Author: Josh

I was interviewed by iParenting.com in December because 1) I love to cook 2) my wife is pregnant and 3) I am a cognizant black man who prefers pink shirts and knows the pirate treasure.

Peace out.

Friends and strangers alike always offer unsolicited advice for first-time parents. A great tidbit I recently picked up from John was, “Don’t call EVERYONE while you’re on the way to the hospital to have the baby. That means EVERYONE will be there when you don’t want them there. Wait until after the baby is born and call those who you need.”

Marc called on Monday to dispense not so much advice, but more of a “how it’s going to be”:

“We was poor. And when we wuz hungry, we ate crawfish. When thuh wuz no mo crawfish, we ate fowl. When thuh wuz no mo fowl, we ate sand.”

“Yuh ate SAND?!?!”

“We ate sand…”

Hear the parent prophet here.

Setting your first born’s sonogram video to the Forrest Gump theme song is about as smart as drinking boxed wine while chopping onions and staring at a lava lamp.

Gus and I tested out the new Jeep stroller this morning while Elise was at work. We strapped on the cargo packs after loading them with guarine- and taurine-tanked drinks, twelve-guage shells, a winch and some granola. Bring on the Zombie Eater. We’re ready. I think.

I hung out with Travis tonight. On the way to his house in the now trendy area of Austin I got to thinking; Travis has been one of my closests friends for 19 years. NINETEEN YEARS.

Travis lives off of east 11th. Ten years ago you drove down east 11th for either drugs or barbacoa. You can still get either in that area but can now find solace in doing so in your rented Land Rover.

The two of us caught up and chatted for a bit before heading over to Snake Eyes Vinyl to check out a doo-wop ensemble that is comprised of a few friends of Travis’s.

We waited in Snake Eyes Vinyl’s parking for an hour among the trendsetting emo kids. I sat on an embankment while Travis made casual smalltalk with people. I took in the crowd while waiting on Travis. The others who were waiting were all kids. I could, biologically speaking, be most of these hipsters’ father. I had a very difficult time ascertaining the source of their collective rebellion based on the way most were dressed.

The girls looked fairly normal, most of which were cute and wore normal clothes comprised of jeans or skirts, normal shoes, t-shirts and nice haircuts.

The boys were wearing capri-style jeans, cut off mid-shin and and tight fitting Salvation Army-find t-shirts. Most sported dark socks pulled up mid-shin and new canvas Chuck Taylors. Many had forearm tattoos and were carrying 16-ounce Budweisers and smoking Marlboros. All donned bad Goo Goo Dolls frontman do’s. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. What is this style? They definitely aren’t angered by anything. There’s no ominous social, musical or cultural discrepency that warrants leather wrist bands and girly hair. What is this rebellion and why is their hair so important?!?!

I then realized that they all actually have hair and quickly remembered a time when I once took hair for granted. I also realized that when I was that age I had long (non-thinning) hair, wore shorts, Dr. Marten boots, a flannel shirt tied around my waist, smoked cigarettes, wore small hoop earrings in each ear and took a guitar everywhere I went because I WAS COOL. I had a cause. If I could remember what that cause was right now I would document it here but I’m too preoccupied with trying to write this while plucking my ear hairs.

Once I get this skin-tight Von Dutch t-shirt over my 30-year-old protruding gut and buckle my studded white belt I’m going to get to the bottom of this cultural phenomenon and then it’ll be on like Donkey Kong (will that be available on PS3?)

I’ve always taken great pride in the fact that Elise is annoyingly frugal. But now it’s gotten to the point where she flat out steals.

Late last week she went to Target to return some things and to purchase very small clothes with the socks built into the pants. After checking out she made her way to the parking lot with an extra bag full of miscellaneous trash and plastic clothes hangers. She took the trash bag from the cash register.

Earlier this week she went to Wal-Mart for paper towels, shampoo, razors, etc. She came home with a bag full of little girl halter tops and leggings. She took a bag from the lady who was in line in front of her.

Last night we drove over to a friend’s house to pawn off Elise’s old college days futon. We stopped at HEB on the way home to pick something up for dinner. We got home and I unsacked the groceries.

“When did you get eggs?”

“I didn’t get eggs.”

“Why did you get bread? You just bought bread a couple days ago.”

“I didn’t get bread.”

“When did you get tomatoes?”

“I didn’t get tomatoes.”

She made off with a bag of groceries from the lady in front of us at the grocery store.

Despite my incessant begging against it, Elise returned the little girl halter tops and leggings. We’re keeping the bag of trash and bread though. That’s how we roll.

I put our budget on paper earlier this week. In the past 12 years I’ve had the budget on my head. And I did a great job with the budget. Now I’m facing a kid on the way and a temporarily unemployed wife. The first thing I noted when I put things on paper was how much we were spending on dining out. I immediately scratched all dining out from our budget.

We dropped the monster truck off at the mechanic’s on Monday night because 1) it was overheating 2) it has an oil leak 3) the air conditioner is broken and 4) the accelerator pedal was sticking.

After dropping the truck off I hopped into the other truck with Elise. She said she was hungry for a hamburger. It was then that I explained to her that I had created a tangible budget. She immediately agreed with my financial goals and set herself to prepare the fish that has been stinking up the fridge for the past week and a half for our dinner. I caved and suggested we go out like frivolous gang busters. We spent our last romantic dining out evening as a childless couple in the company of a car hop at the Sonic in Oak Hill. Elise had the #1 combo with mayonnaise, small fries accompanied by a seasonal 2006 cherry limeaid. Yours truly had the double jalapeno cheeseburger and onion rings with a subtle, unsweetened iced tea.

We picked up the monster truck tonight. It runs like new. What’s funny is the repairs on the truck cost half of what I actually paid for the truck two years ago. That’s better than a car payment considering how little I actually paid for the truck. I love my monster truck. I’m going to search for a monster decal to put on it now that it’s been risen from the near-dead.
Short term goals: 1) Have one last nice dinner with the Zombie Eater’s mom 2) Have the child and send it to Bangalore to either a) work for Dell or b) fabricate shoe lace tips for New Balance 3) put 500,000 miles on the monster truck.

I keep meaning to create playlists for myself so I can have preferred music to listen to during my commute to and from work.  Last night I created a playlist on a whim so I could chipper myself jolly for Monday morning.

• Blood Sugar Sex Magik – Red Hot Chili Peppers — Because glorious euphoria is my must.  Or something.
• Sometimes I Do – Social Distortion — Because sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t and sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.
• Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight – Amos Lee — Because your friends don’t always have crappy taste in music. ;-)
• Nothing – Anthrax — Because it’s better than caffeine.
• Whiskey In The Jar – Metallica — Because musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da and whack for my daddy-o.
• Crazy Mary – Pearl Jam — Because that’s how I wanted our high school garage band to sound like.  Instead we sounded like Slayer meets Neil Young meets the Cocteau Twins.
• I Am One – Smashing Pumpkins — Because sometimes I think I am two.
• Everybody Wants to Rule the World – Tears for Fears — Because I want sharks with frickin’ laser beams attached to their heads!
• Good Times – Tommy Lee — Because it sounds like a MTV reality show theme song and makes me think that I’d look good running and laughing on the beach in a bikini .
• Bad Things – Wednesday 13 — Because love songs make me giddy.
• More Human Than Human – White Zombie — Because sometimes I feel like I am the jigsaw man.
• Goodbye My Lover – James Blunt — Because Elise listened to this song one morning, became saddened and wrote me to tell me how wonderful I am and that she loved me more than life itself.  I wrote back and told her to sober up.  I’m still trying to redeem myself.
• The Dare – Piggy D. — Because I’m biased.

For two years and 24 days the toilet in the master bathroom ain’t been right. Both bolts that hold the toilet to the foundation had been rusted in two since before we bought the house. I know very little about plumbing and thought that perhaps these bolts were actually fastened to the foundation. Repairing the toilet seemed like a contractor-worthy job that might entail the use of a jackhammer, duct tape and a NASCAR wind jacket. For two years and 24 days one would need to brace oneself while using the toilet in fear that it might topple over and leave said user of commode in a compromising position.

Last month the valve flapper on the toilet decided it would prefer to remain in the upright and locked position upon flushing. This meant that the user of the commode would have to wait until the flush cycle was complete and then jiggle the handle to allow the tank filling process to complete and ultimately quiet the commode.

We woke up yesterday morning and Elise said, “Are you ever going to fix that toilet?”

“Egads, woman! Dare you challenge me to engage in battle the one who thrives off excrement?”

I stuck my chest out, checked my armor and accepted the challenge.

I shut off the water supply and quickly disassembled the commode with breakneck speed. It was right at this point that I doubled over with pain. I got a cramp in my stomach that put December’s stomach cramp episode to shame. I blame this on either 1) Couvade Syndrome or 2) the General Tso’s chicken at China Hill. To spare you the details, the only other toilet in the house also got some special attention from your humble narrator.

I’ve only been sick enough to go to the doctor twice in my adult years. The first when I threw out my back while water skiing. The other time was when I spiked a 104-degree fever for three days and Elise dragged me to the doctor. I honestly thought I might have needed to go to the doctor yesterday. I gently rested myself on the bed and put a pillow over my head. I was sick. I passed out around noon and woke up at three.

After rest and rehydration I began working on the toilet in the master bathroom again. I replaced the flapper valve in the toilet’s tank and fastened the toilet to the floor flange with new bolts. I placed new gaskets and bolts on the tank and set the tank on the toilet. This took me a good couple hours because I was learning the way of the toilet as I went and I wanted to make sure I was doing everything to code.

Alas, the challenge had been met and I was victorious. The toilet bowl no longer wobbled and there was no longer need to jiggle the hangle. I turned the water on to the toilet, checked my armor and headed for the kitchen for a celebratory beer. I walked back to the water closet to check my handy work and stepped into an inch of water on the floor.

I took the tank apart three more times before I finally got everything sealed correctly. I literally spent 8 hours on the toilet yesterday.

We woke up this morning to a downpour of rain that has been absent for months. I rose from bed, checked my armor and readied thyself to defend thy wife and I against the drasted IRS. I have a Seinfeldian method in which I store and file all of our tax forms. I went into the office and retreived said documents from 2004 and 2005.

I thought this year I would try my unmatched math skills, harness the accountant within and prepare our own taxes by means of TaxCut.com.

I was quickly reminded of why I leave the tax preparation to the tax preparation professionals.

I was cruising quite nicely through our tax preparation. W2 information was as easy as transposing the numbers from boxes 1-12 into the appropriate TaxCut fields. It wasn’t until I got to our investments when I quickly realized that I was doomed for defeat.

TaxCut: “Please find Article II Box 7b next to the hieroglyphic cave drawing of Nefertiti’s left ankle. Input Schedule C Realized Dividend Earnings Section 7c from Form 1099-B or 1099-DIV”

Josh: “YES”

TaxCut: “Is this an Unrealized Gain in a State other than your own or a Foreign Tax Paid?”

Josh: “Yellow”

TaxCut: Please input your Aggregate profit or loss, Capitalized Interest or CUSIP No. from Form 1099-OID Line 3 plus noncash distributions.

Josh: “Huh huh. You said ‘distributions'”

TaxCut: “You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Josh: “6”

• Perfecting the Zombie Eater’s room
• My crocs
• Grey’s Anatomy
• Amos Lee
• My mother-in-law’s stromboli
• Fatso’s belly
• Playing my guitar in the Zombie Eater’s new room.