I’ve been looking for brown casual shoes for months now. Last week, I finally found a good pair online and ordered them. They came the next day! Check ‘em out!
Happy Birthday to the coolest baby that we know, Cool Baby! He turns three today, so I guess he’s more of a Cool Boy than a Cool Baby. Well…I think we’ll keep him our baby at least until the next one comes around. Happy Birthday to our favorite little guy!!
People who talk on pay phones always seem suspect to me. Always.
My friend had this as her Facebook status, and I fully agreed. I felt the same way about pay phone users here in the city that I did about bus riders back in Florida. I’d think, “How do they not have a cell phone?” just like I thought, “How do they not have a car?” Those are shamefully judgmental attitudes that I hope don’t resurface anytime soon or ever.
I learned the hard way that pay phones still serve a purpose in our wireless society and the people who use them are just as valuable as any iPhone junkie. And it happened during one of the biggest moments for any pregnant couple.
Unlike our first pregnancy, I couldn’t get to any of Cool Mum’s appointments, but today was different. We were finding out the gender of the next Cool Baby. I left work in a hurry and in my haste, I left my phone there. I was well on the way to the subway when I realized it, and I didn’t have time to go back and get it. That’s OK, I figured, because I had time to meet CM at our apartment and go to the appointment together.
I didn’t have as much time as I thought I did because CM was gone when I got home. I ran off to where I thought the clinic was, but when I got there, I was wrong. And I couldn’t call Cool Mum.
It was time to seem suspect and use a pay phone. I immediately noted the irony of the situation. I dug some change out of my man-purse and tried to call CM’s phone, but the call wouldn’t go through. I gave the phone the $1.00 that the staticky female voice asked for. I tried this 3 times, but no go. Then I called work to see if a coworker could reach CM. No one answered.
I was supposed to be finding out the gender of my new baby, but instead of I was fighting with a crummy pay phone. What, my money wasn’t good enough for it?? I guess I was on Madison Avenue, but still.
Cool Dad was not keeping cool. I was feeling a little desperate, which would explain why I approached a nanny and the little boy she was nannying while they innocently waited for “the hand” to change to the “walking man,” as CB calls them. As that little boy can probably recount to you from the nightmares he’s had since, I approached his nanny and blurted out,
“Hi, I’m married, and my wife is probably gonna kill me, but she’s pregnant, and we’re finding out the gender of our baby today, like right now, but I don’t know where the clinic is, and I left my phone at work, and I don’t where to go, and this piece-of-junk pay phone won’t work and who ever uses those things anyway? Could I use your cell phone to call my wife?
The nanny kindly obliged (as you can expect from any random person on the NYC streets that you ask a favor of) and called CM twice. She didn’t answer. I was pretty upset that I was missing this amazing moment that we should be sharing together. The little boy was pretty upset because of the crazy short man who was harassing his nanny. I let them be and wondered how I would explain it to CM.
I started wandering home when I looked up and saw it: the radiology clinic, one block down from where I thought it was. I ran inside, probably scaring the waiting patients halfway to labor, and was let in back to CM’s room. Only by God’s grace, they had just started and I didn’t miss a thing.
That day, I learned that we were having another little boy. I also learned not to be judgmental of the fine people who use pay phones. Actually, they deserve more love because they probably couldn’t make the call anyway.
As far as parties go, it was a pretty lame one. It was just guys. We sat around and played video games. And most of the time, I was downloading music on my computer. From the fervor (or lack of) of this party, you wouldn’t guess that I was getting married the next day. No strip clubs for my bachelor party; I think the most skin we saw was Princess Peach’s ankle.
I wasn’t downloading music because I was bored of my party mates. With our families at least an hour and a half away, our wedding was mainly a do-it-yourself affair. Cool Mum, known as Cool Fiancée back then (I guess I can call her Laura for these purposes), planned it all during our 3-month engagement in the midst of her senior year at the University of Florida. My role in the wedding: DJ (and groom). We were particular about the songs played during our reception, so instead of hiring a DJ who might play that were on our banned list (Electric Slide, I’m looking at you), we decided to set up my band’s sound system and play a series of CDs chock full of our faves. This was before MP3 players blasted onto the scene.
The wedding would be at an old brick-laden Methodist church in downtown Gainesville. We didn’t attend the church, but our church’s building was a warehouse lined with felt banners proclaiming the names of God, and Laura wanted something more traditional. The Methodist church was exactly that: wooden pews, towering stained glass windows, and a long center aisle from back to front, where she would begin a single lady and end up a cool wife. continued…
One of the Cool Uncles pointed us to what Gizmodo proposes might be The Most Depressing Toy Ever. It’s the Young Explorer by Little Tikes, and it’s a kiddie office cubicle made of plastic, complete with built-in computer and 19-inch monitor. This is the premiere way to prepare your little one for a life of second-guessing that sociology degree.
The Young Explorer can be yours, shipped to your home or childcare facility for a mere $2700. Think of the freedom you would gain as a parent! Your jam-packed days can be simplified to this:
- Little One drags himself to the Young Explorer by 9:00am. Plops down and checks his news and sports websites, because keeping up on current events will help him do his job better, right? Then it’s time to work.
- Fifteen-minute lunch and then back to the grind with mandatory potty breaks every two hours, of course. Don’t want to have an accident at work!
- Puts his clock-reading skills to use, counting down until 5:00pm. You pop in saying that you’re going to need him to stay late, thus buying you another free hour to make dinner.
- When he finally gets off the Young Explorer, it’s time for dinner, and then he’s exhausted. Straight to bed for our little worker!
Honestly, I’d like to spare Cool Baby a cubicle-based existence if possible. I want him to pursue his passions creatively and wisely, but I’m not sure what I want him to be. If it were my choice, I would consider the possibilities and narrow down from there:
- Musician? NO – low odds of making it, too much travel.
- Writer? NO – need kind of a weird, lonely streak, at least for certain stretches of time.
- Systems analyst? NO – we’re trying to keep him out of the cubicle, remember?
- Doctor? NO – the healthcare industry, especially insurance, seems like a big mess.
- Professional athlete? YES! but with a specific sport: baseball. I’m not a baseball fan, but the overprotective dad in me likes the infrequent violent contact and the lucrative contracts. You’re probably thinking, “But he gets a ball thrown at his head at 90mph like 10 times a game!” I’ve got that figured out with a special uniform that I’ll make him:
I call it Over Armour. What do you think? I think that Cool Baby would be great as a well-paid, ironclad Major League baseball player. I should work some air conditioning inside the steel sports outfit, too. And stealing second might be a bit tough. Anyway, I’ll have it all settled by Opening Day 2030.
What would you like your kiddie to be when (s)he grows up?
