.m. that leaves precious little time. It really boils down to a 30-minute window from the time Will goes to bed at 8:30 p.m. to the time MJ goes down for the count at 9. And that’s only if there’s nothing good on TV that night (I wish we could afford DVR!).

So that is the reason I act like I do. And frankly, I’m of the opinion my wife — and all women — should be flattered by this behavior. Because this is a guy’s way of telling you we long for you, we pine for you, we’d run through walls to be with you. And we’re so passionate about you that we literally can’t stop ourselves from touching/grabbing/groping you.

If that’s not romantic I don’t know what is!

Share Button

Brothers

When my brother Nate and I were younger we used to fight. A lot. And whenever things got bad enough that my mom had to get involved, she always had us make up the same way: Brother Hugs. She’d literally make us hug even though we wanted to tear each other’s heads off. And since we were so angry with each other they’d never be real hugs, but more like body bumps where we clenched each other so hard we tried to hurt one another, whispering things like “as soon as her back is turned I’m going to kill you!”

For the last few days I’ve been remembering a lot of stuff that involves my brother. Because Nate — the keeper of this virtual tome that is The Daddy Files — has accepted a new job in Maryland where he’s moving to live with his girlfriend.

It’s not unexpected news, they’ve been doing the long distance dating thing for five years now. But even though I knew it was coming, it still took me by surprise.

Don’t get me wrong, a big part of me is happy for him. He loves his girlfriend very much and we all know they’ll get married eventually. She’s a doctor at Johns Hopkins and Nate is crazy about her for good reason. But the only thing he wasn’t crazy about was moving. And frankly, I’m not crazy about it either.

And that’s awful to say, I know. I fully admit it. I’m a bad brother and a bad person. But I can’t help it. I’m selfish and I’m going to miss him. A lot.

You all don’t know Nate, but you have to believe me when I say that making decisions is Nate’s downfall. He hates making decisions, especially rushed decisions. Nate requires multiple Excel spreadsheets, a Magic 8 ball and days of Internet research just to decide where he wants to go out to eat. So when he was suddenly offered a job and told to make a decision within 48 hours, he was truly in panic mode. Deep down he knew what he was going to do, but leaving the only place you’ve ever known is a tough call no matter what.

The two of us talked about it on Monday night, the day before he had to decide. He asked me what I thought about it and honestly, I had lots of thoughts. I have to admit, the first one that jumped into my head sounded something like “NOOOOOO!!! MAKE HER MOVE HERE DAMMIT!” But after I clubbed that voice to death, I told him it was a good thing. I told him he needs to go to Maryland to be with his girlfriend, make sure they can live together on a full-time basis and get ready to start his life with her. I told him congratulations and that I was proud of him. We talked about whether or not he’d be able to bring his TV, if they’d find a new place, how many times a year he’d come back this way and a ton of other stuff.

The one thing we didn’t talk about — the one thing that was never mentioned — was Will. And for good reason.

You see, I can help rationalize all the other stuff. I can downplay the fact that he won’t be able to go to Fenway because he can get the MLB package. If he gets homesick, I can tell him airfare from Baltimore to Boston is cheap and affordable. But the one thing I can’t change is the fact that this move means he’ll miss a lot where Will is concerned. There’s just no way around it. Right now he sees Will at least once a week, but Baltimore means once every few months. It means he’ll miss huge chunks of time in which Will is going to grow like a weed, start saying cool words and all that stuff. I know he feels guilty about that, but there’s nothing I can say or do that will make that particular issue any better. Likewise, when he gets married and has kids I’m not going to get to see them nearly as often as I’d like. I can’t wait to be an uncle and the selfish part of me is just wishing he was closer.

The really shitty part is that Will has two uncles. Nate is moving to Baltimore and MJ’s brother Tommy recently moved to Maryland as well. And ever since Nate and MJ met, they’ve shared a special connection and understanding with each other that I just can’t figure out. But my wife loves Nate so much, and it increased when her own brother moved away. That’s why I’m surprised The Ice Queen (as I lovingly refer to my normally emotionless better half) is even shedding a few tears over this.

I thought I was prepared for this but I’m having kind of a difficult time. I just had things planned in my head a little differently. I really thought we’d both settle down in Massachusetts and live near each other. I thought we’d go over each other’s house for Sunday BBQs and to watch the Patriots games. I envisioned our kids playing together on a regular basis and frequent family get togethers on perfect New England fall days. I know how corny I sound, but I can’t help it. I’m a huge, tacky geek at heart.

But most of all I’m going to miss my brother. I’m going to miss arguing with him because he always made me better. He’s so anal and nitpicky and he pounces on any inconsistency in your argument, so I always make sure I’m on point. I’m going to miss his quiet thoughtfulness, exemplified perfectly by the unbelievable gift he gave me for my 30th birthday last month, turning the first year of Daddy Files into a hardcover book. I’m going to miss Sunday football marathons where Nate, my dad and I sit around with our laptops checking our fantasy football teams and trash talking. And I’m going to miss Uncle Nate watching Will grow up, because the two of them love each other so much.

And yes, I know full well this sounds like a eulogy and he’s certainly not dying. It’s Baltimore, not the west coast. He’ll get home to see us all and we’ll go visit him occasionally too. He’s going to be very successful at his new job and I’m sure things will work out with him and his girlfriend and they’ll live happily ever after. But I can’t help but wish that living was taking place here.

I sure could use a Brother Hug right about now.

Share Button

They’re Babies, Not Fashion Models

A few days ago I was leaving to take Will to daycare when I ran into a woman on the street who stopped and took a gander at Will. Instead of saying “Oh how cute” or “That’s one adorable little boy you have there,” she came out with this gem:

“Oh my. I see daddy dressed you today huh little guy?”

I was genuinely confused so I asked her what she meant by that. She promptly (and pompously) told me that stripes and plaids don’t go together. After resisting the urge to punch her in the face and urinate on her unconscious, decaying old corpse, I curtly said “Well, he’s a baby not a fashion model so it doesn’t matter.”

But then I visited one of my Internet parenting message boards and lo and behold, they were discussing this exact topic. One of the moms on there complained about her husband dressing the baby in mismatched outfits and claiming it drove her crazy. Here are some of the comments in that thread:

“My husband sent my daughter to school one day in pink camoflauge pants paired with a bold striped shirt in pink, black, blue and purple. His logic was “there was pink in the shirt!” needless to say, i got a ton of guff from my friends (her teachers) and now I choose ALL outfits before they go out.”

“When my husband dresses the girls, he just grabs anything and throws it on them. the other day he had my 3 year old in a brightly colored polka dot shirt and earth tone plaid shorts! lol i think either he really just doesn’t care of he does it to get a reaction from me. i let it go because i wasn’t going out with them, but if I’m out with them and he dresses them badly i change them because then people look at me thinking what did you dress them in but if people see the girls dressed like that and just with my husband, they probably understand he’s clueless about it.

OMG! My boyfriend dressed my daughter this morning and it was the hidious outfit anyone could put together! And other times when I wrk at 6 am and he has to take her to daycare she is dressed like a clown!

As you can plainly see, some women have a huge problem with how their husbands dress their kids. But I think any parent who gets this upset over clothes is being very bitchy and completely superficial.

First of all, I see nothing wrong with the outfit I put on Will. I think it’s cute. I also see nothing wrong with plaids and stripes. Granted, I do not have fashion sense but I pride myself on that. I’m a t-shirt and jeans guy. I own one suit, two ties and a handful of dress shirts. Sure if I need to go to an event I’ll dress up in something appropriate, but I’m an adult. Will is an 18-month-old kid and it doesn’t matter what he’s dressed in as long as it’s appropriate for the weather and put on correctly.

Yet these moms — whether they want to admit it or not — feel the need to dress up their kids in cute matching outfits because they think it reflects on them. Not to mention the unspoken competition of  who has the cuter baby when you go to church, the grocery store, daycare, etc. And that, quite frankly, disgusts me when it comes to kids this young.

I should add right now that MJ tends to fall into the category of women I’m talking about and that drives me nuts. But MJ, by her own admission, is materialistic and very much into appearances. I, on the other hand, am the polar opposite. While MJ is dressed in carefully selected outfits from New York & Co. and Express, I get my clothes from Bob’s Discount Store, Wal-mart and anywhere else that doesn’t sell jeans for $50 each. I dress in a collared shirt and nice jeans for work so I look presentable, but unless I’m going to a special event or a job interview or something, I don’t dress to impress because I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. If they judge me based on my t-shirt then I don’t want to know them anyways.

And when it comes to Will, MJ lays out clothes the night before. Sometimes I use them, but other times I don’t. For example, she would’ve never suggested the outfit shown above, but I liked it. And honestly, sometimes I just grab whatever clothes are closest to me in the drawer. Because let’s face it people, it’s a little kid and he’s going to daycare. And even if we’re just going out on the town, who cares?? If someone actually judges a baby for what the kid is wearing (again assuming it’s appropriate for the weather and not put on backwards), that person should be beaten to death with a wrench.

It also relates back to my recent post about how moms can help create more involved dads. If a father is taking the initiative to dress the kid, the last thing he needs is an overbearing and judgmental mom telling him what an awful job he did and then changing the outfit. Do you really think he’s going to try again after he was berated for no good reason? Ladies, you have to pick your battles and mismatched outfits is not a battle worth fighting. So let him dress the kids, even if it does look a little odd. It’s not hurting anyone, so what’s the big deal?

But to be fair, I will admit that sometimes I do go out of my way to pick an outfit I know will irritate MJ!

Share Button

My Kid’s a Money-Maker

I had the day off yesterday so Will and I spent it with my parents. Well, to be honest, Will spent most of the day with my parents as I took the opportunity to get absolutely hooked on the hit TV show Sons of Anarchy. If you don’t watch it, start immediately. It’s unreal.

But I did tear myself away from the boob tube long enough for us all to go out to lunch together.

So as we got out of the car my dad told me Will needed a diaper change. And since many men’s rooms are not equipped with that nifty little changing table, I decided to change Will on the back seat of the car. Imagine my surprise when I undid his diaper and found a welcome surprise staring me in the face.

A quarter.

Will had a shiny quarter firmly pressed against him just south of his belly button and above his junk. At first I was dumbfounded and I just stared at it for a second. I thought maybe he had grabbed a quarter and jammed it down into his diaper, but then I realized I had him dressed in a onsie. There was no way he could’ve accessed the front of his diaper. And my dad swears up and down there was no money of any kind in my son’s nether regions when he last changed him.

So what happened? I have three theories:

1) Will is a good looking young man. So good looking, in fact, I think he realizes it and he’s putting it to good use. When we’re not looking closely enough I’m pretty sure Will is harnessing his inner Chippendale and stripping for money. All of these “play groups” he’s in are nothing more than an opportunity for Will to shake his money maker at all the rich little female toddlers. He throws “Wheels on the Bus” on the CD player and suddenly a gaggle of crazed little girls start stuffing money into his diaper. Kid probably takes home more per week than I do.

2) I’ve always known my kid is money, but now that he actually defecates $$$ I’m even more amazed. Not only doesn’t his shit stink, it’s profitable. He must be aware that we don’t qualify for Welfare or other social assistance programs, so my little Houdini is popping quarters straight out of his body for us. That’s a good son. I just hope he didn’t eat a dollar and lose the 75 cents in change!

3) This may be the least likely scenario considering my other two theories are exotic dancer and Will’s puported ability to turn feces into U.S. currency, but I’m thinking maybe, just maybe, Grandpa hasn’t quite mastered the art of the diaper change.

Nah!! I like the first two better.

Share Button