Steely Dad

That is the question.

Perhaps someone else has written about this topic but I wouldn’t know; I don’t read much. I realize this might be a bit high-brow for many a Steely Dad reader but it’s important to expand one’s mind and horizons. After all, Steely Dad is nothing if not a place of culture and refinement.

Case in point.

This evening after consuming two massive triangles of a mushroom/black olive/spinach stuffed pizza that I personally garnished with sautéed pancetta and several whole cloves of RAW garlic, the following thoughts suddenly occurred to me when my digestive tract started to sound like an overactive aquarium: With whom is it appropriate to expel flatus? How long before you do so, say, in front of your significant other? Is it ever OK to blow butt breath in front of your kids and, if so, what words do you use to describe the expulsion of gas? Most of all, is it appropriate to laugh when someone rips a stinky poop cloud in your general direction?

These are all very important and legitimate ponderings and I would like to get to the bottom of one of life’s great mysteries: To fart or not to fart?

Passing gas has been a part of our common human heritage since the dawn of man and it’s been a source of comic “relief” ever since a caveman farted on his buddy and thought the entire episode worthy of a cave painting. In fact, Aristotle and Plato were known to have engaged in rather noisy debate about this very topic.

But what is the proper protocol for farting in various situations?

I’d like to do my part and conduct a poll of the Steely Dad Nation. It is highly scientific, of course. Please be sure to leave your answers in the comment section. Your participation is much appreciated and will help to construct a veritable guide on the etiquette of the fart.

Before we begin, I have a hypothesis about farting in front of others that I’d like to share with you. Through your responses, I will be able to prove or disprove my theory.

I believe there is a direct and irrefutable correlation between the appropriateness of farting in front of a certain person and the time either knowing and/or spending with that person. For example, you presumably spend a significant amount of time with your SO. Therefore, it is appropriate to fart in front of him or her. You probably don’t spend a large portion of your time with, say, your insurance agent therefore it is NOT appropriate to fart in front of him or her.

Let us proceed, shall we?

1. Do you fart in front of your significant other? (If your answer is “YES” please proceed to question #2. If your answer is “NO” please kindly go fuck yourself because we all know you’re, quite literally, full of shit!)

2. If so, how long before you actually expelled ass gas in front of your significant other (SO)?

3. Who was the first one to break the smell barrier: you or your SO?

4. Do you and your SO fart in front of your kids?

5. Even if you do fart in front of your kids, do you think it is appropriate to do so?

6. If so, what word or phrase do you use to describe the act of expelling flatus (i.e. fart, gas, cutting the cheese, etc.)?

7. Who has the more noxious/pungent farts: men or women?

8. Is it acceptable to laugh if a member of the family rips a really good one?

9. Do you and your family members participate in farting contests that test such things as the smell, duration and frequency of the farting episode? If so, who holds the record?

10. When girls get together, do they fart out loud and do they laugh about it? Guys never do this that’s why we’re so curious.

11. Has anyone in your family successfully attempted the “Blue Flame”? If so, who?

12. I’m a stay-at-home dad (SAHD) which provides me a lot of time with my kids. As such, I have developed an odd Darwinian olfactory adaptation that enables me to distinguish the farts of my daughter from those of my son by nothing more than their distinctive aromas. Does the parent who spends a majority of the time with your kids possess this same ability?

13. Are there specific situations in which it is permissible to fart in public? If your answer is “NO” would you reconsider your position if there was no way the fart could be linked to you? I’ve heard of a specialized technique called “dusting the crops.” It’s employed by people in certain industries, such as flight attendants, who sometimes have no choice but to expel their ass pollution on a crowded plane (another reason I hate to fly). It works by walking briskly down the aisle while simultaneously letting the noisome air escape. When done successfully, it is virtually impossible to identify the offender leaving everyone on the plane to speculate and guess. You will notice that many times people will pull their shirt up over their mouth and nose as a signal that they were not the offending party that floated the air biscuit. It’s diabolical if you think about it.

The results will be carefully tallied and reported in a future posting.

More drama on the blogging front.

I made the egregious mistake of upgrading my blogging software to the most recent incarnation of Wordpress, the seemingly innocuous vintage 2.8. I, however, have found a more fitting title: Satan’s Software. I’ve been up all hours of the night for the past few days trying to exterminate the bugs that infest this piece of work. In any case, this is the main, but not singular, reason to explain my hiatus. I even had this cool Father’s Day story about my father-in-law but who the hell wants to read that AFTER the big day? Exactly.

In the immortal words of Bob Marley, when one HTML code closes another opens and in my case this is no exception. Today marks a major milestone in my heretofore modest blogging career. This post is my first submission as an OFFICIAL columnist for the social network juggernaut Dad Blogs.  Why they picked me to write for them can only mean one thing: everyone else they asked declined. Anyhow, I’m happy to oblige and I hope you’ll check out this awesome site as there are some seriously fantastic bloggers who call Dad Blogs home.

As anyone who’s been following Steely Dad since its inception way back in January of this year, you know that I often share some rather intimate details of my life. I feel an obligation to be open and honest with the Steely Dad Nation and I’m not going to change that approach just because I’m some dude with a by-line. But I’ve got to tell you, this story is so bloody embarrassing that I’m not even sure I can share it with you. It’s way worse than even Telemarketing Phone Sex. Should I compromise my integrity, my reputation, my character and in the process cause irreparable harm to my children’s self-esteem? Sure, why the hell not? I’ve got nothing better to do.

So Steely Wife took Steely Kids out to the park last week. I thought they’d be gone for at least an hour which meant I could get some Steely Dad time all to myself. What do guys do when their wife and kids aren’t around? What do you think we do? Well, I should say that 99 percent of us do and the other 1 percent won’t admit it. Come on guys, you all know what I’m talking about. Uh-huh, that’s right. I’m not afraid to admit that as a SAHD I so deeply cherish these moments for they have become as rare as an red diamond and just as valuable.  But guys, don’t be fooled. Mine is a cautionary tale, the message of which you should heed.

Feeling kinda frisky, I went to what I thought was a private area of the house. I proceeded to prepare myself for fun and frivolity and in the midst of my solo dalliance, just as things were getting interesting, I hear a key slide into a lock, the pins moving as they’re engaged and then I see the knob turn as if in slow motion. Intruders! My initial reaction was to flee but I had no where to run. I was cornered and it was far too late to get myself back to normal. I was caught, shall we say, red-handed?

Of course  Steely Wife, at least after shielding the childrens’ eyes, seized the opportunity to capture this rather delicate situation for digital prosperity. She is nothing if not skilled in the art of extortion. Below is the visual product of her extraordinary effort. Now be forewarned, Steely Dad Fan, the photo is exceptionally graphic. Not only should minors never, ever, under any circumstances be subjected to such a disgraceful display, no adult should either for that matter. I’m warning you now before you click on the link. Trust me when I say you’ll never be able to return to that safe and happy sanctuary after viewing this photo. Still want to look? OK but it’s your nightmare.

Daddy’s Little Secret

So sue me, OK? Yea, I like to wear princess stuff and rock some brews and smoke cigars with my Dale Jr. teddy bear. Is that so wrong?

How did I respond, you might ask? As if spontaneously filled with the Holy Spirit of Nacho Libre, I raised my head, mustered what little pride remained and said, “Honey, when you are a man sometimes you wear princess stuff, in your room. It’s for fun.”

The lesson here? Guys, it’s OK to wear your princess gear; just don’t get caught wearing your princess gear and for Pete’s sake never get caught wearing your princess gear by your wife and kids.

OK, get your bloody minds out of the gutter, Steely Dad Nation, it’s not what you think. I know I’ve waxed poetic about my, er, um, sexual exploits in the past but that’s all in the past. After all, this is a family blog and I have a moral obligation, albeit a flimsy one, to each and every Steely Dad fan out there. Hey, my mom reads this blog!

This story isn’t even about sex. I just used this snappy title because it’s sweeps week in the blogosphere and I needs me some readers! OK, I lie, this is a story about sex but I assure you it isn’t sexy. This is not a tale about a gigantic inanimate object or machine that doubles as an electric sander.

It’s always a challenge to write about, well, you know, the “S” word, without sounding like a page out of Penthouse Forum: “My wife took an active interest in our sexy new neighbor, Svetlana, and I had no problem with the obvious fact that the attraction was of the mutual variety.”

Last night the missus and I got motivated. No, we didn’t clean the house or do our taxes. You know, motivated? Yea, as in that motivated. The fun started innocently enough on the couch but as my wife and I have learned in not-so-auspicious situations, it’s just best to conduct business behind closed doors. This is not a time for transparency, if you catch my drift. But how I long for the days BK (before kids) when we could be spontaneous and act on our motivations whenever and wherever we fancied at the moment. Those were the days. With kids, we now have to be strategic and reconnoiter before we reconnect. It’s a whole process unto itself. My wife and I actually invested in a pair of military-grade infrared night vision goggles so that we can peek in on the little ones before we engage our motivations with them none the wiser. I highly recommend the goggles to all the parents out there. For the no-kid contingency who reads my blog, enjoy it before it’s gone.

So, we adjourned to the kinkiest place we know, also known as the bedroom, and we’re having some fun. I mean, we’re having a real good time. OK, let’s see if I can paint you a picture and keep it G rated. Our passions bubbled like spaghetti sauce being cooked on a hot stove. Our bodies intertwined like one of those huge anaconda breeding balls you see on National Geographic: It Takes Two To Make A Thing Go Right It Takes Two To Make It Outta Sight

We played Lewis and Clark, slowly and methodically exploring our rarely-used unchartered territories. And just when you thought things couldn’t get any hotter, just before our session was written in the history books, one of us (and by one of us I mean not me) inadvertently kicked the kids’ Baby Einstein Learning Sounds Piano. What the hell is a Baby Einstein Learning Sounds Piano you might logically ask? It’s this dreadfully annoying toy that looks like an octopus piano (yes, I just said octopus piano) and makes different animal sounds. Here, take a look: Octopus Piano

As if we weren’t making enough of our own animal noises, I guess my wife wanted more and hit the “Mouse” and “Frog” keys. We all know what a frog sounds like but what sort of noise does a mouse make? Well, according to the geniuses at Baby Einstein it makes a squeak noise. Yea, a freaking SQUEAK noise! Talk about driving into a brick wall at 150 MPH, nothing will kill your horsepower faster than a “squeak” noise from kids’ toys.

Now bear in mind it doesn’t take much to get me motivated and once I’m in the throes of my motivation it takes a lot to distract me. Ed McMahon could walk in with one of those enormous Publisher’s Clearinghouse checks announcing me as the grand prize winner and I wouldn’t skip a pump beat. But damn if this stupid mouse squeak noise didn’t cause a significant, yet temporary, hesitation in my giddy-up. First, it’s a squeak noise. Second, the sound was produced by my kids’ toy. Third, my wife wouldn’t or couldn’t stop laughing. Me, on the other hand, I suddenly felt dirty and yucky. For some reason I just couldn’t shake that squeak noise from my brain. Seriously, I think I’m scarred for life because of this seemingly innocent dereliction of duty on the part of my son. I don’t ask him to change the oil in the truck; I only ask that he pick up his toys! This is why, moms and dads, it’s so vitally important to instill in your kids the habit of cleaning up the toys. Learn from my mistake and insist that your kids pick up their toys or at the very least make sure they don’t play with their toys in your whoopee zone. I sincerely hope my story motivates you to do so.

My wife and I were recently diagnosed with a disease that afflicts millions of people and is especially prevalent during hard economic times.  It’s called CPR, which stands for Can’t Pay Retail.  The telltale symptom is that we are physically unable to pay full-price for anything.  The disease is highly communicable but is one we’d like to spread.  That is why we started Steely Deals.  I want to encourage each and every Steely Dad fan to check out the Steely Deals that I’ve posted (click on “Steely Deals” right next to “About” in the header).  Look, I know we’re all busy dads and moms but there are some seriously cool things that I post and a lot of them are FREE! Yes, FREE as in you don’t have to open your wallet to enjoy them and you won’t go to jail for taking them.  For example, in today’s Steely Deals I posted a deal for FREE Quiznos sandwiches.  I also posted a deal for a free Colgate toothbrush.  In this economy, FREE is a very good state of being.

To the dads out there, seriously take a look at some of these offerings.  Want to impress the missus?  Start taking advantage of FREE stuff, show her how you’re saving the family a bundle and she’ll soon be singing your praises.

If you’re one of those people who’s afraid or embarrassed to get stuff for FREE or you think FREE sounds too good to be true, that’s perfectly acceptable.  Just start checking out Steely Deals and soon you’ll be infected with the CPR disease.  You won’t know how you ever lived without it.

I want to reiterate that I am NOT receiving ANY sort of affiliate income from posting these deals.  Then why take the time to search for these awesome freebies, you might ask?  All I want is to provide, what I hope to be, a useful service to the Steely Dad Nation.

Well yesterday the yentas read my most recent blog posting and, long story short, I’m lucky to have made it out of the Den alive. To be sure, I expected a steady trickling of the yentas reading the blog entry and passing it along within the ranks. I figured this would defuse any mass protest from the yentas. In addition, I anticipated that time and other distractions would help make the memory of my posting fade away and defuse the motivation for a group blitzkrieg. However, mine was an error of underestimation, a military blunder, a faulty strategy. To my dismay, one of the yentas actually pulled up the blog on her smart phone and read it aloud to the entire gathering, which was considerable. Did I mention that she did this whilst I was in the Den? I felt like the monster in Frankenstein when the townspeople formed an angry mob, armed with torches and pitchforks, to attack the source of their nightmare. The yentas began to bare their fangs and claws. It was a frightening sight.

There I was, alone, inside the lion’s den, unarmed and unprepared. To say I was scared is a gross understatement. I knew I could not subdue the crowd with brute force. Their numbers were too strong for such an approach. I had to rely on la lengua de plata. It took some pretty savvy diplomatic maneuvers to quell the yentas and avert an attack. Shoot, I should be the Secretary of State.

The yentas cornered me and attempted to force a cease-and-desist order upon my blog, and more specifically, postings about their secret society. I am adamantly opposed to censorship of any type so I calmly but unequivocally explained that I had an obligation to the Steely Dad Nation and that I would not be able to fulfill their unreasonable request. (I have learned that the yentas can sense the slightest bit of fear so it’s best to develop an air, however manufactured, of confidence.) After much debate and negotiation, we came to an understanding: I can continue to write my blogs as well as stories about the Den of Yentas but I do so at my own peril. For you, the reader, I am willing to accept this as an occupational hazard.

Now when you read Steely Dad, understand that I am assuming tremendous risk on my life to bring you the juice. But this is the greatest story that must be told.