Starting a list

The closer I get to the new reality that is my life, the more uptight I get.  This is the one job I don't want to get "fired" from.  So I'm starting a list that is sure to grow as  I go along.  It is the list of the things I must do and the things I must not do.  Like I said, it's just starting so bear with me.

Must:  I desperately need to learn how to cook.  Growing up, Mom made all the meals so there was no need to learn; or so I thought.  When I moved out on my own I realized that the stove in my apartment was nothing more than a decoration.  I lived on bologna sandwiches and, a Meyer favorite, peanut butter and miracle whip. (It's good....No, really) I also had a steady diet of McDonald's.  It's a small wonder my heart didn't just say  "You know what, I give up." and seize up on the spot.  (Once again, Tera comes by her horrible eating habits naturally)

Fortunately, my sister-in-law has already offered to teach me to cook.  My mom, master of all food Filipino, will readily jump in if I ask and, of course, Karla is will ensure that I don't burn the house down.....(It's insured...no worries)


Must Not!:  Depend solely on the microwave. As a single man my idea of learning how to cook was to use the microwave.  I doubt my stove ever got turned on, well, wait a minute.  Yes, it did....but not for the purposes of cooking.

When I first moved into my apartment I complained to the landlord that I had no hot water, and was promptly ignored. So one day I noticed that the pilot light was out on the gas stove.  I called the landlord and said, "Hey, um, there's no, like, flame when I turn on the stove.  I can hear the gas, so when I turn it on can I just light a match and......"

"NNNNOOOOOO!!!!!  Don't touch anything!!! I'll be there in ten minutes!"

Less then ten minutes later the landlord is pounding at the door.  I open it, thank him for coming, and then say, "By the way, since you're here, can you fix the hot water heater?"

Problem solved.

So, back to the microwave.  I figured out how to make mac and cheese, egg and cheese, bologna and cheese in the microwave.  Have you figured out that I like cheese?  I also like milk.  I could down a gallon of it in one day.  Put the two together and you find yourself sitting on the stool with severe lower GI pains, and appreciating way too late the value of drinking water.  (I still, at that time, hadn't figured out that fruits and vegetables were also beneficial)

One last thing on the microwave.  Karla rides the kids and I constantly about putting a paper towel over our plate of food before microwaving.  This constant nagging was largely ignored.  "Yeah, whatever," as the door slams shut on an uncovered plate of spaghetti, "Let the nuking begin."

Oh, how tables have turned.  Now I'm staring at the inside of the microwave, with all it's splat stains plastering the inner walls.  I see things crusted in there that we haven't eaten in, like, forever.  Well guess whose job it is to clean it now?

Shit.

Must:  Organize all forms of entertainment.  Scattered all about the house are video games, ball equipment, books, magazines, more ball equipment, music and all it's gear, and more ball equipment.  The video games won't be a problem to find a home for.  Neither will the books and magazines.  The ball equipment, on the other hand, will require a little more effort.

I am an unashamed gear junkie.  There is nothing I love more than getting new gear. Baseballs, softballs, soft core balls, pitching machine balls, little bitty balls for hand eye coordination, bats, hitting nets, hitting tees, pitching machine, cleats, helmets, backpacks, catcher's gear, footballs, football helmet, shoulder pads, kicking tees........Did I forget anything?  Yeah, I got all that stuff and no garage to put it in.  How can a man not have a garage, you say?  That's a story for another day.

Right now, the room that was supposed to be my office is crammed full with a lot of this gear. The rest of it is strewn about the house.  I've got five baseballs sitting on Karla's piano right now.

Yes, this will take some time to figure out.

Must Not!:  Fall victim to the seductive powers of the XBOX.  Speaking of entertainment, the xbox is a serious distraction for me.  So I've decided that while the wife and kids are gone I simply am not allowed to turn it on.

I know me.  "Just one level" I'll say.  One, will turn into two and so on an so on because I can't find that ideal stopping point.  The next thing I know I will look up at the clock and realize that the kids will be home in ten minutes, the wife about an hour and a half after that, and I will panic because I've done absolutely nothing.

The last question  I want to answer is, "My God, what did you do all day?"


Must:  Keep the bathroom clean ---- by a woman's standards.

I hate cleaning the bathroom.  I know what goes on in there and I find it repulsive.  But I'm also aware that being the stay at home dad I have no excuses.  I'm going to have to put the bandana over my nose and keep the gagging to a minimum.  Oh, and find some rubber gloves.

Must Not!:  Pawn my dirty work off on my kids.  The kids will have chores, but I will save the bathroom for the days they get into trouble.  If they find cleaning the bathroom as repulsive as I do then I foresee no behavioral issues in the future.

However, I may let Toby take a crack at it.  Maybe then his aim will get better.

I simply don't get it.  How can a kid that can throw a baseball consistently for strikes not be able to stand over a large bowl and find the mark?  It's not like he's trying keep a firm grip on a high pressure fire hose.  Just aim the thing, dammit.

Of course, I remember being the same way as a kid.  I firmly believe most of your urination misfires occur in the early hours of the morning when you are not fully awake.  Remember now, peeing with only one eye open screws up your depth perception.  Wash your face and wake up before using the toilet to ensure proper execution of your bathroom duties.

Must:  Keep up on the laundry.....Than includes putting it away and not leaving it sitting on the deep freeze.

Must Not!:  Have an aneurism matching up and folding socks.  I can't explain it; folding clothes is a simple task.  Yet sorting through a ton of socks to find matches just drives me absolutely crazy.  I'll fold towels and shirts all day, but give me ten pairs of socks to sort through and the world comes to an end.  I just can't stand sorting socks.

Of course I have a few other odd idiosyncrasies that I may as well fess up to.  For instance, if I'm about to eat a hot dog and the bun splits in half I slam it down on the plate and walk away.  The meal is ruined.  I don't know why, but a splitting hot dog bun sends me to the nut house.

The same goes for hard taco shells.  In fact, if there isn't a soft shell to put around it I won't even bother.  The wife and kids might find it funny, but when I take a bite and the shell splits in half, dumping all it's contents either on my plate or in my lap, it's enough to render me insane.

But, back to the socks.  The other thing that drives me up a wall is when I don't find the matching sock.  That's when the manhunt begins.  I will rifle through the laundry looking for it and, more often than not, my search will come up empty.

"WHAT THE HELL?  WHERE'S THE DAMN SOCK?!"

Karla rolls her eyes in exasperation, "Relax, it's probably in here."

"What is that?"

Karla is now losing patience, "What do you think it is?  It's a bag full of socks.  Just dig in here, I'm sure you'll find it."

It's only a small plastic grocery bag of socks.  But to me it may as well be a fifty gallon trash bag of unmatched hell.  I blow a gasket, "Oh, hell no, I'm not going through that mess."

Well, guess what buddy, you are sorting through that mess.  It's your job now.

Maybe I should have a few beers before I fold socks.  You know, to mellow me out a little.



All right, so there you have it.  The list is small but, like I said earlier, I'm sure it will grow.

Later.