Big Daddy Paul

Oakland is a strange and wonderful place. The city has found itself in the embarrassing position of not having any more money and, to try and make some, they are going crazy with the parking tickets.  We have received three in the past month, and I had to go to city hall today to demonstrate that my front license plate had been replaced.  Yes, I got a $80 parking ticket for not having my front license plate. Seriously. Those of you who wonder where the license plate went should ask Amy how closely she pays attention to the car in front of her when she is getting on the freeway.

So, with a shiny new license plate and a signature from a cop who swears that the license plate was there, I headed into downtown Oakland to prove that I had fixed my ticket and, in the process, saved $70 off the tab.  I noticed that I take a couple of shortcuts in life when I was walking to city hall.  The first thing I noticed was the carrying vessel I used for my coffee.  Unable to locate my state-of-the-art thermal coffee mug (in the last month) I have resorted to using Malkie’s sippy cup to schlep my coffee around.  I also noticed that I took the shortcuts of not combing my hair and not zipping my fly. So, today, the residents of downtown Oakland were treated to the sight of a messy haired man with an unzipped fly taking hits off of a bright orange sippy cup.  I was, for all intents and purposed, a very large child walking around without parent. Of course, I didn’t notice any of the above until I walked past some people whereby I realized how much I have let myself go.  I need to make some major life changes.

My sense of innocent ignorance stayed with me when I reached the parking office.  When I arrived, there was a group of people sitting in the chairs waiting for their turn.  I walked in and wanted to say, “Hi there everybody!  It’s real nice to meet ya!”, but the angry look in their eyes told me that their response would have been for me to “Shut the fuck up!”  One woman seemed greatly displeased at having received a ticket, and was yelling at the poor counter worker.  At one point she slammed her fist against the counter to show her rage against the injustice, and when that failed to elicit the dismissal she desired, she stormed out of the room.  I secretly believed that she was going to lose, as anyone dumb enough to yell at the counter person at a city office is probably parking in the wrong spot.

I sat their listening to everyone’s sad stories about emergency trips to the store, out of control employees and children who had stolen the car. Over and over I heard the pleas for mercy, and when none came, outrage and defiance.  I wanted to get worked up, but I was beating my phone at scrabble, so I was in a pretty good mood.  When my number got called, I fixed my ticket and walked out of there with a clean parking bill of health.  Now, I just need to work on my appearance.

I met up with my friend Betsy at a park today.  Betsy and I get along well, our kids really got along really well and the playdate was really fun.  Sadly,though, at the end of our playdate, I was thrown from play date dad into a moral conundrum. After I put Malcolm into his car seat, a man walked up to our car and asked if he could use my cell phone to call his wife.  I had a million outs as to why I couldn’t let him: it was late and Malcolm needed to get going, it was hot and I didn’t want to leave Malcolm in a hot car, I love my cell phone and I get nervous when Amy uses it, to name a few. For whatever reason, I got out of the hot car and handed him my phone. 

I am inherently distrustful of strangers, and I fully expected him to run off with my beloved Iphone as soon as I handed it to him.  I stood close to him, just to let him know that he was not going to run off with my precious without a race.  (I later realized that my thought that I would have run after him would have been hilarious, as what the hell would sad old Paul done with a phone robber after he caught him and tackled him in the parking lot of a local park!) Even with me standing inappropriately close, he called his wife and spoke to her.  The conversation was in Spanish, so I couldn’t fully understand what they talked about.  I could definitely tell that he was getting his ass handed to him for doing something wrong, and those were the best words that I did not understand that I had ever heard.  (Either that or my broken Spanish blinded me to the fact that he ordered some lumber from Home Depot and the wood had not arrived yet.)  The guy handed me the phone back, and, when I finally started breathing again, I was glad to retrieve my phone.

Sure it was a risky; I risked not getting my phone stolen , and also risked seeming like a complete asshole who won’t help a guy tell his wife that he has spent the afternoon at a local sports bar.  In the end, I took the risk, hoping to help out a random stranger.  Good or bad, I wanted to live in a world where we help each other out, even when you have no invested reason to.    My question to you is, would you all have done the same, or do I have some serious attachment issues with my cell phone? Lemme know.

Malcolm and I visited Amy at her office last Thursday.  It was our first office visit, as her office is far away and Amy usually goes there when Malcolm is in preschool.  Drive to eat lunch with my wife?, Not likely, as I don’t think i could get on her calendar without Malcolm.  Since Malcolm has the summer off from school, we decided to visit the place that pays all our bills.  It was, in many ways, different than a normal day.

I showered. Normally, my cleaning involves a quick how do you do with a baby wipe, usually while running out the door.  I am afraid that if I actually took a shower during the day, Malcolm would find a way to throw the broom, javelin style, into the TV.  Thursday, however, Rosie was cleaning the house, and I had Malcolm follow her around while I  frantically scrubbed away a few years of grime. Amy gave Malcolm a morning bath, so we both were as clean as a Chihuahua in a dishwasher.

I combed my hair.  It has been too long since I have paid my hairdresser a visit and my head is a little unmanageable.  My hair looks like cat throw up right now, and I just hide it under a Beer Nuts hut most of the time.   I don’t think the fine people at Oracle are as big of fans of Beer Nuts as I, so I did what I never, ever want to do.  I took a brush, raised in to my head, and actually made my hair look amazing.  It was hard, but one of the things you should do for your spouse is look presentable every couple of months.

I put on pants.  Sigh.  I had a nice little steak going on too.  I had gone maybe 2 months without covering my knees, and I hated to see the streak go down.  (Last year I made it for over 4 months, but I kinda cheated by freezing my ass off in a spring snowstorm and then wearing cargo shorts to Chez Panisse.)  I have really nice legs and I like to show them off, so covering them up seems like a sin.  Mostly though, I just don’t like to sweat. Putting on pants quadruples the likelihood that my face will end up as some sort of glossy sponge, but I counteracted the threat by putting on additional coats of anti-perspirant.

I did many of the same things for Malcolm, and we set off to impress to nice folks at Oracle with how clean and dressed we were.  When we got there, sadly, it appeared that we were way too classy for what was going on.  People were walking around with bottles of champagne and others were hiding in their offices reading books (supposedly the “server was out”, but Amy uses that excuse all the time in response to my advances.  I know it is a lie!)  The kicker is that they were screening WKRP in Cincinnati on the big screen.  Some job Amy has.  Next time I visit, I am going in shorts and bringing Beer Nuts for the show.

So we we were at the park yesterday, as we always are on Mondays, having a good time and enjoying the afternoon.  We were in Castro Valley (a suburb) and the park was full of regular looking moms, dads, and nannies.  (Of course, there was one really hot dad there but he carries himself so well that you would never know it.)

We were preparing to leave, when a nanny with enormous breasts walked by us.  Of course, I alerted the dad’s still there to her presence by saying the following, “Man I had an enormous breakfast this morning.  And when I say enormous, I mean enormous (Nodding her way.)”  The other fellas took my cue and one by one we were able to gaze with wonder at the nanny’s exceptional “parenting skills.”  And then an extremely hot mom walked right by, followed closely by another.  We looked around and the place had become overrun by hot moms and nannies. What great luck!  Sadly, nap time was quickly approaching, and we were charged with either staying at the park or honoring nap time.

Ultimately, we respected the schedule, and walked the kids to the car, saddened to leave the party just when it was getting good.  We walked past the swings where one of the hot moms was standing, and our conversation stopped as we both had to suck in our gut so far that neither of us could breathe, much less talk.  When we got to the cars, I turned back for one final glimpse of the park, and wouldn’t you know it, the moms were checking us out!  Well, according to me they were checking us out, in reality they were probably just shaking their heads and making sure the perverts were actually leaving the park.

There were a couple of new guys there, so I thought I would give a few pointers to help new stay at home dads ogle hot women without getting busted:

1. Wear sunglasses (the mirrored lenses).  No one can see what you are looking at and if you point yourself in the right direction, you are, for all intents and purposes, looking at a tree.

2. Never point, it’s rude. Nod discreetly, use the hours of the clock to indicate direction, use children as reference points. Women know when they are getting pointed at, and generally don’t like it.  Now if you say, “I find that 12:00 is the best time of day to enjoy a chicken leg, you will generally be fine.”

3. Never, ever use the terms rack, hooters, or fun bags.  Also, never, ever say, “check out.”  It’s just too obvious.  A couple of dad’s almost got kicked out of a park in Berkeley for pointing at a sunbather and saying, “check out the rack on that one.”  “That one” was, of course aware of what was going on, and trouble ensued.

4. Do not approach women.  It is icky and weird and no one likes getting hit on at a park (even me!).  Now if your kid goes over there you are free to follow.  As the kids get older, you can train them to go over and say, “Mommy’s in heaven”  There is no better wing man on a planet than a kid.