The past few weeks have been a bit nutty at the Mr. X house. Sick wife, sick son, and now a sick daughter. Mrs. X and Bad News have not been able to quite shake whatever bubonic SARS flu has enveloped them, and now Raven has viral meningitis (which scared the fucking shit out of me, until I realized that it was BACTERIAL meningitis was the really deadly one).
So - I've been playing the heroic single dad the past two weeks. Truth be told, I'm not feeling so hot myself (an annual tradition that happens every time we welcome spring and fall), but I'm nowhere near where my family is. To complicate matters, work has been a raging bitch-goddess during that time, and Bad News, god bless him, has jumped feet first into the terrible twos. Two nights ago, I nearly FedExed him to China. Tantrums, not eating, and being kind of an asshole have been the norm for the last month or so. I know he's just expressing himself and stretching the boundaries of his independence and all that child rearing crap - but truthfully, he's just been a pain in the ass lately.
Last night was fairly typical of what the last weeks have entailed - I got home late from work (after going in early), and was immediately greeted by screaming, tantrums, shouts of "LEAVE ME ALONE!" - and that was just Mrs. X. (Kidding - sort of). Nobody had eaten dinner. Food was everywhere. The house was a mess. Mrs. X was on her last legs (this illness has really sapped her energy), and the kids were hungry and without naps - a potentially nuclear combination.
As I slogged through the household chores of getting everyone to eat, cleaning the kitchen and living room, starting the laundry, giving baths, getting into PJ's, teeth brushed, books read and lights out, I started to imagine the days before kids. The days when I could eat Taco Bell for dinner six nights a week. When "Monday night" in the fall meant "beers and wings with the boys to watch football". When coming home was a calming, relaxing effort.
Finally - five hours after I had gotten home from an 11.5 hour day at work, I sat down to eat my own dinner. Then I heard the footsteps upstairs. Hardwood floors are not conducive to children trying to sneak around out of bed.
I stomped upstairs and "regulated" - which is my term for "either get in bed, or Daddy's going to lose his shit". Both kids were promptly deposited into bed, covered up and charged with the task of going to sleep ASAP.
15 minutes later, I walked upstairs to make sure everyone was asleep - and sure enough, they were. Then it hit me.
I watched my daughter sleep for about 20 minutes. She didn't do anything unusual - she just slept. I'm usually not that sentimental about that stuff, but it just hit me at that exact moment that I needed to take a breath and enjoy them RIGHT NOW - remember the times that they are peaceful and loving and wonderful - because it makes the hard times more bearable.
Even the usually tornadic Bad News was out cold - and had already fallen off the bed (which is the norm). I picked him up and rocked him for a few minutes. He sort of woke up while we were rocking, and I asked him "Do you want me to stop?"
He put his head back on my shoulder and said "No."
Me neither, buddy. Me neither.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
The Accidental Strip Club Trip
My buddies from college and I are tight - even though we're spread out across the country now, we still manage to stay in touch, and we also get together about 2-3 times per year. Now that the majority of us are married, and some of us even procreated, these trips are harder and harder to plan.
But back when we were younger, and "hooked up" instead of "got married", we went out a lot. A LOT. Beer was consumed nightly. There was usually at least one "Why am I covered in broken glass, wearing a kimono?" evening a week. And the same bunch of animals I went to college with were the same guys I was doing this with in my early and mid-20's.
Eventually, most of us found someone who was stupid enough to marry us. This lead to a new frontier of stupid and drunken activity - the bachelor party.
I wasn't the first of our group to get married - that honor belonged to my buddy Tiger and his lovely wife. It was also a mistake - one that I will chronicle in a story named "Mobile Century Club" down the road a piece. Here's a quick tip, kids - don't be the first of your friends to get married out of college. Your friends have no money, so they're going to get wasted on your open bar, and 20 of them will go in on a $50 present. Wait until you're 30 - at least.
However, I was the second of our group to get married. At this time, I was living out in Portland, OR, and had a connection to a power player in Las Vegas. So, with me being in love with stereotypes and cliches, we had a bachelor party in Vegas. That will also require another story - probably named "6 Boobs, 1 Dude" or "I was up for 52 straight hours". But my bachelor party started a run of "we have to top this" bachelor party locations and events - which is where this story starts.
My buddy J-Bear was getting married to his beautiful wife - and he gave me the honor of being his best man. I had ALWAYS wanted to be the best man in a wedding, so I took the responsibility very seriously. I gave a bitchin' wedding toast (that was only to be topped by the Flying Baltuska Bros. at their respective weddings), but more to the point, I was in charge of the bachelor party.
After some brainstorming with the groom-to-be, we decided to go skiing. I finagled a great deal at a PIMP cabin in Lake Tahoe for eight guys. This place was amazing - five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a pool table - and a hot tub.
Oh my god, the hot tub. It was late February when we went to Tahoe, so the snow fell daily. Have you ever sat in a hot tub while it's snowing? Quite possibly, one of the coolest experiences of my life. It was also one of the most epic drinking performances of my life, too.
Are you familiar with the term "hot tub drunk"? (Patent pending) It's where you drink about three times your normal limit, because you're sitting in the hot tub, sweating out all of the booze almost as quickly as it goes in. The thing is, you don't feel it AT ALL (the other guys will attest to this) until you get out of the hot tub - and it's like you have 300 cc's of Jack Daniels injected into your heart.
The eight of us went through (and I'm not exaggerating) about 7 cases of beer, plus a handle of Jack and a handle of Capt. Morgan in one evening. It was truly stunning.
We'd go skiing in the morning and afternoon, and hit the Tahoe night life scene in the evening. If there was ever an oxymoron, it's "Tahoe night life". What a depressing city - one casino (which doubled as a ribs joint), and according to Jerry the Alcoholic Blackjack Dealer, no strip clubs.
No strip clubs? On a bachelor party? Unacceptable.
I called around the next day, and sure enough, no strip clubs. Then I found a place called the Sagebrush Ranch.
I called them up to get directions - and the guy on the phone couldn't have been nicer. He asked if we were coming in for a bachelor party, and I said yes.
Sagebrush Ranch: "Awesome! We love bachelor parties! Do you guys need a ride?"
Mr. X: "Wait...what?"
SBR: "We can send a van to get you guys - that way, you can drink as much as you want, and spend your money on the girls, rather than a huge cab ride home."
MRX: "Makes sense to me!"
So I arranged for the van to come scoop us up - and basked in the adulation of my friends.
The van arrived promptly at 8:00, and the driver was professional-looking. We piled in with our beer, and eagerly awaited arriving at the Ranch. Then the driver turned to us and asked:
"Do you guys want to look at some menus?"
My buddy Drew piped up and said "God, yes - I'm starving!" - so the menus were handed around. But instead of mozarella sticks and chicken tenders, there were menu items like:
The Half-and-Half
In and Out
Kitty's Delight
And so on...
We realized for the first time that maybe we were in a bit over our heads. The rest of the van ride was nearly in silence, until we got to the Ranch.
We walked in the front door - and there was a HUGE western style saloon with about 35 women in varying degrees of age and beauty waiting for us in a semi-circle. Then, the lady who looked like Yoko Ono stepped up and said:
"Welcome to the Sagebrush Ranch Brothel! What would you like tonight?"
Let me clarify a few points -
1.) I had no idea it was a brothel. I absolutely had no idea until we walked in.
2.) You have NEVER seen eight randy and rowdy dudes pucker up and pussy out faster than the eight of us did that night.
Finally, my buddy the Senator broke the ice and told Yoko that we were just going to have a few beers to start. We moved as a group over to the bar, and stood back to back in a circle (I shit you not). It was hysterical trying to talk over our shoulders to each other.
"You dumb ass! This is a fucking brothel!"
"I'm not fucking some whore!"
"I didn't know it was a brothel, fuckface!"
And other such mature and informed commentary.
We were then offered the opportunity to go into one of the "V.I.P. Rooms" - alone - with one or more of the girls to discuss our evening.
Fuck that.
All EIGHT of us piled into one room - and the brothel (wisely, on their part) sent us in with Yoko and a beautiful (and I mean achingly beautiful) girl. After some negotiation on their part, this sentence came out of Yoko's mouth.
"You can watch us have sex for $2,000".
Mine was the first response -
"What do WE get for $2,000?"
"You get to watch."
"Fuck that."
I went up to the manager with some trepidation - you have to remember that we are out in the middle of fucking nowhere, and none of us know where we are, how we got there, or how we're getting home. Also, they gave us a ride - so they could leave us stranded, kick the shit out of us or rob us. I was betting on all three.
After some surprisingly civil conversation, I informed the big guy that we were just eight midwestern kids who were looking for a strip club - and that we were in completely over our heads here. He understood his audience and led us into an underground tunnel (which had the red light rooms on either side) into a honest-to-goodness strip club - featuring some of the best looking women in a nudie bar I had ever seen.
Now that we were back in our element, we came back to life. Shots were flowing. Beers were abundant. $20's were thrown with zero remorse. I was retelling our story to Buckles, the lovely little diva dancing on stage, and she dropped the line of the night.
"God, I would never have sex for money! That's so degrading!"
I agree, honey - now here's a $20 - stick your face in the groom's crotch again.
p.s. - we did convince them to give us a ride home, too.
But back when we were younger, and "hooked up" instead of "got married", we went out a lot. A LOT. Beer was consumed nightly. There was usually at least one "Why am I covered in broken glass, wearing a kimono?" evening a week. And the same bunch of animals I went to college with were the same guys I was doing this with in my early and mid-20's.
I wasn't the first of our group to get married - that honor belonged to my buddy Tiger and his lovely wife. It was also a mistake - one that I will chronicle in a story named "Mobile Century Club" down the road a piece. Here's a quick tip, kids - don't be the first of your friends to get married out of college. Your friends have no money, so they're going to get wasted on your open bar, and 20 of them will go in on a $50 present. Wait until you're 30 - at least.
However, I was the second of our group to get married. At this time, I was living out in Portland, OR, and had a connection to a power player in Las Vegas. So, with me being in love with stereotypes and cliches, we had a bachelor party in Vegas. That will also require another story - probably named "6 Boobs, 1 Dude" or "I was up for 52 straight hours". But my bachelor party started a run of "we have to top this" bachelor party locations and events - which is where this story starts.
My buddy J-Bear was getting married to his beautiful wife - and he gave me the honor of being his best man. I had ALWAYS wanted to be the best man in a wedding, so I took the responsibility very seriously. I gave a bitchin' wedding toast (that was only to be topped by the Flying Baltuska Bros. at their respective weddings), but more to the point, I was in charge of the bachelor party.
After some brainstorming with the groom-to-be, we decided to go skiing. I finagled a great deal at a PIMP cabin in Lake Tahoe for eight guys. This place was amazing - five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a pool table - and a hot tub.
Oh my god, the hot tub. It was late February when we went to Tahoe, so the snow fell daily. Have you ever sat in a hot tub while it's snowing? Quite possibly, one of the coolest experiences of my life. It was also one of the most epic drinking performances of my life, too.
Are you familiar with the term "hot tub drunk"? (Patent pending) It's where you drink about three times your normal limit, because you're sitting in the hot tub, sweating out all of the booze almost as quickly as it goes in. The thing is, you don't feel it AT ALL (the other guys will attest to this) until you get out of the hot tub - and it's like you have 300 cc's of Jack Daniels injected into your heart.
The eight of us went through (and I'm not exaggerating) about 7 cases of beer, plus a handle of Jack and a handle of Capt. Morgan in one evening. It was truly stunning.
We'd go skiing in the morning and afternoon, and hit the Tahoe night life scene in the evening. If there was ever an oxymoron, it's "Tahoe night life". What a depressing city - one casino (which doubled as a ribs joint), and according to Jerry the Alcoholic Blackjack Dealer, no strip clubs.
No strip clubs? On a bachelor party? Unacceptable.
I called around the next day, and sure enough, no strip clubs. Then I found a place called the Sagebrush Ranch.
I called them up to get directions - and the guy on the phone couldn't have been nicer. He asked if we were coming in for a bachelor party, and I said yes.
Sagebrush Ranch: "Awesome! We love bachelor parties! Do you guys need a ride?"
Mr. X: "Wait...what?"
SBR: "We can send a van to get you guys - that way, you can drink as much as you want, and spend your money on the girls, rather than a huge cab ride home."
MRX: "Makes sense to me!"
So I arranged for the van to come scoop us up - and basked in the adulation of my friends.
The van arrived promptly at 8:00, and the driver was professional-looking. We piled in with our beer, and eagerly awaited arriving at the Ranch. Then the driver turned to us and asked:
"Do you guys want to look at some menus?"
My buddy Drew piped up and said "God, yes - I'm starving!" - so the menus were handed around. But instead of mozarella sticks and chicken tenders, there were menu items like:
The Half-and-Half
In and Out
Kitty's Delight
And so on...
We realized for the first time that maybe we were in a bit over our heads. The rest of the van ride was nearly in silence, until we got to the Ranch.
We walked in the front door - and there was a HUGE western style saloon with about 35 women in varying degrees of age and beauty waiting for us in a semi-circle. Then, the lady who looked like Yoko Ono stepped up and said:
"Welcome to the Sagebrush Ranch Brothel! What would you like tonight?"
Let me clarify a few points -
1.) I had no idea it was a brothel. I absolutely had no idea until we walked in.
2.) You have NEVER seen eight randy and rowdy dudes pucker up and pussy out faster than the eight of us did that night.
Finally, my buddy the Senator broke the ice and told Yoko that we were just going to have a few beers to start. We moved as a group over to the bar, and stood back to back in a circle (I shit you not). It was hysterical trying to talk over our shoulders to each other.
"You dumb ass! This is a fucking brothel!"
"I'm not fucking some whore!"
"I didn't know it was a brothel, fuckface!"
And other such mature and informed commentary.
We were then offered the opportunity to go into one of the "V.I.P. Rooms" - alone - with one or more of the girls to discuss our evening.
Fuck that.
All EIGHT of us piled into one room - and the brothel (wisely, on their part) sent us in with Yoko and a beautiful (and I mean achingly beautiful) girl. After some negotiation on their part, this sentence came out of Yoko's mouth.
"You can watch us have sex for $2,000".
Mine was the first response -
"What do WE get for $2,000?"
"You get to watch."
"Fuck that."
I went up to the manager with some trepidation - you have to remember that we are out in the middle of fucking nowhere, and none of us know where we are, how we got there, or how we're getting home. Also, they gave us a ride - so they could leave us stranded, kick the shit out of us or rob us. I was betting on all three.
After some surprisingly civil conversation, I informed the big guy that we were just eight midwestern kids who were looking for a strip club - and that we were in completely over our heads here. He understood his audience and led us into an underground tunnel (which had the red light rooms on either side) into a honest-to-goodness strip club - featuring some of the best looking women in a nudie bar I had ever seen.Now that we were back in our element, we came back to life. Shots were flowing. Beers were abundant. $20's were thrown with zero remorse. I was retelling our story to Buckles, the lovely little diva dancing on stage, and she dropped the line of the night.
"God, I would never have sex for money! That's so degrading!"
I agree, honey - now here's a $20 - stick your face in the groom's crotch again.
p.s. - we did convince them to give us a ride home, too.
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