Sith Lord Shaming

The PCPPP offices are still closed for the long Thanksgiving weekend - OK, fine we can’t find our keys - so in lieu of a regular post we give you Sith Lord Shaming which we started doing on our Facebook page which can totally be liked by going here, here, or here or all the way over here and then clicking “like”.

The whole “shaming” thing we believe started with dog shaming, then there was baby shaming, and then mom shaming, etc. So obviously the next logical step was Sith Lord Shaming. Here you go:

Dude, Where's My Life?

As our dedicated legions of fans well know, Christian and I are both parents. Of children. We have been for awhile now, and it looks like we will be for at least a bit longer.

Recently, I’ve noticed how those children--the ones I parent--are taking up more of the time that I had considered mine. It probably comes as no surprise to others, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little dismayed at the idea that their existence should infringe upon my life. Especially when I want to spend moments of my precious life doing, well...nothing, or not much, or very little.

Here’s where my wife would probably come in and say, “Seriously, were you not aware of that part of the deal when we made that decision?” To which I would reply with a dopey looking stare, and a sad hunch of the shoulders.

But...this blog is about nothing if not radical honesty, so I say to you, Christian, and to our friends, that I think I am that kind of dad who loves his kids, but who loves the idea of some personal time maybe a bit more.

I’m ready for the hate mail responses on this one, or maybe even the call from CPS.

What are your thoughts, blog-buddy?

Christian: Oh dear God, your children are several years older than mine, and you’re saying it doesn’t GET ANY BETTER? I hardly ever have any free time right now and you’re telling me that never changes? I’m kind of freaking out here.

**grabs two bottles of scotch and a sleeping bag**

What about that Golden Age of children you keep telling me about? Where they reach an age where they want nothing to do with you?

Are you saying that doesn’t exist?

**grabs toothbrush, kermit the frog puppet, poors one bottle of scotch into half empty can of pringles**

I’m kind of having a hard time breathing right now. This is not the kind of news I wanted to hear. I don’t get more time to myself as the kids get older? It’s already been four years, for the love of god’s free time!

**finds a nice corner of the basement to hide, climbs into sleeping bag head first, starts drinking from pringles can**

Pat:  Hmm...is your wife hating me right now? Sorry to send you into another spiral.

No, it’s not really that bad. I mean, I get to do plenty of things that I want to do. Like go to the hardware store....to get supplies to fix the things that, over the years, the kids have broken. Or to the library...to pick up books that the kids have put on hold. Or to the county fair...where I get to listen to the tweener Nickelodeon pop starlet that my daughter loves.

See, it’s not that bad. In fact, on the right day, I might even be wearing the kind of glasses that make such a life look really good.

That turn things around for you?

Christian: I don’t know.

**cuts holes in sleeping bag to fit arms and head through**

Those things you listed sound an awful lot like parenting to me.

**goes searching for supplies in basement, tells kermit the frog puppet to “Stay here and keep quiet”**

Granted right now a lot of my free time is spent wiping butts, reading mindless books, and spending hours working on four-piece puzzles, so your list actually does sound slightly better. But only slightly better.

**finds VHS copy of Red Dawn, box of butterfingers, and Christmas decorations, makes bandana out of silver tinsel, whispers to self “Wolverines”**

What about my dreams of learning a second language or learning to scuba dive? Granted I really never planned on actually doing those things but I have grown very attached to the idea of pretending I would do them some day.

If my future is going to be anything like your present then I might as well stop pretending that I will eventually have time to pretend that there is stuff I want to do with my free time.

Was the point of this post to crush my spirits?

**goes back to basement corner, thinks pringles can of scotch might be slightly less full, eyes kermit the frog puppet suspiciously**

Pat:  No! Not at all! Have you forgotten about all the time you’re going to have in your golden years to do all of those things? Provided you live that long.

I’ve just completely resigned myself to the idea that I will get my life back in a generation or so (I think President Lincoln referred to it as a “score”), when the kids get to suffer through exactly what we’re going through right now. I’m planning on being the BEST septagenarian ultimate frisbee player the world has ever seen!

Christian:  A score? I have to wait a score! You know how long a score is? (It’s several years isn’t it?)

**ties pringles can of scotch to own leg, points at kermit the frog puppet intimidatingly**

I don’t know if I can wait that long. If this kid thing continues to take up all my free time when am I going to get a chance to finally write that rock opera based off my Jared-from-Subway fan-fiction  “50 Shades of Tuna”?

**finds additional unopened package of gold tinsel**

You know how timing is everything in the music business. Right now IS THE TIME for a rock opera based on Jared-from-Subway fan-fiction to hit it big. Who knows if that will still be true a year from now.

I’m not happy about any of this.

**starts making matching sweaters for self and kermit the frog puppet out of silver and gold tinsel, repeats to self, doing Tim Gunn impression, “Make it work. Make it work. Make it work...”**

Point Counter-Break Break Room

Exciting news people of Earth! We have a guest post up over at Kelley’s Break Room! It’s the first time we have ever done a guest post and apparently it doesn’t mean you get to take over as mailman for the day in your neighborhood. At least that’s what the police are telling us.

But it does mean that we have a brand-new-never-read-before post up over at Kelley’s which can be found here, here, here, or here. And here or here. Plus here.

So please head on over there and say hi to Kelley and check out her outstanding blog. She’s been a great supporter of PCPPP and we feel very fortunate to be doing a guest post for her despite our impending legal issues. We’ll be hanging out there for the next week or so. Kelley thinks it’s just for the day but we’re bringing sleeping bags so I’m sure she’ll be cool with it.

For those of you that happen to be coming from Kelley’s Break Room (or are one of those people that keep finding us by searching for sexy pictures of Mary Lou Retton) and find yourself at Point Counter-Point Point Point for the first time, please make yourself at home. We have lovely follow buttons for clicking and numerous posts covering a wide assortment of topics, ranging from the horrors of grocery store greeters to dealing with a phobia of latitudes.

Why, here are a couple of convenient links to some of more popular posts. Please peruse.

Which Way to Flip The Toilet Paper?

You Aren’t Going to Steal My Shoes Are You?

We’re positive you’ll like it here. We have twice the amount of authors as the next leading brand of blog and we give away chances to win free compliments on our facebook page which can be found here and/or here. In addition to here. Plus we have some of the greatest commenters around so you’re not going to want to miss that!

And if that’s not enough to convince you to stick around here’s a couple pictures of kittens wearing wool hats:

Aaaaaah.

(source)

Ahhhh.

(source)

Still not convinced? Well then, here’s a picture of Pat in bed with Carol Brady:

Ahhhhh.

It’s hard to deny these facts. So hopefully you will stick around and follow us to all your heart’s content.  And soon enough we’ll become the kind of friends we feel comfortable asking to borrow money from.


Gentle caresses,

Christian and Pat.

Swimming Telephone - "I’m Here to Bed Sex You My Lady"

So today’s post is going to be a little change of pace. We have been fortunate enough to be asked to join in on Marian of just keep swimming’s Swimming Telephone blogger telephone game.

The basic idea is that Marian started a story and then handed it off to another blogger who in turn added some to the story and then handed it off to another blogger, etc. etc. It’s not only our turn now, but we are also the last so it’s up to us to wrap this story up. Here’s who has participated so far: Ninja Mom, There’s No Time For Pants!, Hollow Tree Ventures, Honest Mom, Underachiever’s Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess, Bad Parenting Moments, and You Know It Happens At Your House Too.

Christian: We are going to totally Hemingway the hell out of this story. It’s finally our chance to be real writers and let our creativity soar! You brought a lot of LSD, right Pat?

Pat: No. I thought you were bringing a lot of LSD. I brought bourbon.  

Christian: What? No you were in charge of bringing a lot of LSD. Damnit. Oh well, bourbon it is.

To get you caught up on the story, here’s what’s happened so far: Our heroine is a mother of some rather rambunctious kids and is having a terrible morning. First her youngest took a trike stroll on his own out into the middle of the street, then her middle child got a four-letter-word-sharpie tattoo by his big sister who in turn received a reverse mohawk haircut from the newly tattooed son. And to boot, her mother-in-law just arrived and did we mention that school begins the very next day.  

Then we discover that our heroine had originally started out that morning discovering she was pregnant and she is the only one that knows! Dun dun dunnnn. She threw the pregnancy test down the toilet which later resulted in a toilet overflowing mess which is a perfect metaphor for her morning.

But before we begin our installment you may have noticed that the story is being told from the point of view of a women and that we are the only males contributing to this story.  

So Pat, remember...we’re trying to tell this story from a woman’s point of view.

Pat: Right. Got it.

Christian: Hopefully we’ll make all the amazing ladies who have handed their story off to us proud.

Pat: Right. Women. Ladies. Got it. Our installment starts at “I’m Here to Bed Sex You My Lady!”

Christian: Correct. Right after the last installment by Tara of You Know It Happens At Your House Too which begins below at “You Call THAT a Haircut?”.


You Call THAT a Haircut?

Since the plumber was unavailable, I set out to solve this problem on my own. Shop-vac, check. Industrial size trash bag for the Depends (Did you know how much liquid those things can hold? Holy crap.), check. I get the bathroom all cleaned up, suck that damn stick out of the pot, and get myself ready to go out into the real world. No more wedgie underwear, no more peek-a-boo PJ's.

I convince the mother-in-law to put down the wine bottle long enough to supervise the boys while I run Vidal Sassoon to the corner Snip and Clip. At this point it doesn't really matter what it looks like, I would just like for it to all be similar in length. I get her settled in the chair and suddenly am fighting the urge to keep down my breakfast. Sweet cheeses, oh Gawd I said cheese. I sprint for the bathroom only to find the door locked. Shit. This breakfast is about to be revisited and there is no way in hell I am dropping this on the floor. I frantically look for a trash can, any type of open topped receptacle. I'm running out of time. I can’t hold back any longer, if only I had realized that my neighbor was in that basin getting her hair washed. Guess that will teach her to gawk at my jammies.

Once I profusely apologize to little Miss Lookie Lou, I decide I should check on the girl. WHAT IN THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE????? I find myself shrieking at the "stylist". YOU DO KNOW THAT THIS IS A GIRL, RIGHT?? Oh, sorry ma'am, I was mistaken. MISTAKEN? SHIT! MY DAUGHTER HAS NO HAIR! YOU SHAVED HER BALD!!!!

I rip the poor girl out of the chair, refuse to pay for the butchering, apologize one more time to the neighbor for breakfast revisited, and reserve myself to the fact that this day has gone to shit in a hand basket at an alarming speed. Speaking of speed, I suppose I should learn to watch mine as in my fit of rage I cranked up Guns 'N Roses and found myself paying no attention to my speedometer. Luckily, a very kind police officer pulled me over and awarded me a fast driving award in recognition of my ability to drive 20 miles per hour over the speed limit. *Note to self, police officers do not take kindly to any references about bacon, donuts, or mentions of firearms in glove compartments.*

After a long conversation with this kind officer in the back of his squad car explaining how craptastic my day had been, he gave me a Kleenex for my tears and said that if I still needed a plumber, he would be happy to come by when he was done saving the city from crazy mama drama.

I make it home, and walk in the front door only to find the mother-in-law, an empty bottle of wine, and my boys with a couple empty rolls of duck tape.


I’m Here To Bed Sex You My Lady

“Oh my god! What have you done with the ducks?!?”

I stared at my boys for an answer. “It’s fine, mom. They’re fine. We just ran out of duck tape. Relax.”

“It’s fine, dear,” he said. It was then that I heard him, in that voice that always calms and reassures me.

“What? I thought you were at work...”

“Well, sometimes I know when I’m needed. Listen...mom, you take the kids. You’re going to clean them up, keep them overnight, and get them to school tomorrow for their pictures, right? Just make it happen. Get out of here. Lover, you and I are going out tonight, to that special place. And by ‘special place’, I mean my pants.”

As I saw his mother hurry the kids out the door I felt my body swoon and flush as he uttered the words. It was so masculine and forceful, like a circular saw cutting through a sensual two-by-four.  

I could see, then, that his pants were burning with love.

“Wait. Before I put out that fire, I need to tell you something. It’s important. I’m preg...”

“I know,” he said. “Say no more.” His voice--so strong, so calming, so confident, and in his deep valley of comforting tone that both soothes and aches my loins. “To the bedroom my lady. We’ll make out. And more.”

“Ooh,”  I said, as my body quivered. The kids, the haircut, the near miss with the tricycle, the overflowing toilet...everything seemed so inconsequential and irrelevant compared to this moment. This hot, heated, tropically scalding, very high temperatured moment. MY moment. With him. “What’s that I’m feeling?” I said.

Softly, in my ear, he whispered, “That’s the love that I vowed unto you a score ago on our wedding night. It’s all yours, lover.” And then, still forcefully, he swept me off my feet, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me up to the bedroom.

There was a fresh, cold six-pack next to the bed. “It’s all for you,” he said. Again, I swooned!

The fire in my erect goosebumps aroused to a height I never thought possible. My chest was heaving. Heave after heave after heave until it could heave no more. I was heaveless.

*4-1/2 minutes later*

“Whew...that was fun! Thanks!” he said, as he rolled over to the side and fell asleep.  

The next day we were in each others’ arms, waiting for the kids’ return, resting on the couch, and watching the day’s sporting events.

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Pat:  Hey man...that was fun. That shit is HOT!  

Christian: We totally put the ‘ca’ in erotica.

Pat:  You know, I think we really captured the woman’s perspective on this one. My wife is totally gonna’ see herself in this. Hell, she might even think she wrote it herself!

Christian: Oh totally. Is there any bourbon left?

Pat:  Let me check. Umm...nope.