Blew out with 3K words last night and on re-reading them this morning, I didn’t want to rip my face off or puke. DEEPLY SUSPICIOUS NOW.
Sure fire way to get my son never to drive: You can drive my car, but you have to run some errands. We need milk, bread and a penis pump.
15YO showed me the UT DMV site and that he can get a learner’s permit to drive TODAY. “Wait, can you even reach the pedals?” “Shut up, Dad!”
Cool: 15YO learned to play Hendrix’s “Purple Haze” on the guitar. Infinitely less cool: all he *ever* does now is play “Purple Haze.”
Wife left to visit friends, while I’m home cleaning the bathrooms. Quick! Someone teach me how to use this guilt stuff to my advantage!
Me: We *really* need a new camera. How much do you think I could spend? Wife: Um, nothing? Me: OK. How much jail time do you think I’ll get?
Wife’s birthday today. Did my usual “Sexy, Nekkid & Jiggling Jon” dance for her as a present. As usual, was not asked to perform an encore.
Also, they will ask you to leave the fancy restaurant if you perform the “Sexy, Nekkid & Jiggling Jon” dance during the dessert course.
Almost 15YO son has moved on to Girl He Likes v. 2.0. Declared v. 1.0 “buggy and kinda mean.” Insert your own misogynistic joke here.
Me: So, do you still think wearing this hat makes me look pretentious and stupid? Wife: I never said pretentious. Me: Um, ow.
Started explaining to wife what a comedic “rim shot” is. Moved to expounding on paradiddles. Suddenly, I’m 15, at band camp and KILL ME NOW.
“It’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools.” MSFT PowerPoint version: “Poor craftsman, forced to use PPT. Now you feel like a giant tool.”
In case you aren’t ancient like me and have no idea who Christopher Cross is: http://tinyurl.com/56vuty 
Dear Subconcious, Sorry about whatever I did to tick you off. Stop having me wake up with “Sailing” by Christopher Cross stuck in my head -j
Wife made noises which led me to believe she’s joining Twitter. I made noises like, “Hm. Sounds LAME! I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Every time I fire up the Terminal, I can sense my Mac make scared, whimpering noises, “The bad man is back! He hurts us! We hate him! Flee!”
Son called me and said, “We’re hiking & Mom wants to trespass.” Sometimes I wonder, “Maybe I’m not the one who should be on the brain meds.”
Ellis (6): Mommy, do you think I’m wonderful? Mom: Of course I do. E.: OK. Daddy, now it’s your turn to tell me I’m wonderful.
Stumbling on the treadmill: not particularly funny. Fainting on the treadmill and lying in a bloody heap in your garage: comedy gold, baby!
Please, for the last time, I am *not* emotionally needy; I’m merely crippled by lingering self-doubt and a debilitating longing to be loved.
Holy estrogen fest at the @dooce reading last night. Unrelated: I went home and apologized profusely to my wife for EVER impregnating her.
At least I have ammo in my belt when she mocks me for liking Rush. “Fine, YYZ is still my favorite song, but at least they’re umlaut free.”
BREAKING NEWS: She also likes the Scorpions. We’ve been married for centuries and I NEVER knew. WHAT ELSE HAS SHE KEPT FROM ME? Dizzy now.
Fact I learned which has absolutely *shattered* my world: My wife has been keeping a secret from me for YEARS. She likes Blue Öyster Cult.
“What Cadbury mini-eggs?” “From my Easter basket.” “Maybe you ate them, E.” “I hid them under my bed, Daddy.” “Hm. Interesting. No idea.”
This is my Birdhouse: http://is.gd/scVr (Birdhouse review, YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH, @lonelysandwich, @camh, @birdhouseapp) Smooches, -j
Number of times we lost kids while at Disneyland: 5 Number of times we found kids: 6 HOLY CRAP, WE SOMEHOW PICKED UP AN EXTRA ONE.
“Daddy should not be allowed to pick our road trip music.” “Why?” “Because he knows all the words to the songs and he sings. It’s horrible.”
No one on line at the Matterhorn took comfort when I screamed, “This thing is 857 years old, have you people never heard of metal fatigue?”
The Deals: those people who eat at a restaurant, make a scene and pilpher as many Sweet’N Low packets as they can get their grubby paws on.
Live tweeting the California Screamer roller coaster: Ugh. I hate this. I hate you for making me do this. I’ve lost bladder control. Ugh.
The Mad Hatter’s Tea Cups: 5 The Deals, who, it turns out, have very sensitive stomachs: 0 “Do you think they’ll make us clean that up?”
It’s incredibly tough to pass through Beaver, Utah and keep my inner junior high school boy in check. Must. Resist. Obvious. Jokes.
How to make certain people in my family squeal and pee their pants: “We’re going to Disneyland tomorrow!” (Hint, not just the 6YO.)
Look, if I’m going to be here at work at 11PM, we’re all going have to pretend I’m wearing sweats and not “jammies with little horsies,” OK?
Clearly, some horrible and tragic life choices led me to believe it’d be OK to serenade my wife in the shower with a Peter Cetera ballad.
Wife: What were you going to say? Me: I can’t remember. Wife: Jon, it was 15 seconds ago. Me: I know. Welcome to my brain, babe.