Things That Drive Me Crazy

One of the things that drive me crazy is stupid commercials. One particular commercial is for a laxative of which the narrator on the promo says that it works over night, while you’re sleeping? No, no, no, no, no, when that stuff kicks in I want to be awake…and ready to rumble, no surprises while in a deep slumber, thank you very much.

Another thing that drives me crazy is questions that I have no answers to, questions like, can a woman’s basketball team play man-to-man defense? Why do we park in a driveway and drive in a parkway? Can a person who holds both a medical and a law degree sue himself for malpractice?

Stupid crooks also irritate me. I mean, how dumb does one have to be to rob a Dollar Store? Believe it or not this has actually happened here a couple of times. Note to stupid crooks: IT’S A DOLLAR STORE! It’s not Fort Knox you morons. Just how much money did you think was going to be in there anyway?

Moving right along, like many citizens, government stupidity and waste also drives me nuts. Case-in-point, the other day I learned that in the not too distant past the United States Air Force had been working on a gay sex bomb. No, you didn’t misread that. Our Air Force tried to build a bomb containing “stuff” (exactly what the “stuff” is I haven’t a clue) in it that would turn enemy soldiers into gay lovers. What, like you drop a few of these suckers on enemy troops and of a sudden they throw down their weapons and “make love not war” with each other? It’s nice to see our taxes at work, isn’t it? Hey, here’s a news flash for the Air Force, even if you could somehow create such a weapon, no matter what people’s sexual preferences are it doesn’t prevent them from taking up arms and shooting at people who are trying to kill them! It’s called instinct of survival.

While we’re on the subject of stupidity and waste in the military, this one just slays me, a while back it was reported that the military, which has being criticized for its fighting tactics in Iraq, had printed and distributed to our soldiers a pamphlet on how to engage the enemy in an ethical and humane way. Humane and ethical ways to engage the enemy, are you kidding me? We’re talking about shooting and bombing people, snuffing out their lives! I didn’t know there was a humane and ethical way to do that.

Hmmmmm, maybe we should distribute this pamphlet among criminals in hopes they’ll “engage” their victims in an ethical and humane way, or even better, we can put the ingredients of the Gay Sex Bomb into a pocket canister so when accosted by someone we can spray them with it . . . it’s just a thought.

One last thing that drives me crazy is the little “look-on-the-bright-side-of-life” sayings people tell me when I’m out of sorts. Like when experiencing a major change in life, inevitably, in the middle of fussing over that change, someone will regurgitate the age-old adage, “Change is good.” I agree, especially when things change BACK to the way I liked them in the first place!

Or when I’m moaning and groaning about something I don’t have and someone recites the old proverb, “I complained because I had no shoes until I saw a man with no feet.” Yeah, well, I then complained because the man with no feet got the better parking spots!

So there you have it, just a few of the things in life that drive me crazy, and though for me that drive is a short one, aren’t you glad you came along for the ride?

Dad's in the hospital...

Hello everyone, this is Doug's oldest son. So I finally make my 1st and probably only appearance on my pops' blog. You'll probably see the grammatical and spelling errors, etc., not near as neat and readable as my dad's writings.
He's asked me to quickly inform you he was rushed to the emergency room last night and that's the reason for no new posts. I'll keep you updated of his condition on my blog if you wanna link over real quick from time to time. My link can be found in the right hand column of this page under the heading "Check out eldest son's blog".
Thanks.

On Becoming a Grandparent--Part 2

As mentioned in an earlier post, I recently learned that come December I'm going to be a grandfather for the first time. After the initial shock wore off I remember thinking, “Whoa, me a grandfather? Somebody pull the cord and stop the bus!”

I mean, just how did I get to this point in my life so quickly? It was only yesterday that I was filled with excitement and anticipation of the birth of my first child. Now, here I am filled with excitement and anticipation of the birth of my first grandchild. What happened? Did I, like Rip Van Winkle, take a nap only to wake years later to a whole new world, or, did I get caught in some kind of time warp, where I was thrust into the future? It was a little unsettling to say the least.

Then a different, even more frightening thought crossed my mind (and we all know how short of a crossing that is), what if my first grandchild is a girl?! That thought almost put me into cardiac arrest.

You see, I grew up in a family of mischievous, rowdy boys, four to be exact--even our dog was male (poor mom was an island of estrogen in a sea of testosterone)--and I have three sons, no daughters. I know boys. I know how they operate, their thought processes, how their prone to act and react to what life throws at them. A granddaughter will, well, intimidate me.

Can I, a man who knows nothing about raising girls, adapt to having a granddaughter? Will I play too rough with her, tease her too harshly, joke too crudely, be too enthusiastic about sports, shaping her into a tomboy?

Or maybe I’ll act toward her much too far in the opposite direction, pampering her too much, treating her like a prim-a-Donna, cushioning her from the harsh realities of the world; thus giving her unrealistic expectations of life.

And then of course there’s the future issue of dating. But this one I have figured out. Let’s just say I’ve already informed eldest son and daughter-in-law that when granddaughter is dating age I’ll be moving next door to them and will be camped on their front porch steps, waiting for granddaughter’s dates to pick her up and bring her home.

Oh I pity the poor boy that’ll have to go through grandpa to get to granddaughter. I’ve even borrowed a great couple of lines from comic Bill Engvall to say to the unfortunate young man as he approaches my “roost.” I’ll look him square in the eyes and tell him, “that little girl in there that you’re about to take out, she’s my granddaughter, my pride and joy. I will stop at nothing to protect her, so if you have any intentions of hugging her or kissing her I have no problem going back to prison. Now, where are you taking my granddaughter and what time will you have her home?” Did I mention that while carrying on this conversation with the young man I’ll just happen to be cleaning my shotgun?

Heck, now that I think about it, I’ll sneakily attach a GPS system to the boy’s car so I can monitor his every move from my computer. If his car deviates from where it's supposed to be, they’ll be getting a call.

So, as you can see, though I don’t as yet have all the answers to my many questions about raising granddaughters, I do have the important ones answered, the ones that deal with issues of the opposite sex, and that’s good enough for now. After all, I have six months to figure out the rest of it and that’s plenty of time, right?

Baby Talk

If you were to list the things guys most hate to do, near the top of that roster would be being dragged to a hospital to look at newborn babies. I don’t care who the little tyke belongs to, a brother, sister, best friend; guys would rather give up possession of the T.V. remote than be dragged to the infant-care unit of a hospital to gaze at a baby.

We men have good reasons for our reluctance to visit hospital nurseries. You see, while there we’re always put in a tight spot because inevitably, and always in the presence of the baby’s loved ones, we’ll be asked the question, the one question that will make a guy’s knees quiver and a chill go up and down his spine, “Isn’t he just the cutest little thing you ever did see?”

Now, to guys all newborn infants look alike—a shriveled up, wrinkled, old caveman that has just been regurgitated by a large carnivorous dinosaur. But we don’t want to hurt the feelings of the relatives of the little tyke, so we have two choices, we can lie and agree the creature is cute, or we can turn to the baby’s family and say what we really think, “Here’s a banana for your monkey.”

And usually after the how-cute-the-baby-is comments comes the he-looks-just-like (insert either of the baby’s parent’s name) comments. A case in point happened a few years back when a niece of mine was born. With me kicking and screaming the whole way, former Mrs. Bagley dragged me to the hospital to take a peek at our new niece. As we approached the viewing window of the nursery, we saw a couple of men goo-gooing over a baby.

“She looks just like ‘er momma, doesn’t she?” One of them said.

“Nah,” exclaimed the other.

“Well, she’s definitely got Bumgrumble genes in her,” the other one said as they both walked away.

After the two gawking guys left, ex-wife and I sauntered over to the window to view our new niece, and wouldn’t you know it, those guys were gawking over the wrong baby. They were gaping over my niece!

Speaking of people always trying to figure who the baby looks like I remember when youngest son was little. A member of my family continually remarked how she just couldn’t figure out who in the family he looked like.

“He doesn’t look like a Bagley,” this person would continually say, never considering that just maybe youngest son favored his momma’s side of the family. Finally, ex-wife said, “He looks like the milkman.” That pretty much put an end to the I-can’t-figure-out-who-he-looks-like comments.

And don’t you just love it when people in the family pick out certain features of a little one and say things like, “She sure got her daddy’s ears, “ or “She has Aunt Harriet’s eyes.” When this happens, I have to fight the temptation to say, “So how’s his father getting along without those ears?” Come on for crying out loud, the kid has her own features. Why does she have to look exactly like somebody else? Can't she just look like herself?

Chalk it up to human nature or what ever you'd like, but it's amazing to me how a little baby can grown people to act so silly.

Of course, come December, when my first grandbaby is born, you won’t see me acting silly, gooing, gawking, and talking silly to my grandchild. If you do, I’ll never admit it. I’ll just swear it’s my long lost twin you saw acting that way.