February 2009

Pick Your Wife Up All Over Again:)

The funny thing about blogging is you meet some interesting people via email, social networking, text messages and so forth. The other day I got an email from a fellow that has a comical website called http://www.funny-pick-up-lines.com/. He said that he’d been reading my blog, and asked if there was anyway I’d would be interested in writing a blog about this subject, and maybe mention his site. At first glance, I thought there is nothing I can do with this. I have been married for eighteen years. I never had any game when it came to meeting strange women anyway. What could I write about? The wheels in the brain started rolling slowly and then faster and faster and faster. So here we are talking about picking up women, a noble topic.

I know a couple of buddies who are masters at this kind of thing. They never have a problem hitting on the ladies. Let me rephrase. “They used to be masters at this kind of thing.” I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. There’s also a whole bunch of us who feel uncomfortable with the entire thing. A lot of you guys are socially awkward with the opposite sex and it’s amazing you even married. So, I guess this blogs for you. This blog is also for all the guys like me who married relatively young by today’s standards and look to spice things up every now and then to keep it fresh. This blog is also for the guys that worked and partied until they were 39 and finally married. They now have cranked out 3 kids in four years and are exhausted at 42 years of age. They’re looking for that love spark through all of the diapers and bottles.

What the hell am I talking about? First of all, let’s go over what not to do. You’re down at the little league field on a nice sunny Saturday, eating a hot dog and taking in your kid’s game. Don’t point the team mom out to your wife and say she’s got a pair of nice softballs. Don’t even joke about it. Poor form. Have you not learned anything in the past twenty years? Keeping your mouth shut and wearing mirrored sunglasses doesn’t work either(I’ve tried that one.)

I’m talking about fostering good relations between the sexes, good relations between husband and wife. I’m talking about getting you to where you want to go on a Saturday night. I’m not talking about memorizing some cheezy line off a website or reading some book on how to pick up women. I’m talking a more cultured approach. You swallow a bite of your hot dog, cock your head, lift up your sunglasses and say to your wife, “You look the same as on the day we first met!” Bingo. She’ll love it. Even if she’s onto you and thinks you’re full of sh$%&t, she’ll appreciate the effort. What a great example for your kids!

Another tough one is the when you’re getting ready to go out on a weekend night. You ever get the “How do I look in this?” or “Do I look fat in this?” This is very dangerous territory for you. If you want a good night, tread carefully. “You look good in anything, honey,” doesn’t work. It backfires. Also, do not say, “wear whatever you want.” Another backfire. What you do is suggest something you think she looks hot in. “Remember that lacy black thing you wore to the gourmet dinner party last month. You looked really good in that.” Bingo. You told her what you like and what she looks good in. If she decides not to wear that, you’re out of it. It’s up to her to figure something out. If you have a daughter, even better. Let your daughter give your wife the fashion advice. My thirteen year old Jennifer has a good eye for clothes and is brutally honest with Karen. She says things to her mom that I could never get away with.

Life is busy. My son is on the swim team. He has practice six days this week. My older daughter has dance three times this week and a competition on Saturday and Sunday. My little one had a report due yesterday and has dance on Saturday. You see where I’m going. When are you going to squeeze some romance in? There’s not a whole lot of opportunity. You don’t even have time for “date night.” Don’t try to get frisky between car pools. It ain’t gonna happen. You gotta be patient. Work your magic. Tell her over the morning scrambled eggs what you’re going to do her when the kids go to bed in sixteen hours. At 2:00pm, when she driving from the dance studio to the soccer field, call her and tell her you had a dream about her, but you’ll have to tell her about it later:) Woo her all over again. It works. Its fun. It helps get through all the rat race of modern life.

When your married, the pick up line doesn’t go away. It just transforms into something different. Use it to your advantage.

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Ski Day with the Kids!

Local: Big Bear Lake, CA

Saturday February 21, 2009

6:30am: Rise and shine. Wake up my fifteen year old Stewart and his friend. Wake up my eight year old Jacqueline. Start making egg sandwiches and turkey sandwiches. Stewart is loud and obnoxious because he’s excited. Wakes everyone up. Now we have grumpy people awake.
Get snow clothes on Jacqueline and I. Load car. Wife begs for Starbucks. I need coffee so I agree.

7:15am: Walk into Starbucks. 50 people ahead of me. Not good. Tell Stewart to walk across street to rental shop and get his buddy sized up and I’ll be over in a few minutes. I am in Starbucks hell, but I’m in too deep. Am I getting grumpy? Need caffeine.

7:45am: Walk into rental shop. They have not helped the boys because no adult present. We’re going backwards before we go forwards. Get Stewart’s buddy signed up. Now, it gets complicated. Stewart has bindings and boot, but no board. I have board, but no boots and bindings. It all gets sorted out. As I’m paying, I tell boys to load up the truck.

8:05am: Pull up in front of condo, wife runs out to grab coffee. We are finally on the road. Yeah! Oh no. Stewart left my snowboard in the rental shop. Turn around to pick up gear. Back on the road. What’s that ahead? Great, a car wreck. We are stopped going nowhere because it’s a two lane road. Good thing there are no weapons in the car.

8:40am: Arrive at resort. Dad says, “Be careful, it’s pretty icy in the parking lot.” Stewart steps out and does an immediate face plant. I can’t stop laughing. His face is red! The boys grab their gear and run off. I don’t know if I’ll see them again. Walk Jacqueline over to the ski school. It’s her first time ever. Now, we stand in line at ski school. Pay for the package deal. Gotta use their gear. Run Jacqueline over to rental. Stand in line. Run back over to ski school. Stand in line some more. She off and running with a smile on her face. What now?

9:14am: Walk to truck. I need to put the bindings on. Never done it before. This is easy. Okay, I’m ready to go. Grab cell phone. No service. Ask someone and they say that no cell service at the resort at all. Walk to pay phone. Five attempts at collect call before it goes through to tell mom to call technician if we get any calls from customers. Go to lift line. Go to strap foot into binding and realize I put it on backwards. Go back to truck. Redo bindings. Walk back to lift line. Finally!!! Hallelujah!!!

10:15am: Standing on the top of the mountain ready for first run. Off I go. The funny thing is that I feel that I’m going really fast, but everyone is passing me. I get going too fast and immediately heel or toe edge to slow down. I just can’t let myself fly. It hurts bad enough when I catch an edge cruising. How bad would it hurt if I’m bombing the hill? Oh well, I’m enjoying it. On my second run, I cruise by the school and watch Jacqueline. I can’t tell if she’s having a good time. Her face is intense and she’s concentrating. Very cute in all her pink and purple gear.

11:30am: Go pick Jacqueline up from school. We go to the truck and have a sandwich and some water. She says the boots hurt, so we both take our boots off and wiggle our toes. Gear back on, we head to the bunny slope. She’s a natural. She’s bombing the bunny slope. We go to a short intermediate run and she bombs it. We run into Stewart and his buddy and he asks her if she wants to go to the top. She says, “Yeah!” Alright, let’s do it.

1:00pm: All four of us go to the top. We decide to go down Bubble Gum which is a single lane road that curves around a hill. It’s a fun run. I stay behind Jacqueline to keep an eye on her. She gets going too fast. She’s trying to “pizza,” but she’s still going too fast. Her legs slowly start spreading further apart until she completely spins out and eats it. She sits up laughing. That’s a good sign. We continue on all afternoon. My elbows and my knees hurt. I’ve got shin splints, but she wants to keep going. I can’t have an eight year old outlast me. We continue on and have a great afternoon.

4:30pm: Liquor store. Tequila and margarita mix. I need something more than ibuprofen to take away these aches.

5:00pm: Margarita and jacuzzi tub. It doesn’t get any better than this. We had a great day.

The best part of the day: Up on the chair lift, I told Jacqueline that she was going to be my ski partner from now on. She gave me a quizzical look. I told her that Stewart was too fast for me and her mom didn’t want to ski, so she was now my partner. She looked up at me and said, “You’re never going again without me.”

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Are Cougars Lurking in Your Neighborhood?

We’re all feeling the effects of the financial meltdown caused by subprime mortgages. If you went interest only, then you’re probably sweating bullets right now. You probably already have a couple of bank owned foreclosures in your neighborhood. These are all the “in your face” issues we’re watching on the news on a daily basis. However, there is something else going on and I haven’t been able to put my finger on it until now. We’re starting to see some additional side effects from this crisis that are unbeknownst to many, but not for long.

You see the subprime mortgages caused a huge construction boom that many will never see again in our lifetime. Thousands and thousands of houses were built all over the United States. Man’s encroachment onto mother nature has caused a ripple through the ecosystem. In neighborhoods throughout the U.S., thousands of wild animals have been displaced by our expansion. They have nowhere to go, but into our communities and neighborhoods in search of food and shelter. Yes, I’m talking about the cougar.

I only started to notice it a couple of months ago. You ever go for a walk at night to get some fresh air. You feel like someone is watching or following you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. The cougars usually stay out of sight during the days, but you’re sure to see them in the evenings mostly on Friday or Saturday night. The look of the cougar is self explanatory. Feline. Tight pants, low cut tops, high heels and about 35-50 years old. Keep your sons inside. They often like to camouflage themselves in either a leopard or zebra print. Don’t let that fool you. The plunging neckline always gives them away!

Myself, I only have to worry about the 45-50 year old cougar. The others just don’t bother me. However, all men 30 and younger beware. If you think that’s blood in the corner of their mouth, it’s not. It’s some kind of cheap red wine or maybe a cosmo. My awareness level is really at a high point since I’ve had a couple of cougars make comments about my son. Good grief! He’s only fifteen. I’m thinking this should be brought up maybe at the middle school and high school level just so all young men are aware of the dangers.

There is also another anomaly going on within the cougar ranks. It only affects the male cougar population. This is the “cougay.” Although not as predatory as the female cougar, the cougay is definitely more dangerous. The good thing about the cougay is that they are only found in certain parts of town and you can warn young men to stay away from these areas.

Thanks for letting me bring these issuse to light. I think I’ll go home and get “cougared” now.

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Are Cub Scout Dads Worse Than Girl Scout Moms?

I am uniquely qualified to make this determination. I have been a cub scout, a webelo, the dad of a cub scout, the dad of two girl scouts, and I am married to a troop leader.

I was not a good cub scout. If they gave out grades in scouts, then I would have failed. When you’re a cub scout, they give you a book that details all the things you need to do to earn a badge. When you earn enough badges, then you move onto the next level in the scout hierarchy. Circa 1977, I used to sit flipping through the pages of my scout book in my backyard. I would say to myself, “I don’t want to build a house out of popsicle sticks.” Flip a few more pages, “Doing a wood carving looks cool, but mom says I might cut my finger off.” Flip a few more pages, “Build a nuclear reactor, but I don’t have the parts. They’re being ups’d to Iran right now.” And so on.

The pinnacle of the scouting year is the Pinewood Derby. This is where everyone is supposed to make a car out of balsa wood. A downhill track is set up out of plywood boards and everyone races their derby to get a champion. Now, I worked on my derby in 1977 for a good long week. I carved and whittled and glued and painted. My mom took me up to the elementary school in the evening on a school night. The track was set up in the auditorium. Mom dropped me off and said I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours. I walked in and was as proud as could be of my car. My pride was soon running scared when I checked out all of the other cars. I couldn’t see a friend or fellow scout in sight. The only thing I saw were dad’s putting the finishing touches on their sons’ cars. I didn’t know such futuristic cars could be carved out of wood. Speed racer eat your heart out. AJ Foyt see ya later. These things were works of art. Last minute sanding, touch up painting, and wheel greasing proceeded until the heats began. My car looked like I brought it up from the Otay Mesa junk yard. I knew for sure that I was going to lose and lose badly. However, as the night progressed, my car was the little engine that could. Ugly as sin, it kept winning heats and progressing through the night. I didn’t get first place, but I do remember getting a trophy. Back then they only gave out awards for 1st, 2nd or 3rd, so I had to be top three. I learned things other boys didn’t learn that night.

Now, the girl scouts are similar in style. You go from daisy to brownie to girl scout. Your earn badges and move along all the levels. The girls scouts have their own competition every year and that is girls scout cookie sales. It is all very corporate. The spreadsheets are made and the sales quotas and targets are listed. The bonus schedule is laid out nation wide for every girl scout. If you sell a hundred, you get this fake flower bobbie pin and if you sell two hundred, then you get a bedazzled hair net and so on. The distributorships are set up and the campaign date is set. If you want to be a pariah, then start selling before the deadline or selling in someone else’s territory.

All of the cute little girls walk around their neighborhood block and sell cookies and everyone buys a box or two. It’s so great for them to learn to take orders, count money, make deliveries ect. However, you need to scratch the surface to see what’s really going on. Moms pushing dads to take cookie sale sign ups to work. Moms pressuring coworkers, department heads, and ceo’s into buying cookies. Wives refusing to cook and witholding sex until the quotas reached. I’m afraid to go on.

I was a lousy cub scout and I was never a girl scout, so I’ll leave the answer up to you.

I can’t wait until my thin mints arrive.

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Pandering To The Female Crowd!!!

Do you ever feel like there are just too many holidays and occasions that you feel obligated to attend or participate in? Do you ever look at the calendar and see that the next eight weekends are totally booked with everything under the sun? It’s always your children’s activities that add to this stress. We have dance on Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. Soccer on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Girls scouts on Wednesday afternoon. Church on Sundays. Oh look here, Wednesday evening is the only night with nothing going on. Wait, the middle school is having open house from 5:00pm until 11:00pm with mandatory parental attendance. Okay, at least we have Sunday after church where we can chill out on the patio and read our novels. Forget that. In a moronic moment, you volunteered eight months ago to plant trees all day to help revive Arbor Day. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh! You know the feeling.

Coming up with an excuse not to plant trees on a Sunday afternoon is probably not a big deal. There is one day where us guys should not skip out on and that is Valentines Day. This is the one day you don’t want to flake out on or fall short on. I know it’s one of those days that sneaks up on you. You just did Christmas and New Year’s six weeks ago. You took another day off for Martin Luther King Day. You drank too many beers at the Super Bowl party and were moving slow on Monday. The following Sunday you watched the complete coverage of the pro bowl because it’s the last football game for months. Whoops! I only got two days until Valentines. Where did the time go? Have you ever stood in line at See’s Candy for half an hour just to buy some candy? Not a good scene.

I recommend that all the men out there embrace Valentine’s Day. It will make your life so much better. When you hear, “Oh honey, don’t waste any money on me. It’s just a made up holiday.” Don’t buy it and don’t believe it. No matter what she says, she’s going to be disappointed if you don’t do something. I want you guys to be proactive and take the bull by the horns.

Don’t do the flowers and chocolate. Be creative! Are you one to walk on the wild side? Go to Frederick’s of Hollywood and pick something out. Is it embarassing? Of course, but it will blow her mind that you were confident and bold enough to do it. Or are you more of the romantic type? Go to the grocery store and pick out a couple of great steaks. Feed the kids early and get them settled with a movie. Pop open a bottle of wine and then make her a great meal while she sits and chats with you. She’ll love it. Maybe you’re the mushy type? There’s nothing like a handwritten letter to tell her how much she means to you.

Enough already. I can’t read this anymore because I’m gonna puke. Settle down get a hold of yourself. Would you rather gain ten brownie points than lose a thousand? I’m just trying to help out. Remember, there is a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow.

Happy V Day!

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Little Boxes on the Hillside, Little Boxes Made of Ticky Tacky…

Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same. There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one and they’re all made of ticky tacky and they all look just the same…..

I have been introduced to this great television show “Weeds” by a good friend. If you’re in the dark, like I was two days ago, then listen up. This show is a satirical look at life in the suburbs. It goes way over the top having an upper middle class mom who is the local marijuana dealer. My introduction is the lyrics to the theme song of the show and they really caught my attention and got me to thinking about my own mixed thoughts about suburban life.

I spent my formative years in Pacific Beach which is a community within the city of San Diego right on the Pacific Ocean. It’s known as “PB” to the locals. PB is a hip town with a great beachie vibe. I have fond memories of growing up there. PB is a suburb on the beach which gives it a feel and character unlike you’re typical suburban community. Much to my dismay, at the end of the ninth grade, we moved from PB to an inland, suburban, bedroom community called University City. I was horrified. I still remember that long lonely summer between ninth and tenth grade. It was hot. It was boring. I had no friends there. Everything looked the same. I proclaimed one evening at dinner that we lived in “Leave it to Beaverville.” I think my father agreed because he never lived in a similar neighborhood ever again.

The next twelve years I was able to avoid suburbia. I lived mostly in different beach communities in north San Diego county. When you get married and have three children, not all the choices are completely yours. You need to think about your wife and your children and safety and security and the such. I ended up back in the suburbs. The only reason I agreed is because the house does have a great backyard. Otherwise, I could give or take the house (I hope Karen’s not reading this blog!). We have a pool and jacuzzi and barbeque and all of the trappings of suburbia that make it more palatable.

An old friend of mine once told me that the suburbs are a dangerous place to live. If you’re going to get satirical like the writers of “Weeds,” then you’ll bring up the all the hypocrites that live in suburbia. At some stage of our lives have we not met the philandering husband with the wandering eye? How about the mom that only pops her pills with chardonnay? The teenagers doing bong loads in their cars? Let’s not forget the closet homosexual? You’re bound to find these shenanigans in any community whether you’re urban, suburban or rural.

Yesterday, in the car, my fifteen year old son proclaimed, “I love our neighborhood. I never want to move.” I gave him a look and he said, “Come on, dad! You don’t like where we live?” I didn’t answer the question. I’ve been thinking about my answer for the past forty eight hours. A place where you’re with family and friends, where you can skateboard in the street, bike ride on the canyon trails, go swimming, enjoy backyard barbeques, attend a good school and have fond memories of growing up isn’t a bad place to be. I had that in Pacific Beach. Why can’t it be replicated here. I’m going to keep my satire to myself and get my fix watching “Weeds” once a week.

My apologies to anyone who loves UC.

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Why Dog is Man’s Best Friend….

I made a commitment to myself to write two posts a week. I’m a day late on this one because I just didn’t have it in me to write anything. Yesterday, our family dog of eight years passed away. We’re really going to miss Domino.

I own an air conditioning company. Eight years ago, we were doing some work at a decent size house that was being converted into two apartments and a small office. When I dropped by there to check on the project, there was this black and white border collie mix that was super playful. I would pet her and throw the ball for her. The two guys that were working in the new office told me the person who was living in the house had abandoned her. They brought her food every day and just let her roam around. I felt sorry for the poor girl.

We hadn’t had a dog for a good two or three years, so I began thinking about taking her with me. I finally pulled the trigger and brought her home on my tenth wedding anniversary for Karen. It wasn’t the diamond she was probably expecting, but Domino was something that impacted us more than any material thing.

Domino is the perfect example of why they call dog a man’s best friend. I would have to say her behavior was almost human. I think she knew that she had been abandoned. She could never be alone, so she followed us everywhere. Like a good friend, she just liked hanging out with us whether it was on the couch or on the patio or out by the pool.

Just like a good friend, Domino was always happy to see any of us. The funny thing about dogs is that you can be gone for 15 minutes and they act like they haven’t seen you in days. How can you not love something that is always so happy to see you?

Just like a good friend, Domino always did something quirky or weird that we just loved about her. I’ll never forget the day she jumped out the second story window into the front yard. Flashlights drove her crazy. If you turned a flashlight on at night, she would chase the beam of light all over until she was out of breath. She was also the amazing escape artist. I could never figure out how she got out of the backyard. There were always people leaving messages on the answering machine saying that Domino was in their front yard and we had to come get her.

Just like a good friend, when she’s gone it hurts and you miss her. The last couple of years haven’t been kind to Domino. She’s had trouble with her eyesight and her hearing and her hips. Karen and I had to take her to the vet. The grief hit us hard and fast. I’ve lost my dad and my sister, but losing a pet hurts, too. The worst part of the day is having to tell the three kids when they got home from school. She was the best dog any kid could have. She was a gentle creature. We’re going to miss her.

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