Sometimes the fleeting thoughts that careen through my warped little mind turn into a full-fledged blog post. The rest of them get purged here:
— All women love the Olive Garden. I’m not sure why, especially because the food is so shitty. But my highly scientific study has shown my wife, my mom and several of my female friends 99.4% of the world’s lady folk inexplicably go ga-ga over this faux Italian eatery. And guys keep going there because they want to make their better halves happy. If it wasn’t for the bread sticks, I’d have lost my mind by now.
— Speaking of food, bag lunches have a very cyclical appeal. When you’re young they’re awesome because mom puts lots of cool stuff in them and gives you sandwiches in the shape of hearts with the crusts cut off. But then, as we get older, it becomes uber-uncool to have a bag lunch with little notes from mommy. Not to mention my mom once left me a note in my sandwich, on a piece of paper cut to the same size as the bread. I never read it. Or noticed it when I eat the sandwich. Yum. But I’m happy to announce when you’re married, it’s hip to get bag lunches with inspirational notes from wives who are far too good for you.
— My son is very good at counting. I tried playing a game with him, in which I tell him I’m thinking of a number between 1 and 10. Then I asked him to give me the number. He tilted his head, looked at me quizzically, reached into his pocket and tried to hand me an imaginary number.
— In a rare turn of events, MJ picked Will up from preschool today and I was actually home alone before them. When I heard them coming up the walk, I thought it would be funny to pretend I was asleep and have Will wake me up. But I failed to consider how it would look to my wife when she walks in the house and sees her husband splayed out in a seemingly unconscious state on the floor. As an added bonus, I discovered MJ fully expects me to have a heart attack at a young age.
— We took Will to get his final tuxedo measurements for my brother’s wedding this month. He’s going to be a ring bearer opposite a young lady named Caroline, who will be the flower girl. When the sales lady was measuring him she asked Will a bunch of questions. She asked him what he’s going to do at the wedding. Will’s answer? “I do Caroline.” That’s my son dammit!!
— There is a dive bar/wings place in my hometown called Wendell’s. For hot wing aficionados, I’m told it is Mecca. But I am not one for wings. Or spicy food. Unfortunately, I get a lot of crap from my friends for this. And it’s not helped by the fact that Wendell’s has a unique way of ordering their wings. The bravest of the brave get the “Double Dare,” which will melt your face quicker than snorting the new Charlie Sheen drug. The next step down is “Suicidal.” Then comes “Regular” and “3.5.” But while my wife and friends are busy proving their hot wing mettle, it’s all too hot for me. I’m stuck ordering the spiceless, boneless dish at the bottom of the totem pole. Which means I have to say “I’ll have the boneless ‘sissies’ please.” Fare thee well manhood.
— And finally, I really hope all of you take a moment to check out Dads Good over at the Good Men Project. I’m the managing editor over there and I’ve worked really hard to put together a team of guys who write honestly and passionately about fatherhood, marriage and what it means to be a good man. It’s not often you get to throw yourself into a project in which you really believe, and this site is doing some truly great things.