I Heart My Little A-Holes (12 page)

2. I don’t know where you made reservations that day, but I want to be able to wear what I want to wear there (take that Dr. Seuss). I’m not going to be a total slob, but I don’t want to be told not to wear jeans and then we get to the restaurant and there are all these guys wearing jeans.

3. I don’t want to hear the words “I want Mommy” that day. Unless someone has a giant poopie diaper or needs to be wiped. Then it’s okay.

4. I want to leave the house to go somewhere and NOT be told to drive safely. I promise I drive safely all the time whether you remind me to or not, but for some reason you think that if you don’t tell me this that I’m driving down the road chugging a Colt 45 while I’m blindfolded and holding the steering wheel with my feet.

5. And speaking of driving, I want to be able to talk about buying a motorcycle one day. Just talk about it. I’m not really gonna buy it, but I would like to be able to have the dream without you telling me my brains will be splattered everywhere, and not because I got in an accident but because you beat the shit out of me for buying a motorcycle.

6. For once, just once, I would like the kids to play nicely on the floor while I watch a game. I mean I always see this shit on TV—the dad is sitting back all comfy in his man chair with his hand down his pants while the kids are playing with their dolls and trucks on the floor. But that shit never really happens. Really I’m sitting there trying to watch the game while my daughter is jumping up and down in front of the TV set begging me over and over and over again to change the channel to Mother-F’ing-Caillou. Sure I could go watch the game somewhere else, but then I’m basically a deadbeat father because I’ve been away from the family at work all week. Or I could record the game and watch it once the hooligans go to bed, but then I can’t talk to anyone or answer my phone or look at my texts or read my email or look at Facebook or check twitter all F’ing day because someone’s gonna say who won.

7. WIFE: Which do you like better for the living room, the yellow or the green paint?

ME: The yellow.

WIFE: Okay, we’re going with the green.

WIFE: Whatta you think? Cheese dip or guac?

ME: Cheese dip.

WIFE: Hmm, yeah, I’m going to serve guac.

WIFE: Which shoe? Heels or boots?

ME: I like the black ones.

WIFE: They’re navy and nahh, I think I like the boots.

Get it? So on Father’s Day here’s the thing, don’t ask for my opinion. Or if you absolutely positively must must must ask me what I think about something, when I give you an answer, go with it. Or at least pretend like you’re going with it. Because by the time you actually put the boots on and we’re walking out the door, I can’t remember which one I picked and I’m not looking at your feet anyways. I’m looking at your boobs.

8. For just one day I don’t want to be racked in the balls by my kids. I know they’re just playing and they don’t mean it, but it hurts like a bitch. Whoever designed children to be exactly the height of my testicles deserves to be punched in the face. A lot. The only good news is that I probably can’t have any more kids.

9. I want a blow job. And not the kind that I had to do something to get.

10. Here’s a list of the shit I don’t want my wife to nag me about on Father’s Day: that there’s toothpaste on the sink, that I need to shave, that it’s garbage day in two days, that I put my shoes in the wrong cubby, that I put my clothes
on
the hamper and not
in
the hamper, that I’m wearing two different black socks (and WTH does that mean anyway, isn’t black black?), that I didn’t run the garbage disposal, that I forgot to run the dishwasher, that I left streak marks in the toilet (I mean you’re lucky I even flushed because I thought about leaving it in there so you could see how amazing it was), that I parked too far to the right, that I parked too far to the left, that I should wear a jacket even if I’m not cold because the kids have to, that I need to make sure when I pump the soap that a little bit doesn’t drip out at the end and make a mess (WTF, isn’t soap as clean as it gets?), etc. etc. etc.

11. I want a keychain that says “I am Fartacus.” Because I am.

So I’m sure a lot of you are going to be pissed at me for saying this, but being a Jew is not that fun. We kind of got screwed when it comes to pretty much everything. Just about the only things we have that are better are Chinese food and JDate. The rest, not so much.

Let’s take Easter for example. On Easter a super adorable bunny hops around and hides eggs full of chocolate and candy for all the little Christian kids to find. Hmmm, what do the Jews have? Well, let’s see. Oh, I know! We get to hang fake fruit on the walls of a Sukkah. If you’re not Jewish you’re probably wondering what the hell is a Sukkah. That’s because it’s totally lame and instead of chocolate bunnies it involves plastic olives. As if real olives aren’t gross enough, someone came along and said let’s have a holiday where we decorate a hut with plastic ones.

And then there’s Passover. Our firstborns’ lives were literally spared and how do we celebrate? By hiding matzo. Seriously? I mean
come on
. Apparently we couldn’t come up with something better than searching for flavorless flat bread in the sofa. The least we could do is hide something sweeter like kugel, but probably not in the couch cushions. Over Aunt Ida’s dead body.

And then there’s the mother of all examples. Christmas verses Hanukkah/Chanukah/Hanukah/Hannukah/Chanuka/Chanukkah. See, people don’t even know how to spell it. Growing up, our Jewish moms always tried to convince us that Hanukkah is even better than Christmas because it lasts eight whole nights as opposed to Christmas that lasts just one. Well, let me ask you this, Moms? Would you rather see one amazing huge fireworks show on July 4th or would you rather it be broken up into lots of dinky shows over eight nights?

So when Christmas rolls around and everyone is decking out their houses in twinkle lights and inflatable Santa Clauses and giant ornaments and candy canes, I myself am green with envy. Have you ever seen the dreidel/menorah section at Michaels? No, you haven’t. Because it’s about 1/1000
^th
the size of the Christmas section.

So as you can see, I have good reason to feel jealous. Until yesterday. You see yesterday I walked out of my house and my jaw just about hit the ground. We got these new totally awesome Jewish neighbors and guess what they did. They decked out their house in decorations—Halloween decorations! And they went all out. Ghosts and witches and bats and pumpkins and all sorts of awesomeness. So I was envious of her decorations for about thirty seconds. And then one giant trip to Michaels later, my yard was decked out too. Finally the Jews have a holiday we can go to town on!

Yes siree Bob, Halloween can be to the Jews what Christmas is to the Christians. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not talking about all the religiousy Jesus parts of Christmas. Just the superficial fun parts. Although I have a number of friends who will be pissed at me for saying the Jesus stuff isn’t fun. You tell me, what’s so fun about frankincense and myrrh? I don’t even know what those are. They sound about as fun as, hmmmm, I don’t know, a sukkah?

Dear Grammy, Grampy, Nana and Pop Pop,

Ahhh, yes, here we go again. The most wonderful time of the year. For
you
. For me it’s more like let’s see how much more crap I can fit in my house until TLC comes knocking at my door because they think I’m an F’ing hoarder. I know that you guys are about to jiz (jizz?? giz???) in your pants you’re so excited about all the shit you can buy for your grandkids this holiday, but not so fast. Before you whip out your Amex/Target/Mastercards, check out this little list of “guidelines” I’ve made for you this year. The following is a list of presents
NOT
to buy my kids this holiday.

1. Anything alive. Because you know what happens to things that are alive? They die. And you know what sucks? Explaining to my kid why Fluffer Nutter the hamster is as hard as a rock and stuck in his tube. And you know what sucks even worse? Fucker Nutter living a healthy life for years and years to come. Because guess who has to clean his E coli-infested poop cage. Yours F’ing truly. As if wiping two asses besides my own isn’t enough already.

2. Stocking stuffers. Or as I like to call them, cheap pieces of shit. I get enough crappy stocking stuffers year-round for free. They’re called McDonald’s Happy Meal toys. Would you like fries with that? And how about a plastic piece of crap that was made in China and causes cancer.

3. Any toy that hurts when I accidentally step on it with bare feet. I don’t care if the ER doctor is George F’ing Clooney. Getting a bristle block surgically removed from my heel is not worth it.

4. Any toy without an off button. And you know what, I’m going a step further and saying any toy with an off button that doesn’t turn off IMMEDIATELY when you push it. You know the crap I’m talking about. You push the off button and it keeps on yapping, “Woof, woof! Thanks for playing! I’ll see you again later!” I pushed off. If I wanted you to keep talking I would have pushed the dissertation button. It’s like when you’re on the phone and you tell someone you have to go and they say okay but then proceed to ask you a thousand questions.

5. Any toy that requires me to play it with them. Toys are how I keep my kids busy while I’m trying to get important things done around the house. Like the laundry, and the dishes, and waxing my mustache, and pooping. If the box says ages 4+, my four-year-old better be able to do it without my help. Because if I have to do every F’ing little thing with her, the box needs to say ages 40+.

6. Barbie dolls. I know I’m supposed to be against them because they give my daughter a false sense of a woman’s body shape, but that’s not what I’m worried about. My kid has no sense of negative self-image yet. If she did, she wouldn’t be doing naked downward dog every night while I’m trying to get her into a pull-up. Nope, I’ll tell you who doesn’t need to see hourglass Barbie bitches everywhere. Me. If I want to feel like shit about my body I just look in my full-length mirror. I don’t need a nine-inch plastic doll to make me feel like a
hippotomus
hippapotamus
(how the F do you spell this word?!) hippo.

7. This toy:

Don’t you dare buy this. I know it looks original and all, but I’ll bet this is the kind of shit Jeffrey Dahmer got when he was a kid. I can already picture it. First my kid will be playing with this, and before you know it she’ll be playing with the neighbor’s cat carcass, and then one day the police will show up to take what I thought was leftover meatballs out of my garage freezer but really it’s our babysitter’s head.

8. And speaking of carcasses, stuffed animals. To say we don’t need anymore is the understatement of the year. You know that game where there are a million stuffed animals in a big glass box and you have to steer the claw to try to pluck one out? Sometimes I feel like I live in that. One day I fully expect the claw to drop down through our skylight.

9. Talking dolls. For one, they creep me the shit out. The way they talk without their lips moving like ventriloquists. Freeeaky. And here’s another reason I can’t stand them. Do you know what talking dolls say? Shit like, “Mommy, feed me,” and “I wet myself, Mommy. Time for a diaper change!” This is the kind of crap I already hear like 40 times an hour from my own kids, so why in God’s name would I want to hear more of that?