I was petrified,
It was Baby's first Christmas and ,
I thought for sure I was going to die,
The anticipation of the craze just grabbed me by the balls,
I wanted to run,
Right out my front door,
But no not I.......

Alright, enough with that. But seriously I was afraid of the Christmas. The first one that has held any special meaning in a long time. Not to say that the last fifteen or so haven't been great. But lets face it, a five month old is going to bring all sorts of new found holiday insanity cheer to the table. And rightly so. In order to ensure sleepless eve's and tip-toeing morning's of for the next 12 years you have to bring the insanity. I mean, why would I want to sleep in on Christmas morning for the next decade? Why would I want to avoid the constant "Is it here yet? Is it here yet? Is it here yet? IS IT HERE YET?" that I put my parents through? I certainly can cannot think of 20 reasons why.

But now it has passed. And in case you haven't noticed, I get the post holiday blues before the holiday's. And now the blues have turned to greens (wait is green a happy color? Oh fuck who cares, it's my favorite color)And I figure it's my last year to hold onto my bah-ass-humbug attitude. Next year and forever after I will have to put on my happy face.

It wasn't really as crazy as I had anticipated. Luckily I was blessed with a pretty easy going kid. He is happy to kick back and chill (literally. He just started throwing his arms behind his head and kicking back lounge style. Super cute.), and so we did. For the most part. We kicked off the festivities with a nice eve of dinner at my folk's house. Last year we started a tradition with them (at least I hope it becomes a tradition), of having a collective effort in the kitchen to produce a nice 5-7 course elegant dinner. This year my Bro rocked a bomb ass prime rib for the main course and it hit the freaking spot. It was preceded by great soup and followed by awesome dessert. Then on the morning of the in-laws came over to our house (by eight o'clock, the earliest I've been up on Christmas in a looong time) and we did our thing with them. Then to my folks by eleven for brunch. Kickball with the friends around two, and then out to my Grandma's for supper (and a bowl full of crazy) by six-ish. We were supposed to hit my wife's extended family in there as well but, we just ran out of time. Next year they get priority.

It was sort of funny because, until my Grandma's house the day was kid free (with the exception of my own). But come Grandma's there is a small handful of young children, all belonging to my uncle. Being an adult looking in on the insanity that I was once a part of is an interesting (and sobering) spectacle. I have a newfound respect for my parents. There were four children in my family and I can only imagine how crazy we must have been by the end of the best day of the year. Presents and sugar and carbs and sugar and more presents and more sugar and a nap on the way to Grandma's and then........insanity in its purest form. You're kind of asking for it by late in the afternoon following a plethora of childish stimuli. So this year I just enjoyed the show. Mostly. By the end I was dog tired. As was the boy. And probably most of the adults. So getting home, cracking a beer and chilling out with a little Wii action was a great way to end the day. Of course the passing out later in bed was even better.

The one thought that kept running through my head all day long was "holy fuck I can't believe another year has come and gone". And now here we are, two and a half days away from the start of O-ten (is that how we'll say it "O-Ten"? 'Cause I think just "Ten" sounds pretty lame. Plus there is technically still an "O" in front of the ten). A year that is bound to be even sanity-less than the rest. So happy 2010 everybody. I hope it treats you all beautifully!

This was a big year for me. Probably as big as they come. All that other shit people tell you about milestones in your life can kiss this year's ass. Sweet sixteen, fuck you, I was probably grounded for that one. The big One Eight, ooh I can go buy porn and tobacco. Whoopidy-frikin-doo, I was getting high and looking at porn long before that one. Tipsy twenty one, eff you too, my girlfriend (now my wife) was older than me and buying booze a year and half before you came along. Twenty five, well that one was just a complete fucking let down. So what, I can get a better car insurance rate and go rent a damn car (anyone that looks forward to that one should really take a closer look at their life) yee-haw. And due some of the afore mentioned activities I didn't have a high school graduation (by the way, high school was a perfect term for my years at that institution) or college graduation to deal with. Maybe those would've been biggies, but not for this guy.

So yeah, this year was HUGE. The year that your first child is born ranks among the top fucking milestones of all time. Unless you don't have a child then you can pick from one of the above lesser milestones. Or go have a kid. Or just not give a shit. It's really up to you.

Really the only other exciting thing that took place in my life this year was returning to my position in the food chain. Right at the fucking top. I had been a vegetarian for ten years and it all came to a crashing halt this year. I wish I knew why. I really didn't have any aha kind of moment that turned me back into a carni. I really enjoyed being a vegetarian. It got me out of my shell, culinarily speaking. I still love to cook vegetarian, and I still respect the animals and try my best to buy only free range, grass fed, organic animals. But there is still a part of me that feels guilty as hell when I put that meat in my mouth and put those molars to work. I actually blame the skills my father posses', when it come to cooking, for turning me. He makes all sorts of incredible edible meals (actually both my parents are ridiculously talented in the kitchen, my mom is one hell of a baker), but it was his boeuf bourguignon that was the last straw. I had been having some thoughts about the animal kingdom, and then my folks threw a party and served that scrumptious freaking dish. And it only took one smell for me to be transported back to my childhood, coming home from school with a big old pot of the stuff on the stove, that he made the day before, lifting the lid and sneaking out pieces of beef, with it barely making it into my mouth still in tact. Damn that's one good dish. Now I'm hungry, what the fuck was I typing about? Oh right, food. Sorry. So yeah, I started eating meat again. Luckily I have been able to keep to my vow of never returning to a fast food restaurant. If I show up in a McDonald's ever again please just put me in the burner and go sprinkle my ashes somewhere cool.

The rest of the year, up until one particular sixth day of the month, was spent procrastinating on getting stuff ready for the arrival of our baby. Sex still unknown at that point.  Unknown in fact until his little testes popped out. The waiting really was the hardest part. Watching my wife grow that little baby was an amazing thing but, not knowing what was coming our way was tough. Great, but tough.

I still have a hard time believing how incredible the human body is (and every other species for that matter). Growing a child inside you must be among the craziest feeling out there. I can't think of any other feeling that would compare with it. Granted my knowledge on the subject is limited, I still think it's damn freaking crazy that you women folk grow other humans inside of you. I can't help but think of the final scene in Spaceballs every time I see a really pregnant lady. I know that's weird, but it's true.

And then it was practically here. The day we hadn't been preparing for. The fastest nine months of my life. Then came the heavy breathing, the waddling, the pain (my wife felt some of that stuff too), the baby starting to push it way out of a space entirely too small for it to fit through. Hello labor. Kind of. It was a slow start. But then a quick finish. And then -->
(and If I learned anything at all from Zoolander, it's that this kid may very well grow up to be a male model. He made that face within minutes of being born). And then my life changed fooo-revvv-errrrr! In the most incredible way possible.

From that point until this point it has been kind of a blur. The first couple months were just an incredible rush. One of the highest highs I've ever had. I honestly can't put it into words. At least not words worthy of describing something as raw as becoming a new parent. Once those first months passed though I hit my groove. And now I'm just riding the wave of euphoria wherever it takes me.

I honestly can't believe this year is already coming to end. I still think of years in terms of an eight year old. Where one of them seems like ten. And you don't think the end will ever come (not that you care about the end of the year, just the days off from school associated with it). Twenty ten is gonna be a crazy one. I already know it. And I'm excited as hell for it.

And now I have to go because the little monkey is getting mad at me for sitting here typing while he's blowing chunks all over the place.

Sometimes I have a hard time being labeled as an "adult". Even if it is through the eyes of a stranger. I don't feel like an adult. Most of the time. I still see myself as that tripped out, stumbling through life seventeen year old that was ten years ago. A (slightly) more mature version of that kid, but that same kid just the same. When I go to buy alcohol I'm always afraid the clerk will think my ID is a fake (even though I've had people tell me I look far older than I am, thank you a-holes!). Whenever a telemarketer calls I still think I will be getting the same "Well hello little girl, is your mommy home?" that I became accustomed to. (to which I always wanted to respond "Why hello stupid fucker, I'm actually a seventeen year old DUDE and no my fucking mommy is not home!"). I still laugh at work when I hear words like (and I work in the plumbing industry, so these words are commonplace); plumber's caulk, galvanized nipple, ball cock, pipe dope and so on.

So I kind of just assume I'm a still youngster. And it's not like I'm actually old or anything, I'm only 27 for shit's sake. And I used to be active. Climbing, cycling, hiking, swimming and snow related sports. And I really don't do much. I mean, I still hike once a week (if I'm lucky) in the sun deprived months. Certainly not the level of activity that my body was once accustomed to.

And this is where the whole feeling like a fucking testosterone driven kid really comes to bite me in the ass. Why? Because I get all nostalgic over the thought of my seventeen year old body (and it wasn't anything special. Just the floor model. But it wasn't round in the middle) and decide that doing something like say, going for a run, is a good idea. And I think it is actually a good idea. An idea. Because I swear to jeebus that two fucking miles of running (jogging) makes me feel like I'm going kiel over in the middle of the last fifty feet of road and, my dog will have to drag ass my ass through the stank funk gutter (laughing all the way) to the front door. And then after my dog figured out how to oppose her thumby-claw thing on her ankle, and open the door, drag me in, and put me into a cold shower, she brings in two of my son's number floor pad things, an eight and a seven. "that's how old you acted out there" she communicates cleverly to me, and then turns and takes herself for another run. Avoiding the stares of the neighbors that just witnessed her dragging her Benjamin Button looking owner home.

The point is that I actually am getting fucking older. Shits changing (not literally shit. You literal people freak me out). And it kind of sucks. To realize that you can't just take off and play a game of kickball with friends without a physical fitness hangover. So I am making my first ever resolution. It so happens I have made this first resolution over and over again in the past three years, but it's still my first one. And that is to get my ass back in shape. I feel like calling my old swim coach so he can force my ass into the steaming cold pool at five in the morning (seriously, that shit used to steam and you'd be all excited cause it looks hella warm. Yeah, because it's five fucking o'clock and anything thing looks warm. Especially the bed you just left). Or I need to dig out my old climbing gear and find my way to something climbable. But for now I'm going to stick with my running. Because it's the laziest way for me to exercise (if that ain't one hell of an oxymoron). And with any luck I'll bring my Wii age down to a reasonable number.

The tree's along the california coast line are fucking gorgeous. Like nothing I've ever seen before. Majestic, gargantuan, and sometimes ominous. I fucking love those tree's. I'm not there right now, but I sure wish I was. 

Sometimes I just want to get up and get away. From the rat race. It can drag you down into a ditch and, as it's driving away throw it's damn McDonald's bag O trash out the window and right on top of your stumbling out of the ditch ass.

I think I get this feeling about once every four to six months. To just grab the essentials, the Family (Wife, Son, Dog, Other Dog), and drive. Into the wilderness. Whichever direction/destination it may be. Lake. Mountain. Forrest. Beach. Desert. Any one (or all) will do the trick. Just get the holy hell out of the city, suburb, or town you're currently occupying and find some solitude. I don't know why it hits me, but it does.

I have actually had this particular urge for a while now. Since before RQ was introduced to the world. I think I went out on my last trip this past June. And since before the monkey was even close to being born I was thinking about his first camping trip. It was probably one of the earliest thoughts pertaining to fatherhood that I had. Maybe that's weird, or fucked up or something. Maybe I should have been thinking about actually being a father and what what that meant. Or maybe I should have been thinking about how to better provide for the kid, so he can lead a comfortable life. Or maybe I should have been signing him up for preschool even though he was still the size of a grapefruit. I don't effing know. I spent more time thinking about how fucking awesome it was going to be to have a little kid in tow. Someone that can always remind you to lighten your shit up and relax. Have fun. Be a fucking kid for christ's sake.

I read a statistic not too long ago about the ratio of times a child laughs in a day compared to an adult and, while I don't recall exactly what that percentage was, for the sake of this point lets say it was eight hundred and seventy four thousand to one (I'm pretty sure that's in the right ballpark), clearly being a little kid is where it's at. Not a worry in the world (at least not a valid one). I mean maybe they are worried about whether Tammy or Timmy are going to beat them at some sort of something at school. Or be mean to them. I don't really know, what do kids do to each other these days? But you get the point, Kids are living a far more raucous and fun life than a lot of adults can even recall. And it's (in my not so humble opinion) the rat that is bread into us. At least in America. And 20 other countries. That is causing this lack of childlike behavior.

So now comes the point in time where I actually need to figure out something to do. Outside. With beautiful tree's around. And dirt or sand to sleep on. And my Family to enjoy it with. Before I go crazy. I'm thinking the beach. Somewhere around here, on the lost coast. I think that ought to satisfy my craving.

Before I get into this post I just want to say this. I have written far too many holiday inspired posts this year (I think with this one it makes three. So yeah, too many for me) and I vow this will be the last one of the season.



This has been one of the toughest holiday seasons my family (it's seems so out of place still to say my Family, I got so used to my Wife and I), financially speaking. And I know damn well that;

A) We're not the only family telling this tale right now

and

B) I'm damn lucky for what I have

In light of this (or maybe in spite of), My wife and I (ahh, there it is. Familiarity) decided to do away with gifts for ourselves. Again, I doubt we are the only ones making this sacrifice. In fact I have a sneaking suspicion that for the next few years, complete with massive growth spurts, trips to the doctor, and whatever else (everything) that will carry a cost for RQ, that this may even become the norm. And I have absolutely nothing wrong with that. In fact it's kind of nice.

You see, not having to buy any presents, or at least not many, means that we don't have to spend any time inside concrete boxes of fluorescent light with the aisle blockers, and the slow as humanly possibles, and the grab things off the rack and then just throw it on the grounds, and the I grabbed ninety nine things and they're all missing tags when it's time to check outs, and the......well I think you get the point. I'm not the biggest fan of the mass crowd shopping experience. Sometimes I'll go to another store if the one I planned on going to is out of control. And without those hair pulling, head banging on the wall, eye gouging out with hanger joyous trips to whatever store it is you decide to go to that day, it brings a little bit of life back to the holidays. At least for me.

Today was the day that it actually became Christmas in our house. The lights went up outside, a tree is standing in the living room. Nutcrackers are sure to be stirring in their boxes waiting for their departure from the prison that is January through the first half of December. The Duck Tales Christmas cutout and The Muppets Christmas poster will soon be hanging.  And like that, with barely a blink of an eye, Christmas has arrived (and I'm a little nauseous).

As I took the dog out for a run this afternoon (only one will run with me), I realized that the holiday spirit had managed to bite me in the ass this year. Something that doesn't normally happen until the day of. And I realized, that though this is the year we have the least (materially) it is also the year that we have the most (spiritually, mentally, or whatever you want to call it). This is our wealthiest Christmas. This is also the first year for my family. Traditions that had been our own are now being handed down. From here on out everything that we (my Wife and I) used to call ours will become his as well. Next year RQ will be helping put the lights on the tree, and showing his Mama (the vixen to the right there) where to put her nutcrackers, and where the stocking should go, and which tree he likes best. And then the transition will be complete. The traditions will become family heirlooms locked upstairs for eternity. Until he starts his own with his future family.

Randomness from around my folks house

It's been one hundred and twenty seven days since my immersion into fatherhood. And I can honestly say that it has been nothing like what I expected. Kind of. I really was not sure what to expect. I know now that it is one of the most, if not the most, life altering experiences. To become a parent. To care for an infant. A tiny, helpless, cute, wrinkly human. I hadn't cried in a long time prior to my son being born, but I cried that day. I'm not ashamed of it, I probably cried more than he did that day. Now as I reflect, I realize for the first time that he is actually growing up. He is outgrowing his clothes. He has developed a personality that will follow him for years to come. He's making noises and movements that he never used to be able to. He's developing a sense of rebellion (he gets that from me) toward sleep. And with all these new traits come curiosities. My curiosities.

Part of me wishes I had one of these (it's a flux capitor for those that don't know, and yes I know I'm lame. So lame), so I could jump ahead in time and see what life has in store for the little guy. It's crazy to me, to think that one day this tiny human will be out running wild with the rest of us. A functioning part of society. Feeding himself. Washing himself. Wiping his own ass. I just can't picture it.

Of course I say I can't imagine it now, but I'm sure within a blink or two it'll be here. And I'll be looking back trying to figure out where the hell my life went. I'll most likely be balder, fatter, and asleep on the couch.

I think these first few months are the easy ones. As much as my wife and I are responsible for easing little RQ into the world I think he is equally responsible for easing us into parenthood. It's only fair that way. And it has been easy. Or at least easier than the images conveyed by most other parents. And I would guess that in a few years, when RQ has had a chance to really push us to our wits end, I might have a different answer if the question of "so how is parenthood?" is asked of me. I doubt I will ever hit the "holyshitwhydidIhavekidsanyway" stage. Or at least I hope I don't. But I assume the nostalgia of it all wears off at some point. And given what I put my folks through, I have a feeling that karma has some surprises in store for me. So I'm going to raise my glass to parenthood now, while I still can, because down the road a beer hat may be the only way to get my drink in the air.

I first smoked pot when I was in eighth grade. 

I had my first drink before I was in high school (somehow pot came before alcohol for me).

I did not finish high school.

I never went to college.

I fell in love early (17 for those of you that are curious what early is)

I went down a lot of roads that people in my life probably thought I would never return from. Yet (somehow) I managed to end up not living on the street. Not living my life one fix to the next, which is probably how it looked to all the people close to me when I was a kid.

I don't know what it was about junior high that got me going all backwards. Well maybe backwards isn't the right way to put it. Maybe off track is a better way. And maybe not even off my track, just off the track that was laid out in front of me. But anyway, for the sake of the story, let's say off track. Something in that two story rectangle of classrooms got to me. And it brought out in me, defiance. Defiance to the man. Not that I had any idea who the man was. Shit for all I knew the man was a lady. But I did know that I would go to all sorts of extents to make sure that the he/she man monster wasn't running my life. Junior high was the beginning of my end (as it applies to establishment). Maybe it was my friends. Maybe it was just who I was. I don't know. But there was something about that school.

I think back and try and figure out what it was that set me off and, I honestly have No. Fucking. Clue.

So I made it through junior high just fine. I was still fairly un-corrupted at that point, not completely, but somewhat. I wasn't some sort of out of control maniac freak of a kid. I just experimented a time or few with defiance and substance, and that was enough for me. Until high school. High school was the peak of my "shitheadedness." It all came to a culmination sometime in my sophomore year. And the weird thing about me was, I did not appear to be the little fuck I was. Most shit heads can be spotted from miles away. Not me. I was in student leadership (fuck, I even dressed up as our school mascot from time to time for football games). A lot of my teachers liked me. The administrators liked me (even if it was just because the 3 siblings before me to come through their doors were all angels compared to me). I honestly think my teenage years took most people by surprise. And as I wrote briefly in my last post (and above. Damn I'm redundant), I dropped out of high school. Well a better way to put it is that I was kicked out for no longer attending any classes.

It was brutal few years. I didn't get a long with my parents. I was in a constant state of "fuck the world, you're all out to get me so just eat shit and die." I moved out of my house when I was 17 and into one of the biggest shit holes to ever be inhabited by human beings. We literally had an empty keg in our kitchen for 2-1/2 months, and when we finally moved it we found a colony of sick fucking maggots underneath it. Thriving on the drippings from the tap and the rotting vinyl floor. We were kicked out of that house. I had nowhere to go. Luckily I had met an incredibly nice girl while living there (who happened to be nuts about me) and she invited me into to her home to live with her folks (let me tell you, living with your in-laws before they are your in-laws, before you are even dating their daughter is a weird fucking thing). And from there the coaster starting rolling back up the ramp. That saying "The roller coaster's gotta roll to the bottom, before it can climb to the top again," couldn't be any more full of truth.

So as I said, from that point on my life starting turning around. It took me while to realize that my life actually needed to be turned around. And without the people in my life I wouldn't have been able to manage it. Actually prior to moving in with my (future) wife I was planning on moving to San Diego to couch surf (and I knew all of 5 people down there and they all lived in the same house), somehow I don't think that would've have worked out as well for me. Luckily for me it did not happen. And the rest is just a boring story of everyday life that no one really wants to hear or read.

(I don't mean to bore any of you reading this with the story of my life. But seeing as how most of you reading this don't know me, I thought a little background might be good.)

Perspective is a funny thing. It can change from day to day, hour to hour or minute to minute. It's not the same for any two people, and it can be influenced by so many outside, and inside sources. It can cause raucous arguments, or bring two people closer together. It'll build you up and knock your ass right back down. Sometimes you may feel like you've got the whole perspective thing dialed in and then suddenly it hits you. Your totally oblivious to what is really going on around you. And more importantly, you're blind to the cause and effect of it all. Perspective is a funny and sometimes devastating thing.

We live in a society where it is almost encouraged to turn a blind eye to what is going on around you. We're taught in school to work hard, study hard, and become an active part of society. And within that curriculum we're taught to not sweat the small stuff. Only the definition of small stuff in our society is not a true definition of the words. At least in my opinion. My interpretation of that oh so famous saying is this: The small stuff in life is money, property, hierarchy, job security, bling, clothes, cars, etc. I think you get the point. And I think that "Society", at least ours (ours being the US of A) would completely disagree with me. I'm pretty sure that we were taught in school the exact opposite. That what we need to do to be an active member of society is to grow up and get a good job, buy a nice house, start a family, provide our families with all the "necessities" needed to be comfortable as we wander the wrinkles of our brains trying to figure out what it is we really want out of life. As society holds its breath hoping we give up and fall into line. The education system (which is designed by the people with most who don't give a fuck about real people) created this system knowing full well that most of us will just succumb to the pain that is real life and join the society they have spent almost three hundred years building for us. And we are, and have been their ginny pigs for their little lab tests. (And one other note on education systems. It blows real freakin hard that there are damn good people out there, trying to provide our children with the skills necessary to navigate the maze of life and come out with a true or at least truer take on the world, but they too are being suppressed by the system.) Welcome to the machine!

I was lucky enough to learn early on (early on being high school) that I didn't want to be a part of normal society. At least I think it was luck (it may have been aided by substance). It was somewhere in my sophomore year of H.S. that I started to just sit back and observe. And I was honestly disgusted by most of what I saw. Friends begging their parents for their first car, or for that sick pair of kicks, or an SNES, or.....well I could go on an on with the list of material goods, but I won't. And I'm not saying I didn't still have these very same desires. I certainly didn't get a grip on my perspective right away. It was just the start of my tunnel vision clearing up. And it still hits me from time to time, I mean it's easy to get sucked into it all and lose sight of what's really important. And sometimes it takes a shitty situation to put it all back into place, or sometimes you are lucky enough to move the clouds around with no help at all. But the important thing, at least for me, is that the pieces do fall back where they belong.

When I was still in high school I was unfortunately a little clouded over though, and thought I had figured it all out. That's part of the reason I stopped going to high school and ultimately dropped out. I thought the system was going to brainwash me if I stayed in school and so I did the only thing I could do. Stopped going. There are times when I think back and part of me wishes I would have finished out my sentence, but most of the time I stand behind my decision. I may not have had the proper outlook just yet, but my dropping out helped me achieve it. Plus without that move I would not have met the love of my life, marry her and have a really kick ass kid with her. Not to mention some of the most outrageous adventures of my life, but that's a story for another post.

I don't know what it is about the holidays that get me thinking about this so much. Maybe it's the impending spree of shopping that is associated with the month of December (no matter which religion all the big days are in December, how'd that happen?) (well OK, not ALL religions/ethnicities, but a lot of them are). Maybe it's that I have just hit my breaking point with it all over the course of the last eleven months and my psyche knows that these last 45 days of the year include a hell of a lot of get it all out of your system partying. I don't know, but every year around this time it all hits me. The "what the fuck have you been doing for the last few months" thoughts. Like I said, Society is an easy thing to get caught up in. And I fall into that trap as easy as the next guy or gal. I have the moments of "oh fuck I need that stupid damn thing so freaking bad" and the "I am going to work so hard, so that one day I can run this damn company". When really what matters to me are the simple things. My family (furry and human alike), my friends, the fact that I am breathing and healthy. Simplicity is waaaaay to underrated in our society and I think we could all benefit from taking a step back and simplifying the fractions that make up our lives. Because sweating the small stuff is a waste of fucking time. Don't sweat over it, just drop it and move on. Enjoy life. Tear down the walls (I know, I used two lines/titles from Floyd songs. So kill me) that are obstructing your view.