Hip Dad, Cool Dad

When we were growing up, we all knew these two types of dads, didn't we?

There were many, many kinds of dads we knew, but we all knew at least one hip dad and one cool dad--or at least most of us did.

You know the difference, right?

Hip Dad....yeah, kind of a sad case.

Hip Dad, man, he's the dad who buys you the pot to smoke in the garage and usually smokes it with you and your friends. He tries so hard to be one of the guys. He talks about how he'd like to hit Molly Cyrus' shit and tap Britney Spears' well worn ass.

He means well, and makes everyone uncomfortable. Really, life lost all meaning for Hip Dad when he graduated from high school.

Hip Dad is harmless. He's a tool. He's an embarrassment. But still, he's harmless.

But the money dad......that was Cool Dad, huh?

Cool Dad was good looking. Cool Dad fit in easily with your buddies. Cool Dad could eye up a sixteen year old chick's tight ass, then look at you and chuckle and wink and you'd all bust up. That Cool Dad! What a dog! That rascal! I bet he banged his share of hot ass when he was your age!

That's cuz Cool Dad......he, at heart, truly was one of you. And he was just sayin' what you were thinking! Cool Dad let you drink beer and smoke pot in your room--just as long as you were discreet.

Want to bang the shit out of your girl? Cool Dad would wink, give you a thumbs-up, and toss you a box of rubbers and take Mom out for dinner. Cool Dad would always cover for you while you went and "got some pussy".

Fuck yeah. Everybody wanted to hang with Cool Dad. Nobody wanted hang with Hip Dad. Hip Dad sucked. He tried too hard, man. Cool Dad, well, it all came so easily for him.

Then one day, something bad happened to Hip Dad's and Cool Dad's families.

And whatever the crisis, whatever the problem, that embarrassing hack, that joke, that pathetic Hip Dad.....he was there, wasn't he? He stayed. He struggled. He stopped trying to be hip and with-it. He was working too many hours trying to get the family out of trouble, whatever it was.

Yeah, Hip Dad was there. Hip Dad......he came through. Hip Dad, well, maybe he wasn't really embarrassing at all. He didn't seem as sad and pathetic. You.....holy cow.....kind of admired Hip Dad. Maybe, at the end of the day, he WAS a tool. But he was tool with some character, right?

Cool Dad, not so much. You see, usually, when a Cool Dad's family got into trouble, he was the cause of it. You see, whereas Hip Dad always knew that he was bending or breaking the rules, he always did know where to draw the line.

Cool Dad, well, quite frankly, the reason he didn't care if you broke the rules is that he always thought that rules were for suckers. And if Cool Dad used to think rules were for suckers, they didn't apply to him, because if there was one thing he was not, it was a sucker. You see, Cool Dad always believed his own press releases.

Usually, Cool Dad would get busted for some kind of embezzlement. And while formerly Hip Dad worked his ass off to get his family out of trouble, Cool Dad not only caused the trouble, he never hung around to, you know, fix it.

Cool Dad was the type to take all of his embezzled money, as well as any money in the family's checking account, pick up his righteously hot admin and head to South America--usually in a country with no extradition agreement in place with the United States.

So let's look at the NFL's version of Hip Dad and Cool Dad, shall we? Let's start off with Hip Dad!

Jim Irsay!

Yeah, Jim's Hip Dad. He gets on Twitter and tries to be funny and he's more often than not, his stuff falls flat.

He came from money....oh that's not cool in our society, right? And he has that goofy goatee. And he hangs around with celebrities and lets us all know about it. He posts pictures of himself at parties.

Hip Dad Jim.

But Hip Dad Jim knew when to come through. This year, his franchise was faced with cutting ties with Indy's favorite son, Peyton Manning or keeping Peyton and passing on Andrew Luck.

If Hip Dad Jim kept Peyton, he had a max of a few years left with him. And that was assuming Peyton's neck was fully healed.

Hip Dad Jim stumbled along the way to the draft. He and Son Peyton engaged in some politicking, trying to win the favor of Colts Nation. Hip Dad Jim went Hip Dad and called Peyton--a guy I have no doubt he really did love--a politician. And Peyton courted public opinion as well. Of course, Prized and Beloved Son Peyton was the winner of this contest.

But when push came to shove, Hip Dad Jim was there, doing what he thought was best for the future of his franchise: releasing the most beloved athlete in Indianapolis history, Peyton.

And I watched that news conference that day. And I saw dorky, goofy, weird Hip Dad Jim crying. He knew he had to do what he was doing. It would be absolutely fucking insane to keep Peyton, pay him a 28 million dollar roster bonus, and pass on Luck without even knowing if Peyton would ever be truly healthy.

And yeah. That's the price of doing business. But it tore both of them up. Both knew what Peyton meant to Colts Nation and what being a Colt did for Manning. Hip Dad Jim wasn't concerned about looking hip that day. He didn't care. He was in tears. And so was the Prized and Beloved Son Peyton.

Hip Dad Jim.....could have taken the easy way out. He could have passed on Luck and paid Peyton the money. And if Peyton never healed and Luck was in another town, he wouldn't have gotten ripped for it. He would have been lauded for "being loyal". But foolishness hidden behind sentiment isn't loyalty, it's propaganda. It would have been the easy way out.

Hip Dad made the tough decision. And he's been bearing the ire of Colts fans since that day. Colts season tickets sales have come to a halt. Hip Dad did the right thing, and sadly, sometimes the right thing costs a lot in the short run.

Colts fans, be proud of Hip Dad Jim. He's quirky, he's dorky, and he makes you roll your eyes. But when the future of YOUR team was in his hands, he had the balls to do the right thing for the Colts. It hurts to see Peyton go--but at the end of the day, realize that Peyton could have pushed back the date for that roster bonus and didn't.

After that press conference, Jim became Hip Dad Jim again, trying to convince us--for whatever reason--that Luck wasn't a lock for them. I think this was Hip Dad Jim's awkward way of paying proper respect to a kid he did like as well, Robert Griffin lll. Nobody bought it and we all rolled our eyes at Hip Dad Jim.

Such a dork...... LOL And when RG3 declined to work out for the Colts, we really rolled our eyes. We couldn't believe Hip Dad Jim even asked him to work out. That Hip Dad...sheesh....

Now let's look at the NFL's answer to Cool Dad.

Pete Carroll.

We all bought into this guy, didn't we?

But it was soooooooooooooo easy to do that. Pete was the ultimate redemption story.

In 2000, one of the NCAA's most prized programs, USC, was a mess. And USC did a coaching search to find someone to replace Paul Hackett, who had been fired. And they took a chance on Carroll, a fired NFL head coach.

And he turned the program back into a powerhouse within two years. And we all loved it--or Pete, to be honest. He wasn't really a failed NFL head coach. He was a .500 NFL head coach. He was fun, the players loved him, he was good-looking as all fuck (trust me male readers, he is), he was charming, and quite frankly, the cameras loved him.

Now before we go any further, 90 percent of what Carroll did was legit. He did turn USC into a recruiting giant. He did turn the program around and into a national power. No doubt, USC was so strong due to what Carroll did in those early years that it survived harsh NCAA sanctions. Well, at least it survived partially due to what Carroll did.

You know the story. USC won a ton of games, dominated the Pac-10 (now Pac-12) forever, and won a couple of national titles. All from a guy the university had fourth on its wish list.

Funny how at the time, this wasn't a popular hire. Remember, Cool Dad Pete wasn't a great NFL success. And he had been out of college coaching since 1983. But Cool Dad Pete turned USC--and his career--around 180 degrees.

Cool Dad Pete was a blast, too. He loved to prank his own team. One Halloween, he and his running back LenDale White, staged a fake argument during practice. A few minutes later, somebody held up a dummy with LenDale's jersey on top of the building next to the practice field and LenDale "jumped" off the roof.

All was good. Man, Cool Dad Pete was awesome!

Then one day, the Reggie Bush scandal broke. And the NCAA came down hard on USC. Because of a self-entitled little cheater like Bush, USC got fucked. And the only reason that Bush's violations came to light was because he didn't honor the agreement he had made and he was sued. In other words, Reggie tried to cheat out the guy who had helped him cheat to begin with.

Anyway, the Trojans were stripped of their BCS title, USC haters had a field day and Trojan fans gritted their teeth and took their medicine. (which is more than Ohio State fans ever fucking did, oh by the way).

And when his family was in trouble, when the family that gave him a second chance needed him, Cool Dad Pete suddenly decided that it was time to accept one of those offers to return to the NFL and hightailed his ass to Seattle. Funny how Cool Dad Pete turned down so many NFL offers until that one day. Cool Dad Pete says that was just a coincidence.

I think Cool Dad Pete is bullshitting us--not that we really care now, do we?

So USC got that weird uncle who always puts his foot in his mouth, Lane Kiffin, to come back. Oh, University of TN fans pissed themselves in phony anger when Weird Uncle Lane left, but come on. They hated Weird Uncle Lane the second he became their head coach. They were thrilled to get rid of a guy who wasn't a "Volunteer Guy".

The most important family member, other than Uncle Lane, was Prized Son Matt. As in Barkley. The prized son could have left, and no doubt could have gotten the NCAA to waive the one year wait-to-play requirement.

Prized Son Matt would have had just about every university in this country coming to him like NBA teams came hat-in-hand to LeBron James a few years ago.

It would've been easy. No one, not one person, would've blamed Barkley if he left.

But Barkley didn't leave like Cool Dad Pete did. Barkley, whose college career would be so unfairly affected by the selfish and arrogant actions of Reggie Bush, stayed. And not only did Barkley stay, he embraced Weird Uncle Lane.

And that's not all. The prized son went to his teammates and convinced THEM to stay. He convinced them that they could hang together, get through the sanctions, and keep USC a viable, strong football program.

And a funny thing happened. USC kept putting it's foot up just about every team's ass that it played. Barkley got better and better. And now, after losing so many scholarships that they had to limit tackling in practice to avoid injuries the past couple of years, USC will enter the 2012 college football season as a favorite to win it all.

All of a sudden, Weird Uncle Lane doesn't seem all that weird now. And Prized Son Matt is more prized and loved than ever.

Had Cool Dad Pete stayed, imagine what his legend would be. Had he chosen the harder road, imagine his legacy. But he bailed. Cool Dads are never really, truly evil. They're not truly bad, evil guys.

But unlike Hip Dad, Cool Dad never realizes when playtime's over. Hip Dad stumbles all over himself, but in the end, tries his best to do the right thing.

Cool Dad doesn't. He's lovable. He's fun. He's nice and he's charming. But Hip Dad, he's the guy who ends up delivering.

Pete Carroll isn't a terrible guy. He's not even the reason for USC's troubles. And he did far more good than bad. His only crime was running too casual an environment. Fuck, you can't have every player tailed by a private detective. The real reason is Bush. He tried to get paid early and cost USC a national title and much more. But this happened on Cool Dad Pete's watch.

USC is better off that Carroll was there. But this goes both ways. Carroll is better off now than when he wasn't a hot property and needed and wanted a major university to take a chance on him. And when that university needed him to stay, he did not. He went to South America with his hot secretary.

Hip Dad Jim stayed. He made the hard choice. Indy is better off for it.

And despite all of this, I still like Carroll. He's funny. He's still Cool Dad. It's how he rolls. But I admire Hip Dad Jim so much more. I trust Hip Dad Jim. Cool Dad Pete is still the likable guy we've always known. But Hip Dad Jim is trustworthy. Hip Dad....he took care of his family.

Cool Dad Pete took care of himself.

You remember how I mentioned that Hip Dad really never got over leaving high school? Well, Cool Dad never really DID leave high school in his mind.

But in a year or so, we'll all roll our eyes at Hip Dad Jim's goofy Twitter statements, blame him for the Colts inevitable era of losing as they rebuild, and we'll smile at that old rascal Cool Dad Pete when he pranks Marshawn Lynch by putting moth balls in his Skittles.

Kids, it's just how we roll. And that says far more about us than it does them, doesn't it?

Wouldn't You Like To Be A Pepper Too?

Dr. Pepper, drink Dr. Pepper......

Wah-sup, motherfuckers? I'll tell you wah-sup! You wanna know? Okay, this is wah-sup......

MOTHERFUCK CARP!

That's wah-sup!

And no, I'm NOT going to get tired of saying that any time soon. In fact, I'm probably NEVER going to get tired of saying that. And you're not tired of reading it, either. Admit it.

Me and my boy, Ron Washington, are all about motherfuck Carp! And you should be too! It'll add peace, balance, and harmony to your lives. Say it a few times. You'll feel better. Much better. Open your minds, motherfuckers.

I bet even the man who inspired this great phrase, Chris Carpenter, is going around saying, "Motherfuck Carp!" I would be!

Bitch ass motherfuckah brought it to da hizzy, motherfuck Carp gits mah mind all a-bizzy!

You know, sometimes that repeating yourself to get your way doesn't work. Rarely works on the boyfriend, and even less on the hubby. My properties don't bend as easily as my boss.

Me: "Property, buy me a new car."

Husband: "Quit calling me property and no, you only have 55,000 miles on your current one."

Me: "Property, buy me a new car."

Husband: "No."

Well, that's fucked. Then again, I probably shouldn't have asked for a Porsche.

Note to Blogger: If I say I don't want to add my cell phone to this account, don't give me some fucking pop-up window asking if I'm sure, okay? And I'm sick of this question popping up again and again. If I WANTED to do this, I WOULD HAVE by now.

Oh, fine, here's my cell: 555-Fuc-Koff.

Another note to Blogger: Your new interface sucks dick. I hate it. Quit switching my layout to the new one. It's just annoying when I have to keep opting to use the old--better--interface.

Why do companies like Google and Microsuck insist on forcing new shit down their customers throats?

Okay, that's about it for this lame-ass entry. Really, I just cobbled a few things together....because....it's time....it's time! That's right!

Buccaneer Lori makes her return!

Well, that and I just wanted to say "motherfuck Carp!" a few times...

Until next time, motherfuckers!

Hey....

....what's up, motherfuckers? '

MOTHERFUCK CARP! Still awesome.....what a line. I love Ron Washington. I loved that pregame speech.

Some people took offense when that tape was leaked. I thought it was awesome. To the very oh-so-sensitive ones out there, here's a little tiny piece of info: THAT'S HOW THEY TALK IN LOCKER ROOMS!

Fucking A. That just made me respect the man all that much more. Anybody who took offense to this speech must get hard or wet about things like "everybody gets a worthless trophy day" and "we shouldn't grade students".

Seriously, man. It's fucking sports, that's how they roll, and if you don't like it, go listen to some fucking symphony after your metrosexual seminar. Hit "The Vagina Monologues" with David and Victoria Beckham.

Toughen up, Greta. If this wounds you so much, stop watching sports. Ballet may be your thing (and you can cry there, too!).

But if you keep complaining.....me and my new great friend--and obvious Lair visitor, Ron---got something to say!

MOTHERFUCK CARP!

I am LOVING Jeremy Lin! Linsanity, baby! It's fun, it's perking up a too-packed NBA schedule, and it's exciting. He's a great kid and it's a great story. The ultimate underdog getting his shot. I hope it keeps going. If you don't like Lin, you probably have the Beckhams on speed dial to arrange emergency trips to the shopping mall.

Got me a nice, long weekend. Started today. Y-E-S! Motherfuck Carp!

Me happy. Me like time off. Me don't know why me even bothers working. Me don't gotta. Me must be a glutton for punishment.

I don't get online to chat much. I know a good amount of people and get my chat from Facebook and from some people I already have on my chat list.

But I'll venture into a chat room on occasion, and sure enough, you'll get a bunch of guys assuming that you're there for an orgasm only they can provide. Not all guys are like this, of course. But a lot are. And so are a lot of women.

Invariably, I'll get an IMs from "hey wanna play?" guys and I'll decline, saying that I'm not there for sex. And there's always that one who'll say, "rats" or utter some other declaration of disappointment.

If only I was there for sex! Surely, I'd do it with THAT guy! I love how "that guy" assumes that it would've taken a female more than ten seconds to find a playmate. And I love how "that guy" assumes that I'd just play with him.

Then there's the guy who wants to hook up offline. Usually, these geniuses don't even look at profiles to find out where I actually, you know, live. It amazes me that even in chat rooms some fuckface will IM and ask this. Yeah, I'll just run off and meet some clown like this.

Personally, if I met a guy and we really hit it off, I could see myself maybe getting some action off of him. But it would take a long time. And believe me, I'd develop an offline relationship with him first--coffee, lunches, etc. Still, it's not my S.O.P.

Sheesh. The mentality of some people when they get into a chat room, though.

Hubby's being put to work. He gets to slide on the sex during NASCAR season. Not when it's NASCAR's off-season. No, sorry honey!

So, last night, he did his duty, and quite well, I must say. But....maybe too good of a job? Yeah, I woke up this morning ready for more. So....hand down his boxers.....

Husband: "Let me sleep."

Me: "No. You're working from home, so you have to pay for that. Quit talking back, property."

Husband: "Sorry, all tapped out. Call your boyfriend."
Me: "He's fucking his wife. You do the same, motherfucking hubby."

Husband: "Let. Me. Sleep. And quit using that word."

Me: "What word? "Wife?"

Husband: "Motherfucker, you lunatic."

Me.: "Alex wants to motherfucking fuck you."

And that did it. He was at full attention. Like any guy with a sane mind, he thinks Alex is cuter than cute, and hotter than hot. So I climbed aboard and "did the work", so to speak. Hey, you gotta meet people halfway, right?

Anyway, it didn't take me long to hit the high note and I knew how to make him hit it too. I kept rocking back and forth and said, "I can't wait to double team you with Alex."

And that was that. He ended up starting work later than he had planned, but hey, it wasn't like he had to drive in to work (as he had already "driven-in" somewhere else!)

Would you like fries with that?

I enjoy having a steady bf and hubby. It really IS the best of both worlds. Throw in some cute girls, and well, I'm a happy motherfucking chick. Sometimes a little tired, but happy nonetheless.

Orgasms good. More orgasms better. Food best of all.

I MUST say congratulations to my friends, Shelly and Janey. They recently moved in together at "The House" (Shells moved into Janey's giant, all-encompassing room).

Actually, I don't really HAVE to. But I'm a wonderful, giving person. What can I say? I love those two motherfuckers.

I think they should just shut down Yahoo! at this point. It's clear these fucks don't know what they're doing.

First, they closed down 360, a wonderful platform. I loved 360. But these arrogant assholes knew better. Then, when they shut down 360, they shut down their regular profile system.

When they shut down 360, they promised that everyone could export their blogs. Of course, they're shitty export tool didn't work and everybody lost their blog content.

So they shut down the regular profiles and introduced some POS called "Pulse". "Pulse" must mean "parasite" in Latin, because all it did was suck off FB, Twitter, and Blogspot feeds. Oh, you could add friends, too.

Then you lost the ability to actually, you know, CONTACT your friends! WTF? Then, not long ago, I went to check my Pulse page and saw that it had been replaced with some standard profile platform. All your friends were gone. Now they call it "Yahoo! Profile". Wow, what creative mind thought of THAT?

I'd call it, "Bland POS Yahsuck! Profile". Useless, like everything else on Yahoo.

You couldn't add friends. Just an info page. I went to my profile page and found that this stupid thing doesn't even completely work. When I clicked the "More Info" tab, it wouldn't open.

Unbelievable. No wonder other social networking systems are kicking the snot out of it!

Oh, and when I went to my profile from the YahSuck Messenger module, I had to sign in. I guess signing INTO Messensucker wasn't enough.

Fuck you, Yahoo. I hope you assholes go out of business. You're nothing but arrogant, know-nothing losers. Again, fuck you. Anybody who makes AOL look great in comparison is truly the bottom of the barrel.

When 360 was still around, I DID have one problem. You could post your own pick as the background. It was great. People loved it. And there was one of me I posted at a yacht club in Florida. It show a teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy bit of nipple. So they kept taking it off. Needless to say, this royally pissed me off. They gave me shit over another couple of pics as well.

So Teri put up a full frontal nude pic of herself for her background to see what they'd do. They never said a word. She had it up for like a year.

Unreal.

A month or so ago, the law office I run with an iron fist moved into a spacious new pad. A few weeks before we moved, one of the senior partners came into my office and said, "C'mon. We're going to the new place."

Fuck yeah. But why?

Boss In Name Only: We want you to pick your office.

Me: Why? You didn't already assign me a closet?

BINO: We don't want to hear you complain by choosing yours. We have two from you to choose from.

Me: Only two?
BINO: Uh huh.

Me: Okay, but Lindsay's coming with us.

BINO: We picked out her work area already.

Me: Lindsay's coming with us.

BINO: Fine. I apologize for not realizing this.

Me: That's okay.

Fucking bosses. They're like your parents: you TELL them, you don't ASK them. And you let them know that if they say no, you're going to do it behind their backs anyway, so they might as well just fucking say yes and spare themselves the headache. Seems simple enough to me.

So I went and grabbed Lindsay (she's my former assistant when I ran Accounts Payable/Receivable who now runs Accounts Payable/Receivable). I wanted her to have an idea of where she wanted what. I thought that was only fair.

Lindsay is another example of telling, not asking, your boss/bosses.

When I became the office manager, I wanted Lindsay. So when they asked if I wanted the "interim" taken off my title, I said sure.

Then I told BINO I wanted Lindsay to move up.

Me: Lindsay is taking my old job.

BINO: Lindsay hasn't graduated from college and she doesn't have enough experience.

Me: Lindsay is taking my old job.

BINO: No, Lindsay hasn't graduated from college.

Me: I can do this all day. Ask my husband.

BINO: Fine, as long as she finishes (her degree) this semester and you'd better help her learn the job. Anything to shut you up. We hate Ryan for recommending you.

Me: She will. I will. Get me some coffee.

See, it's important to repeat your demand. In both instances I did this. Sometimes they give up after you restate how it's going to be. Sometimes you have to work at it.

One warning: Don't do this type of thing if you suck at your job. If you're good at your job, most bosses will let you stomp on their heads and kick them repeatedly in the crotch because it's too hard to replace an effective employee.

Back to the new digs. There were two nice offices left. One would be mine, the other a mini-conference room. One was a bigger office that was really nice. The other was a corner office that was slightly smaller. I took the corner office. All the attorneys had some windows in their offices, by the way. I like it when things go my way.

Personally, I should've had the biggest office there, but being difficult to deal with can only take you so far.

Lindsay's work area met with my--and her--approval.

But me happy. Me like my corner office. Me deserve my corner office. Me is glad my bosses are afraid of me. Me like intimidation.

You.....got a problem with that?