Archive for April, 2010

a friend contacted me over a year ago to lay down some guitars on a track that i had never heard, but was told was the greatest song ever recorded.

not only is that intimidating and flattering at the same time, but it says something about my friends. they know the awesome when they hear it.

now this song has been played on youtube a few thousand times in an unofficial leak since the song had never really been released.

until now, complete with some noodling from the dad with the amazing scrotal contents…

http://carlosknight.bandcamp.com/

this is my debut with carlos knight & the bay city boys, but our future looks so bright that ill get to flex my chest hair once again, someday.

GO LISTEN!

i remember the first few weeks of daycare for our 2 year old when he first started, it seemed crazy the amount of preparation and shit to remember just to not piss off the daycare ladies and have everything your lil’ dude needs. we would spend two, sometimes three hours just getting everything together for the week on sunday night and then every night there seemed to be a good two hours of sporadic preparation that included laundry, dishes and list making that we would abide by.
all that shit just for one fucking baby.
so then yeah, we, uh, we got two infants in addition add to the 2 year old to add to our daycare routine now, shit, piss, fuck, tits, schmegma. granted, once the kid is eating solid food and walking everything gets easier as far as what you have to pack the night before/morning of, but that’s a year away bitch, what the fuck am i supposed to do now?

this past monday was the start of the third week with all three kids in daycare, and the second week of jules going back to work after “natural & gravitational vagina reconstruction time” or what you pussy ass bitches call maternity leave. we might not have the mechanics of actually getting out of the van and into the actual daycare perfected just yet, as the 2 year old likes to take off occasionally, but we’ve kind of worked out who does what when to make the mornings easier than that first few.

so rather than blabber and show you my titties like you broads often do, im going to break this shit down for you in the hopes that maybe my “schedule” or as i call it “what i do to try and see and my wife’s tittaaaaaays more than once a day”, will help someone think this shit through when two bebes are on the way.

going out in public is possible, but you have to work like you’re gonna get serious action that night or you will seriously want to kill your spouse. luckily for her i kill zombies and bad guys on my playstation, so im straight.

**keep in mind that we have to pre-make mason’s formula because he’s on that thickener/higher calorie formula mixture**

sunday night @ 8pm:

unload dishwasher with 10 bottles (#5 tinted brown, #5 clear), collars & nips.

prep #5 bottles for leah, all with the appropriate amount of water to mix formula in
make #1 for feeding at 8:30

make fresh 30oz container of formula for mason (only good for 24 hours so we make 24 hours worth)
pour #5 bottles for mason and refrigerate #4 and warm up #1 for feeding at 8:30

feed them hungry bitches & go to fucking bed bitch! (we probably have marathon tantric sex 8 nights a week tho)

wake up @ 4:15am, warm mason’s and make leah’s bottles, then feed at 4:30am
@5am jules’s crazy ass goes to work out
@5:45am me gets out of bed and does a spray tan (YOU THINK THIS SHIT IS NATURAL?!) – spray tan is my code word for my first shit of the day ok?
@6am dylan the 2yo ninja is up and ready for the party, i load the #4 dirty bottles in the dishwasher & snag some milko for the ninja
by 6:10am i’ve started changing and dressing the party twins for the party, jules is usually getting ready while helping dylan get ready for the party
by 6:35am both twinnies are in their carseats ready to leave, i run and put the day’s bottles, clothes and diapers in the van, dylan is waiting to watch a movie which he will not get to watch until after school. this past week it’s been “the jungle book”.
by 6:45am we have all three kids in the van and jules and i usually dip into the laundry room to have a quick asspouding sesh (im lying, she makes a shitty low calorie breakfast and i do the laundry for that night’s pajamas for all three)
by 7am im onto my second and favorite shit of the day
by 7:15am im into the shower and on to work where i save people from herpes with my cape and flower petal tattoo.
work work work save people from herpes using my herpes harpoon, i call it my herp-poon
i get home at 5:30pm, julie pulls in at 5:45pm with all three kids and we pull the unload after a quickie in the laundry room again (im lying, i just make sure she brings her coffee mug in cause i hate it when she tries to sneak off with mine, the cheeky bugga!)
i immediately load the dishwasher with the #6 bottles from daycare and start that bitch up, cause we aint made of nipples, collars and shitty leaky bottles from avent are we!

then for the next three hours its a mixture of taking turns hugging dylan, cooking dinner and doing laundry. then immediately after dinner one of us takes dylan up for a bath and gets him ready for bed while the other unloads the dishwasher and sets the bottles, collars and nipples out to dry. this is followed up every other day with a bath for the twinnies.
we are looking forward to summer so we can just hose the fuckers off.

after bathtime is over we focus all of our attention on dylan for a few minutes and enjoy how he is growing up and is the fucking man. then its dylan to bed and more laundry, dishes or other random household chore until 8:30 rolls around and we start the whole fucking process over a fucking gain.

can you tell that i wrote that in two different sits?

yeah. time has a way of not allowing us time to do the things we used to do, but motherfuckers, let me tell you THIS:
once these bitch ass kids is growns ups, i aint doin SHIT ever a fucking gain.
im talkin sponge baths and meals blended and fed to me in a straw and shit.

BEING AN ADULT SUCKS BALLS

but ill be fucked if my kids arent the bees fucking knee pads

AND COFFEE IS FUCKING DELICIOUS

describing what having twins is like to people is like trying to describe how hollow you feel after getting raped by a politician who gave you a semblance of hope in change after such a long period of reactionary cynicism that you’re actually more embarassed that you got duped vs. angry that this smoothie hasn’t done anything but make shit worse.

everything  seems complex, emotional from all sides, tear inducing, stressful and makes you feel distinctly isolated from anyone else who’s experienced something like this. and even though support would, and probably will ultimately get you through this, admitting that someone else has done this fucking shit is almost like allowing someone to steal your fucking thunder.

holy shit. i just connected twin parenting to disgruntled americans who voted for obama. what the fuck am i talking about?

so this could be considered symptom #47 of raising newborn twins. the weirdest thoughts pop into your brain at all hours since you’re never not half awake/half asleep due to the constant interruptions of sleep and cohesive thought. they may or may not make sense, but if you don’t document them, you’ve lost them. so i’ve documented it, let’s move on. (wait, wait, wait, i should tell you that im on the toilet right now too)

but can i make sense of what these past two months have been like in a descriptive, honest and if i say so myself, whimsical manner? YES WE CAN! (the fuck is wrong with me?!)

i liken newborn twin parenting to a smattering of jobs and careers all mixed into one potent ass cocktail. let’s explore the randomness i’m writing as i shit upon my shitter at 2:47am on a friday morning shall we? (for the record im handwriting this on a notebook normally reserved for grocery lists)

war medic: you fix on the fly, often elbow deep in shit, mucus or puke, putting fingers in wounds to stop the bleeding or using the blown off extremeties of the ones who didn’t make it to block full on streams of urine from hitting you in the face.

hollywood agent: you’re placating one personality with bullshit and one with hugs and kisses while constantly fighting for a goal, like more money or in this case, sleep, which is unattainable.

wilderness explorer: what’s in your backpack or diaper bag will determine your survival.

baptist minster: at times an exorcism is the only thing that will work.

bartender: since we premake mason’s formula with a few extra scoops and a thickening agent, i have perfected the two hand cocktail shake from Cocktail. one word of advice, kids don’t understand cocktail umbrellas so save those fuckers fer their 1st birthday party

day trader: never before have i felt the need to use cocaine to improve my daily job performance. so i liken myself to a day trader in that im constantly thinking about using uppers to stay at the top of my game

congressman: like the hollywood agent, but more underhanded. feeding a kid bullshit and smiles and doing things only for the photo-op. but then when the cameras are off being a complete asshole again. (but then you realize how fucking cool these two kids are and how remorseful you feel for being a cockface and by the time you’r ready to publicly apologize, someone’s written a book)

birthday party clown: not quite sure how many times i try and alter the tipping of the scales by making a funny face, jiggling my tits or utilizing my propensity for fart noises, but to the untrained eye, im a fucking freak in dad’s clothing.

astronaut: walking at night in the dark and your eyes crusted shut you kind of walk like a fucking space man with huge careful steps that are concentratedly soft. night vision cameras confirm that im a fucking dandy when i cant see and im gravitating towards a wailing baby.

pothead: the only way to not kill your significant other is to turn off your ego and forget any plans you had socially and just shut the fuck up. see that couch? make love to it with your ass cause it’s where you’re going to want to be after the 45th minute of bouncing and pacing to quiet a gassy baby or two. the pot is actually quite optional, and definitely not recommended because the amount of concentration needed to actually tend to the needs of these adorable monsters.

speaking of pothead. i completely forgot what the fuck im talking about.

coffee anyone?

Pretty much the first thing you notice as a new parent of multiples is that you are now the center of attention wherever you are in public. This might last a few seconds in passing down the grocery aisle, a few minutes in the doctor’s waiting room or complete fucking days if one or both of your twins are ever hospitalized. The first few aren’t so bad, and you might be able to sneak up a few spaces in line from a gracious fellow shopper or medical office waiting room participant. That last one though, fuck hospitals, andthatsallImasayabouthat.

But throughout all of these attention festivals that you find yourself the main attraction in, the most fun you can have as a parent of multiples is when speaking with new parents of singletons. New parents are the most sensitive, uptight, snobbish folks on the planet and nothing makes them feel more inadequate than when you pull up next to them at the grocery store with your pimp ass double stroller, you’re showered and shaved, your wife is lookin’ fucking hot, your two year old has a halo around his head eating some sweet sweet deliciously nutritious fruit snacks, and you’re so relaxed on lack of sleep that you look baked the fuck off on some seriously primo shit.

It’s almost like drag racing for pink slips. We’re the badasses in the leather jackets with our twins, and those pansies are the skinny, wussy, over reactive parents of singletons in their mismatched socks, tight jeans and high school sweater. “Apppffft. One kid? I could do that with my eyes closed, one hand duct taped to my scrotum, and my dick in a vise. Eat it you LOSER!” *And the hanky drops as we burn rubber towards the cliff*

Yet we really don’t act or think like that, but that’s exactly how we thought the twin parents saw us when we came across them just as we were settling into being new parents two years ago or so. It’s completely understandable to feel intimidated by people who are doing twice the work as you are and don’t seem to be sweating at all. It’s complete bullshit, but it SEEMS that way when you’re on the outside looking in at the twin parents.

Twin parents and the parents of multiples might be better at multitasking, but it isn’t because we were made that way, we fucking became that way out of necessity. And just because we look calm, cool and stoned as shit it doesn’t mean we really are because we’re fucking ACTORS. If we looked frazzled and out of sorts all the fucking time there would be a five foot circle around us as we plow through crowds; our friends and family wouldn’t touch us with a five foot whale’s penis. We would be outcasts merely because we acted like how we feel some of the time.

Would you want to hang out with someone who is so worried, concerned and paranoid about every little thing all the fucking time TIMES TWO? Hail no!

I remember when our first child was born in 2008 how intimidated I was with leaving the house or even thinking about preparing to think about preparing to leave the house. Well, if we would have had the twins first, I’m pretty sure we’d still be on the couch shivering in fear. But we didn’t, so we aren’t, and we haven’t had that sense of impending doom at all when considering leaving the den.

In fact, leaving the house means you get to see PEOPLE! PEOPLE THAT SPEAK ENGLISH AND DON’T PUKE AND SHIT ALL OVER YOU! REAL ADULT HUMAN PEOPLE! Eeeeeeeeeeee! After that first month of staying the fuck away from all walking and coughing humans, you come to appreciate human contact after all. So much so, that when either of us mentions being low in something essential, be it diapers, formula, apple juice or the all important anal lube, we actually FIGHT over who gets to leave the house! Whoever gets to leave the house gets to shower. And showers kick a shitton of ass!

WOOOOO! SHOWER!

GROCERY STORE! WOOOO!

Do you feel even the slightest hint of pity over this? We are two adults who are so fucking excited over going to the store or running an errand with just ONE child, that we can often be seen from the street wrestling in Japanese Sumo garb to avoid staying home with TWO!

Jesus fucking christ we’re fucking insane!

But at least I get to see two babies smile for the first time instead of just one baby smile for the first time.

One baby? appppppppt!