Beer and Bouncy Castles

Yeesh. I start this thing back up and I immediately drop the ball twice. I'm like the Charlie Brown of bloggers. Really, the problem is that this is a busy time of the year over at ATVS because of the NCAA baseball tournament. I have to write a lot of previews of a lot of games, so I end up writing thousands of words without really saying anything other than "hey, this team is pretty good".

I mean, I like writing for the blog, but really game previews are a waste of everyone's time. It's just a way for the fans to congregate and beat their chest before the game about how awesome they are. But I actually have to put effort into writing these things, and usually throw enough jokes in there to keep myself interested. Not an excuse for the lack of activity here, just an explanation. I'm exhausted by all of the writing.

I'm also physically exhausted because we went down to Austin to visit the Official Sister of the Posette for her 30th birthday party. Molly celebrated this round number the way everyone should, by renting a combination bouncy castle and water slide.

Now, you might be wondering... how did the LP enjoy the bouncy castle and water slide combination? And that would be a good question, but we don't know the answer because we did not bring her. That's right. When faced with a giant entertainment designed for children, we left our child with grandma, grabbed a beer, and went bouncing ourselves. This is because we are horrible people.

Unfortunately, video exists of me trying to climb the ladder to the water slide. I'm not sure where, as I've scoured youtube for it so I can flag it right away so none of y'all ever see it. Let's just say the ladder rungs are not designed for big people feet, and I have especially large feet. Adding to the degree of difficulty was the fact we hadn't figured out the setup yet and we ended up spraying the ladder with water, giving it the friction of Bambi on ice.

But I made it up the ladder, after a few beers. And I slid the slide and splashed like a little kid. Now, three days later, my bionically repaired back is still absolutely killing me. Let's be honest, bouncy castles and surgically repaired spinal cords are not a good combination. Don't do this at home kids, I'm a paid professional.

As I settled into a lawn chair to argue about movies for the next five hours, some actual kids showed up. They avoided the ladder, too. They just ran up the slide. Their physical abilities and general enthusiasm reflects poorly on my general sloth.

I'm okay with that. Beer is delicious.

Disney Princesses and Politics

Parenting is a minefield. Everything you do is open to criticism from the peanut gallery, and every decision, no matter inconsequential to you, is some sort of political statement. You thought you were just buying a fruit pouch because your kid likes them and you can stuff it in a diaper bag without it going bad in the Texas heat.* But no, you are actually rejecting the home food music and you should be blending fresh fruit in a processor at home, you monster.

*The fruit pouch, not the baby. Babies will spoil if left in a diaper bag in the Texas heat. 

One of the ways to navigate this minefield, or at least the one that works for me, is to not give a shit. If you think I’m a bad parent for giving my kid gluten, well, there’s really not a whole lot you can do about it. I will note your disapproval in my diary. But the big thing here is to follow that old cliché and not sweat the small stuff. The key is figuring out what is the small stuff.

This week’s tempest in a teapot is Merida being named a Disney princess. Now, I rather enjoyed the film, but I can’t say I’m much emotionally invested in the Disney marketing team’s official princess designations. I thought she was already a Disney princess by A) appearing in a Disney film and B) being a princess. The thought she might have to later be inducted into the Disney Princess Hall of Fame or something never really occurred to me. Then again, you don’t see many Princess Eilonwy toys despite The Black Cauldron being awesome.

Caring About Sports is Stupid... Especially If You're a Caps Fan

See, I start up the old blog again, and immediately fall off the wagon. That's how unreliable I am. I cannot be trusted.

Really, it's just been a busy week. The Posette and I are buying a house and while I won't bore you with the details, needless to say, there are a lot of friggin' details. Those details take time and generally get me aggravated. So I've been cranky.

I tried to relax with some playoff hockey, which is like trying to save money by going to Vegas. If everything goes perfect, it works out wonderfully, but the odds are staked against you. Instead of watching my Caps win and putting a smile on my face, I instead watched them drop to 3-9 all time in a Game 7 while I invented new curse words.

At least I didn't break anything, which I think is a sign of personal growth. I yelled a little bit, but mainly I just slumped in my chair and wondered why on earth I was so emotionally invested in guys I've never met playing a game. Sure, it's silly, but everything is silly when you break it down to its component parts. We care about things because we choose to care about them. That's enough.

But I've never known anyone to break a chair over Happy Endings getting cancelled. And no one ever acts like you are a failure as person if a movie you like bombed at the box office. It's only sports in which a bad outcome literally changes my mood. Sad things happen in a movie, I cry, and then I move on. Bad things happen to the Caps, I contemplate the sheer pointlessness of existence, and lapse into an existential crisis.

I'd probably still be cranky had the Caps won. It's not like the house buying stress would've suddenly gone away and the furniture would've moved itself without me paying some borderline criminal fee which makes me feel like I'm buying my possessions back. Not a thing in my life would have actually and honestly changed.

But I still would have felt a bit better than I do right now. Stupid Caps.

The Floor/Ceiling Dilemma

First, let me state for the record that I do know that the attic floor cannot support my weight. I knew that two weeks ago, I knew that yesterday, and I certainly know it today. Nothing like a little bit of empirical evidence to confirm what you already knew.

OK, that disclosure out of the way, this bit of knowledge did not stop me from putting my foot through the attic floor of the house we are thinking about buying. It was during the home inspection, and the very friendly inspector took me up into the attic to look at all of those ducts and units that I pretend I understand. The planks of wood, surprisingly, were not perfectly even, which caused my brain to flip out. So, one turned ankle later, I was sticking my other leg out to support myself and.... well, you see where this is going.

My first thought was that I could just play this off. Hey, no one is going to notice that my entire leg is sticking through the 2nd floor ceiling of the house. And it's not like I'm up to my waist in insulation or anything.

My second thought was actually a good one. Lay down, don't move, and let's assess the situation. It is this moment I would like to share. My personal self-assessment of the moment my leg was sticking through the ceiling:

The Get Out of Jail Free Card

The Posette had some sort of band concert this evening which means I was solely responsible for the LP's well-being and survival this evening. This, of course, makes everybody a little bit nervous as most people who know me are fairly surprised I haven't accidentally killed myself over the course of the last few decades. Adding the degree of difficulty of another human life just seems like a bit much.

But honestly, I like the Daddy/Daughter days, as it gives us an important opportunity to bond and form a strong, lasing relationship that will last us for the rest of our --- no, just kidding. I couldn't even type that without gut laughing. No, the best part about this is that I can use my child as an excuse to get out of things I do not want to do.

Look, I know the Posette and her fellow band directors work real hard. I know about their long hours and their commitment to their kids. It's inspiring. But I'm staring at an entire lifetime of middle school band concerts... A LIFETIME, people. Most people only have to endure middle school band concerts for a few years, and then their own children graduate. And here's the thing, your kids will get better, and you will notice. You can see the progression in their play as they advance through their education, as the result of their commitment and hard work. It's rewarding as a parent to see this progress. As the spouse of the band director, it is an endless repeat of the same damn thing, year in and year out.

Heck, I've only been doing it or a few years, and I would rather itemize the contents of my closet than attend another middle school concert. Especially one taught by her colleagues and not her. I can't even take pride in her accomplishments. Now, I will go. Without complaint, even. I am here to support, and I am nothing if not supportive. But now? Sorry. Baby.

It's like passing Go and collecting $200.

Do you know what you get to do when you pick up your kid from day care and it's just you two? Like, I'm the authority figure? Exactly. We get to play. OK, there's some dinner and some diaper changes in the middle of that, but mainly, it's playing with Captain Calamari or her Disney Princess castle.*

*I think mommy and daddy like the castle more than she does. To her, it's another toy, albeit a really cool one that plays music and has fascinating moving parts. Mommy likes it because she never had a dollhouse and Daddy likes it because there was "some assembly required" and he assembled it without major incident, much to everyone's surprise.

We get to play make-believe, watch some hockey, and dance to the Pixies. Then, her batteries run low and I have to get her ready for bed. Then it is my job -- my duty as a parent -- to read her a Dr. Seuss story and put her to bed. I mean, how cool is that?

Being the only responsible adult in the house, once she fell asleep, I did what any authority figure with no check on his power would do. I ate cookies, drank a beer, and watched playoff hockey. I looked at the clock and smiled.... the concert hadn't even started yet.

Testing... testing....

OK, it's been a long time since I posted anything here, but I'm going to step back into the cockpit and fire this old blog back up. Why? Well, because I like having an outlet in which I can rant incoherently about such important topics as cake, baseball, or my exceedingly cute baby. A lot of people have told me they enjoy my facebook status updates, which is a bizarrely specific compliment. I'm going to try to take my updates and make them longform. We'll see how long this project lasts. Maybe just this one post, I'm notoriously unreliable.

Anyway, instead of catching y'all up on the last four or five years since I last put up a post, I will instead just introduce you to the cast of characters here at Poseur HQ. That should get us back up to speed and update you on my life. think of this as the longest, most self-indulgent Facebook status update in human history.

Poseur: Me. Your carefree guide and master of this blog. It's not much, but I call it home. Still lawyering in Dallas and even getting paid for it, too. I also write for SB Nation's LSU site, And the Valley Shook! This means you won't get much LSU ranting here, as I already have an outlet for that. My primary role there is to antagonize Alabama fans, who really do have no sense of humor because sports are very serious, indeed.