Twenty blets

Recently, I got an eBay alert on a very specific search query, which doesn’t happen very often, so when I got it, I peeked eagerly to see if this was something that might be attainable.  T’was an official Figures Toy Co. replica of the WCW Television Championship blet that I had mild interest of getting if I could get a decent price for it.  And seeing as how I am whittling away at my short list of remaining blets that I might actually want, it has climbed up the priority.

The best part about the listing is that it was from a Canadian seller, so no matter what the dollar amount was showing on the listing, the CAD next to it meant that I would basically be paying 79¢ to the dollar which meant I was rich, bitch, in comparison.  I low-balled the guy, mostly already deciding that I was going to buy it now no matter what but I had to try, and when they declined the offer, I went ahead and just hit Buy It Now to cut the suspense and not miss out on another Figures Toy Co. original.

So with the acquisition of the WCW TV title, this brings my personal collection of replica blets up to a cool twenty, 22 if you count the two women’s tag blets that I’m holding onto for my daughters until they inevitably decide that they want them for themselves.  Literally ten (12) more blets than I once said that I would get, since ten was a nice round number.

And because I never made a post about it because one, I never had the time to, and two, it is technically a Pakistani bootleg because there are no official replicas made anywhere, I also got a replica of the NWA Television Championship, ironically because I was tired of being unable to get a WCW one, that I went after its predecessor since it was available at a ridiculously low, bootleg price.

Now I have both TV titles, and get to deal with the first world problem of once again having to reconfigure my blet rail, to accommodate the two new additions, knowing that there are still other blets out there that I’d want and acquiring them would require more adjustments then too.

The best part is though?  Of the last five blets that I’ve purchased, they’ve all come from money made by doing surveys.  The NXT United Kingdom blet, two WWE Women’s Tag Team blets, the NWA and WCW Television championships – not a single cent of these came out of my pocket, and came from money earned by doing silly surveys for cents at a time, over the span of the last year.  

And I still have a substantial amount left, enough to purchase even moar blets, as they maybe come to fruition.  After all, there are still more unicorns for me to hunt down, and knowing me, I’ll probably bite on a good deal fallacy when Black Friday rolls around and WWEShop drops a lot of their blet prices to more reasonable numbers.

2 Under 2: I think the exhaust was installed upside down (#070)

Without fail, #2’s number twos have been blowing out, at least once a day, for like the past week.  At first, we figured it was just a sign that it was time to graduate her out of size 1 diapers and onto size 2 diapers, since she was blowing the literal shit out of the 1’s, but it turns out that even in spite of the size-up, she’s still blowing out of the 2’s as well.

Now it’s easy to suspect that we’re being neglectful parents, and that #2’s poops are gradually seeping out of diapers long past noticed or something, but I’m actually a very vigilant parent when it comes to blowout prevention, and given how hands-on #2 is, always wanting to be held, she’s definitely pooped while in my arms quite a good bit.

No, #2’s bowel movements are basically like, when you hear it happen, it’s already too late.  It’s almost as if her exhaust pipe were installed upside down, and even if I’m holding her completely upright, when she goes, the poop somehow manages to elevate up the backside of the diaper, and the feeling of moisture soaking through the waistband is an unmistakable feeling.

Literally, this is all happening in a matter of seconds, and there are just some poops where it’s going to blowout no matter what anyone is doing to try and mitigate the damage.  It’s partially annoying given the frequency in which I have to change diapers and outfits on her, and give baths when they’re really bad, but at the same time, it’s partially amusing, because then I get to write about it and use an animated gif from The Fast & The Furious of flames shooting out of exhaust pipes to try and illustrate a proper analogy for the whole situation.

Regardless, it’s not that big of a deal because #1 went through a blowout phase as well, and she would blow the shit out of numerous diapers and outfits, and almost with certainty while riding in the car seat, so I have to chalk this up as kind of a phase or some sort of rite of passage for kids, that their poops just become really explosive for a while.

Is there anything in existence more useless than Dugout Mugs?

I mean, if I took the time to research and actually look, I’m sure I could find a countless number of things, but serious question here, is there anything more unnecessarily needed than mugs made out of baseball bats?

This is actually a topic that brewed last year that I never got to, but seeing as how we’re in the thick of the World Series now, advertising for this bullshit has reached fever pitch, and I’m getting targeted ads and seeing auto-playing bullshit videos for this crap all over again, and now I’m bragging about it.

Seriously, when I first saw this shit last year, I’m thinking to myself, “hey, the world is in a fucking pandemic, and I’m thankful my daughter is too young to realize just how fucked up everything is outside our doors.  You know what I need?  A fucking mug made out of a baseball bat.

Maybe if it were any other year than 2020, I would’ve rolled my eyes and ignored just how much bullshit Dugout Mugs are, but the timing of them being pushed to the moon in the middle of a pandemic, I had a hard time swallowing why anyone would want a fucking bored out baseball bat, instead of like I dunno, some PPE or maybe a fucking vaccine?

It just epitomized the ridiculousness of American capitalism and the existence of all sorts of shit that doesn’t need to exist, and Dugout Mugs just made me mad every time I saw them getting shilled.

Like, I googled them just to see how much they’d cost, and a single fucking pint is $70.  Seventy fucking dollars, for a hollowed-out bat head.  Maybe it’s slightly oil-treated, and has a laser-engraving of my favorite team’s logo on it.  But it’s still a fucking piece of wood, which also means it’s not dishwasher safe, and by the looks of it, cleaning the inside of it will require a brush, since any adult human’s hand would probably not be able to wedge inside the bowl to clean with a sponge.

No fucking thanks, I’d rather drink out of cans or bottles, or the litany of novelty pint glasses that I’ve collected throughout the years from my favorite locals or microbreweries, that I can then throw in the dishwasher and clean and dry it without worrying about it warping or rotting.

I hate these so much that it might do the Braves a solid if I say that I’ll buy an Astros Dugout Mug if the Braves can win the World Series, just so I can tempt fate and control the universe into delivering me a Braves championship, just so I can suffer the punishment of having to plunk down $70 I’d rather spend on anything else, on something I really abhor.

2 Under 2: the endgame for the girls’ blets (#069)

Not that I would’ve had any objection to have had a son, I low-key was hoping for a second daughter, for the explicit purpose that I could purchase a set of women’s tag team championship blets for my two daughters to become the lifelong tag team partners they were meant to be.

Anyone who’s seen the modest gender reveal video my wife and I did with a balloon filled with blue or pink confetti, when we popped the balloon and pink confetti rained over my kitchen, you better believe that within at least 3-4 minutes, my mind was already thinking about the tag team blets that I would have to inevitably get for my girls.

It took a few months, but I just so happened to be vigilantly on watch when the day came where the WWEshop dropped these specific blets to the price threshold I was awaiting them to hit before pulling the trigger.  I couldn’t have been more excited when they arrived, and not just because they made mythical wife’s eyes roll like Marble Madness.

Y’see, there actually was an endgame in mind for these blets, and I’m going to share it here, because it’s really going to be a toss-up if my brog lasts long enough for my kids to eventually read this, and that’s even if they’re even remotely curious to want read about dad’s online dear diary for the better part of what will probably be like 35-40 years old by the time they might be curious.

Continue reading “2 Under 2: the endgame for the girls’ blets (#069)”

Appreciation for Letterkenny

I think it’s funny how much Canadian comedy shows are finding so much success in America over the last few years.  Of course Schitt’s Creek really gets a lot of credit as far as Canadian shows go, but I was surprised that stuff like Corner Gas made its way stateside, and actually did fairly decently, in spite of its very local, very Canadian subject matter.

Canada seems to have this formula of small town, encapsulated universe comedies down, and over the last week or so, I’ve been making my way through pretty much, all of Letterkenny.  Prior to going all-in and just plowing through the series, I’d only seen clips or heard references of it, and of course there was that month where Hulu got the rights to the show, and they blasted the ever living shit out of advertising the show on just about every site that could support banners and video ads.

But either way, I’ve been going through the series, and I’m wrapping up season 8 right now, and before long, I’ll be done with season 9 and be awaiting alongside all other fans of the show for future seasons in real-time.

The show is witty, clever, and easily digestible, and the fact that they’re all like 22 minute episodes make them the perfect things to watch in tiny chunks, where I can sneak in an episode while feeding #2, while #1 is still napping and we never have any televisions on when she’s awake.  I can watch 1-2 episodes in the evening when I don’t want to commit to a plot-heavy thriller or a film or some episodic series drama, so as I’ve often said, as I get older and my plate tends to get heavier, the lower the run time gets, the more I favor it.

I love that the show itself are fans of Howard Stern and professional wrestling, and it feels like if there were ever a show that was like a Canadian version of my persona, this was kind of it.  Although I think he’s kind of a Marty Stu in how he’s the penultimate alpha who’s the toughest, most woke, most enlightened and the center of everyone’s universe, Wayne is still a likable character and kind of embodies the persona that lots of guys want to have: tough, intelligent, honorable, and of course, the object of pretty much every woman’s attraction, but really I get the most enjoyment from the show whenever characters just erupt into one of the numerous fights, because that’s the kind of shit I’d fantasize about participating in, but don’t have the guts to really get into.

Overall, it’s another quality Canadian comedy, that has a surprising amount of heart in it, in spite of how crude and low-hanging fruit the comedy can get, and I just wanted to share a few words of appreciation I had for the series, because during a period where I have so little time to indulge in small pleasures, Letterkenny has brought me a little bit of much needed enjoyment throughout the last few days, and I can say that I’m a fan of the show.

2 Under 2: No time like the present (#068)

About a month ago, I wanted to write a post about how I was embarking on my paternity time for the second time, on account of the arrival of #2.  How I was looking forward to not having to worry about work for 12 weeks, and all sorts of ideas of ways I could be productive and get shit done with no work looming over me.

Well it’s been about a month since I’ve started my paternity leave, and unsurprisingly I have not accomplished nearly as much as I hoped I would prior to the start of it.

Who would have guessed that juggling two kids would consume so much of my capacity, even without having to worry about work?  Pff certainly not me.  In all fairness, our Disney trip consumed nearly two weeks of my leave, since it encapsulated a Tuesday through a Wednesday, and trying to accomplish anything before or catch up afterward just weren’t going to happen.

But going into my paternity leave, I made goals of accomplishing several tasks:

  • Refinance my home: rates are crazy low and with a second child in tow, refinancing my mortgage to try and bring down my monthly payment and free up some cash sounded like a tremendously good idea
  • Look for a new job: the cat is out of the bag by now, and most everyone knows I’m quite unhappy with my job, and would like to seek out a new one now
  • Explore the possibility of upgrading to a larger car: my car of two years and less than 15,000 miles is already too small for the size of my rapidly grown family, and I would like to capitalize on the potential of the also-hot used car market, and try to trade in my car for maximum value, so that I may upgrade to a larger vehicle
  • Yard work: there are some shrubs I want to get rid of, and some general cleanup I’d like to do around my driveway and walking paths, as well as reclaim some of the wild land in the field adjacent to my home, while the poison ivy is wilting and the snakes are going into hiding

So nothing too lofty, provided there’s a reasonable amount of time to do them, but therein lies the biggest problem – there’s just simply never any fucking time.

Continue reading “2 Under 2: No time like the present (#068)”

Well I’ll be damned

It doesn’t look like anything to me: the Braves miraculously stave off Atlanta’ing, defeat the Dodgers to win the National League pennant for the first time since 1999

Granted, this is all just an elaborate setup to better last year’s colossal failure, by advancing to the World Series, where the Braves will inevitably humiliate themselves and likely get obliterated by the Astros’ murderers pitching rotation.  After all, if you take the Braves’ last two World Series appearances (1996, 1999), they’re 2-8 with all eight of those losses happening in a row, so as if history hasn’t been on their side at any step of their playoff run, it’s even worse when it comes to the World Series.

I actually had a complex about the Houston Astros, which dates back to 2004 and 2005, when the Braves lost to the Astros in two straight NLDSes, with the latter one ending on an epic collapse of a game, which turned into a miserable 18-inning affair where the Astros won on a walk-off home run from a shitty player hitting off of an even shittier pitcher.

From then on, I basically loathed the Astros, especially since they were still in the National League at the time, and I basically rooted for anyone they played against.  One of the best games I remember going to was at the tail-end of 2006, when the Braves had a shit season where their streak of division titles came to an end, but at least they salvaged the end of the season by spoiling the Astros’ late-season playoff push, most notably in a game where the vaunted Roger Clemens was outpitched by a literal Lowes window installer named Chuck James. 

The grudge held for quite a while until I stopped caring about sports and baseball as much, and then I accepted that flavors change and ebb and flow, to the point where I even started rooting for them in 2017, when I watched them pick up Brian McCann and Carlos Beltran, and I felt that these veterans were the key acquisitions that would push them into legitimate contention, and the season became a game of just wanting to be right, plus the Braves were in the midst of a dreadful rebuild and not even worth paying any attention to.  Regardless of the eventual cheating scandal that was unearthed, I was happy with their World Series win that year.

And now we’re at a point where the World Series is going to be the Houston Astros versus the Atlanta Braves.  Feels weird to even type “World Series” and “Atlanta Braves” in the same sentence after all the decades of failure I’ve witnessed at this point.  The Astros are the team most people outside of Houston love to hate, due to the cheating scandal, and the Braves and their paltry 88-wins are the team that really had no business even being in the playoffs, much less the World Series, but the playoffs are basically a different stratosphere, and nobody would have guessed that Eddie Rosario would be the guy playing the role of Reggie Jackson this year.

I don’t really know how to feel.  I want to be happy and excited that the Braves have made it to the World Series, but the oft-burned and jaded sports fan in me wants to pump the brakes and temper expectations, because it is still an Atlanta team ascending to the biggest games, and all of us here in Georgia have seen for eons what typically happens in those scenarios.  As much I want to see the Braves win a championship, I’m more anxious that we’ll see another 1996 or a 1999, or a 28-3, or a Tua Tagovailoa, or any other examples of a massive Atlanta blunder that results in a humiliating defeat that begs to ponder if it would’ve been better to just suck and not even put ourselves in that position.  I’m quite tired of Atlanta being the butt of sports city jokes, and another championship failure while so close to the crown, while not definitively unbearable, I just don’t want to think about it if it happens.

It figures that when I proclaimed that I wouldn’t write about the playoffs again, this actually happened.  So I’ll maintain that I’ll try to limit my baseball talk to this post seeing as how I still have a queue of topics that I want to catch up to, and hope for the best while not watching or following any of the games, because I, and I alone, have the power to kill the Braves, solely by tuning in.