“Getting” chicks

If that’s true, I can only see two possible outcomes—either Jack Daniels and I become BFF’s  or I have a stroke.  I’ll let you know how it turns out…

Back in February I started writing for ModernMom.com.  I wrote three posts and went to post my fourth and found I had no access.  I immediately broke off an e-mail to the editor and was told some readers found me “offensive”.  Specifically my use of the name “Phone Sex Operator” and there were other things, but  I was never told what they were.  I sent two e-mails to the editor asking for specifics but was never responded to.  The bottom line is, they shut me down and never had the balls (pun fully intended) to tell me about it ahead of time.  I had to find out on my own.

What makes this really funny is that their main blogger and idol is Brooke Burke.  The same Brooke Burke who posed nude in Playboy.  Hello pot?  This is the kettle. The whole thing doesn’t seem very “modern” to me.

When I went to Bing and typed in “Brooke Burke boobs” I found several pictures of her fully nude sporting a neatly trimmed landing strip.  I personally did not find those pictures at all offensive, but then I don’t go shutting people down because a couple of whiny chicks complain.

This is one of those posts that was deemed offensive (and all my posts were pulled from the site).  Please note that I wrote this in February when I was still dating The Phone Sex Operator and WAY before The Blogger Hottie!  Enjoy…

I have to admit that I don’t get a lot of chicks.  I get my girlfriend, The Phone Sex Operator (she’s not really one, she just has a sexy voice).  I get a few of my female friends.  I generally do not get my 12-year-old daughter (who I lovingly refer to as The Drama Queen).  I absolutely do not get Drama Queen’s mom, OCB (since renamed Baby Mama), and I don’t get a lot of the women I’ve dated.

I guess now would be as good a point as any to define what I mean by “get”.  When I say “get” I mean “understand”.  I mean, I obviously get chicks.  If I didn’t get chicks, Drama Queen would never have come to be.  In the past I haven’t gotten the right chicks, though now I’m pretty sure I’ve got the right one.  But on with my story…

The one I don’t get the most is Drama Queen (D.Q.).  I’ve been told that she’s fairly normal for a 12-year-old girl, but seeing as how I don’t have a sister, I wouldn’t know that.  I do know that as a full-time single dad I don’t have the luxury of having her mom around to discuss these things The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.) is willing and ready to help, but I try to figure out as much on my own as I can and only come to her with the bigger things, like getting bras and buying “stuff” for Drama Queen’s “business”.

I was off work today, but I went in for a bit to do a couple of things before going downtown to meet P.S.O. for lunch.  I let D.Q. sleep in a bit and woke her up around 10:30 AM, when I returned from work.  I made sure that she was up and around and that she had taken our dog, Lucy, outside to get things out of her system and when D.Q. came back inside I told her that I had to go out for a bit but that I wanted her to do the dishes at some point soon.

She said that she would and she asked if she could have some pie.  (I made a frozen raspberry pie last night.)  I told her that she couldn’t have any, but maybe later, after I got back.  She said “fine” and I went out to drop off a sample at the lab before heading downtown for lunch with my sexy lady.

We hadn’t seen each other for a few days and we had a nice meal.  When I came home I noticed two things.  One is that the dishes weren’t done and two, that there was less pie than when I left.  I was a bit upset, but I held my cool and called her downstairs.  I asked her why she hadn’t done the dishes and I got, “I didn’t know what time you would be home.”  I asked her if she had some pie and was told “no.”

I looked at her and pointed out that when I cut her a piece last night I used a knife, that the cuts were straight and that I had cut all the way through the pie.  The pie now had a big chunk of the top crust missing, yet there was still some filling and some bottom crust there.

I asked her if she thought I was stupid and she paused, thought about it a second and told me that I wasn’t stupid.  I asked her if she noticed how some of the top was missing, yet the rest of the pie seemed to still be there and she went over, looked carefully, and answered “yes”.

I said, “let’s try this again.  Did you have any pie while I was gone?”  Are you ready for her answer? She said, “I only had some of the top.  Not any of the filling, so…kind of.”

It took me a moment to process this and I asked why she lied to me the first time.  She informed me that she only had some of the crust, not really any of the pie.  By this time I had a headache and I told her to go upstairs and read a book.  I was ready for a Jack and Coke, but seeing as how it was only 1:30, I decided to sit down at the computer and return a couple e-mails.

I ended up needing to go back to work again for a couple hours and I called D.Q. down and told her that I was going back to work for a while but that I needed her to please do the dishes and to NOT eat any more pie.  She said OK and as I grabbed my coat and scarf, she and Lucy were standing in the kitchen.

I came home and found, once again, that the dishes weren’t done and that the hole in the top of the pie was even bigger than when I returned from lunch.  I was dumbfounded and I just stood in the kitchen for a moment trying to decide what to do.

The first thing I did was grab a beer from the fridge and slam it back.  Once that was done I called her down and told her I had a couple of questions for her.  I asked her about the pie and this time her response was, “you said I couldn’t have any?”  “Uh, yeah!” I replied.  “Oh.” She said.  She had once again only gnawed on some of the crust from the top, completely ignoring the rest of the pie.  I was confused.  Hadn’t I just told her not to eat any, but also told her how I figured it out last time?

My daughter is very smart but isn’t always very bright.  When asked about the dishes she dropped one of her favorite lines on me, “I forgot.”  I told her to go upstairs and bring me down her laptop and her phone.  She did and asked when she was going to get them back.  “Whenever I decide you deserve them,” I replied.

She stood there a second and asked me what she should do.  I looked at her for a moment and said, “I don’t know.  How about the dishes?”  She looked over at the small pile on the counter and asked, “you mean those?”

My understanding is that I have another five or six years of this to look forward to.  If that’s true, I can only see two possible outcomes—either Jack Daniels and I become BFF’s  or I have a stroke.  I’ll let you know how it turns out…

J.R.