Meaningful Monday - A Night with ShankRabbit

Greetings everyone. It has been a time since my eyes have last gazed upon the tan and blue theme of this blogging system spewing forth words of intended wisdom that more then likely fail into humorous tid bits which, if we were in second grade, you could use against me in a silly little chant as you picked me last for the kickball team.

(ooh... that brought back bad memories)

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I have my little snifter of brandy (actually it's rum, but saying a snifter of rum sounds like I'm a cheap, Dale lovin', dogs under the porch kind of..... oh... wait... I am.)... I have my little styrofoam cup of rum, sitting in the new location of my office, and feeling the need to let words dribble from my mind onto the keyboard in front of me.

Join me, will you, as you meld your mind with mine for a briefest of moments through these words.

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I haven't been myself lately, and if you're any sort of once a month reader of this blog, you already know that when I'm not "myself" I usually shy away from mediums which allow me to express myself.

Most of the times it's not even that I need to ignore this blog, it's just that I don't know how to elaborate on the thoughts in my head since they're all so relatively new to me.

I can't really apologize for not writing more often as of late, because really I think it would be better that you say, "Where is ShankRabbit" instead of, "Ugh... Shut up!" Believe me, I'm an extremes kind of guy. It's one or the other... (think they call that bi-polar).

(I'm not really.)

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So, in the awkward tone that usually presents itself when you meet up with someone you haven't seen in a while, allow me to ask the question I'm sure many of you would ask...

"What's new?"

New Locations for Everything

Most recent, my beautiful wife, Isabella (oh totally check out her blog), decided that we wanted to move a couch (futon to be exact) to a different location in the house. Well... what the heck... if we're going to move a couch, why not rearrange the whole dang house.

So... Niamonster's room is now upstairs in what once was the TV room, the TV room has been moved downstairs and has merged with the Living Room, the dining room is no more and is now a sitting area, our office room is now Isabella's work room (sewing and computer), and Niamonster's room is now my office / studio.

Stressful Job

This is a big reason that I haven't been blogging much. I actually, for the first time in my life, found someone that I struggle to get along with.

I've been called a chameleon before, someone who blends in with his surroundings to get along with people. Some people call it fake, I call it meeting people where they are. Chances are it's going to be harder to get someone to meet you where you are at, so it's best just to meet them on their turf instead.

I have nerdy friends, I have artsy friends, I have friends who go and get drunk every weekend, I have older friends with 3 grown children, and I have younger friends who haven't even graduated college yet.

But there is this guy who I am forced to work with now, who is seriously impossible to get along with. And whether it's because we work in two different offices, or whether I'm threatening to him, I just can't get myself to meet him at his level.

Probably because it seems his level is always changing. Oiy.

Budding Job

Pixel 73 is apparently taking off. We landed out first bigger contract not too long ago and I've been hauling butt to get things done. This is good news and bad news. Good news that the company that I want to someday take into a full time business is taking off, bad news because it requires lots of time.

Isabella and I have it worked out pretty well, although some nights, where I have to go to a client meeting, I can we working for 14-18 hours. Oooh wee that can be fun.

Drama Queen

We knew she would get there. We feared the day that her personalization of my genetic disposition would start showing itself through physical interaction.

Niamonster is becoming Miss Drama. If you've been through this stage then you know. The limit testing, the whining, the indecision of whether you want me there or not, the whining, the... whining...

did I mention the whining?

We're also reaching the age where she understands, on a very high level, the difference between right and wrong. With that knowledge comes the need for some stern talking tos if she's being sassy.

I don't like giving stern talking tos. I'm probably really not going to like full on discipline when she gets older even more.

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So... that's what I've been up to lately. I'm going to try to get back on the good foot and obtain my regular posting schedule again.

I'll be honest... I did miss you.

Meaningful Monday - Relaxed

I never really realized how much stress and pressure I store in my upper shoulders. Don't get me wrong, I always knew it was there just not to the extent of which was presented to me this past Saturday.

This is the story of my first professional massage.

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My wife has always wanted me to go in for a professional massage. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I ask her all the time for back rubs, but due to her weak wrists and dislocated, goofy-assed, double jointed thumbs - the amount of pressure she puts on my muscles is akin to a house fly inadvertently changing its course into my shoulder blade. (ok, that was a stretch, but overexaggeration to prove a point)

She finally found a really good deal where it was 50% off at a ritzy little Spa in downtown Milwaukee, and immediately called one if for me.

Well, given that it was my first massage I started pondering all the cliche things that could or should happen at a massage from what I've:

• Seen on TV.
• Read in articles
• Heard from my sister-in-law (a professional massage therapist)

The Biggest Fear

Ladies, not all men are giant pigs. I tend to think I'm one of the kind that isn't a pig. Thus, my first and ultimate fear was the dreaded boner.

Yeah. Lying naked on a warm table with someone rubbing oil all over you while massaging your muscles... you can see how the fear would arise. It started bringing back fears of high-school where the bell would ring and I'd be sporting the semi. But at least in high-school you have the good old binder over the crotch trick to fix that, at a massage you have nothing but a flimsy little sheet. Hell, even jeans in high school helped.

Then, what if she's attractive... or worse... hot?! Then what?!

"Oh no oh no... maybe this massage thing is a bad idea."

No. No... I was being irrational. I'll be fine.

The Day Arrives.

So I get there and first of all can't find the front desk... so I wander until this gentle looking lady finds me. She looks like a massage therapist and is talking to me like she's been expecting me. I think to myself, well if my assumptions are correct you will be my massage therapist and I am in no way attracted to you.

We walk to the hidden front desk together and I check in. We walk back downstairs and she hands me a clipboard with waivers and information which I need to fill out.

After she hands it to me she says, "Enjoy your time with us. Nikki should be right with you."

... um... shit... you apparently aren't going to be my therapist.

"Ok... ok... it's cool... you won't find Nikki hot either... just fill out the info. Name - oh... this one is easy... Address - cool, another easy one..."

A new voice speaks, "Hi, Ben? I'm Nikki"

OH COME THE "F" ON, REALLY?!!! REALLY CRUEL WORLD?!

Yup. She's hot. Ok... to be fair... she's way cute but not as cute as my wife. And I'm really not just saying that to cover my ass. Isabella saw her and agreed. (We kinda have that open relationship, talk about everything, sort of marriage.) But still, ugly therapist is easier then hot therapist for ANYONE, not just guys... (cough cough) ladies.

So we walk back to my "personal suite", she shows me the shower area. Ooooh. Kohler insane, blast you from all angles, 1 million gallons/second, kind of shower. I'll be sure to enjoy that after the massage.

She says, "I'll step out for a second and you can undress to whatever level you're comfortable with." then appends, "naked is perfectly okay." (oh gee thanks for adding that cause I didn't know.)

Whatever, buck or go home. So buck I went and slid under the sheets. Then... massage time. I'd say it took about 1.32 seconds and there was no possible way I had any reason to worry about my winky going camping in the bay. Hiking perhaps, but no tents would be pitched. It was just too dang relaxing to even be worried about, what now seems like, such a trivial matter.

She did ask when the last time I had a massage... being... never. To which she responded, "I can tell, you're so tense. I don't know how you survive like this you poor thing." Yeah - lets not read into that. (Though I wouldn't be a guy if I didn't.)

60 minutes and a whole lot of deep tissue massage and time was up.

Steam vegetables anyone? Perhaps a steamed ShankRabbit?

I enter the bathroom and turn on the shower. Yes, it really is water from all angles and it is hella-nice. I'm standing and enjoying the complete drowning in water, when I notice a little silver panel on the wall. A little digital readout that was off... and three silver buttons... one bigger one and two smaller ones.

You know the red button syndrome that some people have. The one where even though the button is big, giant, and red, and says "Do not push"... you push it anyway? Oh yeah, that's me.

There were no labels and I HAD to know what it did. So i pushed the big button. The digital display sprang to life and start flashing numbers from 19 to 109 and bouncing all around in between.

But nothing happened. "Hrm. Hope that wasn't the self-destruct. That'd be embarrassing." Which of course Phineas and Ferb quotes pop into my head with "In hindsight, I question the logistics of including a self-destruct button in the first place."

I walk back under the torrential downpour of water when, 5 seconds later, I hear this insane hissy whoooshy noise from the site of the wall. Oooooh... little silver boxy = sauna.

Sweet!

Well... it was sweet until it started getting a little too steamy. And too hot. And the little silver boxy thing no longer responded to touching. Those little red numbers changing in no discernible pattern... oooh annoying. I liken the experience to trying to see through glasses when they're all fogged up... only - my glasses were off my head and on the counter.

"I hope that thing turns off."

It eventually did... AFTER I was out of the shower and pruned up like a... well... a prune, I guess.

Up and Out.

Upon leaving my "personal suite", I walked back upstairs with Nikki... you remember Nikki... that hot massage therapist... so that I could pay.

Remember the 50% off? Me thinky there was a computer error. Cause what I paid for was NOT 50% off.

But I didn't care. I paid it. I left. It was money very well spent.

Isabella's first comment was, "wow... you look like you were just sleeping for 5 weeks straight.

Mmmm... definitely need to go back.

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does anyone else laugh at the word therapist? because it looks like the rapist. Nikki, professional the rapist? yes please.

Meaningful Monday - My head is swimming.

so cliche

I'm starting this post on Monday so it still counts, even though I'll probably finish it after midnight. I think the starting of it counts.

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Planning.

Life is a bitch. You hear it all the time and yet no one really takes it to heart until the events in life happen to take a stroll past your house at 3am and start throwing eggs and toilet paper in a trivial and juvenile action that, in the end, doesn't really hurt your life - it just messes it up for a small time.

No, don't worry, that was purely a metaphor.

I'm writing this post standing in my basement on my workbench as half of my servers are cracked open and awaiting the installation of their new operating systems, servers, and development systems. Why am I standing down here at 11pm while everyone else is asleep?

Because, as a business, we just landed our first large contract and have been told multiple times that, "if this goes well, we'll be coming back to you again and again." Needless to say they really like our style, but of course words only mean so much in the business world and they are using this first project as a proof of everything I've been talking about.

It's a little nerve wracking.

I'm also in an interesting situation because my 5 year plan had always been to take Pixel 73 LLC to the point where I didn't have to go into work anymore. Where I could just stay home, run my business happily, code what I want to code, and do things my way in the business world. No more answering to the higher ups because I would be my own.

Shazzam - how about this thought wrench.

Of course, on top of the clients I already have, I get this client who also drops another potential project in my lap and basically says, "if we get this, we'll need you full time."

Whoa... wait a sec... that's not five years from now. That's 5 months from now. What the...

See? It's not destroying my life, it's the just wet soggy toilet paper hanging from the limbs of my lifestyle trees.

So I ponder.

I'm playing out all of the thoughts in my head. Wanting to be comfortable financially, but still wanting to pursue my dream. And of course, until contracts are signed, this is all just mind-slobber.

Love to hate to love

I have such a love/hate relationship with tough decisions. I hate them because I wish someone would show me 5 years in the future based on each decision. I love them because making the tough decisions makes me a better person... a better dad... a better husband.

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Oh life... you traitorous whore, you.

In like Flynn

Hi Everybody!

Miss me?

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Dogs.

I used to be a dog lover. When Isabella and I started get serious she had a wonderful dog named Aria. She was a beautiful Great Dane, German Shepherd mix. Oh yeah... big doggy. I became very fond of this dog while Isabella and I were dating. ( I almost wrote, "while we were dating" except that sounded like Ari and I were dating...) Ari became very fond of me as well. 

Well... Isabella and I were still finding ourselves and becoming little professionals and were about to get married. Our lifestyle just didn't support having a big giant dog. Especially a dog that needed big open spaces and all we could afford her was a small apartment. We loved her so much that we realized we had to do what was best for her, so we put her up for adoption. 

One. of the. Hardest. Days. Ever. 

There are still days I miss Ari. I know my missing Ari will never come to that of Jen's.

However, that's not the point of this section. The real point is: We just aren't a dog family anymore.

My brother (the middle one, not the one with the blog... he's the eldest... I'm the baby.), married a woman from the Czech Republic. (no... not Czechoslovakia... that's long gone and you'll piss off any Czech native if you say that... trust me, I've had a bruised arm from it). Her brother got married last week and they went to her home to be with him for it. 

They have two dogs, Dante and Capri. Both English Cocker-Spaniels. You can imagine what it would cost to kennel 2 dogs for 8 days. ~$25 a day x 2 dogs x 8 days and you've got about $400. Well, given the times with the economy and the availability of us, they asked if we could dog sit for those days instead. 

Sure. Why not?

I like dogs, right? 

It's been interesting. I feel bad cause my voice has been raised a few more times then I would have liked it. I don't yell, but it is louder. And I feel terrible because Niamonster is so not used to hearing my louder stern voice unless she is doing something drunken monkey like. It's also been interesting because the dogs pee more the Niamonster does, which means getting up at 4am again. 

Then there are the hardwood floors and the barking while Niamonster is trying to sleep. 

I wish we would have had a video tape running the other night. Jen and I were eating upstairs and Niamonster was acting like a complete numbnuts and crawling all over everything. So the dogs are trying to snatch food away from us, Niamonster is crawling behind the couch, then knocking lamps over, then the dogs are chasing her, Isabella and I were trying to get a hold of everyone with bar-b-que sauce dripping down our hands.... oiy... it was a mess.

It's been fun being able to help my brother and sister out and fun watching the dogs... but man... we just aren't dog people anymore.

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I can't begin to tell you how many times I wrote "dong" while writing this. Heh... dong watching.

Meaningful Monday - It's a great day for a baby!

(credit)

I'm really starting to hate how fast time really flies lately. I know that is a cliche statement and I know that everyone who has a kid says it... but there is also scientific research that shows that as you get older your brain trains itself to manage time differently. Thus, time flies, because our old ass brains don't want to deal with the day to day crap anymore. 

Remember being young and an hour felt like forever?

Life. They're about to have it.

Isabella and I have these two people in our lives who we are uncomfortable classifying as "best friends". That's kind of an insult to the way we feel towards each other. They're more like an extension to our family. For the fun of this blog (and since no one has a real name here) we'll call them Aunty B and Uncle White Brows. Yes... they truly are an aunt and uncle (as well as the god-parents) to Niamonster. I can't even begin to tell you how lucky Niamonster is to have them in her life. 

Well... almost 9 some months ago, Aunty B and Uncle WB came over and, after taking 6 pregnancy tests (accuracy through large sample size... and no... I'm not kidding it was 6 in one night), told us they were going to have a little cousin for Niamonster.  

I can't even begin to tell you the emotions felt that night. As a guy it's one of those times where if you were alone you would have... uh... gotten a spec of dust in your eye.

BAM

9 months later. They're in the hospital and, comparing to the past months, are moment away from being new parents. 

Just like that... I'm going to have a little "niece". Baby M. (or Baby K depending if you shorten it or not).

I can't wait to see her grow up and to see and learn various parenting techniques (cause God knows I'm not the greatest at it)... share stories about babies... having Niamonster and BabyK play around together... have BabyK teach Niamonster how to surf, and to chillax, and throw up the octave on both hands, and to not be such a priss. I'm excited for Niamonster to show BabyK the appropriate way to write lists....... (such a legacy I'll leave).

Now... if we could just get her to come out. 

Meaningful Monday - Happy Tears... Really

I once had a baby and people called me a freak.

Yup. That's right. People told me I was a freak when I told them I had a baby. This baby came into my life in March 2005. My first new car. A 2005 MINI Cooper S. I named her Claire. 

I remember being quite timid about the whole process. I was fresh out of college and I landed a very nice job straight out. I wasn't tied down to any sort of girlfriend or stuck to any responsibility. It was just me. I was making plenty of money and I wanted my dream car. 

I asked my father to join me in this process because he was, and still is, the one guy I look up to for everything in life. I remember sitting at the dealership and picking out options skipping over some just because they would be "nice to have" but not necessary. 

My dad stopped me as I skipped over the upgraded stereo system. 

"Son, this is your dream car. Make it yours."

So I did. Every little thing about her was exactly what I wanted. At the time it was well within my budget and fit my lifestyle to a T.

April 05

I started chatting more with the most amazing girl in the world. She loved Claire as much as I did and we spent countless hours simply driving around and purposely getting lost. My wife, at the time, lived in Chicago so Claire and I spent many nights driving back and forth between our cities. Things got more and more serious with Isabella and I until eventually...

"It's a huge get together for MINI Owners"

Along came MINIs on the Dragon (or MOTD). MOTD is an extended weekend where MINI owners from all over the country gather at Deals Gap, TN at a road called the Tail of the Dragon. 311 curves in 11 miles... and we're not talking about your sissy curves either. MINIs, known for their amazing handling, tear up the dragon like it's nothing. 

Isabella and I planned a trip in 2006 to head down to MOTD and chum it up with a lot of MINI owners that we had met online. 

Little did she know that the purpose of me wanting to go to MOTD had nothing to do with MINIs. 

On May 5th, 2006, I got down on one knee and asked her to stay by my side forever. (You can read even more about it here.)

We went back the next year and got to know even more cool people, and hooked up with the Milwaukee MINIs too.

I would spend lots of free time thinking of little home-brew things I could do to her. Connecting an aftermarket amplifier without rewiring the whole car, hooking up an AUX input without buying the expensive add-on, even doing tests with different air diverter designs. 

I also spent lots of extra money on her too. Upgraded engine bits, new brake systems, etc. When I wasn't spending money on Isabella or necessities - it usually went to the Claire fund. 

I had always told people that I was going to hang on to her until she pooped out, which with as ridiculously anal I was about keeping her clean and in good healthy shape - was going to be a long time. 

funny how my plans aren't always what's best.

April 19, 2008

My life got flipped upside down. Everything that I was came to a sudden halt and I no longer cared about me, it was all about her. 

I'm not talking about Claire anymore... I'm talking about her.

My baby. My actual baby. There was no purchasing agreement. There was no picking out my options. There was just her big blue eyes struggling to stay open while getting used to a world that was so bright. 

My money. My life. My Everything. Is Yours.

Suddenly I was finding myself enthused about something totally different. I was (and still am) constantly excited about being a father. Constantly trying to find new ways to better myself and connecting with people that have similar interests in being good dads. I went from North American Motoring to Dad-Blogs. I went from Helix Minisports to Baby's-R-Us. 

Suddenly there was no longer a Claire fund, it was replaced with the Niamonster fund. 

So why am I paying for you anymore.

It hit me a month ago and I've been thinking about it ever since. Isabella and I don't live outside of our means... we live right at them. Rarely is there a month where we are socking away savings. And that's bad. 

It especially hit me with Isabella's latest "unknown" with her medical condition. (If you read her blog... which you should... you know what I'm talking about.) I was thinking about what would happen if suddenly we had huge medical bills or some other act of unknown that would hit us with a big financial burden?

While pondering finances I looked out my window and into the garage... and I saw Claire. I have a weird love for that car... but not as much love as I have for my family. 

I knew it was time to let go.

I had to say goodbye. It made absolutely no sense to pay as much as I am a month for that car loan when it is nothing more then a machine that gets me to and from work (and the occasional date night). There are so many things that I want to save for... and buy right now for my family. I want a big fat down payment on a house... I want a car seat that works better for Niamonster... I want to look at my finances every month and not have to "juggle" sometimes. I want another kid sometime in the not so distant future.

Niamonster deserves it. 

The quickest and best way is to sell Claire. 

You know it's best. You feel it's best. It still sucks.

Wussy mode engaged. This weekend wasn't easy. I spent a lot of the nice hours of the day washing and waxing her to a super shine. Cleaning her interior twice over. Making sure everything is in tip top shape. I took pictures. I wrote up a description. 

I held Isabella's hand, said a little prayer to the big guy upstairs and clicked "Publish".

http://milwaukee.craigslist.org/cto/1153163999.html

The Moral of the Story is...

I guess I wrote this for 3 reasons. (I need a list to make me feel better.)

1. Therapy - I know that sometimes talking or writing about a difficult thing makes coping and coming to terms with it easier. So you just subjected yourself to my therapy session - you're like my shrink only you just did it for free.
2. Moral - It's not a sacrifice if it's something you want to do. There is no need to hang on to past things if you know that it's only going to impede the better future things. I always have to remind myself that I'm only 26. I often times forget that and think that I'm way older.
3. Know anyone who wants to buy an awesome car? (You knew it was coming.)

I'd do anything for this family.

And if selling what was once my passion means good things for my family - then I'd do it a million times over. 

This is my passion. This is my life.

What else could I ever want?

Meaningful Monday - Sick Again

Um... Hi. 

((shuffling feet on the ground))

How are you guys... I. uh. you know... 

didn't post on Friday. so... I'm sorry.

Hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. Promise I won't let it happen often, it's just that I was really sick last week and there was a lot of stuff on my mind and I think it all just met up with me all at once. 

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Stretched Thin

I'm gonna lay down some of my beliefs for a second. I believe there is a God. I also believe that this God is benevolent as well as my home-boy. I do believe that God is not a dick. Given these statements of belief I know that "my God" would never give me more then I can handle. 

The funny thing is that what I can handle isn't much. What I can handle with him as my "dude" is everything. ("I can do all things through him who gives me strength" layin' down some phatty Philippians 4:13 for you Bible readers out there.)

Lately I've been sucking at looking to him (or her I guess... personifying God usually leads to a "male" reference, so technically he has no gender... but calling God "it" just seems odd) for strength. I've been looking inwardly and trying to juggle a lot of issues going on in life. 

Finances, being a good dad, being a good husband, not knowing what's going on with my wife, having a new team lead at work, keeping friends happy, throwing parties, worrying about job security, etc. 

There are more but those are the big ones and I let them rule me instead of just relaxing a bit, taking a step back, and realizing that I can't control everything. 

It's funny. I'm a control freak who tries to control everything in his life, when deep down, I know I don't want to control everything.

So it builds up until...

I get sick. My body forces me to shut down and ignore everything in the world except the necessities. It usually revolves around some crappy chest congestion that doesn't leave my lungs... ever. 

And that's what happened last week. And why I didn't post Friday, because I needed to just ignore some things in my life and, not that I don't value you, dear reader... because I really do, but this blog was the first thing to get the axe when it came to things to do on Friday. (well... Thursday night)

But I'm back.

I've had the time to reset, reboot, reload a fresh kernel and clean out my processes, open up a few threads, and start a little bit new. 

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Funny afterthought.

I did pecker off my wife on Thursday. Since Wednesday I hadn't really been running any sort of temperature, just crappy feeling and lots of coughing and no sleeping, At 6:30pm on Thursday my temperature spiked to 102.9F out of no where.  By 7:30pm I was down to 100.5F and by 8pm i was at 99.4F

At the 8pm check she gave me evil glarey eyes. 

I looked at her and said, "What. Clearly my immune system found the virus and had to kill it."

With disdain in her voice she said, "I hate you and your freaking immune system."

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Have a good week everyone!

Meaningful Monday - Happy Birthday, Niamonster

I had a lot of time to sit and reflect yesterday. Exactly one year ago yesterday my wife went through a physical process that you could only believe was possible by witnessing it (and even then I wonder how the hell she did it). 

A child. A human. Grew inside of my wife for 9 months. Came out in the most painful way imaginable. Sitting in her chair and playing with her cake. 

Playing.

There are thoughts and feelings I have which I can't express in words. I want people to be able to read this text and feel what I feel - but that's not possible. 

The first birthday isn't just a huge milestone for Niamonster... it was a huge milestone for me. 

Here's why.

Aside from all of those lame jokes that people drop about "being able to actually keep the kid alive", the thoughts of success and achievement really are there. 

A year ago yesterday I was put into a situation where I had no idea what was going on. I had changed only one or two diapers in my lifetime. Had never fed a baby, or held it for very long, much less raised it or cared for it. I was thrusting myself into, what seemed like, an infinite abyss of the unknown. 

I hate the unknown. 

And there I was, forced to confront it with two options. Absolute Victory -or- Complete Failure. New and frightening thoughts were blasting their way into my head. "Did I have what it takes?", "Will I be able to provide enough?", "Will I know how to take care of her?"

"Will I be a good daddy?"

The first birthday arrives and as I stared at my beautiful little girl with cake on her face, with all her loved ones around her, with her smile and those two little teefers.... 

I did it. Here is the proof. 

I am a good daddy.

Happy Birthday, little girl. I love you more than monkey.

Meaningful Monday - A Contest!

First of all... I'm listening to Andy Samburg singing "I'm on a Boat" to me, and while I realize that it's one of the most ridiculous songs in the world and lyrically it's demeaning to any word that rhymes with another... yet... I find myself constantly singing it... it's a disease that's stuck in me head. There is something about T-Pain's autotuned voice that embeds itself into my brain matter like an alien who has laid it's eggs in my head. 

Anyone else want it in there head? Here. (this is the R rated version)

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On to the real purpose of this post. 

You have followers and I want them. I also want to follow those people you follow. You have people's whose blogs you like to read and I want to read them too. 

So here's the deal. 

I play music. I like playing music. I also write it. 

And I want to write a song about you.

Here's how it's going to work. (i.e. Rules of the Contest)

1. I will make a post everyday this week with a question at the end of the post (just to give you something to comment about)
2. You will comment on every post. Each comment = 1 entry every day. Only one comment entry will be counted per day.
3. I will keep track of the number of entries per person and will post them each day in my blog (adds a little spice of competition... yum yum!).
4. Tell your friends/followers/readers to come here and comment and have them reference you. Each follower/reader/friend that references your name will count as 2 additional entries for you.
5. Contest starts today (4/6/2009) and ends a week from today (4/13/2009).
6. On 4/13/2009 I will randomly choose a winner, Isabella will be my witness to the randomness.

What's the deal with the song?

People like free things and I want to give you something for free. I graduated with an Art major but I haven't really used it since obtaining it, so my art would be no good. I write code for a living, but that's one heck of a boring prize. Music was the final choice since I still actively play and write and it doesn't seem like there are a whole lot of people giving that away. 

About the song if you win:

1. It can sound however I want it to sound and the final product will be a mystery to you until you get it. 
2. The topic of the song and lyrics will revolve around you or, if you're shy, a topic or theme of your choosing.
3. I get the write the lyrics.
4. Give me at least a month to write it, compose it, produce it, and publish it.
5. It may just be me... it may be our band... who knows?!
6. I'll contact you if you win and ask you a bazillion questions for inspiration.

It'll be fun because you will have no idea what you'll get... can you handle the anticipation?

About me and music:

While I may just decide to throw a pan down the stairs while screaming your name out loud and using that as a "song", I probably won't. So why should you tell people to come to this blog and make comments?

• I've been playing piano for 20 years.
• I'm a classically trained vocalist.
• I'm in a band: Leo Loves Virgo. (album out in June)

I fully intend on your song not sucking.

And when the song is finished...

I'll send you an high quality version in MP3 format. I'll also post it on my blog so that all of my new friends will hear how awesome you are through music. Legally, I'll own the rights to the song (read: I get to play it anywhere and anytime I want and don't have to give you money. Sorry.)

Contest begins... 

NOW!

Today's question for commenting:

What are the top 3 music albums you own that you are ashamed to admit?

Mine:

1. Chumbawumba: Tubthumper
2. SheDaisy : The Whole Shebang
3. Fall Out Boy: From Under the Cork Tree
   

Meaningful Monday - Spoiled

I'm starting to have this fear. It's been haunting me for a while but I've always been able to justify it by convincing myself that she just doesn't know any better. 

However, that justification is wearing very thin and there are more and more tell-tale signs that she knows exactly what she is doing. 

Could she be a spoiled brat?

We haven't done much in the way of true punishment or discipline because we've always read and heard that the baby doesn't understand it and can easily take it as "negative love". While I understand that she's only just a year old, I look into her eyes and see this often time devious little munchkin. 

How do I know? Because... she's devious like I'm devious. 

Sometimes I just want to scream!

What good does that do? None. But even if it did, would it really effect her? "Niamonster! No!" and she just slyly looks at me and continues about to the bad thing she was doing? 

Or when she doesn't get her way... oh lord help me... It's not just the big things either... I'm talking about little things like not wanting to go into her car seat or not wanting to sit when she wants to stand. Examples like this lead to all out scream fests. 

Which is odd. 

It's odd because I have a really cute baby, and really cute babies are supposed to be cute. Not little spawns of evil!

So when do you start?

When is "ignoring it" starting to be detrimental to her well being? When should reprimands and spankings make their way into her life? (flame war on spankings anyone?)

If you are a parent of an older child, I need your help!

1. When they were Niamonster's age were they snotty?

2. When did you start discipline?

Meaningful Monday 6

I hate being sick. 

Hate it.

I got sick this weekend and it was no fun. 

Story Time.

Friday was well spent with the wife and the child. Enjoying each others company with laughter, bed times, and chocolate ice cream (which lately seems to be a new routine). Saturday morning was band practice and I was in an especially good mood. We've been working on some fun tracks and gearing up for our first show. 

Saturday afternoon I picked my eldest brother up (the one with holes in his tumtum), and he was going to hang out with us until the evening when we were all going to head over to our middle-brother's house for his wife's birthday. 

Then came 4pm. Like a SCUD missile with laser guided precision some crazy sickness hovering 10m above me exploded and took me out. While Isabella and I were walking through Target and picking up a gift I could feel the infestation crawling through me and making me weaker second by second. 

I wasn't about to bail on my sister-in-law's birthday so I just thought I'd tough it out. Dumb idea.

By the time we left I was shivering as my wife was saying, "Wow, it sure was hot in there." Now if there is one clear indication that I'm actually sick is when I am shivering and my wife is warm. I'm the kind of guy where you could easily cook an egg on me I'm so warm. I love cold environments and my wife HATES cuddling up to me if she is anything but freezing her ass off. 

Down for the count.

So we get home, take my temperature, and surprise surprise, it's 101.5. I'm still shivering. I sleep like crap, and I'm out all Sunday. 

Which makes me feel really bad inside. 

With Isabella being a stay at home mom, I know that on the weekends I can give her a little break from the normal. I love being with my little girl on weekends and having lots of daddy - daughter time while mom can go out and do whatever she wants to. 

However, when I'm laid up in bed with a fever, I can't do that. I don't want to be all up in Niamonster's business because the last thing we need is a sick baby. And I can't give Isabella the much needed break she deserves from working so hard during the week. 

I get yelled at a lot.

Because of this, I say "I'm sorry" a lot when I'm really sick. Partly because I'm delirious, but mostly because I really am. Taking care of one child is bad enough, but when I'm sick I'm a total wuss. Isabella gets REALLY mad at me every time I say I'm sorry. "Shut Up!"

Stupid Sickness.