It was poker night in Grilton last night.  Every month, when we get together, one man, and one man only, takes us all out like a silent assassin.

This is Mike.  And if you see him, you will no doubt lose all your money shortly thereafter.

Consider yourself warned.

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!

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!

My dad was in town this week.  I haven’t seen him in a few years, so I was pretty excited.  I decided I should grill up some fat steaks for his arrival.  Unfortunately, with all of the rain we’ve been getting, I was a little concerned about how my grill would perform under wet conditions.

As I often do, I sought out the guidance of Google.

Little did I know, hilarity would ensue.

“Sandy, we may have to grill these steaks tomorrow. Fixing this grill looks like it may take all night!”

Oh Google, how you know my real desires.

No, I’m not talking about my sex life.

Yesterday I was toying with the idea of growing out my scruff considering there are new traces of grey.  You know, if it works for Clooney, why not me, right?  So how did I go from this yesterday…

To THIS today…

Pretty simple, actually.  Here’s how the convo went down:

Gutless (ME):  *to Sandy* “So, I’m thinking about growing out my scruff, you know, Clooney.

Sandy:  I don’t like scruff.

Gutless:  Yeah, but…Clooney…

Sandy: I only like scruff when I use your face to scratch an itch.

So I shaved this morning.  My attempt at growing some facial hair halted by my wife’s disdain for it.  If you’re wondering where my cojones are, check Sandy’s purse.

If you heard any of Spezzano and Sandy this morning, then you heard me take a verbal beat down at the hands of Sandy and pretty much every female listening.

I’M A GUY! Cut me a LITTLE slack. I always try to do the right thing. Sometimes things get misunderstood and all of a sudden I’m a bad husband because “I don’t listen”.

I will continue to hold ground when it comes to my opinions on this matter. They are:

1. Three Olives grape vodka and Sprite is a nasty flavor combination. I mean, grape…and Lymon??? Puke. Tonic is a far superior mixer and would’ve been enjoyed if given the chance.

2. If you’re sick and I bring medicine…TAKE IT! Yes, I heard you ask for a specific brand. Guess what? IT’S NOT WORKING! Try the stuff that might actually work for you before killing me for going out of my way to try and be a good guy.

Allow me to provide every now and then! I actually live for it!

Like most guys, I screw up. Like most guys, some things you say to me will go in one ear and out the other. You may need to nag. I may complain about said nagging. Can’t help it. You are a greater gender. I cannot compete.

There, I said it. I truly believe women, on the whole, are smarter than men.

I also believe dogs are smarter than women!

That’s just a joke…really, it is.

Love ya, girls!