I can believe he is two months old already. It has been amazing watching him grow and mature. He is “talking” already and like to smile and wiggle around. He loves looking a the cats and is fascinated by this painting over our couch. He also loves when you bicycle his legs and raise his arms.

Here he is in his two month old picture.

Ok, ok. Serious picture now =)

Now, believe it or not, I do remember that I have one post left in my spirituality series, and I have not forgotten. I have learned a lot from watching Josh and how the “childs eyes” really works, so I do hope to get to it quite soon.

I have been debating writing this post since Sunday, but it’s something I really just need to get off my chest. So let me first start by wishing all of you fathers out there a happy fathers day, I sincerely hope it was nice and relaxing. I celebrated it with family and got a nice table saw (so I can build my wine cabinet this summer, and I may try to tackle a dog house!)

Now for my, much needed and long overdue, cathartic release:

FUCK YOU DAD, you were a selfish fucking coward whose fear or doctors and stubbornness led to your own death. Why didn’t you listen to them? Why didn’t you take better care of yourself? Hope you’re fucking happy; you missed your one daughters wedding, the birth of your granddaughter and grandson, and soon, your second daughters wedding. Do you know how fucking hard it was to walk R down the aisle? I couldn’t even enjoy the ceremony because I could not stop crying. That was your job, not mine. Now, with the second getting married, who knows whats going to happen. She changed when you died, it destroyed her, I don’t know if I’ll be walking her down that aisle, she may walk alone, and to be honest, I could see her bypassing the walk altogether, I can see it being to difficult for her. Your wife? Yeah, it was so hard on her, she couldn’t work, she literally lost her mind for a while, and is now on disability. She’s getting through it now, but it only took 4 years.

Don’t get me wrong, when you were around, except for the final few years when you became more of an asshole, you were a great father. You always made time for me and we always had tons of fun. You taught me so many things, and not just skills, but how to live your life. Those are the things I wanted you to teach my son, your grandson. Spending time with and learning from you is what made me always want to be a father and a husband; it was my dream as a child, to be like you. But don’t you worry, I remember nearly all, of what you taught me, and your death taught me the greatest lesson of all, so really, I have one up on you.

But, now I’m in a weird situation, I still love you, but I now also hate you. I hate what you did to yourself and our family. I dread the day when my son asks where my daddy is and wants to know more about him, because right now, I have so much anger, I don’t know what I’d say. And, I can’t go to your grave because just thinking about it makes me feel “the rage” and I don’t want to yell at your little hole in the ground, though maybe that is what I really need to just yell at you. Even now I can feel the anger welling up and I just want to hit something, but it’s felt good to get that little bit out. Hopefully, over time I’ll learn to stop hating you, I think this was a good first step though.

So this is to everyone out there, especially the fathers. Go to a doctor, take their advice. If you have to lose weight do it, if you have to quit smoking, quit; take your medications, do what ever it takes, just get in better health and don’t die at the age of 54. Because, as you can see from above, the lack to do so will really piss off the ones who love you.

Wanted to write a quick post here to mention that there is absolutely nothing hotter than a beautiful, sexy, round ass in a tight pair of boy shorts ;-)

For example:

Finally after days of a brutal heat wave here, thunder storms blew through two nights ago and cooled us down. In addition to the horrible heat that we have been experiencing, the office I work in has been without air conditioning due to a broken part (which was not installed until today). So all I could do for the past few days is sit here sweating with my shoes off, shirt unbuttoned and a small fan on me. My colleague, who has a digital thermometer, recorded the temperature inside the office at a pretty constant 84 degrees, which is not horrible if you are outside doing something, but when you are just stewing it… not fun.
Though, in my sweat soaked haze, I was reminded of the, literally, hottest sex I can remember. In the Navy, down in Goose Creek, SC, during the summer, we had our fair share of hot and horribly humid days. Often time we would stay off base on the weekend at a hotel or motel, just to get away and perhaps hit up their pools. The girl I was fooling around with at the time and I decided to go for a walk to a nearby mall one morning. After some shopping, with a bag or two each, we started walking back from the mall. Now in the heat of the day, we were drenched in sweat by the time we reached our hotel room. I do not recall if the AC was broken, or if we had simply forgotten to turn it on, but it was hot as hell in our room when we returned. Eager to cool off, we began stripping off our clothes to take a nice cool shower together; but, being the horny fucks we were, as soon as we got naked, the touching began.
Grabbing her hand, I pulled her close, her back to my chest; I could feel the sweat sandwiched between us. My one hand began to explore her tits, while the other began playing with her clit; my hands gliding effortlessly over her now slick body. I began kissing her neck, and remember the taste of the saltiness of her sweat. After working her with my hands for a few minutes, I bent her over the bed and kissed and ran my fingers up her back as I worked my way to her front, she reached for my cock and I pushed her hand away. I lay down and scooted underneath her, out fronts pushed together, slippery and wet as we began to 69. She came relatively quickly, probably due to the elongated manual stimulation and that was my cue to come out from beneath her. I told her not to move as I slipped on a condom and entered her doggy style. We began fucking hard and fast, with her masturbating at the same time. It was then the sweat really started dripping off our bodies; the sweat from my head was splattering on her ass and back, and she was soaking the bed. As we came together, she collapsed onto the bed, and I collapsed onto her. We were breathing heavy, slippery, as the sweat mingled between our bodies.
Now, normally, I hate being sweaty like that, but being caught up in the moment, it did not phase me in the slightest. I guess it just proves that in a passionate moment, when both parties are into the act fully, we can be removed from our normal comfort zones and enjoy what is going on, in the here and now.

In my life, I have had two embarrassing poop related incidents take place. The first happened with my wife, who was my girlfriend at the time; the second happened on a business trip. Luckily, neither caused any ill-effects on the relationship I was building at the time, on the contrary the first still finds itself to be the butt of a joke now and then.

When my wife and I were first dating, we would routinely hang out in the living room of our apartment, watching TV, playing board games, or fooling around. This particular time we were playing Disney Trivia Pursuit. I do not recall why, but I was wearing a pair of silk, or a material like silk, pants. As we sat there, there was a slight rumble in my tummy; ignoring it, we continued on in the game. A few minutes later, I felt myself having to fart. Now, for us, this was no big deal, we were past the “ewww, body noises” part of the relationship, and would occasionally fart in front of each other. While this was still acceptable to us, I did not want to rip one, so I tried to do it as discreetly as possible. I gave a little push and *BOOM* something happened; I sharted (SHit/fARTED)

I quickly jumped up and ran to the bathroom, hoping I was able to get up in time. Sitting on the toilet now, with my tummy aching, I looked down into the pants, yup, I left something in there.

There was a, *Knock, Knock, Knock*, on the bathroom door.
My wife said, “Umm, lankrypt0, did… did you poop on the couch?”
I sheepishly replied, “Err, I might have…”
*A moment or two of silence*
Trying to comfort me, she said, “It’s ok, it happens to everybody.”
I enthusiastically replied, “NO IT DOESNT!”
That response broke some awkwardness and we both began laughing.

In case you were wondering, the pants were tossed, and I had to clean up the couch (there was not much at all, but we flipped the cushion afterwards just to be sure)

The second story, while embarrassing, was really not my fault. I was on a business trip up in Canada, my first official business trip ever, mind you, and I was meeting with our new colleagues at this location. Right on schedule, my tummy told me it was time to visit the porcelain gods; always one to listen to my body, I asked where the bathroom was and excused myself.

Using the map here, please follow along. I started my trek (the blue dotted line) through the hallway (the green area) to the bathroom (the light blue room). You will notice that the door is open; that was not done to illustrate the door itself, it was literally open when I got to it, there were people coming in and out of the bathroom.

So I am sitting on the toilet, going to the bathroom, when I hear a knock on the stall door. I stated, “I’ll be out in one minute.” I hear some grumblings then an exclamation of “Didn’t you see the sign?”

“No”, I truthfully replied. (In the picture, the red arrow points to where the sign that was placed on the door actually was. To me, it was not visible as it was now facing a wall.)
“Well, the bathroom is out of order, we shut the water off!”

My heart literally sank; this poop was no ordinary bowel movement. The night before we had had some hot wings and alcohol, so it was… loose to put it mildly.

I told him I would finish up as quickly as I could, he was grumbling and slamming things the entire time, and I truly felt bad. When I was finished, I wiped as per normal and instinctively reached back to flush. When he heard my futile attempt, he said, “I TOLD YOU THE WATER WAS OFF.”

After stepping out of the stall, he started to berate me again. I explained how I honestly did not see the sign, but he was having none of it. I started washing my hands when he poked his head in the stall and realized how bad it was. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed as his assistant walked in. As I was drying my hands he began explaining the situation to his co-worker. I made a departure as quickly as possible, not wanting to be subjected to any more embarrassment.

I will never understand what the pushback on allowing gay marriage is, if two people love each other, what is the big deal? Then again, I see nothing amoral about homosexuality to begin with, so I am a little biased. But, my mind was bored the other day and I was trying to come up with a solution to this whole argument of who should and who should not be allowed to get married. What I came up with is very simple and elegant, and also addresses the issue of separation of church and state.

Let the government have NO say as to who can or cannot be married, let everyone, whether they are straight or gay, join in a civil union. This civil union entitled spouses all the privileges traditional marriage does. Then if the couple would like to be married in the eyes of God, they need to go to a clergyman who would use their own discretion.

So, am I missing something with my solution? Should we not treat everyone the same in the eyes of the government, and let the clergy speak on behalf of God? Also, what is the main argument against polygamy? If all parties involved are comfortable with the situation, who are we to say it’s wrong?

I had a pretty interesting thought stream, out of he blue, as I was bench pressing today. Love and lust are mutually exclusive feelings. Unfortunately lust is often confused for love, which tends to lead to many complications. But, when thinking about it, I believe it is pretty easy to tell the difference between the two:
You are in lust when you want to touch, kiss, caress, ravage and hold someone the moment you see them.
You are in love when you will throw yourself in front of a bus to save their lives.
You know you found your perfect mate when you have the above two criteria met.

Nobody in this world is perfect, nor can they ever be; so why do some still pretend they are or strive to be something that is unattainable? For me, and I realize it may be a little odd, it is the imperfections of people that I find to be most beautiful, I love tracing my fingers over a naked body and finding a freckle, a lil dimple or even a scar, it gives the body some personality! But I also find it very attractive when someone acknowledges, or even flaunt their imperfections. I suppose, then, it really is about the confidence of a person that is the turn, maybe not so much the imperfection.

On the other hand, I find the typical “beautiful” hot supermodel type people disgusting. Having been in a few locker rooms, there never fails to be a conversation about how “Hot Pamela Anderson is” or “How sexy *insert generic supermodel here* is” and how they would “Rock her world”. What I feel bad about is that these guys, it seems, fail to realize that the person they see in magazines or on TV is made up, airbrushed, and implanted. Give me a “frumpy” chick wearing comfy clothes and happy with who she is, and you will see me a happy man. Don’t get me wrong though, I do like a woman when she is made up to go out for a nice dinner, but I’d much rather BBQ with them in the back yard in a pair of some shorts (shorts must show off the bootay though =) and a tank top.

I have, in a previous post, professed my fondness of the show Americas Next Top Model (ANTM); I have also written about my love of big butts. So I now find myself in a slightly awkward situation because I have railed against ANTM for never picking a, by their judgement, larger woman and consistently picking sickly looking thin ones. Well, that all changed last night with the announcement that Whitney Thompson, a “plus sized” (size 10/12) model with beautiful curves, was the winner of Cycle 10.

Now I am left wodering, is this finally the start of the acceptance of “plus sized” models in the mainstream media? Will her winning this cycle change anything? I sure hope so (maybe selfishly, because I like “real” women).

So, with the, relatively, recent bannings and rulings against overly skinny models in France, Spain and Israel, perhaps this win will finally encourage young women in this country to stop looking at anorexic models as roll models, but rather as the unhealthy people they generally are. Hopefully people will learn that there are two extremes, skinny and fat, the key is to be healthy somewhere in the middle.

Finally have some time to sit down and write a small baby update. Josh is doing great, overall he seems to be quite content and has been crying and fussing very minimally. With the first night and last night as exceptions (he had his bris yesterday, so, understandable) he has been sleeping around six hours straight before we have to get up in the morning. I do find it amazing that in one week of knowing him how much I already love him, the bond between parent and child is so strong. It’s been great, I was able to take this entire week off so my wife and I can work together at first; next week, however, I will be back to work. I am really dreading the pile of emails and voicemails that will be waiting for me.

Hopefully I can get back on track with my spirituality posts, and then we can see where this baby thing takes me as far as writing. It is kind of cool, one of the next posts I was going to make regarding spirituality was going to introduce the concept of “child’s eyes”. It seems quite appropriate that I had my child before I was able to write that post because now, watching him see the world for the first time, really drive that concept home for me. Talk to you guys soon!