Still no word from Katy Perry; my home state team isn’t going to the Super Bowl after looking like the J.V last night, nor did I hit the lottery this weekend. It’s January 19th, and it was in the fifties today, so work was absolutely humming today. I got to field various calls from neophytes. Did HGTV run an all weekend special and not inform me? In a span of five minutes today the following occurred: Caller #1, “Do you carry colored rocks for fish tanks?” No ma’am we deal in limestone; call the pet store! Caller # 2, “My driveway fits eight cars from one end to the other. How much rock do I need?” Are we talking stretch limousine or Chevy Sparks? Caller # 3, “I’m Cindy Stephenson, and I am Katy Perry’s public relations director. It was brought to my attention that you have launched your own personal win a date with Katy Perry contest, and Katy would love for you to be her date at the Super Bowl. Please stand by while I get the relevant information.” I may or may not have made that last one up, but the first two happened, and I managed to get by without cramming an ice pick in my temple. I love my job, but dealing with the public can sometimes be more than a little frustrating!
Didn’t have my little blonde bomber today, but Wednesday will be here soon enough, and we can go back to our life and death games of Nerf H-O-R-S-E and pull hamster toenails to get a confession out of the little KGB mole. I added a new page on here today called Skipah’s Clubhouse. It’s various blogs I read from people who actually know what in the hell they are doing. So give them a look; mention you accessed it from http://www.skipahsrealm.com, and you get a lifetime subscription to my blog. I’m in the giving spirit tonight. All kidding aside, some really good dudes with some pretty amazing children and families. I’m in the process of working on something else for all my friends that stuck with me all summer and the new friends that I have gained. It,s nothing that is going to make them billionaires, but my own little subtle “Thank You.” Call it my own personal “Pay if Forward” event. I’ll let everyone know when I get it completed.
It’s amazing once you are through your divorce and ready to be a contributing member to society again. I’ve glossed over it before, but I’m in “The Club,” the divorced man club. Now I get to trade war stories with other guys like we both were holding down a position at Omaha Beach. It’s a fun club to be a part of once you get used to it. You talk to your married friends who are bitching about their spouses, and you quickly get to interject, “I don’t have these problems anymore sucker!” Sure it has pros and cons, but these days the pros far outweigh the cons! Out in public and someone wants to be flirty, no guilt feeling for me (and nothing wrong with married men doing a little innocous flirting, been there and have the t-shirt, but you are a douche bag if you over step the innocous while being married!) It’s a membership badge I wear with pride and honor now. I have been seated at the table, and since I was the blindsided one in my divorce, the super secret initiation process was waved for me. Morning run at my local Circle K and I get to trade single jokes with other single guys. Get to use words that rhyme with itch and store a lot; hear about wins and losses in custody; trade financial woes, but most of all it’s just about having fun. It was my New Year’s resolution and so far it’s been fun (financial woes not withstanding). I like to think I’m one of the good guys in “The Club.” If you are in the club because you were a shitty father or a shitty husband (i.e. adulterer, abuser), then you get seated at the other table when the club has it’s annual meeting. You are only in the club because you are divorced, but you aren’t allowed to participate in father-daughter dances, father-son picnics with the Boy Scouts, and nobody wants to hear about your new girlfriend that you lied about while you were married. You sir are an asshat, and you take our club down a notch and only confirm the stereotype of many divorced men. Special place for those outcasts in the divorced club; it’s called the I’ve been divorced “insert number” this many times. That guy brings us all down as a gender. Here is an idea for you asshole, you fathered a kid(s) – take a little freaking responsibility. Having a child is the easy part; raising it is the work. I know what I had to go through to join the club. It sucked gorilla balls to go through, but I never wavered when it came to being a father. Marriages break down for a variety of reasons, but don’t be an effing deadbeat; don’t just assume the minimum custody of your particular state you live in. Frigging fight; the ones that don’t fight bring us down as a species!
Think that is going to do it for me tonight. I’m climbing off of my soap box now and going to enjoy chasing Hammy around in his ball (yes I let him get some R & R when Sloane isn’t hear). I’m a proud member of the club now though, and don’t judge me for it!