Because it takes balls to wear the skirt in the family...

Who is Steely Dad?

Steely Dad chronicles the (mis)adventures of Todd Gottlieb as he embarks on a career as a domestic engineer (read "stay-at-home dad"). Oh, and there might be the occasional pithy observation on the madness of our modern world.

Birth Control Pill for Men

Being a stay-at-home dad (SAHD) provides me with a lot of time to think (because even though I’m watching my kids, my mind is roaming it’s own private Internet).  Although this can be productive, it can also be downright dangerous for someone like me to be alone with his mind because ideas like the following are created.

Steely Wife and I have been engaging in some serious discussions regarding the Hat Trick. Yup, we want to increase all the joy and bliss that entwine our lives by adding another little member to the Steely team. As a SAHD, I don’t belong to a union so this provides me with additional job security.

I love trying to make a baby. It’s pretty much the best thing in the world. I don’t get excited for the romantic reasons of bringing another life into the world, although that definitely enjoys a spot in my top 10 list. For me, the process is thrilling for much more debauched reasons: it’s the only time when my wife becomes a sexual Vegas buffet. She’s open all the time and I can have as much as I want. Now imagine if the Vegas buffet had one of those guys who stand out front a Tijuana nightclub blowing a whistle trying to lure every passerby with cheap drink specials. You know, like a carnival barker. That would be my wife when she wants to make a baby. “Step right up and come inside,” she will say in her best Jimmy Durante voice (but hopefully in this case I’m her only customer).

Throughout our history together a pattern has certainly emerged. This insatiable sex drive only presents itself when Steely Wife desires a shiny new infant. During our off season she has a “No Trespassers” sign prominently displayed on her vagina. I think she gets it waxed that way. It makes me feel like she only uses me for my DNA.

So I have devised a plan that I believe will enable me to lengthen the time that her fields will be available for plowing.

Since the days of Adam and Eve, women have used pregnancy as a means to trap unsuspecting and overly-trusting men into a long-term relationship. “Of course I’m on the pill,” a girl might say with the conviction of a seasoned con artist. The man believes her and nine months later he’s saddled with dirty diapers and the obligation of making child support payments. Well, I say let’s turn the tables, men, and assure our woman that we are off the pill. What the hell am I talking about? I want to invent a birth control pill for the guys. It occurs to me that men possess a natural aversion to any modification to their stones but before you reject my idea hear me out. As I was saying, I’d like the buffet to be open more often and for longer hours. How to do that? Tell my wife I’m no longer taking my birth control pill for men (the BCPM) but in reality, I’ll still be ingesting the daily dosage until I’m ready to plant the seed.

Let’s take a look at the pros/cons of my plan, shall we?

Pros (in order of importance):

More sex

Cons (in order of severity beginning with the least severe):

A loss of trust

Divorce

Homicide

Less sex with my wife

No sex with my wife ever again

Genital mutilation

From this analysis, one can clearly conclude the positive reasons far outweigh any potential negative consequences. I could probably maintain the charade until my wife freaks out because she doesn’t get pregnant and has a nervous breakdown that results in a trip to the local fertility clinic. By my estimation this will be no more than 28 days. It would also require some pretty adept maneuvering on my part to explain why there is the BCPM in my system. “Someone must’ve slipped it into my fertility smoothie, love,” I might plead. “Let’s question the boy. He never did want siblings.”

So guys, let me know your thoughts, if I should move forward with inventing a BCPM. If you agree, I’ll get to working on it straight away. I’ll just need to borrow one of those home chemistry sets and a high school science text. Also, just remind me: can you mix acids and bases?

War of the Sexes

I was reading my buddy Jason’s blog, Outnumbered, and came upon a rather interesting topic regarding which is the superior sex (no, not doggie compared to missionary). He was responding to a post by a blogger named Nic at My Bottle’s Up.  Read her two posts Women are the Stronger Sex and Sex, Continued. Then you can read my response below. (You might want to prepare a stiff libations before moving forward on this one. Don’t yell at me. You’ve been duly warned).

Dear Nic,

First I’d like to say, genius post. This is my first time visiting your blog so it definitely did the job for which it was intended. I applaud you for, dare I say it, having the “balls” (or should I say “ovaries”?) to speak your mind no matter the consequences. I admire that in a person, man or woman. Creating controversy is a noble ambition but keep in mind that if you’re going to throw something like this out there for the simple reason to create a buzz, you might want to be prepared with an oft-forgotten concept known as facts.

After I read your posts, I started to write what I thought would be a short comment but the more I wrote the more I realized the importance and depth of this topic. At first I tried to draft a witty response like Jason but I realized I’m not as funny as he is and that I had a difficult time finding the humor in mocking and stereotyping an entire group of people, even if that group just happens to be MEN. (I’m afraid that simply acknowledging that there does exist “some” men, according to your definition, which apparently includes donning a “hot” uniform, doesn’t get you off the hook. I suppose in your mind you can’t be a man hater because you’re married to one? There’s little to no difference between that line of logic and the one so many use to excuse their racist views because they have friends of various colors.)

So where Jason took the high road, I’m taking a more nuts ‘n’ bolts approach. Forgive me if it’s inarticulate. After all, I’m just a weak man who puked this on a page. In any case, here’s my take:

1. Are there weak men? Absolutely, but no more so than there are weak women. Just because a man is quiet doesn’t mean he is weak just as a “loud” or “assertive” woman is not necessarily strong.

2. Perhaps you’re aware that your post actually sheds light on the broader issue related to the disparity of acceptability. What do I mean by that? Well, what a woman can say about a man, a man cannot say about a woman. Case in point. I was sitting in the Den of Yentas last week when there was a guest speaker. I arrived late but from what I could tell, she was a physician. The group was discussing teenagers and the issue of what to do to prevent these horny kids from having sex. Sharing with the group the advice she passed along to her own daughter, the physician said, “I told her, ‘Never trust someone who has a penis.’” Hilarity ensued. And then she looked at me and said, “Sorry but it’s true.” Can you just imagine the community outrage if one woman was sitting amongst a group of men and one of them says, “Never trust something that bleeds for five days and doesn’t die”? It would go over like a lead fart but for some reason this very derogatory comment was received by a group of women as acceptable.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m completely in favor of groups celebrating their achievements and “differences” but only under two conditions: A) The right to do so should be equally enjoyed by ALL groups, even those with whom you might disagree. This includes, but is not limited to, MEN and B) Don’t do so at the expense of other groups. Celebrating your womanhood by positing that one sex is stronger than the other, and then basing that argument on sweeping generalizations (based on what data I have no idea), is tantamount to arguing that one race is superior to another or that one religion is right and any opposing viewpoint is simply wrong. Perhaps you can equivocate explain as to how this “battle” of the sexes is somehow different in scope? Stop and think for a moment if I’d written a post like yours only I stated that men are the stronger sex. Let’s even say I went a step further than you and provided actual evidence based on historical record. For example, I won’t go so far as to say “every” but certainly a “signigicant number” of human advancement, from the genesis of modern mathematics and classical philosophy to the atom bomb, from vaccines to putting man on the moon, has come at the hands of men, not women. Am I suggesting that men are the stronger sex based on this analysis? Not at all. I’m simply illustrating the fact that the barometer you use to demonstrate women’s superiority is flawed.

Notwithstanding the evidence I prepared, I’d have the ACLU knocking on my door, Martha Burk would take a hit out on my life and I’d probably receive the ire of every mommy blogger in the entire blogosphere. Why? Because I said something untrue? No. I would be chastised because I said something that was contrary to the very fabric of their being regardless of its veracity. Why is it acceptable for you to write something like this but not for me? You won’t become the pariah of the woman’s movement. On the contrary, you will be hailed as a brave and heroic warrior (just read the comments on your blog left by other women). You’ll receive accolades and praise from your sisters. Me? I’d probably have my blog shut down.

Why is this caricature of men as the weaker sex not only acceptable but lauded and celebrated? One reason: men constitute the ONLY group of people NOT protected under the PC constitution. You can’t even comment on, much less be at all critical of women. Indeed, every race is off limits, religion is out and insulting someone for their sexual orientation will earn you epithets that make even me blush. So who’s left? MEN. No one ever gets blasted for hating on men. There is a double (heck, a quadruple) standard at play here. We’re not allowed to say anything that might be on our minds and we’re forbidden to fight for what we believe lest we be labeled misogynists, racists or “angry white men.”  If I disagreed with a feminist I’d be called a fascist (perhaps the most misunderstood and misused word in the English language) simply for the fact that I disagreed. If I disagreed with a homosexual I’d be called homophobic. I’ve been called a racist not because I said anything remotely derogatory about Obama’s skin color but because I have contrarian viewpoints regarding his policies. I’ve been labeled a racist for demonstrating my First Amendment right to free speech and peaceful assembly because I attended a rally against the massive expansion of government The Family Tea Party. So ask yourself, who wants this kind of headache? Who needs it? Often it takes a stronger man to remain silent, to wear his guns on the inside.

What you might view as “weak” is an effort by many men to avoid the perception of weakness. Men are expected to simply take whatever abuse is dished to us. We’re taught that firing back makes us look too sensitive and sensitivity is a sign of weakness. Therfore, we keep silent. Believe it or not, keeping silent might also save us from litigation and prison time. You laugh but there is a bill that’s already passed one chamber of Congress which in essence allows anyone who “perceives” a threat or “perceives” harm to be able to civilly litigate the perpetrator of that “perceived” threat (see H.R. 1913). The perpetrator can also face criminal charges. What does this mean? If you feel threatened by what I have to say, you can sue me. I could also be incarcerated. No wonder we’ve been silenced and castrated through a systematic campaign by the courts. The media is certainly complicit in this effort as well. Cinema, television and other media always put men in an inferior, albeit inaccurate, light. The incapable dumb guy who so badly needs his wife lest he stop breathing has become an acceptable and popular characterization. We all know he’d be lost without her. Think what would happen if they switched these roles around. Such a show would never be produced and the “angry white fascist” who floated the suggestion would be looking for a new job cleaning sewers. The media suggestion is so overwhelmingly powerful that some (know of any?) can’t help but apply these false notions to real life men in real life situations. However, you are guilty of accepting (and now promoting) the very same stereotypes that you, as an admitted feminist, have, by definition, so vociferously fought against. Funny how that works, huh?

3. Your “woman are superior” concept raises many tangential topics that perhaps you can explain. For instance, why is it perfectly acceptable for the gym Curves to exclude men but it’s not OK for Augusta National to exclude women? Also, why is it that only men are required to register with the Selective Service (that’s the draft) and women are excused from the obligation? Why do women’s organizations like the NCWO only boycott events like the Master’s but are silent about businesses like Curves? Why do these organizations “fight for the equality of women in the workplace” but one never hears them lobbying Congress for a bill to include women in the draft? Sort of looks hypocritical don’t ya think?

4. I’m a stay-at-home dad (SAHD) and as such I am required to multi-task on a daily basis. My wife is completely incapable of multi-tasking. She will happily admit she cannot walk and chew gum. There are several studies that suggest multi-tasking is not a sign of strength or intelligence. Quite the contrary, the ability to multi-task has been linked to an inferior intellect. I don’t need studies to prove the point. I have my own empirical data on which to rely. What data might that be? Well, I’m not that smart and I’m certainly not as smart as my wife. I can multi-task, she can’t. ‘Nuff said.

As a stay-at-home dad, I don’t have a “hot” uniform but I do get to hang with a lot of women. I also enjoy chillin’ with my male associates. This provides me with a unique opportunity to observe both sexes from the “inside” if you will. Like an ethnographer, I can compare and contrast these subtle nuances between the sexes.  I must be honest, Jason is definitely on to something. When women congregate in groups the topic of their lazy, incapable, good-for-nothing husbands will be invariably broached. In contrast, when guys get together, we drink beer, eat greasy food, watch sports, play cards and fart. That’s it. I pity the guy who comes to a bro bash and hopes to commiserate with his mates about how his ol’ lady isn’t being sensitive to his needs. That guy would be summarily excused and bets would be made as to when he sprouted the vagina. However, if a guy does in fact even mention his wife at all (and I’ve known guys for years and didn’t know they were married), it’s usually in the context that Jason mentioned, that of being demeaned, belittled, criticized and dismissed. For men, the topic of their superior partners is never a primary source of conversation but is more contextual in nature. The following is an excerpt from a real-life chat:

Dude A: “Bro, ya wanna go play some golf manana?”
Dude B: “I can’t, dude. My wife’s making me take her to the orchid show.  She claims I never spend time with her.”
Dude A: “What the fuck? Are you gay or something?”
Dude B: “I didn’t think so.”
Dude A: “No, man, you’re definitely gay.”

5. Birthing a baby does not a woman make. Every “female” in the animal kingdom bears children, some of them by the millions. This alone does not make them a woman just as planting the seed does not make one a man. Would you say that the only requirement to being a man is to impregnate a woman because, as you so eloquently put it, “his body has fulfilled its purpose”? The metamorphosis to manhood and womanhood occurs when one is accountable and responsible for his or her actions. In the case of children, this happens when one LOVES, CARES and RAISES a child. Unfortunately, raising children, contrary to pop myth, is NOT the sole province of women. Men are equally capable of caring and raising our offspring. So, no, pushing out a baby does not equate with womanhood. Many “women” get that far only to abandon the baby in a trash dumpster. Is she still a woman in your eyes? I’m sure you didn’t intend to but I think you belittle the importance of “motherhood” compared to “womanhood.” I know many “strong” women who make very “weak” mothers.

6. Since in your post you use the value of child birth and procreation as the gold standard for “womanhood” let’s take emotion out of the equation for just a moment and look at this biologically. A woman produces a paltry fraction of eggs compared to the number of sperm a man generates. In one “load” a man produces a thousand times more primordial ooze than a woman does in her entire lifetime. He is also able to impregnate multiple partners at the same time and long after a woman of equal age is able to achieve, and maintain, a pregnancy. One can deduce that the male species is biologically wired to procreate with many women. Women, under most circumstances (there are, of course, the occasional anomaly) can only procreate with one man at one time. So, based on this fact, and using your measuring stick, which is the stronger sex?

You will, undoubtedly, curse my name, call me an unenlightened Neanderthal and hate me for it but am I really saying anything different than what you’ve posted on your blog (only in reverse)? I don’t think so although I welcome your input. If you’re offended by what I have to say then perhaps you should be equally insulted by what you posted. For the record, I’m not at all outraged by your opinion; I only ask for an equally open forum for us weak men to speak our minds. Bottom line, I don’t believe one sex is superior to the other. If you’ll permit me a broad generalization, I honestly believe that men and women both possess strengths and weaknesses. Ideally the strengths of one offset the weaknesses of the other. The role of men and women throughout history has been different. Not equal and not the same, just different. Anyways, why do you care if there is a dearth of strong men? You’re lucky to have captured a rare bird in an endangered species so feel blessed, kiss your kid and rock another bottle of wine for in vino veritas. 

Don’t Inhale

Have you ever had one of those days where it just seems that everything goes wrong?  I recently had one of those days and it crescendo’d with my daughter ending up in the hospital.

Last Thursday I took the family to see the Padres play the Cubs at Wrigley Field. We went early to the ballpark for batting practice which is usually when you can interact with the players.  I’m not going to go into it here, perhaps I’ll save it for another post, but the Padre players were jerks and downright rude to my son. ‘Nuff said.

Following BP (that’s inside baseball talk for “batting practice”) we strapped on our Everest-capacity oxygen tanks and adjourned to our assigned seats. It took a while as we had to perform an altitude acclimatization regimen (OK, you get the peak, I mean point).

Steely Wife immediately excused herself and headed for the loo leaving me solo with both Steely Kids. No big deal, right? I’m a seasoned stay-at-home dad and this is certainly not my first rodeo. The three of us were famished after our Alpine climb so we began to devour our snacks. We were eating granola bars and trail mix and who the hell knows what else. My daughter, who we like to call the “Viper” because when she grabs for something she strikes like a coiled serpent, grabbed a tiny plump-fist full of trail mix.  As you are all aware, trail mix includes peanuts, yes as in those peanuts, the little nut with a major PR problem. I wasn’t worried. We tested her for nut allergies. I wasn’t worried. She’s a good eater and hasn’t had a choking episode.

Suddenly, I was worried.

When she saw Mommy walking up the stairs to join us at our seats, my daughter started to cry (she’s been experiencing Mommy withdrawals lately). Being the astute observer that I am, I didn’t notice that she had yet to swallow the edibles in her mouth and when she went to take a breath the food went down the windpipe like a Hoover vacuum. She started to choke big-time. I immediately grabbed her to administer what, I had no idea. I took a CPR class before my son was born so that was nearly four years ago and fortunately or unfortunately, I hadn’t had the opportunity to practice my craft. It was good luck that she had her mouth agape because it allowed me to look inside and remove the obstruction. Now mind you this is all happening very quickly but my first instinct was to perform the “finger sweep” because I could see the food but in a flash I recall a stern admonition not to use this technique as it can further lodge food into the critically important windpipe. I couldn’t recall if she was too small for me to perform the Heimlich. Panic. Finger sweep. Here goes nothing. I was hoping against hope that the finger sweep had since made a comeback as the preferred un-choking method. You know, firm bristles, soft bristles.

I managed to remove the food that was in her mouth. She coughed and even more food particles were ejected from her mouth. She started to breathe again and we thought the worst was behind us. Of course she was really upset and crying.

Fast-forward to later that evening, I was playing with both kids in the backyard. I noticed my baby girl wheezing, just a faint little whisper that was barely audible. We couldn’t hear it during the Cubs raucous victory. Nevertheless, I grew concerned because her laborious breathing was not commensurate with the level of activity.

When I shared my concern with Steely Wife we began to hypothesize that perhaps Steely Daughter had inhaled a particle of food. Could it be a coincidence that she had this choking episode on a day when she was coming down with a little cold that caused the wheezing or had she in fact inhaled some of the food that almost took her out?

We didn’t take any chances and called the doctor straight away. The doc advised us to keep an eye on her during the night and then bring her to the office in the morning. I took my son to preschool while the missus went to the appointment. Don’t ask me why but I had this strong feeling that something just wasn’t right and that this was more serious than at first blush. Sure enough while at the preschool I received “the call” from my wife. “Meet us at Children’s Hospital. We’re heading over there in an ambulance.”

I scooped up my son and headed Dukes of Hazard-style to the hospital. Yep, you guessed it, I even beat the ambulance (but only by 30 minutes).

After an examination and some chest X-rays which demonstrated her left lung was expanding but not collapsing, the physician determined that my daughter must have breathed in some small particles during her first desperate inhale for oxygen.

So what do we do?

Remove it.

How?

Surgery.

Surgery? As in general anesthesia?

Yes. We will insert into her lung a “tiny baby instrument” that has attached to it a camera and forceps in order to grab and remove the food particle.

Can I be in the room?

No.

As a dad who hasn’t left the side of his baby girl since the day she took her first breath, this was very difficult for me to accept. After a vigorous lobbying effort, I was resigned to putting the welfare of my daughter in the hands of the experts.

And I’m glad I did.

After the longest hour and a half of my entire life, the doctor and his team were successful in removing the particle that had lodged itself in the lower regions of my daughter’s lung. She emerged from surgery a little drowsy but with her resilient spirit still fighting. Relief. Tears. Smiles. Hugs. Kisses.

What did her big brother do during this entire ordeal? I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how good this kid was throughout our little misadventure. He was brave, stoic and cooperative. Whenever we were in the presence of his sister, he kept a smile on his face and eased her tension as only a big brother is able. However, when I took him home from the hospital (my wife stayed with my daughter at the hospital as they wanted to keep her for observation) he broke down and cried. He was concerned about his baby sister. It was the sweetest, purest demonstration of sibling love I’d ever witnessed and it filled my heart with pride and awe.

So, what’s the lesson here, kids? One, remember that which sustains can also kill and two, do the Clinton: don’t inhale!

My Daughter the Thief

My daughter is a thief and a pretty good one at that.  One time when we were on vacation, my wife was climbing in the back of our rented minivan (I refuse to drive a minivan under any other circumstances) and while she meandered her way through the labyrinth of collapsible seats my daughter picked her pocket and stole her wallet.  My wife didn’t know that the Viper had struck.  ”Where’s my wallet?” she exclaimed.  ”How the hell should I know?” I retorted, obviously aggravated because I hear that same question like 100 times a day.  My wife, in a panic, surveys her surroundings only to find my daughter, mind you she was only 13 months old at the time, sitting silently in her car seat examining her “kill.”  My little princess was rooting through her mother’s wallet!  I’ve never been so damn proud.  (I should explain that my daughter surely took her life into her own hands because G-d only knows what lurks in that wallet.  It makes George Costanza’s wallet look petite.
(I dare not look inside the abyss that is my wife’s wallet.  Grown men have gone mad after even peering at this diabolical item.)

Well, today I had the day off from my stay-at-home dad duties, meaning my wife took the kids out to play or do whatever, maybe jack some cars, shoot craps, who the hell knows.  What I do know is that my wife came home with a brand new T-shirt.  However, this wasn’t just any ol’ T-shirt.  Oddly enough this was a PINK Mickey Mouse T-shirt that just so happens to fit my little girl to, um, well, a “T.”  When I inquired about the shirt, assuming she purchased another superfluous piece of Disney memorabilia (remember, we recently spent 4 days at the Happiest Place on Earth so in case you missed the gory details you can read about them here  http://www.steelydad.com/i-shouldnt-be-alive.html), the missus had an alibi.  ”Your daughter stole it.  She ripped it off the hanger and I didn’t notice the thing until we got to the car and I was putting away the stroller.”  Normally, I wouldn’t buy it but considering my daughter’s proclivity for theft, it seemed at least plausible.  My daughter, my sweet, beautiful innocent angel, my infallible princess, is a pickpocket AND a shop lifter?  Where did I go wrong?  How can this be?

Oh, it be!

Steely Wife passed my foolproof lie detector test, which is me looking into her eyes like Larry David does when he’s trying to determine if someone is telling him the truth. It looks something like this: larry david look Pictures, Images and Photos

I had to accept the truth about the situation: my baby girl can steal with complete impunity!  How rad is that?

Think about it.  If she steals something we simply pretend not to notice.  If someone “catches” us in the act we, very convincingly, plead ignorace.  Plus, my daughter is so damn charming no one can get mad or upset with this angelic creature.  Trust me, I’ve tried thousands of times.  This is so awesome!

I know what you’re thinking and you’re right: she can only five-finger some insignificant clothing items.  We’ll have to work our way up to big-screen TVs and exotic automobiles but this is a great start!  The girl’s got mad skills.

You know what they say: a quick hand is a terrible thing to waste.

I’ll keep you posted.  If you see me on an FBI poster for grand theft just don’t let ‘em know my whereabouts, cool?

Oh, and by the way, during the same outing with Mommy, my son apparently “found” $2.  What sort of crime ring is my wife running here?  I don’t even know who she is any longer!

(NOTE: All “stolen” merchandise mentioned in this story will be returned to the rightful retail establishment.  That’s my wife’s idea.  The individuals depicted here are guilty until proven innocent.  Please take the gushing descriptions of my daughter as absolute truth devoid of any hyperbole.)

The Non-Invite

As a stay-at-home dad (SAHD), one gets used to being the minority. It goes with the territory. Over the years, I’ve become quite used to the stares and the comments, the giggles. I’ve also come to grips with the fact that I often get overlooked for such events as “Girls’ Night Out.” This happened quite often with some of the other mom groups with which I used to roll.

But it’s different with the yentas. They actually make an effort to make me feel “accepted” and they really go out of their way. The yentas invite me to their regular dining get-togethers.

It’s strange, though, because whenever they invite me out with the girls, it’s usually done on the same day of the event. I have to say, this must be the most spontaneous group of moms because they are capable of deciding on a location, arranging for babysitters and promoting said party all within a few hours. I’m actually quite impressed because usually if you want someone to attend a party you’re throwing, you ask them with more than a few hours notice, right? Well, you do if attendance is a priority.

Yesterday, however, I was extended an invitation with a generous hour’s notice.

Last night my wife ran into one of the yentas who happened to mention that the group was congregating for dinner and I was welcome to join them. How sincere, don’t you think? Doesn’t this amount to a non-invite? What’s a non-invite? It’s when you invite someone under circumstances that ensure a no-show by the invitee. For example, “Hey, I know you’re having oral surgery tomorrow for that recurring wisdom tooth but we’re having a party that just happens to be scheduled during the exact same hours as you’ll be completely unconscious with loads of anesthesia. Would you like to join us?” That’s a classic non-invite.

I really do appreciate the effort that the yentas make to include me but they must know that I’m on to them and their sneaky ways. It doesn’t take a genius to read into their motivations. One of these days I might just surprise them and accept their generous offer. Then we’ll see just how “inclusive” the yentas are with respect to outsiders, especially ones who don’t sit when they pee.

In all seriousness, though, it is nice of the yentas’ to invite me. As the old adage goes, it’s the non-invite that counts.

Let's get down to the "TWITTY" gritty...

  • @DetroitTalk don'tcha mean Vancouver or are you making a bold prognostication for Saturday's tilt vs the Oilers? in reply to DetroitTalk 4 days ago
  • Is there a Twitter app for Android that accurately lists followers/following. Seesmic = no. Tweetdeck = no. HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE! OY! 3 weeks ago
  • @ElizBerkley I'm also from F.H. MI - moved to CA 30+ yrs ago. We're same age & MOTs. Any chance you went to Larkshire Elmnt'y AKA Lanigan? 2011-12-22
  • @douggottlieb I don't often see many Gottliebs out there; fewer still any that have enjoyed some measure of athletic success. Are we paisan? 2011-10-25
  • I left message re Signature. 24hrs later no call back. Is this the same "1-on-1" service I can expect once I plunk down $2,495? @cenedella 2011-10-13
  • More updates...
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