Shit On

It’s a common phrase, and it is used in many different situations. When the workday does not go as planned, and the customers are beating you up. You go home and the wife asked how your day was, you reply, “It sucked, I got shit on all day.” You go out with the boys for a day of golf, and you get killed. You shoot a bad round, and the other guys tear it up. You go home and the wife asks how you did, “I was horrible, the other guys shit on me.”

You get the gist, to be shit on, is a negative. It sucks. It means it was a bad day, or experience. It means that others treated you badly, and it was not a good experience. In other words, you do not want to be shit on. So I take Kyle to his soccer practice last night. It was a nice breezy evening and I was winding down from my miserable workday. The last few have been bad, and I was finally enjoying the down time. I was sitting alone, enjoying the air, and the calmness. Kyle was practicing with his team, and I was clearing my head of all negatives. It was nice, I was unwinding.

Off in the distance I noticed a flock of geese coming my way. It is obviously the beginning of the migrating south thing. There had to be 50 of them in the silly V shape that they fly in. They were making that annoying honking sound, as they got closer. Now, I learned a long time ago that you do not look up when there is a flock of birds flying overhead. So I looked down toward the ground as they passed my location. Don’t you know one of those bastards shit on me! It hit me right on the shoe. Some people believe that it is good luck to be shit on by a bird. I think it is gross. I hate geese, go south already!

Green Beans, yuk.

Dinnertime at my house is a bit of a chore. It is not a chore that I have to cook most nights; cause I have come to grips with that aspect of my wife, I mean my life. It is a chore to get the boys to both eat at the same time, and in a timely manner. Kyle is a slow eater. When I say slow, I would want everyone to picture a worm sliding across the driveway after a heavy rainstorm. Luke is a very fast eater. By fast, I would want everyone to picture how quick my wife could fake sleeping when I am trying to get some action. Kyle doesn’t like anything, and Luke likes everything. So it is a pain in the ass.

The other night Vicki had to run out to the store. The boys and I were eating, and she decided to go then. Right before she walked out the door, she hesitated and said, “Maybe I should wait until they are done eating, cause you won’t make them finish their dinner.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “I will make them finish.” She shook her head and said, “No you won’t, they will wear you down, and you will throw it away, and then tell me that they finished. I will come home and you guys will be eating cookies and watching TV, and the dinner will be in the trash can.”

I denied such shenanigans, and waited for her to leave. After she left, I had to do a sweep for hidden cameras. How the hell did she know that I do that? I can’t sit there and force my kids to eat green beans. You’re damn right that they go down the garbage disposal, when she is not looking, but how does she know that? The kids and I have a code of silence on such topics, or so I thought. Cause when Vicki walked in from the store, and we were sitting on the couch, eating popsicles, and watching TV, the first thing she said was, “Luke did you eat all of your dinner?” He looked at her, then he looked at me, and he said, “No, dad took it.”

That damn Luke. From here on out, he has to finish his green beans. Kyle and I will watch TV and eat cookies by ourselves.

Surprise Attack

I am a little embarrassed. I feel a tad bit ashamed right at this moment. I am having trouble looking people in the eye today. This is not my normal behavior, as I am a relatively happy person with a hint of cynicism and grumpiness. But all in all, I am an OK guy. Today, I am not myself. I feel a bit betrayed, with a touch of humiliation.

I had a doctor appointment today. It was a basic check-up. I had not been there for a while, so I was just following up on my ailments and aches. My doctor has known me for a while, and she knows that most of these ailments are of the mental variety, but she plays along pretty well. Yes, my doctor is a lady. Well, she is a female. She hardly acted like a Lady today.

We started the appointment with the typical pleasantries. The Hello’s and the how are you’s. She did some blood pressure stuff and some listening to the lungs stuff. Things were going along fine, and she was giving me a speech about something, when in the middle she mentioned something about a rectal exam. “Whoa, what was that you just said?” I interrupted. She went through her reasoning again, and I said, “I’m only 37, you don’t have to do that until I’m 40!!!” “John” she said, “It is not just for 40 year olds, and I want to be sure everything is fine.”

So, two minutes later, she stuck her finger up my ass. There is no real way to describe a finger being stuck up your ass. It is not pleasant. My elbows are on the bench, my pants are around my knees, and the doctor’s finger is up my ass, and she says, “You should be thankful that you have a female doctor, cause my fingers are thinner.”

My doctor surprise attacked me. There is no way in hell that I would have gone to that appointment if I knew she was going to stick her finger up my ass. I was violated. I have to change doctors now. I can never look her in the eye again. Not after what she did, and how she did it. I was just starting to like her too.

Rough Night

The prettiest tree that I have at my house is a Southern Magnolia Tree. This thing is absolutely beautiful. I apparently planted it in a perfect place for it to withstand wind and weather. I have been complimented on its beauty many times. I take care of my trees and shrubs, and this one is by far the best.

This past weekend, we had the remnants of Ernesto hit us in Pa. It was a windy, and rainy miserable couple of days. Friday night into Saturday was the worst. The kids and I do not like sleeping in such conditions, and I knew it was going to be a long night. I decided to take the kids into my room, and let Vicki sleep in one of the other beds. This way, she could get a good night of sleep, and I would tend to the scared little boys. So the wind is howling and the rain is pelting the house, and the boys and me are just staring at the ceiling. We were huddled up in the middle of the bed with our stuffed animals and blankets. We were braving the storm, when the noise started. It was a scratching, clawing noise. It was spooky.

“What is that?” asked a scared Luke. “I don’t know buddy, why don’t you go check it out?” I replied. He wouldn’t do it. So I turned to Kyle and begged him to go check it out. He wanted no parts of it. The noise was eerie, and I was not about to get out from under the blankets. My kids were way to scared to move, and I was too chicken to move. I tried calling for my wife. She was resting comfortably in Luke’s room. She could not hear my calls for help. She is the checker-outer in our house. She was not there to comfort us boys. I finally mustered up some courage to go check the noise. I told the boys that they were grounded for a week, for making me do it, but I did. I went over to the window, and looked outside. My Southern Magnolia Tree was scratching against the siding of the house, and banging on the window.

In one swift cat-like motion I dove back into bed, and under my pillow. I made the boys hold me, and we all fell off to sleep. Well, I slept with one eye open. On Monday, the weather was better. So I went out in the front yard and made some changes. I now have a Southern Magnolia Twig in my front yard. I Charlie Browned that Magnolia. There will be no more scratching on my window. My boys are banned from any fun for a week. They need to toughen up. They can be such scaredy-cats sometimes. They need to grow up.

First Grade Trouble

Would Superman be ok with his son going to first grade, and the teachers name being Mrs. Kryptonite? No!

Do you think that Elliot Ness would like it if his kid’s first grade teacher were named, Mrs. Capone? I don’t think so.

Batman would probably pull his kid out of school if the teachers name was Mrs. Riddler.

Phil Mickelson would not be too keen on one of his kids having a teacher named Mrs. Woods, or Mrs. Tiger.

I am the Lawnwhisperer. I spend most of my free time taking care of the lawn. I do everything in my super powers to rid my lawn of crabgrass and weeds. Weeds are my archenemy. Why then, is Kyle’s first grade teacher named Mrs. Weed? There is no way in hell that this is going to work. She seems like a nice woman, and Kyle seemed to like her, but I couldn’t even look at her. All I can picture is dandelions and stuff. She can’t teach my kid. I can’t have it. I want him moved to a different class. My wife thinks I am crazy, but I just can’t see the son of the Lawnwhisperer, being lead by a weed. Am I wrong to feel this way?