Ride it

As I was driving home from school today, I caught the beginning to a song that sounded strangely familiar but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I parked, sat in the car and listened for the words . Then they started singing..."Ride it, my pony...". Holy SHIT! Someone was covering Ginuwine's song "Pony". I ran inside, went to KROQ.com and saw it was some band called "Far".

I want to have this song's babies put inside me. Here it is, "Pony"...

Disassociated Press

A recent article off the AP has the Catholic Church vowing to take on the Obama Presidency over the issue of abortion.

According to the article, the church feels it may be under attack with this new administration. An administration that is based on change and hope for a better, brighter future. So the church sees itself as under attack by change and hope. No news there. I don't think I've been particular vocal about my feelings towards organized religion on this blog, but sufficed to say, I'm not particularly fond of any religion predicated on the notions that there is no room for other deities, that an eternity of torture awaits any who stray from an antiquated doctrine and that newborn children that die before baptism are condemned to limbo. Call me quirky.

However, I do support an individuals right to choose their own religion despite these feelings. I will always support the choice of the individual and would fight to protect it. To remove someones ability to make their own decisions whether it's in respect to their choice of religion or what they do with their body flies in the face of the ideals this country was founded on. It is a step back towards a puritanical mindset that many in this country are still fighting so hard to move beyond.

The article goes on to mention that prelates in the Catholic church would be taken Catholic policy makers to task for not adhering to the Catholic doctrine in regards to said policy making. I take incredible offense at this. I am of the opinion that the church has absolutely no place at the political decision making table. I want my representatives to make their decisions based on logic, pragmatism, and common decency. What I don't want is someones judgement being influenced by church doctrine, in effect foisting that doctrine upon their constituents and disguising it as sound judgement.

Whew, rant over. Now, moving on to more important stuff. I just got Gears of War 2, bitches! Suck my carbide tipped chainsaw!

Note:
Well, looks like you won't be able to chow down on some Christ crackers either.

The reality of Realty

In light of the economic clusterfuck going on within the real estate market and the economy in general, I thought I would share some of the horror stories of working in the sub-prime lending industry that no doubt contributed to the sorry state of affairs in what recent radio commercials to as a "fundamentally sound" real estate market.

As some of you may know, a couple of years ago I used to work at a leading sub prime lender in Orange County that went belly up shortly after I left. This was during the tail end of the California real estate boom, when every family thought there home was worth a million dollars and repainting the exterior of their home would increase the value by ten grand. It was also a time when you could find a loan program for just about every circumstance, and the obscene lender fees to go along with it. Mortgage lenders slung loan programs like it was the Old West. No income? No problem. No proof of residency. No problem. No job? Not a problem, sir, just sign on this Borrower's Authorization Form on the dotted line.

During my tenure at said lender, there are a few stories that stuck in my head for not only their sheer audacity, but for their long term implications. On one specific occasion, I recall a young hot shot "Credit Manager" (loan officer for the lay man) working a deal with a potential borrower who was shall we say, "employment challenged". Fortunately for the resourceful credit manager and the borrower, the borrower's sister owned a local hardware store. After some coordinating between the credit manager and the borrower, an employment verification form magically appeared in the credit manager's hand verifying that the borrower worked at the store and had worked there since time immemorial. Problem solved, right? Maybe. Basically what this loan officer did was provide the borrower with a cash out refinance that she could not afford to pay back, simply because she wanted it and he had the tools to make it happen.

Well, moving on. Our next little horror story involves a borrower, a credit manager, a roof in need of repair, and some nifty software. A relatively average borrower came to a credit manager with a request for a refi to take some cash out and take a vacation with his family. Unfortunately, the appraisal on the home came back with some disturbing (shock!) information. The borrower's roof was in need of repair, and the appraiser was required to include this information in his report. Now, this wouldn't necessarily kill the loan. Not as long as a roof inspector could sign off that the roof was not on it's "last legs", so to speak. Well, if the report came back fine, I wouldn't be telling you about this now would I? But have no fear, friends! Luckily, the computer fax software that was installed on the desktops of all credit managers had some oh so nifty tools included with it. One of those tools was a cut/copy paste option that let you lift copy and transfer any portion of an image and transfer it or completely remove any pesky little negative information and, shall we say get "creative" with the document. So, according the the scuttlebutt, this credit manager was able to generate an entirely made up roof certification using the stationary the original fax came in on, leaving only the original signature of the roof inspector and a brand spanking new certification of the roof. Ta-dah!

Now, these are just a couple of the whoppers I heard about. This doesn't include the stories about credit managers making up credit reports out of whole cloth, generating false income documents, and appraisers creating reports using false images and pushing value so hard you'd think they were getting paid based on the value of the home.

Now, this is not to say that all sub-prime lenders are underhanded douchebags that would sell their grandmother's teeth for a commission. I'm sure that there are plenty out there that would take a flat fee.

But don't worry, because according to some of the radio commercials I hear, the real estate market is still "fundamentally sound".

Party of 5

Hey folks, for anyone still checking in to my little corner of the blogosphere we just found out that we are expecting a new guest at The Disco! That's right folks, not only will I be shaping young minds when I become a teacher, but I'll have one that'll be forced to live with me! Mwaaahahahahahaaaaaaaaa!

But seriously, we are very excited for this and we can't wait to see the little bugger.

I've got an O-Boner

So, we just finished watching tonight's debate and I gotta say that our boy Obama came out swinging. McCain spread the "America, fuck yeah!" pretty thick and it rang out just like the jingoistic bullshit that it is. And that bit with him shaking the Navy vet's hand? Come on, people. Big fucking deal. Anyone trying to say that it was some kind of defining moment in the debate needs to have their head examined.


Obama was concise, direct, and didn't let Old Man River get a head of steam on him. He addressed McCain's accusations of his stances on energy, health care, and the economy while McCain seemed to have found crony-ism in the dictionary and picked it as his word of the evening. I'll be working the polls this coming November, so if any SoCal bloggers out there would like to come down and cast your ballot, I'll be posting my location as soon as it's confirmed.

I don't know karate, but I know cuh-razy

Well, I guess I've been gone long enough to convince everyone that I'm either dead or dying. Not so, fuckers! Actually, I've decided on a course of self improvement for my self and hopefully my family. I've decided to return to school to get my Masters and become what I have always wanted to become...an English teacher. Yes, that's right folks, I will be helping to mold the minds of our youth. This wasn't an easy decision, as it's placed a large portion of the financial burden on Mrs. Disco, but we have come to an understanding that this is the best thing for everyone involved. For the longest time I have wanted to be a teacher, ever since my English teacher in high school, Ms. Melendrez inspired me by setting the example of how all it takes is one good teacher to motivate a student to greater heights. I'm taking my general ed courses so I can get those out of the way and then transfer to UC Irvine to get my Masters in Education, and then it's off to reform our educational system!

I'm sorry for being away for so long, but the way my brain is wired I have to focus on one thing at a time so I don't spin my wheels. Now that I've been in my classes for a couple of weeks and gotten my homework and study habits in line, I'll be posting regularly.

Here's a little something that I dug up on the old interwebs. I think I have a bit of a man-crush on Matt Damon now.

Thug Life

Hey folks, sorry I've been MIA for a while, but there have been a few recent developments that have been taking up all of my attencion. I don't want to bore you guys with the gory details, but the crazy ex is up to her old tricks again, but my oldest is definitely having some emotional issues that have to be dealt with immediately.

But here are a few things that have grabbed my attention but haven't really merited a full blown post of their own:

Blogger extraordinaire Chez finally had his baby! Say hi to Inara Grace Pazienza (do Scantron sheets have enough bubbles for all of that?)

Feminists have their panties in a bunch over portrayal of a chunky princess in a new Sony game. This is what we get for giving you equal rights? Freakin' ungrateful broads...

Speaking of M.I.A., here's the latest from the group that I believe is on the Pineapple Express Soundtrack. Thug life, bitches.

Feel the burn

Strangely satisfying...

I am become death, destroyer of blogs

So, what the hell people? For some reason, the readership on this blog has dropped down to me and some unemployed surfer in Thailand. What did I do people? Did I sleep with your wife? Husband? Did I call your kid a nasty name? They totally deserved it, truth be told. That kid’s an asshole.

Am I not entertaining enough for you? Do I need to jump off of another roof to prove my love for you? FINE. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Well, I’ll hopefully be hooking up (not like that, you nasty) with blogger and where movie references go to die, Prisco, and hopefully a couple of the big muck-a-mucks from Pajiba in a couple of weeks after they’ve spent the day dressed as Wonder Woman and Bat Girl at the Comic Con in San Diego.

With any luck, I’ll be able to get some incriminating photos of them that I can parley into some cold hard cash. But it’s all in the name of good fun. And web traffic. Because I am an attention whore.

Editor's note: I will also be meeting up with the lovely and oh so talented Girl with Curious Hair of the blog by the same name andBlog Me a Tale.

It's raining Puerto Ricans
by mannmartinez

This just in

I may have just discovered the greatest show in the history of basic cable.

Armenian Superstar.

More to come soon.

Recipe for disaster

If any of you have read some of the other comment threads that I’ve been a part of on Pajiba, you know that my loathing of Tyler Perry is well documented. HOWEVER, this motherfucker (hey my spell check didn’t catch “motherfucker’, weird) has sunk to a new low. I picked up on the synopsis for his latest cinematic bowel movement whilst perusing WorstPreviews:

Official plot synopsis: "Wealthy socialite Charlotte Cartwright (Kathy Bates) and her dear friend Alice Pratt (Alfre Woodard), a working class woman of high ideals, have enjoyed a lasting friendship throughout many years. Suddenly, their lives become mired in turmoil as their adult children's extramarital affairs, unethical business practices and a dark paternity secret threaten to derail family fortunes and unravel the lives of all involved. Alice's self-centered newlywed daughter Andrea (Sanaa Lathan) is betraying her trusting husband Chris (Rockmond Dunbar) by engaging in a torrid affair with her boss and mothers best friends son William (Cole Hauser). While cheating on his wife Jillian (Kadee Strickland) with a string of ongoing dalliances with his mistress Andrea, William's true focus is to replace the COO of his mothers lucrative construction corporation. Meanwhile, Alice's other daughter Pam (Taraji Henson), a kind but no nonsense woman married to a hard working construction worker (Tyler Perry), tries to steer the family in a more positive direction.

While paternity secrets, marital infidelity, greed and unsavory business dealings threaten to derail both families, Charlotte and Alice decide to take a breather from it all by making a cross-country road trip in which they rediscover themselves and possibly find a way to save their families from ruin."

The previous was the synopsis for “The Family that Preys”. Did that not sound like the kind of shit you find on really bad day time television? Go ahead and read it again if you need to (or if you’d like to know what it fees like to have the left side of your brain collapse in on itself), I’ll wait. Done? Good. So am I. For one thing, I am tired of this self righteous bastard taking the same tired, trite film concepts he’s been recycling ever since he got up enough scratch to start his own production company and repackaging them, hoping that somehow he’ll be able to generate enough buzz for people to forget that if you’ve seen one Tyler Perry play, you’ve seen them all and don’t even bother seeing the movies. Not familiar with the Tyler Perry Quick and Easy Recipe for Plays and Four Alarm Chili? Well, here’s the quick version:

Ingredients:

A Handful of C list Black actors/actresses
1 Plot line from previous film/play or R. Kelly’s “In the Closet” video series.
1 Random white devil
2 Cups Maple Syrup for overly sweet and sticky emotional throughline
1 Bible passage
Add Prosthetic boobs to personal taste

Take Black actors/actresses and direct them to overact and adopt a Black stereotype (preferably “upstanding blue collar worker”, “playuh” or “ho’”)
Combine actors/actresses with plot line in bowl and fold in maple syrup.
Mix in evil white actor/actress and direct them to “look evil. And white.”

Once the mixture is complete, sprinkle Bible passage over entire mixture and allow to form a thin, flaky and easily poked through crust.

Serves one.


Do you see where I’m going with this? It’s become old hat for Perry to recycle the same tired, trite Black stereotypes in slightly different packages each and every time he gets behind the camera. There is nothing new in his films, there is no unique directing style, no challenging of the preconceptions about black film makers. Perry simply panders to his established audience and pats them on the head while his other hand is in their pocket. On the other hand, he has succeeded in creating a veritable money making machine by turning out the same banal crap that he knows his fans will flock to with blind abandon.

Or perhaps he's conducting a study to see if all black men that become rich really do turn into wife abusing, philandering, money hungry assholes like in his plays, with him as the subject.

Separation Anxiety

So, my daughters will be leaving today at approximately 9am to spend the next month with their mother. That’s 30 days. 720 hours. 7,200 minutes. I’ve been decidedly nervous about this for the past couple of days for a couple of reasons. Primarily, I’m wary of how prolonged exposure to their mother affects their overall behavior when they return. Early on when they first moved in with us, they would return from their visits sullen and disobedient. Of course this has gotten much better over they years, but this is a whole freakin’ month we’re talking about here.

To be quite honest, I don’t think she (their mother) even knows how to deal with a child over the age of 9. She has a tendency to “baby” them and not communicate with them like the mature young women that they are. I remember getting calls from their mother at night when they were half the age they are now, with her asking me to talk to them because they weren’t listening to her and she didn’t know what to do. Not exactly a confidence booster there.

I understand that this is of course their mother and they need to spend time with her, but hey, this is just how I feel. Of course there are mothers out there that are fantastic *cough* Kristine *cough*, and are mature enough to handle pre teens. I just don’t think that bio-mom is one of those.

Can you hear me practicing my breathing? Yeah. Hee-Hee-hoooooo.

Anyway, last night we (Mrs. Disco and I) went for a late night swim with the girls, brought some snacks and Thor, and had a good time. Of course, Danielle was being her pre-teen self and was “bored” after 20 minutes. We hung out for a while longer, or at least until the warmth from the earlier part of the day wore off and we began to feel the chill of the night air. We then retired to the reading room (read: living room slash dining room slash TV room slash Rock Band stage) to watch some family television: A&E's "Intervention". Weeeeee!


(Update: 08:47 a.m.They just called to say that their mom just showed up to get them. Is it wrong that I was prepared to talk to them for the next 9 hours so I could keep them from leaving until I got home? I’m gonna go barf now.)

OC News Roundup

Is there a Merit Badge for Grand Theft Auto?

When I was in the Boy Scouts (shut up, TK), we got our kicks from archery class, learning how to start a camp fire, and the lingering stares of our Scout Master. I guess kids these days need a bigger rush than you would get from trying to not be the last one in the showers. OC Register.

Get your hands off my pussy

You know, I’ve been known to give my dog a rub down when he’s had a rough day of laying on the couch, having only a dish full of food and water and a floor full of toys to play with, but I draw the line when it comes to cats. Those smarmy, pissy little bastards certainly don’t deserve a $50/hour rub down from some septuagenarian with too much time on her hands. Helps with digestion? What the fuck are they feeding their cats? Filet Mignon? OC Register.

Send in the clown’s Crash cart

I dunno about any of you, but I have never had a clown at any of my previous birthday parties, and I’m not really sure if I would’ve wanted to if there were the chance that he might (OC Register):

A) Keel over dead from making balloon animals
B) Have Vietnam flashbacks every time a balloon popped
C) Ask to sit on my lap and tell me about the time he and Nixon walked on the moon
D) All of the above

Plus, the dude is fucking scary looking! I mean, if I wanna make some kids cry I’ll just do what I normally do:I tell them Santa Claus is dead and that we ate the Easter Bunny for dinner last night. Mmmmm, toasty.



Currently listening to: Your lingering cries for help.

Heat Wave Haiku

Happy fuckin’ Tuesday, folks! I hope all of you had a great mother-fucking weekend. I managed to get stuck doing laundry in a house with no air conditioning in 90 degree weather AND I was interrogated by a police officer, all in one day!

But enough about me, I know what all two of you are waiting for. Using the current heat wave as inspiration for my perspiration, it’s that time of the week again where I take an ancient form of poetry and puke all over it. Like ta’ hear it? Here it goes:


Sun rises up high
Sweat like MJ at Disney
Why can’t I just die?

*Oh, and to my co-worker that can’t seem to find a pair of pants that fit her ginormous ass and has her Rock of the 90’s CD playing on a continuous loop, “Go to Hell”.

I only need to hear the Cranberries/Spin Doctors/Hootie and the Blowfish once a day, thank you very freakin’ much. God, I hate you right now.

A legend in his own time

I just learned that comedian/actor/author and all around jackass and one of my favorite comedians, George Carlin, passed away due to heart failure on Sunday.

George’s career began in the 1960’s, most notably on the Ed Sullivan Show (yeah, I’m too young to remember that, too). He was also the first host of NBC’s Saturday Night Live (who remembers when SNL was actually funny and not just a springboard for any no talent comedian/actor’s acting careers?) His “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” routine was one of his most popular and probably most controversial, netting him a charge of indecency.

On a personal note, despite his cult status and anti-establishment routines, my clearest memories of George are as the sage-like Rufus from the Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure film, and as the golf obsessed Roman Catholic cardinal behind the “Buddy Christ” marketing scheme for the Catholic Church in the Kevin Smith film, Dogma. The role of Rufus seemed more like a "thanks for the paycheck" role, while the cardinal was infused with all of Carlin's disdain for religion in general, playing the role of someone oblivious to their own ridiculousness.

In an age of Dane Cook’s, Mike Myers, and Lisa Lampanelli’s, George was one of the few comedians that actually said something worth hearing. His routines were not vulgar for vulgarities sake, but rather it drew you in and you were then hooked by his insightful routines on politics (“…an illusion of choice…”), religion ("There is no God"), and humanity ("I think we're already 'circling the drain' as a species, and I'd love to see the circles get a little faster and a little shorter"). The world is too bright and shiny without you, George.

In honor of George, here are the seven words he was originally fined by the utterly useless FCC for uttering on television:

1. Shit
2. Piss
3. Fuck
4. Cunt
5. Cocksucker
6. Motherfucker
7. Tits

Also, here is a link to the entire routine on YouTube.

George is survived by his daugher, Kelly.

Put my Zagnut in your Whatchamacallit

Harmless confection, or will Ronald McDonald pop out of the bag and obliterate my testicles?

Let’s find out!

(Update: Testicles are fine.)

(Update to the update: That’s what she said)

Thought for the day:

I hate political correctness. Case in point: when you call someone retarded and then somebody gives you a glare that could burn a whole in titanium and tells you that those kind of people should be referred to as “mentally challenged”.

Sorry, being “mentally challenged” means not being able to figure out what 4 down on the TV Guide Crossword Puzzle is.

When you shit in your pants, give it a name and take it shopping for shoes, you’re fucking “retarded”.

I SHIT YOU NOT

I was just asked to be a sperm donor.

A forever kind of thing

I hope you read this, I really do. This is the kind of thing that is too complex to try and express in a 5 minute conversation while moving furniture. I’m really not even sure where to begin, so I guess one spot is as good another.

Your daughter needs you. You’re just now beginning to see the damage that a lack of attention/affection can cause. This last incident is only the tip of the iceberg. She is such a beautiful, intelligent girl and it pains me to think of what she can become versus what she will become if things continue the way they are. She so desperately needs a daddy I can feel it radiating from her every time I see her. She doesn’t need the disciplinarian right now; she needs a hug, a kiss, a whisper that she is beautiful, intelligent and truly matters. If you do not begin to provide these to her on a daily basis, she’ll soon find somewhere else to look for it. As hard as it may seem to open up and be sensitive, vulnerable and compassionate, the alternative is much worse. I look at all of you and there is such wonderful potential there, but potential that may be squandered if steps aren’t taken. By this I don’t mean baby steps. These are long, painful steps to be taken that must be taken. Gone is the time for half measures and band aids. I know that right now it may seem like the world is against you, but to her you and her mom are her world, and right now she is an island that’s slowly going to drift off until she’s too far to reach and all you can do is watch her spirit wither away.

I see in you so many wonderful possibilities. You have such passion and intelligence, and I envy that of you. I hate to see it wasted while self pity and doubt rule your actions. There is no room for get rich quick ideas and half baked home business endeavors. Once you have the solid foundation that your family needs, then you can begin to consider other options. But right now you stand on the edge of disaster and every moment of hesitation is a crack beneath your feet. I will be there to support you and council you, but I cannot be you. No one else can.

Your wife: There are so very few women like her in the world; Beautiful, intelligent women that will truly stand by their husband’s side through the worst of times. While you must bear the weight of the world on your shoulders, she’ll be there to encourage you, wipe the sweat from your brow, and sometimes take the weight from your shoulders for a while. Treasure this. Imagine the worst times of your life. Now, imagine those same moments without her by your side. What you two have is what most people spend decades looking for.

All of this will amount to nothing if the two of you are not supporting each other. Presenting a unified front to your kids is vitally important. Undermining the other’s authority or negating it altogether is disastrous to a family’s stability. Your kids have to know that dad’s word is mom’s word and mom’s word is dad’s word. There cannot be secrets or deceptions, even with the best of intentions. There cannot be a restriction placed on how much of a parent someone can be. You’re either a parent, or you’re not. The blame for the failure of a family cannot be placed squarely on the shoulders of one person. If it could, then it was never a family to begin with.

I think of all of you daily and I wish that I could do more.

My name is Jonas, I'm carrying the wheel

Meet the newest member of the Martinez/Quintana family.

Jonas Ryan Martinez
Born to: William and Kristina Martinez
Born: May 16, 2008
Weight: 5 pounds (4.5 of which is all penis, by the way).
Length: 18 inches (oddly enough, he’s hung like a 4.5 pound can of tuna)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go plan for his 18th birthday party in Tiajuana.

Your future is in my hands, America

Just thought I'd let ya'll know that little ol' me will be directly responsible for determining the course of our country this election.

I just submitted my application to be the supervisor of a polling location in Orange County for the upcoming primaries on June 3rd. Why, you ask?

WHY?! Because this country has lost its way! WHY?! We’ve become a gaggle of directionless, mewling sheep! WHY?! We'll happily give anyone their fifteen minutes of fame as long as it will distract us from the gaping black pits that are our lives. Anyone with a debilitating heroine addiction, a vagina the size of the Chrysler building, or a talentless MySpace whore can instantly be rocketed to stardom as long as they give us a few fleeting moments of escape…WHY?!

...I’ll get $130.00 on top of my regular pay.

Godtopus Bless America!

Blogging in a vacuum

Hey freaks and geeks, sorry I've been MIA for a while. To be honest with you, I've been in kind of a blogging slump. I haven't had the motivation or time to blog in the last couple of weeks due to work and my near crippling addiction to playing Bioshock on my 360. Which, by the way, I just beat after a 6 hour marathon on Friday. I got the “bad” ending, though, for “harvesting” too many Little Sisters. The “bad” ending being the one in which I take over Rapture and use its gene spliced denizens to overtake a submarine carrying nuclear warheads. W00t! Because I know you’re all DYING to know about my video game obsession. Ain't 'cha?

However, I would like to bring a few tidbits of info to your attention that haven't merited a full blown blog post:

1. Had to have Mrs. Disco explain to my daughters what a "douche" is, after my oldest jokingly referred to someone as said feminine product. And then told her to never use that word again.

2. Finally resolved to tell my brother what a douche he is for not calling/visiting more often. Then proceeded to flake on meeting up with him. Twice. If anyone asks, it was an object lesson. Yeah.

3. 8 shopping days left until my birthday!! Thanks to Google Stat tracker, I’ll be compiling a list of the emails of all of my lovely commenters and sending out a list of birthday gift options. You’re welcome, America.

4. Heard that my ex had broken her toe. Then found out that she only broke her toe nail. Color me disappointed.

5. Heard that my brother wants to plan my bachelor party in Las Vegas. Sorry, buddy. To be honest with you, I'm just fucking over partying in Vegas unless it's with other couples. I mean, other than watching shows and getting some good eats, the only other activity to Vegas is trolling for random poonanny. And I'm not even sure I spelled poonanny right. My idea of the perfect bachelor party would be a bunch of my friends gathering at somebody's house, gettin' some good cigars, bbq'ing, playing Halo, and getting drunk. Is that too much to ask? Didn't think so. Make it happ'n, cap'n.


Also, here are some snippits of an IM with Mr. Meat:

me: who's got two thumbs and every other Friday off? THIS guy!
Mr. Meat: big deal, it's not like you work anyway
me: ...this is true
yet it still stings. Much like that fissure in your ass.
:)
I am going to wake up at 6 in the morning tomorrow JUST so I can turn my Xbox on and stare at the dashboard. Why? Cuz I CAN.
Mr. Meat: bastard
me: Have fun at work tomorrow, wage monkey
by the way, I may kill my upstairs neighbors
Mr. Meat: nice
Jerkface
me: God Bless Parissa, but her people are kinda jerks.
Mr. Meat: [gasp]
racism!
me: My upstairs Persian neighbors were up til 11 playing what could only be Persian Techno
I could picture them and their little rat demon dog rolling on the floor rubbing each other's faces with koosh balls
Mr. Meat: using glow-sticks
me: I'm trying to take down an underwater city and it's tyrannical creator, and they're up there with their grandma and mickey mouse gloves
YOU tell ME who takes priority
go ahead
I'll wait
Mr. Meat: well... i mean... a city needs a hero
even an underwater one
me: DAMNED SKIPPY

Perfect Strangers

(From left to right: Matt, Mrs. Disco, Yours truly, Jayne, Chez)

For those of you that may be unaware, a dear friend and the inspiration for my own blogging, Chez Pazienza, has finally completed his memoir, Dead Star Twilight. He has been working on this memoir for longer than I have known him, and Chez is an immensely talented writer, a devoted husband and soon to be daddy for the second time. The memoir is available for download via his blog, Deus Ex Malcontent. Until recently, Chez was a producer at CNN on their American Morning show. Citing a violation of company policy that conflicted with his keeping of a personal blog, he was unceremoniously fired from his position and has been subsisting ever since off of a diet of White Castle burgers and Tang. He lives with his wife Jayne and the soon to be newest addition to their clan in Manhattan, New York.

I actually met the lovely couple last year when they were in town due to a work function Jayne was attending. Mrs. Disco and I met them at Lola's in Hollywood. In an odd (by "odd" I mean I invited a perfect stranger to spend the weekend in my home on his way out of the country. What, me worry?) set of circumstances, another blogger, Matt of A Bowl of Stupid, was spending the weekend at our home on his way out of the country on some vision quest/find myself thingy, so he was also along for the ride. More on that at another time.

We met for drinks and dinner, and very stimulating conversation. Over the course of our meal, the conversation drifted from talking about our kids, psychopathic ex's, Matt and I dubbing Chez's drink a Zebra semen martini, to us seeing who could make the most obscure pop culture references. Much of the night is a martini induced haze, but I'm pretty sure that round one went to Chez.

We ended the night at The Standard Hotel, where Jayne and Chez were holed up for the weekend. The drinks continued to flow, and many show tunes were sung by Mrs. Disco and Jayne. Nothing says "Hollywood Chic" like a medley of songs from The Sound of Music, let me tell you.

I can tell you that without a doubt, that Chez and Jayne are a phenomenal couple. They deserve every success that comes their way, and it would warm the corners of my cold, cold heart if you would visit his blog and download a copy of the memoir.

Pretty please?

*Update: You can now read a review of Dead Star Twilight on Pajiba.

Fuckin' Chuck Norris!

Sorry for the lack of updates, folks. I've been in kind of a blogging slump as of late. But fear not, for I may have something post worthy after this Monday. You see, I am joining my first ever sport league this Monday. What sport is it, you ask?


Why, dodgeball, of course.

(Let the ball/face jokes commence)

Monday Office Haiku

Think outside the box?
I work in a cubicle
Go fuck yourself, dude

Monkey at keyboard
Typing for your amusement
The feces will fly

Billboards on freeway
Marketing my life away
Hooter's hot wings suck

Meeting dragging on
Sharpie marker high feels great
Drug test would suck balls

Friday morning nookie

Hah! Got your attention. You're so easy, but that's why I love you in the face. A very dear friend or mine, Girl with Curious Hair, has setup a new blog at Blog Me a Tale of which I and some other far more talented bloggers are contributors to. Each month will have a theme under which we'll be contributing stories. This month (March) is Open Mic, so we're putting up whatever we feel like. I'm sure everyone would appreciate it if you would stop by, check out the great stories that have been posted there thus far and show some support. Plus, the first ones to comment receive *$10,000.00 Disco Dollars and a set of one of those rear window stickers depicting you and all your hellspawn (if any) as hilarious stick figures.


*Exchange rate equal to .00000001 U.S Dollars.

Wherein I get pwned by a moon bounce

Seeing as how I seem to somehow have attracted some new readers (and I'm both lazy and have nothing new to post), I thought that I would repost the video that made me the Internet juggernaut that I am today. But first let me set this up for you n00bs: The video was taken at the birthday party for my cousin's daughter. My cousin and I were on the roof after having strung up a piñata for the kids, and were looking for a way down as the ladder used to get up was a bit to short to climb down onto. Naturally, the bounce house that was so conveniently setup for the kids provided both a soft landing, and YouTube material.

And now, for your viewing pleasure I give to you…me.

It's raining Puerto Ricans
Uploaded by mannmartinez

Monday Office Haiku

Monkey swings on branch.
Why does the hippo hate me?
Printer ink in eye.

Doctor can save me
Prostate can kill a man in time
Why is finger brown?

Two men in a boat
Food cannot last much longer
Two men and one cup?

Sun sets over me
The ocean is on fire
Skin cancer's a bitch.

With great power comes 3 times the chance for heart failure

I'm sittin' here at my desk, staring at this bottle of Berry Flavor Fusion Instant Energy that I picked up at a local AM/PM. The neon blue wrapper and image of an exploding atom tell me that this can't possibly be good for me. It claims to have "3x Energy Power"…but 3 times more than what? Three times more energy power than the average person? Three times more energy power than a crackhead on a 3 day binge? They say with great power comes great responsibility, but I really don't look good in tights and I shirk responsibility at the earliest opportunity. I don't know if I can handle over 6 hours of power.




The Rundown:
Calories: 8. Eff you, South Beach Diet. Hah!
Sodium: 10mg
Vitamin C: 100mg. Wow, according to the label this is 167% of my Daily Value.
Niacin: 33mg. Glorious, glorious Nia…waitaminute. 165% of my Daily Value?! Color me apprehensive.
Vitamin B6: 40mg. Um, hey folks…that’s 2,000% of my Daily Value. That’s a two and three zero's after it.
Folic Acid: 400mcg. Okay, not so bad. We're at 100% of my Daily Value. Luckily I keep my Folic Acid intake to a minimum. Yeah right.
Vitamin B12: 500mcg. That's not much more than the Folic…oh my sweet Jeebus. 8,333%. Does that make sense to ANYONE??
Phytomic Energy Blend: 2,100mg. According to the label, that includes Taurine, Caffeine, and lots of other stuff with een at the end and more syllables than an East European kid's name.

After reading this, I've deduced that these ingredients are probably 3 times more than a normal human can withstand before being reduced to a quivering sack of liquefied innards. I guess this means I'll get some time off work .

I am officially crapping my pants.

09:00 a.m. (PST) – Doesn’t smell bad. Definitely smells like something berry flavored. Bottoms up: Ugh, tastes like berry flavored Nyquil. It definitely leaves a berry flavored taste of artificial sweetener in your mouth.

09:45 a.m. (PST) - Nothing yet. These types of energy drinks usually hit me within the first 40 minutes. It might be the breakfast I had slowing it down. I have another one sitting on my desk, taunting me. If I get enough votes for it, I'll take the second one just for shits and giggles. And a coronary.

10:20 a.m. (PST) – Ok, this blows. I'm not feeling a damned thing. Looks like three bucks down just went down the crapper. How am I going to explain to my oldest daughter that I blew her college fund on a bad energy drink? Hold the phone. As I'm typing this my stomach started to flutter and my hands are getting a bit tingly. Maybe this just takes longer to kick in. I'll update again soon.

11:25 A.M. (pst) – Alright folks, we have another dud. I do feel slightly more alert, but definitely no elevated mood, no rapid heartbeat, no rush of blood to the face or any extremities whatsoever, and the tingly sensation from earlier dissipated almost as fast as it came on.

Overall: Three bucks officially down the crapper. No super powers developed, and I still don't look good in tights. Avoid this one unless you're unusually susceptible to energy drinks.

Jackie Chan wants me dead

Okey dokey folks. Seeing as how the last little experiment didn't kill me, next on the list is the XGT Energy Green Tea (with "natural lemon flavor"?)Drink Mix featuring none other than the drunken master himself, Jackie Chan. I found this little gem at a local 99 cent store, so that should be my first clue. The second would be that the tag line on the packaging is "Tea with a Kick!" Oy vey.

The packaging is giving me mixed messages: either I'm going to be attacked by a diminutive Asian man with a bad haircut, or I'm going to turn into a diminutive Asian man with a bad haircut as soon as I mix this with a bottle of water.

The Rundown:
Vitamin B2 – 10%
Vitamin B3 – 10%
Vitamin B5 – 10%
Vitamin B6 – 10%
Vitamin B12 – 10%
Vitamin C – 100%
Ginseng
Taurine
Green Tea Extract – Which is high in "flavonoid antioxidants", according to the packaging. Anybody remember The 'Noid from those old Domino's Pizza Commercials? Little fucker creeped me the hell out. Maybe this will help keep him from ruining my enjoyment of Domino's Pizza…if I (or anyone) were actually capable of enjoying Domino's Pizza.

SO, I've got enough B vitamins to start my own pharmacy, along with Ginseng and some more Bull Sperm. Yay me.

09:01 a.m. (PST) Bottoms up: OH. MY. GOD. This stuff tastes like a bottle full of ass juice…with a hint of lemon. Eww, now I've got that aftertaste of Splenda and Lemon…with a hint of ass. Gah.

10:04 a.m.(PST) - What the hell!? I'm getting hot flashes and my stomach feels like two little Jackie Chan's are having a free for all in there...ugh. Is this what it feels like to be Asian? I don't notice any sudden martial arts skills, nor is my ability so speak English or drive a car impaired.

10:57 a.m. (PST) - Ok. This stuff SUCKS. With a capital FUCKING. I feel horrible, I was a little jittery for about 5 minutes, and now I can't get that Splenda taste out of my mouth. However, I think my math skills have improved and I now have a sudden afinity for import cars and flat chested women with Hello Kitty backpacks.

13:00 (PST) – Hai-yah! I mean, uh, not really feeling any more “energized” than I did this morning. Which is to say, Konichiwa!...whoa, I mean not at all. I definitely feel different, though. My hair seems to be much smoother and manageable. I’ve also having strange urges to jump over cars, and engage in intricately choreographed fight scenes with my co workers. Me love you long time!

Overall: At 99 cents for a pack of 3 tubes, you definitely get your money's worth. Tastes like juice from the anus. Didn't know I would turn Asian in less than 4 hours. Increase in my martial arts skill is appreciated, though useless in the office. Strange craving for pigs feet.


*Further updates as the day progresss...gah.

That sound you hear is my heart exploding. Weee!

So, here goes. I walked into my corner 7-Eleven last night to pick up what is surely going to be the first nail in my coffin. I didn’t make a straight line to the cash register, instead I wandered around the store aimlessly, fiddling with magazines, looking at the expiration dates on prepackaged sandwiches and burritos, and trying to see if they still carried the good porno mag’s I remembered.

Anyway, here’s the rundown on what goes into this shot of Satan’s Urine:

Vitamin B6 – It's used in the creation of DNA! Maybe if I mix this in my kid’s chemistry kit I can finally create that super stripper I’ve been working on.
Vitamin B12 – Someone got an award for studying it!
Niacin – Apparently, it can cause itchiness and skin redness…this can't be good.
Folic Acid – Another DNA maker! Rise, Chastity, rise! Bwahahahahahaaaaaaa!
Citicoline (?) – Apparently, this does all kinds of good stuff for the brains. Wai thu hell wood Eye neeed dat?
Tyrosine – A "mood elevator"? Now THIS has possibilities.
Phenylalanine – Is it bad/good that this thing has TWO mood elevators?
Taurine – Good ol' Taurine. Someone once told me that it comes from bull sperm. I’m obviously ignoring that person.
Malic Acid – Helps remove aluminum and phosphorous from the body. I've really got to cut back on eating soda cans apparently.
Glucuronolactone – Sounds like a Klingon that's Lactose intolerant. Hey-o!
Caffeine – Hey! A word I can actually pronounce. My Doctologist said caffeine is better than milk.



09:00 a.m. (PST) – Opened bottle and took a whiff. Yup, smells like Satan’s urine alright. Having second thoughts about this. Oh well, all in the name of scientifical stuff (and traffic). Bottoms up.

09:34 a.m. (PST) - My hands are all tingly and I feel kinda hot (and not in the "I'm wearing a thong" way). Feel a bit "amped" but not the cracked out kind of amped I thought I'd be.

10:10 a.m. (PST) - Cracked out, meet Manny. Manny, cracked out. Seriously, folks, I could run the L.A. Marathon right now, die from heart failure, and I wouldn't even know I was dead. Wooooohooooo! This is life! Fuckin' aye! Rock on! WOooooohOOooooo!

11:40 a.m. (PST) – Still feel pretty amped. So far so good. The tingly sensation in my hands comes and goes. My heart's beating faster than TK in the bathroom at an all midget topless review. I'm in a pretty good right now, so those double doses of mood elevators are obviously working.

1:50 p.m. (PST) – Everyone at work has been asking me why I was in such a good mood…fuckers. Feeling kinda' tired now. I guess they weren't kidding about the whole "5 hour" thing. God damned sunsabitches. Life sucks. Puppies suck. I hate babies. There's no such thing as love. I hope you're all happy now, I think I'm hooked on those mood elevators. Any one got a Red Bull? Monster? How about a spoonful of coffee grounds?

Fuckers.

Overall: At $3.29 for a 2oz bottle, the standard flavor tasted like Satan's pee, but went down just as easily. Stayed true to its promise of 5 hour energy, although I was left feeling hollow and alone. Could have used a hug at the four hour fifty nine minute mark. Loved the mood elevators, but I may need to attend an N.A. meeting or go into rehab if I keep this up.

The more you suffer, the more it shows you really care...right?

My never ending quest to conquer the interwebs continues, people. I’ve decided to horn in on Marvo’s territory and dip my dainty little toe into the welcoming waters of product review. In case you’re wondering, the answer is "No"; I’m not getting paid and or compensated for this. So why am I doing it, you ask? Because I love you like a fat kid loves cake. Like Rosie O’Donnell loves eating newborn babies. Like Britney Spears loves riding paparazzi schlong, Lindsay Lohan loves schlong covered in coke, and Perez Hilton loves, well, just schlong in general (suck on THAT, Google Search).

Starting on Monday, I will be subjecting my finely chiseled physique to various energy boosting supplements on a daily basis. First on the list will be various "5 Hour" energy drinks. Yeah, you know the ones. The little bottles hovering at the liquor store counter, praying on your impulse shopping compulsion, just sitting in their little racks, all cozy and warm with promises of all day energy and enough Niacin to give a rhino a heart attack. Also, I’ll be ingesting those "Nitro 2 Go" pill packs, with the crackhead packaging and vaguely illegal look about them.

I’ll ingest one of these energy boosting products at the beginning of my work day and updating this blog with my physical condition throughout the day. At the end of the day I’ll post a summary of the products overall effect and my opinion of said item.

Should one of my posts start off fine and turn into "…at around 12:00 I began to feell aguikmdngolkdgaljdk;aaa smd[0q UWIJ…", that means I just had a heart attack and I’m face down on my keyboard. Please call an ambulance.

Office Pace II

1. The old lady (Fartsy McTootsalot) training me has perpetual dry mouth. Whenever she speaks to me all I hear are those lip smacky noises.

2. One of the nicer ladies in the office wears belly hugging clothing that she really has no business wearing. I repeat, super nice lady, but she has a serious case of booty-do...her belly sticks our more than her booty do. I think it’s possible she may be pregnant, but come on, how much can a moo moo cost?

3. My computer will mysteriously power down on its own at random times. Oh, did you just type up a three page report that has to get to court in 10 minutes? Let me shut down really quick so you can lose all of your work, mkay? Fucker.

4. The other old lady that sits in the next cubicle refuses to close her mouth when she is eating chips at her desk. It’s like nails on motherfucking chalkboard to me.

5. One of the other workers here will stand right outside my cubicle, holding a file, knowing full well that I’m on a break and tell me they have a report they need typed before the last run for court. Fuck you, man. Just because you’re the resident gay guy doesn’t make it ok for you to be an ass hat. Seriously folks, the dude is so gay he practically sets the carpet on fire. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay, but MAN...we're talkin' a whole lotta gayness right there. On the I Love Schlong scale, 1 cock being Anderson Cooper and 10 cocks being that gay comedian that's always on VH1, this guy is probably a 14.

That being said, what annoys you at your place of work? Also, I am declaring today Delurker Day!! That's right folks, if you've never commented at the Disco, but have been reading, please feel free to step out of line and move into the VIP section. All lurkers that delurk will receive a Hispanic! At The Disco commemorative plate featuring moi*.














*Not really.

Wherein I wear my e-heart on my e-sleeve III

I would like to warn anyone reading this that some of it may be a bit graphic, a bit too descriptive for some tastes. However, in order to truly express the seriousness of this, I will be leaving few details out. This all picks up after the longest blog post in history.

Shortly after introducing Kristine to the girls, and sharing my time with the girls with her, we began to notice certain things when it came to them (the girls).

Hindsight being what it is I should have caught these signs much, much sooner.

Whenever we would pick up the girls for my weekend visits, they would consistently have a distinct…odor. Whether it be sweat, or what we refer to as the “puppy” smell, or in one particular instance a very distinct odor of urine. Many were the occasions where we would rush back home with them (windows rolled down) and immediately have them take showers and change their clothes. After time, they would mention proudly that they did, in fact, take A shower that week. As in ONE. Also, I was never allowed in the house when I would pick up the girls. They were either at the door waiting for me, or she would open the door and stand in the door way and call them.

Let me clarify what my emotional state was at that point- I had recently lost my mother to cancer, been asked to move out by her partner (mostly due to the immense amount of grief she suffered at the loss of my mother), spent half of my income in child support, and the other half on rent. I literally did not have an extra dime to my name. This translated into feeling as though my hands were tied. I was simply grateful that I had survived another week and had the opportunity to see my girls. I had resigned myself to my fate as a weekend father, with no significant other to share my time with.

Now, back to the girls. At about the same time, the girls had told me that the electricity in their mothers home had been off for days, that they woke to nothing under the Christmas tree at their mothers’ house that previous Christmas (except the food basket and gifts the PTA at their elementary school had dropped off), and there would be days where the only food they had was the free breakfast/lunch that the school provided. Of course, a little voice in the back of my head would silently ask “What the hell was going on over there?” There really wasn’t much I could do. I was giving her/them as much as I could (even though she never failed to ask for more) and still live.

The girls lived in a home with their mother, their 5 and 2 year-old half brothers, and their mother’s boyfriend, none of whom brought in any additional income at the time to support themselves, by the way. Needless to say, they were subsisting off of my child support and whatever handouts they received. Most would say I should have done something right away—you’d 100% be right, but I was living hand to mouth, even losing a few fingers every now and then. I felt alone, and imprisoned—lucky to simply share the weekends with them. I cannot tell you, mothers have no idea the power they wield over their ex’s when children are the ammunition.

Things were bad, and then they got worse.

At one point my ex had confessed to me that her boyfriend had been cheating on her with at least one other woman (Karma, meet Larissa, Larissa meet Karma. You two are gonna be GREAT pals really soon), and that he had been physically abusing her. I offered to get her in touch with some battered women resources, but that went nowhere. Kristine and I decided at this point we needed to have open conversation with the girls with regards to what is acceptable relationship behavior.

We started a “circle of truth”. We sat in a circle, and we each shared something personal. The only rule was that no one was to be punished or judged for what they were sharing. Sounds simple, but it allowed for the children to open up in ways I’d never imagined. It was obvious that they had been trained to not share information with me, so it became Kristine’s responsibility to communicate what we both felt was necessary. It may sound manipulative, but I was being stonewalled at every turn, and I had to make sure they were not being victimized themselves.

Another odd behavior we had noticed was that my oldest daughter (Danielle) had developed “ticks” (as her mother described them). She grunted, clicked her teeth, forcefully blinked her eyes, talked like a baby, and constantly moved her fingers and hands in a counting motion (index finger to thumb, middle finger to thumb, etc). Not. Good. But all these things had developed over time, and I had grown accustomed to them. Kristine, being new to the situation, recognized them for what they were and had suggested therapy. Having been the beneficiary of very productive therapy sessions after breaking up with my ex, I readily agreed and began to look into the matter.

The very day that Kristine was moving into my place, my youngest daughter (Marissa – age 7 at the time) came to Kristine to tell her that the elderly man that had been paying to park and live in his RV on their mother’s driveway had been sexually molesting child Danielle (my age 9 at the time). Apparently Marissa had walked in, told her mother, and he was supposed to move out. Soon. Kristine immediately told me.

At this point I cannot even begin to express to those of you reading this the depths of the anger, betrayal, confusion, and sheer brutish rage I felt at that time. Only a father could even hope to understand what I was thinking at that moment. I felt lethal.

The next day I called their mother from work to confront her with what I’d learned. She categorically denied everything, and told me that Kristine was trying to feed information to the kids, and that she would no longer allow them to visit me if she were present. I informed Kristine of this and she called her to confront her, at which point Larissa confessed to everything. She said that the man would be moving out, and that he really wasn’t even around all that often. She also admitted that she was about six months pregnant with her fifth child. Taking her at her word, I continued with situation as it were. Of course all of this was going through my mind on a daily basis. It was impossible to think, work, even function properly with the knowledge that my child was being hurt.

One week later we had a birthday party for my Marissa. Kristine picked up the girls, who looked abnormally groomed (she actually combed their hair….seriously, I think it had been about six months since she’d done it herself). Dressed in cute little skirts, they were ready to get their party on. Maybe things were better.

While on the freeway to our place, one of the girls asked Kristine if there were any panties at our house since they didn’t have any on. I repeat - THIS WOMAN HAD A PEDOPHILE LIVING ON HER DRIVEWAY, AND SHE HAD MY GIRLS RUNNING AROUND IN SKIRTS WITH NO PANTIES.

Enough was enough.

After a very lengthy discussion with Kristine over the action I would take and their likely consequences, I called the Department of Social Services that very evening.

The local sheriff visited the mother’s home with a social worker in tow, and proceeded to question the son of bitch living on the driveway, who admitted everything. Now at the time he thought it was my ex that had called the police, so he returned the favor. He informed the social worker and police of the living conditions in the girls’ mother’s home that I was not privy to.

Some of information detailed by the investigating social worker was provided to me during our first hearing is as follows(this will be graphic, but I hope you understand the fire of disgust that still burns in me three years later)

1. Danielle had been molested by the older man since she could walk/talk (this was an old family friend, who at one time lived with my grandmother) and she felt it was necessary to allow it since the sonofabitch was paying to live on the driveway on her mother needed the money.
2. The condition of the house was described as “third-world conditions”.
3. No food was in the home.
4. Pornography was strewn throughout the common areas, and she would frequently have pornographic videos playing, or magazines around..
5. Both my ex and her boyfriend would leave the children alone in the evening for hours at a time.
6. The children had watched her get kicked in the stomach, and punched in the face by her BF.
7. Marissa would often have to wear her mother’s clothing to school because there was nothing else clean. Oh, and on more than one occasion she found a crack pipe (“Drug Paraphernalia) in the pockets of various articles of clothing.
8. Marissa had witnessed her mother having drug induced episodes where she thought there were people outside the home and made the children turn off the lights and stay quiet.

And yes, their mother was using crack cocaine AND she was six months pregnant (the baby still receives physical therapy, and had to wear a helmet for about 6 months).

The girl that I never thought I’d find moves in with me—and three weeks later, BOOM, instant family. We were happy to have them, but it has not been an easy task or transition. The Social Worker placed the girls with me since I was the bio-dad and could house them properly. I made every effort to let my ex’s family know that they were very welcome to see the girls whenever they wanted and made them available for phone calls and visits. Their grandfather on their mother’s side came once. An aunt promised some old clothes that never materialized.

We proceeded to make their new home as welcoming and secure as we could. We bought for them new beds, new clothes, accessories for their room, you name it. This was going to be their island where no one could hurt them and dad was always around. We enrolled them in the local elementary schools and began to look for extracurricular activities for them. Sounds great, right? Sure.

On several occasions we questioned our own judgment (read: sanity) and seriously considered the easier path of just letting the girls move back with their mother. This usually followed especially difficult/emotional confrontations with the girls over disobedience, acting out, or my own arguments with their mother. While Danielle had grown more introverted, Marissa had grown increasingly protective of her mother. She had developed a need to protect her mother that manifested itself in constant references to wanting to live with her mother. As an adult, I couldn’t fathom why she had this desire, but from a child’s standpoint it was perfectly logical: Mommy needed help. If she only knew.

At some point Marissa had been verbally chastised by her mother for sharing with Kristine what she had witnessed. She had told Marissa that she “told the wrong person”. Even though Marissa had probably saved her sisters’ life by telling the truth, this woman (I use that term “woman” loosely) berated her for it. On one very clear occasion, as we sat in the lobby of the DCFS (Department of Children and Family Services) awaiting the completion of my LiveScan, she approached us (myself, Kristine, and both girls), pointed at me and told the girls “He’s why you’re not staying with me”. All of this caused added to the wall of resentment building between Marissa and Kristine. Marissa couldn’t be mad at her dad, so she had to direct her anger at someone. Many times she was blatantly hostile and defiant to Kristine. These days, people often think that Kristine is Marissa’s bio-mom because they have such similar personalities (the good parts, not the hostile ones). The hostility only subsided in recent months due to much communication on all of our parts.

As a result of the investigation by Social Services, their two half-brother’s were then placed in foster care. The ex went to a recovery home for mothers, and her boyfriend went to rehab as well. We fulfilled our obligation to drive the girls to visit their mother in rehab, even though it was more than an hour drive each way. The girls enjoyed their visits, even though taking them to see their mother in rehab left a sour taste in my mouth. Her “poor me” attitude and her family of enablers continued to inoculate her against any true feelings of guilt or remorse over her inability to protect her daughters.

Over the course of the next few months, the two half brothers were switched to two more foster homes after the 5 year-old was caught acting out sexually with another boy that was in the care of the foster family (that’s a whole other basket of issues). Initially, Social Services had done what they were supposed to in their investigation, but they didn’t have him physically evaluated to see if he had been sodomized after the incident. After he acted out again, they discovered their fuck up, and the spin control began. Within a week, the boys were back at home with their mother.

I couldn’t believe it was happening, but she was slowly getting her kids back. Kristine and I prepared ourselves for the worst (losing the girls to “Sybil”). We feared that all the work we had done in the past few months to help the girls adjust and come to terms with what had happened would be obliterated by their mother’s brainwashing. She still saw herself as the victim throughout the entire mess and her only goal was to have all FIVE of her kids back with her, regardless of whether or not she had a home, a stable job to pay for that home, and the means to provide for all five kids.

Then the day came for me to appear in court to hear the judges’ decision regarding our girls. I took one of my few remaining days off of work, put on one of my suits, and made the 45 minute drive to court. Alone. Kristine had used up all of her time off from work on previous court dates, and had to rely on me communicating updates to her via cell. I sat in the waiting area, watching the other broken families waiting around me awaiting their turn to come before the judge. For those of you that have never had to go to Family Court (count yourselves lucky, first of all), it is a singular experience. It’s one that rewards/curses you with the uncanny ability to spot the damaged and the broken. You can spot the fresh from rehab mother’s/father’s with their cobbled together outfits so as to present themselves as halfway decent. You can feel the tension between ex’s as they sit across from each other, silently cursing the other for putting them in this position.

And you wonder…How did I end up here? I’m a good person, right? Anyway…

I sat before the judge, my court appointed attorney next to me. I looked over her mountain of paperwork and files, and wondered at what point she stopped seeing names and started seeing case numbers. I silently prepared myself for the inevitable outcome. After doing some online research and visiting father’s rights advocacy sites, I had realized how minuscule my chances of keeping them were.

What happened next was probably one of the most terrifying, yet exhilarating moments of my life. The judge, very matter of fact-ly, terminated jurisdiction over my case and left both of the girls in my physical custody, with 50/50 split on legal custody. I was now a full time dad again.

My ex (whom we affectionately refer to as “Satan’s lap dog”), still sees the girls every other weekend. She seems to be off drugs, and they enjoy their time with her. She also finds time in her busy schedule of squirting out kids to criticize our parenting, but finds no additional time to attend a school dance, choir performance, softball game, or teacher conference. Her phones calls to the girls that occurred like clockwork every evening have dwindled to nothing. The girls occasionally receive calls from their 8 year old half-brother who speaks like a 3 year old and their soon to be pyromaniac 4 year old half-brother.

We, however, play Rock Band as family, refer to ourselves as “Team Martinez” and have family pictures hung on our walls with pride. Marissa is a star student and Danielle is on the track team, Honor Choir, and has two more Honor’s classes. Kristine gives more of herself to the girls on a daily basis than their own mother does, and I think they know it. I know there will undoubtedly be some discussion of these events when they get older, and we welcome it. We do have our ups and downs as a family, but they know this as their home, they have friends, they have a father and step mother that love them, and they know they are safe.

We did good.

*Update - Danielle just brought home certificates for making the Principal's Honor Roll, having Perfect Attendance, and several coupons for "Jean Day" and "Cut to the head of the line".

If I were you, I'd be in love with me too.

Morning, true believers! I know it's been a while since my last post, but things at the new job have been pretty busy, so it's all I can do to keep myself awake long enough to play Halo 3 and Rock Band for 4 hours when I get home. However, it is Disco Day over at The 'Stache, so please do drop by and check it out. I will have something ready for your approval on Monday, so keep on keepin' on. Now, if you'll excuse me, some Brute's are about to storm my position and my Battle Rifle is down to 20 rounds. Fire in the hole!

Sunlight is overrated anyway

You want me to do what? Stick it in? Ok.

What’s THIS hole for? Really? Lemme slide this in. Oh yeah, perfect fit.

You want to wrap that around my head? This part goes in front of my mouth, right? Sexy.

Touch you where? Whatever turns you on, baby. Does that turn you on? Good.

Oh God, that feels so good in my hands. What’s this little nob for?

Well, looks like you’re all warmed up and ready to play. I hope you can handle this.



Um, I hope you don't mind, but I brought some friends along. I thought they could, you know, join in...

Rock out with your Bock out

Pardon the following unabashed product pimping, but Lobotomy Bock is THE BEST FUCKING BEER I HAVE EVER HAD. E-VER! I spotted this little beauty while strolling through a local Whole Foods Market beer section prior to heading over to my cousin’s house for an impromptu get together two weekends ago. Would you like to know what caught my attention besides the catchy name?

10.8% Alcohol by Volume.

Lemme repeat that, because I don’t think you heard me. 10.8% Alcohol by Volume.

To put that in more layman’s terms, here is a list of some popular beers and their approximate Alcohol by Volume:

Anchor Steam - 5.0%
Budweiser - 4.7%
Bud Ice - 5.5%
Corona - 4.8%
Guinness Draft - 4.1%
Heineken - 5.2%
Miller Lite - 4.2%
New Belgium Fat Tire - 5.3%
Newcastle Brown - 4.5%
Pabst - 4.9%
Pete's Wicked Ale - 5.2%
Rolling Rock - 4.6%
Samuel Adams Boston Lager - 4.75%
Sierra Nevada Pale Ale - 5.3%
Stella Artois - 5.2%
(by way of Realbeer)


Now, the average ABV of bock beers? 5.5-7.5%.

Lobotomy Bock has 10.8%. That's like, ummm...(carry the one...divide by four...what's the square root of 12?) LOTS more than the average bock.

And that’s in one (1) bottle, people. ONE. Believe you me, they are not lying. After one bottle, I was feeling G-O-O-D. Not only that, but it’s incredibly smooth, and goes great with the loaded burger patties that the meat department at Whole Foods carries. It’s brewed by Indian Wells Brewing Co., located at 2565 N. Highway 14, Inyokern, CA. You can check out the site for a full list of the different brews available.

Indian Wells Brewing Co, President Rick Lovett will be at the Whole Foods Market in El Segundo on PCH on February 24, 2008 from 3-7 p.m. pouring and talking about beers, so if anyone is in the area, stop by, say hello, and give Rick a pat on the back for making a kick ass beer. I'll be the guy in the corner trying to make out with a Ficus.

About a girl

This was inspired by a conversation between parents last night over dinner.

A girl’s first love is her dad.
Dad is her knight in shining armor, her prince valiant, and her superhero rolled into one.
Dad is the one that will brave fire and death to save her.
Dad is invincible, super strong, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Dad is immortal.
Her first rose, her first door held open, her first chair being pulled out, should all come from dad.
Her first Valentine is dad.
Dad can breathe fire and kiss her boo-boo’s away at the same time.
Dad can fix anything. If he can’t fix it, then it’s not broken.
If her heart is broken, dad will give her his.
Dad will push her forward, and teach her how to pick herself up when she falls.

Dad is the rule by which all other men are judged.

Office Pace

Hey folks, sorry about the lack of posts lately, but the new job has been running me ragged. They're also pretty adamant about no internet usage for personal stuff, so I've been accessing the internet only sparingly. However, I know all two of my readers can't get enough of me so here we go.

Here are a couple of incidents that occurred shortly after I started two Fridays ago that I found particularly amusing/horrifying:

1. Within three days of starting the new job, I lost both the temporary badge assigned to me AND the permanent one with my picture on it. I only just today received the replacement. See that? That's me impressing my new boss with my attention to detail.

2. I overhead the following phone conversation in the next cubicle

Co-worker:
"What? The latex one?

pause

Co-worker:
"That one's kind of flimsy, it'll slide all over the place"

pause

Co-worker:
"You'll never get it to fit"

3. The older woman training me farted. When she was right next to me. She apologized...and then proceeded to fan the fumes away with a manila folder. Never mind that I was sitting at my desk at the time and was at nose level with the folder. God, it smelled like a raccoon crawled up her ass, died, came back from the dead, ate a shit ton of taco bell and then crawled back up her ass and died again. Don't even get me started on her tea breath.

4. Whenever someone walks within 1 foot of my cubicle wall, my entire monitor wobbles from side to side and makes me want to vomit.

By the way, I went to play airsoft with my friend Eric this weekend. I had a great time with the A47 rifle and 1911 pistol, but by the end of our session (we started at 1 and ended at 3, which was about 4 or 5 games), my legs felt like lead weights. What does this mean for me now? Well, I've been walking around my office like Forrest Gump in leg braces, and making "worrrrg" sounds whenever I get up from my desk chair. The plus side, it was a great work out and I actually got a guy to surrender during my first game.

I'll post something more substantial later in the week, so please do check in. Please? Pretty please?? Only if I what? Oh God, don't make do that again? You promise you won't take pictures this time?

They never knew what hit 'em

Hey folks, just so you know, tomorrow (and every 22nd day of the month thereafter) is Disco Day at Burt Reynolds' Mustache. Stop by, check it out, tell everyone how much you love it...'cuz you know you do.

Could I BE more disinterested?

So, once I confirmed the job offer from the employer that shall remain nameless, I turned in my two weeks notice to my scatter-brained boss. This was about a week and a half ago, and I've basically been running out the clock ever since. It's very liberating, I must tell you. I guess this would be the "Acceptance" stage if I had a terminal illness. No visible tattoo's according to the dress code? Guess who's been wearing short sleeved shirts? No jeans? That's too bad, becauase I've been lookin' damn sexy in mine for the last week and a half. I'm seriously considering coming in to work drunk at this point.

I called in to my HR department and confirmed that I have about two and a half days of time off that I have accrued since I started. Today is Monday. I start the new job on Friday...

Hmmmmmmmm.

I'm seriously considering just using those up rather than having to drive to Torrance for the next three days and help with some file archiving. I mean, come on! Fucking Torrance?! That's just taking advantage, man. Do I look drunk? No. Am I wearing a prom dress? No.

So stop trying to fuck me.

Has anyone in the blogosphere that checks in to my little corner been in this situation? Speak up!

Shih Tzu's gone wild

Whatchoo talkin' bout, foo?!


IM IN YER HAWZ, HAFFIN TEH ZEX


Get my good side, bitch.