After 9 good years of service, my dryer has passed on.

Dryer haiku:

Dryer of my life

You have kept me free of lint

Now you live on curb

We’ve been sans dryer for almost 2 weeks now.  So, yeah, I’m looking forward to wearing clean underwear again in the near future.

Is that T.M.I.?  We’re close, right?

Ok, not really. But do you remember a couple of weeks ago when she called me out ON THE AIR about eating the last cupcake in the house?

It happened again this morning, but LET ME EXPLAIN.

On Father’s Day Sandy and Leah baked a rhubarb cake for me. One of my faves. Just like my mom used to make. Anyways, I’ve been killing it the last few days. Rhubarb cake has been my chaser for everything. This morning, what did you think I had for breakfast? That’s right, the LAST PIECE of rhubarb cake.

Well, Leah was less than pleased. She yells, “DADDY, you’re supposed to share!” stomping out of the room to go pout in her playroom.

Keep in mind, she didn’t even EAT any of this delicious treat that was made FOR ME on Father’s Day. She smothered it in red frosting and ate THAT, disregarding the actual cake.

I pointed this out to her, but, much like her mother, at times it’s hard to have a rational conversation.

So there you go. My home is a war zone once again thanks to my love of baked goods. And I don’t care what anyone says, I DID NOTHING WRONG HERE! I suppose I should start figuring out what kind of gift would be suitable to blackmail her make up for this.

Yeah, my Father’s Day pretty much rocked…

This weekend is Father’s Day.  I was trying to get the inside dirt on what Sandy had planned for me, so I interrogated our 3 year old, Leah.

Nothing.  Not even a hint.

How come when Sandy wants Leah to keep a secret it’s no problem, but when I ask her to keep one, this happens?

Happy Father’s Day!

This is absolutely fascinating.

When I first saw Simon Cowell hawking Leona Lewis as the next big pop sensation, I was a bit skeptical, since he was her manager. Biased a bit, aren’t we? Not to mention, she’s quite hot, so I was painting a picture that he was having a lovely part-time shag with his latest prodigy, pulling a Jay-Z/Rihanna tactic *wink wink*.

But once I heard her sing, it’s clear she can belt out a song. Then my natural inclination was to lump her into the same category as Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears, so I’ve been sitting on the edge of my seat each day waiting for her to flash her cootchie, or end up in rehab. Because that’s what I live for.

But damn it. The girl is an angel. She was caught saying, “I don’t wear little miniskirts and low-cut tops. If you want to show your bits off, it’s up to you.” She also doesn’t eat any animal-related products. Nor does she drink. Or smoke. Or do drugs. Refuses to wear leather and doesn’t even like going out.

I was about ready to write her off as a nun and a lost cause until she revealed her idea of a wild night

“Playing Grand Theft Auto.’”

God, I think I’m in love.

Because New Kids are back.

I’ve pretty much given up on humanity.

For wanting us to spend our hard earned on the EXACT SAME gags you pulled in your Austin Powers franchise.  Don’t believe me?  Watch this:

Hate By Numbers: Mike Myer’s Love Guru Edition on FunnyOrDie.com

How can this…

Become this…

Or, *puke* this…

It happens when you get addicted to what you think may be a good thing.
In this case I’m talking about Botox and/or plastic surgery.

I am 100% anti cosmetic surgery.  Now, I’m not heartless.  If you need reconstruction surgery or if you have to go under the knife to save your life, I get it.

What I don’t get is the “cosmetic” part of cosmetic surgery.  I can see getting it done once or twice (see pic 1), feeling like it’s doing something for you so you go in more often (pic 2), until you’re a full blown addict looking like pic 3.

Sandy wants to get rid of a couple of wrinkles around her eyes and asked if she could go in for botox.

Guess how that went over with me.

Am I in the wrong for preventing her from doing something cosmetic that may boost her self esteem?  Do I just not get it because I’m a guy?

What is Bunco, you ask?  According to wikipedia:

Bunco (also Bunko and Bonko) is a parlour game played in teams with three dice. A winning throw in Bunco is to throw three of a kind of a specified number.

In recent years, the game has seen a resurgence in popularity in America, particularly among suburban women. As it is played today, Bunco is a social dice game involving 100% luck and no skill (there are no decisions to be made), scoring and a simple set of rules. Women who are part of a Bunco club take turns as the Bunco hostess, providing snacks, refreshments and the tables to set up the games.

See also:  The reason I’m not going to be at East End Fest tonight.  Sandy sprung a last minute Bunco date with the other women of Wisteria Lane.  Upon hearing this news, my teeth and fist clenched much like Seinfeld in the presence of Newman.  “Bunco.”

Have fun enjoying some beverages on the first real night of summer.  Really, tear it up.  I’ll be fine.

BTW, if there is a silver lining, and I’m really NOT complaining, Daddy gets to spend time with Leah which I never get to do as much as I’d like.

Hopefully, she’ll suggest a delicious meal out to either Red Lobster or The O.G.  Either way, Bunco=fail, My night=win!