Zoinks

Not my MO to s$it where I eat,  but holy crap is Lisa in a "I hate Dan" mood.  Time to invent some errands.  Errands far, far away from home.

Uh Oh

We have two cars and Lisa and I have free use of both. But over dinner I told her that I was annoyed she left the windows in "my car" open.

Oops.

Cue five minutes of damage control.

YaYa: Chill, Dad. Mom hasn't even mentioned it.

Me: Oh, she's filed it away. You can write this moment down on a piece of paper, fold it up, and put it in your hope chest. Cuz the day is coming.

Yup

6 months

We're 10 days shy of going 6 months w/out a single day w/out kids - or for that matter, so much as 4 hrs (!). Haven't seen a movie in close to a yr, haven't gone out to dinnner alone (w/out a curfew) for months. Typical for some famlies I guess, but Lisa & I enjoy our time together more than most. I think some parents keep their kids on their t*t so they won't notice how little they like their spouse.

'My' pillows

On this, the seventh anniversary of the 911 attacks, I thought I'd forego the solemn tributes that dominate the day and offer a glimpse of married humor.

Arlo and Janis has long been a favorite comic of mine. Today's strip is stolen right out of our nighttime routine. Lisa is obsessed with 'her' pillows, which include a body pillow and of late 'big fat kitty'. Big Fat Kitty is the stuffed animal LuLu got at the same time YaYa purchased the long-haired cat that I mistakenly shrunk in the dryer. Apparently, he makes quite a good pillow.

Then again, because of a pillow shortage caused by a houseful of guests, I slept with an alligator shaped stuffed animal as a pillow last night.  

Tags: Arlo and Janis

This Ain't No Chuck E. Cheese

What lousy timing with that Guest Editor business. It was published Friday and I left town that very day, depriving me of enjoying the adulation I so fully deserve.

But we needed the time away. It was our first vacation of any kind since '06 and our first trip sans kids since '05.

Still, I had plans of saving some $ and spending Friday night at home, albeit a home gloriously empty of children. But after devoting half an hour to cleaning the mess the water caused the night before, we said 'see ya!' and headed out the door.

First stop: an average Mexican restaurant in Cudahy, where the only thing of note was the disgusting tongue-action between a homely 50-ish couple in the booth behind us.

[Note: aside from the fact that they sat on the same side of the booth, routinely traded tongues, and had their hands (shiver) disappear beneath the table quite a bit, may I just say to the gentleman, should he be reading this:

Your waist is not located on a plane even with your nipples. Wear your pants below your chest. Trust me. There is a middle ground between my plumber's crack and your . . whatever that was.

The world thanks you in advance for your co-operation.]

Then it was on to At Random, a south-side bar that Lisa's been trying to get me to visit for ages.

It's been in business for more than 40 years in a converted South-side home. Their menu proudly advertises that they don't serve beer or wine. So what do they have? Pretty much anything else on earth.

Aside from the drinks, the place is famous for its decor. It's very dark in there, even by tavern standards, and much of what illumination there is comes from fiber optic Christmas trees scattered about. Mid-century jazz plays over the loudspeaker, and our waitress was easily seventy or older.

It's not intentionally kitschy you understand, they just haven't found a need to change in 40 years.

The owner is a big, gruff guy that Lisa warned me was 'intimidating'. I guess I can see that, but he was just fine with us. Not so the case with some college age couples who wanted to change booths - oh the looks he gave them! They're very finicky about who gets in and where they sit.

[True story: once upon a time Lisa went to At Random with a bachlorette party and they were refused seats.

"But it's my bachlorette party," Lisa's friend said.

Nothing.

"There's a whole couch that would fit us," she said, referring to a wrap-around in one of the rooms.

Blank.

"We could sit at different tables," she pleaded. By this point she was crying, with tears just streaming down her face.

His final, unequivocal answer, said with a snarl and a trace of contempt: "This ain't no Chuck E. Cheese. This place is for couples. Get out."]

Lisa ordered a mint drink that tasted like a Girl Scout Thin Mint cookie, and I settled on a delicious concoction made of Irish Cream, Vodka, and Oreos - three of the best things on earth - mixed with ice cream.

It was grand, but they taste so much like harmless confections that you drink the whole thing before BOOM! the booze hits you blindside.

From there it was on to a local hotel where we spent the night. Aside from everything else that was great about the hotel, Lisa found herself entranced by Peter Jackson's King Kong, something she'd never, ever have rented or watched at home.

In the morning it was off to Fort Atkinson.

Happy 13th Anniversary Sinatra!

Thirteen years ago today, around three hours past midnight, my friend Erv and I were on a typical college-era, pointless, shoot the shi*,  middle of the night road trip when we wanted to stop for some food at a 24 hour Subway.

It was closed, and I found out later it was the first and only time in a decade they'd been forced to shut their doors because of staff call-ins.

So we wound up at George Webb's on 47th and Forest Home (for you non-Wisconsinites, Webb's is the hometown equivalent of a Waffle House). The waitress was spouting your typical "I love Clinton" Democrat B.S. 

Thus, I ignored her.

My only real interaction with the woman was a brief dialogue about breakfast sausage. I wanted links, they only had patties. Such is the level of debate at a coffee house at 3 a.m.

Somehow the waitress wormed her way into our conversation, and almost without realizing it, I began flirting with her. At one point we discussed music and I mentioned I loved big bands.

"I love them too," she said.

"Well, then I'm just going to have to marry you," I said.

Now as it happens just a few days before I'd been lamenting my bachelorhood - by that I mean my suffocating loneliness - with Erv and the sarcastic S.O.B. had actually had me sign a statement saying I would never meet anyone.

Keep in mind at the time, while blessed with the full and lush hair of a god, I was greatly overweight, clothed in a black sweatshirt and plain jeans, ugly sneakers, made $4.50/hr while going to school full time, and had severe plumbers crack.

[That last part never has changed. Consistency is the key to happiness my friends, the key!]

Erv mentioned this contract in passing to the waitress, and when the bill arrived so did this note:

I was floored. "What should I do?" I asked Erv.

"Leave a bigger tip," he said.

So I wrote back.

I went home, she called me and we went out . . to a different Webb's. I was still full but she hadn't eaten so she ordered breakfast. I said all of 5 words during the meal and was regretting the whole disaster.

"I don't know what's wrong with you," she said all po'd, " but when I'm done with breakfast I'll take you home and forget this ever happened."

Fine by me. Then for some reason this . . this . . Democrat across the table called my beloved Gov. Tommy Thompson a drunk.

No one goes after my Tommy.

So I began to debate her, and after a good half hour or so she asked if I wanted to go with her to get a car wash. I did, and she also stopped home to show me some books she'd just ordered from Book of The Month, hoping to impress my nerdom (it did).

We parked by a local park and talked for awhile, and I remember having to hold this little boombox because she'd bought the car without an installed radio and still hadn't found the funds to purchase one.

Honestly, my clearest memory of the talk was the way her chest pushed out as she spoke with her back to the door.

{D-D-D Diva she used to say, joking about her cup size}

That was when we had our first hug. A few hours later we went to see Higher Learning and had our first kiss.

All in all, our first date lasted 10 hours or so.

I was home for about an hour before she called me. Later that night, after a short nap, I called her and we went out again, this time spending some time at the lakefront and coming home at dawn.

A few days later I spent the night in her dorm room, listening to Billy Joel, playing Skipbo, and making out. She'd cut her hair short and dyed it red because she knew both made me crazy, and in return I'd made a failed effort to pull up the back of my pants.  

And no, sadly we didn't *ahem* just yet.

On the way home the next morning we got into a fender bender with her brand new car, and Lis was shaken up. At the time I didn't know how to drive stick so her Mom came to pick us up.

"You should see a doctor, your neck is all bruised," she said to me with concern.

Yeah, uh, not actually from the accident, but thank you :) .

That was how I met my mother-in-law.

After some bumpy patches and drama I proposed on Christmas day, on one knee at the lakefront by Sheridan park, and we were married the next October.

We still have both notes, obviously, and at least once a week Lis wears the shirt I wore that day to bed, now thin and full of holes. In 13 years she has yet to listen to a single big band tune and could not, for the life of her, tell me the difference between Glen Miller and Barney Miller.

Without question, February 22nd remains one of the most pivotal and important dates in my life, if not the most.

Love you Lis, and happy anniversary!

NOT ON AOL/AIM? COMMENT HERE

Tags: Lisa, Blogplugs

A post for my (wedding) anniversary

My desktop is now back up and running at full steam, so I figured a quick post was in order.

[Today, btw, is my 11th wedding anniversary!]

[Mandatory posts missed due to comp problems:

Baptism

praying mantis

YaYa's 6th Birthday]

Last Monday (the 15th) YaYa auditioned for a role in Oliver! at a local children's theater we've frequented since she was a toddler. She went for a pre-audition practice then went for it all in a pageboy hat with a big #51 on her chest.

She sang, danced, and did a scene in front of 4 judges but unfortunately never got a call back and didn't get the part.

A dissapointment, and I'd kick the judge's ass if I could, but she was auditioning to play 9 year old boy. She handled the rejection well. She hung her head for but a moment butthen proclaimed that she would keep auditioning at future productions until she got a part. I was VERY proud of her.

Imagine - a child of Dan Slap having not only the gumption but the desire to go an audtion at age six. Wow!

Additionally, just like her Daddy the reading/writing bug kicked in hard now in 1st grade - she is breezing through her reading assignments and often writes a story before bed! Kudos to her Mom for reading all those Junie B Jones books to her over the summer!

*  * * *

Parker still isn't talking, or rather is speaking only the odd word here and there. So far his vocabulary is:

ew wow!    

socks

broke

no

yea

ok

bye

hi

mama

more

bob (as in bob the builder)

ball

He seems to comprehend fully (and in fact, I know he does) but just can't (or won't) talk. Legend has it his Mom didn't speak until 3 herself. I think I've caught him talking to himself in more complete phrases, but ixnay on speaking for public consumption.

Or maybe I heard wrong.

Anyhow, he remains the happiest kid EVER, with a cheese grin permanently chiseled on that face of his. I hope he stays that happy forever because it would just be too ironic to see a depressed version of my boy, knock on wood.

He's so iconically happy that my Mom has nicknamed him'Smiley', and the name just might stick.

My own choice for a nickname: 'Quake' - because by 18 I think he'll stand 6'4" and top out at 250#, give or take. Men will quake when they see him, and women will swoon.

One hopes :)

My misguided post about his cross-dressing was poorly timed, as he has quickly and drastically abandoned all things girly in favor of Spiderman, Cars, and general destruction.

Maker of Trouble and Mayhem indeed.

* * *

LuLu is enjoying the heck out of K4 and has already had friends over to play. She is getting on her Mom's nerves just like YaYa did at this age. Every morning she stomps her feet and tells us how much she hates her shoes, shirt, pants - fill in the blank - largely becuase she's 'worn dem already'.

Note: this violates our longstanding rule 'don't say hate' - it's a bad word here.

OFW I say. Oh Bleep Well.

It'll pass, just like it did with YaYa.

And personally, I've grown much more fond of her lately. She is the most loving of all the kids, classically the cutest (in an apple dumpling kind of a way), and is at that age where she just adores me.

How can I fault her for that?

She takes dance class every Monday (YaYa decided against it this year, preferring gymnastics on Wednesday's) and is looking forward to appearing in the show again next year.

It's hard to find 10 1/2 wide tap shoes tho'.:)

She's also a Daisy scout, having had her first meeting this afternoon.

* * * *

Lauren has now finally surpassed my birthweight, clocking in at 11# 6oz at her checkup this week. She has a sensitive stomach and has been switched to Soy formula to curtail her vomitting (with limited results) and we've been instructed to add rice cereal to her bottles. Point in fact, she just unleashed a torrent of spitup into my lap. Niiccce.

Otherwise . . she sleeps most of the night, waking promptly each night at 3:15 and 5 am.

That SUCKS

She smiled for the first time on the day of her baptism, but does it rarely for me; much more so for her Mommy.

* * * *

My Mom has spent the last month and a half in a nursing home, recupping from some issues that were largely weight related. She seems on the road to recovery and I think of her a lot (certainly more than I call her. Man I SUCK at calling people. I've been meaning to call both Lauren and YaYa's godfathers and often fall short.

LuLu in particular misses my Mom, more so than I would have imagined, and talks about her often. She also colors pictures for her and asks me to mail them to her. "I want gramma home so we can color toget-er" she says.

* * * *

At work: actively involved in a campaign with the local business association and had a quote and a photo in a recent issue of Business Journal.

I'm now on the Development Committe for the girls' school (Lis is a Room Mom, volunteers each Wed morning, and is 3rd in line as Daisy leader.

* * * * *

Baseball update: I hate the Red Sox and watched (correction: briefly checked in on each telecast) as they rallied against Cleveland. The Rockies were fun to watch in the LCS but c'mon - an 8 day layover before the Series? MLB needs to redo their ragtag October scheduling.

To my chagrin: Red Sox in 5, followed by severe depression and morose thoughts on my part.

 

My 10th Anniversary

I didn't have the greatest anniversary.

About half an hour after I went to bed, at about 1:30, our phone started ringing.

We argued for a second about who would get up, and my wife lost and went to answer it. It was work.

"This had better be important," my wife told the caller.

It was.

"Dan, this is X. We were just robbed at gunpoint. They took everything," my good friend and co-worker of 8 years said.

15 minutes later I was at work. The robbery had been quick and bold, two gun-toting men leading him into an employee area, grabbing the cash, and leaving in no more than a few minutes.

It was so fast I missed it the first time I reviewed the security tapes.

Like I said, this employee is a good friend of mine, someone I worked alongside for 6 1/2 years while earning my stripes on 3rd shift. Just two days before I'd mentioned to him that it might be a good idea to move on: "You've got ten years in. Sooner or later your luck's going to run out".

Thankfully, when it did no one was hurt.

I worked in his place for the remainder of the night, and by the time I returned the kids were nearly ready for school. I got to sleep around 9:30 and slept away most of my anniversary.

The big highlight of the day: a trip to Wal-Mart with my wife in the evening, and a couple hours of TV doubling as white noise while we cleaned the house.

* * * * * *

In other news, I'm waiting on some pics from LuLu's teacher before I do a post on her trip to the pumpkin farm, and the related carving of the jack-o-lanterns.

I've also primed to do my first political post in quite a long time as I find myself mystified by the appeal of our corrupt and two-faced Governor Doyle, and the self-serving and exploitive stem-cell ads Michael J. Fox is appearing in here on his behalf.

In addition, once I get a chance to watch it, I'll do a post on the new Lost episode, and possibly one on the very entertaining World Series.

I'm also going to try and update the dated pic of me in the 'about me' section, as I'm sick of looking at it.

Consider yourself warned.

Regrets, of a Sort

This week Friday is my wife's 30th birthday, next Monday is YaYa's 5th, and two days later my wife and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary.

In mid November the whole family - minus Parker - will be taking a 10 day Disney Cruise down to the Bahamas. That, technically, is to celebrate all of those events. And YaYa has the obligitory birthday shing-ding this weekend.

Even so, I feel like a failure.

I would have liked to have thrown a big bash for the annivesary, and a nice one for my wife's birthday as well. After all, on my 30th she threw a huge surprise party for me.

I pictured a church ceremony where we at least acknowledged our vows, and possibly renewed them. And then a dinner afterwards where we took everyone that shafted us on a wedding gift with the notion that it'd last six months and rub their nose in it.

It's also high time I upgraded my wife's ring. Funny how it looked magnificent when I was 22 and she was 20 - and tiny and cheap now.

Alas, we're broke.

Every last dime is going to make sure we have enough spending $ for the trip and the excursions. In addition, we're perilously close to purchasing a house. And there's tuition,  WI heating bills, Netflix, the gym membership,etc etc to pay out of every check.

But here's my vow: sometime next year, probably on the heels of our tax return, I'm going to do it.

It might not be full scale; we might just have 30 folks share a dinner with us one night. And maybe we'll just have the priest mention us at mass.

But we will have a public celebration of ten (mainly) wonderful years together, and we will do something for her [belated] birthday too.

We might even work on that ring. . . .

I put this on the site a) as a reminder and b) so that there's some social pressure to live up to my promises.

Maybe you'll even get an invitation :)

 

On Thank You's and how Tommy Thompson helps a guy with the ladies June 24th

True story:

On our first date many moons ago, my future wife and I went out to eat. Being the shy guy I was at the time, I didn't talk much during the meal.

By 'much' I mean 'almost not at all'. I think I said four words.

[Five if you count 'hello']

As you can imagine, this ticked her off. "This is a waste of my time. I'm going to finish my meal,then I'm going to take you home, and I don't ever want to see you again," she said.

A palm reader she was not.

What she was at the time was a liberal Democrat who (gasp, gag) had worked on the Clinton campaign. After her little declaration of intent, she decided to turn the meal into her political soapbox. It soon became apparent that the only thing we had in common was the hope that the date would hurry up and end.

And then she did it. She stepped over the line and slurred then-Governor Tommy Thompson.

No way I was going to let her defame the greatest Governor in Wisconsin history. Not on my watch.

No one puts Tommy in the corner.

So I came out swinging. After an hour of spirited and sometimes bloody debate, she asked me if I wanted to go back to her house.

[personal note: I played that line off to imply some hanky-panky, but the truth of it is she needed to stop by her parent's house to pick up her Book of the Month order. I like my version better]

And the rest, as they say, is history.

I bring this up for two reasons. One, to prove that chicks can't resist a man that follows Tommy. And two, to show that, traditionally, I'm really bad at small talk.

Small talk being defined as, say, responding to comments on my journal.

I've enjoyed all the attention I've received since being named AOL's guest editor last week, even if I inadvertently started a little controversy.

[personal revelation: ironically, that was the same day I learned I failed to make the cut in the Journal-Sentinel's open audition for a columnist. All the congrats from J-Land helped soften the blow of that rejection. It would have softened it more if AOL had offered me some money along with the title, but what can you do?]

I've read all the great comments - heck, I've done everything but frame the suckers and put them on the wall - butI get the worst case of writers block when it comes time to respond to them.

Rest assured, I'll visit every journalist/blogger that commented and return the favor on their site. If you didn't leave a url behind and I can't track one down, I'll send a short little email your way.

It might take awhile, but it'll get done.

Oh, and if (out of courtesy) I can get his permission, I'll post a great letter I got from the author of one of the sites I featured. As it is there's been some nice thank-you's - some on the blogs themselves, and one in the Non-AOL comments.

As for Slapinions, you might see a slight drop-off in production over the summer. I've really got to concentrate on landing a paying gig, and besides that I've let my novel slide for too long.

Ah, who are we kidding? I seem incapable of not posting here.

[web author secret: if worse comes to worse, I can always post pics of the kids]

Anyhow, thanks again.

 

Comment on this Post(non-AOL)          View Comments