Not fair...at all!!!

most of you (if not all) can relate to the following statement uttered by your parents at some point in your childhood (or in my case many, many, MANY times).

"i hope than when you have children, that they are EXACTLY like you"

of course when most parents say that waht they really mean is: " i hope your kids are ten times as rotten as you"

i deeply love and dearly miss my dad (he passed on a few years back) but i am truly grateful at times, that he is not around (sounds bad, but will make sense in a minute)
jr is at least as devious and rotten as i was in my childhood (and i personally suspect he will surpass ANYTHING i could have imagined as a kid). being a parent is a unique mix of pride, consternation, and frustration punctuated by moments of sheer terror.
i kid you not, i am only 35 (36 in november) and in just the last year have started to sprout noticeably grey hairs all over... i blame jr!

at this point i honestly don't think i could take my dad just sitting back and chuckling with that smug grin on his face (which is exactly what would happen were he around today) my god, i would go completely postal.

so jr comes up to me earlier, starts tugging at my arm, and chants at me "daddyletsPLAYdaddyletsPLAYdaddywannaplay" non stop.. (now to set the mood, he is bouncing up and down while all this is going on)
i tell him "daddy is busy, i will play with you in a minute"
his response? no kidding.. he GROWLS at me and goes stalking off to his room (gawd i wanna strangle him sometimes)
about 5 minutes later, he comes strolling in and says "DADDY LOOK"
knowing that if i don't look, this won't end for a loooong time.. i cave in and look (hear my spine snapping, don't ya?)

at which point he takes the book he's holding (battered copy of a softback 3 inch thick parenting book) and whops the dog upside the head with it (think melon dropped on concrete sound), grins... and HAULS ASS the hell outta the living room (smart booger sees the look on my face, and KNOWS his butt is about to reach 1000 degrees wheni catch him).
meanwhile the poor fucking dog is just kinda laying on the ground twitching trying to figure out what just happened...

i know that i was a rotten kid.... but dammit dad, did ya have to curse me with the SPAWN OF SATAN???

peace
-dawg

RANT WARNING!!!!!!

for all of you who read my blog, i apologize ahead of time for the following rant. i realize that most of my regualr readers come here for the antics of the mutant, and am truly humbled by the fact that i do in fact have regular readers.
this however is not about the mutant at all.

****profanity and strong language follow DO NOT read aloud to children... please*****

i swera to god, if it weren't illegal, i'd hunt down and fucking skin every single one of these lying retarded sack o shit realtors i have been dealing with over the last few months (my buyers agent excluded)
i wrote recently about how it seems that realtors do not even speak common english.

after months of searching, just in the last month we had found 2 separate homes that we wre interested in, and frankly just about fell in love with both of them.
now i realize as we are looking at budget homes, that there are expected condition issues that will have to be dealt with. i am fine with that

house#1 beautiful little house great condition, something that i caould easily call home.
so we put in an offer, granted it was a low offer to test the market out... and as expected the offer was rejected.. (no biggie.. part of the process)
the chicken shit realtor didn't even bother to call and speak to our agent.. he sent a freaking EMAIL, and not only that, was a fucking dick about things in the email... (resulting in "severe case of ass" about the realtor)

ok ... many fish in the sea and all that... move along to look at other properties.

interim (here is where we saw what these gems of humanity call "need tlc" homes (needs to be freaking condemmned is more like it)

house #2 little bit larger than the first, needs work (some obvious cosmetic stuff) but overall we really like it.. once again, something i could easily call home..
at initial offer it had a renter in it.. selling realtor says, up the earnest money, and we will have the renter out before closing (ok i can go fo that.. dsaves me some serious hassle) offer made, counter offer in, counter-counter offer made.... and BINGO we agree, and sign a purchase contract, contingent on home inspection and appraisal. turns out the owners were already evicting the renters, so they tell us "good news" we can move the closing up if you want to...
i'm thinking .. aweseome... now for the home inspection....

did the home inspection yesterday....... where the hell do i start.... this fucking idiotic asshole of a realtor could have given us a heads up so that i did not waste my time, money, and emotional investment (MAY IT ROT AND FALL OFF YOU PRICK)
ok the roof is rotting and needs to be replaced.. not only that, but the damn think is framed with 1X4's holy crap.. i wouldnt build a damn doghouse with 1x4's let alone a structural roof..
recalled POS (BUSS FUSE) electric panel.. that was actually recalled in the 60's
move to the basement...MOLD... LOTS OF MOLD ductwork is laying on the ground .. on the FREAKING MOLDY ASS GROUND.....

the home inspector and i have a quick (off the records) chat, and do some quick figuring.... to fix this thing would cost almost as much as we offered on the house.... so obviously.. no deal

this is after having our agent say DIRECTLY to the realtor.. "this is intended as a family home, and these folks will be moving in almost immediately after close" and him responding "great i think they will love it"
WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE suggests that a family with children WILL LOVE living in a home that could a: collapse on top of them, b: burn to the ground due to illegal faulty electricals, or c: kill the inhabitants by injecting toxic mold directly from the basement into the central air sysytem...
apparantely i have found the josef stalin of realtors (just wnats his needs filled and dont care if it KILLS other folks).... ohh yeah.. sat on the toilet and almost ended up in the basement.....

thank god for home inspectors.....
-dawg

just 3 words......

intravenous candy bars!

The great "brownie caper"

I tend truly to be fairly spartan with "treating" myself to just about anything, however the opposite is true for mama and the toddler. i'll get them damn near anything they want (sorry but that indiana jones whip just didnt make the "acceptable cut" hell it didnt even make the "so drunk i forgot my own name cut")
keeping this in mind, there are very few "treats" that come into the house that i get exclusively for myself, if it aint my generous heart that gives my goodies away then begging or pouting is usually successful (think basset hound with crocodile tears,and the resultant effect on me. and you might be able to imagine the sound of my spine snapping in two from wherever you are right now.)
while grocery shopping today i decide to indulge in one of my "daddy treats" (MINE.... iiitttssss mine.... my ppprrreeeccciiiooouuusssssssssss!) two bite brownies! now for those of you unfamiliar with this little gem of the modern "convenient" grocery shelf, let me enthrall you with a simple description.

take your most delicious "childhood memory 6 inch square 2 inch thick brownie" (well maybe they were a tad smaller.. but i digress..) and then compress them into a tiny 1 inch square (or round) sinfully delicious bite sized piece of brownie goodness.

now often when muching on these i will relent and share ONE with the mutant (the dangers of the mutant consuming too many brownies can not be imagined.... i will forgo sharing them with you, as i would not want to permanently damage you) and then go happily back to knocking out the remainder of the bag..

well todays selection were "entenmanns" brownie delights, which come packaged in 6 small bags inside a much much much (ridiculously larger) box. i started chomping on my brownitygoodness well before i was scheduled to fix dinner, and promptly lost myself in a chocolatey fugue (utterly robbed of any intelligence from the chocolate, i vaguely remember giving the mutant 2 whole brownies)...

said reverie was rudely interrupted some time later (time unknown) by a rather surly mam "wondering" aloud perchance when one might be able to obtain a "proper dinner" for herself and the mutant. properly chastened into action by the subtle hint (subtle, like being kicked by an elephant) and proceeded into the kitchen to make shrimp po boys.

30 minutes later.. freshly made shrimp po boys for EVERYONE. now understand jr LOOOVES fried shrimp, and this being right near his bedtime, usually eats like a starving wolf (mind the fingers lest ye return a digit or two short of original equipage). tonight was a little bit strange as he ate ok, but just not with his normal gusto, then promptly passed out on the couch.
awww the little sucker was just a bit hungry and waaay tired......

jr's asleep.... time for desert!!! ........(BROWNIES, you perverts... sheesh!) and reached towards the entemanns box, .... only to discover it was totally empty???? what the hell.. oh well musta atte em all.. (this sux.. majorly sux) with nothing else going on, i scoop jr up of the couch haul him up to my shoulder and take him into his room to lay him in bed for the night.
upon crossing the threshhold of his room, my bare feet step on something slippery and damn near break my back trying to stay upright and not drop the child at the same time.... heart pumping 200 gallons a minute, i lay jr in bed, tuck him in, and investigate what damn near killed me...
lo and behold two EMPTY brownie bites bags...........
HE
................stole them........ while i was cooking dinner???? oooooohhhhhh this lil bugger is getting dangerous......
might bear some more cautious watching from now on..... or maybe ill just hide my brownies better..... yeah thatll work!

peace
-dawg

Rengrish (ring-grish) or realtor speak!

Those of you who know me well, realize that i truly love the english language. we in america have been truly blessed with a wonderfully versatile language formed from so many cultures, that provides a wonderfully nuanced and shaded way to describe outr world.

what truly baffles me at times is the sheer ability to actually mangle or outright destroy such a beautiful tool of description.

case in point: Rengrish (english as realtors use it)
i have been in the market to buy a home for the past few months, and have finally realized that while the words and sentences look and sound like common english, they are in fact speaking a completely different language. i might go as far as to suggest that they are more "creative" in their definitions (if your definition of creative is "smashed outta yer gourd on absinthe")

here are a few of the gems i have encountered, and their common english translations, and my take on what they SHOULD have said to be accurate.

"might have a slight leak in the roof"
trans: when it rains you'll be a lot less wet if you just sleep outside
suggestion for ad: "brand new open air skylight and mini swimming pool.... in the master bedroom"

"lower level apartment needs total renovation, and property has wildlife on it"
trans: apartment needs to be condemmned, and the wildlife is currently living IN the apartment.
suggestion for ad. "demolition by nuclear weapon suggested, bring shotgun to fight off the rats"

handyman's special that needs tlc, and would look good with new hardwood floors
trans: watch your step when opening the door, would be nice if it actually had a floor to begin with!
suggestion for ad. "please buy this, and i'll throw in a free trip to scenic afganistan, heck the house there might give you upgrade ideas.... like maybe mud walls"

investment opportunity for a handyman needs some plumbing and electrical updating!
trans: the winos have ripped out and stolen EVERY SCRAP of copper in the place, including the electric meter.
suggestion for ad. "wheee.... wino pee, and bare frame..... "

charming cottage ready for renovation in a up and coming neighborhood
trans: built by drunken blind monkeys, caution neighbors WILL eat your dog
suggestion for ad. "no really... its just a kool aid stain, and please ignore the crime scene tape"

peace
-dawg

one of my favorite poems.

read it aloud to someone you love

The Tale of Custard the Dragon by Ogden Nash

Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called hum Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagonAt the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
and Blink said Weeck! which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household
,And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm,
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's pet dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets, but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim.
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pirate.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

Now for something totally different (mom speaks)

oh Hai!
No, not the Dawg, and anyone thinking to themselves with a smirk what a female dawg is called, well... all I can say is, YEP! (teehee).
I'm the missus, aka Hound's wife, and the bearer of the unique and startlingly accurate title of MommymommymommymommymommycanIhazcheezschlammich?
I was asked to put some thoughts on here, and in an effort to craft the wittiest, most comically satisfying, humorous post without being cliched, I've put it off for a week or two... ok, MAYbe three. In that time, I've decided to go ahead and post as my ability to make people laugh tends to strike at odd moments, and I may never catch that elusive mood in writing.
So you're stuck with this. :P Neener neener.
"Has it been four years already?"
This refrain has bounced around through my head and frequently comes out via the oral orifice lately. As in, since late June, lately.
The answer, of course is, no. There have been random wormholes that my son has either created or cleverly mapped and is time-jumping his way through infancy, and now toddlerhood. How else could it be explained? Just yesterday I was coming to from the anesthetic fog to see my honey all in blue cradling something making the most wonderful wailing sound I'd ever heard. You wouldn't think that an angry, squalling red face would make a perfectly sensible (stop laughing) woman get all blubbery, now would you?
No, wait... just yesterday a four year old was holding up arms sticky with appley-scented liquid saying, "I just want to love on you, Mommy!" in response to that age-old question, "Were you finger-painting my table with your apple juice?"
Errrr... or was yesterday the all-nighter worrying and holding and rocking a pitifully whimpering sickling while the fever hit 102 and finally broke?
um.
One sec, I'm sure there's a calendar around... here... somewhere.
OK, the secret is out. I don't know what day it is, I rarely know the time, and if you ask me when a birthday or anniversary is, I need at least 5 minutes to look it up.
But one thing is sure, I wouldn't trade my title for nothing in the world.
-Mommy