True Stories from the Playground

True Story!...and yes I actually lived through this.



By the way, have you noticed that whenever anyone wants you to really listen to/believe what you are about to say, they always preface the statement with 'true story'?

First:
When shaving the pits...yes, among other areas, I periodically strip all hair from the under portion of my upper arms. I usually use a top-o'-the-line razor for this and try to work slowly. But last Wednesday I was in a hurry and had only a disposable BIC.

Why do I shave the pits? Because I tend to sweat in the heat and when I sweat, if I am in full bloom of armpit hair, let's say that I tend to take lonnng hot showers. But if I shave, things don't get so desperate.

So anyway, I was in a rush to get out the door and decided it was time to BIC the pits. I dug through the bathroom mirror looking for the shaving cream. Yes, I use a regular razor on the facial bristles but I only use water with the razor for this.

I found that if one tilts the razor accidentally, one can leave a fairly deep/long cut. Then applying deoderant becomes something of an excercise in the double-dare philosophy. Today was the first day since, that I dared apply the scented white stick.

Boy.Imp decided that he was bored on Thursday so he woke me from an unplanned afternoon nap with the following:

b.imp: -pulling up my shirt while straddling my hips- Daddy you're the toilet!
me: what?
b.imp: You're the toilet and I'm going to pee on your belly.
me: you're what?
b.imp: -grabbing his testicles through his pants and waving his hips back and forth- sssssssssss
me: oh thank God.
b.imp: -leaning over and pressing his hand on my right eye- ok, I'm flushing the toilet now

Last Sunday the fam and I went to brunch at Easton Town Center (very nice!) and then on the way home we pull out into the Main Exit lane when a city cop passes my and pulls to a halt behind the pick-up truck that I was following.

Nothing bad about that. Maybe he didn't signal when he turned? About this time I noticed there were about 3-4 people in the truck and they were moving around more than one would expect passengers in a car to move.

Then I noticed the cops hand resting on the door frame as he levered himself out of the car. His hand was full of a 9 mm pistol. The pistol was pointed directly at the driver's window (the pick-up truck driver's window).

The cop proceeded out of his car and toward the pick-up truck, hands clenched around the butt of his pistol and crouched with a slow slide-step.

I pulled a fast U-Turn and passed two mall security vehicles on my way toward the rear exit of the mall complex.

By the way, Welcome Back Diana!!

Around the Playground

So much has been going on that would normally be quite short in posting. However, since my last post the following has occurred:

I painted 5 interior doors. Yes, all of our upstairs bedroom and closet doors were painted with different shades of brown and/or white (so was the trim but I recently repainted that as well).

Why? Why Dennis, would you paint wood? Because the futhermucking moron who owned this house prior to our purchasing it, painted everything wood in the house. And he used the cheapest paint he could find (that and he slapped a border on the walls of every room, including the mirrors in the bathroom!)

So, my past few weeks included, sponge painting the imps bedrooms (hers purple and his blue). Painting the doors and door frames/trim and then re-painting (for the 4th time in 5 years) the upstairs bathroom.

....and along with all this the recent spate of storms brought some branches down on our roof and I now need some exterior repairs. Although I am waiting on the insurance company's estimate before I get into that.

Moving on, I am about to gut and refinish the downstairs bathroom (I'd light a match and watch it burn except that the rest of the house might be affected) and laundry room, recarpet the downstairs, repaint the downstairs and then...we turn our attention to the kitchen.

Have I mentioned that we turned the dining room into our construction overflow area for the upstairs work and that the family room is the construction storage area for all downstairs projects?

...and then my interenet at home crashed and I cannot get it back because the ethernet connection in my computer is not working right (or is simply just not working). SOOOO

Until that is sorted I will be a sporadic poster. But I am able to sneak a peak every other day or so.

Repsonses to the responses from my last post:

Betty: Spread 'em? (I see too many possibilities and have such a gutter-level imagination that I'll just stop here)

Tony: my skin is crawling with the image of that man in those tiny seats

Hannah: actually there were no rubber gloves involved, however with Betty in charge, I'd be a tad worried... :)

CC: Never joke with anyone carrying a badge. If they have a badge and a gun, do not even make eye contact. However if they are carrying a badge and a boom-box, break out the $1's

Rebecca: Here's hoping

My Fright Home...

Ok, so I drove with my brother to help him move into his new aparment in Illinois last Saturday and then on Sunday I was to fly (ok, I did end up flying) home on American Airlines.

I arrived at O'hare at 7:30 a.m. for my 8:50 a.m. flight and checked the departure board. One flight had been cancelled. Care to guess? I'll let you have three tries and the first 2 do not even count!!

Yep. I had in my hand my pre-printed, now useless, electronic boarding pass. This meant I now had to rub shoulders with the masses and wind my way slowly to the check-in counter. Thirty minutes later I was informed I was now booked on United Airlines 9:15 flight, but not really because what they were actually giving me was a coupon for the ticket for said flight. Now hustle back to terminal 1 to get in their Check-In line.

Aaaaand 20 minutes later I am being told that AA did not actually book me on the flight and I might not be leaving Chicago for a while. Seeing my 'Now-I-Know-Why-They-Blow-Up-Airports' look, the counter tech decided he might want to give it the 'Ole College Try' and see if he could effect a positive resolution.

Which he did! Thank you United!

So, as I wended my way through the security line (which was being outpaced by the proverbial snail) I decided to change my shoes for my flip-flops. I would like to say that I am almost 40 and this is the first year (at age 39) in which I have ever owned flip-flops. I have to admit I was missing out.

Then the 'Man' decided that he would split the security check line and sent my half to the far end of the terminal where they opened a new check point. Upon arriving at the front of the line (some 15 minutes before boarding was to commence for my flight) I had the following interaction with the security staff:

Security Flunky: ID and boarding pass.
(glancing from me to the documents and offering a brief frown)
Thank you. You have been selected for Special Inspection.

I realize that they do have to do this and had been through it once before on a flight to Swizterland, but I was in kind of a hurry and therefore was a bit slow on deciding how I should react. Should I:
a: jump up and down clapping and calling out 'Yea me!'
b: do the 'One-armed, athletic, fist pump' and calling out 'Boo-yah!'
c: shrug my shoulders and wait for further instructions.

I chose poorly. I shrugged my shoulders and stood there quietly.

SF: Did you hear me?
(now glaring at me)

Again there were myriads of choices available. I chose to be annoyingly polite.

me: (with my widest, brightest smile) Yes. I have been selected for Special Inspection.
SF: Follow me!
(now glaring and a bit red in the face)

Fortunately everyone else seemed to be a little harried and the full-body probe never occurred.

Here's how we were called for boarding:

Section 1 may now board. Section 2 may now board...Section 3...Section 4 may now board.

WTF??

Every airline I have ever flown called us by row numbers after boarding 1st and business class passengers! My boarding pass had nothing on it about sections and after staring around at the empty Waiting Area, I had to assume it was the only boarding pass devoid of a section number.

I really wanted to go up to the uniformed flunky and demand to be shown what section it was in which I had been seated, but then I might have been selected for Special Inspection!

I Probably Need a Kitchen Safety Course...

I decided to eat the leftover pizza on Saturday and after heating the pie in the oven I pulled the tray out and shook the pizza off of the pan onto my plate. I must've shook too hard because one of the slices skipped off of the plate onto the stove top. I was standing at an angle (with my left hand much farther from the stove than my right, which was holding the pan with a hot pad). So I casually passed the pan into my left hand as my brain screamed, "Danger Will Robinson! Danger Will Robinson!"

Needless to say the pain hit within a few heartbeats.


In other news, wife.imp found a welt on boy.imps cheek. She discovered that he and girl.imp had been playing Tug-of-War with a broken, cloth head band and he got popped in the face just below his left eye.

wife.imp: b.imp! what's that on your face?
b.imp: is it bleeding?
w.imp: No.
b.imp: It's ok. It's just a booboo
w.imp: does it hurt?
b.imp: don't worry mommy. I won!

That's my boy!!

Shocking Words On The Playground...

...and they were not uttered by boy.imp or girl.imp!

My younger sisters confided in my brother and myself tonight that our mother told the funniest joke a few years back. Now mom has a wonderful sense of humor, however there are times when she feels the need to remind us how twisted she can be:

Mom (pulling up shirt and pointing to her belly): Hey, do you want to see my mouse tattoo?
sisters: what?
mom: Do you want to see my mouse tattoo?
sisters: mouse tattoo? we don't see any mouse tattoo!
mom: (dropping her shirt) You don't? Oh. Then I guess my pussy ate it!

After recovering from this, I, briefly, ruminated on how my social skills seem to have stalled at around age 7. Because, I could have told a similar joke and it would have been:
a) Wrong Audience
b) Wrong Subject Matter
c) Wrong Social Setting

Example: Back when I was a Boy Scout, I was with a group of scouts camping in Philmont Scout Camp in New Mexico (in mixed company) and we were discussing the cons of Break Dancing. Many, many funny comments were made by both sexes and we were all relaxed and feeling pretty chummy when I observed:

'Yeah, well you definately would not want to do the 'Worm' while going down hill with a hard-on! Ha! Ha! Ha!....'

'What? Nobody gets it? The Worm! Downhill! With a--Where's everybody going? Come on! That was funny! The Worm! Downhill!'

Anyway, perhaps I'll go get me a mouse tattoo...

Things that Make Me Queasy

The imps and I were walking from the car to the hardware store, when girl.imp had to ask about 'life changes.' Of course, we were walking within earshot of others.

g.imp: (pulling on her shirt) daddy? Am I growing boobies?
me: uh, no.
(Of course, this is the type of anti-testosterone induced conversation that I really need to get me in the mood for a trip into the hardware store)
g.imp: oh. Mommy thinks I'm growing boobies.
g.imp: daddy? when you were a boy, uh, I mean when you were younger and were about to be a teenager, did your ping-ping bleed.
me: uh, no.
(Of course you know what I'm thinking here, don't you? I'm thinking I just can't catch a break, where is wife.imp when you really, really need her to be around? I also had the remaining conversation in my head:
me: boys don't have that problem
g.imp: what problem is that?
me: boys don't have to worry about all that leaking. It's much more fun being a boy.
g.imp: what leaking
me: well girls are always leaking some kind of fluid from thier bodies--from their eyes, nose, mouth and other areas.
g.imp: like bleeding from their ping-pings?
me: yep that's why God gave y'all pantie shields and boobie shields.
g.imp: my boobies are going to leak?
me: yep.
g.imp: why?
me: I don't know. My boobies don't leak. Go ask your mother.)

So we're eating spaghetti for dinner and b.imp decides to sit next to me on the couch (our dining table is currently fix-it central for all the home improvement projects I have ongoing ) and decides he wants to rest his legs across my lap. unfortunately that is where my plate of boiled noodles in red sauce was currently sitting.

I do need to state here-and-now that if anyone touches my food, I am likely not to finish it. I sometimes think there is a therapist out there whom is pining away, trying to find the money to send his/her kid(s) to an Ivy League university. I sometimes feel guilty that I am hoarding my quirky behaviour and not doing more to help the younger generation realize their collegiate dreams.

So why am I so adverse to resuming feeding upon food someone else samples?

Let's go back to my formative school years:

During my youthful days as an outsider in a small town (ok it's almost 30 years later and we are still outsiders) I used to get offers from 'acquaintances' to finish food (sloppy joe sandwiches or hamburgers that did not pass the 'sniff test' or soda pops). I learned early that these folks were not passing on these tasty treats out of kindness. No, they were also passing on snacks that had the added bonus of being coated with thier own, personal seasoning (re: spit, boogers etc...). So, in order to end the standoff (everyone nearby was all smiles and urging me to take the proffered snacks), I would take the offering and walk to the nearest trash bin and dump it.

Enough of the flashback.

Pulling boy.imp's foot out of my dinner, I decided I was no longer hungry.

me: yuck! I don't think I can eat anymore.
w.imp: It was just his ankle! You big wimp!
me: no, it was his foot -- his whole foot.
w.imp: come on, it was not that bad!
(her expression was also blatantly chastising me: 'I cannot believe you are about to waste all that food! It's not like he stood on the middle of your plate! Just sack it up and eat!!)
me: (after taking a bite) All I can taste is foot...

Why Should You Visit the Philippines?

I often tell people that visiting the Philippines should be on their 'Things To Do Before I Die' list.

The following are perfect examples of what I have been trying, for years, to describe:


Bohol Island Paradise:


Sunrise on the Beach -- Jealous Much?


How about Now? The ripples are dolphins feeding in the morming -- There are dolphins here...trust me!


Even I enjoyed the Sea view! Bohol! It only gets better!


How can Bohol get better?


Come view the Chocolate Hills!:



How about the view from the Bee Farm/Bed'N'Breakfast?:



If the view does not convince you, then let me tell you about the food:

Bohol Bee Farm - Organic Feast...Ok, this second (buffet) pic was not on Bohol, but mmmm....


Beaches and Sea Views not your bag? How about a river trip through a tropical jungle?

This is an actual floating restaurant -- He sings the songs!




And I do have to admit that if the Imps-In-Laws did not do all the planning for these activities, we would have never been able to see/experience these places.


In case we forgot to say it then:


Thank You!!

Imps Speak

Sunday:
During Mass girl.imp decides to pull boy.imp onto her lap as mid-ceremony entertainment and before wife.imp or myself can do anything (with b.imp laying across her lap face-up) g.imp leans down into his face and:

ACHOOO!!

Monday:
We are sitting down to dinner at a restaurant and b.imp makes the following request:

Come on and start this party, let's all have some Bicardi!


vacation photos 2007, Philippines:

JollyBee and Imps

Imps at a birthday party

Imps enjoying the Chocolate Hills

Same 'Ole Saturday at the Playground

So Thursday evening I got fed up with our current lack of customer service with our cell service and around 4a.m. pulled up the company's most recent Annual Report from the internet. I then got the names for the CEO and all the listed directors and surfed the net again for an appropriate email format...Friday around 9:30a.m. the CEO emails me to inform me that he was sorry to hear about our sitch and he asked one of his team to contact me...then I hear nothing the rest of the day (we'll revisit this statement in a minute).

Later Friday I take the imps to dad's house (1hr drive). We went because wife.imp's car is slowly falling apart and the only mechanic we trust lives in the same town as my dad. Wife.Imp is supposed to meet us for a late dinner out with my mom and dad. Here is a sample of conversation as we drive around looking for a restaurant that was not SRO:

me: hello? hello? Can you hear me?
w.imp: Hel...I'm almost to...
me: Hello? what was that? Hello? hellohellohello?
w.imp: I can't her...hello? I'm at...
me: Hello? Hello? There you are. Listen we're going to Maple Road in Zanesville. There's a Chinese Rest...Hello? Hello? hellohellohello? Can you here me? Hello?

Needless to say, my cell phone was also on its last legs. Since the designated company rep had not yet contacted me. And would you not expect that if the CEO of a company tapped you on the shoulder and asked you to contact a customer that you might make an effort to make any contact (phone, fax, email) by end of business that same day?

So Saturday we got up and went to a competitor's store and ported our numbers to new phones/new service. (By the way, at around 9:40p.m. tonight, the person tasked by the CEO to contact me about my concerns sent me an email, asking me to call the company on Monday)

It was here that the imps decided that they needed more of our attention. When I say imps, I really mean girl.imp. She has been having trouble sleeping in since returning home from her trip and woke up around 5 a.m. This means that she is getting quite tired by mid-morning and that means she starts pushing all sorts of boundaries. Boundaries that I did not think I'd have to worry about until she was old enough to star on 'Girls Gone Wild'.

How bad can a 7-year-old girl get in public, one might ask? Can g.imp really make the GGW girls seem tame? I mean geez, Dennis, little girls often flip up their skirts and shirts in public. At their age, that behavior is not so bad. Hell, it's still cute. Annoying for the parents but still cute.

Ahhhh, but if it were only that simple. You see, g.imp understands that this behavior is not to be considered shocking--yet. So she found a way to 'up the ante'.

Right after we promised our next child to the new cellular service provider in compensation for to obscenely complicated and glizty cell phones, I put down the pen I had been using to sign imaginary child number 3 away with and and looked at g.imp.

Aaaaaand found she had pulled down the collar of her shirt and had successfully inserted her left nipple (no, she has not developed in this area just yet) into her mouth and was sucking on it.

Her comment as my jaw hit the edge of the table then the floor?
"hmmmm, it doesn't taste like anything"

My first thoughts Pre-Nipple tasting comment:
"What the F? Why the hell are you..."

My first thoughts Post-Nipple tasting comment:
"Well duh! It's not the taste that's important..."

I did manage not to verbalize anything, but 'Daddy of the Year' awards probably won't be hanging on my office walls anytime soon...

Close Your Eyes and Imagine the Sights and Sounds of a High-Pressure Hose...

I have a pressure washer that puts out something like 1400 psi. I can alternately use it to clean the siding on our house, wash the cars, strip paint from the deck and/or said cars (I have not harmed the paint on the cars yet, but I know I could if I wanted to) and carve my name in the asphalt on the driveway.

I mention this because now the boy.imp is potty trained, I have been wondering how his diapers actually survived. I swear with the pressure this imp generates while peeing, b.imp could actually be used as a replacement for the pressure washer for all the above said tasks. Watching him pee (yes, he does sometimes need some parental oversite as I do not wish to mop the bathroom floor on a daily basis), I would be willing to put money down on how fast he could use the pee stream to bore a hole through the porcelain bowl.

Also, on this whole potty training issue, how can a three-year old boy and a seven-year old girl produce such large poopbergs. Even the imp-laws commented on the oversized waste mounds. I mean cows would turn their heads away in shame upon glimpsing these massive mounds of fly buffets. I pray, at least twice weekly, to have a bowl movment that feels as satisfactory as what their every day production yields!

Which is worse...

The horrors that 'the Doctor' weekly faces, alien invaders bent on destroying the world by various neferious means OR the horror of watching middle of the Cincinnati Reds lineup, which right now cannot seem to hit a slow pitched beachball, much less fulfill its obligation of the 'Get 'em In' part of the Get 'em On, Get 'em Over...philosophy of baseball.


Why am I comparing oldest sci-fi television show of all time with the oldest pro-baseball team of all time?


Because here at the Playground we love quality. While the quality of the new incarnation of the Dr. Who series is stellar, the quality of the current Reds seems to have dropped off consistently from the 1970s heyday (with the exception of the 1990 Reds).


This is important because since returning from the Philippines on Tuesday, both imps have suffered from insomnia. Last night boy.imp made the rounds from his bed to girl.imp's bed to our bed from about 2a.m. to 5a.m.


still not seeing the path i am travelling in this tale? then let's examine girl.imp's late

and girl.imp? Well g.imp decided not to take the nightly bed-hopping tour and instead went to the family room and turned on one of the latest copies of Dr. Who (I had recorded the episodes I would miss while overseas) and around 2:30a.m. we heard her sobbing in her bed. It seems the show scared the 'sweet bejeezus' out of her and she was trying to cry into her pillow so she would not wake us.


However, upon learning what scared her so (and it was truly a great episode) I snuggled up against her and told her about how these shows are all pretend and not real. As we drifted off into a dreamless sleep, I kept asking myself why the Red's inability to hit off-speed pitches and the recurring horror of the 8th inning pitching meltdowns could not also be pretend and make-believe...