Mar
6
Completely infantile discussions I have had with JB lately:
JB: “Hey, I heard a joke today. There’s this husband and wife lying in bed and the husband turns to her and starts trying to get some action, and she tells him, ‘Not tonight, I have a gynecologist exam in the morning’. So the guy thinks for a minute and then asks, ‘You don’t have a dentist appointment, do you?”
Me: “Ha. Not bad.”
JB: “I think you could substitute the term proctologist, too.”
Me: “Right.”
JB: “Because—”
Me: “I GET IT.”
:::
Me (to JB who has just walked in the door from work): “Jesus, thank god. The baby just yakked on the sofa, Riley’s been acting like an asshole all afternoon, I didn’t get one spare minute to myself all damn day long and if I see one more dirty dish left on the table for the fucking cleaning fairy to take care of I will sink into madness and I will take you all with me.”
JB (thinking for a minute): “So . . . no ‘welcome home BJ’, then?”
:::
Me: “Let’s see, so we need eggs, cheese, frozen waffles for Riley . . . and what’s this item, a little something called Boner Rise?”
JB: “Heh.”
Me: “Dude, what are you—twelve?”
JB: “Made you say ‘boner rise’.”
:::
JB: “I’ve got another joke. How do you keep a gay guy in suspense?”
Me (thinking): “. . .”
Me (eventually): “How?”
JB (sniggering): “. . .”
Me: “Ohh. Ha.”
JB: “Har!”
Me: “Now I am gay.”
:::
Me (to JB, who has just stepped out of the shower): “You know, now that I spend so much of my day dealing with tiny penises, I have to tell you, you look enormous in comparison.”
JB: “Why thank you.”
Me: “I mean, like, elephantine almost. It’s sort of terrifying.”
JB: “You have my permission to share that on your blog. About my elephantine dong, I mean.”
Me: “You do know I mean elephantine as compared to an infant’s, right?”
JB (not listening): “Make sure you mention the part about it being terrifying.”
Mar
5
Those of you who have children, do you ever feel like you haven’t quite adjusted to the reality of your lifestyle yet? I sometimes find myself looking at other families out and about and thinking how their situation seems so familiar and yet so alien at the same time. The parents look older, more responsible, firmly adult in some mysterious way; they look like members of some club I don’t yet belong to.
Can it really be that I am a person with two children? TWO? It seems like the strangest damn thing. My car is a shitpile of cracker crumbs, juice spills, and carseats, so it must be true. I don’t know, though, shouldn’t I know what the hell I’m doing by now? I kind of feel like I should have had to pass a test.
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