Friday, August 31, 2007

random thoughts from a fevered mind

i just passed a cop, in his cop car, talking on a cell-phone. what the fuck?!? driving with a cell-phone pressed against your ear is slated to be a ticketable/finable offense here in washington in the not-too-distant future, and the shining examples who will be enforcing this law are currently driving their cruisers around fucking yakking on cellies! what a crock of shite! hypocritical motherfuckers.

i just left my evil changelings, errr, ummm, children, with grammy to do a bit of grocery shopping (and freeing myself from the voices that plague me constantly), and bumped into another person i graduated high school with (my town really is not that big, and it seems like people end up back here at some point or another constantly, heh heh), and while she wasn't as animated as tz was, the reaction was very similar: "you've changed so much." to which i replied, "thank you, that is the best compliment anyone could pay me." this lady was hot as hell in high school, and in a rare change of pace, still is, despite being very pregnant with twin boys. i am always happy that the people from my school that i run into all seem genuinely pleased to see me again. we exchanged a few pleasantries, and got on our way.

i awoke this morning to a complete and utter disaster. no. 2 got ahold of a pen (lucky for this dopey sod, your humble narrator, a dry-erase board pen), and scribbled all over himself (wants to be tattooed like daddy), the tv (???), and the carpet (!!!) that i cleaned all up special a few weeks ago. this kinda set the stage for the rest of the day. i am in desperate need of a nap, and the kids need to calm the fuck down some.

my wife returns on the 6th of sep, at about 3 in the pm. i will either have to keep the boys home from school, or yank them early so that we might all go and be there with shining, smiling faces to greet her upon arrival.

5 more days.

you, all my beloved non-existants, do realize that after her return it is likely this blog will be horribly and almost ruthlessly neglected for an indeterminate amount of time? this does not mean, however, that i won't be back with my usual panache and flair (facha, they call it in argentina) after a certain amount of time getting myself, uhh, centered, shall we say?

darth sardonic

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Thursday, August 30, 2007

i am going to axe the games and put my kids on ambien

i am, in fact, writing a book. i have been for ten years. a smartass, surreal, semi-memiors cum creative license, thirty-odd years of observations tome that i actually think i might be near to wrapping up the way i would like soon. well, soon, if i actually spend some time tackling it. i will let my faithful non-existants know as soon as some (ill-fated) publishing company picks it up. i need to get a few of the stand-alone chapters out to (crappy no-name) magazines to drum up interest in the entire manuscript as well. i really am about as motivated as freeze-dried shitake mushrooms when it comes to finishing some of my projects.

for three days now, my (bratty-ass) kids have displayed extreme signs of sleep deprivation. along with dark circles under their eyes (which actually look like i have done the very thing that i have wanted to do the last few days, but have been too scared of child protective services to actually go through with, and punched them in the face (i really am kidding. i wouldn't do that. that isn't to say that there aren't moments when it flashes across my brain like a quick hint of horrible violence in a trailer for an upcoming slasher flick.), leaving them with nasty black eyes) are accompanied with crying at the drop of a hat, incessant whining, and arguing with anything daddy says, even before the entire sentence is finished (no. 1 loves to do this: i start to say that if he does thing a., he will receive reward b., but he wants to argue with the very hint of thing a., and so receives instead reward c., loud and stern raised daddy voice accompanied by (much cursing and) threats of loss of all privileges).

in another ring of the same circus, my wife has insisted that i will be able to get some sort of pass to mow my way through seatac's (extremely fucking rude) security to meet her at the gate where she disembarks. i have set out to confirm this. initial attempts at assuring me this is possible resulted in a "i've never heard of that." i pass this along to her. she passes along to me another thing further "proving" this is possible. the thought of hauling my whiney, argumentative kids through a long line to a desk for a (less than helpful) airline representative to inform me that i cannot go up to the gate is daunting at best, so i set out today to confirm the veracity of this rumor.

i am no closer, some hour or so later, to knowing for dead sure that it is true than i was when i launched on this search for the holy grail. i have learned a few things though: telling no. 1 to shut the fuck up only makes him argue more, and louder, which only makes that split-second flash hint of violence to pass across the front of my brain. when no. 1 says that the video game console he is playing on is "berry berry boring" and requests another, it is a good idea to put all video games up out of reach, and subsequently ignore the ensuing whining, crying, wheedling, cajoling, yelling, screaming, and threats of violence to all and sundry from the (junkie) kid. ignore all moaning and crying that (whiney) no. 2 does, as he sets himself off if the sun ducks behind a cloud for a moment as of late. there is no number at seatac for a simple informational question of this sort. there is a number for this sort of informational question with united, but their (heavily-accented) answer will be to ask the united help desk at the airport in question. there is no number to this (jodido) desk at seatac.

so, in summary, i will take all the info i need, wait in line with two whiney, argumentative kids who will no doubt be wound tighter than a watchspring at the thought of mommy returning home, wend my way to the desk, and will find out there, once and for all, whether or not i can in fact pass through security to the gate.

wish me luck.

6 more days.

darth sardonic

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Tuesday, August 28, 2007

8 years ago today

in a park, outside of portland, under an enormous tree, i stood, nattily dressed in my three-piece suit, waiting for my wife's father to walk her down an aisle that was more a gap in the crowd of our friends and family.

she was stunning, her black hair piled in curls on her head, eyes alight, her cream dress showing off her beautiful legs.

i don't remember a word the jp said, so lost in her dark eyes was i, smiling like a fool and awash in sun and love.

the actual wedding was short, maybe a half-hour, all told. we moved quickly to my wife's friend's restaurant for all-you-can-eat mongolian barbeque. we worked the room, saying hi, making introductions. at various points, i would find myself standing, watching my new bride as she schmoozed the crowd. she exuded life. she was vivacious. she was funny, and engaging, and fucking sexy as hell, and she and i were now officially married. i knew right then just how lucky i was.

little has changed in 8 years. yes, we have two kids, a mortgage, a different car. we are older. but my wife still exudes life. she is still funny and engaging. she is still fucking sexy as hell.

and i am still the luckiest motherfucker ever to tread.

this is, i sadly admit, a little tough, because it is the first we have spent apart.

but i know our love is still strong. i know we will make up for all the kisses and touches and caresses and mushy stuff that we are missing tonight upon her return.

8 more days, o my droogs and beloved non-existants, 8 more fucking days. barely more than a week. it's barely sinking in, actually. will zip by so fast.

darth sardonic

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Monday, August 27, 2007

the earliness of the hour

i think i will be vindicated before the court when i explain that my kids awoke at some hour prior to 4:30 am, and proceeded to turn every light in the house on, and reenact scenes from movies and video games inches from my ear at top volume (and you say, "yer still awive!" you say "yer still awive!" no. 2! YOU SAY "YER STILL AWIVE!"), and after i found myself freed from my prone position to something akin to early man's posture (upright is certainly not the right word, o my beloved non-existants), proceeded to say "daddy daddy daddy" about 450 times in two minutes, and whine about absolutely everything while the cats conveyed to me that they were starving in the only way they know how (the word is caterwaul). i think the jury will look on me with sad, reminiscent understanding, and the judge lean out across his desk and say, "bailiff, release this man, he is free!" before banging his gavel resoundingly.

it completely baffles me how i could put my kids in their bedroom at 6:30 pm, after which they proceed to wrestle around noisily until 8:30 or 9:00 pm, (sometimes, later), and still awake so early, and with the kind of nervous energy that one finds in tweekers on a 48-hour bender.

thank god for coffee.

ten more days, he he heeee.

darth sardonic


Friday, August 24, 2007

Well I can hardly wait

...until I get the sun and your lips both pressing on my skin

i was informed by my wife last night via email, that they are, in fact, flying out on the 5th of sep again after all. for dead sure this time. as in, bought plane tickets, made hotel reservations.

all i can say is:


funny, how i seem to convey glee and despair in much the same manner, and written out here, with no inflection, had i not explained what i meant, we would've expected more bad news, heh heh.

that means in less than two weeks (13 days, specifically), my eyes will be laying across my wife like a naked woman across crisp, white-linen sheets, her skin on my lips like silk, the two of us entwined like a magician's puzzle carved from sandalwood.

there was little left for me to do but drink margaritas, tell itunes to play some of my favorite sturm und drang, and mosh with a vengeance around my living room until my old war wound (stretched ligaments in my right knee from a mosh pit i was in when the wife and i were first dating) started aching and i was bathed in sweat. i almost grabbed my bass and gave it a toss (nothing more satisfying, really, when i am pumped up and need a release, than to watch my bitch (read: the barney bass (so-called because of it's purple hue; i bought it at a pawn shop, i couldn't be picky about color!)) arcing gently through the air before attempting reentry with a resounding dischord that hums out unending as the instrument bounces softly once or twice), but decided that i was probably too pumped up, and would end by fucking the poor dear up.

and the sun is shining in its heaven.

and the funk, o my beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, o thou patient and long-suffering and hopeful and tireless ptitsas and malchickiwicks, has pissed, sodded, and fucked straight the fuck off. join with me, if you will, in offering it a bird, two-fingered, or thumbnail-off-the-front-teeth salute as it goes. i am actually flipping the computer screen off right now. yes, i am a huge dork. no, i don't fucking give a shit. yeeeehaaaw!

on a more brass-tacks level: the other day, no. 1 had his assessment to begin kindergarten. the day didn't start well, and he had repeated meltdowns at various times before the appointment, i was sure the whole thing was going to go down like a flaming mezzerschmidt.

this is when, thought i, everyone figures out what a liar i am, and how much i have fooled everyone with my parenting abilities. this is the moment when they all finally exchange that look and make a quick phone call while my back is turned, and a handsome but expressionless man in mirrored aviators and a black suit and tie takes me be the arm and says softly, but firmly, "sir, we'd like to have a word with you. come with us...."

having accepted this as law, i sighed and took him in there. i spent the next 15 minutes with my mouth agape as my oldest son amazed and dazzled me at his ability to listen, follow instructions, and accomplish tasks i had no idea he could. he wrote his name, for fuck's sake! i didn't even know he could write his name! nor did my wife (apparently, those few years in developmental preschool have taught him more than i would ever have). (note to self, buy teacher karen and teacher cheri modest but pretty boquets as a thank-you.)

i lavished him with praise on the walk out to the car, and as if the things he had done were daily occurences, he was concerned only with being able to play games when he got home. god, i fucking love my kids!

again, a big thank you to all of you, for, as always, playing along.

darth sardonic

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Thursday, August 23, 2007

an open letter to the beloved non-existants

what can i say, really? i mean, you guys are really helping more than you know for me to get through this little dip in the road.

and pixie, were i closer, we could be lonely and miserable together. but the british isles are a bit of a drive for me with two kids. and ty for reminding me that i don't really have it that bad, i know, really i do, in the back of my head, even in mid-whine.

i too, am looking forward to my blog when my wife gets back. i did alot of ranting. i was witty (well, i guess i am somewhat still). i still had my moments of massive deep feelings that would spill onto the page along with my tears, but not nearly as much as now.

the majority of you have only recently tuned in (mostly due to overcommenting on my part at sparx's blog, heh heh), and so have only really seen the mopey morose and ofttimes beleagured darth. i would encourage you, if you find yourself with free time and literally nothing else to do (i.e. showered, finger nails clipped, root canals all up-to-date), randomly pick a month from the archive and read through it, and maybe get a feel for the normal darth (first of all, those two things are a bit of an oxymoron, and second, this is normal me as well, just kind of put into a place of greater introspection through sleep deprivation, over-exposure to whining children, and missing important parts of my anatomy temporarily--the beauty of accepting the fact that you are a bucket of contradictions is the ability to accept that even when you are at your ugliest or most strung-out, even as you are shouting to the very heavens to crush you please, that is all still part of who you are, and doesn't negate the beauty that is within you and the good you do), and hopefully laugh as well. (funny, as i was rereading the line about being a bucket of contradictions to check and make sure i had gotten it right, i got a little choked up. a small bit of the malingering funk.)

other news in my world recently:

my mom and i were discussing some family issues, and she told me that she had told my brother that i had them (the immediate family) all beat, since i have always been comfortable in my skin. i almost asked my mom, what the fuck?!? clearly she missed the teen angst that lasted well into my twenties, hahahahaaa. it was odd to me to hear that even while i was torn up inside with dealing with, well, the fact that i am a bucket of contradictions, i seemed to present the image of being at ease with myself. i distinctly remember wishing on a nearly hourly basis that i was someone else, somewhere else, doing anything else than what i was doing. sometimes, i still do, though, except for here, i mostly keep it to myself.

i tore one half of my industrial out the other night. (i know, i know, you're all asking what an industrial is: it is a barbell that spans across the upper conch of the ear cartilege from front to back.) the front hole was pushing the barbell out, and i suspected i was going to need to repunch it (i may have even mentioned that here, can't remember), but the other night, i pulled it right out while removing my t-shirt. so i slid a small barbell through the back hole, and superglued the edges of the other together (you laugh, major hospitals use superglue on small cuts and stuff instead of stitches: it brings the edges together well, you don't need to be numbed, it protects the cut, and by the time the superglue falls off, the cut is well on its way to healing) and will have to wait a few months for everything to be healed well so i can repunch it, deeper this time, and get my industrial back. i also bled like fucking crazy, i looked like i had been in a battle or something. i should've taken a picture.

i got another three hours done on my back yesterday. when it is healed, i will post another picture. i probably have one more shading session, and then we will be into the color, which will take at least as long as the shading. barking mad, remember? barking mad.

there is little else at this moment to report. as we near the end of the week, i am feeling better, and the sun is actually out today. as they always say, this too shall pass.

and, with all of your continued help, it will pass pretty fucking fast.

darth sardonic

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Tuesday, August 21, 2007

a thousand miles aint shit to walk if i'm walking to hold you

in true military fashion, they have changed the date my wife flies out from the 5th of sep to the 8th. so tack on three more days to whatever numbers i have been spouting in here (i think the adjusted number is now 20). everyone keeps saying, "it'll go by fast." i know that. i fucking know. but it is still three more fucking days! three days is three goddamn days, and the way they have been dragging increasingly more and more with each passing minute like some kind of physics cum algebra equation, descending until one motherfucking minute passes like 80 years, three days will be a sodding eternity.

ummm, yeah, the outer edges of the funk have been creeping in since sometime last night. i am trying to circumvent it, but, meh, fuck it, doesn't matter.

it is a testament to my wife's love that simply by telling her which movie i was watching (stranger than fiction) she cottoned to my need to get to bed and sleep. the tones of her emails changed completely (lots of "aww, honey" and the like), and i was in a hot bath before ten, and in bed and assed-out completely by 10:30.

and dead to the world until i beat the sun and the sons up at 6:00 am.

i should've been good, right?

since i was rested, and since i had nothing on my plate for the day, i decided that the bathrooms needed to be cleaned today. i seriously imagined it would take me all day.

it took two hours.

a little dizzy from mixing chemicals (wheeeee. mixing chemicals is dangerous and fun, kids!), and tired again, i stretched out on the couch for a nice nap.

and now, i still have half the day yawning before me like a chasm into which i will fall and subsequently from which i will never return.

three fucking days. motherfuckers.

darth sardonic

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Monday, August 20, 2007

gi joes are barbies for boys

last night, the kids were battling sleep like wwii heroes played by john wayne and gregory peck. frequent return trips on my part to hurl obscenities and threats were mounting. blood pressures were rising, as well as eyebrows, hell, and caine.

bang, crash!

as i am running down the hall, i am already shouting "oi!"

an aside: being of a punk persuasion, and also loving many things british, i got into the habit of saying, "oi!" we had no. 1 right around the time i saw lock, stock, and two smoking barrels, and i loved how big chris says to little chris, "oi! you talk like that again, and you'll wish you 'adn't!" so i started very young with no. 1, and continued with no. 2. you know how some parents use full names? i shout "oi!" as an example, no. 1 was watching tv. to illustrate to others seated in the same room, i say, "no. 1? no. 1?" nothing. i say, "hey! heya, no. 1!" still as a statue, he. then i belt out "oi!" his head snaps around like it was spring-loaded.

the kids are on top of the dresser and trying to get to the top shelf of the closet.

i go off. i am mid profanity-laden tirade, complete with fiery eyes and pointing finger jabs, when no. 1 says:

"aww, daddy! you spit on my yip."

"...if you don't fuckin--aah hahahahaHAHAHAHAHA HAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! hehehehehe!!!! oooo hoohoohooooo. just lay down and go to sleep. jaysus."

yes, the governor came through with that stay-of-execution, warden.

brooke no longer works at s' and my favorite watering hole. we love that place, but it is possible that we will attempt to find out what place has hired her and start drinking of a friday evening there.

however, last time we were getting faded at the pub, i lean over to s and say, "hey, i'n't that t.z., from school?"

he looks, and replies, "it sure is. she put on weight."

we look each other up and down, and burst out laughing. "who didn't?!?" i say.

"yeah, well, i know."

"we should go talk to her."

"i'm not ready to get up. i am enjoying my rum and coke."

t.z. was always cool to me in high school. we sip our drinks, watch her talking with her friends, s tells me who she was dating in high school, but i can't picture him in my mind at all.

i get up and walk over. i do it so quickly and decisively that s is left sitting with a semistunned look on his face, and his drink in his hand.

"are you t.z.?"

"depends on who's asking."

"darth sardonic."

"oh my god! oh my GOD!"

i love it when i get this reaction.

it is safe to say that i am a late-bloomer. i am no longer much like the scrawny, dorky twerp i was in high school. i don't mind that i only slightly resemble the mopey kid with the smirky smile who wished nearly daily that he would die.

we went on to share family pics from our phones (aint technology grand?), reminisce a bit. she married the kid that i couldn't picture from our senior year and they had a couple children. like me, she is a stay-home parent, and her hubby owns a logging company. she wants to bring a couple of her friends from our class over one friday night so we can all hang out.

i think it would be fun to get that reaction a few more times.

darth sardonic

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Friday, August 17, 2007

an interview, maybe

well, if you, o beloved non-existant readers, read my comments at all, then you will know that mike (sounds so nice. mike. like i might sit down with that fella at our favorite watering hole. "you want another fat tire, mike?") has invited me to do an interview.

commence the duality that is darth sardonic, your humble narrator, in stream-of-concious form.

first of all, an interview? seriously?!? like i am some celeb or bigshot in the blogging community? i mean really, c'mon, we all know that at best i am the guy at the party whom everyone agrees is funny as fuck, but no one can really remember his name or even who invited him to the party in the first place.

what does "mike" get out of it?

god, that is so cool. i am totally gonna fill out the interview, have a little fun with the answers, and try to present myself in my usual, inimitably humble and self-deprecating way.

so, the two halves that are my whole having duked it out, and with a certain amount of a "i'm really too good for this silliness" attitude, i fill out the interview.

when i submit it, i get a page telling my that my cpu is too full or some other such nonsense. which means i really am not even sure that my interview went through, and am not too sure on how to find out if it did or not. so, in a manner that is very true to both halves of my whole, i think:

if it went through, cool. if not, sod it, i aint fucking filling that shit out again.

so there you have it. if the interview went through, and you have any clue where to find it, help yourself. if not, meh, what do i care? i don't foresee it will significantly skew my life one way or the other.

god, i love being a walking, talking dichotomy, heh heh.

20 days, devotchkas and malchicks, less than three weeks. i occupy my time with tending to the extra cleaning i want to accomplish before the wife gets home (next week i tackle the bathrooms. i hate, and i mean fucking hate cleaning bathrooms. and at this juncture we aren't just talking a wipe-down here and there, we are talking strip down to shorts, splash water everywhere, souse the bathrooms in inhalant-laden cleaners and disinfectants, and scrub. and scrub. and scrub. rinse, repeat. (see visions. develop headache.) (and lest this description bring up horrible visuals (i am picturing the "worst toilet in scotland," hahahaha, just kidding (mostly, i am just trying, at this point, to see how many parentheses i can use in the same paragraph (i gotta lust for life)), let's remember who we are talking about here, and remember my penchant for overexaggeration (which really seems a bit redundant, does it not? overexaggeration. overexaggeration. yes, definitely not a very clever word, i must kick my own ass).) the bathrooms aren't really as bad as all that.), and scrabbling to hang on to whatever tiny scraps of sanity i may have left (i think i wrote my grocery list on one: scrap of paper. scrap of sanity. dammit).

if you, o beloved bemused befuddled non-existant reader, think that last paragraph was hard to read, you should've tried being the one writing it. i am sure i forgot a closing parenthesis or punctuation in there somewhere.

i must be related to e.e. cummings somewhere along the line.

thanks for playing along,

darth sardonic

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Wednesday, August 15, 2007

pomposity is when you always think you're right...

arrogance is when you know.

i didn't begin to live until i began to love: myself, my wife, my kids. as i think of the times before this, it seems as if i was wandering back and forth, trying to find myself with maps poorly drawn in smudgy pencil.

there are instants when i look at my children, and i see the men they will become. they are handsome, and smart, and funny, and respectful and respected.

in these moments i am open to god, who, oddly enough, still loves me. he and my father are side by side, smiling, proud of me; and i am proud, not of me (i will never not feel like i am faking it and soon someone will out me), but of my incredible children, who make me feel both immense and small at the same time.

today was, barring unforseen complications, no. 2's last day of physical therapy. his occupational therapy will most likely soon draw to a close.

he's been seeing his pt for well over two years. of course, it's business as usual for him, but i've no doubt she went to her office to have a moment, and i know that the only thing keeping me from smiling and bawling at the same time was the public nature of the venue.

i am happy. my kids are getting bigger, growing up. this is so very bittersweet for me. i am so happy, but it hurts so much. why does each one of these little hurdles crossed open me up like a flower to the very nature of god and life and everything so tiny and yet so magnificient and gorgeous and wonderful.

i can still remember sitting in a tiny room at a ronald mcdonald house in albuquerque and staring at the ceiling and telling god we simply couldn't handle another day of bad news. and i remember his reply.

and today, as no. 1 was in his speech therapy, and no. two played with the spiderman swimming goggles his pt had bought him and drank his chocolate milk in the front seat of our car, god poured the sun down on me, and the leaves were greener, and the breeze fresher.

i am amazed: at my kids, but most importantly, with myself. each time i think i've fucked the whole rig up, and should quit while i'm ahead, i am reminded of the bigger picture.

and this bigger picture is a beautiful fucking masterpiece, o my patient and sympathetic non-existant readers, with the sun shining, and kids playing with a ball in the background, and somewhere in there, i am sitting; crying and laughing at the same time, and smirking my silly smirk, and cocking my eyebrow, and my kids are sitting with me, but fully grown at the same time, and with kids of their own who are also handsome, and smart, and funny, and respectful and respected.

and all the stupid shit that seems so fucking important in the moment melts away like a monet background and only beauty and happiness and love remain for eternity.

daddy, why you crying?

how odd, then, to answer, "cause daddy is so happy, buddy."

darth sardonic

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Sunday, August 12, 2007

I've got it now,

a thorn in my side the size of a Cadillac. Drive it through, cause backin' up now would be next to impossible.

even with only 26 days left, the funk still rears its ugly head and thumps me on the noggin like some lowbrowed thug attempting to steal my wallet.

i awoke to screaming and crying. nos. 1 and 2 fighting over the same green-plastic gun.

the skies are gray, the kids are grumpy, i am tired, the house is a mess. the day looms ahead like a barren stretch of potholed road, empty, mind-numbing, soul-crushing.

i force myself to clean as the kids keep up the neverending litany of "games food drink" over and over, parrots on crack, attempting to obliterate the tiny shreds of my sanity hiding in the corners like refugees driven from their home. i don't even have the energy to attempt at retaliating with odes to the virtues of music.

gravity pulls harder. remaining upright is a battle. i would sleep, but the mound of clean clothes in need of folding completely occupies the couch, and laying down in another room is simply asking no. 2 to get his hair glue (for hawking his hair up) down and spray it on my guitars again.

i drink too much coffee, and get the jitters. i shuffle back and forth between dishes and the clothes and the vacuum.

i set the timer for the video games. "when this goes off, what happens?"

"it's time to put the games away."

"that's right."

but instead, it is time to say, "i'm not done." then: "but i am still not done." then: "no daddy daddy i don't want you to put the games up! no, i don't want the games put up. I DON'T WANT YOU TO PUT THE GAMES UP!!!" (if he had a working knowledge of swear words, the last shrieked sentence would be riddled with words found quite frequently within this blog.)

the games get put up. the shrieking and throwing of things shifts to a bedroom. i sit, defeated, exhausted, lost, alone.

as the tantrum settles, i sit with no. 1 and attempt to get him to understand why the games have been put up and what kind of behavior is necessary to ensure the safe return of the console:

"what is it that you need to do to be able to play games?"

he looks at me, deadly serious, bottom lip aquiver, eyes wide, wet, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and his black eyes stare deep into my own honey ones, and he says:

"is a pwivwidge, daddy."

i smile. the fog lifts. energy rushes to my limbs. the cowering bits of my brain peek out from their hiding places and venture forth, emboldened. i shake off the doldrums like a layer of dust.

shortly thereafter, no. 1 returns to his tantrum, having decided that calmly listening to what i have to say is counterproductive, but the change has already been effectuated within my tired self.

it is extended by a well-timed im from a new acquaintance (that i honestly thought would never talk to me again after some of the things i said last time), and a wonderful conversation.

no. 2 walks up, out of the blue, looks at me, smiles his smirky mischeivious smile, and says, "my wuv you, daddy."

i am still exhausted. as far as i can tell i am, barring two rambunctious and sleep-deprived headstrong punk kids, still alone. the skies are still gray. the only thing that has physically changed is the house is clean.

but the funk is gone, o my beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, driven straight out by such simple things as these frozen moments of meaning and happiness.

darth sardonic

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Friday, August 10, 2007

a bit of the randomness that swims around in my skull...

no one, and i do mean no one, should wear sweat pants with their shirts tucked into them.

some good advice afforded us by some of my favorite musicians:

Just some words of advice
Maybe you've heard them before but here goes
Just be true to yourself if it lands you in hell
Well, at least now you know

(alkaline trio, if you had a bad time)

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up:
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters
is just following your heart
and eventually you'll finally get it right.

(the ataris, in this diary)

Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.

(baz luhrmann, everybody's free (to wear sunscreen))

i can remember being a jabberjaw as a kid. i can remember my mom telling me to "shut up!" i can remember coming home completely covered in mud like the swamp thing. i can remember my parents' reactions. i try to apply this kid-memory to my grown-up-reaction and find some happy medium. this is hard.

i swore as a youngster that i would always listen to everything my kids said as if it was the most important thing to me. (this as a result of hearing alot of "mmmm hmmm" and "mmmmm" and "interesting" from my mother as i would talk incessantly at great length about some cartoon or movie or comic book that i thought was beyond interesting and which, no doubt, was about as much fun as watching mushrooms grow to everyone else.) fast forward to today:

no. 1: daddy daddy daddy look at thimbledubblerabbledrazzledroll...

me: mmmm hmmm

no. 2: daddy daddy daddy why he faddlewaddlegramppumpernickleslammawamma...?

me: mmmmm

nos. 1 & 2: daddy daddy daddy you gotta slartibartfastwacklydacklyrammalammadingdong...!

me: interesting

i have thought about changing my official title from "daddy" to something a little more difficult to utter, like, say "purveyor of food and drink to locust-like progeny, cleaner of messes, grumbler of epithets under breath" for the simple facts that the kids wouldn't be able to say it twenty times in a row rapidly and in a high-pitched grating voice that is like a sonic swarm of angry killer bees set free within my brainpan, followed by me saying a very exasperated
"wha-haaaat?!?" followed by, "ummm, i dunno." repeat over and over again until daddy eyes the bottle of gin longingly and licks lips.

the phrase "this is neither the time nor the place" is so cool that i think we should use it all the time. anytime someone wants to talk to you about something you don't feel like discussing: this is neither the time nor the place. have a coworker who annoys you and suddenly wants to discuss a project? this is neither the time nor the place. telemarketer? this is neither the time nor the place. family reunions? this is neither the time nor the place. not only is it an intrinsically cool line, but imagine the odd looks you would get damn near every time you said it. (i also seem completely incapable of using "near" in a sentence without "damn" in front of it. let me try again: but imagine the odd looks you would get damn n-- shit. they always told me if i swore it would take over my vocabulary. fuckers, i hate it when they are right.)

notes and replies to recent comments:

krissie, the movie actually does a great job of capturing the absurdist humor of the book, definitely see it.

lady macleod, i would be so honored to have you over for tea sometime. if you're ever in the area...

pixie, i just toss in random stuff that strikes me funny about life out of the blue because this blog is stream-of-concious like that. it is also perfectly acceptable to leave rant-comments at this site, i love it.

i will send over a package of adult diapers, sparx, to wear whilst reading my posts.

thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

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Monday, August 06, 2007

imagination hurts everyone's face

sometimes my kids come up with something that is initially absofuckinglutely brilliant in its surreality and apparent nonsequitor qualities, and yet shows the connections being made on a larger scale inside their head.

my boys love the hitchiker's guide to the galaxy (the movie, not the book. we are far from past reading anything that doesn't have a large and brightly-colored picture every 5 words), which is wonderful cause i am a fan of both the books and the movie. their mom is consantly saying, "they are your kids" to which i reply, "god, i hope so" followed by exposing them to more star wars or mst3k or something else equally as cool and good for their bodies and souls.

there is a scene in the movie where the main characters go to the planet of the vogons, a race of giant slug-like creatures who are not smart and lack independant thought, and for this reason are masters of the administrative side of the universe, hahaha. yes, the books and movie have an incredible sense of farcical and tongue-in-cheek humor.

anyways, i digress. the characters discover that any thought, idea, or imagination is rewarded with a swift smack to the face by creatures resembling flyswatters. my kids think this scene is one of the best ever in cinematography, and really, i tend to agree in many ways. so we were all laughing uproariously as one would say, "i think we--" followed by fwap! and "ooh, ow!"

then my oldest turns to me, and quotes the line i have used as the title of this post. and i was tickled, and pleased, and amazed. after being beautifully awed, i was quick to point out that it was only on vogsphere that this was the case. (sometimes imagination is the only thing keeping us together, and i am far from gonna make my kids feel like imagination is a bad thing.)

mere minutes later, we were all buckled into the car to mail off the wife's last care package, full of love and concern and ready-made asian food, (31 days, o beloved non-existant readers, a month. one month. one motherfucking month! i dance a little jig and pump my fists in the air, even adding some john travolta finger-points. i think i can actually see the light at the end of the tunnel.) and i turn the key in the ignition and...

nothing. no click, no whirr, absolutely nothing.

the backstory: friday, we were at my mom's. the boys played games. late friday night, upon arriving home after food, drink, and a healthy measure of brooke's boobs, i carried my sleeping bairns into their beds, left everything else in the car, chained the doors (we have chains installed on the inside of every door that leads oustide. this as a result of no. 1 going on walkabout on his own once when he was much younger. the kid really is a regular houdini), and chatted for a time to my wife on the computer whilst drinking, and finally went to sleep.

i slept in, of course. the kids woke up at their usual 5, 5:30, of course. somehow or other, they undid the chain, remembered the games were in the car (i did have enough foresight to put the actual console up in my room before going to bed), and raided the car like huns led by genghis kahn ransacking a village.

when i woke up a little later, both back doors were open on the car. grumbling and rubbing my head, i closed them both and thought i had taken care of the situation.

now back to today. i realize that lights had been turned on and left that way for a few days. who needs fucking reading lights on the damn rearview anyhow? like i am going to tackle fucking war and peace as i barrel down the freeway at 60 or something, and if they feel the need to provide us with tiny lights cleverly hidden in the back of the mirror, then there should be some kind of alarm or flashing light to warn one that you have left these lights on, because they are completely invisible during the daylight hours.

i push my car down the driveway so that it is alongside my friend a's car, which is occupying space there until she returns from her own time in the desert. i lecture the kids soundly on getting into the car unattended, and "messing with shit" and other tidbits of fatherly wisdom. the driveway slopes, and my car rolls a bit further than i wanted, but i get the e-brake on and pop the respective hoods.

the jumper cables won't quite reach.

i set my shoulder in the doorjamb of my car, release the brake, and shove. i grunt. i strain. i curse the car (which is easily the best i have ever owned), the manufacturers, my kids (inaudible to them of course, as they sit trussed in their safety seats and watch daddy kill himself, barely containing their amusement at how fun all this is), and my rotten luck, and all i manage to do is hold the car in place. when i relax my hold a bit to reengage the emergency brake, it rolls down the driveway another few inches.

i am loathe to do much maneouvering in a's car, because mine has already ended up with only about six inches between her driver's side door, and my passenger side door, and i consider myself lucky already that my suv didn't shake me off like a fly and run uncontrolled straight into a's front grill. so i make a few more (miserable) attempts at rolling my car up the slope, including chocking the tire and rocking the entire vehicle back and forth while my thighs and buttocks scream in pain and viens pop in my temples in an attempt to shift the bastard a foot forward.

i succeed only in bathing myself in sweat.

so i run around to a's car, get in the passenger side, climb over to the driver's side, say a small prayer to the patron saint of befuddled stay-home fathers with battery-draining kids and the fear of damaging vehicles not one's own (i think his name is mortimer, st. mortimer), and slooooooooowly back up until the fronts of both vehicles align.

back over the storage bin, grinding my thigh against the steering wheel, and out the door, attach the cables to a's battery (having horrible visions of the cables falling into the fan and being yanked in, seizing the engine, and bursting into flame with the kind of explosions only hollywood and my own face-hurting imagination can concoct), stretching them across only to find that i need just two more inches to reach from one battery to the other. i pull, i tug, i rearrange the way the cables lay across everything, but nothing. suddenly, i feel akin to harold lloyd and buster keaton.

i climb back over the bin, prang my knee against the shifter, turn the steering wheel towards my car, and, holding my breath, inch even closer, pulling ahead some, straightening out, and backing up so close that a's sideview mirror nearly hits mine.

back over, and out, sweating, cursing, a knot made of steel cable forming between my shoulder blades, attach the cables at both ends (thank the lord), and rev up my car.

both of my sprogs throw their arms into the air and shout "it's working! yay, daddy, it's working!" as i leap out and undo the cables, drop two hoods, pull my car forward so i may remove the rock i was using as a chock, and reposition a's car so it isn't occupying more than its fair share of the driveway, and we drive off to mail the wife's package.

again i lecture my children, blank stares greeting me, and silently add locking the car to the checklist of things i must accomplish before going to bed so i am assured to wake up to less of a disaster every morning.

after a long nap on the couch, feel i ought to clean the house (yet fucking again. i spent all day yesterday cleaning, and yet, somehow, my children have returned it to the state it was in yesterday. do they set some alarm? do they wear protective gear? "hey, no. 2, it's time to wake up. dad's completely out. if we're gonna trash the place to the same level it was yesterday, we really gotta get going. here's your orange vest." i picture my kids with hardhats and steel-toed boots, dutifully tossing cereal all over the carpet and carefully dumping out stacks of dvd's and video games, calling back and forth to one another: "don't cut any corners with that peanut butter, you were slacking a bit yesterday" or "where did you leave the wheelbarrow we were using?")

fwap! ooh, ow.

now my face hurts.

darth sardonic

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Sunday, August 05, 2007

holy shit!

prada pixie has given me a courageous blogger award. first, let me say, i am flattered. shit, i am beyond flattered.

let me follow up by saying, i in no way feel courageous. i'm just a fella, a regular fella, doing what needs to be done. yes, everyday is a battle with my kids. but there are so many moms/dads out there who do it alone while working full time, for life. those people are courageous.

yes, my wife is deployed serving in the armed forces of the united states. those motherfuckers are courageous. i lucked out during my 8 years in the air force and never went anywhere ever where there was even the remotest possibility that the people would not even like me, let alone want to kill me. but so many of our lads and lasses are hunkered down in foreign parts, dreaming of home and hoping to live long enough to get there. many of them come home battered, tattered, and shell-shocked at the end of their tours, only to spend a few months with their families, and ship back out again. their courage actually makes me choke up a bit.

i am not even seperated from my wife that long. four months is the absolute shortest one can go, and that is what she will be gone. hell, she is even at an actual airbase in a relatively friendly country, with a chow hall, and a couple of small clubs with actual alcohol, and lots of activities to keep themselves busy. many of our sons and daughters are out there in little better than tents, with no running water, in the middle of potentially hostile zones, many without even a clue as to why, except it is the job they signed up for. and the wives and husbands are at back at home, waiting the seven-and-a-half months to the two-week midtour, where they will see their spouses for a small handful of cherished moments before they go back out again, to be shelled and car-bombed etc for another seven-and-a-half months, with the possibility of an extension. those spouses are courageous. 15 fucking months... i don't think i would make it.

hahaha, as far as the tattoo goes, that isn't courage, ref back to the "barking mad" conversation again, heh heh.

again, i am extremely flattered. i appreciate it, and will try to wear it with pride. i just want to remind us who the real courageous people are, who the real heroes are.

now, if there was a "whiney bastard blogger award" i think i might be a shoo-in for that one.

hmmm, and five others, huh? this is always the hard part. as far as i am concerned, i would re-award it to prada pixie. cause that lady is one gutsy mammajamma. so, you get retagged, pixie.

i would definitely send one over to lady macleod. it's maybe not that she is battling something every day, or in the trenches, or what-have-you, but she has travelled the world, which requires a certain courage, and above and beyond that, is not afraid to speak her mind when necessary, and that is ballsy as fuck. so, one for you, lady macleod.

i would also pick jenny. cause she just deals with something i couldn't begin to comprehend on a daily basis. and i think there is a certain amount of courage that goes along with that which i imagine i would find lacking in myself.

i think jamie should also be tagged. i am not fully sure what she deals with, but the "treatments" don't sound fun, and i am guessing hint at something much more sinister just under the surface, and again, i find that incredibly courageous.

finally, i would hand this over to snuffleupagus as well. snuff is entrenched in a war of a different kind, and isn't afraid to say what needs to be said in regards to the failings of that system. and because i think any teacher that really makes an effort is one courageous person, often with little visible reward. (i wish my high school algebra teacher could hear me saying this, since i was an enormous prick to him, and he tried to get me to quit being lazy and use my brain, and as far as he knows, it was all to no avail. but in college algebra, i aced it with flying colors, and thought of him every day. sorry, my writing is very stream-of-concious, and i just wanted to throw that in there, not to lessen the importance of snuff's courageousness.)

i find it an interesting sidenote that i am pretty sure everyone i have tagged with this award will, no doubt, like me, not think of themselves as courageous at all. isn't it funny how the person that is a hero to someone else, usually thinks of themselves as simply doing what needs to be done?

darth sardonic

Thursday, August 02, 2007

the sun is shining, the tank is clean--

*GASP* the tank is clean!

the wife got her official fly-out date, and if you tack two more days onto that (which is about what getting back takes), that makes the new official countdown 36. 36 days. slightly more than a month. am i getting excited? nah, cool as a cucumber me... (the word you, o my beloved non-existant readers and droogies, are searching for is bullshit (or bollocks would work if you hail from across the pond as many of you do).)

what brainiac decided housepainters' outfits should be white? seems their purposes would be better served if they were clad in some of those atrocious multihued prints from the 70's.

if one's progeny wake up at 2 am to play video games loudly until 6 am, it might be time to reassess one's approach to parenting. cleaning dried raw egg off of kitchen surfaces will help put one in the proper frame of mind for doing what must be done.

that is to say, the video games now reside on a shelf too high for anyone except myself to reach (yes, that includes the wife. she would need a step-stool), and only come down for limited amounts of time, and only as a reward for compliant behavior.

it is also handy to come up with a game plan for dealing with no. 1's repeated whinging about not being able to feed his habit ad infinitum. being the rat bastard that i am, and being endowed with a sick sense of humor, i came up with a great one that--well, i will just give you a sample conversation:

no. 1: i need to play games! i gotta play games all day!

me: i love music. music is cool.

no. 1: no, not music, music is yucky (silly, stupid, etc.). i want games.

me: i think music could easily be the coolest thing ever.

no. 1: no, not music. games. i want to play games all day.

me: i need music all the time. i want music all day.

no. 1: [exasperated] no, not music, daddy. games, i neeeeed games.

me: [hums a tune to self whilst an evil glint glows in eyes]

now, multiply that by a gozillion, and that was my day yesterday. today, he just didn't seem to fight it as much. though i expect it will get bad in the next few days when the visions start happening. (hahaha. i have a mental image of renton in his bed screaming at things he sees climbing the walls/ceiling. i know, i know, sometimes the connections of my obscure references are just too thin to follow. it is ok. no, i am not seeking help.)

in other news: the sun is brilliant, my tan is fucking rocking! (i know, i know, the possibility of skin cancer. i know. i am as careful as i can be. but sun is my element. sun recharges my batteries. sun keeps me sane. sun tells me not to kill the kids as i had previously decided to do.) the house is full-on clean (except the vacuuming, which, i have discovered, is just wiser to be done after the kids are in bed), and i continue working out as much as can within the confines of my own house. i continue slimming up, and am thinner than i have been in some time (not to worry, o my beloved and worrisome non-existant readers, i still look very healthy. i am not going for scrawny, i am going for toned. and getting there. yay.) during the allotted video-game time, i did some kind of jetski race with no. 1, my character looking like something straight out of an anime movie with insane hair, large eyes, and pointy chin, and got soundly trounced by my soon-to-be six-year-old son. i have never been a huge video game fan.

that is all.

darth sardonic

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