Oh what to get my teenaged daughters for Christmas.

It can’t be that difficult. After all, I am in touch.

I love to go to the mall with my daughters. I pick out earings, shoes, purses. They know me at Claires and Icing.

But this year, they need something that embodies their very soul. They need something that reflects the core of who they are. Because you are what you wear?

Yes, a teenage girl can be all that she can be. Not by her family roots, her dreams, her accomplishments, nor truely understanding who God made her to be. No, she can only be… what she buys. She is a consumer. She IS what she consumes.

And it’s my job as a father to continue to ruin her for her future spouse(s). Raise Princesses. Create unreal expectations as to what the real world is like. Teach them they own the world and stuff matters. Show them where their self-esteem belongs – in my wallet. And then hand their self-esteem off to some other poor schlub.

Now I have to say I am fortunate that my daughters do not find their identity by being the pubesent arm candy of some Holister-saggin’-need-his-bangs-cut-boyrat. Am I Lucky? No.

See you as a parent can actually influence your children’s behavior. I am not joking. My girls are really not interested in boys. Why? Because I said so. Ok, it’s not exactly what I said. It’s what I do. And it starts when they are messy haired cute little punkins heads.

But girls, they also need role models. They need real people, real women to show them the way. After all parents are not enough. It takes a village.

So do I get them Katy Perry’s Meow! or The Scent of Snooki?

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Anyone else oogied out by this accusation that @justinbieber kidded a child?

I for one think it is in poor taste to even make such a public accusation. But then again, have you seen this, this woman? And what, with all that credibility dangling from her face and yet people doubt her story?

It’s hard to avoid I guess, being all these “legit” news outlets are being scouped daily by the likes of TMZ and the ever credible Roise “The Hyatt” Perez or whatever that freak’s name is.

Decency standards? What are those? People aren’t into news, they’re into smut and lies and gossip. And if there is one thing we know is that people get what they want. How else do you explain Jersey Shore?

There is certainly no accounting for taste.

Well, gotta run. The kids are about to start “Pitbulls and Parolees” without me.

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Gonna go ahead and take credit for yet another term-coining. You heard if here first.

Extreme Stuponing

What’s the deal with these extreme couponing freaks (pun intended)?

Who the heck needs 400 bottles of garlic flavored ketchup?

Who needs 600 lbs. of Cookie Monster flavored Fruit Roll Ups?

Who needs 800 two liters of Root Beer shaped like Al Roker?

These people spend WAY too much time doing this only to get a rat infested cellar filled with trashy high fructose corn syrup “food.”

These are not really money conscience Moms trying to make their drive-thru manager spouse’s income stretch a little further. Nope.

They are food horders and personally I think it’s all Oprah’s fault.

It’s a sport. It’s an obsession…for the thrill. Yeah, and what kind of person seeks a life consuming thrill from little annoying rectangle pieces of paper with barcodes on them?

These people need Jail time, not their own show. Because you know their kids suffer some sort of weird ritualistic coupon abuse, like “Why are you crying Ashely? Because I didn’t get invited to Emily’s birthday party!” “Well, why not deary?” Because Mom, my friends are sick of getting a case of Spngebob shaped bunion pads from me for their birthdays!”

This is real. Something needs to be done about it.

It looks tempting to try. After all we all captured by the thought of making our grocery store dollar go a little further.

We are secretly impressed with these people. They are well organized, money conscience and well meaning. But behind that calculator and fanny pack is pure evil.

Because if I EVER get behind one of these discount nazis in the checkout line I’m throwing Oreos. Next thing you know the economies of scale will start to affect the rest of us.

Soon you will start seeing signs like: 20 Carts or Less.

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… and it’s ugly.

Yep Bulldozing. It’s the new Quan. Wear it loud and proud corporate america.

That’s how you get things done, ya know? Got an inch? Snatch that territory from your fellow co-worker like taking a lit match from a pyro toddler. Just make sure you write a procedure for it. Cause once it’s on paper, it’s a license.

What ever happened to team work? Remember, there’s no “I” in it? Team building. Team retreats. Team luncheons. Team exercises. Team T shirts. Team meetings. Team charity work. Team therapy.  Team challenges. Team ball teams. Party planning teams. Team hugs. Human pyramid teams. Team piercings. Team Planking. Team hand fishing. Team puppeting. Team bigfoot worshipping.

Nope not anymore.

TEAM spelled backwards is MEAT. As in dead.

And Mean is out. Too messy.

Back stabbing? Too many witnesses.

Gossip? Not effective anymore.

Retaliation? Jurys love that.

Harrassment? Cell phone cams.

But ignoring someone while running over and crunching their proverbial carcass is sweet poetry.

It’s all good, because greed is too.

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Today I spent 6 hours and 45 minutes in 5 different meetings. Yep, a new record for me.

I’ve heard people say, stop spending so much time in meetings and actually get some work done.

My response to this is, ok let’s stop with all this communicating and go back to our holes and get back to Minsweeper Solitare eBay Facebook Pinterest.

As Jerry Maguire would say, “We live in a synical world.”

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Watching 42 Kids and Counting with the lovable Duggar family.

On tonight’s episode they had a special surprise announcement. Wonder what that could possibly be?

Of all the years of critisim (hate) that family takes over time you gotta wonder why.

So what is it? Lazy? Not a chance. A burden on our society? Nope, even without the bank from the show, they bring in the dough. Very, very resourceful folk.

Bratty kids? Ha. Try again.

Neglected kids? Abused Kids? Nope.

So what is it.

Yes, envy.

That’s what it really is. Most people don’t really like children, especially their own. They wish they did, but they don’t. And they feel guilt and don’t understand why their very own flesh and blood don’t fit in with their life nearly as well and they think it should. And that conflict comes out when they see a seemly peaceful large family. They wish they could deal with their children better than they do. They wait too long to have them and in the end they don’t have the emotional stability to deal with them when the leave the nest. Quite a quandry it is.

So why?

(I’ll keep this short) Our culture teaches us from a young age that consuming stuff is the most important thing in life and it’s how we judge our self worth and the importance of others.

So after our all consuming lazy teen years, we are taught to gather as much education, money and stuff we can. And afterthat figure out how to work in a family.

After all, we gotta have it all.

We need this big house and these two nice cars and a nice Christmas and a nice vaca and, oh, gotta get my teeth whitened, again.

Et cetera. Et cetera.

That’s why I like Jim Bob. Lame haircut and all, he’s gettin it done, in more ways than one.

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Strange thing happened to me this evening. Sit back and enjoy my tale…

My daughter was at the YMCA – now known as the “Y”. Anyways, she was showing up all those other kids in her gymnastics class. I needed to pick her up at 6:30 pm. So after I got home from work I got into my after school clothes. However, I knew I was headed to the “Y” shortly so I decided to keep it classy.

I put on black sweat pants, my sweet black Nike shoes and my sweet black Nike warm up jacket. Yeah, pretty awesome.

I made one additional, uh addition. It was raining so I needed a ball cap. I did consider the opportunity costs of not being able to show my sweet new hair cut but at times I can be practical. My cap of choice happened to be a new, very starkely contrasting black, red and white cap from our local semi pro baseball team.

Dressed to kill. Dressed to impress. After all clothes make the man.

As soon as I walked into the bright lights of the “Y” lobby, I was greeted with more looks than usual (I am accustomed to a few, of course). But as I headed down the hall past the basketball courts the admirable stares continued. I thought to myself, I knew I should have sported my new hair cut. Dang too late now.

As I catch a glance of myself in the yoga room mirrors I did a double take…

Now I am known for being able to spot celebrities a good 20 Walk of Fame stars away. Remind me sometime to tell you a few of these storys, will ya?

A smile crept across my ruggedly hanson face. Yep, everyone thinks I’m a semi pro ball player. It’s a contextual thing. If I would have been at the grocery store, no one would have noticed. Ha! I then began to empathize with those gazing upon my mistaken celebrityness. Hmm, I thought, I’m kinda tall I suppose. I’m rather athletically built, rock-like jaw line, intimidating stare, hairy arms, etc.

I can see how this could happen. Yeah, I’m a playa, a ball playa. Huh, I wonder if anyone will approach me, I think to myself. I don’t have a pen on me – cross that bridge when I come to it.

As I reached the gymnastic class to watch my equally impressive althetic daughter, a Dad and his young son walked by me staring.

The boy says to his Dad, “Is that man a coach?

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