April 29


Today the amazing Jillist gives us a quiz to figure out whether our toddlers are tiny assassins. Thanks Jill, I needed this quiz.- Punk Rock Papa, officially afraid of his children now. 

I’m beginning to suspect my toddler may be a hired Assassin and unfortunately I am her mark. The fact that she keeps trying to kill me is the real dead-giveaway clue.

If you think 2 years old couldn’t possibly be a plausible age in which to commit murder, think again. All the signs are there.

To test my theory I even took the “How to Tell if Your Toddler is a Tiny Assassin” quiz. As expected, my little one scored off the freaking charts. This completely confirms my suspicions since everybody knows these types of assessments are very, very reliable. 

Take the quiz to see how your kid stacks up. But be forewarned, you may not like the results.
1. When your toddler has a moment to herself, you find her:
A) quietly playing with her toys like the angel she is
B) using her dry-erase markers to “decorate” your cookbooks instead of her easel
C) engaged in a quiet conversation on a throwaway phone-like device
2. On a typical day your toddler dresses: 
A) in one outfit after the next, she’s a total mess magnet
B) in a diaper, if you’re lucky, she’s going through a naked phase
C) in protective gloves and a suspicious dark-colored ski mask
3. During meals your toddler:
A) manages to swallow some food but “shampoos” most of it into her hair
B) violently rocks the high chair back and forth so as to induce a parental heart attack
C) disassembles and cleans the components of her big brother’s nerf gun

4. At story time your toddler sits on your lap and:
A) listens attentively as you read a selection of books
B) forces you to read “moo, baa la la la” until the cows come home
C) delivers an uppercut palm-punch to the nose like a goddamn street fighter, just to test your reflexes

5. When you are wok-frying something in hot oil your toddler:
A) steers clear, she understands “hot” means hot
B) whines “uppie, uppie” nonstop until you lift her to get a better view of the sizzling action
C) performs a “run and charge” maneuver full speed at the back of your legs, causing them to buckle abruptly so you come perilously close to the flame

6. During cuddle time your toddler:
A) lays her head against your chest and sweetly sniffs her blankie
B) tries to squirm and wiggle away from you, she thinks keep away from mommy is a fun game
C) gazes lovingly into your eyes to weaken your defenses, then firmly yanks on your necklace hard enough to leave ligature marks

7. Throughout the day your toddler is rarely seen without:

A) her lovey
B) her finger up her nose
C) a copy of “How to Make Disposable Silencers and Suppressors for Dummies”

8. One of your toddler’s very first phrases was:
A) “hi mommy”
B) “why mommy?”
C) “die mommy”

Give your child zero points for each “a” answer, one point for each “b” answer and two points for each “c” answer.

4 Points or Fewer

Your mellow munchkin is as laid back as they come. Though it may be hard to tell beneath all that pudge, your little girl doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She’s more apt to go with the flow then create a big fuss. Sure, she may throw a typical toddler tantrum every now and then, but rest assured she doesn’t have those killer instincts.

5 to 10 Points

Your feisty little girl wants things done her way, right away. While she’s a definite firecracker, never fear, she’s not an assassin in the making. Her sassy tude may drive you batty sometimes, but it’s mostly harmless.

11 Points or More

Your twisted toddler is out for mommy blood. Though you may be tempted to ditch her on the nearest church stoop, turn the tables on her instead by killing her with kindness. Think breakfast in bed, UGG boots, and heated bath towels. All that spoiled attention is sure to melt her tiny black heart.

Jill_G_Finals_Web_Res-43Jill Ginsberg has several 3-letter certifications behind her signature but the one she’s most known for having is OCD. As a Writer, Holistic Nutritionist and the mother of three wild little humans, she relishes order, tends to think in lists, appreciates humor and doesn’t mind offending people. You can find her at thejillist.com, a lighthearted lifestyle and wellness blog that helps moms lose their shit and get it together at the same time.You can also follow her on Twitter and Facebook.
Please like & share:
April 26

parenting is life.

The thing about parenting is it can be lonely. Depressingly lonely. As a first time parent you get a tough reality check of who your friends really are. Once the little, or littles in my case (twins), enter this world, a lot of people fall off the face of the earth. Even the friends that don’t fall to the wayside have a hard time understanding the true commitment parenting takes if they don’t have children of their own. There is no spontaneous drives far away to grab special beer or food. There is no late night drink up followed by sobering pizza. Your life is just not the same after kids.

So what do you do? You become friends with other parents and learn to hate the late night party goers that live next door who always make a racket when coming home. You adapt to a completely new lifestyle and accept that the nights of bar hopping and clubbing are in the past. It is okay though. You have a whiny new person in your house who has the ability to melt your heart with a gummy smile, even after a long day of dirty diapers. You get over it, and the people who used to be important enough to be in your profile pic are pushed towards the back of the album as pictures of smiles, baths, and parent life begin to fill your Facebook.

As a young parent maybe the transition is harder? I became a father at the ripe age of twenty-one. When the bars welcome you in and most my age have spilled beer on their shirts I was at home rocking and cooing twin boys while wondering how quickly I needed to clean the spit up off my shirt before it caused a stain. Even when my wife was pregnant I hadn’t adjusted. She carried the burden of not being able to toss a few back. My feet weren’t sore after a long day of waddling around. That’s not to say I didn’t have a part-time job in the matter. During pregnancy the father is a glorified errand boy. We rush to get the food cravings or rub the coconut oil on to prevent stretch marks. We massage feet. We swear on the bible that our wives still look amazing even when they look like they swallowed a beach ball. And they do look beautiful. My wife is a gorgeous woman, but she will never top how beautiful she looked when she was pregnant with my children. My changes came later, signaled by the sweet cry of a child; heralding in the next phase of my life.

Parenting is certainly a lifestyle change. The things like partying and spontaneity are replaced immediately. It is okay though. That gummy smile I mentioned earlier, you see that and your heart melts. You forget about beer bongs and start helping Dora get away from Swiper. The new friends, fellow parents, chat you up about nap time fiascos and bath time disasters. You form bonds with people over your mutual hatred of Caillou. The childless friends that do stick around, though few in number, become honorary aunts and uncles to your children. You are born anew, as a parent.

Yes parenting can be lonely, but it doesn’t have to be. You accept the change and find yourself with something you never knew you were missing. Life gets an added level of meaning to it. Love happens; In its purest, most perfect form. Even now as I type, my son melts my heart from his rocker where he flashes me smiles while fighting drooping eyelids. With parenting comes a level of growth I didn’t expect and didn’t even know I needed. It is, after all is said and done, beautiful. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, would you?

Please like & share:
April 22

I sent my wife a dick pic

Sometimes you have to spice up your sex life. My wife and I have a great sex life, let that be known. Bow Chicka Wow Wow! A married, with children, sex life is a tough thing to maintain. It’s almost as if kids are fine tuned internally to break down in tears or need something at the moment their parents are reaching peak levels of horniness. I can’t tell you how many times I have swore at a baby monitor transmitting the whines of a cock block from two rooms away. It is tough and frustrating, but a good relationship should require a healthy sex life.  Well, healthy enough- a little depravity never hurt too much. Our sex life is good, great even, after three kids. You keep it that way by changing it up and trying new things. Like sending surprise Dick pictures.

Now, this isn’t to say Diana and I haven’t exchanged sexually explicit photos before. We are young, horny and sorta-kinda perverts. So this picture had to be special. It had to be apart from the normal run-of-the-mill sexting. I had to send it when she absolutely wouldn’t expect to open her phone and see my… boner palace.

This left me with some options. Should I send it when she was at work? That would be pretty surprising, and horrible! She works in an environment where people are constantly around. Really didn’t want to expose myself to a group of people. The voyeur in me was not jumping with excitement to show myself to her coworkers.

What about a nice wake up penis pic? Well, I work at night and my job isn’t exactly where I get super horny. I didn’t want to be in a bathroom stall taking glamour pics of my penis. I needed a comfortable setting to set proper dick picture angles and such. A bathroom stall at my job wasn’t the ideal place to snap some pics.

This left me with one option.

In the middle of a fight I would send her the surprise picture.

Yes, in the middle of a fight, at the height of being mad at each other was the best time. I planned and plotted it out. I had to. I couldn’t wait for a fight to occur, because we don’t fight too much. I had to create a fight. I needed to start a fight, so I could send the picture of my phallus to my wife.

In retrospect, I really can’t believe I spent hours planning the execution of sending my wife a surprise dick picture. I don’t spend that much time planning family getaways, so maybe I need help. I don’t even think I spend that much time planning or coordinating anything. Dick pics though? I will apparently lay out outlines and blueprints for those. 

Are there couples out there that don’t fight about money or bills? When the internet cut out because Diana forgot to pay the bill I was upset. I was also excited. OPPORTUNITY folks! Opportunity! It was going down! pictures were about to be sent! After feigning anger over the bill not being paid I exited stage left and went into the bathroom.

I should note that I had the foresight to store a dick picture. Which is very dangerous. What if I was scrolling through the pictures of my kids I show everyone and BAM! Briton penis in your face. What if I was showing pictures of the kids to my wife and a dick pic popped up that she had never seen? I mean, I feel like that would be a hard sell. I know she would know that dick, and she would also know whether it had popped up on her phone. I pride myself in my Dick pic taking ability. No one dick pic is the same. So what if she saw this picture before the right time? Just hanging out in my phone?

I continually shouted “Baby, that picture was for you! It was a surprise and a present! Baby please don’t go!”  As my wife packed her stuff and the kids and headed towards the door.

Another issue I was worried about were performance issues. What If the fight was about, I don’t know, something mundane. I wouldn’t be hot and fired up over a fight that was about bills. There’s no passion in that. I also couldn’t stand there fighting with some raging boner. I don’t think that would go well either.

“Why do you have a boner over us fighting? Fucking sick!”

So, the wife and I began to bicker over why the bill wasn’t paid. Me and my dick pic were READY! I feigned  being upset so well you would think I was literally upset! Okay, I spend my life on the internet, of course I was pissed off that was the bill she forgot to pay! Forget to pay the cable bill or something, I never watch tv I wouldn’t have cared! Not the internet bill! As the fight got heated I did the old fashioned Throw-your-hands-up-shake-your-head-while-sighing-heavily thing followed by a walk away in frustration. But frustration wasn’t why I walked away! I walked away to send a picture of my penis!

In the other room I pulled my phone out. I didn’t have to pull my penis out, I already had that part covered remember. Man, this was going to be awesome! She had no idea it was coming! Excitedly I located the picture which was awkwardly situated between pictures of my dog and family. There it was, in all its glory. I pressed send…and waited.

My wife and I have iPhones and it shows when someone receives your message. Says “read” right under the sent message. As read popped up I was all sorts of ready to see her reaction. She was about to get a surprise wiener-gram from her loving husband. Then came the ellipsis! To save others from having to google it like I did, the ellipsis are those three little dots that pop up indicating someone is typing. She was typing a response to my picture! I had reached peak excitement.

So what was my wife’s response to the sneak-a- dick? Did it…titillate her?

Didn’t even phase her. She didn’t even comment on it! Her response was that the internet will be back on in a few! It was like the dick pic didn’t even surprise her.

Uh- HELLO! My dick! Your phone! Surprise! 

Nope. Nothing. She flat out ignored it like it was a regular normal thing to send. You know how deflating that was? My dick didn’t matter, she was used to it. It could not surprise her, even in a fight about bills. As I sulked out of my dick pic sending headquarters I mumbled “thank you” as me and my shlong made our way back to the computer. I haven’t given up on continuing to keep our relationship spicy though!

Next week I am going to try hanging naked in the doorway like a perverted Spiderman. She will probably just walk around me though.

Please like & share:
April 18

peeling away the layers, an #OBPwordswap

Ostentatious. Fair enough.

I don’t know if I have been called ostentatious per se, but I have been accused of having a god complex. That felt really great! Apparently, having a god complex isn’t a compliment. At least it wasn’t when said about me. Not the first time…or the several times after. It seems the general consensus among people who are not fond of me is that I am ostentatious. Which made randomly getting this word all the funnier. I can’t get away from this subject. So, ostentatious? Fair enough.

Screen Shot 2015-04-18 at 6.14.40 AM

Let us peel away MY god complex piece by piece, layer by layer.

         First and foremost, we can talk about the “birth” of Punk Rock Papa. My Facebook page came about out of sadness and loneliness. I was at a point in my life where I felt completely alone. I would work, come home, kiss my wife as she ran out the door to work, and raise my kids all day. My conversations consisted of  “You hungry bubba?” or “Is it nap time buddy?”. At work I really don’t socialize. I work in an environment with a high turnover rate. If you haven’t been there for at least a year it is likely I won’t talk to you because I expect you to stop showing up to work one day. A majority of the people are middle-aged job surfers who have a GED and some sort of substance dependency. Not exactly the people you can have stimulating conversations with. Sure, I have a few I get along with, but at the end of the shift we all go our separate ways. there is work camaraderie, nothing more.


So here I was, exhausted and sad. When my wife and I did talk, it ended up in a fight over the frustrations of living paycheck to paycheck or being unable to have an actual relationship because of our conflicted schedules. I felt, in no simpler way, like a single parent. All I wanted ever from my page was to talk to other parents, and know I wasn’t alone in this world.

That is all my page ever was or is. Me trying to talk to parents and not feel alone in the world. 

Then, people asked me to blog. Over and over, “ You should try blogging!” Honestly, I didn’t want to and resisted. For the most part, I didn’t (and still don’t) read blogs. But, people wanted me to write. And I did. When I did, I found a place I could put all those things I had pent up inside. It didn’t matter how many people read it. I read it, and I became more familiar with myself. I healed through talking about things I had never felt right talking about. I found my true voice.

Apparently I am pretty good at it, people continue to read. If you are reading this now, then you are a testament to my ability. There comes the god complex. My page and my blog are only two-thirds of what make up my grandiose delusions of infallibility.

I started a group. Punk Rock Papa’s Brain Storm Bunker. The Bunker. Originally it was a handful of page admins I had met along the way. All likeminded and open folks who I felt a certain connection to. We took the Bunker and grew it. Along the way we picked up more Bunker Punks. It was a place where we talked about everything under the sun, from writing to deeply personal things. Everything was shared freely and openly. It’s always been diverse too. Parents of autistic kids, the parents who are close knit and waiting to be judged or bullied, joined parents of  neurotypical kids. It was a place where we weren’t anything but parents. We became a family of sorts.


It is my group only in title, but the life pulse comes from people all over the world treating each other like loved ones. That is all I ever wanted and all I care for. Not feeling alone. I don’t sit there expecting people hand over indulgences. I just don’t want parents to feel alone. The Bunker is my village if you will. There are no expectations other than friendship and understanding.

The understanding that no one has to feel alone. 

I have grown as a writer and a person through my page, blog, and this Bunker. Throughout it all I have maintained the idea that we all have voices to be heard. Throughout it all I have only wanted to know I wasn’t alone, which transformed into me wanting others to know they aren’t alone either.

Somewhere between being a lonely father to twins and now, I developed these ostentatious traits. These traits people hate so deeply in me. To be honest, I hope I am ostentatious. I want to impress and be over the top. It is a far cry from the person I was less than a year ago who needed to start a page so he could feel like he wasn’t developing a deep depression. So yeah, I will take this God complex, and wear it like a golden robe. I will show off what bears my name, in hopes of impressing the lot of you.

Working hard has left me healthy, happy and hungry for more. I want to continue to grow. To hone my craft as a writer. I take refuge from the world with my Bunker Punks and I hope they hold me up, as I would for every single one of them. I love my page. I love my blog. And dammit, I love my Bunker.

What were we talking about? The word of the day is ostentatious right! What a shitty fucking word to draw for a writing prompt. Of course I am ostentatious, I spend half my day online talking to strangers and writing about my feelings. I run a page, a blog and a group- all with my name on them. Every blogger out there is an ostentatious person. Not all of them are so ready to admit it. The people that actively deny it are no better than the ones who flaunt it.


Look at where I have gotten, on my own merit. I display it proudly and without any shame. If that means I am an ostentatious person with a god complex, fair enough.

Please like & share:
April 15

True Life: My Dog is an Asshole

I am on this new fitness kick! I swore off the smokes, the soda and the energy drinks. I even started running; which I force myself to love. Yes, force myself. Brainwash myself by repeatedly thinking “this is fun!” as my legs begin to burn. Today it was beautiful and I decided, “Hey! I will take the dog for a run! What better running partner than my furry four-legged best friend?” Can I just say that this was one of the worst decisions for a fitness partner I could ever make? I think Honey Boo Boo’s mother would make a better jogging partner than my damn dog.

So, we went to a lovely little dog park with trails behind it. I was feeling super excited and energetic, so was Stella. She dragged/pulled me onto the trail. I liked that! That is what you need in a fitness partner, someone who is excited to push and go! So I started getting SUPER pumped! Yeah, #fitness, I couldn’t wait to hit the trails with man’s best friend!

As I stopped to stretch a bit, Stella went into drag/pull-on-leash violently mode. Okay, a little unsafe not to stretch before a run, I dug her intensity though. Down the trail we started to go, without properly stretching, I am over that because the rest of the “jog”, if you would even call it that, was far worse than making sure my hammies wouldn’t cramp.


All of a sudden, twenty seconds in I might add, my arm is pulled half out of socket because there is stuff to sniff on the side of the path. Twenty seconds into our run, we are standing there while she sniffs a bush. Stella gave me a look that I can only describe as the “This is the spot” look before squatting and marking her territory. She continued this stop and mark routine for half of our path, each time yanking my arm a little more out of socket. She successfully made sure every fifth bush was Stella-scented, i didn’t even know her bladder could hold that much territory marker fluid.


When she wasn’t trying to tear my arm off there were other lovely things she did. Oh! Like when she decided to take lead suddenly on our run. Screw running beside you, let me run in front of you! Except my dog isn’t fast. At all. Now not only do I have a sore arm but my dog tried to trip me up by slowing way down in front of me suddenly. As my foot came up and met her torso, she released a how dare you yelp. I got halfway through saying “what the fu-” before I went tumbling to the ground. The dirt and gravel ground. As I sprawled out in the sunlight she casually looked at me and marked her territory some more before pulling on the leash, because me laying there in pain was holding her up.

SO, I get back up and we continue on our way. Everything was good for about ten seconds. This is when Stella decided she wanted to run back and forth in a Z-like formation like she was dodging bullets. Here I am, trying to hold my dog, who is possessed by Cujo, as she does some evasive maneuvering.

Guess what came along. Another jogger and their dog. Their unleashed dog.

Stella goes crazy, because we HAVE to meet these people.  She charges the other dog with the excitement of a thousand puppies. The other runner doesn’t even stop. Just keeps running and casually yells, “Ignore her, come on girl” to her unleashed and now skittish as hell dog. I am left here with half an arm and my dog pulling with all 90lbs of her body. While this runner continues on and her scared dog runs to catch up. You would think with the dog and jogger gone Stella would continue our journey. Nope. She stood there, rigid, for a good minute until they were out of site. Finally I get her to move on, when another jogger runs by. Guess what happened? Stella decided we HAD to introduce ourselves. This happened every single time we passed these people. Every. Single. Time. Three times if you are counting, which I was because they are forever burned into my mind.

At this point all the sweat I have is from trying to contain my psychotic and impulsive dog. I am tired, my arm hurts, and I am pretty sure I scraped my knee from when wannabe Balto decided to lead the way. I quit attempting to jog, and decide to just walk for a little bit then take her into the enclosed dog area. As we are walking ANOTHER unleashed dog comes our way with its owner. This was awesome. A mother and her son walking their unleashed dog. The kid decides it will be a real hoot if he throws a tennis ball in the direction of my dog. This prompts his dog to come barreling my way. Stella goes into ready to spring mode as a ball whizzes past her. I am now digging my feet into the ground just to hold her from blasting off after this ball and other dog. The mother sheepishly apologized, which I had to respond with an, “Oh don’t worry about it!” while in my mind I thought “I hate you, your child, your dog and that tennis ball!”

Look, not to get into what people should do with their dogs but maybe could you leash them? This isn’t because your dog is a nut, it’s because mine is. We actually have a leash law in this town, which is why I hadn’t let Stella run with the wind! Apparently this was the lawless part of town, because no one on the trails had leashes anywhere in sight. So here I am, the only law-abiding citizen (impresses even me folks) in the seedy part of town where people let their Golden Retrievers roam freely. It was time to get out of this ghetto place where soccer moms broke laws and anarchy ruled, I needed to get to the safety of the enclosure.

I had given up on jogging with my stupid dog, was headed up the trail to the enclosure when Stella decided she was thirsty from going insane for a half hour. She was the tired one. She also might have needed to refill her marker fluid. There was a little pond next to the trail, so she went over to get hydrated and re-up on fluids for more bush peeing. As she was sipping, I took the opportunity to kick her into the water, which was very amusing. Yes, I kicked my dog into a small pond because she sucks at being a fitness partner. I don’t even feel bad! My dog was a jerk today. All I wanted was to go in a circle for twenty minutes and now I have to ice my rotator cuff and apply Neosporin to my knee. And the kicking her in the water thing that was so amusing? Jokes on me, when we got home the first thing she did was jump on the couch. With her muddy paws.

True Life: My Dog Is An Asshole

I kick my dog


(I didn’t kick her that hard, calm down PETA)

Please like & share:
April 11

Ten Lines of Love

While perusing the book of face, I decided to stop in on the always delightful and lovely Brickhouse Chick, This led me to the poetry competition she participated in. Thankfully, she is thoughtful and nominated any and everyone! If she hadn’t, I would be sitting on the sidelines upset about it. So, here goes nothing! attempt number three at poetry (that rhymed)

The rules are as follows:

•Write about love using only 10 lines.

•Use the word love in every line.

•Each line can only be four words long.

•Nominate others who are up for the challenge.

•Let them know about the challenge.

•Title the post: Love in Ten Lines

•Include a quote about love (this can be your own).

•You may write in any language.

Love me like that

That love you do

Love me so fierce

Love bleeds, shines through

Love me for me

Love who may be

what comes from Love

If love is true?

Love me for me

I’ll always love you

My Quote! 

“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages”


Now here are my nominations,

The lovely Hasty Words, who helped me build up the courage to showcase poetry.

My sweet Canadian J-Law, always a nurturing light on my soul.

The other sweet and wonderful Canadian, A New World Mom and wonderful person.

Lastly, someone who has become like a sister to me and I am only tagging to be an ass. Love you Nikki!

Please like & share:
April 9

There’s an art to life’s distractions

Mickey Mouse drags on in the background. I can’t hear it, thank god for headphones. My kid is making a face that I can only assume is accompanied by a shit. His brother is lounging on the couch with a baby diaper on his head like a hat. Don’t worry, it isn’t a dirty diaper. Ezra is sitting in his little rocker chair, babbling on and looking into the distance. He does that a lot, I feel like he is talking to someone I just can’t see. 

I feel as if each day I don’t write I lose my voice a little. In my writing I get to be me. I can adore my children, bemoan my children or make tongue-in-cheek remarks about breastfeeding. Here I can release whatever I want, usually with recklessly thoughtful abandon. I don’t aim to harm anyone in my little area of the interwebs, just to talk matters that are pressing to me.

I love writing, I love what it has given me. In addition to a sweet release I have met some amazing people. How do you meet people on the internet? Easy, we gather together and bleed for the world to see. We sit there on our blogs and pages, unfiltered and hoping only for acceptance. Some people don’t accept and others do. So is life.

In truth, most of us are missing something in our lives that drives us to see this fulfillment online. We all want acceptance, some of us in anonymity. We all are missing our voice to a degree in real life. If we weren’t, why would we spend our days online shouting from our platforms and hoping for like-minded people to come by.

My admission? In life I can’t thoughtfully discuss most things. My emotions rule me. My emotions are fierce. Fiery rage, immense sadness, boyish delight. They come and go, always with the intensity of a thousand suns. It is just who I am. At any moment I am liable to explode with bursts of whatever my emotions decide. So, when I take to the internet I finally have a place to measure my feelings and thoughtfully release. I leave a published post or status feeling calm, at peace.

I have always been an emotional person. The other night something reminded me of my mother and I had to be consoled as I forced myself to sit there listening to songs that I correlate with my mom. I have a playlist on Spotify with one song on it, The song that was my sister’s ringtone, I listen to it and cry over a shattered relationship that will never be fixed because in October she left this world.

When I take a thoughtful look at myself, sometimes I can’t stand it. Some days I can’t parent because my emotions rule me and I lay there in bed all day, just not wanting to move. I blame laziness, but I know the truth. I am graced by an understanding wife who knows that some days I just can’t. I don’t even have the energy to turn to my outlet, even though I should.

When laying it out, I sound crazy. Maybe I am? Who isn’t nowadays? The best people are crazy. I sit on the internet and talk and talk and talk until someone comes along and responds. The people that come by, I love wholeheartedly. Seriously- I have handed out a piece of my soul and heart in every conversation I have had. It’s one of the things that makes me even more emotional. When someone I have handed a piece of myself to does a 180 and walks straight out of my life or goes into full on attack mode on someone else I have given a piece of me to- it hurts. It keeps me up at night, wanting to tell them I love them and I respect their choices. Tell them that this internet is only an internet and they should focus on real life. While I am forever connected I tell others to disconnect. Ironic.

I fell in love with writing, and some days I feel like it was the worst decision of my life. I constantly have an electronic open, forever scrolling or writing. Forever handing pieces of my heart and soul out, forever connected to people who I probably will never meet and probably never know that I love them.

“Love with every stranger, the stranger the better”- Hozier

Please like & share:
April 2

Swag Thot Urban Pac Iggy Debo

The other day I officially became old. It wasn’t my birthday, but it was still a day of realization; where the two years of #DadLife had finally caught up to me. James, my best friend, came into the house and said he smelled weed in the hallway. Now, this would be cool- if I smoked weed. But I haven’t done that in ages and I don’t really enjoy the dwelling I raise my kids in smelling like Reefer Madness. I went to investigate, only to find two stoned teens in the basement we share with our upstairs neighbor.


So there I was, questioning two fourteen year olds about why they have bloodshot eyes and can’t stop giggling. One of the kids was the son of my upstairs neighbor. I knew him pretty well, good kid for the most part. As I sat there grilling him, his buddy got mouthy.

“What’s your problem, you’ve lost your chill”

My chill? What the fuck does that mean? My mind was going a mile a minute trying to figure out what the fuck my chill was as I yelled, “You get off my property! You get your friend off my property Gio, right now!”

As they scattered like the little punks they are, the chill thing stuck with me. Am I really that old that I don’t know the cool sayings anymore? I am only twenty-three damnit! I should know what my chill is! I can’t lose my chill yet if I don’t know what it is! This was a problem for me, a big one. Later that night I sat up, researching Urban Dictionary and listening to the latest rap tracks in order to find my chill. What I found was a foreign language and crap lyrics packaged as “rap”. I get it, you can rhyme bitch with bitch- you genius you! Anyways, I forced myself to understand it all, because when those punks come back they are going to get fucking served!

I am sure that I am not the only parent out there feeling over-the-hill, so I figured I could share what I have learned with you all.

Let’s start with a crash course in texting, these kids have their own lingo and I have found a few pieces so I can help you to decode whatever slim thug is messaging his peeps.


Now, most of these are pretty easy to decipher. What about a Sex Barbecue though? Don’t you worry- I have braved Urban Dictionary and found out.

Screen Shot 2015-04-01 at 8.54.52 PM

Yeah, there will be no Sex Barbecues this summer. You kids are going to have to find another place for that action, I won’t have my Sweet Baby Ray’s wasted on your sick perversions.

This wasn’t the only research I did. I also looked into women. Now, I know some feminists come to my blog from time to time (awkwardly looks in Gretchen’s direction) but just know, I am getting the information out there for other parent’s so we no longer look stupid talking to the new generation on the up and up. They have some interesting lingo for women. Gone are the days of her being my boo. Now she is Bae. Bae. Now, I don’t know how Bae came about. I assume without digging too much that it was a missed letter and laziness that created Bae. You can find more information about it’s origins in Esquire, but I don’t have time for that old man magazine, I am trying to get back at stoned teens.

Another name for a woman is a Thot. This is where I am worried about Gretchen, because this is the next-gen version of bitch or hoe. It literally stands for That Hoe Over There. So, next time your kid or a kid calls you a thot, you smack them and don’t regret hitting a child. You’re being Thotful.

We weren’t here to research women. I already have my boo Bae and I am very happy with her. No need to go thot hunting. No, this whole thing started as a need to find my chill, whatever it is. I mean, it would have been easy to google lost my chill, right?

Screen Shot 2015-04-01 at 9.15.58 PM

Going through the SIX possible things I lost, I assume it is 4 that I “lost”. I guess you can’t describe yelling at 14 year olds for smoking weed in your basement as easy going. guilty. Now that he meant I wasn’t easygoing, I need to have a good comeback for next time I see the little fucker.

Please like & share: