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.

So, what do you do for a living?

Aw, thanks for asking!

I am in such a career rut right now. Six months ago I had a nice job as a VP of Human Resources for a little software company, and although it had it's moments, it was a pretty good gig. I worked my ass off to get it, and had to deal with a ton of corporate b.s. and politics along the way, but I was pretty proud of myself and figured I could conquer the world - as much as an HR exec could conquer anything, that is.

Then my little company got acquired by a bigger company and all hell broke loose.

Fast forward to now...sigh. For whatever reason, the bigger company asked me to stay on through a "transition" period. Now I don't know about you, but transition period says to me, "we're going to use you up and spit you out as quickly as we can so that we can toss your sorry, highly paid ass out the door but quick". It implies a short period of time. Right? Wrong. They're idea of transition period was 5.5 months, because they wanted me to help "bridge the cultures" and "ensure a seamless integration" of my former company. It was flattering for about 5 minutes. "To think, they want ME, 'lil ol me, to help THEM ensure that their acquisition is successful? Well, of course they would, since I'm the best thing since sliced bread or reality television!" Then reality truly settled in. Let's face it folks...what they needed was some boob from the old company's leadership team to stick around and do all the shit work that they couldn't be bothered doing, like transitioning files, benefits enrollment, etc. So basically, I'm the boob. I say boob, you say pansy, but whatever the case, that's where I am.

I hate it. I feel like every day I lose more brain cells, and I'm not even losing them for something good, like perhaps a massive drunken binge of some sort. I'm basically an overpaid lackey. A devilishly handsome lackey. Clearly my ego is still in check, thank Christ. But I can't do this much longer. It's hellish to go from feeling engaged and part of something to feeling completely detached and insignificant. In their defense, bigger company doesn't necessarily mean to make me feel this way - they seem to like me quite a bit, going so far as to say they want me to stay for the long-term, but I don't see how that can happen. I'd need to feel like I was part of something in order to stick around, and right now I feel like I'm on Gilligan's Island, minus Gilligan, the Skipper, that cute little Mary Ann and the rest of the crew.

I've been testing the market a bit and interviewed at a couple of places, worked with a recruiter, etc. I'm waiting for a job offer from a company that I really like, but I don't think I'm gonna take it. It's not "fancy" enough for me, and I'm very fancy. I like to be in charge and use my command skills (which is a fancy way of saying I'm bossy and short, much like Napoleon), and this job is second fiddle to the #1 person in charge. Truthfully, it's the only reason why I'd pass the job up, since everything else about it is perfect. I just know myself too well, and know that I could get really resentful with my perfectionistic self for settling when I know I could do better. My former boss, the CEO of my little company before we got bought, nailed it when she said that I can be the # 1 person and work for a great company, I just have to wait for that job to come along.

So for now, I sit here, blogging at work when I should be working on some great, challenging project that makes me think, stretches my abilities, all that shit. Where do I go from here? Hell if I know. Like everything else in my life, work is up in the air and a big question mark for the time being. I hate not feeling settled. Not feeling like I can take a deep breath. It bites the big one, I tell ya. Hopefully the next few months will open new doors and new opportunities and I'll look back on this post and laugh at it all French-like ("fwah fwah fwah, now pass the brie") because it all worked out for the best. For now, I'm going to piss and moan, something I'm really good at, and drag my sorry ass to a place that doesn't really appreciate me or know what the hell to do with me. Now I must go and catch up on my celebrity gossip on perezhilton.com. Ta Ta!

Now that you're relaxed, let's slip into something a 'lil more comfortable shall we?

Ok, so I suppose I should say a little bit more about me.

As I said before, I'm 35-soon-to-be 36, and I'm also a single dad. I have two awesome and insanely adorable children- my daughter "CC", who's 10, and my son "T", who's 6 years old. They are hands down my greatest accomplishments to date, and if I can claim any credit towards making this world a better place, it would be my small part in bringing these two creatures into existence. I love 'em to death, and thankfully they love me back, and we're a cool little family.

How we got here is a story and a half...Obviously, they have a mom too and contrary to what you might have been thinking, not conceived in some futuristic funky lab experiment and hatched from test tubes. I know, I know, that would be a WAY more interesting story, but you'll have to tune into the SciFi channel for that sort of thing.

I was married for seven years to my high school sweetheart, we'll call her "J" (as opposed to say, Fat Walrus, which my best friend Kathi would prefer). She and I dated on and off throughout high school, went to proms together, dated in college, and got engaged on Valentine's Day. We got married on a lovely day in May, and a few months later found ourselves pregnant with CC, and a year later we were a perfect little family of three, living in a gorgeous little town house in the town we grew up in, living out the American dream. Ok, let's all let out the collective "awwwwww". Such a sweet story, right? It was.

For a while. It was awesome, and I thought I was really, really happy. Just a slight, teensy weensy problem...I wasn't. I felt like I should be very happy, I mean, I had it all right? Pretty home, pretty wife, gorgeous kid, nice job...how does it get better? I couldn't figure it out, and it plagued me....nagged at me. I was miserable...and problems I had my whole life started to become magnified. Was the stove off? I mean, was it really, really off? Did I unplug the iron, and for good measure, wrap the cord around it twice and make sure that the plug was dangling to the left side within clear sight, to prove that I didn't just *think* I had unplugged it? And did my hair look right? Just right? Or did it look different/thin/askew/funny?

I remember my battles with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, duh) as far back as first grade when I'd have panic attacks if I got grass stains on my corduroy Huskies, but I just thought it was part of my quirkiness. I remember always feeling "off", and not quite normal, and was always worried and nervous about things, although I'd never admit that to anyone. I distinctly remember a two month period in Kindergarten where I was deeply depressed about the prospect of my Dad being drafted to the Army and having to leave us, although there was no war at the time. It was just a "what if" scenario, concocted in my head. I told no one about this, but it plagued me. I don't know what broke me out of my obsessively dark thoughts about his leaving and eventual death (I just assumed if you went to war, you came home in a wooden box draped in a flag, right?), but I distinctly remember how I felt in those months. Hopeless. Sad. Out of control. Small. Insignificant. Alone.

Anyway, I digress...my childhood is another story for another time! Aren't you just riveted at this point?

I can clearly see that for the bulk of my married life, I was a miserable, horribly depressed lump of flesh. It was awful. My OCD was insanely out of control. Rituals like getting ready for work took hours and hours. It put a huge strain on my marriage. We had some beautiful, wonderful times, don't get me wrong. We were happy for a long time. But we were also going through the motions for a long time too. My ex-wife tried really hard to figure me out, and almost lost herself in the process. We were always best friends, and that friendship took it's toll and was tested to the limit. But we were young and foolish, and loved each other, even if we weren't *in love* with each other, and we had kids -my little sonny was born in 2000. So, we were in it for the long haul, and I never was going to leave or give up on our marriage - I'm just stubborn that way, and a promise is a promise.

I guess that stubbornness royally screwed me in 2002, because all the years of denial about my illness and depression caught up with me. Big time. J finally got the balls to say she wasn't happy, and wanted a divorce. This was coming from a woman who's parents had divorced bitterly when she was a child, and swore she would never, ever go through a divorce. It shocked my entire system. And sent me over the edge. I ended up in a lovely locked-unit so that I could breath and re-boot, to quote a Sex and the City line. I remember the week vividly, and how peaceful I felt to be surrounded by people crazier than me, and to spend so much time with people focusing on my and my feelings - so what if they were getting paid to listen, it felt nice. I even enjoyed painting suncatchers and a lovely self-portrait of myself! Ah, good times. I also remember my wife coming in on my last day for the "Family Meeting" and re-iterating that she was done, kaput, "ovah". Strangely, it didn't send me back into a tailspin, but it showed me that no matter what shit I was going with, life wasn't gonna stop on account of me. And I was ok with it.

I was even sort of ok a few weeks later when I found out that she was having an affair with her co-worker, which was a big reason for her asking for the divorce. Well I wasn't ok by a longshot, but didn't end up in the booby hatch again, and didn't off myself, so I would say that was "ok" in my book. Also another story for another time. Suffice to say that I found out how strong I was, fought like hell for my kids, and for myself. And won in many ways. It was a turning point in my life, and I got through it by sheer will, and the love and support of a few people who I'll never, ever be able to demonstrate how much they mean to me. I love them so much. Friends will be there for you in good times, but your truest, most sacred circle won't sugar coat the situation or avoid it, they drop everything to rally behind you and become your life line. They tell you when it sucks. They cry for you. They beat their chests and rail at the world with you, and would do anything physically possible to take just one ounce of pain away from you. And I was blessed to have these battle scarred people in my life. Mom, Dad, Kathi, Sean, and a few others...you know who you are and what you mean to me.

So, that's my sob story. Ha! Just kidding! I have many more sob stories to share. But that's how I got to be the Dad to the coolest, cutest two kids that ever lived. And you know what? Despite all that shit with my marriage, I'm ok. I got through it. I found strength in myself that I never knew I had. We divorced, and I was far from blameless, but I never cheated and never gave up until I had no choice but to walk away. I'm proud of that. Being loyal is a blessing and curse. I rebuilt my life and made a wonderful home and stable haven for my kids, and kept traditions and family connections alive for them so that they came out of all this crap relatively unscathed. And in the end, they're what's most important. I've told my Mom several times that even though my break up was a bitch of a hard time, my kids were a total gift from God, so how can I ever say my marriage was a failure, or ever regret the choices I made? If I never had CC and T, my life would have been horribly empty and unfulfilled, so I have no regrets and would do it all again in a heartbeat.

In the past three years since my marriage ended, I've learned a few new things about myself too, and why I was always wondering why I felt like the odd man out, and I learned that life can be happy, with the help of some self discovery, acceptance and good meds! I'm even good friends with my ex-wife to boot! Who'd a thunk it?

All this leads me to thinking...wouldn't this make a PERFECT script for a Lifetime movie? Except I don't think the ladies at the Lifetime network take too kindly to stories about men. Plus Tori Spelling couldn't play the lead in my movie anyway. OR CAN SHE?

Hi, thanks so much for coming, have a seat, can I get you a cocktail?

Ok, so this is my first attempt at blogging, and I must admit that I'm more than a little intimidated. I've thought about blogging for about two years now, ever since my best friend K started her blog, but persistent writer's block always stopped me from getting started. I mean, I have plenty of things to say (Lord knows my friends and family would agree), so you think it would be easy! In fact, events or incidents will happen and I'll think "Oh, this would be perfect to blog about", and then I remember that a) I don't have a blog, b) everything always seems much funnier in my head and there's no way in Hell I could write about what goes on in there (it's too scary), and c) I'd have to figure out how to start said blog, which brings us back to the issue of writer's block.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a frickin mess. A very funny, sarcastic, curmudgeonly, 35 year old mess. Soon to be 36 next week...yay me! Sometimes I hide it well (the mess part, not my age silly) - other times, not so much. I like to think of myself as an enigma, a study in contrasts, an acquired taste, if you will. My friends just think I'm a nutbag. What the hell do they know?

I'm not sure what this blog will be about- honestly, does it have to be "about" anything? That's too much pressure for a simp like me. I have enough pressure getting my ass out of bed every morning and painting on (shellacking actually) a veneer of normalcy and forced enthusiasm to get through the day. It's a job of work, I tell ya. So don't expect too much from me, and we'll all get along fine, k?