Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Shitsicle or: Feces Festival

It's kind of silly when you think about how irrationally excited parents get when children accomplish something as basic as shitting in a bowl. When you take into account that it takes us between three and four years to master the art of shitting in a bowl and then wiping ourselves, it looks like a Christmas miracle that we're not only the dominant species on this planet, but that we live, on average, to be 85. Most baby animals are walking within seconds, and most cats are licking their ass in a matter of weeks.

For nearly four years we've been swimming in human excrement, and the last couple of weeks at our house have been a veritable feces festival. We had a kind-of brown theme before having children that's magically spread (pun intended) to other parts of the house since the kids have been born, and it isn't paint that's responsible for the added color. There's so much shit in the living room carpet that if you strike a match in our living room it will burst into flames. I'm obviously exaggerating, but still....

The first incident happened a few weeks ago when my wife went out for a night with one of her friends. I put the youngest child to sleep in her crib and resumed normal operations with the oldest. At one point she got up, ran into her room, instructed me to stay in the living room and then slammed the door, which is standard operating procedure when she needs to "make smellies." Typically, she makes the smellies, opens the door and beckons us to Shit Central Station, where we simultaneously handle the business of cleaning her up and begging her not to run her hands through the shit and then pet the cat, who always seems to be trolling nearby when diapers are being changed.

Copyright 2014, Travis Ross (Simple Man's Survival Guide)
My child could have passed as a brown crayon or shitsicle.


On this blessed and special night, she decided she was going to help me out. She got it in her head that rather than calling 1-800-DADDY-SHIT-CLEANER-UPPER, she would clean herself up. And because she likes a challenge, she decided to try and tackle what was very obviously a multi-wipe situation with a single wipe. Like all good parents, I wandered down to her room after things had been radio silent for too long and opened the door to find the steaming-hot diaper wide open like a shit grenade had exploded in the middle of the floor. If it were Halloween, she could have walked right out the door and made the rounds passing as either a brown crayon or a shitsicle.

The other blessed and special event came complements of her younger sister, who was standing in front of the TV, grunting and occasionally farting. On the surface, it looked like the normal business-as-usual process of a small toddler dropping a hot load, so we took note and went about our business with the intent of waiting until the crime had been fully perpetrated before cleaning up the criminal. A few minutes later after I'd forgotten about the small child shitting in the middle of our living room, it felt like the shit had literally crawled out of her diaper, formed arms and punched me in the face. It was like someone had secretly lit a cluster of shit-scented candles throughout our house. I heard my wife yell, "Oh my God!" and then turned my attention to the toddler, who was dripping with shit. Her diaper had clearly failed to hold up its end of the bargain. It looked like she'd either taken too much child laxative on accident or just finished a Tough Mudder race, but instead of crawling through a mud puddle at the end, it looked like she swam through a river of feces. I grabbed the toddler, stripped her down and put her in the tub, where she put her hands up, smiled and kept yelling "Bath! Bath! Bath!" My wife grabbed a spray bottle of what I can only call shit-getter-outer and launched into Operation Feces Extraction. While my wife is furiously scrubbing like a maniac and fighting the urge to throw up in her mouth, the older child is lording over her in an Iron Man costume, pointing at the shit-stained carpet and laughing uncontrollably. It was the kind of stuff that nightmares are made of.

Needless to say, after the whole situation was finished and everyone was cleaned up, we had popsicles -- taking care to avoid the brown ones.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Candy Crushed or: Siri Sucks

Candy Crush invites are the herpes of the online universe: you only get them from people you're close to, they flare up sporadically, and there is no painless way to truly get rid of them.

Copyright 2014, Travis Ross (Simple Man's Survival Guide)
How I feel about Candy Crush invites.
Do you people actually think I just missed the other 300 messages you sent? There should be a little warning that pops up before you send the invite out to your entire friend list for the tenth time that says, "You're about to send this to everyone you know for the tenth time, which may result in them thinking you're an asshole." After you get that warning, the name of the Send Candy Crush Invite to All button just says: Press Here to be an Asshole.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

The Five Types of Parents You See at the Park

Being the parents of two small girls, I spend a lot of time at the park. I'm sure most of the people who see me at the park on a regular basis ask themselves why I drive five minutes to the park, only to yell at my kids for an hour and then drive back home. It's not that I don't love my children (precious, loving, beautiful little life-sucking angels that they are), but rather that's just the type of park parent that I am; I yell to get their attention when they're doing something they shouldn't be, which just so happens to be all of the time. After nearly four years of living the dad life and spending nearly a thousand hours at parks watching my kids play on equipment that probably wouldn't be approved for use on a Ninja Warrior or military obstacle course, I've created a list of the 5 types of parents you'll see at the park.


1) Cell Phone Parent: This parent is either a social media champion, workaholic, single or a sports or gossip junkie. They open the door to let their kids out of the car and don't look at them again until another parent taps them on the shoulder and says, "Sir, your son just finished eating one dog turd and is getting ready to start another." To which, Cell Phone Parent holds up his hand and says, "Just let me save this change I made to my fantasy football roster and I'll be right there."

Children of these types of parents most often grow up to be fast food workers, homeless or the person who shaves dog testicles at the groomer.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Westboro Baptist Church Protesting Big Tech or: God Hates This Blog

The Westboro Baptist Church has announced that it's going to be picketing the biggest technology companies in Silicon Valley on August 12, which means that one of the stupidest groups in this country will be squaring off against one of the smartest. Do you know those warnings on the side of citronella jugs that say "Warning! Don't Consume" that cause you to ask yourself who the hell would consume citronella? Well, those warnings were created for the Westboro Baptist Church. This should be a more lopsided fight than when Larry Holmes beat the hell out of Muhammad Ali in 1978 and felt so bad about it that he cried afterward.

Copyright 2014, Travis Ross (Simple Man's Survival Guide)
Maybe Westboro was mad they invested in the Twitter IPO.
And of course Westboro has a good reason to protest, right? They could be mad about the Facebook Internet outage or the delays of the iPhone 6 rollout and iWatch, or maybe they invested heavily in Twitter at the IPO and they're just upset they haven't made their money back. Maybe they finally snapped after being mocked endlessly on Reddit.

Nope. In general, Westboro Baptist Church is mad at Big Tech for "spreading the sodomite agenda."