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Don’t get me wrong. I love Olga. I love what she’s doing for my kids. I have almost no complaints. She’s helping them learn Spanish, which will be very handy in Los Angeles — which by the time they’re in high school will be referred to as North Tijuana. But one issue I do have with Olga is how she calls Natalia “Mama.” I know this is a Latino thing, but I don’t like it. I don’t understand the deal with calling eight-year-olds “Mama.” It’s always the kids and the elderly that get this name. They don’t call anyone “Mama” who can actually be a mother. The ones who haven’t sprouted their first pube, and the ones whose eggs are powdered are “Mamas,” but the actual mamas not so much. I know that this can’t be helping the teen pregnancy rate in the Latin community. When you start calling a kid “Mama” at age four, you’re pretty much prepping them to become actual mamas by age twelve.
The second issue I have is what I have termed the Nan-boree. Every couple of weeks, I’ll come home to find that my driveway is full and my house is a swarm of wealthy white kids all brought over by Olga’s underground na
Interruption is a constant theme in my house, and it is not just caused by my kids. I had a run-in with our maid just the other day. It was eight-thirty in the morning, and I was sitting at the computer in my bathrobe, letting gas pass with my first cup of coffee, as I do loud and proud when I’m in my own home. Then she did the simultaneous knock and enter.
What is that all about? What does that accomplish? The point of knocking is to warn the person who’s farting or beating off that you’re about to catch them in the act. If you do the simultaneous knock and enter, you don’t give them enough time to holster their junk, only enough time to look horrified as you catch them dick in hand. You’re supposed to knock and wait for a response or just barge in, but not both. Now I have the humiliation of you catching me in the act and the horrible moment right before that, when I know it’s going to happen. If you’re going to shoot me, just put a bullet in me while I sleep. Don’t wake me up and let me see the gun in my face first.
So a couple of hours later, my maid was cleaning the bathroom and I i
As a side note, Hispanic women, you shouldn’t be as jumpy as you are. You come from a land where finding a duffel bag full of heads is a common occurrence. Why do you leap out of your skin when I step into my own kitchen to top off my coffee?
Then Olga got me a few weeks later. This time I was on the shitter. You’re supposed to knock and then wait for a response like “Excuse you!” “Wait a second” or “My anus is dilated” (okay, maybe that last one is a little wordy and personal). Again, there was no pause between the knock and her entering the room. Of course she found me on the shitter, because there was nothing I could do in the three-tenths of a second she gave me to react. So why bother knocking at all? Why not just kick the door in and do a shoulder roll like a SWAT team if you have no intention of actually pausing long enough to hear if a noise comes from the other side of the door?
And to you assholes who feel the need to point out that I could lock my bathroom door: One should not have to lock one’s bathroom door while in one’s home making a number two.
While we’re on locks, let’s discuss the well-known but tragic fact that having kids also means that your sex life is pretty much over. This is why there’s so much fucking in hotels. When parents actually do manage to get away from the kids for a weekend, that hotel room becomes Sodom and Gomorrah because there have been so many thwarted boning opportunities at home.
I’ve always recommended getting a barrel bolt on the bedroom door, so if Mommy and Daddy are humping, the kids can’t just bust in and ruin it. Unless you’re a perv and are into that.
As a builder, I can tell you that there are three kinds of knobs: the dummy knob that you have on the hall closet door or the pantry, it’s only on one side and doesn’t turn. Then there’s the passage knob, which does turn and has two sides, but doesn’t lock. This is the kind you have on your bedroom closet or den. Then there’s the privacy knob. This locks on the back side so people can’t just stroll into the room. It’s not going to stop a gangbanger who’s throwing a shoulder into it, but will ensure the kids don’t walk in, traumatize themselves and ruin one of your infrequent hump-ortunities.
The kiddie interruption thing has happened to us. Lynette and I have been going at it when the kids started banging on the door while we were banging on the bed. When I shout, “Come back in a minute!” So
At the same time, I’ve got to admit as a guy you can use this to your advantage. If you know the kids are home and awake you can tell the wife, “Hey, we just have time for a quickie. I mean, usually I’m Sting with the hours-long tantric sex. There’s some sitar, a lot of oral. But the kids are in the other room watching Dora, so I’m not going to take my shoes off and I’ll just put my TV di
I’ve tinkered with the idea of an app that creates the sound of a child knocking on the door so guys can go into hyper-drive and just finish up quick. Just set it on the nightstand before hitting the sheets and set the countdown clock.
Of course, when it comes to sex, there is a big difference between men and women. Women care about circumstance and atmosphere. Men don’t. We’re mechanical. There are sex dolls for guys. There’s no version of that for women. Women need to be in the mood. The wife can’t get into it when she can hear the kids downstairs. For guys, having the kids downstairs watching Barney just lets us know that it’s game on. That’s a half hour we know we’re able to bang.
Having kids has messed with the most intimate relationship I have, with my own hand. Not in quantity, but in quality. I always thought that when I got married and had kids I would cut back on the beating off. I assumed having a wife to have sex with and kids ru
As I said, my house is a beehive of activity with na