Thursday, August 17

Uncle CDP.

The CDP - 1981.

When my life is over and the book is finally written about me, let it be known that I was always out there, putting my ass on the line for you people.

I'm not a bystander in the game of life- no, I'm behind the wheel, constantly putting myself at great personal risk and danger for the greater good. Sure, there was a time when I was content to stay on the sidelines, dip my toes ever so gently into the water and soforth, but no more! I do things for entertainment that would send most people running for the hills. I travel far and wide, looking for something, anything to allow me to make sense of this troubled world.

I'm sort of a hero. You should donate money, the link's on the right.

I know what you're thinking. "Why are you bringing this up? We already know how amazing you are; we saw your special on the Biography Channel. That James Earl Jones can narrate like a mo-fo!"

That's all well and good, but something happened to me on Monday that changed my life forever. Maybe it will change yours, too.

I went to a baby shower.

That's right. In what might be the first documented instance of its kind, the CDP- a grown man with male reproductive organs- was invited and welcomed to a gathering that's historically known for being women-only. I wore no disguise and came right through the front door.

Perhaps some backstory is in order. Comin' right up.

You see, my sister (hereby known as the Sissus) is having a baby boy. She's due in about two weeks, and the family couldn't be more excited or mortified. I've chosen to omit this sensitive information from the CDP for the last eight-and-a-half months out of respect for the mother-to-be (it's really not my news to be sharing, after all). Of course, now that she's as big as a Dodge Dart and has more of a hormonal imbalance than Barry Bonds, all bets are off.

I'm about to share this information with you as more of a public service than anything. I know that the bulk of my readers are males, and have no idea what sorts of shin-diggery transpire when 20 mothers congregate in a small area. Sure, we've all seen artist's renditions and blurry Polaroids, but I showed up in the flesh. Of course, this is dangerous work that I don't recommend trying at home. Remember, I do these things so you don't have to.

I was personally invited to this shower by the guest of honor. Initially, just the Missus was attending, until the Sissus decided she wanted me there for moral support and general Big Brother-esque duties. In reality, I think she just needed someone to carry the gifts to the car. Nonetheless, I was there for her.

One by one, the guests arrived. It was the same pattern for each of them. They would greet my sister at the door, set their gifts on a table, walk into the living room and stop dead in their tracks upon seeing me.

Guest - "Oh! ....Hello. I didn't expect to see you here."

Me - (After taking a long sip of fruit punch) "I was invited. How's it hangin'?"

The personal invite was my all-access, VIP pass into the secret realm of the suburban Mother and Housewife. I wore it like a badge and flashed it periodically when I needed to cut in line at the buffet. These women know how to eat.

Once all the ladies got over their general disgust of my presence (I'm kidding, they were all very kind to me; I was fetching drinks like nobody's business), the baby shower kicked into gear.

The first thing I quickly realized is that a baby shower is more or less a roast for the Guest of Honor. All of the moms in attendance bust out their "A" material- the most horrific baby stories they have- as a way to frighten and emotionally scar the mother-to-be. Tales of diapers, bodily fluids, rashes and the like. Save for one of the guests, who proudly exclaimed to the crowd that she didn't have a uterus.

I'm leaving.

I had the car keys in my hand and was heading for the door when my eyes caught a tray of deviled eggs in the kitchen. They had me trapped; I wasn't going anywhere. I sat back down with an armload of said eggs and listened to the next round of horror stories.

When groups of people that share a common bond get together (especially women), they always have to try to one-up each other with their tales. When it comes to a room full of moms, it's the same deal, only far worse. If Mom #1 was in labor for 18 hours, then Mom #2 was in labor for eight days. If Mom #1's baby was born with the cord around their neck, Mom #2's baby was born inside-out. Stuff like that.

Next up were the games. We played a Scattergories-style game where we had to come up with as many baby-related words as possible in two minutes. My list consisted entirely of brand names (Huggies, Gerber, etc.), due to me being a consumer zombie that has no concept of what a living baby actually is. I lost this game.

We all ate before the Sissus opened her gifts, and I finished off what was left of the deviled eggs. I ate about 9 of them, and they're still making their way through my system as I write this. I'd like to go on record in stating that it was totally worth it.

For the next hour, I watched my sister unwrap thousands of dollars worth of items necessary to maintain, groom, heal, nurse, raise and wash a newborn infant. She got things that I had never seen before, nor would I ever want to see again. I also got a detailed and scientific description on how much excrement a baby produces every hour. All this did was solidify my joy of living in a child-less home. Each night I pray that this doesn't change for at least a few more years. I'm seriously considering having myself fixed just to hedge my bets a tad.

However, as I watched my sister well up with tears and profusely thank all of the women (and me) for their generosity, it became very clear why I was there that day. In a few short weeks, the life of my family will change forever. I will never simply visit my sister and mother again; from now on, I'll visit my sister, mother and nephew. Family photos will have to be updated; outlets and sharp corners will have to be protected at all times. I'll be doing everything I can to not get in the way, not to screw up any details.

She's been such a good sister and daughter, I see no reason why she won't be an amazing mother. I'll be watching your back, just in case.

So, what gift did I purchase for the new baby?

A t-shirt that says "She shakes me" on it. Everyone got a good laugh.

Congratulations, CDP's sister!

Also, speaking of James Earl Jones, have you seen The Vader Sessions on youtube? Funniest thing ever on youtube.
I was at work yesterday and this kid walked in wearing what could only be called a "Communist Dance Party" T-Shirt. So naturally I accosted him (before he even ordered his food) and demanded to know where he got such a thing. He said that he bought it at ""

So, when I got off of work last night I went online and found the shirt, but it is out of print. I think you can request a reprint, but if you are coming out with a "super-cool" t-shirt of your very own, it's probably not worth it.

Anyway, here's the address to the shirt:

Also, Baby Showers freak me out...and there usually isn't any alcohol to make the games remotely fun, out of respect for the mom-to-be. Boo!
PASTE: Thanks for the kind words; I'll check out the Vader Sessions ASAP.

GODOT: You won't believe it, but Paste directed me to that shirt several months ago; I have one in my closet as we speak. It really is a cool shirt, even though I never have a good opportunity to wear it.

I'm still working on merch, but it's being pushed back for one reason or another. I'm hoping to have everything done before LOST starts again.
Yeah...I'm at that stage in life where a lot of my friends are having kids. In fact my "niece" just turned one a month ago.

Point of advice: One-year-old's birthday parties are always BYOB. No booze supplied, for some reason.

Also, even if you do BYOB, don't advertise it. Half the people will be mad you're drinking around the baby, and the other half will be complete mooches and steal your beer..
I have a feeling it's going to be a while until any of my close friends start producing babies. I'm glad.

If I ever have children, I'm going to make them wear fake moustaches everywhere. It'll be hilarious.
Baby moustaches are about the best idea I've ever heard.

It's enough to almost make me go out and adopt a kid (or just borrow my niece for a day).
Drunk babies with moustaches is an even better idea. Maybe even a few of those baby toupee's they advertise on SNL.
That's just bad parenting.
Huggies Thong
I just don't think that would get the job done.
It actually makes a bigger mess than if the baby wasn't wearing a diaper at all.
Okay, the Vader Sessions is just brilliant.
Yeah, that was pretty good.

Speaking of Vader, I saw this recently and it was pretty entertaining:

Chad Vader: Day-Shift Manager
Oh my god!! Did you really get that shirt for the baby?

If so, where did you get it? I love it!!!
I didn't actually get that shirt for the baby, but I can damn sure make one on Cafe Press. Knowing my sister, she'd put in on him just before they head out to the supermarket. She's funny like that.

I saw an actual baby shirt in the Onion that simply said "Illiterate". I got a kick out of it.

Nice grill.
Awe... too bad. It would be totally tasteless to give that to someone's kid, but so awesome at the same time.

Perfectly up my alley...

Yeah... I'm the queen of the BBQ.
It would have been priceless to bust that shirt out in front of the Baby Shower crowd. I would have been nailed to a tree in the front yard, as a warning for any other men who want to try to be funny.

I have a fascination with grills. I love them, despite being someone who will probably never use them again. This goes back to my Hardware Store days. I think they are beautiful creations of chrome and fire; I feel about them the way most men feel about pimped-out cars and choppers. They make me really happy, and I always check them out if I pass them at a store.

I have no idea why. I just think they're awesome.
In the mail, let me know when you get it. Should be today or tomorrow.
I'm so excited, I could spit. In fact, I just did.
Then your pile of spit can join the baggie of Paul London's freeze-dried spit, because that's what RJ is sending you.
P.S. I am going to be an aunt!
Ah, the baby shower. But what you experienced is nothing compared to The Couple's Baby Shower
"In the old days, it used to be that showers were the domain of the female friends of the mother-to-be, giving the husbands and boyfriends a free afternoon to loaf around in their underpants and eat Manwich straight out of a saucepan. I call these the 'glory days.'"

Read Todd's post. Now. Sometimes our writing styles border on infringement. It's scary.

What's cooler? Being an aunt, or being the owner of Paul London's freeze-dried spit?
It is funny how often our styles and topics overlap, especially since I wrote that about 2 years ago...

Now I'm hungry for Manwich.
It's just so the missus can make a Paul London clone, really.
A sandwich is just a sandwich, but a Manwich is a meal. A wise man once told me that.

I look a little like Paul London. Right?

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