Expecting: Vol. I

Expecting: Vol. I

So the little white stork is going to be visiting myself and my wife Becky in a few months. I must say that it is going to be an amazing ride and DA suggested I submit some pieces to share what I’m going through. Believe it or not I’ve already experienced one of the finer aspects of your wife having a baby… sympathy pains. I’ve felt nauseous, bloated, and have had tender breasts on more than one occasion. It’s not a pretty picture in any one’s book, but I’m not really going to discuss that today.

I’m going to talk about a subject that I thought I would never have any business writing about: discrimination. It seemed to me that one could never fully explore this topic if they hadn’t actively been discriminated against. Being white, male, and breathtakingly hot I just never had to encounter this phenomenon… until my first visit with my wife to the doctor’s office.

It all started in the waiting room. Becky and I are sitting in our chairs, quite excited about the whole situation. There is the possibility that we’ll hear the heartbeat and it’s just great to be experiencing this. Then I start to look around the room and I notice it happens to be full of pregnant women. Being in an OB/GYN’s office I don’t think of this as shocking, but it becomes apparent that a lot of the women are staring at me oddly and kind of giving me the stink eye. My first instinct is to check my fly, but it’s zipped, and slowly it begins to dawn on me that they’re mad at me. I instantly chalk this up to territorial reasons. Why should a man be in an OB/GYN’s office? Then I’m thinking, maybe they’re mad at me because I’m not pregnant and they are. I instantly want to shout out that my breasts are tender too, but common sense sets in.

Soon a nurse comes out and calls Becky’s name. We both get up and walk toward her. She is nicely holding the door open for us, Becky walks through, and then the nurse steps in front of me and lets go of the door, practically slamming it in my face. A wave of panic runs through my body as I begin to wonder if I’m actually allowed to go back with her. I mean, are the back halls of an OB/GYN’s office akin to the women’s bathroom? Should I only go in for emergency purposes? I ignore these fears, open the door and run to catch up with them.

The entire appointment lasts roughly 30 minutes, and not surprisingly I’m ignored through the entire session. The nurse never looks at me, and my questions go largely ignored. The message is clear: I’m a man, and can’t possibly understand anything about this process. Of course this is true, but do you have to act like I’m not in the room?

I implore with the medical professionals and pregnant women out there don’t discriminate against us men. Sure we got you in this predicament in the first place. It’s true we get to sit back while you’re body goes through a virtual funhouse of hormonal and physical changes. And maybe, like, half the time after we get you pregnant we leave you to raise the kid by yourself, or spend every waking moment away from the baby while we go drinking at the bar. So what if we only have to sit and hold your hand while a bowling ball size object has to pass through your… Hey, wait a minute! What the hell am I saying? Men do have it easy!

Ladies, discriminate all you want.

Official Memorandum

To: Fellow Zillionaires
From: MR
CC: Krusty
RE: A Grave Mistake

Fellow Zillionaires,

First, please forgive the fact that this memo isn’t printed on official Zillionaire stationery.

Now, I caution you to maintain your temperance in these trying times. I understand the cause for alarm. After reading the comments section, the thought of Krusty missing out on the christening of the Zillionaire’s Lounge seems unfathomable. It would be like the president missing out on his inauguration.

Krusty’s possible absence raises serious questions. Who will perform the splits with reckless abandon? Who will crack open beers with their teeth? Who will make drinks so potent that they inevitably lead to public indecency? I will admit, when I began crafting the bar in my basement, I did so with Krusty in mind. I was like Kevin Costner in “Field of Dreams.” Believe me, I am as saddened as you are that Krusty will not be in attendance.

But please, I implore you to look back on some recent history:

  • First, let’s not forget our Las Vegas trip. It happened to be scheduled on the same weekend as his brother’s wedding back in Washington. Now at this time, Krusty was living in California. Somehow Krusty managed to traverse the country in 48 hours to make appearances at his brother’s wedding and at the Spanish 21 table in Vegas. To this day I have no idea how he pulled all of this off, but I’m pretty sure a DeLorean with a Flux Capacitor was involved.
  • And then there was the Halloween Party of 2002. We went with a “Saturday Night Live” theme that year. Krusty flew up for the weekend so that he could perform an endless array of keg stands in a Matt Foley costume. He was in rare form, as I found him passed out in eight different rooms of our house throughout the evening. It was almost as if the spirit of Chris Farley had possessed him that night…
  • There was never any doubt that Krusty would attend my bachelor party. Yet again, he flew up from California to insure that everyone in attendance would get near fatal cases of alcohol poisoning.
  • And when I got married, Krusty found a way to deliver head spins on the dance floor into the wee hours of the morning. Others had gone to bed, or simply refrained from break dancing, but not Krusty. This is what wedding memories are made of…
  • And finally, let’s also give credit to Maleah, who not only gives the green light on these adventures, but also has to deal with the aftermath. She is the one usually stuck transporting a passed-out Krusty, or cleaning up a puke-stained Krusty, or tracking down a misplaced Krusty when all is said and done. She is truly an unsung hero.

The point I am trying to make here is this: It would be a grave mistake to impugn Brother Krusty for missing the festivities. As evidenced above, he’s proven himself a true Zillionaire in every regard. I know that he would call in hourly bomb threats just to delay his flights home if that is what it took. I know he would shoot himself out of a cannon if that was the only means of travel available to get to Spokane. And I’m sure that he has looked at pawning some of Maleah’s jewelry to pay for the airfare.

The bottom line is, I know that there is nowhere he would rather be than at the christening of the Zillionaire’s Lounge, and almost no sacrifice he wouldn’t bear to make it happen. Those are the characteristics of a true friend and a quintessential Zillionaire. Krusty, you will be sorely missed, but not forgotten…


Zillionaire’s Lounge

Last year for Christmas my brother-in-law gave me a tool belt. It’s actually gotten a ton of use. I’ve spent the last 754 consecutive weekends dressed up like Schneider from “One Day at a Time.”

You see, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my basement. I’ve been inhaling radon gas and avoiding natural light. I’m constantly covered by a fine layer of fiberglass and sawdust. My skin is pale and my eyes have become beady. I’m seriously about three weekends away from looking like the crypt keeper. But, all of this was for a good cause: I’m building a lounge suitable for a Zillionaire…

It hasn’t been without danger. At one point, we had a table saw, a jigsaw, a circular saw, a miter saw and a rotozip operating within three feet of each other. Miraculously, I didn’t lose a finger. Truthfully, I owe it all to thousands of hours of video games. Dodging spinning blades, fireballs, or spikes shooting up from the floor is all in a day’s work. Thankfully, I didn’t have to slay a dragon or fight a Dark Jedi in my basement, as sometimes that takes a couple of lives, let alone a few fingers.

The blade guard on the miter saw actually broke off a couple of weeks ago. This meant that a ten-inch blade of death could spin freely, in the open, without any sort of protection or cover. Did we just use a different saw? Of course not. Did we try and fix it? No, too time consuming. Did we in any way try to compensate for the utter lack of safety involved? No. The solution: We all just agreed to “watch out” for the ten inch blade spinning in our work space and to max out our “Accidental Death and Dismemberment” insurance.

Seriously, before I even got started in the basement, I made a list, and tried to accomplish everything I always wanted to do with ten fingers. I gave quite a few piano recitals, did some hand modelling, and gave a lot of high-fives. I didn’t hesitate to give other drivers the finger, as I figured it might soon be a luxury I’d have to live without.

There is still lots of work to be done, and I may yet wind up with prosthetic hooks for arms, but so far things are going well… Soon, there will be a grand unveiling, and Zillionaires from across the country will descend on this lounge, and those events will be chronicled on this site…

More to come…

Halo 2… continued

As promised, here are some highlights from last night’s Halo 2 showdown.

  • My wife’s comment proved prophetic. I skipped dinner to play Halo 2 all night. This was partially due to lack of hunger. I thought ahead, and gorged myself almost to the point of physical illness at an all-you-can eat lunch buffet at Eatzza Pizza. Excellent foresight on my part. I was basically preparing for a Halo 2 hibernation. I could honestly last through the winter on that one meal… I figured I will be far less physically active in the coming months, and I probably won’t mate, so really my only concern at this point is just maintaining body temperature.
  • I took great pride in teaching Solo the art of the Coldcock, the most demoralizing and efficient way to kill an opponent. It’s become my trademark move, and it’s not a secret I part with easily. I only regret that I didn’t somehow pull a Mr. Miyagi to trick Solo into sanding my deck or waxing my cars in exchange for the training…

    For those of you unfamiliar with the Coldcock, here’s how it works:

    First, you must sneak up behind you opponent. Before they realize you are there, you deliver a single blow with the butt of your gun to the back of their head that kills them instantly. The best part of this move is that you essentially send a message that their life isn’t even worth wasting a bullet to end. God, I live for delivering Coldcocks. Seriously, the only way this could be any more humiliating would be if you could somehow administer a wedgie in the process as well…

  • Krusty left a message on my cell phone. The only way to describe the tone of his voice was giddy. It was obvious that he had either received a horse tranquilizer full of morphine, or he had spent the last 10 hours playing Halo 2. It was the latter that proved correct. His message rambled on for several minutes about laser swords and so forth until he finally passed out from elation. I managed to gather that he had gotten a chance to play Halo 2 down in Cali and it had changed his life. I am apprehensive to tell him this, because I don’t want his head to explode from trying to comprehend something like this, but here goes… Krusty, Halo 2 is even better online. Strap on the headphones with the rest of us, and you’ll find that there is nothing better in life than coldcocking your friends from thousands of miles away.
  • The game moves much quicker now, but I fear it is at the expense of strategy. I guess it only impacts those of us that play Halo like we’re Gary Kasparov.
  • Moment of Irony: A few times we experienced some minor difficulties waiting for the game to load. Each time this happened, someone in our group would curse all the other geeks online that were slowing the server down.
  • Solo came through with the funniest observation of the evening. When Dave’s sister, Denise, (aka The Manhandler) joined our group, Solo had this to say, “Every time you hear a high-pitched voice playing online, you just assume it’s a ten year old boy. Every once it in awhile, it turns out to be a girl playing vids, and then you’re like ‘Whoa..”

We may still be scratching the surface of this topic…