Monthly Archives: September 2012

A Loin Renaissance (Originally Published May 28, 2010)

I initially had a different topic lined up for todays blog but todays events inspired me. Little Mitch, who’s three and a half, had his cousin over for a play date today. They were playing upstairs in his room when Little Mitch comes downstairs and tells me “Daddy I put a hole in the bed.” I run upstairs with both kids to see that the fruit of my loins crawled under our brand new still not paid off bed and put his foot through the bottom of the box spring.

‘Loins’, if ever a word needed a Renaissance this word is it. We need a “Loin Renaissance.” In fact I’m officially spearheading the “Bring Back Loins” cause. I’ll have coloured ribbons, walkathons, $250 a plate fund raisers, candlelight vigils, celebrity public service announcements (Hi, I’m Will Smith and it may shock you to know that some people live their entire life and never refer to their genitalia as ‘loins’. We can make a difference, please give). 

 Pretty soon you’ll be throwing “loins” into your dirty talk rotation when you’re getting freaky with your significant other. “You like that baby? You like them loins? Yeah, you take them loins you dirty girl.” No need to thank me, I’m an idea man, its what I do. 

Back to the original point, I won’t bore you with the detail of how Little Mitch’s life almost ended today at the hands of his daddy but it did get me thinking. Before I officially became a father, when the Little Mitch was still ‘in the oven’, Mrs. Mitch made me go to the library and get some books about fatherhood. I think in total I read about five or six fatherhood books, compared to the 37 motherhood books Mrs. Mitch read. Most of the dad books were fairly practical and were about sleep deprivation, changing diapers, childhood illnesses, how to play with a baby etc. They covered the practical aspects of fatherhood. Now that I have a solid 3.5 years of fatherhood under my belt I’m going to teach you about the subjects of fatherhood those “Dad” books failed to mention.

Kids are destructive as hell. I was seriously not prepared for this. Little Mitch’s ability to break things accidentally or on purpose never fails to surprise me. The best part is when you ask him why he broke something he gives you this look that looks like a combination of confusion and that look you make in a crowded elevator when you’re trying to determine if someone just farted or you imagined it. Now here’s some sample responses as to why you never ask a 3.5 year old why they broke something, “Why did you break Daddy’s (fill in the blank)?:

“I don’t know.”

“I have testicles.”

“Poopiehead!”

“I had to.”

“Why doesn’t Mommy have a wiener?” 

Anytime any friends of mine become pregnant, I like to lay one important warning on them. I was in no way shape or form prepared for this one. Sometimes pregnant women get horny. Really horny. Not every time and not every pregnant woman but it happened to Mrs. Mitch. I think it has to do with the hormones or the fact that being knocked up makes them feel all fertile and “Earth Mothery.” At first when Mrs. Mitch was still early in the pregnancy we had no issues I could still “get it on” with my lady. 

As the pregnancy progressed though I made less “how you doin'” moves on Mrs. Mitch, eventually I stopped initiating anything whatsoever. Now you have to understand I like to think of myself as a passionate man with a very healthy sex drive, very very healthy. To quote Mrs. Mitch “I damn near had to jump you to do it when I was pregnant, you wouldn’t touch me.” One fateful night “Minimitch” couldn’t get his game on, nothing, nope, windsock. Like trying to squish a marshmallow in a piggy bank. First time EVER in 10 years of being together. You can imagine how well this went over with a pregnant hormonal wife who’s not feeling sexy because of the pregnancy weight gain. 

Now its not that I didn’t find my pregnant wife beautiful, or attractive anymore. It’s just that I never categorized pregnant women as sexual beings, and therefore in my thinking pregnant women didn’t have sex. I just never thought of them that way, much in the same way I never thought of 90 year old women, cheese, fence posts, or my parents as things that have sex. 

 I can blame some of this on some bad advice I received from my meat cutting days. I was in my twenties working with a bunch of meat cutters in their 30’s and 40’s and I remember them telling me about what happens to sex once your wife becomes pregnant. I was told that “once they get pregnant, forget it you’re never getting it again, they got the kid they wanted.” I was also told “she won’t let you touch her so don’t try.” Things along those lines, now that I think about it though most of these meat cutters had alcohol, drug, and depression problems and I think most of them ended up divorced. So theres a good indicator of how good that advice was.

So in sum, kids will break your stuff, and pregnant chicks like to get freaky. No need to thank me I’m an idea man it’s what I do. 

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Deadbeat Sports Dad (Originally Published May 25, 2010)

I am so relieved the Montreal Canadiens were eliminated from the NHL playoffs. Last summer,  after much soul searching and personal reflection I came to a startling life changing conclusion. I hate hockey. At that point the day before the 2009-2010 season began, I hung them up. I retired as a fan. I felt like a grizzled veteran who after fighting one too many battles for too many seasons had nothing left in the tank. The thought that I could have missed a championship season the year I retire as a fan was downright terrifying. 

At one time I loved the game, and was a huge fan. Over time, things between me and hockey were starting to sour. It started a few years ago; I slowly started to watch less and less games a season. If something better was on TV I would watch that justifying it to myself saying “That’s okay I can catch the highlights later.” Then one missed game turned into five, ten and so forth. You know when it’s time to quit watching a sport when you’re not even happy when your team is winning; “sure they won but the power play was pitiful.” 

I didn’t want to admit it to myself my last season as a fan.  I was in denial. I hung in there, kind of like when you’re dating someone and you know that the relationship is over but you’re both too comfortable and lazy to end it so you keep dating about 6 months longer than you should? Sure the sex was still okay but did she need to keep Facebooking her friends during?

What was it?  Where did the love go? How would we work out custody of the kids? Who gets the cabin in Kennebunkport? 

To be honest with you, I’m not really sure. It wasn’t one particular thing it was a myriad of little things. Here they are in no particular order.

Being a sports bigamist was getting to be exhausting. I was juggling two teams in two conferences and it was starting to wear thin. I felt like one of those dudes on Dateline who disappear after a ‘mysterious boating accident’ then turn up in a suburb of Arizona with a new family and when the camera crew comes and blindsides him as he’s getting out of his SUV, he’s half relieved he got caught and half blindsided he got caught. Pretty much the same look I gave Mrs. Mitch years ago gave me when she told me she wanted to get pregnant. 

Having two teams to cheer is great when they are both winning.  It also means having double the chance for disappointment when they are on losing streaks. I call this my “threesome theory.” Sure on paper it sounds titillating and a fantasy come true. Two at once? Imagine the erotic possibilities…. in reality it has a colossal percentage of failure. Not only do you stand the chance of disappointing one woman you double your odds of disappointing two broads at the same time. Wait, I’m still talking about hockey aren’t I?

One of my teams was an eastern conference team meaning that the games started at 5:30 pm. SpongeBob time. You try telling a three and half year old with no anger management skills he can’t watch SpongeBob because Daddy’s got a ten spot riding on the Wings and they got -1.5 spread to cover and see how well that goes over. About as well as saying to your wife “you know…your cousin… she’s kind of hot…now be open minded about what I’m going to propose…”

You know its time to stop watching a sport when you are inexplicably angry and bitchy…when they are winning. “Sure they won, but did you see that pathetic power play? Simply pitiful!” I was getting moodier than a 13 year old girl with self esteem issues every fourth week “Nobody understands me or my team!” as I run upstairs and slam my door and fall on my bed sobbing. 

The hockey season is too long. 82 games time two teams is 164 games a season. Thats too much of anything. It gets tiresome after a while especially at that midpoint of the season where the playoffs are still 4 months away. I just down right got bored. Too much of a good thing can get boring or what I refer to as my “Boring Porno Theory”. You ever watch a porno and your like “Wow this action is hot! That chick is awesome, look at her give that blow-job all she’s got!” Fifteen minutes later, “Is she still doing that blow-job? I’m bored. I’m going to watch Friends reruns.” 

It was suggested to me this playoff season that I could just hop back on the bandwagon. In no good conscience could I do such a deplorable act. It would turn me into the sports equivalent of the Deadbeat Dad. If I started watching hockey again only because my team made the playoffs after not watching it all season, I would be a “Deadbeat Sports Dad.” 

When the government paycheques are rolling in regularly (The team is winning) and a steady supply of Jim Beam is on hand, I would be there tucking you in, acting like your mom is my hot girlfriend, buying brand name cigarettes, pulling you out of school to teach you about the ‘real world’ and taking you to the greyhound track. All would be right with the world.  

Then when the government cheques stop rolling in, the Jim Beam dries up, I would move out because your mom is ‘getting on my nerves’, I would introduce you to my new ‘friend’ Nikkiii with 3 I’s and a bra size that is significantly larger number than her IQ, for some reason I would start calling you “Champ” all the time, I’d raid your piggy bank for cigarette money, and when you ask to come to stay at my place I would stammer “Sorry Champ, this weekend is not good Nikiii’s friend is coming over and she’s really open minded….umm errr I mean I got to work Champ, maybe at Christmas”. 

After all that, you expect me just to jump back on the bandwagon? I don’t think so “Champ.”

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The Jigging Fiasco (Originally Published May 23, 2010)

Jig:

a. Any of various lively dances in triple time.

b. The music for such a dance. Also called gigue.

So the other day, my dad calls and asks right away to speak to Mrs. Mitch. Which in itself is rather odd, normally he speaks to me then her if need be. After she hangs up the phone, I ask “what was that about?” she tells me “Dad asksed me if we wanted to go to a jigging festival Friday. He knew if he asked you, you would say ‘No’ right away. You are not much for cultural events.” 

Fast forward a couple days later I asked Mrs. Mitch what time “Monster of Jigging” was. She replies “we” are going at 8 pm, as in Mitch, Mrs. Mitch and Little Mitch. I replied that one; I had made other plans, as it was never made clear to me that I had to attend this event, two after being with me for 15 years what in her right mind would make her think that I would find this remotely entertaining? Somehow through no fault of my own I’m in the doghouse, because everyone assumed I was going after playing the “culture” card, even though no one asked me. I’m the bad guy, by circumstance, which is my ultimate pet peeve. I have no problem being an A-hole by choice but being one by circumstance is another matter entirely. 

The fallout from the “jigging” fiasco got me thinking, why can something be decidedly lame, yet the minute the “it’s culture” card is played it makes you the uncultured swine for saying no? The cold hard reality is I could care less about jigging and there is no way I could even attempt to feign interest in it? Honestly has there been any ground breaking discoveries in jigging in the past 200 years? Jigging is one of those activities where you get the general idea after about ten seconds. 

When did it become a capital crime to say “no, I do not like (fill in the blank) and I do not want to do (fill in the blank)?” Yet when you say no, people extending the invitation try to convince you why you “should” like it? Honestly this drives me nuts why can we not be honest with our likes and dislikes anymore?

For me this fits in with my personal tenet of “honesty in all aspects” approach I am trying to apply to my life. If you don’t like something and don’t want to do it just be honest and say so. You don’t need to be negative or rude, just be honest and forthcoming. You can say “you know that’s not really my thing, but you have good time. I’m going to stay home, surf the net for lesbian porn then maybe watch Lethal Weapon 2.” 

Of course one could argue I ended up doing my own form of “jigging” that night. To the lesbians not Mel….damn walk right into that one didn’t I?

 
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Classic Mitch Post Originally Posted May 15, 2010.

Mitch Welcome to my blog. You can call me Mitch. As you can tell by the name of the site my philosophy is laid right out for you. I’ve come to a point in my adult life where I think I have reached a new level of self awareness and honesty. I have made a conscious decision to be honest with myself, my family, and every aspect of my life. I vow I will always be one hundred percent honest when I write this blog.

 

What will my content be? Frankly, I don’t know. I really just want to write about whatever I feel like discussing that day. I do know what I don’t want my writing to become. I don’t want it to become one of those opinion pieces that are negative in an attempt to  be funny. You are either funny or you are not, I believe it just happens naturally. Some writers think that you have to have a negative slant about everything to be funny. Frankly I don’t, yes I realize the irony of disagreeing with that. 

 I don’t want anger to creep into my blog. I feel a lot of opinion writers fall into the trap of thinking that they always need to be controversial and cutting edge; so to achieve that they need to be angry all the time. Coming from a reformed anger junkie, that bit gets real old real quick. 

I’m hoping my blog will be entertaining, readable and not turn into a pretentious masturbatory ego piece. For example, you’ll never see me at a coffee shop writing on my laptop, too cliche, plus I don’t want to have to start wearing turtlenecks, scarf and a military messenger bag to look the part of “want to be writer”. Actually that look also says “I have  $30 000 in student loan debt from my arts degree and I work at this coffee shop, room for cream?”

 

I’ll write about my personal life, my family, things I like, ideas I have, basically anything under the sun I feel like talking about. I’m going to think of this as an online diary, no strike that, sounds too girly. Journal? Too granola for my liking. Log book? Too high potential for fecal humour. Rant? Trying too hard. Chronicles?  Not enough. Chronicles of Mitch? Doesn’t sound right. Mitch Chronicles. That might be the one. Mitch Chronicles, that feels right.  Plus when they option my book  into a film “Mitch Chronicles” sounds indie but legitimate enough to pad my credibility stats.  I hope they get Leo to play me. 

I’m wrapping this up here, got  much needed  date night with Mrs. Mitch, the little Mitch is at  sleepover at Grandma’s. There you learned something about Mitch, got myself a wife and child.  I learned I am way out of practise writing.

-Mitch 

The Chronicles Begin. (Originally Published May 15 2010)

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