Coke Might As Well Be Black Tar Heroin

Posted on May 16, 2013 by Seth

The best way to drink it.

When I am thirsty, one of my favorite treats is a Diet Coke from McDonald’s. I swear they lace that brown liquid heaven with heroin. And now, those pushers at Mickey D’s only charge one dollar for any size drink. For me, driving around southern California is like Lindsay Lohan on a pub crawl. A few sips of nirvana before we stumble around town in a broken heel and fall in a ditch with our dresses hiked up and flash our g-strings.

My wife knows this about me. She’s not an innocent party. But we do enable one another. Sometimes we’ll share to keep the guilt down.

The other day she tried to get all straight on me. She linked me to this article with the following lede:

With high levels of sugar, acids, preservatives and other harmful ingredients, soda causes more damage to the body than just expanding the waistline. From stroke to kidney stones to dementia, here’s a look at what can happen to the body long-term for those who regularly drink soda.

Well thank you, Mrs. Killjoy. Like my occasional tingling cheeks and foggy thoughts aren’t freaking me out enough.

The author of the article breaks down soda’s alleged damage to the brain (can’t remember/learn anything), teeth (you might as well drink battery acid), heart (increased risk of cardiovascular disease), lungs (asthma), bones (bone density loss), kidneys (stones), digestive system (bloating) and weight (obesity).

If one can of soda is 12 fluid ounces, I guess my intake is roughly 36 – 48 ounces a day. Rarely do I go without at least one can of Diet Coke or Pepsi. If I don’t order a beer at a restaurant, then I’ll chug down three or four glasses of the bubbling brown beverage. If we eat in, I’ll offer to split a soda with my wife. If she’s feeling extra strong that day and refuses, I’ll down it myself.

I’ve gone a day or two without the pop before, but like Michael Corleone in The Godfather: Part III, just when I thought I was out they pull me back in. That first hit after a few days is like fireworks in my brain. And not just Disneyland fireworks. I’m talking 20 simultaneous shows over the Hudson River on an unnaturally warm New Year’s Eve night viewed from my Manhattan apartment where windows replace walls and Ivanka Trump wraps her arms around my abdomen wearing nothing but The Apprentice t-shirt. It’s that fantastic.

The writer includes preparation to quit the legalized crack. She went cold turkey. I think she must be Superwoman.

I need to stop. I get it. But even after reading that nearly half of soda fountains contain fecal matter, I just chalk up the results to the assumption that folks in Virginia, where the study occurred, ran out of toilet paper. It’s not like that where I live. Plus, doesn’t all that carbonation kill the poo poo anyway?

Mother’s Day, Beerarita and Horse Poo – How Was Your Weekend?

Posted on May 13, 2013 by Seth

Rose Canyon Cantina & Grill in Trabuco Canyon.

Friday

I spent half the day in bed sleeping off stomach issues and flu-like body soreness before picking up my sister and her son to go celebrate my mom for Mother’s Day. Meanwhile, my wife helped her grandpa complete the patio project.

We met my parents at Rose Canyon Cantina & Grill, tucked away in Trabuco Canyon seemingly in the middle of nowhere. If you’re familiar with Cook’s Corner – aka a perfect filming spot for Sons of Anarchy – it’s right near there. If you ever wanted to go to Charming, take the drive.

The bar and restaurant filled up quickly with a mix of young and old celebrating the end of a week. Everyone was white, which gives you an idea of the flavor of the food – mild. It definitely needs a zesty boost. The atmosphere, however, is not as bland. Patio tables surround crooked trees dressed with white lights, horses strut up the adjacent dirt road and life seems slower. Simpler. The salsa’s pretty good, so go for drinks, appetizers and deep-fried ice cream and skip the entrée.

Crooked tree in the patio.

After grubbing the three kids played out front on a rock fountain to burn off energy. Two young women on horses stopped by to let the toddlers ohh and ahh over the horsies before clopping away.

After hugs and kisses good-bye the twins and I loaded into our minivan, rolled down the windows and moon roof and cranked up the stereo as we weaved through the canyon on a gorgeous night.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself, about ten minutes into the ride home. “It really smells like horse shit.”

I must have driven by a fresh load. We are in the country after all. Five minutes later I felt my right sandal stick as I lifted my foot from the gas pedal.

Weird. The same thing happened when I stopped applying the brakes and moved my foot back to the gas. I sniffed, bracing myself for a huge dose of crap. Nothing.

Now, my sandal is sticking more and more and I can imagine smushed horse dung smeared all over my shoe, the floor and the pedals. This is disgusting. I wanted to look to make sure but it was too dark and the curvy road was too dangerous to take my eyes from.

I called my wife on the way home. I’d need help bringing the kids inside as I hobbled on one shitless sandal. She was still at her grandpa’s. Crap. Gas station. I’ll go to the gas station and use their paper towels, their soaped up squeegee and their trash can. Brilliant.

We pulled off the freeway. “Gas?” the twins inquired. Yes, you observant little bugs. But we’re not getting gas. I parked the van, turned off the ignition and gently lifted my foot from the brake, fearful of spreading shit on the carpet, door or my leg. The white flourescent lights illuminated my sandal as I twisted my ankle to get a good look at the damage. I wondered if it’d be brown, yellow, green or a mash-up of the three.

It was gum. Just gum. That initial stank wasn’t in the van after all. Best news ever.

Saturday

You know what doesn’t go well in 90 degree weather? T-ball and toddlers. Neither Gray nor Ellie cried, unlike a few of the other players, but at one point Ellie begged me to carry her around the bases and Gray just refused to even hold the bat in his final plate appearance. Next Saturday is the last “game.” The forecast is 89 degrees. I smell a repeat.

While everyone napped I wrote another post at Bugs & Cranks.

At night we met my wife’s family at Super Mex in Lakewood for a belated birthday celebration for my wife and I. Super Mex is the polar opposite of Rose Canyon Cantina – all flavor, no atmosphere. I enjoyed a “beerarita” which enthralled Ellie.

Ellie wanted a drink. Badly.

We drove back to my wife’s grandpa’s house for desert and presents and I left with a glorious BeerTender. I felt my liver slightly twinge when the twins ripped open the wrapping paper.

Krups BeerTender. Be very jealous.

Sunday

Sunday was weird. As mentioned before, our church is closing as a result of financial difficulties. Sunday was the “series finale” as our pastor themed it, and it didn’t disappoint. Old, familiar faces returned for one last reunion, there was laughter, tears and suspense-filled drama. I won’t get into the details as to protect other people’s privacy, but it sure beat the hell out of the Seinfeld finale. My wife alerted me to the fact that I haven’t really given justice to the impact Christian Life Fellowship made on me and what I’m feeling. I suppose at some point in the near future that’s a topic to address. Just not in this space.

And of course, it was Mother’s Day. The first Mother’s Day without Jax for my wife. She could probably fill 2,000 words with her views of Sunday, but she’s all private like and would probably spell Tearz with a “S.” That’s no fun. But it’d be infinitely more heart felt.

It was a subdued celebration. We met her mom, her brother and his girlfriend at Buca di Beppo where my wife said she almost punched out an elderly lady with an arm sling in the parking lot because she couldn’t wait 30 more seconds for my wife to finish packing up Gray and the restaurant supplies before slithering into her car. I love it when my wife gets fired up.

Exhausted from the day’s emotions, we all slept until 7:30 p.m. before doing dinner and showers and finished up with Dennis Rodman creaming his pants on The Apprentice.

What To Do When Your Child Says “F” You

Posted on May 10, 2013 by Seth

Gray’s got this thing about him when he’s feeling ornery, which is at least once a day, it seems. Watch his eyes. They kind of light up. The corner of his mouth slightly rises just short of a smirk. And then he does exactly what you’ve told him not to do. Again. My wife and I agree that it feels like he’s flipping us off. “F you mom, I’ll do what I want to do,” is likely what’s going on in that skull of his. Go through this enough times and one starts to feel defeated. At a loss. My son’s going to be in jail by 16, isn’t he?

My wife took her frustration to her favorite spot on the Web in search of parental guidance, wisdom and understanding. She went to Pinterest.

Last week, during one of her night owl sessions, she emailed me three Pinterest links. The first two were Someecards that joked about not liking me because she’s out of meds and nagging because she cares, as silence is a sign of plodding my death. It’s funny ’cause it’s true. The third was a graph created by author Carol Tuttle, a creative marketing idea to promote her book The Child Whisperer.

We’re in need of new ideas on discipline. Gray rarely balks at timeout. He knew the consequences and he was happy to serve his time. It was worth it to him. Ellie, however, cries like she’s been sentenced to death.

The gist of the book is children have one of four archetypes: The Fun-Loving Child, Sensitive Child, Determined Child and More Serious Child. Tuttle’s developed her philosophy through her work with children based on energy profiling. If we know how to read our child’s unsaid messages and respond appropriately, we will experience more cooperation and respect.

My wife and read the graph separately and came to the same conclusion – Gray is the Determined Child. He’s as loud as your alarm clock at 5 a.m. He’s as physical as Dennis Rodman boxing out to chase a rebound. And he covets adventure as if he was Indiana Jones. Except with food. He doesn’t want any crazy shit, like a cinnamon roll.

The first thing we talked about after reading this was saying “No” too often. Because he likes to explore he pushes boundaries constantly, followed by a lot of “No” and “Stop” from us. If he’s cooped up in the house too long he picks fights. He knows our house rules, but he’ll bust them just to stir things up. If he could write, “All don’ts and no play makes Gray a dull boy,” would be scribbled all over his bedroom wall in crayon.

Tuttle advises to encourage Gray, let him move fast and to allow adventure. They have an Ultimate Fighting Championship weight class for 2-year-olds, right?

My hope is to encourage anyone else at their wit’s end with their kids. Sometimes we just need a chart to simplify things, help us to understand our kids and keep us from slapping the “fuck you” off their precious little faces.

Bikin’, Boozin’ Birthday – How Was Your Weekend?

Posted on May 6, 2013 by Seth

Friday

I turned (inaudible mumble) years old on Friday. My wife’s friends from the hospital had tickets to Disney on Ice Treasure Trove at the Long Beach Convention Center so they let our munchkins join in with them while we celebrated at dinner.

We walked from the Convention Center to 555 East American Steakhouse, creatively named after its street address and the type of food it serves. Why not call it Steaks Served Here or something? We walked in a few minutes after 7:30. It was busy but not packed by any means so we probably didn’t need to make reservations. Inside it’s dim lighting with dark wood and felt classy. Our table was the near the front window where it was lit better.

555 East American Steakhouse

I began with a Sicilian Old Fashioned which is Woodford Reserve bourbon, Fratelli Averna Amaro, pieces of fruit and a splash of soda. Imagine bourbon without the bite, but rather sweetness mixed with orange pulp shooting up a thin straw like a snake swallowing a rabbit. I was less adventurous on my second drink and ordered Woodford Reserve with three cubes.

My wife and I are different eaters. She enjoys the basics, tried and true food she knows she likes and she’s content. I’d rather take those elements and add a bunch of other shit I like with it. So I ordered the Prime Culotte steak Oscar Style, which means it’s served on a bed of asparagus, topped with chunks of crab and slathered in béarnaise sauce. It was epic. The garlic mashed potatoes adjoining the steak were creamy and mixed well with star of the plate on every bite.

Prime Culotte Oscar Style

We made it back to the Convention Center before the end of the show. My wife had to pee so we snuck in to the performing arts section of the building before heading back outside. A few minutes later the show ended. We ran into our friend Ryan who led us beyond security guards at the doors and through a sea of guests trying to exit to our families taking pictures in front of the stage area. The moms detailed Gray and Ellie’s excited reactions to the show, we all chatted and made it back out front after security asked us to leave.

We talked outside some more as the kids played. Gray came over, asked me to pick him up and told me about the show and talked about all the girls. I asked if there was a pretty girl and he confirmed. I put him down and asked me to show him who was pretty and he immediately pointed to an 8-year-old with blonde curled hair and sparkling blue eyes. Then he stomped on her foot, as if a script writer from the 1940s wanted a school boy to flirt with a school girl. So he’s off his cougar kick – for now.

We ended the night with our first experience at Yogurtland, changed the twins into pajamas in a nearby parking lot and watched girls cut through the lot in their best clubbing outfits. I told Gray they were going to go shake their booties and he legitimately got upset and said “No mommies shake their booties.” So he’s a flirt that but he respects you, ladies.

Saturday

We all slept in after a late night and then made it to another t-ball class. Not enough kids showed up on the other team so we had to split up. Due to the few in attendance each child got more at-bats, but Gray and Ellie dragged and it showed. Ellie melted down in the last inning and I held her out in the field, her head on my shoulder, which she never does.

At night we had plans to meet up with my wife’s work crew to celebrate other birthdays. In addition to mine on Friday, Ryan’s was Saturday and my wife’s is on Tuesday. We met back in Long Beach at K.C. Branaghan’s to start. Avoid that place unless the price of a dollar means nothing to you. Jager bombs, which the wife and I tossed back to start, are $10 each and a Jack and Coke is $8, which is pretty ridiculous if you consider that we’re not on the Las Vegas strip and it’s a beach Irish bar, not a trendy club in downtown Los Angeles.

Long Beach PediWagon awaits us.

Waiting for us after we left was a 15-person bicycle from Long Beach PediWagon powered by us, the drunkards, and steered by a captain from the company. The bike had a stereo and a bar table with cup holders. Drinking isn’t allowed due to recent advice from the Long Beach Police Department but if you wanted to smuggle your own in a Taco Bell cup or water bottle full of “just orange juice” then the table worked nicely. PROTIP: If you get a little loose with your sandals, like I do, store them above your seat and pedal barefoot, or else you’ll lose it in the middle of of 2nd Street. And it might happen twice.

We pedaled our way to four miles per hour, blocked the right lane of traffic up and down 2nd Street and hopped from bar to bar to refuel. The Mayweather-Guerrero fight kept us out of a few bars due to cover charges so we dumped our money into the friendly establishments that didn’t air the fight. And that turned out to be plenty before we biked our way back to our starting point and stumbled into Crow’s Nest, a dive bar with affordable drinks.

The night ended at the Harbor House Cafe in Sunset Beach. I swear we were the oldest people there by a good ten years. A burger and fries helped ease my stomach for an uneventful, passed out ride home. Which is always a good end to the night.

Sunday

Every joint in my body ached. Every. Single. Joint. My shoulders, my low back, my elbows. It’s what happens now when I drink. The dehydration from boozing the night before sucks the life out of me. Still, the twins and I made it to church for our second to last service before it closes.

I spent the rest of the day relaxing these old bones and watched the Angels lose. Again.

Dreaming of the Sea

Posted on May 4, 2013 by Seth

Written by Gordon Livingston

My therapist loaned me a book from author Gordon Livingston entitled Only Spring, based on the journal he kept after the news of his 6-year-old son’s diagnosis with leukemia and ultimately the agonizing cycle of faith lost and hope gained.

I’m in the faith lost part of it all in my life and I’ve forgotten the definition of hope. I mentioned my blog to my therapist so she told me about Livingston’s book. It seemed like a good fit on multiple levels. It only took the foreword to inspire me to share.

Written by author Mark Helprin – educated at Harvard, Princeton and Oxford and served in the Israeli Army, Israeli Air Force and British Merchant Navy – the foreword hit a nerve. It struck my longing to clutch Jax tightly once again.

Whether Lucas (Livingston’s son) rose into a world of light or was taken with a roar into waves of speeding darkness as if into the deep ocean, he went alone. The way I see it, he is either clasped tightly to the breast of God, or there is no God. One way or another, he has given his father, and in some respects all of us, a great gift. He has made death a prospect of fulfillment, an excitement, for what greater need is there but to find the lost child, or at least to chance that one may find him? If you were on a ship battered by immense waves (and, believe me, you are) that swept your child from your arms would you not (given that you had no others for whom to remain) throw yourself into the deep, hoping for the chance that in the vast black ocean you might grab onto him? Comforted just to know that you would suffer the same fate?

And if you had to remain, to protect others, would you not dream all your life of the day when, your responsibilities over, you would finally get to the sea?

I’ve mentioned before in this space that my wife and I no longer fear death, and Helprin’s words explain exactly how I feel. For now, we’re here to protect our twins. But I will dream every day of hitting that sea and feeling his little hands in mine again.

CHOC Walk 2013: Iron Jax returns

Posted on April 30, 2013 by Seth

Children’s Hospital of Orange County announced that the 23rd annual CHOC Walk in the Park will take place Sunday, October 13, 2013. Per CHOC’s email:

This year’s CHOC Walk in the Park promises a day of wonder and excitement as we kick off on Main Street U.S.A. and stroll through Disneyland®, the Disney California Adventure Park® and cross the finish line in Downtown Disney® District. After the Walk visit our sponsors at the Walk Festival and enjoy breakfast at one of the many great restaurants in the Downtown Disney® District.

Last year my wife and I (mostly my wife) threw together a team just six weeks before the Walk and raised $10,565.47 dollars to support CHOC. The turn out was amazing, so we’re going to do it again this year.

Walker and team registration will be available in June. You can sign up for the organization’s Facebook page or return here for news on team Iron Jax.

For those of you that don’t know, Jax passed away at CHOC’S pediatric intensive care unit. The entire staff was so compassionate to us and treated us with so much respect that this is our little way to give back to the hospital and the community.

Ice Cream, Woody and Consignment – How Was Your Weekend?

Posted on April 29, 2013 by Seth

Friday

I’m notorious for falling asleep while driving. I’ve caused two rear-end accidents as a result of nodding off. Coincidentally, insane traffic on the 261 toll road in Orange County helped me ram both vehicles at about the same spot – just beyond the sensor at the peak of the hill if you know the area. The last occurrence was about eight years ago.

My commute home Friday almost snapped that streak. Fortunately I opened my eyes soon enough to slam on my brakes just before impacting that large pick-up truck. F me.

My wife picked some things up at the store after the twins went to bed and surprised me with Baskin Robbins. She got me baseball nut. It’s one of those quirky things I’ve liked since I was a kid. It’s seasonal for the baseball season, or at least used to be, with vanilla ice cream, cashews and a black raspberry ribbon. And it’s fanfuckingtastic.

Baskin Robbins’ Baseball Nut.

Saturday

T-ball class seems less and less of an adventure every week. Gray and Ellie’s attention is slowly improving (I emphasize the slow). But we’re used to Jax. He didn’t care about water breaks. He wasn’t running away from me in the outfield. And he knew where first base was.

Gray’s been begging to watch “Buzz and Woody” for a bit, so I told him when it got dark we could watch Toy Story 3 as the wife worked. He and Ellie grabbed their Woody and Jessie dolls and settled on the couch for movie night. I pecked away on the iPad nearby and joined them for the last ten minutes. And cried like a baby.

I last saw the film in the theater when it was released in the summer of 2010. My wife and I took Jax as he was obsessed with Toy Story at the time. He sat on my lap and didn’t budge the entire time. He was in awe. I bawled my eyes out then, too, but this was different. When Andy dropped his box of toys off at Bonnie’s house the whole thing thing reminded me of Jax. How he used to want “Andy” written on the bottom of his cowboy boots. It reminded me of his own super imagination.

And when Bonnie and her mom go inside the house and the toys sit up to watch Andy drive off to college, it symbolized Jax leaving this earth. Leaving my world. The achy heart I buried clawed itself out of the ground like a Friday the 13th movie, pried my mouth open, jumped inside and was stuck in my throat.

Ellie was sitting against my stomach and looked up and back at me.

“Daddy sad?” she asked. She’s used to this. She’s used to looking at sadness. I confirmed and she turned back to the TV to watch the credits.

Woody and friends watch Andy drive off to college.

Sunday

The twins and I left my wife alone to sleep for a few hours. We went to church and discovered the closing date will be May 12. Afterwards I made the mistake of letting them walk (while holding my hand) in Target to pick up some packing tape. Holy crap was that a bad idea. Ellie turned into a 14-year-old and refused to hold my hand and Gray at one point shrilled in my ear because I picked him up. There was mass chaos.

After finally returning home and getting them to nap, I wrote my first post for Bugs & Cranks, which you can find here.

After the wife woke up we drove out to Huntington Beach to drop off items we’re selling at the Urban Kids Consignment sale next weekend. If you or a friend are looking for good deals on used clothes, toys or other accessories for children, you should hit it up. I can’t speak for all of the items, but what we’re selling is in great condition.

When we left, Ellie kept yelling at me from her car seat for a restaurant. That’s just kind of how she communicates now. She’ll yell. It’s super fun. We landed at Red Lobster. Toward the end of our meal I felt a strong tap on my left shoulder. I turned around to find an elderly woman, roughly 80, right in my face.

“You better watch out for that one,” she said. My mind scrambled. The hell is she talking about? “He’s been flirting with me the whole time.”

It’s Gray. Okay, phew. No one’s in trouble.

“He definitely likes the ladies,” I replied with an uncomfortable grin.

At home, my wife asked Gray about girls at the restaurant. He muttered “pretty”. I had no idea he knew that word. Then I thought of that elderly woman. Gray likes cougars. Beware, ladies.