Saturday, February 28, 2009
So tonight was one of those rare nights that he wanted to get his drink on. I should have known something was up when he was rubbing his ass up against me like a cat on a tree. He said, very sweetly, “Boo Boo Kitty Fuck, would you like to go on a quest for me”? HELL.YEAH! A quest! I’m ALL about a quest. I says, “Sure Kit Kat Patty Whack, whatchoo need”? And he says the one word that sends me into a fetal position…”A Zima”. What.the.ever.loving.fuck? I meet the one self-proclaimed bear with a tiara.
Since I love him so much and will humiliate myself any way possible for him I slip my Crocs on over my socks and head out into the blustery cold night in search of my KKPW’s Zima. Not before, though, checking on the interwebs to verify that the shit is even still being made. Sadly, it is.
STOP 1: Gaysian liquor store near my house: Quick scan of the refrigerated section reveals no Zima. No problem. As I’m about to make my quick ninja like escape the man behind the counter asks, “Can I help you find something”? I whisper “Zima”, cuz there’s a ton of drunk rednecks standing at the cash register. “Excuse me”, he asks? I say, “Zima”, again. “FOR YOU”, he chortles? “NO! NOT FOR ME”. He tells me he hasn’t carried it in years since “the gay stop shopping here”. The ONE GAY in Austin stopped shopping there and now my BBKF can’t have a god damn Zima.
STOP 2: Triangle Liquor Store: SURELY the Triangle Liquor Store will have Zima. They’ve got my people’s fucking symbol in their name for god’s sake. Quick-though-somewhat-lingering scan of the cooler, no Zima. I ask the very sweet woman who works there (who I believe MAY be from India or Pakistan) who is DESPERATELY trying to communicate in English, “Can I help find you something”? I tell her I’m looking for Zima. She asks what it is. I explain to her it’s similar to the Bacardi coolers. She asks me if I can spell it, and it’s at this point that I realize if I have to spell it for her then it’s probably not going to be in her store. So I leave.
STOP 3: Twin Liquors in my HEB Parking lot. I walk in, there’s a very large, loud talking man arguing with the cashier. As I’m approaching the cooler I A) don’t see it immediately, but B) the arguing is getting louder and I have visions of a shoot out resulting with my dead body being found underneath a million shattered, shot out bottles of rum and vodka clutching a six-pack of Zima to my chest. So I don’t bother finishing my search. I walk across the parking lot to my HEB.
STOP 4: I knew the grocery store wasn’t going to have it. I don’t even know why I bothered to check. Nine-times-out-of-ten that fucking grocery store is out of Diet Dr. Pepper and ONIONS! What made me thing TONIGHT of all nights they’d have ZIMA!
STOP 5: I stop by the Texaco (Shell, whatever, sue me) by our house. They used to carry this stuff all the time. About 18 months ago, the last time BBKF scratched his ass up and down my leg, they were out, so I wasn’t too hopeful tonight. They were still out. Probably permanently.
STOP 6: Lastly, I ran to Spec’s. If Spec’s didn’t have it, NOBODY in Central Texas would carry it. Spec’s has EVERYTHING. And I mean…E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. I walked down the quarter mile of refrigerated section looking at every case. NO.FUCKING.ZIMA. A Spec’s employee walks by and he asks if he can help me find anything. I tell him I’ve been sent on a quest to find some Zima. He says, “No problem. I’m zertain we have zome Zima”. I love a clown with a sense of humor. So he walks up and the aisle and we’re not finding it. He walks over to the front counter and LOUDLY announces, “THIS GUY BACK HERE IS LOOKING FOR ZIMA. I THOUGHT ZERTAIN WE HAD ZOME”. The manager assures him they carried it and “zuggested” some places for him to look. He looks in all his suggested places and finally says, “Man, I’m really, really sorry. I can’t believe we’re out. Nobody drinks that ztuff anymore. We should have zome. Iz there something else she would like”? I laugh and say no. I thank him for his time and excuse him before he can make any other clever words by replacing the “s” with a “z”.
I’m crushed. In part because I’ve let my BBKF down, and in part because now I know this means I’m not going to get sprayed by the feral cat tonight. So I call him up and tell him my tale of woe. How hard I’ve tried to make his night of magic happen. I ask him if he would like anything else. He says, “Yeah. Sure. Surprise me”. Fool me once, shame on … well, however the hell that goes. Rather than “surprise him” (because I’m seriously NO GOOD at that game) I start reading off a bunch of different options. “Do you want beer? IPA? Something malt liquorish”? He stops me at malt liquor and says, “Yeah, just get me something girlie”. I start reading off the titles of the Bartles & Jaymes flavors: Mojito, no. Sangia, no. I get to, “Fuzzy Navel” and BBKF shoots back, “I said girlie, I didn’t say I wanted a vagina”! With that I couldn’t contain my laughter. I told him I’d surprise him and got off the phone. I picked out a six-pack of Mike’s Cranberry Hard Lemonade. The Spec’s zemployee zaw me walking up to the counter and zaid, “Good call. I think she’ll really like that”. And I said, “Yes, I think she zwill”.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Perhaps my expectations of the behavior of a 3-year old child are a bit too low. In fact, perhaps my expectations of a 4-year old child are too low. My struggles with the local school system in regards to my older braniac have been well documented, so I won’t regurgitate that for the sake of expedience. But now I’m having issues with our local school system relating to the younger brainiac.
For those of you confused why I have my 3-year old enrolled in school already, I should give you a brief background. My son doesn’t talk. Ever. I realize some of you are scratching your heads and wondering what the problem with that is. I have no doubt most of you feel like that would be heavenly if your toddler didn’t speak. But for me, it’s a matter of concern. It causes a great deal of frustration because the boy knows what he wants but lacks the ability, or desire, to communicate his needs. Many well-intentioned people gave us lots of advice when he was a little younger. “Don’t worry, he’ll talk when he’s ready”. “Einstein didn’t talk until he was 5”. “He doesn’t need to say anything, because his brother always answers for him”.
I didn’t want him to start life at a disadvantage of lagging behind in his language skills, so we decided to have him evaluated. We were told that he was significantly delayed in various areas of speech and that he was eligible for speech therapy through Central Texas Easter Seals. One of the benefit of being a foster/adoptive parent is that these services are free for him, so we saw no reason not to enroll him in the program. Admittedly, we’ve had a varying degree of success with the program. On his third birthday his Easter Seals benefits expired and he was elevated up the ladder to our local school system’s “Early Childhood Intervention” program. He went from having speech therapy twice a month to being enrolled in a local school program for 4 hours a day, 5 days a week.
His speech has gotten, relatively, MUCH better over the last 4 months. In fact, on the way to Galveston last week, I heard him counting softly to himself all the way up to fifteen. Last night, at dinner, he was dancing around, acting like a buffoon, when I noticed he was singing along to the musak that was playing over the loud speaker…to a song I had never heard before, much less play for him. I’ve always thought that when the boy DID start talking it would be in complete sentences, and for this I’m thrilled.
So what’s the problem you ask? As with the older braniac, I’ve gotten some disturbing communication from the school system regarding the behavior of my child. I’ve always been a huge advocate of the public school system. I think, hands down, public schools are a better environment for children than private or home-schooling environments. You can disagree with me on that all you want, in fact, I would appreciate you challenging me on that. I feel like private schools teach towards a specific agenda. In other words, send your child to a parochial school, and they’re going to learn the churches agenda. And while, admittedly, not intimately familiar with the home-schooling environment, I understand that there’s a certain level of interaction with other children, but for the most part it’s a limited engagement with a very small group of children. I feel like the public school system throws a child into a greater mix of diverse student populations that are invaluable to a child’s learning experience. Not to mention that whole exposure to childhood illnesses thing!
All that said, I’m beginning to think there’s some inherent problems to the public school system. As I mentioned at the very start of this, either I’m disillusioned and my expectations of my child are way too low, or THEIR expectations of children are way too high.
Last week I got a phone call from one of the younger braniac’s teachers. She was calling to tell me they were having “behavioral” issues with him and that it had been going on for a while. I found it odd that they had been having behavioral issues “for a while” and asked why I hadn’t been notified earlier. I was told they were trying to work the issues out themselves, but it had reached a point where they felt they needed some parental intervention or assistance. She went through the laundry list of “behavioral problems” they were having with my child. It took all I had to keep from laughing out loud on the telephone. To reiterate their point, yesterday he came home with a note from his teachers and three triplicate forms of “incidents” that I had to sign and date.
”We have seen increasingly aggressive behaviors while at school. I would like to
have his behavior evaluated by our mental health division here to see if they
can help us find solutions that may help calm his aggression…”
What? HE’S THREE. HE’S NON-VERBAL. What is a “mental health professional” going to be able to get out of him? I CAN’T GET HIM TO TELL ME WHETHER HE WANTS JUICE OR MILK!
Curious to see what his aggressive behaviors were, I checked on the incident reports they sent:
• Oppositional or defiant behavior: Has to be told a limit more than twice. Running in the classroom. Running away.
• Aggressive Behavior: Kicking. Throwing objects. Hitting. Biting.
• Inappropriate use of classroom and playground equipment: Climbing on furniture.
Again, I would like to say, HE’S THREE! Have these people never met a 3-year old before? The ONLY thing on the list that concerned me was the biting, as we had crossed that bridge YEARS ago. He hasn’t bitten anyone, that I know of, since way before his 2nd birthday. This leads me to believe that if he’s biting now, it’s a learned behavior from his new environment.
A group learning environment is nothing new to my son. He’s been in daycare since he was 6-weeks old. I feel like what the school administrators fail to recognize with their Pre-K and even Pre-Pre-K is that the children aren’t familiar with all the new rules of the school when they first arrive. THIS is a learned behavior. Of course my 3-year old runs around a classroom, that’s what he’s been doing at his daycare ever since he learned to walk! Of course my child needs limits told more than twice. HE’S THREE! Of course my child is kicking, throwing, and hitting, and climbing on furniture, HE’S THREE.
Please. Tell me, am I the one that has the problem? Am I disillusioned about how I expect a 3-year old to act? If so, please give me some suggestions at how to address these behavior issues.
Friday, February 20, 2009
I’m not above pandering to my children. Not that I feel I need to, but sometimes I just want to. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m also somewhat of a dork.
Last night we went to visit my ex-wife (a/k/a “fatty”; a/k/a “Kay”; a/n/k/a “low-fatty”) at the hospital. She’s been in there since Monday, when she went in to have an emergen-c-section. I had to drop off her breast pump for her AND I STILL hadn’t gotten a chance to see my brand-spankin’ new nephew yet! (And folks, despite the parentage, it’s really true…he IS a cute baby).
There was an “incident” in the hospital that will go down in our family as “The great elevator debacle of 2009”. Now, nobody fell down the shaft or anything. (ELEVATOR SHAFT, pervs!) However, there were tears involved. BOTH boys were hell bent on hitting “the button” to Narnia. When the doors of the elevator opened BOTH boys charged the elevator, but the older, bigger, faster, stronger boy won…by throwing the younger, smaller, clumsy one to the ground. After a loud discussion (me yelling at BM “WHAT THE FU”…hehehe, KIDDING!) with the boys about how neither one of them were going to hit the button now because both of them were acting like douche nozzles they both started sobbing. BM started yelling his new, recent mantra of “I don’t like you vewy much. You not vewy nice at me”. I told him to knock it off otherwise he was going to be staying in the hospital…in traction.
When we got out to the car I was having a slight twinge of guilt. I suppose I should have been proud at BM’s crazy mad line-backer skills. (I bet there’s a couple of you who didn’t think I’d know anything about Foosball, eh???) I mean, he TOTALLY took the LM out, cold. It was actually poetry. As we were driving out of the parking lot I says to the car (well, not so much “the car”, but the people IN the car), “I’m thirsty. I’m going to Sonic. Whoever can yell, ‘I LOVE DADDY’ the loudest will get anything they want when we get there”. And for the next four minutes I heard a choir of angels shouting to the world, “I LOVE DADDY, I LOVE DADDY, I LOVE DADDY, I LOVE DADDY”. I had a hard time determining who was actually shouting it loudest, so to break the tie, we all won.
And it really doesn’t get much better than that.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I’m not saying Sammy boy wasn’t in the wrong here. I mean, his May/December breauomance, at his age, is similar to me dating, say, well, a much younger and legally blind “18-year-old”. And I ain’t saying that Beau wasn’t 18 when they started. Hell, it wouldn’t have mattered if Beau was TWENTY when it started. There’s a HUGE difference between, say, 55 and 35 compared to 45 and 18. One makes you say, “Look at that cute couple”, and the other says, “I wonder how much money and/or power HE has”? BUT THAT’S STILL not where Sam Adams went wrong. It showed a horrible (desperate) lack in judgment, but it’s not anything he should lose his job over. Who of us HASN’T dated someone much younger than themselves (or in one of your cases BEEN the much younger person!!!!) Where Sam Adams failed, miserably, is the cover up. The lie. The “PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T SAY ANYTHING”. But where he failed even more was his judgment in Beau Breedlove’s character.
So this “anonymous” person has come forward and is denying Beau was 18 when the relationship started. Is it any coincidence that this anonymous person is coming forward AROUND THE SAME TIME Beau is going to be showing his Bo in a magazine? Hmmmmm (Beau) I (Beau) wonder (Beau) who (Beau) this (Beau) anonymous (Beau) person (Beau) could (Beau) be (Beau)? Don’t get me wrong, I’m TOTALLY going to buy the magazine. I mean, look at him! Honestly though, I’d MUCH rather see Sammy boy…and I wouldn’t go running my mouth off about it either! (For reals Sam! Have your people get in touch with me…my email addy is right over there --->)
I sort of feel like Sam is a (stupid) victim (as well here). Don’t get me wrong. I TOTALLY think Beau is a victim too (snicker). I mean COME ON. You’re a 45 year old man and this “18-year-old” with a daddy complex comes up to you and says, “Hey man. I’m totally into older dudes who’ve let their waste lines fall to the wayside. You’re hot, do me”. It’s gotta make you feel good, right? I mean, I know my boo thinks I’m everything AND the bag of chips, but I KNOW he doesn’t still see me as the rock hard (BODY!) guy he met some 10 years ago. Hell yeah if some 18 year old said to me, “You’re hot”, I’d take my glasses off and smile. BUT…the difference between me and Sam is (F)reddy doesn’t think with his (F)red (anymore) and would be able to realize that the Boo had put him up (or paid him) to flirt with me to make the old guy feel better about himself. (Not to mention (F)reddy doesn’t wear glasses either!). Maybe Sam was having a low self-esteem day when Beau walked into his office (in his speedo, above) and Beau MADE Sam fall inside him? Who am I to judge? Does it speak volumes about Sam’s ability to pick a mate? ABSOLUTELY. Does it affect his ability to run a city? ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
douche [doosh] noun, verb, douched, douch⋅ing. –noun 1. a jet or current of water, sometimes with a dissolved medicating or cleansing agent, applied to a body part, organ, or cavity for medicinal or hygienic purposes. 2.the application of such a jet. noz⋅zle [noz-uhl]noun 1. a projecting spout, terminal discharging pipe, or the like, as of a hose or bellows.
(Douche Nozzle) (Warren Chisum)
April 10, 2005 was a fantastic day for my family. It was the day that my oldest son came to live with my family. It’s one of my top 5 days of my entire life, a day I will never forget. April 16, 2005 was also another day I’ll never forget. It was the day that Rep. Warren Chisum (R), Pampa, Texas introduced a bill to the Texas legislature to place a ban on the adoption of children by homosexuals. I had a huge anxiety attack that day. I had waited so long for my perfect family, and no sooner had my child been placed there was someone trying to stop it from happening. See, Adrian’s adoption wouldn’t be finalized for 7 more months after he came to live with us. The bill, of course, failed. But it still chaps my ass every time I think about this douche nozzle.
Two years later Texas decided to take up CPS reform. At the last second, Warren Chisum, again, tacked on an amendment to the CPS reform bill to ban same-sex couples from adopting children. There was an uproar in the legislature and his amendment was stricken from the bill and it passed without incident.
Our state legislature is again back in session and they’re busy “improving” our state. And Warren Chisum is in the news again. He hasn’t attacked MY rights again, yet. But he has been busy with yours. Earlier this week he introduced a bill that would require married couples (YAAAAY, FINALLY doesn’t affect me!) seeking a divorce to undergo 10 hours of counseling before a divorce would be granted. This would be at a cost of $50-100/pp./hr. to the happy couple seeking a divorce.
So, let’s summarize: California (and many, many other states), gays can’t marry. And in Texas, straights can’t divorce. Ain’t that a kick in the rubber parts? And while I not hoping any of my straighties get a divorce, I don’t think it’s governments business to tell them they can’t. It’s a matter of personal choice and it’s not a GOVERNMENTS choice. Warren Chisum must be one hell of a tortured soul if he’s constantly thinking about what his constituents are doing behind closed doors. That’s kind of sick, if you think about it.
The right to privacy is a presumable right, according to that little ol’ Bill o’ Rights of ours. It’s not explicit, but is implied. Many court cases have backed this up. Griswold v Connecticut was a case about contraception, and the Supreme Court upheld that it wasn’t the government’s business what two consenting adults did behind closed doors. Roe v Wade, regardless of how you feel about it personally, is fundamentally about a person’s right to privacy. Lawrence v Texas, again a right to privacy and finally decriminalizes one of things that the Boo and I enjoy. So when a couple decides to get a divorce, there’s an implied RIGHT TO PRIVACY ON THEIR PRIVATE MATTERS.
I’m curious where this arbitrary “10-hours of couples counseling” came from in Ms. Chisum’s mind. I mean, there are dinners that I prepare that take more than 10 hours to “fix”.
Let’s say, for example, you get home from work one day and you see a sweaty Ron Jeremy going at your wife’s starfish from behind and a line of six naked guys behind him waiting for their turn to take a stab at her. That’s going to take a little bit more than 10-hours of counseling to recover from, don’t you think? I mean, there’s a really strong possibility that you may be scarred for life if you see something like that, right? And before you hit me with the, “Well, (F)reddy, that’s a bit of an extreme example…”, PUH-LEEZE. I’ve seen Xtube…I KNOW what kind of sick, twisted, perverted stuff y’all are capable of.
Let’s say your wife goes all Lorena Bobbit on your junk, exactly how many hours do you think you’re going to need before you recover from that?
How’s about America’s favorite “heterosexual with issues”? Do you honestly think Ted Haggard’s wife is going to be able to work out these issues? THEY’VE BEEN IN THERAPY since that entire fiasco began, and NOW there’s more menz coming forward talking about their relationships with Teddy Bear…AND HE’S NOT DENYING THEM. Not ten hours, folks, YEARS OF THERAPY.
Now, if your wife is torturing you by making pickled beets every night for dinner, yeah, sure, perhaps a neutral third party can slap some sense into her for you and you can work your issues out. However, regardless if you can or not, IT’S A PERSONAL MATTER AND GOVERNMENT HAS NO BUSINESS IN YOUR PERSONAL MATTERS. So I’m fully aware that the vast majority of Americans are deeply dead set against MY personal matters. That’s coo. I’m able to turn the cheek, for the most part. I just want to go on record to say that when the government start tweeking YOUR issues, (F)reddy’s got your back. Even when you don’t have mine.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
So I’ve had to keep this post on the DL for a couple of days, but I can finally come out of the closet!!! I had mentioned a few days ago about the contest being run over at Dad Blogs DOT com??? Well, Joeprah went ahead and submitted my name into the contest for my blog about my super amazing boo and how fantastic he thinks I am. On Monday Joeprah held the drawing for the winners…and little ol’ me was one of the five! Now, I realize that this probably diminishes the lovely “One-Two PUNCH” I had delivered to the boo this week, cuz after he reads this he’s going to full-on realize that I didn’t throw down the cash. BUT, he got ta got ta got ta realize that if it weren’t for him being such a sweet angel butt, I wouldn’t have been inspired to write about him and his many flaws. Like I said in my completely romantic card to my kitten, “Boo, I LOVES YOU MORE THAN SOAP”!
There were some great reads in the contest. If you’re interested, feel free to check out the other wieners, Ben Spark, Twin Pop, New Dad Blog, and Charlie. Another BRILLIANT read is from my dear friend, Anita over at Angelnina’s Cottage. If you’re not reading her, regularly, you need to be. She’s an amazing woman. What I wouldn’t give to have her and her husband, Mark, adopt me and the boys…(but then I think that’d make Adrian and Nathan her grandchildren, and I don’t think she’s ready for that just yet).
It was Anita’s post that got me to thinking about what a douche-bag I am when it comes to the whole “romancing the bone” thing. See, Jed tells me all the time that a steaming pile of shit is more romantic than me. I think I used to be romantic. I mean…I had to win him SOMEHOW, didn’t I? (Incidentally, I know EXACTLY HOW I won him…but that’s HIS story to tell!)
There was one year, I’d have to check my passport for sure, that I surprised him with a trip to London for Valentine’s Day. I thought that would be a wonderful and amazing surprise…and, perhaps, it would have been a little more romantic if I had not brought his mother along with us. BUT…
We were able to spend that Valentine’s day in Bath, U.K., following a tour of Stonehenge, at Sally Lunn’s. Now, much like the US, if you’re in the UK and forget to make a reservation for Valentine’s Day, you’re shit out of luck. PARTICULARLY, since, UNLIKE the US, in Bath, UK, at 6, the town is boarded up and there is nothing open in town except for, maybe, two pubs and Sally Lunn’s. When we had checked into the hotel I gave Sally a call (not the original Sally, cuz she died, like, 300 years ago). The hostess actually laughed at me when I asked if we could get in for dinner that, Valentine’s, night. And for a Brit to laugh, you either gotta be really, really funny, or really, really stupid, because British people just don’t have a sense of humor…about anything.
So, without saying anything to Jed and his mom, and his best friend, Amy (did I mention I also brought his best friend along as a surprise?), we all started walking to the town center, towards Sally Lunn’s. I’ll be damned if I was going to let an uptight little Brit ruin MY plan. (And Americans say we ain’t “brutish”!) I didn’t even pretend that I had called…we just walked over like we HAD reservations. AND-IT-WORKED! We walked in the front door and the hostess asked us what name our reservation was under. I said, “Oh! I didn’t think to make one, is tonight something special”? (AS IF Sally Lunn’s was just somewhere I’d think to eat on a whim, like What-A-Burger.) The man looked down her nose at me and said, “Sir, if you’ll just give us a few minutes I’m sure we can accommodate your party”. And accommodate they did! The dinner was quite tasty…as tasty as you can have with boiled potatoes and, well, you know, ENGLISH food. What I was MOST excited about was the heart shaped “bun” (or, BREAD) that they gave each table after the meal. Had I realized that Europeans didn’t use any sort of preservatives in their cooking an the bread had a shelf-life of about 20 minutes I wouldn’t have SAVED IT for the next day. Because, seriously, the next morning you could have used it to prop a door open. A HEAVY DOOR.
The following year, figuring I had done my “romantic deeds” for the decade with the trip to London I opted to do nothing. BESIDES, WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO BE “THE GUY'”! Ummmmm, lemmee tell ya, that was the wrong choice!
Last year we had a fairly decent Valentine’s day dinner too. I took the boy to the Blue Star Cafeteria. Now, I assure you that just because it has the word “cafeteria” in the title AND the woman on the front page of their website is wearing some tragic bo bo shorts, it ain’t like a Lubby’s or a Furr’s type of cafeteria. It was DE-LISH. It wasn’t London, but hey…I made an effort. Once again, though, I screwed it up by making it a double date night with some other homo dad friends of ours. I just figured sharing a babysitter would be nice, eh?
This year we’re spending Valentine’s day in Galveston for Mardi Gras…ahhhh, bromance. Island resort, sand, surf…the smell of petroleum from the gulf, half the island still a construction nightmare from Hurricane Ike, oh, and Jed’s family! The good news is there’ll be someone that can babysit the kids while Jed and I go out for an amazing seafood dinner…alone! Like I said, I won 70 bones from Dad-Blogs for ProFlowers. They had a cool gift called the “One-two punch”. One day flowers were delivered…and the very next day a 1/2 dozen chocolate covered strawberries were delivered with some “conversation heart” frosted butter cookies. Awwwwwwww. Ain’t I sweet? Jed called me yesterday after getting the flowers and left a voicemail that sounded more like a question: “Uhhhh, (F)reddy? I just got…flowers? Ummmmmm…thanks? They’re really pretty? Uhhhhh…I love you?” It was said more in a manner of “Why are you leaving me? Are you dying?” than anything. It was really cute.
And what did (F)reddy get? Cashews and a sweet coffee mug from my favorite monsters, a iTunes gift card, and an opportunity to spend the day with my truly fantastic family. And, for reals, I wouldn’t want anything else.
And I’m not talking about that 2007 crapfest either!
Continuing on with shows I dug as a lad, I bring you two of the awesomest shows in the history of televsion. These were not paired together in my original post, however you’ll see why I’ve decided to pair these lovebirds together in this one post in a bit. Sit backs, relax, and enjoy. Firsts up, my original thoughts on the show:
The Six Million Dollar Man: Lee Majors was, perhaps, the hottest man on television at the time. He was fine, athletic, smart. He was, and had, the whole package (insert snicker here). My folks created a gay monster that year by buying me the Six-Million Dollar Man doll for Christmas. It kind of creeped me out a little bit, because you could roll up the "skin" on his arm to expose his bionics. He had a hole in the back of his head so you could seeing amazingly far distances with his bionic eye. I can't tell you how many times my Six-Million Dollar Man and my G.I. Joe doll did "calisthenics" together to beef up their appearances.
The Bionic Woman: I loved Jamie Sommers. She had the cool bionic German Shepard too. That scar on her lip bugged the shit out of me, and watching the repeated nightmareish image of her skydiving accident every week definitely kept me from ever wanting to jump out of a plane. I was always jealous of her bionic ear (and the fact that she eventually nailed Steve Austin). For those of you who don’t know, I’m partially deaf in my left ear JUST LIKE JAMIE, so I would have LOVED to have her super-duper hearing.
Y’all just going to have to forgive me a minute while I queer out, okay. I mean, JUST LOOK at Lee Majors back then and you can see why I loved this show so much. Ladies, can I get an AMEN? When I was growing up in German, as previously mentioned, we didn’t have a television. But we did have record players. For those of you born AFTER 1980, records were little wax (or plastic) disc about 14 inches in diameter that you put on a rotating device, known as a “record player”. They were, sort of, similar to what people born between 1980 and 2000 commonly referred to as a “CD”, and what people born after 2000 now call an MP3. Anywhoodle. My folks bought me the Six Million Dollar Man album, which I STILL HAVE to this day. Yeah, BE JEALOUS. For those of you who are wondering if it was an album of Steve Austin’s dance hits, STEP OFF! They were like recorded episodes of the show…ON ALBUM (or CD…or MP3…or what ever language you understand). Although there were only two episodes on this album, I would listen to it FOR.HOURS.ON.END. Oh my god, did I love The Six Million Dollar man. AND, as mentioned in my opening above, my folks also bought me the Six Million Dollar Man doll. (HUH! Now that I think about it, maybe it IS nurture vs. nature!) LOVED Lee Majors. Loved Steve Austin. LOVED the Six Million Dollar Man. I mean, JUST LOOK AT HIM! [faints]
Confused by my placement??? Don’t be. It'll all make sense in a bit. Lindsay Wagner played Jaime Sommers. She initially started off in a 2-episode arc of TSMDM in the second season. While Steve Austin was visiting his family in Ojai, California (Incidentally, the town where Brothers & Sisters takes place!) he runs across his old flame, Jaimes. They hook up, do the horizontal mambo, reconnect. She goes diving, foolishly, out of a perfectly good airplane and crashes into a bush and gets broked up real good. Steve, thinking with his little head, convinces his good pal (and personal surgeon) to put her back together again like he did for him. And Rudy does. But you know how chicks ALWAYS have to mess EVERYTHING UP…Jaime’s bionics aren’t functioning properly, then she develops a brain clot, and dies…in Steve’s arms…leaving him lonely and broken up…again. But the fans didn’t like that. They really dug Jaime, they really dug the love fest between the two characters. So the next season they bring Jaime BACK TO LIFE (gotta love television, eh?!?) and give her her own series.
Richard Anderson was one of two actors that played on both series simultaneously. (I’m not sure if this was the first series that did this…had characters from one show on another show at same time both shows were on the air. I DO know that they were the first two actors to play the same characters on two different shows on two different NETWORKS.) He played “Oscar Goldman” who was a good friend and confidant (and OSI director) to Steve Austin on TSMDM and Jaime’s boss on TBW. He, apparently, was good enough to keep the secret from his “good friend” that his good friend’s love interest was ALIVE AND WELL AND NOT DEAD. With friends like him folks, for reals.
Martin Brooks is the only actor in the history of television actors that actually looks younger today than he did in 1976. I don’t know how he did it…perhaps he cryogenically froze himself? Yeah, so this was Dr. Rudy Wells, the man. He was the original conflicted surgeon (although…not actually the “original”, cuz there were TWO other “Rudy”s before him. But he trade marked that “I’m very concerned about your health and emotional well-being” look that he’s famous for. A/K/A “Bedside manner”.
Now, I should point out that The Six Million Dollar Man ORIGINALLY started off as a television movie. In fact, there were THREE movies prior to the launch of the weekly television show about the “Cyborg”, Steve Austin. Additionally, after the show(s) simultaneously went off the air in 1978 three sequels spun off featuring both bionic characters (AND Rudy and Oscar). The Return of the $6 Million Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman (1987) in which Jaime helps train Steve’s newly bionic son (which was NEVER mentioned in the series); The Bionic Showdown (1989) which introduced a virtually unknown Sandra Bullock (who, incidentally owns a restaurant a half-block from my office FYI!) and featured Steve Austin’s son as an agent of OSI (wait…wasn’t he…BIONIC?); and the worst made-for-t.v.-movie EVER, Bionic Ever After (1994) in which both actors agents should be shot in the forehead for forwarding the scripts. Seriously? This movie sucked. When Jaime got bionic AIDS and her bionics started shutting down I actually muttered, “Good riddance”. I think the show actually said she had “A COMPUTER VIRUS”! And that was before “computer virus” was part of our daily lexicon! By that point Lee Majors had gained a gut and lost a substantial amount of hair (and sex appeal), and it was just tragic to see a 65 year old Lindsay Wagoner slow.motion.lift A TENNIS BALL because her bionics were failing. I cried out to my television, “PLEASE DON’T MAKE ANOTHER SEQUEL. PLEASE JUST LEAVE IT AS IT WAS…”
Real quick, to finish here, in addition to the dolls I had, mentioned above, I have very specific memories of my sister having the Bionic Woman Lunchbox:
And HOW SUPER AWESOME was Maximillion, THE BIONIC DOG!
And how much MORE awesome was the greatest television villain EVER in the history of television villains? THE ARMY OF FEMBOTS?!?
Uhhhhhhhhm, YEAH, THIS was the greatest show EVER!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Part 3 of the series folks. If you missed The Facts of Life and/or Good Times, I suggest you check ‘em out. Writing this one gets me all misty eyed and emotional. I can actually remember where I was during the series finale. This was, perhaps, … yeah, I can’t even say that. Cuz later on you’ll be saying, “But (F)reddy. You said ____ was you most favorite show ever”. And then I’ll lose all my credibility and I’ll have to retreat back up into my shell. Buckle up. I have a feeling this is going to be a bumpy ride.
Alice: Single moms everywhere flocked to their local diner for employment opportunities following this show. Who wouldn't want to work with Florence Jean "Kiss-my grits" Castleberry, or drink Schnapps with her in her single-wide trailer??? Okay, so the show wasn't about Flo. (That was another sequel, cleverly entitled "Flo"...another sequel that didn't need to be made). Tommy was hot and was totally worth watching the show for. Not to mention, I dug how Alice had a revolving door of hot (for the 70's) men coming in and out of her...door every week.
So, I’m a bit conflicted about writing one thing about this show, the “changing of the guard”, if you will, from when Flo left the show to star in her own sitcom. See, it’s not that I hated Jolene. I actually liked her. BUT I sort of feel the way about her that I did when Chrissy left Three’s Company and there was a revolving door of look-a-like actress there to take her place. Not that Jolene looked ANYTHING like Flo, I’m just saying. I’m a purist at heart, and a small part of me died when Flo left the show. Like, had there not been that whole storyline about … well, let me just go ahead and add her and we’ll talk about that later.
I didn’t realize until about a year or so ago that the television show was actually spun off from the movie, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. I was going through a list of AFI’s top 100 movies of all time and adding all of them to our Netflix queue. When ADLHA was about to be shipped I read the description to see what it was going to be about and just said, “HUH?!?”. I actually REALLY dug the movie. It answered SO many questions for me. Like, I knew Alice was a widower, but didn’t know how her husband died. I knew Alice was a trashy lounge singer, but I just thought that was some random coincidence…something that Linda Lavin pushed for. The movie actually explains the whole shooby-doh-wah thing. Also, I always wondered why Alice settled in Phoenix, of all places. I mean, PHOENIX? REALLY? The film answered a LOT of these questions. Incidentally, IMDB has a “synopsis” of the television show, but it’s not exactly what happens…according to the movie that started it all.
Oh, I’m sorry. Does Vic’s “now” picture disturb you? So, Vic played Mel, the owner of Mel’s Diner, in the show. INTERESTIGLY enough, Vic ALSO played Mel in the movie version. In fact, Vic is the only character who starred in both the movie and television series. Mel was supposedly this hard ass that was difficult to get along with. I completely relate to him. I really think he was misunderstood for those 9 seasons of the show. And it was SO OBVIOUS at the end of the shows run. This is a shameful Freddy moment, but I have to be completely honest about something here. I don't know if anyone remembers the series finale for Alice, but I do. It's permanently etched in my memory. I SOBBED like a school girl during the final episode when Mel gave the girls the little cow creamer with the check inside, splitting the proceeds of the sale of his diner with each of them. It was one of the most emotional moments of my life. I still cry every time I think of it. I, actually, also cried when they reported Vic’s death in 1990. I sort of related to him as a fatherly type figure.
I hate to admit this, but something REALLY bothered me about Linda Lavin’s “Alice”. I don’t know if I thought she was whiney, stupid, horny, or what. But something always struck me as off about her. I can tell you, there’s a VAST difference between the character on the television show than there is in the movie. Now, OBVIOUSLY I didn’t know about this difference until last year…but that makes how I felt about Linda Lavin’s portrayal of this single mom back in the 80’s even more relevant to how I feel about her now. Don’t get me wrong. I think Lavin is an incredible actress. And I honestly feel that she would be warm and nurturing. But she came off in the television series as aloof and just…well, a push-over. And I just couldn’t suspend my disbelief that this woman would be able to pick up everything she owns following her husband’s death and start over in a new town, with a new job (that she’s never done before) and raise her son. I just didn’t buy it. I think if the show had been about what a fantastic, loving mother she was to her son, it would have been believable. But I don’t really think that’s what the show was about.
OH MY GOD! HOW MUCH DID (F)REDDY LOVE FLO?!? I loved Flo, hard. I was actually able to transport myself to Flo’s trailer and sit on Flo’s dirty sofa and drink beer with her when I watched her. (SEE! POLLY HOLLIDAY WAS ABLE TO SUSPEND MY DISBELIEF!) I squealed like a pig in mud every-single-time she screamed, “Kiss my grits”! Honestly, as a kid, it was the funniest line ever. I was super sad when Flo left the diner, but was thrilled when she got her own series. Sadly her other series, “Flo”, sucked balls. And not in the good way. Not because of her, mind you. It’s just that she worked with the entirety of the ensemble cast…and she just never really found her groove with the second cast. So, when I realized that ADLHA was a prequel, if you will, to the series, I was REALLY excited to see what Flo was like in the movie. Polly Holliday’s Flo was a MUCH MORE memorable character. As a little tangential side, when Gremlins came out in the early 90’s, I was DELIGHTED to see Polly Holliday in it…even if she did die.
Beth Holland played the loveable and goofy, Vera. (Not to be confused with Vera Carp, as played by my good friend, Jaston Williams!) While I certainly didn’t know it then, I actually ended up hookin’ up with and raising children with “Vera” in my future! The FP IS Vera, but not nearly as graceful. Beth Holland’s Vera was SO much better than the movie versions. In fact, I’m not sure the movie version of Vera actually ever spoke. Beth Holland largely disappeared after the run of Alice. She did a couple of cameo performances after the fact in some shows, but she’s pretty much kept herself in seclusion for the last couple of decades. Sadsies. I really thought she was a talented actress and someone I could see myself being friends with…obviously.
Phillip McKeon, rarrrr, played Tommy. Interestingly he wasn’t the first choice for Tommy in the series pilot. The ORIGINAL Tommy, from the movie, filmed the pilot for the television show, but for some reason Philip McKeon was cast for the very next episode. The Tommy from the movie was actually quite a bit younger (in the movie) that Philip McKeon’s Tommy, however it was felt that the actor who played Tommy in the movie was too old for the part. Weird! Whatever. Since Alice ended in 1985, Philip has remained to some extent in the television industry. His more recent acting credits include “Sandman” and “Ghoulies IV”. He’s more active behind the camera these days than in front of it…I’m sure “Ghoulies IV” had NOTHING to do with that decision!
Celia Weston played Jolene. Like I mentioned in the beginning, I sort of felt a phantom pain when Flo left and never really got into Jolene’s character or story line, much. I honestly can’t tell you a single thing her character did to enhance the story, EXCEPT to humanize Mel. It was while hooking up with him in the ally behind the diner that Mel found his soul. So I guess, in that regard, she was good for something. But Celia, sweetie, seriously. NOBODY believes red is your natural color, honey. Your, like, 90 now. Time to let go of the jar.
I guess the fact that one of my favorite shows growing up took place in a diner could have been some foreshadowing into my future (eating out at Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives across the country…hookin’ up with
Vera Jed). Mel’s Diner was my Oz (not the prison one, y’all…the Dorothy one). There truly is no place like home cookin’.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
I've found myself struggling to find my voice recently in this new blogging community. I started blogging a half-a decade ago over at another site in an effort to keep up with my friends and family more regularly. Separated by miles and time-zones, I'm really crappy when it comes to keeping in touch. So I started writing my drivel in an effort to keep my family up-to-date with what was going on in my life. And then a bizarre thing started happening. STRANGERS started reading what I was writing AND INTERACTING with me. Over the last 5 years those people have gotten used to my "style". They either love it or hate it, but they keep coming back. Things changed dramatically for me over the last 5 years and everyone who followed me had a front row seat into our lives. And our lives were celebrated. And it was fun. It IS fun. So a few weeks ago I signed up for this new forum, and it was like going from being one of the popular kids in high school to being the nerdy freshman drum major at a third tier college. It
was is really hard for me to edit myself for folks that may not be used to a person who speaks off the cuff. Nonetheless, I thought it would be worth the effort to try and figure out how to make the transition. So here I is.
I recently signed up for the email alerts from the American Family Association. One of the podcasts I listen to on a regular basis was talking about how Christ-centered Americans should be boycotting Campbell's Soup products because of their position on the recognition of diversity amongst their employees and families. I think it's funny and ironic that an Christ-centered organization with the word "family" in their very name would be put out by any family.
You may be wondering why I chose to sign up for these frequent email "agenda" alerts. In the alerts that go out, frequently, you'll find email links to CEOs, CFOs, HR directors, etc. where you can send your emails of disdain and your plans to boycott their many products. I actually would like to thank the AFA for helping me out by providing me the email addresses so that I can email my support, instead. It also keeps me on my toes, letting me know what they think of me and what I do.
I've read a lot about "the homosexual agenda". It makes me sad, really. I guess the day I got in line the person handing out the agendas ran out? It certainly would have made the last 27 years easier if I had gotten an agenda. For 27 years now I've lived with anxiety that I'm going to be late for something. Some of the things that the AFA puts out there to their registered members is actually quite funny...if it weren't so sad. I'd like to take a few minutes of your time to clear up some common misconceptions about my people. I'll try to keep it as clean as I can, but you must understand: By the very nature of me being a homo, I'm predestined to be filthy. So consider yourself warned. And, at the very end of this post, at the risk of being expelled from my gay community for violating "the code", I'm going to give each of you the homosexual agenda (I actually was able to find a copy folded up in my FP's underwear drawer).
- FACT: The gays want to undermine and destroy the institution of marriage. This MIGHT be true for a certain portion of the gays. Particularly in the Californias? I mean, they desperately want to be fully included in this whole civil rights thing. Which means they want the same rights to have over 50% of their relationships to end in divorce. I find it hysterical that 70% of Americans find divorce morally acceptable, but want to PROTECT MARRIAGE by preventing the gays from doing it. For the record, the FP and I don't want to get married. Actually, that's not true. After 11 years of cohabitating, I've been told I'm not marriage material. Apparently I'm parenting material, and mortgage material...just not marriage. This leads to a little confusion when coming up with a name for each other upon introductions. I can't call him my "husband", cuz we ain't married. I refuse to call him my "partner", cuz we ain't in business together. I ABSOLUTELY refuse to call him my "lover" because that's just gay. I won't call him my boyfriend, cuz I'm pushing 40's doorbell and he ain't that far behind me. Neither of us have been "boys" for quite some time. So I call him my finger puppet, or my FP for short. Because when most people get ugghed out by homos, the reason they get ugghed out is they start thinking about what I'm doing in my bedroom. If calling my boo my "Finger puppet" grosses you out, good. Maybe you'll stop thinking about what WE'RE doing...because I sure as hell ain't thinking about the disgusting things y'all are doing. (Except for maybe you...)
- FACT: The gays have 24/7 non-stop drug induced amazing monster sex. This one is true. I mean, for reals. We're TWO guys, after all. Not just one. ***SEE BELOW
- FACT: The gays have FABULOUTH (say it with a lithp people, come on) homes that are FLAWLETHLY decorated and EMACULATE yards and can cook anything Emeril can, but better. This is complete and total horse-pooh. I started a simple remodeling project on our one and only bathroom 4 years ago. It's still a work in process and will still be in process 4 years from now. We BARELY have a functional shower, and that's just cuz I'm the
kingqueen of improvising. While it's true I am an amazingly fantastique cook, the FP (ugggh) can't boil water with out messing it up. Since having kids I have nothing of value in my house. My glassware has been replaced with plastic, my "art" has been replaced with shitty crayola drawings...which I love.
- FACT: The gays like to have anonymous sex with any male in a variety of public places: Uhmmmm, look. Just cuz you have a knock-knock, don't mean I'm interested in seeing it. While I do have a "type", most likely you ain't it. MOST of us aren't into dudes that look like John Goodman (or John Candy...when he was alive, not like he looks now, cuz that's just disgusting); MOST of us ain't into married dudes; MOST of us ain't into IT guys. And, the odds are, if you're reading blogs, you fit into one of these three categories. Did I just make a gross assumption about a stereotype? Ummm, yeah. I did. So unless you look like Christopher Meloni did in the hit series, Oz, AND you're sharing a prison cell/shower with me...you've probably got nothing to worry about.
- ***SIDE NOTE: I actually had someone in one of my classes recently STATE THIS FACT IN CLASS. FACT: The children need to be protected from the homosexuals because of the increased risk of AIDS and other STDs: Bitch, please. Do you know how STDs are spread? Are you having sex with your children? NEITHER ARE WE! In fact, you might be surprised that many of us WITH children had to go through EXTRAORDINARY METHODS to get them. (You didn't think we popped ‘em out our manginas, did you?) As part of that process, many of us were monitored by various agencies. Through that monitoring, these agencies weren't able to witness any of us having sex with our children. And I don't think it was because we were on our best behavior while the people were in our homes. Cuz, in case you didn't know, FOUR YEAR OLDS ARE INCAPABLE OF KEEPING A SECRET...so I'm sure it would "slip out" if that's what we were doing with da kids.
- FACT: They're trying to infiltrate our schools to indoctrinate our children at an earlier age. Since Ted Haggard beat us to the churches, we had no other choice but to head to the schools. I'm really sorry about that. Kidding aside, I realize there's been a plethora of news stories in the past few years about teachers being arrested for having sex with their students. These teachers all had one thing in common. A vagina. Now, I'm certainly not saying that all predator teachers are women preying on the rock hard bodies of a seven year old...but, apparently that's what the AFA would have you believe...about us.
- Fact: Homosexual parents will teach their children how to be gay. Ahhhh, some of my fondest childhood memories are when I’d go down to the chain drive with my dad and help him wiggle into his harness and ball gag so I could sit and watch him get fisted by Bruce. If I was a particularly good boy that day, hhe’d let me hold the poppers. Good times. Ummmm, yeah. I think that pretty much sums THAT up. Don’t be stupid, stupid. I didn’t learn it from my folks.
I can't believe I'm going to do this. As promised, here's the homosexual agenda:
0600: Get up, drink the coffee my FP (ugggh) lovingly makes for me every morning (yeah, it's okay to be jealous). Finish getting the kids dressed/fed before the school bus picks up littlest monster at 640 am. Work on any school work/projects the biggest monster has due that day/do what I can to keep him from screaming at me. His mornings are iffy at best. M-W-Th-F I also chop veg, brown meats, and prepare sauces to throw dinner in the crock pot before I leave.
0730: Leave the house to get big monster to school before the 0735 bell. Usually get "the eye" from his teacher, cuz she hates me.
0740: Hop in the Jeep (or on the motorbike if it's Tuesday/Thursday) and head downtown to the job. Try hard to get there by 8 so I don't get shit-canned.
0800-1615: Work at a thankless job in an office (which fortunately has a door...but sadly, no windows) in an uncomfortable chair behind a computer that (seriously) still operates off of Windows 98. I work for a thankless bunch of attorneys who talk down to me all day and rarely have ever said "thank you" for anything over the past 12 years.
1620: M-W-F I pick up the littlest monster from daycare and take him to the big monster's school to pick him up. We run home and meet poppa to do the "YAAAAY Family" thing around the dinner table and catch up on the days events.
1620: T-Th I head straight over to school and put my brain in learning mode.
1800: M-W Hop on the motorcycle and head back down town for I REALLY, REALLY enjoy being the oldest dude in college. It's so awesome to constantly being told, "WOW! Your seriously don't look that old. Didn't they have colleges when you graduated from high school"?
2200: M-T-W-Th hop on my motorcycle and fly up Lamar as fast as I can hoping that everyone remembers to check their mirrors and their windows before they make a lane change. Get home at 2215 and click on the news to catch tomorrow's weather. Say "Goodnight" to the FP...but not before asking him how the boy's night was.
2230: Start working on homework and answering email from my legions of adoring fans.
0030: Get in bed, trying not to wake up the FP. If he happens to stir and says, "Can you do me like a wild dog?", I explain to him that I'm REALL tired and will try to shower him with...affection tomorrow night if I'm not too tired.
RINSE, REUSE, REPEAT. Oh, I guess I should mention, I lied above about the 24/7 nonstop orgies MY PEOPLE HAVE. It's a myth, man. A MYTH. It's probably the biggest lie of our people. So while you're busy thinking about me doing the boo like a wild dog, hopefully your mind is a blank. In other words, our lives are very much like your own.
So no need to fear my, brother. I'm not askerd of you, you shouldn't be askerd of me. As my last two pieces of evidence into how we are SO not indoctrinating THE CHILDREN, I give you:
Adrian in a wife beater. For real, people. If we're supposed to be all about fashion, do you think I'd let him leave the house looking like this?
Look at this hair, fool.
My family couldn't possibly be more normal, more boring than yours. Now you know what we're up to. Skerry, ain't it.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Bi-polar, that is. There is either something wrong with him, or I am a huge colossal failure as a parent these days. I just can’t seem to do anything right by him, for him, or around him. It’s too early for the hormonal surge of the teenage years, so it MUST be bi-polar, right?
I was reading a post that I subscribe to this morning where the fella was talking about his life-long issues with depression. I commented that I felt a lot more folks probably have issues with depression than are willing to admit, and that I felt it had to do with how we are raised. As a very general rule, a majority of parents try to quash cries, emotions, anger. I think this is damaging to children, because it doesn’t really teach them how to adequately or appropriately deal with emotions. I mean, think about it. Your kid falls down and bumps his/her knee and starts sobbing and the first thing parents do is say, “Awwwww, don’t cry. It’ll be okay. How’s about some ice cream to make it feel better. JUST-STOP-CRYING”. Children argue with each other about who has played longer with “Bumble Bee” than the the other and we demand that they stop screaming at each other…or to stop crying about it. I don’t have an empirical data to back my opinions up. These are just my observations from the park.
When I first got into this whole parenting thing I was very conscientious about my children’s feelings. I wanted to to be that cool dad that the boys told their friends about in their 20’s: “My dad was so awesome. When we were kids he use to take us to _____ every summer and we’d do _____ every day. Every three months or so we’d _____”. As part of being an adoptive parent through CPS we are required to maintain 40 hours of continuing education hours each year. Fortunately they count reading books as part of that 40-hours. I remember reading a book on adoption once that spouted some crazy shit. This is paraphrasing, of course, but the jist of the author’s point was, “It doesn’t really matter what you do for your adopted child. They’ll never bond with you. The reason is the child has dealt with abandonment issues their entire existence. Even in utero they realized their birth mother’s didn’t want them and would abandon them”. (Seriously, it said that!)
You’re warned as an adoptive parent not to “over-indulge” your adopted children to make up for perceived losses. And I’ve tried to do this. Honestly, though, with my parents and the FP’s mother this is hard. It seems like every third day the boys are getting a package of stuff in the mail. Our house is collapsing under the weight of all the “it’s okay you’re adopted, we love you” stuff. I’m sure that’s not their intent, but… I never thought that my boys would have to deal with these bonding issues that older children are when they’re adopted because we got both of them relatively soon after their births. We got Adrian when he was 9 months old, and Nathan about 2 weeks after he was born. So really, their ideas of abandonment couldn’t, or shouldn’t have been formed yet.
Adrian, the demon spawn I’m having issues with right now, was such a happy baby. OH MY GOD was he a happy baby. He shit smiles. He’s always been an “eager to please” kind of kid…until he started school (pre-K) this past September. Now nothing makes him happy. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. I haven’t been able to do a single thing right since September.
This morning was classic failure on my part. Adrian woke up, cranky. No, not cranky. More like evil. Jed was in the shower in the bathroom and Adrian threw the door open and yelled at him to keep the door open because it was dark in his room and he need the light so he could see. Then he went to lay back down. The 4-year-olds barking got me stirring earlier than usual, so I got up and went in the kitchen to start drinking my coffee. A few minutes later Adrian came out and was all happy, smiles, hugs, and love. I asked him if he wanted breakfast, he said, “Yeth”. So out comes the bowl of cereal and the boys sit down at the table to eat. Adrian puts his head down on the table and starts to go back to sleep. I tell him, “Bear. You need to eat. If you’re tired you need to go lay back down, but you can’t sleep on the table”. He starts sobbing and wailing like I had just shoved a hot poker in his eye. SERIOUSLY, WAILING…”I DON’T WANNA GO BACK TO BED (repeated 18,000 times)” I finally lost my nut with the screaming and yelled back at him (after 10 full minutes of CONSTANT “I DON’T WANNA GO BACK TO BED”), “If you don’t stop screaming and eat your cereal I’m going to throw it out. You’ve been screaming at me for 10 minutes and that’s enough now”.
What happens next is this new(ish) thing that he’s been doing for about 4 or 5 months now. EXTREME-CONTRADICTION. He screams, “FINE! I DON’T WANT MY CEREAL FOR BREAKFAST”, and so I do what any other rational thinking person who is tired of the screaming does. I swoop past the table, pick up the bowl, walk to the kitchen, and toss it down the garbage disposal. Which then leads to an entirely new ranting screaming fit of, “YOU TOOK MY CEREAL AWAY. I HUNGRY. I WANT MY CEREAL. WHY YOU TAKE MY CEREAL AWAY”. I try to explain to him that I took his cereal away because he said he didn’t want it (logical consequence?). And he then proceeds to repeat his “I HUNGRY” rant. Only this time, I’ve lost my nut because I’ve been screamed at for, now, 14 minutes and I tell him to go back to bed and not to come out until he can talk to me in his “big boy voice” and “not scream at me”. He screams all the way to his bedroom, all the way up to the top bunk, and for the next 15 minutes, “I DON’T WANNA GO TO SLEEP”.
After I’ve calmed my nerves down I go in and talk to him, very calmly, and say, “Bear, can you tell me the difference between the right way and the wrong way to ask for things”? And he tells me (in his TWO YEAR OLD VOICE) “say please and say thank-you"? And I say, “Yeah, that’s part of it. But what else”? He tells me he doesn’t know. And I tell him that he needs to “ask in his big boy voice and needs to stop screaming at daddy”. I ask him why he’s screaming at me and he does his fall-back move, wraps his arms around my neck and starts crying, “I don’t know”. So I hug him, and hold him, and tell him I love him. And magically the tears stop and he’s ready to be reintroduced to the rest of the family.
NOT TEN MINUTES LATER the bus comes for Nate and we all walk out to get him on the bus. When the front door opens, Nate runs out ahead and the fireworks start again. Adrian starts sobbing and screaming, “HE’S BEATING ME”! I tell him it’s not a race. I tell him it’s NATHAN’S BUS to get on. Adrian doesn’t even ride the bus! He sobs the ENTIRE TIME I’m trying to get Nate buckled in his seatbelt. After getting Nathan secured, I pick up Adrian and he wraps his arms around my neck and lays his head down, the crying stops, and we go in the house.
Next we start working on Valentine’s cards for his classmates that are due on Thursday. We barely get one done and Adrian starts screaming at me again that he doesn’t want to do it. By this time I just want him gone. (For the day, of course!) I don’t want to be around him any more, because now he is just making me angry. I get him some yogurt and a banana and (surprisingly) he says, very sweetly, “Tank you daddy”. He finishes, puts all his stuff in the trash (like we taught him) and comes to give me a hug. In an effort to save the day so he’ll have a good day at school I say, “Hey, you want to go hit the park before we go to school”? And he says, “YEAH”! (Incidentally, the park is next to the school and EVERY SINGLE MORNING since school started he asks to go to the park when we pull up to the school. Some days, if we’re early, I take him, some days I don’t. The days I don’t…FIREWORKS!)
Walking from JUST THE FRONT DOOR TO THE CAR IN THE Adrian starts playing a little hopping game. And he says, “Daddy, you need to hop”…and so I do. Only, apparently, I don’t hop in the right spot because he starts, angrily, yelling at me that I didn’t do it right. At this point I just want to drop it. Because it wouldn’t matter if I hopped on the 3rd rectangle paver on the right corner or the left, it wouldn’t matter WHAT I DID, I wouldn’t be able to do anything right by him. I hadn’t done a single thing right that morning. So I bark at him to just get in the car. I go to help him up (cuz I drive a big butch Jeep) and as I’m picking him up he yells, “WATCH OUT FOR MY HEAD. DON’T HIT MY HEAD”…and (I don’t) I toss him in his car seat and he starts sobbing AGAIN and screaming, “OWWWWWWWY. YOU HURT ME” (while rubbing his head). I say, “ADRIAN! I-DID-NOT-HIT-YOUR-HEAD”. And he says, “No, my arm”! I want to say, “WELL THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU RUBBING YOUR GOD DAMN HEAD”, but instead, I drop it and just want to get to the park so I can TRY to make him happy at least once this morning.
I load up all our stuff in the car and we head to the park. We have, like, 10 minutes before the school bell. While getting out of the car he sees a Beanie Baby (or “sleepy time toy” as he likes to call them) and says he wants to take it with him. The school has hard and fast rules about not bringing toys to school. So I tell him he can’t because the school rules prohibit toys. He starts sobbing…again…and tells me I never let him have any toys. I remind him AGAIN he can’t take toys to school. He reasons, “It’s not a toy it’s a SLEEPY TIME TOY. I NEED IT FOR MY NAP”. And I laughed, because the kid who thinks he’ll die in his sleep is going to try to convince me that if he has this toy he’ll actually nap.
As we’re walking across the bridge to the park, I can see ONE SINGLE MOMMENT OF HAPPINESS in my child’s very near future. And do you know what that little fucker does the second we get across the bridge? He says, “I DON’T WANNA GO TO THE PARK…I just wanna go to school”. At this point, I’m done. I’m done talking. I’m done being yelled at. I’m done trying to appease. I’m done trying to fix. I just say, “fine”, and walk him into the school and sit in the hallway for 10 minutes until I can throw him in his classroom and get the hell away from him as fast as I can.
I honestly have no idea how to make my four year old happy anymore. I honestly believe he hates me and is trying to kill me.
Any thoughts? Suggestions? Words of encouragement? Cuz, I really don’t know what to do anymore. And the other child is coming up on 4 quicker than I care to think.
Today’s show has been brought to you by the letter “D” and “F”, and the number 4.
Monday, February 9, 2009
“I completely related to this show in a “I'm-not-black” sort of way. While living in Germany, we lived in an all-white high-rise apartment that didn't have a fat super. Okay, so in hind-sight, I really had nothing in common with this show except for the high-rise, and even then the rent wasn’t subsidized. But who can forget Janet, er, uh, Penny getting scalded by the iron? Who hasn't that happened to? So maybe I related to it a little too much.”
Continuing on in my series of sitcoms from my yut, I bring you…Good Times.
1974 was a wonderful year. My penis had finally stopped aching from that circumcision my folks insisted I have. As a country, 9 years had passed since the Watts riots; 7 years passed since the Supreme Court ruled in Loving v. Virginia allowing for the unions of mixed race couples; 6 years had passed since Johnson singed the civil rights act; 3 years had passed since schools were fully integrated (in theory); and FINALLY black families were depicted on television. Albeit, they were poor, under-educated blacks living in the projects, but it was a start, eh? I mean, seriously, you couldn’t have the first negro family sitcom on television be about WEALTHY EDUCATED blacks, could you??? I mean, I guess, technically, The Jeffersons was the first sitcom about black families (cuz they appeared on Archie Bunker’s Place), but they didn’t have their own show…and they were middle-class business owners…and America just wasn’t ready for that. They were ready, however, for Good Times! Good times was LANDMARK for it’s time. LAND-MARK. As mentioned, they were the first glimpse we whities had into the honest-to-god day-to-day lives of BLACK PEOPLE! We learned blacks were all: Funny, stylish, hot, and disciplined their children with hot irons. Rape was hysterical, nothing was funnier than child abuse or racism…except for Good Times.
Let’s face it. John Amos, “James Evans, Sr.” was hot. Who didn’t want to experience that fierce “black discipline”? I know I was standing in line. Yes, I know I was only four…but like I’ve mentioned AD NAUSEAM, I’ve know FOR-EVER! I was completely devastated the season (I think 3?) that they killed James Senior off in a car crash. For a couple of reasons. A) It was my very first notion that your dad could die and you would never see him again. B) I had NO CONCEPT of “acting v. real life” and ASS U MED that John Amos had died IN REAL LIFE. Again, folks, I was four! I was relieved, years later, to see him resurface on such shows as Cosby, Fresh Prince, and the A-Team. More recently he’s starred in Men In Trees, that show, 4 people in America saw before it was canceled. John Amos left the show early because he hated the scripts and couldn’t get along with the producers.
The family matriarch was “Florida Evans”, played by Esther Rolle. I feel like her character was, perhaps, the least believable of any of the characters on the show. Don’t get me wrong, I feel like Esther did a fine job of playing a black woman. But honestly people, think of all the ghetto black women you’ve seen on “Cops” and tell me how many of them were as passive as Florida Evans? Florida was a DOORMAT, and it just isn’t reasonable to believe that a man raising 3 children in the projects is going to be all pushover. Eshter Rolle had a very successful career in the the television industry following her time on the show. She, also, hated the direction the show was going (probably cuz she agreed with what I just said!) and wasn’t in much of the last season(s). Esther Rolle died November 17, 1998 from complications from diabetes.
Show me a person who has no idea what “J.J. Evans’” catchphrase was, and I’ll show you a person who is racist. EVERYONE, and I MEAN EVERYONE who was alive in the 70’s was familiar with “DY-NO-MITE”! Jimmie Walker was a FOOL on this show. He was a first class fool. I wanted to be friends with him. I wanted him to teach me how to make those faces. I wanted to be tall like him. Jimmie Walker did a couple of things in television before going back to his roots (and I don’t mean Africa people, don’t be like that!). He went back to stand-up comedy. I’d love to see him today. I would be willing to bet money that he’s STILL “J.J.”
BernNadette Stanis (google it people, I spelt it correctly!) was the middle child in the show, “Thelma”. She more a more realistic portrayal of what a strong black woman was. She was feisty, hot, confident, and an equal. BernNadette had a bit of a singing career following Good Times and dove into that whole conservative Christian movement. I think she’s another one who could have taken a completely different life path (and not just cuz she’s black, but look what happened to crazy Dana Plato!). She can currently be seen in Nationwide Insurance commercials, and that’s just about as entertaining as Good Times.
Y’all, Ralph Carter was HAWT. I had SUCH a gay crush on Ralph Carter back in the day. He was SO EFFING HOT. Now he kind of scares me a little bit… even after the show, when he focused on his music career, hold up…
HAWT! Ralph played the youngest son of James and Florida, “Michael Evans”. I think it was the ROLE of Michael’s character to show white America how nice, polite, respectful, and HOT young black men could be. His character was, in a word, perfect. Currently he’s a singer, and working that whole Church angle.
Ja’net DuBois played the slutty, sassy neighbor, “Willona”. Willona willnotta take crap from anyone. She will stick a piece of iron in her purse and use it as a weapon against you in a dark stairwell. Willona came off as a bad-ass, but as everyone knows, it was just part of her “act”. She really had a heart as big as she was, and was a warm and gentle character. Of course, none of this was really figured out until the 5th season when she adopted a girl (more on that in a bit!), but Willona was awesome. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she made me wish my mammy was buhlack. Granted, I still wanted to live in my gated community, but I wanted a black mom.
Johnny Brown played “Booker” on the show and showed that all over-weight black men are buffoons and clowns. I always felt sorry for Booker, because he was, more than anyone else (other than JJ) the ass of everyone’s jokes. Willona, particularly, was hard on him. Now, there’s great debate over whether his name was “Booker” or “Booger”. Both are actually correct. His NAME on the show was “Nathan Bookman”, therefore “Booker” was his nickname…however everyone, again, in an effort to make an ass out of him in every scene, called him “Booger”…presumably as a sign of disrespect. Johnny Brown is currently a stage actor/comedian. And yes, I was as surprised as you are right now to learn that he is still alive.
Who is this adorable little whore? Why, it’s Ms. Wardrobe malfunction herself, “Ms. Jackson, if you’re nasty”, Janet Jackson. Good LORD she was cute as Penny. And folks, this story line took off like WILD FIRE. In just a few episodes Penny had wedged her way DEEP into our hearts and consciousness and then BAM! Bigger than shit Willona discovers that Penny’s mom is burning Penny on the back with a clothes iron. Shit snap Cadillac. Penny’s birth mother couldn’t get out of the projects fast enough. Willona had her cornered and fearing for her eva-lovin’ life. And Penny had found her self yet another single parent home to be loved in.
Yes folks, thems were, indeed, GOOD TIMES.