The Pope of Dirty Thirties

That’s odd. Yeah I’m sitting here in my living room and it’s oh…10 am and I’m all alone. I don’t work Mondays and the kids are in preschool and the wife, she got called in to work today to sub out another doc. And I’m thinking to myself…when in the hell was the last time I had a day to myself?

Damn. Maybe 4 or 5 years?

I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m kinda into this parenting/husbandry thing. But I’m sitting here in my living room with the leftover bone piece of a giant cowboy steak from the night before, a 7-11 cup filled with ice and black coffee, and I’m watching the Pope of Greenwich Village.

A giant steakbone, big gulp sized superblack iced-coffee, couch, empty morning, and the Pope of Greenwich Village.

I just had to repeat it again.

And in the middle of all this grace, I have to figure out what to do with the entire rest of the day.

This is good. Really really good.

It’s the kind of DIY grubby happiness that filled all of my college years. Usually a cottonheaded Sunday morning that was hot already, the first of many camel lights, a coke a coffee, some M&M’s, and big fat smile knowing I had to figure out what to do that day other than study. The heat in Los Angeles. My weak-ass little window swamp cooler. My ghetto apartment in oh-so-not-ghetto Brentwood, down the street from OJs wife.

Grubby happiness.

You really can’t let me out of my cage. I’ll devolve pretty quickly. I need some structure and deadlines and urgent tasky things to do to weigh me down. I could easily follow this morning with video games, 7-11 runs, assorted scratching and daydreaming until my wife came home to find college Henri sitting in the living room asking for more ashtrays.

Seriously WTF happened to Mickey Rourke? The Pope of Greenwich Village is such a great film. And don’t get me started on Barfly. That would be a great double header.

Some days when I miss LA I’ll watch Wassup Rockers, Entourage, and Quinceanera all together. It’s like those jelly belly combinations. It works really well, takes the edge off for a few weeks.

There I go…devolving. Thinking of weird random stuff.

I think a lot about the day when the last kid goes off to college, and before the first kid comes back home to slum it for a few years. I think me and my wife will look at each other and say….what now? Or more like….I’m bored.

It’s odd how we get there. Baby steps. Slowly going from independent individuals, to parents who don’t really function that great without their primary objectives tearing up the house.

And it’s odd how that chain smoking slacker that used to live in the Westside, that dude that would spend those awesome lazy Sunday mornings driving along the beach in his little Celica with the top down, would end up here. Gigantic mortgage, cool little neighborhood that the fifties forgot, a job, a wife, some kids, some happiness.

Kinda like those little precursor fault-line tremors that build up to the big one. I think today is a way to look back at slacker youth and smile and reminisce before I break down in 10 years and buy a Ferrari in true “the big one” midlife crisis fashion.

I just wanted to say that I got a lazy day off with my breakfast of champions watching the Pope of Greenwich Village. I still have the Celica. It’s parked right outside. Maybe I’ll go for a drive today.

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Marriage in the Time of Geese and Aeroplanes

So I was at a kick ass brunch this morning celebrating the double baptism of my boy Fayedunnaway’s daughter and nephew when his wife, who I usually try to hit on because our boy Puffy is no longer around to hit on her, turns to me to tell me something about MetroDad.

First of all MetroDad is my boy because

a) We’re eerily similar in numerous odd ways.

and

b) Homie gave me a shout out on his blog way back which led to the raging success and fame of my own abandoned blog which led me to the tens and twenties of readers who adore me quarterly.

But then she said something funny…she said divorce. And I said wut?

And all I could think of was that damn conservatory of butterflies where he proposed to Bosslady. One thing I accepted long ago was the mystery and utter wackiness of life. I dated this girl in college for years and one night she came over and said it’s over. Out of the blue. The odd thing was that throughout our relationship we never had a single fight. I said wut? Then sadly moved on, sucker punched. I didn’t put up too much of a fight. I figured it’s hard enough to find the right person to be with in life…the last thing I wanted was to be with someone that needed convincing to stay with me. So good luck and go…quickly.

But marriage is a whole ‘nuther ball of wax. And add kids to the mix…and boy forget about it.

I’m absolutely shocked that I’m still married to my wife. I’m shocked that any marriage can survive kids. I’ll tell you the reason why.

It’s all dumb luck.

What people don’t get is the fact that having a kid, raising a kid, being married with kids, is an experience that cannot be prepared for or logically planned. Before you have your first kid, there is no way in hell you can possible pick the right co-parent. And that’s what marriage with kids is all about…finding your co-parent.

Ok. Say you’ve never flown a plane. All you know about piloting planes is what society and pop culture tells you. Now imaging picking your copilot. There are a few really stupid ways to pick a co-pilot.

“I want a co-pilot that’s hot”
“I want a co-pilot that makes me laugh”
“I want a co-pilot that’s rich”
“I want a co-pilot that likes the same movies that I do.”
“I want a co-pilot that is upwardly mobile”
“I want a co-pilot that drives a Porsche”
“I want a co-pilot that completes me”

Ok. Now you and the co-pilot you’ve picked get to go fight a fucking war.

“Damn I shouldn’t have picked the funny one”

I want a co-pilot that can fly a friggin plane with me.

You really, seriously, can not predict from dating how someone is going to go into war with you. It’s dumb luck. When it goes well people like to pat themselves on the back and say…damn I always knew the right person that I was looking for. When it goes bad, people always say, they didn’t try hard enough to make it work. The hell with that, I say you make the best choice you can with impossibly limited information and cross you fingers and hope for the best. Dating will never prepare you for parenting. And you will never know how a person will co-parent until you’re in a dogfight.

Then again you can have two great co-pilots that fly the plane great but one still punches out because they can’t stand the music on the plane radio that the other person insists on.

I dunno.

And then there’s “the one” argument. We have to divorce because I’m not in love with you anymore. You’re not “the one”.

Screw that.

Many people might think I’m a dick for what I’m about to say but marriage ain’t about love. It’s about commitment. It’s about being so committed that you’ll ignore the fact that you were meant to be with Megan Fox, despite the number of times she calls you, in order to follow through and raise a kid.

And despite all that, there’s this. Sometimes divorce, as nasty as it is, might be the right thing to do for the sake of your kids. If it ain’t going to work, dear god let it not work sooner rather than later. A lifetime of parents who stayed married for “your” sake really isn’t as great as it’s cracked up to be. It can hurt kids just as much, it’s just a slower more drawn out pain.

I believe in fighting like hell for a good co-parent. And fortunately I happen to love my wife like a madman, despite her silly rules like please stop dating Megan Fox. But that’s just gravy. I just need to keep this damn plane in the air. But all I really wanted to say is that this blog, for me, will never reflect the man that I am but rather the man that I had hoped to be. And with this in mind, I know that my boy MetroDad would do whatever he could for the sake of his girl. And I do believe Pierre would do the same. And I’m sorry for the struggle involved in reaching their ultimate understanding but I trust it was as right as rain.

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