Ho ho ho
My dad on his new hearing aid: “I didn’t realize how much your mother talked. “
My son is taking drum lessons. After the first one, I met the instructor and we had this conversation:
Teacher: So, your son likes R. Kelly?
Me: Good God, I hope not.
Teacher: He said his favorite song is “I Believe I Can Fly”
Me: Oh, let me explain:
Just got off the phone with Oleg and Junior hears the conversation and asks when he’ll be back for a visit. She likes him.
Her: Yeah, in the first page, he shot a werewolf, a Mr. Huffman, someone named Smith and someone named Wesson.
Me: Smith and Wesson is a brand of gun.
Her: Oh, that makes that first page make more sense.
A bit later, she comes running out shouting “OLEG IS IN THIS BOOK!!”
The kids are taking music lessons. My son is learning to play the drums and Junior is learning piano. I honestly figured they’d go the other way. Oh well. Anyway, my little girl is learning various tunes from her teacher and also from the internet. And sure, she can impress me playing Für Elise. But I sit down at the keys and I crank out Baby Got Back and she somehow thinks that is more impressive than what she’s doing. Go figure.
One of the things my close friends will tell you is that my life often enough has a very surreal quality to it. Weird shit just happens to me. I can’t explain it. This is one such tale.
Last weekend, me and the family went for a walk in the neighborhood with the dog. A whole other surreal story aside, they went one way and me and the dog went another. Walking up the street and I hear one of the house’s fire alarms going off. Doing the right thing, I walk up to the house and ring the bell. No answer. Bang on the door. No answer. Look around and see several neighbors outside and none of them are acting remotely alarmed. I realize it’s probably nothing but I’d hate to be that guy who just walked by and a family of four burned to death. So, I dial 911. The dispatcher answers and we have this conversation:
Dispatcher: 911, what’s your emergency?
Me: Probably nothing. But one of the houses in my neighborhood’s fire alarm is going off.
Dispatcher: Fire or burglar?
Me: Sounds like my fire alarm. Going with fire.
Dispatcher: What’s your location?
Me: I’m at 2112 ABC street.
Dispatcher: Sir, we show you at XYZ street.
Me: Could be. I always get these two street names confused.
It then occurred to me that they can either track my location or, based on my mention of the address, deduced which street I meant. We continue
Dispatcher: Sir, we’re sending a unit your way. Do you mind staying put to show the officer where to go?
Me: Not at all. Will do.
Dispatcher: Thank you, sir.
At this point, me and the family have plans for a 5 o’clock movie and time is getting close. I call the Mrs. to tell her what just happened and that I would be a while. She asks me if I want her to come get the dog since him and staying in place is painful for all around. I say yes.
So, I wait.
I start pacing the street.
Suddenly, I see Junior whiz by the other street on her electric scooter. I assume she’s coming to get the dog but she just zipped by. I whistled loudly and she didn’t hear. I step up to the street she was going down to see her pulled over by one of The City (My The City)’s* finest. I watch. He pulls away and he’s the unit coming to the house that may or may not be on fire. I wave him down and point to the house. He pulls up, gets out of the car and we have this conversation.
Officer friendly: Are you the one who called 911?
Me: Yes, sir.
Officer friendly: And this is the house?
*he walks toward the house, gets his light out and knocks on the door. And starts looking in the windows.
Me: So, did you give my daughter a ticket?
Officer friendly: That was your daughter?
Officer friendly: We’ll talk about that later.
Me: Well, I probably called for no reason but I’d hate to have been wrong.
Officer friendly: Sir, did you look in the windows?
Me: No. I’m wearing a black hoodie and I figure me looking in windows would not be looked upon positively. As I said, it’s probably nothing
Officer friendly: Sir, there’s a body on the couch.
Me: The fuck?
Officer friendly: *gets police talky on his walky talky* I did hear him say he thought there was a body in the house.
Me: Be over here if you need me.
Officer friendly: *bangs on doors, rings bell, bangs on windows, and generally makes a lot of noise and his backup shows up*
Turns out, the alarm was going off for no discernible reason and the 90 year old women who lived there fell asleep on the couch and was also mostly deaf. She turned her hearing aid off and didn’t hear the alarm.
Officer friendly: *explains to me what happened and that all is OK* Then says: So, that was your daughter?
Officer friendly: Well, she needs to be 16 and have a license to have a scooter on the street.
Officer friendly: Yes, sir. She’s not licensed and, more importantly, a driver in a car might not see her and hurt her.
Me: Well, OK. Fair enough.
Officer friendly: Thanks for calling in, sir. We appreciate that.
And he drives off.
So, I’m sitting here realizing I called the cops on my daughter and doubting the illegality of her scooter on the street. And she got her first warning from the police (a family tradition, btw). Go home and talk to Junior who tells me he made her walk the scooter home and to stay off the street.
The next day, my wife is upset about the whole thing and calls her friend in the local police department. Turns out, that license thing only applies to gas operated vehicles. Told Junior to go ride her scooter all she wanted.
What weird day.
* Never used that in the possessive, so I’m going with that.
A while back, I posted this:
Today, all that has changed is the no feet technique:
Took the family to the local corn maze. It’s run by Oake’s Farm and is generally a good time. We saw the awesomeness that is the pumpkin pounder:
My kids asked me what it is and I told them. It’s a large air canister that they load with a pumpkin. Then, they shoot it. Like a potato gun. So, now the kids want me to make them potato guns so if you’ve got any particularly awesome plans for one, let me know.
Anyway, they shoot it. At a van. And it does a lot of damage to the van:
Here’s video of it in action:
I think our potato guns will be slightly disappointing.
Yesterday, we were having some friends over for college football and some smoking hot butt and awesomesauce. My wife gets out of the shower and she’s doing that thing she always does wherein she’s got a towel on her head, in her underwear and looking at all of her clothes. Shaking her head, then pacing. Then looking at her clothes. Shaking her head, then pacing. This goes on for a while, as it usually does. I’m watching. She says “I hate that all of my friends wear dresses”. I say “just put on that pair of jeans and wear a UT T-shirt”. It’s what I’d rather see her in. But she finally decided on a dress. Go figure. She’s a woman and she dresses for other women. Not me. She also doesn’t pick her hairstyle for me, I’m sure. But for other women. And if your wife hits the gym every day, she’s probably also not doing that for you either.
Style, body type, clothing choices, shoes and other things are chosen for other women. These things also tend to determine beauty. So, I don’t necessarily think that It Is Men Who Determine What Is Beautiful in Women. After all, women have a lot of input with other women on what they do in the name of beauty. And, what I find beautiful in a woman may not be what you find beautiful. Eye of the beholder and all. So, women of all different shapes and sizes are beautiful. I don’t, for instance, find all the women on those posters she listed beautiful. For instance, in the second pic, we’ll go left to right and top to bottom and give them a number. I think the hot ones are 1, 3, 4, and 8. Just my preference. You may differ. And they have different body types. And are dressing for women. Or fashion designers.
So, bottom line, I decide what I think is beautiful. And you do too.
Also, Tam wins the internet.
Doing spelling words with my son.
My son: *spells garlic*
My son: *spells segment*
My son: That’s not one of my words.
My wife: Really, that’s what you came up with?
Me: It’s a hard word. The one time I had to spell it, I had to look it up.
My wife: *Rolls eyes* (probably because you can’t put hyperlinks into conversation)
My son: *spells segment*
My son: That’s not even a word.
Me: Yeah, it is. It’s a wind instrument that Australian aborigines came up with.
My son: It’s not one of my spelling words.
Me: Oh, yeah. Misplace
My son: *spells misplace*
My son: *blinks*
Me: It’s a word.
My son: But I don’t have to spell it.
My wife has a friend who, every few months or so, gives her issues of her already read celebrity gossip magazines. The magazines consist of Star, People and one that starts with IN and ends in CH but I can’t tell the name of the magazine because there’s always some person who I presume is famous covering the font. I’m glad to say I’ve never seen my wife actually read one of these rags.
Anyhoo, just now, I picked one up and looked at the cover. Picked up a second and looked at the cover. I did this a total of seven times. On the 7th, I actually saw someone whose name I knew in a little blurb at the bottom. It was Jennifer Aniston. So, there were lots of presumably famous people on the cover of each one. And I only knew one.
I’m getting old. Or smart.
My dad has said that to me since I was a teen. As a kid, I gather he was in trouble a bunch. He saw that in me and cracked down on me hard when I was young. He was a drill sergeant. Made me do my homework. Made me take college prep courses and forbade me from taking shop classes. Made me get a job. Made me do chores.
If he hadn’t, I’d probably have never finished school and would either be dead now or in prison by now. I realize that today. Not then. Now, I have a couple of degrees and am doing OK.
I see a lot of me (and, I suppose, him) in my son. Same mannerisms. Same thousand yard stare. Same “don’t give a fuck” attitude. Same “I will challenge you” demeanor. I worry about that. This is why I am hard on my son. Harder than I am on my daughter. I see it in him. He’s me. He’s what I was. I’m what he will be.
My wife asked me why I’m so hard on him. I owe it to him, I replied. My dad did it for me.
The other night, on the bookface, I made a comment about Obama’s administration reversing restrictions on the NSA snooping through your emails and phone calls. And in response to that, I quipped that all I had to say was “allahu akhbar pressure cooker tea party airplane”, riffing on something once said here by NK. My wife saw the post and asked me if I was worried the government would show up at my house over things like that. I said I was not. Then, she reminded they already did that once.
I should probably do a post about that some day.
In the South, people decorate their yards in the fall by putting out pumpkins and gourds and other Autumn type stuff. And, every Thanksgiving weekend at Casa de Uncle, the kids have over their cousins and we get rid of the soon to be discarded fruits by shooting them with suppressed 22LRs. It’s great fun and the kids learn gun safety.
Well, this year, I noticed an odd plant growing and spreading in the area of the yard where we usually have the shoot. I presumed the cucumbers from the garden had managed to spread somehow and the leaves looked enough alike. And then, we found it. A gourd. And more gourds. So, this year, a few new additions to the annual Pumpkin and Gourd Slaughter, first being a lot more gourds. And the next, being a suppressed M&P22:
A gourd and it’s natural enemy. Should be fun.
Been a while, but the last time I saw the numbers it was something like 92% of all computers out there were Windows, 2% other, and 6% were Apple. I think that’s going to change drastically in the next 10 plus years. See, my kids are into iPhones, iPads and other iThings. My daughter saved up her money for an iPad and she got an iPhone. All of my kids’ friends have iGizmos. And their friends have a Mac-books too.
I think we’ll see a majority Apple things in the next decade or so.
Mrs. walks by my laptop and says: You have to look up your own recipes on your website?
Yeah, that’s why I put them there.
This came home as homework for the summer. There are no instructions. Not sure if we’re to write it, correct it, rearrange the words or make sense of if. Maybe it’s so my kids can understand Rachel Jeantel if they’re ever on a jury.
Update: answer in comments
Junior: I want you to teach me how to fight!
Me: OK. Put up your dukes!
Junior: *puts up dukes*
Me: Can you run away?
Me: Then run. First rule of fighting is not to get in one.
Junior: That’s not what I meant!
Me: But you learned the first rule.
Junior: Fine, I’ll runaway.
Me: Next we’ll work on what you do if you can’t run away.
Junior: *rolls eyes*
Spent all day with my son and wife at Splash Country, doing the water park thing. On the way back, I stopped by The Local Butcher Shop and Market to refresh my supply of duck eggs (which, by the way, are awesome), grab some grass fed ribeyes for dinner, and picked up other assorted knickknacks (namely, the fresh from the farm bacon). After being home a bit, I see that I am tagged on a Facebook and it didn’t register because it wasn’t my wife tagging me in 87 pictures from Splash Country, none of which I was in. The Local Butcher Shop left me a message telling me that my son had left his toys there and to call the store to come pick them up.
Now, that’s service, right there.
Not sure the last time I bought a hat. Being a gunblogger of some renown, I just always seem to get them. Each time I go to some shindig, I manage to leave with a whole lot of hats.
Now, I’ve managed to get non gun hats. I get most of my supplies for the business from 84 lumber. One day, while at Lowe’s where I pick up stuff that I have to have right now, they gave me a free hat. One day, I was wearing my hat when my 84 Lumber rep showed up and shook his head. He grabbed an 84 Lumber hat from his truck and said here you go. And, today, I was at Home Depot, who is the only place on earth that sells one particular thing I always need, I was wearing my Lowe’s hat. As I checked out, the contractor salesperson reached under the counter and handed me a Home Depot hat.
Hats attract other hats.
My daughter is heading to camp next week. She’ll have the coolest flashlight there.
Once every three years or so, I spend a couple of weekends pressure washing our fence. Knocks the crud and patina off and makes it look brand new. I was doing that yesterday. There was a rather sizable wasps’ nest between one of the posts and the pickets that I didn’t see. And I nailed it with the pressure washer unleashing a hoard of angry wasps. I know, my fault. I wasn’t sure of my target and what was behind it. The wasps, basically, came at me full force. Or, rather, came toward the pressure washer blast. And I laid down suppressive fire at the angry swarm. It worked. I didn’t get stung. Wet wasps are very sad wasps, by the way.
Also, it was difficult to finish the job because for every few minutes of pressure washing, I had to stop and play with the dog:
Who knew you could pressure wash Boston Terriers?
And sorry about the quality. It was my smart phone camera.
So, my son is taking these standardized tests at school and these are, apparently, a big deal. We’ve been encouraging him, talking him up and helping with the studying. He gets up on the first day of the test and my wife was talking him up and says: Do you feel smart today? You sure look smart today.
He says that yes, he does feel smart today.
Then, he gets a curious look on his face and feels his pants. He puts his hand in his pants and says “aw, man, I forgot to take my pajamas off”
I still laugh about that.
On Saturday, I took the kids to an Easter egg hunt at the wife’s church. We approached the battle arena and Junior took off like a shot. She was grabbing eggs high, low, in bushes, and every where else. I had to prompt my son at least three times to, you know, go find some candy filled eggs. He lollygagged, meandered and, generally, farted around. When it was done, Junior had a basket full of eggs. The Second had five. He said that his sister should share with him and I said no. I explained that she worked harder, put forth more effort and tried. While he walked around, not paying attention and didn’t make an effort. If she chose to share she could but I would not make her. She did choose to share some but it was the candy she didn’t like.
The next day, my parents had an Easter egg hunt for my kids and their cousins. Only these eggs had money in them! The eldest cousin worked hard and got more eggs. When it was said and done, my sister said to her child “well, you need to share. It’s not fair that you got more than the others.” My dad piped up and said “This is not the Obama Easter egg hunt. You get what you got and that’s that” to my sister.
Good parenting, it goes on even when your kids are into their 30s.
We should just stick with Daylight Savings Time. Of course, it’s probably easier for us eastern time people.
Also, DST is a very confusing concept for an eight year old:
So, everyone just changed their clocks at the same time? And it’s really six o’clock now?
No, it’s really 7.
But yesterday, this would be 6.
The other day, Junior lost her phone. I was in her room helping her look for it. I opened up a small box she had squirreled away and in the box was a wad of cash. I counted it and it was a few hundred dollars. I asked her where she got the money and she told me she’d just saved her birthday, Christmas and other holiday money she gets from the grandparents. I told her that keeping it in a small box in her room probably wasn’t the best idea and we should get an envelope, write her name on it and put it in my safe. She says “you have a safe?” I say “yes. It’s in a safe place.” She laughed. And I put it in the safe.
So, I got curious and went into my son’s room and I said “Son, do you have a bunch of money in your room too?” He tells me that, oh yes, he has a ton of money in his room. I asked where it was and he went into his drawer and pulled out a jar of money. About three $1 bills and a few miscellaneous coins. And that was it. A bunch of money, by volume or weight.
I’m guessing Junior is better at convincing mom to buy her stuff and my son will just spend his own.
Remember, I do this to entertain me, not you.
Uncle Pays the Bills
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