Mr. Grumpy

My last day off was sometime in November. I've been working every day with a lot of 10 and 12 hour days. So I've been a little grumpy and not as focused mentally. I was in the drugstore tonight and the girl checking me out told me the total. I was writing a check and for the life of me couldn't remember the date. I asked and she said the 18th. So I dutifully wrote out a check for $18. I caught my mistake and told her what I did ad asked if she'd mind making change for my check. She said no problem and mentioned I looked tired. I said yes and mentioned I'd been working a lot. The other store employees piped in to the conversation. We talked about Christmas plans. The exchange was typical drugstore small talk.

Then it happened. The pharmacist rang out a hearty "Merry Christmas Mr. Ipsa". The counter girl joined in as did 3 or 4 others. Little exclamations of "Happy New Year" and "have a great holiday" filled the shop. Despite spending the day mostly cold with a number of hassles and some disappointments at work, I was no longer grumpy. I felt down right spiffy. I still do.

To all my blog friends, thanks for stopping by this last year and sharing my joys and sorrows. Even though its still a week away, and incredibly politically incorrect to say so:

Merry Christmas!

Contradiction?

I made the mistake of listening to talk radio today. The host was making a big deal of Mit the Mormon and his speech to explain his faith. The monolog focused on the fact that 1. Mit was a good solid man of strong personal conviction whose faith is very important to him. AND 2. Mit’s faith would play no part in influencing his decision making if he is elected President.

To recap; Mit has a deep faith that won’t effect him one whit in his daily life or in making choices that affect Americans and possibly others throughout the world.

What good is this so called faith? Is he lying about having a strong faith, or is he lying about how he makes decisions? No wonder they are comparing him and his speech to JFK.

Politics

I told Waterboy that I was going to shill for Ron Paul this election. I haven't keep up with that so...

Questions for you Ron Paul nay sayers:

1. What professed and practiced political principals of Ron Paul do you object to and why?
2. Would you have voted for or against Thomas Jefferson?
3. What exactly is it about George Washington's foreign policy that you find unAmerican?
4. Why do you object to turning moral and social issues over to the states and keeping the Federal government out of them?

There isn't a single Republican front runner that doesn't share at least 50 to 75% of Hillary Clinton's political/governmental/social philosophy. Remember, this is the most important election of our time. We can't afford to elect anyone other than a true American patriot to the White House. Ron Paul in 2008!

$1.69 Well Spent

Mrs Ipsa and the boy spent Thanksgiving at the grandparents. The boy learned a fun new game at the wife's folks house. Grandma and Grandpa have a finished basement. They keep their shoes at the top of the stairs. The boy learned that if he throws the shoes from the top of the stairs, he can make them go a long way. So he pitches the shoes and watches them fall down the stairs, then he laughs. This is great fun.

Grandfathers, are not made up of atoms, they consist entirely of sub-atomic anti-discipline particles. This molecular anomaly causes them to encourage behavior they would have paddled their own children for engaging in. According to second hand accounts, when the boy threw the boots and shoes downstairs and giggled, grandpa rushed to pick up the formerly air born items and place them within easy grasp for relaunching. This was so entertaining and addicting a past time that my father-in-law is now encouraging other family members to chuck stuff for him to chase. I'm not looking forward to explaining to the boy that its his fault grandpa is a Labrador Retriever.

The lad returned form Thanksgiving very keen on playing "the game". We don't keep our shoes by the stairs. Bummer for the boy. Youth is blessed with endless imagination. My son, being a very bright and resourceful boy, discovered that if he tried real hard, he could imagine that the tin cans in the pantry were shoes. He launched them downstairs with great enthusiasm. So great was his zeal that he almost got the glass jars, including the one filled with honey, air born.

At that point, Daddy, aka, Father Kill Joy, put the breaks on "the game". I must of said some less than understanding things to the Wife, about watching the kid, closing pantry doors, etc. She informed me that all male children under the age of 42 years, are capable of creating havoc in less than point 3 nano-seconds. Apparently its also my fault her father taught the boy "the game". To redeem myself, I made the nearly ultimate sacrifice. I went into K-Mart during the pre-Christmas shopping season. The Ultimate Sacrifice being of course, going into Wal Mart.

I was focused, a man on a mission. Fighting throngs of blue haired women, I made it to the relative peaceful sporting goods section of the store. Diligently I sought out my quarry. I found them, bright yellow, somewhat bouncy, made in China to a quality standard that no self respecting player would ever use, tennis balls. I dashed to the checkout.

We have a new game now. Toss the tennis balls is very popular at the Ipsa household. The boy tosses the balls downstairs, giggles and daddy tosses them back. We're branching out into more advanced levels of the game. The other night we played toss with mommy. We sat on the couch and mommy sat on the floor and played catch. Some balls rolled under the couch. Mommy reached under to fetch them out. The boy chucked a ball and beaned mommy on the head. He laughed like that was the funnest thing he ever saw.

I stopped myself before I asked her if she'd still rather be playing "the game" with number 9 cans.

Politically Correct Santa

'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves",
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.

And labour conditions at the North Pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.

And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the C.A.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their rooftops.

Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called "Unenlightened."
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows:
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose.

So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.

And as for the gifts, why, he'd never a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.

Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamoured or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys.

Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.

And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passé;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, dishevelled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.

He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.

Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;

Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even YOU.
So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
"May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth."

sort of sad

When I was a younger man I assumed I'd have kids one day. The subject wasn't one I thought about much, I just assumed it would happen. I'm fairly certain that I put more brain power into the part leading up to making kids than how I'd feel about the kids themselves. Psychologists have a term that describes this type of thinking "normal red blooded American male heterosexuality".

After being married a few years, you expect that a certain amount of practice would make perfect and a colony of rug rats would mysteriously spring up in the living room. Then I turned thirty, no kids, still no worries lots of time. More time past, then even more time. We had great vacations and got to do stuff that many others are age didn't. Still no kids. Right before Mrs Ipsa hit the BIG 40 we had the boy.

Frankly I love it. Even the parts I don't care for are still pretty darn good. When I was younger I couldn't wait for the next stage in life, but now I don't have that problem. I like this stage. I enjoy my days of being the dad. I like playing. I like being a dad and I'm very thankful for the experience of being the father of a son. Still I'd like to have a daughter or maybe another boy or two.

Mrs. Ipsa was at an out of state CME conference yesterday when she miscarried a baby that she didn't know she was pregnant with. She seems ok. Me? Not so much. I'm not grieving like I did when we lost my niece last year, but I'm not a happy camper.