He loves you. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch endorses Charlie Dooley for St. Louis County executive
October 20, 2010 By Leave a Comment
Democrats hammer away on secret money ads
October 20, 2010 By Leave a Comment
You know what? It’s about time they found a working narrative and ran with it.
Pro athletes are stupid
October 8, 2010 By 1 Comment
Two things I’ll never understand about pro athletes:
- Why they think it’s acceptable to go clubbin’ (or whatever the hell they do involving copious amounts of booze and ‘substances’) and then try to drive. Dudes, here’s some free advice: buy a totally sweet ride and pay someone you trust to be your Designated Driver. This is a no-brainer. Plus, how baller is that to have your own chauffeur?! Isn’t that the dream?
- Why they think it’s cool to snap cell phone pics of their dongs and send them to ladies. Do they really think that the gal they’re aggressively after is going to glance at her phone, do a quadruple-take, then suddenly change their minds about the whole she-bang (woah, PUN totally INTENDED).
All you have to do is look at Pro Football Talk’s police blotter section to see how many of these circumstances could have been avoided by 1) not driving; 2) not sending schlong pics to sideline reporters.
Jane’s birthday retrospective
June 15, 2010 By 3 Comments
I have a family blog, but wanted to share this here, because it’s a completely different audience, and because I’m literally beaming right now with happiness that my daughter, Jane, fought her way from a 2 lb 3 oz preemie to a really healthy, active little one year old.
I stopped by Trader Joe’s on the way home from our “28 Week Party” at the hospital to pick up something for dinner. Unfortunately, that “something” turned out to be the makings of a wickedly awesome Chicken Tikka Masala and whole bottle of Charles Shaw Savignon Blanc.
Cheap date, I know.
I was eating this heartburn-inducing Indian food and drinking wine while exchanging text messages from Rebecca in the hospital. We were both watching the Indians no-hit the Cardinals late into the game.
Then I got a phone call: Better hurry, there were contractions and they were getting serious.
I frantically packed a bag with all sorts of stuff I thought I’d need – our Canon DSLR, my iPhone charger, my laptop (why? I have no idea), a Baltimore Ravens cap, some toiletries and hauled ass out to St. John’s to meet Rebecca in her new downstairs room. Antipardem was so yesterday’s news at this point: we were back in Labor and Delivery.
Try as I might, I couldn’t beat Rebecca’s parents to the hospital. Odds are, though, they hadn’t been wrecking their stomachs on Indian and a whole bottle of wine. I digress.
I had the hardest time sleeping in a really uncomfortable chair in the L&D room. Nurses would come in and out, checking on Rebecca, looking at charts – the usual. No matter how bad I think I had it, poor Rebecca had it worse. Fighting contractions, just trying to keep Jane from making an early entrance into the world. Plus, she was doped up on a pretty odd cocktail of drugs.
At around 6am, we had some activity in the room, and were told that we’re likely having a baby today. Around 8am, we were told that we’d be at the top of the priority list for delivery. That was fast, right? I chronicled as much as I could on Twitter:
Pretty heavy stuff.
A bit closer, I kept people in the know. And then, before I knew it, I was a dad.
It’s been fun watching her grow. Here’s a spreadsheet I put together of her weight while in the hospital. This was over the span of a few months:
And here she is, today, totally demolishing a cupcake:
