This feature was originally an assignment for a major publication. At the eleventh hour, they pulled the plug on the piece. They were nice enough to still pay the entire freelance fee. I’m explaining all this because the piece doesn’t really fit the usual voice of this blog, but I thought people might enjoy it. So…enjoy it.
4 Parenting Skills I'm Better At Than I Thought I'd Be
I thought this would be the hardest habit to break. I’m the son of a bartender, a man who uses curse words to increase the impact and ferocity of another curse word. Not quite an adjective, nor descriptor, it’s just an extra curse drizzled on top.
6 Practical Uses For the Cardboard Dad's Been Cursing About Since Xmas
Cardboard boxes stick around longer after Christmas than out-of-town relatives. The photo above is the pile congregating alongside my house. The cardboard box gang (they’ve already named the group) will get to know each other incredibly well — recycling won’t be collected on my street for another two weeks.
This contraption is real. See. It’s for your spoiled shit kid’s iPad.
"Because here at Fisher-Price, we know parents want to get newborns addicted to technology as soon as possible and SO DO WE. That’s why we developed the new Apptivity seat. The Apptivity is perfect for parents who’ll spare no expense to literally have zero interaction with their kid."
And thanks a lot Fisher-Price. Maybe I wouldn’t have looked like such an asshole for duct taping the iPad to my kid’s hands if you released this product a little sooner.
Koolickles. Pickles Soaked in Kool-Aid. They're the New Kale
The combination of Kool-Aid and pickles, cleverly named Koolickles, is quite possibly the creation of the world’s most ingenious stoner or a convenience store clerk with much too much time on his hands. I probably just described the exact same person, but either way, there is no denying that Koolickles are becoming a snacking phenomenon.
This is part two of the story. If you didn’t read part one yet, you might want to read this first.
Chuckles. It was a package of Chuckles. The candy for grandmoms.
The vending machine stocked with countless snacking option, every single item more delicious than Chuckles, yet the sugar sprinkled jelly candies won my attention and dollar. I mentally bullied myself for, once again, choosing the candy favored by nine out of ten nursing home patients while weaving through a herd of people leaving work. I still had another hour, possibly more, with nothing to ease the pain except a pack of Chuckles (lemon always last) and a few…
Even though every syllable from The Kid these days involves an inquiry (sometimes almost a cross-examination), the one question he asks more often than any other, involves the marital status of myself and the Permanent Roommate.
“Are you married?” he asks, his blue-stained mouth agape, salivating over the answer. Seriously, his mouth is constantly a blueberry color variation, though I never remember him ingesting any food to create such a tint.
This question always bats lead-off, followed by a line-up of other inquiries involving family and bloodlines. “Who is daddy’s daddy? Is Grammie mommy’s Mommy?”
We reply the same each time, stating nothing but the facts, yet he’s never satisfied with the response.
In an effort to dig deeper to the truth, The Kid has possibly enlisted an army of truth finders, who’ll send weekly questions via email, Facebook message or Tumblr page curious to the relationship between myself and the mother of my kids.
“Why do you call her Permanent Roommate?” always the most popular question.
A Googling (is that an actual term? It sounds like a medical term involving growths on the throat) of my name shows that the second most popular search option is “Chris Illuminati wife.”
I’m taking all these questions, emails and inquiries – even from my own flesh and blood — as an indication that people are genuinely interested in my relationship with the Permanent Roommate. In an effort to clear the air, squash rumors, dispel myths and finally give PR her moment in the spotlight (even though she didn’t ask for it) I’m putting the entire story in print (internet print). The whole story of the Permanent Roommate will become public record. Also, I’m tired of answering the same god damn questions about it all the time. The Kid better start reading soon so I can just hand him a couple papers to read and go back to my day.
Her stare was blank. First day of school, brand new blackboard, never been touched by even chalk dust blank. Her gaze fixed on nothing — not the other passengers, or the landscape flinging past in the train window or even at her shoes — her pupils pointed out into space and a billion miles away from the moment.