So, tonight we got some friends over and we’re doing a beer butt chicken (more here). But that’s all preliminary as me and said male friend will get up at 0 early thirty and smoke about 55 pounds of Boston butts. And we’ll drink beer from about 0 early thirty until said butts are done.

Mmmm. I do like butts of all kinds.

Update: BTW, all this butt talk has Junior confused. We’ve told her that butt is a bad word. So, whenever I reference a butt she reminds me we don’t say that because it’s a bad word.

A few kids in my neighborhood have a case of teh st00pid. It’s true. Case one is that I and about three other cars are pulling into the neighborhood. Standing in the middle of the street are two boys who I’d put at between the ages of 11 and 13. Upon seeing the cars backing up, the two geniuses continued to stand in the middle of the street. For a good 20 seconds before I honked, shot them a stern look, and mouthed the word idiots. Not a good place to stand since the grass at the entrance to the subdivision is a bit tall and someone who was going too fast could fail to see you in time and it’s off to the ER with your dumb ass.

The second instance and I am not making this up. Again, driving home in my subdivision. There’s a kid on a bike in the middle of the street. I’m going slow enough to not be a threat. He’s not paying attention. He finally sees me and gets over. So far so good. I look over and see that he has a bow strung over his shoulder. And, I shit you not, in his left hand he’s carrying two arrows. That’s right. A kid on a bike is carrying arrows. Holy crap.

Early intervention is key at preventing teh st00pid. I don’t know how far gone these two are but someone (like say, the parents) should step up.

Update: Note that I am neither anti-bow nor anti-arrow. I just think if you’re carrying around arrows, they should be properly sheathed. Particularly, if you’re on a bike and run the risk of impaling yourself at slightly higher speeds than, say, walking.

Heh.

Yeah, I’ve been there.

Via MKS.

Or Abstinence Only sex ed makes kids stupid.

Yesterday, me and The Mrs. took the kids to Dollywood. On the way from the car to the entrance, it looked a bit cloudy as though it might rain. I said to the Mrs.: Maybe we should get the umbrella?

The Mrs.: What for?

Me (perplexed that she’s really asking what an umbrella would be used for): To fend off the lions.

One of my female readers (yes, I have a couple), emailed me regarding the post in which I complained about my wife’s purse:

It is MY EXPERIENCE that even while you men complain about the size of our purses, we are often asked to HOLD your things because we have room for them!

I’m constantly being asked by my boyfriend to put his camera, keys or something or other in my purse, because he doesn’t have room in his pockets!

I respond with:

I don’t complain about the size just the fact that she carries too much crap and can’t find any of the crap she carries. If I needed insulin, I would under no circumstance keep it in my wife’s purse.

I’m with Phelps, women just carry too much shit. Not counting clothing, on my person as we speak are the following:

Wallet
Keys
Watch
Wedding Band
Kel-Tec in holster
Extra mag for Kel-Tec
Phone (which has mp3 player, camera, GPS, and games!)
Knife

That’s it. You can drop me off almost anywhere in the country with those items and I’ll likely be fine. With the contents of my truck, it goes from almost anywhere to seriously anywhere.

What else do I need?

The Mrs. carries a monstrous purse. And she can never find her phone.

The Uncle household contains 14 trash cans.

I don’t know why but last night I decided to count them.

Update: I mentioned it to the wife. I was wrong. We have 16.

Update: Up to 17 now if you count the one under the shredder.

So, last weekend me, Junior and her cousin attended Michael’s daughter’s birthday party. Les Jones was there too. It was at Sprout Studio. It’s a neat place for small kids with lots of activities. Now, I’m not sure who came up with it first but Michael and I thought the place needed beer. And hot wings would be good too.

Pic from a couple of weekends ago of a future Triangle of Death member:

Junior has started saying Oh my God, that sucks. The reason she says it is because The Mrs. uses that phrase a lot. The Mrs. doesn’t like that Junior is saying that phrase. As the Mrs. said to me: You don’t realize how bad something sounds until you hear it from a three year old.

In other news, I think it’s the first time Junior has picked up saying something bad and it didn’t come from me.

The other day, I mentioned to the Mrs. one of the new fuel efficiency vehicles. It’s a passing interest of mine. I figure in the next year or two, I’ll have the itch for a new ride. And I’m pretty sure the smart thing to do with our next vehicle purchases is to get something that has increased fuel economy. Right now, I have flex fuel vehicle. But the only place that sells E85 is Pilot Oil and I don’t shop there because Bill Haslam is a member of Mayors Against Guns. Anyhoo, that leaves the various hybrids, fuel cells, battery powered, and what not vehicles. I mentioned one to the Mrs. and she asks:

Why are those vehicles always so ugly?

Good question. They are all atrocious looking. That new Jeep concept is horrid. The Prius looks cheap. A few companies are getting it and just making existing body styles hybrid. I told the Mrs. I thought it was because they wanted them to look futuristic. But, apparently, the future is ugly.

In a school, a bunch of eight year olds build a town of Lego’s. The town, as is the natural order of things, becomes capitalist with the kids trading Lego pieces and various kids owning various property and Lego’s and such. The teachers then freak out what with all this free market idealism and stuff. The teachers, as it always happens in these cases use the threat of authority to turn the kids into communists. I shit you not. The whole thing can be read here. Some themes they re-educated the kids about:

Collectivity is a good thing

Shared power is a valued goal

Moderation and equal access to resources are things to strive for

And that is how we create kids that will grow up and vote for Obama.

I think I would sell that to Dyson to be used in a commercial.

No, it is not a Mister Winky, it is a hoohoodilly.

They communicate differently!

The grandparents picked the kids up from school and kept them a few hours. The Mrs. picked up some sushi for dinner. And she and I stayed home drinking and playing Wii. Do I have a great wife or what?

Always … no … Never let your wife know that you know how to hang shelving. At least this batch is in the office closet so I can type this up quick.

In the mornings, I take the kids to school. My job is to get them ready and all that. This got considerably easier once Junior learned to dress herself.

Occasionally, I get it wrong. See, the other day, I sent The Second to school with two left shoes on his feet. In other news, why do we have two identical pairs of shoes?

Also, Junior likes to wear her pants backwards. I don’t know why. She swears they’re not backwards when you point it out to her. Not sure why she does that either. The other day, she dressed herself. I informed her that her pants were on backwards. She argued a bit and then turned them around. We get in the truck and (as she does almost every morning) she decided she had to go pee. So, unstrap her from the car seat so she can run inside. She gets back to the truck and off we go.

I pick her up after school that day and there’s a note saying her pants were on backwards. So, she tricked me. She swapped her pants when she went to the bathroom and I didn’t think to check.

The school must think I’m retarded.

In 1976, I was five. I was in kindergarten and Dad was stationed in Fort Benning, GA. I decided, based on what I was being taught about presidential races at school, that my parents should vote for Jimmy Carter. My reasoning was simple enough: he had some shiny white teeth. It’s true. I’m not making that up. I pestered them about it. I recall him being charismatic on TeeVee. My parents did. And they’ve regretted it ever since. Coincidentally, 1976 was the last year my parents ever voted Democrat. To this day, my dad blames me. I’m not making that up either.

So, despite how stupid it sounds, kids can have an influence on their parents voting habits.

After the vasectomy, Junior was confused. See, she knew I went to the doctor. Yet I came home sick. Which to her, makes no sense because you go to the doctor to get better.

Blank-firing adapter successfully installed. All went well. I got a shot of happy stuff, which the doc said was like six beers in 30 seconds. Clearly, he’s never seen me drink and another half dose would have been nice.

Interesting note is that your vasa deferentia are white. Yeah, I watched. Even more bizarre, so did the Mrs.

Be in bed most of tomorrow. Maybe blog, may not.

An haiku in memoriam of my vasa deferentia:

You will be severed
Thanks for carrying my genes
Now, to shave my dudes

In case you couldn’t tell, it’s vasectomy day! We’ve decided we’re done having children.

By the way, all the literature my doc gave me on the procedure has images. In all those images, the jimmy in question is standing at attention. I don’t think that during such a procedure, that would be the case. But we can’t show flaccid ones lest we shatter our male egos. I blame the patriarchy.

So, I grew a beard for the first time in about a year and a half. After a couple days’ growth, the Mrs. looks at me and says you look good with the beard. Cool, she likes it. Then a day or so later she complained a bit about how the beard didn’t feel good during a smooch. So, I trimmed it up. She said that didn’t help. So, bummer, she doesn’t like it.

So, I shaved it off.

I come into the living room and she asks why I shaved it. I said because I thought she didn’t like it. She informs me that she likes the look of it but not how it feels. I ask So, would you rather I look good or feel good? She says look good. Who knew?

Growing the beard again.

Other than Junior getting a double ear infection and rupturing an ear drum, Christmas was a blast. She’s OK and is on antibiotics.

Les got his kids some bean bag chairs and reports the kids like them. We got some for our kids too and they seem to enjoy them.

Our kids had so many presents that they got bored of opening presents before even getting through 1/3rd of the gifts they had. I told The Mrs. that next year we may want to get them fewer gifts.

And, for all you folks looking for Wiis, Target in Maryville has them (or rather had about 20 of them yesterday). Of course, they didn’t get them until the day after Christmas. And the Mrs. picked me one up yesterday. It’s a lot of fun. All I have is the sports game. Any recommendations?

So, Christmas is over and the new holiday season starts, like, next week?

Happy Holidays.

Two, actually. Me and the kids were at Petsmart while the Mrs. finished up some stuff. The kids like to go look at fish, vermin, birds (but I repeat myself) and other critters they have there. We’re watching the rats when Junior says Those two are jumping. I look down and see two mice in a cage (BTW, per the sign, these were fancy mice, whatever that means) and they are jumping. Each mouse is jumping to the water dispenser thingie because they can’t reach it. I tell Junior that it looks like the mice are thirsty. About that time, an employee walks by and I point out that these two mice can’t reach the water. The employee opens the cage and lowers the water dispenser thingy. Then, both mice drink water for five minutes straight. Who knows how long they’d gone without water.

The Second was wearing a sweater and a white T-Shirt (you know, a wife beater as they’re called in these parts) underneath. It was a little warm so we took off the sweater. We’re getting ready to go visit the in-laws so my job was dress The Second. I’m changing his clothes and say Let’s take off that wife-beater. Then Junior looks up and says Wife beater. She said it plain as day. For the next few minutes, she’s all wife beater all the time. Wife beater this, wife beater that. Then, I compound the problem by noting that all The Second needs now is a Bud-Light. And Junior starts talking about Bud-Light and wife-beaters.

Careful what you say. They’re always listening.

Me and the Mrs. did some shopping this weekend. I tried on a fleece pull-over in the middle of the aisle. As I’m taking it off, the conversation goes like this:

Me: [pointing to the shirt I’m wearing under the fleece] would you hold this down while I take this off?

The Mrs.: You don’t want people seeing your belly?

Me: No, I don’t want people seeing my .45.

In other news, I guess she thinks I’m getting chunky.

Junior: I wanna hot dog.

Me: You just ate and didn’t finish your yogurt.

Junior: No I didn’t.

Me: Yeah, you did. Just making sure you’re hungry. You just ate yogurt.

Junior: No I didn’t.

Me: Are you lyin.?

Junior: I’m not lyin’.

Me: You just ate yogurt. I think you’re lyin’.

Junior: Lions don’t eat yogurt.

Heh. Lion = lyin’. I guess she was only lion half the time.