Giving Props...

Okay, I gotta at least give some props to Dylan, at least he gets out there and without the liquid encouragement his Dad requires...

Dancing Skills must come from Mom

So a buddy and co-worker of mine was telling me today about his step-son and how he's become a pretty cool kid. He's starting the 5^th grade and enjoys listening to the music we like. So obviously since we're cool, liking what we like makes you cool too. But I digress. He said his son likes listening to AC/DC. To which I asked "Bon Scott or Brian Johnson?" "Bon Scott" he replies. "Damn, he is cool."

He goes on to tell me that he went into his room the other day and his son was doing his homework and listening to the radio. "What are you listening to?" "Smokehouse Blues on KMOD."
That is Awwwwwwesommme.

So of course not to be outdone I had to tell him about my cool son, though it turns out 'cool' is relative. Try to picture this, the 2 year old has a microphone that plays some techno-tronic version of Mary Had a Little Lamb that he is playing at full volume while singing into it the 'lyrics' as loud as he can. And here comes his 5 year old brother, standing in front of the TV for all to see, in just his underwear, and he begins to dance. His dance of choice, from all I can gather and not sure where he got it, was "Poppin and Lockin" or maybe it was the "Robot". For those that need further illustration, here is the definition: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=poppin%20n%20lockin

and here is a visual of what my skinny white son in his underwear I believe was attempting (I wish I had the actual footage, so use your imagination and imagine how hard it was to let him know I was not laughing AT him, but WITH him and crush his ego):

Big Boys Cry

Okay, in the interest of doing more catch-up, this is something I wrote down "old-school like" in a journal I was attempting to start with actual pen and paper. It was about 1 ½ years ago while I was recovering from back surgery. Dylan was 4 ½ and Dalton was 10 months old:

Recovering from back surgery I was unable to bend over or kneel down to share my nightly kiss & hug with the boys at bedtime. Dylan and I began a new tradition by kissing our own hands and then putting them together like a soft 'high 5' while saying I love you. When we couldn't hug, Dylan would touch his heart and I would touch mine to signify our hug. (Dylan's idea)

Can't get much sweeter, right? Wrong.

On this night, after exchanging our kiss 'high 5' and hand-to-heart hug, Dylan went to Dalton's room and then came back into mine. He told me since I couldn't go into Dalton's room and reach him to give hugs, he went in there instead. Dylan then kissed his own fingers, touched them to his heart, and then touched Dalton and told me he took some of the love that I had given him and gave it to Dalton, and kept the rest for himself.

True, I was on some good painkillers at the time, but you can't pull on the ol' heartstrings much better than that.

And you are?....

So I've never claimed to be good at names. In fact, I'm awful. I know faces. Even if I tend to stare at them trying to think of the name while I'm sure the person is thinking I'm some kind of freak and wondering why Donny is looking at them this way.

In college while at Eskimo Joe's, many times if I somehow got a girl to approach me that already knew me (they wouldn't approach otherwise obviously) my buddy would be whispering to me asking if I knew her name. Thankfully he'd bail me out and tell me before she got within hearing distance and I could salvage my coolness by using her name in conversation. Unfortunately at my high school reunion recently, I had no such wingman to bail me out when these awkward moments presented themselves.

The first of which wasn't even a chick, but a dude I've known since I moved to Oklahoma in 4^th grade! One of my best friends ever. He walks up, feeling confident I say 'What's up Jay C.?' To which Brad F. replies, "It's Brad, you spent the night at my house somewhere over 1000 times since 4^th grade". Son of a …!!! How did I not recognize Brad!!??? I finally stir up the confidence to throw a name out and I totally blow it. Oh well, he's a dude, better him then some babe girl from high school.

So the next night of the reunion, I'm on my guard. I'm not falling for that again. I stepped out on the ledge already and sure enough fell. I'm going back to my shy, play stupid routine that has worked for 37 years.

I'm standing at the bar, shocker, I know. And here's a drunk former classmate calling me by my full name. Daring me to say her name. Somehow despite her condition she has sensed my phobia with names like a Jedi. "What's my name Donny H*******, huh?" I think I know too. But I'm not stepping out on that ledge again. I spent the night at her house something less than 1000 times since 4^th grade. When she looks away for a second another former classmate, Brina, plays wingman for me and whispers her name to me. "Candy". I knew it! I was right this time but didn't have the cajones to say it! So Candy asks again, "What's my name Donny H*******?" I say "Candy". Then Brina, obviously in her first role as a wingman breaks a cardinal rule and fesses up to Candy that she told me. But I adamantly say that I knew it, but was afraid to say it. Candy asks why. And because I'm the smooth talker I am, I tell her "Because if I was wrong, you'd ask why I thought she was a stripper with a name like Candy." Yep. Smooooooth. Did I mention I was standing at the bar? And it wasn't my first visit of the night?

Unfortunately it wasn't Candy's first trip either, though for a while she kept it lighthearted and just gave me a hard time for the next hour or so. And even more unfortunately it ended with Candy giving my wife a "should've had a V-8" slap to the forehead while asking "Why would you marry Donny H*******?"

I'm pretty sure in there somewhere you've figured out how I was able to stay single for so long, and you've felt like asking my wife the same question. Hopefully without the V-8 slap.

Why So Serious?

Yah, another Dark Knight reference. So sue me. I loved the movie and am a Batman freak. Anyway…

Act 1, Scene 1: Dad picks up his oldest son at daycare and sees this:

Dad: What happened?

Son: The balance beam hit me.

Dad: The balance beam? Oh you mean you fell off of it and landed on your face?

Son: No, the other kids were on it and didn't see me when I was walking up and it hit me.

Dad: Sooooo, they were using the balance beam as a teeter-totter and one end came up and hit you.

Son: Yah.

Dad: (Proud of himself that he got all the details and straight answers this time) Okay, well accidents happen, let's go home.

Act 1, Scene 2: Mom gets home and sees the damage on son's face.

Dad: He got hit with a balance beam they were using as a teeter-totter in the playground. (All the explanation needed he assumes)

Mom: They don't have a balance beam in the playground.

Dad:

Son: Yah, we don't.

Dad: Why does the 5 year old have such an easy time making me look stupid? (That's a rhetorical question, though I'm sure Mom had multiple answers stored up and ready)

Oh, and back to Batman. Doesn't his injury sort of remind you of Heath Ledger's Joker?

Pretty cool, huh? Mom didn't think so.

I’ve still got it.

'Nancy' from my previous post and dream? I just found out through the grapevine she is getting divorced. So? You ask.

My wife solved it. The dead rabbit in the dream. Remember the movie Fatal Attraction?

Yah, so the rabbit wasn't being boiled in my dream, but I'll give you 3 guesses why 'Nancy' is getting divorced.

I guess I'm still kinda sorta psychic. J

Sorry if I ruined the movie for anyone that hasn't seen it yet. I figured 21 years was long enough to wait.

I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels

I'm gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair and change my name

Okay, well I did eventually cut my hair, but I didn't change my name. I guess I'm not as great as Elvis except for in my mind. (Though I'm huge in Belgium.)

But I digress, tonight starts the 20 year high school reunion festivities. I can't wait.

I've been listening to my wife and her friends discussing their big hair of the 80's and who may or may not still have 'big hair', but not to be left out, I thought I'd share some hair of my own.

Chicks dig long hair and guys that rock!

They can play this song a million times on the radio and never gets old for me. Nickelback nailed my high school dreams in this song, but reminiscing about those dreams this weekend will be fun too.