You’re one seriously bad mofo Sam Jackson & I dig your hair

Time for a quick run through some of the odd, random thoughts that have been bouncing around my head for the past week or so. 

An optimist would say my head is half full but anyone who knows me well would beg to differ …

* My goatee recently died in a tragic, heart-breaking trimming accident.

One of these days I’m going to learn to just leave my facial hair alone because every goatee I’ve ever had has died the same way.
What starts out as a bored attempt to clean and even up my facial hair ends up turning my goatee into a lopsided mess that gets buzzed off in a fit of frustration.
What a waste of months and months of Rogaine.
Next time I’m going to buy this thing and take the thinking out of goatee trimming
* Stumbled across “Pulp Fiction” late one night on IFC the other day and the main thing I remember from seeing the premiere in the theater is that I spent the first 5 minutes laughing at Samuel L. Jackson’s hair and facial fuzz.
That’s an awesome look and I wish I could pull it off.
* One more movie I came across while channel surfing by moonlight: “The Adventures of Ford Fairlane.”
How the hell did Andrew Dice Clay ever get his own movie?
It seemed ridiculous in 1990 and it seems even more absurd today. 
Diceman must have had one hell of an agent back then to squeeze a movie out of Dice’s 15 minutes of fame.
* Speaking of 15 minutes of fame, where the hell did Arsenio Hall go?
His name popped up at work the other day when someone made a bad joke about “Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm” (actually, is there a good joke about that?) which led to equally bad jokes about the “Dog Pound.”
That naturally led me to YouTube to find Arsenio interviewing heavyweight guests Vanilla Ice and Milli Vanilli on his late night talk show ( and
You’d think Tyler Perry could throw Arsenio a bone and give him a role in one of his two dozen mediocre sitcoms on TBS.
* I recently needed a little clarification on some family issues involving a mutual acquaintance so I asked my wife to “do your usual sweet, innocently sneaky thing and glean some information” for me.  

I wonder if she’s offended that I think she’s sneaky in a sweet, innocent way?

* Fall is around the corner which means the NFL regular season is about to kick off and for the first time in years I’m not playing fantasy football.
I decided to punt on joining my usual league as part of my ongoing effort to find more time to keep up with this whole parenting gig I got into about a year and a half ago.
It feels really strange to know that I’ll actually have a lot of free time once fantasy baseball season wraps up.
The writing was on the wall for the end of my fantasy football career when I spent my live draft last season in front of a laptop with a screaming infant in one arm while frantically flipping through my Sports Illustrated NFL season preview.
I drafted Larry Johnson and if that doesn’t tell a man it’s time to hang up the fantasy cleats I don’t know what is.
* Remember that whole diet thing?  Forget about it because it’s deader than dead at this point.
I’m not even trying anymore, it’s pretty pathetic when you get right down to it.
I think I’ll hop on the bathroom scale soon just to amuse myself and see how many pounds have globbed onto me since I did a hard, swift faceplant off the wagon.
It hurt, but at least my flab cushioned the fall.
* Speaking of my diet biting the dust, I fully expect to have a heart attack in about a year because I recently found out that In-N-Out Burger is coming to town soon.
They’re planning to set up shop in Pleasant Hill, a short drive from where I work and right across the parking lot from Toys R Us/Babies R Us.
Are the trying to kill me?
Aside from opening a restaurant in my driveway is there a more dangerous location to put an In-N-Out Burger?
I’ll apologize to my pallbearers right now: Sorry guys, but the temptation was too great and I just couldn’t lay off the animal style double-doubles.
* Now that I’m within shouting distance of having a second child I can say for certain that diaper bags are one big scam.
I’ve seen my wife eyeballing diaper bags at Babies R Us for a couple of months even though we already have two.
The search for the perfect diaper bag never seems to end and I just don’t understand what’s so special about them.
They’re just glorified backpacks and messenger bags.  

The price of anything seems to go up by at least 25 percent as soon as you associate it with a baby.

It’s almost as bad as the markup on anything related to a wedding.  

A generic cake on its own is affordable but as soon as you call it a “wedding cake” the price seems to skyrocket.  

Who says you can’t put  a price on love?

I recently hit Ross on my lunch break and snagged a backpack for $20 that I thought had a chance to be “The One.”  

You know, the diaper bag to end all diaper bags.

I know, fat chance. 
Sure enough, my wife looked it over and it didn’t pass the test.
Luckily, she knows exactly what she wants and it’s a $100 diaper bag with a matching purse.
I love her, but she’s one fiendishly clever little lady.
You see, she has what I call an obsession with purses and it’s been a long time since she bought one.  Our budget is tight and she’s tried to be good.
But she clearly knows that I’m a sucker for spending money on anything related to our kids and this chic diaper bag is obviously part of her evil plan to squeeze a new purse out of something baby related.
I know you’re reading this woman and I’m on to you.

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