So, at some point it is out of your hands

I am sitting here with about a million things running thru my head (they are each going about 60mph and running into each other, too).  I am trying to figure out what I can do to make something happen, but I am at a loss.

I want to find a job, I am tired of sitting at home.  I am tired of feeling like I am not contributing to...well...anything.  I want to feel like I am worth something.

All that said, I know I am doing every thing I can possibly do.  I can not make the phone ring simply by looking at it (trust me, I have tried).  I can not make those emails saying "thank you for your interest in blah, blah, blah company..." go away (again, I have tried).

I need to embrace one of my mantras, I can not control what others do, only what I do.  This has been particularly hard recently.  I am not sure if it is because I am feeling pressure from family (I am), internal pressure (I am) or if it is because of the holidays (??), all I know is I have lost sleep over not being able to control what others do (have my kids taught me nothing?).

I need to realize that I have done everything I can.  It is out of my hands (much like when you press send on a text).  All I can do is continue to prove to myself that I will succeed and eventually a company is going to get a helluva person.  I know that once I am given an opportunity, I will make the most of it.  Whatever somebody sitting in a cubicle decides to do, is not within my power. 

Who am I kidding?  While this is easy to type, I am sure I will toss and turn tonight trying to figure out what the next step is.

So, being sore

Man, I love what Crossfit can do to my body.  I love being sore and I love being exhausted.

Today was a work out that is definitely not my strength (tho, that's why I'm going, right?).  All upper body, bench press (I'm tough!) and pull ups.  These are the days I know that I will have to do extra work after, because I know that I will not be able to last as long as I can during most of the other work outs (I wasn't wrong).

That said, these are slowly becoming my favorite work outs.  I may not be putting in as much time, but I am feeling sore quicker.  A group of us decided to run after we finished the upper body work out, and a couple of us agree that our arms just felt like dead weight (or really heavy spaghetti...mmmmmspaghetti).  I enjoy working on my weaknesses and I enjoy overcoming them.

Why is it that I love working on my physical weaknesses, yet I do not believe I am working on my other weaknesses (we will call them life weaknesses, because...well...why not?)?  I am always open to answers, if you have any.

Maybe it is because the physical is easier to measure.  Eh, I doubt that.  I mean really, is it that hard to measure having a job, getting good grades, sleeping well, eating well, having energy...yeah I did not think so.

Maybe it is because the physical stuff is easier.  Again, I am going to have to disagree with myself (really, who wouldn't?).  Walking into the gym for the first time over 18 months ago was a lot harder than most of the stuff I am trying to accomplish outside of the gym.

No, I am pretty sure it is because I do not feel sore.  Of course, like most of my entries, there is always a hidden meaning (not the anti-Caillou rants, those are pretty straightforward).  When I leave Crossfit Latrobe, I either feel wiped out immediately or the soreness comes soon after.  It feels like I have accomplished something.  So far, I am not feeling that sense of "soreness" in a lot of other areas in my life.  Do not get me wrong, I have some really great things going for me (but despite my desire to be positive, the negative things get the most attention, like negative ads in a political race), but I want to feel sore after getting a job, getting good grades,  sleeping thru the night, etc.

I guess I will just have to keep working to get that feeling of soreness, because there is no other option I am willing to accept.

*

*as a public service announcment, don't look up sore in a google image search, if you're looking for soreness.

So, wanna get in the Holiday mood

So, the 13 things that annoy me that should not...

In honor of Friday the 13th (my daughter is born on a 13th, I should've seen half the stuff she does coming), I came up with a list of 13 things that I should 100%, absobucnlutely, not care about, but I do.

13. The Express check-out line.  If the check out line says 12 items or less, then you should have 12 ITEMS OR LESS!  Is it really that hard to count to 12?

11...er, I mean 12. Lack of traffic etiquette.  If I let you merge in front of me, give me a wave, a nod, a thumbs up, a job, basically anything saying "thanks for letting me in so I can now pump my breaks so much you will get car sick."  I mean really people, even if you are talking on your phone, acknowledge that somebody did something nice.

11 (for real).  Corporations phasing out humans.  Automated phone systems need to go away.  I get the cost factor, but I hate them all the same.  The worst ones are the ones that hitting zero does not automatically take you to a real person (I'm unemployed, somebody talk to me!!).

10.  Caillou...little bastard.

9.  One-Uppers.  If you want to try to one-up me, bring it on.  As a member of the one-upper club, I am a self loather, I admit it (I bet I admitted it before you did).

8.  Giving my kids a bath.  I do it because I do not want them to stink like my car after a week of leaving Crossfit gear on the front seat.  I hate it though.  They splash every where, Ave hates getting her hair washed, they never want to get out (even when their lips are blue from the water turning into ice) and they are so wound up after I want to slip them some Ambien (as far as you know I haven't).

7.  Non-Heinz Ketchup.  I am from Pittsburgh, if you try to pass that Hunts crap off on me, I will get fired up.  Seriously, Heinz is one of two products that no matter how broke I may be, I will always buy.  The other one is...

6.  Jiff Peanut Butter.  I tried some cheaper brand, but like those choosey moms, I prefer Jiff.  Peter Pan and Skippy can bite my Jiff-eating arse.  As an aside, if you have a hyper active dog, when you are at the end of the jar, just give it to the pup and they will be busy for a long time.

5.  Double Unders.  This is where you try to get a jump rope around twice per jump, as opposed to once.  I whip myself in the shins, the toes, the arms, the head, basically if I have the body part, it has been treated to a welt.  I did 30+ in a row once...once, after over 18 months of trying.  I can usually get 7-8 now, but they are the worst thing Crossfit makes me do.  Also, how do I make my shoulders sore by jumping rope, I am a moron.

4.  Not being super early for something.  Please do not misunderstand this, I do not mind being late, if I am with somebody.  For some reason, if it is just me, I have this overwhelming feeling that I need to be early.  I get to Crossfit Latrobe at least 30 minutes early every day.  I do not know why, actually I do, I am insane.

3.  Not being asked how I am doing/told hello by a cashier.  Yep, this one annoys me.  Maybe it is from working retail in high school and college (thank you for calling Champs Sports, home of the buy 78 coats get one free offer, how may I help you today?) or maybe it is from some weird Freudian-type abandonment issues, but I wait for that greeting from them, and if I do not get it, I chalk them up as the scum of the Earth.

2.  Overly insane sports fans (coughsomesteelerfanscough).  You are not a coach, you will never be a coach and for the love of all that is holy, just because you played JV elementary ball you are not an expert.  I listen to sports talk radio on occasion, I was unaware of how many coaches the Pittsburgh-area sports teams had.

1. Hearing about somebody's new hobby.  Speaking of hobbies, have you heard of Crossfit? It is the greatest thing ever, it keeps me sane, it has helped me lose around 75 pounds, it has improved my life, it has introduced me to amazing people, it pushes me, it centers me, it makes me happy, it makes me sweat, but does everybody need to hear about that...yes, yes you do.  Deal with it and do not let the little things annoy you.

So, what can I do?

I once had a friend tell me I was "so lucky".  I have already covered why I am lucky here, but I asked him why and his response was "you're single, man.  You can do whatever and whoever you want."  Of course he was a little inebriated at the time, so I let it go, but it does beg the question, what can I do?

First let me address the "do whoever you want" piece, no I can not, nor would I want to.  I do not think I need to go any further on that one.

Now, let me address the "whatever I want" part of his comment.  I am obviously bound by the laws of society, so robbing a bank, streaking a neighborhood (have you seen what cold does to a man's *ahem*, no thank you), or grabbing that Caddy off the lot without paying for it are out of the question.

Then there is the moral/ethical rules in which we live (well some of us anyway).  I can not really wear a pink bikini and expect that not to bite me in my arse.  I can not lie on a resume (somebody hire me, please), I would probably forget I put it on there.  I can not call somebody's baby ugly (and have you seen some of the new models, what's up with that?), because that is just messed up.

Of course there is also the physical limitations involved in what I can and can not do.  For example, I can not dunk a basketball, I have tried many times (even Crossfit can't fix that limitation).  I can not sprout wings and soar above the clouds (again, damn you Crossfit!).  Making PBS stop running Caillou cartoons, out of my physical realm of possibilities.   I do not have the physical ability to drink 64 beers on a cross-country flight.

As much as I like to think I am the smartest man in the room (well, right now I am, since I am alone), I know I am usually not.  So, solving any complex equation by the famous mathematician Detarkian (that's not a real person, I just made that up, did you think it was?), is out of the question.  Understanding how the lymphatic system works is completely out of the question as well.  Hell, there are times every day hour that I forget why I walked into a room.

I have not hit that Powerball jackpot (I'm beginning to get impatient), so I am also limited to what I can do financially.  Again, that Caddy is not coming home with me, nor is the 2000 Ford Probe sitting on the side of the road with a for sale sign on it.  Oh, and any type of traveling will have to be done in a YMCA basketball league.  All the repairs/upgrades to my house, going to have to wait (sorry1970s interior doors, you have to stay).

So, what can I do?

I guess I can only do what I can do.

So, anxiety

Anybody that has suffered (yes suffered) with anxiety knows it can be the worst thing at that specific time.  I am not talking about being nervous at a job interview, or meeting a girl/boyfriend's parents, I am talking about crippling anxiety.

The anxiety I get will keep me awake for days at a time.  It will wake me up in a flash.  I will bounce between wanting to cry, to throw up, to throw something, to total exhaustion.  When I go into panic attack mode, I have symptoms that seem like a heart attack.  I get pains down my arms, chest pains, cold sweats, shortness of breath and a heart rate so high it feels like it could explode. 

I do not want anybody to touch me or talk to me, but I want somebody near me.  Just somebody being close to me is comforting, knowing that they are available is so important to me when I am battling my own mind.

I know that there are a lot of stresses that add to my anxiety (right now the list is way too long), but it typically manifests itself as a belief I have cancer (gee, I wonder where that comes from?).

Anxiety, for me at least, can make me fidgety and hyper while not allowing me to get stuff done.  It is like my ability to accomplish anything and rest are completely at odds.  I can be in the middle of something and the ability to focus is non-existent because I can not get my mind off something damaging. 

I do all that I can to curb my anxiety, and I am doing a nice job of it, but every once in a while it creeps up.  I work out like a madman (I love Crossfit), I pick up as many hobbies as possible (cooking, reading, cleaning, writing, etc.) just so I can try to keep my mind busy.  I have gone to my therapist to hash things out.  I surround myself with positive and amazing people on a daily basis, because I believe being around positive makes you positive.

Basically this entry is to say to people with anxiety, I get it.  It sucks and no amount of words can fix it.  It is also to say to those that are dealing with somebody that suffers with anxiety, it is not an easy thing to battle your own mind on a daily basis.  Just be there for them, and ask them what how you can be there.  Do not try to do too much and do not blow their concerns off.  Be patient.

So, my mom

Yes, shockingly enough, my mother is still alive.  She has not gone the way of most of my family members.  Although some day she will, and that will be the hardest day of my life.

My mother and I butt heads.  She can be passive aggressive, I can be stubborn and short with her.  She cooks with as much butter as a cow can produce, I like to cook "clean".  She can be over-the-top dramatic, I despise drama.  She hates swear words, I swear all the time (shit...see).  Hey we are like the odd couple...wait, is that wrong in some warped kinda way?

I love my mother, but she drives me crazy (it really isn't a long a trip, right down the PA turnpike).  When she asks the same question over and over in a slightly different way, it makes my head want to explode.  When she assumes things should be a certain way because "that is how it should be", I want to move to Denver (pretty sneaky, sis).  When she gossips to me, I want to turn the volume up on the TV.

However, I love her and she drives me crazy for the same reason, I see a lot of myself in her.  So when I see faults in her, I am probably seeing my own faults.  She tends to dwell on things, so do I.  She can be overprotective, so am I (my son will never play football, and I'm sure he will complain like I did).  She tends to stay in situations because she is afraid of the unknown, and I wish I could say I did not do the same thing, but I do.   She tends to make things about her...um...crap.

The good thing is I also I see the unbelievable in her, and I can only hope I have picked up some of those traits.

She is an avid reader.  She can not find Facebook on her computer (and no, she still has not found this blog), but she has a Nook and she downloads books probably as soon as they are printed (or is it non-printed?).  While our tastes in books are different, I know that my love of the written word comes mainly from her.  She always had a book in her hand when I was growing up.

I can remember when I got into reading, I would mention what I was reading, for example The Valachi Papers, and she would say she read it.  She never ceased to amaze me on how well-read she was, and still is (please mom, start reading Game of Thrones).

Do not mess with her kids, in any way, shape or form.  I am 35 years old and she still wants to make phone calls on my behalf, if she feels I have been wronged (so if you get one from my mom, I'm sorry).  She believes in protecting her flock and she also believes that a hug can be as powerful as a smack to the ass (my mom would say bum) when you have done wrong.

While I tend to try to do the opposite of my father when it comes to parenting, I find that a lot of times the right way coincides with what my mom did.

She is a tough West Mifflin chick from a Heinz 57 family (we are mutts), and she grew up in Pittsburgh when Steel was not just part of the football team name, it was a way of life.  Neither of us had affectionate fathers growing up, we both lost those fathers early on, we both went thru financial problems, we both had to deal with my sister as a teenager, we both went thru my divorce, and yet we have both picked ourselves up off the ground, dusted ourselves off and said "is that all you got?"  Although she still will not join Crossfit.

While she may like her house to be a blistering 76 degrees, and I like mine in the 68 degree range, I am very lucky I have her to tell me to turn up the heat...over and over and over and...OH MY GOSH MOM, I GET IT!

So, what I really want to say to my kids

As a parent you need to have a filter in what you say to your kids.  Since I tend to swear on occasion all the time, this has been one of the hardest things for me to adapt.  The good news is neither of my kids know I write a blog, so I can say whatever I want here.

"Daddy, can I have a juice box."
-You want a juice box at 8 o'clock at night, hell no!  I am not going to be up until midnight because you want to put as much sugar into your blood stream as humanly possible...hell no! 

"Daddy, I'm full."
-You are full of crap is what you are full of.  You just want what your brother has, and I offered that to you and you said no, so deal with your choices.

"Daddy, I want that."
-It is good to want things, now get a job and pay for it yourself.

"Daddy, Avery hit me."
-Are you kidding me, Luke?  You outweigh her by 20 pounds and have at least 6" on her.  Beat her ass and she will not hit you again. 

"Waaaaaaaaah....sniffle.....waaaaaaaah..."
-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Daddy, I don't want (insert any food I make for Luke)"
-Sucks to be you, kiddo.

"Daddy, I can't wait for Santa to come."
-You know what, there is no Santa.  I am Santa, your mother is Santa, your grandmother is Santa.  We pay for your toys, so when you thank some made up fat man, you might as well thank Homer freakin' Simpson, he is as real as Santa.

"Daddy, do you love me?"
-Most of the time, but sometimes...

"Daddy, I don't feel well."
-Seriously, you never feel well.  We are not going to the pediatrician's office again.  Take an ibuprofen, drink some tea and suck it up.

"Daddy, I don't want to go to school/the sitter's house."
-Too. Damn. Bad.  Daddy wants some time as far from you as possible.

"Daddy, do you like the picture I drew" (This one is for Mikey)
-No, Avery, I do not like the picture you drew.  You say it is a picture of me, well it is a crappy picture of me.  If I really looked like two squiggly lines and a lopsided circle/triangle/square thing, I would shoot myself...a lot.

"Daddy, you're the best daddy ever."
-No shit.

So, December 7th...

I think December 7th is taken for granted by my generation, which means every generation after mine is likely to take it for granted as well, which is a shame.

This day, which will live in infamy, always makes me think of my Pap-Pap who fought in World War II.  He was not in Pearl Harbor, but he fought in the European theater as a member of the US Army (Go Army, Beat Navy).

Most of us either have a parent, grandparent, uncle, sibling, etc. that fought in the war.  I am sure we have all heard a lot of great stories, read amazing books or watched movies that move us.  I want to share some of the stories that Sgt. William Carl Halvorsen shared with me.

-He was always very proud of the fact that he drove jeep for General Patton.  My grandfather was impressed that General Patton, while backseat driving, seemed to know exactly where landmines were located.

-My grandfather was an odd bird (I know where I get it).  He was separated from his platoon near the Luxemburg border.  Instead of hustling back to find his platoon, he met a Luxemburg family (would they be Luxemburgers?).  He stayed with them for a while (the time he spent with them gets fuzzy in my head), mainly because the food was good.  So yes, my grandfather went AWOL over food (I know where I got that too, thanks Pap-Pap).

-He never rose above sergeant because he had a little bit of an issue with authority (I know where my daughter gets that).  One time while his Commanding Officer was chewing him out my grandfather was told to dig a 6' by 6' by 6' hole.  Instead of accepting his punishment, he threw the shovel at his CO's feet and told him "if I'm going to be shot, I'm going to be shot with a rifle in my hands".

-He received the purple heart, the bronze star and numerous marksman medals.  My uncle was kind enough to give them to me last year, along with his uniforms, his knife, several hand guns, diaries from the war (he wrote a lot, I know where I got that, sincere thanks Pap-Pap), pictures and other items. 

-My favorite grandfather war time story was not actually from World War II, instead it came after September 11, 2001.  I was sitting with my Pap-Pap and I asked him what he thought the country should do.  Keep in mind he would die not even four months later (one guess what got him), but he was so sure this war would not be like any other war.  That it would drag on and on and on...he was a smart man.

I asked him if he wanted me to fight.  He looked me dead in the eyes and said "I fought so my kids wouldn't have to.  So no, I don't want you to fight."

He was good guy, but a better Pap-Pap.

 My father and Pap-Pap at their service station in McKeesport, Pa

So, about getting engaged or married

I was at the Crossfit box the other day talking with a friend who recently got engaged.  I asked him if anything had changed since the engagement, he said no.  Then I thought, what a stupid question to ask (that journalism degree is really paying off).  This of course led me to think about when I got engaged and then married, people asked me that same question a lot. 

First, lets face it, odds are there is that blissful immediate honeymoon period, even after you get engaged, but things are not going to stay that blissful just because you said yes or I do.  So I think the best you can realistically expect is for things to stay the same, the only other option is for things to get worse...yikes.

So do you really want things to change?  If you do, then you probably should not be getting engaged or married.  If there is a major sticking point with your partner before you take the plunge (sometimes into a bucket of what the...), then most likely they are not going to change.  If you think they will, can I interest you in some property that I do not currently own?

Everybody has flaws (even me?!? Yes, especially me).  I am not saying you need to love their flaws, they are flaws after all, but you had better be able to live with them.  Of course I am not talking about somebody being a danger to you, a liar, a spy for the former Soviet Union, etc., I am talking about the little stuff (which can add up).  If the way they eat annoys you to the point you want to jump across the table and stab them in the neck, you might want to reconsider them (I am assuming you will be eating on a daily basis, I know I do).  If the fact that they leave dirty clothes on the floor, or do not make the bed, or have night toots, or need to be reminded (read as prodded) to do the dishes sends you into a rage, then you are probably settling. That is not fair to either party involved, unless it is a Green Card marriage, and I am not here to judge.

You are going to live with this person for a long time (hopefully), so if the little stuff is going get to you...well...it will make a for looooong relationship, regardless of the time.  God help you, if you have kids and you can not have a civil relationship.  Kids are a little bit more of a commitment than a marriage (I know that may come as a surprise).

I know I am not the perfect person.  I also know that I was not, and will not be, the perfect husband (I feel the need to go on record to say I will be the best husband I can be).  On the other hand, I also know that my future wife (c'mon lucky number two), will not be a perfect person or the perfect wife.  Perfection does not exist (like Sasquatch or Mila Kunis, she's just too pretty to be that funny).  If you can accept that, at least in my moronic opinion, you have a good chance.

Dang...this post was perfect.

So, my body is getting older, but...

I am convinced my inner teenager is trying to burst free from my Crossfitting, run-down, exhausted, 35 year old body. 

First let me tell you that I am sore today.  Keep in mind, I like feeling sore after a Crossfit work out.  It makes me feel like I have accomplished something.  Today I did power cleans and squats (that's just a fancy, meat head way of saying I lifted weights), did some running, sit ups and pull ups...and I am feeling every bit of every exercise.  My body knows it is 35, but my head, not so much.

I have been noticing that I am starting to become a 16 year old in some of my tastes in music, in my tastes in books and in what I do.  I can not believe I am writing this, but I find myself listening to the local teeny bopper station, 96.1 KISS fm.  Every city in the country has a KISS station, you know the one that most 35 year olds bypass because Ryan Seacrest  annoys the crap out of them, yep, I am listening to that one more and more (I feel like I am cheating on Dave Matthews).

I find that I actually know some of the songs by heart, which is not good for my kids, as they do not care for my singing.  They do, however, love when I dance with them (no I will not dance for you...ok, maybe I will).

My taste somehow went from classic rock and alternative rock to crap rock and *shudder* Katy Perry.  I apologize to all 35 year olds out there, I am truly sorry.

Unfortunately, my inner teenager has not stopped at music, he has decided that my taste in "literature", I use quotes because I can not really consider what I am reading to be real literature, should become decidedly YA, or young adult.

It is not like I was reading the classics before, tho I did love Sherlock Holmes, but I was reading a lot of non-fiction.  Then I started to delve into some fiction that was more adult in nature (no, not romance novels...yet) like The Millennium Trilogy and A Song of Fire and Ice.  From there I went were no 35 year old should go...The Hunger Games.  The sad thing is I loved it.  I could write a 25,000 word review on why the first two books were so good and the third was terrible.  After the Hunger games it was on to Prince of Thorns and now I am devouring Divergent (sorry Billy Shakespeare).  I am happy that I have started some YA stuff and had to just close it forever...coughAshfallisterriblecough.

Now we get into my inner teenager's desire to be out in public...ugh, I hate him (can I call him Charlie, that seems like a teenager kinda name).  I go to Crossfit Latrobe just about every day, I take 1 or 2 days off a week.  I have no reason to wear the high socks (yep, I'm one of those guys), but I do.  I have no reason doing cartwheels and round offs and back flips, but I am, because I am a moron. 

If my children saw me attempting to do some of the exercises, like a pull up, they would disown me and beg me to never go out in public.  They are going to love when I pick them up from the mall in my sweaty, high-sock gym clothes (so excited for that!).

I am writing a blog...I do not think I need to expound on that.

I am going out more than I did in my twenties, so clearly my inner teenager felt I was too much of a homebody.  I have very little problem staying out late and getting up early (my stupid inner alarm clock gets me up at 6:30, every...freaking...day).  I have been able to recover from my beverages of choice in a fairly decent way (I think it is because my liver was rested for so long).

So while I applaud my inner teenager for the energy, passion and enthusiasm, I may have to ground you (I hope you sneak out).

A face only a mother can love...

So, that second child

Ok, I was terrified when my ex was pregnant with my son.  I mean I was so scared that even as she was going thru labor, I thought we had made a mistake.  I was hoping that if we kept the receipt, we could return him when we realized it was not working out (I would have even accepted store credit, they sell beer at hospitals, right?).

Of course as soon as he was born, immediately after seeing his little slug-like, naked body, I was in love with him.  There was no taking him back for store credit or regifting him to my sister.

With my first child, the first night home was one of the longest nights of my life.  We had the little guy in our room and he would coo and twitch.  Every sound he made, we overreacted.  We were those helicopter parents hovering around him.  Then, when he was finally quiet, we got even more helicopter-like, why is he being quiet...what is wrong with him...did we break him already?

Eventually we got to the point where we could sleep at night (as long as he would allow us), but other things crept up.  There are few things more frustrating than knowing your child is sick and them not being able to express what is wrong (wow, do I miss the days where they couldn't move or talk).  As a new parent, it was terrifying for me to think my son was sick and I could not figure out what was wrong and help him.

Then as he became more mobile, more worries came about.  He would eat the dog food (apparently this runs in my family, since my sister liked to do this...a lot longer than she will admit to).  So of course the panic of "will this dog food hurt my son" cropped up.  I figured he would not die (fingers crossed), but what if it curbed his ability to become a world-class athlete (for the record, my genes already took care of that).

Then he started to play in the toilet and garbage cans (he threw my first wedding ring away, I am convinced of this).  His hands were washed so much I am surprised they are not transparent.

Oh no, he fell down on his tushy...we better sprint to him and check webmd.com to make sure he did not break anything.

Fast forward a few years to when my daughter was born.  Everything was different, starting with her birth.  My ex was in labor for over 28 hours with my son, with my daughter it was 20 minutes (no joke, she literally shot out into the doctor's arms).

There was no issue putting her into her room the first night she was home.  Oh, she made a cooing noise, eh big deal.  Oh she has been quiet for 14 straight hours, eh big deal.  I can remember my son crying and hearing it on the monitor, with my daughter, we just rolled over and turned it down.  We knew the difference between a real cry and a I-am-trying-to-annoy-my-parents cry.

Oh my daughter just licked my dog's ear, oh well, I am sure Colby has recently showered.  Oh she is picking up rabbit poop from the yard (this really happened), no big deal, I can just wipe your hands off with my shirt and you are good to go.

She is not feeling well, it is probably an ear infection (trust me parents, it is ALWAYS an ear infection).  We will just call the pediatrician and ask for a prescription for amoxicillin (get used to that word future parents).

Look my daughter is going jump off the steps on to a ceramic-tiled floor...oh crap MY DAUGHTER IS GOING TO JUMP OFF THE STEPS ON TO A CERAMIC-TILED FLOOR!   Yeah, that one I cared about, but most of the time she falls, gets a scrape, runs into a wall (more times than I would like to admit) I just look at her and tell her "you're more scared than hurt, punkinhead".

My son has paved the way for my daughter.  I completely understand why I got away with nothing growing up and my sister got away with everything...they clearly loved me more!

So, practice...I'm writing about practice

I am sure we have all heard that practice makes perfect or that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert or some variation of practice is a good thing.  I think there is some merit in that, ok, a lot of merit.

Think about the things we do on a daily basis that we have become experts in, did you think about it, good this entry is done, I am kidding obviously.  Even if you think about some of the most basic activities, brushing our teeth, taking a shower, running the vacuum, etc., we get better the more we do it.  We simply figure out more efficient ways to get things done.

Even more complex things become easier, or we at least become quicker at handling them.  When you try a new recipe it may not turn out the way you want, or maybe it takes about 30 minutes more prep (or it should have taken you 10 minutes less to cook, if you're me...I burn stuff) the first time you try it, but you get better the more you make it.

Heck I remember the first couple of times I made Kraft Mac and Cheese for my son.  I measured the butter and milk to perfection.  Now, I know how much should be in there and I just plop and pour it in (don't tell the Crossfit people, but I steal a bite or two).

I push myself to write everyday, even when I am not in the mood (can you guess the entries that I force myself to write?).  I do it because if you want to become better, you need to work everyday to become better.

At Crossfit, I push myself to do extra work after the daily workout so I can improve my weaknesses (stupid upper body and really stupid belly).  I do it because I know the more practice I put in, the better the results (and handstands are fun).

So with all that said, why is it that I (and probably a lot of us) are not experts at dealing with setbacks and adversity (I seriously just typed diversity and had to correct it...wow)?  I had a rough couple of days that started to spread into a weekend and has threatened to spread into a week.  Why am I not able to stop it?

I, like everybody else, have dealt with bad days or setbacks (heck my son had a broken collar bone before he was born and a fractured skull at four months old) in my past.  I know I have enough practice dealing with getting knocked down to know I will get back up, but why is so hard to envision sometimes?

I think, for me at least, it can be because I have practiced focusing on the negative.  I have not done it on purpose (usually), but that is just how some of the chips have fallen in last few years (or decade).  I know that I will come out of my funk.  I know that if I put in the work, I will see results (even if they aren't the best).  I know that I am surrounded by amazing people.

I need to practice being positive (and distracting myself) as often as possible.  I need to fake it until I make it.  Once I make it, I need to remember how I did it and practice that so it gets easier and better.

Breaking the practice of sliding down that slippery slope of negativity is going to take, yep you guessed it, practice.  The really good news is the world is going to give me plenty of opportunities to hone my craft.

So, if I hit Powerball

I buy Powerball tickets on occasion (if occasion means 3 or 4 times a month).  I do not know if I buy them because I think I will win, or if I just like the daydreaming that accompanies buying them.  I do know I buy them whether the jackpot is high or "low".  My favorite is when you ask somebody to go in on tickets and they say they only play when it is really high (because $20 million isn't worth their time).

I am sure everybody has thought what they would do with the jackpot (which currently stands at $81 million).  I know what I would do with it, and I am going to work off the $81 million dollar amount, actually the $45.5 cash value.

First I would take care of my family and friends (I had to say that otherwise they wouldn't take care of me if they hit).  I would have to tier my family and friends, because lets face it, family and friends are not created equal.  I am literally writing down the list as I type this, and no, I will not divulge where you may or may not fall (I'm feeding this list to Ave after I'm done, she eats anything).  Some guidelines, if you are married, you do not get to double dip, sorry I do not make the rules (umm...wait).

I figure there are 28 people I would want to (some have to) give some money.  Of those I figured 8 were in Tier 1 (finally all my family members dying off early helps me!) and the remaining 20 were in Tier 2.  So now I have to find out how much to give these guys...hmmm...how much does a cup of coffee cost nowadays?  I am kidding, I would have no problem giving up $15 million, or a third of my winnings.

The first tier members get a million dollars, so there goes $8 million, leaving $7 million for the remaining 20, it comes out to $350k each, wow, that worked out well.

I guess I should give some to charity.  I could choose to spread it around, but I will not, I am a millionaire, I can be eccentric.  I would definitely donate to the American Cancer Society, if you have read my previous entries, you know why.

So now that I have the nice crap stuff out of the way, it is time to have some fun.  It is time to have some serious selfish squandering.

As soon as I know I have won, I cash the ticket and drive straight to the airport, no packed bags, just a wad of cash and a plan to hit Hawaii as soon (and hard) as possible.  I have always wanted to see Hawaii and I would do it up right.  I am buying everything that I need new, and here is the kicker, when I leave, I am leaving it all there, because after Hawaii, I am heading to Sweden.

I have Swedish blood running thru my veins and I have a very unhealthy obsession with that fact (I'm a moron).  I have heard the country is beautiful, but the food is terrible (I'm a millionaire, I'll fly in whatever I want).  Again, I am buying everything new, and just leaving it for the maids as I head to Australia (this is beginning to sound like a Price is Right final showcase...$1 Bob, never Drew).

Australia would be my final stop on my unpacked trip, but do not worry mates, I am leaving my stuff behind for you, too.  I head home and start to buy some stuff I will keep around.

I immediately buy a home in my hometown, and since I am trying to be as realistic as possible, I go with this one for a cool $1.2 million (the lake alone makes it great for me).  I put in a complete Viking outdoor kitchen (there's that damn Swedish obsession again).

Of course I need a brand new ride (tho I will keep the 2009 G6).  I am thinking of two distinctly different cars.  The first car is the 2014 Cadillac XTS, it is beautiful at $72k.  I am from a General Motors family and I do love my Caddy's.  The second is in honor of my father, a Ford guy.  So I go with this, a 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 for $650k.  I guess I have to relearn how to drive stick.

So now that I have my new home, my new cars, I need something to occupy my time.  I am thinking a really nice restaurant/bar.  I have to hold court somewhere, right?  My favorite types of food are seafood and Italian, but since I am still watching what I eat (hey, I can't go backwards after all the hard work I've put in) I go surf and turf.  I am thinking I call it Black Pines (I have no idea why, it kinda just popped into my head).  I tell people when they are walking into an uncomfortable situation to "walk in like they own the place", but do not try that crap in Black Pines, because I own it (Boom!).

Clearly I am a Crossfit nut (warning...warning...Crossfit dream gushing is coming), so I would have to talk to my instructor about letting me in on his ownership as I build a state-of-art box (that's what the Crossfit gyms are called, I didn't make it up).  If I am not chilling beside my lake, cooking at the Viking kitchen (Thor!), holding court at the Black Pines, there is a good chance I am at the newly built Crossfit Box (conveniently located across the street from my new house).

Oh, and since I like to cook, I will not need a personal chef, but I will need a personal shopper to buy the best of the best, of course.  Speaking of cooking, I am all over taking some classes to know how to get better at cooking. In fact...

I am all over becoming a professional student.  I really enjoy learning, and lets face it, if I fail, I will buy the professor off (it worked for Rodney Dangerfield).  I would learn to cook, improve my writing skills, study therapy, history and anything else that caught my attention.

I would be remiss if I did not mention the private boxes I would own at Heinz Field, PNC Park, Consol Energy Center and The Petersen Events Center.  I do love my Pittsburgh sports.

Oh and in case you are wondering where my kids fit in all of this, they will have to earn their money, just...like...I...dang.

So, this video

I really enjoy this Mumford and Sons video.  To me it is about overcoming adversity and finally seeing what is on the other side (although I didn't write it so...)

If the video does not display, try this link http://youtu.be/nMJUbZrNnA8

So, holidays without the kids

Thanksgiving my kids were with their mother, which left me heading to my aunt's house by myself.  See, at least for me, holidays without the kids are not that bad before or during the normal festivities (tho I freely admit that I am an odd individual), it is the time after leaving the family gathering that gets to me.

I was spoiled when I was married.  My ex-wife did not have a big family and what family she had was spread out or she was not close with, so we did not spend a lot of holidays with them.  While I liked spending time with her family (despite being PSU fans, lets go Pitt!), I always liked spending time with my family more.  So like I said, I was spoiled.

So when we got divorced, I gained even more time with my family around the holidays, but I lost my kids for half the holidays during the year. 

Like I said earlier, it is not the time before the day's activities that get to me (I got to stop over and see my kids before making the trip to my aunt's house).  The trip is the same I have made for over 10 years, so I can make it in my sleep (this year I ate so much I think I was actually in a turkey-stuffing-potato-green bean coma for the ride home). 

Even the unofficial, yet official, traditions were the same.  I am the oldest grandchild, but probably the most immature (shocker).  The cousins play a game where we guess what my Grammy Rue is going to wear to dinner (she's in her 80s and still has her wits, but I know where I get my fashion "style")  Even if a cousin is not around, a mass text is sent out so we can get our guesses in before dinner time.  For the record I lost with a not-even-close guess of blue elastic pants and a white sweater, my youngest cousin was not close either going with black pants and red sweater.  Nope, my brother in-law, who was well over 1,000 miles away in Denver nailed it to a tee with a guess of a pink velour jumpsuit (who even thinks of something like that?).  

The cousins tend to go to one room of the house where we sit around and make fun of each other, mainly at the expense of my youngest cousin (luv ya stinky).  So things were the same as far as what we did.

I missed my kids, but I was not distracted by the fact my kids were not there.  We still ate...and ate...and ate...I can not wait to go to Crossfit Latrobe and work off all the calories.  We still took bets on when my uncle would leave after dinner (if you take anything over five minutes you are pretty much guaranteed to lose).

It starts to get real, and uncomfortable, for me as other people start to leave.  See when I have my kids, I have that parental clock.  You start to notice the little things, things that nobody else would notice about your kids signalling they are close to their limits.  For Luke, he stops trying to wrestle with my cousin (it is neat to see the two of them interact, since we used to wrestle when he was little, I have him by about 12 years).  With Avery, she starts to get cranky, but she also starts to hide behind my legs.  When those things happen, I know it is time to go, without them...well...I am kind of adrift in a sea of confusion.

I grab my coat, keys, phone and wallet.   I say my good-byes with hugs and then I am out into the cold (I really dislike the cold).  This is where it really starts to hit that I am heading to an empty house without my children.  I have nothing, I mean nothing to do when I go home.  The house is clean, the laundry done, the dishes done, Colby is fed and it is a holiday, so friends are either in their own food coma or they are still with family (and besides I went out the night before, I can't make a habit of going out, can I...hmmm).  The ride home, which seemed like it took forever on the way down, goes way too fast on the way back.

Now I know my kids are having a good time with their mother, and that is comforting, however it is not all encompassing comforting.  It was only about seven at night when I got home, so I have a lot of time to kill.

I am notorious for forgetting to turn on my outside front door light when I leave, and of course I forgot again last night, so it is dark when I opened the door to a happy puppy (Colby rocks).  Luckily somebody a lot smarter than me invented texting and Facebook (if that didn't exist, where would I shove my blog links down your throats, myspace...please).

Crossfit at 5:30am helps to get me going in the morning, but even better is that I got my kids back around 9:00am, and they have some serious energy and hugs for me.  The even better news is the next holiday is mine, and it is the holiday, and that makes me smile.

So, about my victory

Sweat runs down my nose, the taste of blood fills my mouth, I can not give up, I have come too far.

I bend over and put my hands on my legs, my pants are soaked from wiping my hands on them.  There is equal chance it is sweat and blood, and there is equal chance the blood is mine or a vanquished foe.  I need to fight thru the exhaustion and pain, "just keep moving" I tell myself over and over.  They will not stop, no they will keep coming until there is nothing left of you. I must be heartless, I must be ruthless and I must show no weakness.

I slowly raise my torso back up and take one last breath.  The air tastes stale, like it is rising from stagnant water.  I start to run, head up, hands open, slight lean forward...the only thing going faster than my feet powered by my quads is my heart.  I can feel its beating in my neck, it feels like a drum.  I shake my head of the distraction, a distraction this late in the quest is liable to get me hurt, or worse, make me lose.  Hurt heals, but losing is forever.

I must keep my wits about me.  Even if they are not my strongest asset, they have kept me around this long.  I am still in this, and I am in this to win.  Too much is riding on me succeeding.

I see a puddle of something dark ahead of me on my left, it is shiny and placid, like a pond on a summer day where the only ripples are caused by a fish jumping for a mid-day snack.  Before I realize my mind has wandered, I feel a jolt to my ribs and hear a crunch that tells me an Advil will not be a quick fix.  I am sent flying to my left and I slide across the smooth floor and into the once placid puddle.  It is not a puddle of something anymore, it is a smear of blood, I see that now.

I look back and I see her.  She is as wide as she is tall, and she is very tall.  She caught me unawares with what looks like a leather mace she wields with two hands.  Her stench reaches me before she does.  She has obviously been here longer than I have or this is not her first go around.

She takes slow, but deliberate, steps.  Her matted hair flies about her head, eyes smeared with black and lips covered in red as she begins to swing her weapon again.  It is slow at first but the weight it holds gives it speed.  That is how I will I defeat this one.  I need only to dodge a single swing and she will be unbalanced.

I stay on the ground, but I plant my feet away from the smear, I do not want to add to it.  Wait for her to come closer....closer still...still closer...NOW!  As she brings her arms and weapon down on my position, I slide to her right.  The weight and momentum carry her a little and she stumbles.  I jump to my feet and my ribs remind me that she is not somebody to take lightly.  I kick at her in her wobbly state and she goes down hard on her head.  I thick thud and a slight groan tell me she is bested.

I give myself a second or two to feel my ribs and grimace in pain.  I start walking and there it is...the reason for all the pain, the reason for the exhaustion, the reason I have done unspeakable acts that I will relive in my nightmares for years to come, but wait...there is another.  He is on the other side.  He looks hungry and he looks desperate.  Clearly his journey has not been an easy one either.  While I do not know the horrors he has seen, I know he has seen them, but now he sees his finish line too.

We lock eyes and for a moment we both stop, then we run.   My ribs hurt more with every step I take, my lungs are burning and I am gasping for air.  I can feel my quads, hamstrings, glutes and calves all burning, they are begging for a rest, but my head and heart tell them rest is for the weak.

My eyes are on the prize, nothing else.  I am within mere feet of winning, of completing a task I did not think completable, but so is my opponent.  I am not sure who will get there first, but I can not risk being second so I alter my path slightly and when I near the center I send a hard a shoulder into his chest.  I hear the air leave his body and he is left crumpled on the floor.  I see his eyes and they show hurt, loss, and disappointment.  I also catch a reflection of my own eyes, they show soullessness.

There is nobody left to stop me, so I gingerly walk to the center.  My fallen opponent is trying fruitlessly to regain his form, he will not be able to, I know this and deep down he must too.  He tries to speak, something about his daughter.

I reach up and claim what is mine, finally.  Where the energy or pain tolerance comes from, I do not know, but I let out a primal scream.

I have survived Black Friday at Wal-mart!  Victory, thy name is Tickle Me Elmo!

As I stride out with my chest puffed and my swagger back, I immediately wonder how I much it will go for on Ebay.

So, I'm thankful for you, the readers

When I started this, I did it as a means of release, much like Crossfit (warning, warning Crossfit mention), after my divorce and losing my kids for half their lives.  It was a way for me to keep my head calm and organized.  I truly enjoy writing this blog (and writing in general for that matter).  I never expected anybody to read this, other than my mother (who oddly enough can't figure out how to find it on the big, bad interworldnetthing).

Well for some odd reason, of which I can not figure out, there are a few people that are reading my writing.  I get to see how many people read the blog on a daily basis thru the blogspot.com reporting.

So first I want to say thank you.  I mean that from the bottom of my heart (which is running at a much better rate thanks to Crossfit, I sneaked it in there again).  I have received numerous emails, Facebook messages, texts and calls about the blog.  A lot of you have shared similar stories to what I have gone thru, and that makes me feel like I belong, so again, thank you!

Now, I also want to say, some of you scare the living crap out of me.  Those reports I referenced earlier also tell me which posts get the most views.  I can break my readers into three distinct groups (yep, I'm going to profile you).

1.  The first group loves the family/kids/emotional stuff.  The posts about my father and my sister were among the highest viewed.  Those can be the easiest to write, but the hardest to post for me.  That is the closest I can come to standing in front of the world as naked as the day I was born, which I think helps make me stronger (tho you may want to shield your eyes).

I imagine the people that continue to click on those posts are some of the people that would stop and help an elderly woman fix a flat tire.  You are most likely parents and you know what it is like to love and lose someone close to you.  I would love to have a dinner with you guys, then sit around a table and tell stories long into the night (but not too late, we have kids to get up in the morning).

2.  The second group really likes the posts where I attempt to be funny (notice the word attempt).  My posts on cartoon shows and online dating got some good play.  These are usually easy to write and even easier to post.  They are usually off-the-cuff and they are motivated by something I saw that day or something I heard from a friend (or something I eavesdropped while at Aldi's or Giant Eagle). 

I imagine these people are mainly readers that are reading this while at work and looking for an escape (unemployment is a helluva escape, but I don't recommend it).  I see them as needing a distraction at times because they are working their arses off (make no mistake stay-at-home parents, you are in this group too).  I want to go grab a drink (not beer, I'm trying to get rid of the belly...well, ok, just one) and then tell dirty jokes with.  This group would probably keep me up too late to make it to the gym (hey, I didn't mention Crossfit...dang).

3.  The third and final group, you guys worry me.  Scare me as in I do not know if I should call the cops or call a psychiatrist when I see you. The two most popular posts I have put on the blog are ones about unemployment and getting a Q-tip shoved into my *ahem*.  What is wrong with you people?  Are you only happy when I am miserable (have you been talking to my ex-wife, again I'm kidding, I have a good relationship with her)?  I mean, you think it is funny that I walk around clueless, moronic and completely deserving of the occasional kharmic smack to the back of the head?  If I somehow crap my pants in front of a large group of people, I know who is going to read that first...you!

That said, I want to spend time with you guys and laugh with you guys, because I am one of you.  I want to go to Pens games and the first Pirate playoff game in 21 years with you.  I want you to introduce me to vodka and water (aka wodka) and I want to introduce you to Prom Queens (amaretto and diet Coke).  I want to make memories with you (that I may have to be reminded about).

Nothing makes me laugh more than my own stupidity than the stupidity of others.  Lets not act like it is a bad thing either, hell how many comedians and writers have made a living exploiting stupidity (seriously, I want to know how many).

Obviously this is tongue-in-cheek (where the hell else would it be?), I know I should not, and can not, put everybody into one category.  And truth be told, I fit into these, and a lot more groups.

Again, I have really enjoyed writing this blog and knowing that there are people reading my ramblings motivates me to JUST KEEP MOVING (what, did you think I wasn't going to get that in?)

Thank you so much and Happy Thanksgiving,

M

So, shameless plugs

Divorce, Crossfit, parenting, embarrassment, being a single dad, why would I not shamelessly plug myself (because I don't do it enough already on Facebook)? 

You can follow me on twitter at Halvybuckets

You can follow me on Pinterest (I'm brand spanking new on this, so I have no idea what I'm doing) Pinterest  The Pinterest page will have recipes, exercises and probably random stuff!

So, sometimes doing the right thing....

I am firm believer that we should always do the right thing, I am also a firm believer that I do not always do that.  I think a lot of the time we avoid the right thing is because we are afraid of the consequences (I know my daughter has no problem trying to avoid the consequences of misbehaving).

It can be painful to admit being wrong, or admit we screwed up or sometimes it can be physically painful.  I figure I would share a humorous (at least I can laugh about it now) situation I went thru immediately after I graduated from college.

WARNING GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF ME GOING THRU UNPLEASANTNESS

Ok, you have all been officially warned.

I started dating my ex-wife during my senior year in college, she was a junior (no, that isn't the unpleasantness).  So she still had another year away at school while I moved back in with my parents and waited for her to finish up (some advice to grads, don't move back in with your parents, trust me).

I had my first unpleasant real job and I was making decent money (it was decent because I was living at home, eating at home, and had no bills to speak of).  I also received these things called health benefits.  I did not really care about them, but man did everybody else tell me how great they were (everybody was right, I was a moron).

I did not really need to use them, as I had been fairly healthy (aside from the yearly laryngitis I would get in November, I'm odd, I know).  However, I got it in my head (which before therapy and meds was like a roller coaster in outer space) that I should get checked out for any sexually transmitted diseases.  Now I was not the most sexually active guy (tho it was not from the lack of trying, I just had no "game", kinda like now), but I was with my ex and it was something I thought responsible people did (it is, go get checked you dirty, dirty college grads).  So I decided I would dust off my health benefits and see what all the excitement was about.

So, while I like to applaud myself for making the decision to do the right thing (again you dirty, dirty college grads, it is the right thing), I do not know I would have done it at the age of 21, if I knew the pain I would go thru.

My first bout of pain came from my mother, oh my dear, sweet, over-dramatic mother (don't worry she doesn't read this blog, she doesn't know how to get to facebook on her phone let alone a blog).  When I told her why I was going to the doctor, she kinda freaked.  She said she did not think it was a good idea.  Her reasoning, now try to follow this logic, was that if my insurance company saw I was going for STD tests, they would think I was in a high-risk lifestyle and they would drop me.  Yep, that "what the hell did I just read" thought in your head was in mine too.  Had this been a Saved by the Bell type of sitcom, I would have looked into the camera and shrugged.

I did not let my mother's concern over my health coverage versus my actual health deter me from seeing my nurse practitioner (who is an amazing woman, keep in mind I said woman).  I remember going to the office and it was a beautiful summer day, which for me is blazing hot.  I was off from work and I figured lets go get some blood drawn.  I checked in, waited and got called back to a room.

The nurse came in and took my blood pressure, weighed me and briefly went over my medical history.  She then asked why I was there.  I told her I wanted to get tested.  She asked if I had any reason to think I had caught anything.  Suddenly embarrassment washed over me, I am sure I stumbled with my words less than I remember, but I remember it like I was Porky Pig.  I felt this overwhelming need to tell her that I was not some irresponsible 20-something that slept with a thousand woman and did drugs all the time.  She did not care, at all.

The nurse said my nurse practitioner would be in soon and she went on her way. A few more moments passed where I looked around the exam room...wow, neat model...huh, that is a lot of rubber gloves...do they call it a sharps container because the needles are sharp...and other stupid thoughts probably went thru my head.  Finally my nurse practitioner came in.  This is where I should have left the room.

She looked at me with a confused look on her face.  She then asked me why I was not undressed and in the gown on the counter (somehow in my mindless gazing around the room, I missed that).  The look on my face must have told her all she needed to know.

I can remember her next sentence exactly "Ok, honey, you don't know what this test consists of, do you?"  Apparently I did not, since I was figuring they would draw some blood, send it out to some lab filled with giant spinning thingys that could tell me I was clean of all dirty, dirty things.  After I told her no, she calmly pulled up the stool that sits in every doctor's exam room (you know the bad news stool they use when the news is so bad they need to sit to deliver it).  She then reached into a cabinet and pulled out a long pointy Q-tip (insert inappropriate "how long was it" joke here).  Gentlemen, this is where you may want to stop reading, ladies, feel free to laugh.

I really wish I could have seen my face as she explained that she would be inserting the sharpened Q-tip into my urethra (aka my...*ahem*).  She told me that while it would hurt going in, it would hurt more when she took it out (because all the moisture would be gone from my *ahem*).  To top it off, she informed me that the first time I peed, it would burn...a lot.

She was not wrong...about any of it.

So while I was doing the right thing, I was not enjoying it.  It was embarrassing, confusing and very painful (despite my best efforts to never pee again, my bladder eventually failed and fire ensued).

All that said, I can tell you it was the right thing to do. Knowing my mental health (or sometimes lack thereof) I can also tell you that the physical pain and ego bruising was totally worth the mental calm I got when I got a clean bill of health. 

So basically, if doing the right thing is to take a sharp stick to the *ahem*, it may actually be worth doing.

So, about being unemployed

Being unemployed is the worst thing ever (ok, not ever, but it still stinks).  Being unemployed is fine for the first week or so because it feels like a vacation, but then you quickly realize this is not the vacation you dreamed of, it is the one where you are trapped in a cruise ship cabin with the flu (not the vodka kind either) and you have seven teenagers bickering over which character on Dawson's Creek (that's still on, right?) is the best.

It is especially terrible now that it is cold and it is getting dark outside at 4:30 pm (is there anyway I can blame the government on this one?).   No more working outside or sending the kids out to play to tire themselves out.  Nope, cabin fever will be setting in at about 4:31 pm.  Even worse, since I hate the cold, is I am stuck in the house.

Let me go over the list of things you can do when you are unemployed and you are stuck in the house: sleep, eat, clean, shower, use the bathroom, clean,  watch tv, clean, and the worst of them all, apply for jobs.

Sure I am supposed to apply for jobs, and I am...constantly...over and over.  It is very much like online dating (if you read my online dating entry, you know how much I loved that).  It seems every company is trying to one-up each other on how hard it is to submit a resume.  I do not mind entering my name, address, phone number and email address.  I understand needing me to upload a writing sample, a resume and a cover letter, really I get that, but do I have to do it three separate times?  I mean really, if you are trying to see who can get thru the online gauntlet with the fewest hairs left on their head, then you are doing a bang-up job.  However, if you are trying to find somebody that wants to work for a company that does not enjoy torturing their employees, you may want to rethink your "automatic parsing" program that takes info from my resume and puts it where the hell it wants to on your site...just sayin'.

Once I have entered my information about six times (see as this entry grows, so does my nose), I finally get to the successful submission...wait...what the...I did not enter all the desired fields?  Which one did I miss?  Ok, after wading thru the previous 45 pages of information, I realize I forgot to check the box next to MR.

Ok, now I have the successful submission page.  The next part is worst the part, I would rather fill out 1,000 online applications that make you enter your information eight times (hmmm...my nose is itchy) then go thru this next part, the dreaded waiting game (insert evil laugh here).

Seriously, when I see a position I know I could do, or one that I really think is interesting, it is exactly like online dating.  I have checked their profile (wow that job looks great in jeans), I have let them know I am interested (that suave email I sent you with the attached duck face resume is from me, wink wink) and now I am going to sit by my computer and wait for you to respond...you ARE going to respond, right?  You would not just let me sit here and stare at my laptop (that is currently missing the letter b, thanks Ave!) and hope you get back to me.  Wait...was that a new email?  Why yes it was, oh, it is just an automatically generated email saying you got my application (so you're saying there's a chance).  That is ok, I will wait patiently.  Ok I have been waiting for 20 minutes, what is taking you so long?  I match up so well with you!  Our children would be adorable! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! 

All joking aside, I really do hate the job hunt process.  I already feel pretty lousy that I am not contributing to society and that I feel like I am letting my kids down, I do not need some computer program scanning my uploaded resume looking for keywords that might set off an email to an hr rep.

So if you know anybody that needs a copywriter, or an editor, or anything else that was popular before computers were invented, I am your guy.  Just shoot me an email, text, phone call, carrier pigeon, a rock with a note wrapped around it thru my window, basically anything but a fax (who uses a fax machine anymore, geesh people).

Seriously...do it...now...please...I have been waiting for at least five minutes now!

So, I love my Fridays

I am sure this first part of the entry will not win me any Father of the Year awards, but it is how I feel, and I try to be honest.  I love my Fridays.

Now I know a lot of people love their Fridays, but I do not think it is for the same reason I do.  Most people look forward to Friday because it is their last day of work for the week (except for those in the service industry, thank you!).  Being unemployed kind of takes that out of the equation for me, so that is not why I love my Fridays.  For a giant group of people, Fridays are pay days.  Again, being unemployed kind of takes that out of the equation for me (I'm getting better at math with all these equations!).  No, I love my Fridays because my kids go back to their mother's house.

See I told you I would not win any Father of the Year awards (or any new friends for that matter) with this part of the blog.  Now I only ask that you hear me out before you come after me with pitchforks and torches.  My custody arrangement is 50/50.  Friday is the back-and-forth day.  So, for example, this last Friday, I got my kids ready for school and the babysitter's house and once they were dropped off, my week was over.

What this means is I am essentially a single-dad for a week at at time, which like this last week, can feel like an eternity.  My kids are really good, for the most part, but every once in a while they are kidsastors.

Every night I have to sit with my daughter, Ave, for about an hour to get her to fall asleep.  When you have homework, or a son constantly calling for you, or a hot date with the couch this can be a little taxing.  You just want to go Sammy Jackson on her and say Go the F to Sleep (you need to click on that and laugh for a long time), but that clearly is not the proper way to handle this situation.  Well this week it was even longer.  She wanted to watch a movie in her room, nope not gonna happen (especially since it was the crappy new version of Willie Wonka, seriously Tim Burton, just stop already).  She wanted a snack, nope not gonna happen, she should have eaten dinner.  She wanted a different blanket, nope not gonna happen, she should not have spilled chocolate milk on it the day before.

So I cave, as I think most dads will do with a waist-high, blonde-haired, blue-eyed princess, and I start the movie (my brother-in-law looks like the new oompa loompas), get her a banana (then apple slices because the banana wasn't good, then crackers because nothing says comfortable sleep like crumbs in your bed) and finally I dig the dirty blanket out of the laundry (it's better than her being cold and waking me up at 3 am).    She is the anti-Sleeping Beauty, so I guess that makes her the Waking Beast (hey Disney, good luck with that marketing campaign).

When Ave finally falls asleep it is time to get Luke ready for bed.  He has never been a problem getting ready for bed, but since I am writing this entry, clearly he was this week.  The one night he was playing a video game (I officially hate them all and I can't believe I liked them), and I told him he had to go to bed the next time his character died.  I heard his character go down in a not-so-blaze of glory, and told him it was bed time.  This did not sit well with Luke.  He went into full meltdown mode, which of course woke his sister up...I wanted to go into Operation Shutdown, but being by myself (serious kudos to full-time single parents) I had to start the whole process over again.

Ave is an antagonizer.  She likes to get a rise out of her brother and she knows exactly how to do it.  This week she was the Pablo Picasso of antagonizing.  Luke came home from school and did not want to do his homework (which usually doesn't happen), I told him no games or snacks until he did at least half of it.  He whined (damn you Caillou!) but eventually he realized I was not going to cave. Well Ave had no issues just picking at him...and picking at him...and picking at him...it was like a vulture going after the bleached bones of a meal.  I tried my best to intervene, but sometimes the water just beats the dam.  He flipped out, big time.  I told him no games or TV the rest of the night (along with Ave as well) and he ran to his room slamming the door.  With Luke, trying to calm him down is better with hugs and love.  I did that, he calmed down a bit and we went out to the living room.  It took Ave all of two seconds to get him going again.  i wanted to pull out that secret bottle of something that we all know Caillou's mom is hiding.

So those instances, along with the normal nightly issues of Luke not wanting to eat what I cook, Avery not wanting to get out of the bath, both of them disagreeing on what show to watch, etc., I had no issue texting someone "Woohoo...I dropped my kids off!" on Friday morning.

I mean, I guess there were a few fun moments this week.  I thoroughly enjoyed Avery painting my toenails (I wish I had nail polish remover).  I was so proud at Luke's parent-teacher conference when the teacher said he was so smart and a joy to have in class.  I was even prouder when I saw his report card (he is the next Einstein and Edison rolled into one).  Sure, Avery telling me that I am a bad singer and that I should stop was cute.  If you twisted my arm, I would have to admit that watching a Pens game with son has become one of my favorite things in the world (he is so into it and cheers so loud).  Fine, Avery "helping" me make dinner a couple nights is so adorable I just want to squeeze her.  And yes, Luke wearing the Pitt Panther winter hat makes me want to burst.

The times they are not going after each other they can be so cute it makes a kitten look like Gary Busey, like when Luke tried to teach Ave how to read or how to count past 15.  And if I had to admit it, watching the two of them wrestle and laugh beats any game on tv. But...

But...but...umm...so...is it Friday yet, I miss my stud and punkinhead.

So, some of my favorite quotes

You may think this is an easy way out of writing a blog entry, aaaaaanddddd you would be right (I was saving lives last night, aka watching the Pens).  That said here are some of my favorite quotes that I always find inspirational:


“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.
-William Purkey (of course if your daughter tells you that you're a bad singer, maybe you are)


“Be the change that you wish to see in the world."
-Ghandi (I tend to turn this one around and make it about myself)


“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”
-Ghandi (he was smart)


"We accept the love we think we deserve." (this one is so powerful to me)
-From The Perks of Being a Wallflower


 “I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.”
-Thomas Edison (Thank you Mr. Suttner, my fourth grade teacher for introducing me to Edison's history)


“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”
-Hellen Keller (I would say she has us all beat in the tough life category)


 “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
-Winston Churchill

Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/abraham_lincoln.html#gVpL8f0wkMOm3vFs.99

Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/abraham_lincoln.html#gVpL8f0wkMOm3vFs.99

"Most people are as happy as they make up their minds to be"
-Abe Lincoln (My favorite American and one helluva motivator during the roughest time in our great country.  If he could stay positive while half the country wanted him dead, he dealt with his wife  who was a cause of great pain, he lost children, and he battled his own mental demons, then what I'm going thru is a piece of cake, especially since I know I've made up my mind to be happy.)


"Just Keep Moving"
-From someone smarter than I am, Ryan Beth Lynn

So, hitting a curve ball

I know I have heard you should stay away from sports analogies because it tends to alienate a part of your audience, but it is my blog, so deal with it (I'm kidding, please come back).  Really tho, I think everybody knows what a curve ball is, and I would say even more people know what is meant when somebody says life threw you a curve ball.

We would like to have nice easy pitches, most of us probably think we are owed them (personally I'm waiting for somebody to put one on a tee for me), but that is not how life works.  Sometimes you have to swing at the curve ball and hope you make contact.

I have given up trying to see the curve ball coming, I am as accurate as recognizing a good curve as I am at predicting Powerball numbers (I drive a 2009 Pontiac G6 with kool aid stains on the front seat).  However, I am trying to become better at adjusting to them.

I do not like change, at all (do you know how hard it was for me to give away my clothes from when I was bigger?).  I still have t-shirts from college and I still have several CD players, despite my music being on my phone.  Of course those are trivial (pursuit?) and really I do not think anybody cares that I have t-shirts that may be older than some of you reading this blog.  The changes, or adjustments, that I should make are always the toughest.

I set goals like most people, and I try to come up with a a plan as best I can.  Every once in a while a hiccup, or curve ball, rears its ugly head and sends me into a little bit of a panic.  I had one of those this week.

See my problem is I am an instant gratification kinda guy.  I like my things and I like my things now (I just figured out where my kids get it from...*sigh*).  When that does not happen, I get a little frazzled and frustrated (I need to work on my long-term patience).

I think everybody is entitled to be a little frazzled or panicked for a little bit after getting fooled by a curve ball, but I think the recovery time is where I need to improve.  Usually I tend to stew or dwell on what went wrong, how I screwed up, how somebody else screwed up, or even how it is going to get worse, but really that does not serve any purpose.  If I could just keep moving (I've heard that somewhere before), I could fix my issues and move on quicker (at least if it is a week the kids are at their mother's house because quick doesn't exist when they are here).

Dwelling does nothing to keep me moving forward.  It makes small problems into mental mountains, and it makes big problems into self-made tragedies.  I do not need that in my life. Dwelling is a poison to me.  It keeps me from being me, from falling asleep, from staying asleep and can make me a pain in the arse to be around.  I need to avoid it.

So while I know I may not make the right decision after swinging wildly at that curve ball, at least I can shorten the dwelling and the amount of time before I finally get to that elusive right decision (sometimes I won't, it happens).  Lets face it, we could all use more time, even if my father liked to argue that time was a man-made invention (no dad, the way we measure it is a man-made invention, time is still ticking away, and it is finite...).

I am still trying to figure out how to make contact, but in the mean time, I will do my best to be ready for the next pitch (I really hope it's thrown underhand).