We’re baaaaaacccckkkkkk, transmitting live from, wait this is more of a transmission than a broadcast, and it’s more so pre-recorded than live, so um, let’s just say this post is coming all the way from Ireland. And now that we can clearly see that that’s a lie; I actually started writing this post in Ireland, but the jetlag took over and basically what you saw until the sentence previous to this one was about as far as I got. I know it’s been quite a while since I’ve put a post out and I feel horrible about that. Really I do, you should see my face, it’s the face of a horrible feeling person, never mind the fact that I’m hungover from frolicking with the Irish, the horrible feeling is totally dedicated to you guys. Well I guess I wrote that line in Ireland as well, and apparently, it was another lie. Lies, lies, lies, I’m starting to feel a bit Obama-ish. Ouch, I didn’t mean that, Obama, you my boy!!! So now that the lies and excuses are out of the way, let’s jump straight into this post shall we?
As I sit at my desk, typing up this blog post for your reading enjoyment, my fingers are crossed. Yes, you read that correctly, I am typing with the fingers of my right hand crossed. So don’t be alarmed if you come across a few typos, or entire words missing from a sentence, for that matter. Just know that it is a necessary evil that I must contend with if I want to provide you guys with these super intelligent and uber entertaining and informative blog posts. What could bring on such preposterous behavior? Why are you being forced to take such precautions? Should I have my fingers crossed as well? I know that these are the burning questions of desire on your mind at this very moment and I’m going to get straight to the point. YES, CROSS YOUR FINGERS, cross them now, go ahead. It is imperative for your future well-being. No, it won’t save you from some unforeseen impending natural disaster, and no, crossing your fingers won’t protect you from the next big pandemic that threatens to wipe humanity off the face of the Earth. But I’ll tell you what it will do; it’ll protect you from contracting the God awful CHEESE TOUCH!!!
It’s FRIDAY!!!!!!, YAYYYYY, we made it through another week. What better way to celebrate by having a little fun? I begged convinced my family to participate in this silly trend and create our own family Harlem Shake video. Since it’s Friday and everyone deserves a little jumpstart to their weekend, we decided to provide a little comic relief. Enjoy!!!
If you’re as clueless as I was about this whole Harlem Shake thing, read about it here before watching the video.
If you’ve participated in the madness that is the Harlem Shake craze, be sure to post a link to your vid below. We’d love to check it out.
Up until the birth of Baby Guppy aka Gup, I was under the impression that my boys were monstrosities of evil based on their dealing with each other; wait, let me clarify, I thought that Tre was a monstrosity of evil. Ty was just an unfortunate bystander, forced to protect and defend himself (usually unsuccessfully) by matching evil with evil. The levels of scheming, deceitfulness, and downright mean behavior started climbing off the charts and I began to question if we needed to move to Philadelphia in hopes of getting any brotherly love in our home. Tre reached an all-time low a few mere weeks before Gup’s birth and I was terrified that the torture treatment of his brother would be transferred to her once she arrived.
Well lookie here, lookie here, you good ole blogger friend, Keith stayed true to his word. I promised you guys a part 2 on Monday and by golly, here it is! Let’s just ignore the fact that Monday only has a few hours left in it, and focus on the fact that this post is up for your reading enjoyment, lol. Thanks to my incredibly horrible internet connection, the previous statement is no longer valid, smh. I swear I hate Century Link and their crappy service, so much so, that I just said screw it and paid the cancelation fee at this very moment! Really? 5 hours to upload 3 one min videos to YouTube? What is this, AOL dialup? Sorry, my rant is complete now, let’s move on.
So last time, I made our time at Disney World seem pretty dreary; but I promise you that it was literally one of the most magical experiences that any parent could hope for. The look on Tre’s face when he saw Mickey for the first time nearly brought a tear to my eye, and trust me that’s tough to do, I’m a super tough macho manly guy! Okay, Fefe’s sitting over my shoulder and demanded that I refrain from lying in my posts; I’m not that tough and maybe, that statement about “nearly bringing a tear to my eye” should have been “cried a river”. Seriously folks, I have never seen that child as happy and excited as he was during our time at Disney World, and for those of you that know Tre, that is a hell of a statement to make: the kid is constantly happy.
So we all know that Disney World is a magical place where memories are made; a place where dreams come true, right? Yup, that’s what they communicate and advertise on all of the brochures, commercials, and emails. But what they fail to inform you of is the fact that along with those dreams also comes nightmares, blisters, and empty bank accounts. I totally had every intention of writing this post on the plane ride back home from Disney, yet here we are a complete 2 weeks later and the post is just now going up. Clearly, I was either delusional or naive to think that I would have the strength and mental capacity to write a blog post during a plane ride after spending 6 nights, 7 days (that’s travel agent speak) at Disney World. But never in my wildest dreams (or nightmares) did I anticipate a 2 week turnaround time to get back to my normal self. I know by now you must be wondering: was it all worth it? Read on to find out.
How many of you remember getting hit on your birthday as a child? One hit for each year that you’ve been alive and kicking. We called them Birthday hits, others called them “licks”. Given the fact that Ty’s girlfriend was in attendance at his recent party, I felt “licks” was more appropriate; more on that later. Back to getting hit as a child; what a horrible tradition, I mean, geesh, it’s your freaking birthday, your special day and to celebrate it, people beat you up? I don’t know about you guys, but I call that aggravated assault! You may feel that I’m going a bit far with the assault claim, but I vividly remember back in high school, kids would purposely get sick on their birthdays to avoid coming to school and receiving their birthday beatings hits. That’s just taking it a bit too far. With that being said, this past Saturday, I gave Ty 8 of the most viciously powerful hits that I could land without child protective services knocking at my door the next day. You’ll be happy to know that I did withhold the “pinch to grow an inch”, primarily because I’m just tired of buying new clothes for the kid.
I write this post with a heavy heart, as the 3rd week of the NFL season coming to a close, I find myself alone, confused, and without a team to call my own. Typically I reserve my internal struggles and issues for my therapist, but I thought that this conflict was worthy of discussion on Daddy’s Fish Bowl; mainly because my inability to choose an NFL team to back is negatively impacting my children. As a father, I owe it to them to crawl my way out of this self loathing NFL depression that I’ve slipped into and get my ducks in a row.
Let me start off this post by saying I am not naive, I understand how the world works, I’m totally aware that nowhere on this earth is completely safe. Hell, when I was a kid, my friends and I used to travel specifically to the suburbs for easy pickings of some unguarded BMX bikes. Let’s face it, when you live in a certain environment, specific precautions that are routinely a part of people’s lives are lost on you. When I was a kid, I ensured my bike was safe and secure in our garage at all times because the opportunity for it to grow legs and simply walk away was so high. My suburban colleagues didn’t necessarily have that constant threat as a reminder, so they were a bit more careless with their items, which in turn caused them to grow legs and walk away. Now, nearly 20 years later, I am in Suburbia and have been very careless with my possessions. Although, now we aren’t merely discussing BMX bikes anymore; the possessions that I speak of today are my children.
Well we’ve finally come to the end of the road in our “I’m Old, I’m Proud, and I’ll Shout It Loud” series. Kinda funny how the name of the series keeps changing the further we get into it isn’t it? Must be the Alzheimer’s setting in. If you missed the first two entries in the “I’m An Old Fart” series (see, it just happened again), I’d recommend going to check them out here and here. To close out the series, we’ll be discussing one of America’s favorite pastimes: the amusement park! The amusement park is close to nearly all of our hearts, there’s something for everyone right? Between the roller coasters, games, food, shows, and water rides, there’s something for all of us to love at the amusement park right?
