I don't like being a grown up.

When I was a little kid, the concept of "becoming a grown up" was basically code for "death sentence". I was quite possibly the only child on the planet, or at least on my side of the street, who had no desire to grow up. I clearly recall how horrified I was when I turned ten; the concept of entering double digits was terrifying. It meant that I would soon be a teenager, and then have to go to high school, and then I'd graduate, and then go off to college, and then continue my slow march to death. I remember calculating how old I'd be in the year 2000, and was horrified to discover that I would be twenty-nine years old that year, That meant that the next year I'd turn thirty, and officially become a senior citizen. If I even lived that long, that is.

Yes, at the tender age of ten, I was quite certain my best years were behind me. I was depressed that I had completely squandered all those early years when I should have been enjoying them. Ungrateful bastard, I said to myself. I think that bout of depression lasted until the release of The Empire Strikes Back, which I still say is the best of the original Star Wars trilogy.

Oh how I long for those days where I had nothing to worry about but all my insane obsessions, irrational childhood fears, and who shot JR. I thought I had problems then? Ha! Shit, sometimes I wish I could go back in time and bitchslap me.

What Planet Are You?

Apparently I'm from Saturn. Great...even my planet is boring.

You Are From Saturn

You're steady, organized, and determined to achieve your dreams. You tend to play it conservative, going by the rules (at least the practical ones). You'll likely reach the top. And when you do, you'll be honorable and responsible. Focus on happiness. Don't let your goals distract you from fun! Don't be too set in your ways, and you'll be more successful than you ever dreamed of.

What Planet Are You From?

Today is my Birthday, duh duh duh duh DUM

All in all I had a great birthday today- blessedly uneventful and on one got hurt. I strolled into work around 11:30am, and went out for a birthday lunch with c0-workers and drank many glasses of wine and stumbled back to the office at 2:oopm. Sat and chatted up a few folks and then did some work and bombed outta there by 4:00pm. Now that's a work schedule I could get used to!

Then I went to dinner with the kids, my mom, and my honey, and we had a great time just chillin'. CC and T bought me cute little gifts and it's so cool that they picked them out themselves! They got me some funky shaving supplies, hand sanitizer (because nothing says love like killing 99% of germs on contact), and Nautica cologne. Eh, nothing earth shattering but I love that they went and bought it themselves for their dear ol' dad. Plus they were so sweet and said that for the whole day of my birthday I could be whatever age I wanted to be , so this year I decided to be 28. Yay me!

My mom got me a kick-ass HP photosmart 4-in-1 printer; I have no idea how she knew that it was exactly what I wanted, but she could have seen it in the BestBuy ad I accidently left at her house. You know, the ad that had the HP 4-in-1 Photosmart printer in it. With the big circle around it. In red crayon. With the little handwritten note next to it that said "Buy this for my birthday" and signed "your loving son".

Needless to say, I was shocked when I opened it. "How did you know?", I exclaimed. I tell you, it's like she can read my freaking mind! Scary.

My honey got me an awesome new navy pinstriped suit from Banana Republic, which is where I buy 99% of my stuff. When I die, I want to be buried head to toe in BR, just so you know. It came along with a nice pinstriped button down shirt and a light blue v-neck sweater, so it was quite the swanky ensemble. Of course, after all the food I inhaled today, the pants were a little tight on the ol' waist, so I have to wire my jaw shut for a few weeks so that they'll fit a little more comfortably.

Just so you know, I'm not a big fan of my birthday. It's just never been a big deal to me. But today was pretty much a perfect birthday, with the exception of my dad not being here. God, I wish he was still with us. Birthdays and holidays just make me miss the old man even more. So, at dinner tonight I ordered a bourbon manhattan - straight up, ice on the side, which was his signature drink, and it made me smile and think of him. And I realized that maybe my birthday doesn't mean a lot to me, but it meant a lot to him. And it means a lot to my mom. I'm their only child, so I'm all they got. I'm them, and they are me. So this year I'm a little more grateful because I know how much they love me, and how important this day was for them...just like CC and T's birthdays are so special for me. God, that cinches it...I really am getting old, I'm actually displaying depth.

But like my dad always said, "I might be old, but I'm still a goooooood lookin' guy!" :-)

I don't know why this picture makes me laugh so much.

This dog's face freaking kills me EVERY time. And the face on the pooch she's holding's is priceless too - BUTumpbumCHING, thanks for coming out tonight folks, enjoy the veal and drive safe!

And it's little paws up in the air...hysterical. But then again, wouldn't this be your reaction if you were being held by P.Aris H.ilton?

Please shoot me.

Ok, I must have done something really sucky in a former life because my current job is pure hell. I took Monday off to spend with the kids, relax, etc. I felt pretty good on Tuesday morning. Then I arrived at work and I got that tight feeling in my chest and as I waltzed through the front door, I figured it out, figured out why I've been tenser than usual lately- it's cuz working at this company is sucking the life right out of me.

And to drive the point home, yesterday was just a totally suck day. Pre-acquisition, I felt like I had a meaningful and challenging role, and within a few mere months it's been reduced to shit. Yesterday it was one slap after another; "oh, no one talked to you about these organizational changes? Isn't that something HR helps with?" [SLAP] "oh, she never called you back from that urgent message you left her last week? That's strange, she always gets right back to me" [SLAP] "oh, you weren't cc'd on that email? She must have forgot about you" [SLAP]

It's laughable really. 'Cept I ain't laughing and all of this makes me want to bite people.

The thing is, I don't have a huge ego and I don't require much to just be content doing my thing. I don't need stroking, coddling, lavish praise. I do need respect for my basic intelligence and experience. I mean, I haven't gotten by on my looks alone you know! I also need to have a purpose and need to be challenged, and by challenged, that doesn't include being on the party committee. I could give a shit about work parties (especially when they won't let us have alcohol at work events anymore, thanks a lot you tea-totalling bags of shit), and I could care less about what color tablecloths to get at Co.stco. Fuck tablecloths, fuck Co.stco, and fuck this place.

The great news is that new company offered me a great job, great salary and benefits, and a start date at the end of Feb, which gives me plenty of time to take off between jobs and regain my sanity. Well, let's be real- I don't know that I'll ever regain it, but hopefully I can be slightly less postal and not want to bite people. At least not all the time.

So I'm going to take the new job, give my notice at this shit-hole at the end of the week, and just move on. Who knows if the new company will turn out to be a great move or not, but it's got to be better than this...

Now if you will excuse me, I have a very important meeting about tablecloths that must be attended to.

Weekends are awesome

God I love weekends. I have my kids every other weekend, and this was a weekend I had to myself and I used it to my full advantage to catch up on all of the important things that I need to attend to - sleep, sleep, and more sleep. Seriously, I think there's something wrong with me, like I have some sort of disorder. Well, other than depression. Like, a real illness or something.

I think it's linked to the time of year, especially since January always heralds the period between January and the end of March that I affectionately call, "The Winter of My Discontent". Funnily, this period is the same every year so I suppose I should call it "My Annual Winter Period of Discontent", but that just sounds silly. Plus I hate the word "period" and try to avoid it at all costs.

I just think I hate winter. I mean, I love the concept - the fallen snow, sitting by the fireplace with a blazing fire, hot chocolate, static cling...it's just that in reality, it's a big pain in the ass. It's cold and boring, the days are too short, and I hate wool. Don't get me started about turtlenecks and how claustrophobic the very concept makes me - my throat is constricting just thinking about it.

By the way, does anyone else think it's terribly unoriginal that we call the fireplace that name? Fireplace. The place where we put the fire. Clearly someone with no creativity came up with the name and it just stuck. We should be grateful the same person didn't name the toilet, otherwise it might be called the Assplace. As in, "Honey, don't forget to jiggle the handle on the assplace otherwise it might overflow."

Anyway, thank Christ this winter has been a mild one for us in New England. No snow yet, which is great for me since I can't ski for shit and don't have a snow blower. So what if might be linked to the melting of the polar ice caps and global warming- it suits me just fine and there have to be tons of ice caps, so is it a crime if a few melt?

This weekend was pretty uneventful, and those are the best weekends in my book. I love boring weekends- heck, I live such a fun-filled, jet-setting lifestyle during the week, so I deserve some down time over the weekends. And by jet-setting lifestyle, I mean I leave my house to go to work and to the gym each night and they happen to be in two different towns, and by fun-filled, I mean I laugh at my own jokes.

I take that back; I did pull myself out of bed long enough to go to the movies Saturday night. I saw Dreamgirls. I know, you don't have to say it. How GAY am I? But it got such great reviews and Oprah told me to see it, so I went and I liked it. That Beyonce has a nice rack and a bootyful booty, fo' shizzle. And Jennifer Hudson has some nice pipes and should have been nominated for best actress, cuz she carried that movie.

So now I'm just sitting here drafting a response to the company that I was talking about a few posts back - they made me an offer so now it's my turn to be a prick and ask for a bunch of things before I say yes. You know, the usual requests...a little more money, a little sign-on bonus, a pony, a crown, and a crown for my pony. Oh, and a little lunch-time lipo so that I look my best on my first day of work. Presentation counts and I intend on rocking a six pack when I waltz into Orientation. We'll see what they say but I'm really hopeful, and can live without some of my silly demands. But the pony would be a total deal breaker.

Sir, would you like some cheese with your WHINE?

God, I scanned over my first few posts and if it doesn't depress the shit out of you, I don't know what will. Please, if you're on the bridge, looking over the edge and contemplating a nose dive, I beg you not to read my blog. Go call the frickin Good Samaritans, like the sign says - ever notice how they cleverly post those "Desperate?" signs at bridges? Desperate for what? A coffee and donut? World peace?

To prove that funny shit does happen to me every now and then, let me tell you about something that happened last night at the grocery store.

As I mentioned before, I have two kids and we like to have a good time, joke with each other, tease each other, etc. I straddle the line with being an authoritative Dad and a big doofus. We have lots of little games that we play with each other. One game in particular is Gotcha Bum.

It's a simple game, really. One of us says "I'm gonna getcha bum", and chases the others around until you give 'em a little swat on the bum. Get it? Gotcha Bum. I never claimed that our little games were sophisticated or deep. But Gotcha Bum is fun because we're a family of bum slappers. There's nothing like a playful little swat on the behind to say I love you, or I gotcha bum and now you're "it". In Gotcha Bum, once you get your bum slapped, the slappee becomes the slapper, and proceeds to chase you until they can get you back. Maybe it's just my kids, but they laugh and giggle like insane asylum inmates, and I love it.

Now, I know bum slapping isn't cool in most respectable circles, but there is just something satisfying about patting someone on the butt, and I'm not afraid to admit it. If football players can do it, why the hell can't I? It's like when I was in first grade and Miss White made me sit in from recess for pulling Jane Facenda's flouncy skirt clear up over her head while waiting in line. Sure she hated me forever afterwards, but it was all in good, innocent fun and her skirt was practically begging for it. Anyway, I digress, per usual.

So last night T, CC and I were at the grocery store and T decided to to play hide and seek in the floral department. I let him hide for a while while I picked out my produce, but then it was time to move on to the deli section which was outside of view, so I asked him to come with me. One look at his little face told me he had something up his sleeve - he has a devilish little half grin that he does when he's hatching a plan, and he flashed it to me as he peeked from behind a bunch of carnations.

"T, come on, we need to keep shopping". No movement detected, so I walk towards the flowers. I see my son on his hands and knees trying to hide behind a pot of petunias. I smile because it was a little like an elephant trying to hide behind a palm tree. However, T sees the smile as license to play, so he pops up and says "I'm gonna get your BUMMMMM!", runs over and taps me on the behind, and then says "HA HA, I got your BUUUUUUMMMMMMMMM" and starts to run. Mid-stride, he yells over his shoulder, "don't spank my BUUMMM, Daddy!", laughing maniacally and holding both hands over his little tush.

Of course, time stopped, and every shopper in our vicinity turned their gaze directly on me. Their looks were a mixture of horror and disgust, with only a few smirkish smiles from people who had a sense of humor and could appreciate a game like Gotcha Bum. I loudly said to CC, who was giggling herself, "That T, he's such a little kidder, who taught him THAT game", while giving her a look that said, don't blow my cover and I'll buy you whatever your little heart desires.

So the moral of this story is, don't create fun little games that could embarrass the hell out of you in public, definitely don't admit that it was you who created the game, and if all else fails, bribery works like a charm, every time.