Mr. Mom

Today I am the Manny.

I’m taking care of The Mighty Baby and The Awesome Dog while HoBiscuit goes to work and brings home the bacon. Because I love her so very, very much, I’m even going to prepare dinner for her and have it hot and ready to serve as soon as she walks through the front door.

FYI, I’m making pork chops, corn and spicy potatoes.

In other news that won’t get my ass kicked to Timbuktu, HoBiscuit and I finally bought a TV for the living room. It’s the Samsung LN55A950 and it rocks. Great picture, blackest blacks and almost no judder or pixelation. I couldn’t be happier.

But it gets better.

We also got a home theater PC (HTPC) and hooked it up to the Samsung. I’m still setting it up, but so far it is pretty cool and I’m thrilled to be able to surf the web and do “light” work on a supersized 55″ screen. The only real drawback is that The Mighty Baby screams and cries every time I try to use the HTPC because SHE wants to play with the keyboard! She is soooo going to be the little Geekette when she gets a little older.

And I couldn’t be more proud.

Marauding Rugrats

GeekHaus Child Infiltration Test Alpha — Passed

This weekend marked the first time we, and our home, has had children under three over for a visit and although the apartment survived without any damage, the same can’t be said for HoBiscuit and I. In fact, the looks of terror on our faces as the small children ran rampant throughout our house was enough for the parents of said children to fall to the floor in fits of uncontrollable laughter.

They even pointed. And did spit-takes.

Saturday was our baby-test, where our friends with a nine-month-old baby came over to visit. Before I get into details, let me say that this little girl is very, very cute. So cute that I find myself questioning whether there might have been a mix-up at the hospital leading to my friends taking home the wrong baby. I mean, my friends aren’t Quasimodo and Medusa, but still… for them to have such an adorable baby must be some sort of crazy cosmic joke on me. I swear, if my baby is ugly I’m going to find a way to suck some of the cuteness out of their baby and inject it into mine. Heck, I might just do it anyway to give my little girl a leg up on the cute baby competitions at the playground. And I’m telling you, those playground mothers are fiercely competitive!

They scare me.

So, this nine-month-old bundle of cuteness comes over on Saturday and HoBiscuit and I are so frightened of her that we can barely bring ourselves to sit down near her. At one point, her parents needed to change her diaper and offered to allow HoBiscuit or me do it as ‘practice’. I jumped and ran away so fast that there was a whistling noise as the air rushed to fill the space I had occupied in the room. Later, after they had gone home, I felt the need to hose down my leather couch to remove all the drool she had left behind as a memento of her visit.

Yeah, I’m a little bit of a neatnick.

On Sunday some other friends came over with their 18-month old and two and a half year old boys. The main difference between these two boys and my other friends’ little girl, aside from the plumbing, is that the boys are what they call ‘toddlers’. That means they can stand up and walk under their own power.

O. M. G.

I never knew children were so fast! I honestly believe these boys were planning trouble before they arrived at the apartment. They had to have had a plan of attack that they worked out beforehand, with PowerPoint slides and topography maps and everything, because they almost instinctively knew where to go to make every adult in the room jump up after them shouting, “No! No! No!”

I think that was their favorite game.

And, I now know that one day the human race will definitely find a way of traveling faster than the speed of light, or perhaps inventing some sort of instantaneous transporter, because these two kids could get from point A to point B so fast I had to learn how to blink without letting my eyelids meet. They would literally be sitting down on the rug at our feet, happily playing with some cars or something and the very next millisecond they would be across the room trying to lick a power outlet. Meanwhile, mom and dad are doubled over laughing so hard at the scared-out-of-our-minds look on both HoBiscuit and my faces that they can’t even manage to stop the 18 month-old boy from grounding goldfish snacks into the carpet and then eating the powdery residue off the floor. Why didn’t I ever notice how horrible children were before HoBiscuit got pregnant?

Holy crap, what am I going to do when I’m a father?

Ah! Geek Laziness

The movie 40 Year Old Virgin will be my downfall.

Yesterday, I was sitting at home all alone when it dawned on me that I had in my possession six discs containing the entire first season of a TV series I have loved for over 15 years. This show which I love so much was created based on a movie, which was based on a comic book, which was first published around 1988. Ever since I first saw the opening credits of the badly copied VHS tape of the original movies I have been waiting to see more of this series. And so I was astounded to discover that I had the willpower to abstain from watching these discs for an entire week while entertaining family and friends for the Independence holiday festivities.

But yesterday I was alone. And free.

Free to sit down in my amazing new home theater, fire up my 7.1 surround-sound system, power on the HD projector and watch my most favoritest TV adaptation of a comic book ever in all its 106″ widescreen glory. And let me tell you, it was glorious. I watched all 10 hours of it in one sitting and I only got up once to eat and use the bathroom. I laughed a lot and I even teared up a few times (big softy that I am) while sitting there in the dark and I loved every moment of watching these characters come to life after almost 7 years of waiting.

And then HoBiscuit came home.

Remember earlier when I said that the 40 Year Old Virgin would be my downfall? Well, if you’ve seen that movie you might remember one scene where Dave (Paul Rudd) and Cal (Seth Rogen) are playing a video game while making fun of each other. It is that scene that will now haunt me for the rest of my life because, you see, HoBiscuit just happened to come home from work at the big finale of the series when the two leads finally (finally!) profess their feelings for each other.

And I almost (almost!) needed tissues.

HoBiscuit – “You know how I know you’re gay?”
GeekMan – “Shhhh! This is the best part!”
HoBiscuit – “Because you love Ah! My Goddess.”
Geekman – [snif] “I hate you.”

Damn, I can’t wait for the Season 2 box set to be released!

Brokeback GeekMan

I broke my back on Friday.

Well, ‘broke’ is a strong word, but I definitely did something bad to my lower back and moving has become a painful thing that I’m trying to avoid. At all costs. So forgive me for not yet finishing my series on buying a computer, but I promise you it will be done as soon as I can get myself to sit comfortably for longer than 20 minutes at a time. I’ll be back soon, so no worries. And if anyone still cares, the baby is doing well and HoBiscuit is healthy and happy as she gets nice and big. Almost as if she’s swallowed a basketball that is slowly morphing into a beach ball. It’s so cute when she forgets how big she’s gotten and she tries to squeeze through a small opening between rows of seats in a restaurant. Wait. If HoBiscuit doesn’t think knocking into things with her belly is cute or funny, does that mean I’m not allowed to either?

Really? Oh. Well then, maybe it’s not cute after all.

Double Standards Suck

I am losing the domestic war.

If you’re not married, if you’re not living with someone day in and day out with nowhere else for you to go but where you and this other person share a living space, then you have no idea what I mean by domestic war. You won’t understand the daily battles fought over whose turn it is to do the dishes, or why a neat pile to one party is a mess to the other, or how important… no, vital control of the TV remote is to having a quiet and happy home. You don’t know about the thermostat skirmishes won or lost due to the availability and proximity of a blanket to the couch and you will have no understanding of how, by letting your significant other win even a small victory over something so trivial as who is going to get up from their comfortable seat and close the window, can lead to your downfall and thus to your imminent pussyfication.

And it is more and more imminent for me every day.

This became quite clear to me last night when I was sitting on the couch watching football and HoBiscuit decided to join me. And by join me, I mean that she literally crawled over me, inserted herself between me and the arm of the couch that I was sitting against, pushed, twisted and squirmed until she fit there with her head on me and her legs over the arm of the couch, and then kneaded my stomach with the back of her head until she was comfortable.

And then she began to talk.

Now guys, think back to your youth when you used to think your father was an idiot. Remember how, when your mother was talking or telling him to do something, he never seemed to actually hear what she was saying? And later on, he always asked you what your mother had said because he couldn’t remember? Well, I don’t think it was because your father was stupid, I think it was more like a survival instinct because as soon as HoBiscuit started talking to me, I couldn’t hear her anymore.

It was like magic.

One second she’s yammering away about something unimportant to me, like maybe how she hates work or how she saw this great dress on sale or something, and the next moment I can’t hear a word she’s saying but I can hear Al Michaels saying the Cowboys are kicking the Saints’ asses.

Like I said; magic.

Anywaste, at some point HoBiscuit stopped talking and started napping, on my stomach remember, and it began to get a little uncomfortable for me. Not wanting to startle her, I gently tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to go lay down somewhere else because even though this might have been a comfortable position for her it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for me. Without even shifting her weight HoBiscuit said, “But I’m so comfortable and you’re such a nice pillow that I think I’ll stay right where I am.”

Which got me thinking.

You see, if she had been sitting on the couch enjoying one of her favorite TV shows and I had come along and pushed and prodded my way onto the couch as she had, and then used her body as a pillow like she had with my body, and then started talking to her about things that were not important to her like she had just done to me then I don’t think she would have been quite as understanding and complacent as I had been. And then, to top it all off, if her body felt as uncomfortable as mine was feeling at that moment with her head on my stomach, and she asked me to get off of her and I didn’t get off her, I believe she would not have been pleased and we might have even had a fight of some sort with her calling me insensitive and uncaring or something. In other words, she believed she could get away with this type of behavior while at the same time I could not.

Basically, she was perpetuating a double standard.

I believed that this was wrong. In fact, I felt so strongly about this that I even mentioned my whole reasoning to her. I explained, at great length, my position that she shouldn’t be able to get away with this type of behavior and what made her believe she could get away with it when I could not. And do you know what she did? She opened one eye, looked up at me from my very pained belly and said, “Because I’m cute and you love me.” And then she went back to sleep.

Point. Set. Match.

One Of The Heroes

I’m on TV again.

Yesterday, HoBiscuit and I were part of the live studio audience watching a taping of the Colbert Report. We were lucky enough to get seats right in the front row and I even got to give Stephen a high-five twice while he was mugging for the crowd.

Oh, happy day.

When we were shown our seats I happened to notice that a couple of rows behind us in the audience was the plush, leather chair that Stephen had been “saving” for soon-to-be ex-Senator Joe Lieberman. This discovery caused butterflies to gather in my stomach because I knew that I had a very good chance of getting on TV if they showed a wide angle audience shot of the chair during the show. Now, it wasn’t the thought of being on TV that made the butterflies swarm, but rather the knowledge that not knowing I might actually be on TV that morning I happened to have dressed for comfort instead of dressing as if I were going to a job interview.

So of course I’m in the shot.

Which means that I am now forever immortalized as “That Guy On The Colbert Report Who Dressed Like A Retarded, Color-Blind Golfer.” Let this be a lesson to you, boys and girls. If you’re going to leave the house, for any reason whatsoever, always, always dress as if you’re going to interview for a job as the new CEO of Berkshire Hathaway. In fact, today I’m going to my local Men’s Warehouse and ordering 8 fancy suits for myself. Why 8? One for every day of the week and a spare, of course!

I’m gonna like the way I look, they guarantee it.

For those who watched the Colbert Report last night, you might have seen me on the lower right-hand side of your TV set at the very beginning of the audience sweep to Lieberman’s chair. I’m looking off camera (to your right, my left) at Stephen who was very funny even off camera. He’s also taller than HoBiscuit thought he would be, which makes it easier to understand why she has such a crush on him. It might also help explain why she handed me divorce papers right after the show citing my “irrefutably inferior breeding stock,” the “obvious fact that the plaintiff should be with a real man with huge balls like Stephen Colbert instead of a pathetic, balless Geek like the defendant” and also the “impossibility of continuing the farce of pretending to be in love with someone as undeniably stupid as the defendant no matter how much he pays.” Plus, she claims my account is in arrears.

But hey, I’m on TV!

Birthday Love

Today is a special day.

Someone very close to me is having a birthday today! Isn’t that just the greatest? In order to be thought of as the good little GeekMan that I am, I bought this person special birthday flowers which made her very, very happy and got me a kiss. Then I immediately screwed it up by insinuating that she needed to exercise by holding her tightly and grunting as I lifted her up in a hug. At least that’s what she thought I was insinuating.

I thought I was just hugging her.

Of course I had to do something so I made up for my supposed faux pax by kissing her and doing the Happy Birthday Dance, complete with the running man, MC Hammer side-walk and cabbage patch dance moves that she loves so much. Immediately followed by me screwing up yet again when I tried to kiss her again while sweaty.

Mental note for the future; sweaty Geek is bad Geek.

Now, to make up for that we’re headed out to go shopping, for her, which is another Very Good Thing… except that I’ve already screwed it up by insinuating that she needed to go shopping for clothes because her current clothes don’t fit… uh, aren’t fit… to wear anymore?

Yeah! That’s the ticket!

Her current clothes are older fashions and aren’t fit to wear anymore because… uh, because such a beautiful woman needs to be clothed in only the latest, greatest fashions! That’s the reason we’re going shopping! It has absolutely nothing at all to do with how the clothes might hang on her body, because her body is absolutely perfect! Perfectly perfect! In fact, it’s the most wonderously perfect body to ever walk the earth, ever.

Seriously.

And I would never, ever under any circumstances whatsoever, even remotely insinuate that she might want to spend a bit more time at the gym because lord knows if one of us needed to get their fat ass to the gym it should be the idiot who is still typing even though he already knows that he is a dead man.

Is she buying this? No? Does she look angry? Crap.

Well, if I’m alive tomorrow to post it will only be because my bank account has died. Pray for me people, I am soooo going to need it after this.

I am such a stupid, stupid man.

Say WHA?!

She’s gonna hate me for this.

I’m asking for your help people. You see, HoBiscuit, my lovely wife, is mulling over the possibility of maybe starting her own blog. I happen to think that having her own space on the net would be a most wonderful thing, but she’s very shy and is hesitating, thinking that she has nothing of interest to say to the world.

To which I say; “Bullpoop”.

So, I’d like for you people out there to let her know, in no uncertain terms, that reading her words online would thrill you to no end. Leave a comment here encouraging her to start her own site. Show her some love. Let her know she has fans even though she hasn’t even started writing yet. Make some noise people and maybe, just maybe, she won’t kill me for writing this before she came to a decision on her own.

And if we’re real lucky, she’ll actually start her own Blog!

Envy

“I want a Toy.”
“What?”
“I said I want a Toy, GeekMan. You always buy yourself cool toys like cameras, computers, dolls…”
“Hey! How many times do I have to tell you that they’re called action figures not dolls, huh?”
“Right. And the one that looks like a teenage girl skipping in a sun dress?”
“She’s the main character from a Japanese anime movie! She’s, like, totally an action figure! Duuuh!”

[crickets]

“Uh, you were saying?”
“I was saying that it’s not fair that you always get the toys. I want one.”
“You want a toy?”
“No. I want a Toy. A TOY.”
“Ah. You want a Toy.”
“Yes. And not just any Toy, it’s got to be a cool Toy. A really cool Toy. iPod-like, y’know? But not an iPod because I already have an MP3 player and I don’t need another one, ok? But something like that. You know, cool.”
“…”
“What are you thinking?”
“Well, I was just thinking of a cool Toy I wouldn’t mind seeing you play with…”

[crickets on ice]

“Right. Bad GeekMan. You were saying…?”
“I want a cool Toy and after that last comment I think you need to buy me one.”
“What?! Are you kidding me?! If you want a cool Toy so bad, why don’t you just go and get it your…”

[spider-sense tingles]

“Uh… I mean, do you have any idea what you might like to receive as a… uh, Show Your Significant Other Your Undying Love and Affection for No Apparent Reason in the Form of a Cool Toy on a Tuesday in April gift?”
“As a matter of fact, wiseass, I do.”
“Be gentle…”

Look out world, HoBiscuit’s got a new Toy. And dammit, I’m jealous.

The Valiant Valet

“And what are we doing today?”

This was asked by our valet as he held the car door open so HoBiscuit could get in to our rental car outside of our Hawaiian hotel. It was a polite question, said in a jovial and cordial tone, most likely to help us feel as if he truly cared in the hopes of us gifting him with a larger tip. He knew, and most guests knew, that his words were nothing but a thin, nearly transparent film of polite animosity, behind which he barely concealed his empty-eyed stare, bored stance and fake smile. But still, like the spawning salmon fighting its way upstream knowing that the end of its journey also meant the end of its very life, our intrepid valet continued to inquire the hotel guests about their health, daily activities and other small-talk niceties just to help pass the time during his terminally boring day.

All of this is just to say that what follows was not his fault.

You see, HoBiscuit and I were on our way to a grand adventure the type of which HoBiscuit had never partaken in before. There would be kayaking down rivers, tractor pulls through forests and farmland, rope bridges, zip-lines, waterfalls, cliff dives, hikes, swims, motor boating and all manner of other good, outdoorsy-type stuff that she had never even imagined she might do on a vacation getaway, let alone during a single seven-hour tour.

By which I mean to say that HoBiscuit was excited.

Some people, when they’re excited, show their excitement by becoming jittery and begin hopping from foot to foot. Some people smile and sweat until they resemble nothing so much as a frog with teeth and an upset stomach. Some people even develop a nervous little laugh when they are excited, sounding to the world like a hyena with the hiccups. But HoBiscuit had none of these afflictions. Instead, as with many, many other people on this earth, when she is excited and nervous, HoBiscuit becomes chatty. And loud.

And our poor valet had unknowingly opened the floodgates.

“We’re going on an adventure tour! It’s going to be sooooo great! We’re going to kayak down the river and then hike to a secluded waterfall where we’ll swing on a rope and jump in the river! Then we’re going to hike some more to a tractor that’s going to take us to another river where we’ll zip-line across and then cross back over on a swinging rope bridge! I think that’s crazy, especially since I’m scared of heights, but how many times do you get to zip-line across a river and cross a rope bridge?! I mean, I guess I’ll be scared, but I think I’ll do it anyway because it might be fun, too. You know? Oh! And then we’re going to hike to ANOTHER waterfall where…”

And on, and on, and on.

The entire paragraph above was transmitted to our valet in the span of time it took for HoBiscuit to take the three steps from the back of the car to the passenger side door he was holding open for her. Try to imagine the look on our poor valet’s face as he was bombarded with far more information than he ever in his short (and growing shorter by the second) life would have ever wanted to know about one of the hotel’s guests. Especially one whose husband was a little stingy with the tips which he depended upon in order to purchase wax for his surfboard. He had only expected a short, “We’re going to the beach.” Or possibly, “We’re going to go shopping.”

If it were a good day he’d get $10 and, “None of your damn business.”

He never expected to be given a step-by-step dissertation on a guest’s entire day’s activities at a volume level WAY past eleven. Many other valets, faced with such a chatty guest, would have become flustered. They might have let slip their professional facade of distant politeness and actually warmed to the person who seemed to so desperately need a friend to talk to like our hapless HoBiscuit.

But not our valet.

He was a consummate professional and, mustering all his years of experience in the valet profession, he managed to hold his vacant smile until HoBiscuit had situated herself inside the vehicle and then, as she continued to bombard him with ever more detailed descriptions of our planned days outing, he spoke over her in a continuous monotone that stopped her excited tirade in mid-sentence.

“Uh-huhthat’sniceokaybuh-bye.”

And then he closed the door in her face.