Nuclear Family Warhead

NFW has been listed on Alltop!  Wow, this means a lot to our humble little newbie blog.  To be listed with some of the best sites out there is incredible.  Thanks to Guy Kawasaki, Neenz and the crew over at Alltop.  For those who may not know, Alltop is a kind of an Internet sifter.  It shakes all of the blogs and sites through it’s screen, and what is left is the best of the best!  It is one stop shopping for your viewing pleasure.  You have over 50 categories to choose from; news, science, humor, extreme sports; they’re all listed.  Head on over and cut your site searching in half.

We are keeping great company at Alltop.  There’s Busy Dad, one of our first viewers, and a huge help to us from the get-go.  Joeprah, who needs no introduction and probably doesn’t need this exposure, Mr. Lady over at Whiskey In My Sippy Cup who shows us everyday what an incredible blog should look like.  Xboxfornappyrash isn’t a movie yet, but I’m sure some wise Hollywood insider is working on purchasing the rights to it right now.  If not, they should be.  There is Piper at Bliss In Bloom, Momo Fali’s, Boss Sanders, Secret Agent Mama, Jeremy at Discovering Dad, Dorky Dad, Mitch McDad, Long Days and Pleasant Nights and one of the originators of the genre; Rebel Dad, who has gone back to work, but continues the fight for all of us stay at home dads.  There are more blogs out there that we suspect will be added to Alltop soon; chief among them is my girl Sue at Beggar’s Shot Glass, who writes of family, chocolate and boobs.  But not in that order.  Boobs usually come first.  

Take some time to visit these quality sites and visit Alltop often as they are constantly upgrading and adding new categories.  It’s like having your own Funk and Wagnalls Encyclopedia set without the annoying paper cuts. 

This one calls for a disclaimer.  While I usually have fun with the ‘Cliffipes’, this one will be a little more serious.  Namely because salsa just isn’t that funny.  I have over 20+ years of restaurant experience under my belt.  OK, so like 5 of those years are now hanging OVER my belt, but you get the idea.  The point is that I’ve made, and tasted many salsas in my day, and this one will surprise you.  Over 75% of the restaurants that you eat in that serve salsa start with Pace picante sauce as their base.  Yes, the same stuff you can buy in the store.  If you like your salsa chunky, then open the jar and have fun; we call that really bad ‘pico de gallo’ where I come from.  But if you like actual ’salsa’ as it was meant to be made and eaten, then read on.

• Find your blender
• Clean out the remnants of Margarita’s from your Super Bowl Party
• Didn’t know lime juice and salt would be so hard to clean off, did you?
• Items you will need:
• 1 jar of salsa-I suggest the store brand, cheaper and usually identical
• Guess who probably makes salsa for Wal-mart?  Try and keep Pace with me
• 1 bunch cilantro
• 3 medium tomato’s-ripe/over ripe-buy the mushy ones! They’re not going on your sandwich!
• Water
• Salt and Pepper
• 1 lime
• Put 3-6 sprigs of cilantro in blender. Don’t over do it, it’s strong. Use more or less to taste
• Add 1 1/2 tomato’s, cut in quarters
• Add 1/2 jar of Wal-mart (I said it again!)  Medium salsa
• You can use hot if you like. They also have mild, but then, what would be the point?
• Add salt and pepper to taste-if you over/under do it, you can adjust making 2nd half of batch
• Squeeze in 1/2 lime. FREE TIP: roll lime against the counter (hard) before cutting-more juice!
• Add water: approx. 1/2 to 2/3 cup to start. You can adjust just like with the salt and pepper
• Fire up the Cuisinart-don’t go too long, keep checking consistency, you can’t ‘unblend’
• Pour contents into large bowl and taste. Too salty? Too much cilantro? Now you know what to add more of, or less of with the 2nd half of the batch, just repeat the process.
• Throw away the rest of the cilantro, or go here, I don’t get any more use out of it
• Use liberally on bad food to make it taste better.
• Goes great on the myriad uses of Mexi-Meat
• Don’t forget to yell “Ole’!” when you’re done
• For God’s sake, clean the blender this time

Strange things have been happening at our house.  Things have been disappearing, only to reappear somewhere else hours or even days later.  Items that once belonged to one person have now become the property of another.  The exchange usually takes place without the original owner even being aware that their property has been pilfered.  One example of this phenomenon appeared just recently in our garage.  Here is the photographic forensic evidence.

I lined up the usual suspects and began my line of questioning.  First up: Nukeboy1.  “Nukeboy1, do you know how this butt pad ended up on Nukegirl’s bike?”  “I don’t know Dad, I just live here”, he said.  The funny thing is; Nukeboy1 had recently acquired the butt pad in question from NukeMom.  It was a “loaner”, an “I swear I’ll give it back”, it was dangerously close to being a “well, you never use it anyway.”  Nukeboy1 was of the opinion that it was a borrow/lien/possession equation: if you don’t ask for it back within the time period that he thinks is sufficient, then ownership defaults to him.  “Possession is 9/10ths of the law, you know.”  Touche, Columbo.

Nukeboy2 was rounded up just so we’d have enough suspects for the line up.  He had an airtight alibi.  He was on a moon of Endor conquering Lego stormtroopers.  I set my sights on Nukegirl.  The little Svengali had a standard M.O.; deny, deny, deny; and then, reason with hypotheticals.  “It wasn’t me Daddy, I was just drawing with my chalk.”  Little did she know that I had already noticed the pale blue and pink traces of chalk dust glaring from the surface of the jet black bike seat.  I would save this for later.  Just when she thought she’d be making bail, I’d drop the bomb shell and we’d move on to the plea-bargaining.  It would be awesome; just like the last 4 1/2 minutes of CSI.  Besides, she was already under suspicion for aiding and abetting in the disappearance of an entire family of chalk people.  You can read my case file here.

“Are you sure you don’t know how the butt pad got on your bike?” I asked her again.  “It was just there, Dada, I’m serious!”  Denial number two; she was playing right into my hands.  “But it couldn’t just get there by itself, honey, someone had to put it there” I good copped.  “Maybe it fell off of Nukeboy1’s bike and landed on my seat” she offered.  Plausible?  Maybe on the Wonder Pets, but not on my beat.  “And it would just land perfectly on your bike seat on the other side of the garage?” I asked.  “Yeah! That’s what happened; and then, it told me to sit on it.”   She was good, but I wouldn’t be taken off task.  “Do you see all of this chalk on the seat?” I asked her.  “Yes” was all she could muster.  The head went down, the lip pouted and she knew she’d been caught.  “I’m sorry Daddy, I just wanted to use it so my hiney would be nice and fluffy.”  I had to give her credit for motive, at least.

She pleaded guilty to larceny and possession of stolen goods.  She was sentenced to 15 to 20 minutes without television, and will be on chalk probation for 3 weeks.  With good behavior, she could be out in 5 minutes. Case Closed.

I’ll never forget the first time NukeMom caught me loading the washing machine “my way”.   My thoughts on the subject were; if it fits in there, it oughta come out clean.  I mean, if I can cram it in there, then why not?  Right?  Wrong.  Obviously now I know better. 

In the old days laundry to me was like doing the yard; sometimes you have to pick the kids up by their pits and have them stomp on top to get it all in.  It doesn’t matter if it’s Bermuda Tiff, or 300 thread count sheets.  Even if the top layer never got “totally wet” during the wash cycle, I knew that we had spin, rinse and spin coming up!  When the water kicked back on, there would be no way the top layer could stay dry.  After further review, and a lesson in laundry etiquette from NukeMom, I’ve come to the realization that size really does matter.

Smaller is better.  There, I said it.  Just because I can fit 37 pounds of laundry in the machine doesn’t mean I should.  Sure, I could knock out a week’s worth of laundry in 3 loads, but I know now that it is wrong.  Wrong on so many levels.  I have come full circle, and each morning I can be found in the laundry room gently and lovingly “placing” a load of laundry in the machine.  I don’t throw, cram, pack or smash anymore.  I can already see the benefits.  Today when I put towels away, I could only fit 4 towels where I could normally fit 6.  Fluffiness!  Who knew?  I knew that using 4 times the recommended amount of Downy would pay off.

Alright friends and neighbors, this is the official announcement of our newest service to mankind.  We would never be so obtuse as to placate your insatiable yearning for verbiage of a sesquipedalian nature; much to your chagrin.

We know that people don’t really talk like that, but they used to!  And you still can, if your desire is to be beaten senseless at the car wash.  For those of you just wishing to learn some new words that you can use  occasionally, this is the place.  We’ll even link to dictionary dot com so you can see that we aren’t making them up.  Some of the words will stupefy you.  Others will make you say; “So THAT’S what that Euro-trash jerk meant!”, and still others will make your waiter or waitress think that with a vocabulary like that, you should certainly be a better tipper.

I know you’re thinking that all you really have to do is subscribe to Reader’s Digest for their “It pays to enrich your word power” section, and you would be correct.  To a point.  I promise you, we’ll list some words that I guarantee you would never grace the pages of RD.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good magazine, but ask yourself; “Have I really laughed out loud at any of the Life in these United States anecdotes lately?”  Besides, most of their stuff has moved to the Internet anyway.  Play it safe.  Stick with us.  Click on the page link above on the header bar to see the word for this week, or click here.

• If chicken isn’t thawed, now would be a good time to start
• Use cold running water to thaw, hot water only gives you funky chicken
• Plan ahead next time
• Never mind, if you had planned ahead, you wouldn’t be reading this
• Look in pantry.  See anything good? Use it
• Chicken is like blue jeans-it goes with almost anything
• Mushrooms, olives, vegetables, mac & cheese-everybody’s a candidate
• Pick a noodle.  Any noodle.
• Spaghetti, fettuccine, linguine, penne-you get the idea
• If using rice instead of noodles, you’re gonna need more sauce
• Use soy, teriyaki, white wine, sherry, and water, if your in a pinch
• Saute chicken with liquid.  When it’s kinda brown, throw in the solids
• When solids get kinda mushy, it’s done
• You did start the rice/noodles, didn’t you?
• Set foundation with rice or noodles
• Spoon chicken (insert ingredients here) on top
• The fussier the kid, the more juice you’ll need
• If all of your kids are fussy, add bread as a side dish
• Name your creation. IMPORTANT! Do this last-you never know what’s going to end up in there

Common courtesy is officially dead.  It died, yesterday morning around 10:30am.  It was MURDERED by the convenience store clerk and the guy in line in front of me.  Common courtesy was born a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away and prospered through much of the early 20th century.   Common courtesy fell out of the mainstream in the 60’s but showed resurgence in the late 80’s and early 90’s.  With the popularity of gangsta-rap and the Jerry Springer Show, common courtesy again faded from view as the new millenium arrived.  In lieu of flowers, please hold the door for the next person you encounter at your favorite store or restaurant. 

You know, I don’t mind when casual clerk/customer banter goes on during the purchase, but once your purchase is final, hit the door!  I know that you’re dying to tell this clerk that you’ve known all of 2 visits about your cat’s colonoscopy, but shouldn’t you take him to dinner first?  Or, maybe learn his last name?  Or how about you, Ms. “Can you check my 27 lotto tickets to see if they’re winners”, do you really think that Friday night at 5:17pm is the best time to check those tickets?  Can’t you see the 8 people in line behind you?  Did you forget about the 6 people that were in line in front of you just a minute ago? How about checking the newspaper, or going on line.  Take some of your winnings and buy a ticket for the clue bus.

What does it say about our society that we are all in such a hurry, except when it becomes “our turn”?  You waited patiently for your turn and now you have it; don’t abuse it.  Take care of business and then let the people behind you have a chance to do the same.  AFTER the clerk has given you your total IS NOT the time to start stumbling through your purse, or to realize that your wallet is still in the car.  Be prepared.  What?  Didn’t have enough time to get your money out while the guy in front of you decided to take up smoking?  “What is a menthol?  Should I buy soft pack or hard pack? OOH! Show me the ones in the pretty red box!”  Let’s get with it people, I’ve got a Dr. Pepper in one hand, a Nutrageous in the other and a 4 year old tugging on my shirt saying: “Daddy, I have to go potty.”  I really don’t have time to listen to you and the clerk talk about what a crime it is that “Jericho” got cancelled.  Again.  Go home and start a fan club internet protest.  Again.  We have to go; literally.

$1,000,000.00 offered to the person or persons that remove Dora the Explora’ from television.*

This insanity has gone on long enough.  I do my best to keep her out of the house, but like an annoying insect she slips through the door when you’re lugging in groceries, or letting the cat out for the morning.  Then she attaches herself to your brain stem and starts feasting.   This girl needs to be in the care of a good psychotherapist in order to get a handle on her OCD.  She has to ask herself where she’s going 3 or 4 times before she can get started.  Even then, she’s not really sure so she asks my kid for help. 

It turns out that the producers of Dora didn’t think that she and her boot wearing monkey were irritating enough.  She has a cousin too!  Diego.  He runs around with a dangerous predatory cat as a pet and thinks nothing of bringing this man-eater around the general population.  What is he thinking?  Well, admittedly, they do describe him as a “very special child.”

Dora and her monkey alone would be enough for any grown man to have to endure, but she has an entire menagerie of aggravating inanimate objects to draw from.  Chief among these being The Map.  I can tell you’re a map, you don’t have to repeat it 12 times.  Write some new lyrics for your song before you pop out of the backpack, backpack, backpack, backpack… again.

I care not as to how it’s done, just get her off the air.  Bring her to the Lair and collect your reward.

* Reward paid out at $1 per year for 1 million years.

We had finally made it to the clearing.  After a grueling trek through the space display, and battling 2 busloads of day campers in the “Make Your Own Kind of Music” exhibit, we found ourselves in Dentopia.  Nukeboy2 stood frozen in his tracks, eyes fixated on the wonder of it all.  Before him stood the interactive tooth table (with real drill action!), the “How Braces Work” display and; in the corner, the floor to ceiling mouth.

“Whoa!, Dad! Check it out!”  Nukeboy2 has seen this exhibit at the museum many times before, but it never fails to amaze him.  That’s part of the fun of bringing him back.  Where else can a kid climb inside a mouth without getting plaque all over him?  “I wonder how much the tooth fairy would give me for one of these!” he said, as he held a chair sized molar over his head.  “Buddy” I said, “If we could get 3 or 4 of those to the car without being noticed, we could put all 3 of you through college and fund our retirement.”

We couldn’t hang around, the day campers were hot on our trail.  We broke for the planetarium as the day campers swooped down into “Anatomyland” and began yanking the innards out of Squeaky.  Squeaky is the larger than life stuffed doll with a navel to sternum incision (with real surgery action!).  Poor Squeaky.  As we made the turn I heard a young Surgeon yell; “Hey, look at this!”  It’s ok, though; a museum volunteer will return Squeaky’s pancreas to him once the mob has moved on.  He’ll live to teach another day.

Helen comes to our house every month.  She only stays for a week, or so, but the effects of her visits can usually be felt a few days before she gets here, and for a few days after she leaves.  She grates on NukeMom the most.  It’s no skin off my back, cause I can just leave the room if I don’t want to be around her, but whenever she’s here,  she won’t give NukeMom a moments rest.

I do my best to support NukeMom when Helen visits.  It’s a relationship that started when they were teenagers.  They met in junior high and they’ve been inseparable ever since.  Can’t say that it’s ever been a good relationship, just one of those relationships that you tolerate because you have to.  I mean, it’s not like they’re best friends or anything.  In fact, I think if NukeMom had it her way, she’d just as soon not have to deal with Helen at all anymore. 

Helen is getting ready to leave and we couldn’t be happier.  The kids will get more time with NukeMom, I’ll get more time with NukeMom and most importantly; NukeMom will get more time to herself.  She won’t have to deal with “The Helen Issue” again until next month.  I swear, that woman shows up like clockwork.  Uninvited.  Like she’s on some cycle, or something.

*This post pre-screened, pre-approved and endorsed by NukeMom* (I’m not a total idiot)