During the summers that I don't have to go to work and am working as a full time father, I take one day out of the week to drop Erik Noisewater off at daycare. This particular
Daycare Day I was surprisingly efficient. 

1. I always go to coffee shops because I know for a fact I won't get anything done at home. I'll just end up watching television, napping, burping the worm, and who knows what other useless things I can do to avoid getting shit done. I find it fun to keep trying out new coffee shops, and yesterday's was an awesome Colombian one where you can pour yourself regular or sparkling water out of taps. Now that is cool because to be honest I only typically sip one coffee all day, and that's enough to keep me going. But I probably have around 5 to 6 waters, and sparkling stuff makes me feel like a big timer. So that's one thing I did. Found a dope coffee shop in my new neighborhood.

I always find a couch because I have shit posture. 

2. I turned submitted all my tests and essays for one online class and signed up for a new one. If I can knock down a couple more I can bump my pay grade up a little to help pay for necessities like diapers, mortgages, and craft beers.

3. Got a haircut. Do any of you have that place Sports Clips where it's a sports themed place in which you can watch ESPN, get a hot towel on your face, they massage your back with a vibrator (not that kind), and the ladies all wear referee outfits? It's probably a little sexist, right? I never really gave it much thought, but it's kind of like, "What do men like? Sports. Women in skimpy outfits. Women pampering them. And watching sports while women don't talk." Anyway, I did talk to my stylist, and she was a very nice young lady with an AD/HD 3-year-old. I was able to give her some advice in exchange for her maybe demeaning herself a little, for whatever that is worth.

I think they actually stopped wearing these, so I don't feel AS douchey going now.

4. After the haircut I stopped into my gym that is across the street. Not to work out. It's an off day with my marathon training. I just wanted a peanut butter, banana, and chocolate shake. Some guy named Jay came up when she swiped my gym pass, and I was like, "That's cool. Put that on Jay's account. Fuck him." The gym gal laughed and upgraded me to a large one for the price of a medium. The large one was way too much shake, as wide of a cup as a gallon of milk, but I still finished that bad boy because it tastes like chocolate, bananas, and peanut butter for God's sakes.

5. Then I thought I should get in a hot yoga class to stretch out my legs that are getting destroyed from all the running. I laid my gym mat on the floor, and then when I flapped the towel out to put on top of the mat, something went flying out that had been stuck to the towel. When I looked more closely tot see what it was, it was lacy. What could it be? Oh shit! Panties! I just shot panties across the room in a yoga studio. Everyone in there is going to think I'm some sort of panty-sniffing yoga pervert when in actuality my wife's panties just clung to the towel from the laundry. But who would believe that?

No, I don't wear those pants. Nor the glasses. And no, I can't do that with my legs. 

And they just had to be lacy, right? If they were her workout bloomers they would look like maybe it was a headband or something. Nope. Unmistakeably panties. I swiftly scooped them up and snuck them in my pocket. Honestly, it was hard to get into my zen mode during some of the more challenging stretches because in the back of my mind I was worried about the damn panties slipping out of my pocket and back onto the studio floor.

6. Aside from the panties thing, the yoga was really great. I left feeling very recharged and at one with where I was in that time and place, if that makes any sense. Hard to explain I suppose unless you do some yoga from time-to-time. I only get around to going to a class every so often, but every time I think to myself that I need to make it a weekly event. A lot like blogging, which I'm sure you can understand. Then as I'm walking to my car I see two meter maid guys looking at my license plate and typing in their computer thingies. Shit! I tried to explain that I had no idea it was a metered lot, which was true. They were having none of it. One guy was training the other guy, and he talked to the trainee like I wasn't even there. He wouldn't even look at me.



Every time I have come out to my car and the person was in the midst of writing a ticket, they have let me go. Isn't that kind of an unspoken rule? Like, "Okay, you win this round. But watch your ass!" Nope. This guy was having none of that. Maybe he had to be tough in front of the trainee, or maybe he was just a dick. I was thinking to myself that if I wanted out of this one I would have to grovel and kiss this guy's ass, and I couldn't bring myself to do that. I hated him, so I would rather just pay the fifty bucks. After getting in my car (because I always think of the right move after it's too late) what I thought I could have done was to throw a yoga towel, or a pair of panties, over the license plate and peel out of that bitch. Next time. All the more reason to keep a pair of panties in your pocket. What in the hell am I talking about?

Until next time, Seven Readers. Get shit done today like a daddy on a damn mission. What do you have cracking this weekend? I intend to go to a Cubs game tomorrow night with my season ticket buddies and it will likely be an evening of straight-up drunken, skin-tight* buffoonery. Talk to you again next week, probably a few brain cells lighter, but I'll still try to be funny as best I can.
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*No, that doesn't make any sense. It's a Guided By Voices lyrics. Few of their lyrics make any kind of sense, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

My Day Up Until Now

I used a website called Random Subject Prompts and the one that popped up was: "Write about your day so far." So, let's do that.

5:30AM - I wake up to hear the cutest voice ever saying "dada" in the next room. Sorry to disappoint you, Little Man, but it's Momma's turn; we switch off mornings. I couldn't get back to sleep so I picked up where I left off in my Jim Henson biography. Basically that dude changed the face of children's television and pretty much invented it in terms of the format we still see today. Previous puppet shows on television had a little stage where the puppets moved about, but what he and his female partner did in the 1950's (while he was in college) was look at a little monitor and let that space that the viewers could see be the boundaries of the stage. He was the first to let the puppets themselves be the stars of the show and brought those characters to life.

I was trying to explain to Mrs. Noisewater when we were watching a modern "Sesame Street" that it was no good because the kids in the show were clearly actors. Corny as all hell. Back in the 1970's it was an organic experience of the kids just having conversations with the puppets as if they were real people. The kiddos reacted to what the puppet was saying, and the puppeteer fed off of the spontaneity and whimsy that the children brought to the scene. This scene below is the best example of what I'm talking about. The girl had her little joke and was cracking herself up, so Jim made Kermit pretend to get all frustrated. And then the unexpected pull at the heart strings at the end brings it all home for a truly magic moment.



7:00AM - Fell back asleep eventually and got up feeling like a million bucks. 7AM is really sleeping in during the baby days. I made myself a French press cup of coffee with my birthday gift of a press and a grinder. If you don't have one, I recommend it. I'm amped with fuel for the whole day, and I just kind of love the whole process of brewing it.

Cat mug not included.

9:00AM - Went for a run with my buddy Night Train who lives down the street. He is training for his first marathon in the Spring in Big Sur, California, and I have my 2nd one in September here in Chicago. Topics discussed that I can remember were: Parenting styles, break ups, our upcoming Man Night get together with friends, whether or not Tom Brady is faking an injury to play head games with his opponents, and what makes an ideal roommate. If you're anything like me, you do your best thinking when you run, and it really helps to have someone with you to hash out all of life's problems and reflect on the minutia of all things off of the running path.

10:30AM - Mrs. Noisewater was meeting a friend at the Women's March, and she made this terrific sign. The other side has a clock that says "Time's Up." What is funny is that she showed the boy the typical way of protesting with a sign by shaking it up and down and doing a ra-ra chant, so Baby Noisewater did the same and babbled about what may or may not have been about women's rights but more likely was about Thomas the Train and his rights in the rail yard.



12:10 - We are currently on a major budget restriction, trying to save for a more proper home for the family, somewhere with in-unit washer/dryer, a dishwasher, and a proper bedroom for the Little Man. For this entire month we are tracking everything we spend on a spreadsheet. If either of us buys something, even a can of soda at the gas station, it has to go onto our spreadsheet. Believe it or not, it really does make you more conscious of what you need and don't need to buy. Hence, I opted for a free activity for the baby and took him to the library. Here he is playing with a random girl that was there. He is so social, but mostly with the ladies. It was impressive that he recognized that his partner had more advanced fine motor skills, so he opted to be the guy who fetched the bricks for her to carefully put into place. He has the brute strength and cute strength.

And that about takes us to the current time. Tonight we will stay in and continue to spend zero dollars. There is some movie about a mute gal falling for a merman that is supposed to be quite good, so we may stream that one free and illegally.

I rather liked this writing activity because when you take the time to write about your day, you find yourself a little more convinced that it was all time well spent.

Be well, Blog Buddies.

Last night when I was at a Lakeview neighborhood bar there were two giant groups of people and us.  In other words, If it weren't for these big groups, the bar would only have a handful of people in it.  First, there were participants in a sweatsuit pub crawl.  I talked to the founding father who informed me that he hosts this annual event right around the time of his birthday each year, and because it falls in November, the sweat suits are the perfect attire for the weather.  His only rule is that the sweat suits must be monochromatic (the tops must match the bottoms).  Birthday boy had a red, white, and blue one on with a U.S.A. embroidered on there, and it cost him $100.  This seems like a lot of money, but it looked really damn comfortable.  Plus we were saying that after wearing it again for the Olympics and World Cup, he will have recouped the losses.  

This is the sexiest sweats outfit I could find on Google Images.

The other group were members of Jewish fraternity having a reunion of one time.  It was the solitary Black member of the frat that said something during one of those quiet moments where an odd statement goes right into you head and stays with you all night: "Sorry, I couldn't hear you - my dick's too big."  I googled this quote and couldn't find it anywhere, so I guess I'll never know just what in the hell he meant by that.  It's funny, even if it makes no sense.  Actually, it's funny because it makes no sense.

I then got a text from an old friend saying he was headed to The Liars Club, which if you have been around this blog for a while you know this to be the best bar in Chicago.  This friend of mine recently split up with his wife who was cheating on him, and he has been dating lots of women.  This is the best way to get over events like this, I have found.  The guy is on a role too because he is in great shape and it seems like many of my friends over the years have had wives and girlfriends say how good looking he is.  He had one of his Tinder ladies out with him last night, so I was sort of third wheeling it.  We had fun for a while talking about some of their commonalities, such as both of them having giant tall dads.  His is 6'6" and hers is 6'8"!  I said that even if they don't work out in the long run, they should just go ahead and breed anyways to make a star volleyball or basketball player.  Then on a trip back from the men's room I saw the two of them talking very closely and intimately and Tinder Girl was grabbing at his schlong.  They were getting down with that notion of breeding in the very near future, so I saw this as a good time to leave . . . 

Now I am hungover as hell and have accomplished almost nothing today, but what little I have accomplished, I have these two friends to thank for it.  

Stanky Booty Ass

The lady and I got aboard a train to go downtown for Christmas shopping, and the second we poked our heads in we smelled the foul stench of a thousand dirty assholes.  It was rough.  I was really tired that morning and needed my coffee badly, but those dookie fumes surely had already seeped into my cup.  I will take sleepiness over poop java every time.

A Black couple stepped on at the next stop, and while his girlfriend took an air freshener out of her purse and sprayed away liberally, he had the following to say:

"Aww hell naw!  Who's the smelly-ass muthafucka on here?  I don't care if it was Obama himself smelling like that, I'll smack you in the head with some soap, with yo' stanky booty ass."

He was actually scanning around the room and making eye contact with all the passengers, hoping to find the culprit.  The smell really angered him.   I like his idea of executing some poetic justice on the guy by braining him with soap, and while "stanky booty ass" doesn't seem to make much sense, seeing as booty and ass mean exactly the same thing, "self" in this sense means more like "himself," if that makes sense.  It was worded perfectly.

And my coffee flavor was instantaneously changed to Stanky Booty Ass. 

Old Friends

Steve parked his car on Chicago's northwest side and went into a neighborhood coffee shop with only one customer inside.  He greeted his friend, Roman, the lone customer who has many ties to the Polish mob, and the two sat at a table by the window to discuss the business at hand.

Steve: I appreciate you meeting me at short notice.  I know it's been a long time, but I remember when we worked together way back when, you said you knew a lot of . . . people who could . . . get things done.  

Roman: Oh yes.  (he replied in a thick Polish accent as he sipped from his espresso).  I can get a boot off of your car in less than two minutes.  I can get you a new identity in a couple days time.  And Mr. Roman could get you a very good-looking and convincing transsexual.  

Steve: Yeah, those three I don't need right now, especially that last one, but (looks around the empty room), illegal stuff is kind of the way I need to go with this one.  

Roman: No problem.  Anything for an old friend.  Anything within reason, that is.    

Steve: Well, here it is: I know a kid who got molested, and I just worry that with the way the investigation is going . . . The kid changed his story, and he didn't come forward for a long time, so there really isn't a lot of physical evidence.  And this guy might walk.

Roman: Oh no.  He won't walk.  (now angry) We can have both this guy's legs broken in no time.  I can do this one myself if you want.  Would be my pleasure.  I hate the perverts.  

Steve: No, by "walk," I mean that he might not do any jail time.  

Roman: I see.  And you want to make this guy dead, is that it?  

Steve: No.  Just that he doesn't get away scot-free.  What are you thinking?

Roman: (Softly whispering) What do you say we have this man raped real good.  

Steve: Oh God, no!  . . . Wait, you can do  that?

Roman: No, not me, but I have people raped all the time.  Well, not all the time, but I can get this done for you.  Yes.  No problem.   

Steve: Maybe I don't want to know this, but how do you know rapists, and how can you work with people like that, if you don't mind me asking?

Roman: You must understand, I know a lot of men who have done time, and for them raping isn't as big of a deal as it is to you and I.  And what we do in a case like this is simply tell our rapist that this man, this pervert, we simply tell Ulises that he raped a Latin Kings' son, and that's pretty standard practice amongst the Kings to have a man like that raped.

Steve: Whoah.  Stop right there.  I don't want to know anybody's names.  Hell, I'm not even sure I can go through with this.  

Roman: Sure you can.  This pervert will have the raping of a lifetime (now angry.  but a long pause).  Then again, he might be into rape.  You think?

Steve: I doubt it.  

Roman: Yes, but you never know with these pervert types.  So maybe we work in a little beating and torture into the mix, what do you think?

Steve: Okay, so if I'm understanding you fully, just in case the rape is somewhat pleasurable for him, you throw in a little torture?  Like what?

Roman: Well, I would let Ulis- (Stops himself) or whoever would be doing the rape, use his own discretion to make it particularly torturous and painful, like maybe cram a chair leg into his ass (demonstrates with a nearby chair, stabbing the leg into the air) or whatever's handy, you know (calmly sits back down and takes another sip of espresso).

Steve: (starts to get up) Jeez, that could kill the guy, couldn't it?  Like, he could bleed to death if he were stabbed right with a chair like that.  Okay, yeah, I really can't go through with this.  I'll just trust that the authorities will reach the right verdict and then he will get a raping in prison that wasn't authorized by you or I, or Ulises, who I hope I never meet by the way.  Can we just forget I ever came in here?

Roman: Sure.  It's your choice.  But stay a while.  We should catch up.  Talk about stuff that isn't illegal.  Roman doesn't only do illegal stuff.  For instance, these cuff links, I made them (Roman rolls up the left sleeve of his sport coat to reveal a dragon fly cuff link).  You see?  Dragon fly.  

Steve: That's no bad. (Steve puts his head in his hands and takes some deep breaths).

Roman: Hey.  What's wrong?  (puts his hand on Steve's arm) Don't worry about it, Steve.  The revenge and that sort of thing is not for everyone, after all.  You're a good guy.  Finish your coffee.  

Steve and Roman enjoyed another half hour of conversation free of any talk of illegal activities, and no contract of any kind was made - just old friends catching up.  And Ulises was never contacted as a result of their meeting.