World Series Tickets and Proper Etiquette

Sorry, the blog has taken a short holiday as we enjoy the World Series coming to Dallas. The Posette is a huge Rangers fan because her father, being a good dad, properly brainwashed his child to root passionately for his favorite team.

Dads really only have a few clearly delineated duties:

1. Pay the rent/mortgage

2. Make sure your child does not throw a baseball like a European

3. Teach your child the difference between a flathead a Philips head screwdriver

4. Indoctrinate your child into liking your favorite sporting franchises and bands

Aside from keeping them alive, everything else is basically gravy.

The Posette, by the way, can also properly throw a baseball. So well done Father of Posette.

Anyway, the Posette has been pretty much over the moon now that the Rangers are in the Series. It's been pretty much a lifetime of suffering for Rangers fans, so these past two seasons have sort of felt like the culmination of her fandom. She's been punching the clock, and now it's time to receive the reward.

Well, the Posette's mom, the Official Mother-In-Law of Poseur had an extra ticket to Game Three of the World Series. But only one extra ticket.

Now, I'm a pretty big baseball fan and I've never ever been to a playoff game. The Posette and her sister went to the ALCS Game 6 last year, but she had never been to the World Series. So, being the nice guy that I am, I said "sure, honey, you take the ticket."

Rules of relationships state that at this point, she is required to say, "No, honey... you should take it."

Ummm.... yeah. See above and how her father properly indoctrinated his child. That counter-offer never happened. She just said, "Thanks, hon. Oh, and could you pick me up a sweatshirt?"

So, if you're wondering why the Rangers won every game at home except for Game Three -- well, I blame it on a breach of etiquette.

Free Loot!

The Official Mom of Poseur sent me an email today offering to buy us the carseat, stroller, and base combo thingee that is on our baby registry.

The thing is, she didn't want to get it from the place we were registered, probably because my mom can find a deal on just about any item in existence. The woman can shop is what I'm saying. Which is totally cool, why pay more for something if you don't have to?

She's talking about buying us the package and then sending it to us for Christmas, which takes some of the surprise out of Christmas, but that's okay. While the Posette and I are insane Christmas fanatics, the Official Mom of Poseur is a tad more low key about the whole thing.

Still, it's a very cool thing for her to do and we both really appreciate it. I mean, woo hoo! Free stuff! Of course it's okay if she gets it from somewhere else, I don't own stock in the baby supply store. I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Only one thing bothers me about this whole situation...

Until I received that email, I had no idea we even had a baby registry.

Zombies

The Posette and I are sitting on the couch enjoying one of our favorite shows, The Walking Dead. We like the show because it gives us an excuse to talk about our favorite topic: surviving the zombie apocalypse.

We have a lot of the basics down. We know to get out of the city as soon as possible and get to the Ranch where there is well water, good vistas, an already established barbed wire perimeter, MRE's, and of course, guns. I've even learned how to shoot them.

So no matter what happened in our lives, we had that one problem solved. In case of the zombie apocalypse, we knew exactly what to do. You can never be too careful, you know. Our parents think it's silly, but they won't think it's silly when the undead rise and start chewing on their extremities. Have a plan, aim for the head.

However, this show is illuminating perhaps the biggest flaw in our zombie apocalypse preparations: children are remarkably stupid.*

*Actually, we've always had the Elvis Problem. What to do if our dog becomes a zombie dog, or as the Posette calls it, a Zog? I don't even want to think about that.

Now, I'm sure the Little Poseur will be a bright child. OK, I hope so. I have all sorts of plans that involve lots and lots of reading. Hopefully, the LP will be a qualified librarian by age 5. But even if we have the smartest kid ever, there's smart and there is smart for a kid.

Kids are curious. Why shouldn't they be? There's a whole world out there, and they get the chance to discover it. Usually, that's a good thing. But with zombies around? That's bound to get us into trouble.

We also have the problem that instead of just trying to save our own hides, we now will put someone else's interest above our own. I like the Posette a lot, but I believe that she can be counted on to make good decisions which will further her survival, if left to her own devices. The LP, on the other hand, we're gonna have to make those calls for him or her.

The LP is going to be a liability in the zombie apocalypse. It's just going to have to completely change how we plan for this thing. Back to the drawing board, ya know?

Just when you thought you had one thing taken care of, you really don't.

Doctor's Appointment

There's not a much more superfluous thing in the world as a guy at his wife's OB/GYN appointment. We show up to be supportive and have some sort of involvement in the pregnancy, as it's not like we're going to incubate the critter. But really, there's not a whole lot for us to do but sit in the chair in the corner and hold her purse.

Which, let's face it, is a pretty big sacrifice. You know how much we hate holding that thing.

Give a guy a purse to hold. We literally have no idea what to do. It's like giving a monkey a Rubik's Cube. There's a chance we might use the thing correctly, but we're probably going to get bored and throw it somewhere.

There's simply no manly way to hold a purse. You really only have three options. ONE. You can carry it like a football. TWO. You can hold the top of the bag with one hand, holding the bag away from your body as if it contains dog poo. THREE. You can learn telekinesis. You, under no circumstances, should ever touch the straps of a purse or else your arm will become infected with cooties, rot, and fall off. It is not worth the risk.

So, other than holding your purse, we just sit there in the corner and try not to cry like a little girl when they draw blood from you. Seriously, needles freak me out. You're on your own on that front.

Glad to be of support, hon. You are welcome.

Fuzzy Wuzzy

The Posette has two pregnancy apps on her iPhone.  Yeah, that's right, two.  I have zero because we're actually living through this and until the iPhone can actually deliver the baby, I remain skeptical of the utility of the iPhone app.

However, she's learning a lot from these apps, and feels the need to share.  As a big fan of useless trivia,* I can't complain about her sharing these little nuggets of inapplicable knowledge.

* For example, the Pillsbury Dough Boy's real name is Poppin' Fresh.  You're welcome. Hee hee!

Anyway, I received this text today:

"Hair growth isn't limited to the baby's head, though. He or she is also covered with a downy coating of hair called lanugo, largely there for warmth. As fat accumulates later on in the pregnancy (the baby's fat, not yours - though that will accumulate, too), most of the lanugo will shed - though some babies, especially those born early, still have a fuzzy coating at delivery (it sheds soon afterward)."

That's right, the Little Poseur is currently a Wookie.  Right now, our baby looks a little like this:

Really, I'm not pleased with this development.  First, the mechanics are all off.  Little Poseur has got to learn that you need to point your foot where you intend the ball to go.  Looking at this photo, LP is trying to throw the ball somewhere down the third base line.  Just awful form.  This will not do.

But a Wookie?  Totally awesome.  Wookies, as we know, our the mot advanced creature on the known universe, by universal acclaim, because no one will tell the Wookies to their face anything differently.  They can play chess, fly starships, and put together robots.

Now, if the Posette gives birth to a Wookie, there might be some uncomfortable questions to answer, but I will love the LP anyway, such is the inherent awesomeness of Wookies.  Of course, with my luck, our fuzzy looking baby will look more like this:

Seriously, if the LP can't even figure out electricity, I'm going to be sorely disappointed.  And don't give me this "Ewoks were cute" line.  They are mutant teddy bears.  Any creature that can't identify C-3PO as a whiny pain in the butt is really not worth being recognized as a civilization.

I'm rooting for a Wookie.

Movie Night

The Posette loves horror movies.  Hell, I love horror movies.*

*My mom still insists I do not like horror movies because I was scared by Gremlins when I was 9.  Two things about this: 1) I was 9. 2) She's thinking of the neighbor's kids.  She wouldn't let me see Gremlins.

Whenever we are trying to decide what to watch, the Posette will invariably suggest "something scary".  So, being a bot of horror aficionado and knowing that the prequel is coming out in a few weeks, I helpfully suggested we watch The Thing.

I do not regret this decision, as it is the second best John Carpenter movie starring Kurt Russell (Big Trouble in Little China being the clear #1).  However, if you're not familiar with your 80s horror films, and shame on you if you aren't, The Thing is about a parasite which grows inside a person and eventually takes over that person's body.

OK, so it's not Rosemary's Baby, but this had to be real high on the list of movies not to show a pregnant woman.  When she wakes up in the middle of the night, thinking that the Little Poseur is trying to possess her via orbital mind control lasers, I'm really only going to have myself to blame on that front.  So, yeah, that's my fault.

On the flip side, it really is a great movie and the Posette hadn't seen it, which was a gross oversight on her part. It's not my fault she waited until pregnancy to see a movie about evil parasites growing inside you.

But if her belly grows fangs and bites my arms off, well, I'm going to be a little upset with myself.  Because I should have seen that one coming.

The O's, Hon

I'm sitting on the couch, watching the Orioles lose yet another baseball game.  I'm used to this feeling, the Orioles have lost 92 times this season already, and they have lost more than they have won for 15 consecutive years.  Next year's not looking so hot, either.

The O's stink, have stunk, and all likelihood, will continue to stink.  I, of course, will continue to root for them and think of ways each spring on how they could possibly compete.

I'm looking forward to the Little Poseur getting here, partly because I'll have a young mind to attempt to brainwash.  And one of the first areas we attempt to brainwash our children is in sports loyalties.  The Posette has already caught me looking at LSU football jerseys (if we have a boy) and cheerleader outfits (for a girl).  I don't deny it.

In most cases, the Posette and I agree on which teams to root for, but baseball will be the killer for me.  There is a 90% chance the Little Poseur will be a Rangers fan.  The Posette is a huge Rangers fan as are her parents.  We live in Dallas, so methinks there will be some exposure to Rangers games.  The Rangers have a cool ballpark that I'm sure we'll bring the LP to.  Television during the summer sort of sucks, so the LP will be exposed to a steady diet of Rangers games on the local broadcast. Just from living in the area, LP will likely root for the Rangers, even without a fanatical Rangers fan for a mom, who still has the video on her cellphone of her celebration in the stands for the final out of Game 6 of the ALCS.

I want to fight this. Not because I hate the Rangers. In fact, I like the Rangers and have had a great time learning to mimic Ron Washington's "that's the way baseball go" line.

I just want to be able to at least try to make the LP a little Oriole fan in good faith, but how?  How can I introduce a child -- an innocent who I profess to love -- to a lifetime of sports pain?  While all of LP's friends would be celebrating yet another Rangers victory, the LP could be staying up with daddy watching the orange and black lose another heartbreaker 7-3.  So close.

It's one thing to brainwash your kid into rooting for a crappy local team.  Hey, there's character in suffering, especially when it's the whole town doing the suffering.  One day, the Pirates are going to have a good year, and it will be awesome to be in Pittsburgh then.*

*Well, as awesome as living in Pittsburgh could be.

Bu rooting for an out-of-market crappy team?  That's suffering with the added bonus of loneliness.  When the Orioles finish up yet another 72-90 campaign, there will be no one who cares.  Well, other than the LP's crazy dad.

That's not an appealing argument.  Hey, kid.  You can either root for the local team, who we watch on TV all of the time, who mom loves, who all of your friends root for.... OR you can root for this really, really bad team who your dad roots for.  And nobody else does. Woo hoo.

To successfully brainwash the LP to root for the Orioles, I would have to have skills on the level of Angela Lansbury in The Manchurian Candidate.  And I don't want my child to spend their life thinking they are attending a women's tea auxiliary.

So I don't think I can even put up more than a token effort on behalf of my beloved Orioles.  Sorry, Cal.  Don't worry, I will move my resources to winning a fight on a more winnable front... making sure my child doesn't root for the Colts.