The Male Anatomy and Lovely Quilts

There are many things a self-respecting man would never do in his life. In fact, you could probably write a whole textbook on the subject. To borrow from the great Neil Patrick Harris, it would be called the Bro Code. As you would expect, it would be filled with funny and downright immature little quips mainly based on the three major things men care the most about. That’s right, a whole book based on nothing more than women (mainly just their body parts and what can be done with them), food, and sports. Based on a conversation I had with the wifey the other night, I am convinced we may need another section to this so-called manual. From this point on, we shall add the “I Would Rather Pull Out My Own Pubes” chapter to the good book. Yes, you read that correctly. Things so undeservedly asinine you would rather take a fist full of your own black and curlies and give a violent tug. Case in point? A full-grown man should never utter the words “Just spent a wonderful 4 day weekend with the wife at a quilting convention”. Sure, we are all guilty of doing our husbandly duties. In most cases, you just smile, suck it up, and hope for a lavish reward in the end. The aforementioned scenario would have probably left my poor wife a young divorcee with two kids and a mortgage. Sorry, but the only way I would ever consider attending such an atrocious, cult like herding of middle-aged women sporting mock turtlenecks, mom jeans, and cat cardigans would be if I had my own booth filled will nothing but quilts in the shape of penises, monster trucks, and inspirational messages like “Rock Out With Your Cock Out”. I am pretty sure I would sell out of all the manly paraphernalia in about an hour. Actually, I am convinced of this. Anyway, I will leave you with this thought for today. Something for you to ponder and lose sleep over. Until the next time, I will be barefoot in the kitchen, washing dishes and baking pies. Why? Because my wife told me to.

Happy Birthday, Daphne the Diva

One cold and dreary day last November,  in one single glorious moment, my life instantaneously changed. Sure, I have been through this before. In all actuality, 4 years ago I was in the very same city and building. Hell, I was even in the same exact room. I am no stranger to the blood, sweat, and tears. I have witnessed the poetic chaos of numerous medical professionals running around, barking orders, and ultimately giving their all to care for my wife. I have experienced the intoxicating high of becoming a father for the first time. This time, however, things are a little bit different. The tiny creature that had used my wife as a host for the greater part of a year was about to make a grand debut. The thing is, I knew it was coming. I had been forewarned. I had seen the multiple sonograms with my own two eyes. No matter how much I prepared for this day, things were going to change. I had no clue just how dramatic the changes were going to be.  See, this time, the sweet and innocent child my wife was laboring into this world had lady parts. That’s right, folks. You read that correctly. I, in the matter of a few measly hours,  became the proud father of a beautiful baby girl. Game changed. Actually, game over. There was no escaping the harsh reality that I was indeed now in charge of the precious life of a teeny, tiny female. What has this world come to? Seriously. When my son was born, I already knew pretty much everything I needed to know about raising a little boy. I had been there, done that. I had lived that life with reckless abandonment. Without doubt, I knew 100% that whatever question that little boy came up with, I surely had an answer for him. As the doctor handed my gorgeous daughter to me, in that moment, I knew my life would be forever changed. I now had to worry about a thousand boys instead of just one. My life was instantly flooded with pink, purple, lace, and frilly dresses. I could envision phone calls from random boys, dating, and prom night. Damn. I know too much. I know how the Y chromosome works. I am fully versed in the inner-workings of the pubescent male mind. This cannot be good. My daughter is only two months old and I am already in super protective dad mode. The double standards are flowing a plenty in the Johnson household. What is good for my son surely isn’t good for my sweet daughter, right? The boy can date as soon as he hits the ripe old age of 13. The girl? Nope. She will be forbidden to date until she is at least 30 years of age. I know, I know, it’s not fair. But, what am I supposed to do? The woman psyche is a complete and utter mystery to me. Sure, I have done OK so far. I have managed to survive my youth with my little sister. I have enjoyed almost nine years of wedded bliss with my lovely wife. But, that’s where the fairy tale ends. I have a lot of learning to do. I have to be damn near perfect from now on. I have to be the exception to the male rule, right? This is going to be an interesting journey. Well, wish me luck. I am going to need it. It’s going to be one fabulous roller coaster ride. And to all you future hormone ravaged boys out there, I have a shotgun and a shovel. Need I say anymore?

To see photos from this awesome day, click HERE for facebook or HERE for Flickr.

Thank You for Being a Friend

So long, my friend. It has been one marvelous run. Without sounding completely cliché, it’s not you, it’s me. Really. You have always been there for me through thick and thin. Or thin and thick. Whatever floats your boat. When it was good, it was really good. You were there for me during the highest of highs. You stood by me during the lowest of lows. Your resolve was impressively resilient. You never wavered. Your support coddled me like an infant. Your loving embrace warmed me from the inside out. You were there during some of the most important times in my life. Parties, graduations, weddings, and birthdays, there was your smiling face. Hell, you were even there for the birth of my children. You were always there for a raucous toast. Always around for a grand salute. Sure, we had our rough times together. I mean, who could forget spring break 1999 or that terrible fight we had in Ames, Iowa of all places? Even after our nastiest of fights, we would be back in the saddle, ready to ride in no time flat. We were bros. Hetero life partners, if you prefer. Never would I have thought there would come a time where our partnership must come to a teary end. Now, to paraphrase what our parents used to say, this will be harder on me than it will be on you. You will be absolutely fine. Your friends are a plenty. Your social circle is full of contacts, relatives, and acquaintances for you to run to. Your glass is never half empty. In fact, your chalice is completely full. So, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to chalk this dissolution up to “irreconcilable differences”. No crying. No anger, hatred, or sleepless nights. All I want for you is good health and happiness. You should want the same for me. In the end, it just wasn’t in the cards for us. So, Alcohol, I bid you adieu. It’s been real. It’s been fun. We will always have the memories. We will always have Las Vegas. I will never forget. We mustn’t forget. Until the off-chance we will be able to rekindle what we once had, I must leave you at the door. Once again, thank you for being a friend.