Cash Back Recycling – Brilliant!

On trash pickup days, we put our recyclable materials in curbside bins: glass bottles, plastic bottles, tin and aluminum cans. The city hauls them all away for recycling. “Do we get the CRV?” my daughter asked.

“No, we just let the truck take it all away for free,” I said. “And we feel good for recycling.”




My daughter was aghast, We were giving away cash! Ever the industrious girl. She kept the recyclable containers aside until we had a month’s worth of bottles and cans. It was a huge pile of loot, with plenty of those big dime-value containers.

We drove to our local recycling center, and were promptly told to sort our cans and bottles into bins. No problem! We had already separated the glass and plastic. How hard could it be?

“Clear glass here, colored glass there, aluminum here, plastic there, tin here,” the guy running the place said. A gruff-looking man rode up on a bicycle with huge plastic bags full of recyclables that we guessed he collected off the street. He didn’t need a tutorial, he went straight to work at sorting his find. Hey, if he can do it, so can we.

“Just make sure it says CA CRV on the label,” the recycling station manager said to us.
“Don’t they all say CA CRV?” we asked.
The recycling station manager cracked a smile. “Nope.”

For the record – California pays cash back for containers that held water, soda, beer, wine coolers, mineral water, sport drinks, coffee, tea and juice. (The redemption value is added on to the price of the beverage when you buy it.)

Those milk cartons we brought? Bzzzt.
Those liquor bottles? (Whiskey, tequila, vodka, gin) Bzzzt.
Those plastic yogurt containers? Bzzzt.
Those tin cans that had healthy vegetables? Bzzzt.

For the stuff we returned that had redemption value, our cash back totaled a whopping 70 cents. That’s not even enough to buy a taco!

“So much for getting rich off our own recycling,” my daughter said.
My daughter gives up too easily. Clearly, we’re eating the wrong things.
“No more milk in your cereal,” I said. “Soda pays cash back.”

Caching!

Father Daughter Hit The Pump

Over the years, I've watched my daughter mature from preteen girl to car-driving teen, and she’s become quite the confident, intelligent, self-assured girl (young woman). My daughter rocks! (Proud daddy moment. Sorry.)
While I've raised her with tons of love and nurturing care, I never treated her with princess gloves, fearing that would hold her back. I'm a father who wants his daughter to kick-ass on her own strengths, rather than wait for a man to take care of her. (Note to Ann Coulter: I have nothing against men and women coupling up. Lord knows I'd love some feminine energy and regular sex in my life. I just want my daughter to know she can take care of herself.)


My ex has a similar attitude – that our daughter is better off if she’s confident enough to fend for herself. (My ex is someone else who kicks ass in that department.)

This means now that my daughter is driving, she doesn't turn to mom or dad for gas. She’s a responsible teen who buys her own fuel at the pump. Right?


By the time I was driving as a teenage boy, I had a fast-food service-industry job that gave me money for gas, movies, and cheap dinners out with my girlfriend. I never asked for hand-outs from my father or mother. (Okay, when I was down to my last dollar.)

My daughter knows this. So when we hit the gas pump in her hand-me-down car the other day, she pulled out her gas card, pronto.

“How low is your tank?” I asked.
“It’s pretty much empty,” she said.
“And how much money is on your gas card?”
“Six dollars.”

That would buy her a few gallons. Sheesh. She’s got plenty of time in life to learn to be self-reliant. I filled her tank on my credit card.

Sometimes a father’s daughter really is daddy’s little girl.

The baby at the gas station

You are truly rad. Your friend? Not so much.

UPDATE: It’s now being reported that the mother GAVE the baby to the woman at the gas station and that the baby was never actually dumped in a bag. Let’s go ahead and add “What kind of crazy bitch fakes this story?” to the mix.

I’m gonna start with the obvious and ask, what kind of a lowlife douche abandons a baby at a damn gas station? How much crack do you have to be smoking to think that’s a good idea? I mean, why not drop the kid off at a safe place on your way to the methadone clinic?
In case you haven’t heard, some soulless person abandoned a baby at a gas station in Long Beach Monday night. Picture this. You head over to the convenience store in a sketchy part of town to buy your Lotto ticket. [You don't win if you don't play.] Suddenly you see a bag against the wall and since you’re nosy, you look inside. There’s another bag inside the first bag so you open that as well. Imagine your surprise at finding a baby with the umbilical cord still attached.
I love the fact that in the video below, the woman rats her friend out by saying the friend told her to “just leave it” and the reporter doesn’t even flinch. If I was the reporter I’m pretty sure I would have bitch slapped the friend for being straight up mean.
All kidding aside, who the hell does something like this? I mean, if you don’t want the baby take it to a church or hospital. Just because you’re some kinda disturbed doesn’t mean your child has to die. I seriously cannot envision a single scenario that would end with me dumping my baby at a gas station. I can’t envision dumping her at all, but if I had to do it I would take her to a hospital or a fire station.
I don’t know what to say other than, I don’t get it. I really don’t. My Drama Queen is everything to me. She’s partially the reason I’m greying but she’s the reason I get out of bed every morning. If you think I’m mean with that greying comment, chill. You know every parent goes bald or gets grey at the amusement of their children.
When she’s in school I worry that she’s not paying attention in class or that she didn’t study hard enough for a test. When she’s at tennis I wonder if she’s paying attention to the coach so that she can reach her goal of going from frosh/soph to JV next fall. When she’s at home I worry that she may be trying to read her Kindle instead of her science notes. We worry because we care and we care because we’re parents. And because we want our children to have good jobs so they don’t have to put is in a home someday.
I hope they find the loser who did this and I hope that person never gets out. I won’t go so far as to say they should be shanked in the yard, but I could see it happening. The baby is alive and thankfully in stable condition at a local hospital. I pray that baby gets a home with people who love it. I’m totally at a loss for words right now, so I’ll keep it short and sweet. Thank you to the lady who took the baby home and called 911. You are truly rad. Your friend? Not so much.


Watch local news video

P.S. I’m in a slightly classier neighborhood. Slightly.

Other priorities

What do you have?
Here’s a great story for you. My ex, Baby Mama, is behind on paying child support to me. When we first split she was hurting financially so I didn’t pursue the issue. I was trying to be a nice guy. Almost nine years later she decided to step up to the plate and pay what I deemed an acceptable amount per month. That lasted only a few months.                                   

The bottom line is she’s past due on what she owes and I’ve been leaving messages for her with no response. On Tuesday I finally got a call back. Strangely enough it came right after the voice mail I left her saying that if she didn’t return the call that evening I would call her work tomorrow (she works outside of the office) and leave a message saying we need to talk about her unpaid child support. If you’re gonna tell me that I legally can’t leave messages like that, save it. I’m not interested in hearing it.
Once Baby Mama returned my call I was told she has “other priorities” and that she wasn’t going to explain what those priorities are. “Uh,” I stammered. “OK.” There was a moment of silence and I said I had a question. “Do you realize that your daughter is your first priority?” Baby Mama told me she understood but that she still had other priorities.
This whole situation totally baffles me. She went almost nine years without paying child support and went periods of months and years with no contact whatsoever. I can’t describe what I’m feeling other than to say it’s a combo of anger and sadness. I mean, how does a person seemingly care so little about the child they carried for nine months?
You want to talk about priorities? How’s this for a priority. Near the end of our last strike in 2003 I wasn’t working and was waiting to get approved for food stamps On several occasions I would go two or three days at a time without eating so I could make sure my daughter had plenty of food. Apparently every parent doesn’t have that kind of commitment to their child. I find that sad.
I was talking with my daughter this evening and I mentioned that I couldn’t afford to pay for something I said I would. She asked why and I told her I simply didn’t have the money right now. “What about the money from my mom?” She asked.
After taking a deep breath, I told my daughter that her mom was behind in paying me and that she wasn’t sure when we would be giving me more. I hated telling her that, but she’s old enough to know the truth. The first thing she asked was, “Is my mom mad at me?” That question was like a knife in my heart. When she was younger I made up reasons to explain why her mom wasn’t around and that nearly killed me. I told my daughter that I was very sure her mom wasn’t mad but she was welcome to call and ask.
I’m choosing my words very carefully in this post because I don’t want to come off as overly bitter or opinionated. If I seem that way, sorry. My goal is to stay factual and don’t say something I’ll later regret. You have no idea how hard that is for me at this moment. I mean the “say something I’ll later regret” part. Being factual is easy.
“Benjamin,” you ask. “Is there a point to all this or are you simply venting?” Yes there is a point and its a simple one. I don’t have a priority. I have a daughter. What do you have?

Cruising on a Saturday

My teenage Drama Queen’s first semester of high school was officially over Thursday and the students had a day off on Friday. With that in mind, I arranged to meet my friend Steve at his son’s apartment a block from the beach in Seal Beach for a bike ride.
As I read what I just wrote I realize that sounds vaguely homosexual and I want to assure you he’s not that kind of friend. I have gay friends. Steve’s not one of them. As usual, I digress. Allow me to begin again.

Saturday morning my daughter and I loaded our beach cruisers onto the back of my car and headed to Seal Beach to meet my friend Steve and ride around the beach. To be clear, I did all the loading. She just stood there.
It takes 1 hour 15 minutes to get from home to downtown Seal and as soon as I started the car DQ began yammering. “Did you know on Monday we start reading the Odyssey in English?” She asked. “Uh,” I replied. “Yeah. Who told you that you were starting it and who suggested you get a copy for your Kindle so you can begin reading?” She had no answer to the question which was odd considering we had the Odyssey conversation less than 18 hours prior.
After reminding her it was I who suggested she get the book, my daughter began to ask detailed questions about Homer and his Odyssey. I explained that I hadn’t read the book in years but My Muse loves the book so she should point any questions that direction. She then started asking questions about Greek gods and I once again explained that she should discuss this with My Muse because the only thing that I know about Greek gods is that Aphrodite is supposed to be the hot one.
I’m pretty sure you can see where this is heading, right? For the next seven minutes I swear to God she asked me thirty different questions about the book and the gods and I only had two responses for her. It was either, “I don’t remember anything about Greek gods. Ask My Muse.” Or, “I don’t remember the book. Ask My Muse,” Actually, the last Greek god one started with, “Seriously?” And the last book one began, “Holy crap!
We were three blocks from our destination when she finally stopped yammering and I was enjoying the quiet. As we approached a stop sign on Main St. I noted that we were the fourth car back. And that we had a cop in front of us. Suddenly, dude throws on his lights and barrels around the two stopped cars and through the intersection.
“Damn,” I said to my daughter. “Somebody must have really messed up.” At the same moment I saw the car screech into a parking spot directly in front of Nick’s Deli. The only parking spot within a half block of Nick’s, I might add. Then they casually walked in to the deli, presumably to pick up breakfast burritos. Is the siren used for dinner only or do they have to be traveling further than 500 feet before they use it?
I would say I’m surprised the cops did it, but My cousin grew up in Seal Beach and frankly it would take a lot to surprise me with the Seal Beach Police. This is the same force that in the spring of 1984 sent a police dog after three of his friends who were toilet papering my uncle's house.
They were hiding in the bushes three houses down and the officer knew where they were, but this lunatic had just gotten the dog and wanted to try him out. After they arrested his friends and took them to the police station (seriously) the cop pulled my cousin’s car in front of a fire hydrant and gave him a ticket. Nice, huh? If I remember the story right, that officer was later dismissed from the force for something crappy. What a shock.
Once we got to Shawn’s (Steve’s son), we unloaded the bikes and headed down Ocean towards First. We passed beach front house after beach front house and as I glanced at the ocean and blue sky between the houses, I vowed that I would try to get out and do this a couple times a week. I also vowed that I would do it when DQ was in school so that I could keep my sanity.
Why do I bring up my sanity? My daughter isn’t “uncoordinated” but it’s safe to say she could use a little more. She’s never had much desire to ride a bike until this past summer and she’s not overly steady on it.
My brother got her a cruiser for her birthday in April and she loves it. She and I have been out together a few times, but she has this tendency to not ride straight and it scares the crap out of me. Just before we ended the ride this morning I pulled to the side because I’d gotten slightly ahead of my daughter. I turned to look just in time to see my angel (only riding about 2 MPH) ride straight into the back of a parked Infiniti. Not the corner of the car but dead center of the back end.
In her defense, it was black and one could make the argument it was hard to see. Who am I kidding? There’s no defense for hitting a parked car when you have a whole street to ride on. I apologize for even trying to spin that in a positive manner.
After an hour of cruising through the streets of downtown Seal Beach we stopped for a donut and coffee before biking to the pier to take a couple of pictures. For some reason I don’t have a lot of pictures of the two of us together and I have none of the slimmed down me (15 pounds in three months) and my daughter.
There’s a grassy area next to the pier and we stopped there to take a couple shots. Drama Queen got off her bike and I turned towards the beach to look for a good spot to stand. Suddenly I heard a smack and quickly spun around. Seeing my daughter with her hands cupped closed, I ask what happened.
“I caught a butterfly,” she proudly said. “No,” I thought. “You killed a butterfly.” As you can see from the picture, the butterfly was unharmed and stayed in her open hand for almost 30 seconds.

I totally needed this bike ride and I’m going to make it a priority to get out on a regular basis. I think I’ll hit Bolsa Chica or the Huntington Cliffs next weekend so I can ride with a prime view of the ocean and chill while I exercise. I think I’ll even put together a Beach Cruisin playlist for my iPhone. That way I can stick in my earbuds and listen to some tuneage as I ride.
I’m thinking Sublime, Katrina and the Waves, Blink 182, Oingo Boingo, The Smiths, Harvey Danger, Red Hot Chili Peppers and anything else that was played on KROQ since 1980. Any suggestions?

A teenage life lesson

I need to go find a way to accomplish that. Somehow.

Yes. That’s me in 1983. I’m not sure where to start mocking myself. Is it the hair? The glasses? Maybe the fact that I was 5 ft 5" 160 pounds and chubby? Just don’t mock the suit and tie. If you do, we’re gonna have a situation.




Tomorrow my daughter is supposed to play her violin at Disneyland. But she’s not. Let me explain….
Drama Queen’s high school orchestra was invited to play at Disneyland and when I found out about this a couple months ago, I was very excited. So was she. But not anymore. Why? Daddy pulled the plug on the Happiest Place on Earth. Why did I pull the plug? School.
Before Christmas break I sat down with my daughter (a senior) and her mom to discuss her grades. She’s doing really well in most subjects, but is having some difficulty in English and Biology. Both classes are easy fixes and it’s really just a matter of putting in the right amount of effort, but she apparently didn’t want to go bad bad enough. Because of that, last night I told her I was pulling her from the all day trip to Disneyland.
I’m bummed that I had to do it, but I don’t have second thoughts. I know I did the right thing. She needs to learn that everything has a price. Of sorts. Anything good in life costs something and it’s not always about dollars and cents. The stuff that really matters is paid for with something far more precious than the almighty buck. It’s paid for with effort, commitment and desire.
I see a lot of my high school self in my daughter and quite frankly it scares the crap out of me. I didn’t like high school much because I felt like I never fit in. I was the preppy dude rockin the argyle like a mo-fo, but I didn’t fit in. I’m kinda pimp now, but I wasn’t like that in the 80′s. Really.
I felt socially awkward in high school and was made fun of. A lot. I know the guys who made fun of me are complete tools, but somehow that didn’t help much at the time. I had no self esteem and I was so sick of hearing the word “potential” that I do my best not to use it on my daughter.
My high school years were filled with getting blown off by people and listening to my classmates tell stories about the awesome parties they went to and the fun things they did as a group. I rarely dated because I was sure the girls would say no. I never experienced a swirly or got stuffed in a trash can, so I have that going for me. Through the magic of reconnecting with a lot of my former classmates I found out that had I only asked, a lot of the girls would have gone out with me. That’s info I needed 29 years ago. Oh well.
Don’t think I was a friendless loser, because that’s not the case. I mean, I felt like a huge loser, but I had some great friends. I don’t talk with them as often as I should, but I still consider them to be friends and I’m fairly sure they consider me one.
I want Drama Queen to enjoy her high school years and to have more fun than I did. I’m not saying I want her to be one of the ‘popular kids”, because I don’t. I’ve never pushed my daughter to be popular or the best at anything. All I ask her for is effort. That’s it. I just want her to be able to relax, enjoy these years, get good grades, and get better at tennis so she can get a scholarship and save me a few bucks.
I really took notice of Drama Queen’s stress last week and it started bringing back a ton of memories. Most of those memories sucked and I remembered the stress and worry I constantly felt in my teen years. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I’ve lived more than 30 of my 47 years carrying a ton of stress and that way of life is getting passed to Her Majesty. I don’t want that for her or for me.
I’ve been making a conscious effort to try and relax more. I
tend to
constantly worry about stuff I have no control over and I know it’s not healthy and that I should stop, but for some reason, I don’t. At night I can’t get my brain to slow down or shut off and it kills me to think that my daughter may be doing the same thing. I need to stop this not only for my health, but to make sure my daughter has a long, happy life.
I told Drama Queen that missing a full day at Disneyland so she could stay at school is a “Life Lesson” and she understood. I asked her how many people (relative to the entire population of the world) get to perform at Disneyland even once and she said, “Not many.” My daughter took it well and didn’t argue with me. She completely understands that the reason she’s not going is all on her and that I gave her every opportunity to go. For that I’m both happy and proud.
Now I’m faced with a dilemma. I’ve spent several years trying to deal with my stress and to find a way to relax and I haven’t been successful. Now I have to figure out how to take my daughter, whom I love a lot, and help guide her towards the path of a happy, stress free, worry free life. I don’t suppose Mapquest can get me there, can it? I didn’t think so.
I guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way and figure it out for myself. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go come up with a plan to accomplish that. Somehow.

The internet is spooky

So there I was minding my own business in the middle of the night browsing the web looking for reviews of novels that I could download for Breana’s new Kindle. I looked under crime and found some really neat-o books. I browsed around for a bit and looked under mystery and found another couple that I thought she might like and proceeded to purchase them. I looked around a bit more from this site that is associated with the Kindle and bought a couple of more items from this site. What happened next really freaked me out. I don’t know how they do it but whatever email marketing software geniuses they have are well worth their money. I started getting emails and Twitter followers from sites and users that knew nothing of me until I placed those orders.

This whole thing is so spooky. What’s next? I am going to be in the kitchen one night looking up some recipes to coordinate some sort of semblance of a wonderful dinner and someone is going to email me about something pertaining to what I am currently looking at. If I go to a online conversion chart to see how many tablespoons are in a quart they will probably email me the link or current special where I could buy the exact product to figure that out with. I don’t know about how everyone else feels but that is way too scary.

$1 pregnancy tests

I just returned from the Dollar Tree store near my house. My neighbor asked if Drama Queen and I wanted to ride with her and I said, “Sure.” Little did I know that I would emerge from the store with this blog post.

I’m all about saving a buck and I’m not ashamed to say I know my way around this particular store. There are some things one should not skimp on, and pregnancy tests fall into that category. I’d like to say that was the only disturbing thing I saw, but it wasn’t.
There are things you cut corners on and things that you don’t. Lotion, cleaning supplies, candles, fake Tupperware and 3-packs of Bible card games are examples of products you can get away with going cheap. Pregnancy tests fall into the, “Spend an extra couple of bucks” category.
On the shelf next the pregnancy test was an Ovulation Predictor. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you can spend a dollar and accurately find out when your chick is going to ovulate? I think I would rather guess and save the buck for the dollar menu at Wendy’s. It;s a crapshoot either way and at least you can get a frosty out of it.
After I saw the first two really bad ideas, I started searching for condoms. I didn’t see any, so I asked the girl working there. She had no clue (duh), and I continued the search on my own. I looked high and low and finally ascertained that they do not sell condoms at Dollar Tree. With that knowledge in hand, I breathed a small sigh of relief.
If they were to ever sell condoms, they should change the wording on the pregnancy test box to say, “If you used our condoms, go ahead and assume you are pregnant.”
As a species where have we gone wrong? Somewhere along the line our society has decided that accurately finding out if you got knocked up should be worth a buck. There is no way to put a price on the miracle of life, but I have to believe that finding out of you’re going to have a baby has to be worth at least $9.99. Am I right?
As I stood in the cluttered aisle I wondered what other bad ideas they were selling here for a dollar. I assumed that the aisle I was currently in would yield the best fruit, so I moved back a bit and carefully scanned the shelves as I worked my way towards the front of the store.
I’m not a chick, but I have a teen age daughter, so I will go out on a limb and say that the concealer and makeup they sell is probably crap. I’m not saying women should start shopping st Sephora or MAC for their cosmetics. I’m sure Walmart has a fine selection at reasonable prices.
I have to believe that the makeup they sell at Dollar Tree is fully-allergenic and not hypo-allergenic. I was disappointed to find that you cannot buy acne cream at Dollar Tree. I’m pretty sure if you use their makeup you will need a bottle of some good zit cream to get rid of your newly hatched mountain range.
They also had a 2-oz tube of Warm Touch Warming Jelly for a buck. I’m not sure what to say about that. I know there’s a joke or funny comment to be made about it, but I’m at a loss for words on this one. Sorry.
I did like the fact that the picture indicates one should keep it on the nightstand next to the clock radio. Totally classy…
Next to the warming jelly was a 30-pack of Lucky Super Soft Intimate Cleansing Wipes. I guess they could be used to clean up different types of spills, one of which could be the warming jelly.
I’m actually OK with this product and if I felt there was to be any intimate contact in my immediate future, I would have picked up a pack of these. But there isn’t. So I didn’t.
Actually, now that I look at the package closer, I realize that the wipes are for women to wipe down their, uh, “business”, presumably before they get down to business. I’m guessing they could be used as both a “before” and an “after” wipe.
Maybe my women readers can educate me on something. How is an “intimate wipe” different from a baby wipe? I know on a baby wipe package you don’t get a silhouette of a naked chick with her legs partially crossed. Is there any difference in the wipe itself? Help me out here ladies.
I’m sure there was plenty of other funky shit for me to find here, but at this point, Drama Queen and my neighbor were ready to roll, so I had to hit the check out line and head home to start writing this.
One final note. If you are pregnant, the test won’t tell you who the Baby Daddy is. You still have to go on Maury to find that shit out.
P.S. The pregnancy tests come 72 in a case and you can order a case on the Dollar Tree website. In case you were wondering

A tale of two years

It’s finally 2012 and for that I’m glad. 2011 was a shitty year for me, but I have big hopes for 2012. Of course, a year ago I said I had big hopes for 2011 and we know how that turned out.
2011 saw my health deteriorate and lots of financial stress, but my teenage Drama Queen and I somehow made it through. I have great friends, both online and off, who have helped keep me sane and I want to make sure they all know how much I love them and appreciate them.
I’m most thankful to my Muse who is as great a chick as I’ve ever been involved with. I know at times I’ve been a dick and a pain in the ass to deal with, but she’s stood by every step of the way. I truly believe that when you find someone willing to put up with your shit that you should keep them around. Even though it’s a struggle living on separate coasts, we’re somehow finding a way to make it work and I’m optimistic that we can continue making it work for a long time.
Six years ago I had an idea for a book, but had zero self confidence in my fiction writing, so I put it aside. I started working on it a dozen different times over the next few years, but never got more than a couple thousand words in when I figured it was shitty and not worth continuing.
Finally in late 2010 I started feeling better about my ability to write fiction courtesy of the Red Dress Club (now Write on Edge). The encouragement I received there gave me the confidence I needed to seriously attack the book in 2011 and I’m happy to say that it’s still not finished. During 2011 I asked a few of my Twitter and blogging friends to look at some of the book to give me feedback. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but my confidence ebbed and flowed and I wanted some assurance that I was on the right track. Imagine my surprise in October when a friend pointed out that someone put up a WordPress blog called “Benjamin's Shitty Book”.
This person posted three chapters online and talked about what a dick I am for sending the chapters to them and they spent a lot of time mocking me. I have no idea what caused someone to do this. I really don’t. The only explaination I have is that either someone who said they wanted to look at it, didn’t really want to or I accidentally sent it to someone I didn’t ask to read it. Either way, the person can feel free to kiss my ass.
I think my biggest accomplishment in 2011 was somehow getting my daughter ready for Collage. She’s in a good school and doing well academically, which makes me very happy. She made the frosh soph tennis team and has great coaches who work with her and who think she has the ability to make Varsity next year.
Drama Queen has played violin since third grade, but the reality is that she’s a mediocre player. The orchestra at her school is very, very good and D.Q. asked if she could change to Drama at the end of the semester. I’m happy to announce that later this month, my daughter will officially be a drama queen. I’m not sure how that’s going to turn out, but I’m pretty sure it will make for some good blog posts.
I’m still struggling with my health, which has made me kind of a loner, but I’m appreciative to my long time friends for checking on me and keeping me involved. Steve, Crystal, Bone, Shawn, Steph, Victor, Viviana, Josh and Cat are some of the best people I know and I love them all.
I keep telling myself that 2012 will be good and I’m pretty sure that one of these days I will come to believe it. I know I haven’t blogged in more than a week and my posting frequency has been spotty at best, but the truth is that my brain needs a rest.
In the half hour I’ve sat here writing this, I’ve become mentally exhausted, so I’m going to end this here. Steve and Shawn are huge Oregon fans and invited me to watch the Rose Bowl with them, so I’m going to go rest for a bit before donning my Wisconsin shirt and hat. I’m hoping for a Wisconsin ass kicking so I can do the taunting. I hate being the one getting mocked, but sadly I’m kind of used to it.
Thanks for supporting me in 2011 and here’s to big things for all of us in 2012. Word to your mother.

Closer To The Edge

Can you imagine a time when the truth ran free?
The birth of a song, The death of a dream
Closer to the edge

Thirty Seconds to Mars



I was listening to Pandora last week and this song came on. I’ve heard it a bunch of times, but for some reason the beat caught my brain and I paid more attention to it. Later in the day I was on YouTube and decided to check out the Closer To The Edge  video. About 58 seconds in, I came to the conclusion that I liked this video despite the fact that one could argue the possibility that the “Thousand to one and a million to two” move is a sign of which team lead singer Jared Leto plays for. The white leather belted coat doesn’t help your case either. I’m not saying I believe it, but I can see how someone might.
I don’t remember the moment I tried to forget
I lost myself, is it better not said
Now I’m closer to the edge
The straight up truth is that I’d like to forget the last seven or eight years of my life. It was going well, and then it all went to shit. I’m not throwing blame around. I’m a grown-ass man and with a lot of hindsight in my past, and it’s my fault. Not that it matters who’s at fault. The point was that I’d like to forget the last seven or eight years of my life. Let’s just leave it at that.
Also, that edge I’m getting closer to better damn well be the top of the shit hole I’m trying to pull myself out of. If it’s not, I’m gonna be really  pissed and go off on some gnarly rant. Guaranteed. Stay tuned.
It was a thousand to one and a million to two
Time to go down in flames and I’m taking you
Closer to the edge
I find it ironic… I truly believe in my heart, the good shit is right around the corner, yet if you said that to me a week ago I would tell you that you’re smoking crack. I’ve learned a lot about myself as a writer, especially over the last year. I’m not sure how I got on this writing high, but hands off. This shit is mine. My point with this is that I’m going for it. I feel great about the way my life is heading and if I go down, I’m going down in flames. As in, pushing myself closer to the edge of a happy, successful rest of my life. You’re invited to come along for the ride, just be sure to wear your seat belt. If we do near the “going down in flames’ part, I’ll be sure to eject you all from your seats. You’re welcome.
Also, how can something be both 1000-1 AND a million-2? If it is possible, what’s the vig on that gotta be? Sounds like shady gambling to me. You’re better off staying away from that action.
No I’m not saying I’m sorry
One day maybe we’ll meet again
As funny as that may sound, the last year or so, I’ve really isolated myself from almost everyone and I hate it. I really do. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve done it and still do, but I think it has something to with the health limitations I’m presented with right now.
I’m not my normal self and I don’t want people I know to see me like this and I feel like if they do, they’ll feel like they don’t know how to react to me. I know that sounds totally ignorant considering they’re all great, loyal friends who I’ve known anywhere from 16-25 years. The reality is they’ve all seen me worse than this, but it was only for a night, or until I yakked it out of my system. This is different. My message to those friends is to get in touch with me and call me the same shitty names you always have.
If you actually watch the video (which I encourage you to do for its one two punch of normal looking guys from their The Kill video? OK. They weren’t all normal. One guy was getting fellated by a giant teddy bear, but it was only for like two seconds or something, so he’s probably still relatively normal.
I’m not at all sure why, but Jared has this Adam Ant thing going on Dude’s wearing war paint like Adam did in Goody Two Shoes and he has what I believe is a white weightlifting glove on one hand. Hate to break it to you J-Lo, but Michael Jackson barely pulled off that look and his glove had sequins.
I told Drama Queen that I wanted her to watch the video and she asked why. “Just shut up and do it,” I said. So she did. And she liked it. As I knew she would. My daughter wanted to know why I wanted her to watch it. “Two reasons,” I said. “First is that I thought it might inspire you to accomplish great works or something.”* She stared at me like I was wasting her valuable time and asked what the other thing was. Shaking my head, I sighed and explained that she needs to, “Get over this Rhianna, Lady GaGa and KIIS FM bulllshit” she’s been listening to.
I reminded my daughter that KROQ roqs the FM dial, plus she already likes Muse, Evanesence, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Veruca Salt, Garbage, Puddle of Mudd, No Doubt, Paramore, All-American Rejects, Brian Setzer Orchestra, Good Charlotte, Linkin Park (she LOVES Linkin Park) and now, Thirty Seconds to Mars. That seems like a good foundation for alternative. I’m trying to get her interested in Silversun Pickups, but no luck yet. I could tell you I’ll keep you posted about that, but the reality is that I wont. No point blowing sunshine, ya know?
I’ll end it like this. Watch the video and listen to the song, then honestly ask yourself this question. “If I were at this concert, would I be bouncing up and down during this song?” At least a little? Let me know your answer…

*“Or something” is the PG version of, “And shit.”
P.S. If you picture Jared Leto as a blond Faith-era George Michael with a pink mohawk, the video makes a lot more sense.

Entertainment and catchy music along with a positive message for the youth of today), you’ll see this is a new look for the band. What I want to know is what happened to the normal looking guys from their The Kill video? OK. They weren’t all normal. One guy was getting fellated by a giant teddy bear, but it was only for like two seconds or something, so he’s probably still relatively normal.
I’m not at all sure why, but Jared has this Adam Ant thing going on Dude’s wearing war paint like Adam did in Goody Two Shoes and he has what I believe is a white weightlifting glove on one hand. Hate to break it to you J-Lo, but Michael Jackson barely pulled off that look and his glove had sequins.

I’ll end it like this. Watch the video and listen to the song, then honestly ask yourself this question. “If I were at this concert, would I be bouncing up and down during this song?” At least a little? Let me know your answer…


*“Or something” is the PG version of, “And shit.”
P.S. If you picture Jared Leto as a blond Faith-era George Michael with a pink mohawk, the video makes a lot more sense.

The wrong side of 48

“Buttercup took the dirt nap.”

I'll be turning 48 in March, which means I’m now officially on the countdown to 50. I really don’t care about the number, because I believe it’s about how old you feel. Unfortunately I have days where I feel like I’m 90 and others where I feel 17 and that I’m old enough to know better, but the reality is that I know jack shit. The only problem is that I don’t know that I know jack shit. I think I know more than I really know. Ya know what I mean? Probably not. Moving on…


I’m not gonna blow sunshine up your ass (or anywhere else) and say that my life has been awesome, because it hasn’t. On the plus side, I’ve never been on Cops and I’ve never lived in a trailer park or in a state in which the Confederate Flag flies from every liquor store, bait shack and gun shop. So I’ve got that going for me.
My daughter (A.K.A. Drama Queen) has turned out much better than she should have and I’m constantly amazed by that. She has a mom who has been mostly non-existent in her life and is stuck with a douche bag for a dad. When Her Majesty was five, she had a rough six month period. Her “Papa” (ex's dad) died of colon cancer, her mom moved out and her hamster died.
The hamster was named Buttercup, not because it’s the type of name a five-year-old girl chooses. It’s not that easy with my daughter. “Why did you name her Buttercup?” I asked on the day we bought her. “Because,” she said with hands on her hips and an eye roll. “Buttercup is my favorite Power Puff Girl because she has a bad attitude.” That’s my angel. I vividly remember the day Buttercup left this world.
After I broke the news that her furry friend was taking what’s called, “The dirt nap”, D.Q. asked if we could bury Buttercup next to Papa. My  ex's dad was cremated and his ashes are buried in a family burial plot. There were some flowers in the plot and I said we could bury Buttercup with my ex's dad. “Buttercup is family,” my angel told me. An hour later I walked down the hall and I heard my daughter crying and talking.
Walking into her room, I noted that she wasn’t there, so I listened closer. It was coming from my bedroom and I crept down the hall as quietly as I could and peeked in the door. What I witnessed made me retreat to my den and cry. My daughter was sitting at the sliding glass door and had it cracked open just enough to get the dog’s nose in the door. “Lucy?” Drama Queen cried to the pet she received as a birthday gift seven months before. “Papa left me, mommy left me and now Buttercup left me. Please don’t leave me Lucy.” I cried like a baby at that one.
I’ve been thinking about my daughter a lot lately and I’m proud of the way she’s turned out. In her younger days I dated a couple of women who weren’t the nicest to her and I stayed in those relationships longer than I should have. It was never abusive, but wasn’t cool. Like any parent, I make mistakes, but I tend to keep revisiting mine and breaking them down in intricate detail. That drives me up the wall.

There’s a rad chick in my life who listens to me whine and then helps me chill da fuck out. I keep telling her she can do way better than me, but apparently she’s under the delusion that I’m the shiz. I keep telling her she’s wrong, but she won’t listen. “What the hell does she see?” I ask myself. I’ve got no clue, but I’ll hang around as long as she lets me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing and my life as a writer. When I was in high school I was on the school paper staff, but had an adviser who was less than nurturing. She thought my writing wasn’t any good and I barely got in the paper. To be honest, that criticism knocked myself confidence as a writer down to zero. It was almost 20 years later that I had the balls to pursue writing again and when I did, it was pretty good.

I honestly believe that I’ve gotten better with age. I’m way cooler than I was in my teens-mid 30′s and even though I’m having a momentary self-esteem crisis, I kn0w I feel better about myself than I probably ever did. I’m also going to go out and fire up a New York steak, some Pacifico and red velvet cupcakes courtesy of my Muse. See. More cool shit I don’t deserve.


P.S. I put Butercup in foil and Ziploc bag before shoving her into the bottom of the freezer. That would preserve the body so we could bury the damn hamster the next afternoon. My daughter wanted to go back a few days later to pay her respects and I eventually gave in. We got there and the spot I buried the rodent had been dug up and my daughter asked what happened. “When hamsters go to heaven,” I said. “This is what happens. Buttercup went to be with Papa.” For some reason she actually bought it. Apparently the cemetery has cats. And I’m probably going to hell for telling my daughter that.
P.S.S. The day after this happened, the kindergarten teacher wanted to talk with me after school. Apparently she didn’t appreciate that my daughter shared with the class that, “Buttercup took the dirt nap.” I don’t know why not…

Drama Queen’s visit to the Scary Farm

The Halloween Haunt experience isn’t complete until someone goes to jail for being a dickwad.

If you’ve lived in So. Cal for any length of time, you know that October means Knott’s Berry Farm’s Halloween Haunt is in full swing. I’ve been going to this thing on and off since the 80′s when it was known as Knott’s Scary Farm. It’s pretty rad. They’ve got 13 mazes set up throughout the park and people dressed as monsters and zombies roaming around attempting to scare the shit out of you.
When she was 10, Drama Queen kept bugging for me to take her, but I wouldn’t. Not yet. The park recommends the event for those 13 and up. After they bone you for $20 to park your damn car about three quarters of a mile away, they make you empty your pockets of metal at the gate and wand you to make sure you’re not bringing any weapons in with you. I’m down with that, but the security dude doing our search made me take off my hat so he could feel under the band inside to make sure I wasn’t bringing any drugs or razor blades into the park.
I never thought about hiding anything under the band, but now I know if I ever have the need to carry a razor blade with me, that I can hide it in there without being detected You never know when you might need to cut someone, right?
We made our way into the park and I noticed that the crowd was a nice mix of white trash, high school punks and wanna-be gangsters along with a few normal folks and some creepy old people who didn’t fit in at all. This was gonna be a fun night.
Back in the day my friends and I would arrive a bit early and, “Tailgate” outside the car. After a (very strong) Jack and Coke in a 32 or 42 oz cup, I was ready to properly enjoy the evening. I felt it was inappropriate to tailgate with my daughter. Not that she’s never seen me drink Jack and Coke, but since she’s now in collage, I thought I shouldn’t show her how one gets easily hammered before entering a theme park. I do have my moments of good parenting. So I entered the park completely alcohol free and ready to have a fun night with my daughter. We decided to turn left inside the gates and start with the first maze we saw, then head towards the back of the park. It was getting dark as we made our way through Ghost Town. As we walked down the fog filled street, I heard the tell-tale sound of metal scraping on concrete and waited for what I knew was coming next. About three seconds later, a zombie slid right up to my daughter, popping back to his feet in front of her and yelled, “Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.” I swear to God I thought she was going to wet herself right there. I was laughing as the zombie skulked away, looking for another person to freak out. “What the hell?” She yelled. “Why are you laughing?’ I tried to stop, and said, “Because he just scared the crap out of you. Duh.” She glared at me and said, “That’s not funny.”
I reminded her of our earlier conversation, where I warned her there are zombies with steel knee pads who will slide down the street, scaring you.” It was her fault for not being better prepared. We made the left at the wooden roller coaster Ghost Rider, ending up in Gypsy Camp and Lockdown–The Asylum.
We walked right in and about 10 inches inside the door, she grabbed my left arm and proceeded to tug. “What’s the problem?” I asked with a laugh. “You’re not scared, are you?” She said she wasn’t (she lied) but that she wanted to grab my arm. I said she could, but not to yank. I liked my arm right where it was.
We rounded the first corner, where a monster popped out in front of her. She yelled, and I looked at the guy and casually said, “Whassup playah?” Drama Queen said I was an idiot, so I attempted to unlock her grip from my arm. She wasn’t having any of it, and we continued through the maze. As the name indicates, this was supposed to be inside an insane asylum, so the people were acting especially loco.
We finished the maze with only minor bruising on my arm and immediately entered, Delerium. Once again, people popped out at her and once again, she attempted to yank my arm out of the socket. I have no clue what the theme of this one was supposed to be, but it freaked Drama Queen out and I thought it was cool.
There were a few more females in this maze, but I noticed the distinct lack of visible skin on the female zombies and monsters. This got me to thinking. I paid good money to come to this theme park and I should be able to see zombie cleavage. I’m not saying it’s a right, but I think for $36, a little boobie isn’t too much to ask for. Can I get an amen?
As we were eating dinner at home, Drama Queen mentioned that a couple of her friends went the previous weekend and said that one maze was all about John the Reaper. I somehow managed to not spit spaghetti and meatballs across the kitchen, and asked, “You mean, Jack the Ripper?” She didn’t skip a beat and said, “Yeah. Him.” Fast forward a couple of hours to when we entered, Terror of London.
As we approached the entrance, I asked a park employee if this was the maze with John The Reaper. I got a weird look from the dude and D.Q. told me I was an idiot. Oh. OK. She’s the one who dropped, “John The Reaper”, but I’m the idiot? I don’t think so.
She once again yanked on my arm and we went through the maze. About halfway through, I got sick of her assaulting me and told her that she had to do the next maze without grabbing on to me.
We made our way into the Doll Factory (a maze with mainly female characters) and I noted that the necklines were slightly lower, yet nowhere near slutty. I hid my disappointment and as we exited the maze, my daughter was actually laughing. We went through Dia De Los Muertos (in 3-D), then Fallout Shelter, Cornstalkers, End Games, and Virus Z without her grabbing onto me for support..
As we headed towards the back of the park, Drama Queen asked a security guy what the fastest way to Uncle Bobo’s Big Top Of The Bizarre, was. As she was doing this, a zombie walked past me. “Yo, Slick,” I asked. “How’s it going?” He replied. I informed him that it was going just fine and asked if he would mind scaring, “The redhead in the blue sweatshirt.” He said he would and quietly walked up behind her.
As she turned around, there was this 6′ 3″ zombie yelling, then dropping to his knees right in front of her face. The look she had was priceless and I’m sorry to say I didn’t think about videotaping the moment. I was laughing my ass off when she walked up and smacked me. “Are you laughing because that monster scared me?” She asked. “No,” I said as I snorted. “I’m laughing because I asked him to go scare you.”
As we headed towards the clown maze, I saw some douche in his 30′s getting handcuffed by the Buena Park police and I knew that my night was now complete. As a whole, the crowd was mellow and it was a great night, but let’s he honest; the Halloween Haunt experience isn’t complete until someone goes to jail for being a dickwad.
We finished the maze, then hit Slaughterhouse, before beginning the long journey back to the car. As we walked, my daughter noted that I didn’t need to keep asking the zombies in Slaughterhouse, if I could, “Get a couple racks of baby backs.”
“It’s not funny,” she said. “It’s stupid.” I reminded her that I bought the, “Damn tickets”, which gives me the right to say all the goofy shit I want. Goofy shit is what being a dad is all about.
She rolled her eyes and asked if I would take her to the Queen Mary for their Dark Harbor event. I like the Queen Mary one, because the mazes go through parts of the ship that are said to be haunted by actual ghosts and shit. I told her I would think about it, but that I wasn’t sure she was ready to get the ship scared out of her. The Queen Mary advertises, “A trio of She-Demons”, which sounds promising. I’ll be sure to let you know what I decide.

Drama Queen

It doesn’t seem like it’s been 19 years since Breana 's mom dropped a 9 lb. 12 oz., 21 1/2 inch bundle of joy on the world, but it has been. My Drama Queen was supposed to be a King. Two ultra sounds said boy and I still remember standing in that delivery room on the night she arrived like it was yesterday.
My daughter busted her mom’s tailbone on the way out and I called my mom (who was home) and said, “It’s a girl.” She said, “You mean it’s a boy.” I peered back over the top of the gaggle of doctors and nurses gathered there, took one more good look, picked the phone back up and said, “Nope. They were right. It’s a girl.”
That was how my daughter entered the world. In April she turns 20 and I’m feeling kind of old. How the hell did that happen? How did she go from adorable little angel to hormonal teenager so quickly?
I wish I had an answer to that question. I really do. I also wish I could figure her out.
I don’t want my daughter to have the same experience I had. I want her to have fun, make friends and feel like she’s a part of something. That’s one reason I really hope she makes the tennis team.
She has a lot of improvement to make to her tennis game. When I got the coach on the phone to inquire about tryouts and summer practices, I was straight with him. “She’s on the down side of mediocre,” I said. “But she wants to play and she’s willing to put in the work to be a good player.” I guess we’ll see what happens. School starts Wednesday and they’re supposed to find out Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday. Fingers crossed.
I’m not sure what to expect from a hard headed teenager loaded with hormones, emotions, sarcasm, a bit of mischief and who has a dad like me. It actually sounds scary as shit. It’s gonna be an interesting ride, that’s for sure.
I feel like I should apologize to my daughter for the life I’ve given her. I know I could have done worse, but I know I could have done much better. She’s got a bi-polar mom who is in and out of her life and she has a sarcastic dad who can be kind of a dick at times. It’s not a huge hole she has to climb out of, but she definitely has an uphill battle. 

I blame Bieber

It’s Wednesday night and I’m sitting on the couch watching Criminal Minds when my adorable 19-year-old Drama Queen walks in the room and asks (right in the middle of the show), “Do hermaphrodites have chick dicks or do they have a mangina?” WTF???

“Uh…excuse me?” I replied. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I said, do hermaphrodites have chick dicks or do they have a mangina?”

I explained that I heard her the first time and tried my hardest to not laugh out loud. I need you all to understand that these are words she did NOT learn at home. I swear to God. I didn’t teach her those.

I think Lady Gaga has brought hermaphrodites back to the masses. In the 80′s we had the Jamie Lee Curtis craze and today it’s Lady Gaga. I’m not sure where we ever settled on Jamie Lee and her junk, but I can tell you that Lady Gaga is one weird dude.

I don’t imagine that there would be too many positives to carrying both sets of gear, but when someone tells you to, “Go fuck yourself,” you can say, “OK. Now or when I get home?”





I tried to continue watching the show, but the reality is that I started wondering what the real answer to her question is.

I’m not sure how you should properly ask a person if they are a dude or a chick? Do you ask, “Do you carry dual citizenship?” Or is it more appropriate to ask, “Do you have both an innie and an outie?”

Personally I think a direct approach is best, however I think you can’t just come right out and ask it. You need to compliment him,shim,her the person first. Something like, “You know, you have a very nice set of breasts…word on the street is that you’re packing both sausage and the bun. Am I right?”

If a hermaphrodite was a talented basketball player, would they play in the NBA or the WNBA? If they were a golfer, would they have to qualify for the PGA or the LPGA? If they played pro tennis are they more likely to be in a final against Rafael Nadal or Serena Williams? OK. Maybe Serena isn’t a good example. Have you seen the guns on, uh, her?

Kids ask the weirdest stuff sometimes, huh? I have no clue what brought this on, but I’m guessing Justin Bieber had something to do with it. Why blame Justin Bieber? I don’t know. Osama is dead, so it seemed like the right move.









P.S. The truth is that there is nothing funny about being a hermaphrodite. It truly has to be a tough way to go through life. I couldn’t imagine the ridicule and harassment one would get in high school and in the real world. I would not wish that one anyone. Seriously.



P.S.S. Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Osama Bin Laden. Duh.