Oh My Cow

I never blog anymore, I know this already. What used to be a relaxing way to get my thoughts out in the open for others to see became more of a hassle and an inconvenience to my daily ritual than anything else. In my experience, anytime any project is approached in that manner the quality is what suffers; and that is not what I want. Besides, with the addition of a new baby and attempting to make our new house feel like home, I found myself devoid of the necessary time to deliver Grade A blog material. Even after a three-month hiatus my blogging ego is still astonishing.

*The two baby pictures are of the newest addition to the family, Caleb Zachary Romick, born July 27, 2010 at 6:39 a.m.

Now, something is on my mind, something that I have to share in hopes others feel the same way I do. I’ve diligently tried as I’ve matured through my 20’s to be more constructive, more positive, and to shy away from profanity laced rants. Look, I’m not the poster boy for maturity since I still find humor in a good fart, but I feel if all I do is openly complain about problems I see and offer no solution then I am not helping anything. It’s easy to point of shortcomings and deficiencies without offering advice; it’s part of the elitist attitude many people have in today’s society – pass blame, defer to somebody else to fix the problem, and wash your hands clean of the problem.

What I’m about to complain about are not global problems, yet, and to the best of my knowledge there is nothing I can do to fix the problem. There are three issues I’m going to discuss and they are prioritized by my level of frustration upon witnessing each - Least frustrated to “Oh my cow I feel my hair falling out”.

(Jadon says “Oh My Cow” as opposed to “Oh My God”.)

Coming in at third place is grocery store or convenient store employees who listen to their iPod while on the clock. The two aforementioned places are the places I see this with the greatest frequency. Another very prominent place is in food services. I think the reason this annoys me is because I’m getting older and the most typical offenders are teenagers. To me it says, “I don’t care about what I’m doing, I just care about looking cool.”

Ok fine, you can look cool. However comma, when you are hopelessly lost in your fantasy world, as the Black Eyed Peas serve as the soundtrack to your life, just remember that you are on the clock and getting paid to perform a service. Furthermore, it should go without saying that if you need to remove an earpiece and ask “I’m sorry could you say that again?” that you are clearly wrong.

Even more so, the second being cool interferes with your ability to perform said service is the moment being cool may need to wait until the end of your 4-hour shift. Finally, what rant would be complete without a real world story?

Yesterday Jadon and I went into the Commissary to get some steak and shrimp for dinner (top 5 dinner of all time if anybody was curious) and were at the checkout line. As we grabbed our bags we waited for the grocery carts to disperse since there were a lot of people present at that particular time of day. One of the employees, who was responsible for moving the carts, nearly knocked Jadon over as he swung the cart around, paying no mind to his surrounding. As I asked Jadon if he was ok I said to the kid, trying not to sound like a prick, “Can you be a little more careful next time?” The kid had long hair, brushed it over to the side, removed his headphones and asked, “What?”

Like I said, I think my age is what bothers me about that.

Moving on to the second piece of everyday life that bothers me. On my daily commute to or from work, depending on the time of day, I encounter heavy, slow moving traffic. This doesn’t bother me because it is a part of life. Everyday though I find myself sitting at a red light or idling along at 10 kph on the Autobahn and see motorcyclists’ operating under the assumption that traffic laws and waiting apply to everybody on the road, except for them.

I do not own a motorcycle nor have I ever ridden one, but let me see if I got this straight. Since a motorcycle is not as wide as a car and can therefore maneuver in and out of traffic much easier, being allowed to cut to the front of a 30-minute traffic jam is authorized? Since every other occupant on the road has to wait his or her turn to advance one car length at a time, a motorcycle is the exception to the rule?

Is that a new unwritten rule of the road I am blind to? If I apply for a motorcycle license will I be pulled aside at the DMV and be told, “Dude. You don’t have to wait in line anymore on the road. This here bro, is your universal ‘move to the front of the line’ pass.”

Let’s forget for one second the poor etiquettes of these individuals and instead focus on the hazard they present to everybody else on the road. In slow moving traffic I see motorcyclists’ driving down the middle of the road like Marty McFly about to travel through time. I have, and I’m sure others have too, nearly been hit by a motorcycle driving down the middle of the road – Which I’m told is the unwritten “3^rd lane of traffic.”

The worst part to this problem is when a motorcyclist is hit in traffic, automobile users are always told to be “vigilant” and to be “cautious” of motorcyclists’. I love asking rhetorical questions so let me ask this, “How does one remain vigilant of stupidity and ignorance?”

I could write a 3,000 word blog alone on this topic but I won’t, instead I’ll move on to the final piece of human stupidity which makes me think now, more than ever, controlling reproduction of select groups of people is a must. I’m of course referring the self-checkout isle at the grocery store.

How often do you see somebody at the self-check out isle with a grocery cart halfway filled or more? Maybe I frequent the grocery store during the peak moronic hours, but I witness it first hand ALL THE TIME. Yes, it deserved capital letters!

I fully get it, we all are extremely busy and our time is sensitive. But come on people! Let’s suppose that you, the person reading this, have a cart full of groceries, and there are only three checkout lines available, including the express lane. You are disqualified from the express lane since you have more than 20 items, which leaves two isles. Both isles have two people waiting in line with one person paying for their groceries. However, at the end of the store you spot a self-checkout lane that just opened up. You deem this to be the best option since; of course, you are far more capable of checking yourself out faster than a cashier with knowledge of the computer system and a designated bagger.

This infuriates me to no end. Mainly because I’m the shmuck standing in the self-checkout line with a bag of charcoal and a $10 bill and could be out the door in less than 2 minutes. Instead, I stand witness to four self-checkout isles of incompetence, as each person fumbles their way through weighing fruits and vegetables, and then fails to find correct produce item on the touch screen.

Occasionally I’ll get fed up and ask the people waiting in front of me, with a cart full of groceries (try and figure that one out), if I can go ahead. Most of the time my request is granted, and sometimes, the attendant overseeing the self-checkout will move me to the front of the line.

Something I should have said at the beginning is I’m not a fan of the self-checkout simply because it does nothing more than eliminate jobs. Am I a hypocrite for using the self-checkout once in a while? Perhaps. I never said I was perfect though.

My last piece about the grocery store is how inconsiderate and blind of others are the people who proceed to the express checkout isle with a cart full of groceries. The most masterful part to this omission of common sense is when the groceries are placed on the express lane, and the cashier says something along the lines of, “This lane is reserved for customers with 20 or fewer items.” The shopper in question gets this real confused look on their face and responds with, “Oh really. I didn’t know.” Whatever!

Well friends, that is the life of a 28 year old that now drives a minivan (Yup, you read that right).

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Where I Been?

Hi! How is everybody doing? It’s been what, almost two months since I’ve written anything. Amazing how fast time goes by. It was not a conscious choice but something that just happened. I had intentions of writing, good ones even, but in the end I never mustered up the ambition to write anything.

The source of the problem is directly related to work. The month of April I spent in the field (gunnery), working long hours. During that time the creative juices in my head were not as prevalent as usual. My free time away from work was spent talking to Celia, the kids, and watching The Wire and getting caught up on Lost (more in a minute). Spending more time in front of a computer screen did not have the same appeal it once had.

A funny thing happened towards the end of gunnery, I received a phone call regarding a very rare job opportunity. The job was to work in the office of the Commanding General of Europe.

I called Celia to inform her and get her thoughts; there were pros and cons to each side of the job. In the end we decided to place our move back to the States on hold, stay in Germany for an additional year, and move to the Heidelberg area so I could begin my new job.

Insert reason number two for my extended layoff from The Morning Ride. The demands of my new job, working in the office of a 4 Star General, take their toll on me mentally. As Forrest Gump would say, “I’m not a smart man” so therefore I feel I need to work harder just to stay on par. The margin for error is zero and by days end - I am mentally spent. The burning desire to for me to write anything remotely creative diminished more rapidly than the belief Daniel LaRusso could somehow win the All-Valley Karate Tournament in Karate Kid Part III.

I began my new job the beginning of May in Heidelberg while Celia stayed back with the kids in Baumholder. When I would get back to my hotel at the end of the workday I would give Celia a ring and get caught up on my television viewing – i.e. Lost.

Speaking of Lost, a lot of people may have been disappointed in the ending but I was not. The people who were disappointed were going to be disappointed regardless. I personally believe many people are predisposed to complain, regardless of the situation. Lost was a great show, it really was. Disgruntled fans claiming they wasted the last 6 years of their life need to cut out the dramatics and get over themselves. The finale produced a great ending to an all-time great show!

The last piece of information in this incredibly dull and painful update (and probably the worst blog I’ve ever written) is Celia and I will be moving into our first house together. We found a house on the German economy, just outside of Heidelberg. We are set to move in the second week of June and all of our attention is now being focused on the move.

The hardest part from not writing anything in a significant amount of time is how forced this 600-word update felt. Old Andrew could shell out 600 words about his Mickey Mouse coffee cup. This version of Andrew felt like MJ after shaking off the cobwebs against the Indiana Pacers following a 2-year baseball sabbatical - Capable of so much more but just not able to produce.

In the weeks and months to come do I hope to dish out pieces of award winning literature in an attempt to resurrect my blogging career? Sure do.

Oh by the way, Celia’s belly is getting big. Due date is August 16, 2010. The sex remains unknown and will be until the birth. The names for Baby Romick are the following:

If it’s a girl, Shaniqua Maxine, Maxine is my Grandma’s middle name.

If it’s a boy, LeLarry, named after my Grandpa.

See Grandma, now you have to make another trip to Germany to see the latest great-grand baby.

Coming up with baby names, perhaps that will be my next blog entry. Everybody take care. Deuces.

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The Meaning of Life

I believe I was 8 years old when I first asked my Dad the question, “What is the meaning of life?” I’m sure the profoundness of the question set him back as I was still just a young boy. I don’t remember what he told me or even sure I understood the magnitude of the question I asked him. I was at such a young age I thought the answer could easily be explained by an adult. I assumed there was a clear, concise definition to the meaning of life, as there was with everything I was learning in school; i.e. 2+2=4, the sun=hot, babies come from belly buttons, etc. I was wrong.

I Googled (I love the fact that a website can be used as a verb) “the meaning of life” and even tried searching Wikipedia – nothing. Well nothing relevant that is. There were thousands of hits with thousands of people attempting to sound intelligent speaking from philosophical and religious viewpoints, but nothing which stood out and said, “This! Andrew, this is the meaning of life.” I believe this to be the first and only time Google ever failed me.

20 years after I first asked my Dad the question did I finally learn the answer. I know why I’m alive and what my meaning in life is. For those of you reading this, I have no earthly idea what your purpose is, I’m not that smart. My answer is as simplistic as an answer to a profound question can get – To be Dad and the best one I can be.

Admit it; you thought I was going to say to entertain 20-30 readers via my blog? Didn’t you?

My epiphany came to me as I left Baumholder for a month long field rotation. The morning of my second day away from home I called Celia to talk to her and the kids. Celia put the phone on speaker mode and I began to talk to both Jadon and Hailey. Jadon could not have been happier!

“Daddy! Daddy! Honey, it’s Daddy! Hi Daddy Dale,” Jadon shouted.
“Agghh! Dada Dada! Baaahhhhh,” Hailey echoed. What Hailey said translates into, “Yo! Dad! Cut me up a banana, STAT!”

Those two little kids made my morning and made me feel so good about myself. I hadn’t been gone very long but it was long enough for Jadon and Hailey to know Daddy wasn’t around. Just by hearing the excitement in their voice reminded me I’m doing good by them. And because I know they love me and love having me around only makes me want to become a better Daddy for the two of them.

There are many things I have done, and will do in the future, but nothing will compete with the pride I take in providing for my kids. I’m not reinventing the wheel in parenting, I’m doing what every father is supposed to do, and I take great pride in doing so. The payoff is two beautiful kids who light up like Christmas morning when Daddy comes through the door from work, or calls in the morning and can hear their voice spike immediately.

For the life of me, I cannot think of any better reason to be alive other than to make life as good as possible for Jadon and Hailey. Any parent worth a damn knows exactly what I’m talking about. Most everything I do in my life is little in comparison to what I do at home. To me, the real grade of a parent, and of an individual, is not what outsiders think of you, but is how those in your household view you. That is how you gauge success in life!

I want to tell a story that absolutely broke my heart. It was a morning not long after I returned home from Iraq, and the newness of Daddy being home had worn off. In the days leading up to this particular morning I would go to and from work and eventually Jadon realized that I was home for good. One morning as I prepared to walk out the door Jadon burst into tears. He ran towards me, grabbed my leg and looked up at me with tears streaming down his face and cried, “Daddy no bye bye! Daddy no bye bye! He thought I was leaving for a long time again.

I don’t know what triggered his reaction but it made me realize he was at an age where he knew just how much he wanted me in his life. I knelt down, hugged him, and told him I would never, ever leave him. Sooner, and not later, Hailey will reach this phase too. It was the type of hurt I never want my kids to feel.

While my impact on the world will most likely not be as great as others, I can say with 100% certainty that I made a difference in two beautiful children’s eyes (and one on the way). That is all I need to know and is what I truly care about. Who am I? I’m Jadon and Hailey’s dad, which is everything and more I could ever ask for. And that is the meaning of life, for me anyway.

I would also like to say that today, April 7th, is Jadon’s third birthday. Today Celia let Jadon do what he absolutely loves - Go bowling. You can also see Hailey enjoy some of her Big Brothers birthday cupcakes. Happy birthday Little Boy!

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FYI

In case anybody is wondering why nothing new has been posted the answer is simple. I'm currently out doing a field rotation and do not have any time to write anything. I'm not sure how long it will be until I can get something new up, possibly another month. In the meantime, feel free to shoot me an email.

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Hailey's One Year Photo Shoot

Hailey turned One-Year Old last month - Look how much this Little Princess has grown in the last year.

Our neighbor, Jennifer Cauthen, took the pictures, and did an absolutely phenomenal job.

Two links are provided to view the pictures. If you want to order any pictures then view the Snapfish Album.

If you are a member of Facebook, you can view all of the pictures from Celia's Facebook page. Obviously if you do not have Facebook, or have some difficulties viewing Celia's page, use the Snapfish link.

I didn't realize this until I posted the link, but in order to view the Snapfish album you will need to sign up for an account. Sorry for the inconvenience. If you absoultely refuse to create an account, and cannot view the photos via Facebook, email me at adromick@gmail.com, tell me that you want me to go the extra mile for you, and I'll give you the generic password to view the album.

Below is a sample of the pictures - Hailey worked it like she was a cast member of America's Next Top Model. This little girl is going to be death of me in about 15 years; mark my words.

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My Favorite Jeans

The quality of my favorite pair of jeans is questionable, to say the least – But that doesn’t mean I should stop wearing them, does it?

I own a pair of jeans that I have taken on and off many times over the years. I wear them around the house, I wear them to the grocery store, I wear them over to friends’ house, etc. If I could, I would wear this pair of jeans everyday. If I did wear the same pair of jeans ever day, would people begin to snicker snide, unflattering comments about my wardrobe and how it reflected me as a person? Could my hygiene become suspect to others, my wife included? Yes, but so what. They are my favorite pair of jeans. No other pair I own comes close in comparison.

The only problem with this pair of jeans is there are three significant holes on the left leg.

The location of the holes is not even obscene. There is one hole located at the bottom of the jeans, lower than my ankle. This hole is the direct result from the constant grind of the pavement that my shoes or boots delivered.

I generally wear my pants a little loose. Going back a few years now, baggy jeans was a fad that was quite prominent during my youth. The baggier, the better. To my older readers, the correct terminology used when describing the wear of pants below the butt crack is “saggin’.” I swear I saw guys who would have their pants sag to the their knees just as I swear I saw guys wear shorts that sagged to their ankles. I think we called those “shants” (quite original, eh?) for short.

Saggin’ in the house! I’m way to white to pull that off, aren’t I? I am completely driving on the wrong side of the road right now.

Many companies flooded the market with varying styles of baggy jeans, but one company was king, JNCO (Judge None, Choose One – JNCO). Thinking back to this fad, how did it ever work? I mean really?

I don’t know where the baggy jean phenomenon originated from, but thanks in large to Wikipedia and Google; I’m making an educated guess with the West Coast. They were everywhere I looked, and I remember so many people I knew wearing them. I never fully embraced the JNCO craze because I never owned a pair of JNCO’s, but I did enjoy a little space between my leg and the fabric.

(CHRISTMAS GAG GIFT IDEA TIME: If anybody could find me a pair of new or used JNCO’s that were sold around 1996, that would be awesome!)

I’m not fully sure when the JNCO fad ceased to exist, hell, it could have made it’s way back now for all I know. I’m so far removed from style and fashion that my word does not hold much credibility. The point is that even though different styles come and go my preference in jean wear remained loyal.

The second hole is slightly below my knee. For the life of me, I do not know how it was made. What I do know is the hole continued to grow with approximately every five wears. This is because my big toe would always find its way into the hole. I would be conscious about the hole, I would try to avoid the hole, but I always seemed to insert my toe into the hole and proceed to make it larger and larger.

The last hole is located on my thigh. When I bought the jeans I made the mistake of buying “trendy.” The jeans did not have a hole when I bought them but they did have the “worn” look. Everybody knows the “worn” look.

The worn look I’m referring to is when jeans are made with the holes, or made to look as if they were worn so much the threads are completely worn out. This was stupid and I know it. I never understood why people (or why I did for that matter) buy jeans with holes in them.

My stupidity was rewarded with the thin fabrics eventually breaking, revealing my thigh in the process. The hole is not up high enough to make anybody uncomfortable, and even if the hole did make somebody uneasy about sight of my thigh…Well I wouldn’t care.

This pair of jeans is so comfortable! I can only think of one other pair of jeans I’ve owned that I ever felt the same about. The other was a pair of Tommy Hilfiger I bought my junior year of high school, and kept all the way through college. I wore this pair of jeans as much as possible too, and consequently, this pair too was accompanied by a giant hole.

(If you haven’t noticed, I tend to hold onto clothes for a while. I hold on to a pair of shoes longer than most people hold onto a 2030 retirement mutual fund.)

The hole in my Tommy Hilfiger’s was the entire back right pocket. The hole started small and eventually grew out of control. At the holes worst, I could literally put my head inside of it. So if you think about it, I had my head up my ass.

I tried sewing the hole and I believe I even had somebody attempt to patch the hole up. Nothing worked! With a hole that large the average person would simply trash the jeans or buy a different pair; but I didn’t want a different pair. I already had a perfectly good pair of jeans, at least in my mind.

What I did was wear boxer shorts or briefs, long enough to cover any controversial area exposed by the massive butt hole. My idea worked and gave me more time with my 1^st favorite pair of jeans.

I don’t know what happened to that pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans, but I wish I did. I think they got lost in one of the man moves throughout m life. I miss those jeans though. Sigh.

What I learned about myself over the years is I’m somehow engineered to embrace a grungy look. The holes in my pants and the continued wear are not so much white trash as it’s more lack of class. Maybe I present myself negatively to strangers when they see me wear jeans that belong in a dumpster – But that’s just the way I am.

I don’t need a new, current line of designer clothes or to budget a monthly shopping trip to acquire some new threads. I’m comfortable with the way I dress and I think it properly reflects my personality, whether that be perceived good or bad.

The last thing I can tell you, the first pair of jeans I described; I’m wearing them right now. I also wore them two days ago, and the day before that. So what. Maybe someday I’ll wake up and say, “Now this is just trashy. These need to go.” But I can promise you that today’s not the day, and tomorrow is not looking likely either.

I left this part at the end for a reason, because it strips me of my dignity. Remember at the beginning when I wrote, “If I could, I would wear this pair of jeans everyday?” Yeah, well the reason I don’t – the wife. Women. . .

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NCAA Tournament Bracket

No wild stories to write about. I simply wanted to post my bracket for all the world to see. So far I'm off to a rough start with Georgetown and UTEP losing. How is everybody else's looking after Day 1?

Oh yeah, click the actual picture to enlarge and critique.

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The 20-Minute Blog

Andrew has 20 minutes until it is time to begin dinner and he challenged himself to a 20-minute blog. All ideas, typing and editing was to be done in the allotted 20-minute time frame. The fun begins. . .

The misses and I are cooking steak tonight, a favorite of ours. In a strange way, I’ve been looking forward to this evening all day. Although, today has been pretty awesome! Let me explain.

Sweatpants. I have been in sweat pants all day, well all except for 90 minutes. There was a 90-minute stretch today I took Jadon out of the house to view some toys, in order to get a better idea what to buy for his birthday (April 7 for inquiring minds). Funny story, we ended up buying this incredible Hot Wheel toy that shoots out 6 Hot Wheels at once, really fast! Toys for kids today are the coolest. Everything I had as a kid, Jadon has – And then some! To think what my grandkids will have.

Jadon and I then went to Burger King; a favorite of his. In the midst of our extravagant lunch Jadon turned to the table next to us and said in the most adorable 2 year old voice, “Hi. I Jadon!” He then proceeded to dip his finger in ketchup.

I came back home, put Jadon to bed and enjoyed 5 quiet minutes with Ceila. We began watching How I Met Your Mother, which by the way is one of the funniest shows on TV today. The reason we had 5 quiet minutes is because Hailey decided to get incredibly vocal. When she wants to, that girl can display a deep set of lungs. I really enjoy getting a rise out of her; I will yell in a high pitch soprano voice, various combinations of baby babble, and she will reply back to me, fully comprehending what I said. I don’t even know what I said today, but Hailey was passionate about our conversation.

I can’t speak for anybody else, but I wonder what goes through my kids’ mind. Celia sings all kinds of songs to Jadon and Hailey. Over the last few months, Jadon has become so familiar with the songs that Celia is now a live karaoke machine to him. Jadon loves music but the short list of his songs would be:

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

The Wheels on the Bus

ABC

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Baby Bumble Bee

Any Imagination Movers song – Playhouse Disney (A personal favorite of Hailey’s too.)

Music is everywhere we go. Music is in the supermarket, in the car, at restaurants, and on TV. It is practically impossible to avoid music in today’s society; even the simplest of jingles can get stuck in your head.

I have not been in the United States for 2 years now; consequently I have not seen a US commercial for 2 years. I remember many years back that FreeCreditReport.com had this jingle that instantly was in my mind for a week. It ended something like, “free credit report dot com baby.” It was so awesomely annoying, but it worked. Now I wonder this, are these songs stuck in Jadon’s head?

Does Jadon ever ride in the car, glance over at Hailey and begin nodding Twinkle Twinkle Little Star? I wonder if he ever approaches his Baby Sissy and says, “Man I can’t get the ABC’s out of my head!” Hailey shouts back, “Agghchg, zuhhuh pah duhhdaah,” which of course translates to, “You think that’s bad, that Mom and Dad don’t stop blowing on my belly!”

I guess what I’m saying is every time I hear a Gwen Stefani I think “I aint no holla back girl” for the rest of the day, easily. Do Jadon and Hailey fall asleep thinking the same thing? Are the Imagination Movers consuming their thoughts at night? "Everybody shout what's the big idea? Hey! What's the big idea!" I don’t see how the two of us could be any different.

And that friends is my 20 minutes.

Deuces!

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Running on Empty

It’s been too long since I’ve done anything remotely active, and one thing is abundantly clear – It’s time for a change.

My current level of physical fitness is pitiful. I cannot recall the last time I felt as worthless about myself as I do now. I’m not sporting saggy man boobs or cottage cheese on my buttocks, but on the inside I feel like the ambassador of Hostess Twinkies.

The last time I conducted any type of physical activity was on or around the 29^th of January. A few days later, on February 1^st, I received my “routine” vasectomy, and I use the term routine very loosely. Nothing was ordinary about my vasectomy, at least not in my mind.

The recommended time off from physical exercise is anywhere from 1-2 weeks following a vasectomy. Due to the complications following my procedure I was instructed to stay away from the gym for at least a month, but that fast of a recovery was unrealistic barring world-class trainers and copious amounts of steroids. My situation placed me in a 2-3 month recovery, with hindrance to the most trivial day-to-day activities.

Despite my initial hesitance of surgery, I decided the surgical route to be the best choice after listening to my doctors. See, on one hand I could ride out the storm and let my body naturally absorb the swelling; or I could endure 2 more weeks of solid pain, and be roughly 80-90% at the end of week 2.

I had surgery on February 19^th so the doctors could remove a hematoma that was larger than a golf ball.

Recovery consisted of bed rest, and lots of it. Being that the pain was excruciating to simply walk to the bathroom, I openly embraced my newfound laziness. I was not about to further reinjure myself on account of being stubborn and thinking I knew more than the doctors.

I thought about exercising plenty though, I really did. However wishing for something doesn’t mean jack squat as far as physical appearance goes. Since my surgery, the most exercise I’ve done is walk up two flights of stairs. In the past month anytime I tried to be somewhat physically active, the misses would march me to the bedroom, throw some M&M’s at me, and order me to watch TV.

Since I began working out at the age of 14, this is the longest I’ve gone without any form of exercise. I’ve slacked off for a week or so in the past, but I always became so disgusted to let myself slip any further.

During the time I’ve been unable to exercise I realized how much I need physical activity to feel normal. In the last week I’ve been a shell of myself. My ambition has/is steadily dropping, and to describe my behavior as lethargic would be a compliment. Celia summed it up the best when she told me “get the poop out of your pants.”

If all goes according to plan I should be able to ease my way back into the gym this weekend. I know I will have to fight a strong urge to not push myself to the limit right out of the gate. For the past month I’ve been on a steady diet of M&M’s, Sour Patch Kids, Percocet, and Jack Bauer.

What would you do if you were me? Probably the same thing I’ll end up doing come Saturday – Try to get it all back at once. I know it will take some time until I’m back to my old self, but I do know one thing for sure. I’ll finally get the poop out of my pants and begin feeling better about myself.

And it’s about time!

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The Boy Inside Me

I write this blog with a full days viewing of wrestling and a bottle of Bud Light next to me.

You want to know what the problem with me is? I’m 28 years old and I still enjoy professional wrestling. My love for wrestling could be described as spotty throughout the course of my life, but present nevertheless. By that I simply mean my viewing comes and goes, with little to no warning signs. I also do not see any problem with enjoying professional wrestling. Why do some people consider it wrong to enjoy pro wrestling but acceptable to like Real World or Laguna Beach? All three are scripted, so why is there such backlash to men who enjoy pro wrestling? It’s one of the great hypocrisies of our culture today.

From the ages of 5-13 I watched the WWF as much as possible. My sister and I would tape as many shows as possible onto a single VHS, edit out commercials to maximize the actual wrestling time, and watch the tape over and over again. My Grandma, bless her heart, would buy tickets for my cousins, my sister, and I for the WWF house show whenever it came to Des Moines.

Do you want to know how you claim the crown of “World’s Greatest Grandma?” You take all of your grandkids, ages 5-10, to a WWF house show in Des Moines, year after year, and sit through the show yourself. Grandma Marcy was awesome and we (the grandkids) loved every second of it. You see, that was back when wrestling was real.

Short story: In real life, Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake suffered a boating accident which nearly claimed his life. At the house show we all attended, the announcer informed the audience that Brutus was unable to attend due to a boating accident. Brutus was in the midst of a heavy feud with Mr. Perfect at the time, a match I could not wait for. My cousin Nate leaned over to me and whispered, “I bet Mr. Perfect had something to do with it.” I shook my head in agreeance, “Yup.”

My parents and grandparents tried with all of their might to explain to me that what I was watching was not real. They told me the outcome was already predicted, the pain was not real, and all of the wrestlers were friends in real life. Allow me to reiterate something again; this was back when wrestling was real. Wrestling had gone main stream and everything about it was believable! I honestly believed the Ultimate Warrior hailed from “Parts Unknown.” I thought it was an actual place!

Thinking back, I would have to say one of the most distinguishable moments of my childhood was Wrestlemania 6. I was a Hulk-a-Maniac through and through brother! Everything about Hulk Hogan appealed to not only me, but to virtually every boy I knew at the time. If you weren’t a diehard Hulk Hogan fan your allegiance was to Ultimate Warrior, bottom line. There were was no third option. And at Wrestlemania 6, Hulk Hogan, the Heavyweight Champion, and the Ultimate Warrior, the Intercontinental Champion, squared off against one another, title for title.

I have never, in all of my life, seen a more divided playground. The WWF wasn’t just some TV show I watched on the weekends, it was a part of my life, like eating supper. Wrestling was not only real to me, it was real to everybody I knew. At the time, we (my elementary friends) may not have been able to write in cursive or multiply double digit numbers, but you better believe the memory of an 8 year old boy was dead on when it came to wrestling facts.

In the end, the Ultimate Warrior won ultimate showdown. I still remember sitting on the floor at my neighbor’s house, watching in sheer disbelief, almost in tears, as Hulk Hogan missed the leg drop and got pinned. And I still remember the reaction of the other boy watching with me, who was an Ultimate Warrior fan, as Hogan got pinned. That is one bitter memory folks.

The years marched on with my love for the WWF never wavering. Certain wrestlers would come and go but I learned my love was not to an individual wrestler, but to the product itself. It was around the time I entered Junior High when my viewing began to decline a bit. Maintaining a solid reputation was priority number one and admitting you were still a wrestling fan did little to help your standing. This meant I began to watch the WWF less frequently, until I stopped watching all together.

It was my junior year in high school when I began watching professional wrestling again. The content changed, the product was different, and there were completely new stars (i.e. The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin…hello). No longer was the intended audience that of children. The sexual content and profanity was directly aimed at teenagers and men in their 20’s. Furthermore, the programming went live and the content of the show appropriately fit the name of the Monday night program, it was Raw. It was everything I that I was at the time, and just like that, I was hooked again without any warning.

After I graduated high school my allegiance was touch and go once again, but it did peak when I was in college. Thanks to the internet, I was able to download old Pay-Per-View events and drink beer as I watched Monday Night Raw. In a strange way, I looked forward to Monday nights.

Then I graduated, I got a job, I met Celia, and eventually got married. I still enjoyed the old school stuff, and by that I am of course referring to the golden years when wrestling was real. I never watched the weekly shows though. Every so often I would stop to watch a show for a few minutes, mostly out of respect to my youth, but eventually continue channel surfing.

I reached the point that if I ever watched anything related to professional wrestling, what I watched could be dated back at least 10 years via DVD or downloaded content. I did not have any interest in the current product. Somehow though, the WWF is like the mafia, you can never fully get away from it. You see, just when I thought I was out I got pulled back in.

I forgot, at some point in the last 10 years the name changed from WWF to WWE. I’ve never made the transition though. It’s similar to when Chad Johnson legally changed his name to Chad OchoCinco. Nobody fully understood why he did it nor does anybody want to fully understand the logic behind it. Ok, I’m venting.

Jadon loves professional wrestling. I mean he LOOOOOOOOOOOOVES it! This caught me completely off guard. It shouldn’t have, but it did. It started when I came home from Iraq on R&R for Hailey’s birth. There was a Pay-Per-View on TV (Note: Living overseas we have what is known as the Armed Forces Network and thereby get various programs, like Pay-Per-Views, for free.) that I stopped to watch that caught Jadon’s eye. Without any outside encouragement, Jadon began going crazy and sat down on the floor to watch as if it were the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. It was a moment in time frozen in my mind; one that you had to be present for to fully appreciate.

Jump ahead in time to the present day. I am currently recovering from surgery, and because I am recovering from surgery I have been home for a significant period of time. Every day Jadon will ask me, “Daddy. Watch wrestling?” I oblige him because I am a loving and supportive father. I will put in an old Wrestlemania or Royal Rumble DVD as Jadon drags his own blanket and pillow into the bedroom to join his old man. We sit on the bed, father and son, watching the very wrestling matches I grew up watching, and both of us enjoy every minute of it.

There are stipulations though. Very rarely do we watch the interview segments and I try to focus the majority of the shows to what I watched when I was growing up. I fully admit that professional wrestling is not intended for young children these days, not like it used to be. That is what I want to talk about; the demise of professional wrestling and how I think it could be fixed.

First off, why do I care? I don’t know but I do. Perhaps it is because I spent so much time throughout; my life watching the WWF, or maybe because I truly enjoyed it when I was a boy. I enjoyed talking about wrestling and reenacting classic matches. Tell me what little boy didn’t jump off of his bed onto a floor of pillows pretending to be Super Fly Jimmy Snuka? I know I sure as hell did! Whatever the reason may be, I think the WWF, I mean the WWE, needs to change. Here are the problems I see.

Pay-Per-View: Growing up there were five major events that I looked forward to every year; Wrestlemania, SummerSlam, Survivor Series, Royal Rumble, and Christmas. Now there is a Pay-Per-View every single month. The average cost per event is roughly $40, but I believe Wrestlemania hovers around the $50 range. Regardless, that is almost $500/year to watch, what I feel, is a mediocre product. That is a lot of money. Not only are there too many pay-per-view events, but the names of the pay-per-views get changed each year, so there is no history involved whatsoever.

With the original four Pay-Per-Views, each storyline had significant build up. The feuds carried on for months and provided a more authentic feel to the rivalry, which is why I believe wrestling was “real” when I was growing up. Due to this, the audience felt more connected to each match and actually cared to see the majority of the matches on a card. Today, with a pay-per-view event every month, story lines are changing every single month to build up for the next pay-per-view event. This results in characters not being fully developed, a feud not having an authentic feel to it, very weak and pathetic storylines, and the audience typically not caring. On occasion a feud will last for a few months, but not nearly as often as it used to.

The other problem with having a pay-per-view event once a month is the need to constantly top what you did the previous month. High risk and dangerous moves are incorporated into every match with a “can you top this” attitude by each wrestler. This is great in theory, but we the fans have almost become immune to falling off of a 30 foot steel cage because we have seen it so often. I remember when a steel cage was the be-all, end-all match. Now you can see a steel cage twice a month.

The last problem with the pay-per-view is championship belts are constantly being exchanged from one wrestler to the next. Hulk Hogan carried the Heavyweight Championship for what felt like 5 years. Today, there could be 7 different champions in one year, simply due to the pay-per-view effect and the need to keep fans wanting more. There is no longer an attachment or loathing of a particular champion for a long period of time, something the fans need. Think of watching college basketball’s March Madness every month, and declaring a new champion every month, that is what a professional wrestling fan feels like. The champion angle leads me into my next area of improvement.

Championship Belts: There used to be three champions in wrestling, the Tag Team Champions, the Intercontinental Champion, and the Heavyweight Champion. It was very easy to know who the champion was and who the top contender was to dethrone the champion. Today there are as many championship belts as there are bowls in College Football. There are literally too many titles for me to remember so I went to Google and here is a list I found.

*WWE Championship
*WWE World Championship
*WWE United States Championship
* WWE Intercontinental Championship
* WWE European Championship
* ECW Championship
* WWE Tag Team Championship
* WWE World Tag Team Championships
* WWE Women’s Championship
* WWE Divas Championship

There may be more and maybe a few of those dropped off, but enough is enough. Unless you watch religiously, how do you ever know who the real champion is? There is way too much follow for the average viewer. Never, in any other type of entertainment, will you find so many champions. If I apply this to the NFL, does that mean the New Orleans Saints are the WWE World Champions and the Indianapolis Colts are the WWE United States Champion; or would the Minnesota Vikings be the United States Champion since they lost the Saints leaving the Colts the WWE Champion?

I’ve officially confused myself.

I know why there are so many titles though; the WWE currently runs two different shows on TV leading me to…

WWE TV Programming: There currently is Monday Night Raw and Friday Night SmackDown for viewers. Each brand has a champion, their own storylines, their own characters, etc. The two brands rarely see one another except for pay-per-view events. I feel this is too much. Drop one of the shows! Carrying two shows does not help the product, it hurts it. Each show runs two hours, and in order to fill the time slot, wrestlers who have no business in front of a camera are giving pointless interviews and carry absolutely no personality. Average Joe’s are being asked to step up and deliver top notch performances and they simply cannot do it.

The other day I watched one of the WWE’s many pay-per-views, Elimination Chamber. One of the current champions goes by the name, The Miz. In his interview he said, and I quote, “I’m The Miz, and I’m awesome!” Evidently, that is his trademark. How far has this company sunk to resort to catch phrases like that? Would you ever hear Hulk Hogan or Bret Hart use those words as their catchphrase? WWE has too many wrestlers on their hands and does not know how to handle all of the talent, therefore leaving many without a legitimate gimmick.

With the WWE in the position to deliver so much to the audience, they too often put out a subpar product with subpar talent. This is nobody’s fault but their own.

Women Wrestlers: Do I really need to explain this one? Does anybody really care about the female storylines? The acting the women display is worse than a daytime soap opera. The women parade out to the ring and show more cleavage than a strippers opening act. Let’s be honest, the only reason anybody sticks around to watch the women wrestle is because the 14 year old boy in us is hoping to see a boob fall out. It is the weakest part of the show, yet women continue to wrestle on every single pay-per-view event. I don’t get it.

Washed Up Wrestlers: At some point in time the creative heads in the WWE need to tell the stars of the 80’s and 90’s that it is time to hang up the tights. It’s depressing to see guys who used to be stars hanging on by the skin of their teeth to what they perceive as stardom. In all honesty, when I see Ric Flair, or any other washed up wrestler from my childhood compete in the Royal Rumble, Hacksaw Jim Dugan is the one coming to mind, I view it more as a comedic piece than anything else.

I cannot remember how many years ago it was, but Hacksaw Jim Dugan competed in the Royal Rumble and looked downright awful. He looked like a broken down has-been who spent all of his money on cocaine and strippers. His blue wrestling tights went halfway up his stomach, while his saggy man boobs drooped to his blue tights. He marched around the ring like an escape insane asylum patient at Chuck E. Cheese; constantly giving his trademark thumbs up, followed by, “HOOOOOOO!” Nobody took him serious.

“I’m not here to watch old men with saggy boobs. I want to see the young pieces of meat,” Quips my wonderful wife.

It’s simply not believable after the wrestler reaches a certain age. I understand loyalty to men who sacrificed so much to the business, I do. Eventually though, the top WWE executives need to ask themselves, “What is more important? Do we continue to dump money to a loyal employee who, unfortunately, can no longer produce? Or do we devote more time, resources, and money to a younger, more deserving employee capable of producing long-term money?”

Overpopulating a show card with broken down has-beens is not fair to the paying customer either. The amount of money for a ticket or a pay-per-view should automatically entitle the customer to more. I may be sinister in my belief but I know I’m not the only person tired of seeing this.

Adult Content: I firmly believe professional wrestling needs to move back to a more PG rating. I do not watch closely enough to say with absolute certainty if the WWE is already in the process, but I do know the content is not suitable for young children. It is my belief the content is much raunchier to make up for the lack of quality. If people do not watch for the top stars like Hulk Hogan or The Rock, then they need to tune in for another reason; the sex and violence. I think the further the WWE goes in the direction of obscene content, the further they get away from the foundation in which professional wrestling started. This argument is no doubt a two-sided coin though.

The WWE puts out adult content to attract viewers and fans because the WWE is a business, first and foremost. Their job is to deliver to the fans. If they cannot deliver top notch wrestling to the fans, something else needs to fill the void. I understand that part. However, the reason why the wrestling product does not suffice is because the WWE is a business. Allow me to explain.

What is one pay-per-view a month and two live shows a week all about? Money. In the attempt to make as much money as possible, the WWE hurt their product by overworking their athletes and delivering too many over-the-top moments to the fans. Once the fans became bored with the wrestling, the in-ring interviews took off. Half of the time on weekly shows is devoted to interviews and not wrestling. Call me old school but I believe there are other ways to build a rivalry.

I believe there needs to be a fix and I have a solution - Get back to the basics.

Do away with the overkill of pay-per-views and cut back to one show per week. By cutting back to one show per week this will allow the company to make some much needed roster cuts. Certain wrestlers on the WWE circuit do not deserve to be where they are, at least not yet. Committing to one live show a week will enable the WWE to devote the TV time to the top draws of the company; the individuals that customers are paying to see. It’s not fair to the customer if the customer’s two favorite wrestlers are on two different shows. The viewer should be able to see all of the top talent on one show, not two. This is a win-win for everybody.

This will make it much harder to enter the WWE, thereby resulting in much more time spent by up-and-coming wrestlers in developmental wrestling leagues. By the time a young wrestler finally makes it to the WWE he will have much better in-ring skills which will produce much better wrestling matches. By producing better wrestling matches, less time will be devoted to scandalous, meaningless interviews.

Reducing the number of pay-per-views will be much more beneficial to the fans of the business. The fans after all, are the ones who should be looked after the most as far as performance is concerned, right? Fans can rally behind a certain story line and will anticipate the pay-per-view events much more. If the pay-per-view events are reduced back to the original four it will allow the current champion a much longer title reign. It will create much more stability rather than the current system. Speaking of the championship belt, drop some of the belts. There is no need for that many titles. The only thing that happens with so many belts is mediocrity is rewarded.

It is obvious the current system is working because the WWE is still moving forward. However, I believe that it could be so much more. I think the WWE needs to get back to the basics and get back to what initially gained national attention. This will not happen though, because of the potential loss of money. Even if the end result is far superior to the current product, the argument would be made that the risk is far too great. There is no risk though. There is not a fierce competitor waiting to steal the limelight from the WWE; Vince McMahon bought all of the serious competitors. The only thing that is left undone is giving the fans the absolute best, something which has not been done for many years.

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Help Me, Please!

I enjoy reading what is on somebody's mind. I find it fascinating and like hearing different points of views on various subjects. I'm not so much a fan of constantly reading blogs about what celebrity's are doing, because most of the time, I don't care. I think when people write about celebrity gossip they try too hard on the humor to make up for lack of originality. I like reading everyday events by the average citizen. Events that happen every day are compelling and fun to read about. Like The B Side, I love reading The B Side by Andrew Romick, don't you?

I'm placing a large amount of emphasis on the writings of average people for two reasons. The first reason is average, everyday people, like me, are the target audience. Oprah and Ellen DeGeneres are not sharing a Cup of Joe laughing about my vasectomy troubles are they? Or are they?

The second reason is I have tried for weeks now to get my wife to begin her own blog. I had this amazing idea for Celia that I thought so many people would love to read about. In case you do not know, Celia is currently pregnant with our third child. She knows a thing or two about being pregnant and I thought if she kept a running diary/journal/blog that it would make for a fantastic read.

She would be able to chronicle her wide range of emotions, in great detail, and people would applaud her for it. If I upset her for whatever reason, wouldn't it be fun to read about how annoying and clueless I am? After a month or two you begin to see reoccurring patterns of moronic behavior that my actions would almost be too predictable. Wagers could be set on how I would infuriate Celia next.

Celia would be able to write about the different smells which make her nauseas, and by the end of the second trimester, we could incorporate a cool bar graph of what makes her throw up and at what time of day. That reminds me. . .

I make, without a doubt, the best salsa in the world. Once my recipe was perfected Celia and I never thought twice about buying salsa from the store; the Andrew brand is that good! On average, I would make salsa twice a week because it complimented Doritos so well. Celia loved it, our friends loved it, and anybody who tried my salsa loved it. It's awesome ok! Unfortunately once Celia became pregnant the smell of my salsa made her want to vomit. Since I'm a loving and understanding husband I have not made the salsa since it made her throw up. Not for the Super Bowl, not for the BCS National Championship, not once!

The point is I believe there are a number of things a pregnant woman could talk about. Maybe one week she focuses on a craving for steamed vegetables and the next week she tells me dirty diapers make her want to vomit; thereby making her incapable of changing a diaper. What I need though is support from other people to encourage Celia to write about her pregnant experience. I'm just her husband, she won't listen to me. I believe though that she will listen to her Facebook family. For instance, when Celia uploads a photo album, she is on Facebook every 20 minutes to see if she got a new comment, and when she gets a new comment it is like Hailey being given more Honey Nut Cheerios. She values her Facebook comments more than comments from me, because like I said, I'm just a husband.

Now be advised, Celia may respond by saying that I am the writer in the family and her blog would not be as good as mine. I told her not to worry because it's not a contest; furthermore what she and I would write about would be two completely different subjects. So everybody who reads this, do me a favor. Convince my wife to start her own blog documenting her pregnancy. I honestly think it would be fun to read. The urging from everybody needs to be steady and constant. Comment on this blog, email me (adromick@gmail.com), comment on her Facebook wall, send her a Facebook message, or email her. Do something (preferably comment on my blog because that makes me feel special) to get her attention.

I thank everybody in advance for their support.

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My Post Surgery Update

As some of you may know, I went in for surgery last Friday due to complications that stemmed from my vasectomy. Right now, I'm feeling much better but still on a heavy dose of Percocet and bed rest. I'd like to write something a little more creative than a simple "update" but at this time I'm quite capable. When I read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie to Jadon and Hailey, while on the pain medication, I constantly twist words up. I cannot imagine how uneducated I would sound if I tried to write something of higher quality than what you are reading now. Anyway, I'm stitched up and doing better, or as well as I can be under the circumstances. Check back in a few more days, I may be feeling more like myself then.

By the way - I've been watching a lot of movies and TV again due to the mandatory bed rest of the doctors and my wife. A couple of notes from my "research."

• I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell: The movie based off of Tucker Max's bestselling book. Do yourself a favor and don't waste your time. I don't care how funny you thought the book was, the movie was awful. I didn't laugh, not once…Neither did Celia. It made me think why I liked the book in the first place, and now, I'm not sure I do. It was a very bad movie.
  
• Dexter: The Showtime series about a serial killer. I finished Season 4 last night. HOLY MOLY!! Unbelievably good. Great season and a great show!
  
• Wrestlemania 18: Jadon and I have watched a lot of pro wrestling since my surgery. He brings his blanket, pillow, and lunch into the bedroom as we spend some quality time together. The Rock vs. Hulk Hogan – Legendary! Jadon loved it!
  
• Lost: Just what in the hell are they doing with Season 5? I used to love this show, now I watch it only because it is the last season and I already invested so much time into the show.
  
• 24 Season 8: It has Jack Bauer – Killing terrorist – It's freaking awesome!
  
• Boondock Saints II: Not as good as the original, as most sequels rarely are, I still enjoyed it. The only scene in which Rocco appeared is so cool, I've watched it on YouTube probably 15 times.

Those are just a few of my notes. Later today, there is a encore presentation of the WWE Pay-Per-View, "Elimination Chamber." Jadon and I are going to eat popcorn as Celia will look at me and say, "How did I not know you were a wrestling fan until after we were married?"

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The Tortures of Parenthood

Last night, Celia and I lied in bed and celebrated Valentine’s Day like most married couples do, we watched TV. We managed to spoil the kids a little bit and had a delicious family dinner together, but after the kids went to sleep, the two of us couldn’t wait to lie in bed. On an average evening Celia and I will put a random disc of Friends on, engage in small talk, and fall asleep. We’ve both seen every episode of Friends so many times that neither one of us pay much mind to the episode, typically falling asleep within 15-20 minutes. Valentine’s Day was different; Valentine’s Day was special.

Both Celia and I love watching Jack Bauer save the country from countless terrorist attacks on 24. The only problem with watching 24 is Celia is not caught up with the current season; in fact, she is a full season and a half behind.

Last night, in honor of Valentine’s Day, Celia and I watched 24: Redemption, the made for TV movie between season’s 6 and 7, made to bridge the gap between seasons due to the writer’s strike. About an hour and a half into the 2 hour movie, the rebel forces of Sangala captured Jack Bauer after he singlehandedly killed about a dozen combatants. The funny thing though, leading up to the fighting and during the fighting itself, Celia and I made jokes about how the Sangala militia picked the wrong American to kill.

“Yeah right. Like they’re going to break Jack Bauer,” laughed Celia.
“I know right. The Chinese tortured Jack for more than a year and he never said a word," I said back.

After two hours of watching Jack Bauer’s made for TV movie, Celia and I were jonesin’ for more Jack. We watched a few episodes of 24: Season 7 until we fell asleep, well past our bedtime. The last thing we agreed upon, before falling asleep, was being closely associated with Jack Bauer is hazardous to your health. Whether you are a friend or foe, there is a strong chance you will end up dead, well before your time, if you associate with Jack Bauer. Hypothetically speaking, if I worked at CTU Los Angeles with Jack Bauer, and I went to visit the doctor for my annual physical, the doctor would most likely come back with a diagnosis that would sound like, “Mr. Romick, I’m sorry to inform you that you are terminally ill and do not have much time left to live. You’ve been in close proximity of Jack Bauer, and unfortunately, at this time, there is no cure.”

Reviving my love for 24 made me think about torture this morning as I played with Jadon and Hailey. I have a game I play with the two of them; with Jadon the game gets a little rougher, simply because he carries a Y chromosome and loves to play hard. The game is called “who do you work for” and is a method of torture for young children.

The concept of the game is simple; I sit on top of Jadon, hold his arms behind his head with one hand, and tickle the daylights out of him with the other hand. Jadon begins to laugh uncontrollably, his face turns beet red, and sometimes he will toot when he loses control of his bodily functions. In the midst of the madness I ask Jadon, “Who do you work for?! Who sent you?! Was it Mommy? Did Mommy send you?! Do you work for Sissy? Did Baby Sissy send you? Tell me who you work for!”

I stop tickling Jadon for a few seconds, just long enough for him to catch his breath when I ask him in a calm voice, “Who do you work for?” Very rarely will he not answer; most of the time he will say the name I ask the most during the “interrogation.” The point to the story is it is very easy to break Jadon. Torture = tickling when it comes to Jadon. However, Jack Bauer made me think about myself. How far would I be willing to go? Realistically, have a cat lick my feet, somebody tickle my stomach, and I’ll sing like a canary.

The one problem with my method of torture is the student is rapidly becoming the teacher. On more than one occasion, when I’m on the floor, Jadon will come from nowhere; sit on my chest and say, “Daddy, play game.” He will begin poking my chest and say, “ork for…ork for Daddy,” obviously intending to say “work for.” I’m not Jadon’s only target; his mother and sister are fair game too. He’s gotten on Hailey to coerce a confession out of her. I don’t know if he wanted Hailey to confess to playing with his toys, but Jadon still asked her, “ork for Sissy?”

To enhance Jadon’s ability to torture, he already knows who Jack Bauer is. If Celia or I are watching 24 Jadon will say, “Honey, (he calls Celia ‘Honey’) it’s Jack Power.” What more can I ask for as a father?

Rocky Balboa – Check
Jack Bauer – Check
Professional Wrestling – Check

Oh the joys of parenthood.

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Snip-Snip Part 2, "The Vasectomy"

Authors Note: The content of this column will be graphic at times. The language will not be explicit, however, the material may be uncomfortable for some people at time - It is not my intention to offend anybody.

The snow fell heavily as my pregnant wife muttered, “Well Andrew, it looks like your balls might be saved after all.” As many of you read before, my vasectomy was scheduled on February 1, 2010, but on the beginning of “D-Day” it looked as if my testicles would live to see another day.

With heavy doses of snow blanketing the Baumholder area in the days leading up to my surgery, road conditions were fair to say the least. With the accumulation already on ground toppled by the heavy snowfall on the day of my surgery, Celia boldly said, “I’m not driving you to the hospital today. Not in this weather.” Clearly this was a premonition and my way out.

I destroyed myself psychologically leading up to my vasectomy. Countless people who received a vasectomy in the past assured me the most pain was in my mind and the actual procedure itself carried mild pain at best. I knew their intentions were good at heart, but their kind words did little to ease my worries. I spent roughly a month and a half in fear of “D-Day” and if I backed out of the surgery, due to weather, I honestly did not know if I had the stones to make it back to the hospital.

I made up my mind; despite the current weather conditions and the warnings posted by various websites and news agencies, I would make the half hour drive to the hospital. Celia stood true to her word about not driving me to the hospital, with the risk being too great. I instead asked one of my neighbors to make the unforgettable trip, who obliged me.

The roads that day were absolutely fine, wet at best. Due to the worries of the hazardous conditions, I left early, and arrived very early. I checked in at the receptionist office, smiled and said, “Hi. I’m having surgery today.” The nurse, who loved her job sniped back, “No. You’re having a procedure today.” Toe-Mae-Toe, Toe-Mott-Toe woman!

I waited 25 minutes untilit was my turn; and then I waited 15 more minutes because the doctors weren’t ready for me. During the 40 minute wait I managed to find my way to the men’s room three times. I was a little nervous!

When the nurse approached the doorway and said, “Mr. Romick,” with a smile on her face, I stood up with a doomed look on my face. AJ, the neighbor who drove me to the hospital said, “Good Luck,” or “Have Fun,” or something along those lines. At that very moment I was in another world and don’t remember much.

After the last few instructions by the nurse I found myself lying on the operation table wearing a pair of socks and a hospital gown. The nurse did her best to ease my nerves as I moved my gown up to my chest, to prep me for the surgeon.

Leading up to the surgery it was my responsibility to shave my testicles to reduce the risk of infection. I shaved in the shower the day of my surgery, but not well enough. The nurse held an old, single blade, blue BIC razor as she told me I missed a few spots. Prior to the nurse grabbing the razor, we stumbled across the subject marathons, and the preparation a marathon takes. Now, with the razor in her hand, the conversation continued. The nurse rotated my testicles around like they were poker chips, shaving every inch, carrying on the conversation, without missing a beat.

Dr. Tran, the surgeon, walked in, he asked me if I had any last questions – I didn’t. Before any other part of the surgery could take place, my testicles had to be numbed.

This is where my tale will take a graphic turn.

I was hoping to receive an anesthetic of some type but all I would receive would be a numbing agent by way of a very large needle; inserted into my testicles. A panic overcame my entire body followed shortly by a cool sweat. The doctor firmly held my testicles in his hand as if he were trying to get the proper grip on a hammer. My body squirmed and my muscles became incredibly tense.

“You need to calm down,” said Dr. Tran in a very calm voice.
“I know, I know! I’m trying,” was my response with my eyes fixated on a single ceiling tile.
“I won’t stick you without letting you know. There will be no surprise, ok.”
“Ok. How bad can I expect this to hurt?”
“It’s not too bad. It’s comparable to a bee sting…on your testicles,” Dr. Tran said as his comparison did little to ease my tension.

I gulped and exhaled a long and slow breath.

“Great.”

After minutes of positioning on left testicle the needed spot was found, and I was seconds away from insertion. I saw the doctor lean in to deliver the numbing agent and instinctively my body began to squirm; my butt flexed and I leaned back on my shoulders. My feet rotated in every direction imaginable while each of my toes popped over and over. I could feel the pulse in my neck as I put grabbed my head with both hands and muttered, “I’m fine. Do it now!” My wish was their command.

The pain I anticipated was every bit as bad as I thought it would be, and then some. The needle penetrated into my left testicle as I let out a loud gasp of the remaining air in my lungs. If anybody remembers how Steve Carell looked on the 40 Year Old Virgin, when the first strip of wax was pulled off his chest, I can only imagine my face resembled his, in some fashion. My face turned red as I lied on the operation table, motionless and breathless.

“Sir, you need to breathe,” reminded the assistant.

My breathing resembled a pregnant woman about to encounter a major contraction. Fortunately the pain lasted for maybe 30-45 seconds; although my perception of time was not the most reliable then. Once my left testicle became numb I did not feel much of anything, mild tugging at best. Dr. Tran, doing his best to keep the mood light asked, “If you’d like, I can place mirror above your scrotum so you can see what I’m doing.” I chuckled but did not take him up on his generous offer.

I thought the worst part of the surgery was over, and then I learned my right testicle still needed to be numbed. I thought with the pain the first numbing agent would cause my entire scrotum to be numb for days. That was not the case. The pain I went through only minutes ago would happen all over again. The only difference between my right and left testicle is I almost passed out when the needle numbed my right side.

A few more minutes passed and my vasectomy was over. Dr. Tran showed me what my vas looked like; it was the width of a spaghetti noodle and a few centimeters in length. I then slid a jock strap on to provide maximum support, replaced my hospital gown with my clothes, and hobbled to the waiting room where AJ waited. I picked up my pain medication, antibiotics, and then moved to the car to head home. I took a Percocet in attempts to get ahead of the inevitable pain as AJ delivered jokes about busting my balls and my reproductive ability. It was a fun ride home.

If you remember, February 1st was Hailey’s birthday. Even though my surgery was on her birthday we still insisted on a small get-together to celebrate Hailey’s birthday. The guests began to arrive, and around the same time, so did the pain. I began walking with a limp and had frozen vegetables attached to my genitals most of the evening. Even though the pain I felt grew increasingly worse with each passing minute, I tried my best to enjoy every part of Hailey’s birthday.

I woke up the next morning in more pain than when I laid my head on the pillow the night before. I expected to see my testicles swell but I was amazed at how large they were. The day following my surgery I would venture to say my testicles were as large as a grapefruit. On the same day I began to develop severe bruising which had spread to almost every part of my scrotum. I continued to take my antibiotics, Percocet, apply ice when needed, and relax as much as possible.

Since staying off of my feet was an important step in recovery I spent a lot of time watching TV; but not on the TV. A few days prior to my surgery, Celia discovered a website that allowed users to watch almost any TV program desired. The website I’m referring to is http://www.fastpasstv.com/ and it absolutely helped my recovery.

On Wednesday, two days after surgery, the pain in my testicles remained the same. It was on Wednesday I began to worry. I heard from many vasectomy recipients that two days after the surgery the pain was quite minimal, it was not the case for me. The swelling persisted and the bruising began moving up my body; by this point covering almost my entire penis. My right side felt normal but my left side felt a sharp pain. My steps were slow and small. I walked with a limp that mirrored a broken ankle/foot but was due to the pain I felt in my left testicle. In addition to the scrotal pain, I also had abdominal pain. The only time I felt comfortable was when I either lied in bed or lied in our recliner. Before Celia and I went to bed Wednesday evening, I told her if I still feel this pain in the morning I’m going to call my doctor and get checked out. I cannot begin to describe how much pain I was in; and that includes being on Percocet.

Thursday morning (Day 3) saw a little improvement. The swelling was down and the pain was not as severe as the days prior. I still decided to visit the doctor, as a precautionary measure, simply to ease my mind. I thought I was fine and might be overreacting, but I wanted to get a second opinion, from somebody

other than my wife.

The doctor took one look and said, “Wow. You had reason to be concerned.” I was not in the midst of a slow recovery from the vasectomy; my pains were complications from the surgery. I learned I had developed a scrotal hematoma, which is a lot of blood built up inside the scrotum and then clotted itself up.

There is a lot of medical jargon I could use to describe a scrotal hematoma, but in short, it looks like I have a small third testicle, as hard as a rock. It hurts so badly and there is not much I can do about it. I do have the option to have my scrotum opened up to remove the hematoma. However, at this point, I do not feel comfortable getting cut open again, psychologically or physically.

I’ve been on a lot of pain medication lately and I’ve spent a lot of time in bed. Walking is painful, each step feels like I’m getting flicked in the testicles, I cannot help out around the house much, I cannot work out for at least 30 days, and I’m technically not even supposed to lift my children because I could rupture the hematoma.

I’m sorry to say there is no happy ending to this story, at least not yet.

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